#I think he and GoD know what it is to truly yearn for real death

[fallen6253]

Still can't think of an interesting title, but...

Tanned skin.  White hair.  Dark eyes. Their gaze moves slow, steady, makes its way to the window of a subway car.  In the brief moment it passes by, a small head with black hair peeks through. 

There was no eye contact.  But they knew the other was there. On some subconscious level, as if their very essence were attuned to one another.  

A rumble.  The car trembles.  Then it shakes.  Suddenly it's been thrown off the course of eternity and into a place of being known.

The subway crashes into solid ground.

A dreaming boy wakes up.

Miles away, a priestess known for denying god staggered in her footsteps.  Another migraine.  Another message.

Accompanied, for the first time, by an earthquake.

Huh. New.

The priestess picks up a pen and paper and rushes to a place hidden in darkness.  

A young man, hair and eyes as dim as night alight with stars, is waiting for her at the door to a beautiful home.  He walks her to a sitting room, tables set to the tone of a business meeting as if that was what this was.

Business as usual.

Of course.  It is.

He has a message about this world’s newest arrival.  And…a request.

She says this looking towards a man known for his wit and wile.  Brown eyes saturated to a dulcet red.  Blood red hair.  Clothes fitting and comfortable.  

He was on vacation.

Was.

The note warned first and foremost that nobody would hear from the god for a while.  Apparently bringing stars down from the sky costs quite a bit.  Well, that was what the note said, but the one reading it did not know its meaning yet.

The note then told them that the epicenter of that earthquake was near his home, and the damage to the forest should not be too drastic, since the cause was made of stardust and dream remnants and memories far too old to recall anymore.  It should fade with time, as all memories do.  By then it will return to creation and merge with the forest.  Again, the reader did not know what that meant.  He could only guess some things.

But the last lines caught his attention.  For two reasons.

The first being the mention of a child.  Far too young and far too ancient for all that it has seen.  The second reason being that this god made a request.  Not some mission with a reward.  Not some threat or warning with a clue as to how these mortals would react.  A genuine request he could choose to ignore completely without consequence since the god was indisposed. A sincere gesture for help that does not involve favors or world-blaming calamities.  

This being known for death asked a single mortal to save a helpless existence.

And for once the person reading it did not think about rejecting it at all.

He could be annoyed about it, something crashlanding into his forest, but…

There’s a kid that needs help first, we can yell at god for throwing him here later.

Do you think the plotting protagonist kept a library with stories of others like him?  Of dying worlds and forgotten names and tired heroes who made too many mistakes?

[moonchild-in-blue]

Annabel Lee, E. A. Poe // Drag Me Under, Sleep Token

I'm not sure if anyone has made this comparison yet, but I thought the parallels were kinda neat.

[ohbo-ohno]

Revisiting a distant memory but its ex lovers with Price. Maybe some yearning? And incorporating "for the old times sake"? Thanks and happy writing!

1k game here - no more please!

GOD this one is hard!! i lovelovelovelove second chance romances (it's my favorite romance trope lol) but i really have absolutely no idea if i'm any good at writing them :')

2k of price x reader ft. reader mourning her marriage at a friend's wedding and price trying to be a good future ex-ex-husband. (btw this is laswell's wedding so we're all pretending that she says "girlfriend" instead of "wife" in game to make this work) no smut!

It's difficult not to drown your glass of wine in one long swallow, the déjà vu an almost overwhelming feeling.

You know it's not fair to Kate, but God did she have to have her wedding in the same venue as yours? Everywhere you look you're reminded of the best day of your life, and the subsequent worst months.

You take a deep breath, and try to shove all thoughts of the past out of your head.

It isn't easy these days. Even though you were the one to ask for the divorce, you've never stopped loving - stopped wanting - John. You feel the loss of him everyday, just like you had the endless weeks and months he spent deployed.

It wasn't the time away that did you in - it was the secrecy of it all. You maintain that you could've made the relationship work had you at least known where he was, or even been afforded texting rights. But it's hard to pretend you're living a normal life when you haven't heard from your husband in six weeks and you have no idea whether he's even alive.

The day Kyle came to the door instead of John, you knew you couldn't stay married to him.

He was lucky - John had been injured and sent Kyle to bring you to the hospital since he was already back on base, but you'd seen the man and broken down into sobs before he'd even managed to get a word out. The poor soldier had tried his best to tell you that your husband was alive and would be fine, but you were inconsolable.

Once you'd realized what was going on you realized the truth of your situation. John's death would break you, and you'd never recover from it.

That moment where you'd thought he was gone... it was like a part of you had died, like grief had swallowed you whole and refused to let go.

You were scared when Gaz finally explained to you what was really going on. And all at once, all the pieces of your life started to click together.

When you served John with divorce papers you told him that you couldn't handle so much time apart anymore, that you wanted more stability in your life than he could give you. But the truth is you were scared, and a growing part of you thought that maybe if you distanced yourself before he got himself killed, the inevitable grief would be easier to swallow.

You think he saw through your bravado and straight to your fear. You've never known John Price to be anything but a fighter, but he hardly hesitated when you gave him the papers with shaking hands. He raised an eyebrow, said are you sure this what you want, love? and hugged you after he signed.

You'd cried more than he had, had sobbed into his chest and clung to him to hold you together. Looking back you're embarrassed of your reaction, but at the time it truly felt like you were cutting off half of your soul.

It still feels like that most days. Sometimes you lie awake at night, haunted by the idea that you've only caused yourself more grief, that you're going to feel hurt and terrible until something or someone kills John, and then you'll have to experience that grief you fear anyways.

But you've made your bed, and now you're laying in it, cold and lonely and missing your husband.

You take a deep breath and a small sip of your wine, try to center yourself. It's difficult not to dwell on your own mistakes - perceived or real - but you're determined not to cry at Kate's wedding. You are not going to be that divorced woman. You simply refuse.

Still, it's a close call. You close your eyes and drain the glass before your fingers stop shaking, and you hate that you've got nothing to do with your hands, nothing to distract yourself with. The deep breaths don't help, and the idea of getting a bit wine-drunk looks more and more appealing.

When you open your eyes again, John stands in front of you, holding a fresh glass out in offering.

He looks good, but you already knew that. It was difficult to look anywhere but him during the service, and he caught you enough times for it to become almost humiliating. You've been telling yourself all night that you could pass the flush in your cheeks off as the heat of an outdoor ceremony, but you know he noticed.

Still, he doesn't look smug about your obvious discomfort. Silver lingings, and all.

You take the offered glass after just a moment, deciding that it might be better to bite the bullet and invite John back into your space rather than keep trying to avoid him all night. It's not like your divorce is a secret - every person in this room saw you two attend countless events together, the tension between you two is probably painfully obvious.

John steps to your side as you take a small sip, heart skipping a beat at the taste of your favorite wine.

"Where did you get this?" It's not what they're serving, or you'd probably already be well on your way to wine drunk.

He smiles softly at you, dimples covered by his beard. "I can't give away all my tricks. Then what would you keep me around for?"

You laugh a little sadly at that, and his smile grows.

Honestly, you've missed John enough that you don't even really mind if he keeps your wine hostage for the rest of the night. You're willing to keep up the facade if he is.

You take another sip and stand a bit straighter, try to prepare yourself for another conversation with your ex-husband. None of them have been easy, but it gets less and less painful to see him every time. You know he goes out of his way to make this easier on you, never once showing any hint of animosity. Besides the lack of PDA, he's hardly changed his behavior from when you were actually married.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

He shoots you a look, one that says he remembers exactly how much you always hated small talk, but he indulges you. "It's a beautiful ceremony."

"It is."

He cocks an eyebrow. "But...?"

You sigh, gesturing with your glass as the wine loosens your tongue just enough for you to be a little too honest with your ex-husband. "It's all a little too familiar, isn't it? I mean, I haven't been back here since our... well, you know."

He snorts. "Yes, I do remember our wedding day."

You flush, elbowing him playfully. "Don't tease."

His smile is familiar, everything you've missed from him, when he looks down at you. "Can't help it, love." He lifts a hand, one big palm cupping your cheek and running a thumb over the apple of it. "You're just too pretty when you blush."

You can't help but close your eyes, leaning into his rough palm a bit. God, you miss him so much. Having him here, feeling his touch, and knowing that you'll go home tonight to an empty bed...

It's almost too much. The tears come entirely against your will.

"Oh, sweetheart," he coos, other hand cupping your cheek and thumbing away your tears. You blink up at him, free hand wrapping loosely around his wrist.

His eyes bore deeply into yours, and you see everything you feel reflected there. The memories, the pain, the yearning, the love that just refuses to dissipate.

"John," you whisper, voice shaky.

His head dips forward just enough to rest your foreheads together, breaths mingling. Despite the music still playing and the sound of conversations all around you, you can't help but feel like the world begins and ends with the man in front of you.

That's always what John has been for you - everything. Even now, months after your separation, you haven't figured out how to live in a world that isn't defined by John Price. You're not sure you really want to.

"Oh, love," he sighs, grip just firm enough to make you feel held. "When are you coming home?"

You bite your lip to hold back a sob, face crumpling. John coos a little, pressing forward just enough to kiss the tip of your nose and using his thumb to coax your lip from between your teeth.

"It's alright," he soothes, rubbing soft circles into the indention your teeth left in your lipstick. "We don't have to talk about it now, alright? You can take all the time you need. I'm a patient man."

You nod a little, taking in another deep breath. His patience was always something you'd admired, considering your own patience is horribly short. You can't stand to wait, and despite the many times he'd try to help you see the beauty in delay (both in and out of the bedroom), you'd only become frustrated.

Like now. Here John stands, poised and put together and nowhere near tears, and you're the exact opposite. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't one of the main reasons you fell for him in the first place - he's always balanced you out where you need it most.

You take another gulp of your wine, the glass half gone already. John chuckles a little as he stands up, hands shifting to rest on your upper arms and giving you a comforting squeeze. "Might have to get you another glass sooner than I expected."

You consider him for a moment, thoughts slow but a bit erratic, and then drain the rest of the glass in one go.

His eyes widen a bit as you nearly slam the glass onto a table, looking up at him with determination.

"No more wine - for now - but how about a dance?"

You wouldn't be asking if you hadn't had three glasses of wine already. But you have, and you're just inebriated enough to say screw it. As long as you don't wake up next to John tomorrow, nothing you do at the reception can really hurt your progress in getting over him too much.

But God when he smiles at you like that, soft and loving and just sweet, you want to forget completely about the divorce and go back to the life you'd had.

Stress and fear and separation pains regardless, you want John Price with every bone in your body. But you can't help that your mind convinces you otherwise, whispers all the reasons being with him can only lead to pain.

He shakes you out of your musings by offering a hand, stepping away just enough to make you reach for him.

"For old time's sake?" He asks when you take his hand, letting him pull you onto the dance floor with the other couples happily dancing together.

You nearly giggle at the poor excuse, knowing you can both see right through it. Still, you agree with him.

"For old time's sake."

You both know it's a lie, know that there's something more to a slow dance at a wedding, but you're not ready to say it yet. For now you'll hide behind the mask of nostalgia for better days.

Someday you'll be able to move forward. But that's a mission for post-wedding you to figure out, a plan for future-you to construct. Wedding-you, almost-wine-drunk-you is more than happy to let your ex-husband tug you close and trail his hands almost inappropriately low on your waist.

You tell yourself that you can worry about John's words, about his tone and his touchiness, in the morning.

For now, you bask in the presence of the love of your life, and try not to think about how much it will hurt when you leave him all over again at the end of the night.

[fangirleaconmigo]

I've been thinking about this for such a long time, and here's my treatise on Our Flag Means Death and Gentlebeard just randomly on this Wednesday afternoon.

Maybe it sounds odd but OFMD perfectly illustrates how gender roles are a trap. If you fail at your gender (Stede) you are alienated from society. BUT if you succeed at your gender (Ed) you are alienated from yourself.

Here's why this creates the perfect romantic conflict.

I usually don't care for romances because the conflict feels forced, or it undermines the connection. But Ed/Stede is amazing. And I kept wondering how they captured my imagination so completely.

Well, they have a real connection, and the conflict is fascinating and credible, based on this gender trap.

Their connection is joyful and touching. Ed's delight at everything people mock Stede for, oh my god. My heart. And Stede encouraging Ed's interest in things he's not 'supposed' to have interest in? The fine fabric? Perfection. No notes. Love it.

And then the conflict is really the trauma and effects of this gender trap. They cannot see the damage the performance (or in Stede's case, the lack of ability to perform gender) is causing the other. They idealize the other because they have what the other lacks. Here's what I mean.

Since humans need connection Stede's punishment for performing gender poorly is the ultimate one-loneliness and rejection from his 'own people'. Humans cannot be alone, we are not meant to be an island, and to be rejected by EVERYONE that brings him into the world? *insert zuko's that's rough buddy gif*

But when he meets Ed, Ed only sees Stede's freedom (his incapacity to pretend he is anything but who he is) and admires and covets it.

And since Ed's success in performing his gender is a self perpetuating trap, built brick by brick on a foundation of suffocation of the self, his spirit is dying.

But Stede only sees the admiration and approval of others that he has built up around himself. He yearns for that.

So you have two people, devalued for who they are, one who can only be himself but is mocked for it, and the other who is not himself, and is drowning, but surrounded by people who admire him.

So yes, they truly see and value each other. But because they have never paid the exact kind of price the other is paying, they cannot see it. As a result, they can't see how bad those insecurities are. They can't see why the other might want a little of what they have.

I just found it absolutely incredible seeing them figure it out and find a true connection. I loved watching them build that found family around themselves. Ed had to be strong enough to be who has was with his crew, and learn to value them for who they were as well.

And Stede built a family of people around him who valued what he brings to the table. Many of those were the same people, but they had to learn to value him (after suffering Ed's approach).

I know it's a really silly show and very heightened, so you can't be too literal about everything, but it is a show with a good heart that has two romantic leads that paint an incredible picture of the two sides of the gender/society coin. It was very satisfying for me to watch their journey.

I'm sad it's cancelled but I'll be a Gentlebeard ho for life.

[countessofwisdom]

I Don't Think It Could Ever Be You

TGCF (Heaven Official's Blessing) Spoilers

A post-Black Water Arc conversation. Angst. Little to no plot, just a scene. (WC: 852)

***

Shi Qingxuan never meets his eyes. "I just think... whatever affections I held for you all those centuries, it died that day."

His eyes narrow. "Your 'affections' then, must have been so fickle."

"Maybe it was," he replies too quickly, remiss of the knife he has grazed on someone's skin, "or maybe I just realized that day that I didn't know who these affections belonged to."

Shi Qingxuan has always treated the word love like a word meant to be given, or it is human nature to say 'I love you'. He gave it to his brother, his drinking buddies, to lost souls, and helpless devotees.

He also remembers giving them to a certain god.

"...maybe it's not fickle. Perhaps, I still hold these affections. Not towards you, but the man you pretended to be."

His fist clenches. "Ming Yi is long dead."

"But you revived him, didn't you? You took his name, his appearance, and you stepped on the heavenly capital wearing his shoes. The footprints you left were his," his words seeped with contained venom. Yet, a sliver shows crumbling composure—revealing a tiny child within that wailed and thrashed, begging for his brother back.

You took my name, my fate, and you might as well have ripped my limbs off my body. My fate is not yours, it is mine, he once yelled to a statue a million years ago.

An uncomfortable sense of dread creeps up and He Xuan does not know if it is a mutual feeling. Shi Qingxuan's eyes are devoid of the light it once had, unwilling to tell. Every word created invisible rifts and insurmountable walls between them.

Suddenly, he does not want to know, for something tells him that it is not.

"It was just a name," is the response he settles for.

It was just some clothes. It was just a face. It was just some mannerisms he borrowed.

But it has always been him.

Especially, when all Shi Qingxuan sees in him are truths he wishes he could turn a blind eye to.

Shi Qingxuan shakes his head. "It was Ming-xiong who I saw all these years, I just... I don't… even if I know it's you now, it doesn't erase his name from my memories. Even more, I can't replace his name with yours just like that. Especially…"

His throat yearns for the bitterness of wine whenever he thinks of him. He wants the dizziness and dopamine, if that is all the reprieve he is going to get. Ming-xiong could have been his drinking companion but he was dead, and He Xuan was a stranger who murdered the only person he could lean on.

No matter what, Ming Yi (the one he knew, at least) and He Xuan are oil and water. It tears him into a million pieces to see their silhouettes settle in on a single shadow. He wants to pretend that, somehow, all those years, his affections were received by a person he knew, and not the person he thought he knew.

Black Water then continues against his better mind, "Then if I had told you my real name that day we met, and If I told you who I really was, would it have been…" possible?

Could you have chosen me?

No, his mind quickly reprimands him. He would never choose you.

But at least, he hoped, that even if he didn't choose him in the end, Shi Qingxuan would have hesitated not choosing him for one second. For even a split second, he was his choice.

But the deafening silence that follows tells him a plethora of things he wishes he could cover his ears to.

It told him of Shi Qingxuan's hesitance; maybe he found his question ridiculous (it truly was), maybe he is already cursing him to death, plotting his vengeance. That would have been better. But gods, Shi Qingxuan chooses to bear the guilt of his brother's sin and he hates it.

The silence resettled him to the world they roamed. The rushing river holds memories of pasts that could not be reversed. The wind fluttering along with his hair ever so gently sends shivers down his spine. It reminds him of the reality he has to face.

Everything is real.

He really killed Shi Qingxuan's brother/The Water Tyrant and he does not regret it.

Or does he?

He does not, doesn't he? How could he regret it?

He is hurting. At the same time, he has never been so relieved, like a thousand voices inside his head finally went silent.

Fury drove him into doing what he did, fury sparked by the death of his family and his humanity that demanded justice, but he also did it to alleviate pain—to make living bearable. He thought the pain would dissipate as easily as taking a god's life.

…he doesn't know what's right or wrong anymore.

After what seemed like a million years, Shi Qingxuan speaks.

"He Xuan..."

This first time he says death's name.

"I'm sorry…"

And the last heartbreak he gives him.

"I don't think it could ever be you."

[astarionfreak]

Gireoowoeofivjvnwkkskdkfjcvdbs based on your fiction of dying tav how would astarion react to this:

As she starts feeling that she is starting to lose consciousness, she uses the last strength she has to hug Astarion tightly and whispers “part of me is relieved.. I know you were just pretending and this is the most I can get to be with the one I love, part of me is relieved that I helped you ascend so after my death you will remain safe, I won’t be there to protect you but you won’t need me to.”

She’d start speaking slower, fighting to let out the words “I will tell you something funny. I am getting jealous of whoever you will end up with after I die. I wish it was me that would get to know every corner of your soul but I hope you find happiness..” after a few quiet moments she says her last thing “if reincarnation is real, I hope I never get reincarnated if I don’t get to see him again..”

Ahhhh! Okay. Hmm. Lemme see.

Original fic: You'll hate me (make love)

cw; major character death, sad vibes

Tav rested in Astarion's lap, her arms curled around him, her face pressed against the curve of his neck. How long they had been like this? Astarion did not know. He wasn't counting the seconds. He was listening to the drumming of her heart -- and with each passing moment the beats grew further apart.

Her heart. The very thing that kept her here, with him, that pumped her blood through her veins -- it had been steadily growing weaker for some time now. It wouldn't be long before her mortal form betrayed her. Before her soul was plucked like a ripened cherry in the summer heat.

So, he listened, completely silent, not even daring to breathe, as she spoke her final words. Her voice, weak, as though each word was a struggle. Astarion wished he could ease her pain, but death would soothe her soon enough.

Astarion was quiet, listening to the sounds of her failing body for a moment longer before he spoke.

"Yes, little love, it is funny that you believe there will be anyone after you," Astarion whispered. "There is no being, not in my past, nor in my future that could possibly bring me the happiness you offered in our short time together."

She was too weak to respond, falling limp, fading in his arms. He knew this feeling well. Countless others had died at his hand, but it wasn't like this -- it didn't hurt like this. Their lives were meaningless. She was -- gods, she was everything.

And it stung, knowing that she did not truly love him. Not in the way she used to. That she yearned for a version of him who was long dead. The version of him that had been so weak, so pathetic --

He loathed the old him. But he pretended, for her. His reasons, for all of this, they were his own. He would not speak them aloud. He would not even allow himself to think on it.

"I'll find you again, he'll find you, I swear it," Astarion whispered. "There is nothing that could keep us apart, my love, not even the promise of oblivion."

He would do almost anything to freeze this moment. To keep her here, his, forever. But she hadn't given him enough time. Part of him resented her for that -- it was easier to hate her than to blame himself for his shortcomings.

What good was all this power if he couldn't have her? If the only one he'd ever truly cared for could still be taken from him?

He lost her the day she walked away. He let her go. He should have stopped her -- he should have turned her then. She would have forgiven him in time, surely. No --

No, the cost would have been too high. They were both so strong willed. He would have destroyed her love. She would have ruined him in return.

This was better. This, this ending, it would mean that what they had was real -- and would remain that way, in his memory, for as long as he lived.

A/N: Okay, so, he almost seems too well adjusted here and I swear he's not. Lol. He's actually a mess.

[ruvviks]

so. that song and cassidy. what's the story 👀

HEHEHE THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME >:^) so the thing with cassidy is that he got in a very bad accident when he was younger which has left him with a lot of cybernetic bones and a fucked up nervous system. every single touch that he doesn't expect is processed as pain by his body which is why he HATES being touched and generally keeps his distance from other people

after his relationship with reid ended (badly) he did not get in another relationship for many many MANY years (and it takes him a contract and a year of unsuccessfully hunting down a target to even meet his new love interest) and despite telling himself he was fine all by himself he did very much yearn to have a deeper connection with someone again and actually let someone close to him

when will i feel this // as vivid as it truly is? // fall in love in a single touch // and fall apart when it hurts too much

cassidy in his assassin years (think 2076-era and the start of 2077) is very lonely and numbed by everything and he's running mostly on autopilot. his world looks bleak and desaturated and he often feels like nothing around him is even real

can we skip past near-death clichés // where my heart restarts, as my life replays?

this one is interesting because to me it describes the moment where he finally snaps out of autopilot which is described at the end of chapter 3 of the fic i once started writing for him. he basically gets in a motorcycle crash and suddenly everything is different but also not

all i want is to flip a switch // before something breaks that cannot be fixed

describes cassidy's silent desire to be able to actually live his life again before his autopilot state pushes him too far down a path he doesn't want to follow

rain or shine, i don't feel a thing // just some information upon my skin // i miss the subtle aches when the weather changed // the barometic pressure we always blamed

once again describing cassidy's longing for being able to connect with his surroundings again, but also from a later perspective when he's looking back on all the time he's lost to running on autopilot

invisible machinery // these moving parts inside of me // well they've been shutting down for quite some time // leaving only rust behind

cassidy has so many cybernetic bones and maintenance is a tedious and tiring process and he knows that he could essentially crumble apart so easily still. he could die at any given moment and probably won't live a very long life because of his condition and chronic pain and he's very aware of it but can't do much about it

well i know, i know the sirens sound // just before the walls come down // pain is a well-intentioned weatherman // predicting god as best he can // but god i wanna feel again

he has so many inner struggles about his boundaries and his needs and how to get what he wants and needs without causing himself more pain in the progress. eventually he gets it by the way he gets his happy ending!! but it takes a while to get there and definitely not in the way he was expecting it to happen

down my arms, a thousand satellites // suddenly discover signs of life

to me this part describes the single touch mentioned at the start of the song which he shares with someone and suddenly everything clicks together and he is no longer in pain. gentleness received from someone he never thought he would get that from given the circumstances but at the end of the day it makes sense because if you spend so long trying to kill each other you know exactly how to touch the other to hurt them but you also know exactly how to touch them to not inflict any pain at all

[transsexualhamlet]

gr. gurrrrn g. hrrr gurne, i ask. gurn

SCARED OF YOU SO BAD. GUREN FOR WHICH . QUESTION LUNA. THERES LITERALLY THIRTY OF THEM

since you have not specified I will answer the first ten and if you desire different ones/more go ahead and specify that lmao

character ask game

My first impression of them- I'll be honest, guren was just some guy to me when I first read vampire reign at the tender age of 13. I literally just didn't really care about him that much until one of my old friends who I dragged forcibly into ons with me started reading catastrophe and went NO REALLY THESE GUYS ARE SO GAY and I had to see the light.

When I think I truly started to like them- see above.

A song that reminds me of them- you know and have known for a very long time that I have a playlist for Guren and it's all the most 2000s emo amv music. A very selective few of them would be

-Violet Hill by Coldplay (lamenting what the world has become over the years with hints of war, catholicism, and political turmoil) plus a Hefty dose of "lover that may be dead or not dead and remains out of reach and yearned after"

-The Calendar by P!ATD . This is a real bittersweet one because said old friend was insane about it and was the first one to point to its. Gureshin-y-ness. You know who I'm talking about I don't need to fill you in on this but it is genuinely the most Gureshin song I know, especially one cognizant of catastrophe and resurrection. Interpreted figuratively it's a Guren song, interpreted literally, it's a Shinya song. It makes me fucking Ill every time I think about it. Like come on "they said if you don't let it out, you're gonna let it eat you away, I'd rather be a cannibal baby, animals like me don't talk anyway" tell me guren and shinya would not say that exact fucking sentence "put another x on the calendar, summer's on its deathbed, there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends" slash catastrophe slas h vampire reign slash im Ill. "I will come back to life but only for you, only for you- the world may call it another chance, but when I came back it was more of a relapse" HI SHINYA . HELLO hi sorry.

also. Fake Your Death by MCR. This is more of a me-specific one and the ending I had planned for chains of fate all those fateful years ago. But this is really how I see him it's just. God he has been through the wringer for so long and he is disillusioned and tired and ready for someone to just fucking kill him like he deserves and still he has so much love for the people he has dragged through the mud with him and just. it's never going to get back to the way it was before and it's just. god. me an mcr fan when the fandom implications of the lore around this fucking song. if you didnt know luna this was the last song mcr released before breaking up like. about them breaking up and its just for ghe love of fUcking god

How many people I ship them with- really just Shinya. Sorry I'm a purist. There's arguments for a sort of qpr polycule type situation but I'm truly a Gureshin purist

My favorite ship of them- YOU DONT NEED TO ASK THIS OBVIOUSLY

Least favorite ship of them- People who ship Guren and Yuu make me want to kill something that is his son. But aside from the obvious, I just. People who ship Guren and Kureto are just mystifying to me. Like I guess there's nothing wrong with it but they just do not like each other at all and Kureto is such a pathetic creature yknow. I simply cannot bring myself to like him I have Tried

A quote of them that you remember-

This one <3

Your favorite outfit of them- He has like. What ok. Um. Catastrophe school uniform catastrophe/resurrection military uniform vampire reign military uniform. and then there's the ubiquitous white button up and slacks. I have to say I liked the catastrophe military uniform the best.

Your least favorite outfit of them- They're all so fucking basic????? There's seriously so little difference between them all

Describe the character in one sentence- Stubborn atheist in the face of christian armageddon, self-determined martyr, failed revolutionary, washed up pretty boy, and absent adoptive father with terminally repressed homosexuality who god refuses to let die.

That's the first ten, I'm not spending my entire evening on this. hi luna

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Unsent Letters

1597 C.A., 15th of Grief

Dearest ████,

It has been years since you've been gone, and I'm still not used to waking up without you by my side. I yearn to hold you in my arms again, kiss you on the top of your head and whisper my good mornings to you. But alas, your side of the bed still lays empty. O, how I wish to turn back time to take you with me in this world.

I have grown since that day. Not much taller, but a bit more older. I have gotten a bit more mature too. I hope you are proud of me for achieving such a feat. I never thought I would, to be frank with you.

Travelling has been a struggle. I have been taking odd jobs to receive some gold for the past years. It is a stressful thing, but nothing I can not manage. I did not stop looking for that deal maker. I know they are out there somewhere in the East. If I shake their hand, would they be able to bring you back like the people in the Gala? I worry what they will take from me when I do, but anything for you, right? You would always jest about that.

I'm in a cheap inn as I write this letter under candlelight. The stars are out again, shimmering like the purest silver under the sun. Samar has done a good job tonight, hasn't he? You always loved staring up at them, amazed spark in your eyes from the god's craftsmanship. I miss seeing that spark.

I think I shall head to bed now. I have much more to do tomorrow, and I require myself to leave early.

Rest well, ████.

Yours,

███

~•~•~

~•~•~

1635 C.A., 8th of Genesis

Dearest ████,

I have not found the deal maker. It seems that all my time and money were wasted for nothing. The locals of the Jade Islands consider them as a myth; a legend, if you will, but you and I both know that person, or whatever that person is, is real. I'd be surprised if I have heard news about their death instead.

No matter, I have put my focus back on returning and search other means back home. I might as well make a journey to Rosedale as well and search there too. The days are slowly becoming longer once again, and winter slowly melting away. I'd love to experience spring again with you, watch the first flowers bloom and animals waking up from their long slumber.

One day, perhaps. Soon.

See you, ████.

Yours,

███

~•~•~

~•~•~

1779 C.A., 23rd of Intervention

Dearest ████,

Home is of no use. The people there are the same egotistical scums we have encountered before. The same kind of people that threw us out. The family is still thriving, it seems. I've heard that most of them have become doctors for the past century, and have been earning gold that way. Our names have become nothing but something to be feared and hated. Our existence is nothing but a curse to them now.

I have left it not long after finding out.

I am currently taking a boat trip to Rosedale, to avoid the ongoing hunt for Magi and Familiars happening in Bellhollow. I might as well change my name and identity now, ████. You always wanted to try such a thing. For the thrill and new beginning, I recall you said that to me in our time in the forest years ago, but I turned it down in fear of being found out. And yet look what I am doing now.

I am still looking for ways to bring you back, and they all have been fruitless for now. Hopefully, Rosedale has answers for my search. I have prayed to the goddess Despoina for assistance for years, but she has been silent to me. I am starting to wonder if the goddess disapproves my search or has been ignoring my prayers. Regardless, I will not stop until I get my answers.

I will see you soon.

Yours,

████

~•~•~

~•~•~

1887 C.A., 6th of Peace

Dearest ████,

I am surprised that the █████ family is still alive in Rosedale, knowing how intense their family curse is. I've met the current heiress of the family. She is a nice and corteous woman, unlike the one we've met in the Gala before, and seems to not know who I truly am. Though her family is also responsible for our exile, hence I still abhor her and her family's existence. They have been stigmatized as well, they should know how we feel, and yet they turn a blind eye when we needed help.

Bastards are what they are. I could give less of a damn if their family were to cease to exist.

I have met an old student as well. ███ if I remember is his name. He was just as surprised as I was to see his old tutor again. The lad hasn't changed, still as serious as ever, but now a fully fledged Familiar and serving the █████ family. He's married now apparently, to one of his former rivals. Oh, how time and people have changed while I was away.

Moving on, I have unfortunately have not found any answers once again… The Magi of today are good at hiding, much to my annoyance. I have yet to find a Magus that is willing to hand me knowledge, a necromancer perhaps if I can find one. It's about time I get my hands into learning new magic. Better for self-defense, don't you think, ████? Gods above, if you were here, I could only imagine how excited you'd be to learn more magic. You've always felt restricted in the teachings back at home.

I have managed to buy a property with the money leftover from my previous trips around Rosedale. It isn't that big, but enough for me to have a house built. You would have loved it. There is a garden in the back with your favorite flowers, a huge balcony that overlooks the neighborhood, a bed big enough for you and I.

I still weep sometimes when I wake up and see that you're not here. The hurt still lingers. Dear ████, how I missed you so.

O, how I miss you and your touch, ████.

Yours,

███

~•~•~

~•~•~

1995 C.A., 10th of Blossom

Dearest ████,

There is a book written about us. I've found it in a local bookstore while heading back home earlier. I've bought it, and I am thoroughly surprised at how accurate most of it is, but the author claims it to be fiction. I am both intrigued and terrified at the fact that someone out there knows about this. Perhaps a Magus wrote this? Maybe our exile was written in the records and has been released to Magi Society.

I am unsure, and I refuse to know further details about it.

I work in the local school now as a job to earn money. Gold has been replaced for paper and coins, and it's unfortunate that prices for things keep rising. You've always hated when something is expensive, when it clearly shouldn't. I think I understand your frustrations now, ████. Food and taxes nowadays are becoming more difficult to obtain and pay.

On the brighter side of things, I think I've found an answer to our centuries long wait. I will not explain it here, lest I get my hand to cramp and the whole process is atrociously long and complicated. But rest assured, we will be able to meet again soon, my dear. Just a wait a bit more for me, alright?

Our reunion will be here soon, ████.

Yours,

███

~•~•~

~•~•~

18 T.G., 1st of Fury

Dearest ████,

I swore I saw you enter the school I work in.

This student is the spitting image of you. Your hair, your eyes, your skin, your adorable mannerisms and timidness. Gods above, have you reincarnated yourself? You couldn't wait until I brought you back?

I don't know what to think of this, ████. Tell me, should I do something?

Yours,

███

~•~•~

~•~•~

22 T.G., 5th of Fury

Dearest ████,

The miniature you is in my class. She has grown to be a fine young woman, though still timid as ever. It pains and angers me to see her get mistreated by her peers over the years she's been studying in this school, often leaving her in isolation. It's reminding me of our mistreatment centuries ago, and there are many instances where I have to hold back from strangling the perpetrators. I have stepped in to defend the miniature you countless of times, but it only seems to make the mistreatment worse for her.

I was at a lost at the time. I said my concerns to the Headmaster of the school, but it seems those concerns were brushed off. So, I have taken it into my own hands. I've taken this opportunity to try the spell I've discovered on the perpetrators, but all of them have been a failure so far, unfortunately.

Ah, right. I've forgotten to mention that I've researched if miniature is related to you, and it appears to be I am correct. She is from the main family just like you, though her and her siblings have moved here to Rosedale and changed their name for unknown reasons. Have they been exiled too? I'm having a sudden de ja vu, ████, and I am unsure if I like it.

Regardless, when the spell does succeed one day, I do hope you and your descendants get to meet. The thought of it makes me excited. You get to meet family after so long, and I get to see and hold you again.

It's only a matter of time, ████, until I can kiss you again.

Yours,

███

[triddlegrl]

I never thought I would have to do this lol but I guess I am out here defending hetero-normative aspirations. 🤣 it's just that I saw saw a post that claimed Steve was on the 'jerk - nice guy - to incel' pipeline.

What, because he wants to build a family and has an idea of what that would look like? Last I checked this was a thing people do all the time, gay, straight, bi or whatever. Humans are social creatures. We are literally built for groups and without them we go insane. Steve was a lonely sad boy whose formative years were rattling around an empty house by himself. Now he is a lonely man yearning for what he never had.

Seriously what about Steve sharing this about himself with his friend/love interest in the middle of a life and death crisis is incel behavior?

There is a difference between sharing your truth with someone and pressuring them to fulfill your fantasies that I think a lot of folks are failing to recognize. I can't think of a more appropriate time to share with someone how you truly feel other than moments before you or they might die. You know? The important thing is that in choosing to be honest about his feelings, Steve didn't do anything more than be honest. He didn't try and convince her that she owed him something, or that he could love her so much better than Jonathan or anyone else could.

Steve told Nancy HIS truth about his dreams and his feelings, and then he let her do whatever she wanted to do with that knowledge. He's put no pressure on her to do anything. Taking it back to the real world for a moment, isn't that all we can expect from another human being? If I was risking my life with my friend/ex and they had feelings they felt they needed to share, I wouldn't resent them for speaking up. And god forbid if they died after that (as I was so sure Steve was going to LOL) it would be a small kind of comfort to know that they didn't die with that weight on them.

IDK. People get such a stuck view of characters in their heads, and we spend so much time falling in love with our own ideas of them, that sometimes we just can't stomach anything outside of that. And then if we don't like something, for some reason we have to make it THE WORST to justify why everyone else shouldn't like it either.

[margaret-diaries]

Final Wind

October 13, 2022

I always wonder how it feels like to die.

What would be my last thought as I grasp my final breath? What would I see as I shut my eyes, and cease to exist forever? Will there be nothingness, or heaven or hell waits for me? Does the afterlife truly exist?

As life unfolds, I became more scared of living than dying. Living feels like dying, and maybe dying feels liberating.

I always wonder how some people love to live when living is just synonymous with suffering. I feel bad for newborns, and children, for they have no idea what's waiting for them. They have no idea life will be like this. And when I say "this", you know what I mean.

I wonder why people fear death when living is more frightening. This is why I feel admiration for the older fellows, it must have been hard living for so long. Every wrinkle, and a silver strand of their hair, tells a story. But I wonder, how would you know if you lived your life?

I wonder why people pity those who die young and are a blessing when people live long.

I wonder what people are praying for before they sleep, what do they long for? What do they yearn for the most in life?

I mean why are we on earth anyway.

Why do we need to live and strive? That would probably be my question if God is just a stranger sitting on a bus.

We all have missions on earth, as they say. But what could it be, and why would it end your hopes and dreams, in a snap, when heaven decides it's done?

I remember a professor of mine died a year ago, he studied, dreamed, worked for a couple of years, and then die. What mission did he accomplish? I wonder. He was just 24 years old. Just starting to build his life. Or the father who died across from our house, he's just starting to create his family, but he died. Poor little daughters, life snatched their dad.

I might sound pessimistic and suicidal, but I am not just a fan of life, but I still do it anyway. Or maybe I fear to live because I don't want to witness people I love grabbed away from me. Maybe this is one of the reasons, why I am so ready to go anytime. However, these people dying everywhere, make me realize I won't be here for too long too.

It's thinking that there's an end that makes me want to live.

And if God is real, and we meet someday, I want to tell Him, I lived my life. I tried to be better. I tried to outgrow the unpleasant versions of myself that some probably met. If we are different from different individuals, I want to create more versions that contribute values, love, peace, and joy, while I still exist.

The universe knows my heart. And my heart only beats for a life that's lived. So if the last wind brushes my being, I can shut my world with so much gratitude and peace.

Love, Margaret

[artcallednaturalviews]

A W [aconpo]

If I ponder before I speak

Take the time to think

I can rhyme all day

before I give all of it away

What does that title mean?

One can start it real easy

Just as simple as easy peesy

Now, I know it's not a word

I being, a little absurd

Thought, give it a laugh

Throw in quick as the Flash

But before your jaw clinks

Before you click to escape

I hold smile try not to blink

To keep Your attention

Focused clear intentions

Show humanitarian decisions

Equal all Men

Equal all Women

Law Abiding Citizens

But if you want in

To walk in this land

Be respectful to all beliefs

You don't have to believe

For some they grew,

some refugee, not free

in foreign dirt, mountains and sands

Those who believe religiously

know the right plan

Some God, conscience,

selfless service,

honor the laying dead

pray, vow, bow down, lie down, stand head down,

knees crushing fabric,

feet upside down with head touching ground

it's all done in some ritual fashion stance

and the straight up profound.

Why can't you even see

the similarities

Even so

why can't we agree

Agree to disagree

Was that, that obvious

Understood its sunderance

Let's change gears

And build up walls

An omega fear engrosses all

America now closed

Lady Liberty still states

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" She needs to be toppled down

Before the walls surround

We still honor the likes of men

and the horrors that they did

like Custer the murderer of Native Americans

Your redskins, heathens, indians

M L King silence that nigger,

negro, colored, black,

(African) why not just American

Also why can't he be just Man

The poor but not a minority anymore

includes the beaners, spics, Hispanics

Hispania not even a fucking land

Just a bowl of Red, Black and Browns

Modern day slaves, low pay

even caged human

prison grounds

And forget the Yellows,

slant eyed, Asian internment camps.

Anyone who was not white skinned, different

but can't leave Jews, the Polish

the Irish, the Scottish

Simply less than human

all the many others

not even mentioned

Born on this planet and on to oppression

Earth is for all

But to those who cause pain

You need to get it together

Or move away

Womans and Mans

Every Ones Homeland

Stop there! What do you know other than history?

Says A W to Martinez

You where not there on say, D-Day

in maroon waters & sand

getting shrapnel in a foreign land

To kill an evil evil man

Listens A W from Martinez

I not, I joined during Desert Storm

but missed the invasion

With 82nd Med Air Ambulance Detachment

No I didn't but deployed to Mogadishu Somalia

it's African

Witnessed the horror of an evil ruler, unwanted memories

smelled death, gained skills

like hyper vigilance

Young (19teen) and eager

completely full of ignorance

Hear this A W, says Martinez

I consider myself

last name identified

most likely Mexican

An Honorably Discharged

Service Connected American

Veteran

Truly a Mix-ican American

My blood mixed from worldly sources

I personally don't believe in

vampire lycan wizardry courses

I believe in a self conscientiousness

Knowledge and experience

Live in right than wrong

I can't explain the supernatural

I believe in respect for our planet

The need to question

so we can give it

to the next 100 generations

to cometh

But the way we are going

Misery & Death is surely coming

No need for materialistic means

Sad to say we are losing

losing Our Humanity

In the beginning I said

"before I give, all of it away"

I don't know how to deal with this

all this nonsense

These times I feel hopeless and afraid

My anger, sadness and shame

Knowing our country caused such hurt and such pain

But can't turn a blind eye

And look away

In living thee A W

American Way

(A W has nothing to say)

Mark Martinez

American Citizen

Veteran

0ct21 2016

Been here since

Hock puck pogo stuck in funnel return

Mass wanting bruised balls

They play after me in mainstream

I’m peeing

See me bleeding

And tie- r -ing

7 years later

Still working!r Jackarse

[kofetalesnbpdchaos-leoreaper]

Parents, Kids, Ages & Life…?

My 1 main problem with people having kids in general… is that they may not be good parents at ALL!!

The other shit that scares me the most— & IS perhaps harder to see or understand .

Is that being a 23 yr old to parents in their 60s is a living nightmare!

Ofc I don’t mind folks having kids @ the age my parents did… or their mid 40s etc—

The only shit that disturbs me the most is….

Well? IF you had boomers who u now, as an adult would see how fucked they was raising u…

And see how much they still affecting— they’d move on to do some healing shit!!

I’m sooo sorry, but like I am DONE. Trying to work on myself when I can’t handle shit @ home.

NO, I’m not gonna stop ppl from birthing later in life…. But I just want ALL of the parents out there…….

To really work on urselves in the now, & I hope you can try to manage while with kids later on.. :/

I don’t care bout how much my parents “did the best they could”!! I’m in my early 20s, & these bastards don’t have decades left cuz they old as hell!

I feel like a bad person, cuz I feel like I was supposed to continuously die just to stay in contact with dad.

He’s a real BIGG assed trigger for me lmfao. I get something from him? I have an episode & feelings of all sorts.

Don’t even tell me why I shouldn’t still work shit out… cuz I was abused / still being abused.

What if feels like is ppl shouting at me while I’m lying there in a pool of blood , battered & harmed.

And WHOO the hell said I had to be physically harmed to show proof?!

All of my god damned it “disorders” the “illnesses” 🙄🫥🖕🏼 R a good show.

I didn’t develop shit out of fucking thin air like?!?!?!

Anyways, I got gaslit , guilt trippie’d & other shit like “oh but they’re ur parents”.

Don’t ever talk shit to me bout ANYYTHING, cuz u don’t even KNOW how much I am grieving over shit that I can NEVER have!!

Yeah, BITCH! It’s not ever “too late”…. But it is for ME, cuz I still haven’t fully cut off contacts.

Watch me! Once i do dat then maybe with whatever time we gotten left.

Orrrr I may be left with a death bed confessions….

OR the bloody “bitter to the ends of the Earth”… — it means I will never be acknowledged lmfao bye! :’3

Either ways lol. Nobody gets it , not unless you truly yearn & force urself to not slip into thinking:

“Ohhh my gods! I think we can/do haves a connection!” — the happinesses ain’t shit & don’t last when majority of the crap is horrors, lo.

I guess I… jus gotta feel like absolutely shitty either ways. I love u too, to the ppl who wanna destroy me & remind me of alll the reasons why I hate myself . As a daughter , as a child. 🖕🏼 fuck humanity, fuck poor parenting too! Fuck ppl who can’t tell abuse either lolololo~~ :’>

— Lena Eclipse Reaper; L.E.O REAPER.

[hymnblood]

okay , okay this type of post was long in the making but on the topic of nyx and zagreus’ relationship. but this is definitely taken to my perspective and portrayal for zagreus in some aspects, i.e his reaction, how he behaved afterwards, etc.

Warning : discussion of infant death, child abuse, and child neglect

i want to clarify that he isn’t her child nor was he adopted by nyx, she took on the role as his main caretaker after persephone had left the underworld and nyx begged her daughters, the fates, to bring zagreus back to life, knowing that it was against the rules and would alter zagreus’ whole life from then on. hades was the sole parental figure to zagreus; however, zagreus was often left to nyx to watch over and guide as hades was far too busy, plenty neglectful, and often abusive to the young god. zagreus knew he was not related to thanatos and his kin since his childhood so thus they were never raised / seen as blood family, or family in the matter of choice. thanatos had always been just a childhood friend and someone who he cared for greatly. 

in the matter of nyx; however, lines definitely blurred and with the circumstances of him dying at birth and being brought back to life. the lines that blurred genuinely led him to believe that nyx was his mother because she was the first one he opened his eyes to, she was the one who would coax him with the phrases “ my child ” or “ little one ” in a way that only a mother ever should / would. when finding out about the truth, he was hurt, he felt betrayed, and a lot of the trust he had in nyx faltered, wavered, and even dared to break. to him, how he sees it, it felt like a ruse meant to be played up for the rest of his life - if he wasn’t nosy enough to go snooping through the letters on his father’s desk, he probably wouldn’t have ever known.

while she fostered him, he wasn’t really ever adopted by her in the sense that would truly make her his mother in some degree, a caretaker at best, but regardless an important figure in his life. he revered her. he thought she was this amazing, untouchable god who graced many with both her beauty, knowledge, insight, and wisdom but it cracked severely under the pressure of her biggest lie. he never knew her to be a liar, he never knew her capable of such a thing and the fact that zagreus was worth being lied to twisted something ugly in his heart. to know that someone he loved dearly and revered immensely could do such a thing to him, his anger was palpable, it was like that of hades’ fury and it was both a shock, understandably, but also a worrying sight.

he never spoke to her again, for a very long time after that. it had gotten to the point where even if she tried to call on him in hopes of discussing it further, he would simply walk past her, pointedly ignoring her presence, he wasn’t ready to discuss the matter in full, he was still nursing his hurt. but he was also thinking about the fact that he has a mother, persephone, and how much he wanted to meet her, to get answers from someone who couldn’t lie to him after what happened. wondering if she’d even remember having a son, wondering if there’s something about him that she’d remember and come back home with him so he can have a real family. it was like a child yearning for his family to be whole again. a lot of his feelings were messy during this time, and honestly, they were also inconsiderate to an extent, too. but he was just not ready to discuss the matter in full with someone who inflicted such a hurt, he comes to understand it though. why the lie had to be made and upheld, and that his father is a fucking dickhead for doing it to nyx and the rest of the people at the house. they shouldn’t have needed to cover for him and his failings as both a husband and father. he failed and now he just has to live with it.

[turtle-steverogers]

Pre serum Steve once fell of a balcony and Bucky caught him. Bucky reminds him every chance he gets.

anon, you have inspired me... i saw this. thought "YES", then scurried to my google drive

and so here is a fic, wholly based on this ask

-

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?”

Steve twists around from where he’s perched on the fire escape rail, back against the cool brick wall of their shitty tenement. It’s nearly April and the weather’s getting warmer, a soft breeze keeping it just cool enough for long pants. Steve has always preferred warmer weather, though, and he thought he’d take advantage of the first truly nice day that Spring. His sketchbook lies open on his lap, propped against his knee. A light, but detailed sketch of the other tenement buildings that spanned out in front of him fills the page.

“Drawing,” Steve says, glancing at Bucky where his head is poking out the window. He looks concerned and his eyes keep flicking to where Steve’s holding himself stable with his free leg. “Why are you already home? What time is it?”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and Steve wants to stick his thumb on the little divot to smooth it out. He always thought Bucky would get a permanent wrinkle there if he kept frowning so much.

“Nearly 6:00,” Bucky says, and Steve realizes he must have let time get away from him. That tends to happen, when he draws, his mind blessedly quiet for a few hours as he loses himself in the methodical scratch of his charcoal pencils. Still, he had gotten home from his work restocking shelves at the local grocer around 3:00. He didn’t think it had been that long.

“Oh,” he says.

Bucky climbs out onto the escape. He’s wearing his work clothes still-- an oily white shirt tucked into heavy denim pants. His hair's hanging down in his eyes. Steve knows he’ll want him to cut it soon.

He wants to reach out to him, but he can’t. Not out here where anyone could see. It’s torture, not being able to touch anywhere but in the confines of their bed, hidden under the covers where prying eyes can’t strip away their privacy-- their God given right to love each other as wholly as human nature could allow. Steve purses his lips and forces himself to look back down at his sketch.

“I don’t like you sitting up there,” Bucky says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Just because you’re afraid of heights doesn’t mean that everyone else is, Buck. Besides, we’re only three stories up.”

Bucky huffs, stepping closer. “That’s still far,” he says. “You fall, you’ll splatter all over the sidewalk and scar Miss Maggie downstairs for life. I’d have to pay for her heart failure and your funeral.”

Steve snorts and closes his sketchbook, thoroughly distracted now. The sun’s starting to set anyway, and it’s bound to get cold soon.

“You’re so dramatic,” Steve says. “I’m holding myself up just fine. See? I can even reach for my other charcoals and there ain’t no problem.”

To prove himself, Steve closes his sketchbook and tosses it onto the fire escape, sticking the charcoal he was using in the binding. He twists around after that and leans over to grab another pencil from where he’d left his spares on a ledge to his right, his thigh muscles flexing as he holds himself in place. The pencils are farther away than he last remembers them, though, because he feels himself reaching further and further until his balance is tipping and he’s tumbling over the side.

“Stevie!” Bucky’s frantic voice shouts, but Steve can barely hear him, too busy gasping in surprise.

There’s a suspended moment of terror as the world seems to go quiet, his ears ringing in alarm as he feels himself starting to fall and oh god, Bucky was right, he really shouldn’t have tried to reach out for his pencils and now he really was going to fall to his death and Miss Maggie was going to see him break his neck on the sidewalk or he’ll kill an alleycat on impact or--

--A strong hand closes around his bicep, catching him before he can fully go over the side of the fire escape. He’s shaking with adrenaline as Bucky lifts him back to safety. He’s speaking, Steve realizes belatedly.

“--Such a fucking idiot, I swear to god, you’re gonna be the death of me, Rogers.”

“You say that, like, once a week,” Steve says weakly, and he notices then that he’s shaking. His teeth are chattering, adrenaline coursing through him. He must look as freaked out as he feels, because Bucky takes one look at his face and softens.

He glances around, then braces a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, grounding him. A moment later, Steve is being pulled into his chest. He’s sweaty and smells like the docks, but Steve presses closer, inhaling deeply in time with Bucky.

“You okay, kid?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods against his chest, hiding. “Sorry. Spooked.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bucky says, pulling away after sneaking a soft kiss on Steve’s head. He swoops down to collect Steve’s sketchbook. “C’mon, let’s go inside.” He straightens and points an accusing finger at Steve. “I told you so, by the way.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

-

“No! Not without you!”

“Aw, hell…”

Steve’s going to die.

He’s thought that a lot, in his 25 years of life. But now, as he sizes up the impossible jump between him and Bucky, he really truly believes it.

Bucky made it across, if only barely, and Steve wishes he would just go. There’s a deep pain in his eyes now-- one Steve noticed as soon as he lifted Bucky off that goddamn experiment table. If anyone deserves to get out of this fiery hell, it’s him. But Steve knows that he really won’t leave without him. He’d damn himself to die by the burning hands of war right alongside Steve.

Steve knows this, because he would do the same.

He takes the jump running, giving himself one moment to falter before he’s soaring through the air. It burns, and he knows he’s breathing in so much smoke. Fire licks at his heels and singes his clothes, melting the soles of his boots and mottling his skin.

It feels like he’s caught in midair, flying forever without falling as the other side gets closer and closer and holy shit, he’s going to make it-- he’s really going to--

He manages to grab hold of the railing on the other side, screaming as it breaks and bends, leaving him dangling. The metal is smoltering and he gasps, letting go on instinct as it burns the skin of his palms and shit, he’s such an idiot, but before he can fall, Bucky’s leaning over and grabbing him by the forearm.

He hauls him up onto the platform and they collapse onto the ground, panting as they claw at each other, needing something tangible-- real-- to keep them sane and then they’re kissing, teeth clacking together and noses bumping. Bucky’s sobbing, Steve notices and he pulls back to reassure him, only to realize he’s doing the same. They kiss until the air in their lungs turns to ash and they pull away to breathe, foreheads resting together.

“You’re such a fucking dumbass,” Bucky pants.

“Fuck you,” Steve answers. He kisses him again, hungry for more-- yearning to crawl under Bucky’s skin and hide there. “Thanks for catching me.” And it’s horribly insufficient. There’s so much to say to each other, so many bases to cover and things that can’t go unsaid, but Bucky must understand, because he guides Steve’s head down to his chest. A position Steve never thought he’d have the privilege of falling into again.

“Always gonna catch you,” he says. It’s quiet for a long time, nothing but their heavy breathing and the roaring fire to fill the spaces between them. Steve opens his mouth to say something; anything. He needs to ask if Bucky’s okay-- what they were doing to him-- and he knows Bucky has questions. Ones that he deserves answers to more than anyone, but the words get caught in his throat. It doesn’t matter, though, because Bucky laughs wetly. “Like-- like that fuckin’ time you almost fell off the fire escape and--”

Steve groans, shoving at Bucky before gathering him close and breathing him in, because if Bucky can find it in him to tease, then things have to be okay.

“You ain’t ever letting that go, are you?”

“Never.”

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

[puredivinity]

a moonlit confession | eren jaeger

❣︎ hi hi!! welcome to the longest thing i’ve written and a project that was spawned by, and added onto by @jean-does-not-have-a-horseface and @gojosweets. i adore them very much and without them, i probably wouldn’t have done this ngl. this is a very not historically accurate greek mythology au <3

❣︎ warnings: nsfw (18+), very slight breeding kink, mutual masturbation, cunnilingus, handjobs, very soft post return sex, slight and non-descriptive mentions of death. it’s also unedited.

❣︎ word count: 3.2k

To you, there is nothing worse than yearning for your lover.

A lover that you are unsure of.

Wondering if they’re okay, if they’re breathing, if they’re alive. If they’ve made it out in one piece, physically. It would be a miracle if they made it out whole mentally, knowing good and well how harsh the trials of battle are. You remind yourself that he is tough, and that he is strong. He is your warrior; your love, your beauty, your grace. He is there for you in all realms, despite not being there physically. You are together forever and always, in spirit and in body.

The wind blows the fabric of your gown, picking it up off the floor of the balcony beneath you. The coldness of the surface causes you to hiss when your feet make contact with it, but it’s quickly pushed to the back of your mind, buried beneath the flurry of uprising thoughts. Where is he? You wonder, painful thoughts tainting your mind. Your fingers curl around the rail of the balcony that overlooks the rest of your dwelling -- the beautiful home Eren’s parents had gifted you as a present of your union. The union of which they blessed and honored. 

The moonlight tonight was of no other night. It shone brightly and beautifully, high up in the sky. It overlooked you, basking you in its glow. It illuminated all that was high and below, and it became your beacon of hope. For when Eren was gone, the moon was what you turned to. He was your sun, and you were his moon. It is what he told you the night before he left; your last night together where all you could do was hold one another, love each other, cling on like your last thread of life. It could’ve been his, for all you know.

“I miss you,” You speak out into the wind and it carries your words with its breeze, high and low, but not forgotten. “I miss you so much, Eren, I--” your words halt there, fearing the worst. Fearing to speak the worst, fearing to think the worst. In your heart, you know he is alive. You feel it in your bones. But your mind is a different story.  You cast your eyes downward to gaze into the everclear pool of water below you, tracing the fountains with your sorrowful gaze. It is clear enough that you can see your own reflection, down to every detail. Every tear that pools and threatens to spill down your cheeks, the glossy and gloomy gaze your eyes hold -- all of it. 

You are about to make a plea to the highest god when you make out a face beside yours, that looks strangely like Eren’s and strong, sturdy arms engulf you from behind.

At first, you don’t believe it. It feels unreal, although it is all you have ever wanted. All you could remember wanting since he had left you.

His eyes met yours in the pristine water below you and your heart leapt in your chest. It smelled like him, looked like him, and even felt like him. The familiar arms he held you in, day and night, day to day, night to morning. The whisper of your name was careful against your skin as he pressed your body to his, fingers breaching the thin fabric of your gown. He was still clad in his armor, bronze and firm, and you wonder if it hurts him. 

A kiss is pressed to the side of your neck. He is trying to get you to look at him, to bless him with those beautiful eyes of yours, but you will not. He wonders if you’re mad at him, but one glance at the way you’ve melted into him tells him otherwise. 

“I’m here,” he confirms, pulling away from you and slowly turning you to look at him, “Do you see me, Princess?” 

Of course you see him, you think, but do you really see him?

You have missed him for forever and ever, yet you cannot speak a word to him. You have imagined speaking to him, loving him for days on end, and you cannot say a word. Perhaps it’s the shock, or the sheer bewilderment you feel, but regardless - you are speechless, and rightfully so.

He takes your hand in his, carefully brushing the back of yours with his thumb as he brings it up to his chest. He places it over his bare chest, armor long removed, resting in the place it used to be. Right over his heart, right where his heart thumps in his chest, Where it pounds in his chest, where it lives in his chest. A sign of life that you almost mistake for your imagination, no matter how real he may feel. 

But then, you feel it. You feel it the second you look at him, the second your eyes stare into those beautiful jade green orbs. And you fall. Your tears came quickly, rushing out of you, and it is then that you step forward and wrap your arms tightly around him, ear pressed to his chest. You feel him. You see him. He is real. He is your lover, and he has returned to you.

Eren wastes no time in embracing you just as tightly, if not more. His hands clutch the material of your nightgown, and it brings him down to earth; grounds him like no other. It is a warm feeling, the feeling of recognition, the feeling of familiarity, the feeling of being home. But it is not one that he would ever, ever want to relinquish.

“I love you,” the words fall from both your lips at the same time, desperate to tell the other what you couldn’t just hours prior, “I love you so much.”

He sweeps you right off your feet and right up into his arms, walking you backward to the balcony of which you just left, and standing firmly between your spread legs. He leans forward and engulfs you in a kiss, hands working their way from up your shoulders, where he takes his time in caressing you -- fingertips making sure to hit every groove and smooth in your skin -- down to your waist, thumbing your gown. You fear not for a second that you will fall, for your utmost trust is placed within him. And so, you use the balcony for leverage as he works you, sighing prettily into his mouth while he strokes you. 

His fingers carefully undo your ties, the silk threads sliding off and undone, leaving you bare to the moonlight above you. And, oh glory, is it a sight. Eren pulls away from you, admiring the way you look underneath it. The soft glow of the light hits you well -- the way your chest heaves, rising and falling with slightly labored movements, the way your lips are parted with light breaths from the kissing, the way your hair is splayed perfectly behind you, and you are perfect in that moment.

Your beauty rivals that of Aphrodite, and even then could you give her a long run for her money.

He presses long, open mouthed kisses to your warm skin, leaving behind a beautiful sucking noise as he did so. He moved from shoulder to shoulder, to your collarbone, gently nipped at a few pieces with his teeth, basking in the delightful noises you offered him. Drinking you in like he was ravenous, hungry for your touch, your breath, your everything. For you were his rain on a dry night.

You had just one worry in the midst of it all - the servants. They would come to certainly check on your wellbeing, they usually did so around this time of night. You reached a hand to softly push him off and he looked up at you, eyes full of concern. 

“The servants,” you breathed, but he only shook his head at you. 

“I dismissed them earlier, before I came,” he quelled your worries with a gentle whisper, soft eyes staring right back into yours. “They won’t be back, Princess,” He assured you, and his words washed away any uneasiness you felt prior. It washed over you like a wave, pushing any bad feelings away from the surface - leaving him a clean slate to build on.  

After a nod of confirmation from you and a soft thumb stroke of his cheek, he continues. He realizes how much he has missed you, and it hits him heavier than it did before he returned. It is now, when you are underneath him and those pretty moans and soft cries of his name come from you, that he truly understands the weight of your absence. His absence from you. 

Warm lips kiss from the middle of your collarbone, stopping at the top of your cleavage where they rest for a while. A moment in which Eren is sure to look up at you, to catch your gaze before he continues. Through your half-lidded stare, eyes hazy with want and fervor, you meet him. Eren takes his moment to press a chaste kiss to the top and give a soft bite of love to the raised flesh of your right breast, before taking your nipple in his mouth. His tongue brushes over the pert bud, dipping the center of his tongue to get it right, to make your back arch in that special way. And it does, so beautifully, pressed flush against his front as you sigh into the air, eyes fluttering shut in complete and utter bliss. It is your first time together since he has returned, and it is all about you. Forever about you. 

You call out his name, and he releases your drenched bud with a soft ‘pop’ of his lips, sliding over to the other one. The ends of his hair brush your skin, igniting a trail of goosebumps to follow. Your hand moves from its place on the balcony to rest on his shoulder, softly digging your nails in the flesh of his back. You call out to him again, rocking your hips slowly while he takes his time with you. He is careful, he is gentle, but oh goodness is he a tease. He is leaving you itching, wanting for more, almost so bad that you’re willing to beg, but he would give it all to you. Give it all for you. 

You do not have to ask, he will deliver.

“I love you,” he says to you when he pulls away, his hands flutter down to your thighs and lifts them off the ground and up over his shoulders. He sinks to his knees and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, all while maintaining eye contact with you. He can feel the heat on his face; the warmth of your arousal, your want for him. 

Eren curls his hands around your thigh, holding your legs open for him. And then, he takes you. He licks slowly up your slit, glicking the tip of his tongue over your clit a few times. He laps and laps at you, drinking in your taste and flavor as it simmers on the flat of his tongue. Your moans emerge into the wind, and for a second you wonder if the servants can hear you. You experience a shadow of embarrassment at the pleasureful noises you’re making, for you’re sure they know what you’re up to by now, but it’s pushed out of the way by Eren. He pulls you right out of your head and back to him, and it’s then that you notice that you’ve been unconsciously grinding on his face.

You go to shoot out an apology for your actions, but Eren stops you before you can even say a word. 

“Come for me,” he utters, yet you hear him loud and clear, “Come for me, Princess.” His request is more of a plea, urging for you to unravel beneath him. Your heart flutters at his words, and you comply. His soft spoken words send you falling over, your release washing over you in short and smooth waves while you sigh into the wind. His name falls from your lips over and over, and he continues his actions until you give him a gentle nudge to stop. 

He’s pulled you from beneath the surface of the water, and he’s clutching you carefully, like a seashell on the sand. 

Until he’s ready to dip you back in again.

Eren rises back to his feet, letting your legs fall from his shoulders until he picks them up and curls them around his waist. He is face to face with you again, and you can adore him. The way his eyes shine, brightly with his love for you, the slickness of his lips from devouring you, and the way he tastes when he kisses you -- it is unmatched and unrivalled. It is one like no other.

Your legs are secure around him, holding him tightly and locking in place so he cannot leave. As if he would leave. He whispers a declaration of love for you, one that you’ve heard a million times before but cannot tire of. One that is music to your ears and overpowers any and every other thought you have. Your center of focus is him, and his is you. 

Hands thread through his locks, settling at the base of his scalp. You press them between your fingertips while your forehead rests upon his, gazing into his eyes and drinking him in like an oasis. The sight of him is beautiful. He is beautiful. Your lover, your one and only. You have to admit, war did him well. He was a sight to behold, a vision to see. One you want to treasure.

Your hand falls to where he is hard beneath your touch, running your finger up the length of his bare shaft. He shudders underneath your feather light stroke, and his eyes plead for more. For you to touch him, for you to love him. And you do.

Your hand wraps around it, tugging slowly and steadily. His hips sway with your movement, rocking with every twist and maneuver of your hand, following it perfectly - syncing with the rhythm. His moans are beautiful, you think, and in htat moment you want nothing more to please him, and to show him the same love he showed you. Your hand still rests in his hair, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. Lovingly, you gaze at him. You admire him for what he is while he sits in the heavenly moonlight, keening perfectly for you. You can tell he is close - he knows he is close, but he stops you. A gentle grasp of your wrist stills your hand, and he tells you, “Inside.” 

You nod and retract your hand, allowing him to shift between you and he sits at your entrance, head slipping between your folds. The slick of your core coats it, as trails past, ensuring to brush your clit - one, two, three times, each time eliciting a noise louder than the previous one. 

“Eren,” you sighed his name, and his eyes glimmered with delight. He let out a pleased hum, continuing for just a second longer before he pressed a kiss to your lips in compliance, soaking up the gasp that escaped you once he’d reached it. His right hand cupped the back of your knee and his left perched upon your thigh, eyes focused on you as he entered you. He watched your face contort in pleasure when he did so, and his grip on you never relented. 

He sank into your core, pleasurable keens falling from him, mixing with your similar sounds of delight. You felt wonderful, and so did he. He gave you two slow, short thrusts to further bury himself in you, and his breath fanned your face. He sank in fully, holding still for a moment. Holding still to breathe in this moment, to enjoy the feeling of you after being without you for so long.

Eren remembers the time he was without you - he was out, fighting for war, fighting for peace. One by one, he watched his comrades fall, in front of his very eyes. It was horror on those battlefields, on those streets. He was terrified of the thought of meeting the same fate they did. The same misfortune they did. Throughout his time fighting, throughout his time away, all he thought about was you and how he could not wait to come home. 

And now that he is home, he doesn’t want to leave. Not alone. He doesn’t want to leave without giving you something to remember him by, without starting something with you. Without giving you the family that the two of you had always dreamed of, the one that he promised you he’d return to the night before he left. What you two laid awake in bed talking about, when he kissed your fingertips and honored you with a promise, honored you with his word. He’ll be damned if he goes off without that.

He pushes your body up against the railing of the balcony, still holding your leg open and he pulls out, dragging himself slowly out of your dripping heat, and then pushes back in. You moan, and your eyes fall down to where you connect with him; become one with him. Eren moves his hips with purpose and desire, thrusting steadily in your throbbing heat. He fills you, spreading your walls wide with every thrust, every movement, and you feel that unmistakable flutter in the depths of your belly. He hits it just right, tip fluttering against the spot that had you teetering, hanging just over your release. 

“Eren,” you moaned his name and nearly melted at the look he gave you, “I love you. I love you so so so--Yes!” you babbled, not caring how loud you got or who could hear you. Eren felt your words with his entire being, pleased to know that you felt just as good, if not better than he did. Pleased to know that he was the source.

“I wanna put a baby in you, ‘Rincess,” he tells you, as he picks his other hand up off your thigh, and moves it downward to your slick folds. 

Eren used his thumb to rub your swollen and puffy clit. “Come for me,” He pleaded with you once more, “Come for me, please, Princess.” Two short rubs did it in for you, and a string of pleased cries with his name fell from you as you came. His eyes never left yours as he filled you, and spilling himself deep inside of you.

The comedown was pleasing - the two of you remained like that, holding each other for as long as you possibly could. A thin layer of sweat coated your bodies, but neither of you cared. You were happy to just be in each other’s arms after making peaceful love.

“I want a family with you,” Eren confessed to you, and his confession took you by surprise. “I don’t want to leave again. Not without a family, not without the thing we’ve always dreamed of. You deserve that.”

His moonlit confession.

tagging: @levilaughlove69, @proseofpandemonium, @starstruckkittensweets, @rainteslerrrr, @alrightberries, @redhairedace, @jean-does-not-have-a-horseface, @jaegerbrat, @asterroidd, @imonmylastthreadofsanity, @hexbestfriend, @thethyri