#for the splendid heavens above

[loveliestlovelygirl]

divine temptations | 111

say yes to heaven, say yes to me

fallenangel!anakin x nun!reader | lore 🪽 | playlist

synopsis: anakin, a seraph, has lost himself to his obsession of you. with every moment he can, he watches over you as you attend to your daily duties around the convent. and day by day his desire grows. when your guardian angels fail to protect you, anakin believes he has no choice but to intervene, breaking numerous heavenly laws in the process.

w.c: 2.2k+

highlights: {minors dni} dark content, heavy religious themes and imagery, inspiration taken from catholicism primarily, sexual themes, corruption kink, light sexualization of the reader as a nun, fem!reader & use of she/her pronouns, attempted sexual assault

table of contents | 222

The crux of his obsession began with your voice. Harmonious and pure. Passionate and sweet. The soft vibrato and splendid timbre of your voice could be heard above all the clatter from the realms of Earth. The melodies you sang haunted him from the rise of the sun to the white shadow of the moon. And while he needed not sleep, he found no rest as he smoldered in his selfish desires for you. After he had fulfilled his duties for that day, when he was alone, he remained perched in the Heavens watching over you, drowning in the beauty of your voice, and lusting for your human touch.

His name was Anakin. And day after day he watched you, wishing he could descend to the realm which held your precious life. But that was a boundary that he was forbidden to cross. He was confined to be a guardian of the Heavens, not of Earth. To him, it was a cruel, cruel fate. Watching you from above, lightyears of distance between your realities, was as close to you as he was permitted.

An angel of his status, chosen to protect the thrones of the deity, a seraph, should give no eye to the realms beneath him nor find solace in the voice of human girl. The way that you had captivated him was unnatural and unholy. If anyone found out he entertained himself with you, he might be marked with shame by the highest councils, until he repented publicly. Though he might never obtain such a position as his ever again. As it were, he found himself considering these things, as if shame might be a solution to making contact with you.

He'd prefer to be your guardian angel than a guardian of his own father. He wanted to serve creation rather than its Creator. And that was sin. He could not deny this secret was a source of guilt. And it would not be long before the all-knowing Maker noticed how far from perfection Anakin had fallen.

But he wasn’t afraid of the fall. He wanted to connect with you in a deeper way than this parasocial existence. He wished to be your guardian angel. But you had many. Someone so beloved by the Creator had five guardian angels. And he hated each of them with equal rage.

Hate was dangerous. It was said that hatred lit the path of the fallen. And if it were true, then he had already doomed himself the moment he began desiring you.

He watched you as you prayed in the chapel, kneeling on the bench and making the Sign of the Cross, touching your beautiful skin with your fingertips. Contentment marked your face, and he felt it in your soul. It was only a feeling he had when he listened to your voice pray and sing with such grace and beauty. In your dainty hands, you held the rosary beads and began to say your prayer. Holding the first bead between your fingers, you whispered Our Father to yourself. Day after day you’d repeat the same prayers with equal passion. Your love and faithfulness to the one who gave you life was unmatchable. You had sacrificed much to serve him, cutting off your family and material possessions entirely to live a humble life in the convent. Your prayers never revolved around your desires, only for others. You often prayed for your sisters. Never for yourself. Anakin often wondered if you had any dreams of your own at all. Despite all his abilities, he could not hear your thoughts. He only heard what you said aloud to yourself.

As you worked with your hands in the garden, you often sang psalms of praise when you thought no one was around to listen. You sang softly, the most beautiful melody which would stain his thoughts day and night forever. He would hear you even when you were silent; the barriers of all the heavenly realms echoed with your voice, to his ears never ceasing. But perhaps, it’s only because he desired you so.

His obsession was different than that of men. Though not immune to your divine beauty, his craving for your touch transcended that of sexual pleasure. Sex is something created for humans to enjoy with other humans. His being was never made for intercourse with mankind, and he viewed it as a simple animalistic action. A way to express desire, but to him it was lacking in true passion.

What he felt for you was true desire.

He wanted to consume you.

Corrupt you.

He wanted you to desire him, crave him, lust over him, with every atom of your body and with every piece of your soul. He wanted to see you overturn your religious convictions and worship him instead. He wanted your prayers, your psalms, your whole heart.

Was that too much to ask?

Forbidden was what it was. Sacrilegious even. And enough to get him cast out of the heavenly realms forever.

But the longer he wished for you, the more he thought that it might be worth it. There was nothing he wanted more than you. And only you. He wanted to live out the rest of eternity adored by you. That would be enough.

But you were unaware of his existence. Which awakened rage within him strong enough to tear galaxies apart.

He could see you, but as long as he remained in his dimension, you would never be able to see him or know that he existed. He was forbidden to show you his glory, to share his voice, and to touch your skin. It was never meant to be.

And yet he still found a way to make contact, against all heavenly odds.

You were plucking red apples from the orchard trees close to the road. It wasn’t a common route from the convent to the market, but some used it. Anakin had finally caught a break from the council meetings with the Thrones and Cherubim and sneaked away to see you. He hated that your sisters sent you out alone where you could be harmed.

Your five guardians flitted around you in a circle. He knew that they would do almost everything in their power to keep you safe. Everything except actually physically intervening. For you, there would be no limits in how far Anakin would go to protect you. He would break every earthly and heavenly law.

For you.

And only you.

When you had filled your basket with apples, you climbed down the ladder to rest. You leaned back against the tree and looked up at the sky. If you had eyes to see the other dimensions, you would have been looking right into his eyes. His heart swelled with pride, knowing that you shared a connection, even if you didn’t know it yet.

An older human male was steering a small buggy pulled by two horses. Anakin had been watching him for miles coming down the road. Your guardian angels seemed to be unconcerned about his approach. And they could hear the thoughts of humans, which meant that you were likely safe.

But there was something about that man Anakin didn’t like. Perhaps it was only his proximity to you. He was jealous of anything that was closer to you than he.

You sang to yourself softly, and Anakin drew as near as he were permitted just to listen to your voice.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said to you. He had gotten off his buggy and walked over the road and a stretch of grass to meet you at the tree.

Anakin held himself back somehow, though if he saw fit, he could scorch the man from the inside out until he returned to dust.

You looked up at this stranger standing over you, and instantly, your eyes widened in fear. Anakin assumed it had been a long time since you’d spoken to a man. It was natural for you to be afraid. You thought you were all alone.

Anakin only watched the interaction transpire.

“Thank you,” you said back, your voice trembling.

“Would you sing a song for me?” the man asked.

“I think… that you should leave. This is private land, sir.”

A sane person would have backed away and said his goodbyes, but he didn’t. And Anakin knew instantly that he should have trusted himself to know this man’s intentions for you. This despicable creature kicked the basket from your lap and grabbed you, holding you by the throat against the tree trunk.

Your guardian angels had failed you. All five of them. Were they not paying attention to his evil thoughts? How had they missed them? They held the power to influence the thoughts of men. They could have convinced him to turn away and leave you alone.

But they didn’t.

They were going to let this man defile you.

Anakin watched them scrambling around, trying when it’s too late to change this man’s heart. But they could do nothing to interfere with free will once man had decided.

And Anakin thought that to be a stupid law. One meant to be broken.

With a singular motion of his index finger, Anakin sent lightning from the clouds, lightning that struck this man and stopped his heart. He was burned and scarred instantly and fell back, turning to ash.

You screeched and cried and sobbed, crumbling to your knees in a shaking mess. He wished he could comfort you, but he had already done enough to ruin himself entirely. But it was worth it to keep you safe. This was as close to you as he had ever gotten. The electricity from his lightning bolt just buzzed your skin. And he felt it. He wanted you to feel him in some way.

Your guardians looked up at him all at once with fire in their eyes. Anakin smiled and gave them a wave. They were angry and picked him up. He could not overpower them when they were together.

They carried him to the high council and dropped him in the center of the chamber. Anakin did not need to explain himself; they already knew what had transpired.

“Need we remind you of the law of free will? The law given to humans by our Creator?” the Throne of Reason, Mace, said. His eyes were full of judgment and understanding at the same time.

Anakin picked himself up and stood, stretching out his layers of feathered wings. “I could not stand by and watch her be harmed.”

Mace closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. “You are in dangerous territory, young one. You know that what you did is one of the greatest of sins. To interfere with man’s will—” Mace pressed his lips together, “in such a physical way. Using the Heavens’ power against mankind. Anakin, you killed a man today.”

This was all such a waste of time. He knew what they were going to say. How they would interpret his actions. But why was no one speaking of that human’s sin. Rape. Raping a young maiden. That wasn’t worthy of a discussion? It wasn’t worthy of being mentioned?

“What about him?” Anakin asked defiantly.

Obi-Wan shot him a warning glare from where he sat. Obi-Wan was a cherub, one that was usually too busy attending to the wishes of the Creator to attend the high council. But Anakin did not doubt that his friend’s presence was needed today.

“The human?” Mace did not appreciate the diversion from Anakin’s sin.

“Yes. He was going to hurt her! And they—” Anakin pointed at your guardian angels, his entire being catching fire from his rage, “they weren’t going to intervene in any real way. They failed to listen. If I could hear the thoughts of men, I would have done something before he laid a hand on her.”

“Your obsession with this human is… concerning. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Why are your thoughts on the Earth realms? Need I remind you that your duties are the greatest in all of Heaven?” Mace said.

“But they could have done something!”

Disapprovingly, Mace shook his head. “You can’t know that. Only the Creator does. And it is not your place nor mine to judge men. That is for the Principalities to determine. They enact rightful punishment on humanity. You are not to interfere.”

Obi-Wan spoke up, coming to Anakin’s defense. “He is young. Neither you nor I can say that we haven’t made mistakes.”

“It wasn’t just a mistake. He broke the law. He overstepped his boundaries. He killed a man.”

“In his eyes, he was protecting her.”

Mace sighed. “She does not need him for that.”

Anakin stood there for a long time, drowning in their criticisms. His chest felt heavy, and he couldn’t hear himself think. He couldn’t hear you. All that he could do was worry for you. He knew the human mind could not erase trauma. It would remain with them for good. Tears streamed down his face at the thought of your pain which you did not deserve.

“I don’t need to listen to any of you! You have no authority over me!” Anakin announced without shame. Seraphim were of the highest order.

“I was not the one who called this meeting,” Mace said sympathetically. He looked above.

There was only one who held authority over him.

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[lousypotatoes]

So Dark Up Above

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

90 years ago...

It was now mid-June. Alastor had visited the flower shop every day since Mother's Day, buying different kinds of flowers each day.

Y/N was sweeping the floor when she heard the tiny bell ringing, signaling the arrival of a customer.

"I'll be with you in a second," she said, continuing to sweep, not looking up from the floor.

"Oh, take all the time you need, dear," said a voice. "I can wait."

At the sound of Alastor's voice, Y/N jumped and dropped the broom. This made Alastor laugh.

"Alastor!" she said sternly, picking up the broom. "Don't be scarin' me like that!"

"My apologies, Y/N" he said, still laughing. "I didn't mean to give you such a fright."

"Oh, is that why you didn't say anything when you came in?" she said, a doubtful look on her face.

Alastor didn't answer, instead looking at the different arrays of flowers. "Say, when did you get these Geraniums?"

"Oh," she said, putting money in the cash register. "I got them yesterday soon after you left."

"They're quite the lookers, aren't they?" he said softly.

"Oh, they are," she said, smiling. "Did you know that they hail from South America? They also come in a range of hues from white to lavender and-"

Listening to her rant about Geraniums of all things made something in Alastor's heart stir. Looking over at her, he found it adorable the way her eyes lit up and the way she talked with her hands. Alastor found himself staring and immediately blush started to creep up in his neck. He cleared his throat.

"Apologies for my rantin'," she said sheepishly. "I find the history of flowers rather captivatin', it's real easy for me to get carried away talkin' about them."

"There's no need to apologize, darling," Alastor chuckled. "In fact, I find it rather endearing."

"Oh, your words carry weight, Al," she said, picking up a vase of Geraniums to hide her blush.

"I'm glad you think so,"

It was silent for a few seconds.

"You plannin' on buyin' some flowers," Y/N said playfully said. "Or are you just gonne keep on smooth talkin' me?"

"Oh, right,"

"What do you even do with all the flowers you buy, hm?" she asked, as he picked out a bouquet of Narrowleaf Sunflowers. "That'll be two buck per stem, if you please."

"Sometimes, I present them to my mother," he said, handing Y/N the money. "Other times I adorn my studio with their beauty."

"I'm pleased you're makin' good use outta them," she said. "Y'know, you don't need to pop in here every day."

"I'm aware," he began. "But I enjoy our daily conversations, my dear."

Alastor saying that made butterflies appear in Y/N's stomach. "I do as well, Al," she said.

"I'm mighty curious, darling," he said, propping his elbow up on the counter. "What is your favorite flower?"

"Daisies," she answered immediately. "I know it's boring, but there's somethin' about them that I absolutely love .Why you askin'?"

"Just curious, dear,"

Alastor looked at his watch. "Good heavens, I need to rush if I'm to make it for my 2 o'clock broadcast," he said heading out the door with the bouquet of Narrowleaf Sunflowers. "Will you be phoning into the station tonight?"

"Don't I always?" she smiled, sad see to Alastor leave. "Have a splendid remainder of your day, Alastor."

"You as well, Y/N," he smiled back.

And with that the little bell above the door rang, signaling that he left.

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

Later that night...

"You only have yourself to blame, sweetheart," Y/N said, out of breath. "Had you not strayed from your vows, your husband wouldn't of hired me to kill you."

"Please," the woman sobbed, backed against the back alley wall. "Please don't do this! Just tell him-"

"I'm not tellin' him nothin'," she said, grabbing the woman's throat. "Why do you think I'm in this line of work? I like killin' people. The only reason I'm not doin' this for free is 'cause I also like the money."

"Please," the woman choked out. "Don't do this, I'll do anything."

"Broads like you really piss me off," she said, squeezing the woman's throat tighter. "What's the point of tyin' the knot if you're gonna sleep around with every Tom and Harry you lay your eyes on?"

The woman started thrashing and trying to pull Y/N's fingers off her throat, but she couldn't get out of Y/N's grip.

"Make sure you tell Satan I said hi, sweetheart." she grinned, placing her other hand on the woman's throat.

Suddenly, the woman lifted up her hand and scratched Y/N's cheek, drawing blood with her manicured nails.

Y/N yelped in pain, letting go of the woman with one of her hands. With Y/N distracted, the woman started thrashing a lot more.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Y/N pulled out her gun from under her dress and shot the woman three times in the head.

The woman fell to the ground, blood oozing out of three different places on her face.

Y/N put the gun back under her dress, glaring daggers at the dead woman. She touched the scratch on her face and hissed in pain.

It stung, and it stung a lot.

After she put the body in a dumpster, she walked home as fast as she could, not wanting to draw attention to her cheek.

As soon as she got home, she rushed to the bathroom, putting rubbing alcohol on the scratch to clean it out, and finally putting a bandage it on it.

She sat on her couch, trying to relax. Honey tried to jump up on her lap, failing each time, making Y/N giggle.

After a few moments, she got up turned on the radio and walked over to the phone, dialing the radio station's number.

"You've reached Alastor Altruist!" said a voice that made Y/N smile giddily. "To whom do I have the pleasure speaking to on this lovely night?"

"You're gonna be gettin' tired of my voice, here soon, Al," she giggled.

"Ah, I had a feeling it was you calling," he laughed. "What tune do you fancy, dear?"

"It's been a spell since you've played Singin' In The Rain," she said. "I reckon I wanna listen to that."

"I was hoping you would request that tune," he said. "You'll be hearing it in a jiffy."

"I'm lookin' forward to it,"

"Have a lovely rest of your night, Y/N," he said into the phone. "You keep yourself outta trouble now."

"Trouble usually finds me," she giggled.

With that she hung up, sighing happily.

It had been a real long time since Y/N felt in love. She wanted to cherish every single moment of it and never let it go.

Just as she was about to get ready for bed, the phone rang again.

"This is Y/N, to whom am I speakin' to?" she said, picking up the phone.

"I could never get tired of your voice, dear," Alastor's voice came from the phone, making Y/N jump for the second time that day.

"Alastor!" she cried out. "I told you to stop scarin' me!"

"I apologize, Y/N," he said, laughing. "I didn't mean to give you such a fright.

"Yes you did, don't lie to me,"

"Alright, perhaps I did,"

"How'd you get my number?" she asked curiously.

"A friend of mine prints out the phone books," he said. "I was calling to see if you might wanna grab a drink with me tomorrow evening?"

Y/N had a loss for words. Since the two of them had met, she had imagined going out for drinks with him.

"Uh- yeah, of course," she stuttered. "What time?"

"I could pick you up at 8 o'clock, if that's alright with you?"

"Oh no, that's perfect,"

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Could you give me your address?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "Write this down. It's 2734 Burgundy Street."

"Oh, that's not too far from me," he said "I look forward to see you tomorrow, Y/N." he said softly.

"Yeah, me too."

"Sleep well, my dear.

"You too, Alastor

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

ughhh i absouletly love writing for characters in love, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy

i am so down bad for this man

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

Taglist 💋

@maksdust @trippoverrt @slytherin4ever @lucifers-silhouette @a-small-tyrant @leviwife1

[lz-didyounotice]

Wrong Doctor

This gif do not belong to me.

Heyyyyy! How are you lots? So. This one took longer than expected, liked none of my drafts and ended up with a totally different story than what it once was… But in the end it turned out okay. This one takes place a few months before “An hymne to love”.  Sorry if the writing seems a bit funky.

Froggit-

Warning : english is not my first language. Lots of fluff, mention of kids going missing.

—----------------------------

The night enveloped her in a blanket of light, the moon casting its ethereal glow upon the valley. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, the chill creeping into her back as she stood in this tranquil surrounding. Her hair danced gently in the breeze, her eyes shut, savoring every subtle shift of the wind against her skin.

In that moment, barefoot and grounded, she reveled in the sensation of grass brushing against her, its touch both enchanting and soothing. The wind whispered softly, a silent companion as she indulged in dreams of a life among the stars.

She had intended to linger for hours, captivated by the celestial spectacle above, immersed in the profound silence of the night. Despite the creeping cold, her breath materialized in wisps of white her thoughts, consumed with whimsy, as she attempted to conjure ephemeral clouds with each exhalation, watching them dissipate into the darkness. To an outsider, she would have seemed to hang on a single string of sanity with only the calming movement of her chest and the shelter of her leather jacket for warmth. For her, the onset of winter was a long-awaited embrace, promising transformation as the yellowed fields would soon be blanketed in snow.

Breaking the silence, the faint sound of footsteps approached from behind. The rhythmic rustle of grass grew louder, drawing nearer . She kept her gaze fixed upon the heavens, as though committing every star to memory.

The stranger hesitated to speak, his attention taken by the beautiful figure he now stood next to. Her short, ginger hair glowed under the moonlight, her eyes bathed in a soft, bluish luminescence. As their eyes met, something ignited  within her as she beheld the familiarity of a man she had never expected to see again.

His unruly hair and long trench coat framed a face adorned with dark brown eyes, each holding the mysteries of the universe. A small smile graced her lips as she admired the beauty of his presence.

Breaking the silence, his voice, warm and soothing, punctuated the night. "A splendid night, wouldn't you agree?"

Gazing back at the stars, she could only nod in agreement. “Splendid doesn't begin to describe it,” she murmured. Sensing him gazing away, she inquired, "And what brings a gentleman like yourself out here in the middle of night?"

"I could ask you the same," he countered.

“I find… comfort in this place… Makes me think of home.,” she confessed.

Seemingly intrigued, he pressed further, “And what might be your name ?”

With a soft smile, she adjusted her short hair before responding. “You can call me ‘Sunny’. And you? What shall I call you?”

“I'm the Doctor.”

“The Doctor? Doctor who?” Her inquiry was tinged with playful curiosity, yearning to see the smile she once cherished.

“Just the Doctor,” he replied, a faint grin playing upon his lips.

“I had a friend who went by that name…” she reminisced.

Intrigued, the Doctor couldn't resist probing further. “What happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I had to go somewhere he could not follow…” she replied, truth trapped between her teeth .

“Did you tell him ? About where you were going ?” he inquired gently.

“It was the reason we met in the first place. He knew it would happen eventually. But I don’t think he was prepared for it…” she finally admitted.

The Doctor couldn't help but wonder about what remained unspoken. The possibility of meeting one of his future companions filling his hearts with warmth and curiosity . ‘Sunny’ sounded familiar. He was sure to have met her somewhere before but didn’t want to pry further.

“Anyway, have you seen something strange ‘round here recently ?” he inquired, redirecting the conversation.

“Besides you?” she teased.

“I'm being serious.”

“Well, not far from here lies a small village. There have been reports of missing children in recent weeks. What's most unsettling is that the parents seem to forget they ever had them in the first place.”

“How does one forget their own children?” the Doctor pondered aloud.

“I've wondered the same. And with no one reporting them missing, there's been little effort to find them. It's as though they vanish into thin air,” she explained.

“Now that’s dreadful. At least I know where to search.” the Doctor resolved, turning his full attention to her. “Do you happen to have a vehicle we could use to get to town  ?”

“If you ask so kindly, I might be able to lend a hand too. Come on” she offered with a warm smile, leading the way towards her home.

—----------------------------

Soon, a small cottage came into view, its white walls adorned with creeping vines, a charming composition of rustic brick and verdant foliage. Adjacent to it stood a barn, spacious enough to shelter two vehicles within.

Hurrying to the porch, the ginger-haired woman donned her shoes before darting towards the barn.

“I must warn you, there’s not only vehicles in there.” Finally opening the doors, a sort of large laboratory came into view. Filled with spare parts, prototypes made out of domestic machinery. The Doctor's eyes gleamed with a childlike fascination as he explored each and every invention he could put his hand on. “‘Careful with that, wouldn't want you to blow up anything.” she quipped, her tone lighthearted as she watched him tinker with her modified mixer.

"A bit rubbish, don't you think you could have used a different lens for these? The blast could be fuller." Searching for two helmets, the ginger haired girl tried to not be offended by the Doctor's comments. “I do with what I can find, Doctor. Anyway, most of them are just smaller scale machinery.” Finally finding what she was searching for, she tossed a black one to the timelord. “Catch! I hope you’re not afraid of speed my dear.” 

Looking confused, the doctor examined his helmet, and realized what they would be driving. “Oh- That’s brilliant!”

—----------------------------

Long had it been since she had such a thrilling adventure. Dodging monstrous aliens and unraveling mysteries alongside the Doctor. She even found herself yearning to join him aboard the TARDIS once more. Yet, she knew it was a temptation she couldn't succumb to, lest she alter the course of fate.

As they rode back on her motorbike, she relished the sensation of his arms encircling her, his laughter mingling with the rush of wind. His presence behind her, his warmth seeping through her, felt like a dream she never wanted to end.

Upon returning home, she resolved to embark on a journey of her own—a quest to reunite with her lost lover. But as the Doctor passed by the door, she invited him to share a cup of hot chocolate with her, an offer he accepted with eagerness.

Seated together on the couch, they savored each sip, savoring the fleeting moment of companionship.

“You know, your friend was lucky to have you by his side,” the Doctor remarked, his gaze thoughtful as he sipped his drink.

Smiling softly, she leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “I believe I was the fortunate one. I only wish he could see himself as I see him.”

“And how do you see him?” he inquired earnestly.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“A complete and utter idiot…” she confessed, her tone affectionate as laughter bubbled between them. “But a kind idiot.”

As their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passed between them, as if this moment was meant to be.

"I hope you find him soon. He must miss his companion," the Doctor remarked gently.

“I miss him too,” she whispered, her heart heavy with longing.

—----------------------------

The Tardis was Shimmering. Her to be slightly altered beauty, scratched from previous adventures. She had missed the feeling of  her wood beneath the skin, how comforting it actually was.

Standing outside of the TARDIS door, the Doctor had extended an offer for her to accompany him, albeit temporarily, but as much as she appreciated the offer, she knew her destiny lay elsewhere. 

“Before I go… Though I'm not supposed to know, could you perhaps share your name?” the man requested softly.

“I suppose it won't hurt,” she conceded, stepping closer. “I'm (Y/N).”

“It was a pleasure meeting you (Y/N)” he said with a wistful smile, finally setting foot into the blue box.

“And it was a pleasure to see you again, Doctor,” she replied.

And as the TARDIS vanished from sight, (Y/N) felt her heart swell with determination. She wanted to burst out, claim the very air in her lungs and scream out her farewell. Though tears welled in her eyes, they  weren’t tears of sadness, as hope came through. Hope to be in his arms, reunited with her beloved once again.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

alright next up on the list of ideas to dredge up from the drafts and talk about in more detail is the focus on books in this season, because its driving me around the bend

but because i literally have no answers whatsoever to this, im just going to do a crowley-core #justgirlythings and just ask questions:

ep2 goob (rip) lines: "books are key!" which ok yeah obvious but:

"and see, the big ones can be used as fly swats - and i know what you're thinking, but it's okay, because the beauty part is, it never works!"... hmmmm

but also earlier on, goob asks aziraphale "what [letter] comes after 'K'?", which is 'L', but goob then immediately refers back to his book that he's alphabetising, which is A Tale of Two Cities, and that starts with 'it'...? so why highlight the letter 'L'? (this might be something of nothing but given Book of Life idk could literally have been ANY other letter)

but then we have the rest of the episodes that cascaded from the two things above; first, the book blueprint of the universe in ep1, which AWCW was referring to, but only from page 11 onwards (so what was on pages 1-11?):

ep2: crowley discovering that jane austen wrote books (like, other than it being a comedic point of their conflicting remembrance of her as a person, and gives the "you think you know someone!" foreshadowing, it felt very pointed that crowley learns that she was a writer as well)

ep2 also sees aziraphale looking at a huge tome which, given everything that's going on, seems weird that he'd be randomly consulting? idk what the book is so not doubling down on this... anyone know if ive just missed something obvious?

but also makes a point of consulting the bible after goob recites what god said to job in the bookshop. which, given that he and crowley readily recognise what god says (he even says to crowley, "I most certainly do [remember]"), seems weird that they'd need to consult a book to remind them who job was and his story... could be exposition and for the cool fall-through effect, but possibly felt a bit unneeded. plus, it got aziraphale so absorbed that he totally conked out and missed crowley leaving the shop:

aziraphale writing in his diary at his desk on his bed, lying in his tummy, feet kicking in the air, in ep3:

the magician's pamphlet that not only follows aziraphale's epiphany of realising he's in love with crowley but also literally sets up the opportunity for aziraphale to demonstrate how much he trusts him, and is ultimately used against them in being discovered as (at least) being traitors to their respective sides:

plus the Hoffman book, and the angel field-guide:

like, oversimplifying, but literally all of ep5 being based on jane austen works

emphasis on muriel wanting to read books in the background of the Showdown going on in ep6, being chucked The Crow Road by crowley, and metatron being weirdly interested in the fact that they're reading it... like, how would he not know what a book is? why is it "excellent", and a "perfectly splendid thing to do"? odd choice of words even if you want them to take over the bookshop:

now this one i can believe is literally just about goob in the shop and that's fine, but again the emphasis on books anyway (and also michael's weirdly strong but conflicting memory? might write a different post about that bc i think michael got got by metatron somewhere along the line):

back to ep2 but fitting to bookend on:

so okay yeah sure, im certain the book of life comes into all of this somewhere (ive posted about it here but im fairly certain it's not what heaven/hell seems to claim it is, and i think only the metatron truly knows that). there's been a lot of emphasis on memory too in this season, but taking that out of the equation a minute, the main things giving me heebie-jeebies is goob's line about using big books as fly swats, and obviously metty-babes' weird reaction to the crow road...

idk where im going with this and ill probably look at this again but all of this was floating around my noggin and i couldn't take it anymore

[stevespookington]

Ted Lasso S3E6, Sunflowers. A friendly match takes the team to Amsterdam, where one night out unlocks truths for many.

Or, from sunflowers to Wilde to Whitman to Van Gogh and back to sunflowers once again.

Her Voice

"Oscar and sunflowers are a valid conjunction because perhaps no figure in history has been associated with a single flower as closely as Oscar Wilde was associated with the sunflower in 1882, when he visited the flower’s native America for the entire year." (Oscar Wilde’s Reception in Kansas and the Sunflower Soirée)

"Manufacturers of household items such as wallpaper, paint, and thread created thousands of business cards depicting Wilde in a variety of poses and postures, typically with sunflowers and lilies, the flowers that became his hallmark — he became known as 'The Sunflower Apostle.'" (The Wilde Woman and the Sunflower Apostle: Oscar Wilde in the United States)

Wilde has been mentioned in relation to Ted Lasso before in this interview with James Lance.

Regarding Oscar Wilde, is there any work of his that you would like to be in, any plays or any of the stories of his or even like a you know biographical thing — anything of his that you would like to to be involved in?

I don’t know — all I know is that the most interesting bit of Oscar Wilde’s material that I’ve read so far is the transcript to the court case, the trial, when he got sentenced. I think his last words were as he was walking out the door, “Is there nothing more I can say,” as he was being shunted downstairs for two years hard labor, which was ultimately kind of a death sentence.

Which is the interview that gave us:

In addition, there is a program of one of Wilde's plays in the Van Gogh Museum.

Theatre programme for Raphaël by Romain Coolus and Salomé by Oscar Wilde (Théâtre de l'Oeuvre, 11 February 1896) in the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam. In Sunflowers, there will be many truths unlocked.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” ― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

No reporters were invited to witness the meeting between Whitman and Wilde. This was a strange choice for two dandyish men who loved self-promotion, but it was a canny one: they would each give separate interviews afterwards, and double the attention they received. In the two hours they’d spent together, both said they’d had a very pleasant time. “One of the first things I said was that I should call him ‘Oscar,’“ Whitman told a reporter afterwards. “’I like that so much,’ he answered, laying his hand on my knee. He seemed to me like a great big, splendid boy.” When Wilde Met Whitman. (and also, A Wilde and Whitman One Night Stand?)

'"Be Curious, Not Judgmental" ― (Not) Walt Whitman. Quoted by Ted during the dart game in season 1.

All is Truth.

In 1888, Vincent Van Gogh wrote of Whitman in a letter, “He sees in the future, and even in the present, a world of healthy, carnal love, strong and frank- of friendship- of work- under the great starlit vault of heaven a something of which after all one can only call God- and eternity in it’s place above this world.” (Traces of Whitman in Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night”)

Sunflowers, study (F377), Oil on canvas, 21 x 27 cm, Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.

Venus False Sunflower has masses of beautiful yellow daisy flowers with gold eyes at the ends of the stems from early summer to mid fall, which are most effective when planted in groupings. The flowers are excellent for cutting. Its serrated oval leaves remain green in color throughout the season.

Many consider Sundance Kid to be the oldest dwarf sunflower. The small plant reaches a maximum of two feet, and it has semi-double leaves that are red and yellow, with a small brown disc in the middle. Sundance Kid flowers early and is easy to grow. It continues to flower longer than most sunflowers, allowing you to enjoy the beauty they add to your home for a longer time.

“The sunflower is mine in a way.” ― Vincent van Gogh

[tokkias]

The out of order sign taped to the elevator in Lucy’s apartment building was just the cherry on top of her terrible, horrible, no-good day.

Perfect, great, just splendid. This was exactly what she had needed after walking barefoot home in the rain, carrying her broken high heels through the streets after finding her car had been (in her opinion) unfairly towed. Lucy thanked every star that she only lived on the fifth floor, but that was still five flights too many, and her body cried out in aches and pains every step of the way. The throbbing pain in her back refused to let out as she trudged down the hallway to her door, her legs aching in protest until she found a small moment of respite as she leaned against the wall by her front door, rummaging through her bag to look for her keys and-

Oh shit.

She let her shoes clatter to the floor as she desperately searched every nook and pocket to try and find the last thing standing in the way between her and a nice hot shower. In her desperation, she dumped everything onto the ground, well beyond the point of caring if her neighbours gave her weird looks.

Phone. Wallet. Pens. Tampons. Lipstick. Notebook.

No keys.

Lucy couldn’t even recall where she had last seen them. Had she locked them in her apartment? Maybe she had left them at work, or locked them in her car, or god forbid, dropped them on her walk home. Right now, she was simply not capable of the brainpower to think of where she could have lost them; every ounce of her energy being directed into trying her best not to burst into tears.

To save herself some face, she began to gather up her belongings, putting them back in her bag, before she was hit with her first good idea of the day. Natsu had the spare key to her apartment! Any other time she may have been frustrated that she hadn’t simply left her spare under the mat at her front door, but at the moment, she was just taking any win she could. For the first time today, she felt a small rush of joy fill her body; not only would she get back into her apartment, but she would also have an excuse to make Natsu order pizza, or Chinese, or anything that didn’t involve her having to cook for herself. Now, if only her phone weren’t dead.

What was happening to her today? Had she pissed off some sort of deity that she didn’t even know existed? Or was Murphy’s Law just out to get her?

"Stupid Natsu, taking my stupid key," she grumbled, pulling her knees to her chest and letting her forehead fall against them.

"Oi, what’d I do? You were the one who gave me the key." His voice came like an angel from the heavens above, and for a moment, Lucy was almost certain that she was imagining things, but no, there he was, standing in her doorway, and for once, she was thankful that this man had no regard for when it was appropriate to break into his girlfriend’s apartment. She all but threw herself at him, forcing her dead weight upon him while she lazily tossed her arms around his neck, taking in the first good moment of her day.

"Carry me." She demanded, and with a light chuckle, he obliged, hooking his arms around her knees before lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his torso.

"Geez, so bossy," he joked, earning him a weak smack from his woeful girlfriend, who was much more preoccupied with shoving her face as far into his collarbone as she physically could.

Careful not to drop her, Natsu kicked her shoes and bag through the doorway, before using his foot to shut the door behind them. Usually he would have taken a moment to tease her just a little more in her misfortune, but her genuinely pathetic looking state advised him against it, instead indulging her request and bringing her over to couch, where he plopped her down, landing with a bounce on the plush surface.

Immediately, Lucy threw her head back, squeezed her eyes shut, and let out a long and unfiltered groan of frustration.

"Rough day?" Natsu asked, dropping down on the couch beside her.

She merely nodded in response, her hands in fists as the bottoms of her palms pressed against her eyes in a futile attempt to keep the tears from coming out.

"The story I’ve been working on for three months just got pulled from underneath me, I spilled coffee on the hard drive that my novel was on, and then when I went to get myself some comfort food from the coffee place downstairs, I left my wallet back in the office!" The tears were running freely down her face, but she didn’t have it in her to care anymore, instead pouring all her effort into airing her day's grievances out to Natsu, who listened intently, sympathetically rubbing his hand on her thigh. "And then my boss called me into his office, and I thought he was finally going to reassign me to a good story, but he just said that my skirt was too short and it was making the guys in the office uncomfortable!"

"Well, if it makes ya feel better, I think your short skirts are great," he quipped, a mischievous grin on his face as he pulled her into his lap and gave her butt a playful squeeze, to which she just rolled her eyes in response before resting her forehead on his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and he planted a kiss on her temple while he rubbed gentle circles on her arms with his thumbs.

It felt good to finally let it all out. It felt even better to have Natsu here to listen. Maybe it was because they had been best friends for years before they started dating, but he somehow always knew just how to make her feel better. Just being around him, being in his arms, made it feel like all the bad things could just melt away into nothing.

"I just want to shower and go to bed," she grumbled into his shoulder.

"Alright," he hummed, giving her no time to react before he lifted her off the couch, eliciting a surprised squeak from her as she frantically wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself up.

Once the initial shock of being swept up into his arms wore off, she relaxed slightly, burying her face into his chest and taking in his comforting scent.

Before she was able to get too comfortable, she felt her feet hit the cool tile floor of the bathroom. She let out a soft whine at the loss of his warmth as he abandoned her to turn on the tap, letting the water warm up for her.

"I’m gonna go get us some towels," he told her, ruffling her hair before making his exit.

As soon as he left, Lucy began to shed her miserable work clothing, tugging her shirt over her head and peeling off her accursed miniskirt that she was sure she would never wear again after today. She let out a sigh of relief as she ditched her bra, freeing herself from the pain of her underwire and the pinching of the straps. After kicking off her panties somewhere to the side, she finally found herself stepping into the shower that she had been dreaming of all day.

She hissed slightly as her skin met the scalding water before pulling herself away from the stream and adjusting the temperature.

"You always turn it up too hot," she pouted when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist, and a chin rest on her shoulder.

"You always turn it too cold," he replied, his lips grazing against the soft skin of her shoulder.

"I’m not about to burn my skin off tonight because you wanted to intrude on my shower," she grumbled back.

She couldn’t bring herself to want to kick him out because after today she really did want his company, shower or not. Her decision was firmly reinforced when she felt his hands roam up her back before resting on her shoulders, where he began to rub his thumbs into the strained muscles.

Lucy sighed in blissful pleasure as his hands worked out all the kinks and aches that had built up in her neck and shoulders over the course of her miserable, pathetic day. His hands were always so warm, and combined with the hot water running across her skin, Lucy finally felt her body relax. Her legs still struggled to hold up her weight, but Natsu was more than happy to hold her up as she leaned back on him. He ran his hands down her arms until they rested lightly on her hips before trailing up her waist to her boobs, where he gave them both a quick squeeze, to which Lucy rolled her eyes in response.

Leaning against him, she tilted her head back, resting the crown of her head against his chest so she could look up at his face. His pink locks, dampened from the water, now fell across his forehead and over his eyes. It had grown longer than she knew he liked, but it was kind of cute in her opinion.

"Can you wash my hair for me?" She asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him, "please?"

With the sweet expression she was giving him and how sad and pathetic she looked when she arrived home, he would be remiss to deny her.

"Sure thing," he murmured, placing a kiss against her forehead before reaching for her shampoo bottle.

It was the same floral-scented stuff she used all the way back in high school when they met, and the smell of it had become synonymous with Lucy in his mind. She would never admit it out loud, but the only reason she had kept using it for so long was because she knew that Natsu liked it. Even before they started dating, he’d bury his face in her hair and let himself be comforted by the all-encompassing scent of his Lucy.

Dispensing a small amount into his hand, Natsu began to massage it into her roots. Lucy hummed in contentment, relishing in the feeling of his fingers working into her scalp as the warm water washed over her body. When she felt his touch leave her, she turned her back to the showerhead to rinse the suds out of her hair, only to be met with Natsu looking down at her with that smile that she had fallen so hard for. She reached up to drag her hands through his hair before resting her arms on his shoulders. Her arms ached in protest, but the pain seemed to be more tolerable with the shower’s warmth soothing her muscles, and the smile of the man standing before her. He couldn’t make all of her pain go away, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to be miserable around him, especially not when he was going out of his way to make her feel better.

"You have so much hair," he commented, running his fingers through it, "it’s real pretty."

Natsu always made it known that she was so much more than her appearance, but hearing him compliment her like that never failed to make her heart flutter. He always knew the right things to say to turn her insides to mush, even without trying.

"Are you going to finish washing it, then?" She asked innocently.

"Damn, bossy, and impatient?" He quipped, a cheeky grin crossing his face.

"I am neither of those things!" Lucy whined, leveraging her arms' position to give him a weak whack on the back of his head.

"I’m just kiddin’," he laughed. "course I’ll finish washing it. I wouldn’t leave ya hanging, Lucy."

Letting her arms drop to her sides, Lucy reached for her conditioner, passing it to Natsu and turning back around to let him run the product through her hair. He dragged his fingers through her golden tresses from scalp to tips, gently tugging out the knots that had formed throughout the day as he applied the conditioner, enjoying the way her hair felt against his skin. When he reached the tips of her hair at her lower back, he made sure to give her butt a squeeze, just for good measure.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, only to be met with a cheeky smile plastered across his face.

"What?" He grinned, "ya got a cute butt."

He gave it a light smack, earning him a half-hearted eyeroll from Lucy as she reached for the soap. She ran it up and down her arms, neck, and torso before giving herself a much-needed rinse down, washing away all the sweat and grime that had built up over the day that was beginning to make her feel disgusting and icky.

"Want me to do your back?" Natsu asked, gesturing to the bar in her hand.

"Yes please," she hummed, passing it to him before pulling her hair over her shoulder to expose her back.

The feeling of his hands across the bare skin of her back sent shivers up her spine in the best way possible. He was thorough with it (because he knew she would complain about it if he wasn’t), and made sure to pay special attention to the muscles he had noticed were tense earlier, rubbing with light pressure that made her groan in bliss.

"Alright, done," he told her, signalling for her to turn around and rinse the suds off of her body.

She tilted her head to let the water run down her hair, eyes closed as she enjoyed the warmth it provided, rinsing the rest of the conditioner out of it and letting the soap lather wash off of her back and down the drain. When her eyes fluttered open to meet his, she gestured for him to pass the bar back to her.

"Okay, your turn," she hummed.

"Huh?" He tilted his head slightly in confusion.

"You washed my back, now I get to wash yours," she replied, "now turn around."

Mildly amused by her random assertiveness, he obliged with her request, letting her scrub down his back, taking her time to feel the ripple of every back muscle under her skin (and, of course, making sure to get her revenge by smacking his butt as she did so). She shuffled out of the way a little, freeing up the stream of water for him to rinse the soap off and finish cleaning himself before they could leave and he could make good on the second part of her request: going to bed.

She stepped out of the shower before him, taking the time he spent washing himself up to dry herself off. He had made sure to grab her favourite, fluffy towels that she saved for special occasions when she felt like pampering herself, and this felt like an appropriate time to use them. Flipping her hair over, she wrapped it tightly in one of them to ensure she wouldn’t be dripping all over the carpet. With the other, she dragged it across her body, letting it soak up the droplets of water that clung to her skin before wrapping it around her chest, tucking one corner under to hold it up and cover her indecency.

Not long after, Natsu had stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel of his own to dry himself off.

"Feeling better?" He asked, to which Lucy responded with a soft nod as she buried her face in his chest. "Now, can ya walk to bed, or am I gonna have to carry you again?"

"Well if you’re offering," she said, looking up at him coyly before stretching out her arms to signal that she did indeed want to be carried again.

She hooked them at the back of his neck as he lifted her up, one arm under her arms and the other under her knees, carrying her like a newlywed bride. With each step, he placed a wet, sloppy kiss on her face, which was met with a cacophony of giggles that he was sure he would never tire of. When he reached her room, he tossed her on her bed, where she landed with a soft bounce, before he threw himself onto the mattress next to her.

Rolling on his side, he pulled her closer to him, and she nestled her face in the crook of his neck. The tips of his fingers ran across her back, tracing random patterns on her soft skin, providing comfort with his touch. It was like all of her woes had been washed away down the drain. Any grievances that she once had no longer held any real estate in her mind, instead being filled only with thoughts of him.

"I love you," she mumbled, her voice muffled from how far she had buried herself in his embrace.

"What was that?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, knowing full well that he could hear exactly what she said, but deciding to humour him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "I said I love you."

"I love you too," he grinned, his teeth bared and eyes squinted slightly, just the way she liked it.

She wrapped an arm around his back, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself be comforted by the gentle rise and fall of it with each breath he took. It reminded her how lucky she was to have someone like Natsu. No, not someone like Natsu; how lucky she was to have her Natsu.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?"

"Being here for me," she replied.

There was no one who knew her better than he did; no one who could make her feel as good, as happy as Natsu. He knew all of her quirks and ticks—all the ways to make her laugh, make her smile. She would spend every day for the rest of her life at his side if he would let her, and she was fairly certain he would too.

"It’s just part of the job description," he joked, "I take care of ya, and then I get to touch your boobs."

"Pervert."

"Yeah, but you like it," he smirked, rolling over and trapping her between his arms so he could look down and admire her.

Her hands tangled through his hair, still damp from their shower, before pulling him down to meet her lips. She smiled into their kiss, letting herself melt against his touch, letting herself melt into him.

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Alastor & Rosie - One Hell of a Team

TW: 18+

Their first murder leaves Alastor and Rosie with a special taste…

The scorching summer sun shone mercilessly down on the Louisiana Country Club, which stood out like a filthy stain in the wasteland of endless farmland and vast countryside. The country club was surrounded by rough, dry meadows and extensive woods.

The heat blazed over the lush green of the golf course. Sprinklers danced and the sun painted glittering rainbows as white golf balls flew through the air and across the grass.

A gentle breeze allowed the mellow grass to sway lazily in the warm wind, while countless bugs buzzed and hummed restlessly in the stifling heat.

The polished windows of the main building reflected the glaring sunlight, while the clear sky stretched above Alastor’s and Rosie's heads and not a single cloud dared to spoil the idyllic picture of pure blue. Even the birds were silent, with only the lively twittering of overzealous crickets interrupting the peace and quiet of the afternoon teatime.

Alastor and Rosie sat in the protective shade of a parasol at a table on the terrace with a cup of tea.

"Hm..." Rosie enthused, lavishly. "Today really is a wonderful day, wouldn't you say, Alastor?" she inquired of her best friend, the gentleman seated opposite her in a white shirt, black bow tie, and round glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Heaven on earth and a pure bliss," Alastor replied serenely, a smile curling his lips. "Care for more tea, my dearest Rosie?"

"Indubitably."

Alastor rose elegantly from his chair, lifted the teapot, and with a gentle hand, poured some more for the lady. The sound of Fats Waller's rich voice and how she sang the lyrics of "Ain't Misbehavin'" spilled from the speakers of the small table radio, sizzling and static-ridden, the rustling melody accompanied by his piano playing.

"I dare to say, the jazz craze is taking over, eh?" Rosie steeped her Assam with sugar cane. Slowly, her spoon stirred in her cup until the crystals dissolved into the dark brew. Sideways, she caught Alastor's grimace at the sight of the huge amount of sugar cane in her tea. "The rhythm, the spontaneity. Quite the bee’s knees. Heard of the new jazz joint downtown? Been there yet?" She rested the spoon on the saucer and brought the porcelain to her lips.

"Jazz, eh? Haven't stepped in yet, but the music and its leading voices quite captivate me." Alastor sipped his own Assam, prefering his tea without sugar. "These country clubs, so buttoned-up, they create their own lost world. Everything there is so... stiff… Jazz on my radio broadcasts could be the cat's pajamas, a real breath of fresh air, or should I say, a blast from Louis Armstrong's trumpet?"

"Alastor, miming the wag for once," Rosie sniggered in amusement. "But you're right. Jazz is the new sound for the escapism this spoiled society craves."

"Absolutely, a splendid escape. Speaking of escape, heard about the party next weekend at the Fitzgeralds’. They’re promising something ‘unprecedented and utterly daring’.” Alastor gestured grandly, then leaned close to Rosies ear, ensuring their chat wouldn’t have an unwanted audience. “I suspect they’re just desperately aim to outdo the Morgans’ bash from last month. Rumor has it, they're planning to introduce the Charleston to the elite. It’ll be quite the spectacle, watching the old guard cutting a rug."

"Oh, the competition never ends, does it? These bashes, tiresome, and becoming more and more of competitions for the biggest show-off. Who can be the most extravagant, be the talk of the town. Like we're all characters in a novel, vying for the most dramatic storyline."

"Indeed." Alastor always had more tea to spill during his outings with Rosie, ever keen on the latest gossip and sharing it with his best friend. "Caught wind of the Robinson debacle? Their latest venture has failed spectacularly. They're practically social pariahs now. It’s all the town can talk about. Seems their stock’s is falling faster than hemlines!"

Rosie waved it off. "Heard, and can't say I'm all wet," she whispered, swiftly glancing all around. "Always too big for their britches… They were always so utterly confident, almost arrogant. Watching their fall from grace is like observing a meticulously planned fireworks display that ends in a fizzle. There’s a certain… satisfaction in it…"

A broad grin graced Alastor’s grimace. "Schadenfreude, my dear friend, which is the word you were looking for, a really snazzy German term. But it’s hard not to indulge when the high and mighty take such a spectacular nosedive. It’s the most entertainment we get around here, apart from my fantastic radio broadcasts."

"Spot-on..." Rosie muttered, downing the last of her Assam. The contents of the teapot were completely bone dry. "Speaking of entertainment," she changed the subject of their conversation. "I was mulling over of hosting a little soirée of my own. Nothing like these grandiose displays, mind you. More intimate, with real jazz musicians. I want to see our peers let their hair down, for once. We’ll have it all—music, dance, and maybe even a bit of bootlegged gin, the hooch to loosen up the stiff collars."

Alastor applauded his hands with zest. "A really splendid idea, my dearest Rosie! Let's show them how it’s done and give them something to jaw about. This time we could be the trendsetters. Just imagine the talk it’ll stir up, us hosting something so… authentic. It’ll be the cat’s pajamas!"

"Exactly my thought, Alastor!" Rosie beamed, her enthusiasm palpable. "High time we spiffed up these gatherings with some genuine fun. Let's put our heads together on it. It'll be our little project, a gem of authenticity in a sea of fakery. We'll be the talk of the town, the big cheese, the darlings of the Jazz Age, flappers and philosophers in equal measure."

Alastor scrutinized, swirling the empty teapot back and forth. "Oh, I'm all in. Let’s shake up this stiff status quo. More tea, or shall we start planning our soirée? After all, rebellion is the greatest form of flattery in these modern times, wouldn’t you agree?"

Dusk painted the grasslands and woodlands of the Louisiana Country Club in the most beautiful colors, a brilliant yellow and a blazing orange. In the last light of the fading sun, the shadows grew. The heat was waning and the staff had already started to close the parasols. The first exterior lights flickered noisily to life, the electricity crackling. A bunch of boys were busily collecting the white golf balls scattered across the green grass.

"I reckon it's time to beat it..." sighed Rosie melancholically as Alastor, ever the thoughtful gentleman, offered his assistance and helped her to stand up. Further planning of the soirée would be postponed until their next outing. "The day's wearing thin and you know how angry Franklin can get if I'm not back before the lights are out..."

"Hm..." Alastor muttered as he handed her her hat and offered her his arm. When Alastor touched her, she winced. "Oh, Rosie..." He read her straight through. "You're a very special kind of actress, but even your smile for your old pal can’t mask the anguish in your eyes." Before Rosie could respond, he had carefully taken her wrist and exposed her arm. Under the silky fabric of her dress, gruesome abrasions, ghastly scratches and deep blue marks appeared on her pale skin. She froze in horror in his hold. "You know I've got no use for your husband," he spoke in a soft voice. His fingertips dragged their comforting circles over her arm. "I don't like the way he treats you and his manners towards a dame are distasteful. I would prefer to make him-"

"Alastor, don't-" Rosie interrupted him in his sentence as she quickly freed herself from his hold and hid the cruel sight of her arm under the fabric of her dress again. She closed her eyes as her fingers clawed into the cloth of his shirt. Her voice fell to a faint whisper. "You know how my father promised me to my husband. It was a business deal and I wasn't given the say or the luxury of complaints." She sighed. "I-It... It's gotten unbearable with him, Alastor. This marriage... it's... suffocating..." The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue. Her voice trembled as her fingernails dug into his flesh. They strolled slowly around the country club building.

"Rosie..." Slowly, the everlasting smile slipped from Alastor's face. "I have known you for years, you are my oldest and closest confidant. I was reluctantly forced to watch you fade into a shadow of yourself in the presence of that abominable man, and I must admit that it pains me greatly to see you so diminished. What he is doing to you is not-"

"Alastor, please pipe down your voice," Rosie pleaded. Nervously, she began to chew on her lower lip and quickly looked all around. "Franklin is a man of high repute, no doubt revered by many, a man above reproach. And I... I am merely his arm candy, the canary with clipped wings and caged in gold, sweating to live up to what society expects of me… I gotta play the dutiful wife, because I am the fool…”

"You can't be justifying his violent behavior towards you!" Alastor objected, full of anger and protest, but also helplessness. "Neither his age nor his wealth, let alone his position as your husband, allow him such a right."

Rosie fought down a harsh sob as teardrops shimmered in the corners of her eyes, threatening to blur her vision. She quickly blinked them away. "What’s to be done, Alastor?" she desperately asked her best friend. "I can't find a way out of this marriage. Filing for divorce and leaving Franklin would cause a scandal and shame... I’d be a marked doll. I probably wouldn't be able to step outside the door again."

"Oh, my dearest Rosie..." Alastor sighed softly. When they reached the waiting car in the driveway, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her before opening the door to the back seat for her and they separated. "I promise you, you're not in this alone. We'll scout out an escape, somehow we'll dig up a way for you," he whispered. "I promise you that you can count on me."

Rosie took a deep breath, wiping the traces of tears from her cheeks. There was a weak smile on her lips, overshadowed by her somber expression and the hopelessness in her eyes. "You are my port in a storm. Thanks, Alastor."

"Sure thing! In case of need, you know who to buzz." He gave her an encouraging smile as he bid her goodbye "I wish you a good night, Rosie."

"Nighty-night, Alastor."

The next night was dreadfully dark.

The starry shape of the moon was missing from the firmament. A black moon ruled over the darkness and the dense clouds drowned out the last light of the stars. Sheer endless stacks of gloomy black clouds smothered the sky. A warm wind blew. Its hideous howling echoed like a dog's whining and wailing between the buildings. In the distance, thunder rumbled sinisterly and glaring flashes of light split the sky, roaring and crashing.

A severe storm was looming on the horizon.

The glaring flashes of lightning shattered the deep darkness of the night as the thunderclap that followed tore Alastor roughly from his peaceful dreamland. He was startled out of his sleep with a strangled shriek as the ceiling above his head trembled. Again and again, the sky was split into thousands of pieces by glaring light, the stars shattered into shards and the earth seemed to shake, while the storm and the wind raged against one another like two wild beasts in battle. Rain roared.

Alastor sighed sorrowfully. He closed his eyes and rubbed his raging temples when suddenly the soft ringing of the telephone from the kitchen reached his ear, the sound muffled by the closed bedroom door. "The phone?" Surprised, he glanced at the clock display on his wall. "Who would...?" he pondered as a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "Rosie!" Filled with fright, Alastor leapt from his bed. His leg tangled in his lay and he didn't take a very glamorous fall onto the hard wooden floor.

"Damn..." Under bated breath and between curses, Alastor pulled himself back onto two legs before sprinting barefoot out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to the phone. He yanked the receiver from its stand. "Rosie?" He listened to the stunned silence on the other end of the line as irritated fingers rubbed the sore spot on his arm from his fall off the bed. He stifled a yawn and tried to keep the sleep out of his voice. "Rosie? What's the matter? It's quite an ungodly hour for a call from you..."

"Alastor?" A strangled whisper broke through the static, her voice trembling. "I-I... I find myself in quite the predicament... I... I fret I've done something dreadfully wrong... Something most unfortunate has happened to my husband. Alastor, y-you must come here immediately..." Rosie's voice broke off.

"What happened?" Alastor was wide awake, frantically rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. "Rosie, I need you to speak to me more clearly. Are you in harm’s way?" The silence and the incessant static on the other end of the line were driving him crazy. "Rosie? Rosie, please talk to me."

"Oh, Alastor... I don't dare over the phone. Could you possibly make your way here?"

He heard her unsteady breaths and heavy sobs through the receiver. "Hang in there, Rosie. Promise me you'll stay up wherever you are, do you hear ? I am getting dressed and making my way out as we speak, please leave the door ajar for me. Whatever happened, we'll deal with it together."

"Please, just make haste, Alastor..."

"I’ll be there posthaste. Please try to stay sane until then, will you?" he promised, when the next moment lightning struck with a roaring thunderclap and the line went dead. He clenched his fists, cursing, and slammed the receiver back into its holder. Alastor had to get to Rosie pronto.

"Rosie!" His voice cracked. Frantically, he strove to shout her name against the crushing silence as he rushed through the heavy front door of the mansion, his boots muddy and his clothes soaked to the bone by the pouring rain. Dark strands of hair hung in his face, the lenses of his glasses were blind and he had armed himself with an axe, just in case.

Alastor strained to hear. "Where are you, Rosie?" The eerie silence seemed almost peaceful as he listened to the rapid, fast-circulating blood rushing through his veins and his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. His knuckles turned white as they clutched the wet handle of the axe tighter.

"Rosie?" whispered Alastor. The dim light of the antique lanterns along the walls flickered nervously. The reddish glow of the rising morning sun fell against the rigid walls of the mansion, creating ominous shadows, dust specks danced bustling in the first sunshine. In the distance, the bells of the church chimed solemnly for the full hour. Faintly, almost tenderly, each of the individual strokes against the dull metal mingled with the bizarrely cheerful chirping of the birds and echoed hauntingly in Alastor's head, while his wheezing breath slowly strangled his throat and filled his lungs with wadding.

"Where are you, Rosie?" His mouth was dry, his hurried footsteps bouncing back from the towering brick walls of the mansion, betraying his panic as his restless gaze twitched back and forth, keeping a careful eye on the shadows.

"H-Here..." Suddenly, the wretched sound of her voice came from the kitchen.

Alastor dashed towards the kitchen.

"Goodness gracious, Rosie! What has happened here?" As Alastor entered the room, he suddenly stepped in something moist. A sticky liquid stained the tips of his boots and the stinging smell of a mixture of iron and salt crept into his nose. The smell of blood clouded his senses as he stood stiff and silent in the red puddle, but then he spotted Rosie.

Her silhouette crouched on the ground with her head down and her shoulders slumped. The gleam of the knife blade in her hands shed an ominous, shimmering glow on the scene. Her husband's body laid amidst shards of glass and a smashed chair.

Alastor took a deep breath, then crossed the pool of blood on the kitchen tiles with steady steps and sat down with his best friend, sighing in sadness. The brass handles of the cupboard doors dug into his spine. "My dear Rosie, let's set the knife aside, shall we?" Carefully, he freed it from her tight grip.

"Oh, Alastor..." her voice whispered weakly, stifled by heavy sobs. "W-What have I done?" Eyes sunken and cheeks wet with tears, she stared stunned at her bloodied hands. "I didn't mean for it to come to this. Oh, Alastor, I had no wish to cause harm and hurt him. My only desire was to protect myself from him but then the things took a dreadful turn…”

"Is he dead?" Alastor demanded to know, his voice low. He rose and stalked over to her husband, his chest rising and falling weakly with rattling breaths. More and more blood oozed from the wounds of his injuries as the pool on the floor grew.

Rosie shook her head swiftly. "I believe he is still drawing breath, albeit faintly. I am filled with fright, Alastor, truly frightened..."

"Hm..." Lost in thought, his boot nudged his body, Franklin tried to stir with a grave groan. "Rosie, listen carefully. We must remain composed now. Taking him to a hospital is out of the question, as it would raise far too many inquiries. Yet, do not fret, we get through this predicament together..."

Rosie looked at her best friend, her eyes wide with fear. "But what shall we do for him, Alastor? If he... if he succumbs, I shall be branded a murderess!"

"Now, now, my dearest Rosie, please do not distress yourself with such thoughts..." Alastor asserted. He got down on his knees next to her husband and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "No one will talk about you as a murderess" he promised her. "No one will ever know what happened here and no one shall cause you harm evermore." An ice-cold smile graced his lips as he stared deep into Franklin's eyes and wrapped his hand around his throat.

Franklin gasped. A mixture of blood and drool gushed from his mouth, snot ran from his nose and spread across his chin. His eyes bulged out of the sockets of his skull as Alastor firmly squeezed his throat. Deep crimson color built in his face, Franklin spat and spluttered blood. Alastor stared him straight in the eyes with a gleaming grin as the last of his life drained from them.

A low laugh escaped Alastor, he smiled in satisfaction, as he rose quickly and kicked the lifeless body on the ground one last time for good measure with the tip of his boot.

Franklin was dead.

"Rosie? Are you all right?" Alastor asked carefully.

"Yes, thanks to you... I am truly grateful, Alastor..." Rosie sniffled. She wiped the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her dress.

"I-I... I cannot fathom what I would have done without you. The fear was overwhelming, yet now you are here, and it seems as though all could be well once more..."

"Indeed, all shall be well," Alastor assured her.

His best friend looked up at him silently as he got down on his knees in front of her, regardless of the pool of blood. He cupped her cheeks with his bloody hands. "What should we do with his body now?" she wanted to know calmly. "I surely cannot bury Franklin in the flower garden. Would that not be the first place they would search?" She scrunched her nose up, still sniffling. "Moreover, I fear his decomposing remains would mar my roses..."

"Hm... Perhaps I am aware of a more covert method to ensure he 'vanishes'..." Alastor murmured, lost in his thoughts as the last tears escaped Rosie's eyes and the salt water mixed with the blood on her cheeks. Carefully, his fingertips wiped over her cheekbones. "Hm," he hummed with delight as he licked his bloody fingertips.

Suddenly the expression in Rosie's eyes changed, her gaze became hungry. Saliva collected in the corner of her mouth as her tongue licked over her lips. Her fingernails dug firmly into Alastor's flesh as her cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and she turned his palm towards her. Then slowly, her tongue began to lick over his bloodied hands.

"Are you still in possession of the recipe for jambalaya I shared with you, the one from my mother, my dearest Rosie?" Alastor asked.

"Yes, but the quantity of meat would be excessive for our consumption," Rosie added with a deep frown. She cast a cursory glance at the calendar on the kitchen wall. "We're lucky!" she said cheerfully. "Fortuitously, the elementary school is slated to host a summer festival this weekend. Franklin was to be the guest of honor, and the committee had requested I contribute a culinary dish or dessert. I had contemplated a cake, but jambalaya might indeed be more fitting."

"That's my brave dame," Alastor stated proudly as he helped his best friend to her feet and pulled her into a tight hug. Arm in arm, they stood embraced on the sill between the cold tiles and the warm pool of blood, dancing in small circles around each other, holding each other still and silent. Their hands found one another and their fingers intertwined. In the middle of the dawn, in the warm glow of the rising sun and the stone floor at their feet, they swayed gently to the music of a song that no one but they would ever hear. They hummed to the melody that the wailing wind sang for them alone. The horrors were forgotten and for the moment the storm completely ceased its rampage. "Now, take deep breaths, Rosie. I am here for you, you are not alone. Gather the pots and pans, and I shall retrieve the necessary tools from the shed."

"Don't we make one hell of a team, Alastor?"

"Indeed, my dearest Rosie!"

[deathlessathanasia]

Hi, I greatly admire your blog and the way you’re so good with not only citing sources but interpreting them too. your views on the gods are some of my favorite. to your knowledge, are these any passages where Zeus interacts with Hekate and Nyx and maybe emphasizes their power?

Aw, thanks for the kind words, anon! They are really appreciated.

Now to answer your question, I don't really know of any texts where Zeus directly interacts with Hekate and only of a few fragments where he directly interacts with Nyx, but there are several references to his relationships with these goddesses where their power and importance is emphasised.

In Hesiod's Theogony, Hekate's powers are greatly praised, and Zeus grants her exceptional honours: „Hecate, whom Zeus son of Cronos Has esteemed above all and given splendid gifts, A share of the earth as her own, and of the barren sea. She has received a province of starry heaven as well, And is most highly esteemed by the deathless gods. For even now when any man upon earth Sacrifices and prays according to ancestral rites, He calls upon Hecate and is greatly blessed If the goddess propitiously receives his prayers, And riches come to him, for she has the power. She has a share of the privileges of all the gods That were ever born of Earth and Heaven. Nor did Cronos’ Son violate or reduce What she had from the earlier gods, the Titans. She keeps what she had in the primeval allotment. Nor does the goddess, since she is an only child, Have any less privilege on earth, sea, or heaven, But all the more, since Zeus privileges her. Whom she will, she greatly aids and advances, And makes preeminent in the assembly, And she sits beside reverend kings in judgment. ... And so although she is her mother’s only child, She is a privileged goddess among the Immortals. And the Son of Cronos made her a nurse of the young Who from that day on saw with their eyes The light of Dawn that sees all.” During this long passage Hesiod also goes on to describe her power to aid warriors, athletes, fishermen, and to increase or diminish the number of livestock as she wishes.

Interestingly, there is no explanation for why Zeus is so generous to Hekate. He does say that he will not strip of honours anyone who joins him against Kronos and that he will give honours to those who had none before, but, unlike with Styx for example, who was greatly honoured by Zeus because she was the first to join him and she brought her children to fight on his side, we are not actually told what Hekate's role was during the Titanomachy and it is clear that she had honours under the regime of Kronos as well.

On the topic of Zeus and Hekate, it is worth mentioning that sometimes she is his daughter by Asteria (according to Mousaios), Demeter (according to Kallimachos and possibly also in Orphic literature X  X), or Hera (according to Sophron). In the Kallimachos fragment it is said that Hekate excells among the gods in might and power and that she was sent by her father in search of Persephone.

As for Nyx, in the Iliad it is claimed that Zeus would not want to offend her. In book XIV, when Hera approaches Hypnos with a request to put Zeus to sleep, he points out that he has done that before and it could have gotten him into serious trouble if not for his mother: „For another time before this your command goaded me on, that day when Heracles, that overbearing son of Zeus, sailed from Ilion, having utterly sacked the city of the Trojans; I did indeed lull to sleep the mind of Zeus who wields the aegis, my sweetness poured about him, but in your heart you planned evils for his son. ... And awakening Zeus raged violently, hurling us gods through his halls, and seeking me above all others; and he would have cast me never to be seen again from the sheer clear air into the sea, had Night, subduer of gods and men, not saved me. Fleeing, I came to her as suppliant, and Zeus checked himself, angry though he was; for he shrank from committing deeds hateful to swift Night.”

This Iliad passage seems to suggest that she was a very powerful and revered deity, which is attested in various traditions that make her one of the oldest beings to ever exist (X).

In one Orphic tradition, Nyx is one of the six rulers of the universe, following Phanes and preceding Ouranos (X). She is called the nurse of the gods and has oracular powers. In relation to Zeus she plays a role similar to that of Gaia in Hesiod, minus the giving birth to a monster he needs to defeat part. According to the Derveni Papyrus, she „proclaimed an oracle about all that was right to him [Zeus] to hear” and told him what to do „so that he may rule on the lovely abode of snowcapped Olympus”. In the various Orphic fragments, Nyx gave him advice about how to subdue his father (X) and (re)create the world (X X X)

[bbiemochi]

hihi! I just came across your blog and it's really cute!! <3 may I request shu itsuki with a gf that has anxiety? like how would he deal with it or try to help? (does that make sense?) tysm in advance and I hope you have a lovely day/night ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 | shu itsuki x reader

[an]: hello there, beautiful! i hope u didn’t wait long~! was kinda relieved when your request came up next XD anyways, tysm for requesting, lovely~! please do enjoy <33

summary: like the hands of any lover would, shu wraps his arms around you in a tight hug as the world felt like disappearing before you both…

pairing: shu itsuki x fem!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff at the end !

warning: anxiety attacks

the feeling that anguishes you over like a flood has once again returned to drown you in complete cold miserly…

shu has took quick notice for this. his eyes has always been set upon your figure like a doll that was bound to fall from the highest shelf, making sure that he’ll catch you in time within his weary arms. the leader of arts too was familiar with the feeling you sorrow from. the agonizing rush of anxiety that flees you over and keeps you distracted by your thoughts.

it was supposed to be a normal day for your date. though how did this hit to you just now? it was perfectly fine at the beginning, like a cold breeze from a sun that shined above the heavens—yet sooner or later, a thunderstorm erupts. you had hard time controlling your emotions when the stares of others land on you like they know every little detail about your personal life.

strangers liked to barge on other people’s business whether they were famous or not. thus why shu disliked comments from his previous concerts and such, he didn’t care if it was fan or not, he hated comments. shu was used to dealing with feelings like these to himself, in fact he didn’t need to worry much about it at all, since he had his own ways of calming himself down. but for you? shu had been dazzling over you for a long time, first a producer in yumenosaki along with anzu as your closest friend to becoming a friendly acquaintance to him and mika. nevertheless, it didn’t take long when shu realizes his fascination over you. it was both his idol partner and kiryu who had helped him out over this ‘distress’ he was feeling whenever he’d see you pass by.

took long for you two to begin dating.

as the relationship progressed like a thread rolling down from a sewing box, shu had soon learned about your discomfort for the gazes of others. he won’t decline—he too had the same feeling. every moment he stepped onto the stage after what happened back during his high school days, the small trauma still lingered onto his skin like a permanent mark. shu knows exactly how you felt, since that feeling that flows through your body like blood had always been stuck to him ever since he was little. and if he were honest, he would rather be struck by a string and become the gods’ personal marionette rather than seeing you, his beloved, in meaningless pain.

with your hands intertwining with him, mouth on his, shu promises between the small wet kisses, that he will make sure your comfort is always present.

the date you two headed out was to a local small theater in which shu finds dazzling to watch during his rest day from idol activities. mika went out to hang out with his best friend, arashi, so shu thought that this would be a splendid opportunity to take you out as well in such a lovely day. the clouds were cast up in the air, looking like the softest cotton candy hanged by trees in the heavens that opened their gates. his outfit, check. looking exquisite as ever before heading out to meet you in your designed spot. shu was a little nervous about this date, yet he knows that’s whenever he’s with you he can calm his composure down in a silent trails of a tranquil atmosphere.

you were there when he arrived. his face shifts into a smile upon landing on your gorgeous figure. beautiful as always. like a doll with no strings attached—he swore that shu hoped you would let him dress you up. not like he was complaining about your sense in fashion, shu wished for you both to have matching outfits sometimes when going on dates—though he’s just too embarrassed to tell you he wanted to. with you smiling back like an angel spreading its wings, shu thought of a song lyric that he can use for his next project for valkyrie. good. you were just like as he thoughts; a song lyric from the most alluring melody the male had ever heard.

your presence lures him. it was like he was completely under an unknown spell that you had casted on him, permanently. not like he was complaining at all, in fact he doesn’t mind. because shu…trusts you. he doesn’t like trusting people. the only people he had ever trusted deeply in his life was mika, kiryu…and kiryu’s mother. he wasn’t the type to spill out about his personal life. yet to you he feel like he could rant out everything. and in exchange, he would love to know more about you. his beloved.

back to the present. your beam waves at him, and he waves back. “sorry, did you wait too long? i had to find a cab that i could ride to bring him here but this road looks completely packed with cars, buses and other transportation. it makes me a little angry.” he spoke to you, nonchalantly. you shook your head, “no it’s good…! i didn’t wait long, i only arrived here a minute ago. and i agree, i heard that there’s going to be a new construction project at the end of the road from there to here, so i won’t be surprised if a traffic happens.”

“predictable. as long as their smelly gas smoke doesn’t ruin any part of my figure then that’ll be alright,” shu replies, and you laughed. he wasn’t even joking around, but your boyfriend can be funny from time to time. as he took a grasp of your hand, shu looks at you with a faint grin—looking more like the shu itsuki than you ever knew. “now, shall we take our leave? the opera’s about to begin soon.”

“o-oh…! sure…” your grip around his palm tightened. you were sure you used the right lotion and moisturizer for your hands to make it soft and not sweat far too much—just in case something like this happens~

the both of you headed off straight where the theatre would be showing in about an hour. you two were still early for the show, so you scrolled around the area for a while to take a good look at small stores, stalls, and such that had wiped your attention towards to. there was even a doll shop that shu finds interesting to visit (of course). he wasn’t carrying mademoiselle at the moment, so there was this instinct inside you that tells there’s a hundred percent chance shu would go absolutely awe at this shop. and your prediction was correct. this was very likely to happen anyways.

a few more minutes until the theatre begins at the day. you and shu found a nearby bus to take a ride at on your way to the targeted destination, and throughout the ride did you both chatted a lot. shu never took his eyes off you, nor did you take your eyes off him. it was a balanced love fortune that had stumbled you two together. however, there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship. a flaw must be erupted out of nowhere that may wreck it somehow. and as for someone like shu who is known throughout the idol industry as the leader of valkyrie, the main weapon of wreckage is their rumoring.

during your ride at the bus while shu was busy talking to you, chatter about the recent events that occurred early in the morning—you could hear whispers from behind of your seat. and not just behind, yet also at the front and sides. that’s when it hit you. the rush of the feeling you never ever wanted to feel when going out…although you just couldn’t help it. it was difficult to control these…types of emotions that you’re used to feeling all the time. you could feel everyone’s eyes on the bus watching you, and you gulped a lump down your throat, sheepishly. was this ride going to take long? you prayed to whatever existed not to. you wanted to get out soon…or now. right now would’ve been a whole lot better just…not too long.

make it stop. god, you’re shaking. do they know who you are?

“is that shu itsuki from the ensemble square idol building?”

“yeah, from valkyrie i remember…”

“woah, it is him.”

“but wait, who’s that girl beside him? a girlfriend you think?”

“eh? i thought idols weren’t allowed to get girlfriends or have a significant other while working as an idol.”

“she looks plain, though.”

“bahaha..! hey, don’t be mean…!”

“hey we should take a pic and post it on twitter! i bet it’ll get thousands of likes considering it’s an idol…!”

“nah, we’re not that mean now, are we?”

“you’re gonna cause some trouble, hey—

“y/n? are you listening?”

you turned your head up upon hearing your beloved’s voice swoon back to your thoughts. your breath shaken a little, and shu was quick to notice this at heart. he remembers small little details like this, and it can’t help but make your heart beat faster than before. “hey are you alright?”

“y-yeah…! sorry, just…got taken back a little there…” you erupted, and your pressure on the grip of his hand tightened. shu knows you were shaking and…feeling anxious at the moment. after all, you two are in a public bus, what was he supposed to expect? reassuringly, your boyfriend rubs his thumb on your palm along with a kiss on your forehead—calming you down as the chatter from behind stopped and stayed dead silent, the noises of the bus’ engine running being the only sound audible.

you looked over to shu who looked at the window, still rubbing your hand in a soft manner. “ignore them…” he whispers, and your eyes went wide a little. so he did heard them, figures. not surprising. he didn’t even dare to look you in the eye, you bet his face was red. though you didn’t mind if he looked away, he was already adorable at the state like this. flustered and…all of it, he was cute like this nonetheless.

there was silence between you both. but the atmosphere was indeed romantic. you never realized at the end of your date, you both never let go at one another. nor did you feel anxious anymore throughout the trip. beneath the lamppost that shined like the brightest night, shu kisses you with the best passionate aura given off to him. and let’s just say you stayed at his place for the night.

shu itsuki really is a caring person. despite everything’s that has happened to him.

a/n: sorry if this was short i’m really in a hurry to finish all my request! ToT but i hope you liked it, anon!

requests: closed :((

[persephoneflouwers]

Angels fly, BUT ALL THE LINES ARE PSYCHOLOGICAL/PHILOSOPHICAL APPROACHES

If every star is an eye in the sky, You'll see angels fly

This curious post was born because the first time I listened to this song I remembered the anecdote a certain Plato tells in his books: Tales the philosopher used to fall on the ground because he spent so much time looking at the sky and studying it instead of watching where he was going. This was the beginning of the proverbial “having the head in the clouds” and worked to stereotype philosophers as the distracted clumsy always in their own world kinda people. It was only later at night that this super-weird post was written. I had fun ngl!

Nothing really matters, nothing really hurts

Moderate existential Nihilism, according to which life is without intrinsic value, meaning, or purpose. Kinda surprising coming from Louis (!!!) but that should say a lot about the album from the title straight to the last note of the last song. Ah! Louis, Louis.

We can't talk about it, It'll only make it worse. There's a time for saying who did what, Where it went wrong

Critique of practical reason: now you can believe it or not but the closure to this book is literally “two things fill my mind with ever increasing wonder and awe: the starry heaven above me and the moral law within me.” And only that is a reason to gasp! The mention of sky and stars AND what’s right and wrong in the same sentence? Wild! Anyway it’s a lot, but it’s quite fun to find these references. I guess Kant would be at least intrigued by the line “there’s time for saying where it we t wrong”… both the concept of time (read below) and the inevitability of making mistakes in humans agenda make this verse a splendid gem in my eyes.

I wanna hear all that, but right now All I need you to know is You'll be okay, we can talk tomorrow + One single word, it could wait till the morning

Apology of emotional procrastination: this is what I just made up because I own procrastination as a lifestyle. In a way, he’s trying to prioritise the moments and even though talking is actually a good way to learn and grow, it is also something he can postpone.

I'm on my way with some time to borrow + I'll knock on your door, it'll save me from calling

Authenticity of time: I could genuinely write en entire essay on the concept of Time in Louis’ songwriting and in Philosophy. They all wondered what time is, how we perceive it, what we can do with it. I could give you just a few names (Aristoteles, Eistein, Hegel, Nietzsche), but my favourite one will be Bergson. He talked about the interior time, non-dividable and non-ripeatable, stocked in our conscience, in which the various moments interpenetrate each other without interruption.

Look at the horizon, Just to make you feel small?

Subversion of metaphysical solipsism: big words, strong words even. But he’s basically saying the world is bigger than me (lol) and you’re not in this alone. You don’t exist on your own. It’s cool, but also sort of an impasse bc yeah world has bigger problems, but that doesn’t mean you can’t struggle for your own shit yk?

Put the pain in my heart till now, You don't need anymore

A simple Epicurean philosophy 🎶: aponia!! and ataraxia!! We going deep lol You don’t need the pain duh put it away now. He’s so cute tho to store the pain in his heart and make it easier for the other person, but it’s an interesting take as obvious as it sounds. You can’t the pain along with you if you want to heal. Easier to say than to be done.

[lynswriting]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

aziraphale has a nightmare.

contains: 2191 words, canon divergence/fix-it (s2 ending didn’t happen), hurt/comfort, nightmares.

ao3

a/n: i apologize if anything is ooc, this is my first gomens fic (+ my first finished fic in a hot minute). i hope you enjoy <3

requests are open! check my pinned post for more info!

At 3:13 in the morning on a rainy Saturday night, Aziraphale is asleep in his bed. His limbs are a tangled mess with his partner, Crowley’s. Their duvet is halfway to the floor, and the throw pillows are already there. The ambiance of London’s Soho at this hour is nothing but rain pattering, light wind, and the occasional car. Every door and window of the flat above Aziraphale’s bookshop the couple shares is locked practically and with miracles. They are completely and utterly safe.

Aziraphale doesn’t know this. His body is present, but his brain believes he’s somewhere much worse.

He’s having a nightmare. His very first one, as a matter of fact. 

He began sleeping a few weeks before this dreadful night. At first, sleeping was an excuse for him to lay in bed with Crowley instead of reading through the long nights like he usually did. After some time, though, Aziraphale began to see the appeal of sleep itself. Who wouldn’t want to escape their thoughts for a few hours? It was a break he hadn’t realized he needed, and he’d assumed angels didn’t dream in any capacity, so he foresaw no issues.

He was, regrettably, incorrect. In fact, the nightmares of supernatural beings tend to be significantly worse than humans, which is just lovely for Aziraphale. Truly splendid.

As the angel lays in bed, his arm hooked around Crowley’s side and his pillow crooked under his head, the nightmare begins.

The first thing Aziraphale notices is the cold. It is bitter and harsh against his skin, and his robes scarcely protect him from it. They’re the same ones he donned in his earliest, starry-eyed days. He’s standing on a cliff overlooking the deepest valley he’s ever seen. Darkness shrouds what should be the bottom, leaving him wondering if it is endless. The thought makes his blood run cold. The sky is piercingly white. Aziraphale looks up and immediately winces. The brightness makes his head throb within milliseconds of seeing it. He turns his gaze back down and screws his eyes shut to get rid of the ache.

The worst part of all this is that he is completely alone. As far as Aziraphale can see, there is no one else around. Just the expanse of the cliff, the sky, and the valley below. 

And yet, he has the chilling sensation that he is being watched. It’s a stronger feeling than when Heaven was constantly overseeing him. It’s as if there’s a presence, lurking somewhere he cannot see, but with an aura so threatening he feels it in his bones.

He doesn’t remember how he got here, how long he’s been here, or why he’s still here. He figures the best thing to do is to ask.

“...Hello?” he says into the air. “Is, er, anyone around? I’m a little bit confused about how I got into this, um, situation.” He chuckles, devoid of humor and full of nervousness.

Suddenly, wind begins to howl from the valley. It only deepens the terrible cold. Aziraphale hugs his torso with his shaking arms in a poor attempt to conserve body warmth. The wind continues to blow, pulling icy tears from the angel’s eyes. The sound of the gusts is nearly deafening. Aziraphale is violently shaking, and a scream is about to rip from his throat when, just as suddenly as it came, the wind halts. It doesn’t fade away, just randomly ends. Aziraphale straightens up, much more confused than before.

And then, someone speaks. The wind must have been announcing it- rather dramatic, if you ask Aziraphale.

The voice must be from whoever- or whatever- is watching him. It’s so loud that the ground beneath the angel shakes, but it remains invisible.

“THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT, AZIRAPHALE.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches. He shakily inhales and replies, soft and meek, “For what?”

The voice begins to cackle. It drips with cruelty and is disgustingly mocking as if that was the silliest question in the world. Aziraphale grimaces. It goes on, and on, until it cuts off with a menacing sigh.

“YOU HAVE FAILED.”

Aziraphale wants to ask how so, but he feels frozen. The shouting continues.

“YOU WERE PUT ON THIS EARTH FOR ONE THING, AND THAT WAS TO BE AN ANGEL. AND YET, YOU CARE FOR HUMANITY MORE THAN HEAVEN. YOU CARE FOR THE ENEMY, A BLASTED DEMON, MORE THAN HEAVEN! DID YOU TRULY THINK CONSORTING WITH A DEMON AND ACTING LIKE YOU BELONG ON EARTH WOULD END UP ALRIGHT FOR YOU?”

Only when the voice pauses does Aziraphale notice the tears pooling in his eyes. He hastily swipes them away, but the pit that has formed in his stomach will not budge.

“AZIRAPHALE. DID YOU?” 

He swallows. Hard.

“...No.”

“THEN WHY HAVE YOU NEVER STOPPED? NEVER EVEN THOUGHT TO STOP, TO RETURN TO THE LIGHT?”

Aziraphale has no reply for that.

His greatest fear is falling. It always has been. The mere thought of it makes him nauseous. But it’s not like this voice is wrong. He does care about the Earth, doesn’t he? And he has no desire to return to Heaven. He’s okay with being the renegade if he gets to live on this beautiful planet with the love of his life by his side, demon or otherwise. But does that, in turn, make him want to fall? Is he demonic?

“YOUR MOST FRUSTRATING BLUNDER,” the voice snaps Aziraphale back to attention, “IS ALL OF YOUR QUESTIONING.”

Aziraphale sharply inhales. 

“YOU ASK WHY THE WORLD IS HOW IT IS. WHY HEAVEN IS HOW IT IS. ARE YOU TRYING TO QUESTION GOD’S WILL? ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY IT IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT?

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say no, of course not , but wouldn’t that be lying? He asks a lot of questions these days.

“YOU NEVER LEARN. ANGELS ARE SUPPOSED TO LISTEN. TO FOLLOW ORDERS. AND YOU, YOU TALK AND YOU WONDER AND YOU ACT LIKE A HUMAN.”

Aziraphale tries not to think about how those are some of the greatest joys in his life. 

“DON’T YOU REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS TO ANGELS WHO ASK QUESTIONS?”

“I-” Aziraphale begins, about to say no, when he stops, realizes, and suddenly feels incredibly nauseous. 

From the pit beneath the cliff, something begins to scream. Some one . Resounding sobs cut through horrified shrieks, clearly in agonizing pain, and Aziraphale is stunned at how familiar it is until he realizes why.

It’s Crowley. Not pre-fall, or post-fall, but as it is happening. Maybe it’s not how he really sounded, but if not, it’s terrifyingly accurate.

Aziraphale looks up at the sky. He squeezes his eyes shut but does not look down. He needs to have a word with the voice torturing him, and he assumes it’s coming from up there, and that up there is Heaven. Only an angel could cut this deep.

He wants to scream but can only whisper. “Please,” it comes out so soft, so broken, “let me go. I will do better, I swear, I don’t want to fall-”

His mouth is clamped shut. It is not by his own will.

“IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT,” the voice delivers its final blow.

Something is controlling Aziraphale’s body, and it’s not him. His head jerks away from the sky, his eyes are peeled open, and something nudges his back. He stumbles closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Wha-” he breathes out in shock. He’s pushed again. “Why- stop, please. I-” Again. His legs begin to tremble. “Please, I’ll- you can’t-” Again. His toes are off the cliff, hovering above the void below. Again. Something in his gut tells him this won’t just discorporate him. “Please, just, stop this, I-” He’s going to die.

He feels the pressure on his back again. His foot slips, and he’s falling, the fear shoots through his body and everything hurts and he’s falling and the ground isn’t underneath him and he’s falling and he’s falling he’s falling he’s-

He wakes up.

He’s sitting up before he’s even fully conscious. A sound escapes his throat, something between a scream and a sob. The darkness filling the room only makes things worse, but he’s too tired for miracles and too disoriented to reach for his lamp. He stares into the blackness as his head spins.

You’re fine , what’s left of his rationality tries to remind him. That wasn’t real. You’re fine.

He doesn’t feel fine. He’s still horrified . He’s felt fear many times in his life, but he hasn’t been afraid like that in a long, long time. Is that what it would be like? To fall? Was that horrible voice telling the truth? It was in some ways. Maybe it was right. Maybe he deserves to fall, to suffer a torment like what he just dreamed of. Nightmares couldn’t be very holy. Why was he, an angel, having them? It has to be a sign. He deserves for that to be real after all he's done. He deserves to suffer, to hurt, to fall-

“Angel, can you hear me?”

A voice pierces through his spiraling, but this time, it’s not the harsh roar of what haunted his dream. This voice is gentle and familiar, yet so concerned.

Crowley’s awake now, with his hands in Aziraphale’s and his brows downturned with worry. Aziraphale nods. He straightens up a bit, as he’s always hated to be seen in disarray like this. Crowley frowns and rubs his hands with his thumbs.

“You’re shaking, love. What’s going on?” he asks quietly.

Aziraphale clears his throat and draws in a long breath. Crowley waits, ever patient, until he exhales and speaks.

“Just had a bad dream, dear. I’m alright.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Something about Crowley’s tone, the way Aziraphale can almost hear his heart breaking, breaks every wall Aziraphale had put up. The dam behind his eyes is breached by his tears, and Crowley instantly hugs him close, one hand rubbing his back and the other resting in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. 

Neither knows how long they sit like that. Time doesn’t matter then, as Crowley whispers assurances of it’s okay and you’re safe into the weeping angel’s ear. The cries can’t just be from this nightmare, both are sure of that. When you’re an angel, expected to uphold every difficulty under the sun with no complaint, you let your emotions bottle up. This is Aziraphale’s way of uncorking the bottle Eventually, though, his body runs out of tears, and birds begin to chirp outside. Crowley clears his throat.

“I’m so sorry, angel. If I had known…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Known what?” Aziraphale replies hoarsely. “How could you have stopped that?”

“I…I couldn’t have, I just…hmph.” The demon pauses. He peels away from the angel to look into his eyes and cup his cheek with his hand.

“I didn’t know that you could even get nightmares,” he admits.

“Neither did I.”

“But…I dunno, some demonic energy is probably radiating off me or something. If it weren’t for me here, you wouldn’t…I don’t know.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers, almost bewildered. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing you could have done to stop that.”

Crowley accepts defeat to his self-deprecation and weakly nods. He wraps his arms behind Aziraphale’s neck and presses their foreheads together. The touch is warm. It feels like home.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done either,” Crowley reminds the angel, who is just as insecure as him. 

They sit in content silence for a few moments before Aziraphale speaks. He hates to ruin the moment but cannot get one thing off his mind.

“What if that happens again?” Crowley moves back to look at him. “Another nightmare?” Aziraphale nods, and his next words come out faster than he can control them. “I feel so childish, for worrying about bad dreams, but it…it felt like all of my fears combined.” His voice begins to shake. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

Crowley presses a kiss to his forehead. “First of all,” he begins once he pulls back, “it’s not childish at all. You don’t have to explain it to me, but I’m sure it was fuckin’ terrifying. They always are. And second, no matter how many times it happens, I’ll be here. And if they get so bad you don’t want to keep sleeping, I’ll stay up with you. Whatever makes you feel better, my love. Okay?”

Aziraphale thought he ran out of tears, but he is nothing if not a happy cryer, so he sniffles. Crowley laughs and wipes them from his cheeks before pulling him in for a kiss.

Maybe Aziraphale’s fear of falling will linger with him forevermore. Maybe he’ll wake up screaming more often than not. Maybe he’ll never sleep again.

It won’t matter. Not to Crowley. He’ll stay by his side for as long as they live, even if that’s forever. If Aziraphale needs him, even if it’s three in the morning, he’ll be there. Always. And that love, that dedication, will carry them through anything that tries to tear them apart.

It’s funny, an angel and a demon with such an unbreakable bond, but it’s the strongest in the universe. Literally.

They’ll be okay.

[brazenlystrong]

“ Your smile is a whole afternoon , ”

@cowboynanami

On the day of the date he is but a smitten man, the excitement and adoration he feels for Nanami has taken over his mind and rendered him as light as a feather, floating on cloud nine. He doesn’t realize that he is skipping around the rooms of his apartment like a frolicking child in a green meadow under the warm rays of the morning sun peaking at the far horizon. His infinity elevates him by increasing the space of each leap his feet make, making him look as though he is bouncing off on an invisible trampoline. Way past the crush phase, his heart is fluttering in his chest like the colorful wings of a butterfly, bringing the hues of the rainbow to life.

Gojo stands in front of a mirror wearing a designer suit, the neat fabric complementing every curve of his slim-athletic shape. He adjusts the collar of his black lurex shirt with silver Drako embroidery and matching blue lurex tie and handkerchief. He wants to look good for Nanami, not just for himself. He used to perceive fashion as something that is only for one’s own self-esteem. As it should be— however… when one is bonded, heart and soul, with another, they also begin to want to look dashing in their lover's eyes. It’s no longer just ‘I’, but ‘you and I’. They are a duo, a match made in heaven.

He brings a hair comb through the snow-white strands of his hair, neatly brushing them out for a light slicked-back look. He adds hair gel afterward to secure the hairstyle he’s going for. Gojo slips on a Rolex and exits the room to scoop his keys from the kitchen counter. Nanami hasn’t left his mind even for a second. Satoru’s attention is split as he’s multi-tasking on autopilot. How much he wants to feel Kento’s body against his own in a close embrace, inhaling his intoxicating scent and cologne, basking in his touch... The world stops on its axis whenever his gaze meets Nanami’s, like the moment is theirs now. The environment is a blur, the sky sending heaven-bound skyways to cast their light above them. Soon… His fingers envelope around a bouquet of beautiful red roses as he carefully takes them out of a vase. Lastly, he steps into his newly polished Oxfords, getting ready to exit the apartment building.

Making way into the garage, with the press of a button the headlights of one of his exorbitant cars flickers to indicate it was unlocked. He sits inside the driver’s seat and places the seatbelt on before starting the car. Within minutes he’s on the road, on his way to pick up Nanami. The luminous panorama of the city comes into view through the car window, the lights reflecting in the lenses of Gojo’s glasses. The motor is in splendid electric silence, the vehicle moving smoothly as though it glides on water. Eventually, he reaches his destination and rings up Nanami to let him know he’s waiting outside.

His heartbeat maintains a relaxed rhythm until the sight of Nanami emerges, and then its tempo increases, and his brain becomes flooded with serotonin. His smile then is one of growing joy akin to a flower blooming in a spring garden. It comes from deep inside to further brighten his cerulean eyes. He unbuckles his seatbelt, reaches for the bouquet, and gets out of the car to greet Nanami. As he’d imagined earlier, he throws his arms in a loop around his beloved’s form. His lips gently flutter against Nanami’s cheek. He makes sure that they don’t accidentally squish the roses by holding them outwards in his hand. He steps back afterward to gift Kento the bouquet.

Nanami’s words only make the smile on his shell-pink grow into a sheepish little grin. His cheeks are kissed in pale pink.

“ Haha, you’re so cheesy, Kento. And I love you for it. ” He softly interlocks their hands together before bringing Nanami’s up to plant a chaste kiss on the knuckles.

[geraldtarrant]

Winter Solstice [1,208 words]

Fandom: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Almea Tarrant/Gerald Tarrant Additional Tags: Winter Solstice, Bittersweet, Yuletide, Yuletide Treat

Written for @theobscurepotato as a Yuletide 2022 treat. Full fic below, also on Ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/43638243

The white doors of Merentha Castle’s great room had been left ajar.

Gerald Tarrant placed a hand on the wood, trembling. Light spilled out the narrow opening alongside children’s voices, silver bright, its pull as strong as a waterfall. He had no place here, nor any right to take comfort in it. Yet with a deep sigh he pushed the carved panels open, and in he walked.

The domed skylight rose above him, and the slanted evening light shimmered down over splendid garlands decked in tinsel and glass. He braced himself for the sight ahead as he approached, knowing already what he’d find: the great Winter Solstice tree—narrow at its base as Ernan tradition dictated, to accommodate presents; its middle lush with leaves and ornaments that shone gold in the fireplace’s warm glow. But he knew that no amount of preparation could shield his soul against that breathtaking moment when he first saw her; not this year, or in any of the years he’d known her.

She was stars and sunshine in her winter holiday gown. Its flowing silk hem hid her feet so that, having climbed up onto a ladder to place the sparkling tip atop the tree, she appeared suspended on air, ethereal like a spirit from the heavens. 

“It’s going to fall on Eric!” 

Tory, the diminutive dark-haired source of the dire warning, was gesturing wildly while jumping up and down to punctuate his words. It was incredible that someone so small could produce that volume of sound, Gerald Tarrant mused, and he felt his face melt helplessly into a smile.

“It is fine where it is,” Eric announced calmly, then lifted his chin proudly, his silver gaze far too perceptive for one so young. “What do you think, Dad?”

He opened his mouth to speak, and then she turned and saw him, and all his thoughts quieted as if sunk under the waters of the deepest sea. “Gerald,” she whispered, beaming, and God of Earth, she was so beautiful he thought his heart would shatter.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, blinking to keep his sight from blurring. 

All of a sudden she put a hand on her rounded belly, gasping, and he stepped forward in unthinking worry. “I wish you’d let me help, in your condition,” he said, “if you must insist on giving the servants this night off.” Because of course she had done so, as she always did, so that they could spend this time with their own families. 

“I’ve been through this twice before, Gerald, if you have forgotten,” she chided, though her eyes were bright with her smile. “Have some faith.”

“At least choose a more sensible gown next time.” He placed a hand on the ladder to steady it, eyeing the long tangled cloth around her feet with irrational, instinctive concern.

“You love this gown.”

“Not if it puts you at risk, my love.” That was Eric, in a haughty voice that was a perfect imitation of his father’s, apart from its childlike pitch. Almea’s laughter rang out like chiming bells, followed by Toby’s far less dignified but enthusiastic screams.

“Do more ‘Serious Dad,’ Eric!” Toby demanded—he had always been direct rather than diplomatic—and Gerald Tarrant had to give up any pretense at keeping a straight face as his eldest son pulled himself up to his full six-year-old height and solemnly intoned: “Ignorance is, and has always been, the source of humanity’s greatest fears. Therefore I will now take it upon myself to fight this evil—by finding out what’s in this present!” he finished abruptly, then ducked under the tree with surprising speed, snatched up a wrapped box, and sprinted away with it.

“Wait!” Toby yelled, already running after his brother. “I want to see!” 

And just like that, he was alone with her. He gazed up into her face, marveling at the luxury, drinking his fill of the sight in the way a rescued man marooned at sea gulped his first drink of water. He didn’t quite mean to offer his embrace, but somehow he must have stretched out his arms for her, and she put her own arms sweetly around his neck and let him help her down. She wore only her thin gown and chemise, and her delicate form molded itself softly against his chest, stirring desires he’d thought forgotten.

Gently he put his arms on her shoulders, and made himself take a step back, though even the slight distance felt like a world apart.

“Stay with me,” she said, as he pushed back a strand of silky red hair behind her ear. “Spend the holiday with us. Like you used to, back in the good days.”

“In the good days,” he echoed, long fingers sweeping against her face absently, so very softly. “If only.”

“Why won’t you stay?” Her pleading voice was trembling, though she tried to hide it.

“Because,” he whispered through the tears in his throat, “I know how our story goes, Almea. And it is not a happy one.”

She frowned, puzzled, but when she looked up at him there was hope in her eyes, so much hope. “And so?” she asked him. “Give it a different ending. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all your life? Rewriting our history, against all odds to the contrary.” He shook his head helplessly. God, don’t let me cry, he mouthed silently, and the prayer tasted strange and bitter on his tongue. “Gerald,” his wife said gently; infinitely loving, all too trusting as always. “I know you can do it. I’ve always known it. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Not this one thing,” he whispered, touching his forehead against hers, and he felt a single tear escape from his eyes. He let it run its staining trail down to his lips, for her, heedless of who might see. “I wish I could.”

He kissed her, then. Her lips were pure as cool snow, a single moment’s peace in a world of chaos and pain, and that was what gave him the strength, just barely, to do what he knew he must. 

Keeping the deadly blade out of her sight, he drew his sword with slow care. Then, swiftly and ruthlessly, he let the blazing key to a Banishing flare up in his mind's eye, and watched as the great hall vanished like windswept ashes, along with its light, and its tree, and at the very last Almea, who wasn’t really waiting for him, and wouldn’t ever again.

The sea was dark, with no Earth Fae in sight, and the roar of the waves was drowned out by the inhuman screeching of the constructs that surrounded the Desert Queen like so many hungry leeches. The only illumination came from the icy blue of his own Working, but its glow was enough to keep him anchored as he stared ahead impassively, cold walls in place as his soul thrashed within. 

He could feel Vryce’s inquisitive gaze upon him. Could almost read, through their link, how eager he would have been for Tarrant to trust him with some sort of soul-stripping disclosure. 

As if the priest would understand, or spare him a single drop of unearned compassion. 

As if anyone would. 

[fierysword]

God is no distant lord, dwelling in splendid isolation above the heavens, but love incarnate, born like us of a mother, in order to become a brother to each of us.

Pope Francis

[assassinationclassroom-studyblr]

STUDY/EXAM FOCUSED Assassination Classroom Episodes (Season 1)

TEST TIME (Season 1, Episode 6)

Mid-terms! Of second semester!

Remember your second blades!

"Those who can't wield a second blade, aren't qualified to be assassins!" (Korosensei

Set big goals for yourself! And work for those goals! but don't be disheartened if you don't reach all your goals.

"You gave us everything you had, and at the moment of truth it mattered." (Karma Akabane)

and always remember to overprepare! If you want to ace your tests and exams, you have to know everything there shouldn't be a single blank space

If you don't do well on one test, guess what? You'll get your revenge twofold, on the next test. Keep doing your best!

Definitely an episode to watch if you've just done poorly on a test or exam ( the second half) or are struggling to find a motivation to study for an upcoming evaluation (the second blade speech always gets me)

END OF TERM TIME (Season 1, Episode 15)

this one is filled with studying!

While you won't get the ability to blow up a tentacle, find someway to motivate yourself to do your best (my motivation is buying myself something, like manga)

get people who know a subject (your peers specifically) to help you understand; they can help dumb it down for you and you can speak with them more informally in a comfortable way! I always find that there's less pressure when you ask your classmates instead of a teacher

find a hot smartass to explain shit to you (Gakushu explaining always gets me)

study groups! study groups! study groups! (actually study, don't play around, have your earbuds in but use each other)

more motivation might includes spite studying; whether it's being spiteful towards your parents who say you can't do it, or students with high grades who are assholes (i hate the fact that terrible people get higher grades than me, it's great motivation)

DON'T BE KARMA

"Apply yourself for heavens sake! You can get the best overall score!" (Korosensei to Karma)

"We can both afford to relax!" (Karma) YEAH SURE ONCE YOU HAVE STUDIED (but ofc remember to relax as well, don't burn yourself out)

Korosensei's message on the board: In-Depth Reading for Finals, Slay 'em! (Special Enhanced Lesson)

Get help from your teachers!

Do your best to not underestimate yourself!

CLOSING TIME; FIRST SEMESTER (Season 1, Episode 16)

"Tests are splendid. The knowledge soaked up by those eager minds in preparation may be forgotten once the dust has settled. But c'est la vie. The character building thrill of competition, the privilege of honing ones mind to a fine point, the ecstasy of giving it your all. That's the treasure."

There's a lot of reasons to hate testing and exams; especially for those of us who don't really preform that great with complete memory based stuff but Korosensei's speech about tests always move me. It's a challenge to overcome not a terrible hurtle that shouldn't be involved in education. It makes me appreciate the value of tests a lot more.

the reason Class E did well was because they overstudied, way more than the A Class jerks so remember! Learn as much as you can!

"Akabane's a member of E Class, isn't he? He placed second on the midterms, right below me. Quite an accomplishment for a slacker." (Gakushu Asano)

You can be naturally smart but remember the people who work hard usually win above those who slack (in the end, the slacking catches up to people AHEM AHEM)

"Commendable but not intimidating. You see, I am anything but a slacker." (Gakushu Asano, continued aND proved his point with the results)

"The key to true victory, is learning how not take the game so... seriously." (Karma Akabane before he dropped like 10 spots) NOW he is right in some aspects like you don't have to take everything in your life extremely seriously but your grades and education matter! So do your best! Try hard!

"It doesn't matter how hard your opponent works if you're better than them." (Karma dumbass Akabane) AGAIN! Don't think like this! These are all examples of how not to think! Don't be one of those cocky smart assholes that you use as motivation to be better!

Ok I'd also like to add that the soundtrack behind this scene is so great, which one is it for the life of me I can't find it

The entire Korosensei lecture and speech man I can't type it all up but just all of that plus the Karma/Gakushu comparisons beautiful, chefs kiss, great motivations especially for previously 'gifted' students

be proud of your wins! (as proud as Terasaka and the gang for their home economics win)

ENJOY YOUR SUMMERS!!! You worked hard all semester or throughout the entire year (depends on your schools system) you deserve the rest! Enjoy your hobbies, go out, take breaks, spend time with your family, work on yourself, and study! Don't put it on the backburner just because you're not at school. Polish that second blade!

"Let the assassination classroom summer vacation begin! Time for a little R & R, a little supplemental study, and a lot of killing!"

[divyachamaria]

Delhi in Spring has a charm to it that’s almost poetic. The once melancholy veil of grey that had shrouded the city lifts, revealing skies painted blue, adorned with clouds that look like they’ve been brushed onto the canvas of the heavens by an invisible artist’s hand.

The majestic semal trees stand tall in their splendid glory, their bursts of fiery red blossoms amidst the lush greens resembling flames that light up the earth. Flowers in every conceivable hue unfurl their petals in a celebration of rebirth, their fragrances weaving a tapestry of scents that dance on the night breeze.

Above, the night reclaims its brilliance, with Orion stretching wide across the sky, a sentinel in the vast expanse. It seems as though nature itself conspires to tell tales of wonder and renewal, inviting us into a world where every moment holds the promise of discovery and awe.