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cybernaght · 3 years

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Guardian rewatch: episode 6

Episode 6 jumps us into the case of a disappearing woman, Zhou Weiwei, with the SID team being on the scene, taking the unofficial statement of her fiancé, Ji Xiaobai. While in terms of the actual investigation this case is even thinner than usual, thematically its juicy. It’s musing on the self, and how the self is defined in the eyes of the others; it actually has a grown-up real life take on an unhappy love story, and it can even be read as having pro-immigration connotations. This episode is telling the viewer that one is not entitled to nice things because they are a human from the human world, and there is no sin in wishing to take a chance to move somewhere you can see the sun.

From the very first scene, Zhao Yunlan, who always has been shown as hands-on with the investigation, removes himself from Xiaobai’s flat, claiming that he has to speak to someone. It’s obvious who that someone is; and we see that our Chief is starting to rely on Shen Wei as his consultant way before he ever offers him that job. There is no reason for Yunlan to seek the other man’s help; and yet, he will end up solving with Shen Wei by his side, and purely through Shen Wei’s ample advice.

Left with the worried, grieving fiancé of the missing Weiwei, Guo Chancheng suggests they take a stroll to calm down emotions, bringing himself, the man in question, and Chu Shizhu to his favourite place. He is, once again, being the sweetest, most lovely and considerate human being on this planet; and Chu Shizhu is starting to take his lead, listening, being a calming presence - even going as far as to softly offering Ji Xiaobai a beer.

Hearing the sounds of a magpie, harbinger of good fortune, Guo Changcheng becomes animated, dragging Xiobai up to make a wish out loud. Xiaobai, predictably, wishes for his beloved to come back home, and Xiao Guo gladly repeats this wish, strengthens it with his will. This is where he is in his element: making people better, giving people hope, using his massive heart to help those around him. Guo Changcheng truly is too precious for words.

“Kid. You never make wishes for yourself?”

“I do. When everyone is happy, I am happy as well.”

We see Guo Changcheng’s simple, pure altruism resonating deep within Chu Shizhu, reminding him of his little brother that he lost. Well, I say “little” metaphorically, as the two are twins. That’s right, Guardian has two sets of twins, probably because it does not want to waste its extremely capable main cast. I’m not mad at it.

Later that day, Shen Wei is conversing with a flower Yashou conveniently living on campus. I think she has a name, but I have a habit of calling her Bush Woman, because it’s what she is.

She is animated poorly, but at least she is animated at all: there will be a scene later in the series, in which she is played by a bush, being shaken enthusiastically below the shot. The actual conversation is about a person Shen Wei is looking for: he has received a tip from Butler Wu in the previous episode that one of commanders in the Underworld army had a child. Hoping that that child could give him a clue at to where the next of the Hallows is stored, Shen Wei is now looking for them. Naturally, the child in question is also the missing woman in question, but Shen Wei does not know that yet.

Their conversation is interrupted by Zhao Yunlan being sited on the bike heading towards the university. In the next scene, Zhao Yunlan is shifting uncomfortably at Shen Wei’s office door. Presumably, he has knocked, heard no response, and is just about to give up and go home. This is the moment Shen Wei opens the door from inside, greeting him. Did he teleport into his office so he could talk to Yunlan? Yes, yes he did.

Despite being more than capable of deducing stuff on his own, Chief Zhao brings in the pictures of the disappeared Weiwei to Shen Wei to analyse for clues. We know that Shen Wei is aware that there is no actual legitimate reason for Zhao Yunlan to seek out his help - because Shen Wei states as much, in the nicest way possible. Zhao Yunlan does not actually have a satisfying answer to that, and his response is mostly boiled down to shameless flirting.

And also doing throughly shameless things to a lollipop while maintaining eye contact the whole time. Because why not give our protagonist in the show about brotherhood the most homoerotic character quirk he could possibly have, right?

As Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei continue discussing the case, it becomes more and more clear that they work together marvellously, going as far as finishing each other’s sentences. The body language also suggests that they are very comfortable in each other’s company.

Yunlan, who a few episodes ago would rather sleuth himself than ask people for clues, listens to the advise Shen Wei gives him, internalises it, and eventually uses it to solve this case. Scratch that, actually - he accepts it when Shen Wei pretty much solves the case for him.

Following Shen Wei’s words to the letter, Zhao Yunlan opens the portal into the magic dimension and discovers that there are, in fact, two Weiweis. The woman from the mirror - an Undergrounder, who left to live a normal life, and a human, who hid because she could not stand being unpopular, and now returned out of jealousy for her mirror counterpart’s perfect life.

It’s very hard to not sympathise with the mirror!Weiwei over the human one. All the former wanted was to live, and to love, and to be happy. All the later wants is to have all that without putting in any effort. Human!Weiwei does not truly understand that it takes more than taking to have a relationship, and there is nothing that would allow her to be entitled to happiness that she did not herself create.

Instead, she calls mirror!Wewei a monster, and the later snaps, creating a whirlwind of energy which threatens to destroy everyone in the mirror with her.

Unfortunately for her, one of the people she is threatening to kill is Zhao Yunlan, and we know how Hei Pao Shi feels about Zhao Yunlan’s life being threatened. This man, who does have a soft, squishy heart, and has previously allowed murderous Wang Yike to stay with her lover, all but snarls at mirror!Weiwei as he captures her.

The show treats hers and Xiaobai’s farewell as a true tragedy; it’s genuinely heartbreaking to see them cry, as we are shown flashback of their relationship.

In the past couple of episodes, we have witnessed a huge shift in Shen Wei. He may have been determined to detach himself and march onwards alone a short while ago, but he has also seen the SID being full of kind, righteous individuals; he has been begged to save an Undergrounder’s life; he has been asked for friendly support and advice by Zhao Yunlan, and so he, perhaps unwittingly, allows his Hei Pao Shi persona to soften. As he takes mirror!Weiwei away, he stops to have a little tiny heart to heart with Yunlan, saying that identity of a person lies in their heart rather than what or who they are physically. This is a very Shen Wei thing to say, actually, but it will be a while before Yunlan figures that one thing out. Two things on this scene:

One. The mask really does hide Zhu Yilong’s most prominent features pretty well, and to help the viewer understand how he could have been hiding his identity successfully for what could be months, the camera more often than not shoots Hei Pao Shi from a lower angle, and Shen Wei from the higher angle, or dead on, subtly reshaping the jaw line. It’s clever; as is often often the case with the camera work in this show.

Two. Isn’t it a little bit amusing how this ancient godlike being needs to fill in the paperwork in line of his duty?

As with Shen Wei’s advice earlier on, Zhao Yunlan takes Hei Pao Shi’s one to heart as well, and makes his way to human!Weiwei to make sure Xiaobai knows that she is not at all the woman he fell in love with and wanted to marry. He unearths her greed, jealousy and entitlement in full; in the end, this relationship cannot survive, because how could Xiaobai possibly stay with someone who does not know - someone who even is, in some ways, responsible, for his lover being taken away from him forever? As the couple breaks up, Wang Zheng and Sang Zan’s love song is playing in the background.

During this scene, the infamous “I would like to buy [this coat] for my girlfriend” moment happens.

As we know, he does not have a girlfriend. He may, however, have a boyfriend.

I really like the idea that he buys Shen Wei’s trench coats based on this. I really do. It is nice to see Shen Wei’s style starting to change dramatically as he and Zhao Yunlan become closer, of course, and I want it to be one of those deliberate coded messages Guardian is absolutely astonishing for. But at the same time, this is the jacket Yunlan is remarking on:

It sadly does not look anything like what Shen Wei wears. I will file this under “it’s true because the fandom said so”.

Later, Hei Pao Shi is having a conversation mirror!Weiwei, revealing that he knew her father, and getting a clue he was after. We are getting a lovely extreme close-up of his eyes. While the mask does not stand to scrutiny of close examination - seriously, they could have maybe put actual leafing on it! - I really love this shot.

At home, Zhao Yunlan is talking to Da Qing about his favourite subject, which is Professor Shen, and performing more shameless things to his lollipop while doing so. Brotherhood, my friends. This show it about bro-ther-hood.

Da Qing wonders if his friend has been bewitched by Shen Wei, because it is obvious that Zhao Yunlan does not shut up about the man ever. When asked whether Yunlan would arrest the professor if he were indeed from the Underground, Yunlan responds with a dismissive, almost affronted “He didn’t do anything wrong”. We are to understand, through Da Qing’s reaction, that this is extremely uncharacteristic of Zhao Yunlan to say something like this, and it is entirely reasonable for Da Qing to be concerned. We could extrapolate that Da Qing’s worried because if Shen Wei is dangerous, getting attached to him in such a blatant manner could put Zhao Yunlan’s career and life at a very great risk. So, Da Qing, who knows his friend very well, chooses to press all the correct buttons to kick-start his natural curiosity, and do some investigative work into Shen Wei.

Step one: break into his flat. As you do.

When we saw Shen Wei view the flat prior to moving in, it was shown already furnished, which is not entirely consistent with this tasteful, yet eclectic, furniture. I don’t know about you, but most flats I have rented have been furnished at IKEA. I can’t help but particularly admire his G Plan style mid-century side-board. And the fact that the man owns a gramophone, because of course he does.

Shen Wei’s book collection is wonderfully perplexing. I’m not surprised that he reads in English - he is educated, and Dragon City is explicitly shown as bilingual, seeing as signs and even gravestones are written in English. But choices were made with the selection of titles. Going off the English ones alone Shen Wei owns: three copies of the same book about architecture, a heavy looking tome on interior design, a tattered one on Van Gough, and the only non-fiction English titles in his possession are… Irvin Welsh’s Trainspotting and a novelisation of Rocky? The former is notoriously difficult read as it’s written entirely in the Scottish accent. The later is very difficult to find, as is often the case with unnecessary novelisations. Neither scream “Shen Wei” to me.

Apart from Shen Wei’s obviously fake book collection, we find out that he has some files on the SID. It should be a weird point of contention for Zhao Yunlan, considering that a) he also read Shen Wei’s files; b) he literally broke into the man’s apartment.

While Zhao Yunlan and Da Qing are still nosing around the flat, Shen Wei makes his way home, stilling at his door when he either sees that the lights are on (they won’t when he left), or notes with his Hei Pao Shi sense that someone is inside.

We, in turn, discover that he has sword replicas on his wall. The swords are obviously European, two of them are shorter, arming ones, and the one in the middle is a longsword with a hand and a half grip. All three have round pommels, downturned cross-guards, and the general shape most reminiscent of very Late Middle Ages (I would hazard at a guess and place them around second half of the 15th century). I wish we could have seen Shen Wei fighting with one of those at some point, because they would be wielded in ways very different from his own blade, but alas. The shield, by the way, has no business being hung together with those swords: it’s not only from a wrong era, it’s from a different part of the world entirely; my guess is that it’s a replica of a shield from the Tang dynasty.

Shen Wei senses Zhao Yunlan hiding on the balcony, and bites back a smile. Anyone else would be less happy to find out that their privacy being violated, but he is endeared at is the same way Yunlan was endeared at Shen Wei’s cunning during the prior episode.

After getting back to Zhao Yunlan’s own flat (possibly by waiting for Shen Wei to pretend to fall sleep), Da Qing and Zhao Yunlan move on to step two: contacting the Underground Regent about Shen Wei. Which is not as important a tidbit as finding out that Zhao Yunlan owns a swing.

Then, they move in to step three: the banner.

According to this article, it’s 锦旗, a traditional gift of gratitude. It’s addressed to “Dragon City University, Professor Shen Wei”, but is singed by “Zhao Yunlan”, without mentioning of SID or his position therein, implying that the gift is personal. The message reads “Helping people [is] helping oneself” and “conscience of the industry”. It’s extremely over the top, which both Shen Wei and Chu Shuzhi, tasked with delivering the banner, are aware of.

Shen Wei looks between tentatively amused and politely mortified.

Chu Shuzhi looks like holding this banner is the most excruciating torture he ever had to endure.

The banner, of course, has a hidden camera in it, so that Zhao Yunlan has a 24/7 feed from Shen Wei’s office. As he and Da Qing are watching the gift being hung, Da Qing is teasing Yunlan with Hei Pao Shi, who is surely the wrong man to tease him about.

In the next scene, Zhao Yunlan is at Shen Wei’s workplace again, and we discover from Shen Wei’s unpleasant boss that Li Qian has dropped out after her ordeal with the Longevity Dial.

From the way this is written and shot, I would surmise that Zhao Yunlan does not spring on the professor in a middle of an uncomfortable conversation, but rather has spent some time with him prior to it, volunteering to be moral support. He continues being a good friend by asking Shen Wei why he feels like he has to shoulder all of the world’s weight: it’s surprisingly insightful into a large part of Shen Wei’s personality.

There is little narrative reason for them to have this meeting, so I am choosing to believe that dropping in on Shen Wei randomly during lunch time is a habit Zhao Yunlan has started to form.

Finally, before the episode ends, we are privy to Shen Wei being the most polite, level-headed mugging victim. He hands the muggers his watch and money willingly, waiting for Zhao Yunlan, who is obviously stalking him, to show up and save the day. The muggers, enraged by his cool attitude, decide to shake him up, and, in the last seconds of this episode, the Pendant of Pining appears in shot for the first time.

Next up, episode 7: No, Shen Wei, It Wasn’t The Bears

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Just a quick note to say that I’ll keep those recaps going, but I will have to slow down the pace at which I’m churning them out to one every three to four days. There are some real life things I’ve been neglecting last few weeks that I need to spend my time on; and I’ve also started a new show (Sound of Providence, not Word of Honour - my watching priorities currently lie with Zhu Yilong being awesome). So, if I’m quiet here for a few days, I’m not gone, just a bit busy.

ETA. Realised that I made a booboo when translating the banner. Fixed that now.

#guardian #shen wei #zhao yunlan #weilan #recap #rewatch #overanalysing set design

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luna-redamancy · 4 years

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Obsession {Thranduil x F! Reader}

Authors note: So, this is a more happy-ending version of my Thranduil fic ‘Crazy’. It is nearly three times as long and my best fic yet (in my opinion). Note: I am writing a part two that will have smut if anybody is interested in that.

Warnings: Yandere themes, obsession, nothing too crazy

Word Count: 3043

Part Two (Smut)

The sun spilled over the tree branches, golden light highlighting a halo around her head. The aged book made her hands look so delicate and small as she read page after page, her mind far from reality as she delved deep into old lore. She was perfect. Thranduil stared with infatuated eyes, his chin propped up on his hand as he watched from a few trees away from her. Her features were ethereal, it seemed impossible for her to be human, but Thranduil knew she was sadly so.

He watched as her concentration was broken, the change in her eyes as she drifted back into reality, confusion overtaking her features. Listening closely, his eyebrows furrowed as he heard several females walking down the path, their high pitched cackles filling him with disdain as he watched her slowly rise.

“She’s such a bore!” The taller one groaned, holding her arms over her head to cool off from the sun’s heat.

“She never wants to do anything, she only wants to stay at home and read her books.”

Her expression changed from excited to confusion, hurt lacing over her features as she rested her head on the thick oak’s trunk.

“I don’t see why you both keep trying to invite her out then,” The smaller one spoke to the other two girls, huffing her hair out of her face. “You only asked her to be your friend so you could possibly court her brother instead,” She reminded, “-And then he died with the rest of his travelling company whilst going to Esgaroth.”

Biting her lip, she sank back to the ground, clutching her book to her chest. Unshed tears lining her eyes as she processed the conversation she heard.

“Interesting…” Thranduil mumbled, a smirk forming on his face. “She’s even better than I thought.”

Thranduil watched as his angel packed up her belongings, her gentle smile now replaced with a narrow frown as she disappeared from his sight.

“Soon my starlight, very soon.” He promised, as if she was upset about having to leave him.

The market was scuttling, people scurrying from one stall to the next, filling their wooden baskets with produce and trinkets to take home. The air was filled with the smells of sauces and freshly baked goods, the hollars of vendors trying to sell their goods filled your ears as you slipped through the crowd, your empty basket clutched to your chest as you avoided getting trampled over by the crowd.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out your skirt before you approached your favorite vendor, the farmer.

“Good morning Lady (Name)!” He greeted happily, finishing wrapping up some freshly made cheese.

“Good morning,” You responded with a small smile, examining the lettuce. “I have a deal going on today, five items for one silver coin.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “Really?” You questioned as you felt your smile widen as well. “Must’ve had a wondrous harvest then?” You asked as you grabbed lettuce, a tomato, a few carrots, and a stock of celery.

“Wondrous indeed.” He smiled at you as you passed him the coin from your purse. “Well, may good harvests continue to find you.” You bid your farewell as you move further down the market stalls.

“Oh my…”

“Is that--”

“King Thranduil!”

The crowd was reduced to gasps, everyone bowing once they saw their king approaching on his mighty elk. A small gasp left your throat as you saw him approach, carefully adjusting your skirt to bow as well. Thranduil held a gentle smile on his face, waving away everyone’s formalities as he dismounted.

“Now now everyone, no need to get into a fuss,” He teased as he began looking through the stalls, a thoughtful expression on his face as everyone went back to their business.

“Looking to start a new project?” Old Lady Idra questioned you as you approached her stall, eyeing the silvery blue ball of yarn. “I was thinking of making a new blanket for my bed, the winters have been getting colder and colder,” You explained, looking at her selection.

“Is that so?” Thranduil’s voice startled you, making you drop the yarn ball you were holding.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Thranduil apologized while he picked up the yarn ball, carefully placing it in your hands.

“Oh no, no need to apologize, My King.” You bowed your head in respect, moving to get out of his way so he could examine Idra’s stall.

“No need to move, I apologize for interrupting. I was concerned when you said the winters are getting colder?” Thranduil frowned slightly when he noticed you wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Carefully tipping your chin upwards, Thranduil grinned when you finally made eye contact. A blush formed on your cheeks as you smiled back. The smell of him filled your nostrils, his beauty stunning you from being so close. A warm feeling bloomed in your stomach as you two locked eyes. “Ah,” Snapping yourself out of your trance, you nodded, fighting the urge to drop your gaze. “Yes, the winters are getting colder. At least on the northern tip of the kingdom...” You explained carefully, not knowing how the southern half was faring weather wise.

Nodding Thranduil removed his hand from underneath your chin, fighting the ever growing urge to pull you into his embrace. Your voice rings like a beautiful melody in his ears. “Well, thank you for letting me know. I will arrange for more firewood to be sent up north when winter gets closer.”

Nodding, you gave him a smile as he stepped away from you, Lady Idra watching with a quirked brow.

“Well… I better get going.” You announced, giving him and Lady Idra a nod, fishing through your purse to pull out a few coins to pay for your yarn.

Thranduil’s larger hand overshadowed yours however, placing a gold coin on the counter.

“Have a wonderful day, ladies.” Thranduil dismissed himself, giving you a fond smile, his hand twirling a strand of your hair before he made his exit.

“What in Valar’s name did you do to catch the King’s eye?” Idra questioned, a knowing smile on her face as you shook your head, a vibrant flush on your face. “I wish I knew,” You laughed softly, holding your basket close to you as you bid her farewell, you too exiting the market.

The day felt like it went by in a blur, thoughts of Thranduil drowning your being as you rested your head against the wall above your bed. Your knitting needles and yarn being long forgotten. The memory of his smell, his beauty and the intensity of his gaze now burned into your mind.

“Thranduil,” You mumbled, the very mention of his name soaking your tongue like fine wine as your mind wandered, daydreams of a future together blurring your reality.

“How I wish you were mine,” Your eyes slowly opened, half-lidded as you stared out the window. The kingdom standing proud amongst the trees, a demented sigh leaving your lips as you reached out to press your hand against the cool glass.

---

“King Thranduil,” Thranduil’s advisor knocked softly on his study door, opening it once he received a grunt in response. “You asked to pull all documents pertaining to (Name), of (Father Name)?”

“Correct.” Thranduil’s advisor knew not to question his reasoning for wanting such documents and handed them to him. “Here they are. Birth records, land deeds, reports, anything and everything that mentions her name.”

“Thank you, you are dismissed.”

Searching through the documents, he felt closer to you than ever before. Knowing where you were born, how large your family was, what you did for a living, who you lived with, if you were married. He couldn’t wait to ask you more personal details though, things that aren’t documented.

Did you prefer white wine or red? What books were your favorites, and why? What did you love to do on a rainy morning? Who did you love?

A coy smirk formed on Thranduil’s face as he sat down the documents. Remembrance of your smile, the blush forming on your rosy cheeks, the lovely sound that is your voice consumed him. Looking out his window, Thranduil imagined what your home looked like in the north, how desperate he was to be by your side at every waking moment.

“My queen will soon be home, where she belongs.” Thranduil vowed, making servants passing by pause in fear. Fear for the life that would be disrupted as a result of a toxic obsession.

“Very very soon.” He muttered to himself as he filled a goblet full of a blood red wine.

That night you were left restless, wanting to lay in bed with your eyes shut as your imagination wandered through crafting scenarios with your beloved.

As dawn rose you lifted your eyes from their curtain of darkness, watching as hues of dark blue shifted into ones of gold and red, a gorgeous sunrise to soften the blow of reality.

A frown etched on your face. “He’s a king,” you reminded yourself, “At least you can dream…” You recalled the words of your so called friends only a day ago, “He wouldn’t want such a bore anyways.”

Fetching your shawl, you covered your shoulders from the cold as you walked down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Cutting up your tomatoes, you jolted as you heard the doorbell ring, wincing as you felt your blood rise to the surface of your finger.

Cursing you brought your finger to your mouth. “Coming.” You called out, pulling your shawl tighter around you as you moved to open the door.

“King Thranduil?” You gasped, pulling your finger out of your mouth. “W-What do I owe the pleasure?” You questioned, realizing just how much of a mess you looked in front of him. “My apologies, I wasn’t expecting anyone…”

Thranduil had to pause. The way the early morning sun hit your bare collarbones, how your hair was slightly ruffled from sleep and so carefree looking pulled at his heart. Clearing his throat he gave a small smile. “Forgive me for showing up unannounced, I wanted to check to see if you slept alright? Last night was particularly cold and I recalled you saying your blankets were no longer adequate.”

“Oh!” You shook your head with a smile. “I didn’t get much sleep I’m afraid, but I was plenty warm.”

Thranduil heard every word you spoke, but his attention was now focused on your hand cradled to your chest. “You’re hurt.”

“Ah, yes… The bell startled me, I was in the middle of preparing breakfast when you arrived, I knicked my finger,” You held up the finger, showing the perfectly rounded bulb of blood on the tip.

“Oh my… Because of me,” Thranduil surmised, moving to carefully hold your hand in both of his, successfully pushing his way into your home.

“Oh no, not at all!” You hurried to correct yourself, not wanting him to be upset.

Instead of responding, Thranduil brought your finger into his mouth, sucking off the blood with a determined look on his face as a blush formed over your cheeks. “Oh my…” You muttered, your heart fluttering in your chest as you gulped.

“Because I caused your injury, I must atone for your pain… Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Thranduil spoke once he removed your finger from his mouth, concern on his features.

“You don’t have to do that, King Thranduil, ‘tis no one’s fault but my own.” You smiled, despite your internal self screaming at you for denying his offer. “I wouldn’t want to further interrupt your morning.”

“I just wanted to help you... I just wanted to be there for you...” Thranduil muttered, dropping your hand, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I clearly overstayed my welcome.” Thranduil stood stiff, the rejection of your words seeping into him like knives as he moved to open the door and take his leave.

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” You called out, moving to grasp his hand, tugging him back to you. “You’re a king,” You began to explain yourself, “I’m just a lowly girl, a bore… I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as you, much less deserving of dining with you… Do you see?” Your eyes held sadness as you forced yourself to realize your reality. You were just a lowly girl. No chance to be with a king. No matter how your obsession for him threatened to consume you.

“You see yourself as lowly?” Thranduil furrowed his brows, his heart pounding at your declaration, his heart hurting at the thought of you thinking so lowly of yourself. “My darling, you are a goddess, a gift from Valar…” Thranduil cupped your cheeks, wiping a tear that you didn’t know had even sprung from your eyes.

“I know you don’t know me well.. But… I want to tell you I love you until my throat bleeds. I want to hold you close on dark endless nights, make love to you until the sun rises, celebrate feasts of starlight with you until time itself ends.”

“King Thranduil---”

“Thranduil, just call me by my name my starlight,” Thranduil all but begged, pressing his forehead against yours.

“T-Thranduil… How long have you felt this way?” Your heart was erratic, your soul howling for joy at the thoughts of your love being requited.

“Since the moment I laid eyes on you, darling.”

Instead of responding with words, you responded with action, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck, your lips coming together in a passionate dance.

“Let me love you?” Thranduil questioned against your lips, relishing in the feel of your skin against his. “Always,” You mumbled in response, pulling away ever so slightly, brushing your noses together as he tugged you closer.

The past week felt like a blur, after Thranduil confessed his love for you, you two have been inseparable. Your belongings were moved into his castle that evening, and your life changed overnight.

Going from wearing homemade skirts and dresses to luxuriously made dresses just to your measurements, you felt like a princess in a fairytale.

“Lady (Name)?” A servant called from outside, worry clear in her voice. “Yes?” You responded after putting on the earrings Thranduil gifted you the first night you stayed in his castle.

A relieved exhale left her, knowing you lived through another night. It was no secret what their king did to the brides that refused his ‘love,’ nor was it a secret of how brutal their endings were.

“King Thranduil requests you join him for breakfast.”

Smiling you brushed your hair with your hands one last time. Excited to know he wanted you to be with him.

“I’ll be out in a moment, is he in his study?” You questioned, knowing he liked you two to eat outside of prying eyes.

“Yes m’lady.”

“Wonderful, thank you.” You smiled despite the fact she couldn’t see you, listening to the sounds of her feet pattering down the hall until she was gone.

Walking down the hall, you smiled at each servant you passed, waving slightly as you maneuvered the twists and turns of the labyrinth of a castle.

“Thranduil?” You called out, your knuckles rapping softly on the door of his study. The sounds of books falling over within his study made you jump. “Thranduil, are you okay?” You questioned, pushing open the door.

“No!” Thranduil yelled out, turning to push you back as you began to enter.

“My love, what’s wrong?” You questioned again, fear in your eyes as he looked at you wildly.

“You weren’t supposed to get here so quickly…”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, looking to the mess of books on the floor behind him. “I’ll help you clean up and we can have breakfast okay?” You reached out to cup his cheek, a smile on your face.

Thranduil’s wild expression dissolved as your hand touched his cheek, nuzzling into your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry about it my starlight, it’s okay,” Thranduil urged you away from touching them, causing you to laugh. “It’s okay darling, I don’t mind, it’s not like they’re going to hurt me,” You joked as you sunk to the floor to pick them up.

‘Immortality,’

‘Necromancy’

‘Human Mortality’

The book titles made you curious, tilting your head as you lifted them up. Then you noticed how quiet Thranduil had become.

Placing them back on the bookshelf, you turned to face him only to jump, noticing how close he was to you.

“Thranduil?”

“What do you think of those?” Thranduil questioned, memories of his previous love’s voice alarming in his ears, the refusal of his affection still stinging his heart despite having a new love to focus on.

“They are… interesting topics,” You smiled, not too sure where he was going with his questioning.

“What if…”

You tilted your head as he struggled to seem to find the words to say to you, his chest beginning to heave with panic.

“Thranduil, my love, calm down…” You spoke softly, rubbing his arms up and down.

“What if… I was able to find a way to make you immortal… To be with me forever?”

Your silence was deafening, Thranduil’s own thoughts began to swirl in his head as you struggled to find your words.

“You love me that much? That you want me to be with you forever?” You questioned, your stomach flipping, your insides feeling warm as happy tears sprung up in your eyes.

Thranduil’s eyes snapped to yours, his thoughts of rejection and murder leaving him as he processed your reaction. “I’ll do whatever it takes if it means we’ll be together forever, my sweet.” He responded while wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I’d do anything for you,” His words were laced with honey yet lined with barbs, the meaning of his words sweet yet unnerving as he pulled you into his embrace.

“I love you,” You mumbled into his chest, moving your own arms to embrace him in return. Your words shooting lightning into him, his eyes widening as euphoria surged through his being.

“-And I you.”

Tags:

Forever Tag-

@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18@raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @underthemoon-imagines @ladylouoflothlorien @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @bad268 @legolaslovely @bthtallmadge2 @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna

Thranduil- @indelwen-of-mirkwood @sapphireduck @ashleygrrrl @katiegoddessofmischief

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ofwolvesandbutterflies · 4 years

Text

reminiscent

Pairing: NCT’s Jeno x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: ex lovers!AU

Warnings: very brief mentions of drug and alcohol use

A/N: I’ve been writing, I promise. I just haven’t been able to finish much.

I saw you from across the room. Mid-laugh, mid-conversation. All happiness rushed from my body the moment we locked eyes and I nearly dropped my cup. Something in me pulled me towards you and I couldn’t stop myself. So I pushed the cup into the hands of whomever I had been speaking to and found my body moving closer to you on its own accord.

The smile dropped from your lips when I began to move closer to you. I didn’t miss that. How could I? No, I just ignored it. But regardless, you began walking towards me, too.

A torrent of our shared memories rushed over me when we finally stopped, a mere foot of palpable space between us and I opened my mouth, wanting to elicit the same yearning for what we had out of you.

But you spoke first.

“Hey…” you spoke. Scratching your neck. Your eyes refused to meet mine after holding my gaze for so long and all I once I was brought back to the moment we told each other how we felt. The first time. The only difference now is that you aren’t holding the box of chocolates I made for you, there’s no pretty pink blush dusting over your cheeks, and the only thing in your eyes is regret.

“How are you?” You asked, sounding breathless. It brought me back to those nights we spent together, nothing but sweaty sheets separating us, the constant thrum of your heartbeat under my palm and your heavy breathing brushing over my skin. I shook the memory out of my mind and forced a smile to my lips.

“I…” I paused, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from your lips. “I have to admit, I’m doing fine.”

And it wasn’t a lie I told you that evening. I had been doing better. Alcohol hadn’t seen the light of day in a good few months and I had finally quit smoking for good. I had found myself a good part time job and had a steady income now. I had found new friends. I had finally figured out how to remove the sadness from our separation from my life.

“Oh,” a flurry of emotions passed through your beautiful eyes and a renewed sadness bloomed in the cavity you left when you took my heart all those years ago. You shuffled uncomfortably and carded a hand through your hair. I noticed the flex of muscles on your arms. You must have started working out more. Remembering yourself, you met my eyes briefly before you stared down at your hands. And you continued on. “Well, I-uh… I’m happy to hear that.”

“But…” I found myself speaking before I could stop myself. I have nights when I miss you so much I can barely breathe. Tonight is one of those nights. Your eyes darted back up from your fumbling fingers to my face. There was hope in swimming in your gaze and my breath caught in my throat. I had forgotten how breath - taking you were when you looked at me like that.

Was there really the possibility of… us again? Or was it just the memories of us that I missed? Shoving down any hope flickering in the pit of my stomach, I smiled at you. Sadly.

“Nothing.” I said, taking one last look at you. And going up on my tiptoes to press one, last, lingering kiss to your cheek, I whispered a final farewell.

To you. And to the memories we shared. It was time to move on.

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toriwest · 4 years

Text

Goodbye Oscar

This post follows a poll and theory I made about when Oz will take over his soul.

In my theory I said by age 16, Oscar and Ozpin would’ve already merged.

Lets see how it would go

March 13th, 2 years after the V7 finale

We move to a shot at the destroyed beacon academy.

A 16 year old, noticeably taller Oscar was on his knees glowing. He was in Ozpin’s former office.

Oscar: So this it it huh?.... My time is up....

Ozpin: Oscar, I-

Oscar: It’s okay.... I know nor you, I, or even Ozma has any control over this.

Ozpin with Remorse in his voice: It is always the hardest part every new cycle

Oscar smiling sadly: It never gets better for you, does it...

Ozpin: Not once... in all my lifetimes not once...

Oscar: Maybe it won’t be so bad.... I’ll still be here... just not in control...

Ozpin: Oscar... I wish things could’ve been different

Oscar: Me to-

Suddenly a scatter of Rose petals entered the room as the doors were busted open.

Ruby: OSCAR!!

As Oscar slowly turned his head to face her, she realized that she was not alone.

He saw, the other members of RWBY, JNR, Qrow, Maria and even is own team OWPN ( Oscar, Whitley, Penny, Neo)

Jaune with much concern in his voice: Oscar, what’s going on?! You wouldn’t answer us?

Oscar couldn’t help but smile slightly as he saw his most favourite people in the world.

Penny: Oscar? W-why are you glowing.

Oscar looked down.

Qrow eyes widen slightly: We we’re too late!.....

Ren: Too late for-..... *starts to realize what is happening* No....

Nora: *getting to the same level as her son* Oscar honey... please answer us? What is happening!?

Oscar very weakly stood up.

Oscar: My time... it’s up.

Oscar could visibly see the eyes of everyone in the room widen with shock and fear.

Yang: O-ozpin is taking over!?

Oscar: Yeah.... It’s happening right now..

Blake: B-but! I thought we had till the start of the new season to stop Salem! We have the army and everything!

Oscar: Sadly... it does not change the fact that it’s over for me...

Jaune: GAH! *punches a wall again* No.... Not again... *begins to cry*

Weiss desperately asking: Oscar, isn’t they’re some way to stop the merge?!

Oscar smiling sadly: No... It’s over

Whitley walks over and puts his hands on his partner’s shoulders: It’s not over... it.. can’t... be... *slowly removes hands*

Oscar then felt a message pop up on his scroll.

Neo over the text messages: How much time is left

Oscar: .... 5 minutes....

Maria: *looks up at the poor boy as she gestures him to lower himself to her level*

Oscar does as told and comes down to her.

Maria: *hugs the boy as hard as she can* You we’re the grandson I never had... Thank you Oscar *after a few more seconds she released him*

Qrow was next. Oscar stood back up.

Qrow: I never did apologize for slugging yah at the Brunswick farm. Did I?

Oscar chuckling slightly: Don’t worry. I never held it against you.

Qrow: Oscar. I am proud to have been one of your mentors. You are one of my greatest students

Oscar offering a hand for Qrow to shake: Your teachings, we’re brutal... but they kept me alive for so long. I owe you my life Qrow.

Qrow accepted his hand but then pulled Oscar into a deep hug.

When Qrow released Ren was next.

Not knowing what to say, Ren pulled his friend into a goodbye hug as he began to tear up.

Oscar knew he had to hold back his own tears.

When Ren let him go, WBY stood in front looking up at the tall boy.

Yang smiling: It wasn’t too long ago when you would be the one looking up at us

Oscar: *chuckles*

Blake: You’ve grown up so much Oscar *Blake said putting a hand on his shoulder*

Weiss: You’ve done so much for me, my brother.. all of us Oscar.

The three girls pulled him into a group hug.

WBY: You’ll always be one of us.

Next was Nora.

Instead of doing her normal bear hug, Nora wrapped her arms around the boy gently.

Nora crying: You are one of the best people, I have ever met.

Oscar: Nora...

Nora: Don’t leave your mother behind....

After a few seconds, Ren pulled her away and held her in the sad moment.

Jaune stood in front of the boy, face to face.

Jaune: You’re as tall as me now. Can no longer look down at you.

Oscar: We finally are the same level.

Jaune: Oscar... when we lost Pyrrha, we... I thought, you could fill the spot she had left. But, you didn’t... You became something entirely new... someone I couldn’t compare or look down to like Pyrrha. You helped me, to not lose my feelings for her. I developed a new friendship with you. And if it were reversed and I had met you before her. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Oscar: Jaune..

Jaune: You are my brother. Forever man. *pulls him into a bro hug*

Oscar: Thank you... brother.

It was now Penny’s turn.

She couldn’t hold back her emotions as she jumped on him and hugged.

Oscar lovingly rubbed her back. After 20 seconds she let go.

Neo took off Romans hat as she face the boy 2 and a half heads taller than her.

With her fingers she pointed to her heart. She then moved those same fingers to his chest.

Oscar knew what it meant.

It meant they’re hearts will always be one.

Oscar picked up the older yet smaller girl as the hugged deeply.

When he put her down, he placed Romans hat back on her. Neo began to cry as she moved away.

Now it was Whitley standing in front of him.

Whitley: So this is the end huh?...

Oscar: Afraid so...

Whitley: Forgive me... I am not good with.. farewells...

Oscar: Then lets not make this farewell. Lets make it a “ See you later”

Whitley smiling slightly: I see. Well then *pulls his partner into a goodbye hug* Farewell, partner.

Oscar excepting: Farewell, Partner.

Finally it was Ruby.

She couldn’t help but stare at the boy she had met two years ago. Back then he was a scared small farm hand.

Now he was a strong, tall leader of a huntsman team. She was so proud of how much he grew.

Oscar: One minute left..

Ruby: Oscar.. I don’t know what to say... you are one of my greatest friends. We’ve traveled the world together. Fought side by side. Even lead our little group here.. with Jaune of course.

Jaune: *chuckles slightly*

Ruby: Oscar. Every moment that I spend with you, is the best time of my day. You have become *starts to tear up* such an important part of my life... *cries harder* And I don’t wanna say goodbye Oscar! *Jumps on him and cries into chest*

Oscar: Ruby...

Ruby: Don’t go Oscar! I can’t do this without you! Any of you!

Oscar: Ruby.... I’m sorry....

Ruby muffling into his chest: Please... don’t

Everyone in the room we’re either full blown crying or starting too.

Oscar: Everyone... Please, don’t cry. Goodbyes are hard enough as it is.. and besides! This isn’t goodbye! I’ll still be here!... just not in control.

Whitley joking: You always we’re bad at making others feel better *sniffs*

Everyone: *giggles sadly*

Oscar: If I may ask one thing... it’s that you do not feel any resentment to Ozpin..

Ozpin: Oscar...

Oscar: He had no control over this. He wouldn’t want this to be if it didn’t have to. I’m begging you... to forgive him... *stares at Jaune, Qrow and Yang*

Everyone nodded yes.

Jaune: Okay Oscar... we promise, we will not be angry at Oz...

Ozpin: Oscar.. *starts to cry*

Oscar: It’s almost time now.. *glows a golden and green*

Ruby: Oscar... just know. We will always love you... I will always love you... *kisses his cheek*

Oscar then fell to his knees as he glowed brightest.

Everyone could see a Silhouette of Oscar when they had first met him. It the switched to him to him in atlas, and finally back to him currently. He let a few tears fall as he smiled brightly.

Then a big golden flash illuminated in the room.

Oscar then stood up.

Ozcar ( Ozpin now Oscar): It is done.....

End

#oscar pine #team rnjr #team rwby #rwby spoilers #neopolitian (rwby)#whitley schnee #penny polendina #rwby ozpin #Qrow

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goofygomez · 5 years

Text

After the War - A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Description: After the war, Harry turns his back on the wizarding world for some time to figure things out for himself. His trip leads him to uncover new truths about his new reality.

Wordcount: 4429

This fanfic was inspired by this tumblr post.

---

After the war, Harry Potter was shocked to come to the realization that he’d survived. It had not crossed his mind that he would, and he told his friends as much. The sight of the destruction the war had left on the world as he knew it, the world that had harboured so many fond memories for him, had been so horrible to see, Harry had broken down barely moments after arriving at the Burrow. It was too much to handle.

He’d spoken to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about it, and decided that he needed some time to sort things out for himself. To his surprise, they didn’t object. Having extracted a promise that they wouldn’t reveal his whereabouts to anyone else, Harry bid them farewell and set off to America, where he’d distance himself from the magical world as he knew it.

And so, three months later, Harry put his foot to the pedal as he sped through the countryside just outside some major city, the sun beating down on him from above. Ahead of him, the road stretched on for miles, disappearing in the horizon into the unknown. The heat building up on the concrete distorted its surface, as though a shimmering pool of diamonds awaited him ahead. He smiled.

He looked down at the radio, which was now blaring a rock song loudly, enveloping him like a warm blanket. He liked it, he decided. Ever since he’d arrived here, he’d amassed quite the collection of old cassette records from odd places he visited, stashing them in the glove compartment. He pressed the cassette, removed it, and replaced it with one by the name of “Radiohead”.

As he listened to it, he thought of his first days in America. Luckily, he’d been able to acquire a driver’s license fairly quickly. Driving wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, he would tell himself as he tried to teach himself the craft. With some of the money he’d exchanged, he bought a beat-up car and set off on the road, no clear destination in mind. He’d considered backpacking through Europe, but the thought of more camping after the year he’d had was enough to drive him insane.

Then, unbidden, his mind wandered to Ginny Weasley, halfway across the world. Her flaming red hair flapping in the wind, her freckles that ran all over her body, that flowery scent that had driven Harry mad for a year. He remembered that time he’d broken up with her over ‘some stupid, noble reason’, as she’d put it, and the time she’d kissed him after it was all over. She’d promised to wait for him until he got back, even though he knew... he didn’t deserve it.

Five minutes later, he saw a figure on the side of the road, standing alone. As he approached it, he saw it was a man, his arm outstretched and his finger held high. His eyes darted toward the visor above him, where his wand was stowed, but he shook his head. He hadn’t used magic if he could help it, preferring to do everything the normal way. Magic had lost its appeal somewhat. It felt… tainted, somehow.

“Magic belonged in the war”, he muttered to himself every night before going to bed and reliving the horrors it had caused. The small, lifeless body of Dobby in his arms. Fred’s last smile before the blast that ended his life. Colin Creevey’s face, unseeing, on the Great Hall floor. They all taunted him, mocking his failure to save them as he thrashed and screamed in his sleep.

Magic belonged in the war. Magic had stripped him of his parents, his godfather, his own life… It marked him for life as someone with power; someone with the weight of the world thrust upon his shoulders, drifting through life as the punches kept on coming. And they never stopped. Even after he’d defeated Voldemort, he felt powerless. A stupid boy in over his head for whom people gave their lives. He definitely didn’t deserve it.

He shook his head again, slowing down the car and nodding to the hitchhiker, a small smile on his face. He’d met many others like him, travelling to places Harry had never heard of. He listened to their stories as he drove through the country, sometimes choosing to reveal some of his himself. Of course, they were all muggles, so some details had to be glossed over but, to his great surprise, none of the people he met pushed farther than he was willing to say. They were all too glad to talk about themselves, he figured.

As he came to a halt beside the man, he rolled down the passenger window and stared at the hitchhiker. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, a hat on his head and sunglasses on his eyes to shield against the summer sun. He looked a few years older than Harry. He wore cargo shorts, a plain white shirt and he’d flung a large backpack on his right shoulder. Sweat clung to his armpits, and his breath was ragged as he spoke in a friendly tone.

“Thank you,” the man said, nodding and smiling at Harry. He did the same. “Are you going to Columbus by any chance?” As a matter of fact, he’d been there not two weeks ago, so he nodded once more and unlocked the car.

Grateful, the man flung his backpack in the backseat and sat down on the passenger seat, closing the door with a thud. He turned to Harry and removed his sunglasses. His eyes were a deep blue, and they surveyed Harry up and down.

“Haven’t had much luck out here,” he explained as Harry set off once more, heading due north. “Not a lot of people stop for hitchhikers these days.”

“I was heading there anyway,” Harry lied, shrugging. “What’s your name?” he asked amicably, casting a side glance at him and then one at his wand. Magic belonged in the war, he told himself.

“Mark Thorne,” said the man, removing his hat and running a hand through his blond hair, slick with sweat. “And yours?”

It was a nice change of pace to have people ask for his name, rather than goggle at him and his scar. Here, away from the wizarding world, he was just another face. Just another man driving through the country with no purpose in life. No purpose in life, he thought fondly, relishing the freedom that simple sentence carried.

“Harry Potter,” he said, nodding. He passed a sign that told him it was another 150 miles to Columbus, with only one stop in between. “What are you doing in Columbus?” he asked.

Mark heaved a sigh and said, “I’m meeting my friends there. See, we live very far away from each other, and none of us has a car, so we decided to go to a middle point between us. That’s Columbus. I’ve been walking for like 3 hours and my legs were already cramping up.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry said, chuckling.

“Not so much,” said Mark, grinning. “You have no idea how many cars just passed by me without a second glance. One old woman even glared at me, I think.”

“Reckon it’s that one?” he said, pointing at the back of a car that loomed ever closer.

Harry passed it with a surge of speed, and Mark whistled from beside him. “And here I thought this old thing could go no further than sixty,” he commented, nodding in approval. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, “And what about you? Long way from home.”

It was true, he knew, but something inside told him he didn’t really have a home. There’s the Burrow, another voice piped in helpfully. But yet, some shred of doubt still lingered in him. Would he even be welcome there when he went back? Would he ever have the courage to go back? In the end, he settled for chuckling again.

“Yeah, I needed to get away.”

“Amen to that, brother,” Mark said, raising an invisible glass in the air. “What are you, like nineteen?”

“Eighteen.”

“Must have been bad back there, huh?” Mark said with a solemn tone.

“You could say that,” Harry said bitterly. Indeed, it had been bad, though not for the reasons Mark thought. Sometimes Harry wished he could talk about it with one of these people, but they wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was mad, he thought. They’d laugh and think I was pulling their hair.

The next hour passed by in silence, punctuated by the music coming from the stereo. Every now and then, Mark made a remark about his music taste, and Harry would just nod and smile. About twenty minutes before they arrived at their destination, Mark cocked his head and asked the last question Harry wanted to hear.

“What’s that scar from?” He pointed at Harry’s forehead, where the lightning bolt scar stood as a constant reminder that Harry was special. The scar that told the world that he’d survived the Killing Curse from Voldemort. The scar that had made him famous; that had marked his future thereafter. He must have winced because Mark backtracked. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said, sighing. “It’s from when my parents died,” he explained, as if that settled the matter.

“They – oh...” Mark trailed off, looking far off into the horizon, where the outline of a city loomed ever closer, bathed in a golden hue in the afternoon sun. “Sorry for asking.”

Then, he fell silent. When they passed a dingy hotel, its sign hanging from a single thread of rope on a pole sticking out from above the mahogany door, Mark cleared his throat awkwardly.

“This is my stop,” he said, jabbing a finger outside. Harry nodded and pulled over, unlocking the car. “Thanks for the ride, Harry.”

“It was no problem,” he said, managing a small smile.

“I hope you figure things out soon, man,” Mark said sadly, nodding. “Good luck.” And with that, he heaved the backpack onto his back and walked off, disappearing inside the hotel.

“I hope so too,” Harry said to himself, sighing.

That was how most of his days had been

That night, as he lay on a bed in a considerably better hotel not far from there, he stared up at the ceiling, his eyelids drooping. It had become a habit to stay up as late as he could, lest he give in to the nightmares for longer than he absolutely had to. He had them constantly, no matter what he did. And they were always the same...

When his brain finally betrayed him and he drifted off, he found himself in the Great Hall again, deserted but for himself. He looked around warily, expecting the worst. Suddenly, he heard voices around him. They were soft at first and then got louder, echoing against the high walls of the Hall. They screamed his name, over and over again.

He pressed his hands to his ears, unable to bear another night of torture, but the voices were relentless, slithering into his skull like one of Uncle Vernon’s drills. They hammered into him as he shrunk in on himself, screaming, begging them to stop, to leave him alone.

They cursed him, hatred seeping through their bodiless voices. He was on his knees now, his hands pressed tightly to his ears. Cries of despair and horror ripped through the otherwise still air. They seem to shatter the windows around him, showering him with glass.

“GO AWAY!” he bellowed, but his voice was hoarse, much too strained. He felt his throat close up, his airways contracting. His hands flew to his neck, gasping for breath. Surely, he could save himself with his wand, he thought, reaching for it in his pocket.

No, magic belongs to the war! a new voice, much higher than the rest, screamed at him, making him pull up short. It was right, he knew. He shouldn’t; couldn’t... With a final gasp, the world around him became dark, and he woke again, sweat clinging to his face as he struggled to control his rattled breathing. It was just a nightmare.

But was it?

Most of his nights were that way these days, to the point where Harry had begun to wonder if it was even worth fighting it anymore. The few nights his thoughts managed to drift away from the war, he dreamt of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, their laughing faces alight with joy as he watched them from a distance. Sometimes, he tried talking to them, but their faces became hard and their laughter died out as if they were upset that he’d push his luck by even daring to speak in their direction. Suffice to say, he was getting tired of it.

After the encounter with Mark Thorne, he came across many other stragglers and offered them a place in the passenger seat. It felt nice to listen to stories that didn’t remind him of the wizarding world. He found, to his great surprise, that he could even relate to some of the problems the muggles had in their everyday lives, though they all felt distant somehow.

Once, after dropping a rather chatty young woman off at a town just outside San Francisco, he pulled over in a deserted alley and broke down on the steering wheel, too overwhelmed to even attempt to stop the flow of tears. Throughout the conversation, he’d smile genially, laughing at the jokes Maria, the chatty woman, had told him. But Harry knew better than to fool himself into believing he could even begin to relate to her.

She hadn’t lived through what he’d lived through; hadn’t had to carry the weight of a prophecy on her shoulders from the age of fifteen. It had all seemed hard at the time, Harry thought ruefully, but he realised now that he’d been mistaken. The hardest part was what came after. The weight of all he’d gone through in the past seven years suddenly seemed to dawn on him.

Why couldn’t he have been like all other people, unperturbed by the tides of fate? Was it so much to ask for Harry to want a regular life, with regular teenager problems? Was he selfish for wanting a normal schooling experience without having to sacrifice himself for the greater good?

He supposed that was the point of this whole trip; to find out what it was like not to be a world-saving hero, but just... Harry. Numbly, he’d wiped his tears drove off, his breathing still rather uneven.

A month later, he was driving along yet another deserted highway. He was now listening to AC/DC on the radio, bobbing his head along to the rhythm. It was peaceful. The day was warm. The bag of groceries he’d bought rattled in the backseat, reminding him that he was hungry. He picked up a sandwich from one of the bags and bit into it greedily.

Minutes later, he spotted a silhouette a few miles ahead on the side of the road. Putting his sandwich down, he squinted against the glare of the sun. It was an older man, no younger than eighty, carrying nothing but a small paper bag and walking along the road.

Harry pulled over next to him. “Sir, do you need a ride?” he asked.

The old man pondered his question for a moment, looking far into the horizon longingly and then back at Harry. His face was full of wrinkles and his eyes were a soft grey. They reminded him of Dumbledore’s blue ones, for some reason. He wore, to Harry’s surprise, an army uniform. Many badges were pinned to his chest, and the tag at his breast read ‘Colonel’.

He seemed to deem Harry’s offer acceptable as he smiled and nodded, getting into the already unlocked car. He placed his hands on his lap, intertwining his long, white fingers. “Thank you, young man,” he said softly, not looking at Harry.

Offering the man a smile, he drove off. “Where are you going, sir?”

Again, the old man took his time, licking his lips slowly as he looked out the window, the smile long gone from his wizened face. “Scottsdale,” he said finally, pointing a pale finger through the windshield. “Should be a few hundred miles, however. I hope that’s not a bother.”

“Not at all,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I was going there anyway.” That was his standard response, as he didn’t really have a single destination in mind.

The man nodded shortly. Silence ensued. Neither of them spoke for a while, choosing instead to take in the changing scenery as the desert gave way to a green pasture, small trees littering the horizon. They saw no other cars, though that was to be expected on a Sunday afternoon, Harry thought.

After a while, the man cleared his throat and Harry turned to him. He wore a small smile that accented his wrinkled features. His hair, or what was left of it, was silvery white. It reminded him of Dumbledore once more, though his former Headmaster had had much longer hair, and had rarely looked as frail.

“I’m going to my best friend’s funeral,” the man said suddenly, startling Harry. He searched for words to say in such a situation but was saved the trouble when the old man elaborated. “I haven’t seen him in years. Since just after the war, actually,” he mused, half to himself.

Harry frowned. “Was he... in the army as well?” he asked carefully, casting a side glance at the veteran, who nodded slowly.

“He was,” he said fondly. “One of the best, one of the best.”

Harry looked forward, his thoughts drifting to Ron and Hermione, and to all the crazy adventures the three of them had gotten themselves into. He imagined himself driving to one of their funerals, a fond smile on his face as he thought of them. It was too much to handle, however, so he shook his head and willed it away.

He didn’t know why he spoke up, but when he did, a sudden weight seemed to have lifted from his lungs, letting him breathe normally again.

“I was a soldier too,” he said, pursing his lips.

The veteran looked at him from the passenger seat with a raised eyebrow, his eyes softening somewhat. “Were you?” he said, in a tone that definitely reminded him of his former headmaster.

“Yeah,” he muttered, looking down for a moment. Again, impulse took over and he asked, “How do you do it?”

“How do I do what?” the man asked, intrigued.

“How do you live after the war?” Harry said, shaking his head. “Because it’s so hard... It’s so hard to adjust to a life I didn’t think I’d have. Hard to think about settling down and marrying the girl I thought I’d never see again.” He thought of Ginny, his eyes watering as he talked, unable to contain himself now that he’d started.

The man regarded him with a soft expression, silent as he let Harry let it all out.

“It’s hard to think not everyone around me is an enemy.” He remembered what it had been like after Dumbledore’s death. No one to trust but himself and his friends, looking over their shoulders at every turn, having to work in the shadows as Voldemort grew more powerful.

The veteran seemed to weigh his words before answering, blinking slowly.

“Were you a prisoner of war,” he asked softly, “or undercover?”

Harry chuckled. “Both, in a way.” It was true, he knew, though he couldn’t quite explain it to him. “I was lost for a long time, searching for a way to end my mission, to end the war. In the end, I got out of it alive, but there’s something inside me... Something’s definitely dead, you know?”

“How old are you?” the man asked, eyebrows raised at Harry’s words.

“Eighteen,” Harry said, making the man turn his head so rapidly Harry thought he might crack it. But he said nothing. Harry knew why. Some armies – some wars – don’t care about your age.

They drove on in silence after that, barely listening to the radio as he sped through the pasture and back into a desert that seemed to go on forever. His thoughts dreadfully drifted back to the Final Battle, to the moment when Voldemort’s forces had retreated, leaving them to collect their dead. Again, the face of Colin Creevey taunted him, pale and lifeless. The boy had been sixteen, not even of age. Yet he’d sneaked into the battlefield. The Death Eaters, however, didn’t care how many OWLs you’d gotten or how well you’d performed in your Defence Against the Dark Arts exam.

Magic belongs in the war.

“I think,” he said after a while, cocking his head, “I think the dead thing is me.”

“What makes you say that, son?” the man asked, not unkindly.

“When I killed the enemy.” He thought of Voldemort, his limp body falling dead on the floor of the Great Hall. “I killed myself as well.” Again, that was true, in a twisted sort of way.

Another long silence. Harry’s eyes filled with tears once more, thinking of home. Thinking of Hogwarts, where Ginny and Hermione had just started their final year. He thought of Ron, joining his brother George in managing the joke shop in Diagon Alley. He thought of Sirius, of his broad smile as he’d clapped at his parents’ wedding, wearing his best tuxedo.

He thought about his parents and their untimely deaths. Their sacrifice had made it possible for him to be here, and he was grateful for that. Yet a part of him wished he’d died with them that night. He remembered that night in the Forbidden Forest when he used the Resurrection Stone.

“Will you stay with me?” he’d asked his father, his heart in his throat.

“Until the very end.” James Potter had said, a smile etched on his young face.

“No,” said a voice to his right, and he turned. The man was looking at him with a frown on his wrinkled face.

“What?” he said, dabbing at his eyes to wipe the tears away.

“No, you lived,” the man said, more firmly this time. “And you’ll keep living, son. You see, living after a war is not about forgetting the horrors you saw.”

Harry thought that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, in truth. The man placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and felt himself shudder beneath his touch.

“I was sent to the frontlines during the Second War,” the old man said conversationally, looking through the windshield into the horizon again. “I got drafted with some friends of mine, and we got into the same battalion. We were eager to prove ourselves, young and stupid that we were.”

“I wasn’t long before we realised how wrong we’d been. Men we’d joked with in Boot Camp dropped dead before us, shot by some German soldier or other, and we just kept shooting back. At the time, we knew in our hearts it was the right thing. We were fighting for our freedom, we told ourselves.”

“But you’re right about one thing. We may not have been prisoners, but we were trapped. Trapped in a war we didn’t belong in, the power to take lives at the tips of our fingers. And we embraced it willingly. The truth is, no matter what you try and tell yourself, those things stay with you until you’re old.”

Harry never spoke as the man kept talking, entranced by his voice as it became stronger and harder. He could hear the pain in it, the hurt of retelling such horrors, and he finally found himself relating to him; truly relating to him, much more than he’d done with any other muggle.

“Living after the war is not about forgetting those horrors,” the man repeated slowly. “It’s about learning to live with them, embracing them,” he said softly, nodding as Harry drove on, unable to tear his eyes from the road ahead.

“One day, you’ll be ready to marry that girl of yours. One day, you’ll forgive yourself for the things you did,” he said, almost knowingly.

“Now that you’ve got out of the war,” he finished firmly, smiling at the young man at the steering wheel, “it’s time to get the war out of you.”

Harry said nothing and instead chose to keep driving, but the man seemed to take this as an appropriate response because he said nothing and sat back on his seat, a hard expression on his face. It was a mixture of sadness and, surprisingly, fondness. Harry thought he could understand.

Much as he hated to admit it, those times when everything seemed lost, when nothing seemed to make sense, had been the times he thrived. He was good in such situations, he knew. It was the unknown he feared now; the uncertainty of his future.

Faster and faster Harry drove, his eyes watering every few seconds, his hand dabbing furiously at them. At one point, he couldn’t take it any longer. He pulled over on the side of the road, casting a fleeting glance at the man, who cocked his head.

Sparing him an apologetic smile, Harry got out of the car and walked a few paces through the grass around him. He couldn’t remember the desert around him turning into this beautiful sight, yet green fields covered the ground as far as the eye could see. Weak, his knees gave way and he slumped on the ground. He let the tears stream freely from his eyes now, but his mouth was curled into a smile.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was laughing. It all seemed so silly, looking back on it, he thought. But he couldn’t seem to stop. His hands grazed the soft, tall grass that grew around him. Suddenly, flowers the colour of the rainbow sprang up around him, blossoming in seconds as their petals opened up to him.

He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. He felt a rush of power within him, much like he’d felt that night against Voldemort. But this time, it felt different. It was peaceful and pure and fun. Unspoiled, somehow.

He knew it wouldn’t always feel this way, but for now, it was enough. Because for now, he was the boy who lived again.

The boy who lived after the war...

#harry potter #ginny weasley #original character #fanfic #angst #fluff #posthogwarts #ptsd #hurt #canon compliant #jk rowling

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hereforarchivesake · 6 years

Text

Sick without you

#11 “I’m a lucky girl. I’ll admit that”

Prefall! Soldier 76 x Reader (Female)

Her lungs felt like they were trying to escape the coughing echoing through the hallways. The usual residents had vacated the area not because of the Plague that had infected her but for the annual celebration within Overwatch headquarters. She wanted to attend, her excitement for the event had been ever-rising over the last few weeks. Jack would be back in time for it, meaning she could finally see him again. But luck had never been on (Y/N)s side and this time illness was her form of karma. It started a few days ago. She had just gotten off the phone with Morrison, his talk about the celebration flooding her mind as she wondered what was planned for this year.

Her mind wanders back to the year before. It took place a few days after their first date. The butterflies still flying around in her stomach. She walked down the hallway the music already ringing in her ears as she hummed along. The tune of the old, as she liked to call it. It played during important celebrations and meetings, had done so for as long as she could remember. And as Jack would later inform her, it was from before the Omnic crisis.

She made her way to the hall, ready to have a great night.

The doors were still open, balloons and banners in different blue and orange colours hanging around the place. People crowding around the buffet, forming groups while discussing what's been going on. Everything was full of life and seemed to reflect what she knew of Overwatch. Her eyes shot around the place, looking for the blonde hair of her dreams. She spots him near the stage, his face covered in worry. She makes her way towards him, her body pushing through the other agents. When she was near him, she stopped for a moment wondering if he even wanted to see her, especially now. Sure, they were friends, comrades in arms even before all this, but if she went to him now it would cross a line she wasn't sure she wanted to cross yet. Before she could truly pull through with that thought, he had spotted her. Their eyes meeting, seemingly casting a spell on her beckoning her to him. He smiled at her, his face seemingly losing the worry for a moment. She returned his smile, her hands interlocking with his. The anxiousness previously seen in his eyes replaced with adoration.

“You'll do great, Jack” She whispers, her voice barely audible over the crowd’s indistinct chatter. He smiles at her comment, his mind is put at ease for a bit. He pulls her closer, chin resting on her head as he breathes in her scent. The world around the two seemingly melted away, his nerves fleeing his body. Neither spoke a word, as the noise became silent their heartbeats falling into one. He takes a few deep breaths before Ana Amari takes the stage, her words pulling them to back into reality. The whole room went silent, as words of thanks and appreciation filling people's hearts with glee. Not much was spoken in reality, but that isn't what they want from the Captain. They were waiting for their Commander to speak.

“It is now my pleasure, as it has been for years, to welcome Commander Jack Morrison to say some words.”

She felt his body move away from her, the warmth leaving her as he walked up the stairs and onto the stage. She watched him, the way he clenched his hands in nervousness, the slight trip in his walk as the anxiety threw off his balance. The deep breath he took before he started talking. His words blur in her mind as she watches him, the way his lips move.

She feels the energy in the room change, the pride of each agent as he speaks of all the successes, the sadness over the losses in the hope for a better year. It filled her being as well, Jack always had this energy about him. It was what drew her in, what made her say yes when he asked her out. It was what made Jack Morrison commander, in more ways than one.

(Y/N)s trip down memory lane was interrupted by another coughing fit. Her throat dry, lungs burning in her chest. The sensation matching the heat that was emanating from her forehead. Her fingers trying to reach for the phone. The object just out of reach from her curled up position in the middle of the bed. She rolls to her side, her bones protesting at the movement.

Her fragile fingers dialled Ana's number, knowing Jack would have forgotten his phone. You'd think the commander would be organised enough to remember something that simple.

“(Y/N)? Where are you?” Ana’s voice filled the room.

“Jack...” a coughing fit interrupted her pleas.

“Oh dear...I’m so sorry but I can’t get Jack on the phone.” Ana sighs. She wishes she could help her friend but as luck may have it she was stuck. “Just...Try and make yourself some soup and I will get Jack to come to you straight after his speech, alright?”

“Thank you, Ana.” (Y/N) responds weakly. She knew this was all Ana could do. If she were to tell Jack now about her predicament he would come to her rescue, no matter the consequences. It would ruin everything.

She bids her friend goodbye, as the line goes dead. Her weakness befalling her again.

She knew Ana was right. She needed something to eat, her stomach growled at the thought, seemingly curling in on her.

Her muscles creak as she twists her way out of bed. Her feet barely touching the floor as the back still rests on a mattress.

Her fragile fingers pushing her body up, causing her figure to hunch over, somewhat imitating the image of a sad child. Slowly she ascends from the bed, deciding to stay wrapped in her blanket. She makes her way towards the kitchen, her cape dragging along on the floor. As she crossed the threshold her body falls limp against the wall for a moment. She takes a few deep breaths, followed by a mild cough before she moves forward again. Slowly, she pulled a pot from the cupboard, setting it on the stove. She leans against the counter, her head feeling fuzzy while the room started spinning.

“Sit down. I have to sit down.” She tells herself and she slides down the wall. Her body falling asleep on the floor, a deep slumber befalling her.

Meanwhile, Jack was finishing up his speech in the hall, his mind was cloudy with worry as he wondered where (Y/N) might be. He hadn't heard from her all day, well more Ana hadn’t heard from her yet. As he walked off stage he looked at his old friend. Her face clouded with worry, hard to hide.

“What is it?” He asks. His mind expecting the worst, in a way.

“(Y/N) called not too long ago. She’s sick...I’ll explain if anyone asks. Just get her something nice and help her.”

“Thank you, Ana.”

He smiles at his friend, while his mind wanders to his lover, wondering if she's ok. On his way through the crowd, he thought of ways to help her, beginning and ending with the idea of soup. Sadly, the great Commander lacks skill in one aspect of life... Cooking. That task often fell on his lover, for Jack handles things like setting the table or cracking open jars. Nothing special in that regard. But now, he felt like that responsibility fell on him. He wanted to do something nice for her, but first, he had to figure out how. He walks through the crowd, his mind filled with ways he could get this done but none seemed adequate.

He was so lost in thought that his surroundings became background noise. So much so that he ran face first into his friend.

“Hallo! Jack, are you alright?”

“Reinhardt. Yes… Actually, can you maybe help me with something?”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“Do you know how to make soup?” The usually overconfident commander shyly asked.

“Ah is your Liebchen ill?” Jack nods. “Natürlich kann ich helfen. Just mix melt some butter with a cup of flour. Then add water with the brühe and vegetables and let it sit.”

“Thank you, my friend.” “You’re welcome.”

After wishing their farewells the two go separate ways, Reinhardt going deeper into the hall whereas Jack leaves it. Sadly luck is not on his side, for as he exits the hall, he's greeted by one of Reyes’ new recruits, McCree.

“Howdy, Commander. Where’re you off to in such a hurry? The party has just started.”

He can smell the alcohol in his breath. The younger agents always did this during the celebration, who was he to judge...especially now.

“McCree. Let me go past.” He grumbles as McCree laughs. The man in question stumbles, as his drunken balance causes him to fall to the commander, who lets out a grunt under the sudden added weight.

“Going to see your sweetheart?” McCree’s laughing continues, the noise buzzing in his head.

“Yes. Will you let me past now?” McCree falls away from the Commander.

“Take a shot of whiskey with the Missy with me. Might help you get your stick out of your ass.” He laughs, continuing on his merry way.

Jack decides to ignore that last comment and instead makes his way towards his flat. He was going to take care of her for once... Hopefully without giving her food poisoning. His boots echoed through the hallway. His pace fast, arms swinging slightly at his sides - seemingly contradicting his pace. After few moments, and a flight of stairs, he stands in front of what could be classified as their shared flat. He still hasn't asked her to move in... He had planned to for months now but it never seems to be the right moment. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he pushes in his passcode. The door slides open as the lights flicker on. He enters the nearly dead silent room. He hears her small snores rhythmically breaking the silence. Deciding against calling out for his lover, he enters the flat. Calmly, he removes his jacket and shoes, respectively putting them away at the door. He walks through the front area, around the island and into the kitchen area. He's quick to spot her on the floor, quickly falling to his knees to check on her.

“(Y/N)? Sweetie? Wake up.” He calls to her, his hands lightly tapping her face.

“Jack?” She mumbles, her eyes opening a bit. “You’re home...Can we go to bed?” He smiles at her question, lifting her up into his arms, carrying her into their bed.

“Sleep Sweetie. I’ll wake you when food is ready.” She grumbles in response. Her body curling under the blanket, as sleep, befalls her again. Jack leaves the room, lingering at the door frame, looking back at his lover with concern. He sighs, walking into the kitchen. He leans against the counter, looking over the room. Mind wandering to his task, his hopes slowly falling as he realizes he cannot remember what to do.

Pushing himself off the counter, he walks to the front area reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his communicator. His first instinct is to call Reinhardt and ask him about it again, but embarrassment gets the better of him. Instead, he attempts at finding a recipe online. He grabs the ingredients out of the cupboard. Constantly looking back at his device in an almost obsessive manner. His hands move slowly, as he reaches for pots and knives, melting butter and flour, frying the chicken and mixing the water and stock with the vegetables. Almost an hour later, and with kitchen messier than a bar after a fight. He grabs a spoon, seemingly the last few clean utensils in the area, tasting the mixture. A look of surprise crosses his face. It tasted good, a little salty but he knew that she wouldn’t complain. He reaches for a bowl and an extra spoon, filling it with the seemingly delicious mixture.

Cautiously he returns to the bedroom, his lover having barely moved from her original spot on the bed. Jack sets the soup onto the table next to their bed, before waking her up.

“Sweetheart” he murmurs, his hand pushing her hair out of her face. She grumbles for a moment before her eyes open. Her vision is unfocused for a moment, falling onto Jacks. “Hey, let me help you.” He pulls her up into a sitting position, reaching for the pillow she had previously occupied to put behind her. She leans towards the back, breathing in the scent of the soup.

“Smells good.” She exclaims, her speech slow and low. She hears him grab the plate and place it on her lap. “Thank you, Jack.”

“The great and mighty (Y/N) admitting that someone helped her. Never thought I’d see the day.” Jack mocks in a light-hearted manner. (Y/N) catches on to that, laughing slightly – trying to avoid a coughing fit.

“I’m a lucky girl. I’ll admit that” her voice gaining back some of its strength, as she starts to eat the soup. Eating it up in record time. “A lucky girl indeed. Maybe you should start cooking dinner.”

“Let’s not go that far, sweetheart.” He laughs, taking the empty bowl and placing it back on the side table. Moving his hand to stroke her face, her eyes fluttering slightly in response.

“Ready to sleep some more?” He questions. She nods, scooting further into the bed, leaving an open space. Jack chuckles, taking off his pants and shirt joining her. “I better not get sick because of you.” He mumbles into her hair, adding a light kiss. She mumbles something under her breath in response but passes out before Jack can ask what she said. Following her example, Jack lets sleep befall him, the world around them melting away, leaving nothing but them and the bed.

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the-sapphiresky · 7 years

Text

Love and Loss

AN: Who wants some Sense and Sensibility Sherlolly fluff?

A gentle breeze drifted across the lawn, tugging the tall grass back and forth. Molly breathed in deeply of the fresh spring air and savored the hint of honeysuckle clinging to the wind.

She closed her eyes and let the deep baritone of Captain Holmes’ wash over her as he read from his book. She had not the heart to tell him she had lost the story some time ago, but instead had been entranced by his voice and fallen into her thoughts.

The past few months had opened her eyes to the harshness of the world. And the beauty of the people who lived in it. Following her father’s death, she had steadily declined into a deep depression until her body became wracked with illness. The town doctor had declared her upon death’s door and it was only Captain Holmes’ insistence upon having his friend, Doctor Watson, do what that “quack of a physician” could not do, that she was healed and recovering.

How Captain Holmes has become her champion, she did not know. He had been a figure in the peripheral of her life, stopping by on various occasions to consult with her mortician father or with her, when Papa became too ill to work. Since then, he was a regular visitor to their home. She knew not what he was about, he spoke very little to her, but she felt his eyes upon her constantly. A shadow in every room.

Following her illness, he had never strayed from this cottage in the country where Doctor Watson and his wife resided, having insisted upon Molly’s convalescing in their guest room. Which would become a nursery not long after Molly had returned to the city, if Mary’s increasing size was any indication. Every day, Captain Holmes accompanied Molly on her walk to the market. On their return trip, he insisted on carrying the basket while Molly plucked a bouquet of wildflowers for Mary. They talked about anything from science to literature to death. And sometimes they spoke not a word, but enjoyed the company of each other in silence. In the afternoons, he would often be found making a right mess of the kitchen doing the most outrageous experiments on food, tobacco, and even animal flesh. On the better days when she was not exhausted following their walk, Molly would sit beside him and watch, offering suggestions and reveling in his ideas.

Their days culminated in a quiet solitude, reading together as they were doing today. But come dinnertime, he would gather his accoutrements and bid her a polite goodbye before making his way back to his parents’ estate, not far from the cottage.

Every day, Molly found it more difficult to bid him farewell.

She opened her eyes and looked over at him. He had discarded his hat and the late-afternoon sun cast golden-red hues on his black curls which hung over his forehead. His eyes were an overhanging blue-green and darted across the page as he read. He cut a dashing figure in his tailored suit and she wondered if he could ever be found without the favored ascot tied around his neck.

So lost in her perusal of him, she did not notice he had stopped speaking until he closed the book with a snap.

“Are you finished so soon?” She asked.

He smiled softly and tapped one long finger atop the book. “Any longer and your cousin Mary would have my head for not letting you rest.”

Molly nodded, knowing he was right, but disappointed all the same. “What time shall we expect you tomorrow?”

His eyes dimmed. “I fear this is to be my last day here,” he replied sadly, a wry smile on his lips. “I have been away from London for too long and I fear it has been falling apart without me.”

He was leaving? Tears filled her eyes and she looked away, turning her gaze out onto the rolling farmlands. She barely managed to speak past the sudden obstruction in her throat. “I shall miss your company, but I trust you will have a safe journey back home.”

Suddenly, his hand covered hers and she looked down in surprise, then up at him. He had moved closer and she could see every fleck of gold in his eyes. Propriety told her to remove her hand, to create distance between them. But she remained still.

“Miss Hooper…Molly,” he spoke quietly and hearing her Christian name in his deep, resonating voice sent her heart into an absolute skitter. “Home is a place I no longer consider London. And I cannot bear to leave you without coming to an understanding.”

Molly swallowed and licked her lips. “U-understanding?”

His thumb brushed over her palm and she shivered at the intensity in his eyes. “Surely you must know that I have loved you from the moment I met you that day in your father’s mortuary. Your beauty distracted me, but your heart and mind…they have enchanted me. And as I have come to know you better, you have taken my heart piece by piece until it is now wholly yours.” He looked down for a moment and then back up, hesitant hope in his eyes. “Please, tell me now if I love without hope for its return, for I cannot bear this uncertainty one moment longer.”

Her heart beat wildly and she was stunned into silence for so long he began to pull away in dejection. Quickly, she held fast to his hand and brought it up to her lips, placing a reverent kiss upon its back, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t believe I truly knew my heart until this very moment.” She reached out and placed her palm against his cheek. “And it loudly proclaims that it belongs to you. Wholly and completely.”

He turned his face and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Then I shall return to London with the hope of you joining me there. As my wife,” he added hopefully, a crooked smile on his face.

Molly smiled softly. “I would love nothing more.”

#sherlolly #sense and sensibility au #help! i'm trapped in regency!lock and cant get out!

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another-chorus-girl · 7 years

Text

Farewell My Idol and Friend: A Phantom story

This is set after the events of the stage musical and is not a Love Never Dies story.

Summary: The night before Christine is wed to Raoul, she receives an unexpected visitor from the past

Christine released a sigh, leaning against the closed door.

In less than twenty four hours, she would be a wife. And not only a wife, a Vicomtress.

Raoul had been making preparations for it for weeks. Christine had no idea so much work had to be put in for a wedding. Everything just seemed so prestigious and regal. The petite brunette always imagined her wedding would be the opposite of what it was to be tomorrow.

She dreamed it would be outside, by her father's house near the sea. A simple ceremony on the sandy beach, a handful of dear friends and loved ones there. And her betrothed smiling, awaiting her at the alter.

Tomorrow however was meant for a Vicomte and Vicomtress. It was being held at the St Gervais et St Protais church in the heart of Paris, the rows lavishly decorated in large flower arrangements and gold ribbons. There were to be so many guests, more than half of which Christine didn't even know. Her wedding dress was fit for a queen, large and lavish.

She had asked Raoul if there were any way to simplify the ceremony, even just a little. But he insisted it wasn't his decision to make. He agreed that he wanted to give Christine the wedding she wanted, but the De Chagny's would not stand for anything less than extravagant, especially for the youngest and future successor to the family name since Phillipe had died.

Christine sat down at her vanity table and sadly shook her head. She wasn't angry at Raoul, or love him any less. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognised herself anymore. Her hair that she preferred to keep down and flowing was tied up, a jewelled pin nestled in it. The gown she wore was shades of magenta and cream colours, made of the finest silken fabric. And around her neck a fine gold necklace with tear drop shaped sapphires, her earrings matching it.

The sad woman staring back at Christine was a complete stranger. She missed the simplicity of her old life. Most of all she missed the opera, missed singing. Without music, a piece of her soul felt missing.

She had not set foot in the Opera Populaire since...

Christine closed her eyes, saddened even more at the thought of him. There wasn't a day that passed that she did not think of him. Angel of Music, Phantom of the Opera, Erik. Since that night she had not seen him again. The petite brunette had heard Meg's recount of the mob and lawmen locating the Phantom's hideout only to find his mask. But no trace of the man it belonged to.

Where was Erik now? Was he even still alive, or did he die somehow later that night?

Sighing she reached up, removing her earrings. She placed them back in the jewellery box on the vanity and saw something she didn't notice earlier.

On the table was a red rose, dethorned, a black ribbon tied to the stem.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. She whipped around, frantically scanning the room.

"A-Angel?" She gasped, standing as she walked through the room. Was he here? Where was he?

Then she realised something; the window was open. The silk curtains waved violently in the breeze. She walked up to the window, peering outside. But nothing-and no one-was out there. Christine shut the windows, the locking latch clicked closed.

"Chriiiiiiistiiiiine" A familiar voice cooed.

Christine gasped, her heart skipping a beat. She slowly turned, hardly believing her ears and eyes.

Erik was cloaked in black, blending in with the shadows. The white porcelain mask the only thing showing through the darkness. Almost a year had passed and he looked just the same as he had back then.

"My God..." Christine held her hands to her mouth, "You're alive"

"If you can call this wretched life of mine living." Erik remarked, "But to see you Christine, it feels a little less deplorable."

Her eyes welled with tears. Christine ran to him, wrapping her arms around him. Erik flinched, his breath catching in his throat as she cried.

"I thought you were dead Erik!" She sobbed, "I thought you were gone. Oh Erik."

Hesitently the masked man wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her back.

"Oh Christine. Shhh shh now, don't cry now. Please, do not cry for Erik," He soothingly whispered as she cried into his suit jacket.

They pulled away, Erik stared down at her.

"Christine, you are still so beautiful."

She smiled, "You haven't changed a bit Erik. How? Where have you been all this time?"

"After the mob raided my home, I knew it wasn't safe to go back-save for gathering a few possessions. My late mother's home was left untouched after her death. I took what I had and made refuge there," Erik explained.

"And I..." He paused, "I had learned that the union between the Vicomte De Chagny and Christine Daee was to commence tomorrow."

Christine stared up at him sadly, "Erik I-"

But he silenced her, "No Christine. I've not come to finish what I started a year ago down in the catacombs. I've come to terms that you will never love me...as...as I love you."

Christine heart broke hearing her angel's voice crack, trying to hold back raw emotion. It hurt to know how deeply he still had such feelings for her.

"Why are you here?" She asked, her outstretched hand grazing the edge of his mask.

"To say goodbye," He confessed, laying his hand overtop hers. "I know once you are wed I will never have any claim on you. And without you, without your music, there is nothing more for me here."

"Angel..." She whispered, tears welling up.

Erik shook his head, "Christine, why do you sound so miserable? You are to be a wife in a matter of hours. Yet before I entered, you looked so saddened."

"It's music Erik. I feel lost and empty without it. Raoul hasn't barred me from the stage, but he said once we're married it just wouldn't be possible for me to return to the stage."

Erik scowled, "He squanders your talent. You are meant for so much more than playing the part of a dutiful wife. Your voice is meant to soar like a songbird."

"I haven't sang since that night. Don Juan Triumphant was my last performance. I never told you Erik but I thought your opera, your music was so beautiful."

The Phantom's heart swelled hearing such praise from his protege and muse.

"You made it complete Christine. My song cannot take flight without you."

Reaching his hand up Erik gently removed the pin from Christine's hair. Her chocolate brown curls cascading around her face.

The simple gesture made Christine smile warmly at her maestro. She wasn't sure why she did it, but Christine let her fingers curl under the edge of Erik's mask. He shuddered, knowing what she wanted to do.

"I never thought to ask you to show me. I'm sorry for that Erik. But would you, just once let me see you?" She asked.

His teeth clenched nervously, but he nodded.

Christine removed to mask to reveal the twisted distortion he hid. This face that had caused Erik so much pain and torment. His voice was so beautiful and his mind brilliant, why couldn't his face match these qualities? Why was life so cruel to grace Erik with such a face?

His malformed lips trembled feeling Christine stroke the sunken flesh of his cheek.

"Does it hurt?" Christine asked quietly.

He meekly nodded, "My mask scrapes against my face sometimes, it irritates my skin.

"Where will you be going angel? If you are not staying in Paris?"

"I-I have not quite decided yet. There is a ship in Calais leaving the day after your wedding. I will be on it, but I'm not sure where it leads. But anything is better than staying in France, this place holds too many memories for me."

"Bad?" She looked away guiltily, she was partly responsible for what transpired a year ago, and felt at fault for Erik's pain.

"On the contrary. Horrible memories I can easily bury, I'm use to them. What I can't forget as easily are the few that brought me joy. Those thoughts, thoughts of music, harmonies, you."

Placing his mask back on, Erik adjust his suit jacket.

"I must go Christine, but there is one thing I would like you to have." Taking her hand gently in his, she felt Erik place something small in her palm. "I should hope you will keep it this time. But I understand if you choose not to."

Christine opened her palm to see a ring, the very same ring he had taken off and slipped onto her finger during Don Juan.

Opening the jewellery box, Christine picked through it, until finding a gold plated chain. Lifting it from the box, she slipped Erik's ring through it. Removing the sapphire necklace, she replaced it with the ring and chain, clasping it in place.

"I promise Erik, I-" She turned, but her angel was no longer there. She glanced around the room, The Phantom nowhere in sight.

Christine felt new tears well up in the corners of her eyes.

"Goodbye Erik," She said to the empty air, clutching the ring.

She sat there for some time before sleep was beginning to overcome her. She dressed down into her nightgown, removing the makeup she wore.

Lying in the large bed, Christine fumbled with Erik's ring.

"In sleep he sang to me,

"In dreams he came."

She quietly sang to herself, lulling to sleep.

"That voice which calls to me,

And speaks my name."

As Christine fell into her slumber, Erik watched her from outside the window.

"Goodbye Christine." Taking one last look at his sleeping angel, Erik leapt down, his cape like cloak whooshing as he landed. Slipping into the dark, moonless night, Erik slipped away from the De Chagny manor and where he had a carriage waiting just a ways away from the main gate.

"To Rouen," He called to the driver as the carriage sped down the dark trail.

#Phanfic #erik and christine #christine daae

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

Text

Crack A Smile - I

Lauren sighed as she stared at her reflection in the full length mirror. Her long, raven hair cascading down her shoulders, her body lean yet toned, her face slightly flawed but sufficient enough to be called beautiful by her people, and her eyes. Her once vibrant green eyes, that held so much passion and emotion in them, now dull and lifeless. She yearned to remember what they had once looked like, for the portraits done of her family had over exaggerated her eye color tremendously, but so long as she remained unhappy she would never see them again. Sighing once more, she called for her personal maid and best friend.

“Yes, m'lady?” Normani asked as she entered the princess’s room.

“Normani, you know you can call me Lauren,” the princess spoke.

“Yeah well I have to keep up appearances outside these four walls,” Normani jested with a smile. She had been Lauren’s personal maid for a few years now and the girls were thick as thieves. Normani was one of the few who didn’t actively try to make Lauren laugh because she knew of Lauren’s past, but she was one of the lucky ones who got to see her smile.

“I have to actually look decent today to deal with these ghastly suitors,” Lauren said with a roll of her eyes, and Normani tutted at her.

“You know, you could meet your prince charming, maybe even princess charming,” she sang as she waggled her eyebrows at the girl sitting in front of her. Normani also knew of Lauren’s (not so secret) secret, that she admired the female body just as much as the male body. One night, early in their friendship, Lauren had suggested that Normani stay the night with her, and with a bottle of wine they got into more than a few shenanigans with each other. The morning after wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and they remained best friends since.

“Oh hush,” Lauren waved her hand, but the corner of her lip was turned up ever so slightly that Normani felt accomplished.

After a small period of time, Normani had made Lauren look like the princess she was born to be. Draped in a red dress that flowed to the ground, her hair brushed and tamed in long waves, and her makeup done to make her eyes seem a litte more vibrant, Lauren looked absolutely stunning.

“My my, princess, you look amazing if I do say so myself,” Normani spoke as she patted herself on the back.

“Ever the humble one, Mani,” Lauren joked, causing Normani to roll her eyes.

“Hey I did a damn good job!”

“I know, thank you,” Lauren spoke sincerely with the smallest of smiles gracing her lips.

“Now go out there and woo the crowd!” Normani yelled enthusiastically.

Lauren shook her head at her best friend’s antics. “Tell Dinah I said hello please.” Dinah was the best blacksmith in the kingdom, and also Normani’s partner.

“Of course, your highness,” Normani smirked.

Lauren exited her room, descending the stairs to the hallway where her parents stood waiting for her, dressed in elegant purple garb.

“Lauren you look marvelous,” Michael spoke as she reached them, pulling her in for a tight hug which she gladly reciprocated. She may not be the happiest girl in the kingdom, but her heart will always go out to her family, especially those she’s lost.

“I know you’re probably dreading this,” Clara began and Lauren gave her a look as to say ‘you’re telling me’, “but we’re doing this because we love you. We want you to be with someone who can make you happy. We don’t care who it is as long as you’re happy.”

“I know, and as much as I hate sitting and being coaxed to laugh like a child, I know you do it out of love,” Lauren said understandingly. Her father smiled proudly at her before guiding her towards the doors to the ballroom.

Upon opening the doors, the palace guards who stood beside the doorway raised their horns and sounded them off; a signal that the royal family had entered. All eyes turned towards the Jauregui’s, but more specifically, Lauren. She would feel the slightest bit self conscious if she actually cared about the opinions of anyone in this room. The king, queen, and princess made their way to their thrones at the front of the room, and as they sat down the royal guard began to speak.

“Here Ye! Here Ye! By decree of King and Queen Jauregui, the hand of the beautiful Princess Lauren will be given to the one who can make her laugh. Suitors may try but once per day. Any violence or arrogance will result in your immediate removal from the kingdom as well as the list of suitors who may try for Princess Lauren’s hand,” royal guard Troye Sivan spoke as he rolled the scroll within his hands, taking his place beside the royal family.

The first suitor to try for her hand was Sir Luis, a good looking but dull fellow. His words were bland and his jokes subpar, and Troye could tell immediately, ushering him away for the next suitor to come up.

“Thank you, Troye. I thought I was going to have to pretend to stay awake,” Lauren whispered in his ear making him chuckle.

“No one can make you laugh yet you make everyone else laugh,” he mumbled, earning a small upturn of the corner of Lauren’s mouth. Troye was also a dear friend to Lauren. He and Normani kept her sane within these castle walls. Smiling gently at the princess, he took his place beside Lauren.

“Good day, your highness. I am Prince Bradley from the Simpson Kingdom,” the small brunette boy spoke as he bowed his head to the princess. Lauren would say he had a smug smile about him, if he had any evidence of lips that is. He spoke a short but lovely poem to Lauren, calling her 'as beautiful as the sunrise’ and other metaphors, but nothing made her smile. She had been called beautiful so many times in her life that she had no reason to actually believe it. After he was finished, Lauren thanked him and Troye moved to release him.

“No! I will have your hand, princess! I am the most fit for the crown out of any of these imbeciles!” Bradley yelled as Troye approached. “You’ll be sorry you ever deni-”

Bradley’s body hit the floor with a thud as Troye’s fist struck his face, and he laid there caressing his cheek as his eyes flickered between Troye and Lauren.

“Get this arrogant bastard out of here,” Troye spoke to the guards behind him, and they carried him out of the doors hurriedly.

“Now, where were we?” Troye addressed Lauren with a smile, who thanked him for getting that bafoon out of her presence.

“Duchess Lucia of the Vives kingdom, your majesty,” the woman greeted Lauren with a bow.

“Lucy we are very close friends, you don’t need to be formal with me,” Lauren jested.

“I like to play the part sometimes,” Lucy flashed her perfect teeth as she smiled brightly at Lauren.

As close as Lucy and Lauren were, Lucy still couldn’t make the princess laugh.

“You tried your best, sweetheart,” Troye smirked at her. Lucy just laughed at his sarcastic comment, “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Lovely to see you again, Luce,” Lauren hugged her as she bid her farewell.

“The court will now adjourn. Please come again tomorrow to try for Princess Lauren’s hand,” Troye announced loudly. Lauren sighed in relief, slouching ever so slightly in her chair as all of the eligible suitors left the castle. She had never been so happy to be unladylike in all of her years.

“Mother, father, can we do these suiting things every other day? I can only pretend so much,” Lauren asked hopefully.

“Of course, sweetheart. We understand that that many people can be draining. We will go at your pace” Michael smiled as he gripped her shoulder gently. With gratitude, Lauren retreated to her room to spend her evening alone.

Closing her doors, she sighed heavily as she began undressing herself, quickly slipping on her nightgown before stepping out onto her balcony. The balcony of her room looked out over the royal gardens, a request she had made personally a few years ago after the incident. Lauren looked out at the setting sun sadly, a tear slowly making its way down her cheek as she let herself feel once more. She couldn’t let herself cry in front of her people, let alone the nobles, but in the confines of her room she let her tears flow freely.

A rustle beneath her caught her attention. Quickly wiping her tears, she looked out into the garden to see a commoner walking among the flowers. While they were allowed within the garden walls, it was a rarity to see one here so late in the day walking them, let alone by themselves. Lauren watched as the commoner looked around quickly before plucking a single rose and stuffing it into her knapsack. Now Lauren was intrigued. Commoners definitely weren’t supposed to pluck the flowers.

“Might I ask what it is you think you’re doing?” Lauren called out to the flower thief in a calm tone. Lauren couldn’t care less if her people plucked the flowers, they were a beauty that should be shared with everyone, but she was curious why anyone would when no one had ever tried before.

Until today that is.

The thief looked up to see the Princess Lauren looking at her with an eyebrow raised. Her eyes immediately widened.

“Oh fuck!”

With that, she ran towards the exit, praying that the princess would take pity on her.

Lauren watched the whole debacle, amused at the thief’s word choice. She observed that for a commoner, she sure was beautiful.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Lauren retreated to her room and laid onto her bed, hoping the nightmares would grant her leniency.

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #romance fluff #submission #Crack A Smile

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saintorr · 7 years

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SHIVA c. 2017 by Saintorr

Shiva died last week. How and what do you say about a little, bitch cat who was your friend and companion of twelve years? I had a twisted relationship with her, one of love and hate; the same as I have for New York City, where I've lived for way too long.

Shiva was born a year or two before 2005. In that year, a stranger (probably an NYU student who needed a cat to fix a mouse problem then finished school and was quite finished too with the cat) who needed to dump her, did so in the lobby of my building. I had just returned from an apartment swap in Amsterdam, post Katrina, and there she was. Her coat was so clean, like silky, mink to the touch, I couldn’t imagine that she could be sick or have fleas, with that immaculate fur. And her coloring mesmerized me; grey with a rose pink tint undercoat I’d never seen on a cat before. Definitely not Russian Blue. I wonder if there is such a thing as Russian grey rose? Her dainty white paws and terribly aloof but curious attitude cinched the deal. Besides my apartment was infested with mice, a farewell gift of my messy and bitchy, Dutch woman “swapee-from-hell” Linda Cooper Black, a monster of a woman. I needed a cat, so I let her in. She was just naturally easy to focus on, and a great relief from the cold, sterile space of my flat.

Shiva loved to hiss, which always gave me a start—it was violent, and primal sounding. And she was never afraid of biting, or, taking a good solid, swipe at you when the mood struck her. She enthroned herself on top of my refrigerator and dared anyone to fuck with her. And like a beautiful Buddha, she couldn’t be touched, only loved or admired from afar. She was scary perfection in the flesh, with her own particular kind of feline, aloof, magic.

The first week I had her, she attacked my laptop, dislodging some 13 keys. I fitted them all back onto the keyboard, except for the “S.” For my trouble, the entire keyboard needed to be replaced for $300 bucks. The next day, she climbed up on the fire escape and refused to come down. I pursued her, almost falling off three stories in the process.

Shortly thereafter, I put my face close up to hers and said, “Hello Miss Priss, how are you?” As if responding angrily to a bad come on line in a sleazy pick-up bar, she attacked with a single, razor-sharp swipe of her paw, cutting a bleeding dotted line down the center of my nose.

We had some real knock down drag out fights. You see she wasn’t a lap cat and no matter how I craved to touch, hold, and pet her, she defied me, for she was a girl cat and love was only to be had on her terms, not mine. Besides, she wasn't born in my closet, like me previous cat who died some five years before. Tony the Tiger was my best friend forever. Everybody has one like that; the divine one. His Mother was a slutty cat I’d christened Egypta Q-Tip who loved hanging out in the bottom of garbage cans. Tony was more dog than cat. No hissing and biting here, his favorite human interaction was hugging you around the neck accompanied by a loud, deep purr. Shiva was coldly beautiful, detached and constantly semi-paranoid more often than not. Tony was warm, at ease and affectionate.

I often ponder, what is it about animals that grabs our compassion and won't let go? A friend said, it's because they give so much and ask nothing in return. Another person once shared his “theory of accelerated evolution” i.e., cats dogs live compressed shortened lives and they are here to teach us lessons we need to learn, blah blah blah. Yet another female friends claims to this day that one of her cats was a “vessel for her toxins” and that the feline’s presence kept her healthy.

In the long, peaceful times, her gentle, quiet silhouette welcomed me and reminded me I was not all alone in the world. Toward the end she began to talk more. She was even purring in the waiting room as I held her during both visits to the vet; in those final days...

I think I made the right decision; she was in pain, not enjoying being-a-cat-activities like most cats, namely eating. Yeah her teeth were a mess and I partially blame myself for not addressing that problem when she lost the first canine teeth three years ago, but I'm poor; and a thousand bucks to seal a tooth is outrageously expensive when you’re on a low, fixed income and a prisoner of rich, bitch, tourist hell, New York City.

There were so many factors, toward the end; she would sit in silence, night after night bunched up, looking uncomfortable, eyes closed as if to say “I’m quite done here now, if you please, I’m ready to go at any time now.” Her wasting away and lack of appetite; there was a mass in her abdomen, a cancer that had gotten bigger in only a month. I knew fearfully and sadly that if I put it off her leaving, it would just be for my own satisfaction, selfishness and the fear of being all alone again in my 425 square feet of prime, New York, East Village, one-bedroom space. Being chronically single, queer and older in NYC the nights get cold, restless and ghostly; the wine can get boring and the fake emotions from the television are poor substitutes for a warm heart or a hand to hold. Hmm, the past few years most dicks even leaving me feeling mankind has failed me. But I digress...

I used to pride myself on how much I loved doing M4M massage, with sex as a reward and a compensation against the sheer drudgery and service-job-hell of doing massage; and now that I’m 63, the M4M has turned into M4 Nobody. At least with Shiva, I had somebody, something, a creature who wouldn't see me as "less than" for being alone. Why is my history of intimacy more tied up with cats than with men? Am I too good for men? Such a grandiose thought--but what if it’s true? Are divine people only meant to be near animals because their love is pure? Am I truly divine, a "sacred whore" who's gotten older? Or am I just a lonely, older, white man who once had a pussy? I swear my next cat will be not be a girl.

And now the void is so cold.

On that last and final visit to the vet, the first shot knocked her out with her eyes still open. As I held her in my arms, I tried to sing a few lyrics from “Your Song” by Elton John but I kept choking up from the grief inside, pouring out like a slow moving lava from a volcano as I made the decision to let her go to Rainbow Bridge. Moments before that, as if sensing she must escape, she jumped from my lap and ran toward a low, deep, blue panel on the foot of the anonymous door in the exam room of the vet's, where outside, the sound of other animals and birds echoed as if we were in a small Noah’s Arc, not the St. Marks Veterinary Hospital. After that first show, the vet reentered the room then and removed her limp but still living body from my arms. She was wrapped in a ragged towel. The vet placed her on the cold, steel table, found a vein in her leg and injected the second shot containing a syringe full of light, blue, savagely beautiful liquid. Moments later, her heat stopped beating.

When it was over, I was left alone. I kissed her gently, one last time. And made sure she was well-covered with the towel. There was last touch of her tail, which was still warm. After a few minutes and prayers, I opened the door and got a technician’s attention. “I have to go” I said “and I don’t want her left alone. Please.”

But it was her time? Or am I murderer, feeling guilty that my dear, little friend couldn't simply walk into the woods next to my Grandmother Nan's house on the hill of a small town in Illinois next to those thick, green, dark and lost woods and be with her kindred spirits, the trees and birds and stars as she left this life, one of her nine? In the woods, she’d be dreaming of catnip and curling up, warmly, snuggly making a nest of fur, twigs and leaves at the base of a strong, sturdy oak.

Here’s to Shiva, the bitch cat. I will never again have a female. I want only boys. But her untouchable beauty haunts me still. And at the end, she wasn't a bitch anymore, she was a loving creature. A waif, with short, grey hair, serious green eyes, a tinted rose, pink undercoat and dainty, white paws looking like small ballet slippers…

I'm so sorry, my darling. I took the easy path; I set you free. Forgive me. And please God, lead me into the woods when I have to go; my face shining like a silver mask in the moonlight. Please God, let me be gazing up and into the trees and clouds, my eyes resting, on the shadows of loving, dark, bodies of muscled warriors and chanting Shamans, coming to take me away to their secret, land, glowing with gold and mysterious shadows…

#saintorr #steven orr writer #steven orr artist #steven orr underground faggotry #fabulous faggotry #nycmasseur.com #st.orr healing arts #queer bodyworker artist st.orr

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itsiotrecords-blog · 7 years

Link

http://ift.tt/2umNpxs

It’s fine to swerve every now and then from your relationship or marriage with your close friends. However, there’s a fine line between friendship and infidelity. Friendship is a relationship of mutual happiness and support. On the other hand, infidelity is a violation of a couple’s verbal contract regarding emotional and s*xual exclusivity. They’re two completely different things. Sure, life happens; and sometimes, life gets very messy because people mess up. But affairs never just happen out of the blue. Lots of people—both men and women—have to ask themselves what they can do to make their relationships with their partners or spouses better. A healthy relationship or marriage requires several things in order to foster intimacy. Those things include open feelings, romantic fantasies, and intentional encounters. The romance is enticing in the early stages of an affair, but many cheating partners end up having to deal with reality in the form of a wake-up call. Not all cheating partners or spouses will feel guilty and apologize for their actions, but some of them will become disheartened. You can disagree all you want, but Johnny Depp‘s famous quote, “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second,” is indeed accurate. From bouts of depression to falling for a best friend, many Reddit users have shared their reasons for cheating on the discussion website. So, let’s take a look at 15 users who revealed their cheating confessions on how their affairs started.

#1 Ending A Toxic Relationship Teens are just starting to navigate the world of romantic relationships. Even if they have great guidance from their parents, teens can find themselves in a toxic relationship with no purpose. A Reddit user reminisced about her previous relationship saying, “I was in a relationship where neither of us were happy. I met my ex bf 2 years ago. He was nice; he was funny; he was cute. We started dating. After a few months, he started to follow me. It was slightly creepy and I thought I just imagined it. But when I was with my best friend, he asked me when I went home last night “because I random drove by your house and your car wasn’t there. That was around 2 in the morning.” Well, after a huge fight because of this, I spent the night at my best friend’s house. With a few bottles of wine and that deep, deep unhappiness…My best friend and I are together since almost a year and I couldn’t be happier.” The user was aware her actions were wrong, but she had to do what’s right for her.

#2 Dealing With Insecurity When a guy is insecure, he’ll have difficulty falling in love and might resort to affairs as a way to self-medicate. A Reddit user wrote, “I cheated on my current girlfriend by talking to another girl. Nothing really happened. Not so much as a nude photo was even sent, no ‘I love yous’ or nothing, just the possibility of leaving my current were talked about. She found out about it. I lied and made it even worse. But at the end of the day, we talked about it and she realized that I never felt valued or appreciated. I felt used and she’s done her fair share of backstabbing herself and at no other point in time have I ever wronged her. Sadly, nothing’s changed so far. She’s still unemployed and does absolutely nothing and I still work my a** off all the fricking time. I’m down to one day a week now and I can’t even pay all my bills.” The user is clearly worried about himself and is simply dragging things out because he wants to make his girlfriend feel the pain for her actions, but all he’s doing is creating damage.

#3 Getting Even After you’ve discovered you’ve been cheated on, the thirst for revenge can transform even the sanest of us. A Reddit user put out a few statements saying that he basically cheated on his girlfriend because he wanted to seek revenge for her doing it to him first and admitted that the girl he cheated on his girlfriend with was awesome. His affair was short-lived and only lasted for a couple of nights, but it made him feel good. Retaliation affairs can sabotage the potential recovery of a relationship because it’ll distract you from dealing with the actual issues that led to the affair in the first place. The relationship is likely already vulnerable, and you’ll unlikely teach the cheating partner or spouse a lesson because it’ll just make you look bitter. Getting even isn’t the smartest choice because you can make them feel justified in having their affair, but to each their own.

#4 Being Too Young To Know Better Perhaps this Reddit user didn’t know what love meant at the time. He chronicled, “I was in a relationship for 3 years with my high school sweetheart. It was actually 3.5 years. But, whatever. It ended because I wouldn’t take her back after what she had done with someone else. She lied to me whenever I asked if she’d done something. She looked directly in my face with her big eyes and lied to me. In that moment, I was filled with trust. Until I found out through my best friend. We texted each other. She texted me tough sh*t like ‘its none of your business’. Though we weren’t officially together when she committed her act, I didn’t have it in me to keep her. When it came to her wanting to talk about it, I bid her farewell and let her go. We haven’t interacted since. I didn’t take her back or hear her out a final time.” It probably wouldn’t be healthy for him to go back to the relationship anyway.

#5 Avoiding Serious Medical Issues The majority of Reddit users are young and male. The discussion website definitely saw one user at his candid best. He affirmed, “Not a married cheater, but I hope I never become one after recently finding out about my dad. To the best of my knowledge, he has carried on at least two long-term affairs with women in their 20’s throughout my childhood. There are probably quite a few more skeletons in his closet, like high-end hookers or one night stands; but I don’t even know if I want to find out about those. My mom has known for at least 3 years. For 2 of those years, she was battling cancer; and for all 3, she has had to put up with the sh*t I give her.” Cancer is a serious disease that can be treated so people can live longer lives. If you’re in a relationship with a healthy person who fell ill, you should at least have the decency to leave them because serious medical issues are already a pain in the a*s.

#6 Struggling With Depression A Reddit user admitted to struggling with depression saying, “I cheated on my long-time girlfriend and was subsequently busted several years ago. I wish I could say that my girlfriend did something horribly wrong; but she didn’t. I did it for incredibly selfish reasons. I went through a severe bout of depression and thought that the fresh and intimate connection of a new girl would help fix my mental health problems. It didn’t. Not worth it.” Depression is more than feeling sad and going through rough patches. It’s a serious mental health condition that requires medical care. Its effects can be devastating to the victims and their families if left untreated. About 16 million American adults had at least one depressive episode in the past year. People from all walks of life can experience depression. But with early detection and a successful treatment plan, the path to recovery is within reach.

#7 Slumping Arranged Marriage Future plans are something most of us have thought about at a young age. A Reddit user brought up future plans saying, “I’m 19 and I was in an arranged marriage with someone 25 years my senior. I got married when I was 18. It has to do with a lot of family politics and circumstances that I would rather not get into. But to make a long story short, for now, I’m seeing someone my age and he’s aware of my status. As soon as I finish school and become self-sufficient, I plan on divorcing my husband.” There’s a never-ending debate over love marriage versus arranged marriage. For every relationship to work, there needs to be empathy, respect, and unconditional love. In this case, the young lady started a new relationship to mask the damaged one. She didn’t even try to work things out with her much older husband. In the end, any marriage—whether love or arranged—can be a success or failure.

#8 Hating The Other Half A Reddit user shared a bizarre story of how his ex-girlfriend cheated on him. The user explained saying, “I wasn’t the cheater. I was the cheated-on. She came over to hang out. She brought me food. Tacos. They had sour cream. She knew I don’t like sour cream. I told her I wasn’t going to eat it. I told her I’d leave it on the table for my mom and sis to eat. She flipped and stormed off. That night, she met up with her ex and cheated on me with him. So…she cheated on me because I refused to eat sour cream. Honestly, I was always good to her. Her cheating was not justified.” I agree with the user that the reasoning behind of his ex-girlfriend’s cheating wasn’t justified. She knew that he disliked sour cream, but she didn’t accommodate his taste buds and mentioned the removal of it when she ordered the tacos. It’s a win-lose situation in favor of the man.

#9 Losing Interest In S*x When looking back in her marriage, a Reddit user recalled, “I am a married woman having an affair with a married man. I was faithful for 15 years and then my husband lost all interest in s*x. No matter what I did or tried, he wasn’t interested. I’m in good shape, take good care of myself, and above average in looks. I tried to get my husband to go to the doctor but he refuses. He is able to perform, just doesn’t have an interest. I know it’s nothing personal but it hurts to be rejected over and over again. I was starting to feel ugly and depressed. I thought about leaving but didn’t want to do that to my kids. One night, the kids were at my mom’s and I decided to surprise hubby with new lingerie. I put it on and sat down on the couch next to him. He ignored me and asked me to move because he was watching TV and I was in his way. He didn’t even notice the $100 corset and panties I’d bought at Victoria’s Secret and had been saving for a night with no kids.” As a result, the user cried in the restroom for an hour. After her husband went to bed, she created a profile on Ashley Madison to find a man who was open to dating her. She eventually found a man who was in a similar situation like her. They kept it strictly s*xual and met once a week in different locations—including his office after work hours. However, neither party wanted to tear their family apart, but they both filled in voids of s*x, which is what they both needed.

#10 Working Away From Home Work travel can be both a blessing and a curse. In this Reddit post, a user breaks down his feelings saying, “Here’s the deal. My wife and I have talked in the past about the fact that I get jealous sometimes when she travels for work. It’s usually when she goes to conferences that have multiple late-night parties and stays out late. I’d call that my main trigger.” The user added that he was dealing with a new situation as his wife went to a trade show instead of a conference and hosted a booth. The men in her booth invited her for dinner at 5 pm, which triggered him, causing him to send her a text telling her to let him know when she got in her hotel room safe and sound. She didn’t respond to him until 1:45 am. He didn’t know how to cope with his feelings and had an urge to cheat.

#11 Running Away From Conflict Some people don’t know how to deal with conflict in a relationship. As a result, they run away from conflict, which often leads to resentment. A Reddit user acknowledged that she didn’t love her boyfriend anymore. She went on saying, “I didn’t love him anymore. It had been a year since we last had s*x or even kissed. It was an unhealthy relationship, to say the least. I went out one night and got too drunk and hooked up with someone. That’s how I realized I didn’t love them, because I didn’t even feel guilty after. It was such a relief to experience human contact again. I ended things shortly after. He doesn’t know. Telling him what I did would have made a bad breakup even worse. I am a human trashcan.” When someone commits to a romantic relationship, there will always be some sort of conflict. The user didn’t seem to have brought up the no-kissing issue because the boyfriend was mentally unstable and allegedly got angry whenever she asked him for something more than a hug. They have very different conflicting ideas, which was why she cheated.

#12 Sleeping With A Boss A cheating boss can be just as bad as a straying partner or spouse. A Reddit user recalled saying, “Walked in on my wife of 2 years in bed with her boss. I remember just kind of standing there in shock for a few minutes until she noticed me. When she saw me, I just turned around and left without saying a word. I don’t remember much after that. I kind of blacked out for a few hours—lots of crying, begging to forgive her, etc. Packed my sh*t up and left the next day. Luckily, we didn’t have any kids or a mortgage or any assets, so it was a clean break. In retrospect, I should have seen the signs, but I was young and naive…I guess.” The user saw the positives of the situation. But still, he didn’t deserve to walk in on his wife cheating on her boss. That probably won’t end up in a happily ever after anyway.

#13 Getting Bored At Work In a Reddit thread for married cheaters, a user described his affair after being bored at work one day. He stated, “I’ve been married for the last eight years to my beautiful wife. We have three kids, and I love them more than life itself. I work at a boring a*s office, and that’s what started my problems. A female co-worker of mine started to become friendly, and we play around with each other just to make the day go by. This led to touching, flirting, rubbing, and eventually, it became intimate. It all happened so quickly that before I knew it, we were having s*x in the car before work, in the storage closets, and going on ’business trips’ together. No guilt whatsoever; I never even really thought about it.” Despite the fact that people can lose their jobs, affairs are quite common in the workplace. People tend to mingle in the workplace, and if someone is intentionally or unintentionally seeking a connection, a fellow co-worker is likely to provide it.

#14 Falling For An Older Woman Toxic relationships can lead to breakups, but they can also lead to young men falling for an older woman. We’ve all heard the term “cougar,” and although it may not be an epidemic, it’s certainly on the rise. Most of the time, age gaps in relationships are far greater for people who marry later in life because they want girl toys or boy toys; but let’s focus on young men who are attracted to older women. A Reddit user said that his current relationship was toxic and that he had his eyes on a 37-year-old when he was 19. He claimed, “It was the craziest thing. I worked in the front desk at a clinic within the hospital. She would walk by every day at the end of her shift. She was a nurse on the floor above me. Always in her workout gear. I guess she always saw me checking out her a** when she walked by, idk. But one day, she handed me a napkin that said “Call me :*” and had her phone number. I nearly melted.” He lived out his dream of dating an older woman.

#15 Wanting An Older Man May-December romances are a common trend in Hollywood, but they’re often laced with drama in real life because one or both parties have to leave in messy cases. A Reddit user–with a wife of 12 years along with two young children–wrote a contradictory post saying, “I love my wife. She is a great mother, a great provider for the family, and we make a great team when it comes to raising our kids. However, she leaves me feeling undesired. There was this new girl at work that I became friends with–nothing more–and talked to at work often. She was 17, and I told myself there was no way I was even flirting with or considering getting involved with this girl, even though I was starting to feel an attraction to her. Well, she turned 18. I told her then that we could become Facebook friends, and that led to exchanging numbers, which led to texting, which snowballed down the hill. One day, we went to a party at a friend’s house with a bunch of co-workers, and in a drunken moment, I spilled the beans about having some emerging feelings for her. A week or two later, we kissed for the first time. And then made out.” The good news is that most of these issues can be handled, just like any other relationship issues…regardless of age.

Source: TheRichest

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