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lifeandlies-of-regulusblack · 1 year

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HP AU: What We Leave Behind

Relationship: Sirius Black & Regulus Black

Sirius comes back to 12 Grimmauld Place, a final time to take a well-worn, green scarf with him. || Two muggles find shelter in an abandoned townhouse, and one wonders what must've happened to the brothers who used to live there. || A scarf, a polaroid, and a ghost of a house.

HP AU! Where 12 Grimmauld place sits abandoned after Walburga dies. Never having been used by the Order because Sirius can't possibly spend more than five minutes inside. It's simply too much. It will always be too much.

One last time, after breaking out of Azkaban, he goes back just to grab Regulus' Slytherin scarf. Not the one he used for school. Rather, one a deep emerald green, made with the softest wool, and knitted with little silver snake patterns: posh enough for a Black to wear. The one he used as a kid, all baby fat and rosy cheeks and grabby hands (and "siri, my stomach hurts. can't you eat my carrots instead?"). The one he stopped wearing, when he was harshly told it was time to grow up... but still continues to fiddle with, when anxious. The one with a pin he never took off (of two ravens in flight). A gift from Sirius' first Hogsmeade trip when things weren't okay, but they still were.

It's all he takes before leaving everything behind. But this time, Sirius does the right thing and takes Regulus away with him.

So, the house falls into this beautifully macabre process of decay. The wards fall apart, eventually, and somehow, the statute of secrecy and all its deeply invasive spells make their way inside, taking everything with a hint of magic in it.

Slowly, it happens. 12 Grimmauld Place is washed away of most its memories.

∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O

Years after, two muggles seeking shelter from the night, pry off the boards sealing the front door. Inside, they look around and see wood from the ceiling peeling away and drooping down as if to reach for the ground. One can barely even tell what color the walls used to be.

As the two fully come in, they realize it smells of mold and mildew and rat shit.

Most oppressingly, there's a certain misery that permeates throughout the property. Seeping into and coming from every tile; every woven thread from those disgustingly moth-eaten curtains. It's a house that reminds you to be miserable.

But even in this state, Grimmauld's bare architectural bones echo the songs of its past beauty. In a way… dead and empty, it's beautiful still.

Wandering about, hands tracing the rotting paneling and feet walking in seemingly winding hallways — they pick a random room and find one that's bathed in barely distinguishable red and gold. They suspect, even the bed has mold but it's the softest thing they've gotten to sleep in for months.

One sits on the bed and props themself up on the headboard, quick to pull out a bent cigarette. A light smoke before bedtime. The other pokes and prods about. Opens and closes drawers and marvels at a handful of clothes left behind. He takes them all out, throwing one at his friend on the bed and shoves the rest into his bag.

In the process of doing just that, something flutters to the ground. He picks it up and sees it's a polaroid of a teenage boy sleeping under the shade a hawthorne tree — the very same one they spotted, out in the mess of the back garden earlier. He fails to contain a surprised laughter, at a hand in the corner of the picture, signing a recognizable obscenity. Clearly addressed to the slumbering boy.

At the back, it says:

Reggie,

You look like a right idiot. I'll keep taking pictures of your stupid sleeping face if you keep avoiding me. I'll even send them to your slyther-friends. Talk to me, you git. We live in the same house?? Baby brothers can't sulk for too long.

Siriusly, what can I do?

And in reply:

Sirius,

I hardly care whether you find, in my face, a measure of intellect, which you already lack. I wasn't the one who spent the holidays at the Potter's after having promised to come home. You promised.

Go ahead, send them. See if I still give you the dittany you keep asking for at school. See if I keep the stupid pin you insist, "must" have a place on my scarf—and I mean it this time.

What I want: 1) stop breaking your promises. 2) your notes for 3rd and 4th year.

∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O ∆ l O

Smiling, he sets the picture just on top of the cabinet where it fell out from.

Having new clothes on his back and a bed to sleep in, he turns in for the night. But just before his eyes close, back pressed against the warmth of his friend, he wonders whatever must have happened to the brothers. And hopes they're okay, somewhere out there.

Snorting to himself, that— and how dittany must've been some sort of posh weed for kids who used to live in houses like this one.

*consider giving me a reblog if you liked it :) it helps!

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dustedmagazine · 7 months

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Emily Robb — If I Am Misery Then Give Me Affection (Petty Bunco)

There’s no shortage of squall on Emily Robb’s new album, If I Am Misery Then Give Me Affection. It’s a guitar pageant! One listen and you’ll hear Charley Patton amidst the buzz, his primitive blues lurking in the cacophony. Pull those impulses forward 40 years and you’ll hear familiar sounds that take you right to the early Velvets.

Robb’s guitar hums like a pipe organ to open the record. “Hermit’s Cave” evolves from a solemn hymn into a harmonic drone, punctuated only when the amp catches its breath, then receding. But if you think her sophomore album sounds like a somber affair, you’d be sorely mistaken.

Robb rips into the familiar chug and wail she introduced on her fantastic debut album, How to Moonwalk, with “A Kiss,” soloing relentlessly over a looping riff. “Dispenser” finds her sawing the air with the guitar, growing only more frenzied as the song unravels. The centerpiece of the record, “Slowing Singing Bathing Shaving” locates Robb’s sound among the drone for which Philadelphia is so well known.

But there’s an intimacy here, too. It’s not a noise bath. It’s a deeply personal record – not in the sense that it’s telling a story that feels like a secret being shared – but that it’s just Robb and her guitar, alone together. The sound is at once austere and rich; you might overlook how the raw vulnerability of her work is what makes it so compelling. Unlike the maelstrom that is Astute Palate, there’s nowhere to hide in the mix.

That aspect reveals itself in the record’s more plaintive moments, like the meditative, “First Grow a Gold Plant,” underpinned by a throbbing chord that pulses beneath the melody. It’s countered immediately afterward by the wooly rave up “Rolling Electric Ball.” It’s just a classic wall of riffage that blankets the listener in fuzz before decaying on the runout.

What makes Emily Robb’s work so remarkable is how much is clearly left in the tank. She’s an inventive, exciting artist making fun, engaging music. If misery loves company, then consider yourself invited.

J.T. Ramsay

#emily robb #if i am misery then give me affection #petty bunco #j.t. ramsay #albumreview #dusted magazine #noise #guitar #Bandcamp

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bracketsoffear · 9 months

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Songs for the 15 Fears (w/ links to the spotify playlists I made):

BURIED

Bottom of the River by Delta Rae

Choke by Poppy

Hey, Little Songbird from Hadestown

The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron

CORRUPTION

Neglected Space by Imogen Heap

Parasite Eve by Bring Me the Horizon

Decay by Pitou

Fear the Fever by Digital Daggers

DARK

You Want It Darker by Leonard Cohen

My House by PVRIS

Dark Matter by Les Friction

Enter Sandman by Metallica

DESOLATION

Home by AlicebanD

Ashes by The Longest Johns

Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation

Hellfire by the Mechanisms

END

Ex-Mortis by Ice Nine Kills

The Doomed by A Perfect Circle

Old Black Train by The Blasting Company

This Too Shall Pass by Danny Schmidt

EXTINCTION

1,000,000AD by QBomb

First Light by STARSET

Carnival of Rust by Poets of the Fall

This is Not a Place of Honour by Jessica Law

EYE

Watcher in the Sky by Ghost

Evil Eye by Franz Ferdinand

Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell

She Doesn't Sleep by Anthony Amorim

FLESH

Infamous Butcher by Amigo the Devil

The Red Means I Love You by Madds Buckley

Misery Meat by Sodikken

Kitchen Fork by Jack Conte

HUNT

Devil's Flesh & Bones by Eliza Rickman

Kill of the Night by Gin Wigmore

Werewolf Gimmick by The Mountain Goats

Actaea and Lyssa by The Mechanisms

LONELY

Forsaken by Adam Hurst

Emerald Star by Lord Huron

No Face by Haley Heynderickx

Ship in a Bottle by fin

SLAUGHTER

Drumming Song by Florence + the Machine

War Pigs by Black Sabbath

Rose Red by The Mechanisms

Go Get Your Gun by The Dear Hunter

SPIRAL

The Little Man Who Wasn't There by Glen Miller

I'm Going Slightly Mad by Queen

Mr. Doctor Man by Palaye Royale

Hotel California by The Eagles

STRANGER

Terry's Taxidermy by Teddy Hyde

Human by Anavae

Toys in the Attic by OMNIA

The Greatest Show Unearthed by Creature Feature

VAST

On the Mountain Tall by The Oh Hellos

Vertigo by Alice Merton

The Balancer's Eye by Lord Huron

Diving Bell by STARSET

WEB

Mother Knows Best from Tangled

House of the Rising Sun by Lauren O'Connell

Telekinetic by STARSET

Twisted Threads by The Mechanisms

Finally, here is the playlist for all 15! and yes, the order is the same as the 160 invocation ;)

#asks #song tournament

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iserorilydontnowlol · 9 months

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During Dying Times pt1

chubby!fem!reader x dilf!exsoldier!male

setting: it's a post apocalyptic world. You're just a girl who just got accepted into your dream college and you're quiet proud of yourself. Suddenly on the news you hear cities being destroyed by different terrorist groups, people turning into ashes and vanishing, and the earth decaying and filled with zombies. you're entire family turned to ash in front of you and now the only person who even remotely knows you is your father's old friend who served with your dad in the military, Matthew Simons. Your father's dying words were to protect you and since Matt has the upmost respect for your father, he will do as your father requested even if you are against it.

tw: age gap, (very) little body shaming, family deaths, eventual smut.

"do you have everything?" Matt asked you as you put the last of your belongings into his old blue truck.

"yeah." you replied with no hint of emotion.

"alright. Let's get going then." He gave you a pathetic smile to try to help your mood.

you got into the passenger seat. Matt passes you your blankets, books, and other stuff you wanted to keep in the front to help with your boredom.

"we're runnin' low on food so uh might have to stop at the ration station on the way." he spoke while starting the engine. "that alright with you?"

"why wouldn't it be?" you reply sarcastically.

He sighs and and you two began moving.

"just askin'." He murmurs.

you ignore him and continue to open your book to the last chapter you left off at. You try your best to focus on the story but the loud engine, the distorted noise of the radio and the noise of Matt clicking the buttons to fix that noise was hammering your earbuds.

"can you stop!?" you demand.

"I'm just tryin' to get the radio workin'. We might get some information or news 'bout what's happenin'" He speaks while still foundling with the buttons.

"What's that going to do?" you ask. "Everyone I know is already gone! they turned to ash right in front of you and me! Nothing is going to fix that."

you smack his hand away from the radio and click the power button, shutting off the radio.

he puts his right hand on the steering wheel and his other hand on his head as he leans against the window, annoyed. He decides not to press you.

you know he is frustrated by you but he shouldn't have agreed to take care of you in the first place. What would a divorced man with nobody in his miserable little life know about losing anyone? And now you were trapped with him whether you liked it or not.

you continue to read your book but are interrupted again by a loud, thunderous-roar from outside. In the distance you see white smoke as a large capsule rocket flies up into the sky.

you groan in annoyance while Matt snickers at your misery.

"don't know why they keep sending them up there when there needs fixin' down here," he tries to make conversation with you but you pay him no mind.

As you began to read the first line of the chapter, you hear another loud sudden, sharp noise.

"there it goes." Matt comments. You look out your window to see fiery black smoke just where the rocket had been moments ago.

"poor fellas," Matt doesn't seem remorseful at all and shrugs it off.

your gaze remains at the large dust cloud, your memories of your family flashing before your eyes. you came back to your sense with a loud gasp.

"you alright?" Matt seems concerned about you. You nod and turn to face him so that the explosion is out of your vision.

"It's okay sweetheart. everything's fine." he reassures you.

These were some of the only times you are glad he is with you. You finally got to reading your book and you finally complete an entire page without disturbance. the rest of the ride was quiet except the few times Matt hummed an old song but he was good at it so you didn't stop him.

two hours went by rather quickly. You two stop at a ruined building that barely stood up on it's own. Matt parks his truck on the side of the building. He goes into the back to take out some cash as well as some stamps.

"stay here." he says leaving you in truck all alone.

You melt into your seat as you see some druggies get into a argument with each other just outside. you continue to read your book but you couldn't focus anymore. you watch as the building door opens and closes and you just get a little glimpse of what's on the inside.

he never took you inside. you always stayed in the car while he went and haggled with the men or some shit. you'd listen to your mp3 player but recently abigail had broken it. God you were happy to be out of her house.

you're throat starts to become dry and Matt still isn't back with the water. your water bottle is already empty but you do remember that he keeps an extra water bottle in the back in case of an emergency. You crawl to the back and rummage through the hoard of supplies. you find some very not pleasant things that provoke some unwanted memories but you keep looking, while looking you find a carved wooden box. it was a little bigger than the book you were reading. you unlock the box and open it.

"oh wow." you exclaim in surprise.

you take out a dusty gun with a little navy charm on it. underneath was a little picture with a younger matt and another woman. Matt actually looked great, he didn't have any white hairs, and he seemed genuinely happy. the woman was blonde with a thin figure and a radiant smile. they both looked really happy together.

"Is this his ex-wife?" you thought to yourself.

other things in the box are a old dog collar with the name 'hamper' carved in it and a old silver ring.

"what're you doing?" you hear matt's voice from behind you. you flinch at his voice and he grows suspicious.

"what're you lookin' at?" you show him the wooden box and a the picture that you held in your right hand.

his eyes widened but he didn't say anything. he opened the car door and told you to get back into your seat. you put everything back where you found it and close the box. you climbed back into your seat.

"sorry," you mumble an apology and he just hums. you couldn't tell if he was angry at you. he places the heavy bag on your lap.

"they gave less stuff this time." he said while putting on the seat belt. you take out one of the water bottles and fill up your bottle. you give the rest to matt who chugs the entire thing down.

you two get ready to get on the road once again.

"why can't I just come with you for the rations?" you ask him while staring outside the window.

"there's just a lot of old weirdos in there," he says, "I just wanna keep you safe."

"and those old weirdos, is that counting you as well?" you let out a sly remark.

Matt chuckles which helps break the awkward tension between you two slightly.

"anyway, where are we headed now?" you ask.

"a friend of mine. he says he's got a place runnin' with supplies," he answers, "so I thought why not since y'know abigail..."

you nod. the situation with abigail was one of the worst ones. She was fine one night and the next she turned absolute crazy, crazier than she already was. she began to throw stuff at you and matt, mostly him, so you two quickly hurried to leave.

"how's your book?" he tries to make small talk, "you finished with it?"

"no, not yet. I just don't feel like reading." you say, putting the book back into your backpack.

you lean against the window. the ruins of the city, people with nothing screaming and the wilderness overtaking rather quickly, you saw it all before drifting to sleep.

your throat burned and you feel groggy. your entire body is in discomfort. it's finally too much to bear and you wake up.

"hey!" you hear matt's voice. "come one, get up. We're here,"

you groan and sit up straight to see an old school. the pillars were falling apart and green ivy covered them.

"come one kiddo, get up," matt speaks again.

you pick up your backpack and your blanket that was at your feet and get out of the car. you see matt come up from behind you carrying few heavy bags. he gives you a smile and signals you to follow him. you two walk to the front gate where an older woman which you didn't notice stands. matt bends down to hug her. she pats his back while they greet each other with 'hellos' and 'welcomes'.

you stand behind matt awkwardly, shifting your legs while him and the old woman talk. matt finally notices you and introduces you.

"Ruby," matt talks while gesturing towards you, "this is the general's daughter."

ruby's eyes light up and her smile widens.

"oh ho, this is her?" she says in a weak and shaky voice, "oh hello darling. you're father was a great man!"

you force a nod as well as a half-assed smile to yet another compliment given to your dad. you swear these people knew more about your dad than you did and for that, you'd never forgive him.

matt asks if you two could come in and ruby jolts up and apologizes for not asking sooner. She leads the way to the main hall gathering all the people present. Matt places your stuff next to a wooden table and goes to greet everyone. you stay behind with Ruby who just has the fattest smile on her old face while watching the guys. you remain quiet as few older men, around matt's age, show up and shower matt in hugs.

was it just you or was this taking eternity? one after another, more men came and this never seemed to end. ruby seems to notice your boredom and tries to talk to you.

"y'know," she begins, "you were like this small when I first saw you," she says, lowering her hand to her knees. "now look at you, you've gotten so big!"

you force another smile and just hum.

"a little too big," you heard snickers from behind ruby where a group of teen boys stand. you found it ironic how the ones who laughed the loudest weren't that different from you.

you pay them no mind. Ruby turns around to probably tell them to shut up.

"ignore them honey, you know how boys are-"

"ugh." you side eye ruby telling her to shut up. you walk up to matt who is talking to a blonde man. you pull at his sleeve and he looks down at you.

you give him an annoyed look but he puts one hand on your back and pushes you forward.

"this is her," he shows you off to his friends.

"the general's daughter!" the blonde man exclaims. "you brought the general's daughter!" he looks at matt who nods with a soft grin.

"I have a fucking name," you enunciate each word irritated, making sure they knew how you felt about that title.

the man looks a little taken back but he smiles faintly. Matt clutches your shoulder telling you to hold your tongue.

"sorry fellas, she's just tired from the long drive," he looks down at you with a threatening smile, "isn't that right?"

"yes. sir." the annoyance in your voice still lingers as you glare at him. he gives you a hard squeeze before letting you go. you roll your eyes and look down the carpet as you ignore the blonde man's apology. ruby jumps in to fill the silence.

"how about I show you your rooms," she rushes to matt, grabs her arm and takes him down the other hallway.

you were about to follow him but matt grabs your elbow pushing you in front of him forcefully. you whine silently and look up at him, whispering for him to let go. he says nothing back but just looks at you with a stern expression and a unwavering gaze. you sense a hint of menace lurking beneath his surface so you say nothing, averting your gaze as he tightens his grip. you three walk to the end of the hallway and go down the stairs through a large red wooden door. the three of you walk through the courtyard which looks horrible. there was no greenery, just dead yellow grass that's overgrown and some dead ivy. you and matt remain silent while ruby talks in her weak voice, informing the both of you about the school.

you finally reach your supposed room that was present behind the building of the small courtyard. ruby opens the door and gestures you two to go in. matt nods with a thankful grin which quickly fades as he looks at you, pushing you in before him.

you quietly let out a yelp and pull your arm away from his grasps. you turn your attention to the room in which you now stand. there are a few old wooden desks in one of the corners and two bunk beds on both side of the walls. the only light source in that room was a the large window right in front of you which was broken. you rub your foot against the floor of the room and there is a clear separation of the wood flooring and the gray dust pile. matt and ruby discuss something while you look around the room. the door closes and you turn to see matt, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips resting in a little frown.

"what was that?" he asks walking up to you.

"what was what?" you shrug, glancing away.

"listen," he begins.

"ugh." you groan in annoyance because you knew he was going to start another one of his scolding sessions where he tries to act like your dad.

"no, look. at. me." he spits out, his tone filled with venom. you gaze up at him, locking eyes with him only for a few seconds before glancing back at the floor, your arms crossed.

"I need you to behave." he starts, "these people are giving us a home, okay? you can't keep acting like this."

"whatever," you roll your eyes and turn around, beginning to tear up but it's not quiet noticeable yet.

"stop this," he pauses for a moment, "this, princess act."

"princess act?" you snap around, "you never let me do anything!" you pause for a second, "I was just standing up for myself. I hate that old fucking lady and those fucking dudes just standing there.

matt sighs.

"that is no excuse to disrespect them. you just met them. you need to learn some discipline and start behaving like an adult."

"are you even listening to me!?" you shout at him. "this is so- ugh!" you walk away from him, frustrated and sit down on one of the beds.

matt felt disappointed and frustrated himself. he tries to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"one second," he yells and turns his attention to you. "just stay here and think of an apology for Dave. I'll be right back."

you groan, "I'm not doing shit."

matt doesn't say anything and opens the door. you hear ruby ask if everything is okay to which matt just hums while nodding. ruby asks matt if he was ready to see his room. you are a little taken back by that question since you thought that he'd be in the same room as you but after giving it some thought, you accepted it.

ruby leaves and before matt follows her, he says something to you.

"I'll be back to check on you," he stops briefly, "and if anyone bothers you, come talk to me."

and with that he closes the door, leaving you in silence as tears rolled down your cheeks.

pt 1

#chubby reader #reader x dilf male #reader x male #eventual smut #light angst #body shaming #comfort #zombies #post apocalyptic #fem reader

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fearfylsymmetry · 22 days

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less of an ask and more of a compliment i love the way your tags are organized…”decay as a commodity” “bodies shifting in narrow spaces” etc is it your own original work or quoting from a song/poem/or something?

helloo angel and welcomee to the show, its always such a joy when people appreciate my silly little tagging system. they're all just random sentences i thought up ages ago, , just to make sense of the mess in front of you etc y'know how it gets love. i couldn't really get behind tagging things as "art" "people, faces places things" etc. i needed to inject a bit of flavour to the whole thing (let this not be read as a subtle jab towards any new york based tumblrinas , we're above that c'mon now). i wouldn't say these little phrases are "personal" by any means but they have been motifs i wanted to actively explore in the art i make so no harm putting them up here i guess haha

for posterity's sake i thought i'd just copy an explanation of my tags from an old ask

decay as a commodity : okay so i envisioned this as a way to just summarize modern living? i think of a whole blueish neon color scheme with this one. my line of thinking was,, with the world slowly rotting away and living becoming so expensive and exhausting, whats the one commodity we all share? wouldn't it be decay? aren't we all slowly fading together etc etc. i use this for images with cooler muted tones and anything with a futuristic vibe,, along with some grimey, monochrome photography

the setting dawn: this is the polar opposite of decay, i think of it as "hope beyond hope" a la Prior Walter's line in Angels in America. i know "the setting sun " might sound more natural but i think of it as,, dawn , when the sun breaks through - in this short period the world starts to wake. qs the dawn sets the day kicks in, with all its routine misery. Dawn i think, is the only time the sun is kind to you, because its still hidden away at least slightly. But the day truly starts and itbeats down on you. And yet we continue to live, past the boredom and the pain, we live past hope, past the quiet comfort of dawn. I use this for pictures with earthy tones and things on the more uplifting side

bodies shifting in narrow spaces: this has some overlap with the decay tag, im not as organized as i need 2 be. i use this for figures & portraits ill want to draw or just really any photography i like that features a human presence. think of it as people so dependent on an outside gaze they constantly try to reinvent themselves, or just, everyday people, getting less and less time to live, having to work and forcing themselves into relationships with any real connection

original sin and other contingencies: im trying to fit this in for more risque photography and maybe things on the more gory side. how do i explain this.. okay so... when there's nothing left to do you'll always have sin to turn to just yo keep yourself occupied, along with other methods/contingencies u get the jist

linen that lingers: my fashion tag nothing more 2 it

the canvas as testimony: for art that is made for the gallery or art that is held in higher regard i guess, more high culture. it includes painting, sculptures,along with architecture,, but maybe i should make an architecture tag. i think of the things here as more personal efforts

motion on a still surface: for art that is energetic and really pops off the page. includes comics, manga, fanart, animation. stuff here may be more low culture but really its not. i just differentiate these art tags as ,,one is stuck to the canvas whatever that canvas may be, while the other leaps off the page

word on a wing let me soar: books, poetry, articles, journals , all words that i adore

a conversation with the self: i wanted this to be for things that are very personal to me but i just use my other tags

angels in descent: my little funny haha tag for yknow ,,, funny haha. yknow the "devil's rejects" the movie? like its a way of saying people so horrible no even the devil would take them. okay so i thought " god's rejects " but that's lame. so i landed on this, like idk...imagine angels falling from grace

arcade shuffle: for my little viddy games lol. sorry for being a #gamergirl but yes it happens sadly ,,moving on

jet jump jive: for songs

at the pictures: for movies,, like imagine im going "cant talk im at the pictures wheee ^_^"

there is such a great distance between now and later: to track my art and writing progress but i barely use it cause it barely draw or write these days i blame the wave of despair that washeth over me

proof of concept: photos i took but there's like almost nothing here

misc that are just funny 2 me like i do it 4 a little chuckle i deserve it:

screw it posting hole - for hole the band

bowies in spaaace - for bowie, after the flight of the concords song cmon its a little funny at least cmon now

twink speaks- for twin peaks lol

#this all feels very self-congratulatory i apologise my love #but everytime i get the chance to talk i never shut up #oh well i still love and try to be loved in return #but never equal measure #scales are a precarious thing you never know when you'll find yourself on the wrong side of balance #soft whispers under moonlight #long post

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words-are-fireproof · 1 year

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Year of Song: Mercy - Joel Miller

Summary: Joel makes a choice to atone for his sins.

Word Count: 1k

Content/warnings: canon typical violence, mention of the military, blood, angst, NOT ALL WARNINGS LISTED.

A/N: It's February and here is my @yearofcreation2023 entry from this month! This is completely unbetaed. Hope you enjoy. Thank you again to @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms for this! It's been great!

Story inspired by Mercy by Nathan Wagner. You can listen here.

[Masterlist] || [Series Masterlist] || Part One || Part Three

-----

Tell me how’d you up so numb

What kind of trauma would it take

To delight in someone's killing

Let your conscience be erased

The first time he killed a man, he wore the man’s blood on his uniform for over thirty-six hours, in the middle of the desert, the smell of copper and iron permanently etched into his nose.

Sometimes, when he stopped and tried to take a deep breath of fresh air, that smell almost knocked him off his feet. The decay of the world didn’t help now, either. That earthy mix of death and wet earth–petrichor, Sarah said once–sometimes made him gag. But he wasn’t sure if that knee jerk reaction came from the smell or from the memories of Sarah. Whatever it was, he tried not to breathe too deeply. Deep breaths only brought misery and an ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

The death didn’t stop. The desert painted with the limbs of his brothers, torn apart by the roadside bombs that sought to inflict the most damage, emotional and physical. The bodies no longer looked like bodies. They were simply puzzle pieces that no one could ever stitch back together. Closed coffins awaited them on their return home. Now it was no different. The floral nightmare bloomed from the broken and decaying bodies, tethering them to the rest of the infected. The broken bodies were traps for the living. The dead weren’t buried anymore. They far outnumbered the living.

At the beginning of the outbreak, he clubbed an old lady over the head with a wrench, the sickening crack of her skull reverberating in his mind. Moments later, he coldly instructed Tommy to run over another, two-thirds of longtime neighbors dead at his hands. He could still see the viscera dripping from the wrench, Sarah’s tears shining in the amber light as they slunk down her cheeks. He’d been in hell before, but a part of him began to die that night, made worse by the shot that took everything from him.

Everything after that point had been in the service of keeping him and Tommy alive. Tommy had been almost worthless that first night, showing restraint when he shouldn’t, wanting to help other people, showing up late and standing there in the dewy grass with the rifle in his hand while his baby girl bled out into the dirt. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. From the ground they came and to the ground they’d return.

He just wished it took him instead of her. Only he knew better. In the quiet nights in the forest, while he was on watch for the first shift while Tommy slept, he tried to imagine Sarah in this world. He tried to imagine her shooting creatures that still eerily looked like people. He tried to imagine her hands covered in blood like his and Tommy’s were, but he couldn’t. Sarah was just too innocent, too kind. If the infected hadn't gotten her, her open and trusting nature would have. He would’ve lost her no matter what.

The thought didn’t make it any easier.

Nothing was “easy” in the former sense of the word. But inhabiting that space where the monstrous became the norm was almost too easy. It felt too familiar, like it was a skin he slipped into when he no longer wanted to remember.

The first time he doused himself with someone else’s blood and came staggering out onto the leaf covered, cracked pavement he almost forgot who he was. He didn’t recognize who he had become, like he was outside his body and looking in. He didn’t even flinch when he stuck the muzzle of his gun into the soft skin of the person’s chin, the gun sinking easily between the space of the jaw. He pulled the trigger without blinking. When he returned to the camp he and Tommy set up, he didn’t say a word. He just unloaded the supplies he’d collected and said he’d go again in the morning.

He ignored the fear in Tommy’s wide brown eyes.

The next morning, he returned to that road and repeated the process, coming back with more food, more water, and more bullets to refresh their depleted stash.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asked quietly as Joel ate some of the food he’d recovered.

“Protectin’ you,” he replied shortly, glancing at him cooly.

“You think I need protectin’?” Joel didn’t answer. “I asked you a question, Joel. Do you think I need protectin’?”

“I think you need somethin’. I don’t see you goin’ out there. If you’re not gonna step up, then I will.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Then why are you here, Tommy?”

He watched his brother struggle for words.

“To save you from yourself.”

Joel chuckled dryly. “I don’t need savin’.”

And he didn’t. Definitely not from Tommy, and he wasn’t planning on saving himself. The violence made it easy to ignore himself and the pain he carried on his tired shoulders. He could compartmentalize the need to survive. He could push it away and keep it far away from the part of him that wanted to–no needed to–die. He could inhabit this person who was no longer himself.

The next morning, the blood drying on his clothes and his skin, he met the group that would become his family. They didn’t question his motives. They didn’t question why he chose violence, why he inhabited it so nicely. They just needed another person to be their muscle and they found it perfectly in Joel. He threw himself head first into the group, ignoring the way Tommy judged him with every single kill. He didn’t need him hovering around and questioning every choice he made. He made his bed and now he was going to lie in it. There was nothing Tommy could do to stop him. Every kill felt like atonement for Sarah’s death, and he was going to keep doing it until he felt he could atone no more.

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eyeoftheheart · 2 months

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The real revolution is the revolution of Love.

“Understanding is now, not tomorrow. Tomorrow is for the lazy mind, the sluggish mind, the mind that is not interested. When you are interested in something, you do it instantaneously, there is immediate understanding, immediate transformation. If you do not change now, you will never change, because the change that takes place tomorrow is merely a modification, it is not transformation. Transformation can only take place immediately; the revolution is now, not tomorrow.”

“Where love is, there is transformation. Without love, revolution has no meaning, for then revolution is merely destruction, decay, a greater and greater ever-mounting misery. Where there is love, there is revolution, because love is transformation from moment to moment.”

~ Jiddu Krishnamurti (1954). “The First and Last Freedom”

The revolution is now, not tomorrow. If you wait for tomorrow, you'll be too late. Be Here Now. The Revolution of Love is always now or never. That’s why Rumi says “My friend, the sufi is the friend of the present moment. To say tomorrow is not our way.” Don't be like those who come to late to a marriage celebration. Come now. The revolution of Love is now. This revolution is very different from other revolutions. It is a great dance, song and celebration. It is the remembrance of God. It is the awakening of Life within you.

#Jiddu Krishnamurti #Revolution #Spiritual Transformation #Revolution of Love #Philosophy of Love #Spiritual Revolutionary #The Revolution is Now #Awakening #Enlightenment

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thefloatingstone · 2 years

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Anyway here's Blind Guardian's 14 minute song about the Fall of Troy as written in The Iliad roughly seen from the perspective of Cassandra the prophet.

Lyrics under the cut because the lyric video was too long for tumblr's limit. and the lyrics themselves are too long for a post on its own.

Turn your head and see the fields of flame

He carries along From a distant place, he's on his way He'll bring decay (Don't move along cause things they will go wrong The end is getting closer day by day) In shades of grey We're doomed to face the night Light's out of sight Since we've reached the point of no return We pray for starlight, we wait for the moon The sky is empty, alone in the unknown We're getting nowhere

We have been betrayed by the wind and the rain The sacred halls empty and cold The sacrifice made should not be done in vain Revenge will be taken by Rome

We live a lie Under the dying moon Pale faced laughs doom Indulges in delight It's getting out of hand The final curtain will fall

Hear my voice There is no choice There's no way out You'll find out

We don't regret it So many men have failed, but now he's gone Go out and get it The madman's head, it shall be thine We don't regret it That someone else dies hidden in disguise Go out and get it Orion's hound shines bright Don't you think it's time to stop the chase Around the ring Just stop running, running Round the ring Don't you know that fate has been decided By the gods Feel the distance, distance Out of reach

Welcome to the end Watch your step, Cassandra, you might fall As I've stumbled on the field Sister mine Find myself in darkest places Find myself drifting away (Death's a certain thing) And the otherworld, the otherworld appears

Find myself, she dies in vain Cannot be freed, I'm falling down As time runs faster, moves towards disaster The ferryman will wait for you, my dear

And then there was silence Just a voice from the otherworld Like a leaf in an icy world Memories will fade Misty tales and poems lost All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end Iliad

Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright

The newborn child would carry ruin to the hall The newborn's death will be a blessing to us all

Good choice, bad choice? Out of three you've chosen misery Power and wisdom you deny Bad choice, bad choice War is the only answer When love will conquer fear

So the judgment's been made To the fairest, the graceful says Badly he fails

(Warning) Fear the heat of passion, father king Don't let him in, don't let her in Desire, lust, obsession, death they'll bring We can't get out once they are in

She's like the sunrise Outshines the moon at night Precious like starlight She'll bring in a murderous price

In darkness grows the seed of man's defeat Jealousy I can clearly see the end now I can clearly see the end now I can clearly see the end now

The thread of life is spun The coin's been placed below my tongue Never give up, never give in Be on our side so we can win Never give up, never give in Be on our side

Old moon's time is soon to come

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide Nothing to lose, like one we'll stand We'll face the storm created by man

Roar, Roar, Roar, Roar

(Troy, Troy, Troy, Troy) And as the lion slaughters man I am the wolf and you're the lamb

Hallowed Troy shall fall Round the wall Faith is shattered, bodies fall

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide Nothing to lose, like one we'll stand It's all for one and one for all All we live for will be wiped out

I feel that something's wrong Surprise, surprise they're gone Full moon, your time goes by A new moon's still kept out of sight

(We live) Misty tales and poems lost (We die) All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end Iliad

Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright

Roam in darkness Spread the vision We will be lost if you truly believe

Troy in darkness There's a cold emptiness in our hearts That they've gone away And won't come back

They'll tear down the wall to bring it in They'll truly believe in the lie Lie, lie With blossoms they'll welcome the old foe

The vision's so clear When day and dream unite The end is near You'd better be prepared

The nightmare shall be over now There's nothing more to fear Come join in our singing and dance with us now The nightmare shall be over now There's nothing more to fear The war, it is over, forevermore

No hope, the blind leads the blind Carry on, though future's denied Mare or stallion, there's far more inside We're in at the kill We'll cheerfully die

Misty tales and poems lost All the bliss and beauty will be gone May my weary soul find release for a while At the moment of death I will smile It's the triumph of shame and disease In the end Iliad

Raise my hands and praise the day Break the spell, show me the way In decay The flame of Troy will shine bright

Holy light shines on

So the judgement's been made We're condemned though the trial's far ahead The crack of doom Father, your handsome son is heading home

Still the wind blows Calm and silent Carries news from a distant shore (Heading home) (repeat 2x)

Out of mind Can't get it Can't get it out of my head Sorrow and defeat Sorrow and defeat

#Music #video #greek mythology #greek history #The Iliad #Homer #History #trojan war #helen of troy #Blind Guardian #Spotify

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whisperthatruns · 1 year

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Disgrace and Oblivion in Ancient Rome

Sometimes names were shaved from relief, chiseled off or written over with others’ scrawled with frenzied hammer. Sometimes one man’s head took another’s ear; the image mauled, contorted until nothing looked true. Refiguring one thing for the aggrandizement of another, it’s older than the hills. All day I was thinking it over---The morning Gabija was sick, cross-legged in bed, eating a jar of horseradish, I took her son, Pijus, for a walk in the park outside Vilnius, where Soviets fashioned the stone of Jewish cemeteries into Stalin. When I think of Pijus, he looks like me, or what my son might, bored, tracing the wells of letters with his finger. Then he’s running toward me, hands cupped, lifting them to his ear. In the dark, a cricket, a little song amid history.

My father, who taught history thirty-eight years but drank longer and with greater dedication, told me history was dust. It was noon, both of us warm on chowder and cherryless manhattans. He must’ve meant the dust of books, of stacks of Civil War Times, dust of a lens, of a projector he captained nodding off, dust of a warbling record, dust of stone, of a slave’s hand, of furnace, dust of field, of horse dragging plow, dust of work camp, death camp, breath, dust of one tower, another coming down, the birds disturbed seething in and out of form. I have no idea what my father meant, or can’t figure how he held it together---history and liquor.

Once I saw a horse shot in the head. I was sitting in the Cutlass beside my father. Ahead, a pickup’s flashers blinked in fog. The driver pulled a gun off the window rack, stood over the buggy wrecked on its side, the horse broken in its traces. Another lifted the horse’s head, held it awhile, in his lap. I thought the man might fix the horse, its place of dying. Instead, my father covered my eyes, as if he could blind the clap spreading over the field, the far ridge, the sky filling, the blood. All my life I wanted his hands. Now, if I could, I’d leave them for air, the way Pijus, who knew a hundred ways to kill an insect, left the cricket in the grass. And though they are not the same, it is hard to say this world, the last, the other we have yet to know are not the same, that a star’s brilliance and misery are not the same, that Pijus is not the boy I was, that I am not the man he already is.

I was thinking about it walking near the newly unveiled aqueducts, crabs scurrying white in the video’s bright flood. In Rome, still young, my wife and I, holding hands as we crossed--- Gregorio, Claudia, Annia, Aurelio, Capo D’Africa. And there, a man squatting against a wall, a wad of newspaper in his hand. And there--- rising up, decaying down, the Colosseum small, far off, distant-flat like a painting, before the pocks of erosion, before the rosary of coin and traffic, before ancient became kitsch. Still time for the thing to stay, film at the end of a film, screen white, reel aching in its circle, the way Pijus and the cricket looked being held, the way they do now---ash stepping out of ashcan, memory the wind shifts into nothing. I can’t explain this. It goes on older than the hills of Rome or Vilnius or New York. Walking in a park, looking at things, it was brief.

James Hoch, Last Pawn Shop in New Jersey (Louisiana State University Press, 2022)

#james hoch #disgrace and oblivion in ancient rome #last pawn shop in new jersey #poetry

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years

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Hope

TW: fic about a suicide attempt! Blood!

Characters: Haldir x reader

Words: 2,6 k

You couldn’t take it anymore; the weight of the world was too much to bear for your slender shoulders and you just wanted to walk away as if that was even possible.

All you could do was to take this gleaming steel and let it espouse your skin in hopes that its bite would relieve the overwhelming pressure that had been building in your heart until you felt as flat as the blade in your hand and almost as hard with misery.

Nobody should dare say afterwards that you had not thought of the one you loved more than anything in this world though, because little did they know that all the love ever felt by anyone could not alleviate the suffering assailing you, it was but a single drop on a searing hot stone, and that it did nothing to make your life more bearable.

It was a callous and endlessly cruel thing to learn, to fully understand, and to accept: Nothing could save you now; you had emptied your reserves of good faith and hope and even your secret stash of stubborn resilience had been depleted long ago.

As the steel dug into your tender flesh, pictures of your life – happy memories and moments of bliss – flashed before your eyes as if to mock you. There were so many who died in battle, and you desecrated their honourable memory by choosing this; nobody should mourn you after you had perished, there would be no flowers and no songs if your opinion was to be asked.

It wouldn’t though, because you’d be gone, and so much darkness would leave this ugly world with you; you’d no longer suffocate the happiness of others by letting the weeds of your own thriving despair throttle the life out of it. No, nobody would morn you and you would not have it any other way.

Haldir.

His name was a wound deeper than the ones spreading – angry and gaping – down your arms now; you had done him wrong so many times that this final insult would barely matter anymore, would it? Somehow, you couldn’t stop hurting him by being utterly unable to do something as simple and basic as live.

Deep inside, you really hoped that Haldir would understand – when the moment came to lay you to rest – that it was not because of him that you had chosen this path; there had not been a single thing that he could have done to change anything about your intense desolation.

Oh, he had tried, but his loving words had ricocheted like arrows against steel plate; they were unable to penetrate the armour of hardened desperation, and – as absurd as that might sound to outsiders – this terrible decision you had taken would – at least in your opinion – benefit him as well in the long run.

You didn’t deserve his love and support; he was watering a dead plant and you’d prefer that he lost you in one clean incident – like having a limb severed by a single violent chop – than that he’d have to watch you wilt slowly, unable to halt the decay that seeped inexorably out of your heart and poisoned the rest of your body.

He’d be alright, you tried to assuage your own guilt – raging hot and fierce in that blood fleeing from you like a river running downhill – to very little avail; even though he was strong and often a tad secretive about his own feelings, you knew that he loved you deeply and that he’d blame himself for a thousand things that he had not done wrong.

Memories were cruel indeed and – despite all the lies you told yourself – you knew that he would be haunted by imaginary failures until the song of the sea finally won him over or the weapon of an enemy found his much too tender heart.

“Oh, my love, be alright and if you cannot, then at least forgive me!” you sighed as the dizziness set in and the veil of weakness settled atop you like a soft blanket; soon, it would be over, and you’d be beyond the reach of your worries and pains.

What a selfish and yet comforting thought that was, marred only by Haldir’s face floating up behind your lids – dragged down by an ocean of leaden fatigue washing through you – to stare at you in heartbroken silence.

Haldir knew something was wrong; there was a metallic tang in the air that tickled his nostrils and made his most traumatic recollections flare up.

Quickening his steps up the stairs that led to your shared rooms, he felt his heart seize with a mixture of fear and knowledge; he had recognised that you had been too cheery this morning when he had left you, he had felt it in his bones, and yet he had left you to your own devices.

Often, you’d make him understand that you expected him – almost wanted him – to be angry and annoyed at you for being so ‘useless’ as you liked to call it, but the simple truth was that he loved you; he had always loved you and he had never once deluded himself into thinking you were someone you were truly not.

Sensitive and fragile as a rare blossom, you would open up in the palm of his hand and scintillate in the most mesmerising of colours before shutting down again, and he lived for those moments.

As was the case with everything precious in this world, your beauty – inside and out – had a price and it was a steep one for sure; sadness, old and deep as the ocean, and longing for things long lost and forgotten were the curses you had to bear for your wonderful light to shine so bright.

There was no gleam without darkness, there was no courage without danger, and there was no victory without strife, Haldir understood that and the only thing he truly regretted was that he was not able to bear that weight in your stead.

What good had those years of training – those centuries of deprivation and discipline – done him if he stood, seemingly so broad and strong and yet so helpless, in front of the woman he loved and could but caress her cheek in hopes to dislodge the ice grinding between her skin and her soul?

If only he had loved you more openly or more competently, he thought desperately as he strode through a series of doors without minding if they banged into the walls as he threw them open carelessly, if only he had done more.

He knew that words didn’t come easily to him, and he hated himself for being unable to give you as much solace as many a peer would have been able to dispense by caresses of their silver tongue and ideas that his – according to his own opinion – brutish mind could never come up with.

The first thing he noticed upon entering your bedroom was how beautiful you looked, how peaceful, and then the smell of blood – hot and grating – hit him like a fist to the gut.

“My love,” he cried out, clenching his bare hands over the wounds on your wrists.

“Haldir?” you mumbled hazily, “so sleepy…”

“Don’t,” he cried out in a choked voice, “don’t go to sleep just yet. There’s so much I need to tell you.”

“Already evening? How…was…training?” Your voice felt like a limp, blurry thing, unwieldy and sluggish, and you smiled at the rush of calm and comfort that lulled you into drowsiness.

“Not yet, my heart,” he whispered, “let me tell you how much I’ve missed you and how much I love you.”

He had only been gone an hour or two, he thought, maybe even less, but that was not important anymore.

“Hold me?” you pleaded as the warmth drained away and shivers started creeping up your spine; you needed the heat of his body to go back to sleep.

Haldir wanted to stroke your hair and kiss your brow, but he was too afraid to take his hands off your wrists.

For the first time in his life, Haldir – March Warden of Lothlórien – was afeared because of time; he had been promised eternity, but – suddenly – every second counted and this body, too used to moving slowly and measuredly, became cumbersome as he scrabbled away to tear the bedsheets to shreds to bind your wrists.

He had not noticed how violent and panting his breaths came now as he ripped up Elrond’s wedding gift without paying it any mind.

“My love?” he called, but you had already given in to the siren song of the weakness that had finally clawed its way out of your soul and had taken over your whole body.

“Don’t leave me now,” he cried out in despair, “not like that. Curse the training, curse the whole lot of them! Stay with me, my darling wife!”

Lifting you into his arms after bandaging the weeping wounds from which the essence of a life so precious to him was still trickling, Haldir ran like he had never even thought of running before.

Valar have mercy, he prayed in his head, give my steps wings and my thoughts voice.

For every good deed, for every brave action, for every selfless sacrifice – for which he had never demanded or even accepted accolades or praise – he now asked for payback; he just wanted you to live.

It was selfish and he knew it, but two lives outweighed the one, and he was sure that – if only he could take you somewhere safe to heal and recover – you could find the strength to face the world a little longer.

Life made no sense without you anyway, so losing you would mean giving up on the hope of ever being happy himself. Yes, by losing you, he’d lose himself, and he was selfish enough not to embrace the idea of death.

“This was a close one,” the healer clapped a heavy hand on Haldir’s shoulder, “but she’ll be alright. She’s stronger than she looks.”

He had been worried about the March Warden’s wife; by the time he had brought her in – covered in blood, the poor man – she had already succumbed to the pervading feebleness, but to his utter surprise, her soul had not slipped into the Halls of Mandos yet.

Something – he personally hoped it was love – had bound her to her earthly flesh, weak and flawed as it might be, and so she was thankfully still amongst them.

“Can I see her?” Haldir asked breathlessly to which the healer merely shrugged; he was the woman’s husband and – probably – the only reason she was still living and breathing, so who was he to refuse him?

With quick but noiseless steps, Haldir entered the room in which you lay – recovering – and he hated how pale and frail you looked; it felt as if your light was hidden behind a dirty windowpane when he needed it most to shine bright for him.

“My love,” he breathed quietly, “how are you feeling?”

For a moment, you considered pretending to be asleep so you wouldn’t have to face his massive disappointment and pain, but – now that you’ve failed in your cowardly exit from this world – you deserved the punishment coming to you for your crime.

“I am as well as one can be in such a situation,” you sighed quietly, starting when his hand wrapped around your own just beneath the white bandage the healer had used to protect the stitches that would forever remind you of this day.

“I am so sorry,” you both said at the same time.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you exclaimed in shock and dismay, “my love, there is nothing you could have done differently or better.”

“You say that,” he opined, “but if only I was smarter, if I knew more about these things, if I had taken time off from my duties – as Lady Galadriel has recommended – and sought out a healer earlier…”

Self-recrimination poured out of every single one of his words.

“No,” you cried out, “no, my love. I am such a burden to you already…you should have let me go; I release you from your oath.”

“You are decided to leave me,” Haldir panted, pale as snow, “one way or another, aren’t you? Tell me, my light, what can I do to make you stay? When did I lose your love? Can I ever win it back?”

“It is because I love you so much that I want you to relinquish your hold on me,” you replied desperately, your voice cracking under the strain of the emotion, “I am a blight upon you, oh Haldir, don’t you see?”

“I see nothing of that kind,” he grumbled, “you are the light of my life and I’d keep that light burning at all costs. Moreover, I am deeply sorry that you cannot make yourself happy, but that does not mean that you are not the source of the greatest and deepest bliss for me!”

Once more, he took your hand and kissed the back of it reverently.

“You are everything and more to me,” he purred in a low voice, vibrating with deep-felt love, “and I might not have the most colourful words, but I am trying to show you by being there. It’s not a chore to me, it is a privilege. I’d rather sit with you through your darkest days than to spend a day in the sun alone.”

Caressing your cheek, he went on: “My love, my life, my beloved, you – just the way you are, light and shadow, love and despair – are the most precious thing in this world for me. Believe me when I say that I am perfectly happy and – for the time being – I can be happy for the both of us.

I wake up every morning with a smile on my face, knowing you’re my wife.

I go to bed every night sure that I’ll have sweet dreams because you’re in my arms. I am a simple man, love, I do not need more than this. I’ll never ask for more than this. Stay with me!”

“You deserve more than that,” you muttered dejectedly.

“More than everything I want and need? I do not think so,” he laughed ruefully, “that kind of debauchery is for Thranduil and the likes of him. I am not Fëanor or some such man, I worked for what I wanted – winning your hand and heart – and I shall never seek to destroy my happiness by craving more than I need.”

Frugal, practical, and humble to a fault, your husband gave you one of those demure but warm smiles that sweetened even your most desperate moments.

“Say you love me still,” he pleaded. “Oh, honey bunny,” you teased – the weight on your heart easing somewhat – as he blushed and grimaced, “I have never stopped loving you. It’s myself I couldn’t bear anymore.”

Pushing one finger under your chin to tilt it up gently, Haldir brushed his lips against yours and whispered: “As I said, if you have questions or doubts, come to me. I enjoy, love, and admire you enough for the both of us!”

“Well, kiss me again,” you murmured hazily as another kind of weakness – energising instead of paralysing – flowed through your blood and bones as that much awaited and needed warmth finally touched your skin when he hugged you tightly against his chest and gave you a deep kiss in which you found a single seed of hope.

I will not tag anyone in this as it's a very heavy and triggering subject :(

If you've read this, feel free to comment or reblog, but I'd understand if you don't want to...

I love you. If this speaks to you, I want you to know that I'm here for you!

You are not alone. You're loved. Don't give up!

#fanfiction #Haldir #Haldir x reader #comfort fic #suicide #suicide attempt #depression #blood #sadness

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erabundus · 5 months

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@drolliic &&. said... Their conversation drifts off into a pleasant silence once Aether's laugh gets carried far away by the gentle breeze. It's nice and comfortable, only lasting for a few minutes however. And when he opens his mouth again, golden eyes refuse to take companion in even vaguely, choosing to settle on something else in the opposite direction. "hey … can i ask you something ?" something that he obviously isn't sure he even wants to talk about, but there are already few those he has actually come to trust "Do you think even unending things have an eventual end? Maybe not literally, but..." something can hurt for so long before the ache grows dull, longing can go on for so long before reality sinks in, eternal lifespans still have a chance to come to an abrupt end. Things can happen for so long before something snaps and that's it. ( He can feel himself growing weary and jaded. )

he can feel the atmosphere SHIFT the moment aether opens his mouth again. it's such a simple question — yet reluctance all but drips from EVERY SYLLABLE. the wanderer hums in faint acknowledgement, but doesn't speak. he was quite enjoying the silence before; he would have no complaints were it to return. however, he has a sneaking suspicion whatever weighs on his companion's mind is heavy enough that he has no choice but to release it or risk being crushed underneath.

❝ ... ❞ it's ironic, because ren is usually the one delving into existential territory — oft to the point of causing himself undue misery over problems he cannot hope to solve. eternity is such an ugly concept, particularly when viewed from the lens of an unfortunate soul burdened with it. at the same time, change is equally miserable. pain may dull with the natural decay of so many years, decades, centuries — but so too will the joy that stems from what one holds dear. he is meant to be impervious to erosion, yet consciousness is inherently ever evolving. he wonders if there will be a time where he can no longer stomach the taste of tea. when forging weapons loses all appeal. when the fire that burns within him, hungry for REVENGE ( hungry for the dead to receive their pound of flesh ) will fizzle to pathetic cinder. it's a bit SICKENING to think about, that the day may come when he is no longer himself — forever imprisoned in this undying body, yet haunted by a consciousness so tragically MALLEABLE. he wonders if aether ever feels similarly.

❝ maybe, ❞ he says aloud, ❝ in one form or another. if something gradually changes until it's no longer RECOGNIZABLE, it's difficult to call it the same. ❞ and similar to his companion, there is reluctance causing every word to drag — it's not a thought the wanderer is especially thrilled to voice, but he is brutally honest as always. expecting him to handle the ugly truth could be construed as a sign of RESPECT, even. ❝ there are some things in this world that can't last forever. i've been told that impermanence is what gives them their value. ❞ listening to a song for the very first time. drinks heated to just the right temperature. mortal lives. ❝ ... but i also can understand why someone would cling to something truly precious to them ... in the end, i think it's less painful not to let yourself care about anything at all. ❞

exhaling a sigh, he tips his head back — fingers tracing the edge of his kasa as he glares BITTERLY at the sky. ❝ ... if only it were that easy. ❞

MORBID CURIOSITY

#drolliic #( nothing to see here!! just existential crisis wednesday!! )

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