Oct 18, 2025
"If this is our last time together... then I won't let go of you"
Someone take away my pencil from me
More Roland/Yor because I'm trying to prepare myself mentally for tomorrow.
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
"If this is our last time together... then I won't let go of you"
Someone take away my pencil from me
More Roland/Yor because I'm trying to prepare myself mentally for tomorrow.
Love ma funnybunny
So here is a small doodle of a stargazing moment that is canon in my AU aka Jax comforting Pomni in his own way.
If you see this, here is the better and different version: here
Masterpost
Hook in Mouth: Chapter Two
cw: blood, panic attack
chapter one is here!
It's been a long, long time
Summary: A Second World War grips the world, and your lover, Azriel, is sent off as one of many pilots to win against the Germans.
Warnings: WW2 (violence and talks of war), ANGST, bodily injuries, open ending
Song inspiration: "It's been a long, long time" by Harry James & vocals by Kitty Kallen (& "Cardigan" by Taylor Swift)
Word count: 2.5k
Part II
The bar stunk thick of tobacco and whiskey, an old mixture of wood and the tang of sweat permeating the warm air. Jazz music crackled from the music box in the corner, the smooth, calming sound of the saxophone weaving through the few that remained at this late hour, creating a bittersweet harmony.
Soldiers stood in pairs or warily alone by the bar as the last rounds of liquor were poured, glasses clinking with cheers and promises of a win against the Germans. A few were on the dance floor, men holding their missus for as long as they allowed.
Azriel didn’t seem like he wished to let you go, not in this lifetime. The moment the two men he met at mandatory training left with their women, he pulled you onto the floor. You had to swallow a sob at the silent declaration—Azriel never danced, but he would for you, one last time.
Although, what you were currently doing could hardly be considered dancing. You swayed to the beat with your cheek to his finely pressed uniform and his nose against your pinned curls.
The world seemed to fall away in Azriel’s arms for just a moment. No war was taking him from you on the next morning train. All that was left was the music and him. The saxophone crooned into a soulful solo, the music swelling, rising to meet the heartache in the room. There wasn’t much time left. But for now, you both danced. For now, you held onto the hope that tomorrow was a mere fleeting nightmare.
“When I return home, there is something I wish to ask you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, running a palm down the length of your spine until it reaches the small of your back.
When I return home. ‘When’ was such a hopeful word.
You lift your head to meet a hazel stare, seeing nothing but adoration in his sharp features. “Will you agonise me with further mysteries?” You ask, not meaning to sound upset.
Azriel releases a small breath as he cranes his neck to rest his forehead on yours. You raise a hand to cup his clean-shaven cheek.
“I wish to promise you all of me—for as long as I breathe,” Azriel whispers, cupping his hand over yours to run a finger over your bare ring finger.
Something in you moves, and it takes everything in you not to shatter. “If you come home to me,” you murmur your promise in return, and Azriel smiles. “I’ll be on my porch waiting for you, like I always am.”
Azriel releases a long breath, tucking your head back underneath his chin. “Don’t wait forever,” he whispers, so utterly devastating, because no matter how selfish he was, he couldn’t ask you to promise yourself to a grave.
You said your farewells hours later at the small train station. The stand was loud with a cacophony of people sending their men off to fight a war that wasn’t theirs; emotions running high as wives kissed husbands from open windows and mothers cried into handkerchiefs that belonged to their sons. Everywhere, faces were etched in sorrow and hope, all drawn together by one inescapable fate.
You stood at the edge of the crowd, holding the black and white portrait photograph you saved up for just for this very moment. Azriel stood tall in his uniform, shoulders squared and jaw tight, warm hazel eyes saying he was already missing you.
Azriel’s fingers brushed yours, gently coaxing the photograph from your grasp before tucking it into the inside pocket that rested above his heart. You step closer to him, hoping to bridge the distance growing between you. Azriel ghosts a thumb over your cheek.
“I’ll come home to you,” he promises, again, strained with the unknown.
Your breath hitches as reality settles, and you try to smile, a fragile thing that breaks as quickly as it forms. You nod, knowing Azriel needed all the strength you could give him—a lifeline he could hold onto when he’s up in the skies piloting aircrafts into battle.
Before you could respond, the train whistled its final call, and Azriel was hauling you into a messy kiss. You hold him just as tight, gripping his coat as you hold in unshed tears.
Azriel pulls away without another word, stepping into his assigned carriage, the doors closing behind him. You stand there, watching him through the glass as the train starts to move.
Your eyes never leave the train, even after Azriel disappears and all he was is a distant plume of smoke. The station was almost empty now, but the silence weighed heavier. A thousand goodbyes still lingered in the air, but for you, that silence will be what haunts you for the coming months.
Time was a fickle thing. Occasionally, between the haze of a dream and reality, you could almost imagine you were still living in the time before the war. A Saturday afternoon after a day's work at the small corner store favoured by the school kids down the block.
Azriel would stroll in 10 minutes before the end of your shift, manning the tray of 50 cent chocolate bars at the checkout station because he’d never crack his sweet tooth. He’d pester and distract you, reminding you of when he’d trek across town to buy a sweet treat because he wanted to see you but was still too shy to ask you out to dance.
Saturdays on Azriel’s deployment seemed to drag on longer, days only brighter when a mailman came with a letter in your lover's handwriting. The last one came two weeks ago—two pages written front and back. Azriel was never one to wane poetics, but somewhere deep in the English Channel, something changed in him.
In the late hours of the night, you’d flick a lighter to life, reading through the small stack you’ve created.
My dearest, it would start, and you’d imagine his rough drawl.
I hope this reaches you. Some of the men have been saying mail sometimes gets lost or unaccounted for in these parts. But if this does find you, I can only dream of your face as you hold this letter in your hands, hoping that my words lessen the true distance that has been cleaved between us. It’s been far too long—a lifetime it's starting to feel—since I held you. I’m ashamed to admit the ink of your photograph is already starting to fade with how much I reach for it.
I’ve flown seven aerial missions at the time I’m writing this, and thirty tours are starting to feel more daunting each day.
I don’t wish to impose the things I’ve seen onto you, as they are my burden to bear. But I will say the skies are just as beautiful as they are on the ground. It’s clear above the rolling stretches of cloud, the sun lasting longer up in the air. It’s beautiful in those peaceful moments before battle. It makes me think of you.
Everything makes me think of you, really. My heart grows fonder at the thought of when I can finally come home to you. Yet, unfortunately, I believe it’s also started to grow selfish with want.
I know I said I’d ask you properly when I came home to you, and that still stands, yet I can’t shake not telling what I wish for outright. The lads still call me daft for not asking.
So, will you marry this poor soul?
You don’t have to answer in your next letter; this is me merely releasing the weight on my heart. I miss you more than any words could conjure to explain, but hold onto the promise that soon—soon, my love—I will return to you. You are my reason to remain strong.
My only hope is that you feel the same, that when you close your eyes you think of me—always and forever.
And his, you were.
I will marry you, Azriel. You’d send that letter off an hour after you received his.
When chocolate bars became a rationed luxury alongside butter and sugar, you had to pick up another job at the new factory. You never imagined yourself working alongside mechanics to build aircrafts—Azriel would’ve had a right laugh.
For every plane your crew of ladies helped complete, they’d take photos of you all on the wings, a good luck charm for the soldiers that would later fly it.
Your new colleagues would drag you out to pubs on nights you’d permit, and they’d try to shack up with the men that remained home. A few tried their luck with you, but you’d claim you were taken even without a ring as evidence.
You’d have to tell Azriel about all the men trying to take you dancing. Perhaps, selfishly, you imagined his jealousy would bring him home faster—take you to that courthouse and make it all official. Or maybe make him respond to your letter faster. It had already been close to a month.
It had been two months since Azriel’s last letter.
Each time the mailman came down your street, you’d anxiously wait for him by your family’s box, and each time the old man reached you, his expression mellowed into a knowing pity.
You could no longer stomach reading the newspaper or listen to the latest information on the radio. Anxiety rattled your system, ripping any small enjoyments you had left to take your mind off of the war. You were left to the mercy of your unforgiving imagination—mind conjuring the worst of tales.
Until the tale became a reality.
It was a Thursday afternoon; you were helping your mother hang laundry in the backyard, stealing the benefits of clear weather. Summer was finally arriving, and the cicadas sang with a loud force, much to your house cat's frantic bemusement.
Your father called your name from the open kitchen window, saying there was a soldier at the door looking for you.
You hardly waited a moment as your heart lept into your throat, racing back into the house to the front door. Ripping open the piece of wood separating you and—it wasn’t Azriel.
Who stood at your front porch was a soldier you didn’t recognise. The man was tall, shoulders broad yet stiff, expression pallid and gaunt. His eyes were heavy with a burden he didn’t want to relay.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the officer began, voice a little hoarse. “Does this house belong to Major Azriel’s fiancee?”
You swallow thickly, dropping your hand away from the door to step out. “It is—I am, his fiancee,” you stumble over your words, a chill shooting through you. “Is—is everything alright, sir?” You falter, hardly noticing your mother stepping to stand beside you.
The officer removes his beret, holding it over his heart. “Ma’am,” he begins, his words heavy with emotion. “I wish to extend my condolences. The Major was involved in a raid that resulted in many casualties two weekends ago,” he pauses, his jaw tightening. “He was lost to the wreckage.”
The world around you begins to burn—the silence so wholly suffocating, the air too thick to breathe in. You stumble back into your mother’s arms, the tears blurring your vision.
You could see the officer apologising once again, knowing your mother was thanking him for his time. You couldn’t recall the moments between being on the porch and being moved to the living room.
Life was a fickle thing. It was always assumed you’d have it again tomorrow—you assumed you’d have Azriel forever.
You quit your job at the factory, unable to bear the looks from colleagues and the sight of aircrafts that will be used by soldiers like Azriel. You sometimes blame yourself, no matter how foolish it was to blame yourself through the grief—but you couldn’t help but wonder. Did you help build a faulty aircraft, the cause of his death?
You remained working at the corner store, not just because your family needed the money. It was the little daydreams you began to fixate on when the sun began to set in the late afternoon 10 minutes before your shift ended.
He would stroll in with those unbuttoned shirts that were tucked into loose trousers and a grin that could rival the moon and stars. He’d tell you about how his friend’s cousin was singing at the bar tonight as he leant over the tray of chocolates, tell you that he’ll get you a front row seat if you joined him.
A very convincing proposition, you’d respond, brightening when he would flash you another smile—this time with rosy cheeks.
Azriel would pick up a chocolate bar and slide you a 50 cent piece. I aim to be, he’d drawl back, so, is that a yes?
You’d return his abashed grin. To keep my favourite customer coming by? I would.
On the later nights when your traitorous mind kept you from sleep, you wondered if Azriel read your final letter to him.
Did he die knowing you shared his wish of forever? Or was he left to wonder how much you truly returned his sentiments? You told yourself that he knew, that he was comforted with the final thought that your forever would just have to be another life, somewhere across the cosmos.
You just had to hope he’d wait for you.
When the leaves turned brown and orange, the tidal waves of grief began to lessen their attacks. You were finally able to sleep for a consecutive five hours, and just late last week, an old friend managed to convince you to go dancing again.
You worked at the corner store; you helped your mother with the laundry and your father with his home projects; life is starting to become bearable even with the gaping hole that remains.
The kettle was boiling water on the stove for the morning tea, and your father was reading the newspaper at the dining table as your mother rationed butter on toast, when a sharp knock came to the front door.
Your father glanced up from over the edge of his paper, the glasses on his nose sliding down the bridge.
“Would you get that, darling?” Your mother called from the kitchen and you shared a look with your father.
The mailman must’ve forgotten some letters.
Smoothing your hands down the fabric of your skirt, you head for the front door. Pulling it open, the greeting and joke you had prepared for the mailman fell dead on your tongue.
Your shattered heart awakens and you falter at the ghost standing on your porch. Before you can say a word, hands gnarled by burn scars reach for you.
"your goddess has no dominion here"
i couldn't pick a version i preferred so here're all my attempts
Coral x Ena except it's ww1..... they're having a great time
😔💥
Person A: I'm having strong opinions on how hot this man is. Person B: Well, he's our enemy so you can have your strong opinions about his corpse . Person A: Awww! I can't even keep him as a prisoner of war who I force to marry me? Person C: That's very unethical, you can't force people to marry you. Person D: As the hypothetical prisoner of war husband, I’m not opposed~ Person B: No, I want you dead. So dead you shall be. Person A: What if he lets me put a shock collar on him and keep him in a cage? Person D: I’d accept that. Person C: As much as this sounds consensual at this point…The optics would look really bad for our kingdom.
