[Post Time Skip Era]

Sometimes I feel like I don't even deserve to see him on my phone's screen. He's so beautiful with his long/medium unruly curls with the darkest of blue mixed along with black. His eyelashes that can rival a little deer. He's so freakishly tall but somehow seems like a tall child stuck in an adult body. He's such a goofy little guy but he's also the smartest man in the room given any situation (minus if his brother is there sorry Sherly).

I like how he's so passionate about everything, be that chemistry, literature or music...oh his music! I wonder if Sherlock ever sits at his desk writing music sheets over his violin and wishes if he could play all the stringed instruments. The way he is, he probably tried. I'm sure John gets most of his rants when Sherlock is fixed on a topic. I wonder if William got to see this beautiful side of Sherlock during those three years they spend in New York. I wonder if Mycroft was the one who got him into music when he couldn't give him time because of the age gap so Sherlock became dependent on this particular hobby to distract himself. I wonder if he ever wanted to compose the music he wrote. I wish our little detective was real.

I hope he knows John forgave him for his absence. That John only wants him safe and sound.

And I hope he knows his brother was mourning him. That it's about time they offer eachother closure. That his brother loves him.

And most importantly, I hope he knows his Liam views him as hope. That William will burn the world once again if something happens to him. He's the only remaining light in William's life and always will be. They don't ever have to go through something alone ever again, be that tragic or beautiful. They have eachother.

Sorry guys I got a little emotional with this one :3

Look at my cat ya all. She's so beautiful. Her name is Santra. Been giggling at her for the past two hours, she thinks I'm going crazy.

I just read your post about Adler reacting to Philip's trial in MW3. It was so amazing and beautiful that you successfully pushed into that brainrot of Dadler. However! It really got me thinking, what wound he do when in MW2 Philip supposedly "died"? Like, maybe he came home after months but Adler didn't knew at first that his son survived that explosion and like everyone thought Graves died. God I could only imagine..

thank you so much i'm glad you enjoyed it!

And i may or may not have already written something...

so i'll just put this here

The devil knocks on my door. A Dadler and Graveson angst oneshot

Ao3 link

Summary:

Russel Adler’s day was going fine; that is, until he heard a knock at his front door.   And in his gut he knew something was wrong.   Or   Adler gets some news about his dearest and only son. 

(CONTENT WARNING! CONTAINS MENTIONS/DESCRIPTIONS OF SUICIDE AND DEATH.

DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH EITHER OF THOSE TOPICS)

Adler was leaning relaxingly against the plush leather couch, a cigar held comfortably between his lips, the warm burn of smoke flowing through his lungs before he exhales the curling smoke out of his nose. The burn of the smoke searing his throat became an everlasting comfort ever since Vietnam and has become a key staple in keeping whatever sanity Adler had left intact. 

The mindless drone of the TV faded into the background as Adler’s attention was brought from the show that Phillip had recommended; the name was something along the lines of ‘The Good Scottish Cook-Off’ or something like that.

Adler stood up from the couch, cigar still held between his lips. He took another puff of the cigar, his warm hand wrapping around the cold metal door handle, swinging open the door, the words already on his lips. He’d been getting pestered by the damn Girl Scouts for so long he actually earned himself a nickname, ‘grumpy.’. “Listen, kids—”

The words died on his lips immediately.

On his front porch stood four uniformed men, two of whom were marines; the other two were shadow lieutenants he had previously met a few months ago at Shadow Company's annual Thanksgiving event. 

His hand reaches up to his mouth, removing the cigar, and letting his hand fall to his sides. The four uniformed men all give him sharp, well-practiced salutes, and one of the marines and a lieutenant, shadowed by the name of Vinson, step forward, and the pit in Adler's stomach pitches deeper and deeper.

“Sir, we regret to inform you that your son, Philip Alex Adler, was recently killed in action.”

The words hung in the air after the marine had spoken them. Vinson didn't dare to look at Adler's face, keeping his head down and eyes focused on his shoes. 

The other words spoken after that bleed into an incomprehensible silence as Adler simply stood there staring down the marine with a haunted look in his eyes as the marine continued to speak. 

“A funeral will be held in his honour in the next few weeks, and you will also be given compensation for his passing, sir. Thank you for your service, and God bless.” The marine’s words were simple despite deviating from the normal passing script fed into the brains of the soldiers who had to break the news.

War was one thing: the bloodshed, the screams, the never-ending nightmares, and more importantly, the guilt. It wasn't just the guilt of surviving when so many of your friends and allies passed; it's the guilt of looking in the eyes of young kids—children—and having them idolise you, saying they want to be ‘just like you,’ unknowing of the horrors of war.

 It was the guilt of knowing that if you could say anything to those kids, it would be, “Don’t fucking do it.” 

And that was all that Adler felt, guilt. He had allowed both his lives to bleed together once his ex-wife gave birth to Philip. Telling war stories instead of fairy tales, teaching his son how to shoot instead of how to ride a bike. All he could think of was how he had failed, failed his son, failed to stop him from joining the marines, and now he had failed to keep his son, his sweet boy, alive.

He had failed, and now his son was dead, and it was no one else's fault but Russell Adler's.

Adler watched as the marines sharply saluted him before turning on their heels and leaving. The shadow lieutenants went to follow, but Adler lifted a hand, stopping them dead in their tracks. “Wait—” Adler cracked his throat dry, and his shirt collar suddenly felt far too tight. 

Adler cleared his throat. “Wait, come in, let’s talk,” Adler said, opening the door further, giving the lieutenants enough room to enter. The soldiers exchanged a brief glance before stepping past the threshold of the Adler residence.

Adler sat in his worn brown leather armchair opposite the matching leather couch that the lieutenants now sat upon. That couch was Phillips' favourite spot to sit when they would watch movies; the thought stung and burnt more painfully than any wound Adler had gained from his years of service.

Before the lieutenants could open their mouths to speak, Adler cut them off. “How did it happen?” he demanded, his voice not giving way to his grief. The other lieutenant, Osmond, spoke; his voice was quiet and soft. “Sir—” The second the first syllable left the man's mouth, Adler lifted a hand that now held a firmly crushed cigar.

“No, listen to me. Tell me how it happened, or I will report you for not giving information to a clandestine special officer. Do I make myself clear, soldier?” Adler demanded his voice be barred on threatening.

Osmond’s eyes fell to the floor once again. Vinson placed a comforting hand on his comrade’s shoulder before locking eyes with Adler, his voice trembling slightly as he recounted what happened. 

“It was a tank explosion, sir, Commander Garves-Phillip. Was inside at the time we tried to get him out...but...it was no use. I'm sorry, sir. We couldn’t save your son.” Vinson's words filled the quiet space, and Adler let out a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping down from their usual tense perch.

Adler haphazardly placed the squished cigar in an ashtray placed on the glass coffee table. Adler holds his head in his hands for a moment, running his hands across his scalp, nails digging into his skull, before he runs them over his face, catching the small droplets threatening to fall from his eyes. He lets out another heavy sigh before sitting up straight again, clearing his throat. 

“Do you boys have a…replacement lined up for his position?” Adler questions, lifting his head again to look at the shadow lieutenants, who both shake their heads.

Adler hums, eyes tracing over the side table on his left, eyes racing over the videotapes and files that decorated the small table. Adler reached over, plucking a company card from the pile and handing it to Osmond. 

“His name’s Case, an old colleague of mine; he’s a good man. If you're still looking for a commander and want someone out of the system, he’s the man you want.” Adler informs his voice, straining with each word, his throat too dry and his shirt too tight. 

The pair look down at the company card and then back up at Adler, their faces flickering with unseen emotions. Vinson nods once, “Thank you, sir.” He replied quietly, revving a sharp nod from Adler, followed by a dismissive hand gesture.

Yeah, well, don’t let an old man like me keep you from your duties. My son made it a well-oiled machine; I hope you lot will keep it that way.” He dismissed, head turning to look out of the window at the large garden that he had helped Phillip plant when his son was just a boy; the oak tree they had both planted now stood tall amongst the other shrubbery. 

The only sign that the lieutenants had left was the sound of shuffling and the front door opening and closing. 

Now Adler was left alone in his quiet estate with no one to wait for. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Adler's hands wrapped around the grip of his trustworthy pistol that had been through it all with him from Vietnam to the end of the Cold War and the start and end of the Gulf War.

He had used this pistol to kill Bell, and thinking back on it, the communist bastard was probably laughing in his grave right about now. Ironic.

The cold muzzle of the gun pressed against the underside of Adler's chin, thin streams of tears following down his face, dipping into the crevasses of his scar.

“I’ll see you soon, kiddo.”

And with that, Russel T. Adler took his last breath and pulled down on the trigger. 

A gunshot echoed through the Adler estate, and in the deepest pits of the underworld, father and son reunited. 

Yes. I have seen that too, but no you don't have to apologise ever. This is NOT your fault, I completely understand how uncomfortable she's making you and it is pathetic truly. She has been using 🌷 and faking the way I speak for a while. I am not saying calling Simon "pretty boy" is something to put a label on, but I have seen that happening with other blogs, imitating exactly how I speak when I follow only you and @/ ask-phillip-graves with the same emoji, they were the one who chose it for me! I'm just, very confused and lost about this whole thing. I just wish they leave you alone because this is turning into cyber harrasment.

Okay okay what the hell? Impersonating my anon?? I have been waiting to close my anon 🌷 for days like I once promised you. I'm the pink tulip anon. And Ethan oh god! I just saw what happened. I promise you I don't even know who the hell that is. This is insane and made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to close my anon like this I thought eventually things will happen when I gain enough courage. Not sending anonymous asks triggers my anxiety but WHAT THE HELL??? This is just ridiculous!

nonnie believe me!!! i've known u were different this whole time!!!!!!!!!! but she was using the tulip anon on other accounts (i personally deleted the ones she sent me 'cause i had you!!!!) & i wanted to make sure ppl were aware of that. hope u understand & i'm rlly sorry about this whole thing. it's such a giant mess. feel free to keep using the emoji here, it's for YOU!!! you had it first anyway

I'm gonna give him a kiss on the forehead

f1 kuna

I cannot speak for everyone. But I can assure you, I will let you know every time if it's something I said or her if she uses my anon again. The only thing we can do is spread the word. This is unfair to you, the community and the trust between your anons. You stay safe first, love.

Okay okay what the hell? Impersonating my anon?? I have been waiting to close my anon 🌷 for days like I once promised you. I'm the pink tulip anon. And Ethan oh god! I just saw what happened. I promise you I don't even know who the hell that is. This is insane and made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to close my anon like this I thought eventually things will happen when I gain enough courage. Not sending anonymous asks triggers my anxiety but WHAT THE HELL??? This is just ridiculous!

nonnie believe me!!! i've known u were different this whole time!!!!!!!!!! but she was using the tulip anon on other accounts (i personally deleted the ones she sent me 'cause i had you!!!!) & i wanted to make sure ppl were aware of that. hope u understand & i'm rlly sorry about this whole thing. it's such a giant mess. feel free to keep using the emoji here, it's for YOU!!! you had it first anyway

I started the semester with straight A's but now am not even straight anymore...

all the old ghost archives i liked that was deleted off my old blog

this is my new account, same user same style whatever

might as well just steal you from 'em shadows then, sweet boy :)

I had this intense urge to just pick you up bridal style and carry you around. BUT you ain't allowed to smack me for it.

I could be convinced t'let you and be nice about it.