#The Journey from Abandonment to Healing

[fractal-unfoldment]

Unresolved abandonment is the root of self-sabotage.

Susan Anderson, The Journey From Abandonment to Healing

[temporarytemporal]

cling to me

I know I said I was going to distance myself from this piece of media because of all of its terrible connections, but these two characters seem to have taken root in a permanent place in my heart, and I can't let them go.

Anyway, here's some character design notes below the cut for the one person out there who's obsessed with these characters as much as me.

Early DSMP: the era of childhood innocence

Bandanas: They sport each other’s bandana’s (they’re hidden in the design for every era). I love character designs with complementary colors (and I love how red and green are also cranboo’s colors)

Disks: Early on, cat and mellohi represent the peaceful moments ctommy shared with his favorite people, but they went on to be a symbol of victory and independence from the people who have hurt him.

Flowers: Ctubbo collects flowers and tries to memorize the meanings and symbolism tied to each type of flower. He also collects them for his bees.

L’manberg: the era where children became soldiers

Horns: Ctubbo’s horns start to grow in here.

Pogtopia: the era of an exile and a secretary of state / spy

You can tell I joined the fandom at the end of this era because I don’t have many notes here or for the l’manberg era.

Exile: the era of an exile once again and and a president too young

Hair: Ctommy’s hair starts to grow longer as he neglects taking care of himself.

Clothes: Ctommy’s clothes are tattered; one shoe is destroyed and he took to wearing cw-lbur’s (f-ck ccw-lbur btw!!) trench coat.

Bandages: Ctubbo’s wrapped in bandages from his recently earned firework burns. He’s gone blind in his right eye, and he’s missing the ring and pinkie finger on his right hand.

Compasses: They share their matching ‘your tommy’ and ‘your tubbo’ compasses

Hog Hunt: the era where one sought to kill the blood god while the other sought refuge there

Stolen goods: Ctommy’s has his antarctic empire outfit plus all the goods he stole from ctechno like the turtle helmet, golden apples, and the axe of peace.

Bedrock: Ctommy wears his counterpart piece matching techno’s from his ear.

Prosthetic: Ctommy’s right foot had to be amputated after he loses it to frostbite in the trek to cemeraldduo’s cabin. Ctechno gives him a simple prosthetic.

Disc Finale: the era of mended relationships and a final stand

Headband: Ctommy begins to wear a devil headband to fit in more, as he’s one of the few humans on the server. The devil horns were chosen to resemble ceryn’s real ones.

Patchwork: Ctommy learns to sew, and he fixes his tattered clothes from exile.

Post Revival:

Devil horns: Ctommy’s devil horns (plus a tail) become real after revival, and he gets a white streak in his hair.

Prime cross: The bad things that have happened to them both that they survived strengthen ctommy’s faith in prime, whereas they weaken ctubbo’s faith.

Sweater: Ctommy makes himself a sweater from friend’s wool.

Mechanical inventions: Ctubbo pursues his passion for engineering more as he makes mechanical bee drones and studies nuclear physics. He also makes himself prosthetic fingers, and he upgrades ctommy’s prosthetic foot.

Marriage ring: Ctubbo marries cranboo platonically and wears the ring on his horn. He also founds snowchester so he can have a place to protect his loved ones and raise his son. He grows out his hair to avoid eye contact for cranboo and to cover his scars.

Body type: Ctubbo gets chubbier and gains some muscle as he gets a bit happier in life.

Post DSMP:

The prison break and everything after it never happened. These are my OCs, and I make the rules because every actor/writer who played a part in their creation either abandoned them or turned out to be a terrible person. Cbenchtrio live happily ever after and begin their journey of healing while cdream rots in prison forever.

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 8th through the houses

8th house ruler through the houses, aka: the hidden thread in your chart that reveals your relationship to power, transformation, death/rebirth, intimacy, shadow, sex, money, and healing. This house does not play. It’s where the real sh*t happens behind closed doors — emotionally, spiritually, sexually, financially. When we look at where the ruler of your 8th house is placed, we see where and how you face your edge.

8th House Ruler in the 1st House

You are the transformation.

Death-rebirth is part of your identity. You carry an aura of intensity, and people project deep, powerful energy onto you. You’re the kind of person who’s lived 9 lives already. Heals through: Self-awareness, embodiment, personal power. Shadow: Taking on others’ pain as identity. “My presence alone shifts energy.”

8th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You turn pain into value.

Money and self-worth are tied to your transformation journey. You may receive support or inheritance from others — but your challenge is learning to stand firm in your own power. Heals through: Grounding, self-trust, embodiment. Shadow: Over-reliance on others for security. “What I’ve survived is my currency.”

8th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Your words carry weight.

Your mind is deep, and communication is a transformative force. You may talk or write about taboo topics, secrets, or emotional depths. Nothing about you is surface-level. Heals through: Honest conversations, storytelling, expression. Shadow: Mental obsession, spiraling thoughts. “My voice is my shadow work.”

8th House Ruler in the 4th House

Your roots hold your transformation.

Family, ancestry, or your inner emotional life is where your shadow work lives. You may inherit trauma, gifts, or secrets. You need safety + solitude to process. Heals through: Inner child work, home, ancestral healing. Shadow: Clinging to emotional patterns. “My bloodline speaks through me.”

8th House Ruler in the 5th House

Your power is in your creativity.

You transform through passion, art, love, and even heartbreak. Sexual energy is sacred here — you alchemize pain into self-expression. Love can be dramatic, karmic, intense. Heals through: Creation, romantic catharsis, pleasure. Shadow: Addicted to intensity in love. “I turn heartbreak into masterpieces.”

8th House Ruler in the 6th House

You heal through service.

Your work or health journey is tied to deep transformation. You may work in healing, therapy, or behind-the-scenes spaces. Your shadow shows up in your routine, stress, and body. Heals through: Daily ritual, helping others, somatics. Shadow: Self-sacrifice, burnout, martyrdom. “My pain becomes purpose.”

8th House Ruler in the 7th House

You transform through relationships.

Love is your mirror — and sometimes your battleground. Partnerships trigger your deepest wounds and your biggest breakthroughs. Intimacy is your initiation. Heals through: Deep connection, forgiveness, sacred sexuality. Shadow: Power struggles, fear of abandonment. “Love strips me down to rebuild me.”

8th House Ruler in the 8th House

You’re built for the underworld.

You naturally swim in deep waters — psychology, shadow work, the occult, death, sex, healing. You may be drawn to spiritual or energetic work. Your power is undeniable. Heals through: Embracing intensity + owning power. Shadow: Addiction to chaos or emotional extremes. “I’m not afraid of the dark — I am the dark.”

8th House Ruler in the 9th House

Transformation comes through truth.

Your beliefs, travels, or spiritual studies catalyze your rebirths. You seek answers to life’s mysteries — and may be a seeker, guide, or philosopher of the taboo. Heals through: Wisdom, travel, expansion. Shadow: Escaping pain through idealism. “I turned my wounds into worldviews.”

8th House Ruler in the 10th House

You alchemize through ambition.

Your career may involve transformation, crisis work, or helping others heal. You could become known for your resilience. Power plays or hidden battles might shape your path. Heals through: Leadership, visibility, long-term goals. Shadow: Authority issues, overworking to avoid pain. “I built an empire from the ashes.”

8th House Ruler in the 11th House

You bring depth to the collective.

Friendships, social change, or online spaces may be the ground for shadow work. You’re meant to help your community evolve — even if that means stirring the pot. Heals through: Advocacy, networks, innovation. Shadow: Fear of rejection or hiding in groups. “My vision is radical and real.”

8th House Ruler in the 12th House

Your transformation is sacred + hidden.

You move through karmic, spiritual, or ancestral healing. Alone time is crucial. You may be deeply psychic, and drawn to mysticism, dreamwork, or the subconscious. Heals through: Solitude, surrender, spiritual practices. Shadow: Escapism, secret pain, past-life trauma. “I dissolve to be reborn.”

[rmstitanics]

* GENERAL OBSERVATIONS

CANCER MOONS and 4H MOONS might enjoy media with the found family trope.

Those that have an 8H STELLIUM, PISCES MOON, 12H STELLIUM, or SCORPIO URANUS would make great divination witches, tarot readers, astrologers, and / or ghost hunters.

MERCURY OPPOSITE MARS folks have no filter in every sense of the concept. They tend to speak their minds and say the MOST out of pocket things, and also might be prone to swearing like a sailor.

“Taylor Swift only writes music about her exes—” NO. Her entire discography reflect the journey to heal the inner wound of CANCER CHIRON, which is all about feeling unloved and abandoned by others. If you’ve got this placement, you probably relate on a spiritual level to her song “The Prophecy”.

12H STELLIUMS may have had some paranormal experiences in their childhood or early adulthood.

SUN SQUARE URANUS aspects may be prone to a feeling of always being at war with themself — whether spiritually, emotionally, or psychologically. Although they do a good job at hiding this inner conflict, it might still manifest in social interaction by others perceiving them as contradictory due to actions not aligning with words.

AQUARIUS MOONS are natural humanitarians, and would find lifelong emotional + spiritual fulfillment in community service or philanthropy.

I encourage individuals who have NEPTUNE TRINE MERCURY in their chart to try astral projection or lucid dreaming — you’ve got a natural affinity for it!

If you have your SUN PLACEMENT AND CHIRON PLACEMENT IN THE SAME SIGN, your Chiron wound is likely a major and crucial part of your core personality. For example, Abraham Lincoln had his sun sign and chiron sign in Aquarius, indicating that the core wound of always feeling like an outsider in the community was a foundational aspect of his character.

CAPRICORN CHIRONS might enjoy writing or reading historical fiction — especially historical fiction that features characters who others view as “outsiders” achieving succsss in the public eye against all odds.

4H SATURN placements may have chosen or will possibly choose to attend university far away from home in a desperate attempt to break free from strict parents.

SATURN TRINE NEPTUNE aspects make for individuals who care deeply about topics related to social justice and are driven to take action and participate in organizing their communities. They could be involved in social media activism and have accounts dedicated to posting about certain issues, but it is essential for these natives to also take concrete actions locally.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Chiron in the Signs - The Wound & The Healing 🌿✨

Chiron in your birth chart represents the deepest wound you carry, one that often stems from early life experiences, shaping how you move through the world. This wound is not meant to break you, but to teach you, to push you toward self-acceptance, and ultimately, to help you heal.

🔥 Chiron in Aries – Struggles with self-worth and asserting your presence. You may feel unseen, afraid to take up space, or hesitant to lead. Healing comes from reclaiming your courage, your voice matters, and you are meant to blaze forward.

🌿 Chiron in Taurus – A wound around security and self-worth. Fear of loss, scarcity, or not being "enough" can lead to attachment to material stability. True security is found within, your worth is not measured by what you own.

💨 Chiron in Gemini – A wound in communication and being understood. Fear of saying the wrong thing or not being heard can lead to self-doubt. Healing means trusting your voice. your thoughts matter, and your words deserve space.

🌊 Chiron in Cancer – A wound in emotional security and belonging. Fear of abandonment, difficulty trusting love, or feeling unworthy of care. Healing begins with becoming your own safe space, learning that you are enough, even alone.

☀️ Chiron in Leo – A wound tied to recognition and self-expression. Fear of not being special, of rejection in creativity or love. You are not defined by applause, your worth exists even when no one is watching.

🌾 Chiron in Virgo – A wound in perfectionism and self-worth. Feeling like you must fix everything to be valued. Healing comes from embracing imperfection, your worth is not tied to what you can do for others.

⚖️ Chiron in Libra – A wound in relationships and self-sacrifice. Fear of rejection, difficulty setting boundaries, or losing yourself for the sake of harmony. Healing comes from realizing love should not require you to shrink yourself.

🦂 Chiron in Scorpio – A wound in trust and emotional depth. Fear of betrayal or loss, leading to guardedness. Healing is found in vulnerability, letting others see the real you, and knowing that pain does not define you.

🎯 Chiron in Sagittarius – A wound in belief and purpose. Fear of being misled, lost, or trapped in limited thinking. Healing comes from embracing the unknown, truth is not a fixed destination but a journey of discovery.

🏛 Chiron in Capricorn – A wound in achievement and recognition. Feeling like worth is tied to success, or a fear of failure. Healing is found in knowing you are enough beyond your accomplishments, resting is not failing.

🌐 Chiron in Aquarius – A wound in belonging and feeling different. Fear of being misunderstood or not fitting in. Healing comes from embracing your uniqueness, you were never meant to blend in, but to inspire.

🌊 Chiron in Pisces – A wound in boundaries and emotional overwhelm. Feeling unseen, lost, or taking on too much of others' pain. Healing comes from learning to protect your energy, love does not require self-sacrifice.

✨ Chiron does not break you, it transforms you. The wound you carry is the wisdom you are meant to share. How will you turn your pain into power? 🌿💫

[fir-fireweed]

Intro Post for my new WIP, “Cantata.” If you haven’t yet read my completed IF, “Viatica,” you can find it here on itch.

Ko-Fi Link Here

A low fantasy IF loosely based on the Italian Renaissance period, with a steampunk edge.

DEMO on Itch

SYNOPSIS

The story is set in Saleste, an empire with a long history of expansionism and colonization. It is a vast, wealthy empire, very much set in notions of classism and noble privilege. And its warmongering has only grown more brazen under the current regis (monarch). Saleste is currently at a stalemate with Tinebaille, a neighboring island nation the empire has repeatedly tried, and failed, to conquer.

Within the empire, technically citizens but not, are the Iredicci. The Iredicci are as much a religion as they are a race—less like priests and more like monks or shamans. The Iredicci can hear and feel the cordis, the harmonic pulse that connects all living things, and they connect to it through song. Iredicci have excellent hearing, but their defining feature is their voice—they have an echo to their voice, a resonance of two pitches at once. The regis asked the Iredicci elders to use their unique gift to help him conquer Tinebaille, but as a peaceful people, they refused.

A simple, nomadic people, the Iredicci were traditionally welcome in all corners of the Saleste Empire. But as steam technology progressed and the push for new resources grew, a prejudice developed against them. The regis spread propaganda against the Iredicci, painting them as an inferior, uncivilized people who leeched off the empire rather than aided it. Over the years they stopped being welcome. Eventually, their travel was restricted, and the Iredicci were forced to live in settlement camps.

You are one of the Iredicci, born into such a camp. The elders sing songs of past travels and wonders you have never seen. Ever the optimists, the elders tell you to take heart. To be thankful you are among friends and family. That things can’t possibly get any worse.

Until they do.

Historians and politicians would call it The Proelium, a righteous battle against the traitorous Iredicci. What it really was, was the systematic genocide of your people. In one night, soldiers attacked every settlement camp across the empire. No one was spared—not the elders, not the children, not your mother.

It was mere whim that you snuck out of camp that evening, a mischievous escapade with a friend that ironically saved your life. You are taken in by your friend’s family and kept safe. But with survivors being hunted and killed, you must conceal your identity. So, you pretend to be deaf and mute.

Journey through the empire of Saleste and beyond. Grow from a child into an adult. Make friends, lovers, allies, and enemies. How will they react when your secret comes to light? Will you abandon your song in favor of machine? Join the rebel forces against the tyrant regis? Will you heal the wounds of the realm and restore balance? Or plunge it further into chaos?

FEATURES

Play as male, female or nonbinary—you’ll be able to choose your pronouns independent of your body type.

Customize your character’s appearance and personality.

Choose your attunement/proficiency with the cordis. This choice will heavily influence gameplay, affecting combat, weapon specialization, character interactions, and problem-solving situations. Choose wisely!

Create 2 character names: your birth name and an alias. The Iredicci have culturally unique names, so your birth name will be limited to a preset selection. But you will go by an alias of your own choosing for most of the story.

Develop your relationship with your adopted sister. Are you friends or rivals?

Romance! Or not. Romance 1 of 4 possible love interests, or choose the platonic route with the best of friends.

Save a wild animal from a hunter’s trap and gain a steadfast companion. Because fur baby.

THE MC

The game begins with you at age 7. When you are 12, your camp is slaughtered during The Proelium. With your voice and heightened hearing identifying you as Iredicci, you pretend to be deaf and mute in order to hide your heritage. The main game occurs 13 years after The Proelium, when you are 25.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Calliope Cato (she/her)

The inventor/artificer, Calliope can build and fix any machine. She is 2 years younger than you, petite, with gold eyes, rich brown skin and black hair in multiple braids. Her hair and clothes are adorned in rings, belts, and pins which double as tools. She carries a man’s cane sword with her everywhere, which she wields in a fight along with a hand crossbow. She’s curious, optimistic, excitable, and easily distracted by her many projects, but much of that is to keep her mind occupied. In quiet moments when she thinks no one is looking, you glimpse a profound sadness on her features.

Corinne Xenakis (she/her)

The leader of the rebels, Corinne works to overthrow the monarchy and aid the surviving Iredicci where possible. She is 6 years older than you. She is tall, with long, sandy brown hair usually worn in a messy bun or loosely braided bun, hazel eyes, and beige skin tanned by the sun. Quiet, serious and aloof, she feels a tremendous responsibility for those under her command. Corinne is a contradiction—she has the grace and manners of a noblewoman, yet fights with military precision that is uncommon for females of noble lineage. She is deadly when double wielding her flintlocks or axes. While not cold, she is not overly familiar or friendly with anyone, and very tight-lipped about her past. What does she guard so fiercely behind her armor?

Vicente Aloi (he/they)

The bastard prince, Vicente is calculating, ruthless and driven. They are the same age as you, and they, too, lost their mother the night of The Proelium, though under different circumstances. But while you were adopted into a loving family, he is the unwanted son of the regis, trained to be a lethal tool. He has long, midnight blue-black hair, icy blue eyes, and high defined cheekbones. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet… wings, perhaps? It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful, though you’d never tell him for fear he’d take his rapier to your neck simply for looking. Will your plans align with his, or are you merely another pawn in his schemes?

Bayram Durmaz (he/him)

The son of the Aydem, the matriarchal leader of Tinebaille. Bayram is 4 years older than you. He has golden-honey skin, light brown eyes, and dark brown, tightly-curled hair that he usually wears back in a ponytail or half ponytail. He is tall and broad, muscular but not toned, with a rounded edge to his stomach and chest. A sprawling, colorful tattoo, the mosaic artwork of his people, covers the entirety of his back. He is boisterous, bold, and a shameless flirt. With his young sister bearing the weight of succession, he’s been free to explore the islands to his heart’s content, and is familiar with every bay, inlet, and harbor. He is equally skilled at wielding a spear, sailing a ship, and charming hearts.

[fractal-unfoldment]

For all of its pain and intensity, abandonment serves as a catalyst for profound personal growth.

Susan Anderson, The Journey from Abandonment to Healing

[ruminate88]

When he talked me out of suicide, just to dump me twice and then ghost me… It’s very sickening. You literally pretended to save me all so that you could just hurt me more…. The insanity of it all.

No, I don’t understand why, but I mean it happened and even if nothing comes from it, I still survived it and I’m OK now, but I’m not gonna lie, It definitely messes with my head and hurts like heck. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Just because you’re physically away from abusive people, doesn’t mean you don’t still feel tormented in your mind by them. You can actively try to work through the past and try to get over it all, but some days just feels really hard. Healing is super hard but I’m trusting the process that all my hard work will eventually turn into something beautiful.

It’s easy to get caught up in trying to understand why the people hurt you rather than to understand the impact of the hurt caused. It’s that ripple effect where certain actions they did turned into more. (Example: the ghosting triggered an abandonment wound and made me anxiously attached in my next relationship)

Patience is often overlooked because if you’re like me, you want to just be over it all and be somewhere else. You don’t wanna be on this healing journey, but you don’t have a choice. ❤️‍🩹🌹 I’m sorry, you’re here on this path but if you keep going, I believe you will get to new ground. I just can’t tell you how long it’s going to take because everyone is different. What works for me, may not even work for you, but I would say to tread this journey, one little baby step at a time!! If for some reason you feel stuck, don’t beat yourself up, but just embrace the feeling because it doesn’t last. I have felt stuck so many times!!!

5/08/25

[drewsctover]

but daddy i love him.

"he would burn the world just to keep you by his side — even if it meant losing himself."

summary: they tore you away from him, but not even time could heal the wound. now that he has you back, broken and desperate, he’s willing to risk everything — even your love — just to keep you.

wc: 2,5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, miscommunication, emotional manipulation, kidnapping, non-consensual drugging (chloroform implied), dubcon and attempted noncon (but stopped), heavy angst, toxic love, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mutual codependency, possessive!rafe, unstable!rafe, lovesick!rafe, hurt/comfort, mutual codependency, toxic but deeply loving relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, trauma bonding, manipulation by third party, abandonment issues, desperate love, guilt-tripping, emotional blackmail, reader experiences fear but also love, morally gray characters, "he’s crazy but he loves her", obsession mistaken for love, they love each other, fluffy ending, heartfelt confessions, reconciliation, healing journey, they’re toxic but they’re soulmates.

authors note. ok so. i got super annoyed while reading devil’s night because like??? they don’t know how to TALK like normal people lmao. they just solve everything with sex lol (i love it but it also drove me crazy sometimes). so i wanted to write something closer to how i imagined it could go. this is my first time writing something actually dark and heavy...?? so i hope you like it 😝. also pls forgive any mistakes, english isn’t my first language!

the relationship with rafe was never easy. no — he never raised a hand against you, never uttered cruel words. but there was, in him, an overwhelming passion, an intense attachment that sometimes made love overflow the borders of what was light and calm. and your parents... oh, your parents never understood him. no matter how many times you said, with your eyes shining with faith, that he was the love of your life, the companion you had chosen for all the days yet to come.

you loved him, truly.

“babe, i’m going to my friend’s house,” you said, your voice soft, almost playful, as you packed your purse with a smile on your face. you, sarah, kie, cleo, and sofia had planned to spend the day together — shopping, relaxing at the spa, those kinds of things.

“today?” rafe asked, his tone laden with an almost imperceptible sadness, as he hugged you from behind, kissing your neck and shoulder. “we had planned a movie night, angel...”

yes, you two had planned.

but the week before, he had said it was fine, that you could leave it for another day, that you had every right to go out with your friends and have some fun.

“i know, babe. but you said we could leave it for another day, remember?” you replied lightly, trying to mask the growing warmth inside you, as he scattered kisses on your neck and shoulder, almost as if he wanted to take you right there, in that moment.

rafe let out a sigh, slowly pulling away. you immediately turned around, and your eyes met his sad expression.

“i just... i’m not feeling well,” he said, his voice soft, almost tired. “i wanted to spend the day with you.”

jesus christ…

rafe knew exactly how to stir you, how to use the right words, that gaze full of intensity. he knew you loved him, and that was enough for him to manipulate you.

you smiled tenderly, your heart tight with love. you hugged him back, kissing his temple in a gesture full of silent promises. you ended up staying. you nestled on the couch, picked an easy-going movie, and laughed together. later, rafe fucked you, as if the whole world could fit between his arms and you.

you stayed there, that day, and on others. but there was one day — just one — when you couldn’t stay.

your father showed up at tannyhill, after rafe had taken you to spend a week with him, pretending you were already married. he grabbed you forcefully and pulled you away from rafe, not even giving you time to say goodbye.

you wanted to stay.

you loved him too much to let him go.

“i’m tired of this! this boy is not for you!” your father shouted, while you, with tears in your eyes, looked at rafe through the car’s rearview mirror. his blue eyes, wide, growing more and more distant.

“don’t leave me, please!” rafe shouted, his voice desperate, muffled by the distance. “don’t leave me, i love you! i love you!”

you turned your face, feeling your heart shatter.

the car kept moving away, but you were calm. you would talk to your father, convince him that rafe was good, and see him again tomorrow.

but that never happened.

when you arrived at your father’s house in charleston, you found out that you wouldn’t be going back to outer banks. now, you would live with him, in charleston, away from rafe.

“but, daddy, i love him,” you said, your voice choked with tears, your heart crushed inside your chest.

“his love is dangerous. one day you’ll understand why i did this, darling.”

a year had passed, and you still didn’t understand.

today was your birthday. you were back in outer banks, living at your mother’s house. the air, the beach’s warmth, the memories of everything you had lived there... everything was imbued with a longing that seemed to grow heavier each day. you spent the night with your friends, amidst laughter and a little alcohol, but the feeling of emptiness still followed you. they tried to convince you to let them walk you home, but you insisted, saying you were fine, that you could walk alone to your mother’s house.

despite their protests, they eventually agreed. they were happy too, maybe even a little careless.

when you finally reached the door, your steps heavy from the night, you felt a light touch at the back of your neck. before you could react, a soft yet firm cloth was pressed against your lips and nose. your heart raced, and in an instant, the world went dark.

when you woke up, the first thing you felt was confusion. your head throbbed, and your body was heavily pinned down by something... or someone.

a familiar warmth surrounded you, but fear came along with the sensation of being completely out of control.

your eyes slowly adjusted, and that’s when you saw him. rafe. he was there, above you, his blue eyes locked onto yours, with an expression that — though loaded with something you couldn’t quite identify — also seemed... sad.

what had happened to the man you loved?

why did he do this?

"happy birthday, love," his voice came, faint and fragile — almost a whisper — as if even his words no longer had the strength to reach the real world.

the weight of his body over yours was both gentle and crushing. it was as if he was battling some inner turmoil you could no longer decipher. rafe held your wrist with a delicate touch, like someone afraid to break what they most cherished, and yet, his presence was overwhelming, inescapable.

"i never wanted it to be like this," he murmured, his sigh barely a breath against the silence. "but you left me no choice."

those words... they rang through you like a bitter echo, a cruel reminder of how everything between you had shifted. how the lines between what you once were and what you had now become had blurred into something broken, unreachable.

that unbearable ache of wanting to love him still, yet not knowing how anymore — the yearning to pull him back into your arms, even knowing it was no longer healthy, no longer safe. you tried to move, but your chest tightened with the effort.

the tension, the suffocated desire, the sorrow... everything melted into something nameless and unrecognizable. was it still love you felt? or merely a haunting nostalgia for a happiness that had long since crumbled away?

tenderly, almost reverently, rafe brushed his fingers along your cheek — like someone touching a fragile, sacred thing on the verge of shattering. the sorrow in his blue eyes unraveled you, and without meaning to, a single tear slipped down your face.

"why didn’t you miss me?" he whispered, and the raw anguish in his voice crushed something deep inside you. "i missed you every single day... since the day your father tore you away from me."

what?

you felt his fingers glide down your arms with a softness so terrifying it nearly broke you — touching your skin with a gentleness that seemed designed to completely disarm you. when he lifted your pink dress up to your waist, the motion was so cold, so deliberate, that you couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced down your spine.

his eyes locked onto your white lace lingerie, and the look he gave you was merciless — as if he were observing something that already belonged to him, something that was no longer yours.

a small smile curved his lips, a bitter, possessive amusement mingling with the hunger in his gaze. he let out a low chuckle, almost as if laughing at some unspoken truth.

"you knew i would find you, didn’t you? is that why you’re wearing my favorite?"

the war inside you was overwhelming. you were terrified — and yet, somewhere deep inside, a forbidden heat stirred within you, burning fiercely, irrationally. a desire that should not exist, that had no place in this moment. it was madness. he was out of control. you knew that — but still, your body couldn’t help but respond to the storm he stirred within you.

he positioned himself between your thighs, the sheer weight of his presence consuming every fragment of air around you.

you were lost. confused. desperate. and yet... somewhere inside you, a part of you ached for him — a disconcerting, shattering longing. you missed him. you missed what he had been in your life.

“his love is dangerous. one day you’ll understand why i did this, darling.”

your father’s words haunted your mind as rafe leaned down to kiss your cheeks, your jawline.

now you understood.

the danger only made him more irresistible, harder to resist.

yet, you still loved him.

but this wasn’t right. not now.

your panties were already damp. but what you wanted — more than anything — was to hold him. you wanted to kiss him. you wanted to talk. you wanted to understand why he said you hadn’t missed him.

you reached out, wrapping your hand lightly around his wrist — a touch so soft it felt almost like a silent plea. your eyes, glassy with unshed tears, locked onto his, as if somewhere in that look there might still be a chance to save something.

"if it ever gets too much... hold my wrist and tap twice..." he had once told you, breathless, as he buried himself deep inside you, one hand tightening carefully around your throat.

it wasn’t a safeword. you two never had one.

but it was a signal.

a small, fragile gesture — and yet it seemed to be the only thing that could still call him back from wherever he went when he lost himself.

when he felt your two hesitant taps against his wrist, rafe froze.

for a moment, the silence between you screamed louder than any sound.

his chest heaved against yours — heavy, burning, like he was waging a war inside himself. his eyes — so lost, so shattered — found yours.

slowly, he moved off you, pulling your dress back down with a care that broke your heart, as if he were handling something too delicate, too sacred for this broken world you both inhabited.

rafe sat down beside you, burying his face in his trembling hands.

"i... i never wanted to hurt you," he said, his voice broken, frayed by guilt. "i would never do anything you didn’t want," he repeated, over and over, like a tortured prayer.

you dragged yourself slowly toward him, your body still trembling — but your feelings, even more. there was too much love inside you, love that hurt like a blade twisting in your gut.

you wanted to hate him.

you wanted to scream.

but more than anything, you wanted to understand.

"why, rafe?" your voice came out hoarse, shaking. "why do you think i didn’t miss you?"

he let out a bittersweet laugh, running his hands through his hair, making the mess even worse.

"your father..." he began, hesitantly, as if the words themselves were poison on his tongue. "the night he took you away... he called me. he... he said that you thanked god for getting you away from me. said you... you couldn’t stand to be under the same roof with me anymore."

rafe turned his face toward you, and in his eyes, there was only pain, despair, abandonment.

"he said you hated me. that you were relieved to be free of me, too. that all you wanted was distance — that i was just another prison to you."

you felt your heart collapse inside your chest. every word he spoke was a dagger sinking deeper.

"that’s not true, rafe!" you gasped, sitting up to face him, cupping his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you. "that never happened! i never said that! i... i never wanted to be away from you!"

his brow furrowed, confused, wounded like a cornered animal.

"i loved you... i still love you," you whispered, tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. "i was just... scared. i didn’t know how to handle it all. you. everything i felt."

rafe squeezed his eyes shut, as if the pain was too much to bear, and collapsed into your arms, resting his head against your chest.

you felt his body tremble against yours — and only then did you realize: rafe cameron was crying in your arms.

"i thought you had left me," he murmured against your skin. "i thought you hated me."

you ran your fingers gently through his hair, smoothing the messy strands.

"i never hated you, i never wanted to leave you," you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "never."

for a long time, you stayed there, just holding each other, breathing in sync, allowing yourselves to feel the pain, the fear, the guilt... and the devastating love that still pulsed between you.

rafe lifted his face, his eyes red and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

"will you forgive me?" he whispered.

"only if you promise never to doubt what i feel here," you replied, guiding his hand to your chest, right over your heart. "here, inside."

he pressed his hand over your heart, as if he needed to feel it to believe it — as if that heartbeat was all he needed to keep existing.

"i promise, love," he vowed, his voice rough with emotion.

"rafe..." you began again, your voice thick with feeling. "you have to promise me one more thing."

he nodded immediately, as if your words were law to him.

"promise me you’ll never do that again... that thing... to me," you said, swallowing hard, struggling to find the right words. "the thing where you knocked me out... without me knowing. i was really scared, rafe. i..." the confession made you tremble, new tears springing to your eyes.

rafe looked at you like his entire world was crumbling just from imagining that you had felt fear because of him.

"i promise, love," he said without hesitation, his voice low, almost reverent. "i don’t know what came over me... i was just so scared to talk to you like a normal person and find out that everything your father said was true."

you nodded, and for a moment, both of you sat there, serious, absorbing the weight of that promise.

and then, out of nowhere, a laugh escaped your lips — nervous, light, real.

rafe blinked, confused at first, but when he saw your smile breaking through the tears, he laughed too — a rough, beautiful sound that made your chest ache with relief.

you slapped his chest lightly, with no real force. "you idiot," you said through your laughter, sniffling. "you almost gave me a heart attack!"

rafe laughed harder, pulling you into his lap, squeezing your hips like he never wanted to let you go again.

"i would never do anything you didn’t want, love," he murmured against your ear, his voice still thick with emotion but now full of tenderness. "never. i just... i got lost without you."

you curled up against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart against yours.

"we’re both a little lost, aren’t we?" you whispered, offering a small smile.

"then let’s get lost together," rafe answered, kissing your temple with a desperate, aching tenderness.

and there, in the middle of the wreckage that was the two of you, you found something precious: the certainty that, no matter how twisted the road, you would always find each other in the end.

together.

always together.

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART TWO !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.9k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!viktor, obsessive!viktor, g/n reader, violence/gore, s3lf-harm, (very light) s3xual implications, needles, vomit, & terminal illness.

viktor's yandere traits are . . .

worshiper, heroic, & obsessive

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Viktor always finds himself dreaming of the same thing.

He imagines himself consuming the correct remedies and garnering the ability to walk, to run, to stand tall on his two feet. He is merely a child, but he is well aware of his weaker form. In the fragrance of these illusions, he can become capable and mighty; he can be the fearless warrior who protects his loved ones from lurking danger. 

To heal and obtain strength — that is the haunting desire which paints his dreams.

The young boy now greets the sun in all of its blistering heat. The cloudless sky casts a shimmering glint upon the rusted scrap metal and bent screws of his handmade boat. Viktor’s frail hands place the creation upon the surface of a river stream. In the light of his childlike wonder, he imagines himself the captain, guiding his loyal crew across a grand sea overwhelmed with thunder and lightning. His dreams remain stagnant in his brain, though, where they have remained his entire life. 

The jagged gears and sprockets hasten down the current before Viktor can bring himself to his wobbly knees. The boat has now accelerated to speeds little he cannot keep up with. When his crooked cane escapes from his grasp, he falls down with it. His nose aches from the harsh plummet against the ground and specks of tears begin to build in his bambi-brown eyes. He winces from the few painful jolts in his weak legs before he is finally able to stand once more. 

When he searches, Viktor cannot find his beloved boat anywhere in sight. His eyes follow the stream ahead, which descends into an abysmal cave. He measures the weight of his options, but ultimately decides that his boat is too precious to abandon.

With a gulp, he carefully treads forward into the cave. Here, there is no light to guide him, only sound. And every drop of water and subtle echo of breath has his tiny heart hammering. He imagines some great, big, green-hued monster to crawl from the darkness and chow down on his thin bones. Viktor imagines the utmost worse to occur, but does not relent with his original intentions. He has to be brave, he asserts to himself.

When he rounds a corner, he spots a strange patch of light in the distance. Within this light, he recognizes the familiar cog of his boat peeking from behind a rock. He is moments away from cheering and celebrating the return of his greatest invention, until he notices the journey he will have to endure to retrieve the boat.

Viktor will have to squeeze himself through a narrow crack, threatening to release the avalanche of boulders from above. Still, he concludes his boat to be more important than his safety. He wastes no time in rushing forward to enact on such.

There is a struggle as he sinks down to lay on his stomach, but he captures success when he finds his small frame to fit perfectly through the tight gap. Chunks of rock protrude rudely into his emaciated form as he crawls, but he continues onwards. Viktor reaches his hand out, grasping air momentarily, before he finally lodges the wheel of his boat between his two fingers. With a soft “yes!”, he yanks the boat back into his possession. 

Before he can leave, however, he finds something striking in his periphery. In its journey, his boat landed in a space overwhelmed with glistening crystals.

Viktor eagerly slithers himself into the expanse. Bringing himself to his feet, he proceeds to marvel at the sight before him. 

The one fraction of the area that fascinates him the most is the great boulder directly in the center. It twitches and heaves with faded life, while radiating an aura of blue and purple luster. The opalescence is muted from its old age, but the sparkles still captivate him beyond belief. It does not take much to impress a boy raised in the lanes, after all. It is beautiful, Viktor thinks to himself.

And in the height of his desire for answers, he slowly places a hand upon the surface.

His vision abruptly goes dark and flashes of images then skim through his head. 

Viktor sees a person, almost. They have jagged skin and colorful flesh, with swirling hues of blue and purple levitating from their open palm. The scars treading along their skin spell out some form of incantation. The letters are ineligible, but Viktor still attempts to grasp the meaning within the short spurts of clarity casted across his brain. Incomprehensible whispers in this language permeate from every corner of the cave, as though the bats have been assigned the task of delivering a message. 

Viktor cannot grasp any of the statements spoken, but one word is emphasized with acute clarity. 

Y/N. 

There is a vision of a grand tree, bristling with life and color, before that image is replaced by his normal sight of the cave. The floors and walls surrounding him all rumble and vibrate, threatening to crumble. A few loose stones descend from the ceiling and nick his ragged clothing. 

Viktor does not waste a second more before he is scrambling toward his point of entry. Squished through the skinny gap, around the several corners, and out the sunlit entrance — he has successfully escaped the crumbling cave with his boat held tightly in his grasp.

A thundering pain then sinks into his leg. The force brings him to the ground with a violent wince. When he looks to the source, he finds that his leg is in its normal condition. What he doesn’t find, however, is his cane. Somehow, he had endured the entire escape without the support of his cane, which has now been swallowed by the tumbling rubble of the avalanche. 

Viktor tries to catch his breath and find a feasible explanation. Was it adrenaline that got him to safety, or possibly… Magic?

The topic of this “earthquake” spread throughout the Under-City, before ascending into the glamorous land of Piltover. Without wasting a beat, Piltover swiftly claimed rights to the cave and utilized the expanse for resources, all of which Viktor watched from the high surface of a neighboring water tower. 

Seeing the men work themselves to the bone, shipping off samples of what was his discovery, Viktor makes a promise to himself. 

He will fight tooth-and-nail to cross the bridge of Piltover. Then, he will reclaim possession of those crystals and protect them as his. 

He will succeed, he solemnly swears to himself. 

In the span of the years that followed, this mysterious creature, Y/N, has ushered Viktor to chase after his brightest dreams: to heal and obtain strength. They have been his light as he guides himself to this goal; his lantern through a violent blizzard. 

The journey to success began when Viktor first dipped a toe into adulthood. 

The remaining years of his adolescence were spent in a ridiculous back-and-forth cycle with several prestigious schools in Piltover. Viktor was an exemplary student, that has been made abundantly clear. However, the elites in the academies were wary of his background as an Under-City citizen.

Time after time, he persevered past every expectation of him and flourished with flying colors. Viktor was prepared to stand outside their offices, down on his knees with fresh coffees in hand for their approval. 

It wasn’t until a few days after his eighteenth birthday were his efforts finally taken into account. It was through the eyes of Heimerdinger that Viktor finally received recognition, who offered the young scholar the role of his assistant.

Viktor accepted the offer with embarrassing speed.

The role of an assistant is not his dream, though. It is merely one stepping stone toward the finish line of his goals. These are facts he has to relentlessly remind himself of. Upon scrutinizing the failed efforts of a Talis scientist, however, he realizes how difficult this task is. Possibly bridging on the edge of impossible, if he is honest with himself. 

After an abrupt explosion, Viktor was sent to study the materials used in Jayce’s experiments and verify their safety. He ventured into his isolated office and began his scrutinization of the notes and toolsets scattered around. A steel metal box, adorned with intricacies of blue and gold, calls out to his curiosity. Flicking the metal tab open, Viktor lifts the heavy lid and finds the very last thing he expected to see. 

Held in copper claws are fragments of the crystals he discovered as a boy. All glistening and pulsating in those tones of blue and purple. 

“Y/N…” The word crawls out strangled from his throat. Accompanied with his stuttering gasps, he has been rendered to a man absolutely breathless. 

His hands tremble like a thundering earthquake as they take one of the crystals into his gentle grasp. And just like that, all the resentment and festering anger he harbored for Piltover had vanished. As though merely touching these shards provided him with the impossible tranquility found in forgiveness.

All he needed now was to return to you, then anything other than serene bliss can melt away.

Viktor offered (with a stifling fervency) to join Jayce in his efforts to learn more of this magic. From here, “Hextech” was born.

Many, many years have now passed since their partnership. In these years, only puny progress has been made in Viktor’s chase for his dreams. With what success they’ve grasped, they’ve managed to capture the attention of scientists and investors across the world.

Jayce, the born-and-raised Piltie he is, has claimed all credit for the perseverance of Hextech with loud, prideful words and his chest puffed out like a bird. He revels in the bouquets of applause and praise he is drowned in. 

Viktor, on the other hand (and despite being the sole reason behind Hextech’s success), cannot find it within himself to care for Jayce’s entitlement. All he has ever cared for is you and the dreams you keep safely nestled in your palms. Everything else is immaterial.

2021 has now reached its lively Summer. Unfortunately, the goals Viktor set out for himself that year are miles away from fruition. His primary focus has been the runes he saw adorning your form and what definitions remain in every scratch. Translating the characters will lead to your location, he is positive of such.

With that being said, all these wasted days have been spent finding himself in the same dead ends he’s visited countless times. He can feel his worn body eroding with every passing second, with the glimmer of his dream now beginning to flicker with old, neglected light.

Home again, Viktor partakes in his evening routine before bed, a routine he has followed for years. The thick paper in his at-home office is used to its utmost value, where the ink of his pen bleeds his heart out onto the draped scroll. 

If it weren’t for his broad vocabulary and expensive handwriting, you would think these scrolls were the works of a teenage girl gushing about her crush. In reality, it is Viktor releasing the pent-up emotions he’s forced into captivity during the hours at work. Here, within the safety of his home, all of these feelings can be exposed in all of its ugly brilliance. His sentences may be frivolous, but they are overwhelmed with an ardent need.

Without realizing, he sometimes finds himself unconsciously sketching your face from his memories as a boy. That breathtaking, tragically enchanting face has haunted him beyond belief. And that is especially the case now, as he signs off yet another letter to you with his signature “Yours Forever and Always, Viktor”. He takes one last longing glance to your features he sketched over the romantic words.

Propping himself onto his cane, he curls the scroll into itself. He then treads to his bedroom and rests the scroll on the flower bed just outside the window. Joining this letter is another gift he addressed to you.

Viktor takes hold of his handmade boat he carried with him into adulthood. It is now miserable and rusted, but remains one of the most sacred items he owns. He nestles it safely beneath the thick hedges of the flowers, ensuring no gusts of wind or fluttering birds can disrupt its placement.

These actions are taken with one intention in mind: garnering your attention. 

Surely, from wherever you may be, you will catch sight of the boat and be reminded of the connection you formed with him long ago. He is sure of this, despite waking every morning to the same, untouched flower bed. Still, this neglect is not anywhere near enough to hinder his efforts. 

Slowly, he situates himself into his bed and faces his body toward the window. Sleep is something that rarely ever finds him, but in the midst of these rarities, he sleeps like a restless child on Christmas Eve. One day, Viktor will wake to your heavenly silhouette peering at him through the window. He falls asleep with this prayer ghosting his lips.

Another day of fruitless work is what he is met with the following morning. No soft, jagged hands stroking his hair or crooked smile to rival the early-day sun. 

These failures, mended with the countless rough patches Hextech has faced in recent months, have taken a perceptible toll on Viktor. Again and again, he rearranges the runes of the Hexcore and provides it with a multitude of subjects to learn from. Still, he does not earn even a glimmer of a possible translation. All this effort forged into finding your whereabouts has resulted in defeat, yet again.

The hours of the day drag on in agonizing lethargy. The walls of the headquarters could almost resemble the metal bars of a prison. Here, however, the office space provided by Heimerdinger’s connections and Talis House money was far more luxurious than a dank cell. 

A window with intricacies molded into the surface provides a blinding light from their high-view point in the city. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes scrutinizing his every move. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and gadgetry scattered about the surfaces. 

The room is dull in comparison to others in the building, yes, but neither he nor Jayce had time to concern themselves with appearance. Maybe… Maybe you’ll help with decorations when the time comes. Maybe you’ll adorn these boring walls with those opalescent crystals and shimmering jewels of yours. You can provide this room with life, just the same as you did for him.

So engrossed in the bewitching pondering of you, Viktor fails to notice another person in the room. Sky, he thinks he can recall her name as. She rambles nervously about nonsense he cannot be bothered to discern. It is only when she treads a little too close to the Hexcore is he finally brought out of his inner turmoil. Her elbow unintentionally nudges a nearby house plant toward the Hexcore. 

A scolding bridges on Viktor’s tongue, but is replaced by a suffocating silence when the Hexcore clings to the plant. 

A bolt of purple springs from the runes and clasps to the plant like a hand, twitching as it absorbs the energy from the leaves. When the potted plant wilts, the Hexcore bursts with new energy and flourishes with greenery that reaches the ceiling. It radiates in the colors of blue and purple he knows all too well.

From the illumination is a character of one of the runes. Viktor watches in enraptured amazement as said rune unfolds and spells out something tangible.

“SAN T  RY”, the letters speak.

Santry? Maybe it is an incantation or a phrase native to the language you speak, he is not sure. Nonetheless, the heavy ache in his chest eases and welcomes the light of excitement. 

His brain dares to assume you would then somehow blossom with the flowery, there to breathe life into the dream he’s spent years striving after. Much to his horror, however, all the thriving organic matter soon withers away. As the decaying fragments descend, Viktor rushes over, discarding his cane. He clings to the dead remnants piling on the floor as though it were you who died in his hands. 

As quickly as it had begun, it has now ended. And through the shocked silence, he is sure he can hear the tortured remains of his heart die alongside this damn house plant.

Still, the tortured soul does not impede his intentions of translating the runes of the Hexcore. If anything, his motivation has endured an incredible increase. 

His crafted boat and another written scroll have found their home on his flower bed, once again, but Viktor is far from his bedroom. He remains in his at-home office, grinding the hours of the past week into understanding the meaning behind this groundbreaking discovery. 

Why was there such a dramatic reaction to biological matter? Does this serve as a step forward in the direction of his dreams or does this eradicate all his original effort? Will he have to scour through every note he has written in the past decade to find something that explains this revelation? 

And could it… Is it really you?

The runes scribbled on his notepad may as well have been chicken scratch. Despite his unwavering intelligence, he still cannot piece together the meaning of the characters the Hexcore had given him. At this point, translating a mere syllable would be enough for Viktor to shout “eureka!” from the highest building in Piltover.

“Viktor.” 

Time stands still. 

The voice that permeates through the office is almost strangled, as though his brain can’t quite grasp what the voice actually sounds like. Still, it is an elegant conundrum of the most ethereal music he has ever heard. And he knows, he just knows where this beautiful melody has perfused from. 

Oh, Y/N. 

My angel. My dearest. 

His brain begs for him to turn around and bless his vision with what he knows will be the most perfect sight he’ll ever witness. His body, however, has been reduced to that of a frozen statue, completely stiff and still. 

“Look at me.” 

The demand falling from your tongue erases all of that. 

His body seems to move on its own, beginning to slowly, breathlessly, turn around. He knows it will be too much for his weak body to endure, yet still, he cannot stop himself. It is as though you’ve plunged a hand into his nerves and began conducting his movements like a puppeteer.

Viktor finds you standing across the room and a sob is yanked from his chest. Your figure has personified in a mess of blinding brightness and confusing colors — a watercolor portrait detailing every speck of the word perfection. It strains his eyes to look at you. Yet still, he cannot bear to look away. Not now, not ever. 

What is clear in his vision, though, is what you present in your hands. You hold the rusted boat he crafted as a child, with your fingers exploring the gears and cogs plastered against the scrap metal. As you fidget, you tread closer to where he sits. And with tears seeping down his face, Viktor watches your every move in absolute devastation. 

“I’ve been searching for this for quite a while.” You hold the boat in an admirable presentation. “For you, as well.” 

His heart exhales, almost. As though something had been digging their tight nails into the gooey tissue and finally, finally eased their grasp.

When you bend down beside him, glorious face just inches away from his, Viktor can truly feel his freed heart melting down to puddled nonsense. Your hand then finds his cheek and you cup his boney face in your palm. Your touch feels like fuzzy static from the devices he tinkers with. Electrifying, and most imperatively, warm. 

“My beautiful masterpiece.” Your voice still remains a mellifluous scratch and punctures his soul with every timbre and tone. 

He can’t help but feel small beneath your gaze. Like a nasty insect. Weak, immaterial, and easy. Skittering across your flesh and ensnaring his prickly limbs around this grand sugar cube he’s stumbled upon. He is something so trifling in comparison to you. Potent, imperative, and intricate. Exuding saccharin with every step you take and indifferent to this foul pest lapping up any sliver he can get. 

“How could you let this drag on so long, Viktor?” You question. “You were cut from the cloth of my flesh. Soaked in the rivers of my blood. There is no you if not me. You and I are one.” 

Viktor has been rendered to a man overcome with twitter-patted hysteria. He is shocked he is even still able to breathe, no less, maintain consciousness in a moment of such frenzied elation. No words escape him in response; all he can do is stare and revel at the sight he’s been slaving his entire life just to find a glance of.

Another euphoria-induced beat passes before you do the unthinkable. With a few measured glances to his mouth, Viktor watches in astonished rapture as your eyes flutter close and your mouth subtly parts. Then, you lean into him. 

Just before your lips touch, impaling him with the inevitable exaltation he’ll surely die from, he blinks and finds himself face-down at his desk.

Reality may as well have slapped him across the face.

A light, delirious gasp leaps from him as consciousness settles in. Viktor finds his lips puckered against his knuckles, where drool seeps from the corner of his mouth and onto the notes beneath his head. He buries his face into his hands with a jagged, frustrated groan. 

Dreaming of kissing the partner of his dreams, is he a teenager again? Then again, you’ve always had your clever ways of making him feel as such. This romantic disposition of his did not flourish until the later years of his adolescence, of which he assumed were the normal changes every young man faces. Then, as a mature adult, he can continue his efforts of translating the runes with complete clarity.

Bridging on almost two decades later, these feelings have yet to cease. Viktor is still horrifically and irrevocably in love. Not even the promise of heaven could help fizzle out these emotions. What is heaven compared to you, anyway?

He peeks his gaze through the creases of his fingers and finds he had fallen asleep on his planner. In the ink (now diluted and splotched from drool), he finds the date of the fundraiser he had promised Jayce to attend. With a glance at the clock, he realizes he has several minutes to prepare himself until the event begins. Another groan rumbles from his throat. 

All Viktor wants is to return to the dreamscape of your enchanting words and magic-spun lips. Is that too much to ask for?

Dusk has now begun to fade down the horizon, illuminating the artwork of Mel Medarda in a scintillating glow. The art is irrelevant to all, however, as scientists and engineers across the globe have traveled here to sell their million-dollar ideas to Piltover’s greatest investors. 

Viktor now stands behind Jayce as they saunter through the gallery, stifling a grunt with every dry conversation he’s unnecessarily dragged into. The scientist they’ve found themself shackled in a conversation with trails on about his success in other nations. He is quite famous for his fruitful discoveries and resolute intelligence, but Viktor could not care less about what this stranger has to offer them.

Standing here, idle chatter and rich laughter perfusing from every corner, all Viktor can find himself thinking of is you. He juggles with the reality of the previous events, trying to differentiate whether it was another sugar-spun dream or a message sent straight from your pen. He’s never had a dream so explicitly vivid before, after all. Could it have been a sign? Was this your reciprocation? Do you truly possess the same feelings for him as he does for you? 

“That sounds incredible. Doesn’t it, Viktor?” 

A nudge from Jayce and Viktor is barely yanked back to reality. 

“Ehh, yes. Yes, it does…” 

Without another click, Viktor then returns to his favorite place: the thought of you.

That dream was the encapsulation of his greatest desires falling into his palms. The only proof he has that it was an actual dream and not reality were the current speeds of his fluffed-out heart. To witness you through his naked eye, to feel the genuine touch of your hand, to mold his needful lips against yours — it would kill him instantly. The fact that he is still alive now is all the evidence Viktor needs to realize that, unfortunately, it was just another dream in a sea of thousands. 

This does not halt his brain from soaking in the contents of his dream, however. All he could think about in the midst of this stupid cocktail party was your face, your body, your voice. God, could there be anything so indubitably perfect in this world?

And your kiss, oh, the things Viktor would do to receive such vehement affection. Your presence is enough to kill him, yes, but your kiss would revive him, just to kill him all over again. 

A delicious juxtaposition between life and death — that is what you are made of. This lethal, intoxicating essence swims through your veins and weeps from your soul; it is a weapon any sane man would be ecstatic to succumb to. Viktor surely would, he has no hesitation with his judgment. He merely thinks of your face and is moments away from collapsing to his knees.

A server treads by with a platter hoisted over their shoulder. On the surface are several gold-painted champagne glasses. Viktor has no second to think before the server is shoving one of the glasses into his hands, no regard for his resistance. 

He makes the motion to grasp the server's attention and return the glass, but something about it stops him. Twirling the glass in circles and watching the liquid swirl with the motions, he finds himself entranced. Viktor has never been one to drink alcohol, as it does more harm than good for his feeble body. With this glass now in his hand, he can’t prevent himself from contemplating the flavor. And perhaps the flavor could even be similar to you, maybe.

Would your kiss be as smooth as the thick liquid? Would it sting like the bubbling effervescence of the champagne? Just like the bolts of fervent electricity he garnered from the Hexcore? Would it be rich? Sour? Sweet? Maybe a mouthwatering collision no one has ever tasted before? 

Viktor’s mouth waters as these thoughts invade his brain. If he were correct, he’d bottle the essence and get himself drunk on the taste for eternity. Even if it was poison, he would welcome the paradisiacal venom with a sun-bright smile.

Just before his lips meet the edge of the champagne glass to truly test what his angel may taste like, something captures his attention. 

The words “Hextech” and “sell” should never exist within the same sentence, yet Viktor hears them crystal-clear from the mouth of this scientist. All bubbly, blissful nonsense frolicking through his mind is brought to an abrupt cut.

Viktor has caught the man halfway through a proposition regarding the sake of Hextech. 

“Just between us scientists, you can tell me the truth. You’re surely getting nowhere with your experiments in that cramped office, no?” 

Viktor tries to intrude and bring an end to the idea before it is even spoken aloud, but he is rudely interrupted.

���Imagine how much prosperity and success you can bring to the Hextech name with me there! All the profit you’d earn with my skills and experience.” 

His nails dig violently into his palm as he drags on with his proposition. Like hell will he let some greedy capitalists put his hands on what sliver he has of you. It hurt to simply let Jayce touch the Hextech materials, despite the fact they were originally in his possession in the first place. To send it overseas to god-knows-where would wound him in ways he would never heal from.

A brutal rejection bridges on Viktor’s tongue. Maybe even a foul remark to add insult to injury. When he glances at Jayce, however, he finds the man's expression to be scrunched into puzzlement. Almost as though he were considering this scientist's offer. 

A sharp shatter then pulsates through the room. 

Viktor looks to his hand and finds he had shattered his glass in the height of his fury, cold champagne seeping down his folded sleeves. 

A few partygoers fall silent and look at the sudden intrusion of volume, but soon return to their chit-chat when nothing feasible comes from the noise. Jayce, on the other hand, wastes no time in trying to inspect the glass shards punctured into Viktor’s pale palms. He yanks himself away before he can place a finger on him, however. 

“No!” Viktor asserts. 

He is not embarrassed of his outburst, either, despite how composed he presents himself to be. Not when you are on the line. How could he ever remain calm with this prospect knocking on his door? 

A sharp glare to Jayce and the man begins fumbling through an explanation. 

“I-I never said we would take the offer, just that-” 

“Just what, Jayce?” 

Viktor’s voice increases in volume. Eyes follow, but he does not care. 

“It-It’s just… I’m worried, Viktor. You are clearly not in good shape and I don’t think the future of-”

Viktor swings his frail arm behind him before surging it toward Jayce’s face. 

The punch does not land, as Jayce dodges it with ease, ultimately resulting in Viktor to trip over his leg. He lands on the marble floors with a violent thud, piercing pain spreading through his sensitive body upon impact. 

All eyes are locked on the two now, hushed whispers drifting through the silent room. As fast as it had begun, it was now over.

Jayce attempts to assist his partner, but Viktor bluntly slaps his helping hand away and brings himself to his feet. If he has proved anything over the past decade, it is not Jayce he needs. It is you and only you. When he is met with the possibility of losing you, he cannot restrain the rampant, infuriated emotions coursing through his bloodstream. 

Viktor then limps out of the building with rage still perfusing from him like a thick perfume. Jayce acquiesces, but does not attempt to follow his lab partner. The Talis name cannot be tarnished, after all.

He apologizes to the scientist with shame plastered across his expression. With a paranoid glance over his shoulder, he speaks in hushed tones and proposes the topics they spoke of beforehand.

Meanwhile, Viktor hastens to the sanctity of his home. It is the only safety he has been nestled with in the trajectory of his life. It is all done by your hand, as his home is where you are. Yes, with a slyly-sewn excuse, he was granted permission to keep the Hexcore in his possession, of which he wasted no time in snagging away. Now, he will protect and nurture this fragment he has of you by whatever means necessary.

Viktor soon trudges past the threshold adjacent to his living room, the mahogany doors creaking as he does so. Sauntering through, he is then met with an instantaneous peace.

His library is the place he possesses the utmost pride for, since all books present have been written by his hand. Here, every etch of ink correlates to you.

You are not something he can contain within the whorls of his mind, no. You must be expressed in any form of physicality Viktor can garner. Writing assists him in translating the runes, but it also serves as another desperate attempt to assure himself you are real and not just some psychic phenomenon he experienced as a child. You are real, you must be. You do not have a choice. 

Many of the books detail your physicality, as much as his fuzzy, muddled brain can decipher. Other books are unorganized gibberish regarding your whereabouts. The runes, the crystals, the Hextech — all this science is just stepping stones leading him closer to you. 

The other pieces, the more hidden ones, are for more frivolous exertions. Nights when these fantasies cloud his mind, he jots them down in messy splotches of ink and marvels at the ideas he bleeds onto paper. Said ideas are too intimate for him to revisit without flushing like a young boy stepping into the world of puppy-love. Nonetheless, they assuage him on the lonelier nights cramped in his office. 

All of these books overwhelm the several isles of shelves within the grand library. Through the warm wood and soft lamplights, Viktor rushes past and does not bother to drag his thin fingers across the leather spines, as he usually does in admiration of his work. Instead, he rushes to the set of double-doors opposite to the other doorway.

Through this entrance is his at-home office; the room in which most of his time is spent. The area is nothing short of dull, but serves its purpose — that being supporting Viktor’s hard work and delusional fits. 

That is certainly the case now, as the man chucks his cane to the ground and collapses onto a neighboring sofa. The materials are bristly and jut into his skin uncomfortably, but he cannot find it within himself to care. Not when his precious Hextech is at risk of being sold off like livestock. Not when you are moments away from being shoved onto a ship and sent overseas. 

“Ridiculous. Selling you? How dare he even consider it!” 

Viktor’s gaze finds the rolling chalkboard situated just beside his desk. On the green surface is a sketch of your face, drawn perfectly centered in the mess of numerous equations and jotted formulas.

“There is not enough money in the world- in the galaxy for me to even consider disposing of you!” 

He stands to feet, wobbling slightly, before he limps over the chalkboard. He rests a gentle palm upon the surface where your cheek would be.

“No… Never you…”

Viktor had not realized how shockingly realistic the drawing of you was until this moment. All the hours spent sketching your face have resulted in him becoming quite savvy in his artistic abilities, as it shows, to a degree where he finds himself captivated with the sight. As though you were standing right before him, just as you were in his dreams.

“Never you…” His thumb caresses the jut of your traced cheekbone. “Perfect, magnificent you…” 

With a light thud, his weary head lands against the board, where your foreheads align. From here, the neglected taste of champagne then returns to his memory. Truly, how would you taste? What emotions would he be flooded with if his dreams weren’t so rudely halted? 

Viktor is now breathing heavily before the chalkboard, practically panting against the rugged surface. The idea of kissing you is not foreign by any means, but as he is still fresh out of the arms of his fuzzy dreams, his body cannot restrain itself from reacting dramatically to the concept.

He then presses a languid kiss to your chalk-drawn mouth. Sure, the surface may not have the softness and jagged texture he is certain you possess, but the concept alone is enough to get his heart burning. 

Viktor’s mind becomes overwhelmed with the thought of you, like some hungry parasite latched into the fleshy grooves of his brain. How you’d taste, like lapping up the juice seeping from the forbidden fruit. How you’d feel, like the warm blanket of heaven’s clouds embracing him. Viktor is overwhelmed with the contemplation of everything; all the madness and repose that would follow with your lips on his.

The kiss hastens, until he begins utilizing his tongue in the state of vehemence. Thick chalk pervades through his mouth, but he is too far muddled by the fantasies bleeding through his head to pay any mind. He is messy and inexperienced with his mouth, yes, but the feverish need seared into his affections eradicates any nervous ticks or fearful hesitation.

Viktor’s efforts are abruptly cut short when he is overwhelmed by a coughing fit. He failed to anticipate how his fragile body would react to the thick chalk. It is an inevitability he should have realized sooner, had he not been so blissfully blinded by the imaginary, dusty lips of his lover. 

What was expected as a few coughs to rid his throat of the dust resulted in him choking on rugged gags. His body slams against the surface of his desk as a desperate means for support.

Blots of hot blood and chunks of chalk amalgamate and splatter out from his retches. Far too light headed to notice, a few drops of this excess land on the Hexcore. Immediately, it begins pulsating with new life. From this vibration, a heavenly aura of violet and blue perfuses and sways in languid circles. A new set of runes he has never seen before join the cloud of color, which spell out incomprehensible letters as they glisten and churn. 

This sudden change soon grasps Viktor’s attention, who is now met with a new sense of clarity upon discerning the sight. When the revelation simmers, he may as well have died right at his desk. 

“Oh, dearest…” A wide, almost manic smile stretches on his thin face. “Is it me you need?” 

The emotions swarming through his body have rendered him weak, but he has never known strength like he does in this moment. Viktor should have known from the beginning: you have always been calling out to him. It was never the measly plants that triggered a reaction, it was him! It was always him! 

And so fervently will he give himself over to you. Whatever it is you desire, Viktor will personally deliver on a golden platter. He will be your warrior and your servant; he will set the world ablaze to ensure your happiness.

“Y/N… I promise…” 

Viktor collapses before he can bring this new revelation to fruition.

The sounds of a robotic beeping is what greets Viktor next. The steady rhythm guides him as consciousness pervades his body. Through his blurry vision, he finds white walls, white floors, and himself in a white bed beneath white sheets. Everything is stale in its dull, depressing appearance. 

Turning his heavy head, he finds a figure seated beside him with their head buried in their hands. A glimmer of hope sparkles through him. 

“Y/N?” 

Jayce raises his head with sharp speed and Viktor is met with acute disappointment. He fails to notice the trepidation and pity in his partner's eyes. 

“Viktor… The doctors, they, uh, they said…” 

He sinks further into the mattress. His goals, his dreams, everything he has ever wanted — none of it will be his.

Even beneath the weight of shocked grief, all that permeates through his weary head is you.

The runes inked on your flesh, how he’ll never caress them. The crooked frame of your smile, how he’ll never earn it. The contours of your jagged hands, how he’ll never hold them. The symphony of your musical voice, how he’ll never hear it. Viktor will never be able to have the one thing that matters most to him and this fact punctures him worse than any weapon forged by man. 

“I-I know- I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but…” 

Viktor’s waiting gaze deepens. “But…?” 

Jayce’s eyes dart around the room, searching for something other than Viktor’s eyes to look at. With a deep breath, he breaks the silence.

“Hextech is going nowhere, Vik. We just keep finding ourselves at dead ends and clearly, it's taking a toll on-!” 

“Wait, what are you suggesting?” 

“What I’m saying is…” 

Jayce stammers before finding the words to speak. 

“Some scientists arrived overseas and I gave them a tour of our office. I think we should-” 

“You what!?” 

“I-I just showed them around and they provided some guidance. All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best for us to-” 

“Absolutely not! I will not give up Hextech!” 

The beeping of his heart monitor accelerates. 

“You’re not listening, Vik. There is no you, anymore.” 

Beep, beep, beep. 

“What is that supposed to mean!?” 

Beep, beep, beep. 

“With how much… time you have left, I-I made the decision to give your role to one of the scientists.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“No, no, Jayce. Please- Please don’t do this.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“I’m sorry, but I promise this is for your own good.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“I will do- I’ll do anything, Jayce, don’t- don’t do this to me!” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“There’s nothing I can do, Vik. It’s out of my hands.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beepbeepbeep. 

“We’ll be collecting the Hexcore from-”

BeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP- 

“I WON’T LET YOU HAVE THEM!” 

Viktor falls to the tiled floor, his shout spurting out like a glass shatter. Sharp and ragged, it is a tone he cannot recognize; the picture frame displaying the heart-shattering devastation of his unmet dreams. 

The tubes strapped to his narrow limbs snap and spring into the air. Tears seep down the jagged juts of his cheekbones. Viktor’s slender, ghastly fingers grip the edge of the bed frame and he drags his limp body forward. Crusted fingernails dig into the ankles of Jayce, who abruptly stands from his seat and cowers away from the crazed man. 

“They’re mine!” 

The door bursts open and a gaggle of nurses and doctors follow the intrusion. They swarm into the scene like a school of fish darting away from the jaws of a great-white. Before Viktor can merely blink, they ensnare their hands around his thin body and restrain him to the cold ground. Despite his resistance, the needles of their syringes glint in the glow of the lamp. 

Jayce mumbles another apology under his breath before he scurries away from the mess he has made.

The night passes quietly. So quietly, in fact, the staff that had stuffed Viktor with needles before had forgotten of his existence altogether. The door to his room has remained closed since their departure, and obliviously, they remain unaware of what remains beyond that threshold. 

Just after the clock strikes three, the door peers open. A tiny squeak perfuses through the lengthy halls of the hospital, but the quiet night does not react to this intrusion. A head of brown hair peeks out from the opening. Assuring the coast is clear, Viktor takes a careful step out. He takes another, then once more, before he finds himself in a hurried limp out of the premises. 

The streets are cold and unforgiving. Every street lamp and drunk pedestrian has his heart hammering. The sight of a horribly-emaciated man in a hospital gown will surely raise a few eyebrows, but nonetheless, he perseveres. As he stated before, nothing else matters when it is you on the line.

Viktor soon reaches the doors of his home. He wrestles with the key momentarily before the lock clicks and he’s barreling through the entrance. It is a weakened effort, but he rushes through his home and arrives at his office. When he finds his beloved equipment safe and sound, he releases a pent-up sigh of relief. His lanky hand rests upon the arm of the neighboring couch, as his body is just mere inches away from sinking into unconsciousness. 

Viktor’s gaze, swaying with dizziness, then finds the rendition of your face he sketched on the chalkboard (which has since been smudged by the works of his mouth, but not that he’ll ever admit that to anyone). In a dazed attempt at finding your chalk-ridden lips again, Viktor begins to limp over to the chalkboard. In his efforts, his weak body fails him and his hands reach for his desk to maintain his balance. Here, he is greeted by the sight of the Hexcore, still glistening and pulsating with its hues of blue and violet. Still beautiful as ever, he thinks to himself. 

He sits himself in the adjacent chair and continues to marvel at the runes illuminating the dim room. Viktor’s brain, always hungry, then treads toward the runes etched into your flesh, spelling out the same vocabulary scribbled across his desk. 

As a child, he always wanted to be you. His mother often found him etching these runes with markers across his arms and legs, scolding him as she scrubs the doodles. As an adult, however, he found he’d rather be with you. Now, those inked stains have since washed away and he can’t help but ponder over their permanence.

An idea then flickers in his brain.

Viktor grasps the letter opener left languidly on the surface of his desk. With a few rushed breaths of fear, restless assurances begin permeating his brain. He no longer has a choice anymore. A second more of waiting and you’ll be ripped from his weak hands like candy from a baby. Spending his entire adolescent years without you was torturous enough. To do so for the rest of his lifetime will kill him before this illness does. 

He faces this revelation head-on and begins reminiscing about the day he spoke to you. The day you truly spoke to him, no dreams or fantasies in sight. When you grasped one of the plants on his desk and gifted them life, before scribbling out a message just for him.

“SAN T  RY”, you spelled out in magic runes.

Forever the mad scientist he is, Viktor has dissected every scratch and itch of this rune, trying so desperately to decode your letter. Now, things are different. There is no ‘tomorrow’ to start anew, there are no more second chances. All he has left is tonight. And he will stop at nothing to understand the words you whispered to him.

The tip of the letter opener punctures into his thigh with a wet squelch. A muffled groan of pained agony fights against his clenched teeth as he finishes carving the first character. Then, Viktor moves onto the next. Moist blood seeps down his thighs and spills onto the marble floors as he continues, spreading like the excess of a thick soup. 

Sweat cascades across his body. His legs begin to quiver. The blistering ache almost becomes a second home. Still, Viktor refuses to relent and soon, he sits in a pool of his warm, oozing blood and gapes at his work of art. Sloppily engraved into his pale-white flesh are deep-red incisions spelling out your last distinguishable message. 

A sense of pride fills his chest at the prospect of displaying his level of reverent devotion to you. At the prospect of earning his place at your side, to a degree where the pain seems like an afterthought. Huffs of lightheaded, delirious laughter fill the empty silence. Unbeknownst to him, a lazy finger makes contact with the Hexcore.

The Hexcore then begins to tremble, palpitating like the speeds of Viktor’s heavy heart. A light then floods from the runes and drowns the room in its blinding effort. Through the flashes of white, Viktor is overwhelmed with visions of an uncharted territory. Tall trees align the edges of a pathway, where whispers of incomprehensible incantations dance with the cold winds.

“SAN T  RY”, the phrase that has haunted him for weeks, finally receives its final pieces. 

A few bolts of prismatic lightning from the Hexcore and the word “SANCTUARY” glistens in a blinding presentation on his thigh.

And without another second wasted, that is exactly where he rushes to.

On the outskirts of the Under-City, Viktor stands at a clearing in a deep, overgrown forest. The trees that swayed in his vision from before are identical to those here, aligning the path he has been treading on. Blood continues to hasten down his thighs and into the dirt beneath his bare feet. Despite the searing pain, he continues forward. With the inevitability of losing you just upon the horizon, no pain in the world could falter his efforts now. The fear is more formidable than any torture he could endure. 

As he continues limping forward, the ground suddenly begins to rumble violently. The force of it sends him to his knees, his frail hands digging into the soil for stability. A whirlwind then sprouts from the ground, forming a thick cloud of dirt and wind around him. Viktor cowers into himself in a desperate attempt at protection.

This tornado accelerates and spreads, engulfing him in its entire wrath. Roots then pierce out the soil and stretch into two tree trunks, chunks of dirt spattering upon the aggressive intrusion. The roots soar into the air and intertwine with one another, intricate grooves of warm brown slithering up their jagged bark. They soon meet and their limbs intertwine like two loving hands, forming an oval shape.

Just before he is sure the force of this whirlwind will take his body with it, the wind reaches its breaking point and bursts into the air. The storm has now been reduced to a gentle fog resting against the forest floor. The ground stops rumbling, the whirlwind eases, and Viktor can finally see the night sky in sheer clarity.

Trailing his vision forward, his attempts at standing are halted when he finds the newly-grown trees. The space within the oval has been filled by a sort of gray haze, almost like a portal. It is reminiscent of a surface of water, Viktor notes. Glistening like a midsummer lake beneath sunlight, with hues of violet and blue swirling around the edges. There are icicles descending from the leaves of the two trees like a weeping willow, as well, which sparkle in swaying hues of the same tones.

Scrutinizing further, Viktor is almost certain he can discern what lies beyond this newfound portal, but the mist is too distorted for him to reach a conclusion. When the image of you flickers through his mind, he garners strength he did not know he possesses. He then barrels past the threshold in animalistic speed. His vision is overwhelmed with a blinding white as he lands with a violent thump, before it eases back to its normal precision. 

The clean pavement is harsh against his skin as he stands to his feet. Illuminated by heavy moonlight, Viktor finds himself on a quiet street. There are a myriad of shops and centers aligning the pathway as he saunters through. A library, a performance hall, an alchemist’s laboratory, a farmers market — an entire civilization has been cultivated right beneath the nose of the Under-City.

He limps over to several of the locations, pounding his fists on the door, calling out his lover's name, but none of his efforts are brought to fruition. Soon, he abandons his intention of entering the locked premises and continues onwards. 

When he reaches the end of the street, Viktor discovers a tree that could touch the moon with its tall height. The trunk is almost as thick as a building with several holes punctured into the wood. From these holes, a blue and violet hued sap bleeds out and cascades into a fountain centered in front of the tree. Blossoming leaves adorned in these same colors stretch down from its branches and nearly graze the ground.

Through the leaves, golden lights flicker with warmth. Here, the broad branches of the colossal tree support the weight of several homes, all connected to one another with wooden bridges. One of the larger branches hidden beneath the canopy of leaves serves as a form of bridge. Surrounding this tree are towering mountains, which this bark-woven bridge leads to.

Viktor thought crossing the bridge to Piltover would reach the height of his amazement, but Topside riches have never left him this breathless. Then again, he has yet to find something that engrosses him with wonder the way you do. 

When the tip of his foot collides with the edge of the fountain, he realizes he has been mindlessly wandering forward, too enthralled with the sights he has discovered to care for clarity. He attempts to scrutinize further, before his body is overcome with a sudden rush of lethargy. He collapses against the edge of the fountain and clings to the corners for stability. Blood seeps from his nose and oozes onto the pristine stone. 

Before Viktor can scold himself for this disgusting weakness of his, two pairs of arms ensnare around his waist and hoist him to his feet. A sparkle of hope tells him it is you, but with flesh too smooth and bones too prominent, his delusions are brought to a halt before they could even run free. The appearance of these two remains a mysterious blur as they guide Viktor forward. 

In his sluggish state, he watches his feet travel up the staircase wrapped around the trunk, limping past the lively houses, and across the bridge connecting the tree with the mountains. And passing this bridge was not reminiscent of his previous journey into Piltover, no. Had it not been these strangers keeping him upright, he’d have collapsed to his knees upon the newfound sight before him.

Nothing short of a palace has been built into the mountainside. Those familiar tones of blue and violet paint the expanse, accentuated with a rich gold. Stained glass windows reflect in the moonlight and irradiate the land in its colorful glow. Ensnaring the walls is a beautiful ivy, where Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers adorn the growing vines and blanket the intricate, elegant architecture. 

A grand waterfall descends from the mountains above the palace and into the several rivers spreading throughout the land, meeting the fountain below in its journey, as well. The palace is almost a moat, but the sea of trees disturb any attempt of obtaining the title. The trees resemble the several he has already seen with drooping leaves and twinkling icicles, painting the land in heavenly hues of that familiar azure and violet. 

It is far more extravagant and palatial than anything he has ever seen in Piltover. It is more grand than anything he has ever seen in his entire life, for the matter. He couldn’t conjure a better estate for you than this, as you deserve to rest in the pinnacle of luxury and opulence. And this palace is not lacking in those areas in the smallest slight. 

Dragging forward (as Viktor has completely abandoned using his feet anymore), they pass through the stone-carved doors and enter the palace. Once through the entrance, Viktor begins to study the interior. And the interior is an almost perfect reflection of the exterior. 

Blue and violet permeate the expanse through surrounding furniture and decor, most of which support the weight of art sculptures and trinkets Viktor fails to discern in his lethargic state. They go hand-in-hand with the spreading greenery, which you have evidently and happily allowed to perfuse throughout the entire place. 

These details spread through the several twists and turns these helpful strangers drag Viktor through. They finally reach a halt in one of the numerous rooms.. Softly, they loosen their grasp and guide him to the ground. They promptly take their leave without a single word spoken.

A greenhouse is where he has found himself, he assumes. The walls and ceilings all consist of windows, with intricate white frames woven across all surfaces. The edges of the stone pathways beneath his feeble body are adorned with hedges and flowers, all varying in different colors. They compliment the wisteria drooping from several miniature trees, their thin branches adorned with several ornaments that exude a golden light. 

Languidly bringing himself to his feet, once again, he finds one of the larger wisteria trees hovering over a pond. It resides in the corner with a small arrangement of rocks surrounding the edges, supporting the stream of a small waterfall leading into the pond. Here, birds surround the stream and bathe their feathers. 

The embodiment of tranquility, that is how Viktor would describe this. He almost considers the possibility he had died in that hospital bed and this was the heaven waiting for him. All that is missing in his nirvana is you- oh, God, it’s you.

Simply shifting his gaze to the left, he finds a slab of stone residing in the middle of all this greenery. Upon the surface are several clay pots and cloth-woven bags overflowing with fertilizer. And tending to these products is no other than you. 

A strange, overwhelmingly perfect light radiates from your body. Beneath this light, he finds you are draped in a cloak of varying adornments, all shimmering in opalescent hues. There are jewels and crystals sewn into your torso, pearls and wind chimes dangling off shoulders. There are feathers draped down your arms, with seashells aligning your ankles. Harp strings are woven around your every limb and tied into pretty knots. Your body is a centuries-old story told through the embellishments aligning your flesh. 

And Viktor, oh Viktor. 

No words could encapsulate the ethereal, deific, uncanny, godlike emotions this moment has overwhelmed him with. 

There is no room to merely think with these feelings suffocating his brain. It is as though the melody of your love has swelled in their highest magnificence, the Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers blossoming into its most surreal beauty. It is the perfect moment.

Everything he has ever wished for conjured up into a single creature; the light at the end of the tunnel every sorry soul dreams of reaching — he almost doesn’t even believe it to be true. As though the creeping hands of his desires have ensnared their hands around his throat, allowing him one last morsel of illusory bliss before his life fades. 

When you then turn over your shoulder, blessing him with the sight of your beautiful, tragically beautiful face, there is no denying the authenticity. This moment leaves a harsh toll on his physical state, as well. 

Viktor’s eyes begin to roll back into his skull, but he strives against the force to continue indulging his vision in this glorious sight. Nausea pulsates in his stomach like a wrangling insect, but a few hard swallows keep the sickness at a weak bay. His knees tremble, threatening to buckle once again, but he maintains his posture with acute effort. 

It is a battle against him and his body, of which inevitably, leads to failure. Throat pulsing with gagged coughs, Viktor then leaps to the ground and finds a nearby, empty plant pot. He empties his guts into the container. The excess looks like coffee grounds; all blood-stained and chunky. Guilt and shame are expected, but they have no room to thrive. Not when you are here.

He is, in fact, met with the very opposite when he watches from his periphery as you tread closer and bend down to his level. Weakness overwhelms him as he begins to digest more of your physicality. His body sways again from the weight of it all, beginning another descent back to the ground. You halt the motion by catching his cheek in your palm. The effort is enough to set his skin aflame, with a simultaneous bitter chill tickling down his spine. 

His body is overwhelmed with these suffocating emotions, but is also blissfully light and peaceful. Horrifying euphoria stirred with devastating tranquility — a delicious juxtaposition. 

And the way Viktor looks at you could rival the most devoted of religious followers finding the face of heaven. Eyelids lazy and drooping, framing the glassy tears building in his honey-brown eyes. His gaze is buried into you, more attentive than he has ever been with his brows furrowed into a weak, stuttering curl. Mouth hung agape in fervent shock, drool pools on his tongue and his bottom lip trembles like a child who skinned their knee.

He doesn’t even think before he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

“This was not an easy effort, I can imagine.” 

His intentions are bluntly interrupted, yes, but he could not have imagined a better way to be halted. A deific incantation, a call straight from heaven, a harmony the world's best musicians have devoted their whole lives trying to emulate — that is how Viktor would best describe the tones that drift from your lips. In fact, your voice catches him off guard to such an aggressive degree, he forgets he had even tried to foolishly kiss you in the first place.

“If I may ask, how did you find us?” 

A flurry of words drift through Viktor’s head, toppling out of his mouth through stuttering gasps and pathetic attempts at the human language. It all becomes a mess of English and his mother tongue the further Viktor trails on of how he found the sanctuary, his first encounter with you as a child, and all the turmoil he gleefully endured just for this moment. Sprinkled in with gallons upon gallons of praise, of course. 

There is some clarity, however. Fragments, albeit, but he does manage to establish coherency. One statement strikes abundantly clear.

“My Y/N, there is not a line in the world that I would not cross for you.” 

And of course, inevitably…

“I love you.” 

Those three words, heavier than the world he’s been blessed to stand on with you, continuously tumble out of his mouth. Viktor repeats the same sentiment again and again and again, each time possessing the same heart-shattering devastation. 

You do not react, however. Despite his wishes for you to be overcome with euphoria upon receiving his confession of devotion, all you do is stare. You do not return his affection, either, but he is too muddled to notice this. 

“You work beside Jayce Talis, correct?” 

Viktor’s eye twitches. A flicker of betrayal catches flame, but the ignition is weak.

“Then, I am sure you have heard the Council speak about the influx of ‘Shimmer’, as they have titled it.” 

The jealousy (that failed to overpower the miserable rapture, albeit) is eased instantly. If it is not Jayce you are concerned with, then what is it about Shimmer that has engrossed his beloved so? 

“As gutted as I am to admit my faults, I am partially responsible for this distribution.” 

Through the distorted daze of Viktor’s jubilation, he clings to your every words. You? Y/N? A drug lord? This does not make any sense… 

“I am not aware how, but someone has grasped possession of my Dusk-Petals. They are only bred at my hand, so I fail to understand where they have retrieved them, but nonetheless, they have obtained them. They have derived the possessive component of my Dusk-Petals and have utilized the essence as the major component in this “Shimmer”. All for the sake of power and profit.”

Not a word is uttered from Viktor as your explanation settles. His darling has been so overcome with guilt and he was so oblivious! He attempts to scavenge the power to adorn you in reassurances, but beneath the weight of your light, he might as well have been a lifeless corpse on the stone pavements of your greenhouse.

“If I had a…” 

Your gaze returns to his, expectantly. He nods along dumbly to every word parting from your mouth.

“Messenger, of sort, I may garner the opportunity to halt the expansion of this poison.” 

A gasp, equivalent to that of one witnessing a murder, flees from Viktor’s chest. Yes, yes, yes, a million times, yes! 

“Oh, my Y/N, you do not have to ask! Of course I will help you!” 

He attempts to scoot closer to you, practically throwing himself into your warm arms. You hinder this effort. 

“You… Y/N, you could shatter this entire world to nothing but scattered shards and I would crawl over the sharp glass with utter elation! As long as I can deliver whatever demand you send directly into your palms, I will do it all with a smile-!” 

He interrupts himself with a coughing fit, rendered breathless from his own blabbering. He scrambles to wipe his hand of the inevitable blood that has spattered from his throat. In this effort, however, he is startled to find no blood at all. Not even a mere drop. 

His gaze returns to you in all your heavenly form. You return his gaze, almost knowingly. His body cannot resist just melting beneath your attention.

“I love you, sweet angel.” Viktor confesses for the umpteenth time. “I cannot feel anything but my love for you.”

Your expression remains blunt and calm, as it remains stagnantly. Nothing short of utterly bewitching.

“Very well.”

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Viktor’s dreams have come true: to heal and obtain strength. After an entire lifetime, he is finally strong. Here, beneath the light of you, everything sings. 

Now, his dreams have shifted. Viktor will be your loyal warrior. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ I WILL LOVE YOU TILL I DIE AND

I WILL LOVE YOU ALL THE TIME . . . ❞

gif creds.

(you are free to imagine Y/N however you’d like to. nonetheless, this and this were my inspiration for what Y/N looks like, in case you were wondering. (nothing adhering to the gender or physicality, just their style and character!)).

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[inamindfarfaraway]

An experience I tire of having on Batman comics AO3:

Fanfic Writer: Here’s a story about a character dealing with the trauma of childhood sexual abuse.

Me: Ah yes, a goldmine for angst. Who’s the character? Selina Kyle or Holly Robinson, who were forced into prostitution at a young age while homeless and desperate? Stephanie Brown, who was groomed for molestation as a kid, barely escaped and then had a creepy relationship with an older man that resulted in a teenage pregnancy?

Writer: Actually, it’s Jason Todd.

Me: Oh. Huh. Jason has never been sexually abused in comics canon.

Writer: Yes, but we don’t know that he wasn’t. He was homeless and desperate as a kid! He could have been a prostitute!

Me: Well, that’s… just Selina and Holly’s backstories, but okay. What else you got?

Writer: I have a fic about a character learning to feel secure in a home and found family after an unstable, abusive, deprived childhood.

Me: Cool! That applies to all the aforementioned female characters and Cassandra Cain, who was a homeless vagrant for ten years after fleeing the absolute hell of her upbringing. It’s part of why I enjoy their arcs so much.

Writer: I also have one where a character is acting as the protector of the poor community they grew up in, with a special focus on looking out for kids in similar situations to them, wanting to be there for them in contrast to how the adults in their own life had failed them. They reflect on their past and stuff. You know, how they have hope for this community against all odds. Even if they might have been part of the systematic problems keeping these underprivileged people down earlier in their career, but now they want to atone for that.

Me: This is exactly why Selina become a vigilante instead of just a thief! She did some self-reflection and realised that having made her own fortune, she’d abandoned the lower classes to indulge herself like all the complacent social elites she hates. So she vowed to protect and support the East End, her old neighbourhood (which happens to contain Crime Alley). She and Holly both later ran the Alleytown Kids, a gang of needy children that Selina had been a member of in her day. She even renamed it to the Alleytown Strays. And the idea of becoming what your childhood self needed, both for yourself and all the kids like you today, is foundational to why Stephanie ascending as Batgirl feels so right to me; she went from being a girl sitting on her roof wishing a Bat would save her to being the Bat saving and inspiring kids.

Writer: Yeah, but how does this sound? A hero’s war with depression, self-loathing, even suicidal ideation. They wonder if they can do anything but kill. They carry the pain of being violently murdered, thanks to their own long-lost mother no less, after which they were resurrected and later separately healed in a Lazarus Pit.

Me: I love it! Are you referring to Cassandra?

Writer: Um. Ooh, how about this fic? It has a gritty, tragic, tormented antihero wrestling with the moral complexity of their lethal actions, their fraught relationships with the Batfamily, and how closely they veer to embodying the very evil they seek to destroy. They’re true vengeance in a purer, sharper form than Batman, who they at once emulate and scorn. A hunter stalking Gotham’s worst souls in the night. They go on a beautiful journey to discover some degree of idealism, build stronger bonds, navigate emotional vulnerability and dare to believe that they are not damned or broken, and are still capable of healing as well as hurting. There are also themes of religion and spirituality.

Me: …What religion?

Writer: The antihero is Catholic.

Me: Oh my God. That has to be Helena Bertinelli.

Writer:

Me:

Writer:

Me: All your stories are about Jason Todd, aren’t they?

Writer: No! Some of them are about Dick Grayson or Tim Drake!

I love Jason and Dick and Tim. I adore many fics that revolve around them. But not every story needs to do that. Female characters have just as much grounds for interesting fanfiction, and often decisively more grounds for specific tropes that I often see assigned to the guys.

[honeytonedhottie]

resources⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🗒️💕

to save for later and come back to, just sharing some resources that i use a lot and hopefully it could be helpful to u as well…💬🎀

FROM YOUTUBE ;

victoria's secret angel makeup routine (for black girls)

six easy hairstyles for school

inner work essentials

this resource has been rly rly helpful for me on my healing journey and its rly rich and in depth about how to go about ur inner work so i highly highly recommend it to anyone (QUICK PSA : a lot of these videos are about masculinity so if ur a girl like me its still a rly helpful resource and u could still use it, but if ur a boy it could help u too)…💬🎀

victoria's secret model workouts

FROM TUMBLR ;

you need to fix ur attention span

how to embrace being alone

how to be a whole new student this year

PDF beauty books

PDF BOOKS ;

How to Own Your Own Mind

Body Language Handbook: How to Read Everyone’s Hidden Thoughts and Intentions

How to Analyze People - Dark Secrets to Analyze and Influence Anyone Using Body Language

The Laws of Human Nature

Emily Post’s Etiquette, 18th Edition

The Amy Vanderbilt Complete Book of Etiquette: 50th Anniversary Edition

Secrets of the Millionaire Mind: Mastering the Inner Game of Wealth

The Million Dollar Mind

Stop Acting Rich: ...And Start Living Like A Real Millionaire

Thinking, Fast and Slow

Golden Rules

Ikigai: the Japanese secret to a long and happy life

Persuasion Tactics: Covert Psychology Strategies to Influence, Persuade, & Get Your Way (Without Manipulation)

Declutter Your Mind: How to Stop Worrying, Relieve Anxiety, and Eliminate Negative Thinking

Rewire Your Anxious Brain: How to Use the Neuroscience of Fear to End Anxiety, Panic, and Worry

Love Me, Don’t Leave Me: Overcoming Fear of Abandonment and Building Lasting, Loving Relationships

Boundaries: When To Say Yes, How to Say No

Give and Take: A Revolutionary Approach to Success

Do the Work!

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Semifinals Poll 1

Please be civil in the notes. We will block people if we feel it is necessary. A character being canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included. This is not a competition of who is better representation.

Check out the other poll in the semifinals here.

Yang Xiao Long-RWBY

Qualifications:

She is canonically wlw (has been for years but specifically kissed and got together with her now girlfriend in the latest season) and uses a prosthetic arm and has been shown to struggle with PTSD due to the traumatic nature of losing it during the show.

Canonically had her right arm chopped off, uses a prosthetic. Has PTSD. Is canonically in a WLW relationship.

She has a canon girlfriend and canonically has a prosthetic arm and PTSD

She's canonically sapphic (part of a recently canonised wlw slowburn relationship) and is an amputee (due to events from the 3rd season finale) who wears a robotic prosthetic. She also suffers from PTSD which is explored in the show

Propaganda:

I will keep on submitting Yang to relevant brackets until I die. RWBY has plenty of strengths and weaknesses with writing, especially Yang's recovery arc, but instead of forcing her to push past her trauma and enter the battlefield immediately, we see her struggle with it, take time to process, and not be pushed into repression and when she chooses to wear her prosthetic, chooses to train to ready herself, and chooses to seek out her family and save lives, she isn't perfectly healed, as no one is. The show depicts her having flashbacks due to sudden loud noise, shaking hand the first few times she has to fight for her safety instead of training with her dad, and snapping at friends when they bring up Blake, the person she lost her arm trying to save (who, near immediately after ran away due to feeling she was endangering those she loved, furthering Yang's already present abandonment issues.) It isn't done perfectly but the intentions and general message sent are extremely positive and honest. She struggles less as the show progresses, and there are opportunities to consider herself less for being disabled or "become whole again" but she explicitly refutes these ideas and says that's she's better because of her failures and losses, and isn't any less whole. Her becoming disabled is also extremely tied to her being LGBT, because, as previously mentioned, she lost her arm protecting her then friend and partner, now girlfriend, directly after the villain who cut her arm off told her love interest that he would "destroy everything [she] love[s]. (Camera pans to Yang, he looks at her.) Starting with her." LIKE. He attacked her BECAUSE Blake cared for her so much and Yang ran to her defense blindly BECAUSE she loved Blake so much. When they reunite, they struggle with communication because Yang feels Blake is seeing her as weak, and through several things, mostly a climatic battle against the man who severed Yang's arm, they affirm each other as equals. I can go on but this is already too long. YANG SWEEP!!!!!

Yang lost her arm while protecting her best friend and future girlfriend from said girlfriend's abusive ex. Had a whole arc about learning to live with that loss and dealing with PTSD. Is totally devoted to and in love with Blake Belladonna and is just the sweetest but most badass character in the show.

She's one of the main characters, and just finished a 10 year slow burn romance. Plus, she has both physical and mental disabilities, but is never treated as lesser or incomplete.

Yang Xiao Long was one of the first examples of a sapphic character I ever saw in animated media with her character journey in the show being an iconic part of my teenage years and current young adulthood. The loss of her arm after a traumatic event in the show's 3rd volume was one of the big shockers of the show that nobody saw coming. Since then the show has done an amazing job in exploring both the mental and physical effects of her losing a limb, gaining a prosthetic arm and the recovery journey. Her character also has a major arc regarding handling her PTSD from both this and her past most notably in the 5th and 6th volume. Her character also has a slow-burn romance with her teammate and fellow main character Blake Belladonna which is one of my fave romances ever (it has everything: canon soulmates, friends to lovers, sunshine x grump,battle couple etc..) that has recently became CANON BABIEE!!! There are MULTIPLE characters in RWBY with various disabilities that are handled well in the narrative but i would say Yangs definitely the top FAVE!

Eda Clawthorne-The Owl House

Qualifications:

She has a magical chronic disorder which has flare-ups, is mitigated by taking medication (potions), and has similar side effects to many real disorders such as fatigue, greying hair, and physical impairment (drains magic, a natural ability of *most witches). Unlike in other stories however, her condition is NOT ever completely cured. It does evolve and become more manageable over the course of the story, but she still experiences symptoms from it. Eda also loses one of her arms later in the story. She does get a replacement hook, but it is never shown whether she has a functional prosthetic or not. Most likely, she only has one fully functioning arm after this. As for being queer, she is in a relationship with a nonbinary person and is all but confirmed bisexual (has a secret box with the bi flag on it seriously why else would she have this). Also the owl house has a Lot of queer characters in it and I mean. just look at her. I would be surprised if she wasn't queer somehow.

Bisexual, and has a curse that affects her day to day life

Bi & lost arm and has a chronic illness metaphorically

Propaganda:

Has canonically dated both men and a non-binary person. Her curse affects her ability to use magic (and at one point outright stops it), which is very important in witch life. Said curse also causes her body parts to fall off sometimes. Many have said her curse is like a metaphor for depression but really it's more like a magic version of a physical disability (although I wouldn't be surprised if she actually also had depression).

Uuuuh she’s great and stuff idk I can’t propaganda well sorry

[astroxrion]

Your Chiron | Your Wounds

Chiron in Aries

You struggle to believe your presence is enough. You were made to feel invisible or "too much." Healing feels like reclaiming your right to take up space. When you're healing, you stop shrinking. The wound shows up as rage, overcompensating, or fear of being forgotten.

Chiron in Taurus

Your safety was unstable or conditional. You crave security but feel like it's always slipping away. Healing means trusting yourself to build a life of comfort and worth. When healing, you stop clinging. The wound shows up as scarcity, overattachment, or numbing out.

Chiron in Gemini

You were silenced or misunderstood. Your thoughts were dismissed, and now your voice trembles or over-explains. Healing means speaking freely—even when you're scared. When healing, you communicate clearly and with confidence. The wound shows up as self-doubt, gossip, or overthinking.

Chiron in Cancer

You long for nurturing but learned not to expect it. Childhood left scars that never got validated. Healing means reparenting yourself and allowing softness. When healing, you care without self-erasure. The wound shows up as abandonment fears, emotional shutdown, or overgiving.

Chiron in Leo

You feel unseen, like your light is ignored or mocked. You want to shine, but fear being rejected. Healing means owning your gifts without apology. When healing, you lead with heart. The wound shows up as attention-seeking, shame, or avoiding praise.

Chiron in Virgo

You try to earn love by fixing yourself or others. You obsess over being "right." Healing means accepting imperfection as part of the journey. When healing, you relax into the present. The wound shows up as self-criticism, burnout, or anxiety.

Chiron in Libra

You shape-shift to be liked. Peace feels more important than truth. Healing means standing firm in who you are, even if it causes conflict. When healing, you attract real harmony. The wound shows up as codependency, people-pleasing, or resentment.

Chiron in Scorpio

You were betrayed, exposed, or deeply hurt by trust. Intimacy scares you because it once broke you. Healing means choosing vulnerability again. When healing, you stop needing control. The wound shows up as obsession, emotional walls, or silent suffering.

Chiron in Sagittarius

You feel disconnected from purpose or belief. You were shut down for dreaming too big or asking hard questions. Healing means honoring your truth and expanding your mind. When healing, you teach others through your journey. The wound shows up as cynicism, restlessness, or escapism.

Chiron in Capricorn

You had to grow up too fast. Love felt like performance, not presence. Healing means allowing yourself to rest, fail, and receive. When healing, you lead with integrity, not pressure. The wound shows up as workaholism, guilt, or coldness.

Chiron in Aquarius

You never felt like you fit in. Group rejection or being "too different" shaped your life. Healing means owning your weirdness and finding your soul circle. When healing, you feel less alone. The wound shows up as detachment, bitterness, or self-isolation.

Chiron in Pisces

You absorbed everyone's pain, but never felt truly seen. Boundaries were blurry or absent. Healing means learning where you end and others begin. When healing, you channel compassion without drowning. The wound shows up as addiction, fantasy, or martyrdom.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown- The Lunar Nodes in The Signs

The North Node is a whisper from the future, a gravitational pull toward the life you were meant to step into. It is not a place of comfort, but of growth. It calls you to release what is familiar, abandon the well-worn patterns of your past, and surrender to a version of yourself that has not yet fully emerged. The South Node, where you have been, is instinctive, ingrained, effortless. But to stay there is to remain unfinished.

The path ahead is not one of comfort, but of purpose. You are being called toward something greater. Will you answer?

North Node in Aries / South Node in Libra You have spent lifetimes tending to others, smoothing conflicts, making yourself smaller for the sake of peace. You have mastered the art of compromise, but at what cost? The North Node in Aries calls you to step forward alone, to lead without waiting for permission, to trust in your own fire. You must break the habit of molding yourself to fit others and dare to be fully seen, even when it makes others uncomfortable. Your journey is one of radical independence. Your voice matters. Use it.

North Node in Taurus / South Node in Scorpio You have danced with darkness, been baptized in crisis, and made a home in the fire of transformation. You know how to survive, but do you know how to simply exist? This lifetime calls you to peace, to build something steady rather than always bracing for collapse. The North Node in Taurus asks you to slow down, touch the earth, trust that love does not always come with suffering. Your healing is found in simplicity. Let life be gentle.

North Node in Gemini / South Node in Sagittarius You have been the wanderer, the philosopher, the one who sought meaning in distant lands and ancient texts. But wisdom is not only found in grand truths, it is found in the voices of those around you, in the rhythm of everyday conversations. This lifetime asks you to listen as much as you speak, to ask questions rather than assume answers, to find the sacred in the small things. You are not meant to teach from a mountaintop; you are meant to sit among the people and tell their stories.

North Node in Cancer / South Node in Capricorn You have built walls high enough to touch the sky, worn responsibility like armor, and measured your worth by what you can accomplish. But life is not a ledger to balance. The North Node in Cancer asks you to step away from the boardroom, the strategy, the control, and soften into feeling. You are here to experience love, vulnerability, and the strength that comes from allowing yourself to need others. Not everything must be earned, some things are simply meant to be felt.

North Node in Leo / South Node in Aquarius You have stood on the edge of the crowd, observing, analyzing, belonging to everyone and no one. You have fought for the collective, but what about you? The North Node in Leo calls you to step into the light, not as a reflection of a cause, but as your own radiant, creative force. This life is not about blending in, it is about daring to shine. Your heart is your compass. Follow where it leads.

North Node in Virgo / South Node in Pisces You have spent lifetimes floating in the waters of the unseen, surrendering to fate, dissolving into the currents of something greater. But now, you are meant to build, to shape, to make the intangible real. The North Node in Virgo calls you to bring structure to your dreams, to craft with precision, to serve in a way that is grounded and tangible. This is not about losing your magic, it is about turning it into something that lasts.

North Node in Libra / South Node in Aries You have always been the warrior, the lone wolf, the one who charged ahead with fire in your veins. But now, you must learn to stand beside another, not just as an individual, but as an equal. The North Node in Libra asks you to listen, to compromise, to see strength not as independence, but as connection. Your greatest victories will not be won alone.

North Node in Scorpio / South Node in Taurus You have known safety, comfort, and the slow, steady rhythm of a well-planned life. But security is not the same as growth. This lifetime calls you to dive into the depths, to surrender the illusion of control, to face what lies beneath the surface. The North Node in Scorpio asks you to let go, to embrace the mystery, to let yourself be transformed. You are meant to rise from your own ashes. Trust the fire.

North Node in Sagittarius / South Node in Gemini You have lived among the details, learned to navigate the chatter of the mind, but now you are called to something greater. The North Node in Sagittarius asks you to stop seeking answers in fragments and embrace the whole story. Let go of distractions, of hesitation, of overthinking. This is your time to leap, to explore, to believe in something bigger than yourself. The world is waiting. Go.

North Node in Capricorn / South Node in Cancer You have been held, nurtured, protected, but you cannot stay in the cradle forever. The North Node in Capricorn calls you to step into your own authority, to build something lasting, to claim your place in the world with discipline and determination. You are not here to be carried. You are here to lead.

North Node in Aquarius / South Node in Leo You have been the center of attention, the artist, the performer, the one who thrived on recognition. But this life asks you to turn your gaze outward, to use your gifts for something greater than personal glory. The North Node in Aquarius calls you to innovate, to revolutionize, to break free from ego and create for the collective. This is not about you alone, this is about all of us.

North Node in Pisces / South Node in Virgo You have spent lifetimes measuring, perfecting, fixing. But the North Node in Pisces asks you to let go of control, to surrender to the mystery, to trust in something beyond logic. This is your time to step into the divine flow, to dissolve into the vastness of possibility, to know that not everything needs to be planned, some things are meant to be felt. You are the dreamer, the poet, the mystic. Let yourself drift. Let yourself believe.