#a physical reminder of her pain his guilt rage sadness all of it

[kirsteng42]

I honestly think this is the saddest scene to me, in whole 3 seasons. I was always so sad we never got to see Helena again as they had wonderful chemistry, plus Adria Arjona is 1 of the most beautiful people in the World and they looked so good together!

Javi, Steve & Carillo in 1x02 The Sword of Simón Bolívar

[xxspringmelodyxx]

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁𝓈 𝒜 𝐿𝒾𝒶𝓇~

⊱ 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚! 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐, 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒐! 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍⊰

⊱ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Warnings: None⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ wc: 3.3k

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿

Satoru ran through the campus, his heart pounding in his chest as the rain soaked through his clothes. The storm overhead mirrored the turmoil within him, each raindrop a testament to the regret and determination fueling his every step. He had to find you. He had to make things right.

The rain continued to pour, blurring his vision, but he didn't stop. His breath came in ragged gasps, the cold seeping into his bones. All he could think about was finding you, explaining everything, and begging for your forgiveness. His mind raced with thoughts of what he would say, how he could make you understand the depth of his remorse. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the burden of his guilt.

Meanwhile, you sat by the window in your room, watching the rain fall. The rhythmic patter against the glass was a painful reminder of the storm raging inside you. Your heart felt heavy, burdened by betrayal and confusion. You had hoped for so much with Satoru, but now everything seemed shattered beyond repair. Tears streamed steadily down your face; each drop a testament to the pain you felt.

Memories of happier times flooded your mind—moments when Satoru’s smile could light up your day, when his touch brought comfort and warmth. Now, those memories were tinged with sorrow and regret. How could things have gone so wrong? How could he have not known that you were head over heels for him? You replayed the events in your mind, trying to find where everything had fallen apart. Maybe it was your fault for not telling him sooner. Maybe this was a sign from the universe that you two shouldn’t be together. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t control how you felt, nor how he interpreted your actions.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moments when you had noticed Satoru’s distant behavior, the way he started hanging out with Aksana more often than not. You had brushed it off, thinking he was just trying to be nice to her. But now, in hindsight, you realized those were signs of something deeper. You wondered if there was anything you could have done to prevent this, to make him see the truth. The uncertainty gnawed at you, adding to your overwhelming sense of loss.

As you sat there, the weight of your emotions pressed down on you. You felt a mixture of anger, sadness, and a deep sense of loss. The betrayal you felt was overwhelming, and yet, beneath it all, there was a flicker of hope. A part of you wanted to believe that Satoru would come to his senses, that he would realize the mistake he had made and come to you with a heartfelt apology. But another part of you feared that things had been irreparably damaged.

Satoru stumbled slightly, his foot slipping on the wet pavement, but he caught himself and continued running. The cold rain stung his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you—your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy. He had taken all of that for granted, and now he feared he had lost it forever. The thought of losing you felt like a physical pain, a deep ache in his chest that drove him forward.

As he ran, he thought about the first time he realized he had feelings for you. It was a simple moment, nothing extraordinary, but it had changed everything for him. You had been laughing at something silly he had said, and in that moment, he knew he wanted to be the reason for your laughter, your happiness. He had been too afraid to tell you then, and that fear had only grown over time, turning into jealousy and insecurity once he saw you hanging out more with Kai. He cursed himself for not having the courage to be honest from the start.

The rain began to let up slightly, but the sky remained dark and foreboding. Satoru’s mind flashed to the last conversation he had with you before everything went wrong. He had been distant, cold even, and you had looked so hurt and confused. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so cruel as to try and make you jealous? He had wanted to reach out to you, to explain everything, but his pride and fear had held him back. Now, he wished more than anything that he could take back those moments and do things differently.

You stood up from the window and walked over to your bed, sitting down heavily. The room felt cold and empty, reflecting the emptiness you felt inside. You picked up a photo frame from your bedside table, a picture of you and Satoru taken during happier times. You traced his smiling face with your finger, tears welling up in your eyes again. How had everything gone so wrong? The image felt like a cruel reminder of what you had lost.

As you sat there, lost in thought, the sound of the rain began to fade, replaced by the distant rumble of thunder. You hugged the photo frame to your chest, wishing that you could turn back time and fix everything. But you knew that was impossible. The only thing you could do now was wait and see if Satoru would come to you, if he would try to make things right.

Satoru finally reached your building, his heart pounding even harder now. He stood outside for a moment, catching his breath and trying to gather his thoughts. He knew this was it—the moment that would determine whether he could fix the mess he had created. With a deep breath, he pushed open the door and made his way to your room.

The hallways were eerily quiet, the only sound the faint dripping of water from his clothes. His mind raced with the words he needed to say, the apology he needed to make. He knew he couldn’t afford to mess this up. He had to make you understand how deeply sorry he was, how much he loved you. Each step he took echoed with the weight of his guilt, a constant reminder of how badly he had screwed things up.

As he reached your door, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle. The fear of rejection gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. He had come this far, and he couldn’t turn back now. With a shaky breath, he knocked on the door, each rap of his knuckles echoing through the silent hallway.

Inside, you froze at the sound, your heart leaping into your throat. You wiped your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but the tears continued to fall. Reluctantly, you stood and walked over, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, drenched and breathless. His eyes were filled with a mix of desperation and hope, his expression a mirror of your own anguish.

Seeing your tear-streaked face and the heartbreak in your eyes, Satoru felt his heart shatter. He had seen you upset before, but never like this. The depth of your pain was a reflection of his own mistakes, and it tore at him in a way he had never experienced. He had done this to you, the person he cared about most in the world, and the realization hit him like a physical blow.

“Y/n…” he began, his voice trembling with emotion.

I looked away from him, fearing I would break down if I looked into his eyes any longer. The sight of him, drenched and desperate, only intensified the whirlwind of emotions inside me. I couldn't bear to see the regret in his eyes, knowing how deeply he had hurt me.

“Please, can we talk?” he continued, his voice breaking. The desperation in his tone was palpable, but it did little to soothe the storm of anger and hurt raging within me.

“No. Leave me alone,” I said, trying to slam the door shut.

Satoru quickly placed his hand on the door, stopping it from closing. “Y/n, please,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just hear me out.”

You stared at him, your heart aching at the sight of his disheveled state. His presence, usually a source of comfort, now only brought more pain. “What is there to talk about, Satoru?” you asked, your voice breaking. “You made your choice. You chose Aksana.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he pleaded, stepping closer. The sight of your tears was almost too much to bear, but he knew he had to press on.

“Understand what?” you snapped, your voice rising with every word. “Understand that you broke my heart? That you played with my feelings? Every time I saw you with her, it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Satoru’s face crumpled, his own tears mixing with the rain. “I do, Y/n. I really do,” he began, stepping closer. “I know I messed up. And I messed up badly. I know I hurt you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I didn’t care.”

You shook your head, taking a step back. “How can you say that? How can you say you cared when you did everything to show the opposite? You let me believe you loved her. You let me suffer, thinking I had lost you to her.”

He took a deep breath, his voice trembling. “I thought you and Kai were together,” he admitted, his tone filled with regret. “I thought you had chosen him over me. I was jealous and hurt, and I did something idiotic. I asked Aksana to the dance to make you feel the pain I felt. I now realize just how horrible that was.”

You took another step back, the realization of his words hitting you hard. Anger and disbelief mingled with your sadness. “You thought… you thought I was with Kai?” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes again.

He nodded. “Yeah…but he explained everything to me… About how you were just trying to help him get with Amai.” He said, looking away, pissed at himself. “I was so stupid,” Satoru replied, his voice trembling. “I thought that by making you jealous, I could force you to show your feelings for me.”

“And what did you think would happen?” you demanded, the anger bubbling up inside you. “Did you think I would just fall into your arms after seeing you with someone else? Did you think I wouldn’t be hurt, that I wouldn’t feel betrayed?”

Satoru shook his head, his tears mingling with the rain. “No, I didn’t think. I didn’t consider your feelings, and that’s my biggest regret. I was so wrapped up in my own jealousy and fear that I couldn’t see how much I was hurting you. Every time I saw you with Kai, it made my heart drop. I thought he had taken you away from me, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“You never gave me a chance to explain,” you said, your voice softening slightly. “You just assumed the worst and acted on it. You let your jealousy and insecurity drive a wedge between us.” I began, looking into his eyes. “Every time I saw you with Aksana, it felt like my heart was being ripped out. I kept hoping, praying that you would come to me, that you would see how much I cared for you. But you didn’t. You just kept pushing me away. It felt like I was losing a part of myself.”

“I know,” Satoru said, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I did was hurt you, and I’m so sorry for that. I never meant to cause you so much pain. It was ignorant and childish. But please know this, Yn…” He began, taking another step to you. “I never loved Aksana. It was always you. It always has been. Please, give me a chance to make things right. I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and desperation there. The storm outside seemed to calm slightly, as if reflecting the tentative peace beginning to form between you. “You really hurt me, Satoru,” you repeated, tears streaming down your face. I looked back up to him, holding his hands, “But I love you too. I have for a long time.”

Satoru stepped forward, his heart pounding with hope. “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked, his voice breaking under the weight of his regret. “I know it’s going to take time, and I know I have to earn your trust back. But please, give me a chance. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I won’t hurt you again. I promise, Y/n.”

You took a deep breath, your emotions swirling inside you. You knew Satoru had always been one to take things too far, and seeing his regret and desperation made you realize how deeply he truly cared for you. “It’s going to take time, Satoru. But I think… I think we can try to make things right.”

Relief washed over Satoru’s face, and he stepped closer, pulling you into a gentle embrace. The warmth of his arms around you felt like a balm to your wounded heart. “Thank you, Y/n. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.”

As you held each other, the storm outside continued to subside, the dark clouds giving way to a sliver of light. It was a small sign of hope, a promise that maybe, just maybe, things could be mended.

In that moment, you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. The sincerity, the love, and the desperation all mixed together, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was filled with all the emotions you had been holding back—anger, hurt, love, and hope.

Satoru responded instantly, his arms tightening around you as he kissed you back with equal fervor. It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in this intimate embrace, connected by the raw honesty of your feelings. Each second felt like an eternity, yet it also felt like time stood still, allowing you to pour all your emotions into this single, defining moment.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but the storm inside you had calmed. You smiled up at him, shaking your head as you played with his hair, the familiar gesture bringing a sense of normalcy back into the moment. “You’re such an idiot sometimes, you know that?” you said, a mixture of amusement and affection in your voice, making him chuckle a bit. He looked down at you, holding you close to him, his eyes reflecting the deep love he felt.

“At least now I’m your idiot,” he said, kissing your nose, his touch gentle and affectionate, making you return that beautiful smile he had been longing to see. His expression turned serious as he stared into your eyes, the weight of his next words hanging in the air.

“But I am serious when I say this, Y/n. I love you, and I always have. There wasn’t a moment that passed by where I didn’t think of you. You are my everything, and I promise I will make you see it,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. Each word was a vow, a declaration of the depth of his feelings and his commitment to making things right, making your heart flutter with a mix of emotions.

“I love you too, Toru. And I know you will,” you finished, your voice soft but steady, before kissing him once more, this time more passionately, sealing your promises to each other. A promise to move forward from the pain and build a future together. The warmth of his embrace, the taste of his lips, and the feeling of his heart beating against yours all combined to create a moment of profound

--

After that moment of reconciliation, you and Satoru went to the dance together, showing off your love for one another… right in front of Aksana.

The gymnasium was filled with students, the dim lighting and soft music creating a romantic atmosphere. You held Satoru's hand tightly, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. As you walked in together, heads turned, and whispers followed. It was clear that your relationship was now public, and the sight of you two together was enough to silence any remaining doubts.

Aksana stood near the entrance, her eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing with a hint of bitterness as she saw you and Satoru enter. You could feel her gaze on you, but you refused to let it affect you. This night was about you and Satoru, about celebrating the love you had fought so hard to reclaim.

Satoru looked down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and love. “You look stunning,” he whispered, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of happiness. “And you look as handsome as always,” you replied, feeling your heart swell with love for him.

As the night went on, you and Satoru danced together, moving to the rhythm of the music. Every touch, every glance, was a testament to the bond you had rebuilt. You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, including Aksana’s, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the man holding you in his arms, the love that you shared, and the future that lay ahead of you.

During a slow dance, Satoru pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so glad we worked things out,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“Me too,” you replied, looking into his eyes. “I can’t imagine being here with anyone else.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Neither can I,” he said. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

You nodded, feeling tears of joy well up in your eyes. “Thank you for proving you deserve it,” you whispered back.

As the night continued, you felt a sense of peace and contentment settle over you. The pain and uncertainty of the past were behind you, replaced by the promise of a brighter future. And as you danced with Satoru, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Aksana eventually approached you both, a forced smile on her face. “I see you two are back together,” she said, her tone laced with insincerity.

Satoru tightened his grip on your hand, his expression calm but firm. “Yes, we are,” he replied. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Aksana’s smile faltered, and she nodded slowly. “I wish you both the best,” she said, though her eyes betrayed her true feelings.

“Thank you, Aksana,” you replied, your voice steady. “We appreciate it.” Satoru chided in, giving her a disgusted look.

With that, Aksana walked away, leaving you and Satoru to enjoy the rest of the evening. As the night drew to a close, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for the love you had found and the strength you had shown in fighting for it.

Together, you and Satoru stepped out into the cool night air, the stars shining brightly overhead. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. “Ready to go home?” he asked softly.

“Absolutely,” you replied, resting your head against his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

And with that, you walked away from the dance, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the future held together.

____________

Taglist: @aria143 , @goreedo11

[bellasmumblingsandmusings]

What Could Have Been

Chapter Three

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 17.5K total

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love  themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: My Blood - Elle Goulding : Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

Chapter 3: Beating of His Hideous Heart

The dungeon air was thick and stifling, laden with the weight of impending fate as Astarion advanced through its ancient corridors. His footsteps echoed solemnly against the green stone, each sound a grim drumbeat to the pivotal confrontation that awaited. Anticipation crawled across his skin, mingling with anxiety as he navigated the murky labyrinth of their relationship’s future.

This was not merely another meeting; it was a crucible that would test and potentially transform their bond. His steps were deliberate, his confidence in his carefully laid plans firm, yet he remained keenly aware of the unpredictable turns that might unfold.

Across the decrepit corridor, with its eerie green tourmaline and the soft clinking of now-empty cages, lay the site of his great Rite. The usual sounds of guard activity had vanished, absorbed into the shadows by his implicit command, leaving an expectant silence. Pausing at the entrance to Sima's cell, he inhaled deeply, steadying the storm within—a tempest of competing emotions: the desire to possess her, the fear of losing her, and a twisted thrill at the impending confrontation.

Inside, Sima sat on the cold, hard floor, her body curled inward, a physical echo of defeat. Her typical black leather armor was absent, replaced by a crude cotton tunic that draped loosely over her frame. Her hair, once a crown of meticulous curls, now sprawled wildly around her, a mane of despair. Flecks of sunlight pierced through a small crevice above, casting beams that streaked across her, painting her skin with stripes of light and shadow. These illuminated patches highlighted the stark fatigue etched into her features, the apathy that deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth.

Her voice, hauntingly beautiful yet laden with melancholy, filled the space as she sang. The sound carried her resignation, her fractured psyche, and a mourning for who she once was, what she had become, and who Astarion had been. Each note seemed to hang in the air, a spectral presence that tugged at Astarion's heart, reminding him of the man he once was and the love he had lost, as Sima sang:

“I am the monster you created

You ripped out all my parts

And worst of all, for me to live, I gotta kill the part of me that saw

That I needed you more

I hope you know we had everything

And you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

what could have been

Oh, what could have been.....”

Each verse was a dagger, her sorrow and rage woven into a melody that spoke more eloquently than words ever could. Astarion stood just beyond the bars, her song striking chords within him that had long been silent. The pain in her voice—the raw, unfiltered heartbreak—mirrored his own hidden fractures, revealing the deep, aching void where something beautiful had once dwelled.

As the haunting echo of her last note lingered in the stale dungeon air, a deep sadness enveloped Astarion. Memories of love intertwined with pain and betrayal surged forward, bringing with them an uninvited sensation: guilt. He hadn't expected the sheer force of her music to unravel him so, stripping away layers of his hardened exterior to expose his core. Regret hit him sharply, an unwelcome yet unmistakable pulse within him.

Attempting to shake off this rare vulnerability, Astarion stepped into the cell, his expression meticulously composed, his features arranged into a mask of necessity. "We need to talk," he murmured, his voice soft but imbued with a firm resolve. His eyes dwelled on her momentarily, noting the tear-streaked paths marking her cheeks, the wild disarray of her hair, and the haunting emptiness that lingered in her gaze. Each detail clawed at him, reminding him of the depths of despair she had plummeted to, and how much of it was his doing.

"The Vampire Ascendant shows his face at last. Excuse me if I don't bow," Sima replied, her voice tinged with biting sarcasm, hollow yet defiant. Her dismissal, though anticipated, stung him slightly. He smirked briefly, absorbing the sharpness of her words.

"You're right; I am here. I'm here because I want to talk. About us," he pressed on, his voice steady despite the walls she erected. The walls she had every right to build, considering how he had shattered her trust.

Sima rolled her eyes. "Us? Well, I loved an elf and spawn who no longer exists. But please, I'm all pointy ears," she retorted, her dismissal striking deeper than he cared to admit. Her words were laced with grief and anger, twisting inside him, painfully reminding him of the person he used to be.

"Yes, I'm a vampire lord. But I am still me. At my core. I'm still the person who loved you," Astarion replied, his voice a blend of sincerity and desperation. Was he convincing her, or himself? The lines between past and present, love and dominion, blurred within him. His heart ached with the weight of his words, a desperate attempt to hold onto the shreds of their former connection.

"Is that everything? Or can you please get to the point?" Sima's voice snapped him back to the present, her weariness evident even in her impatience. Her tone was sharp, cutting through his resolve like a knife, each word a thorn that deepened the chasm between them.

"Straight to it then. I want to turn you into a vampire," Astarion revealed, watching her closely for any flicker of emotion. The admission was heavy, laden with the gravity of his intentions, a declaration that hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Sima raised her eyebrows, her lips curving into a sardonic smile. "Riveting," she harshly quipped, hiding the true tenor of her fears. Her eyes widened slightly, her fists clenching as fear twisted in her gut. What if she became what he wanted? The thought was terrifying, not just for the physical transformation, but for what it symbolized—the loss of her autonomy and humanity. Beneath her defiant facade, she braced herself for the unknown, her heart pounding at the prospect of the dark path ahead.

As Astarion paced the dimly lit dungeon floor, a slight smirk hinted that Sima's sharp retorts hadn't quenched his resolve but rather fueled it. Her spirited defiance, even in chains, reassured him. She was still there—fiery, indomitable. This spark, even amidst despair, was a beacon he clung to.

"You're an intelligent woman. I assume you’ve figured it out, but... what I want from you is more than just making you a vampire," he said, stepping closer. His words were laced with an unspoken plea, hoping she would see beyond his monstrous facade.

"Oh? A true vampire? A bride? Gods, this sounds like a deluded, tawdry novel," Sima snarked, her voice laced with disdain but underscored by clarity. Her mockery was a shield against the painful reality of his words.

He chuckled, amused by her spirit. "Yes, a bride, with all the trappings and... liberties that might come with it," he replied, hinting at possibilities within their bond.

Sima’s bitter laugh echoed against the stone walls. "Liberties? Now, who's deluded? You mean trapped. A rag doll for your fantasies, your control. You'd kill my mind and own my body. You'd kill the greatest part of me, my defiance. Even as a true vampire, you will not compel me, but I'd be tied to the thing that killed the person I loved. So, kindly... Fuck off." Her voice broke with the weight of her accusations, each word a dagger slicing through his façade.

Her words pierced him like an arrow to the heart, stripping away pretense and deception. Cornered and laid bare, he mustered a bitter laugh, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Perhaps you are not as intelligent as I thought. I shall have to break you, make you mine by whatever means. That is, if you do not submit willingly," he hissed, his voice reflecting the battle between his desire for her and the dark compulsion that drove him.

"There he is... the Ascendant," Sima said, her voice cracking with rage and heartbreak. "Don't pretend to love me like my Astarion did. He was... everything to me. You destroyed my chance to return him to me." Her raw pain was a stark contrast to her earlier defiance, revealing her vulnerability.

For a fleeting moment, Astarion’s mask cracked, revealing genuine pain. "Sima...Sima, I was that man once, but no longer. He is, as you say, destroyed. I am all you have left of him. And I will take what I wish." His voice trembled with the weight of his confession, a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"I'll die first. I won't go down without a fight," she retorted fiercely, her eyes narrowing with determination.

Astarion’s laughter echoed through the dungeon. "As if you could beat me..." He gestured broadly. "I am the most powerful figure in the city. There is no one who can challenge me. I'll take you if I want. But, I'd rather you come willingly..."

His words were a proclamation of dominance, yet beneath them lay a desperate plea for her willingness. The thought of breaking her spirit repelled and enticed him. What if she never yielded? Desperation masked by authority pulsed beneath every word.

"A challenge, then? What, you’ll wait a week and try to win me over? Is that your plan?" Sima’s curiosity was audible, intrigued by the notion of a contest of wills.

"A game, perhaps?" He smirked. "I shall endeavor to win you over, and if I cannot, I will simply take you by force. The prize stays the same, no matter when I claim it." His voice was a mixture of confidence and anticipation.

Astarion's words hung heavy in the dungeon's charged air. "Ah, lovely. Take me by force—do you mean that as turning me, or are you a complete degenerate like Cazador now?" Sima snapped, her voice cutting sharply across the cold stone.

"Do not mistake me for Cazador. I shall not force myself upon you. I will only force you to become a vampire if that is what it takes to make you mine," he declared, his hand extending in a gesture between invitation and decree. The thought of becoming the monster he despised twisted his insides with pain and anger.

Sima shook her head, her hair falling in disheveled strands around her face. "The fact that you don't see the forced turn as something cruel speaks volumes of your true nature. How am I to know I won't endure a life of rape and torture? How am I to know you won't do to me what Cazador did to you, even if I am granted the freedom of true vampirism? That is what you fail to understand. As for the man you were and the one you've become... my heart can only yearn for the past." Her voice trembled with the weight of her fears, each word laced with the agony of her internal conflict. She couldn't reconcile the man she loved with the creature he had become, and the uncertainty of her fate loomed like a dark specter.

Astarion's expression darkened, a storm gathering in his eyes. The comparison to Cazador hit him like a lash, anger flaring in his chest. The nerve of her—comparing me to that fiend. Memories of Cazador's sadistic grin and the endless nights of torment flashed through his mind. I endured hell to escape that monster's clutches, and she dares to see me in the same light? The insult burned, stoking his fury.

"Do not ever compare me to Cazador," he snapped, his voice a sharp crack in the oppressive air. "I am nothing like him. I would never subject you to the horrors he inflicted upon me. You don't understand... I am trying to save us, to keep us together." His hand dropped, clenched into a fist at his side, as if the physical tension could contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Sima's eyes widened at his outburst, but she did not retreat. "And yet, you speak of forcing me to turn as if it's any different. You think you can save us by stripping away my choice? How can you not see the cruelty in that?" Her defiance was unwavering, but beneath it lay a glimmer of understanding. She saw the pain in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to protect her and the fear of becoming the very thing he despised.

Astarion's anger wavered, giving way to a desperate plea. "Sima, I am not Cazador. I will never be him. But I cannot lose you. The thought of an eternity without you is unbearable. Can you not see that I am trying to find a way for us to be together?" His voice trembled with the weight of his confession, a mixture of sorrow and determination.

Her accusations resonated within him, each one a painful reminder of his own fears. He couldn't deny the truth in her words. The man he once was, compassionate and loving, seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the power and darkness that now defined him. The thought of causing her pain, of becoming a reflection of Cazador, filled him with bitter self-loathing. Could she ever see past the monster he had become?

"The past is all that it is,” he asserted. “You will never get it back. I know that as well as anyone. So, yes... I'll force your transformation. And then we can be happy and together. I promise I will not use you as he used me. I want an equal in this, not a toy to be abused." His words were a mix of desperation and determination, the promise of a twisted kind of love.

"Says the man who put me in a dungeon cell," Sima replied dryly, her voice dripping with irony.

"You are a dangerous, unpredictable elf. I couldn't let you run off," Astarion countered, his smile a wistful shadow of its former charm. "Even if, in some way, I knew you would not succeed, because you would always return to me. We may fight, but we will always have each other, in the end. I will force your transformation, one way or another. And, after that... Everything will be perfect. Nothing matters but us. Everything else can burn." His eyes glinted with a mix of longing and dark, twisted pleasure. The conflict and defiance between them was a game he relished, a foreplay that ignited his desires.

Sima’s smile twisted into something unhinged and wild, a reflection of the chaos swirling within her. "If you force me to become what you are, I will burn this palace to the ground, damn the consequences. And then, I will burn myself to ash, and you with me."

"My... what kind of threat is that?" Astarion hissed. To Sima’s surprise, his earlier confidence faltered, yielding to a visage stricken with horror. When he spoke again, his words were soft. "I would rather die without you than have you do that,” he said, his voice shaking. “No. I would rather suffer a thousand years of torment with you than see you choose death. Is... is that really a threat, or is it a plea? Why do you hate me so much?" The realization that she might prefer death over being with him cut through his bravado, leaving a raw wound.

Sima exhaled a long, weary sigh, the feeble light casting a patchwork of shadows over her gaunt features. "Every part of me that longs for you also drives me mad. Every piece of my heart that you used to touch so softly has been shattered. How can I envision falling into your arms again when every encounter with you brings me more agony and hatred?" Her voice wavered, a mixture of sorrow and anger tearing at her soul.

"You once told me at camp that love is a double-edged sword. By the gods, how right you were," Sima choked out, her voice heavy with the weight of her memories.

"Is that... really true? Do you... still love me?" whispered Astarion in disbelief. The vulnerability in his voice was a stark contrast to his usual arrogance, a glimpse of the man he once was.

His voice softened, almost breaking with emotion as he stepped closer, his shadow merging with hers in the dim light. "I'll take everything that's left in you. I'll take your hatred as well as your love. I'll take every part of you, because, after all, you are mine. If you want to tear me apart and then rebuild me... I will allow it." His declaration was filled with a desperate need for her acceptance, even if it meant enduring her wrath.

"How can one cherish the flame when they know it's destined to consume them?" Sima challenged, her voice steady and fierce, her eyes burning with rebellion. The fire within her was both a beacon and a curse, drawing her towards destruction.

Astarion paused, a single tear betraying the turmoil inside him. "Do you really think our love is like that? A bright but painful thing that will eventually burn out and sear you?"

Sima leaned back and laughed, the sound bitter and resonant in the stone chamber. "I'm already burning to death. You have no idea what I did to get that Wish spell, aside from murdering seven innocents. Believe me, the flames are well and truly lit," she concluded, her voice echoing off the walls, heavy with inevitability and resignation.

A flicker of emotion crossed Astarion’s face as he hesitated. His eyes closed momentarily, bracing himself against the ache that pierced his heart every time he envisioned her suffering.

"Would... would it help to know that I see the same thing you do? That I see you dying before my eyes, and that it tears me apart? What is love, if not the desire to keep someone from harm, a desire to make them safe? I want nothing more than to protect you from every pain in the world, if only you would let me." His voice was a raw plea, his own torment mirroring hers.

"And is that enough to endure? Is that enough to make the existence of eternity with this torment in my soul worth it?" Sima replied, her voice deadly calm. Her words were a challenge, a demand for him to prove that his love could withstand the hell they were in.

Astarion's expression set into a mask of resolute determination, his features hardening like the ancient stones that made up the dungeon walls. "You are my love. You are my life. I will do everything to make whatever time you have left the best it can be. And when the time comes, if I must bear the cost of eternity without you... I may just turn into the monster you already think I am." His vow was both a promise and a threat, a declaration of his willingness to endure any torment for her sake.

Sima's gaze lifted, piercing through him. “What if I won’t turn? What if I do, and try to take my own life as well as yours? If you were to survive all that, what would you do? Burn Baldur’s Gate to the ground?” she asked, her voice bitter.

Astarion’s jaw clenched. When he spoke, his words were soft, yet they reverberated off the surrounding stone. "If you were gone? I would raze this entire damnable world to ash. Leave nothing but a scorched husk as a monument to what I have lost." The thought of losing her was unbearable; the pain would be so immense that he could only envision obliterating everything as a testament to his grief.

Sima's laughter was brittle—the laughter of a madwoman. "Of course you'd make Faerûn pay for your own sins. Gods, you can't take a lick of responsibility for any of this, can you? Even if you were... him, the man I loved, what does it even matter? I see you, and I hate you for what you took from me. And it's so much more now than before. Look at me!" She laughed again, the sound hollow and haunting. "I am a ghost. I died the day you completed the ritual."

"I will take every bit of responsibility there is to take," Astarion said, his voice brimming with fierce, palpable anger. He advanced a step, staring down at her. "Don't you dare try and make me out to be some selfish coward. I'll take my punishment a hundred times over if it means I have you, only you, for eternity. Is nothing worth that to you?"

His indignation flared; how could she think he wouldn't accept responsibility? The resentment stung, but beneath it, genuine grief simmered. He mourned what they had lost, each harsh word from her a reminder of the love tainted by his transformation. Her defiance, though, ignited a dark pleasure within him. Her fierce resistance thrilled him, a primal game of one-upmanship that fed his desire to dominate and possess her completely. He would take anything from her—her love, her hate, her resentment—anything but losing her. Deep down, he believed that through this conflict, they could reclaim a semblance of their bond.

Sima smiled—a twisted caricature of amusement. "I'm afraid if you came here seeking absolution, I am not a cleric of Ilmater. No alms for the poor, poor Lord Ancunín and his utterly insane whore—I mean, bride-to-be." Her words were laced with venom, striking at his pride. She hated how he couldn't even allow her to degrade herself. It was as if he wanted to possess every part of her, even her pain. If she couldn't have control over anything else, at least she could have control over her own suffering.

Astarion hissed in response, his demeanor shifting as humiliation and anger flashed across his features. The insinuation that he saw her as nothing more than a "whore," stoked a fire of indignation within him. He wanted to possess her, to make her his in every way, but hearing her demean herself—and by extension, him—was intolerable. 

In a moment, he was upon her, his presence overwhelming as he closed the distance and gripped her throat, crimson eyes flashing. "If not for yourself, for the sake of this world you've had the arrogance to condemn yourself to for all eternity, then at least show some sense of self-preservation and let me hear no more of that filth."

"Am I not even allowed to call myself what you intend to make me?" Sima asked, seemingly oblivious to the hand around her throat. Her calmness amidst his fury only fueled his internal conflict. How dare he try to take even this from her? Her pain was hers alone, and she would not let him control that too.

That response stunned him. His grip loosened, and he searched her face, presumably for signs of the woman he once knew. "I would make you a queen among vampires. A goddess among men. A vampire bride, akin to a lord. An equal in power to me. Not a 'whore' to be passed around. Never that." His voice wavered, torn between the darkness that defined him and the love he still clung to.

"No, just your whore. No choice, no way to say no. Yes, what woman wouldn't throw herself at that?" Sima scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The bitterness in her words cut deep, leaving Astarion reeling from the implications.

Astarion stepped back abruptly, releasing her completely as he took a sharp breath. "Do you have any idea what I've had to endure? How much pain I've suffered? And you, who has suffered so much of the same, just assume I would inflict it on someone I love? Have you learned nothing—have you lost your mind?” His voice cracked with raw emotion, a blend of anger and desperation.

Sima slumped against the cold, damp wall of the dungeon, her figure shrouded in the dim light. "Oh yes, I am completely insane. Like I said. You seem to have missed that,” she declared. The resignation in her voice was a stark contrast to her earlier defiance. She needed to rebel against him, against the image he had of her, to maintain some semblance of agency, even in her own madness.

Astarion paused, a flicker of concern crossing his features before his eyes widened, struck by the haunting memory of her earlier laughter over his quest for absolution. "Wait. This isn't about justice for you. This isn't even about... me. This is you punishing yourself, isn’t it? Because you blame yourself for this. You think you're some kind of sinner, don't you?"

Anger sparked in Sima’s eyes, overtaking her previous veil of apathy. "Fuck you,” she spat. “You are responsible for this. You took the person I loved away from me!" The fury in her voice was palpable, a force of nature that matched his own.

Taken aback by her words, Astarion finally sensed the raw, undiluted fury simmering within her; the road to any form of reconciliation, if ever possible, seemed fraught with pain and resistance. Yet, he believed he had begun to unravel the enigma of her wrath. "Let me get this straight. I'm the devil here, right? And you're just an innocent victim? Really?" His sarcasm dripped with venom, striking at the heart of her struggle.

The sarcasm in his tone was too much, too close to that tender spot in her heart—the last remnant of her identity tethered to guilt and mortality. Without thinking, she surged to her feet and hurled herself at him, driven by a primal, desperate need to protect the last vestige of who she once was.

Astarion, utterly unprepared for her ferocity, just barely managed to catch her by the hair, holding her at arm’s length as she thrashed wildly. Her limbs flailed around, trying to break free of his hold. The nerve of her, to try and attack him after everything he’d done for her, having kept her alive during their previous battles and what he was offering her. Still, he couldn’t deny the emotion stirring inside him. Pointless as it was, her spirited defense had to be admired.

"Well. That's different. You just tried to kill me," he snarled, a note of disbelief coloring his voice as he struggled to contain her.

Sima fought like a creature cornered, her every action fueled by the mingling of profound guilt and the relentless urge to preserve the only part of her that felt genuine remorse—the part that still cared, that still felt. Astarion could overpower her easily, charm her into submission, or even end her life, yet he found himself frozen, captivated by the untamed wildness of her assault.

"You really... aren't holding back here," he bit out, gritting his teeth as he tightened his grip. "I have to admire that. Gods, I can't believe I missed it..."

"You know nothing—nothing—about me!" Sima screamed, her nails seeking his flesh in a wild attempt to mar his face.

When her words struck him, Astarion snapped into motion, not with a blow but with a swift grasp of her wrists, pulling her close. His whisper was furious, a hot breath against her ear, "I. Know. Everything. I have been obsessed, my dear. Obsessed with learning who and what you really are. For all that you claim you are uncaring and cold and unaffected—" He pulled back slightly, his eyes piercing hers, "—I know what you are hiding."

Driven by a desperate need to escape, to flee the entity that sought to strip away her last shreds of self, Sima unleashed a Shatter spell at sixth level. The spell erupted with a deafening roar, the force of the shockwave sending Astarion staggering backward, fragments of the stone doorway crumbling around him. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, and he groaned as pain shot through his body, dazed by the sudden explosion of power.

"Shatter. Of course, your bloody spellpower hasn’t waned... yet," Astarion said as he slowly regained his footing, a mix of respect and wariness settling into his tone.

Sima, seizing the moment, dashed toward the cell door, her mind set on reaching the ritual room where it all began—the place she might finally put an end to this torment. Her steps echoed in the hollow silence of the dungeon as she fled.

Under the flickering shadows of the dungeon, Astarion's expression transformed into a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming an infernal red. This chromatic shift spoke not of anger but of a disturbing exhilaration. His whole demeanor radiated an unsettling glee, as if the unfolding chaos were a spectacle crafted for his amusement.

As she ran, Sima’s boots pounded against the ancient emerald stonework of the dungeon corridor, each step matching the frantic beat of her heart. She sprinted toward the haunting ritual chamber, the place stained by the echoes of 7,000 souls who had perished under sinister rites. The air around her grew heavier as she neared the epicenter of past horrors, the very stones whispering tales of despair.

Hot on her heels, Astarion pursued with supernatural swiftness, his inhuman speed a blur against the mossy stones. He enjoyed the chase. It was a game to him, a macabre dance between predator and prey, and he relished every moment, allowing her the illusion of hope just to savor her eventual loss.

In a desperate bid to escape, Sima whirled and unleashed a seventh-level Fireball. Astarion dodged with the grace of a specter, the flames nipping at his heels, his grin morphing into a monstrous smirk as he admired her tenacity and power.

When he finally caught her, his grip was unyielding as he pinned her to the cold, damp ground. Sima's body hit the stone with a sickening thud, pain radiating through her limbs. Astarion's eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and curiosity, eager to witness the extent of her magical prowess up close. Her defiance and the struggle thrilled him, a twisted foreplay that fed his dark desires. He didn’t want to hurt her, but the conflict, the chase, and the fierce resistance aroused him in a way he couldn't deny.

The ritual chamber that loomed before them was a cavernous space, its architecture a grim testament to the dark arts. The floor was a mosaic of emerald green tourmaline, each block reflecting the sparse light in haunting hues. Gigantic gemstone windows cast a spectral glow across the chamber, while above, cages hung like macabre ornaments, suspended by thick chains that swayed gently with some unfelt breeze. In the center, a once blood-stained tourmaline platform stood ominously empty, the air around it thick with the residue of dark magic.

With a sudden burst of energy, Sima kicked Astarion squarely, the force of the blow making him stagger back. Seizing the moment, she dashed toward the dais. She knew one of the cages functioned as an elevator to the sewers—a potential route to freedom.

Astarion, momentarily winded, chuckled at her defiance and quickly recovered. His response was swift, a predatory sprint that closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Just as Sima reached the cage, he enveloped her in a grasp that spun her back onto the dais. Her body slammed against the hard tourmaline with a thud, a sharp pain shooting through her side as the impact bruised her ribs.

"What do you want from me? I hate you! I don’t want anything from you!" Sima cried out, the pain and fury in her voice reverberating off the ancient stones.

His laughter was low and menacing as he pinned her hands above her head, his body looming over hers. "I know, darling. But that's alright, because I don't need anything from you. You're mine. That's all I want right now," he whispered, his face inches from hers, his breath mingling with the dank air of the dungeon.

"You're just like Cazador!” Sima spat, struggling once again to break free. “Just like him! Every minute of every day you will condemn me to a life of being your whore, even if I am a true vampire. Why? Why would I want that!"

"Because you love me," Astarion murmured, his voice soft yet chilling as he leaned closer, his dark crimson eyes locking onto hers with a palpable intensity. "You are the other half of me, the piece that's been missing. And, yes, I want to make you a vampire, to bind you to me in every way—but not as a curse. As a union, Sima. We are meant to be together," he confessed, his tone blending desperation with a twisted sense of destiny.

"If you think I want to be violated for eternity, you are insane!” Sima exclaimed furiously. “And you say you are still part of the elf who I loved? He would never have forced himself on me!"

As he leaned close, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice was a silky purr. "Are you sure?" His gaze was unyielding, eyes locked onto hers with a ferocity that felt like it could pierce her soul. In his eyes, there was no room for negotiation; his desire for control was tangible, fueled not merely by lust but by a craving for absolute dominion over her.

"Don’t you dare besmirch his memory, my Astarion who loved me! He would never… could never do that to me!" Sima responded, her voice thick with anger.

"A love is what you want from me... a type of love that I can't give you," he murmured, his smile chilling as his eyes darkened, the inner turmoil of his desires manifesting as a growing hunger. He believed in his twisted love for her, a passion that was anything but cold, yet he knew she could only see the monster, not the man consumed by a profound and complicated love.

Pinned beneath him on the cold dais, Sima writhed in desperation, trying to turn her face away from his, her disgust and rage mingling with the physical pain of her bruised ribs and weary limbs. Her energy was fading, each movement a testament to her waning strength against his overpowering presence.

Astarion watched her struggle, his laugh echoing around the stone chamber—not out of cruelty but from a dark amusement. Reminiscing about their first encounter so long ago on a beach in Elturel, he whispered close to her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair, "You're so pretty when you're angry, darling..." His heart hoped that the sweet words would finally disarm her.

"You said a week—you would give me a week to decide… What if I agreed?" Sima's voice held a faint trace of bargaining, seeking a reprieve, a sliver of autonomy.

Caught off guard, his gaze softened slightly, his posture easing as he contemplated her offer. A part of him, the remnant of the man who once loved her deeply, flickered within him, stirred by her plea. He loosened his grip.

"Just to be clear, if I do not agree—at least with how you see things now—I am presuming you will force the change on me regardless?" Sima's tone was resolute, her eyes steely as she prepared for any outcome.

"Of course. I will not risk losing you again. One way or another, I will have you with me for eternity. But…Please, do not force me to make that decision. I want—I need you to want this," he replied fervently, his tone desperate but pleading. The desperation in his voice was palpable, a mix of longing and fear. He needed her to understand, to choose him willingly, but the darkness within him whispered otherwise.

Sima's gaze hardened, but there was also a flicker of something else—an old wound, a fear that he might strip away the last vestiges of her autonomy. "Be prepared for the consequences of your actions then, because I will be prepared for mine. Now, let me go this instant. You have your bargain. I'm presuming some insane courtship or persuasion will be coming. Let me up."

"I promise... I will court you," Astarion conceded with a grin, his face still close to hers, his dark crimson eyes a swirling mix of dark intentions and flickering hope. He released her, rolling aside to sit upright, crossing his legs and watching her with both a hint of cruelty and a newly kindled spark of anticipation. The game had changed, but it was still a game to him, a twisted dance of power and desire.

Sima drew herself up to her full height, putting distance between them with a measured step backward. "You disgust me," she said coldly.

Astarion's smile faltered, crumpling into genuine hurt. His eyes shimmered with moisture, and the ache he fought to repress grew in his chest. The words sliced through the remnants of their shared past, revealing the raw nerve of his unrequited affections. Yet, he steeled himself against this weakness, the heavy weight of his immortal existence pressing down upon him. With a snarl, he stepped closer, his voice turning cold. "You are being unreasonable."

"That's what grief will do to you, especially when it hardens into hatred,” Sima retorted, her words echoing off the stone walls, filled with venom. “So, am I to be returned to my cell, then? Or treated with some decency, if you are capable of it?"

"You are my guest," he hissed back, his jaw tensing as his eyes narrowed. Despite his anger, he restrained himself, turning away from her. Perhaps, he thought, she might yet be swayed by promises of a gilded cage rather than an iron one.

"Which means?" Sima arched an eyebrow, her tone laced with skepticism.

"Which means... which means..." He struggled for a moment, then turned back to face her. Her presence, so close, yet so far removed from his reach, reignited a familiar desire—a longing to bridge the chasm between them with a touch, a kiss. Shaking his head to dispel these dangerous notions, he admitted, "It means you're being held captive."

"So am I to be held in the palace then, rather than the dungeons?"

"The palace! This palace is your prison now. You'll simply get... nicer rooms and better food," he grumbled, his pride wounded. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to be so defiant even now. This entire situation was absurd.

Sima glanced up at the shadow of the man she once loved, now ensconced in the trappings of a pampered lord, and sighed in disgust at her fate. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps touched by madness, that found a strange solace in the waiting game she now had to play. "Then get me the Hells out of this infernal place. I never want to see this ritual room again," she demanded.

His annoyance flared at her tone, but he masked it with a weary sigh, acknowledging her request with a reluctant nod. "Fine. I'll get my servants to put you into some better bedrooms. Just behave, hm? Don't think you're going to make a run for it, my love. I'm not that stupid."

Astarion’s internal conflict raged, the struggle between his love for her and his vampiric instincts creating a tumultuous storm within him. He hated the idea of hurting her, but his need for control and possession was overwhelming. Sima's defiance, her fierce spirit, only fueled his desire, making the game all the more intoxicating. As they left the ritual chamber, the echoes of their past clung to the air, a haunting reminder of what once was and what could never be again.

The new chambers assigned to Sima were a stark contrast to the dank dungeon below. Opulent and bathed in natural light, the rooms boasted marble floors and walls draped with pale green silk and deep crimson velvet. Delicate golden filigree adorned the furniture, while crystal chandeliers cast sparkling reflections across the room. An ivory desk sat against one wall, a deep crimson velvet couch against another, and a large mirror framed with the Ancunin coat of arms dominated one side of the room, reflecting a world of deceptive luxury.

Sima entered the room, her bag of holding—a remnant of her time in the cells—still in her possession. She turned to face Astarion, who had followed her up. "What happened to them—my friends? Your spawn captured them, but they didn't come for me after I tried the Wish spell on you. I presume you had to let them go, considering Duke Wyll was in on the plan?"

Astarion’s brow furrowed in irritation. He wasn’t pleased that she still controlled her possessions, but he was unwilling to strip them from her forcibly—it wouldn’t befit his status, nor would it aid his cause. Instead, he forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "They came to me and made their case. After some negotiation..." His voice hardened as he met her gaze. "The Duke is quite persuasive. I allowed them to go."

"And none came for me? Not one?" Sima’s voice carried a mix of disbelief and a dawning chill of abandonment. Each word felt like a betrayal, deepening the chasm of isolation that threatened to engulf her.

Avoiding her piercing stare, Astarion's eyes clouded over with a wave of unspoken thoughts. "I had hoped they would persuade you to join me willingly, under the guise that you were a reluctant yet open captive. That was the agreement they sought. So I consented, in a moment of what I believed to be magnanimity—or perhaps folly."

"You misled them about my stay, then. They assume you're actually offering me a choice?" Sima's tone was sharp, cutting through the façade of diplomatic exchange to the heart of his deceit.

His response was a cold glare, a frost settling over his earlier feigned warmth. "Yes. They insisted on your autonomy in the decision. They desire for you to choose freely—even if that choice is to join me in eternal night," he admitted, his voice a blend of reluctance and hidden satisfaction.

Sima's expression hardened as she absorbed the full weight of his words, the stark reality of her isolation settling in like a heavy stone in her chest. "Then they are fools. They should have rescued me from you. They chose not to." Her voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, the betrayal of her friends cutting deeper than she had anticipated.

Astarion watched her, a complex play of emotions flickering across his face. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, mirroring the hollow emptiness blossoming within Sima as she faced the grim truth of her abandonment, surrounded by opulence but bereft of any true ally. He felt a pang of regret, a fleeting whisper of the man he once was, buried beneath the weight of his vampiric nature. Yet, his desire to keep her close, to ensure she remained with him, was equally strong. It was a delicate balance of love and possessiveness, each step a careful dance between his old self and the darkness that now defined him.

"This palace may be your prison, but it can also be your sanctuary. If you choose to see it that way," he murmured, the words a seductive promise wrapped in a plea for understanding. He didn’t want to hurt her, but his need to not lose her drove his every action.

Sima’s breath hitched slightly, her mind racing. The grandeur around her felt like a mockery of the freedom she once had. Each luxurious detail seemed to taunt her, a reminder of her captivity dressed in silk and gold. She wanted to lash out, to break free, but the reality of her situation weighed heavily on her spirit. The opulence of the room clashed violently with the raw wound in her heart, a wound reopened by Astarion's presence and his manipulations.

"You claim to retain some part of him?” Sima asked, her voice steadier now, though an undercurrent of fear and an old wound lingered. “If that's true, then grant me this week... After that, I'll make my decision. Your actions on that final day will speak for themselves. I might resist you, or perhaps I won't—but if your love for me is genuine, you’ll respect that the choice must be mine."

Her words seemed to reach the remnants of the man he once was, appealing to a past that still haunted the fringes of his transformed self. The memories of their shared moments, the tenderness that once existed, flickered in the dark recesses of his mind, a ghost of his former self. His eyes softened momentarily, reflecting a glimmer of the love he once held for her, but the conflict within him was palpable.

Sima glanced up at the shadow of the man she once loved, now ensconced in the trappings of a pampered lord, and sighed in disgust at her fate. Hugging her side, she felt the sharp pain in her ribs—a cruel reminder of their physical battle. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps touched by madness, that found a strange solace in the waiting game she now had to play. The weight of her isolation pressed heavily upon her, the realization that she was surrounded by opulence but bereft of any true ally. It was a cold comfort, a gilded prison, and she felt the full measure of her abandonment settling over her like a suffocating shroud.

Her heart sank further, the isolation deepening as she faced the reality of her beautiful cage. The opulence around her felt hollow, a stark contrast to the raw wound in her heart. She was alone, truly alone, in a world that had turned its back on her. The sharp clarity of her pain only reinforced what she had always known: the only one who could save her now was herself.

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket Manga Review, ch (92-93)

That was painful & so well-written! This analysis will focus on kyokyo mainly & faintly on her effect on kyo. Although, her story affects tohru’s life immensely, I won’t analyze tohru’s part & will wait until it’s a tohru’s chapter to use the knowledge of kyoko’s past to better read tohru’s mind & understand her decisions! Can’t wait! after all, that’s why I’ve read the manga to begin with!

-Kyoko’s Atonement:  (the weight of words):

 Kyoko breaks down after she learns she’s expecting. Why? cuz she hurt her mom. The notion that “yeah my parents caused me emotional trauma & so I’mma hurt them as well” is toxic & burdening as it starts a cycle of pain. Kyoko was right. She had no idea how her mom felt seeing her rebel, or follow violence or hear her harsh words. I’m not cleansing the mom from guilt nor responsibility. I’m just saying since the mom’s pov is blocked from us, assuming shes similar to the dad is wrong. kyoko’s fear of being punished with a child similar to herself is genuine, realistic & refreshing to see expressed in anime! usually character like kyoko are cool & brave, but here she’s humanly weak & doubtful. LOVE IT!

Moreover, in furuba words weigh on ppl & have consequences. We see this with kyo. His dad destroyed him verbally with words “ not my fault, it’s yours” that kyo echoes back to yuki! meaning the consequences of the dad’s words cause harm to his wife, kyo & even yuki!. Kyo was tormented with his own words for long time & clung to them even more in order not to resort to suicide! “ not my fault, it’s the rat’s” . Words can crush you down so bad if you hear them from loved ones, & worse if you utter them back to other loved ones! here kyoko learned that just the mere thought of her future child echoing her words back to her would torment her to death! Excellent writing!

-Katsuya invented Furuba’s vision (Accepting weakness & moving on):

The teachings of kyoko & tohru were really katsuya’s after all. I’m fne with that. These teachings are the core of Furuba’s vision. He tells kyoko to accept that she’s weak, afraid & doubtful. it’s okay. But gives her tools to move on. Your kid isn’t you. They’re an individual person. As parents all we can do is give love/hugs (sth kyoko’s parents didnt do), listen to them (sth yuki’s parents didnt do) & if they do sth wrong will explain it & teach them well (sth kyo’s parents didn’t do, his wrong deed was being born a cat spirit & he was hated for it with no explanation, mom gave lots of “fake” love & escaped by death, dad became a raging monster). Accepting weakness & moving on is what the cursed sohmnas needed to do to heal & what tohru taught them. Off course, tohru herself struggled to follow her own teachings & that’s amazingly realistic!

-Kyoko’s guilt (punishment brings ease):

Kyoko wanted to be punished so harsh for her husband’s death. The gossip got to her. She failed him as a life’s companion. Taking care of our loved ones is a duty we carry with much love & care. Them slipping away is perceived as us failing by none than ourselves. The thing is, death comes with no warning at times. It was his time to leave. Accepting it or not, wont bring him back, but accepting it will help kyoko deal with pain while not accepting will cause more pain for her & tohru.

One of the most painful things abt grief is that it’s personal. Life continues around you. Only you feel it.  “didn’t the world end when katsuya died”. No kyoko. Only you died emotionally. Only him died physically. Kyo once said “ mom why didn’t you kill me instead”. A different reaction to grief, guilt & pain, but same conclusion: neither katsuya nor kyo’s mom are coming back no matter how much pain kyo or kyoko felt.

Kyoko found ease in emotional death, neglecting & refusing life, punishing herself for staying after him.

kyo found ease in rage & blaming others as he his father did, later he’ll escape to emotional & physical slow death “ cat cage/confinement”.

tohru... found ease in pretending "I’m okay” & her mom is alive.. but not physically.. emotionally, so she’ll ignore the truth & live only for her.

Didn’t I say grief is harsh, weird & very very personal. It’s hard to explain, deal with & heal. The mere words of consolation hurt cuz the grieving ones dont want to accept loved one are really gone. Her dad’s harsh words cemented the “emotional death” that kyoko felt. I’m not needed. neither katsuya. nor parents in general. depression. misery. sadness. emptiness.

-The tv show helped to trigger kyoko’s desire to “meet” katsuya. She has already reached the conclusion that she isnt needed. So, the tv show with their words of the deceased wanting you to be happy. triggered her into misinterpreting the words as to mean her death NOT fuel her to live in his memory as intended.

- “Loosing your way first before finding your answer” is okay & so human!:

Ironically..Tohru... was the person Kyoko was punishing NOT herself: By being emotionally dead, kyoko neglected her daughter. Her world shouldnt be just one person. There are others. Katsuya himself gave her a person to love. Tohru. Kyoko chose death & unintentionally set tohru into a world of loneliness 10 times harsher thsn what kyoko faced. She was about to do, but was saved by a nameless child who reminded her of tohru. She chose wrong first but later saw her answer. Kyo chose death by accepting the confinement & he, too, unintentionally set tohru into a world of loneliness 10 times harsher if he wasnt with her. He chose wrong first but later saw his answer. Off course kyo’s story is more developed & complicated as he dealt with bigger issues than just tohru & his answer wasn't just loving tohru alone but also loving himself & choosing to live for them both: himself & tohru.

-Kyo’s guilt is a concussion thought eating him alive:

Part of why kyo’s story was one of the most human & complex is due him loosing his way first, failing, repeating mistakes “ I always though that hurting ppl was the only thing I was good at, after all, isnt that why mom died?” Kyo’s nightmare being a conscious effect of hearing tohru’s talk abt “ videos & memories of loved ones” is 1000 times stronger & more human than a cliche effect of seeing a “ hat” & to revive a a blocked memory... What the hell!! truly disgusting how the emotional weigh is reduced for stupid cliche drama !!!!!! ..

Anyway, kyo actively & consciously wanted punishment .He was sure that kyoko blamed him” I wont forgive you” can only mean what it literally means. The purpose of the nightmare is to cause kyo to seek “ emotional death” like kyoko & to loose his path more. It is meant to prepare kyo to refuse tohru even more. Therefore, the pay off at the climax will be better & stronger.

Reading kyo’s inner thoughts will never not be refreshing!!! Also, the slow burn is cooked on low , hot fire , so the pay off will be the most delicious there is!

Side Notes:

I’ve stated my feelings regarding the age gap between kyoko & katsuya in last chapter’s preview post. I’m done with it & won’t let it interfere with my analysis of kyoko nor tohru.

The idea of just being together as a fun hanging out activity without being bothered much of where reminds ms so much of kyo & tohru!! we see them being happy together in the anime in kazuma’s house, shigure’s rooftop, cooking pancake in the kitchen! I really like this domestic feel of romance! it contradicts the notion of expensive restaurant with the girl wearing a breathtaking dress to woo the guy for it to be utterly romantic as we see in movies, & other stories.

NGL, katsuya looked sexy waiting home.. damn it! >_<

I cried watching tohru between her parents, how they acted & how loved she was! T_T. it reminded me of my niece How her dad’s death affected her! She was the apple of his eyes.. T_T.

Tohru is indeed a rice ball! her dad gave her a masculine name while tohru is so feminine! his reasoning is “finding salty taste in sweet things make the taste better & stronger, kinda giving it a hidden flavour”, the rice ball has a pickle inside it & it’s what makes the taste so savory & delicious!

Grandpa’s “ chance meetings could lead to variety of outcomes, good or bad” YES! kyo/tohru/yuki meeting each other by chance. Fiction make it look weird, but trust me, real life has those by dozens!

“ i wonder how lost you’ll be, how much time you’ll need to get your answer”. He will screw up so bad, kyoko! it will be so good! one of the best screw up’s I’ve seen! so painful for him & tohru & amazingly written!

Kyo’s nightmare being connected to him remembering/dreaming of kyoko’s story is bigger effect than opening the ep with it & having the cause be sth that happened last ep, a week ago... the effect is NOT the same.

Momiji is so cute!!! did his curse break here or not yet? he seemed as tall as tohru.

Writing tohru worried abt kyo after seeing him pale is the tohru I know!! Not that stupid girl who watches the guy she loves have a panic attach in se3, ep6, then goes in ep 7...” dahhhh.. Jeez.. I duno why kyo is sleeping until now.. better laugh & make cute rice cakes” giggle giggle...That scene got me so furious even when I first saw it!! THIS IS NOT TOHRU! tohru cried for a stupid story that haru told abt puppets!! she’ll forget the person she challenges herself for is sick?! ugh!

I love seeing yuki & kyo chill & cool around each other.

Kyoko being fully dependent on katsuya can be a factor in her grief, but I’ve seen cases where both partners are independent but still be completely broken after the others’ death. Grief isn’t logical at all & is extremely personal.

[huntershowl]

PERSEPHONE IS QUIET WHILE HE SPEAKS. quiet, because satoru has held in his sadness for far too long. because it is so easy to let a greater threat constrict your thinking, and just for one moment, persephone has the ability to give him enough space to unravel it all. this stranger-body, so horribly alien after two years of hell and so dangerous for the rest of her life, is an instrument of harm. it was built to end lives, to rip and tear. but occasionally, if she tries hard enough, it has the capacity to mend.

satoru makes her want to be good. it's infuriating. after all of this time spent becoming worse, because she thought it was the only way to match her eventual target's monstrous power, he came back into her life again and reminded her that the dead girl in there still has a voice. the older twin, the bodyguard, the lover, the friend.

if she can do anything for this man who has been abandoned by everyone else, she will fight to her last breath to see it through. he doesn't need her protection — the thought is laughable, really — but there is more to life than battle. you can be the strongest and still be drowning.

they let out a breath when satoru drops infinity again. persephone has pressed up against its border before, familiarized herself with the strange, buzzing ozone feeling of it, solid and ghostly all at once. now, as he lets it go and tells her that this is his fault, she lets a hand drift up to rest atop his knee. a physical anchor — a grounding point. it's not his fault. she nearly says as much, but does not. better to continue to hold this space for him. hell, there's nothing else there but rage anyway. persephone has felt empty for so long; maybe that emptiness is good for something.

it's because of who you are. something bitter churns in her chest as he says this. guilt, partly: fletch noticed it too, the day they met for the first time and took her arms & orion's eye. their cursed eyes, demon eyes as silver as coins, took in the twins' pact and techniques without even touching them. so much energy — they looked at persephone, squinted as if they'd just opened the oven door. and so little. a glance at orion. she never learned what exactly fletch's cursed technique was. somehow it allowed them to play 4D chess with their sight and senses, but none of it ever made much sense to seph. but she knew it was unusual, what she could do. it had caught the tower's attention, and that was no easy feat. strange, still, that they never trained it.

she watches satoru now as he tries to explain, but she can tell his mind is fractured. they can see the way his body holds pain, the restless hand running through his hair and down his face, the intake of breath as if he's been stabbed. satoru found her tonight on the edge of a cliff. it's a familiar one, an edge she always walks when she goes hunting: the loss of self to rage, the momentary bursting of a dam. the bodies aren't the only thing hellhound leaves in ruin. it is the cursed energy's only outlet. that's why she chases her victims to unoccupied areas: the collateral damage she left behind the first few times still haunts her to this day, the pure, horrible bomb-like existence of her.

but persephone thought satoru was reaching out his hand from solid ground. now, it hits her that that wasn't the case at all. he held out his hand for her to take, to stabilize, but he stands right beside her on that edge. she can see him swaying now. how long has he been running on empty? what happens, not to the world but to him, if he falls?

the tower's favorite pet. yeah. they can't argue with that. shame bubbles up tarlike in the back of her throat; briefly, persephone looks away until it clears from their face. it doesn't matter right now. ❝ every choice you, geto, ieiri, and okkotsu made factored into what happened. it's stupid to take all of the blame on your shoulders. you're just flogging yourself for something you didn't do. ❞ it doesn't matter right now. the tower — fletch — doesn't matter. satoru is bleeding out, and no one has offered a compress because they think he can do it forever. so what if he's suffering? he is limitless & the six eyes, so let him bleed. it makes her sick.

a soft sigh then, another betrayal of frustration with her boss and their risks, with the whole situation. ❝ don't worry about me. they won't let him do anything damaging. ❞ worst case scenario, they might lease her out as a peace offering for not-geto and his curses, but even that she doubts. something tells her that whoever inhabits his body wouldn't hesitate to say fuck the alliance and kill her anyway. no, the tower will more likely try to keep persephone as far away from that little band of villains as possible. it'll be fine.

the smoke, as he reaches for it, curls around his fingers as if recognizing a friend. seph watches it, looks back up at him with a softness in her eyes that was not there before. ❝ it's okay, ❞ they respond. ❝ i know. ❞ slowly, they unfold themself from the floor and settle next to him again, but this time they turn to face him. a cold hand reaches up to cradle satoru's slender jaw, pulls gently to make him look at her. ❝ ... hey. you're not alone anymore. you can let go. trust me. ❞ that's rich, coming from the creature who refused to do the same for him, only an hour ago. but whatever. they never said they weren't a hypocrite.

it was always going to end that way and they both knew it: suguru knew what he was doing when he declared war, when he knew what he would do in order to get the curse that he wanted so badly. but at the same time, satoru had hoped that things would be different, that maybe he would've gotten there in time; that his students might still be alive, that suguru might still alive, and that they could postpone any death wishes that seemed to be happening throughout all of this. he hadn't known that yuta would be so powerful, that he would destroy suguru so thoroughly. and when he had found him in that alleyway, they had known what he was there to do. 

satoru had numbed himself at that moment. he had told him what he had always wanted to tell him. and suguru had laughed and told him to curse him at the end. and sometimes satoru wishes he could have. sometimes he wishes he could've taken him to shoko and had him patched up, could've found some solace in the fact that all three of them were there again. that suguru was home. 

but no. they both knew what would have happened. they knew what would happen and it kills satoru, kills every inch of him when he thinks of it, when he slouches down on his couch that's too expensive and feels every inch of his death sink into his damn bones. 

satoru has been alone. ever since suguru has left, he has been alone. outside of the fact that persephone had found him, had settled themselves in his bubble and hadn't let go, he had been on his own. she had been the only one to see through the facade that he had withheld, had known what it felt like to be in the state that he was in. he doesn't know much about her, not in the traditional sense  ––  he has learned far too much about the tower and the organization ever since he has been looking for, but that's not the point. the point is is that she had found him and in turn he had tried to find her, and among all of this apparently suguru's body is being used. it has been commandeered and now has chosen to get close to the tower of all things.

in that case, it means that it's PERSONAL. it means that whoever has suguru's body knows his connection to persephone and knows that it would've gotten back to him  ––  that it would be a double punch, that suguru's sudden reappearance would be a needle at him and along with it would come persephone. it would be two people who are horribly important to him, doused together in gasoline, and satoru is the one who holds the match in his fingers. 

the tower has made things personal, whether it was intentional or not.

❝this is my fault.❞   the words are tumbling out of his lips before he can stop them, his hands reaching up to run through tufts of hair that are normally wrestled into a calm cadence. blue eyes blink a couple of times as he tries to come back to himself, tries to come back to everything that's at hand  ––  lets infinity back down so that she is free to come close again, curses himself silently for the fear that he had momentarily seen in them and their movements.  ❝if i would have just let shoko perform the funeral rites…❞

but that had been his own ignorance, hadn't it? there had been a stone that he had delivered flowers to. had sat in front of for far too long, tracing the kanji letters that had been engraved in it. shoko hadn't said a damn thing  ––  she had been too wrapped up in her own things, her expanding role as doctor, the aftermath of the war that geto had started. he had just presumed, and now he's left wondering how foolish he could be. the six eyes could see so much, yet he had never seen this coming. 

whoever is riding in his body is not him  ––  and the fact of the matter is, is that they have their eye on persephone. satoru has done so many things wrong, has failed so many, but at the heart of it, maybe he can actually save someone for once. maybe he can save the one person who still matters.

❝it's because of who you are,❞    he murmurs out, hand running down his face and deep breath sucked in harshly. his chest aches; he doesn't know how in the hell it can still hurt this much. it shouldn't. he's internalized it for so long now though that it's bleeding through. part of him wants to tug persephone onto his lap, bury his face in the safety of that solid shoulder, let go of everything that he has held so hard on to. but he has to be strong  ––  that is his role in all of this. that will always be his role, whether he likes it or not. 

❝you have an insane amount of cursed energy around you. whoever is in that body knows it, and no doubt tower has bragged about his favorite pet.❞    brows furrow a little before he swallows hard and runs his fingers through his hair once more.   ❝whatever this asshole wants, it's because you have it. maybe he needs a good deal of cursed energy to operate. and where better to get it than from someone who practically oozes it?❞    hand reaches out to lightly run through the end of their hair, where the smoke dissipates into the air. 

a soft frown falls into place as he leans back, stares down at them for a long moment.   the six eyes are tired; he feels far more battle weary than he had ever meant to be. one person can only take so much before they break   ––   he wonders if he's close. 

❝i'm sorry. for scaring you. i just….❞   satoru averts his eyes; it's hard to talk to them when he's being vulnerable, when the truth is bleeding from him.     ❝it wasn't personal.❞

[nightkitchentarot]

Stages of the Zodiac Signs

STAGES OF ZODIAC SIGNS – a Lifespan’s Evolution The common symbols of the Zodiac Signs, actually describe the first step, the first stage of your evolution. What few know is that this is only the beginning. You evolve. As life goes on, these stages change. Although you still keep your former stage in your heart, you progressively lose touch from it. Hence, as inevitably you attract new stimuli, you change. The only question is towards what? These are the Stages of Zodiac Signs. This is what you should expect.

Stages of Aries: Ram, Shephard, Reborn Sun The Ram. This is the symbol everyone knows about this zodiac sign. People born under its influence are passionate, conquerors and natural fighters. The Ram is a sacred symbol of many Solar Deities. It shows the potential. A hidden fire within, ever-burning. However, as they grow up, they realize that they engage in too many fights. And worse, not all fights are victorious. They have many casualties and they’ve been reckless and irresponsible. Hence, at some point of their lives, they see the loss. This is why they become… The Shephard. Grasping the Truth for the first time, they see how pointless it is to engage in rageful quarrels. Their awareness expands. They see what a Shephard sees. A never ending battle which is called life. This is when they turn into themselves. A turning point of their lives. However, it’s not an easy one. You see, a Shephard is lonely, isolated. He is a hermit. At this point, Aries needs time. Time to realise their true potential lies in their passion and not rage. This is when they turn their fire into… Reborn Sun. Aries is the first symbol of the Zodiac Circle. Why? Because that is when Nature resurrects from the Death of Winter. In Ancient Egypt, this is the symbol of Aries. The Reborn Sun, symbolizing the Death(s) an individual has to go through, in order to realise his/her true potential. Once you let go of pain, sorrow and rage, you will be reborn with this Ultimate Stage of Aries.

Stages of Taurus: Bull, Minotaur, Demigod Bull. Taurus, is symbolized by a Bull. But what is the occult meaning of this symbol? The Bull is a sacred animal in many ancient religions (Egyptian, Indian, Greek). Hence, the Bull symbolized the potentials of Nature. Spring is there and its fierce. Nothing can stop it. There is only one way and this is forward; exactly how a Bull sees its world. However, quite often, due to their lack of ability to see other options, they crash on walls. Those are the obstacles a Taurus is programmed to break and not to surpass. Gradually, they see that they cannot assert their dominance to other people. This is when they become… Minotaur. This legendary beast, half human with the head of a Bull, is a personification of our instinctive passions which, some times, we think are incompatible with human nature. Shame is a deadly foe. Hence, the Minotaur, haunted by shame and regrets is more stubborn. This is when they are lost in the Labyrinth. Let me remind you that this legendary creature was lying in the dark chambers of a Labyrinth, guarding it. Hence, at this point of their lives, they are enraged, more stubborn than ever, but lost in the dark. This is when Taurus loses hope until they realize, that they’re lost in the Darkness because they chose to! This is when all this power enlightens their spirit, break down the labyrinth and become… Demigod. This is no sugar-coating it. They truly become divine. Once they sense how powerful their spirit is, they channel it and create miracles. At this point of their lives Taurus perceives his/her power and liberates himself/herself from the boundaries of the physical Realm. However, they still cast miracles on Earth, enjoying satisfaction and beauty, guilt-free.

Stages of Gemini: Twins, Ship, Stars Twins. The first step of Gemini’s life is drenched with curiosity and love for new experiences. Hence, they seek new stimuli and, as they grow up, they (often successfully) engage in different activities, adopt diverse theories and work in many fields, as if they sense that time is not enough. However, at some point, they realise that there is an empty space in their heart. This comes after a loss, at young age. Hence, they become… Ship. As the Myth of Gemini tells us, the twin brothers joined the magical quest to find an amazing treasure. Hence, this symbolizes the stage of Gemini when they are bored from their way of living and seek the bigger truth. This quest, however, may be lonely and disappointing, at some point. Hence, most Geminis return to phase one – Twins. However, if they let go of this disappointment, they become… Stars. This is the final stage of the Zodiac Sign. Once they realise that their inner curiosity for knowledge is simply lust for life, they accept failures and disappointments, they let go of pain and they move forward, expanding their awareness and become a true source of Light. They become Stars!

Stages of Cancer: Crab, Hydra, Peacock Crab. This is the symbol everyone knows. A creature of the Sea, symbolizing the ‘watery’ nature of this zodiac sign. Due to their rich emotions, they do not always ‘move’ in a logical way, just like the crab doesn’t move in a straight line. Hence, as the sea is never the same, Cancer’s heart changes according to their stimuli around them. However, there are times when the crab’s strong exterior (devotion and loyalty) is crashed by cruelty and betrayal. This is when they become… Hydra. Hydras are creatures of the sea, symbolizing (sea’s and) Cancer’s blind rage. When you cut the head of hydra, two more sprout out. Unfortunately, this shows that when they feel broken they can do terrible things. Trying to stop them is like trying to stop a huge wave of the ocean. It’s pointless. This is a very common stage of Cancer. They change, once they realise that as the Sea is vast, so are the people. Some are mean and hurtful, some are true and loyal. This is when their faith is restored and they become… Peacock. This is the sacred symbol of Great Mother, Hera, Queen of the Gods. At this stage everyone adores them. Although they don’t intentionally show off, their actions speak for themselves. They are Grace and Blessings impersonated.

Stages of Leo: Lion, Warrior, King Lion. At first, a typical Leo is born to feel like being the king of the jungle. As if their world belongs to them, inherited by the divine forces. Leo is strong, faithful and passionate. However, at some point in their lives, their authority is questioned and this is when things turn wrong. Rage fills their heart, when they sense that someone can out-throne them. This is when they become… Warrior. At this point, all their energy is focused to prove themselves worthy. But worthy of what? What are they fighting for? For many years of their lives they are noble fighters in a war they did not choose. They are lost in elusive goals and spend their energy for silly tasks and quarrels. In truth, they fear time. Time is a threat to them because their beauty and splendour might fade. They become prideful and vain. But when they realise that the power comes from their bright spirit, they become… King. At this point they know that being a lion is being a king in a jungle. But they are so much more. This is when they realize their royal self. An ageless spirit, a never ending reign of their light. At this point they are full of love and understanding.

Stages of Virgo: Maiden, Dark Maiden, Queen Maiden. During their very first step in life, Virgo is the young Persephone, a young maiden goddess playing and experiencing her potential. Innocent, brilliant and graceful, the Maiden seeks the truth, while discovering herself on this Realm. However, at some point of their lives, as Persephone was kidnapped, Virgo is forced to travel to the Underworld. Dark Maiden. At this point Virgo is scared and sad. Although it might not show, they hide a huge sorrow in their hearts. But what is this all about? Most of the times, their sadness is rationalized by their need to put their minds in order. At this time of their lives, they are lost in the darkness of their Underworld. Many Virgos pass a long time suffering from depression. However, if they manage to forgive and accept the world as it is, just like Persephone, she marries the God of Underworld, Hades, and she become… Queen. At this stage, Virgo is capable of anything. They accept the truth of the world, that there is both Light and Darkness and they rule on both because of their crystal spirit. Hence, they are whole.

States of Libra: Scale, Blindfold, Sword Scales. The first step of Libra is being the Scales of Themis, goddess of Justice. Always trying to see all options, hear all opinions and take all possible advices. This is why they seem dependent on others and indecisive. What others see as lack of guts, is actually a very powerful procedure when they try to scale all options and be fair and just. However, as they cannot easily proceed in their lives this way, they become… Blindfold. Enraged and disappointed, they no longer wish to be just, because their energy is depleted. Hence, they make unnatural choices. This makes them feel bad for themselves. Hence, the Blindfold (of Themis). Virtue is no longer their guide. Once they understand that everyone makes mistakes, but it’s important to follow their instincts and heart, regardless, they become… Sword. The Sword (of Themis) is the personification of right decisions and power. At this point, nothing can stop them and their spirit is aligned with their will. What they think of, becomes reality!

Stages of Scorpio: Scorpion, Eagle, Phoenix Scorpion. The first step of their lives are Scorpions. Born survivors, they integrate their instincts and passions, in a fervid way, to achieve what they want. Seeking success and satisfaction, they often succeed, but, sometimes, they don’t. When this happens they descend in darkness, as scorpions hide under stones. At this point, some of them might stay forever. Others, they realise their pointless pursuits and they become… Eagle. When this happens, Scorpions realise that they no longer need to hide, but they need to see the bigger picture and seek different types of success and satisfaction. Hence, at this point of their lives, they realise that they can seek both satisfaction and success elsewhere in life. As eagles, they fly higher and higher. Do you know who flies as high as an eagle does? No-one! This is when they realise how lonely they become. Failure is part of being human, and neglecting their human nature is not a wise choice. Hence, they become… Phoenix. At this point of their lives, their Spirit shines like never before. Accepting and letting go of hurtful memories, they realise their true potential. The Phoenix is eternal and made of the material the Gods are created from. Hence, they realise how powerful they truly are. Nothing can stop them now!

Stages of Sagittarius: Archer, Arrow, Centaur Archer. The first step in their lives, they feel that sky is the Limit. Sons and Daughters of Jupiter, they sense that a divine hand is guiding them. As archers, they aim and keep on aiming, again and again. They are optimistic. However, when eventually failure comes, they sometimes lose their sense of balance. They can become hurtful as an… Arrow. Although they still aim, they have focused so much to their goal they neglect to see the bigger picture. What they need to understand is that succeeding is not always winning. Hence, what once they thought they can conquer, now can be useless. This is when they need to expand their awareness and review their goals. As they thirst for freedom, they realise that they have imprisoned themselves! If they bravely see the truth, they can become… Centaur. This legendary creature is the personification of freedom, will, wisdom and human strength. Hence, at this point, a Sagittarius becomes a truly wise and successful person, a teacher for all of us. Transcending the human capabilities, the Centaur conquers his/her goals with ease and style!

Stages of Capricorn: Goat, Cave, Horn of Plenty Goat. The first and most known symbol is the Goat. A earthly creature which might not be as magnificent as the Lion, yet people depend on them for many, many reason. This is exactly like a typical Capricorn. People depend on them, and they are trustworthy and hard-workers. However, as they grow up, they feel that people might use and abuse them. This is when they turn to their… Cave. At this point of their live, they try to isolate themselves from toxic people and relationships. However, they cut off not only baneful relationships, but, also, healthy ones. As Amalthia, the Goat-nymph who nurtured Zeus in a cave, Capricorns usually seek this isolation as they feel endangered. On their way to the top, they lose touch with people whom once they loved. Thankfully, some of them realise that, and they become… Horn of Plenty. The symbol of the Amalthia is the Cornucopia, the Horn of Plenty. At this point of their lives, they realize that true riches come from abundance as a state of mind. Hence, they become truly rich in all possible ways, enjoying both material and spiritual goods!

Stages of Aquarius: Cupbearer, Eagle, Angel Cupbearer. The first step of their lives is when they feel alienated from other, because of their true self. Hence, they become eccentric, trying to communicate their differences in a plain, sad and boring world. The Cupbearer is dragged on Mount Olympus, stranger to all. However, once an Aquarius accepts the World, becomes the symbol of Zeus… Eagle. At this point of their lives they need to experience the whole world. Hence, they (want to) travel everywhere, see more, feel more, understand more. As this is noble, yet also, at some point, impossible, they might feel lonely and separated from all. A lonely eagle flying high. This is when they need to realize that they cannot feel the same way others do, because they are indeed an… Angel. Some of them realize their true Angelic nature and embrace it. These are the enlightened creatures who walk amongst us, shedding light in to the darkest places of Earth. Healers, helpers, divine instruments. They are both successful and truly happy, having found their rightful place on Earth.

Stages of Pisces: Fish, Darkness, Ocean Fish. The first step of their lives they feel like a fish in the vast ocean. Affected by the ever moving waves, they live in their matrix of emotions (sea) and energies around them. As true empaths, they are influenced by enlightened souls, but also by evil entities. Hence, they sometimes get lost into disappointing thoughts, and sadness kicks in. This is when they become… Darkness. Pisces often feel betrayed and lost, and they don’t know what to do. In order to not hurt others, they seek to forget, so they won’t feel pain anymore. As the fish descends to the darkest depths of the sea, they wait there for a miracle to happen. Then, sometimes, they realise that the miracle is already there. As their Spirit is otherworldly bright, they gracefully accept their true nature and become… Ocean. This when they embrace the matrix as part of themselves and become the primordial god of Ocean. Hence, at this point, they know that power comes from their heart, and what they want can instantly happen, as they are part of something greater and wiser. They are the vast and rich ocean! Blessed be.

Originally shared on Facebook by Violet Goddess

[moonlit-djarin]

Collapse

Paring: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: Angst, injury (not very graphic but still there), Character Death, loss/grief, mild cursing, Sad Din :(

a/n: Thanks for sticking with me as I worked this one out! The Razor Crest still exists here because I couldn’t take everything from him. 

Word Count: 3.2k

The memories of waking up next to you everyday burns in the back of my head and it was all I could think about when people told me to go to my happy place but now those memories haunt me taking me to my worst place a reality without you

Calloused fingers danced over your shoulders and upper back with tenderness and care. Following the contours of you, as if they held the answers to the universe.  His arms were strong, protective, and comforting. There was no place in the entire galaxy like it, no place where you would rather be. 

Lost in his own thoughts, he draped his arm over your waist. His tumb caressing you hip softly, the other hand tracing circles on your shoulders. Placing kisses on your neck, he relished in the soft skin underneath him. Smiling as his actions earned a drawn out hum from your lips. This was his favorite time of day. The early morning, still innocent and hopefully of the day to come. The sun was sleeping, so was the moon and her stars. A moment of stillness holding his lover, in the suspended time of night and day, forgetting the outside world's existence. 

A treasured, self indulgent moment full of love and admiration in a life full of uncertainties and ever constant danger. 

The Mandalorian loved these moments to no end. Every single one. Relishing the feeling of your skin under his hands. Focusing only on you. Wishing he could capture these moments and stay in them forever, leaving the bounty hunter life behind for good. Reality harshly told him otherwise, but he could still dream. If  stars could grant his wishes, his whispers upon every star, shooting or still, would not be in vain. 

Shifting under the covers, your face turned to meet his. His grip loosened enough to let you shift before he pulled you in close again. Your partner in life. You cupped his cheek, kissing his lips with closed eyes. Exhaling a laugh at the sensation of his scruff tickling your lip. Mumbling a soft good morning, hesitant to let go. Afraid to never hold you again. 

“ Riduur-” you breathed out softly, smiling at the whine that escaped his lips as you tried to leave his grasp. He didn’t respond but cupped your face with his free hand and kissed you again tenderly. Tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Din….” You whined shoving him away playfully, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Just five more minutes cyar'ika” He breathed into your neck peppering it with more kisses. His voice still raspy, laced with sleep.

Oh how he wished he could live in that moment forever and that you never had left the safety of his arms. 

Waking up with a sharp inhale, his arm reached out to the other side of the small bed. A ritual ingrained into his subconscious over time. There was no longer a warmth next to him. Blinking in confusion, his head turned to the side, expecting to see you when he turned, but you weren’t there. With a heavy sigh the Mandalorian drew back his hand, running it through his outgrown hair. The soft curls tangled and untamed. A silent testament to the time he had spent without you. 

It had gone wrong so fast. Painful memories plaguing his mind, taking over the warm embrace of his most treasured memories of you.

Under the command of Moff Gideon, His improved dark troopers, a seemingly unstoppable force, had taken the child. Without hesitation you joined Din and the others on the journey to recover the foundling. You had grown just as attached to the adorable creature as he had. A hole ripped in your collective hearts as he was taken and you stood powerless on the earth, watching him disappear into the clouds. His found family had been ripped apart, if only that was the end of it. 

Din knew, something was going to go wrong as soon as they arrived on Morak. A gut feeling that he carried with him the entire time on the surface. He should’ve listened to that feeling and turned around immediately. If only he knew the consequences, he would’ve found another way. Anything. 

Finding the location of Moff Gideon would cost him everything. 

With a breathless groan, Din pulled himself out of his tight sleeping quarters. His shoulders heavy with guilt and anxiety. He tugged off his shirt, exposing the bandage haphazardly wrapped around his ribs to the light. He took off the old gauze and grabbed the med kit to replace it. His ribs were once littered with deep purples, outlining nasty bruises and an open wound. Over time his skin began to heal. The bruises now littered with yellow and pale red at points of impact no longer bothered him. The gash was healing nicely, the poorly done stitches seemed to be doing their job. They were never as good as yours. The soreness in ribs was a lingering physical reminder of all he had lost.

The blaster went off before he saw the dark trooper standing in front of you. Crying your name in vain, he watched your knees buckle to the ground. Your hand reached for your blaster, getting one ricochet shot in before it was kicked away out of your grasp. The dark machine took your into its mechanical grip, before discarding you against the wall. Your back took most of the impact as you were thrown against it. Landing with a thud, unmoving. Blind sighted by rage, he ripped through the dark trooper holding him with ease. Letting out a guttural cry as he fought his way over to you. The distance between you was great, but not impossible. With a fight for your survival, he would stop at no lengths until you were safe. He left none alive. Taking the beskar spear in his hands, he deftly sent it through the exposed section of the one in front of you. Watching the machine fall to the side and spudder with sparks, he couldn’t move. Every muscle, bone, nerve in his body screamed at him to kneel to his riduur. Yet he stood there frozen in shock. He had been too late. 

The whimper that fell off your lips, snapped him back to reality. He knelt in front of you, taking one look at you up close, his heart sank. Swallowing his panic, with shaking hands, he peeled away the bottom of your shirt to assess the damage done. Shit. His eyes flicked up to your face and his fear came true. Your eyes were glassy as you looked up at him wide with fear. He had failed to protect you. Cupping your cheek he pressed his helmet to your forehead. His voice was calm, calmer than you had ever heard it. 

“Cyar'ika…” it took every fiber of him not to crack. Not to shatter under the strain. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Not after all that had been taken from him. You were so close to rescuing your son. He couldn’t let you slip through his fingers. He couldn’t fail you like he failed his son. 

Walking down the hallway with you weak in his arms was something he’d never be able to forget. 

Gripping the doorframe, Din closed his eyes for a moment, biting back raw emotion. Selfishly remembering those mornings. The fleeting touches, gentle kisses and innocent desire of wanting more. The false sense of security, hopeful for a better day. His fingers twitched as he remembered the contours of your shoulder, hips and back under his calloused fingers. This isn’t real. This isn’t the reality he knew. No matter how many times he told himself that when he opened his eyes, he would see you wiping the sweat off his brow, telling him that it was a nightmare. He could never believe it. He knew that it wasn’t true. His eyes crinkled as he squeezed them shut, no longer in a passive innocent memory. His lip quivered as the pit reappeared. How could he have let you go. Anger filled his ever sinking stomach, making him feel sick and weak. His fist met the door frame and he snapped his eyes open. As if he was trying to contain the gravity of his defeat. Din threw the med kit on the bed. Letting it hit the mattress and bounce, the contents spilling out. He would fix that later, not now. Taking deep unsteady breaths, he ran his fingers through his hair. Clenching his jaw he stared at the empty ship, he felt hollow. As if he wasn’t truly present in the moment, still lingering between memories and reality. With heavy and reluctant steps, he made his way to and up the ladder to the cockpit. His eyes lingered too long on the chair that you used to sit next to him at. His fist tightening at its vacancy. He double checked the coordinates he had set with soft clicks of buttons. His fingers brushed the metal ball in its place with his fingers, and let his arm drop to his side with a silent nod. As he turned to leave he gripped the back of your chair with a gentle grip. As if they were your own shoulders. Giving the chair a gentle squeeze before retreating back to the bottom of the ship. 

“Gedet'ye Cyar'ika…” please darling. 

Your eyes fluttered open, when they were clear enough to see, they pricked with tears. You were looking up at the Mandalorian you fell in love with. His hand caressed your cheek and wiped the stray tear away with his thumb. You leaned into his touch, shakily reaching your hand to his and giving it a weak squeeze. You were leaning against the stairs in the observation deck. Your breath was labored and each exhale felt like fire escaping. Your armour lay on the floor, ripped off in a hurry. Makeshift bandages did their best to hold your broken ribs in place. Your head spun and the world seemed to spin at each movement. Entering your view the small green creature you had taken as your own, looked up at you with drooped ears. Tears threatened to spill viciously as his small hand reached out to your injured chest. Shaking your head you took his hand in yours. 

“I know buddy, you just want to help” He cooed and whined at your words, still trying to heal you. Your fingers wrapping around his, as he wrapped his around your index finger. A sob catching in your throat as you felt exhaustion wave over you stronger than any sleep you had longed for before. 

“Please” Din’s voice quivered with emotion none had heard before. One of raw defeat and heartbreak. “Hold on Cyar’ika… we need you” 

The Jedi stood in the doorway with his blue droid. Offering You a glance of sympathy and nodded his head. Confirming there was nothing he could do to save you. Just as the child ,  he could feel how weak you were becoming. Your breath hitched as your husband removed his helmet, the child in his arms. Watching silently as he said goodbye to the child. Tears threatened to roll down the Mandalorians cheek, as the doors closed on the Jedi and his child. Saying goodbye to the child was heartbreaking. The foundling was a part of him, an extension of his love. He had watched a piece of him walk out the door, in the arms of a stranger. He would watch the other piece of him rest in his arms. 

He kneeled in front of you one last time. Setting his helmet down to the side. 

“Hey handsome,” You breathed, chuckling lightly as you met his eyes. Pain limited your joy to be back in your husband's arms. 

He choked, knowing your fate. “Cyar'ika gedet'ye … stay with me” He begged softly as his eyes met yours. His heart hammering in his chest, sending his mind reeling. Panic bubbled in his throat as he felt your weak embrace. Resting his head against yours, foreheads touching as he tried to memorize every inch of your face over and over again, as if he didn’t already know it by memory. His eyes full of sorrow and pain met yours, full of love and admiration. 

“I-m not scared, its okay ” You confessed, your shaking hand smoothed out the curls sticking up on the back of his head. Movement seemed to defy the nerve endings' painful plea to stop. The ache in your heart was enough to keep you afloat for just a minute longer. 

“Please don’t leave me  -” he confessed his fear. Losing you. Failing you. Tears made their way down his cheeks freely. You were in his arms and that is all that mattered in this moment..

“Mhi solus dar'tome, Riduur ” we are one when parted, husband. You whispered, looking into the glassy brown eyes you had fallen so deeply in love with. “I love you Din Djarin” his name on your lips like honey. Sounding so sweet and lovely, just as if you had whispered it to him in the hours between day and night, instead of in the devastating moment.

“I love you” he repeated, choking through tears and breathless declarations. A desperate prayer to the stars, not unheard, they had run out of ink. Caressing your cheek, he placed a kiss on your lips, the feeling of his scruff and mustache making you smile weakly. He pulled you into his chest. Hand grasping at your back and the other cradling your head. Shaking through tearless sobs, he held you. One last time. His arms were a place like no other. Strong, protective, and comforting. They never let you down, even until the end. There was nowhere else in the entire galaxy that you would rather be. 

One last intimate moment between husband and wife

Din repeated out loud, words only shared between the two of you, in the intimacy of becoming each others. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde - "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors. “Udesiir Riddur” Rest my beloved. 

The creek of the metal shifting underneath him pulled him back to reality. He blinked the emotion out of his eyes. Turning the squeaky faucet, ice cold water gushed out in rhythmic spurts into the metal basin.The cold water woke him up with a harsh start. Gripping the metal basin with white knuckles, he let his face drip into the basin, staring at the ripping reflection of a broken man. The man staring back at him in the mirror was unrecognizable. How could he be the man you knew when you weren’t even there to witness his decay. 

His harsh breaths echoed through the hull of the ship. Curls of brown landed on the floor with a weightlessness the Mandalorian was jealous of. His heart twisted in his chest, yearning for the release he would never know. The metal scissors felt forgien in his hands as he struggled with shaking hands to grasp his short locks to trim them. 

“Din! Come on! You’ve been asking me to do this for weeks and as soon as I find a good pair of scissors at the market you chicken out! Last time it didn’t turn out THAT bad!” 

A quick side glance and eye contact through the mirror made the tension break. Like music to his ears, your laughter filled the hull of the ship. Your eyes gleamed, making his heart soar. A smile crinkled at the corners of his eye, his upper lip twitching into a steady smile. 

“Okay… maybe it wasn’t THAT bad, but you learn from your mistakes right?”

“I promise you that my skills have gotten better and I won’t give you a bad haircut this time… or try too” 

His hand caught your wrist as you neared him with your scissors. “ I’m warning you once, Cyar'ika, I won’t let you off so easily this time” 

How did you make it look so easy?

A soft, longing smile played at the corner of his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. His heart ached in the memory of your laughter, yet he couldn’t help but feel nothing but love for the image of you that burned in the back of his eyes. Images of you dancing around the ship with Grogu in your arms in nothing but shorts and a tank top. Images of you asleep and snoring in the passenger seat, or you holding a gun to the bounty who tries to escape his bond while in the hull. Images of you in his arms, peacefully asleep as he stared at the ceiling of the small sleeping quarters. The image of you clinging to his beskar, the lingering grasp it left as the exhaustion took you away from him filled the moment. He dropped the scissors, letting them rattle into the metal basin. No longer trusting them to stabilize his world. Breathe. He reminded himself with scolding words. He starred in the mirror. Standing with planted feet and steady hands against the sink. The man staring back at him, was one he hadn't seen since you had left. He looked more like himself, being covered in a bandage was only a common occurrence. One difference was the absence of you behind him. The other was visualized in the bloodshot eyes with dark circles outlining the last of sleep. His mind drifted to the lonely life ahead of him. Knowing you'll meet again. Not soon enough. 

The Mandalorian scoffed and shook his head. He made his way back to the empty mattress. Lazly putting the med kit on the floor, sweeping the fallen contents onto the floor. His head hung heavy in his hands as his elbows supported him as he let go. His throat tightened at the overflow of emotion. He laughed. A short and dry one nevertheless. The weight of the world collapsed around him. All over a pair of scissors. Guilt overtook him as he laughed without you, he hadn't saved you. It would be another sleepless night of his memories of waking up next to you everyday burning into the back of his head. Moments of bliss and weightlessness he would have to be without until he would join you. They would just be selfish moments, lingering in suspended bliss. Stealing time from reality, softening the blow to his aching chest. 

- 

thank you for reading all the way through <3 

Tags: @forever-rogue @magicrowiswritingstuff @callmehopeless @dindja​

[thenovelartist]

A Blanc Slate, Chapter 4

<Previous Next >

10. Cooking Together

Things with Adrien had been…oddly tense.

He felt even more closed off than normal. Marinette wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and say that it was just because the police and detectives had been showing up more frequently lately. After all, Gabriel’s death had been determined to be by trauma to the back of his head and not due to the burns or smoke inhalation, and therefore Adrien’s injuries became suspicious.

Adrien had confessed that his father and he did get into a physical altercation, but it had been in self-defense. Apparently, Adrien had had to face his father that day when he was finishing dragging the last of his belongings out of the house, and it had ended with them fighting in the main hall. Considering Gabriel had been found in his office, that already eased suspicion.

Secondly, Adrien swore hadn’t caused the injury to Gabriel’s skull. Adrien’s fist had apparently been broken when he threw a punch that landed on his father’s jaw, which had knocked Gabriel down so Adrien could run from the house.

His story should have left Adrien in the clear, but of course the investigation had to continue until everyone was convinced it could be closed.

While Marinette was certain this put an enormous amount of stress on Adrien, she knew the collapsing of his father’s company also had to play a part in his exhaustion. After all, Adrien was the one who had to deal with it, and she’d watched him work himself to the point of crashing out on his couch.

Maybe he had a good excuse after all for not calling Nino or Alya. He barely had time for himself.

Marinette, on the other hand, realized she’d grown too comfortable forcing herself into Adrien’s life. When she started this routine of hers, she’d initially tried to coax answers out of him or convince him to rely on his friends more. But after her last meeting with Chat over a week ago now…

She stayed quiet.

It wasn’t like Marinette believed that she was the only one at fault in that situation, but she also knew she couldn’t change Chat. The only thing she could change was herself, and when Chat had pointed out her micro-managing habits derived from her need to fix things, she couldn’t deny his words. Fixing things was what she did. It was a hard habit to break, but she would have to out of respect for the people she cared for.

So, she stopped trying to pry information out of Adrien, but she realized that not prying didn’t mean she had to stop reaching out for him. Which was why she’d started cooking for him and helping him clean his apartment while he dealt with things on the phone or emails or one of the plethora of other things that was on his plate.

She tried not to force conversation too frequently, and when they did chat, she let it flow naturally while trying not to purposefully pry. She was here to help, not to fix.

As hard as that was.

“Smells good.”

Marinette glanced up, only to see Adrien was now at her side. She gave him a smile. “You mentioned you liked this meal the last time you had it, so I thought I’d make it again.”

Absently, he nodded, staring down at the food in the pan. After a moment, he turned back to her. “Why are you doing this?”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I know you have to have better things to do than come play housewife for me.”

The heat that sprawled across her cheeks reminded her that her crush on this man still raged on. If her thirteen-year-old self could see her now, not turning into a complete and total bumbling spaz at the mere mention of the word ‘housewife’, she might die of shock. Even her current self was impressed that the most reaction he elicited from her was a blush.

But that might have to do with the fact her romantic heart had grown increasingly torn between him and another blonde man in her life.

She shrugged. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about your well-being.”

“Yeah, but… why? I’ve basically been shutting you out the last two weeks.”

“You’re stressed.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he grumbled, voice quiet as though chastising himself.

She could feel the guilt radiating off Adrien. They both knew this cold nature wasn’t his true character. Marinette was already willing to let it slide due to his circumstances, but the fact even he was willing to admit—albeit in a roundabout way—that his actions were wrong made Marinette all the more willing to forgive him. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll let it slide.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’re under stress. It’s not like you don’t have a reason.”

“No, it’s an excuse that still didn’t excuse the behavior you shouldn’t have to put up with.”

“Are you trying to say I shouldn’t bother with you?”

“Basically.”

The bluntness of his words surprised her. She stopped stirring the contents of the pan, turning her attention back to Adrien. “Why? Do you want me to stop?”

He paused, hesitating. “Yeah. You should.”

The words hurt, but there was something in his tone that prompted her to question, “Are you saying that because I’m bothering you? Or because you think you’re bothering me?”

He didn’t answer, the silence hanging in the air answering in his stead.

“You’re not bothering me,” she assured. “And unless you really want to be alone, please, stop pushing me away. I’m your friend, and I’m more than happy to do this.”

She went back to cooking, turning down the heat on the stove before she burned anything.

“What if I’m not as great as you think I am?”

Marinette turned her attention back to him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

When she met Adrien’s gaze, those green eyes of his were somewhat softer than they had been. More open and raw, allowing her to see the extent of the pain he was in. It broke her heart that her immediate thought was his pain seemed to rival Chat’s. “What if I’m not the guy you thought you knew over the last few years?”

Marinette bit her lip, mulling over his words and how to respond to them. “Well… I can’t get to know you again if you keep pushing me away.”

The surprise in his eyes hurt, like he didn’t expect her to be so willing with a second chance. “What if you won’t like what you see?”

“That’s for me to decide, not you to decide for me.”

Again, a stretch of silence settled between them.

“Hey,” Marinette began again. “I know I shouldn’t pry, and if I am then tell me, but are you pushing us away for some reason? Maybe because you don’t think you’re worthy to be our friend?”

Adrien blinked, then turned away, seemingly unable to look at her.

Carefully, she reached out and lightly touched his shoulder, just as a reminder she was there. “We’re not going to abandon you, Adrien. Good people don’t just abandon their friends in the middle of trouble. And so, no matter what happened with your dad, we’re not going to leave you behind.”

“But why do you want to take on my shit?”

“Because that’s what friends do,” Marinette said. “Because humans are weird and decide that they enjoy the presence of certain people in their life enough that sticking around through the shit is worth it to keep that person around.”

“Even if that person isn’t the same person you once knew?”

“Yeah,” she easily said. “Besides, I know you’ll change and grow up, but I’ll bet that at heart, you’re still the same person we love.”

Adrien was silent for a long while, long enough for Marinette to finish cooking dinner. When she pulled out plates, Adrien took them from her.

“I’ll serve you tonight,” he said. “You can go have a seat. Thank you.”

With a smile, Marinette let him take the dishes. “You’re welcome.”

11. Take a Break

Marinette was sketching in her room when she heard a knock on her trap door.

At first, she thought she was imagining things, but when she heard the knock again, she was up like a shot. She flung open the trap door with a bang, shocked but thrilled to see Chat there, crouched before her so as to be on her level.

“Hey stranger,” she said with a wide grin she couldn’t tamp down.

He gave her a hint of a grin. “I’m not staying long. I’m just taking a little break from work and thought I’d come by to apologize for the last time I was here.”

Marinette frowned. “I’d like to apologize, too. You were right; I was being overly nosy. I do like fixing things, but I don’t have the ability to ‘fix’ you or force my help on you. Sorry.”

Chat shook his head. “I know you meant well,” he said. “I was being pretty nasty to you. A friend kinda made me rethink my behavior recently, so I’m sorry, too.”

With a smile, Marinette extended her hand. “Truce?”

When Chat glanced at her hand, Marinette felt a blush come to her cheeks. “Oh, um, I won’t try to drag you in or anything. But… uh… how about a fist bump?”

The smile that crossed Chat’s lips was small and sad. The first thing that came to Marinette’s mind was that she’d just reminded him of, well, her. Just her in spots. The “her” he was avoiding. And while it still killed her a little on the inside to not understand why, she knew she really couldn’t push it out of respect for him. Maybe he’d come to her, Ladybug her, when he was ready. She could hope, at least.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gently tapped her knuckles with his. Marinette had to bite back the ‘pound it’ that formed automatically on the tip of her tongue.

“Can I interest you in a cookie or two?” she asked instead. “I promise I won’t pry or anything.”

He shook his head and stood. “No, not today. I just wanted to swing by and apologize.”

Disappointing as it was, Marinette couldn’t complain considering that he took the time to come back again at all. “Do you think you’ll come back?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

“I’d be happy if you did.”

He turned to her, that tiny smile still on his lips. “Thought you said you weren’t going to try to ‘fix’ me.”

“I’m not ‘fixing’ you. I’m just offering you a happy place to hang out that serves cookies.”

He huffed, smile flashing brighter for a second. He still wasn’t back to the kitty she knew, but this was much better than before. “Noted. Thanks.”

12. Cuddles

It wasn’t that day that he swung by. Or the next. Or the day after that. But four days later, Chat did drop in on her balcony.

And Marinette was more than happy to see him. “Hey, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Terrible joke,” he brushed off, leaning back against her balcony railing.

She shifted in her chair so she could face him better. “I know. You’re the punny one of the two of us.”

He just shrugged.

“Well, since you’re here,” Marinette began, “want a treat?”

“Isn’t the saying ‘feed a cat, and it will keep coming back’?”

“Something along those lines,” Marinette said with a grin, standing from her balcony chair. “Anything you want in particular?”

“Something sweet that will make the ringing in my ears go away,” he said, his eyes closing and ears dropping with exhaustion. “I’ve been getting yelled over the phone at all day.”

With a sad nod, Marinette headed down the stairs to collect a chocolate pastry and bottle of water before slipping back up to the balcony to deliver it to Chat.

When he lit up at the sight of the pastry, Marinette could feel relief bubble up within her. This was her Chat, the one who loved food unlike anyone she’d ever met. Snacks and sweets had always been met with excited grins and sparkling eyes that could rival a cartoon character. Today’s reaction might not have been that extreme, but it was still there. Marinette would count it as a win.

“So, work’s hard?” she asked, plopping down on her chair again.

“Hellish like you would not believe,” he muttered, ripping off a bit of the pastry and popping it in his mouth.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I expected this. Sucks but whatcha gonna do?”

“Well, cuddles are out of the question, so I guess just feed you sweet things?”

Chat huffed a laugh, his smile the brightest it had been since turning into Chat Blanc. Marinette couldn’t help but grin wider at the sight. “I guess if you promise to feed me, I’ll come around again,” he said.

“I’d like that.”

He nodded before popping the last bite into his mouth. “Would you mind if I hung around here a bit? I just want to escape my phone and computer at the moment.”

“Stay as long as you’d like, Chat.”

He slid down to sit on the ground. “Appreciate that, Princess.”

[bipercabeth]

percabeth | hurt/comfort | 3k | commissioned by @mericatblackwood 

a post-TLO fic in which we finally Let Percy Cry

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with anger—her own or others’. She can take her problems to the sword fighting arena or bury her nose in blueprints for weeks, but she’ll still come away with a tight jaw. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands when they aren’t clenched into fists. 

So when the tendons in Percy’s hands strain around his silverware at dinner, when his eyes are downcast and he’s closed off in that I’m-angry-but-trying-desperately-not-to-look-it way, Annabeth can only fumble over a painfully casual attempt at conversation and watch as he retreats to his cabin. He doesn’t even make an appearance at the campfire. The flames have been low in the weeks following the Battle of Manhattan, but they’re rising tonight. 

The problem isn’t reading Percy; it never has been. Annabeth knows what’s hurting him and why. It’s the fixing part she struggles with.

continue on AO3 

or 

He’s been angry for the better part of a year, often because of the ambiguous impending doom of his sixteenth birthday, but not exclusively so. Annabeth caused more than her fair share of his anger, she knows. Rachel had been there to provide an escape in her place, but Annabeth supposes part of being Percy’s girlfriend means that it’s her who gets to provide solace now. Not that she didn’t before, but. There’s a deeper commitment now. He was always her person—as she was his—but it’s out in the open. She’s the first line of defense—she wants to be the first line of defense from danger, be it physical or emotional. 

So Annabeth dons her Yankees cap and sneaks to Cabin 3, replaying the conversation where Percy shrugged and said he’s fine when she tried to call him out. He isn’t fine. She knows that much. 

That doesn’t mean she expects to find him curled in on himself, bedsheets tangled around his middle. It shouldn’t be possible to look small in a twin bed, but he looks so small—not at all like the hero the other campers celebrate over the campfire. It’s a stark reminder that he’s only sixteen. 

He lifts his head when the door opens, his eyes wide. Annabeth remembers that she’s invisible and knocks her cap off her head. She’ll pick it up later. Right now Percy’s breath stutters at the sight of her, his eyes shining like open wounds. 

Annabeth can do dry anger: the cold, unfeeling rage that motivates, propels, inspires. But wet anger—the paralyzing, painful kind you cannot power through—leaves her scrambling for purchase. Annabeth is a runner. She doesn’t sit in anything. 

The sheets rustle as Percy closes his eyes and takes refuge in his bed like a dog hiding his wounded paw. Despite his efforts, he cannot disguise his limp.

“Please don’t hide from us,” Annabeth pleads. 

“I’m not hiding from you,” he says mildly, not lifting his head from the pillow. “I can’t hide from you.” 

“But you came here.” 

“I knew you would come.” Percy shrugs, casually stating as fact something Annabeth didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago. 

In this moment, Annabeth envies Percy’s connection with Grover. She would kill to have a way to funnel her emotions into Percy’s brain in a way he could understand. All the love and concern she can’t articulate could exist in the world without the struggle of finding the right words. 

Still, Percy specified her. Grover is out there at the campfire, probably sensing Percy’s pain like a twinge at the base of his neck, but Annabeth is the one Percy can’t hide from. 

The thought propels her to the edge of his bed, sitting in the curve of mattress his torso folds around. His knees press into her right thigh as he shifts to close the space between them. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that he left this space for her to occupy. 

On her other side is his face, youthful and soft in the moonlight streaming through the window. Blue light for a blue boy, swimming in blue sheets that should shelter him instead of giving him something to fist his hands in. His arms cage his chest as if his heart is trying to escape it. 

Annabeth reaches for his hand, drawing it to rest between hers. If his heart is a burden, it’s not one he has to bear alone. They held the weight of the sky once. They can handle this. 

For all their shared burdens, the one that weighs on Percy now is uniquely his. Annabeth is a hero, but not the hero. Shouldering “child of Athena’s final stand” for a few weeks is not the same as “hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap” looming overhead for four years. Percy’s very existence has been dissected and politicized since the moment he was claimed, whereas Annabeth could’ve chosen a quieter, quest-free life if that’s what she wanted. She chose to pick it up. Percy’s choice was to stand under a weight that would otherwise crush him. 

It occurs to Annabeth that everyone who has shouldered this burden before him is dead. The heroes whose birth was prophesied, whose death was prophesied, died fighting their battles centuries ago. There are no words for that. 

Words are Percy’s strong suit, anyway. He has always known what to say to calm his friends down. Annabeth can’t recall the last time she saw someone do the same for him. 

She squeezes his hand and focuses on being here, where it matters. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, knowing he doesn’t. Or rather, knowing he doesn’t want her to have to talk about it. 

As expected, Percy burrows deeper into the bed. Half his face is squished in his pillow; the sole eye Annabeth can see fixes on the empty space in front of him. He gives her a noncommittal shrug she doesn’t buy. But at least he won’t lie outright. 

Silence follows. It nips at Annabeth’s ankles, nagging her to move, to do something, but she decides to sit with the discomfort. The confession he’s suppressing is a palpable thing: Annabeth watches it stutter in his lungs and claw its way up his windpipe. Percy will tell her when he’s ready, and she’ll be here when he is.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he says, still not meeting Annabeth’s eye. That’s okay, though. He’s getting the words out. That’s what matters, right?

“What kind of dreams?” 

Percy grimaces. “Not the useful kind. Nightmares, mostly. About the war.” He doesn’t breathe between the sentences, just grits his teeth. 

“It’s over, Percy. The war is over. We can rest now,” she tries. 

“They can’t.”

Dread settles over Annabeth, but she asks anyway. “Who can’t?” 

“Beckendorf,” he chokes, his hand tightening in hers. “Silena, Castor, Lee, Michael—I killed him, Annabeth. I told the others where to go, and they died because of me, but I killed Michael.” 

Annabeth opens her mouth to interrupt, but the names keep coming. Percy steamrolls through the tears, leaving her to watch his anger limp along until it collapses into the worn bed of sadness.

“Ethan shouldn’t have been on Olympus. I should’ve hit him harder, then he might have stayed down. And Zoe—I knew she was going to die. We found out who her dad was, and I knew and I couldn’t do anything. And Bianca wasn’t supposed to stop the automation. It was supposed to be me. She could’ve come home to Nico, and maybe then—” 

“Percy…” 

He shrinks with each word, looking every inch the child Annabeth found on Half-Blood Hill: bruised, tired, and crying for his mother. “My mom died because of me. I didn’t even save her—I saved the world, because that’s what I had to do. Hades let her go, but she still died.” 

Annabeth gapes at him uselessly. To love Percy is to know intimately the amount of guilt and unearned blame he assigns himself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. 

“You saved your mom,” she reminds him. “You saved her and the world. You shouldn’t have had to do either, but you did.” 

“But I didn’t save the others.” 

“No one could’ve.” 

“I should’ve. When you fight the way I can, the people who die around you die because you can’t get to them fast enough. If I had just been faster, I...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why do I get to survive when they don’t?” 

A lifetime of war games and war alike, and that question is the worst thing Annabeth has ever heard. Percy is just laying there, still not meeting her eye, and she doesn’t know how to help him. 

Terrified of how he’ll answer that question, Annabeth leans down to kiss him before he can. She tries to pour everything into it despite not having too much experience. Kissing Percy so far has been fun, sweet, and definitely trial and error. Nothing this desperate, this needy. She inhales him like she can steal the painful words from his lungs before he says them. 

Annabeth tastes tears and pulls back, terrified that she’s done something wrong. Instead, Percy’s hand catches the back of her neck, keeping her close enough for their foreheads to touch. It’s there, inches away from his trembling lips, that Annabeth finds the words.

“You saved me,” she pants. “From the Furies on the bus, at the Lotus hotel, when Polyphemus knocked me out—” her fingers travel to his grey streak— “when we held up the sky, at Mount St. Helens, on Olympus… Too many times to count. From the first day we met, you gave me hope.” She strokes his cheek and wipes away the tears, feeling her own eyes well up. “Every day. You save me every day.” 

Percy clings to her hand on his cheek and releases a deep breath, fully exhaling for the first time all night. “You save me just as often.”

“So let me do it now, yeah?” 

Percy looks at her, green eyes wet and wide, and nods carefully. Annabeth sighs her relief against his forehead before pressing her lips there with an aching softness. There is more to say, but she takes a moment to just hold him. The Fates deemed her his anchor to mortality, so anchor him she will. 

“You survived because you were saddled with the weight of the world at twelve years old and the gods owe you a fucking break.” She looks at the ceiling, almost daring thunder to rumble. The sky stays silent. “More campers are alive than dead after a war with impossible odds, Percy. You saved so many, but you can’t save everyone. None of them would want you to blame yourself for this. We have to honor their sacrifice—and, in some cases, their choice.” 

That breaks him. The last of his anger gives way to painful sobs, the ugly kind that squeeze your lungs like a spasming fist. In this moment, he is not the wounded dog, but rather the limp itself: the awkward cadence of his breath reminiscent of limbs struggling to hold new weight. 

“What do you need?” she asks. “What can I do?” 

The mattress jostles as Percy scoots closer, freeing up part of the bed. “Could you stay here with me? Wake me up if it gets bad? If you have to go back to your cabin, that’s fine—” 

He’s cut off by Annabeth kicking off her shoes and crawling into bed behind him. There isn’t much room on the twin mattress, but she tucks her knees into the backs of his and wraps around him, and they fit well enough. She settles quickly to avoid overthinking, glad for the excuse to be close to him. 

This is entirely unfamiliar territory, as Annabeth discovers when she tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She’s never spooned someone before. 

Percy senses her hesitation and laces their fingers, pulling her arm around his torso. Annabeth squeezes him tight, like maybe lining up their hearts will calm the frantic beat of his. Between that and her body protecting his Achilles spot, she’s got him. 

It’s a little awkward, the silence that follows. They haven’t exactly had pillowtalk before, let alone while calming Percy during a breakdown. Annabeth doesn’t know how to hold him to make all that go away, so she clings to him as tight as she can. 

“You’re like a boa constrictor,” he chuckles. It’s a wet, half-hearted laugh that tells Annabeth he still has more to say. He’s at his worst when he’s deflecting. 

Still, she moves to loosen up. “Sorry.” 

 He tugs at her hand. “No! I mean, it’s nice. I feel… safe.” He pauses, his breath deep. “I always feel safe with you.” 

Annabeth hasn’t kissed much of him apart from his lips, but she liked the comfort of kissing his forehead. She tightens her grip again and presses her lips to his shoulder, just because she can. 

“Sometimes they’re about you,” Percy whispers. 

Annabeth lays her cheek on his shoulder, trying to see his face. “What?”

“The nightmares. Sometimes they’re about losing you.” 

“Percy, look at me.”

The tension falls from his spine as he flips around, tangling further in the mess of sheets. Annabeth smooths everything out for him before laying on her back and tugging him close. He ends up halfway on top of her: his arm around her waist, her hands in his hair, their legs a tangled mess. 

She holds his face, thumbs swiping at his cheeks gently. He may be invulnerable, but he’s a fragile thing. Maybe even more so with the invulnerability. 

“Tell me about them.” 

“What? No. Annabeth, I’m not— I can’t talk about you d— about losing you. I can’t say those words.” 

Annabeth just holds his face and his gaze. “You should. Talk about it here, safe, with me, and maybe it won’t be so bad when you fall asleep. I’ll be here the whole time.” 

The tension in Percy’s body is palpable as he resists Annabeth’s coaxing. But slowly, she slips her hands to his scalp and massages him there, leeching the stress from his body as he sinks forward into her. His weight presses Annabeth into the mattress. It’s comforting, having him above her. She can feel every breath he takes, every time his heart beats in his chest. 

“We’ve almost died a ton of times, but that was always together.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs against her collarbone. “But then on the bridge with Ethan, when you took the knife…” 

Percy takes a shuddering breath. 

“Sometimes we get you to the hotel and Will can’t help. Or I can’t find Will. Or Blackjack can’t grab you. Or—” his grip tightens around her, and his tears fall on her skin. “Sometimes you, you die right there at my feet. You jump a second earlier, and Ethan hits you in the chest, and I kill him for it. I kill everyone on the bridge. Most times it’s an accident, just the river listening to me, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t know. Both scare me.” 

One of Annabeth’s hands moves to his Achilles spot of its own accord. Percy gasps into her neck, where some tears fall as well. He’d fought his way through his confession, coming from somewhere so deep inside him that the deluge of tears was unavoidable. She hopes to distract him from them now.

“You saved me on that bridge,” she reminds him, her free hand scratching lightly at the base of his neck. 

“But what if I didn’t?” he breathes. He sounds so small. 

“Doesn’t matter. You did. Anything else is a hypothetical.” 

“But in the future—”

“Uh uh.” Annabeth’s chin taps Percy’s temple as she shakes her head. “It’s like strategy. You can think and think and think and plan your whole life out, but it’s not real. You never know what’s going to happen until your feet hit the floor. Are your feet on the floor?” 

“No,” he grumbles.

“No,” she echoes. “You’re in bed. You get to rest now.” 

Percy is still for countless heartbeats. Right when Annabeth thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, he props himself up on one elbow to look at her. Even in the lowlight, Annabeth can make out his puffy eyes and wet cheeks. 

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” He sniffles, his nose wrinkling adorably as he does, and his eyes bore into Annabeth’s. “You’re my girlfriend too, but you’re my best friend first. Always.” 

Annabeth hears that statement for what it is and grins despite the tears prickling in her own eyes. “And you’re mine. Always.” 

A smile breaks out on his face like dawn at this late hour, brightening up the small space between them. Exhaustion sets in to close it, drawing Percy to settle back into Annabeth’s neck with the slow pull of gravity. 

They drift off in a bed made to be slept in alone as they share a burden made for one person. Newness tinges the corners of this memory, this moment Annabeth finds herself missing before it’s gone: Percy asleep above her, finally getting the peaceful rest he deserves. Part of Annabeth wants to stay up all night to make sure he gets the most of it, to watch his back as she promised to do, but her eyelids are heavy with sleep in no time. 

What sticks with Annabeth is this: Percy’s breath slow and steady against her neck, his heartbeat reliable as ever as it syncs with her own. The world is warm and safe despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that’s what makes this moment untouchable. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, here they are. Together in every way that matters. 

[swanhookheart]

The Devil’s Knocking on Heaven’s Door - A Lucifer Season 5A analysis (and a theory)

This post contains a ton of spoilers for season 5A of Lucifer, so be warned! 

Why aren’t we talking about the fact that, in 5x01, when Luci was standing on the balcony in SOB’s Hell loop and missing LA, he said “City of Angels” as opposed to “Los Angeles”? 

Later in the episode, when he was still in Mr. SOB’s Hell loop at the house, he said, “[You’re afraid of your own family] ‘cause you know, if you go through that door, it’s only a matter of time before you screw up again... It is inevitable. Sooner or later, you are going to disappoint them allllllll over again!” 

Then, his entire demeanor changed (in the fashion we’ve come to expect from this show when Lucifer realizes something from a case applies to his situation, too). Resigned, he said, “And so you’d rather stay away for all eternity.”

It was subtle here. The situation obviously applied to Lucifer, and SOB picked up on that. Lucifer, too, was making excuses about his duty and needing to stay away--but not from Earth, and not from the Detective. He said as much in 5x03.

“I spent thousands of years in Hell, imagining our reunion.”  He was planning to return to Earth, eventually. The whole time, he was planning on someday coming back to her, getting her back. So, “you’d rather stay away for all eternity” wouldn’t really fit, would it?

What other place would Lucifer be talking about? What other place might he have been making excuses to avoid? What other “home” might this situation have reminded him of? Hint: it rhymes with “leaven”.

Couple this with the fact that, throughout this entire 8-episode batch, not once did Lucifer flinch or get angry when someone said, “Oh my God”. No quips, no snaps. The only time we saw him get angry at God was when He sent the message to Amenadiel that Hell no longer required a warden. But Lucifer wasn’t just mad at that; he seemed... jealous. There was hurt in his eyes when he said, “Dad spoke to you?”

The real pièce de résistance of the season, imho, came in 5x08, when God came down to Earth. 

By this point, Lucifer had already had the talk with Chloe about being vulnerable, lowering his guard, and letting her in. They’d talked about him CHOOSING to be vulnerable around certain people and how that can manifest in physical ways. 

What happened at the end of the episode was SUBTLE--so subtle, in fact, that I wouldn’t blame anyone for not noticing it. But it connected with that conversation just a bit.

When he saw Dad, one might have expected “Lucifer the Rebel” to get angry, launch into a rage, engage in all sorts of aggressive, defensive behaviors. 

Nope! 

When Lucifer saw God standing there, his expression changed to one of not anger, but pain. Maybe he was feeling sadness, guilt, fear, or all of the above. But two things happened.

First, in a matter of milliseconds, Lucifer went from angry and fighting with Michael to being on the verge of tears after seeing God. 

Then, HE LOWERED HIS WINGS ever so slightly--a straight-up visual for lowering his defenses. That’s not an action someone takes out of anger. 

This makes me believe that we’re in the home stretch of this show (and indeed, I guess we were supposed to be). Lucifer is almost ready to seek his father’s forgiveness, to make peace with his family, and come home to Heaven. 

One of the reasons for that hasn’t been explicitly said on the show yet, but it’s there: Chloe Decker is mortal. She will die someday. And ffs, this dude is IN FRIGGING LOVE with her. He’s been to hell for her, taken bullets for her, jumped in front of an ax for her. He’d do literally anything for her, and to be near her. But if he doesn’t make peace with Dad, he won’t be able to follow when she goes to Heaven, and he’ll lose her forever. 

This is why I think his powers are going haywire. He’s realized this is his greatest desire--to be with her, to find redemption. But he’s TERRIFIED he’ll fail; he won’t be worthy of his father’s forgiveness, and he’ll lose Chloe. This is why he’s keeping her at arm’s length. This is why his mojo won’t work right. His greatest desire coincides with his greatest fear, so he’d rather distance himself from his desires because that’s what he DOES. He exists in a near-constant state of denial, and for the first time this season, we’ve seen him actively working to unravel those patterns with Chloe’s help. 

We’re going to see that work continue in 5B; I know it. This is the batch of episodes where I’d be willing to bet money that we are going to see A) the showdown between God and Lucifer we’ve waited years for, and B) the reconciliation he both needs and deserves. 

And yes, he does deserve it. Chloe is the only mortal who sees him for who he truly is, right? She sees him as overwhelmingly GOOD, an angel, even. That’s the truth, though he’s too mired in his self-loathing to see that just yet. But ooooooohhhhh, it’s coming, and it’s going to be AMAZING.

Okay, anyway, I just had to write all this down. Thanks for reading.

[kpopnlockit]

Tethered

This is a very sad and personal piece to me but I wanted to share because it has been some of my best writing lately. It may be triggering to some so those who do not do well mentions with angst, depression, co-dependent relationships or eating disorder may want to steer clear. - Admin O

Your heart hurt. In both the physical and figurative sense. Your eyes burned and you knew they were bloodshot from the crying you had been doing. You were emotionally exhausted to the point of numbness. You could feel the way your facial features sat neutral. Your mouth was dry from dehydration and your stomach ached from hunger. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat or drink. You hated everything at the moment, including yourself.

It was how you coped. Self-destruction. You knew it wasn’t your fault. But it felt like it was. So you punished yourself. You knew it was a remnant from the unloving upbringing you had. Internalizing the blame that had been shifted to you and letting it consume you whole until there was nothing left but a shell, or rather a puppet, that went along with the motions. You were never taught how to handle things like this. You were only taught that everyone else’s misery was your fault.

Age didn’t change anything. At times like these, you were still that teen that didn’t eat and sat alone in their room with a pen and paper and lived in made up fantasies where you weren’t even a character. It wasn’t for a lack of knowing better though. You knew you were doing it and you knew that you were blameless, but that didn’t change the pain. So you did what you always did to alleviate it.

Even as anxiety sat heavy on your chest like a boulder crushing your rib cage, you let your glazed over eyes not focus on any one thing and retreated into your mind. The safest and most dangerous place on Earth. It was such a shame to waste such a beautiful day wallowing in feelings that you tried to ignore and lock away. They always slammed into you like an eighteen wheeler on the highway when you could have been making better use of your time. You could have been out on a shopping trip with a friend or taking a walk alone through the neighborhood basking in the summer breeze on your skin. Instead you sat wretched, under a blanket on the couch in your apartment.

You wanted to laugh at yourself, at your foolishness. How could you stay the same while everyone grew, changed, was happy? You felt a headache building in your forehead as you thought about how you always let it get to this point. You took everyone’s shit until you imploded, hurting yourself and never those that deserved it. That was the type of person you were. Rather, that was the type of person you were molded to be. A scapegoat. A pathetic thing that was always smiling until one day it became too much and all you could do was sit in one place and sob into a towel. Because if anyone heard you, it would be an inconvenience to them. It would be a nuisance to let them feel the guilt for what they had done to you.

It was always engrossing when you let yourself feel. It ate up your time and energy. It ate you up. That’s why you hated it. But you couldn’t avoid it. You would let it pile up, adding more and more to the finite box you kept your emotions in until they burst forth, spilling all over to the point where you couldn’t shove them back in. You had to let them sit with you, you had to feel them, when it got that bad. And without fail, it was too much.

Feeling was never something you were good at. It didn’t seem like anyone around you was good at it either. More often than not, for them it came out as anger, doors being slammed, cars being revved, shouting matches that the neighbors could hear. Encompassing bouts of rage put on display for others. Maybe that was the healthier way to sort it out. Explode like a firework and let others deal with the ashes. You wondered why you couldn’t be like that, why you suffered alone? You knew why though. You didn’t want others to deal with your problems like you had to deal with theirs. Actually, what you dealt with was them not dealing with their problems. That was what was the most painful. It had nothing to do with you.

As your emotions had nothing to do with others, you let them devour you in solitude. There would be no catharsis after though. This you knew. It would just be nothingness. An empty box that would get filled to the brim again and repeat the whole cycle. You would try to fill the void with junk food and burn away the anxiety with boiling tea. It would be a temporary fix, as always. Momentary, makeshift solace.

When would you deserve real happiness? When would you think you deserved it?

You wanted it to have been raining. Maybe it would have been more endurable if it was raining. Instead it felt like the sun was mocking you, reminding you that you could not enjoy the beauty of that day. That you wallowed and regretted and the world went on. You’d see pictures of people out at the restaurant you had put on makeup that morning to go to. They’d be eating funnel cakes at the fair you’d been talking about all week. Jealousy caused a dull ache in your belly.

Why couldn’t you get over it? Why were you stuck for hours, unable to fake a smile or savor anything? Everything was so easy when it fit in the box. Food didn’t taste like soot and you could actually cherish the memories you made.

You could hear him rattling around in the bedroom, trying to sleep but failing. Each creak of the bed, every movement of his limbs, irked you. His ridiculousness was the cause of all of this and he wasn’t even sorry. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember why you argued. He couldn’t even make sense when you were exchanging verbal blows. He was too delirious from his depression fog. He couldn’t be reasoned with. That left you, rational and frustrated, to deal with each feeling, each articulated assault that ricocheted off of him and back into your face. It was talking to a brick wall. You had known that when you fought back and that was what brought on the tears. Hot wet pellets of raw anger.

In moments of clarity, he promised dates and travel. Then within minutes he was unable to speak or function and your hopes were trampled. That’s likely what bruised the most. Him letting you anticipate only to be left there with shaky hands and a broken heart. You wanted to live. You wanted to experience everything he talked about. You wanted to be outside, in the good weather, doing something, anything. But he could never deliver. And you knew it wasn’t him. It was his depression. It weighed him down and shrouded him in an air of darkness. You could barely make out the man you fell in love with through it.

It was painful now though and you couldn’t see when it wouldn’t be any longer. Could you keep enduring? It felt like you had been enduring forever. Would he feel abandoned? But you too, were broken. You suffered alongside him. Could he see that? Did he know how you struggled to stuff everything into that box day in and day out? Did he know that you sat grieving the loss of him meters away from him?

Fresh tears fell. Your nose ran. Your stomach grumbled. You had started as half and were made whole by him, or so you thought. Now it felt like you were both a quarter, coming together to barely make a half. How had it come to this? When had it? Had he whittled you down or had he been three-quarters and was now not?

He hadn’t showered in over a week. When he asked if you wanted to go out to eat that day as you lay cuddled in his arms, you asked if he would wash his hair. He said yes. Then as you put on eyeliner an hour later, he said he was waiting to leave, you could drive. You asked if he was going to shower. He didn’t answer. He was ready to go to the restaurant. You could tell he was in a fog. You finished your face anyways, hope still present. Then he asked if he looked bad, feeling that was what you were insinuating. You said no. He asked why then did he need to bathe? Not thinking, you said you could see his dandruff and it would be nice to go to eat without that. Then it evolved into a fight, raised voices and you trying to talk sense into a senseless being.

When he flip-flopped, so did your heart. You felt like you were drowning with a weight tied to your ankle only pulling you down further. You didn’t have the strength to pull both of you up. You remembered the picture of your friend, with her husband and children eating at a diner that morning. Why could you not have a simple existence like that? You didn’t want too much, you thought. Just...to live. To not feel tethered. To be happy together, in each other’s presence. Like what had been.

You were living in the past. Perhaps the man from back then was still somewhere near but you couldn’t see him. Holding on blindly was stupid. There was no future guaranteed. It didn’t seem like rolling the dice on it was worth it either. Yet, here you were. Listening to him tossing and turning while you cried, wishing things were different, wishing he were different. You waited, and would most likely keep waiting.

[evermorehaikyuu]

~[Congratulations]~

Song: Congratulations from the Hamilton soundtrack

Word Count: 1799

Warnings: Cheating

A/N: I wanted angst. This has been in my drafts for the longest time and then inspiration flashed out of nowhere. For some reason, I was reminded of my own sister, that’s probably why I wrote this. Watch me do Kuguri next or something. 

~

"The charge against me was a connection with one Oikawa Tooru for purposes of improper speculation. My real crime was an amorous connection to his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent. I had fluent meetings with her, most of them at my own house. Mrs. Tsukishima, with our children, being absent on a visit to her father…"

Tsukishima Kei was staring at the pamphlet he had written. Why had he done this? Why was he so stupid as to believe that with a few words everything would be normal again? Everything he had done, everything he had worked for all came down to a single option: yes or no. And he didn’t say no.

All he could do was stay in his office in shame, knowing that once his wife came back from her respite, he would not bear to live any longer. Just to see the pain in her eyes--

The door to his office slammed open. There she was, the sister of the wife he held near and dear to his heart even though he broke hers, Y/N L/N. 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima stood up to walk over to her and take her hand, but Y/N ripped her hand out of his grip. “Tsukishima. Congratulations.” 

If he was scared of his wife’s reaction, he was even more terrified of Y/N’s ripostes. An intelligent woman with fidelity to her younger sisters and her sisters’ partners and the richest man in the city as her father, she was a force to be reckoned with. The first thought that came to his head was, I messed up. Horribly. 

Y/N had a smile on her face, but it wasn’t the smile that you would give a friend. It was the smile that held so much rage behind it, it would be a miracle if she didn’t explode. “You have created a new kind of stupid, a damage you can never undo kind of stupid, an ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.” She turned around to look at him, grinning maniacally before letting out a laugh that was terrifying to hear. “‘Truly, you didn’t think this through?’ kind of stupid.” 

All he could do was not stare at her for fear that if he dared look into her eyes, she’d be Medusa and turn him into stone. Tsukishima looked down at the floor, a sheet of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He may have been taller, but at that point, he felt like the underdog, the shorter person.

Y/N strode over to him and stayed a foot away from him, crossing her arms. Usually, someone crossing their arms meant that they were taking a defensive stance. Not Y/N. It seemed as if she was taking an offense. “Let’s review.” She closed her eyes and put her hand on her forehead. “You took a rumor, a few, maybe two people knew and refuted an affair of which no one has accused you.”

The pamphlet was in Y/N’s sight and range, making her fire up and put more venom behind her words as she grabbed the object that destroyed Tsukishima completely. She shoved it into his arms and spit, “I begged you to take a break, you refused to.” 

Her maniacal expression was back as she extended her arms as if asking for a hug. Tsukishima stared at the pamphlet in his hands before looking at her face for any contrition. There was none. She was more loyal to her sister than anyone else. “So scared of what your enemy will do to you.” She jammed her finger in his chest, making him take a step back. “But you’re the only enemy you ever seem to lose to.”

She was right. Tsukishima had always found a new enemy, a new rival to step on to get to the highest point in his life but there was always one enemy that he couldn’t defeat: himself. Y/N was standing by the window, looking outside as if waiting for someone or something. “You know why Kageyama can do what he wants?” She ripped the curtains closed and whipped around to glare at him. “He doesn’t dignify schoolyard taunts with a response!” 

Kageyama was not the smartest man in the universe, according to Tsukishima. But he did know how to handle taunts and that was by ignoring them. Meanwhile, Tsukishima went through a whole process in order to ruin the person who dared sneer at him. It was exhausting and yet he never stopped.

Y/N laughed at his facial expression and walked behind him, staring at the back of his head. “So yeah, congratulations!”

Tsukishima’s head hung again as he tried to think of a reason why he had an affair. “Y/N…”

She cut him off again, determined to ruin him. “You’ve redefined your legacy! Congratulations!”

That’s when he snapped. He worked every single day and night to perfect his legacy to pass on to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As intimidated as he was by Y/N, there was no way he would let her say something bad about something he had tried to do all of his life and destroyed people just to get it. He whipped around and snarled, “It was an act of political sacrifice!” 

The look in Y/N’s eyes made him falter. He had not expected for this to happen, she had always seemed so tough but right now, her armor was down. “Sacrifice?” No, it wasn’t down. Something had happened to her and Tsukishima was careless enough to start her down that path.

Y/N slowly walked over to his desk and ran her finger along the table. “I languished in a loveless marriage in London, I lived only to read your letters.”

That came as a shock to him. Why would she marry someone she didn’t love? Then it clicked. She loved her sister more than anything and would do anything to keep her happy, something Tsukishima himself couldn’t do at all. “I look at you and think, ‘God, what have we done with our lives and what did it get us?’” 

Oh. Tsukishima hesitated as the realization sank in. Y/N had been in love with him. She had been in love with him and yet, even then, she had decided to do something for her sister that she could never unravel. “That doesn’t wipe the tears or the years away but I’m back in the city and I’m here to stay.” 

She got closer to him, looking up at him with a tender look in her eyes. If he hadn’t known better, Y/N would’ve kissed him. “You know what I’m here to do?”

“Y/N…” He tried to reach for her hand for the second time, but she strode backwards from him, glowering at him.

“I’m not here for you.” That’s what pained Tsukishima more than anything. Y/N had always been there for him. The letters they exchanged always had some sort of an inside joke or the start of a discussion and he thought that she would always be there for him, no matter what. Tsukishima had forgotten that her loyalty lay more with her family than for him.

Y/N turned to look at him, a new spark in her eyes. “I know my sister like I know my own mind, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. And a million years ago, she said to me--” Y/N hugged herself, as if to give herself the comfort no one had ever given her. “‘This one’s mine.’ So I stood by.” She rose to her full height again, anger laced in her words. “Do you know why?!”

Tsukishima had messed up horribly and he knew it. Now, as he faced a furious older sister, he tried to go back to the time where he could’ve said no. It was his fault. Every single time he hurt Y/N’s little sister, it wasn’t because of her or because of politics, it was because of him.

Y/N grabbed his wrist roughly, making him stop in his tracks. With tears in her eyes, she snapped, “I love my sister more than anything in this life! I will choose her happiness over mine every time! S/N is the best thing in this life!” Her fingernails were digging into his skin, hurting him. The physical pain was so much better than the emotional pain S/N was going through, he decided. He deserved it. “So never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best wife!”

She let go of him and he stared at her. What would’ve been different if Tsukishima had married Y/N instead of S/N? He reacted too slow and Y/N had grabbed his collar with both hands. Her tears were running freely down her face and they were not of sadness. They were of desperation, of guilt, but most of all, indignation. “Congratulations!” 

Tsukishima had pulled himself away from her in a panic and his back hit the wall. Y/N didn’t go after him. “For the rest of your life, every sacrifice you make is for my sister, give her the best life!” She walked towards the door and looked at his petrified figure. “Congratulations!” She slammed the door shut on her way out.

What have I done? If Y/N was that pissed off with him, he couldn’t imagine the hurt in S/N’s eyes. It all hurt him more than he thought and he was clutching his chest as he slowly fell onto his knees. Panic started attacking him like bullets at the thought of confrontation. His eyes welled up with tears as he started gasping for air. 

The door opened and he glanced at the person opening the door. It was his son. “Dad?”

Shit. If his son was here, that meant--

“Aito? Where are you? There you ar--” S/N, the wife he had promised to take care of for the rest of his life, the wife he had cared deeply for, the wife whose heart he had broken, saw him on the floor. If he was panicking before, hysteria was rising up as he saw her.

S/N only looked at him before saying, “Aito. Go play with your sister.” Aito left and S/N stared at the man she had previously loved. With coldness in her voice, she said, “This was a mistake. We were a mistake.”

She closed the door and somehow, that hurt more than Y/N slamming the door shut. Tsukishima let his tears fall, regretting everything.

He couldn’t fix it. He swore to love her and yet he couldn’t do that.

Everything was cracking.

[limjaeseven]

The Day (7/8)

VERSE 2: PART 7 OF 8

Pairing: Jinyoung X Jaebeom ft Seulgi of Red Velvet

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2,217

Summary: Jaebeom is gone and Jinyoung is broken. But there's one last thing that the elder left for his best friend.

Warning(s): sad Jinyoung, mental breakdown, eulogy

[a/n]: I know this part is pretty late but it’s been sitting ready for a long time and has been up on my ao3 for a while but I hate posting stuff here cause it never shows up in tags :/

Jinyoung’s memories of his last few days were hazy at best. He only felt the reality of the situation sink in as he was on an airplane, flying home. He didn’t remember leaving the hospital, the only thing that was on his mind was the news report. Even though he didn’t understand a word of it, the picture of Jaebeom, face down on the road plagued him.

Jaebeom was gone. Jinyoung wished he could wake up from the horrible nightmare he was living through but regardless of how many times he pinched himself, Jaebeom was still not in the room next to his. He tried to tell himself it was just Jaebeom ignoring him again, but the sound of the elder’s mother crying was enough to tell him that it was real.

Jaebeom was dead. The funeral was held three days after he passed away, in a small cemetery close to their house. Jinyoung thought of the day they had come to bury Jaebeom’s cat in that very same place. Jaebeom had been devastated through it, Jinyoung sat there by him, letting him cry on his shoulder for hours as the evening turned to night.

Jinyoung had to physically drag Jaebeom home because the elder refused to leave. He was 21 at the time, still high off the success of Icarus. Jaebeom had loved her a lot and letting her go was one of the hardest things he had to ever do. Or so Jinyoung thought, blissfully ignorant of the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. 

Jaebeom’s mother had been able to get him a spot right next to his cat, where the two had often joked they would lay to rest together when they were to die. There was still a spot empty next to Jaebeom but Jinyoung tried not to think about it. He was supposed to give Jaebeom’s eulogy but all he could do was cry. Jinyoung was never one to cry but seeing Jaebeom like that, knowing that it would be the last time he would ever see him, it burst the dam inside Jinyoung.

As he was beating himself up for not being able to say one word about Jaebeom to the people crowding around him despite the fact that he was Jaebeom’s best friend, a pat on his back pulled him out of his head. He turned around to see Seulgi standing there, a sombre smile on her face.

“He promised me to never tell you. I was the one who blocked your number, I was the reason you weren't able to get to Jaebeom. I hope you don’t hold it against him, he just wanted you to be happy, Jinyoung'' Despite Seulgi’s attempts to calm him down, her words just multiplied the guilt in his heart. Of course Jaebeom would never ignore him just like that, how could he have been such a fool? How could he have hurt Jaebeom so bad? Coward, Jinyoung thought as he looked at Jaebeom’s father trying to console his mother. He didn’t even have the courage to say a word about Jaebeom, a man that meant so much to him.

Jinyoung took deep breaths as he felt himself sink into his mind, it had been happening a lot since Jaebeom left. Jinyoung found recluse in a part of his mind aloof from the real world, he spent hours there, not thinking, not feeling. He didn’t know what else to do. Thinking about the days he cried about his hyung not being in the other room felt like a lifetime ago, because he knew Jaebeom was never coming back. 

The memories of Jaebeom rushed to his mind, from the day they had first met to their time in school together, random moments from high school, scenes from Icarus and it was just too much. Just as they were about to leave, Jinyoung cleared his throat, looked at the ground where Jaebeom was resting and wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

“I met Lim Jaebeom when I was five,” Everyone looked up in shock at Jinyoung but the younger continued, just thinking of the elder, “He was the most grumpy, lazy, good for nothing, kind, caring, and talented people I had ever met in my life. We had our ups and downs, sure; there was a time we both thought our friendship was done, sure; but not once did he ever not be the rock in my life, the only person that kept me going when things were hard. He never told me about his illness because he knew it would hurt me. That was the man Jaebeom hyung was. He was selfless to a fault, and he took my rage because of it. There are a million things I want to apologise to you for, hyung, and a hundred times as many things for which I want to thank you. I couldn’t possibly ever truly be able to express everything that you were to me, but I can say this much; thank you for always being there for me, even when I was horrible to you. Thank you for loving me when I hated myself. Thank you for coming into my life and showing me a world that I never knew existed. Thank you for being you. I’m sorry I was never good enough, but I will try to live on, just for you, because that’s what you would have wanted. I love you, hyung, and I always will. Look after me from up in the sky if you can.”

Jinyoung hugged Jaebeom’s mother tightly as he helped her into the car, waving her and Jaebeom’s father off as they drove away. Jinyoung didn’t want to go back home, it reminded him too much of Jaebeom but he didn’t have much of a choice. He wanted to return Jaebeom’s possessions to his parents so he had to pack everything as soon as he could.

But that didn’t end well, because less than five minutes in, Jinyoung was curled up on the floor with Jaebeom’s leather duffle bag clutched against his chest, tears streaming down his face. The item still smelled like him, Jinyoung thought, picturing Jaebeom with the bag slung over his shoulder as they boarded the plane to Hokkaido.

It was too difficult to even be in a five meter radius of the room, let alone going through Jaebeom’s things. Just being in the same space that the elder was in not days before made Jinyoung’s eyes well with tears. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t part with the things that showed that Jaebeom was a part of his life for so many years. Even though he would always be in Jinyoung’s heart, he had already seen what the room looks like when empty and he hated the mere thought of it.

It took a while for him to muster up enough courage to tell Jaebeom’s mom that he wouldn’t be able to return his things, but she immediately shut him down, telling him that she wanted him to have Jaebeom’s things. She knew how much they meant to Jinyoung and wanted him to keep them for as long as he wanted them.

Jinyoung took two weeks off work to put himself back together and spent the entirety of it in Jaebeom’s room. The place had become a sort of safe haven for Jinyoung, reminding him of Jaebeom enough for him to still imagine that the man was alive. He cleared up the mess in his room, folded and arranged all his clothes, dusted his shelves of records. 

Just as Jinyoung was finishing up with Jaebeom’s closet, he noticed a box at the back of the shelf. Pulling it out, he realised it was the box for Jaebeom’s watch, and the tears were in his eyes before he could even process what he was doing. Placing the elder’s watch which Jaebeom’s mother had given to Jinyoung at the funeral in the box, he closed it shut and shoved into a corner, not wanting to look at it ever again. His own watch had mysteriously started counting the same second over and over again, the time same as that of Jaebeom’s death and burial; 1:31:23.

Looking through Jaebeom’s desk was probably the hardest task of all. The drawers were full of photos of the two of them at various points in their friendship, from the photo Jinyoung took of Jaebeom with his father’s camera when they were five to selfies they took with a disposable camera in Paris while Jinyoung was shooting a movie. Memories that Jinyoung knew he would never get to relive ever again. Jinyoung cried more than he probably had in his entire life in those two weeks. 

Jaebeom’s computer was just as bad, full of more videos and photos of the two of them, including a couple of songs Jinyoung had never heard of. He thought they were by some indie artist Jaebeom listened to but after seeing the producing software and notebooks full of lyrics, he realised what they really were.

Listening to one was painful enough, Jaebeom’s deep voice reaching Jinyoung’s soul, talking about people he loved, about feelings he had, the hardships he faced. There were at least fifty songs that Jaebeom had written that Jinyoung had never known about, just one mildly familiar one which he realised was part of the score for Icarus. He had never questioned where the song came from, never realising it was part of Jaebeom’s craft.

After having gone through every bit of Jaebeom’s room, Jinyoung downloaded a copy of Jaebeom’s songs on his phone and grabbed just the watch box and Jaebeom’s duffle bag before stepping out of the room and locking the door behind him. He was still to go through said bag before he was just too scared to. It was the last thing that Jaebeom had on him before he left Jinyoung, the younger was just not willing to part with it.

He wanted Jaebeom’s parents to have something of his present, or at least recent past, other than the things they had for Jaebeom’s childhood. The watch and bag were his best bet at something symbolic enough that they didn’t resent him for keeping that part of Jaebeom away from them. The bag especially, Jinyoung remembered the smile on Jaebeom’s face when he’d received it from his dad. 

Jaebeom had joined their school athletics team after Jinyoung had gotten selected for it, which Jinyoung realised was something he probably did for him knowing how bad running was for his condition. He unfortunately only had a tattered, old bag he carried to school for his shoes and uniform, while all the other members had owned fancy bags from big brands and they had often made fun of the boy for it. Even though he never told his father anything about the incidents, he received the bag for his birthday and it was one of Jaebeom’s favourite possessions ever since.

So the bag for his dad and the watch for his mom, Jinyoung thought, standing at the edge of the pathway at the edge of the road that led to their house. Before he got too far in though, curiosity took over Jinyoung and the strong urge to look inside the bag latched onto him.

Sitting down there, on the gravel on the pathway to Jaebeom’s parents’ house, Jinyoung zipped open the bag to find a few pairs of clothes, a small notebook and an mp3 player with a pair of headphones. Flipping over to the first page of the book, Jinyoung saw the familiar scribble of Jaebeom’s handwriting. But instead of it being a normal diary entry, it was a list of instructions, addressed directly to Jinyoung. 

With shaking hands, Jinyoung followed what was said, and before he knew it, he was having a full mental breakdown, crying his eyes out and scratching at his own face as he read, and heard, what Jaebeom had to say to him. He couldn’t hate the elder he realised, he knew that well, but he did have hatred in his heart, towards himself. Knowing that he’s the reason Jaebeom lost so many precious moments of his life, he’s the reason the elder suffered, it was enough to make Jinyoung lose his mind entirely. He saw the watch box next to him and it tipped him over the edge, Jinyoung used his hands to dig up the mud around him and bury it in the ground, never wanting to look at it ever again.

The next thing Jinyoung knew, he was being shaken awake by a woman he’d never seen before. She kept calling him by his name but he didn’t know how she knew that. He looked around himself and he had no idea where he was. He just had a soft song playing in his ears, a deep voice singing about losing himself, and Jinyoung liked that voice. He wanted to listen to that song live someday. The woman kept trying to pull him out of his world but he didn’t know her. He realised he didn’t know where his own home was, who his parents were, he just knew his name and a ghost of a name that he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [15/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Drunk Thor, Sad Y/N and unhappy Heimdall...so just melodrama

A/N: ...Finally all caught up with the ao3 updates. Now to disappear for a short time on my dash.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The tavern still kept that stale scent you’d first caught a waft of on your first visit. But the noise was different; less evenly spread out and more singular. In the centre of the room, Thor was raving in slurred speech like a man with a grievance against every single patron in the room. Except his grievance was personal, separate and alien to the other drinkers.

He would town an entire tankard of ale and then demand another with sloppy fingers hitting the poor wooden bench. Once he had a full cup again, he’d begin his lamentations that ranged from stories of his youth about Loki’s mischievous machinations to angry shouts of abandonment.

“He lied to us!” Thor spoke into his ale. “All of us!” He looked up to the disinterested people in the tavern. “Your King lies to you this very moment!”

“Telling all is well…” Thor whispered to himself as he stood, legs jolting up so fast he nearly lost balance. “Woah!” As he righted himself, he laughed into his tankard, ale pilling onto his chest. “Why did he do it?”

You chose to watch him for a while. The strangers in the tavern eyed you suspiciously. It was a new look you’d never noticed before. Perhaps it was to do with your appearance. It mattered not, they were not of importance to you. Nor was their hushed murmuring behind tankards of ale.

Suddenly, Thor’s eyes went wide, “Hammer! Hammer! Where’s my—Oh, there you are.” He ducked next to a leg of roast boar, grinning from ear to ear. “He was a fool! Only fools don’t fear my hammer…” His mouth drooped at the corners, a waver in his voice. “Only fools wield hammers.”

“Only fools…” Thor fell, but more out of exhaustion than a lack of footing. You moved from the doorway and went to his side, a weary exhale gracing your dry lips as you patted down the ale with your cloak’s end.

“Oh, you big lout,” you looked down at Thor. “So this is how you’ve been spending your days.”

Thor looked up at you and laughed in his drunken stupor, “Little Stormbringer!”

“Come on,” you tried to get him onto his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki turned into a snake?” His breath was ripe and hot across your cheek.

“Oof,” you choked back a gag. “No, but I’m sure it’s one for the ages.”

Thor began reciting the story as if it were one told a thousand fold. You struggled to hold him up, your body weaker than before; all the muscle of Sif’s training turned to softness around poking bones.

As you lost hold of Thor, sending him crashing onto an empty table, you waved your hand on instinct, calling forth that bristle of energy that used to reside under your skin at all times. But the even though the magic listened, it never answered you, and you were reminded for the second time that day, your magic wouldn’t help you.

You sighed, preparing to lift Thor and restart the cycle, but then a hand fell on your shoulder, the armour digging into your exposed shoulder.

“Let me,” Heimdall offered. He didn’t look you in the eye, he’d made a habit of not doing so since the leeching began. You didn’t blame him for that.

Heimdall reached down, and in one fell swoop, he hoisted Thor to his feet.

“Heimdall, old friend,” Thor beat him large hands on Heimdall’s armoured chest, letting out a banging noise. “Care for a horn of ale?”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Heimdall said with a sharp edge to his disapproving tone.

“Enough?” Thor shouted. “Yes, perhaps I have had enough.” His words were darker than they seemed. Lonesome. Sad.

On the walk to the tavern, Thor spouted more of his lamentations. To your surprise, no one around seemed to care for his words of kingly deceit and brotherly loss. Everyone skirted past with the expression one has when a drunk stumbles and yells nonsense; weary disaffection.

“Does no one hear him?” You asked as Heimdall led Thor up some steps. The stench of alcohol was lighter out in the open, but Thor’s voice became a frighteningly, loud echo.

“The All-Father cast an enchantment,” Heimdall said.

You swallowed the poisonous burn trudging up your oesophagus as the mention of Odin and more of his precarious magics. “An enchantment?”

“The Spell of Igneia,” Heimdall said. “Those who are ignorant to the source of the words spoken remain ignorant to the words. We can hear Thor because we all witnessed the same things. Others did not. And so—”

“They remain ignorant of it,” you finished for him. “Then what is the story being spun of the attack?”

“I do not know,” Heimdall’s jaw clenched down tight, the gold in his eyes flashing near coal-fire red.

“You’re lying,” you said softly. Not in anger or disappointment, just factually; the way Loki would murmur things that he surmised in a plain fashion, forgetting for the briefest second that manner and fact could rarely be separated in polite company.

Heimdall stopped walking then, turning with the bellowing Thor drooping his fighting shoulder, “You. The story is a half-truth—your magic. A tale easily believed given your current state.”

You could feel the brunt of his scowl hit like ice water in your veins. For some reason, you didn’t like the idea that he was upset with you. Heimdall’s eyes flickered to one red mark that peeked under your sleeve. His nose curled up in a would-be snarl had he been a wolf. A whisper under his breath going unheard. Then he continued on.

“It’s the only way,” you defended yourself against words you didn’t even hear.

“It was the easiest way,” Heimdall lectured over his shoulder. “No matter how you choose to spin this story, I do not believe that you made the right choice. Not what I am reminded of what the leeching does to you every—” He sighed. “We’re here.”

Heimdall waited for you to open Thor’s quarters. The room was in disarray; much like yours, except instead of papers and tomes, there was broken furniture and gutted down pillows. Rage lived in this room. Mjolnir had been buried under some broken furniture, as though Thor tried to make a perimeter of wood and iron around the weapon.

Heimdall set Thor on the bed and promptly made his way to the door. With his hand on the latch, he said over his shoulder, “Find a better way.”

“There isn’t one,” you rubbed at the leech marks as if doing so would make them disappear.

“You can’t be afraid of yourself forever.”

“I am. And so should you. You saw what I did. I won’t be anyone’s mindless weapon. If this is what it takes to stay as myself, then the price is fair.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Then see it in whatever way you please. My answer is final. Until a more effective method of nullifying my abilities is found, I will keep at it.”

“Then…” Heimdall breathed in, his body stretching out to its righted posture and high chin. “I shall have to find you one.”

With that, Heimdall left, and you were alone with Thor. His ravings had lowered to a sleepy-whisper now. That made it worse. Made him sound raw.

You thought of what Frigga would do to console him and then you helped him out of his boots before covering him with a blanket.

“You know, I always wanted a sister,” Thor said with a mild smile. “I thought—Never like this…”

He wasn’t making much sense, so you simply patted his hand and replied, “Sleep, you need it.”

“I could say the same for you,” Thor said, a look of expected pity in his eyes. “He liked you…Likes you. I don’t know which way to speak—past or present?”

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”

Thor turned to his side, away from you and sobbed, “It’s my fault.”

You brushed his arm, “And mine. And Odin’s for his secrets. And my mother’s for not telling me what I was sooner.” Your lips trembled at this part: “And Loki too, for trying to protect me.”

Thor kept still for a few moments, settling into your words. “How do you handle it…the guilt?”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, soulless eyes of a strange creature staring back, “I don’t. The only reason I left my room was because of Sif. I was happy to stay locked away, in my routine. For eternity if need be.”

“Eternity ends faster than we think, doesn’t it?” Thor sat up, soberness of the shared pain making him more alert, “Then let’s make a pact—to hold off on the end of Eternity for as long as we can.”

You chewed your inner cheek, correcting him plainly, “To end this, you mean?” You gestured to everything; you, him, the rage cluttered room.

“An end to an end,” Thor said, reaching his arm out for you to accept.

You locked your fingers around his forearm, Thor’s grip on your own forearm came off more powerful than you had anticipated. You worked around the wince on your face and said, “An end to an end.”

You walked to the door and wished him goodnight.

“Goodnight, Little Stormbringer,” he said with the affection of a brother.

On your way to your quarters, you heard the muffled sounds of healers near the healing chamber. Eavesdropping never bore you sweet fruit, but there was little that could change that now; so you listened in.

“Any improvement?” The head healer—the woman you had flung like a rag doll upon your first awakening—asked another.

“Physically, his wounds have healed,” there was a pregnant pause, prickling with anxious static. “I fear, this is beyond us. He should have awoken by now. If he has, I can only assume something is preventing him from regaining consciousness. Or…perhaps—” the healer’s eyes skittered about, hands twining and untwining.

“Spit it out girl,” the head healer demanded.

“A few of us believe it’s his own doing.”

The head healer scoffed, “Impossible, he hasn’t as much as twitched of his own accord.”

“Those with magic do not think alike to us,” the other healer whispered, closing in on her superior to say: “What if the rumours are true? What if he isn’t entirely Asgardian?”

“Hush, foolish girl, you speak dangerous words. Go now, leave for the night,” the head healer barked with authority before rushing away from the exposed hall ways.

The healing chamber was more claustrophobic than you remembered. For one, Volstagg was snoring in a corner, looking less beat up than before. Hogun was either sleeping on the chair or keeping very quiet in the night as he watched over his friend. A few guards from the night of the attack were also getting treatment.

You walked passed them, towards the back where a spiral staircase led up to a private healing chamber. The room was enormous and beautiful and cloistered. The kind of tower an ornamental flower was grown to die in. Overlooking the endlessly beautiful landscape, but unable to be touched by the waters of rain or the sounds of birds; a mausoleum of glass.

Loki remained in the same place he’d been since you woke up; suspended in that clear, golden curtain of energy, hovering like a beautiful painting lost to a world with no gravity. His hair had grown an inch or two longer, somehow the shine of the energy field made his hair look blacker as it moved like liquid. His jaw was set right again, a small scar under it left as a reminder. He was dressed in robes of emerald. Long fingers looking cold and untouched. Lips without colour and skin nearly grey—paler than ever before.

You walked over, quiet so not as to stir anyone else in the chambers, but there was no one else. You looked at his face and thought of him—the snake and the man—and the words that haunted you over and over: “Never leave my side again.”

You took his hand and never felt his finger tighten the hold. You leaned over and whispered: “You should have wished that my eyes to grow dark.”

No reaction. No flinch or tweak or tug and pull of a simple tendon. Blankness.

You sighed, “You asked me to never leave your side, and yet look at which one of us isn’t here…Look!”

Again, nothing.

“Open your eyes and look at me! Answer for what you’ve done!” You wanted to beat and pounded at his chest. To hear him let out a groan or gasp as he laughed into your ear and took your hands in his. “I bewitched you?” You were shouting at the air. At the empty spaces in between. At the Loki of the past.

“I bewitched you?” You shouted again. “Trickster! Tempter! Liar! If I bewitched you—truly—why can’t my enchantment bring you back? Why can’t you feel how much I need you?”

You let go of his hand, feeling the weight of it to be too burdensome. “Is it true? Are you not waking because you don’t want to? Because of me?” You crumbled to your knees. No tears came, only the sandpaper feeling of a dry throat. You looked at the red marks on your arms and said: “I can’t hurt you anymore, so please, please, come back.”

And for the grand finale, silence, yet again. Always silence. You fell asleep in that beautiful mausoleum, on the cold, hard floor, too listless to walk back to your room.

[lorei-writes]

Cubs

Not Alone

Masamune x MC Modern AU Family AU Fluff (?) Other stories happening within the same AU: Little Tiger , Mommy, we have a problem , Storm

Years passed since Masamune followed his beloved through time and space. Since then, their family grew in size – and being a parent comes with its own set of responsibilities.

Content Warnings: sexual harassment

Masamune tapped on the steering wheel, the slow traffic starting to get on his nerves. The counter next to the green light turned red yet again, another thirty second in the hell itself beginning, the line of cars before him attempting to reach the horizon. He never thought the tailbacks could become more annoying than they already were. Indeed, future knew more than one way to surprise him – as always, at the worst possible time, the call from Iroha's school worrying him.

Masamune tapped on the steering wheel, the slow traffic starting to get on his nerves. The counter next to the green light turned red yet again, another thirty second in the hell itself beginning, the line of cars before him attempting to reach the horizon. He never thought the tailbacks could become more annoying than they already were. Indeed, future knew more than one way to surprise him – as always, at the worst possible time, the call from Iroha's school worrying him.

She always was a lively and stubborn child, a one of sharp wit – and perhaps, a slightly overconfident one as well, all the traits transferring into her teenage years. However, Iroha wasn't impossible to reason with, she certainly never took it upon herself to cause a disturbance to the class just for the sake of it. What could have possibly happen for her form teacher to call Masamune and request his presence? He had no idea. He tried to phone her, yet to no avail, the cheerful voice always asking him to record a message. What was even the point of having a portable communication device if he couldn't reach her when something was definitely wrong? He hoped that Mai had at the very least seen the text from him and didn't rush through her project presentation.

Having passed through the purgatory of the road, Masamune had finally wheeled the vehicle into the parking lot. He exited the car, closing the door maybe a bit too forcefully – he didn't have time to care about that, the white walls of the building waiting for him. He could hear each and every of his steps, the sounds bouncing off the walls, echoing through the surprisingly empty hallways. The familiar feeling resurfaced, all voices nothing but hushed whispers. If he were a cat, he'd arch his back – although he probably wouldn't have to, the students averting their gazes the very moment he caught them staring. He strode towards the principal's office, just to knock on the door and open it seconds later. The old habits still in place, he took a brief note of his surroundings, the unexpected growing in details: a woman, the woman he had seen somewhere else. “ Mr Date, good morning. We had an emergency situation.” “ What happened to Iroha?” “ To? To?!” the woman chimed in, her brows knitting together. “ She almost broke my son's nose!” “ Well, yes,” the principal cleared his throat. “ I wanted to discuss Iroha's behavior and possibly come up with an appropriate punishment. I presume we should also...” “ What exactly happened?” Masamune cut him off. “ She punched my son,” the mother claimed, crossing  arms in front of her chest. “ Why?” ” For no reason, of course!” ” Are those my daughter’s words?” he inquired, although he suspected what was the answer. “ That is what was reported by several students.” “ Where is Iroha?”

If anything, he didn't wait for the permission to see his daughter. His hand twitched, the situation slowly clarifying in his mind. Soon, he reached the classroom she was supposed to be in, curious eyes observing him, the gossiping whispers tickling at the back of his neck. He knocked on the door, giving her some time before entering the room.

Iroha looked up from the desk, her eyes red and puffy from crying.  He could see a kaleidoscope of emotion sweep over  her face – sadness mixed and replaced with relief, tension, guilt and so, so many more. He took a step towards her and she got up abruptly, the chair almost falling over – and so, a second passed and he was hugging her tight, as she cried into his shoulder, her entire body trembling. “ Dad, I'm so, so sorry, I ruined everything, I got in trouble, mom will...” Iroha sobbed, as she inhaled sharply, her voice breaking. “ Shh, kitty,  it's all good now. Don't worry about Mai, I texted her that I'll handle this,” he hummed, stroking her hair soothingly. “ But...” “ No buts. Just focus on breathing, okay? I need you to calm down. It's all good now.”

He knew better than to rush her – how long was it since the last time she had wept like that? Could he even count that in months, or was it years? Whatever happened, she was genuinely hurt and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else at that very moment. No human would cause themselves pain, had they seen another way – surely, she didn't do anything just out of spite. She wasn't so little as not to understand the consequences of her actions anymore.

Finally, she had calmed down enough to let go, stress still coursing through her body. She sat down heavily, the chair creaking from sudden impact, as her father took a seat next to her. „ So, can you tell me what happened?” „ Firstly, whatever they told you, it's not true! I didn't hit him without any reason and his nose didn't even get close to being broken!” Iroha rushed to explain. „ It's fine, kitty, I wanted to hear from you first.” She pressed her lips shut, her fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up in the process. „ Well. We were waiting for the class to begin, I was looking outside the window, minding my own business. I felt my skirt move and the next moment somebody grabbed my bottom,” she stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. „ So, I turned around. I saw this guy from my class  crouched down behind me. I asked him what the fuck he was even thinking, but...He got up and started laughing, said I shouldn't have been daydreaming so much. And I punched him in the face.” „ Were there any teachers around?” „ Yeah, but the moment I looked at her, she looked away,” Iroha uttered, her voice threatening to break again. Her knuckles turned white, as her grip tightened.  „ But she rushed to us when I punched him! She didn't want to listen at all! I got sent to the principal, then I wanted to call you and my phone was taken away and, and...” Her hands were shaking, the sadness replaced with anger. She clenched her jaw. „ And they told me just that 'boys do such things',” she finished.

Masamune knew those words too well, the expression serving as an excuse even back in the days of his childhood – and he would have lied, if he said he had never benefited from it. However, he grew up, the realisation haunting him at times like that: they did know better, but didn't want to admit it. Why would they, after all? It was easier not to hold somebody accountable... Yet, it should have never been a dilemma. „ Iroha, if anything like that ever happens again, if anybody oversteps your boundaries... Do anything to make them stop, got it? Break their nose, we'll deal with the consequences later” he finally mustered, holding in his rage. „And now is the later. Do you want to wait here or in the car?” „ The car.” Masamune nodded, handing her the keys and his phone. „ Update Mai, the call I got was too vague.”

Iroha sprawled over the back seat, fidgeting with her father's phone. She rolled her eyes, her own self looking back at her from the lock-screen. Perhaps she should have told him to change it, as not to scare anybody – she didn't exactly look the kindest when holding her wooden sword. Yet, she wasn't quite able nor willing to, the picture itself reminding her of how excited he was when she decided to practise kendo. She smiled, unlocking the phone to text Mai: „ Hey, mom. Iroha here. I'm okay now, dad's taking care of everything.” She looked away for a moment, the reply coming in almost instantly. „ ill call you asap” Her mother must have still been discussing the project, the rushed message being so unlike her.

The minutes seemed to stretch into eternity, the silence buzzing in her ears. More than anything, Iroha was tired – no, exhausted, both emotionally from all the stress, and physically, after crying. She looked at her hand – was it still hurting after hitting the bones, or was it just her imagination? She reached for her backpack and opened the textbook, hoping she'd be able to occupy her mind, even if just for a moment. However, the sentences didn't connect, the facts mixing with each other, forming an incoherent cluster of text. She couldn't help it, her thoughts drifting back to this hideous laugh... She couldn't rid herself of the feeling that she should have expected it, that she should have been more wary. Did she ignore the early signs? She should have known better...

The door next to the driver's seat opened, Masamune turning around to see her and ask for the keys. „ Hey, it's fine now. The guy's mother turned into a human-tomato and may stay one,” he assured her, starting the car. „ Thanks,” she hummed in response, fastening her seat belt. She looked outside the window, the school building soon disappearing, not bothering to say anything else. „ Are you fine, though?” „ Yeah. It's just that... Dunno, it feels like I should have known it would happen. But I'm so angry.” „ You did well..” „ But isn't violence always bad?” she argued, chewing on the inside of her cheek. „ No, not when they'd rather turn a blind eye on somebody hurting you. You just protected yourself.”

Iroha lay on her bed, the blankets hugging her tightly. She closed her eyes, the weariness overtaking her. In the end, she was safe – and definitely not alone. 

Tag list: @datenoriko , @nad-zeta , @tsubaki3192 , @choi-jiyu , @missjudge-me If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)!^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me.

[appleseverywhere]

follow up questioooon. i loved your answer from my last ask hihi the who broke it off question. your answer actually made sense and I see that happening tbh. Now, follow up question, how do you think qrow coped and "moved on" after the break up? and winter too, how did she cope and "move on"? any idea how theyre going to "reconcile" if thats ever gonna happen because i havent seen them in the v8 trailer (dear god why)

I’m going to put in some headcanons I really wish would happen for this coming volume then hahaha This might sound like some short fic btw since I’m probably going to get carried away with it hahaha (I’m making a one-shot on this so I’ll have it posted soon. Think of this as the plot summary HAHA)

Qrowin Coping/Moving On (Post break-up) & V8 Reconciliation

Qrow’s coping/moving on

The way I see it is that Qrow is going to end up back to his alcoholic self (not really surprised there even if that could have been the reason they broke up in the first place). It’s cause its practically all he’s known from the start. He never had a healthy way of coping with loss, and with Winter and him splitting up, it just seemed to prove to him that he wasn’t someone worth loving. 

Disappointingly, he’s going to hook up with girls at some point, just to feel what used to be there only to end up with the emptiness that Winter had left him. He’d go through the same routine of drinking at a bar, having a one-night stand, and regretting it just as quickly as it starts. He wants to stop. He knew it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right knowing he was still in love with Winter. When he starts convincing himself to leave, he scolds himself, saying that she’s already gone and that it was pointless to resist. The night will continue on and before the sun rises, he’ll leave just before anyone could suspect, with a lot of guilt hanging on his shoulders.

He’ll stop when it gets too much. Eventually, he’ll go to Ozpin for more missions and immerse himself in fulfilling them. He wouldn’t care if he’d get wounded, and he’d let whatever rage and frustrations he had pent up out through his attacks towards the grimm. He wouldn’t look forward to going back, knowing that no one was waiting for him. It adds to his feelings of no one wanting him. He’d keep it all in mind as he purposely puts himself in more danger as he goes on a grimm slaughter spree. 

Winter’s coping/moving on

I can see Winter immersing herself into work just as Qrow would. She wouldn’t dare acknowledge the aching pain she felt at losing the one person who genuinely cared for her besides Weiss, the one person who would tell her that her feelings were valid. Without that reminder, she would isolate herself like she had done many times before. She wouldn’t let them show, and she would try to escape them in any way she could.

She would ask Ironwood if he had more tasks for her. The paperwork on her desk had piled up to the point it had been much taller than she was. She claimed more responsibilities just to stay in the base for longer hours. By the time she retired to her room, she’d be too exhausted to let the emotions surface. If that wasn’t the case, she would bring her work with her, writing and organizing them the whole night until she tired herself enough that she knew she wouldn’t end up staring at the ceiling in thought once she lied down.

Per her request, she had asked the general for more missions, and she made sure to avoid Vale and Mistral, knowing he was likely there. Most of her missions were in the deserts of Vacuo or the tundras of Atlas and higher north in Solitas. She would let the intense climate get to her so that she’d focus on it instead of the nagging thoughts in her mind. The only time she would ever relieve her anger and sadness was when she came face to face with hoards of grimm, quickly activating her semblance to zoom through them with one swipe. She’d leave behind what she could in the wind, before turning back to slay more of them, letting her immerse herself as she escaped.

Qrow and Winter Reconcile

I saw this going 3 ways:

In Qrow’s jail cell

In Winter’s hospital room

On the battlefield

So let me expound on this.

In Qrow’s jail cell

We know that Winter was severely injured at the end of V7, so it’s either she makes a quick (but not full) recovery and heads down to the cell, or that before she gets treated, she demands to go see Qrow. 

He would be incredibly surprised and concerned to see her in such a state, maybe not even bother to hide it. He had already lost Clover, and while that was all happening, it sent a shiver down his spine to know she almost suffered the same fate. She would likely ask him what exactly happened with Clover and Tyrian, and I get the feeling that she would trust him anyway with whatever he told her. He wouldn’t need to use Robyn’s semblance to prove his innocence cause Winter already knew Qrow wouldn’t lie. 

Much to his surprise, she’d let him out, not finding him guilty for his crimes, and more importantly, gave him instructions to find team RWBY and keep her sister safe. She would tell him that he better came back cause they still had to talk later, marking a silent promise. Qrow would be hesitant to leave her alone, but the determination in her eyes pushed him to leave, but not before asking her to promise him she would stay alive.

In Winter’s hospital room

Maybe Qrow would be able to get out of the jail cell (he can turn into a bird, after all) knowing his nieces are out there with Salem’s forces at large. As he leaves Atlas, he hears of a certain special operative who nearly got killed and was currently admitted in the med bay. He makes a quick stop to find her resting and half asleep. She wakes up to his footsteps, expecting the general but is dumbfounded to see him beside her bed.

He asks her what happened and she couldn’t seem to say what she was feeling at all, lost and disappointed in herself for failing. He would secure her doubts somehow, in a very Qrow way of course. Not at all cheesy and all that crap. Winter looks to him for security at that moment, and similar to the previous scenario tells him he should leave before anyone catches him. She grabs his hand as she tells him to protect her sister for her and that he had better make it back alive. To her. 

He laughs once before squeezing her hand, telling her to stay safe and to recover well, before running off and out of the academy.

On the battlefield (ah yes, this very spontaneous short fanfic - I might post an actual full oneshot of this later on)

After Qrow and Robyn escaped their jail cell and Winter made a speedy recovery (likely Ironwood requesting to put her in an aura restoration chamber to hasten the replenishing process), they found themselves on opposite ends of the battlefield. Ironwood had instructed Winter to catch and arrest them, warning her not to disobey orders again nor fail for a second time. She was conflicted and Qrow could tell from the moment their swords clashed. He wanted nothing more than to talk to her, reason with her. She was more sensible than Clover was, and he knew that well. 

As the fight ensues, she comes off strong, stronger than he remembered. He realized that it's her rage and pent up anger. It had always been her way of getting some weight off her shoulders, and he used to help when he could. It was why they fought all the time, why they were always so physical. It became their unspoken love language, and the way they moved alone spoke volumes.

Neither of them backed down with their strikes, nor did they seem intent on hurting the other as it went. The rest of the ace ops and team RWBY had already found themselves elsewhere in the midst of the battle, yet they found themselves within each other’s close proximities alone in the vast field of snow. Their aura’s had long broken, and that made them all the more careful with each hit they sent. Winter was already slouching in her posture and Qrow’s breathing had grown ragged. 

It didn’t take long before he was able to knock the sabre from her hand and she stood with lidded eyes against his blade, almost daring to him to finish her. She pushed her neck against it further with an impassive face, waiting. Despite the dead expression, her eyes betrayed whatever she hoped to convey. Tinged with longing and sorrow, she almost begged him to kill her. 

But he couldn’t. He never would. 

Dropping his sword to the snow, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into his embrace. For the first time since she had left the Schnee manor, her emotions had broken from its dam and flooded out in waves of tears against his chest, soaking his vest. He could feel her sobs wrack through her body and only held onto her tighter. 

All he could do was mutter repeated apologies as she held onto him like a lifeline. Whether it was because of what happened between them or the reason they had to fight in the first place, he didn’t know. She whispered her own apologies, clutching onto him as she hid her face from his view.

Before he could say anything else, she pushed him with what strength she had left, telling him to run. With Salem in search of the relics and the maiden, there was no other option but to let him go. For the sake of Atlas and Remnant. She wouldn’t be able to stop her on her own, not with the general breathing down her neck, but he and her sister’s team could. As she collapsed on the snow, she screamed for him to leave while he could. He could only nod as he watched her walls crumble. He understood what needed to be done, but he couldn’t just leave like this. 

He knelt before her fallen form, moving the hair from her face as he kissed the skin of her forehead, silently promising to return to her. Her eyes fluttered to a close at the contact and kept it that way until she heard the familiar flapping of his wings gradually soften before disappearing into the sky. Her hands grasped at the snow beneath them as she called out, demanding him to stay alive after all of it.

...

Okay, I honestly did not expect to write that last bit but now I really want to continue it HAHAHA Anyway, I was planning to write several oneshots this weekend so I’ll have them posted soon. 

Hope these answered your questions!! :)