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dionysianivy · 2 months ago

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𝐎𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚

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What is Ostara?

Ostara is a lesser sabbat that marks the official arrival of spring and takes place on the spring equinox, around March 20-21 in the Northern Hemisphere and September 20-23 in the Southern Hemisphere. It’s the moment when day and night are of equal length, symbolizing balance before the days begin to grow longer and light overcomes darkness. This is a time of renewal, fertility, and new beginnings, making it perfect for fresh starts and setting intentions for the season ahead.

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The Legend of Ostara

According to a legend, Ostara is celebrated in honor of the Germanic goddess of the dawn and spring. The story goes that she once found a bird injured by the cold of winter. To save it, she transformed it into a hare, but the hare retained its ability to lay eggs. As a sign of gratitude, the hare painted and gifted eggs to the goddess, which is why eggs remain a central symbol of Ostara today. (1883, H. Krebs)

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Goddess Eostre

Eostre, also known as Ostara, is the Germanic goddess of spring, fertility, and renewal. Her name is linked to the word "east" and the rising dawn, and some believe it means "Radiant Dawn." Eostre represents the spirit of spring and the return of fertility to the earth. Her arrival was traditionally celebrated with flowers, singing, bell ringing, and the lighting of new fires at dawn. She is often described as a beautiful young woman with flowers woven into her hair, accompanied by her consort and also her sacred animal, a hare. Sometimes he appears as a full-grown man, other times as a small rabbit cradled in her arms. Together, they bring eggs, a powerful symbol of the earth’s rebirth and fertility.

There isn’t much information about Eostre, but she is mentioned in the writings of an 8th-century monk, Venerable Bede. He recorded that the pagan Anglo-Saxons of medieval Northumbria held festivals in her honor during the month of April. Other than this, we don’t know much about how she was worshiped in ancient times. However, by the 19th century, she had become an important figure in German folklore, appearing in literature, paintings, and stories. She is often depicted as a youthful maiden adorned with flowers, symbolizing nature’s renewal after winter.

Some ancient festivals are said to have honored her with offerings of flowers, eggs, and feasts, welcoming the warmth and life she brings. Venerable Bede documented these traditions around the year 700 CE while traveling through Europe, recording pagan customs for the Catholic Church. The Church later attempted to shift the focus from Eostre to the resurrection of Jesus, but many ancient traditions remained deeply rooted. Eventually, instead of trying to erase them, the Church adapted and merged the two celebrations, renaming their spring festival “Easter” as a way to unite both traditions.

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The Symbolism of The Painted Eggs

Eggs have long been a symbol of fertility, renewal, and the emergence of new life. Many cultures have used painted eggs in their spring festivals, from ancient Egyptians and Persians to European pagans. In the context of Ostara, eggs represent the potential for new beginnings and the fertility of the land as it awakens from winter. Decorating eggs is a tradition that has continued for centuries, carrying the magic of transformation and the blessings of abundance for the coming season.

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Magic Correspondences

Planets: Mars

Season: Spring

Element: Air

Time of the Day: Dawn, Early Morning

Tarot: The High Priestess, The Emperor, Sevend of Wands, Justice

Colors: All pastel colors, yellow, green, pink, blue, brown

Herbs: Sorrel, Mint, Rosemary, Ginger, Irish Moss, Tansy, Woodruff, Wood Betony, Star Anise, Catnip

Fruits: Strawberries, Tangerine, Bananas, Lemon, Grapefruit, Apple, Orange, Mulberries, Kiwi

Vegetables: Artichokes, Asparagus, Carrots, Spring Onions, Garlic, Wild Nettles, Mushrooms

Crystals: Aquamarine, Jasper, Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Green Aventurine, Moonstone. Amazonite

Runes: Teiwaz, Ehwaz, Berkana

Trees: Birch, Rowan, Dogwood, Ash, Alder

Godesses: Eostre, Freyja, Aphrodite, Isis, Hecate, Demeter, Gaia, Athena, Astarte, Minerva, Cybele, The Morrigan

Gods: Mars, Ares, Apollo, Pan, Cernunnos, Tyr, Odin, Osiris, Dagda, Adonis

Dragon: Grael, Sairys

Flowers: Daffodil, Hyacinth, Daisy, Tulips, Clover, Crocus, Violet, Rose, Jasmine, Lilac, Honeysuckle

Animals: Hare, Rabbit, Chicks, Lamb, Butterfly, Robin, Bee, Snake. Deer, Wolf

Magical Powers: Balance, Renewal, Action, New Beginnings, Hope, New Possibilities, Fertility, Rebirth

Symbols: Rabbits, Eggs, Flowers, Bees, Birds and Nests, Butterflies, Flower Crowns, Seeds

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Activities to do:

🐰 Decorate your space with Ostara symbols like eggs, bunnies, baby chicks etc.

🐣 Start planting seeds in your garden.

🐰 Buy or pick fresh flowers and place them in your home.

🐣 Paint some eggs. Use simple colors or add sigils, runes, symbols or anything you want to attract.

🐰 If you have a farm or a garden, it's the perfect time to buy and raise baby chicks! <3

🐣 Enjoy a festive meal to celebrate both Ostara and Spring Equinox.

🐰 Do some painting or other creative activities.

🐣 Do a deep spring cleaning, you rearrange your furniture for a fresh start.

🐰 Clean up your garden.

🐣 Leave seeds in your garden for birds.

🐰 Spend time in nature and look for the first signs of spring.

🐣 Make a list of goals to accomplish before spring ends.

🐰 Burn some incense to cleanse your space.

🐣 Make special Ostara candles with seasonal colors or herbs.

🐰 Do a tarot, rune, or pendulum reading in the morning of Ostara.

🐣 Try an Ostara guided meditation to connect with the celebration.

🐰 Honor Goddess Eostre with offerings or prayers.

🐣 Make an Ostara magickal jar

🐰 Wear clothing or jewelry in Ostara colors.

🐣 Try new recipes, especially with eggs and carrots.

🐰 Drink some tea and relax.

🐣 Read about Ostara and its traditions.

🐰 Make a flower crown for yourself or a loved one.

🐣 Try colorful makeup inspired by spring.

🐰 Dye eggs naturally or try flower prints on them.

🐣 Make friendship bracelets and share them with your loved ones.

🐰 Spend time with animals and connect with their energy.

🐣 Host an Ostara picnic or dinner with friends or family.

🐰 Plant your dream garden or buy new flower seeds.

🐣 Try aromatherapy with fresh scents (spring flowers).

🐰 Plan an egg hunt for fun with friends or family.

🐣 Connect with deities associated with Ostara and spring.

🐰 Worship your deities and honor Goddess Eostre.

🐣 Paint your nails in pastel colors.

🐰 Decorate your altar with Ostara symbols and colorful ribbons.

🐣 Try new activities, change routines, and care for yourself!

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Food and Drinks:

Anything that has eggs! omelet, deviled eggs, stuffed eggs, carrot cake, braided bread, honey pastries, lamb, ham, fish, green vegetables, asparagus, goat cheese, sheep cheese, cow milk cheese, goat milk, sheep milk, cow milk, seasonal fruits, orange juice, tangerine juice, homemade carrot juice, dishes garnished with parsley, sweet egg tarts, muffins, carrot muffins, waffles, hot cross buns, herbal tea, mint, salads garnished with edible flowers, lemon, lemon bread, violet flower cake, lavender cake, brownies, preserves from last season, apples, yogurt, mozzarella, chocolate cake.

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useful sources: Wicca: A Modern Guide To Witchcraft & Magick; Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World by Judika Illes

gifs credit: Pinterest

tips♡🐇🌼

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 1 year ago

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Here We Go Again

Tim-DannyTimDANNY started down at himself as his mind re-organized itself. Memories he didn't have before suddenly there in his head.

A whole lifetime as someone else another teen hero Phantom, his other family, friends,growing up

The Accident his death.

Protecting his town

Fighting ghosts

Fighting humans

Dani

Telling his parent

Becoming an adult

Becoming the High Ghost King

He blinked, something was missing

What was wrong? Why was he here in another life remembering now. Both his lives meshed together inside his head, everything finally sliding into place until he could almost hear a *click* and he no longer felt like two different people in one body.

He was Tim, Red Robin who used to be Danny, King Phantom.

A flash of green caught his eye, looking up he saw a small green note

Danny, You will understand soon enough,as to why you are remembering now, try once more in your efforts, 100th times the charm or in this case Dani's rebirth. Be safe, gather your strength. Return home safely young King C.W

Looking up past the note he saw his last failed attempt at cloning Kon, stepping forward he reached out and changed the DNA sample now being his DNA in the mix.

"..."

".."

"."

" SUCCESS "

Danny-Tim: * Effectively taking over the LOA and getting Bruce back with a baby strapped to his chest*

Danny-Tim: *Both him and Dani wearing sunglasses while he flips off the LOA base as it explodes in the distance*

Danny-Tim being the best dad to Dani while the Bats are trying to figure out just what the hell he has been doing and

"Oh my God is that a baby! You're too young! How did it happen!!!"

Danny-Tim now mentally well into adulthood: *deadpan* "Do I need to give you The Talk?"

Kon/Bats seeing Dani floating: "UM!?!"

Danny-Tim is once again a half-a after some plot convenience with the LOA and the Pits: " Oh she gets that from my side."

*start slightly floating in the air*

"See?"

"Since WHEN can you do that?!"

"Since always, keep up"

Danny-Tim & Dani:

The others

Just an Idea

#Danny and Dani reincarnation au #glowy-death-ideas #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #batman #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #tim drake #ghost king danny #dpxdc

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planetformer-central · 3 months ago

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Thank you for making this baby prime AU, it's a boost of serotonin seeing each art of it!

How do Starscream and Soundwave feel about the Primes they once guarded now having been reborn?

I've already done Soundwave, so here's Starscream. This is part 1 of a set of comic pages I have sketched.

That said, in the TF1 Baby Primes AU, Starscream is not a meme worthy character. He is cunning, exceptionally so. He was trained from the moment of his forging to be a soldier, eventually being taken under the wing of Liege Maximo himself. He watched the Cybertronian empire fall. He witnessed Crystal City, the crown jewel of Cybertron, burn. He was so loyal during the war that he was allowed to know of the Primes reincarnations and even serve as a teacher to Prima during his regular rebirths. Additionally, he served in a priestly position to fill in after the Primacy was destroyed. He tried to keep the ancient customs of Cybertron alive, no matter the cost to himself.

Starscream is old, and above all else, he's unwavering in his goals. He wants nothing more than for the old empire to return, and for his Lords to be able to go back to their traditional roles as wandering guardians and guides. For the sake of his goals, he has allied himself with Megatron and remains loyal in the hope that Megatron might show his Lords the error of their ways and convince them to come back with the High Guard.

One of his notable quotes regarding the situation is as follows:

"Our Lords are young yet. And during this delicate time after rebirth, they imprint easily. Their loyalty to Optimus is pure and unwavering, at least for now. But as they age, so long as they are shown the truth, they will begin to stray from him. That is when we strike. That is when we can bring them home."

#transformers #maccadam #digital art #alternate universe #fan art #transformers one #comic art #starscream #transformers one baby primes au

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salaimoi · 1 year ago

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𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: GUYS THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! I finally wrote a fic that isn’t about GOJO?! whaaaaaaat is the world as we know it coming to an end? D:

Past lover Sukuna who originally took no interest in you being his wife, but eventually, your abiding love taught him to do so. But, it was far too late when you established that he was indeed capable of loving someone other than himself. Your demise caused him to lose the individual he held dearest in this world – replacing the affectionate sentiment that had been coursing through his heart with resentment.

Past lover Sukuna who had anticipated your fated return once more since the Heian Era, only for your rebirth to never arrive, even though millennia went by. The benevolent soul he eagerly waited for became ensnared in the depths of the underworld, unable to reincarnate into the mortal world.

Even then, he was more than certain that you weren’t at eternal rest because of the longing, the nostalgia, and the need to be together again that he felt.

He knew your anima was among the 7 realms somewhere; all he had to do was wait for your return. Heaven could wait as long as it meant laying eyes on that precious face of yours once more.

Past lover Sukuna who noticed the spitting image of his deceased wife walking down the street that fateful day. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity to have you once more in this lifetime as well – even if it was borderline selfish.

To bring back those good old times; to bring back what was his.

To hold you. To own you. To conquer you. To possess you. To control your soul. To do whatever he wanted to with you.

To be with you once again, reverting to a time when he could feel affection – the way he liked best.

Past lover Sukuna who gripped your arm vigorously out of the blue among the crowd, because Sukuna never knew boundaries – not when it came to his beloved.

“You look familiar,” he said, “not only the uncanny face shape and the exact same expression… but also your scent.” His gaze unrelenting as he scanned every aspect of your being as if you were his property, to make sure it was you – and he was correct.

You were the same woman Sukuna fell in love with 1000 years ago. Alas, his delicate swan had returned to him after eons of suffering, like he knew you would.

Past lover Sukuna who noticed you squirming under his grip and scolded you, sharp nails digging at your flesh.

“You shouldn’t be acting like this; it isn’t decent behavior for the reincarnation of my cherished wife to act in such a manner.”

But you didn't remember a life before this one, nor did you recall his name or even the fact that you were once his most prized possession.

Past lover Sukuna who waited over a thousand years just for his beloved to reincarnate into a mortal. He knew he wasn’t capable of loving anybody nearly as much as he loved her. And now...now she's back.

When you left this world, you took all – if any – of the sense of compassion he had. No one in the history of sorcerers and curses alike could come close to comprehending the misery he endured with each passing day.

Time and time again, reliving his wife’s death in his subconscious. Powerless to intervene as he witnessed the life drain out of her and transfer onto his fingertips.

“I missed you all those years, and I can't have the same fate happening again. I'm not going to let you die the way you did in your past life, got it?" Never forgetting to conceal the anguish in his words, as to not let himself be too vulnerable.

Past lover Sukuna who was hellbent on evoking in you the sentiment of what it was like to be his spouse. Even if it meant having to recreate every single romantic scenario he ever experienced with you a second time.

“I finally have you with me again. All I need to do is make you remember the feelings you had for me in your previous life, and then you'll have your past self fully restored.”

To you, it would entail falling in love with him all over again; to him, it would be a refresher on what you once shared. A win-win scenario.

Past lover Sukuna who began to notice the essence of that past life slowly merging with your current self, fusing the two identities into one. The love she felt a thousand years ago was slowly reawakening. All while Sukuna stood there in awe of the magnificent sight he was witnessing; the sight of his beloved being reborn again. The reunion of two souls was happening before his eyes, and it was almost emotional to see.

Past lover Sukuna whose heart felt heavy from the weight of joy and relief that he felt. He finally reunited with his once-lost lover. The essence of her former life was fully restored once more as she was standing right next to him. It seemed unreal to see her with his own eyes – his beloved was back, at long last. The eternal years of hardship for the sake of his plan were finally worth it.

Current lover Sukuna whose fingers ran through the locks sprawled over his lap – calming the both of you to no bounds when his fingernails rake through your scalp. His free hand holding onto your wrist tightly, because he had to be sure no one would snatch you from his grasp a second time.

“I missed you so damn much…more than you could ever possibly imagine.”

Current lover Sukuna who finally admitted to his feelings for the first time in millennium, because he missed you more than anything in this infernal world.

Current lover Sukuna who admired you with a soft expression, shocked at how angelic you were even after a thousand years.

“You still look as gorgeous as you did a lifetime ago.” words dripping with genuine adoration as he gazed down at his wife.

Current lover Sukuna who wondered how that was possible in the first place. Surely, granting him access to a companion of your caliber – with such a pure heart and soul – was a mistake of some kind?

Current lover Sukuna who thought, “All is right in this world again.” to himself. Because it was. You were by his side once more – right where you belonged.

#⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 20ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀᴄᴏᴍʙᴏ ɪꜱ ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ .ᐟ #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #reader x sukuna #sukuna angst #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x you

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vyainide · 6 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ monster trio & kissing

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤmonkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, sanji vinsmoke

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, sfw, fluff?, what constitutes as fluff idk girl, established relationship w/ zoro and sanji, luffy is a secret third thing i guess?, stray 'kms' threat in sanji's part

from vyon. big up to alex turner and no. 1 party anthem; luffy's is marginally longer because he's my most specialiest boy and he deserves special treatment and i struggled way too hard with characterising sanji in a relationship aside from all the embarrassing simping stuff, he's just amazingly pathetic, i don't wna talk about it, the main star here is luffy

like a lot of other things, kissing comes easy to luffy. though he's never had any couples around him as he grew up, he's been on enough adventures to catch a number of couples share a few quick pecks here and there. sabo's once mentioned kissing as well— a sort of distant memory that comes back when your lips first land on his cheek on your supposed first date. it might be sabo's fault, or his parents, that luffy believes kissing to be bleugh before he's tried it. though in sabo's defence, there wasn't a child in the world that would want to see their parents kissing. still, it isn't as bad as sabo made it out to be, luffy thinks as his wide–eyed gaze follows you back onto the sunny. there's something in the shape of your lips sunburnt onto his cheek, crisp just underneath the scar he'd gotten as a child.

the old scar is a smudge between a burning hypersensitivity and a cold unfeeling stretch of skin; your lips brush against the scar and it tingles itself into simultaneous death and rebirth. burning, melting— luffy presses a hand against his cheek and feels full. then his lips pull into a grin and the burn of your lips spreads out, pushing through every fold of skin as his hand reaches out for the sunny and he flings himself into the air, allowing the feeling to crawl through sinew.

luffy is no stranger to touching— he does it in painstaking excess, but there's a childhood teaching in him that kissing is not the same as touching. he stares at nami for a while, wondering if the instinct to feel her is the same as it is for you; she gets annoyed by his unwavering stare and swats at his head. he decides it's a no.

kissing is meant to be con... consumption? conservative— constellation? no, it's one of those 'c' words that he doesn't really remember, but he knows that he's supposed to ask you if you want him to kiss you. he doesn't understand the idea of waiting for permission but he'd really hate it if you were grossed out, like ace once told him would happen if kissing happened unconventionally(?) (that's not right he thinks), so he asks you one day.

as simple as he gets, luffy comes up to you and asks. "do you want me to kiss you?"

you splutter in shock and you hear movements on the deck still. luffy thinks he'd maybe forgotten something that the people in foosa village taught him but he waits for you to answer anyways. it doesn't come because sanji is aiming a kick at his head and shouting at him about the delicate intricacies of romance and courting. through all the dizzying flips of colour as he jumped away from sanji's attack, a kaleidoscope of the things he loves the most (the sea, his ship, his crew) in his eyes, he sees the hesitant embarrassment that colours your cheeks in. the burn that you've placed in him sparking up a fuse between the two of you at the slip of his tongue against gums and he laughs, swinging away and crash landing on whatever usopp was building out of sticks.

you return to him at a more private time, slip up next to him wordlessly— he doesn't say anything so you fear that he'd forgotten.

"do you still mean it?" your shoulder knocks against his.

"mean what?"

you turn to look at him, your eyes flickering down. "when you asked if i wanted you to kiss me."

that gets his attention, his head turns to you with a flexibility only he has— his eyes blinking at you carefully. "i did, did you make up your mind?" his lips pulled up into a grin, "you want me to kiss you now?"

you wish he had a less abrasive way of asking, but the answer is the same regardless. you nod and luffy takes.

you're not sure what you're expecting at this point. you know how luffy is about psychical touch, he's no stranger to it— everything he's ever known, he's ran his hands over. the amount of times you've been knocked down to his reckless habit of flinging himself into your back, you expect the same thing here.

luffy inspects you for a moment, the corners of his lips pulling down before twitching into a pout, "it's not gonna hurt, silly, why'd you look like that?" he shifts his body to face yours, his knees knocking against yours as he pushes his face closer.

then, his lips stretch outwards— his damn devil fruit— and it's so comical how his puckered lips pulled towards you to press gently against your cheek that you're laughing when it snaps back into place. luffy laughs along with you for a moment. a gooey comfort strained inside of you, your hands pressed against his cheeks— you find a simple joy in pulling his face, and then you find a better joy in leaning yourself closer to press your lips against his.

you're giving so luffy takes. he shifts onto his knees for better leverage to lean into you— the movements are stiff and careless. he's less kissing you and more just pushing his face into yours but you can feel the strain of his smile against your lips so no matter. being luffy, he pushes and he pushes greedily until your hands move from his face to the deck to keep yourself from falling.

it's so stupid how, even though this sucks, you want to make an occupation of kissing him.

it becomes a habit for him to kiss you no matter how far away you are by taking advantage of his devil fruit. eventually, he does get better; you realise why after a pointed comment from robin that hints to the fact that he'd asked her for kissing tips.

zoro is all lingering touch, heated spaces, and fizzling affection. it's not often that he gives you the pleasure of being skin close with him— not that you mind. he's eye candy enough, grunting and sweating in a handstand with barbells methodically placed on his feet and boxes of miscellaneous supplies for added weight. he's never been the type to need the world in his life; everything he's done has always been to prove a sick something to himself, to his strength.

his devotion is similar. there's no place for prying eyes in your relationship when there's you, the fulfilling adoration, and zoro. sometimes, there is also his swords and other times, there is an overwhelming luffy (who knows no boundaries).

he's always more forgiving with you, but he draws the line at excessive pda and you respect that boundary. fleeting contact has never been zoro's strong suit, he's an all or nothing soldier so when it comes to kissing, he likes the ready privacy that allows him to indulge. so he ignores the pointed staring, how you've made yourself comfortable on the benches in the crow's nest; your body sprawled out following the curve of the seats as your face turns red from how you have your head hanging off the cushioned planks.

he grunted, turning his head back down to the floor before he loses his balance.

you start counting, "one, two, three." he's well past those measly numbers but he lets you do as you please. "four, five, one, three, sixty–five, twelve, two, negative five, twenty, fourteen, nine—"

he folds his legs down against his chest, letting the weights fall to the floor with a thud. "alright," he straightened up, "you've made your point." an unimpressed look crosses his face.

your lips curled up into a grin and then you pull yourself up, throwing his towel at him. he takes the hit to the face and presses his hand over the fabric to wipe away the sweat and falls next to you, sliding his body down for his head to lay on your thigh.

"ewwww," your face scrunched up, "you're sticking to me." his hair is clinging to his forehead, interrupted strokes of green paint against his temple.

"shut it."

a laugh is quiet on your lips as zoro falls into the comfort of the moment, his eye closing. you trace over his face and then you crane yourself down, ignoring the ache in your spine and neck, your lips fall onto his forehead, "one." you counted. then onto the space between his furrowed brows, "two," his nose, "three". over his eye, "four." you pull back just in time to feel his lashes scratch over your lips.

a heavy judgement in his eye, stern and serious— he curls an arm up to press against your nape and pulls you down. there's a weight that's tethering you to the moment in the curves of his arm and a light–headedness that makes the stillness burst at the seams as zoro ignites everything alive. it's a slow and careful thing, how his head rises to meets yours and then how it tilts so he can slide his lips onto yours.

his arm drags across your neck until you feel moisture in the contour of his calloused hand, fingers pushes into your hair as zoro leans back from your lips, humming. "five." he says, a whisper of a smirk on his lips. a flicker of tender violence in how he fists your hair at its base and pulls your head back to give himself access to your neck. all or nothing, you're reminded, he drags this kind of simple affection into long, several moments.

he continues counting, picking up where you left off until you both hear luffy calling for zoro to help him fish and your relationship mellows back down, protected in loud secrecy.

there's always a strange line to tread when it comes to sharing intimacy with sanji. he's the quickest to melt when it's passing pecks, a second touch of your chapped lips against his cheek.

it depends on the atmosphere of the moment. just as quick as you can puppeteer him to pliant stuttering, sanji is more than capable of wearing you down to your barest core with his appreciative methodical gestures.

what everyone else is most familiar with are the fast moments of sanji softening when you offhandedly touch him. a simple smile on your lips as he gracefully sets your plate down in front of you, ease in the way your head turns to face him and you give his cheek a grateful peck, a quick kiss against his lips when you're splitting ways upon docking on a new island. it's enough of a spectacle that luffy makes the same laughing racket when you kiss sanji casually to see him twirl with new founded energy and hearts in his eyes; that zoro has a trademarked insult ready on his lips whenever it happens; that nami owns a jar that sanji has to put money into whenever he starts his weird dance.

it's almost easy to forget how sanji reciprocates. love has always been a second language to him— it's burrowed in his every unhurried moment when cooking, it's a burn that drove an abscess in him when he was younger, it's straightened postures and the clean lines of his stature for every perverted thought that plagues him. his every move carries an echo, a drumming confession that rings i love you, i love you, i love you until the words are bleeding raw into each other and you feel undeserving in his passion that stinks of cigarette smoke.

the disturbance of the lit end against a clear canvas of blue skies, his arms folded over the handrails of the sunny, the strokes of grey smoke that taints the pristine clouds that rest languidly; a rigid lock on his features until you're brought to his attention with your shoes clicking against the deck. his face shifts into something more delicate— full of feeling that's different from his usual excitable manner.

"bad for you," you begin with a light–hearted scold, plucking the cigarette away from his lips. he turns to you, his back against the handrails.

his restless hands search for touch and find an answering comfort on your skin, turning up and down over the shape of your hips until his thumbs dig into the waistband of your bottoms. "don't," he pleads, "you know it kills me when you're disappointed."

your lips turn upwards, "should i cry?"

"please." his voice wavers between a weak warning and aching desperation as his head falls onto your shoulder, pulling you closer.

the smell of smoke is cauterised into his skin— you don't mind it and you don't mind him smoking, but you think it's funny to act like you do if it has sanji like this. his hair scratches against your skin, tickling an itch he'd placed in you long ago and you thread your straying hand into the strands as his fingers press demandingly into your hips. following your motion, sanji turns his head to look up at you.

a furrow in his brows and a plea in his eyes.

"you know i'm teasing," you lean down, pressing a kiss against his lips as an attempt to appease him, "but you know i'll have to kill myself if chopper comes and redirects his disappointment at me again." you sigh, weary at just the topic. "i mean seriously, he looks at me like i'm the one shoving cigarettes into your mouth and forcing you to inhale."

sanji tries to focus on your words but your lips have left him cold when you pull away; suddenly, being skin to skin isn't enough and he's trying to placate the greed that is curdling inside of him. it works for the better half of a second, his thumbs pull out of your waistband and his arms wrapped around you, one around your waist and the other dressed against your back.

he ducks his head down and settles his craving.

sanji is gentle all around, careful to make even his affections palatable. he starts slow, testing waters that he's skinny dipped in previously and when he finds no rejection, he moves in deeper. he's a lifelong hunger that can never hope to be satiated when close to you, unwavering in a promise that has wedding bells ringing deep in your bones.

there's a new memory of a life he wishes for you, brought to life and fed by the taste of you. for now, he has to pull away as the ship rocks into a tempestuous sea and panicked feet disrupt the echo of the bells. nami starts to shout orders. he pulls away. his heart stutters in time with the unpredictable storm. sanji trips over his feet on his way to pull up the sails and he starts twirling when it makes you laugh.

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cloudedgalaxies · 8 months ago

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ANYWAYS Idiyuu is Hades and Persephone conspiracy:

Persephone is not from the Underworld. She is called back to the Mortal Realm eventually because she has to return. Yuu is literally from another world. They are not suited to Twisted Wonderland, and are nothing like Idia has ever seen. They have to go back eventually.

Hades is probably one of the few TWST boys to have a “canon” spouse (at least in Greek mythology, which Hercules’ Hades is obviously based on). On top of that, Hades and Persephone is the love story between death and life, isolation and abundance, ending and rebirth. Idia is a gloomy, pessimistic boy who has been condemned to be the keeper of the Underworld. Yuu is a kind, gentle prefect who has been there to help and has helped everyone they know, again and again.

Night Raven College has been in a ‘winter’ for all of its history. Everyone is hostile to everyone, no one wants to cooperate or work together, and every single person there has some ulterior motive. In comes Yuu, who is a breath of fresh air. A new perspective. A new season. They bring ‘spring,’ showing people that they can bloom. They can harbor feelings that aren’t cruel. They can do things that aren’t harsh. And slowly, they start to thaw. Flowers of friendship and something gentler bloom. Yuu is there to help pull the boys from their darkest moments to see the light again. Idia is no exception.

I think that the way Book 6 was set up makes Idia and Yuu seem a lot more meaningful honestly, though I'm probably reading way too into things lol. Yuu originally goes to the Island of Woe to save Grim. They don’t particularly care much about what’s going on with Idia—they just want to get Grim back. But then later, once they realize what’s going on, they do. There isn’t much, if any, personal connection to Idia’s overblot like there was with all the others. Yuu doesn’t have to do anything to help. And yet, they still do. Even after Idia basically kidnapped Grim, they still help him. They still try to end his winter.

Persephone, in many forms of the myth, didn't originally go to the Underworld willingly. But eventually, she came to love Hades, and they were happy together. Idia and Yuu have no reason to care about the other at first. But they eventually do, after everything that happens and everything that brings them together.

Hades and Persephone are in a constant push and pull. Persephone has to leave because if she stays, winter will never end. She does not want to leave, because she loves Hades. Yuu has to leave Twisted Wonderland, because they have a home beyond it that they need to return to. And yet, they don't want to leave because they love Idia. Idia doesn't want them to go, because it finally feels like spring again. But the seasons have to continue in their cycle, so what can they do?

Also, I think it’s really funny and really beautiful how Idia and Yuu’s first meeting was probably the Ghost Marriage event. This guy who thinks he has 0 rizz ends up having to be saved by some strange new isekai'd student and their gang of potential suitors before he gets his first kiss and promptly dies afterwards. Idia, the boy surrounded by death, is saved by the prefect who seems to be giving everyone a new chance at life. Imagine how poetic it’d be if Yuu and Idia end up getting married in the end, except now neither of them are going to die and they have the rest of their new lives together. There will be winter, but there will also be spring. The cycle of seasons will continue, but flowers will always bloom. They will always return to each other.

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extremely-judgemental · 9 months ago

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How convenient Feyre doesn't have a single memory or glimpse of how Rhysand abused her for two months though she was drugged but her memories weren't taken away. Her body doesn't recognise his touch as danger and isn't repulsed by him. Her trauma hasn't left a mark on her mind and body.

How convenient Feyre's PTSD is about being locked up in a cell and not the man who tortured and broke her hand forcing her into a bargain. Her nightmares are filled with the creatures that abused her once and threatened to spit roast her but not of the man who touched her and kissed her without consent and paraded her naked.

How convenient Feyre goes back to using sex as a crutch with Tamlin and later with Rhysand when it was the very thing that was used against her UtM. Her body readily wants a man's touch right after her rebirth.

How convenient Lucien is the only source of information who told Feyre what was done to her. He is also the most considerate and sweetest friend she ever had. He could have withheld some of that trauma to spare her the humiliation and heartbreak.

How convenient Feyre and Tamlin agreed never to speak of what happened UtM. Feyre doesn't understand how Tamlin's rage extends beyond his possessiveness. For her to turn a blind eye and blame him when they won't even talk about it.

How convenient every HL wants to hold Rhysand accountable for the very things he explicitly claimed to be remorseful of (Winter children massacre) and not the other atrocities he participated or committed in the fifty (or 500) years.

How convenient the HLs are polite enough to not ask Feyre how she forgave Rhysand after he SA'd her every night and willingly plays his whore whenever he wants.

How convenient the HLs don't ask if Feyre is also being mind controlled by Rhysand when he proved his strength by taking over Tamlin's mind in front of everyone.

How convenient every HL forgive Rhysand and Feyre for every mistake they ever made and make compromises throughout but never expect anything in return. How convenient mere 'sorry' always seems to be enough when their courts are suffering because of IC.

How convenient Tamlin insults Feyre but doesn't ask how she accepted her abuser as her mate when she accuses him of the same (sometimes worse) too.

How convenient Lucien is so charmed by the beauty of Velaris that he understands why Feyre left Spring for it but doesn't hold a grudge for what she did to his home.

How convenient Nesta, who's been SA'd twice, never finds out her baby sister also went through the same and is in love with the perpetrator. She never finds out the baby she saved is the child of Feyre's abuser.

How convenient Rhysand and Feyre agreed to deal with their trauma in secrecy. No one in Velaris ever finds out what truly happened UtM.

How convenient 'We save abused priestesses together' Morrigan or 'Careful how you speak about my High Lady' Azriel or 'No male better than Rhys' Cassian never find out how Rhysand hurt Feyre.

How convenient Rhysand himself was SA'd over and over again and so it's all fine to do the same to Feyre.

How convenient what happened UtM stays UtM.

How fucking convenient.

#rhysand critical #feyre critical #inner circle critical #acotar critical #sjm critical

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spencersmopbucket · 1 month ago

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A Deadly Flower Bloomed | Caius Volturi

Pairing: Caius Volturi x Reader Summary: They'd always known you'd make a stunning immortal. But based on your shy, docile human temperament, they weren't aware how deadly. Warning: slightly violent and gory, newborn vampire alert

The wait was torture for Caius. It had been three days; three days of silence. Your absence mocked him. He was used to receiving a tug on his cloak every few hours -- you -- your human needs demanding his attention and closeness. He'd become adjusted to your soft, innocent giggle echoing throughout the castle, no doubt getting into mischief with Jane or chasing after the pet cat they'd allowed you to have. He'd grown to love your warm fingers threading through his when you craved rare affection from your King.

Aro had spent a bit of time holding your limp hand while you transitioned on the silky bedsheets of your quarters. This was one of the only times Caius wished Aro couldn't read minds. He could see, just based off from his brother's porcelain expression, that you were in agony. It made him shudder for the first time in hundreds of years. Normally, such a human reaction disgusted him. But when it came to you, there were no limits to his affections.

In your human life, you'd been so undeserving of this type of pain. You were pure, quiet, humble. You were dainty and sweet, such a contrast to Caius himself. An angel in human form.

Now, you were locked behind thick doors of stone and silence. He hadn’t left the corridor outside your chambers since the moment your screams had started. Even Marcus, ever-emotionless, had raised a brow at his brother’s refusal to move.

Three days. Three nights. Eighty-two agonizing hours of Caius pacing like a maddened thing, listening, analyzing every faint twitch of sound behind that door. He had committed a thousand atrocities over the centuries -- but this was the first that truly felt like penance.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak. And though his immortal heart did not beat, it ached.

You had trusted him with your life -- with your soul -- and he had returned the favor by sentencing you to fire. Beautiful, purifying fire, yes... but fire nonetheless. And now, all he could do was wait for you to awaken -- reborn, perhaps, but changed. There was no going back.

The last time he saw you, your eyes had been glassy with tears, your hand trembling in his as your heart slowed under the weight of the venom. “Don’t leave me,” you'd whispered.

And he hadn't. Not once.

So when the stone doors creaked open -- slowly, cautiously -- Caius straightened like a statue brought to life, his breath caught in his throat.

Then he saw you.

The transformation had been nothing short of divine. Your skin gleamed like moonlight, your eyes were red and ravenous. But it was the way you stood -- tall, regal, absolutely still -- that made him falter.

Your fierce eyes finally ceased from analyzing your surroundings, clearly enamored with your newfound eye strength. They zeroed in on your mate, every inch of his skin, his red eyes, his plush pink lips and platinum hair. You inhaled his smell, a warm bliss finally hitting your cold eyes, showing him similarities to the girl you were when you were human.

His worries melted away. Even changed, you were still in love with him.

You stepped forward, for once in your life not tentatively. Your cold hand floated up, sliding onto Caius's cheek.

Caius couldn't breathe, not that he needed to. Not when your gaze held such fierce clarity -- like your eyes saw into his soul now, truly and completely. Your touch, once timid and featherlight, now carried a steadiness that shook him far more than any battlefield or rebellion ever had.

Your thumb brushed over the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, and something in your expression softened -- just a sliver, but it was you. It was the very core of your gentleness breaking through the cold steel of your rebirth.

“I remember everything,” you said softly, your voice velvet and laced with power.

It wasn’t the high-pitched, uncertain tone you used to carry. It was smooth, confident, regal. A voice meant for a queen. His queen.

Caius turned his face slightly into your palm, closing his eyes for just a breath, allowing himself this small moment of relief. You had come back to him. Not just in form, but in essence.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here,” you added after a beat, your tone flickering with a trace of old vulnerability. “I thought… the fire might take too long. That it might change me too much.”

“It did change you,” he whispered, finally letting his hands rise to cup your face in return. His thumbs rested beneath your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes drank you in. “But in the most magnificent of ways. You glow, my love."

Caius barely had time to marvel at the wonder that was you before your cool lips met his in a kiss that shattered centuries of restraint.

Your mouth pressed to his with all the need you’d bottled up over three days of burning agony -- and a lifetime before that. Caius responded instantly, his hands sliding from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was fervent, claiming, the taste of your venom still fresh and electric on your tongue. It was heat and hunger, devotion and desire -- coiling between you like a tether pulled taut by centuries of longing.

You moaned softly into the kiss, and that tiny sound unraveled something feral in him. One hand tangled in your hair, tugging gently, and your sharp gasp made him deepen the kiss, parting your lips with his own.

For someone who’d never kissed with a vampire’s strength or precision before, you were devastating. Your hands roamed over his chest, up to his shoulders, as if reacquainting yourself with every part of him -- but this time, without fragility. You didn’t have to hold back anymore.

And neither did he.

His fangs grazed your lower lip, teasing, and you pulled him impossibly closer, tongue slipping past his lips, matching his fervor with your own. There was nothing tentative now. You kissed like a queen -- bold, dangerous, in complete control.

But then --

You froze.

Your hands stilled against his chest, your body going rigid in his arms.

Caius pulled back just slightly, confusion flickering in his crimson eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, voice rough from the kiss.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even blink. Your pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as a sickeningly sweet scent hit the air -- warm, metallic, utterly intoxicating.

Blood.

Your head whipped toward the far end of the corridor, nostrils flaring as the scent grew stronger, laced with panic and fresh pain.

Down the hallway, behind a set of double doors leading to the main offices, the human secretary had sliced her hand on a piece of parchment paper. A minor, foolish accident. One drop. That’s all it took.

Your eyes darkened, jaw clenching as your newborn instincts screamed to the surface, drowning out everything else.

“She's bleeding,” you hissed, almost reverent, voice low and guttural. Your hands trembled -- not with fear, but with craving.

Caius stepped in front of you instantly, eyes sharp. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice a command born of centuries of rule. “Not her. Me.”

But you were already gone.

One blur of motion -- faster than the human eye could track -- and you’d vanished down the corridor.

Caius took off after you, a blur of platinum and black. Behind him, Aro and Marcus appeared in the hallway, faces unreadable.

“Shall we intervene?” Marcus asked quietly.

Aro smiled, almost fondly. “No. Let her show us what she is.”

When you reached the room Janine was in (a human secretary that hated you, mostly out of jealousy), your sharp eyes caught the droplet of blood falling from her finger. Caius, Aro, and Marcus stood behind you. A raspy growling exhale left your lips as Janine's wide eyes met yours.

You tilted your head, a smirk falling onto your ravenous lips as you picked up her fear. Your new confidence was evident to the Kings.

Three years of Janine's torment had made you cold. Unforgiving. Similarly to your mate.

"Funny, the situation we're in," You said, your voice low and rasped with hunger. You took a small step forward. "I used to be scared of you. Now look. You're cowering. All because of a paper cut."

You circled her, like a lion. The thin line between your restraint and hunger wavered every few seconds -- but you wanted to taunt her. You wanted her to feel what you'd felt for years. She'd made you feel inconvenient, powerless, she'd embarrassed you. You were scared of her gaze for years.

Aro smirked, watching with an almost fond interest. "This is quite the transformation," he commented softly to Caius and Marcus, his voice dripping with amusement. "I had no doubt she'd be a force to be reckoned with, but this… this is something else entirely."

"You remember the way you treated me, don't you?" you purred, your voice cruel and smooth. "The way you looked down on me? Like I was just some little girl beneath your notice. Do you remember the way you used to laugh at me? Make me feel small... insignificant?"

Janine's face paled even further, her lips trembling. She nodded, clearly understanding now the weight of her mistake.

"Name, please--"

A musical laugh slid from your lips. You slid a cold finger down her face, stopping at her pulse point. Your eyes darkened.

"No one's stopping me. No one values your life. You were cruel to me when I was fragile," you hissed, wrapping fingers around her throat. "You've worked with the Volturi for years. Do they show mercy when wronged?"

"Darling." Caius hummed, tilting his head. "Let us not play with our food, hm?"

You paused at Caius's voice, the coldness of his words settling in the air like ice. His tone was both commanding and restrained, a gentle reminder of the control he held, even as he stood just behind you. His presence was a dark anchor, pulling you back from the edge, even as your instincts screamed for more.

Aro’s amused smile flickered for a brief moment as he exchanged a glance with Marcus, both of them content to watch the drama unfold, but it was Caius who seemed to hold the reigns of the situation.

You slowly, reluctantly tightened your grip on Janine's throat, but your eyes remained locked on hers, still burning with the promise of your wrath.

Caius’s gaze was unwavering, his crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable. "It is beneath us to linger on a mere human. We've played the game long enough," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, yet there was a finality to his words that made your breath catch.

With his final assert, you pulled Janine's head sharply, exposing her neck. Then, a beautifully gruesome sight was exposed to the Kings. Your fangs extended and you dove in.

The moment your fangs sank into Janine's soft, fragile skin, the room was filled with the sickening sound of her blood spilling into your mouth. The taste was sharp, metallic, and intoxicating, but it was the fear that mixed with it that made the experience so exhilarating. The pulse beneath your lips was strong, a steady rhythm that resonated in the very depths of you.

Janine’s body jerked beneath you, her hands weakly clutching at your arm, but it was futile. Her struggles were meaningless, a mere echo of her last attempts to assert any kind of control, and you let her helplessness feed your hunger.

Behind you, you could feel the presence of the Volturi Kings -- Aro, Marcus, and Caius -- each of them silently observing the spectacle before them. Aro’s usual grin had faded, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that was both curious and approving. Marcus stood still, his face unreadable, though his eyes hinted at something more... calculating. Caius, however, remained as steadfast as ever, his crimson eyes locked on you, unreadable, yet undeniably proud.

As your fangs tore into Janine's neck, her blood flowed faster, and you could feel the rush of power flood through your veins. You had never felt so alive, so unstoppable. The human was nothing more than a source of sustenance to you now, a mere pawn in your game of power.

Yet, even as your hunger began to fade and her life force ebbed away, there was something dark and beautiful about this moment. The vulnerability of the human woman, the sense of control you held over her, and the knowledge that you were no longer the weak, fragile being you once were. You were no longer the one cowering under her gaze.

Caius stepped closer, his voice low and commanding. "Enough," he murmured, his eyes glinting with the slightest bit of impatience.

You reluctantly pulled away, savoring the last taste of Janine's blood before letting her fall to the ground, lifeless and drained. Her body crumpled like a discarded puppet, leaving behind only the memory of her cruelty.

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of what had just transpired hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Aro’s smile returned, this time tinged with something darker, almost satisfied.

"Truly magnificent," he remarked, his voice filled with quiet admiration. "You have embraced your power fully."

Caius’s gaze never left you, his voice just a whisper. "You are no longer the person you once were. You are powerful, so powerful. But with time, we will learn to harness this power."

You straightened, feeling the power of the moment settle over you like a cloak. Your eyes flicked from Janine’s lifeless body to the Kings before you, each of them acknowledging the transformation that had taken place, both in you and in the room.

For the first time since your transformation, you felt untouchable. But as usual, Caius grounded you. His fingers intertwined with your blood soaked ones as he walked with you down the corridor of the castle, leading you to his quarters.

When you reached them, he presented you with a bejeweled box, opening it quietly. Inside, there was an exquisite black dress, lace and silk with a corset. A blood red ruby sat in the center of the breast. Beside the the dress was a black cloak, similar to the one Caius donned. And finally, there was a glimmering necklace -- A Volturi crest, encrusted with diamonds.

"A queen must have the proper attire. Your transformation has officially made you a part of me -- my wife. It does not compare to your effervescence.. however," he hummed, a rare, gentle smile on his lips. "It is the very best attire possible. I hope you will accept it."

The words hung in the air like a delicate thread, wrapping around you in a way you hadn't expected. Caius's rare, gentle smile flickered across his face, a soft contrast to the fierce power that surrounded him. His words were not just a gift -- they were a declaration. A bond formed not only by blood but by something deeper, more eternal.

You stood there for a moment, your gaze flicking from the dress, to the necklace, and finally back to him. The offer was not just material -- it was the mark of his trust, of the position he was giving you. His wife. His queen.

Your fingers brushed lightly over the fabric of the dress, feeling its weight, its softness. The black lace shimmered faintly, as though it were alive. The blood-red ruby at its center seemed to pulse, like a heartbeat, in sync with your own.

For the first time since your transformation, you felt the full weight of what you'd become. You were not just Caius's equal in power -- you were now tied to him in the most sacred way possible. You were his queen. His partner.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your blood-soaked hands feeling lighter in his grasp. His touch was the grounding force you needed -- steady, unwavering. And yet, there was something else there too. A promise.

You then turned, placing a gentle hand on Caius's chest. Love poured into your red eyes as you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss onto his lips.

"It is all absolutely beautiful, Caius. Truly. I couldn't ask for anything more than being your queen. For eternity."

Caius stood still as your hand rested on his chest, his crimson eyes watching yours with an intensity that spoke volumes. The world around you seemed to quiet in that moment, as though everything else faded into the background and only the two of you remained -- as it was always meant to be.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours yet again. The kiss was a powerful affirmation, full of love, respect, and something much deeper. It was a union of souls, forged through centuries and now sealed in this single, tender moment.

His hands moved to cradle your face, his fingers brushing along your jaw with a possessiveness that was unmistakable. The kiss deepened, a soft fire igniting between you both as you both sought to imprint this moment into your very beings.

When you finally pulled away, the air between you crackled with something more than just desire. There was something eternal, something unshakable.

His voice was a low growl, soft but brimming with power. "You are mine, now and forever. No one will ever be as important to me."

A faint smile curved his lips, one that was as rare and precious as the moments when he allowed his vulnerability to show. "You have everything, and you will have everything for eternity. I will never let you go." He finished.

You stepped back slightly, the glimmering necklace catching the light, the Volturi crest now a symbol of your bond. "I will always be yours, Caius," you whispered, your voice steady but laced with the same promise. "Until the world crumbles."

Caius reached forward, his hands pulling you back into his embrace, his lips finding yours once again. This time, it was more than just love. It was the sealing of your fate, the beginning of your reign together, side by side.

The world could tremble before the Volturi, but you and Caius would be the ones who stood unyielding, together.

#the volturi #twilight #caius volturi #caius #caius x reader #caius volturi x reader #aro volturi #aro #marcus volturi #marcus #the twilight saga #fanfiction #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #jane volturi #vampire fanfici #caius volturi fanfiction

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thewickedjazzy · 8 months ago

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“Stay with me, milaya”

➵Pairing: fyodor x afab! reader

➵Summary: fyodor searches for you across countless lifetimes, witnessing you die in his arms again and again. Yet, fate continuously brings you both back together with each of your rebirths.

➵Tags and word count: 5.3k words. sfw, angst to comfort, slight fluff, hallucinations, vivid memories, delusions, shifting scenes, mental health struggles, dissociation.

➵want to read more of fyodor ?

"There is a cruel irony in the fact that you are bound to return to this world, only to be torn away from it time and again. Seven lifetimes, each one a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time. But even as you are reborn, your fate is always the same—a life cut short, a soul never allowed to rest."

The sky is a deep, unforgiving gray, the snow falling gently around him. He stands alone in the desolate landscape, a faint figure against the blanket of white. His breath is visible in the frigid air as he stares down at the burnt-out edges of an old photograph clutched between his slender fingers. The image, though charred, still reveals traces of a face—your face, the one he’s sought in every life.

"Milaya... even now, your features begin to fade from memory, like everything else in this world. But I will not allow time to erase you completely—not when I am so close to finding you again."

His whispers drift on the wind, barely audible but there is an unwavering resolve in his eyes. He carefully traces the faint outlines of your face with his thumb, trying to capture every detail, every curve, every hint of the life that once was. Yet, he knows the futility of it—each reincarnation is a shift in memory, altering your essence just enough to make you a stranger once more.

"This time, my dear," he murmurs to himself, "I will not let you slip through my fingers. I have searched for you across centuries, manipulated the lives of others, all to find you. I will not be denied, not by destiny, not by anything."

Fyodor tucks the burnt photograph back into his coat, his expression stoic as he surveys the snow-covered ground. He is nonchalant, almost detached, but beneath the surface lies a storm—a desperation that he cannot fully suppress.

He begins to walk, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he heads toward the place where he knows you must be. His heart, though often cold, beats a little faster at the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, even if you do not remember him. But he is nothing if not persistent. He will make you remember, one way or another.

Yet there you are, gazing at the sky above you as it transforms into a canvas of burnt orange and fading blue, cinnabar streaks bleeding through the clouds like a watercolor painting. Your thoughts drifted back to a time you thought you'd forgotten—a memory of the day you first met him. It felt distant now, yet the details were so vivid.

He had been unlike anyone you'd ever known. some how he stood out in ways most people didn’t. His features were strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just his looks that caught your attention—it was the quiet mystery that followed him wherever he went. His pale skin, almost alabaster, contrasted sharply with his dark clothing, and his eyes—those glowing, enigmatic violet eyes—held depths you couldn’t quite reach. There was often a flicker of pain in them, so subtle it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it.

Which makes total sense. His father 'Mikhail Dostoevsky' was well-known for his austere and viciousness—well after he was granted a nobleman's rank of course— contrariwise, Fyodor was something of a benevolent despot.

The gardens of the palace stretched out before you, a haven full of flowering fragrances, nooks, and crannies of sheer delight.

You caught sight of him standing beneath the glow of the moon, his posture composed as he conversed with his elder sibling. The moonlight cast a soft halo around his figure, making him appear almost ethereal. He seemed unbothered by the festivities around him, his attention focused solely on the conversation. Even in this elegant setting, he exuded a calm detachment, as though the world itself was just an intricate game he was patiently observing.

The path before you was lined with gravel, your footsteps muted by the soft crunch beneath your heels as you made your way through the evening’s parade of guests.

Delicate fairy lights hung in the trees, casting vibrant hues that danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, the clink of glasses, and the hum of casual conversation, but your attention never wavered from him.

As if sensing your gaze, Fyodor glanced your way. His eyes met yours across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the lights, the music, the crowd. There was something paranormal in the way he looked at you. His lips curved ever so slightly into a familiar smile, one that seemed to say he had already anticipated your approach long before you had made up your mind.

Without thinking, you moved toward him. The space between you disappeared as you stepped into his world, where time seemed to slow. He turned to face you fully, his elder sibling excusing themselves from the conversation as you approached.

“Good evening,” his voice was smooth, a touch of amusement hidden in the depths. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve been watching me for some time now.”

His words made your heart skip, but you steadied yourself. There was always something about him that made you feel as though you were always a step behind, as though he had already calculated every move before you even realized it.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, finding your voice again. “You stand out, even in a crowd like this.”

His smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Perhaps, but it’s not the crowd I’m interested in.”

There it was again—that flicker of something deeper, something unreadable. You could sense the burden he carried, a burden of his past, his family’s legacy, and the expectations placed upon him. But beneath all of that, there was something else, something that drew you in even as it warned you to stay away.

“Shall we walk?” he offered, extending his arm toward the gardens.

You nodded, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm as you both began to stroll along the moonlit path. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to follow your every step.

“What do you think of all this?” you asked, gesturing to the grand event taking place around you, the celebration, the laughter, the excess.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It’s fleeting. Moments like these… they’re beautiful, yes. But they fade, just like everything else.”

“But not everything fades,” you ventured softly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully once more. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, reading your thoughts before you could speak them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but the way he just stood there gazing at you said everything.

“Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice low, “but that’s what makes it dangerous, am I right?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the night, about the fleeting beauty of the moment, or about something else entirely. But in that instant, you realized that with Fyodor, nothing was ever simple. He was a puzzle, a mystery, one that you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to solve, but one that you found yourself wanting to.

As you walked beside him, the moonlit scenery unfolding before you, his appreciation for beauty became evident. He had always been drawn to those who possessed a rare allure, and tonight, it was clear that you were his focal point. You were a vision of rare beauty, a one-of-a-kind presence in a world of fleeting appearances.

The scene before you blurs, in an instant, it felt as though time had slowed, and a piercing ringing filled your ears, making you gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of memories.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” he murmured as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

Wait.. when did you get here? Where do these memories come from, and why do they haunt you so persistently?

“I’m just following orders,” you replied slowly, bringing your eyebrows together in a slight frown.

“Stay away from this,” he imploded, sighing. “Please, lyubov.” He places a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But fedya...why now? We’re on the brink of ending your father’s relentless corruption,” you argued. “Why give up now?”

But you knew... you know he wants to protect you from the malignant influences of his father’s world. Yet, the very opportunity to dismantle the chains binding him to this sinister system was slipping away. His father’s grip was a malignancy that threatened to stifle all hope.

“Close but no cigar,” he murmured, his chin resting on your head as he inhales your fresh scent.

But he was right. You should've stayed away from those morons ages ago. You made a mistake and paid dearly for it.

In that moment, the same familiar searing ringing in your ears swept across you, pulling you from the depths of your reverie.. it's happening again.

"Fuck, I am such an imbecile." blood spilled from your abdomen, splattering across your trembling hands as you pulled the dagger free. Your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, every inch of movement sending sharp, jagged pain rippling through your body. And slowly but surely, all you can see is the orange sky getting fuzzier and fuzzier as the pain intensifies.

You reached out with a shaking hand, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, but your limbs refused to obey. Instead of crying out for help, all that escaped your lips is the metallic taste of blood.

“Ah...fuck, not now…” you gasped, the light behind the man standing in the distance, widened with each passing moment. Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you?

You blink, once, twice, trying to focus as everything around you darkens, and just as quickly as you are pulled into this chain of nightmares, you find yourself back in the present as the persistent ringing stops.

Gasping, you sit at your desk, drenched in cold sweat. Your fingers instinctively press against your abdomen, but there’s no blood. No wound. The dagger, the pain, it’s all gone, as if it never existed.

You press harder against your stomach, feeling for any injury, but your skin remains unscathed.

"I need a mirror," you mutter, voice trembling as you push away from the desk and hurry toward the mirror in the entrance. Your reflection stares back at you, eyes wide with panic, face pale, but undeniably yours.

“It’s me,” you whisper in relief, leaning closer, bracing yourself against the cool surface. You reach for the pill bottle on the nearby shelf, your fingers fumbling with the cap as you swallow a dose, desperate to calm the storm inside your mind.

You sit back at your desk again, hands still shaking as you breathe deeply. "It’s fine. I'm okay. It’s all delusions," you whisper, trying to convince yourself.

But you somehow memorise all of these memories like the back of my hand. You call them memories, despite knowing you never actually lived through them, yet they always feel so incredibly real.

They never really leave, do they?

Even now, the phantom ache in your abdomen remains, a cruel reminder of something you’ve never lived through but can feel so vividly. The sky outside your window returns to its soft twilight hues, but you can’t shake the feeling that reality itself unravels around you. Each time you are pulled into those visions, it becomes harder to tell what is real and what is imagined.

While you're sitting there, managing to steady your breath, you wonder—how much longer can you hold on to what’s real when your mind keeps dragging you into a world that feels just as tangible?

You exhale a long, relieved sigh finally calming down as you try to regain your focus. What were you doing again? Ah, yes... finishing your new book.

You type the final words of the epilogue, fingers hovering above the keyboard for just a second longer. The ending comes together, but still, something doesn’t sit right with you... the title. The book is finished, but how can it be complete without the right name? You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, eyes scanning the screen with tired satisfaction.

You aren’t just any writer, though. Hidden behind your pen name, you’ve become a literary sensation, with fans desperate for even a glimpse of who you really are. But anonymity suits you; fame has never been the goal. The words are the only thing that matter, and the world you’ve built between the pages feels more real than anything else—maybe too real?

Despite finishing the epilogue, something feels unresolved. Titles usually come easily to you, but this one, this book demands something special. Inspiration eludes you. You need a change of scenery... somewhere that can kickstart the creative process again.

With a resigned sigh, you dress quickly, grab your notebook, and head to one of the few places that has become your sanctuary when ideas won’t come: your favourite café.

The café sits nestled on a quiet street, its warm glow inviting you in like your old home. There’s something about the atmosphere, the soft hum of conversation usuallybetween elder people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft clink of cups against saucers—that always seems to loosen the knots in your mind. You order your usual, find a quiet table in the corner, and set your notebook down, flipping it open to a fresh page.

"The War of Sakura," you scribble, only to strike it out immediately. "No, no, that’s terrible!! Ugh," you mutter to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips in frustration.

You take a sip of your coffee, leaning back in your seat as you stare out the window, hoping for some stroke of genius. Come on, Kurasu Café, work your magic. But the more you stare at the page, the more the words seem to evade you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice someone sitting down across from you until you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Startled, you blink and look up, eyes widening as they land on the man before you.

It’s him.

For a moment, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you again. The man in front of you has the same striking features, the same quiet mystery, the same piercing gaze that seems to see right through you.

The same man from your memories—the one you’re certain is nothing more than a figment of your imagination, or perhaps a character you’ve written into being.

But no. He’s here, in the flesh, sitting across from you in Kurasu Café.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly blink, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, as though he can read every thought running through your mind.

“Excuse me…?”

He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says with the same silky smooth voice."You seemed… preoccupied."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, still trying to reconcile the fact that he’s real. The man in front of you is every bit as captivating as the one from your memories, as though he’s stepped right out of the story you’ve been crafting in your mind.

“I—uh,” you stammer, your fingers tightening around your pen as though it can somehow anchor you to reality. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

His smile deepens the same one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he says simply,“but I know you.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. How can he know you? And why does it feel like he’s not just referring to surface-level details of your life, but something deeper, something far more intimate?

You glance at your notebook, half-expecting to see the story you’ve just finished reflected back at you, as though it’s somehow come to life.

He leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the table between you. “You’re searching for something, right?”

You narrow your eyes, “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugs, a graceful gesture that seems too perfect, too practiced. “I can always read your eyes, my dear” he replies. “You’re chasing after a truth that eludes you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he seems to know things about you that you haven’t even told yourself. You should feel unnerved, but instead, you feel drawn to him—just like in those memories, you can’t escape.

“Who are you?” you finally ask, hoping it's not one of your delusions playing tricks on you.

His smile softens, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, it's the same flicker of pain that's so fleeting you almost miss it. He stands smoothly as he places a card on the table.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop running from your life,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, your mind racing as you stare at the card he’s left behind. No name. No details. Just a single word, embossed in gold.

"Remember."

The café around you blurs, the noise fading into the background as you stare at the word on the card, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

And in that moment, you know—this isn’t over. The story isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

It's now 1:25 am as you sit at your desk, the dim light of the lamp doing little to coax you into sleep. Your eyes fixate on the card that lies on the desk, the single word "Remember" still taunting you. It feels surreal, like the whole encounter earlier today had slipped from reality into something else entirely. Your fingers brush over the card, tracing the embossed letters, as your mind races to make sense of what happened.

Should you call him?

You hesitate, holding the card between your fingers. Who was he? Could he really know you, or was he just one of your creepy fans, trying to unnerve you by dressing up like the protagonist of your story? You’ve heard of fanatics going to great lengths to mimic characters, but this felt different. Something about the encounter stayed with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. Maybe it was just an elaborate prank, you think. Maybe he was just trying to scare you. Or worse, trying to manipulate you into thinking your own creations are coming to life.

But even as you try to convince yourself, it doesn’t sit right. No fan, no matter how obsessed, could have pulled off what you experienced earlier. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you forever, made your skin prickle. His words had hit too close to home, and the feeling that he understood something about you—something you barely understood yourself—makes it impossible to shake off the encounter.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you finally make up your mind. Your fingers hover over your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. You type in the number from the card, each digit sending a shiver of doubt through your body.

Placing the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing begins. Once. Twice. Your heart pounds in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

Just as the ringing starts to stretch into a third tone, there’s a faint click. You hold your breath.

“Hello?”

His voice is calm, like the same smooth, familiar tone from the café.

You pause, unsure of what to say, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me,” you finally manage to say.

He chuckles softly, as though he expected your call all along. “Ahh my dear...I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, his voice oh god his voice is so soft. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Your heart races. “Figure what out? What’s going on?” you ask confused. “Who are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll answer at all. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “You already know who I am,” he says. “You’ve always known, milaya.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room seems to close in around you, the silence pressing down as you try to piece together the meaning behind his words. You want to argue, to demand answers, but something stops you. It’s as though the truth is right there, just beyond your reach, but you’re too afraid to grasp it.

He continues, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “There are no coincidences. I didn’t come to you by chance. I came to you because we both have known each other for way too long.”

Your head spins. What does that even mean? You glance at your manuscript, the story that had felt so real, so vivid—too vivid. The lines between fiction and reality begin to blur, and the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to separate the two.

“What do you mean we know each other?” You whisper, voice trembling.

On the other end, he chuckles softly, a sound that’s too familiar, as if you've heard it a thousand times before in some forgotten dream. The sound pulls you out of your racing thoughts and back into the moment, grounding you in an unsettling way.

"You’ll understand soon," his voice is calm, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your chest.

Before you can protest or demand more answers, he continues, "I’ll come to your place, darling. We can talk then."

Panic flares inside you. Your eyes widen as you shoot up from your chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “What? How do you—” you begin to ask, but before you can finish, his voice cuts through.

“I know where you live,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “What… are you a stalker or something?” The question tumbles out, half-accusation, half-fear.

But his response is immediate, eerily calm, “No,” he says. “I’m no stalker. I know because no matter how many things change, no matter how the world twists and turns… the place you live, it always remains the same.”

Your heart races, your mind scrambling to process his words. The place you live… always the same? How could he know that? Why does it feel like he’s speaking of something far deeper than just the physical space around you?

“Please, my dear don’t worry about the details right now,” he interrupts your thoughts. “Just know that I’ll be there soon. And when I arrive, we can talk more about what’s really going on.”

The line goes dead before you can respond. You stare at the phone in disbelief the world around you seems to tilt on its axis, and the comforting normalcy of your room suddenly feels alien. You sit in silence, the unanswered questions swirling in your mind as you hear a soft knock on your door.

You rise from your chair with trembling hands, each step towards the door feeling heavier than the last. When you open it, he stands there—just as enigmatic as before, with that same stoic, detached expression.

He smiles when he sees you, and the smile feels almost out of place with his otherwise stoic demeanor. In his hand, he holds a bouquet of red roses. “Good evening, Malyshka,” he says smoothly. “I thought these might brighten your night.”

Confusion knots in your stomach, but you take the bouquet from him, stepping aside to let him in. The roses are fresh, their scent a heady mix of sweetness and subtle spice. “Thank you,” you manage to say, “Please, come in.”

He moves past you slowly, navigating the living room with the familiarity of someone who’s been there more than a few times.

“I didn’t expect you to show up so soon,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “How did you find my place so quickly?”

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar look. “As I mentioned earlier, some things remain constant, no matter how much else changes. I’ve always known where to find you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady.

He sits on your couch, smiling softly “I want to help you understand the connection we've always shared,” he says. “There’s much to discuss, and I believe it’s time we begin.”

You nod, slightly anxious of what he's about to reveal, “Alright. I’m listening.”

He relaxes his posture, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s start with the basics,” he begins. “You’ve been searching for answers, and I’m here to provide them. But first, you need to accept that the boundaries between a life and another are not as rigid as they seem.”

With a deep breath, you take a seat across from him silently waiting for him to continue.

“This is probably the sixth time I’ve been through this,” he continues. “my dear...you have an ability—one that makes you reincarnate. It happens every seven lifetimes, and this one is the seventh and final life.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of his words. “Reincarnation?” you echo, incredulous.

He nods, “Yes. I’ve witnessed you die in my arms time and again. Each time, you lose your memories, and I find you again. No matter how many lifetimes pass, I have always been there. In every life, I have been your one and only—your husband.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks. “But… but how? I’ve been experiencing delusions lately, slowly disconnecting from reality. I- I even went to a therapist, thinking I was going insane, but…”

“But what?” he prompts gently.

“But now I’m starting to think those memories were real,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe the writing affected me, that I was imagining things. But if what you’re saying is true… I’ve been recalling memories from past lives?”

He nods, his gaze compassionate yet firm. “Those fragments were memories from your past lives. The feelings of detachment, the disconnection from reality—it’s all part of your ability’s process. Each lifetime, you’ve struggled with this, but you’ve always managed to find your way back to me.”

You sit back, feeling overwhelmed. “So, all this time, I’ve been recalling memories from past lives? And that’s why I felt so disconnected and unsettled?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing, even when everything else seemed to be in place. Your soul remembers our connection, but the details slip away with each new life.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to find the truth in his words. “Are..are you immortal?”

He sighs softly, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Something like that,” he admits. “I’m not exactly immortal, but I endure through each lifetime. It’s not without its own pain.”

He stands and moves closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His touch so tender making your heart flatter subconsciously leaning into it, his eyes filled with profound...it's heartbreaking. “You have no idea how much I miss you, milaya,” he says quietly. “How much it hurts me to see you slip away from my arms each time. Every time, you’re taken from me by an ability user. The first time, it was my cruel father who killed you. The second time, it was an assassin with an ability. And so it went, one after another.”

His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “But this time? I will never let you go, moya lyubov. I won’t let anything take you from me again.”

Slowly, he leans in, and you find yourself lost in his half-lidded amethyst gaze, the slight glance of pain in his eyes is now gone. You brush a strand of his slightly long hair behind his ear, your knuckles grazing his cheekbones.

"Milaya," he whispers, closing the distance between you, his cold lips gently brush against yours, The moment your lips touch, a warm, relaxing spark ignites deep within you, spreading a soothing glow through your entire body. It’s a kiss that feels like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your heart.

Your body reacts instinctively. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He lifts you gently, your feet barely touching the ground, as he holds you close. His hands rest on your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as his kisses start to get sloppier with a sweet, heartfelt heat. It’s as if he’s trying to savor every moment, every touch, to make up for all the years apart.

He gently pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You should get some rest, darling,” His words are a tender reminder, and his touch lingers as he softly caresses your cheeks, jaw and chin.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck, “Please don't leave.”

The Russian man, ever devoted, cannot bear the thought of leaving your side now that you are once again in his arms. With a serene nod and a tender, otherworldly smile, he whispers,

"I will forever be by your side, moya milaya."

A/N: I know this isn’t my best work—I've been dealing with writer’s block lately, especially after spending the last few days working on Kinktober fics. Apologies if any part feels rushed. I also made sure to use past tense for the memories and present tense for the current events, in case you noticed that. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this!

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