#anyways it was a victory and she welcomed it but she doesn't feel the same pride other people might

[deathdxnces]

and if i tell you irelia would very much like to not remember the placidium. if i say she is always as far away from it as possible unless she has to be there, and that she'll leave as soon as she can.

[chaos-bites]

Oh my word hi!!! I can’t believe I found someone who works with Sigyn!! I’ve been working with Loki for a short while now and he said that Sigyn likes me and wants to work with me too, but I looked all over the place and there’s like nothing about her anywhere— can you tell me some stuff about her? Thank you!! Also totally fine if you can’t/don’t want to answer this ask!!

-🐍

Hey, 🐍!

No worries at all, I am always happy to help!

Sigyn is VERY difficult to find information on, due to the lack of surviving stories around her. The only way I really found information was through local Scandinavian folk tales, as there are many that have similar traits regarding her. Here's some of the info I've found + UPG, but of course, I always recommend looking into it yourself and doing what feels right to you:

~ To me, Sigyn is a goddess of victory, loyalty, protection of children, protection of the home, and temperance (UPG and folk lore mostly)

~ She enjoys offerings that remind her of her children, Narfi/Nari and Váli; children's toys, stuffed animals, candies, and cute wolf-related imagery are usually good (bonus points if it's something from your childhood)

~ Bowls, honey, apples, candies, and mead make great offerings

~ She likes sakura flowers and cute things

~ She also enjoys songs that empower women, slow songs, and songs with meaningful lyrics (love songs also works)

~ She and Loki love each other VERY dearly

If it helps, I can include how her personality is for me. She presents herself in a very motherly and gentle way, but she can be extremely protective and is VERY powerful. She doesn't flaunt her power, however, and tends to be really chill about it, actually. When she and Loki are in the same space, they are very affectionate towards each other, and it's honestly really cute. ☺️💕

Something you can also do for her as a devotional act is "hold her bowl". According to mythos, she holds a bowl over the chained Loki's forehead to catch venom dripping onto him for eternity. To honor her, you can hold a bowl in your hands for however long you're able with a devoted candle lit for her. I recommend doing this in front of her altar. Since I have a disability, it's best to do it for 15 minutes or so, but you're welcome to hold it for a longer or shorter time, if you'd like to try it!

I hope this helps you in some way, but if you have more questions, please feel free to ask! Talking about Sigyn is absolutely awesome; it's super hard to find people who actually worship her these days. Anyway, take care!

[pontevoix]

it's easy sometimes, remembering sasha. it's hard to feel her absence, but easy to speak of her. jean sometimes thinks that he can thank connie for that. they meet when they can, & connie speaks of her freely. he speaks of her as though they still have scores to settle. they drink together, & jean watches something determined in connie's demeanor. it comes out every time connie chooses to celebrate a lost life rather than mourn it.

connie has a habit of pounding a fist against his heart when he speaks of sasha. it looks like it could be a salute, & maybe it is. jean joins him anyway.

it makes it easy to dedicate time towards remembrance. even in private ways that come by surprise. a week ago, he asked mikasa to join him for dinner — but today, he chooses a place that sasha might have enjoyed. it’s an impulse. & it's awkward, a little, because there's a waiter that recognizes them & their names. the server is apparently a recent resident of the area, & he had come from regions that had been destroyed, the cities that had known the scouts more intimately.

the server encourages the chef to come out & recognize them formally. jean chokes on a beer in a way that has him pounding his chest for far too long. mikasa stares sideways out the window.

but the restaurant is still a place that sasha would have liked. they scrape at plates with their forks & jean talks about low-stakes for a while : commutes & the price of the ferry & the most recent time that he had spent connie.

he doesn’t talk about what he remembers.

today, he remembers sasha. he remembers her birthday. he remembers celebrating with her when niccolo received plans & permits that would allow him to work in a local restaurant. he remembers the way that, if she laughed too loud, the sound would turned gutteral. he remembers her as a teenager, the days she stopped disguising her accent & the way that her dialect reflected something other.

today, he remembers sasha. she’s a ghost to him today, distracting & welcome & nostalgic & devastating. he remembers her even as he nods along to conversation with mikasa. she's agreed recently, she says, to come visit armin in whatever city he's based. it's been a while that jean has seen armin himself, & he's scheduled to travel soon. he wonders if the three of them will soon be standing in the same streets together. he wonders if that will be another ghost to recall. it would be nice, he thinks. he says so aloud. he forgets to specify what would be nice. her mood is light as they dine together, & she doesn’t question him.

he finishes the dregs of his drink & watches the way that she’s thoughtful about the forkful of food she savors. it’s how she appreciates things, he has come to learn.

he likes to look at her. & suddenly watching her now is enough to make a private remembrance feels suffocating.

today, he remembers sasha, & it spills over. he remembers her as one of his friends, & it spills over. he remembers her as mikasa's roommate, too — so he remembers the way that mikasa had been prone to knocking sasha to the frontlines of blame when it came to childish things & embarrassments & temptations like shared bread.

it's a playful thing to remember, though jean doesn't remember much of a smile hinting or lilting at mikasa's lips when she played old games. he’s played poker with her before, & she plays a hard game. even so, if he tries hard enough, he supposes he can imagine a gleam in her eye that showed too much knowing, too much tiny victories.

he accidentally interrupts her, though she isn’t really talking. ‘ i always forget you could be a shit stirrer. ‘

to her credit, mikasa doesn't miss a beat. she keeps eye contact & keeps chewing. she does, however, raise an eyebrow minutely.

too late, jean realizes his mistake. he swallows hard & feels momentarily guilty. he supposes it’s been a while since she’s heard him speak so crudely — he's not quite used to her wearing skirts & dressing for tradition. he's not sure how comfortable she feels outside of military gear. even now, jean has barely stepped outside of militancy himself. but that’s not reason enough to forgo more chivalrous practices when it comes to how they can be.

more than that, he had forgotten to provide context. he always forgets to provide context. ‘ with sasha. i was thinking about her today. i just remembered the number of times you hung her out to dry - ‘ he’s teasing, albeit a bit desperately. she knows he’s teasing.

‘ i didn’t stir anything, ‘ she answers. ‘ sasha set herself up. ‘

which might have been true. sasha had never mastered discretion in some of her decisions. but even so, jean realizes now that he & mikasa haven’t made a habit of this. of remembering things lightly.

mikasa seems to have the same realization. ‘ i don’t usually say stuff like that, ‘ she says & sets her hand on her drinking glass. her fingers drum against its glass.

from @herkn1fe : i don't usually say stuff like that. * jean.

jean cracks a laugh. it's easy sometimes, remembering sasha. it’s easier when they share things like this. if mikasa doesn’t usually say stuff like that . . . maybe she should.

' nah. you're an upstanding citizen & all. , ' he retorts & snorts he shakes his head. ' you know, you're quite the unsuspecting culprit. you don't usually say stuff like that, which means it was really . . . damning when you did. pretty sure you know that, huh ? '

he forks through a serving of potato that drips with a dressing. he tries to catch the mess before it lands, but it stains the collar of his shirt a little. he grimaces & holds a finishings his bite & holds out a hand to ask that she pretend she not see his mess.

they're undone like this - messes staining an old uniform shirt that still fits & unraveling old memories & remembering. he blots at the stain with water & he watches something playful touch her eye & he recognizes her. he sees her.

[manslaught]

mikayla looks back at her with disbelief, daring jackie to argue with her— when her sister's defense is cut off, never continued, she smirks victoriously, satisfied with herself. she doesn't get the appeal, but shauna's just not her type, as simple as that, so she doesn't comment any more on the subject. she can't get into what her type actually is anyway, terrified to admit the truth, even now, to someone who's clearly not much different than her— into girls, in denial about it. “ thinking about how cute she is, ” she snorts, like that's as much of an argument as she needs. she's in absolutely no place to call her out, but @down1979 must be saying all of this to her for a reason, right? because she wants to talk about it.

she stops completely, deciding to give the conversation the attention it likely deserves, to be a good older sister for what might be the first time in her life. ( that's not true— she tries to be comforting, welcoming, to the younger aphrodite kids, showing them the kindness she was never given as a child, but the same can't be said for those closer to her age. ) “ look, if you want actual good advice, you chose the wrong sibling. mom forgot to give me that power. ” some days, it feels intentional, aphrodite's way of proving to her that mikayla desousa and love don't mix, that she's destined to be angry and alone forever. “ but it doesn't look like nothing, for what it's worth. ” there's something there, she thinks, but she could easily be wrong, easily leading her sister astray.

“ but you haven't gotten the rite of passage yet, ” she points out, like it makes a difference, like it means anything beyond just their cabin's excuse to break hearts. it has to mean something, because otherwise, mikayla's dated so many boys for absolutely nothing. “ i don't believe in curses or anything, but— the past one of us who didn't fulfill it is dead. her boyfriend, too. ” she feels a pang of guilt, just talking about silena, but there could be some merit in it. “ so maybe... date someone else first. just in case. ”

She doesn't mind sitting and watching,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it's almost therapeutic to be alone with her sister:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the violent and aggressive nature of her knife digging into the bodily figure with ease keeps others away.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The two of them,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Jackie and Mikayla,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎away from prying eyes,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she feels more comfortable speaking with little bit of truth she knows she has.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Becoming herself is an uneasy feat,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎one she's been fighting for so long,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but one dare turned into a self revelation...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a revelation she kept from everyone due to fear.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Yet she knows:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she knows that Mikayla won't say anything,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎won't spread her little girlish crush,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎if it could be called that.

"She's not!‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She doesn't look like..."‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Jackie scoffs,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and she wants to finish her sentence,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but she knows that Mikayla is,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎despite the insulting tone,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎right.�� ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe that's why Jackie's...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎thinking,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe that's what's drawn her to Shauna.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Who fucking knows.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not pining,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'm just...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎thinking."‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Knees pull up to her chest and she tucks her chin down.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Although her gaze is turned towards her sister's lonely sparring session,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she's not focused,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎vision blurred.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Maybe we're just really good friends!‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe it's nothing?"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And now she's almost pleading for her sister to give her some reassurance‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(and oh if she were to pick a sister why would she pick this one?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ because she knows that unlike the rest,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Mikayla will tell the truth).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Right?"

[sassyhobbits]

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

the old gods are dead

hello lovelies and welcome welcome welcome to the first day of fanfare! im always excited to do projects like this because it feels so much more personal and creative for me. anyway i hope you enjoy <3

[image has alt text]

Herein lies the story of a dead god. Nobody knows how the god died. Nobody even knows if the god died. But it is the only explanation for the destruction of the world as it is known. This story starts eighty years in the past before the god in question becomes a god. Before, when they were just a boy.

Percy Jackson has won a war. Not by himself. But a victory all the same. Not without casualties. But standing any how. They have won this war and now they will be rewarded. Or so he's been told

“You need to come to Olympus Percy Jackson.”

The holiest place in the world, and he has never felt more like a sinner in his life. He wonders if he'll turn to glowing cinders and grey ash with the first step he takes on the marble bridge.

He doesn't.

All he hears is the squeak of his sneakers, the hum in the air as the nymphs prepare a celebration for gods who watched their children get slaughtered.

War makes a mess of everything. Even this once beautiful courtyard filled with heavy fruit trees and floating music is now desolate. Abandoned in an eery sort of way. The stone mends itself but there's cracks he can trace all the way back to the beginning of time. How many times can something be ruined and reformed before it becomes another thing entirely?

The doors of the throne room are pushed open by two unimpressed, stern looking cyclopses. Nothing at all like his little brother with a too wide smile and enough sparkle in his eyes to blind glitter.

“Ah Percy Jackson.” A warm voice sounds from high above the room.

He looks towards it. Aphrodite sits on the window sill, one leg drawn to her chest the other dangling down. Her head rests atop her knee, brown hand pushing against her chin. Even with her blood stained chiton and the wilting pink roses in her usually pristine hair she still looks like the most beautiful person in the cosmos. It's the way she glows. Like the sun takes its light from her. Like the stars make themselves dimmer in her shadows.

“Son!” His father sounds tired, weary down to bones he doesn't need to repair. Still there is excitement, pride in his tone. It's a strange feeling for Percy. To feel proud of. He supposes he shouldn't latch onto the lightness too quickly. It is as easily blown to him as it is diverted away.

This story may differ from what is known. The version presented in the public eye has been altered to keep details unwilling to be divulged quiet. But here and now, at the request of our dead god, the true and vicious story must be told. Please refrain from wishing it did not end up this way. If things had been different… Oh indeed if they had been.

“Percy Jackson,” A booming voice fills up the space. What thunder takes, thunder must make. “You have arrived. Well done.”

He doesn't reply, simply drops to a knee, bows his head. These beings don't always deserve the respect they so greedily survive on but he must choose between taking the bow or bowing his life.

“Stand son.” His father is quieter than his brother, but somehow sounds more dangerous.

“We have a proposition for you halfblood,” Zeus is yelling straight into his brain. Percy swears he's vibrating at a frequency that's going to produce lightning.

“Uncle?”

“Today, for your good service and bravery we offer you the chance to become a God.”

He doesn't breathe. No inhale to exhale.

“Tell him the stipulation Father.” Athena is frowning, as she always is, but her displeasure is only directed at the God of the Sky.

“There is a boy… on our Roman side.” Zeus speaks the way lightning strikes. In flashes. Never all at once. He is not Hades sweeping across the field. He is not Poseidon rushing over and then pulling away. He is striking trees and watching which forests catch alight. “There is a boy who will also be offered this honour. You and him—”

And he wants to yell ‘spit it out what, what, what could you possibly want me to do with him?’ He is as still as a sticky summer evening.

“You will have to rely on him and him on you in order for you both to have godhood.”

His daughter has had enough, frown flashing from her eyebrows to the downward tilt of her lips. “We do not have enough domains nor power to offer you both godhood but if we combine your power you will both gain.”

“And if only one of us were to receive it?”

She tilts her head, looks at him. His strategies are not laid out in blue prints but sparking and crashing as the moment takes hold. She hates him for being unorganized. He hates her for thinking organization will save them.

“If you both want it but are determined only one of you will have it, then you must fight for it. Otherwise you both sacrifice something and join forces.”

“Who is the boy? The Roman?”

“Jason Grace.” Aphrodite says, still perched on her windowsill. Hummingbirds floating around her shoulders. “Child of Jupiter and Beryl Grace.”

“And why does he deserve this honour?”

“He fought for the Romans in your war. For every blade you swiped he did too. You toppled Kronos so he toppled Krios.”

“And if neither of us want this godhood?”

The room goes silent. They hadn't considered it. That he wouldn't want this power. That maybe his only goal in his life is not to obtain something that is destroying the very essence of his world.

“Where is Jason?”

There's shuffling, someone knocks into something, and then a boy the same age as him is stumbling towards the middle of the room, towards where he stands.

In the story known, the boy of lightning and the boy of sea do not meet till much later on. Till they've both been stripped of being and reassembled into weapons. But this is not the way it goes. No, in the true version they meet in the throne room of the gods. They meet and everything goes quiet. Is this the beginning of an explosion or the start of a galaxy? How does a star become a blackhole? It collapses into itself.

Percy Jackson lays his eyes upon Jason Grace and his body becomes a blackhole.

They don't say anything. Don't move one step closer, two steps further. They're close enough to wound. Far enough to catch each other. This is how it will always be. A dance of violence. I love you, let me die for it. I love you let, me die with you. But they don't know it. Not yet.

“So,” The booming voice again. Where Percy flinches, Jason stiffens. “Will you take this offer half-bloods?”

“What will our domain be?”

Apollo looks amused as he strums a cord on his harp and raises a brow at them. “What would you like it to be Jason Grace?”

They look at each other, these demigods who watched their friends fall. These demigods who fought in a war the day after their mothers tucked them into bed.

“Protectors of half-bloods.” Percy says. His voice is steady. He was born for this.

“Keepers of the Hearth.” Jason follows.

Hestia makes herself known, a kind smile on her face.

“We want to be Patrons of the demigod camps.”

“That is all?” Poseidon looks at them. Old and wise, and young and curious. “Why?”

“We watched our friends lay down their lives for a fight not meant for them.” Percy is frozen lakes cracking under pointed pressure designed to be spread. “If we can protect them, if we can make them feel at home maybe they won't feel the need to find it elsewhere. Maybe they won't feel the need to burn the whole world down just to build one for themselves.”

His message rings clear in every syllable. But he doesn't dare make it more obvious than that. If you hadn't abandoned them maybe they wouldn't have abandoned you.

“And you will share this duty?” Athena, ever the keeper of balance.

“Yes.” They agree in unison. Beginning even before it has begun.

“Then so it shall be.” Zeus nods. “Perseus Jackson, Son of Poseidon, Jason Grace, Son of Jupiter. I Zeus, King of Gods and God of the Sky bestow upon you the honour of godhood with the domains of Demigod Protection and Keepers of the Hearth. Where one rules the other must. Where one falls the other must. Where you share it will be equal. Where you split it must be balanced. Where you join it must be together.” There's a single flash of lightning.

Percy looks at Jason. Jason looks at Percy. The world goes dark.

These new gods have their own story, told between scribbled meetings in complete darkness, behind time they've stolen for themselves. But no-one is privy to these notes. The notes being told here and the ones the Ancient Gods laid out to the world are the only ones available in this cosmos. Still what can be told is that they are successful gods.

Gods that cannot prevent a second war but can change the course of it. Gods that can stop unnecessary death before it has happened. They are not putting Thanatos out of business they are simply taking some off his plate. They have friends in high places. Their friends have them in higher places.

It has never been possible to save everyone but now people fight for the home they grew. Instead of fighting to grow their own. They make the scared twelve year old feel loved in this strange new world.

They hold hands with the twenty year old that still wakes up screaming because she can feel the hands of ghosts who loved her once.

These gods are loved by those they want to protect and feared by those they need to be protected from.

They hold their own hands and mourn lives they can never go back to. Nobody told them that taking this godhood means losing their humanness. As if you cannot be two beings at once. Maybe that's why half-bloods were always so fatal. You can't exist as both so you will be destroyed for either.

This story ends at the very beginning. The dead god still lives. It is not a death of body but of life.

Percy Jackson watches as demigods pray to him. As they bow before temples decorated the same colour as Jason's eyes, as his own hair. Brown stones like his skin, golden light like Jason's. He watches as Athena’s temple goes dusty, worn away, unused. He watches as Demeter goes pale with hunger. The campfires spark blue and gold, prayers muttered ‘thank you to Gods of Protection, Keepers of the Hearth,’ and nobody says thank you to the strategist of war. He watches as Zeus cannot produce lightning as powerful as Jason. He watches as his own father asks him to make a tsunami because he cannot.

This story, oh how it ends so violently.

He watches as the gods have a meeting without him and his partner. There is so much anger in their eyes.

Aphrodite is wild with the love they have formed, frothing at the mouth for a slice of their companionship. She wants to sink her teeth into them and see if they taste like the adoration they are flooded with.

They are called to the throne room. Summoned on wind weak enough to let them fall. He laughs and it echoes in Jason.

Oh how this story is sickening to belong with.

“We have spoken.” The once booming voice now rolls with the effort to spread across the room. A storm with too much reach and not enough power.

“Who are you protecting the demigods from?” Athena glares.

Jason smiles and it's the most beautiful sort of malevolence Percy has ever seen.

“Who do you think, Goddess?”

Apollo strums a cord on his Lyre and it no longer sounds smooth, amusing. It sounds like the chime of a bell tower before the guillotine comes down.

“Who, Jason Grace?” She is wrapping her fingers around her throne.

They still stand in the middle of the room, just like they did all those years ago. No space made available for a seat of their own.

“The Gods, Athena.” Percy grins. He feels beautiful lightning scream through his veins. Starting at the hand curled around his partners. He refrains from throwing his head back and eating it whole. Gods, this being next to him is perfect.

“From us Perseus?” His father is adamant to think he heard wrong. It could never be.

He simply smiles, matches the one Jason sports.

“We cannot let this go on.” Ares growls, stands and creaks.

This story has no happy ending. At least not in any fairytale way. You were warned at the beginning weren't you?

“Thank you for staying by my side.” Percy turns to his friend, his companion, his partner through this all.

“Thank you for loving me.”

“In trust and heart.”

“In safety and hope.”

There is a single flash of lightning.

Percy kisses Jason. Jason kisses Percy. The world goes dark.

This story is a lament and a warning. If you should ever continue the work of the Gods of Demigod Protection, Keepers of the Hearth, they will guide you. Should you attempt to destroy, demolish, or alter the roots they have tangled into this earth?

Well truly, the narrators wish you a painless death.

“Zeus,” Poseidon’s voice quivers. “I'm fading.”

“Dad?” Athena cries.

“And so the lovers reign.” Aphrodite laughs into the darkness.

The middle of the throne room runs a single crack, already mending itself.

[nightfall-kachiniko]

I never thought I would make it.

“Congratulations cadets, you are officially deemed a soldier, welcome to the scouting regiment,”

It’s hard to believe im even still alive.

You stood in the crowd of your now newly named comrades, your fist over your heart as it pounded in and out of your chest. Realization overcoming you as you looked around the crowd. “Seven..no eight..” You mumbled, counting the peoples heads. One in particular stuck out to you. “Oh, the quiet girl who’s always with Eren?” You questioned yourself, as an answer popped into your head about her cause of joining, “Probably for him..”

It had been days since your promotion from cadet to soldier.

The people all around the lunch room talking and chatted as you sat at the table with Eren, Armin and Mikasa. Jean sat next to you with Sasha and Connie across the table, right beside Mikasa. “That wasn’t fair! The captain doesn’t understand how hard i’m trying to master my titan ability!” The emerald eyed teen whined, hiding his face in her elbow in stress. “I’d say not to worry about it Eren,” Mikasa suggested in response as she sipped her soup.

“Yeah, Mikasa’s right!” Artlert exclaimed, “There's no way he’ll punish you for that incident earlier, it was after all an accident!” He shrugged, reassuring Eren.

“I just hope he doesn’t tell section commander Hange to help me with it.. They’re nuts,”

“Keep in mind you don’t need to master it, just gain control,” You blattered out, overhearing their conversation. The black haired girl with the red scarf looked towards you, her eyes narrowed in a stren confusion. “A-ah..er.. Sorry I didn’t mean to intrude in your conversation..” You blushed as she looked at you, your eyes quickly moving away, hiding the rose that came upon your face. “Your fine,” She said, looking away from you. “That’s okay y/n! Thanks for the advi-”

“THATS IT!” Eren suddenly yelled, pounding the table with his fist. “You’re right y/n! I just need to have control!” The brown haired boy realized with a smile on his face. “Thanks!”

“O-oh uhm no problem!” You said in his response.

The girl still had her eyes on you, almost as if she was watching you closely, observing you. Even during training, Mikasa’s eyes always fell right onto you. It was as if she was watching a child.

“AGH! ANNIE OKAY!” You yelled in hailt for your fighting trainer to stop. The dirt flew in your eyes as you crashed to the ground, your body in a sharp pain. You tried clearing the dirt in your eyes as you were kicked in the side. “AH! I SAID STOP GODDAMNIT!” You backed up, wiping your eyes. “That hurt like a bitch..” You grumbed, the side of your stomach in pain. “Its not my fault your skills in hand-to-hand combat are awful,” The blonde said, staring at you below her. “You think you could go a bit slower next time?! This is training where we help each other improve, not kick each other's asses!”

“Hey,” A familiar voice called out, steps getting closer. “That was uncalled for, Leonhart,”

“Hm?” The blonde looked behind you, The voice coming closer, “And so what if it wasn’t?” Annie said, her arms crossed at her chest. You felt an intensity gain in the atmosphere. The air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mikasa, still glaring Annie down, crouched at you side, “Are you alright Y/n?” The females voice questioned. You wiped your eyes with your shirt, water coming out as well as the sand that had been in your eyes. “Here,” Mikasa handed a tissue to you as you wiped with that instead. She stood up, glaring the blonde down, predator on pray. “You need to be more gente, keep in mind what would happen if you got caught by Captian hurting someone,”

Annie scoffed and brushed the hair out of her face, “Yeah, you’re right, but this is training, I can be as hard as I want on Y/n, after all, we’re soldiers remember?”

“Yeah, I remember, and you sure as hell don’t look like one,” Mikasa replied, leaving the blonde’s face more aggravated. A crowd suddenly formed behind them, “Oh shit are they about to fight?” Connie said, looking at the both of them and how their eyes locked sternly onto each other “No way! I’ve gotta see!” Sasha looked up from her plastic knife. Woah..wait.. Your mind wondered, are they seriously about to do this? Right now? Here? Mikasa’s the most calm and collected person I know.. And here she is, about to fight Annie.

“If you’re looking for a fight all because Y/n here is too weak, then bring it,” Leonhart smirked, holding out her hands in a steady punching position. “I’m always ready for anything,”

And with that Mikasa walked over to Annie, looking down at the girl. “Go ahead, hit me and see what happens,”

“Oh god…” Eren mumbled to himself, “why right now..”

“Mikasa! I don’t think this is a good idea!” Armin shouted at her.

“No, it’s a great one,” Mikasa looked over her shoulder at him, his face cautious, “Let’s see what you’ve got, Annie,”

You were frozen in position, too much in shock to get up. Why is she fighting over me? I mean nothing to her? Don’t I..?

“Try me, you bitch,”

“Brats break it up!” The captain yelled from across the yard, heading over to Mikasa and Annie. Levi pushed them apart from each other, scolding them, “Your lucky I don’t have much trouble with the both of you then I have with Kirsten and Jaeger,” His face in annoyance as he spoke. “Back to training you idiots, and I better not see it again,”

It seemed as though the days of being a newly graduated soldier were over as you soared through the sky. Enemies surrounded all around you as you drew your blade slicing the Jaw titan. Mikasa at your side as she helped take him down. Eren had became a monster, sneaking off to a forgien country and killing thousands of innocent civilians. It was all so new to the survey corps, and taking lives was something you didn't necessarily have a liking for.

All the screaming and yelling as the battle continued. You sprung your ODM gear onto the top of a building with terrified residents inside, their screams coming from the open window. You looked down as ash filled the air along with smoke. All around you laid bodies of people who no longer existed, their deceased corpses laid under rubble, some torn in half, some crushed. Wetness fell down your face like rain as you realized the situation before you.

“Y/N! KEEP MOVING!” Your girlfriend said as her black hair moved in the wind, her hand slightly touching your shoulder as she moved swiftly past you, her blades drawn and swinging at the Warhammer titan. Wiping your tears as you got a move on, avoiding the chaos to get a better look.

“But,” You studdered out, “what about the childre-”

A corpse of a little boy, no older than 8 laid beneath you, his head crushed open, a arm band on his shoul. “Why…”

“TONIGHT WE HONOR OUR SEVEN FALLEN COMRADES BY CELEBRATING ANOTHER STEP CLOSER TO ELDIAS VICTORY!” The soldiers all roared as Foster cheered them on.

“Is that everyone?” Jean called out after helping you on the aircraft, his hand in your pulling you up. “I think so!” You called back to him from above. Connie yanked you in the airship, fully getting inside as you rolled on the floor. “Geez con, mind being a bit more careful? Since where’d you get all that strength from?” Groaning out, you complained.

“Too much strength for a bald man anyways,” Sasha Joked around as Connie punched her in the arm, letting out a laugh. “Thanks you guys,” You softly smiled, “I really needed that,”

“Mission been hard for ya?” The bearded man questioned. “Yeah, really hard,”

“We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for that bozo looking guy in the back with Captain, Armin and Mikasa,” The brunette female said in annoyance, rolling her eyes as she fixed her gear, adjusting it. “I know right,” Jean commented, “We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him,”

“I’m just glad I still have you two,” The guy with barely any hair said, hugging Jean and Sasha. “You guys are important to me,”

He glanced up at you who was removing your heavy gear from your side, “And you too y/n,”

“Well thank you for making me feel included,” You joked around. Standing up as you lower the bottom of your shirt, “Welp, Imma go see where Eren is and try and get some sympathy for the innocent lives he killed out of him,”

“I doubt the suicidal maniac will have any to spare,” Jean rolled his eyes as a you smiled at his stupid remark. “Hopefully over dinner we can all talk and catch up while they're interrogating Eren ,”

“I Hope we’re having meat tonight!” The snack loving girl exclaimed, a glare of joy and hope in her eyes. “Me too we haven't had any in ages,” You crossed your arms. Jean gave you a soft smile before saying, “Later Y/n,”

“Alrighty,” You said, closing the door behind you as you stepped into the room where he was being held. Your girlfriend, Mikasa gave you a glance and a smile, love in her eyes as you responded by doing the same. Clearing your throat before looking away as the blush rose upon your faec you placed your eyes on Eren.

You stood next to Mikasa and Armin looking at the boy who you knew, but it was apparent to all of you that you no longer did. “I see the whole gang is here,” Zeke said, trying to kid around with his brother. “Shut up,” Captain spoke at the blonde with glasses, his legs steaming as well as Eren’s. Both of their hands were tied behind their back, Eren looked numbly to the floor, no expression to appear besides coldness. “You did put on a show Levi cutting off my limbs like that,”

“I’m glad I still, a shitbag like you doesn't deserve them,”

Levi glared down at the man, anger in his tone as he harshly spoke to him. “Eren,” You stated his name as Jaeger looked up at you, “Why did you decide to do this?” The brunette looked to the side, his once glowing emerald eyes now stone cold. “...” No words came out of his mouth, his expression not changing either. “Did you do this in a rage like you always do?”

So many unanswered questions roamed your head, dying for an answer. “We haven't seen you in months!” You shouted, getting angry with him. “And then you send us letters, demanding us to help you with this-!”

“I never begged you to do this y/n,” Eren finally spoke, his head still hanging low. “You basically did! You knew we would come, and you knew Mikasa would as well, and the rest of us!” Your lips spat at him in ignorance and frustration.

“You did all this for what use? What was the outcome of this besides getting Zeke!?”

Yet again no words. You sighed as you mumbled an “by the walls,” In frustration. “God this is no use is it?” your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Is this all a part of your revenge on the Marleyans?! On Annie Bertoldt and Reiner?!”

“Yes it is,” His hair hung in his face, messy and greasy locks tangled together. He looked like he was in terrible condition, malnourished and unhygienic.

“...wow, I can’t believe you.. Innocent kids over people who wronged you, Is death all you talk about?”

He nodded his head, glaring into your eyes as you paused, then looked at your feet. Mikasa grabbed your hand, holding it. “Thats enough y/n, he isn’t going to cooperate anyways,” She said in a calm manner, trying to avoid any argumenments.

“I doubt any-”

The sound of the heavy metal door coming open stopped you dead in your sentence, Jean came into the room along with 2 kids you had never seen before. His hand on their shoulders as the kids arms were tied together with rope.

“Jean?” Mikasa said, looking at him with a confused expression on her face. “Who are these brats?” The captain asked, annoyance in his voice.

“These kid’s snuck on board using Lobvo’s gear,” He explained.

“And this one,” Jean pointed to the brown haired girl, “Shot Sasha,”

A flame of shock came over you all as you looked at each other, Armin and Mikasa rushed out the room, tears building up in their eyes. You followed along with them as you whipped open the door.

“SASHA!” Mikasa said, running over to the injured woman and crouching to the ground. Armin went next to her side, Shaking her barely conscious body. “Are we...eating yet…..?” She whispered, a croak in her voice.

“SASHA PLEASE STAY WITH US!” Armin yelled, cupping her cheek and sobbing. All you could do was stand there, shock upon your face and your mouth agape.

“Why are you guys…..being...so...loud..”

Tears and sniffles along with screams of plea flooded the room, just as how it was outside. You put your hand over your mouth, slowly backing away as you cried to yourself. Backing against the wall and tears streaming down your face as you curled yourself into a ball.

“When will this ever end?”

[dreamiesdotcom]

butterfly effect│nct dream

Summary: You think of it as something caused by the butterfly effect — the great loves you had to leave, and the one that made you stay.

Pairing/s: 7dream x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Moon's note: since it's my birthday and I promised... it's not the best but I'd like to thank you guys for staying with me and wishing me a happy birthday! I hope you all have an awesome 2021!

You weren't really thinking straight when you met him — instead, your mind was a mess of one thought and sidelines; the little things. Butterfly effect. The knowledge that ten minutes from now the train will board — you'll miss your ride to school, you'll miss school — so you run faster, faster, and there it goes. The butterfly effect — knowing that what little thing you did could've changed someone's life entirely.

If you have made it ten minutes earlier, maybe you'd be sitting in the spot where a child buzzes with excitement, knowing that she'll see her father sometime soon, and in exchange, she will be in another place — maybe she won't meet the girl sitting across who offers her one of her candies. Maybe she won't be riding the train at all — maybe she would have to wait six months again before she can go see her dad.

You sulkily take the path to one of the exits, thinking about catching the bus or something. The skies are dark and you're aware of its plan, also aware that you left your umbrella. Frustrated and too annoyed to even think about school, you crash to the empty bench, bags left to drop to the floor. Tough luck. 

The boy chuckles, "Missed the train too?"

"Yeah," you grumble, not even bothering that he's a total stranger. "Was caught in a daydream and got lost on the way. You?"

"Eh, my idiot of a best friend made me wait," he shrugs. He brings his book down and offers you a handshake, "I'm Huang Renjun — I see we study at the same place. May I know your name?"

You don't speak after a minute or two, but you shake his hand, to which he laughs at. You think it was you being overwhelmed. Maybe your soul just knew how much impact he was meant to throw at your life.

Huang Renjun doesn't become a one-time encounter, but instead, he becomes someone you take train rides with; be it you're late or not, to school or to the library. He stays constant occurrence, so much that Huang Renjun turns into Renjun, then Renjunnie — until you're free to call each other names like 'dumbass' and 'stupid' and everything crumbles down; formalities, facades, walls. You don't feel it then, but if you were to look back, you think it's that one dark-skied Monday with you two terribly late and finding yourselves back in the same bench, when everything the world laid down for you has shifted.

Renjun pout his lips, bored. He tears his bag from himself and lets it stay under the shed, but he stretches his hands out to the sky where his eyes are set, watching water fall in tiny drizzles before a full-blown rain, "Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?"

"When we should be at school?" you huff, more amused than questioning but it comes out as a scolding. He only nods his head, and you furrow your brows, "Renjun, you're crazy."

He doesn't reply, only answers with a deadpan gaze that asks Are you going or not? and it makes you tighten your expression further. 

"Hold me."

The boy grins in triumph — he cheekily smiles, immediately pulling you under the rain and laughs like a tiny kid. It's contagious, you figure out, his laughter; if not for his hand on your waist and the other entwined with yours, you would've fallen over laughing with him. It was less of a dance and more of a cuddle, swaying to the sound of the rain and his sweet hums. Renjun whispers to you the melody of a love song, and you couldn't help but ponder.

"I always wanted to do this, you know?" you feel silly even confessing, "To dance under the rain with someone, look into each other's eyes, exist as if the world doesn't and maybe give them a kiss. I wonder how that'd feel."

Renjun's serenity read ideas — those that never failed to get you two in trouble. He tilts his head, "Kiss me, then."

You feel like the world stops, and your heartbeat slows, as if the raindrops are little speckles of star-like lights littering the surroundings. Your eyes widen at his suggestion, shock ripping through your body, a confused sound escaping your throat, "What?"

"I guess you don't always need to have feelings for the person you're kissing," Renjun purses his lips. Of all people, you laugh in your head, those words you expected to come out of this one's mouth the least. He huffs, "And I don't have feelings for you."

There's just enough hesitation — uncertainty, unpredictability, skepticism — in his eyes that you find he can't be trusted as much as he normally would be. Renjun drops a half-smile, eyes unreadable, "But I sure do know I want to kiss you. A lot. Right now." 

Renjun smiles in victory the second time that day.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You come across Donghyuck in the most inconvenient way possible; a few months after you started dating Renjun and there's a little too many mishaps with making schedules meet. He strides to your chair one sunny Friday, clothes too colorful for the shades of beige decorating the place. Donghyuck didn't know how to approach you; he just kind of winged it by showing you Renjun's texts that he asked him to pick you up because something came up and he can't make it anymore. You didn't really like that — the fact that he didn't even speak, the fact that Renjun stood you up. You thought Donghyuck was arrogant. The car ride home was silent.

He was far from that, you learn the one too many times the same scenario occurred. Renjun was too busy to even show up, more often in the library than in his own place. Donghyuck, being his best friend, never failed to be there for you, keep your relationship intact, make excuses for the other. He'll pick you up from where you were supposed to meet your boyfriend, grab food and spend the whole day playing video games that only he understands, and then half of the time he'll compliment you with little playful remarks. That day was supposed to be nothing so different from the others — it's just that it didn't take much longer for Donghyuck to fall.

How could he not? You smiled so lovingly and spoke so gently, always so understanding and patient and kind. How can he not, when he's already known what song makes your day the most? When he saw how ethereal you looked under the moonlight, as he danced with you by the shore? Sure, maybe most of these moments wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Renjun's absence, and truly most of the things he loves about you aren't for him; he fell in love anyway. Still, that day was supposed to be nothing so different from any others — you're stuck in the odd place quite between grateful and guilty.

"Something came up, he won't be here." The boy says firmly through gritted teeth, hands-on your wrist trying to make you get up, "Please. He doesn't have his phone. He's not coming anymore, let's go home."

"Let me wait for him, please," you say, eyes teary, "Please, Donghyuck."

"No." He simply mutters, and whether it was the sinking feeling of defeat or the determination in his voice, it doesn't matter. You let yourself get tugged away from that place, feeling weak and oddly empty. The car ride home was silent. 

"Thanks a lot, you know?" You shyly say later, once Donghyuck's lost enough in video games and he's run out of knock-knock jokes and witty statements. He couldn't stand the sight of you with your head hung low and eyes teary, "You're always there for me when Renjun is not and... just thank you."

"You're welcome," he sincerely replies. You try to look for it, the lilt in his voice or the smirk stretching his lips, but all you see is worry, and it concerns you. The bad butterflies in your stomach, the bad thoughts in your head; you feel like right now, with you so vulnerable, there should be someone by your side — someone that is totally not Donghyuck. He clears his throat, "You know he didn't mean to, right? He wants time with you too, a lot, you know?"

"I know what I have, Hyuck," you reply, a chuckle at the end of your tone. You lean your back to the couch, head tilted up and voice hoarse, "and I'm fucking scared I'll take him for granted."

Donghyuck's heartbeat slows down, but you don't need to know that. If you're thinking of a similar situation, a place in time back then as cruel winters and as harsh as summer sunlight in the afternoon, you figure he doesn't need to know that, too.

You let out a huff and a smile, "I don't want to know how painful it is to lose Huang Renjun."

Donghyuck thinks he knows why you said it; things normally go down the drain when you start realizing why someone fell for a certain person — at least, he thinks. If his experience is a reliable source, this is the point where you start falling for that person too. When you see how gentle they are, how caring, how understanding. Maybe Donghyuck is lonely — maybe he just wants to be someone who holds another person, singing them lullabies until they fall asleep, much like Renjun does for you. Maybe you're really just lovely — maybe there's an undiscovered force in the universe that places you in the center of his everything. He makes note of the rejection in your confession, and he accepts it, gracefully.

This is the point where he suppresses all the what-ifs in his head — what if you gave me a chance? What if I met you first? What if I didn't skip class that day, and I was with Renjun, and I met you at the same time as him? Do you think you would've ended up with me? — but these thoughts, despite being concealed, they leave a constant reminder that they're still there. It's a truth you both already know, the words that drip like honey from his lips, "I could love you better, so much better."

It'd be a lie to say you didn't think of it, considering his feelings. It would be an even bigger lie if you said that you don't think anyone can love you better than Renjun — you know someone can, and with how you two are handling this, it wouldn't be so hard to. Donghyuck is just so easy to fall for — the way he always knows the right thing to say, the compliments he throws at people, how confident he is, how clingy he gets. You would lie if you're asked, but you can't deny having feelings for Donghyuck, you can't deny how many times you've fallen in a reverie thinking of how good it must feel to be adored by him. Maybe you were lonely, maybe Donghyuck was just like that. Either way, no matter how great this love could be, you know it's wrong. 

"I know you could. I couldn't be any happier when I'm with you. Those instants, they're one of the most beautiful moments in my life, but —" you halt, eyes still staring up at the ceiling. The twist in your gut tightens as you proceed, "But in those moments, I was secretly hoping for things. I was hoping that he was the one doing all of that for me. I was hoping that the happiness I had with you, he was giving me instead."

Donghyuck remains silent for a while. He smiles wistfully, "I know."

It's a rather odd answer, but you figure it shouldn't shock you as much anymore. You sit up straight, confused. Donghyuck motions for you to stand as he does the same. Stars shine in his eyes still, but it's a different light — there's hope in them, but it's a difficult kind of hope. He's beautiful even under dull lighting, it's something hard to pronounce; unrestrained and raw, as if one look at him and you'll crumble.

"Please, for just a while, even just a little bit," He steps closer, eyes downcast, "hold me like you love me."

You figure you were right about thinking that there was always something wrongfully more with Donghyuck — also discover that no matter how much more this feeling is, whatever it is, it can never be love; at least not a healthy one. What love could possibly ruin relationships? Donghyuck and Renjun are practically soulmates — they were made to be best friends, and while they had their other friends, nobody is just like Renjun and nobody is like Donghyuck. You don't want them to fall apart; you of all people know how hard it is to lose someone special. 

Donghyuck's hug felt like fire, uninhibited and uncontrolled, given to someone so undeserving. You hold him like you love him the same way.

"I don't need you to love me back," but maybe he was hoping a bit. Yeah. Maybe. "There was never a chance for us, you know? Against my own best friend, I know I won't stand a chance. I just wanted to hear it from you."

A pause.

"Because I can dance with you under the moon, and I can walk on streets holding your hands, I can give you all the time in the world — I could spend a lifetime telling everyone I'm yours," Donghyuck locks gazes with you, and you wonder how he manages to be both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. He shakes his head a bit, "But that won't make you love me."

"Because I can only ever catch you," he says wistfully "whenever he fails to. I always do, don't I? Catch you, save you, love you. But you're not falling for me. You're not in need of my saving. You're not mine to adore."

He loosens his hug, looks at you like the sun bidding farewell to the moon. He's just as beautiful, if not more, he really is — gold dusting his eyelids and strawberry balm on his lips — he's ethereal. Donghyuck is beautiful in all ways manageable and not, but it's also a different kind of beauty — quite like love, adventurous but uncertain, poetic but tragic. There's a lot of pain in this beauty. He closes his eyes.

"There's not much of us, but I'm setting you free."

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You find yourself knocking at Renjun's door that night, for no particular reason — certain events made you forget that he stood you up. Renjun apologizes and repeats his reasons like a mantra, but words seemed to leave his mouth once he sees your eyes; tired and sore. You don't really need his apologies. You just need him.

Apologies, you see, they almost always never come when they're asked for. When they do, they're mostly unwanted and unnecessary from that point forward. You just feel odd, more restless than you actually are, the world is too loud — you just want to close your eyes and escape for a bit. Renjun holds you silently the whole night, his heartbeat calm, his arms holding you tight and secure.

Renjun knows, but he decides it's better for him not to. He shifts a bit, "If not because of me, why are you sad?"

A part of you knows that this is his way of telling you he understands, that he's aware of what somethings happened behind his back. Renjun always knows. The bigger part of you hoped he didn't — selfishly. You know it's the safest choice to keep your mouth shut. 

You're sad, for a million reasons or for just one, you don't bother keeping up with the numbers. Renjun looks at you like you're a treasure, though, like he means it — you think the only favor you could do him and for yourself as well is to lie. You grin, effectively hiding away the tears threatening to brim your eyes, "I forgot."

He doesn't really know what answer he expected, but his heart sinks at the reply nonetheless. Renjun decides, tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes quickly in a way Renjun wishes it wasn't. He wakes up tired — he was up all night singing lullabies to himself, whispering confessions that wouldn't change a thing and promises he'll never be able to fulfill, stuff that would never make you stay. Renjun didn't cry all night — there was a tear or two, there was three — he didn't just cry all night. He did so much more — relive the past, think that he's sorry, accept defeat and the fact that he's never gonna be enough for you; then he closes his eyes. The rain pours heavily outside and Renjun reaches a hand out to the sky.

"Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?" he says with tired eyes. "One time once more, baby."

You ignore the telltale signs of a heartache — maybe you were too numb, maybe you wanted to pretend it's all normal. Renjun tugs you outside and pulls you into a hug so tight, as if he didn't want to let go but he's losing you. Is he? 

Dancing with Renjun under the rain is oddly similar to the one you shared with Donghyuck under the moonlight, and you find yourself full of guilt as you sway together with him, humming love songs just right next to your ear. 

Renjun knows of that dance, of course he does. He was in front of the place you two were supposed to meet at, hoping that he could still make it. Because of this, he doesn't ask why you're entwining fingers with his while recalling memories of another. He doesn't mind — he thinks, as long as your eyes look at him so softly like that, he doesn't mind anything.

You think Renjun is beautiful like this — his everything an aesthetic you can endlessly write about. His eyes, though, his eyes look distant, wishful and longing. Renjun looks at you like he's letting you go and your heart drops, as gentle and as sweet as the poems he's written of you and the kiss he gifts your lips with.

"Just leave, darling," he whispers, "Stay a lovely memory to me."

It's just like any lovely excerpts you wrote, the last line with Renjun quite familiar and bittersweet. As if in any other circumstances, had he said only the second sentence and the second sentence only, it would have made your heart skip and your cheeks rise in temperature.

Real love is a little not like literature, though, at least the one you had with Renjun isn't. It wasn't almost being the same person. It wasn't sweet chaos. For both of you, it was doing what was the best for each other at the moment — whether it will make you cry, whether it will be painful before it becomes easy, knowing that it won't always be picture perfect but still wanting to give each other what you deserve. It was so much simpler than how he said it in his poetry, just as complicated but not any less romantic than that. Huang Renjun knew that you were aware of what was the best for the both of you — with neither of you ever wanting to force something to work and end up hating each other the more it fails, successfully trading the happy memories with more regrets, you walk away. Renjun doesn't follow just because love isn't always like the idea of it, but he does remember to never forget. You walk away, holding his love dear to your heart.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

Some people are just not meant to be alone, you think. Mark Lee comes just as quickly as Renjun was gone.

You don't even know why your paths crossed — Mark is literally the town's golden boy. He plays sports and aces exams and has a good set of friends; surely, he has more important matters to deal with, and definitely getting coffee at a dingy coffee shop isn't one of them. Not when it's three a.m in the morning, at least.

The shy barista at the counter sends you a gleeful smile as he hands out your order, one which you return with a curt nod and a quiet wish goodnight. He watches intently, subtle but focused — he really isn't one to gawk at people, but he couldn't help it. You held with you a smile that doesn't match the exhaustion in your eyes. You looked like hope. You looked like someone to look up and search for the stars even on a cloudy day. You seemed like a full-bloomed spring to trapped minds and sour hearts. You think Mark is a little too curious like Alice. Mark thinks you're even better than the Wonderland he'd always fall for.

He knows you saw him, he feels the hesitation in your stare. He knows you know him, he's shared a couple of classes with you and has done a couple of assignments as a team, so naturally, Mark couldn't help himself but ask, "Wanna sit down with me?"

You walk up to him with a nod, grateful. Mark tries to remain calm for the rest of the night — caffeine not helping — and he tries to look at his book instead of you, but he simply fails to. He tries his best to conceal himself, but he can't seem to tear away. He can't look at anywhere else when you're sitting there right in front of him — you know pain, you're familiar with sadness, have always been friends with enduring what you couldn't take; Mark sees in you a landscape that makes his heart hurt, a leafless tree he loves by itself but couldn't resist the urge to nurse back into life. Every now and then you'd look up from your cup and he would look away from this book that he's "reading" and your eyes would meet, and the both of you would shyly giggle and open up a small talk.

He walks you home that night, this one and the other and the many next times after that; it's just your thing by now, getting coffee at the most unreasonable hours of the day and staying up until it's too late for either of you to sleep because by this hour you should be blinking awake, walking down lifeless streets and past neon signs and holding hands. Mark would look at you with such awe and when he does, you have some things you forget, and your heart races. He's became a regular part of your day, a constant stranger. And then he becomes your friend. Then kind of more. You think, maybe, just maybe, he can become something more than more.

"I have many regrets in this life, you know? But I don't wanna be imprisoned by them," you shrug, too scared to look up at him and see that he wonders just what failures you've done. You continue your slow pace, both in walking and letting go of things much like words, "I don't want you to be one of them."

Mark stops walking, but he doesn't make you feel like you've said something wrong, so you finally glace up and meets his eyes; those that hold as much tiredness as yours, pressure, those that are glassy and brimming with tears. You smile, "And I like you, a lot, even if I'm in broken pieces. "

Mark looks at you and doesn't see majestic brokenness. Mark falls deeper in love that day, the next and all the others; you were deep like that. He fell and couldn't stop falling and he can't wait to fall even deeper into you, diving into unknown waters with blind fates and silent confessions of love. 

Your relationship was practical — literal and convenient, full of compromise but in a good way. You both were almost always on the same page of what should be done and how to do it, and if not, you two know that it's the best to give it a rest and understand. The balance, that kind of synchrony — it was something you both need, was something you liked about your dynamic; the fact that the partnership was there and you're certain of no taking more than you could give and no giving of less than you deserve. For once, you feel like you aren't pouring liquid into a leaking jar, and you feel content at the warmth he gives you with.

Renjun never made you feel this way; he didn't make enough accommodations for your relationship and you didn't voice out your expectations of him, you just wished he magically knew. Because he always knew that you would understand and other people wouldn't, he ended up giving you most of the weight of the relationship you both should've carried together. Mark was everything you hoped Renjun was; this is where the conflict begins.

When love is fueled by what the past wasn't able to give and what the present is willing to offer, you end up falling for the ideas and not the person. He makes up to what Renjun didn't, he filled to the brim what Renjun wasn't able to, he satiates what Renjun couldn't satisfy. You always saw the things Mark did as what you expected from someone else, so you weren't able to appreciate them as they are. You never truly saw him as Mark Lee who loves you, always as the boy who did everything the last didn't. 

Just as any relationship that revolves around somebody who's not involved, the conclusion was something you saw coming. It comes with tired eyes and worn out sighs, burned out hearts and linked fingers, sour hearts turning bitter. Mark doesn't look at you at all, and you keep your eyes set to the stars.

"The thing with me is I always long for consistency — for someone to understand me and stay understanding of me forever." He breathes out, voice raw. Did he scream? Was he screaming in those empty spaces you two gave each other? In any of those yells, did he call your name? You think you need to yell at the top of your lungs just to hear a sound louder than your heartbreak. He chuckles before continuing, "And I know that it doesn't exist and it never will. I knew that since childhood, but even if I continue disappointing myself, I never stopped hoping."

His shoulders drop — he feels that weak that time, even his knees buckle down and his eyes sting from holding back tears. "So baby, don't play with me," he whispers, more begging than warning and he falls apart, "I don't need a chase — I need someone to wait for the end with."

There's a whine at the back of your throat, but you settle with looking at his direction with an apologetic call of his name. He doesn't reply.

Mark never knew that he could fall in love with the same person all over again even during a break-up. You're just lovely like that — always dancing in your daydreams while you carry the world on your back. Mark feels his breath catch at his throat, he feels his palms go numb, he feels his heart going haywire and begging him so desperately because no, no, don't let go, please, don't let go! 

"There's a huge difference between how much I love you, and how much I can take." He finally spares you a glance, his everything so spent and lonely and blue in a way that isn't the calm of an ocean. "If you can't love me, then please let me go."

Mark knew your answer when you smiled.

────── ❁ ──────

The trip to the coffee shop was slow and empty and chilly, your hands trembling in need to get a hold of warm coffee and your feet taking little steps to such a familiar place. Honestly, you don't even know why you're letting yourself go there — why do you keep on doing this, torturing yourself? You don't even know — maybe you came here to reminisce the past, hold it close one last time before letting it go. Maybe you're here to remember how Mark was, how he was before he met you — oh, how you wish he didn't meet you. How badly you wish he never did, how you wish he never offered you a seat, his comfort, his love, a place in his heart. How you wish you didn't steal the sparkles in his eyes, and at that very moment, you feel the sudden urge to turn around. 

But you're already pushing the glass door wide open, causing the chimes to make that delightful sound.

"Good...!" the cheery voice fades, a concerned look adorning exhausted eyes, "...evening. The usual?"

You hum, nodding soullessly. The boy — Jeno, quietly works your order until he decides he's had enough of you rubbing your cheeks raw wiping down tears. He sighs and finishes your drink, hands it to you with a sympathizing smile, "Uh, you don't look fine, but are you okay?"

You suppress a giggle and a glare — why does he care? But you're lonely, too lonely, so lonely that you only manage a nod, "Rough time. I wish today didn't happen."

"Oh, but other people had the best day of their lives today. They wouldn't experience that day if today didn't happen," he smiles, flashes of child-like optimism and hopes hinting behind the sleepy glaze in his eyes. "You're on your way to yours."

And while on any other day, his reply would have made you annoyed, you find that he's right, and wish that he indeed is. You feel like it's the only right that didn't go wrong today.

Something warns you that you shouldn't be getting yourself caught in his strings and his ways, but you find yourself straying around his orbit. You were lonely. It was that bad — so bad that you found comfort in everything and everyone and Lee Jeno just happened to be convenient; It's just safe to be around each other, and that's what great friends are supposed to be, right? Jeno doesn't judge and he doesn't pry when you tell him not to push it, and he tries to understand without forcing you to make him if you're not ready. Lee Jeno had a soul like comfort and a smile like a piece of home. You insist that you had no interest in either, but with you so down and him the only thing pulling you up, you couldn't help but let him in.

You think some people are just like that — timeless souls stuck in mortal bodies, liquid gold; glowing and burning and bright and hopeful, stars. They're like stars — human stars.

He's always beside you, you see, Lee Jeno. He answers the dumbest questions and the deeper ones, he stays up listening to your heartaches and struggles. He knows a lot about you — never everything, but they're more than enough — and you know about him, too. It's a dangerous edge you two are leaning far too close to tipping over, and still, your gaze screams life and hope and energy, Jeno thinks he doesn't mind. He remembers earlier memories with him crumbling under your fingertips, tears in his eyes.

"Mark Lee... he's not replaceable and I'm not a replacement..." he shifts his eyes down, can't bring it to him to just look at you without breaking himself. He manages a heartwrenching smile, "but I think I'd rather be a replacement rather than a distraction, darling."

But you looked at him and cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead so mellowly, assuring him that he's neither. The storm in his heart stops and all his insecurities don't matter, and Jeno doesn't think he ever felt this good — so light, so dreamy. Your touch brings comfort, much like lullabies, and after years on insufferable insomnia, Jeno falls asleep.

Your gaze, too. If you continue looking at him that way, he doesn't think he'll mind anything.

"Thanks, Jen. For the coffee," you say with a smile, another night spent with him at the coffee shop. These days, you spend most of your free time waiting for his shift to end, watching him stutter and flush every time he realizes you've been watching him. There's a giddy feeling spreading inside your gut as you continue, "and for staying with me. That was so thoughtful of you — how much lovelier can you be?"

He laughs, shaking his head. He sighs, "Stop it. You're giving me hope."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Oh, but I want to," you quickly roll your eyes, an attempt to faux cool control, your expression immediately shifting to something welcoming and soft just enough that his chest tightens. Jeno feels kind of odd — a good kind of odd, a welcomed sensation. You beam up at him with glassy eyes. Jeno shifts his to his shoelaces.

"Don't do that."

"Jen..."

"I love you," he confesses, shallow breaths coming in quick intervals. The floor seems to sway under his feet and the skies feel like they're swirls of dripping liquid, and it's hard to even breathe, let alone swallow the bitterness of his words, "But I would rather have you not say it back than hear you not mean it."

"I'm... I— Jen," you gasp out, fast to hold his hands to try to keep him down. For a reason or two, you feel like crying. Jeno feels lost. "I'm falling."

But you're not, and you don't know why you said it, but there's a galaxy in his eyes and the universe so beautifully laid down in his mind and he's pulling you close, tears in his eyes, this boy. Lee Jeno who's so in love with you, Lee Jeno who's hopelessly whipped, Lee Jeno — your sweet, sweet boy. You look up to him and shakily whispers, "Please catch me."

Jeno looks at the luminaries and wonders what it would feel like if one day he looks into the very same orbs only to find that the stars have fallen.

The wind blows gently, the coldness of the place prickling his skin, but Jeno doesn't think it's what caused the flush to rise on his cheeks. He stutters, curses a little, says again those little words and dives for a kiss — you feel like it's the best night ever; no nightmare, just pure bliss. 

You blindly walk the path inside your house, dropping your belongings on either of your sides. You try to keep your knees from buckling as you bring yourself to your bathroom, stripping off your clothes. You lean your back to the cold tile walls of your shower, feeling the rush of water that is supposed to drown your thoughts not doing anything to keep them at bay. What have I done?

Loving Jeno is easy, though, far too easy if you may. He's so full of love and in need of affection but never asks for them, and you're more than glad to give all of that to him without words needed. The days with him have been light-hearted, felt deeply nonetheless. In this little world, it's you and him, him and you, no one else. Right? Is that right? Do you promise?

Jeno knocks at your home one day, sullen and lethargic. He spreads his arms out for a hug, one you throw yourself into without hesitation. He leans into the touch, leaning down to burry his head on the crook of your neck, "Thank you, baby."

Your brows draw closer, "For what?"

"You were never mine, but you were always lonely." He suddenly says, He suddenly says, voice fading weak and unstable. There's warm tears dampening your shoulder, and he shakes ever so slightly that you panic and try to pull away, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he continues, "In my twisted logic, I made myself believe that it's the same."

"What are you saying, Jen?" You laugh, a bit confused and a lot afraid. "I love you."

"No, please, don't say that," his reply baffles you. When he lets you go, Jeno has a certain saddened look in his eyes, and it feels so familiar that you should be numb to it by now. You're not, though, and so you pretend to not know where this all would lead. He pulls you in again and hugs you tighter, "Let me tell you that I love you without you answering back, please."

The boy breathes out shakily, "I want us to have at least one memory that isn't a lie."

And then Lee Jeno says goodbye.

────── ❁ ──────

Park Jisung is the clumsy florist who keeps breaking vases in the flower shop his cousin owns, just several blocks away from the kindergarten both your nephews attended. You meet him one too many times you had to pick the little boy up, and talked to him finally one fine Tuesday when you decided flowers would be nice, out of random. You become friends from then on. 

This thing you have with Jisung is something lovely, child-like, and carefree. It doesn't put any pressure on you — there are expectations, but they're all voiced out and kept healthy. You're friends — great friends, not best friends — whose dynamic is not necessarily convenient. It's safe to say that some people think you have a complicated relationship.

You think, not really. Not to the two of you, at least — Jisung just knows when you're down and in need to be left alone or cuddled, while you know when he needs to cry or if he's pushing himself to his limits. He knows what flower you hold most dear, your treasured scent, your favorite shade of yellow. You know his most loved tracks, the beat he looks the happiest humming to, the color of his dreams. It's much more simple than that — it's just that you two have fun, even with your differences, and when you're together, everything else just fades away.

You just... don't like being alone. Jisung doesn't like not having company — well, there are indeed people he doesn't want to be accompanied by, but he doesn't like being the only one walking alone in crowds of many. He doesn't make your heart skip, not really, instead it's just a warm feeling in your chest, much like home. He doesn't make you nervous — not at all, but he does make you feel safe. Comforted, even. It's the type of love you've always yearned for, the only kind of love he's comfortable with.

"You dance?" Your eyes widen in surprise, dropping your book on the table. Then you smile, "Oh? Aren't you full of surprises?" 

"Mhm, you'll see." He says with embarrassment hinting his voice, but then he stops arranging the flowers and looks at where you're sitting. "You? Aren't you full of surprises, too?"

You pick up your book, a sudden low, shrugging. "It won't be a surprise if I say now, wouldn't it?"

He just shakes his head, tries to lift the vase to the other side and accidentally knocks another one down. You laugh at him, curious at how much control he has over his body that he must be able to dance so fluidly, hit the beat like it's what he's born for, and yet he can't seem to hold a vase and not break it. Jisung giggles, taking it lightly. You wish he didn't. 

The days with Jisung are filled with your favorite bouquets and post-it notes. Each and every day, the words written inside changes from 'You did well', until it develops to 'I hope you smiled today,' 'I wish something good happened today,' and 'You're really, really pretty.' He'd take you to little uphills, asks you to teach him how to make floral crowns from wildflowers, dance with you barefoot under bright daylight. A little summer, a certain person, your most dreaded feeling of having someone mean so much that you let flowers bloom in your chest until it's so hard to breathe and you cough them up.

"My parents asked me to study dance in another country," he mumbles one day, a shaky breath leaving his lips, "Please give me a reason not to go."

"Chase your drive, Sungie," you whisper back. You lean your head further to his chest, safe and warm and fading, "I love you, so choose your dreams over me."

There's the slightest hint of betrayal in his voice, a tinge of rejection in his eyes, "If you love me, why would you make me choose?"

If you love me, why can't you choose me? You selfishly ask, the kid in you whining at the thought of being left alone. The greedy part of you begs to ask him to stay, the needy part of you wants to hug him until he's so full of you that he forgets even the bare thought of wanting anything else. The silent voice inside you, the one that learned and keeps learning, the one that could've saved you so many times if you listened to it, sighs sadly. Don't risk anyone's future for your present, it seems to say.

"Because I love myself too," you look directly to his eyes, cupping his cheeks in between your palms, "and we need to put ourselves before anybody else."

And yet again, you're starstruck by the almost golden swirls in his irises, a peek of his soul. You think his eyes are beautiful — astounding, art worthy, a sight to never get tired of. He thinks they're only beautiful because he's looking at you.

This thing with Jisung isn't something you should've let go. You shouldn't have let him go but you weren't ready and the last thing you wanted was to hurt someone who held you so close beautifully. He didn't mean to, though — it was just too hard not to go overboard, and the next thing he knew, he was in love. He didn't mean to, so he walks you home the last night, hand in hand with a certain something hidden underneath his mellow smile. Jisung stands in front of you, waiting for you to open your gates, but you don't move. You stay basking in the tenderness of his gaze.

You think the little problem is that he's even more breathtaking up close and in silence, when the night feels so dead that it thrives — you feel like if you weren't so broken, if you don't keep on seeing another person when you look at him in the eyes, if you let go of the past, Jisung would be everything your heart desired. It just so happened that you two are both too infinite for forever, too broken to fix anything for the latter. Jisung was too charming — his smile was one that doesn't ask for attention but still steals it, never content with just taking your breath away so he takes with him your mind and soul.

You can't handle losing any more of yourself, though, so you smile, "Thank you for waiting."

"I have always been waiting for you," he grins shyly. You make a mental note to remember him like this — dyed locks a mess on top of his head and glasses messily perched on his nose bridge, tall and too pretty to be real, eyes so loving and expressive. There's an obvious sorrow in his voice, "Without fail, consistently, inevitably, forevermore."

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheeks, "Good night, Jisung."

The last note comes in between the pages of your notebook, a pretty pastel purple accompanied by pressed wildflowers. There, in his messy letters and colorful ink, reads a confession:

Maybe I couldn't stop myself from falling because it felt like flying with you.

You shake your head, sigh reading 'I told you not to do that'. Still, you feel a tug at your chest, a link between the two of you in the sense that you seem to be moving in synchrony with these words — Park Jisung is your last love, you swear. You shift your eyes, tired of the same chain all over again, flipping the note to read the words behind them. 

When you find the right love at the wrong time, what will you do to make it work? 

You sigh to yourself as you read the question, tracing the pristine paper with your pen, and finally, finally you smile;

Let it go. Set it free, because the greatest love of all is the one that lets you grow.

You tilt your head up, holding back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. 

────── ❁ ──────

Zhong Chenle invades your life like a hurricane of mixed emotions, a little like three months just in time when you finally decided you've had enough heartbreaks. You meet him from one of your friends, Qian Kun, and literally had to stop and wonder how in the world he managed to find this thing — you can't help it, alright? Chenle just stood silent and proud, clad in leather and rumors and reputations and reeking of expensive. He comes in the scene like thoughts as turbulent as unwanted flashbacks and as easily as finding trouble looking for the right answer when you're in a rush.

Quickly as he entered your life, he became a friend; you're too familiar with this scene, but you've had enough. You can't take any more. You've spent most of your life haunted by sugar smiles and breathy laughs and in exchange, had yourself break everything you wanted to keep intact. It doesn't matter that he's not at all what he's perceived to be, it doesn't matter that he makes your breath hitch. You don't even care what you're going against with, if it's fate or heavenly beings or the world — no more. You can't anymore.

The world is the ocean and the ocean is a God — people are mere sailors who think they're stronger than the tides, but they're not; once the waters have made their decision to kill you, there's no reason you should fear the phenomenons trying to do you harm. It seems like it's made that plan, that thing you hoped so much you wouldn't do. Chenle knows so he smiles at you brightly, "Don't you dare run away from what you're feeling."

"Else what, you gonna run after me?" You bite back just for the sake of it, laughter bubbling from your throat, "Gonna go chase me down?"

He shrugs, taking a challenge and a risk, "You better not regret."

"Absolutely fucking not." Kun hisses after you've told him what happened, months after you've started dating and you're tired of hiding it already. Your friends already tease you about getting together, anyway, so why should you even hide? Apparently, this. The profanities leaving his mouth should worry you, really, but it doesn't; not as much as his disagreement. Still, you couldn't even bother to ask him why because you see it in his eyes — you know him that much, you're familiar with that look — "You're not in love with Chenle, please, we both know this."

"I am in love with him!" You say, hurt. The look in his eyes softens, but the pain of his word doesn't, neither does his determination, "Kun, please. I didn't tell you just so you could lecture me, I told you because you're my friend! I do love him!"

"Are you, really? In love with him, you say? Completely?" Your eyes shift to the side after his statement, the lack of sarcasm and warmth in his tone both bothering you. You want to cry. When you look at Kun, you find he feels just as much. "You're not in love with him in the way he deserves."

There's a dry chuckle leaving your lips as you grab your bag, standing up with a tear slowly rolling down in your cheek. More than devastation, there's a certain withering look in your eyes. Kun tries to apologize, but you're already moving away from him. The betrayal in your voice is impossible to ignore and forget, "How dare you make accusations about how I'm feeling?"

Falling in love with Chenle wasn't in the plan; in fact, you hardly even had any plans to begin with. As another fact, the only plan was to not fall in love with anyone anymore. Plans are ever-changing things, you'd always counter, they depend on the situation. When Chenle came in your life, you figure there happened to be another shift — something significant had changed, a good change.

Maybe it is why you didn't even take Kun seriously. You've always hoped that all those lows would lead to this point, the part where there's content spreading on your chest, a feeling just as bright as the luminescent blanket of embedded diamonds and rubies, a sky full of stars. By your side, the boy looks at you with eyes shining just as much; Zhong Chenle, badly misunderstood, so truly loved. You couldn't help but pull him in a kiss — giggly and messy, chaste and ever so delicate. 

You think you could spend lifetimes just staring at him. You swore on it, really, to not be in love with him. More than anybody else, you hoped to fate that you'll never fall in love again. It's just that this person — Zhong Chenle, he has a tendency to be very addicting, and oh, how easily addicted you are. His kiss a lovely burn against your lips, his words a heavenly whisper to your ear, his existence a delightful surprise. You find it inevitable to fall because of the many similar nights before this, just weeks after you two met. Those days where you two were laughing way too hard for midnight and your heart blossomed with happiness it hasn't felt for long. It's the sweetest kind of doom.

It's doom, nonetheless. 

"With whom was your first relationship with?" Chenle suddenly asks, no hint of jealousy in his eyes, but there is, aside from pure curiosity, something else — lost, baffled, seeking an explanation for something he doesn't even think he should know. "I mean, you're mine. You're my first love, but I know I'm not yours, and I'm curious. "

"You don't even know him, Lele." You laugh, trying to hide your hesitation. The boy insists, says that he just needs a name. You roll your eyes affectionately, "Huang Renjun. He's a great guy, but timing kinda messed up."

Chenle hums appreciatively, but he stops trying to find constellations and making up shapes of his own; instead, he dives in a pool thoughts deeper than the dark. He thinks of what he doesn't know if he believes in, but he keeps his eyes up at the stars and hopes to God that his life wasn't such a movie; he stays quiet.

"Who's Jaemin, then?" The question comes, harmless but shocking nonetheless. Chenle breaks his stare from the dull-starred sky and looks at you with a smile brighter than daylight. His question makes your gut twist. "Jaemin who danced with you under the rain... Jaemin who made your day with corny jokes, with late-night talks, with coffee, with notes."

You don't reply, so he ponders some more. He thinks about walking the streets holding hands, he thinks of cheek kisses. He thinks of waking up tomorrow and doing all of that with you. He looks forward to a couple of years — maybe you'll move in together, maybe you'll share a place and clothes and everything. He thinks of counting down the memories, having lived most of his life satisfied. Chenle thinks of doing it all with you; someone who takes tragedies and turns them into masterpieces. Someone who sings sad songs with a saccharine smile.

"Jaemin with a reputation, known for all the wrong reasons..." his eyes cast down, dull and slowly piecing everything together, "Just like me."

He thinks of a vow, a promise — to the stars, till dawn do us part. He thinks of how near the sun is from rising, and he thinks of silhouette, of being hidden behind one. You don't answer until then, so he just takes it as your reply.

"You don't have to. I already know," he smiles, fingers entwining with yours. "Maybe I just hoped that I didn't have to find out from Kun."

Chenle is innocent, kind of naive. He wears his heart on his sleeves and gifts its pieces to anyone who dares to get to know him. He loves a lot — his friends, his family, stars. A person who grieves the loss of midnight too, when the stars start to fade; you. Because of that, he could forgive anything you did and would do.

It's one of his many ways of love, you see, this thing you have going on. Chenle's just like that — you never know just how much more he can give before he runs out; there's just so much of him and it's difficult to put it into words. He's shown you how he treasures relationships, how he adores everything around him in each and every time a different way and kind. He's shown you so much, all the ways he displays his affection with, this little magic trick. That's not all of it, though, and a little part of you sinks because of the fact that a lifetime will not be sufficient enough for you to know just what this love is, completely, because every passing moment, the boy falls for something; each fondness different from the lasts.

Chenle just loves like that; so much that he doesn't mind being loved for carrying pieces of another person — being adored simply because he made you remember what you didn't want to forget. He thinks, if he doesn't think it matters, it wouldn't; he prays that if he doesn't bring it up, you'd forget. He's loved you for so long but you know so little of his kind of love; ever so pure and limitless, impossible to define and dictate. 

When he holds your hands, though, you feel like it's enough — it's enough to have known slightly more than what you think you should.

"You give too much," are the only words that you were able to form. He looks at you as if to ask if you think so, and you feel the time stop for a bit when he leans his head on your shoulders, his dark locks tickling your skin. You laugh, humorless and sentimental, "Isn't it about time you'd learn to love within limits?"

"You're brilliant, you know?" He mumbles, albeit sleepily. "Kind of infinite. There are no restrictions in the love you deserve."

Something about brilliant just hits so different from beautiful — something so damning and sweet and you feel it again; just how much love you have in you, how much of it you are willing to give. Maybe boundaries really aren't your thing, maybe its the reason why you let Chenle adore you beyond what you know you can take, why you allowed him to give more than he should've given. Maybe it's why you poured affection after affection without conditions — maybe that's why you were selfish enough to love shadows. Maybe it's as most people say — you tend to burn too bright, to share too much of yourself, and not everybody can handle that. You're a bit too much for others. Maybe it's why you find yourself sitting down, pen roughly scribbling on paper.

Somewhere, there's a soul aching for your love... but no matter how much we try, we know it's not here, with me.

────── ❁ ──────

Kun doesn't knock at your door until a few weeks later, and whether it was him giving you space or him not being able to leave Chenle alone, you think of it as a blessing in disguise. It wasn't even after a week or two that you found it in you to get your life together — fake it till you make it, clean up your home, clean up your mess. You greet him with a smile on your face, tears prickling your eyes, "Come in."

Kun doesn't even say anything, he just puts the snacks he bought somewhere and crashes the sofa. He turns off the television, eyes the clearly was-messy place, and huffs at you, "It's just me. You don't have to play cool with me when you're feeling so broken."

"You're acting so much like Kim Dongyoung." You whisper just enough that he could hear before making your way to him and sobbing in his arms. Kun lets you stay like that, his hands threading your hair and affectionately patting your back, a soft 'I told you you're not ready yet' that's less scolding than it is loving. You stop crying then, just miserable sobs and sniffles, and he stands up to get you a cup of water. You look at him.

 "Thank you, Kun."

Suddenly, his not amused expression is back. He moves away a little, placing a strict space in between the two of you, and then directly looks into your eyes, "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Were you ever gonna tell me, or was I just supposed to learn about it after you've left?"'

"Kun," you breathe deeply, "I need to."

"For who?" He asks, hoping that amongst the reasons read your name. Are you finally choosing yourself? Is it still because of other people? He wants to ask, but his voice keeps failing him and all he can whisper is words about how he's proud of you, how much you've endured, how badly he wishes to ease the pain. Kun doesn't look at you with disappointment, with hurt; he looks at you with pure utter understanding, and you find it in you, a reason to smile.

────── ❁ ──────

You can't help but reminisce things as you walk from your home to the train station, neither can you when you asked the person in charge for which train will get you out of the place the quickest. You didn't really have plans, you never did, and perhaps that's where everything starts to go wrong; you just forget things, or at least, you try to suppress them. You never tried to solve anything.

This town knew too much — there are memories of Renjun on the trail from here to the benches, flashes of Donghyuck's sly grin meeting your gaze in the reflection of the glass whenever you look at the vending machines. You feel like you've walked every street in here, hand in hand with Mark, like you've danced under all these blinking lights with Jisung, like you've been to everywhere with Chenle. There is so much to remember, and this place can't hold them all and it breaks your heart so much, knowing that many things are meant to be memories, but not all memories should be remembered. You close your eyes in silent hopes that no matter how painful, you never forget one second.

It was impossible, surely, but you think that the thought of being able to recall them completely will be enough to keep you company. Even until now, you don't really want to be alone — some people are just not meant to be by themselves, and sometimes those people aren't really good at settling down either — being one of them, you leap from one crumbling bridge to another, hoping to never feel the pain of a great fall. There was never an end where you didn't. 

Waiting for the train to board, you look back to a certain place in time. The one where you think everything began.

Your first love is something you remember vividly. It came in the form of childhood crushes, wildflowers, and ruined playgrounds. It's a coincidental meeting; you were running away from your house, tired of the yelling and the crashing and the constant fear in your little heart, while he was sneaking away from his house to play more because he's a 'rebel'. Your first heartbreak takes some years forward, years just a little far from now even if it feels like it's been forever standing here, waiting for an uncertain return.

Until now, you think that it was that night under a rusty slide and above dry leaves when your life started to change.

You meet again with Na Jaemin just minutes before your train arrives, a brief eye-contact and a skip of heart and it doesn't take so much for you to know; those eyes, that smile, the red string sitting too tightly on his wrist. You remember what promise that meant — you know that, right? The thing they say about red strings, how they connect people? — and what childish hope that strand held — if we wear this, we would always find our way to each other, because we have a red string connecting us now! You remember, you do, really — of course, you do; how you could you ever forget him? Surely, maybe he's grown a lot, and everything about him has changed, he even dyed his soft hair blue. You're certain, though, you knew that it's him — maybe the red string worked. Maybe it's the butterfly effect and the heartbreaks your heart and several others nursed. Maybe it's the look in his eyes that remained soft and sweet and honest.

You miss your train, but you can't help but feel like you're just in time.

"Jae—" you choke, eyes wide and shocked, "Jaemin!"

────── ❁ ──────

Na Jaemin meets you again on a busy train station, three years ago after he just came back in town for a visit. He remembers the punch in his gut at the sight of your face, the red string delicately wrapped on your wrist, far too small but still so beautiful. He remembers the sullen look on your face, the realization dawning on him that you're late for your class and he chuckles; you never really made it in time for school, even as a child. The rain pours and he has to fiddle his bag for his umbrella, opens it so that he could let you in. When he takes a step closer though, you were talking to another boy, and Jaemin thinks he's the one a little late.

He comes across you a lot of times next to that, too, but never when you're alone. He thinks, his timing is a mildly off as well. Every time he tries to come and talk to you — when you were sitting alone in the middle of a busy restaurant, inside the coffee shop, in front of his niece's kindergarten — there was always somebody else. It reminds him of back then, one of your conflicts as you started to grow up and apart; the many times you needed each other and the other person is too caught up needing someone else. Jaemin thinks that the beat you both are dancing to is a little too delayed.

Jaemin remembers meeting a boy just as blue as him, a face a little familiar, smiling longingly at the two dancing under the moon. He remembers eyes as regretful as his, he remembers a smile, "They look so happy, don't they?"

None of that matters, though, not when he's pulling you into a hug and dragging you to a rooftop, not when you're several floors off the ground and beside you is Na Jaemin, sitting side by side, with eyes that take you back to the past and makes you hope for an unbroken present.

When you two stand under the bright sky and you stare at him instead of gushing about flying, Jaemin realizes just how drastically different this present is. If the look in your eyes says anything, he's certain that you feel the same.

You have just always been waiting for this moment, you know? And you missed your train, but you were just in time to meet Jaemin, and the rush of affection cleared all the lines you had to cross and everything was light and filled with teary laughter before right now. You've had it planned, the both of you, multiple scenarios where you two could meet again — none of them are this way. It's awkward and tense and the other feels so far away; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Jaemin could leave. He should leave, he figures, thinking that it's always been what he's best at. It's not working, anyway; maybe it was him being gone and you going through so much, maybe it's life knocking some sense in the both of you, but none of that matters — it's not working. It's just like this, relationships — two people could start at the same point and still go separate ways. It's not meant to be. He could leave, forget, maybe he'd find enough courage that he marks this chapter closed and finally, finally stop thinking of childhood feelings and even the grown-up ones. He could find a new beginning in this chapter closed.

That's the way it goes, anyway, right? Some ends feel like new starting points. Jaemin could drop it here. He could make it easier for himself, he'd be able to say this isn't working and he'd be back to his normal self; the one that looks at you and looks for you in a way that he did before falling in love. He could be young and free, away from untold reasons and unsaid apologies and undelivered feelings. He could make it easier for himself.

But to hell with ease, he didn’t want to.

"Remember, back then, we would always sneak out to play in the rain?" Jaemin is the first to break the silence, "And we look at flowers... you used to cry at everything back then!"

You flick his arm at that, and he sits on the floor next to the railing because he couldn't hold himself up anymore, laughing. Even until now, this still feels like a very vivid dream. You spend the night trying to believe that this is reality — Jaemin does the same.

Fate has a tendency to bring people apart and put them back together again, so you can't really help it that Jaemin was months and weeks away from leaving the town again. There was a point where you cursed time — you just found him, and now, why is he being taken away from you? There was a time where Jaemin thought you weren't meant to be — if you are, then why do you keep on being forced apart?

He thinks he really should stop thinking this way. It's just something really odd, this love stuff, because it's never really just one thing but rather a couple of many nothings to make up an entirely different, supposedly magical occurrence. Love is never just love — it's oftentimes euphoria with even the slightest glimpse of devastation. Jaemin doesn't think he understands why the both of you try so hard to make it easy — no matter how difficult, he knows it's worth it, knows that he'll fight for it.

Jaemin spends his last day in this place smiling, cupping your cheeks as he stands in the middle of a busy train station yet again, this time, with you in his reach. The skies are dark but his smile is bright, and it burns brighter when you flush after asking him why he's staring at you so hard. The boy cooes, "Perfect should try to be you."

"If perfect was me, perfect would be a mess," you quickly counter even through you being too flustered. In your absolute anxiety, you think that everyone is looking and judging you. With the way Jaemin is staring at you, you don't think you'd mind even if they whisper things so mean.

"A lovable mess," he raspily whispers, sincerity in his gaze and honesty in his words. Jaemin smiles, "I can't make this up. I fall for you several times a day, repeatedly."

Jaemin lets go of your face and dips in to kiss your forehead, and then he giddily messes your hair. You can't even bring it in you to get mad — you have several minutes and you have so much to say and the time is too little, your words are so limited. Jaemin asks for your hands and leaves a red string, identical to the ones you gave each other as children but bigger and adorned with the tiniest butterfly charm. You look at him, confused, "What's this?"

"A farewell gift, and something I'll definitely come back for," he flicks your forehead as if to say it's so obvious, and you can't help but feel like time is running out all over again. You breathe, unsteady and ragged, a desperate call of his name, "Na Jaemin?"

He doesn't answer, but he wipes the tears streaming down your face and he hums.

"I'm so happy that the ending is me and you." You finally confess, taking him aback. You smile, sweet and cruelly beautiful, brutally emotional, and if there were no children around and Jaemin was a tad bit more shameless, he would pull you into a deep kiss. He couldn't, though, so he just gapes and stares and listens.

"I'm so happy that it's back to you."

As the train boards, you find yourself realizing how tough the world gets — the lovely, sinking feeling lingering in your chest as you recall the highs and the lows of life and fate.

You've had far too many great loves in your life, so much that using the term would probably not sound special anymore to other people — but they're different, each one of them, the way they loved distinct at least — and this one, just this one, Na Jaemin, by far, is the greatest.

The end is sweet and lovely, if a bit sour and bitter. The end is where you hopefully find yourself.

────── ❁ ──────

"Mom and dad keeps on fighting. " your nephew murmurs under his breath, one sunny Friday spent walking on streets that are cooling down, on the way to what must be the happiest place on Earth for a kid. "Do you think they don't love each other anymore?"

You nervously scratch your nape, thinking of easy ways to reply to the question. You think of your childhood, how you spent most of it dreaming of love. How until today, the thought of it still haunts you. You just shrug, "People just have some bad days, but look, they're still together, right?" he nods, and you feel a blossom of proudness in your chest, "They love each other, and that's why they had you."

The kid suddenly frowns, "Why do people get together, then?"

You halt your steps before continuing, on the verge of asking why he asked that question before you realize that it's your nephew, anyway. He loves holding mature conversations even if he doesn't understand anything, he likes asking away and being taken seriously, like an adult. You chuckle, "Uhm, because people make each other happy!"

"Why don't you have someone, then?" You don't know how to answer his question, and neither did you expect it. He looks too interested to be brushed off. "You said people make other people happy!"

"Hm, well, I do have someone," you think of sugar smiles and giggly kisses as you say those words. There's a comforted exhale leaving your lips as you look down on the kid, "But, he's not the only reason I'm happy... I'm happy with myself, without him."

"Do you not love him, then? Because you're happy without him?"

"I love him, I do, a lot! We went through a lot to find each other again," you smile kindly, patient. "But it's a different kind of love, just like how it is a different kind of happy with him."

His lips jut out, wondering about things not so completely disconnected from his first questions. He then sighs as if he's carrying the weight of the world, "If you had to find each other again, it means one of you left. Why did one of you leave if you love each other, then?"

Why?

"Well, you see, maybe..." there's no answer pouring from your lips, but emotions threaten to spill from your eyes and then down your cheeks. The child won't understand your tears, though, so you think of familiar faces and the one you entwined your fingers with, like home. You keep your head held high. "Maybe it's so that we could find each other again in a time where we would be better versions of ourselves."

It's not enough to sate his curious mind. "But if he's almost always never here, how are you supposed to know if he's the love you're supposed to have, then?"

"The love I'm meant to find has always been here, within me," you say genuinely, and the child, ever so confused but curious, remains silent to understand. You shake your head a bit, "but with him, this love grows bigger and bigger, and it helps us cross any kind of distance between us."

Finally satisfied, he stops asking questions at the sight of his most favorite place, muttering incomprehensible gibberish as he tugs you closer to the entrance. Then you think of how happy you are to be standing under this sky, above this ground — you think of the butterfly effect, all the little moments and major events, and everything that passed and will forever remain remembered. You think of all that lead you to this.

You look at the reflection of yourself from the glass walls of the candy shop, and you couldn't help a smile. The look in your eyes screams dreamy as you push open the door. This is it — you're on the way to loving yourself. 

Welcome home.

[tomthesoftie]

I love Mob! Tom too much. and I would like to see Reader and Tom as a couple but Tom doesn't know anything about Reader's past because she has lost her memory. and as they are a couple, Reader is Tom's weak point so his enemies try to capture her but she has reflexes to defend herself from before she loses her memory because she was a contract killer, if that's ok with you

at peace

a/n: this was hella darker than i planned, as well as longer... so i didn’t make this fluffy at all, it’s just straight up angst, heavy angst,,, also i wrote this at like 2-4 am so sorry if it gets kind of confusing, i’ll reread it tomorrow... enjoy xx

warnings: heavy angst, wiped memory, major character death, sacrifice

masterlist                     prompt list

You walked into the dark room, senses heightened. A pulsing ringed in your ears as you looked around.

“Hello?” You said, hand gripping on your gun. The sound of someone running didn’t go by you. You snapped your head in the direction it came from. “Who’s there?” Your gun was out of its holster, pointing into the darkness. “Show yourself.”

A figure tried to grab you but you easily dodged their attempt. You punched your target in the gut, causing them to keel over. In their vulnerability, you grabbed their arm and twisted it behind their back. They groaned in pain as you dug your gun into their temple.

“Who do you work for? What was your plan?” You asked, adding more pressure on the gun with each question.

The man grunted and struggled in your grip. He didn’t reply, only kept yelping and mumbling “bitch” or “motherfucker.”

“Answer me!”

“This is our plan,” a deep voice roared behind you.

Then, everything went black.

You shot up in the bed, breath heaving. Sweat was dripping down your forehead. You looked around, but you were still in Tom’s room, snuggled in the blankets of his bed. The space beside you was empty but a dent lingered on the mattress where Tom slept. He had already gone to his office, like always.

What was that dream you just had? Why was it so familiar? And why did it feel so real?

You shrugged off the dream, knowing it couldn’t’ve been real. You haven’t the skill to fight that you had whilst attacking the stranger. You assumed it came from dating Tom and watching action movies. 

You walked out of the mobster’s mansion, into the garden in the backyard. You walked through the vibrant flowers, feeding them with freshwater you’d gotten from the kitchen. Birds chirped happily around you, singing you a welcoming morning song. They’d practically became your friends. You felt like Cinderella, excluding all the labor and step family, whenever you came to the garden. 

You’ve had nothing to do since Tom restricted you from leaving the property. He’d told you someone was coming for you, saying that you were his biggest weakness. He even told you to cut off all communications with friends and family, keeping them off the radar. You couldn’t refuse, besides, you wouldn’t try to anyways.

You skipped and twirled on the dirt trail, humming a quiet tune. You basked in the sunlight and the butterflies fluttered around you. You were nearing the mansion once more. The butterflies and birds had gone away, leaving you in solitude. 

There was silence. It was a familiar silence. Your senses heightened. You could feel that something was off. A deep voice softly spoke to another from behind you. You knew that voice from somewhere, you’ve heard it before. You gripped your metal watering can. Something about your grip felt routine.

You heard the grass rustle and you moved ahead. You knew that if you were closer to the house, you’d be able to get help faster.

Help. Where did all the mobster’s men go? You were the only one outside. There was definitely something wrong.

You felt the warmth a someone’s hand hovering over your shoulder. You gripped it, kicking them in the gut. You turned to see a tall man. Even bent over, he was still taller than you. A wave of fear washed over you, telling you to run but your body moved on its own. You continued to punch the man on the side of his head, hitting a specific point to knock him out. The sound of his head slamming onto the ground didn’t faze you as you prepared to attack the larger, scruffier looking man.

“A failure. Even with your memory wiped he can’t beat you,” the familiar voice said, appearing from the shadows.

The ringing of a gunshot filled your ears. You didn’t flinch or wince. You were still. Something took over you. Memories started flooding back into your mind, one by one. There were images of life before your memory had been taken. Everything fit together perfectly now. You hadn’t met Tom in a coffee shop. He saved you. He saved you from this man standing ahead of you now.

“What do you want from me?” You growled.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you. More precisely, I want to kill you,” he said, pointing the gun at you.

“Was I hired to kill someone that you knew?”

“No, buttercup. You are precious. At least Mr. Tommy thinks you are,” he grinned at you sickly.

“But you wiped my memory before I even knew him,” you stated.

“I didn’t, but he did.”

“What?” You were confused. How did Tom know you before he saved you?

“He watched you everyday for every hour. He found your work inspiring and motivating. Let’s just say he fancied you from the very beginning.”

Without a word, you dashed towards the man, attacking him at every angle. He was able to predict every move and was left completely unharmed when you pulled away.

“Don’t just stand there! Fight back,” you shouted, furious.

He raised his gun, pointing it straight at you. This wasn’t anything new for you. You were trained for these situations.

Building up speed, you ran towards him, swerving so that he couldn’t shoot you. You jumped, climbing to his neck. Your legs wrapped around his neck and elbow knocked his head. He visibly loosened his grip on the gun, and you pounced at the opportunity. 

You stood ahead of the man, safety off, finger ready to pull the trigger.

“I will do it,” you said, a fire burning in your eyes. “You took my memory, my passion away from me. I’m going to avenge myself,” you seethed. He fidgeted, “Hands where I can see them.” His hands shot right up. “I could kill you right now; take back what everything I’ve missed. This can be practice before I go back to the field.”

“Darling?” Your boyfriend’s voice penetrated your glowing red ears. 

You didn’t reply. You were radiating with anger and hatred. You felt powerful, though. The fate of this man’s life was in your hands.

“Y/N/N,” Tom placed a hand on your shoulder, “I can do this.”

You shrugged off his hand, only seeing red. Your breathes were deeper, heaving your chest up and down. Your teeth grinding, you were itching to pull the trigger.

“You deserve to suffer,” you cackled.

The man’s expression was practically begging for you to let him go or make his death fast and painless. 

“Y/N,” Tom spoke up again.

“No! He’s mine to get rid of,” you snapped.

“We need to interrogate him. He’ll give us the answers we need,” the mobster tried.

“What questions? All of them are answered. Aren’t they, Tom?” Your gaze switched to the brunette. “Or are you hiding something from me? Something important?”

The mobster’s men took the burly man captive, leaving you and Tom to sort out your business.

“What d’you mean hiding something from you? I told you the truth about everything.”

“I don’t remember meeting you at a coffee shop,” you glared at him.

“What? Of course we did. How else would I’ve met you? Your memory can’t be trusted, darling. You were wiped, remember?” A stern look rested on his face.

“Oh, how could I forget? But not to worry, it’s back now,” you sneered, “You stalked me?”

“Stalked isn’t the word I’d use, more so observed and protected,” he stated.

You laughed darkly, “I don’t need protecting. I’m a contracted killer, Tom. Get that in your head. Besides, you did a shit job of protecting me, or maybe this was your plan all along. You wanted to take me as your own, so you wiped my memory and told me we were in love.”

“I would never do that, darling. That’s completely absurd,” his brows furrowed, “now please, let’s go back home. We need to pay even closer attention to any intruders.”

You pointed the gun at him, “No. I don’t need your protection. Not anymore, at least.”

“I’d put that down if I were you,” he finally realized you weren’t the same old you anymore; he’d have to put up a fight no matter what.

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me,” you said innocently. You snorted, “Doubt it.”

“I will do it,” he said darkly, the love in his eyes gone.

“Who goes first?” You asked childishly. Before he could reply, you pipped, “Oh, I’ll do it.”

The loud banging of a gunshot rang louder than normal. Time seemed to slow. The birds chirped in a sad tune while the butterflies lined on the branches of your favorite tree. You smiled at them. They replied by gently flapping their wings. You reveled in the sense of peace. You laughed and laughed, remembering your shot, a feeling of victory coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, love!” Tom rushed to your side, clutching your body before it hit the ground. “You’ve gotta stay with me. Fuck, there’s too much blood.”

You smiled lazily at the boy, dropping the gun to the ground. You felt the blood warming your body. Your vision became hazier and everything around you seemed so serene.

“It’s alright, Tommy, no more weaknesses now,” you managed to whisper.

You were numb with love. Everything good in your life rushed into your mind. You felt lighter. Finally, you were freed from your everlasting torture. No one to kill, to run from, to weaken. The birds chirped their welcoming morning song, leading you into the whiteness. You silently thank them, eyes starting to flutter shut.

“I-I lo-love yo--”

Warm. Cold. Peace. Anger. Content. Sad. Two different worlds, two different emotional states. Maybe sacrifice is for the better. 

[kiwiimmellon134]

TURN IT OFF — PART ONE

summary — in which a gemini wedding doesn’t go as planned

word count — somewhere around 2.5k

paring(s) — vampire!poe dameron x fem!witch!reader / rey x warlock!ben solo

warning(s) — angst, a wedding, blood

notes — heavily based off of jo and alaric satlzman’s wedding scene from the vampire diaries. also the solo twins are in this so ben and kylo are different people in this

The wedding of Ben Solo and Rey was an event you worked your ass off to plan. Even though you was a witch, a wedding was something you wanted to plan naturally. No magic involved. Being a Gemini witch, however, did have its perks but it have many more disadvantages.

You were not born a twin, however Ben was a twin. They weren't 22 yet, which meant they were safe. But when they do turn 22, Ben and his twin would have to do something called the Merge. It's when two Gemini twins merge their magic. It's a battle of will and power.

The strongest twin will absorb the other twin's magic while the weaker twin dies. Then the victorious twin will lead the Gemini coven until the next line of Gemini twins are born. Now, Ben's twin— Kylo Ren— was put into a prison world because Kylo killed his foster family.

He was a sociopath. And the Gemini's locked him away. Ben and Lysa lived their lives free of Kylo Ren's shadow. Ben met Rey through you and they fell in love. You also had your own fair share of love with Poe Dameron.

You exhaled quietly and rubbed your hands together nervously, looking at the altar you prepared. You were wearing your bridesmaid's dress since you were the maid of honor. The dress was a nice lavender color and nearly touched the floor.

"Hey," A voice said from behind you. You turned around and smiled, already knowing who the voice belonged to. "Hi," You replied. Poe Dameron walked up to you, "You look nervous."

"It's not even my wedding and I'm anxious," You joked, laughing softly. Poe sighed happily and moved a strand of your hair behind your ear, "It's beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you."

You scoffed, "Get your twentieth century pick up lines out of here," You smiled.

"Oh come on, that line would've killed in the 90's," Poe replied.

"It's not the 90's, babe," You countered. You and Poe leaned in for a kiss. Another voice shouted your name, making you and Poe pull away from each other. Ben Solo beamed happily and walked up to his cousin.

"Hey, Ben," You smiled, hugging him.

"It's beautiful. You outdone yourself," Ben replied, hugging you back. You shook her head and pulled away from Ben, "It was nothing."

"So," Ben asked, looking over Poe and you, "When are you two gonna seal the deal?"

"We can't," You said softly. You and Poe looked at each other sadly and then Ben frowned, "Right."He said, "I'm sorry I forgot. He's immortal. And you're not."

"Yeah..." Poe mumbled.

"But that doesn't mean we don't love each other," You said, trying to lighten the mood again. "Right, Poe?" You asked, looking up at him and grabbing his hand.

"Of course," Poe answered, interlocking his fingers with yours.

"I'm gonna go finish getting ready," Ben said, "It's good to see you both." You and Poe smiled and Ben left you two alone.

"We could still do it," You said once Ben was out of earshot. Poe shook his head, "I'm not letting you throw away your magic for me. You love being a witch."

"Yes, but I love you too," You replied, letting go of his hand and turning her body to face him. "And if being with you means I have to give up my magic... Then fine. I'll give up my magic."

"Can-Can we talk about this later?" Poe asked. You nodded in agreement, "Yeah... The-The wedding starts soon... So... I need to go find Rey and make she's ready."

"Hey," Poe said softly, "Just because I don't want to turn you doesn't mean I don't love you." You nodded, "I know. You're just thinking about what would happen after... And I understand. It's risky turning a Gemini witch."

"I love you," Poe said.

"I love you too," You replied. You backed away from Poe and walked down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. You opened the doors and saw Rose fixing Rey's hair.

"Hi," Rose said, looking over her shoulder. You smiled, "Hi." You moved next to Rey, "How you feeling?" You asked.

"Good. I feel fine," Rey replied.

"That's good." You said softly.

"What about you?" Rey asked, "Are you okay? You don't sound happy."

You shook her head and smiled, "It's nothing."

"No," Rose spoke up, "What wrong?"

"It's just... Me and Poe, I guess." You replied.

"Is everything okay between you two?" Rey asked, worried. You nodded again, "Yeah... We're fine. I think we're good."

"You sure?" Rey questioned, "You've been acting weird ever since you agreed to plan the wedding."

"It's just..." You shrugged, "I might not get to do this. So... If I can help my friends do this then... That's enough for me."

"Right," Rose nodded in understanding, "He's immortal and you're not." Rey sighed and turned around, causing Rose to drop her hands from Rey's hair.

"Is that why you're upset?" Rey asked, grabbing your hands. "Because you and Poe might not have the chance to live a normal life?"

"I want a life with him. I really do... But... Normal just seems weird when it comes to our current lives." You answered. You sighed and smiled weakly at Rey, "I'm happy for you."

"I know you're happy for me," Rey replied, "But I know right now you're not happy. Have you talked to Poe about this?"

You nodded, "Yeah... We've talked about it." You shook her head and pulled her hands away from Rey's. "You're getting married. We're not talking about my relationship until after you've said 'I do'." You said.

About an hour later and the wedding was about to start. The sun had gone down and the moon was just rising. You were talking to Poe while drinking a glass of champagne. You finished your glass and waited in the back for the music to start.

Ben was standing by the reverend in the front, waiting for the ceremony to start.

Everyone began finding their seats and you exhaled shakily. "You ready?" Poe asked, handing you a small bouquet of flowers. You nodded and took the flowers from his hands.

"Yeah. Let's do this." You replied. The music started playing and you and Poe hooked your arms together and walked down the aisle. You and Poe unhooked their arms and walked to opposite sides of the altar.

Finn and Rose walked out after them and then did the same thing you and Poe did. After a moment, Rey appeared in the doorway and walked down the aisle. She smiled at Ben as she got closer and he happily returned the favor.

Rey walked up the small flight of stairs and in front of Ben. They turned to each other. "Welcome family and friends on this magical evening," The reverend began. "To the wedding of Ben Solo and Rey. I believe Ben and Rey have prepared their own vows."

Rey turned to you and you stepped forward and took the bouquet of flowers from Rey's hand and backed up again. Rey and Ben grabbed each other's hands.

Ben cleared his throat, "Neither of us should be here right now. We've spent our live dodging fate... And beating the odds. But because we did... I got to meet you. The most beautiful, hilarious, and intimidatingly brilliant woman I have ever known. You've inspired me. You've shown me that happiness is actually something that I can have in my life."

You glanced past Rey and Ben and met eyes with Poe. You smiled at him and he smiled back. "And so," Ben pulled the ring out from his pocket, "I promise to be with you and love you and dodge fate with you..."

Ben picked up Rey's hand and slid the ring up her finger, "For the rest of our lives."

Rey smiled as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Ben beamed at her and Rey couldn't keep her smile back. "Rey?" The reverend asked.

"Oh God," Rey said, "That's gonna be tough to beat." Rey sighed softly and grabbed Ben's hands, "Here goes. You are—"

Suddenly the doors flew open, catching everyone's attention. Kylo Ren stepped into the room and looked around.

"Oh my God," You whispered shakily.

"How are you here!?" Anakin Skywalker shouted, standing up.

"It took my forever, but I finally escaped your prison world," Kylo said.

Ben put a protective arm out toward Rey. "I was gonna wait until the 'till death do us part' bit, but... Seemed a little on the nose." Kylo added.

"Anyways, you all should watch what you put in your drinks. You don't know who could link all the Gemini's together." Kylo pulled out a knife and stabbed his hand. You exclaimed in pain, as did all the other Gemini's in the room.

You looked down at her hand and saw blood coming from her palm, although there was no wound, the pain felt too real. Ben winced and Rey looked at Kylo then Ben fearfully.

"What are you doing?" Katnina Arami asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Kylo asked, "I'm killing you all." Kylo raised his hand and a loud ringing echoed in everyone's head causing them to scream in pain. Nearly half of the people in the room passed out from the pain. Kylo jerked his hand, causing the window to shatter inwards.

Kylo turned the knife on himself and stabbed himself in the heart. You screamed in pain, as did Ben along with the Gemini's in the room. "No!" Poe shouted. He used his vampire speed to get to you before your body hit the floor.

"Oh my God!" Rose shouted.

"Ben!" Rey yelled.

Poe bit into his wrist and held the open wound to your lips, "Come on, drink it. Come on..." Poe mumbled. You slowly grabbed Poe's wrist and pulled it closer to your mouth, drinking a couple drops of his blood to try and heal you.

Rose rushed down to Ben and Rey and tried to stop the bleeding from Ben's chest. "Why isn't she healing?!" Poe asked, turned to look at Rose.

"I think their lives are linked to Kylo's. Whatever happens to him happens to her and them..." Rose explained, crying softly. "I don't know what to do... I'm sorry."

Poe looked back down at you, "No, no, no, no. You're not dying." Poe said softly, "Not like this."

You coughed up some blood and cried in pain. "It's okay, I'm here," Poe said. Finn hurried to Poe and you as best as he could.

"It's..." You whispered, "It's okay..."

Poe brought you closer to him, "You're not dying like this," He said softly. You slowly moved her hand on top of his, "It's okay..." You managed to say softly, "I love you..."

"I love you too..." Poe replied, moving your hair from your face, "I love you too..." Poe could hear your heartbeat slowing down by the second.

"Ben..." Rey cried, her hands on either side of his face. "I'm sorry..." Ben whispered weakly. You exhaled softly and her hand fell from Poe's and onto the ground. Ben's head turned to the side and he closed his eyes.

"No!!" Rey screamed. Rose wrapped her arms around Rey in a comforting hug.

"Hey..." Finn spoke softly to Poe. Poe shook his head and lifted you up to him, he cried into your shoulder. Finn put a comforting hand on Poe's shoulder while also trying not to cry himself.

Poe pulled away from your corpse and looked around at the damage. There were dead bodies scattered around and glass littered on the floor. Then, you gasped for air and Poe looked down.

Finn, Rose, and Rey turned their heads in confusion. You coughed and groaned in pain.

"Holy crap..." Finn whispered.

"How are you here?" Poe asked softly, cupping the side of your jaw. You winced in pain and Poe saw a glimpse of what looked like vampire fangs.

Then he remembered you died with his blood in your system. "You need human blood." Poe said softly.

"Poe, what just happened?" Rose asked.

"She died with my blood in her system. She's in transition. She needs human blood." Poe said. Rose turned around and offered up her bloody hand, "Here."

Poe gently grabbed Rose's hand and led it to you. You looked at Rose's hand, smelling the blood on it. "It's okay. You need this to survive." Poe coaxed.

You took Rose's hand and licked a stripe of blood on the side of her thumb. Rose pulled her hand away and your eyes turned red and grey veins ran down from the bottom of your eyes.

"Poe?" You asked softly.

Poe helped you sit up. You looked around and barely remembered what happened before you died. You thought this was all a nightmare and you would wake up soon.

"What... What happened?" You asked.

But you were wrong.

"I'm sorry." Poe began, "Kylo came and he... He killed the entire Gemini coven by linking them together with some linking spell."

You shook her head in disbelief. You couldn't believe it. Your family was dead? Your witch coven was dead? Killed by someone you thought they handled a long time ago?

"No..." You shook her head, "No, no, no. You're..." You wanted to say 'lying' but you knew they were telling the truth.

"I'm so sorry, baby..." Poe said softly. Then Poe remembered what it's like being a newly turned vampire. "Hey," Poe said, gently grabbing the sides of your face, making you look at him.

"Listen to me, every emotion you're feeling right now it's heightened. It's bad, I know. You're feeling a lot of pain, right?" Poe asked. Now that he mentioned it, you did feel a lot of pain.

Your chest hurt, physically and metaphorically. Physically from being magically stabbed and metaphorically from your heart aching from losing your family.

Your mouth hurt. It was probably the vampire fangs growing in but damn did it hurt.

What you couldn't feel was your magic. It was the one thing you would have to give up to become a vampire. Your magic. You couldn't be a witch and a vampire at the same time. "But, you're gonna get through it, okay?" Poe added.

You had no idea what to do. You wanted to scream and cry. You wanted revenge. But the person that killed you and the Gemini's was already dead. You needed someone to blame. You thought it'd be easier to blame someone.

But you couldn't find anyone to blame. You pulled away from Poe and turned toward the ruins. You stood up on wobbly legs and Poe helped you stand on your own.

Behind you, Rose, and Finn stood up on their feet and watched the two vampires while Rey stayed by Ben's body. You took a couple steps forward before you turned back around.

"Why did this happen?" You asked, tears falling from your eyes.

"I don't know," Poe replied.

"They're all dead." You said, "My coven... My family. What am I supposed to do now?" You asked.

"I don't know what to do," You continued, "How am I supposed to— They were... I-I can't... I don't know how to..." You trailed off.

You began sobbing as you fell to your knees, overwhelmed with all kinds of emotions. Poe rushed to you and hugged you, bringing you close to him which allowed you to cry into his chest.

"I know... I'm sorry..." Poe whispered, stroking your hair.

[schnees-and-schnugs]

I wrote a weird little Mastermind/vengeful!mama schnee musing idk if its any good lol

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Pristine snowflakes slowly floated down into her wine cup. She wondered if she opened her mouth up to sky, would it sooth the slight burning feeling that the alcohol left in her throat? No, she knew- besides she was already used to it. It was at least what she deserved for what she had done. Married the wrong man, had children that would grow to think of her as an ornament- pretty and striking at first, looked up to with eyes full of love and hungry for the kindness she held, but eventually forgotten and frozen, left tarnished and only to be remembered on timely intervals, used, and left alone again. But it was fair. She had left them and ceased to spark joy in their lives, caught up in a whirlwind of anger and guilt, but eventually settling in on the numbness that only the wine is generous enough to give her. 

But there was a new feeling.

It started in her chest, an uncomfortable feeling of burning warmth- no ice that bloomed. She couldn’t help but to remember how back when it all fell apart, she was surrounded by heat: anger, passion, frustration- but all that had puttered out leaving just emptiness for the coming years. That coldness wasn’t like this- it was a painful serene emotion that left her hopeless, merely the cold that came to inhabit the area above the ashes of her soul. However, this new feeling- the thin pinpricks of frostbite that ate at her around the same time she watched her young daughter leave for Beacon. She recalled when her oldest attended Atlas Academy and eventually found her way to the military. Through unsavory means, she remembered with a slight grin- her daughter had run away, entranced by images of grandeur and away from the tight fist of her father. She hadn’t felt the same pinpricks that time, she had thought her daughter was just an anomaly. Her eldest had always been a stern and temperamental girl- something she inherited from her father, she thought bitterly- not the makings of a charismatic CEO. 

But her youngest daughter was, for a lack of a better term, kinder. Had more of that charisma that would have attracted people to her organically if she didn’t have her family status. But why was she leaving? 

She wants to escape, a soft voice whispered at her from the back of her mind. You’re nothing to her anymore. Did you think she would wait for you forever? 

A tiny needle of ice pricked her heart.

She was used to rejection at this point. She understood that she has ceased to be of any importance to the lives of her family. But it would seem that this departure has woken up a tiny part of her that still yearned for the validation that every mother needs from their children.

But you stopped giving them the validation that they needed from you.

But he hurt me, she reasoned with herself. This guilt that she lives with, is that what he wants? For her to continue to torture herself in addiction until she drops dead? As she lay in her bed later she understands her cold anger that had awoken in her that day. He took everything away from her. He turned her into this. He was the reason that her eldest was gone and her other daughter is well on her way to disappearing.This company, this home, this legacy, it should all belong to her. Stolen, her life, her dreams, future, her children, her love. She hadn’t noticed that he had his hand firmly grasped onto the rug beneath her feet until he had pulled it out from under her, and she was on her back staring at the ceiling for years, wondering what had gone wrong. What she had done wrong.

But she hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was all her father’s fault for marrying her to a man who sang false love symphonies, her family’s fault for turning the other cheek in the name of the company, his fault for having the gall to take advantage of her all these years.

 And she would make him pay.

As she lay there, she the frozen pricks in her heart had a sense of urgency. She understood. No longer would she stand by and let him have the last laugh, holding her by her tail, watching her numb every jab with a sip of wine. She would take every word, every sneer and snap, and use it. Use it to ease him into her trap, guide him with whisperings of her newfound interest in the company and his little heir. She prayed to the heavens that her daughter would forgive her for this.

Weiss would never listen to word you say, she tells him one day. She’s not like you, she doesn't have what it takes to make those cruel decisions. 

What would you understand?, he snaps, but she knows he’s listening. He may be arrogant, but he’s smart. 

She has a temper. Like yours, I suppose, she goaded him. She didn’t want to appear cooperative, he would be suspicious. She wanted to be smug, to take those ice-y pricks in her chest and stick each and every one of them in his brain, rendering him her puppet. 

Weiss wouldn’t listen to me either, she thought. That’s why I have to do this.

Whitley... he’s much more easy-going, don’t you think?, she slurred this without even looking at him- feigning disinterest while the words burned her tongue. She hated to bring her son into this. He was so young, so easily hurt. The most eager to please. His wide doleful eyes he had once realizing that his mother would never be truly the same was a knife to her stomach for the longest time, only continuing to twist once those once kind, innocent eyes grew bitter and angry at all those around him. I guess we’re the same. He’ll listen to me. He’s... impressionable. She felt a twinge of guilt, but waived it away. He’ll be thanking her soon enough.

She could tell all the offhand words and slurred messages left holes in her husband’s once strong intention to form her daughter into the perfect heir. All it took was one big push, and she’ll get what she had been pushing for in the last year.

It came the night of the gala. She hadn’t bothered to go, but she had a hunch that something had happened. Doors slammed, angry words were exchanged, and she felt a thrill travel up her spine. She want it to be true, and hated herself for it. Weiss is better off without this family, anyways. Without this. 

She waited in her son’s room, knowing that at this late time he would be coming directly to bed. She wanted to hear it straight from him, to be the first to congratulate him before his father could. He entered the room, his face carefully empty of any emotion- a familiar expression. He started at the sight of her sitting at the window.

Welcome back, little meadow. Was the gala eventful? Of course she knew something had happened, she lived here long enough to know what the ever familiar tension felt like after another one of their family’s fights. 

And so he told her. About Weiss’ outburst, her father’s decision afterward to strip her of her title. She had to resist the urge to chuckle. She didn’t want to be cruel, but it seems that after her own words, the missed calls, and the ignored warnings, the gala was finally the straw that broke the camel's back. 

Finally, something was going right for once. 

She blinked out of her victorious reverie to find her son looking at her cautiously. She had made moves to rebuild their relationship over the last year, insuring his loyalty- but even he didn’t know the extent of how much she has invested in him. Nobody knew. It was her secret, her plan.

She touched his cheek. So you’re the heir now, hmm?  

He winced, father-

Lets not talk about him now. It’s only the two of us that matter, remember? Weiss is well on her way out the door and Winter is gone. It’s just the two of us. Nobody else could ever care for you the way I do.

He looked down. She knew that look. Doubt.

She pushed harder. He hurt me. It’s all his fault. Your loneliness, it’s all because of him. Our suffering will only continue if we listen to him. If we allow him to destroy us, my life will be for nothing. Your life. It will be different from now on- I will be here for you, always. Don’t doubt me. We have the upper hand now, you don’t need him anymore.

He only nodded, not saying a word. She left him to sleep, her future plants coming to fruition in her head. She couldn’t rely on Weiss to help her. Something had changed in her daughter while she was off in Beacon, a kind of intrinsic will formed in her that made her impervious to her father, and by extension, her mother. Pride swelled in her chest. Yes, her daughter would be fine after all. 

Concentrate! The company, that’s what I’m after. 

And Whitley is the key.

She would take back what was meant to be hers all these years.

She just needs to somehow get her son to the top quickly, even if that means she has to be the puppeteer pulling the strings.

To get rid of him, who took everything from her.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Sinnoh has massive flaws as an era, although it's starting to feel like the good old days compared to the present piss-poor offerings.

The major drawback is the amount of 'recurring characters', ones not good enough to be in it fully, but inflicted upon us nevertheless.

I did care about Ash. I did care about Team Rocket.

I was prepared to care about The Misty Replacement, as in the girl shipped with Ash.

I was prepared to care about The Brock Replacement, that is the older brother figure who does all the cooking, carries the medicine, and knows about Pokémon.

I don't give a toss about extras who outstay their welcome.

Hoenn only had Drew and Harley. What was wrong with that?

There are just too bloody many.

Why does Dawn require so many opponents, as if she's of the greatest importance? Why won't Jessie suffice?

I accept the necessity of Paul as The Rival, and we were at least permitted to resent him initially, before the writers fanboy'd like there was no tomorrow.

I admit I liked two of them. They therefore featured the least.

Typical.

Nando

The Blondel of Iberia

A softly-spoken, raven-locked troubadour, roaming the many pathways of life, playing his songs for those weary travellers he encounters on the road.

He's wearing a cloak! The finest use of material to ever be invented!

All this ethereal grace considering the dub lumbered him with the most appallingly unsuitable name possible.

It could've been Raphael, or Dante, or Leonardo.

Oh no, let's name him after a restaurant chain. That adds gravitas.

His lyre pays tribute to Mew, because Nando knows she's The Rarest Of All Pokémon, thus refuses to be impressed by any deformed horse like Arceus throwing its weight around.

Damn straight.

Ursula

A pretty girl with lovely clothes and the spark of a proper personality.

You're not wanted round these parts, love.

I have no particular animosity towards Dawn, but it irritates me how the world revolves around her whims, where if she's lost in the woods, it's a major disaster, and if an attack heads in her direction, she must be protected in case she shatters.

It makes a refreshing change to find someone firmly inoculated against the lures of the temptress.

Also, alongside Ursula from Dinosaur King (the real Jessie), I'm glad of any attempt to reclaim that name, considering most of my generation, upon hearing it, think only about evil old octopus women.

As for the rest?

It's that bad I prefer the Unova bunch to these.

Reggie

Reggie is even more of a knob than Paul. As above, being Ash's enemy meant that, if only by narrative, he was intended to be somewhat disliked.

Not Reginald. No, he's the kind one.

Oh really?

When Ash and Paul have their showdown, Reg starts wittering that it's just as well Chimchar took up with Ash, since he wasn't suited to Paul's 'battle style'.

Battle style.

Is the what he calls mental and physical cruelty?

In Reg's amoral cesspit of a mind, there is no right and wrong, so do whatever you feel.

Reggie is quite aware of how his brother tortures Pokémon, and not only is he unconcerned, he excuses it with euphemism, hoping the audience will obligingly forget too.

What's more, he implies it's Chimchar's fault for not pulling his weight, and Paul abandoning him was the compassionate thing to do.

Cynthia

Suffering severe Bridge Nose Syndrome.

She may be Champion, but I don't remember Lance turning up all the time where he wasn't wanted.

She doesn't even use her influence properly. Rather than give it straight to Paul, order him to shape up and stop spanking the monkey, she fannies about with her cod mysticism, emptily preaching about how Ash and Paul are spiritually linked, with magical, beeyewteefull events taking form just because they met.

That's right, don't bother about Paul clearly being a psychopath, for 'tis ART!

It's the same as trying to convince me that Ash, Dawn and Brock were the Divine Trio because they all saw Something Nasty In The Lake District, as if they have an intrinsic bond foretold in ancient prophecy.

The writers pull this knowing two thirds of the Holy Trinity, plus Paul the Fallen Angel, will be leaving, at which point we'll be expected to stop being overawed at the great majesty they all apparently possess and transfer allegiance to their usurpers.

What's the point?

Angie

Yet another smackhead from that lunatic stare.

What shining genius decided giving all the characters contracted pupils was a good idea?

She looks like one of those kids whose parents dealt with nits the traditional way:

Shaving the entire head and painting it purple.

A barnet resembling privet hacked at by a paralytic gardener before he conked out.

I've seen her arc three or four times, and I still remember nothing about her, except for the amazing skill she possesses to make Ash sneeze on command from a distance.

Conway

One word: nonce.

A clichéd weirdo fitting into Pokémon's Four-Eyed Freaks fixation, where anyone with a slight visual impairment is a weedy, know-it-all bastard or on a register.

Oh yes, and this lad comes with hidden delights, because his glasses gleam like a giant cockroach, just in case he wasn't creepy enough.

Zoey

The human black hole. Has the incredible ability to suck all the joy out of a room just by appearing. A personage of absolute lead.

Too nice and over familiar, lacking a single detectable personality trait.

Bland, empty, and with the charisma of vomit-sodden cardboard.

Sinnoh is a prolonged saga as it is, padded with nonentities like her and Kenny.

Alright, episodes must be devoted to Dawn's Contest career, however tiresome it is, but why exactly do we need any about Zoey and Kenny? Why should we care?

Every time I sat through a competition Dawn lost, I resented that she was no further along on her quest, equating to another episode eaten away by this shallow, blackened hymn to superficiality.

Compare this indulgent treatment to the sneering disrespect shown to Jessie, an actual main character, who not only had to win her Ribbons practically off screen, but the writers delighted in hammering home how worthless she was in only scraping into the Grand Festival because Princess Salvia took pity on the deluded wretch.

They favour their own inventions over the original cast, then dump 'em as soon as the next generation arrives, so how could they ever matter if even the creators eagerly cast them aside?

After all the effort on my part to put up with the entire witless farce, Zoey beats Dawn in the finals!

Why?!

I understood the unspoken law of Ash not being allowed to win a League until the very last series, for fear whatever came after would be anticlimactic, but why should this deadening failure apply to May and Dawn?

By the culmination of the Contest rigmarole, it's obvious they'll be making their exit for the next region's Girl, so why couldn't either bid farewell to the fans with a victory?

Why must they be incompetent too?

Even if achieving their dream dampened any hunger to carry on, they're departing anyway, so what difference does it make?

At least Ash will continue, but for May and Dawn, it's the end.

How could any fan be satisfied with a smarmy vacuum of a creature like Zoey succeeding instead?

Barry

Eyes of molten evil.

The second-worst character ever created (Iris is top of the ranks), Barry is a smug, arrogant, screeching dweeb jabbering his oh-so endearing catchphrase about fining anyone who slightly irks him, so sure is he that his feelings should come above everyone else's

He truly believes he has a God-given entitlement to demand lesser lifeforms should arrange themselves to suit his pleasure, that they are morally compelled to shield him from  meagre inconvenience.

Twat.

Knocking the little geck out of the League was the most noble thing Paul ever did. It practically redeems him.

This is what I cannot comprehend:

Ursula is openly conceited, rude to Dawn, and brags about her own excellence even after losing.

We're asked to dislike her.

Barry slags Ash off constantly, is convinced of his own divinity, and jeers at Team Rocket.

We're supposed to see him as a 'good guy' and welcome his arrival.

Why? Are Ash and Team Rocket fair game, but offending Saint Dawn's intolerable?

Again, it astounds me how temporary, region-specific stars seem to count for more than those who've been here since the beginning.

Whilst they're here, that is. Once gone, you wouldn't know they'd existed.

Kenny

He wears a matador outfit to compete.

It's a crying shame Tauros was never given the opportunity to gore him.

As usual, it's Piplup I blame.

Each generation likes to flaunt the starter Pokémon, presumably in the hope of flogging more games, that's why Ash usually catches all three, or they're spread out amongst his friends.

It's about time Team Rocket had one.

Can't do that, they only appear five times per series now.

Piplup is a whiny attention whore who refuses to evolve. In consequence, he can't advertise the next stages in the evolution chain, so we have to keep seeing Barry and Kenny instead, that's why Empoleon and Prinplup are always walking about.

This equates to three characters having the same Pokémon, albeit in different incarnations.

There's variety.

However, Kenny's true purpose is much more grim than that.

Fans will ship Ash with The Girl, a useless endeavour when it's destined to come to nothing when she's kicked out.

In Hoenn and Sinnoh, an effort was made to wean shippers off in preparation for the upcoming split, so alternative suitors were introduced, with the girls effectively pushed on to them.

May got Drew.

I don't mind that. He had some refinements.

Dawn got Kenny.

...

What, you want me to cheer for such a revolting couple?

Have I not suffered enough?

What unpardonable crime did Dawn do to deserve such a horrible fate?

She's not a bad-looking girl. She can do better than an ugly, portly, shrunken, pie-faced cretin! 

You do this to me when Nando exists?

Sod the age gap, that never concerned anyone here.

This being the Kenny who spends four years belittling Dawn by constantly reminding her of a humiliating childhood experience, even giving her a nickname too!

Dawn is visibly distressed when he does this, but he's a fine candidate for romance?

She has to settle for a sweaty, lecherous herbert like him, who doesn't even try to atone for his unfortunate mug by being kind?

I suspect the whole Sinnoh adventure was really him wearing down her self-esteem until she believed he was the best available, wanting her to be grateful for his slobbery attentions.

It won't stop there either. He'll trap her for the rest of her life by isolating her from friends, followed by accusations of how undeserving she is of his 'love'.

Such is Dawn's lot: absent father, pushy mother, whinging penguin and abusive boyfriend.

Kenny's already a perv:

He's not looking at her face.

She knows he's not.

Ash and Pikachu have noticed an interesting feature further down.

Aipom likes it too.

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

Legacies 1x14, Let's Just Finish the Dance -- Review

Coming at you all with another Lega-Trash review. This week is 1x14, Let's Just Finish the Dance...and my sentiments exactly. This episode was so boring, I too wanted the dance known as this episode to just end. Please, let's just hurry up and finish this season.

You all know the drill, hopefully. Do I really need a disclaimer anymore? Lega-Trash is a trash show, I'm super critical of it. If you love Legacies, this is not the review for you, move along. There will be spoilers.

So welcome to the obligatory Miss Mystic Falls episode of Legacies. And in typical Lega-Trash fashion, they managed to make one of the most iconic events within the TVD show super bland and super dull. What happens in this episode? Well, the Salvatore School has to host this year's Miss Mystic Falls pageant and to no one's surprise, Hope wins. Also, Josie and Lizzie have a falling out which I've been waiting for all season, Hope and Landon have a falling out, Penelope spelled a bunch of pens to tell her everyone's secrets, Medusa makes an appearence and at the end of episode, Landon gets kidnapped by the evil government organization.

Yeah, this episode was just a sequence of events. It was super boring but as it turns out, there were a few scenes I didn't completely mind. Namely, all the Lizzie and Hope scenes. This might be the first relationship on this entire show that I legitimately believe. Seeing Lizzie and Hope bond together over their anger fueled magical tendencies was really nice to see. And the friendship is legitimately believable. And then it ends in these two making a pinky promise that they'll help each other get Josie and Landon back whom they've recently had falling outs with. Although, if Lizzie wants to help get Landon back with Hope, she's first going to have to rescue him from the evil government organization that kidnapped him.

Speaking of which, what a huge coincidence that apparently MG's mother also works for this shady government organization.

And can I just say that everyone in this school are idiots. So apparently around Christmas time, Penelope, I guess, gifted pens to everyone but really the pens were spelled so anything they wrote ended up in her own notebook so she knows all of the Salvatore inhabitants' secrets. Penelope, at best is The Mean Girl, and at worst, she's a psychopath. No one at all thought it was strange that Penelope of all people was giving away pens and they never once considered it was for nefarious purposes? Also, it's super convenient that apparently not a single person lost one of these pens and just used a regular pen to write down their secrets in their diary. I mean, I have like a dozen pens in my apartment at any given time because I'm ALWAYS losing them. It's also super convenient that everyone in this school has a diary. Of all the unbelievable and convenient things that have happened in this show so far, this is the worst. So Penelope knows all sorts of juicy details like that Hope is keeping secrets from Landon and that there's something called a merge that Alaric has been writing about. Penelope is actually leaving the school now but she gives the notebook to Josie and warns Josie about the merge. Caroline and Alaric really should have told the twins about the Gemini merge before. And this whole falling out Lizzie and Josie are currently in isn't going to help.

What is this falling out? Well, Josie has finally realized that Lizzie is very self-centered and rarely thinks about anyone but herself. This all started when Lizzie drops out of the pageant because Dana, the mean girl who died in I think the 3rd episode of this season, well her mother is one of the judges and Dana was notorious for her dislike of Lizzie so Lizzie realizes there's no way she could possibly win with Dana's mother on the judge's table. And can I just say real quick how incredibly weird it is that Dana's mother can talk so nonchalantly about her own daughter's death? I don't get the feeling that a whole lot of time has passed. At best, maybe six months and that's pushing it. You don't talk about your daughter's death as if your daughter is off traveling abroad or something. Like I said, it was weird. But then again, this show is really weird with death, in general. Even in this episode, Hope just kind of casually talks about her parents' deaths which really wasn't that long ago and in the previous episode, MG makes a speech to the school and makes this off-handed remark nonchalantly talking about the majority of the students who have nowhere to go for the spring holidays on account of their families being dead and it's really insensitive. These are adolescents and you're just nonchalantly bringing up their trauma in passing? But anyway, Lizzie decides that if she can't compete and she's so sure she was going to win, she's determined to make sure someone from the Salvatore school wins. She chooses Hope since Hope's an orphan and will have the sympathy vote. This understandably hurts Josie and it just kind of festers on from there. But I don't particularly understand Lizzie's logic in Hope being the winner because she's an orphan, though. Caroline went against an orphan as well and she won. But I suppose Lizzie is thinking her mother was amazing so that accounted for her victory. Which I would agree with Lizzie on that. Caroline was pretty amazing and she worked her ass off to get that crown. I suppose in a room of people who weren't necessarily training their entire lives for this moment, an orphan would be the best bet. But by the end of the episode, Josie realizes she wanted that crown and is angry at Lizzie for giving that opportunity to Hope instead, for giving Hope the dress that Klaus gave Caroline without any regard to Hope's feelings on the matter. But in Lizzie's defense, up until this point, Josie had never been vocal about the things she wanted (I'm not excusing Lizzie's behavior, just simply saying it's not as if Josie was ever being bullied into doing these things for Lizzie, she did do those things because she wanted to) and Lizzie didn't know the dress had come from Klaus and it's kind of understandable why she didn't. I think it would be pretty awkward for Caroline to tell her daughters that Hope's father was once obsessed with her but with that said, I have no idea why Josie knows and not Lizzie but whatever. It's probably just a plot contrivance to show why Lizzie is awful. But once Lizzie realizes the implications of that dress and Hope wearing a reminder of her father, she instantly feels terrible about it. And Hope conveniently finds out in the middle of the dance where the dress came from because her ex-vampire boyfriend can hear Josie and Lizzie's conversation, I also don't understand why Hope can't hear them though, she is a hybrid, I thought werewolves had that ability as well. But her ex tells her about the dress, she starts to freak out about it and as she's announced the winner, her magic is about to go on the fritz again so Lizzie, noticing the signs, immediately walks up to Hope and hugs her and tells her to cry it out because that's what she needs. A great moment for Lizzie and Hope by the way and I think this was the first time this show illicited genuine emotion from me that wasn't despair over how bad this show is.

Speaking of the dress, let's play Who Wore It Better. Let me know what you think. I think it looks better on Candice. I feel like her blond hair contrasted better with the blue and brought the blue in the dress out more. But Danielle also looks gorgeous in it, too, her hair just doesn't quite bring out the colors as well as Candice's did. Or maybe they used a slightly different color palette on Danielle's dress.

But anyway, ultimately, this episode was more of the same. Just very boring, no real structure to it. Once again, this show is hanging on the coattails of TVD success and it cannot stand on it's own. There were some nice scenes in it, thoughand we are at last getting some character progression. However, I'm not a huge fan that it's taken 14 episodes to get some character development. This episode gets a C+ from me.