#despite that it remains an important part of my journey

[goldfades]

★ AND YOU SAY I ABANDONED THE SHIP / BUT I WAS GOING DOWN WITH IT / MY WHITE KNUCKLE DYING GRIP / SO HOW MUCH SAD DID YOU THINK I HAD, DID YOU THINK I HAD IN ME? / HOW MUCH TRAGEDY? / JUST HOW LOW DID YOU THINK I'D GO? ─── PB⁵ (part 1/2)

❪ requested -> paige and ex gf!reader that plays on iowa where theres a lot of tension on the court bc they ended on rough terms but u can see that they still care abt each other yet have to prioritize the game // hii could u write for paige x ex gf iowa!reader where they play against each other in the final four and everyone can tell theres sm tension on the court between them bc they ended on rough terms ? they still care abt each other a lot but r forced to put those feelings aside for the sake of the game (but they def had a talk afterwards) - u can make it so that iowa still won or uconn won i think either one would be interesting ! tysm ❫ part two!!!!!!!!!!

─ warnings | ANGSTTTTT!!!!!! mentions of transfers, fighting, paige being a BITCHHHH LIKE so mean (but its for the plot trust), banter at the end, mention of cc and kate martin, jealous!paige

─ ev's notes | tried a new format for the third little part thingy idk if yall like it but lmk (like the iowa game part)

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

JUNE 2022

Y/N L/N ANNOUNCES ENTERS THE TRANSFER PORTAL AFTER ALLEGED DISAGREEMENT OVER PLAYING TIME. In a surprising turn of events, UConn defensive star Y/N L/N has announced her decision to enter the transfer portal.

Despite the official narrative focusing on playing time, insiders report that L/N's decision is rooted in a desire to find a new environment where she can heal and focus on her game without the added stress of her recent breakup with Paige Bueckers, another star player for the Huskies. The emotional toll of the split has reportedly affected her performance and well-being, prompting her to make a fresh start at another school.

UConn’s coaching staff and teammates have expressed their support for L/N, acknowledging the challenges she has faced. "Y/N is an incredible athlete and person," said Coach Geno Auriemma. "We respect her decision and wish her nothing but the best in her future endeavors."

As L/N navigates this difficult period, she remains committed to her basketball career and is looking forward to finding a new team where she can continue to shine both on and off the court. While the specifics of her next move remained uncertain for a short time, it has now been confirmed that she will be transferring to Iowa.

Fans and fellow players have taken to social media to show their support for L/N, emphasizing the importance of mental health and personal well-being in the demanding world of collegiate sports. Iowa's coaching staff has expressed their excitement about welcoming L/N to the team. "We are thrilled to have Y/N join us," said Coach Lisa Bluder. "She brings exceptional talent and experience to our program, and we are committed to supporting her both on and off the court."

As Y/N L/N begins her new journey with the Iowa Hawkeyes, there is no doubt that she will continue to be a formidable presence in collegiate basketball. Her resilience and determination promise to make her time at Iowa just as remarkable as her tenure at UConn.

──

"So you're really doing it?" Paige's expression was unimpressed, bordering disgusted as she pushed herself between you and the door.

You sniffled, glaring at the blonde. "Get out of my way, Paige."

She crossed her arms, standing firm. "So that's it? You're just going to run away? Because of us?"

"It's not about that," you snapped, the weight of your duffel bag making your shoulder ache. "It's about me needing to be okay. And I can't do that here."

Paige's eyes softened for a moment, but she didn't budge. "Y/N, we're a team. You can't just leave us like this. Leave me like this."

You shook your head, frustration boiling over. "This isn't about the team. This is about us, Paige. I can't be around you every day, pretending like everything's fine when it's not. I'm not okay with being on the same team as you, do you get that, Paige?"

Paige's expression flickered with a mix of anger and something else — maybe hurt. "You think Iowa is going to magically fix everything? Running away doesn't solve anything, I promise you that."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "This isn't running away. This is me choosing to put myself first for once. I have to do this."

"What happened to loyalty? As soon as things get hard, you're running away! How does that make sense?" Paige let out a bitter laugh as you bit your lip, trying your best not to blow up. "God, what is wrong with you?"

You couldn't hold it in anymore. "You shouldn't be talking about loyalty, Paige! You left me, remember? We've been through-"

"Don't you dare say it, Y/N." Paige's voice was sharp, but you pressed on, the dam of emotions breaking.

"We've been through so much together, and you just threw it all away! You can't expect me to stay here and pretend like everything's fine when it's not."

Paige's eyes blazed with anger. "Oh, don't turn this around on me! You think you're the only one who got hurt? You think it was easy for me to make that decision? You're such a selfish-"

"Selfish?" you interrupted, your voice rising, ringing throughout the locker room. "I'm selfish for wanting to protect my mental health? I'm selfish for needing to get away from the constant reminder of what we had and lost?"

"You're selfish for abandoning the team! For abandoning me!" Paige shouted, her voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what it's going to be like without you here?"

"You don't get to play the victim," you shot back, tears streaming down your face as you sniffled. "You're the one who ended things. You don't get to decide how I cope with that."

Paige took a step closer, her face contorted with rage. "Fine, go to Iowa. Run away like a little pussy. But don't you dare come back and expect everything to be okay. Don't you dare think you can just waltz back into our lives when it suits you."

"That's not what I'm doing," you retorted, your voice shaking as you averted your gaze. "I need this, Paige. I need to get away from you."

"Then go!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the empty locker room. "But don't expect me to forgive you for this. For leaving when things got tough. For being a pussy."

"Oh, really?" You laughed, anger filling your body. "Fuck you. I thought we could be mature, but apparently we can't."

Paige's eyes flashed with fury. "Mature? You're the one who's bailing when things get hard! That's not mature, that's cowardly."

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your composure. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to leave? I'm doing this because I have to, not because I want to. I'm trying to survive, Paige!"

"Survive?" she scoffed, stepping closer. "What about me? What about the team? We need you, and you're just walking away."

"I'm not your crutch," you shot back. "You have no right to make me feel guilty for taking care of myself. This isn't just about you, Paige. This is about my sanity, my well-being."

Paige's face twisted with a mix of anger and hurt. "Fine, go ahead and leave. But don't expect me to be here waiting for you when you decide to come back."

"I don't expect anything from you anymore," you replied coldly. "I'm done expecting anything from you."

Paige's expression darkened further, and she took another step closer, her voice lowering to a venomous whisper. "You know what? Maybe it's good you're leaving. No one needs your drama and bullshit. You're not as important as you think you are."

The words stung, cutting deeper than you expected. But Paige wasn't finished. "And let's be real, Y/N, Iowa's not going to "fix" you. You're still going to be the same fucked-up person, running from your problems. Maybe if you weren't so broken, none of this would have happened."

You felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Her words were like a knife twisting in your gut. You blinked back tears, feeling your heart shatter into even smaller pieces. "You... you have no idea what I've been through," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "To get here, to prove myself to everyone."

"Clearly, I don't," Paige shot back, her voice full of disdain. "Because if I did, maybe I would've seen what a complete waste of time it was to care about you."

The finality of her words was like a slap in the face. You stood there, stunned, feeling the weight of her anger and your own heartbreak. Without another word, you turned and walked out of the locker room, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As you stepped outside, the cool evening air did little to soothe the burning pain in your chest. Iowa was waiting, but now it felt more like an escape from a nightmare than a fresh start. You knew you could never go back, not after what had been said. The bridge between you and Paige was not just burned — it was incinerated.

Driving away, tears blurred your vision. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead seemed daunting. But one thing was clear: you were done with Paige, done with the hold she had over you. It was time to find a place where you could heal, far away from the person who had just torn your heart apart.

──

NOVEMBER 2022

"Welcome, everyone, to what promises to be an exciting game tonight!" The commentator's voice boomed through the arena. "We have Iowa facing off against Ohio State, and all eyes are on Y/N L/N, the transfer from UConn. Let's see how she gels with her new teammates, especially standout stars Caitlin Clark and Kate Martin."

"Y/N L/N, the former UConn star who made headlines with her controversial transfer, had seamlessly integrated herself into the Iowa lineup. Her defensive prowess, combined with her sharp shooting skills, had brought a new dimension to the team's gameplay."

"And there she is, folks! Y/N L/N, number 89, making her presence felt on both ends of the court. She's been a force to be reckoned with tonight, shutting down opponents left and right while sinking those crucial shots when her team needs them most."

From the moment the game tipped off, Y/N was in her element. She moved with a grace and confidence that captivated the audience, her presence on the court undeniable. Within minutes, it was clear that she had found her rhythm with her new team.

"Clark passes the ball to L/N... she fakes, drives to the basket... and what a beautiful layup! L/N puts Iowa on the board first with an impressive move."

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Y/N's teammates swarmed her, sharing her excitement. Clark gave her an encouraging pat on the back as she jogged back on defense.

"That's the kind of play Iowa fans were hoping to see from L/N," the commentator continued. "She brings a fresh energy and versatility to this team."

As the game progressed, Y/N's synergy with her teammates became even more apparent. She seamlessly integrated into the flow of Iowa’s offense, making smart passes and setting effective screens.

"Clark with the ball now, looking for an opening... she finds L/N at the top of the key. L/N drives, kicks it out to Martin on the wing... and it's a three! Kate Martin nails the shot, and L/N gets the assist."

Kate Martin and Caitlin Clark were all smiles, high-fiving Y/N as they took a moment to savor the play. The three of them were quickly becoming a formidable trio on the court, their chemistry undeniable.

"Y/N L/N is not just playing well—she's thriving," the commentator observed. "Her ability to read the game and make those around her better is exactly what Iowa needed."

In the second half, Y/N continued to shine, her defensive efforts just as impressive as her offensive contributions. She hustled for rebounds, dove for loose balls, and her tenacity was infectious.

"Ohio State struggling to get past L/N's defense... and she steals it! L/N on the fast break now... passes to Clark, who finishes with a perfect layup! What a dynamic duo!"

As the final buzzer sounded, Iowa secured a decisive victory. The scoreboard read 82-67, and Y/N's performance was a significant part of that success.

"And that's the game! Iowa takes the win, and what a debut for Y/N L/N. She finishes with 12 points, 7 assists, and 5 rebounds. An all-around stellar performance."

"And there you have it, folks! A stunning performance from the Iowa Hawkeyes, led by the dynamic trio of L/N, Martin, and Clark. With players like these, the sky's the limit for this team, and the rest of the league better watch out!"

As Y/N waved to the cheering crowd, she couldn't help but smile. This was the fresh start she needed, and it was only the beginning.

──

"Great game tonight, ladies!" The reporter started, a broad smile on her face. "Y/N, this was your debut with Iowa, and you were nothing short of fantastic out there. How does it feel to be part of this team?"

You smiled, your eyes twinkling with a mix of relief and joy. "It feels incredible. The support from the coaching staff, my teammates, and the fans has been amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better start here at Iowa."

Caitlin, sitting to your right, nodded enthusiastically. "Y/N has been a fantastic addition. Her energy and skills have really brought a new dynamic to our team."

Kate Martin chimed in, a playful grin on her face. "Yeah, she fits right in. It's like she's been here all along, like seriously."

The reporter continued, "Y/N, you and Caitlin seemed to have an almost telepathic connection on the court tonight. Can you tell us a bit about how you've built such strong chemistry so quickly?"

You glanced at Caitlin, who gave you an encouraging nod. "Honestly, it's been pretty natural. Cait is such a smart player, and she makes it easy to connect and play off each other. We've been putting in a lot of extra time together, and it's really paying off."

Caitlin added, "Y/N is a hard worker, and her basketball IQ is off the charts. We clicked from day one, and it's only getting better."

Kate, not wanting to be left out, jumped in with a laugh. "Don't forget about me! The three of us have really gelled as a unit. We push each other to be better every day."

You put your arm around the blonde, earning a laugh from her. "Don't worry, Katie we wouldn't leave you out."

The reporter smiled, clearly enjoying the dynamic. "It's great to see such strong teamwork and friendship! What's next for this Iowa team? How are you planning to build on tonight's performance?"

You looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "We're just going to keep working hard, stay focused, and take it one game at a time. Tonight was a great win, but we know there's a lot of work ahead of us."

Caitlin nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. We have high expectations for ourselves, and we know we can achieve great things if we stick together and keep pushing."

Kate leaned in, her expression serious but with a hint of a smile. "We're aiming high. We want to make a deep run this season, and with Y/N on board, we feel like we can compete with anyone."

The interview wrapped up, and as the cameras turned off, the three players shared a group hug, your bond clear for everyone to see.

As they headed back to the locker room, Caitlin threw an arm around your shoulders. "You did great tonight. Welcome to the team, officially."

Kate added, "Yeah, we're glad to have you, Y/N. And this is just the beginning, trust."

──

"The fuck," Paige grumbled as she watched the post-game interview on TV, bitterness clear on her face. Nika and Aubrey exchanged amused glances as they watched Paige, who's eyes were glued on the screens.

Despite the fallout with Paige, you were still close with the rest of the team. You wouldn't let Paige get in between you and your old team, no matter the circumstances.

Paige's gaze finally averted from the screen, looking at the girls. "Does this shit not bother you guys like, not even a little bit?"

"Nah, P." Nika responded as she sighed, leaning back on the couch. "We're proud of her."

Aubrey continued, her tone gentle but firm. "I mean, you guys dated and shit. There's bound to be some bitter feelings, y'know."

Paige scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. "Yeah, well, it still sucks seeing her over there, acting like everything's fine."

Nika gave Paige a sympathetic look. "I get it, Paige. It's hard seeing someone you care about move on, especially after everything you two went through. But she's doing what's best for her. You have to respect that."

Aubrey nodded in agreement. "And honestly, she's killing it over there. Seeing her happy and thriving makes us happy, too. It's not about choosing sides—it's about supporting our friend."

"Did you hear her?" Their words went in one ear and out the other, her gaze turning back to the TV. "Oh Katie! We'd never leave you out. Like shut up," she mocked as Aubrey let out a laugh.

It was obvious she was jealous, it was a rare sight for the usually, confident blonde. Nika and Aubrey exchanged another glance, this time with knowing smiles. They could see right through Paige's facade.

"Wow, Paige, are you actually jealous?" Aubrey teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm not jealous," she protested, though her tone lacked conviction. "I just don't like seeing her act all buddy-buddy with them."

"Sure," Nika said, leaning back and stretching. "It's just because she's happy and thriving without you, right?"

Paige shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut up, Nika."

Aubrey laughed again, patting Paige on the shoulder. "It's okay to admit you miss her, Paige. We all miss her. But she's doing what she needs to do, and we have to respect that."

"I do respect that." Paige interjected, her voice defensive. The three of them quieted down, continuing watching the TV. "I guess she has a thing for blondes," she mumbled under her breathe.

"Come on, Paige!" Nika groaned as Aubrey began to laugh uncontrollably. "Stop encouraging her, Aubrey."

Paige rolled her eyes, a faint smirk playing on her lips despite herself. "What? It's true. First me, now Kate. Seems like she has a type. Blonde, 6ft and hoopers, I mean..."

Aubrey wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. "Oh my god, Paige. You're insane."

Nika shook her head, trying to suppress her own laughter. "First, you are not 6ft. And maybe it's time to focus on your game and let Y/N do her thing. You can't keep dwelling on this."

"Yes, I am! With shoes, I am." Paige sighed, the humor fading from her expression. "And I know. It's just hard, you know? Seeing her so happy without me. Without us."

Aubrey softened, leaning in to give Paige a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll get there. It just takes time. And who knows, maybe this will be a good thing for both of you in the long run."

Paige nodded, her eyes drifting back to the screen where Y/N was still beaming in the post-game interview. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Nika stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "Alright, enough of this. Let's hit the gym. We have a season to focus on, and we need you at your best, Paige."

Paige took a deep breath, standing up as well. "You're right. Let's go."

Aubrey joined them, a supportive smile on her face. "That's the spirit. And remember, we're here for you, no matter what."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[doumadono]

My sincerest congratulations on your milestone, hon! 🎉🥳 I want to request "Realizing they’re falling in love" with Dabi, Hawks, Shoto and Bakugo, if possible in headcanons format

BNHA boys realizing they’re in love - headcanons

A/N: thank you oh so much, love! Your support means the world to me ♥

MASTERLIST

Dabi

Dabi's realization that he's falling in love is marked by an internal struggle. He's fiercely independent and has always believed that emotions are a weakness, so acknowledging his feelings is a battle against his own principles.

His attraction is laced with a sense of danger and forbidden allure. Dabi finds himself drawn to your unwavering determination and willingness to stand by his side, even as he remains shrouded in mystery.

As Dabi falls deeper, his rough demeanor occasionally melts away, revealing a more tender side. He may let his guard down when you're alone, sharing stories from his past or allowing a genuine smile to grace his lips, only for it to vanish as quickly as it came.

He often finds himself lost in thought, pondering whether he deserves happiness or if his actions have forever condemned him to a life of darkness.

He starts paying more attention to the details of your interactions, almost obsessively analyzing every word and gesture. Dabi's internal struggle manifests in his occasional distance, as he battles his own inner demons.

While uncertainties may still linger, he's come to realize that the depth of his emotions is a strength, and that love perhaps has the power to reshape not only his destiny, but also his perception of himself.

Hawks

Hawks' realization that he's falling in love comes with a mix of surprise and intrigue. He's used to navigating complex situations, but matters of the heart have always been a bit of a blind spot for him.

His attraction to you is accompanied by a desire to make you smile. Hawks becomes increasingly attuned to your moods and goes out of his way to provide comfort and support, often resorting to his sense of humor to lighten the mood.

He finds himself seeking out your company not only during downtime but also in the midst of his hero duties. Hawks secretly enjoys your conversations and becomes a master at multitasking, balancing his work and his growing affection.

Hawks' love is built on mutual respect and a shared sense of purpose. He's attracted to your determination and your unwavering belief in the importance of heroism, and he finds himself more drawn to you as you work together to make the world a better place.

Despite his easygoing facade, Hawks experiences moments of vulnerability when he's alone with his thoughts. He questions whether he's capable of reciprocating your feelings and worries about the impact his dangerous lifestyle might have on your potential relationship.

Hawks' journey towards embracing his feelings becomes an integral part of his character development. He learns that vulnerability doesn't equate to weakness and that opening his heart might be his most courageous act yet. As he navigates this new territory, Hawks finds himself on a path of self-discovery, growth, and a deeper understanding of what it truly means to be a hero.

Shoto

Shoto's realization that he's falling in love is marked by a quiet and introspective process. He's used to keeping his emotions in check, so acknowledging his feelings takes time and careful contemplation.

His attraction is rooted in a deep admiration for your strength and kindness. Shoto finds himself drawn to your unwavering support, especially during moments when he grapples with his past and the complexities of his family.

He might leave a carefully selected book on your desk or prepare a warm cup of tea after a particularly challenging day, using his own experiences to empathize with your struggles.

He becomes more open about his own emotions as he navigates his feelings for you. Shoto shares his thoughts about his parents and siblings, his struggles with his dual Quirks, and his dreams for the future, creating a deeper level of understanding between you.

Shoto's love is quiet but steadfast. He's willing to stand by your side through thick and thin, offering his unwavering support and stability even as he continues to grapple with his own inner conflicts.

He finds solace in the simple act of holding your hand or sharing a comfortable silence, allowing your presence to be a source of healing and reassurance.

Bakugo

Bakugo's realization that he's falling in love is met with intense frustration. He's not one to easily acknowledge his emotions, and the idea of being vulnerable in this way infuriates him.

His attraction is laced with a mix of admiration and exasperation. Bakugo finds himself drawn to your ability to stand your ground against him, even as he struggles to come to terms with his own feelings.

Bakugo's expressing his affection through action rather than words. He might go out of his way to train with you, pushing both of you to your limits, or subtly lend you a hand when you least expect it.

He starts showing a more protective side, even if he tries to hide it behind his explosive temper. Bakugo's concern for your safety becomes evident when he's more willing to work as a team and takes extra precautions during battles.

Bakugo's love is fiery and intense. He becomes fiercely loyal and is willing to face any challenge head-on to ensure your happiness and well-being.

Despite his gruff exterior, Bakugo experiences moments of inner turmoil. He's torn between his pride and his growing feelings, leading to inner monologues where he wrestles with his own vulnerability. "Damn it, fucking shit, why does this have to happen? Stupid emotions! I don't have time for this crap!"

Bakugo's gradually letting his guard down in your presence. He might crack a rare smile or engage in playful banter, allowing glimpses of his more genuine self to shine through.

[noctxj]

the reaper | part i

as far back as human memory can recall, the origin of flower marks remains unknown. if perhaps they came during or after the birth of humanity, or are benevolent gifts from the gods to aid ones navigation in life— milestones to remember and learn from, a north point on a compass lest you stray from your path. regardless, they have always been. and while flower marks remain an important aspect of ones journey, there is none other more significant than the soul flower mark. wherein the moment someone is born, this mark blooms above ones heart, as it is considered a pure reflection of who that person is and will be.

part i / part ii

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

so it was no wonder that during a gloomy winter evening, stricken screams of hysteria and the shrill wailings of a newborn baby echoed off the walls of the cold estate in a coalescing manner. the head midwife having no choice but to hurriedly pass the tiny squirming bundle to a reluctant nurse and focus on trying to placate the madam’s delirium— 

"that is no child of mine! keep that accursed child away from me! nurse--!" 

flower marks are a language all on its own, one that humans do not need to learn. rather, it is an inbuilt knowledge and understanding. and in the case for this newborn child, their soul flower mark had already predetermined their fate as forsaken.

as amidst the turbulent mess of bloodied towels and blankets, death had just been born. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

initially mesmerising in its opulent visage, its only when the mind catches up and registers its meaning that its beauty is quickly replaced with fear and alarm. 

a blooming grandiflora rose of black petals mixed with subtle hues of reds and haunting purples rests above the girls heart, with bramble-like stems arching up across her frail collarbones to ensure it is there to stay.

a black rose, promising the bearer as the omen of death.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

even at such a young age, the cruelty of fate had already determined that little flora would not be given mercy or reprieve from the reality that is her cursed existence. a forsaken trail of purple anemones had lightly entangled itself amongst the thorny stems of her soul flower, almost as if to placate its loneliness. 

a swath of lilies of the valley sprawl from her left shoulder over and down her shoulder blade, the burning trail of pain and suffering almost numb to her senses. 

and then upon the delicate skin of her left wrist lay a singular bloom— a moonflower, reflecting little flora’s most earnest thoughts, dreaming of love from her own mother.

all these marks permanently etching themselves into little flora’s skin before her third birthday.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

despite living under the same roof as her mother, rarely did little flora see her; instead following in her late grandfathers footsteps as a ruthless businesswoman, silver spoon in her mouth and all. instead she herself was always surrounded by staff always heeding to her mother’s orders, to "always have that child within your sights", with an ever rotating door of tutors and nannies.

“madam, miss flora is an intellectually gifted child, it is quite remarkable! she has just—", 

"… so?" her mother had sharply interrupted, “a high level of intelligence is a common trait within this family. i expect you to provide the girl with more difficult material to not only accomplish but also excel in; anything less than perfect and dare i say failure to meet my— this family's standards, will not be tolerated. or are you stating that you are not competent enough to fulfil your tutor roles' duties and responsibilities?"

"i— no— my apologies madam, of course there is no problem. if you would allow me, i have colleagues who would be thrilled to assist in miss flora’s academic—"

"do as you please. now, i have an important meeting with a gentlemen flying in from st. petersburg. a mr. z it appears… the estate staff will assist with your queries about the girl. so do refrain from contacting me any further-"

so as determined as a young child her age could be, she promised she'd keep being good to strive for her mothers praise, be an obedient and perfect daughter that her mother would realise is worthy to be loved— despite her soul flower.

“a curse that should never be shown to anyone lest she receive punishment,” her mother would often remind her.

a punishment that envelopes the expanse of her back as raised scars. milestones just as permanent as her flower marks. more lilies of the valley creeping down her back. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora never knew who her father was, had asked her mother once and received a harsh slap across her cheek, her small body whipping to the carpeted floor from the force. 

the silent burning of nightshade on her right pointer finger ironically mocking the hush motion.

she never cared to ask again. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora remembers the day she believed her mother had finally saw value in loving her. barely eight years old and still holding onto that naive hope— and she foolishly believed she finally did.

waking up early in the morning as per her routine, only to see her mother sitting in the chair beside her bed, happiness written across her usually severe expression, looking at little flora herself. blinking once— twice— then rubbing her hands across her eyes to make sure what she is seeing is real and not a dream.

“good morning flora,” what is going on— “you and i have an agenda for today, so please come downstairs for breakfast once you’re ready.”

is today the day? did she finally do it? is her mother finally learning to love her—

“as it is a special occasion, i’ve taken the liberty of selecting your attire. now, off you go to wash up.”

little flora had been ecstatic, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird out of excitement to prove that her mother would not regret placing value on her. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora’s only ever seen her mother’s soul flower once, only by chance of course. her evening robe slightly loose across her shoulders, her motions lax from the glass of wine she was nursing— a far cry from her usually sharp and elegant appearance. 

a beautifully victorious gladiolus cradled upon her chest. she envied it, a blessing to be born with. unlike herself. however, it wasn’t until later that she understood why her mother despised her existence so much.

as victory and death are eternal enemies— always on opposing sides. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“it is the perfect place for you to grow in flora, a place for you to finally thrive in,” her mother’s words had echoed in flora’s ears.

she doesn’t know how long ago that was.

she didn’t even feel alive.

flora’s small body strapped down to a cold metal table, no longer wearing the attire her mother had especially picked out for her. instead wearing a customised medical gown, allowing an unobstructed view of her accursed soul flower mark to the blurry shapes her dull gaze had tried to focus on.

the harsh clinical smell of the room burning her nose, and the glaring overhead lights further disorienting her senses. flora couldn’t move her head if she tried, a strap also tightly bound across her forehead attached to the metal table. 

what is this place? why would mother send me here? this is wrong, they must of got it wrong, i shouldn’t be here, i—

flora could feel the burning of a new mark directly below her soul flower. almost the same in size she guesses, if only she could move her head.

the agonising pain of a broken heart flourishing as a vibrant yellow rose.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.✦ . ˳

tric’s notes

this highkey spawned from my hanahaki disease fic. flower meanings/symbolism was a bit difficult to grasp (ie. countries, cultures, time periods), so don't take this too seriously lol. 

i was hoping to make this a oneshot but it just kept going ugh. this is unedited. part ii may be more backstory, part iii the boys will appear (no promises though, just a rough idea).

i recommend listening to “my flower” by ladies code. it’s a korean song but i think it matches the mood of this piece - so i encourage listening to it.

thanks for stopping by!! ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username)

[wilsons-journey]

Neeve Wynther

Looks like someone never told us about his twin Sister.

Both were raised to serve and kill. Yet both deal very different with all the shit in their life - but in core, both are incredible stubborn, just in their very own way:

Valefor thrives on spite - "I was dragged to my worst place, and I won't give anyone the satisfaction of dragging me further down."

Neeve on the other hand thrives on optimism - "I've been at rock bottom, so things can only go up!"

(Special thanks to Rolan (BrightwingedBat) for putting it in these wonderful words)

More about her and Valefors relationship under the cut:

Despite connected in blood - they never really bonded. Until later in their life.

Neeve was ready to give her life to the idea only to live to serve and kill. She was good in that. Everyone praised her for her incredible skills, while Valefor struggled during their childhood.

She soon becomes a valuable asset to Israfils servants. She is happy to be a tool - that makes her useful and makes her seen. The urge to feel important to someone - no matter who - gets stronger after a seemingly stranger saved her life. The feeling she got out of this situation moved something in her view. At first she saw this as granted, because she is valuable. She is needed - nothing goes without her! Its later when she understands, it had nothing to do with her - that person just did, what he thought was right in that moment.

Some years later, when her brother once again entered the organisation, she learns how easily you can get replaced. She fails in a mission and Valefor was tasked to get rid of this mistake.

Valefor offered her to let her go - let her live. Even if they spend most of their life apart and barely knew each other, he hesitated to put his sister down. Neeve in her stubbornness refused this offer, thinking if I kill him fist, I prove my worth once again and can go back.

But she looses. Both siblings take some scars from this fight - Neeve more than Valefor (I decided some of his face scars are from her). The Scars in Neeves Face and the blind eye are the result of that fight. Also a scar on her head, covered by her hair, is from that day. Valefor knocked her out to spare her life.

This head injury sadly had some lasting effects. She experiences memory loss and nasty headaches from time to time, that also triggers bad memories/nightmares or even hallucinations. In best times the head injury just makes her zone out - completely forgetting everything around her.

From that day on she had to pull through some years of extreme memory loss. But this also helps her to develop to be her own person - not only a tool. The basic urge to matter to someone still remains.

At first she tries to force friendships. Later she tries to form friendships by favors like - I do this thing for you and you're my friend. But none of this ever feels real. Not like this vague memory she had of the moment this stranger saved her.

So her life becomes a journey to find a placeor someone that cares and sees her - the real her. During this time she works as mercenary and befriends a small merchant group. Her first real relationship, that might started on favors but developed with trust. From this group she received her new Name "Neeve". From that day she no longer goes by the name Valafar, that only gave her a bad feeling after the head incident.

Some years later, to a time when Valefor broke free from Israfil, she seeks him out, in hope to reconnect with him. She hopes their connection in blood matters - automatically giving them a meaningful connectiong.

This don't work out - not as fast as she had hoped for at least. Valefor initially refused to welcome her back in his life. He still sees the stubborn, competitive warrior in her, that only seeks to be better than everyone else. And in part it's still true. She wants to show everyone how awesome she is - how strong she is.

It's in another heated fight Valefor realized the true nature behind her behavior. But also the weight of his past action - he realitzed the permanent damage he had caused to her, when he tried to spare her.

This soften up the grumpy man,... and slowly accepting Neeve back in his life - accepting her as his sister. They still have to work through a lot - like Neeve still have to learn a lot about trust and empathy. But they will work through it - giving each other something back, they never able to experience - a family.

She will settle down near Valefor's and Kyings home and open a Forge, where she crafts excellent weapons and armor. And with the difference put aside, she and Valefor have the opportunity to become a powerful duo in combat. While Valefor is best in Meele, Neeve thrives in ranged combat - making these two very deadly to face.

So it's no surprise they soon or later train together, giving Kying some rest. Before that he had to help Valefor satisfy his urge to fight. Now the demon siblings can bash their heads, while also working on their relationship.

And funny lil sidenote: She will adapt Valefors passion for music. So you can see these two kick some beats together.

And I guess from that moment on, Neeve truly starts to be more herself. Doing things she enjoys without a second thought.

Some short facts:

Neeve real name was Valafar

She is AroAce

She is a Guardian like Valefor, casting cold / blue flames

She is also part Demon

She has Chains around her arms , she uses these as an extension of her weapon. She attaches her blades to these, to turn them into ranged weapons (similar to a Kusarigama)

like her brother, she cares little for food

Her passion is blacksmithing. She values a good crafted blade and goes nuts over hit. Its the only thing she truly understands

She believes: If you try hard enough, things will work out - with that mindset she often tries to force things, like reconnecting with her brother

Thats also makes her a try hard (perfectionist) - she tries to optimizing the shit out of everything.

[ruporas]

Hey sorry if I’m being annoying but. I see posts of dungeon meshi every so often and I came across your harpy piece (which is AMAZING btw) but why does falin (I think that’s her name) turn into a harpy?? If you know please spoil me I just I have to know if it’s doomed yuri or not

haha not annoying at all! here’s my debrief of it

important thing to note is that Falin dies in episode 1, like first minute, she is dead and the entire journey is about defeating the red dragon that killed her in order to revive her before she gets fully digested. long story short, she DID get digested with only her bones and strands of hair as her remains which makes standard resurrection impossible, but marcille is then revealed to been studying ancient/black magic and is able to revive falin using monster parts aka the now defeated and dead red dragon. falin gets revived, they’re happy for a night and talking about going back to the surface with the rest of the party, yay!

the dungeon lord senses a disturbance after his red dragon is killed though and shows up. in resurrecting falin, the red dragon’s soul had intermingled with hers so she ends up being overtaken by the dragon’s soul upon the dungeon lord’s appearance and strictly follows his orders from then on. next time she shows up in front of the party, she ruthlessly kills/injures half the people they were with and showed basically no falin-ness in battle except for a brief moment with laios (which i assumed was bait).

that’s how falin gets turned into a chimera! there were harpies that showed up with her in the recent ep, but she herself is like. a weird dragon chicken thing.

i should also note marcille and falin are childhood friends, they’re very close to one another and marcille, despite the odds, adamantly joined laios in getting falin back. i think the importance falin has in marcille’s life has been enforced so falin becoming half monster, alive but not as herself entirely and becoming wrapped in a situation where they must defeat the Dungeon Lord in order to get her back (potentially) is kind of devastating. and in the recent episode, laios nor marcille knew how to approach falin, they just knew they didn’t want/couldn’t hurt her. this entire situation is new in their world, it’s not certain whether falin will ever return to herself. they’ll continue onward in the journey, but everything is probable! so not 100% doomed, but still, devastating.

the manga is finished so i highly recommend reading it if you’re curious about what happens. i feel like the yuri is better enjoyed if you know more about the world and of marcille’s character too, because her goals and desires makes everything she has to experience a bit more tragic. if not the manga, then definitely the anime!! watching it is very fun and i believe they’ll stop the anime at a good point. but anyway i hope this answers your question! ^_^

[kii-nami]

GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary. Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood. Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

cw: 8.7k words; part two of three; previous part; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;

Scars do not itch yet the longing for a fleeting taste of pain remains the same.

Kafka is a mysterious woman yet the one Sunday wishes not to figure out. She is better off as an unidentifiable object of speculation, even if she wishes to insert herself in his drifting existence with a persistence that could rival yours, yet the one Sunday could never appreciate. She is prodding and meddling, her presence is a noose and most days Sunday is too detached to even try to entertain the woman with her bothersome advances. Even if Elio has a plan – whatever it might be – that will grant Sunday what he wishes for by the end of his journey, no contract is enough for him to stoop so low as to play a jester.

And if Elio has a plan – a script, Firefly reminds carefully – that plan is sure far worse than any gilded dreams Sunday used to hold so dear. For if that plan includes being stranded on a spaceship in the middle of the vastness of nothing, Sunday cannot think of that script as sound. The ship is far too small for the three of them, Firefly’s anxious foot tapping on the metal floorboards just adds to the claustrophobic sensation that keeps creeping up his spine and ruffling the feathers of his newly mended wings.

It's been almost six months since that day, yet Sunday still keeps them tightly pressed against his back despite the better judgment that sounds awfully like Robin. They will never truly be his again until he figures himself out. And for that he needs to see you again. To pray to high heavens for your paths to cross once more just like you did the day he last saw you. Only Sunday knows not how to pray to anyone but Ena, he knows not how to begin living a life free of martyrdom, he knows not how to stop the mindless drifting amongst the shattered dreams and finally anchor himself in reality.

It's morbidly ironic, how with only spiders crawling amongst the scattered feathers, Sunday still dreams of ribbons that form the stairway to heaven.

“Kafka!” Firefly exclaims, a little breathless. The tapping stops and Sunday now has nothing to focus on to stop himself from disassociating.

The woman lifts her gaze from the screen of her phone, unbothered and unreadable, “Yes, my dear?”

Finger pointing at the blinking red dot on the navigation panel, Firefly seems hopeful for the first time since the engine of the spacecraft shut down with no warning, “There’s a ship nearby.”

Kafka’s reply is drowning in the drumming of Sunday’s heartbeat. Whatever she says is not and never will be important. It’s his journey towards freedom and the gilded birdcage of his dreams is crawling with venomous spiders and moths that disguise themselves as fireflies. He wishes not to make friends with the insects but to get rid of them, so he can finally break the golden bars and reach the paradise he yearns for. The red dot keeps blinking. Uncharacteristically for him, Sunday hides his hands in the pockets of his coat. He would rather not soil the wings made of saint’s touch with the sin he is yet to wash away.

“Are you with us, Angel Wings?” Kafka taps Sunday on the shoulder, the angry involuntary twitch of his wings gives away his disdain even if his expression remains neutrally apathetic. She laughs, it’s the screeching of nails against the coffin of his sanity. Or whatever is left of it. “We’re ready to make the jump for that ship. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sunday is not convinced; Kafka is prone to little white lies that benefit only her and that is not the way he wishes to live the life that could have been. Unfortunately, there is no way to leave unless it’s drifting forwards on the waves of time. Wherever this road leads to Sunday will have to figure it out as he goes. He can only hope that salvation awaits him on the shoreline.

Scars do not itch yet the phantom scent of a foreign god remains divine in the lungs of a sinner.

The movement is sudden; it disorients him and blinds him just as much as it takes away his hearing. For a split-second Sunday exists neither in reality nor in a dreamscape; simply stuck in between martyrdom and apostasy, he is rejected by the vastness of this universe, and it is the closest he comes to tasting freedom since the day he was born. Then his senses return to him just as suddenly as they abandoned him, and whatever suffering Elio scripted for Sunday to endure, it all may be worth it in the end.

“We mustn’t argue.” A little panicked and breathless, Sunday hears you before he sees you. Drowning in the starlight of the open space, the halo of your divinity shines twice as bright as it did under the sky of Penacony. You cannot imprison holiness in a cage of sin, and only after tasting both freedom and shackles can one realize that.

You’re too busy with pacifying the red-haired woman – Himeko, if his memory is yet to fail him – to notice Sunday hiding behind the shadows of Kafka and Firefly. Himeko is very uncharacteristically upfront about her disdain for Kafka’s unpleasant presence, and as much as he wishes to express his agreement, Sunday is sure his opinion would never be appreciated by the likes of your so-called family.

“I’m going to shove that ship up her–” Himeko’s sharp gaze is digging rusted nails into Kafka’s mortal body, crucifying her with just words alone.

Your palm pressed against Himeko’s red lips silences all blasphemy and prevents immediate bloodshed. “Miss Himeko, please!”

You tug her backwards. Kafka laughs, her amusement hidden by the purple fabric of her gloves. Whether she finds Himeko’s emotional distress funny or it’s your futile efforts to subdue her rage that Kafka finds entertaining remains unclear, neither does Sunday wish to figure it out.

“No, let her continue.” There’s a change to Kafka’s tone, a subtle shift to the way she pronounces her vowels that an ordinary person wouldn’t have noticed. Yet Sunday has spent months with nothing but the buzz of the flies caught in Kafka’s spiderweb, and despite his better judgment and the constant detachment of his soul from his mortal body, he notices. She was his only constant companion, the one he had to guard himself from; Sunday would have been a fool to not study her to protect himself. “It’s awfully entertaining to watch such a composed woman lose her cool.”

You shake your head, disappointed yet not surprised even in the slightest, merely chastising the older woman for her immature behavior, “Please do not instigate.”

Kafka swipes the scolding under the rug, dismissing your words as if they were never said in the first place. Simply pets your head, two gentle ruffles of your hair, and then leans closer to Himeko’s face. “I see you missed me dearly, Himeko.”

“Die in a ditch.” Himeko spits, stepping aside and almost shoving Kafka to the side in the most graceful of manners one can muster without seeming excessively aggressive. Then she embraces Firefly as if she was her own daughter. It startles both Sunday and Firefly herself, yet the barrage of questions from Himeko doesn’t let the girl settle into her embarrassment. “Hello, my dear. How have you been? You–”

Murata Himeko has little to no composure when it comes to Kafka’s antics, and it almost makes Sunday feel invested. It is almost enough to anchor him in the raging waters of the endless sea, yet it is still not enough, and he is still guided by the glow of the lighthouse at the faraway shoreline. If he addresses you directly, will you respond or would you dismiss him the way Himeko does Kafka, now that he’s bound to the Slave of Fate with a little ink and a lot of blood? Or would you disregard the chasm separating the two of you and reach for a fleeting friendly touch?

Have you prayed for your paths to cross again or have you forgotten your own words now that he is not your heavenly burden to carry? Sunday would never find out unless he acts on his selfish desires, and selfishness cannot exist in a dream he is still so reluctant to let go.

Kafka clears her throat. It’s a warning for Sunday to return from the gloom of his thoughts, yet the stars illuminate your hair with the shade of blood you spilled to escape the Dreamscape. Sunday is here yet he is never present enough to not get lost in the glow of your nimbus. The ribbons sway with every twitch of your fingers.

“Oh, and who is…” Himeko’s breath gets caught in her throat just as his hazy vision meets her eyes. “That?”

Her pleased expression sours in the blink of an eye, the curve of her lips forming a frown of disgust. She fixes herself just as fast, yet it is enough for everyone to realize where she stands when it comes to him. The winds pick up speed and the raging waves carry Sunday farther away from his destination. Maybe he is not destined to reach the shores of paradise in the first place, simply born to die as a sinner masquerading as a martyr. Maybe he has not found a place where he can finally drop an anchor for a brief gulp of relief. Whatever the case, Sunday does not care.

He does not exist on the same plane mortals do. He is unreachable, untouchable, unknown. Godhood slipped through his fingers like sand, and now he has nothing to offer to the world other than his own suffering. Strike him through his palms and he will not waver. Strike him through his feet and he will remain standing. Strike him to the chest and he will come alive to die once more. Take him apart like a decaying canvas and he will remain scattered thread, floating in the angry winds with no place to settle.

Heavy lungs and drumming heart, breathing seems like an impossible task under the incriminating stare of a woman who knows not of him beyond the vessel of Ena’s order. His lungs expand, no air fills the emptiness. The contract means nothing if he takes his final breath before reaching the shore.

Flashing lights and a pool of glittering blood that soaks the pristine whiteness of silk, something burns him in a way that reminds him of who he truly is. And when Sunday can finally take a proper breath, you look up at him with the expectant gaze, a fragile shield protecting him from the impending doom inflicted by his own two hands.

“Mister Sunday.” Your voice is scorching, your smile is blinding. Sunday wishes to die in the warm sands of your divine presence, buried under the weight of heavenly light. “It seems my prayers reached the heavens.” One glove. Then the next. Your skin is as smooth as the day his lips tasted it for the first time, the sweetness of heaven soiled by the salt of blood and the bitterness of tears. “It is very nice to see you again.”

If you are lying for his sake, Sunday would never know. If you are being sincere, it would bring him to his knees in a desperate attempt to atone for the sin of creating false idols. Yet he knows who you are, he knows your routine and your habits; your only selfless wish and the fears you hide by the foreign tongue he cannot comprehend. Something burns in his throat. Maybe it’s tears, maybe he has finally reached his end and is choking on the sinful blood of his decaying body. He is leaning into your sunlight all the same.

“He kidnapped you.” The accusation is not unfounded.

You dismiss it like it is, “I wouldn’t call it kidnapping.” A little wave of your left hand, the palm of your right is still gently trembling in the grasp of Sunday’s selfish fingers. “More like a vacation.”

You aren’t taken seriously. It seems to be a recurring thing, from how effortlessly your faux indifference is taken at face value. Sunday wants to speak; to play the shield you so bravely act as to protect his rotting flesh, yet all his voice is lost, and he is yet to find perch on the branches of the forbidden tree. The knowledge is all out in the open for his disposal, yet the wounded raven is yet to accept it as the truth of this world, soaring above the green leaves, shamefully nibbling on the fruit that will inevitably take him straight to hell.

Himeko stares you down, you don’t have the guts to stare back at the woman whom you owe your life to. Simply shakily stand your fragile ground, a cracked glass screen separating life and death. Himeko does not condemn you; it is Sunday she does not trust, and he cannot blame her for doing so. Yet some selfishly irksome part of him deems her reaction as unreasonable. She is not privy to your intricate bond; she knows not of suffering that binds you together, of the tears wasted and the ink spilled; she has no right to judge what she cannot understand. And puny humans like Murata Himeko cannot comprehend the extent of your relationship; every second of your suffering, every minute of his guilt, each of your thoughts unshared, each of his dreams unreachable.

Kafka’s laughter is poison, the succulent flesh of the fruit pushed inside his mouth against his will. Your nails dig into his palm, the blood does not spill yet the fear drips from Sunday’s palms as everyone is trying to find balance while the ground under their feet shakes, ready to split in two.

Sunday’s holds onto you like a life vest, the anchor dropped in the middle of the raging sea storm, the only lifeline that connects him to the reality of this miserable existence. Kafka chokes on her giggles as she almost trips over her own feet, the knockback of the sudden stop sending her toppling over. Himeko catches Firefly by the collar of her dress, pressing the girl close to her chest. The lights flicker in and out, yellow to blue, until red flashing lights overtake the hallway. Then everything shuts down.

It’s a painfully long second of silence with nothing but the heat of your body pressed tightly against his. And when the blood washes off the walls, it’s the glow of the open door and the disheveled pink haired girl and her trailblazing companion bursting though the yellow haze of artificial lights.

“What was that?!” The question is not meant to get an answer, and despite knowing it deep down, the girl with an odd name asks it all the same. “Dan Heng said the engine died.”

Irrationality is the heart of human nature; it is the thing that moves humanity forward and it is also what drags them down. Sunday cannot understand it, yet he is not completely against the notion. He, too, is only human, and your hand in his goes against any rational thinking of a devout believer.

“Himeko, what in the world is happening?” Annoyed and hissy voice, ruffled hair and a white robe barely held together by a little silk belt. The pink haired Foxian that snarled and bared her teeth at Sunday any chance she could back on Penacony, now looks like a displeased cat, lost in the unfamiliar environment. The impatient tapping of her foot, the flat heel of her fuzzy slipper softly knocking on the glossy floors.

Himeko says nothing. Just turns away, lips pressed tightly together. A glance she sends your way sends shivers down his spine, involuntary twitch of his wings sensing danger Sunday cannot combat with just the strength of his body alone. This time you look at her, the haunted darkness of your pupils keeps expanding and swallowing the light of the blushing sunsets Sunday is so enamored with.

“I don’t know.” Himeko finally states. Despite the finality of her words, it is clear as day that the woman knows very well. And with how she avoids your gaze now that she spoke, it is obvious you know even more. Nobody brings it up, even Kafka blinks in a solemn understanding that sometimes scripts don’t play in their favor. Satisfied with her play being accepted, Himeko continues with the second act, “But please put some clothes on, Shuhua.”

Shuhua huffs, a suspicious side eye thrown into your general direction. You seem to pay her no mind, too preoccupied with staring outside the window. Receiving no reaction, the Foxian turns on her heels and leaves the hallway with no hurry behind her steps. Himeko mumbles something under her breath and follows after Shuhua, arms folded over her chest and palpable tension to her every move.

As if sensing some invisible danger, Kafka steps away from the entrance and beckons Firefly to do the same. Slowly but surely, akin to two cautious animals, they hide themselves behind the corner of the hallway. It’s an oxymoron, truly, yet Sunday has no other way to describe the careful way in which Kafka – with all her predator glory – navigates the space. Precise and calculated, she wastes no time in exiting the hallway. Be it to torment Himeko some more or run away from whatever chill that is eating away at Sunday’s wings. Whatever the case, it’s just you, him and the young pink haired woman left standing in the dying light of faraway stars.

“Please step away from the window.” It’s a clear warning and Sunday heeds it, for all drifting souls follow the flow of the stream. March is way too anchored in her life to recognize the tremor of your voice for what it is.

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, unblinking gaze lost in the vastness of the open space. The alien pink hues swallow the darkness of cosmos and the glow of stars, dyeing the dim room with something sinister. March tugs on your sleeve, you don’t turn to look her way. The pinks turn into purples, the black holes of your eyes grow until only the void remains. The prayer falls from your lips like teardrops; some words muffled, some forever lost in the air to never reach his ears.

Faint footsteps are not the ones Sunday recognizes but he recalls seeing the young man, Dan Heng, on Penacony the day everything fell apart. He’s frowning, the tight line of his mouth trying to hide his distress. March seems relieved to see him, finger pointing at you with a quick shake of her head.

Dan Heng doesn’t read between the lines, simply waves his hand, “We caught another distress signal. Himeko ordered to regroup.”

March eagerly takes it as a chance to escape the suffocating tension, although she seems to be too hesitant to leave your side. One of the ribbons of your dress wrapped around her finger, she tugs on your clothing once more, yet you don’t move from your spot. Dan Heng seems annoyed by the delay, enough so he sends a dirty look Sunday’s way as a compensation for his wasted time.

“[Name], did you hear me?” Dan Heng takes one step closer. The purples turn into reds. March can’t find a spot to rest her eyes on, gaze darting from you to Dan Heng. The reds turn into pinks, then back into purples. The young man rests his hand on your shoulder. Purples darken into black. “We need to–”

“Move.” You snap, arms pushing March away from the glass just in time before the fog rejects the laws of this world, slipping through the thick layer of glass.

 The shrill volume of your voice is deafening but it’s not enough to scare away whatever it is that is floating in that fog. It latches into Dan Heng’s clothing, enveloping his fingers. The rapidly melting skin is falling down on the shiny floors like blackened ashes, piece by piece, layer by layer, until there is nothing but bone. And even then, the rot is not satisfied.

Dan Heng staggers backwards until his back hits the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide, shaky legs barely supporting his body. You quickly follow, trying to stabilize him, yet the best you can do is to help him slide down the wall slowly. His left arm is frantically trying to rip the rapidly deteriorating edges of his coat off yet to no avail, the fog swallows anything it touches far quicker than a human can move.

March calls out to you two, quickly crossing the little distance between you and sagging to her knees next to Dan Heng, trying to reach out to help him but you slap her hand away. “Don’t touch him!” You yell, so out of character for the calm and serene attitude Sunday is used to. Then you swallow, mouth seemingly dry, and when you speak next, it’s even softer and lighter than your usual tone, “Please step away, March. Don’t let the fog get near you.”

 Wide eyed, March is staring at you like she sees you for the first time in her life. Gods are gracious yet they are fair; Sunday knows better than anyone just how fair they can be. Yet this fairness from you must be something she had never seen before. Even Sunday himself, in that short time that he spent with your presence illuminating the nights of his loneliness, has not witnessed this side of you. Your refusal was gentle yet adamant, your dismissal was careful yet assured. Your harshness was nonexistent, for you were rejecting it like you do with everything in this life. Yet here you are, embracing it to save the life of the one you care about. It seems Sunday forgot he is not the only one lost in the river, praying to finally reach the lighthouse.

 “You never take me seriously.” You mutter dejectedly, eyes watery and fingers trembling.

“I’m sorry.” Dan Heng’s voice is almost gone, raspy and hoarse, heavy breathing never easing even when the fog starts thinning out under the glow of pinks and purples.

The ribbons of your dress float in the air; the ashes rise from the floor, twisting and turning into bleeding pieces of torn flesh and broken bone as his arm reconstructs itself slowly.  It’s unnatural, foreign to even witness, yet alone feel but Sunday knows the ache of mended bones. He knows the pain will never leave and will follow Dan Heng till his deathbed, a reminder of his wrongdoings. The sin of disobedience is hard to wash off, be it a prayer or holy water. Maybe the blood of a saint spilt on the foreign flesh can cure those phantom pains, yet no saint martyr would ever bleed for sinners like them.

The ode of resurrection is short-lived, yet the horrors the onlookers witnessed will remain there even when they close their eyes and fall into deep slumber. It will chase them like prey until it devours them alive. Sunday is used to a little misery, his dreams used to be his only salvation till they shattered like a birdcage caught in a hurricane; yet he is not sure how those who live to dream would deal with nightmares.

“What in hell is happening?” Shuhua’s blown amber eyes lost all the warmth of mild fire as she watches the final pieces of flesh reject their decay.

Too many people in this hallway for it to be safe. From Dan Heng to the two companions that came with her, to the black fog creeping near the window. Shuhua’s tail is wagging angrily from side to side. One of the men next to her – the infuriating Stoneheart, bless his audacity – seems to be as annoyed as she is. Although a bit more cautious and way less adventurous as he follows the woman when she steps closer to the black cloud, gloved palm all but ready to tug Shuhua back in case things go south.

As much as Sunday dislikes Aventurine, there is little point in his suffering now that it does not benefit the preservation of Ena’s eternal dream. Neither that nor your grief for the loss of a friend would bring Sunday any satisfaction. If anything, it would just force him further into the deep waters and the last thing he wants is to drown in despair before truly tasting freedom.

So he bows his head and rejects his ego, trying to be that very better brother that could stop all galaxies and freeze time just to let his sister descend the heavenly ladder. Even if the feat is not comparable and Sunday is a simple mortal who cannot perform miracles just yet, he can be a better man who would do good by others for you so at the end he could do so for himself.

The chill of the fog is caressing his back even from the distance Sunday assured is there. The irritation on Shuhua’s face when her investigation gets cut short could rival Sunday’s own disenchantment with the life he was forced into. Yet even if despised, Sunday stands for what he believes is right.

“I strongly advise you to not go near that fog.” It’s the first time in a long while that he addresses someone else. Prayers have been left behind in search of belief in himself and the conversations with Kafka are all one sided. There is no need to speak when Sunday has nothing to say, and it seems even if he does now, the audience is not willing to listen.

“I strongly advise you to stay the hell away from me, birdbrain.” Shuhua is prone to snarling and threats, yet it is very hard to take her seriously when even someone as fragile in body as Sunday himself could probably pick her up by the collar of her coat just to look at her face at eye level. He wishes not to pick any unnecessary fights, yet Shuhua seems to want to pick them all, “I will tear you apart.”

You sigh, it’s so heavy as if the weight of the universe rests on your delicate shoulders. “Please stop.”

Nobody truly listens. True to your previous words, no one takes you seriously. Your wishes have no substance, and your opinion is as translucent as air that they breathe in just to exhale the next moment. There is a brief, fleeting moment in which Sunday entertains the idea of the eternal dream once more. The ideal paradise in which people listen to you all the time and not just when it’s beneficial to them, yet he pushes it aside as soon as it blossoms in his mind with blood red petals. No wishes ever come true in gilded dreams and the only way to change reality is to take action here and now. There is very little Sunday can change, however, so the only thing he can do is stand his ground.

You walk past them right into the haze of the fog, Shuhua and Aventurine casting you a passing glance of confusion. Dan Heng, for as sickly pale as he is right now, is trying hurriedly to get up with March’s help. There must be something on Sunday’s face that gives away his doubt of the safety of your actions, as you smile wearily, “It’s alright. It can do me no harm.”

Sunday’s mind does not doubt the gospel, yet his heart is his worst enemy. Despite his worries, the dark cloud lightens in color: from black to purple, then to pink, and finally it thins out enough for only to pale mist to remain floating at the edges of the glass. The silence that falls is heavier than any burden a martyr could carry. Himeko joins you by the window, respectful distance from the pinkish whisps. She seems to be contemplating something, yet the options she has must be limited and choosing between two evils is never easy. Aventurine is peeking outside where the fog is still sick and dark, obscuring the starlight. Even the cyborg – one of the galaxy rangers that Sunday does not the name of – is searching for something behind the other side of the glass.

“I warned you to take another route.” You say finally. Shuhua is distressed, it’s barely noticeable, yet the twitch of her ears gives it all away. Himeko folds her arms over her chest, troubled expression reflecting on the surface of the glass. It’s evident nobody except you and her understands what you mean by that, yet for once you aren���t trying to include everyone in the conversation. It’s between you and the woman who seems to know way more about you than Sunday prides himself on knowing. “We got too close, and we got caught by the pollution.”

“Where the fudge are we anyway?” The cyborg taps the window, metal fingers thudding unpleasantly on the glass. This shirthole–”

“Mister Boothill.” You chastise lightly. “Language.”

“S’rry, birdie.” He chuckles awkwardly, slight embarrassment to his tone. “Where are we again?”

“My home planet.” Your words are the bloodstained nails, dropped by the executioner. The blood drips off them in thick droplets of divine nectar and falls to the floor, coating the room with the saccharine scent of the paradise lost.

“Huh?” There’s something peculiarly tense about the way Aventurine looks at you behind those glasses of his, yet Boothill’s astonishment saves you a lot of questions that you most likely do not wish to answer. “Ya fudgin’ breathe poison or somethin’?” You laugh, shaking your head lightheartedly at what could have been an oddly disrespectful question if not presented in such a standoffish way.

 “Not anymore.” You confirm, “The–” then your breath gets caught in your throat and your smile falls, replaced by a very familiar longing that Sunday grew accustomed to. Yet today is Thursday and on Thursdays you watch the stars. The regret and the tears are all saved for when the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day, and you get on your knees in a prayer hidden behind a foreign tongue. “Never mind. It’s a long, boring story that will put you all to sleep.”

“[Name]–” Himeko wants to say something; she clearly made up her mind and whatever decision she came up to burdens her way more than not listening to you when she had the chance.

Yet you, as per the path you are chained to, refuse to listen to whatever she has to say, “We do need to look into that distress signal.”

“Not unless we want to get turned into ashes.” Aventurine pipes in, a little teasing behind his otherwise serious tone, “I am not ready to get dusted just yet. No offense, [Name].”

Your smile is strained. It’s unnatural and forced yet Sunday is unsure whether others realize it, “I would never take offense in your finding the desire to live.” A well-meaning comment that is aimed to hit exactly where it hurts the most. Or maybe Sunday simply is too far deep in the waters of sin, so he projects his most evil onto the saints who deserve it not. Aventurine, however, does not contemplate your intentions, simply turns away from you as if burnt as it often happens when playing with fire. “Miss Himeko, if you may?”

Himeko nods wordlessly. You hide from the view with Boothill leaving right after when the awkwardness gets a bit too much for him. Sunday has half a mind to follow you but stops before he does something very much foolish. He needs to learn to pick his battles and regulate his wishes to control everything. For the very notion of control has always been his biggest enemy.

He who has no reign over his life desires to control everything, yet what he is supposed to do now that he has nothing to rule over? To control yourself is to control your own life, yet how does he find freedom when some of the choices he makes are still very much guided by someone else’s wishes masquerading as his own? Abandoning dreams meant abandoning order, yet somehow it still dictates his life all the same.

The lighthouse has never been farther away.

None of these people are tolerant of him, least of all fond of him, and without your presence this hallway once more turns into a cage. Maybe Kafka wasn’t as awful of a companion as he initially thought and her spiderweb acted as feather-like anchor to keep his mind from floating too far away from the shore. Maybe he is terrified of what could happen now that he has been stripped of power completely, matters not that the influence he used to have was all make believe.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, chicken boy.” Shuhua laughs, twitching ears and sharp teeth on display as a warning. “Nobody here likes you, but we aren’t going to kill you. Unless you accidentally fall into that fog and die.” She misinterprets Sunday’s silence, yet he is not sure whether she is truly capable of cold-blooded murder or simply playing it up for the sake of dispelling some tension.

The Stoneheart quirks his brow skeptically, “Do you really want a sob fest?”

For someone like Aventurine, everything in this life is all but a transaction. An eye for an eye. A favor received; a favor returned. It’s not about either of them but it’s about both of you. The idea of pushing Sunday into the man-devouring fog seems to be quite pleasant for him even if he is almost stopping the Foxian from murder just because Sunday stopped her from almost dying.

Scoffing, Shuhua points her finger at Sunday as if he’s not even there, “She’ll get over it and find another boytoy to fawn over in approximately five business days.”

The notion of you crying over his death is terrifyingly unsettling. There is no realm, be it the rivers of reality long past of the gilded cage of a dream yet to be, in which Sunday wishes for you to weep for him ever again. Neither does he wish to die before you. Or after you, for that matter. Yet dying together with your last breath caught by his lips seems like a beautiful way to end his existence.

But Shuhua, despite her never-ending hostility, is right and he doesn’t think a god would waste her last moments on the fleeting warmth of a dying sinner. Death is far too cruel to allow him to go peacefully. And so, Sunday locks any foolish thoughts behind the golden bars of a dream once more.

That is the only place where heresy belongs to.

The fog darkens, not even a sliver of starlight remains. In this darkness Sunday has trouble keeping himself afloat. The thorns drag him down to the bottom even if the hollow bones of his wings do not itch any longer.

To dream is to survive. To live is to suffer. To dream is to suffer. To live is to survive. No matter how one twists the words, the outcome is the same. Torment is unavoidable, misery is unescapable. Be it in a cage made of gold or in a life soaked in freedom, everyone suffers equally. Sunday is yet to accept that as a given, yet this anguish is probably the only thing you embrace with your torn heart. Maybe one of these days the stream will carry him to his destination, and he finally finds what he’s looking for.

Maybe for the first time in his life Sunday needs to take control of himself and not others.

 “You should come inside.”  A gentle hand on his shoulder. A tall woman – another galaxy ranger – smiles at him with a little something very tired to the curve of her lips. “They’re about to make the jump.”

Sunday stops himself from wondering what all those people are doing here. Their ship got stranded so the rest must have suffered the same fate. Everything happens for a reason, and Sunday has little to no desire to doubt anything right now. Not when that doubt could force the thorns up his body until he is crowned in them like a dying man crucified.

And so he nods, following after Acheron, “They started the engine?”

“No,” She shakes her head, the door in front of her opens automatically. “We’re breeching the atmosphere the old-fashioned way.”

Sunday has no clear idea what that entails, but the implications don’t seem very promising. Some sort of a mascot is running around the room, ushering everyone to get seated. Kafka is smiling, scooting ever so slightly closer to Himeko despite the other trying to get away from her. Firefly is rambling, March and the pesky Nameless to her right engaging her in a rather animated conversation. Boothill, Shuhua, and Aventurine seem to get along rather splendidly, considering their conflicting personalities.

The veiled Memokeeper pats the empty spot next to her in a silent invitation; Sunday knows it isn’t meant for him, so he takes a seat in the farthest corner of the couch and lets Acheron depart with no words exchanged. You are nowhere in sight. Sunday thinks that once again nobody takes you seriously even if they should. Dan Heng and an elderly man who Sunday hasn’t met before seem to be the only one to be at least a little bit troubled by the current predicament, vigilantly watching the door in case it opens.

It does not. Instead, the lights flicker rapidly, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Being sat is not enough.

Everything comes crashing down, and no seatbelts could save them from the heat of the fall through the corroding fog and the atmosphere unwelcoming to the outsiders. Someone more poetic would have called this the fall of god’s most beloved angel, Sunday knows that it is nothing more than a punishment for the sins one could never atone. Everything seems to be on fire, scorching and hostile. Sparks of light ignite outside the trembling glass windows. In the darkness of this nightmare, fate in the shape of glowing ribbons is kind enough to catch him right before Sunday slips off the couch.

The fall stops so abruptly that the train jumps upwards. The pinks and purples shimmer with the peculiar radiance, lighting up the shadows and ensuring a safe descend into the deepest circles where only the most heinous sinners could survive. That is not a place someone like you could be born in, yet it seems just right for Istanai the Repudiation.

“Is everyone okay?” Your voice is hoarse, and you look a bit worse for wear. Sweat running down your temple, you shiver. Someone says something, it gets lost in the raging waters of doubt. “I cleansed the engine as much as I could but it’s enough to make one jump far away from the fog.”

“Please be careful.” Himeko mumbles, the train shakes for the final time.

You smile, “Aren’t I always?” That smile is nothing more than a kiss to the cheek and 30 pieces of silver, yet somehow Sunday is sure that it is them who would end up weeping at the cross.

Perhaps even Himeko herself knows she is sending the lamb to the slaughter. With regrets and misty eyes, she presses her lips to your forehead. It’s a fleeting touch with nothing left of it by the time it ends, and you turn around first, leaving without even a goodbye. Stelle darts from her seat, ready to join in on another dangerous adventure, Dan Heng and March following suit until Himeko stops them, whispering something that makes March gasp audibly. Half astonished, half disappointed, she returns to her spot on the couch and drops down with a huff. If Sunday is sure of something, it’s that the lonely path you are bound to cannot offer you any constant companionship.

Kafka is watching him with that infuriating something behind the clouded haze of her eyes. Sunday hates letting her win; he despises being caught in the spiderweb of her schemes and convoluted plots written by a lunatic far worse than he, himself, is. Spending his whole life being conditioned to believe he is the one in control of the cage, Sunday has been chained to the golden bars of a tomb where they buried his freedom. Yet he is not a charmony dove in desperate need of someone looking after him, his clipped wings have long been mended and the disillusionment in a dream that cannot be is ringing in his ears in Robin’s trembling voice.

What would she do if she were in his shoes, Sunday wonders, although there is no real need to contemplate it at all. For someone like his sister – another victim of a mind far too cruel for this world – there is only one path in this life. You move towards freedom, even if it means getting caught up in the crossfire.

Kafka’s giggles die with as the distance grows. Sunday is lucky to catch you before you exit the train, yet he isn’t sure there is any more luck in his life left for you to change your mind.

Sunday isn’t fast enough to even voice his concerns before you shut him down, “I just need to check with the port security, and I will be back. One foot out, one foot in.”

“Then I shall accompany you.” How can one preserve a life without controlling it? How to change your mind when even the most drastic of measures will prove futile? If Sunday gets down on his knees and beg like a sinner would do before the heavenly lord, would you accept him then? Would telling the truth save him now that he has nothing more to his person than the wings that belong to you and the halo that he is willing to discard for your sake?

“As much as I would enjoy to go on adventure with you, Mister Sunday, I am afraid this is something I must do alone.” There’s an air of finality to your words. As if you gave up all your agency to fate and willingly chose to walk the road to your crucifixion with the shoulders carrying the weapon which inevitably will be used against you. Yet Sunday doesn’t want you to. If there is a way to share this burden, his hands are willing. If there is a way to unfasten the noose around your neck or to wipe the blood of your palms, he is ready to stain himself until everything is red. “Besides… Who will save me if I put you in danger with my own two hands?”

As usual, you make little to no sense. How can Sunday save you if he isn’t by your side? “Aeon or not, you mustn’t–”

Your palm against his cheek is warm. Thumb gliding over his skin, smearing crimson till nothing is left of his anguish. Only heartache remains; the realization that he cannot do anything but give up and let you walk outside the gilded cage of safety into the world which would never be kind to you even if you spill all your tears for it. He could not stop Robin and had to pay the price, and now with you Sunday will have to do the same. Control is never enough when you lack the power to reinforce it, the dreams are fleeting and fragile like the glass castles amongst the clouds. All Sunday can do is to believe that he will get there in time to gather your holy blood before the ground accepts it as a part of itself.

“To live is to survive.” He whispers, hopeless and sorrowful.

“To dream is to suffer.” You agree. A ruffle of your dress, the ribbons sway as you rise. Betrayal means nothing when the warmth of your lips against his cheek eradicates all vices and purifies all evil. “May the heavens be kind enough for the suffering to cease.”

The door silently closes. Sunday returns to the train cart. The shimmer of the ribbons is still glowing all around the room. The atmosphere is a bit too charged, Dan Heng and Himeko glaring at each other with various degrees of animosity. Kafka is grinning, although there is something tense to her smile that Sunday had no desire to investigate. Elio admitted he could not predict your future, so whatever script she has is probably nothing but a nonsensical piece of fiction written by a crazed lunatic.

“You know nothing.” Himeko snaps. It must not be a regular occurrence, as it earns her a couple of odd glances. “If she doesn’t contact us in five system hours, [Name] told us to leave her here.”

Sunday expected as much yet this being said out loud weights way heavier on his soul than he anticipated. Dan Heng, familiar with the aftermath of touching death firsthand, seems to share the sentiment, “You can’t do that! Himeko, what–”

“This is not my place to decide, and this is not your place to judge.” The woman cuts his sentence short, not at all content with your decision yet unable to refuse your final wish. “It’s [Name]’s choice. Her fate has found her. You should know that better than anyone, Dan Heng.”

This silences the young man way faster than Sunday anticipated. Dan Heng, oddly dejected and somewhat pained, ignores Himeko’s orders and returns to the couch. March’s comforting hand does little to soothe whatever turmoil he is going through and Himeko doesn’t hurry to apologize for hurting him. Kafka hums, a little perplexing noise, as she pets Himeko’s shoulder lightly. The red-haired woman has little strength now to refuse the spider’s advances now, face hidden in the palms of her hands.

Pompom quietly warns everyone to buckle up and the jump is way smoother this time around, yet nobody seems to be happy about the comfort. The quiet conversations and Firefly’s soft, somewhat awkward laughter fills in the void of passing hours. Scars do not itch yet old habits are hard to break, and Sunday is once again being dragged down to the bottom with the thorns of his deadly sin. One more hour, the glow of the ribbons dies along with the fog. Soon there would be nothing but darkness and the glitter of starlight illuminating the edges of the planet clouded in death.

“You seem awfully worried for someone you quite literally held hostage.” Shuhua’s voice is a fairway noise of the waves crashing against the pier. Sunday doesn’t mean to ignore her, yet he has no desire to engage her either. Pointless bickering has no merit unless both parties have something to prove. And Sunday has nothing to stand for right now. She is somewhat correct, and he is completely lost.

“Not as fun to bother now that you have nothing to hide.” Aventurine is the green glint of the precious stones scattered around the seabed. Laying amongst all those colorful rocks, Sunday lets them dig painfully into the base of his wings, till blood seeps through the open wounds. “Lame.”

“Cut him some slack, you two.” Black Swan says, a little teasing to her hushed voice, “He’s in the process of actively yearning.” Sunday wishes they would stop talking about him as if he isn’t present, yet he is not allowed to condemn them for sinning when his deeds are as unforgiving as they come.

 “Not like he knows anything about love beyond controlling the object of his obsession.” If a Memokeeper can get into Sunday’s head to pick his troubled feelings apart and put them together into some semblance of cohesion, the Stoneheart doubts the notion of Sunday having any emotions at all. It’s infuriating, yet it helps in a way. The waters may be deep, and the waves may be harsh, yet fury knows no hell like a lover scorned.

“I advise you to not speculate about my feelings.” The chill of his tone is familiar. “You might find out the true extent of their depth.”

For a second Sunday is back on Penacony, caged and buried, following orders and grasping for an ounce of control over his own actions through desperately trying to liberate those who could be saved. Would any of them try to save him? Robin would. Robin did. Now she’s somewhere out of reach, in the lighthouse Sunday can see yet can never find a way to. You would. You did. And now you are back to the dream shattered, unattainable and doomed.

Sunday has little to call his, yet his heart is worth fighting for.

Aventurine lifts his glasses, the grin on his lips is the one you would only find in hell, “Hit a nerve?” The tension increases, yet Sunday is not above playing dirty. They should know as much already. All is fair when you protect what you believe in, for the road to hell is paved with intentions most pure.

“Fifty thousand credits say you to shoot the chicken if he squares up.” Shuhua whispers, yet her voice is loud enough for everyone to hear.

Boothill clicks his tongue, “Make it a hundred, foxy. I ain’t lifting a forkin’ finger for some chump change.”

“Now now, let’s not fight.” Black Swan claps her hands to dispel some of that tension and it works. Somewhat. Sunday’s wings are still twitching under his coat, posture rigid and breathing shallow. Aventurine himself is way on guard for someone who is not ready to fight for his life, yet he is the one to throw in the towel. “We might need our knights to rescue the damsel in distress.”

“Talking about distress.” Acheron inserts herself into the situation with a surprising ease, surely not in the mood to mediate any immature conflicts yet very much willing to remind of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “It’s been four hours, Himeko.”

“I know.” Himeko nods, her expression as hazy as the fog outside this room.

Kafka huffs, amused and ready to stir the conversation where she wants it to go, “When I left you the kids, I thought you would keep them safe, Himeko. Look at you now…”

Himeko, for all her detachment now that she’s haunted by her own choices, seems to be finally ready to physically fight Kafka this time around. Her anger is short lived. And everything after that is nonexistent. It all ends here where it all began.

“Guys.” March gasps, palms pressed against the glass window. “No, guys, look.”

Stelle joins her by the window, but the others ignore her excitement as they did ten times prior to this. Yet judging by how the curve of Stelle’s lips drops suddenly, this time around they should have paid attention.

The blinding light is promised to lead all mortals to salvation of Paradise. With the scorching warmth of hell’s fire on his face, Sunday is sure that he is never destined to find the shores of redemption. The train is shaking with the aftershocks of the end of the world as they knew it. His fate is sealed with an explosion and the debris drifting into the open space, colliding with each other in a promise to never meet again.

In the eyes of Murata Himeko, Sunday can recognize the guilt which is dripping from his heavy lashes every time he brings himself down on his knees in a prayer. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Paradise of eternal happiness cannot exist, for it is nothing but a pipedream of a man gone mad.

For once in the short time that he knew her, Kafka is silent. Sunday takes that silence with him into the darkness that envelopes all creation.

The curtain falls, yet as the lights go out the gilded dreams live on.

Scars do not itch yet the memory of a dream yet to be dreamt is the only proof of your existence.

[millsheat]

you know i was always the one defending the show real hard. but to be frank, the trailer left me really skeptical. i don't want to be the devil's advocate, because of course -- we saw a short montage, not the whole thing. but there are few things that left me puzzled and i would like to point them out.

a lot of people, based on the trailer, assume that joel tells the truth to the supposed jackson therapist and not tommy. if that were to be true, i don't think it would have the same impact. joel telling a secret he was willing to die for to tommy shows how strong their bond remained even, after all those years. also, the whole idea of therapist in the jackson is definitely a strange one, but i am not opposing that, rather speculating of the impact this role will have. hopefully, not just the shock value.

lack of infected in the trailer -- i guess this one could be simply explained by saying that they are keeping them as a surprise. hbo offered a significantly higher budget so.

abby being buff. ah, this caused riots on twitter, and you might hate me, but i agree with them. abby's revenge journey is literally built on her appearance. it's a great example for us, viewers or players, how immersed she had gotten into her plan. she has been training for four years, just to be ready. her revenge quest eventually costs her the relationship with owen, as she refuses to spend time with him, being too focused on trailing and hunting joel down.

so, yes. abby's appearance plays an important role. no one is asking for abby to be a buffed three times more than she was on the show. but we are supposed to believe she fights off tommy, fights infected. her main skill is combat fight. i am aware that video game characters possess power that are in many aspects unrealistic. but the second game includes a lot of fights that are important for the story itself.

dina's faith. dina's jewish ancestry gets mentioned a few times, especially when ellie and dina come across the synagogue. actually, some guy on twitter was giving me shit, saying that it is unimportant for her character. i disagree. might sound odd, but we get to know dina through her faith -- when she tells ellie what is means for her, how she still says little prayers. how proud she is because she comes from a long line of survivors. she mentions her favorite traditions (apple dipped in honey). how her and her sister used to visit synagogues on the road. it shows us that dina, despite the world and despite the circumstances, pushes through. i don't think it is fair or right to erase that part of her.

these are just my thoughts. perhaps, the last one is very subjective because i, myself, come from jewish family. anyways, would love to hear your thoughts.

[melliae]

Assorted Pharos/Ryoji Thoughts

So, huh, don’t expect something too meaningful or conclusive for this. It’s quite literally just me rambling about the possible connections and influences Pharos and Ryoji have as they come. Quite messy, and it may not make much sense…

Phallus and Birds

As I said in my post about Nyx, Pharos’ japanese name (“ファルロス”) isn’t a word that exists. It’s a combination of “ファルス” (“Phallus”) and “ファロス” (“Pharos”, as in the lighthouse of Alexandria). The two of them mark him as the masculine aspect of the Star Eater (i.e., its psyche), while its body remains as the feminine or maternal one.

“In this sense, the concept of matter is also only one archetypal representation among many others; indeed the concept of matter derives from the archetype of the Great Mother. [...] The archetype of the Father, that is, of the mind, is the polar opposite.” - Psyche and Matter, by Marie-Louise von Franz.

This divide is important to make clear, since it harks back to one of the fundamental inspirations mentioned by the FES Fan Book: Jung’s childhood dream about “Father Phallos”. I’m not going to explain it since it’s somewhat long, but the gist is that it acted as one of the foundations of Jung’s work, as seen with Seven Sermons to the Dead:

“Spirituality conceiveth and embraceth. It is womanlike and therefore we call it mater coelestis, the celestial mother. Sexuality engendereth and createth. It is manlike, and therefore we call it phallos, the earthly father.” - Sermo V.

I’m not going into detail about what Jung exactly meant by “womanlike” or “manlike” beyond pointing out it is more akin to the Yin and Yang division, but through western or hermetic lens.

While the parts of sexuality and creativity are better represented by Ryoji for obvious reasons, the identification between Pharos and Father Phallos is still important because it points to the former’s future as the “son” or “avatar” of “Dea Luna Satanas”.

I put Systema Munditotius here again because it’s a graphical summary of the cosmology and psychological principles presented in Seven Sermons, showing how the human mind is a whole that encompasses all dualities. But instead of focusing on the vertical axis this time, I’m going to explain the horizontal one, where we can see:

The Emptiness (the black circle named “Inane”) at the leftmost extreme, whose dissolving and destructive capacities are manifested in the figure of “the Devil”, represented by the waxing moon—the so-called “Dea Luna Satanas” or “Goddess Moon Satan”.

The Fullness (the white circle named “Plenum”) at the rightmost extreme, with its creative capacities manifesting in the golden circle called “Deus Sol”, the Godly Sun.

Now, despite the presence of another Devil-like figure in the series (Nyarlathotep, with the japanese version of Eternal Punishment directly calling him “the archetype that destroys humans egos”), it’s undeniable the connection between Nyx as the moon and, well, the lunar Satan described in the Sermo IV:

“The dark gods form the earth-world. They are simple and infinitely diminishing and declining. The devil is the earth-world’s lowest lord, the moon-spirit, satellite of the earth, smaller, colder, and more dead than the earth.” 

And that’s where the other half of the left side enters: the Devil-Moon is the root of everything that’s “physical”, the “visible” and “sensual” spirits of earth (the green circle named “Mater Natura”) that manifest through the sexuality of the Phallos, who lies in the “depths of the earth” according to Jung’s dream—in the unconscious, with the Dark Hour being a symbol of it. That’s to say, Father Phallos and thus Pharos are the result of the countless souls that are attached to earth, of people dead in spirit and alive in bodies—of the Lost, and those who transmogrify each night, and those who have lost all hope.

However, unlike Pharos, the Avatar doesn’t show many “sensual” details, despite the entire Fool’s Journey it/he recited being a perfect metaphor of the earthly/gross side of life (i.e., you are born, you grow, you die); on the contrary, it presents a couple of celestial characteristics. The meaning of these properties lie on the other half of the right hemisphere, in the heavenly sphere that the wise kin of the Sun inhabits, communicating with the receptive nature of the human soul (or Celestial Mother) in the form of a white bird—the Holy Spirit.

“The white bird is a half-celestial soul of man. He bideth with the Mother, from time to time descending. The bird hath a nature like unto man, and is effective thought. He is chaste and solitary, a messenger of the Mother. He flieth high above earth. He commandeth singleness. He bringeth knowledge from the distant ones who went before and are perfected. He beareth our word above to the Mother.” - Sermo VI.

Yet, due to Nyx’s body being a shadowy reflection of the Heavenly Mother, it’s to be expected the Bird too becomes twisted, from a pure white dove into a pitch-black crow. There’s no need to go over all the references to black birds during the game, from Tartarus to Nyx Avatar—the messenger or “angel” of Nyx.

So, on one side we have Death as a Shadow, primitive and all-consuming, and on the other we have Ryoji, a conscious being filled to the brim with love and energy. Pharos is, then, the in-between, the liminal state between consciousness and unconsciousness, a baby that’s trying to break free from the grip of the unconscious’ “womb”, yet joins the “divine” with the mortal.

“The "child" is born out of the womb of the unconscious, begotten out of the depths of human nature, or rather out of living Nature herself. It is a personification of vital forces quite outside the limited range of our conscious mind; of ways and possibilities of which our one-sided conscious mind knows nothing; a wholeness which embraces the very depths of Nature.” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious.

Be it from Nyx or the protagonist/Makoto himself, Death/Pharos/Ryoji, from the moment his being was fragmented, sought separation and division, to know where his essence began and ended. He was trying to create himself. That’s the most beneficial manifestation of the Phallos: the birth of a “sun” or (primitive) consciousness through the active energy of the unconscious.

“The psychic life-force, the libido, symbolizes itself in the sun or personifies itself in figures of heroes with solar attributes. At the same time it expresses itself through phallic symbols.” - Symbols of Transformation.

An event comparable to the separation of the waters through the spirit (or “dove”) of God himself, or to the eating of the fruit of knowledge upon the serpent’s goading. That’s to say, a manifestation of the beginning of individuation, the development of the—his—Self out of the unconscious’ waters.

Introversion and Extraversion

Makoto is introverted, and Ryoji extraverted.

…

Okay. That isn’t something new, like, at all. But it’s a good start, since I’m not referring to the popular conception that we have of introversion and extraversion, but to the jungian one, explained in Psychological Types:

“The introvert’s attitude is an abstracting one; at bottom, he is always intent on withdrawing libido from the object, as though he had to prevent the object from gaining power over him. The extravert, on the contrary, has a positive relation to the object. He affirms its importance to such an extent that his subjective attitude is constantly related to and oriented by the object.”

I went into a deeper explanation in my post about Philemon’s and Nyarlathotep’s Types, but the above is the main idea: the introverted individual focuses inwards, in the inner realm of the universal “subjective factor” or unconscious, and the extraverted individual focuses their energy into the external world and its objects, relating to the present. As a compensatory method, the differentiated attitude of consciousness will be opposed by the acquisition of the contrary attitude within the unconscious, giving rise to psychic wholeness and certain peculiarities that, for the moment, aren’t important.

Now, with that out of the way, I want to focus on a particular scene described by the book, about an interpretation about Spitteler’s “Prometheus and Epimetheus”, with Jung concluding that the brothers are representations of introversion and extraversion respectively:

“For just as Prometheus makes all his passion, his whole libido flow inwards to the soul, to his innermost depths, dedicating himself entirely to his soul’s service, so God pursues his course round and round the pivot of the world and exhausts himself exactly like Prometheus, who is near to self-extinction. All his libido has gone into the unconscious, where an equivalent must be prepared; for libido is energy, and energy cannot disappear without a trace, but must always produce an equivalent. This equivalent is Pandora and the gift she brings to her father: a precious jewel which she wants to give to mankind to ease their sufferings.”

Prometheus parted ways with the outer world to focus completely on his soul, the realm of the unconscious and his Anima. Understanding that libido can be symbolized by fire, light and heat, then Prometheus’ actions can be interpreted as he trying to “incubate” the treasure that lies deep within, which is compared in other parts of the book with the dharmic tapas or meditation, and the birth of the Buddha, one of the “three jewels”… The underlying meaning of the scene should be obvious at this point.

“The moon with her antithetical nature is, in a sense, a prototype of individuation, a prefiguration of the self: she is the “mother and spouse of the sun, who carries in the wind and the air the spagyric embryo conceived by the sun in her womb and belly.” This image corresponds to the psychologem of the pregnant anima, whose child is the self, or is marked by the attributes of the hero.” - Mysterium Coniunctionis.

A renewal of the “Sun”, who is no other than Pharos/Ryoji himself. Or do you think the sobriquet of Saturn, the Persona unlocked through his Linked Episodes, is for nothing?

Just like the maternal Nyx holds the golden, cosmic egg inside its body, Makoto “incubates” within him the seed of a new life, enveloping it/him just like the ocean does with all sorts of “primitive” life. This is not surprising considering that introversion is the “feminine” (or “ying”) attitude, and that Makoto was, in fact, described as the “mother” of Pharos in the Club Book (Thanks to elle-p for pointing it out!).

But I think there’s something much more interesting in how Makoto “incubated” Ryoji, because just like the moon, as a symbol of the Anima, carries “the child of the sun”, Prometheus makes his libido flow towards his soul… or Anima. That’s to say, both Makoto and Ryoji, at some level, represent each other’s Anima, the sexual counterimage to consciousness that mediates the collective unconscious.

(While technically a non-canon portrayal of things, I still think it fits here :) After all, we know butterflies represent the souls of individuals in the series)

It’s not a perfect correlation naturally; the soul-image is that of the opposite gender of consciousness, to balance the psyche. But the mirror idea is the basis of their relationship, with Ryoji and the protagonist playing each other’s attitudes. The movies are more explicit with this, and there’s a particular quote I really hold close to my heart:

“綾時は理の対極にいるようなキャラクターです。物静かな理と社交的な綾時は"静と動"の関係であり，彼らの対比第3章の物語に欠かせない視点をもたらしています” - Keitaro Motonaga, Persona 3: Falling Down Pamphlet.

“Ryoji is a character that feels like the opposite of Makoto. The quiet Makoto and the sociable Ryoji have a relationship of ‘stillness and motion’, and their contrast brings about an indispensable perspective in the third chapter of this story.”

The connections are clear: Makoto is an introverted sensor (ISxx), and Ryoji is an extroverted intuitive (ENxx). And if we really break down their character, Makoto is an ISFJ (overall ISFx, with the J/P depending on the particular media) and Ryoji an ENFP, which is pretty damn close to a mirror match! You can compare them with Elizabeth, who is likely an ENTP.

Anyway, what’s more interesting in Ryoji’s Type is how it’s described on Psychological Types, under the “Extraverted Intuitive” section:

Going from “object” to “object” and situation to situation, never satisfied with the current circumstances staying the same.

That applies to people too, how they can go from “adventure” to “adventure” in search of romance.

Thanks to the enthusiasm they hold for what is next, they are able to inspire others as well.

Their unconsciousness is mainly governed by an archaic Sensation directed towards introversion, which means their blind spot corresponds to the endosomatic part of the senses, manifesting as strange and absurd sensations (which yes, it can include perceiving the world as dream-like).

And since Ryoji is a feeler as well, all those characteristics acquire a romantic tinge, seeing things by what they emotionally mean instead of what they (sensually) are. Does it sound familiar? Metaphors about “flowing water” maybe? You can quite literally do one of those school homeworks of joining columns with those points and Ryoji’s characterization.

Another interesting thing to consider is the contrastive relation between Ryoji’s and Makoto’s Types, which returns to my previous point of Ryoji being “incubated” through Makoto’s introversion, because he’s the personification of Makoto’s unconscious functions. The only exception is Ryoji being an extraverted feeler (ExFx) instead of an extraverted thinker (like with Elizabeth again, or Metis), but I still think it fits with Edogawa’s explanations in P4G:

“However, it's not impossible that you might have picked it. The other path was certainly a logical choice. Your Shadow is the path that you didn't take. In other words...It is another you. The Shadow is the ‘you that wasn't picked.’”

Through his fear and trauma, Makoto withheld all the “heat” he could have vested life with inside his soul, warming and breathing life into the “seed” that was sealed within. But whereas the Shadow merely personifies that repressed libido and possibilities, Ryoji became human only through living them—he didn’t only embody Makoto’s repressed yearnings and sufferings, but made them his own. This returns once more to the “jewel” of Pandora that doesn’t solely belong to Prometheus (i.e., Makoto), but to the whole world.

“hell: a name for the *prima materia, the *black colour which appears during the *putrefaction of the matter of the Stone at the *nigredo, the torture through which the ‘body’ of the Stone passes while being dissolved by the secret fire. [...] The nigredo stage is also known as ‘Tartarus’. During the process of the nigredo the colour of the putrefaction is said to be as black as pitch, and the shades of hell appear. A profound blackness reigns both over the matter in the alembic and over the alchemist who may experience the torments of hell while witnessing the shadow or underworld of the psyche.” - A Dictionary of Alchemical Imagery, by Lyndy Abraham.

There’s no need to explain why Tartarus and the Dark Hour are the unconscious, but I’ve to in regards to how they represent Makoto’s “stagnant hell” and their relationship with alchemy.

Fire and Motion

According to the same book I quoted before, “A Dictionary of Alchemical Imagery”, towers in general can be interpreted to be symbols of the alchemical alembic, the main instrument through which the alchemists try to create the philosophers’ stone. However, alchemy is both an outer and inner discipline, so the tower isn’t merely a symbol for the external instrument, but also for the inner one: the human soul, which is put through “hellish” heat to purify it. Thus, towers, hell, and the individual become synonyms for the same alchemical instrument of transformation, fueled by the “secret” or “inner fire” that, in this case, corresponds to Makoto’s libido.

If we follow the normal alchemical process, then Death/Ryoji should be equal to the prima materia or the “first matter” used to create the Stone. But since the Stone is a symbol of the Self, the presence of Ryoji is iffy unless we, instead of thinking of him as the actual goal of alchemy, interpret him as the “secondary” goal, as gold itself, the mineralized/gross essence of the sun.

“But when the alchemists speak of gold they mean more than material gold. In the microcosmic-macrocosmic law of correspondences, gold is the metallic equivalent of the sun, the image of the sun buried in the earth. The sun in turn is the physical equivalent of the eternal spirit which lodges in the heart (the ‘sun’ of the human microcosm).” - A Dictionary of Alchemical Imagery.

This is a topic I already explained previously, since “sun = life = libido = phallus”, corresponding to the masculine/yang/extraverted side of things. As I previously noted on Nyx's post, one can see all of these correspondences with Ryoji’s infamous yellow scarf that represents the golden color—Nyx's core—of the final battle according to the Design Works (again, thanks to elle-p for pointing out that indecipherable text!), decidedly marking him as a product of Makoto’s inner work—as his “mineralized” life-energy.

But to describe Ryoji as purely gold would be incorrect; he’s far from being a pure manifestation of the incorruptible essence of the sun. His true nature is pointed by, again, the final Persona of his Linked Episodes, Saturn, the black sun .

“This power is called ‘sulphur.’ It is a hot, daemonic principle of life, having the closest affinities with the sun in the earth, the “central fire” or ‘ignis gehennalis’ (fire of hell). Hence there is also a Sol niger, a black sun, which coincides with the nigredo and putrefactio, the state of death.” - Mysterium Coniunctionis.

It’s darkness itself, the stagnation of life and its energy that leads to the state we see in the Dark Hour: putrid and rotten to the core, stagnated and filled to the brim with the dead and lost in life. It’s the collective “dark night of the soul”, the nigredo stage of alchemy of all humanity that can only be overcome by setting the world in “fire”, the element of motion and change that makes the clock advance with each full moon and each cleared floor in Tartarus, for better or worse. The transformation of Death into Ryoji is just the repetition of such a process at the individual level.

And if all of that sounds familiar, it should be! That’s the fundamental meaning of both the Fortune and Death arcanas, representing the nature of life as endlessly changing to represent its wholeness. Thus, life stagnating and “becoming a void” is a paradox that must be solved by reigniting its motion/change, lest it collapses into itself.

“This card is attributed to the letter Nun, which means a fish; the symbol of life beneath the waters; life travelling through the waters. [...] In alchemy, this card explains the idea of putrefaction, the technical name given by its adepts to the series of chemical changes which develops the final form of life from the original latent seed in the Orphic egg.” - Book of Thoth, by Aleister Crowley.

The Death arcana is that hellish fire that puts people under the most unbearable pain to put things in the correct path once more. Due to that, it has three “manifestations”: the scorpion that kills itself when finding itself surrounded by “fire”; the serpent that renews itself through its shedding, crawling and thus still attached to earth; and the eagle, the spirit of life that soars the sky, unbounded by and embracing change at the same time. Yet, Death as a Shadow represents the contrary, the stagnated core of the Dark Hour that leads all to its destruction and that must be burned—killed and resurrected

Alchemy is necessarily a violent process, because it requires the constant death and union of the elements so they can be “perfected”. In Death’s case, its alchemical work began from the moment it was separated/“killed” and sealed in Makoto, who is a stand-in for the maternal womb, the alchemical vessel, and the mercurial waters that dissolve the murdered element. Yet, as the alchemist himself, Makoto also pours his own life and heat into the dissolved Shadow to unify and resurrect it in a new, “purer” shape: Pharos, the “creativity” of a nascent sun, the seed of a new life.

(By that matter, Nyx crashing against earth follows a similar pattern: the original being is mutilated and “dissolved” through the alambique—the primordial hadean life. The broken egg or core is an image that has the same meaning as the separation of Death; both fall under the dismemberment motif of alchemy)

But then, how does all of this relate with Saturn? Well, it’s because Saturn has a really long history in hermeticism, alchemy, and astrology: he represents the outermost and heaviest planet of all, embodying the limitations and structure of the universe such as time and death, devouring nature to rebirth it once again. Furthermore, the planet is associated with none other than lead, the heaviest metal that’s commonly used as a metaphor for the first matter, the moribund nature that… well, it should be obvious what one must do.

And funnily enough, just as fire is the element of transformation and renewal, Intuition in general corresponds to the function that oversees the dynamic elements of reality. It perceives the relations and motion between external/internal objects. So in more than one sense, Ryoji is the “inner fire”/“spirit” of Makoto. However, since alchemy deals with opposites and due to his nature as the black sun/saturn, there must be a limiting element in nature to restrain his ever-expanding/intuitive nature…

The Bonds of Death

Why a scarf? Why not another piece of cloth or even jewelry? Well, the image above answers why: a scarf is no different from a noose, one of the most common elements of death deities and grim reaper figures around the world, for what’s death but a hunter of humans? Thus, Ryoji’s scarf is a symbol of how even himself is bound to death, to his underlying nature.

“The difference seems to be due to the repression of real sensations. These make themselves felt when, for instance, the intuitive suddenly finds himself entangled with a highly unsuitable woman—or, in the case of a woman, with an unsuitable man—because these persons have stirred up the archaic sensations.” - Psychological Types.

I can hardly argue in favor of the “unsuitable” part, but there’s no need to really explain the other one, right? “Déjà vu” and all. That’s the “magical” part of Introverted Sensation, which transforms the sensed objects into symbols of the collective psyche through impressing it onto them. And in case of inferior Sensation, as presented above, those filtered sensations become “effective entities” on their own right since the archetypal forces of the unconscious control them, possessing them even. This strengthens the idea of Ryoji’s attraction being rooted not only in the forgotten or unconscious memories of when he was Pharos, existing in a liminal state between consciousness and unconsciousness, but also points to how those memories are themselves mixed with archaic, mythological imagery, and that only has one source.

The protagonist is Ryoji’s “alchemist” and thus an equal to his “mother”, a reflection of Nyx as Death’s “mother”, the “black ocean” from which the transmuted golden egg (or seed) was extracted. This relationship is also pointed out by the fortune teller in club Escapade during January, explaining how “nothingness is the other face of the infinite world/universe”, ultimately hinting at the same thing I explained through the inferior Sensation: the oneness between the figure of Nyx and Makoto (understanding him as a symbol for all humanity).

In particular, I think the image above is perfect for this, since not only Nyx’s core and Makoto are (close to be) superimposed with each other, but also due to the black spiral in the background. The spiral also appears on the Great Seal’s surface, and within this context I have to quote Jung once more:

“We can hardly escape the feeling that the unconscious process moves spiral-wise round a centre, gradually getting closer, while the characteristics of the centre grow more and more distinct. Or perhaps we could put it the other way round and say that the centre—itself virtually unknowable—acts like a magnet on the disparate materials and processes of the unconscious and gradually captures them as in a crystal lattice. For this reason the centre is (in other cases) often pictured as a spider in its web (fig. 108), especially when the conscious attitude is still dominated by fear of unconscious processes.” - Psychology and Alchemy.

The book and even the own paragraph goes on to say that the “centre” is the Self (along with a noteworthy mention of the orphic egg again). But more importantly is the mention of the web here, representing consciousness’ “fear” of joining into the endless spiral that moves around without end, and its connection to the first kanji of Ryoji’s name: “綾”, which means “twill weave” or a “pattern of diagonal stripes”, a textile element that shouldn’t be so different from a web. Needless to say, all of that is connected to the figure of the alchemist/crafter and that of a mother.

The scarf in the first image, due to the fetal position of Ryoji, can be read as an umbilical (normally red) cord connecting him to Makoto/the “mother”, while the second is a little more explicit with the association to the red thread of fate—and what other fate there’s but death? Ryoji’s inherent connection to Death and Nyx is expressed through the “golden cord” that his scarf is, which can also be read as a noose, and as a manifestation of the inferior Sensation, the static element that eternally joins him to his source.

(Scan uploaded by Vesk)

Even the final resolution of Ryoji and Makoto, the white stone and pure dove incarnated, can’t abandon the chain that binds them to death and its hellish fire. However, this time is a willing acceptance of its existence, holding it with one’s hand instead of letting it strangle the individual unconsciously. Even the hands at the waist are holding each other gently, representing the final union of the “lovers” at the top of the alembic—at the top of Tartarus—in the form of a winged spirit.

“The united bodies of sulphur and argent vive, usually symbolized by a pair of lovers, are killed, dissolved and laid in a grave to putrefy during the stage known as the *nigredo. Their souls fly to the top of the alembic while the blackened *hermaphroditic body is sublimed, distilled and purified. When the body is cleansed to perfect whiteness it is then reunited with the soul (or united soul and spirit).” - A Dictionary of Alchemical Imagery.

Death is fate indeed, and in that fire, change and life. It’s the ultimate “fetter” that no one can go against, let alone the immortals that do not fear it.

[agendabymooner]

his family and her lover ! george r. x ofc (alessandro sister!fashion designer!ofc)

summary: the people who criticized her seemed to have forgotten that she was a mother first and george russell’s older girlfriend second. OR the british mercedes driver already embraced his role as her children’s father the moment he met them and while everyone’s talking about it, nora alessandro’s more than okay with that.

content warning: use of explicit language, mentions of past emotionally abusive marriage (nothing graphic) misogyny, fluff, stepdad!george = dad!george, single mom!ofc, h8rs gonna h8, five year age gap, just a series of posts from dad!george, intro to nora alessandro (ofc)

note: if we can easily bag a driver could you just imagine being able to bag arthur leclerc? he’s only four years my senior. anyways, i hope you like this george russell post because i’ve been holding off on it for hecking weeks.

masterlist

THE FAST LANE DAILY

NORA ALESSANDRO: A FASHION WEEK DEBUT EMPOWERING WOMEN AND DEFYING STEREOTYPES

in the world of fashion, there are stories that go beyond the glitz and glamour of the runway. one such story is that of kara eleanora alessandro, affectionately known as nora. at the age of 32, nora recently hosted her first fashion week show, marking a significant milestone in her journey as a fashion designer. this article delves into nora's inspiring story of resilience, empowerment, and her commitment to promoting feminism and individuality through her clothing brand, karanora.

from boutiques to fashion week

nora's path to fashion week was not an easy one. for a decade, she tirelessly ran two boutiques in milan and tuscany, dreaming of becoming a successful fashion designer. along the way, she faced personal challenges, including a divorce and a custody battle for her two children. nora's unwavering determination, coupled with the support of her family, helped her overcome these obstacles.

a new beginning in london

when the opportunity finally arose, nora seized it and moved to london with her children. it was in this vibrant city that she established her business headquarters for karanora, a clothing brand that would soon capture the attention of fashion enthusiasts. despite being based in the uk, nora's italian roots remained an integral part of her brand's identity.

breaking stereotypes with suits

nora's first clothing collection showcased suits and three-piece ensembles designed for everyone, with a particular emphasis on empowering women. this collection held a personal significance for nora, as she had been discouraged from wearing suits by her ex-husband, who deemed them too masculine for her. through her designs, nora aimed to challenge societal norms and promote the freedom of self-expression.

a powerful fashion show

nora's debut fashion show was an emotional and empowering event. in her speech, she shared the inspiration behind her collection, expressing her desire for her children to grow up with the freedom to express themselves through their clothing choices. her words resonated with the audience, highlighting the importance of feminism and individuality.

support from the f1 community

nora's connection to the f1 community added an extra layer of significance to her fashion show. notable figures, including her brother-in-law, f1 driver daniel ricciardo, were in attendance. some f1 drivers even wore customized and tailored clothing from karanora. among the guests was f1 mercedes driver george russell, who had been dating nora for two years. george proudly wore a suit personally crafted by nora, showcasing his support for her brand and her vision.

navigating controversy

unfortunately, nora's newfound success was met with criticism from her ex-husband, martin lombardi, a low-level celebrity in italy. lombardi expressed disapproval of nora's choices, including her decision to move the children to the uk and her relationship with george russell. however, george remained unfazed by the comments, emphasizing that nora had been the sole parent to their children before he entered their lives. he spoke of his admiration for nora's hard work and dedication to her brand and family.

nora alessandro's journey from running boutiques in italy to hosting her first fashion week show in london is a testament to her resilience and determination. through her brand, karanora, nora promotes feminism, individuality, and the freedom to express oneself through fashion. her debut fashion show was a powerful statement, inspiring women and challenging societal stereotypes. with the support of her loved ones and the f1 community, nora continues to make her mark in the fashion industry, empowering others to embrace their true selves.

tagged nora_alessandro

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, oscarpiastri

user1 cr*dle robber 🤢

user2 she’s giving gold digger ngl

user3 a girlfriend with two kids? yeah she’s def tryna get that bag

user4 best nora content ever ❤️🥰

user5 miiiiilf 😩

landonorris i’m surprised she lasted longer with you 😕 liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 a simple congratulations would’ve sufficed but thank you lando!

danielricciardo ok maybe occasionally you’re my favourite brit. happy anniversary to you two! liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 something nice? loricciardo your husband must have a fever

danielricciardo i take it back 😒 there’s a reason why lando is beau’s godfather

colabebe soooo sweet!!! 😍😍 happy anniversary georgie porgie and nora!!! liked by georgerussell63

nora_alessandro grazie, mia cara! non consiglierei di chiamarlo così perché lo odia e izzie ha l'abitudine di copiare le parole di sua zia 🤣❤️ i wouldn’t recommend calling him that because he hates it and izzie has a bad habit of copying her aunt’s words. liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 yes i beg of you not to call me that in person. it took izzie a while to call me daddy SO PLEASE don’t call me that

landonorris ok georgie porgie 🤣

georgerussell63 you’re not invited in our house anymore landonorris

loricciardo happy anniversary george and nora!!! ❤️❤️ liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 thank you lo! hope to see you and beau soon! ❤️

nora_alessandro happy anniversary to you, mio caro 🥰 thank you so much for the love you’re giving me and the love you have for the kids ❤️❤️ gabby and izzie loves you soooo much!!! liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 happy anniversary my love ❤️ i’m so glad to have you and our kids

georgerussell63 posted a story!

tagged nora_alessandro

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, mateoales

user1 PRINCE GEORGE?!

user2 when prince george finally became a thing 😩

user3 girl it’s been a thing… remember the royal family?

user4 this post literally screams “izzie is daddy’s favourite” and i love it ❤️

user5 george loves these kids sm like nobody’s boyfriend would spend shitloads of money just so their gf’s daughter could have the party she wants

user6 as of this point he might as well just adopt them in papers 😭😭 i love this family sm

danielricciardo sick party lad ✊ liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 it probably didn’t help that we had too much gelato that ruined our diets but thank you mate! my partner in crime did really good with designing the party itself

landonorris how you’ve managed to pull this off in two weeks is mind blowing 🤯 liked by georgerussell63

alex_albon lando, lad, he literally makes powerpoint presentations. if he can make a 20 slide presentation in one night he can get in call with those event planning people about the pumpkin carriage rental 😌 liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 glad to know one of you has a faith in me, at least 😕

loricciardo if this is how you plan izzie’s party i can’t imagine how you’ll plan gabby’s 🥰👀 liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 gabby wants rockets and space 😁😁 i’ve been trying to get a quote from the same people who organized izzie’s birthday party. it’s an exciting time for me

loricciardo planning out your kids’ parties? i can tell you’re having fun with the organizing 🤣

georgerussell63 nobody can plan their parties better than their daddy 😎

nora_alessandro she really loved her party tesoro 💙💙 liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63 i’m glad she does 😍 she’s my little princess after all 💙

user6 dilf george really makes me want to get on my knees and tie my hair up ngl 😩🤤

user7 that’s just your daddy issues talking lol

BONUS !!!

PS nora and george’s kids:

gabriele theodore ‘gabby’ alessandro

maris henrietta ‘izzie’ alessandro

[youbutstupid]

I’m so guilty of missing Elle out of my last post so here is why I think she was such an important character in season 1 in order to set the basis for the show and how, in my opinion, her journey represents the journey of the audience

At the beginning of the series, Elle seemed almost hopeful about the BAU and was very eager to make an impression on Gideon. She was determined and optimistic to make her mark on the team and to carve her place.

She was successful in this too and she made her mark clearly, especially with Reid and Morgan who both seemed to trust her immensely and consider her a friend quite quickly.

Despite this optimistic view on her job, she began to notice cracks and point them out to the audience, and these cracks were how law enforcement dealt with women, particularly female victims. Whilst the men on the BAU tried to sympathetic, they lacked tact and there are multiple episodes where Elle recognised this.

Despite this, she still remained positive in her involvement in the team and tried to fill in these cracks by herself as the only female field agent on the team at the time. That is until the Fisher King.

During the Fisher King, Elle realised just how flawed the team was; not only the team but the system itself.

She tried to call out for help but the only one who seemed to show up was Reid and as a 24 year old with a limited view, he wasn’t much help. She was completely alone and she realised that she was feeling the same loneliness that the victims she helped everyday was dealing with.

She tried to come back to the field, but as she watched the system continue to fail women and leave them vulnerable, she felt her own fear and took matters into her own hands, which would ultimately lead to her leaving the team as she would have no choice to.

Her story hits the audience with the fact that what they are watching is not justice being served; it is not a perfect crime show. They’re watching a team which is flawed be part of a system which is flawed and it forces the audience to view the victims in a different light as we were able to see their fear through Elle’s eyes.

The issues Elle raised also foreshadow the issues that’ll be faced in the exact season she leaves in. She raises the issue that female victims never actually get justice, and we see this in Season 2 episode 18 after she has left. She also raised the issue that the team were not there to help her when she needed it, and Reid suffers from this himself also in season 2.

At first, the audience may think of Elle as irrational however later in the season, after she has left, all of her points are proved right.

She was only there for one full season but her character was used very clearly in order to convey the flaws in the show that we are watching and we are made to realise some of the same things she does as she does. She started out with a positive view just like all of us did, but her loss of hope in the system causes the audience to question it, only for her to be proven completely right not long after she is gone.

Idk if I fully made sense there, but she was just such a perfect character

[botanicalsword]

Karmic synastry • part 1 ♡

✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • .

Mars trine Pluto

Venus trine Pluto

8 House synastry

12 House synastry

Photo credit @le.sinex

Mars trine Pluto ✧ Passionate love

When a Mars (passion) is stimulated by Pluto (intensity), Mars’ desire deepens and becomes more passionate.

The trine aspect between Mars and Pluto is not very intense at first, but it becomes deeper over time.

As the relationship progresses, Mars’ passion matures and gains depth from Pluto’s inner intensity.

The initial attraction between Pluto's enigmatic qualities and Mars's stimulated desires grows stronger over time, resulting in a powerful connection. Pluto's tendency to delve deeper into the relationship can sometimes lead to a sense of possessiveness or a desire for control, while Mars' focus on accomplishment can sometimes lead to a lack of emotional connection or depth.

It indicates a slow but potent awakening of passion.

✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • .

Venus trine Pluto ✧ Unconditional Love

Venus seeks to explore what true love really is through their intense emotions. Venus easily learns an important emotional lesson from Pluto.

Venus is a planet that has been studied extensively by astronomers.

The goddess Venus, is known for her role in Roman mythology as the goddess of love. In astrology, Venus is often associated with emotions, particularly those related to love and relationships.

Venus is used to represent the exploration of true love through intense emotions. The concept of true love has been written about extensively in literature and has been the subject of many philosophical debates. Through the exploration of Venus, we can gain a deeper understanding of this complex and powerful emotion.

Additionally, the role of Pluto in this exploration is significant. Pluto, the god of the underworld, is often associated with death and rebirth. Through his interactions with Venus, he teaches an important emotional lesson. This lesson may be related to the cyclical nature of love, or perhaps the transformative power of intense emotions. Whatever the lesson may be, it is clear that Venus's exploration of true love is a complex and multifaceted journey that is worth exploring in depth.

There is a willingness to love the other person unconditionally, even if they have other relationships or want to leave. Venus does not need to "protect" itself through jealousy or possessiveness.

Pluto's influence can help Venus learn how to love in a way that is persistent yet non-possessive. This allows the love to endure despite changes in the relationship.

This type of tenacious yet non-possessive love comes closer to true love because it is not dependent on reciprocation or the other person staying. The love exists for its own sake, without attachments or conditions.

Once that lesson is learned, the connection that initially brought these two together fades, though the impact of the personal growth remains.

✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • . ✧. • .

8th House & 12th House - Part 1

Difference between 8th and 12th house

Relationships associated with the 8th and 12th house can be complex, intense, and sometimes conflictual.

Greater self-awareness and open communication can help navigate these dynamics more constructively.

@botanicalsword

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about High School Frenemy (EP 9 – 10): PART 1 – The ups and downs of Saint’s healing journey.

These two episodes gave me so many thoughts that I decided to separate them in three parts otherwise I think it would be too long. This first part will be about Saint’s healing journey. I’ve talked a lot about Shin and how rightful is his anger towards what Saint did to him in the past. I also believe it makes sense for him to forgive him because his relationship with Saint is definitely something very important to him (I won’t say more and if you’re curious you can read it in my previous random thoughts). Now, I want to focus on Saint, because I believe these episodes showed us more about him. I also think his reactions at the end of episode 10 will bring new challenges to his relationship with Shin, but in the end this is just a little setback. I’m convinced it will allow them to grow as a person and ultimately find a deeper meaning in the relationship itself. It has been proved that time, betrayal, fights and anger never truly separated them, so this new “hindrance” won’t do it too.

I admit I was a bit upset when Saint reversed back at the end of episode 10 to be the man who let his guilt consumes him. Especially, as we've seen Shin and him going towards a better understanding and having a more friendly connection. It all started from the point where Shin made sure Saint would stay at the school, even if he had to resort to childish game because their past makes it too complicated to just admit he would miss him. In the same way, Saint stepped in when Shin was ready to fight with Class 3 because their leader was harassing a girl from his campus. Saint also wants Shin to remain at school and not get expelled. He has been very vocal when it comes to tell Saint how much he wants to be his friend and for them to be close again. Begging, claiming his “love” in front of everyone, doing things for him or his little sister… there is nothing that can stop Saint from showing or saying how much important Shin is for him. Their bond is very strong. We haven't seen him being this close to anyone else. He may have some people who he is friendly with, but no one is as important as Saint is for him. That's why what he did in the past feels as much as a betrayal for us the viewers, as it can be for Shin.

However, despite the anger and the resentment Shin seems to have decided to forgive (and not forget I want to be clear about that because it's important) Saint. This willingness to put an end of the “feud” between them was clearly a good step towards Shin's own healing journey of what happened in the past. I think he isn't calling Saint “friend” again because he is trying to set boundaries to determine what are his needs. As for now, it is to spend time with Saint and to reconnect slowly. We've finally seen Shin smiling again when looking at Saint. As he let go of his anger and warmed up a bit to Saint, we can also see that it has a positive reaction on Saint too. Obviously how Saint will react is deeply linked to what Shin will say or do. There is no one he trusts more in his life, in the past or in the present. That's why when Ken comes with a deal to stop the “bullying” against Shin if Saint does something for him, he accepts. Saint wants Shin to be able to start anew and it's not going to be possible if there is always animosity and violence at school. This part of the episode, showed his devotion, but also highlighted how Shin also wants to protect Saint. They escaped a very dangerous situation together and it made them reminiscing their past friendship.

They were finding what fueled their relationship and it was glorious to see, unfortunately the past can't be rewritten and when they came back to Shin's house, his mother reminded them of what happened before. I have a confession to make: I was at first quite angry at her. It took me a while to see her point and to understand her. I think it's because I have compassion for Saint, despite what he did. However, I can also recognize that Shin's mother is doing it out of love for her son. She must have seen him crushed not just because he lost his dream after being too injured by Saint, but he also lost his best friend at the same time. When, Saint saw with his own eyes what his “ego-induced madness” did to his best friend, he never really apologized, he ran away. We've yet to see why Saint made this choice, but knowing his personality we can make a guess. First, I believe he started to feel guilty when he noticed the extent of his action. Secondly, and it works with my first guess, he probably believed that nothing would make it right and he decided it would be best to leave Shin alone.

Guilt can feel heavy and difficult to offload. The more you live with it, the less easy it is to let it go. It's been three years that Saint has been living with it and he has been self-punishing himself for that long. When Shin and his campus students were merged with Saint's class, I think Saint found there an opportunity to reconnect with Shin. The strength of their bond is so important that it may have temporarily made him act, despite his own guilt. I'm not saying he forgot about it, because it has always stays at the back of his mind, but I think the grasp it had on his mind was less important. When Shin's mother reminded them of what happened, it woke Saint's guilt up. That's why Saint told Shin he would avoid him again. Of course, Shin didn't react well because he sees Saint doing exactly the same thing he did to him back then. It brings back the memory of the betrayal and the abandonment issue he got from this time. It feels that Shin reacts more badly to this experience of being abandoned than the loss of his dream and the injury on his leg. It makes you wonder, if Saint had stayed, despite everything, would they have remained friends?!

Now about Saint's guilt, there is only one thing that could save him and also save his relationship with Shin: learning how to manage his guilt. He should avoid self bad talk. Yes, his behavior has been less than ideal in the past, but it doesn't define who he is now. He has grown up and he is actively trying to do better. He shouldn't decide for Shin and listen more to how he is feeling. Even if Shin has been rejected him a lot, he has also shown several times in the present how he is also willing to be close to him too. It's not easy to read, but knowing how close they are, I believe Saint may be able to really understand Shin. It's actually weird because Saint has shown, in some way, that he was trying to let go of his guilt, when he was making amends and apologize for his past behavior. So, you see that he tried, but a habit is hard to break. He has been feeling guilty for so long that it makes it hard to forget about it. In truth, what Saint needs to do is to forgive himself too. Even if Shin says out loud that he forgives him, he would never be able to forget what happened. The guilt would always come back and ruin their relationship. Only, by forgiving himself, he can work toward freeing himself from being stuck in the past.

Saint must break the cycle of punish himself for the past mistake, as if he could somehow “make up” the wrong that he has done by doing so. This will be one of the hardest challenge, because it is always harder to forgive ourselves. I want to add also that letting go of his guilt is not just moving on and forget what happened as if nothing bad was ever done. It is about self-compassion and allowing Saint to grow from the experiences he had. This is his journey of forgiveness so he can also heal and find peace. This is the only way for him to be able to reconnect with Shin. I just hope Shin will be able to understand it because Saint hasn't been able to do it by himself. It may be preposterous to ask Shin to understand Saint after what he has done to him, but I believe this is the only way that would really work with Saint.

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 102

Being married to Steve brought a sense of peace. We enjoyed cooking together, spending evenings in the garden, and cozying up by the fire. Yet, the holidays felt lonely with just the two of us. Natasha visited less often, buried under work commitments.

Steve still attended group therapy sessions, leaving me to my own thoughts. In those moments, old emotions resurfaced, reminding me of my ongoing journey through therapy. Despite making progress, I kept these feelings to myself. Steve valued those sessions deeply; they reflected his enduring commitment to making a positive impact, even in our quiet, everyday life. Helping others remained a core part of who he was.

To distract myself, I immersed myself in books and tended to the small herb garden I had planted. But nights were the hardest—sleep was where I couldn't hide the truth. My nightmares laid bare my troubled soul, waking me in a cold sweat, heart racing.

I often dreamed of my baby, hearing his cries as I ran but never reaching him in time. Afterward, Steve would comfort me, asking about my dreams. "Nothing specific," I'd reply, deflecting his concern. I didn’t want to reopen wounds he seemed to have healed from better than I had.

We hadn’t discussed having a child again, but I could see the hope in Steve's eyes whenever I mentioned that my period was late. I was determined not to let it happen again. I meticulously took my birth control pill every day at the same time, though I hadn’t shared this detail with him.

It wasn’t a secret—he knew I was on birth control—but he didn’t understand the panic that would grip me if I thought I had missed a dose. When I envisioned the future, I no longer saw laughing children, but I was too afraid to admit that to him.

I even started lying to my therapist, feeling ashamed of my lack of progress after nearly five years. It seemed she didn’t believe me, as she insisted on seeing me at least twice a month.

One day, Steve came back from a group therapy session later than usual, his expression a mix of stress and excitement.

"We might have found a way to bring everyone back," he said, and I could hardly believe it. He explained how Scott Lang, who we thought had vanished, had shown up at the compound gate, talking about time travel and asking for Tony’s help.

The plan was to retrieve the Infinity Stones, snap our fingers, and bring everyone back. It sounded fantastical, almost impossible. Still, two days later, Natasha, Steve, Scott, and I stood on Tony’s porch, trying to convince him of our wild plan.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Scott. Are you seriously telling me that your plan to save the universe is based on Back To The Future?" Tony asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"No," Scott replied, looking a little embarrassed.

"Good. You had me worried there, 'cause that'd be horse shit. That's not how quantum physics works," Tony shot back.

"Tony... we have to take a stand," Natasha urged, determination filling her voice.

"We did stand. And yet, here we are," he retorted, meeting our eyes.

"I know you have a lot on the line. You’ve got a wife, a daughter. But I lost someone important to me. A lot of people did," Scott continued, his voice rising with urgency. "Now we have a chance to bring them back. To bring everyone back. And you’re telling me that won’t even—"

"That's right, Scott, I won't even. I got a kid," Tony interrupted, just as his daughter came outside and jumped into his arms.

"Mommy told me to come and save you," she mumbled.

Tony glanced around, a wry smile creeping across his face. “Good job. I’m saved,” he said before looking at us again, nostalgia tinging his voice. “I wish you’d come here to ask me something else. Anything else, really. Honestly, I missed you guys. Oh, and the table’s set for seven.”

Steve stepped forward, concern etched on his face. “Tony, I get it. And I’m happy for you; I really am. But this is a second chance.”

Tony shook his head, determination hardening his expression. “I got my second chance right here, Cap. I can’t roll the dice again. If you don’t want to talk shop, you’re welcome to stay for lunch.”

The others moved back toward the car, but I lingered on the porch, feeling uncertain. Tony’s gaze shifted to me, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

I glanced at him, then at the little girl cradled in his arms, her frown mirroring my own thoughts. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” I said softly, the weight of my words hanging in the air. With that, I turned and joined the others, leaving Tony to ponder my warning.

“So, what do we do now?” I asked once we were back in the car, the engine humming softly as we pulled away.

“Hope that Bruce is willing to help us,” Natasha replied, her voice tinged with sadness at the mention of his name.

I pushed away thoughts of what bringing Bucky back could mean. Life had taught me that hope often led to disappointment, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that again.

I didn’t expect to meet the Hulk when we sat down at the diner to meet Bruce. Or rather, a mix of both. He was huge and green, but his features were unmistakably Bruce's, and his intelligence shone through. He seemed genuinely happy as he explained how he had stopped fighting the Hulk, embracing his full potential without losing himself in the process.

He was hesitant at first but eventually agreed to help us in our crazy endeavor. To our dismay, the entire process of sending someone through time turned into a disaster. Technically, it worked, but instead of sending grown-up Scott into the past and bringing him back the same, he returned as an old man. Moments later, he turned into a baby.

When all hope seemed lost, Tony showed up, holding his genius invention in one hand and Steve's shield in the other. He had built something he called a "Time-Space GPS" to resolve the issue that had turned Scott into an old man and then a baby. Things were getting serious now. It was time to get the whole team back together.

After countless nights of wracking our brains over how and when to get the stones, we finally settled on three teams. Each team would head to a different point in time to retrieve the stones. I would stay behind to monitor everything and ensure it all went smoothly. According to Tony, they’d be back in five seconds.

They did return, but when I looked into each of their faces and finally landed on Clint’s, I knew something had gone wrong.

“Where is Natasha?” I asked, my voice shaking as Clint fell to his knees.

“Clint, where is Nat?” Bruce echoed, his voice trembling as we all held our breaths.

He didn’t have to say anything; the look on his face said it all. She hadn’t made it. She had given her life for the stone.

I shook my head in denial, tears welling up as I covered my mouth with my hand. I should have said something when I had the chance, should have told them their idea was insane.

Anger surged through me, wishing Tony had never agreed to help. Who was to say this plan would even work? Who was to say Natasha hadn’t died for nothing?

I turned and ran off, but Steve reached for my hand. I shook him off, my voice breaking. “I need to be alone right now,” I said, tears spilling from my eyes as I walked away.

I collapsed onto the couch when I reached the common room, pulling my legs up and hugging them to my chest. It felt like life had taken so much from me, and it just kept taking, relentless in its cruelty. How much pain could one person endure before they broke completely?

Was this life even worth living anymore, I wondered. My thoughts were interrupted as the shutters closed over the windows, plunging the room into near darkness. I frowned, standing up. When I tried to head back to the others, I found the entrance to the lab sealed with metal doors.

I couldn’t make out the chaos inside until a loud whizzing noise cut through the thick metal, followed by a groan and a resounding bang that made me jump back in panic.

As the shutters slowly lifted, I saw Bruce sprawled on the ground, the glove housing the stones emitting a trail of smoke.

“Did it work?” he asked, wincing in pain.

“Worth a shot. It’s over. It’s okay,” Thor said, his voice steady, trying to reassure him.

I glanced at Clint as he answered a buzzing phone, his face a mix of joy and tears.

“Did it work?” I asked, my voice laced with hope and fear just as the sky darkened and chaos erupted around us.

Next Chapter

[aspd-culture]

What's a good way to maintain a relationship with someone who isn't readily manipulated by me? I like other traits and would prefer to not give up at this time but when I want her to do something and she won't do it, I either feel angry or lose interest in her. She isn't actually being disrespectful or anything, but it feels like she is as she just seems to kind of see through me and typically sticks to boundaries instead of doing what I want. Driving me crazy.

I'll note that, as much as I am trying to be neutral here, this question was somewhat triggering (nothing bad to you anon! just something I've dealt with multiple times personally). Therefore I may come off harsh despite that not being my intention. I have nothing against anon, as this type of thing is common for pwASPD to struggle with. However, this is one of the symptoms that does need to be worked on to be able to engage in healthy ways with other people.

Any advice I can give here is going to fall in one of two categories: respect her boundaries, or separate from her. I understand that sounds harsh, but it is just what it is if you take out the tips. I'm trying to get ahead of that so you're aware of it and don't feel tricked by the post. Now I have more details for that on how to make it easier on a person with ASPD, but that is what these are going to boil down to. I am not willing to encourage someone to break boundaries, nor to stop someone from setting boundaries. Intentionally trying to manipulate someone to get around their boundaries is abuse regardless of the nature of your relationship - familial, platonic, romantic, etc. - and I've been the victim of this too many times to allow for that to be condoned here. I know it's hard to unlearn that type of thing but it's just something that you have to do. One way or another, she deserves to have boundaries respected and to have autonomy. When we say "manipulation is not always bad" here, I am very distinctly referring to ways that are not harmful and not directly fighting the will of the person being manipulated. Getting someone to throw something out for me bc they like that I flirt with them in high school is not a harmful type of manipulation - until and unless they directly set a boundary around that behavior. At that point, continuing is not acceptable and while it took me time to learn that, I recognize now that that was a very important part of the journey to being a safe person to be around.

So, that said -

If you want to remain in her life, you'll need to learn to be comfortable with her boundaries. I'd recommend having some sort of communication where you are aware of the full list of boundaries that she has at the moment. That kind of an open dialogue is a tad awkward, but is a very reasonable accommodation to ask for. The reason I say this is that one big part of pwASPD's struggles with others' boundaries is more heat of the moment, or at least is worsened by the heat of the moment. Being told "I can't accept you doing this/I'm not willing to do this" outside of the context of a situation where it's actually happening can make it easier to avoid the frustration when you're actually in the situation where you want what the boundary does not allow. If you know in advance, for example, that your partner doesn't like to go to parties then it may be easier and less upsetting when you hear about a party you'd like to take them to and are aware that they will say no. In essence, this lets us say no to ourselves vs having someone else say no to us and that tends to give enough control in the situation back into our hands that we feel safe and our symptoms aren't triggered - or at least are less so. This is also a good time for you to hear all the boundaries and truly get a grasp on how you feel about continuing to be in her life considering them. Walking away from any type of relationship on the basis that your boundaries aren't compatible is a good and healthy choice, even if the person tries to convince you you're being sh*tty by not accepting all of them. At the end of the day, removing yourself from a situation with boundaries you cannot accept is, in itself, respecting those boundaries.

It's important to note, though, that these boundaries likely will not be the only boundaries this person has for the rest of however long you two are in each other's lives/for the rest of your lives. This does *not* mean you should stick around expecting boundaries to disappear or loosen, because that's not how that works. You should, however, prepare yourself and be aware of the fact that a new boundary may be set at any time, or that those boundaries may change to fit new situations you weren't expecting them to. No one is bound to only stick to the list of boundaries they've told you about as they originally defined them, so a part of this conversation may be you expressing that you need direct communication to inform you about changes in boundaries in the future.

If you can't respect her boundaries for any reason, then unfortunately all I can say is that you need to remove yourself because that's really the only healthy decision that can be made in that circumstance. Depending on the nature of your relationship, there may be ways to do this that don't involve losing her entirely (for example, if you two are dating and the boundaries you're struggling with her upholding aren't applicable in the nature of a friendship, then if she wants you guys could continue to stay friends), or it may be a matter where that's not possible or isn't what one or both of you want. That'll be something to discuss amongst the two of you.

Plain text below the cut:

I'll note that, as much as I am trying to be neutral here, this question was somewhat triggering (nothing bad to you anon! just something I've dealt with multiple times personally). Therefore I may come off harsh despite that not being my intention. I have nothing against anon, as this type of thing is common for pwASPD to struggle with. However, this is one of the symptoms that does need to be worked on to be able to engage in healthy ways with other people.

Any advice I can give here is going to fall in one of two categories: respect her boundaries, or separate from her. I understand that sounds harsh, but it is just what it is if you take out the tips. I'm trying to get ahead of that so you're aware of it and don't feel tricked by the post. Now I have more details for that on how to make it easier on a person with ASPD, but that is what these are going to boil down to. I am not willing to encourage someone to break boundaries, nor to stop someone from setting boundaries. Intentionally trying to manipulate someone to get around their boundaries is abuse regardless of the nature of your relationship - familial, platonic, romantic, etc. - and I've been the victim of this too many times to allow for that to be condoned here. I know it's hard to unlearn that type of thing but it's just something that you have to do. One way or another, she deserves to have boundaries respected and to have autonomy. When we say "manipulation is not always bad" here, I am very distinctly referring to ways that are not harmful and not directly fighting the will of the person being manipulated. Getting someone to throw something out for me bc they like that I flirt with them in high school is not a harmful type of manipulation - until and unless they directly set a boundary around that behavior. At that point, continuing is not acceptable and while it took me time to learn that, I recognize now that that was a very important part of the journey to being a safe person to be around.

So, that said -

If you want to remain in her life, you'll need to learn to be comfortable with her boundaries. I'd recommend having some sort of communication where you are aware of the full list of boundaries that she has at the moment. That kind of an open dialogue is a tad awkward, but is a very reasonable accommodation to ask for. The reason I say this is that one big part of pwASPD's struggles with others' boundaries is more heat of the moment, or at least is worsened by the heat of the moment. Being told "I can't accept you doing this/I'm not willing to do this" outside of the context of a situation where it's actually happening can make it easier to avoid the frustration when you're actually in the situation where you want what the boundary does not allow. If you know in advance, for example, that your partner doesn't like to go to parties then it may be easier and less upsetting when you hear about a party you'd like to take them to and are aware that they will say no. In essence, this lets us say no to ourselves vs having someone else say no to us and that tends to give enough control in the situation back into our hands that we feel safe and our symptoms aren't triggered - or at least are less so. This is also a good time for you to hear all the boundaries and truly get a grasp on how you feel about continuing to be in her life considering them. Walking away from any type of relationship on the basis that your boundaries aren't compatible is a good and healthy choice, even if the person tries to convince you you're being sh*tty by not accepting all of them. At the end of the day, removing yourself from a situation with boundaries you cannot accept is, in itself, respecting those boundaries.

It's important to note, though, that these boundaries likely will not be the only boundaries this person has for the rest of however long you two are in each other's lives/for the rest of your lives. This does *not* mean you should stick around expecting boundaries to disappear or loosen, because that's not how that works. You should, however, prepare yourself and be aware of the fact that a new boundary may be set at any time, or that those boundaries may change to fit new situations you weren't expecting them to. No one is bound to only stick to the list of boundaries they've told you about as they originally defined them, so a part of this conversation may be you expressing that you need direct communication to inform you about changes in boundaries in the future.

If you can't respect her boundaries for any reason, then unfortunately all I can say is that you need to remove yourself because that's really the only healthy decision that can be made in that circumstance. Depending on the nature of your relationship, there may be ways to do this that don't involve losing her entirely (for example, if you two are dating and the boundaries you're struggling with her upholding aren't applicable in the nature of a friendship, then if she wants you guys could continue to stay friends), or it may be a matter where that's not possible or isn't what one or both of you want. That'll be something to discuss amongst the two of you.

[blissfulfandomingmess]

Bridgerton Season 3 Is Completely Out - Here's My Thoughts (Not Spoiler Free!)

I never expected myself to become a sucker for Bridgerton yet here we are. It started after promotion for Season 3 began earlier this year. They began to drop the snippets, specifically the infamous "your eyes are the most remarkable shade of blue" scene. So, as soon as these scenes dropped, I felt some appeal. However, Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton really PULLED me into the trap. The PR and their genuine friendship brought me so much comfort and idealization. I still feel like an imposter in this fandom as I haven't watched the show from beginning to end. I'm hesitant to start it. I've already found myself being emotionally attached to these characters and their actors. It's formed a hyperfixation so that's a great new addition to my shelf of many fixations. But with that comes, a lot of dread to start a series in fear of me disliking their characters in previous seasons or feeling no appeal to other characters. I don't want to be that person.

Yet I still watched Season 3. I may not know every character and have a basic rundown of what's happened in previous seasons but I've enjoyed what I've seen. The first part of Season 3 focused on establishing the friends-to-lovers phenomenon between Colin and Penelope. Some aspects felt rushed but to me, it was pretty well done. However, when it comes to covering a book, there should definitely be more aspects of the book included. Many things were excluded, some for completely valid reasonings and others that didn't make sense. As many of the dearest gentle readers watched the second half of the season, many have echoed the same disappointment. Where was his declaration of love from the books? Why was there more anger than happy scenes? Why did they seem to skip many events from the book adaption?

Before we delve into this deeper, if you haven't read the original book (Romancing Mister Bridgerton: Penelope & Colin's Story by Julia Quinn), this is what we as a fandom are referring to:

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “I love you with everything I am, everything I've been, and everything I hope to be.” “I love you with my past, and I love you for my future.” He bent forward and kissed her, once, softly, on the lips.

In many ways, we technically got something similar to this towards the end of Episode 8 but most longtime readers and watchers were looking forward to this moment. Not only that but the almost reversed sequence of events. However, this isn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, this is a live-action adaption of the novelization. The novelization will forever reign superior.

Stlll, Luke and Nicola brought these characters to life with their blood, sweat, and tears. You can see through their art how serious and important these characters are to them. I think it's fair to say that I cannot wait to see them in future seasons, even though, they will no longer be the leads. I think that's another reason I dreaded the end of this season. I've enjoyed all the press, interviews, photoshoots, and friends made along the way.

To finish this off, I would like to applaud Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton. Not only did they provide us with happiness and joy but they showed their close friendship, highlighting their immense respect for each other. You don't see things like this in this business often. Of course, they played into some aspects of the PR but their friendship was never PR despite sites like DeuxMoi wanting to claim.

And with that dearest gentle readers, this is where we part. Not literally but this season has been an amazing journey for us all. I can't wait to see what the future has in store. I hope and pray that Nicola and Luke remain friends through all hate and rumors, as well. This won't be the last you hear of my Bridgerton ranting and rambling as I hope to actually start from beginning to end. I hope you all enjoyed this season as much as I have, even with some of the hurdles with the second half.

[thetormentita]

ad astra per aspera - prœmium

Dulce et decorum est pro cor cupiditatis mori.

Pairings: Lucilla x General Marcus Acacius.

A/n: our sweet julia cannot imagine how much power she holds in her hands.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and slavery.

Rating: Mature (+16)

Tagging list: @maegelletargaryen

Whispers. No matter where she goes, where she is, she can constantly hear whispers around her.

But she is used to it.

There was a time where people just ignored her, where her father had just been a governor and they all lived far from Rome and its claws. Cherished by their parents, the four of them knew happiness even before their father fought for the Empire and his legion claimed him as Emperor. Even today she can hear their yells, see all those men swear fealty to their leader, ready to die for him if asked to. Even Gaius, her eldest brother, her protector, had offered himself willingly to serve their father.

How much she misses him.

“Domina.” It takes Hala three times to call her attention. When she turns to face her, the warmth of those dark eyes is almost soothing. “We could postpone this if you are not ready,” the woman suggests gently, her voice carrying a note of concern. She is one of the few who remains by her side, a loyal servant from her childhood.

“No” a lazy hand reaches the woman’s, caring, and a soft smile upon her lips. “Let me at least do something to be remembered of.”

The servant nods, understanding flashing in her eyes. "As you wish, Domina."

They move through the corridors of the imperial palace, footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor as they reach their destination, her own guard observing them as they pass. The only thing the late emperor left to his only daughter: her own guards among the Praetorians.

Julia knows she has to be swift, because the oncoming arrival of her brothers brings high chances of them being in the mood to make their best efforts to throw her reputation to the ground and spit on it again and again or even harm her physically, their thirst for power making them blind to kinship and honor.

As they approach the library, she takes deep breaths to steady her nerves, knowing that she could only rely on her wit and her looks to make her way out of the hell she lives. Past the door awaits Cassius Dio, consul and close friend of her late father, who quickly stands up and bows to her as she approaches him, relishing on the warm of the Greek’s hands upon hers as a part of his greetings to her. A quick look towards her companion is enough for the Syrian to stay vigilant.

“I am most honored, princess. The blood of your father runs thick on your veins.”

Julia tries her best to be nice to that man, whose eyes witnessed the chaos preceding Emperor Septimius Severus’ reign, because her instinct tells her that he is different than other politicians, perhaps even trustworthy in a world where trust is a rare commodity. His words, though flattering, carry a weight of sincerity and melancholy, both of them missing the days when Septimius had all the power in his hands.

“Our roots are important, and we must not forget our mistakes if we do not want to repeat them. Take all you need from this library, and, I beg you, make sure we all remember.”

She wants to talk. She wants to cry for help. Despite her young age, Julia Septimia feels the heavy burden of her lineage and the responsibility it entails. But as she looks into the eyes of the man before her, she finds an unexpected glimmer of hope and understanding. It is as if he sees not just the daughter of a once powerful family but a young woman burdened with a legacy that is both a gift and a curse. His gaze is kind, devoid of the judgment and expectation that have followed Julia all her life.

“Princess” Cassius licks his lips before continuing, his voice steady and reassuring, “forgive my forwardness, but I see the weight you carry on your shoulders, the silent battles you fight every day. You are not alone in this journey.” as he talks, she notices his dark eyes upon the gash on her lower lip, still fresh from the last slap of her eldest brother, his golden ring tearing the soft flesh as it had struck her. Julia feels a pang of vulnerability at that moment, a sensation she is not accustomed to allowing herself to experience, especially in the presence of someone she barely knows. “People constantly seek for somebody to put their eyes on, and it is you.” she raises her eyebrows, silent, trying to gauge what exactly he means by those words. His gaze, though intense, does not feel threatening. It is as if he is trying to reach out to her, to pierce through the walls she has meticulously built around herself. His voice carries a weight of sincerity that is hard to ignore. “I saw it, princess. At the amphitheater, the circus, the forum… You a are not your brothers, and the people knows.”

Her hands tremble slightly as he talks, and her gaze goes to the floor as she fidgets with the trim of her tunic.

“Shut up.” she finds herself hissing, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of vulnerability and defiance. “Shut up or you could be punished. It is treason to even think about it and you know it well.”,

His expression softens, the intensity in his eyes replaced with something akin to compassion. He steps close, reducing the space between them to mere inches. “And what is life without a little risk?” he asks gently, his voice a soothing murmur that contrasts sharply with the tension in the air. “To live in fear is no life at all. We were not born to cower under the shadow of tyranny, to silence the truth that beats within our hearts. Yes, it is a risk, perhaps the greatest we will ever take. But consider what is at stake –our freedom, our rights, the very essence of what we are.”

His words hang in the stillness, a challenge and an invitation all at once. The conviction in his gaze is unwavering, a beacon in the turmoil that surrounds them.

“You are versed in history and philosophy, speak Greek, Latin and Punic and appreciate the arts. Imagine little Fulvius growing up with his aunt by his side guiding him. No terror, no madness, only peace and prosperity.”

His left hand goes to her arm, and she flinches at the contact, not from fear, but the intensity of the moment. Her mind races, considering the weight of hi thes words. The future he paints is one of enlightenment and education, a stark contrast to the chaos that has become their reality. The very thought of little Fulvius, with his curious eyes and eager mind, much like his father, fills her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t realized she was missing. She imagines him wandering the halls of a grand library, his little fingers tracing the spines of books filled with the knowledge of ages past. His laughter, pure and untainted by the world’s harsh truths, echoing through the corridors, a beacon of hope in a time of uncertainty.

If only Gaius was here to protect his son.

“Take what you need and leave” she takes two steps back, pretending as she always does, the fragile doe surrounded by beasts ready to flay her. “I opened the doors of the home of my family to you, do not make me regret it.”

She knows well how to pretend, how to make herself look more docile and vulnerable than she truly is. This has always been her greatest defense, her ability to deceive those who would underestimate her strength and resolve. Her voice, though soft and trembling, carries an undercurrent of steel, a testament to the fire that burns within her, hidden from view but ever-present. Her eyes, while glistening with unshed tears, hold a glimmer of defiance, a silent challenge to those who dare to confront her.

The only thing the consul does is to bow respectfully, masking his skepticism, before she turns and goes to the door, her movements graceful yet determined. The consul watches her, a flicker of doubt crossing his face as he contemplates the true extent of her power, the strength hidden beneath her serene exterior. She pauses at the threshold, casting a lingering look over her shoulder, one that speaks volumes without a word being uttered. She gives herself a moment before leaving him alone, calling the attention of one of the servants waiting nearby. With a subtle gesture, she instructs the servant to bring refreshments for the consul, an action that carries an undercurrent of command and assurance that does not go unnoticed to Cassius.

…

The absence of the sweet Julia Septimia is clearly noted, quick and silent murmurs begin to run along the box as the ludus keep going to distract the population and its rulers.

“Maybe the lad is unwell. You know how much she cares for him.”

Lucilla’s eyes go to the empty space behind the emperors, who clearly are busy with their amusement, leaving any worry aside. They had always carried their sister with them to any kind of spectacule, a silent reminding of the sanctity of family, of the strenght that seems to beneath the remaining children of Septimius Severus, and rarely had shown themselves without her if they have had the chance.

“Allow me to not believe it.” she mumbles, her hand searching his as her eyes remain fixed on that empty space.

If only she had been the one chosen by Septimius.

“Allow me to wonder why you worry that much about her, dear.”

She knows. She has been in that place, the dutiful sister of a madman, exhibited like a prize for the eyes of Rome to look up to.

She was allowed to marry and escape. Julia is not. There had been a number of men who had asked for her hand, ones for love, others for power and gold, and every single one of them had ended sent to the confines of the Empire or dead or just vanished from earth. For a moment she wonders what would have been of her if it weren’t for her general.

“I know what it feels like.” she mumbles, only for him to hear, her voice barely rising above the whispers of the elite that surround them.