#his reality's become an illusion. he continued to hold on to his memories as he denies the fragmented incomplete world that is /now/

[angelsdean]

I Saw the TV Glow -- and it showed me Destiel parallels

It's been days and I still cannot stop thinking about I Saw the TV Glow. I keep rotating thoughts of it in comparison to SPN in my mind, but not in the obvious way of their lives essentially being a TV show / god's favorite show, because in SPN there isn't a split sense of reality. The TV show IS their lives, but they are not separate from themselves, looking in on their true selves. And unlike in the film, the TV show aspect of their lives is the falsehood, what we see of SPN as audience members is heavily filtered and censored, ghostfacers effect, etc, and their true reality exists beneath the show itself. While in the film the "real world" is the falsehood and the TV show is their true reality and true selves.

But anyway, what I keep rotating around, the parallels that keep gripping me, revolve around Cas and Heaven's manipulations and use of brainwashing, simulation, and illusions. Cas and Owen parallel in the sense that they are continuously both kept from knowing their True Feelings, and then their best friend helps them unlock those feelings / the Truth.

Owen, as a child, is kept from watching The Pink Opaque because it has the power to unlock the truth about his identity. He is then introduced to The Pink Opaque by his later-friend, Maddy. This begins to unlock feelings in him that he doesn't quite understand yet or have a name for. When the truth about the show is revealed to him and he unlocks those memories of his past and his true self he is then taken by a parent to have the memories purged as he screams (hello Naomi lobotomies).

Similarly, Cas has been kept from remembering his feelings toward humanity. He has always been the broken angel, the one with a crack in his chassis (and hello the imagery at the end of the film of Owen cracking himself open and letting the light spill out!) When Cas declares, "For the first time, I feel" this isn't necessarily a true statement. This is not the first time he has felt emotions for humanity, it is not the first time he has contemplated rebellion or had doubts, or had feelings period. We learn later that Cas has always had this rebellious streak and has been the subject of routine lobotomies his whole life. He was made to forget. Made to forget his past, his true rebellious self, the fact that he is capable of free will. But Dean becomes his link and anchor to humanity, and through Dean Cas rediscovers his feelings and his identity. Dean also introduces him to the world of humanity in a real way, rather than how Cas has been experiencing it for billions of years, detached as a mere spectator. Dean therefore presents both Maddy and the show The Pink Opaque itself. It's also significant to me that much of Dean and Cas's relationship revolves around Dean teaching him pop culture things. Cas doesn't get the reference. Dean holds the keys to pop culture knowledge and educates Cas, much like how Maddy introduces Owen to The Pink Opaque. Dean and Cas also spend a lot of time off camera watching TV together. Dean shows him Tombstone. They have weekly family movie nights where they are all subjected to The Lost Boys up to 36 times (and counting!).

While what Maddy helps Owen unlock is his own feelings about his gender and identity, Dean helps unlock Cas's very human feelings, his sexuality, and remind him of his own free will and rebellious nature. Through Dean, Cas comes to love and care about humanity deeper than he has before, but he always had the capacity for this love, he was simply made to forget and kept from connecting to humanity on this deeper level.

Then there are the parallels within The Pink Opaque. Tara (Maddy, Dean) and Isabel (Owen, Cas) share a profound kind of bond. They are linked, psychically and must fight "the man in the moon", Mr. Melancholy, who sends supernatural threats to their world to wreak havoc and suffering. His ultimate goal is to trap them in the "Midnight Realm" where they are asleep and suffocating, unaware of their true selves (the world Maddy and Owen live in). I see both parallels to Chuck and the Empty in Mr. Melancholy. As Mr. Melancholy despises Tara and Isabel for the power of their connection, Chuck too despises Dean and Cas's connection and love, which proves to be the one thing he can't control, the two of them thwarting his plans from the start. The Empty also has it out for them, specifically Cas, who she wishes to put to sleep forever in punishment for disrupting her world. The Empty is a place of eternal sleep and darkness, where you are left to dream forever, which is reminiscent of the Midnight Realm. (I am also thinking about the finale and Fake Heaven and Chuck Won Theories and Heaven being a part of Destiel's Midnight Realm. Dean locked away in Heaven, Cas locked away in the Empty--until I SEE Cas I will always be skeptical about him being "out" of the Empty--both separated from each other, unable to reconnect because together they are a threat to Chuck, just how Tara and Isabel are separated and put in graves to suffocate to prevent them from defeating Mr. Melancholy.

Finally, thinking about a few other symbols and imagery from the film. Such as how in order to be "lulled" to sleep in the Midnight Realm one of the first steps is to cut out the victim's heart. The person is still alive, but this integral part of them is missing and they are weaker without it. It reminds me of Cas having his grace forcefully cut out by Metatron and being cast down to Earth, forced to live without a piece of himself, a part of him that is so tied to his identity. I am also thinking about Dean's heart repeatedly being threatened throughout the series. Billie targeting his heart. Dean symbolically losing his heart when Cas is taken by the Empty. Dean left to go on without Cas, losing hope without his heart, suffocating and ending up dead and in a fake world (Heaven).

Another image that stuck with me and immediately reminded me of Cas is at the end of the film when Owen cracks himself open and finally acknowledges the truths about himself he's been repressing and ignoring his whole life; he looks into the mirror and smiles. He experiences a moment of joy and peace. The expression reminds me of Cas standing beatific after his declaration of love. The light shining on his face, his moment of truth, this moment where he gives himself permission to be happy and acknowledge these feelings. However, for Owen this is a hopeful first step, for Cas it is seemingly the end of his story. But! There Is Still Time. For Cas and Dean. For Owen. For all of us.

[Disclaimer: I am very aware of the trans metaphor of the film and the fact that Owen is Isabel, and I do view Owen as trans. For the purposes of this post I am using the pronouns (he/him) that are used for Owen throughout the film and by the actors and director when speaking about Owen's scenes. I debated over this a lot, but since the director themself has used he/him pronouns for Owen when discussing the film and no other preferred pronouns are used or stated by Owen in the film I feel this makes the most sense for the sake of this post. I mean absolutely no disrespect.]

[luimagines]

BOO! Hewwo!!!

I’m sure someone’s requested this already but I wanted to add into the hype- Part 2 for “there was only one bed” 🥺 ILY HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

Of course! Thank you, Anti! You got it, Bestie!

Masterlist

This follows the first part, where you can read right here!

It includes Legend, Wild and Warrior.

Content under the cut.

Legend

Legend woke up in the middle night as thunder shattered the peace of the hour. Lightning lit up the room for brief moments of time before he was shrouded in darkness once more.

There a spark in Legend’s mind that he was home again. This was his bed. the storm was raging just before and the lightning... lit up the silhouette of his uncle as the lantern light caressed his old face. “Link.”

Legend’s breath hitched. He blinked and the vision was gone. The effects however were anything but. With his heart pounding and his breath becoming harder and harder to obtain, he could barely hold himself anchored to reality anymore.

It felt... wet? Was there water on his face?

Lightning strike again and Legend feels like he’s losing balance. He’s tossed left and right and up and down. Lightning strike again and it’s closer this time. He jumps and yells, trying to hold onto the rope and he sails the seas- no seeing an single island in sight-

“Link!” Hands land on his shoulders- shatter the second illusion of the night.

You look up at him, wide eyed and concerned. There’s a question in your eyes but it’s a gentle look. You take a breath and rub his shoulders consolingly. “It’s ok. We’re ok. It’s just a dream.”

You’re wrong about that. It was real. It was very much real and he was there and he can never see their faces again-

“Link, look at me.” You guide his face towards yours. You reach up and wipe the tears that have traitorously leaked form his eyes. Legend gulps and meets you head on, only vaguely remembering your earlier taunt. “Legend, you coward.”

He’s not a coward. He won’t let you think that of him. So help him-! Not you.

You sigh and run your hands over his hair. You stay there with him in the quiet, letting him get his breath together without saying a word. He can hear you gulp after a while and he realizes that you’re still tired too. But he’s not in a place where he can use his voice just yet. 

You don’t seem to mind though. You just keep petting him and rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shakes his head. He won’t share those horrors with you. Not now. Not like this.

You hum and look away from him. You reach behind and set the pillow up again, fluffing it for good measure.

“Come on.” You push him back, letting his head rest against the pillow first. You make yourself comfortable against him next and bring the blanket back over the two of you.

Legend can feel his heart beat continue to pound against his ribcage. there’s very little that he can control in this situation. This isn’t a side of him that he wanted you to see. But like most things in his life he doesn’t get to decide who witnesses it and who gets hurt from it.

“....I’m sorry.” He croaks out at last. “I didn’t mean to wake up.”

“I don’t mind.” You reply quietly. Legend isn’t inclined to believe you.

Suddenly you start... singing? Humming. The tune is unfamiliar to him and you go back to playing with his hair. Your heart beats much calmer against his own and your breath is quiet and soft.

Legend focuses on that instead, letting the melody drift over him. Between the warmth, your weight, your attention and your song, Legend begins to let go of his panic and sorrow. The memories fade away and the storm calms down. The rain is unrelenting but the the thunder has stopped and the lightning has moved to other places of the world

Legend falls asleep once more.

Wild

Wild woke up after the sun had risen for a change. He was used to early morning and earlier chores to complete. So the quiet and undemanding morning was well worth the welcome.

He stretched and yawned, nothing thinking much of the night before before he collided with unexpected mass.

He freezes and finally opens his eyes and comes face to face your with your own. Wild gapes like a fish and can feel his heart stop beating in his chest.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You smile. “Sleep well?”

Wild nods and daringly looks down to get more information about your position.

He didn’t anticipate to figure out that he slept with his head to your chest. The blush covers his face instantly and he scrambles to get off of you. “ Oh by the three! I’m so sorr-”

He falls off of the bed.

You blink and dive to the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab him but you were a second too slow. You pop your head over the side and scan Wild for any new injuries. “Are you ok?”

“Fine. Awesome. I’m awesome. You?” Wild can feel his body struggle to keep up with the movements that he wants to do so that he can save face and get back up to his feet.

Wild feels only a marginal drop of despair drop into his soul when he sees you grin at his expanse. By the look in your eye, you want to laugh but he’s thankful that you don’t.

“I was kept warm and comfortable.” You tease with a little wink. “But I also feel awesome too.”

“Right.” Wild brushes himself down, hoping that his blush isn’t as obvious as it feels. “Um... I should get started on breakfast then.”

“Don’t bother.” Your words cut him from his escape route. “Warrior came by earlier to see if you were awake but I told him to shut up and let you sleep. So someone is taking care of the food this time around. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get a taste of what the inn has to offer.”

Wild knows that his blush is gone by the way he pales. “Warrior came by?”

“Yup.” You reply easily.

Wild bite his lip.

You finally laugh a bit. “Don’t worry. I think I scared him enough that you won’t be teased for drooling on me.”

“Drool-?” Wild pales even further, feeling his chances slip through his fingers.

You nod and finally get out of the bed. You pull on your shirt and sure enough, there’s a small wet patch by your shoulder. “Not bad, all things considered. At least it wasn’t the entire time.”

Wild brings his hand up to cover his mouth. “That’s so embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”

You giggle and shake your head. “It was cute. I can’t even be mad. You were so out of it. How tired were you?”

A cough. “Very.”

“I could tell.” You smile and walk over to pat his head. “But don’t worry. You look a lot better now. There’s a bit of color to your face and you’re back to yourself.”

You do a little twirl and strike a pose. “What about me? Am I good?”

“Incredible.” Wild blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Good to know I wake up like this then.” You laugh and pat his shoulder as you make your way towards the door. “I’ll try and buy you some time to get ready for the day.”

“Thanks. Love you.” Wild puts his foot in his mouth and freezes.

“No problem robblem.” You respond before his other words hit you. “Wha-”

Someone calls you from just beyond the outer corridor and you’re forced to respond instead of questioning him. “Coming!”

“I’ll see you there!” Wild grins and ushered you out of the door. “I’ll be there soon enough. Thank you. You’re the best.” 

Wild shuts the door and collapses onto the floor. “Why am I like this?”

Warrior

This was a mistake.

Warrior woke up early as he normally did and found himself in a situation.

It was one he was dreaming about for a while now but he wasn’t about to hope for them to be a reality. The issue with these dreams of his suddenly becoming real was that you were the unwilling participant. And how he longed for your willing participation.

Your legs were intertwined with his. His arms were around your back and your arms held him close. You were sound asleep against him, forgoing the pillow and using his chest as your head’s resting place.

It was an honor, in his eyes. But the question is now, how does he get out without waking you up?

The sun had barely begun to rise above the horizon. It wouldn’t be fair to you to have you get up at the same time as he does. You deserved to sleep more. Especially since you mentioned having slept so horrible the night prior. 

Warrior sighed, absentmindedly running his hand over your hair. He tried to relax but this was beginning to stir something within him. Slowly, and it had to be slowly or else he risked throwing you out of the small bed as it was, he turned you around.

From there, he came to another problem. One, was that he had to get up now or else he would have to start putting his weight on you and two, you wouldn’t let go. Sure your head now rested on the pillow beneath you, but that didn’t change the way you clung to him.

Warrior let out a huff and and shook his head. With one hand to hold his body up, he had to use the other to pry your hands away from each other and eventually put them by your side once more.

That didn’t work.

Somehow, despite your still unconscious state, you felt the disturbance and weren’t having it. You clung tighter and managed to bring Warrior down to the bed once more.

Warrior has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. He looks down at you, in way that could be described as lovingly and gently brushes the hair from your face. He sighs to himself and smiles. “Good morning.”

“..mmhmh...”

Warrior grins and tries again. You hold on tighter once more and Warrior chuckles to himself. “...You’re not making this easy...”

You don’t reply.

Warrior blows some of his hair out of his face and tries to come up with another solution that resolves with him getting out of the small bed, and with you still sound asleep. Frankly, he doesn’t see how to do it without trying what he did before and just... go slower. Warrior doesn’t have much faith in his own plan.

He reaches around again, gently putting as much of his weight onto the bed next to you and tries to unlatch you from his body. He goes slowly and quietly, trying his best to not over stretch himself this early in the morning.

You blink your eyes opens despite his best effort and pull your hands back to rub your eyes. “...Link?”

And oh how he longed to hear you say his name. So soft and innocent with early morning tenderness. His heart clenches in his chest and he finds himself reciprocating the tone. “Easy. Go back to sleep.”

“...What time is it?” You mumbled, already fighting the way your eyes close. “Come back to sleep.”

Warrior shakes his head. “I won’t sleep. It’ll be ok. I’ll wait for you.”

You hum and Warrior reaches over again to tuck your hair away from your face again, finally getting his feet to touch the floor as he slides out of the bed. Warrior picks up the blanket and pulls it over your shoulders, tucking you in.

“Promise?” You whisper, not remotely looking his way.

“Promise.” Warrior chances it and kisses your temple. “Sleep. We’re ok.”

Part 2

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: [Mad Love] Chapter 25

Chapter 24 Premium Story

♡———♡

If life were a fairy tale, it would be easy to find happiness.

All you'd need to do is be kind, compassionate, and full of love.

Usually, people like that are the protagonists of stories... and "protagonists" usually end up happy.

But what if you were an irredeemable villain,

and on top of that, fell in love with someone like a "protagonist"?

The chances of a happy ending for you would be incredibly low.

In my case? Well, what do you think? Which one do you believe?

-

– One month later, as promised.

Victor looked up contentedly, holding the final report I had submitted.

Victor: Thank you, Kate. You kept our secret and documented their crimes.

Kate: I'm relieved to have completed the task I was assigned.

Kate: I believe I've honestly recorded all actions that are clearly crimes according to the law and ethics.

Victor: Yes. And on top of that, your "special notes" that you always include were quite interesting.

Kate: I wanted to add what I saw and felt with my own eyes...

It was a desperate measure for me, who couldn't write that obvious crimes were "not crimes" out of personal feelings, nor could I write that they were "crimes" in a rigid manner, excluding all personal feelings.

In reality, what Alfons does is like a mirror, where good and evil are two sides of the same coin.

He shows illusions and drives people mad – but some are saved by it.

The work of taking lives is a serious crime – but there are also lives that cannot be saved without doing so.

Victor: I actually think these "special notes" are important and valuable.

Kate: Huh...?

I looked at Victor in surprise, and he gently narrowed his eyes.

Victor: I told you at the beginning, didn't I? I want you to write down what you think is a crime.

Victor: In your eyes... they were not cursed beings destined to commit crimes.

Victor: Reading this, it's clear you saw them as human beings.

Victor: And it's that perspective, the ability to look at the person in front of you, not their status, title, or superficial impression...

Victor: I believe that's what will lead this country to a better place.

Victor lovingly gazes at the words. It's the same expression he sometimes shows when looking at the Crown members and me.

Kate: Victor and William – why did you two establish the Crown?

Victor: Hmm? Well...

Victor: Just as everyone living in the bright places of this country wishes it could be that way for everyone...

Victor: We wished that those who can only live in the darkness of night could also spread their wings freely... I guess.

I probably still only know a fraction of the dark world they fly in.

But I had no anxiety about diving into it.

Victor: Now, you are officially free.

Victor: Can you tell me? What do you want to do from now on?

Kate: Yes, Victor.

I lift my chin.

Kate: Please let me continue my work as a Fairytale Keeper.

Kate: I want to stake my life on defying Alfons' fate.

Like a flickering illusion, Alfons' true form has slipped through my fingers countless times, leaving my heart lost and wandering.

But each time, hope also appeared before me.

Kate: Investigating with Roger, I felt that there are things I can do.

Kate: Besides... memories become more deeply etched the more you trace them.

Kate: If I deeply engrave them in my eyes, ears, nose, and entire body, something might remain.

Victor smiled with narrowed eyes and firmly shook my hand.

Victor: ...That's a wonderful decision. I'll support you.

Kate: Thank you.

Victor: So...

Victor: Have you told him about it?

Kate: That's...

-

Kate: So, I look forward to continuing to work with you.

Roger: Yeah, same here.

I handed him a summary of the report to Her Majesty, specifically the part detailing what I knew about Alfons' curse and abilities.

Roger grinned.

Roger: You're a naughty girl, aren't you? Leaking the report to Her Majesty.

Kate: Primary sources only gain value when they're in the hands of a skilled researcher.

Kate: There's no researcher in all of Britain who investigates curses as earnestly as you, Roger.

Kate: If this advances research on curses even a little...

Kate: It would be beneficial to Her Majesty, who bears the burden of the cursed for the sake of the country, wouldn't it?

Elbert: ...Hehe.

I looked up at the sound of laughter, like sunlight filtering through thin lace curtains.

The beautiful person who had been watching us from a simple examination bed was laughing.

Kate: Is something wrong...?

Elbert: No... your way of speaking has become a bit like Al's, I thought.

Kate: Huh?

(Did I sound like him just now...?)

My face suddenly felt hot, and I hurriedly searched for another topic.

Kate: Um, Elbert, why are you here? Are you injured somewhere?

Roger: He was stumbling around from lack of sleep, so I just forcibly put him to sleep with sleeping pills.

Kate: Are you alright...?

Elbert: Yeah. It's common... don't worry about it.

Elbert: ...If you have any trouble, tell me. I'll do anything I can.

Elbert: This time, for sure... so that the happiness of "both of you" won't be broken.

("This time, for sure"...?)

It bothered me a little, but Elbert's eyes were somewhat sad, and I couldn't ask.

Until something decisive happened, like Alfons leaving a will and disappearing, it feels like Elbert has always been watching us from a slight distance, like this.

(Will I ever understand the meaning of his words and the reason for his sad eyes...?)

Kate: ...Elbert, if there's anything I can help you with, please tell me.

Elbert: Thank you. ...If you could be happy with Al, that would be the best.

Roger: So, the Fairytale Keeper will continue her exclusive contract with Al, huh?

Roger: ...So, on this momentous contract renewal day, where is the man himself?

Kate: That's...

Kate: He's not here... nowhere to be found...

-

I haven't told Alfons about anything yet, including what I told Victor and the others about my future plans.

It's all because Alfons went off somewhere and hasn't returned to the castle.

Kate: Where did he go...?

He should know that today is the day of our promise.

(Doesn't he care if I stay at the castle or go back to town...?)

Feeling uneasy, I quietly returned to my room and found an unfamiliar envelope on the bed.

(Th-this incredibly illegible handwriting... it's Alfons...!)

I hurriedly opened it – it only said "Post Office."

Kate: Wh-what...? Does this mean I should go there? What does it-- Ugh!

Unable to stand still, I rushed out of the room.

-

Director: I'm glad you came to say goodbye after sending such a polite resignation letter.

Director: If you have any trouble at your next job, you're always welcome to come back.

Director: Oh, right. I have an envelope for you that I was asked to give you when you came.

The next envelope said, "At the pub...".

-

Manager: Oh, it's been a while, lass. Al hasn't been making you cry again, has he?

Manager: If he's been giving you a hard time, just say the word. I'll smack him with one of the bottles he keeps here.

Manager: Oh, I almost forgot. Here, Al told me to give this to you if you came by.

-

The next one was the market where the boy I saved from the Docklands fire worked.

Youth: Ah... M-miss...

Youth: Um, at the harbor warehouse... th-that fire... th-thank you for saving me.

Youth: I-I'm... working here now, thanks to a referral from the person who got me into the hospital...

Youth: I didn't know there was such a warm life.

Youth: Ah, this... the man from that time told me to give it to you if you came.

-

Kate: Huff... huff... In the end, back to the original place...!?

By the time I got back to my room, following the instructions in the letters, it was already completely dark.

The last envelope was tossed on the bed, just like the first one.

*"Welcome back. I'm sorry to bother you when you're tired, but would you like to have a party tonight?"

*"If YES, dress up and come to the dining hall."

Even I think I'm an idiot for obediently dressing up according to this unreasonable message.

While even the Alfons in my head mocked me for being so serious, I entered the dining hall...

-

Kate: Alfons, what are you up to...!?

I gasped as I saw the dining table adorned with a luxurious dinner.

Alfons: Even after being so unreasonably dragged around, you still follow me.

Alfons: You really are an idiot, aren't you?

Alfons, who had been sitting leisurely in a chair, stood up and approached me, gallantly extending his hand.

Kate: What's going on, all this...? Did Victor prepare this...?

Alfons: No? I prepared it while you were running all over London, buying me time.

Alfons: Amazing, isn't it? Please praise me with all the vocabulary you can muster.

Kate: You prepared all of this, Alfons...?

Alfons: Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm good at cooking.

Alfons winked, saying so.

Alfons: Perhaps it's a reaction to having eaten nothing but garbage-like meals, but I have a weakness for delicious food.

Alfons: It's a surprise.

And so, he escorts me, who is dumbfounded, to my seat.

Alfons: Say, Kate. How was it breathing in the London air today?

A napkin is spread over my lap, and a chuckle brushes past my ear.

Kate: Huh...?

Alfons: The post office, it must have brought back memories. You're so straightforward and serious, I bet you missed it.

Alfons: You probably don't have many good memories of the pub. Well, the place itself isn't bad.

Alfons: The boy you saved must have blended into the peaceful everyday life of London.

Alfons: ... Didn't you want to go back?

The man next to me is smiling like a devil.

The real purpose of having me run around today wasn't to buy time for a surprise.

-- Wouldn't you be happier if you went back?

He toyed with me all day just to dangle that devilish whisper.

Kate: You're really the worst, you know.

Alfons: Oh my, how hurtful.

Kate: If I said I'm leaving the castle and going back to my old life... what would you do with this feast?

Alfons: Of course, I'd have to tearfully eat it all myself.

Alfons: You'd be spared from the tragedy, and I'd just continue dancing merrily as always.

Kate: I see...

Kate: Then... this is my answer.

While staring back into his eyes as he leaned in, I pressed my lips against his.

When I gently bit his lip, Alfons narrowed his eyes.

It was a smile like that of someone watching a kitten playfully biting their fingertip.

Alfons: ... I understand very well.

A whisper melted into the space between our lips, and my breath was taken away again.

Kate: Nn... -Kyah!

He lifted me up like a child and placed me on the dining table, and the napkin on my lap fluttered to the floor.

Alfons: The return for your kiss will be directly on your body.

--CHOICES--

After taking a bath

You have bad manners

After moving to the room

---------------

Kate: ... On the table? That's... improper...

Alfons: The one being improper is you, seducing me in such a sexy dress.

My protest is ignored as a matter of course, and my entangled hands are pressed against the table.

Alfons: Heh...

Kate: Nn...!

His palm slid through the slit of my dress, slowly crawling up my thigh.

My body jumped, and the wine glass tipped over with a clink.

Alfons: Besides, you already know...

Alfons: ...that I don't have the integrity to value manners, don't you?

Alfons looked down at me as I collapsed onto the table, laughing happily, then stood up and threw off his coat and leather gloves.

The gesture makes me forget where I am, and my body heats up.

(All day, I wanted to see you... my chest aches from longing.)

Kate: ... All day, while I was walking around town, you were all I could think about.

Kate: I kept thinking maybe I'd see you at the next place...

My longing grew so strong that I grabbed his tie and pulled him close.

The weight of him leaning over me filled me with such love that I wanted to cry.

Kate: There's no room for my old life anymore... everything is filled with you.

To be toyed with, manipulated, and then face tragedy in the end...

Kate: What's so bad about tragedy...?

Kate: I'll make you laugh so hard you'll fall over on stage—

Kate: I'll turn it into the most delightful tragedy in the world.

Alfons: ...Hehe, I see. A delightful tragedy, huh?

Alfons: If you're my dance partner, that sounds rather interesting.

Alfons: You know, Kate... In truth, today was all for this.

Memories from the night they met intertwine within their overlapping gazes.

Kate: For this...?

Alfons: Your words just now, the angry look on your face when you burst into this room,

Alfons: The anticipation that, despite being so angry, you dressed up so beautifully for our party,

Alfons: To savor the genuine love that seeps through all of that... That was my aim.

Kate: ...Nn, ah...

His naughty fingertips tickle my skin, lighting a fire in my core.

The place where he pressed his hips against, spreading my legs, was hot and throbbing.

Just like what you said… He, who seemed like an illusion slipping through my fingers, craving my love so greedily,

If he did something as foolish as this,

I'd be so happy, so filled with love, that it would hurt.

(Tell me more. Brand me deeper.)

(Your words, your heat… your truth.)

Alfons: ...Tonight, unlike last time with the cupcakes, you're not saying anything about dinner, are you?

He looked down at me with amusement as I stumbled over my words, my expectations laid bare.

Alfons: What happened to your earlier bravado? Come on, tell me.

Alfons: When two people truly love each other, what do they do... at a time like this?

My heart is pounding so hard it's hard to breathe.

Because beyond the vanished mirage, I can now see your true smile.

Kate: ...D-dinner can wait.

Kate: We... we get messy and make love, that's what.

His thin lips slowly curve into a smile.

Alfons: -Ah, good.

Alfons: Actually, the menu is full of dishes that are delicious even when they're cold.

(W-what...)

Kate: You...you planned this from the start...?

Alfons: Aha! Don't make it sound like I'm just after your body, that's not a nice thing to say.

Kate: It's half true, though...

Alfons: The other half might be sincerity, love, or something like that.

Alfons: Whatever you want to believe is the truth.

An outrageous, good-for-nothing, immoral, and unfaithful man, like a nightmare.

He hates tragedies, loves cats.

Delicious food too... and probably me as well.

That's the Alfons I know—the truth I never want to forget.

Alfons: You won't say you've reached your limit, will you?

Alfons: ...You'll entertain me more, won't you?

-

I don't know if our ending will be a tragedy or a comedy.

But that's what makes a story interesting.

The characters just believe in the ending they want and push forward.

Whether this love is a spice that makes the tragedy more cruel,

Or the key to turning it into a comedy—

The "truth" I want to believe in is already decided.

FIN

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Mad Love Chapter 25 His POV

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[tenebraevesper]

Shatter Me, Entry 5: Shatter Me - Sonic X Shadow Generations

''Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me!''

– Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling

xXxXxXx

Shadow's crimson eyes widened, their colour reflecting that of the sky, which was covered in dark clouds, thunder rumbling and lightning glowing in an eerie blood red light. Black and red alien-like creatures appeared from the clouds, dropping all over the city that Shadow had been observing earlier, causing carnage and destruction in their wake. Shadow could only stare in shock in disbelief as the realization of not only where he was, but also what was going on, hit him.

''Impossible! The Black Arms were supposed to be extinct!''

Somehow, he found himself back at Westopolis during the siege the Black Arms aliens laid upon it, but he didn't understand how this was possible. He knew that the Black Arms were gone, having not only personally defeated Black Doom as Super Shadow, but also annihilated the Black Comet via the Eclipse Cannon. Despite not acknowledging himself as such, he was the sole survivor of the Black Arms race, being a hybrid who had Black Arms DNA imbued in his person.

Nevertheless, having his memories fully restored and having resolved to protect the world in his own way, Shadow decided to put a stop to this invasion. It didn't matter to him whether this was some kind of illusion or if he had traveled to the past, he was not going to let Black Doom, or anyone for that matter, manipulate him again. Having made his decision, he skated off towards the city, fighting off any of the aliens that got into his way.

If the Black Arms are here, then Black Doom should also be close.

Shadow blasted a Black Warrior with a well-aimed Chaos Spear, continuing his chase through Westopolis, looking around for Black Doom, as he suspected that his supposed ''father'' might appear eventually and demand that he finds the Chaos Emeralds. However, something that he took note of was the fact that the streets seemed to be almost empty. There were no civilians running away nor G.U.N. soldiers fighting back against the invasion, keeping Shadow wondering. He was suddenly blinded by a flash of light, placing his arm over his eyes to shield them, and to his shock, he found himself skating through the Space Colony ARK, devoid of all life aside from one entity that emerged from a red portal.

''You!''

Before Shadow was a black and dark purple starfish-like creature with six black-tipped squamous probes and a brutally large red-orange eye in its center. Emerging from its eye and moving along its limbs, it had six blood-red lines. The dark hedgehog furrowed a brow, gritting his teeth as he glared daggers at what he came to knew as Doom's Eye.

''You are late, Shadow… We have returned to take over this pathetic planet you call home! Its annihilation is near! It is time to embrace the dawn of your demise and despair!''

To Shadow's shock, the space station around him started to break apart, with reality warping in itself, turning into a spiral-like landscape. Shadow turned his attention back to Doom's Eye, who was now escaping through the tunnel and sped up, determined not to let it get away. However, the ground below him gave away, and a kaleidoscope of buildings emerged instead. It was as if the world was falling apart and trying to rebuild itself again. He saw Doom's Eye flying past him, stopping for a moment as if to taunt him, before disappearing once again as Shadow fell back into a reality that was either the past or his own memories; he didn't know.

''Shadow!''

Shadow felt someone grabbing him by the wrist, turning his attention upwards and seeing Sonic holding his arm. The azure hedgehog was just as stunned to see the environment around them becoming more and more twisted, but nevertheless happy to see his rival.

''Brace yourself!'' Sonic exclaimed, suddenly throwing Shadow towards a nearby skyscraper, with the dark hedgehog landing on top of it. Sonic then used his homing attack to zero in on the skyscraper, skidding to a halt once he landed safely. Both hedgehogs exchanged glances, before looking back at their surroundings, which were a twisted reflection of the reality they knew.

''Sonic, what is going on? The Black Arms…'' Shadow trailed off when he suddenly spotted another newcomer to their little reunion – a light blue hedgehog wearing red shoes and carrying himself with a swagger Shadow had already seen in one other person. His eyes darted from Sonic's younger self towards the older one, who just gave him a confident smirk.

''It's a bit of a long story involving saving the world again… But, do you think you can handle yourself here?'' Sonic asked. Shadow gazed back at the warped image of Westopolis that was once again invaded by the Black Arms, before turning his attention back to Sonic, responding in an equally confident manner.

''Of course I can. I'll take care of this.''

Links:

#Previous Chapter

#Current Chapter

#Sonic Cyber Revolution (Masterlist)

[someoneinthecrowd0757]

Misa no Uta is an underrated masterpiece that changes Misa's whole characterization fr fr

Misa no uta is one of the most compelling moments in the entire Death Note series, within one of the most compelling episodes of the series (if not just outright the best). 

To cement his return as Kira, Light plans to kill L. Light requires Misa to be at risk for this, throwing her under the bus if the plan fails and REM weren’t to save her but guaranteeing the deaths of L and REM both if it succeeds, and it's very likely to do so.

As Misa walks the streets of Japan, she sings this song to herself and the audience that immediately stands out, being the sole musical number in the series. 

The song is about her relationship with Light and Kira, her place by his side as the loyal follower turned God herself. It’s about love, trust, fanaticism and the danger of allowing yourself to know something for a fact or to choose the version of reality that provides you the most happiness, whether it’s the full truth or not. Her powerlessness in the face of what he is is not something she’s ignorant to, and the ways he continually takes advantage of this drain her of life a little further everyday, and yet she wouldn’t give it to anybody else. How could she? She is indebted to him, in her eyes. 

“Hold my hand in the dark street for if you do I know that I’ll be safe” Kira saved her. He ensured the death of the man who killed her parents and nearly killed her in one of those dark streets she so fears. Misa never recovered, she ran open armed into the belly of the beast before she could ever begin to do so. By the time the consequences of her actions became clear, and Kira's nature was startlingly apparent, it was too late to attempt to stop this. So she lies to herself, and justifies this all with the guarantee of safety she's been provided.

“Even if I'm far away and alone, I can be sure that you’ll find me there. This, I know.” and this is the indisputable fact of the matter, isn't it? That even if she forgets, surrenders the Death Note and lives her life, it is simply the illusion of control. She knows she’ll be back, she knows she’ll be brought to Light’s side again by herself with no memories of what he turned out to be. Then, even if she isn’t? What becomes of her? Surely Light would never let her simply walk away, and she knows that. So the lies she tells herself are cemented by that, and her fanaticism surrounding Kira becomes a pillar of who she is. For if that is lost, if she doesn���t believe that he is attempting to achieve good anymore, then how can she love him despite the way he treats her?

“You draw me close for a while, so quiet, you tell me everything” at the start they operated somewhat as equals, with Misa having the upper hand of REM on her side. Light does keep her informed, does treat her as an equal (outwardly, at least). Yet once they are imprisoned, once the tide shifts entirely, this changes inalterably and in a way Misa has no time or opportunity to change. 

“If i forget what you say then you’ll come to me and tell me again, yes you’ll tell me once again…”  This once again is cementing her handling of the aftermath of this shift, her now regaining her memories entirely and seeing the forest for the trees. There is no escape for Misa, and any ticket out was lost before she could do a thing. REM will die, though I don’t know if Misa knows of this at this point. I'm certain she couldn’t have been fully ignorant to it being highly likely, and she will serve Kira until her dying breath. She has made her peace with that long ago, deciding it’s for the greater good and serving the life debt she believes she owes him.

But then there’s the question. The one plaguing her throughout the rest of the series, I’d say–The truth that she continuously makes the conscious decision to avoid looking in the face.

“But what happens when I know it all, what should I do after that? What then?” 

This is where the fact that this scene has played out as almost a funeral procession, ending with her standing on the very rooftop where she will eventually meet the answer to her question, cements this as an eerie, gorgeous, perfect scene. Misa will have nothing to live for, is the answer. If all she has done has been in the name of helping a madman who not only doesn’t love her, but actively dislikes her? If this life debt was unwanted, if Kira wasn’t all that good at all? If he’s not a god, if her parents were simply a number amongst the many hundreds of thousands Light kills… then why did she survive any of it? Why is she still here? 

I’m also fascinated with the choice to have at what point in time this scene takes place in, be somewhat impossible to fully discern. This is the same outfit, the same sunset, the same ledge that Misa’s story ends with. When she kills herself at the end of the series, is that moment one we’ve long ago witnessed already? Is this meant to indicate that anything of Misa truly died then? Or is this the moment she reflects upon when she makes that fateful walk, years from now? Is this the moment she wishes she could go back to? To change?

In all reality, I truly wish that more of the intricacies to Misa's character that are implied heavily would've been made somewhat more text than they ever are in canon. Many people's opinions of her character are somewhat justified, although I think that some of the way that people react is a tad misogynistic at times as well but the way she exists as a woman in service to Light who wants for nothing and lives for nothing else is, too, in it's nature a misogynistic thing. I think that Misa is fascinating as a character and would be infinitely more fascinating if the subtext heavily implied in this scene were made more canonical than it was.

[mystryxx]

BENEATH MEMORIES OF A LOVELESS SKY // THE FALSE PARADIGM OF PREDATION

"make your heart so soft

even the most careless of hands cannot break it"

— L.E. Bowman

The larval moth, molts almost continuously until it reaches its adult form. As such, we should compassionately allow so much more room to accommodate our respective Fluxes, to bend and to breathe and to flex with each other as we metamorphose— so long as our unique personhoods remain respected. After all, our growth is indeed dependent on our proximity to each other; nothing is truly isolated in its coalescence. Even a cocoon is but an ecosystem of delicate compounds, dependent on a stable environment to exist; within which we are then safe to utterly liquify for our transmutation. 🦋

Yet it's just so strange to me, this pro-domineering culture with tailored defense mechanisms to keep its shitty, festering self intact. And now we have nothing but a rube goldberg machine of tedium and suffering, with the stewardship of basic resources tied up and inaccessible globally but to a proportionate few.

In my experience, no seedlings emerge robustly healthy under forcefully preened, extremely manicured circumstances. The illusion of complete control can never truly account for the chaos of the Unknown. If anything, the monoculture of the tyrant fosters immense weakness in most of its upholders, facilitating fragility especially of the spirit— hence why it cannot survive even gently targeted critique, and is quite sure to try to attack or shut down anything divergent from itself out of pure thoughtless reaction.

It's amusing to me, how conformity reveals itself to be an innately antisocial behavior. In reality, a hallmark of effective social survival is actually diversity and adaptability. It's a healthy willingness to cooperate as well~ understanding that true freedom for the individual, lies in the rich soil of all of our needs being met.

As a child, in becoming aware of my own queerness, I can only define it as understanding early on that I am incapable of being pigeon-holed into pre-established molds (a lot of which have been artificially manufactured anyway). I just needed a safe realm to nourish myself and to "liquify", that is, to explore my ever-unfolding being, without judgement and shame. Today I still feel a profound ache over having missed out on that.

Meanwhile, to my shock and grief, I've watched over and over, fully grown adults bullying and ostracizing their own child, oddly feeling threatened or insecure by their uniqueness. I see parallels of the culture I grew up in, which was far more preoccupied with fitting in and executing control than embodying compassion, or treating others with basic respect and decency. It commodified the young, it loathed the different, and it certainly never even saw us as human and having intrinsic worth.

By the time I met people who humanized me, I had been so psychologically monsterized by my differentness, that it was a long slow crawl through the trenches to cognitively rewire myself as lovable. And the wrong people took advantage of those wounds until I found my ability to diagnose their behaviors and defend myself from their predation. Since predators rely on their victims to remain broken in spirit, anyone occupying oppressed space needs to excise any such impressions within themselves; to take root in their own wholeness and Belonging which was always there, in order to turn back the tides of the damage done.

At any rate, this is why it's important to love and hold sacred our children's expressions. I'm so completely exhausted by the cruelty of others. Now is seriously the time to be softly true to our hearts, honest and sensitive, fostering better for this era and for those who will come after us.

"His gentleness was uncompromising; because he would not compete for dominance, he was indomitable."

—Ursula Le Guin, "The Dispossessed"

Safe journeys unto you. 🌱🌹

[aa2-10gluon-hosillos-ordona]

Words With Claws

It is undeniably impossible to tame a puma completely. Everyone knows that. But what if I told you Belisa Crepusculario could tame one with just two words - with just her name? 

Published in 1989, Two Words by Isabelle Andelle paints the picture of a merchant called Belisa Crespusculario spreading hope and a Colonel spreading despair, bringing people together with the power of words. Through the unnoticeable complexities that words carry, even the loneliest and scariest man was renewed and loved by the people - by Belisa.

Born poor with no name, Belisa Crepusculario suffered great difficulties. She was ready to build a future along with a new identity when after an unfathomable drought, she was left with the burden of burying her four younger siblings, and it dawned on her that she was next. To escape her fate, she left home and learned about the beauty and power of words. As time passed, words gave her a voice that empowered and allowed her to discover fragments of herself in poetry. And when she finally “found the poetry of “beauty” and “twilight” and cloaked herself in it” (p. 1), she was renewed and became a new woman - she became Belisa Crepusculario. 

With words liberating Belisa from her once insufferable life, she realized she could use the same power to help others. So, “she made her living selling words” (p. 1). She became renowned for citing verses, writing letters, and even enhancing the unique experience of dreaming. She even gifted her clients with illusion and mystique through secret and special words that dispel melancholy. Her ability transcends reality and emphasizes how words accelerate change and make an impact. The power and bizarreness of selling words capture the strange magic that language can hold.

Belisa’s power continued to reach many people’s hearts, but one individual was touched to the core: the Colonel. The Colonel was a battle-scarred puma that scared everyone around him. Even women would miscarry at the sight of him. Tired of his reputation, he ran for President, hoping to change his country. But, he was rough around the edges and could not do it alone. So, ready to change, he turned to Belisa for help. She assisted him in seeing how pure-hearted he truly was and curated a speech for him that, when spoken aloud, left a “splendid memory of a comet’s tail” (p. 6). But, despite his perfect speech and nearing his goal, he was ready to abandon it all once Belisa whispered two words to him. As a result, instead of becoming President, he unexpectedly transformed into someone who loves Belisa. When they met again, “the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers” (p.7).

After being in a world where words go beyond what we comprehend and feel, we can see that love and emotions in thoughtful words can renew different aspects of our lives. Whether used to replace trails of terror with hope or to rise from the bottom and overcome adversities, there is no doubt a mystical power hidden within not only Belisa Crespucalrio, the mountain cat’s claws but also her words. Maybe your two words can tame a puma. Maybe your two words can really change the world. You never know.

References:

Allende, I. (1989). Two Words In The Stories of Eva Luna (pp.1-7.) Sudamericana.

Images:

Barra, L. (n.d.). Isabel Allende's new novel is "A Long Petal of the Sea." https://www.tampabay.com/arts-entertainment/arts/books/2020/01/25/isabel-allende-writes-of-love-in-wartime-and-after/

Carmen. (2014, May 14). Dos palabras. http://escritosdemanosdemujeres.blogspot.com/2014/05/dos-palabras.html

Friedrich, C. (n.d.). Pareja contemplando la luna. https://juancarlosboverimuseos.wordpress.com/2011/10/17/pinturas-del-museo-de-la-antigua-galeria-nacional-de-berlin/

Ratterree, A. (2014, March 19). Belisa Crepusculario. https://aliceink.com/weeks-inspiration/

[diivineray]

❝Once I thought the chance to make you laugh was all I ever wanted.❞ (for jc of course)

              ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ …𖥸 …୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ― Jiang Cheng stood in silence, feeling the luxurious fabric of his robes curling around his fingers. A rush of overwhelming emotion filled his chest, threatening to bring tears to his eyes. He longed to express the depths of his emotions, to release years of accumulated hurt, loss, && pain. Every negative emotion he had harbored had somehow transformed into a profound yearning for the one man he had always wanted to draw close, to hold in his embrace, and to express how deeply he longed for his presence.

                 As they sat together, it felt like a rare moment of peace. For once, Jiang Cheng hadn't resorted to his usual yelling. It was as if Lotus Pier had been magically transported back to the past, and the two of them were sitting alone on the dock. Their presence in the midst of their parents' conflict felt like being thrown into the middle of a storm, with no shelter in sight. Then, Wei Wuxian would put his arm around Jiang Cheng's shoulder and say something utterly pointless and stupid, but somehow, it managed to bring a genuine smile to Jiang Cheng's face, and the clouds would clear once again. 

               ❝ Why can't things be the way they were before? ❞ Despite the distance, rage, and betrayal, he longed to turn back time to reclaim what he had lost – his family, his brother. He wished he had given Wei Wuxian a better chance to make things right, to stand by him as promised. Tears he had fought back earlier now flowed freely down his cheeks as he whispered, ❝ I miss you. . . ❞ How could he express that his life had become an empty void since losing everything as if he should have perished alongside his loved ones? 

           Loneliness draped over him like a heavy cloak, its weight pressing down on his shoulders. The storm that Wei Wuxian had always been adept at dispelling had now overwhelmed him, tossing Jiang Cheng about like a helpless ship on the tempestuous sea. He found himself treading water, his outstretched hand a desperate plea for aid. The memory of Wei Wuxian's warm hand in his own, lifting him out of the water, was a familiar comfort. Perhaps, with unwavering effort, they could reconstruct their bond just as he had rebuilt Lotus Pier. Day after day, they would lay brick upon brick and work with wood and nails until their efforts resulted in something new. It might not recapture the beauty of the past, but it would stand on a far sturdier foundation. 

          As the sect leader turned his head to face his brother, he felt the weight of solitude pressing down on him. The once comforting presence of his brother had vanished, leaving behind a desolate emptiness. Sitting alone on the dock, he gazed into the void beside him, feeling as if the very fabric of his dream had been swept away like a ripple in the water. In that moment, he was abruptly jolted awake from the illusion, confronted by the harsh reality of his existence. Wei Wuxian was no longer with him, and the only place where their conversation could continue was in the confines of his dreams. 

[sasorikigai]

“Hanzo” she calls to him, the softness in her voice on the verge of breaking. Unfathomable affection that blooms in the depths of her chest, there is pride in the shining gaze of hers, when he turns - she moves quick. Flowers, an abundance she has created with her grasp that has only known that of violence, how desperately she wishes to nurture. Laughter that rumbles, sweet && lively, a blossom she slips behind his ear with a wide smile. “Handsome as ever, I believe this color is fitting” pale pink that dances on the hue of her pale skin, she looks away, bashful. “I truthfully never saw myself as someone capable of such kindness, the life we lead is not often what we choose of our own accord, but the future is ours to grasp && I am happy it is led with you”

Random Inbox Shenanigans || @usagimen || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || There were moments aplenty where the world seemed to move, to thrive with such ease, while here he was at a halt - stuck at a point, ceasing to exist in an impasse. For many, home may be a well-made structure with four walls colliding when he touches them; a literal few pieces of foundations ending to a roof providing physical protection and personal space. For Hanzo, home contains a plethora of pleasant scent, giving away the sense of serendipity that overwhelms his mind. It is a small caution helping him keep track of his thoughts, as two hands unite like a significant puzzle with Harumi's lips kissing his with passion in some unfolded dreams. Even when he could be doubting about the truest reality that would be always unforeseen and unpredictable, those enticing, melodic promise of returning 'home' would grant him passion and courage, to fuel the effulgent flames of glittering stars of his being.

While there may be this perpetual melancholy that Hanzo so deeply feels in his bones - something that will never leave him - once-severed connection has been attached in solidarity that could only be defined as love. It is of intertwined, unbreakable connection that no longer only exist as an illusion of hopes and dreams that remain as what it is - just in his thoughts and his imaginations. "More often than not, time seems to blur into a stream of muddy water, manifesting only into colors swirling before my eyes. It is you who become a new swipe of sky blue and the sun lighting my shadows, reawakening some cognizance," Hanzo's quieted baritone echoes through the space, as the very conception of his words become the reality, an unconcealed perpetrator against his eyes. "The face of loneliness has left, for I now see serenity and peace in my vision, even against the conscious views of my unwellness and a profoundly ruffled disquietude."

For to be loved is to be known, but so often, Hanzo could never release a whisper slip past his lips, allowing access into the deepest corners of his life, the corners and ledges dusty and forgotten. How he would willingly cut himself open to display the parts that should never see natural light, holding up the putrid organ, looking through the rubbery flesh of his liver, watching the dim rays peek through. Now he could bask his ribs in the no-longer arid sun, bleaching them for no one, as his once dead corpse fed the string back through the taut leather of his skin, crudely stitching his sternum back together again. The past - specifically his literal and metaphorical death, then rebirth through resurrection - may continue to leave his chest aching, forever bruised blue.

"Like howling wolves, some memories continue to hunt and haunt me nonetheless, but I am no longer without a warmth I cannot share. For no burden is unbearable, and you also have been kind to me akin summer night." Hanzo nearly sways, as if a glimmer of gold had beckoned him. The burning orb of his gaze descends, casting its radiance upon Sayuri's skin, and he finds himself drawn to her warmth like a moth to flame. The darkness that once shrouded him slips away like silk, and his heart takes flight, soaring higher with each beat of his wings. The golden light envelops him beneath the midnight blue of his garment, a gentle caress awakening his soul. Perhaps he is driven by a hunger for its warmth, its beauty, its promise of continued rebirth. For in the splendor of their respectively revivified lives, perhaps they see shared truths; that the darkness was but a shadow of the light, a fleeting moment of doubt in an eternal dance of joy. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[uruuk]

THE SLOW METAMORPHOSIS OF HER HATRED WEIGHS HEAVILY WITHIN, LIKE AN ACTING POISON COURSING THROUGH HIS VEINS. slow to take hold, and ripe with the symptom of feeling truly seen. TRULY UNDERSTOOD. as if she had been there before even the valar knew the grace of the sun and the moon, former entirely UNEXPERIENCED BY HIS KIND. that she had watched when melkor destroyed the great lanterns, shrouding the first elves of middle earth IN DARKNESS AND TERROR OF HIS LEGIONS OF BEASTLY SERVANTS. as if she may have been another of his kin, stolen and ripped from the arms of her kin, as she was drug by the fair hand of the maiar into the illusion of beauty and power beyond one's wildest dreams. IN THAT THEY HAUNT EACH OTHER WITH THE TRUE CULMINATION OF SUCH PAIN, AND THE MIRRORED IMAGES OF WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN IF THINGS HAD BEEN DIFFERENT. AS RECOGNIZABLE YET HIDDEN AS HIS HERITAGE.

EVEN WHEN SHE SHIFTS WITHIN HER CAGE, HE CAN SEE THE WAY HER EYES BURN WITH SUCH PASSION. as though when she looks at him she can see within his marred skin and inky blue pits of eyes, all of how she'd gone wrong. WHAT COULD HAVE BECOME OF HER IF SHE HAD NOT BECOME WISE SOONER. if she had less of a choice in the matter of your very being. YOUR AGENCY. just as he sees what might he have stayed, should he only have seen it sooner? such an emotion ashy like memories, yet not quite resentful. KNIFE-SHARP WORDS SEEKING TO CUT HIM OUT OF HER PSYCHE LIKE A DISEASE. A ROT. though unfortunately unlike sauron's influence, one cannot. as he cannot rid himself of her. why when his eyes look at her, there's almost something WARY there. hidden in slightly brought-in, reserved neutrality. clench of teeth unable to rid his chest of the ocean sway it houses.

HE IS USED TO BEING FEARED. BEING LOOKED AT WITH DISGUST. however, none hurts so much as the ache that burns brighter than rage reflected in the orange glow of her eyes. SOMETHING PITYING, yearning and HATING all at once. nothing more stripping than the whisper of 'almost' in their shared gazes. HE IS ALMOST BEAUTIFUL, AFTER ALL. ALMOST WORTHY. perhaps, as much as their great race lives on inside. AS ONE CAN ALMOST SEE PAST ORCISH ROT TO BEAUTY ONCE REVERED.

exhale expels a sigh of defeat, that he allows to push against cupid's bow from his nostrils. yet something wavers at the mention of his compliance. DOES SHE NOT YET UNDERSTAND? he was not met with such luxury as her free will. HER LACK OF SHACKLES. brow-line twitching. BUT WHEN HE PICTURES HIMSELF ON HIS KNEES, CRADLED BY LOVING HAND... IT IS NOT MELKOR'S FACE HE PICTURES. gaze moves past her, long years to the past, as a hardness of glimmering fear shimmered in his reflection.

he looked away once pulled back to reality, hair sweeping his cheeks. "then so it shall be." he looked back at her solemnly. yet, he is without hesitancy in even that. "for it is every father's duty, to die for their children. if need be." he continues. more honourable an end he could have met as a loveless eldar.

he crouches, with a soft groan. looking at her for a long time.. lost, momentarily, before he begins once more. almost in a whisper. "for a time, you . . . saw sauron as a man you could admire." he wets his lips with a flicker of her eyes. "but when he came to me, i knew him by another name." his lips are trembling. "and when he came, he ensured it was at the brink of my despair.." gaze appears to glisten beneath the shadow of the flame. [...] "he came to me, and he offered me life. life, and devotion. and love, deep as my heart desired." he blinked at her, passively. breaking of voice out-toned by grunts, and snarls muted by the thin fabric.

: ̗̀➛ *ೃ༄ THAT HE WOULD APPEAR AS A SPECTRE TO HER ; reaching out of the shadows toward galadriel as if to illuminate the gloom that spreads thinly, persistently — it's tendrils wrapping around the light that still glows beneath every inch of her exhaustion and ache , that rests deeply the very flame of her existence. he would haunt her here , a reminder of what they have both known and suffered. that they would haunt each other. ill willed ghosts that drift in from a former life on the breeze that follows him — billowing through the tent as if trying to show a glance of the dim and brutal world beyond.

❛  we have spoken. ❜  her words are curt , direct and sharp like the jab of a dagger as she moves within her confines to truly regard him. her eyes can see much , but she finds herself looking for a familiarity in adar that she cannot place. his pale face now closer, flickering beneath the light of the all but burnt out candles , seems almost like one she could recognise.

what was done to him terrifies her. makes every fibre of her being want to cry out in rage — but he had gone willingly. tempted. lured by promises that she knows must have been played like sweet melody to his ears , to his heart. for the lure of power and connection is like a tincture. a soothing balm that promises to chase the weight of simply existance so very far, far away.

galadriel's hands move slowly, filthy palms and knuckles wrapping around the bars of the cage as she presses closer to try and taste the air that flows in from the outside , hoping that the scent of burning and battle has not reached the other side of the river yet. that the lasting wounds that will befall eregion still carry some hope of suture.

❛  you use my name as if you have the right - something you lost when you fell to your knees beside the deceiver , beside morgoth. ❜ the growl in her tone aims to antagonise , to make him view her as an angry and emotional creature - that the confession she offered him was nothing more than an overflowing. it had been a mistake then, to admit as much to him as she had. but a part of her knew he would be the only one who could understand her mind. the throbbing ache that lingers still within her chest — a heart cracked open, raw and unmended. injury and pain she will carry for the rest of her days.

❛  whatever you have sought me for will be your doom. he cannot be countered - no matter the evil you wield. he is made of it. he will make it his once more. ❜

[noxtivagus]

I'm the local emet-selch liker on the dashboard. yes

still not over this article 😔

[hewittsflesh]

Queen of the vilebloods | Aemond and Daemon

Next: Tales of old, the night unfurls

A/N: This is my first fanfiction for hotd and tumblr in general, this being the prologue to an Aemond x OC (reader?) x Daemon

For any errors in grammar or terms, I'm sorry. English is not my first language.

If you would like to see more like this, feel free to write a request. hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: n/a. Alternative universe, a little

Summary: Aemond knew The Blind Lady.

The eternal point of his deepest obsession, that story of a woman he had longed for as long as he could remember, the mistress of his greatest desires.

How Daemon Targaryen, his uncle, ends up caught in the middle of what he always wanted and his goal to get it is almost a bloodstained story that no one could have foreseen.

00: Omen

Aemond knew The Blind Lady.

At least, that was the way it felt to him, close despite the fantasy. The dusty tales of a horror-tinged anecdote told in the form of legends was an old thing, despite its selective nature. He was sure that, even if he had never witnessed it himself, Viserys had told them for a young Rhaenyra.

Just as he had done for him.

Those were the only moments he remembered of true bonding in a father-son bond, something Viserys would form only with him, excluding for reasons unknown to him Helaena and Aegon. Memories of a strange nature in which his old father would relate that story, never looking him in the eye, more as a thought aloud that he allowed him to share.

Aemond knew the background information of that figure made legend by it. The mysticism that she was locked away in an unknown part of the castle, the idea that in reality, she could wander at any time and only remained there out of her own free will and respect for House Targaryen. The inherent warning to every future king and prince about never releasing her if a war broke out was her favourite part; the inherent danger, the foreign idea of fear of the unknown.

Aemond had become obsessed from an early age with it.

A 'delusion of kings' his mother would call it, who always dismissed whatever came out of his father's mouth. Aemond tried to reason it that way when his exhaustive searches all over the place never paid off, the nightly walks until his muscles burned like burnt skin, until some guard found him after he himself had gone missing. There was a moment in that relentless search when his mind gave up long after his body, trying to reason at his young age that this could not be, the castle was not big enough nor his mind stupid enough to hold any more of that faceless, genderless figure.

Until Daemon's presence at his wife's funeral clarified what until then had been an open myth and an illusion in his head.

Then he realised that the quest was something he must never give up, no matter how long it took.

Viserys, rambling as he had any other time he told that story, had added a detail that Aemond did not remember from any other 'father and son' session - the seemingly insignificant detail that, if the figure was visited and touched in a welcome manner, it would leave marks on the skin of the lucky one.

— What kind of marks? — Aemond interrupted immediately on that occasion. Viserys glanced for a moment at the amber liquid in his goblet before continuing.

«Dark markings, from the magic. It will stand out in the veins.»

And, like the hope he needed to stay true to his quest, there they were. Standing out like ramifications of lightning on Daemon's neck, barely concealed by clothing, the black contrast of the legends and the slightly luminescent silver of reality, intermingling until they were one and the same.

It was the high point of his consummate obsession up to that moment, but not the last.

[reilliane]

Vigil ✤ Kazuha

V i g i l

A/N: Here is the Kazuha angst, sweeties :')) I wrote this with my prepared angsty playlist hehe- I.. well, my heart cracked..

✤ She/her

✤ Warnings: Death

➸ Honor (Sequel) ➸ Little Brother (Scenario) Resolve (Alternate Ending)

Words: 3.9k

"Text in this format means dialogue in flashback!"

The memory of peering into the crib with excited blabbers remains fresh, untarnished with the passing of time.

It feels like it’s just yesterday when your mother reached for the wailing baby laying inside to hand him in your caring touch.

“This is your little brother, [Name].” you squealed when the boy clung unto your finger, “His name is Kazuha. Be a good sister for him, understand?”

“Yes!”

Ah, that did feel as if it was just yesterday.

“Nee-chan!”

Dropping the basket of laundry, you frantically looked around.

“Nee-chan!”

“Kazuha-!?”

He was sprinting, arms flailing as tears spilled past his eyes and panicked exclaims left his lips.

His friend was chasing him from behind, laughing as he waved an undercooked fish—your brother’s worst nightmare.

Comedic but understandable.

“Tomo’s making me eat it!” your younger brother mumbled behind you, pointing accusingly towards his friend who sheepishly spluttered excuses at your stern gaze.

Taking the skewered fish in Tomo’s hands, you hummed, patting his and Kazuha’s heads.

“How about I cook something for the both of you, instead? How’s that sound?”

“Yes, please! Nee-chan’s cooking is the best!”

You can never get tired of cooking for the two of them, even if your sibling eventually asked to be taught, you find yourself still taking over cooking duty. Lovingly whipping up dishes is your forte.

It stuck around when the household eventually lost the attending servants following the fall of the Kaedehara clan. It even stuck through the grim times of your parents’ passing.

Kazuha had gone through so much at a young age, changed little by little—and you aren’t oblivious to it. With his growth, you are a witness to his budding shell of maturity.

Single years fold into a decade and all of a sudden, the mirthful silverette who doesn’t last a day without calling you ‘big sister’ has grown up.

Far too quickly, to be honest, but who are you to hold him back?

“You don’t call me ‘nee-san’ nowadays,” you laugh jokingly, “My, you’ve grown so much, Kazu!”

He stares at the plates of food you set on the dining table, his sigh small and feeble as you continue gushing. Albeit he has a smile on his face, it appears tight. Forced.

But you turn a blind eye to that—you’ve always been doing it.

Now, however, it seems that your brother has grown tired of humoring you. It has been going on for too long.

“I’m not some child anymore..” his monotonous voice is so unlike him—it’s as if he no longer is the person you grew up with.

Having him address it bluntly prompts you to pause, the only sound being the sizzling of unagi meat, frying to perfection.

The richness of its color, however, dulls when you process what your sibling has mentioned.

As if its vividness is an illusion meant to shield you from present-day reality.

Still, you shake it away, keeping the smile on your face as you set the fried meat on a new plate, turning to put it down on the table beside the other dishes.

“Oh, Ka-“ you stop, seeing the look in his eyes.

The way his carmine optics bore against your [c]s is foreign.

It’s scary.

It’s different. It’s new.

You sit down in front of him, trying not to show how restless you’ve become. Such an attempt is futile, of course, since you’re in front of the person you’ve been with for years.

“Kazu-“

Thud!

Silence zips your lips when he lays his chopsticks down. It isn’t by any means a slam—but someone like Kazuha doesn’t need to be outright with anything in order to express a negative opinion.

“So please refrain from initiating unnecessary coddling,” he cuts you off with a swivel as he leaves for the door. “I have grown up now, sister. I... need you less.”

What?

A multitude of emotions hit you at once, all coming from his sudden statement that feels like it can tear you apart. But oh—who were you kidding?

You know that this will eventually come.

The very day where he admits that he is capable of being alone. Without you.

The opening of the door causes you to stand from your chair, “Wait!”

He does as you said but doesn’t look back. His hand remains on the handle of the knob, unchanging of his decision to leave.

You tug the black and red scarf from your neck, inching close to the man so you can wrap it around his neck.

“It’s cold outside.. won’t you at least eat something?”

It takes him a moment to respond—but his decision does not change.

He detangles the fabric on his neck and, without looking you in the eye, sets it in your hand, rejecting your offer.

“Later.”

And he’s gone.

Nothing changed much after he left with that declaration.

Often times he still returns in the dead of night, a smile on his face. It will only ever droop when you come in the room greeting him a lovely evening, and he will sigh.

“I told you not to wait up for me.”

He will depart for his room before he can hear your explanation.

It leaves you hanging, hollow with bitter hope and refusal to believe that you both have reached that time in life where he doesn’t need you as much.

Each time he turns his back, you are filled to the brim with sorrow you didn’t know you were capable of holding.

Retreating to the upper floor of your home, you will stay at the balcony sighing your concerns away to the stars. To the place where you believe your parents are staying, listening to your bouts of frustration and worry.

“Was I a good sibling for him, mother? Father?” you’ll sometimes mutter as you play with your silver locks, the only thing you share with your sibling other than the forgotten name of a once esteemed clan.

And as you vent all these to the stars, you remain oblivious to the lone figure hiding by the shadows in the adjacent room. His frown is tiny. Sad, but not guilty.

Kazuha will leave once again before he’ll hear his sister’s frustrated cries.

Sometimes, he will chew over it when he is wandering Inazuma—thinking, pondering if perhaps there could’ve been a way to say it without hurting his sibling.

But as he contemplates over and over, he finds that there is no easy method to admitting the truth.

His friend Tomo, albeit not being told anything, is naturally cognizant of the things revolving around the silver-haired siblings.

The older sister’s presence has been diminishing and he can count her appearances at Kazuha’s side getting less.

He has implied several times to make up with the female even if they had no outright argument, and when faced with a baffled question of ‘why’, Tomo only smiles.

“Because you’re family.”

So simple and yet—when Kazuha thinks of the matter a minute longer, the taste in his tongue becomes acrid.

“What upsets you?” his friend questions as he coos over his white feline, “You’re not the Kazuha who’s always crying for big sister, heh.”

The silverette cannot even find it within him to send a retort. His silence, to others, is a message that typifies a want to be alone—but to Tomo, who has known him since they’re both children, that silence is different.

With a hum, he stretches his limbs, yawning as his cat rolls around the grass.

“You know, [Name] won’t hate you for wanting it,” he starts, “You want to wander, don’t you? But you feel like you’re tied down. You’re grounded—because [Name] is here.”

Kazuha flinches and his friend snickers.

Spot on.

“I’m just going to repeat what I said because I meant it, Kazuha. Tell her the truth. She’s literally the most understanding person I know—it’s not like she’s going to despise you for wanting something.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Tomo sighs. It’s not what I was hoping for but it’s a start.

Remembering something that moment, Tomo lets out a loud scream that nearly sent his friend toppling in the nearby stream of water. Kazuha looks on with slightly wide eyes as the other man jumps to his feet, violet eyes gleaming.

“Oh, right! I plan to initiate another challenge!”

Another challenge…

Kazuha closes his eyes with a hum, “I do hope you’ll last another. You’ve been faced with the worst of the worst.”

The chuckles that leave his friend’s lips are excited and sort of expectant.

“It’s going to be the ultimate one of all! So if you’ll excuse me~”

Perhaps a talk with your brother will do you both good.

You’ve both been acting like strangers walking on eggshells underneath the same house and it is driving you insane.

He’s not even looking you in the eye anymore!

Given his quiet personality, confrontation will be difficult, but he’s a cooperative person. Besides, he always hears you out.

There isn’t any reason for him not to when he knows that this will be done only for the betterment of the future.

So, with a nervous disposition but eager heart to settle things right, you lift the basket from its place with plans to head over to the market. It’s an hour or two before dusk, just the perfect time to shop for dinner.

“Mm.. some dry-braised salted fish for tonight sounds lovely.” You muse, remembering how the dish is your brother’s favorite.

Ah, the number of tries he takes to perfect and stylish it into his own can’t be forgotten.

It doesn’t take too long to cook it, but you’ll be making tons of other side dishes and dessert, so it’s best to start early!

You exit the abode, the smile on your face present as ever even when you’re greeted outside by a couple of Shogunate Soldiers. Their features appear sterner, their hold on their naginata rock solid.

“Are you Kaedehara [Name]?”

Hm?

“Yes. Can I help you?”

The soldiers lunge forward, spears falling to a position pointing at you from all possible angles, cutting any means of escape as you furrow your brows.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Your brother has defied the Decree of the Shogun and was hereby declared a criminal. Going against an Imperial Decree results in punishment inclusive to his immediate family.”

Your basket falls to the ground.

Thud!

Kazuha’s feet create a loud sound following his landing, a breath of panic expelling past as he rushes away.

The warmth in his hand escalates to a scalding degree, burning and searing like the fading power of Electro held within the golden casing.

To think that that was what Tomo meant.. !

He does not feel anger, no, just the burn of desperation and want to hide his friend’s Vision because he doesn’t want it to be taken away—to be placed in that statue that displays the lost ambitions of many others.

He’ll be damned before the Shogunate can take it… !

The criminal evades those at his tail, making swift maneuvers on rooftops and alleys without a second thought.

His limbs are answering his every command, be it to duck, to jump—or to even draw his blade.

He is still ways away from the port but getting there won’t prove to be too complex for someone like him. He’s cut down plenty of the samurai in his escape from Tenshukaku.

Tomo…

“You’re family. Tell her.”

Family—

“This is the first one in a long time I’ve heard of it being extended-! To whom again? The clan that has lost its prestige a decade ago, right?” he almost trips in his sprinting, darting to an alleyway so he can further eavesdrop.

Did I hear that correctly?

A relieved sigh escapes when those chasing him run past his hiding spot.

Sucking in his breath, the silverette tightens his grip on the faded Vision of his best friend as he listens in the hushed conversation.

“Be quiet!” someone hisses, “If someone overhears us, what next? Still, I do feel bad.. they lost so much already. I can’t believe they’d drag an innocent person into it, too..”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do. The Shogun issued the penalty to immediate families, right? As far as I know, there are only two Kaedeharas left—”

Kazuha feels his heart stopping. Kaede..hara?

There’s no mistaking it.

But why—?

Why would a punishment meant for him extend to her?

She’s innocent!

Going off-course, he sprints in the direction of his house.

The house that he lives in with his sister who takes great care of him—the same sister he’s willing to leave in favor of chasing what he wants in life.

He’s willing to, but he doesn’t.

Because perhaps—perhaps if he stayed and buried his desire, then he will amount to the same greatness she has done for him.

But he cannot stand it, either. As patient as he is, as kind and ‘gentle’, [Name] can always see through his face.

He’s always been antsy—always itching to wander and he’s stumped that his sister is well-aware of that fact. Still, she’s always playing the ignorant one, pretending not to care- still coddling him as if he’s little and he’s had… enough of it.

But now that the situation has pinned this misfortune upon them, the ronin realizes that she’s only pretending for his sake, as well.

“Cut that out, I don’t need it. I fear that.. you will only embarrass yourself.”

Wasn’t it him who refused to tell her of his want to roam free in the first place?

“I understand that I am your brother—but there is no need to worry over me all the time. I can look after myself, [Name]. Do worry about something else, instead.”

Wasn’t it him who stuck around, still?

The bitterness in his tongue increases with each leap of his feet. He doesn’t even process the race of his heart as he’s carried through the same path that leads him home.

To his family—to his only sister.

Everything seems to pass by slowly, in a blur, like the specks that decorate his vision the more his mind throws stacks and stacks of memories. This is madness.

Complete and utter madness.

He rounds the corner to see the figure of his only sibling, her back turned to him—she cannot see him, but he can see the armed soldiers flanking around her.

His throat tightens and certainly, he wouldn’t have been able to utter a word due to how it feels like his throat has been crushed.

“[Name]!”

Yet, the furious scream that tears past his lips denies all kinds of ‘impossibility’ the instant he sees the female falling to the ground, the sight of red splatter making him draw his blade.

Whoosh!

The summoned wind is opposingly gentle to the brewing storm in someone’s beautiful carmine eyes.

“[Name]-.. !”

That voice.. Kazuha?

Sometimes, the depth of emotion in Kazuha’s eyes is too deep for you to understand. Despite being so silent, he’s so, so expressive with his stares.

That even when he isn’t trembling when he lifts your torso, you know how much he’s quaking from within.

“What are you.. doing here? You have to go,” you cough red when he adjusts you in his arms, the sight of the fallen soldiers reminding you of the situation at hand.

“Quick—before they.. catch you.”

He shakes his head,

“I’m taking you with me, I have a boat prepared, come, let’s—”

“Don’t lie to me, Kazuha.”

He pauses, flitting his gaze down to meet yours. You hate how you can’t seem to focus on him, though.

Your sight is blurring in and out, only providing small intervals of clarity where you can see the panic in his features.

A sight you didn’t think you’d see on him until now.

“I know you made it for yourself. You’ve been planning to leave home, weren’t you? I’m not..” you’re not oblivious to his wish, “I’m not mad. I was only holding you back, wasn’t I?”

He sucks in a breath.

“I-I-“

What was he supposed to say?

Weakly tapping his arm, you start taking quick breaths—just to take in all the air you can while tolerating the gaping wound from being impaled.

It hurts. You want to scream. It hurts.

But you don’t—because you do not want to appear weak to your brother.

You promised mother and father that you will not cry when faced with problems—he mustn’t see, Kazuha mustn’t see.

But at this moment, you just want to break apart. Disbelief is kicking in, you can’t believe this is happening.

When—where did everything go wrong?

“Besides, I’m not of use to you anymore. As if I’ll last the journey to Liyue-“

“Don’t say that!”

You blink owlishly, gasping out in pain when his hand presses against your wound, futilely attempting to hold back the bleeding.

“K-Kazuha?”

Your own hand shakily plants itself atop his own, helping him press—as if his hand isn’t heavy enough to stop the flow—it down.

It will hurt, but you can’t say for sure. You’ve already grown numb and your head is swimming.

Still, you focus on him.

Still, you help him apply pressure even if you know—even if he knows—that it’s too late.

“Don’t say that. You’ve..” his voice cracks, “You’ve done so much, [Name], you-“

You took over the clan household when our parents died. You struggled to make ends meet for both of us. And yet.. all I do.. all I do is… !

Kazuha angrily bites on his lip, his hold on his composure beginning to slip as his mind throws in a reel of olden days.

“I’m leaving, [Name]. Please don’t wait up, I may take longer.”

“I’m grateful, but I don’t need that anymore.”

“Stop that, already.”

He dips his head with a muffled cry. All I do is wander and desire for a future where I can roam freely. I haven’t even thought of you..!

“You’ve grown, Kazuha,” he snaps back into this harsh reality when he feels the hand atop his disappear, presently moving to brush his messy locks.

He doesn’t know why all of a sudden his sight is becoming misty, but perhaps—perhaps it is because he remembers when his sister used to brush his hair the same way with a loving smile.

It is the same touch he flees from nowadays.

The same touch now—the same loving smile.

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right—you’ve grown so much.. and I’m still clinging onto the past.”

So lively, so beautiful and yet—

“You’re strong now..”

Yet it’s dying.

He presses harder on his sibling’s wound, almost sadistically—as if he’s hoping that it’ll ignite a painful reaction. “[Name], please, let me-“

Because if it hurt—then it means she’s still okay. She’s still responding.

“So capable.. so independent, you are.”

So why—? He almost chokes out a sob. Why are you not reacting to it!?

“Mother and father would be so proud of you. I am sorry if I was lacking in any way.”

“Please, [Name], you can’t do this.”

He trembles, the composure he created so, so close to breaking as he gives up on endeavors that are pointless, to begin with.

Instead, he tilts his head up, wishing to curse the heavens above.

For everything.

“I’m happy to be your sister, and.. I’m proud of you… Kazu..”

“Wait-“ he stumbles over his words, catching the falling hand of his sibling and registering how deathly pale she has gotten in a matter of seconds. “Wait, please—I-“

As much as he wants to voice out he’s sorry..

For many things; for turning his back on her, for being distant when all they have is each other, he’s unable to find his voice when he sees the tears dripping out of his sister’s [c] eyes.

His strong older sister—weeping. It’s the first time he has seen her cry.

Her smile trembles—

“I love you. My nice.. little.. brother.”

—And her [c]s are then hidden forever.

The way she endearingly called him in her dying breath has him freezing, his heart pausing as if he had died along with her.

But then the spark of pain welcomes him back to reality—to life.

And then he is leaning over her.

“[Name]..” breathless whispers escalate into panicked murmurs. “[Name]?”

His heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to shake her awake, like when he’d do when he’s eight and awake from an awful dream.

“Nee-san.. can I sleep by your side tonight?”

And although her [c] eyes are tired, she will still smile. “Okay.”

And she’d keep watch over him the whole night.

He’s reminded of it when he hopelessly shakes her awake, to no obvious avail. But he keeps grasping her arms, anyway, like he used to many years ago.

But things are different now.

“[Name]—[N-Name]!?”

He said it himself—he’s no longer a child.

“Please, don’t leave me- I- you’re all I have left!” The ronin’s composure finally breaks loose and his tears begin landing like a profuse waterfall. His uncontained sobs remain unheard.

This time, there is no one to wake him up from his nightmares.

“No—no, no- no, please..!” Kazuha weeps as he holds his sister’s cold hand, shakily pressing it to his forehead, imitating the sweet action she has always given him. A hand on his head, on his shoulder—or on his cheek if he’s tearful.

“You can’t!”

She’ll tell him not to be sad because it’ll make her sad, too.

And he’ll hurriedly wipe his tears because ‘no! big sister mustn’t feel sad because of me!’.

Then [Name] will muster a smile as bright as the sun and hold his face in her warm hands, and press a kiss on his forehead.

He’ll get red and thrash around, whining, ‘onee-san!’. And about how embarrassing it is so she mustn’t do it anymore.

Now, he is holding her hand in his own, trying to remember the same warmth it emitted just a day ago. Just a few hours ago. How long has it been?

And when he doesn’t feel the warmth—when he doesn’t remember the warmth, when all he feels is the cold and the obvious lack of love, Kazuha breaks apart.

His heart squeezes and his tears spill more, his lips parting to release the honorific he has dropped a long, long time ago. “Nee-san!”

“You don’t call me ‘nee-san’ nowadays,”

“Onee-san!”

“My, you’ve grown so much, Kazu!”

“Onee-san!”

I’m calling you. He cries, like a picture of misery. So why aren’t you waking up? Sister! He cries, like a heartbroken child.

The winds around him pick up, warning him of incoming men sent to apprehend and penalize him the same way they did to his sibling.

It’s suffocating—maddening, even, and he wants to tear them all down himself.

But [Name] wouldn’t like that.

So, with a muted cry and bolster of willpower, he tears himself from the body of his kin, trembling.

He can hear the thundering steps of the samurai as he hurries to untangle the same black and red scarf [Name] has once attempted to give him. The same fabric he has rejected.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry.” he hugs her with all his might, with his soul, and with his heart before he’s back up on his feet and running. I love you, too, nee-san.

“Get him!” someone roars from behind.

And although he wishes to turn and slice them away, he couldn’t—because he’d be seeing the fallen figure of the same person he had neglected to cherish.

So, instead, he nestles the scarf around his neck whilst clutching onto the Vision of his friend.

Down the path, he runs.

Years ago, he will be accompanied by the people he loves, chasing a faraway future.

Now he is running on the same path alone, running after a dream that can now be turned into reality.

Far from Inazuma.

Far from home.

a/n: did it hurt-

@lehra @melkxsh

bonus angst sketch

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Return to the Scrying Glass　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

[cbrownjc]

Also, I didn't think of this till now, (it was late when I wrote the above), but I have to reblog myself and add: Daniel's story isn't about a triumph of humanity any more than Louis' story will end up being.

Daniel's story is one about the loss of humanity. Same as Louis' story is.

In the show, Daniel's life isn't going to be some triumph of having kept his humanity, IMO. Because the point of fact is that, just like in the book, Daniel's encounter with vampires took away his human life. And there was NO going back to it after he and Armand fully came together. As Armand himself said to Daniel at one point about that, whenever Daniel would try and run from him (but would always end up coming back to Armand when he did so):

There is nothing for you now, Daniel, except me. You know that. Nothing but madness waits out there.

Even if Armand did let Daniel go in this universe like it appears he did, the only way Daniel was able to be let go was to alter his memories. Hide away the years he spent as the lover of a vampire. The human life Daniel ended up living was built and based on an illusion, not reality, and not the truth.

And that illusion was already beginning to be dismantled at the end of Season One. That will only continue as the seasons progress.

And who else in the show tried to live their life wrapped in an illusion? Why Louis did, of course. To avoid dealing with the reality of what he was, what he had become:

It was impossible from the beginning, because you cannot have love and goodness when you do what you know to be evil, what you know to be wrong. You can only have the desperate confusion and longing and the chasing of phantom goodness in its human form. I knew the real answer to my quest before I ever reached Paris. I knew it when I first took a human life to feed my craving. It was my death. And yet I would not accept it, could not accept it, because like all creatures I don't wish to die!

Louis' illusion gets broken and lifted at the end of IWTV. His story after that is learning to not only live with what he now is but to accept what he is as well.

And IMO that is going to hold true when it comes to Daniel on the show as well. With his memories coming back, Daniel, at some point, is going to have to accept that the human life he lived after he left Armand was built on and buried under an illusion. (Especially if Armand did what he did to Daniel's memories without Daniel's permission.) That part of that human life may have been very good even at times, but, as we see at the start of the series, Daniel wasn't looking very fulfilled by his human life now that he's entering into the final years of it.

I've been thinking over what it would take for Daniel to accept the act I know Armand is finally going to have to do to save Daniel's life. And I think it's all going to come down to Daniel facing the truth of his memories -- that he not only loved Armand deeply but wanted to be with him forever, wanted to be a vampire with him. Daniel may have told himself over the years that he only asked for The Dark Gift from Louis because he thought Louis was wasting it. But he's going to learn, going to remember, that that wasn't the only time he asked for it -- and why.

So no, Daniel's story, just like Louis' is about the shattering of the illusions built about their lives . . . and the loss of their humanity that comes with that shattering. Because humanity doesn't triumph in this story. For either one of them or for anyone else in this series. It's more a story about learning to live without it after it is lost -- because it is never possible to regain it again.

Again, Daniel being able to do so, for the time he did, was built upon an illusion -- nothing more.

Don't get mad, but...the story isn't about Armand. Even in that movie, the story of Daniel deviated. The story is about Louis. And in that story, doesn't it say something if Daniel dies. I don't want him to die. He is my favourite. But wouldn't it thematically make more sense? The wretched existence of vampire? Of daughters mourning him, while Louis had to mourn his daughter? A point of jealousy for human life and therefore a triumph of humanity?

I‘m not mad^^.

But while Louis is the narrator of the first book they are taking from at least 6 books already.

And we know we will get Armand’s POV in s2 already, and there’s been the Andrei IG post.

Like, this is Armand’s POV. HIS memories. Of his and Lestat‘s origins. In s2.

This story will not (just!!) be about Louis, even lf they keep the title of the show.

I mean, the creator has already said that Loustat are the heart and focus, and… while I do get where the need to point out Louis as the main comes from (I DO!!)… that is not how the books are structured. 🤷🏽‍♀️

And that is not how they are already setting up Daniel and Armand either.

We already have flashbacks and we know Luke filmed for s2 as well. We already know Jacob said he said goodbye to Louis “for a bit“ (because he cannot be in the flashbacks of s3!).

So, while I do get your idea of the parallel there… I sincerely doubt they will go that way. In fact I think we’re deep in The Devil’s Minion already. Among other things.

The show story will be about them all. The big four. Plus a few more, I‘d wager ^^

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Nátt (Vοσταλγία Winter Blurb)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Nátt: night (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Winter Blurb #9. A little bit of insight into Ivar’s perspective of sharing a bed.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: the usual, soft!Ivar, I suppose?

A/N: This topic wouldn’t leave my head, so I wrote a little piece about it. I apologize in advance if it is too ooc, hope it’s alright!

The sound of chains rattling brings Ivar’s attention to the bed where you are waiting for him, only to see your leg sticking up in the air as you try hooking your foot in the chains that he had set up there to move better in and out of bed.

“What are you doing?”

You continue playing with the chains, making them sway with a hit of your foot. Not that he expected you to stop whatever it is you are doing, he knows you better than that.

“I am thinking.” You say, and simply leave it at that. Ivar holds back a sigh, decides he will not bite and do exactly what you want him to by asking, and instead focuses on getting out of the layers of clothing and taking off the braces of his legs.

Halfway through the process he notices you stopped playing with the chains, and watches with a smile as you skip your way over cold ground to go revive the fire of the hearth, before scurrying back to bed and under the covers.

“Hurry, I’m freezing.” You pout. You wouldn’t call it that, and Ivar knows that, you would insist that you are dignified enough to never pout; but he knows better and he knows you’re pouting.

“You wouldn’t be freezing if you hadn’t walked barefoot all over the room.” He argues with a shrug. He can feel you glaring at him, and it only amuses him further.

“I wouldn’t be freezing either if my husband had joined me in bed.”

Sometimes it catches him off guard, how easily you call him your husband, how natural it seems that you share his bed. It is stupid to still be struck with the realization that he truly has you after all this time, he knows this, but he cannot help it.

It was more difficult for him than he thought it would be, facing the reality of having to share the more intimate aspects of his life with you. Not that he didn’t want to, he did, more than anything, but Ivar rarely thought things through when it came to you, he will admit that. He hadn’t actually considered that, when he married you, in turn you had married him.

Getting to have you sleeping in his bed meant that the way your accent clung tighter to your voice in the morning would be the first thing he heard each day, meant that maddening scent -that only months later he could pinpoint as lavender and something else, something softer- he identified with nothing but you would cling to the bedroom you shared as it did to the room you slept in before becoming his wife; yes, but it also meant there was no way he could keep up with whatever image of himself he wanted to show you, meant you would be a witness to his pain and his struggles and see all the ways he was lacking and deficient.

If nothing else, getting to have you sharing his bed meant he could at least hold on to the illusion that he truly had you, meant in stolen moments that were barely anything more than images he could have a part of you; but facing the reality of it meant each night he was only sharing a life with you that was built upon borrowed time and foolish hopes, meant realizing he had nothing.

That first night it was nothing other than your words -if you had asked, I would have said yes, it haunts him even now and he cannot help but almost resent you for it- and the memory of the torturously soft press of your lips on his that still lingered in his mind -it had to, it had to linger, he had to replay it in his mind, lest the memory disappeared and left him bereft- that kept him from sleep, that kept him tethered to that seat and the mead he tried drowning his thoughts in, caught in a struggle between telling himself there was nothing he could have done differently and admitting he could have had everything if he had just accepted the possibility of having nothing.

But every night after that, for almost two weeks, Ivar couldn’t stand going to bed with you. The wound of having surrendered control to you by agreeing to your demands that he would let you choose once Stithulf was defeated was still too fresh for him to accept settling in this limbo that for too long was all he knew. Each night, knowing you would be there past that door, that you would be encased in that softness and that lure that made him accept not being able to fight against you in the first place, it was almost enough to make him cave and seize what he had then even if it was a lie he was telling himself to believe he had any semblance of you, but he couldn’t shake off the reminder that it was all built on sand, that it was all borrowed time, and so he let you go without him each night.

And so he would wait, sometimes with Hvitserk while ignoring the knowing glances his brother would send his way, sometimes with his trusted men speaking of war or the defenses of Kattegat, until he was certain you had already fallen asleep, before he dared set foot on the bedroom you shared; and he would try his best to leave or get dressed before you even woke up.

But even then he knew he was delaying the inevitable, and he was avoiding facing a situation that, if he had his way -and he did, after all-, wouldn’t ever change; so he started making himself fall into a routine with you, retiring for your rooms together and going to bed together.

And it drove him mad, even though he is almost certain you barely felt the change of it.

It makes sense, he gathers. He took you from your people, brought you to some unfamiliar kingdom and forced you to become his wife, sharing his bed was the least concerning of the changes you had gone through.

But to Ivar…to Ivar it was every change given form. Seeing you softened by tiredness as he walked into the room, hearing your voice slightly roughened by sleep as you spoke quietly with him as the fires dimmed, feeling the distant and ghost-like caress of your skin as you lay so far away from him on your side of the bed.

And that distance was always there, and Ivar was almost grateful for it, he is certain even now that he wouldn’t have known what to do if you had been closer, if you had been warmer. It was true then and it continues to be true now that you disarm Ivar with but a touch.

That distance slowly eroded away, and even looking back now he can’t exactly pinpoint when or how it was that things changed.

He still remembers the time Harald came to Kattegat, that week or so that he spent in his home. He remembers it for many things, but most of all because those nights were the first since he had forced himself to face his new reality that he had gone to bed when you were already asleep and gotten up before you had woken up.

And he remembers how after a few days he started to find you still awake in your bed when he came into the room. He remembers wondering against his better judgement if you had been missing him in those passing days, he remembers the flutter of emotion in his chest before he could remind himself that such things were not possible for him.

He remembers one night in specific, and he remembers it because it was the night he realized that, even if it was his downfall, even if it would lead to nothing but pain, even if you would never be his; he was yours.

The drawl of your accent was much more pronounced as you dozed off, the sound of your voice threatening to send a shiver down his spine as it lowered to that breathy little tone; and for the life of him he cannot remember what you two were talking about, all he remembers is how you didn’t hesitate to move closer to him, intertwining your arm with his, your delicate fingers teasing at the inside of his wrist, and resting your head on his shoulder, breaths trailing torturously close to the skin of his neck.

It is pathetic, he knows it is, but for a very long time nights like that one were all he thought he would have of you, and he kept them closer to his heart than he would like to admit.

You drifting off to sleep with your head on his shoulder, trusting him to keep you safe from King Harald and any other. Your kiss over the corner of his mouth, mead sweetening your breath as you whisper I am happy before slipping under the furs. Your body lying next to his, helping him keep his head above water and focus on something other than the pain by listing ingredients and mumbling remedy recipes under your breath.

The memories leave a strange taste in his mouth, the ghost of a longing that he sometimes thinks will never truly leave him, and so once he is settled in bed, instead of being content laying on his side of it, he turns and moves towards you.

Ivar presses slow kisses over your thigh, angling towards your hip as he moves to rest between your legs, his arms under the small of your back and his head resting against your stomach.

It doesn’t take even a breath for him to feel your soft touch on him, one hand trailing delicate fingers over the ink traces on his back, another carding lovingly through his hair. That sharp edge of need and longing that lingered in his mind after revisiting such memories steadily ebbs away into the comfortable haze that having you in his arms lets him sink into.

Being able to have you, truly have you, since that night before he departed for Strepshire, has changed what sharing a bed with you is like. It was impossible that it didn’t, it was impossible that since that first kiss Ivar would somehow find it in him to stay away from you, it was impossible that you wouldn’t gravitate towards one another once you both caved into what was bringing you closer since before either could admit it.

Ivar won’t pretend getting used to how close you insist on sleeping was easy. It was difficult -still is, on the bad days- not to flinch away from your touch, because no matter how thoughtless it seems to be for you to drape yourself over his body, head on his chest and leg thrown over one of his; how natural it seems to come to you to mold your body against his, on your sides with one of your legs between his and your arm thrown over his waist; it isn’t the same for him.

He wouldn’t change it for the world either way. Waking up to you demanding he moves to the slightly colder side of the bed, drifting off to sleep to the rhythmic sound of your breaths, he cannot fathom how he slept well without you.

Ivar’s thoughts, as they seem to do often lately, drift to the group of Greeks near Eldham, to the promise that isn’t a promise anymore, to the deal that never really mattered because the people you were intending to avenge were never truly dead.

The night you told him about your people’s survival he didn’t sleep. You were warm and safe in his arms, and the promise you loved him was still echoing in his mind, but all he could focus on was on how that warmth was temporary, on how love was not even close to enough to keep you with him.

Many nights after that one Ivar spent awake, holding you close, closer than he ever thought he would have a chance to, and yet painfully aware that you were already lost to him, that there was nothing he could do to make you stay.

He remembers many nights spent looking at you, your features relaxed in sleep; spent calming his heart to the soft cadence of your breathing; spent with his hands tracing over your skin, holding you closer to him; and he remembers what it felt like to realize he would be missing that, this, for the rest of his life.

“Ivar, return to me.” You mumble, and he hears the soft smile in your voice before he even lifts his head to find it curving at your lips.

“Hmm?”

“You’re lost in your own head,” Your fingers tap the side of his head. “I can tell. What are you thinking about?”

Ivar shakes his head, “Nothing important.”

And it isn’t, not really. You are staying with him, and so it doesn’t matter, it is of no importance what fears plagued him or what thoughts linger stubbornly in his mind still, because you are staying.

It is still strange to believe it, it is still difficult to let go of old fears that remind him he will lose it all, to quieten old voices that demand he savor this moment, to ignore urges that promise having hate is better than having nothing, to push past instincts that tell him to fight.

But you are, and that is what matters. You are staying with him and the way you look in the dim lights of your bedroom, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soothing feeling of you safe and solid under his hands; none of those things will be missed by him for the rest of his life, they will be there for the rest of his life.

So, he rests his chin on your stomach to properly look up at you, and decides to get such thoughts and memories out of his head, asking you instead,

“What were you thinking about? Earlier?”

Your eyes search his for a breath or two, that insufferable little narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are studying him attentively; but eventually you shrug, fingers returning to the soothing motions through his hair.

“The night of our wedding, that’s the first time I saw these,” You tell him, looking back up at the chains that dangle over the both of you, dragging your teeth over your bottom lip with a short laugh. “I was very curious, even if slightly afraid, to find out what you used them for.”

He lifts his eyebrows, presses, “Disappointed?”

“You had already had me in shackles once, what makes you think I wanted to be in chains again?”

“Well, you are thinking about using them now.”

The glint in your eyes is familiar, and he sees the words you are about to say written in the grin that curves at your lips. Even your touch feels different, it feels like it speaks to some other part of him, when you rake your nails gently over the shaved side of his head, and Ivar cannot help but lean into the caress.

“I am. On you, my love.”

____ ____ ____

His anxieties there are important though, he’s an idiot and those are sometihng they need to talk about. But that’s a topic for another winter blurb lol

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax​ @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog @kaitieskidmore1 @berryonasummerevening​  

[breathings-of-the-heart]

Stuck on You (Levi Ackerman x Childhood Friend! Reader)

A/N: Hi, guys! I just want to preface by saying that this is a TWO (maybe a three if i decide to write an epilogue drabble) PART SERIES, and I have just a few more scenes to write before I can post it! I don’t expect this one to do so well, to be honest, but it’s been so long since I’ve written anything I’m proud of and I think I’m happy with how this turned out. So yes, stay tuned for part 2 which i will link at the end once it is posted. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, season one/no regrets ova spoilers

Word Count: 3.5k 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 years ago

“Why is it that you always seem to be on my case the most?” Your frustration was obvious and your patience dissipated, feet shuffling in their spot as you finally turned to face him. “You never nag Isabel this much.”

For a moment, Levi didn’t respond, scanning your body for injuries. After asserting that you were indeed okay, he stepped over the unconscious man who laid on the ground, jaw set in anger as he walked forwards until he was so close you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact.

Your snappy behavior was uncharacteristic. It only fueled his temper. The raven shook his head in disapproval, trying to keep his anger in check as you glared at him defiantly.

“Isabel doesn’t make such careless mistakes,” he pointed out coldly. “You almost got yourself hurt, (Y/N)! What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up to cover your ass?”

The both of you stood there in silence for several minutes, gazing at each other and listening to your uneven breathing. His face, unlike so many others, never really did reveal everything he was thinking. Feeling. You were dared to search for something else in his steady gaze besides disappointment, but for once, you could not tell what you saw. It was infuriating, humiliating, and hurtful.

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a brain inside your thick fucking skull.”

His harsh words didn’t normally cut you, but this time you flinched, looking away from Levi as all the fight drained out of you.


Wearing your jewelry out at night was a careless mistake, that you could admit. What was hard to swallow was the fact that you had just been mugged, and nearly assaulted, yet all Levi could do was find the time to scold you, not seeming to care at all if you were shaken up by what happened.  

It didn’t scare you that the other man’s hands found their way onto your skin. It didn’t scare you that something bad could have happened had Levi not knocked him out. You weren’t afraid of any of it; you were afraid that all the raven-haired man could see you for were your mistakes.

“So you think I’m a burden then?” you asked, choking up.

Your change in tone caught Levi’s attention. You suddenly looked smaller, and more vulnerable than the last time he looked at you. He sighed again, shaking his head softly. It took all your strength not to shy away from his fingers as they threaded through your hair, stopping on your shoulder and tugging you against him. You let Levi do it nonetheless, knowing this was his way of saying sorry; knowing this was his way of saying: “I’m tough on you because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”  

You pressed your ear against his beating heart, letting the sound soothe you.

“No, brat. I don’t think that. Let’s just go home, and forget about it,” his voice was more gentle this time.

You sniffled and nodded, chest bursting as Levi placed a feather light kiss on the top of your head. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never thought you’d miss the Underground. Especially when taking into consideration the miserable days after Levi, Isabel, and Farlan took that fateful deal, and were forced to leave you behind.  

Your feelings on the matter were conflicted, of course, but you were relieved and happy that the people who mattered most had such a big opportunity. They didn’t need to see you crying, nor hear about how scared you were to be by yourself. Each one deserved better than that, so you put on a brave face as they reassured you over and over that they’d come back. You beamed as brightly as you could, sending them off with words of encouragement as you continued fighting off the lingering feeling of dread as they left. 

You didn’t want to be a nuisance. Never wanted to be the reason they’d hold themselves back. 

Although he didn’t show it, Levi took it the hardest. He implored you to stay alive, in a scolding tone that he only ever used when he was worried. You could hold your own, but weren’t a fighter like the other three. The stern male had only ever been thankful of your gentle nature in the past, surprised to be cursing it now that he couldn’t protect you. But for him, you’d try your hardest, knowing that with a little faith and patience, you could be reunited in the future. 

The goodbye had been bittersweet, your lips slotting against his for the very first time. In a way, the way he kissed you seemed more like a promise than a farewell. His arms were wrapped around you all night, warmth lulling you to a sleep that otherwise, would never have been able to claim you. 

Parting afterwards the following morning became all the more difficult because of it.  

When Levi pulled a few strings with his newfound respected status and got the military to sponsor your citizenship, you were over the moon. Becoming a soldier was the last thing you expected out of your life, but wherever Levi and the others went, you would gladly follow. You felt at home again, throwing your arms around the man for the first time in months and giggling at the fact that while he accepted the gesture and patted your head awkwardly, his lack of affection never changed. 

But you were quickly learning that the ideological existence that lived right above your head was just an illusion. You came only to find your friends dead, and Levi more closed off to you than he’d ever been before. Up here, things were far from perfect, and as time went on, you instead yearned for the past if only to appreciate it better a second time around. And although things slowly got better, life was not yet finished throwing its hardships your way. 

The last person you had left slowly became out of reach, as time apart inevitably distanced the two of you and gave someone else the opportunity to fill that hole in his heart. 


Reality, you found, was much crueler under the blue of the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You don’t have to deny it, Levi. I know you better than anyone. I see the way you look at her,” you whispered, wringing your hands together in a feeble attempt to rid of the painful churn in your stomach. “I see it because you used to look at me that way.” 


It was admirable, at least, the effort you put in to keep your voice even. But the silence that followed those broken words was pitiful. The silence made it even more difficult to meet the gaze of the man in front of you. Levi had every opportunity to deny the truth of your burning statement; to bring you back into his arms and reaffirm his love like he used to. Like he would if maybe things were different. 

You knew, he had no desire to do that now. Instead, the Captain’s eyes screwed shut and a light sigh escaped his perfect lips, the warmth of it tingling your skin. It was nostalgic, almost, being alone with Levi like this. His face was nearer to yours then it had been in months, enough so that you could make out every tiny detail. The irony of it seemed mocking: for once, you couldn’t bear to look at him. Not that you needed to, with every feature of his sure to forever haunt your memory. 

But now all you could see were the interactions they had. Your vision consisted of watching as their bond and understanding grew. It was created in such a short amount of time, but hardly unpredictable with the amount of time Levi and Petra spent together. Even if Levi himself had not realized it, for you, it was plain as day. You knew him better than anyone. Could see that there was no pain in Levi’s eyes when he looked at her. Afterall, unlike you, Petra wasn’t a painful reminder of the past.   

Despite his physical closeness, this was the most detached you’ve ever felt from the male. The space between you was strange and unfamiliar. Lonely and cold.

At your words, he exhaled through his nostrils. 


“I would never be unfaithful, (Y/N). I never have been,” he spoke firmly, in that certain tone of speaking only he could manage. “I promised I would never leave you.” 

A tear spilled down your cheek, despite your best brave face. It was too much to handle, even for a calloused girl like you. Because despite everything, Levi had always been there. It seemed scary to have life any other way. 

Said man took your hand gently, handling it like porcelain. It wasn’t until his skin touched yours that you realized your fingers were shaking, and your facade was crumbling. His gesture was another reminder of what once was. The familiarity of his skin a testament to all the time spent simply existing with one another.

How did it come to this?

“A lot has changed since then, it seems,” you laughed softly, for once pulling away from his touch. “I bet you can’t even look at me without thinking about those two, huh?” 

You never once thought it was his fault. Even if you told him that, you knew Levi would always take accountability. Knew he would blame himself for taking Isabel and Farlan away from you. You should have seen this coming. It was inevitable that your love would be tainted, and that he’d find it somewhere else, even if it was unintentional. 

“(Y/N), wait—“ there was a small panic that awoke in the raven’s steely eyes that only those who truly knew him would be able to detect. 


“—You know how I feel about you, don't you? I want to be the one who you'd wake up next to every morning. The person you'd trust enough to spill all your secrets to, the one you want to hold close, the one who would make it hurt too much to ever let go. I want to be the person who can make you smile, or laugh until you can't breathe. Your first and last thought of the day, and the one you wonder about even when they’re not around.” 

You swallowed a whimper, fists clenched at your sides as your restraint came undone. It was all you’d ever wanted since you were small and starving and Levi was all you had to hold onto.

"But more than anything I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”

And because that’s how much I love you.

“I’d spent the rest of my life with you, if you asked me to,” the stoic Captain stated, as simply and mindlessly as if reciting the weather. 

You knew it was true. You also knew better than to let your mind wander to that fantasy, or to let a world come into fruition in which you stopped Levi from pursuing his happiness; held back simply because his loyalty knew no bounds. You refused to be that selfish. You’d rather die a miserable death, a thousand times over. Rather endure this anguish for as long as it resided in your heart then watch his indifference turn to hatred as years of a one-sided relationship droned on and on.

He doesn’t want you anymore. 

“I know, Levi.” You paused for a long moment. “Petra's wonderful. I don't hate either of you, I want you to remember that." 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying desperately to forget the feeling of Levi’s lips on your skin, your face against his chest. The warmth between your ribs or the butterflies in your stomach, or the fireworks of passion that only he could make you feel. Tried to forget the rare but special, secret words of affirmation only your ears got to hear, and the goosebumps they’d send across your skin. 

You wanted to erase it all, if only to make it easier to walk away with the knowledge you’d never feel any of that again.  

It was pathetic. 

There wasn’t anything left to be said. So with the task near impossible, looked at your lover, your best friend, your rock, your Levi, and turned away.

You only managed three steps before a voice followed you and a hand closed around your wrist.

“Is this what you want?” He sounded apathetic, but you knew better. His underlying worry only made the pain feel worse. 

“I don’t know.” At the very least, you were honest.  

"Will I see you again?"  

As adaptable as he was, Levi was never a fan of the unconventionality that was “change.” He was never surprised, quick to go with the flow, even if he preferred certainty and steadiness. 

This conversation, though, was one he never expected. 

"Of course," you forced a tiny smile, knowing it was more convincing than it felt. "I just need a breather. I'll be back for dinner." The words tasted bitter in your mouth. 

That was the first and only lie you'd ever tell Levi Ackerman, having handed in your resignation papers to Erwin just yesterday.

Forgive me, Levi. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snow fluttered down from the sky, coating the local shops and roofs of buildings with a thick, white blanket. Merchants and store owners alike grumbled their disapproval, bustling to sweep the front of their shops. The air was crisp and biting, yet you relished in the feeling and absorbed the atmosphere. Drunk garrison soldiers loitered around merrily, cheeks flushed from alcohol, catching the flakes in their hair and occasionally slipping on hidden ice in their drunken stupor. It made you chuckle softly, the residences of Wall Roses’ inconvenience the source of your contentment-- this was your first time seeing snow, the real thing a thousand times better than anything you read about in any book. 

You strolled through the marketplace, a basket holding bread, dried meats, cheese, and several fruits resting in the crook of your elbow. Your coin purse felt lighter than it had that morning, yet you carried on nonetheless, curious as to what Wall Rose had to offer. Children ran past you, throwing snowballs at each other and nearly running into you because of their haste. The sight made you grin as one of them bumped into one of the street market’s booths, knocking over a few items as he went. 

The woman behind the counter chastised them, her shouts growing louder when they barely spared her a glance and blended into the crowd of shoppers. Nick nacks and books were left scattered in their wake, askew on the cobblestone ground.

“Need help, ma’am?,” you asked her, picking up the objects from the ground. 

“Thank you, dearie,” she sighed gratefully, taking them from your hands. “Kids these days, so reckless and always in such a hurry.” 

You laughed airily, mirth swimming in your eyes. 

“You’re just lucky they didn’t steal anything,” you joked, reminiscing about your own thieving past. Your attention turned towards the noting the soldiers now dozing off on top of their card table nearby, tutting their behavior lightheartedly. “Levi, if only the police were like that back when we--” 

Out of habit, you turned around to meet his gaze, heart clenching when you remembered he wasn’t there. Your fists clenched to prevent you from smacking yourself at your carelessness. He’s not here, dumbass. 

“What was that, hun?” the woman behind the counter inquired, preoccupied in sorting her things. 

You put on your best smile, shaking your head before your thoughts could fill with images of a certain raven-haired, steele-eyed, heart-stopping male. The back of your eyes stung, the momentary joy of your first real winter quickly fading away.  

“Nothing important.” 

This is for the best, (Y/N). You’ve only ever gotten in the way, his whole life. Let the man be. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few years since that last encounter with him. Part of you still wondered if Levi tried looking for you after realizing your true intentions of never coming back. You hoped he didn't, imagining instead that he'd made the most of the opportunity you'd given him. Prayed that it wasn't all for naught and he instead pursued what (or who) truly made him happy, instead of worrying about other people. In truth, you became content with life, learning to look back on memories fondly and being thankful for their existence. 

Residing above ground was enough reason to be grateful in itself, and you did your best to make the most of it. Your days were now spent in ways that paid tribute to your humble beginnings: individuals from the underground who managed to secure citizenship to the surface were put into your care. You helped men, women, and children alike assimilate into living on the surface, which included introducing the area, and assisting in finding housing and jobs. It was rewarding work, but more than anything, reminiscent to be able to see the wonder when their eyes meet the clouds for the very first time. The flickers of hope from your clients were things you carried with you every day. Your chosen profession left plenty of free time, however, as it was relatively rare for individuals to pay the hefty toll of climbing up those stairs. 

Your life was average, and for the most part, uneventful. The quietness that accompanied mediocrity proved to be comforting, however. It was a far cry from the days of constantly looking over your shoulder and needing to carry a knife in your boot, just in case.

At first, it was difficult not to cry at the thought of the stoic, raven-haired Ackerman. The heartache weighed down in your chest for a good amount of time. The simplest things reminded you of Levi, but after a while, instances where he’d cross your mind became fewer and further between. With a nicer home than anything you previously owned, a livable income, and an overall peaceful existence, you didn’t have any regrets. 

At least, that was what you told yourself until you heard the news. 

On off days you worked as a waitress at one of the many taverns within Wall Rose. Large tips were one of the many perks that drew you in originally. The chatter of the customers and frequent bar-goers was a welcome ambience, and an opportunity for you to combat the occasional feeling of loneliness. 

Occasionally, Scout Regiment gossip would filter through, especially about Humanity’s Strongest and the new titan shifter Eren Jeager. Updates were nice, knowing Levi was safe and thriving in what he did best. But as you placed a pint of beer on one of the tables and overheard a heavy set man babble loudly to his comrade, dread splashed over you in waves.

“The Captain was the only survivor in his squad. He wasn’t even with them when it happened, poor guy. He must feel terribly guilty.”     

Your vision became hazy as you tried not to panic; of all the rumours that filtered through the drunk mouths of customers, you had never heard bad news like this before. The last you’d heard, human kind was given a beacon of hope, and things were looking up after Eren Jaeger managed to plug up the hole in Trost. 

“Excuse me, but which squad did you say this happened to?” you heard your voice say. 


Across the table, the other man took a swig of his drink, and grunted indignantly. 

“Levi Squad, the best in the military I heard. A shame, but I suppose even the top in the Survey Corps are still just suicidal maniacs when it comes down to it.” 

No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!  

After that, everything became white noise. You could only register every third movement, heart thundering in your ears. The tray you’d been holding to carry the drinks clattered as it fell to the ground, causing a few gasps and strange looks to be thrown in your direction. In your horrified state, dread weighed down like lead in your body. You rushed to the back room, tears clouding your vision as you tried not to stumble. 

You gripped the edges of the washroom sink, dizzy with this newfound information.   

Levi has now lost more people that he loved, and was probably experiencing the same survivor’s guilt as he did with Isabel and Farlan. He was most likely suffering alone right now, never having been one to let people see his vulnerability so easily.

You did not witness first hand what your friends’ deaths meant to him. When the Captain waited for you at the top of the staircase, his expression never seemed out of the ordinary. Levi was kind enough to let you enjoy your first few days up with him simply enjoying the newfound freedom. He made the excuse that your two other comrades were out on business somewhere, and would be back to see you soon. Maybe, at the time, your excitement blinded you from the deeper emotions hidden in his voice. 

When you found out the truth, their passing broke you. The fact that Levi shouldered any blame, however, is what twisted the knife. He had been grieving by himself; feeling that pain without anyone to comfort him. He had to put on a brave face just to see you; secretly spending that last month alone, probably relaying over and over how he would break the news to you. 

Your remorse increased tenfold when it was him who held you, and him who put you back together, just like he had to for himself. And now he was by himself all over again.

I have to do something. 

Splashing water on your face, you straightened up and looked in the mirror, a sudden surge of guilt coursing through your veins.

You refused to let Levi be alone this time around, no matter how he might feel about you now.

~~~~~~~

Part Two!