#it’s a story of hope and survival and fighting against the odds

[zinniapetals]

okay the newest chapter of bsd just goes to show that everything will end up being fixed thanks to The Book. why else would they introduce Teruko’s backstory only to kill her off two pages later? why else would the first ADA causality the most important one (the next head of the agency)? why else would the stakes be so extreme and wild?

because the magical Book will restart everything. -inhales copium-

[muiitoloko]

Would you be able to do a Severus Snape story. One where his girlfriend is nervous about having sex with him, as she still suffers from issues she suffered at the hands of a man who thought cared about her but just wanted to abuse her. Severus completely understands and never pressures her, she tells him she finally wants to have sex with him and he takes his time with her and is gently with her due her abuser being a sadist when it came to sex and not preparing her enough. Then after they have made love, he cuddles up with her which is a foreign concept to her as her abuser just use to shove her clothes into her arms after he was finished. Severus telling her how beautiful she is, as her abuser also belittled her about her body.

if you aren’t comfortable with this idea, it is fine if you choose not to write this idea.

Title: Alchemy of the Heart

Summary: A story of transformation and healing, where Severus Snape learns that love, like magic, can mend even the most broken of souls.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request! 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never thought he would find himself in such a situation—dating a Muggle, living a life that was so mundanely normal after everything he had endured. He scoffed at the absurdity of it all as he moved about the small kitchen in his modest home at Spinner's End, preparing dinner for himself and you, the woman who had somehow wormed her way into his life, despite his best efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length.

The irony was not lost on him. He, Severus Snape, a man who had spent his entire adult life hiding behind shadows and secrets, was now standing over a stove, chopping vegetables for a Muggle dish he barely knew how to make. He was a man who had survived the war, against all odds, only to be pulled back from the brink of death by none other than Harry bloody Potter. That particular twist of fate still rankled him. Potter had used the Elder Wand to heal the wounds inflicted by Nagini, saving his life and subsequently fighting to free him from Azkaban, where he had been imprisoned for a year. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing he owed his life and freedom to the very boy he had spent years despising.

Snape grimaced as he remembered the cold, damp cells of Azkaban, the Dementors draining every ounce of warmth and hope from him, leaving only a hollow shell behind. He had resigned himself to that fate, ready to be forgotten, to fade into obscurity. But Potter had other plans, of course. The boy who lived, the boy who couldn’t leave well enough alone.

And now, here he was, living in his old childhood home, the memories of his past haunting every corner, every shadow. But there was one new element in his life, something—or rather someone—who had become an unexpected comfort in this bleak existence. You.

He had first noticed you a few weeks after his release, moving into the house next door with your belongings piled into an old, beat-up car. You were a breath of fresh air in the stale, suffocating environment of Spinner’s End. Snape had tried to scare you off at first, his usual acerbic demeanor and cutting remarks meant to keep you at a distance. But you were persistent, infuriatingly so. You would knock on his door with some trivial request—a cup of sugar, a light for your stove, a missing ingredient for dinner. And every time, despite himself, Snape would begrudgingly oblige, always with a scowl and a sarcastic remark.

But you kept coming back. No matter how cold or curt he was, you would return, flashing that infuriatingly bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a warmth that he hadn’t known in years. Slowly, despite his best efforts, Snape found himself softening towards you, your presence becoming a constant, a fixture in his life that he didn’t entirely hate.

It had started as a reluctant friendship—if he could even call it that—exchanging a few words here and there, discussing the weather or some mundane topic. But then, one evening, you had invited him over for dinner. He had almost declined, the words on the tip of his tongue, but something in your eyes, a quiet loneliness, made him change his mind. And that night, as you both sat in your small, cozy kitchen, sharing a simple meal, Snape felt something shift between you. It was subtle, a barely noticeable change in the air, but it was there, and he knew you felt it too.

From that moment on, things were different. The awkwardness that had always lingered between you seemed to dissipate, replaced by a quiet understanding, a comfort in each other’s presence that neither of you could deny. The dinners became more frequent, the conversations more personal, and before long, those moments spent together turned into something more.

The first time you kissed him, it was hesitant, a brief brush of lips that left him reeling. He had pulled back, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, of regret. But all he saw was warmth, acceptance, and something deeper—something he hadn’t felt in years. And so, he had kissed you again, this time with more conviction, more certainty, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, tasting the sweetness of your lips.

But even as things between you grew more intimate, there was always a hesitance on your part, a reluctance to let things progress beyond those heated kisses, those moments of passion that left you both breathless. Snape had tried to be patient, tried to respect your boundaries, but there were times when he couldn’t help the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until one night, after another round of heated kisses that left you both wanting more, that Snape’s patience finally wore thin. He had used Legilimency on you, a skill he had honed to perfection over the years, and what he saw left him reeling. Memories of your past, of a relationship that had been toxic, abusive, of a man who had used your body, your trust, against you. It made Snape’s blood boil with rage, a fury that he hadn’t felt in years, directed not at you but at the man who had hurt you.

He had pulled back immediately, ashamed of what he had done, of the intrusion, but he couldn’t erase the memories from his mind. He couldn’t forget the pain in your eyes, the fear that had lingered just beneath the surface, even as you tried to move on, to find happiness with him.

So he kept it to himself, burying the knowledge deep within, refusing to let it taint what was growing between you. He would wait, he decided. He would wait until you were ready to tell him, until you trusted him enough to open up, to share your past with him.

And then, one evening, as you both sat on his old, worn sofa, your head resting on his shoulder, you had finally told him. The words had tumbled out in a rush, your voice trembling with fear and uncertainty, and Snape had listened, his heart aching with every word. When you had finished, he had wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered words of comfort, of reassurance.

"Thank you for telling me," he had murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You’re safe with me, always."

And that night, as you lay in his arms, Snape had made a silent vow to himself. He would never hurt you, never push you beyond what you were comfortable with. He would wait, as long as it took, until you were ready.

Now, as he stirred the pot of soup simmering on the stove, Snape couldn’t help but think back to that night, to the way you had looked at him with such trust, such vulnerability. It made his heart clench in a way that he wasn’t used to, a feeling that he had tried to bury for years but that now resurfaced with a vengeance.

You had come into his life like a force of nature, breaking down the walls he had built around himself, forcing him to confront emotions that he had long since buried. And while part of him resented it, resented the way you had made him feel again, another part of him—the part he tried to ignore—was grateful.

He heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind him and turned to see you standing in the doorway, your eyes bright with affection as you watched him cook. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the sight of you, so full of life, so full of light.

"You’re cooking," you said, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight as you stepped into the kitchen, your hands coming to rest on the counter as you leaned against it, watching him with those warm, trusting eyes.

"Don’t sound so shocked," Snape replied, his tone dry but not unkind as he turned back to the stove, giving the soup another stir. "I am capable of preparing a meal, despite what you may think."

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. "I never doubted it," you said, your voice light and teasing as you stepped closer, your hands resting on his shoulders as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "But I’m still impressed."

Snape felt a warmth spread through him at your touch, your lips against his skin sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the warmth of your gaze, the affection that shone in your eyes.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone, and Snape turned back to the stove, his hands tightening on the spoon as he stirred the soup with more force than necessary. He couldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable, to let his guard down. There was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much he was keeping from you.

You didn’t know that the man you were dating was not just a simple recluse living in a small, forgotten town. You didn’t know that the man you had trusted with your secrets, with your heart, was a wizard, a man who had fought in a war that had left deep scars on his soul. You didn’t know that the man you had chosen to love was capable of things that would terrify most people.

And as much as Snape wanted to keep it that way, to keep you safe from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. He could only hope that when it did, you would still look at him with the same warmth, the same affection that you did now.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand—preparing a simple meal for the woman who had become the light in his dark, shadowed world. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer.

You moved closer to him, your body pressing against his as you wrapped your arms around his waist, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched him cook. Snape stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your embrace, the warmth of your body seeping into his own, calming the storm of thoughts that constantly swirled in his mind.

"Thank you, Sev," you murmured, your voice soft and sincere as you pressed another kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering against the fabric of his shirt. "For everything."

Snape swallowed hard, his throat tightening at the sound of your voice, the sincerity in your words. He wasn’t used to this—this warmth, this affection. It was foreign to him, something he had long since resigned himself to living without. But now, with you, it was becoming a part of his life, and as much as it terrified him, he found himself clinging to it, desperate for the light you brought into his world.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust his voice to remain steady, so instead, he simply nodded, his hand coming up to rest on yours, squeezing it gently in silent acknowledgment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just a connection, a confirmation that he was here, with you, in this moment. Whatever it was, Snape felt a surge of emotion rise up within him, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, as if sensing his turmoil, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, a gentle caress that made his heart ache with longing. Snape responded almost automatically, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate need that he hadn’t felt in years.

The kiss quickly grew more heated, more urgent, as Snape’s hands roamed over your body, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your clothes. He could feel the desire building within him, the need to take this further, to lose himself in you, in the warmth and comfort that you offered.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, you pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"Severus," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as you placed your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I… I want to be with you, but…"

Snape felt his heart clench at your words, the hesitation in your voice, the uncertainty in your eyes. He knew what you were going to say, knew what was holding you back, and it made his chest tighten with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

"But you’re not ready," Snape finished for you, his voice low and rough as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "And that’s okay, love. We’ll take things at your pace."

You looked up at him, your eyes filling with tears as you nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hand against your skin.

Snape felt a wave of emotion wash over him, a mixture of love and frustration and something else—something deeper, something darker that he couldn’t quite put into words. He wanted you, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—push you into something you weren’t ready for. Not after everything you had been through.

So instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as he whispered, "When you’re ready, I’ll be here."

You nodded, your arms wrapping around his waist as you buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. And in that moment, Snape realized that maybe, just maybe, he was.

As the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Snape couldn’t help but think of how far he had come, how much his life had changed since the end of the war. He had gone from being a man consumed by darkness and hatred, to a man who was learning to love again, who was finding solace in the warmth of a woman’s embrace.

But even as he held you close, the weight of his secrets pressed down on him, a constant reminder that there was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much that he was keeping from you.

And as much as he wanted to protect you from that darkness, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

For now, though, he would hold onto this moment, this brief reprieve from the shadows that haunted his every step. And he would continue to wait, as long as it took, until you were ready to take that next step, to fully trust him with your body, your heart, your soul.

Because for the first time in his life, Severus Snape had something worth waiting for.

You and Severus Snape sat across from each other at the small, worn kitchen table in his modest home. The room was quiet, save for the soft clinking of spoons against bowls as you both ate the soup he had prepared. The aroma of the dish filled the air, a comforting blend of herbs and spices that seemed almost out of place in the austere surroundings of Spinner’s End.

Snape watched you closely, his dark, piercing eyes never leaving your face as you took your first tentative spoonful of the soup. He appeared calm and composed, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze—an emotion that he carefully kept hidden behind his usual mask of indifference. You, oblivious to the scrutiny, tasted the soup, savoring the warmth that spread through you as you swallowed.

To your surprise, the soup was not just good—it was delicious. The flavors were rich and well-balanced, each ingredient perfectly complementing the others. You glanced up at Snape, your eyes wide with genuine admiration. “This is amazing, Severus,” you said, your voice filled with pleasant surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be such a good cook!”

Snape’s response was immediate. He rolled his eyes in a manner that was both exaggerated and entirely out of character, the motion so unexpected that it caught you off guard. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he affected a tone of mock offense. “What did you expect, then? That I would poison you with my lack of culinary skills?”

You burst into laughter, the sound bright and clear in the small, dimly lit kitchen. “No, no! It’s just—I mean, you never struck me as the type to… well, cook. You always seem so serious, so… severe.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but there was a glint of amusement in them that you hadn’t noticed before. “I am full of surprises, as you’ve clearly discovered,” he said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were fighting the urge to smile.

You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand as you leaned forward, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Sev. I didn’t mean to sound so… rude. I’m just pleasantly surprised, that’s all.”

Snape’s expression remained impassive, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, if you’re going to be so disrespectful about my cooking, perhaps I should refrain from ever doing it again,” he said, his tone smooth and measured, though laced with a subtle edge of sarcasm.

Your laughter died down, and you looked at him with wide, imploring eyes, your lips forming a small, playful pout. “Oh, please don’t do that! I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He allowed the silence to stretch out, letting you squirm slightly under his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he set his spoon down and leaned back in his chair, his long, pale fingers steepled in front of him. “I suppose I can find it within myself to forgive you,” he said with mock gravity, his voice carrying that familiar, rich baritone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You grinned, relieved by the playful banter that had emerged between you two. “I promise to be more appreciative next time,” you said, your tone light and teasing.

Snape’s eyes softened slightly, and he allowed himself a small, genuine smile, though it was fleeting. “See that you do,” he replied, his voice carrying just a hint of warmth. He picked up his spoon once more, returning his attention to his soup, though you could tell he was still watching you from the corner of his eye.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the earlier tension between you having dissipated entirely. There was something soothing about the simplicity of the moment—the two of you sharing a meal, the quiet intimacy of the evening wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

After a while, you looked up at him, a thought crossing your mind. “Severus,” you began, your voice soft and curious, “you never really talk about your past. You’ve told me bits and pieces, but… I don’t really know much about you.”

Snape’s hand paused mid-motion, his spoon hovering over the bowl. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of something—uncertainty, perhaps?—in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual inscrutable expression.

“What exactly do you want to know?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You hesitated, unsure of how to phrase your question without prying too much. “I know you were a professor—a chemistry professor, right? At a college in Scotland?”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the version of his past that he had shared with you. “Yes,” he said, his voice measured. “I taught for many years.”

You smiled at him, trying to convey that you weren’t seeking to push him into sharing anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “It must have been… interesting, teaching. But I can’t imagine it was easy, especially with students who didn’t always appreciate your brilliance.”

Snape’s lips twitched at that, and he let out a soft, sardonic huff. “Indeed. Many of them were more interested in their own self-indulgent pursuits than in actually learning anything of value.”

You chuckled, imagining a classroom full of students cowering under Snape’s stern gaze, their attempts at chemistry likely met with his cutting remarks. “I’m sure you were a… challenging teacher,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your tact. “I was effective,” he replied simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him with genuine curiosity. “Do you miss it? Teaching, I mean.”

For a moment, Snape was silent, his eyes distant as if he were considering your question—or perhaps reliving old memories. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more reflective. “There are aspects of it that I miss, yes. The pursuit of knowledge, the satisfaction of imparting it to those few who were truly eager to learn… But the rest… no, I do not miss that.”

You nodded, understanding that there was much more to his past than he was willing—or perhaps able—to share. You didn’t press further, content to let him reveal what he wished in his own time. Instead, you reached out and gently placed your hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Sev,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with sincerity.

Snape looked at you, his expression inscrutable, but you could sense the shift in his mood—the subtle softening of his usual defenses. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice low and almost reluctant, as if the words didn’t come easily to him.

You both returned to your meal, the earlier levity now replaced by a quiet, comfortable silence. As you finished your soup, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment—a feeling that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the man who, against all odds, had become so important to you.

And as Snape watched you from across the table, his dark eyes lingering on your face, he too felt a stirring of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—something that, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t entirely hate.

Days later, you found yourself in a small, charming boutique nestled in the heart of town, dragging Severus Snape along with you. The place was a far cry from the dark, foreboding atmosphere of Spinner's End. It was bright, colorful, and filled with racks of clothing that seemed to almost offend Snape’s sensibilities. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fabric and a hint of perfume, and the light streaming through the windows made everything seem almost unnaturally cheerful.

Snape, however, was anything but cheerful.

He stood in the middle of the store, his tall, lean frame towering over the racks of clothing, his long black coat making him look like a shadow in a world of light. His greasy black hair hung over his pale, angular face, and his dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of disdain and discomfort. He watched you with a glare that could have curdled milk, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"You cannot be serious," he growled, his deep, monotone voice cutting through the lighthearted chatter of the boutique. "I have no interest in—"

"Oh, come on, Sev," you interrupted, undeterred by his intimidating presence as you held up a bright, turquoise shirt, eyeing it critically before pushing it against his chest. "You can't always wear black. It's time for a change, don't you think?"

Snape recoiled as if you had just handed him a particularly venomous potion. "Absolutely not," he snapped, pushing the shirt away from him as if it were toxic. "I am perfectly content with my current wardrobe, thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes, clearly unfazed by his resistance. "You can't hide in black forever, you know. It’s time to add a little color to your life, Severus."

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of stubborn defiance. "I see no need for such frivolity. I am not one of your... fashion experiments."

You grinned at his surly tone, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you rifled through another rack of clothing. "Well, maybe you should be. I think you’d look quite dashing in something other than black for a change."

Snape’s eyes narrowed further as he watched you, clearly unimpressed with the direction this outing was taking. "This is absurd," he muttered, though there was a faint trace of resignation in his voice as he realized that there was no escaping your determination.

And then, as if to test his resolve further, you pulled out a bright pink shirt from the rack, holding it up for him to see. "What about this?" you asked, your voice filled with playful innocence. "I think pink would really bring out the color in your eyes."

Snape’s reaction was immediate and visceral. His dark eyes widened in horror, and for a moment, it looked as if he might actually hiss at the offending garment. "Absolutely not!" he thundered, taking a step back as if the shirt were about to attack him. "I will not—under any circumstances—wear pink! No! No! No way! I’d rather die before wearing that!"

You burst into laughter at his dramatic reaction, clutching the shirt to your chest as you tried to stifle your giggles. "Oh, Sev," you managed between laughs, "you’re being ridiculous. It’s just a shirt!"

"It’s not just a shirt," he retorted, his voice laced with indignation. "It’s a deliberate assault on my dignity. Pink, indeed!" He scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disdain. "Do I look like someone who would wear pink?"

You stepped closer to him, your laughter subsiding as you held the shirt up to his chest again, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of challenge and affection. "You might be surprised," you teased, your voice softening slightly as you gave him a knowing smile. "Besides, I think you’d look quite handsome in it. It’s just for fun, Sev. No one’s going to see you."

Snape stared down at you, his expression unreadable as he contemplated your words. There was a long moment of silence as the two of you stood there, the bright pink shirt still held between you, an unspoken battle of wills playing out in the air.

Finally, with a resigned sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Snape snatched the shirt from your hands, his dark eyes glaring at you with a mixture of frustration and reluctant acceptance. "Fine," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "But if I look ridiculous, I will hold you personally responsible."

You grinned, practically bouncing on your toes with excitement as you watched him disappear into the dressing room. "I’m sure you’ll look fantastic," you called after him, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Several minutes passed, and you waited impatiently outside the dressing room, practically buzzing with anticipation. Finally, the door creaked open, and Snape stepped out, his tall, lean frame draped in the bright pink shirt you had chosen for him.

For a moment, you were stunned into silence. The shirt, against all odds, actually looked… good on him. The color, while a far cry from his usual black, brought out a warmth in his pale complexion that you hadn’t noticed before. The way the fabric clung to his lean form was surprisingly flattering, highlighting the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest.

But what really struck you was the expression on Snape’s face. He looked utterly resigned, as if he were bracing himself for some inevitable disaster, but there was also a glimmer of something else in his dark eyes—something that almost looked like amusement.

He stood there, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he clapped his hands together, his expression deadpan as he waited for your reaction. "Well?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you satisfied with your handiwork, or do I need to suffer through more of this torture?"

You couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter, the sound bright and joyful as you clapped your hands together in delight. "You look… amazing, Severus!" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you stepped closer to him, reaching out to smooth the fabric of the shirt against his chest. "I knew you’d look good in pink!"

Snape rolled his eyes, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips that betrayed his own amusement. "I look like an idiot," he muttered, though the words lacked any real heat. "This is precisely why I do not allow you to choose my clothing."

You grinned up at him, your hands resting on his chest as you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "Well, I think you look quite handsome," you said, your voice filled with affection. "And besides, it’s good to have a little fun every now and then, don’t you think?"

Snape huffed, clearly unconvinced, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before—a subtle acknowledgment of the fact that, despite his grumbling, he didn’t entirely hate the experience.

"Fun," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he gave you a pointed look. "Yes, well, I suppose if nothing else, I’ve provided you with some amusement."

You chuckled, your eyes twinkling as you leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "You always do, Severus. You always do."

And as you both left the boutique, Snape still wearing the pink shirt with a mixture of resignation and reluctant acceptance, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The man who had once been shrouded in darkness, who had built walls around himself so high that no one could penetrate them, was slowly letting you in—one bright pink shirt at a time.

Later that day, after the unexpected and rather amusing shopping trip, you found yourself back at Snape’s home. The small, dimly lit rooms of Spinner’s End were a stark contrast to the bright, colorful boutique you had dragged him to earlier, but there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of the old, worn furniture and the quiet, almost melancholic atmosphere that seemed to permeate every corner of the house.

Snape, now mercifully back in his usual black attire, sat stiffly on a low stool in the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly folded in front of him, as you fussed over his hair. The small, narrow room was filled with the scent of shampoo and the faint sound of water dripping from the faucet, the only noises breaking the otherwise heavy silence.

You stood behind him, your fingers working through the tangled strands of his long, greasy black hair, your touch gentle but insistent. The hair-washing had been your idea, of course—a suggestion made with the kind of playful insistence that you knew Snape could never fully resist, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

Snape, for his part, was doing his best to endure the ordeal with what little dignity he had left. His dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of discomfort and irritation as he glared at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink, his lips pressed into a thin line of discontent. Every so often, he would let out a low grumble, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

"Must you continue this charade?" he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he shot you a sideways glance in the mirror. "I’m quite capable of washing my own hair, you know."

You ignored his complaints, your fingers continuing to work through the soapy strands of his hair with determined care. "Oh, hush, Severus," you replied, your tone light and teasing as you gently massaged his scalp. "You’re just being grumpy because you know I’m right—this hair needs a good washing, and you weren’t about to do it yourself."

Snape let out an indignant huff, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. "I hardly think you’re qualified to make such judgments," he retorted, though the faint hint of amusement in his tone betrayed his true feelings. "And you’re taking entirely too much pleasure in this."

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you leaned down to press a quick, playful kiss to the top of his head. "Of course I am," you admitted, your voice filled with affection as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. "When else do I get the chance to pamper you like this?"

Snape rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real heat. "Pamper," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he met your gaze in the mirror. "If this is what you consider pampering, then I shudder to think what you would consider torture."

You grinned, your hands still working methodically through his hair, carefully untangling each knot with the patience of someone who had come to know him well enough to not be intimidated by his gruff demeanor. "Oh, Sev," you teased, your voice soft and affectionate, "I think you secretly enjoy this more than you let on. You just don’t want to admit it."

He scoffed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his head to glare at you, though there was no real malice in his gaze. "I assure you, I derive no enjoyment from being subjected to this… this—"

"Indulgence?" you supplied, your tone light and playful as you met his glare with a knowing smile.

"Humiliation," Snape corrected, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he turned his attention back to the mirror, his expression once again settling into its usual stoic mask. "But by all means, continue with your… indulgence."

You shook your head, your grin widening as you continued to work through his hair, the strands slowly becoming less tangled, less greasy under your careful ministrations. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though there was no real heat behind the words. "But that’s part of your charm, I suppose."

Snape’s only response was a low, noncommittal grunt, his fingers tapping impatiently against the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain his patience.

After a few more minutes of combing through his hair, you finally felt satisfied with your work. You reached for a clean towel, gently wrapping it around his head as you began to dry the now-clean strands with a firm but gentle touch. "There, all done," you said, your voice filled with a quiet satisfaction as you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

Snape, however, was less than impressed. He reached up, his long fingers brushing through his now-damp hair with a frown, as if expecting to find some glaring imperfection. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, his tone a mixture of irritation and resignation as he glanced at you in the mirror.

"Not quite," you replied, your eyes catching sight of a single strand of white hair near the crown of his head. Your expression shifted from playful to curious as you reached out to touch the strand, gently pulling it free from the rest of his hair.

"Sev," you said, your voice filled with a mixture of surprise and amusement as you held up the white hair for him to see. "Look what I found."

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the strand in your hand, his expression immediately hardening. "That is not mine," he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It must have gotten mixed in with my hair somehow."

You couldn’t help but laugh at his stubborn denial, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you dangled the strand in front of him. "Oh, come on, Sev," you teased, your voice light and playful as you met his glare with a grin. "It’s just one white hair. It’s nothing to be ashamed of."

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes narrowing further as he snatched the strand from your hand, his expression one of absolute refusal. "It is not mine," he repeated, his voice filled with the kind of certainty that only Severus Snape could muster. "I do not have white hair."

You rolled your eyes, clearly amused by his adamant refusal to accept the truth. "You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head as you watched him carefully inspect the strand of hair, as if trying to find some evidence to support his claim.

"Impossible or not," Snape replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tossed the strand of hair into the waste bin with a flick of his wrist, "I refuse to believe that I am… aging."

You chuckled softly, reaching out to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the sharp line of his jaw as you looked up at him with a mixture of affection and amusement. "Everyone ages, Sev," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth as you met his gaze. "Even you."

Snape’s expression softened slightly at your words, though he still seemed reluctant to accept the truth. "Perhaps," he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he glanced away, his dark eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had become so important to you, despite his stubbornness, despite his gruff exterior. "It’s nothing to worry about," you assured him, your voice soft and reassuring as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I think it just makes you more distinguished."

Snape let out a low, skeptical grunt, his lips curving into a faint, reluctant smile as he met your gaze once more. "Distinguished," he repeated, his tone filled with a mixture of irony and amusement. "Is that what you call it?"

You grinned, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you nodded. "Absolutely," you replied, your voice filled with playful conviction. "And besides, it’s just one hair. You’ve got plenty of time before you have to worry about going gray."

Snape rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced by your reassurances, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your touch, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulled you closer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at you with a mixture of desire and frustration.

"You’re entirely too pleased with yourself," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering on your skin.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze, your heart quickening as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. "And you’re entirely too grumpy," you retorted, though your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, the playful banter giving way to a sudden, undeniable tension that crackled in the air between you.

Snape’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, "you need to be reminded of why you shouldn’t push me too far."

Your breath hitched at the underlying threat in his tone, a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you as his fingers tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady, insistent pressure of his arousal against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of desire straight to your core.

"Severus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and uncertain.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your hesitation, the dark intensity in his eyes giving way to a quiet, almost tender concern. "You’re still afraid," he murmured, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire as he brushed his lips against your temple, the gentle gesture at odds with the possessive grip he had on your wrist. "You don’t have to be, love."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the weight of his words, the quiet reassurance in his voice making your resolve waver. "I know," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt, of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the dark, smoldering intensity of a man who wanted you—body, heart, and soul.

"I want this," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for so long, the words that you had been too afraid to say. "I want you, Sev."

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest at your admission, his dark eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and satisfaction as he leaned down to capture your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a possessive urgency that made your knees weak.

You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pressed yourself against him, the fear and hesitation that had held you back for so long melting away in the heat of his embrace. There was no room for doubt, no room for fear—only the overwhelming need to be with him, to feel him, to lose yourself in the pleasure that he offered.

Snape’s hands moved with a sure, practiced grace as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of your chest. He let out a low, appreciative groan as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire as he reached up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his hands moving to your waist as he slowly began to guide you toward the bed. "I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you for so long."

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his lips against your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as you allowed him to lead you, your legs trembling with anticipation as you felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees. "Sev," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and uncertainty as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your lingering hesitation, his hands moving to cup your face as he leaned down to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to your lips. "You don’t have to be afraid," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he brushed his thumbs against your cheeks, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, tender concern. "I’ll be gentle, love. I promise."

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had been so patient, so understanding, even as his own desire threatened to consume him. "I trust you," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hands against your skin.

Snape let out a low, relieved sigh at your words, his lips curving into a small, tender smile as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to gently guide you onto the bed. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet, sincere gratitude as he leaned over you, his dark eyes never leaving yours as he slowly began to undress you, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverent care that made your heart ache.

There was no rush, no urgency—only the slow, deliberate movements of a man who wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every kiss. And as he finally stripped away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long fading into the background as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

Snape took his time, his hands and lips exploring every inch of your body with a slow, deliberate care that made your breath hitch in your throat, the pleasure building with every touch, every caress. He was patient, attentive, always watching, always listening for any sign of discomfort, of hesitation, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if you so much as whispered a word of doubt.

But you gave him none. Only soft, breathless moans and whispered pleas for more, your body arching into his touch as he slowly, gently, brought you to the edge of pleasure, only to pull back, teasing you with the promise of release before finally, mercifully, giving you what you craved.

When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you completely, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisitely perfect. You let out a soft cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure that surged through you.

"Sev," you moaned, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and relief as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

He let out a low, guttural groan at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he quickened his pace, the intensity of his movements matched only by the fierce, possessive hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you, his expression one of absolute, unbridled need.

"You’re mine," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hips driving into you with a desperate urgency that made your breath hitch in your throat. "Mine, love. Always."

You could only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form coherent words as you lost yourself in the sensation of him moving inside you, the steady, insistent rhythm of his thrusts sending you spiraling closer and closer to the edge of release.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you cried out in pleasure, your fingers digging into his back as you clung to him, the intensity of your orgasm leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Snape continued moving inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as the intensity of his own pleasure grew, his control slipping with each passing second. His dark eyes, usually so guarded and inscrutable, were now clouded with raw desire as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper, rough with the effort to hold back. There was a note of desperation in his tone, a plea for your permission, your acceptance, as he teetered on the edge of release.

Your mind was a haze of pleasure, your body still trembling from the powerful orgasm he had just coaxed from you. His question hung in the air, charged with the weight of what it would mean—for him to finally claim you, to mark you as his.

“In me,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but there was no mistaking the conviction in your words. “Cum inside me, Severus.”

A low, guttural curse escaped his lips, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanor, as he buried himself to the hilt with a final, powerful thrust. The sensation of his thick length pulsing deep inside you sent a shudder through your body, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, holding him close as he found his release.

He came hard, his entire body tensing as he spilled himself inside you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he held you in place, ensuring that every last drop was buried deep within you. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, mingling with the soft, desperate moans that escaped his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, the intensity of it nearly overwhelming him.

“Mine,” he growled through clenched teeth, his voice rough with satisfaction as he pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release. “You’re mine, love… all mine.”

You could only nod weakly, your body spent, your mind still reeling from the force of your own climax. The weight of his words, the possessiveness in his tone, sent a thrill through you, even as exhaustion began to creep in, your limbs heavy and languid as you lay beneath him.

Snape slowly pulled out of you, a low, satisfied groan rumbling in his chest as he watched the evidence of his claim slowly begin to seep from your body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the sight stirring something deep within him—something primal, possessive, and utterly inescapable.

But before you could fully process what was happening, Snape surprised you by shifting lower, his long, lean frame sliding down the bed until his face was level with your still-sensitive core. Your eyes widened in shock as you realized what he intended, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide to make room for himself.

“Sev—” you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and lingering sensitivity, but he silenced you with a look, his dark eyes glinting with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Be still,” he commanded softly, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your inner thigh in a feather-light caress. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as he moved closer, his breath hot against your already oversensitive skin. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your most intimate areas, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure and discomfort through your body in equal measure.

“Severus, please,” you pleaded, your voice weak and breathy as you tried to squirm away, the overwhelming sensitivity making you want to pull back, to escape the onslaught of sensations that were too much, too intense.

But Snape would have none of it. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as he buried his face between your legs, his lips and tongue seeking out the remnants of his own release mixed with your essence. The feel of his mouth on you, the deliberate, almost reverent way he cleaned you, was both too much and not enough, your mind spinning with the intensity of it all.

“Stay still,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a rough whisper as he continued his ministrations, his tongue lapping at you with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. “Let me taste you… let me taste what’s mine.”

You gasped, your fingers curling into the sheets as you fought against the urge to pull away, the overwhelming sensitivity making every touch feel like both pleasure and torture. Your body jerked involuntarily, but Snape only tightened his grip, holding you steady as he continued to work his mouth against you, his dark eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

He loved this—loved the way you trembled beneath him, the way your body responded to his touch even when it was too much, too intense. He loved the way your breath hitched in your throat, the way your nails dug into the sheets as you fought to keep still, to endure the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with dark satisfaction as he continued to lap at you, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that made you cry out, your body convulsing beneath him. “So perfect… so responsive… I could do this forever.”

You couldn’t respond, your mind too clouded with pleasure, your body too wracked with sensation to form coherent words. All you could do was cling to the sheets, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Snape continued to work his mouth against you, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of every last drop of your combined release.

“Sev, please… it’s too much,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and need as you tried to pull away, your body on the verge of another climax, the overstimulation sending jolts of pleasure and pain through you in equal measure.

But Snape didn’t let up. If anything, your pleas only seemed to spur him on, his mouth working you with renewed fervor, his hands tightening on your thighs as he held you in place, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You can take it,” he growled against your skin, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re mine, love… every part of you. I’ll make you cum again… I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

His words were your undoing. With a final, desperate cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your second orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent. Snape held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue continuing to lap at you even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your release.

When you finally came down from the high, your body limp and exhausted, Snape slowly pulled away, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you, his lips curving into a small, dangerous smile.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark, possessive satisfaction as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

You could only nod weakly, your mind clouded by exhaustion and the overwhelming pleasure that had just coursed through you. Every muscle in your body felt heavy, spent, and as you lay there, trying to catch your breath, the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart still pounding in your ears, as you waited for the inevitable.

You braced yourself for the cold distance that you had come to expect from your past—waiting for him to pull away, to turn his back on you, to push you away with a dismissive order, just like your ex-boyfriend used to do. The old fears began to creep back in, threatening to ruin the quiet afterglow that had settled over the room.

But Severus didn’t do that.

Instead, he surprised you. The bed shifted under his weight as he climbed in beside you, and before you could even process what was happening, he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. His embrace was firm but comforting, his long, lean body molding perfectly to yours as he held you, his breath warm against your temple.

“Did you like it?” he asked quietly, his deep, monotone voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he were unsure of the answer. His hand came up to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you further. You could feel his lips brush against your forehead in a tender kiss, a gesture that was so unexpected, so out of character, that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the voice to tell him how much his gentleness meant to you, how much his care and concern had touched you. Instead, all you could do was lay there in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

When you didn’t respond immediately, Severus tensed slightly, his grip on you loosening as if he feared he had done something wrong. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet regret. “If I was too much… if I pressured you… that was never my intention.”

The sincerity in his words, the genuine worry that laced his tone, sent a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. The care he was showing you, the way he was so attuned to your feelings, was something you weren’t used to. Your ex-boyfriend had never asked if you were okay, never checked if you were comfortable or happy. But here was Severus, a man who had every reason to be distant and cold, holding you with such tenderness, such concern, that it made your heart ache.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His dark gaze met yours, and you could see the worry etched into his sharp features, the way his brow furrowed as he waited for your response. He was genuinely concerned for you, genuinely worried that he had done something to hurt you, and the realization was almost too much to bear.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, but all you could manage was a soft, choked sob as the tears finally spilled over, trailing down your cheeks. “Severus, I… I’ve never…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find a way to explain the depth of what you were feeling. But Severus seemed to understand. His expression softened, and he gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle, so reverent, that it only made you cry harder.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “It’s all right, love. You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m here… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The reassurance in his words, the quiet promise that he would stay, that he wouldn’t push you away, was more than you could have ever hoped for. You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him, your arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate attempt to hold onto this moment, to hold onto the safety and comfort he was offering you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest as you tried to control the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry for crying… I just… I’m not used to this. To someone caring.”

Severus tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you against him as he whispered, “You never have to apologize for your feelings, not with me. And you deserve to be cared for, love. You deserve to be treated with kindness… with respect.”

The words sent another wave of emotion crashing over you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that shook your body, the raw, unfiltered emotion spilling out of you as you finally allowed yourself to feel the depth of what you had been holding back for so long. Severus held you through it all, his arms wrapped around you, his hand gently stroking your hair as he murmured soft words of comfort, his deep voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you exhausted and drained, you pulled back slightly, looking up at Severus through tear-streaked eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. “Thank you for… for being so kind. For caring.”

Severus gazed down at you, his dark eyes filled with a warmth that took your breath away. “I care about you more than you know,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “And I will always care. You’re safe with me… always.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how much his reassurance meant to you, how much his presence in your life had changed everything. Instead, you simply leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, pouring all of your gratitude, all of your affection, into that one, simple gesture.

Severus returned the kiss with a tenderness that made your heart swell, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate care that made you feel cherished, adored.

When the kiss finally ended, Severus rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “You’re incredible, love. So strong… so beautiful. And I’m honored that you’ve allowed me to be a part of your life.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke those words as if he truly believed them, made your chest tighten with emotion. No one had ever spoken to you like this before, had ever made you feel so valued, so loved.

“Severus,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with tears. “I… I love you.”

For a moment, Severus didn’t respond. His dark eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth in your words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a quiet, almost reverent awe. “You love me?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you repeated the words, letting them hang in the air between you. “I love you, Severus. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Severus closed his eyes, a soft, shaky breath escaping his lips as he let the words sink in. When he opened his eyes again, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that took your breath away, a raw, unguarded emotion that he had never allowed you to see before.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, almost desperate sincerity. “More than I ever thought possible.”

The words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the wounds left by your past, filling the empty spaces in your heart with a warmth that you had never known before. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as you buried your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your ear.

And as Severus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, comforting embrace, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. In his arms, in his heart, in his life. And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly, deeply loved.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

switchblade. l Joel Miller

Summary:  you had something from him

Warnings:  angst, guns, blood, a few bad words, some fluff at the end

A/N: very short. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

When the first shot rang out, your brain signaled you to stop, but against all odds, you started running. Grass and leaves crunched under your feet, small twigs hit your face as you made your way through the thick forest, but you didn't stop for a moment.

The second shot. The third.

You gasped for air. In Jackson, they must have heard it. You were sure someone would come to your aid. Meanwhile, your legs didn't stop. Another few shots. You were the target of this hunt.

It was supposed to be a quiet patrol, in an area you knew very well. You and two other men, Carl and Morris, were slowly returning when you met that group. You didn't expect them there. And they certainly didn't expect you. A woman in the middle of nowhere was a rarity.

You remembered Morris screaming, "Get out of here!" and then you started running. Your heart was pounding in your chest, lungs ached, and your legs were slowly giving out. But you still heard gunshots, screams, threats.

A thick branch appeared almost out of nowhere. You hit it with your foot and fell, then rolled down a small embankment.

"Shit!" you hissed as you stopped at the bottom. You gasped for air.

Let this all end. Now.

However, your body and mind had a much greater will to survive. You quickly picked yourself up from the ground and started running again. This area was familiar to you, you were near Jackson. You would have breathed a sigh of relief, but another gunshot told you to keep running.

That's when you heard it. The clatter of approaching horses. You saw the silhouettes of approaching riders among the trees. You slowed down, feeling relieved.

"How many?" Tommy yelled as they approached you, his eyes wandering over your face in fear.

"Seven... No, six!" you replied "They're on foot. Carl and Morris..."

"Stay here! Hide." Tommy ordered you and then he and the whole group went in the direction you showed them.

You managed to take a few more steps when you collapsed under the nearest tree. The fire burned every inch of your body. Your lungs hurt terribly. You pulled your knees to your chest and only then did you notice how your hands were shaking. So you clenched them tightly to hide it, not to admit to yourself how scared you were.

The gunshots filled the silence in the forest. With each one you almost jumped, pressing your back against the tree trunk as if hoping that you would be able to merge with it into one.

Let this end... Please...

You heard it. The crack of breaking branches somewhere behind you. Someone was approaching. Someone was close.

Fuck! 

Did you have to be so careless? You should have listened. What if one of them circled Tommy's group and found you here. 

Then you remembered what you were clutching in your bloody hand, Joel's switchblade. He slipped it into your pocket before you went on patrol "Just in case." 

You tightened your fingers around the handle. The footsteps were getting closer and closer, and you had no intention of giving up without a fight.

You slowly stood up and you were about to look around when you saw the barrel of a gun pointed in your direction.

"Joel..." you whispered at the sight of the man in front of you.

"Jesus!" he lowered the gun and quickly took you in his arms, hugging you tightly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." you tightened your fingers on the back of his jacket. "Tommy and the rest..."

"I saw him. He said to look for you." Joel looked at you carefully. "That blood..."

"It's not mine. One guy tried... But I had this."

Only then did Joel notice the knife you were holding in your hand. His knife. The one he gave you. And it saved your life. His legs almost gave out under him.

"They surprised us... Carl and Morris are always so careful." You babbled, unaware that tears were starting to roll down your dirty cheeks. You must have looked pathetic after the whole way you ran. "There was a commotion when I stabbed that guy... They told me to run so..."

"You did the right thing." Joel looked at you as if he wanted to examine every scratch on you, the cut on your lip wasn't bleeding anymore, but he could see the blood on your chin.

His heart was pounding in his chest. His dark eyes moved from your face to the knife in your hand and back again. The thought of how close he was to losing you, to never seeing you again, was racing through his head. In one second, he did what he felt he should have done a long time ago.

He grabbed the back of your head and pulled your face to his, kissing you hard. It was strong, full of teeth and with the aftertaste of your blood, but Joel felt incredible relief when you took his face in your hands.

He wasn't wrong. You were alive. You were there with him. You returned his kisses as if he gave you the greatest relief, but in reality you were unaware that it was you who kept him alive.

After a while, your lips parted, and he put his forehead to yours, breathing heavily. Your fingers stroked his stubbled cheeks, slowly sliding into his curly hair.

"You're here. You're safe." he repeated quietly. 

"Take me home, Joel." you replied. "Please, take me home."

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[catcze]

thinking ab the way wriothesley would cry so hard the first time you hug him ... he has never felt comfort in his life and i stand by that 😿

Wait;;; :((( oh wait ur right :((( [also side note i feel like this takes place a little bit after he became the administrator, before he got his title. Hence why he's not as blase about the shit he's gone thru in the same way that he is in his story quest. ]

"Can I give you a hug?" You ask him out of the blue, and Wriothesley stills at his desk.

He's not sure what's brought this on— hell, you're not even sure what's brought this on, but you figure there's no harm asking.

"I—" The word gets caught in his throat, and his brows furrow in contemplation. One of his hands goes to scratch at the back of his neck, and against all odds, he actually looks a little nervous. "I cen't recall the last time I had a hug. Probably was—"

Probably was when he was still with his foster parents.

The unspoken thought hangs between the both of you, dampening the mood slightly as you realize that all those memories of warm hugs have long since soured for him. Wriothesley quickly clears his throat.

'But if you're offering... well, I don't see why not."

Delighted, you instruct him to stand, and quickly make your way in front of him. You're a little nervous now too, all too aware of how messed up his foster parents were. Aware of how messed up his young adult years were, growing up in an environment where he had to fight for his survival. All you could offer him right now was a hug, but at the very least you hope that he could hold onto it as a good memory.

"Go right ahead, Sweetheart," Wriothesley says, opening his arms wide.

You waste no time in wrapping him up in your embrace— your arms snake around his torso, crushing your chests together. This close, you can feel the quick beat of his heart, warm and rapid and alive in his chest. Your hands go to his back, one of them rubbing soothing circles into the planes there, while the other gently guides his head to rest on your shoulder. Thankfully, he poses practically no resistance to you, letting you guide his body around you with ease.

His arms wrap around you in turn. Tentatively, as if he's scared of shattering you in his hold. Or perhaps he fears the reverse.

Wriothesley's hands settle on your waist, keeping you snug against him. With each circle you rub on his back, each gentle scratch you give to his scalp, his grip tightens bit by bit.

You pour out every single ounce of love you can into the hug. Every warm thought you have of this scarred man in your arms, every adoring thing you can think about to comfort him. You hold him close in a hug that is neither too loose but is not chokin. A hug that is just enough, as if you mean to mend together those invisible wounds that he still carries.

The hug goes on longer than socially acceptable, but neither of you find it in you to care. Wriothesley is practically boneless in your hold, leaning a large portion of his weight against you. He's quietly hugging you back, face buried in your shoulder, trembling just the slightest bit with every comforting scratch or pat or circle you draw on his skin. Wriothesley does not shake, he does not fall. He doesn't let a single noise escape him, save for a single shuddering breath that you feel from his chest.

You let him bury himself in your hold for as long as he wants and as long as he needs. You'll embrace him for as long as he needs, to make up for all the lonely years he's spent without a single hug.

And if you feel a dampness on the shoulder of your shirt, then you promise you won't tell anyone.

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[max-nolastname]

types of story that different black sails characters think they're in:

jack: typical underdog overcoming unbeatable odds story; he is the main character and the show is 100% about him and his joseph campbell hero's journey. he is like achilles seeking eternal glory. he is also like gilgamesh, seeking immortality because he's afraid of death

flint: one of those fairytale retelling stories from the villain's pov; he is the fire-breathing dragon/big bad wolf/wicked witch that his village has ostracized, chased out of his home with pitchforks and torches because they feared him and what he is and what he stands for. he knows that in another show, a more popular show, the story would be told from the pov of the villagers about the dangers that lie beyond the village walls and into the forest...but this is HIS show and in HIS show HE is the one that survived the villagers not the other way around and HE is the one that has been wronged and he WILL see them pay for it

miranda: at first she thinks she is the witty and cunning heroine of a regency period romance novel. she is critical of high society and it's archaic and sexist traditions, turns her nose up at the institution of marriage and yet against all odds finds a true partner in thomas. she thinks herself happier and smarter than her peers, for finding a way to explore her sexuality freely and still keep her high status. she is caught in a whirlwind romance with a handsome naval officer and well....then her story turns into a tragedy and a decade caught in lifeless loveless joyless limbo where she is sidelined into the background of someone else's story

max: overly aware that she is in A Story and that she is Not The Main Character; the spotlight is never on her, she will never take centre stage. in fact, she is in the wings, or perhaps watching the show from the back of the theatre as the stage manager, setting the scene and directing others to pull ropes, shine lights, open and close the curtains so that other actors can strut and fret their way around the stage

billy: revenge quest story! thinks he is the good guy, there to protect his friends and get revenge on the tyrant who killed his father. gains some genre awareness and realizes that he is not, in fact, the main character, but rather a side character caught in a romance between his captain and quartermaster and if he really wants to survive he's really gotta break them up

madi: a story of hope told around a campfire, passed on from generation to generation so people don't forget about the time that an island of maroons stood up to a seemingly eternal and unbeatable empire. some days, it's a cautionary tale, on how volatile solidarity can be with divisions like class, race and gender .... or how revolution necessitates violence that people who are comfortable in their oppression rather not pay... but no empire lasts forever and nothing is inevitable. the story sticks in the hearts and minds of future revolutionaries and someday someone somewhere will pick up the torch and continue the fight

season 1 walrus crew: workplace comedy

silver: [redacted]

[autumnmobile12]

Against all odds, I hope the surviving LoV members live.

Killing them off or even having their stories end with life in Tartarus seems like a total cop-out. And if they live, I don't think their fates are going to be that simple because of Kurogiri, Nagant, and Aoyama.

Kurogiri was a villain and Nagant and Aoyama were traitors, but now they are fighting on the heroes' side. What happens after the Final War? Are they all gonna be shafted with, "Thanks for your help, but you're still villains, so you're still going to prison."

With the Safety Commission crippled, I really think/hope the characters left are going to take advantage of the opportunity to restructure the system and address its flaws, and that could include a means of rehabilitation for villains. I feel like someone's gonna stand up and say, "Hang on, look at Kurogiri, Nagant, and Aoyama. They stood with us in the end even though they originally did wrong. The villain line shouldn't be an end all, be all decision one can't come back from."

Or maybe I've just been watching Hazbin Hotel too much and Charlie's, "Everybody deserves a chance for redemption," is rubbing off on me.

...

However, one big reason I want them to survive right now?

I want Toga, Dabi, Spinner, or Shigaraki to wake up to Recovery Girl and, "Smoooooch," and getting that hysterical reaction because holy hell, could we use a laugh from this series right about now.

[ourmondobongo]

JJK 251 delivered one of the most intense fights till now, and honestly, I can't wait to see it animated! (if I'm still alive 10 years from now, that is lol).

That said, I need to write a little about this chapter because it has been eating me out since Thursday, and the HQ scan release is MAGNIFICENT. So let’s go!

Yuta used Cleave on Sukuna!

But, alas, he wasn’t the one to eat Sukuna’s finger. It was prolly Rika.

I don’t think anyone would think it makes sense that Yuta - second only to Gojo, the strongest modern sorcerer  - could be the one to eat the King of Curse’s finger. While he IS powerful, it is still so risky to think he could ingest a piece of Sukuna’s soul and keep it inside himself for God knows how long.

Also, if a human had eaten one of his fingers, it seems a bit unlikely Sukuna wouldn’t have noticed somehow, as the cursed object holds a part of his very soul.

On the other hand, Rika hasn’t fully manifested. It seems an odd thing since this battle is even more dangerous and important than all previous battles Yuta had since his 2vs1 with Geto. Which may be just a wild speculation, but that has me thinking that maybe - just maybe - he hasn’t allowed her to fully manifest because she ate the finger. Like with the finger bearers at the beginning of the manga, Sukuna would know it is there, and he could target Rika more fiercely. Perhaps get to even retrieve it.

But this is speculation only - and I hope we will be sure of it in the next chapters.

It’s good to remember tho that it was Rika who ate Uro’s arm, not Yuta. And I doubt Yuta himself could have also eaten Hana’s and Inumaki’s arms…

Yuta was right in thinking that Sukuna would be surprised at being hit by his own technique.

However, something pretty nice happening here is that Sukuna looks pleased at tasting his own technique.

You know, we are well aware by now that Sukuna is a hedonist to the fullest. So I’m actually pleased that, rather than being really pissed off for getting a taste of his own medicine, he really experienced this little moment in a way that couldn’t show better how a being can be more self centered lol

I mean, his smile as he says ‘I see. Quite the meal.’ or "Oh, I get it. You ate it." feels like he is amused at tasting some of the power his own technique holds. I can hear Suwabe-san making it sound like he is having a foodgasm. And Yuta’s face turning worried is a sign that he oughta move to his next attack against the King of Hedonism ASAP.

Yuji and Yuta’s hand-to-hand-fight with Sukuna is beautiful, my god.

Sukuna is a good +4m tall muscle-built four-armed TITAN GIANT. Yuta and mostly Yuji are making him bend, making him bleed, making him blind by spitting blood on his cursed eyes, and FUCK - THIS FIGHT IS GOLD!!

Details I gotta highlight:

This is the second time Yuji survives Cleave at point blank, showing how much his endurance is up in such a crucial moment.

It was so smart of him to spit blood on Sukuna’s face. Reminds a little how his lil brother Kechizu spat his cursed blood on him back in s01 times.

Yuji’s determination to save defeat Sukuna and save Megumi with ‘heal up, heal up, HEAL UP’ makes me wanna chomp on wood T_T (C’mon baby, you can do it!)

Count on Sukuna to keep looking amused as he is being wrecked to the bones lmao. But also, this means he is thinking, analyzing, plotting, and soon preparing to counterattack.

The way Rika grabs him by the leg and throws him at Yuji’s soul shaking kick IS PERFECT.

The beating is so well delivered that, in fact, Sukuna is pushed to a deadly gamble.

I love when Sukuna gambles. He does it so many times throughout the story that I don’t think anyone can actually be surprised to see him doing this again in this chapter.

And I really mean it, cause not even our MCs are surprised. They had a solid plan of what to do once they had pushed Sukuna to the point they wanted: aka, releasing the HWC to try using Space Dismantle while tanking Jacob’s Ladder.

In less than a blink, Sukuna is 3/4 immobilized.

Rika, half manifested, gets his upper arms while Yuji goes for the lower right.

Yuta, though, goes straight to his guts, and bravely shoves his hand inside his belly mouth while Sukuna's only free arm goes straight to his head.

The cost for such a risky attack? A Cleave delivered directly on his bloody head.

But Yuta’s RCT doesn’t fail him. And he also still gets to rip out the Cursed Tongue - leaving Sukuna to have only one way to chant curses now. Confirming their suspicions that the King needs to use hand signs and chants or both to use “Space Dismantle”, which is an opening they can take an important advantage of to both use the domain's sure hit and reach Megumi.

This page made me scream!

The sight of Sukuna’s cheek exploding is bloody horrible.

Yuta tanking another slash attack shook me.

But Yuta coming up at the fucking King of Curses absolutely confident he can face him off FEARLESSLY is even more gobsmacking. I love my son!

ALSO: DID YUTA REALLY USE DISMANTLE ON SUKUNA’S ARM RIGHT HERE????

Also, the fact that Sukuna’s output is low to that point is both a sign that 1) his deadly efficiency is truly getting compromised by the biggest jjk team jump this manga had to this day,  2) Yuta and Yuji really leveled up to an impressive stage!

I don’t think we have ever seen Sukuna getting so overwhelmed and shocked.

Yuta’s next sword attack happens simultaneously with Yuji’s blood manipulation attack, and Sukuna loses his free hand while he realizes Yuji in fact just used his spitted blood to blow half his face off, rendering unable to speak.

A little thought I want to share though is that, while it has been long hinted that Yuji is able to use Blood Manipulation in any form after eating his brothers and training with both Choso and Noritoshi, I still have a little doubt whether the piercing blood attack in chapter 247 really comes from Yuji or not.

From the pov in 247, PB comes from somewhere really high and far from where Sukuna is. And in chapter 244, we see Mei Mei and Momo observing the battle from a tall building not too far away. I could see Choso being taken somewhere safe up to and despite being heavily wounded, still trying to help his lil brother. But also, I can picture Yuji rushing up some of the destroyed buildings to locate Sukuna and Higuruma, and desperately PB Sukuna to buy some time until he gets there. 

I mean, if it had been really Yuji, I half expected Sukuna to have a lil flashback not only of the moment Yuji spat on him, but also from when he was attacked back in 247. That would solidify the fact he shockingly realized Yuji is using BM. So I will wait for a clear confirmation...

This talk is pretty interesting and important.

We discovered through Yuki’s search that: 

Even when souls mix to some degree, they don’t become one single soul.

Choso can’t feel the OG soul of the human whose (his) body belongs to, and that’s why he asks if Yuji and Sukuna aren’t a special case. A fair question that made me think Choso could actually give back his body to the guy if he knew the poor man was trapped inside.

Yuji explains that CE plays an important role in the case of cursed objects and non-sorcerers then. Yet, no matter how deep a living soul may sink, it won’t merge or disappear in such cases.

Choso proposes another special case: since Yuji said, “in general level things are unmergeable”,  what if Megumi and Sukuna are different tho? What if that could happen to them?

Yuji proceeds to say he added the “general” thing cause he had dealt with Mahito. Also, uniting souls transform them into other separate being. So as long as a soul CT like Mahito’s is NOT at play, then the merging of souls can’t happen.

And trusting fully in Yuki’s search, Yuji promises he will shake Megumi’s soul awake.

And after learning all of this, I wished for real that Yuki had not died so prematurely. The fact she was a former Star Plasma Vessel, that she could hear the voices of the souls Tengen had absorbed throughout the millennium, and that she had now Maki, Yuji/Sukuna, Choso and Mahito to deepen her research on souls and find a “scientific way” for how to break free from CE, BUT she never could do it… is a PAIN. We can’t undo what GG did, tho, so let's move on to the next topic.

Angel’s technique is special.

But it has a well defined role in the story: one that is NOT what some ppl think.

In an incarnated body, there is the mix of one’s technique + the personality + cursed object. So, since Angel’s CT can eradicate CTs, they can erase Sukuna. As they all want to save Megumi, tho, they will need to do the same thing Hana tried back in chapter 213: using the attack to FIRST weaken the connection between Sukuna and Megumi so Megumi’s chances of surviving the brain damage are better, and THEN move on to finish off the King of Curses.

And here I want to point out how absurd it is for anyone to expect a MINOR side character to end the history of the final MAIN antagonist of this series. Because, truly, unless you are being really disingenuous or purposefully kidding yourself just to hate and badmouth JJK, one cannot be serious over Hana EVER standing a chance against Sukuna. Even more with one of her arms torn off by the King himself.

And that’s why Yuta - the one second only to Gojo - is the one side-handling this freaking final battle. 

Sukuna is damn right roughen and wrecked.

Yuji has one of his arms, Rika has two arms + a bite on his shoulder, his free arm is handless, his main mouth is half blown, and his belly mouth is tongueless and dripping blood.

There is a seriousness to his features that is different though. I mean he is the king of smiles, but he is deadly serious right here...

He KNOWS what is coming. He has chosen to gamble his endurance power against Yutangel’s Max Jacob’s ladder. So he is definitely mentally preparing to receive one of the hardest blows on his unstable (connected to Megumi) form.

And then Sukuna takes it.

His reaction is highly different from last time though, and it’s kinda obvious why. In chapter 213,  he had just barely taken over Megumi’s body as well as he was at 15 fingers. Here he is in his incarnated true form, 19 fingers + his very mummified head in.

That said, the way he only growls/grunts/gasps tanking a DE’s sure hit from someone with a CE around the same as his own is impressive. Not only that, but also another crystal clear hint that he is the fucking King of JJK for a reason. You can’t break him easily. You can’t beat him conventionally. You can’t kill him until his last drop of CE is gone, until his brain is incapacitated, until his self-serving wish to keep existing - even if meaninglessly - is obliterated together with his cursed soul. As long as he holds the overwhelming power to exist, he will keep existing.

Knowing the enemy is NOT down yet, Rika chomps her mouth on Sukuna’s shoulder again as she holds his arms again while Yuta butchers his lower right arm in half, buying the time Yuji needs to fuel the special punch that he hopes will shake Megumi’s soul awake from the depths of this nearly unkillable monster. And if my eyes are not deceiving me, I think that -  by the shape of Sukuna’s tattoo - Yuji hits him in the middle of his chest. Right over his heart.

Megumi’s breakdown deserves an analysis of its own.

But, yeah, IT HURTS.

As Yuji is shaken by Megumi’s state, though, the inevitable happens.

Sukuna, following his gamble of tanking and surviving JL to throw the WCD, does exactly that. The chants come on the page on a background a little similar to how his DE first appeared in animation. It’s eerie, cursed, and we know shit will happen on the next page…

Using what seems to be the arm Yuta had slashed in half (or is it the hand Rika was holding before), Sukuna strikes ALL his enemies with a seemingly WCD. 

Way too close to him, Yuta takes the bruntest of it - the slash rips/slants his abdomen (letting we peek what is probably his liver), his back and his ring fingered hand (strongest way of connection with Rika) is severed from his wrist. Rika is slashed all over her face, the lower jaw which had bitten onto Sukuna’s shoulder is cut off and falling, her monstrous hands all cut and bloodied when they release Sukuna. Yuji is slashed on his forehead, across his face, and by the blood trajectory, from his collarbone down to abdomen. 

There is NO WAY THO that Yuji is dying like that, though.

So before we find out how Yuji - and prolly Yuta too - will survive this attack, it is important to notice here that Sukuna does not say “Dismantle” when he unleashes this attack on them. And, YES, chants ARE important in JJK. (I know a lot of ppl will complain about this, especially since “Gojo died with this attack!”, but I’m just saying what is drawn in the manga.)

Sukuna is back to his menacingly smiling aura as Yuta’s domain starts crumbling on top of him.

But while he is RCTing his injuries and tasting what seems to finally be the end of this cursed battle day, he is struck by the sneakiest signature attack of the modern era.

Maki Zenin, the demon with zero cursed energy, pierces his heart - and soul - with her Split Soul katana.

If I said I haven't screamed at this whole sequence, I would be a liar. This was absolutely INCREDIBLE!

Now I hope GG won't switch the pov back to Hakari x Uraume, but I feel like he might as well do again T_T

Anyway, I just had to write all this to say how PERFECT Gege is weaving Gojo's pupils battle against the greatest King of Curses!!

[astroa3h]

Princess Diana’s Biggest Enemy in Life

In the grand tapestry of Princess Diana’s life, her biggest enemy wasn't just some distant figure or a nameless foe. It was someone much closer, embedded right within her world of power and prestige: Prince Charles. With Nemesis positioned in her 9th house in Libra, sitting at a critical 7 degree, a Libra degree that screams of legal battles (divorce ⚖️) and relationship turmoil—Diana’s greatest adversary was her very own husband, and this was no coincidence. I sense that Nemesis in the 9th house casts a shadow that brings conflict on a global scale, pulling in the themes of justice, truth, and public opinion, all while wrapped in the glittery veil of royalty.

The 9th house is all about beliefs, legalities, and far-reaching influence. And when Nemesis parks itself here, it doesn’t just whisper betrayal—it shouts it from the rooftops, demanding you see the truth no matter how painful. In Libra, a sign ruled by Venus, the planet of love and relationships, Diana’s battles were always rooted in her partnerships, most notably her marriage. Libra craves harmony, but when Nemesis stands guard, it’s like there’s a constant fight for balance that never quite settles. Diana’s marriage to Charles was a dance of public appearances and private wounds, all unfolding under the watchful eyes of the world. This placement alone tells us she was destined to face public scrutiny, often finding herself at odds with the legal and moral constructs of her time.

When you add the square from the Sun in her 7th house, things get even more intense. The Sun, representing her core essence, in the 7th house of partnerships, puts the spotlight on her relationships. This square to Nemesis isn’t just tension; it’s outright conflict, a battle of wills. The Sun square Nemesis aspect can’t be ignored—it’s a clash that speaks of ongoing strife, but not the kind you can easily escape. It’s like a boxing ring where one’s own light and essence are pitted against an invisible, constant critic. Prince Charles, with his own set of expectations, rules, and personal demons, became the living embodiment of this placement. He wasn’t just her partner; he was her mirror and her opposition, the one who both challenged and misunderstood her at every turn.

I sense that with the Sun squared to Nemesis, Diana’s very identity was constantly at war with the roles she was expected to play. She wanted to be the compassionate, caring figure we all saw, but Charles represented the rules, the duty, and the cold, harsh realities that came with royal life. The square between these two forces meant that any attempt Diana made to shine in her own light was often met with resistance, creating a dynamic where she felt perpetually at odds not just with Charles but with the whole establishment he represented.

Yet, there’s a twist. Nemesis isn’t just about downfall; it’s about the lessons learned from confronting one’s greatest challenges. Diana’s Nemesis was also trine to her Jupiter in the 2nd house, a saving grace that provided her a way out, a path toward growth and self-worth. Jupiter, the planet of expansion and luck, in her house of values, gave Diana the resilience to turn her pain into purpose. She didn’t just survive these battles; she thrived in spite of them, using her experiences to redefine her worth and her place in the world. The trine here is a cosmic nod that says, “Even in the face of your greatest enemy, there is hope, there is growth.” It was this trine that allowed Diana to connect with people in ways that transcended her royal role, showing that even in the harshest of circumstances, there was always a bigger, more meaningful narrative to her life.

Charles, with his constant pressure and control, was Diana’s Nemesis personified. But rather than break her, he became the catalyst that pushed her to find her voice, her independence, and her legacy. He wasn’t just an enemy; he was a necessary force in her story, the one who forced her to confront the harshest truths about love, loyalty, and self-respect. Nemesis tells us that Diana’s battles were public, legal, and painfully personal. And while Charles may have been the face of her struggles, he was also the unwitting teacher of her most profound lessons.

Blessings,

Ash ✨

Get your own Nemesis "Enemy in Life" reading at astroash.net

[thewisaaaaad]

Ok I know I swore to keep to one au, but like. i have a personal interest in this one, so I may actually write it later.

The au name: Narinders Locker. Its a pirate au.

The story starts like this:

Narinder and his family, with the powers of the crowns, are lords of the seas. Together, they defeat many gods, sending them to the depths that Narinder rules.

The depths are where all dead sailors go, and there is mostly sea. So everyone is a sailor, at one point or another.

Soon, there are no gods left to fight. All others have either died, or gone into hiding.

All except his own family. And Narinder loves a good fight. He knows there will be consequences, but hes not aiming to kill. He was bored! There was no one left to sink! He wasn't really gonna let the depths claim him. They'll forgive him eventually, right?

Except they never do. They chain him to mighty anchors and sink him, leaving him to rot in his own realm.

He... doesn't really hold it against them. He did get a BIT to rowdy and give them some injuries that might not heal for a very long time, so he'll probably get out when that happens.

Then he notices that ships keep being sunk into his realm. Far more than the average amount that would be caused by storms.

A pair of kittens, tied to anchors, are sent directly to Narinders prison. He can only grant them immortality with his blood, binding them to the bottom of the sea. He hopes that Shamura sinks the bastards that did this to innocent youth, as their eldest always had an affinity for justice, for all that they represented war.

One of the crew of an unfortunate vessel reaches Narinder before he drowns: a young bilge rat by the name of Ratau. The lord of the deep grants the poor sod the ability to breath water like himself with his crown, just so he can ask them what was happening upon the waves.

What he hears disturbs him. His siblings have completely abandoned the code they had sworn to when they became a family, the code that drove them to wage war on the gods who toyed with mortals lives. He no longer considers them family.

He sends the rat to build a new crew, one that will take down the people he once called his siblings, now no better than the ones they had replaced.

The rat cannot do it. They do not have the nerves for it, are too cowardly. Narinder cannot blame them.

He was just some random sailor who had the misfortune of reaching the depths alive. Ratau retires to an island, not far from where Narinder rests, and returns the red crown to the sea.

Then the purge begins.

Lambs across the sea are cut down like so much cattle. They are slaughtered before they reach the water, for fear of their waterlogged pelts dragging them down too fast, and granting The One Below an escape.

Refugee ships are sunk by the dozens. Narinder can only look on in horror and confusion as hundreds of ship carcasses sink to rest in the depths, fresh innocent corpses littering his prison.

Then only one ship remains. A party is held on board, those faithful to the Old Crew celebrate as they drink blood from headless carcasses.

A young lamb hides in the chain locker, holding their breath, hoping to not be noticed as their family and friends corpses are tossed into the ocean.

The party done, they rig the old tub with black powder, seeking to send it to Narinder as a last middle finger to fate.

The lamb, surviving the explosion, has the chain wrap around their leg as they hold their breath, hoping against hope for rescue.

Against all odds, they find it. In the skeletal hands of The One Who Waits Below.

[richincolor]

Ode to the Olympics: Books & Sports

I'm a big fan of the Olympics and have absolutely let responsibilities go in favor of watching amazing sport. And I thought, as the Olympics come to a close that I'd share some books that focus on athletes aiming to be their best all while dealing with the trials of adolescence. 

Rez Ball by Byron Graves

These days, Tre Brun is happiest when he is playing basketball on the Red Lake Reservation high school team—even though he can’t help but be constantly gut-punched with memories of his big brother, Jaxon, who died in an accident. When Jaxon's former teammates on the varsity team offer to take Tre under their wing, he sees this as his shot to represent his Ojibwe rez all the way to their first state championship. This is the first step toward his dream of playing in the NBA, no matter how much the odds are stacked against him. But stepping into his brother’s shoes as a star player means that Tre can’t mess up. Not on the court, not at school, and not with his new friend, gamer Khiana, who he is definitely not falling in love with. After decades of rez teams almost making it, Tre needs to take his team to state. Because if he can live up to Jaxon's dreams, their story isn’t over yet.

Check out this trailer for Rez Ball coming next month!

You Don't Have a Shot by Racquel Marie

Valentina “Vale” Castillo-Green’s life revolves around soccer. Her friends, her future, and her father’s intense expectations are all wrapped up in the beautiful game. But after she incites a fight during playoffs with her long-time rival, Leticia Ortiz, everything she’s been working toward seems to disappear. Embarrassed and desperate to be anywhere but home, Vale escapes to her beloved childhood soccer camp for a summer of relaxation and redemption…only to find out that she and the endlessly aggravating Leticia will be co-captaining a team that could play in front of college scouts. But the competition might be stiffer than expected, so unless they can get their rookie team’s act together, this second chance―and any hope of playing college soccer―will slip through Vale’s fingers. When the growing pressure, friendship friction, and her overbearing father push Vale to turn to Leticia for help, what starts off as a shaky alliance of necessity begins to blossom into something more through a shared love of soccer. . . and maybe each other.

Chasing Pacquiano by Rod Pulido

Self preservation. That's Bobby's motto for surviving his notoriously violent high school unscathed. Being out and queer would put an unavoidable target on his back, especially in a Filipino community that frowns on homosexuality. It's best to keep his head down, get good grades, and stay out of trouble. But when Bobby is unwillingly outed in a terrible way, he no longer has the luxury of being invisible. A vicious encounter has him scrambling for a new way to survive--by fighting back. Bobby is inspired by champion Filipino boxer Manny Pacquiao to take up boxing and challenge his tormentor. Then Pacquiao publicly declares his stance against queer people, and Bobby's faith--in his hero and in himself--is shaken to the core.

And Other Mistakes by Erika Turner

Aaliyah's home life has never been great, but she thought she'd survive her last years of high school with at least her friendships and cross-country stardom intact. That is, until junior year she got outed by a church elder and everything came undone ― including Aaliyah. Now, senior year is about to start and she is determined to come back faster and wiser. No more letting other people define her. No more losing herself to their expectations. Except... well, with new friends, old flames, nosy school counselors, and teammates who don't trust her yet, the route already feels rough. And what's with the new girl, Tessa, who gives Aaliyah butterflies every time she looks at her? Regardless, everything is fine. She'll be fine. Because this is the year to prove to everyone―and most of all, herself―that she's more than her mistakes. After all, even Aaliyah can't outrun everything.

[starsreminisce]

Our favorite Elain stan 🌷🦌☀️ !!

1. Why is Elain one of your favorite characters?

2. Is there a specific scene that made you like her?

3. What theories/headcanons do you have for Elain?

4. Feel free to share anything else about Elain that the questions didn’t cover!

1. Why is Elain one of your favorite characters?

She reminds me of one of my absolute favorite people in the world. Elain is someone who has been shaped by her circumstances, and the way she interacts with and responds to the world is a reflection of what she’s learned in order to survive. Elain best exemplifies the idea that two things can be true at the same time, even more so than Nesta. Yes, someone can be soft and caring but also capable of setting hard boundaries when something starts to affect them in a way they don’t like. She can do that. She can use violence when necessary, like when she stabbed the King of Hybern, but she can also hate doing it, as she often was described how much violence does affect her. Feyre said that Elain can be brave when needed, and I feel like that’s an aspect of her that’s often overlooked, even though it’s fundamental to who she is.

SJM typically writes FMCs in a certain way, but I’m excited to see her take on a softer, more magically-inclined Willow-like FMC, rather than her usual Buffy-esque characters.

2. Is there a specific scene that made you like her?

I thought it was really sweet how much of a romantic Elain is, already packing a bag for Feyre when she returned to the Spring Court. But what really stood out to me was when she said the Queens should burn in hell. It reminded me of how Lucien said the exact same line...

LITTLE DID I KNOW

3. What theories/headcanons do you have for Elain?

A headcanon of mine is that Elain took up baking because it's Jesminda's hobby, something she doesn’t even realize. Baking feels like a fall activity to me, so I always think there is some subconsciousness Elain has about how much her mate does affect her.

I also have a theory that Elain's increasing sun-like descriptions signify her and Lucien paralleling their development as they move toward who they want to be together. Her character growth in ACOSF shows that she is preparing to become a High Lady of a court. We've seen her softness in previous books, and ACOSF illustrates how Elain acts when she can no longer afford to be soft.

I believe both Elain and Lucien will be the couple that solidifies the connection between their world and TOG and CC.

4. Feel free to share anything else about Elain that the questions didn’t cover!

Elain’s issue isn’t with Lucien specifically, but with the bond itself. No matter who was on the receiving end of that bond, she would react the same way she is now. Her story will further explore and expand on that lore. If ACOSF was SJM processing difficult experiences in her own life, Elucien's book will likely reflect SJM’s college days, especially around the time she left for college, met her husband, and went through months of pushing and pulling before they decided to be together.

Elain says she doesn’t want a mate, and I find it fitting that her mate is someone who believed he no longer had one. I still think back to Elain dreamily mentioning how Tomas wanted to marry Nesta, and I believe she deserves someone willing to fight against all odds to be with her, which Lucien already did for Jesminda.

In the beginning of Outlander, Jamie rescues Claire multiple times, despite their marriage initially being one of convenience. Similarly, ACOWAR gave us a glimpse of how far Lucien is willing to go for Elain, and I think their book will highlight the depth of Lucien's determination to bring Elain the against-all-odds romance she dreams of.

I can’t wait to read how Elain realizes it’s not the bond that makes Lucien act this way, but that it’s because of who Lucien is at his core that they are mates.

I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you so much for asking!

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR → ON THE LAM

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 4.1k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged: @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @two-sides-samecoin, @adaydreamaway30

Sunshine expected something explosive, the gritting of teeth and slamming of Calum’s body against one of the brick walls that sandwiched them inside an alley. The admittance from Calum that his father was Brenner’s partner was no different than picking up the loaded gun in Kali’s coat pocket, placing it in her hands, and fixing her finger on the trigger. 

However, Kali stood still. There was no expression on her face, no indication of violence, not even the pulsing anger she held inside the dead man’s apartment they had just been in. For what felt like a century, no one spoke. Calum looked confused, Kali remained a paused figure, and Sunshine held her breath. 

The sound of a police siren snapped them all out of it. Kali’s eyes fell onto the crumpled note in her hands, spotted red with the blood of the man who had wanted to help them, despite aiding in the Lab all of those years ago. 

“Kali…” Sunshine started, the pit in her stomach turning. 

“This guy's place isn’t far,” she said, much too calm for Sunshine’s liking. Explosive anger and vicious outrage were one thing, silent rage was something else entirely.

Kali didn’t wait for Sunshine or Calum to say anything before she started walking, pushing her hood up and hiding her hands in her pockets. Sunshine cursed under her breath and tried to wipe any trace of blood from her face. On her sweater, it looked like an odd pattern. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and kept her head ducked as she followed after Kali. Calum wasn’t far behind, rushing to catch up once he realized they were going to leave him. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Calum pushed, and Sunshine wanted to push him to the ground for his own sake. 

Kali kept a quick pace, not even sparing a look back at him. “Of course, I knew him,” she replied with a flat tone and coldness on the back end. It caused Sunshine to shiver. 

“I’m trying to find him. Or, well, I was. It’s…it’s complicated at the moment, I guess-” 

“I hope you find him before I do,” Kali said simply. 

Calum sputtered, clearly feeling the effects of Kali’s frozen tone. “W-Why?” 

They turned a corner to a street full of small homes in a neat row. Kali stepped into a park that sat on the opposite side of the street from the houses and stopped once she found a picnic table in a secluded corner, shielded by budding trees. 

As she took a seat, she said, plainly, “Because I’m going to kill him.” 

Sunshine sighed and rubbed her forehead where an ache had been growing all day. 

Calum looked shocked, bordering on mortified. “What? Y-You can’t-” 

“I can,” Kali cut him off. “Him and Brenner, and everyone else who worked in the Lab deserve something much worse than I can give them. But when they’re dead, they can’t hurt anyone else.” 

That was hard to argue with, no matter how much Sunshine wanted to fight her twisted set of morals. 

Calum looked to her, maybe for help or to tell him Kali was joking. But just as the Russians and Upside Down had been no joke last summer, this too was too real. Sunshine said nothing; she had nothing that would help either one of them. 

“Look, I-I know what my dad was a part of was fucked up. But I’m looking for him to give me answers to why he did it. There has to be some sort of…some kind of reason he did what he did. There has to be more. You can’t just kill him!” 

Kali’s gaze hardened, causing Calum to shrink back. “No one is changing my mind. I don’t care that he’s your father. I don’t care if it’s wrong,” she looked to Sunshine. “I never asked for help to follow through. This is my way of taking back what they took from me. I wouldn’t suggest getting in my way.” She tilted her head just slightly, narrowing her eyes in what Sunshine thought looked like concentration. Suddenly, Calum let out a gasp as he fell backward off of the picnic bench and into the grass. 

“What are you doing?” Sunshine rushed out. 

A drop of blood started to fall from Kali’s nose; she was using her abilities to make Calum see something that wasn’t really there. 

“Kali, please,” Sunshine pleaded, but she didn’t stop the illusion. Calum stayed with his back on the grass, swatting away something with frantic movements and panicked yelps. In pure frustration, Sunshine grabbed a hold of Kali’s hand, breaking her concentration at the sudden contact. In reflex, Kali twisted her arm and grabbed hold of both of Sunshine’s upper arms before shoving her as hard as she could, sending Sunshine to the ground alongside Calum. 

For a moment, Sunshine noticed the same frightened animal-like expression that she had once gotten, back before she was used to people touching her with no malicious intent. Kali didn’t seem to have that; she was still reeling from years of abuse that created a hard shell around her. 

“Oh, God,” Calum moaned. “What the hell, man.” He sounded on the verge of tears, confused and frustrated. 

Sunshine sat upright, combing down her flyaway with a huff. She looked at Kali, whose expression faltered back into something Sunshine couldn’t read. 

“I’m sorry,” Sunshine said, and Kali’s shoulders stiffened. “Can we just talk about this?” 

“Talk? She just said she’s going to kill my dad!” Calum protested, scrambling to his feet, still swatting at his clothes. “What did you do? W-What was that?” 

Kali sat back down on the bench, her jaw clenching when she looked at Calum. Sunshine knew she saw it too, the shared resemblance he shared with his father. It was hard to look past, even if Calum wasn’t his father, nor was fated to be like him. They still were family; Calum still wanted to talk to him and try to make sense of what he had done. He wanted an answer that would make his father seem less of a monster, but Sunshine knew any answer Dr. Miller could come up with wouldn’t be enough to justify his actions. 

“We’ll talk to this guy after sunset,” Kali said, ignoring Calum’s question about her abilities. “You said you still had questions.” 

Sunshine slid back onto the bench, her fingers cold from the breeze and spotted with dried blood. She hid them in her slightly oversized sleeves and sighed. “There’s someone that keeps coming up in my dreams. I know a lot of different people who worked in the Lab; they came and went. But he…he sticks out.” She explained him the best she could, a tall, pale, man who often watched over them inside the Rainbow Room. She didn’t recall him speaking to her much, only little conversation here and there regarding the games she was playing or the puzzles she was trying to solve. Out of everyone who worked there, he was among the kindest, gentle-spoken, and never grabbed at them. He looked at them with understanding instead of disdain. Sunshine never got his name, but she remembered he spoke the most often with El; however, when she had asked her sister about the man, she had no recollection of him. It was like he only existed inside her head, but she wanted to know if Kali remembered him. 

Kali seemed to think deeply for a moment, both of them ignoring the grumbles from Calum before he sat down quite dejected that his concern was dismissed. Sunshine felt bad, she did, but she was trying to get Kali’s mind off of murder at the moment. 

“He sounds a little familiar. There was someone, a man who often joined me in games of chess when I was new…” she trailed off, a slightly pained look twisted up on her face before it was steeled. “He talked like Brenner. Always saying what I could do was a ‘gift.’ That I remember, but that’s it.” 

Kali leaned forward on her elbows, the sky behind her slowly shifting to evening-melting colors. “I still don’t get what remembering will get you besides more pain.” 

“Maybe,” Sunshine said, her fingers twisting her necklace. “But I want to make sense of things and make sense of myself. I don’t want to-”

“Become like me?” Kali said. That wasn’t entirely Sunshine’s concern. She was scared of snapping, of hurting the people she cared about because she was so intensely wrapped in anger and age-old pain she couldn’t make sense up, but that haunted her dreams. If she untangled all of the webs inside her head, she thought she could make something neat and beautiful of herself, something normal. She wanted to resolve her anger, so she never took it out on anyone undeserving. She wanted to move on and live a little life free of troubles and ghosts from her past. Was that possible? Sunshine had no clue, but she’d try. 

“No,” Sunshine replied. “I just don’t want to lose myself, I guess. With a clear head, I want a fresh start.” 

Kali laughed short and bitterly. “Yet, you’re going to take the bus back to Hawkins tomorrow morning.” 

“I have a family.” Sunshine felt defensive, her cheeks warm and jaw lightly clenched. “I have people there that I can’t leave, yet. But I don’t plan to stay there forever.” She didn’t need to justify that to Kali, but a part of her felt the urge to. She just wanted her to understand the obligation Sunshine had to the members of the party left, who only had a few people left to look after them and who knew just what they had been through. There wasn’t a chance in hell Sunshine would walk away and leave the kids to fight for themselves. 

Kali let out a breath that was visible in the dropping temperatures of early spring but said nothing. 

Instead, it was Calum who piped up. “Wait, you aren’t going to kill the guy we’re about to talk to. Are you?” he said, changing the topic of conversation. 

“As long as no one beats me to it.” 

Three children and a woman were in the next room, a quiet agreement made between Kali and the man they had come to talk to, per Sunshine’s request. She wasn’t sure why she assumed the man would be alone; maybe she hoped everyone who had worked at the Lab ended up sad and alone. But they didn’t; they lived plentiful lives, and Sunshine didn’t like how bitter that made her. 

“Look, you kids-” 

“Don’t patronize us,” Kali snapped. He seemed much less fearful of the gun in her hands like he’d stood there before being threatened. “Answer the question.” 

The man, Craig as he had introduced himself, sighed and briefly closed his eyes. 

Sunshine chewed down on her lip, listening to the faint talking of a mother to her children who all were confused as to why Craig insisted on talking with three teenagers. Her mind was working double time trying to listen to his answers and think of a way to get Kali to not kill him one room over from his family. Did she think someone like him deserved a fresh start? No. But he already had it and taking it away at that point would do nothing but put them all on a watch list and hurt his family who had done nothing to them. 

“Yes. Dr. Brenner and Miller contacted me. I declined their offer as well. I’m happy here and I-I…” Craig stuttered before he stopped himself. Kali's intense gaze made him shrink just slightly before he met Sunshine’s eyes, the lesser threat. “I didn’t know what I signed up for in the beginning. I was fresh out of school and recruited.” 

“They tried to recruit you again,” Kali said. “What for?” 

Craig had a scar across his forehead, white and faded but still visible. Sunshine found herself looking at it rather than his eyes. 

“I wasn’t given details, just a vague letter.” 

Kali stepped forward, leveling her gun with the scar on his forehead a couple of feet away. “What did they want with you and others who worked in the Lab?” Her voice was stern, leaving no room for avoidance. 

“Another Lab, if I had to guess. They found what they were good at-” Kali stepped forward in a hasty, rage-filled burst. She pressed the gun against his forehead. Sunshine was only a second behind her. 

“Kali,” she said close to Kali’s ear as calmly as she could muster. 

Maybe it was annoyance at Sunshine’s interference with her “missions” or a tiny thread of reasonability that had finally come over Kali, but she seemed to listen to Sunshine enough to step back with a deep breath. Most likely she knew they’d get no answers if she killed Craig in a fit of rage. 

“I am just statin’ the truth. I don’t approve, didn’t at the time either. But I had just gotten married and needed a job. Besides, getting out of a government contract like that was a nightmare,” he continued. 

“You know what else was a nightmare?” Kali hissed. “Being taken from my home and experimented on for years.” 

He was too caviler, too okay with the role he played. It made her stomach turn as she thought about Ivy, about Three, about all of the kids who never made it out, and those like Kali who never found a home after escaping a nonstop nightmare. For a moment, Sunshine clenched her fist as her palm felt hot with anger. But she extinguished it before her abilities got the better of her. 

“We were under orders-”

“You were a coward.” 

Craig shrugged, not disagreeing. “I was, but not anymore. Whatever those men are up to, I’m not a part of it. I don’t plan on ever being a part of something like that again. I learned my lesson.” 

“Have you?” Kali asked. “Because to me, it doesn’t seem like you feel bad at all for any of it.” 

Something shifted in his expression, a mix between his own burning anger and a look of memories flickering across his mind. He was remembering something. How Sunshine knew that she wasn’t exactly sure, it was just something she could feel. 

Her memories assaulted her often, and that same ghostly look probably overcame her as well. 

“Believe me, I can’t lose my eyes without seeing…” Craig shuttered as if the memory was shaking him with a kind of violence Sunshine knew all too well. It was curious. 

Sunshine took a step forward, her fingers hovering just above the gun as if she was quicker than Kali to pull it away if she threatened to shoot. “See what?” she asked. 

Craig’s fingers rubbed harshly against his forehead, which was weathered with worry lines. “That night,” he began, the words seemingly thick in his throat. “God, I’ve never seen anything like that. I-I know things happened inside that building that were…” He looked between Sunshine and Kali, trying to think of a word that properly encompassed what had happened to them and every other child, but there was not one; Sunshine hadn’t found one yet, at least. 

“That were awful. I know I was a part of that, to an extent. But after that night…after seeing whatever monster had done that, I quit. I left that building and I never looked back.” 

Sunshine furrowed her brows. “The Demogorgon?” There were plenty of monsters inside the Lab, but the only one not in the body of a man was the Demogorgon that was unleashed the night she and El had escaped. While she didn’t know the details of what the monster had done before it escaped into the woods and stole little Will Byers from his own home, but it would be enough to make someone jump ship. Some people could stomach experimenting on children but drew the line at monsters from other words. 

Unfortunately, Sunshine and her friends had faced both, and she wasn’t sure they were done doing so. But they couldn’t run away because their lives were in Hawkins, unlike the man in front of her. 

Both Craig and Kali looked at Sunshine with confused expressions. “It’s, uh, a monster. Did you see it inside the Lab?” 

“I didn’t see anything but the bodies. So many bodies. So many kids…” He shuttered once more, closing his eyes. 

The only kids inside the building that night were El and herself. If anyone had died that night, it would have only been Lab workers. If there were kids Sunshine didn’t know about when she escaped, Hopper, Joyce, and Murry would have known shortly after. 

“When did you leave?” 

“Uh, God, it feels like a lifetime ago.” 

Kali narrowed her gaze, readjusting her grip on the gun. “Answer her question.” 

“‘78…no. No, it was ‘79.” 

Sunshine took an uneven step backward. 

That was years before they escaped. She didn’t have the greatest concept of time inside the Lab, only a vague understanding of how old she was because of Ivy and afterward because of a sheet of paper she hid in one of the ceiling panels in her bedroom where she marked off each day she was there. She didn’t understand what he was referring to, but she racked her brain for an answer. The only bodies she had seen were Three’s and Ivy’s after they were dead or nearly dead. 

She had more questions, a million more which she thought she’d have the chance to ask because the man seemed rather unphased by Kali’s gun and Kali hadn’t yet learned where Brenner and Miller were operating. 

But they never got the chance. 

For the second time that day, a bullet came flying out of nowhere. It split the window on the side of the house, raining glass down upon everyone standing in the living room. 

Sunshine gasped loudly in surprise before Kali grasped her arm and pulled her onto the carpeted floor. She hit the ground with all of the air escaping her lungs. The sound of breaking glass rang in her ears, filtering everything else out in a horrible echo. 

For a disorienting moment, she stayed down, eyes squeezed closed until the sounds of the world came back to her. 

Calum ran in from where he begrudgingly kept watch outside and the wife of Craig flew into the living room with her eyes wide and frightened. 

“Oh, my God!” the woman screamed, running to her husband. Craig still sat on the couch still, aside from his hand holding the side of his face as blood seeped out from his pale fingers. 

Sunshine scrambled up from the ground and ran forward toward the man. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and tried to hand it off to his wife. 

“Why? Why did you do this?” the woman cried, looking at Sunshine with bloodshot eyes. 

Sunshine’s mouth was dry as she tried to press the blanket up against Craig’s bloodied hand in a weak attempt to stop the bleeding from the fatal wound in the cheek. She felt his blood soak the fabric, sinking onto her skin. 

“It wasn’t us,” Kali answered for Sunshine, peering out the window from the side. “I told you; someone is after all of them.” 

The wife wailed but seemed more enraged as Craig’s eyes fluttered closed and slumped back against the ruined white couch. She lashed out toward Sunshine, shoving her to the ground with messy, blurry-eyed waving hands. Sunshine groaned as she landed on her back for the second time that day. 

Craig’s wife’s chest heaved. “Get out! Get out of here!” She was scared for her life and her children, and Sunshine felt her fear in each frantic kick and shove. 

“What the hell is going on? Calum cried. 

Sirens sounded somewhere far off in the distance and Sunshine’s chest felt so tight she couldn’t breathe. 

Kali used her combat boot to kick the woman off of Sunshine, but not hard enough to seriously hurt her. Craig’s wife cried against the carpet while her kids called from the next room. Guilt chewed at Sunshine, digging its sharp teeth deeper into her skin. Tears welled up in her eyes as shallow breaths escaped her lips. 

“We have to go!” Kali said, shaking Sunshine’s shoulders. “You have to go.” 

Sunshine’s mind was fractured into too many pieces of worry and problems stacking up, but she focused on Kali for a moment. “N-No,” she sputtered out. “You have to come with us. Come to Hawkins. You’ll be safe there a-and we’ll figure this out.” 

“Hawkins is not my home,” Kali replied, tugging Sunshine towards the door and leaving the now-broken family behind. 

“But it can be,” Sunshine said. “It’s different. It’s better now. Please, Kali. We can go back and figure out where Brenner and Miller are. I promise everything will work out; it will.” There was nothing Sunshine wanted more than to find a happy ending for all of the kids of the Hawkins Lab who were left. And while she didn’t come to Indy with the full intention of convincing Kali, knowing what El and the twins had said about their other sister, but something inside of her urged her to bring Kali back. It felt important, urgent even. Maybe it was simply the adrenaline and panic in her veins, or maybe that was what Sunshine had wanted all along, not just the answers to her memories. 

Kali looked like she wanted to fight, but there was something different in her eyes, something that almost looked scared. 

Sirens sounded louder. “Guys?!” Calum’s voice grabbed their attention. 

“Fine!” Kali relented, throwing her hands up near the back door of the home. She shoved it open and all of them hurried out. “I’ll go back with you but only to figure out a way to find them. That’s it. The only home I want is my own and they took that away from me.” 

Sunshine wanted to say something, something comforting but she could feel blood on her hands and a gunshot in her ears. Her world was dizzying that she wasn’t even sure she had heard Kali right. But they made a plan anyway before Kali split ways to find them a ride back to Hawkins. 

While Kali left to find them a ride, Sunshine and Calum found themselves in an alleyway where she had promised to meet them. All of the gross fear and anger bubbled through Sunshine’s veins to the point she couldn’t hide it under her smooth skin and soft exterior. Instead, it flooded her palms, bringing light to them that she threatened Calum with. A part of her felt bad about the fear in his tense muscles, but a larger part of her wanted him to stop. It may not have been his fault they ran into each other in Indy, but with him came an unraveling thread that he felt a sick need to pick at. He couldn’t stop and Sunshine couldn’t stand it. 

Two men were dead. Her necklace was gone. Kali had agreed to come back to Hawkins under false promises that Sunshine couldn’t keep. And Dr. Brenner and Miller were possibly up to their same old sick experiment. If there were other kids out there in danger, Sunshine wanted to help, but she had no idea where to even start. That’s why she needed to get home where she could talk to the people she trusted without hesitation to come up with some kind of plan. 

She wanted to cry, and after a tense moment of holding her illuminated hand to Calum’s face, that feeling washed over her anger like a sudden tidal wave, sending her floating back to the shore of reason. Stumbling backward, she curled her fingers into a fist and let a couple of tears fall from her eyes, hitting the alleyway gravel. 

Calum stood motionless, his face twisted up in a million different emotions. They had no time to exchange any words before a car pulled up, stopping quickly with its headlights turned off. Kali threw open the passenger side door from inside and gestured for them to hurry. 

With minor hesitation, Sunshine raced towards the car and Calum followed a couple of steps behind. Once they both closed their doors, Kali stepped on it, weaving through the alleyways and backroads of Indy until she hit the highway, leaving the mess in the rearview mirror. 

Sunshine leaned her head against the window, feeling the cool glass against her hot cheek. Her shaky, stained hands folded themselves on her lap after trying once more to reach for her necklace that was long gone. But at least she was heading home.

[novafire-is-thinking]

Per aspera ad astra: “through adversity, to the stars”

The Vision

“You see a future in the stars?" Alpha Trion asked him quietly.

. . .

“The stars look endless to me,” he [Orion] said eventually. “Out there, you could just go and go, and there’d be enough space for everyone, and things to do and see that go on forever.” (CoP)

In an earlier post (Orion the Dreamer), I shared the full scene where Orion reveals his hopes and dreams to Alpha Trion.

And I mentioned in the previous post (Desire vs. Destiny) that it was Optimus’ deepest desire to peer behind the veil of life and study its secrets by collecting stories and seeking knowledge wherever he could find it.

Putting together both of these, one can see that Orion/Optimus’ personal vision for his life was to be a lifelong learner—one who learned through exploration, discovery of new life, the seeking of stories, and deep reflection.

Change of Plans

I will recover the AllSpark, thought Optimus Prime. Then I will retrace my steps across the galaxy and sow peace on my return wherever our initial exodus has inadvertently fomented division and war. (Exiles)

Life rarely goes as planned, as Optimus found out as the war dragged on.

Where a young Orion dreamt of setting out on his journey with curiosity and hope, a war-torn Optimus came to expect nothing more than a future quest of reparation and what he determined to be a moral duty.

A Fresh Glimpse of Hope

After so long, it was strange indeed to reach this planet again. Although I had heard it was full of life, I did not expect what we found—civilizations, technologies. For the last months, as we have been on final approach, we have learned to know them by their broadcasts, and though the others say nothing about it, what amazes me is how alike we are. Our bodies are different, our lifespans and our needs unalike, but what drives us and moves us is very much the same: humans talk about the heart, and Cybertronians the Spark; they love and fear, think and fight one another, as we do.

I looked for signs as we came within the light of their sun, and I find them everywhere—the many readings of Cybertronian technology on their world, the intensity of their struggles, the strange richness of their stories—against all odds, Unicron the Destroyer of Worlds has borne eons of life. I feel everything hangs in the balance. The Nemesis still pursues. We still track the AllSpark. So long this journey has been, and in spite of all its battles, so unchanging. (CoP)

Upon meeting and observing humans for himself, Optimus saw a glimpse of future potential—a future in which two very different, yet oddly similar species could learn and grow together, just as he’d wanted before the war. After all, Earth was also home to Unicron—the antithesis of Primus. There had to be a connection somewhere, and if not, Optimus intended to create one.

Of course, the war prevented him from getting his hopes too high, but judging from the fact that he trusted a human with the Key to Vector Sigma, it seems he allowed himself to hold onto a sliver of hope that humanity would not only survive the Cybertronian war, but would be part of Cybertron’s future in some way.

Endings and Epiphanies

I saw my death in the descent of the Dark Saber in Megatron's hand. I was surprised a little, disappointed. And then suddenly Megatron was no more. The reprieve was beyond belief. It shook me to my Spark and I felt suddenly with incredible force the fool I had been. I was not alone. I had never been alone, Prime or not. We, the Autobots, were one. (CoP)

After eons of hardship and carrying what he thought was primarily his burden to carry, Optimus was reminded that he was part of a greater whole.

The bigger goal was to see Autobots and Decepticons become one again, but this monumental shift in awareness was a necessary first step on Optimus’ journey to heal and open himself up to possibilities involving Cybertronians of either faction and humans.

A Shared Destiny

Thus ends the story of the Age of the Primes and of the origins of the Cybertronians, though not the whole story of course, for that is still being written in time and space on Earth, and all over the galaxy where the seeds and the sparks of life are growing.

I, Alpha Trion, one of the last Primes, now give this book into your hands, human friend, so that you shall know who your allies are, and your enemies also, how they are made, and where they have come from. Be sure that wherever and whenever you need our aid, the Autobots will respond to your call.

This is the Covenant of Primus, as given to all Cybertronians by right, and to humans by the last wish of Optimus, the Thirteenth Prime, so let it be.

TILL ALL ARE ONE.

Alpha Trion’s wording tells me humanity is probably the only other species that was given the Covenant of Primus.

This is incredible, to say the least. Of all the races Optimus encountered, he asked that humans be given one of the most sacred texts of the Cybertronian race.

But why humanity?

Well, Optimus firmly believed humans and Cybertronians shared a common destiny.

Alpha Trion, the relics, Unicron, the end of the war.

To Optimus, all of it pointed to Earth and humanity being an excellent starting point to launch into his original dream. He saw in humanity the future he’d endured so much hardship for: a future of learning and growing—not just alongside fellow Cybertronians, but alongside other races as well.

And depending on what each fan chooses to believe is the end of Optimus’ story, he either never got to see the fulfillment of his dream, or he did in some imagined way outside of canon.

Dreamers suffer more, but they also live more.

✧ ✧ ✧

Today, this post and the entire series are dedicated to Peter Cullen on his 82nd birthday, and to one of several beloved Optimi he’s poured so much of his heart and soul into. ❤️

[burberrycanary]

I thought I’d be feeling more triumphant to have wrapped up my post-TFATWS stucky endgame fix-it series, A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River, which is now complete. And believe me, I’m pleased and relieved to have the whole thing out in the world. But it’s also bittersweet and there’s an odd little feeling of let-down, too. 

I’m going to miss these versions of Steve and Bucky—and Sam and Sarah. These are the most psychologically complex stories I’ve written as Steve and Bucky slowly and arduously figure out how to live with themselves and with each other in the post-Snap, post-Return, post-Endgame world as it is. How do you move forward after all the mistakes and injustice and everything you’ve had to survive to reach this point?

Not an easy question.

But in the same way that I view Steve and Bucky as fundamentally hopeful characters, these stories also contain a lot of joy and hardwon moments of happiness. As Steve thinks at one point—

But that’s the world, bleak turned one way and then somehow still beautiful when turned inside-out with the bleak waiting again for the next reverse, not really gone anywhere: just out of sight.

I’ve been working on this series for years—I started the earliest drafts back at the end of 2021—and it’s been very much a labor of love. So if you’re interested in trying an Endgame fix-it that doesn’t let Steve off the hook for the choices he made but also gives him the chance to do better; and a story that lets Bucky keep the hardwon connections and growth we see in TFATWS while bringing Steve and Bucky, these two profoundly intertwined characters, back together and then asks: after everything, how could these characters live, really live, in the world again?

“If you didn’t live in New York,” Bucky asks while passing over another ice cold beer before he takes his own, “where would you go?” Steve has seen a lot of the world, in passing, coming from one fight or heading to the next. “I don’t know.” He slumps further down in the sloped deck chair and tilts his head to watch Bucky’s face in profile, silhouetted against the heat-warmed bricks and the long slice of purpling sky that hangs between buildings over the road. “Anywhere you wanna see?” Bucky wets his lower lip and takes a swallow of the sour beer. Steve shoves down the desire to draw Bucky’s hands, doing the ordinary things of living, until he can bury Bucky in a cascade of those images. “Some days, feels like there’s not much in the world I haven’t seen. Seeing it during peacetime, though, that’d be something.” Bucky slants that dark, dangerous grin at him that’s straight from the spring of ‘44. “If you can call this peace.” Reaching out, Steve offers the neck of his beer. “What’s peace, anyway?” Bucky clinks their two bottles together. “What the hell is peace?”

This series is the story of two old soldiers trying to find some peace, whatever that may be.

Read A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy)

[numinousmysteries]

Full Circle

[on Ao3]

November 27, 2023

She finds him in the backyard studying the stars. The luminous full moon threatens to overpower the night sky. It’s the beaver moon, named for the creature that retreats to its home every November to ride out the winter. The beaver hides from the cold, unlike the fox who trudges along through snow and frost.

She knows his gaze isn’t content to rest on the moon. He’s staring light years back in time, seeking starlight that’s been dead for millennia, looking for a little girl who disappeared half a century ago tonight. 

The story is so familiar that it’s become interwoven into her own memory. She closes her eyes and feels his terror. The forgotten board game. Samantha’s floral nightgown. The ribbons in her hair. The bright light. His sudden paralysis. The moment his innocence shattered and he lost his faith that the world was benevolent and people were good. It was the loss that dominoed a lifetime of loss: his parents, her sister, her daughter, their son, and, five years ago, the cluster of cells they created against all odds, gone in a piercing cramp and a river of blood before it ever had a fighting chance. 

He came close to losing her too many times—to mutants, to murderers, to cancer, to his own vortex of despair. But tonight, at least, she is here. She comes to stand vigil beside him, wordlessly taking his hand as they both peer out into the clear night sky. He is like a kintsugi bowl, more cracked than whole, but with her golden light filling in the lines of fissure. They are two broken people who only remain upright by leaning on each other. Without her, he would disintegrate, the fibers of his being wrested apart and she would do the same.

His hand is warm in hers. Somehow, still, his heart beats and blood courses through his veins. Energy, derived from starlight, still burns in his every cell keeping him alive, and breathing, and beside her. And somehow, still, her heart pumps to match his rhythm, her lungs rise and fall, and she survives. For what purpose, though, she does not know. 

She hears footsteps in the tall grass behind them. Perhaps this is it. Some henchman sent to finally obliterate them for what they’ve seen, for what they know, for angering any number of the enemies they’ve made along the way. Mulder doesn’t budge. At this point, does it matter? They have weapons inside they could rush to retrieve, but the urge for self-preservation has dulled. What is left to preserve? What remains to be defended? 

Still, she lets go of his hand to see who’s approaching. A figure looms in front of their home, his shape caught in the moonlight. He’s skinnier than the last time she laid eyes on him, with a dark, matted beard but she knows it’s him. She would know him in any form, in any universe, this child—now a man—who grew inside her body, who she gave life to, who she failed to protect. 

“William,” she whispers, and Mulder finally turns away from the sky to face him. 

Together, they cross the yard to meet him, stepping so gently as if they’re pursuing a wild animal who could flinch and flee at any moment. But he doesn’t budge. He stands still, allowing her to bring her fingertips to his face, feeling his rough skin and ragged beard. His flesh is cold under her hands and she instinctively pulls him in close to her. His knobby, jagged vertebrae poke through his threadbare coat. How is this the same body she once held in her arms and nurtured with her breast?

She slides her hands down his sinewy arms to hold his elbows as she pulls back to examine his face—his father’s hazy eyes stare back at her. He turns to look at Mulder, standing next to her, his own eyes blank. For as long as she’s known Mulder, his driving force was a desire to believe, but now she isn’t sure he has any trust left in that conviction. Decades of false hopes have finally worn him down, so now the burden to believe rests on her.

She takes Mulder’s hand in hers and lifts it to William’s face. He keeps his palm on the younger man’s cheek but doesn’t move. 

“It’s really you,” she says just above a whisper.

“It’s me,” her son responds, his voice hoarse and tired. 

She looks desperately into Mulder’s eyes for any sign of recognition. She knows he’s scared. She’s terrified, herself. Getting another chance at reuniting with their son only to have it be an illusion, or to have him ripped away again would destroy them both. It’d be the final blow to an already fragile existence. The fracture that would ultimately tear down the shaky frame he’d been struggling to maintain for half a century. 

Silently, she urges him to embrace William, to let himself believe just one more time. But it’s William who steps forward first, wrapping his arms around his father and resting his head on his shoulder. She watches as Mulder shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, taking in the essence of their son. 

“Come inside,” she says. “Let’s get you warm.” 

She guides William by the arm toward the backdoor. 

Before he follows them in, Mulder turns back, raising his eyes to the stars once more. There is no replacing what is lost. He will always be a brother without a sister, a son without parents, a father without a child. Fifty years ago, his family was cleaved apart. Tonight, they will attempt to forge a new one together. Three broken down, battered souls trying to form a whole.

[captainseamech]

Anchora Gladius — Name Meaning

Okay I have been postponing the explanation for too long already (since I was also studying a bit of Latim to get the definition all together without it sounding weird and was also trying to find my old notes bdbdnfndk) but at long last, here we go! The long awaited meaning behind such a powerful name that carried High Tide through his gladiator era.

First I wanna explain why High Tide didn’t go into the arenas as... well, High Tide. It could’ve been easier than fake a whole new identity just to be in a coliseum. It’s kind of a complicated topic, but long story short he didn’t want his real name to be associated with such terrible ‘sport’, nor his image to be twisted further due to that fact. And considering he had to flee his hometown because of the increasing allegations that tormented him and his family, the option to create a ‘persona’ was more than necessary for the sake of guaranteeing his own safety and survival. Now for the ‘new’ name itself, which will be analyzed in two parts.

Gladius is the root word for gladiator and a type of sword used for close-quarter combat, but it also represents strength, honor and glory which, if you analyze closely, applies perfectly to High Tide. Strength is both physical, psychological and emotional as you have to be strong enough to take down your opponents, strong enough to not fall for their tricks and strong enough to not lose yourself. Honor can be tricky to be associated with him, as he doesn’t feel honored to wield a sword to slay other people, but he feels honored to carry the symbol of his father (more on that in a bit) with him to become the greater mech he swore to be before leaving his town. Glory can be easily associated with his victorious fights, but to High Tide, glory is for whenever he left the field alive and still mentally well despite the horrors he constantly faced at the time.

Anchora is simple enough, it’s the root word for anchor as you could guess... but there’s also a reason as to why it was picked for his name. High Tide’s father was a spacefarer, and a well known at that in both Nova Cronum (his original homeplace) and Iacon (one of the biggest towns in Cybertron and the most important alongside Kaon), with the anchor being carried through all the generations and was quite symbolic for him and his father. It represents hope and groundedness, hope for always believing that the tides (pun not intended) will turn on one’s favor and grounded / connected to what matters most, pressing forward despite the challenges in life. To High Tide, the anchor is also a reminder that, no matter what happened to him, he had to stay focused and hopeful despite all odds while also reminding him to think about happy moments to keep himself emotionally and psychologically balanced. There are other meanings behind the anchor, but more on that in another post.

That being said, Anchora Gladius means ‘Sword of Hope’, a sense of light amidst dark and strength amidst weakness. Anchora Gladius represents logical thinking amongst peer pressure, insistence against all the bad in life and kindness through brutality... because sespite everything, Anchora Gladius is, still, High Tide under that armor.