#the anger and pain from knowing his father was murdered having tended to him when he was on his last weeks of life

[brucewaynehater101]

I hc Damian sees dick as more of a father then Bruce, my reasoning is that when Bruce was dead, dick was there for him and Damian already mourned that father and accepted dick as his dad.

and since in my brain Bruce causes most of the issues between the brothers, in a au where Bruce wasn’t rescued all the bats are happy and friendly to each other, dick is the older brother who’s basically their dad, Jason who’s very caring yet also insists he’s not (he has anger issues as well), Tim who can’t seem to fully grasp how much everyone cares for him but it’s getting better, and Damian who actually acts his age and not like a 20 year old man with murder problems (he still has murder issues but dicks made him realize that’s wrong)

There was probably quite a bit of an adjustment period in the beginning. When siblings are faced with a change in dynamics so that they need to rely upon each other instead of being pitted against one another, there tend to be big blowups and fights until they get the hang of things.

In this AU, it would be a bit hard to wrangle all the batkids into getting along. Does Tim never find that portrait that starts his search? Did Bruce actually die? Does Alfred find the portrait first and burn it so his family can finally be free (very ooc, but a cool concept)?

Tim finding out Bruce is alive is like a match near gasoline for him. He destroys all of his current relationships (justified or not) to save his dad.

There's also the grief aspect. The Battle of the Cowl could be seen as just the kids trying to find footing with the changes and the grief of loosing their dad.

It doesn't matter how much of a bastard Bruce is in this AU, the kids will still grieve his loss. If he was just unredeemable, they wouldn't have hung on so much. It doesn't matter how much Bruce hits them, verbally abuses them, manipulates, or abandons them when he turns around and acts like a good dad. He has good moments. That's the confusing and complicated aspect of it.

Bruce is the type of man to remember a fact his kids mentioned once off-handedly and distracted. He'd remember when they mentioned a childhood toy they loved but could never find again. He would spend months tracking down that company and hiring them to make they toy again if they didn't have any on hand. There's so much time, effort, and money he would put into such a notion, and he wouldn't make a big deal about it. The kid would probably just find it in their room one day and know it was Bruce.

Then he would turn around and try to convince the kid that all of their friends are out to get them and they can't trust anyone.

This AU would be hard to manage because only Dick is at the stage where he would be willing to give up on his dad. With the fallout of Robin, Dick moved on from unconditional love and belief in Bruce. He went to anger and hurt. He slowly healed those pains, but they were changed. Dick couldn't go back to how they were, but ultimately still loved his dad. Jason's death shattered their relationship. Even after Tim interfered, Dick would never be able to forgive Bruce for that. In the comics, he confronted Bruce about not being told about Jason's death. Bruce's response? He screamed at Dick, hit him, told him he shoulf have never had a partner, told Dick that he would've fired Jason in a few years like he did Dick, and then told Dick to hand his keys to the Manor to Alfred on his way out.

Bruce and Dick can go to therapy for years to work on their relationship, but Dick will never trust Bruce with his siblings again. He can trust the man on a battlefield, but he can't trust him at home.

Dick's love to Bruce, I hc, would turn to apathy, longing, and bitterness intermingled with spurts of reluctant fondness.

Jason, on the other hand, is pissed at Bruce, but he has too much passion to just let him go. It's a transition stage from love to anger to indifference. Through his reactions and actions during the Battle of the Cowl, it's obvious he still cares about Bruce somewhat. The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference. If he didn't somewhat care about Bruce, his death wouldn't impact him so much. I personally feel that the incident with Penguin and Gotham Wars is where Jason starts to become indifferent instead. To hate Bruce is to want to change him. It's to want him to be better because you know he can be. To be indifferent to him (outside of horrible actions the man commits) is to know he won't change. It's to give up on him.

Jason still remembers getting ice cream on patrol, sharing popcorn on the couch, reassuring promises of protection, and the laughter he could startle out of his dad. His anger and aggression against Bruce is because he believes that his dad could kill the Joker. He had believed that Bruce would have. Regardless on whether it was the right thing to do or whether a younger version would have wanted that, Jason had faith in Bruce. He ultimately considers his father to be a good guy. Perhaps someone that hurts Jason, but still a good guy.

Dick doesn't regard his father as such. He knows better.

The other kids are still at the love stage, where they rely on Batman and Bruce to be decent and a hero.

Tim may have complicated feelings about Bruce being his dad (how credible that is especially given their history), but he trusts Bruce to make the right decisions. That gospel has been shaken a few times, but it still holds.

Damian is still a child. Capable, kind, fierce, and strong, but still a child.

Cass was given the mission of the Bat by Bruce. He has shown her love and kindness others have not. She can see what he feels and intends to do even as he hurts others. He does not kill.

Barbara has Dick's back before she has Bruce's. Barbara is independent. She does not have the confidence in Bruce that the others do.

I hope Duke is enjoying his time with his parents free from bat drama.

Anyways, I do think the Bats would be better off if Tim hadn't found proof of Bruce's continued existence (it is not his fault that Bruce returned to do horrible shit. He is not to blame). Without it, there might not have been as big of a fallout between Tim and everyone else. There would have been lots of drama and fights between the remaining Bats, but they would eventually settle into a healthier unit.

If anyone wants more about any of this, feel free to send me another ask with what parts you'd like elaborated.

[bookoftheironfist]

Hi! I was thinking offhand about the IF Netflix show this morning and figured I ought to get the opinion of an expert — the fanon Danny characterization that I’ve seen in people’s fics (basically a goofy and oblivious golden retriever) seems a bit different from what I saw in the show, but I also know next to nothing about the personality of the character in the comics. Are the three of them distinct (comics, show, fanon) or would you say there’s similarities between them? Is there anywhere in particular that the fanon characterization seems to come from, in your opinion?

Hi, it's great to hear from you! I love this question.

First of all, I am contractually obligated to gesture in the direction of my big ol' Iron Fist reading guide, if you do happen to have an interest in checking out some comics...

I don't read fan fiction myself, so I can't really comment in an informed or specific way on how he tends to be written or conceptualized by the MCU fan community at large, but I have heard MCU Danny described as a "golden retriever" before and I think I have the general gist. I don't have any problems with that-- Danny is very sweet and endearing and kind, and this is true in the comics as well. There is also a whole lot more going on with him, though, at the heart of which is the fact that he has been shouldering massive amounts of trauma in most of his MCU appearances so far, some of it (if we look, for instance, at Danny in The Defenders) very recent. (In this regard, the treatment of his character in The Defenders drove me a bit nuts. Yeah, okay, let's repeatedly tease and belittle the guy who's just had his home destroyed and his people massacred by the villains and then physically prevent him from getting any closure. Aren't team-ups fun?)

Anyway, to answer your question, I don't see much of a difference in personality between comics Danny and MCU Danny. This is a situation in which context is key, and one of the things I've always found so compelling about Danny as a character is the fact that while he is capable of great kindness, positivity, generosity, and affection-- and is, to me, one of the least emotionally constipated male superheroes out there-- he is also capable of immense darkness, hatred, and violence. Danny has an exceptionally horrific origin story in the comics: at the age of nine, he gets dragged high into the mountains on his father's desperate bid to return to K'un-Lun, where his father is then murdered and his mother eaten alive by wolves. Having barely escaped with his own life, Danny finds a new home and family in K'un-Lun, but he has been transformed by his experiences and becomes razor-focused on the one goal that matters most to him now: killing Harold Meachum, the man responsible for his parents' deaths. When ten years pass and the portal to Earth reopens, Danny is faced with a painful choice: to remain in his beloved K'un-Lun and put aside his desire for vengeance, or to leave in pursuit of Meachum and be locked out of the city for a decade. As much as he wants to stay, and as much as his mentors insist that this revenge quest will destroy him, the rage and trauma that have been festering in him all this time are too much for him to ignore. Nineteen-year-old Danny storms back to New York City, haunted and out for blood.

His personality in these first issues is rigidly serious, emotionally locked off, driven, bitter, and quick to anger. Even when his revenge quest fails and he decides to let his parents' killer live, he comes out of it lost and broken, homesick for K'un-Lun and unsure of who he even is on Earth and what kind of life he could possibly build there. His answer comes through the friends he makes-- Colleen Wing and her father, Misty Knight, Rafael Scarfe, Luke Cage, the Sons of the Tiger, and so on-- who extend kindness and love to him and give him a place to belong. As this happens, Danny's personality softens. There's a key moment that I think beautifully illustrates the beginning of this shift. Danny gets invited to play some casual softball with Rafael Scarfe and his team, and ends up getting knocked on his butt. His first reaction is to feel angry and humiliated. But then he does something nobody expects. He laughs:

"You hear laughter as you hit the ground, and for a moment, it angers you...after all, you have been made to look the fool... So what? It won't kill a man to look foolish among friends. And you do look...funny." Scarfe: "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it. The great stone face finally cracks up. I dunno, Daniel Rand. After all Lee* told me about you, I didn't think you had a giggle in you. Nice to see I was wrong." Marvel Premiere #24 by Chris Claremont, Pat Broderick, Phil Rache, Vinnie Colletta, and Karen Mantlo *(Lee is Colleen Wing's father, who was employing and keeping an eye on Danny at this point.)

The reason I've been focusing specifically on early 616 Danny here is because this is largely the context in which we have seen MCU Danny so far. He is, relatively speaking, barely out of his origin story, and while many of the details differ, MCU Danny and 616 Danny still have similar origins and similar emotional responses to them. (In the years since the show first aired, I've seen people try to claim that MCU Danny was out-of-character in the first season, and while out-of-character-ness is, of course, up to interpretation, I tend to take this opinion as an indication that someone has only read modern Iron Fist comics. To me, season 1 was very obviously drawing from the original Marvel Premiere issues in its tone, themes, and approach to Danny's personality.) What's very neat to me about MCU Danny is that due to the changing of one small detail, the structure of his origin story was completely flipped. In the comics, he watches Harold Meachum kick his dad off a cliff and abandon him and his mother in the mountains. He knows exactly what happened to his parents, and he knows exactly who is responsible, and so his trauma response has drive and a target. For this reason, the very first version of Danny we meet in the comics is angry and serious, battle-hardened and focused on his mission to the exclusion of all else. It's only afterward that his character, over time, morphs into the lighter, more relaxed Danny with whom modern readers are most familiar. He still has that darkness and rage inside of him-- the 2014 Living Weapon series, for instance, was all about revisiting that aspect of his character-- but modern Danny is, on the whole, in a place that reflects the tremendous character arc he has traveled over the past 50 years.

The show, though, changes a key detail of the story: Danny's parents die in a plane crash, murdered by Harold from a distance. I wasn't too disappointed or even really surprised by this change (when that first teaser trailer dropped, my co-blogger and I went, "yeah, makes sense"). Live action tends to highlight concept weaknesses that are more readily allowed suspension of disbelief in the comics, and a plane crash feels a bit more rational than Wendell Rand taking his young child for a fun jaunt through some of the harshest terrain on the planet. Of course, all of the Netflix shows made all kinds of origin story changes, some of them for no apparent reason and to what I'd consider to be the detriment of the stories (here's my co-blogger and I griping about some of the strangest changes made to MCU Matt Murdock's origin, for instance, if you're interested). But what impressed me so much about this change to Danny's backstory is that they didn't then just carry on as if the change hadn't been made. The showrunner/writing team actually thought through what it would mean for the rest of the story, and what it meant was this: With Harold not obviously involved, Danny does not know that his parents were murdered. He is burdened with the same degree of grief and trauma, but without anyone to blame, with no outlet for his emotions, no goal to strive toward for closure. It means that he initially has no revenge quest. When we first meet MCU Danny, he is suppressing a lot of harmful emotions (I mean, a lot a lot), but he is also hopeful, because he comes to Earth not to murder a guy, but looking for healing and seeking to reconnect with the Meachums: beloved extended family that he has not seen in fifteen years, welcome remnants of a life he can barely remember. He is in an optimistic frame of mind, thus allowing us to see that trademark happy, dorky Danny who we don't meet until much later in the comics (that first link offers a direct contrast between Danny walking into the Meachum building in the comics versus the MCU, so it's worth checking out).

And then! Things immediately go horribly wrong. Danny is naive, out of his element, and easily manipulated. He gets psychologically brutalized by the Meachums, by Madame Gao and the Hand, eventually by Davos, he discovers more and more of the details surrounding the crash, he begins to spiral, his suppressed emotions break free, that darkness and rage come forth, and the story of Iron Fist season 1 climaxes with the realization of the revenge quest that was always bubbling beneath the surface. That glimpse of happy, well-adjusted Danny is gone, consumed by the grim, dangerous, extremely unhealthy Danny more familiar to Marvel Premiere readers. One major difference to note is that there's something uncontrolled, almost feral about MCU Danny at his absolute worst, symptomatic of the fact that he has been actively repressing these emotions, while 616 Danny spent ten years honing and focusing them. I find that distinction really interesting.

Having defeated Harold Meachum and found closure for his parents' deaths and peace for his identity struggles (I haven't talked much about those, but I've written a lot about them in my coverage of Iron Fist season 1, so feel free to go check that out), we see that default happier, hopeful, peaceful Danny return. This moment always brings me immense joy:

(I can't overstate my love for this tiny scene. Here's Danny at his most carefree, finally returning home, ready to plunge back into his training, accompanied by someone he loves. That's my guy: distilled.)

However, Danny barely has time to heal before he is shattered again by the...whatever the heck happened to K'un-Lun (this plot point was never, ever clarified, and I'm sad about it! Augh! Marvel!!). In the post about The Defenders that I linked waaay back at the beginning of this post, I point out that Danny's traumatic flashbacks to his parents' deaths get replaced by nightmares of K'un-Lun's destruction, a new source of trauma overlaying the old. In The Defenders, Danny's personality is perhaps closer to that of his Marvel Premiere counterpart. He is no longer out-of-control berserker raging; now, his grief and anger are focused. He knows his enemy. He knows what they did (maybe? Augh...). He knows what he must do to them to avenge his people and correct his perceived mistakes. But at the same time, he is still open to building friendships and connections, even longs for it (he has lost so many of the people in his life, he has been betrayed so many times...He and Colleen are alone at this point). He forms a bond with Luke (of course), once they are able to put aside their own demons enough to listen to each other. His interactions with Luke are very reminiscent of his first interactions with Colleen in IF season 1, in which he sees someone he thinks is cool and interesting and goes "Friend. Friend, yes? Friend?" (This isn't really a thing in the comics, but it's a cute feature of MCU Danny that also underlines how desperately he needs human connection. In the comics, his Found Family(ies) just kind of happens organically. In the MCU, Danny seeks out those bonds.) Something else that pops out strongly in Danny's personality in The Defenders is an admiration for his teammates, carrying on from his open admiration for Colleen's skills in his solo show. Danny in the comics is a kung fu mega nerd. He's a perfectionist when it comes to combat and will openly criticize his enemies for sloppiness or lack of skill, but the flip side of this is that he also has tremendous respect for and interest in the skills of others and is just as quick to offer complements. I love this about him and was delighted to see it show up in the MCU.

Luke Cage season 2 and Iron Fist season 2 see MCU Danny move toward that more modern sensibility for his character; they feel very much like the Iron Fist/Power Man and Iron Fist volume 1 era in the comics, in terms of both his personality and the direction of his life (apart from the end of IF season 2, which I don't feel I can cover properly here because it still just makes me go "???!?!"). With more stability, we get to see more sides of Danny that we haven't seen since the very beginning of his solo show, before his life went to hell-- the side that is open and friendly, that gifts Misty Knight her bionic arm, that is eager to spar with Luke, the side that is settled enough in himself to offer advice to others. We see Danny enjoying having a job-- not as a Hero for Hire in this universe, sadly, but working for a moving company, earning an honest living. We get to revel more in one of my favorite things about early Danny: his naïveté and unfamiliarity with Earth. This Danny is smiley, a little bit mischievous, open and caring to a fault. We see him reveling in what he does best: using his skills, kicking some butt, being the best there is at what he does (sorry, Wolverine). In Iron Fist season 2, we also see Danny connecting with his Iron Fist identity, really connecting with the chi of Shou-Lao for the first time in a way that makes him feel empowered. Danny's relationship with his role as Iron Fist, and with the city of K'un-Lun, is rocky and tumultuous in the show and even moreso in the comics, but it also means everything to him and brings him comfort and pride and a sense of grounding. With Iron Fist season 2 existing alongside the Luke Cage team-up episode, we also get a great example of something that is notable in the comics as well, which is a distinction between the way Danny is written in his solo series versus in team books, particularly in the modern era. In team-ups and cameo appearances, he tends to be comic relief, a bit more lighthearted, a bit goofier, while in his solo stories, faced with problems that are personal and strike deep, and where we are closer to his POV, he tends toward being more introspective, serious, troubled. This is to be expected, but is still worth noting in all discussions of Danny's personality. He exists on a spectrum, just like any other character.

This post is so long, and it feels like there are still a million more things to say. But I will, I think, end it by emphasizing that one of my favorite things about Danny is the breadth and depth of his personality, and one of my greatest joys regarding the Netflix shows was seeing a character I adore explored further, in a new medium and a different context, while still aligning with the same basic set of recognizable personality traits. Danny Rand is a hardcore, deadly martial artist who wields immense power and a soft, kind sweetheart who loves his friends and would do anything for them, or for anyone else for that matter. He killed a dragon with his bare hands, and he's so, so bad at business. He's straightforward and confident-- he's one of the best fighters in the entire Marvel Universe and he knows it, not as a boast but simply as a fact. He's a tangled, self-questioning mess, trying to find his way as an Immortal Weapon in the Capital Cities of Heaven and as a superhero on Earth and frequently failing. He's honest and sincere. He's a bit awkward. He's curious, a lifelong student (as all the best martial artists are). He's fearless. He's a huge dork. He transformed a skyscraper into a giant chi-powered mech to punch a god one time. He got his identity stolen by a sentient plant one time. He teaches little kids kung fu, and is an eager mentor to his protégé Pei and a kickass uncle to Luke and Jessica's daughter, who they named after him. He's a philanthropist and a Hero for Hire, and Rolling Stone named him the 77th Hottest Avenger. And while we were unfairly robbed of the time to explore every facet of MCU Danny's character, we were nevertheless gifted a wonderful range of stories and a powerful character arc (Shou-Lao willing, someday the MCU decision-makers will take their eyes off Charlie Cox long enough to remember that the other Netflix Marvel shows also exist and we'll get to see more of this version of Danny). And my hope for people writing Danny into their fan fics is just to remember his complexity, to keep in mind the forces that shaped him, and to have fun with how multifaceted and strange and unique a character he is. And if you or anyone else is ever looking for an Iron Fist nut to chat with, I'm always up for, um...writing extremely long posts about my guy.

Thank you for the question!

[nothanksehh]

When We Meet Again- Chapter 2

Note: There are major spoilers for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame in this chapter. Read at your own risk.

Cp. 3

"Good morning, Wingleader Riorson, I assume you have had a good morning so far?"

Xaden sits across from me in my classroom with a glare that is half general dislike and half disbelief almost. I have gone out of my way to schedule this time with him to get a read on where he is at with his signet abilities and to let him know I am aware of his deal with Violet's mother. I made it a point to ensure my name was left off of the letter that was delivered to him with his breakfast this morning. The note only stated that the new signet professor wished to meet with him. It seems like it was a good idea, I have a feeling that if he had known that it was me he never would have come.

It is no secret that Brennan's and my dragons were mated. People are generally surprised when they see me, knowing that while they are both passed on to be with Malek, I still stand. There is usually a bit of shock that comes with someone meeting me for the first time. But Xaden's expression is more than a little bit strange. It's times like this I wish I knew what people were thinking, thankfully it is the one thing my signet seems to be lacking. 

"You were bonded to Brennan Sorrengail."

Really? That's all he has to say? 

"Yes, I was." I only let my thoughts stray on the pain briefly, the anger I let simmer for a second longer before I turn off those feelings mentally. 

"Are you not going to attempt to kill me?" He seems surprised that I am not running him through with my shortsword. 

"And why exactly am I supposed to be murdering you, Riorson?" 

He cocks his head to the side, genuine shock showing only for a second before he masks the emotion. 

He takes a deep breath before stating the obvious, "My father killed your... killed Brennan. You were close. I am my father's only child. It doesn't take that big of a leap to assume that you have called me here for some form of revenge."

I let out a laugh before I could shut it down. Xaden's eyebrows shoot up in shock. Good to know I am not doing what people would expect of me. I hate expectations.

"Let's get some things straight, Riorson. I couldn't give two shits about who your father was. Unless you had been the one to kill Lieutenant Sorrengail, I have no score to settle with you. I need to enact no big revenge plot. The blame should lie solely with the one who dealt the blow. I called you here today to let you know that I will be taking over your signet training sessions instead of Professor Carr as I am better suited to training classified and rare signets. Where I am sure that he has done a fine enough job so far, the positions of regular and rare signet training should have always been separate. General Sorrengail gave me a list of the people who will be switching to my class and I am setting up meetings individually to get a basis on who needs to be where and what level of help each rider will need." Xaden relaxes slightly in his seat, "Secondly, General Sorrengail has also made me aware of the bargain that you two made with each other and let me know that I am personally responsible for you upholding your end of that agreement."

The shock that he lets rest openly on his face is a surprise considering he tends to conceal most emotions. 

"And what exactly do you know about the agreement that has been made, Professor Leannan?"

"I am aware that in exchange for all marked ones going into the Riders Quadrant at a chance at survival, you will ensure that outside of challenges Violet will not be harmed. Is there more that I need to be made aware of?" If General Sorrengail left anything out, it would be for a very good reason. 

"No, there is nothing more to it." He says almost too quickly. "And what makes you so qualified to certify I will behave?"

I smile at him widely. With my signet being classified, not many know what I can do. Only cadre and upper leadership are aware, and now those who attend this class will get the pleasure of experiencing it firsthand. I stand and walk towards the door, securing a sound shield in place and making sure that the door is locked. 

"My signet is only to be known to those who have been granted permission. You, along with those who will attend my classes with you, will be the only students who will know. If I find out that you have discussed it with anyone outside of this room, Wingleader Riorson, I will have to turn you over to the cadre. Do you understand?" Xaden nods in agreement and waits for me to continue speaking.

"Good. Now, stand up." I feel the presence of his soul in my mind and tug. 

Xaden shoots to his feet. 

"Lift both arms above your head."

His arms fly above him.

"Tell me how you are feeling right now," my signet demanding his cooperation.

"I am feeling vulnerable." He grits out, fighting the words that flow. 

I release my hold on him and he lets his arms fall to his sides. He adjusts himself into a ready stance in case I decide now is the moment I am going to make a move to end him.

"My signet is mind control. I have the ability to influence your behavior, your motor function, your emotions, and your conscious state of being, among other things. I have honed my signet to be intensely effective. I will work with you to train your signet to be just as effective if you cooperate and work with me during your lessons. They will be difficult but fair and I will never push you too far. I expect total trust in this room with the expectation that I will return that trust. Did you have any questions?"

"No, Professor." Xaden shakes his head. 

"Excellent, now show me what you can do. Don't hold back."

Xaden doesn't hold back, he shows me what he can do with his shadows. He has good control for the most part, using my signet while he wields I change his emotions and watch how each one affects his movements and abilities. I work with anger and happiness the most, they seem to cause the greatest changes. Thirty minutes pass and he is out of breath by the end of it.

"Good work today, I think I have a pretty solid idea of where I will put you. I am not structuring between the first, second, and third years since I have been given only two class hours to work with. You will be in my advanced lessons, though that should be no surprise to you. I do have a good amount of private study hours available that I am going to request you work into your schedule as well. This will be a one-on-one opportunity that I need to you take advantage of twice a week. Let me know what hours work best for you. Other than that, you are free to let Bohdi know he can come in now."

Xaden grabs his pack and moves to leave.

"Oh! And Xaden, one more thing." I say before he can reach the door.

I smile brightly, "Have fun guarding Violet. I will be watching. If you make any sort of move to end her life, I will fry your brain from the inside out." I remove the sound shield and unlock the door, ushering him out. 

By the end of the day, I have the two classes fully assembled. Xaden, Bohdi, Quinn, and an illusionist make up the advanced class while the beginner lessons have Dain and Imogen. While they are small groups for now, as the first years manifest after threshing they will hopefully fill up a bit more. It does, however, give plenty of time for personal training sessions. 

The months that follow allow me to gain the trust of the riders. Xaden and Bohdi are the most receptive to the lessons with Quinn following close behind. Xaden has been able to control more shadows lately and have them attack objects more precisely. Bohdi worked tirelessly to attempt to counter my signet and has succeeded more often than not. Quinn is projecting for longer periods and incorporates more movement into her astral body.

Before I realize it threshing arrives and I find myself in the field marking Violet's movements. As a professor, they allow me to monitor the grounds to make sure there are no interferences. Little do they know I only give one shit today, and that is to make sure Violet survives or bonds. There is no other option anymore. Watching her grow stronger these past months makes me want to interact with her finally. I have kept myself out of her direct path for longer than I would have wanted, but my position here demands a level of secrecy that even I understand. And with how often General Sorrengail has checked in on me to guarantee I am heading her warnings makes it impossible to bend any rules.

I catch sight of Violet after way too fucking long, only to find her heading towards the golden feathertail in the distance. Knowing Brennan made it easy to assume that she would make moves to protect it. The three first years currently hunting it made their intentions loud and clear. They would not bond until they exacted their culling of the weak. And Violet would not bond until she protected it.

I move to the wooded area 15 feet behind the feathertail, hiding in the bushes. 

"You have to get out of here!" Violet whisper-shouts at the feathertail, pleading with it to leave so it doesn't get killed. 

She is still begging it when I notice movement to my right. I have my dagger out and pressed to the throat of Xaden before I realize it's him and move away. 

"Don't you know not to sneak up on people like that?" I hiss at him. He only smiles and points towards the commotion in front of us. 

"You going to step in?" He asks. 

I had been debating making my presence known but now that Xaden is here...

"Actually, that will be your job, Riorson. Go make sure she doesn't die. Step in if you need to. I will ensure that you are not found out."

He scoffs, "And how exactly are you going to make sure that happens?! If someone sees me they will report it, Professor Leannan."

I sigh deeply. I trust Xaden with the secret of my signet, yes. But the parts of it that not even the cadre know? The only person that has ever been privy to it had been Brennan. There was no point in hiding them from him when he and I were supposed to spend the rest of our breaths to the end. It only takes one more deep breath before I am sure that I can let him know.

I let my senses reach out to Xaden's soul, seeing it in my mind as I speak directly to his mind. "I am going to let you know two big fucking secrets right now and I expect it to stay between us. Nod if you understand."

His eyes open wide but he nods subtly. 

"Good. First, as I am sure it is quite clear, I have telepathy. It comes along with the whole total control of the mind thing. You are the only soul in this world who knows this. Second," I take another deep breath to steady myself, "I can manipulate the memories of any soul I encounter. So believe me when I say that should you need to step in and help Violet, no one will speak a word of it."

Xaden's mouth hangs open in genuine shock. 

"As much as I would love to sit here and discuss this big moment with you, you need to get your ass over to Violet. I will remain here. Do not let me down, Riorson."

"Understood, Professor." He says and moves forward, Sgaeyl moving forward from my left to shadow him. 

I watch as Violet holds her own against the other first years. I hope to the Gods that Jack Barlowe doesn't survive or bond so that there is no chance of him being in my classes. I'll kill him myself if I need to. Fuck the rules. Xaden looks back at me and taps his temple. 

"Are you trying to signal me to speak to you?" This is so fucking weird.

"Yes, since I don't know how it works I figured it would be the easiest way to let you know that Sgaeyl has called for Tairn and you are probably going to want to get out of here before he arrives. I have this handled. Go observe somewhere else, Professor." His tone almost mocking at the end. 

"Alright, I will leave. Thank fuck for mated dragons." 

I leave before Tairn lands and I make my way to Eild and mount. 

As we fly, she is suspiciously silent. 

Alright, spit it out. What is it? I ask her.

She scoffs at me. What? I have said nothing. I only think that you are going to have your hands full of questions later when that child comes for his private lesson.

Eild, that "child" is a grown-ass man. And he can ask all the questions he wants. It doesn't mean I have to answer all of them.

Xaden does ask far too many questions later that night during his lesson.

"The memory thing, can you pick any memory or just the most recent?" He asks.

"When I was untrained it was only the most recent memory, and I had to have been within close distance to effectively erase or replace it. Now I have trained it to be within 100 feet of the person and I can do memories from a few months passed."

"And no one knows? How have you kept this from leadership?"

"It isn't exactly hard, especially seeing as how there is no other rider who has ever had mind control. They have no idea, and my other abilities are so strong that they have no reason to believe there are other aspects still left hidden."

Xaden pauses. "If I... does this same level of trust you have given me regarding your signet apply to me as well?" He asks nervously. I don't think I have ever seen him be anything close to nervous before. 

"Yes, of course. I meant what I said at the start of the year. Trust goes both ways, I keep all aspects of your signet a secret. I am not required to report developments in great detail, given the secret nature of this classroom. The most detail I go into is that signets are progressing or getting stronger or other vague sayings. They trust that should there be something worth reporting I would let them know. I just don't give enough of a shit to actually do it."

Xaden relaxes and thinks for a minute while he forms his next question. "If... I need training on a specific set of skills that absolutely will get me killed, are you going to report it to the cadre?"

"Never," I answer quickly and confidently. It's none of anyone's business anyway. I wasn't hired to be a spy. I was hired to train.

He takes the first real deep breath I have seen him take in all the months of knowing him.

"I am an inntinnsic."

[doodle-do-wop]

I am asking abt the other cabins, I totally have not been hypnotized to ask

OKAY OKAY OKAY

so this is gonna be one long ass post (possibly) and it's going to be formatted weird because I rambled about this on discord ages ago

Sophie Foster: Daughter of Zeus

girly can fly, shoot lightning, and is mega powerful with enough low self esteem to match

as stated in a different channel she's picture perfect to be a demigod with her origin story

fatal flaw: ambition (reasoning being she tends to do things on a whim a lot and that can also be chalked up to hubris but let's not forget Sophie is a genius by all definition of the word. She was going to go to college based off of pure intelligence alone but there's a certain type of bite that comes with power and it's the realization you can do more)

Keefe Sencen: Son of Aphrodite

literally the goddess of love and beauty, emotions are her forte and thus the best godly parent for Keefe's powers to fit into

he can still be the funny sarcasm guy, kids can have more than one personality trait

also beauty and love don't just apply outwardly and only romantically. Aphrodite is the goddess of love, self love and platonic included

fatal flaw: low self esteem (literally look at that sad wet noodle of a boy and tell me he thinks he's worthy of anything)

Biana Vacker: Daughter of Athena

vanisher fits Athena to a T and yet even with a cool ability she's overshadowed by Fitz still

smart girl, was a brat in the beginning but grows into one of the most capable fighters around while keeping a caring side to her

once again, kids can have more than one trait and girls in STEM can like make-up and sparkles. It's usually the girls that have a cute blouse and know what they're doing that are the most lethal (mostly because the blouse might have a knife)

fatal flaw: Loyalty (sure she kinda abandoned Maruca but this is a new universe and look at how much she's gone through with Sophie and been a consistent and stable rock for her best friend. Girly has tackled multiple murders for her friends, she is insane)

Fitz Vacker: Son of Athena

while not a total perfect fit Athena has always focus on the mind, strategy, and being ahead of the game. What better way to do that than to make a son with the power of the mind itself, a telepath

a shining rebound ability that gives him enough pizzazz to overshadow Biana (not on purpose) but also keep him from being super socially gracious (because he ain't)

smart boy but can get a little too ahead of himself in things and send focus in the wrong direction

fatal flaw: Wrath (the boy's got a fighting temper and it's caused rifts in his relationships and even extreme pain for himself. If anything would take him down it would be his own anger)

Dex Dizznee: Son of Hermes

"doodle he's the technopath" Dex is also expecting things often only to get something else completely out of left field

the trickster god of travelers and roads ain't limited to putting a bucket over a cracked door, technological pranks work in his domain and let's not forget Dex did spike Stina's drink and make bombs

what better way to set your expectations high and get them destroyed than to expect Hephaestus or some minor god only to get the dude with wing shoes

fatal flaw: Grudges (we've seen I in action before, Dex can let a grudge like jealousy or his general dislike of the Vackers blind him out of many things including being a good friend at times, sure this was more prominent when he was younger but he still has a lot to hold against Stina even after she's shown herself to be a friend)

Marella Redek: Daughter of Ares

"but Leo is a fire powers" Marella? A daughter of Hephaestus??? Besides I doubt someone with Ares' rep can't spawn a child with fire powers

Marella's whole main goal, the very core of her motivation is her mom, she'd do anything for her and even if it meant being claimed by Aphrodite or Athena (evidence her father was unfaithful to her mother) Marella would've given anything to do something to help her mom

just to be claimed by the one god she never wanted to be claimed by, war and bloodshed, fear and hate are all Ares' domain, his kingdom of stacked skulls and crushed souls

fire is not easy to control and the path of 'easy' is almost never on the Ares' agenda

Fatal flaw: Loyalty (her relationship with her mom is a good point but also the fact that Marella was abandoned, essentially betrayed by someone she considered a friend and immediately turned cold and bitter for quite some time. She only came around because she knew she could do something to help the greater good)

Linh Song Wildwood: Daughter of Poseidon

hydrokinetic=ocean man

personally I have no idea where else she fits

the sea is a powerful thing that can't always be contained and controlled perfectly down to the last atom and Linh could've definitely had some trouble controlling the pull of the water causing the Songs to abound their demigod children once and for all leaving the twins to fight for themselves before a saytr could find them

fatal flaw: Ambition (the girl flooded Atlantis, the pull of the water is often too much for her to handle and that's the call of the sea challenging her and Linh giving into the temptation of more)

Tam Song Wildwood: Son of Poseidon

"dont you mean Hades" guys that's not how twins work

Poseidon isn't just about water and he's had kids that don't even possess his power over the ocean (ex. Chrysoar)

the ocean has depths, depths so dark and deep there are parts unexplored and uncharted due to the crush and pull of the water, a single sea current could blast you from here to another continent if you're not careful

the sea is dark but there's also light, balance, calm waves gently blanketing over sandy beaches, the moon waving between high and low tide. There is more to it than what's bobbing on the surface

fatal flaw: Loyalty (Tam is the most normal dude in a group of weirdos but those are his weirdos. Tam had always put Linh before himself and has even held an escape plan in his boot in case things got so bad he had to go back home. If Linh got kicked out Tam was going with her and staying by her side no matter what)

Wylie Endal, Son of Iris, goddess of the rainbow

he's a flasher this is quite literally his entire power scheme

each color of the rainbow possesses a slightly different kind of magic inside of it so Red might have a different affect than Blue or Green and its difficult to master the entire rainbow like Iris can

fatal flaw: Grudges

[ladyandherbooks]

Ezran's Future Choices

So the new Ezran short story has really inspired me and got me thinking about exactly what's going to happen regarding Ezran and his feelings about Runaan and what could happen when Runaan is finally freed.

After season 3 aired I was curious about Ezran's interactions and relationship with Zubeia. How positive would it be? Would Ezran be angry or distrustful? Would her wanting him dead be addressed? How would this impact Ezran and Zym's friendship? So I was very surprised when season 4 aired and it was revealed that Ezran and Zubeia were friends and had been for quite some time. And because of this I thought that Ezran would, once Runaan returned, be the one to extend a hand to help, to offer aid and forgive him for killing his father.

However, this all changed with the drop of this latest story and I'm glad. Glad because this anger that Ezran feels will offer a very interesting arc for seasons 5, 6 and possibly even 7.

For starters, from what I've seen from my little bubble in the Dragon Prince fandom, the exploration and focus of anger towards Runaan for Harrow's death has tended to revolve around Callum. This is understandable, given Callum's romance with Rayla and the fact that Runaan is almost certainly going to be his father in law one day. Ezran has also appeared to be the more forgiving and understanding of the two brothers and so it is understandable that people perhaps believed that Ezran would be more open to forgiving Runaan.

However this story changed things and in putting Ezran's anger and hatred of Runaan in the spotlight I've seen essentially every Dragon Prince fan that I know and follow have now switched Ezran and Callum's reactions around, with Callu, now being the more open and potentially more forgiving of the two. This is important and provides more stakes and some nice parallels to Harrow and Ezran regarding anger and revenge.

Harrow was a good man, a good man who made some terrible, terrible choices. He chose to trespass into Xadia, killed Avizandum, leaving his body as a reminder of hos death to Zubeia and later Zym and gave Viren permission to murder an unborn child. All in the name of revenge for Sarai's death. A death that had left a festering wound that Harrow had never truly tried to heal. He tried to go on with his life, to live, rule and raise his sons. But he clearly never really addressed his pain and grief, probably pushing it aside in order to be a strong king and single father. And it eventually led to his death.

And now Ezran is also doing the same, pushing his pain and anger to the side in order to be king, help to create peace and to stop Aaravos. And just like Harrow his grief is festering and simmering beneath the surface and could, like his father's before him cause great deal more pain, grief and suffering.

Runaan, like Avizandum is a scapegoat, an easy target for Ezran to project all of his negative emotions onto. However, while Ezran's anger towards Runaan is 100% justified we know he is not the only one responsible for Harrow's death, Zubeia ordered his and Ezran's death and so she is also responsible. Viren also bears some responsibility as he was the one who convinced Harrow to kill Avizandum and Zym. And Harrow himself is also responsible as he had a choice to say no, to stay in Katolis and live his life but he instead chose revenge and in doing so put was killed and put Ezran's life in danger.

All of this pain, anger, grief and responsibility is being placed upon Runaan by Ezran and with Ezran being king this is very dangerous and scary. Because Ezran, like his father before him has the power to change to world. And if he chooses revenge then the fallout will be cataclysmic.

Because if Ezran chose revenge and killed Runaan then his friendship with Rayla would also die. Rayla would understandably never forgive him for killing Runaan, no matter how sympathetic or understanding she is to Ezran's pain and grief. His relationship with Callum would also change dramatically as I believe that such a turn of events would mean that Callum would need to eventually choose between Rayla and Ezran. And regardless of the choice that he made I believe that Callum would probably feel some anger, sadness, pain or resentment towards his brother. Zubeia, Zym, the Moonshadow elves and the rest of Xadia would be against Ezran, no longer trusting him and his desire for peace.

So it will be interesting how they address Ezran's grief, both acknowledging Runaan's responsibility in causing it but also that he is not the only one to blame. Because at some point someone will point out to Ezran that Zubeia is his friend even though she orderd his death. And Ezran is going to have to address this and the pain and anger that he feels towards her will come to the surface. How is that going to affect his friendship with Zym? And how will it affect his relationship with Rayla?

And then at some point both Ezran and Callum are going to have to examine and address Harrow's role and responsibility in all of this. And it's going to be messy and painful as the boys are going to have to confront some very upsetting and difficult things about their father which will definitely change how they see and remember him.

Then only then will Ezran be able to truly grieve, heal and truly move on with his life, achieve his dream of a peaceful Xadia and become the king he is truly meant to be.

[kayhi808]

Billy Mine - Act 2.2

Billy was on his way to Midtown East to meet with Senator Ellis at his residence. His daughter was recently attacked. A botched kidnapping and he needed a security team for her. This was a big opportunity for ANVIL. He was more interested in securing government contracts, because that's where the money was but this job was for a sitting US Senator. It could open a lot of doors for him & his company. So what if he has to take on a glorified babysitter job.

"Mr. Russo, thank you so much for coming out today. The Senator & Ms Ellis will meet you on the terrace, this way please." They walk out onto a small terrace looking out onto the Manhattan skyline & East River. "Please help your self to refreshments," indicating the table set to the side. He nods & the aide leaves.

Hearing footsteps, he turns to see the Senator assisting his daughter. Fuck, she looked really banged up. He had read the police reports. She was lucky her injuries looked worse than they actually were. Leggings and an oversized hoodie made her look so slight. How could she have fought off 3 attackers??

"Senator Ellis," Bill extends his hand.

He steadies his daughter on his left arm, shaking Bill's hand "Thank you so much for meeting me here instead of the office. This is my daughter, Jules."

Bill turns to the Senator's daughter & he witnesses the color leech from her face as if she saw a ghost. He notices her grip tighten on her father's suit sleeve. She barely breathes out, "Billy Mine" & drops into a faint. Bill quickly catches her before she hits the ground, scooping her up in his arms. He carries & places her on the lounge and lets the Senator tend to her.

Billy Mine.

No one's called him that in 20 years. Bunny. It was her name for him. No one ever called him that but her. He can't take his eyes off the prone form on the lounge. It's impossible. She was 8 the last time he saw her. Fuck. How is this possible??

*****

Bill didn't bother returning to the office. He went home and poured himself a stiff drink and pulled up everything he could find on Juliet Ellis.

He regretted how he hurt her. Its not like he was unaware of the crush she had on him. Everyone at the Home knew. Juliet wore her heart on her sleeve for him since she was 3 years old. No one in his life had ever done that for him. It was unconditional love until he broke her 8yr old heart. She kicked his nuts up into his guts and he wanted to strangle her. Billy shifts in his chair and adjusts his pants remembering the pain. She was only 8 but it was still her fucking foot.

He would have never recognized her. He would have noticed her because she grew up into a beauty, but he could have passed her every day on the streets and he would have never guessed it was her. Scrolling through her social media, he tried finding something recognizable. Her hair is darker. Her smile is...off. It doesn't reach her eyes. Smart girl, graduated from Cal Berkley. A spark of pride warmed his chest. Bunny did it. She got out of the system and did well for herself. She has a family who obviously loves her. She's safe. Or she was safe.

That thought brings on a rage that hits him in the gut and makes him want to murder someone. Three men tried to grab her off the streets! They hurt her. Bill looks at the time and figures he'll visit the training center to work off some extra energy and anger.

*****

Mom came and talked to me about Billy. She was a pre-school teacher at Ray of Hope when I first got there. She knew about how close Billy and I used to be. She probably had to call him in when I was especially stubborn. She wanted to know how I felt about that. I lied and told her I was fine. That I could barely remember him. I was only 8.

I've been laying here trying to fall back asleep when I get a text from an UNKNOWN number: Bunny? Answer your phone.

It starts ringing. Shit! "Hello?"

"Hi. I wanted to make sure you were ok after this afternoon." His voice had gotten deeper over the years. Like velvet.

"I...I'm fine. I took a nap."

"Good." He didnt say anything after that.

This awkward silence is giving me anxiety. I can't take it. "Why are you calling me, Billy?"

"Shit." I hear his heavy sigh. "I don't know. I'm...making sure you're real. That seeing you this afternoon wasn't my imagination. There was so much...When can I see you?"

"I was going to work it out with your assistant tomorrow."

"You can tell me right now. I'll make it happen. I can have my schedule cleared for you."

"Billy."

"Tomorrow morning? I'll pick you up. I need to see you, Juliet." I don't know what to do. I feel overwhelmed. In a soft whisper that gave me goose bumps, "Please, Bun."

And that's all it took for Billy Mine to make my resolve crumble.

@idaofinfinity @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @e-dubbc11 @bustlingcrowdsxorxsilentsleepers @snowkestrel @ellooo0ooo @terry2227

[alaynasansa]

love over fear

Jacen had learned that one can meet the Universe and all its irrational pain - which means meeting oneself - with fear, or with hatred, or with despair. Or one can choose to meet it with love. Jacen had chosen.

But still, he was astonished to discover that the Universe could love him back

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me

empathy

Though Jacen could theoretically inspire the World Brain to more deadly action, from poisoning Yuuzhan Vong food to causing an ecological catastrophe, he had refrained. His empathy with the Yuuzhan Vong had grown along his Vongsense : he would not be a mass murderer, not even of a deadly enemy

They all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lords standing attendance, Janos Slynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even the other men of the Kingsguard, the five who had been his brothers until a moment ago. Surely that must have hurt the most, Sansa thought. Her heart went out to the gallant old man as he stood shamed and red-faced, too angry to speak

diplomacy

“You're what ?” The red face of General Berrida glowered at Jacen from the Widowmaker's hologram.

“A Jedi Knight, sir,” Jacen repeated steadily. “I've come to help you.”

“Help us—?” The overweight general spluttered for a second. “And what exactly makes you think we need your help, Jedi Knight ? All I see is an overgrown boy in robes.”

“Appearances can be deceptive,” Jacen said, refusing to wilt beneath the general's blustering and outrage.

[...]

Jacen ticked several items off on his fingers. “First, we can advise you on how to detect and eleminate Yuuzhan Vong spies within your ranks. Second, we can teach your pilots new tactics that will help you fight more effectively on the front. And third, I can offer you my opinion of what you should do next.”

[...]

Jacen brought his own hands behind his back as he waited for the general's reply.

The holographic image of the general was motionless for a long time — long enough for Jacen to wonder if the image hadn't frozen. Then Berrida moved, tilting his head to one side with a grimace.

“I'll get back to you,” he said, before his image abruptly dissolved.

[...]

“I totally agree with you, Jacen,” Luke said. “And I know that you'll do the job right. You seem to have a natural strength when it comes to negotiating. Your mother will be proud. Not even she was able to talk the Imperials around, and she's one of the best diplomats the New Republic has ever seen.”

Jacen smiled at his uncle praise. “That's kind of you,” he said. “Although to be fair to my mother, the last time she was here the Imperials didn't have the Yuuzhan Vong snapping at their heels. Things like that tend to make people easier to persuade.”

“That's nothing but false modesty, Jacen, and you know it,” Mara said

She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he'd left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel's hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he'd had the sense to love her

leadership skills

Jacen could feel the guilt and anger tearing his sister apart, though her emotions were so intermingled with his own that he could barely distinguish them. They shared a void that would never again be whole, an emptiness that he sensed pulling at Jaina like a vacuum breach. He laid a hand on her knee, hoping his touch might serve as her anchor.

“We can't give up. We still need to destroy the queen.”

[...]

“Jacen, this one has two shots, maybe three. We must destroy the queen.”

Jacen nodded. “And save—” He almost said Jaina, then caught himself. “—our friends on the shuttle.”

“You cannot do both,” Vergere warned. “‘The Yuuzhan Vong have a saying : “The fleet that fights two battles loses twice.’”

“Do we look like Yuuzhan Vong ?” Ganner demanded, pointing at his eyes. “We're Jedi.”

“So you are,” Vergere said midly. “But the Yuuzhan Vong have their strengths, as well. Do not dismiss those strengths because the Force is blind to them.”

“I don't,” Jacen said. “But we are going to win two battles—and here's how.”

He explained his plan to the others

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. “Don't be afraid,” she told them loudly. “The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There's thick walls, the moat, the spikes...”

“What's happened ?” demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. “What did Osney tell her ? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen ?”

“Tell us,” someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son.

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. “Joffrey's come back to the castle. He's not hurt. They're still fighting, that's all I know, they're fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon.” The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. “Moon Boy, make us laugh.”

seeing through the false pretense

“Speaking of worms,” he said, and he couldn't resist glancing at Randa as the Hutt left the shed. “Senator Shesh rubs me wrong.”

Jaina frowned. “But she's been named to the Advisory Council. She's practically the head of SELCORE.”

“I know,” Jacen said, “and SELCORE isn't exactly keeping its commitments. Think about the way she was standing, too. And that falseness in her tone of voice... The way she held herself, and that strange little smile. They reminded me of the holovids I've seen of another senator.”

Jaina twisted the mask in her lap. “I hate guessing games.”

“Palpatine, pre-Empire,” he explained. “When he was on his way up, and he didn't care who or what he destroyed to get there.”

The venom in his voice was so thick that for a moment she almost forgot that Lyn Corbray was her father's catspaw, bought and paid for. Or was he ? Perhaps, instead of being Petyr's man pretending to be Petyr's foe, he was actually his foe pretending to be his man pretending to be his foe

troubled relationship with their father

It was times like this that Han occasionally wished he had just a little of that Force ability to feel what others felt, because Jacen was a blank slate to him more often that not.

[...]

Ultimately it was because he just didn't understand the kid, and the kid hadn't a clue about Han.

Anakin he could understand. He used the Force in exactly the way Han would, if he had the ability. Jacen had always been more like Leia, and in the last year or so the resemblance had only grown stronger.

But here, suddenly, in the least flattering way he could imagine, the Solo genes were finally showing.

“Don't go, son,” Han murmured, but there was no one to hear him but the sleeping weapons

Sansa looked up from her food. “If she can have a dancing lesson, why won't you let me say farewell to Prince Joffrey ?”

“I would gladly go with her, Lord Eddard,” Septa Mordane offered. “There would be no question of her missing the ship.”

“It would not be wise for you to go to Joffrey right now, Sansa. I'm sorry.”

Sansa's eyes filled with tears. “But why ?”

“Sansa, your lord father knows best,” Septa Mordane said. “You are not to question his decisions.”

“It's not fair !” Sansa pushed back from her table, knocked over her chair, and ran weeping from the solar

troubled relationship with their younger sibling

“You fought with Anakin again,” Luke remarked to Jacen when he found his older apprentice sitting on the wall surrounding the Millennium Falcon's current dock, an open courtyard on planet Reecee.

[...]

“I found him practicing with his lightsaber,” Jacen replied honestly. “He wanted to see how far he's come, and so did I.”

“I'm not talking about the sword fight,” Luke explained. “Though I don't think that your father would be happy to hear that you two were wrestling with lightsabers in the main compartment of his ship. I'm talking about your war of words.”

That caught Jacen by surprise, and he stared at his uncle, his mentor, looking for some sign concerning Luke's feelings on the subject.

He couldn't read the man at all.

“An honest difference of opinion,” Jacen said, turning away. “That's all.”

“Concerning the role of the Jedi,” Luke said.

“Concerning the role of the Force,” Jacen corrected, turning back to face him.

Alone and humiliated, Sansa took the long way back to the inn, where she knew Septa Mordane would be awaiting. Lady padded quietly by her side. She was almost in tears. All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why couldn't Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella ? She would have liked a sister like that.

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different

animal lovers

Jacen Solo had stayed at Luke Skywalker's Jedi academy for about a month before he managed to set up his room the way he wanted it.

[...]

As he did every morning before going to Uncle Luke's lessons, Jacen fed and took stock of all the bizarre and exotic creatures he had collected out in the unexplored jungles on Yavin 4. He liked to gather new pets.

The far wall stacked with bins and cages, transparent display cages and bubbling aquariums. Many of the containers were ingenious contraptions invented by his mechanically inclined sister. He appreciated Jaina's inventions, though he couldn't understand why she was more interested in the cages themselves than the creatures they contained

Sansa couldn't help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master. She gave Lady a quick little hug. Lady licked her ear. Sansa giggled

deep connection to animals

He had always had a strange and deep affinity for living creatures, much as his sister had a talent for understanding machinery and gadgets. He could coax the animals with his special Force talent, getting them to come right up to him, where he could study them at his leisure

Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders, and for a moment Sansa thought it was her father, but when she turned, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane looking down at her, his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile. “You are shacking, girl,” he said, his voice rasping. “Do I frighten you so much ?”

He did, and had since she had first laid eyes on the ruin that fire had made of his face, though it seemed to her now that he was not half so terrifying as the other. Still, Sansa wrenched away from him, and the Hound laughed, and Lady moved between them, rumbling a warning. Sansa dropped to her knees to wrap her arms around the wolf

Sansa Month 2023 : day eleven - parallels

[wittybibliophile]

DIRTY AIR SERIES - LAUREN ASHER

Book Three : WRECKED 🧩🌐🎹🏎🏁

" @ To my anxious people out there - this one's for you. Don't let your worries win"

( Content Warning - This series contain sensitive topics such as Clinical anxiety, Panic attack, Depression, Murder, Huntington's disease. Therefore please read the book only after being mindful of your emotional well-being. )

This story starts a year after liam leaves the Mccoy team .

#Characters

*Jax Kingston - The kindest person i have come across yet from the dirty air series. The pouty lips, hazel eyes man with frizzy hair and soft curls. One who can play piano. Loves his parents the most. He loves sunrises and gets up early to see one everyday because he believes that everyday is a new start.

One thing that Jax kingston is hiding from most of the people around him in his daily life is his anxiety issues, and the main reason for them. Although he wants to be good, but it is like his defence mechanism to keep his worries at bay. He has negative views because of his mom's Huntington's disease. He feels he shouldn't bother her, or making memories with her is useless because later there will be nothing. She will wither away and it will all be too much for him to bear. Therefore he keeps to himself and his career, but then his anxiety leads him to taking too many pills and sometimes he consumes alcohol which leads him to do humiliating things in public.

This year elena is coming to take care of him, but he thinks its a bad idea, because as soon as she comes into his life, he can't resist her, she is interesting and annoying and her smile makes him forget his worries, and the worst of all is she makes him calm, he doesn't need his pills when she is around. She is a bad news for him according to him because he feels he doesn't deserve someone to love, someone by his side because he will burden them, a total nuisance.

Jax is full of anger, frustration, he "hates himself and has never ending worries which is a dream team of worst kind". He is afraid of getting himself checked for the huntington's disease because he is afraid to know that all that he holds dear in life, everything and everyone will be forgotten one day and he will wither away. He doesn't want someone to just let them go through the pain which he and his father is going through and someone who would have to take care of him all their lives till he forgets them and dies.

He is forced to tend to a sport psychologist Tom, who helps him overcome his own voices. He gets attached to elena during his schedule and they both end up in his house for the vacation. He realises that he is too deep in love with this woman, who writes notes for him so he doesn't have to take his pills. Woman who is knocking on his heart and mind without invitation. During their vacation he sees his mom, dad and elena bond. His mom is a reader( yes she is a part of us) and well she is a total romantic finatic. She tells him that elena is the one for him and that their story is the perfect hate to love story which they can tell their kids one day 😉.

As Jax and Elena's relation takes turns he wants to get checked because he feels positive and he wants to be sure of this disease and the future that he is dreaming of. But the worst happens and he gets a positive report because of which he distances himself from elena. But you know when elena doesn't give up on him, he comes through on the last day of the grand prix. He also gets most of his support from his best friend Liam, who makes him realise that he is losing something wonderful, because he is afraid of losing it in the future which is far away, and that he deserves love, to be happy, to feel and share. At the end he overcomes his anxiety a lot, he leaves racing and directs his attention to getting better and his family/friends. He proposes to elena when both of them have gone to much to and fro from his place to hers (different countries) and decides to surprise her. He adds a new shelf of snowglobes ( elena's hobby of collecting globes of memories as souvenirs) ,one each of the notes she had given him in this pill bottle and one special globe with her favorite song (Thinking out loud by ed sheeran) and there is a note asking her to marry him. He doesn't want to wait anymore for something he knows will happen sooner or later and spend anymore time away from her. In the end he builds a house with all of their dream points. One with pool, treehouse, golf course, piano, library and more.

I love Jax because his character teaches that one should cherish everything in their lives, and never give up on a chance of happiness. And everyone deserves a beautiful life, a partner to love, memories to hold forever.

*Elena Gonzalez - She is the perfect mix of her parents best features with dark natural wavy hair, average height, brown eyes with long lashes and lots of curves. A girl who loves rain but hates darkness ( or rather is scarfed of it). Her dad was ambassador for mexico and mom a housewife, both murdered in cold blood, shot in the dark when she was little and hiding in a cupboard to read her favorite bedtime story.

Well this little girl and her dad saw a dream together, to let her study abroad (u.s), so while she was living with her grandmother she took a loan and went to the U.S. It was very difficult to replay a big loan and work and also take care of your grandmother who was suffering from alzheimer's disease. It was too much making ends meet every month, to pay rent and hospital bills altogether. She established herself and made it into PR business. And thanks to her very sweet Gay friend(Elias and yes we love gay people they are the sweetest), she gets into PR business with the formula one teams. Elias is her best friend forever is a new F1 driver along side Jax kingston. Last time elena comes to help liam for a month to help him and this year again when she needed help god listened to her and sent her to jax's way. But this time is different, jax is a person she can't stand, also this year she has to share the room with him and stick to him like a glue even during the holidays( specially because he tends to do awful things for his reputation).

In the start she doesn't get to know about jax's anxiety problem as he chooses to not to tell her, but she after some time she makes sure to know everything about him. Both of them always argue in the morning and evenings when they are around each other in the room (two seperate bedrooms). Elena does her best to make jax seem a good guy other than on the racing track, she organizes these PR events, which includes donations, charity events for him as well as other friends of his who are also in the sport (maya/noah, elias, liam/sophie), as they are famous and rich so people tend to follow them and this helps with their rep. As she keeps getting to know jax she realises he is a good and kind person, and is hard only on the outside, and she somehow always finds herself looking for him, and his attention.

Elena finds herself lonely whenever she is around the friend group. She never really had friends except elias, she was always busy studying and making money to survive. She always knows how to keep herself busy, even in the private plane that they use for the racing schedule, she indulges in a ridiculously large puzzle which jax finds very disturbing and too colourful. She helps jax fight his anxiety by anonymously making him attend psychology sessions every weekend. She knows that whenever he is on a call with his family he gets anxious the most. She gets to know about his mother's disease when she accompanies him to his house for the holidays. She bonds so well with his mother and father both. They celebrate jax's birthday at his home and also she gets to have a heart to heart conversation with his mother, because she seems to get the feeling that they are meant for eachother and jax seems to be himself when he is with her, she tells elena about marriage and love and how it makes a person stronger.

However, other than all of this there are dark days for elena too. The girl who loves rain and keeps a snowglobe for each of her memories in life. She is in deep pain, for her grandmother who doesn't seem to recognize her every time she visits her, rather refers her as her mother and always ask about her father as well, which brings a lot of memories and pain for elena. There are days she spends alone with herself, remembering her parents on their death anniversary. And once when jax mistakenly switches off her room lights thinking she slept without noticing them, she awakens so scared and with a scream. That night jax soothes her and sleeps with her. Elena always finds relief and stillness in jax. They make each other better everyday.

Overall, it is a closed proximity, sports romance book. It contains a lot of triggers, i actually had tears in my eyes in several intervals because of Jax specially. I love how family is also a part of this book. It is shown that they are important for each other, their love gives them strength each day to move forward. Other than being a romance novel, it gives us a clear image of how a person cannot be pulled down by their health, disease. You can find happiness in a person. They help each other overcome fears, and they hope and dream together for a brighter tomorrow even if it is concrete they make beautiful memories today because one can never and should never forget to live their present in the fear of tomorrow. And remember "when someone tries their best and refuses top give up on you, you try to be better and work on it". For them and yourself.

**Fun Fact -Jax gets jealous of Elias and gets embarrassed about it when he gets to know that Elias is gay and just her best friend. 🙈🙈

Xoxo,

İronically Witty!

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Hello! I really love your analyzes of the GC characters, they are always so interesting to read! Thanks for your hard work! 🥺❤️

And... My question is... I am really wonder, do you have any headcanons about characters like Henmi, Sekiya, or Toujirou (Kikuta's younger brother)? Especially Toujirou, because we haven't received any information about him at all, except that Mokutarou is very sad because of his death.

Thank you so much for enjoying my analysis!

I don’t really have many headcanons for those guys...

...I tend to assume if Henmi hadn’t seen his brother die and his body has reacted inappropriately and if Sekiya hadn’t lost his daughter, they would have continued their lives as pretty ordinary and harmless guys, but tragedy reshaped them.

Henmi didn’t quite realize the change it went with him, because he was young, his personality taking shape so when it deviated from the norm, he just assumed it was always meant to go in that direction.

Also, since he was the older brother, he was likely blamed for his younger brother’s death as he didn’t protect him, which might have lead him to think he was always wrong from the start.

He didn’t immediately start a murdering rampage, but at first he lived like a meek and polite boy, ostracized and bullied by others because blamed for his brother’s death, working hard to survive as he’s from a poor family.

The first time he kill he actually didn’t mean to kill anyone, he was young and attacked by someone attempting to bully him and fought back and... killed his opponent. And his body reacted again.

He was confused but there weren’t witnessers so he hid the corpse and waited. And nothing happened except that now he was older and... wanted more of that feeling.

When a friend/friends of the boy he killed corners him in a secluded spot demanding to know what happened to the guy, he first tries to stay quiet and play it as if he has no idea of where he could be, but inside himself a voice wispers to just murder them as well.

When he’s attacked again, he’s more ready to get aggressive and, since his opponent/opponents don’t expect him because he previously has always been meek, he easily deals with them. And again his body reacts.

From here it’s an escalation, as he decides he has found his way. This is who he is meant to be, though at the same time he makes a point not to attack the weak and the people who’re kind to him.

The strong and the bullies though, are a perfect target. He starts to plan the way he could dispose of them, the body counts starting to rise, first slowly then quickly, forcing him to move if he doesn’t want those deaths to be connected to him and him get discovered.

As for Sekiya, I picture Sekiya as a man who lost his wife due to childbirth since his daughter seems to be all he had. I like to think he loved his wife and that it was really hard for him to accept she died but his daughter kept him going. Due to this he was a very doting father to the point losing her too broke him.

Death by childbirth was pretty common and he could grieve but accept it as something that could happen, plus he still had his daughter, so although his faith might have wavered temporally, he recovered fast, but seeing his daughter die in in such a horrid way should have been a terrible blow and he had nothing else to hold to in order to support himself, hence he crumbled and went mad, pain and anger mixing inside him in a unhelathy mix.

People tried to confort him at the beginning but he rejected them, feeling they were merely pitying him and not really understanding him.

He didn’t expect to kill 30 people, he assumed they would arrest him and condemn him as soon as he were to try to kill one but he took the fact he wasn’t stopped as another proof that God wasn’t there, only worsening his psychological state and pushing him to go forward murdering people.

As for Kikuta’s younger brother you might find a bit of the headcanons I listed for Kikuta would apply to him as well.

I see Toujirou as quieter than Kikuta, the kind of younger brother who worship his elder and want to follow him and be useful to him, which is why he follows Kikuta in the Army at his prompting but he’s nowhere as good as Kikuta in it.

He loved his family and was pretty quiet and a generally good boy, not really suited for the Army. If he had survived he might not have managed to handle the PTSD he would have as a result of being involved in a war.

As you can see, there’s not much.

Still I hope it can help you! Thank you for your ask!

[colin-blackwood]

Colin Blackwood ♦ Cis man (He/ Him) ♦ 52 ♦ Law Enforcement ♦ Detective Chief Inspector

“Honestly? I’d rather stick my dick in a blender than hear another one of those lies.”

divorce tw, siblings death tw, murder tw, guns tw

Colin was born in Leeds (Yorkshire) in 1970. His mother worked in a canning factory while his father worked in one of the many collieries of the region. With his elder brother, they’d gone to public school with hopes and dreams and yet the dooming realization, as years passed, that there was no rising from their condition. Colin’s brother started working in the mines, but on his fourteenth year, in 1984, miners went on strike across the country to protest Thatcher’s decision to close 20 coal mines. Although the strike went on to last a whole year, his father and his brother lost their jobs, eventually, as the mines shut down permanently. His father went on to find a new job in the months that followed, but Colin’s brother, Henry chose to stop following his father’s footsteps and instead joined one of his friends at the fire department.

Colin loved hearing his brother’s stories over Sunday lunch, and he told himself that one day, he too would have stories of his own to tell the family, and you could say that he managed to do just that.

He started as a constable and slowly but surely made his way up the hierarchy. An arrest he made in 2001 earned him a spot on the front pages of local newspapers as he put an end to the macabre career of a serial killer. He was offered a book deal and a position as an instructor at the London Police Academy, but both were refused by Colin, who didn’t want to stray away from his mission. Leeds was however growing a bit too small for him, and he made them a counter offer : he wouldn’t work for the Academy, but he’d love a place in one of their precincts. London would be a nicer place for he and his wife to raise their unborn child. But when one Blackwood brother was met with success, one was met with a much darker fate. Colin had been working in London for a week when he received a phone call from his mother to let him know that his brother had perished in a fire. The perspective of becoming a father might have been the only thread that kept Colin from drowning in his sorrow then, but as years passed, feelings of guilt and helplessness replaced the pain of loss, and it was through burying himself in work and accepting more cases that Colin made it through his days. His attitude led the pair to an inevitable divorce, one which Colin never really blamed himself for.

Although he eventually recovered from losing his brother so soon, Colin finds it sometimes difficult to let things go, and tends to get obsessive working on cases. He can count on his partner not to let him fall into the rabbit hole.

Recently, Colin gathered the attention of the press on another serial killer case he’d solved, but this time, not for the same reasons. Having shot the man dead during the arrest, he’s now under investigation to figure whether his actions were justified.

+ / -  hot headed, honorable, faithful, gruff, dutiful, logical, traditional, easily angered

Every now and then, he’ll get phone calls from True Crime podcasters regarding his 2001 arrest. Although he never once agreed to one of these, requests still end up in his professional inbox anyway.

While he doesn’t particularly resents the Conservative Party for what they did to his family (after all, the Labor Party also shut down collieries), Colin has an unspeakable hatred for Margaret Thatcher. He may have peed on her grave at some inebriated point.

The serial killer that Colin shot was an arsonist and it is the belief of some people that the detective acted the way he did because his brother died in a fire that had been the handy work of another arsonist.

Although Colin doesn’t precisely spend a lot of time out of work, he will make time for his daughter. They can spend hours on jigsaw puzzles, but another favorite activity of the pair is going to the movies.

[archivelondonfalling-rpg]

Colin Blackwood ♦ Cis man (He/ Him) ♦ 52 ♦ Law Enforcement ♦ Detective Chief Inspector

"Honestly? I'd rather stick my dick in a blender than hear another one of those lies."

divorce tw, siblings death tw, murder tw, guns tw

Colin was born in Leeds (Yorkshire) in 1970. His mother worked in a canning factory while his father worked in one of the many collieries of the region. With his elder brother, they'd gone to public school with hopes and dreams and yet the dooming realization, as years passed, that there was no rising from their condition. Colin's brother started working in the mines, but on his fourteenth year, in 1984, miners went on strike across the country to protest Thatcher's decision to close 20 coal mines. Although the strike went on to last a whole year, his father and his brother lost their jobs, eventually, as the mines shut down permanently. His father went on to find a new job in the months that followed, but Colin's brother, Henry chose to stop following his father's footsteps and instead joined one of his friends at the fire department.

Colin loved hearing his brother's stories over Sunday lunch, and he told himself that one day, he too would have stories of his own to tell the family, and you could say that he managed to do just that.

He started as a constable and slowly but surely made his way up the hierarchy. An arrest he made in 2001 earned him a spot on the front pages of local newspapers as he put an end to the macabre career of a serial killer. He was offered a book deal and a position as an instructor at the London Police Academy, but both were refused by Colin, who didn't want to stray away from his mission. Leeds was however growing a bit too small for him, and he made them a counter offer : he wouldn't work for the Academy, but he'd love a place in one of their precincts. London would be a nicer place for he and his wife to raise their unborn child. But when one Blackwood brother was met with success, one was met with a much darker fate. Colin had been working in London for a week when he received a phone call from his mother to let him know that his brother had perished in a fire. The perspective of becoming a father might have been the only thread that kept Colin from drowning in his sorrow then, but as years passed, feelings of guilt and helplessness replaced the pain of loss, and it was through burying himself in work and accepting more cases that Colin made it through his days. His attitude led the pair to an inevitable divorce, one which Colin never really blamed himself for.

Although he eventually recovered from losing his brother so soon, Colin finds it sometimes difficult to let things go, and tends to get obsessive working on cases. He can count on his partner not to let him fall into the rabbit hole.

Recently, Colin gathered the attention of the press on another serial killer case he'd solved, but this time, not for the same reasons. Having shot the man dead during the arrest, he's now under investigation to figure whether his actions were justified.

+ / -  hot headed, honorable, faithful, gruff, dutiful, logical, traditional, easily angered

Every now and then, he'll get phone calls from True Crime podcasters regarding his 2001 arrest. Although he never once agreed to one of these, requests still end up in his professional inbox anyway.

His daughter, Inaya, is currently studying medicine at London College.

While he doesn't particularly resents the Conservative Party for what they did to his family (after all, the Labor Party also shut down collieries), Colin has an unspeakable hatred for Margaret Thatcher. He mayhave peed on her grave at some inebriated point.

The serial killer that Colin shot was an arsonist and it is the belief of some people that the detective acted the way he did because his brother died in a fire that had been the handy work of another arsonist.

Although Colin doesn't precisely spend a lot of time out of work, he will make time for his daughter. They can spend hours on jigsaw puzzles, but another favorite activity of the pair is going to the movies.

FC: Jeffrey Dean Morgan

[nightacquainted]

1. Is your muse afraid of death?

2. What is your muse’s kill count? 

3. What is your muse’s biggest fear? 

4. How easy is it to anger your muse?

5. What is your muse’s biggest regret? 

6. Does your muse believe in an afterlife? 

7. How many scars does your muse have?

8. Does your muse tend to bottle things up?

9. What is one thing that would break your muse?

10. Does your muse have nightmares? What about?

11. Would your muse kill for someone they care about? 

12. What was the worst injury your muse has received?

13. How much pain can your muse withstand? For how long? 

14. What was the most traumatic moment in your muse’s life?

15. How often does your muse cry? Do they view it as weakness?

16. If your muse could talk to one person they’ve lost, who would it be? 

17. Does your muse consider themselves a good person? Why or why not? 

18. Does your muse think they’re capable of changing? Do they even want to?

{out of the tunnels} Hahaha I love how you just pasted the entire meme in here. Alrighty, let's go! XD Below the cut for length.

1. Is your muse afraid of death?

He's not afraid to die, no, but he is afraid of people he loves dying. Very much so. That scares him far more than worrying about his own death. And more than that, he's afraid that someone he loves will die because he didn't do enough or wasn't there to protect them.

2. What is your muse’s kill count? 

Oh gosh... I don't even know. In canon, he hurt a lotta folks, but I'm trying to remember if he ever actually killed anyone. He badly hurt that stalker guy who essentially kidnapped Catherine in his house, but didn't kill him. He scared the crap out of that reporter that was threatening to expose his and Catherine's relationship to the press, but didn't kill him either.

He didn't even kill the man who gave the order to murder Catherine and kidnapped both him and his son, like... if ever he was going to have a reason or enough anger/sadness behind it to kill someone, I feel like Gabriel would've been it. Although... Diana intervened and was kindof like, is this the kind of person you want to be for your son, or something to that effect, and then she told him to go get his son and kindof... rushed him out of the room. And then she killed him herself, which was EPIC. XD But I digress. I think she did that because she knew if she didn't, Vincent probably would've killed Gabriel. I honestly... don't know if he would have, but I think out of everyone he's ever hated or threatened, Gabriel would've been the best chance for Vincent to kill someone.

No, wait! He did kill someone! *snaps fingers and strikes eureka pose* He killed Paracelsus! He was someone who co-founded the Tunnel Community with Father back in the day, but they had creative differences, you could say haha, and Paracelsus ended up becoming a recurring villain on the show. Vincent killed him while in a very unstable state mentally. Paracelsus had the ability to disguise himself as other people, and he masqueraded as Father and lied to Vincent about his origin, saying that he'd killed his mother when he was born by tearing his way out of her. Vincent was already in a fragile state from a serious mental health episode brought on by Paracelsus' attempts to get Vincent to unleash his inner beast, basically. It's complicated, but Paracelsus had this delusional tale about Vincent being his son (because he believed his wife was Vincent's mother) and wanted him to fully realize this by becoming a killer just like he was. Ironically, Paracelsus pushed Vincent's mental health way too far, causing him to have a kind of mental breakdown upon hearing that he'd killed his own mother, and so Vincent did end up killing Paracelsus in a fit of rage. His last words were, "At last you are my son." What a jerk, seriously.

So I guess that brings his kill count to 1 that I can think of, haha.

3. What is your muse’s biggest fear? 

Like I said for #1, it's that he won't be there to protect a loved one, or won't do enough to protect them if he is, and it'll result in their death.

4. How easy is it to anger your muse?

I feel like it's not that hard? He's angered by injustice, so anyone abusing children or the elderly, anyone committing violent crime, anyone trying to harm someone he cares about... those kinds of things make him angry and he will really have to wrestle with himself to keep his cool. It's easy for him to become angered, but he doesn't want to be, because he feels ashamed each time he loses control of himself. So even though it happens a lot, he also has kindof trained himself to restrain his anger a lot too, only letting it out when necessary. But if he's having mental health issues or if certain emotions get involved, he won't be able to hold back.

5. What is your muse’s biggest regret?

In canon, it was not finding Catherine fast enough to save her life. Obviously, Vincent holds Gabriel responsible, but he also feels responsible himself. Their mental link had been severed (it was lost after he recovered from the mental breakdown I mentioned in #2), and so his ability to know where she was and quickly get to her had been completely removed. He blames himself for that and for not being there for her when she needed him most.

6. Does your muse believe in an afterlife?

Yes. In canon, he felt like Catherine was still with him in spirit after her death, and he spoke to her often. I think that belief that there is life after death wouldn't just be for her, it'd extend to anyone who has died.

7. How many scars does your muse have?

Welp, let's see... he's got some stab scars, some bullet scars, I'm not exactly sure how many but at least 4 or 5 I think.

8. Does your muse tend to bottle things up?

As I mentioned in #4, yeah he tries to restrain a lot of his emotions that he feels are "beastly," like anger. I feel like he's more open about emoting things like love, sadness, and happiness, but he definitely tries to keep a lid on his anger because he doesn't want to become violent.

9. What is one thing that would break your muse?

Well I might've said losing his significant other, but as we saw in canon, he made it through that. It's arguable that Paracelsus' bullshittery about Vincent killing his own mother on his way out of her broke him, since he literally had a mental breakdown, but he recovered from that. I think also if his and Catherine's son had died, like if Gabriel had ended up killing him, that might've broken Vincent beyond repair.

10. Does your muse have nightmares? What about?

Yes, he does. Usually about things that plague his conscience, things he did wrong, things he feels guilty for, people he couldn't save, times he fell short of being a good protector, etc. Guilt is a main driver of his nightmares, but fear is also. If he's afraid for the welfare of people he loves, he might have nightmares about them being hurt.

11. Would your muse kill for someone they care about? 

I guess the answer is no? I don't remember him ever killing someone to save Catherine or anyone else. He hurt a lot of people pretty badly, but he's just not a killer. Although, I guess if he was placed in an impossible situation and it was kill or someone he cares about dies, he'd do it. But he'd have to really be left with no other option.

12. What was the worst injury your muse has received?

Already answered here, but... I will say that a close runner up was in the "No Way Down" episode when Vincent was caught in an explosion. He suffered a concussion and some other wounds that made him disoriented and unsteady on his feet, and it also affected his vision significantly.

13. How much pain can your muse withstand? For how long?

Vincent can put up with a lot of pain for a long time. He's fought through a lot of injuries like they were papercuts, heh. He'll put up with it and hide it for as long as he needs to get to safety or to make sure he doesn't upset those around him.

14. What was the most traumatic moment in your muse’s life?

In canon, I think it was when Catherine died in his arms. That was just... so massively upsetting and soul-crushing for him. Either that or the mental breakdown he suffered because of Paracelsus' bullshit.

15. How often does your muse cry? Do they view it as weakness?

He cries fairly often, and no, he doesn't view it as a weakness. Vincent is more likely to think that things like unrestrained anger are weaknesses more than expression sadness.

16. If your muse could talk to one person they’ve lost, who would it be?

The obvious choice in canon is Catherine. I'm not sure what he'd say, but he wouldn't pass up the chance to talk to her again. He'd probably apologize to her for not saving her, because Vincent is just like that.

17. Does your muse consider themselves a good person? Why or why not? 

Not... really, no. He's very concerned with who and what he is, and with this "darkness" he feels he has inside himself. This "beast" aspect is something that bothers and haunts him, and he really feels like, at his core, he's more monster than man.

18. Does your muse think they’re capable of changing? Do they even want to?

Oh he wants to, for sure, and he's made it his life's work for most of his adult life to maintain himself in such a way as to not give into that evil/violent core he feels he has. Whether or not it's possible to get rid of it entirely, he doesn't know, but he fears that there is no way, and even more so, that it'll just keep getting worse until he loses control irrevocably.

[mythvoiced]

-. One thing that I truly enjoy about the boss fight against Hades is the mid-battle dialogue. Not only the content which is super interesting and there is one type of exchange I remember vaguely that I’d like to get into below, but also the fact that there is one at all.

There are bits and pieces of dialogue smacked into other boss fights too, Meg has her lines of calling in backup but also taunting Zagreus, Alecto and her rage-filled commentary, of course Theseus and how he never shuts the fuck up.

But those are lines, more than anything - absolutely superb lines, but not what I’m going for here. Zagreus has his lines too, ways to let the player know Eurydice’s acorn run out or when he’s lost his last Death Defiance, or commenting on why the hell the gods are helping Theseus DAMMIT- and such.

But the full on exchange Hades and Zagreus have during their battle, and I’m talking while you’re running around trying to land a hit, they scratch my brain so nicely~

Because of the anger. Where Hades’ side of things sound angry every time you talk to him, it is only against Hades that I’ve ever heard Zagreus sound so deeply enraged. I adore the emotion in his voice, I adore how you might get dialogue where they go fully back and forth for a few beats before stopping, I like how Zagreus points out what Hades is willing to do to his own son.

I adore the pain in Zagreus’ voice, because that’s how I’ve come to interpret that particular emotion in it. 

Anger comes in so many colours. Anger caused by disappointment, anger caused by frustration, anger caused by desperation. It can be the escalation of quite a few sensations, where things become too much and our heart starts burning into this direction. And they all tend to sound different, that’s why we differentiate between ‘wet anger’ and ‘dry anger’ (I’ve read that once, honestly), where wet anger is when we’re so hurt and care so much that we can’t help but cry as we rage.

Zagreus’ anger doesn’t make me think of the same kind of anger he’d reserve for Theseus, for example, where he’s annoyed, irritated that Theseus just won’t shut up. Or the anger he has for Tisiphone in a few instances where he’s angry she’d insinuate he’s a murderer, which doesn’t sit right with his morals because he’d never (which is why we should discuss the satyrs, but I digress).

The anger in Zag’s voice when he fights Hades is so raw and old. It feels like that ancient anger that adults who were children of these kinds of parents have been carrying with them for so long. The anger where you know you won’t be heard, where you’re so exhausted but can’t stop fighting because you care and do love them in the end and you just want them to understand, why can’t they bring themselves to care and love you enough to understand? That anger born from understanding that a child shouldn’t be treated a certain way, a sense of injustice caused to your child self.

It’s spat out, it’s retorted almost instantly, it’s faster than some of his other lines, it’s everything Zag doesn’t mention when he’s being kind and it’s perhaps one of the reasons he manages to be so kind, because he doesn’t want others around him to feel the same sense of this deeply ingrown pain and frustration raised in him by a cold, humiliating father.

[hello-galad]

His father’s death, after those agonizing three months, felt as a relief. At least now, Nie Mingjue thought, their father was not in pain anymore. He squeezed his didi’s hand tighter and stood straighter, but the wouldn’t stop the tears from falling…

[tonystarksproperty]

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ | ᴄ. ʙᴀʀʙᴀʀɪᴀɴ

the franchise, this movie: IS SO GOATED!!! 10/10 recommended

disclaimer: female reader cause why not

warnings: kidnapping and one-sided love

At first, Conan is veryy delusional. He’s never really understanding about this love thing.

It’s a myth to him. He doesn’t believe he could possess feelings for a woman or anyone.

Has incredible expectations for women that surrounds themselves around Conan for their safety, but however: the thought of being committed to one threatens him and his pride.

Although, he has many whores to keep him satisfied with his inner barbarian needs, he never did crave one.

He thought himself as a total douchebag when the women he messes around with have feelings for him.

The thought of someone loving him is annoyance, a pain even, a nagging wound you can never heal or stop the bleeding.

His life is devoted to avenge his father’s death, that is, until he met you.

He met you when he met Tamara of course.

Due to you being her unidentical twin: you’re both stuck together.

Conan happened to notice when his feelings first adapted but he avoids it like his life depends on it.

He needs to murder Khalar Zym before even thinking of having heir for the next generation but the indwelling anger and annoyance for Khalar Zym goes away swiftly when he shares your presence.

Your soft, unbearable, peaceful presence.

It’s excruciating.

You’re excruciating.

He wants more.

Yet you’re one few people who show mercy and kindness towards Conan.

Give him more.

Despite Tamara’s disrespectfulness and feminine attitude: he enjoys your gentle and careful touch about him. You would always tend his wounds when needed and he would enjoy the slender feeling but he attempts to push it away.

He doesn’t know why, but for one thing certain: he doesn’t want it away.

He wants to savor it. 

Needless to say: he realizes his feelings. He finally is well aware of the emotions he expresses about you.

Now he will be needing a plan, he is all over the place, in his mind; trying to figure out a well-coordinated plan to confess.

When Khalar Zym was defeated, you and Tamara returned your birthplace to reunite with your families, church sisters and Father Fassir.

He didn’t care as much in the beginning: comrades come and go all the time but this feeling was different.

Sleepless nights and lack in desire of just living begin affecting Conan when you were gone.

Usually, he solves his problems with blood like his savage tribe, but in this case, he takes you, in the middle of the night when you and your church sisters were sleeping.

You were one of the oldest so you had your own chamber which was across from Tamara’s dorm. You were asleep, dead asleep.

It took a lot of courage for him to even think this through but in the end, you were successfully rescued. When you woke up that morning on a ship in the master’s chamber.

You felt a sharp blade hover over your bare leg from the cover, petrified, you refused to move a muscle until a calloused hand cups your chin to face your captor.  

You were startled to see the familiar face. “Conan?” you whimper slightly in surprised, least expecting him.

A grin plasters against his features, loving the way his name rolled from your tongue as his calloused hand remains on your face while you desperately look around for any hope of escape.

“Welcome to your new home, dove.”

credz @ /tonystarksproperty

[blossom-hwa]

Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters​ challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn’t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.  

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)