#words cannot describe how proud i am of that title

[m1d-45]

death, rebirth, new life

summary: uh zhongli gets nerfed, you get some new friends, xiao has a crisis of morality(?)

word count: ~3.2k

-> warnings: major spoilers for xiao lore, like very major. spoilers for liyue archon quest. not much else

-> lowercase intended!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @thehoneymushroomhealer || @imyme20 || @bittersweetorpheus || @vampirecatsw || @willburzone || @some-mildly-happy-human|| @yourlocaldrugdealerbutfancy || @inmyprinceerafr || @depressed-bitchy-demon || @kithewanderingme

<< first part || < masterlist > || next part >>

zhongli allows his weapon to fade back into golden dust, his mind involuntarily comparing it to the way you dissolved before him.

they were quite similar. after he’d pulled away his polearm, you had sent him a final smile as your body disintegrated into white flakes, much like his spear had, the water rushing back to fill the space you’d left. it had surprised him, because he’d expected you to fall into the black smoke that hilichurls did. unless he had made some sort of…

no, he tells himself, shaking his head. you deserved it. to wear a face that wasn’t yours, to defy his god so, his actions were entirely jus-

a spike of pain drives into his lower back and zhongli reaches behind him with a hiss, feeling for whatever’s hurt him only to land on the glass of his fake vision. it stings through his gloves, and he’s quick to yank it off, uncaring as the string it’s hung on snaps. the small gems on it scatter, but he’s focused on the glass in his hand.

or, rather, the floor. his hand still hurts from the pricks of invisible needles it stabbed into his skin, and he wasn’t keen on holding it any longer.

“what’s wrong?” hu tao comes up to his side, hand landing on his shoulder. “are you okay? is your vision?”

“it’s nothing.”

discretely, he tries to turn a pebble on the floor in front of him. he tells himself it’s nothing, he knows it’ll work, he just needs the confirmation for himself, since if a fake vision could react like that..

“hey, don’t worry about it. the dead need to stay that way. whoever that was, i trust your judgement. i’m certain you did the-“

she cuts herself off with a pained cry, her shoulders jerk back as her hands reach for her back, her face twisting in pain. zhongli takes a step over his ‘vision’, turning her by the shoulder to see what he knows but doesn’t want to believe.

her vision is glowing brightly, the diamond-shaped gem heating up the metal around it. he wastes no time in removing it from the clip holding it in place, though he has to drop it as well from the heat. it burned her jacket, and she’ll certainly need a new one, but that’s not what he’s worried for.

after all, the stone hadn’t moved.

the sun stung your eyes through your lids, forcing you awake if only to move to a more shaded area. the ground beneath you was hard but not harsh, warmer than wuwang hill by a long shot. you were tempted to stay, to allow yourself to slip back into sleep…

something squishy bumped into your right arm.

you pushed your eyes open, pulling at the numb strings of muscles in your arms to help yourself up. you were sitting in a stone… building would be too generous. there were four pillars and a roof, with a ramp to your left and a staircase in front of you.

and immediately to your right, the object that bumped you earlier, is a small dendro slime.

wide orange eyes peer up at you, the sight cute enough for you to forget your aches.

“hey,” you mumble, reaching a wobbly hand to nudge against its side. the slime chitters, hopping into your lap, and you notice something shining in the leaves atop its head. it doesn’t seem bothered, only pressing itself further into your hand with a chirp that nearly sounds apologetic.

“don’t be sorry.” you move your hand to pet over the stems on top of it, the slime’s eyes slowly beginning to close. you feel something hard beneath your palm, and move to see what it is. in the center of the slime’s head is a small tangle of grass, something golden shimmering in the center. you’ve never looked really hard at the models in-game, mostly because they’re always attacking you, so you’re not sure if this is meant to be there or not. maybe they’re like crystalflies, with a core in the middle? but why be exposed…

the slime chirps in your lap and you move your hand away, a ‘sorry’ on the edge of your lips when it stretches to move the tangle between your fingers. did it want you to fix it?

you tilt the slime towards you, but you don’t have a chance to try. as you watch, the tangle undoes itself, cradling a golden ring between the stalks. it looks about your size, with a small blue gem embedded on one side. the slime makes a soft noise, the ring sliding forward as it tilts.

“for me?”

you picked up the ring at its affirmative trill, sliding it onto your finger. it fit as good as it looked, surprisingly. where had the slime gotten a ring your size, let alone know it would fit you?

the slime looked up, seeking a response, and you smiled.

“thank you, little guy. it’s beautiful.” the slime visibly grew happy, hopping lightly in your lap, and you couldn’t help but laugh. it looked so excited, orange eyes beaming as it twirled itself into a little circle. how could they be enemies?

“where’d you get this?”

your question didn’t dampen its excitement—a surprise, since you expected it to have stolen the ring—and it only hopped off your lap, moving halfway down the staircase before looking back at you.

using the pillars to support yourself, you stood, wincing at the combined pain of old wounds and sleeping on rock. as you carefully move down the steps, you hope that the slime wont lead you to some poor merchant’s cart.

the small slime hopped along a dirt path, and you took the time to look around. behind you to the left was a large pit, for lack of a better word, a tree growing in the center on a platform surrounded by water. if you had to guess, you were probably still in liyue, just more south. the horizon was dotted with spires, and you think you see something like the jade chamber off to the left of your current path. it’s hard to tell, given the distance, but…

the sounds of humanoid chanting reaches your ears, and you startle for a moment before hearing the trademark woo! of an abyss mage. the slime stops, checking on you, but you just give it another smile as you continue to walk. so it got it from hilichurls, then? odd, but better than stealing it from somebody. it was in remarkable condition for being from hilichurls, though…

the slime leads you onto some rocks, and you can see the camp just below you. an abyss mage turns as you approach, the red film of a shield beginning to appear around it before it recognizes you. it was a small camp, only a handful of hilichurls around, and they all crowd you as you climb down the rocks.

the abyss mage chitters in a language you don’t understand, its red ears flopping as it gestures. it finishes with a deep bow, looking up at you, and your face twists in apology. luckily, it seems to get it, pointing to you before waving you into the camp. you take its hand and let it lead you to a crate to sit on, watching as it turns to the rest of the group and says… something. nonetheless, the hilichurls seem to get it, all nodding. the abyss mage puts its hands on its hips, satisfied.

the dendro samachurl says something to the large mitachurl, who nods, hefting its rock shield and standing near the entrance of the camp. the samachurl then pulls over another hilichurl as it walks to you. its staff is more at eye level with you than it is.

the samachurl chitters beneath the mask, and the hilichurl besides it—you assume, based on prior experiences—translates.

“unu boya ika zido mosi aba nunu,” it says, pointing further down the path, where you can barely see a wooden structure.

now, your hilichurl isn’t the best. in the beginning, you learned somewhat, but definitely not enough to know the entirety of what it just said. you catch the word for enemy and some sort of time word you think means later in the day, so that together with the gesture.. you’re hopefully assuming that it means later in the day there will be enemies, likely the millelith, over that direction.

you nod. the hilichurl seems proud of itself.

the samachurl continues, much shorter this time, and the hilichurl holds out a hand.

“muhu mita?”

ah. those ones you know just fine.

you accept the offer of a meal and let it walk you to a rock near a campfire, listening as they talk to each other. they bring you food and share more amongst themselves, the electro shooter waving its bandaged hands in a story you didn’t try to decipher. the heat of noon begins to fade after an hour or two, and though the campfire is now embers and your wooden plate is empty, you’re content.

the dendro slime from earlier sticks close to you, shifting as close to the dying fire as it dared whilst being out of range of the jumping sparks. it wasn’t particularly cold, only around 3ish by your best judgement. the sun still shone in the sky, washing over sand and stone and the things that sparkled under it. there was nothing to worry over, nobody near, and the mitachurl and pyro grenadier were still guarding the entrance. it was a welcome respite.

you hope it’ll last.

xiao pulled his polearm from the body of a hilichurl, picking a tuft of matted red hair from the jade edge. the shattered remains of its mask fell to the floor as its body dissolved, but he just stepped over it, dismissing his weapon. the boy from qingce was uninjured, the hilichurl grenadier had fallen, and his work here was done.

“-jianguo, what are you doing out here? you should know better than to wander near wuwang hill!”

xiao rolled his eyes, hoping the fading debt of the hilichurls would dissipate faster. he couldn’t leave without endangering the child or his mother, but he wanted to leave earlier sometimes, if only so people would learn not to wander into areas they didn’t belong.

“but mama, all the hilichurls fled to wuwang hill! our charms worked!” the small boy triumphantly held up a small piece of paper, sloppily colored gold with some sort of crayon. shaky black penmanship made a crude imitation of a sigil of permission, a hilichurl’s mask in the center. or, at least, he assumed that’s what it was. children…

“no, jianguo, hilichurls don’t listen to your sigils! just… just stay away from wuwang hill, okay? say your thanks to the nice man who saved you and let’s go home.”

the boy turned, wide eyes fixed on him, and xiao checked that he had absorbed enough of the karma for it to be safe before teleporting away.

he landed on unfamiliar dirt, haunting trees surrounding him. judging by the blue wisps floating around, he could guess he was in the forests atop wuwang hill.

his question was why.

normally, he teleports away to the next source of concentrated karma to ensure it doesn’t end up infecting the people of liyue. but this… he knew wuwang hill had hilichurls and cicin mages, but certainly not a high enough concentration, right?

‘…all the hilichurls fled to wuwang hill!’

unless something called them here.

with one hand on his mask, xiao drew his spear and started to walk.

the forest was oddly quiet. the leaves themselves seemed to stay still, the only noise being made by his shoes upon the path. there were no cicins, nor their mages, nor hilichurls of any kind. yet what was left of his tattered soul was called up the path, some remnant of an instinct telling him to let go of his polearm.

he gripped it tighter in response.

the stone steps ahead seemed to taunt him, seeming to stretch further and further away as he walked. whatever intuition tugged at him felt like it was tied around his soul, tying up the scattered pieces to drag around. it.. was less irritating than it should be, something that frightened him more.

every step he took highlighted the rips across his heart, the scars of karma accentuated. but it wasn’t the surveying gaze of a predator looking for weak points, the invisible eyes prying into his soul neither threatening or aggressive. it felt like he was being assessed by a doctor, like he was young and still being fostered by morax, like he’d gotten into a scuffle with bosacious and he was being scolded even as his arm was being bandaged, the warm mug of tea in his hand soothing the ache in his knuckles-

water on his cheek drew his attention, and he was quick to wipe it off his face, glancing at the sky. he didn’t remember any stormclouds coming in, and the skies seemed..

clear…

…

xiao set his jaw and kept walking, determined to keep his mind on his task.

the stone was cold beneath his feet, the seelie court glowing as the seelie inside buzzed. xiao turned the corner, ignoring the weird feeling in his chest. it had to be nothing. it had to be just some random memory that he was reminded of because of the trees, or the air, or… anything.

xiao walked up the second set of stairs, stopping at the top in shock. the pathway across the pool in front of the domain was covered in wildlife, everything that was missing from the forest condensed into one space on the path. birds, butterflies, even a crane and an electro cicin, all gathered around a small space.

he slowly took a step forward, confused by the display. to see so many animals getting along, crowding such an area as wuwang hill..

xiao continued to walk, his foot splashing into the water above the path harsher than he intended. he froze, making sure he didn’t disturb anything, but the gathering remained. he quickly made his way over the tree in the middle of the path, ensuring he landed quieter this time. as he closer, the details of what he was looking at slowly filled in. between the legs of cranes and over the heads of crows, he could see that a portion of the stone was a different color than the rest. the water above it also refused to move, the ripples from the various animals not moving it an inch.

the birds finally moved when he got close enough, flapping over to the opposite side of the discolored stone. xiao crouched at the edge of the still water, mindful not to get himself wet.

the stone, and water to some extent, thin as it was, was stained a yellowish color. the path looked newer, less worn, the water above it clearer.

his frown deepened the longer he looked at it. he’d never seen anything like this, any substance that froze water while it was still liquid and cleaned it of any dirt whilst never dispersing. he never saw so much wildlife, for lack of better words, getting along like this. the cicin confused him further- it also linked back to what he’d heard, that hilichurls had been called back to wuwang, but he’d yet to see one.

the slashes across his heart pulsed as it beat, reminding him of their presence as he tried to focus. the string tied in his chest pulled him forward, to reach and sink into the shallow pool of gold. he shouldn’t, it was dangerous, he didn’t know what it was or what effect it had on him—he should leave now, in rationality, because he was already being affected. if whatever this was was strong enough to affect him, a yaksha, then surely it was a danger to the villagers nearby..

then why didn’t he feel like it was a danger? why, though his heart burned with the remains of his karmic debt, eternities of slaughter, did he feel lighter?

questions remained unanswered as the pull strengthened, the animals around him growing bold, risking being near him for the chance to crowd the shimmering water. he checked that there wasn’t anything or anybody lying in wait—the chance of this being a trap was too high to ignore—before hesitantly dismissing his polearm, making way for a large raven to land beside him.

xiao stared at the bird, watching as it kept its body entirely out of the odd zone while still sticking close. did it not feel the same pull as he did? was this water meant for creatures such as him, with lifetimes worth of sin on their shoulders? was this where the hilichurls vanished into?

his heart beat against his ribs, the cuts of karma pulsing with it. this water, this stone, he had to be affecting it somehow. though he made sure that his shoes were outside the boundary and that his hands didn’t touch inside it, it was hard to deny the way whatever was dissolved in the water was attracted to his end. it had formed a gradient, the sheen across it darker on his end. he felt a need to reach out, to hold his dirtied past to this cleansing water and be clean of it. no matter how impossible. no matter how irrational. no matter how hard he tried to tell himself it was outlandish and would only get him into trouble, no matter how strong his will or how many rips crossed his heart.

…when xiao gave in and touched the golden stain, one of the tears healed.

the water’s shine faded in an instant, quickly turning back to clear as the stone beneath it aged before his eyes; animals around him rustled and cried, feathers ruffling as they came to their senses and took flight, leaving him with his hands over his sternum and a bright light beneath his skin.

feeling like one of the birds himself, xiao sat in a daze, his mind racing as he tried to rationalize what just occurred.

what was that? what had happened? why did he feel so light? why was his mind covered in warmth and memories of his time with the yakshas, with morax, with the traveller, why was he so- so free? what happened to the chains of karma crossing his limbs, binding him to his nightmares? what happened to the voices repeating his sins as the worst song ever played, where did the pain and the aches and his debt go? how could this water heal what the adepti could not? what morax could not?

clutching the healed seam of his soul, alatus fled.

[camillasgirl]

Today has been such a rollercoaster of emotions, I can’t even begin to tell you... I don’t think I’m able to comprehent what has happened today, not now.

Having been in this with Camilla the past 18 years, today made me tear up so much more than I’d expected it. I cried my eyes out, I really did. I just love her so much. And I am so freaking proud of her.

I usually don’t really care about titles, but today just felt so right. Her being crowned felt so right.

We were soaking today and will probably be ill tomorrow, but it was all so worth it. Charles and Camilla were so worth it.

I have loved this woman more than half of my life and, as I said, words cannot describe how I am feeling today. Both, Kristie and I, are all emotional and just so, so very proud.

Anything for you, Camilla, always!

[bestialopez]

world champion | francesco bagnaia

summary: you have a tradition when pecco wins a title

masterlist

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

2018

yourusername

liked by pecco63 and 1037 others

yourusername you've made it my love... first world champion title is yours❤️words cannot describe how proud of you i am, now go get them in motogp🏆

pecco63 it's also your title! i wouldn't have done it without your support❤️

liked by yourusername

2022

yourusername

liked by pecco63 and 3874 others

yourusername you've made it!!!! with your hard work and not giving up you actually made it, i'm in real tears writing this🤧francesco bagnaia you are a motogp world champion❤️‍🔥

pecco63 your support was everything this year, ti amo tesoro❤️

liked by yourusername

2023

yourusername

liked by pecco63 and 5283 others

yourusername second in a rooooow! wow, just wow - you are such an inspiration for all the people and i can't wait to soon be your wife🤍ps. make it four next year😼

pecco63 you are MY inspiration, can't wait to make you mrs. bagnaia❤️ps. with your support, we can win every single year😘

liked by yourusername

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

hope you like it xx

[blowflyfag]

WRESTLING ALL STARS: Heroes and Villains : February 1993 

“HITMAN” HART WINS WWF BELT!

“Sizzler in Saskatoon” leaves Flair sprawled!

[Bret proudly displays his WWF Worlds Heavyweight belt.

Nailz is no match for the Hitman in their title bout.

Hart has Nailz in an arm bar in their title clash.]

On October 12, 1992 history was made when the man known as “The Hitman” Bret Hart defeated Ric Flair in Saskatoon, Canada to win the WWF World Heavyweight title. For Hart, it was a big thrill to win the World title, but what made the victory even more rewarding for Hart was that he was able to capture the title in his beloved Canada.

[“When I wake up tomorrow, I hope this hasn’t been a dream!”--Bret Hart after winning belt.]

“Words cannot describe how I feel tonight,” Hart stated after his incredible victory. “I’ve always dreamed that someday I would win the World title and now it’s mine. Ric Flair is great. He has been the best there is for many years, but tonight I guess you can say I was just a little bit better. The thought that I’m really the World champion still hasn’t been a dream.”

Two days before the bout in Canada Bret Hart faced Ric Flair in Los Angeles with the belt on the line.

[Bret shows off his Intercontinental strap.

Piper hits the mat compliments of the Hitman during their Wrestlemania brawl.]

In that bout Hart seemingly pinned Ric Flair and even left the ting with the belt. But the following day when Mr. Perfect and Bobby Heenan protested that the referee who made the call was not the official referee, the WWF commission reversed the decision and the championship belt was returned to Ric Flair. Flair, however, didn’t have his precious “10 pounds of gold” too long. Just two days later, Hart pulled the upset of the year.

After his incredible victory, Bret Hart, speaking to Mean Gene Okerlund on the WWF Superstars of Wrestling TV program made his first appearance as champion and gave a rousing interview. 

[Hart is a true credit to his profession. He is more than worthy of the honor that has been bestowed upon him.]

“I can’t tell you how proud I am,” Hart told the TV audience. “This is the greatest moment in my whole life, and I dedicate it to all the people who believe that our biggest dreams can come true. Since I was a kid I’ve been involved in wrestling. My whole family has been involved in wrestling. My father trained me and took me on the mat. I listened and learned and dedicated myself to mastering technical wrestling. I followed up on all the little details, never thinking I knew it all because you just never know it all. I’ve had my share of wins. I’ve had my share of losses, but you just wait your whole life for that one single chance and fortunately I got that chance. I have to thank every wrestler that I ever wrestled against. I’ve wrestled the greatest wrestler in the world and I learned so much. In particular I have to thank Ric Flair for giving me this chance. I want to thank each and every one of my fans around the world who supported me all these years. I want to thank all my friends that backed me up through thick and thin. I want to thank my family who have been with me since I was a little baby, and most of all I want to thank God above. Thank you for the greatest moment in my life. I’m proud to be the WWF World champion.”

[Hart shows off his World Tag Team title strap.

Hart and Jim “the Anvil” Neidhart are former WWF Tag Team champions.]

With Hart’s victory he joins Pedro Morales as the only man to hold the WWF tag team belt, the Intercontinental title and now the World belt. The new champion, however, should have a tough time trying to hold on to his newly won crown. Ric Flair, Razor Ramon, Papa Shango, Nailz, the Berzerker, Shane Michaels and possibly even Mr.  Perfect are gunning for the new champ. With challenges like this, Bret Hart will have his work cut out for him, but if anyone can handle himself against the best in the sport it’s Bret Hart. 

It’s great to see someone like Hart wearing the WWF Heavyweight championship strap. He’s a true credit to the profession and more than worthy of the honor that has been bestowed upon him.  

[kinetic-elaboration]

March 23: Wrote a Fic Today

It is so late but I don't care because I have finished the fic. It's been a long time since I wrote a whole story in one day. It wasn't in one sitting, but I'm almost more proud of that: I wrote for chunks of time ranging from 20 minutes to almost an hour, and I took breaks between those chunks, including one long break to eat dinner, but I always came back. I wanted to come back because I wanted to know what happened next, or how I would describe what happens next. I was excited to see the words in my head become words on a page. And I felt confident that I could do it.

This feels so good and I want so badly to experience this with a different project. Was this one only like this because it's such a sudden story necessarily written on a short timeline? As in, because I haven't given myself time to overthinking or get in my head about it? Or is it because it's actually, objectively easier? Or because I built up excitement for it over a couple days an didn't let any time pass before actually writing? Or because my current WIPs just are objectively harder?

I think it's a combination of these things but also that one of the things that makes my older stories harder is the longer timeline on them, that they've had time to build up all these expectations. They've been subject to a lot of overthinking. For me to write, I need to be in a 'just do it' headspace, and it's harder for me to reach that with a fic that I've been chipping away at for literal years. Every time I think to myself 'I'd like to capture this feeling/phenomenon/experience/thought fully and accurately in X fic,' the timeline for finishing the fic extends by 1-3 months lol.

Anyway, I sorely want to share an excerpt from this story because at this particular moment, I am so fond of it but because it is a Troped fic, I simply cannot! It'll be up soon, though. I still have two more days to do some proper editing and give it a title and summary.

[kiryoutann]

NOTHING can ever describe how emotional i am (in a good way) that between kisses is complete 😭😭 DEFINITELY ONE OF MY FAV CHILDE X READER FICS!!! im so happy for him and the reader's happy ending, i hope their and their family's future is well!!! it's so, so, so amazing to see that even the characters from their past are in the story and are doing so well, i'm so happy for the twins and mostly for lumine. i hope zhongli GEEETTSSS ITTTT SOON 😏 ALSO. THE MEME REFERENCE WAS THE CHERRY ON TOP BUT WHAT GETS THE WORLD WAS WHAT YOU DID FOR TH TITLE BACK THERE (im trying so hard to not spoil too much)

thank you so so soooo much for putting all of your time, efforts, hard work, love, and so much more in between kisses. you know, when i first encountered the early chapters i wasn't really feeling so well, but every update gave me happiness and i can't even be happier that i witnessed the ending. it also gave me a chance to be able to talk to you and be friends with you. TWOAJAYGJ I CANT THINK OF ANY OTHER WORD FOR WHAT I FEEL IVE BEEM USING "HAPPY" AND "HAPPINESS" OVER AND OVER AGAIN THIS IS HOW MUCH IM SO HAPPY ABOUT THIS 😭😭😭

THE WHOLE SERIES WAS A ROLLERCOASTER, A HUGE ONE!!!

also i cannot stop thinking about what you did when you mentioned "between kisses" in the fic for THAT moment. its so good my heart is yours ryou wtf just take it

OMG

i’m so happy that bk helped you through your tough times bebe!🫶🏻 and SO PROUD that u survived it! i gotta thank BK because it gives me a way to know YOU! one of the sweetest and nicest person in this app<3

UGHHHH HOSHI tysm for all the supports you’ve given me throughout this series+always cheers me up when i’m having trouble with my motivation. tysm tysm. NOW NOW IM GONNA TAKE YOUR HEART MEUEHEUHEUEHE ! ! !

HAVE A NICE WEEK BEBEEEEEE luv luv luv youuuuu

[faveficarchive]

Queen's Gambit

by Silent Bard

April 2002

The episode Endgame opened a lot of story possibilities (then promptly destroyed them with a reset) of what happened on Voyager the 16 years we didn't see. This is one such story.

Big thank yous to Bat Morda and Penumbra for help with the editing. You guys rock!

LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

Captain Kathryn Janeway, Seven of Nine, Chakotay and all other characters who have appeared in the series Star Trek: Voyager, together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of Viacom and Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this fan fiction. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only and must include all disclaimers and copyright notices.

And when I wake you're never there

But when I sleep you're everywhere

You're everywhere

'Cause you're everywhere to me

And when I close my eyes it's you I see

You're everything I know that makes me believe

I'm not alone

I'm not alone

                  --Michelle Branch

Seven of Nine entered the quarters to find them bathed in candlelight. She looked around, confused. Captain Kathryn Janeway, the owner of the quarters was standing by the couch two champagne glasses in her hands.

"What is this?" Seven asked.

"Happy anniversary, Seven," Janeway's voice was warm and rich and it tickled Seven in ways she was unable to process. The captain handed Seven a champagne glass.

"Captain?" confusion and wonder filled her tone. Perhaps this evening was going to progress differently than she had first imagined.

"It was five years ago today that you became part of our family. I know it has been a difficult road, but I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. Sometimes I think your humanity surpasses even mine," Janeway smiled as she raised her glass in a toast. "Happy anniversary, Seven. Voyager is richer by your presence."

Tears began to form in Kathryn's eyes so she quickly took a drink of the champagne. Seven followed suit.

"I know you still dislike being the center of attention, so I kept the celebration small. I hope you don't mind?" the captain ushered Seven to a seat at the table where a small feast was laid out. Seven was touched yet again when she realized that the captain had gone out of her way to replicate all of her favorite foods.

"This is wonderful, Captain. Thank you very much. I don't mind celebrating with just you. It has been some time since we have had shared a meal together, just the two of us."

Janeway smiled in relief. She had been a little worried that Seven would be offended at such an intimate display. But Janeway had ignored her fears and gone ahead with her plans. She was glad she had followed her instincts. "It has been awhile, hasn't it? We should work on that."

The smile that graced Seven's face at that comment could only be described as radiant. "I concur, Captain."

"Please, we've been together for five years now Seven. I think you can call me Kathryn when we are off duty." Janeway instantly regretted the wording of her sentence. 'Oh god, I hope she doesn't think I meant anything by saying we've been together,' she fretted internally.

Feeling as if she was dreaming Seven of Nine could barely find her voice. "I would like that, Kathryn," she replied tremulously. This was definitely an evening to remember for the former Borg.

Dinner was spent sharing stories and reminiscing about adventures from the past five years. Janeway couldn't remember a recent evening where she felt so relaxed and comfortable. If she were honest she would have to admit that she never felt as relaxed and comfortable as she did when she was with Seven. There was something about the blonde that made Janeway feel like she was home. They had retired to the couch after dinner and both women seemed reluctant to end the evening. The topics had shifted from past adventures to planning future ones.

"That sounds like a truly fascinating planet. I would love to visit it with you," Seven smiled shyly at Janeway. She had consumed three glasses of champagne over the course of the evening and she was definitely feeling the effect of the synthehol. Her inhibitions were lowered and she found herself saying things she would normally keep to herself.

Janeway's heart clenched. The evening had been perfect but it was beginning to get out of hand. After 5 glasses of wine the iron band of control that she normally kept her emotions behind was showing definite signs of wear and tear. It was time for a graceful retreat. Fantasies were nice for an evening, but it was time for reality to supercede.

"I would think that visiting Risa would best be left for you and Chakotay. It is quite a romantic planet. Couples come from across the Alpha Quadrant to visit. I hear it is the number one honeymoon spot for humans looking to get away from Earth," Kathryn was too busy averting her eyes as she spoke to notice the crestfallen look Seven's face.

Seven had been avoiding the topic of Chakotay all evening, but since the Captain had brought it up she figured she might as well take the segue offered to her. "Speaking of Commander Chakotay, I have something I wish to tell you."

Janeway felt a burning sensation in her chest and her dinner threatened to come back up. She knew exactly what Seven was going to say and she knew she didn't want to hear it. Not tonight, not with her control so weak. She took a deep breath and retreated behind her command mask to get through the rest of this conversation. "Yes, Seven?" trying to sound interested she didn't notice that her voice was as monotone as a Borg.

Seven was too distracted to notice Janeway's shift in mood. She had been meaning to tell Janeway all night but she hadn't wanted to ruin the wonderful evening. Kathryn had given her a gift with this anniversary and she didn't want the memories spoiled. It looked like she wasn't going to get her wish. "Commander Chakotay has asked me to marry him."

Even though she knew this was coming, it still felt like a bomb had exploded in her heart. 'No, god. Please god. Anything but this,' Janeway moaned internally. "That's wonderful, Seven. I suppose this really was a night to celebrate," she raised her wine and finished the almost full glass in one draught.

"I haven't decided if I should accept his offer yet." The silence was deafening. Neither woman looked at the other as both were lost in their thoughts. 'This is it, Katie. She's giving you the perfect opening. Tell her not to do it. Tell her he's no good for her. Tell her they aren't well suited for each other. Tell her the truth--that you love her and he could never give her what you could,' Janeway's inner voice begged.

"Commander Chakotay is a good man. You could do much worse than marrying him," Kathryn offered diplomatically. 'But she could do better! Tell her Katie! This could be your last hope!'

"Commander Chakotay *is* a good man. And I know that he loves me very much." Kathryn was too busy ignoring her inner voice to notice the glaring omission that this statement revealed.

"You two have been dating for quite awhile now. I'm surprised that he didn't ask you sooner," Kathryn's mouth kept talking but her brain was shutting down. All she could think about was Seven marrying someone else. She was losing her hold on her control so she let the captain take over while the woman retreated to lick her wounds.

"We have been dating one year, four months, 2 weeks, and three days. When we began dating I had made it clear to him that I wanted to 'take it slow.' I believe this was as long as he could wait. He is quite anxious to hold the ceremony."

"Really? When were you thinking of holding it?" Janeway moved to the replicator and recycled her empty wine glass, then requested a whiskey and soda. She moved back to the couch and sat at the opposite end from Seven, further away than they had been earlier in the evening.

"He would like to have the ceremony next month," Seven found herself answering the captain's questions automatically. It felt as if her world, so carefully constructed, was falling apart. She realized that she was about to cry, and didn't want to show so much emotion to Captain Janeway. It was obvious that Janeway wasn't going to say anything against Chakotay's proposal like Seven had been wishing for.

It wasn't that she didn't like Chakotay. He was a good man, and he did love her. She cared for him in return, but just not as much as she should. Over the course of their relationship she had come to realize that the feelings she felt for him were not as strong as the ones she experienced for her captain. Part of her believed that those feelings were returned and she had hoped that this conversation would bring about confessions. Unfortunately, this looked not to be the case. Either Kathryn did not feel love for Seven, or she was too stubborn to admit it. Seven felt a door close around her heart. She knew that she could tell the captain that she was experiencing doubt because she loved another but somehow she instinctively knew that the only way things would work out between her and Kathryn would be if Janeway expressed her feelings first.

Abruptly Seven stood up, suddenly unable to be in the same room as Kathryn any longer. "I should be going, Captain. It is late and we both have duty in the morning."

"Good night Seven," Janeway called, having the foreboding sense that Seven was not only walking out of her quarter's, but out of her life forever. Feeling disgusted with herself and angry at her First Officer she threw the empty glass against the wall that separated her quarters from the man in question. "Die, Chakotay, die," she murmured incoherently.

*****************

It's funny how quickly time passes when you are dreading something. The month between Seven telling Janeway about Chakotay's proposal and the actual ceremony passed by in what felt like the blink of an eye. At least to Kathryn. It hadn't helped that the entire ship had been ecstatic at the news. There had been weddings over the years on Voyager, but most, like Tom and B'Elanna's, had been small affairs. The crew had decided that a huge wedding was in store for the ship's First Officer and Astrometrics Officer.

As she stood at the altar in her dress uniform Kathryn looked on at what seemed to be her entire crew. There was a skeleton crew on the bridge and in engineering, but everyone else was here ready to celebrate the union of Seven and Chakotay. Everyone was smiling and happy, eager to share in the joy of this event. Everyone but Kathryn. It had taken three whiskey and sodas just to get her nerves calm enough to put her uniform on. It was bad enough that Seven was actually going to marry Chakotay. What made it even worse was that she would have to perform the ceremony. Not for the first time she wished she was not captain. Things would be so much easier and perhaps this would be her wedding'

As the music started she felt one more piece of her heart fall away. 'You can still stop this, Katie,' her inner voice started but even it seemed lifeless. There was no other way. She was the captain. She would do her duty. She would marry the woman she loved to one of her best friends, sit through as much of the reception as she could handle then go back to her quarters and drown her sorrow in synthehol. If she could just make it through the ceremony she'd be fine. She finally flashed a smile at the groom who had been standing in front of her for the last few minutes. She knew it was her imagination but the smile he returned seemed smug to her.

Naomi Wildman started down the aisle. She had been so excited to have been included in the ceremony. B'Elanna and Seven had mended fences and could be considered friends, but the relationship between Naomi and Seven was special and Seven would have no one else as her Maid of Honor. Besides, Chakotay had bucked tradition by asking B'Elanna to be his Best Man.

The music switched to the wedding march. Seven had done copious amounts of research and had insisted on a traditional earth ceremony. Chakotay could deny his bride-to-be nothing, so a traditional earth wedding it was.

Kathryn gasped as she got her first sight of the bride. No one heard the captain; the entire room made similar noises as Seven approached the altar on the arm of the Doctor. Seven was a vision in white. Her dress was a floor length, sleeveless number with a long train. A veil covered her face obscuring the look of horror that was etched on her features.

'I can not go through with this, this is wrong, I can not go through with this,' reverberated through Seven's head while she slowly glided down the aisle to meet her groom. Instead of looking at him, Seven's eyes were latched on Janeway's. She could see the attraction Janeway felt for her in the captain's eyes as she looked at Seven; the look slowly morphed into one of dread as the reality of the situation registered with Janeway. For a moment Seven almost bolted. 'It wouldn't be so bad, leaving Chakotay at the altar. Better that, than marrying a man I really don't love.' She looked over at the man in question. He smiled at her so gently and with so much love, she knew she couldn't hurt him. Her life with him would never be filled with passion and intensity, but it would be filled with love and comfort. She turned her gaze back to Kathryn in time to see all her emotions fall behind the command mask as Captain Janeway took over. 'This is the correct decision. This is the only decision. Kathryn will never admit her feelings. Better a life with Chakotay than one alone.'

Kathryn felt as if she were standing on quicksand. This was too much. How much torture could one woman bear? It took all the command training she had not to burst into tears or throw up. As she had been doing a lot lately, Kathryn allowed the captain to take over. She started the ceremony on auto-pilot, barely paying attention to the words coming out of her mouth. She was staring at a spot just above the couple's heads so she wouldn't have to look at either of them.

"If anyone has a reason why these two people should not be wed they should speak now or forever hold their peace." In the silence, Kathryn finally looked at Seven who was looking back at her. What she saw in the younger woman's eyes took her breath away. Attraction, desire, and love were being radiated to her. The captain took a deep breath as the rest of the holodeck melted away and all that existed were Seven's eyes. Taking a chance, she let all of her attraction, desire and love for Seven visible in her eyes as well. Seven smiled as the connection between the two women grew tighter. Janeway heard a noise coming from her left, but she ignored it, refusing to look away from Seven's eyes.

'Why have I been fighting this?' she asked herself as she slowly drowned in the love Seven's eyes contained. The noise to her left grew louder and she finally looked away to see what it was. The rest of the holodeck came racing back to her perception and she realized that the noise was Chakotay clearing his throat to get her attention. She was in the middle of performing a wedding. Seven's wedding. How long she and Seven had been staring into each other's eyes, she wasn't sure. But it was enough for people to have noticed that something was amiss. The crew were shifting in their seats unsure what the hold up was.

'It's now or never Katie, and after seeing what you just saw you'd better make the right decision,' Janeway's little voice demanded. Captain Kathryn Janeway cleared her throat, then opened her mouth to speak.

"Red Alert. All crew, please report to battle stations," the business-like tone of Commander Tuvok's voice came over the communications system. For a moment the room held its breath, confused by the interruption. Then controlled chaos broke out as everyone rushed off to man their posts.

Janeway, Chakotay and Seven ended up sharing a turbolift on their way to the bridge. "It wouldn't be a Delta Quadrant wedding without a red alert," the First Officer joked. "I suppose I should be happy it wasn't the honeymoon that got interrupted," he continued. "Well, my darling wife, are you ready to take on the bad guys?" he smiled at Seven affectionately.

"Technically, she isn't your wife yet," Kathryn tried to keep the tone light and humorous, but there was a hint of something darker there.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I never did declare you husband and wife. The ceremony was interrupted," she really wasn't sure why she was saying these things but for some reason she wanted to make it clear to her First Officer that he hadn't won yet. It might be late in the game, but Kathryn Janeway wasn't going down without a fight.

"Oh, come on Kathryn. That's just a formality," he chuckled a bit and saw that she wasn't laughing. "You're serious!" he was incredulous.

Kathryn realized that she was coming on a bit harsh. Things needed to get sorted out, but in the turbolift on the way to battle was neither the time nor the place. "I just think that it would be wise to have all the legalities in place for when we get back to the Alpha Quadrant. We wouldn't want there to be any problems with your marriage to a Borg."

"Ex-Borg," he replied automatically. Something was going on here, something he didn't understand or like. First there had been the weird pause in the ceremony and now Kathryn was being a strange stickler for details.

"The captain is correct, Chakotay. We don't want any surprises when we return to the Alpha Quadrant," Seven refused to look at the commander as she sided with Janeway.

"Fine. Pronounce us husband and wife."

The turbolift doors slid open, but for a moment no one aboard it moved. Janeway felt the challenge in his tone. She looked over at Seven. The other woman was giving away nothing. It was up to Janeway to make a decision. She took a deep breath and exited the turbolift. "Report!" she barked at Tuvok as she took her seat back from him. Chakotay plopped down in his seat, anger emanating from him in waves. She ignored him and got lost in the situation at hand.

*****************

Janeway stared at the glass in her hand confused. It was empty, that was what the problem was. She weaved to the replicator and requested another drink. Taking a sip, a small part of her recognized that somewhere along the line the soda in her whiskey and soda had been done away with. She had lost count of how many drinks she had consumed. What did it matter. She could still feel' too many things.

This was the first night in weeks that Janeway felt she was able to let herself get drunk. There had been too much to do before. Voyager had managed to barely escape destruction in their battle with the Flortridians, the aliens that had interrupted Seven and Chakotay's wedding. Limping away from the battle they had been lucky to escape as well off as they had. Only fifteen people had been killed.

Sitting on her couch, Kathryn allowed herself to remember the last few weeks. The Flortridians had swooped in out of nowhere and attacked Voyager with little to no reason. They weren't even in their area of space. Tuvok said that they just started attacking. No warning, nothing. Voyager had managed to repel the first battle ship with little problem. However, they had retreated only to return with four of their friends in tow, with lethal results: Voyager had seen its first casualties in months. Ten of the casualties were immediate. The other five had died in sickbay, three of them never waking up from the comas they had fallen into. Kathryn took each death as a personal affront.

Turning her mind away from this path she tried to think of more pleasant things. She couldn't find any. Kathryn took another long swig of whiskey. She knew she was avoiding the subject she both needed to think about, and needed to avoid. She had buried her best friend today. She snorted at this thought. Her best friend. Her last memory of him was her betraying him. How hard would it have been to just go ahead and say what he wanted to hear that day?

No. She wasn't going to go over this again. It was in the past. No one but Seven knew about it. The rest of the ship just assumed that Chakotay and Seven were husband and wife. They treated Seven as the grieving widow. No one needed to know the truth. It didn't matter now anyway.

But it ate at her. Chakotay had died'not married, and it was all her fault. She had done that to him, his Captain, his friend'full of spite, and for reasons that she could barely remember now. All she could remember was that she had betrayed the man who had helped hold this crew together for eight long years. She finished the drink in a gulp and tossed the glass. It bounced impotently against the wall.

A ringing sound echoed loudly in the room. Janeway blinked, unsure what the noise was. It rang again sounding more urgent to Janeway's ears. Realizing it was her door chime and who must be on the other side of the door she ignored it. Finally the person gave up. Janeway sighed in relief.

Her relief was not long lasting. The door opened admitting Seven of Nine to the Captain's Quarters. Neither spoke immediately. Janeway was surprised that Seven had the gall to override the security seal on her door. She realized that she shouldn't have been. Seven had been trying to speak with her for days now.

"You have been avoiding me," Seven's tone was accusatory.

Janeway refused to look at the former Borg. She had consumed too much synthehol, she was not in control of her emotions. She could not have this conversation.

"You certainly have a way of stating the obvious."

Seven was taken aback. She had been expecting an argument, but the captain had conceded without a fight. For a moment, Seven was unsure how to continue.

"Why?"

Janeway snorted. Perhaps this conversation wouldn't be as bad as she thought. She might just get out of it unscathed. Trying to pull as many of her wits together as she could find she sat up straighter on the couch.

"It's late. I'm tired. I really don't think we need to have this conversation right now."

This was more like it. This is what Seven had been expecting. She would not allow Janeway to get the upper hand. She decided to skip ahead. "Why did you not pronounce Chakotay and I husband and wife?"

Janeway was not expecting this question. She finally looked at Seven, her mouth hanging slightly open in shock. The shock gave way to anger. Who did this woman think she was; violating her privacy, demanding answers to questions that should never be asked? Especially now.

"How dare you! How dare you barge in here, today of all days and ask me that question," Kathryn seethed with anger.

Seven took a deep breath, her chest heaving. "I will leave you alone," she watched as Janeway visibly relaxed at this statement, "as soon as you answer my question."

Kathryn realized that her anger was misplaced; she wasn't upset with Seven, but herself. It was perfectly reasonable for Seven to question her motivation. Janeway's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can't answer you, Seven. Not now. Especially not today," for once she allowed her emotions to show through as she spoke.

Seven came over to the couch and kneeled in front of Kathryn. "Kathryn, please. If not today then when? You will always find an excuse why you can't discuss this. Your reasons are no longer relevant. Please, I must know," she knew she was begging but she no longer cared. This conversation should have been held years ago.

Kathryn continued to avoid looking at Seven. It was obvious Seven wasn't going to go anywhere until Janeway confessed her sins. And that was something she simply could not do. There was a time she might have been able to; now, it was impossible. Seven should realize that. After five years of arguing, Kathryn knew the patterns the two of them usually fell into. Seven was expecting Kathryn to get angry, while she would remain cool and collected arguing from a point of logic. Kathryn wasn't going to fall into that trap tonight. She decided to turn the tables on the Borg.

"Why did you agree to marry Chakotay?"

Seven was certainly not expecting this question. She swallowed convulsively. The room was dark and smelled of alcohol. Her throat constricted and it felt like she couldn't breathe. She didn't know what to say. After five years of playing cat and mouse with Kathryn Janeway she was finally the mouse. It was not a pleasant feeling. She had promised herself that she would not open herself up to this woman, not until Janeway opened up first. That seemed pointless now. She took another deep breath and decided to do what she had been avoiding for years. Tell the truth.

"Because he loved me. Because I was afraid of being alone. Because I knew that you would never admit how you felt. That you loved me just as much," she paused as her voice broke, "just as much as I love you."

Kathryn finally looked at Seven; tears were coursing down the younger woman's face. Janeway felt as if she were drowning as her own sobs overcame her.

"Oh Seven," she grabbed for the Borg, holding on to her as if she were the only thing keeping Kathryn afloat. She sobbed for what felt like hours and Seven continued to just hold her. Finally, her sobs receded. "Everything is such a mess," Kathryn muttered into Seven's hair.

"Now who has a way of stating the obvious?" Seven whispered.

Janeway drew back in surprise and couldn't suppress the giggle that emerged at Seven's comment. "Was that' was that a joke?"

Seven smiled sadly. "As you said, it is very late and you are tired. I will tuck you into bed and we will talk about it all tomorrow, okay?"

Now that a tentative understanding had been reached, Janeway was reluctant to let Seven go. "Only if you come to bed with me." Seven raised her eyebrow in surprise and Kathryn felt the need to clarify. "Just to sleep. Please, I ' I don't want to be alone. Not anymore."

"As you wish, Kathryn." With that statement Seven scooped up Janeway and carried her into the captain's bedroom carefully tucking her into bed. The blonde removed her footwear and climbed next to the captain who was already half asleep. She curled her body around the older woman.

As she was drifting off to sleep, Kathryn could hear Seven whisper in her ear, "Believe me, you will never be alone again."

*****************

Kathryn Janeway woke up, unsure of what exactly had awakened her. She reached a hand over to the other pillow and found it empty. She called out to the darkened room, "Seven?" The sound of her voice combined with her increasing ability to see in the dimness of the room helped her realize where she was.

Admiral Janeway sat up and sighed. It was just a dream. Again.

She got out of bed and walked softly to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She knew from experience that she would be unable to get back to sleep tonight.

Moving over to her computer console she checked her messages. There was one from Ensign Paris. According to Miral, the mission was proceeding as planned. She had a meeting with Korath tomorrow and would contact Janeway then. Kathryn smiled. "Things will be different soon," she spoke to herself. Grabbing her tea she went to the living room and curled up on the couch to reflect upon her dream. Staring out the window overlooking the San Francisco bay she called back images of the dream. The anniversary dinner. Seven's wedding. Chakotay's death.

She wasn't surprised where her mind had taken her. It had been a difficult day. She had buried one of her oldest and dearest friends today. Chakotay had been a broken man for so many years, his death was almost a blessing. He had never been the same since Seven's death.

Seven's death. It was so long ago, almost twenty-three years. Despite the fact that Seven had been out of her life almost four times as long as she had been in it, she still managed to affect Janeway. All Kathryn had to do was close her eyes and she was immediately transported back to sickbay on that fateful day. Seven was lying on a biobed, blood everywhere. The Doctor was unable to do anything and Chakotay was holding Seven in his arms, silent tears running down his face. Kathryn had felt like she was intruding and had wanted to leave but couldn't. As Seven was taking her dying breaths she turned her head and gazed directly at Kathryn, their eyes locking. In Seven's eyes Kathryn saw regret and longing. Longing for her.

It was a vision that haunted Janeway. Not a day went by that Kathryn didn't think of Seven, and her nights were filled with dreams of the other woman. But every morning she awoke – alone.

But Kathryn was about to fix that. She had a plan that would change everything. And if she was lucky, she'd never be alone again.

FINIS

[uweiy]

3, 5 & 7 💕

Thanks so much I LOVE these questions!!!

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I think my writing style is very "direct" and "to the point", more shorter fics. I have like one objective or one idea, develop that and that's the fic.

I try to show the characters and their thoughts through the dialogue and body language, rather than extensive descriptions (also because I am unable to lol).

Rather light on the plot side, like there is a storyline but it's more... Scenes strung together like beads to form a collar that kind of make sense than a whole ass planned, fantasy adventure with side quests and stuff, and big reveals. I cannot deal with sad endings, so (one excepted) most of my fics you can expect a happy ending lol.

I try to balance out different emotions in a fic, some moments of tension, some moments of angst, trying to make it funny, some moments of comfort. I do love a good domestic- kind of closeness.

I would say angst is the genre I have the most trouble with. I can only handle so much haha then I have a need to comfort. Smut is also smth not completely easy for me.

What I love the most are satisfying resolutions, where I manage to tie together every kinds of character thoughts, clues and hints that I gave-not necessarily on purpose lmfao.

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

I love allllll my little fics. They're like little pebbles that I collect. Like they're not necessarily the shiniest or the most polished and maybe quite plain for the outside observer, but I like to sift through them and when I hold one up to the light it shines pretty colors and I'm happy to just have it in my collection and be able to look at it y'know?

I will show u some of my little pebbles tho, since that is the question:

I like this Chuyao (Chusheng/Lu Yao from cdrama My Roommate is a detective) fic - Empty space. Because I do feel like I managed to "tie everything together", despite the fact that the writing process was a trainwreck lmfao. Like I started the fic intending Angst (which is why the title sounds the way it does), was unable to finish it for a YEAR and when I returned intending to mark it on hiatus, inspiration came back, the fic made a 180° turn in mood, but still kind of made sense and I loved it.

Also this Xicheng (Lan Xichen/Jiang Cheng from the Untamed) fic called trying to hold on (to you). Idk I just really love the VIBE !? It's like rain and dancing and pain and understanding and comfort. Idk man, I love it.

I am also particularly satisfied with the last fic in the Devil Judge Yohan/Gaon series called New Beginnings. It's like, hope and forgiveness and dealing with the past and moving on to the future and I LOVE IT.

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

Descriptions!!! Sometimes I picture a scene sooooooo very clearly, but I just... Don't find the words or the elegant sentences to describe it in a way that satisfies me. I really really admire the writers who can write 100k+ fics and it's not boring and the descriptions are great like how.

That's where I really notice that English isn't my first language, because I know that in my own - thanks to years of mandatory language & literature classes, that I am now very thankful for lmao - I am able to.

I'd love to take that kind of classes for english.

On a tangent, I really really respect translation as a craft because damn, it ain't easy.

Thank you SO MUCH, loved thinking about it 💕, and I hope you have a great day!

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Bloom // H.P.

Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.

A/N: This was inspired by the made-up fic title that I did a few weeks ago. I got so stuck on this, I couldn't get any further, but inspiration somewhat struck and here we are. I know this is long, but I am so so proud of this, I would love some interaction with this. Take a chance, please.

Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.

Word count: 9.4k

Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.

For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.

With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.

He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.

Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.

He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.

He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.

However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.

But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.

Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.

As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.

The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.

Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.

The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.

“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.

He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.

It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.

“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.

Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.

You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”

Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.

Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”

Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.

Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.

It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.

I’m here, you remind him, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.

At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.

There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.

The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.

He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.

Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.

You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.

“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.

Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”

Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.

Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.

Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”

Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”

You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”

He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.

“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”

“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.

“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”

“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”

Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”

Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”

You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”

Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”

“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”

The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.

“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.

“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”

Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.

Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.

Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.

Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.

It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.

Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.

You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.

“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.

Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”

“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.  

Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”

Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.

“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”

He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.

Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.

It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.

“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.

“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.

“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”

“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”

“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”

“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”

He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”

He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.

“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”

“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”

You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”

“Foolish instinct,” He argues.

You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”

Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.

If, if, if.

If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.

Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”

You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”

“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”

Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.

“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.

Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.

It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.

From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.

Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”

You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.

Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.

Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.

It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.

She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”

Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.

“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.

“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.

You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.

“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”

“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.

You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”

“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.

“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.

“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”

“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”

“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”

“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”

Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.

Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”

Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.

Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.

However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.

Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.

It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.

Little Hangleton, England, January.

Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.

Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.

Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.

Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.

Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.

He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.

He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.

However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.

He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.

So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.

For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.

Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.

You nod, “Ready when you are.”

The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.

You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.

His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.

It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.

The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.

Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.

Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.

Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.

Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”

“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.

Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.

“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.

“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”

“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”

“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”

Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”

You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.

Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”

So he does.

It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.

It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.

Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.

Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.

Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.

“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.

Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”

“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close.  

As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.

“You’re a good man, Harry.”

--------

Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.

It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.

No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.

Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.

Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.

He needs to return to where it all began.

Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March.

Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.

Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.

It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.

It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?

As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.

He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.

Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.

With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.

All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.

Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”

Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”

“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”

He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.

You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”

He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”

Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”

“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”

“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.

You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”

Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”

Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?

Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”

Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.

Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.

Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”

Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.

Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.

Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.

“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.

“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.

Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”

The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.

You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.

Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.

You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.

You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”

You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”

Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.

“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”

Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”

You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”

“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.

It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”

Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”

You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”

Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”

“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.

Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”

You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”

Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”

“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.

“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.

“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.

“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.

“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.

“I do,” You confirm, smiling.

It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.

You love him.

You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.

The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.

The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.

Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.

Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.

A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.

Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.

Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.

Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.

However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.

He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @darlingdelacour @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @missmulti @himooonlight​

[thegirl20]

WFF Prompt #24 - Hut Hut

From @bamf-jaskier‘s list of prompts.  

All filled prompts are on AO3.

Pandemonium is how she would describe the situation after Yennefer makes her flaming exit from the ruins. Vilgefortz and Artorius immediately go to the monarchs, to calm the situation. Stregobor snipes to whoever will listen that he knew something like this would happen. Sabrina meets Tissaia's eyes and gives her a small smile and a nod, which Tissaia returns. The plan had worked perfectly. But even knowing Yennefer is safer away from this place, these people, does not calm the rage in Tissaia's chest at being cheated.

Leaving the others to deal with the mayhem, Tissaia retreats into what must once have been a vestry, affording herself some privacy.

Rather than give in to the tears that threaten to spill, she speaks the words she had hoped never to have need for again.

"Behold the mother of forests." Tissaia sniffs and lifts her head. "The Deathless Mother nesting in dreams." With a shaky sigh, she completes the incantation. "Turn your back to the forest, hut, hut."

And then she's back in the dark shack. Unlike the first time she'd visited, her companion does not look like Yennefer. Instead, a wizened old crone stands before her, smiling like she had invited her for tea.

"Skylark," she says, oozing false warmth. "I didn't expect you back so soon, you'll forgive me for not looking quite so…attractive as I did the last time you were here."

"That's not my name," Tissaia says, pulling herself up to her full height and linking her hands at her waist. "And this was not what I asked for."

The old woman tilts her head, affecting confusion. "Your girl was returned to you, was she not?" she asks. "Alive and well, no less."

"And then taken away again in the same breath," Tissaia protests. "She was barely back for two days."

The demon's eyes harden now, a deep red glowing within them. "What did you do to keep her?"

"I-" Tissaia hesitates. "I could not…the Brotherhood demanded-"

"Why did you not go with her?" The eyes change again, this time to an infinite black, stretching out for leagues.

"I cannot simply abandon my post," Tissaia argues. "I have spent centuries building Aretuza to its current-"

"You would not risk your reputation to stand up for her," the demon concludes. "Nor lose your standing in order to go with her." Tissaia's chest turns to ice at hearing herself so accused. "You are a proud woman, Skylark. Proud of your achievements, proud of your title, proud of yourself. And that pride will be your downfall."

Tissaia inhales through her nose, lifting her chin. "How could a proud woman prostrate herself at your feet, begging for your help?"

"Oh, I didn't say there weren't chinks in your armour," the demon says, walking around the large cauldron to stand directly in front fo Tissaia. She reaches up to touch her chin, her fingers are cold and Tissaia turns her face away from them, only to have it roughly jerked back round. "You love this girl enough to make a deal with me, yet you do nothing to keep hold of her when you get her back. That is none of my concern. What does matter to me is what I am due in return."

Tissaia shakes her head. "Our bargain was-"

"Our bargain was that I would bring your girl back to you-" Her grip on Tissaia's chin tightens. "-and you would bring me the key." Tissaia grits her teeth against the pain, but can't stop tears springing to her eyes. The demon smiles. "You should know better than most, Skylark, that bargaining with the devil rarely works out well."

The pressure on her jaw is released and she gasps. When she looks up, the old woman is back on the other side of the room. Tissaia shakes her head.

"She's just a child."

"We both know that she's much more than that."

Even if she agrees, she can just not pursue the girl. It won't be difficult to-

"It's such a shame that a sorceress of your standing does not afford me the respect I deserve," the old woman says, her voice echoing around the room now. "Do you not think I hear your treacherous thoughts?"

"And what if I don't bring you the girl?" Tissaia asks. "You'll kill me?" She shrugs. "Then kill me. I have lived long enough."

"Oh no, my dear. I will break your spirit." The air shimmers and the old woman is gone, in her place stands Yennefer, as beautiful and perfect as Tissaia has ever seen her. When she speaks again, it's with Yennefer's voice. "I will seek out everything that matters to you in this world." A knife appears her in her hand and she lays the blade flat on Yennefer's wrist, beside the prominent scar.

"No," Tissaia says, but finds she can't move. The demon with Yennefer's face turns the knife over, the cutting edge now pressed to skin. "No!" Tissaia screams.

"And I will destroy it." She drags the knife along the thin skin of Yennefer's wrist, blood spurting out of the severed artery.

Tissaia closes her eyes, tells herself it isn't real, but she can't unsee it. Something warm and wet touches her chin and forces her to look up. She opens her eyes and finds herself looking at Yennefer's face, twisted in an unfamiliar smile.

"And when you are truly broken, I will drink your despair like a fine wine," the demon whispers, leaning in and pressing Yennefer's lips to Tissaia's.

In a blink, Tissaia finds herself back in the ruined abbey, on her knees and sobbing. She presses a hand to her chest, trying to hold the pain inside, trying to not feed the demon.

But she knows what she must do. She must deliver the girl to the demon, no matter the cost. Or Yennefer will pay the price for Tissaia's folly.

----

Written because this parallel has always intrigued me.

[sixeyesgojo]

Team Gojo as flowers

Summary: Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara and Sukuna as types of flowers

Characters: stated above

Content warning: mild manga spoilers

Word count: -

A/N: I’d appreciate feedback here (and in general) because I’m not sure whether to do this kind of hc for other JJK characters or not. I am thinking of Toge in particular because I love my salmon boy. Also fyi, this was some time after 135 but before 140 for sure.

Gojo Satoru  - Nemophila

I just saw these and immediately thought about how good they would suit him???

another name for them would be baby blue eyes (no, I had no idea beforehand)

they symbolize prosperity, victory, success or triumph over an enemy

flashback to Gojo beating Jogo tf up... but add a nemophila field in the background <3

That being said, his profile literally states that he is perfect in every way (except for his personality but we still love that, right?), so if this isn't success in every way then idk

This flower's essence is also said to be helpful for those who put up a mask over their painful sensitivity

Gojo also displays characteristics of cynism and mistrust towards the higher-ups

Furthermore, I think he is a little anti-social - doesn't have a lot of friends. As someone from the secret Jujutsu World, he's bound to be hidden in a way. This is enforced by the fact that he is the strongest, so a lot of people and curses are out to get his head. I'd think he doesn't keep anyone too close to him so that they do not become a target for anyone. Must be traumatizing to be him.

This flower helps soothen the soul's conflict, healing it slowly, which is exactly what Gojo needs imo

it really is the perfect flower for him

but it's native to North America

Yeah, watch him teleport there to bring back a bouquet of them for his s/o

Itadori Yuji - Protea (orange)

This kind of flower comes in many different shapes, which is why it's a symbol of transformation, which is exactly what Yuji embodies by going from a regular human being to being a Jujutsu sorcerer

Diversity: Yuji is open to anything, Gojo even described him as "having a few screws loose up there". I don't even think he questions how he is being taught by Gojo or anything for that matter?

Yuji also embodies courage and is known to be daring and i don't think i need to explain this one further

I mean, the boy literally jumped right into a curse to rescue Sasaki and Iguchi and help Megumi while not even knowing what a curse is

Orange proteas represent cheerfulness, joy and happiness - if that isn't our sunshine boy, then idk. After what happened to Junpei, he seemed a little down at first but recent episodes have shown that he will not slow down because of that and will keep on being the energetic fluffball of joy that he is.

moreover, they also symbolize unlimited possibilities as his cursed technique so far probably isn't even his final technique yet - compared to Nobara's hammer and Megumi's shikigami. All we know is that Sukuna's techniques are going to be his over time but we don't even know the full extent of the said curse's power yet

If anyone ever mentioned all this to him and showed him the flower, he would think it looks weird at first but will grow to find it interesting (especially the shape). It's not like the flower is native to Japan, so he most likely wouldn't have seen it anywhere.

Gets really excited if you were to give this baby one of these flowers

Fushiguro Megumi - Anemone (purple)

hear me out

The most common symbol for the purple Anemone is 'protection against evil'. While it's Megumi's primary focus in his line of work as a professional, you ought to know he became a sorcerer in the first place because of his sister, Tsukimi.

Fragility: While Megumi shows a lot of potential for growth, it's also said that he will most likely stagnate due to the mental aspect. He's pretty insecure about his own abilities and doesn't think much of himself but that doesn't mean he won't use his powers in order to protect someone.

Anticipation: As previously stated, Megumi shows a lot of potential as a sorcerer, even to the point that Sukuna (mind you, the creature that only cares about himself) has praised him and will not hesitate to make Megumi a pawn to whatever his big, mysterious plans may be. With that being said, if Sukuna himself is interested in our blue-haired boy, we can anticipate great things from Megumi in the foreseeable future.

This specific flower seems to be a double-edged sword in terms of symbolism. In some cultural circles, it is believed to be a symbol of bad luck, whereas in other areas it's seen as a lucky charm (in which we hope this is the one for our boy). I see the same principle applying to Megumi's descent and his mysterious technique - not gonna elaborate further though (feel free to ask though)

a rather dark symbol for this particular flower: "death of a loved one". In this case, I am referring to Tsukimi, his step-sister. She may not be dead but it is indicated that she is in a comatose state due to being cursed. It seems that Megumi does not know when - or rather whether - she will wake up or not. Knowing this boy, he probably has tried anything and everything in his power to wake her up (hell, he probably even consulted Gojo) but nothing worked so far. This poor boy is anxious about it all the time.

he's surprised anyone would even associate him with flowers but wouldn't mind it

Kugisaki Nobara - Orchid (mainly orange)

I had some trouble finding something for her but orchids seem to suit her best

couldn't really pick a particular color though but I am leaning towards orange

orange orchids represent: pride, enthusiasm and boldness

Nobara is very proud of who she is. She strikes me as a person who is not afraid to tell her story, even though she despices the countryside where she is from. She also takes pride in staying true to herself all the time, to the point of admitting that she only enrolled in Jujutsu High so that she could move to Tokyo to Yuji, who was basically a stranger at that time

She is also very enthusiastic about her own future. She knows she won't ever like having to exorcise curses but somehow, being a Jujutsu sorcerer excites her.

plus points for her being enthusiastic about winning in the Kyoto Goodwill Event Arc and just beating up the Kyoto students

I don't need to mention her being enthusiastic about shopping and sightseeing in big cities, do I?

Bold? Oh, she is bold. She has no filter when it comes to speaking her mind and would never hesitate to put anyone in their place. I see her going places in Gojo's revolution... and cussing at the superiors.

Yellow symbolizes new beginnings and friendships. Nobara does not have any problems making new friends, she adapts fairly well in new environments. There's also the way she mourned for Yuji, despite "only knowing him for two weeks" and I don't even doubt for a second that it was her making him hold the black funeral picture frame when he came back lol

Pink: grace, femininity, joy + purple: royalty and admiration

There is no doubt that Nobara tries to enjoy her life to the fullest *cough* moving to Tokyo

Moreover, there is something about her that just screams "queen behavior" to me and I don't even mean that in the slang sense. Have you all seen how graceful this girl moves? (I would like to thank MAPPA at this point)

Nobara shows respect where it's due - I'm just gonna mention Maki here - but is a very admirable girl herself

probably has an orchid plant in her room, ngl

Ryomen Sukuna - Snapdragon

please, the name already sounds a little dangerous

This flower shares a certain character trait with him: being unique

Snapdragons are usually associated with strength due to the way they even grow in rocky areas and if that's not screaming Sukuna's name, who is all about strength, then correct me

Deviousness is practically Sukuna's second name, so this symbol isn't exactly off the track either. Let me remind you about the way Sukuna and Mahito laughed at Yuji??

Graciousness: just like Nobara, he possesses some sort of grace that makes me percept him as a majestic being

but maybe that's just his throne of bones and title as King of Curses contributing

and him owning a shrine???

or maybe that is just the way he majestetically killed that special grade lol

"Only large insects like bumblebees can pollinate snapdragons because the petals are too heavy for smaller insects to push apart." I read this and if you reverse it a little, it somehow reminded me of the fact that Sukuna's fingers need to have a powerful vessel aka small fry won't do because they will simply die away.

Deception: despite being given the minimum amount of information about Sukuna in general, I just don't see him being anything but egoistic and evil. I just cannot picture it. So yeah, put everything evil in a pot, stir a little and don't be surprised if your result is not the Powerpuff girls but a four-eyed multi-talented and deceptive curse that is out to kill you for fun

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, MORE BLOOD Vol. 12: Mukami Ruki [Another Story]

Original title: アナザーストーリー

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, More Blood Vol. 12 Mukami Ruki [Deluxe Edition]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Takahiro Sakurai

Translator’s note: I feel very much conflicted about this CD still. While I do kind of like how they took a different approach with the Another Story track and the way it ends, I still think Ruki went way too far in the main CD. It was interesting to see everything from his perspective too, although this means there’s a bunch of inner monologues in this and it’s Ruki so they’re quite long. I try to break up the paragraphs by describing what happens based on background sounds and such but this one just has a bunch of rambling lol. 

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

“Lately, she has been formidable. Even though she was always the type of girl to make the most foolish mistakes, to the point where one would wonder if she did it on purpose. She has not been getting scolded by me either. That does not bother me. Or at least, it shouldn’t bother me. So why do I feel so...restless?”

*Ding・dongー Ding・dong*

Ruki walks up to you in the inner courtyard.

( So that’s where she’s been...Look at her just casually watering the plants... No wonder she did not show up in the library. I assume she has completely forgotten about our meeting. )

“So this is where you’ve been.”

You flinch.

( Huh? What’s wrong? Why would she be so surprised just because I called out for her? Also...Under normal circumstances, I’d assume she would panic and spray water all over me with that hose she just so conveniently happens to be holding. Yet, she made the wise decision and turned off the water. )

“Oh well. I shall praise you for ceasing your actions as soon as you saw your Master approach. However, there should be something you have forgotten.”

You bring up the promise.

“Oh? So you do remember. Then you should have just hurried to the library.”

( Now this is new. I didn’t think a scatterbrain such as herself would have remembered our plan to meet up. No, if she remembered, she should have come to me straight away. Did she only just now remember? Even so, her behavior is off. Or am I simply overthinking things? )

*TIMESKIP*

( Once it starts boiling, the dressing will be complete. Which leaves just plating the salad. )

You enter the kitchen.

“...Hm? You’re already here? You almost resemble a dog or a cat rather than livestock, lured in by the scent like that. Let me tell you just in case, it is not feeding time just yet. Wait until I’m done preparing it.“

You nod and leave.

( Oh? She left without offering to help? I’m glad to see her so obedient, but then what did she come for in the first place? Usually she would insist on helping even if it’s more of a bother and either cut her finger or break one of the plates. Those are the kind of things she does. )

He turns off the stove.

“What is this feeling as if something is...off? Something about the way she’s been acting trips me up. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her make a blunder even once as of late. That isn’t something which should bother me, but I just can’t seem to get rid of this unsettling feeling in my chest. What has gotten into her...?”

*TIMESKIP*

Ruki enters the room

“We finally made it back. That was quite the disaster. ...Honestly, why do I have to wear the clothes she picked out for me? Well, I suppose she did not make a bad choice for once. I’ll add it to my collection of casual wear. That being said...Nothing happened today either.”

He takes a seat on the bed.

“How many days has it been since she stopped making mistakes? She won’t even show dangerous behavior. What kind of miracle is this? No, I do not mind that. I shouldn’t mind it. It basically means a huge pressure has been lifted off my shoulders. Then why do I feel so conflicted? Her suspicious behavior piques my interest, but even beyond that...”

( I felt as if something was lacking. Oh, I get it now. It all makes sense now. I have not gotten to taste her blood as of late, so I must feel unsatisfied. I am not the type of guy who easily becomes thirsty for blood, nor would I indulge in her without a good reason. However, with less opportunities to punish her, our time together automatically decreased as well. To be upset because of that, I must seem like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because his mother does not pay enough attention to him. It is obvious since when I have become so obsessed with her

...Since the moment I decided to betray the whole word and chose her, I must have already been enraptured by her. Harshly sucking her blood while restraining her movements was something which fulfilled my desire for dominance. It most definitely made me feel good. However, somewhere deep inside, I felt relieved when she accepted me without fighting back against it. At some point, I even began to cherish those moments where I would pierce my fangs through her skin. I must be quite the easy man as well. I always thought I was in charge, but I may have actually been the one wrapped around her little finger instead. (1) I cannot show myself to that man like this. No, I assume he is already well aware. )

Ruki suddeny raises his head.

“Hm...? That man? Speaking of which, that hourglass I gave her...I considered the possibility but could it be...? Even if she were to make some sort of mistake, if she rewinds time, she could do the same scenario over again. If she makes it so only she remembers, it would be easy to keep it hidden from me. I wanted to believe I was simply overthinking things, but now that I think about it with a clear mind, it really is suspicious...I’m sure that even someone as slow as herself would eventually get things right after two of three tries. If she has been using that hourglass to cover up her own mess-ups, then I have no other choice but to punish her for such a foolish act.”

( It became clear to me that I would have to set up a trap to find out the truth. ーー And if her actions were to be exposed, I would make sure to compensate for the lack of disciplining these past few days. I can already imagine her crying out. I probably should not feel proud for having such thoughts. However, this is not a bad situation. It may be somewhat shameless, but it seems like I am enjoying it quite a bit. To get to use her own blunders as an excuse to suck her blood, or knowing that no matter what I do, she will not get away from me. )

“I suppose I shall enjoy our time together for the first time in a while...Which may just turn out to be a hellish period for her.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Ding・dongー Ding・dong*

Ruki pulls back after sucking your blood.

“...Hah. Your blood tastes even sweeter than usual. By sucking it repeatedly, the flavor ripens, becoming richer, almost like wine. Or in other words, like a stew you kept on the stove for too long. If it simmers any longer, it might just burn. I suppose we could put it to the test. After all, no matter what happens to you, all we have to do is turn back time.”

You keep quiet.

“You can hear me, right? Why not give some sort of reaction? I would not mind seeing you miserably struggle in vain.”

You still fail to give a response.

“Guess she really did lose consciousness. Judging by the looks of it, I doubt she will wake up even if I were to rewind time. I guess you could consider us even now. Perhaps I went a little too easy on her, but I shall forgive her now.”

He takes a step back.

“Such an innocent sleeping face. Almost as if the obscene expressions you showed me earlier were nothing but a lie. Your sheer white complexion and screams were not bad. As well as how you would cling onto my clothes, remaining by my side despite your obvious fear.”

*Thud*

“...Ah!”

*Cling*

“The hourglass...”

Ruki picks up the Hourglass.

“That man might have been testing me after all...Me? Or rather, us? ...Now that I think about it twice, the ability to manipulate time is something which should only ever be given to God. We could have possibly overthrown all logic in this world if we so wished. Yet, we used it to cover up for trivial mistakes. Then this is basically just some child’s toy. However...I am sure that was for the best.”

He turns his head to look at you.

“You might be more of a genius than I thought. However, how many times did you rewind? The magic has almost run dry. The few times I rewinded are basically irrelevant. I wonder just how many times you repeated your own ridiculous mistakes? Oh well, I shall drag that out of her later. I doubt she will easily confess though. ーー No, I suppose there is no point in asking her. I can simply confirm it with my very own eyes.”

*Cling*

“With this amount, we can still turn back time just once. That’s plenty.”

*Thud*

*Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock*

ーーー

“Hm…”

You approach Ruki.

“Oh? It’s you. No, it’s nothing serious. I was simply lost in thought.”

You take notice of the hourglass in his hand.

“You seem curious. Are you that interested in this thing? Blood red sand…Its decorations are beautiful as well. It would make for the perfect interior piece.”

You ask if there is a catch.

“No, it’s jsut a regular old hourglass. There is nothing special about it.”

*Thud*

“More importantly, you mentioned you wanted to look for resources for your assignment, right? Meet me at the library during tomorrow’s break time. I shall help you.”

You seem surprised.

“Yes. As your Master, it is my duty to look after you. However, do not be late, okay?”

You nod.

( Well then...I wonder what the next few days will have in store for me? How many mistakes will you make, and how many times will you get punished by me? ...I am looking forward to it. )

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) Literally he says that he always intended to be the one ‘holding the reins’, but instead he was actually tied up/restrained this whole time. 

[kueble]

Title: Research

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)

Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Asexual Character, Asexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship

Words:1188

Read on Ao3

Jaskier hears a muffled cough from the doorway and looks up from his book to see Geralt standing just outside of their living room.  He smiles warmly, eyes roving over the other man for signs of distress.  Geralt’s clearly anxious as his hair is up in a messy bun and his fingers keep twitching at his side.  Jaskier waves him in and just waits, knowing no amount of pressure will get him to open up.  Geralt appears to debate sitting on the couch, dancing on his feet for a moment before shaking his head and meeting Jaskier’s eyes with his own.

“I’ve been doing some research-” he starts before Jaskier holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“We are absolutely not getting another horse.  Food and board for Roach is ridiculous as it is.  We cannot afford another one right now,” he fires out quickly.

“What?  No! That - fuck, no.  That’s not what this is about,” Geralt tells him, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.  

“Ok, sorry.  Got a little premature there.  Do go on.”

“I…” he trails off and scrunches up his face before raising a shaky hand to rub his eyes.

“Would it be easier if you sat down?” Jaskier asks, patting the couch next to him in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.  That seems to do the trick, and Geralt sighs and slumps down next to Jaskier.

“This is hard,” he grumbles even as he leans against Jaskier, pressing tightly into his side.  The contact spreads a warmth through him as he brings a hand up and playfully bops the tiny bun atop Geralt’s head.  

“Most things worth doing are,” he agrees.  That just causes Geralt to groan and lean further into him, sprawling half on top of him as Jaskier shifts and leans against the arm of the couch, making room for the absolutely massive man in his arms.  “So research?”

“Yeah,” Geralt mumbles.  “Just let me talk, ok?” He waits for Jaskier’s affirmative hum before continuing, “I’m pretty sure I’m asexual.  Like...partially? I guess it’s kind of like a sliding scale?  Like how you’re bi but mostly into dudes?  So yeah...that’s where I am right now and since we’re - you know - married, I figured we should talk about it,” he ends with what can only be described as a sarcastic wave of his hand.

“First of all, I’m so proud of you,” Jaskier tells him with a squeeze.  Then he freezes and asks, “Is this ok?  What level of touch are you good with?”

“What?”

“Sometimes asexual means touching is bad.  I’m guessing it’s not for you?  Can I ask some yes or no questions and see where we stand?” Jaskier questions him.  Because the love of his life just bared his fucking soul, and the last thing Jaskier wants to do it hurt him.

“I mean, sure?  But aren’t you mad, or shocked, or upset or something?  I’m not who you married,” Geralt mutters softly.

“You are absolutely the man I married,” Jaskier assures him with another squeeze.  “Yeah, we used to have some pretty amazing sex, but it kind of takes the joy out of it once you realize your partner isn’t into it.  You’re not very subtle.  I mean, when’s the last time we did it?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Geralt laughs nervously, “I think last year?”

“And have I left you yet?” Jaskier asks with a sharp look.

"No, but...I mean, isn’t it only a matter of time?  I guess I used to like it more?" Geralt shrugs. "I never hated being with you like that. It always felt good while we were doing it.  I just...don't want it right now."

"Sexuality is fluid," Jaskier tells him with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure things change as we grow into who we're meant to be. I'm with you, whoever it is you end up being.  Now I know you remember how charming and eloquent my vows were, mostly because I wrote them, but also because I wrote them for you. I stand by them. I hate to tell you, but you're stuck with me, husband of mine," Jaskier states firmly.

"Even if we never fuck again?" Geralt asks pointedly, arching one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

"Even if. I have hands...and toys if necessary. As long as it doesn't bother you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Jaskier says matter-of-factly. 

"Oh I know that," Geralt chuckles, "And it’s fine.  You do you.  Also, you're not exactly quiet when you jerk off in the shower every morning."

"Oh, ho ho!" Jaskier chokes out, shaking his finger wildly at his husband.  "Since it doesn't bother you, you just leave my morning wank alone."

"Will do," Geralt snorts. "So...questions?"

"Well, I assume based on this," he states, gesturing at the way Geralt is laying on top of him, bracketed between Jaskier’s thighs with his hands on his chest, "that cuddling is ok?"

"Yes."

"Kissing?" He asks, waiting for Geralt’s nod before adding "to what extent?"

"Sometimes making out is good...sometimes maybe not?" Geralt whispers as he hides his face on Jaskier’s shoulder.  He just strokes his fingers against the back of Geralt's neck and presses a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

"I'll let you take the lead when you want more then. How about holding hands?" He questions, desperately hoping the answer is affirmative but doing his best to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"Yes."

"Good," Jaskier agrees before reaching out and lacing his fingers with Geralt’s. He brings their hands up to his mouth and kisses Geralt’s titanium wedding band. "You don't seem to mind when we hold each other at night?"

"I want that always," Geralt tells him quickly, the words muffled by the fabric of Jaskier’s shirt.

"Then you'll always have me, Love," Jaskier confirms, rubbing a palm down Geralt’s spine. The other man shivers and presses even closer. Jaskier hums and keeps moving his hand, trying to project as much love and care as he can.

"I'm overwhelmed," Geralt admits, raising up to catch Jaskier’s eye again. "Too many words for tonight."

"We can be done for now if you promise to let me know if I ever do something you don't want?" Jaskier asks pointedly. Because honestly, it's a miracle Geralt has been this talkative. Lord knows what may happen in the future.

"I promise," Geralt confirms, sighing as he lays back down on Jaskier’s chest. "Thank you for not making this weird," he whispers, so soft Jaskier almost misses it.

"I didn't make it weird because conversations about consent are not weird. You're not weird. Thank you for trusting me with this." Geralt stares at him for a long moment before nodding sharply.

"Always," Geralt says with a sigh. "Can we just lay here for a bit?"

"Long as you want, darling," Jaskier agrees contentedly.  He presses another kiss to Geralt’s hairline, just because he can, and grins as the man in his arms hums happily. Who in their right mind would ever give this up?

[stellaryusdb]

Let Me Love You

—a SolHwi FanFic by stellaryusdb  Word count: 1075

Kang Sol A's POV

Hankuk University grounds have been a memorable spot for me, as they’ve always reminded me of our days back in law school, most especially when the squad all laid down on the grass while I fell asleep. Now that we have already passed the bar exams, attached are J.D. or juris doctor titles on our names. I know that we have a lot to go through and that battles are constant in our lives, but I believe that we can get through it all, collectively. We've stood our ground since the numerous incidents we've encountered and we are stronger than ever in the past three years. 

This is what I truly treasure. Words cannot describe my gratitude towards my best buddies - Joonhwi, Yeseul, Sol B, Jiho, Bokgi, Yebeom, and Seungjae-oppa.

We came here as an after-afterparty for we have been hopping from one bar to another to celebrate the results of our bar exams. Joonhwi, Sol B, and Jiho were topnotchers as expected, and we are all so proud of them, just as we are to ourselves.

Just like in the past, we are currently lying down on the grass. I'm with the same people but better versions of ourselves. Now, I vow that I won't fall asleep so that I won't miss anything.

"Joonhwi-hyung, how about you do the dare already?" Yebeom asked while still lying down.

I looked at Joonhwi, remembering how he sighed in defeat a while ago. So loud, I wonder if he wants to say something because usually, he would defend himself. Before we got here, we were playing truth or dare in a club, then he chose dare. He dug his own grave, I guess… Or not?

"All right, then." He stood up and ran out of the field to get his things.

"Will oppa actually do it?" Yeseul whispered to me.

I just smirked. "We'll see."

We all remained lying on the ground while waiting for my best friend to arrive and to do such antics that was forcefully assigned by Bokgi and was instigated by yours truly.

Then my eyes landed on Jiho and Sol B. They were whispering to each other, not wanting everybody else to know about their bond. Ever since they’d started working on Jiho’s father’s case, they were closer than ever. I smirked. Again. I tend to notice a lot in this circle of friends of mine. But then...

After a few minutes, there he goes, hurrying to the grounds, then quickly climbing up the stairs. I remembered how I poured more than enough liquor in my body with Yeseul and him when I was assigned to Lee Man Ho's case. He was holding a portable microphone in one hand while wearing his goofy smile just as whenever he teases me. I’ve got a love-and-hate relationship to it. 

We all stood up to watch Joonhwi's performance. I just know that this is going to be comedic as heck. I walked a few steps into his direction and stopped when I was already satisfied with the distance between us.

"You're just too good to be true..." He started singing, which earned giggles from us.

I’ve always known about his secrets, as well as this one. One time, when we were so early at the copy room for our study session, he didn't know that I was just behind the door. Thinking that he was alone, he sang his favorite song. It was actually impressive so I stayed at my position for a while until Sol B came and opened the door. It was so embarrassing. No one dared to move an inch and we were all side-eyeing each other. It was a good laugh.

He continued singing as he went down the stairs, taking his time to move towards our direction. The speakers, courtesy of Bokgi, were booming out loud. 

"I wanna hold you so much..." He pointed his index finger towards us.

The music goes on, he does his dare very well. I glanced at our friends and they seemed genuinely happy at the moment. It was a pleasant and serene view.

Until I started comparing their happiness to mine. Why am I feeling this way? I believe I am ecstatic, but anxious? I am content yet confused. And as I stare at Joonhwi, the swarm of emotions gets more blurry and unintended. As I stare at him, I hear my heartbeat louder than my friends' laughs. It gradually consumes my mind, just as it always does. 

“I love you, baby…”

Hell yeah, I do. I've always known so I kept it to myself. I don’t really know how long I could still hold up these bottled feelings. 

He walked slowly as he reached the end of the song and stopped in front of me.

A tap on my shoulder, then he proceeds to move past me.

"Let me love you..." I wish you would.

I know it, too. On the way here, I rode the car with him while he explained to me about his "additional" plans during the dare. As his best friend, I gladly obliged. I know. I know. I pity myself more than anyone. After explaining his modus to me, we stopped by the flower shop to buy his love's favorite. 

"I am finally confessing, Sol." He confessed. It was as if my world was falling apart.

"And I wish you the best luck." I really do.

As his best friend, of course I’ll support him! So I turned to them and saw Sol B accepting what I bought earlier, while hearing Yeseul's gasps and the rest's teasing. Seungjae and Bokgi were applauding. Yebeom is doing his annoying whistle. I swallowed and swallowed, kept my eyes open so that I will remember this pain for so long, that it’ll be tattooed in my mind which will hopefully, help me decide to move on.

With all the strength that is left in me, I jogged a little to get closer to them.

"Way to go, Joonhwi!" I tried my best-est to exhale a laugh, while trying to hide my disappointment. It is my turn to sigh. 

But I'll still root for him, no matter what happens.

I glanced at Jiho, whom I caught staring at my direction beforehand. I forced a smile at him.

At this point, the memories of our school grounds will always be remarkable but stained for me. Only for me.

I should have fallen asleep.

[mjvnivsbrvtvs]

hi! so we have established at this point that you have A Lot Of thoughts about antony and brutus. but how does caesar (julius, not the little bitch octavian) play into that? bc like. my knowledge and impression of them is very limited and mainly constructed from watching hbo rome and idk. i think it'd be fun to throw caesar in the mix. love all the art and writing on your blog btw! have a nice day.

Hey, okay! So this used to be over 30 pages long (Machiavelli and Caligula got involved and that's when things got out of hand), but through the power of friendship and two late night writing dates fueled by coffee, I’ve cut it way down to under 10. Many thanks to the people who listened to me ramble about it at length, and also to a dear friend for helping me cut this down to under ten pages!

Also, thank you! I'm glad you enjoy the stuff I make! It makes me very happy to hear that!

And quickly, a Disclaimer: I’m not an academic, I’m not a classicist, I’m not a historian, and I spend a lot of time very stressed out that I’ve tricked people into thinking I’m someone who has any kind of merit in this area. It's probably best to treat this as an abstract character analysis!

On the other hand, I love talking about dead men, so, with enthusiasm, here we go!

For this, I’m going to cut Shakespeare and HBO Rome out of the framework and focus more on a historical spin.

Caesar is a combination of a manipulator and a catalyst. A Bad Omen. The remaining wound that’s poisoning Rome.

Cassius gets a lot of the blame for Brutus’ turn to assassination, but it overlooks that Brutus was already inclined towards political ambition, as were most men involved in the political landscape of the time.

Furthermore, although Sulla had actually raised the number of praetorships available from six to eight, there were still only two consulships available. There was always the chance that death or disgrace might remove some of the competition and hence ease the bottleneck. But, otherwise, it was at the top of the ladder that the competition was particularly fierce: whereas in previous years one in three praetors would have gone on to become consul, from the 80s BC onwards the chances were one in four. For the senators who had made it this far, it mattered that they should try to achieve their consulship in the earliest year allowed to them by law. To fail in this goal once was humiliating; to fail at the polls twice would be deemed a signal disgrace for a man like Brutus.

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

The way Caesar offered Brutus political power the way that he did, and Brutus accepting it, locked them into the assassination outcome.

Here is a man who’s built his entire image around honor and liberty and virtu, around being a staunch defender of morals and the republic

In these heated circumstances, Brutus composed a bitter tract On the Dictatorship of Pompey (De Dictatura Pompei), in which he staunchly opposed the idea of giving Pompey such a position of power. ‘It is better to rule no one than to be another man’s slave’, runs one of the only snippets of this composition to survive today: ‘for one can live honourably without power’, Brutus explained, ‘but to live as a slave is impossible’. In other words, Brutus believed it would be better for the Senate to have no imperial power at all than to have imperium and be subject to Pompey’s whim.

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

and you give him political advancement, but without the honor needed for this advancement to mean anything?

At the same time, however, Brutus had gained his position via extremely un-republican means: appointment by a dictator rather than election by the people. As the name of the famous career path, the cursus honorum, suggests, political office was perceived as an honour at Rome. But it was one which had to be bestowed by the populus Romanus in recognition of a man’s dignitas.69 In other words, a man’s ‘worth’ or ‘standing’ was only really demonstrated by his prior services to the state and his moral qualities, and that was what was needed to gain public recognition. Brutus had got it wrong. As Cicero not too subtly reminded him in the treatise he dedicated to Brutus: ‘Honour is the reward for virtue in the considered opinion of the citizenry.’ But the man who gains power (imperium) by some other circumstance, or even against the will of the people, he continues, ‘has laid his hands only on the title of honour, but it is not real honour’.70

Brutus may have secured political office, then, but he had not done so honourably; nor had he acted in a manner that would earn him a reputation for virtue or everlasting fame.

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

Brutus in the image that he fashioned for himself was not compatible with the way Caesar was setting him up to be a political successor, and there was really never going to be any other outcome than the one that happened.

The Brutus of Shakespeare and Plutarch’s greatest tragedy was that he was pushed into something he wouldn’t have done otherwise. The Brutus of history’s greatest tragedy was accepting Caesar’s forgiveness after the Caesar-Pompey conflict, and then selling out for political ambition, because Caesar's forgiveness is not benevolent.

Rather than have his enemies killed, he offered them mercy or clemency -- clementia in Latin. As Caesar wrote to his advisors, “Let this be our new method of conquering -- to fortify ourselves by mercy and generosity.” Caesar pardoned most of his enemies and forbore confiscating their property. He even promoted some of them to high public office.

This policy won him praise from no less a figure than Marcus Tullius Cicero, who described him in a letter to Aulus Caecina as “mild and merciful by nature.” But Caecina knew a thing or two about dictators, since he’d had to publish a flattering book about Caesar in order to win his pardon after having opposed him in the civil war. Caecina and other beneficiaries of Caesar’s unusual clemency took it in a far more ambivalent way. To begin with, most of them were, like Caesar, Roman nobles. Theirs was a culture of honor and status; asking a peer for a pardon was a serious humiliation. So Caesar’s “very power of granting favors weighed heavily on free people,” as Florus, a historian and panegyrist of Rome, wrote about two centuries after the dictator’s death. One prominent noble, in fact, ostentatiously refused Caesar’s clemency. Marcius Porcius Cato, also known as Cato the Younger, was a determined opponent of populist politics and Caesar’s most bitter foe. They had clashed years earlier over Caesar’s desire to show mercy to the Catiline conspirators; Cato argued vigorously for capital punishment and convinced the Senate to execute them. Now he preferred death to Caesar’s pardon. “I am unwilling to be under obligations to the tyrant for his illegal acts,” Cato said; he told his son, "I, who have been brought up in freedom, with the right of free speech, cannot in my old age change and learn slavery instead.

-Barry Strauss, Caesar and the Dangers of Forgiveness

something else that's a fun adjacent to the topic that's fun to think about:

The link between ‘sparing’ and ‘handing over’ is common in the ancient world.763 Paul also uses παραδίδωμι again, denoting ‘hand over, give up a person’ (Bauer et al. 2000:762).764 The verb παραδίδωμι especially occurs in connection with war (Eschner 2010b:197; Gaventa 2011:272).765 However, in Romans 8:32, Paul uses παραδίδωμι to focus on a court image (Eschner 2010b:201).766 Christina Eschner (2010b:197) convincingly argues that Paul’s use of παραδίδωμι refers to the ‘Hingabeformulierungen’ as the combination of the personal object of the handing over of a person in the violence of another person, especially the handing over of a person to an enemy.767 Moreover, Eschner (2009:676) convincingly argues that Isaiah 53 is not the pre-tradition for Romans 8:32.

Annette Potgieter, Contested Body: Metaphors of dominion in Romans 5-8

Along with the internal conflict of Pompey, the murderer of Brutus’ father, and Caesar, the figurehead for everything that goes against what Brutus stands for, Brutus accepting Caesar’s forgiveness isn’t an act of benevolence, regardless of Caesar’s intentions.

On wards, Caesar owns Brutus. Caesar benefits from having Brutus as his own, he inherits Brutus’ reputation, he inherits a better PR image in the eyes of the Roman people. On wards, nothing Brutus does is without the ugly stain of Caesar. His career is no longer his own, his life is no longer fully his own, his legacy is no longer entirely his. Brutus becomes a man divided.

And it’s not like it was an internal struggle, it was an entire spectacle. Hypocrisy is theatrical. Call yourself a man of honor and then you sell out? The people of Rome will remember that, and they’re going to make sure you know it.

After this certain men at the elections proposed for consuls the tribunes previously mentioned, and they not only privately approached Marcus Brutus and such other persons as were proud-spirited and attempted to persuade them, but also tried to incite them to action publicly. 12 1 Making the most of his having the same name as the great Brutus who overthrew the Tarquins, they scattered broadcast many pamphlets, declaring that he was not truly that man's descendant; for the older Brutus had put to death both his sons, the only ones he had, when they were mere lads, and left no offspring whatever. 2 Nevertheless, the majority pretended to accept such a relationship, in order that Brutus, as a kinsman of that famous man, might be induced to perform deeds as great. They kept continually calling upon him, shouting out "Brutus, Brutus!" and adding further "We need a Brutus." 3 Finally on the statue of the early Brutus they wrote "Would that thou wert living!" and upon the tribunal of the living Brutus (for he was praetor at the time and this is the name given to the seat on which the praetor sits in judgment) "Brutus, thou sleepest," and "Thou art not Brutus."

Cassius Dio

Brutus knew. Cassius knew. Caesar knew. You can’t escape your legacy when you’re the one who stamped it on coins.

Caesar turned Brutus into the dagger that would cut, and Brutus himself isn’t free from this injury. It’s a mutual betrayal, a mutual dooming.

By this time Caesar found himself being attacked from every side, and as he glanced around to see if he could force a way through his attackers, he saw Brutus closing in upon him with his dagger drawn. At this he let go of Casca’s hand which he had seized, muffled up his head in his robe, and yielded up his body to his murderers’ blows. Then the conspirators flung themselves upon him with such a frenzy of violence, as they hacked away with their daggers, that they even wounded one another. Brutus received a stab in the hand as he tried to play his part in the slaughter, and every one of them was drenched in blood.

Plutarch

For Antony, Caesar is a bad sign.

Brutus and Antony are fucked over by the generation they were born in, etc etc the cannibalization of Rome on itself, the Third Servile War was the match to the gasoline already on the streets of Rome, the last generation of Romans etc etc etc. They are counterparts to each other, displaced representatives of a time already gone by the time they were alive.

Rome spends its years in a state of civil war after civil war, political upheaval, and death. Neither Brutus or Antony will ever really know stability, as instability is hallmark of the times. Both of them are at something of a disadvantage, although Brutus has what Antony does not, and what Brutus has is what let’s him create his own career. Until Caesar, Brutus is owned by no one.

This is not the case for Antony.

You can track Antony’s life by who he’s attached to. Very rarely is he ever truly a man unto himself, there is always someone nearby.

In his youth, it is said, Antony gave promise of a brilliant future, but then he became a close friend of Curio and this association seems to have fallen like a blight upon his career. Curio was a man who had become wholly enslaved to the demands of pleasure, and in order to make Antony more pliable to his will, he plunged him into a life of drinking bouts, love-affairs, and reckless spending. The consequence was that Antony quickly ran up debts of an enormous size for so young a man, the sum involved being two hundred and fifty talents. Curio provided security for the whole of this amount, but his father heard of it and forbade Antony his house. Antony then attached himself for a short while to Clodius, the most notorious of all the demagogues of his time for his lawlessness and loose-living, and took part in the campaigns of violence which at that time were throwing political affairs at Rome into chaos.

Plutarch

(although, in contrast to Brutus, we rarely lose sight of Antony. As a person, we can see him with a kind of clarity, if one looks a little bit past the Augustan propaganda. He is, at all times, human.)

Antony being figuratively or literally attached to a person starts early, and continues politically. While Brutus has enough privilege to brute force his way into politics despite Cicero’s lamentation of a promising life being thrown off course, Antony will instead follow a different career path that echoes in his personal life and defines his relationships.

Whereas some young men often attached or indebted themselves to a patron or a military leader at the beginning of their political lives,

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

+

3. During his stay in Greece he was invited by Gabinius, a man of consular rank, to accompany the Roman force which was about to sail for Syria. Antony declined to join him in a private capacity, but when he was offered the command of the cavalry he agreed to serve in the campaign.

Plutarch

To take it a step further, it even defines how he’s perceived today looking back: it’s never just Antony, it’s always Antony and---

It can be read as someone being taken advantage of, in places, survival in others, especially in Antony's early life. Other times, it appears like Antony himself is the one who manipulates things to his favor, casting aside people and realigning himself back to an advantage.

or when he saw an opportunity for faster advancement, he was willing to place the blame on a convenient scapegoat or to disregard previous loyalties, however important they had been. His desertion of Fulvia's memory in 40, and, much later, of Lepidus, Sextus Pompey, and Octavia, produced significant political gains. This characteristic, which Caesar discovered to his cost in 47, gives the sharp edge to Antony's personality which Syme's portrait lacks, especially when he attributes Antony's actions to a 'sentiment of loyalty' or describes him as a 'frank and chivalrous soldier'. In this context, one wonders what became of Fadia.19

Kathryn E Welch , Antony, Fulvia, and the Ghost of Clodius in 47 B.C.

Caesar inherits Antony, and like Brutus, locks him in for a doomed ending.

The way Caesar writes about Antony smacks of someone viewing another person as something more akin to a dog, and it carries over until it’s bitter conclusion.

Caesar benefits from Antony immensely. The people love Antony, the military loves Antony. He’s charming, he’s self aware, he’s good at what he does. Above all of that, he has political ambitions of a similar passion as Brutus.

Antony drew some political benefit from his genial personality. Even Cicero, who from at least 49 did not like him,15 was prepared to regard some of his earlier misdemeanours as harmless.16 Bluff good humour, moderate intelligence, at least a passing interest in literature, and an ability to be the life and soul of a social gathering all contributed to make him a charming companion and to bind many important people to him. He had a lieutenant's ability to follow orders and a willingness to listen to advice, even (one might say especially) from intelligent women.17 These attributes made Antony able to handle some situations very well."1

There was a more important side to his personality, however, which contributed to his political survival. Antony was ruthless in his quest for pre-eminence

Kathryn E Welch , Antony, Fulvia, and the Ghost of Clodius in 477 B.C.

None of this matters, because after all Antony does for Caesar

Plutarch's comment that Curio brought Antony into Caesar's camp is surely mistaken.59 Anthony had been serving as Caesar's officer from perhaps as early as 53, after his return from Syria.60 He is described as legatus in late 52,61 and was later well known as Caesar's quaestor.62 It is more likely that the reverse of the statement is true, that Antony assisted in bringing Curio over to Caesar. If this were so, then he performed a signal service for Caesar, for gaining Curio meant attaching Fulvia, who provided direct access to the Clodian clientela in the city. Such valuable political connections served to increase Antony's standing with Caesar, and to set him apart from other officers in his army.63

Kathryn E Welch , Antony, Fulvia, and the Ghost of Clodius in 477 B.C.

Caesar still, for whatever reasons, fucks over Antony spectacularly with the will. Loyalty is repaid with dismissal, and it will bury the Republic for good.

It’s not enough for Caesar to screw him over just once, it becomes generational and ugly. Caesar lives on through Octavian: it becomes Octavian’s brand, his motif, propaganda wielded like a knife. Octavian, thanks to Caesar, will bring Antony to his bitter conclusion

And for my "bitter" conclusion, I’ll sign off by saying that there are actual scholars on Antony who are more well versed than I am who can go into depth about the Caesar-Octavian-Antony dynamic (and how it played out with Caligula) better than I can, and scholarship on Brutus consists mostly of looking at an outline of a man and trying to guess what the inside was like.

At the end of the day, Caesar was the instigator, active manipulator, and catalyst for the final act of the Republic.

I hope that this was at least entertaining to read!

[psychemeanscure]

PART 3 { Thanks Google Search for quantum physics meaning reference though I revise it for a bit. And Google translations for the Spanish words, though I’m not so sure by its accuracy. Lol! that’s all, okay bye! happy reading~ keke}

A gleam yet aesthetic lights of his Casino Hotel welcomed them as they both enter its futuristic hall, screaming with dominance. Greeted by his people while passing through the buzzing of gamblers of any kind, frivolously wasting every cents and ownership they have. The sea of expensive liquors, the sound of tokens and chips, the chime of jackpots and failures of losses. How she hated the sight of it and now she’s just one step closer to face the reason behind it. But only to flinch from another sight she can never get used to.

The chromic face of Jang Taeyoung endlessly playing to his initially Led TV. As she eyed him with abhorrence. “Do you really have to shout that cloy face of yours around this Casino? Tss.” she finally blurts it out while his usual arrogance immersed. “I’m the signature of my Casino myself, what can I do?” and the only thing she could do is cringe. “No. You are simply a narcissist yourself.” a hasty laugh was heard by him, then. 

“Come on, Honey. You’ve watched it many times yet you only learn it just now? I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m enormously gorgeous man.” She hissed. Uninterested by his boasting but vexed from what he called. “Shut that Joder Honey of yours. I’m not a bee! Por favor.” decides to walk ahead of him instead, better than engaging his nonsense callings. 

He catches her pace anyway. As he stops by an open wine cellar, getting one type from a rack. “Should we have brought a champagne for him? This Berlin drink looks fi---“

His suggestion was abruptly halted, leaving the wine he’s holding put off on a center table just beside him. For he was dragged by her through the corner side of the cellar. Enough to spot that someone she did not expect. Him, being pressed on a column of wine bottles, trapped by his panicking volatile. 

“Qué coño? What does that bomber prosecutor even do here?!” her scoffing whispers came then, eyes still on the enemy’s sight. The man they called Mr. Kim who has a very suspicious guts on her. “Oh. Him? He’s the frequent sniffing fox I’m telling you about. Craving to catch you obviously.” As much as he’s enjoying their position, he had no choice either but to diligently answer her distresses.

Multiple curses start to blab from her mouth nonstop as the so- called fox is now nearly passing their path. Till a cunning idea came after him, sneakily touch her bare back. “You do aware that I am fully attracted to you, aren’t you?” and she knows what he possibly wanted her to do, that she’s now secretly cursing herself for wearing the said garment. Too late to regret her thoughtless moves, mind still stuck with hesitations that her stressed eyes keep shuffling between the taming man in front of her and the persistent enemy who’s eager to catch her no matter what.

“Mierda! I hate you.” Her firm remark before she finally gives in. Swiftly taking his collar to changing their position and crash her lips to his awaiting mouth. She knew she’s going to pay for it. But she’s left with no choice. That sniffing fox would never get tired to investigate her, and to be seen from the Casino is the least she would do. That in between the kisses, she intendedly opens her eyes to sight the prosecutor’s stands.        

Not until a sudden moan escaped from her lips that she had to close her eyes by his hungry kisses. She was too focused by the presence of her predator that she almost forgot her other predator. Right, Jang Taeyoung as he is will never accept a petty satisfaction as she only learns about his seeking tongue to enter hers. Only makes it worse when he starts to wrap his hands around her waist after deciding to press her more through the columns of wine bottles which also starts to make a sound of clinks from his move. Not long enough when his other hand begins to run through caressing her bare back to gripping her neck, up until finding a hold from the wooden feature of the wine columns.

“Hmm…”

And just like that, she lost it. Fully lost from the presence of her petty enemy, leaving her only focus to this taming man’s kisses. Scolding herself in mind but had to admit she’s liking it. She’s liking every touch of him that even her hands find its way uncontrollably wrap around his neck through stroking his hair, up to cupping his cheeks. Letting him experience the same intensity as she begun to push herself to kiss him back. Savoring each other’s taste. Giving in from the undecided touches. ‘I’m crazy’ a thought which only made her frown, yet she already meant. 

“Jeez. Get a room.”

That alone made her snap back from reality, that she forcefully pulls herself from his still eager kisses. She may not have been busted by the prosecutor only to be found as embarrassment. The fox failed to see her though as it already passed through them before she pulled out, but because of the already loud sound of wine clinks caused by them, it had to found out their sudden make-out.  

“F*ck!”  

He hates to admit, but he liked it too. The way her lips brushed into his was just exceptional that he even begins to put a liking smile in between their kisses. He wants more and he mean it. And as much as he wants to thank the bomber prosecutor for letting things happen, he hated him even for cutting it. For they can still hear each other’s breaths as his arms still resting in between her, while she’s not eyeing his glances like he does. “We better get going. Our guest must have waited for too long.” As he intends to get serious but his teases aren’t helping when his usual tilting of head and a smirking smile ignites. “I thought Gangnam Gal is five kilometers afar from Itaewon Guy? Then why does it feel too close today. Huh, Sung Eunyoung?”

“Save that for later, Jang Taeyoung.”

Her only stern response after shoving out from his trapping arms between her and with one last biting of his lips, he turns around with a face of a cold hunter as they both went upstairs for VIP Casino Hall to finally pursue their first mission.

~

“Señor Alcaziar.”

His first greeting of its name before urging for a handshake. “So sorry for being late, a little situation just happened unexpectedly. I hope it didn’t get you bored though.” His proceeding excuses as well. “I see. Not at all. I’m actually enjoying!” a calm but lively response of the Spanish old man before its eyes begun to dart on her.

“Ooh. And who’s this lovely Señorita with you?” They then both looking at each other as if a lovesick lovers head over heels in love. She, who is as if asking for his permission, only to be answered a motioning gentleman’s sign. And he, who swears if only a Grammy nomination will be offered to them, they surely conquer the award-winning title. Thus, as if on cue. Their workshop begins to roll.

“Hola, Señor. Allow me to introduce myself. Me llamo Amilia. Mucho gusto.”

As expected, an astonished reaction had appeared, while unlinking her hand from his arms and offer to the guest. “Mucho gusto. Me llamo Veeros.” The latter’s introduction as well, that even after accepting her handshake, a compliment follows by talking to him. “She’s good, eh?” And the only thing he did was to give him a proud smile. “But you didn’t tell me you’ll be bringing a date for tonight. I should have brought mine.”      

With a kinky smile, he went beside her placing his hand on her bare back. “Well, to properly introduce you Señor. This dazzling lady here beside me. My dearest fiancé, Amilia Martin.” so for the second time, their whipped staring game reenacts again, while the became out of place old man only had to react in awe from what he thought lovebirds that its eyes were stuck staring with the both of them. “Oh. Wow. Now that makes a lot of sense. So, am I Veeros Alcaziar proud to be father then?” its humorous response anyway by which cause the laughter among them anyhow. 

Still moved from the burst of laughter. The latter tries to bring back his composure though. “Wooh. That’s hilariously unexpected. Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you, young lady. Amilia Martin is indeed a beautiful name for you.” His complimenting remarks again, while she hated the fact that she needed to thank him for that.  

Amilia Martin. A name given by her foster parents since she became an orphan. She’s sorry for them, yet it became her disguised identity. Truth is, only few knows Sung Eunyoung, which includes the reckless man beside her obviously. The corporate world only knows Amilia, gone Sung Eunyoung. She loves to be called by that name anyway. But hearing it from the mouth of the enemy is a total exemption.

Meanwhile, a prying watch from Jang Taeyoung occurred. Eyeing the peculiar stare from their guest. For he had already felt it the moment its eyes landed to his volatile. Something he cannot describe yet fishy. And he didn’t like it. “I almost forgot, Señor. Here’s our present for you.” His prompt interruption indeed which led the latter to change its focus to him, as he handed the Berlin champagne he decides to took anyhow a while ago. “Oh, wow. Villa Di Corlo. One of my favorite as well. Thank you.” After accepting it and give to its assistant, the Spanish old man begun to sturdy clasping its hands. “So! Can we talk about business now?”

“After you, Señor.” His leading motion the moment they arrived to the front door of his office, as the old man is about to went in, not before realizing something. “Wait? With your fiancé?” Its off remark indeed. “Well… I couldn’t get a permission if not to her. So, sí Señor.” His response then after from looking each other’s eyes. “Uhuh. Partners in crime. Nice. Well then.” Thus their first conversation started.

The deal went smoothly. From sharing both terms and conditions to how each other’s transaction must be done. But not until the certain word sneak into the dealer’s mouth which led them to give each other’s meaningful look. “Narcotics, Señor?”    

“Sí, Narcotics. I’ve been searching for a great timing for it but didn’t get a chance. You know, being a busy man. But looking with our conversation today, I think I’m convinced to give it a go. What do you think, Mr. Jang? Young lady?” His indeed pertaining to the both of them, and grasping from her seat isn’t even much of help. He saw it otherwise, as her habit of flicking her nails didn’t survive from his sight as well. Thus, he had no choice but to do the safest thing he guess.

“About that Señor. I think we need to talk about it first. Seems like my Amilia here is a bit surprised by your sudden proposal.” And she thanks him for that. “Oh. I see. My bad. But no rush. I can wait. Just make sure you both talk it wisely, alright?” and the only thing they could do is smile, hiding the fakeness.

“Thank you for inviting me to your humble Casino, young lad. I had a great time.” With a final handshake he offered a hand. “And thank you for accepting our invitation as well, Señor. We had fun talking.” And so they both escorted him and bid goodbye.

“Mierda!”

As he expected. Her curses erupt, the moment the door shut closed. Stroking her hair at the back of her head. She’s frustrated, and he knows it. That he had to grab her car key from the valet. “I’ll drive you home.” Only for her to get it back. “I can manage.” But who is she lying, though? He wouldn’t be surprise if a news came up of her for over speeding. “I would rather not take the risk. So, just better sit peacefully and let me. “snatching the key from her again while forcefully pushing her to get in the passenger seat.

The ride indeed at peace. But too much peace that her nail flicking habit bothers him still. “Eish. Can you stop torturing your nails? What did they even do wrong to deserve your frustrations. Tss.” only to receive a crumbing look from her. “Shut up. I’m thinking.” With a heavy sigh, she ends up looking by the window instead. Not too long though when her thoughts aren’t even helping her at all.

“Urgh. I need a break! Maldita sea. Stop the car!”

She burst out indeed, that he had to stop the car as well by a bridge. Stomping out through the sidewalk overlooking the steady shore, as she released another of her heavy breath. Her, who’s only feeling the solemn air, gripping to the railings of the bridge. Him, who’s only leaning to her car, arms crossed while playing with his shoe. Just silence between them.

“I have something in mind, actually. Want to hear?”

Breaking the ice, somehow. She hesitated of course, but at the back of her mind, why give it a shot? And so she does. “Let me hear it, then.” She, who’s crossing her arms now. From focusing his eyes on his playing shoe, he darts his eyes to the overlooking shore as well. “If I were to ask, I rather accept his proposal.” His straight suggestion indeed, while she had to turn her head to him, unpleased by his words.

“Are you even---“

“Then you shouldn’t have started if you’ll have to give up anyway.”

And that snap her indeed, that even a fading ‘but’ cannot surpass what he said. She would not like to admit, but he’s right. And him, seeing her doubting face, decided to proceed his following invocations. “You think declining him ain’t do any suspicions? Tss. That’s a lamest excuse for a gambler, Sung Eunyoung. Whether you like it or not, we have no choice either.” Thus a surrendering sigh escape to her again, as her eyes went back to the overlooking shore. “I know. It’s just that… I did not expect things to go this worse.”

“Sung Eunyoung. Even gamblers need to expand. You’re in a business. You should have known that.”

Then another silence appeared. And by measuring her silence again, he began his final follow-up. “So? Are we in or what?”

And with one last deep sigh, closing her eyes. She finally gave in.

“Okay.”