Posted in Headcanon, Tak terkategori


He should have known better. Really, given how much time they spent together and all those nights when she confined her darkest secrets, he should have known. That there is only so much time she can spend drowning in sorrow before it turned to ire.

Because fury is an emotion she knew far too well, a familiarity she could took refuge in.

So she had been letting her temper reigned free, fueling her as she go through her days recklessly killing whatever monster stands on her way. As she dove headfirst into fights and come out feeling alive, or as alive as she can be without his cocky smile to welcome her whenever she’s done with her battle.

She had let rage be her most prominent emotion through their succinct exchanges, let it simmer and purposely let it slip as she snapped at him. She knew he’s confused and can’t figured out why she’s so mad because of those silly excuses, but animosity is a façade she knew full well how to use and it’s a demeanor she could hide her still raw wounds behind.

Ans she’s alright. At least she thought so. At least she could pretend as much.

Then she dreamt of him last night.

She dreamt of a midnight rendezvous in his dingy apartment, where they just lie in his bed, bruised and battered after a long day of fighting their (literal) demons.

She dreamt of him, kissing the top of her head and intertwined their fingers as he said, in that Scouse tongue of his, “Wish we could do this more often, luv.”

And for the first time in a week (bloody hell, has it only been a week? She could swear it had felt like forever. Maybe there’s some forces messing with time or maybe Kronos or whatever shit those mythologies cooked up had come back to life and is playing with time. She’ll make sure to investigate later) she woke up with the telltale of tears in her eyes.

And it’s embarrassing, it’s a weakness she can no longer afford because Elsa Bloodstone does not wept. She let grief hardened her and continued on fighting, even as everything else around her fade to blur and there’s nothing left in her life but the endless battles. She march on.


And yet.


She woke up with the longing and pain she haven’t let herself feel for a while now.

She woke up missing him – the comfort of being in his arms, the warmth of his hugs, the sweetness of his kisses, and the rare safe and sound feeling he seems to bring despite all odds. Missing all those time she come to bed and he’s already lying there, waiting for her with open arms. Missing the time she stole a glance at him amidst life-or-death bloodshed where they fight side by side and he paused to wink or blow a kiss at her with such bravado. She miss him lying his head on her lap while she run her fingers through his hair even as she complaint about its unruly state. She miss going to sleep with his arms wrapped around her waist and his lips stealing kisses on her nape when he thought she’s already in slumber. Fuck, she even miss the worry in his eyes because of her unhealthy lifestyle and fucked up sleeping patterns.


She miss him, she would admit, and she wish she could see him right now. Or soon.


And she’s scared, too. Scared that his predicament has turned his attention away from her and is now his priority. And that’s selfish, she know, because it is an obligation he can’t discard and she would probably do the same should she have those mess on her hands but.

But she’d have to admit, to the silence of her dark bedroom in this wee hours where Helios hasn’t graced them with his presence yet, that she’s scared out of her wits that he’s given up on them. That he has stopped fighting and no longer invest himself in an “us”, or any sorry semblance of it they now had. Scared he’s done even trying to get through this shit with her.

And maybe she’s scared because she remember him saying he’d fight for them but is now no longer doing anything, scared because he said they’d still be close together but now they barely talk and he never shared anything about his life anymore. And yeah, she’s scared because she have no idea whether or not he even try to put up a fight. (Although knowing him, she’s sure he does. She wish he does. Dear Lord, she wish to high heaven he does because otherwise–)

She’s scared, though, that she no longer have a place in his heart and in his ever-changing mind.


Or, the scariest thought of all.

Is that despite him still keeping a safe place for her in his heart.

She’s no longer on the top of his list and could no longer be part of his life.


Because he choose to do so.



He choose to live without her.



And that, that is the scary thought that haunt her as she don her armor and pack her weapons for today’s pursuit.



It’s the thought that eat up most part of her mind even as she flung herself head first into carnage.







À la mort,

Prompt: Bee Gees’ To Love Somebody.
“I live and I breathe for you. But what good does it do if I ain’t got you?”



An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

One thought on “Incarcerated

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