#before anyone comes in and self-righteously informs me

[storybookprincess]

this might sound painfully obvious, but the key to not wasting all your money on takeout is keeping food in your house that you like & is easy to prepare

to me, the two big draws of ordering takeout during the week are 1. it tastes good. and 2. it is very low effort. especially as someone who lives with a chronic illness, all of the good intentions to cook a healthy meal every evening are pretty meaningless when i come home exhausted or in pain. and it's an exercise in futility to keep attempting that & then getting frustrated with myself when i fail. eating at home needs to be both easy and appealing, or it's simply not going to happen. and i'm going to order takeout

for me, this boils down into two main practices. first, when i'm feeling up for it, i like to batch cook on the weekends. i make a big serving of something that will keep well in the fridge for several days, and then just reheat it in the evenings. and when i'm not well enough to cook, it means ensuring that i have pre-prepared food on hand that requires no effort beyond sticking it in the oven

the key to success with this method is the following: the food needs to be something i will genuinely enjoy eating. sure, it probably won't be quite as good as a meal made by a professional in a restaurant, but it does have to be tasty & satisfying. again, the first appeal of takeout is simply that it tastes good

and most important of all, we CANNOT let perfect be the enemy of good. "but liv! are you really just telling me to keep a package of dumplings in my freezer to eat during the week? is that really healthy or cost effective?" well, if your options are the frozen dumplings or takeout, then comparatively, yeah, it is probably healthier or cheaper or both. we don't live in an ideal world. we live in this one. and we need to work within the parameters of the real world rather than aspiring for an ultimately unreachable ideal and then getting mad at ourselves when we fail.

tl;dr: to stop overspending on takeout, keep food on hand that you want to eat and requires minimal effort to prepare. that's it. and don't let imaginary rules and standards sabotage you along the way.

[under-the-scam-sea]

It infuriates me when tog fans label Chaol as overly sanctimonious and constantly on a moral high horse, acting as if he believes he’s better than everyone else—especially when they claim that the rest of the characters embrace their flaws. That narrative falls apart the moment you actually pay attention to the books, because Chaol isn’t the only one who struggles with self-righteousness or moral superiority throughout the series.

Aelin

She often positions herself as the only one capable of making the hard choices, and she withholds key information from her court because she believes it’s the best path — even when it puts others at emotional or physical risk. That’s not just leadership; that’s moral superiority cloaked in self-sacrifice.

In Queen of Shadows she judges Chaol for not helping Dorian and Sorscha escaping the palace sooner and not bowing to her new queen identity — even though she never communicated her plan or transformation clearly.

In Empire of Storms, she withholds the truth about her bargain with Maeve and the wyrdkeys, manipulating even those closest to her.

Rowan

He spends most of Heir of Fire emotionally tearing Aelin down, acting like her trauma isn’t valid because she hasn’t suffered as much as he has. He says things like “You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone?” and treats her grief as weakness.

That’s textbook moral superiority: using your own suffering as a way to invalidate someone else’s.

In Queen of Shadows, even after softening, he still carries an "I know better" attitude when it comes to protecting Aelin, often refusing to include her in decisions about herself.

Dorian

In Queen of Shadows, Dorian resents Chaol for not doing more to save him during his Valg possession, even though Chaol was powerless. His anger is understandable — but he acts morally superior by suggesting Chaol’s choices make him less loyal or brave.

In Kingdom of Ash, he insists on infiltrating Morath alone because he believes he can handle the darkness better than anyone. That’s not courage alone — it’s pride, rooted in a sense of exceptionalism.

Manon

Manon begins Queen of Shadows by enforcing brutal rules without question, believing that mercy is weakness and that the Blackbeak way is the way. She judges Asterin and Elide for showing kindness or feeling pain.

In Empire of Storms, she struggles deeply when her worldview begins to crack. Her eventual rebellion against the Ironteeth is based on a reversal of her moral arrogance — but that arrogance defined her for much of the series.

Lorcan

Lorcan acts morally superior through cynicism and pragmatism.

In Empire of Storms, he believes he knows best and hides his actions from the others — especially when he summons Maeve. His rationale? That he alone is willing to do what it takes, unlike the "emotional fools" around him.

In Kingdom of Ash, even after being forgiven by Elide, he still carries an “I’m beyond redemption” attitude that implies others are naïve for having hope.

Elide

Elide is one of the most beloved characters, but she also has a moment of intense judgment — specifically toward Lorcan.

After learning of his betrayal (summoning Maeve), she writes him off completely, calling him a coward and saying she should never have trusted him.

Yes, she’s hurt — but her fury is laced with moral superiority, as if she would never have made a desperate, selfish decision. It takes most of Kingdom of Ash for her to admit that she withheld critical information from him too.

Gavriel, Fenrys & Connall

Gavriel frequently positions himself as the calm, “honorable” one, yet he allowed Maeve’s control to go unchallenged for years.

Fenrys, while deeply sympathetic, also sees himself as more morally aware than Lorcan and Rowan — but he still made the blood oath to Maeve to protect his twin and never fought back until it was too late.

Connall, too, stayed silent and judgmental until his final sacrifice — but before that, he often framed Fenrys’s choices as foolish or weak.

Aedion

In Empire of Storms, Aedion pushes back against Aelin’s secrecy with a tone that says: “I would’ve done better,” again suggesting a kind of moral superiority. The frustration is understandable, but he still puts himself above others in terms of what he believes should have been done.

Even in Kingdom of Ash, he has multiple moments where he takes the moral high ground, especially regarding Aelin’s secrecy. He’s furious about Aelin’s plans and lashes out at Lysandra and others, insisting that Aelin abandoned them and implying they need to move forward without her. He positions himself as the only one being “realistic” or pragmatic, often refusing to hear other perspectives — which absolutely reads as moral posturing.

Lysandra

In Kingdom of Ash, Lysandra repeatedly positions herself as the most dutiful and selfless of the group — particularly after she agrees to play the role of Aelin. She often shames Aedion and others for questioning her decisions or Aelin’s plans. Her tone when she says, “this is what Aelin would have done”, carries a heavy implication: that anyone who disagrees is not just wrong — they’re betraying Aelin’s memory or mission.

When Aedion struggles with the idea of Lysandra permanently pretending to be Aelin (a huge burden and a complicated ethical situation), Lysandra shuts him down with moral judgment instead of empathy. She may be right in her commitment to Terrasen, but she delivers that conviction with a moral sharpness that’s no less sanctimonious than Chaol at his worst.

Yes, Chaol is sanctimonious — but so is almost everyone else at some point. The difference? Most characters get away with it because it’s wrapped in charisma, badassery, or emotional payoff. Chaol’s internal struggles are quieter, slower, and more grounded — but his growth is just as real.

So rather than being uniquely annoying, Chaol is just a different kind of flawed — and his sanctimony isn’t worse than Aelin’s control, Rowan’s early coldness, Manon’s cruelty, or Lorcan’s pride. It’s just more uncomfortable to watch because it hits closer to real-world rigidity than high fantasy swagger.

[saintgoths]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ

CHAPTER NINE - EVORI.

WORDS - 4,220.

RATING - 18+.

SUMMARY - after her betrayal from Will, Serena joins the company of someone else, and learns an information about herself she thought had been impossible.

"Oh, I think you're spinning inside my head, I think of you all the day, 'Cause you're in my way, Oh, I think you're holding the heart of mine [my heart is yours], Squeeze it apart, that's fine." Step on Me by The Cardigans.

feedback would be appreciated! and i would like to say, this story is a will romance story, but i just want you to be aware that serena is a man-eater...

previous chapter.

Serena was surprised that she didn’t fall with the way she was trembling, how she stomped and dragged her feet against the wooden floors of the institute as she made way to his room. The moment she arrived, Serena roughly pushed his door open, her swift motion had frightened him, but she hadn’t cared if the door handle made a dent in the wall or not, and she hadn’t cared if anyone else had heard.

“Where is it!” Serena cried out as she searched his room. “Where did you put them!”

Animosity, was what she had felt, betrayal and anger. The cheek of him. “All the attempts you had asked me!” She had pointed to herself. “To reveal myself, and reveal to you much more information I would’ve never told anyone else!” She screamed while Will looked at her with wide eyes, he had raised his arm to defend herself, unprepared to what of her rage she would let out.

“Lyonel…” she began. “How Lyonel loved me, how he exploited me, my affair with Davidson, my affair! What I am, you…” she had flared. “Had already known,” she said, unaware that she had been crying.

Before Will had been stunned by Serena, he had been writing his own letter, awkward, Will clenched his jaw before he had laughed. “What has gotten into you?” He had attempted to joke. “If you had wanted another passionate round of dry sex---”

Serena had slapped him. Furious, her eyes shined purple. “Fuck you,” she has seethed. “Give it back to me.”

Will flared his nose, taking in the fact that Serena had struck him. Impatient, Serena raised her hand to grab him, but Will had been quick and snatched her wrist. “I don’t like fighting women, but if I need to, I’ll pin you down,” he rudely promised, but Serena screamed at him.

“My letters!” Serena screamed. “Where have you put them!”

Surprised, now forwardly aware of what she had meant. His eyes wider than usual and skin paler than before. This time he hadn’t had any smart come back, thus; he had let go of her. Looked over his room to get them for her while Serena clenched her fists.

“You truly are a terrible person,” Serena whispered unaware that her voice cracked as she had remembered what Sophie had told her.

Anxious, Will played with his knuckles. “I just wanted to know you.”

Serena whipped her head towards him. “By reading my letters?” She glared.

“Serena---I---I apologise,” he hesitated. “You weren’t saying anything about yourself---I---I am dearly sorry.”

“I don’t care for your apologies,” she snapped. “I just want my letters.”

Will gulped as he looked away from her, impatient, Serena took a step towards him. “Do you feel entitled to have them?” She harshly questioned. “You now know everything about my life, only things Lady Evaline was only supposed to know.”

“Well, Lady Evaline who hasn’t come to see you for a long time wouldn’t haven’t given a single bloody hell about those letters!” Will roared as he stared down at her, surprised, Serena furrowed her eyebrows, disgusted by his self-righteousness.

Will looked back at his knuckles. “I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Will said, and defeated, Serena continued to cry, had she known he was so adamant and selfish she would’ve never spoken to him, she covered her face as she wept, and immediately Will had intended to hug her but Serena had pushed him away.

She had looked at him, her eyes less violet than before but had still flickered angry bolts of lightning. Emotions that had demanded Will to return her letters, so he did. Silent, Serena had taken the letters and had examined them, how he had opened them, it had appeared the papers were read over and over again.

Serena looked back at Will. The letter that was on top of them all had involved the intel of her affair with Davidson. “Is that why you did what you did?” Serena ghastly questioned; eyes wide as she referred to their shared night.

“No,” Will frowned. “I did not have you like that because of your affair with Davidson,” he explained. “I always wanted you, the second I saw you, I knew it,” he cried out, terrified at the idea of Serena hating him.

Serena had then looked away from him, unaware on how to proceed, thus wind had picked up in his room, and to calm her down, Will reached for him. Stubborn, Serena had slapped his hand away from her. “No!” She screamed. “You’re disgusting, and terrible, and everything that has happened to you or will happen to you is all deserved!”

“Serena,” Will breathed but she had raised her hand as she shook her head.

“I don’t want you to speak to me,” she commanded.

“I cannot do that,” Will frowned but stubborn Serena walked to the bedroom door. “I will not,” he pressed.

“Too bad,” she huffed. “Find a way to avoid me because I will never speak to you,” she seethed. “Ever again,” she said as she had then left his room.

♡⊹˚₊ ❦ ❀ ₊˚⊹♡

Aphrodite knows how Serena long Serena had been running, drenched by the heavy rain and the noisy thunder and lightning that danced around London, but what Serena had known, was that the weather was responding to her magic, her emotions and rage.

The streets of London had been empty, the rain was heavy enough to bring traffic that would last for centuries.

She had breathed heavily as the wind had picked up, and if it wasn’t for her enhanced sight, Serena wouldn’t have been able to see through the chaos with the way the rain had padded her face. Anxious, aware that if her emotions carried on like this the weather would not keep down, so, she clenched her fists, nails dug into the meat of her palms as she repeated the words. “The mind, the heart and the soul,” she whispered afraid of what would happen if she hadn’t.

She repeated it as if it was a song, and each time she said it, the weather slowly calmed down.

However, when the rain lightly stopped, so she stopped, and realised she had been in front of someone’s door, confused, Serena took it upon herself to knock and a few seconds later, Mesona opened the door. Surprised, Mesona stared back at Serena who appeared to be just as shocked as her, but once Mesona recognised the condition Serena was in, she quickly rushed her in. “Come in! Come in!” Mesona kindly commanded and so Serena did.

“Sorry, I---I didn’t know how I arrived here,” Serena frowned and dismissive, Mesona helped Serena take off her jacket.

“I don’t care how you got here, you being inside of my home is all I need, you’re so drenched,” the curly haired woman frowned. “If you weren’t a Venusian Spirit, you’d be sick for an eternity.”

Serena laughed at her comment.

“I have spare clothes,” Mesona whispered and Serena thanked her, allowed herself to get dragged into one of her rooms so she could change in. “Were you crying?” Mesona questioned. “The weather outside, it was abnormal, only something as powerful as you can do that.”

Wavered, Serena nodded her head. “Yes,” she said as she fiddled with her fingers. “Is Atlan here?” Serena questioned and the pregnant woman shook her head.

“No, he went out in a business meeting,” Mesona answered and Serena had then been directed to the drawing room. “I’ll make tea,” Mesona whispered and as appreciative Serena was, she had wondered if it was healthy for a pregnant woman to be moving so much.

With a brief hum, Serena had looked around, her home was homely, something the Institute lacked. There were a few candles lit, fruits like pomegranates and figs, white lace fabrics draped over the sofas and a sweet scent that carried itself through the space. Shortly, Mesona returned with a platter with tea and finger sandwiches.

“You must be here for one thing,” Mesona sighed and confused, Serena answer.

“Your baby? And their ability?” Serena shared.

Mesona nodded, her eyes a bit empathetic. “To make you come back to your family, it doesn’t hurt,” Mesona explained and in thought, Serena picked up the tea.

“I didn’t even realise I was making my way here,” Serena whispered. “I was too emotional,” she said as she continued to think, perhaps because of the child being a Spirit just like her, Serena was able to find him.

Mesona had then sat opposite Serena, her gaze trained on her. “What happened?”

Serena told her everything.

“I was told Will.” She had then scrunched her face at the sound of his name, as if his name was poison. “I was told that Herondale boy was horrible, I should’ve listened to all of them. I don’t know why I’m so stubborn.”

Mesona had then smiled, her eyes gently shined at the sight of Serena, Mesona had wondered if Serena had known was so unbelievably beau---“It’s fine, it’s okay,” Mesona cut thoughts off, as she put her cup down, Mesona had then moved to a chair closer to Serena. “Go for it.”

Gently, Mesona held and picked up Serena’s hands and moved them to her swollen belly, and before Serena could admit she was scared, everything that she could once see, flashed white.

Everything had felt so real.

When the scene opened, she saw her family, Serena quickly noticed they were at the park---Moon Park, it was in actuality called Mesona Park, or Mesona Sarka in full Venusian---but Serena smiled as she gently gasped, the view was beautiful, the Sun, which was called Vaona slowly rose down, her mother’s arm, Selena had been wrapped around Serena’s shoulders.

Thus, in surprise, Serena had smiled while in real time, tears gently slid down her the crease of her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” her mother whispered. “Everything will be okay,” her mothered said as she gently stroked her daughter’s curls behind her ear.

Serena flinched at her touch. “Mama,” she whimpered, unaware how to take this, she didn’t know if she had felt over-whelmed or over-joyed, her family was back, her family is here, she’s with her family.

“It’s time to take our picture,” their father Pietro called, and suddenly the tears down Serena’s face disappeared. “Out of all the children, you look like mama the most,” Pietro smiled as he sat on the other side of Serena, he had then called everyone to stop what they had been doing and join the picture.

After everyone had stopped what they were doing and rushed to where the picnic blanket had been set. Grandpa Klaus had put out his pipe and carefully joined his family, while he was handed baby Adonis who previously played with the butterflies with Bella, a stranger had appeared.

Pietro’s eyes had then lit up. “Stranger!” He had happily called, as if he had been given the best idea. “Can you please take a picture of me and my family?”

The stranger had stopped walking to where he was going and turned to them. He had dressed chic, in a manner that Serena had recognised. Though, Serena couldn’t take in his face, as it was gently illuminated by the dimming Sun, though, as he moved his body closer to where they had been, Serena easily recognised the person to be Magnus Bane.

Speechless, Serena had her mouth open. “Serena dear close your mouth,” Selene gently joked and so she did, and as alarmed Serena had been, she had remained composed, had wanted the time she had with her family to be peaceful, thus she looked at the camera with a pleasant look on her face, and half a minute later, Magnus Bane took their picture and like a ghost slipping away from sunrise, everything had faded away.

Serena had returned back to the Mortal Realm, and with a gasp, Serena started to breath heavily, but she was in relief.

The imagery of Mesona’s warm home returned to her, and with a smile, Mesona ducked her head towards her. “How do you feel?”

Serena stuttered. “I—I felt good.”

The pregnant lady had then leaned back. “You can come by any time to do it again.”

“Visual Projection,” Serena breathed in awe. “Your baby has a beautiful gift.”

“What about yours?” Mesona questioned and embarrassed, Serena shook her head.

“Oh---I don’t have a gift,” she waved, but confused Mesona shook her head.

It was known that each Venusian Spirit had their own unique abilities. “But that’s what every Venusian Spirit has, a special gif.” Already feeling bad about herself, Serena bit the inside of her cheek. “You don’t remember?” Mesona questioned, her eyes had then sparkled with wonder.

Serena had paused, anticipated on what Mesona had wanted to say. “You have the ability to control minds, don’t you remember?”

In disbelief, Serena had pulled herself back.  “I don’t recall any of it,” she said before she shook her head. “It’s impossible, I was told I do not have any…but you remember.”

“Serena,” Mesona awkwardly laughed. “Everybody knows that’s what you have.”

Serena blinked as she took in the information. “If I do have the power to Mind Control, and I don’t remember anything of it, could it be because my mind was wiped of it?” Serena questioned, “but why?” Serena hummed in thought. “Why would someone want to make me forget that?”

 ♡⊹˚₊ ❦ ❀ ₊˚⊹♡

It had been the next day, and Serena had returned to the Institute, Charlotte and the rest of the Enclave had gone to sort the De Quincey business, and before Charlotte had left, she had informed Serena that the two would have a private talk about her manners.

Currently, everyone had been in the Drawing Room except from Serena who had held herself in her room. Indulged with the Book of Aphrodite, eyes trained on the section of Venusian Spirits abilities. “All Venusian Spirits have their own abilities,” Serena had read. “The ability of a Venusian Spirit is an enhanced twist of the previous Spirit from their line.”

Intrigued, Serena raised both of her eyebrows. It was said Serena’s grandmother Helena was a telepathic. If what Mesona had said was true, it had meant she had the ability to control them. With a side smile, Serena continued to read, unaware that someone had walked towards her door and pushed it open.

There had stood Tessa, holding a tray of food. “You weren’t here for breakfast, and you’re not with us in the Drawing Room.”

Serena barely looked at her. “I don’t need to be there,” she said as she closed the book. “You should be with Nate,” the Venrosa woman tightly smiled.

“I do worry for Nate,” Tessa said. “But I worry for you too,” her eyes then softened, aware that Serena had twisted her face. “The weather yesterday,” Tessa said as she walked into the room. “It was you, wasn’t it? Has something happened between you and Will? He’s grumpier and meaner than usual.”

Serena gently rolled her eyes as she put the book to the side. “Oh, is he?” She asked with dry sarcasm.

Tessa had then placed the platter down. “I requested Agatha make this for you,” Tessa said as she tried to maintain contact with her. “I’m sort of aware of the food you like ever since we visited Benny’s.”

“Thanks,” Serena nodded as she dismissively glanced at the food. She hadn’t been hungry, but to be kind, Serena had taken a bite of one of the sandwiches Tessa had brought for her.

Satisfied, Tessa had sat on the chair that was close to her bed. “What are you reading?” Tessa curiously questioned, and since what Serena had been had not been a secret, she informed her.

“The Book of Aphrodite,” Tessa had whispered. “How interesting, for someone from another Realm, a descendant of Aphrodite speaking to me,” Tessa shared and Serena softly smiled as she pulled her legs close to her chest. “I used to think all the stories were a myth…”

“But they’re all true,” Serena finished with a smile.

-Tessa blinked as she had taken in her gleam. “This is the first time I saw you smile this big,” Tessa said and Serena looked back to her book as Tessa gently nudged her shoulder. “Come to the Drawing Room with me, I’ll braid your hair if you want me to,” she encouraged, and Serena gently blew a raspberry.

“Will he be there?” Serena questioned in reference to Will.

“Most likely---”

“Then I will not go,” Serena said and then Tessa had wished she had lied and said he wouldn’t be there.

With a brief defeated look, Tessa reached for Serena’s hand. “What happened between the two of you?” She questioned, in dramatic pain that she barely been aware of most of the exchanges shared between Will and Serena.

Serena gently pulled her hand away from Tessa. “All you should know is that Will Herondale is a bastard and I never want to speak to him again,” Serena frowned and with her arms crossed, Tessa furrowed her eyebrows.

“That’s a bit extreme,” Tessa muttered and Serena scoffed at her.

“What he did was extreme,” Serena said and impatient, Tessa tapped her foot.

“What did he do?” Tessa pushed and annoyed, Serena closed her book shut.

“He pushed a boundary no respectful person would,” Serena answered and after that, she put her book away.

♡⊹˚₊ ❦ ❀ ₊˚⊹♡

Serena had been hungry, impatient and hungry. Since yesterday, Serena had not taken a single bite from the food Tessa had given her, and currently, the Venrosa woman had been busy with the Court of Aphrodite.

She had sat slump on her chair, chin pressed against her hand as she listened to the arguments people debated with. She had been bored; eyes lifeless as they argued about who might’ve been the terrorists who attacked her the night of Cersei’s event.

Silent, Serena glanced around the room and had noticed Mesona had been on her seat, she hadn’t come from an aristocrat family but because she was wedded to Atlan who was a cousin of Cersei through Lyonel, Serena was able to give her a seat in the court. There sat Loras, Cersei along with Lyonel and Mrs. Sapphire.

She had wished for Lady Evaline to be here, but her seat was empty. When Serena moved her gaze back to everyone else, without raising her voice she spoke. “Stop talking.”

The room fell silent.

Everyone’s eyes moved to her, silent, fearful to go against her request, yet there had been a stubborn soul. “The weather,” Mrs. Sapphire said. “All of it had been you.”

“I said everyone stop talking,” Serena pressed and immediately, Mrs. Sapphire held herself silent.

Slowly, Serena picked up her pearl that once rested on the open seashell. “I don’t believe the Rosehunters are in the London Institute,” Serena said and shortly, Davidson glanced at her. “They now call themselves the Evori,” Serena said, and a few gasps were shared, in Venusian, Evori had meant Evil.

“What makes you think they’re not in the Institute?” Lyonel questioned and with silence, Serena looked back at the untouched pearl of his, and with an awkward cough, Lyonel picked up it and repeated his question.

With a clenched jaw, Serena tilted her head to the side. “They never knew what I was, but they do now,” Serena said and immediately judgmental whispers filled the room, against the idea of Mortal Realm Shadowhunters learning what Serena was.

“I am under their roof,” Serena frowned. “Under their protection, it’s fair that they get to know what I am.”

Loras had then picked up his pearl. “What about the Mortal Clave?” Loras questioned once Serena permitted him to speak. “When they find out they’ll want to act out on it, and even demean Charlotte for hiding this information from them,” Loras said and Serena had quietly agreed.

“I know what to do,” Serena responded, her eyes then turned to look at Mesona, she had remembered what Mesona had told her the night before.

She had then thought of Magnus Bane. Serena had believed Magnus Bane had much to do with her not remembering anything about her abilities, particularly with him being a Warlock. “I think the Evori are people who are closer to us than imagined,” Serena shared as she pulled herself forwards, and once again, people commenced to whisper.

Then Serena had stood up. ‘I believe the Evori are people who are in this very room right now,” Serena said, and Davidson watched her stand, speechless. Serena had looked at Davidson but had not said anything to him fore she moved away from her seat. “The meeting is finished,” she said as she had then left the building.

♡⊹˚₊ ❦ ❀ ₊˚⊹♡

Once Serena returned to the Institute with Davidson hurrying behind her, Serena had made sure the man knew not to come into her room with the hard glare she had. Tessa informed Serena that Mortmain came to speak to Will and Jem, since they were the only Shadowhunters in the building.

Tessa told Serena of an issue of the Full Moon that would be happening tomorrow, so the two men would have to go check on the circumstance that involved one of the Dark Sisters, Davidson had thought about tagging along.

When Tessa left Serena, she had returned to read the book of Aphrodite, the golden pages of the book had shined lightly in her eyes, while the red edges of the pages were caressed by the texture of her finger. Eyebrows furrowed; Serena obsessively read the texts revealed to her. “If a Venusian Spirit is born in a specific family, or a family that has had an occurrence of Venusian Spirits, the family would share a unique ability as a donative power.”

Serena had thought about the Raye family, the clan Lady Evaline had come from, the family that had the first Venusian Spirits, the Venusian Spirits of the family had the unique ability of Energy Blasts. As Venusian Spirits are a rare occurrence, most of the Venusian Spirits in Lady Evaline’s family were born before her, Lady Evaline had missed the generation to have the Spirit Abilities. However, it was recorded for the Venrosa family to have the most Venusian Spirits.

Though, she had not remembered the special ability they had. However, Serena had not noticed how caught up in the reading she was, unprepared to hear the knock echo on her door, Serena yelped. The person hadn’t waited for Serena to answer as they pushed the door open. There walked in Nate, Serena frowned.

Confused, as she had rarely spoken to him, she had wondered why he had been so confident walking into her room. “Hello?” Serena greeted.

With a neutral look on his face, Nate closed the door behind him. “I need help on something,” he said as he walked to the edge of her bed. “I haven’t spoken to you---and you rarely come to join us in drawing room---I thought you had a problem with me,” he gracelessly smiled, aware of the disturbed look Serena had on her face.

“I don’t have a problem with you,” she said.

“That’s good,” he breathed in relief, hand against his heart as if he had been told the best news. “Can I sit?” He suggested and before Serena could allow him to, he sat down. “The unfinished paintings,” he said as he looked around her bedroom. “Are they of your family?” He had asked, almost as if he had already known the answer.

“Everyone points that out,” Serena muttered as she moved away from him. “I just can’t remember their faces.”

Nate apologised to her. “I heard what happened.”

With a fake smile, Serena’s eyes lightened. “Word travels fast.”

“When I was with De Quincey,” Nate turned. “He was informed of Venusian Spirits before.”

Serena’s breathing paused. “The reason you’re being hunted is because Spirits are also magical sacrifices, if I am correct?” Nate questioned, eyes still trained on hers, put-off, Serena clenched her jaw. “Whenever a Venusian Spirit is sacrificed, the person who does the sacrifice can ask a wish and get whatever they want. That’s what the Rosehunters want with you, right?” Nate questioned, and he had that look again, as if he had known what the answer was but had just wanted confirmation.

“They now call themselves the Evori,” Serena corrected, and with a hard stare, Serena spoke again. “What are you going to do with this information?”

Nate hid a smirk; it appeared as if fire danced in his eyes. “Nothing,” Nate said but before Serena could say anything, the light but quick footsteps of Sophie hurried to the door, with a brief knock from her, Serena allowed the maid to walk in.

When she noticed Nate had been in Serena’s room, there was a brief white flash of shock that had jumped on her face as she whispered a low. “Oh?” Though, Sophie had blinked to focus on why she had come here. “Someone is here to see you, Angelika Ovechkin,” Sophie explained. “She said it’s something important, she said something is wrong.”

masterlist

story masterlist

[eolewyn1010]

Charité, season 4 - episode 1

Alright. Let's do this. Consider everything past this point a spoiler, and yourself warned.

The dramatic lighting and music (vocalizing instead of the instrumentals that dominated the Charité music over three seasons) make the first scene appear very stylized, like a theater play. I don't hate it, but it sure is something else. I guess they broke with the continuity when they chose this season's setting.

Post-Corona, and she's not wearing a mask in surgery? Consider me unimpressed.

Ew. What did that poor greenscreen do to you?

"fires in Czechia coming closer to Saxony" - 2049 taking notes from 2022, huh? Ever so optimistic.

At least we get pretty lesbians. In fond memory of Therese...

They sure took the fashion choices in an interesting direction. And by that I mean, eurgh.

Who is this slimeball and can I castrate him.

Heritage of the last several seasons: An uncouth but motherly nurse with a heavy Berlin dialect; every generation needs one.

See, if you can 3D-project shiny holographs into the middle of the room, you should adapt your architecture. An auditorium that uses this technology should be built in a circle around the projector so everyone has the same chances of seeing the goddamn things! Logic, anyone?

In about 25 years, colors in architecture will have died out for good. Depressing, but not unlikely. The look of this place is giving me anxiety.

This woman's mouth movements don't fit her words at all. Why is she dubbed, and why so poorly?

"I don't eat sweets." *has sweets standing next to her* Is she dumb, or does she think Doc Safadi sr. is dumb?

Oh, nice, they have a botanical garden!

Super-quick zoom! Do you see our modern technology? DO YOU SEE IT YET!? More zoom! Sheesh, cut it out.

Why is everyone so awkward / impolite to Julia? Because her wife is pushing the health reform?

Poly marriage. Nice. ...and also, Nachtigall, ick hör dir trapsen.

Maral is ever so charming to Dylan. Isn't it nice to condescend to your co-worker from day 1?

Oh, nice, they all have universal translators. I get that they want to put in a lot of international variety, but why does the girl not speak any German when her mother does?

Take out ovarial tissue? From a teenager??? If she ever decides to have kids, can't she start by trying it the more obvious way? Why take it out in the first place? It's well-kept in her body, isn't it?

This mother is the worst.

Julia actress's delivery of her lines is very inconsistent. Some scenes, she plays good; others, she sounds like a third-grader reciting Erlkönig.

Did they steal that shot from Tatort: Der Herr des Waldes?

This concrete house is as fugly on the inside as it is on the outside. Thanks, I hate it.

Ehm. Okay. ngl, Martin's and Otto's PDA looked a lot more believable. Can you at least commit to your gay smoochies?

Why does the Armenian-German kid have a French name?

Brat wants to join the army for his democratic values. What, does he want to bring freedom to the poor savages? Gawd.

Starting to think Nils and Seda aren't a couple anymore, which makes the friendly relationship they have all the nicer.

Rest of the family is bitching. Greeeaaat.

Giving your doctor false medical information before surgery? Sure, why not! Is everyone here an idiot?

I don't really vibe with these extreme zooms.

Now she's wearing a mask - that's barely even covering her chin, nevermind her nose. Why is this so inconsistent?

Really good of you to treat a dying patient in hearing distance to another patient who has the same disease. Like. Just lock down sound transmission to the neighbor quarantine room?? Why is everyone so illogical?

Yeah, fuck. He's only a background character, so we give up after three attempts.

Maral got her self-righteousness from Seda, huh?

Yay, pandemics! Every generation needs one.

This all sounds very negative because I'm not terribly into the speculative future setting, but honestly, I don't hate watching it. My engagement with it is low in comparison to previous seasons Charité, but it still is interesting. And I'm kinda committed to the trash factor.

[nijjhar]

Saltless Jews outwardly unfaithful to Noble Abraham who killed Jesus, wh... Saltless Jews outwardly unfaithful to Noble Abraham who killed Jesus, what do you expect from them today? https://youtu.be/VKgK1CBiOMM Could anyone build the covenant of the Jews with Abraham? Remember this man of dead letters Church Father Origen couldn't. They are Tares getting bundled up in Israel for the Final Burning expected soon after the attack of Israel on Iran, the Fake circumcised sons of Isaac. Watch my other videos, and my seminars are totally FREE, which will also set you FREE. End Time Gospel. Israel is supposed to attack Iran by 14/11/2023. Then, the JUDGEMENT Atomic War. https://youtu.be/odMABgAf5kQ PREDICTIONS. I am a retired university lecturer in Metallurgy hailing from Punjab, India where the Second Coming of Christ = Satguru Jesus in the name of Christ = Satguru Nanak Dev Ji took place in 1469 among the most greedy and Satanic people of the Khatri tribe. Through five more Lights, He Preached the Gospel to perfection for over 150 years still the Darkness could not be comprehended. Thus, in Four More Lights, the Royal Kings came to protect Sikhism and promoted the rule of righteousness. The greediest Kings and Emperors of Darkness still carried on with their Sat+++++anic activities as Mullahs in the Mosques. The New Testament has good information on what is going on. In fact, Matt 13v24-30 is getting fulfilled and the Tares, the Jews, Muslims, etc. outwardly are getting bundled up in Israel for the Final Burning through Atomic Bombs.   Now, these University Theologians are dead in letters of the holy Books totally incapable of understanding the Parable puzzles that only you learn through “intuition” by His grace only that the illiterate Shepherds and farmers were able to do as God is inside them and taught them which the greedy Temple (Winepress coining the moral laws) Priests (Husbandmen) loving Mammon more than God could not understand. That is why Jesus didn’t throw Pearls before swine in Jerusalem as the two men in the Genersate were doing and ended up locked up in the silence of the graveyard so that no one should listen to them as the Oxford University Professors of Theology are doing to me. Cutting the matter short, the Atomic War is expected to take place soon after 14/11/2023. This is how I have calculated it:- Israel was established on 14/05/1948. Add to it 70 years of full protection. On 14/05/2018, Israel was 70 years old and Donald Trump declared Jerusalem to be the capital of Israel and moved his Embassy to Jerusalem. Now, there were Five years of grace of heart in the name of Christ Jesus which ended on 14/05/2023 and Israel declared that the whole Jerusalem belongs to Israel. This has boiled up the situation and the Mohammedan Hamas, Fateh, etc. have reacted against this announcement. The sons of the most high Satan Al-Djmar Al-Aksa, super bastard religious fanatic devils – John 8v44 – Jews and Muslims outwardly have become the staunch enemies of each other. Neither the Jews nor the Hamas and the Fatah can build their covenants with Abraham of the Semitic Race. St. Paul has stressed many things such as a Jew is one who is “inwardly – spiritual” never born and never died and not outwardly or the tribal self Juda, Levi, Benjamin, etc. that are born and will die led by the their blind guides, the Rabbis. In India, three Satanic Lalas Lala M.K. Gandhi, a Bania, Lala Tara Singh, a Malhotra Khatri and Lala Mohd. Ali Jinnah, a Babla Bhatia did the same sectarian riots with full collusion of the British hypocrites. So, here are my calculations:- Israel was established on 14/05/1948 + 70 years of the Full Protection till 14/05/2018 when Donald Trump declared that Jerusalem is the Capital of Israel. Then, the Five are the temptations of heart well known in India; they are KAAM =immorality, KARODHH = Anger, LOBHH = greed, MOH = worldly attractions and finally HANKAAR = Proud of the Book knowledge. This grace of our Supernatural Father Elohim = Allah = Parbrahm, etc. takes us to 14/05/2023. People who are going to perish are the creation of Yahweh governed by the Seven Candled Menorah. So, let us give Six months of grace to Yahweh and that would take us to 14/11/2023. The next Seventh Month is of the Middle Candle of Menorah called “Shams”, Sun, the primary Source of Light. So, the Seventh Month is in the hand of Elohim, who is the overall Father of Creation as the supernatural “soul” is all living things. King David said, “My lord Yahweh said to the Lord of Sabbath, the Middle Candle of the Menorah Shams as Jesus too declared that He is the Lord of Sabbath”. Only He knows which Day of the Month, the Atomic War would take place. Thus, men taught by men the dead Scriptures in the Universities and Colleges producing licenced Dog-Collared Priests cannot know God without the holy spirit, which is common sense called SURTI in Hindi but the illiterate Shepherds and Farmers have common sense and they know God. That is why the Good News of the Birth of Yahshua, the First Born of

[spell-cleaver]

Whumptober No. 8 EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead

Read it on AO3 or on FFN instead!

Luke’s ears perked up when he heard the footsteps walk past his quarters and pause just outside the door. “Piett?” he called hopefully. “Don’t be a stranger.”

There was a sigh, but Piett would never refuse a direct order from his lord’s son. He opened the door and stepped inside, flashing a smile at Luke that told him he was exhausted.

“You look tired,” Luke said helpfully.

“I am well. It is irrelevant in the face of—”

“—serving the great and glorious Empire,” Luke droned, pulling a face. Piett tensed, watching him, like he always did when Luke talked like this. His father said Piett was rigid, but at least he was rigidly loyal. “You can serve the Empire better when you’re well rested, you know. When was the last time you chatted with anyone?”

Piett stepped inside and, knowing what Luke would ask of him, sat stiffly on the sofa opposite Luke. Luke took his feet down from where he’d been enjoying the view of the Executor laid out below him against a brilliant backdrop of stars.

“General Veers and I discussed coordination with his troop movements over caf this morning.”

“That’s not a chat.”

“General Veers and I are friends.”

“I know.” Veers was another person who always seemed uptight and angry around Luke, but Luke figured that was because he was friends with Zev, and Zev was no longer here. It wasn’t personal to him—they hadn’t spoken in years, and he was left with distant memories of playing with a dark-haired teen with a wispy moustache on a sandy beach—but it was naturally personal to Veers. “But that’s still not a fun chat.”

“We do not have time for idle chit chat in war, sir,” Piett informed him.

“Clearly not, considering how tense you look just at this. How is Veers anyway? Is he missing Zev?”

Piett stiffened further. “Any father would miss a son who betrayed him to the Rebels.”

“I know,” Luke said softly, moving his hand to his stomach. “I can’t imagine it.” He tried to—he’d wanted to be a pilot before his medical issues kicked in, so he tried to imagine a world where his father didn’t need to coddle him constantly, and his self-righteousness outweighed his sense. The Rebels wore those awful flightsuits, Luke knew; he pictured himself wearing one as he walked between X-wings. Maybe Zev would be there too: a dark-haired man coming out of the forest of X-wings to laugh at him.

Luke shook his head. Ridiculous. He could never betray his father like that. “I really can’t,” he repeated. “It seems just cruel to General Veers. I hope he’s alright—I get the sense he doesn’t like me.”

“He respects you immensely.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “As Vader’s son, and Vader’s son only.”

Piett said, “Sir, you’re bleeding.”

“What?” Luke jerked up, then looked at his torso. The hand resting over his stomach was soaked in blood; it had trickled onto the sofa; now that his thoughts came back to the present, he wanted to vomit.

Nausea and pain fought for dominance. Before Piett could catch him, Luke doubled over with full body shudders. Not again. Not again…

“Where is your medication, sir?”

“’Fresher. Top shelf of cabinet.” He winced against the pain and tried to ground himself with something—anything—as his head started to pound as well. Knives drove into the back of his skull, but he tried to focus, focus, focus on anything that didn’t feel like having his head cleaved in two…

Piett was in front of him again with a glass of water. Luke was shaking enough that when he tried to drink, water and pills spilled all over his front. Piett cursed and tried again; this time, the medication splashed into Luke’s mouth, and he swallowed dryly, like there was a lump in his throat. Familiar darkness began to creep in around the edges of his vision, but Piett was there. When Luke clutched for his arms for support and comfort, Piett awkwardly clutched them back.

Piett knew what to do.

*

Luke woke up to a cool hand on his forehead and more water being pressed down his throat. He coughed, turning his hand, but the aftertaste of his headache punished him for even that tiny motion.

“Be careful,” his father ordered, pressing his hand harder onto Luke’s head. It pushed Luke’s head right back, but he let it happen. His father’s presence folded around him, and he immediately started to feel better. Pain was immaterial in the face of such comfort and love.

“It’s been two weeks,” Luke croaked. “That was longer than usual. I thought…”

“That they would not return,” Vader finished, lowering the glass of water. “I had hoped so. It appears not. I will consult with the doctors further about why your body seems intent on tearing itself apart.”

Luke could sense his anger, frustration, self-hatred. He reached out a weak hand to rest on Vader’s arm. “You’re doing all you can, Father. I’m glad you came so quickly.”

Vader took his weak hand and squeezed it. “Always,” he vowed.

There was something off about that—too intense, though his father was always intense. Luke frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“The Emperor has ordered me on a mission away from Death Squadron. If I do not want to risk suspicion, I must leave you.”

Luke nodded, though his heart twisted. “You don’t want him looking too closely and finding me.”

“That would be catastrophic.” Luke heard the unspoken words: While you are in this condition.

“I can fight,” he insisted. “You’ve trained me for years—”

“Not now. I will not lose you because your condition flared up at the wrong time.”

Luke swallowed, but he couldn’t disagree. “When do you have to leave?” he asked quietly.

“Two hours ago.”

“Then go!” He pushed him back, his strength starting to return. “Don’t risk it all for sentiment.”

“I try not to,” Vader drawled, but Luke sensed his worry—and again, his self-hatred—as he stood, turned, and headed towards the hangar.

Luke touched the back of his head, then his stomach. Both fine. The skin of his stomach was smooth and new, but at its centre was the scar again that these incidents always left. He ran his fingertips over the white and pink ridged tissue.

Piett led him back to his room, his expression pained. Luke could walk on his own, but sometimes it was nice being supported, especially if he didn’t have his hovering father around and didn’t need to prove his own independence to him. Before the door to Luke’s quarters slid shut again, Piett’s grave expression gave way to the first words he’d said to him during the trip:

“Sir,” he started, “I swear. We will find and punish the Rebels responsible for this.”

With those baffling words, the door shut, and Luke was left staring after him.

*

It struck again days later—far sooner than he could ever have predicted—in the middle of the night. Luke awoke from a vivid dream with his head in a vice, squeezing, squeezing until his brains felt ready to pop out of his ears. Blood drenched the bedsheets. He slammed the emergency alert button beside his bed—it would alert his father’s comlink, but also Piett’s if his father was absent—and stumbled out of bed, immediately collapsing to the floor.

He couldn’t move for several long moments, bent over double as if in prayer. Tears flooded as freely as the blood did.

He couldn’t stay here. He had to move. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he crawled towards the door of his bedroom that led to the ‘fresher. When he switched from carpet to tiled floor, the cool, smooth surface sent a shock through his system, and went slippery with his blood. He forced himself onto his knees, staggered to his feet, reached for his medication, teetering—

And fell. The bottle fell with him, spilling over the floor. Luke cursed as his head hit the tiles; for a moment, his vision shorted out like a sabotaged holocam. The pain grew sharp and acerbic, the back of his head almost caving in…

What the hells had caused this? Why had this come on in his sleep? That had never, ever happened before. He’d been dreaming—dreaming very vividly about a woman with braided hair. His father said he used to have dreams of his mother, a brown-haired senator, so maybe that was it. But she was young in his mind’s eye, the same age as him, and fierce as they threw ideas back and forth.

It must be his mother. Luke had never known her, but perhaps some distant imprint of being held against her chest let his brain concoct such an image. Perhaps she was still watching him through the Force—perhaps, like his father said so often, she was indeed proud of him.

Proud of a son currently wallowing in his own blood, vision black and red from pain.

It was that thought that finally propelled him to grope around and seize a pill, any pill, from the plethora on the ‘fresher floor. He swallowed it dry—or, not dry, because it had his blood on it—and lay back, letting his hair get drenched crimson as he waited for it to kick in.

He should ask his father about this, he thought dully, his vision spinning. His father would know why that dream was so much like a memory.

*

When Luke woke up, his father was there again. He always was, but—

“You’re supposed to be away,” Luke croaked.

“You almost died,” Vader responded tersely. “You have been unconscious for five days.”

“Five days?”

“Piett has kept you in stasis in bacta to prevent your injuries from growing worse. When I returned we were able to devise a plan to improve them, which is the only reason you are now awake.”

Luke swallowed. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered. “Did you—”

“My task was thankfully already complete. I had another to complete immediately afterwards, but the Emperor will forgive me a brief journey back to my ship between them. Even if he would not, I would have come.”

“Thank you,” Luke said again.

“How are you feeling?”

“As bad as always.” His headache had faded to an echo, but it was a loud echo, nonetheless. “It lasted longer before the pills kicked in this time.” Luke had never quite grasped what they did, other than knock him out so he didn’t have to feel the pain. They seemed to arrest his deterioration at the very least. “I spent a lot of time on the floor.”

“I have seen the state of your quarters. Were you in bed? Did it catch you off-guard?”

“I was asleep,” Luke said. “It’s… never happened to me while I was sleeping before.” His head jerked; the spike of pain that that caused made him wince. “I meant to ask you—I had a dream…”

His father put his hand on his forehead. “Drink,” he intoned, holding up a glass of water. “You do yourself no favours in how you treat your injured body.”

Luke rolled his eyes and huffed. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. Vader’s hand was still on his forehead, cool and comforting. As he drank, Luke felt his headache dissipate, as if the membranes keeping out the pain had been stitched back together.

“Does that feel better?” Vader asked knowingly.

“Yeah, yeah. It does.” Despite his tone, Luke smiled.

“What was it you were going to ask? A dream?”

“Oh! It was…” He trailed off, reaching back. “It was—something about mother.” Had it been? He wasn’t sure what it had been at all. “Nothing. It was just a dream. Sorry.” He flushed.

Vader’s hand moved from his forehead to stroke his cheek. “Do not apologise,” he ordered. “She would love you. It is the greatest tragedy in the galaxy that you have not yet met her.”

Yet. She was dead, but his father always spoke like this. The Sith believed in no afterlife, but Vader seemed unable to bear the idea that she could be gone from him so thoroughly. That Luke could follow her, one day.

“I know,” Luke said.

*

His father had to leave on his next mission—an inspection of how the Avenger was faring under her new captain—the next day. This time, he refused to go without Luke.

“If you are taken ill again,” he insisted, “I must be there. I will not risk you suffering alone as you did once more. If you are not safe even in dreams…”

Luke went with him.

Since Luke was still a secret from the Emperor, known only to the most loyal officers Vader had recruited in his coup, he couldn’t let his face be seen. If he was in any way recognisable, his father said, that put him in danger. He tagged along behind him, forbidden from speaking, wearing the large, complex helmet of a TIE pilot. It narrowed his perception dangerously, judging by how often he almost bumped into Vader.

When he was finally on the Avenger’s bridge, however, it was easier. She was engaged in a ship-to-ship battle against a small Rebel cell found on Mimban, and Luke kept his gaze on the flashing lights, the snuffing of lives beyond the window. It wasn’t soothing, but it was unnatural enough to be noticeable and grounding. He’d seen this before, he thought, but reacted with fear and horror.

His head began to ache; his stomach began to twist.

“…in the year since the unfortunate dismissal of Captain Needa, we have had a restructure of the Avenger’s staff, Lord Vader. This includes the TIE squadrons. I believe they are faster and more efficient in their current situation, but I had hoped to gain… your thoughts on it?”

The captain’s voice trailed off at the end as Vader turned away from him entirely. Luke glanced away from the exploding ships to see his father watching him; he could feel his concern. His pain faded, as did his residual horror. They were just Rebels. They deserved this.

“It is adequate,” Vader said shortly. “As is everything on this ship. You are far from the prestige of the Executor, and I will be assigning many higher skilled captains to assist you in your work accordingly. But you are more competent than Captain Needa was.”

“Thank you, my lord. His final failure was unforgivable; the loss of—”

“I must take my leave,” Vader interrupted. “With me,” he ordered Luke.

The captain was left staring after them, but Luke couldn’t regret leaving early. This whole errand was, ultimately, a chore. And while he’d been tempted to hear about the new configurations of the TIE squadrons, he knew that his dream of flying for the Empire was unrealistic so long as his condition persisted. His father would never let him risk himself like that.

It wasn’t until they were in the shuttle through hyperspace back to the Executor that Vader spoke to Luke. “It was a dull, utterly irrelevant and meaningless task”—he sounded like he was trying to convince him of something—“but one that must be done. At least it was safe for you.”

Luke thought back to the TIEs. How they’d destroyed the Rebels so methodically, like a swarm of antibodies against an invading virus.

“Last week,” Luke said. “When Piett walked me back to my room, he said that he would find and punish the Rebels who did this to me.” Vader stiffened. Luke watched, puzzled. “What did he mean, Father?”

“Piett should not have spoken of that. It was outside of his rights.”

“He was trying to be kind,” Luke pushed. “What did he mean?”

Vader drummed his fingers on the console and stared out of the viewport. He did not dare to look at Luke in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Your condition,” he said. “It was brought about by a Rebel attack.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“The medics who rescued you told me that the stress of it would likely see your brain erase the memories. I was occupied with a battle on the bridge, but the battle was to obscure the assassins who crept inside. They must have heard how powerful you were growing and feared having to face you in a fair fight. You were stabbed through the stomach and tossed into the trash compactor like refuse”—Vader growled the word—“where your skull slammed into the wall hard enough to crumble. You were rescued, but the Rebels were not captured.”

Luke’s hand drifted to the back of his head, his other to his stomach. He sat back in the co-pilot’s chair. “I should have died,” he murmured. “It’s a miracle I didn’t die.”

His father said nothing, but his silence shrieked.

“Father?” Luke pressed. “Why… why didn’t I die?”

Another few minutes—slow, careful, awkward. Finally, Vader said, “You did.”

“How is that possible? I’m—”

“Alive,” Vader agreed. “And I will keep you that way.” He finally turned to Luke and leaned forwards, seizing his wrists in his durasteel grip. “I am the son of the Force. I was promised that Death would bow to me, yet it did not, so I forced it to. But it continues to try to take you.”

Luke tried to pull away from his father’s grip so he could touch his head again, but it was too strong. “My condition…”

“I am studying everything I can for how to resolve it. Without my power continually pushing your body to hold itself together, it deviates back to the injuries that killed you.”

“The pills?”

Vader’s grip softened. “Do nothing,” he admitted. “They make it so you need not experience the pain, while others can rush you to the medbay to maintain you until I can reach you.”

“I felt my stomach start to hurt on the bridge. Is that why you…”

“I suspected you might, in that situation. But I insisted you come with me so I could solve it there and then, before you suffered needlessly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Luke whispered.

“Your brain knows that you would be miserable if you remembered your death. I did not feel it prudent to remind you so rudely of it.”

“I’m dead.”

“No, Luke.” Vader finally released his wrists to stroke his cheek again. “You are not dead. That is the miracle we must preserve. You… are alive.”

*

When they returned home, Vader had an immediate summons from the Emperor to attend to, while Luke retreated to his bedroom to sleep. He did not sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to wrack his brain for any memory of his death. Perhaps that was the twinge of familiarity he’d had watching the starfighters from the bridge… but he did not remember what that familiarity had entailed. There was no reason he would have it.

It meant that he was still awake which his father returned. His foul mood filled the Force like the stench of rotting food.

“The Emperor has taken interest in the young pilot who apparently accompanied me on this mission,” he bit out. “He must have a spy on the bridge.”

“The captain?” Luke offered. “Why would he be interested, anyway? You shouldn’t worry—he doesn’t even know you have a son.”

“It could not be the captain. He is far too afraid of me—as well he should be, after how poorly Captain Needa served me.”

“What does this mean? Why are you afraid?”

“Because I have yet another mission to attend to,” he spat. “The construction of the second Death Star is a waste of time, and yet I must spend my days running after it.”

“The second Death Star?” Luke asked.

Vader looked up, like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“What happened to the first?” His best guess could only be— “Was it destroyed by Rebels?” Horror, again, pooled in his gut. He imagined his father flying through the trenches, getting shot out the sky…

“No,” Vader said. Luke hadn’t realised his head had started to hurt until Vader reached out to engulf him with the Force. It seemed his unravelling was brought about by worry, then, if just imagining his father shot out of the sky would trigger it. “It was destroyed due to the incompetence of those who built it. And yet Palpatine insists on another.”

Luke nodded, satisfied. His head no longer ached. “When do you have to leave?”

*

The answer was: too soon. Luke waved goodbye to his father yet again and tried to calm the worry in his heart.

Stupid, selfish worry. He could survive without his father. None of this changed anything about his instinctive desire to stand without him, to prove his own strength and independence. Why that was such a need for him remained a mystery, but it was.

And besides. If worry brought on his relapses, then worrying about his father’s absence would be the only thing that created the problem.

So, Luke bade farewell to him and watched his shuttle depart from the hangar just underneath the bridge. He stood at the viewport for a long time after he watched him jump to hyperspace, observing the glinting of starlight on the great bulk of the Executor’s hull. She was a beautiful ship. Watching her was soothing.

What would this Death Star his father was overseeing look like? He couldn’t imagine it would look nearly as elegant, like a knife cutting through the dark fabric of space. He tried to imagine it nonetheless and thought of a sphere the size of a moon. He immediately dismissed it as preposterous.

But it had existed, surely? Something nagged at his brain, and he was too distracted by it to notice the incoming pain. Alone, totally, for the first time in a while, he let his thoughts unravel to their end:

That image. A massive space station. A system full of debris. Look at the size of that thing, he thought to himself, and then didn’t know why he’d thought it.

What was a Death Star anyway? The name wasn’t indicative of anything good, which fit with something that Palpatine built that his father disapproved of. Palpatine was cruel, while his father was not. But Luke thought, and could not shake the thought, that it must be meant for mass destruction on an inconceivable scale. Entire planets. But there would be no one planet they would want to—

Alderaan. It jabbed into his mind like a needle drawing blood. What… why…? He wasn’t even sure he remembered what Alderaan was; the word was unfamiliar. His father and Piett had certainly never used it around him. If it was a planet, the fact he had never heard of it must mean it was remote. Perhaps it was even uninhabited. Why, then, would it matter that it had been destroyed? Who would care, if it was so remote?

Luke cared. Or rather, Luke had cared. The disconnected anger that surged inside him suddenly made him aware of the physical state of his body, the agony in his stomach, his head. He stumbled back to land on the sofa, still staring at the Executor below him in all her glory.

A flash of terror went through him at the sight of her. He couldn’t say why.

He should stop this. His father had been gone for less than an hour, and Luke was already upsetting himself to a life-threatening extent. But he kept pushing; something compelled him on. Who would mourn? Who had mourned? Who had Luke mourned with?

When he remembered Leia, it was like his raw, resurrected heart gained something it had been missing. It finally started to beat properly.

Beat, and beat, so the blood trickling out of his stomach came in waves. He doubled over, pain and confusion twin dancers in his spinning brain. The button to alert his father and Piett of another incident was on the table, less than a metre away, but Luke had no desire to reach for it.

Leia. Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan. A fierce, brown-haired woman who wore her hair in braids…

And who else had been at the Death Star destruction? Because it had been destroyed by Rebels. He bled with the certainty of it. His father had lied.

His father had lied.

Biggs had been there. Biggs—a dark-haired, moustached man who used to play with Luke on a sandy… hill. Dune. It hadn’t been Zevulon Veers. It hadn’t been a beach. It had been Biggs Darklighter, on Tatooine, and on Tatooine had been—

Uncle Owen. Aunt Beru.

Old Ben—and from there followed Yoda.

Han had been on Tatooine. Chewie. The droids.

When had he last seen them? When had he ended up here, with his father, Vader having to resurrect him from a Rebel attack? When had he discovered his father at all?

Luke! Luke, it’s a trap!

The Force is with you, young Skywalker…

Luke’s eyes flew open. He wanted to be sick.

But you are not a Jedi yet.

*

It was a miracle he made it to the hangar. Half-conscious at best, leaving a trail of blood, noise, and possibly even guts, he thundered through the Executor like a rampaging bantha. But he didn’t need to be subtle. He just needed to be fast.

Once the everyday officers onboard realised that Luke Skywalker was in their midst, not even Vader would be able to make them forget it.

There was a Lambda-class shuttle in his father’s private hangar. Luke raced on board, slopped himself into the pilot’s seat and threw his hands over controls already red and slick. The landing ramp came up. The thrusters engaged. The hangar doors were still open, but he realised with a moment of panic that he needed permission to leave, or else they’d tractor him back in. He’d seen Vader—his father—use his own private permission codes when they went on joyrides together, though he didn’t think Vader knew he’d seen that. He punched one in.

Let them baffle themselves over why two of Vader’s codes came through in the same hour. There were a thousand potential reasons, and the Empire’s policy was to not ask questions.

He took off, cursing the stupid slowness of Imperial slugs. It drifted airily out of the hangar even as Luke pushed its speed to its limit, every second drilling into his head. He could barely think.

His comlink—not his, the comlink Vader had given him—was chiming. He answered before he could think not to.

“Luke?” Piett asked. He sounded worried. “The blood sensors in your quarters triggered. Are you alright? Did it happen again? I’ve already contacted your father…”

There were blood sensors in his quarters? It made sense—Luke wasn’t always in the state to get to the button—but it hammered something home. He hadn’t known about them.

“I just got alerted that one of your father’s codes was used to leave the hangar. Luke, I repeat: are you alright?”

Luke was out of the hangar by now, thank the Force. He jabbed coordinates—any coordinates, any at all; Tatooine?—into the navicomputer and watched it start calculating. Two minutes til freedom.

How many minutes til death?

“Your father is on his way back here,” Piett kept saying, apparently hearing Luke’s hyperventilating as a sign that he needed such reassurance. “Sir, please, if you can tell me—”

“Are you sure you want to call a Rebel sir, Admiral Piett?”

Piett was silent for only a moment. He was too disciplined to let things like surprise shake him. But that moment stretched out forever, as Luke stared at the calculating navicomputer.

“Skywalker,” Piett said finally, sharp and commanding. “Return to your quarters immediately. If you are indeed experiencing another unravelling, you will die without immediate attention from Lord Vader.”

“Let it happen,” Luke snarled. He wanted to unravel it all. The secrets, the lies, the memories that had been balled in a tiny corner of his mind, the cells that stacked together so carefully to form a healthy human being…

“I am sending TIE fighters to escort you back to the hangar—”

“Belay that order, Admiral,” ordered another voice. Luke’s heart swooped. Vader had been patched in. A moment later, he saw his shuttle dive back into realspace. He must have turned around immediately when he received Piett’s alert. “Luke, return to your quarters at once.”

“I have my kriffing memories back. Don’t act like I’m your son.”

“You are my son.” He sounded remarkably calm, though Luke could sense the rage and fear roiling in him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You know that I am not lying.”

“Then why would you—” Luke suppressed a scream. Fathers didn���t do this. “Was everything a lie? I died on Bespin, didn’t I?”

“You… fell.”

“I jumped.”

“Your skull shattered against the bottom of the shaft simultaneous with a weathervane impaling your torso. Your body was long cold by the time I retrieved it, and yet you live.”

“You wiped my memories! You bound my life to you!”

Every time he had started to remember the truth, pushing up against the bounds of Vader’s power, his body had come apart again. Back to the corpse he had been. Back to what he’d decided to be rather than his father’s dutiful Sith son—a choice that Vader had robbed him of.

“I saved you, Luke. It is a miracle that you are alive. I will not have you risking yourself again. Return, instantly.”

“No!”

His father’s cool tone once again belied the intense desperation Luke could sense. “Do you think this is the only time you have remembered?”

Luke took in a sharp breath.

“You will return to me one way or another. Come back. I do not wish you to experience the pain you are currently in.”

“Never,” Luke hissed.

Vader didn’t hesitate. “Very well. Admiral, fire when ready.”

The words snapped through Luke. When he finally registered what they meant, it was too late. The Executor shot at him, straight for his engines, and he was folded in an embrace of hot metal and flame.

*

Luke opened his eyes and groaned. He felt like he’d been cooked alive, torn apart cell-by-cell, then hastily reassembled.

“You were,” Vader said tightly. He had his hand wrapped around Luke’s, sitting quietly at his bedside. “It is a miracle you yet live.”

“Father.” He turned to him and tried to smile with sheer relief through the bacta patches on his face. Reached up a hand to touch them. “What happened? Do you have a mirror?”

Watching him carefully in case it upset him, Vader reached for the tiny mirror on the stand beside the bed. Luke looked at himself. At least his whole face wasn’t burnt: the bacta mainly slathered his cheeks. His hair had largely grown back, thick and dark brown, which was a miracle if he had been cooked alive. Under one of the bacta patches, he could see his beauty spot had regrown, exactly in the same place as his mother’s.

“The Emperor found out about your existence,” Vader said. “He… attempted to assassinate you. Your ship was destroyed.”

Luke swallowed. “What did he do to you? Are you alright?”

“I am well. I killed him.”

Luke’s brows creased. “How? How long have I been out?”

“A month,” Vader said casually as Luke gaped.

A month had dropped out of the galaxy, just like that. While he was unconscious, the Emperor had died. He sat back, head spinning.

“I have already announced you as the new prince. Nobody can deny you are my son—you are a part of our empire.” That last sentence was said intently, almost sinisterly, but Luke’s head was still spinning.

“Are we heading to Coruscant, then?” he asked, sitting back. A plan for the future would be reassuring. He’d never been to Coruscant, and the idea of the planet seemed magical in his mind.

“Not yet. We are going to Naboo.”

Luke frowned. “Naboo? Why?”

“Because I am certain, now. You are ready. I am ready. And the Empire needs an Empress.” Vader stroked Luke’s cheek—the cheek with the beauty spot on it. “Luke. It is time for you to finally meet your mother.”

[lettersbydahlia]

love me to death ♡ yuuji itadori

You've been King Suguru's knight since you could walk, trained to protect him until the day you die. After many lost battles leave you heavily injured, you find yourself under the care of your sworn enemy, Gojo Satoru’s knight. While the morals and values you’ve built your life around begin to crumble, you try (not) to fall in love with Yuuji Itadori.

♡ knight fem! reader x knight! yuuji itadori, ft. gojo & geto

♡ fic is part of @bbysamu‘s collab, “all is fair in love & war”

♡ wc: 8.5k (8507 words)

♡ cw: LOTS of graphic violence, warfare, cursing, small sexual themes, ptsd, body horror, insects, nightmares, (it's medieval warfare, very bloody and graphic!)

♡ a/n: so...this fic is a BIG hot piece of garbage that i had to spedrun bc i'm irresponsible and didn't finish it with time to spare. not beta'd, not proofread, just ran it thru grammarly and hoped for the best!

so have 8.5k words of hot trash and i'll prob disappear against for a few months. if u guys happen to like it pls rb + comment :)

♡ do not repost/plagiarize/use my content.

The name Yuuji Itadori has never failed to make you scowl. Anyone from the Satoru Kingdom is your enemy- especially when they’re Gojo Satoru’s knight. Another war has started between your kingdom- King Geto’s, and the Gojo kingdom. As his knight, he’s appointed you the general commander to lead the kingdom’s troops into battle.

Though inexperienced as a general commander, you’re more than certain that you’ll be able to lead Suguru’s troops into battle and claim victory. But even with your self–assurance, a knot forms at the bottom of your stomach, and a nagging voice on your shoulder warns you of the bloodshed that will spill. You hope that it’ll only be the blood of your enemies, and preferably of Yuuji Itadori and King Gojo.

Even so, there is no place for misplaced hopes and fear in war. So you exhale and let all your worries dissipate in the air before opening the doors to the royal council room. The council is quick to rise from their seats and bow before you, which has a smile tugging at the edge of your lips. All except King Suguru, who sits at the head of the circular table. You walk towards him and kneel, bowing your head before your king.

“You called for me, your majesty?” You don’t raise your head until Suguru hums in agreement, and then you take your seat at his side.

“Indeed. I’ve gathered the council here for you so we can begin planning for war. The first region to strike is the Gojo’s eastern frontier. It’s where he sends all the criminals and traitors. Once we’ve created an opening there, the kingdom will fall.” 

You nod, slowly processing the information. “Excellent. What’s the status of our supplies and troops.” Suguru smiles, and you almost shiver at the look in his eyes. Though you’ve known your King for years and have grown to call him a friend when off duty, you’ve always feared him to a certain point.

“Better than ever before. We’ve recruited thousands of young men and women who are ready to die for their country.” The way he says it doesn’t settle right with you, but you try to ignore the feeling. “We’ve also established an alliance with some smaller kingdoms near the Gojo kingdom. They’re little rats hungry for a crumb of power,” this erupts a symphony of chuckles in the room, and you force a smile. 

“Once we win the war, we can throw their pitiful alliances away,” one of the higher-up councilwoman says, inspecting her nails. Everyone seems to nod in agreement, and your nod is a bit delayed, but Suguru doesn’t seem to notice.

You know your kingdom has never prided itself on its moral righteousness or fair treatment of others, but your morals have never completely aligned with the kingdom. Being Suguru’s knight has given you a content life and there are some unpleasant things about it you’ve come to accept though they’ve never settled right with you. In a sense, you think that makes you a selfish coward. But you’d rather be a selfish coward with food, wealth, and status than a poor out-righteous fool who would get herself killed in an instant. 

A beige roll of paper is handed to you, and you’re quick to unfurl it. It’s a roughly sketched map of the Satoru kingdom, and your eyes skim over it.

“What’s the fastest you can equip the troops for battle?” Suguru’s silky voice filters your ears, and you roll up the map.

“A fully trained army? Before sunrise. But if we’ve received an influx of recruits, then at least a month.” 

Suguru doesn’t seem pleased but he nods. He intertwines his hands and leans back on his throne. 

“Very well then. I’ll give you all the resources you ask me for. I expect to see my troops marching into the war after one month.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek but nod. Suguru rises from his seat, and you take that as your cue to stand from your seat and take your stand slightly behind him, hand on your sword’s sheath.

“Any other details must be sent to General Commander L/N. She has been given this honor for she is the best swordsman of this kingdom, and I expect you all to respect this.” Your face feels warm at the not-so-subtle compliment, and the council is quick to nod. The meeting comes to an end, and you leave the room trailing behind Suguru. -Though he starts talking about banquet arrangements, your mind is far too preoccupied with war to be thinking about his upcoming ball.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

The month goes by faster than you had expected. You’ve trained every soldier to the best of your abilities, but you are still concerned. A month is barely enough for a soldier to be decently prepared- at best-, and Suguru wants you to take down the entire Gojo Kingdom with an amateur army. 

So you track him down to his chambers, unphased when two scantily-clad women and one man slip past you, holding back smiles of embarrassment. He raises a brow at your arrival and you clear your throat before approaching his bed, kneeling before him. 

“Tomorrow marks the end of the month, your majesty. But if I can, I implore you to give my troops more time. Many of them are like baby lambs, barely learning how to walk. They will not survive in a real battle.”

Suguru sighs, and your heart drops. You already know what that means.

“War waits for no one, L/N. As long as you’ve prepared them to the best of your capacity, I trust that. I trust you. You have protected me since we were mere children and killed a man when you were only twelve. I’ve tried my best to give you time, but I cannot spare any more time.” A lump forms in your throat and you swallow it down. Silence falls upon you two as you keep your gaze on the lush red carpet.

“Prepare the army to leave at the first light. Good luck and…stay safe, Y/N,” he places a hand on your head, and you meet his gaze. He offers you a small smile, but it is nothing more than a facade in your eyes. You know it is a facade. With another of your many forced smiles, you rise and leave Suguru’s chambers.

➶

You haven’t gotten a single wink of sleep ever since your conversation with Suguru. So instead of lying in your bed, you decide to rise and prepare for battle. When the moon begins to fade from your view, you order your Grand Officers to awaken and prepare the soldiers for battle.

A small part of you pities the troops. This is the bloodshed you had been fearing; the blood of your people. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. All you can hope is that the Gojo Kingdom is weaker than it seems. 

Your soldiers are up and running as the sun begins to rise. They gather into their units and stand in front of you. The thousands of people staring at you makes your stomach twist, but you ignore it and keep a stoic face. 

“We are to attack the Shibou region. It is occupied by the kingdom’s criminals and delinquents who are imprisoned for life. Our goal is to seize control of the region. This means that you cannot spare a single life. Am I understood?” Your soldiers shout in unison, and a sense of pride fills your heart.

Without further ado, you mount your house and lead your troops to the Gojo Kingdom. The view of the sunrise and the wind that tickles your face gives you a sense of comfort, and you hope that this battle will end well.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

There are no knights or guards stationed at the entrance of the Shibou region, which makes you raise a brow. Something must be wrong. But you continue forward, steering your horse to gallop even faster. Thousands of horses galloping behind yours are making the ground tremble, and it almost makes you smile. The glory of a thousand-man army is unmatched.

Once you’ve gone past poorly built wooden fences and barriers, you unmount your horse and unsheathe your sword. Your eyes analyze your surroundings, brows furrowed. There are hundreds of small abodes and buildings, but nothing that seems like a region where criminals are imprisoned. A bonfire is still burning. You see cattle scattered throughout the region. 

Nonsense. This must be the Shibou Prison, and you must conquer it for your king. So without further ado, you shout to your soldiers and rush into battle. 

The houses are burned, and the few adults that you spot are killed in an instant. You try not to get a look at their faces. You know what comes with the price of taking someone’s life: their face will be engraved into your memory. 

Screams and shouts blend with the smell of the burning town, and your chest feels tight. You ignore the feeling and kick down the door of an untouched house. There doesn’t seem to be anyone but you walk further into the house cautiously. You half-expect someone to swing out of a room and attack you. But it never happens, and you reach the last room of the house. You don’t find anyone inside until you hear a whimper. And your sword is pointed at a trembling child’s throat, tears pouring down her face. She’s clutching an old ragged plush to her body, shaking her head vigorously. Your sword falls to the ground before you can react. The girl realizes this and races past you, and you’re quick to grab your sword and chase after her. If she goes outside, she’ll be dead in an instant. Maybe you can hide her, take her somewhere safe- you freeze as you watch one of your soldiers plunge a sword through the little girl’s chest without hesitation, and the child’s body drops to the ground. You remember the soldier’s name- Mahito. He scoffs and withdraws his bloody sword, looking at it with distaste before walking over the child’s body. You hear the crunch, the blood gushing. Even after your soldiers have massacred the whole town and taken control of the region, you’re still standing in the hallway of the house, staring at the little girl’s crushed body. 

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

“The Shibou territory has been claimed. I have stationed one of my grand officers and a part of the army to stay there and keep the territory under control.” You hope Geto doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your voice, or your scraped fists gripping your sword’s sheath.

He doesn’t bother to look up from the document he’s reading. He nods, a slight smile on his face. 

“Very well. I knew the battle would be easy for you.” There’s an airiness to his voice and it makes you enraged. You tighten your grip around the hilt of your sword. 

“You said the Shibou region was a prison for criminals. A region where King Gojo sends his kingdom’s scum to rot.”

“Oh?” He finally looks up from his document and meets your gaze. “Did I say that?”

“It was a village!” You shout and rise to your feet, eyes burning with unshed tears. “A FARMING VILLAGE! There were no guards, no stationed knights, no criminals! Only farmers! COMMONFOLK WITH CHILDREN!” Your voice turns into a desperate screech, and Geto shows no reaction to your outburst. A few tears are streaming down your face by the end of it and you fall quiet, chest heaving. 

Geto merely stares at you before sighing with disappointment. It makes you pause, and your heart twists. You just disrespect your King.

“Your majesty-,” he stops you with a raise of his hand, his face withdrawn from any emotions.

“I have never seen you cry before, Y/N,” your first name rolling off his tongue feels unnatural. “I don’t wish to ever see it again. You are no saint. You are my knight, my general commander. You are fully aware of what happens during war. The sacrifices we must make,” he shakes his head, folding the document on his lap. “War is never fair, is it now?” There’s a slight smile on his face and it’s revolting.

“Next time you express such weakness, I will retire you and leave you with the dirty common folk of my kingdom. I am glad you have won my first battle. I expect better results for the next battle. Do you understand?” 

You can’t do anything but nod. 

➶

Geto informs you that the next battle will be in a week. He orders you to continue training the soldiers and leave before the sun rises. This time, you’ll be attacking the western frontier of the Gojo Kingdom. He does not bother lying this time and tells you it’s mostly inhabited by the kingdom’s common folk.

This time, you do not tell your soldiers anything before marching into battle. You do not flinch when blood splatters on your face, you do not flinch before slashing your sword across a young man’s neck. You do not flinch while massacring hundreds of people that you know will haunt you in your slumber.

Your army seems to be halfway into the region when you hear a familiar noise: thousands of horses stomping on the ground. Before your very eyes, you watch as the knights of the Gojo army arrive and unsheathe their swords before you.

One man is leading the army. Strawberry pink hair, light skin, and two strange incisions below both his eyes. His sword shines deadly in the sunlight, and you tighten your grip around yours.

“Soldiers of the Geto Kingdom! Surrender now and your lives will be spared.” His voice booms across the field and the battle pauses for a second as all soldiers stare at each other. A misguided hatred boils in your chest and you scoff.

“We will never surrender to scum like you.” The few words are more than enough for the battle to resume, and you mount your horse again before charging forward. Your eyes are focused on the leading man, and he seems to notice it. Your swords clash loudly and your horse neighs and steps back. You’re quick to unmount and he mimics your actions. You go into a frenzy, uncaring of the battle that rages around you as you meet swords with this strange man.

He counters every move you make and you dodge all of his. Neither of you can land a hit on each other, and it’s infuriating. Someone shouts and he gets distracted, eyes searching for the shout. You take advantage of his mistake and kick him hard in the chest. He groans as he falls to the ground, and your sword is pointed at his throat. 

“Surrender and I will spare your life.” You spit out the words, trying to ignore the drying blood on your face. He’s amused, raising his hands as he chuckles.

“I should be the one saying that.” You furrow your brows in confusion, before the sensation of something cold and sharp pressing into your back makes your heart drop.

“Your army has been defeated. Surrender now or accept death.” A masculine voice shouts behind you, and you curse under your breath. You quickly inspect your surroundings and confirm his statement: all your soldiers have been knocked to the ground, some still breathing while others are not. Your chest feels heavy. So you drop your sword, hands raised in surrender. The man behind you falters, slowly dropping his weapon.

“I would rather die before surrendering to you fools.” You swing around and disarm the man, knocking him onto the ground. The knife you keep hidden in your boot is now at his throat, and there are dozens of soldiers pointing their swords and crossbows at you.

You smile, watching the strawberry blonde man rise and scowl. 

“Release him.” There’s a look in his eyes that makes you think the man you’re holding hostage is his friend; someone important to him. So instead, you press the knife deeper into the man’s neck. A few droplets of blood roll down. 

“Why should I do that?” The man underneath your knife is breathing heavily, and you know he’s afraid. But you’ve caught him and he’s under your control. 

“Megumi. Permission to proceed.” The strawberry blonde man says and before you can question what it means, the man underneath your blade slams his feet on yours and turns, jabbing a knife into your thigh. You yelp, and he’s quick to rise to his feet. You grimace and clutch your injured thigh, glaring at the two men who stand side by side.

“What are you waiting for? Kill me already.” The unnamed man shakes his hand, forcing you to rise. 

“It would be a waste to kill someone as powerful as you. Soldiers, it’s time to recover the bodies and honor our fallen.” A harsh blow to your head knocks you out, and your surroundings blur before everything goes black. 

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

You wake up with a bandaged thigh and a fresh set of clothes. When you scan your surroundings, you realize you can’t recognize anything. You don’t know where you are. Quickly, you try to rise from the bed you’re laying on- only to feel the strong tug of chains wrapped around both your wrists. You scoff, trying to tug at the chains but they don’t budge.

“Do not bother. Those will not open by force.” You jump as the familiar man with strawberry blonde walks towards you, setting a mug down on a wooden table. You’re laying down on a bed. You scowl, and he snorts.

“Didn’t think I would let you walk free, did you?”

You don’t respond, still trying to budge free from the chains. He sighs, dragging a wooden stool towards you and sitting on it. Your ankles are chained too. Jesus Christ. He merely watches you struggle. 

“You fool. Why did you not kill me on the battlefield?” You narrow your eyes at him, and he shrugs.

“I’ve sworn to avoid killing if possible. There are always other ways to resolve a conflict.” You snort, shaking your head. 

“Killing is unavoidable in war and you are a fool if you believe otherwise.” He hums, stroking his chin. 

“What is your name?” He changes the subject and you roll your eyes. 

“What difference does it make?” He clears his throat and gives you a small smile.

“I am Yuuji Itadori and I would like to know the name of the talented swordsman who is bent on killing me. Even if she is an enemy.” Your body stiffens.

“Yuuji…Itadori.” The name feels wrong on your tongue, and you dig your nails into your palms.

“Christ, if I had known it was you, I would’ve done the honor and killed myself.” He raises a brow. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I am King Geto’s Knight Commander, Y/N L/N.” His eyes widen and you see several emotions go through his eyes fleetingly. Surprise, animosity, and realization.

“I see,” he pauses, gaze unwavering. “I see why you would prefer death over captivity. You certainly live up to your reputation.” Yuuji chuckles and you don’t like how relaxed and upbeat he is.

 “And you don’t.” You bite back but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He nods.

“I am aware.” 

You raise a brow, expecting him to fight back.

“Why is that?” He rises from his seat and you reel back. Yuuji merely shakes his head and begins to unlock the two chains on your ankles. 

“I am only known for my greater accomplishments, as my King calls them. The deeds I wish were not necessary. The lives I’ve taken with my bare hands or my sword. Lives I wish I did not have to take.” You listen to his words silently, contemplating. One of his hands brushes over your wound and you hiss, flinching. 

“My apologies. I have to assess your wound.” You grimace as he peels the cloth off your wound, and he hums. “It will take some time to heal, but it will heal nicely. I’ve managed to get some of the better herbs for wounds like these.”

He walks towards the counters that are against the cobblestone walls, and you frown. You are far from trusting him but you can’t deny that your curiosity is piqued.

“Why are you doing this? Had you not said I would be imprisoned and await trial?” Yuuji pauses for a second before resuming his search for the herbs.

“Ah! Here they are. Sir Nanami must have used them last time he visited.” He begins to hum while moving around in the kitchen and being ignored makes you annoyed.

As you open your mouth to speak again, he cuts you off.

“I negotiated with King Gojo and the council. They know of your talent and your skills. It would be a waste to keep you locked until the end of your days. There is a possibility your war crimes can be pardoned if you serve King Gojo as one of his elite knights.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I am King Geto’s Knight Commandeer… What makes you think I will be quick to denounce my loyalties? Even if I did- what guarantees that I won’t murder you or your King?” Yuuji merely smiles at your words and it’s infuriating. Here you are, chained to your enemy’s bed while he finds your threats amusing. 

“I won’t let you.” You scoff and turn over in the bed. You forget about your open wound and yelp, and Yuuji walks towards you laughing loudly. It makes you scowl. The moment these chains are off your wrists, you will make sure Yuuji Itadori suffers by your hands.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

“What has King Geto been told? Have I been denounced dead, or captured?” You decide to ask Yuuji as you roll over in bed to look at him. He walks over to you with a bowl of ointments and your stomach twists.

“Captured. I couldn’t let the glory of winning and capturing his greatest Knight go unnoticed, after all.” He grins and you scowl. 

“Now, I have to apply these ointments on your wound. It’s healing quicker, which is a good sign. You should be able to walk in a week or two.” He dips his fingers in the ointment and you bite the inside of your cheek. Though he’s gentle when applying the ointment, it still burns on the open wound and you hiss. You flinch and your hand instinctively goes to his throat. He had removed the chain from one of your wrists a few days ago and you think he’s regretting it when your hand shoots to grip his throat. He’s strong enough to rip from your grip and coughs and a tinge of guilt settles in your stomach. Guilt? Why are you guilty? Regardless of the kindness and hospitality he’s shown you, Yuuji Itadori is still your enemy. 

“Instinctual reaction. The ointment is quite painful.” You don’t apologize but you hope he’ll accept an explanation.

He clears his throat before nodding and slowly applying the ointment on your thigh. You clench your jaw, hand fisting into the bed’s blankets. It stings but maybe choking your captor isn’t the best idea.

Yuuji applies the ointment for a few more minutes before pulling away. You exhale heavily, body muscles relaxing. Your enemy smiles at you, and your heart skips a beat. You pretend that didn’t happen and roll your eyes at him.

➶

“Why did you become King Geto’s knight?” Yuuji asks you one day while you eat a bowl of warm soup. You look up from your bowl, spoon in mid-air. You set the spoon in the bowl and clear your throat.

“It was my premeditated fate, of course.” 

Yuuji raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Do elaborate.”

You set down your bowl on your left and sigh. “I come from a lineage of knights and grand commanders. It was only logical for me to become King Geto’s knight,” you pause and stare at him. “Why did you become King Gojo’s knight?”

Yuuji falls quiet for a few minutes. He scratches the top of his head and hums. 

“It was my grandfather’s dying wish.”

You raise a brow and pause. “Your grandfather asked you to become King Gojo’s knight?” He chuckles and shakes his head. Your confusion deepens and so does the furrow of your brows.

“Not quite. Before he passed, he asked me to help people. To use my strength and kindness to lift others who cannot lift themselves.” You drink in his words with a slow nod. “King Gojo found me in a vulnerable time. He gave me his protection, a roof over my head, and everything I could ask for. I am his Grand Commander Knight, but I also train his army of knights that protect the common folk."

For once in your life, you feel inferior to someone. So you swallow down a lump that formed in your throat and lick your lips.

“Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man.” Yuuji smiles and it makes you smile, too.

“Indeed, he was.” 

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

The dreadfully familiar village stands in front of you. Your knights are nowhere in sight yet you know what memory you’re reliving. Roaring flames tear down the buildings and lick away the skin of trapped cattle. The smell of burning flesh invades your nostrils.

The bodies of the villagers you massacred are scattered throughout the land. Your movements are slow and sluggish, your sword weighing you down. You struggle to walk forward but persist and keep walking until you reach the little girl’s house. 

You pray to the Lord and everything holy that she’s still inside her house. Still safe; still hiding in that tiny crook where you found her. Her body isn’t at the doorstep of her house and you exhale. You don’t see Mahito plunge his sword into her body, or her body lying still on the ground, blood seeping into the dirt. So you force yourself to trudge forward, to open the door to her house because you don’t have the strength to kick it down. Your sword drags on the wooden floor, leaving marks without a doubt.

You open the last door at the end of the hallway. It swings open with a creak, and your heart is in your throat. It’s beating so loud you think your whole body shakes with each beat of your heart. You hear a familiar whimper, and you ignore the constraints of your body as you rush forward. 

Her back is turned to you, but you know it’s her. You see the ragged plush peek above her shoulder. Your sword drops to the ground and your hand rests on her shoulder, gently turning her around. She turns around instantly and you stagger backward. Your heart plummets and your eyes widen.

Her face is rotten, flesh partially missing and skin loosely hanging onto her face. Flies swarm her face, flying into the crevices of her flesh. There is a wide gaping hole in the middle of her chest, and you can see her intestines hang out from the hole, blood pouring onto the wooden floor. 

You cry out in horror, but no noise leaves your throat. Your throat is shut tight. The little girl walks forward, one hand flying to grip your neck. She brings her face close to yours and you can smell the putrid smell of rotting flesh. The insects are swarming your face and it’s all so horrifying you can’t move-

-You wake up with a sob escaping your lips, chest heaving, and body covered in sweat. Your hands fly to muffle your sobs but it’s too late. You hear the creak of approaching footsteps and Yuuji appears. His hair is all ruffled and his eyes are barely open.

“What is the matter?” He half mumbles and assesses your state. He frowns, eyes slightly widening. “Are you unwell?”

You can’t respond. Your throat is closing up on you and your chest feels like it’s on fire. Your hands fly to your throat and you scratch at it desperately, hoping that it’ll help somehow. Tears are pouring down your face and Yuuji rushes towards you. He slides onto the bed and grips your hands, forcing you to place them down on your lap. You shake your head vigorously, but then you feel a few warm droplets on your neck. Your nails sunk so deep into your neck that a few blood droplets begin to appear.

“Tell me what happened. What did you dream of?” Yuuji’s voice is soft. You don’t respond immediately, focusing on controlling your breathing and stopping the flow of your tears. He sits behind you, one hand resting on your shoulder. His body is warm behind yours and you’re able to somewhat regain your composure after a while.

“I saw her.” You say, voice croaky and throat raw. Yuuji is silent, and he moves closer to you. His breath fans your shoulder. 

“Her?” He repeats and you clench your fists in your lap.

“A little girl. A little girl that died because of me.” You feel your eyes water but you blink the tears away. He stays quiet and you take that as your cue to continue.

 “I see them. I see all of them. They’re never gone.” 

You’re startled for a moment when warm arms wrap around you tightly. Then you realize Yuuji is hugging you. He doesn’t say anything while hugging you. You slowly relax into his body, and the warmth that spreads throughout your body lulls you to sleep. 

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

The days are hard to count when you’re somewhat of a prisoner. Most of your chains have been unlocked, and you only have one on your wrist. Yuuji feeds you twice a day. He always cooks delicious and warm noodle soups. Now more than ever, your morals and values are waging war on each other in your head.

You shouldn’t be this tranquil. This… docile. You should be fighting Yuuji and murder him as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Yet, you’ve done none of that. Didn’t even attempt to do so.

Your stomach twists. You are a traitor to your kingdom; to King Geto. To the man you swore on your life to protect and serve until your dying breath. 

Your thoughts drift away. What happens if you escape? Where shall you go? Surely, your long period of absence made King Geto presume you were a traitor. A traitor who willingly chose to stay with her mortal enemy. Though, part of you says you would’ve escaped already if you wanted to. You have the capabilities to do so. You simply…have chosen not to.

The front door swings open and you snap your gaze to the entrance. Yuuji closes the door behind him and you freeze. He’s barely able to stand on his feet, hands pressed against a bleeding wound. He is covered in wounds and his armor is shredded and damaged. You jump to your feet, but the remaining chain pulls you back. You grimace, tugging at it. Yuuji makes eye contact with you. 

“Unlock it. I promise…I only wish to aid your wounds.” 

He slowly nods, and he trudges towards you. You can hear his breathing, it’s heavy and ragged. His movements are slow and it’s noticeable that even the smallest action is hard for him. You hear the click of the key unlocking the chain, and it drops on the soft bed. You help Yuuji sit down on the bed, and then you’re rushing to the kitchen cabinets. You go to the ones you know he keeps the supplies you need. You pull out two clean rags, a glass flask with alcohol, and his small sewing kit. 

Yuuji is watching you when you turn around and walk towards him. His gaze is fixed and attentive, but you try to ignore it. Instead, you ask him to lie down on the bed. Blood is seeping through his shirt and there’s no other option but for him to take him off. So as smooth and relaxed as you can, you ask him to take it off. With a bit of struggle, he’s able to take it off and you assess his wounds. They make you grimace.

There are several, but they’re not too deep so you set to work. You drag a wooden stool next to the bed and begin to work on his wounds.

Yuuji winces and grunts several times, muscles clenching and you feel sympathy for him. You know how painful wounds can be. Thankfully, he doesn’t have any split arrowheads in the wounds so you focus on stopping the bleeding and disinfecting the wounds.

“What happened?” You ask quietly while gently pressing down on one of his wounds. Perhaps conversing will distract him from the pain. 

“Lost the battle. Lost many soldiers…” his voice is a croak and you nod. Your movements are gentle and you try to be as careful as possible. Once you’ve cleaned all his wounds, you grab the sewing kit and begin. It’s even more painful, but you remind him that it’s necessary. 

 By the time you’re down, the sun has fallen and the house has grown a bit cold. So you go to his bedroom and search for a new set of clothes before returning. He’s still on the bed, looking somewhat better than earlier.

While Yuuji puts the clothes on, you assess his kitchen for any food you can immediately give him. You only find bread and cheese, and that’ll suffice. You bring him the food on a platter, and he looks at him expectantly.

“You must eat. Your body needs the energy to heal.”

Reluctantly, he nods. You place the platter on the edge of the bed and watch him eat. He eats slowly but eventually manages to leave nothing but crumbs.

“Where did you learn your medicinal knowledge?” He asks as you pick up the platter. You pause for a second before you continue walking.

“My mother. She was a nurse for King Geto’s family.” 

You hear Yuuji hum in acknowledgment and you return and sit next to him. 

“Impressive.”

You can only manage a snort. He looks at you curiously, a brow raised.

“I hardly consider basic medicinal knowledge an impressive feat.” 

He smiles. “Well, I do. My mother never taught me anything of sorts. She passed away when I was an infant.” You slowly process the information and nod. 

“I learned it before she passed, too.”

Yuuji meets your eyes and a silent mutual understanding passes between you too. It’s fleeting, but you notice it. And he notices it too.

“And your father?” You smile and roll your shoulders.

“Died in battle.”

Yuuji nods. You can’t read the expression on his face, but you nearly jump when one of his hands rests on your knees. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, and you surprisingly feel better.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

The loud bang and shouts have you immediately opening your eyes and jumping off the bed. It’s coming from Yuuji’s bedroom. Has someone broken into the house? 

All the candles were blown out hours ago and you see mostly darkness. So you scramble for a knife from the kitchen before racing into Yuuji’s room. Two candles are lighting the room. He’s pinned on the ground, an unfamiliar man holding him down. 

You’re quick to move, instinct taking over thought. The wooden creaks once and the person turns around. But they’re too late and you lunge forward, ripping them off Yuuji. They land on the floor and you’re on top of them. 

A rough, unfamiliar man’s voice grunts and tries to push you off. You press your weight on him and the knife lands on his palm in a split second. The knife impales the intruder’s hand and nails him to the wooden floor. He cries out and you rise from the floor, chest heaving.

“I was perfectly capable of doing that,” Yuuji’s voice is groggy and you stare at him blankly.

“We have more urgent matters. Who is this intruder?” You don’t have an answer to his question. So instead, you kneel and pull out the knife from the man’s hand. He shouts in anguish and tries to push you off him, but you press the bloody knife against his throat. 

“Who sent you? Who has ordered you to assassinate us?”

The man spits on your face. You don’t flinch or recoil. Slowly, you wipe the spit off your face. Then your fist flies into the man’s face.  

“You fool. You would die to protect the truth?” You freeze as the words leave your mouth. You don’t know who he is, but you know what kingdom he belongs to. You immediately reel back and rise to your feet.

“As Knight Commander of the Geto Kingdom, I order you to rise.” The reaction is immediate. Yuuji stares at you, and the knight rises to his feet in an instant. A lump forms in your throat.

“I was ordered to find Yuuji Itadori’s home, secure the location of Knight Commander Y/N L/N and report back to King Geto. I suppose the rumors of the Knight Commander being a filthy traitor were true…” He spews and every word feels like a tiny needle impaling itself in your chest. Your lips part and your heart sinks to your stomach. 

Geto was still insistent on retrieving you? By now, you assumed you were either presumed dead or a traitor. But if Geto found out you were truly a traitor…

The fear is overwhelming and you act before you can think your actions through. Your leg sweeps the knight to the ground and the knife returns to your palm. Before Yuuji can stop you, the knife impales the knight’s chest right where his heart is.

“No-!” Yuuji’s reaction is too slow and the knight has begun to lose blood when Yuuji kneels next to him. He looks up at you, scowling. 

“Why did you do that!?” You scoff and drop the knife. It clatters on the floor. 

“Why shouldn’t have I done that? If we let him free, he would return and report to Geto.”

 Yuuji looks furious. He rises to his feet and walks towards you, and instinctively you step back as he steps forward. He keeps walking forward and you keep walking back until you’ve stepped out of his room.

“Well, isn’t that what you desire?! Do you not wish to return to your King? I thought you enjoyed being his little assassin, his little guard mutt.” 

You flinch. But anger takes over hurt and you clench your fists. “You are a fool. I have been labeled a traitor to the Kingdom. There is nothing left for me to return to. I will be executed the moment I step on Geto soil!” You step forward and Yuuji doesn’t move. His chest is heaving and it’s so close to yours. You have to raise your chin to meet his gaze but he doesn’t intimidate you. He never has. 

“You have shown me kindness that I did not deserve. That knight surely would return and kill you if we allowed him to.” You lower your voice to a moderate tone. “Itadori, I owe you my life. It is only fair that I protect yourS in return.” 

Yuuji stares at you. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and you part your lips open when he moves. His hands slip to support your back. You slightly dip backward and his lips are on you. They’re soft and warm and so much more than you could’ve ever imagined. But you rip out of his grip and slap him straight across the face. It’s harsh and loud and your hand is trembling. You look at him with wide eyes and he winces, holding his reddened cheek. 

“How-how dare you!? I am your enemy. I have murdered countless of your people. You…” you pause as he steps forward. “You shouldn’t…” One of his hands grips your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You just murdered one of your own,” your stomach twists. “And so have I.” You lower your gaze to the wooden floor. 

“I thought you believed in avoiding murder?” His face hardens. 

“Most of your people prefer death over imprisonment,” his tongue swipes over his lips and you swallow thickly. “The choice is yours. Tell me to leave you be at once, to never bother you again. I will dispose of the body and we will arrive at your kingdom by sunrise…” You tense, mouth going dry. Returning to your kingdom? To King Geto? The very same King that sent a knight to confirm your status as a traitor? Your family is long gone, and all you have left is serving King Geto…if he doesn’t execute you. 

“...or tell me you desire me too, and I promise I will cherish you for as long as I am able to.” In the spur of the moment, the decision is not hard to make. Your hands grip his collar, tugging him closer and your lips connect with his. Yuuji responds eagerly, and your mind grows so foggy you can barely think.

➶

The corpse you two encounter after the kiss is not particularly romantic but the two of you work on carrying the knight’s body outside. The sun is not out yet and the stars are littered across the dark sky. You hear some birds and crickets chirp.

The grass blades brush softly against your ankles. The two of you keep walking deeper into the forest that surrounds the back of Yuuji’s home.

“Where are we going?” You ask him, feeling cautious. Venturing into a forest at midnight doesn’t sound like a particularly brilliant (or safe) idea.

“There is a waterfall ahead. We can throw the body in there.” You nod and keep walking for a few minutes when you begin to hear the stream of water. Branches snap and leaves crunch under your boots. The wind has the trees swaying and a shiver travels across your body. When you reach the ledge of the waterfall, the two of you count before releasing the body. It falls into the waterfall with a loud splash, and you pat your hands on your clothing.

“I have never had to dispose of a person I murdered.” You stare into the waterfall while speaking. You feel Yuuji stand closer to you, and his hand intertwines with yours. He squeezes it softly.

“Neither have I.” His thumb brushes across your hand softly when the blaring of a warhorn echoes in the distance. The two of you break apart in an instant and make eye contact. 

“King Geto?” You ask warily, though you already know the answer.

Yuuji nods, and your stomach twists. “He’s come to retrieve you.” 

The two of you are running back to Yuuji’s home without a single word, tree branches and thorns slightly ripping on your legwear. But you ignore it and don’t stop running until Yuuji has closed the door behind him. Yuuji begins to slip on his knight armor and you feel vulnerable without one. None of his will fit you, but he gives you a medium-length sword that you feel relatively comfortable handling, and a dagger you hide in your boot. 

“I must report to Gojo’s castle. You…” he falters, and your mouth feels dry. Is this when you two part ways? You don’t want to be away from him. You fear for his life.

“I will accompany you. If anyone dies at Geto’s hands, it shall be me.”

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

The eastern frontier of the Gojo Kingdom is surrounded. The castle is only a few hundred yards away. Your heart drops to your stomach and hope begins to leave your body. But Yuuji grips your hand and somehow, it returns. Not completely, but enough for you to relax and tighten your grip on Yuuji’s hand and your sword. 

He rushes you towards the castle and before you know it, you’re mounting a horse at his side. He’s leading the entire cavalry of the Gojo Kingdom, and your heart is racing. No one questioned your unfamiliar face or your name. Thousands of knights rushed past you and you grabbed a spare armor without difficulty. And now your sword is sheathed at your side, and your hands are combing the mane of the horse you’re riding. 

The eastern defense is being torn apart. Your mind is a whirlwind. You’re witnessing an army of cavalry you once led and trained rush towards the army you’re fighting with. And on the front ranks, King Geto leads the whole cavalry. He is unarmed, and time seems to slow down. He’s hundreds of yards away from you, but a part of you knows he’s sensed your presence- he knows you’re here. 

The cavalry ranks open as a white stallion gallops to the front. The man with pristine white hair is riding the horse, a sword at his side. He rides next to Yuuji, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. Then he looks at you, and you feel your throat close up. You’ve heard countless stories and legends of this man. Gojo Satoru, the mighty ruler of the Gojo Kingdom. The only man that can match King Geto in battle. 

He stares at you with an indecipherable expression on his face, but there is no time for conversation. The ground trembles with the thousands of horses galloping towards you, and you tighten your grip on the horse’s reins. 

➶

An eternity passes by before the enemy army- your army is only a few feet away from you. Geto makes eye contact with you, and you don’t look away. You maintain eye contact until he looks away and meets Gojo’s gaze, a slight smile on his lips.

“Hello, old friend. I do not wish to spill blood on your land. Surrender your crown and my Knight Commander, and we will spare your kingdom. ” 

The white-haired king doesn’t immediately respond. He unsheathes his sword, and your heart begins to speed up. “I don’t respond kindly to beggars.” Geto’s eyes narrow, and it’s one of the few times you see him express annoyance. Your king unsheathes his sword, raises it in the air, and war breaks loose. Horses rush into each other, and the noise of swords clashing against each other echoes across the battlefield.

You lose track of time as you slash your sword across necks, chests, and pull it out each time bloodier than before. A flying arrow takes down your stallion and you roll onto the ground. You rise to your feet in time to block an incoming sword, deflecting it and knocking it out of the knight’s hand. A strong kick sends the knight to the floor, and you avoid eye contact as your sword pierces through the armor’s chainmail and sinks into flesh. Your ears are ringing as you pull out your sword.

The war continues in a flurry around you. You continue to strike and kill, and blood is splattered across your armor. Your sword is drenched in blood and you feel specks of it on your face. You do not dare wipe your face, afraid that the moist sensation of the blood you’ve spilled will make you spiral. 

It seems like Geto’s knights have begun to fall and weaken increasingly faster. Your thighs are arms are burning and screaming with fatigue, but you do not let it bother you as you dodge a dagger and slash your sword across a knight’s neck. 

You’ve been in battle before, but this one has been the bloodiest you’ve yet to witness. Limbs are scattered and knights cry out their last words. They are quickly lost in the powerful roar of warfare, and your body begins to feel heavier.

It’s only when the roar quiets down that you pause. Knights of both kingdoms begin to drop their weapons, and you turn to find the center of the commotion. You push past knights and come to an abrupt stop. King Gojo is like you, late to the scene. King Geto has Yuuji on his knees, the tip of his sword on the knight’s throat. Your chest tightens and you can’t breathe.

“Satoru!” Gojo bellows, and you feel your body tremble. “This war is between you and me. We have used others for too long. Release him, and you can take me.” Yuuji’s eyes widen. He makes eye contact with you, and you can barely hold back your tears. He’s shaking his head, but you try to communicate with your eyes. Do not move. Please, I can’t let you go.

Geto chuckles. He slowly shakes his head, and you don’t move fast enough as his lips part and his sword rises.

“If I cannot take back my traitor, I will take one of your own.” 

The sword clangs to the floor after the slash. You’re on top of Geto, sword to his throat. He peers at you, smiling. His eyes crinkle at the edges and you can’t even hold your sword without trembling.

“Welcome back, L/N.”

Your sword pummels into the middle of his throat with a painful choke. You do not relish in his pain for too long and rush towards Yuuji. He lies on the battlefield, and you cannot control your tears any longer.

“Itadori! Itadori, please hold on. I can clean your wound, I-,” one of his hands squeezes yours. You shake your head vigorously and you nearly tear off your armor to rip a piece of your sleeve. You press it against his wound, trying to control the bleeding.

“You will be fine, I can patch you up like last time,” you’re blubbering at this point, and a hand rests on your shoulder. You don’t want to look up but you do, and you see King Gojo through your tears. 

“It is a great honor to die in battle. Let his soul go to the afterlife.” Afterlife? You shake your head vigorously. This cannot be happening. Yuuji can’t die- he cannot leave you.

“Itadori,” your words are blubbered and your cheeks are wet with tears. “You promised- you made a promise to me-!” He smiles, and one of his hands holds your cheek. He gently caresses it, and you gulp down a sob.

“I fulfilled my promise…” he coughs blood, and it only makes your chest feel tighter. “...and I am honored to spend my last moments with you.” His hand slowly drops from your cheek and you continue to shake your head. Yuuji smiles at your sobbing face and nods one last time.

You can’t see it, but you can sense the life leave his body. You’ve witnessed death far too many times to not know when it happens. You keel over his body, your sobs booming in your ears. One of Yuuji’s hands has fallen into your lap, warm and soft. Your hand is still pressing onto the blood drenched rag, hoping to stop the bleeding of your fallen enemy.

♡ a/n: ok ik this fic was SO inconsistent and rlly bad so if u made it all the way down here...congrats!! ty for reading <33 pls rb + comment if u enjoyed!

♡ do not repost/plagiarize/use my content.

[caker-baker]

The Fall Guy

Ah, hell. Maybe the hero didn’t think this through. This was more of a myth than anything, if myth was the right word.

Or maybe it was just a pizza place and the hero was overthinking things.

Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Uh, hi.” The hero greeted the lanky cashier. “Can I get the hero’s special? I’m willing to pay extra.”

The cashier regarded this with a blink, then another, then finally, to finish off his grand display of emotion, he sighed.

“With or without the ‘save the day’ toppings?”

The hero scrambled to remember what to say. “With, please.”

Now with mild interest, the cashier leaned over. “Down that way, second door on your left.”

“Thank you.” The hero said with narrowed eyes.

Holy hell, that whole interaction felt like a strange dream that was a little too realistic. And that cashier was a bit too intrigued.

Jesus, their heart was beating in their ears at this point.

It could all be a lie, all of it, this could all be an intricate and carefully crafted lie told by a villain, made to lure in unsuspecting heroes to their deaths.

Too late now, their hand was already turning the handle.

Where the hero was expecting some small room that fit logistically with the rest of the joint, there were stairs.

No, they didn’t like this at all. But what was the choice, go down there, or go back outside?

Downstairs it was.

Surprisingly, it got lighter, and larger, a hard contrast to the ominous setting. And with the light came music. Something very upbeat, lots of drums and guitars, and loud.

With their final step, the hero was able to see the cause of the music, two large speakers attached to a phone.

They also got to see the apparent villain, sitting and humming along to the beat.

“Hello?”

The villain, who’s head snapped up, reached to turn down the music before turning around.

If the hero was unsure before, they definitely were unsure now. They couldn’t help being nervous as an oil stained face looked them up and down.

“I know you.” The villain finally said.

“You do?”

The villain hummed in thought. “You were the one involved in the bridge incident two weeks ago, yeah?”

A strange bout of pain overcame the hero.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“Well, no need to look all guilty about it.” The villain stood from their stool, still shielding whatever caused the oil on their face. “Everyone screws up. Is that why you want to leave?”

“No! I’m not running away from that, I’m running away from-”

“You’re getting away from the heroing part. I get it.” The villain reached behind them, grabbing measuring tape. “Mind if I get your measurements?”

“What for?”

“The decoy. Did whoever told you about this not tell you about how it works?” The villain spoke while they untangled the tape.

“No. I didn’t even know if this was real. I thought the cashier was just annoyed by me.”

“Yeah, Paul, he’s just judgy.” The villain stepped closer. “Step on this.”

The hero put a foot on one end of the measuring tape while the villain pulled the rest of it up to the top of the hero’s head.

“Thanks.”

The villain seemed fine in silence, the hero, however, felt like their whole being was vibrating with questions.

When the villain moved away, the hero felt themself breathe out heavily.

“You alright there?” The villain asked, turning away to write something down. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

The hero chuckled awkwardly. “It wouldn’t be very heroic if I was, would it?”

Turning around again, the villain spoke. “Well, considering you won’t be a hero much longer, I won’t hold it against you.”

It all seemed to fall out of the hero at once, words carefully hidden away now in full sight.

“I didn’t even want to be a hero, then one day I was drafted. I don’t know how they found out what I could do, I never registered. All I wanted was to keep my head down, but suddenly I was out with the big leagues.”

Several creases had formed on the hero’s head.

“And then the tracking, oh, God, the tracking. I went out for fast food once without telling anyone, just for a moment of peace, and it was like the world imploded.”

The villain rested their chin in their hand, nodding emphatically every once in a while.

“You know there’s three days of training before they shove you into the world. They don’t care what you run into, as long as you defeat it. ‘Real heroes don’t run’ type bullshit. Ironically, that’s the most freedom we get, going up against something or someone three times our sizes.”

The villain turned their head to the side.

“And there’s a seminar on meeting foreign dignitaries! Meetings on how to address the general public, correct customs for different world leaders. Jesus, I don’t even get a choice on where I stay! I could be shipped off to Japan tomorrow.”

The hero stopped, their eyes glazing over with a strange numbness.

“Then I messed up, put on house arrest. God, that’s the happiest I’ve been in a while. Of course, I did have to beg to go and get ‘pizza’, even after the house arrest. That was the only downside, I guess.”

A beat.

“Are you finished?” The villain asked.

A brilliant scarlet color bloomed across the hero’s face. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

The villain waved them off. “Happens to nearly every one of my customers, sometimes the best therapy is just venting to the fall guy.”

“Fall guy?” The hero echoed, eyebrows furrowing.

That made the villain pause. “Yes? If this was all found out, who do you think would take the fall? Paul?” They laughed.

“Are you never, I don’t know, worried about being caught?”

The villain shrugged half heartedly. “Well, last time it happened, I just packed it up and moved. This time I had to make it pizza. Used to be donuts.” Their lips pursed. “I miss the donuts.”

The hero opened their mouth, then closed it again, trying to figure something out.

“What if-” Those weren’t quite the right words. “What happens if one of your, ah, customers gets loose lips, talks to the wrong person?”

“That, my dear hero, is a matter of trust. And it helps I am financially gifted, powerful. It’s a matter of who would last longer, and it will always be me.”

“I see.”

The villain leaned against their work table. “Hey, do me a favor.”

“Sure.”

“Can you portal something?”

The hero blinked, not expecting that. “Depends on what and how far.”

“Yourself, to a rendezvous point, say, oh, twenty six miles from here.”

The villain was grinning, waiting patiently for the hero to realize their plan.

“You use the heroes who come here, their powers to help them.” They concluded.

“While my decoys certainly do last quite a while, it’s not forever, and heroes often don’t realize the assets they have available. Speaking of, how come you haven’t tried it?”

The hero swallowed. “Portalling a living person is complicated.”

At that, the villain motioned with their hand, urging the hero to tell them what they weren’t saying.

“And,” the hero began. “my portals don’t like technology. The tracker in me could malfunction, electrocuting me before I get all the way through.”

“How did you learn that?” The villain asked, turning to scribble something down.

“The bridge incident was my first mistake as a hero, not a person.”

The villain let out a laugh. “Seems you’re just as morally gray as me.”

“It’s why I can’t be a hero.”

The villain smirked at the self righteousness of the hero, who probably didn’t even realize they were being self righteous.

“And the tracker,” the villain switched subjects. “standard GIM-14U?”

Wait, something wasn’t adding up here. There was something too certain, too familiar about the way it rolled off the villain’s tongue.

“How’d you know?”

The villain tensed, as if they hadn’t expected anyone to pick up in their certainty.

“My clientele often times have the same one.”

“And?” The hero prodded.

They could hear the villain mumble a curse under their breath.

“I used to have one. First prototype, in fact.”

Something else didn’t add up. The first GIM-14U came out several years ago, when the hero was a kid. The villain was barely older than the hero, maybe the same age. Why did the villain have one when it just came out?

It took a moment too long to realize. “You were the child prodigy, the one who vanished.”

The villain did a mock bow, their muscles relaxing slightly. “In the flesh, although technically, I’m M.I.A.”

“Oh, God. Now you-now you get other heroes out.” The hero almost laughed. “That’s genius, it’s the perfect payback, it’s-”

“What makes you think it’s payback? Maybe I just like helping people.” The villain had a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, oh, gosh. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed-”

The villain held up a hand. “It’s a little bit payback.”

A familiar shade of scarlet crept across the hero’s face, and the former prodigy decided they liked that.

“Now this part is the part most of my customers don’t like - waiting. Your decoy will most likely only take two months. In that time, you need to work on your portalling.” The villain made sure to hold the hero in their gaze. “I will contact you when and where to meet and set up the decoy. I already have your information.”

“How do you-”

“Door frame. Like a metal detector, but more precise. If you are registered on any system anywhere, I’ll know you.”

The hero had relief coming off them in waves. Two months, and all they had to do was practice some portals. And do some heroing, but they could manage.

“You know, you interrupt people a lot.” The tone was joking, and the hero was far too busy trying to contain a smile, there was no time for chiding.

“So I’ve been told.” The villain did smile. “Now, about my payment.”

“Right.” For a second, the hero fumbled around in their pockets, before pulling out a wad of cash.

The villain took it, and began counting the bills, their eyes getting wider.

“‘I’m willing to pay extra’ is just part of the code. You know that, don’t you?”

The hero shrugged. “Do you not want it?”

In the blink of an eye, the money was pocketed by the villain. “I didn’t say that. Pleasure doing business with you.”

The hero nodded, and turned on their heel, then stopped suddenly to ask one final question.

“If you know everyone from the door frame, why bother with the measuring ordeal?”

“Gets people to open up, relax a bit.”

Oh. That was sweet.

“You aren’t a bad person, are you?” Asked the hero.

“Hey now, don’t go telling everybody. My scary reputation could be ruined.”

The hero, a ghost of a smile on their lips, left, back up the stairs, through the pizza place.

Two months.

[davidmann95]

Sooo… Superman and the Authority?

magnus-king123 asked: Your thoughts on Superman & the authority Give it to me...lol

Anonymous asked: Seeing Bezos take his little trip into space the same day Morrison puts out a Superman comic that touches on how far we’ve fallen from the days when we dreamed of utopian futures where everyone explored the stars was a big gut punch. Not used to Superman being topical in that way.

Anonymous asked: What'd you think of Superman and the Authority#1?

This is far beyond what I can fit in the normal weekly reviews, so taking this as my notes on the first six pages, with this and this as my major lead-in thoughts:

* Janin's such a perfect fit for Morrison - the scale, the power, the facial expressions selling the character work, the screwing around with the panel formatting as necessary to sell the effect, the numinous sense of things going on larger than you can fully perceive amidst the beauty and chaos. It's a shame he wasn't around 25 years ago to draw JLA, but I'll take him going with Morrison onto other future projects.

* His intro action sequence is such a great demonstration of why Black actually does have something to offer, and also how he's such a dumbass desperately needing Superman to save him from himself.

* While Jordie Bellaire didn't legit go with an entirely monochromatic palate the way early previews suggested, it's still an effect frequently and excellently deployed here. And glad to see Steve Wands carry into this from Blackstars since there's such an obvious carryover from its work with Superman.

* "Gentlemen. Ladies. Others." Great both because of the obvious - hey, Superman's nodding at me! - and because it's a phrasing that reinforces that this take on him (and let's be real Morrison) is old as hell.

* I'm mostly past caring about whether this is an alt-Earth Superman until it becomes indisputable one way or another, this and Action both rule so what does it really matter? But while there are still a couple signs in play suggesting some kind of division (the Action Comics #1036 cover, Midnighter up to time-travel shenanigans) the "lost in time" quote clearly thrown in after the fact to explain how he could have met Kennedy outside of 5G that wouldn't be necessary for an Elseworlds, the assorted gestures towards Superman's current status quo, the Kingdom Come symbol appearing in Action, and that Morrison would have had to completely rewrite the ending if this wasn't supposed to be 'the' version of Clark Kent going forward as was the intent when they first planned it all say to me that no, no fooling around, this is our guy going forward one way or another.

* Janin and Bellaire making the first version of the crystal Fortress ever that actually looks as cool as you want it to.

Anonymous asked: I like that Superman and The Authority is basically the anti-All-Star; instead of the laid back, immortal Superman who is supercharged, we have a stressed, ageing Superman whose tremendous powers are fading. The former will always be there to save us, but the latter is running out of time and needs to pull off a Hail Mary. Also, he mentions in his monologue to Black that he was "lost in time" when he met JFK, so maybe he is the main continuity Clark. Or he's the t-shirt Supes from Sideways.

* You're absolutely right - the power reversal is obvious and the ticking clock in play seemingly isn't for his own survival but everyone around him as he wakes up and realizes all the old icons grew complacent with the gains they'd made and he's not leaving behind the world he meant to. Both, however, are built on the idea of preparing the world to not need them anymore - it'll still have a Superman in his son, but that'll only work because of the others he empowers and inspires. The question is what happens to Clark if he's not going to live in the sun for 83000 years.

* Clark's 'exercise' here does more to sell me on the idea of Old Man Superman as a cool idea than however many decades of Earth 2 stuff.

* Intergang being noted alongside Darkseid and Doomsday speaks to how much Kirby informed Morrison's conception of Superman.

* This isn't exactly the most progressive in its disability politics but at least it makes clear Black's being a piece of shit about it.

* It's startling how much Clark can get away with saying stuff in here you'd never expect to come out of Superman's mouth. "I made an executive decision" "Privacy, really...?" "You have nowhere to go, Black. Nothing to live for." "There are few people in my life who I instinctively and viscerally dislike, and you've always been one of them." It only works because there's zero aggression behind it, he's just past the point of niceties and being totally frank while making clear none of these assessments preclude that he cares and is going to unconditionally do the right thing every time. He is absolutely, per Morrison, humanity's dad picking us up when we're too drunk to drive ourselves home.

* The story doesn't put a big flashing light over it, but it's not even a little bit subtle having the material threat of the issue be a ticking timebomb left by the carelessness and hubris of generations past.

* Manchester keeps trying to poke the bear and prove his hot takes about Superman and it's just not working. The front he put up under Kelley is gone after decades of defeats, and as Morrison understands what actually conceptually works about him as a rival to Superman underneath the aging nerd paranoia he's exposed as what he absolutely would be in 2021: a dude with a horrific terminal case of Twitter brainworms. I was PANICKED when I heard there was an 'offensive term' joke in this, I was braced for Morrison at their well-meaning worst, but it's such a goddamn perfect encapsulation of a very specific breed of Twitter leftist who uses their politics first and foremost as a cudgel and justification to label their abrasive, judgmental shittiness as self-righteousness (plus it's a killer payoff to a joke from way back in his original appearance). Cannot believe they pulled that off when they're so very, very open about basically not knowing how the internet works.

* @charlottefinn: Manchester Black using his telekinetic powers to force someone he hates to fave a problematic tweet so that he can screenshot it and start a dogpile

@intergalactic-zoo: “Once they cancel Bibbo, Superman won’t be *anyone’s* fav’rit anymore!”

* Friend noted this issue had to be fully the conversation because the whole premise stands on the house of cards of these two somehow working together, and with three 'silent' inset panels the creative team pulls off that turning point.

* So much of this feels on the surface like Morrison bringing back the All-Star vibes with Clark, but when he drops a "That's all you got?" in a brawl you realize what's underlining that bluntness and confidence in the face of failure is that deep down this is still the Action guy too. This dude ain't gonna get wrecked in his Fortress while the other guy chuckles about him being A SOFT WEE SCIENTIST'S SON!

* Bringing up Jor-El made me realize that Morrison already spelled out that this is the final threat to Superman, what he faces at the end of the road:

"Now it's your turn, Superman."

* A l'il Superman 2000/All-Star reference with the Phantom Zone map!

* There's so much intertextuality going on here even by Morrison standards - Change or Die with the old hero putting together a team of morally nebulous folks out to 'fix' everything, Flex Mentallo with the muscleman trying to redeem the punk, Doomsday Clock with the fate of the world hinging on whether Superman can get through to a meta stand-in for an idea of 'modern' comics cynicism, DKR and New Frontier and Kingdom Come and Multiversity and Seven Soldiers and What's So Funny and All-Star and Action and the last 5 years of monthly Superman comics and Authority and probably Jupiter's Legacy and Tom Strong - but none of that's needed. You could go in with the baseline pop cultural understanding of the character and not care about any of the inside baseball shit and get that this is a story about a leader of a generation that let down the people they made all their grand promises to as inertia and day-to-day demands and complacency let him be satisfied with the accomplishments they'd made long ago, looking at a new era and seeing the ways its own activists are dropping the ball. The only thing that fundamentally matters in a "you have to accept you're reading a superhero story" sense is that because he's Superman he's willing to own up to it and listen to people who might know better about some things and try to set things right while he and those who'll take his place still have a chance. And yes, the oldster looking back on their legacy with a skeptical eye and hoping for better from the next generation, hoping most of all that their little heir apparent can fulfill the promise inside of him instead of being a provocating little shitkicker, is obviously also autobiographical.

* The overlaying Kennedy reprisal is such a great visual of a sudden intrusive thought.

* The Kryptonite secret is the obvious "This is going to matter!" moment, but "He lied about his son" is a bit that doesn't connect to anything going on right now so maybe that's important here too? More significantly, the Justice League can't actually be the villains here but that Ultra-Humanite's crew are in an Earth-orbiting satellite makes pretty clear what's up.

* I've said before that between Superman, OMAC, and a New Gods-affiliated speedster this was going to use all of Morrison's favorite things. King Arthur playing a role isn't exactly dissuading me.

* Love the idea that all the antiheroes have their own community in the same way as the capes and tights crew. They definitely all privately think the rest are posers though and that they alone are Garth Ennis Punisher in a mob of Garth Ennis Wolverines.

* Manchester's fallen so far he's gone from trying to convince Superman to kill to convince him to dunk on people for their bad takes and Clark just doesn't get it. Official prediction of dialogue for upcoming issues:

"According to these bloody Fortress scans, the only thing that can restore your powers is an unfiltered hit of dopamine. Don't worry, Doctor Black has a few ideas."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll plant a nice tree?"

"...fuck you."

* Ok I already talked about how great the Fortress looks in here but LOVE this library.

* A pair of pages this seems like the right spot to discuss from Black's original appearance that underlines both his and Superman's inadequacies up to this point:

Responding to the problem of "the government and penal system are hopelessly corrupt" neither of them has any actual notion of what to do about it in spite of their respective posturing beyond how to handle individual outside actors - each is in their own way every bit as small-minded and reactionary as the other. Clark's coming around though, and he's holding out hope for the other guy.

* Superman: Have a lovely mineral water :) proper hydration is important :)

Manchester Black: *Is a dude who can get so mad he vomits and passes out. At water.*

* That last page is the one to beat for the year, and does more to put over the idea of this as an Authority book than that Midnighter and Apollo are literally going to show up. It also feels like Morrison tacitly acknowledging all the ways the premise could go or at least be received wrong - from Superman saying 'enough is enough' to who he's bringing into the fold to go about it - in the most beautifully on-the-nose fashion imaginable. Maybe they'll save us all! Or maybe they'll drown us in their vomit.

[thefirstknife]

Help, I ran Garden of Salvation with some clan mates and i'm Experiencing Great Sadness about the Kentarch 3 again.

I haven't been following you since shadowkeep, and was wondering if you had some theories about what happened, because a lot is left unexplained, specifically about Lisbon-13's motivations. The story from Yardarm-4's perspective shows that something is influencing them before they accept power (stasis teaser?) from the darkness. Do you think they really had a choice? Do you think he was influenced in his decision to kill them? If so, why? As a test just for him? Presumably he's still out there somewhere, and I can't tell from the lorebooks whether Rekkana let him kill her first or not. I just feel so bad for them, they all loved each other. Yardarm probably took the power in the first place to help get them out safely. Do you think it'll ever get concluded? The whole lore series seems interestingly close to what happens with Shayura, just sort of in reverse.

Kentarch 3 fireteam and the whole story on the Garden of Salvation armour and the associated weapons and equipment is amazing and very interesting, I agree. I haven't talked about it before but it's a good thing to revisit every so often! I think there's still a lot we don't really understand, mostly due to not fully understanding the power of the Black Garden.

In short for the general audience, Kentarch 3 was a fireteam that consisted of Yardarm-4 (Titan), Rekkana (Warlock) and Lisbon-13 (Hunter). They went to explore the Black Garden at the behest of the Warlock order called the Cryptochrons which Rekkana was a part of. This order got exiled some time after Osiris for dabbling in prophecies. Cryptochrons were formed around a Oneiromantic Circle and led by a Sibyl (or multiple sibyls; or Sibyl was just a name of one member, it's unclear). Oneiromancy is the practice of interpreting dreams to predict the future and sibyls were ancient Greek female prophets and oracles.

I didn't think this would get long but it did so the rest under the cut:

The Cryptochron order continued operating after its exile and Rekkana received a prophecy from them that revolved around a fireteam learning about the Black Garden and retrieving from it a Vex relic of some sort. The relic is the exotic weapon Divinity and the lore tab on it details the prophecy they were chasing:

"And after any other Cryptochrons they learn of. But your path is more dangerous than most. The Circle has foreseen many fireteams following in your footsteps. You can find the knowledge the order seeks at the Tree."

"Can? Not will?" For the first time, Rekkana sounded concerned.

"The Circle has had limited success in piercing the veil that surrounds the Black Garden, so the order offers no certainties. They say that a group of Guardians will discover secrets about the origin of the Black Garden at the Tree. The Oneiromantic Circle foresees no reason why it will not be the Kentarch 3."

"Nor can I. But…?"

"There is another thread in the tapestry, entwined with this one. The Vex, or some fractal faction of them, worship or honor a… divinity there."

"The Black Heart? It was destroyed."

"Yes, but this is something different. An object. Something like a sacred relic. It is important to the Vex for reasons that we have not yet fathomed. The Circle has determined that it is dangerous—"

"A Vex weapon?"

"Perhaps," the Sybil sounded annoyed at the interruption. "Rekkana, the Circle concluded that it is a danger to you."

"To me? But then, why send me on this mission?"

"When the Circle dreamed of the object, you were beside it."

They agreed that, should they find this object, Lisbon should be the one to carry it. They did find it and he was indeed the one to carry it, as is shown later in another lore tab detailed below.

We know that Lisbon-13 killed the rest of his fireteam because they got corrupted by the Black Garden, something happened to their Ghosts (they all just dropped down and started losing their Light) and then turned on him. He was being hunted and he really had no choice. But he couldn't live with it. In Beyond Light, he's shown trying to kill his Ghost in order to stay permanently dead because he couldn't bear the burden of what he did to his fireteam, even though his actions were justified and he acted in self-defence.

But before he managed to do that, he was faced with his own doppleganger, just like the YW at the end of Shadowkeep. In the end, Lisbon didn't kill his Ghost because the doppleganger offered him power and Lisbon (presumably) chose to take it: his wish was simply to make himself forget about his fireteam (and Rekkana specifically, whom he loved). It's implied that he accepted and after that, we have no formal information what happened.

The outcome of what happened to Kentarch 3 is somewhat known, as detailed in this ship lore. The Vanguard knows Lisbon killed the other two, they're not sure when they lost their Ghosts and they have not found anyone's body, not even Lisbon's. But we know from the lore that came out after that Lisbon accepted the deal with his doppleganger and we have no idea what that entailed. Is he still in the Black Garden? Was he killed? Replaced? Just memory-wiped and sent back? Something else entirely? We'll explore at the end.

I'm pretty sure the voices they heard talking to them were also their own dopplegangers. And it's somewhat implied that they made some sort of a bargain and accepted "new powers" that came "from the wrong side." There's only one description of it:

Her fist glimmered and quaked with an unfamiliar power. She only had to release her grip, and that energy would rip through him, burning without fire.

That's Rekkana attacking Lisbon. It's never fully explained what it is, but it could very well be some sort of prototype Stasis in my opinion. Or some other Darkness power. Not sure why the Black Garden would give them this, which is why I think they simply harnessed the power of their dopplegangers. This is something that's been mentioned a few times in regards to Darkness: duplication. Same is present with the Taken as well (Taken psions duplicate). I mentioned the duplication theme being discussed in Clovis' journal before too.

Honestly, I can't make any definitive conclusion, but Kentarch 3 definitely found something horrifying in the Black Garden and fell to its influence. They also reference doing the puzzles to get Divinity, which they got and Lisbon used it to kill the other two.

Garden of Salvation raid ends with a Pyramid scale opening up and leading us down into the area with the Darkness statue. I think this could've easily been some sort of a lead into the future of Destiny and the powers of Darkness. Kentarch 3 may have accidentally received this power early on or were perhaps some sort of a test the Darkness did on Guardians before offering them Stasis for real.

It's an interesting story and yep, it does mirror Shayura's fireteam and how the story is told! Each member of the fireteam tells the same story from their own POV on armour for that class. I'll link all of them in order, roughly how I think it's best to read each POV:

Rekkana: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Yardarm-4: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Lisbon-13: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

I like how the armour follows the same name pattern: Righteousness, Exaltation, Transcendence, Ascendancy and Temptation.

Associated Garden of Salvation weapons also have some tidbits of lore that might help, namely:

Ancient Gospel Hand Cannon:

"These forces have existed forever, but only one of them speaks to us." —Rekkana, Warlock of the Kentarch 3

Sacred Provenance Pulse Rifle:

"These gifts were not made for us, but we were meant to have them." —Rekkana, Warlock of the Kentarch 3

Zealot's Reward Fusion Rifle:

"Why not use these gifts we've been given?" —Yardarm-4, Titan of the Kentarch 3

I would really like to learn more about them, and specifically Lisbon because he might be able to actually tell us what happened. He or his Ghost, Piri, who managed to survive last we've seen her. I think the Ghost might be able to give the most accurate version of events. It's interesting that Lisbon was very much against whatever power they received and that was the reason he abandoned his fireteam, which made the other two consider him a traitor to their friendship.

Very intriguing lore story that could possibly be mentioned again in some form. Also as a brighter note, yes, Yardarm literally flew into the Black Garden with an entire ship and crash landed inside. On a less brighter note, we've never seen the remains of a ship in there (to be fair, Black Garden is huge) and it's somewhat implied that they entered through the Vex Gate on Mars which puts the timeline of when they got there into question. The Vex Gate on Mars that led into the Black Garden was destroyed in the Red War. The new gate showed up on the Moon in Shadowkeep (and you can't fly a ship into it because it's in a cave).

An additional note which answers certain things when it comes to Lisbon's fate that I hinted at before: in order to acquire the quest for Divinity, you have to go to the Moon to the Vex Gate for the first time. The gate will open up and a Vex mind will come out. This giant Vex minotaur is called Zeteon, Redemptive Mind. Upon killing this minotaur, you receive "Divine Fragmentation" quest. Details of the quest here. You pick up a Vex core that has strange readings coming from it and you have to decipher it by running it through various Vex technology. Once fully completed, you have to go into Garden of Salvation, do the Divinity puzzles and the weapon will drop from the extra chest at the end.

Why am I mentioning this? Well. Zeteon, Redemptive Mind drops a core that contains information about how to get Divinity. Lisbon was the member of the fireteam that held Divinity and used it to kill his fireteam. There's a quote from Lisbon on the weapon called Accrued Redemption:

"I should never have let it come to this. Now each arrow is a penance." —Lisbon-13, Hunter of the Kentarch 3

Divinity's perks are called Judgement and Penance.

Basically, I believe that whatever deal Lisbon accepted that made him forget his fireteam, free him from the suffering and redeem him ended with him being converted into Zeteon, Redemptive Mind. It's the reason why this Vex in particular had the pieces needed to construct Divinity again. Lisbon was the last person who had it. Becoming the bearer of parts needed for Divinity was both his Judgement and his Penance.

Final note because I love ancient languages being used for the names of things in Destiny: "Zeteon" most likely comes from Greek "zeteo" which means:

to seek, search after, look for

to inquire into, examine, consider

to strive for, desire, wish

Probably tied to Lisbon's search and desire for redemption for what he's done. I think that wraps up his fate quite nicely, although tragically.

[gwynrielendgame]

Nyx and Isa part 4

I am feeling very uninspired these days yall. Good news though, I got a job 🥳🥳 woohoo.

"You two can go wander through the gardens now, if you'd like. Violet why don't you go with them? Someone needs to keep them out of trouble."

It was as much a dismissal if Nyx ever heard one. He rolled his eyes, but stood to leave anyways.

"I would actually like to listen in. If I am to be high lady some day, best I hear it all."

Nyx's parents shared a look. Whatever they wanted to discuss with Tamlin and the rest of the family was not information they wanted his daughter to know. Must be something about her.

"Very well. Nyx could you check on your sister, Velaris? I haven't heard from her all week."

Nyx was annoyed that he was being dismissed once again to check on his oldest sister, of all people, even though Isa was allowed to stay. She was much less trustworthy than him. He turned to leave with his younger sister in tow, but a snicker from Isa made him send a quick glare in her direction.

"Yes, run along now. Like the good little prince you are."

The sarcasm might as well have bit his skin. The entire room stopped their small talk to re-assess the situation before them. The last anyone had heard, Nyx and Isa had resolved any conflict from the recent fight they had. Although neither of them had spoken since Isa had revealed what she gave to protect Nyx.

"Stop this, Isa. Petty arguments do not become you."

"Oh look at prince Nyx. Once again taking the moral high ground. Shocker considering who your parents are."

"Did we...miss something?" Lucien interjected, clearly to lighten the mood which had zero effect on the arguing pair. They continued their banter as if Lucien never even spoke.

"You want to talk to me about my parents? What about yours? Your father abused my mother, only to impregnate, who I can only assume by your own standards, is a vile, evil witch."

She sucked in a harsh breathe. She told that to him in confidence and now he was throwing it back in her face. His anger fueled harder than his guilt. Nyx had walked back to the table at this point where he stood, glaring at his friend.

"Once again you stand on some moral high ground. The world is not black and white, Nyx. Your mother would like to convince you otherwise though, no? Must be her savior complex."

Her accent was much heavier with how vehemently she was talking. Feyre decided it was best to intervene.

"Okay, why don't you two separate and cool off. Obviously, emotions are running high."

Once again, the pair ignored anyone else speaking to them.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Isa. I am not the one that sold off my unborn first child, so of course, you do not have many moral qualms." Nyx threw back at her. She rolled her nose up in disgust.

"Would you have rather I let you die?"

"I am glad I am not dead, but what you were willing to give up for me is not something I would be willing to do for you." He crossed his arms. She scoffed.

"Maybe you should have mentioned that before you had sex with me!" She threw a roll from her plate at him. He let it bounce off his head with a roll of his eyes.

"Oof" Violet muttered while glancing anywhere but at the pair sparring off at the dinner table.

"Do not act as if I tricked you into that! I have been crystal clear about us. I am waiting for my mate, which you are not."

"Nyx," his mother tried to interject once again, but Isa stopped her.

"How do you know that? How do you know I am not your mate? The bond is hard to sense before it has snapped into place." Everyone recognized the desperation in her voice. She was pleading with him to love her in the way that she loved him. Unfortunately, it was also clear to everyone that Nyx was rather indifferent towards Isa as a romantic partner.

"Come on Isa! Be realistic. Our parents did not work out for a reason." He tried to reason. He thought they had just been having a bit of fun. Must have meant much more to Isa than she had been admitting to him.

"Perhaps you do share too much with your mother. Your self-righteousness is certainly straight from her handbook." She lashed out. Nyx recognized her feelings were hurt and that was the reason she was saying the nasty things she was. That did not mean it kept him from getting just as angry.

"Well, I am not the only one who takes after my parents. You are exactly like your father." He spit at her.

Nyx was tired of listening to her discuss his parents in such a way. She wanted to play rough? Well then he would play along.

"What is that meant to mean?"

"You are an entitled bitch who does not seem to understand when someone does not love you back. That's what I mean."

She flinched at his harsh words and he automatically wished he could take them back. She retook her seat, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. They both remembered what she accidentally admitted to him and the words he had not said back. He was breathing heavy from his own vehement yelling, but now as he looked around, he felt regret. It felt wrong to air out their grievances among family and friends, especially when he threw so much back in her face.

"Yikes..." Violet unhelpfully broke the awkward silence that had engulfed the room. Nyx noticed at the same time as everyone else that the table was shaking. It started to shake so much that he thought an earthquake was hitting Velaris. It was not until Tamlin spoke up that everyone realized who, instead of what, was making the table shake.

"Calm down, Isa."

She took a slow shakey breath. One lone tear fell down her cheek which she roughly wiped away. Nyx wanted to wrap her in a hug and apologize, but he stuck in his spot as her tattoos began to glow. They often glowed when she was using her witch magic, but never like this. This was bright, almost blinding when her normal glow was a light luminance.

"I am trying." She spoke softly. "I just want it to stop." Her hands went to her head and started clawing at her temples.

Nyx was not sure what she wanted to stop, but one glance around the room told him that this meant trouble. He wanted to help his friend, but no one moved a muscle and his father sent him a look that kept Nyx from speaking. Tamlin's reaction was even worse. He looked scared. Whether that was for his own life or because his daughter was in danger, Nyx would never know.

"Isabelle, stop."

"I can't." The word broke off at the end as she finally opened her eyes. They were glistening with tears and her expression would haunt Nyx until his last days. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Tamlin propelled forward, over the table. He wrapped Violet in an embrace as they fell to the floor.

And then a gust of power broke every piece of glass in the room. Every window, wine glass, and vase shattered. The power from Azriel's siphons reached out at the last minute and protected Nyx and Lucien from the blast of power. Nyx was still thrown into the wall from the sheer force of it. He managed to look over at his parents to see his dad protecting his mom. Tamlin must have known what was going to happen before it did because he reached Violet a second before it happened.

"Knock her out!" Tamlin yelled. "Before her eyes change."

Nyx looked up to see that Isa was still crying, but a swirl of power encircled her. She had sunk to her knees on the floor at this point and she still gripped her head as if it hurt. The power was unlike anything he had ever seen, so he assumed it must be her witch power. He knew he should get up and talk to her, but he did not want to make it worse. He watched as Lucien attempted to physically get to her, but the gust knocked him away. Both his parents tried using their daemati powers. Nyx was afraid of what would happen if that did not work. Tamlin shoved Violet behind a couch before approaching his daughter.

"Isa, you can control it. You have done it before. Focus."

She began shaking her head wildly.

"Get out of my head!" She screeched.

"I can't get in Tamlin. Whatever is happening is too powerful." Nyx wondered who was inside Isa's head if not his parents.

"Use your Night power to knock her out." Tamlin gritted his teeth as he slowly inched his way toward her. It was a physical feat unlike any other because the wind was powerful enough to keep Nyx on the ground.

"I can't. She's disarmed our fae magic."

Nyx tried to conjure his own magic, only to realize his dad was right. He did not think it was possible without the use of faebane. Isa had mentioned being able to temporarily disable fae magic, but she claimed the cost was too high for witches to use it often. He was worried she would end up killing herself before the night was over.

"Isa!" He started. As soon as he spoke, the power surrounding her intensified. "I am sorry. I did not mean it." He took a few tentative steps towards her even after his dad called out a warning. It was difficult due to the wind, but he managed to get close enough that his shouts were heard by her.

"I was lashing out because you hurt my feelings." The power started to ebb as she raised her head from her hands. "You are my friend and I did not mean to hurt you."

She looked at him for a second, her guard dropped, and when she blinked, her eyes opened again, completely black as the finest spun silk in all of the night court.

Fuck is all he could think.

Tamlin used the split second she was distracted by Nyx to make his move. She was in his grasp and being winnowed away before anything else could be said.

"Shit." His mother muttered from her spot on the ground.

"What the hell was that?" Azriel looked to Lucien for answers as he stood from the ground. It appeared everyone had been knocked to the ground from the force of her magic. Lucien wiped away blood from his forehead that kept pouring into his one good eye.

"How many witch, high lord children have you heard of?"

"None." Azriel grimaced. If he had not heard of it before, then it was likely few and far between that held that same heritage.

"Emotion is a highly sought after price by the spirits. Not many witches are willing to trade their emotions for the aid of the spirits. They feed on it which is why the children are so dangerous. They are one tantrum from killing their entire coven. Why do you think their numbers dwindle?"

"She's had how many years to get this under control?" Rhysand quipped back sarcastically only to get a withering look from Lucien.

"No amount of time prepares you for your first heart break. Especially when the cause of that embarrasses you in front of another court by declaring he does not love you back." Lucien gave a pointed look to Nyx with narrowed eyes.

"Not my finest moment." Nyx cringed as he thought back to all he said. Nyx walked back to Violet to help her up from behind the couch.

"The spirits feed on her emotions. She let her guard down, but they cannot take without giving. They gave her too much power to control with her emotions as tumultuous as they were. The more negative the emotion? The more all-consuming and dangerous that power becomes." Lucien explained. Although it hardly made any sense to Nyx.

"How can they feed if she does not call on them? Why do they not feed on our emotions?" Violet asked as she wiped dirt from her dress.

"The tattoos, a price she has paid for a past use of witch magic, acts as a tracking device. Much like you build mind barriers to keep other Daemati out, Isa needs to keep her barriers in place to prevent the spirits from taking freely. The tattoos call to spirits when they glow and the loss of her mind barrier allowed them in without her permission. As for the reason they do not feed on our emotions? Unsure. Isa jokes that regular fae emotions must taste bad." Lucien finally grabbed a napkin to press to the wound above his eye. He muttered an apology to Feyre for ruining it.

"Why did she not kick them out once she realized?" Feyre asked instead of responding to his apology.

"She probably did not realize she was giving her emotions freely to the spirits. They rewarded her with power. Mix in some fae magic, shape shifting abilities, and boom you have an uncontrollable dangerous cocktail in the form of a small female."

"The eyes?" Azriel quietly mentioned with raised brows. His shadows were moving erratically all around him.

"That is not up for discussion along with her mother." Lucien sent Nyx a glare.

"I know it was a low blow." He admitted. He would apology as soon as he was allowed.

"Isa loves her mother very much. You can love a person and despise their actions. Right Feyre?" It was an accusing statement. Everyone could see what Lucien was insinuating. His mother at some point or another loved Tamlin even if she pretended she never had. Feyre only rolled her eyes, but Rhysand sent a glare of his own back to Lucien.

"I should apologize. I do love her." Nyx felt the need to admit to everyone. "Just not in the way that she wants." He threw himself down on the couch. Violet followed his lead and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Not now. The reason witches do not readily offer their emotions is because it leaves them numb. It is a very unpleasant feeling and will be like talking to a wall." Lucien grimaced. Nyx assumed Lucien was thinking of the last time it happened.

"Has this happened before?" Azriel inquired.

"When her mother died. That's it." Lucien shrugged and dropped the napkin.

"I didn't know. I never meant to hurt her." Nyx felt the need to explain himself, but found there were no words to do so.

"If I know Isa, all she wanted to hear was that you care for her in some capacity."

"She knows that." Nyx insisted. He rested his head on top of his sisters. He was suddenly overcome with exhaustion unlike any other.

"Does she? Cause you had me fooled otherwise tonight." Lucien quickly winnowed away after that. A look around the room showed disapproving looks from everyone.

*****

"Thank you for coming." Tamlin shifted awkwardly in his chair. The Night Court inner circle looked on from their respective chairs in what Nyx assumed must be the formal sitting room. His parents, himself, and his sister squished together on one couch. Azriel took an arm chair to the left of Tamlin and the last chair remained unclaimed. Nyx stared at the chair as if he could make her appear simply from his stare.

"How is she?" Rhysand cleared his throat to ask. Tamlin gave a tight smile.

"Fine." He paused, debating whether he should say the next thing. "We lifted the ward on this room. If things should get out of hand today, you may winnow away."

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him.

"I thought you said she had it under control."

Tamlin sighed heavily and slouched in his chair. He rubbed at his temples as if this entire meeting exhausted him.

"You will see that you are in no danger. It is just a precaution."

Azriel went to say something, but stopped and looked towards the door. It was utterly silent. A few minutes later, Isa walked through the door with her head down. She looked...bad. In the kindest way possible because Nyx knew she had been through a lot mentally. It had clearly taken a toll on her physically. She shuffled to the last available seat without making eye contact. When she finally looked up, Nyx's heart lurched. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks had sunken in from weight loss, leaving her looking like she consisted only of skin and bone. It was jarring considering how solidly built she had been previously. She had always been muscular; now though, he saw no hint of it. Her dress must have been fitted to her recently since it fit her well. It was a light green color similar to her eyes and flowed around her like a wedding dress. She might look beautiful if she did not look so sick. Nyx made eye contact with his sister's wide, shocked eyes. A quiet gasp left his mother's lips. Isa tried a small smile, but Nyx noticed her fingers nervously traced the new tattoos on her other hand.

"I apologize for my little display last week." She started. "I thought I had a better grip on my powers. Obviously not. I have spoken with my coven on the matter and I will be returning home for additional training."

Nyx contemplated whether he should speak or not. Last time they only exchanged spiteful words. He did not want those words to be the last she heard from him. He cleared his throat.

"Does your coven know about the first born debacle?" He felt it was a neutral enough of a statement. Isa replied simply.

"No."

"It is best if that is never discussed aloud." Tamlin interjected.

"How long will you be gone?" Violet asked. They had become friends as well and his sister looked sad at the prospect of her leaving.

"Until I need to claim my position as High Lady." Isa stared at her hands as she spoke. Violet gasped at the information.

"But that could be hundreds of years!"

Nyx frowned. He thought it might take Isa a few months to lose interest in himself and then they could return to just being friends. This seemed extreme, but perhaps they could still visit each other every once in a while. Isa only shrugged. Nyx felt dread at Isa's lack of emotional display. She had been rather devoid of anything else. The effects of the spirits must be taking more of a toll than anyone else assumed.

"That will leave you unprepared for your role as high lady. You do not have many allies or friends," Azriel started what appeared to be an oddly placed reprimand. "You should use all the time you have to form relationships with the other courts and possible emissaries."

"Lucien said he would help me when I first take over."

"That is not enough." Rhysand agreed as him and Tamlin shared a look.

"You will help me, no?" She asked.

"We may not have the time to devote to helping you run your court." Feyre said. Isa's eyes slid past Nyx's and landed on Violet's.

"I could help." His sister offered with a smile that looked so similar to their mother's.

"It would be very much appreciated." Isa tried to give a smile of her own but it only succeeded in showing how miserable this past week has been for her.

"You may want to consider marriage." Azriel felt the need to mention. "You will be at a disadvantage when you return, but a well aligned marriage could work. The prince of the Summer Court is unmarried, but you may find yourself at war with Amren over him. There is a princess of the Summer court that may be interested." His shadows tucked in tight to him.

"I shall consider that. Thank you for the advice, spymaster." No hint of her accent could be heard. Nyx realized she was focusing on disguising the accent in order to focus her attention. Her eyes kept wandering around the room as though she could not keep focus on the current conversation.

Tamlin appeared to nudge Isa subtly. He gave her a stern look before she turned back to look at Feyre.

"I apologize for the things I said about you." She said barely above a whisper. Feyre gave her a soft look which must have urged her to keep going. "Sometimes I feel angry at you because I see a life I could have had. With you as my mom. It is not fair, but it is true." Nyx could see tears in his mother's eyes that she quickly blinked away.

"I understand that sometimes we say things we do not mean. Right, Nyx?" Feyre gave her son a look. She was giving him an opening to say his piece while simultaneously avoiding responding to Isa. He should tell Isa that he did not mean it.

"Isa, I do love you. Just not in the way you are wanting." He tried to make eye contact with her so that she knew he was speaking the truth, but she did not look up from her hands.

"Okay." She gave a simple shrug.

Nyx felt his eyes brows furrowed at that. He was not sure what he expected her reaction to be, but something more than that. It made him feel something he was not ready to admit. And at this point, would never admit.

"Okay?" He asked with raised eyebrows. Isa was still refusing to look up at him, so he look towards his father who kept signaling with his eyes to go and comfort her.

"Yes, I understand I cannot make someone love me." The bland delivery of the words encouraged Nyx to move towards her. He kneeled before her in her chair and grabbed her hands, forcing her to look at him.

"I do love you." He emphasized. He did not want this to get lost in the mess of everything else. Something about that seemed to spark something in her eyes though. The sight of it made Nyx relieved.

"Not in the vay I vant to be loved. Not in the vay I dezerve to be loved." Her accent was extremely heavy and she began to grip his hands back just as strongly as he was holding hers. Tears gathered in her eyes but they did not fall.

"I vill no longer give you more than you dezerve, Nyx." And with that declaration, the last of her fight left her. She softly pulled her hands away and stood up. Her eyes were blank once more.

"I apologize once again for putting your lives at risk. It will not happen again."

And then she was drooping back to her room with slows steps.

"That went...well." Violet offered unhelpfully. "Right?"

[writinglizards]

If You Love It, Let It Go

Summary: Yennefer isn’t the only one Geralt pushes away on the mountain. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

Read on Ao3

Finding out about Geralt's djinn wish is like being gutted. Yennefer knows magic, knows how insincere it is, how cutting, how fake. Finding that this gentle feeling in her chest is manufactured, no different from a glamor or a charm, is world-shattering.

She lashes out, Geralt lashes out in turn. They both say things they know will hurt, will dig claws in, will bleed. When she storms away, angry tears streaking down her face, she has one plan: pack up the tent and portal out of here.

The shouting that follows mere moments later is...not surprising, exactly, but the bard that stumbles into camp, eyes rimmed red and looking lost is, just a little. Yennefer watches him out of the corner of her eye as she flicks her wrist, using magic to get the tent to fold down small enough to fit in her bag.

Jaskier stumbles over to the lean-to he and Geralt should have shared last night and kind of...stares. One of the dwarves is breaking their camp not too far away, gives a shout of greeting which seems to jolt Jaskier back to the task at hand. He starts packing his bag, slow and methodical, his expression blank and distant.

Something sits wrong with Yennefer about it. She hates the bard, hates the attention he gets from Geralt, the way Geralt can't shut up about him in that quiet way of his, hates him for the competition he presents, even if she'd been winning. But seeing him like this, blank and silent, it's obvious he's upset and he's hurting and she can guess whose fault that is. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

"Bard," she calls, pausing in her packing.

He jolts again, eyes passing over her only to slide away, expression vacant. "Sorry Yennefer, I--" he pauses, licks his lips, still crouched over his open bag, "I'm not up to par right now, I'm afraid. Perhaps we can do this later?" And oh, that's...upsetting. She's upset on his behalf which is just--

"I don't want to argue with you, Jaskier," she says, biting back the impulse to call him something less flattering. It gets his attention at least. His gaze drifts back over to her, settles.

"What could you possibly want, then?" he asks, voice soft. It's so defeated it hurts to even hear. It's the only reason she makes the offer she does.

"I'm leaving. Come with me." She's expecting some grand, overblown reaction. Instead, she gets a long stare, a slow blink in response.

"Why?"

"Because--" because he hurt you too, because if anyone understands this it's you, because I can't be alone, "--Geralt won't expect it. And you need as much of a break from him as I do." It's the truth, if only partly.

He looks...blank. It's unnerving--the bard is not meant to be still, to be quiet. "Okay," he says after an extended pause, no fanfare. There's not even a token protest. "I'll go with you."

They pack quickly after that. Yennefer finishes magically putting away her tent. Jaskier finishes packing his bag. He glances briefly at Geralt's things, expression gone vacant again.

"Jaskier," his attention slides back to her, slowly, "ready to go?"

He works his throat for a moment, no sound. "Yeah," he eeks out, "I just--"

"You don't owe him anything," she hisses, watching his gaze drift back over to Geralt's things, "we don't owe him anything."

"You're right," he sighs, closes his eyes. He doesn't ask where they're going when she opens the portal and she doesn't tell him.

They step out into her modest estate in Vengerberg, in the courtyard. She expects that now they have arrived, Jaskier will ask where they are. He doesn't. He just...stands there, looking lost. It’s irritating.

"Well, here we are," she prompts. Jaskier simply hums in response and it's too familiar--she's too raw. She snaps. "Are you going to fucking say something or are you going to stand there like a marionette for Militile's sake?"

He stares, eyes wide. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," she hisses, angry, "but if you're just going to mope you can leave." She doesn't care where the bard goes (except that maybe she does, just a little).

"Oh," he says, voice small. She sighs, forces herself to reign in her temper.

"Stay for the night, at least. If you're still--" she makes a vague gesture in his general direction that doesn't actually indicate anything, "--tomorrow, then you can go. But stay for today."

The silence is too thick. She thinks he'll reject her offer outright, but-- "okay," he says, nearly too quiet.

She sets him up in his own room, sends the house servants to check on him periodically, and tries to tell herself she doesn’t care whether he chooses to stay or go.

He's still there in the morning, looking a little more like himself, although his eyes are a little red again.

"Good morning, Yennefer, dear," he mumbles around a mouthful of sweet bread where he's perched at her dining table. She snorts.

"Sure," she huffs, stalking through to snatch the remaining sweet bread right from his plate. He frowns a little but doesn't argue it with her (not a good sign). They stare each other down as she nibbles delicately at the roll. "So--" she resents that he's making her ask, "--how are you doing?"

His expression doesn't shift from the pleasant blankness. "Fine."

"Bullshit, bard."

He sighs. "What do you want to hear, Yennefer?"

"The truth, for once," she tells him, point-blank. It feels a little like digging her nails into flesh, a little like picking at a raw wound. Whether she wants him to hurt or herself, she's not sure.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You love him," she accuses, angry. Those nails dig in a little deeper, draw blood, "and he'll never love you."

His expression doesn't shift, but his eyes look-- "yeah," he says, quiet, "I do." He doesn't dispute Geralt doesn't love him but doesn't acknowledge it, either.

"And he doesn't care," Yennefer continues, sweet bread forgotten. She wants to watch that blankness crack, "you love him and he doesn't return it, doesn't care, doesn't love you back. Why do you stay, Jaskier?"

"What else can I do?" he asks. It's infuriating.

"It hurts you, Jaskier. Why let him hurt you?" She finds she wants to understand. Love, the good kind, the kind she's always wanted, isn't supposed to hurt. Can't he understand?

The look he gives her is soft and sad. "You don't choose who you love, Yennefer. Sometimes--" he breaks off to stare at the empty plate before him, "--sometimes it doesn't last. Sometimes it never goes away."

"But it hurts you," she reiterates pointlessly, brow pinched in frustration.

"It does," he agrees, one hand pressed to his chest, "and we don't get to choose that, either." His smile is self-deprecating this time.

"Why does it have to hurt, Jaskier?" She's horrified to find fresh tears brimming in her eyes. She turns away, tries to tamp down on the surge of pain in her chest. Jaskier sits, silent. "I hate him," she whispers, "fuck, I hate him."

Behind her, the chair scrapes noisily across the flagstones as he pushes away from the table to cross the room, awkwardly pat at her shoulder. "It always hurts," he murmurs, "you get used to it."

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

They don't talk about Geralt after that, although he lingers in every conversation, unspoken. He loves Yennefer. He doesn't love Jaskier. Yennefer hates that her choice was taken from her, that she seems to love him anyway. Jaskier is resigned to scraps of affection, always no better than second best. All of it makes her righteously furious to think about, so she doesn't (except, of course, she does).

Jaskier doesn't ask about leaving and she doesn't ask him to go again, after the first afternoon. It's...good. To have someone around that understands. Because he does, even though they don't talk about it.

They establish a routine. Jaskier spends hours in her library, reading and composing and singing. She spends her day in the workroom. They meet in the kitchen for lunch, have an informal dinner in the dining room, spend evenings together around the hearth of her sitting room.

At some point, she stops thinking of him as insufferably annoying and only amusing, wonders if this is how Geralt thinks of him, wonders if he feels fond the way she does, sometimes, when Jaskier is more himself.

It would be easier if she loved him. Jaskier is so kind, so good, even when she doesn't deserve it. He gives as good as he gets, but he's never cruel, not the way she can be. How could Geralt have ever looked at him, held his heart in his hands, and turned him away? Jaskier deserves good, deserves better than Geralt, better than Yennefer. Destiny has been viciously unfair to the bard, setting him between the two of them, a willing target for their joint suffering, their joint pain.

And yet he smiles, he sings, he refuses to leave. Maybe she does understand Geralt, a little. And Jaskier, too, maybe. If you love it enough, you let it go. She needs to practice letting go.

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

It's really only a matter of time before Geralt shows up--he's been to Yennefer's Vengerberg estate before. The house servants let him in, leave him in her receiving room (not the library, not anymore. That's Jaskier's space).

"Geralt," she says, voice carefully void of emotion. She's angry, gods is she angry, but he looks...bad. The circles under his eyes, always prominent, are deep, dark bruises. He's a little too thin, a little too gaunt. He looks haunted.

"Yen," he says, voice rough, like he hasn't spoken for weeks (he likely hasn't).

"What do you want? You know I want nothing to do with you." She's not sure about that, really, but when she says it, it feels true. She doesn't want to see him, doesn't want anything to do with him. It's not that she loves him less, per se. She still feels whatever this is in her chest. She just...finds she doesn't quite trust it, doesn't want to indulge it. They've only ever hurt each other. She wants to stop hurting so, so badly.

"I know," he says, sounding tired, "Yen, I know, but--" he breaks off, sucks in a breath like he's steeling himself for a fight, "--I need your help."

She laughs.

"I know, I know. I don't deserve to even ask--"

"No, you don't," she says, voice like razor wire, vicious. He keeps going.

"--but I can't find him Yen. I've looked everywhere and I can't find him. I can't--" his voice breaks and he ducks his head, hides his face. She doesn't feel like laughing anymore. He soldiers on after a moment, voice wavering, "If he's gone and it's my fault, Yen, I--"

"Geralt." Her chest aches, painfully. This is what Jaskier's felt, for years, she thinks. This aching, creeping pain as she realizes that Geralt isn't here for her, despite his wish, despite how he’s tied them together. He's looking for Jaskier. Maybe she's had him wrong all this time.

"Please," he says, turns his eyes back towards her again. He looks hollowed out, like there's nothing behind that gaze. "I know I fucked up with you both, Yen. But please."

She thinks about lying. If Geralt doesn't believe Jaskier alive any longer, he'll leave the bard in peace, give him the opportunity to start to heal, to move on. Gods know Jaskier can't do that on his own. She wants to. The selfish part of her thinks if she can keep him long enough, Jaskier might love her that strongly, that fiercely, after a time.

She knows that's another lie, but she does entertain it, for a moment.

The other thing, of course, is choice. She's had her own choice of who to love ripped from her. Could she do that to Jaskier?

"Have a seat," she sighs, "I'll be back."

"Yen--"

"I said," she snaps, "I'll be back. Sit. Don't make me say it again." He sits. She leaves.

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

"He what?"

"He's worried you're dead, apparently," she says, feigning disinterest as she examines her nails.

"And you just--" he waves his arms about for emphasis, "didn't say anything and left?" His tone is incredulous.

She purses her lips and qirks an eyebrow--isn't that what I just said?

"Fuck. Yeah, yes, okay. Um."

"Breathe, Jaskier."

He takes a quick, shallow breath, something edging close to hyperventilating. "Fuck, okay, I'll talk to him."

"You don't have to," she says. Don't leave me she thinks.

"No, I do," he sighs, leans forward to catch her hand in his. A few months ago she would have turned him into a beetle for that. Now-- "Don't look so sad, Yen, darling."

"Shut up, bard." He's going to leave, like everyone else. Let go.

"I'm not going anywhere yet," he says, like he's the one who can read minds here.

"You don't have to stay," she shakes her head, pulls her hand back, too gentle.

"I know."

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

"Here," Yennefer waves behind herself dismissively as she reenters the room. Geralt sits up straighter. Behind her, Jaskier bounces a little anxiously on the balls of his feet.

"Fuck," he mumbles when he catches sight of Geralt over her shoulder, "you didn't say he looked so bad."

"Thought that was a given," she answers without looking. Geralt's gone very, very still.

"Yen--"

"He's been here since we left," she answers before he can ask. She can see him swallow from across the room. They’re eyeing each other, something in Geralt’s gaze she’s never seen before. It reaches into her chest and twists. "I'll leave you to it."

She leaves. No one stops her.

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

Jaskier is the one to come find her, after.

"He said you didn't want to see him again," he says as he settles into the chair opposite her. She's been--not hiding, she wouldn't call it hiding--in her study since she left them alone about an hour ago now.

"I don't," she agrees.

"You still love him, though," he says, soft and understanding. She puts the book she's been trying to distract herself with down, looks directly into his eyes.

"I do. I still don't know how real it is."

"Yen--"

"It doesn't matter. We're--" she cuts him off, shakes her head, "we're not good for each other, Jaskier."

"And he and I are any better?" he asks quietly. His words cut, draw blood. She's had the thought before herself.

"You deserve better," she tells him, eyes averted as she stares into the hearth fire.

"Aw, you do care," he coos, soft. Then, a lot more seriously, "you deserve better too, Yennefer."

She shrugs one shoulder, dismissive. "I do," she answers faintly. It isn't convincing even to her own ears.

"Yen--"

"I want someone to need me," she says, thinking back to what she told Geralt, on the mountain. Before things fell apart. "More than anything."

"That's why--" he trails off, doesn't finish. They both know what he means.

"Yes."

"You don't have to have a child to be needed, Yen. I've needed you, this whole time. You know that, don't you?"

"And now you don't," she says, trying not to sound bitter. He’s leaving, like everyone else. Found something better. They both are, this time. (It hurts, gods does it never stop hurting?)

"No," Jaskier shakes his head, gently, "just what I need is different."

"And what do you need now, bard?" She twists to face him fully, expression hard. She doesn't appreciate his lies.

"I need you to be there, when Geralt inevitably fucks up again. To listen. To talk to." It's not the same, but-- "I do love you, Yen."

"You're awful," she tells him, eyes downturned. There's a warm feeling surging in her chest, something tender and delighted, licking warmth melting the cold ice feeling of dread. He believes what he’s telling her--it’s the truth.

"I love you too," he smiles, eyes bright. "Are we good?"

She sucks in a deep breath. "We're good, bard." The smile that lights his face is radiant, perfect. In another universe, she might have loved him, the same way she might have loved Geralt, untainted by the djinn wish. The difference is that this is still clean, untouched by magic. It's not the deep, romantic love she's longed for since she was a child, but it's milder, truer. She believes him in a way she's never quite believed anyone else before.

If you love it, let it go. He may be leaving, but he'll be back.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Accusation against Paul

1 After five days Ananias the high priest came down with some elders and a lawyer named Tertullus. These men presented their case against Paul to the governor. 2 When he was called in, Tertullus began to accuse him and said: “Since we enjoy great peace because of you, and reforms are taking place for the benefit of this nation by your foresight, 3 we acknowledge this in every way and everywhere, most excellent Felix, with utmost gratitude. 4 However, so that I will not burden you any further, I beg you in your graciousness to give us a brief hearing. 5 For we have found this man to be a plague, an agitator among all the Jews throughout the Roman world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes! 6 He even tried to desecrate the temple, so we apprehended him [and wanted to judge him according to our law. 7 But Lysias the commander came and took him from our hands with great force, 8 commanding his accusers to come to you.] By examining him yourself you will be able to discern all these things we are accusing him of.” 9 The Jews also joined in the attack, alleging that these things were so.

Paul’s Defense before Felix

10 When the governor motioned to him to speak, Paul replied: “Because I know you have been a judge of this nation for many years, I am glad to offer my defense in what concerns me. 11 You are able to determine that it is no more than 12 days since I went up to worship in Jerusalem. 12 They didn’t find me disputing with anyone or causing a disturbance among the crowd, either in the temple complex or in the synagogues or anywhere in the city. 13 Neither can they provide evidence to you of what they now bring against me. 14 But I confess this to you: I worship my fathers’ God according to the Way, which they call a sect, believing all the things that are written in the Law and in the Prophets. 15 And I have a hope in God, which these men themselves also accept, that there is going to be a resurrection, both of the righteous and the unrighteous. 16 I always do my best to have a clear conscience toward God and men. 17 After many years, I came to bring charitable gifts and offerings to my nation, 18 and while I was doing this, some Jews from Asia found me ritually purified in the temple, without a crowd and without any uproar. 19 It is they who ought to be here before you to bring charges, if they have anything against me. 20 Either let these men here state what wrongdoing they found in me when I stood before the Sanhedrin, 21 or about this one statement I cried out while standing among them, ‘Today I am being judged before you concerning the resurrection of the dead.’”

The Verdict Postponed

22 Since Felix was accurately informed about the Way, he adjourned the hearing, saying, “When Lysias the commander comes down, I will decide your case.” 23 He ordered that the centurion keep Paul under guard, though he could have some freedom, and that he should not prevent any of his friends from serving him.

24 After some days, when Felix came with his wife Drusilla, who was Jewish, he sent for Paul and listened to him on the subject of faith in Christ Jesus. 25 Now as he spoke about righteousness, self-control, and the judgment to come, Felix became afraid and replied, “Leave for now, but when I find time I’ll call for you.” 26 At the same time he was also hoping that money would be given to him by Paul. For this reason he sent for him quite often and conversed with him.

27 After two years had passed, Felix received a successor, Porcius Festus, and because he wished to do a favor for the Jews, Felix left Paul in prison. — Acts 24 | Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB) Holman Christian Standard Bible ® Copyright © 2003, 2002, 2000, 1999 by Holman Bible Publishers. All rights reserved. Cross References: 1 Samuel 12:5; Jeremiah 36:16; Jeremiah 37:13; Jeremiah 39:11; Daniel 6:5; Daniel 12:2; Matthew 2:7; Matthew 17:3; Mark 9:14; Luke 1:3; Luke 12:11; Luke 23:14; Acts 2:9; Acts 3:13; Acts 11:29; Acts 20:21; Acts 21:18; Acts 21:27-28; Acts 23:2; Acts 23:6; Acts 23:30; Acts 25:4; Philippians 4:5; 1 Thessalonians 2:16; Hebrews 13:18

[kyouxa]

Diabolik lovers Chaos Lineage: Shu Sakamaki (Story 15)

In terms of the gameplay: The black choices lead up to a bad ending, the white choices lead up to a good ending. Please no reposting onto other sites, ask me before translating this into another language too!

Place: Scarlet mansion — Living room

Shu: I’m going to be the one ending this idiotic battle right now… !

Kino: It doesn’t matter if your younger brothers suddenly got their memories back or not, the situation won’t change anyway.

Isn‘t it already taking up all your strength to merely stand up with this magical spell on? How do you even think of fighting me in those circumstances?

Yui: (The magical barrier spell… this might really put Shu-san in a huge disadvantage right now)

(However, in this case Shu-san will undoubtedly… !)

Choices

1) Don’t worry, we’ll stay behind (white) ♡ ♡ ♡

2) Everyone’s going to be okay back here! (black)

— Don’t worry, we’ll stay behind♡

Yui: Don‘t worry Shu-san, we’ll stay behind you!

Subaru: Even if he might come up with a trick again, I’ll be there to have your back!

Ayato: Wrong! Yours truly would be the only one making a counterattack without fail!  

Subaru: Hah!? Are you trying to complain about my plan!?

Laito: Ah, yes, yes. I don’t mind either of you supporting, as long as you actually help out.

Shu: Fufu… it’s surely not bad to hear you all being worried about me.

— Everyone’s going to be okay back here!

Yui: Shu-san! Now that everyone has their memories back, you can go against him problem-free!

Ayato: No need to worry about me here! Just keep fighting with all your strength!

Kanato: That‘s right. If you won’t be able to finish him off, I‘ll be the one to stab him with a fork and make fondue out of him in the end.

Reiji: Stop this. You will end up getting food poisoned after that.

Yui: (T-That‘s not even the real problem here!)

Shu: For real… those guys aren’t feeling nervous at all. However, I might end up being able to concentrate better knowing that.

end Choices

Kino: Every last one of you, you’re all seriously pissing me off!

*Kino throws dagger*

Shu: Ngh!

Kino: Hahaha! You can do no more than open your mouth anymore. With all your remaining strength you even tried removing the daggers I stabbed you with!

Shu: Yes… I was only waiting for this. Like this I have a weapon in order to throw it if I have to shut you up.

Further than that… I won’t let you have your desired ways any longer… !

*Shu throws dagger*

Kino: Agh!

*Shu runs to Kino*

Shu: Aghhh!

Kino: Kch!

Yui: (Shu-san tried slashing him with his sword!? They both ended up crossing swords with each other, it seems as if neither of them will give up…)

Kino: Nn, aghhh… !

Shu: While having this barrier around me… you didn’t get closer to me, because it would affect you too if you did, right?

If I caught up to you, you‘d have to experience the equal conditions as I am!

Kino: Kch… Ngh… just because you’re the eldest… doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to go back to your spoiled home...

I will never… lose to some cheap guy like you are...

Shu: ...I’ve got not a single idea of how you’ve lived your life until now. Neither am I interested in it, but...

I, myself, have also lived a life filled with regret until now—

But I won‘t give up on moving on so easily!

*Shu stabs Kino*

Kino: Aghhhh!

*Shu broke free*

Yui: The barrier is gone… !

Reiji: It appears as if the blockade could not bear the power of both of your strengths suddenly colliding.

Kino: Ngh… Kch…

Yui: (Nn, Kino-kun kneed down…)

Shu: This match has officially ended.

— Your Status (Black)

Place: Scarlet mansion — Living room

Yui: (At last the point of his sword captured Kino-kun)

(It‘s finally over. I’m really happy… that it’s done with this)

Reiji: ….. ? Does it smell burnt? No way—

Yui: Eh?

(Nn, h-he‘s lying… !)

No... the mansion is seriously burning… !

Ayato: Hah!? What does this mean!?

Kino: Maybe this is the work of those guys from the other families.

They set the fire in order to bury each and every one currently staying inside this mansion.

Yui: Such...

Kino: Hahaha! Serves you right! Now that all you beloved siblings are together in here, you might as well end up committing a family suicide!

Bye!

*Kino runs off*

Ayato: Don’t run away! Fuck, that guy… even at the end he got his righteousness.

Subaru: Hey, leaving him aside, we also somehow need to get out of here!

Reiji: We will leave this place this instant as well!

Kanato: Before that, go ahead and untie us from these ropes already!

Laito: Like this we wouldn’t be able to flee, even if we wanted to run away!

Shu: I know! Just stay still while I untie you from it.

Yui: I will help out too!

Place: Scarlet mansion — Hallway

Kanato: ….. !? The corridor is already covered in a sea of flames too… !?

Reiji: If we run through this etage in one go, we will be able to make it outside in time.

*they start running*

Shu: ….. !

Yui: Shu-san? What’s wrong?

Shu: I can’t go… not when I know Yuma is still inside here!

Yui: (..... ! He‘s right… we can’t leave Yuma-kun, who’s still laying in his room, behind like that…)

Shu: You must go ahead and escape with Reiji and the others together!

Yui: Shu-san!

*Shu runs off*

Yui: (I can‘t possibly let Shu-san go around alone as injured as that!)

I will go in there too… !

Reiji: Ngh… wait, both of you!

*ceiling collapses*

Reiji: ….. ! The roof tile… I cannot go any further anymore… !

Shu: Haa… Haa… shit, the flames are spreading way too fast… !

Ngh…

*Shu leans against wall*

Shu: Fuck… the wounds he made me suffer with are...

Yui: Shu-san!

Shu: ….. ! You, why are you… didn’t I tell you to go ahead with the others earlier!?

Yui: Even if you told me so, do you really think I’d be able to leave you alone in this sort of tough situation!? What if you may get burned… !?

Shu: You’re wrong… as for this...

Yui: (..... ! The wounds Kino-kun gave him in the fight started to bleed again...)

Shu-san… it’s completely absurd going through this with these wounds…

Shu: I’m a vampire, so I’m fine. I’d be able to simply survive this with my body, while you wouldn’t.

That’s why you should escape from here as long as you still can.

You know that I don’t want to lose anyone right in front of my eyes ever again… !

Yui: Shu-san...

After all, I… I‘m completely useless and can‘t do anything without you too, Shu-san...

So please hold onto my shoulder! Let‘s go in and get Yuma-kun out there together!

Shu: You...

Yui: You promised that we‘d never get separated again, didn’t you? We’ll go through this together, right?

Shu: Yes… you’re right.

Yui: Let’s go and get out of this house with everyone together then!

(The room Yuma-kun is laying in is nearby now… we need to get in there quickly)

Ahem... Ahem...

(Breathing is getting harder… but Yuma-kun is right on the other side of the door before us…)

*Yui opens door*

Yui: (It’s open! Yuma-kun!)

Shu: I’ll definitely...

Yui: Eh?

Shu: I’ll definitely never leave your side. After all, you’ll always stay near me… don’t forget that.

Yui: O-Of course. Why would I suddenly—

*ceiling collapses*

Yui: (The ceiling… the roof tiles are falling down!?)

Kyaaaaaaa!

Shu: ...Don’t worry. I promised it to you. I’ll protect you no matter what.

↳ Labyrinth END

— Your Status (White)

Place: Scarlet mansion — Living room

Kino: ...Nn! This is not over yet… kch.

Shu: You can‘t even stand properly anymore. Even if you did try moving any further, this sword would immediately pierce through your body.

Getting injured by one would only cause vampires to receive a fatal wound. But it‘s different if it goes through your heart.

Kino: ...Shit...

...I‘ve been defeated.

Yui: Kino-kun...

Ayato: Hooray! Shu won!

Subaru: Geez, what a way to make someone feel nervous.

Reiji: ...Well done.

Yui: (Shu-san… he won. We‘re safe now)

(I actually want to run up to him right away. But, for now—)

Shu-san… you were really cool out there.

Shu: ...I wasn‘t particularly trying to look like that.

It‘s only important to me that you‘re safe now.

Yui: Yes… thank you.

Monologue

We finally tied up Kino-kun, and he surprisingly didn‘t even try resisting.

While I was giving Shu-san some brief medical treatment, Reiji-san started to untie Ayato-kun and the others.

After finishing doing so, we decided to once again surrender Kino-kun and interrogate him about this situation.

But as we did that—

We figured he didn‘t know anything either.

Place: Scarlet mansion — Living room

Shu: Does that seriously mean you‘re not the responsible one who made up this world?

Kino: ...It‘s pretty different from that. But it was honestly quite funny to pretend being the mastermind and have you believe it.

I used to be no different from you guys. I was merely another victim who was brought along to this place.

If I was already stuck in this situation, why not use it as an advantage then?

Subaru: Looks like he‘s not the mastermind… but can we actually believe that guy‘s not lying to us?

Laito: He‘d get nowhere even if he was lying to us right now, wouldn‘t he?

Yui: Yes… it feels as even if he really was the mastermind who set up all of this, he probably wouldn‘t get arrested by us this easily.

Ayato: But you know, didn‘t he say he knew details about us beforehand already? Isn‘t this our first real meeting with him?

Even after my memories came back to me, this guy‘s still a mystery to me.

Yui: You‘re right… if Kino-kun really experienced the same as we did, wouldn‘t that mean his memories must‘ve gone insane too?

How have you returned to normal before tonight?

Kino: Why don‘t you search through my pocket and look for yourself?

Yui: Your pocket?

Reiji: Pardon me… this is...

Yui: ...Your smartphone?

Kino: I‘ll explain it to you. At the beginning I was the complete same as you guys, I‘ve lost all of my memories.

It wouldn‘t give me a signal at first, so I merely started playing around with it every now and then until I discovered something.

With the information I discovered, I was therefore able to get back to my usual self.

Yui: Eh, but despite that being our first meeting you seem to be really well informed about Shu-san‘s brothers and even Carla-san‘s sibling...

Kino: Yes, I was in fact planning on killing everyone here from the very beginning. For that reason I already did my preliminary investigation.

Subaru: That guy, he‘s really the most outrageous person I‘ve ever met...

Wouldn‘t it be better to get rid of him either way then?

Yui: Ah, please calm down.

Reiji: Well, you may be the same as us and not the main cause of this project… but does that therefore truly mean you are merely another participator in this game?

Kino: That summons it up nicely. It‘s exactly as you said. I‘m not the game master. I‘m just another player in this.

Ayato: Tch, what the? That doesn‘t make sense.

Kanato: It honestly doesn‘t matter anymore. If he continues irritating me, I‘ll simply cut him into pieces.

Yui: Ah, calm down!

(If Kino-kun is without doubt not the one causing everyone to lose their memories and lose their minds, who else is it… ?)

(I do have the feeling as if he has no reason to lie now that we‘re close to finishing this game… if so, who‘s the real mastermind?)

Kino: I‘m satisfied, you know. If you want to kill me, why not do it now?

Shu: ...I have no intention of doing that.

Ayato: Hah!? Why not!?

Subaru: Wasn‘t he the one who tried killing all of us!?

Kanato: If we leave him alone, he might go ahead and decide to do something again.

Laito: Wouldn‘t it honestly be better if we settle things now before he might go off trying to attack us again?

Shu: ...That‘s not the end of this talk yet. He has been in the same position as we were the entire time after all.

He surely had no intention of being manipulated, and only wanted to have his wish granted by that old man himself.

Just a little while ago, even we had similar thoughts. Someone killing somebody else wouldn‘t have been a surprise at this point.

Ayato: That‘s… um...

Shu: It would be wrong dealing with this guy. If we seriously want to bring this all to an end, we first of all have to grab our old man by the nape of his neck.

Laito: By any means, I‘m not willing to take this guy along.

But well, if our older brother decides to do so, I won‘t protest against it.

Subaru: Tch… I‘d be more refreshed if he died.

Yui: Shu-san...

Shu: Moreover, it doesn‘t matter if you hate each other by now.

Yui: I agree… it‘s now all about stopping brothers from trying to kill each other.

Shu: Exactly. It would get even more troublesome if we didn‘t… so we have to do this.

Reiji: We are having a poor endgame, as usual.

However, I do approve your opinion on this matter this time.

Shu: Heh, how rare. So miracles do happen.

Reiji: It appears like that. Be careful in case you bump into another one in the future.

Yui: (It really feels as if the tie between Shu-san and him has sort of untied itself for the first time in a while…)

Shu: ...What‘s it? What are you smiling for?

Yui: Don‘t worry, it‘s nothing to be concerned about.

(There actually were a lot of things I was able to smile about, despite being in this awful situation)

(It kind of feels as if everyone gained something out of being here… I almost have a certain feeling about that)

Kino: Haa… we haven‘t achieved anything.

Your face looks as if this case is closed for you, but the fight for becoming the supreme ruler isn‘t done yet, you know?

Yui: Nn, I know. The killing will only stop once all of them have their memories back… !

Laito: Have them regain their memories, hm? I should know since I was staying in the same mansion, but Carla doesn‘t even seem as if he wants to regain them.

In order to become the king, he even said he would kill his own siblings if it was necessary.

Kanato: Ruki wouldn‘t bother listening to us either. This man had such unpleasant manners of speaking, except when asking about the goal he has.

Shu: It‘s almost kind of a miracle these guys haven‘t even experienced their memories coming back even slightly. It might be difficult to get those guys out of here like that.

Reiji: They would have to come hither. Perhaps if we could persuade all of them, we could come up with a profitable plan...

Yui: Well then, why don‘t we try that… ?

Kino: Ahha, you‘re dawdling… as if they‘re indecisive people coming upon request like you guys.

Ayato: Hah!? What was that!?

Yui: Ayato-kun, calm down!

Kino-kun, do you know what we could do next then?

Kino: I do. Unlike you, I straightforwardly collected information about this place.

Those would be the results of my own investigations, but this surely must be a space created by someone. It seems to be a miniature garden that‘s built by magical powers.

Subaru: Miniature garden… ?

Yui: If I got this right, then this is supposed to be a closed space? Does that mean it‘s impossible to get out of here… ?

Kino: It would seem like it.

Kanato: This is not funny if it‘s supposed to be a joke. I certainly have no intention of overstaying longer in this space, and I will reject staying here.

Kino: I‘m probably not able to endure a life with only some sort of half-baked entertainment either. Therefore I‘m willing to tell you something.

We participated in this game in order to have a king being chosen. If so, there clearly must be some sort of method to get out of here, don‘t you think?

Yui: Nn, does that really mean there must be a way to get out of here?

Kino: I‘d say so. Only if my predictions are right, that is.

Shu: And what sort of method did you think of?

Kino: ...The legend of the sleeping beauty.

Yui: Eh… ?

Kino: The sleeping princess must be awaken with a kiss. Did you already forget about this legend?

Yui: I do remember it… but how is this supposed to help us?

Kino: Who knows? I might‘ve just looked too deep into it.

Yui: S-Such...

(The legend of the sleeping princess? Does he really mean the way the sleeping Eve was supposed to be woken up in the church?)

(If that‘s true, it‘s definitely worth investigating)

Shu: The sleeping princess… she was sleeping in the church, and supposed to be awaken with a kiss—

...Hey, we‘re heading to the church right away. Just you and me.

Yui: Eh, why so suddenly?

Shu: I think I‘ve came up with an idea. Reiji, I‘ll entrust these guys to you once again.

Reiji: Understood. Please be careful on your way there.

Shu: Let‘s go!

Yui: Y-Yes!

Place: Church — Inside

Yui: (This place has a calm atmosphere. It somehow feels as if it only has this sort of special feeling in here)

Shu: So this is the church...

Yui: Ah, this is the first time you‘ve come inside here, right? I mean, this is only the second time I came to this place too.

After I woke up in this world, everything started...

Shu: I know you already told me about that, but nobody woke you up with a kiss, right?

Yui: A-As I said, nobody did that. I woke up naturally, and after I did that Reiji-san and everyone else rushed in.

Shu: If that‘s the case, I‘ll immediately try out the value of your words.

Say, if all of us really had fake memories planted in our heads, and all of this only in order to have someone become the supreme ruler.

If it‘s really like that, wouldn‘t you say that‘s unnatural?

Yui: Eh? What exactly is unnatural?

Shu: If everything in this world was set up to be fake, why create a legend about a sleeping princess as a necessary motive?

Yui: Talking about this… how come people are able to fight for the supreme ruler position without even knowing this story?

There must be a specific reason for everyone to have transplanted these sorts of memories in their minds.

Shu: It was said that Eve would be sleeping in this church, and could only wake up by a kiss.

What if all of this is supposed to merely be a bad dream we have to wake up from like this?

Yui: Ah… !

Shu: It‘s worth trying it out. We have no choice but to try this method in order to get out of this place.

Yui: No, you‘re right… we won‘t be able to know for sure unless we try it out.

It‘s just as Kino-kun told us. The one who became the supreme ruler also became Adam… this is merely another fight to question if Adam and Eve will stay together.

As long as we can prove that the both of us were able to stay together, we will undoubtedly be able to end this fight.

Shu: If so, let‘s wake up.

*Shu comes closer*

Yui: (I can clearly see my reflection in Shu-san‘s eyes)

(He seriously has tender eyes… I can tell how loveable he is only by looking at his eyes—)

Shu: ...There‘s no particular need for soliloquy anymore. You‘re the only one able to hear me saying this after all.

Yui: Eh?

Shu: The role and responsibilities I bear as the eldest son, they‘ve been gravely troublesome to accept.

However, my body seemed as if it indelibly ingrained the fact that my way of life is for me to protect them as eldest brother.

I must‘ve understood it ever since I came here.

Good grief, how troublesome. It was awfully tiresome and difficult to protect them, although they gave off quite the speech.

Yui: That must‘ve been because Shu-san has a strong sense of responsibility. You tried to manage all of this by yourself.

But I‘m greatly willing to carry half of the burden you‘ve carried with you. From now on, the whole time...

*Shu blushes*

Shu: What, is this supposed to be a proposal? Isn‘t that kind of a thing supposed to come from the man?

Yui: Fufu… you can still say it.

Shu: Unless you tell me to do so, I‘d never let myself get separated from you either.

Continue staying near me after this. Whatever happens, come along with me.

Yui: Yes, of course… Shu-san.

Shu: Promise it… Yui.

*Shu kisses Yui*

[iam93percentstardust]

Made up fic title “The Howling Sorrow”

Nat sees the breakup coming. She thinks just about anyone who knows Steve and Tony does. The arguments, the way Steve’s nostrils are always flared, the way Tony goes around with that furious look in his eyes, oh yeah, she’s not surprised when Bucky texts her to tell her that the two finally called it quits.

What surprises her more is that Tony shows up on her doorstep only minutes later. She likes Tony well enough but she’s always been more of Steve’s friend than Tony’s. 

“He, uh,” Tony begins, “he took just about everyone else in the divorce.” He laughs self-deprecatingly and runs his hands through his hair.

She’s always been more of Steve’s friend but that’s not to say though that she can’t take one look at Tony and know that he needs comfort. The breakup hadn’t really been anyone’s fault but Steve is a lot better at inspiring loyalty than Tony is and she can see how Tony, insecure and anxious as he’s always been, had thought that no one else would want to see him.

She sets him up on the couch with a fuzzy blanket and a bucket of ice cream and then texts Rhodey and Pepper to tell them Tony’s okay and that he’s with her instead of out drinking his sorrows away. She’s sure that they’re both anxious about him even when they’re on the other side of the country for their honeymoon.

The thing is, Nat had always thought that a spurned Tony would be loud. She had thought he would make disparaging comments about how he deserves better than Steve and Steve wasn’t that great anyway. She’d thought he would go out to bars and find new flavors of the night to take home and have loud sex on her couch.

She hadn’t really thought he would be quiet. She doesn’t expect him to shut her down the first time she makes a comment about Steve’s self-righteousness (not even really in regards to their relationship but about something she personally had done). She comes home after work and finds him still sitting on her couch watching trashy TV as he pretends that he’s not crying. But maybe this is what she should have expected. Maybe she should have remembered his insecurities and self-loathing and known this was coming.

She hates it.

Nat had often complained about Steve and Tony’s lovey-doveyness when they had been together. They had been loud in their affection, always kissing and cuddling and complimenting each other. She had complained still more during their pre-breakup phase when they had been loud in their hatred of each other but still trying to make things work before finally giving up. Tony is a loud person and Steve isn’t naturally as loud but Tony made him so.

Tony shouldn’t be so quiet. It’s not right, it’s not natural.

“Why’d you break up?” she asks nearly a month after the breakup, when she’s finally gotten sick of Tony moping on her couch and knows that Bucky is sick of Steve moping on his and the two have a perfectly good apartment that they could mope at instead except that they both think the other one is using it and they’re too polite to intrude. She’s about ready to shove them in a closet together and throw away the key until they’ve worked out their issues.

“Howard,” Tony says quietly and isn’t that interesting? A plan begins to stir in Nat’s mind.

“What about him?” she asks casually.

“He pointed out that I’m the only one putting any effort into the relationship. Wasn’t like he was wrong. I’m always the one with the date ideas and I pay for everything and it’s my name on the apartment and-”

He’s still listing things but Nat is pretty sure she has enough information. She’d be willing to bet that Howard told Steve the exact same thing but he would have made it sound like it was because Steve wasn’t good enough for Tony, whereas with Tony, she bets it was something more along the lines of Steve using him for his money. And Tony, after Sunset and Ty and Justin, would have believed him.

She calls up Bucky later and says, “Did Howard imply that Steve should break up with Tony?”

“How did you know?” he demands.

“I have my ways.”

She lays out the plan to him, a simple one that’ll end with Steve and Tony in blissful adoration again and her frustrated over them being loudly in love. “I thought you hated how affectionate they were,” Bucky points out to her.

“Tony is too quiet these days,” she admits. “Anything is better than that.”

Bucky thinks about it for a minute. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Steve is too.”

Send me a fic title and I’ll tell you what I’d write for it!

[whitehotharlots]

You don’t have the moral standing to judge anyone. You’re filth.

Like the rest of you, I am used to being sickened on a daily basis. But sometimes I come across an article that pisses me off so fucking much I have to scream about it to my online pals.

Today, The New York Times published a piece critical of the the French intelligista’s refusal to adopt Americanized nostrums toward race relations. Framed as a semi-objective profile of a conflict roiling within French society, the piece clearly aims to present those resistant to the adoption of privilege theory and a politics of performative self-shaming as inherently reactionary. These monsters--whom the paper pains to present as predominantly old and white and male, in spite of plenty of evidence to the contrary--are hatefully resisting the natural order of progress, which naturally involves an uncritical adoption of woke bullshit that has been the norm in America for about a decade and has done objectively nothing to improve the material conditions of non-white people at home and abroad.

The Times was, famously, a cheerleader for the invasion of Iraq. They have been pushing Islamophobia since the mid-70′s, and doubly so for the last two decades. They aided the US government in fabricating an utterly absurd case for war. They suppressed information that would have debunked this case. They then buried all stories showing how poorly the war was unfolding. They provided unlimited column space to writers willing to develop increasingly obtuse justifications for our continued involvement. They unapologetically created a war that has killed at least a million muslims and displaced or immiserated ten million more, and they’ve never issued a sincere apology for their involvement.

And it’s not just that. They’ve also worked to savage any people who criticize the war effort and smear and destroy anyone who might hypothetically bring an end to the defense industry gravy trains that’s been built atop a mountain of corpses. In the early days of the war, the French in particular were held up as enemies of the Good for their cowardly refusal to lend support to our effort. 

In short, the New York Times is a tool of a murderous empire that is a million times more hateful and destructive than any image that’s ever been doodled by any cartoonist, and a billion times more malignant than a foreign academic who refuses to repeat slogans about bodies and spaces. They have no right to shame the French, or anybody, in regards to what does or doesn’t constitute hateful conduct. This like Jeffrey Dahmer becoming a vegetarian and chastising strangers for eating McDonald’s. 

Around 2010, it became clear to most literate people that Obama was completely full of a shit and there was no realistic possibility of the murderous desires of our defense industry ever being reigned in. Concurrently, the paper started to normalize the rise of a strain of now-dominate liberalism that divorced people’s actions and beliefs, and the consequences thereof, from any calculations in regards to their moral righteousness. 

Foreign policy is now unchangeable. The muslims are simply going to be turned to ash. Nothing can alter this reality and so there’s no point to factoring in one’s support of a handful of genocides when we need to suss out whether or not they’re islamophobic. Nope. Instead, it’s about whether or not their universities open Privilege Studies departments and their public art exhibits ban all works done before 2015. That, my friends, is what anti-racism looks like. 

This is the pathology underlying not only this piece but all of identity based liberalism in the 2020′s: the sincere belief that a person’s moral standing is determined only by the extent to which they comply with a handful of meaningless alienation rituals. 

None of this is to say that France isn’t ripe with islamophobia. That’s beside the point. The reason this is so fucking infuriating is the presumption--the nerve, the fucking NERVE--of these people to attempt to shame anyone else on this fucking planet in regards to the hatred of muslims. No one who voted for George Bush, or Obama in 2012, or especially Joe fucking Biden has any fucking right to lecture anyone else about what is or isn’t islamophobic. And they especially don’t have the right to demand the people in other countries adopt our twisted and suicidal understanding of social relations.

Fuck this people. Jesus christ, fuck these people.