#and once again whatever i do change is guaranteed to fail in the future and then it's nicole didnt you try to fix this already

[terrorbirb]

I think permanent corrective actions and root cause analysis exist solely to cause people with OCD and anxiety disorders to ruin their brains.

[cienie-isengardu]

Pakku and Iroh

So, let’s talk about master Pakku and uncle Iroh and the vital difference in how the show (and post-war comics) presented them. At first glance, we have a stern man refusing to teach Katara, a self-trained waterbender, because she is a girl and it goes against Northern Water Tribe’s culture. Even after she challenged him and proved her skills in fight, master Pakku still refused to take her as student - even if from pragmatic point equipping Avatar with a well-trained waterbender comrade on his travel through the world would be very much in the best interest of Northern Water Tribe - and changed his mind only after seeing Kanna’s necklace. 

In contrast, Iroh very much from the start was presented as Zuko’s supportive uncle, who trained him in firebending or lighting redirection, protected from harm (like he did against Zhao by stopping admiral’s attack after the man lost Agni Kai or Azula when she hunted down her brother on Ozai’s order) and in general tried to be the moral guide and voice of reason to his troubled nephew - if he succeeded or if he was even good at that is of course up for another debate.

It is easy to pit them against each other - on that ground alone, Pakku compared to Iroh doesn’t look that good, right?

But then Avatar: The Last Airbender turned the perception of those men 180 degrees. After the attack on Northern Water Tribe that temporarily killed the Moon Spirit and destroyed a great chunk of the city (enemy soldiers managed to break into the city itself), Pakku’s presence, as the waterbender master, would be greatly important to rebuilding the damage. However he decided, alongside with other waterbenders and healers to head to the South Pole, to help their sister tribe.

Pakku: I've decide to go to the South Pole. Some other benders and healers want to join me. It's time we helped rebuild our sister tribe.

And yes, he wanted also to meet the love of his life, Katara & Sokka’s grandmother, but I can’t stress enough, the war was far from being over. The Northern Water Tribe survived the attack but no one could guarantee the Fire Nation wouldn’t try it again in the nearest future, especially if Avatar failed to bring back balance to the world. Pakku had his responsibilities to his community yet he chose to travel to the other side of the world, to help a devastated sister Tribe that his people - whatever by choice or being unable to help in times of need - abandoned during war (though considering that Northern Water Tribe had no up-to-date knowledge about Fire Nation for like last 85 years I think it is more matter of choice than lack of resources).

So Pakku left his home, his community and traveled to the South Pole where, according to comics Avatara: The Last Airbender - North and South, he actually opened a school to help bring back waterbending to a shattered tribe and was willing to teach everyone, regardless of gender. His two first student, sister Siku and Sura, at first refused to admit they were waterbenders due to fear (as mother forbidden them to reveal their skills due to danger of Fire Nation’s attacks) and instead of being discouraged or complain about ungrateful Southern people, he keep trying and even enlisted Katara to help and in generally deal with the problem in good natured way. There is no doubt that Pakku, a stern character once challenged by Katara, changed for the better and took a serious responsibility in rebuilding Southern Water Tribe’s culture by offering to teach waterbending, something at that time almost forgotten due to Fire Nation’s repeated attacks through decades. 

And there is Iroh, our dear uncle Iroh, who when asked by Zuko will he take the rightful place on the throne - and with that, responsibility for Fire Nation, refused to do so and decided to re-open his tea shop. Sure, in the post-war comics he ruled in Zuko’s absence for a short time when needed and helped Ursa face imprisoned Ozai, so she could free herself from the panical fear of her ex-abusive husband but… that is basically it, at least to my knowledge. All the responsibility for the country, narrative wise, was pushed on Zuko because Iroh didn’t want to come back to Fire Nation, even if as a Prince he had duty to his people. Especially since Fire Nation too lost its cultural heritage (music, dances, true sense of firebending) due to the same war that devastated so much Southern Water Tribe’s culture.  

Look, no matter how flawed Iroh is, I wholeheartedly like him as a character, but the contrast between Pakku and him is something I think a lot lately. The one master that started as a sexist jerk but who ultimately took on himself the responsibility of rebuilding waterbender traditions - and stayed true to the element he mastered, as water represents change. And the one with warm personality, full of love for his nephew and wise advice for Aang and Toph (supposed enemy and stranger) who wouldn’t do so when asked… and as Iroh explained in “Bitter Work”:

Fire is the element of power. The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want.     

but somehow he lacked the said desire and will - or maybe the confidence? - to bring Fire Nation back to its more peaceful roots? Dunno. Like I said, I’m thinking a lot about that contrast between the old masters and members of White Lotus.

[mariacallous]

In its attempt to Trump-proof aid to Ukraine, NATO recently floated an idea for a 100 billion euro ($107 billion) multiyear aid package to be agreed on at the upcoming summit in Washington. Outgoing NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg said in early April that he wished “to shield the mechanism against the winds of political change.”

But it seemed member states had not been consulted. The pushback was quick from key NATO countries including France and Germany. They wanted to know whether this package would be in addition to or a part of the yearly expenditure that NATO has thus far allocated. Any decisions were deferred pending further clarification—and that clarification involved a lowering of expectations.

“The package is still being discussed, but I think the figure will be around what has been given over the last two years and not in addition,” a senior NATO diplomat told Foreign Policy on the condition of anonymity considering the sensitivity of the matter. Two other diplomats familiar with the discussions agreed with that assessment and said the allies are simply discussing a continuation of the billions of dollars spent every year on arms and equipment and training.

Stoltenberg promptly revised his proposal and said in May that “allies have provided approximately 40 billion euros worth of military aid to Ukraine each year” and that they should maintain “at least” current levels of support for as long as required.

A senior NATO official who spoke at length to Foreign Policy said all Stoltenberg wants “is to make sure there’s a pledge by NATO allies to continue long-term support to Ukraine, and he thinks it should be pledged now.”

Many in the alliance think a pact should be agreed on before the U.S. presidential election and while the United States still has a government that backs Ukraine against Russia’s unwarranted invasion. But the squabbling over how much money should be promised has once again exposed confusion among member states and their reticence to increase aid for an indeterminate future.

That may get worse if Donald Trump returns as U.S. president. It is widely believed that it was Joe Biden and his administration that gave NATO the necessary push—and mechanisms—that proved instrumental in thwarting the Russian offensive.

Yet internal disagreements in the alliance are just one part of the much bigger challenge confronting Europeans if Trump cuts off aid entirely and abandons Europe to Russian President Vladimir Putin’s designs. Trump has said he will solve the conflict within a day and let Putin do whatever the hell he wants if Europeans don’t increase their defense spending.

Foreign Policy has learned that European allies are organizing efforts to safeguard the pathway of military support to Ukraine around the three so-called pillars of money, membership, and mission. They are also scrambling to put in place a separate but intertwined strategy to appease Trump in hopes that he won’t withdraw from NATO.

The trouble is that the Europeans have no clue what he would do once in office and there is only so much they can do to Trump-proof aid to Ukraine and the future of the alliance itself.

According to a NATO source, the United States has provided nearly half of the 40 billion euros in aid each year over the last two years. If Trump decides to tighten the purse strings and Europe manages to send the rest, Ukraine will still lose a substantial amount of critical military equipment. Moreover, a NATO diplomat aware of the ongoing talks said any future financial assurances to be made in Washington are nonbinding. It is a “political goal” to offer Ukraine predictability and not a “guarantee” since governments keep changing and with them their politics.

Ukraine’s membership in the alliance may be further delayed if Trump wins the election. The Center for Renewing America, a think tank formed in 2021 by a former official in Trump’s cabinet, has argued against NATO expansion.

The allies are currently drafting a mission for Ukraine to be unveiled at the Washington summit, and that includes shifting control of the U.S.-led Ukraine Defense Contact Group to NATO. (The group was established by U.S. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin and the then-chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff to coordinate Western support.) This would allow the Europeans to supply whatever they can if Trump cuts off U.S. supplies.

The senior NATO official explained that currently the International Donor Coordination Center (IDCC), which is mainly U.S.-led but functions with substantial support from the United Kingdom, assesses the weapons Ukraine needs and brings them all together to be transported to the embattled nation. This would soon be coordinated under NATO’s umbrella. In addition, the Security Assistance Group-Ukraine, or SAG-U—also set up by the United States but with a substantial Canadian contribution—provides training to Ukrainian forces. He said the coordination of this, too, would move directly under the control of the alliance. However, the NATO-led Ukraine mission would still be headed by U.S. Army Gen. Christopher Cavoli, the NATO supreme allied commander Europe, who “will just wear a different hat.”

But then again, the official admitted, “Europeans could keep providing aid, but whether it is enough for Ukraine to hold the line is another question.”

There is a general sense in Brussels that the best strategy to deal with Trump is appeasement.

The allies are expected to announce an increase in defense spending to 2 percent next month. It is timed to benefit NATO-friendly incumbent President Joe Biden at the hustings yet gives in to Trump, who has been asking Europeans to shell out more. In June, Stoltenberg said that “23 allies are going to spend 2 percent of GDP or more on defense this year.”

In addition, the official said the rollout of the NATO mission would reduce U.S. troop deployment and deploy more Europeans over time. He said the “cost to the U.S. in terms of money and troops will dramatically reduce, and the burden will shift.”

European allies are trying to Trump-proof NATO, but it’s clear that they are also cajoling Trump, perhaps because they realize that European defense and deterrence against Russia are incomplete without U.S. defense capabilities.

Rafael Loss, a policy fellow at the European Council on Foreign Relations, said France and the U.K. possess nuclear weapons but not as many. The “U.S. arsenal is the backbone of NATO’s strategic deterrence,” he said. The United States also leads in conventional capabilities such as a higher level of readiness of U.S. armed forces compared with their counterparts in Europe.

But the biggest gap in the European defense arsenal is satellite-based intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) abilities. In 2022, U.S. ISR proved critical in spotting an amassing of Russian troops on Ukraine’s border, which gave the country and the West time to prepare against the invasion.

The United States is also capable of air-to-air refueling and has large aircraft for transporting heavy equipment such as tanks, while the Europeans “have few of them, which means slow reinforcement,” Loss added.

“The U.S. contributes the bulk of equipment to NATO operations. If these were to be withdrawn either if Trump decides to limit U.S.’s involvement, or if Biden is tied with China and Taiwan—the same capabilities would be used there—then the EU will face a significant gap,” he said. “These capabilities are expensive to procure and complicated to operate, and it could take Europeans a decade to fill the gaps.”

Experts say Trump will hail any increase in defense spending as his own victory but he may still keep asking for more and ask them to match Poland’s whopping 4 percent. And if we go by the Center for Renewing America, a marginal reduction in troops is unlikely to impress him.

The think tank advocates a “dormant NATO” and says “European manpower” should be the “primary defense of Europe’s frontiers, with America as a balancer of last resort instead of a perpetual American forward presence.” (There are 100,000 U.S. troops deployed in Europe in different roles and capacities.) But NATO is promising to replace merely a few hundred Americans deployed in largely administrative roles in the Ukrainian context in the IDCC and SAG-U.

A month before Americans decide NATO’s fate, Stoltenberg will hand the reins to Mark Rutte, the outgoing Dutch prime minister often described as a Trump whisperer. “We should stop moaning and whining and nagging about Trump,” Rutte said in February at the Munich Security Conference. “We have to work with whoever is on the dance floor.” With the far right rising in Europe, more like-minded politicians will offer to whisper in Trump’s ears, but that could turn out to be a whole different nightmare.

[worldsneverfilled]

So, stuff on the Remember to Keep This in Mind When RPing Enilasor list:

She's back to where she started after her mother's death. Wanting to be left alone, wanting to travel by herself so this doesn't happen again, quiet. She'll start wondering if she should split off and go looking for the Books while they help the Wards or she goes to help the Wards and they search for the Books. Anything to keep her distance because she doesn't want the curse to affect them too. She'll be fighting the temptation to just up and leave them for a long time after this.

Even more obsessive about enchanting the bracelets but now trying to find a way to put teleportation spells on them so they can each escape.

She's not going to multi into bard now, even if we weren't switching to Pathfinder, she wouldn't have. Depending on how things go in the next session, she's going to ask Electra to hang onto the Anstruth harp for her. I'm actually really sad about this one because I was looking forward to her multi-ing as she learned more about her family and gathered stories to tell.

Trying to figure out how Cormanthyr brought the consort back to life so she can do the same for Orestes since his body has been obliterated and Fflar's was not. She has a ritual that might work if he had a body to work with but since he doesn't...

This will also lead to her finally trying to use a ritual to contact her mother's spirit. It'd be the first time she's seen or talked to her in three years. If her mom could cast the purifying flames, then maybe she could teach the party. If she can't as a spirit, then Enil would ask if she's willing to be brought back. She'd pray her mom would be. Give the woman time to rest, and then see if she could teach everyone. Enilasor would rather not go asking archfey for favors, and there's no guarantee that Electra will find something either. They can't destroy the Books without something. If this fails then she'd break her silence with her father and finally try to contact him and see if he knows anyone that might owe him or her mom a favor.

DM says Malyn is dead, but Enil wouldn't know that, and even if told, she'd be in denial about it. She's going to once more obsess over finding him so she can kill him. At the moment, any settled thoughts on making his death as quick and painless as possible have gone out the window. This and how I think she'll handle things in the future is what's making me think her alignment might change.

Be colder to the party. If they're not close to her anymore/she's not close to them then she doesn't have to worry about the curse hurting or killing them too. Better to lose the relationships than their lives or health. Out of who's left, I'd say she's closest to Elis but she's still very pissed at him for what he did in Westgate. She doesn't trust Tihn. Like, at all. Ambrianne unnerves her a little. Morgana she feels is unpredictable in her low tolerance for bullshit and diplomacy and that makes her dangerous. Jericho only just joined and she doesn't trust warlocks at all because of Malyn. Maybe distancing herself from them won't be difficult.

Will not be marrying or having kids in the future. She doesn't want to pass this curse or the family tradition down to the next generation. Let it die with her and her cousin, if he's also cursed. She's going to see it as selfish of her ancestors for having a family anyway, knowing that their kids would be affected too. She doesn't want to do that to future generations. "Remind me to get whatever hates our family so much an edible arrangement and a card congratulating them on their success in getting rid of us."

Will avoid using Orestes's sword unless she absolutely has to or until the sword starts asking for her to use them. If they pester her enough, she might use Dawnbringer just to shut them up and leave her alone.

Keep the ring he slipped into her pocket secret. She's got it on the same chain that her amulet for the Horae is on and it's tucked into her shirt to hide it. She doesn't want anyone to know what his last "gift" was.

Her nightmare is going to change. Not everyone will be dead at her feet with their throats slit and the knife in her hand; Orestes will be standing in front of her. Not sure what he'd say to her yet but I know he says something before he turns into a pile of ash in front of her.

Traveler told them that Rassilhon said something would happen soon that would "light a fire beneath you all" or something like that. I can't remember the exact words. She'd argue that hers was doused instead.

Speaking of Trav. She was starting to see him as a sort of secondary father figure but that's just gone out the window because why encourage the relationship if he knew it'd end in tragedy? He says he's tried to protect all of the Wanderers from it so they could be happy for as long as possible but he failed to do so three years before and she'd argue she hasn't been happy since then. She'll be sore about this one for a while.

She's aligned with Winter again. It's not just a mild Winter or Winter with bits of Summer mixed in. When in Winter, there's usually a bit of light frost on the backs of her gloves, on the hems of her leggings near her ankles, on top of her shoes, and she leaves just a little bit behind where she stepped or when she touches something. She's completely frosted over now. Clothes are covered, the parts of her skin that are showing have patches of frost and ice.

DM has successfully managed to make a broody stereotypical rogue character out of a cleric.

I'm missing a few things at the moment but I'm half asleep and this is all I can remember right off.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Daddy's Little Girl Pt. III

Pt III: Revenge

Pt. I, Pt. II

(Technoblade x reader, and Wilbur x Reader)

(brother tubbo and sister reader)

~~~

Sam’s eyebrow twitched as he eyed The Blade wearily, who stood with his arms crossed completely void of any weaponry. So far the Blood God listened to Sam, he had disposed of all his weapons in the chest and complied with all the prison security procedures. It was rare to see, Technoblade having no weapons and Sam being completely decked out in armor. The only thing the creeper hybrid couldn’t pinpoint was the motive, why did Technoblade suddenly have an interest in visiting Dream, it just didn’t add up. To protect the sanctity of his prison he had to figure out just why Technoblade was visiting Pandora’s worst and only prisoner.

“Technoblade?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

“I already told you that, didn’t I? I’m here for a friendly chat with my good pal Dream.” Sam pressed his tongue to his teeth and frowned under his gas mask, “What? Don’t believe me? How rude. Are you this mean to all of the visitors who enter your prison?”

“You don’t exactly have the best reputation around,” Sam grunted, while Technoblade made a sound and adjusted the mask on his face.

“Who’s talking bad about me?”

“Tommy.”

“Tommy’s biased,” he scoffed watching the lava slowly descend in front of his eyes. Sam trained his green eyes on Dream across the way,

“Technoblade. Does this have anything to do with Wilbur’s revival? Cause whatever it is you’re thinking I can guarantee it’s not-”

“Sam has anyone ever taught you to mind your own fucking business?” Technoblade snarled baring his teeth at the warden. Sam blinked a few times his grip tightening on his trident, Technoblade stepped on the platform and it sent him forward. Dream’s head was tilted to the side, his dirty blonde hair fell across his shoulders. His bangs fell in front of his face as his head perked up seeing Technblade,

“Technoblade to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dream mused tapping his foot against the obsidian floor,

“Morning Dream.” Technoblade mused cracking his knuckles, “we have a lot to talk about, but I’m going to cut right to the chase. Give me the revive book.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dream mused innocently, “Does this have anything to do with Wilbur being revived? Or a certain lady goat hybrid?” Technoblade growled viciously, “Does the name (Y/n) ring any bells?”

“How the fuck do you know her name?”

“Oops did I hit a nerve?” Dream mused his lips curling up into a grotesque sneer, Technoblade’s fist balled at his sides trying to keep his composure and not listen to the roaring voices who demanded blood be spilled.

“Answer the question Dream,” Technoblade demanded through gritted teeth. Dream dared to laugh in his face, “I’m assuming Wilbur shared that information with you?” Dream hummed softly neither confirming nor denying The Blade’s statement but he got the picture. Dream kicked off the wall tilting his head to the side a coy smile on his lips,

“I met her, and not just her ghost.” Technoblade’s entire body froze and he pushed Dream against the wall, his fist was curled around his jumpsuit.

“How?”

“When I revived Wilbur. She was there in his limbo, what happened to her horns I wonder?” Technoblade snarled deep in his throat, “Wilbur left her there you know? Did he mention that to you?” Techno wasn’t a fool, he knew what Dream was trying to do but kept his composure, not letting the master manipulator get under his skin.

“That’s exactly why I’m here. You’re going to revive her or I’m revoking the favor I owe you. I don’t care about morals, I care about bringing her back to me.” Dream grit his teeth,

“Well, how do you expect me to do that without Ghost-(y/n)?”

“Who says I don’t have her?” Dream’s eyes bulged in his head, he saw no invisibility particles,

“SAM!” Dream tried to shout as Technoblade covered his mouth, Dream saw the wall rippled beside him as a very hesitant-looking ghost came through the wall. Not even Ghostbur was able to do something of that caliber, but she again was a ghost longer than he ever was, she must’ve picked up some fun little tricks. She floated over to Techno and hid behind his shoulder, her grey eyes looked up at him,

“You promise I’ll get to see Ghostbur again if I do this?”

“Of course sweet one,” Technoblade responded watching her nod gently. Technoblade loved the alive version of you, and when your ghost came to him sobbing about Ghostbur being gone and Alivebur not giving a single shit. She begged him for help and he answered her call, he failed to do so before, and he wasn’t going to let the same thing happen twice. You wanted to be with the sweet warmhearted version of Wilbur, who was he to stop you, plus he would have the alive you back.

When you came back Technoblade wouldn’t let Wilbur have you again, he wouldn’t let anyone else lay a hand on you. Well, other than your little brother of course, even if he was an ex-president Technoblade wasn’t evil.

“You still can’t make me do it!” Dream snarled as you hid deeper against Technoblade’s shoulder, “Sam won’t let you.”

“I think Sam’s going to have something else to worry about.”

A roaring sound of explosions went off nearby, Dream’s eyes widened in horror.

“That,” He smirked, “Is the power of the syndicate. Niki really knows how to come through in a pinch. I won’t ask again.”

Dream grumbled assessing his options, on one hand, he could revive you and he’d still have that favor over Technoblade. Yet, on the other hand, he couldn’t use your resurrection for more of those future favors. Dream clicked his tongue, although he could use that to his advantage if she was alive once more.

“Fine. Come here,” He held a hand out to the little ghost, she looked meekly at Technoblade. He nodded and motioned his head towards his outstretched hand, she took Dream’s hand, and he muttered some words in another tongue that even the great Technoblade couldn’t decipher. A bright light surrounded your ghost’s figure, and in a matter of moments you, the alive you stumbled forward. You gasped for breath as you fell against Technoblade’s chest, you had a bright white streak in your hair, and dried blood on your head and by your nubs. You were breathing heavily, pupils were blown wide, as you looked up at Technoblade. He felt his throat close up and he removed the mask on his face,

“Where am I? Who...Techo?” You gaped cupping his cheeks within your palms, he melted into your hands with a soft whine he tried to cover up. “Holy fuck you look so old!” Moment completely spoiled and ruined,

“Hey Dream I changed my mind.” You yelped hitting him softly on the arm, “kidding.” He spoke tenderly trying not to show his soft side around Dream, he was a tough killer, not someone who melted at the sight of his old childhood crush. Technoblade turned towards Dream and saluted, an arm wrapping around your waist, “sic semper tyrannis, Dream.” He mused disappearing with you, Dream should’ve known the Syndicate set up a stasis chamber for their leader.

Technoblade held you tight so you didn’t tumble over, you did look a little green in the face, “You alright?” He spoke softly as the fresh snow of the Tundra tickled your nose. You reached out your hand to touch the falling flakes, it was almost like you were mesmerized by the sight of them. “Sweet one?”

“I can feel them. I haven’t felt anything in so long,” You whispered brushing your hair out of your face. “Technoblade...Did you revive me?” He swallowed thickly, your eyes held a certain look to them, sharp but eager.

“I did.”

“Why?” You titled your head to the side, pursing your lips. He turned his head away from you to hide the flush to his cheeks, your frown seemed to deepen on your features. “Technoblade, why did you revive me? I’ve been dead for...god how long has it been for you?” You sighed heavily, “What use is there for you to bring me back?”

“Wilbur-”

“Don’t mention his fucking name!” You spat harshly, eyes flashing a dangerous shade of (e/c), “That son of a bitch!” Your hands clenched at your sides as Techno’s eyes widened, he wasn’t used to you cursing but it made sense. “He left me in his limbo after he promised me we’d leave together or not at all! I’m going to beat the shit out of the bastard!” You snarled as Technoblade reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, he squeezed it lightly.

“That’s why I revived you. You didn’t deserve to get left there, you deserved to be resurrected more than Wilbur did. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were like Ghostbur sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t know about revivals. You would’ve been my priority, you should’ve been my priority.” Techno stared into your eyes as the rage swimming in them dissipated, instead, they were replaced with a fond look. “I don’t know what you and Wilbur had, but ever since I found out about your death all those years ago, I don’t live a single day without regret. I should’ve pushed for you to stay with us and Tubbo, I should’ve killed your dad the minute I set eyes on the bastard. I should’ve listened to the voices-” Technoblade grit his teeth and it was your turn to reach up and cup his cheek, he came back to you as soon as he felt your touch against his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

That was the first-ever apology you’ve ever gotten and you felt a tear roll down your cheek at his words. Technoblade looked at you hesitantly and pulled you into a hug, he made sure he was gentle as to not hurt you further, “Stay with me?”

“I promise.” You whispered burying your face in the crook of his neck, “Thank you Techno.”

Maybe things would be okay for you after all. Maybe this one was different, maybe Technoblade wouldn’t let you down like so many have done.

“What was it like? Coming back?” Technoblade asked as he leads you in the direction of his once retirement home. He watched you tilt your head to the side rolling your bottom lip between your teeth,

“A train came and picked me up.” You looked distant for a moment as you remembered your resurrection.

Ghostbur was peeking over his handful of cards to look over at you, “Go fish?”

“Ghostbur this is poker.” You sighed pinching the bridge of your nose, he made a soft ‘o’ with his mouth his brow furrowing. He shuffled in his spot eyes flicking down to his cards then back up at you, “You don’t remember how to play do you?” He shook his head no in response to your question. You sighed softly brushing away the annoyance that prickled against your skin, “That’s alright come here.” He shuffled next to you resting his chin on your shoulder, as you taught the ghost the rules of the game once more, it seemed no matter how often you taught the ghost the rules he’d always forget something.

“You’re a really good teacher.” He murmured against your shoulder, “I’m glad I’m not alone here.” He refused to meet your eyes, “but…”

“You’d rather it be ghost me huh?” You hummed looking at him out the corner of your eyes, he wilted under your gaze and you chuckled sadly. “Don’t look so upset I’m not insulted,” You waved him off carelessly, “you loved her?” He stiffened sitting up straight,

“I- I don’t- she’s my blue you know? She’s so kind and wonderful! I just- she doesn’t like to be left alone-!” You placed a palm over his mouth to shut him up, you eyed him before removing your hand slowly. The ghost swallowed thickly and nodded, “I love her a lot.” His voice cracked a little in embarrassment, you smiled sadly, your finger gently caressed his cheek.

“I know you do. Cause I know how much she loves you,” He turned redder as you sighed softly,

“Do you love Wilbur?”

You choked on your spit, your entire face turning a dark shade of red, “Do I WHAT?”

“Love Wilbur?” The ghost repeated curiously, “You were so upset when he left you here.” You grit your teeth and punched the ground of the train station, you thought about all the time the two of spent in limbo. You had grown so close to the man only to have him rip apart that connection in a matter of seconds boiled your blood.

“Yeah. I guess I did, but the motherfucker ruined that the moment he broke his promise.” You kissed your teeth in frustration running a hand through your hair, “Whatever love that was it is long gone I’m afraid. Especially since time moves so differently here, it’s been years since he left me behind.” Your eyes glazed over as Ghostbur gently wrapped you in a hug, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Alive me is kind of a douche.”

You burst into laughter, a bright smile spreading across your lips, “You’re not wrong Ghostbur, ya know you’re pretty alright.”

“You’re pretty alright too (Y/n).” A smile spread across his lips, in a matter of seconds that smile vanished as a train horn sounded in the distance. Your entire body froze as you whipped towards the sound, you felt the air around you grow hot and your mouth go dry. “Hey, Hey,” Ghostbur cupped your cheeks pulling you in his direction, “Focus on me. I won’t leave you.” The rumbling of the tracks grew louder as the both of you stood up, another horn blared causing you to flinch at the noise, ears twitching. The wind whipped both you and Ghostbur’s hair back, he held tightly to the beanie on his head not wanting it to fly away. The train screeched coming to a stop right in front of the both of you, immediately you recalled the same scenario, years prior only this time Ghostbur was by your side. The doors creaked open and fog poured into the station, inside was Dream, but by his side was a ghostly version of yourself. She was fiddling with her hands, almost anxiously,

“(Y/n)?” Ghostbur breathed his hand extending shakily towards the ghost version of yourself, her eyes lit up like stars.

“Bur?”

“This is your stop. Off.” Dream commanded, forcefully shoving her off of the vehicle, she landed gracefully in Ghostbur’s arms. He peppered her face with kisses, tears spilling down her cheeks,

“You’re okay. I’m here now.” He spoke softly running a pale hand through her hair, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to be with you,” Ghostbur looked a little surprised, turning his head to look at your figure. You and Dream seemed to be having a staring contest with one another, “Plus…” The ghost of yourself murmured, “Someone really wants her alive.” That snapped your attention away from Dream, brows furrowing in confusion,

“Who would-”

“Tik Tok, you getting on the train or not?” Dream snapped impatiently, your stomach churned at the thought of riding with the masked demon. On top of that who would want you alive? Definitely not Wilbur, he seemed pretty content on leaving you behind, unless he felt bad. You cursed the way your heart hopefully fluttered at the thought, Tubbo probably doesn’t understand how to bring you back there wasn’t anyone else. You glanced over at Ghostbur who was still holding your ghost close to his chest, he gave you a gentle nod,

“I’ll be alright. You’re not breaking any promises, I swear. Go with Dream.” He reassured as you stepped onto the train in front of you, the doors shut on Ghostbur and your ghost they shared a tender kiss and you smiled sadly from behind the glass.

“Who wants me revived Dream?” You asked voice tense as the train pulled out of the station, he scoffed pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“You’ll see. Just keep quiet or this is going to be a long trip for the both of us,” Dream turned back to the front of the train. You clenched your hands into fists and sat down in one of the train seats, Dream was right about one thing this was going to be a long train ride.

Technoblade placed a hand atop your head careful of your injured horns, you sighed looking up at him. Technoblade was never the best at comforting people, let alone comforting the newly revived but he would try, maybe not with words but with actions. He watched a smile spread across your lips, pink appearing on your cheekbones,

“Thank you for doing this for me...” You smiled softly, “Why else did you decide to bring me back to life Techno. I know you...there’s more to just your original explanation.”

Technoblade blinked in surprise and for a few moments he was silent, he was trying to process the proper words to describe why he did what he did. Plus Technoblade wasn’t any good with words, in the first place.

“I revived you because you never got a chance at life. You could be so good for this server, you’ve been hurt and done wrong even in death. If you want a peaceful life I can give that to you, or if you want revenge I can help with that too.” He watched your eyebrow quirk up into your head,

“Revenge?”

“On Dream, on Wilbur. Whatever you seek I’ll help you get it.”

“What if it means killing Wilbur a second time?”

Technoblade tensed his entire body stiffing, “If it comes to that yes.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

You reached up and brushed a finger across his cheek, he melted so easily into your hand, it was cold. “Lucky for you I’m not a murderer, but...revenge does sound very sweet,” You breathed eyes going half-lidded, “You’ll help me with that won’t you?”

“I’ve made a Syndicate,” Technoblade grunted, “Join it.”

“Yes. Thousand times yes.”

“You’ll need a greek alias,” Technoblade added as you both finally walked towards his house, smoke from the chimney curled in the distance and you smiled. You didn’t need another moment to think about it,

“Nemesis. What better than the Goddess of Revenge herself?” Technoblade hummed leading you inside, he seemed to deem that association representative of you and your goals. “Also, do you have any warm clothes?”

“None that will fit you,” He snorted and you huffed, blowing the white strand of hair out of your face. “Go upstairs see what you can throw together,” He motioned to the ladders "tea will be ready when you’re done.”

“Thank you Techno. For everything.” You whispered pecking him on the cheek before ascending the ladder in front of you. Technoblade stared at the spot you disappeared from for way longer than he should’ve, face a light pink. He was snapped out of his stupor by the teapot letting out a loud whistle signaling it was finished. Techno cleared his throat and poured both of you a cup, he remembered just how you liked it...or at least he thought he remembered. He heard the floorboards creak above him signaling you were moving around trying to find proper clothes for yourself, maybe he should’ve gotten more prepared.

Then again, that would have caused suspicion.

Once more he was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud knocking on his door. He grumbled under his breath and spotting a crow out his window, at least the guest was Phil. He opened the door and leaned against the frame, Phil stood there a nervous smile on his features,

“Uh hey mate.”

“What’s up Phil,” Technoblade’s ear twitched, “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Ah, no worries, we won’t bother you then.”

“We?”

“Hello, big brother,” Wilbur mused with jazz hands popping out from behind his father’s elegant wings. Technoblade’s entire body tensed and he bared his teeth,

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“We’re living together-”

“He can’t stay on my land.”

“Techno, mate he’s you’re brother.”

“Yeah Techno don’t you care about your revived brother.” He mused pushing past the blade and walking into his house, looking at the decor. “Wow! Your house is shit!” Technoblade spun on his heel, absolutely livid, “Oh? Two cups of tea? Are you expecting someone? A date maybe?” Wilbur snickered holding up the tea that was going to be given to (Y/n), “Cinnamon?” His eyebrows furrowed, “but you hate cinnamon-” They all turned towards the ladder hearing the wood creak beneath it, you had fashioned one of Technoblade’s white button-ups into a shirt. One of his thicker belts was hanging on your waist, sinching it like a corset typically would, the bottom of the shirt flared out beneath the belt. You had a pair of his black pants, they were the smallest pair he owned and luckily fit you decently, his boots however did not fit you that way, they looked like they were swallowing your ankles. Wilbur’s eyes blew wide, his jaw-dropping to the floor, it took all of Technoblade’s strength not to rush over and shield you from his brother’s gaze.

You weren’t Wilbur’s anymore, you were his.

“(Y/n)? Who? How? Look at you…” He said tenderly, the cigarette he was smoking dropped out of his mouth and onto the floor.

“Wilbur.”

“You...You revived her?” Wilbur turned to face Technoblade, “How did you manage to convince Dream-”

“Easily.” You said stiff voice cutting through the air like a blade, “Cause he tried.”

“Darling that’s not fair,” Wilbur grabbed your forearms squeezing them tightly, “I didn’t want to leave you behind-”

“Bullshit!” You snarled ripping yourself away from him like he was made of fire, “You left me without a second look! The minute you saw a way out you didn’t hesitate to take it, you broke your promise!”

“Are you still hung up on that?” He asked groaning, seeing he wasn’t going to get his way the considerate way, “I had a plan.”

“No, you didn’t! If you did you would’ve revived me right away, as Technoblade did!” You argued motioning to Technoblade with a snarl, he smirked at his brother who glowered at him. “You’re a bastard Wilbur Soot, I loved you but you just needed someone convenient to you. I was a convenience.” Wilbur didn’t even deny your words and for some reason that hurt you the most, “You’re just as bad as my dad.” Wilbur saw red and before you knew it you were pinned up against the wall, his fist was reeled back ready to hit you, and before Technoblade could intervene Phil moved first.

He grabbed his son’s fist out of the air and held it tight, he gently pushed Wilbur away from you. Wilbur growled and ripped his fist out of Phil’s hand, and shoved them into his pockets. You stayed flushed against the wall, hands balled into fists at your side, Phil glared at his son,

“Step outside. I’ll join you momentarily,” He told Wilbur the man grumbled flicking the lighter in his pocket.

“Fine. I needed a smoke anyway.” Wilbur scoffed marching towards the door not before giving you one last look over his shoulder. Technoblade tensed fingers twitching at his sides, just begging for Wilbur to try something towards you. “I hope we can have a calmer conversation once you’re settled in my dear, sleep well.” Wilbur mused adjusting his glasses, “I know you don’t mean those harsh words, you’re just exhausted.” Technoblade watched you grit your teeth as Wilbur exited his home, as soon as the door clicked shut you were surrounded by an entourage of feathers. You made a frightened sound but the grip on your body only tightened, you calmed down the moment you realized it was Phil. You couldn’t process why the old man was hugging you, he barely knew you, and if he did he probably only thought you were Tubbo’s protective older sister.

“Phil…” You whispered quietly and you felt wetness on the skin of your neck, was he crying?

“I’m sorry, so, so sorry.” His voice quivered against your neck and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You couldn’t see Technoblade over Phil’s wings but you hesitantly tried to peak over them to find your safety net.

“Why exactly...are you apologizing?” You asked hesitantly, hands gently resting on Phil’s lower back. He pulled away from you now it was his turn to be confused,

“You...I didn’t do anything to help you back with your father.”

“Oh, there’s nothing you could’ve done. Really it’s alright-”

“Alright?! Alright! (Y/n) he let you die!” Phil exclaimed wings puffing up in shock, “I was the adult, I saw what was happening to you and I didn’t do anything to put a stop to it. I took Tubbo in because you pleaded with me too and because he was a child, but so were you- close your mouth don’t argue with me- I should have forced you to stay with us. You could’ve gone and visited your father but I should’ve taken care of you, if I did...maybe all of this wouldn’t have happened.”

“But that wasn’t what I wanted…”

“I shouldn’t have mattered what you wanted. I should’ve overruled you as the responsible adult...although.” He laughed wetly pulling away from you, “Back then I wasn’t a responsible adult, I’ve learned so much.” Phil shook his head, he reached out and cupped your cheek, “I’ll do better by you, we all will.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead before fully pulling away from your body, he turned toward Technoblade with a weak smile. “You take good care of her alright mate? Don’t let her cause too much trouble.”

“I will.” Techno said with a stern nod, “I promise.” Phil nodded at him before smiling back over at you, he gave a little salute before heading out of the door. Your brows furrowed and Techno walked over to you, “You alright?” He watched you shake your head and he wrapped you in a tight hug, “It’s okay I got you.” You buried your head in his chest, your shoulders began to shake and Technoblade brushed his fingers through your hair. “I won’t leave you sweet thing,” he whispered more to himself, you were so emotionally fragile.

He wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on you, if a single hair was out of place he’d paint the ground with their blood.

Frantic knocking startled him out of his stupor. Technoblade snarled against you and you felt his chest rumble, couldn’t he just be left alone for two seconds.

“You should answer,” You pulled away whipping your wet eyes on your sleeve “it might be important.”

“Nothings as important as you.” The knocking continued, just as loud and frantic and he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“It’s alright,” You smiled kissing his cheek, “open it.” Techno flushed and nodded opening the door so aggressively it was almost ripped off its hinges. Ranboo was outside and his brow furrowed. Ranboo wasn’t surprising but the government he was with sure was,

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t not tell him-”

Tubbo pushed past Technoblade releasing Ranboo’s claws from his hand. He lifted his bangs from his eyes to stare at you, oh my he’d gotten so big. The horns on his head curled around his ears mimicking your father’s, a golden ring fits snuggly on one of them. His hair was longer than you would’ve liked, it covered his beautiful eyes, but even so, it fits him well. The only thing that concerned you were the scars littering the left side of his face and body, and the nuclear symbol that seemed to replace his electric green eye on the same side. You saw his eyes grow glassy as he reached out to you, you couldn’t help but think he must be so disappointed in you. Your horns were nubs, ears were torn, your hair had a permanent streak of white, you probably looked so much older, so much weaker.

“(Y/n)?” His voice cracked stumbling forward to grasp your shoulders,

“Hey, bumblebee.” You spoke weakly holding up your hand, “You’ve gotten so big-” You were cut off by him engulfing you in a hug, you were taken aback, he should be screaming and yelling at you. Why wasn’t he angry?

“I missed you so much!” He sobbed against your chest, “Please, don’t ever leave me alone again.” He was trembling in your hold, his hands clutched at the back of Technoblade’s shirt, his breathing was shallow. “I love you,”

“I...I love you too Tubs…”

“Promise you won’t ever leave me again.”

“I promise.”

~~~ Wilbur "gaslight and gatekeep" Soot everybody Tag list:

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[opalesense]

hopelessly devoted

zhongli & gn!reader

1.3k words • ~10 min. read

summary: in an effort to earn more money, zhongli had sacrificed much of his personal time to go to work for weeks and frankly, you were getting very tired of the solitude. in a blur of emotion, you decide to confront him about it.

warnings: slight mention of cheating, lil bit of angst but i promise it gets better

notes: yes the title is based off of the song and what about it?? also formatting is so annoying oh my godjfjf

DAYS IN LIYUE WERE INEXPLICABLY BORING as of late. It seemed like every day consisted of waking up, eating, occupying myself with small and seemingly meaningless tasks, then sleeping and doing it all over again. Life was usually much more entertaining and enjoyable with Zhongli, but for the past few weeks, he had been busy nonstop with work at the funeral parlor. He would wake up early and come home so late that our usual afternoon strolls, dinner dates, and cuddle sessions were practically nonexistent now. I could tell he was exhausted of working these extra hours and I even urged him to take it easy, but he insisted that he had to keep working.

 "[Y/N]," he had told me weeks ago before taking up the extra hours, "I will not allow this opportunity to slip away. Imagine all the lavish robes, divine meals, and antiques that you can possibly dream of being within your reach at all times. It is rare for the parlor to strike such an extravagant deal with the Guild. So a few weeks of extra work for a lifetime of luxury... is that not a life that you wish for us to have?"

 "I just don't understand how those kinds of riches can possibly come from the Guild,” I sighed, "Are you sure you really can't tell me the details of this?"

 "Have patience, my love," he leaned down to kiss my forehead, "It will all make sense in due time."

 For the past six weeks, it never made sense. Instead, each day seemed to get lonelier and lonelier, the hours and weeks blending together and becoming mere fuzzy memories. I often wondered when it would all start to make sense. I was tired of the world feeling so empty and bland without the spark of joy in my life constantly being away from home and ignoring my pleads for him to take a break.

 “It breaks my heart to see you like this, dear," Zhongli returned home in the extremely early hours of the morning and caught me staring out the window, watching the stars sparkle in the night sky. "Why do you insist on waiting for me to get home instead of getting the rest you deserve?"

 “The rest I deserve?" I sighed. I didn't bother turning to face him. "Zhongli, how about the rest you deserve? How long does this have to continue? I truly haven't felt this lonely in my entire life."

 Zhongli's exasperation oozed into his low, resonant voice. "Just a little while longer, my love."

 “You say that every week."

 “And I mean it this time," his figure appeared from the corner of my eye and slumped down in the vacant space next to me on the bed. "The deal is finally coming to a close."

 "Deal?" my eyebrows raised at this sudden new information as he had kept me in the dark this entire time, "Don’t lie to me. I thought the entire reason you were working was because of the deal with the Guild."

 “I fear that I have said too much," his face instantly turned into one of regret. He lifted a hand up to massage his temple. "Please do not fret, dearest. You do not need to worry about anything."

 "Zhongli, I really need you to stop hiding things from me," I felt tears slowly surface without warning, "You have no idea how much it hurts to be left here all alone without knowing what you're doing.”

 He was uncharacteristically silent, just sitting there with his eyes closed, massaging his forehead. He let out a deep sigh, clearly tired. I felt bad for confronting him now, but it was now or never.

 “Please tell me... is there someone else? Is that it? Am I not good enough that you have to use work as an excuse not to see me? If you are then I wish you could just tell me the truth instead of tugging me along on a stri-“

 He suddenly cut me off by connecting his lips with mine. He kissed me slowly, reaching his gloved hand to my face and caressing his thumb over my cheek. My eyes fluttered shut at his touch, savoring the rare moments that we were both awake at the same time to share a kiss. He kissed me deeply, gently, and lovingly. I was so deprived of him that it made my heart ache to finally taste his lips again. Or maybe the heartache was from the thought of him using those same, soft lips to kiss someone else.

 Maybe I was wrong. I surely hoped I was wrong.

 “You are the love of my life, [Y/N]. If there are any doubts of my loyalty to you, let go of them immediately. There is no one else other than you and me. I only dedicate myself to strenuous work for our future to be prosperous. I am doing this for us, and us alone.”

 Tears travelled down my cheek as he slowly pulled his face away a few inches. Tracing his thumb over my bottom lip, I stared at the way the moonlight highlighted his stoic expression. His exhaustion split my heart apart. This entire situation split me apart.

 “Please forgive me when I say my work is confidential. Though, I assure you I am not keeping any significant secrets from you. I deeply hope you understand.”

 I dipped my head down in disappointment just for him to lift my chin up with a gentle grip. He stared into my eyes for a moment before speaking again.

 "What can I do to distract you from your solitude, dear?" he gently whispered then began planting small kisses around my face. “You are my priority. I will take care of whatever it is you want from me.”

 "Then take a break for one day," I watched as he initially sighed in instant rejection, "Fine, then half a day.  Please, Zhongli – half a day.  You could go to work then come back home early.  Just please... I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t take it.”

 He thought for a moment, his amber eyes piercing through mine.  The silence made more tears run down my face, which he responded to by planting more small kisses on my fragile, trembling lips.

 "If half a day will not fully satisfy you, I will call off my entire day tomorrow.”

 “Zhongli, I said half a day would be fine-“

 “You deserve more than just ‘fine,’” he politely interrupted. “It has already been decided.”

 I softly chuckled in relief and gently buried my head into his neck, his arms immediately pulling me into a warm embrace to seal the space between us.

 He planted several soft kisses on my head, his fingers caressing my back. I glanced at his face for a moment to see that a tear had rolled down his cheek as well. A sob escaped my throat as I watched the face of a calm and collected man attempt to hold back tears, but failing. The strong façade he always managed to uphold was now broken in front of me.

 We didn’t need words to communicate our shared stress and yearning for each other. So we sat in there in silence, bathing in the moonlight as quiet tears stained our collars. His melancholic eyes and tensed jawline shot arrows through my heart.

 It hurt when I couldn’t see him for weeks. It hurt even more when I could see he was in the same amount of pain I was in. It was silly to accuse him of treating me poorly when all he wanted to do was guarantee our happiness together.

 My heart sunk into the earth’s core. And that’s when he broke the silence once more.

 “Never doubt my dedication to you, my love. There is, and never will be, anything that will change how much I love you. I love you more than I can put into words. Please remember that no matter how long we are apart, I promise I will love and cherish you, and only you, even beyond our final moments together. And that is a promise I intend to keep forever.”

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.3; Lantern Rite Part 2

Author’s Note:  Happy Valentine’s Day ;)

........

--Can feel your emotions...emotions cannot be permanently ignored...fall on deaf ears...early grave... Xiao scoffed and downed the rest of his tea before forcefully setting the cup back down onto the table. "You think admitting my alleged feelings for a mortal human would solve the problem?"

"She's done her part, now it is your turn," Zhongli straightened. "If you fail to do so, I fear she will perish from your karmic debt in no time at all. If what you say is true, it's a miracle she's still alive. Your admittance would seal the bond, as it would eliminate the side effects altogether."

Xiao's head whipped in the direction of the playing of an instrument note, but was only greeted with the joyful screams of children running around nearby. "Tch. How annoying," he played his mishearing off and returned to his normal sitting position.  A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again.  "I would only be prolonging her untimely demise.  If we stay together, if she stays by my side, my sins will affect her with or without the bond."

"That is correct."

The archon was never one to sugarcoat things.  "It would be selfish of me to admit to those emotions, selfish to indulge in them--she would die at my hand."

"Yes."

"Then why should I seal the bond, if us getting closer seals her fate?"  The yaksha's voice nearly cracked, but he hid it well with his piercing gaze as he questioned his master.  "Why?"

"How long do you plan on protecting Liyue?"

The random question made the yaksha falter.  "For as long as our contract endures."  What a silly question--it wasn't even for debate.  It was his duty to protect Liyue, to absolve his sins and pay thanks to the archon that redeemed him.  Why would Zhongli bring it up now?

"How much longer can you protect those who reside in Liyue?  How long until the cracks begin to form within you, too?"

'Just as my fallen friends...' Xiao searched his master's eyes for a moment before parting his lips.  "I--"

"I do not know the end of your story, Xiao, but I brought your unruly fate upon you.  When the time comes for you to face the same darkness that's consumed you, you cannot face it alone."

.........................

Zhongli watched the three of you push your way through the crowd to greet him, his eyes narrowing at you in particular.  "I see you have found your other teammates," he nodded approvingly.

"Yeah."  You hadn't stopped scanning the crowd, and didn't so much as look his way despite being prodded by Aether.

"Something's wrong with her," the boy warned Zhongli.  "She's not--"

"Do not concern yourself, traveler.  She will be just fine."

"Huh?"  Paimon grumbled.  "What do you mean by that?  Have you no concern for her?"

"We've convened earlier today.  I will inform you, but first..." His eyes slid back to you, and he raised his voice to catch your attention.  "You wish to see him?"

"Hm?  U-um, yes..."  His piercing gaze saw right through you, and it was an uncomfortable feeling.  "What?"

"I'd advise you to leave the harbor," he nodded to the mountainside that was on the other side of the city gates.  You nodded a quick thanks before running away at full speed.

I'm here, Xiao.  But the yaksha didn't need to hear your impolite prayers to know that you were, when he could hear the distinct conversations of the people you ran past even though he was literal miles away from the harbor.

..............

You felt him before you saw him.  Sitting on the rocky hill that overlooked the guarded entrance of Liyue Harbor, you peered over your shoulder to find the one person you had longed to see all day.  The yaksha stopped in his tracks when you met his eyes.  

"What...are you doing here?"  It was like he was uncertain if he was hallucinating, eyes narrowing cynically as you stood to greet him.  It was clear that he was weary from his day-long battle, but any pure exhaustion was hidden behind his tough façade.  

"Childe brought me back for the Lantern Rite," you caught him snarling when you said the harbinger's name.  "I--"

Your vision was suddenly obscured by his face once he appeared before you at the speed of light.  His hand gingerly traced your cheek, a rare gentleness, a fondness seeping through his cynical eyes.  You hadn't realized how much you had been craving his touch;  your hand kept him from removing his from your cheek.  How long had it been?  Two weeks? It had to have been three by now, but it felt like an eternity from how much you had to deal with Childe or watch people die.

Real, Xiao's lips twitched into an unnoticeable smile, but the light in his eyes was bright as day.  The two of you stood with foreheads pressed together for who knows how long until the yaksha was the one to pull away and regain his neutral composure.  His eyes floated to that of the dark ocean before landing on the small lantern that sat next to your viewing rock.

"They'll be releasing them soon," you say, noticing his gaze.  "I meant to make two, but it turns out its REALLY hard to make them..."

"Mm."  He acknowledged you before sitting on the left side of the rock, silently prompting you to join him.

You did.  "H-hey, is that blood?"  You finally noticed the smear on his right cheek, worry entering your voice.  "Are you okay? Here, let me see--"

"It's not mine."  Xiao leaned away from your hand and wiped the smudge away himself.

Back to pushing me away, you faltered back, wavering eyes refocusing their attention on the black horizon to distract yourself from the hurt that panged in your chest.  You sat on your hands as if to close yourself off from him--to restrain yourself from invading his personal space.

I did it again.  Xiao inwardly cursed himself out for causing the sad look in your eyes.  It's not like he meant to.  He's too used to shutting people out for their safety; he's too accustomed to being alone.  Xiao watched you out of the corner of his eye before finally gathering the courage to speak.  She needs to know.

"I need you to understand," he started, sending you a brief glance before facing the ocean again.  "Yakshas accumulate karma from the eons of slaughter we're tasked with.  It eats away at our souls, corrupts us, or drives us mad.  We become the monsters we're meant to destroy.  Outsiders, companions, anyone who gets too close, will share and suffer that karma.  It is why I order you and Aether to leave, and it is why I keep everyone at a distance."

You watched him continue to carefully sort his thoughts out.  He's never talked so much without your prompting.  

"None of us have had, nor will have, a happy ending.  This is our fate.  And it will be your fate too, if you continue to stay at my side.  The karma I've accumulated will only grow in future years, and you won't be a stranger to it."

Your shoulders dropped.  Is he...Is he going to leave me completely? Is he going to push me away for good?

Xiao heard your worries, and he briefly met your eyes again.  "Could you still love a yaksha, while knowing this information?  While knowing your fate will be sealed, and you won't find peace?"

"Of course."

"This isn't a light decision," Xiao admonished and rotated his body slightly to face you.  "You cannot--"  Do humans not understand danger?

"Xiao."  The determination in your eyes made his next words stick to his throat.  "I've already thought about it long and hard.  I've seen your past.  I've felt some of your pain.  Even if this bond thing doesn't 'seal'--whatever that means--even if I am stuck with hearing those awful voices for the rest of my life, I will never be able to stop my feelings for you.  Even if you don't return my feelings.  I've come to accept all of it."

Could Xiao bring himself to admit his feelings if there was a high chance that fate would set its cruel sights on you?  You could say all this now, but you've only felt the karma for a month.  What happens in a year from now? A decade? A century?  Your life wouldn't be as short as a humans because of his blood...Could he find it in him to confess if you were driven mad and he, ridden with guilt from causing your downfall?  Sealing the bond wouldn't guarantee that the voices would leave you, and it definitely wouldn't make you immune to his karma.  Xiao had thought he had decided on confessing, but now that he saw that raw, naïve determination in your gaze, maybe it was better that he kept it to himself for your safety--

"Do you trust me, Xiao?"  His attention snapped back to you.  "You felt my love for you in Zapolyarny Palace, didn't you?  If you did, then you know my feelings are genuine..."

That's right...your feelings were so warm back then, and the way you had hugged him close...He felt his own version when he had heard your moonsong.  'How long can you continue protecting Liyue? When the time comes for you to face the same darkness that's consumed you, you cannot face it alone.  Zhongli was righ--Archons, forget it.  You had never lied to him, and he doubted you'd ever plan on doing so in the future.  You were still just as stubborn as all those years ago on your deathbed of bloody soil; that aspect of you never changed.  And if you were this stubborn, it wouldn't make sense for him to label your decision as a half-hearted, half-thought out answer.

Xiao examined you carefully for a silent minute, not quite listening to the words that flew out of your mouth.  He didn't know how much longer he could stand tall against the swarms of darkness that swirled in his heart; he liked to think he could do so for another millennia, but that could change with one wrong move, one wrong thought, or one misplacement in willpower.  But maybe as Zhongli said, he could find a new purpose, a new ray of light that could help him continue his duty if the day for evil to overwhelm him ever comes.

The yaksha couldn't quite find a place in the mortal realm, but he was curious on how it worked, how the humans were, what kind of customs they created.  His karma made it impossible to quell that curiosity, and equally as dangerous for mortals.  But he met you, that four year old girl that didn't do anything but provoke his curiosity and longing for kinship further.  And then he really got to know you, all those months ago--what made you tick much like the other humans, the way you smiled, how you had the same sense of humor as him, the aggressive and the kind sides of your personality that clashed together to form this perfect, messy example of how humans worked.

Maybe he found out where to start when it came to you mortals, and that starting line was with you.  You shone at the end of the tunnel, a beacon for safety and dare he call a symbol of peace that he could come home to.  Xiao's eyes never left you as you continued to ramble on.

"--Then, I suppose, I could love you."  The yaksha muttered the words like they tasted sour, but his eyes were soft when they landed on you.

"I--You--Huh?"  You had thought he was trying to pull away from you for good, but this? He was confessing?  Your oblivious mind wouldn't have guessed this would happen...So this is what Zhongli was inferring earlier!

"What?"  Xiao narrowed his eyes and looked away as if he were embarrassed.  "It's not that significant," he pouted.  "Humans are flustered too easily by the smallest matters."  Despite his crimson cheeks and beet-red ears, he found it difficult to fight back a smile when he saw the ridiculous look on your face.

"You..."  Faint lights shone down on your little moment, and you glanced up to find that the lanterns were being released.  "Wow, look!"  You rose to your feet and stared at the distant lanterns before remembering that you had one of your own.  Your gaze dropped to it, and an idea struck you.  "Xiao...would you like to do this one together?"  You picked it up and lit it with the match you had in your pocket.

"I still don't understand why humans discard their trash into the ocean," he muttered before standing as well.  He watched the small flame burn brighter as it sat in your hands.  "What's the point?"

"The lanterns represent our wishes and thanks to the adepti," you explained and gestured for him to take hold of the other side of the lantern.  He reluctantly did so, but curiosity overcame him and he patiently listened to you with a slight childlike wonder in his eyes.  "As for why we chose lanterns, I think it's just because they're pretty."

"Hmph."

"Do you have any wishes for the archons?  We're supposed to write them on the lantern," you pulled a small pen out from your back pocket and uncapped it, offering the other end to him.

"Adepti don't go by your mortal ideals," he scoffed.  

His clear distaste for your question drew a laugh from your lips.  "I figured there was no harm in asking again! Okay.  Even if you don't have a wish, let's release it, yeah? One, two, three..."  The two of you gently pushed the lantern into the air, where it slowly made its journey to join the rest of its companions that now floated all around you.  

"You didn't write your wish," he commented, his brows furrowing in confusion.  How dare you ask him to write a wish, yet you did no such thing.  The hypocrisy of humans!

"Why would I need to if it already came true?"  You gave him a smirk before facing the sky.  "They're so pretty," you marveled, nearly making yourself dizzy from staring straight up.  "Don't you think so?"

"Mm."  He agreed, but he was only looking at you.  It took you a few minutes before you could gather the courage to return his gaze, feeling his stare while you watched the lanterns sparkle like the stars.  Well, it was also when your neck got tired.

You returned your eyes to the yaksha only to find him staring hard at you with an unreadable expression.  "W-what?"

"You're serious about me, even if it ends up killing you?"  He still couldn't understand why...Wouldn't self-preservation be what everyone chooses when put in a perilous situation?  Is this human stupidity, or is there some type of logic behind your trust that he failed to grasp?

You blinked, facing him fully.  "One hundred percent."  I don't need to think twice about my answer, but he's still concerned about me?  "Xiao, do you trust me?"

He didn't answer and instead approached you after a few beats of silence until you almost breathed the same air.  He was visibly struggling with something, but as for what, you had no idea.  He allowed himself to slide a hand through your hair and play with the strands before it settled against the nape of your neck.  He pulled you closer until his lips grazed across your eyelids.  He ignored the shocked gasp that left your parted lips and let his brush across your other eyelid before they settled against the spot between your brows.

He then pulled away, his head resting against your forehead, and for a second you wondered if any of that was real until you managed to snap out of your daze.  "D-did you just...?  Xiao...?"

[doppel-drop-distance]

Doppel Spotlight: Giovanna

Surprise~!

I know, I know, about time, right? The hypothetical Soul Gem has broken, and the Doppel Spotlights are back from the dead! Er…temporarily, anyway. I can’t say for certain how many more of these I’m up to doing just yet. It’s a bit too early for me to make any big estimates or guarantees. But! This Doppel analysis has sat here unfinished for quite some time now! And you all have shown such lovely support that I couldn’t help but be excited looking at all this old material again. So as a gift to you all, let’s finally analyze the Doppel of our main protagonist, Iroha Tamaki!

This analysis will contain spoilers for all of Magia Record’s first arc! This does include anime-specific content, as I will be discussing certain scenes from Episodes 5 and 7! You have been warned!

Let’s dive in, shall we?

GIOVANNA

Doppel of Silence

Feature: Cuckoo

“The master of this emotion is aware of how pitiful her Doppel is and refuses to look at it. This Doppel wordlessly wraps around and strangles anything it doesn't want to hear as it continues its search for something to fill the hole in its heart. While it should be calling for someone, it is cowardly and afraid of acknowledging the reality it has concealed, and so it remains, silently covering its ears.”

It's been a while, so how about we start things off with a little refresher?

Both Giovanna and Campanella’s names are direct references to Night on the Galactic Railroad, a Japanese novel written by Kenji Miyazawa. In the story, a shy boy named Giovanni travels on a star-bound train with his close friend, Campanella. To keep things brief, I’ll leave most of the general plot details out. However, if you’d like a lengthier summary, I suggest reading the summary I provided in the previous Doppel Spotlight, which is linked here.

I should also mention I actually located an English-translated copy of Night on the Galactic Railroad! As a result, I can quote the story directly, although I cannot guarantee the accuracy of the translations or my own interpretations. Please keep that in mind as you read!

The opening scene of the novel establishes early on that Giovanni is a reserved, self-conscious boy. In class, he is certain he knows the answer to the teacher’s question. However, when called on, he doubts himself and stays silent, bringing upon the jeers of his classmates. Campanella, who also raised his hand for the question, willingly chooses not to answer, despite also knowing, in order to show some sympathy for the flustered Giovanni.

This opening scene is likely what is referenced in Giovanna’s nature as the Doppel of silence. Giovanni stays silent out of self-doubt, and as a result believes himself to be pathetic. Iroha also silences herself in her own way, being very passive, self-conscious, and reserved at the beginning of her story. And, true to that comparison, her Doppel’s reflections of insecurity make her feel pitiful, to the point where she refuses to look at it.

Giovanni’s character can also be representative of Iroha’s inner loneliness. With his mother sickly and his father out of the house, Giovanni is too occupied with taking jobs and caring for his family to have time to talk. More often, he is bullied by his peers. The only exception is with Campanella, who doesn’t bully him, and even sympathizes with him. As Giovanni and Campanella travel on the Galactic Railroad, Giovanni’s loneliness is at its clearest. Campanella begins talking to Kaoru, another passenger on the train, and Giovanni becomes morose with jealousy. See this quote here:

“Is there really nobody who will stick with me to the edges of the universe and beyond? Campanella just sits there jabbering away with that little girl, and it hurts me more than anybody knows.”

Iroha is also incredibly lonely, deep down. She lives on her own, with parents away on business trips. The anime implies she doesn’t have a lot of friends either, with her classmates talking behind her back instead. Worst of all, her sister, who she values more than anyone else, is completely absent, Iroha being the only one that remembers that she exists. Such relationships sound awfully lonely, don’t they? It’s only through her bond with Yachiyo and the rest of Mikazuki Villa that Iroha grows into her own, letting her optimism, warmth, and confidence shine through.

Giovanna’s connections to Giovanni tie her quite close to Campanella, Yachiyo’s Doppel. And, well, Yachiyo is certainly not the kind and sympathetic Campanella at first meet. Her first encounter with Iroha is cold, brutally honest, and fully intent on keeping Iroha out at any cost. We learn later on that this attitude is a wall Yachiyo puts up to protect people – that she believes the people that get close to her die, and that she still struggles with the guilt of her past. Yet, it is Iroha who shows sympathy to Yachiyo, breaking down that wall between them. For example, let’s take a look at Chapter Six. After a trip to the Memory Museum Uwasa, Yachiyo has been reminded of the death in her life and is reflexively closing herself off again to keep Iroha safe. Iroha once shriveled up in response to Yachiyo’s intimidating rejection, but now, as her friend, she isn’t having it. She says this:

“You saying there’s nothing you can do to help Tsuruno and the others… It makes me feel sad…Lonely…We fought together all this time…But more than that, I’m angry. I’m angry with you, Yachiyo...”

“I’m your friend, Yachiyo. And as your friend, I’m going to take out that Uwasa, all on my own! I’m going to be the one to protect you. I’ll smash this made-up idea you have of me sacrificing myself for you!”

Just as Giovanni interprets his journey with Campanella as a sign to stay diligent in life, Iroha’s friendship with Yachiyo allows her to steady her own resolve and fight adamantly. Their namesake connection is a sign of their bond, and their newfound devotion to fight together and protect each other.

To wrap up this Galactic Railroad talk, have you noticed that in many of the anime’s early episodes, Iroha is riding on a train? In fact, it is on a train that Iroha is whisked away to Zenobia’s Barrier in Kamihama, where she meets Yachiyo for the first time. Perhaps a stretch, but a fun little detail regardless.

Anyway, there’s far more to Giovanna than story connections! Giovanna’s silent nature reflects a lot of Iroha’s character struggles: mainly, her feelings of denial, and her inclination towards self-sacrifice.

“This Doppel wordlessly wraps around and strangles anything it doesn't want to hear as it continues its search for something to fill the hole in its heart. While it should be calling for someone, it is cowardly and afraid of acknowledging the reality it has concealed, and so it remains, silently covering its ears.”

When you think of someone “strangling anything it doesn’t want to hear”, concealing their own reality and being afraid of acknowledging it...well, that sounds a lot like someone who doesn’t want to accept the truth.

Iroha shows quite a bit of denial in her search for Ui. The odds are stacked against her for a lot of Arc 1. She finds little to no clues wherever she searches, and the Ui she encounters from the Uwasa of the Commoner’s Horse is only a fake. Iroha is certain that Touka and Nemu, Ui’s closest friends, will remember Ui. But, they do not, and only ridicule Iroha for her seemingly impossible set of memories. Throughout Chapter Ten she is belittled for sticking to her goals. She’s ensured on all fronts that Touka and Nemu aren’t believing her, and that there’s nothing she can do to change their minds. But, no matter how many times Iroha is told by the world that she’s believing in a lie, she never lets her belief go.

“I’m still going. No matter what you say. I’m bringing Ui back with me…She’s the whole reason I came back to Kamihama.”

This stubborn determination, when twisted by the corrupt perception of a Witch, is far more like paranoid desire: an aching, fearful need to find whatever is missing in her heart and get rid of whatever threatens it.

Following this, let’s talk about Giovanna’s feature: a cuckoo. Cuckoos are solitary birds, shy and secretive, and best known for their calls. Yet, Giovanna’s beak is tied up with cloth. She cannot call for anyone. Her journey to find Ui is painted as one of futility: Giovanna searches and searches for the one she’s longed for, but in the end, is too afraid to call out to her.

Here’s a fun detail, by the way:

In Episode 5, when Iroha summons her Doppel for the first time, Giovanna actually does not have bandages around her beak (which is why she’s able to let out that high-pitched shriek):

In future appearances, however, Giovanna does have the bandages around her beak.

Come to think of it, Giovanna looks rather... different in her first appearance, doesn’t she? Not only is her beak not bandaged, but her colors are a lot redder and more decayed, her cloak is worn and full of holes, and the crown around her head is gone. This may just be a stylistic choice for Iroha’s first Doppel, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign for something else. Maybe that Giovanna is angry with the Commoner’s Horse Uwasa for projecting an illusion of Ui? Giovanna does fight a lot more aggressively here than in any other appearance, after all - she wraps the Uwasa up and drills into it with her beak. Meanwhile, in her second appearance, she only attacks an Uwasa with her bandages.

Giovanna’s unwillingness to call for others actually brings up an interesting facet of Iroha’s character: her sacrificial devotion. The reason that Iroha unleashes her Doppel in Episode 5 is because she neglects her own needs in favor of others. She believes that she must be strong on her own to find Ui, a thought reflected by her own Doppel’s words in Episode 7:

“Stronger…If you don’t become strong, you won’t be able to find anything! Cover your ears! Shut those eyes! Silence determines fate!”

When Iroha fails to find Ui within the Uwasa of the Commoner’s Horse, she is filled with despair. Ui was right before her eyes, proving the beliefs that even she may have begun to doubt. Yet, in that same instant she recognizes the Ui she sees is nothing but an illusion the Uwasa projected for her. So close, and yet so far. When Iroha begins to succumb to her despair, she even mentions that it might’ve been from the shock of not seeing Ui.

With all of these feelings, all of this disappointment and despair, who does Iroha use her only Grief Seed on? Yachiyo, of course. At this point in the story, Iroha wants to be friends with Yachiyo, but they are not seen as equals. She is not comfortable enough to open up to Yachiyo about her feelings, and neither is Yachiyo with her own. Yet, Iroha still sacrifices herself to keep Yachiyo from falling to despair. And by staying silent about her own woes, Iroha falls to her despair for the first time, summoning her Doppel.

Let’s keep this topic in mind and focus on something I haven’t addressed before: the Magia Archive artbook! There are some production notes in here that provide insights on the meaning and symbolism behind a Doppel. Unfortunately, I don’t know Japanese, but I did find a translation of Giovanna’s section, courtesy of @greenyvertekins. Here is a small piece from it that I would like to highlight:

“The motif is a bird flute and a saint with a rabbit-like appearance.”

The theme of a “saint” struck me as a little odd, at first. I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to get that idea from her design. But, it did lead me to a unique little find, which is probably a stretch, but maybe kind of cool anyway?

(credit to Silvermoon424 on Reddit for the scan!)

It’s a bit harder to see in the official art, but that crown circling Giovanna’s head – to me, it sort of looks like a crown of thorns. A crown of thorns is a very striking sign of self-sacrifice.

And sure, this is the stretchiest stretch that ever stretched, but those drop-like patterns on Giovanna’s body are red, and kind of look like drops of blood, right? Beads of blood that have also been associated with the crown of thorns, r-right? Right…?

Phew…I’ve been going on for a while, haven’t I? Is this…is this longer than the first one? I don’t even know anymore…Let’s silently wrap this up with one more, fun little stretch on my part.

Both cuckoos and bunnies, which are elements of Giovanna’s design, are symbolically representative of spring. Spring is cherry blossom season in Japan, and the Eternal Sakura Uwasa lives near a cherry blossom tree only said to bloom when Touka, Nemu, Ui and Iroha are united again. At the end of the event Cherry Blossom Dreams, the Eternal Sakura even remarks that “spring can finally begin” because they are all together. So, if you squint really hard, maaaaybe the springtime connections here are representative of Iroha, Touka, Nemu, and Ui’s union under the cherry blossom tree. But probably not. I’m just having some fun.

And, that’s it! That’s all I’ve got for Giovanna! Wow! That sure was something!

I hope you all enjoyed my silly little analysis! I know some of these connections are a bit loose, but I like drawing whatever parallels I can with what understanding I have, haha. It was great to write one of these again and share it with you all!

If you have any of your own thoughts, additions, or corrections, do send them along! I would love to hear other interpretations!

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Face the Darkness

Prompt 2 for @greenfiredragonfly's Angstember prompts-- "Go. But I'm not Leaving." This time I've gone for some War in Heaven angst! Technically a slight AU as you'll see in the end, but I'm assuming most of the rest works out as in canon.

--

The Fortress trembled as the ground shifted once more, cracks splitting the desiccated plain in an ever more complex spider web. Solid stone walls vibrated, pouring streams of crushed stone from every corner of the ceiling. The air was thick with dust. Already the loyal forces of Heaven had withdrawn to the distant hills to watch, silent and impassive.

The War had ended. The Fortress of Lucifer had begun its Fall.

The first of the four watchtowers collapsed, shattering across blasted plain. From the wreckage crawled the rebellious angels, bodies already twisting into more animalistic shapes: talons and fangs, scales and gills, rotten flesh and oozing sores.

Outside the walls patrolled guards in solid plate armor wielding swords and spears and whips; in an instant, they descended on the few who had escaped, driving them back towards the gates, towards their fate. More beings inside fought and screamed, clawing at the guards only to be pushed back again and again. Voices raised, accusations shouted at soldiers, at leaders, at God Herself.

The guards were not of the heavenly legions. When Lucifer’s last army was routed, he had declared that all of his rebels would share in his punishment. Those who kept the frightened masses in check had been promised prominent positions as the Lords of their new domain, while the would-be deserters risked punishments more gruesome than anything the enemy had done.

Still, they tried.

Some few managed to pass the final ring of guards, to strike out across the plain that moved and reformed under their feet, cracks and crevices opening wide, whole sections of land suddenly dissolving, raining down into the realm of darkness.

They fled, running across uncertain ground, leaping treacherous drops, praying for forgiveness with every breath, holding out their arms to the loyal armies, beseeching their friends to intercede, to stay the Hand of Judgment.

Those who reached the hills and were welcomed into the protection of Heaven found themselves restored, their flesh returned to normal, bodies untwisted, souls pardoned.

The rest… well, they reached their final destination a little sooner than the rest.

One angel stood alone on a watchtower, eyes scanning the chaos below through a shifting curtain of bright red hair.

The scuff of a footstep, barely audible above the screams. The angel turned slightly—a single glance back—just enough for a glimpse of familiar white feathers.

“Shouldn’t be here,” the angel said, turning back to the destruction.

“Neither should you.”

“This again?” A twist of lips, too bitter to be called a smile. “You’ve already told me what you think. Eons and eons ago.”

“And I haven’t changed my mind.”

The angel clutched at the stone parapet, or tried to; it fell apart, sending another rain of dust towards the frightened crowd below. “And, what, you’re here to offer me salvation? Take my confession and determine if I’m worthy? Enact vengeance for all those I’ve destroyed?”

“My dear friend. I’m here to save you.”

Briefly, there were tears in the angel’s eyes; but already those eyes were changing, restructuring into a new shape. “Don’t deserve it.”

“I say you do.” A soft hand landed on the angel’s shoulder, offering a squeeze of comfort. “There is no wickedness in you. No cruelty. Even at the height of the War’s atrocities, you never lost your kindness. You are only here because you were manipulated by Lucifer, caught in his lies. That is no judgment on you. He could just as easily have swayed me, or Gabriel, or anyone else.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?” With a rumble louder than any thunder, the ground below fractured once more. The fortress rose and fell, another tower crumbling to a chorus of screams. “Come, we don’t have time.”

“What must I do?” The first angel didn’t move, but the second breathed a sigh of relief at the question.

“Cross the plain, no more than that. If you reach the other side, if someone is willing to intercede on your behalf, you will be forgiven.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, my dear, oh, it’s so simple. I will be beside you every step of the way, to guide you, to keep you safe. You can’t possibly fail.”

The angel nodded, still looking down into the broken courtyard. “Tell me this: why me? You could save anyone. Why me?”

A brief, shocked silence. “That’s—why would I…? Because I love you.”

“And what about them?” Down below the future Lords of Darkness moved through the crowds, grabbing weeping angels by the jaw or the neck, inspecting them, claiming their favorites. Torments would begin soon, pains that would become familiar to them all. “They were tricked by Lucifer, the same as me.” One pale, scruffy creature grabbed a trembling, crying being by the hair, dragging them towards a dark door. “Do they deserve this fate because they don’t have the love of a Guardian?”

Flinching, the pale figure pulled back towards the shadows. “That isn’t fair.” Little more than a whisper. “You know they don’t. But I can’t save them. Only you.”

With a deep, shaking breath, the angel finally turned, eyes now glinting gold, pupils stretching into lines. “No. You can’t save me. Not if I don’t want to be saved.”

“What are you talking about?” Hazel eyes shining like earthlight as the darkness closed in. “How can you not—”

“How can I go back? Tell me that! How can I ignore the things I learned? Not everything Lucifer said was a lie, that’s why he was so successful. How can I be happy when I’ve seen things for what they truly are?” In a softer voice: “How can I follow a God who would throw so many away just because they’re unloved?” A sob shook those narrow shoulders, but no tears fell. Never again. “If there’s a way, please, tell me. Because I can’t—”

The entire plain rippled like a wave. Another tower fell, and the one they stood on tilted perilously.

“Dearest, we can talk about this later. We need to go now.”

“Go.” The angel turned back to the courtyard. “But I’m not leaving.”

“No!” The Guardian hauled the angel back, as if ready to fly them both to safety or be destroyed trying. “Don’t—you can’t! Don’t you understand what’s happening? What it all means?”

“Better than you!” The angel turned with a furious growl. “I’ve spent countless ages among them already. I know what they’re like, I know what they’ll do to us, and I don’t want that. But I can’t go back.” Narrow hands reached out, clutching the other’s elbows. “Aziraphale, please understand. I can’t go back. Not with… everything I know…”

They embraced, the Guardian blinking back tears. “You could… you could ask God to take your memories. It would be as if you’d never…”

“I can’t.”

“Not… not even for me?”

“I would forget you, too.”

“But I’ll remember.” Aziraphale leaned back, eyes pleading. “And I will still love you. Nothing will change that.”

“But I will change.” The angel scowled again, though this time not from anger but from the desperate search for words. “It’s… not the memories themselves. I might lose them anyway. I’ve already lost my name; I’m losing my form. I’m Falling. And whatever Falling does to me, whatever I become, I will still be me. But. But to willinglygive up the knowledge I’ve earned. To turn my back on it… I wouldn’t be me anymore.”

The next tremor started, and didn’t end.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale wailed. “But I don’t have to. If… if this will make you happy…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again.” One last desperate embrace as the surrounding plain began to crumble. “It’s time. Go.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Aziraphale!” But the Guardian only held the angel tighter. “You—you can’t Fall!”

“I do not believe I will. God knows Her own.”

The outer walls vanished, tumbling into the nothing below, bringing wave after wave of bodies with them. “No, She’ll just rip you out of my arms at the cruelest possible moment.”

“Where you see cruelty, I see kindness. Every second with you is a blessing.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Quiet, love. I’m praying.”

The ground shook, lurched, dropped away—

The Fortress and all within it Fell—

All except two angels, wrapped in each other’s arms. Held aloft by Aziraphale’s wings, they did not Fall but meandered gently downwards.

“What?” The nameless angel looked around in confusion. “How…?”

“I told you. Kindness.” Aziraphale’s eyes were closed. “I asked Her for a few more minutes with you. And a chance to spare you from some of the darkness you must face. I know you don’t think you deserve it, but I think you do. And in the end, that is what mattered.”

“Aziraphale…” Quite without meaning to, the angel smiled in wonder. “I love you.”

When the Guardian’s eyes opened, the tears rolled upwards, leaving a trail of droplets back to Heaven. “I love you, too. And it was worth any price to see you smile again.”

“Price? Wait, what price?”

“All my memories of you.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes. I was quite happy to exchange them to buy you these few minutes of peace and a guarantee that we will meet again. Though I’m afraid after that, things will be up to you.” Aziraphale’s incongruous smile began to fade. “What is it?”

“I… I just… I told you I wouldn’t… and then you…” Golden eyes drifted, staring into the suffocating darkness on every side. “What must you think of me?”

“I think you are the most wonderful being in all Creation. I wish for you to be you, in whatever way feels most genuine, as an angel or… otherwise.” Far below, the Fortress ruins came into view, lit by a strange blue glow. “I think you will have a hard enough time ahead of you without such complicated regrets. And I think,” another tear floating upward, glowing like a distant star, “I truly think, this way things will work out for the best.”

“You’ll forget me! Forget us! Everything we ever talked about, or… or…”

“But you’ll remember.” A gentle kiss on the forehead. “And I will still love you. Nothing will change that.”

The Fortress had landed in a boiling pool of sulfur. Aziraphale carefully set the former angel down on solid ground, a safe distance from the edge, then immediately began to float upwards again.

“Wait!” Desperately clinging to those soft hands, the last bit of comfort in the entire realm. “Don’t go!”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t belong down here anymore than you belong Upstairs. We will meet again in the world to come.”

“But what if… without your memories… you’re different? More like the others?”

“Oh.” For the first time since the Fall, Aziraphale looked troubled. “I suppose you… may see some changes you don’t like…”

“No, not that. I’m not going to love you any less. But… you’ll think I’m just another Enemy.”

“Nonsense. I love you, dear boy. And I have the opportunity to fall in love all over again.” The upward pull began to draw their fingers apart. “Only, I don’t know how long that will take, so… be patient?”

“Aziraphale…”

“Take care of yourself, love.” Their grip on each other failed and Aziraphale drifted away, rising faster and faster. “I will see you again! I promise!”

“Aziraphale!”

Silence, broken only by the stirring of creatures rising from the sulfur and slinking into the shadows.

Hands still warm from the loving touch of an angel, the demon turned to face the darkness.

[kj-1130]

Feelings Suck

Uswnt x reader

⚠️T/W: implication to emotional/verbal abuse? Bullying, lil bit of self-harm maybe? lemme know if it’s something else.⚠️

Main Masterlist

Your first call up to the national team came when you were 16. This had been your dream since you first started watching and playing soccer. Being able to train with such inspirational and empowering women was amazing.

When you arrived, you were kind of shy at first. You honestly didn’t expect to be called up again, so you figured there was no point in trying to get to know everyone and develop relationships.

Much to your surprise, you had been asked to attend another camp. Then, you started to get to know the ladies more and you learned that they were amazing people.

The women were so understanding and just nice in general. If only the media and your classmates had been the same.

Before you had been called up, you weren’t very popular at school. Many didn’t notice you were there; you were essentially invisible to everyone even some teachers. But after you made your debut, things started to change.

You had never yearned for popularity, but hoped it was the good kind if it ever did come to you. But when it came to you, it came fast, hard, and unexpected yet not the way you hoped.

People started pointing out flaws; saying you weren’t good enough to be playing with such great athletes or that you didn’t look like other soccer players.

Not only that, but the media had ripping your ass as well. Almost every time you looked, your social media was full of your mistakes. From compilations of your greatest fails to commentators.

The supposed fans of the Uswnt, were absolutely ruthless to you. Always saying that you didn’t deserve your spot and anybody was easily ten times better than you.

You had your teammates and surely they’d understand what you were going through. The thought of asking for help had crossed your mind multiple times; when you saw Christen just watching television the first time you were roomed together. Or when you and Tobin had spent the day together going to get lunch. There were plenty of times you could’ve reached out, but the constant overthinking and weight you had on your shoulders told you otherwise.

You tried not to let it get to you, but when you hear something so much you start to believe it. If being on the national team gave you this much baggage, you’d rather be invisible like before.

You always thought that you’d burden people with your problems. Everybody has issues of their own that some didn’t know about, but they carried on. That’s what you thought. If people can get through their issues then so can you.

Day by day, the team noticed that your behavior had changed. You didn’t talk as much and you weren’t as chipper as usual.

You didn’t do your daily morning yoga with Christen often opting to do some light training instead. You no longer went skateboarding with Ash and Tobin, but spent your time in your hotel room looking at stats or ways to improve your play. It didn’t matter to you how much time it took.

You just wanted someone to recognize that you’re something; that’s what you always longed for. Each time someone said something about your horrible play, your parents were only being proved right. They always told you that you’d never get anywhere with the sport; that there were athletes much better than you. But you always pushed past that, desperate to show them that you could and would make it. Yet now, it just seems like they were just telling the truth.

You had gotten off the phone with your parents not long ago. Both of them screamed at you for a good thirty minutes, complaining that you had wasted their money on soccer. Complaining that you had no right to be such a bad player when they gave you everything you needed. Of course you felt guilty; they manipulated you to think it’s your fault.

So here you were once again, sitting at the hotel’s desk trying to get it together. You had training in an hour so you had to suck it up.

Before you could start getting ready, Alex, your roommate, came in with Kelley, Allie, Christen, and Tobin.

You quickly wiped away your tears and hoped you didn’t look like you were about to breakdown. Thankfully, luck was on your side today.

Alex came over and sat on her bed along with Kelley and Allie, “Hey kiddo, we’re just gonna hang out for a bit til training. What were you up to?”

You hadn’t really been doing anything since the phone call so you just came up with a lie, “Nothing much. Just on my phone.”

The women had started engaging in conversation, so you decided to just get ready.

Grabbing your clothes, you went to take a shower. Once you stepped inside, you tried avoiding the mirror all together, but it was so hard. It was right there; right in front of you. It was impossible for you to ignore.

When you turned and got a glimpse of yourself, all you heard were your classmates. ‘You’re too big to be a soccer player.’ ‘You’re never gonna make it big.’ ‘You’re worthless, whatever you do is for nothing.’

You blocked out their voices, but soon came your parents’. ‘You’re wasting our money.’ ‘You’re not good enough’ ‘We should’ve given you away when we had the chance.’

Those had been things you’d heard before; the last one always hitting you the hardest. Maybe they were right. Maybe you were just a nobody with no guaranteed future with this sport. Maybe you should just quit it all...

Christen had gone quiet after you made it into the bathroom. She noticed some of your odd behavior especially quick since she didn’t have her yoga buddy anymore.

The others kept talking but the more the forward thinks about it, your mood has surely been dampening. You hadn’t spoken to her about anything, but she hoped that you did feel comfortable to speak to her when you were having problems.

Christen speaks up as she no longer can keep this to herself, “Has anybody else noticed (Y/n)’s been acting weird lately?”

The other athletes in the room contemplate for a second before nodding their heads, already trying to figure out what was wrong.

Kelley had been scrolling through social media at the time and happened to come across some comments, “Uh, guys? I think I have an idea of what’s going on.”

Everyone in the room immediately snapped their heads over to the defender and crowded around her. Allie was the first to see and started reading one, “‘(Y/n) (L/n) honestly needs to be removed from the team. Literally anyone would be a better choice, like come on.’ That has over one hundred likes. There’s no way she hasn’t seen any of these.”

The women all shared sad looks. Christen was about to say something but you opened the door, having finished getting ready.

Everyone scrambled back to their respectful spots and you raised an eyebrow at their frantic behavior.

Shaking your head, you decide to go down to the lobby to be alone and hopefully clear your head.

Before you could even make it to the door, someone had called you, “Hey (y/n)?”

You sighed before answering, “Yes, Alex?”

“Where you going?”

You just wanted to go somewhere without being questioned for once. You understood that you were the youngest, but the level of overprotectiveness these women have is off the charts.

“No, I’m not leaving the hotel. Yes, I have my phone. Yes, I have my key card. I’m just going to the lobby to chill for a bit before practice.”

You had been through the exact same interrogation almost every time you wanted to leave your hotel room.

Luckily, before Alex could grill you any further, Christen stepped in, “It’s fine (y/n), just go ahead.”

You muttered a small bye and walked out the door. When you were halfway down the hall and heard the door close, you let one of your tears fall.

-

When it was time for practice, you had just been off your game. You were missing shots you normally wouldn’t, your tackles were messy, and everything was just an overall mess right now. And everyone else could tell.

Every word read or that was spoken to you were just in your brain, making themselves at home. They were right there, always reminding you what a failure you are and that you’ll always be one. They were there letting you know that your parents were right all along. They were there making themselves known in any way possible.

You were so close to breaking down at this point. Vlatko took you off the field and told you to get yourself together. You honestly didn’t know if you could anymore.

You were so close to breaking and didn’t know if anyone could pick up the leftover pieces.

Sitting down on the sidelines, you immediately put your knees to your chest and tucking your head in between them. You tried to calm down, but it was so hard. Your senses were dialed to 11 and everything was too much. You decided to get up and go to your bag where you kept your phones along with your earbuds.

You quickly scrambled to get them on; anything to block out the chaos of your brain was good at the moment. All unaware of the worried eyes on you.

In that moment, the team had decided to get to the bottom of this and help you.

-

You shouldn’t have expected to be able to hide this forever. You shouldn’t have expected to be able to use homework as an excuse to not hang out forever.

When there was a mandatory team bonding called in your and Alex’s room, you knew something was about to happen. Whether that something was about to benefit you was the question.

When you got to the hotel, you expected that you’d be able to shower then relax a bit and prepare yourself for the inevitable conversation you were about to have with all 20+ women on the team.

So when you did step out of the restroom, you absolutely did not expect over 40 eyes already on you.

“Nope.”

“Ah, ah, ah, no,” Ali said while walking over to you, dragging you with her to her spot and pulling you onto her lap. Your eyes widened slightly and you immediately moved yourself to the spot next to her.

Everyone was thinking similar things. You usually loved your cuddles and they’d always make you feel better if you were stressed because of school or anything else.

“So,” Ash said, “you wanna tell us what’s been going on?”

You simply looked down at your fidgeting hands and shrugged your shoulders. “What’s there to tell?”

Ali shrugs her shoulders as well, “Oh I don’t know. Maybe how you were off your game today.”

When have I ever been on my game?

“Or how you’ve been distancing yourself from everyone.”

I don’t deserve to be here anyway.

“Or—“

“Okay, okay. I don’t know what you want me to say,” you muttered.

You were panicking. This is overwhelming you and you didn’t really want to have much human interaction after training.

“Look, you don’t have to go into detail,” Tobin said. She was always chill and her demeanor relaxed you a bit. “You can just give us a gist and let us help you. Please, (y/n). We care about you and your behavior shows something is wrong. Let us help.”

And there was the guilt trip.

Tobin’s words started to make you tear up.

After much hesitation you decide to say something (more like mumbled).

“They say things.”

Ali takes your face in her hands and lifts it up, forcing your bloodshot eyes to make contact with hers.

“Can you speak up sweetie?”

“They say things,” you spoke with a tremble in your voice.

“Who says things?”

“Everybody. They all do.”

Every woman in the room shares glances. They knew you were still going to school when you didn’t have camp so hate could be extended there too.

Christen decides to contribute to the conversation, “You know what anyone says isn’t true, right?”

You shrugged again.

“(Y/n),” Kelley spoke sternly.

“What?” You finally snapped. Every word after this just spilled out of you like a dam.

“I’ve been hearing it for the past 17 years, do you not expect me to believe it! I see it everyday, there's no hiding it.”

There it was. You snapped. Everything was coming out. Your body shook from sobs and Ali quickly pulled you closer into her embrace.

There was no dry eye. No one knew of your home situation and now the cat’s out of the bag.

“(Y/n),” you were pulling your hair; the pain always grounded you.

“(Y/n)!”

“What?!”

Ali grabbed your wrist and gently yanked them from your head.

“You’re having a panic attack. Breathe.”

You were shaking your head, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

It took at least 10 minutes to calm down. The team gave you a few more minutes to regroup.

When you became more aware of your surroundings, you realized how much your head was hurting.

While you were hiding in Ali’s shoulder, everyone asked questions.

“What do you mean 17 years, (y/n)?” Casey asked.

“My parents. They say stuff too. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s just go to sleep, alright?” Ali always knew how to calm you down.

You nodded and hummed into her neck and fell asleep soon after.

From then on, the team was going to protect you. How? They didn’t know at the moment, but they were absolutely determined.

[youllallriseintheink]

Repeating the Cycle

I thought I’d write a little story about ink infection, as well as Sammy’s role after he was transformed. It’s inspired by Shazzbaa’s theories (I’d say which, but we don’t want spoilers, now do we?)!

I’ll tell you guys later tonight about the future writing projects I have planned.

---

Sammy awoke in his sanctuary, as he had many times before. He hadn’t been to his apartment in... well, days anyhow. He felt better when he was near the ink. He tried the door to exit his private sanctuary, and it was locked. “Is this a sign?” he asked his lord. “Is it time?”

Yes, his lord spoke back.

Sammy smiled- smiled rather weakly, as the pain from his ink infection had been wearing on him heavily. “Finally.”

All the waiting. All the sickness. All the fear. It was time to see what it was all for. And his lord had assured him, with the comforting voice of a father to a young son, that it would be worth it.

Sammy dragged himself over to the leaking pipe that hung from the ceiling of his sanctuary and turned on the ink supply. Ink sputtered down onto Sammy’s face and clothes, and he fell to his knees, hands outstretched and mouth open as though he was staring into heaven itself. His heart was pounding. He was shaking from adrenaline, and not even being surrounded with, covered in, and consuming the ink that normally numbed his symptoms seemed to be helping. This had to be fear instead of withdrawal.

Do not be afraid, the voice comforted, you will have ascended in mere hours. I promise, you will be safe and healthy. I promise, it will be better than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Thank you! Bendy, hear my praise! I want what you have for me! I crave your embrace!”

Sammy took a long suck of ink from the pipe, then laid down on the floor. He was weak. so weak.

That’s it. You’ve made it. You need only wait now.

Sammy trusted Bendy. Bendy told him that everything he’d done and experienced in his life- even the nightmarish last few years- was leading to something. It told him that everything was okay.

Sammy didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt Joey tying up his ankles. With some struggle, he sat up and tried to push Joey off of him, but it had little effect. Before long, Joey had finished on Sammy’s ankles and was straddling his chest to tie up his hands. The last thing he saw with his biological eyes was Joey’s knife slitting his throat.

When Sammy woke up, the voice of his lord was gone. By trying to make a toon out of him, Joey had robbed him of his ascension and severed his connection to him.

---

Grant awoke in his office to the horrid ticking of his Bendy clock and the array of whispering voices that had plagued him since early in his infection. The clock’s small hand pointed to six, but Grant had no idea whether it was morning or evening. Months of ink infection had ruined his sense of time. He tried the door to his office and found that it had been locked from the outside by chain and padlock. Grant laughed at the absurdity of it all- his life had spiralled into a nightmarish fever dream.

“Does this mean it’s time?” Grant asked.

Yes. Your time is almost up, the voice answered, and for once, Grant trusted it. He felt almost too tired from illness to care.

“I’ll do anything you ask to stop it.”

No response, except for those muttered voices. Grant hadn’t expected one- the voice rarely had his best interests in mind. He shuffled over to his desk and pushed aside some papers to go back to sleep- possibly for the last time.

And then he saw it- a report from Joey that he’d received mere days before his symptoms had started- ending with the words “Fix this or I’ll have your head!” angrily scrawled at the bottom.

That was it. Joey had done this to motivate him. He just had to figure out how to keep the studio from bankruptcy and he’d be cured!

Yes! Yes! You’re right. Fix it! the voice yelled.

Adrenaline flooded Grant’s system as he jerked open his filing cabinet with shaking hands in search of the necessary files to fix the budget. This was his one chance to survive. The muttering voices were screaming in his head- ear-piercing. His head felt ready to explode.

“Shut up and let me focus!” he screamed.

Ink will soothe your symptoms.

That was something that the voice had told him frequently. He hadn’t given in to it yet- not much, anyhow- because common sense told him that ink was inedible. It was also his sincere belief that the voice wanted to kill him. The voice had told him, back before the physical symptoms had become obvious, that he was merely losing his mind and needed to hide it from everyone, lest he be institutionalized. Then, as soon as the physical symptoms had taken root, it had changed its tune- he was losing his mind, because he was ill with an incurable, supernatural disease, and no hospital could help him, and going to one would only guarantee that he would be a test subject for the limited time he had left. Listening to it then had gotten him into this position, and he wasn’t eager to listen to it again.

But this was life or death. He opened the supply on the ink pipe that Thomas- for some reason he didn’t understand- had installed in his office, and drank deeply.

The voice- the muttering- the headache- it all stopped. Silence. Finally.

Grant’s hands were covered in ink now, and were sure to soak any paper he used. I can’t let that stop me. He dropped to his knees and started painting calculations on the floor.

The numbers didn’t add up. Not a single one. Was his mind was too frayed to do basic mathematical functions?! How could he fix anything, let alone this insurmountable debt, while he could barely think straight?! Calm down. Stay calm. Try again. Life or death. Time is money. What will Joey say?!

From the cracks within the wall, Sammy watched as Grant spiralled into panic and tears, and turned his office inside out trying to find anything that could help, expressing his fears through wall-writing, and attempting escape the room. Poor thing, Sammy thought, remembering the pain and uncertainty of his own ink infection, but soon I’ll be able to teach him the truth.

It had been years since Sammy’s sacrifice. Not only did Sammy still work for Joey now that he was a failed toon, Joey had him on a schedule. Every day at 11:00 AM, Sammy would ooze through the walls of Joey’s office for their morning meeting. Sammy wasn’t particularly happy about doing anything for the man who had turned him into a failed Boris just as he was about to fulfill a higher destiny, but the voice had once told him that to follow Joey was to follow his lord, and now those previous words (which Sammy had recorded and studied every day) were all he had left as a doctrine to follow. Sammy hoped that with enough obedience and service, his lord would see past his ruined body and grant him his destiny.

Joey’s demands were often difficult, but they were simple: sacrificing specific people into specific toons, and looking after the infected. Joey rarely sacrificed people on his own anymore, and instead relied on Sammy to do the dirty work of knocking people out, killing them on pentagrams, and then dealing with the resulting dead body, blood and ink-stains on the floor, and whatever abomination came out of the ink machine. Looking after the ink-infected was easier: keep an eye on them, and once they become too infected to be useful, lock them in their offices or in infirmary rooms and take them to their prison in the basement come night. Sammy had overseen the infection of nearly thirty people by now and had sacrificed dozens.

Thankfully, Joey’s demands were not very time-intensive, and he had plenty of time for his passion: teaching the lost ones about their lord and saviour, Bendy.

The lost ones lived in a prison in the very basement of Joey Drew Studios, along with the failed toons. Sammy’s sermons were some of the only times they were allowed out of their cages, and so they were always happy to see him.

Some agreed with him. Often, these were the same ones who had heard a comforting voice as they were infected- generally those with a religious background. Others thought him insane. Their voice had been different- wrong- hallucinatory- and quite often threatening. Sammy had these lost ones do penance in order to find their way to Bendy. Some found him, leaving Sammy feeling accomplished, but also jealous that he could never have what they had. Hopefully, his lord would see the wonderful work he was doing and one day ascend him along with the rest of them- because surely, that was not their final form.

Today’s meeting was like any other. Sammy waited in the walls until Joey’s 10:30 client left, and then slithered out before him.

“Anything to report?” Joey asked casually, as he looked over some paperwork. These meetings were usually uneventful.

“Two people are currently under quarantine. Three more are infected but still able to work for now. Everything is fine- except for one small detail. One of the people under quarantine is destroying his office out of fear. If you’d like, I could tie him up snug until he transforms, or force-feed him ink to speed the process along.”

Joey considered this. "Hmm... well, I do need an Edgar. He would work as well as any. Are you sure he’s close to transforming?” All ink-infected people had strange beliefs and delusions (except for Sammy, of course- his visions were absolute truth), but by this point in their infection, they were generally too tired to do anything destructive- especially ones like this one, who had increased the duration of their infection by resisting the urge to drink ink.

“It will be a matter of hours,” Sammy assured.

“Well, that’s not convenient, but I do have lunch right after this. I’ll get the Charley down to the basement, and you get the Barley and Edgar. The Barley’s name is Lacie Benton, and I’d suggest you knock her out before taking her anywhere- she’s a tough one. But the Edgar shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No... I suppose not.” Severely ink-infected people were, without exception, very weak, and Sammy was stronger now than he’d ever been as a human.

“Alright! See you down there as soon as possible.”

Sammy nodded, slunk back into the walls, and cursed everything, especially his order to obey Joey Drew. A severely ink infected person had never, and would never, produce a good toon- part of their souls had already been connected to the other lost ones. Joey must have known that, but he still insisted on stealing the people that were meant to be Sammy’s to guide, probably because in Joey’s mind, killing a person was murder but killing a lost one (or someone who soon would be a lost one) was not. Joey didn’t see his people as equally human, and it sickened Sammy. Nonetheless, he slithered through the walls until he came upon Grant’s office.

The office looked like a madhouse. The floors and walls were coated with repetitive writing. Furniture had been strewn about. Grant himself was curled against the ink pipe in his office, covered in so much ink that Sammy had thought he was already transformed before he realized he still had hair. The poor thing had tried so hard, while so sick, at something so futile. Sammy had his orders, but he wasn’t going to lay a hand on his sheep-that-wouldn’t-be until he had to.

Sammy slithered out of the wall- slowly, so as not to scare him.

“Who are you?” Grant asked. He sounded so tired of all the supernatural surprises that he barely cared.

“I’m here on behalf of Joey Drew,” Sammy began.

“I’m so sorry. I tried... but I couldn’t. I suppose you’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m here to give you congratulations. The others in your department were able to use these brilliant calculations,” Sammy gestured widely at the messily scrawled gibberish on a wall, “to make a plan. The studio is going to avoid bankruptcy, and you’re going to be cured. Come with me.” Sammy offered Grant his hand. Grant took it, and Sammy helped him up.

“I-I don’t understand. I don’t understand how-” All of those calculations... Grant would have guessed that they were worthless.

“Shh... you’ll be clearer-headed soon. Just come with me, now. I can’t be out there where everyone can see me, but go to the elevator, go to the bottom floor, and I will be there. I promise- you will be fine.”

“Thank you so much. But, my door-”

Sammy slithered back into the wall. Grant heard the click of a door unlocking, followed by the clink of chains falling limp. His office door was unlocked. Do I trust him? Grant asked himself. This day kept getting stranger. If I don’t, I’m guaranteed to die. I have nothing to lose.

Sammy slithered into the wooden floor of the elevator and only reappeared once the elevator hit the very bottom.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy lamented “I want to lead you to Bendy. I want you to find peace as one of my followers. But it is not in the cards.”

The two made brief eye contact- or would have, if Sammy’s face weren’t covered in mask. Grant, obviously, had no idea what Sammy was talking about. Then, Sammy grabbed Grant’s hair, slammed his head against the wall a few times to knock him out, tied him up for sacrifice, and left to find Lacie Benton.

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 14: Commend

“Uh…hey there, Haurchefant. You’re not mad, right?”

The Lord Commander told her how it took six knights to wrestle him back to his post, keep him from rushing to her side in the face of Shiva. He certainly looked as though he fought off a small militia, what with the ragged hair and the small bruises on his cheeks.

His arms were folded. A stern look fell over his face. This was not a happy man.

“What were you thinking, Dia?!” he exclaimed. This took her aback. For as long as she’d known him, he’d been quite polite, always using a gentle tone of voice with her. To hear him scold her so was…different, to say the least.

“Wagering your very being on a dubious theory which might allow you to enter Iceheart’s lair- knowing full well that she could have sufficient forewarning to complete her ritual to summon Shiva, anyway…? And then- And then- engaging the abomination in mortal combat?!”

“…Chief, that’s a morning warm-up for me.”

“By the Fury, Dia!” He was in no mood for her cavalier attitude towards her heroic actions. “‘Tis the stuff of ballads! A battle for the ages!” He slammed a fist on his desk and continued, “Would that I could have been there to fight by your side!”

“Haurchefant, you would have been tempered!”

“Yet, here I was, forced to wait- condemned to wonder at the fate of a dear friend for a veritable eternity! I would not wish such torture on my most hated enemy…”

The tension on his shoulders started to release, the fire in his words began to dim, and whatever appearance of civility he could muster returned. He let out a long sigh as if to release the anger through his breath, and said while attempting to sound calm, “…but you are here now, and that is what truly matters…”

“Chief…do you need a hug?”

He shot a devastating glare at her, making Alphinaud leave the room before the tempers would flare. “I’m serious!” she assured, “I wish I could have told you that I was going, but the moment sort of just…came together perfectly. Time was of the essence.” He shook his head. “I know. But truly, no reinforcements, Dia?! None whatsoever?!”

“Unless you have another fighter who can resist tempering, it’s hard to ask that of someone.”

“Ser Aymeric couldn’t even think of a contingency plan, should you have fallen?!”

Dia felt the crease of the missive from him in her pocket. She took it from the Temple Knight, who attempted to read it aloud for her, after pointing out to him, “I can read, you know”, and read it through silently before entering the amphitheatre.

“That’s the Scions’ job.”

“Well, what is their contingency plan should you have been mortally wounded? Is there a batallion of blessed champions that secretly lies in wait in the Rising Stones?” he questioned sarcastically.

“No, there isn’t.”

“Then how do they ensure your safety? Surely, they understand that if you go, so too does the future of the realm.”

She hesitated, feeling incredibly obstinate in the face of his challenges, but was ultimately forced to concede to that one with an “I don’t know.”

“There’s nothing that they do to make sure that the Savior of Eorzea can continue to save Eorzea?”

“There’s nothing they can do, I just go in and do what needs to be done.”

“But why?” he asked incredulously, “What good does it do for anyone to leave you as the only one capable of defeating these monstrosities?”

“I don’t know, Haurchefant! Okay?! I don’t know! But I am the only one, and there’s nothing that can be done to change that!” She reached the end of her rope with an argument that should have ended before it even began when she opened her mouth. It was his turn to express shock, his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. His usually calm and collected dear friend, quick with a joke and happy to help, has put in place an impenetrable defense. She revealed a crack, however, when she took a breath and admitted, “A break would be nice.”

The two of them took a deep breath together to release the tension at the same time.

“What do you acquire from doing this, my friend?” he asked calmly, carefully tiptoeing about the topic to ensure they don’t fall back into hostility. She kept her cool and answered with a soft smile, “Adventure.” She let out a dharp breath from her nose. “I wish I knew why, but…there was always something about exploration that drew me. I love journeying into the unknown, I love seeking new paths…but sometimes, it’s nice to rest and know my surroundings.”

Haurchefant hummed in a tone that indicated both satisfaction and curiosity. “‘Tis interesting to hear your prerogative, Dia. Many take adventurers to be self-serving, glory-seeking ignoramuses.”

“That’s because a solid majority of them are just that.” She shook her head at the notion. “Glory feels rather hollow when you’ve seen just where it lands you. No, I’m an adventurer because there’s much to see and do…but I think I’ve seen enough for a while.”

He flashed his winning smile and assured, “None deserve respite more than you, my friend. Take heart, and enjoy what you have accomplished for now. I apologize if my venting of my anxieties have dampened your victory.”

She returned the smile and replied, “No, it didn’t. Call me weird, but…there’s something refreshing about someone close reminding me that what I do could kill me. Everyone always seems so sure that I’ll emerge victorious.”

‘Was there every any doubt that the Warrior of Light would succeed’, Alphinaud’s words rang in her head.

“There is never a guarantee in battle. I feel young Alphinaud should learn such a concept if he is to lead men.” Haurchefant shook his head and sat back in his chair. “You are indeed blessed as Hydaelyn’s champion, but you remain mortal, with limits. You have escaped the impossible on more than one occasion, but nothing that you’ve survived was incapable of killing you. I would much rather know that if you were in danger, that someone, preferably myself, would be there to do everything they could to protect you.”

She stared to the floor. “You very much are a knight, Chief. You couldn’t have protected me from Shiva.”

“Perhaps not, but it would be remiss of me not to try.” Haurchefant snapped back into reality when he reminded himself of orders he received. “Ah, Ser Aymeric wished to have words with you and Master Alphinaud in private. He awaits us in the Intercessory.”

“Ughhhh, do I have to?”

Haurchefant replied to her groans with laughter in his voice, “Is there something wrong with the notion?”

“I already had to accompany him back to Camp Dragonhead. If he needed to exchange words with me, he could have done so from Whitebrim, but we barely said a word to each other. We didn’t even look at each other. I don’t get it- I saved his people from a primal. Did I do something wrong here?”

Haurchefant knew exactly why the Lord Commander would do such a thing. A conference with the Warrior of Light was one thing, but a personal interaction? No work or other business to buffer? And with such a stoic hero (or so she pretends to be), seemingly larger than life? The man was probably a puddle.

“Perhaps he just wanted Master Alphinaud there to say these words to as well. Pray, go on ahead without me, Dia. Another matter requires my attention, but I shall join you anon.”

“Fine, but hurry up. I don’t want another awkward silence, especially if Alphinaud tries to harangue him into joining the Alliance again.”

“Halone be good, you must stop him if he tries again.”

“The kid’s tongue has a mind of it’s own, I swear. If he tries, maybe I’ll cast Repose on him.” Haurchefant laughed at what he hoped was a joke as she left the office to see for just what he requested privacy.

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

Would Minfilia yell at me if I kicked Alphinaud in the head, Dia thought. For whatever genius he proclaims to be blessed with, subtlety consistently managed to escape his grasp. That in mind, she was more than a little relieved to understand fully the intention of their dealmakers. All they hid was a desire to keep the Garleans away, a desire she shared personally.

With that done, she followed the young Brave’s Commander out of the intercessory.

“Er, Dia, if I may have a moment…”

Or she would have, had Ser Aymeric not stopped her from doing so.

“I have no idea if there will ever be enough thanks for what you’ve done, but… I would like once more to say it: Thank you, Dia. Your risk was unimaginable, and that you were so willing to do it for a country you barely know… it’s astounding. While we owe the Scions much, to whom we’ll begin to repay by delivering supplies to Revenant’s Toll, I would also like to find some way to repay you personally. Mere words feel insufficient.”

Dia felt unsure what to make of the Lord Commander, but she appreciated the thought.

“Don’t worry about it”, she replied with a soft smile. She nodded to him and turned around to finally return to Revenant’s Toll.

Once she was out of the building, she retrieved the missive from her pocket, and re-read it once more to herself.

Inside the intercessory, Aymeric turned to Haurchefant with a question in mind that the lord of Camp Dragonhead could read with ease with the expression he wore on his face.

“Haurchefant, you’ve grown rather close with her, have you not?”

“As one should expect with one’s dear friends, yes. Why do you ask?” Haurchefant attempted to bury any hint of amusement.

“Have I insulted her? Has she said anything to you?”

He failed to hide it and released a closed-mouth chuckle.

“Ser Aymeric, she asked the same of you!”

His eyes widened in mortification, and his jaw dropped slightly. That he should be perceived as being insulted by someone like her, as if he had the nerve, felt unsettling.

“I…”

“She mentioned the return trip to Camp Dragonhead was… not the most pleasant of exchanges, to put it nicely. Now, Dia tends to do more than say, so it can be hard to interact; I cannot fault you for struggling to communicate. She does take some time to warm up, but with all due respect, Ser Aymeric, you must offer the hearth. I did so, and now, I couldn’t ask for a better friend and ally. You might find the same results, and clear up any misunderstandings, an important step if you truly wish to express personal gratitude.”

Aymeric kept his gaze to the floor. “Thank you for your candor, Haurchefant.” Soon after, he turned and exited the Intercessory alongside Lucia.

Haurchefant stayed behind to think. Perhaps it would be best to refrain from further intercession; ‘tis so amusing to watch Aymeric like this, he mused.

[iam93percentstardust]

hi! i really like your writing and was wondering if you’d recommend other authors that you enjoy or even specific fanfics you like? i’ve only just started getting into the steve/tony fandom and want to follow more people! thank you!

Hi there and welcome! We’re glad to have you here!! 💙

I’m more of an MCU kind of gal myself but if you’re interested in the comics, I highly recommend checking out the below authors and fics:

Living in the Future by Closer: Eighteen-year-old Tony Stark is the boy genius who woke Captain America, and now he's stuck with him. That's not a bad thing, but between Steve's wide-eyed wonder at the new world and Tony's little fanboy crush, the awkwardness just keeps happening.

@blossomsinthemist: seriously one of the best smut authors I’ve ever read with lots of feelings, trust me, you won’t regret getting into their works

@sineala: been writing Marvel since approximately 2014 (though if you like their works, it’s worth reading their other stuff as well even if you’re not familiar with the fandom, it’s all that good) and has written a lot of the classics including Like a Comet Streaming On and Slipping off the Page into Your Hands

Stars Fading, but I Linger On, Dear by Chibisquirt: A Soulmate AU where people meet their soulmate in their dreams. Of course, not even that solves all the world's problems, especially if one or more of the soulmates has a secret identity...

MCU and Ambiguous Fandom:

@festiveferret: has written so much and I can pretty much guarantee that you’ve stumbled across something that they’ve written at least once, writes both on tumblr and on ao3 but everything they post on tumblr is also cross-posted to ao3 so you don’t have to go digging through their blog to find ficlets

@no-gorms: has literally the most interesting AUs, I always read whatever is new pretty much the moment it comes out, can promise lots of feelings and happy endings

A Series of Learning Experiences by @riotfalling: In which Tony finds out that his tiny artist boyfriend is not a nice boy. In the best possible way. (Riot doesn’t write much Stevetony but what she does write is amazing)

Heart in Hand by janonny: Or the story where Tony, an Omega, holds a much belated Courting Ceremony. Steve joins up and loses his mind a little.

@maguna-stxrk: writes lots of fluff here on tumblr

@omg-just-peachy: widely acknowledged as the inventor of fluff

@itsallavengers: no longer as active but writes the most heartbreaking angst with a happy ending, you will feel so many things, has written classics like Versions of Reality and Nobody Panic, Everything’s Fine

@aurumacadicus: I’ve said before (I think on the stuckony reclist) that her version of Tony is my favorite but I’m going to say it again: seriously, fantastic Tony

Finding Pack by @naferty: In a world where pack means everything from status to fame to survival and to family, newly pack-less Tony Stark is trying to survive after those he once trusted betrayed him, and starting over by searching for a new pack to take him in, but with his age and status weighing heavily on his shoulders finding someone to take a chance on him might be easier said than done.What pack wanted an old infertile omega in their ranks? Certainly not the famous Avengers pack led by the equally famous Captain. (one day this fic will be finished and when that happens, I will scream for three days straight)

@sabrecmc: hmmm yes, especially check out Celestial Navigation and The Prize (also has an incredibly comprehensive rec blog, @sabrecmcstonyficrecs)

Sunrise by NotEvenCloseToStraight: Nomad is a soldier forced to do Hydra's bidding. When his mission takes him to the castle and to the bed chambers of Prince Antony Stark, Nomad is faced with a choice-- to finish his mission and finally earn his freedom or to save the last piece of his scarred soul and let the beautiful Prince live.Antony is trapped in the Palace, his life controlled by his Uncle, the Sovereign Stane. He yearns for a life beyond the palace walls but when the Nomad breaks into his rooms with blade held at the ready, Antony thinks all is lost--and then the assassin hesitates.Steven and Antony are two souls together in the moonlight, two lives on the cusp of ruin and as the sun rises over the palace, perhaps they will be two kindred spirits, finding freedom in each other's arms.

take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking: Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.

Dear Mr. Fantasy by @pineapplebread: Tony writes letters to his past loves to get over them. They’re all but meaningless by this point, but he keeps them hidden anyways, never to be seen or read by anyone else. Until one day they all mysteriously get sent out.His deepest secrets are revealed and he scrambles to do damage control, striking a deal to enter a fake relationship with Steve Rogers who just wants his ex back. Tony conveniently forgets to mention that the only love letter he still means is the one he wrote to his fake boyfriend.

slipping through the years by often_adamanta: The plane crash and subsequent ice might have killed him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still around, haunting those he cares about. And since the only person who can see him is Tony Stark, death sure isn’t going to be boring.

Insomnia by Scavenge4Dreams: Its 3am. Do you know where your Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist is?

rough enough for love by silkspectred: The first time they had sex was right after their first kiss. Steve dropped to his knees and then Tony reciprocated after making Steve lie down on the bed. The second time it was Steve that initiated it, slow handjobs under the hot spray of the shower, and Tony looked surprised by it. Like it was weird that Steve wanted it. Wanted him.

I’m a Grown-Ass Man by not_applicable: or, 5 Times Steve Carried Tony and 1 Time Tony Didn't Mind. At all.

Containment by D: After Tony ends up severely injured from a surprise attack, triggering a flashback and putting him in the hospital for emergency surgery, the Avengers come together in worry for their friend and teammate and are disquieted by the intensity of Tony’s reaction. Between the flashback and the sedatives, Tony’s mind revisits key moments in his life while the team bands together in support of each other and their injured friend, letting SHIELD handle Tony’s attacker, they remain where they are needed, even if Tony isn’t awake to truly realize this. And through it all, Steve makes a decision that will change things with Tony.

His Fate Will Be Unlearned by scifigrl47: Tony Stark spent his childhood making weapons, filling the hole his father left in the world when he succumbed to alcohol, grief, and his own demons. At the age of fifteen, he ran away from home, and made it as far as MIT before all of his responsibilities caught up to him. Now seventeen, he just wants to finish his degree and escape from everything connected to the Stark name. Steve Rogers crashed into the icy North Atlantic in the 1940's, sacrificing himself to save the world. He never expected to wake up, and now that he has, he's not sure he's glad. The US Army has other plans for him, but for now, Steve is slowly learning to live life in the 21st century, and taking classes at Boston College. He's beginning to suspect that there is no escape. Boston College is on the T's Green Line. MIT is on the Red. The two lines meet at the Park Street Station, and so will Steve and Tony.

The Twice-Told Tale by arysteia: For someone he'd hero-worshipped for so long, Steve Rogers in the flesh is a pretty big disappointment. For one thing, he keeps looking at Tony as though he reminds him of someone else, and even if he never says anything, Tony's pretty sure it's his father. A lifetime of not measuring up to Howard's expectations is more than enough, thank you very much, and he's certainly not going to make an effort to live up to any of Steve's. Steve's pretty clearly failed to live up to his expectations, in any case, and that's not hypocritical at all.

Like Gene Kelly in the Movies by lyra_wing: Everything Tony Stark does is a dance. And it's super confusing for Steve.

bedrock and brick by lyra_wing: Immediate sequel to the movie, wherein Tony builds Avengers Tower. Or plays interior designer, take your pick.

[alyssaallyrion]

Title: Nothing short of a dream

Rating: T 

Summary: In which Itachi has a nightmare, which may not be a nightmare at all.

Written for Shisuita Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt: Dream

ao3 link

“Shisui, no…” he hears a quiet whimper.

Instantly, Shisui opens his eyes. Pale moonlight, streaming through the small window, has painted the room haunting silver. Shisui glances to his right and sees Itachi lying in bed next to him, his long dark hair strewn across the pillow. He’s clearly asleep, but tears are streaming down his cheeks, and quiet sobs escape his lips, making Shisui’s heart clench. He sits up on the bed and reaches out, resting his hand lightly on Itachi’s shoulder.

“Itachi,” he calls out gently, “Itachi, wake up.”

Itachi shifts under Shisui’s touch, still in the grasp of sleep, but Shisui’s persistent – he calls Itachi’s name again, lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Shisui?” Itachi mumbles, waking up, eyes still bleary from sleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Shisui replies softly, “But you were crying in your sleep, and I was worried. Are you alright?”

Itachi doesn’t answer – instead, he sits up on the bed and pulls his legs close to his chest. Shisui remains quiet – he knows Itachi will speak when he’s ready.

“I…had a nightmare,” he says finally. Shisui sighs as he reaches over and pulls Itachi close against his side.

“It must have been terrifying,” he murmurs, gently running his fingers through Itachi’s hair, hoping to soothe him with the caress, “But it’s just a dream. Everything is ok.”

“I know,” Itachi bites his lip, not looking at Shisui, “But it felt so real.”

“I’ve had nightmares too when I was young,” Shisui replies, “And I’ve found that telling others about them made them far less scary. So, if you want to share, I’m here to listen.”

Itachi looks at him quietly for a moment as if weighing his words.

“It…was terrifying,” Itachi’s voice is barely louder than a whisper when he speaks, “You died and left me all alone.”

A sad smile blooms upon Shisui’s lips as he takes Itachi’s hand into his and presses soft kisses to his knuckles, “I’m sorry you had such an awful dream, but I’m right here, and I will never leave you.”

“In my dream,” Itachi continues, his voice shaky, “We were shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Our clan decided to rebel against the village. You and I have tried stopping them, but we failed, and you…”

“What a strange dream,” Shisui murmurs quietly, worry rising in his chest. “You have entrusted the fate of the clan to me,” Itachi breathes out, “But I couldn’t do anything – and in the end, I had to kill everyone, including mother and father. Only Sasuke was left alive.”

A cold hand of anxiety clenches Shisui’s throat, but he smiles through it. Pulling Itachi closer, Shisui wraps his arms around him and presses soft kisses to his cheeks, wiping away the tears. He wants to reassure Itachi that he’ll always be by his side, that nothing will ever separate them - not again.

“Itachi, my love, that sounds awful,” he says softly.

“It was,” Itachi nods, glancing at Shisui, “But now that I have told you, I feel slightly better.”

“I’m happy I could help,” Shisui replies, pressing a light kiss to Itachi’s temple.

Silence falls upon them for a moment.

“Will you hold me while I fall asleep?” Itachi asks quietly, moving against Shisui, “I…just need to feel that you are here.”

“Of course,” Shisui murmurs.

They shift on the bed, Itachi facing away from him, as Shisui wraps his arm around Itachi’s middle, pulling him close to his chest. Itachi’s hand comes to rest atop of his, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

Shisui lifts up on his elbow and leans forward to Itachi on the cheek.

“There is nothing to be scared of,” he says, “Shinobi lead the life of violence and often meet quite a brutal end. But you and I are simple innkeepers, and ours will be a long and happy life. I promise you that.”

“I love you, Shisui,” Itachi murmurs sleepily.

“And I love you,” Shisui replies.

He listens quietly in the dark until Itachi’s breathing steadies. Once Shisui knows that he’s deep in the grasp of slumber, he carefully pulls his hand away from Itachi’s and climbs out of bed.

When he had used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi and Sasuke – and the villagers – three years ago, he thought the plan fool-proof. It seems that he was wrong – apparently, Itachi’s memories have started to come back in the form of dreams.

Worry stirs in his chest, and Shisui feels a lump in his throat. As much as he hates himself for doing what he did, he knows it was necessary. The memories would have tormented Itachi, and Shisui couldn’t allow that. More than anyone, Itachi deserved to be happy. That was why Shisui took him away from Konoha, from the pain and violence of the shinobi world, and tried to give Itachi a chance at a new, happier life. He was too late, of course, and for that, Shisui would never forgive himself, but he did the best he could with the circumstances.

If only he had been stronger, if only he had never left Itachi in the first place…

He knew he made a mistake the moment he leaped of that cliff. Itachi needed him, and he was leaving him alone to deal with an utterly impossible problem – like a coward. Like a traitor. The realization burned – he swore to Itachi once that he’d never betray him, and there he was, doing just that. When the blinding pain pierced through his body once he hit the water, only one thought was left in Shisui’s mind – he needed to come back to Itachi.

Somehow, his prayers were answered. A man, who Shisui later learned was Orochimaru, had found him on the bank of Naka river and offered to help him.

“My experiment can heal you,” he said, “And, who knows, perhaps even restore your eyes. But it will be painful.”

Shisui scoffed – after what he’d gone through, he cared little about pain. Still, the offer was suspicious.

“Why would you help me?” he asked.

“I’m just looking for test subjects for my experiment,” the man replied calmly, “And, besides, letting you live might keep things…interesting.”

The man’s hand was on Shisui’s arm, hauling him up – his skin felt cold and slimy like that of a snake and sent a shudder through Shisui’s body. A part of him wanted to refuse the offer, but he steeled his heart – he had to return to Itachi.

The experiment worked, almost better than Orochimaru had expected – it took nearly a year, but Shisui’s eyes were restored with their full abilities. To Shisui’s surprise, Orochimaru let him go without much trouble.

“It was a pleasure,” the smile on Orochimaru’s lips was utterly unsettling, “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Shisui didn’t dignify him with a response. There was only one thought burning in his mind – to get back to Konoha, to get back to Itachi.

He was too late. When Shisui saw Itachi, he was standing over red ruins of their clansmen’s corpses, grasping a sword in his hand, and, at his feet, was Sasuke’s lifeless body. Bile rose up in Shisui’s throat, and his head spun – this was all his fault. If he had never left Itachi, this would have never happened.

The broken sob that left Itachi’s lips upon seeing Shisui shattered his heart.

“Are you here to judge me?” Itachi asked, “You haven’t answered my prayers once, and now you choose to appear to me. Should I have done this earlier?”

He was laughing then, and Shisui felt paralyzed with fear. It was clear that whatever he had suffered through in the last year – whatever he had to do that night – was testing the limits of his sanity. And it was all his fault. It was his duty now to help Itachi, any way he could - to give him the life of peace he always wanted.

Kotoamatsukami allowed Shisui to erase the memories from Itachi – and Sasuke’s – mind. As if the massacre didn’t happen, as if they were never shinobi in the first place but rather simple innkeepers of a small tavern in a country far away from the Land of Fire. To ensure that their new life would not be disturbed, he used Kotoamatsukami on the other villagers too, making them forget Itachi and Sasuke, laying the blame for the murder of the clan exactly where it belonged – at Danzo’s feet. He hoped that whatever punishment Danzo suffered would be long and painful, and he deeply regretted not being there to see it.

It warmed his heart to see Itachi so unburdened, living the life of peace. He seemed so happy tending to the garden and the inn, going to the nearby river to swim or fish with Sasuke and Shisui, and spending quiet evenings reading on the porch. Perhaps, it wasn’t fair to take Itachi’s memories, but it was Shisui’s only chance to give him happiness – and he’d do anything to preserve it.

He wonders from time to time if death has changed him. Before, he wanted to do everything to keep the clan alive and at peace with the village, but now the only thing he regretted was that he wasn’t there to take on Itachi’s mission, to take away the burden from his soul.

Shisui walks into the small room on the first floor of the inn and lights the candle on the desk. Settling on the chair, he pulls one paper from the stack and picks up a pen, then pauses for a moment, musing how to start the letter – after all, he’d never thought that he’d have to contact Orochimaru again. But, perhaps, the time has come.

He hopes Itachi’s dream was just a fluke of his mind – that by the morning, Itachi won’t even remember what he’d seen – but Shisui knows that there is no such thing as being too careful. Especially not when it comes to Itachi’s well-being. And so, he writes the letter. There is no guarantee, of course, that Orochimaru knows enough about Kotoamatsukami or the Sharingan to be useful, but there is no one else who could help.

Shisui’s hands quickly form the necessary seals, and the paper in front of him disappears in the flicker of pale blue light. His heart feels heavy – he knows that Orochimaru’s help always comes with strings attached.

Whatever Orochimaru asks for will not cannot be too much – after all, Itachi’s happiness is worth everything. 

[thedefinitionofendgame]

we're gonna be so happy

Mark X Lexie one-shot | Rated T | Grey's Anatomy

A/N: Because 8.24-9.02 broke my heart and i’m not okay. I will never be okay. So enjoy this mess of emotions meant to make you cry

•

You can find the post on ao3 here or fanfiction.net here as well

Written by @thedefinitionofendgame (aka me)

In those last few moments, she pictured the life he was offering her.

The life she was meant to have, with her soulmate by her side and their children running underfoot. Lexie didn’t believe in soulmates but after all the things she and Mark had been through only to end up still loving each other in the end, well that was as damn close as it was going to get. She was going to be happy in the arms of a man who looked at her as though she held the moon and stars. A man who wanted to have children with her, siblings for Sofia. Lexie heard him whisper his hopes and dreams, “A sister and two brothers,” he promised.

Life wasn’t fair. After everything that Lexie and Mark had been through separately and together, they of all people knew life wasn’t fair. They knew being doctors that time on Earth was never guaranteed, yet they still went around as though they would never die. Until here they were, her fighting for each breath and him begging her to stay.

His fingers grabbed hers, holding tight and never letting go. Lexie knew she was going to die and Mark knew too. It’s why his hand was secured in hers. She had been dreaming the past few nights about him. About the way she felt when his face was mere inches from hers; his baby blue eyes staring into her big, brown ones. Lexie had dreamed of the handsome face that always gave him away if he was guilty of something. The smirk that always made the corners of her mouth turn up, no matter how angry she was at him sometimes. And the mischievous twinkle that lit up his eyes. Lexie had thought about that same gaze passed down onto their children and how it would always make her melt. Even though right now seemed the farthest possible place from what she wanted, Mark was still here, holding her hand and telling her he loved her.

Though time was running out. It was not on their side; it was never on their side. Mark’s grip became more frantic as tears ran across her face. Blood leaked out of her mouth, mixing with the already dried content from before. His last memory of her wasn’t going to be beautiful but it was going to be his. Forever. No matter what happened, they were going to be together in the end. It was going to be beautiful.

“We’re meant to be,” Mark whispered to her, as she stared at him through the watery tears in her eyes. Her vision blurred and she choked back a sob.

His words chased her into a dreamland, one where they’re safe and happy and living out the future he told her about. One where they wake up in each other's arms and go to bed with a kiss that always leads to something more. Mark is hers and she is his and that’s all they ever need. Oh, maybe a few kids too because she’s destined to be a mom and he’s already proven himself to be a good father to Sofia, to Sloan to his patients he cures daily. Yes, Mark Sloan is all she’s ever wanted and here he is, telling her she’s all he’s ever wanted.

Married. With children. Until forever.

It’s like he said. “Meant to be.” As she takes her final breath, she sees it. And what she sees doesn’t make her sad or angry. It gives her hope that one day, perhaps in another life, they will be together. She’ll wait for him.

Meant to be.

~

Mark had been a doctor for many years. He had seen patients in comas pass away, he had seen patients in comas wake up and go about their lives as though nothing happened. It was his job to make people live, make them come back from whatever dream-like state they were in and rejoin Earth. Well, maybe that was more of Derek’s style with the whole neurosurgeon business. But still, Mark was supposed to keep people Earthside. And yet, he failed Lexie.

He failed to give her hope, to keep her with him and loving him for all eternity. When the plane had crashed and he’d opened his eyes, all he thought about was her. Little Grey. Lexie. The woman he was wholeheartedly in love with, the one he wanted a life with. Mark had made so many mistakes in his life, but letting Lexie into his life was not one of them. Letting her go was, and he would forever regret that. They should’ve had more time. They should’ve had forever. In her last moments he wanted to tell her about his hopes and dreams. What he wanted for their future. To get married, have children and grow old together. He had told her a girl and two boys, so that Sofia might have siblings. Lexie would make a wonderful mother. Her sweet smile paired with those enticing eyes were the only ones he’d ever need to look into again.

The loved ones of patients who had passed had all grieved differently. Of course they did, because love made people do weird things. But what many had in common was the fact that their partner died before them, or without them by their side. Mark had never understood why a perfectly healthy spouse would want to die by their lover, at least not until he intertwined his fingers with Lexie’s. She was his lifeline, what held him to Earth. He hadn’t ever told her, at least not explicitly, though he had a feeling she knew. They were useless apart, had their constant breakups not expressed anything except that. Mark couldn’t bear to wake up and face Meredith and his best friend. Lexie may have been the reason things became rocky between him and Derek, but she was also the reason they made amends. “For the Grey girls,” he and Derek had said over beers one night. Only it was really for Lexie.

Sixteen years was a long time. The year Lexie was born, Mark was probably off having sex and doing the unmentionables in the school yard. Now being adults, age was just a number. He would still give her the world and then some, because Lexie deserved so much. She meant so much to him and he had let her go. Though he hadn’t given it much thought until now, Mark had always assumed he’d go before Lexie. In the end, he would pass away with her and their brood of rambunctious offspring by his bedside. He never imagined she would leave him; alone and wanting a second chance. Wanting an ending that didn’t end now, one that never ended until they were ready.

He had meant every word he had said to her in those last moments. The words of promise about marriage and children. He had looked into those brown eyes that had melted the ice over his heart. Looking into them gave him hope, even when it seemed like none was near. Looking into them told him he was home, no matter where in the world they ended up. She was all he needed to be happy. All he would ever want. She was his and he was hers and that’s how it was supposed to be.

Did Mark love Julia? The question was simple and Mark knew what his answer was No, because all of his love was saved for Lexie. For the girl who had stolen his heart the first time she had stuck up for the dorky dude, O’Malley. She had taken it and he hadn’t even blinked. Just given himself entirely to her, for he knew she wouldn’t break him. She could never break him.

The two words, “Teach me,” would always haunt his dreams. They began and ended every sexual fantasy he had about her because it was with those repeated words that he officially lost all his control. Lexie Grey had managed to break the powerful man that he was and made him feel dirty. Feel good and appreciated and accepted no matter what. Mark had been a damn fool in his earlier days, even more so as he got older too. But it was always for her. After he met her, it was all for her.

Mark didn’t know how long he had been laying there, on the hospital bed that he had seen others lying on many times before. Lexie hadn’t made it to a bed. She died holding his hand and thinking about the future they would never get to experience. Something to take with her into the afterlife. The thought of him and her would never end.

It was peaceful, being in a state of silence. Mark imagined so many scenarios about Lexie and him in his dream-like trance. His favourite was introducing their youngest son to the family, a little boy they named Greyson. Lexie had been a champ the whole pregnancy despite its ups and downs and it only made him respect her more. Mark had held their two older children in his arms, Everett and Caroline, as they all stared in wonder at the baby. Of course, Mark had already begun to call the baby “Tiny Grey”. The image made him smile, though no one would ever know.

He would start each morning with a kiss to Lexie’s forehead and end every night with his arm around her. They would bicker as all couples do, but make up with loads of sex. Derek would laugh and shake his head and tell Lexie all the crazy stories about them as kids. Lexie would laugh and smile and he would fall in love with her all over again, each and every time she looked at him. Forever.

He had told her they were meant to be and he meant it. They were meant to be, as whatever life threw at them, they would be together in the end. Maybe he was supposed to outlive Lexie if only to tell their friends and family the plan. That in the afterlife they would be together, watching over Meredith, Derek and everyone else. People they knew would join them, slowly one by one and would be welcomed with open arms. But Mark and Lexie would still be there, holding hands and loving each other.

Stupidly he had once asked Derek about limiting himself to just one woman for the rest of his life. Why have one, when you can have more? Back then he had been a naive womanizer. Lexie was the one who changed him. “You think you broke me, Little Grey? You’re the one who put me back together.” The words in that moment had made her smile and if she had known how real those words were she would’ve cried. But his girl, his Little Grey, she smiled instead and made his heart sing.

One day they would be together again. One day they would be happy and feel no pain. It was only a matter of time, because everything depended on the stupid four-letter word. If only they had had more time none of this would’ve mattered. It was all just borrowed time.

If life was going to fail him, then he would go willingly. Not before something shifted inside him, causing him to make one of his final acts ending whatever had been between him and Julia. Lexie and him had been unfaithful to each other and she would want him to do better, if that was the last thing he did. She would want him to say goodbye to his best friend and love his Earthside daughter one last time and then he could go.

Callie would be okay without him. She had Arizona and their daughter, Sofia, to keep safe. She wouldn’t crumble or back down. She could live without him; would strive and be able to truly live without him. Mark had loved Callie for a long time, though the love was different than what he felt for Lexie, it was still there. They were good together, almost as close friends as him and Derek were. It’s how Mark knew Callie would be alright, no matter what happened to him. He could never live without Lexie but Callie could. The thought made his head a bit clearer.

But it was Lexie’s voice in his head as his heart rate slowed. Her voice telling him she loved him, just as he had done for her. One of her hands was in his, the other running through his hair making him feel a way only she could make him feel. Lexie Grey was the last person on his mind as he finally drifted off into the never-ending afterlife.

He had told Arizona before, the woman he never thought he would ever love the way he did, as a friend and one of the mothers of his daughter. Mark murmured words he knew would hold true, until his last breath. Until his last heartbeat. Forever hers, for always hers.

Lexie’s waiting for me, I’ll be okay.

[soukokuwu]

➤ @fyowyn-writes said: okay clarifying that, s/o’s ability basically makes them immortal, but they can die it would just take several centuries to die from old age so they joined fyodor in order to find a way to get rid of their ability because you know that’s kinda his thing

➤ genre: angst

➤ pairing: fyodor x reader

➤ warning: death

➤ synopsis: fyodor has to choose — loving you or to love you?

➤ word count: 2.1k

➤ a/n: hi i know this came out super late and i’m very sorry ma’am, but i really hope you like this gwynn!! 🥺✨ sorry tumblr deleted your ask djsjds let me know what you guys think hope y’all enjoy this too!

The moment of separation

Forever is a long time.

Fyodor remembers thinking what a sin it is — immortality. You do too, over time. And so you wish you could end it.

But a wish is just that — an expression of desire. Never something that can be guaranteed. Though rumours have it that if there’s one thing that Fyodor can guarantee you, it’s death.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fyodor always had a house; a roof over his head. But never a home. It changed — only because of you.

You are the comfort in his chaos, the still in the waves, the knowing that some thunder might come with rain. It is weird, how Fyodor thinks he always knows what’s to come, but he doesn’t with you. With you he always anticipates, looks forward to the next day. And not for himself, but for you.

Everything has an explanation, but this emotion he feels? The small warmth inside his chest — the one he tries so hard to deny, the one he never expected to feel in this life — it grows every second he spends with you; subtly, slowly, just as the best things do.

The first time he lays eyes on you — he doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t do a double-take. Only when you let your voice escape you, only when you offered to help him with his plans, give him all of your extensive knowledge. Only then did he offer you an ear. You vow to give him all you are in return for one thing, a simple prayer.

Death. Instantaneous, painless. Then cremated and thrown out to sea.

You played right into his wheelhouse — you tell him of your sins, of your ability. You tell him that you wish for him to grace you with the powers of god, to give you the salvation you needed. Fyodor has never had anyone that brave, that... foolish to ask anything like that of him. Which is why he agrees. Not only are you useful, you are an interesting one.

Maybe he will find more use out of you. Maybe.

He does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

People are made up of their own sins, be it greed, lust, envy. Fyodor tries to figure out what you’re made of.

But his own answer frustrates him. When he tries to put a word to it, he remembers you getting up early to brew him coffee. He remembers you putting a blanket over him when he falls asleep in front of his blueprints. He remembers you holding your own when he talks down to you. He remembers you protecting him in missions, even over the littlest things.

Even domestic things. A pill on his pillow when he’s sick and refuses to acknowledge it. A tray of food (healthy ones too, because he’s anemic and you know that) in the microwave when he comes back late from surveying an area. A plan drafted up for the next mission when you know he’s too tired to do it by himself.

Sunshine.

That’s what you’re made up of. Warm, soothing. And he hates his answer. This... affection towards you. He can’t explain it either. He hates it too.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Slowly, but surely.

That is you — fitting into your position in his life. One of great importance, one that pains him to deny to himself. It is bound to end in ruins anyway. And still, Fyodor can’t control it. No, no, he can. Could it be — he doesn’t want to?

The subtlety of inching closer to each other while looking over the details of the next mission. You on his left side, right hand taking refuge on the surface of the table for no purpose whatsoever. He on your right, left hand brushing against your arm, heartbeat drumming in his ears. Pinkies intertwined. But no words about that exchanged. Fyodor notices the goosebumps that form on your skin though, and for a second, he guesses — is this what hope feels like?

Late nights where he used to bug you to go to sleep — he prefers planning by himself after all — he doesn’t anymore. What is he wishing for? He’s puzzled himself. But then you remind him — every time the old grandfather clock against the wall strikes midnight, when your eyes automatically get a little droopy. Every time each minute passes after that, when your voice gets thick with sleepiness and you drawl out your words. And every time you try to stay awake and fail, when your head drops on his shoulder as you drift into sleep. And Fyodor feels... oddly blessed. Is this what he’s wishing for? A simple gesture such as being your shoulder to sleep on? Isn’t this silly? No, says his mind, not if it’s you. And he takes a closer look at you in your slumber.

Since when did you become so beautiful?

Conversations about your ability where he usually shows a distaste for it — he freaks you out when his disdain turns into praises. And the sweet moments in his mind vanish whenever he hears you say anything in relation to your coming death. His voice gets louder, tongue gets sharper, until it drives you away from the room, in tears. And it takes him but a while to find out why he’s acting this way now. He doesn’t want you to go.

Fyodor bangs the table as hard as he can, frustration taking over him, tears falling from his eyes in a silent cry. The last thing he wants is for you to know how deeply he cares. It would just cause more problems for both of you. And you would feel bad for him, won’t you? The guilt would eat you up, wouldn’t it? He doesn’t want you to feel that way. But he’s never felt this way before. He doesn’t know how to do this right.

And in the next room you lean against the door and fall to the floor. You drown your cries in polyester, hearing the bang that is undoubtedly caused by you. You thought everything was going well... were you wrong?

But the days after, when he apologises and gets the courage to call you names? He treasures them. No, not harsh names — but pet names. “Moya dorogaya (my dear),” he’d always call you. And you’d play along with a whisper in his ear, “moy dorogoy (my dear).” He doesn’t tell you, but it consumes him with happiness and relief when he hears you say the words with such tenderness. Fyodor always acts like he’s joking, and you always let him believe you think he is. But you both know the other is hiding something, and yet neither of you press on the matter. Some things are better left unsaid.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Live in the moment, they say.

If that’s the only way to distract him from the horror that would be his future without you, then he figures he may as well take it.

“It’s the first time I’ve been with an older lady,” he jokes.

“Hey, I’m not that—”

Fyodor seals your words with his lips that night. As the alcohol seeps into both your systems, he makes the decision to cross the line. The promised time is soon, and he’d rather know every inch of you rather than spend the rest of his life wondering, guessing what you feel like. And he ignores the logical voices in his mind telling him to stop as his fingers dance across every single surface of your body, as his ears tingle hearing your moans that he is responsible for, as he smells the coconut of your hair, as he tastes the wine lingering in your tongue and the sweetness of your essence.

That night isn’t his first time ever, but he’s never felt passion that can mirror his experience with you. The way he doesn’t want it to ever stop, the way you look as you enjoy his each and every thrust, the way you blush when you realise he’s soaking in every ounce of you; the way you look — he wants it imprinted into his memories.

For a moment, after the deed is done, when you are lying bare against his chest, hearts beating as one — for that moment, he wonders if he’s able to change your mind.

But “thank you, Fyo,” you murmur. “You’ve made these past few months of my life more worthwhile than the previous centuries I’ve lived.”

In your words he hears the answer. And he realises.

The foolish one... is he.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You taught him how to love, but you never taught him how to stop. Death already had you in its grip. But death cannot kill what never dies.

Whatever Fyodor felt — and still feels — for you, he wishes will disappear to the void, along with you and the memories of you. But he’s more rational than that. This will never go away. The warmth he knows he felt, the pain he still feels, and the sorrows that he has yet to felt. None of them will ever vanish.

Never. Unlike the light in your eyes as he presses his palm to your forehead, unlike the gratitude in your voice as you whisper a “thank you” to him before you fall lifeless in his arms.

Fyodor used to pride himself in being the leader of his organisation, in being a god of sorts. And now, with you gone — he doesn’t know who he is anymore. Every little thing that made him him, they’re all tainted with you. From his morning cups of coffee to the additional meticulousness in his planning, each and every part of his life you’ve invaded, and unlike you, they’re here to stay.

“We’re here, lyubimaya (honey),” Fyodor mumbles, holding up the urn.

It’s a beautiful day. The sand under his shoes, the ocean breeze singing past his ears, the sun slowly setting, reminding him of his sunshine. His sunshine who, after all those months, still sought death. And he didn’t want to be the reason you continued to resent life, so he gave in. He gave in to his love for you.

As he looks out at the horizon, he lets his mind wander aimlessly for once — to think irrationally for the first time in so long. Was it possible that you were watching over him? Rationality be damned, he wishes you are. It is lonely once again, without you. He doesn’t want to let you go, he thinks as he uncaps the urn. He doesn’t want the last remains of you to leave his side, he thinks as he tilts the urn sideways over the ocean. But “farewell, radost moya (my joy),” he bids to you as your ashes disperse themselves into the vast sea.

“I love you,” he mumbles, hoping it gets to you wherever you are. The words he’s never said to you, they suddenly come so easy now that you’re gone. He chuckles in self-deprecation. Oh, how human you’ve made him feel.

Fyodor acts as though the tears aren’t real. He doesn’t wipe them away as he watches the last of you slip away from him. He curses the tears for not blurring the vision of you flashing in his mind, for not marring the smile he remembers.

Love leaves memories no one can steal, and this love exists beyond worlds, this feeling won’t be separated from Fyodor no matter how much he begs for it to. And trying to forget you would be trying to forget the only home he’s ever known. It will be impossible, he is sure. And for the first time in his life, yet another first you have cast upon him, he does what he never thought he would.

Fyodor falls on his knees, the now empty urn falling in place right beside him. He doesn’t care for the sand staining his white pants or the water that runs across his legs. Gods aren’t supposed to feel this way, are they? Helpless, pathetic, and yearning for something they can’t have? Or is it normal to be a slave to love?

The tears now blur his vision completely. Not like he can see anything clearly anymore. Everything is murky with you gone. And he lets his sobs out this time. What a capable woman you are, he thinks, in life and even in death, because how amazing must one be, to be able to bring a god down to his knees?

He peers out at the sea, knowing your spirit is free. There is nothing left between the two of you now but an ocean of silence.

Fyodor is drowning in it. Forever.

And forever is a long time.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes