#and that i have some impossible unattainable dream

[fandomtrashhh]

I’m doing this acting camp that’s High School Musical (not my thing, I know, but there’s not exactly a lot of choices where I live) and I’m just so upset because I HATE HATE try outs that give you a song to sing and give you 5-10 minutes to memorize it before you go up and sing it in front of everyone. Because of neurodivergency, I can’t fucking do that. I need time to prepare and be told what I’ll be doing ahead of time, like they ACTUALLY do in try outs in the acting world. So of course I did horribly and forgot all the words and my pitch was off and the 10 year old children did better than me. Then of course the dancing portion of the audition I sucked at because I can’t fucking dance for the life of me, but I KNOW I did good on the acting portion because I CAN act!! That’s why I do this!! I had so much fun doing the acting portion!! But I don’t think they gave me enough of a chance because of how bad the other portions went and now I’m literally stuck with a character that has 3 lines (Which is a huge blow for someone who played Dorothy Gale in the 5th grade) while little kids have bigger parts than I do. 

[runawaycarouselhorse]

What made both her sacrifice for her team mates’ happiness in Pocket Monsters (2019)/Pokemon Journeys episode 95 and the fact that she thought this would be her end more poignant for me is that being completely alone is what Musashi hates the most. She lost her (single) mother as a child and was never adopted, going from foster home to foster home... ;_;

After many failures (like being unable to graduate from a school meant to train literal Pokemon Nurses, because she couldn’t do what Chansey do, despite studying hard and being adept at skills like bandaging…) and having her heart broken and being disappointed (she let a boy she loved go alone so she can pursue idol dreams with some friends, who all made it… without her, so she lost a possible love for an impossible dream)…

She couldn’t bond with her partners and left them to be injured, just to save herself, during her training days at Team Rocket. She’d become selfish and self-preserving… in the Japanese version, the others called her “shinigami Musashi” according to Yamato (Cassidy), likening her to a reaper of souls… but James refused to run away, sick of living a life where he ran away from all his problems. He’d sacrifice himself for her and Meowth’s safety, getting badly injured and nearly missing their final exam, hospitalized. The first time they uttered the beginning of their motto was when she believed she was all alone again, much like in this scene… the Rockets in the Japanese version repeat the last thing someone else says as if to answer a question (the “nanda kanda to kikare tara” = “if you ask us about this or that” is mostly filler that could be substituted with anything else.)

Musashi (Jessie): (dejectedly, as she walks away alone as the final exam begins, even being questioned by Nyasu/Meowth where she’s going): Is this all that there is…?

Kojiro (James): (answering while leaning posed against a tree, covered in bandages, but they were only wrapped over his clothes so he could whip them off dramatically) If you ask us 'if this is all that there is,' our answer will be the universe’s compassion!

She’s so moved, she turns away to wipe her tears. “A team mate who won’t run away…”

I think that’s the first time they ever see her cry.

Jessie desperately wants family, belonging, that’s why she falls in love so quickly, she wants a family more than anything—James had everything material growing up, but not love… Musashi had near to nothing material growing up, BUT she had her mother’s love… until she lost her very, very early. They contrast each other! They’re soul mates, eternal partners, whether you ship them or not. Meowth, too, was orphaned as a kitten, never even named, and an outcast his whole life. He's also always falling in love easily, seeking a home... the trio should never be separated, they are each other’s sought-for home.

I think the falling snow in this scene, where she runs off in tears, after wearing a brave smile and telling James it’s okay to stay with Cassidy, is a very deliberate choice, as Jessie loves snow. One of her few happy memories of her depressing childhood is being made treats made of snow to eat. She unknowingly lost her mother in the snowy Andes mountains, seeking Mew, put into foster care, while Miyamoto tried to make money to give her a better life... glittering snow and sparkling tears…

For Meowth too, she lets him go. She just wants everyone to have their chance at love.

So, her believing she’ll end up dying alone, as she’s always feared, Musashi here laments her luck, but also has a beautiful little dream of her friends saving her.

Once again, similarly to the break-up episode of DP, she was the one who calmly and gently encouraged James to pursue a possible love. She also broke Dustox’s pokeball, in tears, not wanting her to make the same mistake she did, giving up on an attainable love for an unattainable goal (and, indeed, Jessie did not win the Grand Festival, despite her skill at Pokemon Contests… she made the right decision for Dustox’s happiness.)

Jessie loves her friends. Sure, she’s caustic, rude, temperamental, bitter, and self-absorbed, but she prioritizes love and their happiness. She doesn’t want them to be alone and abandoned the way she felt as a kid. She loves them so much so, she’s satisfied to die alone and suffer her worst fear if it meant they get to be happy. That’s self-sacrifice.

She doesn’t resent them one bit, saying it’s a nice dream when she thinks she’s imagined them saving her life… she thought it was her mind comforting her before her death, accepting her fate, rather than realizing it’s effectively a premonition of what will be reality… and when she realizes?! She initially reproaches them, looking mad, because she thought they abandoned their happiness for her! But no, things didn’t work out… this is where they’re meant to be: by each other’s side.

James also knows how much marriage means to her, even though he’s so traumatized by it, the word “fiance” triggers literal flashbacks for him and he climbed up a tree to get away from a teenaged girl who called him that. Yet, in XY episode 63, where she fell for Dr. White...

Kojiro: (with head down, eyes shadowed) If Musashi (Jessie) wants to pursue her happiness as a woman, shouldn't we give her our blessing?

Nyasu also had his misfortunes in love... they sympathize and empathize.

"Let's show her we're men and leave without saying anything..."

As Kojiro runs away, he sheds tears, wishing her happiness and bidding her farewell, silently. The scenes in these two episodes are clear parallels.

But in the end (including the final episodes, as rushed as that plotline was although I still loved Wobbuffet acting exactly like a troubled child of parents going through a messy divorce), they’ll always realize their happiness is by each other’s side as a trio.

"Sometimes you get good pulls, sometimes you get bad ones. Sometimes they're good, even if you think they're bad. Sometimes they're bad, even if you think they're good."

[wakkass]

It's impossible to put into words how much I love designing characters, especially for AU.

Yes, I recently had an avatar AU, and I really wanted to draw Katara from there (and also Zuko). I usually draw a static pose in order to display all the details of the clothes. This is such a kind of character sheet that helps me to better imagine the scenes in my head.

If you're interested in reading about the AU itself, then there will be some information about it.

I apologize in advance for mistakes in the text, English is not my native language. But, I hope, this will not interfere with understanding.

In general, my AU concerns the ending of the series, because at some point it seemed unrealistic to me. There is too much positivity with the obvious problems of the post-military space, as well as little logic in some moments (for example, I don't understand what Zuko was doing in Ba Sing Se. Did he abandon his newfound throne to the mercy of fate with the risk of a palace coup? Did he not feel the effects of a lightning strike? The longer I think about it, the surreal it seems to me).

At some point I thought, "this is all like Aang's dream, in which everything is intentionally good. As if this is the ending he wants, but it's unattainable." And then it dawned on me. But it really looks like his fantasy about the future after defeating the root of evil. This explains why Zuko recovered so easily, why everyone is just relaxing and having fun without a drop of post-trauma. Because Aang wants everything to be so naive and simple after defeating the Fire Lord. Because he's dreaming about it.

I know this is a very hackneyed narrative technique. It's pretty easy to say "this is someone's dream" to deny any events. But I found it curious, especially against the background of the episode "Nightmares and Daydreams", where Aang's dreams already simplified the reality around him. For me, it's like a lead-up to the finale, where he actually sleeps.

You ask, "but why is he sleeping?". I also asked this question, and the answer to it killed me. Because during the battle with Ozai, when the stone hit Aang in the wound, he fell into a coma. His body was paralyzed because his brain perceived it as a repeated lightning strike, again fatal. The avatar's state was the only one that did not allow Aang to die, but only to fall into a coma. And instead of an epic battle, we have a little helpless boy spending a huge amount of energy just to maintain his life.

The second Aang collapsed, he disappeared, leaving Ozai alone with the remnants of his temporary power. And no one else saw the avatar…

I'll leave the intrigue for you about this, but for now I'll tell you about the concepts from the art.

Naturally, everyone searched for Aang, and, naturally, they did not find him. Katara and Zuko were the only ones who did not participate in the search, for several reasons:

Zuko was rehabilitated for a very long time after being struck by lightning, and Katara nursed him (I'm sure there are a lot of fics about this topic. The only difference is that there is no romance here. The focus of my AU is not on it, but on the problems of the consequences of the war). He survived, but he had major problems with his heart, digestive system and spine. Who noticed the cane in his hands? Yes, Zuko couldn't walk without it. From now on and forever. He was physically unable to leave the palace, and Katara maintained at least some of his condition.

Even after Zuko's rehabilitation, it was necessary to keep the power in his hands. Imagine what a shock the Fire Nation experienced when not just the former Fire Lord was overthrown, but the country's policy changed dramatically. Now Zuko needed to keep power in his hands and establish a new regime as soon as possible, before his opponents raised armies and people against him. This boy, who recently sat quietly at a military meeting, needed to show unprecedented strength and power to everyone: both officials sought to turn the situation in their favor, and the people who wanted stability and prosperity. But how to do this if Zuko couldn't even breathe normally, and getting out of bed required tremendous effort? It was impossible… Anyone else would have given up, but not Zuko. He has never given up without a fight and has never turned his back on danger, even if he risks dying.

It hurts me a lot for him, too. Fate has never stopped pushing Zuko against obstacles, but this time he couldn't rely on himself. He almost couldn't bend, his body almost didn't obey. He was an easy target and there was nothing he could do about it. This helplessness irritated him, saddened him, oppressed him. The only thing that wasn't broken yet was his spirit, and Zuko was barely able to maintain it in such conditions. If it wasn't for Katara, I don't know if he would have coped in the end. She was now his only support, his only ally in these cold oppressive walls, the only rational grain in his doubts.

You ask, "Where is Iroh? Where is Mai?"

Iroh, along with the White Lotus, took on a mission to liberate the Earth Kingdom from the Fire Army and establish relations with the kingdom. In fact, Iroh now shared power with Zuko: uncle was engaged in foreign policy so that his nephew could focus on domestic policy.

With Mai, everything was much simpler: after getting out of prison, she was completely disappointed in the guy who always left her. She sent him a letter, where she finally ended their relationship, and left with her family somewhere far away. Perhaps she and Zuko will cross paths again and will be able to establish a relationship. But not now.

Katara remained to help Zuko not only with treatment, but also with his policy. As a resident of an almost disappearing tribe, as well as an able leader, she helped him with projects and plans to improve the quality of life of the population and actively participates in them. She performed those missions that Zuko can only entrust to her. After all, she was a friend he could rely on and to whom he could open his feelings.

In her design, I wanted to reflect the combination of two cultures: Fire and Water. I was based on the designs of the "12 Kingdoms" (if you haven't watched this gorgeous anime or haven't read ranobe, I strongly recommend doing it. This universe is no less interesting than the avatar's world, I'm sure you'll like it), because the palace intrigues and the plot with winning the respect of the court reminds me very much of the story from there.

One day Zuko's legs finally gave up, he could not get up. All the stress he was going through was breaking his body so much that at some point the Katara's treatment stopped working.

It was a very difficult moment for both of them. Zuko has just started to promote his ideas and defend his rights to the throne, and Katara sincerely did not know what to do. If the truth about the true state of the Fire Lord had come out, all the ill-wishers would not leave this opportunity and attack, this couldn't be allowed. They urgently needed to create the appearance that everything is in order, but how?

Zuko came up with a very brazen idea. He asked Katara to use bloodbending on him to simulate walking. It was a very difficult request for her, because this skill represented the worst face of the war, it was created to torture people. And the last thing she wanted was to torment Zuko. She hesitated for a long time, he saw it, but he couldn't wait. He couldn't stop, it wasn't a luxury he could afford. Therefore, he went out, trying not to get up and move much.

Naturally, at some point his weakness was noticed at the most inopportune moment. Naturally, at this moment Katara couldn't let Zuko fall. Imperceptibly under her sleeves, she moved her friend's body like a puppet, causing him as much unbearable pain as most would not stand. But Zuko was not like that. He stood it.

It looked like this to me somehow:

They were both very depressed that day. He was suffering physically because of Katara's bending, and she could not believe that she had caused the suffering of a person dear to her. It broke and scared her, she opened the way to the Hama's madness, and was very afraid to fall into it.

Zuko assured her that it was impossible. Hama didn't have people to guide her, while Katara has friends. Maybe Zuko didn't consider himself the best moral mentor, but he promised to be there in the most difficult moments for Katara, and now he won't leave her.

This encouraged her and opened her eyes to her own cowardice. She was afraid of the darkness of Hama, and instead of curbing it, Katara hid it in herself, ignored it. And that's what it led to: the person who needed her help suffered. But she didn't want to run away anymore. She wasn't going to give up without a fight and turn her back on those who needed her.

At the beginning, Katara trained on herself, experiencing the same pain as the victims of bloodbending. Careless movement of blood through the vessels could cause internal bleeding at any time, it was very dangerous. The Hama's voice in her head pressed on her conscience, saying that innocent people felt all this pain, and only Katara was to blame for this.

Later, she learned to control the flow of water on puppets, like Hama. The point was to pass water through the threads without bursting them. Absolute control was required here, and Zuko taught her the techniques of firebending for self-control. This was necessary for Katara, because the Hama's voice in her head did not subside and did not allow her to correctly distribute her forces. It seemed like Katara was about to stumble, but Zuko wouldn't let her do it.

Gradually, Katara mastered this skill and tried to draw blood on Zuko's legs. The effect was unexpected. Her great willpower and desire to help him resulted in healing. Zuko began to feel his legs, and Katara discovered the reverse side of this bending. No, she didn't heal him completely, it's too early for him to get rid of the cane. But maybe one day she will become so strong that she can do it.

Katara realized that there was no evil magic, there was only evil intent. This was her first step towards learning to look inner demons in the face, and not to hide them in herself when it was possible to hurt others.

But what about the other design?

Katara's father sent her a letter asking her to return. Her family needed her help, because she was the last waterbender, a carrier of culture and skills, as well as a healer of a new level, the daughter of a tribal leader.

At home, everything was not the same as before, moreover, everything taked shape as a Northern Tribe. I really like the idea of the comic "North and South" about the problem of assimilation. Only here has Katara accepted all aspects of its culture, even the most unpleasant ones, and she would not give up so easily when this newfound knowledge was in danger of disappearing.

Actually, I wanted to draw her outfit of this arch. I wanted to redesign the costume for myself, because I like to do it. I kept the front strands of Katara, we don't talk much about them.

I would really like to describe the path of the rest of the team and what they do, of Aang and what happens to him. But I'm already tired of typing, and you probably read.

After all, the post is more about designs, and not about the AU itself, so the goal to reveal some of my ideas has been achieved in principle. Maybe sometime later.

Hope you enjoyed reading this :3

[deathbxnny]

Kafka, Blade, & Silver wolf with a stellan hunter teen!reader that’s like Frill from Wonder Egg Priority. Maybe how they would approach an artificial child that just once to be human and their jealousy towards others that take attention from them.

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

I've admittedly never watched Wonder Egg priority, but I've seen some small clips of the character mentioned in the ask, so I hope this turns out okay. Thank you for the interesting request, Anon!!<33

Content: Reader is not a human, angst, jealousy issues, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》SILVER WOLF

Silver Wolf doesn't really pay attention to you all that much at first. Mainly because her interest lies in you as an artificial being, rather than a human one. And since you clearly don't want to be seen as anything else but human, she leaves you be. Eventually, after being paired up with you on missions, she starts observing you closer and decides that you're perhaps alot more interesting than she originally thought.

You want to be the focus of everyone's attention, and your jealousy makes you act out rather often. This makes the Stellaron hunter just keep you closer and treat you as a younger sibling of some sort. If you want to feel more human and get along with them better, she supposed she'll have to teach you how, even if she's not an expert at it.

She plays alot of video games with you and includes you in all of her hacking missions, even going as far as teaching you how to do it yourself. Silver Wolf subconsciously treats you like a human teen one way or another, and despite not knowing it, she really helps you out with your jealousy issues through her nonchalant kindness.

》BLADE

Blade doesn't care about what you are or are supposed to be. In fact, he'd rather not be dealing with any kid your age, whether human or not. Your jealousy issues and clear need for constant attention make his disinterest even worse... until he eventually is forced to take you with him on missions. He doesn't speak much to you and just goes along with your faux cheerful persona instead, mainly to spare himself the headache.

He learns over time that you aren't as awful as he thought of you to be however. You wanted to be a human, a person of the same value as one that was birthed. And yet your unfortunate circumstances made it impossible. In a way, he was starting to pity you to some extent. He has learned the hard way that life was cruel and vicious, wishes and dreams shattering under it's wrath with ease.

Your wish was a simple one though. One filled with humane and childish wonder that made him decide that he'll protect it for all it's worth. Sure, it may be ultimately foolish in his eyes. But perhaps your tragic fate had made him soft.

》KAFKA

Kafka feels bad for you. She really does. Which is why she pays attention to you the most out of everyone. Sure, she knows that your wish to become human is probably unattainable physically, but that doesn't mean that you still couldn't learn how to act like one with a little guidance from her.

She becomes somewhat of a mentor to you quite fast, as she takes care and protects you. She knows that your jealousy issues stem from your internalized self hate for your own cursed existence, and that just makes her just pity you more. Despite only being essentially a program stuck in a humanoid body, you act like a child your age, something she praises you often for.

She hopes that taking on a more motherly role in your life will eventually help you come at peace with yourself. You also make her often contemplate the meaning of being human, as some could be even classified as monsters. Was she one of them? Perhaps... but in her opinion, you were the most human one out of them all.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hey! 😊 I’ve had this idea for a while now but kept putting off typing it out. Here it goes!

Donna and reader have been dating for some time, and everything has been going great. They’ve managed to keep their relationship a secret because Donna wants to protect reader from the other lords and believes that discretion is the best way to keep them safe.

One day, while they’re making out (or doing something else that clearly shows they're in a relationship), Mother Miranda unexpectedly appears and catches them. She becomes furious, telling reader that she'll only distract Donna and hinder her ability to oversee the village and do her job. The confrontation gets really intense and angsty, and as a punishment, Miranda sends reader to Castle Dimitrescu, forbidding Donna from seeing her ever again.

However, during a visit to the castle to see Alcina, reader manages to convince Miranda to allow her to be with Donna again. When reader finally returns to Donna’s house, she finds Donna completely broken. The moment Donna sees reader, she rushes in for a tight hug, breaking down into tears and declaring that she will never let anyone take her away again.

Thank you! 💖

Yessss!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Forbidden love

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff,

Word count: 8,055

Summary: Your love is a secret, but it can't keep being anymore...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

The mansion was dark, gloomy even during the day but… For some time now, you stopped seeing it that way. The cracked walls slowly became a refuge for you, a place that protected you, where you felt safe.

The sound of the waterfall penetrated your ears, relaxing you, taking you away from any strange thoughts, from any worries. Love, you could only feel love, you could only think of her, of the warm atmosphere that surrounded you.

There was no longer fear in that dark place, there were no more cries, no more laments; only laughter, kisses, caresses, soft words that served to remind you where you were, why you wanted to be there.

The soft caresses of her hands on your hair, the relaxing sound of her breathing, her perfume impregnated in your clothes, her presence captivating your soul, everything was like a dream come true, like the conquest of an impossible goal, a utopian and unattainable objective. At least that's what you thought when you started to fall in love with her, that it was impossible.

Donna Beneviento, Lord, sick and dangerous woman, the lady of fear, of sinister dolls... It didn't seem like falling in love with a woman like her could have a happy ending, a fairy tale ending. You were wrong.

Your eyes had met several times; sighs had left your lips at the same time. So close, but so far. Nothing could make you, a simple villager, with no greater talent than your blind faith in the Black Gods, manage to attract her attention.

But again, being wrong was one of your greatest flaws, or one of your greatest virtues, you weren't sure.

Soon you began to get closer, to maintain that gaze you couldn't see, to focus on every detail of her dress, on the pale skin that could be distinguished on her hands. You would never take the first step. You would never even be able to hear her voice.

Mistake after mistake, prejudice after prejudice, those teenage dreams of that lady in black falling in love with you took shape little by little, almost without you realizing it.

A shy greeting, a tea, a conversation… Feats that fate granted you when you saw yourself lost in your own thoughts, in the love you felt irrationally for that mysterious lady, and after too much time, the kiss came.

A chaste, almost cold, innocent kiss she gave you for simply saying what you thought, for seeing the face that hid that black veil and discovering a beauty that you already knew existed. It could have been a reflex action, an involuntary movement of her dark soul when she heard that someone in that village didn’t say she was a monster, that she was beautiful.

Her intentions or thoughts didn’t matter to you, you only cared about that kiss, her soft lips on yours, her hands on your skin, the fact that you stopped dreaming, to live the reality, one that made you not want to sleep, that made your dreams mediocre compared to her kisses, with her whispers of love, with that smile when she saw you every morning… To hell with dreams.

You had become the girlfriend of fear, of death, of darkness, but… Did that matter to you? Not at all.

Moving to that mansion was the best of your decisions, the best of your compulsive behavior, the greatest success of your life. You never believed it was a mistake, not even for a second.

“You said you wanted to read with me,” her soft voice took you out of your own memories, her smile entered your soul to caress it gently, to remind you again and again that it was not a dream.

You smiled back, settling into her lap, lying on her just to enjoy that company you believed would be eternal.

“I'm fine,” you said with a sweet voice, with your hands traveling towards her, caressing her imperfect, but perfect for you, face. “Besides, I don't understand what it says.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, lowering her head to kiss you, to mitigate the voracious hunger your lips had with hers. “Maybe you'd like to do something different.”

“No, no, I'm fine,” you said with a nervous smile, sighing, closing your eyes so her soft caresses on your hair would intensify, so nothing else existed in that mansion, just Donna.

“We could do something together,” the lady said, leaving the book aside, focusing all her attention on you, only on you. “How about making some cookies?”

You pretended to think about it, but you shook your head, smiling mischievously.

“I'd like to take a walk with you, you know, walk hand in hand through the forest…” you murmured, looking at her from below with bright, pleading eyes.

Her tender gaze faded, her eye separated from yours for a moment and a sad sigh came out of her lips.

“You know we can't, tesoro,” she whispered softly, with an apologetic look.

Your heart beat confused, hurt by the truth of her words.

“Um…” you protested, sitting with your arms crossed, frustrated by hearing the same answer over and over again. “Don't get me wrong. Being here with you is wonderful but… I wish I could go for a walk with you from time to time, you know, a romantic dinner in the moonlight… ”

“I know, amore mio, I know,” she said, with the same sad tone, pinching your cheek affectionately, turning so she could take your hand, as if hers felt the same addiction to your skin that yours had. “But we…”

“Yeah, I know, we can't,” you completed her sentence, that terrible mantra that took you out of your dream life. “I don't understand it, Donna.”

Your words were tinged with rage, with unfulfilled desires that blurred the happiness you lived in, that reminded you of what your parents repeated so many times: You can't have everything.

Yes, you could have Donna, she had you, you kissed her, you caressed her, you gave her all the love your little heart could hold but... You couldn't leave that house.

At first you thought that maybe it was due to her understandable fear of losing you, her jealousy, her sick possessiveness. Well, you weren't completely wrong but, there was something else, there was something that prevented you from living that relationship fully.

For Donna you were like a miracle, a fragile possession that could break at any moment, something to protect, something to fight for. That romantic feeling could be good, and it was, but it was just a small part of her absurd fears.

Lady Beneviento was a Lord, a powerful one. You were a stupid, love-struck villager who gave up the boring path young girls like you had. No one could, no one would ever dare to question the lady in black, and you knew it. The village was sinister, but among its rules there was nothing about the prohibition of loving whoever you wanted.

No, that was not the problem, it never was. Problems had names. They were in the form of a dark raven: Mother Miranda, the Lords.

Donna's siblings, Mother Miranda, those were the risks, the real dangers in your relationship.

According to the lady in black, someone like you would be like leaving a piece of meat near a lycan. You would be in danger, everyone would envy her because, in her own words: everyone would want to take you away from her.

You thought they were nothing but absurd worries of her wounded mind, that it was just jealousy, even fear that one of them would steal the heart that already belonged to her. It didn't seem that way, she was truly afraid of them.

And so your relationship was hidden, camouflaged by the sound of the wind. Your kisses and caresses, the nights of passion, were hidden behind the sound of the waterfall. You were like two ghosts who loved each other in the shadows.

Ghosts or not, you got used to living that way, but little by little, the delusions and desires of a young girl like you were overshadowing the pleasure of that tranquility, of that feeling of security that Donna felt by keeping you as a secret.

Those feelings began to bring out the worst in you, your selfishness, your own absurd jealousy. When Donna was at home you existed, when she wasn't, you didn't.

“We've talked about this many times, tesoro...” she sighed, shaking her head, her radiant face darkening at your words. “I'm sorry it has to be this way but…”

“Yes, yes, it's the best for us…” you said tiredly, bringing out your capricious side again, getting angry in a childish way.

“(Y/N),” Donna murmured, cupping your face in her hands, staring at you, fighting your stupid attempts to push her away. “If I lost you…”

“It's not about that, Donna,” you interrupted again, sighing, playing with the fabric of your dress. “I know it's to protect me, but what harm can it do to walk around with you? It's your land, no one will see us.”

“You can never know, (Y/N), the Black Gods are watching,” the lady commented, running her thumb over your skin, silencing your protests with her soft caresses.

“You mean Mother Miranda is watching,” you corrected with a mocking smile, relaxing the tension in your body. “You should tell her, Donna, I'm sure…”

“Hey, you dirty villager! Let my Donna go!” the Angie doll, inevitable guardian of your secret, approached you, climbing onto the sofa and waving her limbs.

“Angie, lasciala stare,” Donna ordered, angry at her doll's mocking attitude, at her constant attacks on you, ones that you knew weren't serious. To tell the truth, you got along quite well.

“You cheesy, clingy Donna!” the puppet scolded her, causing the lady to laugh shyly as she quickly kissed you. “Disgusting Donna!”

“Hey, come on, Angie, don't be jealous,” you said with a mocking purr, kissing the lady again just to annoy that sinister puppet.

“Me, jealous!? Please…” the doll protested, just as you wanted it to do. “Let her go, let her go, she has work to do.”

“Work?” you asked curiously, letting Angie comically untie your fingers. “I thought you were done with your dolls for today,” you said, looking at Donna, who frowned, drawing the puppet back with a gesture of her hand.

“And it's true, I don't have any more work,” she murmured, a little confused. “Angie,cosa vuoi dire?”

“Are you deaf? Didn't you hear the phone?” the doll asked.

Donna and you looked at each other confused, smiling mischievously. No, there were better things to do than to keep an eye on that thing.

“Yeah, I guess you didn’t,” the doll murmured, walking across the couch and pushing Donna by the shoulders with ridiculous force. “Meeting! There's a meeting, silly Donna!”

“Meeting?” Donna asked, shaking off the doll's annoying movements. “When?”

“Exactly…” the doll said, pretending to look at a non-existent wristwatch. “Half an hour ago.”

“What?!” the lady shrieked nervously, getting up from the couch immediately, ignoring your pleading look. “Cavolo, Angie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn't you say you were busy?” the puppet mocked, causing the lady to growl in annoyance. “You're going to be late again,” she sang.

“If you told me before, I'd never be late,” the woman in black protested, searching the entire room for her black veil.

“If you weren't making out with (Y/N) all day long, I could tell you,” Angie replied, crossing her arms and tilting her head towards you.

“She's right, I think I'm taking up too much of your time,” you commented amused, getting up as well and taking the veil she was almost desperately looking for. “Here, darling.”

“Oh, grazie…” she said with a relieved smile, playing with the black fabric in her hands. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“You'd probably be later because you wouldn't find anything,” you joked, kissing her wounded cheek, which she was ashamed of. “Go, honey, I'll wait for you here.”

“Okay,” she said, smoothing her dress, ready to cover her face again. “Don't worry, I won't be long.”

“Wait,” you said with a frown, grabbing Donna by the wrist. “Let, let me go with you.”

“(Y/N)…” she sighed, shaking her head. “You know that…”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted hastily, with a nervous smile on your face. “I want, I mean I can walk with you to the door.”

“Mm?” she murmured curious about your proposal, forgetting that hurry she was in a few seconds ago. You always managed that. If there was someone to blame for her continuous delays, it was you.

“That way I could walk with you through the woods, even if it was just a few minutes.”

“Tesoro… What if…?” she murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, letting your hands gently grip her waist.

“It's a very short walk, so I won't complain about you not taking me anywhere,” you joked with a childish, expectant smile. She rolled her eye and sighed, capturing your lips in a wet, short, but intense kiss.

“Mm, okay,” she finally said, walking with you towards the exit. “But just to the door.”

You nodded profusely, stealing one last kiss from her before leaving the mansion for the first time in months.

Walking with her hand in hand clouded almost all of your fears, your worries. It was a silent, peaceful, relaxing walk. The snow crunched under your feet while your hands played at caressing each other. It was perfect, a pity that the wooden door was the end of that romantic walk.

“Come back soon, okay?” you said in a soft voice, your hands swinging with hers. A beautiful smile came to your eyes again, that loving smile you only thought you saw when you looked in the mirror, that you never thought you would see on her face.

“Sure, tesoro…” she sighed, running one of her hands over your cheek. “We could watch a movie when I get back, what do you think?”

“Only if you make dinner,” you joked, laughing with her, giving her a tight goodbye hug.

“Okay,” she said, laughing, without taking her gaze off yours.

“Hey, Donna,” you said when the warmth of her body left yours. “Won't you give me a goodbye kiss?”

The lady approached again, pulling your waist in a romantic, chivalrous way.

“Just one?” she asked with a hoarse voice, whispering in your ear before fulfilling your request, kissing you deeply, not wanting to let you go.

“Ahem,” a different voice, one that was not Angie's, bounced off the trees in the forest, startling you.

“Who's there?” the lady asked, looking around scared, just like you.

A shadowy figure, with golden claws, appeared in a dark cloud. The priestess of the Black Gods, the owner and mistress of the village, Mother Miranda.

The lady in black opened her eyes wide, moving her arms to hide you behind her body. You could hear her heart beating fast, similar to yours.

“Mother Miranda,” she whispered with a broken voice. “What are…?”

“Shut up,” the witch interrupted. “Well, well, what do we have here? You, come out,” she ordered, forcing you to look out and walk next to Donna, with your head down and your hands together in a sign of respect.

“M-Mother Miranda,” you whispered, feeling completely unprotected if it weren't for Donna keeping you by her side, with a hand on your shoulder.

“How curious… I've been wondering for months why my youngest daughter was neglecting her tasks… She was late for meetings, she didn't seem to be in this world… Well, more than usual,” Miranda commented, with a mocking tone that put your nerves on edge.

“It's not what it seems,” Donna whispered, with a dangerous tone, but inevitably scared.

“No? And what is it?” the witch joked, slowly approaching you, lifting your chin with one of her golden claws, looking at you with feigned interest. “Because I think you were kissing this beauty.”

“Le, leave her alone,” Donna murmured, with a dark look, annoyed by the priestess's touch on your face. “She h-hasn't done anything wrong.”

“Oh, you defend her, that gives you away even more, dear,” Miranda said, laughing mockingly, letting you go, letting the dollmaker's arms surround your body, keeping it safe. “Look…”

“(Y/N) is… Is… My girlfriend,” Donna said, keeping you close to her, diverting your head with her hand so you wouldn't look at her, so it rested on her shoulder.

“Girlfriend? You? Don't make me laugh,” Miranda said with a more mocking, unpleasant laugh, pointing her claws at you. “What a surprise... I thought you could only love your dolls...”

“You, you're wrong,” the lady hissed, still hugging you, thus evidencing the trembling of her body, the fear she felt from the woman who gave her a second chance when she had already given up, when she wanted to die. “(Y/N) is...”

“What is she? Apart from a stupid girl...” Miranda mocked again, making your insides burn. But that wasn't enough of a reason for the words to dare to leave your lips.

“Don't insult her!” Donna shrieked, enraged, terribly nervous. “She's not stupid.”

“No? What's wrong with her? What's her problem then?” the witch asked, pulling your arm to separate you, something she achieved due to her strength. “What are you, (Y/N)?”

“Please, Mother Miranda, I don't…” you stammered, hissing in pain as her golden nails dug into your skin.

“You're stupid, Donna,” the priestess said, ignoring your words. “Have you been fooled again? How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?”

“She hasn't fooled me,” Donna protested, struggling with her Goddess's grip, trying to free you from it. “She's my girlfriend, mine.”

“Yours? Please... Look, (Y/N), she's crazy about you,” Miranda said, separating you from Donna definitively, grabbing you from behind, holding your head up. “That's what you wanted, right?”

“I don't know what are you talking about,” you said shyly, nervous, scared but determined to protect the woman you loved.

“Oh, yes you do,” the witch hissed, very close to your ear. “It's not right to take advantage of someone like Donna, don't you think?”

“Mother Miranda, please, if I could explain…” Donna said, clasping her hands together, her eye wet from her imminent tears.

“Silence, Donna,” Miranda snapped, hardening her expression. “You're a stupid lunatic, how can you let yourself be fooled by these tender eyes?”

“Fooled? No, no, you’re wrong…” you protested, suddenly falling silent when you felt a strong tug on your hair. “Ah!”

“Lasciala!” the lady shouted, approaching furiously, trying to free you again from the grip of the priestess, who simply shook her head, moving away from her attempts to grab you.

“Shhh, be still, dear, if you want me not to hurt her,” the blonde threatened, putting one of her claws on your neck, exposing it in an unpleasant way.

Donna moved away, shaking her head, pulling her hair, suffering a terrible nervous breakdown that you could not relieve.

“No, no, no, no, no…” she murmured, walking erratically, out of her mind. Not even Angie could help her, she was not present, she had fled from the fury of her Goddess. “No! No! Cazzo!”

“Donna…” you sobbed, trying to get out of that fierce grip, watching how the lady in black knelt in the snow, babbling things without sense, completely losing her mind.

“You are pathetic, Beneviento… A naive woman,” the blonde hissed, with a calmer tone. “Did you really think someone could feel something for you?”

A heartbroken cry interrupted that horrible moment. The lady moved nervously, hitting the snow with her fists, babbling, cursing, screaming without any kind of control.

“You're making her nervous!” you shrieked, trying to free yourself from those golden claws. “She's having a crisis! Don't you see it?”

“How dare you to talk to me like that?” Miranda whispered, fighting your impulses to help your beloved, to comfort her.

“Let me go! I have to help her!” you screamed, with a furious push towards the priestess who finally let you go.

“Donna, Donna, my love…” you whispered, throwing yourself to the ground next to her, tightly grabbing her wrists, preventing her from hurting herself, like other times. “Don’t, don't do that… Don't hurt yourself, my love…”

“Tu mi ami!” she screamed among sobs, moving on herself desperately. You nodded, lowering her wrists, broken. “You, you don't want to hut… Hurt… Hurt me.”

“Of course not, baby… My sweet Donna, please, please stop, stop doing that,” you begged, feeling the cold snow on your knees, with your face wet from your helpless tears. “Donna…”

Miranda watched the scene with disdain, slowly approaching where you were, without saying anything, without intervening, just watching.

“Shhh, stop, stop please, my love…” you whispered, holding her head, resting her forehead against yours, breathing as calmly as possible. “Donna… Relax…”

“You're not evil…” the lady in black whispered, fighting with her demons, with the voices in her head. Her nerves had betrayed her. They had forced the woman you loved to lose control. “You're not evil… I love you…”

“I love you too, I love you so much,” you said, shaking your head, hugging Donna tightly, letting her tears soak your dress. “Don't pay attention to her, my love… She doesn't know how much I love you…”

Your crying also got out of control when you thought about how you had gotten to that situation. Your capricious and selfish side had provoked the worst of her fears: that your relationship would be discovered, by the worst possible person.

“Gods… I, I'm so sorry… It, it was my fault,” you lamented, melting into the deranged woman in an intense hug, controlling the terrible tremors of her body, the curse she carried with her since she was born, her madness.

“You're not going to leave me… You love me…” Donna stammered, a bit calmer thanks to your well-learned breathing exercises.

“Yes, yes darling, I love you, you're the love of my life,” you repeated in a low voice, keeping her gaze with yours, relieved to see that little by little, the madness disappeared from her eye.

“Mm, it seems I was wrong about you, (Y/N),” Miranda murmured, bending down to observe the situation, how your words were the best of relaxants for the lady in black. “You seem to know Donna very well.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda,” you said without paying attention to her, wiping the tears from the brunette's face. “Her well-being is the only thing that concerns me.”

“I see,” the witch sighed. “Lift her up.”

You nodded, obeying carefully, holding Donna by the arms, standing up.

“That's it my love... You're so good, Donna,” you said in a comforting tone, holding the lady in place, checking how her body relaxed, something her breathing was unable to do. “Calmati, amore mio…”

“You're good at it,” the witch commented, brushing the brunette's hair away, who growled at her touch. “Not any stupid villager would put up with someone like her.”

“Don't talk that way about her,” you hissed, clenching your fists tightly as the bird woman smoothed your lover's dress.

“Maybe you are stupid,” Miranda said, with a sardonic smile. “Don't you know who you're talking to?”

“Mother Miranda… Don’t, don't hurt her, I beg you…” Donna murmured, in a hoarse tone, broken by tears, her gaze fixed on the snow. You, seeing that she had already woken up from that terrible attack, approached her, holding her hand tightly. “(Y/N) is the most important thing in my life.”

“Mm, I see…” the witch said, with an amused tone that unhinged you even more. “More important than your duties as a Lord?”

“More important than my own life,” the lady in black hissed, adopting a protective pose again, not wanting to let your hand go.

“How romantic…” Miranda sighed, rolling her eyes camouflaged in a horrible mask. “Look, my terrible daughter is capable of love. I would never have imagined it.”

“Basta,” Donna said.

“No, no, I'm the one who says basta, dear…” the priestess said, walking around you like what she was, a carrion bird. “How many times have you been late to meetings? How many times have you ignored masses to the Gods? Do you know how many stupid monster hunters have come to the village?”

“I don't know,” the lady said, defeated, embarrassed by her words, keeping you close to her.

“Oh, you don't know,” Miranda said, crossing her arms haughtily, giving a soft slap to Donna, a mocking one, one that didn't mean to hurt her, but to humiliate her. “Stupida…”

“I'm sorry,” Donna said, totally helpless, avoiding looking at her Goddess, her Mother.

“I'm sorry…” the blonde mocked, with an expression that feigned surprise. “Save your apologies, Donna. You have neglected your duties, your position as a Lord. Tell me, what will the villagers think if they realize that my fearsome daughter, Lady Beneviento, no longer behaves like one?”

“Please, Mother Miranda,” you interrupted, catching her attention when she grabbed Donna by her chin, squeezing her face tightly. “Leave her alone, please.”

She let your beloved go, approaching you again with a dangerous step, with a sinister laugh.

“It's all, it's all my fault, Mother Miranda. I, I have distracted her…” you confessed, trying to free Donna from a severe punishment, from the fury of the Black Gods.

“You… Of course it was you, what else could it be?” Miranda murmured, laughing mockingly again. “You are the one to blame, of course.”

“No!” Donna shrieked, shaking her head, putting herself between you and her Goddess to try to protect you from her wrath. “It's not her fault!”

“She said it was, and look… I believe her,” the blonde said, unfazed by Donna's aggressive gesture. “What do we do with you now?”

“Please don't hurt her, please, Mother Miranda,” Donna hissed, with darkness in her voice, but also a desperate plea. “Please…”

“You've got her crazy, huh?” the witch said, looking at you. “Well, okay… I feel merciful today.”

The two of you looked at each other with a smile of relief, believing that the danger had passed. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Get Alcina,” the witch whispered to a nearby crow, which made an ominous sound after flying away.

You didn't hear it, and neither did Donna. The two of you were hugging each other, whispering to each other that everything would be okay, how much you loved each other, how much you would be able to fight for your love.

“Say goodbye to her, Donna,” Miranda said, interrupting those soft and fearful kisses, those intense caresses.

“What?” the lady in black said, moving away from your hold and looking at the priestess with a frightened expression.

“You don't expect me to let that silly girl distract you anymore, do you, dear?” Miranda murmured, with a passive gesture with her golden hands.

“What?” you asked, confused, protected again by the arms of your beloved.

“You have me fed up, Donna, I'm fed up with you not being able to maintain your status as Lord because of a stupid girl,” the witch hissed. “You should thank me. I'm not going to hurt her.”

“What are you going to...?” the lady asked, backing away from something you still couldn't see, quickly putting on the black veil that rested in the snow.

“How fast,” Miranda said, amused, as a long shadow appeared next to you.

“I wasn't far from here.” A sensual voice, a huge size, an elegant step, a snow-white dress. The first Lord, the lady of the castle, Alcina Dimitrescu, appeared behind the wooden door, staring at you.

“Her,” the witch said, pointing at you. “Take her.”

“What?!” Donna protested, hugging you tighter, angrily looking for a place to escape. There wasn't one. “No, no!”

“Yes, yes, and yes, Donna,” Miranda mocked. “(Y/N) is not good for you.”

“No, please...” you begged, noticing how the lady of the castle had put her interest in you.

“Enough of your complaints. The girl will serve in the castle as punishment for your incompetence, Beneviento.”

“No!” Donna shrieked again, interrupted by a strong grip on her shoulder, which almost made her let you go.

“Did I miss something?” Alcina asked, clearing her throat to get your attention.

“This girl will be your new maid,” Miranda said, sighing, pointing at you with her finger. “I trust there will be no objections.”

“None, Mother Miranda,” Alcina murmured, reaching out to grab you.

“Don’t touch her! Don’t touch her!” Donna protested. “She’s mine!”

“Yours?” Alcina asked, looking curiously at the lady in black.

“No, not anymore…” Miranda sighed, shaking her head. “Take her away at once.”

“No, I won’t let you! You can’t take her away from me!” Donna shouted angrily, holding you tightly against her, something Miranda prevented with a strong tug on your hair.

“Do you prefer that I take her life? Because that's what I'm going to do if I hear you say one more word,” the priestess threatened, pushing you hard against the lady in white, who was still confused by the situation.

Donna shook her head, crying again, trying to reach you without success, the witch prevented her.

“You will not see her again, do you hear me? I forbid it,” Miranda hissed, holding the furious Lady Beneviento, who was unable to say anything but curses or insults in Italian.

“No, Donna!” you shouted, grabbed by the waist by the lady of the castle, reaching out your hand to hers while she did the same.

The tips of your fingers touched, as a last attempt at farewell. You growled to be able to touch her, to be able to enjoy the softness of her hands one last time.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” Donna shrieked, being dragged away from you by Miranda. “No!”

“Donna!” you screamed with all your might, lowering the hand that was unable to touch hers, retreating from the grip of the lady in white, who pulled you. “Donna!”

It was over.

There would be no more kisses, no hugs, no caresses. Your whole life, that dream you were living became a nightmare. You couldn't go back to her, you couldn't love her, you couldn't even see her. All because of you.

Your absurd desires and your lack of understanding of the danger had taken you to hell, to a place far from her. You couldn't imagine something so unfair, you couldn't imagine waking up and not seeing Donna by your side.

“Do you want anything else, my lady?” you said in a sad voice, after having spent entire nights crying, longing for her kisses, her hands, serving the Dimitrescu family for a couple of horrible weeks, the worst of your life.

“Mm, no,” said Alcina, your mistress since that fateful day.

The phone rang, startling you as you were about to leave the room, ready for another day of nightmares, of memories that would never return

“Yes, stay,” the lady in white said, pointing to a place in front of her while impatiently expelling the smoke from her cigarette. “There.”

You nodded, head down. You couldn't ignore her orders. She was your new owner, owner of your presence, maybe one day of your body. But if there was something Alcina could never possess, your heart.

“Hello, dear…” Alcina murmured, picking up the phone with a tired sigh. “Stop crying, I don't understand you,” she protested, under your confused gaze. “Donna, stop, speak in my language, Gods…”

Donna, it was she who spoke on the other end of the phone. Your heart skipped a beat, your cheeks flushed, and your body began to tremble. You didn't know if you didn't want to be there, or if you wanted to leave to forget her presence, to force your mind, and your soul to forget that love you felt and that you could never experience again.

“Mm, thank you, Angie,” Alcina said, rolling her eyes. “Oh, yes, she's here…” she said in a seductive tone, guiding her gaze to you. “Mm, well, she's wearing the uniform that maids wear… Gods, Donna, no, it’s not about that I haven’t touch her,” she squealed, annoyed by something.

“My, my lady,” you stammered, looking at the floor, too blinded by your feelings, by the desire you had to hear her voice again. “Please, let me talk to her.”

“Wait a moment,” ​​Alcina said disinterestedly, covering the phone and sighing sadly. “I can't do that, dear.”

“Please,” you sobbed, reaching out your hand towards that phone, towards the only way you could communicate to her.

“Don't, yell, Donna!” the lady in white protested with a furious growl. “You know what will happen if I do.”

“Please…” you repeated again, your voice cracking from crying, from helplessness.

“Oh…” Alcina murmured, rubbing her eyes with a tired sigh. “I'll give you a minute,” she finally said, gesturing for you to come closer, but moving the device away when your impatient hands went to grab it. “On one condition.”

You nodded nervously.

“You're going to tell me what the hell is going on between you and my sister,” Alcina said, with an amused look.

“Yes, my lady,” you said with a sigh, picking up the phone, your whole body shaking. “Donna, it's me…”

“(Y/N), amore mio, tesoro…” the lady in black said, sobbing, just like you. “I'm so glad to hear your voice.”

“Me, me too,” you said with a radiant smile, enjoying the soft melody of her words. “Donna, I miss you so much…”

“The house is so empty without you… I can't stand it anymore…” she said, her voice breaking. “I can't…”

“Donna…” you murmured, with a tear falling on the wooden dresser. “It’s, it's all my fault…”

“No, don't say that… Don't say that, amore mio… Just, just tell me that… That… That… That you still love me as much as I love you…” the doll maker begged, with a voice increasingly broken by tears.

“I could never stop loving you, Donna, never,” you said with an angry voice, clenching your fist tightly, almost hurting yourself. “I love you, my love.”

“(Y/N), I think about you every day, every hour… I love you, I will always love you…”

“Donna…” you sobbed unable to say another word different than her name, the name of your love. “Donna…”

“(Y/N)…”

“Okay, that's enough,” Alcina said, taking the phone from your hand and hanging it up abruptly, ending that conversation.

“No!” you screamed, picking it up again, knowing that the love of your life was no longer on the other end. “Donna…”

“Well,” the lady of the castle sighed, crossing her arms and nodding to a place for you to stand. “Start talking, dear, I'm listening.”

“I love her.” You were able to say, wiping away your tears. She was now your mistress, you couldn't forget that.

“Mm, that seems obvious,” the vampire commented, offering you a cigarette that you refused. “If before I met you they told me that my dear sister has a girlfriend, well, I probably wouldn't have believed them.”

“With all due respect, my lady, but that's none of your business,” you hissed, without thinking about your words, forgetting again the dangers that surrounded you.

“Mm, how bold,” the lady in white joked, tilting her head mockingly. “It turns out that you're here for that reason. It’s my business. You're clumsy and you can't stop crying. That vase over there is a better maid than you.”

“That's because I don't want to be here,” you replied wittily, crossing your arms. “It's not fair.”

“Life isn't fair, my dear…” she murmured, shaking her head, ignoring your scorn.

“Then kill me,” you said angrily, helpless, unable to contain that burning in your chest, that lack of her heart beating against yours. “If I'm not fit to be a maid, finish me off. I have nothing left.”

“And take away poor Donna's toy? Mm, I don't think she'll take it well,” Alcina joked, with a sinister laugh. “You must be very important to her. She keeps calling me day after day, asking about you.”

“I only know how important she is to me and that… I, I've lost her,” you said, with a more confident tone, with tears threatening to run down your face again. “I'm not her toy, nor her girlfriend, I'm nothing.”

“You'd have to ask her, wouldn't you? She's very... Insistent,” the lady joked again, confusing you. “Look, dear, I'd like to let you leave my property and return to her, but...”

“You can't do it. I've heard that before,” you finished, lowering your head.

“I'd like to, dear,” Alcina said, with a softer tone, as if she were really being sincere. But even if your heart harbored that slight hope, you knew it wouldn't be possible. “You've angered Mother Miranda.”

“She's the one who's angry!” you shouted nervously. “We've done nothing but love each other! Is that now bad too? Doesn't Donna having the right to be loved? Just because she's a Lord mean she doesn't have the right to be loved?”

“Relax, little bird…” Alcina whispered, with a threatening voice. “Mother Miranda wants the best for her children.”

“Mother Miranda has no idea what's best for Donna, she only cares about this stupid village,” you growled, forgetting what you were doing, who was listening to your desperate complaints.

“And I suppose you do know, don't you?” she asked, with a soft smile, not bothered by her attitude.

“Donna has to be with me… I, I have to be with her…” you stammered, shaking your head.

Alcina sighed, putting out her cigarette.

“Mother Miranda is a woman who likes to have everything controlled, (Y/N),” the lady began, crossing her legs, with her eyes fixed on yours. “You and I know the problems Donna has. I'm not going to tell you anything you don't know.”

“That never mattered to me,” you said firmly.

“Mm… Love does those things, doesn't it?” she commented amused. “Now think: if Donna stopped paying attention to her duties because she is drawn to you like a fly to the light… How do you think that would mean to someone like Miranda?”

“Donna doesn't get distracted, it's my fault,” you confessed, remembering the many occasions in which your affection, your hugs, made a dent in the duties of the Lord.

“Of course it’s yours… I don't blame her for going towards the light of your smile,” Alcina murmured, with a seductive tone, one that caused an embarrassed smile to stand out on your face. “Well, I don't like to agree with one of my maids but… Look, I wouldn't have to tell you this but… Donna is not well.”

“I already know that,” you hissed, imagining what the hell your absence had caused must be like, the times she would have screamed, that she would have lost control. “Me neither.”

“Mm, you have no idea, dear…” Alcina whispered, with a darker tone. “Donna has not attended the meetings for two weeks, coincidence? I doubt it… Gods, I know she is alive because she doesn’t stop harassing me with her stupid calls.”

“Is Miranda's fault, she is to blame for everything,” you said, hurt by the truth of those words, by the descent that the brunette made towards the darkness again.

“You won’t hear me say something like that,” Alcina laughed, shaking her head. “You said it.”

“Then… Then do something, let me go with her,” you begged again, joining your hands.

“You are a very stubborn girl, of course you are made for each other,” the lady sighed, rolling her eyes. “I can't do anything… But you can.”

“Me? What? I'll do anything,” you said excitedly, knowing that the light inside you was shining brighter and brighter.

“Mother Miranda has a habit of having tea with me every month…” Lady Dimitrescu explained. “What a coincidence, that day is today.”

Your smile faded when you realized the situation. It didn't matter what you said, she would never give in.

“I won't be able to do anything to convince her,” you whispered furiously. “She'll never let someone like me get away with it.”

“You can't know if you don't try, dear…”

The rest of the day passed as always, sad, grey, empty. In the hallways you heard Alcina's daughters screaming, laughing out loud. You remembered Angie, you remembered those afternoons when her sinister laughter was always there to bother you. Miranda's visit would be soon…

“Enough,” the witch said while you served her tea with trembling hands. You were sure that someone like you would not have that privilege, was it Alcina's doing?

“Go away, dear,” murmured your lady, to which you nodded with your head down, standing to one side of the door.

“Did Donna call this morning?” Miranda asked with disinterest.

Your body stirred at hearing her name, but you didn’t give yourself away, you remained rooted to the spot.

“Like every day, Mother,” Alcina said, with a tired tone. “She's getting worse.”

“Mm, I suppose that... Damn stupid girl...” the witch muttered, with a look of contempt towards you. “She'll never learn.”

Alcina sighed, but nodded, agreeing with the priestess. Both Alcina and you knew she wasn’t right.

“Don't be hard on her, you know she's not right in the head,” the lady in white said. Your hands were shaking more and more.

“Mm, believe me, I know, but this is too much. She hasn't picked up the phone for days, ignoring her chores,” the witch said, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “I suppose it's the whims of a stupid child... By the way, how is your new acquisition doing?”

“She's a pain in the ass, Mother Miranda,” your lady answered, looking at you in the same way as the priestess, studying you with her eyes. “She's clumsy, she doesn't know how to do anything and besides, my maids can't sleep because of her.”

“How is that?” Miranda asked, horribly amused.

“She don't stop crying,” Alcina said, bringing her teacup to her lips, looking at you intensely.

“I can't believe it... Come here,” the priestess said, pointing at you unpleasantly. Your body burned with fury, but you obeyed reluctantly, walking slowly, denying her the look she asked for.

“Mother Miranda,” you whispered elegantly, but revealing a certain mockery.

“I still don't understand what Donna could see in you,” she commented with a serious look, looking you up and down in a contemptuous way. “You are a simple villager.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda, I’m a stupid villager,” you repeated through clenched teeth, making the witch raise her eyebrows, with a sinister smile.

“I see that you have been taught manners,” she commented amused, settling down on the sofa. “I want you to answer my questions, (Y/N).”

You nodded slowly, looking for Alcina's help with your gaze, which came in the form of a slight nod.

“What exactly did you do to Donna to make her completely lose her mind?” she asked in a passive tone, one that did not reflect any emotion. “Answer me.”

“I don't know, Mother Miranda,” you answered sincerely, remembering that smile, the one you didn't want to forget.

“Are you comfortable here?” she asked again, nodding slightly after your stammering answer.

“Y-Yes, Mother Miranda,” you lied, earning a dark look.

“Oh, so you don't feel like going back to your dear Donna, do you?” Miranda joked, looking away to pick up her cup of tea.

“I dying to do it, Mother Miranda,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Mm,” she murmured, taking a sip from her cup, tasting the tea you made and which unfortunately wasn't poisoned. “Love makes people stupid… I thought that taking my little daughter away from you would be a good punishment for having been ignoring her chores but… I see that I've only made it worse.”

“Mother Miranda, please, I beg you…” you interrupted closing your eyes, kneeling down pathetically. “Allow me to return to her side.”

“Here we go again…” Miranda murmured, shaking her head. “If I let you go… How do I know that Donna will fulfill her chores?”

“Mother Miranda, I must intervene,” Alcina interrupted, gesturing for you to stand up. “That girl may seem stupid, but she is not, believe me, I know her. I think there may be a solution that pleases us all.”

“I hear you,” the priestess said, looking away from you.

“The girl will be in charge of ensuring that Donna fulfills her obligations. It is a good idea, don't you think? If that is the only thing she responds to… Well, she will surely listen to her, if she loves her as much as she says…”

“Mm, interesting…” Miranda sighed, looking at you with interest. “There is only one way to check it. Well, (Y/N), you heard me. Go with Donna but… If she misses one more mass, one single meeting, well… I won’t be so pious anymore.”

Your face could only sketch a smile, your legs were already moving to leave through the door, but not before nodding to the lady in white, you knew that without her, nothing would have been possible.

“Thank you, Mother Miranda,” you said happily, leaving definitively through the door.

You ran out of the castle, forgetting about the cold, the snow, any stupid obstacle that interrupted your way back, back home.

“Donna?”  you said as soon as you entered the estate again.

The landscape was desolate. Battered furniture, broken plates, shattered dolls... The darkness of that place was soaked with suffering, with pain. Donna had destroyed everything, she had directed her anger towards anything that was on her way.

“Donna...” you sighed, horrified by what you saw, by being able to feel her madness through the broken glass, the dismembered dolls.

You walked stepping on the result of her fury, looking for some remains of the brunette anywhere. A dark shape in the corner indicated her position. Sitting on the floor, her head buried in her knees, was Donna.

“D-Donna,” you called again, walking quickly towards her. She didn't seem to see you. She didn't seem to hear you, to know you were there. It was a terrible sight for your fragile heart.

“Silly!” Angie shrieked, appearing behind you while you tried to move her frozen arms, to lift her head so she could see you. “You're back!”

“Of course I'm back, I couldn't…” you murmured, unable to make the Lord react, who stammered a constant mantra.

“Don't leave me, don't forget me…” she whispered with a hoarse voice, torn by her tears.

“Angie, help me,” you ordered the doll, trying to lift the lady in black off the floor, who struggled with you, pushing you away as if you were one of her demons.

“Donna, Donna! The fool is back!” Angie shrieked, tugging at her dress when you finally managed to get her to her feet.

“Donna, my love… It's me… I'm here,” you said in a soft voice, stopping her head from moving erratically.

“No…” she growled, pushing you unpleasantly. “You're not here… You're not here!”

“Honey, my love… I'm, I'm here, Mi, Miranda has released me, please, darling, react, I beg you,” you said nervously, managing to grab her hands, holding them tightly in yours.

“(Y/N),” she sighed, once her skin made contact with yours, slowly raising her gaze, her eye reddened by suffering. “(Y/N)!”

Her reaction was overwhelming. She threw herself into your arms, holding you tightly against her, kissing you desperately, almost without letting you breathe.

“Amore mio… You're back…” she whispered crying, with a romantic smile, not leaving an inch of your face unkissed. “But… But how?”

“It's known that you can't live without me,” you joked, elated, happy to have returned to the arms of your beloved. “She has allowed me to come back.”

“Oh, I… Gods… I… I'm, I'm sorry,” Donna said, nervous, caressing you, assuring herself that you weren't a hallucination.

“No, don't apologize”

“(Y/N)…” she sighed again, hugging you, pulling your dress with her hands, clinging to you to never let you go. “I will never, ever let anyone else take you away from me… I, I promise you… I love you, I love you, I love you…”

[agentrouka-blog]

omfg you have every right to be angry over that anon. What a condescending, arrogant ask. There's an extra level of insult, because people aren't just trying to dispute your opinion, they're trying to waste your time, energy, and thinking too. It's not an honest and equal debate, it's just pure entitlement.

Something for your perusal: I've been reading the ASOIAF books again and was curious when I came upon Catelyn's passage up the Eyrie in AGOTA, where she laments that Mya Stone won't be able to marry the boy she's in love with because she's a bastard. Then Catelyn muses that Mya reminds her of Sansa. I thought this was interesting because of how the information is introduced, and then the Mya-Sansa parallels. Sansa becomes a bastard when Jon is a secret prince sort of business. I haven't seen anybody mention this and thought it was curious.

Thank you! <3

And there's actually a lot of stuff in that Mya Stone moment.

For one, it happens at a time when we already know that Sansa's own dreams are as hopeless as Mya's, no matter that Sansa is trueborn, because Cat and Ned both agreed to marry her to House Lannister and at the Trident Joffrey took off his mask and nothing is being done about it regarding Sansa.

Then we have the parallel to Littlefinger, whose crush (trueborn but low status) was always as hopeless as Mya's.

Then we have the fact that Cat foregoes an obvious comparison (tomboyish Arya) by focusing on not one but two other people in regard to Mya. First the unpleasant association with Jon Snow, followed by a softening when she recognizes the resemblance to Sansa.

"Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady," the girl said. It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard's name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned's bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply. [...] "Mychel's my love," Mya explained. "Mychel Redfort. He's squire to Ser Lyn Corbray. We're to wed as soon as he becomes a knight, next year or the year after." She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. If Mychel Redfort laid with this girl at all, it would be on the wrong side of the sheet. (AGOT, Catelyn VI)

Mya makes her feel guilty and angry when thinking of Jon Snow, but bittersweet when contemplating her similarity to Sansa and the impossibility of her dreams. It's easier to handle Mya's status when connecting her to Sansa, someone Cat knows how to love, rather than Jon, whose existence strips all romance from the veneer of the brutal society and the reality of patriarchy for Catelyn herself. She doesn't hate bastards, she even has sympathy for them. She only hates what Jon represents for herself.

Sansa ends up modeling her own bastard figure after Jon Snow (fourteen and bastard brave), and from what we have seen of Jon's own struggles with bastardy, his own unfullfilled dreams, it becomes easy to directly compare Sansa and Jon as similar souls, with similar hopes and disappointments, with their shared longing for something unattainable by the rules of their society.

Within the one mirroring scene coming down the mountain in AFFC, Sansa contemplates Mya Stone's lost virtue (after Cat's predictions have come to pass) and potential future husband of fitting status who would love her anyway, and she will also be reminded of Jon Snow. "I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be."

The chapter ends with a proposed miracle transformation. Littlefinger paints the picture of a reveal of true identity: The bastard sheds their mask and is recognized for their true self. Something that can only happen to a false bastard. Like Sansa.

Who is so similar to Jon. With his impossible dreams.

[mixiury]

Skies forever blue — Neuvillette x GN!Reader

Genre: Mostly fluff with a little bit of comfort.

Summery: You have been trying to approach him without knowing he was always there.

A/N: I think I haven't like a character this much since Wanderer and Dimitri so I needed to write something about him <3. Since his character isn't out yet and all we have are his interactions in the Archon quest it may be a little OOC, but I tried my best to keep his character like in canon. Also English isn't my first language and I'm dyslexic so feel free to correct me if you notice any mistakes. ^^

If only one word was needed to describe Neuvillette, it would be "Unattainable."

Like the clouds that float upper in the sky, everyone admires him from the ground, giving their own interpretations of the shapes they present. So lofty and magnificent, people find themselves raising their hands with the dream of touching them, ignorants of the fact that it's impossible for a human being to feel them with their hands.

But unlike most who gave up over the pass time, you kept trying over over, extending your hand towards the sky, hoping to reach them someday. He couldn't understand your persistence and your determination behind it, but even though he questioned it multiple times, he never protested, slowly letting you in without you even noticing.

"Do you see the same sky as I?" You asked him once.

A long silence followed that question. It was unusual from him. That composed and unalterable person whose job is to answer questions and find them to the ones which didn't have, not knowing what to say when a simple one was presented in front of him. And yet, the silence between the two of you lacked of tension. In some strange way it was comfortable, even comforting.

"I do. " He finally responded in an almost inaudible, soft tone. Nevertheless, the implication of it felt surreal. How can someone, who stands so firmly from above, capable of changing someone's life with just a few words, and at the same time so human to grief for the fate of others, coexist in the same world as yours?

It only took a rainy afternoon to find the answer you were truly searching for.

Those days when the clouds suddenly darken and their tears don't stop shamelessly falling from the sky, only to realize that all this time you outstretched your hands you were unawarely touching them.

Even though everyone can feel the rain, you're the only person who has seen him weep, you realize, gently caressing his cheeks as his crystalline eyes simply stare at you. Admiration and sadness accompany his gaze equally, plunging you into a storm of conflicting feelings that slowly consumes both of you.

However, in the moment you lean towards him, Neuvillette doesn't fade between your fingers as you always thought he would, indulging himself in the warmth of your touch as the sky slowly starts clearing again.

[stressfulsloth]

What do you think of the like “It won't put smoke back in her mouth...” from Harry’s dream on the third day?

I took it somewhat literally and thought maybe Dora smoked, maybe she smoked with Harry specifically, but not on her own. Maybe she quit shortly before they split, or maybe he just had a fond memory of her smoking. Harry does seem to go for smokers (Klaasje, Kim, The Smoker on The Balcony, Tommy Le Homme according to some- which I didn’t pick up on but I’m pretty dense) which is pretty much the only thing that lends any credibility to my interpretation.

But I was curious if you (or anyone else) had any other interpretations or if I’d missed something completely.

So I think there are multiple implications to that line, although ofc I could be way off base! Smoking as a literal piece of Harry's life, something that actually anchors a lot of his remaining memories, and also as a pretty layered metaphor for love under capitalism. That line is a continuation of this section:

"The smoke in her mouth," sounding a lot more literal in the first section. These are concrete memories, sight memories- potted flowers, faces in a crowd, a half-remembered woman always mid way through breathing out a lungful of smoke- and the smoke lends them a kind of ephemeral half-obscured quality. It sounds likely in these half-remembered scenes that Dora was a literal smoker and was from the beginning- maybe to impress him? It's something that she refers to in the final dream- she saw him "smoking in the bus stop" and thought he was the *coolest* (as has been pointed out, a parallel to Harry's reaction to Kim smoking on the balcony!). You're right that Harry goes for smokers, and they are not in short supply in Martinaise. Smoking is a stress reliever, an appetite suppressant, a crutch for people struggling to get by- Martinaise has few places to buy proper food but does have a kiosk to buy cigarettes. Perhaps Dora's smoking started like their relationship, as something she thought looked impossibly cool, and slowly became an unhealthy coping mechanism tangled up in stress and poverty.

I think because Harry's fragmented memories are so steeped in cigarette smoke, he also associates cigarettes with longing for the unattainable, with things lost never to be regained, with his youth. He calls the smoker on the balcony the "god of youth and cigarettes". The smell of cigarettes triggers a wave of "warm nostalgia," invokes a time before he became ground down by life and by his job. Dora smoking, mouth full of smoke, sets her amongst these unattainable desires.

I think Dora smoking symbolically has a lot to do with the "lungs are for love" idea, too, with smoking being a slow corruption of that love. Glowing lungs slowly filled up with tar, idealised love slowly succumbing to the pressures of capitalism, of poverty, until there's barely room left in the lungs to draw breath. It's another shadow cast by Dolores Dei and her glowing lungs, glowing because "the world loved her and she loved it back!" (although I think it's fair to say that given the war crimes committed by her "army of humanity," her love for the world can be called into question somewhat). Obviously there are a lot of Dora-Dolores parallels and so I think that if Dolores' lungs are significant then Dora's are too (not even touching on the supernatural subsuming of Dora's self within Dolores, the literal consumption of her via the historical embodiment of white bourgeois femininity). Where Dora and Dolores have become irrevocably tangled in Harry's mind, he fixates on her glowing lungs, her love and her unattainability. Her smoking in that initial flash of memory is something very innately human, compared to the symbolic thing that she warps into later on, more "inhuman," more "unsettling." Putting the smoke back in her mouth- putting the Dora-ness back in her? Rewinding the clock to before this all-consuming unattainability.

Anyway! I am sure that's a much longer and more rambling answer than you wanted, and I apologise for that! But yeah, I agree that Dora probably was literally a smoker 😅

[facingthefossegrim]

Mo Guan Shan's Guitar: Part 2 。

Part 2 is the symbolism. (Part 1 [here].)

My first post on the subject describes Mo Guan Shan's interest and desire to play music, specifically the guitar. What I was really getting at here is the symbolism behind it; the guitar as a representation of his interest and desire in He Tian.

Chapter 226: Mo's longing here runs parallel to his longing to He Tian; someone who he sees as unattainable as the guitar, and so he dismisses him as an impossibility.

But He Tian doesn't see it that way. He goes and buys Mo a custom guitar after hearing Mo admit that he couldn't afford it on his own; couldn't move forward in that regards. In a similar vein, doesn't He Tian also make himself available to Mo despite Mo seeing their relationship as an impossibility?

Chapter 346: Even after receiving the gift, Mo hesitates to accept it, claiming that He Tian doesn't understand him. In a way, this proves to be true to some degree (see below), but He Tian also pushes for Mo to change; to move forward from such a bleak mindset. Although they don't understand each other quite yet, He Tian says they'll have the opportunity to get to know each other better later on.

Chapters 363-364: There's a parallel here, in the way Mo turns his head away at the sight of He Tian (just like he turned away from the guitar by the window in chapter 226). He Tians asks him if it isn't about money, which is kinda insensitive af, but also, looking at their previous conversation in chapter 299 (see part 1), Mo had stated then that joining music club (aka. pursuing his interest) would be a waste of time and money.

With guitar/music being representative of He Tian, am I reaching in thinking that Mo sees pursuing a relationship with He Tian as something that would go nowhere at this point? Mo admits to his shortcomings and sense of inferiority in this chapter (how ill-suited he thinks he is to be with He Tian), not that He Tian would let him use it as a reason to leave him.

Mo tells him, "You don't understand," which echoes his inner turmoil in chapter 346 and the theme of the two of them not understanding each other continues.

Chapter 397: He Tian previously told Mo, "If you don't even have the courage to change, then you don't deserve to dream." We've fast-forward a bit here, but after Mo's initial confrontation with She Li, we see that after Mo accepted He Tian (accepting his "dream"), he's been making that effort to change.

He put more effort into his studies with He Tian's help (his support) and it paid off in improved grades, but I picked this scene to highlight because this is the moment where his courage is made manifest.

The teacher who previously scolded He Tian pretty much disparaged Mo by highlighting his insecurities (of being unworthy of He Tian), and yet instead of continuing to turn away, to run away from He Tian, Mo decides to move forward towards change. He aims to become someone who could proudly stand next to He Tian; to pursue his dream.

(I got a little sidetracked from the guitar metaphor this was supposed to be, but hopefully y'all get where I'm coming from.)

[abandonedsdjfhcvndfbv]

noelashe foilism mirrorism ramble

Sorry for this getting into semantics type of post but. People always call noelashe narrative foils but i think that saying they mirror eachother (the opposite of foil) is way more fitting... I always thoughtttt i was the one that wasn't getting the definition of "narrative foil" but if you think that you probably interpreted their arc as the few moments in which they highlight Noel as "good" (only willing to attain his wish through dream-like means) and Ashe as "bad" (able to do demonic things to attain his wish). That's what narrative foils are, an apparent contrast between 2 characters who are completely different, but share some core value that somewhat unfortunately brings them together, usually between protagonist and antagonist who couldn't be any more different. But the point of the entire explanation imo is that their wishes are the same, even the fact that their methods make their wishes unattainable are the same, It's a wake-up call as to how pointless the preaching of morals on Noel's part of these actions is in order to alienate himself from Ashe (and painfully enough in turn his father), because both are rooted in something that is basically wrong/twisted since they are trying to bring a reality that is impossible into fruition out of their own selfish (selfless) desires. The definition of this is a mirror, 2 people who share many similarities which highlight the oppositional core value that sets them apart. So albeit it was disguised as a foil, the entire POINT of the revelation in Sirius conclusion is that Noel thought they were foils, but they were mirrors all along! See the literal CG in the game where Noel is looking in the mirror and sees Ashe. And while it is possible to have mirror-characters also be foils, while they are in some cases synonyms, i feel like with my own interpretation of the characters -- Noel as capable of more than he wants to think, the effect of survivor's guilt making him hold himself back, and Ashe as barely attached to reality & using the mask of evil to obscure the guilt he feels about the rational but unfulfilling reality of what happened, the survivor's guilt spurring him on to hide its existence -- I feel like they truly don't oppose eachother enough to be called foils, only opposing eachother in ways that comes down to ONE crucial instance: whether they are able to kill Claire or not. & that's what makes them interesting, since they have almost the same values, but the response to the guilt makes them seem like opposites at first glance. But they are not <3

[peachymilkandcream]

Someone To Love|Part 2|Reiner x Jealous Reader

(A/N: It's kind of nice and out of my normal style to write a much more wholesome romance, but I can't say I dislike it. You gotta have the fluff with your angst. And since this is going with yandere Levi it's good to have a bit of a change of pace. Comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: implied nsfw, depression, attempted suicide, violence, general angst, slowburn, lowkey love triangle with a happy ending, not a warning but Reiner calls you nicknames instead of y/n (because I personally can't stand it)

==============================================

It felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs.

"An Island Devil?"

"I know, it's crazy, trust me I already know that. Especially after everything they did to Bertholdt and Annie. I don't know, I just feel...good about myself and safe around her."

She clears her throat, trying to keep the wad of emotion down in her chest so it doesn't spill out all at once. "And you say her name is Evelyn? I..uhm- tell me about her-"

Reiner leans back with a shy smile. "Well for starters she's short, really short, but she's also fun, and super sweet, an impressive fighter, and pretty on top of that. Like the ultimate package."

"How did you meet her?"

"When I was under cover she was one of the Scout officers, I didn't get to see a whole lot of her since she was part of Captain Levi's squad, but still. As far as Island Devils go she's one of the sweetest people I've ever met."

"Does she know who you are?"

Now Reiner frowns, apparently a sore spot for him. "Yes she does, when we fled I exposed who I was to her...and she said she hated me."

She tries to hide her relief with a deep breath, it wouldn't help anything to outwardly show how glad she was of that.

"So you'll never see her again."

"Until we return to Paradis to reclaim the Founder it seems unlikely." His mood changed, his tone becoming more and more depressed.

"That's too bad. She sounds wonderful."

"Yeah...she was." Reiner rests his elbow on the table, staring into the wooden pattern. "By now she's probably married off to Captain Levi, no screw that, why should I respect him with a title, to Levi."

"Who's Levi?" She didn't know who he was but if he was able to give Reiner closure with this unattainable crush she'd be thankful to him.

"Selfish bastard. Captain of the Survey Corps and man does he abuse that. Always unfairly punishing everyone and demanding respect." He shakes his head. "Creep watched Evelyn like some kind of sick stalker. There were many times I got punished for being anywhere near her. Asshole."

"Maybe you just didn't understand their dynamic?"

"Impossible, it was so obvious he was sick in the head. But no one saw it but me."

Bravely she reaches out to touch his hand. "It'll be okay Reiner, you can move on now. Forget about what happened their and live the rest of your life in peace."

"The rest of my life." He scoffs. "What short time I have left."

The thought made her wince, but he had a point. If she didn't try harder he'd be killed and they'd never have that life she dreamed of, even if it was for a short time.

"That's why you need to make the most of it."

Reiner nods, taking in her words. "You're right, sitting here sulking over what could have been won't get me anything but wasted time." A smile comes to his face. "Thanks kid, you always make me believe in myself."

She blushed a little at the nickname, even after all of this he still saw her as the same girl from their childhood. "No problem, you're my friend and I want to help you."

Reiner's face turns solemn again but before he can speak his mind a soldier comes up to their table.

"Reiner Braun, Commander Magath has sent for you."

"Right now? Is it urgent?"

"He said to come right away."

Reiner offers an apologetic glance before standing and hurrying to follow the young soldier, leaving her alone.

She couldn't put her finger on it, but she had a bad feeling about all of this.

[it-happened-one-fic]

No Matter the Impracticality - Al Haitham

Author's Notes: I wrote this before the Sumeru Archon quest was even finished being released. It's just been sitting in my document gathering dust. Additionally, this fic was a last minute 'let's post this one' kind of decision I didn't actually listen to a song while I wrote this fic either. It just kind of happened. Nonetheless, writing Al Haitham is pretty enjoyable and I do hope you enjoy this fic! Reader is, as per usual, gender-neutral.

Type: Fluff/romance heavily implied/gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 467

“When people say adults in Sumeru don’t dream…. Do they mean they don’t have night time fantasies that only occur in their sleep or do they mean that they don’t hold hopeful aspirations for the future?”

Al Haitham looked up from his book to find you gazing back at him with a curious stare. Though your question was odd he did understand the meaning behind it, “Both, I suppose. We don’t dream our evenings away and we don’t waste our lives frantically chasing hopeless fantasies.”

He watched a small frown appear on your face, betraying your nature as one of the few dreamers within Sumeru, “That’s sad.”

He snorted, earning himself a look from that merely had him turning back to his book just before he threw an idle, if sarcastic, reply back your way, “It’s sad that people don’t let themselves get led astray by impractical and wholly unattainable dreams?”

He didn’t have to look at you to know you were frowning. Your tone said everything, “No. It’s sad that people chain themselves to only the things they know they can do. I understand taking the safe route when looking at something like job options, but for your entire life? That’s just restricting yourself.”

Despite himself, Al Haitham found himself acknowledging your argument. For a dreamer you could be quite logical.

He looked up from his book once more, finding his eyes being drawn to where you sat once more as you continued, fixing him with an unshakable look, “Haven’t you ever tried to reach for something? Some skill or goal you weren’t positive you could gain?”

“No.” His answer was flat and lacked all hesitation, but it didn’t tell the full story and he knew it.

He silently watched as you stared at him, startled by his speedy reply and he felt a smug smile curl across his face as he looked back down at his book.

It was true, he hadn't ever reached for anything that he wasn’t positive he could get. But just from spending time with you like this, he knew that wouldn’t last.

Al Haitham was no fool. He knew that when he looked at you he was looking at that potentially unattainable reward that he would strive for. No matter the impracticality or impossibility.

He could still feel your eyes on him when he turned his attention back to his book. You were no doubt thinking about his earlier, unhesitating reply to your question. He didn’t even bother hiding the amused smile on his face as he continued to peruse his book, not truly reading the contents as he pondered the fascination that was you.

With the way you filled his thoughts, perhaps he should be counted with the dreamers after all. But what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

[intermittent-showers]

Heyyy! I'm starting a series of slice of life for Bucktommy.

I hope to write one every day until the premiere of season 8. (This is a dream lol) but, only 72 days left!

Part 1: 'till there was you

Small Character Study from both Buck's and Tommy's POV

Read here or on AO3

Until there was Tommy, Buck was afraid. Not of dying or spiders or snakes, oh my!

But of being alone.

And sure, he had family and friends, people that cared, people that would always show up for him no matter the consequences. But at night, when the day came to a close and the long shifts were over, Buck always ended up... alone.

He could ignore it, sure, and he did. He'd cook, or he'd read. Sometimes, he would stand out on his balcony, standing above the city below, eyes shut, listening to the sounds of people living their lives. Laughter and shouts and car doors slamming, and he'd wonder.

Did everyone else have it all figured out? Had Buck missed some piece of literature that held the answers to a life of ease? A life of understanding?

There had always been something... missing. A piece of himself that was too far, too unfamiliar to grasp that always left Buck unsure of his next step.

Until there was Tommy.

The night they met, something that had remained dormant inside Buck was suddenly screaming to let itself out.

He could feel that pull, heard that soft, almost unintelligible voice that continued to speak to him, telling him to push his feelings forward, pursue it, telling him to go, go, go.

For weeks, he had nothing on his mind except fake mouth static and scrunchy smiles. Nothing but dry, sarcastic words and Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy...

To talk about him was painful, but not talking about him was impossible. Something was off. Something was different here. Something felt familiar.

And then, Tommy found him.

This confident, cool, beautiful man reached deep inside Evan Buckley and found a way to put all his missing pieces together again. Pieces he didn't even know he had.

And suddenly, life wasn't lonely anymore.

Life was now full of possibilities. Of 'when' instead of 'if' and for the first time, Buck wanted to chase this feeling. Jump off a cliff with it, all while saying 'yes' and 'now' and 'finally.'

Because he found, for the first time, he could breathe. A part of himself that had always felt like it was drowning, clawing at the surface, desperate for air, shouting at someone to just fucking love him anyway, was finally taking its first breaths.

--------

Until there was Evan, Tommy was unsure. Not of himself, or his skills, or even his career, hell no...

But of the future.

Coming out in his thirties was fine with Tommy. He was just grateful that he got to be his true authentic self at least once before he died. A chance to really like the person he saw in the mirror, to put away the fear, disguised as anger, that had been drilled into him, quite literally, with a fist when he was just a little boy.

But he never thought about settling down, never once dreamed of having a family, never allowed himself to believe there would ever be someone there for him when his back was against the wall. He'd been in that spot plenty of times, in his youth, in the army, at the 118 with Gerrard... it had been such a common theme for Tommy in his life that anything else just seemed unattainable now.

Sometimes, though, after covering a shift for yet another member of the 217 welcoming a baby into the world or hearing the others chat about what they did during their time off with their loved ones, Tommy would allow himself a moment of want.

He wanted someone to miss him. Someone who wanted to know him, wanted to touch him and hold him and listen to stories about his day. Someone who wanted all of him, no matter what, just the way he was. But then he'd shrug it off, let those thoughts roll around in his head for maybe an hour or so, glass of whiskey in his hand, before putting them away because dreams like those weren't for people like him.

Until there was Evan.

He'll never forget that first night they met. Sneaking into Tommy's helicopter, risking his career and job for people he openly cared for. Evan Buckley was a beacon in the night, and Tommy was the ship being led home.

And he wanted to be a part of that. All of it. Some of it. Tommy wanted, for the first time to be for someone what no one else had ever been for him. So, he took a chance, unbeknownst to him if Evan's feelings were the same, and something beautiful manifested right before his eyes. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't polished. And it hadn't exactly gone in the direction Tommy had hoped it would.

But then, Evan reached out.

This adorable, interesting, gorgeous guy not only told his family about Tommy but decided he was ready for something, something with Tommy. Something neither of them had likely experienced before.

And suddenly, the future wasn't so uncertain.

Now the future had hope. It held possibilities of tomorrow, next week, next month, everything culminating into the now very real possibility of... forever.

A future once shrouded in the unknown was now front and center because one man had found a way to make Tommy Kinard feel excited and loved and hopeful. All things denied from him all those years ago.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Mornings at the beach

@sasumimo

🫧🍉🩳 (bubbles, watermelon, swim trunks)

Fun fact, this is inspired by a really treasured childhood memory I have <3 my heart is so warm after writing this out now

Lan Wangji feels inexplicably emotional as he bites into his triangle-shaped piece of watermelon, the silly mermaid tooth pick lodged in it for decoration nearly making him lose it.

But he swallows back his tears and decides to focus on the fresh flavor of the fruit instead - he knows this isn't a place for tears. He's not even sad! In fact, he feels the opposite - he's so happy it threatens to burst out of him.

Wei Ying and A-Yuan chase one another on the sea shore, blowing soap bubbles at each other, laughing so loudly that the grumpy old ladies trying to tan in the morning sun glare at them. They're wearing matching swim trunks, blue with these cartoon sharks on them, and Lan Wangji almost wishes he had a pair too.

They just didn't have it in his size. Oh well, there have to be downsides to everything.

Lan Wangji watches them, and his heart is so full he feels as though love is ready to spill out of him at any second. He's only ever used to dream of moments like these - soft, domestic, simple, a life so loving and so uncomplicated, beautifully mundane.

His life, Wei Ying's life, even A-Yuan's life - neither have had the luxury of "simple". There has always been something, someone standing a way, some cruel turn of fate that stole their dreams from right under their fingertips. For a while, Lan Wangji thought happiness to be impossible, an unattainable goal.

But now, he looks on at his family playing on the seashore, and he knows he has attempted the impossible with them and reached it. It's a feeling that cannot be described unless you've felt it, a mix of peace, safety, comfort and purpose, a beautiful amalgamation of all that is good in the world.

Lan Wangji quickly dries his eyes so that neither Wei Ying, nor their son notice how they're a bit shinier than usual - and busies himself with preparing snacks. He' s packed a large picnic basket full goodies before they left their beach house this morning - watermelon, strawberries, pineapple, an assortment of sweets, some sandwiches and, of course, plenty of water and alcohol for Wei Ying.

It's a bit of a struggle keeping everything cool now that their cooler has decided to refuse to do its job, but Lan Wangji is a resourceful man, and so everything is still fresh and ice cold. He doubts any of the foods and drinks will last long enough to get hot anyway - his family gets very hungry in the mornings.

And he seems to have been right on time, his husband and his son racing one another towards their beach towels, plopping next to Lan Wangji and digging into the food with abandon.

"Eat slowly." He chides, but it falls on deaf ears as his dearly loved stuff their cheeks with treats.

He sighs, fond and exasperated as he sips at his green tea and digs through the beach bag for some sun screen. "A-Yuan, after you're done eating, you need to put sunscreen on."

The boy makes a displeased face and tries hiding behind Wei Ying as he munches on a sandwich.

"Wei Ying, you need to as well."

He makes the same displeased face, and Lan Wangji can't help but smile at that. They're both so adorable - but they won't talk him out of sunscreen.

"It's still early, the sun isn't even hot right now." A-Yuan tries. "I hate that thing, it feels like slime."

"Didn't you like slime?" Lan Wangji replies, raising a challenging eyebrow. "If your interest has run out, we can always donate your slime collection to-"

"No, no, slime is still great! Just... Not on my skin... Baba, help me out here!"

Wei Ying shrugs as he bites into a piece of watermelon. "Sorry, little radish, there's nothing I can do. It's better to be slimy than burnt."

"Then why don't you like sunscreen either?!"

"Look at this child, talking back to his parents!" Wei Ying fakes offense. "Lan Zhan, are you hearing this?"

"Mn. A-Yuan has a point."

"Lan Zhan! Traitor!"

A-Yuan sticks his tongue out at Wei Ying, and promptly gets up to run when Wei Ying makes a scandalized noise and comes up after him.

Lan Wangji laughs, watching them raise sand up in their wake, and finds himself suddenly drawn to one of the little soap bubble containers.

He hasn't played with one ever since his mother died. It feels healing to do it now.

The bubbles dance in the light breeze just as beautifully as his family's laughter fills the air.

[vriskaserketdaily]

May I get your professional opinion on Spider8reath?

professional opinion: it's cute and good for vriska but ultimately unrequited

from john's perspective, he and vriska had a couple of really intense conversations during what was already kind of a stressful day for him, and then he heard nothing from her for like three years. he never saw vriska's last messages to him, because she actually sent them to rose in the hopes that rose would forward them to john. prior to the retcon, john even explicitly states that he finds vriska strange, offputting, and dangerous, and that he kind of hates her!

on vriska's side of things, it's quite different. john has absolutely no context on who she is or what she's done, which is very freeing. the sheer fact of his humanity is what allows vriska to be vulnerable, to admit her shortcomings as a troll of the cerulean caste (namely, feeling guilt over killing tavros). he is at that point the only person in her life she has not alienated through her actions, so naturally she developed some pretty strong positive feelings for him!

personally, i think at least some of her feelings are based on comphet---she tends to place guys on impossible pedestals and is endlessly disappointed when they fail to live up to who she thinks they should be. and a guy from an entirely different species in a completely different universe who you have had the chance to quietly observe for most of his life and who has no preconceived notions of who you are at all seems like a pretty good unattainable emotionally unavailable parasocial blank slate!

until, oops, she dies. and there's a dead john too. and this john knows even less about her than her john.

i think that vriska's attraction to the idea of john as a supportive, empathetic figure (as opposed to the real john, who can be kind of a dick) might have been some of the reasons that they didn't work out in the afterlife---again, for all the guys she "dates," she seems so much more invested in the roles they should be playing (eridan as dualscar, tavros as the summoner) that she pays very little attention to and has very little regard for who the guys actually . . . are. and john very adamantly does not let that happen to him.

i think they work as "kisrails"---a pitch/pale semiquadrant. john is something of an unwitting blackrom casanova, and while he doesn't like vriska he does still feel a certain responsibility towards her. and while john might not be the malewife of vriska's dreams, he is the one guy she knows who can dish it out as well as take it. they do bring out the better parts in each other, or at least john brings out the better parts in vriska.

also i think it's funny to headcanon them both as homophobic gays. john would never say so, but he DOES privately agree when vriska calls dirk and jake a pair of [slurs she definitely cannot reclaim]

[remyfire]

"I may not be a nurse, but I'd like to think that I have pretty good bedside manner." She pauses as her robe slips down her shoulders, leaving her in her silken powder blue nighty, hair bouncing as she shrugs. "Well. Bath-side manner." Having people in her home to share the burden, to even pamper her from time to time, did much to soften the edges Peg has developed to protect her daughter, her home...and herself.

But that means she has the energy and focus to not only care for herself but care for her partners in turn. He's weary after an unexpectedly chaotic shift at the hospital. Peg knows, from their stories, that often back in Korea, they'd collapse onto their cots, filthy and fully clothed, to try and earn a scant hour of sleep. But they were home now and Peg was not about to let him slip away to throw on dirty pajamas and doze off.

The tub is finished filling and she turns the tab off. Manicured fingers dip into the water to test the temperature, humming in satisfaction at the warmth that kisses her skin. "Now, sir, for your bathing pleasure, tonight we offer a choice between," she sing songs, turning to the cabinet to fetch the packets of powder before turning back to her partner, waving them enticingly, "Lavender, honeysuckle, or! Jasmine bubble bath."

(FLUFF. FLUFF, I SAY. Hawk and Peg fluff!!!!!!)

Hawk's still not used to this. He's a long way out from Korea and BJ's teasing, "I like taking care of people. And maybe I read you wrong, but I figured you'd like being pampered." He's received enough of it from that man here and there that he should more naturally sink into it by now.

Maybe it's because it's Peg. Maybe because he continues to have trouble believing he can just reach out, touch her, have a taste of what he'd craved so desperately that first month back stateside. But as his new psychiatrist prefers to remind him about other facets of his life, the more that Hawk repeats something safely, the more he's going to believe that this is his new reality—that he's not going to be shot, mortared, crushed by a falling building, that he gets to be safe now. So perhaps this applies as well.

Part of it, he thinks, is that Beej is pulling the midnight shift right now. It's just him, Peg, and Erin in this house, with the little one already tucked in with her favorite stuffed animal. It brings back the memory of the warm summer nights when Hawk had been invited to overstay his welcome here, when he would lay awake in the guest bedroom and think of Peg on the other side of the wall and BJ still fighting tooth and nail to get home, when he'd want and want and want and not let himself have.

It took so, so long to make good on those desires—only when he had pure, open confirmation that he could—and maybe these soft, sweet moments are his reward for being good when he didn't have to be.

He rubs the back of his neck with a drowsy smile, lids already half-closed as he watches her test the water. "Trust me, I never heard a bad word about your company, bed, bath, or otherwise." Hawk fights to stay on his feet, but he can't help leaning back into the wall as he waits. Waits to be invited. To be told. "Some nights, he...made me think maybe you were just a dream. Some impossible perfection."

He understands now. He recognizes the vital nature of having something mythical but perhaps unattainable to fight to return to. But the difference is while Crabapple Cove was that mythical yet unsatisfying dream that kept him alive, Peg is living and breathing and so very, very necessary.

"Turns out he wasn't making it up," Hawk murmurs. "You really are home, aren't you?" Even with the way she shuts down sometimes and refuses to say what she's worried about, like they can't handle the fullness of her anxiety. Even when she forgets how life can be collaborative after so long on her own and tries to take the reins herself in everything, no matter if she's about to break or not. Even when she gets overwhelmed by how easy it is for Hawk to raise his voice, to meet conflict, to drive it to the peak so they can get it out of the way rather than force him to chase and goad it out of her in a kitchen.

She isn't perfection. And he adores her exactly as she is.

As Peg makes the packets dance before him, Hawk can't help but grin. "All right, all right, c'mon, bring 'em here." He waves her closer, but once she's in reaching distance, he tugs her in by the waist. Fingers sink into the cotton of her robe—the only one he lets her keep when he keeps stealing her silky ones—and pulls her against him. It feels wrong, pressing his body against her when he's been worked to the bone today, covered in blood and trauma even so far from the jaws of hell, but he knows she can take it.

Hawk cranes down to touch the tip of his nose to the soft place right behind her ear. He lets himself have just a taste—sucking the lobe between his lips and worrying it between his teeth—but he doesn't let himself get any more distracted, not even after her breathy shiver. He trails his nose further up, through her soft hair, and breathes in deep.

"This one." He feels for where he remembers the jasmine being—third in the line. "This one's most like you."

He's still vain enough to smirk when Peg has to resteady herself, cheeks flushed, pupils so dark and wide. He gets it. Beej was her one and only man for so goddamn long. Hawk's not sure if either of them will ever see BJ let himself be overwhelmed by another woman after the unsteady close calls he came to with both Carrie and Aggie, but if they ever do, he imagines Beej will look much the same, stricken and almost guilty from the ache of wanting something so badly that he can have now.

Slowly, day by day, Peg is adjusting to how her body sings for them both in these different but equally rapturous ways, and he loves getting a front row seat to her transformation.

Peg perches on the edge of the tub as she stirs in the powder, and Hawk wishes he had more in him right now to come after her and slip his fingers under that nightie, find the heat. Maybe the bath will rejuvenate him, but he also imagines it'll put him straight to sleep.

But there's time. There's always more time.

The floral scent fills the entire room, blissing Hawk out, taking him right to that edge of a haze that he finds so seldom without booze, without sex. It's coming easier these days. It's relief.

"Here you go, love," Peg murmurs. She's so close. He opens his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them, and has no idea how he missed her approaching him. He's further gone than he thought. But when he reaches for the hem of his shirt, she finds it instead, peeling the wrinkled fabric off him, and he has no choice but to let her.

Little by little, she strips him down. It's almost achingly familiar. If he lets himself remember, there's a slideshow of the hundreds of times her husband has taken him down to nothing—sometimes for sex, but getting his numb body ready for a shower or bed just as often. Hawk sucks in a sharp breath, has to reach and rub a few locks of Peg's hair between his fingers just to remember that this is real—not some hallucination at the 4077th.

She turns her head and kisses his forearm and he can't help but grin.

"You're a dream come true, you know that?" Hawk rumbles, barely audible.

Peg dips her head, but it can't hide her smile. "And you're the dream I didn't know I had."

He hums. The words wrap around his heart and give it a squeeze, dousing him in enough endorphins to nearly make him pass out. "C'mon. Help me out before it gets cold, huh?"

He doesn't let himself be embarrassed that he has to lean into her for the three steps to the bathtub. If he's a dream, then that means even when he's fragile. He eases his way into the hot water and groans long and deep as he stretches out, sinks in all the way to his chin. "Thank fuck BJ's tall."

Peg laughs. "He was rather specific about this tub, it's true."

"He's a goddamn genius." Hawk beams as he rolls his neck to look at her, opens his eyes once more. Behind her head, the bathroom lights are a halo. Suddenly she's too far away, even sitting on the edge, and he catches the hem of her robe and tugs just a little—just a warning. "Peg. I should warn you, you have thirty seconds to get all this off and get in here with me before I pull you in myself."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "I-I—Hawk, I poured this bath for you. Don't you think you should enjoy—"

"Twenty-five," he begins, "twenty-four, twenty-three—"

She throws her head back and laughs in a way that reminds him just so of Beej, the way that Erin is already starting to do herself, and he's so dizzyingly, incandescently happy that he almost wants to burst into tears.

He's home. He really, really is. And nothing can take that away from him ever again.