#and thus the cycle of violence continues ... ... ...

[retquits]

me when i GET YOU

[gallusrostromegalus]

Have you talked about the agriculture and infrastructure of AEIWAM? Cause in the show we see the people of Seireitei eating, but they’re dead, so that’s a lot of dead people to be feeding. Plus you’ve established the mail service so public services are available in a way.

What’s the food situation look like? Do we have entire districts of people farming? Are there laws about it? Who can be bribed with a very specific food?

Autism Voice: How much are you prepared to learn about this topic? Because there's 5,236 words under the cut. Godspeed.

So in canon, souls don't "need" to eat, but do so out of habit, and also the rukongai is largely a feudalistic economy, which is not how habits OR feudalism work.

Not to drastically oversimplify enormous fields of history, political theory and socioeconomic, but if you were ever wondering WHY someone would tolerate living in a feudal system, the answer largely is "Because it beat the fuck out of the previous system, 'constant and devastating warfare'."

How feudalism gets started is easy:

There's a very large amount of people with no effective unified government for whatever reason (humans just moved into the area/an empire collapsed/a volcano blew up the general everything, etc.), and a limited amount of arable land, and therefore, a limited amount of food.

There's always a few assholes, and those assholes immediately try to establish dominance over the good turf with violence. This is the "constant warfare" phase of the agrarian government cycle.

In response, everyone bands together with their families and immediate neighbors to create defenses against The Marauding Assholes.

If one village is particularly defensible, or one marauder is particularly good at defense-breaking, people start to move in with whoever they think will do a better job of helping them stay fed. eventually these groups get big enough to need some kind of organization, and the organization tends to default to transactional loyalty.

I swear to god this is about the food situation.

The Transaction is thus: In exchange for taxes and you occasionally being called in for military Service, your Lord keeps the Marauding assholes away and does the obnoxiously complicated work of governance that helps farming but is too time-consuming for any farmer to actually do. Sounds like a good deal, right?

Smart people will recognize several glaring omissions and problems with that deal, but that's not important right now. After decades of "constant and devastating warfare", this is a relatively sane and fair deal.

This transactional loyalty continues up the political food chain: The leaders of several villages along a river need to coordinate efforts along that river or whatever, so they pick One Guy to be The Lord of the River Districts, typically the most popular guy in the clique.

...Or the one with the most heavily armed peasants.

In exchange for coordinating all the traffic/trade/environmental conditions along the river and ensuring peace between all the river districts, The River Lord also gets paid taxes and can call on all the River Lords to turn up with the heavily armed peasants should trouble come knocking.

Eventually, the River Lord makes an alliance with the neighboring Plains Lord and Mountain Lord and the Beach Lord up the coast because warfare suuuuuucks, and the most popular member of that clique is crowned emperor.

After a generation or two of relative stability, people have forgotten what the previous period of warfare was like, and develop the unconscious bias that it's Always Been Like This/the horror stories of your elders are just superstition. See: people who don't vaccinate their children because THEY never met anyone with Polio.

So they start pushing their luck.

Get funny with the ownership laws and realize they can make EVERYONE a renter and get away with being a shitass landlord.

Justify being a shitass landlord by coming up with things like "The Divine Right Of Kings"

Someone figures out that if you make everyone pay taxes in a grain crop, you can get away with EVEN MORE shitholery because you can force the peasants to use the bulk of their time and space to grow a crop that they have a limited ability to process and eat themselves, and grow their actual sustenance on the margins, so you can keep them in line with the constant but unspoken threat of starvation.

So if the Rukongai is running on a rice-based feudal system (which it is, because Kan is a rice-based currency and there are Noble houses and Lords and Daimyo in canon), souls MUST need to eat or the lords would have all been beheaded for being assholes who can't govern a while ago without the threat of starvation.

See? It IS about the food situation.

SIKE

I need to talk about law enforcement and postal services in the modern Soul Society now.

So the thing is: Until Ichigo and his friends show up and Cause A Ruckus, The Gotei-13 didn't actually have the authority to arrest anybody besides other Shinigami, people actively trying to Kill Shinigmai, and Hollows (theoretically) in AEIWAM.

See, after the initial period of "Various Lords make friends with each other for fun and profit", some Lords got really, REALLY good at getting other lords to sign up for their Multi Level marketing Schemes, and got stupid rich and also regular stupid doing it. Five of them specifically. These five super-popular guys were the Five noble lords, and their families that everyone pledged loyalty to became The Great Noble Houses: Shihouin, Kuchiki, Ise, and Shiba. AND DEFINITELY NOBODY ELSE.

The fact that all four of these houses were involved in a peculiar incident that imbued them with terrible spiritual power and some really kicass magical artifacts sure helped too.

Theoretically, any of these Four guys could become Emperor, but nobody was willing to bow to anyone else and it rapidly turned into the tensest five-way Mexican standoff, with a shitload of proxy wars between the minor noble houses that served the Great ones.

Great.

We're back to "constant, if somewhat less devastating warfare" AND we have to pay rice taxes.

...so some peasants invent anarchist communalism.

Not communism, they don't have control of the state, but they DO have Lords that are too busy doing poetry and snorting drugs to do their jobs... or catch them doing things that aren't in their lord's best interests.

So one village elder quietly whispers to another about "Hey, let's agree to trade grain and other supplies to each other at a discount and ah... not tell His Lordship about it. We'll have to send messages to each other in secret tho."

So Some Fucking Peasant becomes The Messages Guy, hoofing it all over the Rukongai delivering messages and facilitating an entirely lordless agrarian economy.

It's Kind of a Big Deal.

It's Kind of a Big Deal because peasants who can communicate are peasants who can ORGANIZE, and when word comes down from the scullery maids and underpaid clerks in the noble houses that the minor houses of X and Y are about to go to war at the behest of their masters THE MOST PECULIAR THING HAPPENS-

Holy shit. Terrible plague outbreak in the lands of Lord X. Hundreds dead. No way any village has anybody to spare for the war. What, you want to look? You want to catch this too? That's what happened to the last guy who came to look and look at him now! Crow food :(

Meanwhile, Lord Y and his two jackass sons have suddenly fallen ill. Must be that Plague from District X. Oh no! They died! Now the only Heir left is his daughter Lady X Who Was Doing All The Work Anyway. How unfortunate :(

;D

and that's not even getting into the network of secret granaries, flash livestock auctions, refugee migration routes and fun new alliances with people like Bandit Gang That Is An Entire Calvalry But Better.

It gets to be such a big deal, there are TONS of message guys, and they organize and demand to be paid properly for all this running and not getting caught by the nobs.

And the first postal service is born.

And shit, now that they're organized, why not formalize some of these grain stores and livestock trades and does the cavalry want to help delivering these messages? Or how about all the Village Elders who are experts in various things write down how all that stuff is done so it can be shared? Maybe they should all have a chance to meet up and share wisdom in person...

Shigekuni Yamamoto is all of eleven years old when he hears the village elder who runs the orphanage float the idea. Much, much later, he'll recall that THAT was when the Central 46 began.

Gradually, the lordless network of elder advice and tax-free farm economy grows, and begins to develop internal structures of it's own, and slowly grows to rival the Noble Houses in power, the decentralization of the network making it difficult for the noble houses to even recognize as a player, let alone attack.

Sure, lone messengers are often captured by the armies of the noble houses, but the messages they carry make little sense- the peasants use an entirely different alphabet- and the messengers will bite their tongues off and drown in their own blood before speaking.

But the shape of this secret fifth house remains a mystery for a long time until it becomes An Fucking Problem for food-related reasons. Specifically:

Ever Since the noble houses came back with weird magic powers and fucked up artifacts, there's been more and more and MORE people who have their own fucked up magical powers who live bizarrely long lives and also there are these really fucked up creatures with skull-like masks and holes in their chest that FUCKING EAT PEOPLE??

Fortunately, if you've got one of these magical freaks in your village, they're GREAT at dealing with the hole-monsters or "Hollows"

Unfortunately, these guys need a TON of food.

I read a statistical analysis from a medieval European scholar who worked out that in an agrarian economy, if you want to have ONE full-time warrior, you need to have about 1000 people to support that guy in terms of services needed and the labor lost from them being a fighter. ...And these magical warriors have the appetites of three or four people.

So anyone born with Spiritual power in Soul society is a bit up shit creek.

While everyone experiences the threat of starvation but for them, it's a matter of days, not weeks. While their home village would love to keep them, they straight-up may not be able to produce enough food, even if he's a magical farmer most of the year.

The nearest noble house definitely has enough food. But they also know from the Magical Dudes in their own families just how hungry these guys are, AND how powerful they are and how badly a rival house would want them. So the Noble houses often default straight to conscription, threats of violence against the warrior's home and family, indentured servitude and straight-up curses to control any spiritually powerful people who appear in their districts before a Rival house can make them a decent offer. Or kidnap them.

Basically, unless you're actually a member of the family, the noble houses SUCK to work for. Magical warriors are treated like weapons or animals or worse, are forced to marry into the family.

What are you going to do though? Starve? Not a lot of other options.

...until the secret postal service starts.

Postal Service has Food. And decent wages and working conditions baked right into the way its run.

Sure, it's not easy work, but the magical warriors are the fastest and strongest out there, AND the people most equipped to handle suddenly running into a Noble Guard or a hollow.

Once the word gets out, the magical warriors are practically hammering down the post office doors for a job.

Bit of a rowdy lot, these guys. The Council of Elders realizes. Also, very noticable to the noble houses. it's going to becaome real clear what's going on real fast, and we don't have an army. Yet...

Enter Postmaster-General Shigekuni Yamamoto, who has been running this for the last 500 years and already built a Dojo to train carriers how to defend themselves. He's even a pretty heavy hitter of a magical warrior himself! We'll have him run the army. It's basically the same thing, right?

Yamamoto is made aware of his promotion when the news is first released up north where the council is holding it's meeting this year, and an adolescent Chojiro Sasakibe decides that a good way to apply to the Dojo is to Personally Deliver the News Himself.

At 1 AM

In Sensei's Bedroom. "...Are you all like this, or are you a special pain in the ass?" the man with the extremely impressive mustache and frightening glare croaks at the lad. "My ability to inflict discomfort on various backsides has been noted before, Sir!" Sasakibe reports cheerfully. "...But I'm not sure who you mean by 'you all'?" "You and every other maniac with an ounce of Reiryoku who's apparently headed here at speed?" Yamamoto glowers at the letter he's been handed. Chojiro frowns, looking off to the side and rubbing his chin, giving the question entirely too much serious thought. "Well-" the boy grimaces. "I'd say that compared to the population at large, I'm a statistically significant pain in the ass, but compared to just people with spiritual power, I'm only a minor nuisance." Yamamoto groans, laying back down and staring at the ceiling for a bit. "How old are you, boy?" "Fourteen sir!" Chojiro chirps. "Princess-Who-Understands-The-Heavens, he's fucking fourteen." Yamamoto groans, rubbing his face. "Well. You're my pain in the ass now. Make yourself useful and get me some breakfast."

Sasakibe has been faithfully following that order for the last 1200 years :)

Soon, the Lordless Council of Elders has themselves a sizeable, very powerful and extremely loyal army. In an act of extreme magnanimity, they extend an offer to each of the Four Noble Houses to bring an end to the feuding and create a government and laws for noble and peasant alike to follow and prosper under.

Every Single Noble House: 🗡️⚔️🔪FUCK. YOU. 🔪⚔️🗡️

Well, this was going to happen sooner or later, Yamamoto supposes, and readies for The Final War To End All Wars.

He was so full of hope and promise back then.

The Four Noble houses and Postal Army prepare their initial salvos but before anyone could strike, AN ABSOLUTE SHITWACK OF ARROWS rain down from the sky.

Knock Knock It's The Quincies.

Everyone scrambles against the invaders, but refuses to ally and soon the last hope of Spirit World is pinned on The Postmaster-General, the couple dozen surviving warriors of his Dojo, and Twelve Fucking Maniacs he hired off Death Row.

To ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE'S VAST SURPRISE, Yamamoto is Victorious. Well. Him and some weird monk guy who turned Yhwach into a bug, gave Yamamoto A Mandate From heaven re: The Hollows and Balance of Souls, and Dipped.

The tattered remains of the noble houses finally Unite, but Shigekuni Genryusai Yamamoto has three names now and is like unto a God. and the twelve shady bastards backing him up are no slouches either. ...Perhaps it's time to Negotiate.

And negotiations happen! - The Noble houses bring their not-insubstantial forces to the table, along with the fact they're the only people who have a System FOR collecting taxes, something a government really does need. - The Council of Elders brings it's vast organizational network, expertise in many practical subjects and Lifetimes of Wisdom, only accurate maps of the immediate spirit world. - The newly-named Court Guard brings it's Much more substantial force, it's Mandate from on high, and Yamamoto's scary mustache and even scarier wife.

Things are actually going pretty well. Yamamoto and the army are getting the civil protections they wanted, the elders are getting the fairer means of governement they wanted and the Noble houses are getting to still be Rich As Cream.

...then someone sneaks in to negotiations. Well, they were actually brought in, as part of the entourage of one of the Elders, who takes her advice very seriously. After all, she's the oldest being the elder knows- even older than whatever it was that made the nobles so powerful in the first place.

"Listen, I've worked with these slippery shits before. Make damn sure they can't betray you." she growls. "I know, Yamamoto-sama has laid a very clever trap for them-" the elder nods. "No, I mean Yamamoto." She growls, yellow eye narrowing as she tracks him and his wife as they meander around the gardens below the negotiation hall. "Not him specifically, but it was a betrayal by someone like him- someone gifted the power of heaven- who cursed me to be as I am." "...Oh." says the elder, realizing that if Yamamoto could strike down that monster that lead the Quincies, he could very easily turn his blade on the council too.

...And that's when the first cracks in the bond between Yamamoto and The Council appeared.

So it was declared thus:

The actual governing would be done by the Council of Elders, now called the Central 46.

The Noble houses would still be allowed to retain their lands and collect SOME taxes in exchange for clearly defined and legally binding responsibilities.

The Gotei-13 would be responsible for matters supernatural- People with strange powers, the balance of souls between worlds, hollows, etc. funded and housed by the Central 46.

Additionally, the four of the captain's positions in the Gotei-13 would be reserved for the scions of The Great Noble Houses, unless it somehow came to pass that there were no Scions left.

The former armies of the Noble Houses would become the Onmitsukudo*, who would do the actual enforcing of the central 46's laws and collecting of taxes in the Rukongai, as well as independently collecting information for the central 46.

The Central 46 would also cultivate and independent force of spiritually powerful souls to use the art of Kido for Civil Projects and assisting the Omnitsukido or Gotei-13 when necessary.

It's Peace, but it's a Very Uneasy Peace.

As it stands, the Gotei-13 is *a* military branch, and a force to be reckoned with should they decide to throw their weight around, but they are entirely legally beholden to the Central 46 and not allowed to enforce the law. In fact, the Central 46 and Onmitsukido are allowed to arrest and detain any shinigami they see as a threat, without notice, explanation or Trial. The Central 46 could even decide to stop funding the Gotei-13 altogether and leave them to starve if they chose.

That's why Yamamoto is so strict about direct orders from the Central 46, and why Shinigami aren't allowed into the government quarter of the city.

Is this an excessive amount of world-building? maybe Is it actually making the writing process easier because I actually know what the broader chains of causality already are so the plot flows more naturally? YES. More importantly, am I having fun? VERY MUCH YES.

...What the fuck was this about again?

Oh, right. Food.

So as you can see from the previous fucking doctoral thesis, the food situation is

INTENSELY POLITICAL

AND

EXTREMELY FRAUGHT

...but actually pretty stable!

The vast majority of flat-enough-to-use land in the Rukongai is dedicated to farming. The land mass of the districts gets larger as you get farther from Seireitei, and districts 40-75 are almost ENTIRELY agrarian, with substantial amounts of farming occurring in 20-40 and above 75.

The Primary crop is still rice, but that's been receding since Soul Society finally switched to a Fiat Currency in the 1800s.

Also since about then, a greater variety of crops from the living world have appeared, including: Tomatoes, Potatoes, Crummock, Salsify, Cantaloupe, Avocado, Jicama, Sunroot, Marijuana, Strawberries, Corn, Broccolini, blue berries, boysenberries, Chicory, Cranberries, asparagus, black berries, raspberries, black raspberries, red blackberries, Okra, Coca, lingon berries, elder berries, Rhubarb, gooseberries, salmonberries, bearberries, and so many fucking squash.

New livestock has appeared as well- Soul Society has had an almost unlimited supply of beef from the Chihuahuan Desert cattle trade, but recently there have been new arrivals from the living world- wool sheep, Dairy cattle, Llamas, Mini pigs, Micro Pigs, Guinea Pigs, Fallow Deer, and those fucked up damascus goats.

There is also a bunch of crops native to Soul Society like Hummage, Black yams, ratweed, Pinnerey, Tomangoes, Craic, Duck radish, Sisei, and So Many Fucking Beans. There is also, like Nano Pigs, Pico Pigs, Mega Pigs and the terrifying Giga Pig (actually a type of Cavy). There are also Meat Horses, wool donkeys, and riding cattle, as well as Fertile mules.

Are there Laws About It?

Bruh.

The Soul Society Department of Agriculture was the FIRST formal regulatory agency formed by the Central 46. Even before the IRS.

Soul Society Agricultural and Land-Use Law is so Complex and Arcane that Kaname invents* an entire Rice Farm Subsidy Fraud Case for that takes Momo over a DECADE to investigate in various archives (Aizen is allergic to paper dust), travel to distant districts of the Rukongai (He also gets sick on trains and gates are for emergency use only), and talk to a hell of a lot of lawyers about (Aizen hates talking to anyone who really understands contract law) specifically to keep her physically away from Aizen as much as possible. It even works! *Sort of. The Rice Subsidy Fraud is Very Very real, but difficult to investigate, so he was leaving her subconscious clues in the crossword to point her to more evidence.

Who can be bribed with Very Specific Food?

As a side-effect of shinigami appetites, very nearly everyone to at least some degree. Most have hard limits about what they will accept any kind of compensation for, but everyone can be at least inclined to consider your proposal with the right snacks.

Ukitake loves cookies. He won't break laws or promises or forgo prior engagements, but he will make little exceptions that will make everyone happier.

It's more effective to bribe Rukia with plushies instead of food.

---

Mayuri wants whole-roasted fish, especially the heads and eyeballs. Technically, Mayuri has no limits, but you're going to need to present him with something exceptional.

Nemu can be persuaded to do some truly startling things for a nice dessert. She's done felonies for a fruit parfait before.

You can't Bribe Urahara with food, but you can bribe him with edibles ;)

Akon has a chart posted on his office door what various favors cost in money, labor, cigarettes, beer and/or pirated media.

---

Zaraki doesn't have a specific food he likes, but is constantly craving calories. He's also very willing to eat all your food and then tell you to go fuck yourself. The most effective strategy is to share food while asking for nothing a few times and then ask for whatever you needed his help with outside of a food context. For better or worse, he's extremely trainable.

You can't Bribe Yachiru with what she's already stolen out of your pockets.

Ikkaku is sort of offended when people fail to attempt to bribe him, and VERY offended if they try to lowball him. What, do you think he's cheap? Will show up anywhere with a buffet tho.

Attempting to Bribe Yumichika is a great way to end up owing Yumichika for the rest of your life. He never fails to make it to Sasakibe's High Teas/Gay Bitching sessions and often takes the snacks home.

---

People try to bribe Rangiku with alcohol all the time, which is really annoying. She is Perfectly Capable of acquiring her own booze thank you! Also, they keep offering her shit like Aged Whiskey which tastes how burnt hair smells. What she REALLY wants is Neon orange "Cheez" or "Nacho Blasted" snacks from the Living World. She craves that Riboflavin.

Hitsugaya lets everyone believe he's a slut for watermelon so they don't offer him the thing he'd actually have to fight to not accept: Jerky.

---

Tousen will not be 'bribed' into doing anything and will get extremely offended if you imply that he might consider it. He will, however, go to remarkably extreme lengths to get his hands on persimmons without paying for them. Not theft, that's very unethical, but he holds a bizarre principle about never paying for that fruit so that means exploiting agricultural, fair use, zoning and Tree laws to find or plant persimmon trees that are Perfectly Legal for him to pick from.

Kensei is similarly stony about the idea of being 'bribed', and worse still has an utterly flavorless protien-based diet. Mashiro knows he's got a pathological craving for Oreos and exploits it regularly.

Shuuhei will not be bribed but he will be VERY grateful if you go fill up his water bottle for him. Dweeb.

Mashiro will sell her own granny for a corn chip because she likes snacks, loves shenanigans, and knows her granny can kick a man in half and could use the excitement.

---

Everyone *knows* Shunsui is a drinker, but the trick is that he's savoring some really, REALLY good stuff very slowly. You can't afford the shelf he's drinking from. He thought he was immune to food-based Bribery until Nanao was out of town one week and the rank-and-file Shinigami she left to mind him introduced him to the grand tradition of the post-spree Dirty Great Fry-Up. It was like waking up in heaven to his hungover ass, and now he's the one attempting to bribe his minder into making it again every time he wants to go on a bender because he refuses to wake up from one any other way again.

Nanao did not believe the minder when she told Nanao of the great power of The Dirty Great Fry-Up, but now that Shunsui limits his sprees to the availability of breakfast the following morning, Nanao is trying to figure out what kind of raise it's going to take to keep the fry cook on staff.

---

Sajin Komamura is a deeply honorable man who doesn't even like eating lunch out with a visitor lest it be misconstrued and because he's still self-concious about eating in front of others. Last spring though, someone put up flyers for Game Share tags, and Komamura met with them in private to negotiate terms and ended up putting almost half a month's salary towards at least two does, one wild sow, as many marmots as they can bag (they can keep the pelts), and the offal/feet of the other animals they bag on other tickets. Half of the following month's salary went towards an adequate chest freezer. It's worth it though. His diet had been suffering from lack of variety and some of the vitamins and other nutrients from parts humans don't eat and by December his coat is LUXURIOUS.

Tetsuzaemon won't do anything illegal but will do some remarkably stupid shit for a beer.

---

You don't even SAY the word 'bribe' in the sixth division. Byakuya will remember you forever if you bring him an extremely specific brand of seaweed snack though.

Renji will eat anything handed to him, which is a problem because he almost broke a tooth on a stapler he thought was going to be a sandwich. He's unbribable because his brain won't process anything you say to him while he's eating.

---

People kept bringing Aizen Chocolate when he was captain and he HATED it. It's not that he dislikes the food: it's that his Dead Twin Brother was an absolutely peerless confectioner and made chocolate that could make the angels weep. Not only are Aizen's standards ridiculously high, the food is a genuine trauma trigger for him.

Shinji loves him some Black Thunder Chocolate bars but is so goddamn bad at conversations that he will not grok what the FUCK someone is talking about when they try to bribe him. He'll think they're a bad conversationalist with good taste in candy.

Some god thought they were being real funny when they made Momo be born with an aversion to peaches and a deep fondness for Sour and bitter Flavors. Shinji did manage to remember her joking about that and bought her a jar of pickled lemons for her birthday as a joke, and was genuinely surprised when she was moved to tears.

You have to Bribe Hiyori to even get her to listen to your proposal for the thing you're actually trying to bribe her for. For Better or Worse, she trades in novel potato chip flavors.

---

Attempting to bribe Unohana with food is an absolute crapshoot, because what she'll accept is a complex internal metric of how serious the favor is, how much she likes you, and how much she likes the proferred snack. You might be able to get a perscription for something that's normally a band substance for some Senbei, you might lose your nose for even bringning Okra into her hosptial. Best not play that particular roulette.

Isane is impossible to bribe because she just agrees to stuff before you can bring out the payment. Sure, you got your surgery moved or your hands in some pretty heavy drugs, but you'll walk away with the feeling that, since you didn't actually pay her for this, you actually OWE her now, and you'd be right. You'd better believe she'll call in that favor whenever she needs it, because you're *friends*, aren't you? It also never occurs to anyone to offer her her favorite food: Apples.

Hanataro has accidentally taken bribes multiple times because he did not realize people were attempting to pay him. He thinks it's just basic manners to show up at someone else's home or office with snacks and also people are wildly misinformed about what he's legally allowed to do. What? they wanted me to BREAK A LAW? FOR KIT-KATS?? The boy loves him some kit-kats but not to the point of committing a FELONY, what the fuck???

---

Izuru once walked in on Gin swallowing a rat whole, turned around and tried desperately to pretend he hadn't actually seen that for a year, until he REALLY fucked up his scheduling conflicts and needed an extra week of paid time off to go to a friend's wedding and in a fit of panic, attatched a deceased rat suitable for serpentine consumption he purchased from a pet store. Gin was more than happy to give him the time off and hey, a little hazard pay so you can get something nice for the happy couple Unfortunately, this also condemned Izuru to having Gin lean out of his office at least every other month and holler "Hey Izuru? What's our Rat Guy's phone number?" loud enough to be heard by the entire Division.

Rose can be bribed with anything from a patisserie.

---

People keep givng Soi Fon honey which is honestly starting to feel like a microaggression at this point. What she REALLLY wants is a bucket of fried chicken.

You can't Bribe Omaeda with food, he's the one feeding YOU. Sit down and stop yapping, you're skin and bones!

---

Yamamoto does not accept bribes, at all, ever. He does accept all forms of SUPER MEGA SPICY FLAMING DEATH-REINCARNATION-AND-SECOND-FLAMING-DEATH TURBOFIRE HOT hot sauce.

Sasakibe has been assisitant headmaster of Shin'o academy since it was founded before the fall of Rome. no matter how delicious your offer or how clever your scheme, an adolescent dork already made a better version of it like 700 years ago. Pathetic. What Sasakibe REALLY wants is to be able serve high tea to an adoring crowd. Hope you like cucumber sandwiches.

Okay this is like 5.2K and it's 3AM I'm gonna end this and go to bed.

[comradekatara]

Your atla analysis is the best so I wanted to ask your opinion on something I've found the fandom fairly divided on - what did you think of Azula's ending within the show proper? Unnecessarily cruel or a necessary tragedy? Would you say that her mental breakdown was too conveniently brought about in order to 'nerf' her for the final agni kai? Also, do you think it was 'right' for Zuko to have fought with his sister at all or would it have been better for him to seek a more humane way to end the cycle of violence?

okay so im saying this as someone who loves azula to death like she has always been one of my absolute favorite characters ever since i was a kid and i’ve always vastly preferred her to zuko and found her to be extremely compelling and eminently sympathetic. i am saying this now before the azula stans come for me. i believe in their beliefs. but i also think her downfall is perfectly executed, and putting aside all the bullshit with the comics and whatever else, it’s a really powerful conclusion to her arc. obviously that isn’t to say that she wouldn’t continue to grow and develop in a postcanon scenario (i have a whole recovery arc for her mapped out in my head, like i do believe in her Healing Journey) but from a narrative perspective, her telos is in fact very thematically satisfying.

no, she wasn’t nerfed so that they could beat her in a fight. the fact that she falls apart is what makes them feel that they can confidently take her on (although i do think in a fair fight katara could win anyway), but the whole point is that it’s not about winning or losing in combat. the whole point is that zuko and azula being pitted against each other in this gratuitous ritual of violence as the culmination of their arcs is fundamentally tragic. yes it’s a bad decision to fight her, and zuko should have chosen another path, but the whole point is that he’s flawed and can only subscribe to the logic he has spent his whole life internalizing through violence and abuse.

that’s why aang’s fight against ozai, while tragic in its own way, is also a triumph for the way in which his ideals prevail in the face of genocide, while zuko and azula’s fight is very patently tragic. there is no moment of victory or triumph. even as zuko sacrifices himself in a beautiful mirroring of “the crossroads of destiny” and as katara uses the element of her people combined with techniques across other cultures to use azula’s hubris and ideology of domination against her, it’s presented as moments of personal growth occurring within a very tragic yet inevitable situation. it was inevitable because azula had always been positioned as an extension of her father, and thus to disempower ozai also means disempowering azula, his favorite site of projection, his favorite weapon.

yeah, it does rub me the wrong way when zuko asks katara whether she’d like to help him “put azula in her place.” it’s not a kind way to talk about your abused younger sister. but it’s also important to understand that zuko doesn’t really recognize his sister’s pain, despite the fact that they obviously share a father, because he’s always assumed that she was untouchable as their perfect golden child and thus never a victim. and he’s wrong. zuko and katara expect a battle of triumph and glory, noble heroes fighting valiantly so that good may prevail over evil. but as they discover here, even more so than their previous discovery two episodes prior, a battle is not a legendary event filled with bombast and beauty until after it has been historicized. often a war is simply fought between pathetic, desperate people who see no other option but to fight.

aang’s ultimate refusal to fight despite having all the power in the world is what makes him so important as the protagonist. but katara and zuko both share a more simplistic view of morality and what it means to be good. and zuko assumes that by fighting azula, he can only be punching up, because she has always been positioned as his superior, and she (in her own words!) is a “monster.” and then azula loses, and his entire worldview shatters. joking about putting her in her place makes way for the realization that behind all her posturing and lying (to herself more than anyone) and performance and cognitive dissonance, azula has always been broken, perhaps even more than he is.

azula says “im sorry it has to end this way, brother,” to which zuko replies “no you’re not.” but i think azula is truly sorry, because in her ideal world, she wouldn’t be fighting zuko. she doesn’t actually want to kill him, as much as she claims to. she’s already reached the conclusion that zuko will only truly reach once their fight is over. she lacks a support system, and she needs one, desperately. if she could somehow get her family back, do everything differently, less afraid of the consequences, she would. she’s smirking, she sounds almost facetious, but really, she is sorry. as of this moment, she really doesn’t want it to end this way. but zuko cannot accept that, because in his mind, azula is evil. azula has no soul nor feeling. azula always lies.

her breakdown doesn’t come out of nowhere, either. it’s precipitated by everyone she has ever cared about betraying her. first zuko betrays her, then mai, then ty lee, and then ozai — the person she has staked her entire identity to and to whom she has pledged her undying loyalty and obedience, become nothing more than a vessel for his whims — discards her because she had the audacity to care about someone other than him. what i don’t think zuko realizes, and perhaps will never realize, is that azula betrayed ozai by bringing zuko back home. he was not supposed to be brought back with honor and with glory. azula specifically orchestrated the fight in the catacombs to motivate him to join her, and it’s not because she’s some cruel sadistic monster who wanted to separate a poor innocent soft uwu bean from his loving uncle, it’s because she genuinely believes that she’s doing what’s best for him. she believes that their uncle is a traitor and a bad influence, and she believes that bringing zuko home with his honor “restored” is an act of love. to her it is.

yes, she claims that she was actually just manipulating him so that she wouldn’t have to take the fall if the avatar was actually alive, but also, she’s clearly just covering her own ass. she didn’t know about the spirit water, and only started improvising when zuko started showing hesitation. but even if she was only using zuko, then that was an insane risk to take, because either way she was lying directly to ozai’s face. and zuko admits it to ozai while simultaneously committing treason, so of course ozai would blame azula, his perfect golden child who tried to violate his decree by bringing zuko back home a prisoner at best and dead at worst, and instead found a way to restore his princehood with glory.

we only see ozai dismissing and discarding azula in the finale, but it’s clearly a tension that’s been bubbling since the day of black sun. and we know this because we do see azula falling apart before the finale. in “the boiling rock” she is betrayed by her only friends. in “the southern raiders” we see that this has taken a toll on her, that she is already somewhat unhinged. she and zuko tie in a one on one fight for the first time. and she takes down her hair as she uses her hairpin to secure herself against the edge of a cliff. unlike zuko, who is helped by his friends and allies, who has a support system. it’s a very precarious position; she’s literally on a cliff’s edge, alone, her hair down signifying her unraveling mental state. azula having her hair down signals to us an audience that she is in a position of vulnerability. she is able to mask this terrifying moment wherein she nearly plummets to her death with a triumphant smirk, but it should be evident to us all that her security is fragile here.

and the thing is, even though she’s always masked it with a smirk and perfect poise, her security has always been fragile. azula has never been safe. azula’s breakdown is simply the culmination of her realization that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be ozai’s perfect weapon, because she is a human being. she is a child, no less. and there is no one in her entire life who loves her for nothing. zuko has iroh, who affirms to him that he could never be angry with zuko, that all he wants is simply what is best for zuko. but azula doesn’t have unconditional support in her life. she doesn’t even have support.

everyone she ever thought she could trust has betrayed her, and so she yells that trust is for fools. because she feels like a fool. of course fear is the only way; it’s what kept her in line all these years. azula is someone who is ruled by fear, and who is broken by the recognition that fear isn’t enough. her downfall is necessarily tragic because her worldview is wrong. the imperialist logic of terror as a tool for domination is her own undoing, just as ozai’s undoing is losing the weapon he has staked his national identity to. it’s a battle of ideals. aang v ozai: pacifism v imperialism. katara and zuko v azula: love and support v fear and isolation.

zuko is unfair to azula, it’s true. he tries to fight her even as he can clearly recognize that “she’s slipping.” instead of trying to help his little sister, he uses that weakness to his advantage, tries to exploit her pain so that he can finally, for the first time ever, beat her in a fight. it’s cruel, but it’s also how siblings act. especially considering the conditions under which they were raised, and how zuko has always viewed her. and in zuko’s defense, she has tried to kill him multiple times lately, both in “the boiling rock” and in “the southern raiders.” zuko is someone who gets fixated on a goal and blocks out everything else, including recognition of his surroundings or empathy for others. so of course when he’s promised to put azula in her place he’s going to exploit her weaknesses to do so. after all, isn’t exploiting his weaknesses exactly what azula does best? so he allows himself to stoop to her level, and in fact only redeems himself through his sacrifice for katara. but it is when azula is chained to the grate and zuko and katara, leaning on each other, look down and observe the sheer extent on her pain, that zuko realizes that “putting azula in her place” isn’t actually a victory. it feels really, really bad, actually.

they’re in a similar position as they were when they faced yon rha. and now it is zuko’s turn to understand that he is not a storybook hero triumphing over evil, but rather a human being, facing another human being, in a conflict that is larger than themselves. to “put someone in their place” is to imply a logic of domination, of inherent superiority, that someone has stepped out of line and must be reordered neatly into the hierarchy. but aang disputes the notion, ozai’s notion, that humanity can be classified along these lines, that there exists an ontological superiority among some and not others. so operation: putting azula in her place was always going to be flawed, even if she was performing competency the way she always does, because they’re nonetheless subscribing to her logic.

of course they should be helping azula, of course they should be reaching out to abuse victims through support instead of more violence. but first they must recognize her victimhood. first they must come to understand that they didn’t get lucky, and they didn’t dominate her because they are more “powerful,” that they weren’t “putting her in her place.” they must understand that they are not heroes fighting villains in a glorious trial by combat. that the logic of the agni kai is flawed. that they are all victims. that they are all just scared, hurt children who are still grieving their mothers.

[cryptarchs-qualm]

the paul poll compelled me to just quickly write up my little opinion piece on paul and necromancy in the tlt verse bcs tags are a pain in the ass to elaborate on my opinion in: paul horrifies me. i think that a lot of people read palamedes' interpretation of lyctorhood as being some sort of objective truth and that there is a right way to do lyctorhood and paul is it, but i just don't agree with that; i think in a series rife with unreliable narrators, palamedes' views on lyctorhood should be considered as subjective as any other person's.

“Can one person even be two people? I feel like I’ve only got enough room inside for me, and sometimes like that room’s not even enough.” “Lyctors can,” said Palamedes, “or at least—they thought they could; in fact all they became were half-dead cannibals. I think a true Lyctorhood is a mutual death … a gravitational singularity creating something new. A true Grand Lysis, rather than the Petty Lysis of the megatheorem [...]

what he says here about lysis is in response to nona asking if one person can be two people, and thus it is a very loaded statement when coming from someone heralding from a society where the extreme co-dependence of the fundamentally unequal necro/cav bond is encouraged, especially considering camilla and palamedes are called out by others from that same society as being an exemplary case of co-dependence in that department!

camilla and palamedes are arguably more equal than any other cav/necro pair in series, in part due to that co-dependence, but we even see in NtN that cam does stuff that undercuts that equality (telling pyrrha to lie to palamedes, 'don't tell him i was weak'). and that equality, that love, is shown to be thought of as coming at the cost of freedom: when palamedes says, “I cannot bear the thought of using you.”—camilla responds, “Love and freedom don’t coexist, Warden.”

in the end, every permutation of the necro and cav pairing is irrevocably descended from john + alecto's example and while i think beauty can be found in some of them, they all suffer from the same fundamental imbalance that bond hinges on; nonconformity abates it, but abolishment is required for real freedom from it. the so-called indelible sin of lyctorhood is just an echo of the original sin john committed.

If there was one thing Gideon knew about necromancers, it was that they needed power. Thanergy—death juice—was abundant wherever things had died or were dying. Deep space was a necro’s nightmare, because nothing had ever been alive out there, so there were no big puddles of death lying around for Harrow and her ilk to suck up with a straw.

necromancy necessitates consumption, taking by its very nature: death, especially violent death, is what fuels it—infants producing more thanergy on death is literally a noted phenomena! paul's birth, while it could be seen as triumphant in the sense of it being an act of creation, is literally identified by palamedes himself as a mutual death, death being required to fuel it the same as any other necromantic working. i don't want to say 'necromancy is fundamentally evil' but uh... it is irrevocably tied into john's conception of human nature: "This is the problem, the incorporation, this is the hardest part … It’s the human instinct, to take."

something i always point out about camilla and palamedes' grand lysis is theparallel with gideon and harrow's incomplete petty lysis: both come about as a result of a fully-realised lyctor (ianthe, cytherea) having cornered the pair, resulting in both being threatened with imminent death (camilla critically injured and palamedes facing expulsion from naberius when ianthe re-emerges; harrow necromantically spent and gideon having suffered multiple injuries, both going to die when cytherea breaks through the bone dome). paul's birth only happened as a direct result of the continuation of the lyctoral cycle of violence, with ianthe in cytherea's position; per palamedes, “I am not saying this was our inevitable end … I am saying we have found the best and truest and kindest thing we can do in this moment.”

paul may be the best and truest and kindest thing cam and pal could've done in that moment, but that moment should've never came to pass: the codependency instilled into them through their society, the violence that put them in that position, and the consumptive necromancy that made paul possible. paul is horrifying because they are the most hopeful and kind thing, and they are the product of two people, one sans his own body, undergoing mutual death to fuel their birth.

they're the truest response to one flesh, one end: an oath purportedly coined by cristabel and alfred, who compelled their necromancers to ascend via a suicide pact.

valancy says one flesh one end sounds like instructions for a sex toy. can’t stop thinking about that so can someone stop cris and alfred before the sex toy phrase catches on, thanks.

did the sex toy phrase really need a response?

[star-wrld]

(banging on the walls of my enclosure) OISIN IS GOING TO TRY TO KILL ADAINE IN A SHIP WRECK JUST LIKE THE LAST ORACLE DIED THUS CONTINUING THE CYCLE OF VIOLENCE

[foreverdolly]

wanna play house | protective austin!elvis x reader

this is a continuation of 'my bestest girl', but you do not have to read it first in order to read this one. . . however i implore you to do so.

summary: elvis's mother has been worried sick about your safety during your time on the road with her son. you and elvis brush it off as her just being paranoid, but danger always manages to rear it's ugly head at the worst of times. elvis, seeing you scared and slightly injured, absolutely loses it.

pairings: protective austin!elvis x reader

word count: 7,471

warnings/notes: SMUT! ,violence, elvis beats the shit out of someone for you and it's hot, oral (f receiving), elvis literally worships you as though you are a goddess and i love that for you, you both cry while he eats you out because emotions are high and he's obsessed with you.

masterlist | requests are currently closed !

It had been a pain in the ass to talk the Colonel into letting you come along with him and the band as they performed with Hank Snow for the fair, but Elvis had made it happen. The two of you had only been going out officially for the last couple of weeks, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two of you were disgustingly in love with one another. If you were within eyesight then Elvis was looking at you. If you were in the other room, he was bound to follow after you like a lost dog. If you weren’t around at all, then he was surely thinking about you. It was a never ending cycle, really. You were just as bad off as Elvis was. You always had to be touching him, whether it be your hand in his, your shoulder pressed against him, or even your legs thrown up into his lap. The bandmates were positive that eventual drama would arise, but the two of you always seemed to be in high spirits. 

The screaming fans didn’t bother you, not when Elvis went out of his way to let you know that you were the only girl that he truly cared about. Everyone had fallen into a comfortable pattern, you included. “Yes ma’am. I’m makin’ sure he’s eatin’ well.” You twirled the wire of the hotel landline around your finger, watching the ebony haired boy getting dressed out of the corner of your eye. He was buttoning up his white slacks and caught your heady gaze in the mirror. With a wide smile he wordlessly made his way over to you, chuckling under his breath as you quickly reached out, running your free hand over his chest and giving his nipple a teasing squeeze. He playfully swatted your hand away, reaching down to grab his lace shirt off of the queen sized bed the two of you were sharing that night. “I’m just worried to death about the two of you, baby. I don’t want any of those girls hurtin’ him. . . and I know how horrible some boys can be.” Gladys’s love knew no bounds, and you appreciated her for it. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little though, leaning your hip up against the desk that had been squeezed into the small room. 

“I’m keepin’ a very close eye on him, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t ever let anythin’ happen to our boy, right? Besides, we’re out in the country. I’m sure nothin’ bad will happen all the way out here. The scariest thing we’ve seen these last four days have been a couple of drunks.” Elvis chuckled from the bathroom, the sink turning on as he began slicking back his hair. You could already smell his Brylcreem pomade from where you stood across the suite. “Now is he keepin’ a close eye on you? At the end of the day, I know Elvis can hold his own. You’re a different story.” You couldn’t remember a single time that you had felt unsafe thus far on the trip. Really, you knew that she had the propensity to overreact, but she had been going on for the better part of half an hour at this point. You were trying to be patient with her, but you could only take so much. Gladys was worse than your own mother, and you weren’t sure how that feat was even possible. “Mama, I don’t need any sort of protection. I can hold my own! Cross my heart and hope to die.” You could hear her scoff, but Vernon’s low voice whispered on the other end. “Stop holding our youngins hostage. Elvis has got a show to put on.” You had already started walking in the direction of the bathroom, stretching the phone cord as far as it would let you. “Do you want to talk to Elvis before we have to leave?” “Would you put him on? Thank ya, baby.” Elvis held up his wax coated hands to show you that he needed some help, so you pressed the phone against his ear for him. 

“Hey, Satnin.” He purred to her, shooting you a small smile before letting his eyes fall down to the counter. You couldn’t hear Gladys’s voice from where you stood, but judging by the way he was nodding his head up and down dully, you were sure that he was getting an earful. “Uh-huh. . . No, I’ve been lookin’ out for her. She stands at the front of all of my shows, mama. I’d die if somethin’ were to happen to her.” You smiled down at the floor, biting at the inside of your cheeks in the hopes of getting your heart back under control- it was fluttering at a maddening pace. “She’s with me every second of the day. She never leaves my sight, I promise ya- He what? Daddy wants to talk to me? Put him on.” Elvis placed his comb down on the side of the sink, licking his lips before looking at himself in the mirror. He must not have liked what he saw because he grimaced, shooting your reflection a goofy look as he waited for his father to get to the phone. “Hello?” A couple of seconds passed before he was rolling his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. “I’d kill em’. Simple as that. I promise you both that I won’t ever let anythin’ happen to her. . . Yeah- Yeah, she is our girl, so imma take good care of her.” He was running the comb back through his hair, tucking a few strands into place absentmindedly. After a few more seconds passed he turned his cheek, pressing his lips up against the receiver and mumbling a quick “love ya too” before giving you a look. You walked back into the hotel room, hanging up the phone before turning to face the bathroom. 

“What are they goin’ on about?” You asked, hurriedly getting out your own suitcase so that you could get dressed. You had been on the phone so long with Gladys that you hadn’t had any time to get ready for the concert. Elvis was particular about certain things, and he liked the idea of you guys matching when he performed. If he wore a baby blue shirt, then you wore a baby blue dress. If he was dressed in all black and white- like tonight- then you did as well. You didn’t mind much. It looked wonderful in pictures, and it made you feel even more connected to him. It warmed your heart that he liked not only being a couple, but looking like a couple too. He had always been very particular about the clothes that he wore. Despite the fact that you also came from a working class family, things had never gotten as financially troublesome as it had for the Presleys. Elvis had grown up poor, but he always made a point not to look it. His mother always made sure his clothes were freshly ironed and pressed and that his shoes were always shined. 

Elvis had always been a rather particular fellow, and he hadn’t always been celebrated for it. People calling him a “fairy” or “squirrel” didn’t get to him though. Not anymore, at least. He was above the name calling, coming to the conclusion that it said far more about their own character than it did his. He always handled it relatively well back in high school, though he knew that most of the name calling and trash talk stemmed from the fact that the other boys his age were probably just jealous. 

“Mama said she’s been havin’ a bad feelin’ about somethin’ lately. They’re both worried about ya, is all.” Elvis had always been over cautious with you, even throughout your friendship. If he didn’t seem worried about it, then you wouldn’t be either. “She’s been a nervous wreck ever since you told her about the Louisiana Hayride. She’s probably just feelin’ a bit anxious.” He hummed his agreeance, a comfortable silence befalling the two of you as you began getting changed. Your dress was a rather scandalous little diddy, what with the rather low cut heart-shaped neckline and the way the hem was just above your knees, showing off your legs. It was something you had purchased for yourself months ago but had been unable to wear due to your parents' rather conservative ways. You pushed your way into the bathroom at the same time that Elvis was finishing up with his hair, his eyes instantly locking on your reflection in the mirror. “Good god almighty.” He mumbled, dropping the comb back onto the counter so that he could turn around and face you. His blue eyes trailed over your smaller frame, his lips parted as he took in the sight of you. Elvis had made it a point to explore every inch of you over the last few weeks. He took his time committing every mole and freckle to memory. He was certain that he could draw you with his eyes closed, and the man could barely sketch a stick figure. 

Despite that, every time he made love to you, or even got a glimpse of you, it still felt like the first time. His stomach would fill with butterflies, his palms would start to sweat, and his pants would grow impossibly tight. In all the years that he had known you, never had he seen you in a dress like this. The sweet little babydoll nighties you’d prance around his room in were a completely different story. This was a masterpiece. You were a masterpiece. “You’ve got me sweatin’ worse than a whore in church. God damn it, my girl is so beautiful.” He lifted his hand up to his face, biting down on his knuckle with a small grin. You couldn’t help but blush at the sudden onslaught of compliments, shyly waving him off with a small flick of your wrist. There wasn’t much room in the tiny motel bathroom, so you couldn’t duck away from his arms even if you wanted to. He was quick to pull you towards him, his hands moving over the cinched waistline of the dress, slowly brushing down to run his fingers along the hip. You shivered as you felt his touch against the skin of your thighs. 

“How ‘bout we just stay in, hmm? I could tell the Colonel that I got food poisonin’ or somethin’.” It was nearly possible to deny him of anything he wanted, especially when he looked at you like that. Ever so slowly he began backing you up, smiling smugly as you let out a small yelp whenever your back hit the wall behind you. “Let me make love to you, yeah? I’ll make it quick. I promise-” A knock at the door made the both of you jump, but he soon threw his head back with an exasperated groan, his eyes screwed shut. “What is it?” He called, popping his head out of the bathroom door so that the intruder might hear him better. “We’re startin’ to pack the cars up, EP. You two dressed and ready yet?” You bit your lip as you pressed your back tighter against the wall, hoping that the added space between you and your beau might calm the growing heat between your legs. “Shit.” Elvis cursed, giving you an apologetic look before taking a step back from you. He looked down at the front of his trousers, wincing as he noticed that he was visibly hard. He took a couple of seconds to try and adjust himself in a way that wouldn’t make it so obvious, but gave up after a while. “I’m comin’. Give me one second Scotty.” He brushed past you on his way to the door, giving you one last suggestive look before prying his gaze away. He opened the door just a sliver, hiding his bottom half the best he could.

 “You don’t even have your shoes on yet. What the hell have you been doin’ this whole time?” Scotty asked exasperatedly, his eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance. Elvis looked behind him at the cars, wincing as he noticed people were already climbing into their seats or pulling out of the parking lot completely. “We’ve been busy.” He said simply. Scotty looked over Elvis’s shoulder, his eyes widening slightly as he noticed your flushed cheeks. “Doin’ what, exactly?” The dark haired boy didn’t take kindly to the fact that someone else was seeing his girl in such a state, so he was quick to grab the edge of the door, closing it enough so that only his face and a small sliver of the room inside could be visible. “We were busy, alright? I’ll come out in a second. Let me just get my things together.” Scotty threw his hands up in surrender after noticing the look on Elvis’s face, taking two steps back from the door. “Be quick about it. We go on after Snow, and I’m tired of hearin’ the square complain.” Elvis was quick to shut the door, jogging over towards his suitcase so that he could find his shoes. “Baby? Do you mind doin’ my eyes like you have em?” He motioned to his eyes with his finger, flashing you a small smile. 

You weren’t about to give your boyfriend a smoky eye, but you hoped he’d be alright with just some eyeliner and mascara. Not that his long lashes needed them anyway. “If we’ve got time, hun.” Your legs still felt a bit weak, what with the heavy petting from earlier, but you managed to walk to your purse so that you could grab your small makeup pouch. Elvis buttoned up his black lace shirt as you gently dragged some dark liner over his upper and bottom lashline, being careful to smear it a little after you were done so that it wouldn’t be too stark against his complexion. “Here, now close your eyes.” You ran the mascara wand through his lashes, cooing softly to him as you realized just how blue it made his eyes look. “And open em.” He obeyed, his hands moving up to grab you softly by your hips as you finished up. “Am I pretty?” He asked with a teasing smile, tilting his chin upwards, which was his way of silently asking for a kiss. You complied, giving him a quick peck before pulling away to nod. “Gorgeous.” 

Elvis was the only boy that you had ever met that preferred to be called pretty rather than handsome. He was putty in your hands any time you referred to him as ‘your pretty boy’. Well, who was he kidding? He was always putty in your hands. He would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t used to female attention. He’d say ‘thank you’ with that signature side smile of his- but the grin- it was reserved only for you. The corners of his eyes would crinkle and his nose would scrunch up. It made him look so childlike. So vulnerable, and it was only something that you were allowed to see. You knew good and well that there were certain aspects of Elvis that you would have to share with his fans, but he made sure to reserve the most sacred parts only for you. 

“Thank ya, baby.” He mumbled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear before he stood up and off of the bed. 

The drive to the fairgrounds was awkward, but Elvis seemed to be the only one that didn’t get the memo. He had one of his hands in your lap, playing subconsciously with the fabric of your dress while he spoke under his breath to you. It was mostly hushed compliments, but the second that the bright lights of the fair became visible he started whispering gentle instructions. “I don’t want ya gettin’ lost in the crowd, alright now? Make your way to the front, just like we practiced. I want to be able to keep my eye on ya the entire time.” The ebony haired man had talked a big game back in the motel room, but you could tell that whatever his mother and father had said to him carried some weight. He seemed a little bit more antsy than he did the previous night. Despite the fact that nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, you still nodded, allowing him to pull you along through crowds. The closer you two got to the stage, the quicker people began to take notice of him. Girl’s turned their heads, some even going as far as to drop their date’s hand as he passed. He didn’t pay any mind, instead he kept his eyes locked on the stage, trying to find a good place for you to go. “Here, push your way right there.” He leaned in close so that you could hear him over Hank’s singing, pointing with his pinky, his newly purchased ring shining in the bright artificial light. You nodded, smiling against his lips as he gave you one last kiss before jogging to catch up with his band. You were quick to follow instruction, easily maneuvering through the crowd, muttering apologies as men and women turned to glare in your direction. 

You weren’t quite sure why, but you were starting to become nervous yourself. It felt like someone was watching you, and had been since you and Elvis passed the admission gates. You anxiously looked over your shoulders, trying to see if there might be anyone you recognized, but alas- nothing. You tried to swallow back the strange sense of dread that was beginning to bubble up in your throat, instead focusing on the stage in front of you. Hank Snow was a talent, but surely wasn’t your cup of tea. His ballads were too slow and shallow for your liking. Too safe. Elvis had been the one to get you hooked on good music way back in high school. You still clapped for Snow whenever he took a bow, flashing him a small smile. You and Elvis had been playing nice with the man. You two had a strong feeling that he didn’t take too kindly to the two of you and the flamboyant way you both decided to live your lives. He was never outwardly rude to you at least. Elvis wasn’t so lucky though. 

The second that the forest green suited country singer had stepped off the stage, it was almost as though the entire crowd took a collective breath to steady themselves. You bit the inside of your cheek as a few girls started pushing against your back, your chest and hips pressing uncomfortably against the wooden stage. In a single millisecond the aura had completely shifted. A few older patrons began to walk away from the stage, but it did nothing to lessen the crowd. People began running across the fairgrounds to make it to the stage in time. 

Scotty and Bill stepped on stage, dragging their instruments along with them. Girls began gasping, whispering amongst themselves as they waited for Elvis to join them. “Have you seen his picture in the paper? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!” “My friend lives in Shreveport and saw him at the Louisiana Hayride. She said she’s never seen anything like it.” You couldn’t keep the knowing smirk off of your lips. If they thought he was beautiful from a grainy picture alone, just wait until they saw the way that the music moved him. You pressed your hands against the top of the stage, Scotty and Bill flashing you a quick smile just before the crowd erupted with loud screams. It made your ears ring. Elvis jogged up on stage, guitar in hand. His bare arms flexed as he gently strummed the chords, stepping up to the mic. “It’s an honor to be able to play here for you all tonight.” He called over the loud screams and cries. There was something perversly satisfying about seeing the hold that he had over everyone, knowing good and well that you were the only person that has ever and will ever touch him. Not even in the girl’s wildest fantasies would they ever know what he was truly like behind closed doors. The eyeliner that had the girls swooning? You had put that on him yourself. The soft sheen to his lips? That was the lipstick that had transferred onto him from your mouth. 

The girls could hoot and holler all they wanted. You didn’t blame them one bit. You didn’t feel even a little jealous as they began calling his name, begging for even a shred of his attention, because you knew that he was yours. He knew it too. His eyes instantly scanned the crowd, his shoulders visibly relaxing when he finally found your form. After Elvis and the boys had given the crowd a few moments to quiet down, they began playing their first song. The sound of Elvis’s voice and the quick, near violent way he strummed his guitar was unlike anything that you had ever heard before. It had changed something inside of you. You could tell that the crowd was having the exact same reaction as they watched him, swaying to the sound of the music. Some girls looked like they might pass out, their faces going pale and their eyes growing glassy. This was the kind of music that concerned mothers and fathers warned their children about. Rock and roll. 

Elvis was rock and roll. It wasn’t just a type of music or a way of dressing for him. It was the way that he lived his life. It was a state of mind. It was a state of being. His hips and feet moved as though he was possessed by God himself. He may as well have been. You could feel the standup bass in your chest, and Elvis’s guitar in your throat. Your blood fizzled like champagne as you watched him, his eyes bluer than a summer sky, his bubblegum pink lips pulled taught against bright white teeth as he screamed into the mic. His eyes moved over the crowd, and suddenly he was on his knees, leaning back to look up at the night sky as his fingers flew over the neck of the guitar. 

You couldn’t help yourself as you reached out, no better than the screaming fans as you brushed your fingers over his thigh, needing to touch him. You didn’t know how, but he instantly looked at you, as if he could feel that you were the one touching him. His eyes burned as he took in the expression on your face, his lips curling back into a snarl. Girls distantly screamed behind you as they took in his expression. 

Something like this wouldn’t be romantic to some, but you melted against the stage, your torso leaning further against the hardwood. You were sure to have bruises tonight, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You needed to be closer closer closer. Your body ached for him. You could feel his guitar vibrating through you, his heavenly voice bringing back memories of last night. Of how he loved to press his lips against your ear to purr and moan. He wanted you to hear every heavy breath, every gasp, every preen- and as he practically laid himself out on that stage, girls trying to grab at whatever they could, he had never felt more yours. He grabbed your face in his hands for a split second before he was standing back up, moving over to the mic so that he could finish up the song. 

By the second song there were at least three pairs of panties on the stage, which both you and Elvis regarded with wide, humor filled smiles. 

Elvis sang with a violence that he never let shine through in his everyday life. He got up on that stage and sang for his mama, his daddy, you and God. He belted up to the heavens for the angels to hear. You could feel the damn near desperation as he swayed his body, his hair falling into his eyes, dripping with sweat. 

After the third song you felt as though you might faint yourself. You could barely breathe as girls continued to press against you- crushing your ribs against the stage. You were never the type of girl to follow instruction very well, so despite Elvis and even Gladys’s worries, you found yourself slipping through the crowd, breathing hard as you tore your way through the writhing bodies. Your eyes swept over the grounds, and you were quick to make your way over towards a refreshment tent. “Can I just get a cup of water?” The carnie recognized you as Elvis’s girl instantly, smiling as he saw your pink cheeks and shaky hands. You sat down on a nearby picnic table as you greedily gulped down the water. You could hear his voice from across the grounds, tapping your foot along to the beat as you tried to enjoy the last of his performance. 

“Whatcha doin’ over here alone?” You jumped as you heard a deep voice sound from right beside you. You had been so wrapped up in the music that you hadn’t even noticed someone approaching you. You blinked, turning around just to make sure that there wasn’t someone else behind you that the man must have been talking to. Alas, you were the only person in the vicinity. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend to get done performing.” You pointed to the stage, slowly placing the cup down on the table just in case you needed to quickly excuse yourself. He sat down beside you anyway, nodding his head slowly. The refreshment tent was a hundred feet away, and you were in an area with barely any lighting. You were beginning to become more aware of the precarious situation that you had somehow put yourself in. “Ah, right. I saw you walkin’ hand in hand with that scrawny musician.” Your eyes quickly narrowed as you stood up and off of the table. “I don’t take kindly to people bad mouthin’ my loved ones, ya understand? If a conversation was what you were lookin’ for, then find it elsewhere.” You spat, pointing over to another populated area. He blinked, seemingly taken aback by your bold nature. 

“Woah. . . you sure are loud for a tiny lil thing,” You took a step back as he stood up and off of the table himself, shoving his hands into his pockets as he gave you a once over. “Maybe you shouldn’t go ‘round dressin’ like that if ya don’t want strangers approachin’.” You could have socked the man right in the face. You began shaking with anger, clenching your fists at your sides. “What does my outfit have anythin’ to do with you unnecessarily runnin’ your mouth? Did ya think you insultin’ my boyfriend would make me interested in you? Hah!” You let out a loud, humorless laugh. “Like I said earlier; move along.” You shooed him off, reaching out for your water cup. You let out a scream as he grabbed you roughly by the wrist, your shoulder cracking as he roughly yanked you forward. “Watch yer mouth, girlie.” He spoke to you through clenched teeth, his eyes wide and wild. You swallowed thickly, fear hitting you like a freight train. You could distantly hear your boyfriend working the crowd, your stomach flipping anxiously as you realized he was about to get off stage and realize you weren’t there to greet him. 

“Let go of me. Rough housin’ with a lady out in public like this isn’t very gentlemanly.” You tried to yank your sore arm back to your side, but he didn’t let go. He added even more pressure, and you cried out in pain as you realized that he was damn near close to breaking it. “I don’t let women boss me ‘round.” His free hand moved up to your hair, his fingers gripping roughly as he jerked your head back. Was he about to kiss you? Touch you? 

You were unable to run now, and so you knew that the only option you had was to get someone’s attention. Anyone’s. “Help!” You screamed, your eyes prickling with tears as you tried to move your head in the man’s hold, hoping to avoid whatever he was planning to do with you. A beat passed before you finally sucked in another breath, screaming again. “Elvis!” Your boyfriend had been speaking into the microphone, but the second that you had called his name he went silent. You could distantly hear a loud clatter and a few females calling out his name, but you were too focused on the older man’s face to pay attention to much else. He was dragging you further into the darkness by your hair, and you stumbled blindly forward, reaching your arms out to push as hard as you could against his chest, even going as far as to bang your fist against his shoulders in the hopes of somehow fighting him off. 

It all happened so fast, you didn’t even have time to blink. You stumbled backwards, the breath being knocked from your lungs as you hit the grass. Hard. You could hear a tussle behind you, and you blinked back tears as you slowly sat up. It was like everything was happening in slow motion. The red faced stranger had been pushed back against the picnic table, pinned there, and your boyfriend stood above him, muscles bulging as he gripped him by the front of his shirt, wailing on him with his right arm. Again and again he connected his fist with the man’s face, his teeth clenched, the veins in his arms bulging as he let out a deep, guttural scream. Elvis had somehow, by the grace of god, heard your voice over a hundred screaming girls and came running to your rescue. A loud sob escaped your throat as both relief and pain overcame you. The pitiful sound only spurred him on. 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Ya hear me? You’re dead!” Elvis’s deep voice called, a small crowd already beginning to form. You tried to stand up on shaky legs, embarrassment flooding your veins as you realized what kind of a state you were in. “E-Elvis. . . He’s had enough, baby!” 

Elvis had been pushed around and beat on his entire life for looking and being the way that he was. Over the years he had learned how to fight. How to win. He might have been smaller than the brute, but it wasn’t the size that mattered in this case. No- it was the skill and ferocity that your boyfriend possessed. That and the white hot rage. Elvis’s eyes were wild as he stared down at him, not letting up even for a second. The man had tried to push back against the ebony haired musician, but the blows to the head had kept him in a dazed state. Elvis’s gaudy golden ring made contact with the man’s temple again and again. The crowd began to part as a few men broke through, moving to try and pull your man off of the assailant. “You’re killin’ him, Elvis! Stop! Please, for the love of God!” At the sound of your distress he was quick to let go, shrugging the men’s hands off of him as he quickly made his way over to you. “Hey, hey. Talk to me darlin’. What happened.” His eyes flickered over your face wildly as he panicked. He stopped himself from reaching out for you when he realized his knuckles were caked in blood, wiping them off on his white pants. He brushed your hair off of your sweaty forehead, pressing his own forehead against your cheek, desperate to have you against him. To hear your breath and feel your heart beating against his chest. You could hear people trying to disperse the crowd, but you paid no mind to them. You kept your eyes locked on Elvis's shoulder as you fought off the urge to cry. “Talk to me, baby. You’re shakin’ like a leaf.” You gulped down deep breaths, finally moving your hands to grip onto his shirt. You rubbed your fingers against the lace, feeling his warm skin beneath. It soothed you. Helped you to stop your panicking. 

“EP. You take the car back to the motel. We’ll just ride with Jimmie and Hank back.” You heard Scotty’s voice beside you. Elvis slowly untangled one of his arms from your form, shoving the keys in his now ruined pants. “Let’s get to the car. Can you do that? Can you walk, sweet heart?” He purred, pulling away to look at your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands, sucking in a hard breath as he noticed your tear caked face and wide teary eyes. His chest began to rise and fall quickly as he took deep breath after deep breath. “I should have gutted him.” You were quick to shake your head, stumbling back as you pulled him with you by his shirt. “L-Let’s just go okay? I wanna go.” You needed to get the hell out of there as fast as you could. Even if someone else had already come by and picked the stranger up. Even if you knew you were now well protected- it didn’t matter. You needed to go back to the motel room so that you could break down without having everybody’s eyes on you. You were sure that this fight would only add to Elvis’s sordid reputation as well. You were. . . you were just mortified. Elvis kept his arm tightly around you as he walked you through the fairgrounds, allowing you to tuck your head into his throat. He continued to mumble sweet words into your ear as the two of you made your way out into the car lot. Elvis helped you into the bright yellow car, going as far as to make sure you were well situated before moving on over to the drivers side. 

The car ride was silent. He didn’t even turn on the radio, which was rare for him. You rolled down the window, letting the wind whip your hair back and cool your hot face. By the time the two of you had made it back to the room you had already started to calm down. With the panic and adrenaline now out of your system, you could feel how badly your arm hurt. You kept your mouth shut about it, knowing that Elvis would probably tear the room apart in his haste to find the man responsible. He was being so sweet and tentative towards you, but you could tell that he was barely hanging on to his sanity. He’d always gone out of his way to watch over you. This wasn’t the first guy he’d gotten in a fight with over you. . . but never had it been this bad. Never. 

After you had told Elvis the entire story, save for the part where you were sure that you’d torn a muscle in your shoulder, he just sat there on the bed in silence. For a second you were sure that he was going to react with more anger, but you would have been wrong. Your lips parted as you watched his blue eyes fill with tears. After a few seconds he let out a loud sob, his body shaking as he practically caved in on himself. Never in your entire life had you ever seen him so upset. He began rubbing his own arms with his hands, as if to comfort himself, to get himself to stop crying. Not even your own loving hands and soothing words could stop him. His body was wracked with sobs as he pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead against the tops of his thighs. “Baby? Baby what’s wrong?” You gripped him by the chin, gently leaning his head back so that you could look at him. The mascara had begun running down his cheeks, his eyelashes clumping together. His lip quivered as he tried to get the words out because another loud hiccup shook his shoulders. “I don’t deserve you. I-I can’t live with myself after a-all of that happened.” He wiped at his eyes, only smearing the makeup even more. 

If you thought his eyes had looked blue before, now they looked like sapphires. 

Burning bright. Burning sad. 

“It’s not your fault, hun. None of that was your fault. I-I. . . I moved away from the crowd. I’m the one to blame.” He shook his head, his jaw going slack. 

“Are you insane, y/n? You’re my girl. My baby,” He dropped his legs so that he could bang his hand against his chest to emphasize the words. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Keep you takin’ care of. I was up there singin’ like a fool while you were havin’ your hair ripped out of your little head. I promised your daddy. . . your mama that I was goin’ to look after you until the day that i died, and look what happened under my watch.” You could have started crying yourself. He was shakin’, his eyes wide, cheeks stained and streaked with mascara and eyeliner.

If you had thought that he looked like a God up on that stage, now he looked like a fallen angel. 

“You couldn’t have known any of that was gonna happen. You did the best that you cou-” “Well my best isn’t damn good enough!” You jerked back as he screamed, watching as his hands moved up to his head, gripping- yanking- at his hair. In front of you sat a man who had spent his whole life doing for others. He financially provided for his parents, even during high school. He worked three jobs just to put food on the table and gas in his daddy’s car, all while counting pennies to buy himself a coke from the corner store. He felt like he had to watch over everyone he loved. That their happiness and safety relied on him. 

“You’re perfect and you’re mine.” You reached out, holding him against yourself so tightly that you were sure one of your rib cages were sure to break. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. ‘Let it shatter’. “There isn’t anything you could have done to prevent it, baby. All I can say is that imma be careful from now on. I won’t leave your side. Not ever again.” He was pulling on your clothes, pulling on your hair, clutching you to him like he was scared that you might dissipate into thin air. You let him claw at you- dig his calloused fingers into your soft skin. “Please. Please never leave me. I-I can’t take it.” 

If you had ever questioned whether or not Elvis truly loved you, you sure as hell never would again. The man was practically destroying himself over a situation that he had no control over, all because you had gotten hurt. “Never. I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.” That was all he needed to hear. In the blink of an eye he had you pinned down to the bed, his hands clumsily fumbling with the bottom of your dirt stained dress. “E-Elvis! What are you doin’?” You tried grabbing his hands to stop him, but he was a man on a mission. “Let me make it up to you.” Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly as his fingers found your panties. He was tearing them off of you in a second. “T-There’s nothing to make up for! Let me love on you, for Christ’s sake. You need to calm down.” His eyes flickered back up to meet yours, and he sniffled softly, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes were hard, but no longer teary. “I am calm. I just. . . I feel like I can’t breathe if I’m not touchin’ you right now. So let me. . . let me touch you.” Your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him, his gaze hard, bordering on animalistic. It was as if you had been transported back to his show. His hand gripping your face, eyes boring into your own as he moved just for you. You worshiped him just as he worshiped you. Elvis Presley was one of a kind. No one had ever been born like him before, and nobody ever would be even after he was gone. You were sure of it. 

He pushed your skirt up and over your hips, kissing down your body as though he could absorb the fear that you had felt earlier. He usually liked to tease you in order to get you worked up, but he didn’t tonight. No- His lips and tongue lapped you up like you were made of honey, and when his eyes flickered up to meet yours from between your legs, he beheld you as if you were some glittery, golden thing. His fingers brushed up your body, cupping your breast through your dress, working your already hardening nipples with his fingers. You cried out, back arching as the pleasure steadily began to build. 

He pulled at the neckline of your stained dress, his tongue running all the way up from your entrance to your clit- slow slow slow. His eyebrows furrowed, humming as he tasted you. He cupped your now freed breasts, pinching the nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 

You were panting so hard you were sure that you might pass out. Your hand gripped hard at the sheets as he continued to work your clit over with his tongue, his eyes falling shut as he savored you. His thick, long lashes casted shadows on his cheeks. Every once and a while they would flutter, like the beating of a butterfly's wings. In the dull lamp light of the dingy motel room, covered in dirt and grass stains, you felt your heart swell to the point of bursting. Your eyes filled with tears as you stared up at the ceiling, your plush lips parting as a sob ripped from your throat. 

You were wracked with both pleasure and a crippling sense of hope. You loved this man more than anything else. You’d love him in this life, in the next life, and into whatever came next. 

He was everything. 

And on cue the man’s free hand found yours, which had been tangled up in the sheets. He intertwined his fingers, gripping you tight. You weren’t sure why- but that was what pushed you over the edge. You dug the back of your head into the mattress as you climaxed, eyes squeezing shut. His hand moved from your breasts to your thigh, holding it to the side so that he could continue his attack, riding you through your orgasm. He didn’t stop there. Your free hand tangled into his hair, chanting his name as though it was some ancient spell. Your body quivered against him, thighs naturally trying hard to squeeze together, to stop him from continuing to push you over the edge. He didn’t stop, his tongue focusing on your bundle of nerves. Before you knew it you were building up all over again, your cunt dripping with slick and spit, and quite possibly tears. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. 

You weren’t even sure if you were speaking coherently when you climaxed for the second time. You thought that you were praising him, telling him how pretty he was and how good, but you couldn’t be sure. His tongue slowly slid down to your entrance, lazily lapping up your cum before he sat up on shaky knees, pupils blown out, cheeks pink. 

His lips were shining in the low light, and he was quick to lick them, as if he needed to swallow every last drop of you, like it was some precious nectar. The kind that someone only got to taste once in a lifetime. After he had finally caught his breath he laid down next to you, hanging one of his arms over the side of the bed as he stared at your face. His eyes were impossibly soft, his face still wet with tears. “I love seein’ you like this.” His voice was gruff, thick with lust and something else. Something even more beautiful. “What? All sweaty and quiverin’?” You attempted to tease, but you were still breathing too hard for the joke to really land. “No. . . no-” he raised a hand up, pushing your hair off of your forehead. 

“I love seeing you in love with me.” 

check out the third chapter of this story !

@bookklover23 @medleyj @idkwhattthisisss @dharnwjs @slutforsomegoodlettuce @crackerbarrelslut @macey234 @nightfiress @keepdrivingrr @melodydior @luvvrrrrr @mymamalife @wwebby657 @shynovelist @ssstrangersblog

[thickness-protection-program]

You turned me into a whore thus I must turn others into a whore the cycle of violence continues

[anamericangirl]

So your argument is that the person chose sex and thus chose the responsibility of a possible pregnancy…but what about rape??? You can get pregnant from that too, and it’s not a choice.

Less than 1% of abortions are due to rape so yeah in almost 100% of abortion cases the woman chose to have sex.

However, in cases of rape I still don't think getting an abortion is a good thing to do. You have to understand that the foundation of my pro-life position is that the unborn child is a living human being from the moment of conception. I hold a very firm view that killing children is a bad thing to do. I'm not ok with it under any circumstances. I am against killing children even if they were conceived through rape. If you wouldn't kill a three year old for being conceived through rape you shouldn't be ok with killing that same girl just because she's still in her mother's womb.

Killing a child is not ok. Period.

Rape is a very serious crime that needs to be dealt with but you don't deal with crime by killing an innocent child. We don't need to continue the cycle of violence. The baby is just as innocent as the mother. We don't even kill the rapist, but you want to give the death penalty to the baby?

No, the woman did not choose to have sex in this situation and she has been the victim of a brutal crime and she needs a lot of help and support. She needs counseling, medical care, emotional and even financial support. All of those things help rape victims more than abortion does.

Abortion doesn't help rape victims at all, honestly. It doesn't erase the trauma of rape and in many cases it just adds more. It's not safe for women and it doesn't become safe just because a woman was raped.

There is no benefit to a rape victim getting an abortion other than the emotional appeal.

But for the sake of argument, I'm ok with abortion being legal for rape victims if we can agree all other abortions should be illegal.

So is the rape victim really your concern here or are you just using them to argue for all abortions?

[elbiotipo]

The thing is, Latin American identity is not something that began a couple years ago because we all think El Chavo del 8 is cool. It is born out of struggle. Conquest, genocide and slavery were the inheritance of the Iberian empires. The independent states had, and still have, to deal with neocolonialism and the remains of the racist elitist structures reinforced by eurocentrism, which are just getting dismantled at a great cost, with many setbacks. The history of Latinoamérica is not pretty. There is racism, there is genocide, slavery, oppression, and imperialism that still continues to this day.

Cinco siglos igual.

This is why the Latin American identity is based not only in shared culture, but a shared historical struggle against oppression. It's not only fiesta and carnaval and stuff, it's not all cultural exchange and utopian harmonious communities living in peace, it's also a shared consciousness of our place in the world, among the oppressed nations, the Third World. This is why people of so many different backgrounds consider themselves, and thus are, Latin American, which is a concept hard to grasp for Usamericans used to separate communities in discrete units, while our main identity as members of our many nations is this, Latin American. Some people identify more strongly with it, others don't, and everybody has different ideas on how to deal with this, but it is a pervasive "ghost" that hangs over our heads. The pain of the open veins, if you want to get all poetic.

So here we stand then, with our common identity shaped by a cycle of violence that continues to this day. The question that remains is: do we choose to continue it out of greed and negligence, or do we choose to join together in struggle to create a fair, just and free society for all of us? Se los dejo como tarea para la casa.

[roseofcards90]

PLEASE HAVE YOU SEEN THIS DEEP COVER MV LEAK? 🫣

FjfjfjfjfDHFJFKFKFKFKFK HAHA LMAOOO

no like seriously I am actually manifesting her becoming a monster (aka the wolf) so she can chase down her childhood self who’s dressed up like red riding hood and thus, show the audience how she has continued the cycle of cruelty and violence and has forsaken her ideals and in this essay I will—

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.8)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary:The boy's have stated that you are their last mission at the agency. Little did you know how seriously they would take this operation. Familiar faces will appear, old one's will help to cast forward some advice, and maybe, just maybe in the end you can finally find that dancing partner.

Warnings: 2600 words, Mentions of Addiction, allusions to depressive behaviours and depictions of smoking, light mentions of violence.

A/N: the end nears but a sweet ending I promise!

Masterlist | Taglist Request | un-edited.

6:00 AM | Spring | Your Home

"Your our new mission," those words would come to haunt you. By-gone were your days of throwing your phone at the wall and yelling at your home's digital assistant, 'X.' To having your burnt toast with a shot of vodka to get your system started for the workday ahead of you. No- the boys would not allow you these things, nor a lonely moment as Johnny woke you up with a smile, jumping onto the other side of the bed as eggs and freshly-squeezed juice came wafting up the stares. Pots and pans banging to the morning news as you groaned, turning yourself over, trying to hide yourself deeper within the covers.

"C'mon Daniels, you should be used to our antics by now. We have a meet in 2 hours, gotta be looking good for the chief-"

"He can suck my ass, fucking putting me on that fucking mission in the first place. They all can go to hell," you grumble into a shriek as Soap quite literally shoves you off the bed and onto your carpeted floors. "Well that hurt, thanks Soap," you spit back, standing up with a huff before slamming the bathroom door closed, the sounds of running water had Johnny giving himself a self-high-five and he ventured back down the stairs.

John leaned against the counter, papers in hand as his gazed snapped up to his teammate, "They up?"

"Oh yeah," Soap answered, pouring himself a coffee before taking a seat beside the captain, a plate being served by Simon. Gaz tries not to laugh, coming out of your pantry with a set of tea-bags in hand watching as the giant tries to navigate your small living space with sub-optimal grace.

--

You gripped the steering wheel the whole way downtown, having to listen to Gaz and Soap's pointless arguments as they debated is Zebras have black or white stripes. John looked at you from the passengers seat, turning up the radio in a social cue to the boys in the back as you pulled into a parking space. Throwing the keys into his lap and slamming the door closed you scanned your ID, presenting a small smile to the newest secretary before locking yourself in your office, taking a deep breath in silence.

You would be lying to yourself if you didn't miss the constant silence that trailed your presence in the office space, everyone not knowing quite what to say or seeing your drink-driven self stumbling throughout the halls. It all felt worthless, empty, the fun of the job completely stricken without Whitby's pet names calling after you, his hand on your back, guiding you into meeting after meeting, or his humor through your radio as you wrote notes on his assignments back at home-base.

You felt sick, having to work, having to act as a Handler knowing that you ended up killing one of your men- who's to say you wouldn't do it again- but before these thoughts could consume you, like clockwork another pair of the boys had wrangled their way into your space with bright smiles, pressed suits, and a tray of snacks and tea in hand. "Ready for a meeting?"

--

6:00 AM | Summer | Your Home

The cycle would continue, the boys somehow breaking through your security systems- Soap always looked extra guilty. Shifting his eyes away from your sights, feet shifting as Gaz chuckled, "We are good at are work." Casting you a wink as you sighed, slowly falling into compliance, trying to hide a smile as fresh breakfast coating your counter tops and people talked to you about anything other than death when you were willing too.

Butt when the night came, you hated it, hated the way you were moving on- seemingly too quickly. Whitbys voice haunted your dreams, his promises of adventures without weapons and suits, cameras or contracts. So you put on a record, leaning against your coffee table in front of your electric fireplace, fingers pinching against your leg as you eyed your phone. A few of Price's messages left unanswered alongside Laswell's.

You fell asleep on the floor that night and in the morning Simon threw a blanket on top of your form, quietly brewing a pot of coffee while shifting through your cabinets for something to make, Johnnys booming voice echoed from the front door as Ghost cursed underneath his breath, you slammed your head against the wooden furniture, gun clicking into place as you rounded the corner. His hands pressed upwards, grocery bags dropping as an apple rolled down the hall, stopping at your slippers. "Morning!"

--

And yet, you were back at the office again. Suit freshly washed, a few new sets already in the works as you talked with Charlotte for the first time in months and yet, when you first looked into her eyes. Struggling for an apology, trying to find the right words for your lack of appearance. She pulled you into a hug, cursing your name playfully before joining your tears into her shoulder. "I missed you, Handler."

"I missed you too, Doctor, so very much."

--

You and Charlotte would train the newest agents, you were saddened to see such early versions of yourself, asking yourself where the time went, in a way where your life went. Yet their smiles, jokes, and spirits reminded you of Whitby. His never ending teasing or endless stream of thoughts he would converse with you. It had you chuckling in their faces as you flung another to the mat, raced down tree-lines with gear on your back in endurance training or in the firing rang as Charlotte yelled orders. You felt yourself slipping slowly back, allowing for her voice to order you and the fellow trainee's around for the few weeks you shared together before they all were sent away once more.

You through your hair back off your forehead, gaze snapping as the 141 boys cheered for you from behind the glass as you passed your quarterly fitness examination. You gave them a nod, heading towards the showers and once the adrenaline wore off, Charlottes voice was no longer ringing through your skull, you began to cry without a reason as to why. Just gripping the tiled wall as your shoulder heaved, the water turning cool as you glided into a towel, into a suit, and out the door once more. Taking a break out back once more, Simon silently joined yourself, picking up a lighter you both stared off to the park cars in the alleyway before Price was calling you all in for dinner orders.

--

Dinner, it was the time you looked forward most to. Your growing team with Jacobs and Jason, followed by Charlotte entering the room, various plates and games in their arms as they joined your crew. The office had a near daily board games event, debriefing with playing Monopoly or a supposed, "rigged" game of life as Gaz put it jamming a finger in your face, accusing you of cheating as you casted him a middle finger with a smile. He matched your expression with excited eyes.

--

1:00 PM | Autumn | Somewhere in the Country Side

Spring had slipped away just as the summer heat, you packed yourself back into layers in order to hide away from the chilling air. Today you would be embarking on your longest hike yet, Simon had commented on taking one of your weekends every month for a hike, and today would mark your 7th together.

You breathed in deep the crisp air, closing your eyes as you paused on the pathway before feeling for your cigarettes, you had stopped the drinking yet couldn't give it all up just yet, the itching in your spine, the sweat dripping down your forehead as you looked up the rest of the hill ahead of yourself, Simon paying no mind to your stoppage.

You took a deep breath of smoke in, coughing up the taste as it had been a few weeks since your last smoke. Your eyes started to burn fore you casted the remainder of the bud against your pant leg, stamping it out before chucking the remainders in your pocket. Picking up a light job to catch up to Ghost who stood now at the top, looking down at you expectedly as you neared.

"Nice view," you commented, looking over the yellow and red trees they swayed lightly in the wind. He grumbled out a yes, sitting back on a fallen log as you did the same. Opening his bag, you both took out snacks and water as you became absorbed by the sounds of the world before you. Birds wings fluttered, chirping in the skies above, A few snapped twigs off to your side reminded you of the shy animals hidden in the trees as a squirrel darted off bast your feet.

--

You came to host the games nights as Laswell invited over her wife. She brought a homemade cheese cake that you ate a few too many slices of, now feeling the food-coma overcoming you, losing whatever game was currently in play as your eyes became heavy.

A series of light snores had everyone softening their voices, Laswell and John observed your sleeping form with softened eyes. "They look to be someplace happy," you shifted into a smile, "yeah," John added to the conversation, placing his wining hand down as Johnny nearly flipped the table, cursing out the group before being quieted by a drunk Gaz covering his mouth with a hand, tilting his head over to you.

--

12:00 PM | Winter | Taylor's Tailors

Winter was a long and slow season, work had slowed down yet no-one dared to comment before a new recruit was tackled to the floor for saying the criminals were celebrating the holidays for the year. Rolling your eyes into a smile, you brewed yourself a new cup of coffee as you leaned against the printer, nodding along to whatever Samantha had to say as she ranted about her newest agents lack of regard to their personal safety after falling three stories and running after a convict.

You sat down together in the staff room, offering your own advice as you had finally signed the papers for that promotion. 'Handler of Handlers' Charlotte commented one afternoon as you requested the results of the quarterly exam. It was a new experience, being so far removed from the fields yet the distinction helped you to move on in many ways, not forgetting but being able to take a step back, regarding all the past to present and accepting the decades you worked together with fondness sprinkled with regret.

--

A few years later...

A phone called surprised you one morning, Price's name flashing across the screen as it had been some time since you last seen the boys at work, a part of you forgetting that in your new navy blue suit and pictures framed on the wall, a connection to Whitbys mom and a new dog established a mission finished that you never quite noticed up until now. "You boys are very clever, arn't you all, how's the military treating you, camo was very last year, I hope you know-"

"Hello to you too, Daniels," the Captain chuckles back to you, you can hear whatever chair he sits in squeaks to the movements. "Anything I can help you with?" you ask, fingers dancing across the keyboard, preparing an email to Laswell.

"Not exactly, but we all wanted to invite you to our wedding."

"Our wedding?" your voice raises, eyes now opening a tab to facebook as you stalked each of their feeds only to come up with nothing.

"Yeah... we met a officer. Great one at that, our team photographer, they go by Dice," you can hear the mans smile as you can't help put smile for him as well.

"Thats fucking incredible man! Oh my, when did this all happen, I-... wow. Give an Agent a minute or too, I thought I would be on this shit just like Laswell's..."

A series of laughs erruput in the background as you make an inquisitive, high pitched tone in question. "You're on speaker," Simon says as the rest of the boys yell out their hellos.

--

The boys go on to give your the rundown of the event and the overarching points leading up until now as you checked out of work early and made your way home, laughing and crying alongside their story.

"Well of course Im going to your wedding! Have to meet this Dice of yours, they have any friends or siblings" you tease out.

"Actually..." Gaz pipes up, looking around the room as your fingers tap against the steering wheel, sitting in your driveway, not wanting to end the call at this new information.

"So, they go by fish-"

"What the fuck are these codenames, seriously guys, fish?" you question.

"You're one to speak Daniels," Soap retorts, defending the stranger as a series of laughs consume the call, echoing around your car as you lean back, ending the call with a smile before stressing out on what you were going to wear.

--

It was bittersweet to attend the ceremony as you blinked past tears, throwing rice as they all ran down the isle together. You walked around their new house together, admiring the green scenery around you all as the summer sun illuminated the various colourful petals of the flowers inside the garden.

Pouring yourself a glass of lemonade, a dip in the couch had your gaze casting over to a tall woman. She placed her boots on the couch table across form you both. Setting her own glass down in her lap as he sunglasses slid down her nose as she gave you a once over. A playful smile pinching the corner of her eyes as you tipped your head in greeting. "Names Daniels, do you happen t be the infamous Fish everyones been tellin' me about?"

"My name would look rather good in lights but I rather hear you calling me Gabby, pleasure to meet you Daniels. Price was telling me all about your missions together when they came back, did you really slit a guys throat open in an ice cream parlour?"

--

And just like that conversation flew easily between the two of you, both unaware to everyone keeping away from the bubble you both had formed as they obsessed you both from inside. "Think they will get together?" Gaz asks, pulling an arm around Dice that snuggles further into their side. "Nah, they'll kill each other before that, sure of it," Soap responds, taking a swig from his drink before pulling Simon to a dance. Price taps against the glass window behind you both, you two startle to attention, now glaring at the man as he waves you both inside, pointing to the dimming sun as bugs rapidly surround you both.

Joining Gaz and Simon on the dance floor, you give Gabby a twirl as she dips you with a playful smile. You both whisper jokes into one another tear, nails digging into skin as your foreheads crash against one another. "Wanna go for a smoke?" Gabby softly asks, eyes darting over your shoulder and towards the front door.

"Yeah, just gonna get freshened up, be out soon," you give her hand a squeeze. It's already the next day as you check your watch and fix your hair. Hands pressed against either side of the sink, a voice drifts from memory as if the present as you make your way to join the lady waiting for you outside, "...and maybe one day we will dance together again but for now- it's time you took some lessons and find a new partner, I will be waiting to see all your new move..."

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3 @cod-z

↳ A/N: hope you all enjoyed reading this ending, if you read my Lasting Pictures series, Gabby and Dice are characters from that series, thought it would be a nice way to combine the two series. Thank you all seriously for the support, wouldn't write this much without it in all honesty, so thank you, again, truly.

[peachymilkandcream]

My Husband, My Monster|Part 10|William Afton x Wife!Reader

(A/N: Wow Part 10! Our silly little serial killer is clearly a big hit with you guys. This one is going to have a major major timeskip so woohoo. So glad you're enjoying it and please comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

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

The killings just escalated, he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He had to do more and more. It started with just the girl and then it grew. More and more kids lured in to the back rooms which then disappeared without a trace, leaving their parents to worry what had become of their sweet children.

Police swarmed the restaurant, invading their privacy and ripping apart the place to find any trace of the children. Bags appeared under Henry's eyes as the stress mounted. Money was draining from the business fast as more and more people refused to come in after all the allegations of missing children and unsafe environments. At this rate the business would close, which normally would have frightened William half to death, but at this point he wanted that.

Freddy's was behind him now, he had his own plan in mind. Behind the scenes, spending years in Henry's shadow learning his craft and how to perfect it. He was going to make his own Freddy's, inspired by his newest child Elizabeth. She had been such a perfect child thus far he would make this one for her. When she was old enough to appreciate it then he would show it to her. This would be his new legacy void of Henry. He would come out on top.

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

It was complete, his jewel, his baby. Finally it was open. People were still hesitant to visit an animatronic themed restaurant especially when Funtime Freddy had his name attached to the group of robots. But fortunately enough they slowly began to come, in small groups at first since it was just beginning.

When Freddy's closed and Henry kicked William out of the business he had taken to hiding away from the light of the day. They had completely parted ways, choosing to pretend the other one didn't exist. Although William had gotten some dirty looks when he saw his old partner in public after his new venture launched.

The new animatronics would help with his insatiable bloodlust, trapping children and holding them until he could find his perfect way of disposing of them. Everything was cleaner now, it wouldn't be shutting down like the way the others had because of his stupidity. This time things would go according to plan.

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

It hadn't gone according to plan.

It was supposed to be different. Some random kid was supposed to be caught and killed, not his own daughter. His darling Elizabeth, deceased in the capsule of the that robot. The machine of his own making. The thing created by his own hands, destroyed his favorite child. How could he live with himself?

He shut it down, immediately. The entire place, he couldn't bear to look at it again. It had to all go, every wire and scraps. The animatronics coming to find a permanent home in that shut up workshop, surrounded by the other hollow shells of his creations. Doomed to rot like he did.

He couldn't face his wife. After all that he had done and put her through he couldn't face the grief on her face. When he told her he expected sobbing and agony, but was surprisingly met with slight sadness before she continued with her day caring for her remaining children. As if nothing had happened.

Michael had left in his later teens, vowing to never come back because of the memories of his brother tied with this house and his father's neglect. And Vanessa remained content hiding from the busy lives of her parents. Children were fleeting creatures.

All they did was die, and leave, a vicious cycle of pain inflicted on their parents. All this pain wasn't worth it to him. William came to realize that the only ones that mattered were him and his spouse, they were the only ones that would last at the end of the day. He had to put his wife first above his machines. Do everything for her benefit, make her whole again.

He was stewing on these thoughts until the slight green glow came from Circus Baby which he thought was out of power. Funny, he remembered putting purple eyes in the machine. Why were they that same green as his sweet daughter? Something wasn't right here. It was all too....familiar.

Taglist:

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

@fandomreader @n3r0-1417 @2pacl0ve

[starlightlacrimosazpsff]

◇ 𝓐 𝓑𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ◇ [2]

SYNOPSIS:

Many consider your disability as a burden, but he finds a way to make it a blessing in disguise. What makes us flawed is what makes us unique, and that is what he considers the most beautiful thing about you—an imperfection he dearly adores. Nevertheless, he knows of your lingering sorrows and seeks a way to support you in the best way he could.

ENTRY TYPE: Submission, F!Reader

WARNING(S): slightly suggestive scenes, symptoms of chronic/terminal illness, implications of mental instability, mentions of past trauma resulting to severe injury, scenes of past abuse/violence, possible triggers, panic attacks, sleep paralysis, visual/auditory hallucinations, etc...

CHARACTER(S):

Baizhu, Xiao/Alatus, Zhongli / Rex Lapis / Morax, Kaedehara Kazuha, Kamisato Ayato, Thoma

•

•

•

•☆••☆••☆•

BAIZHU is a doctor that advocates for the healing of all those in need even at his own expense. In the city of Liyue where everything is bound by contracts, he is the successor to the ancient arts imparted by Changsheng. To nurture the light of souls in danger of being extinguished, the green-haired healer must sacrifice the years bestowed upon him. However, his predecessors—particularly his late master—left him a conundrum: were their lives not just as precious, and thus deserving of preservation? On the other hand, Changsheng would perish if left without a host. Under such facts, how can one continue the contract without paying the price of either the host's or Changsheng's life?

The concepts of life and death have come hand in hand since the olden days. Whether in literature or science, life and death are two sides of the same coin. True immortality is gifted to non-humans for the nature of humans is to remain mortal and ever so fleeting—as there is beauty in its evanescence.

To pursue otherwise is considered an atrocity, perhaps even, a forbidden knowledge.

Baizhu has long been disillusioned by all sides to such lectures. A medicine can easily be used as a poison via overdose, just as a poison can be used as a remedy to eliminate a harmful virus. Power is neither good nor evil, for it is the wielder's intention that shall define its purpose. The supposedly heretic pursuit of immortality is only ever catastrophic when a soul becomes seduced by dark temptations. He is not so arrogant as to proclaim being above it since he is only human as much as any ordinary person. He just knows what to expect of himself.

The green-haired doctor has always been selfish in a way that he just wants to save lives—simple.

"Is it because you loathe death?"

That was a question Changsheng once asked him when he was but a young apprentice.

Death is a natural part of a cycle. It is the mortality that defines the end of every season so it can begin anew; as when one falls, another grows. As a doctor, he merely considers it his job—maybe even a calling—to deter death so his patients could appreciate life.

If Changsheng's contract is the answer, then why should he hesitate? Of course, if said contract shall be considered a plight, then he is determined to let it end with him.

On the gravesite of his predecessors, a chartreuse lantern innocently rested on the tombstone of the first doctor. It sways precariously yet does not tip even against the breeze. Its lit flame was slowly dimming, and it is then that they—he, Changsheng, and Qiqi—finally noticed a peculiar symbol on it.

An ouroboros with silver eyes is drawn in sparkling viridian ink, as if covered in real scales.

"Show yourself, wàishengnǚ."

Upon Changsheng's demand, the lantern shimmered a vibrant green. In its place, a woman was resting on the grave like a grieving widow. Contrastingly, your serene countenance displayed a sweeter image and amplified the otherworldly beauty that can only belong to an adeptus. A silk hanfu in various shades of green covered your figure, and a lone jade comb pinned your hair back in a waterfall braid. There was also a ghostly silver yǔyī draped over you.

"That," her tail points at you, "is the petulant daughter of my late sister. You may call her [Name]."

Thus, his new life with you began.

Baizhu found you to be pleasant company if not a bit eccentric due to your outdated manners. Most of the time, you were always hibernating. Changsheng had clarified that it is not always by choice. They are the side-effects of your abilities—resembling symptoms of narcolepsy, given how he sometimes finds you paralyzed. A part of him felt protective over you because of that. His responsibility now is to provide you treatment in regaining the movement of your muscles, whether through acupuncture or massage.

You trusted no other hands to handle you too.

Speaking of which, you and his adorable assistant have been inseparable. Whenever you are in snake form, you are found either wrapped around Qiqi's neck or nesting on/under her big hat. Whenever you are in human form, she is cuddled in your cold yet welcoming embrace. It came as a bit of a shock when Qiqi claimed her body never suffers rigor mortis in your presence.

"Qiqi loves [Name]." She proclaims.

From what Baizhu observed, you love her just as much...even if you refuse to admit it.

According to Changsheng, you have been asleep since the death of her first contractor—which left you at odds with each other. He did not pry despite his curiosity. He could deduce the facts based on your behavior. On the rare times Qiqi left you behind in Bubu Pharmacy, you sneak into the sleeves of his coat as if to find solace in it.

While Changsheng was asleep, Baizhu took the rare chance to converse with you.

"Why did you choose to wake up now?" He asked.

You deadpanned at him, staring into his eyes as if the answer should have been obvious.

"You were being too loud." You replied.

Baizhu raised a brow confusedly, making you sigh in a mix of boredom and agitation.

"You kept calling me and it woke me up. Really annoying, to be honest..."

He frowned, "I...don't understand. I never knew about you until Changsheng introduced us."

You laughed, and Baizhu swore it sounded like the whispering soft waves by the seashore.

"Your soul sure did~!" You chimed, "It kept nagging about immortality and all that stuff."

His eyes widened in realization.

"Wait, does that mean you—"

"—know about the secret you so desperately seek?"

You gave a sultry smile, walking towards him with a very subtle swing to your hips.

"You must wonder why yímā said nothing about it."

Baizhu looks up yet the gleam remains on his lenses as he stared at you. The golden hour bathed you in flaxen glaze, and his breath hitches when it seems to make your eyes glower. It left him frozen as your lips grazed his ear and the warmth of your breath made him shiver.

"It's quite simple." You whispered, "The method I practice can only be done by me."

You pull back just enough for your eyes to meet.

"It would have been worthless for her to tell you when she was under the assumption I plan to sleep for the rest of eternity."

You glared as your smile sharpened. For a second, the man in your arms felt the familiar constriction of a snake around his body—less friendly, and more threatening. He looked down to see your silver yǔyī tightly wound around his waist like a vise made of plumage. It pulls him closer to you.

"I would have done exactly that if not for your soul's incessant whining." You snarked.

A soft sound resembling a melodic hiss echoes in the room as you turn away. The cloak tickles his skin as it slides away from his exposed stomach. It can almost be seen as a taunt to "come hither" while the eldritch cloth fluttered around you.

You behave more serpentine than Changsheng, yet he still finds it difficult to fear you.

"I suppose," you mumble, "you did present me the perfect opportunity with your ambition."

Rustic golden eyes narrowed at you, flickering into red for a split second. You thought it was a much lovelier shade on him, and you desired to see it more often.

"An opportunity for you to what...?"

You look back over your shoulder. At that precise timing, your grin was childlike and delicate. It was an extreme juxtaposition to your next words.

"An opportunity to die, of course~!"

Baizhu stares in dumbfounded shock, yet he could not inquire more as you slumped. The bout of high emotions seem to have put your muscles at its limit as you slurred. He rushes forward, catching you in his arms and was surprised. Usually, you turn back into your snake form in defense if anyone other than Qiqi touched you in human form; but not this time.

Watching your elegant features, your foreboding words haunt him.

In a moment of weakness, his hand caressed your cheek. His knuckles traced your lips as his eyes are left mesmerized—besotted by you alone.

Flustered, he then pulls away.

Since that day, Baizhu subconsciously begins to treat you more gently and warmly. It did not perturb you but there was trepidation in your gaze, as well as a hint of hope. A mutual understanding grew between you and this persistent fool.

He is a greedy man advocating for life.

You are a pitiful woman yearning for death.

That parallelism is what enabled his soul to awaken yours back to reality. As days pass and nights wane, you grew infatuated by this premise. In the fleeting bliss of domesticity, an ardent affection for living has returned to your nihilistic heart. A part of you still wishes it remained forgotten with the broken pieces that the first doctor left abandoned.

Changsheng sees right through you.

Someday, your feelings for Baizhu will far surpass whatever fascinations you held for Xu Xian.

"I always found it odd." You said.

Baizhu hums as he stargazes beside you. Qiqi had taken Changsheng inside to give you both some needed privacy.

"You and your predecessors," you scoffed, "are always so determined to defy the clutches that death has over your patients; yet in your attempts, you become the most eager to greet it on your doorstep."

You glared into his bespectacled honey gaze, sweet as much as it is infuriating. Your heart swells when he dropped his fallacious smile, proving he is taking your words seriously.

"It is hypocrisy at its finest." You spat.

Your limbs flailed in irritation but you swiftly calmed yourself. The last thing you needed is for your words to slur in anger and then faint.

"What about you?" Baizhu confronts, "Why are you so fixated to die?"

You smile resentfully, "I want to spite him."

It took no guesses whom you meant.

"The audacity of that man," you grumble, "pleading for me to live and find happiness again—in another, as if my heart was so fickle—while he laid dying due to his own foolishness. Since he was so unrepentant for his choice, I want to know why."

Your hand reaches out to the moon. For those brief seconds, beguiled golden eyes watched the scales on your skin shine.

"What does being human feel like? What does it mean to die?" You ask rhetorically.

Baizhu looks at you and is awed to finally see you in whole view. Your regrets, your woes, your pride, your vulnerabilities...

...and your love—he witnesses.

He wants them all.

"Your powers," he said, "what would they entail if I take your contract as well?"

A delicate tenderness softens your smile, pushing a surge of pride in him.

"Simple," you respond idly, "all the energy I have accumulated will be transferred to you."

Baizhu blinked, "So...a reverse of Changsheng's own healing arts?"

You shrug, "My mother had said that the green and white snakes were always meant to be united. One is responsible for refining chi to immortalize the host, while the other will heal by absorbing illnesses."

"That is why you always end up hibernating," he alas concludes, "to gather chi around you."

You smirk, "My endearment for Qiqi is not entirely innocent in that notion. As an undead, the adeptal energy which surrounds her is my ideal reservoir. Similar to dual cultivation, I keep her bodily functions in circulation even when at rest."

In a blink, you levitated before Baizhu with feet just barely touching the ground to be on equal eye level with him. Your hands cradled his face and a solemn glint made your eyes shimmer, as if in tears.

"The green snake is an ouroboros," you murmur, "a serpent that eats itself to gain power."

Your arms slide around his shoulders as your body slumped against him.

"The white snake is a shapeshifter," you continue, "a serpent that endlessly sheds its skin to live."

Your lips kissed his neck and he felt your fangs graze the skin all too tantalizingly.

"Ironically," you chuckle darkly, "the powers are set in reverse. With both contracts, you get to fulfill that ambition of yours: an immortal doctor that can cure any ailment."

"To accomplish it," Baizhu intercepts, "I must take the identity of the green snake."

He understands it now.

The two snakes are bound because they are the only ones capable of undertaking each other's contract without paying a steep price. Your mother perished to save you, leaving Changsheng vulnerable. The first doctor took her contract and then met you. His death could have been prevented if he took yours too, but he chose otherwise.

You did not spite the doctor for choosing death.

You hated how he chose death for your sake. He failed to understand your heart by heeding the calls of his own...and you blamed yourself for it, not Changsheng.

"I accept."

His declaration was not unexpected but you did not anticipate the weight behind it. While Xu Xian acted callous with his life, Baizhu was just as flippant by the burdens of immortality.

However, the way he looks at you says otherwise.

The way he smiles at you while his arms embraced your figure in turn proved it.

"Acceptance is a point of no return." You warn one last time, "Nothing of you will remain—only the green ouroboros. I will go to sleep more and more for every time you wake with vitality. Someday, I will not wake up beside you anymore at all."

Baizhu tightens his hold as if spooked by the idea yet he smiles angelically at you. His hand rose to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while yours tilted his glasses down teasingly in jest.

"I will relieve you of your burden." He proclaims, "I only ask that you live the remainders of this life with joy and no regrets..."

Audaciously, he leans forward until your lips were centimeters away from each other.

"...by my side."

Tears escape yet your laughter is most sincere.

"Then, the contract is sealed."

With your words, a kiss is exchanged.

Baizhu will have to live the rest of eternity knowing that he chose to let his beloved go to death. He will spend that same eternity persuading others to keep choosing life in exchange. His sole comfort is that it shall be a mutual choice—a mortal yet bountiful life together—between you and him.

You are destined to become his first grievance when he turns immortal.

That is the proof of love he can give you in return for your blessings, your heart, and—

"My dearest, for whom I embrace eternal damnation so you may rest."

•☆••☆••☆•

XIAO is a yaksha whose purpose lies within his many names under one mask. As General Alatus, he fought alongside his fellow yaksha brothers and sisters in the perilous era of the Archon War. As the Golden Winged King, he is respected amongst the adepti that serve Rex Lapis. As the Winged Nemesis, the stars acknowledged him enough to bestow the power of anemo. As the Conqueror of Demons, he works tirelessly against the undying darkness. As the Vigilant Yaksha, he became the last of his kind and a phantom that lingers within the Wangshu Inn.

All of these identities are united under one mask and one name: Adeptus Xiao.

It is both his shield and his bond.

Xiao can vividly hear the ringing of his real name being called in reverence by his comrades. He will sometimes linger from the hilltops at night to reply morosely. The sound is similar to a bird call from a distance, a mimicry of his true form. If he felt more sentimental in his solitude, he would even play a whole piece with the dizi flute.

In one such night, the last yaksha smelled the potent odor of hysterical panic and fear. It clashed against the putrid taste of hateful rage and sadism.

One soul is hunting for the blood of another.

By raw instinct, his mask took form upon his face as he dashed towards the origin of the scent. He was led towards Qingyun Peak. For a moment, he paused at the sight of burning qingxin flowers by his feet—a peculiar hint to what awaits him. The wind whipped against his hair and exposed arms, chilling his skin in a familiar brush. It pushed him to go even faster to save the victim of such malice.

A swirl of anemo green and inky black blur together as he finally arrived with spear in hand.

That was when Xiao first saw you.

A man twice your size had been choking you. Now, he was dead by your feet with a piece of broken glass stabbed into his jugular. However, you were clearly bleeding out as the rag you call a dress had been painted red. On the other hand, your flesh was in shades of black and blue. In some twisted sense, your face was left in pristine condition—churning Xiao's stomach, for he could guess the intention of your abuser. Your hair was matted due to sweat and grime, a splatter of dirt on your cheeks.

The imagery struck too much familiarity.

The Conqueror of Demons then gasped as he is forced out of reverie. You are losing consciousness while standing dangerously close to the edge of a steep cliff. Your chapped lips move as the wind carried your message to his ears.

Three words.

A plea for help. A desperation to live.

"Help...me...please."

Then, you fell back.

For Xiao, it felt like a surreal dream as he threw his body forward. His hand released his weapon and reached out towards you. A raw cry reverberated in his ears, distantly recognizing it to be his own. The yaksha willed his Vision to let him fall faster as his fingers grazed yours, until he managed to take hold of your hand.

With a strong pull, Xiao engulfs you in a tight yet gentle embrace—mindful of your fragility. In another swirl of green and black, he swiftly teleports to the Wangshu Inn.

That was the start of his life's chapter with you.

It actually took you three days to awaken, and an entire month to fully recover. Verr Goldet concluded that irreparable damage was done to your throat, rendering you indefinitely voiceless. Talking causes you pain, and straining yourself causes you to cough out blood. The yaksha has never met someone who can scream so loud in silence.

Alatus understood the feeling.

Although you never officially met your savior, Verr had told you everything you needed to know. While working through your physical rehabilitation, you made a habit of leaving almond tofu in a certain room. It is accompanied by a single honeyed qingxin flower, a pain-killing remedy that you learned as a child. Whenever you collect the plate in the morning, it is always empty. After three days, you grew bold and thus began to also leave a small note under the plate—just messages of goodwill or brief greetings to the Vigilant Yaksha.

"What a foolish mortal." Xiao murmured.

You never received a reply but you were far from disheartened by it.

After a month of this routine, the first sign of your savior's reciprocation was a freshly picked qingxin flower beside the empty plate.

That was the first time Xiao saw a genuine smile from you as he watched at a distance.

"Truly foolish indeed." He mumbled.

Everyone was pleasantly surprised by your hidden Pyro Vision. You can conjure different colors of wisp flames. Each served a purpose which the inn found very useful when you learned to control it.

Red is the most natural color, and enables the wisps to interact without burning anything. They can be touched in this state unless infused with anemo to cause Swirl.

Orange is the defensive color that produces barriers of all kinds. They serve as warning to anyone that provokes any harm or malice. Yellow/Gold is its secondary phase which makes the shield or wisps combust. It is also the color that engulfs your sword with your elemental skill and burst.

Xiao could not explain it but he is aware whenever you call out his name in your mind. There is always something tugging at his core ever since he began to reciprocate your small acts of affectionate goodwill. Whenever he follows it, he finds you—whether it is because you were praying to him, or because you were in danger.

He then consulted his fellow adepti but received no concrete answers. He would be lying if he claims to not be curious about this odd phenomenon, even if he just accepted in stride.

As time passed, the yaksha viewed you as a sort of companion for every silent call. It is an unspoken camaraderie, one he could not deny.

On the first anniversary of your meeting, Xiao gifted you the Primordial Jade Cutter.

On the second anniversary, you saw him vulnerable for the first time. Reduced to his knees, he gasped in pain as tendrils of black surrounded him—his karmic debt, as he called it. This was the price he had to pay for eons of slaughter. He warned you to back off in a raised voice, yet you persisted as your immaculate pyro swirled with his tainted anemo.

White is the color of healing, shining above the rest and burning hottest. It was your natural affinity, and he found it fitting on you—a soul most endearing and most loving. Alas, as the two elements danced and your flames purged the karmic debt within him, he had an epiphany. The bond you both nurtured over mutual exchanges of qingxin, the reason why he can hear a voice you can never use—they all point back towards her.

You stared at him in concern as you kneeled, joining him on the floor. Slowly to not spook him, your hand touches his cheek ever so tenderly. For all his strong abstinence, Xiao indulged your touch as he leaned into your palm. Your white flames dissolve the black miasma and the pain receded, if only for now.

However, as soon as he regained clarity, there was a spark of anxiety and disbelief in his catlike eyes.

Then, he vanished.

Xiao avoided you for weeks. A part of you felt a bit saddened by that but you ignored it. As long as he was taking care of himself, you had no reason to complain.

The next time you heard anything about him was from a gentleman named Zhongli.

You met the funeral consultant at the balcony of Wangshu Inn, which Xiao frequented whenever he is on standby. The older man smiled knowingly at you, inviting you for some tea. Then, he relays the news of the yaksha undertaking a perilous mission in The Chasm.

"Worry not," he told at the face of your concern, "I promise that he shall return to you."

For some reason, his tone made you blush like a girl exposed by the father of the boy she adores.

However, true to his word, Xiao returned safely.

Then, the yaksha told you to meet him at Qingyun Peak—the place of your first meeting.

You walked the familiar path in a strangely relaxed pace despite the bad memories. In fact, you felt overjoyed to see qingxin growing on formerly ashen grasslands. Rays of sunshine gold peek through the gaps of trees and their branches. You look up to see Xiao sitting alone by the cliff, staring ahead to oversee all of Liyue.

Xiao heard you coming and closed his eyes just as you sat beside him. He can feel your gaze analyzing him from head to toe. The warmth of your flames caressed his skin, likely seeking injuries in need of healing. His sore muscles are thus soothed but, to his curiosity, the flames linger on his arm.

Golden eyes open to see you dazedly observing his tattoo. Amidst the trance, your hand traced its shape and lingered when it pulsed aglow. He shivered at the sensation, making you pull back.

A silent apology was made by your lovely eyes.

Xiao said nothing to that, gazing at the setting sun once again.

"Indarias." He said.

You tilted your head in confusion.

The adeptus sighs somberly, eyes growing misty in recollections of old memories.

"The predecessor of your Vision," he clarified gently, "her name was Indarias."

That was the day Xiao bore his heart and soul open to you. He told you about his brothers and sisters, encouraged by his trials in The Chasm. He explains how they once swore blood oaths to each other. It carried to their Visions, and that is how he can hear you say his name even without a voice. After being confronted by remnants of Bosacius, he recalls what made him cower from you—the revelation that you inherited the power of Indarias. When he had been falling to his death, he recalls how his mind was only filled with thoughts of you.

Then, when that golden light saved him once again, all he could think was—

"I wanted to come home to you."

Xiao confessed as his eyes softened upon meeting yours. He raises a hand to your cheek, smiling as a blush coated your skin. Leaning forward, your lips met his for the first of many times. Your arms held him close, and it will be your shared secret how he shed tears upon this sacred act.

To embrace his future, Xiao had made peace with the fact he must let go of the past. He will carry the memories of the fallen and honor them; but he will now live for himself, and for you.

However, all things—good or bad—eventually must come to an end.

The karmic debt bore down more harshly than it has ever done. By instinct, Xiao sought your existence yet also wished to stay far from it. The result was teleporting to Qingyun Peak. He remained unaware to the flow of time, leaving you and those who knew of his plight to search for him. All he could think is how unfair everything felt. Just as he found the will to genuinely live his life, he was being taken away to the arms of death. In the past, all he wanted was to take flight with the birds in the sky—yet chose to remain grounded by contract with his lord.

Now, he has you.

He laments how he still wants to spend more time, to make more memories, with you...

...yet there is no time left for memories anymore.

"Xiao!"

Your echoing voice pierced through the excruciating haze of black. His mask was cracking. All he can do is lean on his spear. The Primordial Jade grew dull with each passing second.

"Stay back!" He yelled hoarsely.

You took a step, white flames lashing out.

"I mean it!" He shouted more frantically.

In an effort to get away and protect you, the yaksha backed himself to the edge. With wide eyes, he finds himself falling back in stumbling steps as his mask fully crumbled. The pupils of his eyes thinned into alarming slits before dilating into clarity as he saw you reaching for him. In practiced ease, his own hand moved to welcome yours yet he was getting pulled farther back. The image of the past overlaps with the present, the roles reversing—

—yet the wind still carried three words.

A promise by heart. A resignation to die.

Xiao smiled as his golden eyes softened, gleaming with tears of farewell.

"I love you."

His world is then consumed by black smoke, and you watched in horror. A glance at his fading Anemo Vision made you jump after him, reaching out like he did long ago.

You refuse to let it end like this.

Red embers swirled to chase after Xiao like dancing silk ribbons. They surround you in a vermillion shield, carmine transitioning into rustic amber. Your white flames burn brighter than ever. It fought against the dark karma which threaten to devour you.

Unabashed, you cried out even as you bled.

"Alatus!"

His real name. Not his adeptus name.

Time seems to slow into a stop for Alatus, whose eyes fluttered open. He felt the nostalgic comfort of heat amidst the coldest breeze. Mustering the last of his strength, he returns your embrace—a picture of bittersweet bliss. His left hand cradles your head and his free arm wraps around your waist.

"[Name], my foolish mortal..."

Alatus remembers the words of Indarias from long ago. She told him that only the wind can save a fire from dying and empower it. He had failed to do that when she burned herself to ashes in madness. The memory made him hold you tighter, beseeching.

He refuses to let that happen to you.

A tinkling sound of two Visions meeting echoes for all adepti to hear. By the breath of his anemo, your final flame awakens.

Blue is the color of rebirth. It allows the union of souls, merging ambitions to begin anew. This azure light symbolizes radiance of a newborn star, perhaps even the miracle of resurrection.

A majestic golden bird shrouded in cerulean flames rose above Liyue. It shrieked an ancient hymn while flying across the sky, free at last. Darkness is purged as if night turned into day, and the Fourth Descender bore witness. A pair of amber eyes watched from afar as their owner gave a meaningful smile.

This undying bond is a new contract signed by the Vigilant Yaksha and his mortal lover—

"As thou hath been promised to me, I offer mine whole self to thee."

•☆••☆••☆•

ZHONGLI is a god who has lived for eons, and has yet to begin his life at the same time. After his six millennia of existence, he has been known by many names and bestowed countless titles. Some are hearsay and some are legitimate—all are bonded through his contracts. As the Prime Adeptus, he is the warrior god named Morax whom subdued the rage of oceans and monsters by rain of spears. To the people of Liyue, he is the almighty Rex Lapis whom stood as the overseer of contracts, history, and commerce. By the word of Celestia, he is the Geo Archon whom holds dominion over the Rook Gnosis; and in the eyes of Teyvat, that made him god amongst gods even if he felt otherwise under the divine gaze.

When he finally stepped down from the throne and pedestal of glory, his words to the Traveler omitted a particular truth from them—

—that is, his reason of retirement.

Zhongli spoke of erosion, and even the merchant whom made him realize that his job was done.

However, he did not speak of you.

Of course, with two Harbingers present, his secrecy is understandably sound judgment. Nevertheless, even when he attained privacy to speak personally, he finds it hard to disclose about you. Perhaps, it is a draconic instinct to hoard and protect what he has claimed to be his.

The only other individual just as protective over any knowledge of your existence is Ningguang.

After all, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing is also known as your dear older sister.

Ningguang raised you since the beginning, even if she had been a mere child herself. Your parents are never spoken, and you never asked. Even when you find yourself in comparison to other children with mothers and fathers, your older sister was always all you needed and wanted. Tirelessly, she carried you on her back while her arms were occupied by a basket of wares to be sold. Barefoot, she journeyed from the sands of Yaoguang Shoal to the main capital of Liyue Harbor to make ends meet. Every weekend, you will both scavenge anything that can be sold.

The first gift she ever bought you was an intricate erhu of the best craftsmanship.

It had been your smiles that told her everything will be worth the effort. It had been your songs that soothed the ache of muscles and the weariness of mind. It had been your words that invigorated her ambition to become something more.

"I love you, jiejie!"

"...I love you too, meimei."

Nothing would stop Ningguang from rising to the top and giving you the life you deserve.

Time is cruel to mortals and always issues a test of faith to see them thrive. In one such incident, it has been proven that you and Ningguang are true sisters in every sense of the word. Her determination can only be rivalled by yours, and the resolve which shine like stars in your eyes is unconquerable.

Your older sister had once fallen to sickness. She refused to tell you where she kept the money, not wanting to waste it to buy medicine. You furiously argued with her about it but nothing could change her mind. Thus, at the dark of night, you treaded the path towards Jueyun Karst. The entire map of Liyue has been engraved in your mind since you could walk. Even when nothing but black greets your blank eyes, it would have been child's play to travel into the abode of adepti.

That is, of course, if not for the adepti's indignant anger at your trespassing.

Fortunately, you stole a Sigil of Permission.

"My sister is ill," you told them, "and I require your aid to concoct a medicine."

You will never know that what eventually convinced them is how gold illuminated your form. It channels your soul, and then solidifies into a circlet. At its center, a Geo Vision proudly sparkled.

Mountain Shaper thus led you to collect herbs that you would need. Moon Carver carried you on his back while Cloud Retainer flew towards Yaoguang Shoal with Ganyu on hers to check on your sister. In the distance, the Conqueror of Demons obliterated all other threats that may come your way.

By morning, Ningguang was on a road to recovery and you thanked the adepti by playing your erhu for them every day.

Amongst these private performances, you ended up in Guili Plains alone.

A melody has been haunting your dreams. It is very melancholic yet profoundly moving, like a promise between lovers. The composition began to write itself in the abyssal void of your sight. Then, it played smoothly by your delicate hands on the strings. Your voice echoed across the plains, bequeathing a sense of serenity that mortals rarely have talent to supply.

The Lord of Geo has been enchanted as he listened to your lullaby.

"Milord, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Your inquiry was met with silence, but you can still feel his piercing eyes on you. Thankfully, you are patient as you are resilient.

The sound of footsteps made your ears perk up. You could not stop yourself from tilting your head to the direction of its origin. The omnipotence of adeptal energy dominated the air, making you dazed for a few seconds. However, there was a charming scent that you recognize. It belongs to a wild glaze lily, one especially helped to bloom by music.

Morax paused before where you sat, staring into your curious gaze looking up at him. The blindness clouded them yet your earnest intrigue made them shimmer glamorously. Autumn ginkgo leaves rain upon you whom sat beneath the shade of its tree, and he whom loomed over your mortal form. He lifts the glaze lily in his hand to bless its petals with a chaste kiss. Then, he slowly presents it to you.

A steady hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, planting the flower as an ornament. Your sensitive skin felt the callouses that must be from a lifetime of conquests. Alas, your cheeks only flush brightly at their tender caress. His fingertips glide through your tresses very subtly, giving you agency to pull away from his touch.

Morax pulls a lock of hair towards his lips, giving it the same attention as he did the glaze lily.

Then, with a promising smile, he lets go—

—and then vanishes in a blink.

That encounter was the first of many secrets you kept from your older sister.

A week later, a gentleman named Zhongli introduces himself to you. You narrow your eyes in suspicion and confusion. His presence, the aura of Rex Lapis, is unmistakable to you. Nevertheless, you respond with quiet acceptance while listening to his pulse settle down in relief.

It was not your place to question an archon anyway, nor is it your responsibility.

Aside from music, you always held fascination for botany. After refusing your sister's offer to live with her in the Jade Chamber, she built you an estate with a large garden and a quaint greenhouse. From here, you have invented a unique art known as Geo Crystalline Preservation. You use the flowers in your garden to crystallize them with your Vision, but retain their scent like a real flower. By this method, you manage to pluck wild glaze lilies and preserve their natural fragrance after cultivation.

Your first specimen was the glaze lily gifted by your archon, now a part of your circlet.

Suddenly, wild glaze lilies were being revived to its former vast numbers in your garden.

Your artform can be applied to anything too. It can become a stained glass decor, a clothing design, an unwilting bouquet, and even a way to preserve food ingredients. For this reason, your fresh business had immediately made connections with all sorts of exchange across Liyue Harbor. In turn, you have developed a very reliable information network that answers to nobody but yourself. Twice, a visit from Yelan made your heart swell with pride to know you have information that eludes her.

Zhongli was more of a consultant or an advisor who directs you to the most beneficial proposals. It can be most helpful whenever you felt lost in making critical decisions that require more tact. He even made it possible for you to create a strong alliance with the Feiyun Commerce Guild. A part of you is still uncertain if it was worth the hassle that the esteemed Young Master Xingqiu tends to bring to your doorstep.

By the words of Rex Lapis, the core foundation of contracts is fairness. Thus, you asked Zhongli what he wants in exchange for his hard work.

"I only wish for your company," Zhongli replied, "and—if you would allow it—a chance to court you."

A gentle kiss lands upon your forehead. It brought back flashes of your first meeting under the ginkgo tree, when he was a god rather than a mortal. You used names to keep them separate, yet this moment has proven that Zhongli is Rex Lapis and Morax.

A cor lapis by any other name would nonetheless be as resplendent.

Then, two years later, he proposed and you said yes.

That resulted to an interesting private discussion between Zhongli and Ningguang. Neither of them disclosed any details other than the fact your sister gave her sincere blessings for the marriage. The wedding was reserved yet was also nothing short of extravagant. The collaboration of your sister and fiancé had you expecting nothing less if you were being honest.

Another year later, the final Rite of Descension turns into a Rite of Parting.

You knew of Zhongli's plan. He had to confide the details to you, excluding the Tsaritsa's contract. It was the only way to persuade you into staying in Wangshu Inn for a few weeks, to make sure you do not get caught in the crossfire. He promises his intervention if all goes awry, if it endangers your sister as well as the rest of Liyue Harbor.

Then, it was all over.

Zhongli came home to kiss you with fervor you have never felt from him since your wedding night.

Later, the geo lines on his arms pulse with luminous glow in your marital bedroom. It reflected upon his amber eyes, pupils alternating between slits and dilation as his instincts purred. He closed his eyes with an inaudible sigh before projecting himself into your dreamscape.

As a blind person, you have an odd way of dreaming.

You only hear amidst the abyss and a composition always reverberates. When visited by him, everything gets reconstructed to a meadow of glaze lilies. At its heart is his Statue of the Seven. He had learnt that the imagery of stars twinkling above your heads is a sign that his own dreamscape had begun to merge with yours. A golden aurora borealis emanated pure geo energy, representing elemental resonance.

Always, the Geo Archon finds himself replacing his own self on the statue when he visits. He opens his eyes to the perspective of the statue. The illusionary Memory of Dust remains afloat beside him with a few geo crystalflies. He shall always find you fast asleep, wearing a hanfu composed of his colors. At times, your head is only resting on the armrest or his lap; and other times you are already in his arms. Then, he cradles you closely while he listens to the tunes you dream. He has grown familiar with most of them through your erhu. A few would baffle him, and he would then realize they are your unfinished compositions.

There was also one other reason he strictly kept you far from the events in the harbor.

You are with child.

Zhongli recalls the time you discussed the concept of illumination with him. It is the method of possibly enlightening a mortal to become an adeptus. The topic of you becoming immortal was only broached once and never again. Your own perspective in the matter was irrelevant, mostly because you were incompatible for the procedure. Although far from being an invalid, your constitution is not necessarily ideal for such arduous illumination.

The Lord of Geo was overjoyed when you relayed the news of your pregnancy the first time. Alas, when the celebratory mood had gone, the slap of reality finally registered.

This will be a difficult ordeal for you, carrying a child that is half-adeptus.

Yanfei was conceived and born by a human mother, delivered through a complicated pregnancy. The health concerns never seemed to end, and her mother's miraculous survival was only thanks to her tenacity according to her father. Even then, she is a mortal woman in perfectly good health.

If you were not capable of undergoing illumination, can you even survive this pregnancy?

No matter the answer though, Zhongli knows you are determined to persevere. For the sake of the life within your womb, you will endure all the hardships that will be thrown your way.

That fact is why he fell in love with you.

Perhaps, there was one thing he could do to help you even if it was not a full illumination.

As he once did for Azhdaha, the Lord of Geo can bless you the gift of sight.

You can see your child when they are born.

Zhongli lifts his head from where it rested on your crown. He tilts your chin up to gaze upon your visage and feel your breath against his skin. His fingertips grazed your eyelids, and the golden light of his geo energy engulfs the dreamscape. As everything fades into white, he leans down so his lips meet yours...

...and then, you both awaken.

However, for the first time, the haunting darkness that usually welcomed you has been replaced with color.

You saw a man hovering over you, lips millimeters apart from yours. Dark brown hair is embellished with honey gold, long strands gliding over his toned shoulders. Sharp amber eyes glared into yours, an unreadable sheen making them glow. Your hand reaches up to touch his fair cheek, thumb tracing the red outlining his gaze.

You realize. This is your husband.

"Zhongli...!" You gasped, tears in your eyes.

He smiles like a breathtaking work of art, a godly beauty that blessed you to be his wife.

"Hello, tian xin."

Your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him into an ecstatic embrace and blissful kiss. He obliges, taking all you have and giving you all that is his.

Someday, you will no longer stay by his side.

Nevertheless, the proof of your existence will live through your child—and so will the love, the miracle that conceived them, which you shared with him. As such, you will continue to shine like gold in his memories forevermore.

This is not a mere contract, but a solemn promise that even Celestia can never break—

"My memories of you are treasures not even erosion can steal away."

•☆••☆••☆•

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA is a free spirit undeterred by the might of the eternal lightning's glow. At the face of loss and grief, he continued to pursue the calling that has been delivered by nature's winds. Days are spent searching for truth with an old friend's legacy, a masterless Vision to accompany him across the unconquered seas. Nights are spent in mourning a home that disowned him, a moment to digress from the disgrace he was bestowed. His family name has always been a burden that weighed heavily on his heart, but his sword cuts down all obstacles by will of wind and cloud. The Archon who represented the element he wields preached the ideal of freedom, yet nobody ever spoke of its steep price. In contrast, the Archon of his homeland follows an eternity that rejects change and henceforth decrees to prohibit ambitions that yearn for it.

When a bird who wishes to fly is born in a nation that wants it caged, which path is seen as right to abide?

When a dream is not enough to conquer divine sovereignty, what sort of reality is left to live?

They say when the gods give you a blessing, you do not ask why it was sent. Alas, if that same gift has condemned you to a tormenting fate, what else can be done but question the reason behind it all?

Wings clipped yet uncaged,

The price of freedom is steep

Yet the bird still sings.

That was the answer Kazuha realized.

If nothing in hindsight can tell him what he wishes to know, then he must listen to the unseen. If neither god nor mortal can be persuaded with words, then perhaps he must find a better use for his voice.

Thus, the lost ronin let the wind lead...

...and he was saved by the lonely desert flower that thrived amidst the City of Contracts.

You were a fresh graduate from Sumeru, a brilliant scholar disillusioned by the leaking discrepancies of the Akademiya. They would have forced you to stay with threats thinly veiled as pleasant requests to promote the growth of wisdom. However, you knew the potential they see in you is naught but another way to cultivate the poison spreading deeper than the withering of the rainforests. It was only by aid of the former General Mahamatra that you managed to destroy all research the sages desperately wanted, and then narrowly escaped. Your freedom cost his position, but he reassures you that it gained him a friend—one he hopes can still find heart to return.

You promised him as much, the sincerest gratitude pulsing in your soul.

It was a little difficult to start from scratch, yet Liyue certainly helped as a city of commerce.

The only possessions you have left are the clothes you wear, the bow strapped to the quiver of arrows on your back, and whatever is stored as luggage on your shoulder bag. However, you hold an unyielding confidence in two things: your intelligence, and your Dendro Vision.

That is what eventually led you to apply for the recent job opening in Bubu Pharmacy.

Baizhu is a fair employer and an overall good person as company. He does feel a little suspicious with his odd remarks, especially in regards to his fragile state due to some unknown illness. He gives the vibe of someone who smiles politely yet always schemes something nefarious. Perhaps, it was your time with the corrupted sages that made you wary.

Nonetheless, he treats you well.

Moreover, he never once criticized your disability as a nuisance nor made you seem inferior for it.

Qiqi, on the other hand, is a very lovely and adorable girl with the occasional eccentricities. A knitted finch plush for her birthday was the deciding factor for her to proclaim you as her older sister. She keeps a particular notebook for every detail she discovers about you. Her free time is now spent cuddling with you for a nap, if not to help make your remedies.

Your cheeky boss commented that you both share the same eyes. He laughs when you glared at him for the implication that you look like an airheaded zombie. As an intellectual, it is not appreciated.

After a year of relishing your new life in Liyue, the heavens decided to throw another curveball.

As a renowned healer in Bubu Pharmacy, there have been many patrons that come to you for any sort of emergency. It is the real term of employment that makes Baizhu pay you heftily, at least compared to his other employees. It is also why your colleagues and some citizens in the harbor consider you the pharmacy's second doctor. Your affinity for dendro has greatly progressed any medicinal research. Your accompaniment of Qiqi allowed the forgetful zombie to discover new herbs—not much use alone, but vital ingredients in brewing affordable remedies.

Thus, one stormy night, a woman named Beidou came barging on your door.

"Lady Doc," she called out boisterously, "I need a little help here!"

A young man, bloodied and bruised, was on her back and worryingly limp. The famous captain of the Crux Fleet had a strained smirk on her face, and the rest of her was roughed up. Whatever ordeal they had to endure, it must have been truly dangerous.

Without further questioning, you provided treatment to these unexpected patients. Being informed that the man is a foreign fugitive made no difference to you. From his clothes, you have easily deduced that he is from Inazuma—which allowed your mind to fill in all the blanks on why he was condemned. After all, news had traveled fast across nations about the Sakoku Decree and the closing of Inazuma's borders. You take pride in your oath as a healer to treat anyone in need of care indiscriminately. If they end up doing harm to others afterwards, then you deal with it just as accordingly.

However, the lady captain is a woman of integrity and so you chose to trust her judgment.

What did annoy you was how Beidou decided to just leave a wanted ronin in your care. All she left was a note to take care of him—Kazuha, she says—and a winky face signed at the bottom. She also snatched a bottle of rum from your liquor stash.

Pirates can really sniff out any hidden treasure in a matter of seconds.

Qiqi visits you that afternoon. This is the routine if you are ever tardy or absent during working hours. It was part of your contract since Baizhu is well aware that being an accomplished doctor can attract the wrong sort of crowd. Not to mention, he has been informed of your situation with the Akademiya. The zombie's visits are to ensure your well-being. She will report to the Millelith directly, per Baizhu's instruction, if she thinks anything feels off.

You gave Qiqi a notice to deliver to Baizhu, a request for a short leave. It was the usual for whenever you become busy in treating personal patients. A small bottle of coconut milk was also given as reward for the little zombie's troubles. Her lips twitch up to a small smile as her eyes gain an affectionate haze.

"Thank you, jiejie." She says.

After receiving a headpat from you, she skips away adorably and giddily.

You closed the door with a sigh, turning to go back and tend to your patient. However, you were met with a glistening blade to your face and a pair of dazed yet still menacing red eyes. They glare at you defensively behind silver white fringes.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Kazuha demands.

To your chagrin, you fainted from shock.

Kazuha finds the note from Beidou which clarified the situation to him. He apologized profusely as his pale cheeks blushed from embarrassment.

A year later, that not-so-pleasant first impression has paved the way to an unlikely romance.

You stand by the docks of Liyue Harbor, anxiously waiting for the return of the Alcor. The last time you heard from your lover, he has informed you via letter that the Vision Hunt Decree was no more—thanks to the Traveler. However, he did not immediately return to your side for personal reasons. You did not pry, a touching act of understanding that deepened his affections for you. Kazuha promised that once he has tied the last loose ends of his past, he will never allow himself to part from you.

A part of you wondered if you are willing to do the same. There is a significant difference between the both of you that had caused conflict in the past.

Kaedehara Kazuha is a free spirit, always following wherever the wind leads him.

You are a person who thrives by staying in one place, like a blossom in fertile soil.

If given the choice, will he allow himself to stay tied down to you? Similarly, are you capable of uprooting yourself just to be with him?

The scent of maple leaves carried by the salty ocean breeze snaps you out of reverie. A delighted smile brightens your lovely features, knowing this aroma can only belong to one person.

Kazuha stands meters away with a heartfelt smile and a smitten look in his crimson eyes. He holds his arms open, and that was your cue to run towards his direction. The momentum caused you both to spin as he caught you, yet your lover only laughed at your enthusiasm. A mild tremble in his arms allowed you to know that he has missed you just as much.

"I'm back." He murmurs.

You tighten the embrace while he plants a lingering kiss upon your crown. His bandaged hand combs through your hair, smiling as petals were swept by his fingertips. A couple of yellow roses and pink carnations blossom from your intricate braids.

"Welcome back." You mumbled raspily.

Kazuha effortlessly hears your words that tend to go unspoken. You kept seeds in your hair ornaments as easy access for herbs by making them bloom with your Vision. At times, he plucks a leaf or two from them to play a tune for you. Even if you cannot hear it, you always present him a jubilant smile and an appreciative applause.

"Come with me." He signed to you.

Taking you by the hand, the humble samurai leads you to a secret meadow in a cove. It is a rendezvous spot known only to you and him, a fortress of respite and solitude from the world. A single oak tree stood at the center, where it is rooted firmly upon the patch of land surrounded by water. The lake and running streams glimmer, a hint of salt permeating the air to connote their origins. The rocky ceilings are sturdy yet possess fissures that allowed light to shine upon the clear waters. The many luminous corals provide illumination deep in the darkness, as sea creatures have made themselves at home. Various beds of flowers engulf the soil with vines crawling along the wooden trunk, showing age lines on its bark.

Kazuha gently sweeps you into his arms and uses his Vision to float over the bodies of water. He puts you on the flowerbeds, promptly lying down with his head on your lap.

You blink at him confusedly for a moment while he only smiled innocently. A giggle escapes your lips, indulging him as your fingers languidly ran through his hair. Your eyes are entirely on him, either reading his lips or paying attention to his signs as he led the conversation. He told you of his visit to his friend's grave, and how he wishes to take you there someday to introduce you.

The idea made you pause only for a split second, but your ever attentive lover notices anyway.

His crimson eyes open, catching your own forlorn gaze. His hand reaches up to your face, caressing to comfort.

"I also went to a special place afterwards with the Traveler, a unique archipelago that reflects one's heart." He said slowly, "The experience made me realize a few things about myself..."

His words trail off as his free hand takes yours to pull it towards his lips. Your knuckles are grazed by his tokens of affection, and heat covers your cheeks in response to his adoration. Kazuha kept his eyes on you, fondness swirling within their depths.

"...and it also gave me an epiphany about you."

At his words, he gradually sits up yet your hands are still entwined. Fair strands of silver-white glide along his movements, framing his youthful features.

Kazuha is always most enchanting to you whenever he lets his hair loose.

"I want to marry you, [Name]."

To emphasize his words, Kazuha procures a ring of sterling silver. Small rubies decorate its exterior to form the design of red maple leaves. A single name is engraved along the interior side using traditional Inazuman letters. You have seen it so many times that you knew how to read it even if you were not as fluent in the language.

楓原. Kaedehara.

A flicker of fear seeped into your wide eyes, but the steady hold of your lover's hand kept you anchored to reality. You know what he is asking of you and what he is offering in return. This ronin is willing to bind himself to you, boldly and fearlessly.

"On my next voyage," Kazuha says, "come with me to Inazuma. I wish to marry you in my homeland. There is little left to my noble name, but it would be my greatest joy to share it with you—"

He smiles wistfully, "—if you would have me."

Once again, the question confronts you.

Are you willing to do the same for him?

Kazuha receives your answer in the form of a vine wrapping around your entwined hands. It gravitates to his wrist like a corsage, and then blossoms.

His own eyes widen in glee as red and white freesias decorated the vine. The flower of ultimate trust coated in the color of passion and purity.

You are saying—

"Yes."

Kazuha almost sobs in relief as his hands shook but manages to slide the ring onto your finger. Suddenly, you tackle him in happiness to plant your lips upon his own vigorously. He returns your fervor, cupping your face to deepen the passionate kiss.

A soft zephyr blew within the cove, rippling the water and fluttering the leaves alongside the petals. It is a dance that unites two hearts as one, consummating a bond as everlasting as lightning.

Nobody could ever know your heart the way Kazuha does, and so it shall be his right to claim it. Similarly, no soul other than yours can encourage his spirit yet still enrapture it with the ties that bind.

Henceforth, this pair of soulmates will prosper with or without a divine blessing—

Soulbound, windsong bloom Amidst strife of unheard voice Love called me to you.

•☆••☆••☆•

KAMISATO AYATO is a man whose heart seeks an equally capable partner. The idea of one day having to choose another half is something to consider as part of his duty. After all, the head of a noble clan is responsible for ensuring that its bloodline continues to prosper. To sire an heir, he must someday select a bride. His choice will lead to the rise of a matriarch within the Kamisato Clan. It must be a woman with the caliber to lead as the gentle hand of the Yashiro Commission to his iron fist. A fierce yet kind soul is necessary to command the Shuumatsuban in his place should the need ever arise. Furthermore, if he must eventually settle for a loveless marriage, his desire is to at least gain a lifelong friend. They must have the same depth of loyalty to his family, and the same headstrong resolve to uphold their principles.

Otherwise, he is very certain any other whom wishes to stand by his side will only break. With how he acts and carries himself, the people of Inazuma are more inclined to agree. Indeed, a wife less than up to par would be nothing short of disappointing.

Be that as it may, the Yashiro Commissioner can be a complicated man to love.

Ayato is a man who lives his life wearing a thousand masks, with little to no distinction between his true self and facades. At the early deaths of his parents, he was a young boy that had been forced into the lethal grind of political battles. To protect his little sister, he took up the blade to eliminate those who threaten them amidst the power struggle.

Just like that, his heart became a closely guarded vault privy to a trusted few.

Loving Ayato is likened to water, the same element he wields as weapon and shield. In calm days, he is transparent and clear to see. In chaotic nights, his own motives are harder to understand. There are times he can be as volatile as rapids, and others be as nurturing as a cool spring.

The most dangerous thing about loving Ayato is if you allow yourself to drown in him.

Alas, all of Inazuma is left dumbfounded when he abruptly announces his marriage to you.

The Yashiro Commissioner had gone missing for a week. A note with his penmanship claims he has a personal errand to run. Then, he returns to the estate—holding your hand while another clenches a scroll, sealed by the wax insignia of the Narukami Shrine and the Raiden Shogun. A glance at your respective hands reveal the glint of silver wedding bands, with camellia flower engravements filled by white jade.

Kamisato Ayato eloped with you.

"From here onwards," Ayato declared, "[Name] shall be living in the Kamisato Estate as my wife. Please treat her with the same respect you do for me."

The idea seems to intimidate you, a frown tugging your lips. Your husband, however, squeezed your hand in reassurance. Pacified, you end up snuggling your cheek onto his arm. The action is successful in grounding your senses, focusing on Ayato's scent and body heat. He obliges this by gently pulling you closer, practically trapping your own arm to his side.

Ayaka hid a smile of amusement behind her fan, as her eyes softened in endearment.

"Of course, brother." She replied.

Thoma nodded, beaming in welcome as you peeked at him and the young miss. Despite their slightest reservation upon this rushed turn of events, they trust Ayato.

Although, the Shirasagi Himegimi cannot help but feel you looked somewhat familiar.

You are a very peculiar woman, especially in a nation as conservative and traditional as Inazuma. In fact, some believe you seem more like an antithesis to your husband. Whereas he is always poised and very composed, there is always an untamed ferocity in you that refuses to comply to social norms. You can nonetheless dress as elegantly as any other noble aristocrat, speak as eloquently as any well-educated lady. If not for your infamous eccentricities, nobody would have doubted why Ayato chose you. It is quite renowned by gossipers that you shamelessly stroll Inazuma City in a commoner's yukata—a messy bun for a hairstyle, and sometimes going barefoot. You despise social events and acted more elusive than your husband.

The servants were initially wary yet none of them can deny your positive influence. The household has never been so efficient and organized until you took on managing its affairs. Thoma was astonished to realize that he ended up with more free time under your authority. The meticulous way you stick to a form of schedule and your quick wit to adapt have enabled the Kamisato Estate to operate smoothly, with or without the siblings present. In fact, some unique tasks you assign to Thoma aided him into securing businesses in Ritou. As equal exchange for your patronage, you have flawlessly expanded the Shuumatsuban's spy network.

Ayaka also found respite in her endeavors as face of the clan. She initially had a difficult time with being your mentor of sorts in the life of nobility. However, your creativity in problem solving and innovative thinking has been great in helping balance her own matters.

Thoma began to understand your ways when he has become in charge of all your meals. There is a set routine for every day of the week, and then a specific assortment of snacks with tea expected at certain hours. Each ingredient is meticulously picked and every dish is carefully prepared. If even one thing is out of place, you will notice with a single bite/sip and you would refuse to eat—which results to a very moody mistress for the rest of the estate.

It was only thanks to how well Ayato knew you that everyone else was able to keep up. He is aware of all factors to your behavior and how to aptly respond to them. His stern yet precise instructions left no room for mistakes if it meant taking care of you properly in his absence. It was as if he grew up with you due to the sheer amount of experience he has in how to deal with your odd patterns.

As months passed, Ayaka finally realized.

That is because her brother did grow up with you.

Ayato met you long ago when he was a mere lonely boy, burdened with the title of clan heir. He found you digging around the beach near his estate, an Electro Vision on your waist. A line of seashells were set on a flat rock beside you, all arranged by type as rows and by size as columns.

You glanced up at him. Your Vision flickers, making him tense—

—and then lightning struck the sands.

As a boy, Ayato watched in awe as the grains turned into glass. You manipulated the temperature of the element, heating the sand in quick seconds to create multiple pieces. He ended up getting closer, and it was enough to spook you. After you were finished, you hastily stood up and collected your things before sprinting away.

"Wait...!" Ayato exclaimed.

You did not listen.

The young master pouted, thinking he would never see you again. It was a shame since he found you so fascinating. He looked down and saw some strange hollow tubes in the shores, resembling coral.

That day, he went home a little despondent.

Ayato was pleasantly surprised to see you again the next day—same place, same hour. You are polishing the shells this time, and occasionally refining them to the shape you want. Small pots of paint surround you, and the Electro Vision is pulsing to be used at any given notice.

This time, you did not run when he got close.

"Fulgurite."

He flinches as you suddenly spoke. Your eyes were focused on the glass tubes he picked up. They hung from the string of his obi now, which got odd looks from his parents a while ago.

"These...?"

You nodded, "They are fulgurites. You can use them to make jewelry. Want to see?"

That was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Ayato figures out your schedule and how you like sticking to it, so he never misses out on visiting you. It was actually something you never minded as long as he remained consistent. The times when he did not get the memo, you got annoyed and told him harshly to stop showing up. At first, he felt hurt since he misunderstood. Thankfully, he was mature enough to clarify it with you. Since then, he promised his arrival only on particular days wherein he can assure his free time. At his words, you acted less bothered by his presence and worked on your craft.

The two of you grew up together in those constant stolen moments. He finds out you have a younger brother, and he tells you he has a younger sister. On weekends, you are not on the beach. That is the only time your brother is able to spend time with you instead of honing his swordsmanship.

In stormy days, he had to struggle pulling you into the estate. Every time, he braced himself for your ire but patiently coaxes you over it. The most effective method is to occupy your mind with something else, and let your hands be busy crafting. Once you are fixated, Ayato can be allowed into your safe space again and he is able to take care of you. Henceforth, rainy days are spent in his estate and that became the new norm for your daily routine. Ayato adapts by creating amendments to your unhealthy habits.

You still persistently argue that storms are perfect for making petrified lightning glass.

Nevertheless, you express gratitude for his sincere care and affection. No one has ever been so doting on you aside from your brother. In turn, Ayato felt touched that you treat him as one of the only two people you explicitly trust. You even adjust yourself to be considerate of his own needs, despite the clear discomfort it sometimes caused you.

When his parents died, you were his greatest pillar of support.

Ayato has always known to never underestimate you in any way. What made you different did not make you dumb. In fact, it is revealed in that dark period that you were more brilliant than your peers. It was only thanks to your guidance that he found direction how to proceed. It was due to your judgment that he knew who to trust, which ties needed to be severed for safety. Every critical decision was consulted by you, and he was awed when the results you predict come to fruition. When his demons made him lose sleep, you provided relief by playing with his hair.

When he finally triumphed in the succession, you gave him a precious gift.

You smiled. Of utmost sincerity, you smiled ever so sweetly and so warmly.

That is the day Ayato knew you were the one.

Unfortunately, he had taken too long to confess that to you. Too many years slipped past his fingers due to his obligations.

Then, the Vision Hunt Decree happened—

—and you went missing.

A young man named Kaedehara Kazuha barged into his estate, panicked and distressed. He called for Ayato, kneeling as he pleaded for help in finding his older sister—you. The wind has gone silent regarding your whereabouts, and he feared the worst due to the recent decree.

Of course, the Yashiro Commissioner wasted no time in utilizing his power to be of aid.

It was for naught.

Soon, he could not even protect your brother when the young man was branded as a wanted criminal.

Kazuha witnessed the love Ayato holds for you—a passion he deems worthy of his kin. He knew of the bond you shared with him, which is why he came to the man for help. Meeting the man personally, the winds crooned in approval—to which the ronin only smiled, a little resigned yet mostly relieved.

Someone else can take care of you now.

"Aneue spoke of you fondly." He said, "If anyone can find her, it's you."

The younger male presents him a box.

"She called it a tassel chime," Kazuha explained, "and referred to that piece as Rainmaker."

It contains a small windchime in the size and design of a tassel, thus the name. A pair of clamshells tie the knot for the noose. Camellias on rippling waters is carved onto the blue glass, painted with glittering golden lacquer. Instead of a striker, a ball of glowing white jade is inside the spherical glass with a cowrie shell at its base. The tail is a familiar indigo satin ribbon, his gift to you on the last Irodori Festival. His name is embroidered in your favorite fulgurite threads, and yours on the other side:

Kaedehara [Name].

Ayato knew this is the equivalent of a blessing. He ties it to his sword, aware by use of elemental sight that the energy within it will prevent the glass from breaking even in a skirmish. He makes a promise to your brother that he will stop at nothing to find you, and ask for your hand in marriage.

Eventually, he did.

You stood in an abandoned temple amidst the call of summer. The crystalflies illuminated your form, and the water shimmered like liquid diamonds. Tinkling sounds echoed in Chinju Forest, as the sails of windchimes blew with the nightly breeze.

"[Name]..."

At the call of your name, you turned to face him and Ayato embraces you immediately.

"I want to go home." You murmur.

The broken tone of your voice devastated him, and he nods while tightening his arms. You hugged him back, hiding your face on his chest while his nuzzled your shoulder.

"Yes, let's go home now." He whispered.

The Yashiro Commissioner spared nothing at your expense. He used the name of Kamisato to protect you. As his wife, you are now an integral part of the Tri-Commission and one with the Raiden Shogun's faction. You cannot be touched by the decree like your brother feared. Although you desire no riches, Ayato sought to provide something that will soothe your unease at the drastic changes in your life.

Thus, in an isolated wing of the estate, there was your personal workshop.

A safe haven. All for you.

Ayato leaned back with you in his arms, cuddling by the veranda. You were sorting through your brother's letters, worried, and missing him dearly. Looking up at your husband, he smiles and kisses you fervently.

"I'm here." He reassures.

You wrap your arms around his neck in response, snuggling his chest to nap. He adjusts you on his lap and rewraps the blanket around you. His long fingers comb through your hair, humming contently.

Heartbound lullabies in hiraeth, ever so mellifluous—

"You are my clarity amidst sullied waters, a wish to forever keep."

•☆••☆••☆•

THOMA is an ordinary ember within a hearth filled by unfathamoble wonders. He was born from a marital union between a woman of Mondstadt and a man of Inazuma. Amidst these contrasting cultures, he grew up fitting into the crevices resembling lacquer filling the cracks of porcelain. As a young man, he became quite a jack-of-all-trades that can help practically anyone in need—no matter the odd job presented to his capable hands. On his free time, he shares small treats with homeless animals. He fights off the urge to adopt every single one, and remains content to supply them a sanctuary. Perhaps, a part of him feels a kinship as he sometimes fancies seeing his own image to be that of a stray. Having two origins can often lead to confusion of where a person truly belongs.

Alas, this blond fixer-upper carries a beaming smile every time he greets the sun. For him, bridging gaps presents a hidden beauty that can only be found in imperfections, fixing the broken yet appreciating its flaws. While he does not always have a solution for everything, it never stopped him from trying.

Nevertheless, there have been times wherein Thoma also seeks some respite.

The Sakoku Decree added to it.

What terrifies him the most is having something to lose, more than just his Vision—

"Thoma, darling, where are you?"

"Ah!" He yelps as he stumbles towards the direction of your voice, "Over here, [Name]!"

—and that is someone to protect.

Bright green eyes see you turn up at the entrance of Komore Teahouse. You sat daintily and elegantly on your wheelchair, a carefully wrapped bento resting upon your lap. Despite being a mere commoner, you carried yourself with a dignity that can rival even the most affluent nobles of Inazuma. Being dependent on a metal seat never deterred people from feeling the promise of recompense should you be slighted.

Thoma smiles tenderly as he meets your gaze, to which you respond heartily.

The bout of excitement caused you to unwittingly freeze the ground beneath you. Swiftly, your lover discreetly melts it away by going near you before any guards notice your small demonstration. His eyes glanced around the perimeter to double-check, sighing in relief when he deems it safe.

"Ah," you gasped, "I'm sorry."

He chuckles nervously, "It's fine."

You and Thoma are childhood sweethearts. You were a very lonely orphan raised by the nuns. That played a part to your distinguished mannerisms. The Church of Favonius had instilled the etiquettes of a proper lady upon you at a young age. It probably made them all the more protective due to how you were paralyzed from the waist down. This made you bond with a girl named Glory, whom also lives with a disability that left her world dark since her birth. Of course, that did not halt you from sneaking out to play in the streets and getting your dresses dirty. A short adventure is what led you to meet the young blond boy whom quickly became your world. He, who offered a hand, took you to many other such adventures rather than persuading you to stay at home like an invalid.

"Life is short," he said, "you ought to relish it the best way you can rather than obsessing over what you can't do. I'll be your friend to help!"

Thoma showed you how to seize the day and claim the world as your own. He spent each Windblume proving it by giving you mismatched flower crowns, trying his best with clumsy fingers. You were invited into his home countless times as if it was yours too, with warm family dinners and cozy sleepovers. All that he could share with you, he did so with utter delight as if it was a privilege to be your friend—even if you felt it should be the other way.

Can anyone really blame you for being so smitten even as a young girl?

When he decided to set off for Inazuma, you did not hesitate to go with him.

The nuns were sad to see you leave, but the will of Barbatos clearly blessed you for it. The thousand winds have spoken, and they wish to lead you to the boy that has won your heart.

Life in Inazuma did not start as smoothly as you both had wanted. Your boat got wrecked in the storm but, for that one time, it became your turn to protect Thoma—to be the knight. Fear came first like a coiling serpent around your heart, and then you felt the warmth of his arms covering you. They stayed determined even as they shook, and your soul was inspired to take action. Heat turned into blistering coldness that froze every drop of rain, turning them into icicles in the shape of sakura petals. Together, they converged as fractals that carried you and your beau to safety within a dome of ice.

At the face of the eternal lightning, a blizzard defied the gods and earned their favor in turn.

The eye of storm was you.

From then onwards, the Kamisato Clan provided you both a home and way of sustenance. In gratitude, Thoma did everything he could as proper repayment; and whomever wins his favor shall have yours. At some point, you found a stable job for yourself in the Yae Publishing House as a minor editor. However, the keen amethyst gaze that focused upon you saw something else—a hidden gem brimming with the potential to move hearts via the quill.

Apparently, your calling is to be a writer.

Guuji Yae herself had mentored you after growing fond of your little snippets she caught in drafts. It got lost amongst the transcripts you were editing and ended up in her hands. A part of you suspected she blatantly stole it like the cunning vixen she truly is, no matter how nicely she treats you. Nonetheless, you were grateful for her direction since the kitsune remained sincere in her platonic affections for you—especially when you dedicated your second novella to her. The first was obviously for Thoma, featuring Mondstadt and then the Kamisato Clan.

Both were shocking bestsellers immediately, and Yae Miko sought to reward you.

"Would you like me to personally officiate your wedding someday?" She teased.

You blushed heavily at the sheer thought of marrying Thoma, excited yet flustered. Your words stuttered and the pink vixen only laughed at how adorable you looked. She was so tempted to pinch those soft and rosy cheeks but practiced her restraint.

You fiddled with your fingers as you turned away to watch the cherry blossom rain.

"Maybe someday..."

A pair of pink fox ears twitched upon hearing your gentle whisper. It sounded every bit like a woman in love, passionate and unconditional. A genuine smile shows itself on the Guuji's lovely face, feeling her own heart swell at the face of true romance. It may not be her favorite genre, but it was still dazzling to see in real life—especially amidst treacherous times.

"Then," Yae chuckled, "just set a date and I shall ensure to keep my schedule free...like tomorrow~!"

You blush again and whined for her to stop teasing just once. This time, she did not resist pinching you while she fawned over your pathetically whimpering self.

Perhaps, marriage can be in your future with Thoma if fate shall someday allow it. He was really the only one you can really see beside you until death do you part. In that perspective, you can comprehend a bit of the eternity that the Raiden Shogun so earnestly preaches and imposes.

For now, you were content to just let things naturally take its course—and that means indulging a lunch date with your boyfriend.

Thoma noticed that you have grown busier since that lunch date. He shrugged it off since you did mention your new tedious tasks in the publishing house. A part of him worried for your health but he also trusted the fact you would tell him anything amiss. In the meantime, he focused on the odd jobs he had to do in Ritou as well as housekeeping for the Kamisatos as per usual. It was a little challenging sometimes to even manage to share a meal or a bed together nowadays.

You have missed each other dearly.

Therefore, he felt his world crumble when he finally unveiled your secret.

Yae Miko sent a missive to the Kamisato Clan, in which she asked for a private audience. She insisted for Thoma and Ayaka to visit the Narukami Shrine, to which they obliged curiously. They surely did not expect Shikanoin Heizou to also be seated in the Guuji's secluded waiting room.

"A propaganda...?" Thoma said in disbelief.

A series of light novels have been distributed to the masses. It featured a story that referenced the tales of allogenes whose Visions have been confiscated, and the gruesome confrontations with Watatsumi Island as a result of the ongoing civil war. The plot is a very clever camouflage. On hindsight, the premise was written in such an ingenious way that none of the novels can really be used as legitimate proof of treason. They were inconspicuously clean enough to be dismissed as fiction. Alas, rumors have spread about the rebels gaining more manpower by the day since the publication of the novels. Thus, Kujou Sara suspected that the supposedly innocent pieces of literature were being used as tools of espionage and communication.

It was enough to warrant an investigation.

The detective nodded gravely, "Their identity has not been revealed since they use a pen name. We did deduce a pattern of sorts but nothing conclusive."

"By that," Yae interjects smoothly, "nothing that the Tenryou Commission can use to gain an official arrest warrant."

Ayaka opens her fan to shield the lower half of her face, retaining composure.

"You have a suspect?" She inquired.

"It's quite elementary." Heizou smirked wryly, "The culprit simply needs three things to accomplish this impressively troublesome feat."

He held up an index finger, "They hold power in the media—specifically journalism—which means they are associated with a prestigious publishing house that enables them to release works anonymously."

His light olive green eyes glanced at the kitsune, whom was sipping her tea calmly.

"Next, they work with an organization that functions as a stealth protection service. This is what has kept them safe in the shadows, while eluding the pursuit of the Tenryou Commission."

He then glances at Ayaka, particularly alluding to the Shuumatsuban of the Yashiro Commission.

"Finally," he then meets Thoma's eyes, "they have an extensively developed information network. This can be achieved if they make social connections daily, or simply just by being a figure trusted by the civilians."

Heizou smiled blithely, "There is also the fact I have noticed a pretty dove looking into the Visions that have been confiscated by the recent decree..."

An almost remorseful sigh escapes his lips.

"...and I may have shared a thing or two about the names of these Visions' owners."

"So this is your fault~?" Yae sang mockingly.

It was perfectly clear to everyone in the room.

You are the prime suspect that Heizou is targeting.

Thoma should have seen this coming. He was not blind to how you so deeply empathize with those affected by the recent decrees. There have been nights wherein he saw you staring balefully at your Vision—not for having it, but for being unable to proudly wield it.

"What is to be done?" He asked.

Heizou frowned sympathetically, "I am partly at fault which is why I sought to lead the investigation. I will not arrest her since, as mentioned, there is truly no sufficient evidence for a warrant."

A wave of relief for everyone, yet Thoma froze at the cold glare from the detective.

"However," he said, "we do need to close the case if only to get Sara off our backs. Investigations have found traces of elemental energy—cryo, to be precise—in the books to keep it preserved from aging or being destroyed. I can use that to push for the closing of the case."

Ayaka grimaced behind her fan, "You mean to say that she—"

"—needs to surrender her Vision." Heizou nods, "It will be my proof to Kujou Sara that the suspect has been apprehended and no longer a threat."

"Of course," he looked at Yae, "this also means you will have to suspend Miss [Name] from making any more of those controversial novels."

The priestess sighs morosely, "How dull."

In the end, Thoma's shield could not protect your own ambitions.

You made no fuss in handing over your Vision to the young detective. In fact, you seem almost at peace if not for the flicker of resentment in your eyes as they look upon Tenshukaku. When Heizou left, Yae and the Kamisato siblings have asked why you put up no fight despite your avid rebellion so far.

"I have done my part in this battle," you said, "and the rest is up to those who will face Baal."

The fact you so boldly used the Shogun's god name showed your obstinate courage.

Yae, in particular, grinned slyly as she has proven herself once again to have an eye for talent.

Ayato and Ayaka remarked how Thoma is truly lucky to have someone like you.

Regardless, some things cannot be defeated by will alone. The loss of your Vision gradually took a toll on you like the rest. You grew physically weaker, at times unable to leave bedrest. You became mentally absent, missing portions of your day often. Soon, Yae did not even need to suspend you whom already struggled to write anything of worth now.

Thoma has lost count how many sleepless nights he had woken up to your shaking form, and then having to comfort you in his embrace. The entire Kamisato Estate can hear your raw and mournful wails as they also felt your loss from afar. Your personal study has been ransacked due to frustrated anger—with inkwells spilled, parchments either left crumpled or torn, and splinters of broken brushes scattered on the floor. All your lover could do was put back the pieces of your broken heart in a frail effort to keep it from being bled dry. Pain and sorrow meant that you have not gone empty, meaning you still fight even while hopeless.

The Traveler steps into the docks of Inazuma from aboard the Alcor.

"Ahoy there!" Thoma greeted.

He could not salvage your dreams yet he does not falter in carrying your heart. Unfortunately, the storm was still ruthlessly devouring you. There may not be anything left of you in the end if this continues.

Nevertheless, he refuses to bow down and just give up on you now.

Regimes can be toppled, kings overthrown, and he would conquer all because—

"I am the shield of fire to her lance of ice, steadfast as we are defiant."

•☆••☆••☆•

[heybiji]

hi!!! i just wanted to say i really love all of your MASKS stuff. i'm something of a newbie when it comes to the TTRPG community, but MASKS seems to be not very well-known and i think that's a real shame. i'm a huge fan of old-school superhero-adjacent stuff, especially the silver- and bronze-age ones!

by the way, i was wondering if you'd be willing to share some tips for a first-time GM? you don't have to if you'd rather not! i just figured i'd try asking since i was planning on GMing a MASKS campaign for some of my friends later, but despite my decade's worth of roleplaying experience i've never been in a TTRPG campaign nor a GM (or similar) role before

Thank you so much!! I was just lamenting about how I felt bad for the MASKS tag because it is now flooded with all my npc nonsense hahah so this is really nice to hear.

It's awesome you're planning on running a MASKS game for your friends!! There is an indispensable post on twitter I saw that has a LOT of great tips for running MASKS that I recommend checking out. But for my own personal tips that are just me things, here's what I got. Sorry it's gonna be extremely long-winded, it may take a few months to read through it.

(Note: I am also hugely into RP and probably put more into it than what is necessary, especially with MASKS which is meant to be able to be played out of the box. It was definitely not played out of the box in our case because I require a lot out of myself and everyone else to feel good about running something. if anyone else wants to continue seeing me as a normal human being please don't click the Keep Reading)

Since you're running it, make the world interesting to you. If the world runs around themes you're personally interested in then you'll have a much easier time coming up with answers on the fly. For me, themes I'm interested in that lend themselves well to a superhero world: money, power, family, celebrity, media, the 24 hour news cycle and the desensitization of violence. Because I'm interested in this stuff anyway, wrapping a world around them makes it much simpler for me to figure out how the world ticks and thus how the characters fit into it and how the world reacts to them, and I am DESPERATE to find out how the characters react to all the questions and expectations the world is imposing upon them.

Make sure your players have a good grasp of the tone of story so they can make characters that gel well within it. For me the tone is a lil more adult because I'm not personally into younger morality tale stories in tone, it's pretty grounded, and I think comedy and tragedy work hand in hand so I lean into them.

Talk. A lot. Talk about the characters, talk about the world. MASKS is fun because it's a LOT of talking and figuring out the narrative together. It's not a lot of crunchy mechanics, it's all around seeing how the characters react to the world narratively, all hurt and comfort and emotions which (for me) requires people to have a good grasp on their characters and the world. I like to give my players "homework" where I ask them a question involving their characters in some way like "what hero did your character look up to as a child?" so they get to come up with past heroes, or "How does your character feel about _____?" etc etc. The only fans are gonna be your table and fans love to talk so be the biggest fans of the PCs!!

Figure out your framing. I know in MASKS they suggest framing it like a comic book, and basically talking about the frames on screen. For me, because I'm more into movies and tv than comics, I frame it like that. So I have an active "camera" in play during sessions and will ask things like "would anyone like to grab the camera?" to encourage the players to put the character into a scene or "what does the audience see as the camera focuses in on your character in this emotional moment?" There is a LOT of playing up to the camera and framing the sessions as episodes of a show, so it's like, okay, you have several options but what is going to be interesting for the audience to see? I find this encourages the players to have their characters take bigger swings and feel comfortable letting us into how their character is feeling because it all looks GREAT on camera. The camera loves it. The PCs are the story after all.

Because I frame it a show, I also like to play individual ending songs over the "credits" at the end of each episode. So I asked my players to make playlists for their characters so if I feel an episode had a lot of emotional focus on one character in particular, I can play one of their songs at the end of the episode! I also made a general MASKS playlist with a bunch of songs from the era we set it in (2004) to pull from. It's a fun little addition that I really enjoy and that I hope makes it all feel more special.

The Dino Donut Effect: create landmarks in your world. (OK THIS IS GONNA BE LONG BUT WORK WITH ME HERE) They don't have to be locations, more solid landmarks of the story that the characters can refer back to and lean on to make the world feel more "real." I call it the Dino Donut Effect because in our world the thing that made everything click into place was talking out the backstory of one of the PC's figuring out they had the power negation ability. We were talking one night trying to figure it out; we wanted the character to fall out of a building and be caught by a flying superhero and accidentally turn off their powers, so they toss the kid to another flying supe whose powers also get turned off. But we were like... holy shit what is the height of a building needed that can handle this much action in the air without them hitting the ground in 3 seconds. So after a long night of talking about terminal velocity and looking at Splat Calculators we figured out the height of the building, and we needed them to crash into something that wouldn't fuckin kill them. The first suggestion was a truck full of bananas. Nah. We landed on a giant balloon that could take the impact. And the balloon became a giant T-Rex holding a donut that was the mascot of the city's beloved decades old donut shop Dino Donut. And so we decided that one of the two flying supes grabbed onto the kid and the other and flew into the giant balloon to try and keep them all alive, which destroyed the balloon, which was a city institution, and there was a crowd of children there that day that saw their friend Dino Donut die. Killed by a superhero. The balloon deflated loudly so it sounded like Dino Donut was screaming in agony. All the kids were traumatized (screaming crying throwing up), the city was furious because everyone loved Dino Donut, it was constantly in the news cycle, and it ruined the career of the supe that "killed Dino Donut." AND THEN THEY REPLACED THE DINO DONUT BALLOON WITH A LAME "UPDATED DESIGN" DINO DONUT STATUE which everyone hates and people consider to be a memorial to the old Dino Donut. ANYWAY, the Dino Donut effect is that now all the PCs have one single incident to refer back to that they all have feelings about. A couple of them were there that day and heard Dino Donut scream, one is now the protege of the disgraced superhero that killed Dino Donut so she feels uncomfortable talking about it, there's the kid that was saved that day but was sworn to secrecy by the supe so no one would find out about his power negation ability, and then there's the kid that wasn't there because she's an alien that just arrived to earth and now the kids have to explain the incident to her with all their varying opinions. Now the PCs' meeting spot is at a Dino Donut. Having this one solid incident that is both funny and kind of goes into the themes of the world has been an absolute treat. Creating "landmarks" like that in the world has done so much and now I'm like okay I'm gonna try to do this moving forward with any other thing I run.

anyway these are my extremely specific to me tips. my RP standards are kind of high which makes me a bit of a terror but also when the flowers bloom from it it feels GREAT. i'm not sure if this will help but hopefully there is something there that can be useful!

MASKS is fun and simple once you get the hang of it, though, so I'm sure whatever you do you and your players will have a lot of fun! especially if you're someone who is into RP which is the background I'm coming from too; MASKS is extremely narrative! i'll be looking in the tag for your game hehe

(The Day Dino Donut Died art by JD)

[secularprolifeconspectus]

Pro-Life Rescue & Direct Action: The Importance of Invading Abortion Clinics

Non-Violent Direct Action is Proven Effective

From Ghandi’s Indian Independence Movement to the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s Civil Rights Movement, to Serbia’s student-led resistance Otpor! and more, two things are consistently linked with the success of movements: a commitment to non-violence and the necessity of risking arrest. That’s because only when people are willing to take risks and make sacrifices, can the institutional power of an oppressor be challenged and delegitimized. Seeing other people getting directly involved in a movement motivates participation. There is a science to non-violent struggle and social revolution that has been documented by political researchers such as Gene Sharpe. From privileged people interposing their bodies between Black protesters and the police who brutalize them during the Black Lives Matter movement, to tenant networks mobilizing to blockade around the homes of vulnerable neighbors at risk of eviction by their landlords, leftists have proven these tactics save lives and advance change. If we want to see success in the anti-abortion movement, then we must follow proven social science.

Rescue is Necessary to Dismantle Big Abortion

Because we will never outspend the abortion industrial complex, the only way we can win is with people power. Abortion rescue disrupts the progress of abortion violence and applies pressure to those complicit. It viscerally agitates the public to reckon with abortion's violence. It reduces violence on the fringes of the pro-life movement by providing a non-violent outlet of expression for frustrated individuals. Non-violent abortion rescue interrupts injustice against prenatal people without unjust action and disarms the abortion providers without harming them. Parents seeking abortion as a solution to an unwanted or crisis pregnancy have bought into the lies of Big Abortion, and rescue unsettles that narrative. Rescuers hope to save not only the child, but also their mothers, families, and communities. Rescue is intervention intended to free even the abortion workers from the cycle of abortion violence. During the era of the late 80’s and early 90’s, it’s estimated that 60% of mothers with appointments for abortions on the day of a rescue never rescheduled.

Rescues Challenge Unjust Laws

We can’t let the reality that the law is on the side of the oppressors dictate what we ought to do. Our goal is to change that reality, not to live with it! Opposition to rescue implicitly affirms that the choice to kill is permissible. We have no ethical obligation to follow unjust laws; in fact, we may challenge unjust laws with civil disobedience. We must use our bodies as shields to stop the main aggressors of abortion from hurting the babies because law enforcement upholds the violent status quo of the state. When a rescuer is sentenced to jail, it is an opportunity for non-rescuers to hold the entire legal system accountable each day for the murder it protects until it is as safe and legal to protect children as it is now safe and legal to kill them.

Rescuers Save Lives in Prisons

If you are pregnant and incarcerated, you are the forgotten of the forgotten. Pregnant prisoners are either pressured into abortion, mistreated into a miscarriage, or forced to suffer a dehumanizing birthing experience, and predatory adoption agencies lie in wait to take and profit from their babies. Pro-Life activists imprisoned for rescue are presented the unique opportunity to advocate for better conditions for pregnant prisoners, to defend the lives of their unborn children, to organize support for their families from the outside world, and to serve grieving post-abortive women behind bars. Even incarcerated women deserve better than abortion. Thus abortion rescuers continue to rescue even while in prison.

Rescues Affirm the Equality of the Preborn

By taking the risk to rescue, you practice solidarity with the preborn and parents who believe abortion is their only option. You have the power as a privileged born person to put your body between the powerless and their oppressors, between an abortion provider and a helpless child. How do we show the world that fetuses are the same as us when we are nothing like them? The answer is simple: we make ourselves more like them. When rescuers stand in solidarity with the preborn, they become as vulnerable as the preborn are. If we say that a woman needs to sacrifice her lifestyle, relationship, body, and future for her unborn child, then we are hypocrites if we’re not willing to do the same. When we rescue, we are willing to sacrifice the same to prison for her child, ergo rescue is solidarity with moms too. Some people will never affirm the humanity of the preborn. It’s our job to do so by being physically intolerant of abortion through rescue.

Rescue is a Direct Act of Love

The preborn deserve to have someone show up for them. An attempt to rescue a preborn child may be the only act of love they ever receive before they are murdered. They have no one else as they are taken legally to their deaths. The success of a rescue is not determined by how many babies were saved that day; it's determined by how many babies were loved. If you were facing death, wouldn’t you want someone who loves you to stand physically with you to the last possible second as well? Your presence in their moment of suffering matters. The preborn deserve to have someone witness them as full people at least once in their life.

If Abortion is Murder, then Act Like It

Do your actions reflect the reality that the preborn are people equal to ourselves? Rescue fully expresses what it means to understand that the preborn have the same humanity as us. Our sacrifice forces others to see the humanity of the preborn, because if they aren’t people, why would we risk jail and potentially worse for them? If the preborn have the right to life, then we have a responsibility to make sure their right is respected. Rescue offers a final tangible act of love to a child as they are being taken away to be exterminated. If you KNOW the preborn are people and abortion is murder, then ACT LIKE IT!

How to Support Rescue

Not every pro-life person can be an abortion rescuer. Factors like finances, family, disability, and racialized police brutality prevent many folks who support rescue from feeling confident in participating. Luckily, there are many ways the pro-life community as a whole can participate in rescue without being a rescuer!

Sponsor a rescuer financially. If you can't rescue, donate to a rescuer who will do it for you! As rescuer Herb Geraghty said, "let us be your hands and feet". Offer monetary and emotional support to the families of rescuers.

Do jail support. Demonstrate in front of police stations, courts, jails, and prisons that are holding rescuers. Write to the rescuers frequently. If you are on a legal team, offer your local rescuers pro-bono defense.

Share rescue stories on your social media in a positive light. Comment on news stories that frame rescue badly. Make videos about rescue and why you support it.

Do culture jamming around clinics frequented by rescuers. Make posters and wheatpaste them to sidewalks, sharpie pro-life messages to the backs of signs, put rescue stickers on the alley walls around the clinic.

Help organize the rescues. Do research about the clinics for the rescuers. Keep the rescuers updated about police scanners while they perform a rescue. Coordinate supplies, donations, first-aid, and legal defense. Be there with food before and after rescue.

Learn More

Quotes About Abortion Rescues Rescue and Police Violence The Rescue Movement (Documentary) The Brutal Truth Dragonslayers Defenders of the Unborn Wrath of Angels Shattering the Darkness All the Rescues Essential Roles in Social Movements Types of Abortion Rescue Historic Abortion Rescues Media Bias Against Abortion Rescue Joan Andrews

[evolutionsvoid]

When it comes to the denizens of the deep, the Church's opinion can be a bit murky. These beings are not labeled blasphemous or hunted down like other heretical beings, but yet those on high do not openly accept them. They will point to these odd fish and creatures as examples of faith being all around us in this world, but they do not listen closely to whatever "gospels" these entities might share. Some sects openly embrace these beings, seeing them as holy and divine, but the Church itself exudes an aura of wary tolerance. Look to these creatures as proof that even the natural world itself partakes in worship and religion like that of the Church, but go no farther than that. If these things pray or preach, it is of a primordial faith, one far more "blunt" and "savage" compared to the glorious Church of Divine Wealth (or so the faithful of the Church claim). Thus, it is warned to stay true to the Church's teachings, and keep things respectful between oneself and these strange beings. Obviously, as long as one stays away from the sea, there is little chance of encountering one of these creatures. However, in rare instances, it seems that a "pilgrim" may appear upon the shores and walk the lands on some unknown journey.

From their appearance and peculiar gestures, they have gained the label of "Monk," though one may question if this status can truly be handed out on visage alone. Encounters with these beings have occurred both at sea and on land, as these creatures seem far more amphibious than others of their kind. For the sea folk, they have caught these beings in nets, or watched lone individuals slowly pulsing through the shallow waters upon a dedicated path. When hooked and brought up, they offer no tokens or wise words, they simply gesture with their tendrils and nudge their bodies towards a single direction. It appears they are obsessed with a specific destination, desiring it above anything else. Those on both land and sea will do anything to follow some invisible path, with some believers labeling it a pilgrimage. When meeting dry land, they rise up onto their tentacles and slowly slither forth, never pausing in their journey. They will crawl their way across the earth, completing some journey known only to them. No one has been able to piece together their purpose. Some have spoken in an odd tongue to strangers, while others gather random objects and trinkets. Eventually, they will turn around and make their way back to the ocean, and vanish into the depths. Supposedly they found something up here, but no one can really say what.

Interpreting these Monks has been an endless effort, with no real way to confirm what is the truth. Some think it is simply the migrations of an animal, perhaps laying eggs or seeking particular nourishment needed for the next stage in life. Yet, they do not appear in large groups, which you would think would happen if this was some kind of life cycle. Some think they are sick and lost, like other creatures of the deep found dying in the shallows. Yet, no weakness is found, and their determination is unstoppable. Those who believe them to belong to some divinity of the depths claim it a pilgrimage, and this is some task given to them by their faith to contact those above. Surely they seek a holy goal, be it dispensing wisdom or gathering sacred materials. Even their actions emanate the ways of the faith, for when threatened they do not turn to violence. It would appear that these Monks are tied to Phlegm in a way, as they can breath out a damp mist of calming Phlegm to subdue foes. Those struck by the greenish cloud that billows from their "face" will find their bodies relaxed and their minds at peace, sedating them into a state of bliss, where they cannot bring themselves to raise their weapons. Any danger is met with these mists, and once the enemy is rendered harmless, they continue on. The other evidence lies in their diet, as the believers claim they show temperance in their feeding. Monks eat very little when on shore, and only eat tiny morsels of meat. They are very careful in tearing their food up into small pieces, as if large portions are blasphemous and gluttonous. Many compare this to the fasting and moderation shown in other worshipers, and that this is clear proof that faith runs within these beings. 

Of course, there are others who are more paranoid about such creatures, which stems from living in a world in chaos. They see these "pilgrimages" as something less holy and innocent. To them, the Monks look more like scouts, and their journey one of collection and study, rather than meditation. Who is to say that these creatures are not scanning the lands and gathering valuable intel to send back to the depths? Why should we believe them holy and not insidious in their design? They wear a familiar visage and hide behind a peaceful demeanor, yet they say nothing of their goals and are unflinching in their purpose. Wouldn't a peaceful fellow of faith take time to sit with others and show kindness? Wouldn't they seek to break bread with like minded folk? Yet they do not waste time in their quests, and are always intent on returning home. Surely there is a chance they are carrying precious details that serve to bolster their own forces and knowledge. After all, everyone else in this world looks to be quite eager in carving up these lands in disarray, who is to say these strange fish are not another hungry beast at the dinner table?

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"Monk of the Sea"