#i know you dislike that for one reason or another i will continue my effort to not do it again’. and like theres an understanding i try to

[yelloworangesoda]

the worst part about my incredibly low pain tolerance is when people literally don’t believe you. why would i lie

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 6)

Over the next few weeks, Simon makes a strenuous effort to show you that he is sincere in his desire to make amends. He arranges several opportunities for you to spend time together, each one designed to allow you both to get to know each other better.

At first, you were hesitant, still unsure if his actions were truly sincere. The memory of his past behavior lingered, and you remained wary of his intentions. Yet, his persistence and the subtle shifts in his demeanor begin to chip away at your skepticism. 

You had thought him to be all proud and tough, icy and distant. This is not to say that he isn’t all sunshine and smiles, but he’s polite, softer, more gentle. All of these qualities, though, and he only seems to save them for you. With anyone else, he is just as stern and serious as he was when you first met him. It’s slightly amusing to see, and it warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. Yet, as the days pass, you begin to see another side of Simon. His thoughtful gestures and quiet kindness surprise you, revealing a depth of character you had not expected. You realized that he paid attention to minute details, noticing the little things that make you smile and remembering your preferences and dislikes. 

One afternoon, he surprises you with a picnic at your favorite spot by the lake in the park, having remembered an offhand comment you made weeks ago about how much you love the peacefulness there. As you sit together on the blanket, the gentle rippling of the water soothing you, you find yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn't anticipated.

"Simon," you begin, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "I've noticed how much effort you're putting into gaining my trust. It's... unexpected."

He looks at you, his expression earnest. "I meant every word of what I said. I want to make things right between us.”

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "I can see that now. And I appreciate it."

Much to your surprise, you find yourself looking forward to your time with Simon more and more. You had only really started doing these small outings with him as a way to mend a relationship, and nothing more. But, now that you’ve gotten to know him, you can’t deny the growing fondness in your heart. 

Simon, too, seems to cherish these outings more than he lets on. You see it in the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, in the gentle timbre of his voice when he speaks to you, and in the subtle touches that linger just a bit longer than necessary. 

He sends you flowers twice a week, leaves a book on your doorstep on Sunday mornings, and on Thursdays you receive jewels for upcoming soirees. 

At balls, he is practically glued to your side, your dance card always claimed by him. It’s become the talk of the ton: the cold-hearted Duke falling for the spirited lady he once scorned. The whispers and speculation only seems to spur Simon on, as if the very notion of your growing bond was a delicious secret. If any bachelor even so tried to ask you to dance, Simon would cast daggers in their direction. He acted as if you were already married, unwilling to let anyone else near you. You always pretended not to notice, but you noticed every detail. 

At the park, he often finds ways to make you laugh, his demeanor softening into something akin to warmth. One particularly sunny afternoon, you suggest a game of croquet. 

Simon opened his mouth to shoot down your idea, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to play for the sole reason that he knows he would lose against you. Who has time to play croquet, anyway? 

“You call that a swing, Mister Riley?” you tease, watching as Simon's ball veers wildly off course.

He chuckles, his eyes full of amusement. "Perhaps my skills lie elsewhere, my lady. Though, I must say, your form is impeccable."

You preen at the compliment. "Well, someone has to maintain some semblance of skill in this game," you chuckle.

Simon often invites you over to his estate for long walks, showing you around the vast gardens and the serene grounds he’s so proud of. Each visit reveals a new aspect of his life and his personality, drawing you ever closer. 

One late afternoon, as the sun begins to set and paints the sky in hues of orange and pink, Simon leads you to a secluded part of the estate—a quaint, hidden garden filled with blooming flowers and a gently gurgling fountain at its center.

“I come here to think,” he says softly, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. 

You’re touched by the gesture, understanding how much it means for him to open up a private part of his life to you. “It’s beautiful here, Mister Riley. Thank you for showing it to me.”

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt expression that makes your heart flutter. “You’re welcome. I want you to feel at home here.”

You cock your head at that, when he says home. He stares at you for a moment, studying your expression. He then breaks contact, turning to face the fountain. 

"After my time in the military, I found it hard to adjust to this life," he confesses, his gaze fixed on the trickling fountain. "I put up walls, thinking it would protect me. But all it did was push people away."

You glance at him, your heart softening at the raw honesty in his words. "We all have our defenses, Mister Riley. But it's never too late to break them down, to really get to know people. It’s one of the best parts of life.” 

He looks at you, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "You've taught me that. More than anyone ever has."

Your heart sings at his words, and all you want to do is squeeze him tight. 

"I need to say something else,” he continues, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I've been wrong about so many things. About you. I want to be a better man, for you."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine desire to change. “Mister Riley,” you say softly, reaching out to take his hand, "I can see that you're trying. And it's not about being perfect. It's about being honest, about being real. I appreciate that."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that lights up his face. "Thank you. That means more to me than you know."

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I know I've made mistakes in the past, and I can never truly erase them. But I hope that, in time, you might come to see me not just as the duke who wronged you, but as a man who deeply cares for you."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you squeeze his hand gently. "I think I already do, Mister Riley.”

“Simon. Call me Simon.” 

Your mouth is ever so slightly agape, and you lick your lips, heart racing. “Simon," you repeat, savoring the intimacy of using his first name. The sound of it feels right on your lips, a bridge between your hearts.

Simon’s heart constricts in his chest the moment his name rolls off your tongue, and he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now. He wants to be yours, forever.

“This garden is yours as much as it is mine. A place where you can come whenever you need peace, or just to think.”

"Thank you, Simon. That means a lot to me," you say, touched by his gesture. "And I hope you know that I'm here for you too. We're both learning and growing, and I'm glad we're doing it together."

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the garden, you and Simon sit in comfortable silence, hands intertwined. The tranquil setting reflects the newfound serenity in your hearts. The walls that once stood between you are crumbling, replaced by trust, understanding, and something that feels like the beginnings of love.

part 5 < > part 7

[umekawa-eve]

Summer's Finale

Carlo x Reader

The reason I deleted the previous post because I found so many spelling errors in it(like, Carlo became Calro or Caro; stalker become Hunter or something). Damn the translator.

Every summer, your parents would send you to your grandparents' house up in the mountains during the school break. Their reasoning was that the air up there was cleaner than in the city, and breathing in some fresh air would be beneficial for your health.

You were always frail and prone to illness since childhood. It seemed like you were either catching one illness or another throughout the year. Your parents had to take care of you while managing their work responsibilities, so summer vacation was an opportunity for them to take a breather by leaving you in the care of others. At least, that's how you perceived it.

You didn't dislike living in the mountains. Every morning, you would venture into the forest, playing and making friends with small animals and flowers. Sometimes you would go fishing with your grandfather. When you got tired, you would return home and relish the delectable dishes prepared by your grandmother. In the evening, you would sit on the backyard swing with your grandfather, gazing up at the vast expanse of the starry night sky. The stars were so big and bright there, a sight that couldn't be compared to anything you could see in the city. Your grandfather would point out constellations and share their stories with you.

Although your days in the mountains were joyful, you missed your father and mother who lived in the city. And now, you longed for your grandparents who resided in the heavens.

You didn't attend your grandparents' funeral back then because you didn't like shedding tears in front of others. You believed it would only make your grandfather and grandmother sad to see you cry.

Since your grandparents' passing, you never returned to the mountains.

You don't know when it started, but the house became so quiet, eerily quiet.

One evening, your parents sat at opposite ends of the couch, resembling two books, without much interaction. Just a while ago, as long as the door between the kitchen and the living room was left open, you would hear laughter. Sometimes your father would crack jokes, making you burst into laughter, and even your mother would smile. You didn't always grasp the jokes, but because everyone was laughing, you laughed along.

But somehow, your parents gradually reduced the frequency of their conversations, and sometimes they wouldn't even glance at each other. You tried to continue being the book and engage them in trivial chatter, but it felt cold. Coldness emanated from both ends of the couch, and your defrosting mechanisms couldn't handle it. You had to leave because that coldness would freeze your cheeks, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

A few months ago, you tried once: "Would you like to hear a joke I heard at school today?"

Your parents remained silent.

Your father was reading the article in his hands. He glanced at his daughter, his expression somewhat surprised, then lowered his head and continued reading.

The article he was reading was about a mysterious stone called "Ergo," with complex content that you couldn't comprehend. Your father was a member of the Alchemist Guild, busy with work and shrouded in mystery. He never told you what his work exactly entailed, nor did he allow you to enter his study.

Meanwhile, your mother didn't even lift her head, her eyes fixed on the sheet music, occasionally making amendments. Your mother was a musical composer, currently putting all her efforts into her comeback piece (she had given up her work previously to care for you when you were young).

"Why don't skeletons fight?" you decided to stick to the plan.

"Why?" Your father casually replied, flipping through the article.

"My dear, what did you just say?" your mother asked. She had just written what she believed to be her best lyrics yet.

For some unknown reason, you sat there motionless, drenched in sweat yet shivering with cold, a chilling sensation that penetrated to your very core. In the end, you had no choice but to escape from your distant parents and seek solace in your own room. There, you lay on your bed, burying your head in the pillow, weeping. From that moment on, you often closed the door, retreating into your own world.

Your father had a demanding job that frequently took him away on business trips to distant places, sometimes for an entire month. The last time he returned from an overseas trip, he brought you a cute little cat. You named him "Spring" because he arrived in your home during the springtime.

At that time, Spring had just turned one month old. He was merely the size of a palm, with sparse orange fur that made him resemble a little old man. But his eyes were large and round, with a small nose and soft, tender pads on his tiny paws. You loved squeezing them.

Spring was fierce towards others; if someone reached out to touch him, he would hiss, warning them that if they dared to touch him, he would not hesitate to sink his sharp fangs into their hands. However, Spring showed no aversion to your touch. Every time you approached him, he wagged his tail happily, greeting you. He intentionally rubbed against your hand, indicating his desire to be petted. And when you stroked him, he emitted a contented purr, as if thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Sometimes, he would jump onto the windowsill and gaze outside, lost in thought. Observing his increasingly mature figure, you couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. You thought to yourself, if you were taken away from your mother at birth, you would also feel heartbroken.

You loved Spring, and you loved your father for giving him to you. You believed that your father loved you too, but he didn't understand you, and you realized you didn't understand him either.

Although you had some friends at school, you still felt an indescribable loneliness. It wasn't the absence of people around you, but rather the absence of someone with whom you could share the depths of your innermost feelings.

Loneliness is like an unfathomable abyss, without end, without a destination, only darkness and emptiness. You stand alone at the edge of this abyss, gazing into its bottomless darkness, feeling as if you are plummeting into it, unable to escape. Loneliness is your deepest fear because you are alone in the midst of a crowd, and there is nothing more terrifying than that.

In school, it is inevitable to encounter troubles at times, but you never speak up about them. You portray yourself as cool on the surface, but deep inside, you are fragile. Sometimes, you also want to show vulnerability, to seek comfort, and to cry in your mother's embrace, pouring out the injustices you have faced. However, your self-esteem prevents you from doing so. At times, you also wonder when and how you became so awkward.

But home is not always peaceful either. Sometimes, your parents argue fiercely, unabashedly expressing their hatred for each other through their words. During those times, you would hide in your room with Spring, covering your head with a pillow, as if it could shield you from the unbearable insults.

At the beginning of the new semester, your parents, who care for you flawlessly, send you to a boarding school. There is another boy who transfers alongside you. He has curly black hair, chestnut-colored eyes, and a few freckles on his fair face. When introducing himself, he only mentions his name and refuses to say another word.

He is reserved and never initiates conversations. Classmates perceive him as peculiar, and they all find it difficult to accept him, but you, on the other hand, don't mind. Sometimes, you also dislike talking. Even after a long time since the start of the school year, he remains solitary, often seen nestled in the music room, playing the piano alone, completely immersed in his own world. When it rains, he doesn't use an umbrella, yet he never falls ill. You envy him for that.

Perhaps there is some hidden force at work, as you always seem to encounter him here and there. When you meet each other's gaze, you see familiarity in the eyes of this boy named Carlo—a familiar loneliness that you also see reflected in your own eyes when you look in the mirror. Yet, when you pass by each other, you always want to say something to him, but the words fail to escape your lips. So, you lower your head, avoiding his sorrowful eyes, pretending not to have noticed him.

Lonely individuals stand out too prominently in a crowd, attracting some unscrupulous individuals. One day, you witness a group of senior students bullying him. Without a second thought, you courageously step forward to confront those individuals. However, relying solely on your and Carlo's strength, you are no match for the powerful and imposing senior students. You both end up being at a disadvantage until another boy comes to your aid. Only with his help do you manage to defeat those students, although the three of you sustain injuries. But you believe that after this incident, no one will dare to bully him again.

The helpful boy who introduced himself as Romeo had a ghostly mane of golden hair and fair skin, resembling a prince straight out of a fairy tale. He carried himself with grace and elegance, and his voice was gentle and soothing. However, he was the most valiant among the three of you. In the recent altercation, he single-handedly defeated a senior student.

"Why did you help me?" the boy asked in the infirmary, his eyes fixed on the bandaged hand.

After contemplating for a moment, you replied calmly, "There isn't any specific reason. I simply detest injustice and unfairness."

"Same here," Romeo said. "How could I stand idly by when I see someone being bullied?"

Carlo remained silent for a while, then spoke up, "Why did you come to Monad Charity House?"

Romeo shrugged indifferently and replied, "I'm an orphan. I was sent here a long time ago."

You couldn't bring yourself to reveal the truth as candidly as Romeo did, so you spoke in a low voice, "My parents didn't have time to take care of me, so they dumped me here."

"Me too," Carlo chuckled self-mockingly, but there was a tinge of sadness in his tone. "My father is a puppet maker, and he invests more energy in his puppets than in me. Sometimes I wonder what my purpose of existence truly is. Why didn't he just make a puppet son instead?"

"Perhaps we are all just accidents," you muttered.

Instead of feeling offended by your words, Carlo burst into laughter. His hearty laughter infected both you and Romeo, and you couldn't help but laugh together until the nurse warned you, and the three of you stopped.

From that day on, the three of you became inseparable friends. Despite the whispers and gossip of your classmates, you paid no mind because you had each other's company.

The pressure of schoolwork often made you yearn for an escape, but you didn't know where to go.

"Learning all these things that I won't need in the future will rot my brain," Carlo complained. "I want to be a stalker, not an alchemist. Why do I have to study all this unnecessary stuff?"

"If you want to be a stalker, you still have to graduate from here. But right now, you can't even pass a simple quiz. You better just dream about it," Romeo taunted.

"That's my dream, alright. Can't I have dreams?" Carlo retorted with annoyance. "What about you? What's your dream? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Romeo rested his chin on his hand and lightly tapped his lips with his index finger. "I also want to be a stalker."

Carlo narrowed his eyes. "How despicable! You're copying me."

Romeo rolled his eyes. "No, I did not. Don't make things up."

"Alright then. Y/n, what about you? What's your dream?" Carlo turned his head towards you, who had been diligently working on your math homework.

"Huh? Well..." Caught off guard by the question about your own dream, you couldn't answer immediately. After pondering for a while, you finally spoke up, "I want to be an alchemist."

Carlo and Romeo exchanged glances at each other, then turned their gaze back to you without uttering a word, just staring at you.

Unaccustomed to being the center of attention, you felt somewhat uneasy. So, you asked them, "What's going on? Why aren't you saying anything?"

They continued to silently stare at you for a while longer. Carlo was the first to break the silence, sighing before saying, "Ah, what a bore."

Romeo followed suit, sighing as well. "I thought your dreams would be more grand, like becoming a stalker."

"If word of that gets out, it wouldn't surprise me if you end up dead in the streets one day," you calmly retorted to Romeo. "And what's not great about being an alchemist? Sofia's father is an alchemist. He discovered the Ergo and supports this charity house. I think he's quite remarkable."

Carlo shook his head. "Alchemists are a bunch of hypocrites, driven solely by greed. Of course, I'm not targeting Sofia's father specifically, but all alchemists in general."

"Ah, typical Carlo! Saying things I dare not say," Romeo laughed.

"If alchemists are truly as you describe, then I'll be a breath of fresh air in the alchemy world," you half-jokingly, half-seriously said. Then, with long eyelashes lowered, you spoke in a detached tone, "I want to find a cure for petrification disease. Both my grandparents died from it."

You lowered your head, reminiscing about your departed loved ones, and a hint of bitterness welled up in your heart.

Carlo paused, no longer using sharp words to challenge you. He placed his hand on your shoulder and smiled faintly, saying, "Then I'll become your stalker, protecting you."

Romeo exaggeratedly shivered and rubbed his arms, saying, "Ugh, you're so cheesy, Carlo."

"Shut up," Carlo blushed, avoiding Romeo's gaze. However, his actions only made Romeo more eager to tease him.

Romeo leaned closer to Carlo, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Could it be... you have feelings for Y/n?"

"Uh—!" Carlo let out a sudden, awkward yelp, perhaps realizing his own indiscretion. He pretended to cough a few times to cover up his embarrassment and stammered, "Wh-who, who likes her? I'm just protecting her out of knightly spirit!"

"Oh? Is that so?" Romeo raised an eyebrow, looking at Carlo skeptically.

Romeo snorted. "I see. Well, just don't spout nonsense! I'm leaving!" With that, he picked up his assignment and quickly turned to leave the library.

Romeo turned to look at you, and you could only shrug helplessly.

"What about you? What kind of feelings do you have for Carlo?" he suddenly asked.

Caught off guard by the question, you hesitated for a moment before stammering, "I-I feel... what I feel towards Carlo..."

Deep down, you had always admired Carlo's talents and character, but you wondered if you had developed romantic feelings for him, the kind commonly referred to as love. You weren't entirely sure yourself. Although you couldn't be certain, you had similar emotions in your heart.

"I don't know either," you softly replied to Romeo.

Besides studying and doing assignments together, the three of you often wandered aimlessly, doing nothing in particular. Even though you didn't do much, you felt content because the feeling of companionship was wonderful.

Through your interactions with Carlo, you gradually understood why he enjoyed being in the rain. Standing there, allowing the pouring rain to drench you, there was a indescribable feeling. Under the relentless downpour, all worries were washed away, leaving only a pure sense of connection with nature.

When you were completely soaked by the rain, with your clothes sticking to your body and your hair softly clinging to your face, an unprecedented sense of liberation would envelop you. In that moment, you felt so light, as if all burdens had been washed away along with the rain.

Perhaps that was why Carlo was so fascinated by the feeling of rain. Only through the powerful impact of heavy rain could you both escape from the mundane world, briefly forgetting the realities that couldn't be avoided in daily life. Even if it was only for a short while, this experience of freedom far surpassed the ordinary.

Just that alone was enough to fill the emptiness and monotony in your heart. And perhaps, it was because of this that Carlo allowed himself to be engulfed by the rain time and time again.

Even though you would catch a cold after getting drenched in the rain, you had no regrets.

When the mid-semester arrived, your parents separated.

From that day on, you felt exhausted, unable to muster any energy to do anything. Whenever you thought about the fact that your parents no longer loved each other, an inexplicable sense of suffocation welled up in your heart.

If possible, you just wanted to sleep forever, to escape the weight and pain that burdened you.

Perhaps you could never regain your composure. You despised yourself for being so lifeless, yet you couldn't summon the strength to change that. You didn't know how to deal with these emotions, so you allowed yourself to drift along, at the mercy of the tides. You thought, if you couldn't rise above, why not sink beneath?

You spent quite a long time in this state of despondency until Carlo and Romeo uttered those words to you.

"Let's leave this place together!"

On that midsummer night, the three of you packed your bags and secretly escaped from the Monard Refuge. You traveled by train, a farmer's truck, and walked along mountain roads for a long time until you reached your grandparents' ancestral home. Apart from a bit more dust and the absence of two adorable old people, the interior remained unchanged, as if time had ceased to flow here, and your grandparents were just out for a walk, about to return any moment.

Carlo discovered grandfather's piano and began pressing a few keys, transforming the fragmented notes into a beautiful melody. Inspired, you picked up grandmother's violin and accompanied Carlo's tune with your fingertips and the bow.

The piano's unrestrained melody flowed like a free-spirited river, while the violin's delicate and melodious notes sailed alongside, like a small boat adrift. They journeyed side by side, chasing and evading each other, intertwining and leaning on one another, yet leaving enough space for the other to shine, completing a graceful composition.

As the piece concluded, Romeo sitting nearby applauded and handed you a bunch of freshly picked bluebells. You closed your eyes and smelled the flowers, but all you could detect was a faint scent of rust.

"Strange, why does it smell like blood?" an indescribable unease arose within you.

You opened your eyes again and noticed that the blue petals were covered in dark red streaks. Panicked, you lowered your head and discovered that the back of the hand holding the flowers was already stained with fresh blood.

Only then did you realize that the tingling sensation deep in your nasal cavity was due to your own nosebleed. You tried to wipe it away with the back of your hand, but the blood continued to flow incessantly, staining the entire bluebell. Startled, your hand loosened its grip, and the blood-soaked flower slipped from your palm and fell to the ground.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" Carlo looked at you with concern, his brown eyes filled with worry.

"I'm fine," you managed a weak smile, attempting to reassure him.

"Sit down for now, I'll go get a towel for you," Romeo said and walked away.

"Are you really okay?" Carlo asked, his expression still filled with doubt.

"Don't see me as so fragile. It's just a nosebleed," you said with a smile, trying to ease his concerns.

Carlo nodded, although he didn't seem entirely convinced.

When night fell, you wandered through the serene forest. At the end of the forest lay a beautiful lake. In the past, you often went fishing with your grandfather in a small boat.

In the stillness of the night, the lake appeared pitch black, adorned with stars that resembled scattered golden dust. The radiant moon hung high in the sky, its reflection resembling a jade disc sinking into the water. You paddled the small boat to the center of the lake and lay down, gazing up at the starry canopy. In the profound darkness, the starlight shimmered like a vast sea, captivating and captivating the imagination. No words were spoken, as you immersed yourselves in this mystical and enchanting starry night.

You wished time could freeze in this moment.

After this brief journey, you fell seriously ill, even more so than before. Throughout the day, you were only awake for one or two hours, spending the rest of the time in a semi-conscious state.

The dreams concocted by your feverish mind were terrifying and distorted. You dreamed of endlessly falling into an abyss of darkness, much like the protagonist of that well-known tale who fell down a rabbit hole in pursuit of a rabbit. However, she arrived in an incomprehensible realm after landing, encountering a group of peculiar individuals, while you simply continued to descend endlessly.

You struggled to grasp onto something, but found nothing around you. Your descent resembled a runaway roller coaster, with suffocating fear filling your chest. Finally, you woke up, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath.

At that moment, a small hand reached out immediately. You strained to open your heavy eyelids and saw a seated figure in blue, albeit blurred.

Your lips curled slightly upwards as you spoke with your frail, broken voice, "Oh, Carlo... I fell."

"Hey, but I caught you." Carlo said with a smile. "Would you like some water?"

"No, drinking water makes me nauseous now. How long have you been here?"

"I came right after school. I begged the principal for a long time to let me come see you."

You remained silent. Speaking was a laborious and unbearable task for you. So, you simply held onto Carlo's hand. But as you gazed at him, your face slightly lifted, you noticed a glimmer in his clear, wide eyes. You couldn't help but ask, "Did you cry?"

"No," Carlo denied vehemently.

"I saw your tears."

"It's just... some sand got in my eyes."

His actions only confirmed your suspicion. Thus, you said, "Did you think I was going to die, so you-"

"No, it's not like that," Carlo softly interrupted. "It's just that seeing you in so much pain made my heart ache. I was upset with myself because I couldn't take away your suffering or become you to bear it for you. And then, tears fell without me even realizing it. But I'm not crying."

"You fool."

Carlo looked up, his face filled with astonishment.

"You don't need to blame yourself at all." you said. "Even if you could become me, I wouldn't want you to endure this pain. I'm already grateful that you can be here with me."

Carlo didn't say anything, and neither did you. Words turned into a clear pool of water, with one teardrop after another gently sliding down from your eyes. And then, nothing remained.

※※※

As the summer drew to a close, she vanished.

It was a few hours before her passing when Carlo last spoke to her.

At her request, he wheeled her wheelchair and took her to the garden outside the hospital.

"The weather is lovely today," she said, gazing at the sky, her face slowly breaking into a gentle smile. "But I truly wish I could take another walk in the rain with you and Romeo."

Carlo listened perplexed, unsure why she was saying such things.

"There will be a chance, so you must live well," he replied.

She silently gazed into his eyes. "I'm sorry... but I am happy because I had the chance to know you all, and I truly like you all. I really like you. Become an extraordinary stalker, Carlo."

She smiled faintly, no longer saying anything more, and Carlo felt that he had been waiting a long time for these words.

Then they fell silent, just quietly observing the scenery.

Suddenly, the view before them became radiant. Thin clouds in the sky parted, allowing sunlight to pour over the earth, and the green grass and trees stood tall as if blessing the world.

This conversation became their final exchange. A few hours later, she passed away.

At the beginning of September, during a rainy autumn funeral, Carlo once again played the song they had performed together on the mountain during the summer, but this time without the accompaniment of the violin.

The melodies of summer, long gone, soared through the autumn, seeking their old fortress.

The flower language of Gentiana is "Falling in love with the melancholy you."

[iniziare]

🔥 GO WILD

Prompt: Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion. // Accepting. // @ccaptain

I don't think that there's a single thing that I feel as strongly about, as my opinions of the following two lines: 'Every portrayal is equal' and 'There are multiple interpretations of a character'. I think that they both play into harvesting and perpetuating the worst mentalities on Tumblr: insecurity and egos. I disliked the PSAs about the former back in 2013, I hated the transition of the former to the latter in 2015/2016, and I hate how the latter still seems to resonate around the RPC as if it's some sort of bible that does anyone any good. And before any potential 'but Sae, those are two different things', no, not really, they play into the same concept, it's simply the phrasing that changes to make it all the more mentally inclusive and sound more socially welcoming. But a bad message remains a bad message no matter how pretty its packaging is. It all plays into not wanting to hurt people's feelings, which I fully understand and it's even a noble cause at its basis, but coddling doesn't help people, it never has, and it has and will only continue to make people more sensitive (which is a topic for a different salt send-in), all the while demotivating and utterly frustrating others. I'm sorry folks, but not every portrayal is equal, there are people who will create a blog merely because a character is hot, or for social political reasons of 'look at me', or because they simply ache to write a fandom's popular ship, and they disappear as quickly as they come when the 'urge' has been fulfilled. Those, for instance, are not equal to people who put a lot of time into their portrayals, and I'm not saying that everyone needs to live up to the latter, but don't be telling me that everyone is equal on the mere premise that they all 'exist' and we should 'all support one another'. Not every portrayal is equal, not everyone's writing is equal, and people's understanding of a character will not always be equal. And these things aren't subjective, they are factual. There can be such clear differences between portrayals and ignoring them is actually doing an injustice to every single depiction out there. If you tell a blog that does minimal writing and seems to not have a great understanding of the character (yet?), or the worst one: seems to really not care— that they’re equal to everyone else, then you’re telling them, for starters, that they could have nothing to improve on. And trust me, I’ve seen it happen time and time again, people will not put in effort to improve if you tell them that there’s nothing to actually better. And of course simultaneously, you demotivate the ones that have stuck around for years and put much time into what they do on Tumblr. And that sucks pretty hardcore.

Now luckily, that first line has somewhat died out, but now in its stead, we're left with 'There are multiple interpretations of a character'. I don't know whether it's worse, better, or just equally as bad of a take. I vote for... worse, actually. — No, no one will ever convince me that if they wrote an OC, and then released them to the world, that they'd be okay if RPers anywhere would claim that one can read their OC multiple different ways. I've seen RPers on Tumblr blow up over much less. What I need people to realize and remember, is that all creators and writers alike, have an intent with their characters, and that isn't subjective. Just like personality traits aren't subjective. For instance, one can't look at Veritas Ratio and go 'he's confident' and have someone else state 'he's insecure', and say that both are factually true and that both takes are equal in 'value' if we look at accuracy, because they're not. They cannot both be true, and I'm not talking about minor details that can be considered to be 'exceptions', I'm talking about the rule. What I need people to admit to, more often than not, is that it seems to have become a common take to conflate what they want a character to be like with what they actually are. I sometimes can look at a character and objectively go 'I wish they had done this instead, focusing on this and this, or this part of their personality'. but if I then choose to portray the character like that instead, it doesn't mean that it's what the character that we ultimately see on screen is actually like. And admitting that it's not the case isn't a bad thing, being canon divergent isn't a bad thing, but it is entirely different from intending to write the character based on what we actually see.

[anonymousboxcar]

A few days ago, I learned about the “two Henrys” theory/interpretation. I’ve decided that I personally don’t buy it as canon. My reasoning is that Henry can recall events prior to his Crewe rebuild, and many engines in the franchise that have rebuilds still emerge as themselves. (And while I dislike Sir Topham Hatt I’s early treatment of him, I don’t think he’d stoop that low.)

However, I like the idea of it being an in-universe rumor. Not a true one, but something people bandy about regardless.

I haven’t 100% decided who would start the rumor, but Diesel is one of my contenders. I can see him, bitter and resentful after his first failed trial, continuing where he left off with slandering Henry. He spreads the rumor on the Mainland and coaxes it back to Sodor.

The troublesome trucks are another option. They like to get under engines’ plating, and they know Henry struggled with what others thought of him in the past. They could laser in on this with the suggestion that his rebuild was a different engine — that nobody ever accepted him as himself, that it was all a lie.

So, how does Henry deal with this rumor?

At first, he thinks it’s ridiculous. He expects it to burn itself out within a fortnight.

But a month later, he keeps getting odd looks as he passes through stations. Tabloid reporters chase after him to “ask a few questions.” Whispers follow him everywhere he goes.

When he realizes it isn’t going away, he opts to stop ignoring it and to instead do something about it. He reasserts his identity in heated arguments with reporters. He speaks to journalists of more reputable publications, recounting things only he would know about.

And he isn’t alone. The Ffarquhar and Little Western branches help him find the rumor’s source and make them recant their lies. Bear coughs exhaust on reporters who intrude in the sheds, rattling the rafters with his growling. Edward contacts rail historians and rallies them to support Henry’s claims. Gordon and James stay close to Henry when they can, glaring down anyone who tries to pester him.

(“You don’t know your own builders,” one undeterred reporter says.

Henry scowls. “Nobody does. If you did actual journalism instead of spreading rumors, maybe we could learn who they are.”

Gordon has too much dignity to laugh. James has no such dignity.)

Sir Topham Hatt, fed up with this nonsense, also gets involved. He coordinates PR campaigns, better security, and potential lawsuits. All the while, he reassures Henry that the whole railway is at his back.

Everyone’s combined efforts force the tabloids to back down and quells the public’s fears/misconceptions. While the rumor doesn’t die completely, it never regains as much traction as before.

The whole experience is still ridiculous and exhausting for Henry. But it also ends any lingering doubts about his place on the NWR. He sees for himself how much everyone cares about him. He sees for himself his own strength, his confidence in himself and who he is.

[letteredlettered]

I'm conflicted about whether to encourage you to read the MDZS novel or not. On the one hand, it's revolutionary for danmei in many ways (to the hatred and love of many), and reading it would be akin to reading Jin Yong one day. On the other hand, if you love Wei Wuxian and find some actions in the show "unforgivable," you will be severely disappointed with him. For the sake of censorship, many of the "crimes/sins" he committed were passed onto Jin Guangyao so that the idea of "good" and "evil" are more clearly distinguished. In recent years, China has even censored some of its most popular works like Empresses in the Palace, Story of Yanxi Palace, for having heroines that were too morally grey. And of course, there were some actions too heinous to even be passed onto another character. Plus, consent is a little grey in the novel, and first times were simultaneously great and awful, prompting a sudden confession in dramatic areas.

But, I think even a bit more laden with the evils of this world... I still really loved Wei Wuxian of the novel. He tried. And failed. And maybe made things a lot worse. But as Lan Wangji said, his heart was in the right place. And... I think you'll feel a lot more for the Wen in the novel. They-- just the idea of continuous sacrifice and gratitude. I cried so much for them.

Sorry, you might regret it a bit, but I think it'll also make you feel fulfilled to read the novel.

Anyway, I hope your day is going well!

I'm already reading it! So you don't have to feel conflicted about whether to recommend it. :)

I don't think that liking it or not liking it will affect my interest in CQL or the fandom. I've been in many fandoms with multiple versions of canon; I find it's best to pick the versions that work for me and stick to them. Sometimes it can be frustrating when you love one version and hate the other version and it feels like everyone is disparaging the one you think is good in favor of the one that gives you moral hives, but I haven't really seen those kinds of comparisons going around, and this isn't Star Trek, so I'll probably be fine.

I'm a little flummoxed by this word "unforgivable." First of all, I find most things forgivable; I'm a forgiving person. Second of all, these are fictional characters; if someone does something unforgivable it doesn't make them uninteresting or unrelatable.

I don't dislike JGY because he does bad things. I am uninterested in JGY because his personality is boring to me and not something I find relatable.

I'm also a little flummoxed by the idea of not liking something because it is morally gray. I know I stomp around on tumblr.com a lot yelling about morality, but my basic moral philosophy boils down to "try your very best to cause no harm," which is something that is extremely gray, because there are no absolutes. There is no good and evil. There is only the effort to be kind and help each other, and it is shocking how fuzzy and unclear that can be.

I have hesitated to read the novels partly because I'm aware of the consent issues. I think it is important to have fiction that has non-con, including fiction that has very sexy unproblematized non-con that allows people to indulge in fantasies that would be unsafe and harmful in the real world. That said, I don't like it. At all. Not for moral reasons but because I find it singularly unsexy.

I'll conclude by saying that it's very true that I tend not to be drawn to villains as characters. It's less because I find them morally repugnant, and more because they are often uninteresting to me. I think possibly the thing that draws me to a character the most is effort, especially an effort to do and be good--but this is a personal preference, not a moral one. I identify with characters who try to be good, and this makes me like them. I enjoy them the most when they fail a lot while trying their absolutely little best. Personally, I've heard mixed reviews about WWX in MDZS canon; some report, as you do, that he tries a lot and fails; others report that he's pretty careless in ways that make me feel a lot less interested in him. Since I'm already reading it, I'll find out, but the main thing I've taken away so far is that these novels are hilarious. I can't believe how funny it is. What a delight.

[reashot]

Happy Valentine Y'all.

This is a sequel to Blake the Author:

Knight's of Rose Chronicle: For the Hand's of the Princess. Chapter 2, page 32.

(A love that will never come to be.)

*clash*, *clang.* Was the sounds of two swords clashing with one another.

"Give it up, Lowborn Knight!" The dastardly Garmin mocks the noble Janus as he brings his blade closer to the blonde knight's face.

Janus however did not react to Garmin provocation and simply pushed the villain's blade away and brings his sword closer to the Westchester heir. "Not until you apologize to the princess, first!"

Garmin was enraged after hearing him. "You insolent curr! You dare struck your better for her. She's my woman and I can do whatever I please with her!"

It is in this moment that Janus was seriously contemplating about killing someone. But if Janus can kill a Lord without consequences then he would have done so much earlier. And he don't think that Princess Rose would like seeing her fiancée's head rolling in the ground in front of her eyes no matter how much she might dislike him...

Princess Rose meanwhile holds her breath as she watches as the two knights battles each others for her sake. A foolish cause if there ever was one. It's not like she can't fight her own battle, but she can't help but to root for her dashing and valiant Knight Janus to prevail against her fiancée.

"You don't deserves to have her!!!" Janus let out a roar as he unleash a flurry of assault at Garmin.

"Y-you upstart peasant! Don't you know what will happen if you strike me?" Garmin starts to make threat towards Janus.

"Silence. You philandering Swine! I saw you cavorting with another woman in front of me. How could you betray your engagement with Princess Rose?" Janus was having none of Garmin's excuses after seeing him in the embrace of another woman besides his beautiful lady Rose.

"Ha, ha, ha! Is that what all this is about?! You defending her honor?" Garmin mocks Janus reasoning.

While the Westchester brat busy mocking Janus in effort to distract him. The Knight instead focused his attention on defeating the foe in front of him. Janus continue with his attack until the villain falls flat on the ground and with Janus's sword pointing towards his neck. "Wait! I yield, I yield. You have bested me."

Princess Rose can finally breathes freely after seeing her knight defeating the Westchester's heir. She wants to walk up to him

Janus looks down and sees his lady's enemy lying defeated on the ground. He then opens his mouth to say something to him. "Apologize to my lady." Janus looks at Garmin intensely.

"W-what are you crazy? No way I will apologize for such trivial thing." Garmin didn't realize it yet, but he would soon come to regret saying this to him.

*stabs* Janus nested his blade inside Garmin's shoulder after hearing what he had to say.

"AHHHHH!!!!! YOU BASTARD!" Garmin howls in pain after feeling the cold steel piercing his body.

Although Garmin was shocked by what just happened. None is more shocked by Janus's action more than Princess Rose. She just stood there stunned after watching what Janus did for her. She wanted to be horrified by what she just saw, but at the same time she want to thanked Janus for standing up for her by giving Garmin what he deserved.

"I will not repeat this again. Apologize to my lady, this instance." Janus just glared at him.

Garmin rightfully terrified by Janus responded to him. "O-okay I-I'm sorry for cheating on her with another woman. J-just please don't hurt me.

Seeing him begging for his life Rose is satisfied with Garmin frightened apology. Except for Janus whom decided that he hasn't had enough. "Swear on your life that you will never cheat on her again. Swear to me that you will never falter on her marriage. To treat her with kindness and love as you would your own true wife."

"What the heck are you talking about?" Garmin confused to what the blonde knight just said to him.

"Swear to me!" The knight screamed at him.

"Okay, Okay! I will." Garmin swore to him.

"Good, now leave. Don't tell anyone about this and don't you dare come near my princess until the wedding." Jaune said while sheathing his sword.

Garmin then get up and run away from the two of them while holding his wounded shoulder.

As the knight felt proud of his achievement Princess Rose then walks up to her knight and end the delusion the knight was having. *Slap!* Was the sound of the princess's hand slapping the blonde Knight's cheek.

"Do you know why I slapped you?" The princess asks her knight.

"I overstep my boundary as your protector and acted without considering your feeling?" Janus answered.

"Ah. I see you have not completely lost your wit." *Slap!* "I can fight my own battle. I don't need you to defend my honor."

"I beg your apology, my lady if you wish to have me punished or replaced I will not resist." Janus offers his apology while kneeling humbly in front her.

"However." The princess add. "I do still have to thank you for standing up for me. So close your eyes Janus."

Janus did as he was told and close his eyes, expecting to be punished by her again. But to his surprise. Rose decides to kiss him in the cheek instead.

"My lady?" Janus touches the cheek where his princess kissed him.

She answered by giggling at him no doubt amused by what she done and seeing his reaction. She then twirls her back at him as she runs away from the knight.

Janus whether due to his training or by Instinct decides to run after her. And as two runs together Janus remembers their childhood together back when they were young...

Now returning to the real world:

Ruby: Ohh~ They're both so perfect for one another. Why can't they just admit that they both have feelings for each other?

Blake: (Ahh... Music to my ears)

Ruby: So a kiss on the cheek. I thought they going to kiss for real.

Blake: Well that's just the second chapter in. If you read more things are going to get a lot spicier...

Ruby: Ah! No spoiler please!!!

Yang: It's one of those slow burn type of romance. I always hate it. Why can't they just have the main characters in a relationship from the start. Ain't that right babe? *kiss*

Blake: *kiss* Shesh Yang there are those that like the slow burn you know.

Yang: I got to say I usually don't like this sort of book. But I do like that you read something other than comic books for once, Ruby.

Ruby: Hey I resent that! I do read something other than comics you know?

Yang: Gun magazines doesn't count.

Ruby: Geh! Blake help me out here?

Blake: Hmm... Oh, right? Yang please leave your little sister alone.

Yang: Boo. no fair...

Meanwhile Weiss are just chilling in the corner not wanting to have anything to do with her team's shenanigans.

Weiss: (There's no way I'm going to join their conversation. If I stay quiet enough maybe they will just ignore me. I'll just drink my iced lemon tea in peace.)

Ruby: Anyway you just don't get it Yang. The Knight's of Rose Chronicle isn't just any book series this is the best action/adventure/romance series ever written. Madame Noir is a genius.

Blake: (Aww shucks Ruby you making me blush😸) I see. Well it maybe just be me saying it but I think Madame Noir would be thankful of you for what you just said.

Ruby: Yes I have to thank Madame Noire. If I met her again that is. And oh, I wish Janus is my boyfriend....

Blake: (Oh you do, eh? Now's my chance 😼) Well Ruby. Janus might not exist in the real world but how about having Jaune as your boyfriend. I mean he kind of looks like him right?

Ruby: *pfftt!* Ha, ha, ha, ha. Oh Blake that's a good one. Jaune is nothing like Janus. He is brave, kind and reliable. Meanwhile Jaune is just Jaune.

Blake: (I literally based Janus off of him you dumb bitch! 😾) Well maybe you should try going out with Jaune for a while. Who knows, he might surprise you?

Ruby: Ehhh... I don't really see Jaune as anything like that. I mean I like him as a friend and all, but I don't see him as a boyfriend material.

Blake: (Hnggg!) I mean just try going out as friend first. I'm sure that going out with Jaune will surprise you.

Ruby: Hmm... I mean I don't really hate Jaune. And he's been kinda nice to me since I been here... And I don't mind being her girlfriend. I mean if he wants me of course.

Blake: (Yes I got her 😻) Don't you worry Ruby I think I can help you out with that.

Yang: Wait with Vomit boy. Blake you do realize that Ruby can do better right?

Blake: (Not helping me Yang..) Oh no I mean I'm just giving out suggestion of course.

Ruby: I mean Jaune isn't that bad but he's not Janus... He's my husbando after all and if he's real I really want to have his baby.

Weiss: *spit take*

Blake:

Yang: Damn Ruby you are down bad for a fictional character.

Ruby: What did I say?

[jaybirdh]

Okay, so I have spent the better part of a year trying to write a Jayroy fic that I thought would honestly take only a couple of months. I was inspired by this other fic, and had gotten full permission, and I wrote loads for it, but nothing ever quite worked out.

What happened was I read That issue of Red Hood & the Outlaws.

I pretty much ignore the whole penguin beatdown thing (I also ignore the titan’s tower attack, but that’s another matter), I always want Bruce to be a good father and I have tended to write him that way.

Same with Oliver Queen.

However, I thought, within the continuity, it was very stupid and unfair that this incident never gets mentioned again and Bruce never encounters any repercussions whatsoever (all this assuming you want to believe that the “fight” was at all canon, which I don’t really), and I wanted catharsis. Sort of.

I wanted a reason for the main premise of the story to happen, and that seemed like the perfect opening for that, in addition to wanting to see some comeuppance.

That was the main downfall for this story. I got way too invested in the toxic familial relationships the New 52 spat out, and it kept going into all the wrong directions. I ended up disliking all but individual bits of it. It was too nasty for me to handle.

Add to that that I couldn’t seem to get a single characterisation right, and in spite of the great inspiration, the story had almost no plot, and I couldn’t figure out how to worm one in.

So I’m scrapping that effort, and starting completely from new.

The thing is, there was one bit I did really like, from Roy’s perspective, and I don’t want it to be completely lost, although I know it wouldn’t have anywhere to go in my new attempt.

It will probably showcase all the flaws I described, and may not be written terribly well, but I still liked the voice (even if it isn’t necessarily in character), and I liked some of the points I made about what I know of how they handled Sanctuary, so I’m putting it out here.

Content warnings will be tagged. If anyone thinks they can expand on this or do it better, feel free. Just remember to credit me or even piggy back on this post. If someone does write more to this, I would like to read it.

Writing under the cut.

Therapy sucks.

That was Roy’s professional opinion as a Therapizee. And his opinion about it mattered, damn it! Customer satisfaction, and all that.

It didn’t help that all his therapizers were robots or holograms.

In a way, it made it worse.

The robots could pretend to care all they wanted, but you always knew they didn’t.

And they were always recording. Roy was sure that was some sort of violation.

But seriously, you might as well be talking to a metal wall for all the good that did (a certain saying about first signs came to mind).

Add to that the fucking holograms.

They were meant to represent the people you had issues with, or who you cared about, giving messages of support and all that sappy stuff.

Roy guessed it was supposed to be cathartic, or some shit, but really it was just frustrating, bordering on maddening.

If he weren’t already in rehab for capes interacting with the stupid fuckers would have certainly put him there.

Really, there was nothing worse about yelling about a problem you had about your adoptive father to his face, then hear him say something you know he’d never actually say to you.

All it seemed to do was increase the issue exponentially, drive you crazy with the knowledge that you might be working through your problems, but the people the holograms were pretending to be sure as hell weren’t.

Roy found himself moving just as roboticslly through his day as his so-called therapists. Sleeping badly, missing his Jaybird, and finding he didn’t have much of an appetite for anything anymore.

He supposed the one good thing about it was that he was so numb he didn’t even feel the need for drugs or booze anymore.

Just…nothingness, really.

And missing Jason, obviously, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. His boyfriend was off being a hero, no thanks to Batman (may he lose the use of his stupid fortune and die alone in a ditch), and Roy had made a commitment.

He’d stick it out for his two months, and if it got better, great! If not? It’s only two months, and then he could go back to out-law-ing with Jason, no problem.

He’d never felt the loneliness, the sadness, that drove him to addiction when he was with Jaybird.

And yes, he knew being dependant on someone else for recovery was a Bad Thing, but it wasn’t that at all.

What he’d realised, almost the first day in this purgatory, was that he’d kept himself sober with Jason, so that he could be the best he could be for Jason.

Jason, who’d always told him—always showed him that he was worth more than Oliver or anyone else had ever treated him.

Jason, who’d always made sure he was okay, made sure he was managing, made sure he knew that Roy as a person was worth more than being wrecked by heroin and alcohol.

And Roy had believed it. Roy could believe anything Jason said about it, even when the other wasn’t there, because Jason was the one who said it. He’d believed it, even through that little…hiccup.

And when they had started working together, when it became apparent that this wasn’t a one-off, Jason had been scared. Scared of hurting Roy, but also scared of being hurt by Roy.

Roy had understood that, resoected that, and gone forward with all due caution, like when you approach a wild animal.

And then came Batman’s beatdown of the Red Hood, and it was only pure luck that he was in the area to save him, god knows the other bats probably hadn’t even noticed.

And that had been horrible, absolutely terrifying.

He had almost lost Jason.

They might never have had the chance to see what they could become, together.

But he survived, and they had their chance.

Unfortunately, Roy was the one with the issues this time.

He and Jason had finally (finally!) made real progress in their relationship, but this time it was Roy who was scared.

He’d gotten low again, the Titans had broken up again (after a rather disastrous attempt at getting together again), and every time he’d tried to talk it out with Ollie something else—not even something more important all of the time—always came up, and he’d left Roy hanging.

So he’d had a bit of a relapse, nothing major, just, y’know, way too many drinks at a bar, no biggie.

But he knew that tended to lead to something more.

That had scared him, badly.

Scared enough that even when he’d been feeling much better, even when he and Jason had come together againm even closer than before, he had gone to rehab.

He shouldn’t have. He should have remembered that recovery wasn’t linear. He’d had a dip, sure, but after, he knew he would have had a rise, he’d have just had to have waited.

But he hadn’t ever wanted Jason to see him that way.

He’d been told everything about Jason’s background by the man himself in an intimate moment, and he never wanted Jason to have to suffer through anything like that again.

So he’d left.

And so, he’d died.

Yeah, therapy sucked.

[u5an5]

New Horizons - Leaving Jacobs' Journal and SCP : Sedition

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.

[START LOG]*

Crime:

Hey everyone! I'm going to try and keep this short and sweet. After trying to remedy production issues with both Jacobs’ journal and SCP - Sedition, I've decided to leave the projects. In part this is due to real life getting in the way, but also because of creative differences I had with the team. I've also left the team as a result, but let me just state before anyone reads into this - I hold no ill will towards Tats TopVideos for what has become an amicable departure.

To cut a long story short, we'd been having trouble keeping up with the demand for Sedition combined with the time and effort it took to animate long episodes for the series. I had come up with several formatting compromises, which would have honestly been an improvement to the overall quality of the show. However, I was informed that the ultimate decision was to return to an Ask SCP format only - just asking SCPs questions and cutting out the plot and character elements that we had begun to explore.

Though they said I could continue writing for the series, I decided that the team didn't need me to write for an Ask SCP format, and that while it may have been good to continue writing scripts, the fact that a lot of the elements I'd helped build into Sedition would no longer be pursued was a bit of a blow. It didn't feel right touching it after this, so I left the project. Left the team and… decided I wouldn't be contributing anymore after SCP-343 part 2's conclusion. Jacobs and McCrimmon will be written out, and Amnesty too will have her plot draw to a close,leaving Watch to do what he does best - interview SCPs.

Don't get me wrong, I- I don't dislike the Ask SCP format, but I had a vision of Sedition that we would no longer be pursuing and that's a fair enough decision on the part of the team. Tats was the other half of that show, she took those scripts and made masterpieces out of them, some of the best moments like the neck snapping scene, that- the clipboard floating in mid-air. All the little physical details she added to Sedition gave that show life. I will wholly appreciate what she did to the end of time, so. Her decision on this show mattered a lot to me, even after this we’re still very close friends.

This is simply a clash of creative interests that came about for very valid reasons. If they feel the best way to continue moving forward is to cut out unnecessary grind, then I wish them all the best for that new direction. I encourage you all to watch it and see how you feel, not based on what I've said, but based on how the new format appeals to you.

In the end, I'm just looking towards the future and where my content will go from here. I have some immediate plans, involving follow-up videos to this one where I explain in detail how events in Jacobs’ Journal and Sedition would have unfolded to both series. Perceived conclusions, or at least until the plot Arc for this Sedition, ran out and we'd probably have gone back to another SCP format anyway, but trust me when I say, it certainly wasn't as soon as it turned out to be. To cover all the plot in Jacobs’ Journal would only take a single episode, but to cover all things in Sedition, it'll definitely be a multi-part series of videos.

There are a lot of loose and even untugged threads to pull. I know a lot of fans are dedicated to digging deep into the goings on of each video, dissecting the actions and dialogue of the characters, particularly those of you who wanted to explore the expanded universe and found yourselves… here. We didn't expect the reaction to Sedition we got in the end, and the massive following we gained from it, which was extremely humbling. So, I didn't want to have you committing yourselves to these stories and characters without knowing the ending, so I hope that by releasing these videos it'll allow that chunk of the fandom some closure, maybe even giving me some of that closure too.

Ultimately, I want to try and bring my original content to the channel; stuff that isn't tied to another fan base, like SCP. This may also upset a few of you who are specifically subscribed to me for that SCP content, but I feel it is best for me to move away from it, so I'm not… typecast or tied down to one genre or thing. I have a few projects I'd be happy to share - books, games, graphic novels I have in the works and any other content I'll suggest later. But please, feel free to leave your suggestions of where you'd like to see me go from here, and I'll see what works best for me.

Thank you so much to everyone who was stuck by me through Sedition, and I hope that you'll continue to do so once my contributions have concluded. I hope my original content will manage to excite and entice you as everything I've done so far.

But until next time, stay safe and keep your creative passions burning.

[END LOG]

*This is an attempt at transcribing video linked in title. I am NOT the aurhor of the chanel and I did NOT participate in creation of SCP: Sedition or Jacobs' Journal series in any way.

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[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 13

Chapter 13: “Traitor, Part 3”

Yes yes, bravo Norman. Very clever plan that would’ve fooled me as well, though I’m surprised Ray didn’t at least go check the first two locations, but I suppose he was just feeling that confident.

Of course it’s an unfair advantage to the anime for how it handled Ray’s laugh, since we can actually hear him (& i very much prefer said laugh in dub), but also because it’s just a better shot of his madness. The panel doesn’t show us much.

I know I always give credit to Isabella for raising such high grade merchandise (& yes i still hate how that sounds too) but is it fair for me to praise Ray as well? Surely he helped behind the scenes (if only just a tiny bit) in very casual and unsuspecting ways to both mom and the children, and I mean that like not only helping Emma & Norman slowly realize the secrets of the farm but perhaps assist with the other kids by improving their scores and their daily lives.

Sure he put all his efforts to just help Emma & Norman but we now know from ch181.5 that his initial plan was to save everyone. And granted, he’s the reason for some shipments due to tests involving breaking trackers, but he’s doing his best okay?

You dunno how badly I wished they would’ve had Ray just say “Yeah” again. I know it wouldn’t be true if he answered that way, but it would be funny. To me.

Alright, please have mercy on me Norman fans, but I think I finally realized the reason I’m not the biggest fan of your precious genius.. and that is because he was so ready to just use Ray and leave him behind. Ray. One of his very best friends. The boy who has been living in a hellish reality for the past six years, doing everything he possibly can in order to give Norman & Emma a chance to escape and survive at the cost of his own life. And Norman just decides.. nah, thanks but no thanks, traitor, we don’t actually need you.. like excuse me?

There’s many characters in this series who are ready to sacrifice everything (i.e. their own lives.. or memories) for the sake of others and then there’s Norman here who’s willing to sacrifice someone else (who he is very close to) for his own benefit. Yes I know Isabella basically does the same thing by raising the children to be essentially perfect meals in order protect her own life, but it just.. feels different to me. Probably because the latter is written as a fabulous villain who we’re supposed to dislike and the former is one of our main heroes we’re supposed to root for? But how can I cheer for him when said hero is trying to abandon another hero of the story? Granted, Norman didn’t know Ray was working as a double agent at first, but the fact he was so willing to ditch Ray at the drop of a hat just never sat well with me. But thank god for his chat with our literal sunshine child with a heart of gold before this scene even took place:

“I’d take that person with us. Because if we escape, that person’s life might not be guaranteed anymore. Also.. I want to believe in us. The thing with Gilda made me realize that. Ray told me to suspect everyone. And if he says that I couldn’t see through mom’s lies, I don’t have a comeback. But even if there is a traitor who is an agent of the demons, there’s no one among our siblings who is truly bad...(continued below)”

If it wasn’t for Emma and her optimism and devotion to her family, I firmly believe Norman would’ve kept quiet to use Ray and eventually abandon him, if given the chance. So thank you best girl for saving my boy’s life way before the escape even happened.

This cute flashback conflicts with the anime as ep1 did have Conny carry Little Bunny to the front door (it disappears after, somewhere), but the manga doesn’t show the stuffed animal in her hands at all, so this little memory makes sense in the manga’s case.

I believe this conversation happens somewhere during the events of chapters 10 & 11, between more tag practice and the library meetup with Don & Gilda, as we do see her carry a kid around in ep4 at least.

Favorite panel/moment:

He just looks so.. chill and unbothered, despite the situation. Ray’s just real intrigued that Norman figured him out so efficiently.

[adleryoung]

Listening to Ash talk reminded me how much I disliked him. It would have done no good to say so aloud (and he already knew, anyway) so I just gritted my teeth and let him talk.

"To return to the pending issue," he continued, "it would be much easier to throw Didelphis to the mob and be done with it. The wicked witch gets burned alive, the public's bloodlust is sated, and the innocent baker is saved. You can pat yourself on the back for a Seelie job well done. As a monarch your decisions will seldom work out so cleanly, so I'd advise you to take the easy win."

"The easy win," I repeated. "That's just it. Easy. Lazy. Would it really take that much extra effort to save everybody?"

"As a former scholar of the Seelie mindset and its inherent follies, I can understand why you want to save Oonagh, the so-called 'innocent' bystander caught up in all this. Frankly though, you should have thought more carefully before sending a deranged witch to her doorstep. What puzzles me even more than that is why on earth you would want to save someone who is actively working against you, and is unhinged enough to keep doing it regardless of the consequences."

"How odd," I quipped, "to hear you, of all people, wondering why I would employ someone I don't trust."

"That's not at all what I said," Ash responded drily.

"You did say that Oonagh was a 'so-called innocent.' What do you mean by that?"

"Innocence is a loaded concept. No one is truly innocent."

"She's innocent in this context because the situation is not her fault."

"I don't have time to discuss philosophy right now," Ash sniffed. "Granted that Oonagh is contextually 'innocent,' still Didelphis most certainly is not. Why so concerned for her?"

"Because I put her in this situation," I insisted. "And … well … I believed, and I still believe that I can teach her a lesson and steer her onto a more Seelie path."

Ash was silent for several seconds. I was just about to ask if he was still there, when suddenly he burst into laughter.

"Really?" he cackled. "You think you can reform that egotistical, embittered, stubborn, viciously mean-spirited, brain-dead, old hag? Oh ho ho ho! I'd pay money to see that! Oooh hee hee, thank you, my lord, I needed a good laugh. Now then, let's see … you know what, I'm confident enough in the resources I've set up, and in Lana's effectiveness, I think we can afford to let you fail at yet another project. So sure, why not, I'm willing to save both, if for nothing more than the entertainment value. Perhaps playing with your little coven will keep you occupied so the adults can get some work done."

I ignored Ash's insults to cut to the crucial tidbit he had just dropped. "Wait, you've spoken to Lana?"

"Oh indeed," Ash smirked audibly. "Charming femme; delightfully Unseelie. Under other circumstances, I might consider courting her. I really have to admire the Sisterhood's way of conducting business."

"When did you meet her?" I demanded. "What did you talk about?"

"No time for chit-chat," Ash reminded me smugly. "We're both on a strict time table now. We can debate and exposit to your heart's content AFTER the trial is over. Now then, since you are determined to save them both … I shudder to ask, but … do you have any idea how to accomplish this? I can lean on O'Hoppity in regards to the trial, but he will need a plausible reason to explain his change of heart."

"I do in fact have a plan," I declared confidently. "Transmogrification got us into this mess and transmogrification will get us out of it. I will transmogrify someone into the exact likeness of Didelphis and have her claim that child Didelphis is an unruly relative having an out of control tantrum."

"Well then," Ash stated thoughtfully. Was he impressed? It was hard to tell. "It's a novel solution, I'll grant you that, but there are a few practical concerns. Does anyone in town know Didelphis well enough to be able to say that she does or does not have a young niece who uncannily resembles her? Also, do you actually have somebody who knows her well enough to do a convincing imitation?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," I stated triumphantly. "I have someone here who's spent a great deal of time with Didelphis. There's just one problem."

"Of course there is," Ash sighed. "Go on."

"Telling untruths would not be good for her since I am 99.9% sure she is a Changeling."

Then I heard Ash gasp in the way I thought he would when I spilled the beans about Reverend O'Hoppity.

"Run that by me again," he muttered quietly.

[outofangband]

Continuing of post Nírnaeth Aerin headcanons

reposted with edits and additions!

Note: this is a shorter collection focusing primarily on more about the first time Aerin goes to aid Morwen, the first time she’s caught, and then a bit of general ideas. Aerin's situation here is almost as much of a fixation to me as Morwen's post Nírnaeth so there might be a lot of posts like these. I tag them with cw abuse as a catch all but let me know if you need other tags and as always feel free to skip over.

Part one here

cw: mentions of captivity/forced marriage and physical abuse

I wanted to update this collection here to add more world building that I’ve been working on for post Nírnaeth Hithlum

Aerin returns to the house following her first risking a journey towards Morwen's house around Dawn. At this time the journey is a short one that could be made on foot or on horseback. On horseback is quicker but increases the risk of getting caught for another crime as she is forbidden to visit the horses (a rule made out of cruelty as much as anything else)

Morwen has told her she must not come back. That her efforts might be better spent in attempting to flee Southward. They both know Aerin will return. Morwen dislikes how little she can offer in return for the aid. Aerin wishes to tell her, truthfully, that a few hours of sanctuary, of gentleness, of familiarity and safety and of being with a loved one, are more than payment. She does not say this for she does not wish to acknowledge her own need for it and because she knows Morwen will not consider this adequate reason to accept the help.

The first time she’s beaten for bringing food to Morwen, she manages to divert and convince the man who caught her, and Brodda, that she had stolen food for herself and for one of the slaves. He doesn’t exactly believe her and only doesn’t punish her worse because he doesn’t want to publicly acknowledge that Aerin had been to help the woman they called a witch.

That’s what I wrote about in With Slander For A Blade; he knows exactly where Aerin has gone but can’t admit it. He still punishes her

(I've talked about my reasons why I think Brodda actually had generally little interest in Aerin and but that does not mean he never hurt her.)

She’s suffered physical injuries before but the ordeal of a semi public beating is still obviously a traumatic one and Aerin is left shaken with one of her arms fractured. She doesn’t risk going back for a long time. She takes on the appearance of one who has been beaten into submission though her heart still burns with anger and she remains alert for any possibility of even a temporary escape.

There’s not much she can do in the meantime, not for herself or the other captives or for Morwen. She’s never quite known how to feel about the rumors she still hears on occasion, about the fear the men have of Morwen and her supposed witchcraft. She's thought about encouraging the rumors, directly or otherwise, but decides against it. She knows as well as Morwen does that the fear the men hold towards her is a precarious one.

Aerin puts a lot of work into her persona. She takes on the defeated look of the other captives that she sees. She never knows for certain how many are genuine but more importantly, neither do their captors. She acts fearfully, almost overly apologetic when spoken to. She ensures that she is overlooked by the right people. She learns where cruelty is directed, the sort of victims they want. She subverts this in such a way to make herself uninteresting to harm without seeming to do so.

Her days continue to be marked by fear, boredom and restlessness. She's watched more closely for a few weeks after she's caught but eventually her ploy works and she's able to fade into the background of everything. She knows that she cannot risk outward defiance if she is to continue aiding others, especially Morwen.

Aerin is terrified for Morwen, that her household will be attacked and that she will be killed or taken prisoner. There is also a small part of her that knows she herself will suffer still more if Morwen is imprisoned beside her. Aerin has cleverly concealed her past friendships and connections as best she can to lessen the chance of others being used more directly against her or she against them. But this would not be so simple if something happened to Morwen.

I have lots of ideas about her interactions with the other Hadorians during this time but I'll save those for later!

(the next batch will talk about another visit as well as some slightly more cheerful ideas and I'll try to include some pre Nírnaeth ones too)

[redwineconversation]

in re harsh truths

I don't like getting involved in this sort of stuff but this is also really getting on my last nerves.

There is only one group of supporters who have a documented history of:

impersonating individuals, whether it be on a social media platform, on the hellsite known as the L-Chat, or just outright catfishing (???)

harassing players who leave the club

stalking players on social media

stalking and harassing the family members of a player, to the point of actually traveling to another country to do so

violating basic boundaries

inability to grasp human decency.

And I think we all know which group of supporters it is, and it's not Lyon.

Now I get it, Arsenal fans have never grasped the concept of critical thinking before, so really to expect them to display any of it now is on me. I should have known better than for them to even suspect that just because invasive behavior is the norm for them, it might not be for supporters of other clubs.

I don't know why that Dutch troll whose name is (_____) and who works (__ _ __________) has a complete and utter meltdown every time Ellie Carpenter commits the crime of humanity that is breathing. I don't know she continuously promotes the narrative that Danielle van de Donk must have cheated, despite written evidence by their darling Beth Mead stating otherwise.

I also, for the life of me, do not understand why (_____) cares so much about players she so openly dislikes. It requires time and effort that could so easily be spent elsewhere. It's not that hard.

It's genuinely infuriating to me that Arsenal fans seem to think that because they exhibit so much invasive behavior it is seen as the norm amongst them, that they seem to think other supporters act the same way. When called out on it, there's immediate defensive behavior, and it turns into a "well, you have no fans!" competition of handbag throwing.

Like Jesus Christ guys. Look at some of the shit you Arsenal fans deem acceptable behavior. Ask yourselves why you seem to think impersonating people is something that should be given a pass. The truth is, you know what you're doing is wrong. But you don't want to pretend that you are alone in displaying this gross behavior and so you pretend to be other fans doing the same just to manipulate the reality that, well, people see Arsenal fans exactly for what they are.

Arsenal fans have the reputation they do for a reason. Maybe they can focus on trying to change that rather than harassing my club's players or impersonating people on social media platforms.

[dykesynthezoid]

Are your politics really that “radical” if you actively still refuse to deconstruct the hegemonic colonialist idea that “might makes right” and that violence is the only truly effective strategy for liberation. Like is it really

The more I start to prioritize non-violence in my politics the more I realize how many leftists who scream and shout about opposing colonialism, about bringing low existing hierarchy, about how much they hate this country etc, have actively not deconstructed some pretty fundamental colonialist ideas. Some pretty fundamentally American ideas, at that. They continue to center themselves in world politics. They continue to see violence as inherently “justified” (whatever that may mean) as long as it’s the “good guys” who are doing it. They continue to see “defense” as the same thing as violent offense. They continue to value the social control and power they can wield over others more than they do helping people. They continue to see the world in terms of domination and destruction rather than investing in ideas of reparation and renewal.

“What, so you think people can’t fight back? That’s just siding with the oppressor!”

I’d be interested to know where I said resistance is wrong. At this point I try not to even approach the idea of violent revolution with moral judgement, frankly. More and more I seek to remove the element of my own moral perceptions from these things (sometimes I succeed and sometimes I don’t. I’m only human). Besides, what would it matter for me, as a singular person, to think somebody’s actions are “wrong”? What weight does that actually carry?

What I can say is that, in practice, violence has consequences. In practice, it has a tendency to compound upon itself. In practice, spontaneous self-defense, and even organized community defense, looks very different than a hyper-organized, hierarchical, premeditated violent offense. In practice, the most vulnerable of any population are always the ones who pay the most consequences for violent action, even if that is not the intention. In practice, people use the chaos of violence to enact their own personal goals. In practice, you cannot trust that every person you resist with would not take advantage of that chaos to bolster themselves, to continue the cycle of one party dominating another. In practice, violence may not even be as effective as you actually think it is.

I’m tired of asking what is right and wrong. I’m tired of asking what is “justified” or, god forbid, (cue the Ursula K. Le Guin quote) “deserved.” Instead I consider what actually matters: what is harmful and what is helpful. Suffering is harmful. Violent oppression is harmful. I want to be helpful.

The questions that guide my activism now are:

What is the most effective?

How can I do the least harm?

How can I do the most good?

None of this implies that I think violence is never necessary, or even that I think violence cannot be a tool of resistance. What it does imply is that I take violence very, very seriously. And that I recognize its consequences, and I do not consider its use lightly.

(If you find yourself feeling instinctively angry or incensed by anything I’ve said here, I urge you to go back and reread the post, and this time make an earnest effort to find the best-faith possible reading, and balance that with your instinctive response. Ask yourself, is this post about OP giving their personal opinions about specific global events, or is it a much more broad indictment of leftism in the global north? Ask yourself, should I assume that because this person dislikes violence, that must mean they actually, for some reason, love it when the oppressor does it, and the only reason they didn’t discuss that here is definitely because they love the oppressor so much, and not for any other reason, such as being concise or specific and not trying to write an entire novel in a tumblr post?)

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios University

When Abe opened his eyes, it felt like a bomb had detonated inside his brain. Every inch of him felt groggy and sluggish, like even the small effort of raising his arm was a torturous ordeal.

“Welcome to my home, Abraham. It’s been far too long since we’ve last spoken.”

That voice...I know that voice, but from where? No...it couldn’t be....

Abe winced as he rubbed his eyes. He was already struggling to help Roman through this dark time in their life, it was just his luck to have to deal with another troubled Bellamy.

“Malika? What the hell is this? What’s happening?”

He slurred his response slightly, still adjusting to the amount of light in the room and what it was doing to his already massive headache.When his eyes did manage to focus, an impossibly young Malika was staring at him with daggers in her eyes.

“You broke the terms of our little deal,” she said sweetly. “I knew that you’d be just like your grandfather, but Roman had to still chase after you anyway.You Helios men can’t be trusted. God forbid someone falls in love with you and then has to watch you whore around the entire settlement. I warned Roman, but as always, he let his heart guide him into dangerous waters.”

“Listen, I don’t know if hell gets news updates, but someone should have told you that I’m married to Roman now,” Abe interrupted irritably. “Roman and I are going to be together for the rest of our lives, so you can get over this entitlement to him that you seem to have. The demon sovereign is going to join us permanently, which I assume you’d support, given the terms you tried to force me to agree to as a teenager.”

Malika scoffed, her image flickering slightly in the candlelight.

“You don’t have the hold over my grandson that you think you do,” she replied angrily. “He’s already married someone else once before and he’ll do it again the next time that you screw things up. Also, recently I witnessed him deep in the throes of passion with a married woman, something I’m sure you know nothing about. I can only assume that this affair is going to continue because you aren’t being the partner that he deserves. I won’t let your incompatibility with Roman sully the Bellamy name. I need my granddaughter to carry on my legacy and I need to make sure that my Roman is happy.”

“Yeah, sure, it’s my fault that Roman’s life is a mess of trauma,” Abe scoffed angrily. “Where exactly does your secret lifelong friendship with Romana Rivales factor into this? What the hell are you worrying about your granddaughter for when you wanted her brother dead?"

As angry as he was to be confronted with Malika Bellamy again, Abe didn’t dare bring up this alleged affair she was clearly baiting him with. There was enough blame to place on her already; he didn’t need to walk into a trap that obvious. He was reasonably certain she was lying anyway. It was just his luck to be dealing with Roman’s family even after their deaths. If Salem started floating around the living room next, Abe was going to scream.

Malika glowered at her grandson in law, her dislike of Abe and the tone he was taking with her obvious. It was the same dismissive tone his grandfather had once spoken to her in. Clearly he needed a reminder of why the Bellamy name was feared.

“We’re going to play a game, Abraham,” she growled. “My cards don’t just reveal what has happened, but what may happen. You need to see what role you could play in my Roman’s life and how he might live without you. If he manages to live happily without your presence in his life, I may take actions to arrange that future.” “And if your cards find that he’s happier with me?” Abe replied, looking skeptically at the once elderly woman. “I’m not convinced that you’ll be fair in your assessment. I know that he’s happy with me, you’re the only one who seems to be not understanding that. Roman made his choice a long time ago.”

“We’ll see,” Malika snarled, placing her ghostly hands on the deck of cards that had once been hers. “You may be the father of my unborn great-granddaughter, heir to the Bellamy name, but that doesn’t guarantee you a place in her life. If you end up being detrimental to my heir’s legacy, I may just allow Romana to execute one of her many plans against you.”

It was a bluff, but the Chun boy looked convinced that she would carry out her threat. Kamalani had no plans about Abe that Malika knew about, and even if she did, Malika seemed to be the last person she would listen to. Kamalani had grown distant once Roman became a teenager and it was like puling teeth to get a simple answer from her. Still, Abe looked like he found the threat credible, which was all she needed.

“Just pull the first card,” he snapped, folding his arms irritably. “I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you make up lies about my husband. The sooner you’re banished back to hell, the better.”

“Very well.”

Malika pulled a card from the pile and placed it on the table before Abe. Despite his best efforts, Abe could feel himself be drawn to the card. An image flashed in his mind of a much older, miserable Roman. Whatever supernatural powers Malika possessed, they had only gotten sharper now that she was in the spirit realm.

“Dad?”

Abe could see and hear the scene unfold around him clearly. An older Roman sat slumped against a gravestone, his face hidden in his hands.

“I’m fine,” this Roman answered, trying to brush the tears from his face before his children could see. “It’s just hard every year around this time. I’ll be okay though; I always am.”

To Abe’s astonishment, three vaguely recognizable adults stood before Roman, trying to downplay their obvious concern. Were they really Theo and the girls grown up? Was this the man his son would grow up to be? This Theo looked just like his son, down to the horns he’d inherited from Dorhack. And the twins? He could see Adrian in their faces, but also Roman. These were definitely the children he chased after all day and tucked into bed at night; he’d know those kids anywhere.

“We came to remember Dad too,” Theo said gently, his adult voice startling Abe. “It’s been twenty years since he died. Him and Saturnia, that is. I’m sure she would have been an amazing sister.”

The twins nodded solemnly in agreement.

“It’s okay to grieve and move on, Dad,” Luciana said kindly. “Abe would have wanted you to be happy. He wouldn’t want to see you agonize about something that you had no control over. Why don’t you come out with us tonight and we can have a family dinner at that new restaurant in town? I hear the chef there was trained in Pleasantview, same as you. Maybe you can reminisce about your work there and make a connection.”

This version of Roman frowned. Despite his reluctance to indulge Malika, Abe found himself drawn into the scene before him. Roman was just as handsome here as he was in his twenties. And Saturnia? From Malika’s dedicated insistence and an inconclusive ultrasound, Abe felt confident that he was carrying a daughter, just as he’d hoped.

Saturnia is a pretty name. I’ll have to mention it to Roman.

Obviously, Abe was dead in whatever this vision Malika had concocted was, but their kids were practically begging Roman to remarry or even date someone else. If Malika thought that this vision supported her dislike for him, she had miscalculated. This sad version of Roman remained faithful to Abe’s memory, years after losing him. He had meant something to this Roman, and even his early death couldn’t change the depth of the connection between them.

“It was my fault,” Roman sighed, clearly irritated by his daughter’s suggestion. “I got him pregnant, it was my mother who caused his death, just like she did to your father. I’ve lost two husbands and an infant daughter now, I refuse to lose any one else.”

Theo and the girls shared a frustrated look between them and sighed deeply.

“Okay, just ignore the living family you have left then. What do we have to do to make you pay any attention to us? Adam proposed yesterday, in case you cared,” Theo snapped. “I was hoping to tell you at dinner tonight, but I can see that this is just going to be a repeat of dinner last year. You have to move on, Dad. You can’t keep living your life in the shadows of the past. Dad and Saturnia are gone. If you won’t change for us, think about yourself. You’re missing out on your own life.”                 

I guess this is Malika’s point. Roman can’t seem to function without me, or move on with his life if I’m gone. It’s not healthy, but it’s hardly the end of the world. Look at what happened with Omar. He had been obsessed with Kamalani and revenge and he still moved on, Maybe Roman just needs more time.

Abe watched Roman’s face fall as he processed Theo’s words. This was the version of Roman that Abe was afraid to see. This Roman had clearly worried about all the same fears as his Roman, but unfortunately for him, all of his fears ended up happening. This Roman had been destroyed by his guilt, the same guilt Abe watched him struggle with about Adrian’s death. He couldn’t deny feeling smug about the depth of Roman’s feelings for him, but Abe also couldn’t watch his son beg for his father’s attention and not feel guilty. Malika was wrong about many things, but maybe when it came to Roman’s codependency with his husband, she might be the tiniest bit right.