#in the hall is the best option in terms of being brave and making a connection

[number-1-crush]

feeling so incredibly sapphic tonight

[ladylooch]

Best Thing I’ll Ever Do - Lio x Savannah (Part 2)

A/N: Since you all asked soooo nicely! Here is the next part of Lio and Sav. I hope you all are having wonderful Sundays. I love you... remember that when you read this next part.... 💀

Word Count: 4k

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

January

Since that day in Southern California a year ago, a lot has happened for Savannah and Lio.

First and most exciting, a large 5 carat diamond weighs her left hand down. She still feels like she needs to pinch herself to make sure it isn’t a dream. Savannah Miller is going to marry Lio Meier next Summer. 

Second, she is no longer with the Devils. After the previous season ended, she evaluated her goals and felt like she wanted to do something different than what she had been doing. She wanted to be her own boss and see where her content career could take her rather than being constrained by a team and a league that wanted things done a certain way.

Third, and probably most important of all, she’s been to more doctors visits in the last year than she can count on any of her appendages.

Lio kept his vow to her to utilize the Devils resources to locate an endometriosis specialist who would give Savannah answers and a better direction for her wellbeing.

Dr. Barnes was the first one they met with and Savannah instantly knew things were going to be different this time around. Dr. Barnes had a kind, empathetic, and solutions driven focus that made Savannah feel at ease immediately. She listened to Savannah’s entire story, took down diligent notes, asked follow up questions.  Within the same appointment, Dr. Barnes created a multilayered, holistic care plan, taking into consideration that Savannah did not want to go right to surgery.

The first thing they decided on was to take out Savannah’s IUD and switch her to birth control pills. There was concern the IUD was rubbing against portions of endometriosis which was exacerbating her symptoms. Savannah did feel better for a few months, but by month three, she was back to clutching her abdomen in the fetal position for days. They pivoted the treatment plan to a different kind of pill that other patients had success with, but when Savannah ended up in the ER again early in the summer, throwing up and passing out from the pain, it became clear that surgery was going to be the only option Savannah had for long-term relief. 

The day of her surgery, Lio kissed her in reassurance, then waved goodbye to her as she was wheeled out of pre-op and down the hall.

“I’ll be right here with you when you’re done, baby.” He had called to her before the doors separated them. Savannah nodded, trying to be brave for herself and Lio. Last time, she had to do this virtually alone. Her boyfriend at the time had shown up after she went in for surgery and then dropped her off at home before heading out with his friends for another round of golf. Her recovery was completely isolating except for a neighbor who checked in on Savannah once a day at Savannah’s request.

Lio Meier would never. 

Instead, he had a recovery suite set up in their bedroom for her. A quiet oasis where Savannah could relax and heal in her time. He has been there every step of the way, even at the moments when Savannah has pushed him away. She may be used to dealing with this alone, but Lio won’t let her go through this that way anymore.

Two weeks after her surgery, her and Lio went back to Dr. Barnes to get the findings of the surgery and tissue analysis. The news were mixed results. The good news was the spots they removed were consistent with Savannah’s previous surgery, meaning there was no new or extended growth in her endometriosis. The bad news was this confirmed that surgery is only successful for a limited amount of time, meaning Savannah will likely need several more surgeries down the line if this path continues for her. Dr. Barnes has encouraged Savannah to sit with this news and consider further permanent solutions such as a hysterectomy.

“What are my other options? I’m not ready for that.” She had asked with Lio’s hand tucked tightly against hers. His thumb stroked over the tendons on the top of her hand with assurance. He was here; they would get through this together.

The other recommendation was to go back to birth control, but a Progesterone only option. Dr. Barnes was shocked when Savannah said this was never given to her, even as a first line of treatment. It’s been four months now and Savannah has been feeling better than she could have imagined with her endometriosis. However, a severe drawback is that her pain has moved from her uterus and formulated in her head as three day long migraines when she is at the end of her cycle.

Everything costs something. That’s been the biggest lesson Savannah has learned through this journey.

But this weekend, none of that matters. Because Lio has a whole trip planned to celebrate his beautiful, strong fiancé, finally having answers and support that she deserved all along. He has been wanting to do this for months, but Savannah didn’t want to leave home until she had a clear understanding of how managed her endo was after surgery. The last thing she wanted was him to put together a perfect trip that ended with her in the ER from debilitating pain again.

Savannah is confident that won’t be happening this trip. She grins, feeling grateful for the peace of mind she has going into this fun weekend.

Lio’s Porsche points towards the southern tip of New Jersey. They are 2 hours into their 2.5 hour trip down to Cape May. The vastness of the ocean hints to their left off the Garden State Parkway the closer they get to town. Lio drives, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the pop song coming through Savannah’s Spotify. His other hand is on her thigh where she traces his fingers and the veins of his forearm.

“I wonder how busy it will be.”

“Probably not bad. School is back in session after winter break.” Lio reminds her.

“I’ve never been here in the winter months.”

“My mom took us down here a few times. It was mostly before the twins though.”

“How do you even remember that?” Savannah asks, looking over at him. He shrugs.

“I remember a lot of what we did with my mom. She was great at making it feel like we could still have fun even with how often my dad was gone.” Lio starts to chuckle. “Also I definitely pushed Livy in the ocean and got yelled at by my dad on FaceTime, so it was memorable.”

“Lee!” She chuckles. “You were terrible to her.”

“I know.” Lio cringes. “I’m trying to make up for it, okay?” He says as he takes the exit to head more east into town. 

They pull up to their airbnb, which is modern, but still a cozy cottage right on the ocean. They unpack their things, then walk into town to grab lunch at an all day breakfast diner. Lio needs a heavy, protein packed lunch with how hard he has been grinding this season.

“Did you come here as a kid too?” Savannah asks Lio as he looks over the menu in the blue booth.

“Yeah, but usually when we were with the Hischier’s. Mama and auntie had a hard time getting us all to behave when we were together, so we didn’t go to many upscale places.” 

“So basically you and Lucie would act out.” Savannah fills in the gap.

“Mack would too. She was wild as a kid. It wasn’t just us.”

“But mostly.” Savannah gives him a look like ‘don’t even pretend’. 

“Yeah, it was mostly us.” Lio laughs, then thanks the waitress for both of their coffees.

Lio nudges the bowl of cold cream packets towards Savannah. He likes this shitty, slightly burnt diner coffee black. A smirk stays on his lips as he reminisces on his childhood. He knows he is lucky to have grown up the way he did with such a strong family influence surrounding him. He opens his fingers up towards Savannah, taking her left hand in his. He strokes along her massive engagement ring, satisfied with where their life is going. 

“I’m really happy, babe.” He murmurs to her, then drags his gaze up her body to her stunning blue eyes that still make his heart skip a beat when they’re looking at him. 

“Me too.”

“I can’t wait to marry you.” He smirks.

“Make an honest woman out of me?”

“I think by marrying you, I’m doing the opposite.”

“You’ve cleaned yourself up quite nice, Mr. Meier. I’m proud to be your wife.”

“Only cause I had a good girl on my side.” He strokes his fingers up her forearm, watching the goosebumps that form along her skin at his gentle touch.

“Maybe I’ll be your good girl tonight too.”

“Better be. Didn’t bring you all the way down here to not get lucky.” 

“You’ll be very lucky by the end of this weekend.” She assures him. She grabs his fingers, bringing his wrist up to her mouth. She kisses his pulse, then moves to the side so she can suck some of the meat on his arm into her mouth. 

“You don’t need to eat, right?” He asks her, eyes smoldering across the table like he wants to toss her over his shoulder and walk back. She chuckles.

“I assure you I am hungry.” Lio groans, but so does his stomach, reminding him of the fuel he needs to take care of her the way he wants.

With that in mind, they both order. Savannah gets a classic breakfast- eggs, bacon and a pancake- while Lio gets steak and eggs with a side of hash browns. As she eats her first few bites, Savannah’s mind wanders back to Lio as a child, running through this restaurant with his siblings and cousins, probably driving their mamas crazy. Savannah thinks about how wiggly and impatient Stella Wood has been since she met her. She laughs outwardly.

“What?” Lio asks around a bite.

“Just thinking about how crazy it would be if Stella and our kid was tearing up this place like y’all used to.” Lio pauses mid-chew, looking over his fiancé to check in on how he should react. “I’m okay that we aren’t going to have that.” She says to him truthfully. “I like quiet breakfast with you- here or in bed. And getting to take naps in the afternoons whenever we want to and changing plans last minute to fly somewhere for a two day getaway.” She takes another bite, then continues after she swallows. “This journey has been so hard, Lio. Really hard and a lot of it really is stemming from how bad the physical pain has been. It’s made the emotional pain that much worse.” He nods in understanding.

“It’s exhausting to be in that much pain, babe. Especially with how little the world understands about how debilitating internal conditions can be.” Lio certainly understands that after his past concussion issues.

“Yeah. I feel so at peace right now. I want to live in the joyful moments that we are having without the anger and frustration of the things we are never going to have. Living there means I won’t ever live comfortably in the present. I don’t want to miss a moment of our life because of things I can’t change.” Lio drops his fork, grabbing her hand again and giving it a squeeze.

“I love you, babe. I’m so inspired by you. The way you have been handling all this is admirable. I wanna be as resilient and reflective and accepting as you.” Lio murmurs, then kisses her hand. 

“I was none of these things before you.” Savannah tells him honestly. “You’ve changed me too, Lee.” He smiles, a slight tilt up to the right corner of his mouth. “I believed I was broken and weak. Through the last year, you’ve shown me how strong and whole I am by loving me in every moment, even when I didn’t want to love me. You didn’t advocate to those specialists because you wanted to fix me. All you wanted was to give me back the life Endo had been taking from me.” 

“You’re perfect, baby.” He reminds her as he always does. “All I care about is going through life with you by my side. Everything else is just noise.” 

Savannah grins, then releases his hand so they can both go back to eating.

“Good. Now hurry up and eat. I wanna be your dessert.” 

- - -

March 

“Brrr!” Savannah exclaims as her and Lio shimmy into the lobby of Lucie and Connor’s high-rise condo building in Greenwich Village. “It’s supposed to be spring.” She grumbles as Lio leads them to the bank of elevators. 

“Yeah, what the hell is that?” He mumbles, a shiver rolling his shoulders up tight towards his ears for a moment.

“We should go back to Florida. Sweating my ass off at Disney was better than this.” She mentions, referring to their Allstar vacation from last month with the Woods.

“Your hair was so cute down there. You should do it curly like that more.” He chuckles, throwing an arm around her waist to pull her in for a smooch. “Smelled like coconut every day too. Reminds me of the Bahamas.” Savannah moans in appreciation as Lio sucks a slice of her neck into his mouth.

“Now that was a good trip.”

“Kid free too.” He chuckles against her wet skin.

They love their niece, but having their vacation determined by her schedule is not Lio’s favorite way to unwind in the middle of the season. Savannah and Lio already decided they were going to do their own thing for next Allstar break, granted that Lio isn’t actually at the Allstar game next year. This year the festivities were in Florida, which allowed them for a few extra days in Orlando with the Wood’s. Next year is in Seattle. Not quite the same experience.

“The way Stella kept getting you to do the tea cups with her though. That was so cute, babe.”

“I still feel like I’m spinning from that. I don’t know how she was so normal about it.”

“Stella is always twirling around in her own little world. Of course she was fine!” 

The elevator opens on the floor of the Wood’s condo, so Lio and Savannah step out.

“Are Mack and David coming today?”

“No.”

“They hate us?”

“I don’t know. They’ve been shut-ins since Mack returned from Turcs.” Lio gives Savannah a look. 

“I want their life.”

“No you don’t.” Lio laughs. “They’re crazy.” 

They get to the familiar steel door. Lio knocks briefly before grabbing the handle, opening it and walking into the apartment.

“Uncle Lee Lee!” Stella screams as she launches herself head first into his legs. Lio braces himself, putting a hand where it is needed most to avoid the direct head butt to his jewels. 

“Stelly!” He shouts back, swooping her up once it is safe to do so. “How is my favorite Wood?”

“Annnnnnd no steak for Uncle Lee.” Connor jokingly notes at the door where he is wearing his heavy duty, canvas cooking apron. He adjusts the leather neck strap as the couple walks in.

“Steak, eh?”

“Big ol’ Porterhouses for us.” 

“Nice.” Lio grins, bumping knucks with him as he walks into the apartment with Stella. Savannah has already floated in, bringing the two bottles of wine in for her and Lucie to get started on. 

“Good! I brought red wine!” Savannah announces. 

“Can I have some?” Stella asks, never wanting to be excluded ever, even from adult things. Stella and Lio come to rest next to Savannah with Lio leaning a hip into the counter beside her.

“No, silly.” Savannah chuckles, swiping her index finger down the little girl’s nose. “But I did bring you a special drink too.” Savannah pulls out the pink lemonade from Trader Joe’s that Stella loves along with a glittery pink tumbler she had to grab for her from Target’s $5 section.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Can I have some right now?! Mommy please!” Lucie looks over her shoulder from where she is putting together the salad. 

“Sure, baby.” She agrees. 

“Luc, you are working so hard. You absolutely need wine right now.” Savannah exclaims.

“I’m sticking with water tonight.” Lucie chuckles. “But feel free to have a little extra in commiseration with all this hard work I’m doing over here.”

“Yeah, working real hard over here now.” Connor teases as he struts into the kitchen. He pats Lucie’s butt, then kisses her cheek until she turns to kiss his lips. They linger there together, smiling into their kiss like they’re the only ones here. “She forgot to mention the nap she was taking before you two said you were on your way.”

“I am doing important work, Cap.” Lucie swats at his hip as he walks away.

“Yeah, you were the one keeping Stella in line earlier, with drool dripping off your face.”

“Look, she mostly takes after you, so you should have to deal with her.” Lucie grabs the bowl, walking it over to the table. 

“Yeah, sure that rebel phase you had doesn’t show up in our daughter at all. Speaking of taking after me, we better get you into something more comfortable to eat. Otherwise we’re gonna spill all over this pretty dress, huh?” Connor says to Stella, picking her up. 

“No, I’ll be good!”

“You know the rules, baby.” Connor nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, making Stella squeal at the facial hair tickling her soft skin. They disappear down the hall, Stella’s giggles following the entire way.

“So how are you guys?” Lucie asks as she washes her hands in the island sink. 

“Good! We’ve been busy.”

“I know! I can’t believe we haven’t seen you since Florida.”

“It has been crazy. I have had so many brand meetings and content to film. Plus, Lio was on the road for almost two weeks.”

“Do you miss it?” Lucie asks, walking to where the wine glasses rest in the bar by the dining room table. She comes back with a glass for Savannah

“No way. I like sleeping in my own bed way too much.” Savannah says after pouring herself a bit of wine. “Do you want some?” She asks her husband already knowing his answer.

“No.”

“Lee, do you even drink anymore?” Lucie asks genuinely.

“Not really.” Lio shrugs.

“He will have whiskey when we are out to a fancy dinner, but otherwise, no. I don’t even see you drink beer with your dad anymore.” Savannah says, rubbing at Lio’s back as she talks. He puts a hand on the back of her chair, enclosing her into his body, right where he likes her.

Out of her room, Stella comes running down the hallway to the three adults. Her dad trails behind casually with his hands in his pockets. 

“Look at me! Look at me! I have something to tell you!” Stella yells at her aunt and uncle. 

“Oh, well okay then.” Savannah laughs, turning her legs towards Lio to see her. Lio turns towards the little girl too, taking in her new outfit. She has on jeans, bright purple socks and a pink t-shirt with glittery, bold letters that spell out her new title: Big Sister.

Savannah freezes. Lio fingers drift from the back of the chair to squeeze her left shoulder, even as he grins down at their niece. A silent announcement that he is here for her in this moment.

“What does your shirt say!?” He exclaims. Stella screeches excitedly, then bounces up and down.

“BIG!!!!! SISTER!!!!!!” 

“And that’s you!?” He pokes her belly, making her collapse forward, hands on her belly button as she laughs so hard she can barely breathe.

“YEAH! Mommy is having a baby!”

Unexpected buzzing rings through Savannah’s ears as she attempts to stay grounded in the moment. Her hand falls from around Lio’s waist as he swoops Stella up onto his hip again, giving her a big hug. Savannah’s eyes trail away from Stella to Connor who is sharing an adoring look with his wife. Savannah turns to look at Lucie, the mom to be again, who is holding out an ultrasound picture to place in Lio’s extended hand.

And it hits Savannah all over again, as overwhelming as the first time she felt this.

Her and Lio will never get to have this moment in the other direction.

They will never get to hold up an ultrasound picture with their baby growing in Savannah’s body. 

They will never get to cheer and hug and cry excitedly with them about their baby. It will always be someone else’s. 

Never. Hers. 

A tidal wave of grief Savannah hasn’t experienced in a long time rushes at her. A sob gets caught in her throat. Stella looks over Lio’s shoulder at her, confused.

“Auntie! Did you see!?” Instinctually, Savannah nods, licking her lips. Her eyes drift to Lio and there it is: the pity. And the worry. And the ‘are you okay?’ In his eyes that makes her want to throw up. She looks away quickly. 

“I’m…” Lucie starts then fades off, looking at Lio with concern. “I’m sorry, I know this is probably hard to hear for you. We wanted to tell you privately in consideration…”

“No! What? No, absolutely not! Please don’t apologize. I am so happy for you! We are so happy for you! That’s all I feel right now. So happy.” She finishes with a whisper, rounding the counter to give Lucie a hug. The two women collapse together. Lucie hugs Savannah hard, making it increasingly difficult for Savannah to keep all of her feelings locked away in her chest.

“You’re okay?” Lucie asks quieter, just between the two of them.

“Stop worrying about me. Congratulations! When are you due?” 

“September 3rd.”

“Long, hot summer mama.” Savannah smiles like she can relate somehow. But she can’t and won’t.

“Yeah. I didn’t learn from last time.” 

“How are you feeling?”

“I was so sick until about a week ago. Still tired though. And then as you saw, I have the best support system in my husband, so loving and wonderful, as he makes fun of me for it!” Connor laughs.

“You know I’m teasing you, baby.” 

“I grow his child; he gives me crap for sleeping…” Lucie smirks, watching as Connor narrows his eyes at her.

“You know I take care of you.” He says, pressing his palms flat on the stone of their kitchen island. He sets his gaze on her, challenging his wife to say otherwise in front of company. 

“Yes, you do. Couldn’t do this without you.” She murmurs truthfully. 

“I should have brought champagne.” Savannah says, then looks down at her glass of red wine to continue collecting herself. 

“How about when she is born you bring me some in the hospital? Sneak it in for me.” Lucie smiles assuringly at her. 

“Another girl?” Lio gapes at Connor. “You are so fuc- well you know what.” Lio corrects himself to avoid having to pay up to Stella’s Swear Jar. Connor widens his eyes and nods. He holds up two fingers then circles towards Lucie. Yeah two Lucie’s will be an exciting life for the Wood’s.

The group moves forward, discussing the various topics that come up when you find out a new baby is joining the pack. Mack, David, and Sophie don’t know yet, so Lio and Savannah agree to keep it quiet until told otherwise. Savannah tries to participate in the daydreaming about what is to come for their little family, but her heart isn’t in it.

It’s on the floor, shattered like glass, ready for another round of glue and duct tape whenever she can gather the courage to put herself back together again.

[charlie-rulerofhell]

An interview with Måneskin: “It's not about out bodies, it's about our music”

Heyo, I'm back with another translation. This time the article is from the German Rolling Stone website who met with Måneskin after their TikTok performance at the Schwuz, Berlin, and posted the interview yesterday. Again there were some interesting questions asked (and the pictures they added to the article are quite nice, though severely lacking some Ethan content, but check it out!).

Again, I hope that no one has already gone through the effort and translated it or is currently working on a translation. Also this is an official invitation, if you stumble across any articles or video interviews in German that you would like to have translated just message me and I'll get to it! (or if you just wanna chat about Måneskin, my inbox is always open :))

Have a great day everyone!

Full article under the cut.

-----------------------------

An interview with Måneskin: “It's not about out bodies, it's about our music”

Jose-Luis Amsler

July 6, 2021

Måneskin are just what this generation has been missing. Passionate, corny, and full-on honest. In an interview with Rolling Stones, the ESC winners explain to us why they would never work in a normal job and why the hype for their appearance is sometimes going too far.

Damiano, Victoria, Thomas and Ethan are entering the nearly deserted dance hall, before they wait on stage in a red-blue spotlight. They are wearing glittering fish net tops, black tape across their nipples, leather pants, heels and make up. The camera men who are filming in portrait format (9:16) suitable for TikTok are whirling up the haze of the fog machine.

Måneskin are [in] Berlin to give a TikTok concert. A TikTok livestream of this scale has not been done often – tension is in the air. The four Italians don't know at this point that due to the stream the few people present are not allowed to clap or cheer. In complete silence and with slight uncertainty the four are crossing Neukölln's club Schwuz. A few puzzled glances are exchanged. Finally,  Måneskin are striking the first chord.

Then the rich sound of Ethan's bass drum is tearing through the silence. It's almost as if someone has flicked a switch somewhere. There it is, the rock star presence that is hovering over everything they do, with an ounce of arrogance (in the best sense of the word). Singer Damiano is dancing lasciviously on his heels, and during an especially ecstatic solo guitarist Thomas is throwing himself down on the floor in a way it can only be done by a passionate 20-year-old musician who had never had to worry about the looming doom of an artificial knee joint [for 'passionate' the interview is using the term 'besessen' which means 'possessed', and although I think it's rather supposed to describe the way Thomas is 'possessed / obsessed' with the music, thus passionate for the music, you never know if they didn't mean to say that the way he dances looks 'possessed' … I mean, they might be on to something here ;)]. Around half an hour and about 120 decibel later, Damiano says their goodbyes with an almost shy-sounding “Okay, bye.” After the performance, we do our interview in the Schwuz.

Rolling Stone: It was a little bit weird, right, when you went on stage today?

Damiano: Yeah, that was really strange (laughs). They only told us after the performance that the audience was instructed to stay silent for the stream.

Vic: But at least they weren't silent because we were shit (all laughing). We are slowly getting used to playing without a live audience. I mean we are doing this now for more than a year.

RS: What do you think about these new kinds of concerts such as the TikTok livestream today?

Damiano: Well, at the moment it is the only option to perform anyway, so it's alright. But of course you cannot compare this to a proper concert.

Thomas: But it's pretty cool that so many people can experience our concert live.

Vic: Also we're gonna start touring again soon. Right now we are arranging some festival and gigs. In December we will be touring Italy and afterwards we are planning to go on tour through Europe. But we don't have anything fixed yet, there is just a lot going on at the moment.

“A lot going on”. Quite an understatement considering the recent journey Måneskin has made through the past weeks after their ESC win. Their singles “Beggin'” and “I Wanna Be Your Slave” went through the roof (also thanks to Social Media) and are currently dominating the international charts – lately they were also number one in Germany. There is barely a radio station that isn't playing the band on heavy rotation [would love to know what stations they listen to, have never heard Måneskin played in German radio tbh :( ], and everyone opening Instagram or TikTok these days is flooded by Måneskin content. Every second a new fanpage with the name of 'maneskin_obsession' or 'damianos_slut' is springing up like a (virtual) mushroom. It sounds like a cliche, but Damiano, Vic, Thomas and Ethan became international stars over night.

“Of course it's nice to get compliments. But sometimes they definitely cross a line.” – Damiano David

RS: How has your life as a band changed since your win at the ESC in Rotterdam?

Vic: I think we don't even notice a lot of what's happening. Right after the ESC we went to a studio in the countryside where we made music the whole day long. So at first we didn't realise that so many things were happening all around us – and that we had so many new fans. We're just now beginning to learn what's going on. We were at Sony yesterday, there were so many fans waiting for us. That was crazy.

RS: A large part of the attention you are getting now is about your outer appearance, your style, your attractiveness. Is that getting a little too much sometimes?

Damiano: Of course it's nice to get compliments (laughs). But sometimes they definitely cross a line. Especially when we just talk about our music or about a social or political topic that we care about. In those moments it's just completely inappropriate to reduce us to our appearance. Sure – when I'm posting a half-naked picture of myself on Instagram I know that I will get these kind of comments. And then it's totally fine, I mean in the end I'm posting the picture to show myself. But sometimes it's not the right place for it.

RS: And also you should be allowed to wear what you want without being sexualised, right?

Vic: Yes, absolutely. We are wearing these outfits because we feel good in them, not to put the focus on our bodies. And in general it shouldn't always only be about how you dress. We are musicians – so first and foremost it should be about our music. But I think it will still be a long way until we will reach that point.

“That the boys are wearing make up does not tell you what gender they are attracted to. Those things should never be equated with each other.” – Victoria De Angelis

RS: But still you are sending a message with your style against stereotypical gender roles. I guess it's also not only coincidence that we are in the Schwuz today, which is normally a party location and safe space for the LGBTQ community.

Vic: Yes, that is all part of the positive message that we try to send. We want to give our audience the feeling that they are free. Free to wear whatever they want to wear, be how they want to be and love whom they want to love. It's unbelievable that there is still so much intolerance in our times. That has always been really important to us so we try to talk about these topics. We also believe that the narrow-mindedness of society is an educational problem. When you grow up with people all around you telling you how you should be, you will never feel completely free. The more people are talking about it, the sooner things will change.

RS: Some artists who are advocating for these topics are accused of 'queerbaiting', that they are only pretending to be a certain way to gain more support from the queer community. Have you also been faced with those allegations?

Vic: Yes, a few times. But of course we never pretended to be anything. Some people accuse of us queerbaiting because we look and act the way we do. But that's flawed thinking. We don't believe that clothes are connected to a person's sexuality. That the boys are wearing make up does not tell you what gender they are attracted to. Those two things should never be equated with each other.

RS: This courage for free self expression that you are conveying is mainly lived by our (young) generation through Instagram and the like. What is your relationship to social media?

Damiano: For me it was almost scary at first. The more we grew, the more people were trying to twist all of my words. But over time you start to understand that with more fame you also get more criticism. The happier you look the more hate you will get. It's not only like that for celebrities. If you are brave enough to show the things that make you happy there will always be people that support you, but they are also those that envy you. Of course, this should never lead anyone to not express themselves openly but that's easier said than done.

Vic: We are also trying not to spend too much time on social media. In the end we just try to be honest with our fans and to avoid negativity.

[caption under the picture of Damiano: 'Is already being compared to icons such as David Bowie']

It's actually surprising how little power a win at the ESC holds in most cases. Almost 200 million people are watching this shining spectacle every year – and still, a few months afterwards it is hard to remember who those people were that got covered in confetti during the award ceremony. It's the well-known curse of a casting show that rests on the winning bands. When just next year a new sensation will come to marvel at, how much impact does a win have then? There are exceptions of course, like Lena who is until this day, 10 years after her win in Oslo, a part of the more famous music scene of German pop music. With their charisma, their unusual sound at least for our modern standards, and their contemporary message Måneskin could become such an exception, too.

It's likely also helpful that the band already had a standing in the Italian music scene prior to their ESC participation. Their first album 'Il ballo della vita' already achieved platinum in 2018, three years prior to Sanremo and the ESC. And then there is also the long way that led the four schoolmates to this point that helped them gain the necessary persistence. Because contrary to what some people might want to believe Måneskin are not a phenomenon that has just been deliberately bred to be this way by the entertainment industry for Eurovision.

“I have worked [in a 'normal' job] for a whole month in my entire life – it didn't really end well.” – Damiano David

RS: You were all raised in Rome, the capital of the catholic church. What was it like to start as a young progressive band in such a conservative environment?

Damiano: In the beginning, when we started as buskers, no one gave a damn about us anyways (all laughing). But of course … Once we got a bit bigger there were a few people who had a problem with us. For example when we went to Sanremo, there were quite many people who thought that the way we looked and acted we shouldn't be allowed to represent Italy. They didn't even want to listen to our music first.

Vic: Especially when it comes to appearance and sexuality, Italy is a little more backward than other countries. The church probably also has an influence there. They are often quite conservative of course, so many people grew up with such a [conservative] mindset.

RS: You once said that the song 'In Nome Del Padre' is an answer to exactly those people. What does the song mean to you?

Damiano: Back in the beginning [of our career] we had to deal with a lot of problems. They didn't want to let us play in clubs because we would take too much space as a band or because they didn't like our (fashion) style or because they didn't want to pay us. Italy isn't a good place for bands. Our musical style was also criticised a lot. Many people were telling us: Don't do that [rock music], you won't get popular with that in Italy, you will never achieve anything with it. Of course those comments were hurtful but they were also a good reason for us to continue with what we did. And we turned our sadness into anger. With that song we wanted to tell those people from back then: Fuck off and look at us, we did it!

RS: Did you ever consider working in a nine-to-five job and live a 'normal' life?

Damiano: Nah, not really. For one month in my life I worked [in a 'normal' job] – it didn't end well (all laughing).

Vic: We all made music since we were kids. It's a huge part of us, that we couldn't just ignore. And the most important thing is that you do something that makes you happy. At least that's what we believe. So we started from a young age to put all our time and energy into music.

Thomas: Yeah, exactly. Ever since we were in school together we always made music. That has always been our main focus and it is until today. We play and play and play because it is the only thing that …  

Ethan: … we live for.

Damiano: Music has also something very therapeutic for us. Even when we are in a bad mood or fight with each other – yeah, that happens, too – then all of that is gone the moment we enter the stage. Maybe that's the beautiful thing about music – that it allows you to forget everything else. You're just standing on stage, having fun with your friends.

From most bands you wouldn't buy such a corny love letter to music. Mostly it just sounds like an empty phrase, a well-practiced quotable line. But when there is something that defines Måneskin and that becomes more and more evident during our conversation it's their uncompromising honesty. The four of them are definitely not lacking a sense of humour but they take their music very seriously. Which should not be taken for granted in a generation that has mainly produced sarcastic cloud rappers and has made cynical twitter comedy a national sport. And maybe Måneskin are exactly what this generation was lacking all along.

Still, the four musicians, all in the age of 20 to 22, are also prone to the constant need for self-expression, that has become an intrinsic part of today's life. This does not only reflect in the outfits of the band (always 'on fleek') and their Instagram profiles, but also in their lyrics. Their latest record 'Teatra D'Ira – Vol. 1' shows a clear theme: The album is an ode to individuality, accentuated by fast and hard sounds.

Sometimes this message fitting for a Disney movie [really? guess I have been watching the wrong Disney movies my whole life …] is wrapped in a contrasting loud and forceful packaging, but never so much that it becomes inauthentic or self-caricaturing [note: I'm honestly not entirely sure what they wanted to say with this sentence since it uses a lot of rhetorical devices that could be interpreted in different ways, but I'd say this sounds the most plausible]. And in the end, the thing that makes Måneskin so interesting is their unification of the spirit of this time – between TikTok hedonism and an omnipresent political statement – with the music of past generations.

“When you are twenty, you start to think about what the future will hold.” – Damiano David

RS: Your musical style is often described as classical 70s rock, but in fact there are many different influences in your music. Sometimes you groove almost into funk, sometimes it's more rapping than singing. How did this mixture come to be?

Thomas: It's just that we all have our own individual influences and then we meet somewhere in the middle. And we always try to stay open for experiments.

Ethan: Yes, we are very experimental in our song writing process.

Vic: We also don't want to limit ourselves to what is regarded as typical rock music. If rap fits better at some point then we just add that in. It just happens naturally without us thinking too much about it.

RS: So why was it still rock music in the end?

Vic: Because it's the style that we feel most represented by. But actually we just play the music that we enjoy playing. That's really important to us so that we can show something real on stage. We don't want to pretend to be something that we aren't or mock those people that really enjoy our music. You should always be proud of what you're doing and never fake anything just to sell more records.

RS: Is there something like an Italian rock music scene?

Vic: There are quite a lot of bands – but the most of them are much older than us or they are more going in the direction Indie rock. There isn't really a young rock scene, which we think is a pity. But ever since we got more famous people are telling us that they started listening to rock music because of us or that they bought their first guitar and such. That's incredibly nice!

RS: So you're saying that you also want to show this style of music to a younger generation. And you capture this contrast quite well in the song 'Vent'anni', which is a typical rock ballad but lyrically portrays the thoughts of today's youth. Where did the motivation come from to write that song?

Damiano: With the song I wanted to show that I'm just a normal guy, a really typical 20-year-old. I experience the same things that other people in my age are experiencing, I'm just doing another job than them. Also I wanted to describe this age as a whole because I think it's a really special age. At 20 you start to think about what the future will hold. I think it's one of the most important stages of your life. Since we (the four of us) are all in the same age, I then started to mix our experiences together. In the end the song shows what it means to us to be 20. There is a lot of good things – you are quite carefree and are looking at life enthusiastically. But on the other hand you're too young to do certain things and too old to do others. Some people are treating you like a full-grown adult, but …

Vic: … not entirely.

Damiano: Exactly. It can get pretty frustrating at times. We wanted to show our audience: Hey, we're also just 20 years old, and we're going through the same things as you. We understand you.

RS: Except that you are the ones who are becoming a world-wide phenomenon right now. How do you want to maintain this honesty?

Damiano: I think that we could just reach this point because we have always been authentic – for better or for worse. Also we are just trying to have fun with what we're doing together. That's something special that we don't want to lose. In the end we're just four friends who started to live their dream. It's actually pretty simple. Of course – we go on stage, we get a lot of attention, we give interviews – but when we come back home we're just four friends.

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch | Mrs. America (Hulu)

by Don Hall

Trumpism is just Reaganism minus the niceties of at least pretending to be a decent human being.

Reagan ran against Carter as the Democrats were pursuing policies that were meat-and-gravy to the GOP: crime, inflation, high gas prices, humiliation, and evacuation in the Middle East. Add to that the cultural shifts toward more inclusion and a census that predicts a waning white male influence and the table is set for another Reagan Revolution or MAGA-inspired call toward American exceptionalism.

I lived through the rise of Reaganism; I was seduced by it for a time before I started to see through the ugliness behind pushing culture back to the 1950s. Reaganism was a solid line reaction to the the loud, messy, and societally progressive noise of the leftist activists of the 60s and it seems, upon reflection, as inevitable.

Civil Rights and anti-war apostles were pivotal yet, as the 70s slowly crept into being it was the feminist movement and the the 'women's libbers' who were most motivated and thus most feared by the Good Old Boy network. Betty Friedan, Bella Abzug, Gloria Steinem were the front-facing members of a club that represented the equal rights of women and almost pushed through the Equal Rights Amendment. An amendment to the Constitution guaranteeing equal rights for all citizens.

Opponents claimed it was redundant as the Constitution already guaranteed in vague terms that very right but those on the losing end of America's promise wanted something more concrete.

They were fierce. They were brave. They fought the good fight.

If there's one source of joy I embrace in film and television it's superhero shit. No johnny-come-lately, I loved that stuff before I had pubic hair so the fun I have watching any show featuring super-powered characters is incomparable. A close second is historical political dramas. I love 'em.

All the President's Men. Lincoln. Primary Colors. JFK, Frost/Nixon, The Trial of the Chicago Seven. The dramatization of real people doing the work of those who battle it out on a national scale to shape the country is fascinating and, when done well, feels like a living history lesson.

I dig the streaming world. I savor the nearly unlimited options. I was, until recently, a hold out on Hulu. The ads, I suppose. Yet, the platform has on offer so much that people declare as outstanding I had to finally give in and do that one-month free trial deal.

The first series on my list was Mrs. America.

Created and co-written by Davhi Waller and directed by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, Amma Asante, Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre and Janicza Bravo, the series details the political movement to pass the Equal Rights Amendment and the unexpected backlash led by conservative activist Phyllis Schlafly in the 1970s.

The nine-part series premiered on April 15, 2020 to widespread critical acclaim. At the 72nd Primetime Emmy Awards, it received ten nominations including Outstanding Limited Series and Outstanding Writing. In January 2021, the American Film Institute named Mrs. America as one of its ten best television shows of 2020.

In terms of casting, this brilliant television show managed the acting equivalent of the 1992 Olympic Dream Team: Cate Blanchett as Schlafly, Rose Byrne as Gloria Steinem, Tracey Ullman as Betty Friedan, Uzo Aduba as Shirley Chisholm, Margo Martindale as Bella Abzug. Additionally, Elizabeth Banks as Jill Ruckelshaus, a Republican feminist activist, co-founder of the National Organization for Women (NOW) and Ari Graynor as Brenda Feigen, a feminist activist and attorney, the National Legislative Vice President of NOW.

Solving the problem of having that much star wattage as well as serious talent all mashed together is the device that each episode up to the eighth is individually titled and features a main character ("Phyllis," "Bella," "Shirley," etc.). Contrary to the idea that, in order to fully portray the fight for ratification one must demonize Schlafly (truthfully, an easy target), the writers and Blanchett give her a sense of humanity and purpose in her opposition to the ERA. While she is definitely the villain of the tale, she is a wholly relatable villain and not without merit.

Blanchett gives an edge and a deep sorrow at her circumstances. Byrne is fantastic as Steinem and embodies her look as well as her peculiar brand of celebrity activism in a manner I'd yet seen. I knew about Chisholm but had forgotten that she was the first black woman to run for president and Aduba certainly deserved her Emmy for the role.

Smack dab in the middle of every scene of the STOP ERA crowd of housewives is Sarah Paulson. She is not playing anyone famous or historical. Her Alice Macray is a fictional composite of the kind of woman who would be a part of Schlafly's movement. In each episode, her presence is felt but it seemed as I watched that to have an actor as superb as Paulson in such a tangential role was a bit of a waste.

Until episode eight entitled "Houston."

Without Schlafly for the first time, the STOP ERA women are invited to the 1977 National Women's Conference in Houston to defend their cause. Alice is overwhelmed by her surroundings, goes to the hotel bar where she makes friends with a woman who appears to be a bedfellow but is actually in the feminist camp. The woman gives her a pill to relax which is really LSD.

Alice is tripping and looking for food amongst an entire complex of hippies, feminists, and the enemies of her stated cause. She sees the ERA movement in a completely new light and the anguish of her blindness to being a woman fighting against the women's cause strikes her like a bolt of lightning.

I've always enjoyed Paulson in just about everything she's ever done including her role in Sorkin's poorly received Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Here, though, in the penultimate episode, she shows the very heart of the entire program. As her Alice finds the discord in the approach of her friends and, specifically Phyllis, Paulson gifts us with an insight beyond the partisan divide so prevalent then, so destructive today.

She's extraordinary.

Up til that episode I was ready to declare Mrs. America the closest to a perfect season of television I've seen since Six Feet Under or The Wire. After the episode, I can declare that Mrs. America is one of the flawless examples of how history, television, and storytelling can meet and elevate as well as educate.

I love my superhero shows and these historical figures were no question superheroes.

[herohotline]

I Don’t Believe in Angels

Shinso Hitoshi x F!Reader

Lovely idea from @plusultrawritings!! Their post about the idea is here.

--- --- ---

Shinso was… well, if you wanted to be kind about it, you’d describe him as selective and wary. But if you were like anyone else in his little town, you’d call him ‘scary and sort of a dick’. Shinso likes the other terms better, but it is what it is. 

It’s not his fault that people don’t understand magic anymore. His father used to tell stories about how wizards were once worshipped and praised- how the young and old, rich and poor would come to magicians on their knees as they asked for a tincture or two. 

In the end, Shinso learned that those were really just stories. 

It wasn’t too bad, though. Being the creepy old warlock in town meant that everyone left him alone, and Shinso liked to be alone. Really. He liked it when he handed a little girl the toy she dropped only for her to burst into tears at the sight of him. 

Really! 

But things changed one day. Out of nowhere, royalty came to his run-down village in the middle of the woods with their tall white horses and flags. They announced the following in the town square: 

To anyone who might be so wise and brave, we invite you on a quest with the Princess to save her land from an incoming invasion. Bring all of your might and your knowledge to the center of Yuuei in a fortnight if you wish to help Her Highness in her time of need. 

Sounded like dangerous bull crap to Shinso, but apparently, the village people thought otherwise. All of a sudden they grew very interested in the magician- bringing sweets and soft fabrics to his doorstep. They were all bribes, of course. The town just wanted fame- and the only one who had even an inch of power was... Shinso. 

Shinso hated them- he hated them all, but somehow he found himself with packed bags on the town's finest horse as he headed off to Yuuei. 

He couldn’t really complain- because even though his home village was cruel and selfish, they lead him to you. You looked like the very definition of royalty, but you acted like anything but. 

You were witty, sarcastic and kind, and you saw something in Shinso that no one else had in his whole life. You saw potential- you saw a friend. 

So you hired his help and the journey began. Throughout the war, he learned more about you and how wonderful you were, along with your friends who had also come from many miles away to help you protect your kingdom. 

They were… okay. A little rowdy, in Shinso’s opinion, but you really liked them, so he tried his best to like them too. It didn’t help that his whole life the magician had been a reluctant hermit- his social skills weren’t exactly the best, but he tried. 

Midoriya was the easiest. He was a prodigy, actually, but he was similar to you in that he didn’t let the title get to his head. He was somewhat clumsy, which was strange, but his heart was strong and his skills were admittedly amazing.

Todoroki was okay. He was apparently the prince of a neighboring kingdom- which made Shinso skeptical at first, but apparently, you and Todoroki were good friends. Todoroki was silent, for the most part, and Shinso liked him that way. And then he’d open his big fat mouth, saying something either way too charming or blunt, and Shinso quickly changed his opinion. 

Then there was… Bakugo. Bakugo was the worst- he was loud, messy, but also overwhelmingly cocky and hot. And he knew he was hot, too, and it ticked Shinso off. Apparently, he was a King, but it was of a place in the world Shinso had never heard of, so he doesn’t treat Bakugo like one. They get into more fights than the magician would like to admit. 

Kirishima was the only good thing that came with Bakugo. He’s a shapeshifter- one minute he’s a human, the next he’s this gorgeous, fifty-foot tall dragon with shining scales and humongous wings that send powerful gusts of wind toward hoards of enemies. And he’s nothing like Bakugo, even though they come from the same kingdom- he’s very kind and considerate, and he’s honestly saved Shinso’s ass more times than he can count. 

And then there’s him. Shinso Hitoshi, hermit magician with a bad attitude and low self-esteem. As the war continues and he fights alongside you, he won’t lie- he gets a little concerned. 

Because Shinso likes you. And it’s already too much knowing that you’re royalty- but you also have much better options than Shinso for a partner and it kind of sucks. Why would you want someone like him when you were constantly surrounded by the rest of your group? Some of them literally flex in front of you- which he can’t stand- but it doesn’t help him look any better. 

By the time the war is won, Shinso is honestly glad. It’s time to go home- back to his little, pathetic hole in the ground where he can spend the rest of his days ignoring the villagers and creating potions that have random effects. Yes, he’ll miss you- he’ll honestly miss all of his teammates, even if they were hard to handle. But this is how it is. Shinso isn’t meant for friends like this. 

There’s a celebratory dinner held in your castle tonight. Thousands have crowded the halls and even the garden areas- Shinso already knows that he’ll have his meal before slinking off into the night. It’s not hard, he’s had a lot of practice doing it. 

As he sits on a thankfully empty balcony, the cold air nipping his cheeks and hands, there’s a voice that calls out from behind him. 

“Hey, Shinso!” When the magician turns around, he sees you. You look wonderful tonight- you always did, even when you were in your ragged clothes and armor, you looked beautiful in Shinso’s eyes. But your body was meant for fine silk and lace- it brought out every lovely feature on you. 

“Your Highness,” Shinso smiles, tipping his glass as a sign of mock respect. You always hated it when he used your titles- and it still proves true as you squint at him with pursed lips and pout. 

“What are you doing here, by yourself?” You quickly move on from his teasing as you stand next to him on the balcony. The smile you wear warms his heart but he quickly looks down- seeing people dance on the pavement below you both and laugh merrily. 

“You know I’m not one for big scenes.” 

“Yes, I do. I’m glad you’re still here.” 

“Are you?” 

“Of course!” Shinso finally looks back at you. He’s only moderately surprised of your affection- you’d never been subtle about who you liked and didn't like. 

Maybe that’s why he got his hopes up. He was aware that you liked him, that you thought of him as a close confidant and friend, and he got that mixed up for other feelings you might have as well. But- that was all Shinso’s imagination, surely. 

“What will you do now?” You ask. His hands run across the rim of the crystal glass he holds as he pretends to think of an answer. 

“I will probably go home. My people will be overjoyed, and they will annoy me. Life will go on, things like that.” 

“Life will go on, huh?” You look thoroughly unimpressed. “Is that really what you want?” 

Shinso snorts. “I don’t have much else. It’s not like angels will suddenly bless me with a better life- this is all I have left to go back to.” 

“I don’t believe in angels,” you frown and lean against the round marble of the balcony. “And I don’t believe that, either. You have many other options- you could stay here.” Shinso watches as you nervously swallow, your handles jumbling together as you sigh. “...You should stay here.” 

Suddenly the air feels much warmer than Shinso knows it actually is. He had felt the biting chill of night on his face just moments earlier, but now his body is an uncomfortable, fuzzy warm, and it makes him shiver. “...You really think so?” 

Your face lights up- clearly, you had expected him to outright reject you. “Yes, yes I really do. I’d miss you if you left, you know.”

“Well, I’m sure you have plenty of others to keep you company.” 

“Of course I do. But they’re all court officials and taxmen. They’re boring- and they’re not you.” 

Oh. 

“Well…” Shinso bites his lip and he looks back down at the happy townspeople below. Maybe he would be able to join them one day- maybe with you. “I’ll think about it,” he whispers, once again pretending.

He’s already made up his mind. If you want him here… well, he’s already fought a war with you. So Shinso will gladly stay by your side if it meant you’d stay happy. 

[silverlysilence]

Hidden at Hogwarts

So @fabllama02 recently reblogged a post about how the RotBTD Hogwarts AUs got their Houses all wrong (though it does mention how Hiccup was sorted correctly in Ravenclaw and I was like, WTF?!  Most of the art I see is with Hiccup as Hufflepuff, which is believable, but Ravenclaw is obviously the right choice there, but I’m digressing).

Anyways, it points out how Jack Frost should be in Hufflepuff and that got me thinking...

Jackson Overland was by no means the best student to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  He probably would have been sorted into Ravenclaw House if that were the case but neither had he received a Troll or Dreadful on his any of his O.W.L.s.  The worst he got was a Poor in History of Magic but he blamed having a ghost for a professor for that one.  The rest of his O.W.L. were Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations with an Outstanding in Transfiguration that surprised even himself.

Still, despite it being only a few weeks into his sixth year, Jackson was already counting down the days until the end of the term.  Most students would balk at wanting to leave Hogwarts—well, at least when it wasn’t exam time—because it was the best school in all of Europe. However, the majority of the school had something he didn’t. 

Friends.

Oh, don’t get him wrong, Jackson did have friends.  A lot of them if he was being honest but none of them went to Hogwarts.  They either attended regular school or went to one of the other two prestigious European schools of magic.  He was fine with that, in the beginning, since he received acceptance letters from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons as well and could have followed his friends if he desired to.

But Jackson Overland was stubborn and he wanted to attend the alma mater he read about from his mother’s schoolgirl diary. The young ten-year-old him believed he would make new lifelong friends at Hogwarts and then he’d wouldn’t be sad his other friends weren’t there with him.  The train ride had been a great start, he’d bounced around from compartment to compartment, talking with anyone willing and learning a fair share of Hogwarts outside of what he’d learned from books and secondhand accounts.

Then his Sorting took place.

Ravenclaw was the first to be discarded for the simple reason that he didn’t seek knowledge for the joy of knowing as many of the House so often did and he wasn’t one to believe intelligence was everything.  Knowing didn’t matter when one didn’t have the courage or drive to do something with it.  He was sad, though. Sad that Ravenclaw was immediately taken off the table when air was their element, that stung since he did so love being up in the air, surrounded by the winds.

He wasn’t surprised that Gryffindor was the next House to be rejected.  Jackson could be brave and daring when he needed too, but only when it involved others. Not only that, but fire wasn’t his thing and with it being Gryfindor’s corresponding element, he could live without being a member of the House.

That left two options that the Hat painstakingly struggled with: Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

Hufflepuffs were hard-working, dedicate, patience, and loyalty.  All of which could describe Jackson to the letter, when he felt like it.  He could be dedicated and hard-working if that meant more time for fun.  He had patience—how else could he survive year from year at Hogwarts without being patient?—and was fiercely loyal.  Even better, earth was the element for Hufflepuff.

Before he could get too excited over that fact, the Hat began considering the last option.  

Slytherin House.

Jackson actually knew more about the House than any of the others.  His mother’s diary described many of late nights sitting under one of the silver lamps hanging from the ceiling in the Slytherin’s cold common room. Cold because the common room lies beneath the element of their House, water from the Black Lake, but the warmth of her words spoke of fondness for her House. He might not have the same ambition to become the world’s youngest Potion Mistress as his mother, but his determination and need to toe the line in regards to the rules—he was testing their elasticity—was something they both had in common. Add in his cunningness and resourcefulness nature when pulling off a prank that even impressed the sole portrait—hidden in an antechamber of one of the countless secret passageways Jackson passed his time searching—of a younger Salazar Slytherin and he could very well fit in with people of similiar values.

In the end, the Hat had allowed him to choose and he’d chosen loyalty.  Loyalty to a mother he had vague memories of and a diary full of stories he often dreamed about.

Jackson Overland was draped in the silver and greens of the Slytherin House that night sealing his fate.

The next morning, as he giddily bounced through the halls, cheerfully greeting anyone he passed, he noticed the change.  Where the same students had been happy to help and answer his exuberant questions on the train, they took one look at the colors of his tie and turned up their noses, ignoring him. It soon became apparent by choosing Slytherin, he had effectively alienated the other three-fourths of Hogwarts.  It was disheartening and had him dragging his feet as he tried again and again with other members of the various Houses only to be met with the same result.

At least he had his own House.  The House his mother loved so dearly.  There was just one problem.  A small difference between his mother and him.

Phoebe Black was as Pure-blood as they came and from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black before she’d been struck off the tapestry.

Jackson Overland was a Half-blood.

Nothing more than a Mudblood in the eyes of his Housemates.  

He quickly learned none of them would approach him outside the confines of the dormitories in fear of another student of a different House or teacher seeing them and tarnishing the reputation of Slytherin, inside was another matter.  His homework would always disappear, ink bottles shattered and quills snapped. None of his school robes were destroyed as that would reflect badly on the House and possibly lose them points, his muggle clothes, on the other hand, were mere rags.  Worse was their constant taunts and name-calling.

It was no wonder Jackson had taken to hiding away in Hogwarts as much as possible.  When he wasn’t in class or sleeping behind heavily warded curtains, he was invisible.  Practically a ghost.  For Merlin’s sake, Profession Binns routinely forgot he was a student and would give him Ghost Letters as reading material.  

Thankfully, The Grey Lady caught him attempting to decipher the ghostly writing to no avail one day and kindly read the translucent notes out loud for him to copy down on a sheet of parchment.  He thanked her by placing a single lily flower in the small niche window seat she so often haunted.  Since then, it had become a tradition, when Jackson received Ghost Letters, the Grey Lady would read them aloud for him, and a lily would be put in place the next day.

A process he was repeating once more, gently tucking the Moonbeam Lily that in no way shape or form came from the Forbidden Forest next to the blue and silver pillow. Making sure flower was visible and would be easily spotted, he quickly retreated to one of the hidden passages Salazar informed him of and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long for the Grey Lady to float down the hallway, passing his hiding spot, where she came to a halt next to the window.  

Amber eyes gleamed in happiness when he saw lips forever in a grim expression tilt upwards. Jackson didn’t know if she knew he always stuck around long enough—sometimes hours—just to see her reaction.  To him, it was the best part, because if it made the usual solemn ghost happy for a small moment and that made him happy.

He was just about to take a step back and head down the path at his back when a polite nasally voice drifted down the hall, rooting the brunet to the spot. He couldn’t see the person but the distinguishable clinking of metal against stone every other step was a dead giveaway.  Amber eyes immediately caught sight as tall auburn-haired wearing the same blue and bronze ties as the bulky blond at his side as they made their way pasted his hiding place, animatedly discussing the Triwizard Tournament announcement.  Undoubtedly on their way to their common room to get quills and ink to submit their names into the Goblet of Fire.

It was only after they were long gone, voices but a distant memory that Jackson let out his breath.

“Why do you not talk to him?”

Jackson didn’t jump, but it was a near thing.  Instead, he leaned up against the wall and allowed himself to slide down, sitting in the darkness with only the silvery-grey light cast from the Grey Lady for light.  Drawing his knees to himself, he rested his arms on top and buried his head as if that would further hide him from the world.

“I’d rather not,” the brunet shrugged languidly.

“I do not understand. You often stare at him, and speak fondly of his deeds, but you never approach him,” the Grey Lady glided over towards the teenager.  “Why is that?”

“Because Hiccup bloody Haddock doesn’t know I existed despite having the biggest crush on him?” Jackson mumbled into his arms.

“Yet I have heard you fondly speak of the first time you saw him on multiple occasions.”

“Again, he didn’t know I was there,” Jackson hummed, the memory of his fourth year unbiddenly rise to the surface.

He had just fled Charms class, slipping into the nearest hidden passageway leading to the kitchens for some lunch away from the Great Hall when he heard the deep nasally voice doing a poor imitation of a Scottish accent.  Normally, he would have kept on walking, the prospect of learning a few new recipes from the eager House Elves more of a lure, but the laughter of children had his curiosity peeked.  

Following the laughter led him to a brick wall, but a tap from his wand on an indented stone had the brick sliding back, giving him a glimpse inside the usually unused classroom currently filled with a group first and second years—ties of all colors sans the stark greens and silver of his own—sitting in a circle as a teenager—lacking the telltale tie and all important crest emblazoned robes—read from a book in one hand while waving his wand about in the other hand as he paced inside the circle.

The floating veils above the auburn hair swirled before one floated down, passing by another heading upwards to rejoin the group.  The teenager began reading again as the veil floated around the circle for all the children to get a good look at and when he was finished describing the properties, he asked the group for the name of the plant.  One of the Hufflepuff offered up a name but the teen’s voice took on the horrible Scottish accent once more as he listed how her answer was wrong in a humorous, fun way as to not embarrass her.  

It was in that moment, watching the unknown teen spend his lunch hour teaching the younger students about the various potion ingredients and their properties their Potions Master should have taught them—the bastard hadn’t, Jackson knew that from his experience dealing with the man in his capacity as both a professor and Head of House Slytherin—in preparation for the upcoming exams that his interest in the teen grew.

From then on, Jackson kept an eye out for the auburn-haired teen and observed.  The next time amber eyes caught a glimpse of him it was with him fumbling with his blue and bronze tie as he hurried into the fifth year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class a few seconds before the bell rang.  Jackson was a bit surprised that the unknown teen was a year ahead of him, instead of behind as he initially thought, but he wasn’t surprised to find out he was a Ravenclaw.  A week later, the Slytherin learn his name from his hefty blonde Housemate shouting it from across the courtyard as he pulled the notorious Thorston twins from House Hufflepuff after.

Amber eyes had dimmed upon seeing the Ravenclaw walking towards the trio of blondes with a Gryffindor on either side of him.  The small fledgling of hope worming its way into his heart quickly shattered.  There was no way he could become friends with the kind-hearted auburn-haired teen.  Not with two Gryffindors as friends—best of friends from the looks of how they hung off of each other and a little more on the blonde’s part if he had to guess—because while members of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff could be friendly and open with their childhood Slytherins friends and family, Gryffindor and Slytherins did not mix.

At all.

The two Houses always thought the worst of each other, blaming them for everything and since Jackson was lumped together with the other Slytherins, he received more than his fair share of accusations by the House. Another reason he tried so hard to be invisible inside the wall of Hogwarts and stay invisible he would continue to do.  Jackson let the hope die and kept his distance. He could not, keep himself from watching over Hiccup though, and with each new thing he learned about the loyal, intelligent, brave Ravenclaw, the larger his crush grew.

“I could speak to him for you; if you so wish?” the Grey Lady offered.

“Milady, I appreciate you’re offer, but Hiccup Haddock is better off not knowing Jackson Overland.”

[hms-chill]

RWRB Study Guide: Chapter 4

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

The Willard (75): A luxury hotel just down the street from the White House, where rooms can cost up to $8,000 per night. It hosts the turkeys to be pardoned by the president.

Cornbread and Stuffing (75): Traditional Thanksgiving dishes. Pardoning turkeys are commonly named after foods associated with Thanksgiving, recently including Bread, Butter, Cheese, and Apple.

Pennsylvania Avenue (75): The street that the White House and Willard are on.

Until I pardon them (75): The pardoning of the turkeys is an actual American tradition. Americans began sending turkeys to the president around the same time we started celebrating Thanksgiving, and the tradition of pardoning them began with Clinton in 1999. Only one turkey is officially pardoned, but there is always a backup turkey, and you can read their names here. 

En suite (76): A bathroom directly connected to a bedroom.

CNN (76): Cable News Network, a liberal news station.

Republican primary debate (76): A debate between candidates for the Republican (conservative) party, held before the party decides who they will nominate for the presidential race.

Summer home in Majorca (79): Majorca is an island in the Mediterranean, just off the coast of Spain.

Jurassic Park* (79): A movie in which dinosaurs escape from their cages and the main characters have to escape them.

Autoerotic asphyxiation (80): “erotic asphyxiation” is essentially sexual choking; if it’s “autoerotic” it would be Alex doing it to himself.

Silk pillow over my face (80): This may be a reference to the Shakespeare play Othello where (spoilers, though it’s been out for like 500 years) the title character smothers his wife with a pillow after rumors that she’s cheating on him.

Jaffa cakes (80): A British snack with a sponge cake base, a layer of orange jam, and topped with chocolate.

Jabba (81): Jabba the Hutt, a Star Wars character.

Great British Bake Off (81): A famously wholesome baking show that is technically a competition between home bakers from around the UK, though it is far from competitive.

Scandinavian skin care (81): Many luxury skincare brands have come from Scandinavian countries in the past few years.

Chopped (82): An incredibly competitive American cooking show.

The Manson tapes (82): A series of tapes revealing the dealings of the Manson Cult, which was responsible for nine murders in 1969.

David Bowie (82): A famously bisexual British actor and musician known for his bold presentation and stagecraft. He was admitted to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1996. (listen here and here)

Seinfeld (82): An American sitcom from the 1990s. Wayne Knight, who played Dennis Nedry and had a very bad time in Jurassic Park, was also in Seinfeld.

Jeff Goldblum (82): An American actor (and force of chaos) known for his role as Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park, a scientist who sees from the very beginning that maybe breeding massive predators is a bad idea.

The Post (84): The Washington Post

Oval Office (84): The president’s office in the White House

Lincoln Bedroom (85): A guest bedroom that is part of the Lincoln Suite in the White House, named after President Lincoln, who used to room as an office.

Chocolate shop on the first floor (85): According to the White House Museum online, there is a chocolate shop on the bottom floor of the White House that prepares the chocolates served in the White house.

The Atlantic (85): An American editorial magazine that covers news, politics, education, science, and more. It targets serious readers and “thought leaders”. (More)

Truman Balcony (85): A balcony overlooking the White House’s South Lawn (in the “back” of the White House).

Mijo (85): For those who haven’t read my fic “Speaking My Language” here, “mijo” is Spanish term of endearment that translates directly to “my son” (Mi hijo)

Washington monument (86): A tall obelisk on the National Mall in Washington, DC, dedicated to George Washington.

Eisenhower Building (86): The Eisenhower Executive Offices Building is a building that houses the executive Office of the President, including the Vice President’s office.

Los Bastardos (86): Spanish for “The bastards”.

Caldillo (86): a spicy Mexican beef stew.

Masa (86): A corn/maize dough used for making corn tortillas, tamales, and other Mexican/Latin American dishes.

Valedictorian (87): A student who ranks the highest in their graduating class in high school.

New Orleans (87): A city in Louisiana known for its vibrant blend of French and Creole culture, its jazz scene, and its Mardi Gras celebration. It is also Casey McQuinston’s hometown.

AP classes (90): Advanced placement classes are high school classes taught at a college level; at the end of the year, students take a test to determine whether or not they will get college credit for it.

Hanukkah (90): A Jewish celebration honoring the second rededicating of the temple in Jerusalem. It is not traditionally a major Jewish holiday, but it has become one of the best-known due to the fact that it occurs near Christmas every year. 

“Good King Wenceslas” (91): A traditional Christmas song about a king who braves the cold to give alms to a poor peasant on Christmas.

Jim-jams (91): Pajamas.

Tiger sharks over a baby seal (91): According to my roommate, who loves sharks, tiger sharks are one of the most vicious types of sharks. They’re bottom feeders, so they wouldn’t necessarily get seals too often, but if they got one, they would be all over it.

Bougie (95): Fancy or upper class (from the French “bourgeoisie”).

Real Housewife (95): The Real Housewives of [City] are a string of semi-popular American reality TV shows.

East Room (95): An event and reception room in the White House.

Tramp stamp (96): A tattoo on the lower back, associated with less savory activities and a general air of trashiness.

Zac Posen (97): A gay, Jewish fashion designer from New York, known for his glamorous evening gowns and cocktail dresses.

Middle-shelf whiskey (97): A “middle shelf” alcohol is one step up from the cheapest option; a whiskey is a dark alcohol associated with Texas/the West.

“American Girl” (98): A 1976 rock song that has become a rock classic. (Listen here)

Center for American Progress (98): A liberal public policy research and advocacy organization.

Pez (candy) (99): A type of small, sweet pieces of candy that come from fancy, collectable Pez dispensers.

Sky writers (99): Sky writers use the trails of their airplanes to write things in the sky. It costs at least $3,500 for a single message.

“Get Low” (101): Despite its incredibly raunchy lyrics, this song was a common one at school dances in the early 2010s. I was in middle school in roughly 2010-2012, and I have vivid memories of people being into this song.

The Kid ‘n Play (102): A dance move pioneered by the hip-hop duo of the same name, loosely based on the Charleston. (see it here)

Vato (102): Mexican slang for “friend”, “person”, or “dude”. 

Moët & Chandon (102): A luxury French champagne.

New Year’s Kiss (103): At least in the US, it’s traditionally considered good luck to kiss someone at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s.

Peach schnapps (103): Schnapps is a sweet, inexpensive, and very alcoholic drink.

Rookie NFL running back (103): A running back is a football position responsible for running with the ball. Most are either short and quick to avoid tackles or big and stocky to power through them.

Yacht kid (104): Someone rich.

Orion**(105): A winter northern hemisphere constellation of a hunter/warrior. According to Greek mythology, Orion was the only man (or person) the goddess Artemis ever loved, but she refused to give up her life with her huntresses for him. He began burning/destroying her forest in retribution, and she is forced to kill him.

America’s golden boy (105): A “golden boy” is a boy who is favored or put upon a pedestal. 

Tequila (106): A type of alcohol that originates from central Mexico.

Bloke (106): British slang for a “regular dude” or everyday man.

Teen Vogue (106): An American magazine aimed at teenagers that used to focus on fashion and celebrity news, but has more recently shifted to dealing with serious social issues.

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*This movie is especially known for its special effects, which are incredible because they actually built animatronic dinosaurs and also got real scientists on the project to help them figure out how dinosaurs would move/act. After it came out, earth and environmental science departments around the world got a ton of funding to see if they could find any dinosaur DNA in fossils, as that’s a central part of the movie’s plot.

**According to a nerd astronomy class I took in like 4th grade, every culture who could see Orion saw a warrior, which is just... really cool to me. That so many people for so long saw the same thing in a set of stars.

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If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it! A massive thanks to @lyanna-wilson for the ko-fis the other day; they meant a ton!

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Chapter 1 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 5 

[creatvresoftheniight]

morrigan + jules. ( @wildhcartcd​. )

Jules visiting Morrigan at work should not have been as much of a surprise as it was for the witch and really, she should have been expecting this return to form sooner rather than later. Though she couldn’t pin exactly when, at some point in their friendship the pair had settled into a comfortable routine of sharing what time they could spare around their lunch breaks together during the week, spending nearly all of it griping about their respective issues with their jobs and shooting silly looks at Gale when he could stand to participate or listen in on their conversations. Morrigan would always say that she was entirely convinced that Julie had it much worse than she ever would (how could one compare a theatre teacher’s woes to that of a surgical intern’s?) and she’d state as much too before barreling into her fifty third recount of her stint in the hospital when she’d been a child and how terribly awful she’d acted toward the staff; she’d always end the story by declaring that she’d promised never to act quite so insufferably again, and by that very same evening she’d have broken that vow.

Jules never seemed to mind, however, and perhaps that was why Morrigan looked forward to their discussions the way that she did.

Well. Not quite. To say that she ‘looked forward’ to any time she could spend with Jules Wright was a gross understatement at best. One she’d come to terms with a long while ago and one she’d become (for the most part) particularly good at playing down. No one else needed to know about the way Morrigan’s chest liked to collapse in on itself when she caught the barest glimpse of the youngest Wright, nor the way her skin seared to life at an accidental brush of the hand. No one else needed to know, though the witch so very badly worried that they would each time she smiled too wide in Julie’s presence or laughed too hard at one of her jokes or stared too long at the dimples carved into her cheeks. With that in mind there was no reason today would be any different.

Though she’d never say so Morrigan Flores still found herself shocked to see the she-wolf so readily out and about in public, specifically braving the Thunderdome that was the high school she worked at, given the ordeal she’d been through in the last seven months or so. Jules, Gale, Marlo and the uncle to the Wrights, whose name repeatedly slipped her mind, had been through it and had been gone long enough for the witch to start fearing the worst though she’d made a stubborn point of not allowing anyone else to see just how distressed the kidnappings had made her. The Averys and the Wrights had suffered more than she ever could have, no matter how close she claimed to be to two of the victims in particular. As a result, she’d told exactly no one about the flashes of dream and reality alike that had filtered into her mind whilst she had slept, quietly cursing her still juvenile psychic abilities each morning afterward. She’d done just the same when she’d accidentally made contact, brief though it had been, with Gale, both unable to provide any useful information and unsure if it had even been real or simply her own subconscious showing her what she had most wanted to see.

Her fruitless attempts to make the connection again had been convincing enough for the witch to accept that it had been the latter.

She supposed none of that really mattered now, with Jules standing in front of her, alive, breathing, and looking as unfairly perfect as all the Wright siblings tended to. “Julie,” she managed to force out after realising that she’d possibly let her stare linger a moment too long, voice soft and playful in contrast to the rough yells that travelled through the halls into the empty classroom they were standing in-- and to the rather harsh giggles that came from the doorway. The witch immediately sighed at the sound and fixed her sternest gaze on the younger faces that poked in through the doorway. While she certainly wasn’t the most intimidating creature, Morrigan had managed to pick up a few tricks here and there, and her stare had become intense enough to cause the three girls to shrink back slightly. “Emily, Nicole, and Harper. Why am I not surprised?”

Another giggle bounced off of the walls, before Nicole spoke, and the other two, emboldened, chimed in as well:

“We’re going to class, Miss Flores, promise!”

“Yeah! We just wanted to say hi, is all.”

“Right, we’re definitely going. We’ll say hi to Mr. Beringer and Mr. Wri--” At that point, Harper made sure to roughly elbow Emily in the stomach, effectively silencing her while Morrigan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well, I don’t imagine Mr. Beringer much likes his students being late, and I don’t imagine any of you can afford to take your time getting there without a hall pass. All three of you, go. Quickly, or you’ll end up with a week’s detention.”

Enthusiastic nods were traded, though Nicole couldn’t seem to hold back one last remark, glancing over at Jules and grinning slyly: “Have a good afternoon, Miss Flores.” And then they were gone, their laughter echoing.

Morrigan was fairly sure she’d never blushed as hard as she did following that comment.

Clearing her throat and anxiously reaching a hand up to card through her hair, the witch slipped out of her teacher persona, trying very hard to seem as unperturbed by her students taking every available opportunity they had to mess with her in regards to Jules as she assumed the Wright wolf would be. How they’d managed to figure it out, she’d never know. It wasn’t as if she’d been public about her affections for the other woman. Had she? No, surely not. No one else seemed to know and if they did, they hadn’t said anything. “Sorry. They’re still less than pleased to be back at school. I’m sure you remember what it was like for us.” Morrigan did her best to appear unaffected and cool as she sauntered around to lean on her elbows against the desk in the front of the classroom, lightly tapping the toe of her shoe against the carpeted floor as she drew in another breath to speak.

“Can’t say I was expecting a visit today. Missed me something fierce, did you?” It certainly wasn’t helping, the way she encouraged herself by engaging in strange, quasi-flirting, but it seemed like the only safe option. Too serious and she’d lose her mind, the dam would break and she would let all of her feelings spill out. Too casual and she’d lose it just the same, going mad in forgoing the closeness with Jules she so treasured. The in-between was hardly much better, mind, but it worked for the time being.

Deep down Morrigan knew there’d always be a small part of her that longed for the day when the other’d freely say that yes, she had missed her, and mean in the way the witch wished she would. It was the sort of silly fantasy she found herself entertaining when the nights got quiet and her phone would light up with a text from the she-wolf; those were the moments when she felt so painfully certain that what she wanted was more real than it seemed, that she wasn’t imagining things and Jules had been staring back, she had meant to brush her fingers over the small of her back, and her racing thoughts hadn’t been unfounded. It all seemed to make such perfect sense in her head.

Except, of course, for the glaring fact that Gale would sooner eat glass than allow his best friend to corrupt his little sister.

And Gods knew it hurt to admit but frankly, Morrigan agreed with him.

[kyouxa]

Diabolik lovers Chaos Lineage: Carla Tsukinami (Story 09)

In terms of the gameplay: The black choices lead up to a bad ending, the white choices lead up to a good ending. Please no reposting onto other sites, ask me before translating this into another language too! I’m an amateur translator, but I hope you do enjoy it anyway!♡

Place: Violet mansion — entrance hall

Subaru: Shit, why am I being the one who needs to clean up.

Yui: I'm sorry, that was the only thing that came to my mind...

Carla: I can‘t help it. It would make them suspicious if the three of us were in the same room.

Don‘t be like that and share actions. To that end, it’s the best to make you clean as a punishment.

Subaru: So, why aren’t you helping cleaning it!? Why are you just standing there?

Carla: I’m watching you so you don’t drop your work. Such a construction would have been...

Subaru: Thats why, it would have been nice to say to everyone that it’s cleaning duty.

Carla: Then why aren’t you thinking about working harder to get done soon?

Subaru: Damn... ! You seriously make me frustrated!

Yui: W-Well, uhm... For everyone else, I also want them to get their memories back.

Why aren’t we trying to talk with them, in a meeting maybe?

Subaru: ... Well, I don‘t think that they would believe us, if we suddenly told them about their lost memories.

Yui: Probably, it might be better to keep it as a secret for now.

(I set up this cleaning, so we could talk about our future plans without making anyone suspicious...)

(Honestly, I don't hate cleaning once in awhile)

Subaru: So? When will we go to that church which you said is suspicious?

Carla: That’s what I’m thinking about. If we move badly, we‘ll be attacked by members from other houses.

Once, I've been attacked by the Orange members. There is a high possibility that they’ll move again.

Yui: Certainly, Laito-kun’s out on his daily reconnaissance, right?

Carla: Yes. We need to wait for a time when we can say surely that there is no movement.

Subaru: That means we basically have no plan...

Carla: I just carry out things very carefully. Obviously, I also want to escape from this weird world as soon as possible.

Besides, in the Orange mansion... there’s someone I still need.

Yui: Ngh...

(Shin-kun ... we have to recover his memories too)

(Subaru-kun is completly different from Shin-kun who also is a founder, but how can we make him remember?)

Carla: Anyway, let's wait for the reconnaissance report today.

Subaru: Ah, idiot! Don't start walking around! There’s a bucket with water somewh—!

Carla: Hm?

Yui: Hey what!?

Place: Violet mansion — bathroom

Carla: ... I was careless. It‘s my fault that bucket fell down, you‘re completely soaked wet now.

Yui: No, this is all right. I’ll just take a shower, I will be completely refreshed after that.

(I thought that before, but Carla-san is in general, not really good at cleaning...)

(I think I can get used to it if I give it time, but the fact that he’s not good at cleaning and maybe other things... is really cute)

Carla: You should also clean the places you can’t reach. I’ll stay here to help you with it.

Yui: Eh!? It's alright. It‘s just a bath, I can clean my own body by myself!

Carla: There’s no need to be ashamed. Besides, I also got some water on my own clothes.

If you already take a bath, I‘m sure it wouldn‘t be a problem if I joined you in there?

Yui: Uhm, because there are other people in this house we can’t do this! We need to avoid actions which stand out!

(There was nobody interrupting us in the demon world, but now there are people around.... I'm somehow embarrassed)

Carla: You‘re face makes it clear for me... I‘ll leave you alone, but only this time.

However, when you finished your bath, come straight to my room. I‘ll wait there.

Yui: Huh? Y-Yes...

(I wonder what he wants?)

Place: Violet mansion — Carla's bedroom

Yui: No way, I didn't expect something like this to happen ....

(Carla-san, he really is brushing and drying my hair...)

Carla: It was me who made you wet in the first place. Let me do this for you now, to make you feel good.

Yui: But, Carla-san’s already nice to me, and you didn’t even took a shower for yourself yet, right?

Carla: That’s not a matter of concern.

Yui: Also, to say that...

(But, I do feel good. Why is it so good to have your head being touched by the one you like?)

Carla: Do you think, your body is warm enough already?

Yui: Yes, thank you.

Carla: It looks like that. Your face is kinda red. It matches the colors on your neck...

...mwah...

Yui: Hey what!?

W-Why did you kiss me?

Carla: Maybe because your blood flow is getting thicker, the smell of your blood is way too intense.

Right now, I just want to put my fangs in your skin...

Yui: Ahh...

(I-It’s tickling... it’s a weak stimulus, but I missed it)

(I-I honestly think, I’m getting completely comfortable with Carla-san sucking my blood, I might start loving it...)

Carla: I finished brushing your hair. If you are in a good mood, would you mind if I continue sucking your blood?

Yui: Carla-san... why are you suddenly asking for my permission to take my blood?

Carla: I just wanted to ask you for today. However, as long as I receive your love I‘m fine.

Yui: (I really do look pretty after he brushed my hair like that... I don‘t want my hair to get sloppy again...)

(Oh ... by the way)

Carla-san, did I change your bandages after rising out of the bath acceptable?

Carla: Did you divert the brave of the topic? Do you really think that you can get away changing it?

Yui: No, I'm not. I won't run away ... I just wondered if I've rolled it up properly.

Carla: The wound seems to be already closing. I won‘t need bandages anymore so it doesn’t matter.

Yui: Does that mean, you didn‘t do anything about your injuries?

That’s not good, just in case you should continue wearing bandages.

Carla: I said that it is unnecessary.

Yui: (T-That‘s right. He’s acting like a child again...)

Choices

1) — scold (black)

2) — worried (white) ♡ ♡ ♡

— scold

Yui: I can’t just leave you alone while being injured, do you want to make everyone worried like that?

Besides, if you don’t look after it, Carla-san won’t be at ease if you become ill again, right?

Carla: ...You are, recently coming to threaten me way more often.

Yui: That’s wrong. I'm just worried about your health.

— worried ♡

Yui: Sometimes even a few injuries lead to severely worse wounds. You shouldn’t take off your guard.

Carla-san’s body is not a normal one in the first place. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for help.

Carla: You have a brave character .... I got a good understanding which makes the part to argue with you difficult.

More than that, how did you learn to act like that...

end Choices

Yui: Then I will redress the bandages for you, but promise me to take care of yourself.

Carla: …It can’t be helped. The medical products are in the storage of the house.

Yui: Thank you! Well then, I'll go get them.

Carla: Wait. I’ll go with you.

Yui: There’s no need to, I'll be back soon!

Carla: ... Good grief. I’ll probably never get to understand that woman.

Place: Violet mansion — Storage

Yui: Bandages, uh... here! Was there anything else that I needed?

Oh, there is a first aid suitcase. I'm going to bring this with me too.

(After all, I'm glad I can also do something for his health)

(It seems that I was not the only one who was left alone until a little while ago—)

(If you tasted such loneliness, your heart is pretty light like a cloud now)

(Carla-san and Subaru-kun’s memories have returned. I won’t be alone anymore)

(And, we know that the cause of this situation is likely to be in the church)

If everything goes well, we might be able to escape from here.

I don’t want... to reduce more days which I used to spent with Carla-san and Shin-kun in the demon world.

*breaking sound*

Yui: Uh... ngh!?

Wait what!?

(W-Where, am I... !?)

??? : — Eve

Yui: Ngh, that voice. I heard it in the church before ...

??? : Oh, so you do remember our first meeting. My name is Socrates. I'm the creator of this box garden you’re in.

Yui: Box... garden... ? Creator... !?

After all, it was you who made this space!?

Socrates: That's right. I wanted to give it a try and made up this place for a certain experiment.

Yui: Did you, also make our memories go crazy and shut us up in here... ?

Socrates: I did.

Yui: Why... why, this is, such a horrible situation!

Socrates: Horrible?

Yui: Planting false memories, they are all fighting their own brothers because of it!

Even if, life is bothersome sometimes... Why did you do this to us!?

Socrates: I needed to do it.

This space you’re currently in was created by magic. Supplied magic powers are going through the church as you predicted.

As long as there is the church, this space garden will continue to exist forever.

I won’t hesitate to leave once this experiment is over.

Yui: What exactly, is the experiment about?

Socrates: It wouldn’t be fair to just talk about it now. The experiment wouldn’t continue, like I predicted it would if I did tell you.

Yui: Do you have any intention of returning us to our original place right now?

Socrates: Whenever we see the end of the experiment we will release all of you.

Yui: ...Ngh

(Honestly, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do in such a situation. But... )

(Everyone suffers, because of this experiment and this person. Everyone is fighting without a meaning)

I... I can’t understand your experiment neither your ideas...

But I swear, we’ll definitely get out of this space!

Socrates: So you really will choose this option. But, is that really the right choice to make?

Yui: ... What does that mean?

Socrates: This box garden, is completely deviating from the normal flow of time.

In other words, it is the same as the time has stopped for this world.

Yui: The time, it stopped ...?

Socrates: Exactly. For example, even diseases that touched the body are stopping its progression.

Yui: ...Ngh, that’s...

(That means Endzeit— Carla-san’s disease couldn’t continue getting worse because of this space?)

Socrates: That man, was a survivor of the founder. However, he seems to be affected by a certain sickness.

It will only be temporary that his symptoms have settled down. If you leave, you’ll lead him to death.

Yui: Such... !

(Carla-san is suffering from Endzeit which took away his whole family’s life already)

(But, if the time really stops in this space, does that really mean Carla-san is released from this disease...?)

Socrates: Choose it wise, Eve. Do you want to continue to live in this paradise, or do you want to get expelled from here?

I’ll be here, continuing to watch the experiment—

Yui: Please wait. Just who are you... !?

Socrates: This is useless to ask for. You mustn’t tell anyone about this for now—

*returns to storage*

Yui: He returned me back here...

(The person, who created this box garden)

(Certainly, is it true what he told me about the time in this world?)

I shouldn’t, tell anyone what just happened for now...

If it’s true what he said, Carla-san’s disease really won’t progress at all.

But, even after I heard that, Carla-san would—

Monologue

Socrates words, they are still confusing me.

Getting out of this box garden, is something my beloved Carla-san wants — but is that really the best for him?

If we’d stay here, Carla-wan would be free from his sickness.

But, Carla-san who is a proud founder, wouldn’t agree to twist his fate with the use of others hands.

I can't even answer myself right now, should I get out of this garden or stay?

With my intricately intertwined feelings, I ended up holding a heavy secret that I can’t tell anyone—

[dailydoseofcolor]

Taking Stock of Barracks in Fire Emblem Heroes: Part 3, Section 2 (Final)

Okay! So I took a few days off for travel and now want to finish this up. From everything above, I’ve pinpointed the 5* exclusive characters I would love to start getting merges for as well as solidifying who my official potential “projects” are. Now I need to start analyzing my priorities and go from there. The sections will be 5* exclusives that won’t need feathers for merging (barring any unexpected demotes, which is highly unlikely for the majority of these); 3-4* merge potential projects that require orbs, and 3-4* potential projects that require grails. First up, 5* exclusives. 

After going through my barracks, these are the characters I have isolated as ones that I want to work towards getting to +10: 

Micaiah, Mia, Nephenee, Saber, Silque, Myrrh, OG Ephraim, Brave Ike, Y!Marth, Summer Robin, Summer Innes, Halloween L'Arachel 

Now, mama didn’t raise a fool. The vast majority of these are unrealistic, but I can at least use this as a guide for what to save for. So these can be further categorized into three sections: Higher Priority, Realistic Goals, and Pipe Dreams: 

Higher Priority

Micaiah, +5; She just takes the least amount of merges to complete. She regularly appears on banners, and will eventually come as a pity breaker on other banners. 

Mia, +3; She’s my favorite of the fast sword girls. And while she’s slowly getting outclassed in terms of raw speed, she has good balanced defenses and her weapon can still give her a niche. I also wouldn’t be surprised if she lands a resplendent alt at some point.     

Realistic

Nephenee, +2; I’ve thought about it, and I let Nephenee’s -Spd bane distract me from her for too long. She’s at +2 with a Spd boon now, and still holds up stats-wise. Her attack is still a little low, but the armor effectiveness in her weapon more than makes up for that. The problem is that she’s on a banner right now that only lasts today. I can’t +10 her just today, but I need to try for a few merges. 

Saber, +1; I have a major soft spot for Saber. He held my Summoner Support for a long time, and I think he has a very interesting niche in the over-saturated sword market. He’s a long-term plan. 

Silque (Currently Base, could be +2); I love healers, and Silque is my favorite healer from the series as a whole. I haven’t merged her yet because she has a good staff, good special, and Dazzling Staff fodder. But I now realize that I don’t particularly care for Dazzling Staff fodder. That’s added to almost every new healer nowadays, more fodder will come. 

Myrrh, +0; Myrrh is the character I wanted most for so long. The first Manakete/Dragon I ever fell in love with, and she’s relevant again. Problem is, the only one I’ve pulled is +Def/-Atk. Amazing boon, terrible bane. I need merges to erase the bane and start really building her. She’s likely in the Top 5 for priorities.     

Pipe Dream

Ephraim, +0; Unless he demotes, this is a long shot. I’ve only ever pulled one and now I have other infantry lance users that out-compete him. It would be nice, though.

Y!Marth, +1; Y!Marth appearing at the same time as Bramimond really hurt my ability to justify spending for him, and now I kinda regret it. As far as sword infantries go, he’s super flexible and has great stats. His boon is +Atk, so that helps, but when he comes back, I’ll make a play for him. 

Summer Robin, +0 (Will be +1 after Compile Manuals Purchased); My first ever 5* unit! Summer Robin has held a special place in my heart since I first started the game. Back when getting 5* units as a new player was actually rather difficult, I played for about 2 weeks before my first one came up, and it was Summer Robin. She’ll erase her awful -Atk bane with the Compile Manual I’ll get of her, but I’m going to start working on snagging her in the upcoming summer banners.

Summer Innes, +0 (Will be +1 after Compile Manuals Purchased); The first unit I ever spent money to acquire (purchased an orb pack with an old gift card out of desperation). His Bow unit sucks all kinds of ass, and Axe fliers are still one of the rarer categories. He’ll be +1 soon (I love the limited time compile feature, it’s a much better mechanic than the long term compile option), but more merges would make me happy. He’ll be re-run soon. 

Halloween L’Arachel, +0; H! L’Arachel’s art might be one of my absolute favorite in the game. Easily Top 5. Green Cavalry Mages are also almost uniformly bad outside of Gunnthra, who needs a refine to maintain her niche. The only one who might be able to compete is Cecilia, but we’ll see where she truly lands after her eventual refine. Either way, more merges for her would be incredible. Sacred Stones is next up in the Hall of Forms rotation. I don’t expect her to be an option, but she’s on the short list of SS seasonals so…there’s a chance. 

Brave Ike, +2 (Could be +3); His Refine is incredible. He carries hard in AR and makes PvE content trivial. If anything, this is just to keep his stats sharp. This is mostly just an eventual “this would be nice” thing.

Now, if I take everything above and rank it, here’s what I have:

Micaiah

Mia

Myrrh

Nephenee

Saber

Silque

Halloween L'Arachel

Ephraim

Summer Robin

Y!Marth

Summer Innes

Brave Ike

Okay, I’m fine with this. Micaiah and Mia make the most sense, since they’re the closest to being done. Myrrh, Nephenee, Saber, and Silque are all realistic and will be making appearances on banners soon (other than Silque). The rest are just guidelines; although I will be saving for Summer Robin & Summer Innes return next month, and then saving for Halloween L’Arachel at the end of the year.

_____________________________________________

Now it’s time for 3-4* Potential Projects! My first pass yielded three groups: ones I already have the copies to +10, the ones I still need copies for, and Grail units. At this point, I need to diversify my +10 units by movement type, specifically flying and calvary, with an emphasis on Player Phase units, strong Mixed Phase units, and tome users. 

Here’s who I can +10 today if I desired: 

Nino, PP, +5, 100k feathers needed; Benefits from being a favorite character, player phase focused, and a tome user. Slight dock for being infantry. 

OG Eliwood, PP, +2, 160k feathers needed; Eliwood remains the front runner of this group if only because of favoritism. It helps that his Player Phase capabilities are now some of the best in the game when it comes to red sword users. 

Donnel, MP, +2, 160k feathers needed; Again, a strong Mixed Phase character with a new refine, but that pushes him into a Player Phase role. I just can’t swing the idea of building him up for use. 

Matthew, EP, +0, 200k feathers needed; Enemy Phase dagger to compliment Sothe’s Player Phase dagger niche. A favorite character, but shares movement type. Plus he requires a lot of support to really shine. Lower priority. 

Soleil, PP, +0, 200k feathers needed; One of the strongest 3-4* infantry swords. Great attack and good speed, middling defenses that could be patched up with skill investment. She ranks pretty high, but has a high merge cost from my current supplies. 

Ares, EP, +0, 200k feathers needed; Fills a different role than Eliwood, but makes a case given how oppressive Special Spiral + Bonfire can be. Middling priority. 

Est, PP, +0 (No 5*), 220k feathers needed; I love lance fliers and Est is the only one on my short list that isn’t a Grail unit. She’d require some significant investment in terms of resources, but I’ve been thinking of making a dedicated flier team for a while, which she would shine in. 

Titania, Support, +0, 200k feathers needed; I love Tactics teams and almost no one runs it better than Titania. She’d require high investment, but I’ve held onto her for years with the plan to invest, it might be time. 

OG Tharja, PP, +0 (No 5*), 220k feathers needed; I really love red mages. My Lysithea sees very regular use, and Tharja’s potential on a Tactics team would be incredible. She remains a very high potential.

Soren, Support, +0 (No 5*), 220k feathers needed; I also love Chill skills, and Soren is one of only a few characters that can pull Triple Chill. I might build him with Triple Chill to see how he handles before I invest. He’s lower priority right now.

Here’s who I have on my short list for potential projects that I don’t actively have all the merges for yet: 

Rath, PP, +2 (Could be +7, with a +Atk waiting for deliberation); 160k feathers needed; Rath is the closest on this list to having the merges needed. He’s currently at +2, and I only need another 2 in order to be at +10. He will continue to be higher on the list than others, if only because I’m a sucker for calvary bow users. 

Altena, EP, +1, 180k feathers needed; So. Here’s the problem. I love Altena, and she’s likely a Top 5 merge project contender….but I don’t have the merges. She just hasn’t been showing up. She just has to remain on the back burner of priority until I have more merges. I’ll reassess if more start coming along. 

Norne, MP, (Could be +4) (No 5*), 220k feathers needed; Norne checks a lot of boxes for me: Infantry, Great Stats, Mixed Phase potential, Bow User. I still need 6 copies to make her +10, but I need to start investing in her now. I know she sits in the exact same space that Altena does, but even having a few more merges changes the calculus. The major major problem is that none of the 5* units I’ve decided are priorities are colorless except for Silque. So the likelihood that she turns up on pulls is less likely. But I think my heart doesn’t really care. 

Tethys, Support, (Could be +5, No 5*), 220k feathers needed; Tethys makes this list due to her Support potential. Colorless infantry dagger is mostly filled for me, but she sticks out in my mind. I might just build her low at first to see how I like her, similar to Soren.

I’ve been avoiding this for a long time. I never spend grails because I’m worried the perfect Grail Unit will come along and it’s blinded me to the number of amazing Grail Units that have already come along, and some of these Grails are starting to burn a hole in my pocket. Now it’s time: 

Astram, PP/Support, +2, 160k feathers, 2200 grails; I’ve been using Astram in Arena this past week and I’ve really changed my mind about him. His performance is very solid, and he handles a ton of things on his own. He also slots into the mercenary/knight side of sword user instead of myrmidon, which I’ve always preferred. Great PRF, good stat totals; this is biased because Arena bonus unit buffs are one hell of a drug. He’s back in the running. 

Joshua, MP, +2, 160k feathers, 2600 grails; Making a completely flip-flopped statement from earlier, since Joshua is on the myrmidon side of sword users, but Joshua’s always been a favorite of mine, and I stupidly used one way back for Windsweep on Sothe…of all things. He’s in line for a weapon refine soon, and depending on how they treat it, could launch him into contention again. He remains a strong front runner. Also, there’s a strong chance he’ll be the Grail option in the upcoming SS Hall of Forms. I would love if it’s either him, Lyon, or Valter; that would be incredible. 

Black Knight, MP, +2, 160k feathers, 2200 grails; Obviously TT/GHB were originally conceived of to give us fun side characters and villains, and the Black Knight remains near the top. I don’t usually use Armor units, but he’d hold his own very well, especially considering the number of Fighter skills that exist. 

Fallen Ashnard, EP/MP, (Could be +2, No 5*), 180k feathers, 2200 grails; The main thing going against Fallen Ashnard right now is how new he is. So his investment will remain high for a while. But it’s hard to ignore how well his stats turned out. Great villain from my favorite series and it’s hard to not be drawn to him. Plus sword fliers are either 5* forever locked or like…Palla (aka Moonbow fodder). He’s got a great niche. 

Valter, PP, (Could be +4), 120k feathers, 1650 grails; Another favorite villain from a favorite series in a unit type that is treated poorly by IS. His speed doesn’t hold up, unfortunately, but he’s very likely due for a refine soon, and he could be a part of the upcoming Hall of Forms. He’s higher on the priority list because of his status as a favorite unit, but I should honestly wait for the refine to decide. 

Cormag, PP, (Could be +2, No 5*), 180k feathers, 2200 grails; The second in a run of lance fliers with generic stats that seemed to last for several months. Cormag has such an interesting character arc in his game, and it’s a shame the way he was treated. To that end, he has a workable stat spread (I just wish his Res was higher). He ranks high on characters I like, which is why he’s on the list to begin with. 

Conrad, EP, (Could be +2, No 5*), 180k feathers, 2200 grails; Conrad is on this list because of a person on my friends list who has a +10 Conrad with Distant Counter and…this boy puts in work. I love bulky units, and bulky cavalry units are few and far between. The only other Lance Calvary units that see use in my barracks are Legendary Ephraim and Dimitri, so he’d be filling a good niche in my barracks. His cost just remains really high for a character that I’m not in love with. 

Death Knight, EP (Could be +3, No 5*), 160k feathers, 1750 grails; Decent villain from the most recent game with an intriguing PRF. It’s not quite as evergreen as I’d hoped, but I’ve encountered +10 Death Knights in various modes and they certainly hold their own. Less of a cost than Conrad with slightly less bulk, an interesting trade off. 

Young Minerva, EP, +1, 180k feathers, 2700 grails; When Young Minerva first debuted, I was almost positive that she would be my first Grail +10. Now that she’s available, I’m hesitating. I have a strong Axe user already, just not one that flies. She’s got great speed, defense, and attack, and she’d see a lot of use. I just have to decide whether I want her more than I maybe need someone else. 

Winter Jaffar, MP, (Could be +1), 180k feathers, 2700 grails; Great art as a unit, I just don’t care for Armors usually. Being a green dagger hurts him a good amount, as does the really high cost. I might just wait a bit for him, but I’m sure he’ll be outclassed in a few months anyway. 

Lyon, EP, +7, 60k feathers, 750 grails; My pride and joy for a long, long time. I’m waiting to finish him off until he gets a refine, so I know which way to invest. I also love his recent alt, which has helped fill the void that my original left as he started to fall behind other units (especially Sophia, who has stomped all over him at this point). 

Arvis, PP/Support, (Could be +3), 140k feathers, 1750 grails; One of the first red tome users I fell in love with, if only because of his decent stat spread and unique skill. I killed one way back for Ploy fodder, so his cost remains high, but maybe we’ll get some kind of rerun in the future. 

Brunnya, EP/Support, (Could be +1), 180k feathers, 2700 grails; My AR defense was recently stomped by a Brunnya and it made me look at her in a different light. As an infantry blue tome, she’s got some competition, but she is surprisingly bulky because of her tome. I am quite intrigued by her.

__________________________________________________

Based on my analysis above, here’s where I’m coming down in terms of a road map. Everyone else isn’t necessarily out of the running, but this focuses on my direct needs for strong Player Phase / Mixed Phase units and puts my resources to best use: 

Immediate Use: OG Eliwood, Soleil, Est, Norne, Fallen Ashnard, OG Tharja    

OG Eliwood will get the bump first because he fills the most immediate niche and already has some investment made into him. I’ll also dedicate resources to Norne and Fallen Ashnard, since they still need time to develop but are high on my list. I also feels like I’m now making Fallen Ashnard the focus of my grails, for when he comes out in two months, we’ll see if someone overtakes him before then (likely one of the SS boys). I’ll upgrade Est and OG Tharja to test out how they perform before committing. Depending on how Est does, she’ll likely get a bump with Soleil.

Eventual Niche: Titania, Young Minerva, Brunnya    

Of these, Titania is the most likely to get the bump, as she’s a favorite and would serve as a solid support unit. Young Minerva functions well at +1 and doesn’t need as much investment as others in order to perform. Brunnya will be leveled up and tested to see if she’s worth the investment.

Build Now and Wait: Rath, Altena   

I’m pausing raising up Rath for now, I’ll wait until I have enough copies to fully +10 him. I love his character, but he will almost certainly stay PvE, and his current build shines there. Altena will get further looks after I get more copies.

Determine after Refines: Joshua, Valter, Lyon   

I really need to watch and wait for my three Sacred Stones boys. I love all three and would dedicate resources to them, but I need to wait and see what their eventual refines bring to the table. I have the highest hopes for Lyon, since he’s proven to be popular, and they gave Sophia of all people a new life, he deserves it. Valter will likely get some extra stats and potentially Panic built into his weapon (even though he doesn’t have the HP to utilize it as much). Joshua will get some kind of refine that doubles down on his decent Resistance. Conditional DC like Saber/Say’ri would be incredible, but I’m not holding my breath. This also gives me time to continue to deliberate on who I want to spend Grails on.

I’m…..done? No, I’m not done. But this is the closest I’ve had to a game plan for this game beyond “oo! Shiny new units!,” so I’m really proud of myself. Time to spend some resources! 

[endeavorsreward]

The Nail

[This story is dedicated to everyone who follows or followed me here as I’ve worked on this project, and to everyone harmed by the changes to Tumblr policy, but is especially dedicated to @ipsens-castle, @lioncid, @adalheidis and @livvyplaysfinalfantasy who have been kind, generous, entertaining, and enriched my life on this site and let me know that despite being overbearing, self-satisfied, and at times too-clever by half, I had a home here amongst people who cared about these characters, and the others who fall adjacent, just as much as I do -- but moreover the authors and their themes, which is what make those characters what they are.

This story is also inspired by user @ink-splotch, who doesn’t know me from Adam, but whose fiction surrounding a property that I don’t even like has been endlessly engaging and a constant reminder of the power of fan writing.]

What if it had gone the other way?

***

Gragoroth had been many things in his day; a veteran of countless campaigns in the final years of the war with Ordallia, an adequate campside cook and a miserable painter, a younger brother and a son. He didn’t know that his bloodline was one of few that stretched back centuries, to before the Cataclysm, to other lives and worlds. Gragoroth was an incurious man, and that had mostly suited him, because his was a life that had focused on survival. It was for this reason that the Templars had sought him out, had used him to play the Corpse Brigade against the White Lion’s forces. “Survival above all,” in the long-ago days of Archades, had been writ on his family’s crest, though to a man none in his line had ever been good at it in the long term.

So it was that when he and his comrades stormed the Beoulve manse and made off with a girl, it was only a twist of fate that they got the correct one.

The twist was this: in the kitchens, one of the staff had placed a loaf on the countertop, yet steaming from the oven, and they were so immersed in their gossip that its angle was precarious. In another life, another world, it stayed – here, it fell. A mouse darted for the treat the gods had bestowed, and Tietra Heiral, who was always assisting, who knew that she earned also kindnesses from the family’s new head by being of use and out from underfoot, let out a shriek.

Tietra hadn’t much experience in being brave in the way her brother was, but she was brave in other ways, in attending classes with girls who were cruel, in enduring and believing there would be a place for her. None of these braveries came with a tolerance for mice, and one shouldn’t judge her for it; certainly Alma Beoulve did not, when she came running at the sound. Alma scooped the mouse up in her hands and made to let it outside, unharmed. She reached the hall only to find a pair of men with dirty arms and darting eyes. Alma didn’t shriek here, either – in another life, and other world, this was where Tietra cried out, this was when Alma came running, not because these men were poor or where they didn’t belong, but because Tietra knew to sense malice when it stood before her. Alma, instead, didn’t react in time.

Gragoroth was incurious; he always saw a girl, and he always punched upward into her stomach. He hadn’t the mind to judge the state of the girl’s tailoring, and anyway, Alma was always lending her dresses to Tietra, who wasn’t too proud to wear them. It was sheer... luck... when they grabbed a hostage who was actually valuable.

***

Once, Ramza Beoulve had stood and watched men revolting for the cause of a better life bleed out into a gutter and wished they’d chosen instead “honest work,” unaware of the face his friend, his brother, made to his back.

Here, now, Ramza Beoulve stood in the pouring rain, as a woman with ten times his strength bled out amongst fallen stone, in a place long dead, and listened to her dying curses.

“It may well be you've done no wrong...” said Milleuda Folles with a mouthful of shattered teeth, “It is your place in the world that drives my hatred on. You bear the name Beoulve, and that name is my enemy.”

“That name is my sister’s, whose kindnesses are returned with this!” Ramza raised his blade. “That you’d scar the innocent is no justice, but vengeance! You’re naught but cowards, seeking cause to blame, that the world did not provide for you!”

“You’d call me coward?” Milleuda spit blood in his face. “A babe yet in his blanket? I regret only I won’t be there to see when that blanket’s torn away! If you believe this world is the right of things, you’d better learn to kill for it, because we know we must kill to repair it.”

She made it easy for him by lifting her sword, but not a man on that plateau believed she was yet a threat to them. When Delita Heiral watched Ramza’s sword come down, he recognized the look in Ramza’s eyes, because it was Argath’s.

***

Would Zalbaag have given the order to spare Alma Beoulve? We’d never know. He certainly hesitated, and yes, indeed, he did so for longer than he would have for Tietra, whose songs in the church choir could move him tears. But Alma was the perfect gemstone in the Beoulve display case; even with her regrettable origins, even with the embarrassment that he and Dycedarg would whisper about in the latest of hours over Romandan brandy, Alma was always too perfect to pity, too perfect to hate, for anyone who beheld her for more than a moment.

It was why Delita had never fallen in love, you know? Oh, certainly, there was a year as boyhoods began to shed in the Beoulve manse, it would be impossible for children whose lack of relation was so heavily enforced, there was a time when Delita the boy was infatuated, but it passed quickly, and not even for reasons of class which would have been self-evident – though it would be hard to find a group of children who’d have more reason to ignore them. No, it was because Alma was ethereal, because she radiated saintliness, because she could never belong to anyone. Not her beauty or her virginity or any chivalric ideal, but her kindness. No, Ramza and Delita knew her yet as the girl with muddy knees, the one who’d begged Dycedarg to allow her to plant a garden with flowers like any member of the help. No, it was her equanimity and her righteousness.

She was as if Ajora walked amongst them as a teenaged girl; as unlikely as that sounded.

Perhaps that was what Zalbaag was thinking of when he hesitated, the Alma who read to ailing elderly in Eagrose town, who took to scripture as Zalbaag had; Gustav knew none of that, Gustav knew only that the arm that held his knife grew heavy, that the cold winds that scraped against Ziekden felt as though they’d pick him up and toss him halfway back to Ordallia, where he’d lost an ear and most of his soul.

Would Zalbaag have given the order to spare Alma Beoulve? We’d never know, because only a single sound had escaped his lips when the bolt fired. It’s not clear what happened – if Argath had made the choice without him, if Argath’s frozen hands had slipped on the bolt’s catch, if that single syllable had sounded like the beginning of the order. In the long run, it didn’t matter. In the shorter, it mattered little, either, because what followed was solely violence, fire, and chaos.

***

But let’s pause this tale here to look in on another girl who had known nothing but unfairness, a girl upon whom things happened; some time earlier, in a time when things had gone the same. Ovelia Akatscha was delivered to Orbonne with a small wooden chest clutched carefully in her lap, and within was a bright blue stone shaped like a teardrop – because in Ivalice, Virgo is the sign of sorrow, of loss, of the sacrifice of women in worlds that venal men had made. Even Ultima was a victim, once, but like so many in Ivalice, she had made of her victimhood a weapon with which to pay that hurt forward – it had been twelve hundred years since Ashelia had broken the chain, but Ashelia was an Aries – the house of Folles were her failed children, not Ovelia, not Alma, not Tietra.

If Ovelia had ever heard whispers from the Virgo stone, they would have been indistinguishable from her own doubts, her own fears. And Elder Simon locked the stone away deep in the vaults – what better metaphor than to bury Ultima beneath mountains of tomes, volumes and volumes of lies about the Rozarrian spy that they’d made a man, made a martyr, made a god. Ivalice will make of women what it will, and Ovelia could be forgiven for thinking she’d had the worst of it, because she would not be there to witness her only friend sag downward off the fortress battlements, echoing a Tarot card for brief moments before vanishing into the flames of an explosion.

To Ovelia, the worst of the world was to be discarded, forgotten; but in a world without Alma Beoulve, she could be afforded no such luxury. Hashmal had despaired of ever finding the anima that would best resonate with Virgo, but he’d kept one eye long on his best option at hand, and in this version of events, the spare would have to do.

***

What if it had gone the other way? You ask, because you wonder if Delita could be the hero; you wonder if Ramza could be the villain. You wonder if Barbaneth was right about his sons – you don’t wonder about his daughters. You don’t consider the girls, when you ask if what happened had gone the other way, as if they were lambs upon an altar.

In Ivalice, the lamb is the spirit of rage; the virgin is the woman harmed. In Ivalice, they say “In sword etched he his fading memories, in stone, his tempered skill” but they forget – they always forget – that the tale is penned by the men who benefit. In sword etched she her dreams, in stone, her tears.

***

Here’s the truth of it: Tietra Heiral had believed her whole life was borrowed time. The part of her that was a girl believed truly that one day a prince would come riding from the woods to take her away to some other place – a dream that, in another life, would be rudely, cruelly parodied – and for a time, yes, she’d hoped it would be beautiful, fearless Ramza Beoulve, but not long enough, she was no fool, and Alma’s inability to see why not felt more often like she was trying to make their sisterhood “real,” which meant it wasn’t real enough. But the adult in her, growing by the day, knew instead what Delita had always known, which was that the charade would one day cease, and cease so painfully that it would be easier to await it every day than be surprised by it.

When Alma was taken, she prayed to Ajora every minute for her return, for her safety, but she’d packed her few things into the tattered bundle that had once held everything she’d brought from the stables when she came to this large house on the hill. There was still no overflow, as so few things were truly hers.

Tietra was always the unnoticed; when word came to Dycedarg, she was there in the hall, though she might as well have been a vase upon a pedestal. She grabbed her bag and ran that day, through the tears, and this was a kind of bravery, too. That she made it only so far as the stables before she broke down, before she collapsed in on herself like a falling house, that was no fault of hers – this world taught few women to be Agrias Oaks, and only those who learned they must teach themselves made it that far.

The stables didn’t feel like home. Only Delita had that echo within him, only he grasped at his father’s memory in that way. Tietra better remembered her mother, and there was nothing left of her to reach for. No, at the stables she fell to her knees and the tears finally came, the ones she’d not allowed herself since that first day Alma was taken, tears that knew she was gone, that Tietra’s parents were gone and maybe Delita, too, and she was alone in a world not meant for shielding girls like her. Hadn’t Alma been the clever one, the brave one?  Oh, would that she was born a man!

She knew nothing of what was going on beyond the grounds; she did not know that Delita had been caught up in the explosion at Ziekden, that he was recovering in fits and starts, oft-interrupted by attempts to flee, to return to his sister. Some of their company had survived, and it was they, huddling in a tavern’s back room in Fovoham, who ministered to Delita. They’d all become fugitives from the Northern Sky, and soon they would scatter, go their separate ways; but in this moment, they were healing their fellow, a man whom they’d scorned, some had hated. Delita’s feverish visions were of Tietra taking the bolt instead, of her body slumping across the Ziekden battlements. He was glimpsing another world not through augury, but through love’s nightmare, and so he missed this bravery from his beloved sister: that Tietra gathered up her skirts, stood, and returned to the manse.

She knew it was no longer home, if it ever was – knew she could no longer use the room where she’d once slept, once gossiped with Alma, but if she’d been all but servant before, she could hide amongst them again. In a real way they were, in fact, her people – and they would always make time for one who’d shoulder their share of the work.

Let this be in contrast with Ramza Beoulve, who nearly bled to death in the small chapel he’d dragged himself towards in the snow; who, in his lucid moments, realized that with no home, no true birthright any longer, and no Alma, he had nothing left to rely upon but “honest work,” as he’d so chastised those men in Gariland. But he had no skills, no aptitude for honest work, nothing but a head full of military history and tactics, nothing but hands that knew killing but not farming or trade, not crafting or service. Damned by his own words, damned by the actions of his kin, he thrashed under the hands of the sister who’d taken to wiping his brow.

He’d no idea she was a witch.

***

Come with us now forward in time, to the Clockwork City of Goug, where slavers of the Baert Trading Company, in pursuit of a Zodiac stone, run Mustadio Bunansa from his home, his father captive. He hides on a rooftop, painstakingly crafting a glass fake of the stone – not in possession of a plan, but because working with his hands is a thing he knows, and perhaps a plan could be found.

His roost is found, however, and he flees again. He considers going to the church, but knows his story will not be believed. His only hope, he thinks, is to escape northward, out of Baert’s range. In one version of the tale, he makes it as far as Zaland before they corner him. Here, however, sprinting down an alleyway and into a thoroughfare, something different occurs. A dancer, swirling her skirts over a cracked bowl at her feet full of coins, looks up and sees his panic. She turns to her brother, and the man, who stands to one side with his arms crossed, looks down and sighs, assuming trouble but never guessing the scale.

Here’s the truth of it: Delita’s eventual rescue of Tietra from Gallione is tense, heartwarming, and fraught one after the other, but it’s not interesting. What’s interesting is what followed. They boarded a ferry, and as it sailed closer to Mullonde, Delita spoke of leaving Tietra there.

“You will not,” she said, with her jaw set so firm that she was able to hide her trembling.

“This world is not safe...” Delita took her shoulders, gently, and pleaded. “I’d not lose you, as I lost...” Alma. Ramza. Their parents. Everyone, everything.

“If you leave me to be alone, I may as well have lost you!” She cried into his shoulder. “And you may as well have lost me.”

The reality of things is that in a world where both girls had lived, a world without Ultima and without the Templarate and Dycedarg’s schemes and all the rest, Tietra likely would have found her fate with a sister’s habit and cold, lonely stone. The plague had unmoored the Heirals, and both would have reached an age where Barbaneth’s double-edge kindness would have found its end in one form or another, and the truth of Ivalice is that a convent would be a better end than most. But here, now, these were two children who had each other and little else, and they would hold on to the end.

Tietra saw her first dancer in her youngest days, in a festival, before her parents had died. She’d looked like a princess, with her many-colored dress and her long, graceful movements, and she’d been too young to correct. Tietra danced alone in giant rooms, she danced with Alma, and exactly twice she was allowed to a ballroom where she danced with Ramza Beoulve amidst a crowd. The second time, he’d learned enough not to step on her feet. She’d always been allowed to sing – had been prized in the church choir – but dancing was like a secret kept.

When Delita promised not to leave her in Mullonde, the next time she was alone in her cabin – for Delita had used the last of his coin to purchase an actual room, rather than stowaway, thinking he’d be disembarking on the island – she began to practice.

People who believe in fate and the interconnectedness of things, the weight of centuries of history and the recurrence of ideals, might believe a Dalmascan street urchin was dancing alongside her in that cabin, but the thing that matters most is that dance has always been freedom, and for none more than the woman downtrodden. And for Tietra, who had lost so much, who had toiled without pause for months, who now had no station to pretend to and the looming church outside the cabin’s single window, had no shame to lose.

Delita had visions of becoming a mercenary, but she wouldn’t let him kill for coin. His hands were already too stained, to say nothing of his heart. When they reached Goug, he resisted her dancing for gil, but the look on her face when she was in motion silenced him – though whether it was awe or fear is for you to judge.

She learned other things, too, and these were by her brother’s insistence. He taught her how to hold a knife, and how to use it. It took time, but for as much as she abhorred violence, she knew Alma had been taught only the healing arts, the shielding arts, and she’d died in the cold. So she learned. And once, when Delita had to step away, a brusque man with arms like gnarled oak thought she was defenseless. Tietra scarred his inner thigh with the blade she’d been given, and he fled. She’d had to vomit into the gutter, then, but she knew now that she could do it. Fear never went away, and never went away at once, but moments like these built up like callused flesh.

When Delita ran to save the boy with the large-barreled fusil, she followed behind. She did not fight alongside them, but the spare few spells that Alma had been able to impart to her helped keep the two boys alive. And in the cobwebbed shadows of an abandoned workshop, Mustadio told them about the Auracite. Tietra knew the story of the Braves better than her own body, and something in the way the stone gleamed told her the truth of it. Delita was more skeptical, but they’d been in Goug long enough to know Baert and the coin he’d earned from making chattel of people. He protested, but only so much, when Tietra told Mustadio that they’d help.

***

Ramza, for his part, healed his body much faster than his mind. A man came to him, introduced himself as Loffrey, and offered revenge. And Ramza considered it, long and hard. Considered the hate in his heart, the chunk of ice that had wrapped ‘round his anima candleflame and seemed to breathe through his skin. But the difference between Delita and Ramza was always, is always, that Ramza had options that Delita hadn’t.

When he set out for Fort Besselat, he had only the intention of meeting with the last man in Ivalice who might hold a place for him – his father’s best friend, the most honorable knight in Ivalice, the Thunder God Cid Orlandeau. To cross a whole nation, though, was a task out of scale with anything he’d attempted.

In the end, he chose to fall in with a band of mercenaries. He’d hold up his end, only so long as they headed eastward, towards the Southern Sky. Their leader, Goffard Gaffgarion, agreed to the terms casually.

It was not a good deal: food, weapon upkeep, inn fare, all sorts of ways to be in debt to a man like Gaffgarion, who also turned out to be a fair shade crueler than he first appeared. And the further in debt that Ramza sunk, the less east that they seemed to travel. One night, nursing at the awful welts around his face from a beating, Ramza vowed to break off and bolt – the best time would be the night before a job, when Gaffgarion would be drunk, his guard down the furthest, and so after this one last mission, he’d flee into the woods.

Until then, he’d play the good soldier; and so he marched with his band south, to Orbonne Monastery.

***

Not everyone was afraid for their sister in Ivalice. Isilud Tengille never feared for his older sister, because she was twice the Templar that he was. That should have been an indicator to him, when his father entrusted him with such an important mission – should have been a sign that a once-loving man now viewed him as disposable. But he saddled up and rode to Orbonne anyway, flush with pride that he’d been chosen.

The plan went much as it once had, a world away. Men falsely flying the banner of Goltanna made a move on the princess. As they did battle with the guards that had been assigned to her, Isilud as the church’s agent crept in and knocked Ovelia out, with the intention of slinging her across his chocobo’s back. But this Ramza Beoulve was different. When he and Agrias heard the scream, they both ran inside, but Ramza was not confronted with a dear friend believed dead – he saw a stranger capturing a girl.

Like Alma.

He dove over the balcony, crashing through pews in a reckless, near-suicidal roll, and upon seeing it Agrias went out to cut around the back.

Isilud got away, but not with the princess. Ovelia clutched at Agrias in terror. Ramza remembered the grave face of Loffrey Wodring offering a path out of his personal Hellscape that was coated in the blood of those who’d wronged him. He sheathed his sword, and offered Agrias his hand. They would take Ovelia to Besselat themselves, in cognito – and Ramza would learn the truth of it from “Uncle Cid” himself.

It was a good plan – Besselat was safe, Orlandeau was honorable, and most had not seen Ovelia’s face. But they were ambushed at the falls.

***

Valmafra Lenande was a witch of the Dark, and a pawn of the church. You don’t even know her story. A woman adept at turning sides against one another, we know the tale where she is outfoxed, but not the why of it, the how. Valmafra’s reasons are her own.

Look, here: She’s sitting primly in a wagon, in a dress with frills, and faking polite conversation with the wagoneer, who is taking his milk to market. Valmafra knew what Tietra knew, how easy it was to be overlooked, underestimated. For Valmafra, it was a tool to wield. For Agrias Oaks, pride prevented that; neither is correct, or wrong. We all do what we must to survive, in the world after the Cataclysm. Valmafra, if anyone had asked her, would have told you that Ajora was a woman. Her people had whispered it from one to another for centuries. Ajora was the lesson taught, what happened when men understood a woman’s true power.

Valmafra often wondered what woman had stood behind the Hero-King Mesa, had set him on his course.

She did not dance, but she knew all about dancing; she knew all about Müllenkamp. One day soon, she would tell that tale to Tietra Heiral. But today, she folded her hands atop her knees, and acted impressed when the man spoke.

Ramza Beoulve had proven to hold less potential than she’d thought – or rather, less potential to the church. She suspected he’d find his use in time. But in the eyes of her keepers, it was a failure. To those who believed they held her strings, her usefulness might be running out.

They sent her towards Lionel, to meet with one of their agents; to assess his progress. She suspected she was being sent as little better than food for someone hungry.

What stories do you think she told Orran, in the days before the Gallows? What stories suited, with feelings so new, and already a suckling babe in one arm? Do you think she spoke of pretending to be a blushing maid, and do you think he’d believe? Do you think she let slip the dark tales of her childhood? Or was it like the rest of her, calmly professional, reciting horrors as one might a shopping list, as she’d once read troop movements to demons in human skin?

Would she tell, here, the story of when she came to Lionel, and found two men and one shivering, brave girl standing against one of the most powerful men in Ivalice? Or what he became in the moments after?

Would she be able to tell him, if she did, why she stepped in to aid them?

***

In Fearful Symmetry’s name, where once Delita entered low as Ramza battled high, now the opposite transpired, for they were not alone in Lionel that day – they were never alone in Lionel; call it Faram’s blessing, call it the blessing of a woman’s love, who’d once taken death for a lover, only to find instead she’d changed into something grand and terrifying. Reis’s Wind blowed through Lionel, and yearning hearts were always lifted on its currents.

They’d taken Ovelia at the falls, and Ramza and Agrias came to liberate her, with two knights at their backs. Above them, three of the common stock battled their fallen, corrupt church for the sake of all the kingdom, as these noble-born quested for a royal. In Ivalice, these tales always repeat, always reflect.

You see, for how much changes, so little truly does. The wheel turns, and those above are below, but the stations themselves never dissolve.

Did Delita become a better man? Consider his mind as he wedged a blade in the gaping maw of Cuchulainn: that this was inevitable, was his thinking, that corruption would prey on the weak no matter where he took Tietra in all of the world. As always, he had room in his thinking for both the thing, and the symbol, where Ramza could only grasp the real that was in front of him. The Lucavi’s voracious hunger was everything that Delita had always hated... and always believed himself above.

Did Ramza become a worse one? Consider his mind as he took Ovelia’s hand as they fled northeast, Agrias to one side; this girl who had known Alma, had once been of a piece with her, another sacrificial lamb, that he’d abide no one else die as she had.

Things did change, they did: this was no Ramza who would return to Zalbaag, not after Ziekden. It was Delita the church framed for the Horror of Lionel.

Things did not change, in so many ways that mattered. Delita and Ovelia, separated here by a distance in geography where it was once a distance of the mind and heart, each lifted a blade of grass to their lips.

***

Ramza and Agrias kneel before Cidolfus Orlandeau, but he bids them stand. Ovelia’s face is masked, but the Thunder God has the truth of it before they’ve even entered the room. He is a brilliant man, but he did not have to be, for his son’s ears were turned to the whispers of all Ivalice.

“I am proud of you, as your father would have been,” he says gravely, “But you should not have come.”

Beneath his cloak, Libra throbbed.

“My father knew you as a man of honor,” Ramza said, tired. “He knew you as a man who sought justice and freedom for all.”

“Even were I so, he knew me also as a man who honored his vows.” Orlandeau stood, arms crossed, looking out the window at the men amassed at Fort Besselat. Preparing. “My loyalty to my liege lord is not discarded so easily.”

“You’d hand us to Goltanna?” Agrias moved her hand to her hilt.

“We needn’t bother!” Orran Durai emerged from the shadows, clasping a thick book between his hands. “Your arrival had provided rumor enough for pretext. Even if your companion were not the princess, ‘tis enough for Larg to claim that she is!”

“It will be war betwixt the Lions,” the Thunder God intoned, “And it would have been so on some other claim if you hadn’t come. But that you have, your choices are few. I’ll not detain you if you choose to flee. I owe your father that much if nothing else. But I’d advise you instead to consider the good that you could do instead from my lord’s side. If war must come, if Larg is as treacherous as you claim, you might best serve to rally the people.”

“The Fort is not yet taken...” Ramza started, but Agrias shook her head.

“The Queen is hated. To many, the princess would hold the more righteous claim. But I’ll not see her used further.”

Ovelia was silent. Silent out of inertia, out of doubt, out of the fear of unfathomable consequences were she to speak on her own behalf. Orran Durai was staring at her, also, in a way that chilled her.

Orlandeau sighed, and sagged, ever so slightly, and for a moment looked all the years of his age, as he never had. “The people would rally to the rescued princess, were she to stand and speak of her own will.” And with a glance to Ramza, “Even further, were she at the hand of a noble bastard who’d broken oath to deliver her to freedom.”

Ramza sputtered. “Surely you jest!”

“I would give my lands and title to be only jesting now.” He braced himself against his desk. “For there is something further. Something only those in this room must know. And it will be... hard.”

A vice tightened around Ovelia’s heart... and then the Thunder God’s words ended her life.

***

Tietra had seen Virgo.

She’d studied at Orbonne, at Alma’s side; Elder Simon had always been so very kind to her, though the other girls were cruel. She’d never met the princess, as Alma had, but in the storeroom – just once – she’d seen it, gleaming in a single ray of candlelight.

You know this story. You know it like breathing.

What do you think was Delita’s reaction, seeing Wiegraf emerge from the stacks? Was it anger, blame? No, more likely this: that Delita, who damned himself seeing Milleuda Folles bleed out in the muck and storm, grasps the whole of Wiegraf better than near any other. Imagine another world yet, one where Barbaneth hadn’t had the whim, and the Heiral children had taken to the streets and forests. Delita knew Wiegraf’s face from within the walls of the Beoulve manse, from outside of them he’d be the man’s sure right hand. But here, now, with Milleuda dead – and Milleuda always dies, her flame burned brightest of them all – there could be no understanding between these two men who’d understand each other so very well.

Wiegraf never learned from Ramza that the girl that Isilud carried away was his sister, or Wiegraf would surely have demanded blood for blood, lost to the Ram’s Rage as he was even before forming the covenant; this time, there was no Isilud, there was only a poorly-timed shout in a darkened hall, and Wiegraf took Tietra and fled.

History is fated to repeat, in Ivalice. Ask the sky pirate, if you can find him – this isn’t his tale.

***

Isilud fell from the bridge at Germonique’s Crossing, over Zeirchele Falls, in the middle of a pitched three-way battle. Isilud was a strong fighter, but he hadn’t Delita’s head for machinations – he’d expected everyone to be in on the plan. Then again, maybe Gaffgarion was, and Dycedarg had merely made a better offer. It didn’t matter, anyroad. It was weeks before Meliadoul Tengille found the body, and it looked horrible. She didn’t know Ramza by name, but Lady Agrias of the Lionsguard was easy enough to identify, and the rest followed.

Ramza knew none of this; he was meeting Ovelia in the ruins of a church. He didn’t have a grand speech prepared, as Delita might.

“All this suffering and solitude,” she sobbed, “And for what?”

“It was the same for my sister,” Ramza said, and watched the birds. Her dearest friend – all pretenses were long past, by now – and the thought of it still shuddered through her. “This world does not suffer innocence, which it finds callow. But it needn’t be so.” And to her. “It needn’t ever be so again. We could build a better world, Ovelia. Together, you and I, and Agrias, and others.”

“A house built upon lie’s foundation can’t bear the wind.” Ovelia clutched at her arms. Nobody had ever offered her anything before, and you’d be hard pressed to determine for which she hungered more, the agency to enact a will she’d never known she possessed, or the suggestion of an end to loneliness.

“I believe that truth may have died with my sister.” He sat down beside her. “It was that day I understood that all I’d known as true were ideals handed to me by others. That even the truth of my own lineage was mutable, shaped in the eyes of whom it would benefit or harm. That my friendships were not equal. When I lost Alma, I became unmoored. I’d not let another suffer the same.”

An author less kind than Orran might note that the removal of falsehoods only casts light upon truth; that when what one holds as truth collapses to ash in that light, it was no truth at all. But Ramza hadn’t the perspective of viewing his tragedy from the outside, only the scar tissue from living through it. But his words were what Ovelia longed to hear – that Ivalice was parchment, not stone. And that solipsism was survivable. She saw in Ramza not a savior, but herself, stronger and willing to act.

***

Tietra and Rapha became such fast friends that you’d believe they’d known each other all their lives. They understood each other, truly and completely. In the dead of night, in camp, they’d dance together, each of them less scared than they’d ever been, knowing the other kindred soul was right beside.

Delita was having a harder time of it. In his hands was a book that dismantled the religion of his parents, in his ears were the whispers of a woman who’d had one foot in Hell since she could walk, and when his eyes were open he could see Marach skulking about, watching his sister, and Delita had seen him rise from the dead in a miracle. Delita Heiral had only ever believed in himself, and now there were so many things to believe in that he was having trouble choosing.

Between Marach and Valmafra, Delita had at his disposal the remains of the Loar Khamja, who had lost their figurehead in the vile but manageable Gerrith Barrington. They had Zodiac Stones; they had the Scriptures. Delita finally had the power he’d wished for all his life, and he was at a loss what to do with it.

The war continued on without them; Fort Besselat fell and was retaken thrice. Meliadoul traveled north, and in Gollund battled a man for the life of a dragon. The battle was a draw; she left with more questions than answers, though she found in the mineshaft a Zodiac Stone which she held in keeping until she could be reunited with her father. Barich ordered his men to slave over their stewpots, brewing poison. Loffrey traveled west for a meeting with Dycedarg.

And Folmarv Tengille waited for a sign from his mistress.

***

The sign came when the High Confessor was felled, and not by his hand.

A puppet-state, with Marcel Funebris at the strings; this was the grand plan, as Ramza understood it; Delita knew of the Lucavi, but his view was little different. Corruption, aided by the power of auracite. They sought to conquer or destroy, and that was what all powerful men sought, because to hold power was to exercise control. So he gave the order that he thought would do the most good, with the least cost.

It was an understandable stratagem. Sometimes after meals, he and Mustadio would play chess. The machinist had carved the pieces himself, one at a time, slowly, over the months and months that they’d journeyed together. They were not friends, not exactly, but they understood each other, and they both sought the destruction of the Stones, and to a man like Delita, trusting a motive was better than trusting a person. Delita usually won these games, though Mustadio was just unpredictable enough to keep it engaging. But as he grew more and more adept at thinking three, four, six, ten moves ahead, he found things slipping into the abstract, just lines and patterns and little of the pieces’ value. He realized it, one day, when Tietra stopped to watch, and reacted sadly at what she believed was a mistake on his part, but was instead a casual sacrifice to set up mate in eight moves.

He didn’t want to be that man, to have another Alma happen because of his actions, but he also was who he was.

In the end, the true error was that Delita, the cynic, could not imagine his opponent not claiming all the power that could be at his disposal. What he could not understand was that Folmarv Tengille had all the power he needed at the High Confessor’s side – the title would afford him nothing he did not already possess. He did not know Folmarv was the opponent, because Folmarv had not come to Riovanes, because without Isilud to follow, Barrington’s entreaties were easier to ignore. Cletienne had gone in his stead, and only just escaped with his life – and the Virgo stone.

Neither had Elmdore gone to Riovanes, but for a different reason – he was taking meetings with the future queen of Ivalice and her consort. Outside of locked chamber doors, Alicia and Lavian stood opposite Celia and Lettie, each sizing the others up, hands upon hilts, as the most charming man in Ivalice kissed Ovelia’s ring.

But then the Khamja came to Mullonde. Funebris was an old man with no real power, and as a target proved even easier than expected, though in the aftermath Folmarv slayed what assassins he could to keep up appearances. And when he lowered his blade, he allowed himself the faintest smile, as an opportunity presented itself.

***

What if it had gone the other way?

This is a story of two men, who traveled the opposite paths, yes; but it is also the story, always the story, of the women. Of Tietra and Rapha dancing in the dark, of Ovelia standing on a balcony looking over Zeltennia, of Meliadoul singing lullabies to a brother who was no longer there. Of a dragon nursing her wounds in frozen cave, of a queen going hungry in a frozen cell. And of Milleuda Folles, always, always dying in the name of freedom and rage and grief.

Ivalice isn’t kind to its women, but it is rarely kind to its men. The difference is what’s asked of them, that their victimhood be noble. Valmafra knew. What stories do you think she told Orran, in the days before the Gallows? None that made the page. To her, Ajora’s martyrdom might be the original sin; but there were centuries previous, even before the Dynast-Queen, before Müllenkamp, since at least the High Seraph herself.

For another thing Ramza never learned of “Truth” was its relative value. When Orran stood with the noose ‘round his neck, like Ajora before him, and spoke of the War’s “truth,” what use was that Truth to Rapha? What of that narrative spoke to the Miracle at Riovanes?

Do you think she told Orran, Valmafra, that even revealing Ajora’s truth would only confirm for men what they feared, stories of women with power, with light, or even Dark, who the world could not abide?

Did Ovelia think on any of this, as men began marching in her name? As Goltanna sat beside her at the dining table, chewing with his mouth open and laughing at casualty reports? Did she think on any of this, when the Marquis Elmdore de Limberry began calling upon her? Elmdore had many things to say on the plight of the common man which Ramza took in with careful interest, but which seemed so distant to her, so unreal. All she dreamt of were trenches filled with armored corpses, bodies filling rivers and lakes.

At times, she dreamt of blood overflowing out of a well.

As for her great fairy tale romance... it was unobjectionable. Ovelia did not love Ramza, and he did not love her. But she’d believed herself a princess for all her life, and the future she’d always assumed for herself was a man not her choosing; and Ramza Beoulve was at the least kind, attentive, and someone whom Agrias trusted. No part of these circumstances were what she’d prayed for at Orbonne, but they weren’t without their merit, as long as she could keep believing they were in her people’s best interest.

She told herself this again and again, waking in the night, cold, alone. Ramza slept in an adjoining suite. He didn’t know about the dreams. Later, she’d wish she told him, though it would hardly have changed anything.

One day, the Marquis brought with him a letter from the head of the Templars himself, Folmarv Tengille, that Elmdore might make introductions. The bells had been ringing for the late High Confessor for days, and Tengille’s subtext was such that he feared a similar attack would befall the princess. Goltanna was overjoyed, believing it to be a sign that the church had agreed to back the Black Lion in the wake of its lost power. But Ramza and Orran began exchanging furtive whispers.

Agrias laid her hand upon the back of Ovelia’s chair. “Let us return you to your room.”

She looked down. “Am I to again be sequestered, Agrias? I’d thought those days had passed.”

“Only until the Thunder God returns from his ride, princess. I promise you.”

She sighed and collected herself, casting one last glance towards Ramza, who offered a weak smile and gestured that he’d soon follow her. “To where has he gone in such hurry?”

Agrias led her from the room, where men were discussing again her fate without her audience. “Only to Sal Ghidos.”

***

In Sal Ghidos, where the ravages of two wars had left the people destitute and desperate, a collection of young men with a desire to force order upon anyone or anything, even at the cost of their souls, began harassing a lone flower girl in a cracked and turd-laden alleyway. Some things don’t ever change.

But Aerith never dies in Ivalice, actually – other people live to fill that role here, be it for weal or for woe.

So it was, that a figure in a green cloak erupted from the shadows, shattering knives in cutpurses’ hands and in at least one case separating arms from body – that one, the man who’d suggested Aerith sell her “tinderbox” for loose gil-farthings. Meliadoul accepted no thanks from the flower girl, only continued her relentless march northward, but the action bought her an hour’s reprieve, as her unnoticed pursuer was given pause to contemplate before making his move.

Move he did, however, in the end. Cidolfus Orlandeau appeared at the other end of a long street, giving Meliadoul warning enough before placing his hand on his hilt.

“What quarrel have we?” she asked, shifting into a similar stance.

“I come to capture you, Lady Tengille.” Orlandeau sounded old, tired, as he felt; but his muscles, his speed, were as sure as they’d ever been. “I’d not do so as a blackguard, assaulting you unawares. If you can defeat me in combat, your freedom is well-earned.”

“What reason have you to take me?” She drew her weapon slowly, and watched him do the same.

“I come in the name of the future Queen of Ivalice, princess Ovelia Akatscha, and though I take no joy in it, I believe my cause righteous. If you’d come of your own will, we need not draw blood.”

She bared her teeth. “Then you come in the names of those who slayed my brother, and I’d draw blood regardless.”

“As you will, then.” And Orlandeau charged.

She couldn’t win. She didn’t win. But reader, to describe that battle...  to attempt to find the words for the ferocity, the tenacity... Orlandeau had rarely seen such in all his days of battle, and as he lifted her from the ground, he swelled with pride for a daughter that wasn’t his, a daughter we might agree should have been.

***

In our Ivalice, there are certain things we know, and certain things we suspect. So know this: without Alma Beoulve, Folmarv – Hashmal – had to choose the second-best option for his mistress’s host, and it was the one he’d once chosen as most advantageous.

Virgo did not respond to Ovelia in the way it would have to the woman who was all but Ajora reborn, but it did stir, however faintly, and that was enough. He’d despaired at ever finding a host, and so he took the opportunity granted him.

He came in the night, and some were ready for him. If he’d been only a man, their gambit would have worked. But Folmarv hadn’t a thought to spare for his captured daughter, and she watched as his attention remained focused on Ovelia.

Delita had much to say on how, to the church, women were only bodies – and had said it again and again, as priests of Glabados accosted his sister for dancing; but this was far too terrifyingly literal.

Imagine Meliadoul’s shattered heart as she realized what “Truth” was, and its value. Imagine Ovelia’s terror.

The battle was hard, but Folmarv escaped with the princess in hand. History repeats, in Ivalice. And when Agrias limped over to the door and threw it open, they were met with a nation in panic and grief, as poison clouds had laid waste to two armies. The world was ending, again, as it had ended again and again and again. And Hashmal, somewhere, was laughing, knowing that the time of humes was ending as it had once ended for the Viera, the Moogles, the Nu Mou, and all the rest.

***

Valmafra Lenande had, one late night, translated the portions of the Scriptures of Germonique pertaining to the sealing spell that barred the way into the Necrohol of Mullonde.

It was strange for her, traveling with others for so long. It was... good, to know comradeship again, but also set her on edge. She and Delita fell in and out of bed a spare few times, and then hadn’t ever again, and they’d not spoken of it since. Otherwise, she found the whole group tolerable enough, and the two women, Tietra and Rapha, she felt an urge to protect. It wasn’t hard to see why: Rapha’s hurts were all too common, all too understandable to another woman, and Tietra... Tietra, if she’d grown up in another life, been granted another context and the tools to seize a life of her own, she could well have been Ajora born again, the real Ajora, and as it stood the way the people in camp looked to her as its heart, as Delita’s conscience, she oft reminded Valmafra of a woman even older, a woman who had kept to the shadows, slipping away into history with her followers.

Valmafra tried to teach Tietra when she could. Tietra had limits on to what extent she’d consort with the Dark, limits borne from a lifetime of dogmatic Glabados priests and their propaganda, but she was an eager study on more basic magickal arts, though she always spoke of protecting her brother, rather than herself.

But some nights were like this one, where she was up a tree branch, reading by moonlight, this text old mothers had told her of as one might the miracles of the Zodiac Braves, and it renewed connections in her heart she’d feared severed by years of forced service to the Templars and their machinations. And so she solved it, the encoded riddle of this spell, and closed the book to think for the rest of the long night and into the morning without sleep.

In the daylight, they all set out. Delita did not know the full extent of the Lucavi plan, but control over the passage was quite obviously the fulcrum point. They marched, and rode, and told themselves that they held the advantage, being in sole possession of the spell’s text.

By the time they reached Dorter, the war had ended. Delita Heiral stepped once more onto the street which had once erupted in ambush around him just out of cadethood, the first time he’d known war’s true horror, only for the whole city surrounding him now to wail with the unfathomable grief of two armies lost to full-scale genocide. And at the street’s other end stood Ramza Beoulve.

***

In the final accounting, did Ramza become a worse man, and Delita a better one? Perhaps. But they were both also who they had always been. Delita ordered assassinations and saved souls, believing often he knew best, sometimes telling himself so to cover his fears. Ramza fell into ruin and rose into power, causing death and inspiring hope, dogged in his belief in whatever “Truth” of which he’d last been convinced. These two men were always on opposite sides, and only one story could be told.

Orran is wrong, in a way, for these stories are inseparable from one another.

But this is not just their story. It’s Tietra’s newfound strength, it’s Meliadoul’s newfound resolve, it’s Agrias’s determination, Rapha’s unseen bravery, a pair of knights flirting with Mustadio as they all descended into lowest subbasements of Orbonne, as two groups joined together to plumb the darkness and save the princess, that way you do in faerie tales.

And you ask me, dear reader, how does it end? Is the tragedy at the story’s close repeated, or is its reprieve bought with the blood of two armies? Has it not all been a little too perfect, too mirrored, have we nothing to learn from this turn, from this impossibility caused by a single precarious loaf of bread, a darting mouse?

I say to you, instead:

Show a little more respect for faerie tales.

[flipping-voltron-imagines]

“I will find you”

Shiro x reader

A/N: Woah, who’s this chick? That’s right, after many weeks, I’m releasing something I’ve been working on for about a month now. I hope y'all like it, and hopefully there are more things like this in the near future. Also, VOLTRON SEASON 8 IS GOING TO DROP TOMORROW! WOAHHH

Word Count: 3756

Gender neutral 

Warnings: death of close friends, mentions of blood 

“We’re stuck in the gravitational pull,” Captain Murdoch summarized, turning around to look up from his computer screen at Regis and I. Tears waited to fall at the brim of his eyes. “I don’t know what will happen or what’s on the other side of it, but we have a decision to make.” 

When I left on a mission two years ago, I didn’t think I would end up dying. We were supposed to be collecting data on a planet that could be used as a human colony. The play was this: two years to journey there, one to collect data on planet, and two for the return trip. When I got back, I’d planned on marrying my boyfriend, Shiro, who would be coming back from a mission of his own at around the same time. We hadn’t even made it to the planet before we got stuck. 

Next to me, Arianna Regis huffed. She was our mechanic and several years older than Murdoch and I, and always seemed to be grumpy. Luckily Murdoch and I were cheery enough to combat her negativity. “What other options do we have? We’re going to die. No use trying to delay the inevitable.” She crossed her arms and stared Murdoch down. 

The captain shook his head and gestured to the computer screen behind him. It had a different flight plan and stats than we were used to seeing all the time. “Not necessarily. We could try and use the amount of fuel it would have taken to get to Ardexian-” the planet we were were checking out, “-and try to pull out and head back home, as well as expel extra supplies, making it easier to escape.” Turned and touched the screen with his fingernail to trace the updated flight pattern. “Or we could allow ourselves to be sucked in and possibly die.” 

“So we can either die having done nothing, or die trying,” Regis commented. “Gee.” 

“No. It’s more like... we can either most likely die putting up a fight, die not trying, or live after fighting.” Two of those options sounded terrible and one sounded slightly better that then others. I looked outside. The glowing blue blob in space, while it would have made an excellent and beautiful aesthetic wallpaper for my phone, terrified me. It would probably be the cause of our demise, but I wanted a chance at escaping it. I wanted a chance at marrying my boyfriend, the love of my life. 

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Regis. “We’re going to die, there is no question about it. I say we just speed up the process and crash into this... thing...” She messed with the hem of her shirt and glared out the window. 

Murdoch gave her a steely look. “No, we aren’t going to do that,” he sighed, then inhaled deeply. “I’m suggesting we try and escape. Now whether or not we actually do that is up to you two.” 

“You know where I stand,” Regis announced. She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “I’m going to sleep. Let me know what we’re doing.” Then she stalked off to the back of the ship where our individual tiny quarters were, taking the negative air with her. 

Murdoch and I simultaneously released a relieved breath. I stood straighter and moved closer to one of the windows. I leaned my head against the thick glass. The decision seemed simple to me. If I were to die, I’d want to die knowing I’d done my best to escape. Getting out was a possible bonus, like attempting the extra credit on a math test, where you know you’re probably not going to get it right but just in case you do, it’ll help you and save your grade. 

The captain relaxed in his chair, slumping forward. “What do you want to do?” He was so casual in his approach that it almost felt like he was trying too hard. 

“We try and get out. If it doesn’t work... maybe there’s something on the other side.” 

And something on the other side there was. They’d tried to escape the gravitational pull but couldn’t, and for days they floated through space, aware of their impending doom. They entered the glowing blue thing without even realizing it was happening. Suddenly out monitors turned all fuzzy and all of our machinery made weird noises. Just about everything shut down. It took Regis almost a week to get everything up and running properly again, but we couldn’t figure out what our location was. The blue light gone, and with nothing else do to, we put our sensors on the highest setting and continued on in hopes of finding some sort of planet we could survive on. 

We drifted for about a year. One tense year. Regis was constantly in a mood worse than before, having lost hope in ever seeing her family again. The captain, though he tried not to show it, was losing hope as well. He had to keep up a brave face. Every waking moment was spent in front of his computer, staring, watching for any sign of a planet that we could inhabit. As for me, I tried to stay upbeat. My job, as a communications officer, was to stay in contact with the garrison and be on the lookout for aliens and try to be on good terms with them. Since passing through that weird blue thing, which wed established as some sort of portal, my lines had been dead and I couldn’t make contact with the garrison at all. So basically I had nothing to do all day for a solid year. It took all I had not to go crazy, so I ended up creating random tasks for myself, such as creating an entirely new language. I taught it to Regis and Murdoch, and we sometimes used it to communicate.

Then we stumbled upon a giant ship. We received no replies to my messages, and it wasn’t moving. Common sense told us that there was something bad in there and if we went in, searching for supplies, we were dead; common sense also told us that if we didn’t take this chance, we could be dead anyways. Who knew we would become scavengers? 

Despite all the dead bodies around, we kind of liked being on this ship. There was a lot of food, oxygen, and softer beds. After a little debating, we decided that we would stash our ship in one of the holding bays and keep it ready, just in case we had to escape suddenly. In order to make the ship seem undisturbed, we only lived in a few of the rooms tucked away in the corner by the kitchen. Whatever alien species lived there kept a very orderly ship. I took it upon myself to learn the language so that I could translate should the need arise, and also so that I could help maneuver around the ship. 

We stayed there for months. During that time we met Sven-who I thought was Shiro, for a short time-and Slav. Regis didn’t like either of them very much, but Murdoch and I were both grateful to have someone new to talk to, someone less depressing than Regis. Slav was crazy but insanely smart. Murdoch really liked him. After I determined the difference between Shiro and Sven we became great friends. Our friendship reminded me of my own pre-relationship friendship with Shiro, but I still had hope we would get back to Earth; there was no way I was going to pursue a relationship with him. I wanted to marry Shiro, not his lookalike. 

A day of action came when I was tired. I’d slept terribly the night before, kept awake by dreams of my wedding day, one of which included Sven. 

My bedroom door opened and Murdoch poked his head into my room to see if I was awake, which I was, and had been for hours, so I just looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Y/N, you need to come check this out,” he said. “The scanners started going crazy, but we don’t know what they’re saying.” Even though I doubted I would be able to translate for them, as I was only able to recognize a few words, I got up. My pajamas were rumpled and I was completely unaware that I would soon be seeing the faces of people I hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

“I think we should get back into hiding,” I muttered as I brushed past him. “It’s probably someone coming to see what’s going on. We need to get out of the way so they don’t find us.” I made my way to what I called “the command center” but it was really just a couple of computers I’d moved early on. 

“No. Not until we find out who’s here.” He caught up to me easily. “If they’re just pirates, we can scare them away. We’ve done it before.” 

Soon we heard voices. They spoke English and sounded younger. Regis stalked them quietly for a while, and finally we determined them to be trustworthy. Somehow people from Earth had stumbled upon this same ship, and we wanted to stay with them. 

“Maybe they can help us get home,” Regis reasoned when she reported to us. Suddenly given a spark of hope, she was willing to do anything to help us get out of here. 

I was super ready to get out of this alien ship. It smelled weird, and... I thought the skeletons might have been watching me... their creepy heads inside their helmets sometimes seemed to turn when I walked by. 

The next thing I knew, Regis’ screams echoed through the hall. She’d gone back out to continue following the group, who weren’t human but didn’t seem all that dangerous. Murdoch and I froze. My body turned cold, and suddenly Murdoch was shoving me inside a hollowed out computer system. He told me to be quiet. I thought he was finding a place to hide too, but then I heard him get shot and a loud metallic thud. 

I shrunk pack further into my hiding spot and covered my mouth with my hands. I wanted to scream and cry. Captain Murdoch was dead, and so was Arianna Regis, and I had nowhere to bury them. 

The intruders ransacked the place, destroying all of my equipment. The steady beeping that once filled the room because of my scanners stopped. I was left alone. 

I stayed in my hiding place for a long time. I slept four times before I finally worked up the courage to leave. My body was incredibly stiff. As I emerged and stretched, I kept my eyes on the ceiling. Murdoch’s body was probably on the floor, and judging from the lack of that distinct smell of iron, there was no blood, so I forced myself to look. Two years spent with this man, supporting him and being supported by him, having really deep conversations with him, and growing to genuinely love him as a friend... I felt robbed of an experience and a friendship I could have had for the rest of my life. There were scorch marks on the cloth over his heart. He didn’t suffer, which was a relief. 

For five minutes I sat by the door just listening and staring at Murdoch’s body. Those... pirates had robbed me of more than just my equipment. They’d stolen my best friends. If I ever found them, I would kill them. 

For days I stumbled around, gathering supplies. I’d never leave my control room if I didn’t need to. The only time I left was to shove Murdoch and Regis’ bodies out of an airlock and send them into space. If they couldn’t be buried, I knew that that was how they would have wanted to be dealt with. They both had a love for the stars. 

Slav and Sven came back again, this time bringing company. When they found me, they had been running and I could tell they were in danger. They needed a place to hide for a few minutes and I could give them that. 

When I realized who one of the people in the large group was, I burst into tears. “Keith!” I cried, and latched onto him. 

“Y/N?” He wrapped his arms stiffly around my shoulders and pat my back. “What are you doing here?” 

I pulled way from him and sniffled. “I uh... my team... we got trapped in this gravitational pull and ended up here, wherever here is.” 

“It’s an alternate universe,” said one of his friends, dressed in white and green armor. I noticed then that all of Keith’d friends had matching armor. I recognized her as Matt’s sister. He’d shown me a picture of he and his sister together while telling me a story about her. I think her name was Katie, but Matt always referred to her as “Pidge.” 

“Wow, really?” I put my hand on top of my head. 

“Where’s the rest of your team?” 

My silence seemed enough of an answer for Keith. He quickly went around, introducing his friends and explaining what he was doing out in space. “We’re the Paladins of Voltron,” he finished, “and if you want, you can come with us.” 

I agreed, and after some adventuring and an adrenaline rush, I was safe in this weird castle. Allura, whom I became close friends with, helped teach me the language I’d been trying to teach myself. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were all teens that I had met at one point or another. I remember them always being together on campus, and they reminded me of my own team. Seeing them together warmed my heart and made me incredibly sad at the same time. 

When walking back to our rooms one night with the rest of the paladins, I noticed that there was a door between my room and the last one, Lance. “Whose room is this?” 

Lance looked at me with wide eyes. His eyes flickered back and forth rapidly between me and the door in question. “It’s uh... it’s Shiro’s.” 

“Shiro,” I repeated shortly, my lips turing down. “As in Takashi Shirogane, my Fiancé.” I rolled my eyes and put my hands on my hips. “Why wasn't I told about him? Where is he?” 

“He’s been missing.” 

Missing? 

No no, that can’t be. After everything I’d been through, with my teammates dying and being lost in space for who knows how long, I thought that if I were to be rescued I would have some peace, but peace would not find me just yet. It wasn’t my time. As soon as I find Shiro, I’m dragging him back home and neither of us are leaving Earth ever again. 

“Y/N, I’m trying my best to find him,” Keith told me softly, “and I could use all the help I can get.” 

Of course I’d help him. Shiro was my person and there was no way I would just let him go. I told Keith as such and he led me to a room where I could stay. He told me to sleep and that I could begin to help him once I was well rested. 

Finding Shiro was more difficult than I thought. Before I left on my mission, I thought I understood just how big space is. Soon after my mind was blown when I realized that there was truly nothing out there for more than I could possibly imagine, and again I thought I understood just how big space is. Finding Shiro proved me wrong. I went out with Keith in his black lion all the time, constantly checking various places and taking over different alien-sorry, Galran-ships in hopes of finding him blew my mind once again. I soon came to the conclusion I would never understand just how big the universe is. “Never get too comfortable with how much you know,” I told myself almost every day, “because when you do you stop learning.” 

I was hardly comfortable when searching for knowledge on Shiro’s whereabouts. He had to be somewhere. My heart always felt a strange tug, like I knew he was alive somewhere, and I think Keith felt something similar. Our constant, subtle tugging is what kept us going. Even though the others didn’t say anything, I knew they were giving up. They didn’t feel the tug like we did. 

Confident we’d find Shiro in time, I urged Keith to relax a little. “He’s not going to be found any sooner if you run yourself ragged. If anything, you’re only preventing yourself from finding him.”

Bitter that I was “less serious about finding Shiro” than he was, he muttered, “At least I’m looking,” but in a much longer, less friendly statement. 

“Listen bud, you’ve got two choices,” I told him soon after that interaction. He was sitting at the kitchen, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with me while he ate breakfast. “You can either accept the little bit that I’m doing to help, or you can push me away like you have everyone else in this castle. I’ve known you since you were a kid. I really want to help, but I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” 

Keith’s eyes then flickered and met mine. After offering him a small smile, he nodded and muttered an apology. 

The kid may be a brat sometimes, but he was very stressed. 

The next day I woke up with an urgent anxiety settled over my chest. I needed to do something as soon as possible, so I woke up Keith. “We have to go. Now.” 

“What?” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, staring at me with bleary eyes. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling.” 

Keith got dressed, I grabbed some food from the kitchen to take with us and eat on the go, and we met at the Black Lion. 

We were out for a long time. Keith was a little annoyed with me because we weren’t going anywhere in particular but he understood that I was antsy. He had days like those, too, after all, but I knew what that feeling was, and this wasn’t it. I don’t know how to explain what I felt, really, other than that feeling when you’re running really late for an appointment so you’re going way above the speed limit when driving but knowing that it won’t get you there in time. 

Suddenly, the Black Lion stopped and turned. It threw me off my feet and I hit my head on the ground. The roar it let out seconds later added to my pain. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked the lion, gripping the controls a little tighter. A scanner popped up and began to pulse. 

“It’s Shiro,” I whispered. 

“We found him,” Keith agreed.

I started to dance on my feet with a huge smile. “Keith! We found him!” I leaned over his seat and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. After giving him a few shakes and squeezes, we laughed, feeling the huge weight be lifted from our shoulders. That relief was so sweet, something I hadn’t felt in years. 

“He’s too far away for us to go now.” I had yet to learn Altean completely, so I had no clue what his screen said. “We need the castle.” Why we needed the castle I would soon learn. It could travel through space a lot faster than any of the lions could. Within a couple of hours, Shiro’s ship was in our sights. 

Once the Black Lion was close enough to Shiro’s ship, I scrambled to put an extra space suit on and together Keith and I jetted to the Galran ship. Shiro, with movements sluggish and weak, managed to press a few buttons to open it and we took him back to the lion. I sat with him, hugging his bicep and rubbing his back as he took long, deep breaths. 

“How did you get here?” he rasped, looking at me with a soft expression. He was a little dazed because of his previous lack of oxygen, but he seemed to be doing better now. 

I shook my head. That story was too long to tell now, while he was barely conscious. “I’ll tell you later, my love.” I pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek and brushed his long stringy hair out of his eyes. A decent hair washing and haircut were definitely in his near future. 

It was then that I noticed the glint of metal on his other arm. I would ask later. 

“I’m ready to take a nap,” Shiro said and laughed breathily. 

“Me too.” After a few moments of silence, Ketih landed the lion back in the castle. I helped Shiro stand up. Walking down the ramp was a struggle for him. He was so weak shaky, I was afraid that he would fall down. Luckily he managed to stay upright. He nodded and said hello to each of the Paladins, and we took him to shower and get cleaned up. Keith helped with that, me being too dazed to be of any use. Shiro emerged wearing clean clothes and sporting a new haircut. I helped him to his room. 

“Stay,” he murmured when I helped him lay down. Of course I would stay. In fact, I would never leave his side again. 

Shiro insisted on hearing my story before he went to sleep, so I recounted my journey to him: being stuck in another universe, my teammates dying, meeting Slav and Sven, being found by Keith and going back with him, finding out he was missing... I described to him how I felt while trying to find him. I told him about the tug I felt in my heart and how I knew he was alive through that. “And then today, I felt so anxious, I think I knew I needed to find you as soon as possible. It’s like my soul knew you were in trouble. And... in finding you, I think that... in whatever universe, my soul will find you.” 

Shiro smiled and kissed me softly. Soon we were asleep, comfortable in each other’s arms. I was so relieved that the weight on my chest was gone. I had survived, I’d found Shiro, and even though my teammates were dead, I wouldn’t have this ending any other way. 

[chysgoda]

Smoked Out

Smoked out

In which dragons are not the scariest thing.

——

Bianca Pellinor fidgeted with the end of her braided chocolate hair. Her maman was in a meeting with the Congregation’s exchequer so she couldn’t go to her for help. Papa and his unit were on string somewhere in the central highlands so obviously she couldn’t ask him. She would have gone to Bel’s maman’s but they had left on a mission to kill a Primal, whatever that actually was, which was part of the problem. So when she had seen Ser Matthaios walk into the locker room she had decided that he was her best option right now. Well second best, Ser Illeanne would probably be better, she and Bel both being of the opinion that Ser Illeanne was a darn near perfect knight dragoon, but she knew Bel would die of embarrassment if she went to the lady dragoon. It was probably more proper to go to Set Matthaios anyways, he was in charge of the Fortemps dragoons. So she stood against the the hallway wall outside the locker room and waited.

She wasn’t sure how long she waited, probably not as long as she thought, for the door to open and the group of dragoons in street clothes to come out. Ser Matthaios looked tired and Ser Illeanne was part of the group, Bianca chewed on her bottom lip for a moment almost ready to let them go, but Papa had told her she needed to watch out for the other girl because House Fortemps had promised to keep her and her mamans safe; and Bel needed help. She licked her lips and stepped away from the wall. “Ser Matthaios-” When every single knight in the group turned to look at her Bianca blushed to the very tips of her ears. “Do you have a minute?”

Ser Matthaios cocked his head to look at her and then motioned for the rest of the group to go on without him. Ser Illeanne considered her as well for a long moment before leaving with the rest of the group. After they left Ser Matthaios knelt down to talk to her, “What’s the matter Bibi?”

Bianca relaxed just a little bit, if he took the time to come down to her height and called her Bibi then he wasn’t starting off upset with her. “How do you,” she swallowed hard “How do you help someone who’s having problems with bad memories?”

Ser Matthaios made a humming sound in his throat. “That depends on the person, who’s having problems?”

“Bel’s hiding the the armoury. She said that its not becasue her mamans went to fight If- Ifr-”

“Ifrit,” Ser Matthaios helped with the foreign name.

Bianca nodded and did bother trying to say it again. “But she said that it had tempered,” her brows pinched together not sure if she used the term correctly. “Her first parents. And there’s a person she’s afraid is going to hurt her mamans but she stopped talking and won’t tell me anything else and I don’t know how to help her.” the young elezan girl hastily brushed tears away embarrassed that they spilled out.

Ser Matthaios frowned as he thought, “Can you show me where she is?”

Bianca’s smile was broad and relieved as she nodded vigorously. When the knight dragoon stood and offered his hand she took it and led him through the halls to the armory.

————

Matthaios nodded to the head smith as Bianca led him through the armory. The smith took in the sight of a determined ten year old leading a senior dragoon through his domain and must have already known what it was about. He nodded to a storage room that seemed to be Bianca’s intended destination. At the doorway he could hear a hiccup that was followed up by a sniffle. Bel herself was easy enough to find, her lavender hair and ears stood out brightly against the drab colors of blacksmithing supplies. The miquote child was tucked between two benches with her knees drawn up to her chest. Both arms and her tail were wrapped around her shins and her fingers picked at the end of her tail.

He didn’t let go of Bianca’s hand when The girl tried to dart into the room and to her friend. “Softly, it’s not good to startle someone.”

Bel’s ears twitched in their direction. She looked up to see them both and shot Bianca a glare that was at best half-hearted. Bianca shuffled anxiously next to him. Matthaios frowned thinking about how he’s seen Melisande and Art’imis interact with their daughter and Bianca. Mostly they seemed to expect the same behavior knights asked of their squires with allowances made for situations where their years simply prevented understanding. Which had included significantly fewer things than he had thought it would. He let go of Bianca’s hand and gripped her shoulder gently. “I’ll take care of it from here Bibi. Why don’t you go see if the smiths need any help”

Bianca hesitated, looking at her friend before she nodded and hurried towards the work area. Matthaios stepped in aware that Bel had turned her pine green and wine red eyes on him with the same half-hearted glare. He sat near her making sure she had both space and a clear path to the open door. Bel rested her chin on her knees. “I know they had to go, just like Bibi’s dad or you or Ser Illeanne. That’s fine, they’ll beat the big, stupid, fire monkey lizard anyways.”

Matthaios snorted a laugh, which made Bel’s lips quiver in a smile . “Alphinaud doesn’t get it, he thinks I’m being a baby. Its…” She stopped and looked at him hard. “My mamas’ say you’re good people like Ser Estinien and Ser Haurchefant and Bibi’s parents, not just nice.”

There was a weight behind the words good and nice, the distinction between the two words was not something he expected from a child. Matthaios waited for her to go on but it seemed she was waiting on a response from him. “How do you mean?”

“Mama Art says Ser Estinien is good but he doesn’t know how to people so he isn’t always nice,” the girl paused for a moment distracted by a stray thought, “which is kind of mean for her to say because her and Mama Meli are both really pokey when they’re upset.”

The description of the Azure Dragoon and the Warriors of Light drew a laugh out of Matthaios. Bel started relaxing the grip she had on her own shins. She managed a smile for a moment before it fell again. Her voice was softer when she started again. “Illberd was nice. He had funny stories and if he had time when he was at the Rising Stones he’d tell me about Ala Migho. He told me he’d keep an eye on my mamas because sometimes everyone else forgot that they can get hurt too.”

The child put her face down on her knees. “Illberd told my mamas that they should take me to the banquet. Mama Art and Mama Mel didn’t want me to come because they said I wasn’t old enough to go to a state banquet. I was so mad at them, and Auntie ‘Stola, and Papalymo, and Thancred, and Menphila, because they all agreed. I told Auntie ‘Stola I didn’t like her and then…”

Matthaios took a long breath in through his nose and pushed it out through his mouth. If it had just been the primal or dragons that had driven her into her shell it would have been easier. He knew where this was going, he’d been in the First Lance’s office when a Sultansworn Paladin brought news that Ifrit had been summoned once again. This time with crystals that had been smuggled by the Crystal Braves. Illberd and his allies could not reach the Warriors of Light while they stayed in Ishgard. So they were being smoked out with the only thing that was guaranteed to make them come back to Thanalan. “You’re afraid that Illberd will take them.”

Bel nodded and let go of her knees long enough to wipe tears off her cheeks. “They’re always so tired and hurt when they come back. Some of the scions were usually there to help them get home, but they’re all gone.”

Matthaios for his chest constrict and flare with angry heat at the same time. Treachery was difficult enough for adults to deal with, and the lady warriors would not have been able to shield their child from this. Bel took the same blow that staggered her mothers and threw them all against Ishgard’s gates. “I won’t tell you it will be alright, you wouldn’t believe me, but I was there when they made their plans. The Sultansworn are sending people to support them and were going to seek out Lady Yugri for help as well. They’re not completely alone.”

The mention of the Doman Au’ra made the small Miquote shoulders slump in relief. Quietly she came out of her hiding spot to sit next to him and shelter in his shadow. “Thank you. I still wish some of you could have gone with them. You’re better fighters than the Sultansworn.”

Matthaios chuckled remembering the same admission voiced much more reluctantly by the Sultansworn Paladin Marco. “Are you ready to leave here?” Bel shook her head, so Matthaios settled into a slightly more comfortable position. “Then we’ll wait a bit.”

——-

So first off a big thanks to @scrollsfromarebornrealm for letting me kidnap Matthaios.

Headcannon time with Chysgoda

So there’s a lot about the political situation surrounding the WoL and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn that just isn’t addressed and it makes the old debater geek in me sad. So the bloody banquet requires so much internal handwaving I feel like I’m conducting the 1812 Overture. Among other things the absolute lack of response once team scions gets to DragonHead. I mean they go through a LOT of work to set up the frame for the WoLs killing the Sultana. So Plan A for capturing the Warriors fails, what’s the back up?

I also think that there was more to Lolorito cutting Illberd loose beyond what he says to Ruban and the WoL. And we all know Illberd is a crazy mofo who doesn’t have a problem with primals getting summoned.

At any rate, enjoy!

[flatsuke]

for you, the world

Title: for you, the world

Summary: Sometimes, he wished someone out there could grant the wishes of a god. Time Loop AU

Genre:  Angst, Romance

Pairing:  MC/Leon

Rating: T

a/n: Happy Belated Birthday @maidofstars!! I’m sorry this came really late, but I wanted this to be good lmao! This fic was heavily inspired by Madoka Magica’s 3rd Movie! I thought it would be fitting for Leon :’) 

Also a big thank you to @kiserusmoke for getting my ass into overdrive  also @angel34jolly-blog, i finally made a Leon fic :D

?.

The wishes always came to Leon in endless streams.

As a Wishes minister, he’d heard them all before. The annoying lottery wishes, the please-let-me-get-an-A wishes, the heal-my-dog wishes—he’d heard everything, and frankly, he was tired of doing so.

None of those could hold a candle to the sheer amount of love wishes that landed on his desk, however.

Humans never seemed to stop wishing about love, and that annoyed Leon to no end. There was always someone out there who wanted love to be shaped according to their terms, without any consideration for anything else. Leon thought there was nothing more disgustingly human than that.

It came to a point where he had to put his foot down and ban granting love-related wishes in the department. He was sure the other gods had their misgivings with this development, but no matter. His word was the next best thing to the law in the heavens.

“Leo, don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty with this decision?” Karno asked him. Typical of the Cancer god, Leon thought. Always the only one brave enough to question me.

“Of course not. There’s no merit in granting wishes that aren’t worth anything.”

It was true. Leon couldn’t think of any goldfish wishes that didn’t have some hint of human greed or selfishness in them. The mere thought of granting any of them left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Except, maybe, for one wish.

There was one goldfish whose wish didn’t disgust him immediately. The human—a little girl—always looked at the stars with her hands clasped and asked for the same thing—

“I wish something wonderful would happen.”

It was vague, childish even. But it held the hopes and dreams of a little goldfish with stars in her eyes.

Maybe just once, he’d grant this wish.

i.

That trickster of a king must’ve had a twisted sense of humor if he thought sending Leon on Earth to erase his mark of sin was funny.

But sending him on earth knowing full well that he’d fall for the ex-goddess? The king was an absolute bastard.

The goldfish, in her enthusiasm, had invited to him to attend the Star Festival with her. He willingly chose to indulge her—after all, this was the last thing he could do for her before he’d face the wrath of the heavens. He had to leave her with something, and all he was allowed to give was a memory worth keeping.

Unfortunately, their evening was ruined when Minister Ponytail decided to make himself known.

“Lay a hand on her and you’ll regret it.” Leon was smirking, but his words had no mirth in them whatsoever.

“…Because you don’t want any harm to come to her?”

For the first time in the long time they’ve known each other, though he’d never admit it, Leon agreed.

Leon knew, deep down, that Zyglavis did nothing out of malice. He only acted out of a sense of misplaced duty and honor, not to mention the fact that he was incapable of seeing things beyond black and white logic.

That, Leon thought, was his greatest mistake. He would never beat Leon as long as he lived by that outdated mentality.

Leon was already preparing to block Zyglavis’ attack, but he underestimated how foolish she was.

(And how selfless she was.)

Humans were not supposed to have holes in their chests, but here she was, charred skin surrounding the gaping wound right on her heart. She slumped onto the ground, and he was reminded of the little fish they won earlier, now flapping helplessly beside her.

“Why did she…?” Not even Zyglavis could’ve predicted that she’d try to shield Leon from the attack.

But none of that mattered right now.

Leon felt his suppressed power well up in him in waves, and despite all the chaos around him, he could only see red. How dare this insolent god hurt her, how dare this filthy world reject her—

How dare you for not protecting her, Leon.

“Leon! Don’t do this, there are humans here!” Zyglavis’ screams were already white noise to him.

He remembered a wish long ago that he promised himself he’d grant.

If there was anything Leon was completely sure of, it’s that he would do anything to make sure it would come true.

Even if I have to do it over and over.

ii.

This time, he was able to save her before Zyglavis’ attack reached her. Only, in her attempt to keep him from going berserk at Zyglavis, her body absorbed all the impact from his unleashed power.

This time, it was his fault.

But despite all that, she forgave him. Even when he was being dragged off to the heavens to stand trial, she didn’t blame him for causing her pain. Hell, she even begged him to take her with him.

(How could he compete against that?)

In the end, both of them stood before everyone in the Punishments court. She was beside him, obviously unnerved by the scrutinizing looks of all the gods. Still, she met all their gazes head-on with the hidden strength he came to love.

That’s my goddess.

He was, as the humans would say, in deep shit. But seeing her stand her ground against the likes of the ponytailed stick-up-the ass gave him a reason to smile through all this.

“The time of judgement has arrived,” Zyglavis’ stern voice rang across the hall. “You were exiled to Earth for committing the sin of defiling a goddess. However, instead of spending your time on Earth atoning for your sin, you broke a law of the heavens.”

She trembled beside Leon, holding his hand tighter—tighter than she did the first night they met.

“Do you admit to this sin, Leon, wild lion of the heavens?”

He smirked. Of course, he knew exactly what he did better than anyone. The old adage of the heavens, “a god must not love a human more than any other,” rang in his head, but he didn’t bother entertaining the thought further. In fact, he’d abandoned that thought long before he arrived in court.

You’re the only person here that matters.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Zyglavis,” Leon said, giving the other god his best sneer. “I never denied that I broke the law.”

“Tread carefully, lion—”

“But the fact remains that she helped me erase my sin. So make of that what you will.”

The furrow in Zyglavis’ brow only grew more pronounced. “Of all the gods here, your power is paramount to the balance heavens.”

Again with his “balance” foolishness—

“That’s no concern of mine," Leon said.

“Watch your mouth,” Zyglavis scolded, his voice reverberating. “Despite everything, you are still the head of the Department of Wishes—for the time being. I will have you decide now. God or human—which do you choose?”

Leon knew this was a trick question. Should he choose to be human, he would lose his powers, thereby rendering her unable to return to Earth. If he chose to remain a god, he would have to do the unthinkable.

“…Are you asking me to kill her?” His voice took a deadly edge.

“If you don’t, then the only path left for you is extinguishment.”

She panicked visibly at that, and Leon could already read her thoughts—all of which asked him to kill her and save his own life.

Like I would ever let that happen.

She’d told him before that she never wanted to be separated from him, even at the cost of her life. As a wish-granting god, Leon could only do what he did best.

The space around him shifted. The light around him grew to a blinding gold, and he knew the end was near. Yet, none of that mattered to him.

To hell with the King, the gods, and the heavens. If he was a sinner, then so be it. Let the world condemn him, so long as she could have another chance at happiness.

And I would do it again, just to see you smile.

iii.

He was back at the planetarium again, just like the first night they met.

True to her nature, she leapt off the planetarium’s balcony to save a little boy from falling. The force of the boy’s fall was too strong, and just like before, she was pulled over the side of the roof, falling to what could have been her untimely death.

But unlike before, he wasn’t the god who saved her this time.

Leon distinctly heard her heart call out for Huedhaut.

True enough, Hue responded at a moment’s notice, and Leon had never seen the god of Aquarius look so desperate before.

Not since he’d lost that person all those years ago.

Hue held her carefully, guiding her gently back to the planetarium. She, in turn, clung onto him as tightly as she could.

At the back of his mind, Leon always knew that she and Hue had a connection of some sort. He wasn’t a fool not to know that Hue’s missing stars and the reincarnated goddess’ existence were related. In fact, Leon never missed the way Hue looked at her longingly, as if she would disappear from his sight if he didn’t watch her.

Still, seeing them together still sent a stab of pain in Leon all the same.

He supposed this world wasn’t the one meant for him. If he was right, then she was meant to be with Hue in this world. It wasn’t Leon’s place to interfere. He would stay in the sidelines and support them. All that mattered was that she ended up happy.

However, Fate loved to play tricks on the good, and she was the greatest of the good.

Huedhaut returned to the heavens after his mark of sin faded, but her heart didn’t sit well with his absence. Day after day, the rain never stopped its barrage on Earth—a clear reflection of her feelings.

Feelings Leon knew all too well.

Zyglavis, ever the dutiful square, gave her the option of letting Huedhaut die to save Earth, or to let herself die to save both him and Earth.

And, just like always, she gave herself up so easily.

(He wondered if this unending agony was what Hue had to live with for eons.)

iv.

Leon remembered an interesting question Vega posed one day.

“If the gods grant the humans’ wishes, then who grants the gods’ wishes?”

For the life of him, he didn’t know. Supposedly, gods were existences of the highest order; they were at the pinnacle of the everything, able to manipulate the laws of creation at will.

Yet the only wish he’s ever had, the only person that made his world have any semblance of meaning in it—

“I’m sorry, Leo,” Karno had his eyes closed in sorrow. “She was trying to save a boy from a moving car, but…”

He didn’t need to hear Karno continue. He’d already seen her body sprawled on the crosswalk, blood and viscera splattered everywhere.

Humans prayed to the gods to grant their wishes, but Leon had no one to pray to.

v.

Gods didn’t fail.

They were perfect beings that naturally excelled at everything. That was how everything was and always will be.

But after holding her limp body against his chest for the nth time, Leon didn’t think so anymore.

vi.

If this world was the King’s doing, Fate’s doing, or some sick being’s doing, then they were truly despicable in the worst ways.

Leon looked everywhere, but he couldn’t find a single trace of her in this world. He went to the planetarium and asked her friend Hiyori about her, but she only told him that no one of that name ever worked there. Her ever-cozy apartment was vacant, with no sign of anyone ever living in it. Hell, he even checked her family registry only to find out her parents never had any children.

It was utter blasphemy for her not to exist. No one among the gods could fathom his grief, not Karno, not Zyglavis, not even Hue. To them, Leon holing himself up in his private flower field was just another show of his apathy toward everything and not a means of escape from his dreadful reality.

So be it.

He would leave this world and let it rot like the trash it was. A world without her in it wasn’t one worth living in.

vii.

Leon already stopped counting when he reached the thousands. Snapping his fingers was growing tiring at every failure he’s lived through, and the gods have noticed his growing disdain for the universe.

The King had told him once before that gods loved all beings equally.

However, all Leon could think of was how fast this world could end.

viii.

Supposedly, as a god, Leon had all the time in the world. In theory, it made sense. Gods were immortal by nature, and the long stretch of time was nothing to the lifespan of a god.

But if Leon was being honest, his greatest enemy wasn’t the Department of Punishments or even the King.

It was time.

There was never enough time to prepare himself for her inevitable death. There was never enough time for him to save her.

(How he wished to grab time by its throat and crush it with his hands, so that it would know at least a fraction of his pain.)

ix.

Maybe, Leon thought, he should just ask her to wish for his unconditional success.

(He stopped for a while and asked himself if it was possible for gods to go insane.)

x.

Why?

Why are you still so selfless even after everything?

xi.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

xii.

He still had one last option, one last trump card he’s kept to himself all this time. If he used it, he’d be breaking not only the laws of the heavens, but that of the universe as well—of reality itself.

But that didn���t matter to him. It never did.

He’d told her this before, and he’d say it forever:

If loving you is a sin, then let me be a sinner.

xiii.

None of the other gods could hold Leon down in his divine form. The King himself tried to step down and intervene, but Leon was stronger. No one in the world could ever hope to understand his grief.

It was for her alone.

He would become an existence far beyond the god of Leo; he would be her direct antithesis—selfishness itself.  The universe would be rewritten according to his terms, and his terms alone. She would never again be hurt by anything or anyone.

He would specifically make it a universal law to never have her be hurt.

“Please, think about what you’re doing!” Karno yelled at him. “You can’t just destroy everything like that!”

Leon only held her in his arms tighter, the light around them becoming blinding.

Even the scorpion couldn’t hide his panic. “You’re messing with shit beyond our realm!”

“Leon, this isn’t what I—” she tried to plead with him, but he only smiled at her.

Now I can finally—

“Leon! Stop!”

—grant your wish.

xiv.

He sat alone on his throne, marveling at his new creation. The threads of his new cosmos were beginning to form, and he was satisfied. Everything was just as it should be.

“Leon,” said a low voice from the end of the hall. It was Huedhaut, still in his divine form.

How impertinent.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Hue said. His eyes blazed a cool, blue fire.

“Oh, I do. But feel free to enlighten me.”

“You—you’ve tampered with something that shouldn’t be touched,” he said. “You may be a god, but you have no right to just change the order of the universe—even if it was for her!”

I would’ve expected you of all people to understand, Hue.

“Maybe not. But well, I’m not a god anymore, you see. I’ve become something far beyond that, so I doubt it’s in your best interest to defy me like this,” Leon said, a deadly grin on his face.

“I won’t just let you do this, Leon.” Hue channeled his energy into an orb, aiming it at Leon.

“Before that, let me ask you something,” said Leon. “Why are you missing stars in one eye?”

“You know exactly why—”

With a snap of Leon’s fingers, Huedhaut reverted back to his regular Wishes uniform, his godly form nothing but an afterthought. He stood there, dazed at the sudden shift of power in him.

“Let me ask you again. Why are you missing stars in one eye?”

Hue’s expression became clouded, like he was trying to decipher the world’s mysteries. He held up his hand to his right eye, but his face remained troubled.

“II’m not sure…was it always like that…?”

If Leon were still his old self, he would’ve felt guilt at meddling with his friend’s memories. All he could feel now, however, was impatience.

“Yes, it was. But don’t worry, I’ll give them back to you on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t interfere.”

If loving you is a sin, then let me be a sinner.

?.

Donning his human disguise, Leon visited the planetarium roof—the place where it all began—and he hoped to find her there.

Sure enough, she stood at the balcony, hands clasped in prayer at the stars. He felt his heart break at the sight of her smiling so openly.

How long has it been since he last saw her smile?

Too long.

“So, are you making a wish?”

She turned to him, startled, before giving a reply. “Well, um, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there, sir. Are you hoping to ask more about the Star Tour package?”

She was still the same flustered goddess she’s always been. His eyes narrowed in affection.

“I’m talking about the stars,” he said, pointing up. “Do you actually believe wishes come true when you wish upon them?"

“Oh…well, I guess I do. It’s nice to think that there’s someone out there who can hear me.”

I will always hear you, so you can wish for anything you want.

“Is that so?”

“Yes…” she said, trailing off. “Honestly, this is going to sound weird, but I feel like my wishes always come true when I see a shooting star. I guess I’m kinda lucky in that sense.”

I’m glad I could make you happy here, then. Never stop smiling, my precious goddess.

“But you know,” she turned back to the stars, a faraway look in her eyes. “Sometimes, it all feels strange. Like I’m supposed to be somewhere else, and that this isn’t real at all...”

He felt a surge of divine power come from her, and he knew that this was her innate selflessness rejecting the very nature of this universe, which was borne from his own selfish wish. If he let her power run amok, she would surely choose to restore everything back to what it once was, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything they’d been through.

I’m sorry.

Leon immediately embraced her as tightly as he could, both to repress her power and to feel her softness against him. It had been far too long since he held her like this, far too long since he felt any semblance of peace. He couldn’t stop his tears from falling.

“You’re perfect,” he told her gently. “You should stay exactly as you are.”

“Um, s—sir?” She was obviously confused at his sudden boldness, and the power that once flowed from her halted to a complete stop at her shift in mood.

This is all for you. It always has, and it always will be.

He stepped away from her, taking in the apple-red blush on her cheeks. He’d missed this more than anything.

“Just as I thought,” he said. “The stars in your eyes really are the most beautiful.”

He knew she was probably confused—but that was okay. He didn’t want her to suffer with the burden of knowledge; she never should. Maybe the day will come when her memories come back, but for now, all she had to do was be happy.

He’d promised himself on that day so many, many years ago that he’d grant the wish of that little goldfish girl.

And that was all that mattered.

[thegreyreylo]

Just Breathe - Chapter 9

RATING: MATURE

Sample: 

“Rey, no one leaves you and is unscathed. He will come back, regardless of what I want, but he said he would. I don’t think he’s ever lied to you.”

 When I returned to the village, feeling mildly better knowing that Finn was the kindest of friends, several of the natives watched me. Stopping, I made eye contact with them and waited for them to make their point. To say I was still in an awful mood was an understatement. I didn’t understand their language, but it took several moments of watching them motion crudely that I understood what they were asking.

 “Ben left. He’ll be back. One day.”

The words were barely a whisper when they came out.

 “Rey, is that the only way? Is there no other option for us?”

 My head hung, I searched her eyes looking for any hint of her resolve wavering. Being one with the dark didn’t work, I had seen that plainly enough under the teachings of Snoke. The dark side had not given me worth, nor did the light. The light did not protect me from the darkness. None of it worked, and it was time to let the past die. Let it all die. The Sith. The Jedi.

 Let the past die.

 Her lip quivered but her resolve did not, “Ben, there isn’t another way. This is it, you’ll turn. Just like I told you before we went to Snoke, I saw your future and when the moment is right you will turn.”

 She forgets I saw us too, we had a different destiny.

 “The Jedi didn’t have it right. We need to let the past die.” My voice was calm, but my emotions were not as I struggled with the desire to scream. The sensation passed and was replaced with a sense of desperation. “Please, there is another way Rey…”

Her eyebrows furrowed and her lip stopped quivering, “What other way? I’m not interested-“

 “We don’t have to be light or dark, Sith or Jedi.”

 “Please, don’t do this.”  

 “Let the past burn, let go. We can make a new future with a new way of understanding the Force where we can rule the galaxy with a sense of balance.” Anxiety leaked in to my voice as I tried not to remember the last time I offered her this opportunity. I don’t know if she is ready yet.

 She wasn’t ready.

 Her hands disappeared and in a fluid motion she had put several feet between us with an incredulous look on her face. I let her go. She didn’t understand how this was our fate yet. We were meant to find a balance in the force and let go of the constant struggle to maintain one side over the other. We needed each other and we needed to compromise.

 “Ben, this isn’t something we can compromise on.” Her teeth were gritted and I was surprised to see her fists clench.

 Frustration rose within me and my temper flared in response to her anger, “This doesn’t have to be one dimensional-“

 “This is the difference between right and wrong!”

 “What about balance?”

 Her eyes tightened and she grabbed her cloak and turned away in frustration. She was turning to leave me at the edge of this cliff and head back up the path. “Rey-“

 She froze, but did not turn back to look at me. Bravely, I asked her, “Don’t I get a choice in who I want to be? Who I think we should be?”

 Rey turned to face me, and I was surprised to see her eyes full of a passion that I did not understand. “Yes, your decision isn’t made. I told Luke that you hadn’t made your decision yet. But I got a choice too, but I truly hope this isn’t it.”

 Quietly, she left and I did not follow. She couldn’t see that she was trying to make my decision for me as well? Couldn’t she understand that her decision wasn’t as plain as she thought it was? She had walked in the realm of darkness that last time she was on Ach-to and it had not left her untouched. She was no longer the girl from Jakku, dressed in white, and straight forward. Just as I would never be the boy who trusted his parents and Uncle.

 We were grey. Light and darkness.

 Staring up the path, my soul yearned for her to turn around and come back to me but nevertheless she was gone. My annoyance and disappointment reverberated from within me and several of the stone shards in the grass and massive fishing pole went flying. I was alone, as was she. We needed each other in ways that I wouldn’t even fathom trying to understand.

 I needed to show her how we needed each other.

 But I didn’t know if I could compromise in the way she wanted me too.

   Walking away from Ben was like leaving a part of myself behind.

 But I couldn’t stay and fight with him, I just couldn’t do this argument again. I had admitted how much I wanted him, how I daydreamed of our futures together and all he could say was how he wanted to let the Jedi die. Let everything die for us to be together. I just couldn’t accept that this was what he really wanted. Especially after everything.

 I made it back to the village before I checked in on Ben and was startled to see that he was still at the cliff. His emotions were a whirl wind and incomprehensible with his stream of consciousness.

 I need it – But where could it be? I can only do this with it-

 Anxiety became his prominent feeling and the bond snapped shut from the pressure before I could apologize to him. I didn’t want to fight him anymore, I was exhausted and it felt meaningless to fight. I wouldn’t part from him, but I couldn’t be who he wanted me to be. Sitting next to the dwindling fire and the remainder of the fish, I watched the Porg families play in the tall grass and the island’s caretakers glare at me as they cleaned the rubble from my old hut. I would wait for Ben to return, and apologize to him then.  

 Hours passed and I still waited.

 It was dusk before I spotted Ben coming up the stair case from the beach. His shoulders were slouched and stride slow. Instinctively, I was on my feet with my heart thudding as relief washed over me. “Ben!”

 His chin raised, and a depressed expression hung on his every feature. As he came into the light and my vision adjusted, the only term I could use to describe him was detached. He looked broken. “Ben?”

 Closing the space between us, he was silent as he pulled me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me tightly. His chin rested on the top of my head and I felt his lungs shake as he took a deep breath. His whole body relaxed as soon as he exhaled, and warmth seemed to return to his every limb. It was as natural as breathing how my body curved in to his, nestling my face in his chest and wrapping my own arms around his waist.

 “I have to go, Rey.”

 The words rumbled in his chest; they shattered my heart instantly.

 “Wait, no.”

 Stepping back from the hug, I looked up to him in horror and my mind reeled. This hadn’t been our first time fighting, why would he leave now? This doesn’t make sense, he wouldn’t leave. Not after everything that happened, if only he would let me apologize –

 “I have to go.”

 Hastily, I tried to speak, “Wait, just let me-“

 “No.”

My heart stopped and silence seemed to have fallen over the island.

 “But, Ben, I-I don’t want this.”

 “I have to go, Rey.  I’ll be back, I promise.” His hands slid from my lower back to my shoulders as he put space between us. My fingers clung to his tunic as I tried to close the distance.

 “Ben, you don’t have to go. We can talk about this- “

 “I have to go. I’ll be back, you won’t be alone. I’m always with you.” He lowered his face to mine and my breath hitched. He told me he wouldn’t try to kiss me again, he wouldn’t- In the briefest of moments he kissed my cheek and was gone. Like a shadow, he slinked away and was at the stairs in the quickest of strides. His cloak was left in his place and I stumbled after him, “Ben!”

 Desperately, I tried to follow. If only he would let me explain, if only he would give me another chance, if only I hadn’t let him earlier. I pushed against the force bond, but found his side sealed and solid. He was closing himself off of me.

 It didn’t matter, he was gone and I was alone.

   I didn’t try to hold back my dry sob as my boots hit the sand of the beach.

 I swore to myself that I would never leave her side if I didn’t have to, but that did not make the parting any easier. The hours spent apart had been tortuous at best but I was resolved in what I needed to do. If I was lucky, it would only take a few days but the journey alone would take the rest of the evening. Emotionally, I was in tatters. Between the fight and the decision, I was feeling unhinged and turbulent. Leaving her was like ripping a part of my soul out of my body and leaving it in the cold air of Ach-To. I boarded my ship quickly, and prepared to leave the minuscule island as fast as my hands would go. The sooner I left, the sooner I could return to Rey. Devastation and doubt overcame me; could I really do this?

 Regardless, this was my choice.

 I loved her, I chose her.

 My mind and body felt numb as I guided my ship back to the Finalizer for refueling. I was berated by messages when I passed through the ship’s security shields and dismissed them with a wave of my hand. Disembarking, several lieutenants were waiting. Speaking first, “My ship needs to be refueled. I will leave immediately once it is prepared and I need General Hux immediately.”

 Stalking the halls brought me back to an instant bitterness where the darkness inside of me burned with joy. It feasted on the dynamic of the First Order. Surrounded by hundreds of people did nothing but stoke the feeling of isolation. General Hux emerged instantly and began his monotonous yet pompous report of another star system conquered but limited progress on the Resistance.

 “Within the week is a reasonable time before we can final snuff out the vermin of the galaxy-“

 A ship aid updated the status on my command shuttle to prepared for flight on the internal logs and I left immediately. General Hux followed in suit, still spewing his ruthless tirade and tired of his presence more quickly than usual. With a flick of the wrist, he went flying and I slouched into the ship bay.

 The First Order was irrelevant.

  The night had been long without him.

 One night together had ruined me and that was plain to see. Opting to sleep in his larger cot didn’t help the overwhelming feeling of isolation. After desperately trying to get in touch with him through the force bond, I eventually fell in to an unrestful and fit filled sleep. I missed the weight of him.

 When dawn came it didn’t matter that the Porg’s squawked loudly at each other or the clattering the natives were making, I was already awake and exhausted. Grumbling, I made my way down to the Millennium Falcon for my daily check in. While the sight of the nesting Porgs eased my mood for the slightest of moments, it wasn’t until Finn’s projected face was before that the reality of the situation of the settled in.

 I had made Ben leave.

 My lip wobbled for a moment before the tears began pouring down my face. Finn’s face fell from the excited smile to pure concern, “Rey? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

 He berated with questions of concern for a moment before I could compose myself enough to explain. I told him everything. I had not told him about inviting Ben to Ach-To and while the guilt over that omission was strong, the reality of my actions and the effects I had on Ben were stronger. Finn was quiet for a moment before huffing, “Bloody knew it.”

 Attempting to wipe my face with my palm, “Knew what?”

 “I knew Ben must’ve been with you, I didn’t like it but I knew it. You just seemed be holding it together too well for someone just deserted on a foreign planet. Rey, if he truly left you then he is a fool as well as an ass.”

 Surprised, I could hardly wrap my head around the idea that Finn knew. “You thought Ben was here and you didn’t say anything?”

 “I knew you would tell me eventually Scavenger.” Giving me a gentle smile, the world felt better for a moment. Finn was the truest of friends and unwavering in every shape or form which reminded me, “Wait, what do you mean truly left? I saw his command shuttle take off from the village and the force bond is silent.”

 “Rey, no one leaves you and is unscathed. He will come back, regardless of what I want, but he said he would. I don’t think he’s ever lied to you.”

 When I returned to the village, feeling mildly better knowing that Finn was the kindest of friends, several of the natives watched me. Stopping, I made eye contact with them and waited for them to make their point. To say I was still in an awful mood was an understatement. I didn’t understand their language, but it took several moments of watching them motion crudely that I understood what they were asking.

 “Ben left. He’ll be back. One day.”

 Days passed. Nights came and went. I slept very little and spent the majority of my days fishing, running through the movements Ben taught me and looking forward to my daily check in with Finn. The Resistance managed to find shelter but a large portion of its remaining member’s health seemed to be dwindling. I couldn’t know details for security reasons; but it’s not like I was even speaking to Ben.

 In the dead of night, twice I had felt his guards lower while he was deep in sleep. With the rarity of sleeping he seemed to be getting, I didn’t want to wake him. The first had just been a flurry of colors but the second was surreal.

 “Rey” he breathed in his dreams, I felt one of his hands sliding to my waist and the other to my cheek. Urgently he tilted my head, exposing my neck to his hot breath before his lips pressed to my jaw line.

 Oh!

 Shocked and startled, the bond snapped shut on the both of us and I shot out of his cot. Tugging on the nearest article of clothing I could find, I spent that night watching the sea creatures rolling at the surface of the waves and trying to catch my breath.  

 On the fifth night of silence, a peace fell over me as I laid under Ben’s cloak from pure exhaustion. It was a blissful, dreamless sleep.

 “Rey?”

 The word was whispered, and a warm thumb traced my lips gently. If only this was Ben – Reality set in harshly. Someone was touching me. My eyes snapped open and my instincts reeled as I was sitting up in a split second. It took a moment for my sight to adjust but an exhausted Ben was carefully crouched next to my bed.

 “Ben!” I flung my arms around his neck and choked back the sob that was building my chest. Catching cleanly, he stood in surprise but wrapped his arms around my waist and supported my weight thoughtlessly. It took him a moment but he buried his face in to my neck and inhaled deeply. “Ben, Ben I’m so sorry-“

 “Rey, don’t.”

 His voice was curt, I noted a tone of panic and nervousness in it. Did he think I was still mad? Of course, I wasn’t mad. I was the one who had screwed up and been pigheaded, I had pushed him to this. Going to continue to apologize, I didn’t even get a full breath in before he lowered me to my feet and stepped back. “Rey, please. Just wait.”

 He reached behind himself and pulled a leather satchel from a top of one of the chests. Ben’s hands shook or a moment as he looked at the bag before looking back to meet my own.

 “Ben – “

 “Rey, please.”

 Hesitating for a moment, eyes full of worry, he sank to one knee and raised the satchel to me. His head hung and my memory swam with the image of him kneeling before Snoke in the throne room. Confusion coursed through me and I stuttered, “B-Ben, I don’t understand – “

 “For you, my family heirloom.”

 His handles trembled as he raised the bag higher. I didn’t understand. Carefully, I pulled the bag from his hands and felt the mysterious weight of it. Something metal was in it. In the dark, it was impossible to see and when my hand encountered the item I lost my breath.

 Pulling it out of the bag, my whole body shoot.

 Configured in a new crossguard shape, Luke Skywalker’s blue light saber was newly soldered and repaired. The shape resembled Ben’s almost identically other than a massive repaired crack around the middle and two blue wires running the length of the handle. It was instinctual the igniting of the light saber, and seeing the blue blade crackling like fire.

  “Ben, how did you do this? Why?”

Trembling, I looked back to Ben whose head remained low as he spoke.

 “It’s for you. It’s technically mine to give and I’m giving it to you. Our vision of the future may be different, but I would do anything for you. We need each other, in some shape or form, and eventually we will compromise. But right now, we both can agree that you need to continue your training. I wanted a part of me to always be with you, regardless of who you may train with. You will never be alone again.”

 Silence filled the tiny hut as Rey struggled to process what Ben just told her.

  I had never been more nervous in my life then kneeling before Rey with the lightsaber I had barely succeeded in rebuilding. Covered in fresh burns and scars, I wanted nothing more then this stunning woman to accept my gift and forgive me for leaving her. It had stripped my soul to the bone. 

[islandpcosjourney]

Day 3 - Autumn ‘21 challenge

20th October 2021

Clothing! I love clothes now! In fact I’d go as far as to say that I feel great in clothes now, much to the delight of my husband! The ever growing wardrobe bulging in every direction leaving less room for his selection of clothes? – maybe not such a delight, although he does like the look of some of my new clothes so I think he’s accepting and coping with it 🤪

The scales officially say that I’ve only lost 12lbs since my last challenge; my measurements however say an awful lot more about my progress. The reason is it takes a lot longer to lose the stubborn fat than it does to lose water weight. Essentially while I lost 18lbs during my last challenge, it wasn’t 18lbs of fat and that took longer to work its way out of my body. I noticed the weight loss slow down on the scales afterwards but I was also slowly getting smaller – my clothes were getting too big. The scales hadn’t changed, but I had to size down to an 18 in jeggings; I was able to wear my old jeans again and other clothes I had were getting one last wear and then given away to charity as I was now drowning in them and they were making me look bigger than I was. Slow is always the best way to lose weight because then you’re losing it for definite, in the long term; but fast is how it comes off when you do a drastic challenge such as this, and that’s ok as long as you realise that its mostly fluid weight you’re losing initially and then you have to work at losing it as fat in the months after, which is exactly why one musty continue on the same path when making a dietary lifestyle change and not give up too soon. Exercise is the best way to do that. I don’t do enough of it but I do go to a fitness class on a Monday morning when I can and I feel much better after it. I am going to aim to make it my regular Monday morning activity.

I blame my friend for my latest clothes addiction – she introduced me to Popsy clothing! When she first sent me a link, I could see many dresses that I knew I would love wearing when I was a lot smaller – a size 12, so my initial thought was to buy a couple to put into the wardrobe and have as a “target” – something to look forward to. However, I was so surprised and delighted to see “real women” as models for most of the dresses – using size 12, 16 & 20 models. That way you get to see what the dresses look like on the owner who’s a size 6 but also someone who might identify more with your own body shape. I loved that! And it encouraged me into buying some through their pre-loved page, for my current size, to see how I’d feel. Although I was wearing a high street size 18 for both tops and bottoms, the general consensus on the facebook group was that Popsy sizes are generous so I decided to order some Size 16s and was pleasantly surprised that they fit and in fact, nearly wouldn’t if I lost any more weight! Great thing is, when they’re too big for me, I can sell them again as their pre-loved page is buzzing with buyers and sellers looking to share the Popsy love! And LOVE it is! Best of all, Popsies have pockets! Every time I put on a dress now without pockets, I miss them, isn’t that odd?!

As I began to become part of their community, the desire grew to be as brave as some of the women I was encountering, step out of my comfort zone and try some new things. I ordered a pre-loved jumpsuit! A jumpsuit? Me?!! and in a Size 14! My goodness, I was being brave – or stupid! It arrived the same week as we were due to leave for a weekend in Oban to see Peat & Diesel playing in the Corran Halls – if you haven’t heard of them, they’re a great laugh; a teuchter band – look them up! I took the jumpsuit with me but also a few other options. It did fit after all but I wasn’t 100% sure about it. With a bit of encouragement, I did wear it and I felt amazing in it. What was even better was the amount of compliments I got from random ladies, looking me up & down and either saying “you look amazing” or just giving thumbs up. I kept looking around me as if they were looking at somebody else! Such a big confidence boost. I was so glad I’d taken the plunge!

Today has been a really good day, in many ways 🤫 No headache when I woke up – woohoo!! Had a busy day with meetings online etc drank my juices, did some washing, caught up with the family, spoke to my husband on the phone and now I’m writing this while I watch an old favourite and ultimately test my desires – Chocolat! Oh yeah, I’m watching a film all about chocolate during a juice challenge where I’m not to eat anything with refined fats, salt or sugar for another 25 days haha I don’t want any of it though – I am completely, 100% happy and satisfied. Mindset is the most important for completing such a challenge but distraction works too ;) Day 3 complete!!