#and she only became this cruel because she's possessed by literally the god of rage. because it was that or death

[tomurakii]

I kind of hate all the comparisons between kipperlily and like. Those fuckass "affirmative action fucks me over I wish I was [minority] so it would be easier" people because none of that. Is what she said. She said the bad kids already had more experience with adventuring before they got to augefort and it meant they had an advantage. Which is true. Yeah Riz was lower-class but his mum was a COP. Riz, Kristen and Fig had parents who were heroes (Sandra-Lynn is an active ranger, Kristen's parents are paladins, Sklonda is a rogue), Adaine's family was super rich and politically influential, Fabian had both. Gorgug's the only one who wasn't actively at an advantage [IN THE CONTEXT OF HAVING PRIOR KNOWLEDGE ABOUT HEROISM] and she didn't have shit to say about him. Kipperlily was the first person in her family to try heroism, the bad kids are largely legacy admissions.

Additionally to the people comparing it to the "anti-affirmative action" crowd: do you know what affirmative action is. The bad kids didn't receive special consideration on their admissions to aguefort or scholarships or additional financial support or extended assessment times or anything. How could she be mad about affirmative action if none of these people received affirmative action. What they DID have was knowledge about their classes that started much earlier than high school, which is what Kipperlily said in her file that she thought grading should be adjusted for because she did not have that.

To me it's less like affirmative action and more like augefort is like an IQ test. They pretend that it's fair and objective, but you can be taught how to do those things from a younger age, and if your parents took the time to teach you pattern recognition and shit then you'll do better on an IQ test than someone who wasn't trained for it and everyone will act like that makes you innately smarter when it doesn't. It just means someone taught you how to do that earlier.

Barring Gorgug, every one of the bad kids had access to information about heroism and their class at a younger age than Kipperlily did, which primed them for success in their classes. Every one of them got additional information about mysteries from their families (and even direct battle-tactics training from Bill), Riz especially with getting classified info out of his mum. Kipperlily does not have hero relatives. She's the first in her family line to attend a hero school. She knew nothing about it before her first day, meanwhile Kristen was already the chosen of Helio, Adaine had already been attending the best wizard school in the country, Fabian had already spent his whole life training with his father, and Riz was already involved in solving mysteries using info and tactics he got from his parents.

They aren't necessarily "privileged" (except Fabian and Adaine), but Kipperlily didn't say they were, she said that in the specific context of attending a hero school they had a prior-knowledge advantage. Saying they didn't is like comparing the grades of a kid who's academic career started with preschool with a kid who didn't attend until middle school and acting like one of them wasn't better prepared.

[tatyana-dreaming]

Potenza irresistibile: Leonora is Unstoppable

aka an empowered reading of (yet another) tragic opera heroine

aka my thoughts on Il Trovatore pt 3

(title from Manrico’s line in Act 2: Potenza irresistibile hanno de' fiumi l'onde! - The waves of the rivers have an irresistible force!)

with pictures because I have provided you ample walls of text as it is

Quick aside before we get into the libretto: in part 2 I concluded that both Azucena and Leonora are the only ones who really get what they want in this opera, and I think it’s pretty clear with Azucena... “Sei vendicata, o madre!” (even if we are unclear if she intentionally organized Manrico’s death and/or was conflicted by it or not).

Leonora. “I just came out to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now.” @ Ines, @ di Luna, even @ Manrico at the end

Because, out of everyone in this opera, Leonora is... happy? (I mean, yeah, she’s kind of set 100% of her hopes and dreams on this guy, and when she thinks he’s dead, she’s ready to head to the convent to pray to God until she can be reunited with him in death, saying “un riso, una speranza, un fior la terra non ha per me!”  - earth no longer has for me laughter, hope, or flowers! But look at her circumstances and context, and it’s still a choice she’s making, herself, about how she wants to live. Respect.)

[sociological examination about religious/cultural factors influencing WHY she would make that particular choice: coming to a bookstore near you in 2022]

“I swear go God, Ines (literally, I just did) can you just support me for once and trust me on this” (jk I love Ines she’s just doing her best too)

Okay, but to get back to the point... Leonora just has this sparkle. She’s filled with life and joy and happiness in the beginning (and - while yeah, my 21st century feminist me is like *facepalms* don’t make it dependent on another person, especially not a guy, especially not a guy who isn’t really even that focused on you as a person, but more as a possession he has to jealously protect from Rivals - her joy is revived when Marico returns and honestly thank gosh he does, since otherwise di Luna was gonna wreck those convent plans.) ANYWAYS  - di Luna clearly sees and wants to possess this sparkle, clearly having none of it himself.

Some exerpts from the libretto of this sparkly joy none of the characters ever get....(di Luna tries, haha...“la gioia che m'aspetta, gioia mortal, non è!“ but learns that maybe trying to seize someone against their will isn’t the best way to Spark Joy)

We’ve got Act 1 - “Gioia provai che agl'angeli solo è provar concesso! ...Di tale amor che dirsi mal può dalla parola...”  Joy only the angels can feel...such love that cannot be described by words! - Act 2, upon rescue by/reunion with her beloved - “Non regge a tanto giubilo rapito il cor, sorpreso!”  My surprised heart cannot bear such joy! - and finally, Act 4, once she is certain of saving Manrico - “ Vivrà! Contende il giubilo i detti a me!” He’ll live - my joy strips me of words!

Gosh, for such a tragic opera (if you take it seriously), Leonora is just this bundle of joy. Even in Act 4. It’s impressive.

She just has this energy, and I think it’s some sort of radiance from self-awareness and knowing exactly what she wants. You also may notice Leonora doens’t leave a body count the way di Luna, Manrico, and Azucena do. Well, unless you count herself :( but my point is she’s not about hurting people to get what she wants. And Leonora makes it explicitly clear from Act I: “ S'io non vivrò per esso, per esso morirò” - if I cannot life for him, I will die for him.

Leonora knows what she wants and nothing, NOTHING, and NOBODY is going to get in her way! And HOO BOY does di Luna try! So the convent kidnapping shit he tried to pull with the “not even God can claim [Leonora]” attitude didn’t pan out... but it also proved to Leonora that God wouldn’t necessarily save her (convent-style at least) so she leveled up and remembered OH YEAH PLANTS! *cue Juliet line*:

“ I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die.“

And honestly, she’s badass about it, too. From Act 1, she’s pretty fearless, from the moment Ines expresses fear and doubt about her infatuation with Manrico -

INES: Quanto narrasti di turbamento m'ha piena l'alma! Io temo...   What you say disturbs my soul, I fear [for you!] LEONORA: Invano! [You fear] in vain! (or: don’t fear!)

Leonora’s not afraid. She’s simply on a mission. Once Shit Gets Real and di Luna promises to kill Manrico, maintaining strict alignment with Mission “S'io non vivrò per esso, per esso morirò,”  asking di Luna to “Piombi, piombi il tuo furoresulla rea che t'oltraggiò, vibra il ferro in questo core che te amar non vuol né può”- Let your fury fall on the evil girl who offended you; plunge your sword into this heart that cannot, will not love you!

[again, not condoning Leonora’s choices, such as throwing herself under the ‘di Luna is going to blame Leonora for all his psycho actions’ Bus, but I respect her making her choices and fighting back]

Of course, di Luna is like “YOU CRAZY!” and literally tells Leonora her blood wouldn’t be enough to quell his rage. “l tuo sangue, o sciagurato, ad estinguerlo fia poco!” - Your blood, wretch, would hardly be enough! ~really playing the romance here~ :)

Leonora doesn’t get the point, since in Act 4, she repeats her pleas to exchange her live for Manrico’s - still not getting the Blood is Not Enough memo, apparently - “Svenami, ti bevi il sangue mio!” - Take me out**, drink my blood!

**no, di Luna, she isn’t asking you out on a date (sorry it’s so hard not to just 100% shitpost this opera) - but I couldn’t find a better translation. You don’t really say “faint me” in English and I don’t think the direct translation is “kill” but “take me out” seemed like an acceptable euphemism.

Of course, Leonora ultimately ends up accomplishing her Mission. [Like I said in part 1, my initial reaction to her self-sacrificial death was just anger and disappointment. But in context, she’s pulling a valid Juliet move... her circumstances are awful and suffocating and there are very few ways out for her in the world she lives in... but she ends up exiting the game on her terms.

{At the subjective level, at least. Objectively, her only choices are a vampire who will suck her life dry [di Luna] - in which life might be merciless - or choosing to withdraw from life with Help from Plants [poison] - in which death is merciful. Again, sociological exploration of Leonora’s CHOICE ARCHITECTURE coming to booksellers near you. Might even include Alternate Ending: running away into the mountains with the gypsies instead, but we all know that isn’t part of Mission “S'io non vivrò per esso, per esso morirò.” Plus I think we are all familiar with the concept that as humans we are more likely to stick with the evil we know rather than strike out into the great unknown. Heck, somebody stop me, these asides will be the death by boredom or exasperation of us all. Wait, are you reading this!??! WOW and bless you!! Thanks and I’m sorry}

Unfortunately, Manrico has to be a little turdball and start cursing Leonora, being the jealous self-centered guy that he ultimately is, before he realizes what she’s done to save him. “Manrico I’m literally dying FOR YOU and this is how you repay me?”

In Act 1, she begs di Luna to see reason through his jealous rage, but by Act 4 it’s her own beloved, the person she’s organized her Life Goal around, who is displaying the same jealous, blinding rage, refusing to listen to her. “Oh come l'ira ti rende cieco! Oh quanto ingiusto, crudel, crudel!” Oh how rage blinds you, how injust, how cruel you are [Manrico]!

Oh, the sweet and cruel irony Leonora getting her unconditional, immense, “eternal” love dismissed because Manrico doesn’t get it the way he wanted it [i.e. uh oh are we going to circle back to possessiveness/jealousy? Is Leonora the only one - and granted, she is a little psycho/obsessed/infatuated à la di Luna, but without trying to POSSESS her object of affection -- who can love in a semi-healthy way in this opera?? apparently]. My poor girl. At least Manrico Comes to his Senses before she dies (just in time for him join Leonora’s fate himself). *sad cheering*

Let me end by emphasizing that Leonora did not die JUST to “save Manrico.” Yes, the libretto says “Prima che d'altri vivere, io volli tua morir! “ - Rather than live as another’s, I wanted to die yours. But to me, it’s pretty clear she’s dying for herself - dying as her own self, as hers (I mean, technically she never became Manrico’s “legal property” anyways if we want to get into the morbid lack of womens’ rights, so she wasn’t even “his” in that way). And in the end, choice architecture aside, the point is that all the way, Leonora knew what she wanted, made her own decisions, stayed true to herself, and accomplished what she set her mind to. Nothing and nobody stopped her. Who’s to say what else she might have wanted if she had had different opportunities, choices, knowledge, or most importantly had been born in a different context.

(*faceplams* had been born?!! She’s a fictional character god Karo go to bed already) (*peels hands off face* it’s okay you are processing outrage over the Female Experience and Leonora represents a lot of real women, living and dead)

I conclude. LEONORA IS UNSTOPPABLE. Let’s part with some lovely lines from our complex (if a bit compulsively devoted), tragic, yet joyful, empowered, and fearless heroine:

Tu vedrai che amore in terra mai del mio non fu più forte: vinse il fato in aspra guerra, vincerà la stessa morte. 

You will see that never on earth was there a stronger love than mine; it defeated Fate in violent strife, it will defeat death itself.

*              *              *              *              *               *              *             *        

Screencaps from IL Trovatore (Met 2011) ft. Sondra Radvanovsky, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, and Marcelo Álvarez

[undyingpriestess]

LEVANA MORRIGAN MORELL is 220 YEARS OLD and the COURT NECROMANCER as well as ADVISOR TO THE KING in all matters arcane. Typically, you can see her with haunting the castle halls in IRON CASTS and a CRUTCH wearing BLACK KOHL around her eyes to hide her perpetual dark circles. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

SKIN AND BONE.

You have not always been power-hungry. In the beginning, when you’re no older than twenty and you struggle to come to terms with your abilities, you are soft around the edges. More willing to concede that your skills are a tool to be used by others and not by yourself. You travel from court to court, king to king, offer your services and abilities and vast knowledge – acquired at the Temple, of course, when the Temple was once secretive – in exchange for safe harbor. Most accept because they are terrified, and you work this terror to your advantage. They might worship necromancy in Tyrholm, but other cities and states are entirely different matters. Across the Sahrnian sea you are almost crucified when you reanimate the queen-consort’s favorite wolfhound. No matter, though. It always ends the same way, and as you grow older, extended your life beyond your years, lose the sensation in your legs and your ability to scream, you realize that there will always be a pattern. A pattern you’ve been missing, apparently, but a pattern nonetheless. Another ruler dies and you set your eyes on Tyrholm with the intention of a new experiment. If they were weak enough, could you orchestrate the fall of of an entire nation through an incompetent king? You think you could, if you chose to. If you chose to, the Undying whispers into your ear at night. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, and when you rise the next morning, you step onto the next ship that will take you and sail.

You arrive two years into King Septimus’ fledgling rule and he is enamored by you, in spite of the hair you’ve allowed to grey at your temples and the serpentine smile you possess. Surely your entrance is a clandestine one, a blessing sent down by the Undying God, he says, and you pat his hand. Reassure him that this is meant to be. It doesn’t take long to persuade him to disavow his former arcane advisor and put you in their place; what you know outweighs the tomes and tales of old. You have firsthand experience, something he delights in at first. But time, much like everything else, passes. You watch as Septimus grows old and fat and feasts and refuses to act but will not abdicate or let go of his rule no matter what words you put in his ear about destiny. You’d been expecting an idiot for a king; most of them were. You hadn’t been expecting someone so stubborn. In recent years your resentment has only fostered. He doesn’t listen to anyone, especially not you, and acts on a whim rather than on information. He possesses a personal spymaster, an assassin, a literal ruler of the high seas, and – most importantly – you. His laziness is beginning to grate on your nerves. You think the time has finally come to topple all the pieces on this particular chessboard over and move along. You’re out of patience.

This skeleton was written by Julie.

FLESH AND BLOOD.

It’s an unfortunate thing, to carry the legacy of a ghost before you’ve even taken your first breath. Her parents were never able to really let go of dead things, though. Their marriage was long dead before they even tried for their first child, the love that they had once had for one another before even that. They held onto their dead ideas and dreams just as they had held onto the memory of their first daughter years after she was buried six feet beneath the dry soil of the summer ground. A famine had swept through their country and Levana’s poor sister had never stood a chance, despite the prayers that had been offered up by the Morrells time and time again.  The last vestiges of their hope for something living had been placed on Levana and even when she had been placed into her mother’s arms, howling and red-faced, it hadn’t been enough. Where her sister had been a thing of beauty, she was a shock of white hair and sharp edges – looking like the corpse that her sister very much had been.

The irony of it all was not lost on her. It was perhaps why she had such a wry, dry sense of humor despite how tragic it actually was. In the face of fate’s cruel humor, she couldn’t help but laugh along with it. She still had air in her lungs, a brightness in her eyes and a smile so bright that the moon had no choice but to look on in envy. When her mother would bite and spit at her, she would simply turn her gaze the other way and go out to the fields once more - either to lay in the wheat or lounge upon the back of their old, weary work-horse. As the sun would shine upon her pale, ivory skin she was more than content to let it eat away at her, all too happy to live a life of ease, if it only meant that she not bother the world with her existence and it not bother her with its woes and tragedy. Levana had disappointed her parents enough, there was no need to disappoint the rest of Tyrolhm by imposing her useless heap of skin and bones, her cutting mouth and staunch moralities.

When she wasn’t blissfully sketching away with a bit of charcoal stolen from the hearth or wrestling another bottle out of her father’s hand, she always managed to corral the kids of the neighboring farms into grand, elaborate games. She was always the leader, the one who set the rules, who dictated what was fair and what wasn’t – just as she was always the one to clean up the scrapes and bruises of her comrades, whether they “fight for the king” or not. Even when she ruled with an iron-fist it was clear that she was soft around the edges, forever armed with a warm smile and a bawdy joke that would have made her mother balk and her father grab the broom to smack her with it.

What a lovely childhood she had. She wished she could remember it, now. She wished it had lasted longer.

The days of playing games of mages and holding mock-court were long behind her. The reality of her inability to be anything more than a farmer’s daughter was beginning to make the Morrell household a rather suffocating place to be. Too odd-looking to marry off, not savvy or competent enough to hold the land and keep it to herself. There was no profit to be made in caring for the children of the countryside or teaching the war-ravaged and orphaned creatures how to find joy in capturing the smile of another in charcoal, or coaxing them into sweet sleep with tales of pirates and warrior women. No man wanted a woman so useless. No family wanted to pay a dowry for useless little Levana who could only offer a shining – albeit impish – smile. The only suitor that had come knocking had left in quite a hurry when he realized how strong-headed she could be, how sharp her tongue was and how her eyes seemed to see right through the facade of gentility and courteousness. For the umpteenth time in her life, she had been sent to bed with an empty stomach – though, throughout the night it had been full of laughter at her suitor’s expense.

Not long after, on the night of her 20th birthday, when her parents were ready to sell her to the most ill-reputed house in Tyrolhm that was furthest away,  the Undying God decided it was high time that the blessings they had placed upon her be brought into the light – the revelation of her abilities shining unabashedly in the bright, spring sun.

Her little gaggle had all grown and had children of their own or moved to have adventures across the Sahrnian sea. Some of them even became clerics at the Temple, while she was all too content to take each day as it came, toiling away at the dying soil, listening to the bickering of her loveless parents, frequenting the markets and listening to the songs of bards that were passing through. Levana had taught the children of the countryside her games – telling them tales of the glorious adventures she and her friends had when they were in the golden years of their childhood. Wars raged while wielding sticks in the place of swords, and pieces of barks as shields. One of the girls had stumbled into the stream – its waters tumultuous and high from floods that had come from the melting winter snow. The fretful, panicked hands of the small children tugged at her skirt, pulling her from her place beneath the shaded tree, voices high and weeping as they tried to pound life into little Errena’s chest.

That was the first time Levana could recall giving everything.

That was the first time Levana could remember trying.

She remembered peering up through the leaves, watching them sway in the light breeze. Years later, she knew that it was the last time she had ever known the meaning of peace.

Untrained and reckless, she had poisoned the earth that was there – and because it hadn’t been enough, she had poisoned something within herself as well. The grass had grown black beneath her fingers, parched and dry as though it had never known green days. She remembered the cries of horror from the children as they had watched her body bow over little Errana’s, had heard the guttural noises that tore from her lips, the darkness that had been cast over her eyes. If the Undying God were to have had a voice that could be heard, it would have been the very same that poured from her lips as she called Errana’s name from the land of the dead. When she had arisen with the girl’s cold, trembling hand in hers, she looked at the children that stared at her in terror – a weary smile on her lips as she told them to run along and keep this secret between them. There was no need, though; terror was the most effective muzzle.

She packed her bags and made her way to the Temple, leaving the Morrell lands and the Morrell name far behind her. Levana never thought to question why it was so easy for her to leave those ties behind – the land of golden wheat and warm, drowsy memories. She never thought to ruminate on which part of her had died that fateful day when she had exchanged a life of peace for Errana’s beating heart. Levana built her life anew as Morrigan, giving the name at the steps of the Temple, while enlightening them about the tale of a girl once known as Levana. There had been no need, though; it would always be worth it for the lives that she managed to call back from the arms of the Undying God. Her tutelage at the Temple illuminated the path that she had willingly turned a blind eye towards in favor of lazing days spent adventuring under Tyrolhm’s golden sun. Ravenously, she consumed the tomes that they placed in front of her, testing the limits of her power and reflecting on the tolls that they took on her. For one of the orphan girls she resurrected a bird that had been target practice for the impish little boys – and for that she lost her taste.

For a queen’s handmaiden, she had animated the limbs of her poxed brother, and for that she lost the life of the only person she had made there that she could have called friend – a wizened old tutor whose eyes were milky and whose lips carried lines from smiling so often. The years began to bleed into one another, her hunger for knowledge growing as her abilities did until she began to spend restless nights squinting into tomes as the wax of once-tall candles melted into stubs. The coldness of corpses and the silence that they offered became more familiar to her and far more preferable than playing the enigmatic mage at the courts that the Temple recommended she visit. But for many years, she clung to who she remembered herself to be, the charming and vibrant girl that had spent so many days dictating which child would be allowed to be king, who was to be the advisor, the general, the serf, the mistress, and the queen. Her cutting tongue was known to cause riots within courts, stirring subjects with barks of laughter, making handmaidens and queens flush – charming kings and princes and royals alike.

They whispered of her across the lands and the wide, raging sea – the necromancer with silver hair and dark eyes, whose smile you wished to see before you died, whose siren-like voice you heard call you from the embrace of the Undying God.

But just as death and life were inseparable, were one, so too was the love and hatred of those who heard the tales of Morrigan. There were those who sought to control her, just as she had controlled the corpses – shackling her in dungeons until she did their bidding. There were kings and queens who wished to bed her and use her for nothing more, casting her out of their castles mid-winter when they realized she would not. Poisonings and beatings were something she learned to become familiar with (demoness, devil, defiler), prejudice, bigotry, and poverty haunted her as assuredly as her sister’s nearly-forgotten ghost had. And what did the Temple do but preach to her about the practices of her power and her duty to guard wayward kingdoms from their tumultuous, violent ways? What more was she meant to do but bear these burdens and slights, so that they might know she might usher in a new age of peace? In her many travels and over the two centuries that she walked the earth she had lived a number of lives. The mage, the pick-pocket, the farmer’s daughter, the con, the philosopher, the artist, the scholar. Not a single one of them had known peace as intimately as Levana Morrell had.

But she was dead.

Only brought back to life once, in the chamber of a queen she thought she had loved, across the Sarhnian sea who always kept a wolfhound at her side. Morrigan thought she had the heart of a wolfhound too, which made it all the more easy to lay her heart at the queen’s feet. She remembered how she had poured herself into the creature, had harkened for its heart to beat, for its heart to rise. Some nights she can still taste the growl that had torn through her throat – an echo from the wolfhound’s maw. She could still feel how her spine had bent over the limp form, arms twitching, back arching as the creature began to rise to its feet, tongue lolling, eyes black. In restless fits of sleep, her and the hound became one in the same. Sometimes she would wake, touching her teeth, thinking that they might be sharp. Within that week, she had been ushered out of the castle by one of the queen’s advisor, his eyes unable to meet hers as her threw her traveling cloak over her shoulders, shuddering away when his skin had grazed hers, paying no mind to the way he had the guards drag her since her legs didn’t seem to respond and gave way.

When she was returned to the Temple she wept for a fortnight, unable and unwilling to leave her bed. She had given everything and they had taken everything. There was no one but herself to blame – and what was worse, she still craved the power that had poured forth from her. She hadn’t noticed how her legs had failed her, only the way all eyes within the court had looked to her in awe, in terror, in reverence, in horror. In the years that followed, she learned to use her legs once more, the iron casts and crutch aiding her, adding further allure to the century old necromancer whose bright eyes brought corpses to life in the Undying God’s name. She knew what power the whispers of common folk and courtiers had. When she had laid her heart out for the queen consort, something within her had exhaled its final, shuddering breath. Something within her had risen from its ashes and come to life – awakening with a ravenous, insatiable hunger that eclipsed any she had ever known.

In the eyes of the great court, she had seen within them the reflection of the death defier that was whispered about. In them, she had seen the power that she had. She could realign the stars and there was no doubt that they would look at her with that intoxicating concoction of horror and awe. They would have no choice but to do as she wished – and what she wished was for that power to be wielded by her and her alone. To bring about the Golden Age of the world as she would define it.

The woman that stepped into the court of King Septimus was a far cry from the girl that had spent her days lounging beneath the large branches and green leaves of an age-old tree. Her iron casts had echoed as she entered the large, grand doors of the castle and from the moment she laid eyes on Septimus, she saw a future of glory – the Golden Age made incarnate. He was malleable beneath her touch and in the first decade of his rule, she flourished. It was not unlike when she was a child, dictating this and that, her the cutting edge of her words coming off as roguish and charming, refreshing and novel as the entirety of his court leaned in to listen. Morrigan forgot, though, how quickly novelty can wear off and before long the revulsion sets in, her contempt for Septimus beginning to become a nigh-impossible pill to swallow. She thought that perhaps her intuition had failed her, that once again fate, with its cruel humor, hoped to make a mockery of her once more.

The mage with all the power in the world at her fingertips was unable to bring anything more than a handful of decades of tenuous peace, known for nothing but carnage and carnage alone under King Septimus’ rule.

She didn’t even have the ability to laugh, as she once might have been able to. That power had been taken from her, too.

The yawning hunger within her, though, did not balk in the face of kings, though. It recognized neither the limitations of Morrigan’s own body, the intricacies of politics, nor the iron, bloodied fist of Septimus. All it knew was how close she had been to power – fingers outstretched, yearning, reaching, grasping. She remembered the weary faces of the soldiers as they returned from the carnage, how pale and wide-eyed they had been, how their armor had shone, painted with the scarlet blood of the fallen. One soldier’s eyes had lifted to hers and within them, she saw the lifelessness of so many corpses that had been laid, prostrate at her feet before harkening to her call, their once-still hearts beginning to beat something fierce.

If she could not bring them peace with King Septimus then the issue was simple; she did not have enough power to. That made her culpable for this carnage. The sharp-toothed hunger within her stirred, sinking its claws deeper into her as the last vestige of her patience was swallowed whole. She would take the power that was not given to her. She would crown a new king and usher in the Golden Age of peace that she had envisioned, or upturn the board and start this game anew, with the rules dictated by her and her alone.

Her lips had twitched as she recalled a girl, standing atop a rock, dictating to those beneath her the new rules of a new game.

That young girl had been rather good at that.

She would be too.

NOT A SOUL IN SIGHT.

[glasyasbutch]

Oh, do you want some angst this week? is that what you want? alright bud let's go!! 1, 3, 7, and 28 for whoever has the Most Interesting Answers!!

Thank you for sending this in!!! Under a read more both bc Prose Boy but also because the first question ended up becoming a short story with some themes of body horror in it so! look out!

1. What’s one experience your character had that made them very afraid?

I rolled amongst the characters I haven’t already discussed in depth later in this ask and got Roona. Lovely.

Being a person with near zero impulse control and a penchant for doing it just because someone said not to, I think at some point while barding alone on the road, she ended up in one of those small towns with a big secret that pop up in the thousands in D&D. 

One of those places where there’s a house on the outskirts of town with the windows all locked up and the front gate rusted shut, but it’s not dilapidated, and if you listen close enough there’s still voices drifting out through the cracks. And if you ask about it in the tavern, the room falls silent and no one’s gaze is meeting yours and after a tense few seconds the bartender slides you a too-full glass and tells you “You best be forgetting about that place, it won’t do you any good.”

And you want to know so badly what happened there and every answer you get is vague until the coin purse comes out, and then the hushed whispers come out too and you start to hear things about how the family that used to live there would collect all kinds of artifacts, and one day they imported something horribly cursed, and it’s probably still inside, it’s got to be, because no one’s ever been seen leaving with it, and anyone who goes to get it back walks away with blood-drained face and shut mouth. 

And so you try to sleep at night but you can’t, because you’re thinking about this fucked up house, and you’ve been to enough roadside tourist traps to know that the value’s in the show, and terror and wonder are almost the same emotion, and you’re pretty sure that this is just some long con publicity stunt that some recluse rich ass family is pulling, because rich people are fucking weird like that. And you’re not gonna call them on it, but you’d like to see for yourself, just to know if your hunch is right. 

So you sneak over there in the dark of night, and you hop the fence and press your eye to the shutters of the living room, and you curse your short legs that you don’t have the best of angles, but you’re still able to make out movement inside the place, and you can see the figures milling about in profile, but it’s hard to make out since the lights are off, which granted, is a little bit weird. 

But you squirm and shimmy and hoist yourself up by the window ledge and you’re still looking through the slats the whole time and you’re trying to see, you can almost get the right angle of your head and the moonlight to make out something of worth in the room, you just need to get a little bit higher and -

And you kick the side of the house and it reverberates much more than it has any right to, though that could just be the adrenaline pumping in your veins, but it really feels like the whole house has shaken, and the figures in the room all freeze in place, which is a bit worrying, but you don’t see them looking at you, which is almost a relief. 

But they are looking at you. The longer you sit and wait for them to go back to their business, the more you realize they’re waiting for you to leave. They can tell you’re here and you’re not supposed to be, so everything comes crashing to a halt, and they’re looking at you, so you know that you’re the disruption. 

But you didn’t realize until now that’s what they were doing, because they don’t have faces. It’s smooth skin, no sign even of eye sockets or cheek bones or nose bridges, just blank skin, like a mannequin come to life, but even with nothing there you can still feel them staring and you want to run away as fast as you can but you’re too scared too move. 

You become scared enough to move again once one of them begins to move towards the window that you’re at, and you hop the fence once more and high tail it back to the inn, hand on the hilt of your sword the whole while. And you slip back into your bed and wish you’d heeded the warnings to stay away, because even though you checked over your shoulder a thousand times to make sure they didn’t follow you, it still feels like the lack of eyes is staring right at you from the dark of every corner in your room. 

And you don’t sleep well again until you’re miles away from that town. 

3. Have they ever lost a loved one? What happened to them, and are they the same as before they lost them? 

These are d&d characters and I’m a tragedy slut so long answer short, yes, approximately half of my characters have key backstory moments revolving around the death/betrayal of a loved one.  Craving, Tov, Stella, Ezra are Supremely Emo, with Gildy and Nissy being lesser versions but still fitting the prompt.

Craving: Her entire life has been a series of deep losses that fundamentally changed the way she grew up. First person she lost was her mother, Kaissa, who died of a mysteriously incurable illness and whose public autopsy was revoked by the city for reasons no one could figure out. It broke her trust in authority, in public figures. The medical sector had refused to treat her mother and then hidden the evidence, it was as good as murder, and she figured every seat of government had as much blood on their hands.

The second to go was her father, Anvan, one of the first victims of a plague that devasted the tiefling population of their city far worse than any other race. He died before a vaccine was developed, but it wouldn’t have mattered any ways, because it was distributed in a horribly biased fashion by the producers which benefitted the human populous first. Not only did this break her trust in money, as a tool for growth and prosperity and caused her to see wealth as possessions as a tool for cruelty (which, you might ask, doesn’t she want wealth? doesn’t she steal impulsively? yes. she does it to be cruel right back at the world.) BUT it also was the moment at which she really lost her youth, because with the death of her father, she had to go into working full time.

The last to go was her brother, Sirris. He was stabbed and burned to death in a hate crime attack on their store. She went into the back room that day as a broken but loving woman, and crawled out of the ashes dragging her brother’s body behind her as a hell-bent, rage-blind servant of eye for an eye retribution. She was going to tear this world down from the inside, and she is still barely starting to learn that there are some things that don’t deserve to be crushed in the wreckage. 

Tov: He went to the Shadowfell to get some sorcery powers and when he walked back out he did a little attempted murder on his brother, who funnily enough Did Not Like It, and cast Tov out of his clan and his life, out of everything he’d ever known. Tov stood on the shores as his brother boarded the boat home alone and the second the ship was out of sight, he became a shell of a man that he’s still trying to fill back in.

Stella: Her entire community got burned to the ground and only a handful of survivors made it out, and she had to go from balance-oriented hippie kid to Literal Fucking Assassin to survive so uh. She got lost in a world where she had to become mean and cold and emotionless in order to stay living, and if she’s being honest, made it a lot easier to deal with the fact that Literally her Entire Life was irreparably gone. 

Ezra: His sister died on a quest for his God, after being promised saving by his God, and failing to be resurrected by clerics of his God. It made him stop believing in God. Like that one’s super duper straightforward.

Gildy: Not nearly as emo, but her spouse passing of old age and leaving her alone in the house made her finally realize that her life is. Hers. And that’s it. And kicked off her quest to do things that actually interest her and get into 3D art and forging and eventually a lifestyle of travel and adventure in the name of her art. She focused on herself for the first time in her life and maybe its just it being 1 am but I am a little bit soft about how that deep deep loss of a spouse was a catalyst for one of the most unabashedly happy times in this woman’s life because she finally didn’t have to care about pleasing anyone but herself! Nissy: He eloped with his girlfriend and then got dumped by her and he realized he kind of sucked shit on his own and decided to go adventuring to prove himself about it. At the time I played him he was fresh out of the breakup so he hadn’t changed much, but I feel like by the time he gets back home he will actually be much more sure of himself as a person who has value and worth and deserves a place at the table as he is, because that’s what being with Mavy had started to teach him, and after she left he was able to internalize it better bc there was no external source to pass it off onto. 

7. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would it be and why? 

Stella would kill Geran, the man who caught her assassinating and promised her a clean wipe of her criminal record in return for a year of SUPREMELY sketch and manipulative personal guard work. She knows she can’t do anything to him because if she fails he turns her in himself, and if she succeeds one of his lackeys does, but he’s also an absolute creep and a sleazeball and she hates his guts and the world would be better off without his freakness in it. Hey actually Rebekah this guy would make a great fourth character for Ludo. 

28. What is your character’s greatest strength?  Is it not the essence of a queer person’s D&D game that every character’s greatest strength boils down to a unfathomably deep love and devotion to whatever persons or tasks they deem worthy?

[randomnessunicorn-imagine]

🎰  CUPHEAD FANFICTION ~

{ I’m so glad people have appreciated my story, this fills my heart with joy and satisfaction. Thank you all! I hope that this chapter will be worthy like the last two and you will have fun reading it. I have to admit, I have some clear points about this story and some others that are not so clear but I will work on it! From this chapter, you can understand that the nature of the reader is changing and they will mutate themselves drastically as the chapters pass. They are becoming aware of themselves a little more. Yes, this is one of those ideas I have in mind. Knowing myself, I could add some horror and more blasphemous elements and it's quite funny I'm wrting and thinking about this stuff during the Christmas Holiday.  Anyway, every one of you can suggest some plots that I can follow and every idea is accepted, it can help my inspiration. Thanks-! }

Pairing: King Dice x Neutral! Reader Rating: Orange (some thematic in this story can be considered blasphemous and harsh)

IF YOU WANT TO READ THIS STORY ON AO3

>>> FIRST CHAPTER <<<

>>> SECOND CHAPTER <<<

🎲  Wicked Game [ third part ]

That day, when your mother committed that act of blasphemy, you have reached an awareness, so cruel and real. Everything happened so fast that it took time before your brain could realize something so terrible occurred. All the lessons that your mother gave you were lies. Mere lies. There was no salvation, no hope and no purity in this world.  Despite you have been just an unfortunate spectator of that show of depravity, you felt dirty and impure as if you participated to that strange ritual where your mother touched herself with lust and passion, invoking God’s name, as if He was her lover and maybe He was.

In your mind of a child, this scene appeared so real and limpid and you were unable to discern what was true from what was false. When you were a child, you firmly believed in God and you considered Him like your true father since your biological father ran away with another woman after he found out your mother’s craziness. You did not blame your biological father and, from that episode, the desire to escape from this prison made of pain started growing stronger day by day.

You kept your eyes open, in front of you the darkness of your bedroom and you were unable to sleep. The darkness that surrounded the room was the same of your mind but the one in your mind was scarier. The same scene was projected and the same sound passed through your ears despite the silence. In your brain, the verses of your mother’s ecstasy kept echoing.  That filthy feeling did not leave you and not only your body felt dirty but your soul, too. Deprived of your innocence without you even realized, you have been private of something important. A candour that every child must have possessed and you lost it because of your mother and her lust. Her sins were yours and you just wanted to forget. Shower after shower, you begun washing yourself furiously to clean your body and mind from that awful feeling. You were not literally dirty because your soul was the one to be damaged and it would have never healed. Everything you believed was a lie. Your God and your faith were faint echoes that were vanishing, as your mind understood the truth.

Looking your mother in the eyes was impossible for you and you just stared the ground while she talked to you. "Have you lost your voice?" said your mother while she was serving your breakfast the day after that episode and you just answered, "Nothing… I’m just tired…". She had a strange tone of voice, you have never seen her so mortified and guilt but you knew the reason of her altered state.  "Me too… I’ll be out for a while. I have to see the priest…" coldness in her voice was never missed and you supposed she just wanted to confess her sins against God to the priest. That was what every Christian did but it was always the Devil’s fault like people had no sense of responsibility. You found this behaviour so illogical and hypocrite but you kept your thought for yourself.

Explaining a sin like this would have not been easy for your mother since it was something blasphemous. She reduced God to a mere fetish of her depravity. What kind of forgiveness she searched for after she did this action?   You did not eat so much and you stayed alone with your confusion and insecurities.  When your mother came, she did not seem so glad and relieved and maybe the priest has not been so gentle with her, and her face was as red as the colour of her sin and you knew the reason.

"I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the night, is it clear?" you just nodded without saying a thing and your mother was glad you had always so less to say. "I have to recite some prayers by the will of the priest but these are not your business…" the shame of her actions coloured her eyes and maybe you should have been silenced even this time, instead of… "Oh… The same prayers of the last time?" and the earth stopped turning around, and you, from that day, learnt to think twice before saying something wrong and your mother’s face became redder. This time the red did not represent her sin but her rage because you did something you should not have done! "What do you mean?" and she did not stop to look at you with those malevolent eyes that made you shiver and you stood up ready to run away to your room until she grabbed you by the hair with violence. "No, repeat what you said! " her grip was strong and you tried so hard to free yourself but it was impossible, "What did you see, little crap?", and you just screamed perceiving your eyes that were getting wetter.  "Anything, I swear!" your moves were chaotic and you lost your balance, "Leave me, please! ". She did not care, she dragged you by the hair reaching your room, and you knew what was waiting for you. "Don’t swear, and tell me! What did you see? Are you lying to me?" she launched you against the floor and she took off her belt. You screamed, praying her to stop but this made her madder. Your tears fell down, wetting the floor and even your sight became darker and your mother was nothing but a silhouette.

She raised up her hand, hurling her belt ready to hit you and she hit you without mercy. After what you did, it was the right punishment and maybe it was not enough, for her. Your brain recorded the pain at full speed and even your yell died, covered by the sound of her belt that touched violently your skin leaving horrid bruises.  "You dirty sinner must pay!" you were unable to hear her words since the pains were too hard to be tolerated and then another whipping that hit your back and you were laying on the floor like a cadaver. It was possible to notice some little moves from you, because you were not total paralyzed and you were shivering like a leaf, begging her to forgive you but your words came out like crying, weak tremors. She hit you again, kicking your trembling body. Her rage against herself was been projecting to you, because she knew she was wrong. She was the sinner but she could not accept it, so she had to vent her frustration to her child like the monster she was.

The rest of the pains, you missed them because you fainted after some minutes of torture but those scars drawn on your skin would have made you remember. Especially the scars of your mind, they would have never healed. 

***

 Even this time, you came back into reality and you did not find it so pleasant and fair. You were asking yourself what was worse: your memories or the game you were playing. Both of them were too horrific and you were just a lost soul who wanted to find a place in this world of mystery and solitude. Maybe this place did not exist but you have not even had the possibility to try and you were fighting like a fly in a glass, unable to escape from its prison. 

Last match was lucky for you and you were still on the track but maybe this voluble and inexperienced luck was not going to last and every minute that passed you were surer that coming here was not a good idea and you lost your mind. You acted like a naïve baby and you thought you had nothing to lose. Only now, you have realized that your soul was something and losing it meant losing yourself. Your existence and all you were was going to become dust, some memories lost in the wind like leaves that flew in the air, so delicate and light, they were going to fell on the cold cemented ground.  Your eyes still stared at the void and a macabre silence took possession of this demoniac place but the only place that was shushed was your head because the crowd was still applauding you but you were unable to hear as if you were become deaf suddenly. 

As the time before, his voice brought your thoughts to the ground and your eyes went wide open while a grin appeared on his face. "Our Sleeping beauty woke up from their sleep, are you fine, darling? You are so unfocused. " asked Dice with his charming voice and you did not know what to say so you just nodded, whispering, "I’m fine…I guess… ", you were not so sure about your answer and he decided to help you with a little pep talk –but you could imagine his words were just a bluff and he did not care about your state of mind-. "Oh, dear, I said you don’t have to worry because we’re all your spectators here. You’re doing great, trust me!" and Dice smiled, lasciviously. His eyes captured you even if you knew the truth. Everyone here were liars and you were surrounded by predators. You were just a mere sacrifice to Gods that were too hungry and merciless to care about a human like you. Like a beast on the altar, you were waiting for your death. The blade that would have stabbed your poor heart. You could observe the Death through his eyes. He was your death, and you were sure about it.

"Confess your feelings to us, don’t be ashamed! There’s no reason to be. We’re all sinners here, so we won’t judge you like them. We won’t hurt you like they did. We’re more similar than you think, my darling." he said with that gentle voice you found so alluring but so menacing at the same time. Sometimes you lost yourself in your world, and Dice noticed it and he was more curious to learn all your hidden secretes. You were so scared, he was able to perceive your fears and he felt excited about it. Good things came to those who waited and he did not know if he had still the patience to wait for your little mouth to open. You were not going to leave this place, dead or alive, so it was better if you cleaned your mind from those toxic thoughts soon. 

There was no escape so you, after having taken a deep breath, decided to speak because you had no choice and there were worse sinners here than you. Your actions were not so degrading and you considered yourself still an honest and good person who has never hurt a fly. "It’s true…I’ve stolen my mother’s money on purpose and I don’t think I would even give them back to her. " you did not look him in the eyes and you were gazing on the table while the crowd groaning for the disbelief. King was not so surprised and nobody in this world was perfect but you did not seem a thief.  "Good children don’t steal from their mother’s wallets. I suppose, you already know the consequences of your action." his smile became wicked and maybe you and him were going to meet again someday when your soul would burn in the Underworld.

"I don’t care. I’ll assume I’ll meet my mother again in Hell, if it’s fate… " you were acquiring a sort of determination from your pain and despair. Maybe it was your apathy that spoke or a fake courage. You have always showed respect to your mother despite her perfidy because you were afraid of her punishments. She was your worst nightmare but you were feeling a sort of comfort thinking how she would have suffered after her death and God would have never welcomed her in Heaven, you were sure about it and this thought made you feel a sensation of bliss. Something new you have never perceived before and you did not understand. Someone would call that sensation sadism, simply.   You were just wishing the worst to your mother without a care and you were realizing that maybe there was no difference between these monsters and you. That little Yin, the black dot in your soul, seemed coming back to life, slowly. Dice found your behaviour so hilarious and tender. He kept thinking you were not born to burn but he could not show mercy to you, this game was not over yet.

"Oh, poor little sweetheart. Your soul will never find its peace, I’m deeply sorry for you." said Dice pretending to be concerned about your situation, your soul would have been safe. In his hands.  "It has never found its peace, actually… " you said. Some persons were just designed to suffer from the day of their born and the wheels have never turned for you.  You have already suffered your personal Hell on earth, you were going to burn in the fires of eternal damnation even after your death, and it was so unfair.  How many times did you have to pay for your unexpressed sins? Actions you have never committed. "Bad things always happen to precious souls like you, it’s dreadful, I know well but you’re here to demonstrate to be worthy. There are no sinners or saints, let us be honest, but only persons who make mistakes." that paternal tone of his voice came back, and the determination that was present in you melted away, leaving you in confusion. For the first time, Dice seemed honest but it could be another trick. Finding yourself to stare in his eyes, you forgot the surrounding and all the spectator monsters. Your mind was concentrated to his words that appeared so true but you were not so sure if you could demonstrate to be worthy of something. 

With discomfort in your eyes, you confessed, "Maybe she was right…" your voice was a whisper, and you started thinking that your mother had a point and you deserved all the pain you went through.  "I just wanted to find my way… " your voice was so low that none was able to hear you except for Dice that did not lose any words that came out from your mouth. This huge room seemed empty and only you and King were here but it was just an illusion. Somehow, you felt comfortable speaking about your inner worries with him, staring at his deep and warm green eyes. Even if it was a hypnosis, it did not matter. His sight relaxed you so much.

This moment was like a confession and –ironically- he was as the priest who was hearing to your preoccupations. This comparison was absurd, illogical and paradoxical but the feelings you felt were the same. You remembered when you were younger and you were used to frequent the Church more often, you always spoke with the preacher and then you felt born again, in some way. Maybe it was just a stupidity but you did not have anybody to talk with or any friend that could hear your fears so you took that opportunity as a chance to vent. 

"Oh, it’s nice you are opening up to me, dear. It’s not my intention to be rude, but I have to invite you to do your next move, when you’re ready." you and him had all the eternity to converse, he thought, when you would have lost your soul. You woke up from your daydream, hearing the screaming crowd. They were so impatience to see your new launch. To see you fall once for all. The time of betting was finally came and you had to wish to be luck like the last time, but nobody would say. It was a game of probability and all what you could do was hoping. Unexpectedly, the mass of monsters kept quiet and everyone was concentrated at your launch as if you were the star of the show or the poor witch that was burning at the stake. 

The anxiety came back and that sensation you had before, when you were having that little conversation with Dice who told you those wise words that, even if they were fake, filled your heart with serenity and calm and you found your peace of mind for one moment but now you lost all of this. You felt so nervous and helpless.  These negative thoughts would not bring you luck and it was not useful so maybe you just had to forget about your life and yourself. Forget about everything and everyone, clean your mind and just launch your dice without caring about the consequences, no matter what would happen.

  The rules were simple, you needed to get the same number of before, an eleven, and not a seven or you were going to lose or, if you got a different number, there would have been no effect and you had to throw your dice again until you got your number but it was not so simple. You just hoped this moment would be quick and painless, at least. With your sweaty hands, you were just too nervous, you grabbed the dice trying to free your mind from all those negative thoughts and then you launched them. Just like before, it seemed the time was frozen and it was anything but quick and painless.

This time, Lady Luck has not been so clement but not even so evil because you did not lose yet, but you did not win neither and your score was neutral. "Oh, someone’s loosing luck, here. I’m so sorry, darling… However, you have another chance!" it was obvious that your luck was the beginner’s luck as Dice supposed from the very start. He donated to you a smile of encouragement.   Then, an idea crossed your mind and you found the determination of before as if it was a sort of miracle. This was a waiting moment and fate gave you another possibility to stay alive and win so, since you were playing this game, you had to respect the rules but maybe you could suggest your own rules and even Dice noticed the singular glow in your eyes and he was not the only one to be curious. "You are the one now that should confess to me something since I almost lost…" your voice was still insecure and you gathered all your courage to say it since his glance still intimidated you. "I’m delighted you’ve really entered into the spirit so what do you want to know?" you did not expect this reaction from him. He showed himself so disposable and polite that you were truly thinking that maybe… No, it was a total farce and he was just a great actor but you could ask him some question. "Why do you want my soul? It’s nonsense and very unfair, I don’t understand! What have I done wrong?" you did not still think you deserved to burn in Hell or being punished like this.

Dice’s expression mutated even this time, his smile was a mix of malice and cruelty, and he was staring at you the same way a predator observed its prey.  With his usual attractive but, at the same time, so warm and tender tone of voice, he spoke, "That’s an interesting question. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. The eyes you are showing me are so livid. Don’t be so rancorous at me. It’s just my job and I’m very professional. " he took a breath, observing you for some seconds that seemed hours to you.  Then, he continued saying, " I’ll be honest with you. Your soul is so pure and distressed and it’s that sufferance, your desperation, that makes it so precious. There’s more than this…" he smiled at you, wickedly, and you found yourself staring inside his green irises, completely powerless. " It’s my little sin, an unsaid desire, to corrupt young and clean souls like yours. Corrupt is not the proper expression because it’s more a liberation. You’ll be free from your cage of agony. Don’t you hear your soul shouting?". His words were so irrational but so accurate that you found yourself unable to answer. "Your little soul won’t remain so pristine for so long. I’ve already noticed how its shade is mutated and you are hiding your true nature. A nature you’re unaware to possess".

You were as a little bird without wings because your mother cut them off and you lost your natural talent to fly and the freedom of being your true self. What Dice was offering you now was freedom.

"Your true self has been castrated by those obscene religious dogmas and belief." he shook his head, sighing. «I saw a gleam in your pretty eyes, the flares of that sparkle were low and grey. It was a desire. No, your eyes don’t lie! », all your senses were blocked and the only emotion you could feel was fear. Fear mixed with curiosity and you did not have the courage to interrupt him. "You want to break those chains, don’t you?" and you just nodded, completely immobilized and inert, and Dice smiled at you because he got you.  "I long for it more than anything else…" your voice was so unemotional and apathetic, but those words were true and it was your real desire. What your soul yearned from all these years. The reason you were here. 

"Oh, darling. I may say, Luck brought you here, you don’t have to resist to your desires and you don’t have to lie to yourself anymore. Because…" you just swallowed your saliva while you were listening to his words. Like if it was a sermon, something so sacral and divine to deny, and you could not miss a single phrase of his discourse.  "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it, as a famous poet said." it was an Oscar Wilde quote that fitted so well with your situation because you were just supressing yourself and it was not good for your health or your soul. It was just living in the luxury of a regret. 

"Your poor soul is getting sick, prisoned by all those moral rules, and it’s such a shame, my dear." thinking about his words that were so true and painful, your mother appeared in your mind and you remembered how she lived in the damnation and in the suppression of her natural instincts. If you had kept on repressing yourself, you would have become just like her: a frustrated woman who had to lie to God, hiding her sins behind a fake guilt, to feel free but even her freedom was another lie because the cage where she lived was made of hypocrisy and divine punishments. Your wish was not to become like her, like a horrible monster, you could not permit that. 

Everything seemed so clear now and your mind was cleaned by all those worries, or almost because this game was not over yet and there was another round to play. The dice man just smirked, seeing how the gleam in your eyes got brighter and his job would have been accomplished soon and maybe, even if you had won this game, you would have consigned your soul to him of your own free will. You have already realized how your life was a lie and that you were so sick and tired of all the abuses you suffered and there was no other way than succumb to the temptation.

"We can continue our discussion later. The break time is done, darling." declared Dice and you felt confuse. The same sensation of being re-emerged from the abyss but it was an illumination and not an awful memory. You were illuminated and you nodded at him so scared but so impatient, too. Were you impatient to lose your soul?  "Why don’t we risk it all at the next round? " and you knew what he meant with all, your soul and he had no time to waste. Time was money, and you had a lot to pay. A lot to risk.  You nodded at his proposal, without thinking twice, and you were ready to lose it all, your mind, your body and your soul. Maybe this was the true freedom you were searching for.

[ fourth part

FIFTH PART 

SIXTH PART  ]

[hollow-of-falling-stars]

There’s Always Another Choice

Chapter Four First | Previous WARNING!!!!!! THIS CHAPTER INVOLVES MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, DEPRESSION, AND SUCCESSFUL SUICIDE. DO NOT READ IF THIS MAY HARM YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IN ANYWAY.

BY CLICKING THE KEEP READING LINE, YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE ABOUT TO READ.

You may now proceed

“Shoot him, now!” The one on the left said.

You rolled your eyes. Did they really think it’d be that easy?  That they could manipulate you again for their own selfish, stupid, arrogant-

Focus!

Right, sorry.

You scoffed, “Shut up, Mark. If I shoot, it’ll be after I get the answers I want.”

Damien didn’t react, but Mark did. He looked uncomfortable, shifting from side to side.

“Answers? What needs to be answered?” He asked.

“Don’t even get me started, why did you steal Damien’s body? Who killed you in the first place?”

“Yes, do tell.” Damien said, his dark eyes narrowed as he glared at Mark.

Mark sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I….. I know what I did was awful, but please, take what I say with a grain of salt. As cruel as it was, I had my reasons.”

You nodded and pointed your gun at Damien, he raised a brow in surprise. Well, maybe not surprise, more like…. Amusement or something, intrigue? Whatever it was, he sure as hell didn’t look concerned.

“What’s the meaning of this, (Y/N)?” He asked smoothly, a small smile gracing his face that sent shivers down your spine.

“I don’t want you trying anything while Mark is talking, I’m keeping an eye on both of you.” You said firmly, your eyes never leaving his.

Had it been anyone else, they may have dropped the gun as they became entranced by Damien’s eyes, through awe or fear, but not you. You knew better now, even without the dark magic he possessed, Damien always had a way to get people to do what he wanted, those damn brown of eyes of his that were always so warm and trustworthy…. Stop staring, Mark is about to tell us his side of the story.

You shook your head for a moment before nodding at Mark to start talking,

“(Y/N)…. You remember how I was after Celine and I finalized the divorce, right? How depressed I was?” “Of course I do, I even recommended you to your therapist. I suppose you didn’t work well with Brooklyn?” “What about me?” Came a whisper from behind you. A quick glance back told you that Jay, Jasmine, and Brooklyn had joined Alex huddled behind a dumpster. “I thought I told you to leave, Alex.” You said calmly, moving backwards to block Damien further. The dumpster was on an angle, one end against a wall. They’d be safe there with you protecting them, but they’d be even safer had Alex listened to you, they could have found the others and gotten them away. Now you had to fear for their safety on top of your own. Typical teenagers. You heard shuffling, but Alex wouldn’t answer you. Hopefully it was because they were ashamed for not listening to you, if Jasmine was anything like she was before, she’d be giving Alex an earful pretty soon. You turned your attention back to Mark and Damien, the look in your eyes made it clear you wouldn’t let them get near them. “(Y/N)…. I won’t lie to you….. I was suicidal for months. I tried so many times, over and over-” “And you kept backing out?” “No, I’d just come back.” You stayed quiet, thinking back to the party that seemed so long ago now, yet the scars it left were still fresh. “You stabbed yourself thirty-seven times? And you survived?” You asked, you knew the answer, you had tried it yourself when you trapped inside the mirror, but you needed to hear Mark say it for. “Yeah, I even tried hiring people to beat me, I hung myself, tried drowning….. Even poison. ”“So what happened after that? What was the point of the party?” “By then, I was filled with rage, but I also wanted my friends back. I invited you all to so that in the event that I died that night, there’d be witnesses… Or I’d finally have you all back in my life and I could finally start healing.” At this point, tears were welling in Mark’s eyes, and if they were meant to make you pity him, it wasn’t working. It’s working for me! Why? He’s probably faking it, -THE MAN ATTEMPTED SUICIDE FOR GOD’S SAKE, CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW IT MUST FEEL TO WANT TO DIE, BUT YOU LITERALLY CAN’T?! Yes, we both can. Remember? Now be quiet, you’re supposed to be holding this body together, I can hear it creaking again. “I asked William to play Russian Roulette with me in the wine cellar. If neither of us died then we’d be friends again, and if not….. Someone would be going to jail.” “William killed you then? And this was all by chance?” You questioned him. Surely it couldn’t be that simple, right? Occam’s Razor “Ehh, I had some help.” Mark admitted, “Celine was right, there’s something in that house. And it didn’t want me to die. It tried to convince me to take William’s body and run, but I refused because then it’d be “obvious” who killed who.” It’s not Occam’s Razor. “That’s just sick.” You said with a deadpanned stare. Damien had been rather quiet, and you realized you hadn’t been watching him as closely as you should have. He was slowly edging himself around to peer behind you, to see the students. Had he seen Alex when they were in the upside down? Shit, he probably did, does he know? What would he do? Well, nothing. Because you weren’t going to let him get any closer to your f-…. To the students. What are you gonna do? Shoot him? You did, or rather, you shot around him. A few quick warning shots around his feet and he scurried back to his place beside Mark.He didn’t even had the decency to look guilty. Then again, Damien isn’t easily intimidated. “So you killed Celine and stole Damien’s body?! How the heck am I supposed to take that with a grain of salt?” You spat, your hand moving up to fiddle with the safety. “(Y/N), please! I know what I did was wrong, but you have no idea how much I was hurting, I truly had nothing left in life-” And that’s when the dam broke. “NOTHING?!” You screamed, fury shining in your eyes. “YOU HAD NOTHING TO LIVE FOR?! DON’T YOU-” You choked back a sob, falling to your knees. “Don’t you remember what I said to you a few nights before the party?” You whispered, head bowed low. “You… You wanted to tell me something? Or make an announcement?” Mark replied, clearly not understanding what you were getting at. Like he cared, but not enough to remember. “I didn’t tell you over the phone because I didn’t want to spoil it, I wanted you to have your night of fun, and then….” You trailed off, staring at your ring finger, clearly lacking the ring that was once there. “I was supposed to get married in two months.” Mark blinked, and blinked. He blinked some more. Damien didn’t show any emotions on his face, though you heard a quiet gasp that proved that he had heard you. “Wha-at? You….. You were going to get married?!” You nodded, eyes trained on the ground as tears fell freely. You had tried for so long not to think about that day, the last time you had seen your lover.

“(Y/N)!” Your lover called, “(Y/N), you got a letter! It’s from that client of yours, Fischbach?” You hurried with putting away the dishes and rushed into the living room. Your lover stood there, staring curiously at the letter they said was for you. The envelope looked purposely aged, and it had a red wax seal on it. “Mark and I have been good friends for awhile, honey. Mind giving me the letter?” They passed it to you, and eagerly leaned over your shoulder as you sat on the couch to open it. The letter was an invitation to a poker night, odd that Mark would invite his lawyer to a gathering meant only close friends…. “So, you going?” They asked, grinning at you like the fool they were. “I’m not sure,” You sighed, placing the invitation back into the envelope. “The wedding is in three months…. And the kids are coming in seven.” “What’s your point? Consider it an early bachelor party or something! Besides, didn’t you say that you were worried about him?” You nodded, “It may be unprofessional, but I asked Brooklyn to keep me up to date on how he’s been doing. She said that Mark looked like he had been beat up in one of their early sessions, and he’s been talking about…. I dunno, gruesome things. Like he’s been fantasizing about committing suicide…” “Sounds like the guy is about ready to give up…. Doesn’t he have any family left?” You shook your head. “His brother was the reason for his divorce, they stopped talking years ago because of that, his parents are dead too. No immediate family left, and the Fischbach’s were never social people, even among family.” “Nothing left to live for…. Has Brooklyn got any ideas of what could help him?” “Honestly? I think that this shindig was her idea, Mark hasn’t made any contact with me or Damien in a long time, not even for legal needs. He quit his job and he’s been surviving off of the family fortune.” Your forehead creased when you thought about this. Mark must be so lonely, and if he’s this far down….. At least he’s trying to reach out to you, right? “You know what? I’ll call him and give him my RSVP, I’m going. He needs a friend right now, I can’t ignore this. Damien would probably kill me if I did.” You decided, reaching for your phone. “Y’know, I still can’t get over the fact that you and the Mayor are friends.” Your fiance said. You rolled your eyes and dialed Mark’s number.“Hey Mark? Yeah, I just wanted RSVP for the poker night…..Yeah yeah, in two weeks, I’ll see you then.” Your fiance started making frantic gestures at you, their face lit up with excitement. “Hey, can I call you back? It’s been awhile, I know, but I’ve got another call coming in. No problem, five minutes tops, alright?” You said, giving your fiance a halfhearted glare. “What is it?” You asked as you put the phone back on it’s hook. “We haven’t chosen a godfather yet, have we?” Your fiance asked, grinning from ear to ear. “We haven’t…… Are you saying….? Wait wait wait wait, I thought you wanted Jay to be the godfather?” Your fiance laughed. “We already have him pegged for Best Man, and don’t you think it would be good for Mark? A chance to to be involved with a family and feel like he you know… Belongs?” You nodded, this was a very good point. Mark would be ecstatic to be a godfather, and Damien did say that Mark had always wanted kids….. “I’ll think about it, I still need to call Brooklyn to see how therapy has been for Mark this week. And I have to see if Damien wants to” “You should ask Mr. Mayor that at the party, that way Mark won’t be suspicious.” Your partner winked. “Aren’t you the sneaky one?” You teased, grabbing your phone again. “Hey Mark? Yeah, it was a client, I need to head down to the office, someone’s suspicious about ‘who Damien chose as to be city councilors’. City councilors are elected, not chosen by the mayor, and now I have to deal with the idiot.  No no, I’m still coming, actually I had a favor to ask… Would you mind if I gave speech the morning after?” Your partner snickered, so you threw a couch pillow at them. “I’ve had a few drinks with you before, Mark. Of course it’s going to be an overnight thing. It’s just a little announcement, you’ll find out later. You’re going to love it, I promise.. Alright, I’ll see you Friday. Later Mark.”“Do you think it’ll work?” Your fiance asked, biting their lip. “Of course it will, even if he doesn’t seem happy at first, any kid of yours will grow on him.” You teased back.You would never lie to your partner, but even when you reassured them that their idea was a good one…….That unsettling feeling you got when you hung up on Mark never left..

Your fiance drove you to Mark’s manor, silently. They seemed to have picked up on your apprehension as well.

“Having second thoughts?” They said, risking a glance at you. You had been staring out the window, watching the city blur with the trees as you drove through the wooded area.

“I just…. Something feels wrong, why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”

“I bet it’s because Brooklyn threatened to tell Mark that you’ve been spying on him. It’s almost as if you love him more than me.” Your fiance joked. “I AM NOT SPYING, I’M JUST WORRIED ABOUT HIM!” You shrieked, slapping their arm lightly. “Hey, no roughhousing, I’m driving here!” They said. “Just, relax okay? Everything will be fine, I’ll pick you up Monday morning.” “And I’ll call you everyday.” You promised.

They leaned over to give you a kiss and rested their forehead against yours. “We’re here.” They said, smiling at you. “I noticed.” You replied, not moving to take off your seat belt. “Stay safe, I love you.” “I love you too, Alex.”

Mark stood there in shock, his mouth agape. “Wait, Alex was your fiance? The kid you were always talking to between scenes, that’s this world’s Alex, aren’t they?”

You nodded, any sounds that tried to surface were just strangled sobs.

“Why would you torture yourself like that?” Mark whispered, slowly approaching you like the wounded animal you were.

Had your mind been clear, you would have heard Alex cry out in shock, you would have heard Jay grab them and hold them back as they cried.

But you didn’t hear them, your heart was hurting and all you could see was the core of all your pain getting closer.

You pointed your gun at his feet and shot around him, and just like Damien, he stepped back. He didn’t look scared though, he looked concerned.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT MARK! IF YOU HAD JUST WAITED ONE DAY, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN A GODFATHER, DAMIEN WAS SUPPOSED TO OFFICIATE THE WEDDING, WE COULD ALL BE ALIVE AND HAPPY INSTEAD OF STEALING BODIES AND TRICKING SOULS.” You screamed, raising your gun to his face.

“….All? What happened to you, (Y/N)? Did you…?”

“The Colonel shot me after I tried to take his gun because he had just shot Detective Abe, I fell over the railing because I was shot at point blank.”

Mark was at a loss for words, he had come here expecting to confront Damien, whom Mark knew was following him. He didn’t expect to see you.

“After that, Celine and Damien came to me in the upside down, they asked if they could share my body so they could live on and protect the Colonel from you. I was an idiot and I let them, they tried to trap me in a mirror, but I escaped.”

Mark slowly turned to Damien, “You stole their body?! What… why? How could you do that, Damien? (Y/N) was the only one of us who had done nothing wrong, I don’t understand…”

“Because I had no use for them.” Damien said, his face impassive.

Your shoulders trembled when you heard this, “No use? What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, your voice barely above a scratchy whisper.

“Exactly as I said, I had no use for you. You lacked the motivation to get revenge, you’ve shown this already as you refuse to shoot one of us. Even your body is weak, it falls apart everyday. It’s pathetic, just like you.”

Your eyes watered, even though your anger you had hoped Damien was only trying to protect you. 

Thathewasstillgoodandkindbuthe’sevilyoucan’ttrusthimyoucan’ttrustanyonewhywhywhywhywhy What’s going on?! Who’s talking, please calm down we can still figure this out- B̶̢e̴ s̛i͘҉ĺe̶n͝t҉

“I…. I’m not pathetic! I held out for this long, didn’t I?” “Prove it then,” Damien said, sweeping his arm to the side and pointed at Mark. “Go on, p̢r͠o̷͏vè ̷i͢t̸̀ t̀o͘ ̴͘m͠e̶ that you have the guts to kill him.

Your eyes darted frantically between the two, Mark was shaking his head, begging you not to do it. Suddenly the both of them were insisting that you kill the other.

To choose. To finally decide which one you hated more, to use your final bullet on the one who truly deserved it.

Who had made the most mistakes? Foolishly followed orders, and made promises they couldn’t keep? Who was truly the worst, most vile and pathetic out of all of them? No…. Nononononono PUT THE GUN DOWN NOW- ……… I’m sorry.

You smiled as you broke yet another promise, you pushed out your host just like how Damien had to you, and Mark to Damien. Your bones almost immediately started breaking again, but unlike Mark and Damien’s circumstances, the body wasn’t dead when you joined it. You still had a few minutes.

You raised the gun one last time, eyes darting between Mark and Damien. Both must be aware that this would be the last time they’d see you.

If only they knew, but even if they did, it was too late.

Slowly, you turned the gun around and pressed it against your temple, smiling serenely at the pair. Mark eyes widened and he started frantically shaking his head, as if that would stop you.

Time seemed to have slowed down around you, but your movements were quick. You ignored the horrified shrieks as you closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“(Y/N)!!!! PLEASE DON’T, DON’T DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE LISTEN TO ME-” Alex screamed from behind you, desperately pulling away from Jay who had dropped his arms in shock.

“Forgive me Alex,” You whispered, sitting up straight as you readied yourself to pull the trigger. “Forgive me for not coming home to you,” You opened your eyes and looked Damien dead in the eye. “I’m sick of playing as the puppet, Damien. I don’t have to choose between the options you gave me, there’s always another choice, and this one is mine.” Mark and Alex lunged for you at the same time, both aiming to snatch the gun away from you, but it was too late.

A single shot rang out and your arm dropped to the ground, the very last thing you saw wasn’t a cruel reminder of your failures, your lost love, or a man who who had broken before you could fix him. For the first time in what could very well have been centuries, you saw the clouds part above you and reveal the sun. It shone and sparkled like diamond, the image searing itself into your mind even as everything faded away.

Maybe now you could finally be at peace.

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This is not the end

@ego-protection-squad @sassy-in-glasses @greyumi@egoimagines @slim-jims @splatoon-jim @bitten1ce @sleepyfan-blog @snowelfxx @silver-owl413  

[s-asuke]

SasuSaku Month 2017 - Day 3 - Chemistry

SasuSaku Month 2017 – Day 3 – Chemistry AU in which the Hyuuga were somehow infected / harmed by Kaguya and their Byakugan is weakened. Yuuno Hyuga is an OC. I think Bout this becoming a multi-chap story. If you would like it to become one, send me a request, PM or just simply reply to this post!! Feedback is love!! Warnings: mild nsfw (Sasu's thirsty ass is my thirsty ass ok) "Sometimes you just gotta relax, yeah? And we have so many missions lately, so just being at the onsen with you, Sai and Sakura-chan would be ideal, watcha think?" His favorite moron was waing four golden-lined cards at him, his Sharingan nearly wanting to shoot a few black flames at the annoying cards. Ah, destiny was so cruel. Naruto Uzumaki just told him that the Rokudaime has ordered Sasuke, and the rest of the Team 7, to go to hot springs and relax. Fucking impossible, Sasuke ponders, all the while staring at the jelly he was supposed to eat. "C'mooon, teme, it would be pretty good for us! We haven't had a vacation since the war!" Sasuke doesn't say anything to the comment that jabs his heart. "Naruto, don't be an idiot. We have a lot of work. And just because I healed Neji, and the main family does not mean we can lay back and relax!" Naruto's cheerful expression visibly falls, but gets back up quick, not minding Sasuke's stern demeanor. His strict, grayish eyes, color watered down by tiredness, stare at the blue, whose are nearly scared? Sasuke softens, recognizing the fear that Naruto's orbs held – the aftermath of war was almost as terrifying as the war itself. Kaguya cast a rather potent jutsu that manifested quickly – a month after the war. Only Byakugan users were in danger – and so it seemed only a Sharingan could heal them. Which made Sasuke get out of the prison pronto, since not even Tsunade could heal this one. Their discovery of his possibly life-saving kekkei genkai was made with a help of the most revolting person. Orochimaru edo-tenseied Madara Uchiha, the only Uchiha privy to all nooks and crannies of any doujutsu. The man had a few exausting, snarky and sarcastic sessions with Sasuke – having only heard of the issue in legends and myths of his clan. At last with much bitching (they just had to summon Hashirama so he'd calm the man down, he didn't hear the end of it) Sasuke was explained with much emotional pain from Madara's side how the only special ability he had ever seen to a Mangekyou Sharingan were the ones the user could develop aside the original three; ones like Kamui and his younger brother Izuna's Healing eye, which could heal and nurture any kind of disability and disease. The only irony laying in the predicament of him not being able to heal himself. Madara said that on a whim, it could cause people to even lose memory, and since those abilities were all passed down to Sasuke by blood. Madara was very well acquainted with what Sasuke could do (he seen it in war and he had a peek at the family tree). "Hmph." The rowdy haired man would note, Sharingan passing over the scrolls. "What," Sasuke became rather impatient as of now. "It says here, that you are related to Obito Uchiha." "And?" Sasuke hides his annoyance by the fact. "That means you are related to me, too." Dead serious, Madara waits for a reaction from the younger Uchiha. "His grandmother was my illegitimate daughter. I didn't know she existed until I met Obito. And that, Sasuke, means," he traces the line that intwines with other Uchiha, passes crossings and other details until it lands on Fugaku Uchiha, "that you are my great-great-great, many greats, grandchild. Did someone from the clan continue with a specific powerful Mangekyou Sharingan?" Sasuke answers quickly, leaving no room for any remark,"Father had a Mangekyou. He was hiding it, so the clan wouldn't force him to use it to control the Kyuubi." "Only a weak leader would allow his followers to dictate him. That's straight-out moronic." Ignoring Madara and his own clear bout of rage, Sasuke continues. "There was also Shisui of the Teleportation, he had an amazing Body Flicker Tehnique, and only Ita- my brother could match him in genjutsu. He also had a particular tehnique which he had done with his Mangekyou, Kotoamatsukami, he could manipulate a person's mind and make it seem as if the decisions he would implant in their brain were their own. My brother had a Mangekyou, and had extraordinary abilities even as a young boy. That's all." "Ooh. Would you look at that; Shisui was Kagami's boy. I bet that he inherited the Amatsukami from him. Or a variation thereof. It doesn't matter, even if the kid would be interesting to fight," Madara muses, fingers languidly passing the scrolls, ignoring Sasuke's questioning gaze. "Is your brother the one who slaughtered the entire clan with Obito's help and joined Akatsuki?"asks without raising his head from the scroll. "Aa." Sasuke's dry remark doesn't put Madara off, and Sasuke was prepared to talk about uncomfortable things. "Interesting." It's silent for a bit, and then he asks something very weird. "What about your mother? Mikoto Uchiha? Did she awaken her Mangekyou?" "Hn. I have no knowledge of such a thing." "I suspect that she has." "And how did you come to such a conclusion?" Sasuke is sceptic, but Madara mentions nothing of it. "This person, Naori Uchiha, is related to her through here, and she also has the blood of my mother's sister. My mother had a great fighting power, and I even suspect she has awakened her Mangekyou before me. Your mother had a healing prowess or something?" "Not that I know of." "Very well then. I am about to teach you a very taxing healing technique, assuming that Orochimaru has taken my eyes post-war." "How can you assume such a thing?" "It's too great of a power for him to possess, at this point. He has my Rinnegan, probably both. Since they have mutated and I am dead, I have no use for them. You will absorb them rather simply: like you do jutsu. Then come back here since we have no time to waste." "Sasuke. I am... grateful. You know I am. But..." "Ugh, fine! I will come!" "Yas! I knew you would admit defeat, 'ttebayo!" Naruto shouts triumphantly, pumping his fist in the air, shoving Sasuke sideways in the process. "HEY! NARUTO!" "Heh, heh, sorry, Sasuke..." "You will be!" = It's a lonely night, as always, in the small complex Sasuke lives in. He is plagued by thoughts – a thing far more terrifying than any jutsu. Breathes in. Out. In again. Numerous times just thinking about the action... and the house feels vastly big and lonely... Somebody's voice he wishes to hear, somebody's heartbeat he wants to sleep on... he despises himself for it, but his dreams just aren't safe when he doesn't sense another person breathing, fighting, yielding, relaxing, dreaming, sighing, saying, 'Sasuke-kun, did you put away the food? The bread will go stale if you don't...', voice like a ring, small and everpresent, orbiting around him like a navigated fireball, the kind his mother liked to show him and Itachi when they were kids. "Sasuke Uchiha-san." From his sofa in the living room, he can hear them: two ex-ANBU, now Jounin, looking to take him to the Hokage's. He doesn't expect himself to be so fast as he readied his clothes and his headband, a wave of nostalgia shooting through him as his chakra flares. They are there quickly – Kakashi's silent and tired silhouette welcoming them wearily, Sasuke finding the literal sunshine emanating off the people awaiting annoying. And, well, endearing. Sakura's pink, now slightly longer hair that is the lead role in his wildest dreams and nightmares is in a braid, the toned muscle she has covered by a thin summer dress, no trace of her headband. The summer dress was so light and tight, it made him want to sallivate. "Here he is, all ready for a mission. Didn't I tell you we might have some problems with him, Kakashi-sensei?" "Well you must have mentioned," the silver-haired Hatake smirks underneath the mask, favoring the presence of his former students plus Sai. Naruto's comments are only natural to Sasuke, so he gives no reaction. "Naruto, this is a mission, after all. A mission of you four relaxing!" Good-naturedly putting his hands on his hips as he stands up from his chair, Kakashi looks over each of them. "Sai doesn't even know what the word vacation means... Sasuke thinks it's a tropical animal probably. God knows you need one, Sakura... and as for you, Naruto..." trailing off, as if not knowing whether he is finding a good word or not, he coughs up a bile,"we all know you deserve one." "Hurrah!" Loud exclamating of the blonde moron positively burst Sasuke's eardrums, he wonders what did he do to deserve this. But, in a second, he doesn't like the answer to the question. "Sakura-chan, Sai, Sasuke! Let's go to the hot baths and have a vacation like never before!" = Somehow, Sasuke is content. The futons they sleep on in the beautifully furnished inn are warm and comfortable, and he only remembers that the comfort of his own bed could rival it. So why does he fucking avoid it like plague? Because he is already plagued. Shit got real the night he finally realized that Sakura's hair is the softest fucking thing, that she reads him like a book, knowing how he breathes, all the things he hates (there's too many), how he doesn't like to eat ramen if it isn't with Dobe, or her. How he can't tolerate his eyes being nearly boiled out of his skull while Hyuga fucking Yuuno is worried about her ponytail. The utmost respect and damn near adoration for her skill and passion for medical ninjutsu, loyalty to the quite annoying person who has taught it to her, and all the nights he would make his small patrols to find her under the light of a candle, reading yet another scroll on headaches and how to remedy those caused by Rinnegan of all things, and it's their little secret. There is the second type of plague. When he can't stop thinking about how warm her eyes are, and how aflame they would be if he just sucked on her most secret place, there, in the crook of her inner things, and he would sigh, because she'd be all warm and wet and- Crap. He earned himself a hard-on. He thought of her as a specific kind of medication one couldn't take a little more than just prescribed, because if they did – he would be addicted. Like the heady scent of chemicals – so inviting, but capable of doom. He would take not the prescribed amount – he would take so much his doctor would scream at him to stop. And he would like to make her scream soon.