#but I never really thought about what his planned outcome was given how the fight ends up panning out

[ofswordsandpens]

I rewatched Zuko and Azula's Agni Kai recently and it's left me wondering – when Zuko begins to goad Azula into striking him with lightning, was he making the decision to kill her?

Because had Azula shot lightning directly at him like he planned and not at Katara, the most forthright implication to me is that he was intending to strike Azula with her own lightning. And Azula, for all her mastery, would not have been able to counter that.

On the other hand, maybe he wasn't planning to kill her at all and was simply planning to redirect it elsewhere (similar to what he did with Ozai). But given the tone of tragedy throughout the Agni Kai, the fact that they both acknowledge that this fight will be "the end" to them, I don't think it's inaccurate to read Zuko's actions as him preparing to kill Azula, even though an Agni Kai doesn't have to end with death (and in canon it didn't). Also, why goad her into striking him with lightning if he wasn't planning on doing something intentional with it? If anything, it adds another layer to the tragedy to me, because I don't believe Zuko wants to kill her. And it stands in such contrast to the way that Azula desperately wants to kill him.

I also think that there would have even been something sadly poetic in that sort of demise for Azula should the Agni Kai had gone this direction: Azula, struck down by her preferred sub-skill. Azula, struck down by the very bolt of lightning that she intended to kill her brother with. Azula, struck down by her own power.

[jenneyquinn]

𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

in which the pine tree and llama are the epitome of soulmates (continued) w/c: 10.6k words *not proofread* (actually 2 words shy of 10.6k, but hey, who's counting? masterpost

once winter had its fun, spring rolls around, and so does that one day that everyone either looks forward to or is dreading with past trauma.

for mabel and dipper, they are one of both outcomes; respectively.

it was so uncharacteristic of mabel to not be excited over a holiday that spreads so much joy and love—regardless if it's platonic, familial, or romantic. as for dipper, he was never really much for luck in that department (love, that is), though not as sociable, let alone well known as his sister, he is very much content with being alone for the most part—especially knowing, deep down, he is grateful to have a family who loves him.

however, dipper felt that this year would be different. he didn't know why, couldn't put a finger on it, but he noticed that something would be stand out amongst the other years as the boy realizes that is isn't as disgusted with valentine's day as he commonly was before.

"duh—it's obvious why you're thinking about that, bro-bro."

"huh? oh, it's because we're technically teenagers and we're at that embarrassing phase in our life where romantic pursuits are more irrational and desperate to compensate for our lack of self-confidence?"

mabel rolls her eyes before answering.

"no, it's because you have a cru~sh! and you just can't wait to call her on valentine's day~"

"what?! that's—"

"don't worry, because being the matchmaker that i am, with the resume of skilled expertise, i can proudly say that i—mabel pines—will get you the valentine's date of your dreams!"

"but—"

"you can't say no, it's already happening."

"no."

"ALREADY HAPPENING!'

given it was already the first of february, it was going to take mabel less than two weeks to pull this off; presuming that she could, that is.

so, on that wednesday night, dipper lies awake at night, thinking about that special someone, despite fighting his feelings for so long. he doesn't want to admit it out loud, but dipper knew, subconsciously, that his sister indeed saw through him, and he is crushing on someone; bad and hard.

the first time dipper had ever lied awake at night, it was about wendy corduroy, the girl he ever seriously crushed on. though, as time passed after his confession, he stopped thinking about her that way. it look him time, fighting all those thoughts during the day while they continued their friendship, and many nights as she remained in his dreams; if he wasn't dreaming about his parents, that is.

however, when dipper lies awake this night, he isn't thinking about wendy. not at all. on the contrary, he's up all night, thinking of another girl—one he knew was perhaps just as (if not more unattainable) than wendy.

eventually, the guy gets some sleep, and mabel has already come up with a whole list of ideas to help her brother in his otherwise, lack of romantic expertise.

however, dipper fights mabel every step of the way, insisting that he has a plan of his own. though he is grateful for the support, the kid genuinely had a clear idea of how he wanted valentine's day to go, and as long as he's got his confidence—dipper is sure he'll have his first good valentine's day yet.

finally, when the big day comes, mabel's nothing short of estatic.

"oh my god, what are you gonna wear? please tell me you're going to wear something good?? what are you planning to do for your date??? it better be something fun! you don't wanna make a bad first impression by doing something lame—in that case, i have to make sure you avoid anything remotely boring!!"

dipper simply blinks, getting everything but also none of the words that just left mabel's mouth right now.

"uh… i guess i'm just going to wear what i usually wear. i mean, i didn't plan to go anywhere fancy anyways. saves time and energy for later, right? i even put together this nice gift and everything…"

"aww, dipper~" mabel coos, clasping her hands together at the last part of her brother's reply, "whatcha get her? actually nevermind, you can tell me later. i'm sure she'll love it anyways!"

then, she takes a quick look up and down at her brother, inspecting his outfit before continuing: "are you really going to wear… that?"

"what's wrong with what i'm wearing? i wear this every day!"

"i know, it's not bad, but that's the point—" mabel pinches the bridge of her nose with impatience, taking dipper by the hand, "look, we still got a couple hours before you're going. surely, there must be something presentable in that closet of yours… that's hopefully been washed."

so, thanks to mabel, dipper was able together a simple, but clean outfit for his first valentine's date: a marine-blue unbuttoned oxford shirt with a cream-white tee underneath, paired with a casual pair of black jeans and his shoes; completely gaining the latter's approval.

"now go on, enjoy your video-chat date with pacifica~"

"w-wait!" dipper exclaims. "how did you know—"

"oh, would you look at the time? candy and grenda must be waiting for me to join their call bye~"

"mabel!"

"look, i apologized, didn't i? i've been trying to be nothing but a do-gooder; no more evil business for me. even gideon is trying to give me a chance. so, sunshine, what is your deal?"

growing impatient with pacifica's rejections, dipper finally corners her at the ballroom of gleeful mansion—speaking in a hushed tone as to not draw any attention from anyone else.

the former, on the other hand, narrows her eyes; frowning deeply.

"you wanna know why i haven't forgiven you, gleeful? i was the first person to trust you, and what did you do with that?? you toyed with my feelings, deceived me—all for your personal gain?! how dare you think my feelings can't be justified when you suddenly decide to turn things around!"

dipper was baffled, to say the least. so, pacifica continues talking.

"what if will decides to return to you guys? what then?? is it the end of you and your family's redemption arc???" she asks, her facial features now beginning to soften as her eyes start to water and her nose going red as she sniffles.

"i don't want you to hurt me again. i'm not going to let you hurt me again."

as pacifica begins to run off, dipper instantly goes after her.

"pacifica, wait!"

then, out of the blue, the blonde is halted in her tracks. a ray of blue flames stike her, thereafter transforming pacifica from her authentic human state to a wooden statue of her likeness.

dipper gasps, reaching out to her: "pacifica!"

"gideon!"

mabel cries, redirecting her brother's attention to the now-wooden gideon pines; taking the mage aback even further.

suddenly, the gleeful twins hear a bellowing laughter, the source of them coming around the fireplace. a grandfather clock tolls, as the duo take sight of the ghost staring at the gleeful family portrait.

"a forest of death, a lesson learned, now the gleeful manor will burn!"

as the ghost of nathaniel southeast continues laughing, setting the family portrait aflame, mabel calls out to the entity.

"hey ugly! over here!"

the ghost seizes his laughs, spotting the gleeful twins.

"you want us to let in the townsfolk?" dipper asks, "'cause we'll do it! just change everyone back!"

nathaniel scoffs, "you wish to prove yourself? pull that lever and open the grand gate to the town! fulfill your ancestors' promise!"

pointing to the lever which opens the main gates, dipper looks from the lever to the wooden pacifica. then, for a moment, her voice rings in his head.

"i was the first person to trust you, and what did you do? you toyed with my feelings, you deceived me—all for your personal gain!"

you deceived me.

"she's right," dipper admits to himself.

"huh? who's right??" mabel asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"mabel, our family has been nothing but liars and cheats. how about we do something right for a change?"

without saying anything further, mabel simply gives dipper a nod in the affirmative; grabbing onto the lever with him.

the twins share a look, then look back at the ghost as they pull down the lever together.

nathaniel gasps as the main gates which once divided gleeful mansion and the commonfolk of the town swing open. as the townsfolk swarm into the manor in waves, the ghost is finally appeased.

"YES, YES, IT'S HAPPENING!" the entity rejoices, "MY HEART, ONCE AS HARD AS OAK, now grows soft, like a birch or something."

as the gleeful twins look up at the ghost with satisfaction, the latter looks back down on them, equally satiated.

"dipper, mabel, you two aren't like the other gleefuls." nathaniel says as his spirit begins to ascend, "i feel… lumber… justice…"

with that, everything in the mansion returned how they used to be: the portrait showed no signs it being previously engulfed in flames, all the resurrected animals were back in their deceased state, and most importantly, all the people originally in attendance had been free from their wooden prisons.

even pacifica, who takes a breath of fresh air as soon as she's freed.

"pacifica!"

dipper runs to pacifica, visibly worried as he pulls her close to him in a tight, protective embrace.

"dipper?"

"you're… you're actually safe…" he exasperates, pulling back to look at her, "look, you were right. i was being selfish and i did mess with you just to get what i wanted, but i didn't fully realize how much i've hurt you until now…"

"dipper…"

"when you were encased in wood, i… i thought that i lost you. i… i… don't want to see you like that again. i don't ever want to make you sad again."

before he could even notice, a single hot tear runs down dipper's cheek, still holding his gaze at pacifica.

"i… i know it's too late for you to trust me… and i clearly don't deserve your forgiveness… but i do wanna try. i want to be a better person."

while pacifica listens to dipper's impassioned confession, she couldn't help but to focus onto the tear that runs down his face. then she looks back into his eyes—which she finally took in for the first time. though it was a glowing blue when they first met, she noticed how the loss of the amulet and will's emancipation from the gleefuls had effected dipper's eyes from the absence of power.

they were brown. it was nothing special, but it was like pacifica was actually seeing him for the first time. if she thought there was good in him before, it finally shown in his eyes now.

so, pacifica does the only sensible thing she could think of.

"oof!"

holding onto him tightly, pacifica buries her face into dipper's shoulder; trying not to cry.

"thanks, dipper. i… i forgive you."

"wait! where are you all going?! we're supposed to look for dipper pines, remember?!"

when pacifica sees all the government vehicles backing up and driving away from the mystery shack, she's enraged. after all this time, she finally thought that she would be getting him back—but why were the government guys leaving?!

"ahh!" pacifica yelps in shock as a pig runs past her, chomping on a drive labelled 'PINES'.

so, she looks up to the source of where the pig came from, back to the mystery shack, and simple to say the least—she could have never expected what, or rather who, would be standing before her eyes.

"great-uncle mason, that was amazing!"

pacifica's eyes widen at stan's words, as he approaches the aforementioned man with his brother. but whatever happened to—

"let's not go crazy; it was serviceable."

well, speak of the devil, the blonde thinks as the con-artist walks into the scene with the shack's handywoman, lita. welp, time to get over there and give that lady a piece of my—

yet, the man's chuckles cut off pacifica's thoughts: "thank you kids, but please, call me dipper."

dipper?!

"dipper..."

his eyes crack open the slightest bit before shutting again.

"dipper..."

he hears the voice once more, but the weight of his eyelids win another time, drawing him back to unconsciousness.

"wake up, dipper!"

he shoots up, fully awake at the sound of mabel's shouts.

"gah! mabel!" dipper frowns, turning to the digital clock atop his bedside table before shooting her a look. "this better be worth waking me up at seven in the morning for—you know it's apring break, right?"

"exactly—it's spring break, bro-bro. the first day of spring break."

mabel points to the calendar hung on dipper's bedroom wall; specifically on a date that reads 'pacifica visits'.

"yeah, yeah, pacifica's visiting." dipper mumbles, tucking himself back to bed and pulling his covers back up.

it takes him a second to realize the words that just left his mouth, then he really wakes up.

"pacifica's visiting!"

he throws his blanket aside, bolting right up from his bed, scanning his room left and right.

"oh my god, my room! i need to- i gotta-"

"stop hyperventilating, dippingsauce," mabel says, amused at her brother's behaviour, "that's why we're up early. we've got six hours before pacifica, candy, and grenda's bus arrvies at the stop. so, as your personal matchmaker, i'm here to make sure your room's spotless—as well as you. i'll never forgive myself if i let you talk to your girlfriend without taking a shower first."

"a shower? i'm fine, mabel," he rebutes, lifting up his arm to take a sniff from his pits, which he immediately comes to regret, "besides, pacifica's not my girlfriend."

"not if you don't take a shower, she won't." she jokes, poking him. "blop!"

so, after taking a shower while his sister gives him a head start on spring cleaning, dipper rushes to get ready and look decent for his crush special friend.

unbeknownst to the twins, three visitors had already made their way to the pines residence.

"ah, pacifica! so nice to see you again, sweetie." mrs. pines greets, giving the girl a welcoming hug.

"and i believe you two must be candy and grenda," mr. pines points out, also giving a warm welcome to the two girls, "of course, mabel's friends are always welcome here."

"as well as dipper's friends." mrs. pines winks, playfully nudging the blonde's arm; causing the latter to blush.

candy and grenda also giggle, making pacifica more flustered.

"but seriously, our kids have told many stories about you three," mr. pines says, gesturing them inside as he picks up the girls' bags, "pacifica and mabel's golf tournament, grenda's prince boyfriend in austria, and even candy's little crush on dipper."

"oh!" pacifica says, then she leans towards candy, continuing in a teasing tone. "well, i didn't know about this."

another day of weirdmaggedon dawns upon gravity falls, not that dipper gleeful minds. in fact, it's just like another regular day for him: he gets up from bed, changes out of his pajamas and into his turquoise suit, and walks out into the town.

just as he promised, he makes his way to the giant floating bubble in the sky—the pink one that's branded with an illustration of a llama.

good morning, sunshine, dipper greets pacifica in thought, looking up at the bubble; eyes half-lidded and smiling gleefully.

pulling out the key from his vest pocket, dipper unlocks the bubble and enters the spherical-shaped prison.

"ah! dipper, you came back!" the blonde cheers, donning an off-the-shoulder, spaghetti-strapped turquoise dress and her hair done up in a simple, but cute messy bun.

"sunshine, looking as radiant as ever," dipper replies, "as if i should've expected any different."

he takes her by the hand, pulling her close to him. swinging her along the floor, which has shifted from a bedroom to a ballroom setting, dipper looks into pacifica's eyes with adoration, feeling complete bliss.

"hey, dippington? can i tell you something?" she asks softly.

"anything, sunshine," he answers without hesitation, "shoot."

"i'm so happy here." pacifica confesses, smiling brightly. "being here, in my dreamland, with you... it's like everything i could ever want. i don't ever want to leave... i just want to be happy here, with you, forever..."

dipper returns her smile, looking down at her as she rests her head against his shoulder.

"i'm happy to be here with you too, pacifica," he admits wholeheartedly, "i don't think i'd want to be anywhere else, too."

so, the pair slow-dances in silence, letting the soft melody of the ballroom music fill the space instead.

ever since dipper's return, pacifica had intended to catch up with her old friend, but she knew that he already had a lot of catching up to do with his own family.

at least she had her own family to tend to, as well as her own career as gravity falls' top realtor, making her way to becoming the ceo of northwest realty from the past twenty years.

although she hated to admit it, pacifica kind of wished she was able to bond with her grandson preston as easily as dipper's twin sister and their two great nephews.

so, while preston is out on a date with his girlfriend priscilla, pacifica is left to her own devices as she finishes up paperwork for her recent client.

that is... until she hears the ever so familiar ring of the doorbell.

"heh... h-hey, paz," dipper greets; in his own, typical, awkward way, "l-long time, no see, huh?"

pacifica blinks once... then twice... three times, even.

"uh... pacifica?" he waves over her face; worry rising in his voice. "are you alright—"

dipper gets cut off abruptly was pacifica leaps toward him; wrapping her arms over his shoulders and enveloping him into a crushing embrace.

"dummy... don't leave me ever again."

"wait, what?!"

dipper stands in his now-clean bedroom proudly, his hands to his sides.

"you heard me: by the end of spring break, pacifica northwest will be my girlfriend."

mabel clasps her hands over her mouth, trying her best from squealing.

"oh my god, dipper! that's amazing!" she cheers, but then her face blanks—as if she's seen a ghost. "oh no."

"huh? what 'oh-no'? i don't like that 'oh-no'."

"look, it's great that you want to ask pacifica to be your girlfriend and all but.. how do i put this... when it comes to girls... sometimes, you tend to get in your own way."

"mabel, i promise," dipper says, placing a hand to his chest while raising the other, "no lists involved. maybe a plan to reference to from time to time, but no multi-phase lists i need to be following closely."

"okay..." she says hesitantly, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips, "so... what's the plan then?"

"well..." he starts, rubbing his hands together.

"first, i figured there would be no harm in taking everyone mini-golfing. i can't impress her, but at least it's something she likes to do. pacifica will have a good time, so it'll definitely get things running in the right direction."

"um... mini golf?" pacifica asks, a bit weary.

"i guarantee you, there's no lilliputtians involved."

looking at him quizzically at first, she chuckles right after.

"okay, nerd. i've been looking forward to having a rematch with mabel anyways. she owes me a fair game, anyways."

"next, we'll go to the mall—it's full of stuff that pacifica likes, right? fashion and deep-fried foods!"

"here you go," dipper says, plopping down a tray of food onto the table before pacifica, "an order of french fries with a vanilla milkshake, just like the lady ordered."

he mimics a bow, gesturing to the fast-food before taking his seat: "just like home, huh? um... you still have a butler, right?"

the blonde giggles, nodding as she picks up a single fry and dipping it into the shake.

"only the one, though. we had to let go of a lot of staff after... you know."

"oh yeah..." he says, remembering the previous video-calls they've had, "it seems you've been adjusting well, though. oh yeah—how's greasy's? lazy suzan able to hold fort without you?"

"definitely. i miss her, though." she answers, twirling her straw. "between you and me, it's nice working at the diner. lazy suzan is more like a parent to me than my actual parents, and it keeps me distracted from thinking about home..."

looking up from the tray, pacifica looks at dipper with a gentle smile: "at least things in your home is better, right? i'm totally jealous of your parents."

"i guess you could say that..."

but it wasn't better. things at the pines' residence wasn't getting better at all. though there was still some sort of harmony in the household, it doesn't mean that his parents weren't still fighting almost every night.

but this didn't mean that things wouldn't be different with pacifica. sure, dipper's parents have been together for over almost two decades, and their marriage has still been on the verge of collapse even after their children had come back from their summer vacation in gravity falls, but it didn't mean—

oh, who was he kidding.

"hey, hello~" his friend snaps her fingers in front of his face, "anyone in there? you've been zoning out, wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

"um... heh, heh! you know what? how about we hit the arcade?? lost my appetite, anyways."

before she could have any input, dipper already grabs pacifica's hand, running down and out of the food court.

"there was also the arcade... but i don't know how she'd take it, but hopefully she'll come to like it. i mean—pacifica loves winning, right?"

"gleeful!"

"hm?" dipper gives a hum as he opens his eyes, peering up. somebody from the outside is calling.

"hey, sunshine, i gotta take care of something real quick." he explains, pulling away, his hands still on hers. "stay put, alright?"

she nods, still smiling: "okay, just... be careful, dip."

"you know i will." the brunette winks, causing his prisoner princess to giggle.

then, he finally departs, exiting the bubble.

"what the heck, dipper?!" gideon exclaimed. "i thought you turned a new leaf?! you said you were going to change!"

"oh, if it isn't lil' gideon—"

"don't call me that!" the small boy snaps back.

"never mind that! i'll have you know that i did, in fact, change," dipper continues, "i promised my sunshine, pacifica, that i wasn't going to hurt her, and i intend to keep that promise."

he then points to the bubble, wrapped in chains: "in that bubble, pacifica won't be hurt. never again. i was willing to let bygones be bygones, but she told me what you've done—and if you think i'm letting you in there, think again!"

"you can't do that, dipper!" robbie shouts. "you think you're protecting pacifica, but you're only imprisoning her!"

"valentino." dipper grimaces, his eyes narrowing and a threatening glint twinkles in his brown eyes. "you can't be any more wrong—pacifica told me herself! i am her protector! thanks to will, he granted me the power to create a dream world for her. in this world, i can shield her from anyone and everyone who can hurt her! even you!"

"but, dipper..." gideon speaks, his voice softens as he tries to empathize with the brunette, "do you really think this is the right way to protect pacifica? just because she's in that bubble, doesn't mean she'll be safe forever. eventually, one way or another, you'll hurt her too. so, when that happens—where will she go? who will protect her, then??"

dipper's cold expression slightly cracks, allowing his former enemy to reach out to him.

"we know you care for pacifica, we all do, too," the white-haired boy gestures between himself, robbie, and melody, "but we're still human. we make mistakes, and eventually, we will hurt each other—whether we mean to or not."

pulling out the slip of paper from the front pocket of his pants, dipper unfolds the paper to look back at the cut-out newspaper article; staring into the old picture of himself and pacifica.

she gave me another chance... even when i didn't deserve it.

"do the right thing, dipper. if you want to be pacifica's hero, please let us rescue her. please let us make it up to her."

"so, let me get this straight..." pacifica speaks, pinching the bridge of her nose in a mix of concentration and confusion, "this whole time, you had a twin sister? but you didn't tell me about her because of she wronged you about thirty years ago?? and then ten years later—she accidentally gets you sucked into this portal that you made??? so you've been stuck in there for the past twenty years until she reactivated said portal—in which she fixed, for the sole purpose to bring you back????"

dipper simply stares at pacifica, still struck by her beauty after all these years. yet, when he realizes a tad late that she had stopped speaking, he shakes his head; getting a hold of himself.

"y-yes. that's exactly what happened."

the blonde blinks once. then twice. then takes a long sip from her coffee; setting it down before slamming the empty mug onto the table.

"you never told me you had a twin sister!"

"well, i didn't think it was relevant..." he mumbles, annoyed.

"of course it's flippin' relevant!" she spats, "whatever mabel did to you in the past, she's still your family! i thought i knew everything about you, but you've been still hiding stuff from me!"

dipper sighs, looking at his old friend with a guilt-ridden expression.

"you're right, paz. i should've been more open with you, instead of being all mysterious and keeping stuff from you. i'm really sorry that i scared you and kept you in the dark all this time."

"ah, forget about it," she waves off, no longer upset. "you're lucky that i'm too old to be fussing over small things. besides, i guess i should be used to it by now, right? you never really trusted me, anyways."

"but i do trust you, pacifica," he says, placing a hand over hers, "i was just being an idiot, thinking that i was protecting you by not letting you into my world, but that's not fair. not when you've trusted me with your secrets. i truly am sorry, paz."

as pacifica looks down at his hand on hers, she looks back up to him; her diamond-blue eyes meeting his doe-brown ones. a twinge of pink spreads throughout her cheeks, letting her old feelings for the awkward man resurface; if only for a small moment.

for the first time in twenty years, her guard is let down again, baffled and stammering by the same guy who caught her heart two decades ago.

"it's alright, dipper." pacifica replies, the smallest hint of a smile graces her face.

"you're here now."

"SUGGESICA WIN!"

"ha, yeah!" pacifica cheers, pumping a fist up in victory, "in your face!"

though dipper wasn't happy at first that he was once again bested by her, he did have to admit—pacifica looks pretty cute when she gloats over a win. it's rare to see her geek out over an arcade game, after all.

"so, what was that again? didn't you say arcades were for nerds??"

"they're only nerds if they can't win," she corrects, poking his chest, "like you."

"yeah, yeah, you beat me," dipper says, rolling his eyes, "now enter your name for the high score so we can start heading back home. dad must've hooked up the karaoke machine by now."

pacifica giggles, inputting the name 'PAZ' before leaving the arcade with dipper; hand-in-hand.

"so, lovebirds..." mabel teases as she, candy, and grenda reunite with the pair, "ready for some karaoke?"

dipper blushes as pacifica rolls her eyes, smirking amusedly: "yeah, whatever. you wish i was dating your brother, it'll give you something to brag about."

"oh, definitely," mabel replies, "because i'm sure there's a lot of girls out there who are dying to say 'pacifica northwest, walking one-dimensional beached blonde valley girl stereotype, is dating my brother!'"

pacifica gasps, feigning offense...

before she laughs along with her former arch-enemy; walking out of the mall in a side-hug.

"look, after you said you weren't going to leave with me and move in my parents and i at the end of the summer, i wanted to hide in my sweater forever."

as pacifica explains her choice to stay in pacificaland, gideon feels the guilt rise within him as he is reminded of his promise from the beginning of the summer.

then, the melancholic expression on her face turns into one of resolve as she finishes her story.

"but then i woke up in a place that gives me exactly what i wanted: an endless summer where we'll never have to grow up! here, the sun shines all day, the party never ends, and now that you guys are here—it's finally perfect!"

"listen, pazzy," gideon speaks, "we're not here to party. all of this is crazy!"

yet, the blonde groans, disagreeing with her cousin's sentiment: "ugh! i figured you might say something like that, gid. would it kill you to be more like dipper sometimes? at least he's supportive of me!"

"sunshine..." dipper calls to her softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "maybe you should go with gideon and the the rest..."

"huh?" pacifica's eyes go wide, suprised by the change in his demeanour.

"what are you talking about, dipper?"

"wait! hold on..." pacifica pants, trying to catch her breath after doubling down in laughs, "you... dated... a siren?"

blushing madly, dipper frowns: "is it really that hard to believe?"

apparently so, since the woman before him couldn't help but keep laughing; unable to control herself.

"uh—yeah?" she answers between cackles, "whew... oh my god, i'm gonna cry... that's hilarious... hah..."

"but you had two failed marriages!" he points out, still red as a tomato.

that doesn't stop pacifica from laughing herself breathless, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she finally starts to settle down.

"true... but i'm an heiress, dipper."

she had a point. twenty years is an awful long time, and it was like pacifica was getting any younger. it was inevitable that her parents wanted to secure their fortune by any means necessary—especially if said means was to marry their daughter off to another rich family.

hence, her two unsuccessful unions with marius von fundhauser and gideon gleeful.

"you never told me... how did you get out of them, again?"

"well, marius and i split because he fell in love with someone else..." pacifica answers, reminscing on her relationship with the austrian prince, "no hard feelings, though. it was for the best."

from the look on her face, dipper could tell that she was being genuine. he always loved seeing her soft side.

"and... gideon?" he winces.

"not as sweet as the papers put it." she replies bluntly. "he was just... too show-ey? even for me, which is crazy. i was able to find an out when i took the reigns on northwest realty—i got the chance to prove to my parents i was more than a pretty face, after all."

dipper chuckles, "as if there was any doubt."

"disco girl!"

"coming through!"

"that girl is you~!"

ooh-ooh's ring throughout the living room, followed by giggles and more of the musical works of dipper pines and pacifica northwest.

"more punch, kids?" mrs. pines asks as she enters the room; a tray of filled glasses in her hands. "gonna need something to drink so those singing voices won't be strained."

so, without any objections, the five kids take a break—drinking punch and catching up on town gossip.

"what?! you broke up with marius?!"

mabel's jaw drops nearly the same time the news drops, but everyone else remains indifferent. sure, candy and pacifica would have already known about this, but dipper was just plain uninterested.

"it wasn't a big deal, really," grenda explains. "there was only so much clinginess i could take!"

"speak for yourself," pacifica chimes in, checking her nails, "sounds to me like you could've been set for life. you were dating the prince of austria!"

"yeah, and it was a long-distance relationship, too!" mabel exclaims, "emphasis on distance!"

"what's distance if he wanted to fly me out to austria every weekend?! the guy just couldn't leave me alone!"

"yeesh," pacifica cringes; her facial expression in her signature look of disgust, "when you put it like that, maybe dumping the guy was right move. i can't imagine dating someone hovering over me like that, laughing and agreeing at every single thing i say."

"ha-ha!" dipper chokes out, blushing madly, hovering over pacifica, "you're totally right, paz!"

as the blonde in question raises an eyebrow, confused, the three remaining girls shares looks of mischief amongst each other; smirking slyly.

"speaking of your dating life, paz..." mabel begins in a teasing voice, "have you... say, got yourself any boyfriends, lately?"

now, it was pacifica's turn to blush—her cheeks a tinted pink.

"uh... no?" drawing out the confused 'no' in her reply, pacifica looks puzzled once more. "mabel, what—"

"AH-HA-HA-HA-HA~" dipper's forced laughs come out more obnoxious this time around, taking his sister's hand as he leads them out of the living room.

"mabel!"

"no... no... not you, too..."

"pacifica, you know in your heart that gideon's right. summer ends."

"but... i don't want it to end! i don't want to go back and... and..."

losing her words, pacifica looks back into dipper's eyes. deep down, she agreed with him wholeheartedly. she knew he was telling the truth.

but they were in pacificaland now. and the truth is not what she wants. especially if all the truth has done was hurt her and continued to do so.

"you said you wouldn't hurt me, dipper."

then there it was. the ache in his chest had returned. it didn't make sense, though! he was so sure that the guilt had been resolved after that night of the party at his mansion... so, why did it come back? he didn't so anything wrong. dipper made a deal with will so he could be granted full guardianship of the bubble and keep pacifica from harm.

she was all fine until that know-it-all gideon pines got in the way... he thinks he knows what's best for pacifica, and look what that go him—after all, he was the reason why the joyful blonde had felt so down in the first place! dipper didn't hurt pacifica, it was all gideon!

turning away from pacifica, dipper looks into gideon's eyes. if he could glare into them long enough, maybe daggers could materialize out of his brown eyes, shooting straight into gideon's blue ones.

what he didn't expect, however, was for gideon to stand his ground; staring back at dipper with the same amount—if not, more—determination than the once-evil psychic.

then, all at once, dipper's own words have struck him, remembering his promise to pacifica.

"i… i know it's too late for you to trust me… and i clearly don't deserve your forgiveness… but i do wanna try. i want to be a better person."

if i want to be more than pacifica's hero... he thinks to himself, i have to be someone worthy of loving... i have to do the right thing...

i have to be a better person.

"but, paz, you don't get it... mabel had cost me my dream school."

dipper repeats for the umpteenth time, lamenting over what could have been. he knew better than to be holding resentment over his twin sister for so long, but he just couldn't shake it off.

pacifica clearly notices this, which motivates her all the more to get her old friend to see sense.

"dipper, mabel and i haven't been on good terms this whole time, but after telling me the whole story, i've begun to see her in a different light." she confesses, laying a freshly-manicured hand atop inter-dimension traveller. "what baffles me is that while you can recall having a rich history with her, but it's only the two instances that she's done you wrong that keep a hold in your heart."

"but mabel was the reason i couldn't get into my dream school! she ruined my whole future in the blink of an eye—"

"she ruined your future, huh?" pacifica cuts him off, cocking a brow. "you want to know what i think, dipper?"

"paz—"

"no, maybe that big head of yours has influenced you in the past twenty years, and now it's got to your mouth—but i'm not going to stand for this. mabel is your twin sister. you guys sounded like two inseperable peas in a pod, but you've let that wrinkly brain of yours ruin probably the greatest friendship you've ever had."

pacifica pokes dipper's forehead for effect.

"sure, woe is you that you didn't get accepted to west coast. i'm sorry you didn't get to go into your dream school, but you went to backupsmore. you did the same work you hoped to accomplished at your first choice of school, but you pushed yourself even harder. if anything—you've probably found more success at backupsmore than west coast!"

"but mabel can't just get off scot-free—"

"your parents threw her out on the streets, dipper!" pacifica exclaims, utterly baffled by his sheer audacity, "things might've not have gone your way, but if they did back then, would you have been happier?"

hot tears begin to well up in the blonde's eyes, trying her hardest not to let them fall.

"you would have never come here! you would have never met... me..."

realizing that perhaps he did let his grievances get the better of him yet again, dipper had easily forgotten that he was only wanted to catch up over coffee with an old friend (maybe even get a second date afterwards), but he's blowing it.

blowing it big time.

"pacifica, of course i'm thankful for the way things turned out. meeting you was one of the best things that's ever happened to me."

"well, it sure doesn't feel like it..." she remarks, refusing to back down.

"look, i understand why you would be upset with mabel. sure, she ruined your chances of getting to your dream school, and got you trapped in another dimension for like, two decades, but she didn't mean to hurt you on purpose—and i think, deep down, you know this too."

though he wouldn't admit out loud, dipper did agree with pacifica's words. maybe it was just easier to stay mad at his sister because some part of him, subconsciously, knew that he was also to blame for where he ended up—especially getting himself sucked into the portal that he built himself.

"besides, if mabel was really as bad as you claimed her to be, then she wouldn't have spent all this time fixing your portal—just to get yourself out. in retrospect, what she did would typically require a prayer and a miracle to do: mabel self-educated in sciences, paid off your mortgage, and kept secrets to protect herself and her family. she did all this, her determined solely based on the very slim chance she could fix her mistake and bring you back home."

he wanted so badly to tell her that she was right. his mouth was already open, but with no words coming out, left speechless by the blonde's truth, he disappointed her; yet again.

"you know, i really missed you, dipper—but it turns out i didn't know you as well as i thought. call me when you decide to stop listening to your head and listen to your heart for a change."

with those final words, pacifica pulls out some bills from her wallet, before getting up from the booth, and out of the diner.

"what?!"

mabel yelps right before her brother frantically slaps a hand over her mouth, then peering over his shoulder to see if her loud reaction drew any attention from their guests.

with dipper's head turned, the other twin takes a chance and licks his hand, causing not only him to retract in disgust, but her as well; forgetting in that brief moment how sweaty her brother really was.

"mabel, seriously?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

spitting out and blowing raspberries with her tongue, she spats: "ugh! when do you ever not sweat?"

"whatever, that's not the point!" dipper replies, still hushed.

after blowing the last raspberries, mabel continues, whispering as well: "you haven't asked pacifica to be your girlfriend yet? spring break's almost over!"

"i know, i know, it's just..." he turns back to the living room, looking solemnly at the blonde; currently laughing along with candy and grenda. "i thought i was ready, i really did..."

seeing the gloom in her brother's face, mabel puts a hand to dipper's shoulder.

"so, what happened bro-bro?"

turning back to face his sister, dipper draws a deep sigh before asking: "mabel, do you think, if pacifica and i start dating... we'll end up arguing more than mom and dad?"

"huh?" she questions, her face puzzled.

"i mean, pacifica and i are just so different... and it's only been almost a year since we've met..." dipper explains, "on the other hand, our parents have known each other for almost twenty years... but that didn't stop them from those big arguments last year... do you think—"

"dipper, let me stop you right there," mabel interrupts, holding her hands up in a 'stop' gesture, "you and pacifica are nothing like mom and dad—and that doesn't have to be a good or bad thing! you guys have an awesome dynamic, whether as friends or as a couple—nudge nudge! the point is, you should ask pacifica to be your girlfriend when you feel you're ready. don't rush it, and definitely don't let other relationships like our parents get to you. after all, there's always summer!"

after giving it some thought, dipper looks away from mabel, turning to pacifica once more, then back to his sister; smiling.

"you make a good point, mabel... thanks. 'sides, there's always summer, right?"

after breaking free from the bubble in which will has imprisoned pacifica, she—along with the company of dipper, mabel, gideon, melody, and robbie—have made their way back to the tent of telepathy.

though found seemingly empty at first, the battle cries of the townsfolk taking refuge in the shack provokes the group of people who had just came from weirdmaggedon.

that is, until one of the folk—the six-fingered one in particular—had spotted their great niece and nephew, almost immediately standing down.

"kids?"

"grunkle ford!" dipper and mabel cheer, rushing to hug the old man.

"i can’t believe it! i thought i lost you two.” he says, capturing the twins in his arms.

“did you really?” mabel asks smugly.

“no,” ford answers, returning a smug grin back at her, “i was looking forward to not being bothered by you deliquents anymore.”

“you can always try again, grunkle ford.” dipper says.

“so, how did you all get here?”

ford then proceeds to recall the events from his perspective as weirdmaggedon unfolded, noting how the tent was the only place unaffected by will’s powers due to the protection of the unicorn hair.

“eventually, all these injured stragglers show up needing a place to stay. since the mayor got captured, i elected myself de facto chief. the plan's to stay in here and eat brown meat until we run out, then eat the gnomes."

as ford finishes explaining to his niece and nephew impassively, a nearby gnome immediately picked up on the chief's plan and gasped in utter disgust.

"hey! i'm short, not deaf!"

glancing from the kids to the gnome, ford remains indifferent.

"survival of the fittest, pal. sucks to be you, i guess."

"grunkle ford, we can't all just hide inside the tent," mabel reasons, "we have to save the town! gideon, stan, and i tried to do it, but grunkle stan ended up getting captured by will."

"serves that jerk right, it's what you get for trying to be a hero." ford remarks, then gestures to the townsfolk taking refuge in the tent. "besides, look at these people. the reason why they're here is not from the kindness of my heart, they're here out of fear—because people blindly following me would be less torturous than following some all-powerful space demon."

"so, you're really going to let will win?" gideon asks.

"kid, we got the best deal we could possibly get." the elder gleeful says, lounging back on his recliner. "be lucky that my niece is all sweet on you, otherwise i'd be kicking you and your cousin out on the streets with whatever townsfolk were unfortunate to not take refuge."

gideon frowns deeply, disgusted and frustrated with the six-fingered man. pacifica, although offended by the remark, is saddened on her cousin's behalf; considering that her uncle and aunt—despite their significant lack of quality parenting—are still out there amongst the chaos.

so, understandably, mabel is furious, and dipper places a empathetic hand on pacifica's shoulder—sharing in her lament.

she couldn't believe it... pacifica had waited for so long... she's waited twenty years, just to see him again.

though she would never admit it out loud to anyone else, pacifica's had dreams about reuniting with her former partner, many of them just a grasp away from a happy ending... that is, until she gets pulled back to consciousness at the final moment, and she realises...

he's not there.

after years of hoping, asking whatever external forces in the universe, just for the chance to see dipper pines one more time.

yet, after that lunch at greasy's, when pacifica finally got the chance to catch up with her old friend, she got to really know who dipper actually was... and it was just like in those final moments before she woke up each morning for the past couple decades.

he's still not here.

so, though it pains her heart to do this, pacifica needs to give dipper space. as long as things between him and his sister remain unresolved, how could she begin to think about having their own relationship mended?

but she's waited for twenty years... she won't mind waiting a little bit more.

take the rift...

"huh?" she scans the town around her. "who's there?"

nobody was nearby. in fact, she doesn't remember seeing the town in such a... monochromatic state. it was chilling, to say the very least.

after confirming nothing was behind her, pacifica shook her head rather wildly, trying to get her vision back. she didn't even summon him... she's fully awake... so, how did pacifica end up in the dreamscape?

suddenly, a being manifests before her. yellow, triangle-shaped, demonic. the blonde recognized him from the pages of the notebook, as well as the numerous tapestries she's locked up in one of the many closets in her mansion. after inheriting the property, stowing those demon-tapestries away was just about one of the first thing's she done to northwest manor.

"stay back!" she roars, standing guard.

"oh, llama, i'm sure your family raised you to be more poised than that." bill teases, swarming around her.

"you're nothing but bad news, you triangle goblin." pacifica spats, folding her arms, her hip cocked to one side. "i know you're like some sort of massive psycho, but you'd have to be even more mindless to think i'd make some deal with you."

"no need to be hostile, llama." bill says, backing away and giving her space. "i noticed that you had a lover's quarrel with pine tree lately, and i just want to give you something small to lift up your spirits."

"dipper and i don't have anything together." she states bluntly, clearly uninterested. "and i'm well off on my own, so if you're thinking of making me like, the richest person in the world, forget it."

"what if i gave you a better pine tree?" he offers, floating about and around her again. "in a snap, i can re-wire the old geek..."

with a snap of his fingers, a phantom of dipper appears before the two, walking towards pacifica with a smile on his ghostly face.

"a pine tree that isn't self-absorbed and all-consumed by science."

though he is a phantom, the animated dipper is able to take pacifica's hand in his. bill's probably controlling me, isn't he?

"a pine tree that can listen to his heart."

using his free arm to circle her waist, this dipper pulls pacifica close to him, his ghastly eyes seemingly consumed by her.

maybe, pacifica can't wait any longer. after all, she is getting old. besides, with dipper being the same age, she knows that he's getting old too. he's finally back home, so perhaps he ought to finally get some rest.

but it's not right. if she let herself sank this low, dipper would never forgive her. heck, she doesn't even think she could forgive herself. he wouldn't even be the dipper she fell in grew to like.

"all i need is this galaxy-looking globe of your boyfriend's. it's nothing big, so he won't miss it. so, whattaya say?"

looking from 'dipper' to bill's hand, ready for a shake, pacifica's determination returns to her; hitting her stronger than ever.

"my pine tree is perfect the way he is."

"what?" bill sputters in disbelief.

"you heard me," pacifica pulls away, staring into the demon's eye, "no deal."

"YOU FAKE BLONDE IMPENDING PATERNITY TEST! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I CAN UNMAKE YOUR FAMILY'S LEGACY AND YOU'LL BE LEFT WITH NOTHING—"

"i don't care. i have preston, and i have dipper."

"YOU WORTHLESS WASTE OF STOLEN INCOME! IT’LL BE EVEN EASIER TO TAKE THEM AWAY FROM YOU! MAKE THE DEAL, LLAMA."

without hesitance, she raises a fist; completely all out of patience.

"NO!"

"wait, so if the answer to the equation is zero, then why can't x also be zero?" pacifica asks as her eyebrows knit together, staring from the homework spread on her desk back to the dork on video call from her laptop. "anything that's multiplied by zero has to equal zero, right?"

"yeah, but if you applied zero in place of x," dipper explains, amused by the blonde's annoyance. "you'd have two multiplying negative one, making the answer—"

"negative two, yeah, yeah." pacifica cuts him off, waving it aside. "lemme try again, but i need you to shut up for a bit."

on screen, dipper looks deadpanned, but he knew that pacifica was really trying. the school year was almost over, and thanks to insufficient funds to keep her original tutor, pacifica was left to her own devices.

the thing was, he has helped her all year, and she was perfectly confident with her grades... so, why are the stakes so much higher now?

"x equals negative two or one-half!"

"see, i knew you could do it." dipper smiles at her through the monitor.

chuckling at the dopey expression on his face, pacifica feels her cheeks grow warm, smiling back at him. "thanks dipper... but i couldn't have done it without you. actually... i think i might've needed to repeat the eight grade if it wasn't for you."

"you kidding me? you're great at practically anything you put your mind to!"

heh, i hope you're right about that, dip.

what pacifica isn't telling him is how much of a big deal her final math exam really is for her. as far as he knows, it's just her first final exam that she's gotten without an expensive tutor nor the safety net of her parents' fortune to get her into the ninth grade.

"bro-bro! tell your girlfriend ya gotta go! dinner's ready!"

mabel's off-screen call promptly causes her brother to be fully red in the face, momentarily losing his cool; to which pulls a giggle from the other end of his video call.

"sounds like i gotta let you go, bro-bro." pacifica teases, reaching for her laptop, over the sheets and textbooks. "same time, tomorrow?"

"heh, of course." dipper replies, chuckling nervously as he rubs the back of his neck. "sorry about mabel, you know how she is—"

"you don't need to apologize for anything, dork. catch ya later."

the dopey, awkward grin on dipper's face is the last thing she sees before she clicks on the 'end call' button, butterflies swarming in her stomach as she's temporarily allured by the goofiness that is her crush—not that she'd admit it to anyone else, though.

soon enough, those butterflies turn into rumbles, her stomach calling out for food as well.

after shutting her laptop and abandoning post at her desk, pacifica begins to make her way down to the kitchen.

"it's about time you showed up."

preston speaks bluntly as he and his wife are sitting on the dining table, with no food before them.

"we're starving, darling." priscilla says. "we thought we were going to have to wait forever for that... pines boy... to finally end your tutor session."

taking in a deep breath, pacifica sighs just as heavily, walking towards the fridge: "what are you guys going to make me prepare tonight?"

after viewing toby determined by turned to stone, soon to join will’s throne of subdued townsfolk, the remaining people in the tent of telepathy are finally pushed to the edge—the drive of freeing the town overruling their fear of will’s tyrannic takeover.

led by the team of gideon, pacifica, and the gleeful twins, all of the refuged individuals desperately assist tad mcgucket in turning the tent of telepathy into a force for battle.

days later, their combined efforts resulted in the completion of the remodeled tent of telepathy; much to ford’s dissatisfaction.

"thanks for these apocalyspe sweaters, pacifica." melody praises, physically snug in the cashmere. "the end of the world has never felt so comfortable."

"you were always a girl of many talents, sunshine." dipper chimes in, proudly showing off the sweater with a pine tree in the center.

the rest of the refugees are in agreement; nodding and humming.

hearing a shiver from behind her, pacifica shoots mabel a look as she notices she's still sweaterless. desperate to just warm up.

"ugh!" she whines, caving in as she pulls out a pink sweater with a shooting star in the center. "fine i'll wear it," she says, putting it on, "but i'm not gonna like it."

"admit it, this is the best day of the end of the world." pacifica says, taking a seat between dipper and gideon. "i think we actually have a chance to defeat will and win back our future."

"yeah," gideon adds, "can't believe i'm saying this, but i would much rather want to live to see mabel and dipper turn thirteen."

mabel gives gideon a soft smile, something that not even her twin brother has ever seen from her—and surprisingly, gideon even smiles back at mabel.

"if we're lucky, sunshine, i guarantee we'll throw another party at the manor and invite everyone in town."

though she knew dipper was certain about it, pacifica still raises a brow in suspicion; purely out of testing him.

sighing, he places a hand over his chest: "i promise, pacifica."

hearing the approaching footsteps from one of his two nephews, dipper sighs, putting aside whatever work he was currently tending to, now tending to his nephew instead.

"let me guess: stanley didn't take it well."

the young stanford pines shakes his head, regret and doubt starting to spread across his face.

"i don't know, maybe i'm making the wrong decision." ford replies, looking up at his grunkle. "i need to think about this."

"ford, right now we need to focus on the mission." dipper says, trying to pacify his nephew's gloom. "now come on, i've got the glue—hand me the rift and let's make history."

turning his frown into a smile, ford reaches into his supposed backpack, only to pull out—a birthday flyer?!

"what? oh no! the rift!"

it's the last day of exam week, and the weight of the world is on pacifica shoulders... or at least that's how she's feeling right now.

pulling up to the front of the school, the blonde unbuckles her seatbelt, picking up her bag, and is just about to open the door before her father halts her.

"pacifica," preston calls to his daughter, causing her to turn back to him. "you are a northwest. remember, if you don't get a perfect score on that final exam, you can say goodbye to your inheritance."

suddenly, pacifica's taken back to the day of the golf tournament between herself and mabel—and it only makes her feel worse.

so, she doesn't give anything to her dad but an affirmative nod, steps out of the vehicle, and watches as the family car drives off.

once the car was out of view, pacifica rushes into the school and in the washroom, locking herself in a stall.

hyperventilating, the distressed blonde holds a hand to her chest—though it doesn't do anything to slow her breathing nor stabilize the rise and fall of her chest. before she knew it, hot tears stream down her face, and the choked sobs that barely escape from her are just a cork from a full-on piercing cry.

get it together pacifica! she begs in her mind. stop being so weak!

feeling hopeless, the floor in the stall might as well turn into a black hole and swallow pacifica whole. it's still early in the morning, maybe she can just play hooky... and just catch the next bus to piedmont. it's not like her parents would miss her, right? especially when she won't get that perfect score they were hoping for. maybe he was right...

YOU'LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING.

YOU'LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING.

YOU'LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING—

it was only a single ringtone that pulls pacifica from her mind. rubbing her tears away and taking a sniffle, she pulls out her phone and reads the caller id from the screen.

𝗠𝗔𝗕𝗘𝗟 𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 💫

pacifica thinks about answering, she really does, but what could she say? the only person she's ever been vulnerable with was her brother.

before she knew it, pacifica lets her phone ring for too long, letting her enemy-turned-frenemy-turned-friend[ish?] go to voicemail.

"hey pacifica! dipper and i are just about to head to school, so we wanted to give you a call and wish you good luck on your math final! remember, no matter what the result is, our support for you is as long as pi! ha! get it? 'cause it's endless?? eh??? anyways, we'll always be proud of you, paz!"

pacifica rolls her eyes, chuckling at the shooting star's oh-so familiar cheesiness.

"mabel's right," a different voice enters the message, "you've done so well in school this year all by yourself, so don't sweat it, pacifica. you're going to nail that final, and even if you're not happy with the score, you should be proud of all the work you've put in this year."

"psst! dippingsauce!" pacifica can hear mabel call out to him, but her voice is rather hushed, likely due to her being some distance away from her phone. "tell paz you less than three her!"

"'less than three her'? what do you mean, 'less than three'..." dipper's voice dies down at the end, dead air follows the voicemail as he figures out what his sister meant.

"MABE—"

just like that, the voicemail ends—or rather, cuts off. pacifica sniffles, but she finds herself smiling. chuckling, actually.

who was she kidding? of course they were right! she's pacifica northwest. the only northwest that ended her family's curse. the same girl who showed up to a family photoshoot because she stopped caring about what others wanted her to be. the llama of bill cipher's zodiac!

bill was wrong, and after all she's done to save their lives—her parents no longer get the privilege to boss her around and treat her like a butler.

so, when pacifica finally cleans herself up, then walks in the classroom to take her final math exam for the school year, she's filled with nothing but confidence. she's pacifica, after all. as if she was going to finish the eight grade with anything less than an A+.

but, her mom and dad can keep that stupid inheritance of hers, she can make her own fortunes.

"this whole plan is insane, but no one asked the chief what he thinks. after all i've done for everyone!"

"hey dipper? mabel?" pacifica calls to them, but looks in the direction of the twins' grunkle. "shouldn't you guys talk to your grunkle? he doesn't look alright..."

"oh, we already know why he's acting like that," mabel brushes it off, only looking at ford for a second before staring back at pacifica, "don't worry about it, pacifica. he's always been this stubborn, but he'll come around. just needs to blow off some steam, that's all."

then, when mabel turns away to continue chatting with gideon, dipper shakes his head and rolls his eyes before talking to the blonde.

"to make a long story short, sunshine: mabel and i have been helping grunkle ford rescue grunkle stan ever since we could remember. after discovering that will had a connection to stan's dissappearance, understandably, we've tortured him enough to surrender and be subservient to us—using his powers and the tent of telepathy to steer suspeciting eyes away. once we got stan back, he only ever expressed gratitude to mabel and i—holding his grudge against ford."

"oh..." it wasn't pacifica, but gideon reacting to his former enemy's story. "so you guys weren't really evil, after all—just misunderstood?"

"nah, with stan's smarts, and ford's con-man skills, we could've easily turned the falls into gleefulland—ow!"

dipper holds a hand to his side, turning back to pacifica, who looks at him with a dissappointing pout.

"jerk. if neither of you are going to talk to ford, then i will."

"so, this is how the world ends. not with a bang, but with a boop-boop."

"weirdmaggedon." ford says, he and his grunkle looking up to the x-shaped rip in the sky—which the younger pines could only assume would be the portal to the nightmare realm.

"the rift is shattered." dipper says, lifting his nephew up as he gets run over by various animals and creatures. "bill's world is spilling into ours and every minute his powers grow stronger."

"stanley!" ford panics as eyes go wide. "the rift must've cracked inside his backpack. he must be in danger. i have to go and find him."

rushing towards the walkie-talkie, ford calls out to stan: "stanley! come in, stanley! stanley!"

"ford. listen to me." dipper calls to the boy sternly, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "we can find your brother soon, but right now, we need to stop bill. if we could blast him back through the rip he came out of, we just might be able to stop him before his weirdness spreads across the entire globe."

"are you sure defeating bill is even possible?" ford asks, a hint of uncertainty rises in his voice.

"no. i'm not sure." dipper confesses, but with every bit of courage he could muster from within himself, he looks down at ford. taking a knee down to his nephew's level, the elder pines looks into the eyes of the six-fingered boy—hoping that the next words that leave his mouth transfer a spark of a fight in ford. "but being a hero means fighting back even when it seems impossible. will you follow me?"

"to the ends of the earth."

a/n: omg FINALLY part 2 is done! i just want to take this moment to thank every single one of you for all the support and praise you have given me since i released the first part. i just want to give a heads up that since school is starting again for me, and balancing that with my job, i clearly won't have as much spare time to be working on this fic—but i'll try my best to have the final part posted within two months from now.

writing ilyieu has been so great for me, not just in terms of engagement and the traction i get from other users, but also for my writing. usually, i don't think i would be posting this much writing in such a short span of time... i haven't been this proactive in my writing since 2020 when all i had was quarantine and wattpad, if i gotta be honest.

i hope that this part is just as good as the first, because the next part is going to be last—as it wraps up the stories i have between dipcifica in all thre au's. your ongoing support means so a lot to me, so please send me lots of likes, reposts, and even asks my way! just about any engagement will likely inspire me to keep writing! here, how about i answer some of those future asks right now:

q: jen, your writing is so awesome! do you think alex hirsch will hire you to help him write any future books for gf?

a: uh—i don't have a degree in english or any related subjects, but if he's still willing to pay me—I SURE FRIGGIN HOPE SO

q: do you actually like gravity falls or are you just writing this because the book of bill came out/you just started watching the series/you know gf is trending on tumblr/you wanted to join the gf hype while it's still trending?

a: yes. definitely. absolutely. (stan pines would be so proud of me :,))

q: ur writing sucks/u take so long to post/u copied [insert name here] so unoriginal

a: this is definitely not a rick roll

anyways, thanks a bunch again for your guys' support! you’ve gotten me my first 200+ notes, my recent dipcifica drabble has already surpassed 100 (despite only writing and posting it yesterday), and i’m actually gaining a following (even if it’s small!) i’ll be posting more soon!

taglist: @wwwritererm @a-messy-flower @stormcloudsarepretty @marii-iana @whosbex @seukymin @vegas96 @caro2004 @ghostlyvisiting @frozzuwuwu @cyanside @mcmymuffin @poorlittlerichgirll @invisible-vampire13 @tielmamon @optimussy @hoatzin2 @janis01127 @platonicallyalone @raccoonchild333 @kagura15 @suckerfordylansstuff @cosmic-peonies @ashisuniverse @automaticpandaoperatorpizza

follow #jw: i love you in every universe for more content!

[hanakou-often]

I just happened to stumble upon your blog.. and I never really thought about HanaKou before, but these posts are very compelling. I love seeing other people’s ships in things and would love to be convinced into them.. heh. I’ve sort of fallen out of tbhk recently because the most recent arc hasn’t been compelling to me PARTLY BECAYSE KOU AND NENE AND HANAKO DONT KNOW EACH OTHWR?!?!? Which is really depressing, because I like them a lot. Ermm idk where I’m going with this I just was scrolling through the blog like “heh.. they’re cute I want to know more..” and now here I am. Please excuse my nonsense blabber idek if this makes sense 😔

Oh boy. Despite Hanakou being my hyperfixation for around 3 years, I still don't feel equipped to salesman my way into convincing someone 😭 most of my love for them has just come from PURE brainrot so I'll try my best to actually formulate more logical reasons why I like this sinking ship as much as I do. Long ass spoiler-filled rant incoming!!

1. Narrative Foils

A narrative foil is a character that contrasts another character, often the protagonist, to highlight certain aspects of their characters. Think Kabru and Laios from Dungeon Meshi, Sayaka and Kyoko from Madoka Magica, Draco and Harry from Harry Potter, etc.

To begin, Kou is a 'weak,' naive exorcist who always fights for justice and to protect the people he loves out of his own volition. Since he is the underdog of his family clan, the mediocre middle child next to his eldest exorcist extraordinaire brother, Kou is willing to do anything to prove his worth. This is primarily exhibited by his first meeting with Hanako as he recklessly plunges into a battle with the most powerful ghost in Kagome despite his inexperience with his weapon. When he's confronted about such, Kou states, "I don't care what happens to me as long as I can protect everyone!" and if that doesn't sum up his ideology, I don't know what does. He is shown to be the type of person to put everyone's safety, happiness and livelihood above his own, ultimately leading his selflessness to be his own detriment.

Contrarily, Hanako is a strong, knowledgable apparition who is given the role to protect students of Kamome, regardless of his detachment from the student body, as a way of atonement. As the long standing executive leader of the seven mysteries, Hanako has grown largely apathetic towards everyone, easily taking the cold, calculated and unconventional routes to reach the outcome he deems best no matter who it would hurt in the process. This is exemplified many times in the manga but to pick a lighter one: The time Hanako confessed to Nene under the kodama tree without telling her before hand that it wasn't real, leading him to hurt her feelings. It's clear that Hanako is the type of person to value his own goals and interests above everyone else's input, making him the more selfish antithesis to Kou's "selflessness."

Their differences in philosophy are really striking at times. Kou is endlessly optimistic while Hanako is more pessimistic, seeing the grimmer aspects of reality that Kou usually neglects. For example, Nene's lifespan has been a divisive topic between them for a while. Hanako had known about it from the start, originally intending to keep the poor girl in ignorant bliss for how much time she had left. At the point of the reveal in the clock keeper arc, he had no plans on trying to change her fate, solemnly stating that "there are things in this world that must not be changed...It's better for Yashiro this way." This is a direct contrast to Kou's more 'human' perspective as he immediately protests Hanako's claim of "There is nothing you can do," passionately asserting that he won't give up, he'll do whatever it takes save her and that is final. In the face of a dark reality, Kou completely rejects it, choosing to believe there's hope, like the naive son of a gun Hanako knows he is. From personal experience, Hanako knows it's stupid, it's idiotic, it's downright suicidal to go up against fate but somehow he ends up hoping Kou is right, trailing "I'm counting on you" as they settle back into a world that will never be the same after this revelation between them. (Something something Their differences are key to propelling the plot forward since Kou is the one to inspire Hanako not to just let Nene's life go by!!)

All of this is not to say they don't have anything in common. In fact, they are united by their desire to save the people they care about, grounded in their ruthless determination to see out their goals and are self sacrificing to an extent. I would love to go deeper on this topic but I'm afraid my brain is already starting to fry lol. In short, their differences are what make them interesting as a duo!! Each of their qualities can compliment the other's contrasting attributes and as people say, opposites attract!!!

2. Pivotal Roles in each other's Narrative

Hanakou are very important to each other's story since they are a key player in both their humble beginnings and tragic ends. Respectively, they are each other's gateway to a new life. Much like Nene, Kou is a symbol of hope for Hanako, his spunky attitude and determined nature igniting a humanitarian spark that Hanako lacked in the sixty years he lingered Kamome. For Kou, Hanako is the first apparition he meets, the one that sets off his rocky journey with navigating the world of supernaturals as a lackluster exorcist, and the second person to fuel his fire by believing in him. Specifically, Hanako tells Kou he looks forward to the day he can expel him with ease, a statement that foreshadows their distant future. In order to complete their whole character arcs (Hanako going from stubbornly clinging to the near shore to repent to accepting he's done every to atone and ready to pass on; Kou starting off weak and naive then ending as a stronger exorcist capable of understanding both the supernatural world and humanity) they'll have to do exactly what Hanako anticipated: Exorcise him once and for all. This aspect of their relationship is something intricately intertwined with their fates and while AidaIro may have forgotten about it, I can only hope they'll deliver so that they can bring their narratives full circle.

Now in the context of a romantic relationship, there are some absolutely soul crushing implications here. The hands Hanako loves to admire, intertwine his fingers with and adore are the same ones that will ultimately be his demise. Kou is Hanako's deathbed. That’s what they’ve known all along. It’s something that looms over their heads with a lingering heaviness neither boy wants address: Kou wanting to silently avoid his crushing responsibility while Hanako is just trying to savor whatever time he has with Kou. It's doomed just like everything else in TBHK <3

3. Young Exorcist arc

This one goes hand and hand with the second point but I felt that this needed to be discussed on its own since it's where many Hanakouers (ME) really took interest in their relationship. The arc begins with Kou being pulled aside by Teru, the two having a conversation about how Kou was supposed to immediately exorcise any seven mysteries he encounters. When Kou fumbles around him, insisting that he can't find it in himself to see Hanako as a bad supernatural, Teru is quick to remind him that "There is no such thing as a 'good supernatural'" and promptly takes him off the case. He was going to take matters into his own hands but the moment Kou looks at him with pleading eyes, Teru decides to give him more time to carry the duty out.

This is where Kou sets off to find Hanako, get some irrefutable proof that he's not evil like the generalization Teru makes. The effort he puts here into defending Hanako is absolutely adorable, if not a testament to their potential then a testament to Kou's sweet character. The suspicion he's built as he spies on Hanako who saunters around with a sack of stolen items is broken once the ghost explains that he's gathering them to return to their rightful owners. As stated previously, Hanako’s noble deeds are done more as a way to atone rather than out of his own good will so to see that he went out of his way to return stolen items to students, one of which being Kou’s safety earring, without being obligated to do so is great evidence to support Kou's idea that supernaturals can be good. Given this, Kou decides right then and there that he won’t exorcise Hanako after all. Now, Hanako here could have reveled in this decision, his kind act successfully manipulating Kou into compliance with his schemes, but instead, Hanako shows him exactly why he shouldn’t give up.

He cares for the kid. He does. Which is why he has to show how wrong he can be. It’s a downright dangerous thought because it lures Kou into a false sense of security that all supernaturals can be “good” like Hanako.

Cue Teru's dramatic entrance where he immediately apprehends the offending apparition and tries to execute him (for good reason). Blah blah blah Teru is condescending towards Kou because he made the wrong call again, something something Kou is trapped in Teru's bead bracelet and question his view of Hanako once more. For a moment, Kou almost gives into despair, letting Teru exorcise him without another word. After all, what does Kou know about the supernatural world? He's a weak link to Teru's infinite knowledge, power and experience. Maybe he should just let him do what he deems best.

However, as Hanako objects to his sentencing, screaming that “death would only be a release” and he still has so much to do here, it reminds Kou that Hanako is here for a reason. Sure, he’s an apparition, something that’s synonymous with evil, but all that time they spent together has to mean something, right? Hanako indulges Nene and Kou, joking around, Hanako has indulged Kou when no one else believed in him, he's saved them when he easily could’ve left them to their own devices. That definitely means something. Suddenly, Kou breaks free from the beaded prison, charges in the middle of the battle field and grips Teru's blade with an iron fist, all to save Hanako.

Just look at that. Kou slit his own palm trying to protect Hanako, someone he vowed to erase just weeks ago, because he's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He defies his brother, someone he highly admired for the past fourteen years of his life, for Hanako’s sake. Kou’s change in attitude towards his exorcist duties is largely attributed to Hanako. The sole notion of Hanako, the not so evil supernatural, has turned Kou’s world completely upside down.

I'll never forgive the anime for omitting this arc, not only because it excludes a pivotal moment in their relationship but also because it deprived an enriching detail to their development!!! Oh my god. Kou finally stands up for himself and owns up to his naivety. He knows he’s stupid for jumping from one extreme conclusion to the other before he has fully understood everything Hanako has to offer but he can no longer side with Teru’s one note view of him or supernaturals in general, lest more decent apparitions be erased without cause. He brings a level of nuance to the function that Teru does not appreciate!! When Kou decides to vouch for Hanako, undertaking the massive responsibility to watch over him all on his own, it shows a lot of growth in his maturity and his perspective of the ghost.

So yeah. A lot to say about the young exorcist arc. Not only has it deeply impacted the Minamoto brothers relationship, but it has brought a significant change within Kou’s mindset. He’s no longer trying to label Hanako as a definitive good or bad but trying to deepen his understanding of him and decide what to do from there. As for Hanako, he seems to respect Kou more now, giving credit where credit is due, and feels as though their bond is strengthened by the vulnerable state they saw each other in. He even acknowledges this in the first chapter of ASHK when Teru comes in to “help clean" by immediately taking cover behind Kou and questioning the commitment he made to keep Teru at bay. It's also weirdly sweet to see Hanako taking cover behind Kou here!! It really goes to show how much trust they've built for each other and how safe Hanako feels around the exorcist C:

To sum it all up, the young exorcist arc was an important part of showing how Hanakou work together and cement how their views of humanity/supernatural world are shifting because of each other!! I didn't get to talk about it too much but they also have a bunch of cute moments here which sorta feeds to the next point.

4. Classic Bromance to Romance

A bromance is defined as a quote en quote "close, friendly but non-sexual relationship between two men" and that's more or less what Hanakou brings to the table!!! First and foremost, they are complete opposites in a lot of their personality traits which makes it fun to see how they interact. Hanako's pervyness to Kou's disciplined innocence, Hanako's mischief to Kou's gullibility, Hanako's love of teasing to Kou's fiery denials, it's all just so entertaining to watch!!! They bounce off each other sorta like a coke and mentos relationship where on their own, they're absolutely fine but when they're together BOOM explosions, dumb arguments, rough housing 24/7, etc, etc. Just take a look at the shenanigans they get up to in this panel.

How? Just how did they get here? They used to be enemies, they're still supposed to be enemies but here they are, a hopeful descendent of a powerful exorcist clan and an executive leader of a important supernatural group, just play fighting with a mop and broom like they're no better than two clumsy best friends goofing off on their free time. I love their little bromance so much because it's the result of their growth during the many adventures they've had together. URUGHH After they've been through, it's deeply endearing to realize that they really are just boys being boys at their core!! C:

Now moving onto the romance part, I want to preface this with how I do believe men should be allowed to have intimate platonic relationships with each other without having to get accused of being gay but alas, I fear Hanakou's closeness as friends can easily pave the way for something more as they blur the line between friendly and flirty banter.

It's already been established that Hanako feels safe enough to be his usual self around the exorcist, knowing that no matter how mischievous, touchy and downright despicable Hanako can be, Kou won't ever hurt him. It's a sweet sort of trust that can be explored further with some typical bromance shenanigans, IE Hanako gets bored and decides to test Kou's boundaries just for the hell of it. At first, it's only joke flirting and some harmless teasing here and there. Maybe a lingering touch or two (only to push some buttons of course). Most of the time, Hanako finds this endeavor to be deeply rewarding since Kou reacts in a way that Nene doesn’t, his responses leaning into his more physical, boyish volatility as he either bashfully pushes Hanako away, chases him off or just straight up punches him in the arm, visibly flustered. The reactiveness encourages Hanako to keep upping the ante to the point where it's more unusual for him not to mess with Kou. It's grown into a bad habit of his: snaking his arms around Kou's shoulders, fiddling with his fingers with reverent fascination, sneaking glances at the boy and making funny faces in the hopes he'll look back and laugh, etc, etc. As Kou gets used to Hanako's antics overtime, his extreme reactions gradually diminish and it's becoming increasingly clearer that Hanako isn't (wasn't?) just doing it because "he's bored" anymore. No, it's something worse. With a sinking clarity, Hanako realizes boredom isn't the driving reason for being around Kou anymore, it's fondness of the cute (flustered) expressions he makes, it's the giddiness that swells in his chest when Hanako manages to make him smile, the electricity that floods his system when Kou flirts back, it's...something else he does not want to dissect. And so, Hanako will bury this revelation under the belief it's due to his unfamiliarity of friendship. Fifty years of isolation has to do a number to your perception of romance vs friendship, right???

Meanwhile, Kou is committed to the promise he made in the young exorcist arc so he's usually admiring from afar watching over Hanako to make sure he's in line and keeping an eye on Hanako isn't hard as of late; they're spending more time together before, during and after school and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he genuinely enjoys the company. Kou likes what they have, it's good that they can rely on each other and still leave room to joke around but to be honest, Kou has some...weird feelings towards Hanako. Every time their eyes meet his heart skips a beat, whenever he lets his mind wander it usually finds its way back to Hanako, their friendly banter stuck in his head, and for whatever reason, Kou's body can't seem to forget the ghost's touch, even long after he's fucked off to who knows where. There's something different about it. It's not the detestation he had when he first met Hanako, nor is it the quaint glee he had when he decided to not exorcise him. It's something completely new, something foreign that has his stomach doing flips every time he sees Hanako's bright smile or hears his stupid laugh. Kou tries not to think about it too much, lest he gives Hanako exactly what he wants, so he just chalks it up to his view of supernaturals being challenged. After all, going from believing all supernaturals are dangerous, evil vermin that need to be exterminated to voluntarily hanging out with such a friendly one is bound to stir up some mixed feelings, right?

Do you see my vision now? The bromance to romance pipeline would be unreal with these two confused idiots!! There's so much room for the internalized homophobia, the confusion of trying to differentiate friendly feelings from the clusterfuck of emotions the other boy evokes and the funny fumblings of two teenage boys letting the joke flirting go a bit too far like a game of gay chicken gone wrong. Their relationship speaks to me in a way that can only be described as the entertainment you get from mixing two reactive substances and waiting for the inevitable chaos that proceeds. Even if you don't ship Hanakou romantically, you gotta admit their dynamic is super fun to explore!! C:

5. Other characters reactions

I swear I’m taking this somewhat seriously but I really enjoy the more wholesome aspects of this ship!! Nene being the third wheel to her two guy best friends, the LEAST romantic people she knows, is something that is deeply entertaining to me <3 She came into Hanako's life wishing for a boyfriend, failed to get one and then had to watch him get one himself. She would be so happy for them but at the same time, she'd be fighting demons trying to figure out how these two IDIOTS got more rizz than she does. (How much aura do you lose for this LMAOOOO)

Then you got Teru which if you liked this aspect of Mitsukou where Teru disapproves of his brother dating a school mystery then hooo boy YOU’LL LOVE HANAKOU!! Whatever apprehension he has towards Mitsukou it's increased tenfold because it’s one thing to date a school mystery, it’s a whole other thing to date not only the ghost of a murder but the LEADER of the seven mysteries??? Teru would absolutely flip his shit, wasting no time to charge into Hanako’s bathroom and expel him right then and there the SECOND he finds out (AND I DON'T BLAME HIM!! he just doing his job fr). I’ve been told it’s sorta like a Romeo and Juliet situation where two star crossed lovers are kept apart by a long-standing feud between their opposing houses (Montagues and Capulets WHO? I only know the Minamoto clan and Seven Mysteries) and I think that can just about sum it up!!

6. Hanako-San (ASHK)

This post is already as long as it is so I’ll save you the trouble of attempting an analysis and copy and paste my ramble from another post: “In regards to HanaKou discourse, I've always seen people say 'Kou's into Mitsuba!!' or 'they're just platonic besties! Plus Kou rejected Hanako!!!' and sure, maybe Kou doesn't have a thing for Hanako but has anyone REALLY stopped to consider Hanako has a thing for Kou??? And just. Didn't process it because of internalized homophobia AND his crush on Nene overshadowing his feelings for Kou??? Because THIS chapter had NO RIGHT to be so fruity on Hanako's part” and yeah why is the first thing Hanako decides to do when he turns into a girl is flirt with Kou??? And an even better question is why did he genuinely sulk when Kou rejected him??? If you didn't mean it why were you so butt hurt then huh??? Hanako really is the type of guy to passively think "if Kou was a girl or if I was a girl, I'd date him 100%" and it definitely shows!!!

7. Fanfiction. So. Much. Fanfiction.

This one doesn't have much to do with canon but it's more than likely why some people (ME) began to ship Hanakou!! My personal experience was I thought they were sorta interesting and I checked on ao3 to see if there were any others who thought the same. To my surprise, there were a bunch of fics lovingly written for them already and out of curiosity I started reading one. One became two, two became three, then suddenly I was tumbling down the rabbit hole feverishly consuming whatever I could get my grubby little hands on. As you've stated, seeing others' passion can be pretty compelling reason to start shipping something and I totally agree!!! Exploring the dynamics in such a freeing medium like Fanfiction can be much more invigorating than just reinterpreting canon so do give it a try if you're interested!! I promise Hanakou nation is a welcoming space and we'd be delighted to see more people on board with these two idiots C:

END

AUGHHHH I struggled to find the right words to express my thoughts but I hope it gave you a better understanding of Hanakou!! These two really are my Roman Empire and despite how much I floundered around this post, I am genuinely grateful for the opportunity to share my visions!!! Thank you so much for asking C:

[stcrgazings]

like a tatoo pt2?

two ghosts ➳ (c.l)

like a tatto pt2, you can read part one here

note: hi girls it’s been a while, and this is long promised and so I decided to finish it finally today to celebrate p4 and p5 in Canada, truth to be told i struggled terribly with this one, because I didn’t really planned for like a tatto to have a pt2, i mean it was an idea but i thought people wouldn’t even like it but then everyone wanted it so yeah, I basically wrote and rewrote the whole thing about 7-8 times because I didn’t liked it, but after a thousand rewrites I’m finally happy with the outcome, i hope you enjoy it and leave it tons of notes, it doesn’t really have to do much with the song but I thought of it when writing so it only seemed fitting.

pairing: charles leclerc x female reader

summary: Charles can’t stop thinking about a certain someone and manifesting without realizing it’s a powerful thing, but will he be able to fix what he broke?

warnings: angsts (lots of it) swearings, fighting, crying, two heartbroken people almost killing each other.

word count: 5.4K (longest yet in the blog)

He’s thinking of you again.

In his dying car in the middle of the track, he thinks thinks in those same red lips that flood his mind at any given minute and also that he must be the most unlucky person in the world, and that if you were here you’ll probably tell him that he’s just being his negative self and that that he’ll be alright.

But you’re not, thanks to no one but him, so he curses to himself and gets out of the car.

He thinks of you again, as he answers all types of questions to the hound of reporters that surrounds him, he imagines that it’s you that’s waiting for him in the garage, ready to hold him and kiss him and make him feel better but it’s the new girl that he’s seeing that wraps him in her arms, and he hates it because it doesn’t feel the same and her comfort isn’t half as good as yours and quite frankly just because she isn’t you.

But what he hates even more is the lonely road to the hotel, and the way your face is plastered in every single advertisement in that big city he’s in, just like in Monaco, and France and every single country in the globe, and the sour feeling that is to look at your beautiful face knowing that he’ll never have you again is as bad as getting a DNF in the first race of the season, if not worse.

The girl besides him talks and talks, hoping that maybe he’ll feel better, but he doesn’t because her long lashes look just like yours and that definitely doesn’t help him feel better at all, he feels more like being punch in the gut, repeatedly. But he doesn’t say anything and just remains kept to himself the whole ride, thinking about how you are or what you’ve been doing.

Maybe right now you’re thinking of him too.

Eventually he’s too in his head, thinking about what you would tell him in this situation he’s in, what you would do to make him feel better and forget the week if not months he’s had, he ends up sending the girl by his side away, repeating the words that once he said to you “you just wouldn’t understand baby” and watches her face drops, he feels his hearts sinks because your torturing sobs ring in his hears whilst the girl besides him leaves the room without saying goodbye.

(Just like you once did)

He knows that what he is doing is definitely not healthy at all, but he can’t really help himself, the memories of you being the only thing that keeps him a float, because he can’t really have you now, you’re no longer one call or one flight away, he’s by himself now, so reminiscing about you and your time together brings him some sense of peace.

He imagines that you would be waiting for him at his Monaco apartment, or at the airport, he wishes in silence to accidentally bump into you at the supermarket aisle once he gets back, fooling no one but himself, knowing none of those things will be happening when he gets home.

He used to think that racing with be enough, that if he just went day by day by the time season started he would be able to get ahold of himself, and then a competitive car would just do the rest but looking at the car he has right now that doesn’t even look like an option.

It’s like it was one step forward, thinking of last year, how he could’ve had it all, the championship and the girl and everything he could ever wanted, but now a long year later he knows its really three steps back, because he doesn’t have anything in the championship, as not one point adds up in his standings and he definitely doesn’t have the girl, doesn’t have you.

He opens his phone searching up your name, something he does religiously every night, to check on you without actually doing it, to tell himself that you’re okay, that you’re happy, and better off without him, the urge to text you or call you is always there, itching on the tip of his fingers, but it never wins, even though he truly does want it to, so he can tell you that he misses you, and that he’s sorry, and that he can’t live without even though he has tried with everything he has in him.

But he doesn’t, he never does, he just scrolls through his phone, reading about how you were in Italy a few days back, in Rome, for a fashion show or something liked that, and then feels his heart drop like he does every time he reads about you, this time he stares at the pictures of you exiting a club clearly wasted with an Argentinian soccer player, called Dybala or something liked that, by your side with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist and your face was deeply into his neck.

He sighs and throws his phone to the other side of the bed with something that feels like sadness, anger and jealousy all together and decides that’s enough you for the night.

He knows he has no right to feel anything involving you, because he was the one that screwed up, he was the one that had broken up with you and essentially ended things but he still did because he missed you and was still completely in love with you; He would even say haunted by you, his heart still skipping a beat every time someone mentioned you, his mind was constantly flooded with everything that involved you, he still thought about you when he saw tulips because they were your favorite flower, and every time he sees a sunset he can almost picture you with your phone in hand taking a picture and when he listens to Taylor Swift you’re all that comes to mind, even though he probably didn’t know what your favorite song was anymore since it was always changing from time to time.

He thought way too often about the fact that you probably didn’t think of him anymore when you heard lover and probably all too well was the one to go now that it came to him.

Everyone told him that it would get better eventually, but every day it felt like it was actually getting worse because in every living breathing moment of every hour of every day he just wanted to be with you, to be worthy of your love, to be like you both used to be before things had gotten bad, before he became a douche and didn’t realize it, before he pushed away and damaged things beyond repair.

Maybe in another universe he did everything right.

You’re both 20 years old and nothing bad has ever happened to you.

In another universe everything went well, and he won the championship with Ferrari, and you’re sitting on his lap giggling in his neck whilst in the beach in his yacht.

In another universe he’s the bigger person and doesn’t open your contact info just to see your profile picture.

In another universe he does get over you and everything gets better.

But there isn’t another universe so his fingers ghost over your phone number as he wants to call you, but then decides that a text wouldn’t hurt anyone since you probably have him blocked like in any other social media and wouldn’t get it anyway.

So he types an “i miss you” and then presses the send button, with his hands shaking and his heart in his throat, somehow the “I hope that you’re ok” that he types after hurts him even more as he sends it.

He knows he’ll get no answer, like he said before, you have him blocked everywhere, and he wants to say he wrote that just to vent all of the feelings from the past few weeks, but a teeny tiny part of him still wishes for you to read them, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re just as miserable as he is right now.

But that doesn’t change how mortified he becomes as the word delivered appeared on his screen, his heart dropping from his throat to his stomach.

Well fuck.

(…)

I miss you.

You’ve always been an glass half empty type of girl and you’ve never even know why, you’ve always been negative except with everything that involved Charles.

But that doesn’t change how decompose you are after getting that text, silent tears stream down your face as you made your way out of the busy club, feeling like the air inside it was being slowly stripped away from you, your lungs failing to do their job as you felt like breathing was to much of a task.

I hope that you’re ok.

It knocks the air out of you, and before you know it you’re emptying your insides in the sidewalk in the back of the club, and you’re sweating and you feel like you’re about to pass out.

I miss you.

Everything is a blur, you feel your own bodyguards hand around your arm as they get you in the car, your friend behind you.

“You’re okay miss?” The question rings in your ears and you want to answer no but your voice doesn’t seem to come out, so you just move your head from side to side signaling a clear “no.”

From then on the voices feel distorted, worrying looks surrounding you, you feel your friends hands all over your face, her left hand firm on your chin as she took one good look at you, staring deep into your very drunk and disoriented eyes.

“I think she’s intoxicated”

I hope that you’re ok.

You are basically pass out in the back seat of the black Range Rover in, head pressed in your friends lap as she blows air on your face, there’s discussion in the front seat, something about taking you to a hospital, they tell you not to fall asleep, but you can’t really help your closing eyes, and so as everything turns into black you think that this whole thing is unfair, and that he doesn’t have a right to miss you after every he did but a drunk mumble comes out of you anyways.

“He needs to know that I miss him too” is the last thing that leaves you in a dry and tired whisper as your consciousness is lost in the back seat of the car.

(…)

“I fucking hate Balmain” you muster as you fix your hair in the bathroom, still a little drunk, definitely a lot hangover, your head pounding so much it felt like it was going to burst.

You were currently in an event, a Balmain one in case it wasn’t clear, a tiny skirt adorned your legs with a white top from the brand that squeezed you in all the right places, your hair was curly and down, the high ponytail that you’ve worn for the past months gone, since just a few hour ago you told your stylist that anymore pressure in your head would make you puke.

To say that you would rather be anywhere else than in this 20ft yacht was an understatement

but your manager had almost dragged you here in an attempt to do some damage control because of the show you just pulled last night.

So you smile and nod and chat politely with everyone that comes close, and you giggle and flirt with the Argentinian soccer player in front of you, allowing his roaming hands just above of the curve of your ass and into the naked back of your dress, laughing playfully.

And when Paulo Dybala leaves you, you do tell him that you might be free later that night.

You take another sip of champagne when all of the sudden you feel a heavy stare just at the back of your neck, a shiver running down your spine and you would know that feeling everywhere because it’s what you’ve been missing all this time.

Charles fucking Leclerc, your ex, and the one you might consider the love of your life, it’s in the same enclosed space that you are right now, and not any enclosed space but in a stupid yacht that is kilometers away from mainland, kilometers away from any scape from him.

But of course that doesn’t stop you from finding the closest emergency exit from the room, and feeling him behind you before you even start running to the outside of the boat, the bow you think that it’s called, but it’s the last thing you think about as you basically jump stairs down.

“Y/n wait!” He calls out for you and your name from his mouth sounds just as you remember and it breaks you down almost completely.

“Get away from me Charles!” You shout at him, grabbing your dress and waking as fast as your heels allow you to, because you don’t want to see him and let alone hear whatever it is he has to say.

“y/n, please listen” he grabs you by the wrist before you can separate from him even further, you didn’t even know where you were going considering you were trap in a yacht in the middle of the sea but it was definitely away from him.

“There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear Charles, please let me go” you turn around to see him, to finally catch a glimpse of him, a good look into him at the person you used to love the most, and the moment you are met with does same eyes green you’ve thought about everyday since he left you, you feel yourself tremble because there’s begging in his eyes desperation even, and even though you want to look away from it, you can’t.

“I can’t— I can’t keep living like this, I need you to hear me out please” he looks at you too, and god me missed you, moon dancing over your good side making you look as beautiful as ever as he pulls you a little closer to him, because he needs you, like he never needed anything before, and it breaks him, it shatters his heart into a million peace the look that you give him, because it’s filled with hurt and pain, and your eyes looks glassy and broken and he knows that it’s all because of him.

“You need—! you need me to listen!” At this point you’re past hurt, now you’re livid because how dare he and he actually looks scared when you walk towards him and you thank God that all of the guests are inside having dinner because you now think that you might kill him.

“What about what I needed Charles!?” You push him away, freeing yourself from his grab on your wrist and decide that if he wants to talk then you’ll talk.

“I needed you! And you fucking left me, I held together our relationship for months Charles, I booked the flights, I killed myself going from New York to Monaco just to see for six or seven hours because you were busy and never had the time, I waited for you up every time you came back from a race just to see your face even though you never even spoke to me because you were sad, you pushed me away, you quite literally gave up on our relationship and I need to hear you out?. Fuck off Charles” you brush your hair out of your hair, tears staining your rosy cheeks, and you want to hate him you truly do, but as you look at him you simply can’t, and that makes you even more miserable.

The whole thing makes you want to jump from the boat and drown, your head pulsing from how bad it hurts and you don’t know if it is because the only thing you have eaten in the whole day were some olives or because of the hangover or because of how infuriated you are.

“Ange I…” the nickname sends chills down your spine, Charles simply stares at you and just wants to make it all better, wants to take these whole months back, wants to stop himself from treating you the way he did when you were still together but he knows he can’t.

“Don’t call me that” you spit before he can even continue but he walks towards you to grab you again, and you don’t stop him when his hands find your arms again. “Okay but please don’t cry, I can’t stand to see you cry”

“Baby I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for all of that, and If could take it back I would, in the split of a second, I didn’t know how to value you back then and I took you for granted when I shouldn’t have, and every day since we broke up I’ve lived to regret it, I’ve been miserable since the day you left” he says and it sounds truthful, but you can’t let yourself believe him. “You didn’t look miserable when you hooked up with every other girl in Monaco, including my best friend” you shoot back. Cleaning the tears from your cheeks before he can even dare to.

“Maybe I didn’t take the best choices, that I know, but they weren’t you!”

“It’s that supposed to make me feel better?” You mock him, because you are hurt and angry, and he can’t help but groan in frustration. “Yes—! No—! I mean that, I am trying to make it better, I love you, okay? Like I’ve never loved someone before that I know, and it’s killing me, I hate seeing you like this, every time I’ve been happy it’s because I thought of you, in my car it’s you who I want singing at the songs in the radio, it’s you who I want to wake up to, it’s you who I want to come home to, it’s you, everything I’ve ever wanted, every living day, every night baby, it’s you who I come to, checking to see if you are okay, wondering how you are, if you are okay”

“Well I’m not, I’ve been miserable, fucking going insane because of how badly I’ve missed you, getting drunk every fucking weekend trying to get you out of my mind, because you are all I can think about, wearing your shirts in the bathroom floor while I can’t stop crying because of badly I want you, despite of what you did to, because even after everything I wanted to call you, to hear your voice and to tell you that I loved you, isn’t it pathetic?” You asked, because that is exactly how you’ve felt, pathetic, even now hearing him out when you know that you know better than that.

“What? No you are not pathetic baby, you could never be and I am so sorry for making feel less than how wonderful and amazing you are, I wanted to call you too, you have no idea”

“Then why didn’t you?!” You asked and that is the only thing you actually want to hear from him, because for him to call you was everything you ever wanted, for the longest time it was. “Because I convinced myself that you were better off without me, I didn’t wanted to keep hurting you”

“It’s—it’s what you are doing right now!”

You want to say something, anything really but you can’t, because the whole thing it’s to much and before things can get even worse, your body fucking betrays you and your lungs stop doing what they are supposed.

“Stop” you speak, softly for the first time since the whole conversation started, and it’s quiet and you can’t stop crying, and you want to scream and disappear because you don’t want to keep having this conversation because it hurts, it hurts so much.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He asks. Eyes glistening, fighting back the tears seeing you like this, how did you both end up here?, “I can’t breath” you muster and it’s wheezy and you don’t want him to see you like this but you can’t really stop it.

“I just want to go home!” You sob lowering your head, giving up at the whole thing, feeling like a small child who just wants her mom, dropping to the floor, Charles joining you by your side.

And it’s quiet while you sob, and cry, hands on your face and he wants to hug you but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to, but he places a hand on your thigh, tracing it up and down and it’s gentle and completely innocent while he does it, eventually you place your head in his shoulder it’s almost natural like an instinct and you feel your heart flutter when he places a soft kiss in your temple, “I can’t let you hurt me again Charles, I won’t make it.”

“I won’t” he whispers in your head, and it’s a promise, grabbing and intertwining your hand with his leaves a kiss in your knuckles and stares deep into your eyes. “I love you baby, please give me another chance.” You cry again because you want to believe him but you can’t , falling apart completely into his arms allowing him to wrap you into his embrace, tears staining his shirt, soaking him completely, his hands meeting your neck, now combing your hair through his rings and fingers.

“I didn’t deserve what you did to me” you whisper, still buried deep in this chest while he stared at you and nodded, because he knows it’s true, that you didn’t deserve everything that he did to you, he knows that he did wrong.

“I know that you didn’t deserve it, you didn’t deserved any of it, that’s why I’m apologizing because I treated you so badly when all you did was being there for me, and that’s why I’m also asking you to please give me another chance so that I can prove to you that I’ll make it better, and that I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our lives, if you let me”

Part of you wants to believes him and I’m fact a part of you does, and it’s that part that crawls deep in your chest when you finally look at him, at those green eyes that you used to call home, but now are filled with tears and despair, but even then Charles still tries and smiles at you, and you can almost feel yourself crumble, because you remember the first time you ever saw him smile and thought that, that smile was the one that you wanted to see for the rest of your days, and suddenly you aren’t in the boat heartbroken and crying in his arms, but in your apartment together sitting on the counter tasting the pancakes he just made for you. You are in Monza getting so wasted that you can’t even walk so he has your high heels in hand carrying you in a bridal style back to your hotel room, you are in a simulator in Maranello sitting on his lap while he teaches you how to use it, you are by his side blasting a Taylor Swift song telling him how much you love him, you are kissing goodbye before he goes to another continent to race, you are in bed wearing his t-shirt, hugging him, crying on his arms like you are doing right now but because you saw a movie where a dog died, and you know that despite that everything that he ever did to you, you still love him.

That’s why you pull closer, both of your breaths becoming just one because of the proximity, noses touching completely while breathing heavily because neither of you pull away, Charles tugging a strand of hair behind your ear while cupping your cheek and your heart is beating just as fast as the car he drives for a living, his pupils dilated and you shouldn’t, you can’t.

But of course that he kisses you, and there’s stillness and hesitation because for a second you don’t don’t kiss him back because you are better than this and just when Charles thinks everything is lost, you kiss him back.

And his lips against yours it’s just as good as you remembered to be, and it’s soft and slow but also desperate and needy your back arching against him because the closeness is not enough, both of his hands in your back while yours are cupping his cheeks and neither of you can’t tell if you’re actually pulling or pushing away, and it’s magical and soothing and just as stomach twisting as it always was, even with your own tears mixing in the kiss, and you don’t ever want it, it to end.

So you kiss him, with all that you have whispering a breathy, “fuck.” Throwing your legs over his lap, foreheads touching while he smiles at you and you smile at him too, and it’s the happiest you’ve been in months.

“I missed this” Charles mutters softly against your lips and all you can do is nod, enjoying the gentle strokes in the naked part of your lower back still drunk in the whole thing. “I missed this too” and you kiss him back because it’s true, and the first thing you think is how were you able to survive this long with out it, without him.

You both stay there for the longest time, giggling and kissing and making up for the time lost, and it feels like before everything went to shit and you would be lying if you said that didn’t give you a shrink of hope.

You tell him about modeling, and how everything in your life work wise seems to be working out smoothly, you tell him about all the places you’ve been, and all the countries you’ve visit since you left each other, you tell him about parties and how you are kinda still drunk from last night. “Is that my fault?”, He asks shyly making you laugh softly.

“Well not really, when I got your text I was almost already pass out in the back of the club, I was just thinking about you yesterday” you confess, back against his chest, you’re both standing now against the rail of the boat. “um, I saw the race.” You say, playing with the rings in his fingers, his arms around your waist and his chin in your shoulder and you feel him sigh against you.

“You saw that huh” he mumbles in the crook of your neck, feeling the disappointment in himself in the tone of voice because you know him that well, you always have. “You know it’s not your fault, right?” You tell him, because it truly isn’t, because every time that the team fails him Charles feels like he’s the one that did.

“Doesn’t feel like it” he says pain clear in his voice. “Listen to me, Charles”, you turn around to face him, cupping his face in between his face, “I’ve been your number one hater for these past months, but please believe me when I tell you that that wasn’t your fault, even I can’t deny your talent, and if you need to believe someone, it’s me, I know you, more than Carlos, and Fred, and those reporters and engineers, I know you, and I know for a fact that you are gifted and talented, and that what happened was most definitely not your fault, okay?”

You tell him, still with your hands in his face, shaking him playfully so it enters his stubborn head while smiling jokingly.

“I believe you” he tells you, because it’s you and if there’s someone that can make him believe something it’s you, so he kisses you again, lips crashing against yours once again, loving and hungry and he wants to have you for the rest of his life.

“Soooo…” he begins again, playing with the fabric of your dress at the end of your naked back and just above the curve of your ass.

“…does this mean you’ll give me another chance?”

He drops the one million dollar question, with both your hearts still beating the fastest they can, and you’ve pictured this very exact moment a thousands times in the past few months and you’re shaking because it’s all you’ve ever wanted but even better, and fuck you love him, and his green earthshaking eyes, and his smile that’s every dentist dream, and the way that his lips feel against yours and the way his hands fit perfectly in the curve of your waist and intertwined with your hand, and you love him even when you hate him even when you just were crying because of him not even a hour ago, and is breathtakingly frustrating in the best way possible.

And so you throw your hands behind his head playing with his hair just like you always used to do, “Baby…” and you know the answer even before it can even come out of your lips.

“When we get off this boat I don’t want to see or hear from you ever again.” And it hits Charles like a brick in the face, because yes you love him, with everything that you have in you, but sometimes love isn’t enough and you know that in this point of your lives he can’t give you what you want, what you deserve even, that in the long run it’ll never work out because how could you trust him? Trust that he won’t hurt you again? After it took him almost three months to figure out that he can’t live without you? Because you’ll never look at him with the same eyes again, because you’re not who you used to be, because you are just two ghosts standing in the graveyard of your relationship, mourning what what I’ll never be again.

After that everything it’s foggy, you don’t know if it is because of how hard you’re trying to hold off the tears, because he’s crying at your feet, and it aches you, because he’s begging at you face deep into you, holding you so tightly you don’t even know how to think straight.

“Baby please don’t do this to me, please” he sobs against you, tears sliding freely through wetting your clothes completely with his now red face and you wonder if he felt this awful when he left you just a few months ago.

“If you ever loved m—“ you sob inevitably without even looking at him because you don’t think you’ll be able to take it, “if you ever loved— me like you say you did, you’ll respect my decision, it’s the least you can do for me” you say between tears and sobs before walking away and you think that it might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life.

But letting go of you it’s actually the hardest thing Charles ever done too, but at the end of the day all he ever wanted was for you to be happy, even when if it’s not with him, even when he doesn’t know what he’ll do with his life now that the smallest bit of hope that he had, was just crush right in front of him.

He loves you and he thinks that it might kill him, he thinks it’s the biggest piece of karma he’s ever gotten, because even though he’s never loved you more, you don’t want to see him again and if it’s what you want, it’s what he’ll do, because part of loving it’s letting go, right?

When you get off the boat and into your car you cry like you’ve never done before, but you know that you’ll be okay, that you’ll do everything to be so.

That you’ll even do as if you never even met Charles Leclerc because it might have been better that way, and you’ll go day by day trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat without him in your life.

THE END.

————

TAGLIST (everyone who asked for a pt2) [@ushygushybaby @beesbadger @tempo-rary-fix @honethatty12 @jollysaladprunefriend @leclerc16s @haydee5010 @taurussbabe @nmw-am @mycenterfold]

[ask-team-galactic]

Unpopular opinion: I think Cyrus is more interesting as a character when he isn't redeemed. I understand why the appeal of him seeing the error of his ways is there, especially given how much his traumatic upbringing shaped his philosophies, but I think that many of his incarnations, such as those in the original Gen 4 games, the remakes, the Diamond and Pearl Adventure manga, and the anime (though I dislike his portrayal in the anime) are more interesting as villains. In those incarnations, he shows no sign of doubting or reconsidering his plans- in the anime, he basically opts to kill himself rather than live in the world he despised, while in the games, even during the final confrontation at Spear Pillar/the Distortion World, he insists that he will achieve his ambition, and that the player's intervention is just a minor setback. With that level of belief in his ideals, I don't think redemption would be in character, nor would it be a satisfying outcome to his character arc.

I also find that, in the portrayals where Cyrus is redeemed, it's not done in a way that provides any sort of closure to his character arc. Masters is especially guilty of this- 90% of his "redemption" is Cynthia and the protagonist(s) telling him "you're wrong" with minimal clarification, and he seemingly just decides "okay, I'm wrong" out of the blue. The part with Sophocles was handled very well, and while I could see what the writers were going for with the Commanders talking him out of it, given that he called the entire rest of Team Galactic "uniformly useless and incomplete" in Platinum, I don't exactly buy that he'd be convinced by them, of all people. My big problem with this, and with his portrayal in the Pokespe manga, is that Cyrus was never proven wrong. He was never shown that his vision for the world was going to cause more harm than good. And it would have been easy to do- have any relevant legendary (Dialga, Palkia, Giratina, Arceus, the Lake Guardians- even Darkrai or Hoopa in Masters could work) show the world he would have created, and let him realize that it was a fundamentally flawed concept. If they really wanted to redeem him, that's how I think they should have gone about doing it.

Thank you for the very thoughtful ask and the opportunity to talk about my favourite character! I agree with some parts of this and disagree with other parts of it and I think you make some very good points.

Firstly, to give back a milder version of your controversial opinion, I would totally be down for more iterations where Cyrus isn't redeemed! For one thing, I would love an iteration where the commanders realize he's wrong, try to redeem him, and have to find the strength to turn against him. I think that would be interesting, and I say that as someone who LOVES iterations where Cyrus and the commanders act like friends or found family and where they're a big part of his redemption (the great thing about multiple iterations is that we can have our cake and eat it, too!). And for another thing, I think that Cyrus' absolute conviction is part of what makes him great. I actually first wrote him because I wanted to feel as confident in my own convictions as he does. I love that he's relentless and is willing to do anything- any evil, any personal sacrifice, any effort- to accomplish his goals. I love moments where he shows that, like when he decided to go further into the Distortion World in hopes that it would allow him to fulfill his plans, or when he's bleeding and wielding the red chain in Spe. I like seeing him willing to fight to the last breath.

HOWEVER, I also like iterations where Cyrus is redeemed. I'll explain why further down, but first I'm going to address the part of your analysis that I disagree most with.

I disagree with you that Cyrus needs to be shown that his vision is bad in order to properly redeem him. My reason for that is that I think that at least a part of Cyrus' ironclad determination comes from the fact that he would rather do anything than live out an unaltered lifespan in our universe. In Platinum and the anime short, he'd rather exile himself to the Distortion World. In Spe, he'd rather keep going even as he's battered and bleeding from his eyes. In Masters, he'd rather escape to a dream of utter nothingness and apathy. And as you said, in the anime, he'd rather die.

For that reason, I think you could show him a vision of people and Pokemon languishing in meaningless, empty lives in the world he's planned, and depending on where he's at he might still think that's better because he is suffering to the point where he'd prefer that. In some iterations he thinks that everyone else is also suffering and would be better off that way, too, and in others he just doesn't care about anything but his own relief. And even if such an experience did get him to realize he's wrong and quit, he'd be left utterly hopeless, with no hope for this world or the one he planned to create. That isn't a satisfying conclusion to a character arc, and realistically might still lead him to be destructive- either through senseless lashing out or finding a new villainous plan that gives him hope.

That doesn't mean that I think Cyrus should be portrayed as completely set in his ways, however. Through every iteration, they're actually very consistent with there being one thing that melts Cyrus' conviction like butter: hope for something better.

This isn't always a good thing. In the anime short, Cyrus abandons his goal to live in the Distortion World, convinced that he'll be happier there. In Masters, he abandons his plans to take a permanent nap in the woods so he won't have to feel anymore.

However, sometimes "something better" is of this world, and that's when redemption happens. I like that, because Cyrus isn't scary and dangerous just because his vision sucks. It wouldn't matter at all if he could just have his empty, meaningless world harmlessly in parallel to ours. Cyrus is the antagonist ultimately because the world and our ability to experience it is worth having and would be tragic to lose. I think that him realizing that he could actually be happy is 100% what would get him to choose a better path in life, so I'm glad that's the path we've seen in Spe and Masters. It's nice to see broken things heal, and for Cyrus, healing and redemption are and should be synonymous.

That being said, I do agree with some of your specific complaints on the redemption arcs we've seen. In both Spe and DPA, Cyrus softens on his ideas or outright changes his mind just because he had some time to think. Because it happened twice, I don't think it can be called "out of character," but it's really not my favourite part of his character and I do have a hard time squaring it with him being willing to fight for his beliefs for the 5+ years that Team Galactic existed. So, yeah, I agree with you. I think that Cyrus should have at least taken note of the trio's friendship before his cool-down period in Spe.

As for Masters... well, I only know about Masters through second-hand accounts so I might have some things wrong, but I honestly don't have an issue with the commanders being a big part of why Cyrus changed his mind. There are some iterations (and Platinum is one of them) where there is nothing to suggest that Cyrus has a bond with his commanders, and in others, like Spe and DPA, there's plenty. It seems like in the Masters iteration, Cyrus does care a lot about the commanders and they know that, even though he's far from open about it ("You're tools to me." "Sure, buddy. Let's go be attached at the hip for the rest of Masters"). Given that relationship, I think it's absolutely heartwarming that part of what caused Cyrus to turn around was to see that his commanders still wanted to be there for him even though they saw him at his weakest. I also like that Cyrus is still very dumb when it comes to emotional matters and hasn't solidly changed his mind about anything. He's just put his goal on hold and is looking at his options now that he's feeling a little more hopeful.

I'll end this off by saying that if you want a villain who 100% will never change their mind and will always go down fighting, Lysandre might fit the bill. He's also suffering because of what he's trying to do, and unlike Cyrus, it's unambiguous that he's doing what he's doing for the supposed greater good.

Thanks again for the opportunity to discuss! I hope you got something out my ramble, haha.

[bunnakit]

lore anon here, vibrating now, because I must ask, do you read tarot yourself? because I definitely do, (hell, I picked my latest daily draw deck that I've been working with since may by just asking each of the three decks I was trying to decide between what they each thought about ateez and then going with the deck that gave the fondest answer because why the heck not since I was changing decks right before the comeback. so why not, right?)

because, I am not kidding, half the reason I sent the last ask was because I'd been watching Don't Stop on loop for like 3 hours yesterday, (HJ standing on the piano while the room on fire has been a mood for me of late,) and I could not stop thinking about the Guerrilla cane and the Don't Stop cane and the fact that Hongjoong is such an absolute Emperor archetype personality-wise and how the Emperor is generally considered the evolved form of the King of Wands. And he was the one who literally got a wand in the photospread, and then got two canes (wands) in actual mvs. And wands are the suit of actions/passion/communication and they show up in the two mv's where the Black Pirates are finally taking action, and using their passion to communicate their message and start fighting to give people their emotions back, and then the one where Hongjoong has to kind of lose his mind and wreck the place in a fit of passion to get the key to ship back.

but I don't mention tarot because if someone's not into the woo-woo it makes me sound like I'm absolutely insane. I AM SO GLAD TO BE ABLE TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

(And we've already had one very prominent cups song (Answer with its literal overflowing cup,) and one coins/pentacles song, (hi there WORK, welcome to the canon). ...and a sword song depending on if we're counting the kingdom/stage performances of Wonderland given how iconic Seonghwa's sword is to the song at this point).

Also, also if you want to talk about card associations? Bouncy where they are literally bringing down The Tower, because a system built on corrupt foundations cannot stand.

You could also argue San's toast in Answer relating to the Star card pouring water/healing given how much of an emotional resolution and idea of finding of an understanding between the A and Z pirates Answer is.

Or Yeosang captured by the android guardians and trapped in the glass prison cell as The Hanged Man, forcibly stuck and suspended in time and space and forced into a reflection that does not go well for him before they rescue him.

(Also I have not stopped thinking about that tarot reading all the way back from Codename: Ateez that I basically reverse-engineered the spread positions of based on how the reader lady gave the reading and.... Hongjoong coming up as the Emperor who sees Seonghwa as the Queen of Cups while Seonghwa comes up as the literal Queen of Swords who sees Hongjoong as the ace of wands like aaaaaaaaa. And the fact that she just whipped out the whole husband/wife thing because it seems like the overarching dynamic of their relationship is the 4 of swords, how they are together is 'a stable foundation' with the king and ace of pentacles, all of which if I was reading that same spread I would read as 'they feel like home to each other'. And the outcome of their relationship being 9 of cups/death? completely transform each other while making their dreams come true? aakhgkjhgkrjh hi, yes, they make me insane your honour)

THE TOWER. i stared at The Tower for ages like i KNOW we've seen a version of it and i couldn't think of it but it's absolutely Bouncy!! (The Tower is also the card i always fucking get in readings, thankfully not reversed.)

i don't actually read myself, never really took the time to learn, but i do collect decks (my husband got me the most gorgeous bird themed deck for our anniversary) - i mostly just look up card meanings from time to time and try to remember the iconography in them, but i DO have plans to get the reversed heirophant tattooed on me someday

i truly can't wait to see where the lore goes, while it made me cry for like 30 mins i'm so so curious to see where Golden Hour's lore takes us because it definitely feels like a HUGE pivotal moment in the story

[seyaryminamoto]

From what I remember in your story, even taking Iroh's initial biases into account I thought part of his intense hostility leading up to his report to Ozai was that he was truly convinced that Azula's true nature was either no better or even significantly worse than Ozai's due to the Iroh's suspicions arc. Azula herself told Sokka she was worried that by throwing him of the trail of their relationship that she may have brought the worst out of him. Honestly this was probably my favorite exploration of their conflict, because if they were truly able to trust each other and talk they could have avoided so much pain and trouble, but both of them over the course of the story had developed genuine and/or biased reasons not to trust one another and viewed themselves as doing the right thing despite their actions ultimately resulting in the worst outcome. Azula was trying to prevent a known adversary from having ammunition to ruin their lives and future plans, and Iroh believed that he was essentially hindering the fire nation by turning what he thought were essentially two Evil Ozais with a good relationship with one another into enemies. I can't lie that I'm not slightly disappointed that in the latest chapter that this aspect of their conflict wasn't brought up more explicitly in the conversation with Zuko when Iroh was talking about his biases. Was I personally thinking that the dynamic was more significant than it actually was or is that dynamic being saved for a future conversation Iroh may have with Sokka and Azula?

Uuuuuh, as for the last question... I don't really know if I'll bring it up some more since I do think I've had Iroh acknowledge why and how he fucked up in that respect in the past + exteriorized that if Azula had acted differently he might just have done it too? Am I crazy for thinking so? Did I write that or didn't I? That's a complicated game to play when you're almost at 5 million words of a story... 🤣

Azula and Iroh miiiight have one more conversation in the future and maybe this will come up there, but I haven't written it yet so I won't make any promises on that front. Admittedly, I don't expect their future encounter to be particularly fruitful. Iroh is 100% genuine in what he has understood and learned, though, that can't be denied and I always have hoped to portray him not as a super wicked villain but as a character who thinks he understands far more than he actually does, with motivations that push him into making mistakes he very much comes to regret.

This being said, the Azula-Iroh and Zuko-Ozai parallels in this story are and always have been 100% intentional. Those two tugs-of-war have been going on forever, and the crux of them was very much the fact that Azula and Iroh distrusted and second-guessed and suspected each other soooo much... because they have similar natures, similar thought processes, and they're both intellectual, suspicious, hiding what's REALLY going on underneath the surface, and immediately wary when they recognize all those traits in each other too. Likewise, Zuko and Ozai have some REALLY ugly parallels and one of those parallels, already given away by the chapter you sent this ask over, is going to be the driving force of the conflict between those two, much as a similar thing was the driving force between Iroh and Azula, in its own way: the more they fight to push the other away, the harder they reject the other, the more they end up embodying the flaws they see in that other person, to an extent where they could do absolutely TERRIBLE things just out of wanting to push the other one as far away as possible.

So yeah, the point was never for Iroh to feel like some sadistic mustache-twirling villain who wanted Azula to suffer just for shits and giggles. He had his reasons to do what he did. Doesn't mean he was right. Doesn't mean he should've done it. What it means is it made sense in his head due to his biases, the information he had at hand at the moment, and the particularly awful relationship he had with Azula. Likewise, Azula's rejection of Iroh back in "Iroh's suspicions" caused her uncertainty and anguish because she KNEW she had taken it too far. She was afraid of the consequences. A part of her KNEW that if she acted differently, there was a chance, however slim, that Iroh might not have made the choice he did. And that's why this is such a messed up situation! :')

Ultimately, I want my characters to have motivations that just... add up. That can be traced. That, upon looking at their actions and choices, anyone can go "oh yeah, this is why they did whatever they did". This is good when it comes to establishing ultimate goals, and it's also good when you want to put characters to the test: how far are they willing to go, what are they ready to do to achieve whatever they're trying to achieve? How much are they willing to sacrifice for it? And the answers to those questions can be VERY extreme and painful. Just so, we can find characters who decide to back down and simply surrender over their goals when they realize that there are other things that matter more. But it's a manner of game a writer plays when it comes to gauging and figuring out what a character wants vs. needs, what a character will fight for and what it will take for them to surrender, and so on. Fundamentally, that's how I built up Iroh and Azula's chaotic dynamic. Whatever comes from that in the future, ultimately, their biggest problem may just be that they were just too smart for their own good, tried to outsmart each other a little too much, and never allowed themselves to just... accept each other properly. They came close to it once, yes! But... they failed. And it's depressing as hell, but complicated characters will always be challenging this way...

[idealisticrealism]

TCL 3x03 thoughts

Many thoughts and spoilers, as usual.

The Main things:

Given the timeframe with Fi’s journey back (and needing her in time for the Child Protective Services meeting), it can’t have been more than a day or two since the last episode.

The reappearance of Adan’s name in the credits was very confusing until Russo produced the video. I’m pretty used to the body double use now (managed to not even cry at the sight of my boy, which I'll take as progress) so my main thoughts about the vid were that it looks just like a scene from a fic idea I had last week that did make me cry, and also that if the footage is from a police body cam, I’m guessing that cop is dead/unconscious and slumped against their own vehicle given the angle and the fact they’re not moving…

Calling it right now, ‘Jeremy the handyman’ is undercover FBI. Russo is smart enough and determined enough not to put all her eggs in the Nadia basket, so I think that this is her other plan to take Thony (and through her, Arman) down. And as she later tells Nadia: nothing is ever as it seems. So I'm convinced the racist attack on the Cleaning Ladies office was fabricated by the FBI to allow ‘Jeremy’ to be introduced into Thony’s life in a way that would lead her to trust him quickly and allow him into her circle, especially with his kindness and all his sentiments about the shittiness of xenophobia and how ‘this is her home, no matter what anyone says’. I’m actually genuinely pissed about it tbh, bc Thony deserves that kindness and support for real, instead of having her isolation and fear and vulnerability preyed upon by people who want to throw her behind bars just because she didn’t play by the rules of their flawed and biased system…

Sigh honestly though, Thony is too stubborn and short-sighted for her own good. Like yes she saved Soledad’s life by ignoring Dante’s orders, but in doing so she risked her own life as well as Fi and Chris’ lives, and also jeopardised her relationship with both Ramona and the CPS worker who is responsible for deciding if Luca should be taken from her or not. At least she’s written consistently in that she always tries to do the ‘right thing’ and save the person in front of her, but that means she often overlooks the potential consequences of taking that action and the overall balance of good vs bad that would come out of it. Like I’m guessing she’s one of those people who absolutely hates the Trolley Problem lol

Well now we know how Paolo’s money comes into play… funny that if he’d never given Chris the money, Chris wouldn’t have been able to give it to Camila and her mum, which means they wouldn’t have come on the crossing, so he would have never had to fight the guy to defend Camila, and wouldn’t have ended up getting stranded in the desert…. Again, this show really is great at demonstrating those ‘well-intentioned actions leading to bad outcomes’ moments 

This ep is really trying to give Jorge a bit more depth, from him being all cute about Violeta’s soccer practice (showing he’s an involved dad who is also laid back and knows how to have fun, not one of those intense/pushy ones), and how his warnings to Thony have become less like threats and more like well-meaning advice. He’s willingly acting as Thony’s chauffeur rather than sending an underling to do it, and he’s also letting her debate with him on a more even level than before, where previously he just shut her down immediately. He even actually seems to listen to her about not hurting Nadia and the idea of letting Ramona meet Nadia instead (given what we see in the trailer). The scene where he finds her with the van is likely meant to look like he is hiding something, but I think he is genuinely looking for Arman and actually didn’t know that this was the van that took him, and he just doesn’t trust her enough yet to be open with her about it.  I also think he respects that she cares enough about Arman to stand up to him, to challenge him about his possible involvement– if I’m right and he truly is trying to bring Arman home safe, her persistent loyalty to Arman even in the face of danger to herself would be a big point in her favour. 

Okay what the hell is the little glass jar Thony finds, though?? Something of Arman’s? Something that they can get a bad guy’s fingerprints off of to give them a lead? A sedative medication that indicates he was drugged and taken somewhere, rather than killed and dumped?? I need answerssss

Poor Nadia is suffering through feelings of betrayal on all sides here lol. I don’t blame her at all for going to Russo and trying to save herself and Arman through a deal, but I’m so relieved that Russo’s obsession with punishing Arman has made that alliance an impossibility. Now all we need is for Nadia to cool down a little, and realise that despite everything, there’s only one person she can truly turn to… (and yes, I’ve written a fic about it lol)

“You ever notice that everyone around him turns up dead?” lollll look at this show being all self-aware about its tendency to just kill off its problems haha. But still, Russo’s got it all wrong; Arman’s not the common denominator here. He may have been the one pulling the trigger a few times, but he was almost never the one actually setting the events in motion. Instead, it’s Thony. Despite being someone who tries at all times to save lives, Thony is like an unintentional angel of death for those she encounters, and sadly Arman is going to be the next to fall.    

Other stuff:

It was interesting to see how clever the cartel is with all the different types of vehicles they use to transport people in order to avoid suspicion, I wonder how realistic that is?

I love that the show has continued its tradition of having cleaners/household staff regularly appearing in the background, highlighting the fact that even if they’re often overlooked, they’re there

The date on the bodycam is messing with my timeframe for the show based on the only other previous reference to dates that we’ve gotten, and though I know they probably just picked a random date, I don’t like it haha

That was very cool imagery with Ramona’s tea, of something shrivelled and dull being put into an intense environment and blossoming into something amazing… hmmm, wonder what they’re trying to say about Thony there haha

Fi totally ships Chris and Camila lol. I love the bond that formed between the two families (Fi protecting them in the store by putting on the Southern Belle act was awesome), and I hope Camila and her mum continue to be in the show, like maybe Fi and Thony could hire the mum as one of their cleaners and help both of them settle into life as an immigrant in the US. 

Also, the ICE raid was hard to watch, but bless the ladies in the store who helped them to hide! True allies!

The emotional song playing at the end as Fi and Chris are left behind is called 'Sister, Take My Hand' which just feels fitting for this show

Anyway, really looking forward to the Nadia & Ramona meeting next week. My wild dream of a badass coalition of mob women (Thony, Fi, Nadia, Ramona) running Vegas may just happen yet…

[blogs-no-giggles]

The End of Evangelion Reflection

The End of Evangelion timelines Shinji’s emotional states from inquiring for assistance to despair, to destruction, and finally to resurrection. After the death of Kaworu, Shinji becomes despaired because of the enforcement of the hegemonic masculinity on Kaworu ultimately to save humanity. He resisted to his queer masculinity, which is his true self, but the burden he carried as the 1st offering to Adam forces him to perform such acts ultimately devastating his inner peace. The show begins with Shinji in the hospital bed asking Asuka for assistance with his true queer masculinity and hegemonic masculinity required by society. He felt like there was no way out since society won’t accept him for who he is, but force him to commit acts that go against his own will. It seemed like a never-ending nightmare for him, this turned him into the sob, despaired individual who welcomes death as he is deprived of everything he values in life. In one scenario, when the SEELE forces attacked the main base of NERV, he even stood there welcoming death as the soldiers were given instructions to eliminate the Eva Series and its operator as a way to save humanity.

  The show later came to the scene where Asuka becomes the conscience and realizes the meaning of life for which she powers up and becomes fully synchronized with Eva 02 and fights off the SEELE’s Evas that were deployed. However, a turn of events happened when Eva 02 is pierced by the Spear of Loginus. Shinji watched helplessly as the SEEL’s Evas tore apart Eva 02 piece by piece. I personally thought it was super pathetic of him to watch his friend get destroyed and possibly die while he just sat there and did nothing. Nothing seems to motivate him until his mother calls to him and he finally synchronizes with the Eva 01 and goes to fight off the SEELE forces. However, the Spear of Longinus and the SEELE forces froze him in place and flew him up ultimately for the goal of commanding the third impact. The SEELE’s plan works after Rei becomes one with the Mother and tries to help Shinji. The SEELE manipulated Rei into implementing the last step to restarting humanity which caused an world-ending explosion which wiped the surface of Earth, and later we also see how all the souls of humans were collected in the impact into the red sphere shown in the film. Within the red sphere, there’s Shinji’s consciousness and Rei who is talking to him about the outcome of his wishes if there’s no one to judge him. He saw the devastated world with no souls occupied within and thought to restore that balance even if it meant he could never be his true self.

  Shinji felt that in reality, although things weren’t good for him. He still feels the emotions of each person, with a sort of genuineness that the empty space will never be able to provide. He ultimately realized that the perfect society within his head is not possible, that it is only a dream, a dream of fiction, something that can never be true. He realizes that although the reality is cruel and horrifying, the experiences that come with it are what make life genuine. I really like the overall show and the film of Evangelion. It really puts you into perspective of what life is really about, why we do things we do, and the tiny things that makes life fulfilling.

[purplechaosguardian]

Cyclebreakers

The studio newcomer meets a legend

Audrey had never expected to find a relatively normal looking human down here. Granted, she never thought she would fight monsters made of ink or running and hiding from a demon, or having superpowers, so maybe she’d be better off if she just started bracing herself for the strangest outcomes. Nevertheless, she had to blink hard, just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her, just to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating, that there wasn’t a person that was so close, yet so far away, with only a panel of glass between them.

Nope, he still sat on the stool, scribbling away in the notebook, like his life depended on it. Knowing this place, it might very well be.

Audrey cleared her throat, suddenly finding it very dry. “Hello? Sir? Can you help me?” The man turned his head ever so slightly towards her. “You must be really lost if you’re asking me for help.” Despite everything, Audrey had to fight to hold back laughter. If only he even knew half of it. “I’m just looking for answers. About the Keepers. Wilson. The Cycle. Anything could help.” How much do you know about what happened here? How long have you been here? What do you know about Joey Drew?

“What’s your name?” It was the only bit of information about herself the past few hours hasn’t forced her to question. “Audrey. What’s yours?” “Honestly, I’ve almost forgotten.” He placed his notebook on the stool, and Audrey had let out a gasp when she was met with the face of the most tired man she’d ever seen. And she thought she looked exhausted after working all night. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I-.” The man spoke up once more. “Don’t worry about it, I look rough, I know. But as for your question, my name is Henry. Henry Stein.”

“Have you been a prisoner long?” “When the Keepers think you’re a threat to their plans, they lock you away. Forever. Still, it’s given me time to think. Things like: if you haven’t eaten in years, you might not be human. Still, I’d rather it be me than him, although I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore.” Henry smiled, completely deprived of joy or mirth. Audrey couldn’t believe it. Henry was just an old man, she couldn’t imagine that he could be seen as much of a threat to anyone. “Why would you be a threat to them?” Henry came closer to the window. “I’m what they call a Cyclebreaker. Once upon a time, I knew how to start the cycle over. And when that happens, everything begins again. Completely new.” He sighed, out of exhaustion or frustration, Audrey couldn’t tell. “Obviously Wilson and the Keepers don’t want that to happen.”

Resetting the cycle. That may very well be the answer she’s looking for. A chance to start things over, before everything went to hell. A chance to make everything right. “How did you do it?” “Reset the cycle?” Henry pointed to his right. “It turns out, the Ink Demon himself is the key. This world is his, but even he must obey its rules. For now at least. If you can get him to look at something very specific, it will reset everything.” “What is it?” Henry held an ink stained finger up, turning back to the stool and picking up his notebook, drawing as he spoke. “It’s just a reel of film, labeled with the words, ‘The End’.” He held the notebook to the glass for her to see, and Audrey committed every last detail to memory. “I can see it in my mind everyday.” Henry motioned to his left. “They keep it upstairs in the Pit.”

Audrey nodded, filled with determination. “I’ll see if I can break in and steal it. Maybe, if I reset the cycle, we can make things better for everyone here.” Henry stared at her with a look of concern. “And what about you?” God, there were so many things Audrey could say, so many things she wanted, but all that could come out was “I just wanna go home.” Henry nodded, a feeling of solidarity between the two of them. “So did I.” He turned, about to walk back to his seat, but stopped to give her a genuine smile. “Good luck Audrey. If you need me again, you know where to find me.”

He had his back to her once again, and Audrey headed towards the Pit, filled with renewed vigor. She had to bring an end to this. For herself, for Henry and Alice, for Bendy and every other poor soul trapped in this hell with her. She just had to.

[nyxirrationalstories]

Hello Nyx hope your doing well may I request a Hades (Record of ragnarok ) x Son of Mictlantecuhli(onyx equinox ) like how they met , got together and how he the Male reader reacts to Hades death to Quin by vowing to be a king of Helheim that his husband Hades will be proud of. And how in honor of his husband Hades , Brother in law Poseidon who actually got along with the Male reader very well , takes Apollo’s place in the roster for the gods and ( since these two are the human fighters I care the least about ) kills either Tesla or Rasputin in a crushing victory for the gods ( no fight scene required ) despite either Tesla or Rasputin being very but like very strong.

Hi, let's do it.

The truth is, thanks to the scenarios you create, you give me new ideas. And I'll try to stick to the glory part of the victory, but I'll give it a twist.

In all honesty, if the opponent was Tesla this fight would be a victory of the gods. But you said Rasputin and that left me wondering what the battle would be like. I also tell you, I changed the lore of the protagonist a little bit… but the origin remains the same.

So I give you this:

The gods screamed in euphoria as they saw Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin fall to the ground while the humans felt the gods catching up to them.

The opposing god: a eunuch demigod son of Mictlantecuhli, who had lost against Ares in a bet and lost all his glory to later be given to Hades. Nobody expected that the young man would offer to avenge not only his lord but also his brother (Poseidon). With Persephone's permission, he was allowed to fight and give victory to the gods.

The young man knew that the goddess had allowed him to do so because both outcomes of the fight would benefit him:

If he won, she would have a champion serving him by proving to him that even though he was second in command in Helheim she would still have power over him.

If he lost… Persephone would get rid of her husband's lover once and for all. She would not listen to Hera when she told her to get rid of the lover, that he would replace his place and steal her husband's heart. Now was when she would put the advice into action.

The goddess was no fool, she knew of the nightly visits of the young man to his master; she knew of the caresses shared and the kisses given with an affection that she saw disappearing. And she knew of the nights of passion, being torn from her to give to the slave who became Hades' favorite lover.

Hades' death hurt both their hearts, but instead of uniting them, it only distanced them to the point of planning to kill each other and swearing to Hades to be the best rulers for Helheim… honoring his rule.

Meanwhile, the warrior felt that he had avenged his lover. That he had brought the victory that would destroy all of humanity, even if it made him a fool in his father's eyes.

"Those idiots, believing that without humanity they will be able to survive. Not understanding the symbiosis between human and god; in a few months they will be food for the primordials… who will start this cycle all over again and again." His father's words echoed in his head, but the young man thought the thought was ridiculous: A god can live without a human, but a human can live without a god. "Don't fight, it would be the sensible thing to do after gambling with Ares. Even if you love your master, don't you dare fight." Of course he wasn't going to listen to that sack of bones, who left him abandoned when Ares came to collect his prize. What neither of them expected was that Aphrodite would get jealous and castrate the poor boy (turning him into a eunuch) and give him to Hades.

Although in that last part… really if he could go back in time, he himself would give himself to his master and lover.

The young man and the gods were so absorbed in the victory, that they never heard Heimdallr claim the demigod as the winner, nor the smile that Brynhildr had on his lips. But above all, the young man did not see the triumphant smile of Persephone… who gave Göll a seed of life; just this once, the goddess and regent would give something to the valkyries since both had kept their word: the death of the young man at the hands of Rasputin.

The warrior did not have the chance to turn around when he saw that the gods stopped celebrating and the humans began to exclaim with joy. The young man only felt the cold of the steel being driven into his left lung, being killed by the one who was supposed to be dead.

--- I was poisoned, but that didn't kill me --- the Russian grabbed the young man by the neck to thrust another sword into the demigod --- I was shot, but that didn't kill me either --- with cruelty, the human tore off both arms of the warrior, The Russian put his hands on the neck of the young man, who looked into the eyes of the one who was killing him in a slow way --- hypothermia was what killed me, nature killed me… as it did you. … as it did with you. You, maybe you are a demigod, but my faith in you is null and void and that nourishes the gods, gives them life --- the stadium was silent, watching as Rasputin tore out the eyes of the defeated warrior --- and just as you can kill us, so can we. You feed on the greatest weapon mankind has: faith. It is time for you to know, that the gods are weak before the wrong people.

And with that said, Rasputin ripped the demigod's head off --- До свидания, мальчик. Пришло время встретиться с вашим учителем. [Goodbye, boy. It's time to meet with your teacher.] --- he said, throwing the young man's head away.

--- And the winner of the eighth round is Rasputin --- Heimdallr announced, causing a great roar in the coliseum from the humans.

Meanwhile, Persephone waited anxiously for the news that the warrior's soul would reach the hands of the Helheim judges… where she would seal her revenge by transforming him into a plant.

Sooner or later, Aphrodite always got her way; as long as love was involved.

Author's Note: Yes, this was all Aphrodite's overly elaborate plan and due to a misunderstanding…like any self-respecting Greek tragedy. I hope you liked it, I'm sorry if I changed the ending but you lit the fuse of my imagination and this came out.

I promise that for the next one you ask for, I'll give you a happy and even tender ending.

Con amor, Nyx.

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

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

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.

[quaranmine]

AO3 Link and notes below the cut:

So, this is the chapter. Sorry, but also not sorry. It was truly going to be like this from the beginning. The scene where Grian finds Mumbo was the first one I ever wrote, and when I started from the beginning I just put in a page break. So every bit of new writing was only ever a quick scroll to his death—one of the most literal ways someone can haunt the narrative. I didn’t really intend for there to be as much suicidal ideation (I decided to add it as a main tag because it came up so much more often) in there but it just happened, and seemed like the most logical thing to happen given how Grian’s mental state would have been. However, this entire chapter I’m walking a tightrope between Grian’s very dismal mental state and lack of care towards his own life, and his natural survival instinct. He kind of wants to die, but he’s actually also very scared of dying in practice. The fear is stronger. 

I rewrote the first section to really drive in the fact that the end of Chapter 10 was the first time in the fic that Grian let himself actually consider the idea that Mumbo was dead seriously. He’s aware (and resentful) that other people think that, but he doesn’t let himself think about it…until now. I was worried about him finding the body accidentally—is it a cop out to have the conclusion happen by accident? But I think it also kind of enforces the theme in this fic of parts of life being out of Grian’s control. He also did correctly piece together the information to backtrack where Mumbo went and create an idea of what happened to him. 

And I’m sorry, but Mumbo was always going to be dead. This story isn’t a conspiracy or a survival-adventure. Mumbo’s just a normal guy. And tragically, statistically…cases of missing hikers do not magically get found a year later. I’m not saying it’s never happened or that it’s inherently unbelievable, but in my research for this fic I never came across any case (that matched the circumstances of Mumbo’s) where the person survived long periods of time. I found people who survived for three weeks, a month even, but not longer. But also, fundamentally, I didn’t set out to write that type of story. I set out to write a story about grief. My goal was for this outcome to make itself clear as readers got further and further into the story. 

Somewhere early in the fic, when I was still working on chapter two or three, I decided that I wanted there to be more Risk and Danger in the fic. I already had the ending mostly planned, but wanted the climax to have more tension. And I thought…this is a story about fire, so let’s really make it about fire. Anyway I think I succeeded in adding a bunch of extra urgency to the plot LOL

Here’s a selection of just a resources about fire I looked at: (1) How to Escape a Wildfire - Atlas and Boots (2) Pagami Creek Fire Survivors’ Account (3) PCT How to react to Wildfires (4) Time - What’s Like to Fight Wildfires (5) MSU - The Sound of Wildfire (6) Yellowstone NP Sound Library - Fire (7) NatGeo Wildfire Safety (8) Wendover - How Fighting a Wildfire works video (9) 10% wind speed rule of thumb for wildfire spread I also looked up many accounts of wildfire disasters and blowups, such as the Yarnell fire of 2013 and the Mann Gulch fire of 1949 (I need to read Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire ...)

Sulphur Creek is real, but its real location in Shoshone NF isn’t meant to BE the location Grian was in. I just borrowed its name, as I’ve done for most landmarks. I have a strong idea of "where" the fic is set and have been taking cues from landmarks in the area, but making no effort to make sure things fully match real life.

I originally had a much more dull version of this chapter where Grian kind of just…outran it. Which was a cop-out because every source ever is like “no you can’t outrun it.” So then I had to figure out how to tread the fine line of believability to have this happen, but not. You know. Kill him. I toyed with Grian sheltering in the same place Mumbo’s body was, and how Significant that would feel, but I scrapped that too because I felt like it undermined what I had already written about Grian choosing to move forward. 

The theme about going forward in the chapter was very important for me.  It’s a theme I wrote about because I think of it often. Life goes on, even relentlessly. Even if you feel like you’re just being dragged along against your will, even if you’re drowning in a strong current, it goes on. That can be terrifying. But it also guarantees that there <em> will </em> be change, and that circumstances are temporary. I like the idea and imagery of Grian choosing to take that step forward voluntarily. 

I’ll see you in the final chapter. Please don’t kill me.

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Eleven)

This is a story about grief and fire.

Chapter eleven: 13,460 words

<< Chapter Ten | Masterpost | Chapter Twelve >>

Hello everyone! I’m so sorry for the wait. But chapter 11 and 12 together add almost 20k words to this fic, and I actually ended up redrafting and restructuring parts of these chapters a lot. I wanted them to be as perfect as possible, because these chapters are it: the core of the plot paying off. The bad news is it’ll probably devastate you, the good news is that I will be releasing chapter 12 a few days after this so there won’t be a wait.

There's several content warnings that apply to this chapter. It's not obvious because this is the tumblr copy of this fic, but it's marked as CNTW on AO3. CWs: general mental health/breakdown, dissociation, vomiting, death, suicidal ideation (of the abstract kind), fires/burn/injury. I don't think it's too graphic but it is…unpleasant imo.

July 1989

Grian hangs up on Scar with a flick of a button. It’s a lot less dramatic than the satisfying clack of slamming a telephone receiver down into its base, but the effect is just as instant. With a press of a button, he silences the faint static of the radio and Scar’s worried voice forever, bathing him in nothing but the silence of the forest. 

There’s him, the wind in the leaves above him, and the way his hands tremble as he sets the handheld radio down. Nothing else. 

He’s unsteady. It’s a good thing he’s already sitting on the forest floor. He clamps a hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. He sits there for a moment, trying to regain control of his ragged breathing, as if he can by just breathing through his nose instead. It’s not working. His thoughts are racing. He breathes faster instead. 

He feels—

Broken. Betrayed. Bitter. Burning himself over and over with the same mistakes, pitfalls, and dangerous hopes as always. 

He feels like an idiot. 

He feels like an idiot, because why should he assume someone was in his corner? Why did he ever say anything to Scar? Why didn’t he shut up? Why did he trust that when Scar helped him, it was because Scar believed him? Why did he fall for it? 

He should have known better. He’s alone out here. It’s been like that since the beginning. It was kind of the point, actually. To come out here and be alone, because that’s the only way he’ll fix anything. He failed that goal by making friends with a stranger instead and now he’s suffering for it. It hurts too much.

But perhaps worse, perhaps the most insidious thought that keeps snaking around his mind is—

What if Scar is right? 

The thought is like a giant, flashing billboard in his mind. He can turn away from it, but he knows it’s behind him. He can close his eyes against it, but the lights still blink against his eyelids. When he opens his eyes, he sees the stark truth of it all in each miserable outline of leaves against the sky. There’s some sort of wave crashing over him, and he isn’t sure which way is up anymore. 

Everything is unavoidable, constantly present. Unpleasant. 

He tries to find his logic again, but the bright, clear throughline he’s been following since day one is frayed. It shouldn’t matter what Scar thinks, in the same way it doesn’t matter what Pearl or Jimmy or any of his other friends think. It shouldn’t matter that Mumbo hasn’t been back to collect his things, because this is not proof that anything happened to him. This is only proof that Mumbo got lost, and that’s something Grian has known since day one. There is nothing new here, except proof that Mumbo was in this location at some point. That should be good news, a new puzzle piece for him to worry over.  

It shouldn’t matter, but—

He feels very small in the forest suddenly. The trees around him have no stake in who lives and dies. They stand tall, a witness to the happenings of everything beneath them, but they cannot interfere. There are miles and miles of wilderness around Grian. There are mountain streams and creeks and gullies and canyons and caves that no human has seen for years. There is an almost infinite number of trees and flowers and grasses and shrubs and mammals and birds and bugs that populate this little world, and Grian is but one tiny speck in the midst of this. So is Mumbo. 

He can’t find meaning in this. He can’t dig up some special exception, some reason that Mumbo is uniquely special in this ecosystem and it will all solve itself happily because the very ground itself will vow to keep him alive. This is a place filled with life and death and cutting wind and sharp stones. This is a place where fires raze down forests, mountain lions kill straggling deer, and people go missing. 

These thoughts send him spiraling again. 

So instead he tries to bury the feeling again, with desperate shaky hands. Like a zombie apocalypse, it just won’t stay dead. He’s dizzy. He stands up suddenly, leaving his own pack on the ground next to Mumbo’s, and takes a staggering step backwards to gain some distance from it all.

He has to find the rest of Mumbo’s camp before he moves on.

He tells himself not to dwell on it, but every other thought is punctuated by it. He tells himself to stop freaking out, to keep going, to just move forward, to keep his feet on the ground, but his laser focus is burnt out. These are all the things he’s told himself before, and it worked then. Why won’t it work now? 

He finds Mumbo’s campsite easily through the trees, since it’s only a few hundred feet from where he left his food. The campsite is totally empty. Mumbo clearly packed everything up before he left to make sure he didn’t tempt any curious wildlife. 

It’s rather anticlimactic, really, the way nothing is left here. There is an open space on the ground begging to have a tent set up on it, and a ring of stones encircling the ashes of an old campfire. Maybe Mumbo made that fire. When he went camping in early June of last year there wouldn’t have been any fire restrictions in place yet, at least not until the disastrous Yellowstone fires started shortly afterward. Or maybe it’s just as likely that someone else made it, since this campsite has clearly been used by other people in the past. 

It’s a beautiful place, he realizes. For some reason the realization puts a lump in his throat. Mumbo chose this spot because it was beautiful, and it is beautiful. It is beautiful. 

They’re in an aspen grove, surrounded by stark white trunks and bright green leaves. The aspens always have the brightest green leaves, compared to the darker green of the spruce trees. Grian has learned their colors well after spending so long examining the landscape from his tower. He loves how the different types of trees form a patchwork of different colors on the slopes. These trees will glow even brighter in autumn, when they paint the hillside in gorgeous golden yellow. 

Scar told him once that aspen groves are actually all one tree. An aspen can reproduce by essentially cloning itself and sending up shoots to sprout as a new sapling. All of the clones share a root system, and their leaves will turn color at the same time. But to the person standing in the middle like Grian, it looks like an endless amount of trees instead of a single entity. It looks like eternity, just like the mountains and hills look like eternity from the high point of his lookout tower. 

Aspens also like to grow in recently burned areas. This one, though, hasn’t seen fire for some time. The colony is mature, and from Grian’s perspective the trees are uncountable. He’s surrounded by them, and he’s alone, but the trees aren’t alone. They’ve got all their twins next to them. But there’s nobody to stand next to him. There’s nobody here but him. 

He turns around, and stares at the pair of backpacks on the ground. He needs to figure out what to do with Mumbo’s pack. There isn’t any way he can carry it. He has his own weight to carry, and he has no room to add anything else. For the distances he needs to travel, he can’t afford to add more weight. He chokes a little on this realization. This is just another thing he’s going to have to leave behind. 

There’s a hierarchy of things, and finding Mumbo himself is more important than keeping his belongings. 

Finding Mumbo—

In any way. 

Grian said that once earlier in the summer, about another missing person. He hoped they were found, in any way. For some reason, he remembers saying this now. He remembers finding the poster for that missing person, and thinking so fiercely how much it hurt that nobody was still in his corner after all these years. He remembers the ache that settles in around lost causes, and the deep sadness in Scar’s voice when he talked about how long that man’s case had been unsolved. 

He’s becoming that person who gives up on lost causes. 

No! 

He shakes his head sharply, like it’s going to rattle the thoughts right out. He isn’t going to do that. He can’t do that. He isn’t like that. He isn’t giving up on Mumbo, because there is nothing to give up. This is just the test of faith at the eleventh hour. He needs to press further, because this is just the next step in his case. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. 

What evidence is there, really, of Mumbo being dead? A missing persons report? The endless months on the calendar? The harsh winters? The abandoned survival equipment? None of that is physical, tangible proof. None of that is, is—

None of that is a body. That means he needs to keep going. That means he needs to keep going, even if he hikes until his feet bleed. 

But…what evidence is there, really, of Mumbo still being alive? 

This thought is a cliff, and Grian is stumbling over the edge into the abyss. At the last moment he turns back, flinging out a hand and grasping whatever he can find to keep himself from falling. Going over the edge means opening up a world of possibilities Grian doesn’t know how to deal with, or even begin to approach. It violently resets every facet of his life into something completely different. Something that can’t, and won’t, ever be the same. He doesn’t know how to live with that, and so before the yawning maw of these thoughts can eat him, he shoves them away. 

He scrambles away from the edge into safety.

But once you know the edge is there, it never leaves. 

He has to go somewhere else. He must go forward. The thing about life is that everyone must always go forward. When Grian couldn’t get out of bed last year, he still woke up the next day even if he didn’t remember falling asleep. When he skipped work, the bills still arrived. When Grian took this job, every mile he walked was another piece of the mystery shaved down into something slightly more manageable. 

No matter if Grian is being dragged there or not, all he knows how to do is move forward. The only way to stop is to be dead. Did Mumbo stop? Did Mumbo stop going forward? 

Where would Mumbo have gone? What would his goal have been? 

He must have hiked further upward. The Pinnacles trail is named for its interesting rock formations, and this trail gets much more difficult the further one hikes. There is a pass at the top where it dips down the other side of the mountain and joins the old river trail that fur trappers used to use. Mumbo would have had to hike this trail instead of ride it. That's obviously why he left his bike. There’s too many steps and too many rocks to do anything else. 

So, up he goes. Before he leaves, he places Mumbo’s pack against the tree it was strung up in, upright like a crude headstone. It’s a brightly colored, out of place marker in this natural setting—something crafted and sewn by human hands, carried by human bodies, and left behind consciously by a human mind. 

Grian leaves. 

He barely thinks about where he puts his feet, even when the trail starts to get fainter beyond the pinnacles it is named for. He barely thinks about anything grounded in reality at all with the way his thoughts circle relentlessly. He stumbles a few times, missing steps, but it doesn’t matter. 

The Pinnacles trail is not actually just an out-and-back trail; it’s a spur trail that connects into a larger network of wilderness routes. It’s as well-traveled as a highway up until it reaches the main landmark, and after that it drops off to a route only marked by the occasional cairn. It is clear that most hikers turn around after reaching the stones. Grian knows Mumbo kept going, because Grian knows Mumbo. 

The top of the mountain is not far from here.  It seems like something that would have drawn Mumbo to keep going further. It’s some sort of tangible achievement, with a view to match. Since Mumbo was camped along the trail, it wouldn’t have taken him long to reach the pinnacles, unlike visitors who likely started much farther down by Jonesy Lake. Why stop and waste the rest of the day? 

Mumbo had taken this time off last year to get a break from his job. He used to come home from it looking hunted—chased down with too many demands for too little reward. He used to talk about quitting. He had wondered if it had been worth it to even take the job. He moved to another country for it, after all. 

Whether it was worth it or not wasn’t something Grian could answer for him. He’d just listen to Mumbo complain instead, and then maybe change the subject to something more fun, something distracting. It always bothered him to listen to Mumbo speak like that. 

The answer to the problem was more complicated than just quitting, though. Grian could stay in the country as long as he wanted thanks to his dual citizenship. He was essentially there at a whim, following Mumbo so that he didn’t have to move to another country alone. Mumbo, however, was on a working visa that required him to keep a job in order to legally stay. His job was sponsoring him, allowing him to apply for the visa in the first place. As such, it wasn’t as simple as merely quitting. 

Maybe he just wanted some sort of achievement to take back home, like climbing a mountain. Something he could think about when his boss tried to make him feel worthless. 

Grian keeps going, and carries the pain and the pointlessness of it all as heavily as his bag that bites into his collarbones. 

»»———-　　———-««

It isn’t until Grian is forced to stop, coughing and hacking so violently he feels like he may break his own ribs, that he even remembers Scar’s plaintive admonition. 

Keep your radio on. Switch to the main frequency. Be aware. Come back, please. Be safe.

This message was lost to him in the noise his brain filled with as soon as he tried to think about Mumbo’s fate, but the more he coughs the more his mind is brought sharply back into physical reality. He coughs painfully and keeps coughing, unable to stop at all, until finally he is gasping for breath and fumbling with the water bottle he keeps in the side pocket of his backpack. He drinks half of it down in large, greedy gulps. 

He’s above the treeline now. Somewhat alarmingly, he barely remembers getting here, but the pain in his throat has brought him squarely back into the unfortunate land of the living. He leans against a nearby rock, head spinning from the sudden clarity. 

It’s the smoke that is the problem. It seems everywhere now, even though earlier it was just the faintest scent on the wind now and then. Now it clings everywhere in his nose and mouth and throat and lungs. 

This also dawns on him with slow horror: He can’t see his tower from here. 

Given the elevation he’s at now, there shouldn’t be any reason that he can’t look across the horizon and find the tiny man-made angles of his former home. He’s far enough away that it will be extremely small, but it should still be visible to the trained eye. The entire point of a lookout, of course, is its visibility. He cannot see it, however. Even more worryingly, he can’t even properly see the mountain it sits on. 

Instead he sees nothing but haze. The air to the east is dense and orange. Before, the smoke was in a specific direction. Now, it seems like it’s everywhere. 

The air itself seems to have an orange cast to it right now. It feels like a dusty sunset, where the light is intensely copper, and thus Grian’s mind keeps trying to tell him it’s later in the day than it actually is. It’s somewhere around 6 PM in reality. In the middle of summer like this, the sun won’t set for another three hours. And still, the light is so exceptionally orange. 

Dread grows in the pit of his stomach as he tries to pick out where the fire is, and realizes he can’t. Alarm flares in him. This fire is not like the leisurely slow-burn of the Trout Fire last month. It is a behemoth of thick billowing smoke that seems like it has doubled since Grian first spotted it this morning. The intense smoke right now is what keeps Grian from seeing its edges.

How big is that thing, actually? And what direction is the wind blowing? 

The answer settles over him like the particulate matter he’s already inhaling: the wind is most likely blowing towards him. He smells the smoke now. He couldn’t smell it earlier. 

For good measure, he starts coughing again and hangs his head while he does, waiting for the fit to pass. When he finally stops, he digs a bandana from somewhere in the depths of his bag and ties it around his face. It’s a poor excuse for any sort of proper protection, but it limits the amount of smoke making its way into his lungs the best it can. At the absolute minimum, he has a placebo effect working for him. 

He pulls out his radio again, and stares at it for a moment, before caving and turning it on. He dials it into the main Forest frequency, at least the one for the Wapiti District. For some reason, it’s full of static. Is it the distance? He isn’t sure. He knows his tower serves as a repeater, but he doesn’t understand how it all works. This only adds to the mounting dread and he fiddles around, trying to make it sound stronger. He can pick out about half of what is being said, and tries to fill in every few words by context clues alone. Dispatch is clear. The ground crew is garbled. He’s only really getting one side of the picture, and not the side he needs the most. 

While he listens, he watches. 

Jonesy Lake is part of the Two Forks district, his district, and it’s to the west of his tower. The Thorofare district, Scar’s lookout, is north of his tower. This fire had started somewhere on the other side of Jonesy Lake, a little southwest. Pinnacles is further northwest, out of Grian’s district and into someone else’s. 

What is concerning is that this fire, the southwesterly fire, has grown. It is more of a northwesterly fire now. He can no longer see where his trail originated, and he should be able to see it given how high he is on the mountain. His view is unobstructed by trees or hills, and he still can’t see it. He started in a meadow far below, and now he’s at the top. He can’t see the meadow anymore. 

Grian falls back onto habit, and begins to watch the fire like he was trained. His heart beats in his chest like a hammer though—it is far more exhilarating and terrifying than it is from the safety of his tower. He’s going through the motions in his head, listening to reports and checking the wind speed the best he can and tallying the daylight hours remaining and the cardinal directions and running the mental calculations. He’s—

He’s scared. He’s utterly terrified. 

This is a new type of panic, distinct from the call of the abyss he felt earlier. That panic had been earth-shattering. This panic is primal, but it creeps over him slowly. 

The man from dispatch is directing a fire crew on the ground that must have either been flown in or hiked in after Grian did. He says the fire is moving deeper into the backcountry, away from Jonesy Lake. This is both a blessing and curse. A blessing, as it protects the main tourist attraction of the area and historic structures such as Grian’s lookout. A curse, because the deeper a fire is in the backcountry the more difficult and expensive it is to fight. 

It’s also a curse because Grian is on the wrong side of the fire. It’s between him and getting back out. It wasn’t like that earlier in the day, or maybe he wouldn’t have bothered to try to find Mumbo’s campsite after all. He’s not that crazy, he swears he isn’t. He would have waited another day, he would’ve figured something out. He wouldn’t have walked purposefully toward a wildfire. 

The wind has changed direction.

“I can’t go back the way I came,” he realizes, and it’s this spoken-out-loud sentence that finally snaps him into action. It’s like a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head.

He snatches up his bag. He can’t stay here and wait to figure it out. He needs to go now.

Immediately, he turns his back on the fire, looking at the steep final pitch he needs to scramble up in order to cross the mountain pass. If he can make it to the other side, he’ll be deeper in the backcountry and away from the fire. Maybe Mumbo went over there too at one point—further into the beyond that Grian can’t save him from. Lost in the hills of a different set of valleys. 

He takes one step forward, but this isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. He feels information come to him like an uneasy prickle on the back of his neck. It’s a barely uncovered thought, something he heard once while Scar was talking about the Trout Fire and filed away somewhere in his brain ever since. 

Wildfires move faster uphill than they do downhill. 

Like, insanely faster. Deadly faster. 

Scar had told him this, and then he’d made some sort of joke about the irony of their lookouts being perched on the highest hills in the area. He told Grian that sometimes lookouts needed to be evacuated from wildfires via helicopter, and that if a fire reached the base of either of their mountains they would be in imminent danger. Grian, of course, reacted to this much in the same way he did when thinking about lightning striking his tower or meeting a grizzly bear on the trail: fear. Scar laughed in that infuriating way he did sometimes, where danger didn’t really exist and risk seemed to be something he played with ease. 

The danger does exist. Grian’s run his allotment of risk-taking dry. Scar wasn’t laughing anymore about this on the radio earlier today. It’s not just his elevation at play, here. It’s also the wind blowing toward him. 

His heart pounds. 

He should go…down. That’s something people do in these situations. He should go down, and away, as far as he can and as fast as he can. 

He nearly makes a move to switch his radio back to the frequency he and Scar share, just so he can ask. He doesn’t though, stopping himself at the last second. His finger hovers over the button, but he doesn’t press it. It stings more than it should. Right, he’s—

Failing at finding Mumbo. An idiot. In danger. 

—going to have to go downhill. 

His brain snaps onto a new plan immediately: valleys. 

Water runs downhill. Every valley and canyon was carved by water. The snowmelt off these peaks form hundreds of ephemeral streams each spring, most of which flow downhill into a bigger stream. Those bigger streams often flow between the mountains and form the tributaries of the Yellowstone River. He’d crossed a stream earlier in the meadow, a nice little makeshift log bridge covering it. 

Water and fire don’t mix. If he goes downhill, he’ll probably find that stream at some point—nearly a sure bet in this type of topography. He’ll be safe if he goes down. He’ll be safer if he’s next to water. He needs to find water. 

Don’t they use streams as temporary fire lines? Could the fire cross that? He isn’t sure, but he’ll take the unknown over the certain danger he does know. 

Grian picks a direction away from the fire as far away as he can possibly angle himself, gives it a long final look, and nearly flees downhill. 

The route is, to put it lightly, rough. The trail was already steep, but at least it was cut into the mountainside and worn from many feet crossing it. At least it was marked, tried, and tested. The open slope of the mountain is more random under his feet, and every time he steps onto loose scree he nearly falls as it rolls under his boots. He does end up falling one or two times, and it’s more like his feet gently sliding out from under him. He doesn’t run, for fear of tripping, but he lightly hops down and over rocks and pushes past bushes. As he drops in elevation, the amount of vegetation surrounding him increases and the hiking gets more difficult. 

Soon he’s back into the forest, disoriented again. He can’t really see the fire anymore—all he knows is that he was going this way, this way, so he keeps going that way. The air is thick and burnt, heavy with haze. He knows he’s still going the right direction by picking whichever way the air is the clearest. Still, every time he has to go around an obstacle, there’s a fear in his chest that he won’t find his chosen direction again.

The mountain is getting steeper the further he goes down. It is not leveling out like he expected it to. There was a meadow at the bottom, wasn’t there? Or was that—was that more to the southeast? After scrambling down a short drop he stops again to catch his breath, wheezing through the bandana. He pulls out the topo map he took out of Mumbo’s file, tries to look at the lines to find the safest way down, and—oh. 

He doesn’t know where he is anymore. 

He knows what direction he went when he left the trail, and what direction the fire was in, but there’s no way for him to tell which little ripple and bump in the topography has his current location. He doesn’t know how far he has gone, or where on the slope he is. This is concerning, but truthfully it barely registers in his mind. He’s still smelling smoke. He can sort his location out afterwards if necessary. 

He puts the map back into his bag. Right, this isn’t good, but he just needs to keep going down. He needs to keep going down. He shouldn’t think about the smoke he can smell, or the lack of visibility, or his own stupidity. Does it feel hotter or is his mind playing tricks on him? Is he having a heart attack or is he just out of breath? Is he going to die?

Is he going to die? 

The way this question takes over his brain is almost fascinating. He hasn’t—he hasn’t focused so much on himself in a long time. He’s focused every ounce of energy he has into finding Mumbo. And Mumbo—Mumbo isn’t here, but he is, and is he going to die?

Does he mind?

No, of course he minds. The fire might as well be lit beneath his feet instead of further down the mountain with the way he’s running. 

Grian is so busy contemplating if he is going to die or not—and really, his brain shouldn’t be running these two scripts at once, he should be fully focused in the moment, but even now there’s that string of panicked thoughts—that he almost misses it when the ground goes from kind-of-steep to dangerously steep. He scrambles to a stop, disoriented, and finds himself looking over an edge. 

Calling it a cliff is generous. It’s not really a cliff, not in the “hundred foot straight drop” sense. He looks to the side, but there isn’t a clear way to avoid the drop by going down the side. It’s rocky, and he can probably climb his way down if he’s careful about it. 

He swings his legs out of over the drop with the intention of lowering himself a little slower to the next spot to put his feet. He lets the gravity take him, but the backpack he’s carrying is heavy and unwieldy enough to throw off his balance, so—

“Ah!” he shouts, and then lands sharply on his ankles. There’s a split-second of pain before he’s falling to the side, the weight on his back dragging him down when his feet don’t stick the landing. 

And he’s going down again, much faster than intended. 

He’s sliding now, taking dirt and gravel with him, because the rock he’d been intending to land on wasn’t really that stable of a spot to begin with, it was just one piece of a controlled descent, but he’s out of control now. And he can’t stop. 

The rocks tear at his clothes, his limbs, his backpack. 

He lands several feet down, stopped by the merciful branches of a prickly bush. 

He’s okay. He’s actually okay. His heart beats wildly, and he takes a moment to tip his neck back, resting his head on the top of the pack that still sits on his shoulders. He doesn’t even extract himself from the branches immediately. He just sits, and pants for a minute.

There’s another drop just in front of him, a lot further than the one he just fell from. A little less “second story window” and a little more “probable severe injury.”  He stares at it. He could’ve fallen down that. The more he starts to come down from the adrenaline rush, the more his ankle starts to throb. It doesn’t seem to be broken though, just sore. It’s just background noise to him at this point. 

He balls his hands into fists, fingernails cutting into his palms. This is just—this is just adding insult to injury, at this point. This is all stupid. He’s making stupid decisions, stupid lapses in judgement, and he doesn’t know how to stop.  

Can’t he do anything right? Can’t he just do this one, one thing? After all this time, all this effort?

Can’t he just find his best friend? Can’t he do this without damaging all his other relationships, with the people at home who care about his well being? Can’t he do this without upsetting Scar? Can’t he do this without hurting himself, or putting himself in danger, or hurting everyone else? Can’t it just stop?

He just wants it all to stop. 

Something picks him up off the ground, anyway. 

He dusts off his pants, a futile motion for a person who’s been hiking for a day and a half straight. He tests his weight on his ankle which, while definitely feeling weak, holds him. He takes stock of his new location: still somewhere on the side of this mountain, still lost. He dropped from a further height than planned, and the only thing that awaits him is more rock scrambling. Above him are rocks, and below him are…rocks, with maybe a tree or two. 

He thinks he spies some sort of ledge, or at least something he can walk laterally down, so he heads for it. Hopefully he’ll find a spot that’s easier to go down than the one he landed in. He doesn’t really have a choice to figure something out. 

There’s something off about this location though, and he doesn’t know what it is. He almost feels silly for noticing it, and writes it off as his head still spinning from the overwhelming amount of input he’s parsing. His heart still hasn’t calmed yet, and there’s no way he’s getting a good amount of oxygen for his exertion with all the smoke in the air.

He reaches the ledge, and realizes it is part of an overhang. At one point in time, this rock shelter weathered when the softer stone eroded faster than the harder layer of stone above it. Today, it’s just one more feature in the steep northeastern slope of the Pinnacles mountain. 

He looks to the left, and then—

That’s when he spies it. 

He’ll remember it, just like he remembers the day he told Mumbo it was a good idea to go on his trip alone. He’ll remember it, just like he remembers the day the ranger told him Mumbo never made it back to his car. He’ll remember it, just like he remembers when the search was finally suspended after three weeks. He’ll remember it, just like he remembers lying in bed in a daze, thinking about how deep the snow gets in Shoshone National Forest over the winter. 

He’ll remember it, just like he remembers the first time someone told him Mumbo was probably dead. 

There is a figure under the overhanging rock. It’s so random it almost seems comical, if it weren’t for the way Grian immediately feels sick. There’s a figure curled in this tiny spot of shelter on the mountainside, as far as one could possibly get away from the rain or sun or cold.

It is not another rock, or a tree branch, or an animal. It’s—it’s a person. Every contour and slightest variation in shape matches. Grian knows what a person is shaped like, he knows it deep in his DNA, where he’s programmed from the inside out into knowing what another human looks like. It’s instinctual. It’s something he was born with. 

This isn’t an animal, this is something much more important. This is a human. 

And just as instinctually, he also knows that this is no longer a human. It’s a corpse. What once was no longer is, and what lies before him on the stone is something he’s not meant to see. There is a primeval part of his brain, concerned with survival and avoiding danger—concerned with avoiding disease and all those other medieval problems—that tells him he should avoid this at all costs. It’s danger. It was human, but it’s not anymore. He should go, but he’s rooted to the ground. 

It’s—

He’s—

Time stops. The thick scent of smoke still hangs in the air, just as it has all evening, but the wind doesn’t blow in the treetops. The flames in the forest don’t lick any higher. Time folds in on itself until it’s this one, small moment, incapable of folding any further and bursting with unreleased potential energy as everything else holds still. Nothing else matters. There is nothing else but this and this and this, and this and this and this. 

This isn’t Mumbo. 

Mumbo doesn’t exist anymore, and the person Mumbo was before doesn’t exist anymore, because the person in front of him was alive once but is no longer, and the person in front of him is a corpse. It’s a thing, it’s an object, it’s disgusting, it’s—it isn’t Mumbo. Mumbo isn’t like this. Mumbo has endless potential. He’s smart. He’s nervous. He’s kind. He’s silly.

And yet—he knows it’s Mumbo. It is him. It cannot be anyone else. He knows it better than anything he has known before, and he recognizes it immediately even when Mumbo is unrecognizable. He knows Mumbo well enough that he can recognize him even when he isn’t himself anymore, even when he’s something else. 

Even when he’s dead. 

That’s all. It’s a horrifying, horrifying, finality. He’s dead. Two words, one sentence, everything. It’s not real, because it can’t be. It cannot be true, because if it is, then nothing else is true either.  

He’s dead and, and, this is it isn’t it? This is it. This is all there is and all there was this entire time. This is the breaking of everything he believes in, split down the middle, carving into his chest with a sharp knife, cracking open his ribs until there’s blood spattered on the floor. The world sort of spins in his purview, dizzying, and he drops to his knees without noticing or caring about it. 

He wants to touch him, but he can’t. He wants to hug him one last time, or hold him, and tell him it’s alright, but he can’t. He recoils at the sight and stops just short, still kneeling on the ground. It’s been months. It’s been—a year, because Grian knows what he’s always known, what he’s always ignored, what other people have told him over and over again, which is that Mumbo never had much of a chance anyway. He was dead long ago. He didn’t hang in there for a few months and succumb to the winter. He didn’t survive the winter and then fail to find the resources to live through the spring. 

He’s been dead this whole time. 

He’s been—

Grian has been so stupid. And yet, he’d rather be stupid than look at this now. He’d rather not know what he knows now. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t want to be here at all.

Mumbo might have already been dead when Grian walked the trails by Cloud Lake last summer. He might have already been dead by the time the helicopters were sent out. He was likely already dead by the time the searches were suspended, just like the incident commander had regretfully informed him. He was probably still alive when Grian reported him missing, though. 

He was dead this entire summer, and most of last summer. Grian’s stomach lurches.

It’s been months. It’s…obviously been months. The elements aren’t kind. The winters are harsh and the summer sun is cruel, even in the mild shelter this overhang offers. Rocks can’t protect from everything. The animals haven’t been kind, either. None of the elements know. The wilderness doesn’t know. They don’t know—they don’t know that this is Mumbo, Grian’s best friend, his everything. They just don’t see—

Grian sees. 

Bones. Insects. Desiccated flesh. Eye sockets. No hair, no face, stained ripped clothes, broken and gnawed bones—

He turns to the side and vomits, barely yanking the bandana off his head in time. He nearly chokes on it, spitting miserable bile and unable to take a breath, and thinks, I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be gone, like he is, so that I don’t have to see this, or feel this, anymore. 

When he’s done he drops his head between his knees and screams. And with that, something breaks inside him, and he’s no longer kneeling but laying on his side, curled in the fetal position. It’s the same position Mumbo was in. His entire body trembles.

The air is thick with too many scents. There’s the ever-present smell of burning, and the smell of his vomit next to him, and the smell of other things he’s never wanted to put a name to. He gags again, and somewhere along the way that heave turns into a cry. 

He sobs. He sobs so hard his whole body shakes with the effort. He sobs so hard that he can’t breathe, and he starts to feel a little dizzy, until that primeval part of his brain concerned with survival takes over once again and drags the breath from his lungs. He wants to, though. He wants to cry so hard he actually passes out. He doesn’t want his brain to force him to take a breath when he doesn’t think he can. He wants to be anywhere but here. He wants to be gone. He wants to be dead.

He can’t live with this. 

He doesn’t want to live with this. 

There’s no point to it, is there?

There’s no point to anything, is there?

His sobs turn into coughing after a while, his throat and lungs dry from the large gulps of air he’s been taking in. It’s painful deep in his chest, but it eventually subsides leaving him exhausted. 

He lies still. His body still shakes. With every shallow inhale and exhale he trembles. His face feels waxy and foreign and his limbs like lead. He uncurls slightly. No part of his body feels like it’s attached to his mind anymore. 

There is him, and there is his body, and there is Mumbo, and none of them are in the same place right now. 

He watches the light move imperceptibly on the cave wall, as the sun slowly gets dragged back down the horizon and the shadows lengthen and bend. Darkness comes early to the mountain hollows, when the trees and the rocks and hills block the sun from view. It was late afternoon when he found Mumbo’s camp. It was early evening when he started back down the mountain for his own safety.

Does his safety matter anymore? Does he want it to matter? Does he even care? He doesn��t know what time it is anymore, but still the sun moves slowly along the walls. 

He watches the light get dragged away from him. 

Grian stays there for a period of time he can’t measure. The shadow drifts along the wall as the light fades more, but the light in the cave doesn't necessarily dim, it just grows more golden. He shuts his eyes against this. Orange might just be his least favorite color, the way it permeates everything from the setting sun to the hazy evening air. 

But—it’s Scar’s favorite color, isn’t it? 

He still has his radio. His pack might be discarded up top, but he has kept the radio in his pocket no matter what. Its yellow light was blinking earlier, back when he was at his towers this morning, hours ago, lifetimes ago. It’s still alive, however. It’s there, just a button press away. He could do it, but it’s like the radio doesn’t even belong to him anymore. 

He fumbles in his pocket with a hand that’s not his. He brings the radio up to his face, dirty and scraped and resting on the rocky cave floor. It’s a foreign object. Slowly, with a thumb that’s not his own, he depresses the side button and hears a voice that’s not his own rasp a single name. His lifeline. 

“Scar.”

The effect is immediate. “Grian!” the radio crackles, but Grian’s head is still funny and none of this is happening in the real world, so he loses most of the next sentence to the growing static in his mind. The connection is clear, but the words are not. “I was trying . . . ages ago, are . . . still . . . Do you . . .”

“Scar,” Grian says again, and this time the voice sounds more like his, and he says it because it’s all he can say. 

“Are you okay?” Scar says. “Please tell me you’re okay, please, you stopped responding hours ago and I—I’m worried, I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation. What’s going on?”

Grian drifts again. He stares at the delineation between light and shadow on the wall, and contemplates the smell of smoke. It’s more acrid than the smell of a normal campfire. It smells like plastic, which is crazy, because shouldn’t the only thing that’s burning be wood and leaves? It’s so strong it threatens to suffocate him. He wishes it would.  

Finally, he formulates something else. “He’s here,” he says, and his voice breaks. 

“Who’s here?” Scar says. 

“It’s Mumbo,” Grian says, with a strangled noise. “He’s here,” and the present tense sounds so wrong and right in his mouth, because he’s not really here but he should be. He’s not a person anymore and Grian is. He’s sitting right next to Grian, but Grian is here and he isn’t.

Nothing about this is fair. It shouldn’t have been like this. It shouldn’t have been like this. 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar says, and his voice is infinitely gentle. Grian could lose himself in that voice, let it cover him and sweep him away to a place where he doesn’t have to think about this anymore. His voice is a facsimile of reality, though. The real world hurts more. It doesn’t mean Grian wants to listen to him any less. 

Scar is still speaking. He somehow knows the things Grian doesn’t say. He knows the things that linger in the air and smoke between them. All he says is, “Oh no.”

Scar’s voice is—Scar’s voice is familiar in a way that breaks Grian all over again. It’s this little bit of sympathy, this person who might come even the slightest bit to understanding, that makes him feel like he can’t handle it anymore. What little he’s doing to compose himself in this situation needs to be handed over to Scar completely, because Scar knows. He can understand. 

Grian breaks at the sound of Scar’s voice. He starts crying again, as hard as before, and he depresses the button on his radio again, nearly delirious and unintelligible, and starts talking to Scar. 

“It’s not supposed to be like this, Scar,” he cries. “I was su-supposed to be here too. He asked me to go with him, and I said no, so he came out here alone, and it’s—it’s my fault. And I never found him in time, and it’s my fault, he’s dead now, and he’s been dead for months, and, and, this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

He doesn’t say You were right. He doesn’t say The search and rescue team was right. He doesn’t say Jimmy and Pearl were right. He doesn’t say any of that at all. He just cries. 

“Shh,” Scar says. “It’s okay, it’s okay. No, it isn’t. I would never lie to you, G. Nothing is okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t take this, I can’t take this, I can’t take this,” Grian babbles. “I need to—I can’t—I can’t take this. This isn’t real.”

“Grian—” he doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. He lets go of his radio’s button, turning control of the tragedy back over to Grian. 

“He was everything, Scar!” 

Grian feels like his chest is a black hole, sucking his body into itself and rending it apart into shattered pieces. There is nothing left. There is nothing left but this, and there is nothing more important than this. 

He’s silent for a long time, with tears slipping down his face and a body too tired to sob any longer. He’s silent for probably too long, because his radio incessantly crackles and warbles, but the words Scar is speaking don’t make sense any longer. It might as well be white noise, like logs burning in a fire on a cozy evening. Grian’s checked out. 

He hears nothing but the distant rush in his ears.

He’s too tired to engage, so he turns the radio off and stares at the light moving across the wall again. In the time he’s spoken to Scar, the shadow has made it to the next crack in the stone. For a while there is nothing but him and the fading light, and the corpse just outside his peripheral. 

There’s him, his best friend, that thick artificially golden light, and the smell of vomit-inducing failure. 

He deserves to die here next to Mumbo. It’s how it should have been, if he’d just gone with Mumbo like he was supposed to have, instead of working instead. Whatever issue Mumbo experienced, Grian should have experienced it alongside him. This is all his fault. It’s all his fault, and he deserves nothing more than to spend the rest of his days right here. 

How could he be so selfish? How could he let his best friend in the world go? How could he know his best friend so little that he couldn’t even find him when he was in trouble? How could he do anything right now except stay?

The air in the overhang is stuffy, and Grian wraps a hand around his nose and mouth like it will help. He expected there to be more of a smell—but that implies he suspected Mumbo’s death at all. Maybe the smoke has wrapped itself around the smell and overpowered it. Or maybe he’s always smelled this, the pungent odor of his failure. The scent of a future he refused to acknowledge. It’s hard work having to breathe when the air is hot and acrid. 

He wants to vomit again, but he doesn’t. Instead his mouth runs wet with extra saliva, a mild comfort to his raw throat, if he ignores the way his stomach twists. 

Eventually that silence rings in his pounding head just a little too loudly, and Grian flicks the radio on again, because he selfishly needs more. He needs that voice again with its promises of something being okay in the end. After all this time, he still can’t accept that this is completely his fault and that he deserves whatever punishment happens. He needs more, like he needs air to breathe. 

 “Scar,” he says again, and it's a plea. It is a life preserver thrown into the dark, inhospitable waters. 

Scar is miles away. He’s always been miles away. He has never been, and will never be, a comforting presence to wrap his arms around Grian. But his voice is familiar and warm. His voice is a constant Grian hasn’t had for months until he took this job. His voice is a constant that might save Grian right now, if he’s lucky enough. 

“Thank god, Grian, when I saw you turned off your radio—are you okay—” the rest of Scar’s sentence dissolves into static once more. 

“No,” he whispers. 

“I know,” Scar says kindly. “That was a silly question, huh? Grian, I’m going to help you. Do you know where you are? I can send someone out. They’ll come help you, and, and—Mumbo.”

“Okay,” he says. Help sounds good. He’s so tired of being alone. 

“Are you hurt?” Scar asks. 

Grian’s ankle smarts from where he fell on it earlier, right before finding Mumbo. It’s the first time he’s even noticed the pain, because the moment he saw Mumbo everything else on his mind was wiped clean. He doesn’t think it’s important, though, so he responds, “No.”

“Where are you?” Scar asks. 

“I don’t know.”

Scar prods gently. “You found Mumbo’s bag and campsite up on Pinnacles.” He says the sentence precisely, and doesn’t mention the way Grian fought with him. He also does not say I told you so, or criticize Grian’s decision. “Are you still on Pinnacles?”

“No,” he says. “No, I left the trail. I went—”

Grian tries to think, but his brain is sieve, leaking information out onto the floor. It’s as dense and unrelenting as the tan smoke blanketing the sky. He remembers being told he lost his job, but that seems so pointless now. He remembers finding Mumbo’s campsite, but he doesn’t remember how high he hiked on the trail beyond it. He remembers the searing jolt of fear he felt when he saw the wildfire’s new positions, but he doesn’t remember a single step he took off trail. 

It’s all a blur of rushing and blankness until he’s here. He can’t think of anything else, because there isn’t anything else. There is nothing else to define about the day, except for the presence lying on the cold stone next to him. This is the only thing Grian will remember about today, and he wishes it was all blank too. There is nothing and there will be nothing else for the end of time. 

Grian can’t think.

The radio crackles again. “Grian, are you still with me?”

“Mm,” he says, because full words are hard. 

“Do you remember the way you came?”

“I was running,” he says. “I went…away. I went down. It’s really steep.”

Scar’s voice is suddenly much more serious. “Grian, what made you leave the trail? Why were you running?”

“The fire,” he responds. “I saw the fire. I went downhill. I wanted to get to the water.”

The Nitwit fire, named for the idiots who started it, is rapidly growing in area and risk. The memory of it trickles eerily back into Grian’s brain. When he’d been closer to the top of the mountain and realized the danger he was in, he’d been absolutely terrified. He knew he needed to move or it would kill him. Depending on the environmental factors, outrunning a fire is impossible.

He doesn’t think he can move anymore, though. Fleeing doesn’t sound so appealing, not when there’s nothing left to run towards. He turns over this thought with detachedness. It’s over now, so what’s the point?

“The fire? Are you in a safe spot right now?” Scar demands. “How close was it when you saw it?”

Grian doesn’t really process this question. Scar is being insistent, urgent, but nothing seems that way to him anymore. He didn’t see the fire at all, just its smoke. He doesn’t care about a safe spot. This is the only spot he needs to be in. He doesn’t respond. 

At his silence, Scar continues. “I’m guessing you went northwest,” he says. “That’s the opposite direction of the fire and there’s a creek in the valley on that side.” There is a rustle of paper on the other end, like he’s pulled out a map. “Does that sound right? I need to figure out exactly where you are.”

Scar asks a lot of questions.

“Grian,” he says sharply, almost rudely. “Grian, come on. Talk to me.” 

Where is he? That doesn’t matter. 

The internal compass in his brain isn’t working particularly hard right now, since every time he tries to stretch his consciousness beyond this overhang he gets snapped right back. Mumbo is just lying there, slightly out of his peripheral vision. He can’t even turn his head without catching a glimpse of it, and it feels like dying every time. How could he think of anything else?

Mumbo is just lying there. 

“Scar,” he says, ignoring everything he was just asked. “Scar, I don’t get it. What is he doing here? Why did he come here? Why is he here? Why isn’t it me? Why wasn’t I here? I think he fell Scar, I think he fell just like I did. I think he hurt himself and couldn’t get back to his camp. And I wasn’t even there to help him.” 

“You fell?” Scar urges, like all his attention is zapped on that word. “You didn’t say that, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says automatically. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Kind of hard not to, G.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I’m just—Scar, I can’t go anywhere! I can’t leave him. What if I never find it again? What if this is it? I don’t want to go anywhere else, I’m staying here! Next to him!”

“But you need to go,” Scar says. “Come on, I need to know where you are. Help me figure it out.”

“No, no, no, no,” Grian says. “I can’t leave. I—if I go, what if I can’t come back? What if I can’t find it? What if I lose this place, and he’s really gone forever?”

“I won’t let that happen! Hey, if I figure out where you are, then I’ll know where he is too. We can tell the rangers, and, and the search and rescue people or whatever. They’ll find him again. It’s okay. You did your part. You found him. I wanna do mine.”

“I can’t leave him again,” Grian says. “I never should have in the first place.”

“I don’t think you ever left him,” Scar says softly. “He always had someone who believed in him this whole time. Some people don’t have that.”

“I can’t leave.”

“I need you to.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

And it’s difficult to keep arguing the matter when there’s someone in his ear who won’t take no for an answer. Someone who is desperately pleading with him over his own life and his safety. Maybe Grian is to Scar what Mumbo is to Grian. Maybe Grian can’t inflict that type of pain on someone else, even if he’s perfectly willing to inflict it on himself. Maybe if he does this he’ll be guilty of hurting one less person. 

Grian screws his eyes shut. “It hurts,” he says finally. “It feels like everything hurts.”

“I know,” Scar says and—

Grian knows that he does know. 

Somehow, at that point he makes a decision. His brain still feels slightly untethered and foggy. He isn’t himself anymore, not really. He doesn’t care about that person, the one who was a best friend and an architect and then a fire lookout, anymore. He doesn’t care about that person’s outcome. But he does care about not causing any more harm than he already has, even if it means keeping that person alive. 

For once more, and the beginning many more once mores in his life, he rallies himself to go forward again. 

“I don’t know where I am,” he says to Scar. “Or how close the fire is. I think I was going northwest, but…I got lost. I don’t know if I always went that direction, because I had to move around things sometimes. I just went down.”

He sits up. It’s a monumental effort, and his head spins again like the world is tipping instead of becoming right-side up. He has his back to Mumbo and it sends prickles down his neck.  

“It’s really steep here,” he continues. “Like a cliff below me, maybe. If I fall I would get really hurt. It’s rocky above me too but not as bad. I’m sort of in the middle of it. I was—I was looking for a safer way to get down when I…” He trails off. He can’t finish that sentence. 

“Okay,” Scar says. “That’s helpful. I can—I can probably find that a little easier, it’ll show up on the topo map that there is a big change in elevation. Can you see any other landmarks?”

“No,” he murmurs. “Too smoky.” 

“How smoky?” Scar asks, and that edge is back in his voice. It’s worry.

He swallows. “Worse than earlier.”

Scar doesn’t respond for a long time. Grian regards his radio while he waits. Its light is red now. It blinks. That’s not good. He has no idea how long it’ll last before it dies. This reality still seems sort of distant though, like he can’t quite muster up the energy to care about it. Oh look, there’s a little blinking light. Oh look, there’s a fire. Oh look, his best friend is dead. Oh look, he might die too. It’s all just…pointless. There is so much potential danger in his situation and he’s numb to all of it. 

He just watches the little light blink over and over again. He feels like a statue. 

Grian doesn’t really like the silence Scar has left him, nor does he really understand why. Except it’s not really silence right now, is it? He tilts his head. There’s been sound this entire time. What he assumed was just the blood rushing in his ears is actually a very real roar. 

He pieces together what it is the moment Scar gets back. 

“I found it!” Scar cries suddenly, the radio exploding into noise again. “I found you, on the map I mean, which I guess means I also found…him. But I know where you’re at! I think!”

And Grian simply says, “I think I hear the fire.”

“What?”

“They’re loud, aren’t they?” he says. “Wildfires.”

“What—yes, they are, they’re super loud,” Scar says something that gets a little lost in interference, “you need to go now.”

Despite making the decision to go, Grian somehow feels rushed about it, like he said he was ready but he wasn’t actually ready. He stands up, and nearly stumbles back down again. When he goes to put a hand out to support him, it’s shaking. “Which way?” he whispers into the radio.

“Anywhere,” Scar says. “Um, down. I’m gonna—” he sounds distant like he’s leaning away from the radio’s mic again, and it occurs to Grian that this is what has been happening with his voice the whole time now. “—gonna try to see if I can relay your information to the hot shot crew. Like, uh, a nava—navi—whatever they’re called.”

Grian realizes, abruptly, that he has to leave his pack as well. There isn’t any way he can move quickly while carrying it, it’s far too heavy. He holds his radio, and looks out into the smoky air and trees. Then, pulled back by forces unseen, he looks back behind him. This place they’re located, it isn’t even a cave. It’s hardly an overhang, too. It wouldn’t have been a comfortable place to shelter. 

He wants to say that he can’t leave again, because his boots might as well be filled with lead. But they’ve already had that argument, haven’t they? He made his decision to leave without even looking at Mumbo. It’s the least he could do to spare him the courtesy of looking at him now. 

He lays his bag down closer to him. Then he pulls out his jacket and, carefully, gently, reverently, the closest he’s gotten to Mumbo so far, lays it over his head. 

With tears slipping down his face, he steps back into the harsh warm light.

»»———-　　———-««

Grian fights his way down the hillside, and fight really does feel like the applicable word. 

The first thing he has to do is a fair bit of boulder scrambling, since there was not, in fact, a good way down the cliff. It’s a maneuver that would have been greatly impeded by his backpack, so it’s a good thing he left it behind. Grian’s apathy actually does him favors for speed: he hops onto a rock he isn’t sure will hold him before testing it. He uses worse handholds in favor of spending more time finding safe ones. He doesn’t falter even when he slips; he leans into it instead. He’s down after only a few minutes, leaning on a tree, wheezing in the smoke, wishing he hadn’t abandoned his water bottle along with everything else. 

The noise continues to rage around him. 

Scar tells him to keep going down. Scar tells him that there is a temporary fire line at Sulphur Creek and that the hot shot crew is focused on manually digging a line on the other side of the valley. Scar tells him that they’re aware he’s trying to evacuate. Scar tells him it will be okay, because a lot of people are working on this now. Grian isn’t even sure where Sulphur Creek is. It’s not like he can see anything, after all. 

“Run,” he says, “I’ll tell you where to go.”

Grian looks back up to where Mumbo is, and realizes he can’t see him either. It all blends into the rocks and bushes and trees. How was anyone supposed to have ever spotted him? His heart clenches at this, stuttering for just a moment. None of those helicopters would have been able to see him. People on the ground could barely see him. He’s being swallowed into nature again, a final resting place to entomb him. 

Then, he glances up to the left and realizes that for the first time all day, and in fact all summer, he can see actual flames. 

They’re weirdly beautiful. He watches them lick up around the trees, greedily eating up the brush. He fell down there earlier, and now everything he touched is being steadily converted to ash. He sees the flames in the tops of the trees forming bright halos. There’s little, if any, separation from the fire on the ground and the fire in the sky. Active crown fires are the most dangerous, he remembers. No wonder it’s so loud. How much combustion energy is happening right now, as these trees ignite?

He tells Scar. 

Scar tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to be going the opposite direction as fast as he can right about now. He urges him to run. 

Grian obeys, but the heat and sound licks at his heels anyway. 

How fast do wildfires run? How many miles can they cover in an hour? How many meters high can the flames go?  The units mix in his head as he tries to work it out, but the calculations are mostly a background narration to the sound of his boots crunching gravel. Scar wants him to run, so he will. 

He stays ahead of the fire, or at least he thinks he does, until suddenly a spark is thrown onto a tree in front of him. The needles, dry from weeks without rain, catch instantly. And Grian just…stops in his tracks, and watches it ignite. He watches the baby flame grow, greedily sucking in oxygen and new found fuel. 

He thought he’d been going opposite the wind. 

He can’t help but wonder if Mumbo felt like this. If he felt this same sudden door slamming shut in front of him, trapping him somewhere he had no hope of escaping by himself. If he had, when he’d found himself stuck and lost, had this realization that he wasn’t going to be able to make it out. The thought resonates through his body, aching in every part. It’s the fear. It’s the hopelessness. 

Grian can’t outrun this anymore. 

He goes to call Scar on the radio, to ask him for any advice or even to just talk to him again, but when he presses the button on the radio it does nothing. He presses it, again and again and again, but there’s nothing. No lights. No transmissions. 

It’s dead, because he didn’t bother to charge it since before he left for the District Ranger’s Station, three days ago. 

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, “idiot, idiot, idiot!” He hits the button again and again and again, as if that’ll somehow work. Then, he hits the entire radio hard into his other hand, hard, as if he’ll shake and abuse the thing into submission, but it still doesn’t work. The screen is black. The lights don’t turn on. 

The fire is even louder now, and even hotter. It’s howling. He’s losing his sense of direction. The trees and rocks around him are only shadowy figures in the smoke. 

And maybe, in his deepest thoughts and miseries, Grian doesn’t want to live. Maybe, if you asked him, he’d say that he was fine with this, because there was nothing left for him here. There is no Mumbo, so there is no point. He’s okay with that—at least, he’d say he was okay with it if there were anyone around in the world to ask. But there’s Scar listening in on a dead radio miles away, who can’t even know if he’s safe right now, or why he isn’t responding anymore. And there’s something deep within Grian that isn’t his dark thoughts, something written into his very cells, that pushes him to look for shelter anyway. 

Because he’s scared. Because this is a truly terrible way to die. 

The only things around him are rocks and more trees. He goes for the rocks. Instinctively, they feel like a more solid option: surely something that’s already millions of years old can survive another million years.  

He finds a spot beneath a boulder, and wedges himself as close as possible between it and the ground. It lies between the fire and him, but his eyes already burn so badly it might as well already be here. He pulls his shirt up so that it covers his nose and mouth, but that does little, so he tucks his head in near the ground, near the rock, like it’ll be protected in this tiny space he’s carved out of nothing. He inhales dirt anyway. 

He screws his eyes shut, as if it’ll help, and waits. 

It isn’t hard to tell when it’s here. 

Everything feels like eternity. When he tries to breathe, there’s nothing there—no air at all to fill his lungs. Instead, everything is hot and stuffy, suffocating, astringent, wringing all the oxygen from the air. His chest burns like he’s being squeezed. It makes his head feel funny, his thoughts slipping right out before he can register them. The heat is overwhelming. It’s like being baked in an oven. It’s like the first time he got a sunburn as a child, his mother wringing her hands in dismay and guilt over his face. It’s like he’s being strangled and peeled and stripped and decimated at once.

He wonders if maybe the concept of hell was just written up by someone who’d walked through fire themselves.

It feels like it’s been hours, but eventually the white-hot heat fades into something warm and passive. It can’t have been hours, because he’s still here and feeling all of it. Grian twitches his foot, and then tries to curl in on himself afterward. The movement seems to trigger something in his body, something that says I’m not dead yet so now it’s your problem, and he begins to cough again, violent motions that shake every part of his being. He coughs for a while, choking on the ash and lack of air, before finally controlling it enough to breathe. His nose and throat feel raw. 

He opens an eye. It immediately waters in the presence of thick smoke and heat, so he closes it again, the feeling burning hot beneath his lid. His cheeks are sticky with the feeling of tears from his watering eyes that dried just as quickly as they were produced. His teeth are gritty, even though he never even remembers opening his mouth. He runs a tongue over them, tasting the char. Every minute change of facial expression causes the grit to rub against his teeth. 

A few minutes later, he stirs again, this time pushing himself up off the ground in one motion until he is sitting up—he’s not a quitter like that. 

The world spins for a moment, and then swings back into place. 

He opens his eyes again, looks at his hands. They’re red, but not badly burned. Of course, how would he know that? How would he be able to tell? He clenches them once, twice, three times, and his fingers stiffly and painfully move to obey him. The rock next to him is singed and blackened. The vegetation immediately next to him is sparse, but burned completely through. The pine needles are gone. The area is thick with dark smoke. Somewhere ahead of him, the air glows orange still, a beaming, glowing beacon in the gathering darkness of evening. 

He’s…

Still here. 

On the other side of the fire. 

Alive. 

Alone.

His brain works sluggishly, taking several moments to take in the information around him before it computes. Then, without any ceremony, he bursts into ugly tears. Or, there would be tears, if tears were falling from his eyes. He’s so dehydrated now that nothing is being produced anymore. Instead he just sits there, sobs wracking his body, taking deep gulping breaths of dry, dry air that keep his already sore throat rubbed raw. He cries until he’s too tired to do it anymore, and everything is just rough and painful.

Some people would rather be brave. They’d rather face each challenge head on, and not let it get to them. They’d rather never cry in order to save face. 

But Grian? Grian just wants it all to stop. Who does he have to be brave for? He wants to not have to deal with this anymore. He wants to be safe. He wants his best friend to be safe. He wants his best friend to be alive. He wants someone, a real person, to place a hand on his shoulder and tell him he’s okay, it’ll be alright. It won’t be alright, of course, but he wants to be told that. It’ll make things, at least, a little easier. 

He’s tired of it being hard. He’s so, so, tired of it being hard.

Grian stands finally. It takes a lot of energy to do so, and there’s a faint feeling of pain that radiates through his body like a high fever, coming in waves every time he moves. His fingers smart as they brush the fabric of his pants, the barest hint of a touch sending needles along his nerves. At least he’s got nerves. 

The forest is gray. 

The greenness is gone, and what has settled in its wake is white and gray ash. There’s a still, grim curtain that hangs over everything. There is no sound except the fire’s roar—not even a single bird. Grian pushes the dirt with his boot a little, and everything crumbles and flakes apart into fine dust. A glowing ember is uncovered beneath it. It looks vibrant against the pale death of all his other surroundings. 

The bottom of his feet feel hot. These boots will be trashed by the time he gets back. He’s sure their rubber soles are all messed up now. He’ll have to buy a new pair. 

The real meaning of the thought hits him just a moment after. When he gets back. Like he’s already accepted that it’s part of his plan, that he’s going to leave here. And then what? He doesn’t really know but…he’s going to have to get back. He will. 

He heads toward the fire line. 

He isn’t sure where it is, but the fire being in front of him now affords him the time to make mistakes. Down is still the best direction to head, so he goes that way, kicking up fine ash and dust as he goes. The trees are blackened husks, rising into the sky. Some of them still have leaves at the top, but some were less fortunate. All the ground brush has been burned away. 

The forest looks like a wasteland. He knows it’ll be green again in a year. 

It doesn’t actually take that long for him to walk into an unburned area. He wonders if this is a mosaic, like Scar taught him all those weeks ago, but he doesn’t find another burned area just beyond this. It’s full of green trees. He can hear the distant roar of the fire, but now he can hear birds again, too. 

It’s twilight when he sees movement in the forest ahead of him, and he squints to identify it. He steps a little closer and—yeah, it’s a person. It’s another person. It’s actually another person out here, dressed in eye-shocking yellow. 

He raises a hand, and starts to call out to them, but he doesn’t make any sound. His throat is completely hoarse. He’s not sure he could make a sound if he tried. 

The person spots him anyway. The next few events sort of blur in his memory. The other man shouts something to his colleagues, whom Grian hadn’t seen in the trees around him. They call someone over to him. They say something to Grian. He doesn’t respond. They ask if he’s Grian, and he nods. They tell him that someone on the radio had said to be on the lookout for him. They give him water. They assess his injuries. 

Grian thinks he’s fine, but they seem to think otherwise. 

He’s still standing. His heart is still beating. That’s more than he can say of Mumbo. The thought of it makes him want to crumple and curl into a tiny ball, but he stays standing still. As long he’s upright, he’s okay.  

“Martinez is going to walk you out,” one of them says and Grian nods. Martinez is a guy with a kind-looking face and broad shoulders. He doesn’t even seem phased by the idea of saving a stupid civilian who got caught out in all this mess. He looks like it’d be his pleasure to help Grian out. 

This plan does not, for some reason, happen. Maybe it’s because Grian stumbles when they try to make him walk again, his ankle that he fell on hours earlier finally deciding to revolt. Maybe it’s his utter exhaustion. Maybe it’s because one of the wildland firefighters is especially concerned about Grian’s breathing, and the way his chest sounds funny. Maybe it’s his cough. Maybe it’s because he can barely speak to them, only hoarsely answering their simple questions. 

Night falls fully while they talk it over. The sky is dark, no stars, all blocked out from smoke, but a glow still sits on the horizon. Most of the other members of the hotshot crew have moved on, continuing their jobs in the noble quest to keep the fire from spreading to this side of the valley. 

Grian hears the radio crackle at various intervals, but none of the voices talking are Scar’s. At first he strains to try to hear him, trying to listen with his entire body. He hears nothing but strangers. His own radio is heavy in his pocket. It’s just a paperweight right now. 

The firefighters are probably giving information about him to someone else back at the dispatch office. They’re probably asking for some outside evaluation on what his condition is, or an order on what to do next. He zones out while they speak. He finds it difficult to care about anything else that happens to him now, least of all to him. 

Instead, two of them—Martinez included—walk him to a meadow, and tell him that one of the helicopters is going to pick him up and take him back to town. 

“It’s the fastest way to get you back, that’s all,” Martinez says brightly. He keeps trying to cheer Grian up, which is sweet of him, but failing. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fun!”

“I think we have different definitions of fun,” Grian rasps. 

He doesn’t tell them about Mumbo. Right now it feels like his own little burden to carry, an anchor suspended around his neck for him and him alone to drag. He’ll have to tell someone, as soon as he’s back in town. He’s sure that Scar has already told someone. But right now, at this moment, he carries the weight by himself. Alone. One last private moment with it all, waiting in the dark meadow with two strangers. 

He closes his eyes.

He thinks about the first time he and Mumbo met, when they were not even preteens yet. Grian was a new kid in a new school and a new town, and mad at everything in his life. Mumbo was the partner his teacher assigned for him to work on a project with. But more importantly, Mumbo was kind.

He thinks about evenings spent at Mumbo’s house, or the times they spent roaming around the town doing errands for Grian’s mom. He thinks about the time they both got detention because Mumbo—not Grian!—had a terrible plan to prank one of their teachers. He thinks about the miserable two years that they went to different colleges that led into a purposeful coordination of which university they would study at. He thinks about the emptiness of their apartment the week they arrived in Colorado, and how they ate takeout together while sitting on the boxes. 

The helicopter arrives some indeterminate time later, and Grian blinks his eyes back open to rushing wind chapping his face and lips. The noise is loud, but it’s not as loud as the fire was. Nothing will ever be greater than that sound. He’ll never forget that sound. 

The firefighters bid him farewell. He only knows one of their names, but he waves back. He’s taken into the helicopter. 

As it takes off, he looks through the window straight past a woman who is talking to him, but he isn’t able to see the forest like he anticipated. This forest, this wilderness he’s spent half a summer living in, isn’t visible. Instead the total darkness of night wipes it into a blank slate of inky blackness, punctuated only by the Nitwit Fire in the distance. No other lights. 

Miles and miles of nothing, and Mumbo. 

<< Chapter Ten | Masterpost | Chapter Twelve >>

[yanderemommabean]

Could you do another yandere all smite purge one please?

“This is not a test “ Echoed through the empty streets as the final safety doors slammed shut, leaving poor souls who were too late in the open and in the vicious line of sight for those looking to hunt. “Your government is announcing the commencement of the lovesick purge. All participants must obey the rules given and indoctrinated-” the message drones on, turning to muffled booms as you rush through the alleyways and stomp through the puddles in your way.

God you hated this time of year. You were never prepared for it, never ready to handle the horrified screams and gunshots going off until morning rise. Praying never brought the sun up any faster but hey, it passed the time. This year you just wanted to hide away in your room like last time and blare music through your headphones, hiding in a cupboard or maybe that hallway closet. Last time it was kinda cozy.

You have to actually get home first, but why wouldn’t you? You knew your shortcuts, your danger zones, and how to fight dirty incase someone picked a fight. You’d like to think you could handle yourself.

You slide into another alley and catch your breath, watching as three people rush past and argue over where to go and what to do. You didn’t bother getting involved or helping, it was every man for himself and kindness could very well get you killed. You wait to see what happens to the three, and when nothing but silence follows, you try not to think about the outcome.

Cracking your neck, you take a breath and begin to run again, having just a few more blocks to “safety”. That being a building thats very easy to bust into and a door that could be broken by just a breath. But it was home, and home is where we subconsciously think no harm will come.

A large hand on your shoulder stops you dead in your tracks, yanking you back into the darkness of the alley. You begin to fight, kicking and biting while trying to escape the grip of your possible killer, your fists making little to no impact with every blow.

Well that’s embarrassing. You thought you were stronger than that.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you” the voice pacifies, a deep chuckle following as the male forces your arms behind your back. You recognized that voice, hearing it speak on the news and on social media constantly.

Not in a heroic manner, not in some savior like way. This man was the tormentor everyone feared. This was the infamous villain All Smite. The man who can kill without remorse and destroy with a smile on his face, has you in his grip for god knows what.

“Silent now? I pegged you as a screamer” he joked, watching you roll your eyes at the innuendo. “I don’t exactly know what to say. I know begging won’t do shit” you admit with a nervous swallow, trying to avoid pissing him off and making the situation worse. Panicking wouldn’t help, no matter how good of an idea your brain made it seem.

The bulking blond laughs, and presses his head against the nape of your neck as he tightens your bonds. “This is why I love you. You’re so calm and calculating yet shy and timid. Cute and sexy. Just my type”. Wait, wait, just his type? Wasn’t he tying you up to like, throw you in a river or something? Break your bones and take your money? No! No there’s no way in hell this man is your yandere! You weren’t even given a warning letter!

Then again you suppose he’s a villain, why would he go by the rules? You not knowing gave him a larger advantage on catching you. You shiver feeling his large hands roam over you, as if checking for weapons and hidden items, but also a cheap way to cop a feel. “P-Pervert” you bit out, knowing that no matter what you said, what you did, you’d only lose and be his entertainment. He loved it when his victims begged and sobbed.

You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

All Smite gently lifts you, cradling you as he begins walking down the street with bravado. Dude always has to put on a show. “You’re just going to kill me after this aren’t you? Hurt me, bruise me up, and slit my neck?” you asked bitterly, accepting your fate a bit faster than mentally healthy. Unless of course you were dead on the inside like the author.

All smite gave you an odd look. Brows furrowed in what you dare call concern, as if you were the one acting odd and dangerous. “I don’t think you fully grasp what’s occurring. You’re mine. Captured. My lover to be unless you escape the next purge. Bonded to me and me bonded to you”.

Yeah...ok you’re kidnapped. That should be sinking in, this shouldn’t be so casual, this shouldn't be so calm as it is. You just don't feel a fight in you. Almost like...like you wanted this to happen. Like you wanted to be caught and give up. You should be fighting more than this, tied up or not, but instead you’re empty and waiting for a fantasy that isn’t to come.

The villain gently brushes your hair away from your face, and sighs lovingly “You’ve been hurting for so long. You’ve been abandoned by those who are supposed to protect you, been cut by those who say they love you. You’re tired”.

“Shut up” you spit “You don’t know shit! You’re just playing mind games”.

He only gives a hum in response, opening the door to his hideout while you try to ignore the fact he hit some nerves. “I’ve watched you for a while, you know?” he plops you down on his couch, watching your eyes avert his gaze as he continues. “I’ve seen the hurt those people gave you. The condescending tones over your achievements, the scolding you when you finally come out of your shell, the audacity to belittle you when you’re doing your best and trying to survive and they only sit on their asses”.

You glare with tears in your eyes, spitting out bitterly “What’s your fucking point? What you-you wanna break me down and start from there?! See how deep those fucking scars go? Want me to tell you how they used to beat me-”

He hushes you softly, making you choke back a sob as he just holds your head in his large hands, wiping away your angry tears. “I want to be here for you. Help you heal yourself and show you that I can be the only person you need. A strong person like you deserves to be spoiled and worshipped. “ he kisses the top of your head, holding you as you shudder out more confused tears. Relief and grief, pain and soothing, it was so odd.

Could you really trust him? He’s probably just manipulating you for some sick game of his! “L-Like I can trust a single word from that snake like mouth” you meekly comment, fists clenching in their bindings as All Smite just continues to stroke your hair. “You can’t. Not yet. But I plan to prove that you can trust me, and plan to show you how devoted I am to you and our love”.

You squint in disbelief once again “I’m not in love with you”.

A wicked grin spreads on his face as he steals a quick kiss “You will be”

-Mommabean

[seriouslysnape]

Moonlight Dip

Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sexual content (super brief).

Word Count: 2,588

“We’re going swimming.”

Hogwarts was always desolate and quiet at this time of night. The only person who was supposed to be stirring was Filch, Mrs. Norris, and possibly Professor Snape keeping an eye out for any students who had grown bold enough to break curfew. Most students didn’t bother trying to sneak around the castle at night. Not because they were afraid of getting caught, but because if they DID get caught, they’d have to deal with Filch’s overly strict behavior. Honestly, that was a punishment in and of itself. 

Which was why Neville just couldn’t seem to figure out why you were leading him through the dark corridors, moving like a woman on a mission. You had crept into his dorm around midnight or so, pouncing on his bed and shaking him from his gentle slumber. You barely waited for him to wake up before you were whisper-shouting at him that you had somewhere for the two of you to go. He never minded a surprise visit from you, but he also wasn’t very keen on attempting to slip out undetected. Still, his curiosity won out.

“Hey, uh, flower?” He whispered, not knowing where Filch might’ve been.

“Yes, Neville?” You whispered back, peering your head around the corner to check for anyone coming. 

“Where are we going exactly? And why are you in your robes?” He questioned, feeling a bubble of nervousness in his chest.

Truth be told, Neville felt a little underdressed. He was clad in his pajamas bottoms and an old t-shirt that he only used to sleep in. You looked back at him with a smile, his heart leaping at how beautiful you looked under the illumination of the Lumos you had uttered from your wand. Neville had learned to be more spontaneous after he had begun dating you. You were as sweet and respectful as anyone, but you definitely had a wild side that sometimes shaved some years off of Neville’s life. He wasn’t sure what to think of it at first, but over time he found that he loved all of your silly shenanigans. Even the ones that had gotten you both in hot water before. 

“I told you, Nev. It’s a surprise!” You answered, squeezing his hand that was interlaced in yours, “It won’t be a surprise anymore if I tell you.”

Neville made a puzzled, yet thoughtful look as he racked his brain of possible ideas. He thought that maybe that you were daring to venture to Hogsmeade for a late night snack. Every now and again, you’d convince Neville to help you with sneaking into Honeydukes after hours to snag a few treats (don’t worry, you always left the right amount of money on the counter to pay for it). 

However, his theory was proven wrong when he realized that you were taking him past the courtyard and in the general direction of the Quidditch field. He was glad that it was well into spring now, and the nights were warm with the days. You didn’t play Quidditch though, and neither did he. So he couldn’t fathom why you were headed that way.

“The Quidditch fields are always dark this time of night. There’s no way we’ll be able to see.” Neville pointed out, mumbling under his breath when he almost tripped on a loose rock. 

You turned to look at him again, another smile plastering on your face. 

“Then it’s a good thing that we aren’t going there.” You replied.

Sure enough, you kept walking towards your desired locating, keeping your antsy boyfriend in tow. About the time that Neville had given up on trying to figure out where you were taking him, his question was answered. The lake was always so pretty at night, and tonight was no exception. The moon was only a phase away from being full, but still offering enough light to where the two of you could somewhat see. The reflection bounced beautifully off of the dark lake, creating glittering ripples in the water when it was agitated from it’s still position.

You let go of Neville’s hand once you were standing on the bank, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. Neville stood still, his arms at his side rather awkwardly. He wasn’t picking up on your plan just yet.

“I didn’t know that you like to fish.” Neville said aloud, not bothering to whisper anymore since there was no chance that anyone would be out here.

“I don’t.” You giggled, removing your shoes and socks.

Neville’s eyebrows raised, still oblivious even as your fingertips worked at untying the cord around your robes. Well, he WAS oblivious, until it was literally right in front of his face.

“Then why are we- oh my God, what are you doing?” He cut himself off when your robes fell to the grass, revealing your bra and knickers underneath.

Neville was glad that it was mainly dark outside, because his sudden deep blush would’ve been painfully obvious otherwise. You smirked at the bashful boy who was frozen in place, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“We’re going swimming.” You announced, reaching for his hand again. 

Except he didn’t take your hand. He wasn’t on board with this idea at all.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I draw the line at swimming naked!” He rattled off, taking a step away from you.

You weren’t offended in the slightest, and you were even rather amused at his skittish behavior. This was nothing new to you.

“I’m technically not naked.” You reminded him calmly.

“You’re in your knickers!” He hissed back, his eyes widening as he actually took a second to look at the lacy material.

“Exactly. Which equals not naked.” You returned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter.

“Nope!” He protested, sitting down on the grass instead, “I’ve defended us for getting caught sneaking off for Chocolate Frogs and breaking into the library at 3 o’clock in the morning. But I will not try to explain why we were in the lake naked.” 

Neville seemed adamant about staying put where he was. He was tempted to get up and leave, but there was no shot in hell that he was going to leave you out here by yourself. He was perfectly fine with sitting off to the side and observing from a safe distance.

“You see me in my underwear all the time, Nevy,” You said, not really believing that the lack of clothes was what he was timid about, “Is it the ‘nakedness’ or the critters that sometimes live in the lake?”

Neville was frightened of a lot of things, and while he tended to love animals, aquatic animals were an exception. Fish and water-based bugs freaked him out for some reason that even you didn’t quite understand. The only animals that lived in and around water that he liked were frogs and toads. The only aspect of the lake that he might enjoy (aside from seeing you wet and half-naked) were the plants that were undoubtedly growing below the surface.

“Maybe both...” He murmured, resting his forearms on top of his knees that were pulled into his chest, “Regardless, I’m staying right here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, believing your intuition that said that he’d be in the water with you in less than fifteen minutes.

“Suit yourself.” You told him before making a graceful entrance splash into the water.

He watched as you plunged in, your entire frame disappearing under the water that looked black due to the inky color of the sky. Neville felt his nerves get fired up when you went under, a slight anxiety in his gut that you might not come back up. The lake wasn’t super deep by any means, only coming up to just below your hip. Neville knew that it was possible to drown in any depth of water, which was why he became a bit on edge.

Thankfully, though, you emerged from below the water before he could get too worked up. He watched with interest when your hands swept your wet hair backwards, slicking it on your head. 

Neville had always found you pretty. He thought you were the most beautiful girl on the planet. While he always thought that you looked stunning, there were still times where it was much more clear to him. For instance, early in the morning when you’ve just woken up is one of his favorites. Or right before a Gryffindor party on Friday nights when you’ve taken extra time to get spiffied up. Seeing you always made his heart beat with a little more purpose. It reminded him of how much he cared for and loved you. 

And this moment now really had him swooning.

His eyes studied as water droplets dripped from your frame, soaking into your underwear and gliding down your beautiful skin. It created a shiny gleam over you, bringing out all of his favorite parts of you. He must’ve fallen into a lusty daze, because he felt himself snap back into reality when you called to him.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?” You spoke, letting your fingertips trail over the surface of the lake.

Neville shook his head in response. 

“I’m good here, tulip. Promise.” He said, still not sure if this was something he wanted to do. 

You never pressured Neville into doing things he didn’t want to do. You never wanted him to be uncomfortable around you or associate discomfort with spending time with you. However, you knew that Neville was a worrier. He was an avid overthinker and sometimes just let his nerves get the best of him. You encouraged him to live a little more, without thinking about every single possible outcome of a situation. It’s great to be cautious and aware, but life without taking some risks could be...boring. You just didn’t want Neville to grow old with you and wish he hadn’t let his head get the best of him.

You swam out towards the middle of the lake, but not so far that you couldn’t see or hear Neville. You floated on your back and played with things that you found on the mushy, sandy floor of the lake. Neville maintained a conversation with you, but found himself feeling tempted to join you. It was just swimming. It wasn’t like the two of you were trying to blow up the lake or anything. 

“How does...how does it feel?” Neville asked, stifling a giggle at how you were bouncing on your feet with your head lolled to the side to get water out of your ear.

“It’s nice. It’s not warm by any means, but it feels good.” You told him, wringing the excess water from your hair, “Changed your mind?”

Neville chewed the inside of his cheek, but he was warming up to the idea.

“I don’t even have a pair of swim trunks with me.” He argued.

You motioned towards your own body with a look of hilarity.

“Oh, and I’m wearing my swimsuit? It doesn’t matter, love. Just take off what you have on.” You instructed, getting hopeful that he was actually going to do it.

Neville stood from where he sat, stripping down to his boxers at a snail’s pace. He folded his clothes neatly, setting them next to your robes that he had also folded previously. He dipped his foot into the water, expecting it to be much colder than it actually was. It was a lukewarm temperature, something that would be refreshing on a hot summer day, but far too freezing for a frigid winter day. For his moderate spring night, it was perfect.

Neville didn’t love how the bottom of the lake felt on his feet. It was a mix of a squishy, gelatinous feeling. You reached for his hands excitedly, taking them as he waded out to where you were standing.

“So, what do you think?” You wondered, careful not to freak him out too much,

“It feels...nice. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this lake,” He admitted, “How did you even come up with this?”

“Well, you told me once that your Gran used to have a little pond behind her house that you liked to swim in during the summer. You said you enjoyed it and I thought maybe this would be something you’d like too,” You explained to him, suddenly feeling insecure about this whole thing, “I know it’s probably not the same or as fun.”

Now things really started to make sense. Neville felt the cage of butterflies flutter all into his belly whenever you did something sweet for him. Especially when it was something with sentimental value. 

Neville had undeniably fallen in love with you. Not because of your witty personality or the random adventures you liked to take him on. Those things were plenty great, and he cherished those things with everything he had. But that wasn’t what made him decide that you were his future. 

It was the pureness of your heart.

He fell for you more and more each time you did something for him. Whether it was as small as you combing your fingers through his hair when he was asleep on your chest in the common room, or as big as the time you devised a plan to throw a surprise birthday party for him at his Gran’s house. No matter what it was, you never hesitated to spend your energy, time, and love on making him happy.

“I did always like that pond, flower. But...you want to know something?” He said smoothly, with just the faintest hint of shakiness in his tone, “This is a lot better.”

He pulled you in close at the sight of your brightening eyes, bringing you down with him as he sank down to his knees under the top of the water.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” You pressed on.

“Because you’re here.” He mewled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

His descent of kisses trailed down to your nose, to your cheeks, to your lips. His kisses were never rushed in moments like this. They weren’t ever in a rush to get to the point or so rough that he didn’t have a chance to feel it. He liked to take his time with you. He liked to savor you.

“I love you, Nev. I really do.” You professed once he pulled away from you.

“I love you, petal,” He returned, going to kiss you again, but stopped when he took a big swash of lake water to the face.

He let out a startled gasp at how he was totally soaked now. It dripped from his hair, droplets rolling to the tip of his nose before falling off back into the lake. He caught your mischievous expression, your cheeks puffed out as you fought your laughter.

“Really funny, doll.” He sputtered, nonchalantly reaching around to your back and unclasping your bra with one hand. He managed to whip it off of you with ease, leaving you completely naked on top.

“Neville!” You squealed, “Give it back! That’s my favorite one!” 

Neville teased you as he held your bra high in the air above his head, chuckling as you struggled (and failed) to get it back.

“Don’t worry, love bug. I’ll take good care of it. But if you want it...” Neville paused, shimmying past you and waddling further out into the lake with a sneaky, yet innocent sneer on his face;

“You’ve got to come and get it.”

*****

Tags: @lupinsslut @writingscape @msmimimerton​ @thefilmcity​

[anniebrainrots]

Family

In which you reflect upon yours and Technoblade’s shared past. 

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warnings: mentions of violence (nothing too graphic), slight gore, angst, SBI family dynamic, no y/n 

wc: 3.2k 

notes: i’m sorry if there are any grammatical errors, i really tried my best :,) 

===========

You can’t remember a time when you and Technoblade actually fought. You had always been attached at the hip, you had watched him grow up from a young boy full of ambition and fire to an accomplished man with strong ideals and a fierce personality. That’s one of the things that you had prided yourself in, well, that and your impeccable ability to calm the pink-haired piglin. 

You remember the first time the voices had appeared; he had come to you after he had gone hunting with Phil for the first time. He had mentioned his first kill, how it had awoken something in him, how it almost felt like he had been running on autopilot when he shot the arrow. You hadn’t known how to talk to him through his episodes then, though with years you had learned what to say to not set him off. 

The first time he had killed a man hadn’t been that long after his first hunt. A bandit had come to your small camp in the forest in the middle of the night. You couldn’t have been older than twelve at the time, Techno being thirteen. You had been held at knifepoint, held in front of Phil and Wilbur while the hybrid had gone out to get more firewood when your campfire dwindled. You remember seeing horror cross the two faces in front of you before the grip on your neck had loosened and a man had dropped right to the floor. You had tried your best to erase traces of that night from your memory, but the thin scar on your neck always made a point to remind you of it. 

He had changed since then, an insatiable thirst for bloodlust had festered deep within him, unable to be satisfied. He hadn’t been too good at controlling the voices at that time, and the first time he had lost control in your presence he couldn’t bear to look at you for a week out of shame. It had taken the help of Phil, Wilbur, and even Tommy to talk him out of separating himself from you. After that, your bond with him had only grown stronger. When you had left the family to pursue your own adventure with Techno, you had learned how to talk to him, to ease the voices that always screamed at him. 

The second time he had lost control around you it hadn’t been directed at you. The both of you had entered a tournament for money, and the result had been devastating for you. Techno had gotten his long hair cut short while your wings had ended up getting chopped off. It had been a foul play, ambushed from the back while you had fought another in front of you. Techno had seen nothing but red, finishing off both people before consoling you the best he could. You had mourned the loss of your flight and your precious wings for weeks, not eating and barely alive, according to Techno. He had half the mind to send you back to Phil, doubting his abilities to protect you but you had insisted to stay with him, that you would simply be too ashamed to look your father in the eyes and tell him why your wings had no longer been on your back. 

Years later, even though you still held the loss of your wings close to your heart, you had learned to move on with the help of your companion, finding solace in causing chaos and taking down unjust governments. Naturally, when Wilbur and Tommy had called upon you both to help them with their revolution against a tyrant who had taken charge of their old country, you had been more than happy to come. 

The first few weeks had been spent catching up with your brothers, and you had exchanges of your adventures and their experiences running their country. You couldn’t help but notice darkness festering deep within Wilbur’s eyes, and one night he broke, asking Tommy if they had been the bad guys all along. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them you had followed them that night, eavesdropping on their conversation. You had confided in Technoblade, the piglin merely dismissing your concerns for your brother as he urged you to start preparing for the war. You had tried to ignore it, the way Wilbur’s tongue dripped with acid every time he had spoken of L’manburg, the way Tommy had flinched when Wilbur would walk into the same room, the way Wilbur constantly disappeared in the dead of the night when he had thought no one was watching. But you had been, you had always been watching him. 

The day he hid behind Dream, the man that had nearly killed Tommy twice in their war against the Dream SMP, you had nearly taken it upon yourself to incapacitate Wilbur. Technoblade, as war-hungry as he always had been, paid no attention to this, which had angered you greatly. Once you had learned of Wilbur’s planting of hundreds of TNT underneath L’manburg, you had tried to talk him out of it. 

“L’manburg is a fallen nation, birdie. It’s done nothing but cause pain for everyone, so why does it have to exist? You wouldn’t understand, you weren’t there when we built it, so stay out of our fucking business or leave.” The nickname that Wilbur had given you in your youth sounded like nothing but pure venom and ice, and his words had stung you far more than anything else. 

That night, you had approached Technoblade; you couldn’t help but notice how you had been falling apart due to how busy he had become with his preparations.  It had been obvious to you how stressed he was, spacing out more frequently while you had conversed. When you brought up your concern over Wilbur’s plans, he lashed out. 

“God, you’re so annoyin’, always havin’ concern over what Wilbur wants to do or not. The man ran the country way before we even got here so why do you care so much?” 

“I’m worried because everyone’s life is on the line here, Techno. You’re telling me you’d let your brothers fight in a war that will end up in explosions? What about Tommy, you’re gonna let him go through with this? Why can’t you see that Wilbur’s gone crazy, and he needs to be stopped?” 

“I can’t let you do that. No matter what you want, I promised to help Wilbur and if you don’t agree with his ideals, then just leave. We don’t want you here.” For the second time that night alone, you had been told to leave by some of the most important people in your lives. You choked back the rising sob in your throat, letting your sadness dissipate and anger take over. You had marched right out of his base, not a single call of your name from the man you had just spoken with, and you had concluded that that would be the last time you would talk to him. 

You had gone deep into the forest into your small cottage, taking all of your valuables and putting them in your ender chest, stuffing food and all of your weapons into your bags where they had fit. You had taken a few pieces of TNT, no one needed the rest of these items anyways. You had been deep enough in the forest that the explosion would not be heard from anywhere near PogTopia, so you had quickly ignited the TNT and watched as your house exploded onto tiny remnants. A small crater had been left in its place, small enough to pass off as a creeper explosion in the night. 

Your second stop had been to Tommy’s quarters, where you had found him sitting by his bed. 

He had looked up at you in slight confusion, noting your packed bags and outdoor attire. He had wondered if you were going to go scouting in L’manburg and almost wanted to ask if he could come, but you had cut him off before he could. 

You handed him a sword, the first one you had ever made with your own hands when you were barely his age. 

“What’s this for? And why are you dressed like that?” 

You gave him a watery smile, “this sword helped me survive all this time, so I hope it serves you well in the war. And I can’t fight alongside you anymore, Tommy. Technoblade and Wilbur had made that very clear tonight.” 

“What? Wilbur? I’ll go speak to him right now if he’s makin’ you leave. You can’t leave, you just can’t!” Tommy stood to his full height, arms wrapping themselves around your smaller form. You patted his back, offering words of comfort. 

That night, you had left with a heavy heart, and despite your rather unpleasant last experiences with Will and Techno, you couldn’t help but to think of them fondly from time to time. 

That led to where you are now, in the Tundra, in a humble cottage in the middle of a clearing. There’s a village nearby, with wonderful farmers offering you discounted golden carrots for all the help you provided for them in the past 6 months. 

You never did find out the outcome of that war, and something tells you that it didn’t end in celebrations. You traveled far enough that even news from L’manburg would be unlikely to reach all the way here. Still, though, you can’t help but wonder where Technoblade is, if he’s been taking care of himself, if he’s even still alive. You snort at that, of course he’s still alive; Technoblade never dies. 

One day, you wake up with a slightly more cheery attitude than most other mornings. You prance around your house, humming songs to yourself while you clean and cook. It’s quiet, like it always is, and sometimes you find yourself wishing you’re back to the old days, when everything was loud, chaotic, and bloody. The silence, however, is a luxury you never knew you needed. 

Your black cape and golden crown (one that Techno gave you in order to match with him), hangs in your closet, unused. 

You make sure to polish the crown once a week, it being a gift from a man you harbored feelings for since your youth, you couldn’t bear to leave it to collect dust. You sigh wistfully, placing the newly polished crown on your head while looking at your reflection in the mirror. 

You can’t help but notice the way your features have softened, given your lifestyle with Techno over the years, you were almost never given a break from all of the bloodshed. Your eyes are brighter, and your face gleamed with a newfound glow, one that had always been stained by dirt and grime from the battlefield. You note faint scars running down your arms, a brief moment of insecurity passing through you as you remember the perfectly clean complexion the village women had. 

You’re cut off by your thoughts by a rapid and harsh knock on your front door, and you rush to take off the crown and place it back in your closet and head back downstairs. It’s odd, almost no one visits the Tundra, so the very idea that someone is knocking on your door is already incredibly bizarre. You figure it’s probably a wandering trader, a very impatient one sounding from the hurried knocks. 

You open the door roughly and step back slightly in shock. Phil stares back at you with equal emotion in his eyes, he obviously wasn’t expecting you to answer the door. Your gaze shifts to the man by his shoulders, hanging limply with his head down. 

“Help,” is all Phil’s able to say before you quickly wrap your arms around Techno’s midsection and lead him to lay down on your couch. Blood pools around his waist staining your cushions, but you can’t even acknowledge that. He’s passed out and pale, so you make quick work to tend to his injuries, finding him improperly wrapped in loose bandages. 

After cleaning his injuries, the worst of which being a stab wound on his midsection and a large gash on the arm, you wrap him with bandages and give him healing potions to speed up the recovery. With the help of your adopted father, you move Techno to your bed, closing the door before joining Phil on the floor near the fireplace. 

Phil watches you sit down next to him, eyeing your bloody hands before blinking away to stare at the flickering flame. He also notices your wings, or lack thereof, but chooses to stay silent. 

“What happened? Why is Techno like that?” 

He’s silent for a moment before answering, “after the big battle, they reclaimed L’manburg but reinstituted Tubbo as the new president. Techno didn’t like that, so he fought back. It was him against everyone else. After that he fled to escape but someone was able to shoot him down with an arrow and stab him. I knocked the guy out and tried to fix Techno, but I couldn’t do that with everyone chasing us down. So, I took him on a boat and ended up here. Gave him enough healing potions to not die, but I barely had enough. Thank god we found you.” 

You go quiet at that, a question annoying you at the back of your mind. 

“Did he do it?” From your tone, the man realizes you’re referring to Wilbur, and his heart clenches at the fresh memory. 

“He did. I barely got there in time, mate. I tried to talk him out of it but…” he trails off, shoving his face into his hands to hide his tears, “I killed him.” 

Your shoulders slump in sympathy, about to comfort him, “Phil, it’s not your faul—” 

“No. I literally killed him. When he pressed the button, he gave me his sword and…” this time he lets out a weak laugh, “did I do the right thing, birdie? Was I right to kill my own son?” 

You can’t wrap your head around that. “Wilbur’s dead?” 

Phil cries quietly to himself, nodding his head to affirm your thoughts, making you let out a small ‘oh’. 

You’re at a loss for words. Sure, Wilbur had been nothing but toxic to you the last time you had seen him, but that didn’t overshadow the years of love and affection he had given you in your childhood. Deep down, you knew the Wilbur you had seen last had been nothing but the shell of the person that gave you piggy back rides when you were learning to fly so you can experience being off your feet, of the person that bandaged your knee when you had tripped and had been too scared to tell Phil you had gotten hurt, of the person that sang you songs on his guitar whenever you felt restless at night because he knew they helped you sleep. Wilbur is—was—your brother. 

“He went crazy, Phil. Too clouded by his emotions to think straight. He endangered the lives of everyone around him. He wasn’t Wilbur anymore at that time, Phil. He was just a man that had lost everything, too scared to rebuild from scratch that he just destroyed his work so no one else could have it. It was like watching a child who lost their favorite toy. Jesus, Phil, if you’d seen him then…” You watch the crackling fire, words caught in your throat, unable to finish the sentence, silence lying heavily in the air. “He needed to be stopped.” 

The man you saw as your father goes quiet, and from the corner of your eyes you see just how this man aged. Despite being immortal, Phil always had what you called ‘sleepy eyes’ referring to the way he seems to constantly have bags underneath his eyes that made him look sleep deprived despite being well-rested; a trait that Wilbur inherited, and Techno had purely because of his lack of a proper sleep schedule. Tommy used to tease them about it, despite having developed it slightly after his staying up with you, Wilbur, and Techno in the dead of the night to sneak out when Philza was asleep. 

“Guess we’re both flightless now, huh?” You ask after a moment, studying his burned feathers that would surely never heal properly enough for him to take flight. He let out a humorless chuckle, dull eyes closing for a moment. 

“I tried to shield him from the explosion but it resulted in quite some irreversible damage.” He stretches his wings out, barely even a quarter of its original length, black feathers singed and unrecognizable. He gives you a glance from the side, “you never told me about yours.” 

You hum, and your back burns with phantom pain. “I lost them in an arena. A couple years after we left, Techno and I participated in this free-for-all arena and some guy ambushed me from behind and cut them off.” Your left hand grips your sleeve, images of red and withering feathers flashing before your eyes. You feel a gentle hand on your back, and all of it stops. 

You and Phil sit together in well-appreciated silence, basking in each other’s presence after so many years of no contact. A shuffle from the other room catches your attention, you turn and see Techno stepping out of the room, one hand supporting himself on the wall and the other wrapped around his midsection, tight against his fresh wound. You and him make eye contact for a split second before you turn away and he redirects his gaze to Phil. 

From the corner of your eyes you see them staring at each other, having what seems to be a silent conversation before the older man sighs and gets up. He pats you on the head once and gives Techno a nod before stepping outside. Uh oh. You know what’s coming next and you don’t know if you’re ready for it. You say nothing when you hear approaching footsteps from behind you, staring at the dwindling flame in the fireplace. You say nothing when he sits behind you on the couch, unable to sit on the floor because of his injuries. You say nothing when you turn around from your sitting position on the floor to look up at him. 

Despite only being apart for 6 months, Techno sure looks older. Maybe it had been the effects of war, but both you and him have gone through countless battles before and you had never seen his face like this. Grim, serious, unapproachable. Something in his eyes flicker when he stares at you; pity, remorse. 

“I’m sorry.” Techno says after a moment, looking guilty as his facade slowly breaks. 

You don’t know what to say. The Blood God, infamous for his unyielding wrath and immeasurable power, for his countless victories in war, for his presence made to induce fear upon people, bowing his head to you in remorse. Was this the same Blood God that you hear countless stories of? No, this is Techno. Your best friend, your partner in crime, your person. 

“I know.”