#grass is always greener on the other side etc etc

[jungian-julie]

This used to be common knowledge when the only choice was to either become a nun or a mom. It's a sacrifice and picking up your cross either way. I see the suffering as important for my spiritual development. The other side of it is to learn to cultivate agape (charity love) even in the most difficult circumstances. Which I would've missed out on if they did let me become a nun.

Life is full of suffering either way. If I would've chosen to focus on my career and just live from vacation to vacation, with no other real purpose in life, that would be unbearable suffering to me. It would feel meaningless, just suffering at work so I can have my moments of pleasure.

You pick your sacrifices. You cannot go through life without sacrificing something. You just choose what is worth it to you.

I could've become a pro athlete in combat sports, but I wasn't willing to sacrifice my health. I had already broken bones due to it and it wouldn't have taken long before concussions would've piled up. I had to sacrifice being athlete, because I wasn't willing to sacrifice my body that way.

I have worked with those wealthier women who supposedly have more time for hobbies and their interests. That's not necessarily the case. They get 10k a month, but also have increased their monthly expenditures, have an outrageous mortgage, expensive cars etc., which often causes them to live from paycheck to paycheck just as much as anyone else. They still only get to travel maybe once or twice a year and still have to beg for time off.

The CEO of the major financial institution group I worked at, also said that her main regret was not spending more time with her family. She sacrificed her family for her career. She was promised a life of luxury and glamour, but she's so busy with work that she still doesn't have time to actually enjoy her money and spend time with her family. Sure her kids can have the latest gadgets, but at what cost.

There is no choice that you can make in life where you aren't sacrificing something. The grass always seems greener on the other side, until it isn't. Just pick what is worth it for you and deal with it.

just once, i'd like to see a "tradwife" blog where the wife in question looks 10 years older than she really is. i'd like to see the prematurely white hairs, the dried and wrinkled hands, the cracked and dull nails from constantly cleaning and washing dishes, the dark circles and eye bags. i want to see the trad wives who gained weight during pregnancy and never managed to lose it, the ones who have nowhere to complain that their knees and backs ache from scrubbing bathroom floors, the ones dead tired from spending all day on their feet sweeping and cooking.

i want to see the trad wives who look messy and disheveled because they had no time to wash their hair this week, whose faces hurt from falling asleep with their makeup on every night from sheer exhaustion. i want to see the trad wives who haven't bought a new dress in years, whose prettiest clothes don't fit them anymore, who only have one bra at this point and it's five years old and the underwire's starting to come out. i want to see the trad wives who are ashamed of their appearance, of the way their bodies changed, the baby weight they never shed. the ones who look longingly and jealously at wealthier women their age who look 10 years younger, those who have the time and money to invest in their looks and hobbies.

i want to see the trad wives whose children take them for granted. those whose children think the beds make themselves, the meals cook themselves, the house cleans itself. those whose children never help out around the house because "that's mom's job". i want to see the trad wives whose sons take after their fathers and never lift a finger to help because "that's women's work", and whose daughters are forced to become mini mothers and housekeepers from a young age because "that's women's work". i want to see the trad wives whose sons never grow up and whose daughters never get to be kids, because that's what they're taught.

i want to see the trad wives whose children are disabled. those whose toddlers aren't beautiful and docile little angels, but who have behavioural issues, developmental issues, health issues of all kinds. children who are crippled, paralyzed, on the spectrum, with down syndrome, deaf, blind, nonverbal. those whose children will require permanent care or even hopitalization throughout most of their lives, who require therapy or medication, who struggle with chronic pain or emotional regulation, for whom every day is a fight.

i want to see the trad wives whose husbands struggle to make ends meet. i want to see trad wives faced with a near-empty pantry, trying to figure out what to feed their children with. i want to see trad wives whose husbands are breaking down under financial strain, constantly irritable and withdrawn because they don't know how they'll afford the mortgage this month. i want to see the trad wives who have no idea how to help pay the bills because men are the ones who handle finances. i want to see trad wives struggling to hold back tears when their children complain about eating spaghetti and tuna for the second week in a row, or when they ask for a christmas gift they can't afford.

i want to see the trad wives who can't remember their own hobbies. i want to see trad wives whose eyesight's so far gone that by the time they have time, they can no longer read, or paint, or sew. i want to see the trad wives who gave up on their self-care routines long ago because there wasn't time nor money, the ones who haven't bought a candle or a new novel or a colored pencil set in years because their kids' dental surgery or college tuition was more important. i want to see the trad wives who say "i used to be a wonderful dancer once" or "i really loved pottery once" or "i was very good at math once, doubt i remember any of it now" with a sad, faraway look in their eyes.

i want to see the trad wives who are real. these pastel moodboards full of flowers and shining kitchens and blonde babies and thin young women with perfect skin are an illusion. they don't exist. to be a traditional housewife is to accept a life full of sacrifice. it means you're willing to waste away, to shrink in on yourself until there's almost nothing left, just for the sake of your family.

even if you do everything right, if you marry a good man who provides for you and doesn't abandon you, or cheat on you, or abuse you in any way (which is already like finding a needle in a haystack), you will still be faced with exhaustion and suffering. your children will not be perfectly angelic and lovely. your house will not be clean and flawless at all times. your husband will not be loving and doting forever. you will have to work yourself to the bone; you will have to sacrifice your looks, your health, your hobbies, your emotional needs, your physical and mental well-being. nothing about you will be a priority anymore.

if that kind of sacrifice is worth it to you, then i commend you; you are far braver and more noble than i. but if you are not willing to sacrifice everything about yourself for the sake of your family, then you should take a long, hard look in the mirror, and ask yourself if you've fallen in love with a fantasy. because i can promise you, the reality is so, so much uglier than you ever could've imagined.

[a-concert-just-for-me]

This is a joke

[kutyozh]

the sexual tension between me and Polish is so fucking insane rn

[aeide-thea]

every time an article of men's clothing is a little ill-fitted on me and there's an almost-identical women's version i wonder if i ought to just suck it up and get that instead—and that voice is the devil* talking

because (a) the ways it would 'fit me better' are also the ways it would be depressingly distractingly feminizing, like, that non-adherence to my actual form is doing important gender-affirming work for me! and (b) even if it looks like a plausibly androgynous garment on the female model, it always turns out to be noticeably not-actually-androgynous once i get it on—a scoopier neckline is the most common culprit but there's always something >:(

⸻ * disclaimer that i don't believe in the devil and i do generally want to avoid casually regurgitating christian turns of phrase but. you know. joci causa.

[thoughts-reasons]

Crime scene

[lordofdestructionm]

Fun Vikdecai scenario for you

and by "fun" I mean pure angst

After the events of the Pilot its not hard to imagine Ivy giving Viktor more details about the trio''s "successful" rum run and their encounter with Marigold. Whether to brag or because Viktor wants to know exactly how much danger she was in.

She might mention the moment when she looked over her shoulder and it looked like Mordecai had his gun aimed right at her, and maybe she was seeing things, but she could swear it looked like he had the shot but lowered the gun

Viktor pauses for a moment but casually dismisses the idea. Mordecai is a traitor and backstabber etc. Shot his partner of over six years in the knee and went to work for their biggest rivals just after Atlas died and the grass started looking greener on the Marigold side.

Plus Ivy still has that wide eyed optimism about her, so of course she is going to read kinder intentions into what could have been a simple matter of the car being too far away or the gun jamming etc.

He doesn't think too much about it after that. Eventually, after recovering just about enough from his injury from the pig farmer attack, Viktor insists to Mitzi that he go with the two crazy noodle armed cousins instead of Ivy.

Mitzi is reluctant but knows when Viktor isn't going to budge, and so she agrees on condition that he not try and throttle Rocky or Ivy's boyfriend while on the job.

The terms are accepted.

Begrudgingly.

But the inevitable happens, and of course, they have a run-in with Marigold.

This is a nightmare for Mordecai.

This is exactly what wounding Viktor's knee was supposed to prevent. He can't let the Savoys go after Viktor, but even if he manages to get them to focus on the two crazy amateurs, Mordecai won't be able to get away with just wounding him and then leaving him be like the kneecapping incident, because the Savoys will want to finish the job, and what reason could he give them for refusing?

Killing Viktor is clearly not an option. He couldn't do it to Ivy and there is no way he can do it now. Betraying his trust, the years of always having each others backs, and the unlikely bond they shared when he left Lackadaisy, had been hard enough. However much he told himself it was "for his own good".

Now either Viktor or his invesitgation into Atlas's death are doomed. Likely both.

He has to try and force Viktor to retreat. He fires warning shots close enough for Viktor to feel the bullets fly past him but just miss his large frame.

Viktor knows how deadly Mordecai is at range and considering what limited weapons Viktor is working with surely the stubborn and still visibly injured and slower moving Ox for once will do the sensible thing!?

But there's a problem with that strategy. Viktor knows Mordecai. More specifically, he knows how well he shoots. He has seen him hit much less tall and broad targets in much more difficult circumstances without breaking a sweat, but here he is missing multiple shots? That's when what Ivy said months before comes back to him.

He knows Mordecai is missing those shots on purpose.

What the hell happens now?

Mordecai can't retreat but has no idea what to do either with Viktor clearly not backing off, while Viktor is not only too stubborn to do so but now knows Mordecai is trying not to shoot him. Does he take the opportunity to confront him? Get out from behind any cover and just start walking with as strong and determined a pace as his bad knees will allow? Does he want to pull Mordecai's head off his body, get payback for his knee, demand an explanation why someone he considered a friend betrayed him?

All the while, Mordecai is getting more and more panicked with every heavy step.

[muzansfangs]

hii ogm!! i'm loving the drink event and can't wait to see more stories! i wanted to request a manhattan with muzan (fem reader) where muzan is a politican, similar to in Kimetsu Academia where hes a politican!

sorry if i wasn't being to direct!

feel free to deny the request etc and have a great day! <3

The grass is greener on the other side.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, age gap between Muzan and the reader but the reader is 21, corruption kink, anal sex, modern au, unprotected sex, mention to reader stretching herself out before the encounter, pet names, slight degradation, use of handcuffs;

Plot: You knew only one thing for sure and thus was that Muzan Kibutsuji was your father’s rival. With the incoming election day, you were busy running errands for your father, when you found yourself face to face with the devil himself. From that infamous night, you always found yourself tangled into the silky bedsheets of Muzan’s bed, allowing him to strip you off of your sense of self-preservation, dignity and purity with every secret meeting.

Drink chosen: MANHATTAN (anal sex, corruption kink, handcuffs, shy reader);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Dad, I can't make it to the conference in time. My flight got cancelled. I'll take the next one in the morning" you blatantly lied to your father, eyes staring at the golden number decorating the white door of the hotel room you were supposed to meet the reason of your little defection at.

It was not the first time you abandoned your duty as the daughter of a man running for becoming the next Prime Minister to follow your lecherous whims. You felt ashamed of yourself, when this started. You were not that kind of girl, but this man had clearly brought out the worst in you, convincing you it was perfectly fine to fight for what you wanted. To be a little selfish was essential to live without regrets.

Even if your choices would have hurt and disappointed the ones you loved.

But if they did not know about your whereabous, they would have not suffered, right? Therefore, here you were, telling lies to the man who raised you, spoiled you and treated you like a princess since the day you were born. All of this for the sake of a secret affair with his younger rival, the very man he was competing with to conquer the hearts of the electors.

“Don’t worry, honey! You have already done so much for me. — your father reassured you from the other side of the phone, causing your stomach to clench as the remorse ate you from the inside out — You will attend the next one” he exclaimed confidently, while you fluttered your eyes close and nodded your head mournfully. If only he knew where you were, if only he saw you now, wearing that scanty dress to please Kibutsuji, he would have undoubtedly watched his perfect little girl turn into a stranger, a backstabber deserving nothing but vituperation.

“I’m sorry, dad. For real. I’ll be rooting for you anyway” you said with a tinge of sorrow in your voice, right before knocking on the door and hearing the sound of footsteps approaching it from the other side.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you will. I really have to go now! Take care” your father said then, right when two piercing red eyes locked with yours on the threshold of the hotel room you deemed as nothing more than the Gates of Hell.

Your breath was suddenly stuck in your throat and you barely forced yourself to end the call with a “Bye, dad” before Muzan snorted and stepped aside to invite you in. He was visibly displeased at the sweet way you had whispered the epithet rightfully reserved to the man you shared the same blood with.

He hated the fact that you were his daughter and, if he had to be honest with himself, he had decided to lure you in his den to get back at him. At least, at first. Horrified at the idea of growing attached to you, something that had inevitably already happened, he tried to act distant, but you constantly made it hard to let him consider you nothing more than a cheap harlot. Why? Those eyes of yours, your shyness, were endearing to say the least.

“You can’t stay away from me, can you?” he mocked you, closing the door behind you and watching as you kept your eyes transfixed on the polished marble floor under your shoes.

“I wish I could. It’s not that simple” you whispered, shrugging your coat off of your shoulders and abent-mindedly hooking it on the clothes hanger.

The moment your voluptuary curves were exposed to his gaze, you felt it. Shivers ran down your spine, while you did not dare to turn around and face him. It was unncessary, anyway. He walked stauntered towards you like a predator, his hands searching for yours as he pressed you against the wall. His cologne intoxicated you, while his hot breath fanned the shell of your ear in a scandalous way that made your thighs squeeze together. Planting your palms to the wall before you, he intertwined yours fingrs and nuzzled your cheek with his pointy nose.

“I think it’s true what they say. The things we love are frequently the ones that destroy us” he murmured in your ear, his lips tracing your jawline hazardously.

No matter how many times you had crumbled at his feet, granted him the chance to break you down and build you up again, his touch left you always in a haze. Your cheeks heated up, a knot between your eyebrows, as you tried to hide your face from him. If only you could understand how much that tender trait of your personality drove him nuts.

“Don’t hide from me” he stated, surprisingly tenderly as he reached his hand up to wrap it on the back of your neck.

His grip was secure, when he forced you to crane your neck to meet his gaze. His lips captured yours shamelessly, hungrily, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lap at your parted lips and enter your mouth with the same confidence he held when he walked on a stage. Arrogant and unhinged, demanding and never coy he snaked his arm around your waist to make sure your back was flattened against his firm body. Timid moans fell from your lips, sounds he galdly swallowed, whilst leading you towards the king-sized bed at his back.

Lifting your lids to peer up at him, you hesitantly turned around to be face to face with him and your hand cupped his smooth cheek to run your thumb over his cheekbone. Theoughout the time you two had spent together, you had learned to read his body language. He never gave you the chance to be the master of your sea, but he did not disdain small attentions that oulked the strings of his heart. He had almost given you the impression he was touch-starved, as a dog who had been forced to just bark and growl all of his life and showing off his sharp fangs to keep potential threats at bay.

Muzan had barely opened up with you about his past and personal life. All that he asked of you was someone to keep his bed warm at night, even if you had to crawl into the darkness with him to quench his thirst for you.

You kissed him again, slowly, making sure your bodies were pressed up, that not an inch stood between you two. He reciprocated your attention, careful to remark how you were merely able to take the initiative because he had reluctantly allowed you to. You would have never forgotten it anyway. Not when his hands unceremoniously tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders and proceeded in ripping it apart. You gasped, the sound of the garment coming apart at the seams making you knee buckle.

Muzan flicked his gaze up, tugging the ruined item down your curves to expose your body to him. The way you bit onto your lower lip nervously, still striving to avoid his plum red eyes made him want to ruin you over and over again. Every single time you two met, Muzan stripped you off of things he had yet to touch. Today was not an exception.

“What? Are you sulking over that dress? – he taunted you, quirking a dark eyebrow up before unbuckling his belt hastily – Ask your dad to buy you a new one. After all, he would be ecstatic to shower you in gifts” he bitterly commented, discarding the leather item onto the floor and shoving you down onto the bed by pushing onto your midriff.

His cold touch made your skin sizzle and your mouth went dry, when you lifted yourself up on your elbows, watching him stride to his suitcase and delving his hand into it, rummaging to draw something out.

“Or you wish it was me the one who sent gifts to you, huh? I bet you do. But, mon chéri, you know your dad would toss them into the bin. Therefore, I am forced to give you something else. Something your dad cannot see” he bantered again, his words sounding like a dagger in your heart, words representing the lyrics to the melody played by some metallic object clinking in his hands.

With your heart thrumming into your chest, you let your eyes wander to figure out the source of the chiming only to feel your breath hitch in your throat, when you found out they were shiny handcuffs. The look on your face spoke volumes, your body shuddering in anticipation as you kept on switching your focus from the object dangling from his index and his face.

Mischief twinkled in his eyes, watching in delight as you shifted your position on the bed in sheer desire and pure terror of exploring your tastes, terrorized to find out that you were probably as deranged as he was.

“You are noxious to me. You’ve poisoned me. I should not be here and let you mess me up” you uttered, sitting in a kneeling position on the snow-white sheets of the bed.

Muzan grinned and grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, face dangerously close to yours as he grinned at your face “Then why are you here? Why are you not in the crowd rooting for you daddy, huh? You’re royally screwing up, darling” he cooed, forcing you to lay face down on the bed.

With your cheek pressed against the rose-scented blankets, you chewed on the inside of your cheeks in a spiral of self-deprecation. He was right. You had deliberately chosen to follow him that infamous night and, much to your dismay, the following ones. It was all on you and your greedy heart, hypothetically assuming you still had one in your chest.

Muzan climbed on the bed behind you, his hands reaching for your wrists and pinning them togther behind your bed as he slapped the cuffs around them, factually preventing you from moving your arms freely.

“Have you done what I had asked of you?” he then inquired, hands already slipping underneath the waistband of your thong and dragging the thin item down your thigh.

“Yes, I did” you whispered, ashamed of yourself as he hummed in return.

The things you had done for him, things that had not even crossed your still innocent mind made you want to rip yourself apart. But how? How could you blame yourself for wanting him?

“Splendid. — Muzan chimed, reaching for something behind him on nightstand — Just relax. Look, I’ll let you see your beloved daddy while I fuck you up, alright?” he sarcastically taunted you, as you began to put the dots together. The remoter, he had grabbed the remoter. He remembered the exact hour your dad was supposed to speak to the Country.

Sweat beaded your forehead as you squirmed underneath him, a hoarse chuckle rambling from somewhere deep into his chest as the screen of the tv projected the smiling, proud face of your father. His eyes seemed to bore right into yours as Muzan fumbled behind you with his pants and grasped your hips into his calloused hands.

“Ah, look at him. My rival has a good taste in neckties. Where does he buy them? Marinella? Those are surely italian-coded” the raven-haired man behind you noted, deliviring another unfathomable kick in your guts.

“You are a bastard” you whispered, eyes widening as he pressed the girthy tip of his cock against your puckered hole. The stretch left you breathless, eyes watering in the process. Frankly, seeing the face of your father partially blurry was far way better than having a clear vision.

While Muzan grunted, makinf sure you could feel every inch of his cock dilating you, the words your dad said made you choke out an uncontrollable sob.

“My sweet daughter could not be by my side today. Her presence is a blessing. Hopefully, she’s now somewhere out there to bless someone else’s day. I love you, sweetheart!” your father said and there was a burst of applause to echo throughout the room.

Wincing softly in pain, hips rotating to accomodate to the intrusion in your most private area, you had to endure the way Muzan sneered and began to rhythmically thrust into you, a crazed expression on his face as he pounded into you without much care of your condition “Oh, you have no idea. Her ass is a fucking blessing, sir” he mocked your father, earning a stifle moan from you.

You wished you could space out, but it was impossible. The stimulation you were receiving was driving you mad. The pain gradually subsided, causing a series of unbridled moans to erupt from your throat. Drool was running down the angle of your mouth, back arching convulsively, as you heard every words your father said and felt every comment Muzan made.

“Fuck… Nah, I’m going to have to send my regards to your father, kitten. — he rasped out, giving you one last thrust, before pulling out with a groan and releasing onto the small of your back — After all, I’m going to steal his lucky charm from him, once I beat him” he whispered after a few seconds.

Trembling, astonished, you closed your eyes and laid there with a drained expression on your face. Muzan Kibutsuji was going to be the death of you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! The third request for my event is done! Honestly, I hope you’ve enjoyed this one as much as I did. Why? Guys, come on, it reflects my main story “Guilty pleasure”. I felt like I had deprived you of ‘Politician Muzan’ for way too long not to write this one as soon as possible. Now, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @doumadono @axesfordays @tomorika-pura @cursetopia @the-dark-creature @yazzzmints

[sammypinkgirl]

Fallout 4 Companions React to Sole Survivor’s last prewar day via Memory Pod (Part 1)

Piper (Platonic): She’d written a few minor stories about the memory pods before, most related to the addiction they could cause, or the benefits they’d had for Nick’s cases, but she’d never used one herself. She never felt the need to try it out. When Sole invited her to see inside their mind, she felt honored, and a little nervous. She never knew it would feel so real. She could feel the air conditioning of the home, taste the mint toothpaste in her mouth… she’d never had coffee before, but the memory of it was great. When she walked around the house, she couldn’t help but notice how…clean it all was, how strange it felt to her. It was nice, but felt alien to her. When she looked outside the living room window, all she could do was stare. The grass was green, and lush, the houses weren’t covered in rust…and the tree leaves were the most beautiful shades of red and orange she had ever seen. It was so different than anything she’d ever seen. She had always understood that Sole was from another time, another world, but seeing it took her breath away. When the moment came, and the bombs dropped from the sky, she finally understood, at least a little bit, what they had lost. It was such a wonderful experience at first, everything being pristine, and cozy, and then it was gone, in a fire ball taller than the trees. She felt the warmth of it wash over her. That was where her world came from. When it was all over, she felt like she wanted to share it, to show the world, but she knew this was something personal to Sole. With their permission, she’d write about it, tell her side of it.

Piper (Romanced): It was…strange seeing it all in person. She felt awe of course, at tue beauty and the cleanliness of it all. The sights outside were something unlike anything she had ever seen, the grass greener than the walls of Diamond City, but what she really felt was uncertainty. How did her life compare to what Sole had had before? How could she compete with the life they’d had with their spouse? She knew love wasn’t a competition, and that Sole loved her all the same, but she couldn’t help feeling lesser when she came out of the pod. A little girl and a printing press was all she’d been able to give herself. Would that be enough for Sole? Piper would need reassurance afterwards, and feel lucky for Sole’s affection.

Nick (Platonic): When he’d been plugged into the memory pod array to give Sole access to Kellogg’s mind, he hadn’t been expecting to see the other end. When he found himself standing in front of a bathroom mirror, with a woman’s hand on his shoulder, he was surprised to say the least. He had to assume that it meant something was going right on Kellogg’s end, and that the minds were linked after all. He hadn’t meant to pry, of course, but found himself going about Sole’s morning routine. After all, it might be helpful to the case. Eventually, he had to admit, Sole had a dashing/stunning spouse. When he got to the kitchen, tasting coffee again, he was delighted. God how he missed coffee. Seeing the view outside, the news on TV, it all took him back to before the war. He felt at ease in the memory, at least for a while. When he saw baby Shaun, he made sure to check for any distinguishing features, anything that could help him stick out from a crowd of other infants. Overall, Shaun was a cute kid, but not overly remarkable to look at. There wasn’t anything in the ways of birthmarks, etc. When the bombs fell, and Nick watched from the vault platform, he was deeply saddened. His prewar memories stopped weeks before the bombs, getting his brain scanned was the end of it. Seeing the bombs drop before his eyes made him so….sickened. It was just horrible.

Cait (Platonic): It was all too much. She’d been uncomfortable with entering the pods in the first place, but now that she was seeing the memories in person, she felt terribly out of place. The prewar house felt like somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. It was too clean, too nice for her. It made her on edge, like it was fake. This just…couldn’t be how it was. It didn’t even compare to the world she knew, the one she grew up in. She’d seen the world at its worst. It was so strange to see something like this. She’d been a slave, been through worse things than most…how the hell had the world been like this once? When Cait saw the bombs drop, she couldn’t help herself from feeling hate, feeling like humanity was the lowest form of life for being so stupid. The things she’d liked about it were the little things. The TV was very odd to see working. She’d never really understood the idea of it before. She’d always compared it to a radio. Oh, and she’d thought coffee tasted like shit. It was terrible.

Cait (Romanced): Seeing the last day Sole spent prewar made her understand her partner better. When she went into the pod, she’d made sure to tell Sole she was only going it because they wanted her to, and that it was okay for them to call it off. Seeing her one love’s life before the war made her realize just how good they’d had it before. What kind of life would she be able to give them? Why the hell would they have picked her? How could they have fallen in love with anyone after losing all of this? It didn’t make sense to her, but she felt damn lucky to be the one they chose to love, even when their life had changed completely.

Codsworth: He’d seen the world before the bombs, and the memories Sole had offered to show him here ones he’d been present for. He’d declined their offer to show him, after all, he’d been there.

Curie (Platonic): Seeing Sole’s memories of their last day before the bombs was inspiring to her. She felt like she had the chance to see what many didn’t, and now with her new synth body, she could feel the emotions with it. Seeing the prewar morning, the green grass, and the cozy neighborhood made her want to do more for others, to pursue scientific research more than before. She needed to do more for people, and better the world however she could, now with a clear vision of what had been lost. Someone that stuck out to her was Codsworth, a robot so loyally serving in a modest kitchen…she felt strange, but couldn’t place why. Over all, she felt pleased by her experience in the memory lounger. She would be overjoyed, if not for the fact that the world had fallen so far.

Curie (Romanced): Curie felt honored that Sole would welcome her into their memories. That was something so personal to share, something that she felt was a true kindness to her. When she saw the prewar life that Sole had, even for the briefest of moments, she couldn’t help but feel like she could do more for them. She had plenty of prewar data in her mind, of course, but now she could understand what Sole had lost on a deeper level. When she saw baby Shaun in his crib, she felt saddened by his loss, and also overwhelmed by his cuteness. Was she feeling…mother’s instincts? She felt strangely protective of the infant in that moment. No matter what though, Curie would find herself being sure to do something special for Sole when she got out of the memory lounger.

[fire-but-ashes-too]

(Writerblr) intro post!

Hi! welcome to my blog! this is my (very late) writerblr/general/artblr intro, or just somewhere with all my general informations :)

please, go on and read *bows*

☆ Ash is my name on here and i go by she/her

★ Im a teen writer and artist, but i dream of acting

☆ im from italy

★ pan ace and quoiromantic (or wtfromantic its the same) (im still kinda questioning tho??? probs demiromantic??? idk?? feelings r weird atm)

☆ entp and introvert

★ im always up for tag games or stuff like that :)

☆ recently added tags! #ash writes- my writing ofc #ash and her rants- just me talking abt random stuff could be anything serious or not #ash on fire- probs me fangirling over something lol i may get overexcited beware

★ i relate to a spiritual and psychological level to black cats and all their other forms (aka regulus black, tori spring, aristotle mendoza etc etc etc)

i mostly write fantasy or fanfiction, but sometimes i engage in various genres as mystery, dystopian or surrealism :)

★ So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

genre: fanfiction

audience: general/ teen and up

tropes: rivals to lovers, college AU, slow burn, a lot of fencing, paris✨

cw/tw: past rape/non con, ptsd, homophobia, wounds/blood

progress: i try to update every week but nothing's promised 🥲

snippet here:

Years ago he’d learned to mask his handwriting, so now he could easily forge any handwriting he wanted, if he was given a good example of it being used. There was something extremely interesting in how each person connected two letters to each other. How they wrote an “ar” was different from how they would write an “or”, how much the words were apart from each other and how much pressure they put in the paper told a lot about someone, to him it was like zodiac signs. He didn’t always have to copy other handwritings, not unless he wanted to throw the blame on that person. He just had to invent a brand new writing style, and be careful to not slip his between the cracks. And that’s exctly what he did in the letter. Before Jesper could finish his monologue about how much he had missed out in the past few months holed up in his office, a blackmail threat was ready to be closed inside the paper envelope, just the signature was missing, but he didn’t bother to add it. A proper threat always had to be anonymous, it was always better to give as little information you could. Everything could be used against you. The maroon wax sealed the opening with a satisfying fizzling and a single wisp of smoke. The clock chimed on the wall, it was already 6 pm, he had to go finish some assignments.

(previously titled: questionable decisions)

☆ The Rogue

genre: fantasy, dystopian

audience: teen and up

setting: a fantasy world im currently busy (trying) building

progress: just vibes really, two mainc characters, a couple sides and an outline plus one of the first chapters, not much really but im working on it

characters:

anne: the rogue from where i took the title.

shes a 17 y/o girl who lives in a bunker in a forest, on the run from the government as she's a "high traitor and liar who must be destroyed".

she has the ability to modify her face and appereance for a while and she has a prosthetic arm connected to her virtual friend Indigo.

thanks to it she's able to teleport and keep track of various things.

alexander: the son of the dictator, he's lived his life in a bubble until 2 years ago, when he finally managed to get more social contacts with people and (slightly) catch up on what he's missed, behind his father's back of course.

he meets anne when she's captured and figures she's his best shot at escaping his father domain.

snippet:

This time, she materialised in the shadows behind a bulding, which gave her enough cove for her to shift her facial features. Her nose a little bigger, her hair some shades brighter, her eyes more elongated and greener than the grass growing outside her doorstep and a splash of freckles to top it all off. It was way harder to do it without a mirror, and way more dangerous. For all she knew, she could’ve been looking like a girl with a fish head, and she didn’t know if that would be better or worse than looking like herself. Anne took out a hat and a silk scarf, she wrapped it around her neck and jumped in a group of tourists gazing at the city. In no time she was in the square, vendor’s stands circling her, colourful flags waving in the wind. She could’ve stayed like that for ever, stuck in the memories of her old life, but she knew it couldn’t last forever.

★ Flowers and Homicide

genre: mystery

audience: general

cw/tw: blood, dead bodies, autopsies

main character: Giada

she's a forensics student who one day stumbles (metaphorically) over a dead body in her neighbour's lawn and starts investigating.

progress: actually finished but in italian sadly so in the translation process

☆ Confessions of a timeless man

genre: short story, surrealistic

audience: teen and up

content warning: suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression

plot summary: a man is stuck living the same day over and over, after almost 10 years there, he tries to escape his curse by killing himself

progress: completed XD

(here's my ao3 btw)

you want to know more about me! why than you, here you go!

★ my favourite artists are Taylor Swift, Conan Gray, Arctic Monkeys, Chase Atlantic, Marina, Lana del Rey, Sabrina Carpenter, Mother Mother and Billie Eilish (theres more but i cant remember whoops)

☆ synesthetic bitch

★ other than writing, art-ing and reading i love baking/cooking and crocheting

☆ theatre kid over here, always up for screaming my lungs out

★ uhhh im a vegetarian

☆ i know a scary amount about death and murder (especially poisons)

★ i dont have a specific vibe, it usually changes every few months or so

☆ i probably have anxiety but ive never been to therapy so idk 💀

★ always up for fangirling :3 (im in too many fandoms *cries* buuut im most active on pjo, marauders, grishaverse and osemanverse, musicals and some books that i have boards for on my pinterest :D)

☆ i am terribly scared of insects, needles and dogs

★ my (quite unusual) sport is aerial dance, a circus speciality that looks really cool but is acctually really painful

☆ my pinterest, spotify and goodreads if by some reason you're really interested in the chaotic human being that i am :)

thank you for reading this farrr🥹🥹

have a great day/night/life :D

[nijigasakilove]

Well things are definitely moving quickly with Tsubasa and Fuyuki! Already on their first date.

The winter festival looked really fun. I’d love to go to one one day. Seeing an outsider enjoy the local Kitami charm made Fuyuki appreciate how nice her hometown is which was sweet. Grass is always greener on the other side, but the space, vibes and atmosphere of Hokkaido are unmatched.

Speaking of which, eating lunch together at school and getting a little sampler of local Hokkaido foods and treats was awesome. There’s way too much Tokyo slice of life stuff these days so seeing Hokkaido which is kind of like the last frontier of the main islands being highlighted like this is great.

Nice dose of ecchi today with the igloo scene. Fuyuki really gotta be more careful with her phrasing. Poor Tsubasa grandma damn near had a heart attack thinking she’d witnessed something she shouldn’t have lmao. Everything came full circle since Fuyuki had just mentioned wanting to marry his grandma earlier in the ep, and they end up meeting at the end.

He looks so happy when he’s with Fuyuki and everyone around can tell. I’m happy for him.

So far first two episodes have been ok. My main issue is things are moving a little too fast between the two leads. As soon as they met she was all over him and now they’re already on dates and hanging out with family etc. I know you probably have to do that to keep the target audience engaged, but taking things a little slower would’ve been nice. Then of course the usual shonen romance MC syndrome with him being flustered all the time, but it is what it is.

Main girl is cute and it’s hokkaido based which is enough for rn.

[velvetvexations]

Not to sound self aggrandizing or anything but like, I feel like it's pretty easy not to be purposefully mean to people? Like I'll be the first to admit I sometimes have initial reactionary thoughts that are bigoted (in this case transmisogynistic) on account of growing up in a society that is bigoted. I'm not perfect;no one is. But like, it takes all of three seconds to think "hey would it be acting like an asshole to make my own insecurities/imperfections/lack of growth someone else's problem" and just not post things online that make it seem like trans women have it easy. Like sometimes I'll find myself feeling resentful/jealous over transfemmes visibility, or perceived ability to pass easier than I can. But like, I take a deep breath, listen to the lived experiences of transfemmes, and remember that I don't know their lives better than they do and that's my own insecurity about myself talking, not a realistic understanding of reality. Visibility might feel like a privilage when youve been erased, but it's just a different side of the same negative coin and all that

I do the same thing with nonbinary people sometimes even despite being nonbinary myself! I just don't act on my knee jerk responses and assumptions. It's so easy to have a knee jerk reaction of "I'm hurting how could you be hurting when you're so different from me", but it's also easy to think am I focusing my ire on deserving targets or just the ones closest to me and not put my words into the world until I've worked through that

So I can empathize with transfemmes who feel like it would be easier to be any other type of trans (the grass is always greener), but like it's not hard to take a second to think, is this based in reality or based on my own limited perspective and does this line up with other people's lived experiences

(also this is not "I'm better than transfemmes" ofc cause it's only a small minority who do this, and plenty of other trans people do the same thing in other directions etc. It's a widespread issue among all groups. This is just in the specific context of current discourse. It just feels weird to watch people be seemingly purposefully obtuse and cruel when to me it's just a rule of politeness not to do that kind of thing)

It requires a degree of self-awareness, which is sorely lacking in some people.

[missmastectomy]

So I need some advice, and since you've detransitioned I feel like you definitely have the experiences I'm looking to hear about most, if you're up for answering this, I would be most appreciative.

To start, I am a gay, gender nonconforming (masculine) woman who is over the age of 21 (I know your opinion on transitioning for minors, which I agree with 100%) and has identified as trans male in the past but never medically transitioned.

I identified as male for about five years as a teenager and I was "out" socially but living and constantly comparing myself to cis men made my already low self esteem plummet. Like a lot of trans teenagers I have a host of mental health issues at play and was very depressed. Had two hospital stays for suicide attempts.

Thankfully I've mostly recovered from the lowest points of my clinical depression and gender dysphoria, but I find myself constantly asking whether I would enjoy my life more as a male. Its just this nagging question in the back of my head, that being regarded socially as male would alleviate my discomfort in a world that is often hostile in regards to women, especially masculine ones.

I work in a department full of males where I am in the only female and sometimes its very alienating. Sometimes I think of transitioning as a way to better fit in. However I would hate for anyone to know I'm trans, because that's still "different". I want to be cis male and it pains me that I can never be that.

My girlfriend recently brought up the whole subject of transitioning to me, and she means well. I think she wants what's best for me and was there the entire time I came out and then subsequently desisted. She has seen me struggle and thinks the best option for me might be transitioning, she says she'll love me no matter what I decide though.

But I decided to come to you and ask because I feel like you'll be more honest with me about the actual medical side effects than other trans people might be reluctant to share. Is this sustainable? At all? I want to be able to live in comfort. What made you decide to transition? Also, why did you decide to detransition? I don't mean to interrogate you I just think hearing about someone else's lived experience would be very helpful to me right now. Did you pass well after you medically transitioned? That is one of the biggest things I care about. I guess I would want to "stealth" as much as possible. Be as close to the male experience as possible. Is this a case of thinking the grass is greener on the other side?

Again, many thanks if you decide to answer this I know its a long and personal ask

So the first thing I want to say is that I do not recommend transition for anyone, in a similar way that I don't recommend using alcohol to deal with social anxiety issues or depression. I'll get into why later, but also transition is a personal choice, and since you're an adult I believe you have the right to make that choice. I consider transition to be a maladaptive coping mechanism.

Thanks for reaching out - my blog is always a resource for people who want to learn more from the detrans perspective, and I actively encourage y'all to get in touch if you have questions.

So, I'll try to cover as much ground as possible. I want to address medical issues first. Taking T comes with a LOT of medical sacrifices and no, most endos will not be honest with you about that. Testosterone is an anabolic steroid and is highly controlled, especially for non-trans identified females. Taking a male dosage of T as a female means a very high likelihood of vaginal and uterine atrophy, and there is a high likelihood it will happen to you if you're on a high enough dosage for long enough. Atrophy is no joke. It can cause cracking and bleeding in the vaginal canal, can make it uncomortable/painful to walk, etc. There is more research coming out that HRT is linked with cancer development, and transmen are at a high likelihood of developing cardiac diseases. I know one detrans woman who developed cysts all over her ovaries post-T. It's why many transmen get hysterectomies - because T literally degrades your reproductive system. Our bodies require a certain amount of estrogen to function properly, and removing that will cause issues. Is it worth sacrificing your long-term health to cope with dysphoria? I personally think for most people the answer is no. People don't understand how important health really is until it is taken away.

Aesthetically, your hairline will probably take on a male-pattern. So many transmen and detrans women have balding issues after a few years because again, our bodies are not built for this level of male hormones.

I passed fully as male because I already have a strong face and I started hormones very young, but passing as male is not guaranteed if you take T. Especially because more people are recognizing the "tells" for transmen, there's still a likelihood you'll get clocked. I personally transitioned because I felt unsafe being female and wanted to escape that, also internalized homophobia. I detransitioned because top surgery made me comfortable in my body short-term, because the trigger for my self-hatred was removed. I deeply regret this now. It was a permanent "solution" to a temporary problem.

You mention that you want to transition to be seen as a man, that it would be more comfortable. I know you said you can't be seen as male unconditionally, but I really want to hammer home that if you pass as a man, you will live life as a transman, not a man. It is so common for masculine women to transition to escape the stigma of being a woman, but let me tell you firsthand that transition will just give you more problems to deal with. Health problems, anxiety - am I passing? Do they know I'm trans? The doubt - am I doing this for the right reasons? And I hear doubt in this ask. If you are not 110% sure you cannot function without transition, do not do it. Even then, I was completely sure and I still detransitioned.

And if you do decide to detransition, you may want to be seen as a woman unconditionally again, which is hard. I am at that point now, but I had to gruel through years before I got there. I wish I had saved myself the trouble and someone had gotten me the help I needed, instead of affirming me.

That you had a lot of mental health issues is a huge red flag. Personally, I read this ask and this comes across as a woman struggling with her identity and coming to grips with being masculine. I see a lot of the traits that caused my transition. I'd step away from trans spaces and look at accounts from butch women who recovered from dysphoria, finding beauty in being masculine. It helps a lot to retrain your brain. It doesn't matter what people's misconceptions of you are. How much respect do you have for your coworkers? Are they neutral parties, or are they men with their own prejudices against women, coloring the way that treat and perceive you? Are the judgements of strangers worth altering yourself so much? My answer, personally, is always no. Being true to your real self will always get you farther than trying to escape the problems. Deal with the feelings that brought you here, and your mental health will be so much better for it.

I do not find transition to be sustainable. It IS a grass is greener on the other side situation. Your GF is trying to be supportive, but she doesn't understand the reality of a medical transition. People will often affirm this desire because they mistakenly believe it will deal with the surface-level issues, but it will not. At the end of the day, you are still there. The problems will persist, but they will just take another form.

Anyway, I hope this was helpful! Feel free to ask or DM me if you have more questions. Again, from reading your ask I do not think transition would be a good choice. But that is my opinion as a stranger. At the end of the day, only you can decide.

[charmedreincarnation]

Hi Maya I just want to say I love your blog! You’re super sweet and have great info and you’re my comfort page

And i don’t know how to ask this but I see people change their life from depressed and ugly and broke to beautiful loved rich etc etc and you talk about how you changed your life so much so like do you cry and stuff or is everything perfect bc I see people and I’m like wow if I had that life I would never complain and now I actually know I can manifest that life with the void state it’s so exciting to know I’ll never be sad again or am I false in my assumption ?

Hey love thank you 💗💗💗 I’m glad you like my page ilysm

For the second part, girl yes I cry haha. Also I want to start of with manifesting or not, there’s always going to be someone you think is prettier, someone who’s richer, taller, and smarter in our minds. Human ego always wants us to Strive to be the best so no matter how much you Have you always want more. I mean look, even Elon musk is constantly looking for way to make more money, Madison beer openly talks about her insecurities and the days she feels bad, Stephen Hawkins openly talked about how his intelligence was isolating and he’d rather have an average IQ, etc etc. not to mention after some time living your dream life, I know it’s hard to believe but you get used to it. There’s a concept for this I answered a while back but no matter how rich, pretty or drastic your life changes it will become normal to you at a certain time and you will again want to improve and want more

I mean even today I cried because I was talking about my anxiety (which I didn’t manifest away for a reason, but I cope much better) and someone was telling me I should have nothing to complain about if I’m wealthy and conveniently attractive. And trust me , I use to think that way with celebs before I started listening to them talk about their issues. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side

I mean, yes wealth and beauty helps. But It doesn’t change the fact you’re human and will experience human emotions so your feelings shouldn’t be invalidated 😭😭💀 but I’m just glad now I have an amazing support group who comforted me rather than having to deal with that alone, so that part in my life definitely changed and has been the most beneficial 🥰🥰 regardless I love my life and when I cry I feel super slay and sexy afterwards. It’s good to cry no matter how much you manifest. Periodt, but I do definitely cry way less. Also my period is about to start so maybe it was that as well too idk 😭💀

Sorry this answer is going everywhere but I also had an ask that was like “ waa waa if you all entered the void why didn’t you manifest a perfect no bad things happen type of life Ogooo bogaaaa y’all are liars” 🦧🦍🦍🐒🐒” like bruh for me a perfect life is one where I can make mistakes and still grow and have a great fulfilling life. Who tf is trying to live in a dystopian? have you ever taken a science fiction class, they don’t exist as long as you’re a human. And I’m trying to live a human life, not be a Mary Sue. At least not in this reality but that’s just me.

[thesupreme316]

Is the Grass Greener on the Other Side?/ EP.2

Summary: After meeting up with some old friends, Y/N questions whether she is truly happy as seeds of doubt and possibility are planted in her mind.

Word Count: 3K

Supreme Speaks: Carmelo Hayes real name is Christian and it will be interchangeable throughout the story. i hope everyone is doing well and remember you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: slightly proofread, wrestling storylines (actions/reactions and participants) are changed, mentions of toxic relationship, please don’t take any negative depictions of characters to heart (i just needed “toxic” people)

Link to Part I

——April 2022 (Three days after WrestleMania)——

You didn’t know what to expect from this meeting. Maybe just two people catching up, or some bitter (barely) feelings thrown around, or maybe even an awkward silence. But whatever it may be, you were ready for it all. You walked into the restaurant that you both agreed to meet up at and sat down at your reserved seat. You were surprised that the paparazzi were not following you (as it’s been an issue for years now). 

“It’s been a while girlie.” A voice said, approaching your table. You looked up to find a beautiful white smile. You got up and hugged your friend before sitting down again.

“It’s been a while indeed, Jamie. You look great!” You exclaimed, making her smile. Jamie Hayter, who you know as Paige, is a well-renowned wrestler and was once your beloved closest friend in the independent scene, especially when you were in Europe and Japan. You fought each other and teamed with each other multiple times, making both of you the best up-and-coming stars in the business. Down the line, you drifted apart, not for anything wrong, but because your schedules didn’t align.

She chuckled while sitting down, “Why do you have to call me by my ring name?” 

“I thought you would like it since it rolls off the tongue.” You said before drinking your water.

“Darling, you are one of the few who can call me Paige.” She said winking at you, making you giggle. As long as you could remember, she was the only woman who could make you giggle like a schoolgirl (especially with her beautiful accent). The waiter came up and the two of you ordered food, before returning to your conversation. “Well, again congratulations champ. Always knew you would do it. How does it feel to be on top of the world?”

“Great, but you should know the future Owen Hart tournament winner.” You said, making her look at you with surprise. “What? You look shocked.”

“I’m surprised that you know that I’m in the tournament. I thought your company didn’t allow that.” She teased. While it was true that WWE and AEW had their problems, you would never allow that to get in the way of you supporting your friends. A lot of your talented friends now work for AEW (either starting there or leaving WWE), quietly leaving you alone in the company. Sure you had the friends that you made in WWE like Bianca, Trinity, Thea Trinidad (Zelina Vega), etc. But sometimes you wished you were around your friends from the Indies.

“Now, with such a big name like yours, I always hear about you. You’re all over my Twitter timeline.” You responded. “But speaking about companies, how’s AEW treating you?”

Paige smiled, “Great! Met some great people like Britt and Rebel. The company allows us to work storylines out for our characters. There’s barely any scripts, many gimmicks thrive on the wrestlers having control and not the creative team. It genuinely feels like I’m in control of myself! They really do care about their roster.” As she continued to positively rant about her company, you couldn’t help but show a smile at her words. You were happy for her; if anything she deserves this; a great boss, great friends, amazing opportunities, thriving career. But could you say the same for yourself? 

“Well, enough about me. What about you, darling? WWE still treating you the same?” Paige said with a big smile, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Shutting your eyes and slightly chuckling to yourself, “Yeah, more or less.” You started to drink more of your water as Paige just started to look blankly at you with a tilted head. “What?”

“Everything okay?”

Nervously chuckling, you said “Yeah, yeah. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m the champ, I got everything I want right now for the most part.” You looked down at the table

Over time, you started to feel like the magic of WWE is wearing off. Sure, you got the opportunities that some would dream of; but it always feels like it’s gonna get taken away from you at any second. And at some times…it does…and it’s given to their star of the month. Sometimes, you didn’t feel secure in your place. Although you knew your value, worth, and how much you could make (shit, they tell you almost every single day), it didn’t feel like WWE knew it.

“Y/N” She started, making you look up at her. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. You know I won’t judge.” She said, trying to make you talk. But by you just staring back into her eyes (as if looks could kill), she knew you wouldn’t go into detail. She sighed, “Y/N-“

“I’ll explain later, it’s just that I would like to figure out everything before I start talking. Besides, I’m tired of talking about work. I literally have to do it every single day this week.” You joked making her playfully roll her eyes.

“Alright, Y/R/N,” Paige said mockingly, then her eyes lit up with a gleam of mischief. “Let’s talk about other things.”

——Time Skip; 8 hours later——

After lunch with Paige, you had two interviews that just tired you out. For this evening, you were supposed to have dinner with another friend but you ask if you could change plans so you get out of public superstar mode. Thankfully they agreed and said just to dress down/laid back. You were changing into more comfortable clothes when Mercedes and Trinity walked in. Mercedes immediately kicked off her heels as Trinity flopped on your bed. “Long day?”

Mercedes groaned loudly, “Oh my god, yes, that dreaded interview with that one dude was so long for no reason.”

“T, are you okay?” You asked putting on a beanie. For some reason, it was getting really cold at night, despite Texas being hot (global warming). 

“This damn thing is killing me!” Trinity exclaimed, slamming down her throwing her shoe off as well. “At least I looked good." You continued to fix your hair. “Speaking of looking good, where are you going at this time of night?”

“T, it’s only 8 PM.” You said as she had a look that said ‘and?’. You sighed with a smile and said “I’m going out with a friend to catch up.”

“Okay, that doesn’t explain why you look so good.”

Laughing you said, “Girl, please I always look good, even right now when I’m wearing sweatpants and no makeup.”

But to Trinity, you didn’t say anything so she continued speaking. “Unless your quote-on-quote friend is a good-looking guy.” Her eyebrows raised as she smirked like a cartoon villain at you.

"He's very good-looking indeed," Mercedes smirked. 

Trinity squealed before abruptly stopping. She asked, “How does Christian (Carmelo) feel about this?”

You rolled your eyes at the mention of your boyfriend, who was pissing you off at the moment. One minute he was clinging on to you for dear life, the next minute he acted like you’re a stranger on the street. You blame it on the work schedule and pressure from backstage politics; on the other, you wonder if it was you. “He’s fine. I told him that I would be catching up with old friends today. He said that he had other plans today anyways.” 

Your phone beeped with a text message, you started to walk the door before Trinity stopped you.

“So who is he?” She asked

Before you could answer, Mercedes interjected, “On a friendly date with an old friend who should’ve and could’ve been her boyfriend," She smirked.

“Ooo, he is better than Christian?”

“In my opinion, more so the perfect fit for Y/N than him.” She said making Trinity laugh. Rolling your eyes, you shouted bye at the two as Mercedes spoke up again, “Tell Garcia I said hi-“ Slamming the door you raced for the elevator, going down to the first floor. But you couldn’t help to think about what Mercedes said; was there truly someone else who was better for you than Christian?

Maybe…Possibly…

Upon the elevator opening, you were face to face with hazel eyes. Examining his face, a wide smile broke out on your face as you quickly hugged each other. He lifted you a little bit off the floor before putting you back down. His laugh rumbled in your neck before you two broke away from the hug. Daniel gave you his signature cat-like smile as he fixed your hat.

“You still wear the same cologne?” You asked as you two started walking outside.

“Well, I remember you saying it was your favorite. So I had to make sure it made an appearance.” He said looking up at the sky. You met Daniel four years ago in 2018 when he made his debut in WWE. Even though he was there for only a short amount of time, you two instantly formed a bond. You were there for each other: when he was in that horrific accident, when he lost his teeth in a match, when you nearly broke your hand while doing something stupid, or when you just needed to rant. But just like how it was with you and Paige, you and Daniel couldn’t talk that much anymore due to the differences in schedules and workload. But it still never stopped you two from being there for each other.

There was a moment of comfortable silence before he spoke up again, “So how’s being champ?”

Groaning you said, “If I hear that one more time I might just stand in the middle of the road” It’s true, you were tired of being asked about your professional life and career already, and it’s only been three days since you won the title. 

Daniel laughed, “Okay, okay. Well, let’s switch it up. How’s Y/N doing? Not Y/R/N (your ring name).” 

“Great! Living the dream and getting everything I ever wanted: the title, house, car, relationship” You looked up to Daniel, who was just making a ‘be real’ face. You stopped walking for a bit and decided to answer truthfully. “She’s tired, to be honest. So much of her career is flooding into her personal life and she doesn’t know how to handle it.” You don’t know what made you tell this to Daniel when you wouldn’t tell Paige or not even Mercedes and Trinity. But it felt good to reveal the emotions that have been eating away at you ever since the beginning of the year. 

Daniel just looked at you, quickly biting his lip before standing in front of you. “Can you promise me something?” He asked with a glint (of something that you didn’t know how to describe) in his eye. You nodded and waited for him to continue. “For tonight, and any other time we talk, promise me you will take the Y/R/N mask off when it’s just us. We’ve known each other long enough to just be us as people, not gimmicks or anything like that. And I’ll promise to not ask you about work.” You lifted your pinky, signifying a pink swear. He smiled and wrapped his pinky around yours, sealing the promise. His hand lingered a bit on your hand as his eyes kept watching you, before returning to his original place beside you.

You two resumed walking, talking about everything and nothing (just making up for lost time). Along the lines, you and Daniel got hungry and decided to go to the convenience store for a quick snack. While shopping for snacks, you asked, “So how’s AEW?”

He opened his mouth in disbelief.“So I can’t ask you about work, but you can ask me?” He exclaimed

“Uh, yeah.” You said grabbing two drinks from the cooler.

He shook his head as he grabbed some chips. “It’s great. The fact that I get to work with the idols I grew up watching is insane. It’s a great environment for everyone to thrive in. But,” He paused, “It doesn’t have the one thing that WWE has that I really wished was there. Honestly, between AEW and WWE, that one thing was gonna be a deal breaker for me.”

“Oh yeah, what was it? An infinite number of bad hats?” You joked.

Daniel chuckled, “No…it doesn’t have you.” You looked up at him with wide surprised eyes, Daniel’s face remained unfazed; serious with the same mysterious glint in his eyes from earlier. Your face started to heat up as you took in the statement. He could have meant that in a friendly way or in a professional way. Quickly, you quickly (and poorly faked) cough to move on from the flattering subject.

“Danny, did you just call me a thing?” You said playfully turning back to the sweets and candy. 

“Y/N! I’m serious, not bout you being a thing, but about the deal breaker. Sometimes I wished I took the WWE offer just to see you every day. But as you told me when I was making my decision, I need to do what’s best for my career. And that’s what I did.” He said before muttering something under his breath. When you asked about what he said, he just shook you off and told you not to mind it.

You still were trying to comprehend what happened and what he meant as you started to walk around the city again. Your heart skipped a beat when he was talking about you being the dealbreaker and it just made you feel warmer that Daniel would value your friendship that much. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but think about Mercedes' words before you left. Did she really see you and Daniel together? The better question is could you see yourself with Daniel?

That was a question you didn’t wanna answer…at least not right now…

After a couple of more minutes out together, you decided to call it a night (as it was almost 11:30 PM). He walked you back to your hotel, hugging you as you entered the plaza. 

You two agreed to keeping in contact before breaking apart the hug. Daniel lifted his pinky and you quickly wrapped yours around his, sealing the promise. He said he’ll text you when he gets back to his hotel. As the elevator doors closed to take you to your floor, you exhaled a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding. You felt overwhelmed (but at the same time satisfied) from the day and just wanted to go to sleep.

Walking in, you saw that Mercedes was asleep. You took off your shoes and took out your phone, scrolling through your phone when you were tagged in a tweet a little while ago. 

With a slight smile, you liked the tweet. But then a text from a certain someone, made your smile turn into a frown.

Silently groaning, you turned off your phone before finally drifting to sleep, in hopes for tomorrow to be good for you.

——May 2022 (Friday after Backlash)——

For the past month, everything seemed to be going okay for you. Christian has been on your good side (frequently sending flowers and gifts to you), meeting incredible fans all around the world, and you successfully defended the title at Backlash against Liv Morgan. You liked Liv, you were a fan of her personality and in-ring personality; you could definitely see her becoming a future women’s champion. It was a pleasure to work with her in the ring, but now, it’s time to move on to other challengers. 

To discuss how you and your championship should be perceived and booked, you were about to have a meeting with John Laurinatitis, Triple H (Paul), and Vince McMahon. Walking into the arena, you already didn’t feel good as it felt like something was gonna go wrong. But you were determined not to let this ruin your day, so with a smile, you gripped your championship that was wrapped on your shoulder and knocked on the door that had Vince’s name on it. 

Upon entering the room, you brightly greeted the three gentlemen. You sat down, setting your title on your lap. Vince, being a man of power and business, wanted to get straight into business.

“Y/N, how do you feel as the champion?” Vince asked.

Clearing your throat, you said “I’m extremely grateful to even be called a champion of the division. I’m just happy to be here and help the other women take the division to new heights” You smiled. The words were true as you were happy to be seen as the leader of the locker, with almost all the girls looking at you with respect and admiration like how you do to them.

Vince, John, and Paul all had smiles on their faces, but it was ranging emotions. John and Vince had these happy smiles while Paul had a smile that almost resembled sadness. He didn’t look at you but rather off to the side as John and Vince kept talking. 

“That’s great to hear because, as you already know, we trust you with the division. And we like how well you work with the other women. But now that Charlotte’s out of the picture for a little while, we need to build a create a new top women’s feud for Smackdown. Especially for longevity.” John said

You don’t know why, but your heart started to pick up the pace, to the point where you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Everything was making you nervous from Paul not making eye contact to John essentially sweet talking you to Vince staring down and analyzing your facial expressions. However, you were determined to not let this intimidate you.

“We think it’ll be the best option for you to enter a feud with another megastar,” Vince said with a smile. 

Your smile never faltered. You were excited for the next challenger, you hoped it could be Natalya, Alexa, or even Becky. But the next words out of Vince’s mouth would wipe that smile off your face and make your heart stop beating in complete anger.

“Sooner or later….

you’re gonna drop the title to Ronda.”

-----------

Taglist (if you wanna be a part of it, lemme know): @triscillal @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom @hooks-martin​ @hookerforhook​

[destinyc1020]

Hi 👋🏽 lurker here. I love your page but honestly feel too grown to comment on tumblr most of the time 😂

just wanted to chime in to say the biracial/black women convo is important and I really appreciate your perspective. I’m around Zendaya’s age, (slightly) older and I’m also a (biracial) light skinned black woman. Same foundation shade as Zendaya actually 😂. I can tell you this discourse was not a thing growing up. We were black, considered black by society, etc. it wasn’t until the past 5 years that I’ve seen people feel the need to distinguish us as “biracials” and honestly it has been a little hurtful and neglects our experiences as biracial black people. Yes we have privilege, absolutely. Now that I live in a city, I feel that more readily. I was also raised around a lot of white people so I can adapt fluidly in white spaces, which has been immensely helpful in my career. But all grass isn’t always greener on the other side, if that makes sense.

For example, I grew up in a rural sundown town. Guess what? I was the only black person many of them had ever seen, and on top of that being biracial made me, and I quote, an “abomination”. Can’t tell you how many times I heard that growing up. And I imagine even in hollywood there are remnants of some of that (less harsh) sentiment there. Is Zendaya privileged and does she have access to more roles because she’s lighter? Yes. Is she still probably fighting off “stereotypical” castings, being met with executives who say “a black star won’t make us money in China/Korea/europe/whatever”, is she offered less than her white counterparts, probably also yes. I think it’s important that we can acknowledge that Zendaya (and light skinned black people) is more privileged but I get so salty when I see people try to strip her of her identity or overly criticize her because she’s “not black enough”. I feel like the discourse around biracial people in particular has been on fire in recent years. I can understand the frustration people feel with society around light skinned folks and I absolutely admit that some light skinned folks abuse their privilege or don’t give back, but the discourse is really stripping us of our identity as BLACK people. I’m a black woman, society sees me as such and I am PROUD to be a black woman. Having one white parent doesn’t erase that from my identity.

hopefully people don’t take this the wrong way, but thanks again for your take. Love your blog!

First off, thank you so much for your sweet and kind words about my blog Anon. 🥰 I appreciate it!

I also wanted to say thank you so much for providing your views and your input as a biracial black woman. As a monoracial black woman myself, I can't personally know first-hand how it feels or what biracial black women experience in this country. It's nice to hear the "other side of the coin" for a change.

You and I are probably around the same age, and you're right, growing up there wasn't such a huge demarcation line btwn who is "black" and who is "biracial". Back then, everyone was just considered "black" if you have "one drop" of black blood lol. 😂 But over the past few years or so, there's really been a strong desire for some to classify. I get it... I think biracial black women (especially) do get a bit more favorable treatment in society and people tend to treat them differently, and they're deemed more "beautiful", etc. Not always, but a lot of times the underlying current is there, and it can be frustrating for those of us who are monoracial black to constantly see society uplifting ONE type of beauty over the other. I can see why some want to "clarify" or put certain people in a box.

I think everyone's experiences might be unique just simply due to their skin tone, or even how someone looks, attractiveness levels, size, region of the country they're living in, etc. So, there are a LOT of factors, so I totally get it.

With that said, I totally agree that while it is definitely frustrating to see certain ones in the "Black Community" being given opportunities more than others, at the same time, we really don't know what some of these "lighter-skinned" actresses have had to endure, what they're being told, or how they can be made to feel like an "other" or a "token" for some of them. 🤷🏾‍♀️

My main gripe with Hollywood is that it seems as though monoracial YOUNG black women are constantly being ignored in the industry. 😔 Growing up, I used to at least be able to name some popular monoracial black women who were famous/popular. We at least had Keke, isn't Raven black? lol..... But now days?? It's very hard to even see monoracial black women (young) who are given lead roles in mainstream films.... We're RARELY playing the lead, or even the love interest. 🥴

A lot of roles meant for "black women" are going to biracials lol. Again, I'm not mad (I love to see a fellow woc getting some shine), but it would just be nice to see some black women onscreen who look more like ME, and who are around my age. Yea, it's nice seeing Lupita Nyong'o (for example), or Angela Bassett (who I LOVE!), Kiki Layne, Janelle Monet, etc.... but every now and then, it would just be nice to see some younger monoracial black women who look like myself on the major screen again. 😔 Anyway, let me stop rambling....

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XIX

Celestia has a cruel sense of humor. He’s always known this, ever since his days as a student. But a soulmate? Really? Dottore/Female Reader Soulmate AU. Lore speculation, interpretations, etc. AO3 Chapter is Here.

You were a long way from the main road.  Nothing here looked familiar at all and despite the recognizable smells and sounds, you truly had no idea where you were.

It all started with a game of hide and seek, you recalled.  You were out for a weekend to the countryside on the border of Sumeru with the rest of your class, a momentary reprieve to let all of you have some fun after your latest recital.  You hid with the rest of your classmates but at some point you stopped hearing them and no one else came looking for you.

It wasn’t entirely surprising.  You had friends, yes, but that loyalty only extended so far.  Outside of the classroom, outside of confinement to your instrument section, everything was fair game. 

You sighed.  Even if you wanted to go back to the big house, you couldn’t; you wouldn’t know the first direction to go in.  

So instead, you followed the sun, heading what you presumed was west.  Eventually you came upon a creek that led out to a larger stream.  The grass was greener here, softer too.  You heard a snap nearby and nearly jumped when you caught sight of a kid, not much older than yourself, stumbling out of the woods on the other side of the stream.  Turquoise hair, dusted with leaves, and eyes so red you first thought he might be sick.  He was dressed in what you had recently learned was a salwar kameez; loose trousers and a long tunic.  

You received a harsh glare as he brushed the leaves from his hair.

“Who are you?  Another person to throw stones at me?”

His words were venomous, defensive, and the look in his eyes made you take a step back.  You’d done nothing wrong to warrant such a reaction.

And then you noticed the cuts and the bruises across his face and palms.  Crimson eyes watched you as he rinsed his hands in the stream, wincing at the wounds.

“If you aren’t here to stone me, then perhaps you’re here to take me back so the village leader can finish what he started?  So you can be rid of the heretical monster once and for all?”

You shook your head, too stunned to speak.  Had he really just been harmed by his whole village?

“Are you mute?” he snapped.

“No, I’m not mute,” you threw back.

His smile was sharp, almost cruel.  “You talk funny.  Where are you from?”

The other child tore the edge of his tunic, using the strip to wrap his hand.  He seemed practiced at such things, as if he had tended his own wounds before.  You wouldn’t have known the first thing except for washing the cut.  Usually your parents and the teachers took care of such matters.  Your fingertips ached at the sight, remembering how easily you used to cut open your own skin when you played for too long.

“Fontaine.”

His eyes lit up.  “Really?  What’s it like there?”

“Kinda dirty and super smelly,” you admitted.  “The sky isn’t as blue as it is here.”

“Do you have machines?  Robots?  Is it true that you get around in carriages and wagons that can fly?”

He seemed eager to know, his pain all but forgotten at the mention of your homeland.

“The rich people do, I’ve never ridden one.  We have factories and those use machines to make stuff.”

“Tch.  What’s the point of all of those machines if you don’t get to use them?”

“They make things easier?” You shrugged, at a loss for words.  No one ever really taught you why machines were important, just that they existed and that you needed to stay away from them.

You watched as the boy’s attention was drawn from you to something else.  He seemed to be talking but there wasn’t anyone or anything near him.  

“Ararycan, what do you think?”

An imaginary friend, maybe?

You looked up at the sky.  The sun was still pretty high in the sky and you couldn’t have been that far from the big house.  Maybe you could ask him for directions and be on your way.  You didn’t want anyone to worry more than necessary.  Would he even know the place you were staying?

You were snapped out of your thoughts again, the boy’s voice eager.  

“Do you want to see a really cool machine?”

“I should really get back–”

“It’s way better than anything Fontaine has!”

He was so excited, as if he hadn’t been hurt, and your heartstrings tugged.  It would be nice to have a friend in Sumeru.  And he seemed kind enough, if a bit odd.  His smile was soft, happy.

“Is it far?” you asked.

“You probably passed it, it’s on your side of the water.  I’ll show you!”

“As long as it’s not all that far.  My school is staying over the border, there’s a really big house, and I wandered too far…I don’t know how to get back.”

As you spoke, the boy easily navigated the stream and the slippery rocks dotting its surface, hopping across.  He must do it a lot, you realized.

“Oh, that place,” he said, his tone flat.  “What I want to show you is on the way.  Ararycan and I can get you back.”

“Arary–” the word felt slippery on your tongue and you frowned.

“Ara-ry-can,” the boy enunciated and then pointed to his side.  “He’s an Aranara.”

“Aranara?  What’s an Aranara?”

It was the boy’s turn to be confused, his nose scrunched.

“You…you don’t know what an Aranara is?”

“No, we don’t have them in Fontaine.”

“Fontaine is weird,” he said at last before he turned and began walking the way you originally came.  “Are you coming or what?”

You chased after the boy, catching up in no time.

“What’s your name, anyway?” you asked as you trekked through the grass, offering your name in exchange for his.

He repeated your name with ease, acknowledging that he’d heard it correctly.

“I’m Zandik.”

His name was burned into your mind, along with his joyous, infectious smile.

____________________

“You cannot just—”

“I think you’ll find I can,” you retorted, your voice firm.  “The terms of the patronage with your family were very specific.  I cannot and will not be prevented from seeking employment and leaving if I find an opportunity that is to the benefit of myself.  I have that freedom, monsieur.   I am merely extending the courtesy of notice.”

Your eyes fell upon the lawyer at your patron’s elbow, who could only affirm what you said and cite the exact clauses of the contract.  No laws were broken; the contract was upheld.  Legally , he could do nothing to prevent you from leaving.

“And you find that performing on behalf of the government, serving as nothing more than propaganda, to be an opportunity?”

“That is for me to decide.  No one else.”

He chuckled and leaned back in his seat, fingers playing with his signet ring.  You hated that thing.  You could still feel the bruise it left on your skin.

“What a shame.  When you first arrived, I thought you might be a permanent fixture of this house.  But you are right, I cannot stop you nor prevent you from leaving,” he spoke mildly.  “The appropriate papers will be drawn up and left for you to sign while I am in Court tomorrow.  You may leave after they are done.  You will not be receiving the rest of your stipend for the month.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Get out.”

You bowed and took your leave, releasing your breath only when you reached your room at the top of the stairs.  Your Geo Vision was gripped tight in your folded hands, your knuckles white and the metal setting pressing hard into your fingers.  Packing was easy; you owned little.

The next morning, you scrawled your name across a nondisclosure agreement and a waiver, both of which the lawyer filing them assured you were standard for these arrangements.  You doubted that, given some of the clauses buried in each of them, but held your tongue.  They were not worth the fight, not when a new life was so close.

Despite the low smog creeping up from the lower districts, the first breath of air you took outside was the sweetest one you’d taken in years.  They only seemed to get sweeter with the closer you drew to your new destination.

____________________

“It’s not much farther!”

Your legs were more than ready to give out.  They’d long since turned to pudding.  Why did it have to be this far from the city?

Zandik’s enthusiasm could not be curbed, even by time, you noted.  He was much taller, a little less gangly (although not by much), his smile now capable of charming those who saw it.  The young man didn’t much seem to care, nor notice, the way the other students looked at you as you waited for him in the Akademiya’s foyer.  He only had eyes for you, despite years of distance, of existing only as a piece of paper and strokes of ink.

“You hold a heavy instrument for a living, mulahin.  How are you tired?” 

His teasing certainly hadn’t stopped by any means, either.

You didn’t deign to answer, saving all of your energy for making it up the rest of the narrow, winding path.  When you were almost there, Zandik reached back and pulled you up the last narrow step to the summit of the hill.  His crimson eyes danced with glee, his smile wide.

“We’re now officially in three nations at once,” he remarked, his gaze falling onto the nearby Chasm, before he turned and pointed to Fontaine, the large waterfall of the main city far off in the distance.  “Quite the trip from Sumeru City but from here, the view is priceless.”

You could hardly refute him.  From here, you could see Sumeru City and the Tree in which the city made its home, Avidya Forest surrounding it; the autumnal spiral of the Chasm and its mine, with a glimpse at Liyue Harbor’s tallest rooftops; and the glittering lights of Fontaine and the tiers of waterfalls the Lochfolk called home.  You’d never seen such a thing before.  You’d hardly seen anything other than Fontaine and in the past few months, all you’d known was your patron’s city manor, cold and imposing.

A foot in all three nations.

“It’s stunning, Zandik.”

“Isn’t it?”

You glanced at him to find him watching you as he laid out the blanket for the picnic, as if he was memorizing your features.  Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks and you were thankful for the golden hue of sunset to hide whatever flush you might have.  

Most of the food provisions had been purchased, rather than prepared by hand; you hadn’t had the time to do anything and Zandik freely admitted it was better that he not try.  You didn’t mind, since either way it meant new food and getting to know your friend’s culture a little more closely.  

“Private patronage sounds like a dream,” Zandik said, polishing off the last of his shawarma wrap.  “You’re beholden to no one but your patron and essentially left to do as you wish as long as other requirements are met.  No academic board lording over you, no antiquated and ridiculous policies…it must help with composing, no?”

“I suppose.  I still have private sessions with a tutor and I’m not ready for more formal performances other than dinner parties with family just yet.  I feel like a show dog or a special project, brought out only to impress and then shoved back in the closet until they have use for me.”

Zandik raised his eyebrows quickly, as if to gesture, If you say so.  It was far more complicated and came with so many red strings attached that your head spun.  Now was not the time to explain such things and it was better, perhaps, to spare him that burden.

You wished your heart wouldn’t squeeze every time you looked at him.  It felt as though time itself stopped and the breath you were about to take was being ripped from your lungs every time you caught each other looking.  Your arms brushed and neither of you moved, not until your hands touched as you both reached for the last remnants of the baklava and found only one another’s fingers.

His touch was quickly replaced with the last half of the flakey pastry with a last brush of a finger: a truce.

By then, the sun had long since set and the stars revealed themselves, shining bright against the blanket of the night sky.

“In some stories, stars are the fruit of Irminsul,” Zandik murmured.  “Fate is literally tangled into the structure of the world, inescapable.”

In a nearby patch of dirt, he drew a tree, and then a half-circle, the branches dipping into the curved line.  

“All anyone ever says is that fate is written in the stars.  But if the stars are fruit on the branch of a tree…”

He erased a few lines and redrew them in different positions.

“It stands to reason that, with pruning and trimming and graphing, one could grow their own fate, will it in a different direction.  Cultivated by one’s energy and time rather than left to the whims of the gods.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of fate?  If we have the free will to change our destiny, isn’t our destiny simply what we make it out to be?  And who’s to say that the stars aren’t permanently locked in place?  That the fruit would still grow, but that no matter the way we trim or graph a branch, the same fruit is still grown?”

Zandik laughed softly.  “If it were so easy to figure out, everyone would do it.  But I firmly believe that fate can be changed, rewritten, perfected .  In the same way that humans can be refined and enhanced, just as machines can, fate too can be changed…”

You watched as Zandik’s eyes shifted away from you and out towards Sumeru City and beyond, into the desert you only heard stories about.  His eyes seemed to have glazed over as he lost himself in thought.  You shifted to sit closer to him and rested your head on his arm.

“I wouldn’t change meeting you, of course,” he said.  “Nor your presence in my life.  But there are things that, no matter how I look at them, no matter the perspective, I cannot find a reason for them except an unjust fate.”

You could only bring yourself to nod, his words hitting you far deeper than you cared to admit.

____________________

The Zapolyarny Palace was intimidating, a fortress more than a palace, and the very walls seemed to be made of the very Cyro energy of the Tsaritsa herself.  Performing for Her Most Excellent and her Harbingers was both a dream come true and your greatest nightmare.  If there was one place you never expected to end up, even within Fontaine’s national orchestra, it was here .

The theatre made it difficult to see all of your guests, of course.  It wasn’t until much later that your eyes constantly fell upon a figure in white, with hair so familiar that your head hurt trying to think, and a mask not unlike a raven’s beak.  Why was he so…

“Dottore, what of…” 

You couldn’t help but notice how the figure responded to the title, arrogant and amused at the question posed to him.

A spark went off in your mind.

Of course.  One of your last dinner parties in Fontaine.  You’d met Il Dottore.

No wonder he was so familiar.

At some point during the evening, you’d wandered out into the greenhouse, unable to sleep.  Usually, the first night anywhere new was difficult; the bed was different, the schedule a bit whacky, and the food took a day to get used to.  You’d wandered only to stretch your legs but when you caught sight of the crystal structure and the backdrop of the snowy evening, you couldn’t help yourself.  Inspiration danced at your fingertips as you marveled at the beauty growing in such a barren wasteland.  Note progressions and patterns tickled your mind and you hummed to yourself as you brushed a thumb over a pink rose, its petal as soft as velvet.

“What a lovely song.”

The voice made you jump, your eyes the size of dinner plates as you searched for the source.  Your gaze landed on a figure in the doorway, white suit still immaculate and mask firmly in place.

“Lord Harbinger,” you bowed low, crossing your right arm over your chest to cover your heart.

You stood in place as he closed the distance, every step seemingly in time with your own heartbeat.  He took your hand in his own, as he had so long ago, and raised it to his lips.  Much like the last time, he did not immediately let go of your hand.  It took everything in you to keep your hand and wrist steady, being so close, so alone, with a Fatui Harbinger.

“We’ve met before,” he said at last.  He shifted his weight and pressed a finger of his free hand to his lips.  “…ah, yes, that dreadful dinner party.  You were the cellist, given no break in between songs after dinner.”

“Guilty,” you felt your face grow warm.  “That was one of my last performances in that house.”

“And now you’re traveling the world, it seems.  Your joints feel far less swollen than they did, I can only surmise you’re given proper care and rest?”

“As much as a tour schedule allows.”

He nodded, seemingly pleased at such a notion.  His eyes, although hidden by his mask, seemed to bore into you, as if analyzing you from head to toe.  The corner of his mouth twitched before he spoke again.

“If you would pardon my boldness…had we met before that?  In Sumeru?  You…look quite similar to someone I once knew…”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to place the features you could see.  The jaw was sharper, mouth a bit more firm, but the hair…no one else had hair that so closely reminded you of morning tide, of aquamarine…

Surely…

“Zandik?” you breathed, the name slipping off your tongue.

Dottore smiled and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.  

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” he replied softly.  “I thought perhaps it was you when I saw you in Fontaine but your patron hardly allowed you time alone with guests for me to ask.”

“You stopped writing,” you replied, recalling the last missive you ever received.  “You were working in the desert and then…for all I knew, you were dead —”

“Zandik is, in a manner of speaking.  I couldn’t very well reach out without drawing attention to you.  That hardly seemed fair.”

Fate isn’t fair, you wanted to argue.  Life isn’t fair.  It’s not meant to be.  You cannot control everything.

Of all the things you never expected…

“Forgive me,” Dottore said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, your hand still in his.  You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, not now.  “The circumstances were not ideal and I did what I thought was best.”

“Which somehow involved becoming a Fatui Harbinger?”

You gestured with your free hand to the greenhouse and the palace attached, to his dress uniform that looked, upon further inspection, not unlike the salwar kameez you first saw him in, all those years ago.

“I fear we may not have the time for the full tale.”

“The abridged version, then.  I am owed that much.”

He chuckled softly.  “That you are, mulahin .”

You were acutely aware, now, of how little distance was between you.  The greenhouse was warmer than the rest of the Palace but somehow, he seemed warmer still.  The hand holding yours was still stroking your knuckles and fingertips, shifting between light, feathery touches and steady, certain ones.  You longed for nothing more than to see his gaze properly, to feel his eyes on you without an obstruction, to know for sure it was your Zandik you were speaking to again.

“In another life, I would think we were soulmates,” he whispered.  “Our paths seem to constantly cross…at what point will they remain on the same path?”

His breath was hot on your lips, so close that all it would take was looking up just a little more…

Your heartbeat was so loud in your own ears that you didn’t hear footsteps, nor the clearing of a throat.  Strong hands steadied you as someone said, “Lord Harbinger Dottore, pardon the intrusion, the Jester is looking for you.”

Dottore inhaled sharply, his jaw tight as he muttered an apology.  Your blood raced in your ears, your lips still parted in an expectant oh , the moment shattered before it could begin.

“We will speak before you leave Snezhnaya,” he whispered, pressing a hand to your cheek.

You leaned into the touch, savoring it before he pulled away and all you knew was agony.

____________________

“Be careful not to touch anything, please, noor ‘eini.  Several substances are not to be handled with bare skin.”

“Most of the things in this room shouldn’t be handled with bare skin nor unprotected eyes,” you replied, gaze scanning the shelves and shelves of chemical substances.

“Such as your shining brilliance and beautiful compositions?”

“Zandik.”

You received that all-too-charming smile you were so familiar with before he slid the goggles down over his eyes.  Cheeky.  He would pay for that later.

This part of his laboratory was known to a handful, including yourself; no one dared go further than necessary.  Down here, far below the Palace, he could work in peace.

“So far, everything seems to hold true to my hypothesis.  Archon Residue may truly be the answer, the missing link.  It might certainly do wonders for the strength of a Delusion…who would have thought that the very blood of the gods from the Archon War would prove this useful?”

In a far corner of the room was a pile of oozing ore, purple and pulsating.  A trail of the material, glowing and sticky, almost blood-like in its viscosity, led from the pile to the operating table.  Laid upon the surface was a puppet of Inazuman make, once ordinary.  You’d met the Balladeer before, briefly, but you’d never seen him with eyes that vibrant and bright, glowing with power far beyond mortal comprehension.

Eyes full of knowledge, of the marvels hidden in the depths of the world.

Eyes like…

Like…

The ones peeking at you from behind a bookshelf.

They were gone again before you could blink and you found yourself rubbing your eyes, doubting your vision.  Just as he was about to get back to work, Zandik stopped and pulled his goggles back up, crimson eyes full of concern.

“Oh, forgive me, you must be exhausted.  Here I am, dragging you down here when you’re probably ready to fall asleep standing up.  I only wanted to show you that the hypothesis may prove viable after all; you’re the only one I can do that with, noor ‘eini.”

You waved a hand.  “Think nothing of it, I told you I needed a break.  Is it painful, the Archon Residue?  I thought Barnabas’ patients were–”

“He didn’t refine it enough.  His samples were heavily polluted and it resulted in the entire situation with Monstadt.  Considering the Balladeer’s body is artificial, there will be far less room for such contamination.”

You nodded, smiling.  “It is promising.  I hope your efforts benefit both of you, in the end.”

“How could they not?”

Zandik covered his eyes again and set back to work, his mind already leagues ahead.  He was too occupied to see you back upstairs, as you’d expected, and thus you made the long journey to the surface alone.

When you returned to your shared private quarters, you heard a piano, the notes halting and choppy.  As you rounded a corner, you caught the sight of a child, white hair with tips turning into a light green, grass poking through the thawing ice in spring.  Wide eyes, verdant as the trees of Sumeru, watched you, full of wonder.  Memories tickled your brain, begging you to remember where you’d seen her before…

“I was hoping we wouldn’t meet this way.”