#protect all the people’s rights and freedoms

[imsobadatnicknames2]

With all due respect a lot of these statements are based on folk internet truisms and misconceptions that people just kinda accept as true without checking.

The freedom to post transformative works legally is not "solely based upon the fact that they are not done for profit" because, simply put, the freedom to legally post transformative works technically *does not exist*. Under copyright law, publicly posting fanart and/or fanfiction is unambiguously illegal any way you slice it.

However, individual works of fanart or fanfiction can, in case they get taken to court, *potentially* (as in, not by default) be protected under fair use doctrine. Fair use, under US copyright law, is an affirmative defense: basically, if you invoke fair use as a defense you are telling the judge "I admit that I did something illegal but I did so under *special circumstances* that I think should absolve me from punishment".

Being non-profit is not what this defense is "solely" built upon. It's actually one of the four factors that are taken into account when determining whether any individual work can be ruled to be protected under fair use. It is certainly the most prominent, but work that is completely non-commercial can still be ruled to be not protected under fair use if it fails hard enough any of the other three factors, and there are *a lot* of fanworks that would fail them if taken to court (e.g. every fix-it fanfic ever made by definition fails the "not intended as a replacement for the original work" factor).

And ultimately, any individual who does monetize their fanworks does not "put the entire legal protection of fanworks at risk" because... well first of all, as I said, there doesn't exist any kind of legal protection that applies to fanworks by default, what exists is an affirmative defense that can be invoked as a tool *in the case* that the copyright holder decides to take you to court over your work. But even obviating that, this protection is evaluated on a case by case basis, so whether someone is selling prints of their sonic fanart has no bearing on whether the fanfics hosted on Ao3 is hosting would be protected under fair use. Ao3 doesn't disallow posting any sort of monetization method because it would erode the legal protection of fanworks as a general practice, they disallowed because it would harm their own opportunity to succeed at a potential fair use appeal in the future.

And, even more ultimately, in reality the thing *actually* preventing authors and IP holders from continuing to routinely sue fan authors and artists isn't even fair use (again, you'd be surprised to find out just how many fanworks would be indefensible as fair use even if they're not monetized, because monetization is not the only factor) or any other kind of legal defense that was hard fought for, but instead the fact that suing fanwork authors is considered a whole mess of a PR disaster nowadays. The current state of transformative works on the internet is not that you can post fanworks legally because the right to do so was fought for legally for decades, it's that you can usually *get away* with posting fanworks illegally because trying too hard to prevent people from doing so is likely to harm an IP holder's public perception!

But... leaving all that aside. I think you fundamentally misunderstood what I meant when I said that the argument I was replying to "throws people who monetize their fanworks under the bus". I did not mean this in the sense that this argument is *mean* towards people who monetize their fanworks (which is how you seem to be interpreting it, based on your last paragraph), but in the sense that this argument hinges on ignoring their entire existence.

Like, if someone makes the argument that the self-evident fundamental difference that make it so that gen AI is unambiguously morally wrong while fanworks aren't (despite the fact that both require using other people's intellectual property without their consent) is that gen AI tools are monetized while fanworks categorically aren't monetized, it kinda requires completely ignoring the fact that people who monetize their fanworks do, in fact, exist (and that the person making this argument would presumably object to these fanworks being grouped in the same moral category they're defining for AI art, despite the fact that the moral definition they're constructing does just that)

Like it's always funny how in this website it's almost always the fanartists and fic writers voicing the most hardcore anti "art theft" stances like buddy you REALLY don't know what you're asking for.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 55: Finding Home

Summary: Moving on to your new lives, you and John hunt for the perfect home.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,282 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, explicit sexual content, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, alternate universe, the barest hint of angst, language, the author knows nothing about real estate in the UK

A/N: I'm excited for this one and I'm sure you will be too...

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“You really enjoyed your time on the farm.” John says, his arm wrapped around you as you lounge on the couch in your Airbnb. He’d already gone through and searched for anything suspicious, checking every room for possible cameras or listening devices. You let him do it, staying out of his way as you knew that would make him the most comfortable.

“I did.” You say, your head resting on his chest. It feels good being close to him, even if it was only two weeks you were apart. “It made me feel useful. Gave me something to do.”

“You want to look at places with a lot of land?” He asks.

You nod. “If that’s a possibility. I think it might be good for both of us. Keep us busy. Idle hands and all of that.”

John huffs. “Lily lives by that proverb.”

“You’re telling me. The woman never stops.” You smile. “She was so gracious though.”

“The MacTavishes are wonderful people.” He says, his fingers tracing patters on your arm. “It’s hard not to like all of the in-laws.”

“I’d like to meet all of them someday.” You say wishfully. “You’ve met them all, haven’t you?”

He nods. “I have. The Garrick’s are exactly as you’d imagine. Kyle gets all of his best qualities from them. They live in Birmingham, where Kyle was born. I’ve only met Ashley, though, not the oldest sibling.”

“Sounds about right.” You say. “What about Simon’s family?”

“I’ve met his mother and brother once.” John says, his hand rubbing your arm. “Not long before you joined the pack. I’m honestly surprised he introduced me. He’s very protective of them, but I suppose with everything they’ve been through…”

“I know some of it.” You say. “He told me after I told everyone what happened when I was taken to the institute.”

John hums. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up about meeting them. They’re...a sensitive subject for Simon.”

You fall silent for a moment. You figured that would be the case. You wonder if Kyle or Johnny have even met his family, or if he really does keep them that guarded.

“What about your dad?” You ask. “Could I ever meet him?”

John is silent for a moment. “He’s...complicated. Gruff old geezer now. He still lives in the house I grew up in, in Leominster. About 12 miles from Hereford.”

You frown. “So close but you don’t visit him?”

John sighs. “Only on occasion. We’re happy living our separate lives. I could take you, but I can’t guarantee it would be a good visit. Old man always has something to say.”

You don’t push anymore. He’s told you about his relationship with his father before, and you’re not willing to try and pry anything else out of him. A moment of silence settles over the two of you, a comfortable silence. You press closer to him, trying to get as close as you can. You missed him more than you thought, now that you have him close again.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, leaning his head against yours. You breathe in his scent, the damp woody smell permeating your being. He nuzzles his head against yours, taking a deep breath in. He lets out the breath, a sound almost like a purr rumbling in his chest.

You wrap your arm tighter around him, nearly climbing into his lap. “Missed you.” You whimper.

You’ve been missing him longer than he’s been gone. You had such freedom at the cottage to do what you pleased. The week at the barracks had driven a wedge between you and your pack, your own fear pushing you apart from them. It’s been three weeks now since you’ve been close to him, since you’ve had a chance to really take him in.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, his body pushing against yours. You let him lead, laying back until you’re flat on the couch. He shifts over you, slotting his body between your legs. Warmth starts to pool in your stomach, flowing through your veins as he lowers himself down, nudging your head to the side so he can press his face against your neck. Your arms wrap around his back, one hand trailing through the short strands of his hair. You wonder if he’ll grow it out now that he has that freedom, if he’ll let his beard get wild again like it had at the cottage.

The mental image of him with a beard and long hair has you purring.

An echoing rumble vibrates from John’s chest, his teeth nipping at your scent gland. You whine, trying to pull him closer against you.

“Fuck,” he groans, his teeth sinking into your skin lightly over the scarred over mark he left just a year ago. You shiver, nearly mewing from the pleasurable sensation.

His arms slip under you, pulling you up as he stands. “Let’s get you to bed so I can make love to you properly.”

You shiver at his words, clinging to him as he makes his way down the hall to the bedroom.

You drop onto the bed with a bounce, the springs squeaking. John wastes no time, ripping his shirt up over his head, exposing his chest to you. He’s still soft from his time at the cabin, three weeks back on base not enough to carve it away. The sight of him as you licking your lips, your thighs rubbing together as wetness starts to pool between them.

John undoes his belt and jeans, pushing them down his legs before stepping out of them. There’s a prominent bulge in his briefs, the musky scent of arousal seeping into the air. You breathe it in, your nipples hardening in arousal. You sit yourself upright, tugging your shirt over your head. John’s hands are on you before you can do much else, sliding to your back to undo your bra before tugging it off. The bed dips as he kneels on it, bending his face down to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

You let out a quiet gasp, your head tilting back as he scrapes his teeth against the sensitive bud. Your hand cups the back of his head, holding him there as he suckles on your nipple, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a pop. He moves to the other one, giving it the same attention as his hands slide down your stomach to tease the skin above your waistband.

He undoes the button of your jeans, pulling the zipper down. His hands slip under the fabric, sliding around to your ass, lifting you as he pushes your jeans down. He releases your nipple, sliding down your body as he tugs your jeans down off your feet. He kneels on the floor, tugging you forward until you’re seated right on the edge of the bed. You spread your legs for him, his hands pushing them wide as he stares down at your panty-clad pussy.

“Fuck.” He groans, staring down at the wet spot on the fabric.

His hands slide down your thighs until they reach the waistband of your panties. He slides his fingers under the fabric before tugging, ripping them apart.

“John!” You cry in protest, lifting yourself up onto your elbows to stare down at him.

“I’ll buy you more.” He says, pushing your legs back open before dipping his head down between them. “I’ll buy you as many pairs as you want.”

Any more protests die on your tongue as his mouth closes over your throbbing clit, sucking hard. You fall back onto the bed, letting out a quiet moan. It’s been a long three weeks without him, without any of them. You’ve missed your alpha, you’ve missed your pack. You missed the kind of freedom you had at the cottage to be with them whenever you wanted, however you wanted.

Now you have nothing but time and freedom.

Another moan leaves your lips as John drags his tongue through your folds, gathering some of your slick before he focuses on your clit again, circling it with his tongue. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your thighs, a feeling you’ve come to miss.

You grip the sheets as he eats you out like a man starved. Well, he probably is. It’s been a long three weeks for him too. You wonder if any of them sought comfort in the others, or if they all were too torn up in the emotions of their missing omega and the knowledge their captain was about to leave. You’d almost be mad at them for wasting the opportunity, but at the same time, it’ll make the next meeting all the sweeter.

You wonder if they all slept in the nest even after you were gone, if that will forever be a staple for Johnny and Simon, a memory of what once was as they move on to this new chapter.

You want a nest. A big one. One that can fit all five of you with room for movement. Lots of movement. Five bodies all tangled together...

A harsh suck on your clit brings you out of your thoughts. You yelp, your head jolting up to look at John. He’s staring at you, pulling himself off your clit with a pop.

“Back with me?” He rasps, his beard shiny with your juices.

You nod breathlessly. “Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?” He asks as he dips his head to your folds again.

“I want a big bed.” You say, your breath hitching as he sucks lazily at your clit. “A really big bed. One that can fit all five of us.”

He hums. “Having thoughts?”

You nod.

“Like what?” He asks, dipping down to prod at your opening with his tongue.

“A-all five of us,” You moan as his tongue pushes into you. “Together.” You channel all those fantasies you’ve been having since that day at the cottage the thought had entered your mind. “Me between Johnny and Kyle, full of them while they kiss over my shoulder.” You swallow thickly, hands curling into the sheets. “You and Simon...Simon on his knees, your cock in his mouth, watching while Johnny and Kyle fuck me-”

Your words cut off as his thumb pushes against your clit, rubbing tight little circles. You’re soaked after replaying those fantasies in your head, toes curling where they rest against John’s back.

“What else?” John’s voice is muffled by your thighs.

“Simon fucking Johnny while you fuck me as we take turns sucking Kyle’s pretty cock.” Your breaths are getting shaky, the words trembling from your lips while you get closer and closer to the edge. “Simon making me squirt in Kyle’s mouth.” Your back arches off the bed, heels digging into John’s shoulders. “You and Simon…both at the same time…sinking your teeth into me again…”

You cum with a cry, slick gushing out against his face as your orgasm rocks through you. It’s been so long, the pleasure coming on quick and hard. John laps at you, licking up every last drop as you twitch and shake.

John finally pulls away as the edge of overstimulation begins to burn between your thighs. His face is shiny with your slick, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You follow its path, your tongue slipping out to do the same.

“Lovely fantasies.” John says as he crawls over you, shifting you up the bed slightly before settling his weight on you. “Perhaps we can make those come true.”

You shiver in anticipation for him to make good on that. You know he will. No doubt he’s been having his own fantasies. They all likely have. You’ve all been waiting for the moment to arise, for them to get their chance to have you together. You’re surprised it’s taken this long. You would have welcomed them at the cottage, but it hadn’t felt like the right place for it.

Perhaps once you finally find a place to call home, you’ll all get a chance to properly break it in.

You can only imagine what its going to do to your libido.

John’s hand grips your chin, turning your face back to the center so you’re staring up at him. His eyes are lidded as they stare down at you, lips slightly parted. “Back with me again? Still picturing all the depraved things you want us to do to your body?”

You gulp, nodding.

He chuckles, lips turning up in a grin. “File those away for later. We’ll get our chance. For now, I want you to focus on me.”

“Yes, sir.” You say.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, a thrill of danger and excitement pulsing straight between your thighs. You’re still slick, need throbbing between your legs. You need his cock, you need him to ease away the ache steadily building there.

“Need you alpha,” You whine, pushing your hips up to grind against him. He’s hard, cock trapped between your bodies as you press up against his chest.

He grunts, his hips dipping to grind against you, his cock leaking against your stomach. He’s just as needy as you, but he’s always been better at self control.

“Needy little omega.” He says, sitting up on his knees to press your thighs apart, opening you right up to his gaze. You lay there on display, feeling no nerves, no desire to hide yourself from him. You’ve long since passed that insecurity.

His thumb drops to drag through your slick folds, pressing against your clit for a moment before releasing. You practically mewl, thighs pushing against his hands. “You want it?” He all but growls.

“Yes,” You breathe, staring up at him, holding eye contact. “Need your cock alpha.”

He growls, satisfied with your answer. The tip of his cock drags through your folds, gathering slick there before he’s pressing into you, easing his way into your body.

You let out a breath, relaxing for him. It’s been a while, long enough that the stretch burns a bit. He goes slow, feeling the resistance squeezing around him. “Good girl.” he breathes, his hand caressing your cheek. “You can take it.”

You whine, pushing your hips up to draw him deeper into you. He presses his hips forward, your body shuddering from the stretch as he bends down, pushing in until his hips are flush with yours. He presses his chest against yours, dipping his head so his forehead rests against yours. You’re breathing the same air, the scent of your pussy still faint in his breath.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him down as close as you can. His hand snakes beneath your head, closing around the back of your neck. It rests there, not squeezing, not controlling, just resting there against the most sensitive part of your body. Goosebumps form on your skin at his touch, the vulnerability you’re allowing sending shockwaves through your body. How easily he could dig his fingers in, pull you under his control and have his way with you before you wake up and realize what happened.

He doesn’t, though. He just holds his hand there, holds the back of your neck as he starts to move, grinding his hips against you. You tilt your head back into his hand, baring your throat for him in submission. His mouth presses kisses against your skin, tracing your pulse, dropping to your scent gland and your mark before moving to the other side. He skirts around Simon’s mark, not touching the sacred area that Simon has claimed, that marks Simon’s claim to you as well.

John starts to move his hips faster, his cock dragging in and out, in and out. You meet his thrusts, lifting your hips to pull him in deeper, as deep as you can take him. You want to meld together, melt into one being in this moment, be locked together for all eternity. You’d crawl into his skin and settle there for the rest of time if you could.

God how you’ve missed him.

“Fuck, so good for me.” He breathes, face pressed into your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “Taking me so well.”

“Missed you, alpha.” You whine, your nails sinking into the skin on his back as pleasure builds inside of you with every drag of his cock.

“Missed you too, omega.” The sound of your status coming from him has you whining again. “Missed you so much.”

You moan, getting closer and closer to the edge with every drag of his hips. His thrusts have grown harder, sloppier. He’s getting close too, as he growls against your throat. He could sink his teeth in so easily, yet he doesn’t. You have so much trust in him, so much faith that he’ll take care of you, that he’ll be a good alpha.

He is.

“Cum for me.” he groans, snapping his hips against yours. “Be a good girl.”

You whine, your body trembling, legs shaking as he drives you into another orgasm. You come undone under him, squeezing around him like a vice. He growls, snapping his hips into you a few more times before he stills, warmth filling you as he cums inside you.

His weight settles over you, pressing you down into the mattress. You’re still clinging to him, wrapped around him like a snake. His cock throbs inside of you as you milk every last drop of his cum that you can. He’s still hard, and you know this isn’t the last round, but the two of you sit in silence for a moment, just comforted by the weight of each other.

It had been long enough without him.

You never want to go without him again.

The tickle of calloused fingers on your skin pulls you from the sweet arms of sleep.

The fingers draw patterns on your back, tracing shapes and lines into your skin. You let out a quiet groan, pressing your face further into the pillow. You’re on your stomach, the sheet bunched down around your hips. It’s warm, the scent of sex still in the air.

“What time is it?” You groan, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Just past 9.” John says quietly.

You frown, turning slightly so you can see him. “You’re still in bed?”

“Couldn’t bring myself to move yet.” He says. “Not from this beautiful sight.”

Your face warms and you press it back into the pillow bashfully. He chuckles, his hand flattening against your skin. He rubs your back gently as you float in and out of consciousness, the pull of sleep still heavy in your mind. Yet, you can’t quite reach it, the warm hand on your back keeping you grounded in the waking world.

You hum, rolling onto your side so you’re facing John. His gaze is soft as he stares down at you, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your cheek, the moment soft and domestic and intimate. You doubt you’ll ever get him to sleep in, but you like this change, this new side of him willing to lay in bed with you as you sleep. Of course, if you do win him over and get your farm neither of you will be sleeping in, but right now, it’s nice.

“If you’re up for it, by the time we get ready we could go out for brunch.” He says. You can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, his brows pulling in a frown. “What?”

“I just never expected you to be a brunch guy.” You say, shaking your head.

He shrugs. “I’m retired. I can be a lot of things now.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his palm. “Brunch would be nice. I’m hungry after last night.”

He grins wickedly, leaning in closer. “Give you a workout, did I?”

You hum, closing the distance to kiss him. “Almost as hard as farm work.”

He growls, rolling you over and pinning you under him. “Then I didn’t do enough.”

You squeal as he nips at your neck, laughing as you wrap your arms around him.

“I’ve got a few places lined up to look at.” John says as he drives along the highway.

“So you picked an area?” You ask.

“A couple.” He says. “I can’t promise a view of the ocean if you want land, but we’ll be minutes away from the beach.”

“That’s okay.” You say, sitting back in your seat. “Can’t have everything I guess.”

“The first place we’re looking is just outside Troon. Then there’s a couple more just outside the Three Towns.”

You give him a look. “The what?”

“It’s a conurbation between Ardrossan, Saltcoats, and Stevenson.” He explains. You pretend to know what that means. “I’m liking one of those properties more than the others.” He continues. “I think you’ll see why.”

You hum, staring out the window as green farmland goes by. You can almost smell the sea air as you get closer and closer, excitement bubbling in your stomach. The temptation to give up the desire for a farm in favor of a place closer to the sea is strong, but you know it will be better for both you and John to have land and later a farm. It’ll keep John busy, something you know he’s going to be grateful for. Going from constantly having things to do, to having nothing at all to do is going to be rough for him. He’ll go stir-crazy, like a working dog stuck in an apartment. You know he’d never get violent, but without an outlet...you’re not sure what it’s going to look like.

Maybe you can convince him to go to therapy.

“Here we are.” John says, pulling up a small driveway.

It’s...cute. A bit dated, but your expectations were low to begin with. You get out of the car with John, a real estate agent waiting for you already.

John introduces himself and you to the agent, Angelica. You take John’s arm as she tells you about the house, leading you to the front door.

“Three bedrooms, one bath, 108 square meters. It sits on two acres of land, I know ye said ye were lookin’ for land.” She opens the front door, leading you inside.

It’s...something alright. The entryway is nice, if a bit narrow. One door opens on the left to the living area, small with the worst patterned carpet you’ve ever seen. The staged furniture doesn’t help any either.

“The kitchen and bathroom are newly updated.” Angelica says as she leads you across to the kitchen.

It is nice looking, new and clean and fresh. “Spacious.” You say, looking around. Plenty of room for two or three bodies.

The bathroom is new but small and only has a shower, something that could prove difficult during your heats. You were spoiled on base having a tub to soak in afterward.

“Oh, blue carpet.” You say as you head into the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

It’s very blue.

Angelica laughs, nodding her head. “It could use a little updating, but you can’t deny it’s charm.”

She’s not wrong.

There’s one bedroom downstairs and two upstairs, small and simple. You’d really only need two max, but it might be nice to have an extra for visitors. You’re not sure if you could fit the bed you want in them though. There wouldn’t be much room for anything else. Maybe you could convert one room into a closet and storage.

“So what do you think?” John asks when you get to the car after viewing the house.

“It’s cute...needs a lot of work though.” You say.

He nods. “It’s cheap, but that leaves more money for fixing it to how we want. We can even add a second bathroom.”

“That would be nice.” You say. “I’m not sharing one bathroom with four men.”

He chuckles, driving down the road towards the next house. “The next house is bigger.” He says. “I think you’ll like it more.”

It is bigger. Three bedrooms, three bathrooms. Newer looking though the kitchen is a bit dated. You’re not sure how you feel about the linoleum floors though, or the strangest looking bathtub you’ve ever seen. Then again, you’re glad it at least has a tub. The rooms are spacious, just big enough for the bed you want.

“What do you think?” John asks as you drive to the final house you’re viewing that day.

“Better.” You say. “I think it could work.”

“Just wait until you see the last one.” He says.

This one is just outside Ardrossan, one of the ones he said were in this area. It’s the nicest of the three, judging by the outside. Brick, you think, not uncommon for houses in the UK. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, four acres. The largest plot of land you’ve seen today.

You’re in love as soon as you walk in.

It’s spacious, the entryway well lit and no weird carpet. The living area is nice and spacious with a fireplace. The kitchen is big and newly renovated, plenty of space for bodies to move around. The dining area is a bit small but you can live with that.

The three bedrooms are nicely sized, the main bedroom big enough for the bed you want. The carpet is new in them, soft under your shoes. They could use some repainting, but that’s easy to do. The bathrooms are new too, and one has a very spacious tub. There’s also a loft area upstairs, perfect for a cozy space, well lit that maybe Johnny could turn it into an art studio.

The back yard is nice too, a stone patio that leads out to some grass and enough space for a barn and a garden. Just exactly what you’ve been looking for.

“You like that one?” John asks as you sit in the car.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. It’s the first you’ve been able to picture yourself in. You and your pack living domestically on your little farm, just a short drive to the beach. You can make that place a home, all nice and cozy like you need.

“We’ve got a lot to think about.” He says, pulling out of the driveway onto the road to make the drive back to Glasgow. “And a few more places to see tomorrow.”

You’re trying not to make your mind up already, having hope that there might be something better tomorrow, something more suited to your needs.

You take John’s hand, holding it as he drives. The reality hasn’t quite set in that this is really happening, that you’re looking at houses to live in permanently. John is retired and you’re moving on to this new chapter in your lives. It still feels like a dream, like you’re walking through some wishful daydream of what might be, and you’ll be forced to return to base soon where you’ll live for who knows how long.

That’s not the case, though, and you know that, but to you it still feels unreal.

You can’t stop thinking about that house.

The others you view are nice, but none of them quite feel like the other one did. They’re not as comforting, as inviting. You can’t picture yourself being at home in them like you can the third one you saw yesterday. Even John doesn’t quite seem as enthusiastic either, perhaps picking up on your energy. He must know you’ve already made up your mind, but you know how dangerous it is to get attached to houses. There’s no guarantee you’ll get it, if there’s other bidders.

You’re trying not to think about that too much.

“So, what do you think?” John asks as you sit in a restaurant for lunch. It’s a nice day outside, the sun shining, the sea bright blue.

“I still really like that one house.” You say.

“Yeah?” He smiles. “That’s the one singing to you?”

You nod. “It feels the most like home.” You shrug. “I don’t know how else to describe it. I can see myself settling in there and building a farm and living out the rest of our lives there comfortably.”

“I like that one too.” He says. “It has the most land and will need the least amount of work.”

“Just some painting.” You say. “Get rid of that red in the bedroom.”

“You don’t like it?” He grins.

You shake your head. “I want something cooler, less harsh on the eyes.”

“Well let’s put an offer in first, then we’ll talk about painting and furniture.”

Right. You’ll have to do that too. You don’t even have a bed to sleep in, much less anything else to furnish your future house with. You don’t even have much in terms of decorations besides your things from base. John had packed up your room for you to go through things you want and don’t want once you get settled in.

“You want to do it?” He asks, reaching across the table to take your hand.

You nod. “Let’s do it.”

He smiles softly at you, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Let’s do it.”

The waiting is the hardest part. You’re on edge, unsure what to do, how to channel that energy as you wait for a response on whether or not the owners will accept your offer. John had gone above asking price, just to try and make sure there was a greater chance you’d get it. You really want that house.

“I hate waiting.” You say, your feet nervously tapping the arm of the couch.

“I know.” John says, his fingers scratching your scalp as you lay across his lap. “We should know soon, though.”

“Hopefully.” You say, stretching your arms up overhead. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

John smirks, wrapping his arms around you to tug you so you’re seated in his lap. “You need an outlet for that energy?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in. “Why, you offering?”

His hand slides up your leg. “I think I can hep with it.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. “At least work some of it out.”

You smirk, kissing him back. “I don’t know, I’m pretty anxious.”

He hums, his hand sliding to the inside of your thigh. You can feel him getting hard under your ass. “Let me take the edge off, then.”

He kisses you again before shifting you so your back is against his chest, legs spread over his. His fingers slide up your thighs, trailing over soft skin before they reach the edges of your shorts. He doesn’t bother removing the fabric, instead lifting a hand to slip it under the waistband. Your pussy is already pulsing in anticipation, slick starting to wet your folds.

He slides his hand further under your shorts and into your underwear, his fingers ghosting over your clit. You twitch, letting out a quiet sound. He rumbles low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back. You spread your legs further, pressing your hips up into his hand.

He presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow circles. You whine, your head dropping back against his shoulder. His nose presses into your neck, inhaling your scent from the source.

“So sweet.” He groans, his fingers quickening into slow, tight circles against your sensitive bud. “My sweet girl.”

You moan, one arm curling around to grip the back of his hair. He growls low in his chest, his fingers sliding down to prod at your entrance. You let out a sigh as two of them push into you, stretching you open despite the fact you’ve hardly been able to keep your hands off each other.

It was a long three weeks.

He sinks his thick fingers into you, reaching as far as he can. You let out a long breath, pressing your hips against his hand to try and take him as deep as you can. Your inhale catches in your throat as he curls his fingers, pushing up against that spot inside of you. His free hand drops to your thigh as you attempt to squeeze them closed, forcing it open.

“So fucking tight and wet for me.” He groans into your ear, licking at your throat. “Taking my fingers so well.”

“Alpha,” you whine, squeezing around his fingers as he pushes against that spot with every thrust of his fingers into you.

Your toes are curling already, still sensitive from your morning romp between the sheets. His palm pushes against your clit, the calloused skin dragging against your sensitive bud with every push of his fingers.

“Fuck,” You whine, back arching as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. “Gonna cum.”

“Cum for me.” He grunts, picking up the pace, pushing his fingers fast and hard against that spot.

Your legs are shaking as you cry out, body squirming in his hold as your orgasm slams into you. You gush around his fingers, coating his hand in slick. He keeps his fingers pressed against that spot as you writhe through your orgasm, legs squeezing around his hand.

He chuckles, against your throat, pressing a kiss to your pulse point before pulling back. “Not quite as good at that as Simon.”

You’re breathing heavy, letting out a quiet sound as he pulls his fingers free. “Simon has magical hands.”

John hums. “He is very good with them.”

You grab John’s wrist, pulling his hand up before taking his fingers in your mouth. You lick at the digits, cleaning your cum off of them, moaning at the taste of yourself on your tongue.

John is breathing heavily, his scent thick in the air. You pull his hand from your mouth, sliding off his lap onto your knees. You turn to face him, pushing his legs apart, your eyes locked onto the bulge in his pants.

“Let me return the favor.” You say, hands going for his belt.

You undo it and unzip his jeans, pushing them down just slightly so you can free his cock from his briefs. It’s hard and heavy in your hand, fully aroused and all he did was finger you. He’s such a good alpha.

You spit into your hand before dragging it along his cock, pumping up and down a few times. He twitches against your hand, likely still sensitive as well after you milked him for all he was worth twice this morning.

You lean forward, dragging the tip of your tongue across the tip of his cock. He lets out a groan, his head falling back against the couch as you tease his sensitive head with your tongue.

His hand sinks into your hair as you take him into your mouth, dragging your tongue down the length of his cock, careful not to catch him with your teeth. You close your lips around him, sucking hard as you pull back up to the tip. His hips jerk just slightly, a deep groan leaving his lips. His head tilts down to watch you, your eyes locking with his as you sink down on his cock again.

You take him as deep as you can, feeling the edge of your gag reflex as his cock pushes at the back of your tongue. You’re out of practice. You haven’t been sucking Johnny’s dick as often as you used to, missing the quickies before he had to go to training, always late and getting reprimanded, despite the fact John knew where he was and what he was doing. You never told on him, but one look at your face and John knew.

You continue to suck John’s dick, using your hand for what you can’t reach. His hand tangles in your hair, not pushing but holding you there as you suck him off, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, you can tell by the restrained way he tries to keep his hips from bucking, his fingers tight as they grip your hair.

You keep eye contact with him, squeezing the base of his cock as you suck extra hard, dragging your lips up his length. You prod at his slit with your tongue before taking him into your mouth again, sinking as deep as you can. You slide a hand down, squeezing his balls and he cums, spurting into your mouth with a growl. You take it all, swallowing his cum and licking him clean.

He lets out a long breath, falling back against the couch as you wipe the drool off your chin. There’s a moment of silence before his phone starts ringing where it sits on the coffee table behind you. You reach back and grab it for him, still on your knees, his soft cock in your hand.

“Hello?” He answers, leaning back against the couch. It’s not one of the guys, his face too serious as he listens. He’s back to the professional, as if he wasn’t just having his cock sucked less than two minutes ago. “That’s great.” He says, his eyes lighting up.

You hold your breath, tucking him back into his pants as you stare at his face, trying to hear what’s being said but you can’t.

“Great, thank you so much.” He says before hanging up.

He stares at you for a long moment, phone in hand. The anticipation is killing you, nerves and excitement twisting deep in your stomach for what he’s about to say. You know it, you can tell just by looking at him, but you need to hear it out loud.

“We got the house.”

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[mitchipedia]

Stand up for your neighbors in San Diego

In light of recent ICE raids at the Federal Courthouse and Buona Forchetta Restaurant in San Diego and in Los Angeles, and the outrageous and dangerous Republican overreaction to Los Angeles protests, it’s important for all of us to find ways to turn our grief and outrage into action for our immigrant neighbors.

ICE raids are violent and excessive, but the community stepped up to fight back and block ICE’s departure. Here in San Diego, ICE responded with military tactics, including flashbangs and smoke grenades. As we write this (Sunday afternoon, June 8), it’s unclear how the situation in Los Angeles will play out. But it’s clear that Republicans want a mass, violent confrontation with protesters, and if they can’t find the occasion, they’ll manufacture it. And Republicans want to break blue states, starting with California.

Here are some things you can do to help preserve freedom and help your neighbors, compiled from local community organizations:

The No Kings March is Sunday, June 14, at Waterfront Park in San Diego. It’s part of a national day of action. See the link, preceding for information on that event and other No Kings events elsewhere in the county and online.

Volunteer to help elect Democrat Paloma Aguirre as County Supervisor in the July 1 special election. If Aguirre loses, the County Board of Supervisors flips Republican. The Aguirre campaign is asking people to canvass and phone-bank. While the district is overwhelmingly Democratic, Republican turnout is high, making this an at-risk election for us, as Democratic Party community leader Cynara Kidwell Velazquez noted at the recent June meeting of the La Mesa-Foothills Democratic Club.

What can you do if you see harassment? Sign up for bystander intervention training by Right To Be. That organization has classes to help protect against harassment of immigrants, women, disabled people, Jews, Muslims, LGBTQIA+ people, in public spaces, online, in the workplace, and so on.

Submit a public comment to your San Diego County Supervisor by June 12 to urge them to increase funding for immigration legal services. You can also email your county supervisor directly.

Also, tell the San Diego City Council that they should be funding community services, not surveillance tech. While our neighborhoods in San Diego are in desperate need of essential services such as libraries, parks and public restrooms, the city is cutting funding for those essential services, instead spending millions of dollars on a mass surveillance system: the Flock Automatic License Plate Reader (ALPR) and “smart” streetlight cameras—wasting money and threatening our privacy and civil liberties.

According to a petition on Change.org: “Flock ALPR tries to track the public movements of every individual in San Diego, 24/7, aligning with authoritarian agendas and the concerning trend of increasing surveillance. Instead of fostering community safety through positive and supportive measures, we are being forced into a society that values monitoring over meaningful safety solutions.” Sign the petition to oppose mass surveillance now.

Further resources:

Showing Up for Racial Justice is an organization for white people working for justice. The San Diego chapter is active and will next meet June 22, at a location to be determined. Sign up for email updates. SURJ’s Linktree lists calls to action.

The Episcopal Church Office of Government Relations' Migration, Refugees and Immigration webpage is a great resource, including an immigrant action toolkit. The Episcopal Diocese of San Diego’s Migration Ministry webpage provides useful definitions, Know Your Rights info, and links to partner organizations that offer a variety of ways to help immigrants.

Mobilize US and CBFDIndivisible list events, petitions and volunteer opportunities.

Take Action for San Diego Democrats is a web page run by the county Democratic Party with information on upcoming events, supporting the Aguirre campaign, learning more about running for local office, Planned Parenthood, how to make effective protest signs and more.

I wrote this for an upcoming issue of the newsletter of the La Mesa-Foothills Democratic Club.

[heyimc]

THE WAY SHE LIES (TARA CARPENTER X FEM!READER)

A/N: This is the second fic I ever published, so I hope you all enjoy it, and also let me now if you would like a part 2!

Summary: In which Tara resorts to lying so she can go out to party and drink, without realizing that soon her lies will become all too much and she will end up wrapped into her own mess.

Warnings: Not proofread, English isn't my first language.

Word count: 1.7k

Tara knew that by the time she started this, there was no way of going back, but what she didn’t know was how easy it would end up being.

It all started after moving to New York; a new life was about to begin, a chance to start fresh, leaving all the past behind and creating a life of her own, free from the suffering and pain of the bittersweet memories that had been troubling her heart and mind. Everything was going well, the college life was something Tara had been looking forward to, more freedom and an escape from her sister Sam, it’s not like she was a burden or something, but she could be way too protective of her due to all they went through, after all…Tara couldn’t blame her sister, but she felt trapped in a cage every time Sam tried to look after her.

And among her sister and her mannerisms, there was someone else right there in the picture: You.

She had met you during high-school, sharing classes and also the Ghostface attacks, the bond you both had grew even stronger and made you both develop a romantic relationship, but even so, it seemed as if the same fear of losing her had created a new sense of protection within you, becoming a shadow of Sam’s fears and desire to protect Tara at all costs; it was becoming just way too much, she needed an escape, something to let her be reminded of just how it felt to be a normal human, a college student, and adult.

“I just don’t understand why I can’t go; everyone will be there, and it’s safe.” Tara yelled with desperation to Sam, who was blocking the door of the apartment.

“It’s too dangerous, Tara. We just moved a few weeks ago, and the news about Ghostface and the attacks it’s still a fresh topic in the news. What would happen if someone recognized us? It’s too risky, besides, it’s not as if you can’t have fun right here.” Sam tried to argue.

“Y/N, please back me up here, we could go together.” She looked at you desperately and pleaded for you to give in and save her from Sam’s protectiveness, but by the way you were standing and the grimace on your face, she knew in that same moment she was cornered.

“I’m sorry, Tar, but I agree with Sam. We’ve barely talked with people around the Campus and still don’t know about the impact the news could have done to our image and the idea they have of us, it could be dangerous…maybe we should just wait a bit more.” You tried to explain while looking down at the floor, guilty for not backing your girlfriend up.

“Then how much? When will it be enough time for us to be still in fear? What happened is in the past, you both should just move on already, and don’t let your insecurities impact my life.” She said it without thinking much of it, but by the time Sam walked out and headed straight to her room, it was clear the damage was already done. “Y/N…I-” Tara tried to fix it, but you beat her to it.

“I know that we might seem overprotective, but put yourself in our shoes for a moment, Tara.” You begged while getting closer and holding her hand. “When you were attacked, I was so scared…I felt as if my whole world was collapsing, I wasn’t there for you, and if I could have been, maybe I would have been able to do something, whatever it took for you to be safe, I could…I should have…” You tried to express yourself, but it seemed words were starting to fail. “I just can’t stop thinking about how you got hurt, and I wasn’t there to protect you…and Sam too; her boyfriend was the one who orchestrated that whole thing, I bet she feels as guilty as I am…maybe even more.” You try to defend her sister, knowing the similar pain you both carried.

“I get it, really I do…But I just can’t keep reliving the past and thinking about all the ways it could have been prevented. I’m glad that you weren’t there with me, cause I could just imagine you getting hurt. I know you were scared, I was too…of leaving you, dying young without achieving something, without living my life at its fullest.” You knew she was right, that she had a valid point, but still, your fears were bringing the worst in you; it was just hard to let yourself be vulnerable; you had to be strong, for her, you couldn’t let anything happen. Not again,

“You’re right, I know, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t, I can’t lose you…just give me some time, to both of us, I’m sure with a bit more time, everything will feel normal.” You tried to show a smile, and Tara appreciated that.

She kissed you and, with that, put an end to the conversation.

A WEEK LATER…

Everything was becoming too much, with exams around the corner and Sam still being such an overprotective sister, everything was just so difficult to deal with. Tara felt like she was losing her mind over it.

The only good thing was you, it took a bit of time and communication between Tara and you to work your differences and put all the problems aside; when she was with you, she felt…normal, it was her safe space, she felt like home: but that was also changing.

You were also dealing with your own thing, managing your assignments/projects, also preparing for your own exams, you even got a job to get a bit more financial stability, it was already hard enough to cover your tuition. But that meant your time with Tara was also limited, it was rare for you two to be together, it was driving her insane…

*Ding*

Her phone light up with a text of Mindy:

“Party at a frat house around campus, Anika and Chad will be there too. Do Y/N and you wanna come?”

As she was starting to think about it, someone opened the door of her room.

“Hey…” It was you, since you were living with the Carpenter Sisters in the same place, Sam made it a rule for you and Tara to sleep in separate rooms. “Sam ordered some pizza, I thought you would like to eat together while we watch a movie? Perhaps we could even make her watch The Babadook.” You tried to joke around and Tara couldn't help but stare at you, you've practically become the glue that kept everything together while Tara and Sam worked their differences.

Without saying a word at first and now looking at her phone, contemplating what she would do next, and also if it would be worth it…

“I actually have to go, Mindy is having some issues with the assignment that the film teacher left us, she is begging me to go help her out at this hour.” For the first time, she lied to you…she didn't know it would soon become a habit.

“Oh…” The deception in your face was clear as ice, thinking about what your next words would be “I'll tell Sam that you already have plans, you don't wanna keep Mindy waiting, we know how she can be while under pressure.” You smiled Or at least tried to while Tara started packing some things and getting ready to go out.

She was going to open the door and leave, when Sam's voice rang.

“Where are you going?” She asked with a demanding tone, the one she has been using on Tara for a while now.

“It's alright, Sam. Tara is gonna head over to Mindy's so they can work on something for their film class.” You quickly answered, trying to not start an argument between the two of them; something started twisting inside Tara by hearing how you easily believed her and were now covering her.

“It's that true, Tara?” Sam looked at her without giving you a second glance, she studied Tara's posture and eyes to check she was in fact telling the truth.

“Yeah, she is having some sort of issue because instead of paying attention, she's constantly texting Anika.” She said in such an easy way, but to be truly honest, that wasn't a lie at all, Mindy was always texting Anika in class.

Sam stayed quiet for a bit, maybe trying to decode Tara's mannerisms and find out she was in fact lying. After what felt like hours, she let out a sigh and nodded. “Alright, but stay safe out there and alert to your phone.”

Tara only left out a quick yes and approached you in a fast motion. “I'll make it up to you.” She promised, you simply kissed her and wished her luck.

Closing the door behind her, she collapsed at the staircase and pulled out her phone to finally answer Mindy's text.

“Omw”

20 MINUTES LATER…

As she was approaching the place where Tara and her friends will meet to then go to the party, her heart wouldn't stop beating fast in her chest. When her friends say her arriving, they smiled and got closer.

“Hey, Tara! Glad you could make it!” Say Mindy as Anika hugged her and Chad waved with a smile.

“Where is Y/N?” Said Chad while looking around, trying to find you since it was very odd for you to miss a hangout with all your friends; even after sharing the past trauma for what happened at Woodsboro, you were all connected.

“Oh…yeah” She forgot about that for an instant “She won't be able to come, I tried to persuade her but with all her work and projects, she preferred to stay home with Sam.” Tara tried to sound so confident while saying that, even using a sad tone to fully sell it.

“Aw…I feel for her, these past few projects have been ROUGH.” Anika says as an attempt to try and lighten up the mood.

“Let's hope she can be here for the next one.” Says Chad with a smile.

“Alright! Then, what are we waiting for? Let's party!” Mindy screamed and with that they left to the frat house. But Tara was still feeling a bit guilty from lying to everyone like this.

Oh boy was she really under deep waters now, but…there wouldn't be any consequences for her actions, wouldn't it? After all, there was no way that you would ever find out…right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Part 2?

:]

[alarajrogers]

What can we do? I reblog pretty much every "stop being antisemitic, shitheads" post across my dash and I have frequently said that "anti-Zionists" are the worst possible hypocrites because almost all of them either come from colonial empires, or live on colonized land that doesn't historically belong to them, or both, and here they are calling Jews colonizers for taking back their homeland. Israel's behavior is horrifying, but so is America's behavior in Iraq and no one gave us the kind of shit for it that Jews who aren't even Israeli are getting today. And Iraq had literally nothing to do with 9/11, whereas Israel's current behavior was absolutely triggered by Hamas' violent attack on civilians.

Like, when it's not Jews, we can somehow comprehend that people from a country don't necessarily co-sign what their government is up to, that people of descent from a country doing terrible things who aren't themselves citizens should be left the fuck out of the discourse, and that a country that has been provoked by a violent attack on civilians is in fact likely to do some horrifying shit, and you don't have to forgive them for it, but you do kinda need to keep in mind that they were in fact provoked and you should not be stanning the terrorists, who have probably just made life much worse for everyone they were supposedly fighting for. This kind of attitude, while hardly universal, seems to be a lot more commonly believed in leftists circles when Jews are not involved in the equation.

But somehow, when Jews take their land back it's colonization, and when terrorists murder and rape and take civilian hostages, we... support the terrorists?

People who genuinely support Palestine do not stan Hamas, who deliberately provoked Israel knowing what Israel would do in retaliation because they get more converts to their cause if Israel carpet bombs civilians. (The fact that Israel fell for this trap is terrible, but absolutely predictable given Benjamin Netanyahu. We've known what he was like for a long ass time.) Hamas uses civilian locations such as schools and hospitals as bases so that if Israel blows them up, they get to say "Israel attacks our schools and hospitals". These are not the acts of people who actually want to protect Palestinians and support them. They would happily see all of Gaza murdered if it meant Israel could be wiped off the map. And, apparently, they stay in control by lying to Palestinians and killing Palestinians who try to speak the truth.

People who feel like maybe Hamas has a point, who feel like American Jews (or in fact Jews anywhere but Israel) are somehow complicit in what Israel's done, or who believe that Israeli citizens deserved to be assaulted, murdered, raped, and taken hostage, really need to take a good look at themselves. Do you believe that about America? Do you believe that about your own country? Would you be okay with it if you were murdered by "freedom fighters" because of the bad shit your country is doing? (And they are. No country on this planet has clean hands.)

You don't have to support Israel. But you need to take a good hard look at your own biases before you say things like "Israel has no right to exist" (do you support landback? Do you really? Do you think there's a time limit on when people are allowed to take their land back, and if the USA holds onto Indigenous lands for 2000 years they won't deserve their land back anymore either? Or do you hold this opinion because Jews are involved?) And if you support terrorists who murder and rape civilians... where the fuck is your humanity, people?

I’ve talked about how, as a goy, speaking up against the appalling onslaught of antisemitism that permeates every facet of society now often feels like yelling into an abyss, because most people either just don’t care or are actively participating in it.

And then it hit me like a brick to the face. People who speak up in support of Jews, Israelis, or for the wellbeing of the hostages often get accused by the extremist “antizionists” as “manufacturing consent for genocide.”

And that is EXACTLY what they are doing. The sheer level of dehumanisation and demonisation of Jewish communities, of Israelis, has reached a point where if a large scale horror like the Holocaust were to happen again, a terrifying amount of people would shrug their shoulders, turn away, and say “it’s just Zionists, they deserve it anyway.”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Trudy Ring at The Advocate:

U.S. Sen. Jeff Merkley of Oregon and U.S. Rep. Becca Balint of Vermont, both Democrats, have introduced legislation to nullify Donald Trump’s anti-LGBTQ+ executive orders. The No Place for LGBTQ+ Hate Act, introduced Thursday, would ensure that Trump’s anti-LGBTQ+ orders would have no force or effect and that no federal funds would be used to put them into effect. During his second term, Trump has issued executive orders saying the federal government will recognize only two sexes, male and female as assigned at birth, therefore denying the existence of transgender, nonbinary, and intersex people; reinstating and expanding the trans military ban; seeking to prevent trans youth from receiving gender-affirming care; seeking to keep trans students from participating in sports under their gender identity; and requiring schools to deny the existence of trans people. Policies based on these orders have been implemented, and most are being challenged in court. “Freedom is the right to safely live as your authentic self without fear of harassment, discrimination, or violence,” Merkley said in a press release. “President Trump and Republicans are attacking our LGBTQ+ neighbors, friends, and family members by rubberstamping discrimination in every aspect of daily life. As we mark Pride Month this year, we say ‘hell no’ to this hate and honor those who have fought for LGBTQ+ equality by never giving up on the vision of America as a land of freedom for all.” “Trump cannot take away our rights or our health care just with the stroke of a pen,” Balint added. “I’m standing with Senator Merkley and my colleagues to show the Trump administration that their hate and dehumanizing rhetoric targeting queer Americans doesn’t intimidate us. We won’t back down when it comes to protecting our rights. No matter how much they try to erase us and our history, LGBTQI+ people are valued members of every community across this country.” Their bill has numerous cosponsors in both the House and Senate, all Democrats except for one independent, Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont, who caucuses with the Democrats. It’s endorsed by the Human Rights Campaign, Advocates for Trans Equality, American Civil Liberties Union, National Women’s Law Center Action Fund, Reproductive Freedom for All, and Planned Parenthood.

Rep. Becca Balint (D-VT) and Sen. Jeff Merkley (D-OR) file a bill to nullify Donald Trump’s anti-LGBTQ+ extremist executive orders called the No Place for LGBTQ+ Hate Act.

[ellitx]

Chapter 24: The Divine Order

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

previous || next

art belongs to: fridaynightcat

Starting from this chapter, there will be a lot of mentions and content about pregnancy. I know some of you may not be fond of this content, but it’s essential to the plot line. I’m simply saying this as a heads up to everyone. I would say you can skip them if you wish to do so, but you will be missing a lot of context in the future chapters.

word count: 9.4k

          It was hard to believe that it had been three months since the Lord’s Tempest— one which they had unanimously begun to call on the night of the raging Ludi Harpastum— but at least the land of freedom was slowly thriving. Despite the nation being close to havoc, the Church’s announcement that a maiden had been betrothed to the Anemo Archon had thrown everyone into confusion, even if everyone had witnessed their god declare about his beloved.

           Despite the rocky progress of the past three months due to the Abyss Order’s invasion, which had added to the burdens of an already-strained nation, the Knights of Favonius had remained steadfast in their duty to protect Mondstadt.

           It had been fortunate that the Grandmaster and his troops had arrived on time when the Abyss took advantage of the drastic situation. Otherwise, the nation would be plunged into chaos and its people would be left vulnerable to despair. 

           Once the Abyss attacks had lessened and people continued restoring the city, perhaps the Anemo Archon had noticed the Church’s frequent pilgrims to Stormterror’s Lair. They had gone there seeking his guidance and praying for Mondstadt’s recovery; thus, he decided to bless them with his divine grace. After all, it had been his own transgression that led to the city's ruin, but no one dared to say that out loud unless they were a masochistic fool who’d prefer to be punished by the divinity.

           To say everyone had been shocked when the plaza was rebuilt overnight was an understatement. Everyone was speechless to see everything— and by everything, it meant that the entire city was rebuilt. The houses were restored, the irrigation systems were functioning, all the debris and remnants of destruction were gone. It was as if the storm didn’t occur in the very first place.

           People had cried, rejoiced, cheered, and knelt before the very statue of the Lord of the Winds, offering their prayers and gratitude for restoring the city and bringing their lives to its peaceful state. Of course, none could ever forget witnessing the wrath of their own god. But for him to restore Mondstadt and bless them so generously, surely that meant he had forgiven them of their sins... right?

           While many could only speculate whether the Anemo Archon had indeed chosen to forgive them and bestow his divine blessings, the exact details of what had transpired remained known only to the Church. Most, however, did not question it. They simply obeyed, believing it to have come from the Seneschal.

           Since then, the Church of Favonius has been meticulous in spreading the word about the Anemo Archon’s wife to the whole nation, further bringing with it a sense of prosperity and good fortune. Not only were they messengers of his will, but they also claimed to have near-direct contact with the Anemo Archon himself.

           Formerly overseen by the Knights of Favonius, the Church had become autonomous, making this sacred faction outside the Knights’ jurisdiction. They take on the sacred responsibility of providing guidance to those who seek the Anemo Archon’s blessings and his beloved wife’s miracles and fortunes. With scripture entrusted to them by the Lord himself, they awaited only his divine word.

           If no priests or nuns were available, citizens seeking their holy blessings could instead visit the shrine the Church had built at Stormterror’s Lair. This spiked the increase in pilgrimages the Church had been undertaking with growing frequency. Though the name sounded ominous and the area was still used as a nesting place by the dragon it was named after, many believed it also served as the Divine Couple’s abode.

           Over time, the lair had undergone a significant transformation. Cecilia flowers now bloomed in a ray of path, lush greenery had overtaken the once barren grounds, soft vines adorned the stone walls, and the great tower itself was gradually being rebuilt with each visit. 

           Witnessing these changes with their very own eyes only strengthened their belief that it must be the work of none other than Lord Barbatos. However, the attempts to investigate were proved futile as strong wind barriers surrounded the borders, preventing any entries.

           Recognizing its sacred nature, the Knights of Favonius officially renamed Stormterror’s Lair to Sanctuary of Windswept Vow— or simply, the Sanctuary. Each week, the people of Mondstadt frequently visited the shrine, offering their own prayers, wishes, and gifts for Lord Barbatos and his beloved wife to seek favour from the divine couple.

           “So the sudden restoration in Mondstadt means that…”

           Aether nodded when they finally grasped the situation. “Venti— or Barbatos— could be the only one who did it. His reason behind this? I don’t know yet, but it must have something to do with [Name]…”

           Jean stayed quiet, her fingers resting below her chin, deep in thought as she carefully digested the Honorary Knight’s intel. She looked down at the table scattered with envelopes and papers, the gears in her head connecting the pieces of information relating to the Anemo Archon and Mondstadt’s series of events in the past three months.

           “And this [Name] is the Anemo Archon’s wife the Church claims to be?” she reiterated.

           The blonde stayed silent before nodding. His hands turned into fists as he glared at the wooden table. “Yeah. Most of you have probably seen her on the night of Ludi Harpastum. The girl Venti was carrying, that’s [Name].”

           The air was tense while everyone stayed silent, absorbing the information. Diluc crossed his arms, his crimson gaze sharp with suspicion as he leaned slightly against the table. The weight of the discussion was pressing down on them, and the implications of Barbatos’ actions left an unspoken unease in the air.

           “There’s been a sudden rise in activity from the Church, and I’m sure everyone is aware of the ‘miracles’,” he finally spoke, his tone edged with skepticism.

           Right, the miracles. 

           Over the past two weeks, there has been a sudden fluctuation of “blessings” being given. One could almost say the phenomenon was similar to how Mondstadt was restored in one night. Crops were nourished, Diluc’s grapevines in the winery were somehow resistant to pests and grape rot. Farmers reported unprecedented harvests, their fields bearing fruit twice as plentiful as the season before. Even those who had fallen ill mysteriously recovered.

           The sheer number of inexplicable blessings had left even the most skeptical citizens questioning the source of such divine intervention. The Church of Favonius wasted no time in proclaiming these miracles as the work of Barbatos himself, further solidifying their influence over the people.

           Merchants spoke of their wares selling out in record time, their profits soaring without explanation. Hunters returned from the forest with an abundance of meat far beyond what was natural for the season. Even the winds carried a warmth that was neither stifling nor bitter, as if the land itself had been cradled in an embrace of renewal.

           Albedo tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table, his gaze flickering toward Jean. “It’s all a bit too convenient, don’t you think? Sudden prosperity after months of unrest... it feels more like compensation rather than mere generosity.”

           Kaeya hummed, swirling the wine in his glass as he smirked. “I don’t see any problems here. If anything, I see this as a win,” he said before taking a sip. “It benefits everyone. Everyone is happy, the Anemo Archon is happy, and Mondstadt is as free as the wind.”

           Diluc groaned at his comment. This was exactly why he didn’t want to cooperate with the Knights of Favonius, more so working with the Cavalry Captain. Sharing the bard’s identity with them could bring risk after what had happened, but feigning ignorance would only bring suspicion if brought up. 

           Only Aether, Paimon, Jean, Diluc, and Albedo knew of Venti’s identity as the Anemo Archon since the Stormterror had gone into a rampage. But after the events of Ludi Harpastum, it had become difficult for anyone not to recognize Venti. How could anyone not recognize the bard’s youthful face when he’s all over the town’s tavern, only to discover he’s an Archon in disguise?

           Just as Diluc was about to retort to Kaeya, a loud knock interrupted their discussion. Everyone turned their heads to the door and Diluc sighed. 

           “Come in.”

           A brunette girl dressed in Mondstadt’s traditional dress stepped inside. Her purple eyes drifted to Diluc’s guests and she bowed her head politely.

           “Mister Tunner has already gathered today’s harvest. However, some vineyards were infested by pests… We’re working on double-checking the grapes’ quality before processing them, just to be sure nothing compromised the batch. Mister Tunner also suggested postponing fermentation until we’ve completed the inspection.”

           She paused, hands clasped in front of her and her eyes briefly flicking to Diluc for approval before adding, “We’ll keep you updated if anything else comes up, Master Diluc.”

           Diluc sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was the third time he received a report that the vineyards were plagued by pests. But with the recent miracles, he couldn’t bring himself to complain. The profits at Dawn Winery had soared, thanks to what many considered a blessing from the Anemo Archon. Sadly, not every harvest could be safe from phylloxeras.

           “Alright. Thank you,” Diluc said with a calm nod, his voice low and composed despite the troubling news. “How’s your mother doing, Aurel?”

           The girl’s eyes widened at the mention of her parent. “Oh, she’s steadily recovering. She’s still a bit weak, but the medicine’s been helping thanks to your generosity, Master Diluc.” Aurel replied steadily, her gaze momentarily shifting to the floor before returning to the red-haired man. “I’m not particularly devout, but… lately, I’ve started to believe that maybe my prayers have reached the Anemo Archon after all.”

           Diluc gave a thoughtful hum. “I’ve heard from Adelinde that you’ve been making frequent visits to the shrine as of late.”

           Aurel nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “Yes, sir. I suppose it’s become something of a routine. The miracles, however… seem to be thinning out…”

           Kaeya raised a brow, his ever-present smirk curling his lips. “Thinning out? Now that’s an interesting choice of words. Care to elaborate, Aurel?”

           The girl shifted awkwardly, her brows knitting together as she tried to maintain her calm composure when his sharp eyes were locked onto her. “Well… I only heard from someone that the blessings aren’t as frequent as they were in the past two weeks. The Church hasn’t made any notice yet if there are new divine words from the Anemo Archon, so most are not yet aware of this occurrence…”

           Aether crossed his arms, his expression darkening as he processed her words. He turned and looked at the window, seeing many people making their way to the gates with baskets, flowers, and wines in their hands. He wondered how you were doing inside. If he hadn’t seen you for three months, did that mean you had accepted your fate? It felt… off.

           “Thank you, Aurel. You can take your leave.” Diluc said.

           Aurel nodded and quickly exited the room. Once the door closed behind her, silence filled the air for a brief moment.

           Kaeya broke it with a low chuckle, swirling his wine again. “Depleted miracles, huh? Sounds like our dear Archon might have overextended himself.”

           Jean frowned at Kaeya’s remark, folding her hands neatly on her lap. “This isn’t something to joke about. If the miracles are thinning out, it means something is shifting, and not necessarily for the better.”

           Albedo leaned forward, fingertips steepled as he glanced toward Aether. “You mentioned earlier that she didn’t know Venti’s true nature until you told her. Can you tell us more about that moment? What exactly happened that night?”

           Aether sighed, subconsciously reaching to his neck where he could still feel his assailant’s ghostly hands wrapped around his throat. “He was furious. I could feel it… he intended to kill me that evening. But…” His eyes cast downwards to the papers and books laid on the table, written anecdotes and history related to the Anemo Archon. “He looked desperate to make [Name] stay with him despite all the truths he hid from her… I really don’t know what their relationship is, but all I can say is, [Name] felt betrayed that he kept so many things from her…”

           Paimon, unusually quiet until now, floated a bit lower. “We could never miss that look in her eyes… It was like she shattered into pieces when we told her everything about Venti’s true identity…”

           The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the polished floors of Dawn Winery’s main room. Albedo’s voice remained calm, but there was a trace of curiosity. “And the miracles… do you believe they’re tied to her?”

           Aether paused briefly before nodding slowly. “I do. Maybe not directly. But she’s at the center of it. Ever since the Lord’s Tempest, Mondstadt’s been strange. One day, Mondstadt was being attacked by the Abyss, and the next, there was a sudden restoration. And now the rise in miracles? People call them a blessing, but is it really a blessing if it's forced by a divinity?”

           “It’s been ongoing for weeks and everyone is flocking to visit the Sanctuary. Do you think she’s the reason the blessings are dissipating?” Diluc remarked.

           The Cavalry Captain chuckled lowly and their heads turned to him. “If it really did come from the Lady of the Winds, who are we to complain when all they’ve done is merely show their love to us? To shower us with their divine grace?” Kaeya added.

           Diluc’s jaw tightened, his gloved fingers tapping against the wooden table. “That’s exactly what concerns me. A deity’s power is not limitless. If it is truly her, how much of herself is she sacrificing to bestow these so-called miracles? And for what purpose?”

           Aether’s frown deepened as his gaze lingered on the window, watching the crowd grow larger as the sun dipped below the horizon. The flicker of lanterns carried by the people illuminated the path to the shrine, creating a river of golden light. 

           “It doesn’t feel right,” he finally said, his voice quiet yet firm. “Even if it’s her, this isn’t the freedom Mondstadt stands for. It feels more like... devotion born of obligation rather than choice.”

           Kaeya raised a brow, swirling the wine in his glass before glancing sidelong at the traveler. “Strange, hearing those words from you. You've crossed countless nations and seen stranger customs, yet this is what unsettles you?”

           It didn’t help that you were being venerated in a way that trapped you rather than honored you. And he feared you were being consumed by the role Venti had imposed. Aether wanted you to have the freedom to choose, not to be turned into a goddess out of grief or divine politics.

           Kaeya paused, his tone light but no longer mocking. “Though... I suppose it’s different when it’s someone you care about. You've been clawing at the windwalls for months now, haven’t you?”

           Aether’s jaw tensed. “You make it sound like I haven’t tried.”

           “I’m not saying that,” Kaeya said, his voice quieter now. “But when a god decides to love, it's rarely fair. You know that better than anyone.”

           The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the subtle crackling of the fire. Diluc shot Kaeya a glance, less sharp now and more contemplative. “You're saying the Archon’s emotions are fueling this... surge of miracles?”

           Kaeya shrugged, lifting his glass. “Or hers. Maybe both. Love has strange ways of manifesting when gods are involved. Only the Church of Favonius knows the true source of these miracles.”

           Paimon grumbled as she placed her fists on her small waist. “It’s always the Church of Favonius! Are the Knights no longer involved in this stuff? You know, divine revelations, blessings, whatever this whole thing is?”

           Jean folded her hands neatly atop the table, coughing her throat. “We are still involved, Paimon. But ever since the restructuring two months ago, the Church has gained more autonomy in handling all divine affairs related to the Anemo Archon. The Knights… we no longer have oversight over the rituals, miracles, or the Anemo Archon’s revelations. Only the clergy know how things are actually operating.”

           Paimon blinked. “Restructuring?”

           Jean gave a slow nod. “After the Lord’s Tempest, the Church declared a shift in divine authority. They claimed it was Lord Barbatos’s will that his revelations should be handled solely by his chosen clergy, not a military force. The people were desperate for hope after the chaos. They accepted it.”

           “And now no one questions it,” Diluc muttered, eyes narrowing. “How convenient.”

           Albedo leaned forward, the firelight catching the edge of his sharp gaze. “If the Church truly acts on Lord Barbatos’s will, then we must also entertain the possibility that any deviation, such as the waning of miracles, could be interpreted as punishment. Or… exhaustion.”

           “Exhaustion?” Kaeya repeated with a scoff. “From a god?”

           “Not a god,” Albedo corrected calmly. “A vessel. If the miracles are channeled through the Lady of the Winds, then she may not be infinite in her capacity. And if the Church is aware of this... it makes their silence all the more troubling.”

           Albedo took a round pendant from his coat pocket, a familiar glass orb encased in a gold casing with an intricate insignia carved into its surface. Inside the orb was a faded symbol of three short interlaced arcs.

           Aether’s eyes widened and beside him, he heard Paimon gasp. “Isn’t that [Name]’s pendant? How did you get it?”

           Albedo glanced at them calmly. “This is just a replica I crafted. I wanted to study its origins after you asked me to repair the original. The design… it felt too deliberate to be ornamental. And I was right.” 

           Albedo placed the pendant gently on the table, the firelight catching the curves of its ornate design. Everyone leaned forward to observe and inspect the said item.

           “According to my research, this emblem traces back to a noble crest once associated with the ancient royal lineage of Old Mondstadt, prior to the rebellion against Decarabian.”

           Paimon floated closer, eyes wide. “That’s what Dr. Edith said to us too! She mentioned the same symbol in her notes about Old Mondstadt relics. There were even old folktales saying Decarabian had a daughter, but she suddenly vanished without a trace…”

           Jean’s brow furrowed. “A daughter of Decarabian…? That’s not something I’ve ever seen documented in our official archives.”

           “Most records from that era were either destroyed or buried under layers of rewritten history,” Albedo said, almost absently as he rotated the pendant with a gloved finger. “But scattered folklore and fragmented texts suggest there is indeed a young girl close to the tyrant’s side. Possibly hidden from the public for her protection... or perhaps to preserve a legacy Decarabian feared would be erased.”

           He paused, his expression more serious now. “When I examined the original pendant, I found faint traces of elemental resonance. More curiously, embedded deep within the casing was a lingering essence of a divine being. We believe it to be the residual will of Decarabian himself.”

           Kaeya raised an eyebrow, setting aside his wine. “And you’re saying [Name] could be… a descendant?”

           “No,” Albedo corrected, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Not a descendant. There are signs that the pendant belonged to her. The original owner. That [Name] is the girl who disappeared.”

           A heavy silence fell.

           “But… that’s impossible,” Jean said, her voice faltering for the first time. “Decarabian’s fall was over two thousand years ago.”

           “Which makes the miracles, the pendant, and her confinement all the more concerning,” Albedo replied. “We may not be dealing with just the favored of Barbatos... but with a relic of a former god’s bloodline itself.”

           Aether sat back slowly, the pieces beginning to fall into place. It all made sense… 

           The pendant. The elemental residue. The old blood of Decarabian.

           The confusion in your eyes when Paimon mentioned the existence of Vision.

           The sorrow Venti wore like a second skin when your name was spoken.

           It wasn’t just a loss. It was longing.

           No one knew the daughter’s existence because she had been asleep somewhere hidden. Somewhere away from the danger. And where else was sealed off but none other than Stormterror’s Lair? An area blocked by storming winds until Venti arrived to save Dvalin.

           The lair had once been Old Mondstadt. Decarabian’s tower was in Stormterror’s Lair. The daughter had never been seen again after vanishing into the tower.

           [Name] is the daughter of Decarabian. The very same girl kept hidden away during the rebellion, now awakened after an era lost to time. For you to live this long meant you possessed Decarabian’s blood, didn't it? 

           You were the only person Venti had left in his life prior to his status as an Archon. He had told Aether about his past. His story of how he met his dear bard friend and a young maiden during his time as a small wisp in the rebellion. Venti told him he had been waiting for this maiden for centuries to wake up.

           Was that why Venti was so attached to you? 

           It all pointed to a god trying desperately not to lose you.

           But at what cost?

           Aether’s gaze lifted back to the pendant. Your freedom was taken by the God of Freedom…

           The irony struck like a blade. Of all Archons, Barbatos was the one who championed liberty, who let his people walk paths of their choosing. Yet when it came to you, he had bound you tighter than any chain. A prison wrapped in worship, in silence, in sanctuary walls masked as safety.

           And Aether understood now. It wasn’t malice. It was fear. 

           Venti had already lost a nation, lost friends, lost his innocence in a war against a god. You were the last fragment of that world. The only living proof of a time he couldn’t forget.

           Aether’s hands curled into fists. He looked to Jean, Kaeya, and Albedo, their faces lit dimly by the firelight, each caught in the same unease.

           The miracles.

           The rising fervor.

           The unreachable Sanctuary…

           Everything pointed to the Anemo Archon’s wife.

           “We’ll wait for the Church’s response to the declining miracles,” Aether said, breaking the silence in the room. “We’re not yet entirely sure if [Name] really is the source of these miracles, but we can assume she has a part in it. I know the Church can't remain silent forever.”

           Kaeya sighed and leaned back on his chair, one leg crossed over the other as his eyes flicked to the empty glass, reflecting his face. “If this is truly the work of the Anemo Archon’s wife, then perhaps the answers lie with her. Though, good luck getting past the wind barriers around the Sanctuary.”

           Aether’s amber eyes shifted to the image of Barbatos illustrated in a book, his eyes filled with determination. “I’ll find a way in. I need to see her. I need to know if she’s... if she’s okay with all of this.”

           “Hmm… So you plan to confront Lord Barbatos himself, knowing full well he wants you as far from his wife as possible?” Kaeya leaned in slightly, his tone light, but deliberate. “Or is this the part where the gallant Traveler tries to rescue a maiden from the arms of a god?”

           A moment of silence passed.

           Diluc’s jaw tightened. “Kaeya,” he warned under his breath, his voice low and disapproving.

           But Kaeya only raised a hand in mock surrender, settling back with a quiet chuckle. “Relax, Master Diluc. I’m merely curious. If anyone can challenge a god on something so personal, I suppose it would be our dear Traveler.” His gaze slid back to Aether. “Just try not to upset the Anemo Archon too much. We wouldn’t want Mondstadt to turn into ruins, would we?”

           Jean coughed, catching everyone’s attention. “I’m sure all this information may be overwhelming for some of you, so please take the time to rest. I’ll be reporting to Grand Master Varka on Mondstadt’s current situation.”

           “Don’t overwork yourself, Jean! Be sure to take a break as well,” Paimon quickly reminded her. 

           The Dandelion Knight softly smiled and gave a polite nod. “I’ll go on ahead. If anyone needs me, you know where to find me.”

           Everyone nodded except for Diluc who remained quiet and unmoving, his expression unreadable as he watched the exchange in silence.

           Before leaving, Albedo stepped beside Aether and handed him the replica pendant. “Take this,” he said calmly. “It may not hold power like the original, but... it might prove useful if you intend to investigate around the Sanctuary.”

           Aether accepted it with a quiet nod, his fingers curling around the smooth, cool surface of the glass. “Thank you.”

           One by one, they all left the room, their footsteps echoing faintly against the wooden floors of Diluc’s manor. Only Aether and Diluc were left in the living room for a moment longer, his gaze still locked on the pendant resting in his palm. 

           His thoughts churned like the winds outside, questions trailing behind every answer they had found. Just as Aether and Paimon turned to leave, the low voice of the master of Dawn Winery cut through the quiet.

           “Before the two of you leave,” Diluc said evenly, arms crossed, “is there a particular reason why the meeting was held in my home? Wouldn’t it be more convenient if it were held in the Knights of Favonius Headquarters?”

           Paimon blinked, clearly caught off guard. “H-Huh? That’s a good point, now that you mention it...”

           Aether paused at the doorway, then looked over his shoulder. A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

           “Because it’s harder to eavesdrop here,” he said. “And unlike the church... or the Knights... I trust you to be honest when things go wrong.”

           Diluc’s eyes narrowed slightly at the answer. Not in disapproval, but in silent understanding.

           With nothing more to say, Aether turned back toward the path outside, tucking the pendant safely in his pocket.

—

             Two days. You have been giving Venti the cold shoulder for two days.

           The night of the argument still had a bit of tension. Venti was hushing you, hugging you, and apologizing over and over until your tears had stopped. He never fought back when you were weakly punching his chest. He never pulled away when you called him selfish. He just held you tighter, afraid you’d leave him who kept him whole for all these years.

           You were his last thread. And if rejection was crawling on his back, he’d be damned what atrocious things he’d do to his own nation.

           He hadn’t left your side that night. When your tears had died down and you fell asleep in his arms, he didn’t dare let the coldness seep over your skin and brought you to your shared bed carefully. Venti kissed your dried tears, but he, too, was silently sobbing as he held you close to him, hugging you as tightly as he could without disturbing your slumber.

           He stayed like that until the first light of dawn painted the Sanctuary in pale gold. He pressed his cheek against your hair and whispered half-finished lullabies and broken apologies into the silence while his hands rested over your abdomen, drawing slow circles on your chiton dress. 

           His breath trembled with every word, and yet he didn’t stop. Not even when your expression, peaceful in sleep, reminded him of everything he feared losing.

           He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep at that time.

           But the days that followed were quieter.

           You kept your distance, speaking only when necessary. Meals were eaten in silence. You’d sit by the open archways, watching the clouds pass, while he lingered by the bridge behind you. Close, but never quite close enough.

           As much as he wanted to approach you, take your hands between his and beg for your forgiveness, he sensed you needed your own personal space. He was desperate, yes, but he didn’t want to intrude, no matter how much it hurt him the longer you remained in silence.

           Now, in the Sanctuary’s south garden, Venti sat alone on the edge of the fountain. His arms draped limply around his knees as the soft wind around him stirred, mimicking his unrest.

           Venti was contemplating what to do to ask for your forgiveness. He knew he was a fool in love with you, but he couldn't bear to see you cry. His first thought drifted to something he had long prepared, something he had been waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. 

           To propose. To proclaim his love. 

           But it didn't feel right. 

           It felt too soon. Too desperate.

           You wouldn’t accept his proposal so easily if the relationship was on the brink of shattering. Not when he was the one who had shattered your fragile heart by lying to you.

           He clenched his fist as Barbatos sat idly next to him, blank and empty like a doll. The world blurred through shimmering dots. Colors seemed to bleed together, outlines of objects blurring into hazy, indistinct shapes. 

           The world itself was weeping along with him. Or perhaps it was just the salt stinging his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked, trying to focus, but the world remained distorted.

           A teardrop fell on the back of his hand, then another like dew of raindrops. Venti sniffed and rubbed his eyes hastily with his arm. 

            Archons, Venti was so pathetically in love with you. 

           He wanted to grip his hair, slap himself, and punch himself for being so stupid.

           Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

           If he had just told you that you had been in a coma, this wouldn’t have happened. If he had just stopped lying, hiding everything from you, you wouldn’t be crying. If he had stopped that damn doctor and his pet snake earlier, their peaceful and perfect life would have continued. 

           It was all Zhongli’s fault. He already told him to bring his adepti, and yet he brought a mortal. A fucking mortal. Into his own abode. To check up on you.

           If Morax had brought an adeptus with medical knowledge, they wouldn’t have sputtered nonsense in front of you. If Morax had simply listened to him, he wouldn’t have resorted to using his powers to erase their memories. But alas, when a situation turned dire, he would go back to using his archon abilities. 

           Take advantage of it.

           But Venti had already done significant damage. He didn’t want to make matters worse. He didn’t want to widen this already heartbreaking relationship. He wanted to return to you. And in order to earn your forgiveness, he needed to amend his faults. 

           Venti cleared his face of tear stains as he stood up from his seat at the base of the fountain. 

           The air was too heavy around him. His chest ached, his lungs refused to expand, and his breaths refused to reach his brain. And his heart—

           It hurt.

           His heart thumped irregularly against his chest. Pain and stress flowed through his body like venom, making his bones burn in agony and his muscles twitch violently.

           He gripped his hair, pulling it as he bit his lip harshly until blood drew out.

           Come back, come back, come back, come back!

           It wasn’t Venti’s fault! 

           Morax was the one who got the mortals involved!

           But if Morax hadn't brought Dr. Baizhu, he never would have known you were carrying his child. You would have struggled fighting your sickness, so weak and so fragile. You could have died if Dr. Baizhu hadn’t given you a diagnosis. 

           You and his baby windblume could have died.

           That thought alone made him fall to his knees in defeat. What would he do? How could he patch up this relationship without any more tears to shed?

           Dust puffed out from the ground. Venti heaved, his chest heavy and tight. Everything inside him felt taut, drawn tight as if his soul was clenching against his flesh, wanting to get out. His arms and shoulders tensed, muscles jerking and straining against his skin.

           “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Come back to me, please… I’m so sorry, love.” He kept whispering apologies under his own breath as if it could reach you through the melancholic hymns of the winds. 

           Venti wanted to kick himself. He had already sent Morax away, calling him stupid and irresponsible. It was an insult, but it was the truth, and Venti doesn’t deny his feelings anymore.

           Morax should have listened to his warnings!

           What would he do? What had he done before to patch up the relationship?

           Venti felt something metallic graze against his thigh.

           He blinked, eyes still stinging, and reached down with trembling fingers. His fake vision had slipped from beneath his robes. It was cool to the touch, its glassy surface glinting faintly under the soft sunlight.

           Then something clicked in his head.

           In a hurry, he snapped his fingers and strong gusts of wind gathered around him. 

           Why hadn't he thought of this earlier?

           Teal feathers fluttered gently and a bright light surrounded his hands until he could clearly see an orb take shape.

           As his thumb brushed across it, the orb pulsed. Hastily, he searched through the series of sequences that played. Images of a dark-haired boy with a brown cloak and a [hair color] dressed in a navy blue cloak played, smiling at each other as the boy held her close, cupping her cheek with fondness.

           There must be something here he could find. Something he did back then… something his friend had said or given to make you smile again.

           Venti’s fingers curled tightly around your memory orb, cradling it as faint teal light danced against his trembling hands. The winds around him stilled and the first image flickered to life.

           The same dark-haired boy returned, twirling clumsily beneath the twinkling night sky. Across from him was the [hair color] girl giggling, the flowers lighting up with each step they took together through a field of luminescent flowers. The young man reached for her hand, pulling her into a playful spin as soft glimmers of the fireflies’ lights danced around their feet.

           He plucked a flower and gently tucked it behind her ear. The maiden smiled shyly, her cheeks softly tinted with pink as her soft gaze cast downward before the bard nudged her chin up with a tender insistence. The wind stirred around them lightly, wrapping their silhouettes in swirls of dandelion seeds and fireflies. 

           He looked at her as if she were the only melody he wanted to preserve in the dissonant world. His voice was unheard in the orb, yet his lips moved with affection, saying something Venti already knew by heart. 

           Then, the maiden laughed. A small, beautiful sound that made her throw her head back slightly, glowing as if the moon itself leaned down to kiss her cheek.

           And all the while, the bard simply held her, his forehead pressed against hers, his hand never leaving her face, not even when the memory began to blur.

           Venti stared.

           He hadn’t remembered this scene in such detail before. Or perhaps, he never allowed himself to look too closely. It wasn’t him in that memory. Not exactly.

           But the longing was the same. The yearning. The way his dear friend had looked at you was the way Venti felt whenever he glanced at you now.

           Venti sniffed and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand as the memory continued to play. His fingers trembled as he lowered his hand, the orb disappearing as the last traces of feathers dissolved into the wind. He looked back at the tower, wondering where you might be, wondering if you missed him just as he had missed you.

           Sighing, he pushed back his hair and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to relax and calm the storm in his mind. He needed to be quick. He needed to prepare everything fast. But this would take time, and he couldn’t do this alone…

           His energy was quickly draining and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold. 

           The quicker he could resolve this, the sooner he could recover. 

           When he moved to stand upright, his knees buckled slightly, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. Across the garden, the wisp perched at the fountain’s edge flickered, then dissolved into scattered teal motes, its borrowed energy returning to its master.

           With whatever strength and energy Venti could muster, he snapped his fingers. A parchment unfurled midair, and the tip of the quill hovered shakily above its surface before he began to write in silence. The strokes weren’t as graceful as they used to be, but the message bled through clearly.

           The Church would never fail him; that truth alone was enough for him to start his preparations. The parchment rolled and vanished into the breeze toward the cathedral spires. They would handle the rest. They always had.

           The Anemo Archon only needed to see his wife’s smile return. 

—

          “This or that?”

           “That.”

           A gust of wind brushed over Paimon and Aether who were strolling along the cobbled path. The small fairy crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

           “Hmm… Paimon didn’t expect you to be so frugal.”

           “I’d rather spend my mora on weapons than on multiple dishes you’ll barely finish.”

           “Ah! Rude!”

           Aether’s lips quirked up faintly, though his eyes scanned the square ahead. The plaza was quieter than usual. Even though they had continued with their daily lives since the restoration, the townsfolk seemed more reserved today. Perhaps they had finally noticed the decrease in the miracles.

           Three days had passed and the Church still remained silent. 

           “Mondstadt is so quiet today… should we go to the Knights of Favonius and check in with Jean?”

           Before the blonde traveler could reply, his ears caught on the hushed conversation between merchants and passersby.

           “The crops haven’t bloomed the way they used to…”

           “Do you think the Anemo Archon is angry at us…?” The woman whispered.

           “I don’t know... But I heard the Church of Favonius will be holding a proclamation today. We should visit the cathedral and pray once more… maybe Lord Barbatos will hear our prayers…”

           So they weren’t being kept in the dark after all. If the Church remained silent, the people would drown in their fears and uneasiness, and who knows what would happen to this nation.

           Lost in his own train of thought, Aether paid no mind to Paimon’s calls, and he certainly didn’t notice a brunette girl approaching him.

           “Traveler?”

           A voice called. He blinked and turned to see a familiar face. It was one of Diluc’s winery staff he saw a few days ago. What was her name again? Aura? Ariel?

           He scrunched his brows, trying his hardest to remember. 

           “Oh, hey! You’re the girl we saw a few days ago at Diluc’s manor, right?” Paimon hovered closer, eyes narrowing in thought. “Um… Laura? No— Arla! That was it!”

           The girl smiled faintly. “Close enough. But it’s Aurel.”

           Aether gave her a nod of recognition. “You work for the winery, don’t you?”

           Aurel politely nodded and showed him a basket of bread she was holding. “I just finished my work. I’m on my way to the cathedral.”

            Aether glanced in the same direction, noting the distant cathedral spire rising over the rooftops of Mondstadt. “We’re headed there too,” he said. “We heard something might be happening.”

           “Oh? So you’ve heard the Church has a proclamation today? The sisters invited everyone to join the gathering this morning.”

           Paimon hummed unsurely, “Well, not the actual event itself. Mondstadt has been so quiet today, and we want to investigate what’s going on.” 

           Aurel smiled a bit, but her eyes reflected a more grim light. “People are talking about the miracles, and there’s no doubt it will reach the Church’s ears.”

           A gust of silence fell between them briefly as they crossed the square. “Do you come to the Church often?” Aether asked.

           She nodded. “Twice a week if I can manage. My mother has been sick for a long time… I come to pray at the Sanctuary’s shrine for her healing and offer gifts and flowers for the Divine Couple. A bottle of cider when I can afford it.”

           Paimon tilted her head. “Offer?”

           Aurel smiled wistfully. “Well, I’m not the only one. There’s been a surge of visitors to the shrine lately. Especially in the last three months.”

           They turned a corner, and the cathedral came into view, its stained glass glowing with filtered sunlight.

           Aurel’s gaze softened as she continued, “Every time I passed by, I’d hear the sisters rejoicing over the betrothal of Lady of the Wind to Lord Barbatos. My little sister would often come back home and tell me the stories from the Church. One time, she said that the Anemo Archon is showering blessings upon Mondstadt because his heart is filled with love.”

           She paused to glance at Aether. “Some say the more he is satisfied, the more miracles appear. I always thought it was a strange way to word it. But… the past two weeks have been full of blessings…”

           She clutched the basket of bread a little tighter. “That’s why so many come to the shrine now. To offer thanks. To offer prayers. It’s as if… they want to keep them happy.”

           Aether looked ahead again, his lips tight with thought. 

           Miracles occur because the Divine Couple is happy… 

           He remembered their discussion back at Diluc’s manor and their speculations. Were these miracles really coming from you and Venti? It was only a possibility that you may be the root of it, but if these blessings were declining, does that mean something happened at the Sanctuary?

           Aurel noticed his troubled visage and chuckled. 

           “Take my words with a grain of salt, Traveler. These are merely gossip from us and not the official message from the Church. You know how quickly word spreads and how people twist tales for their own pleasure.” 

           The traveler’s lips parted slightly, brushing his finger over his cheek sheepishly.

           Right. Now that the Church had finally made a call, Aether hoped he could get some more clues.

           “What about you?” Aurel asked, turning her head to his direction. 

           “Me?” Aether pointed to himself with a raised brow.

           “I’ve seen you near the shrine a few times... I wanted to say something before, but Acting Grand Master Jean was usually with you. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

           Aether blinked owlishly. “Oh… I didn’t realize.”

           “It’s fine. Whenever I visit the shrine and stumble upon you, you look like…” Aurel’s purple optics flicked to his as her voice lowered. “…you were trying to find a way to get in.”

           Aether’s eyes widened, and he quickly turned to her with a gaping mouth. His heart raced and sweat rolled down his neck. Before Aurel could throw another question, a new sound carried over the breeze.

           Murmurs. Dozens of them.

           As they reached the outer steps of the cathedral, a small crowd had already gathered. Mondstadters were murmuring amongst themselves, brows furrowed and voices hushed.

           “Has the Anemo Archon abandoned us?”

           “He was happy, wasn’t he…? Why did the miracles stop?”

           “We need answers! Where’s the Church and why aren’t they telling us anything?!”

           Paimon floated a little higher, peering over the heads of the crowd. “Woah, there are so many people today… even more than usual.”

           Aether scanned the faces. Some were anxious. Others confused. But all of them looked toward the cathedral with anticipation and worry in their eyes.

           “Everyone! Please calm down and wait patiently! The Herald of Lord Barbatos will arrive soon.”

           Aether saw Jean at the sidelines, calming the crowd. The rest of the Knights were also with her, keeping an eye on things. They seemed worried. Jean, in particular, didn’t smile or wave. Her mouth was a thin line as her sky-blue eyes bore holes into the ground, fists clenched at her sides.

           Aether glanced up at the towering cathedral doors. They hadn’t opened yet. But the pressure in the air was palpable.

           Then, faintly, the sound of bells began to toll from the belfry. Not the jubilant peals of celebration, but a slower, solemn rhythm.

           People turned toward the doors, the murmurs fading into silence as a young man stepped into view. He wore a pristine white cap with two black points accented with gold lining. With the same pure color and accent, his robes caught glints of sunlight with each step. Soft rose-pink hair framed his face, and a serene yet enigmatic expression rested on his delicate features. In his hands, he held a scroll tied with a mint green ribbon.

           Paimon clung to Aether’s shoulder with a nervous frown. “I have a bad feeling about this…”

           Aurel’s eyes narrowed. Her ears filtered out the anxious rustling of the crowd, her attention locked on the pink-haired figure as he unfurled the parchment.

           “People of Mondstadt and children of the wind, I ask you now to listen with open hearts for I bring news long awaited,” he began and the murmurs diminished to silence as all their attention was set on him.

           “Many among you have asked why the winds have been quiet, why the rains have come late, why the harvests have felt thinner, and the air colder. It is not judgment. It is not abandonment. Our Archon, Lord Barbatos, has not turned away. He has simply turned inward, choosing for a time to watch over his beloved.”

           Aether’s brows furrowed slightly. He leaned down toward Aurel and whispered low, “Who is that?”

           Aurel barely turned, her eyes still fixed on the speaker. “That’s Deacon Dahlia,” she murmured. “He’s the Church of Favonius’s high deacon. He’s also the voice and messenger of the Anemo Archon.”

           Aether returned his gaze to the deacon with renewed attention.

           Dahlia’s voice rang once more through the plaza. He didn’t raise his tone, but somehow, it still reached every ear and every heart.

           Aether’s thoughts whirred, and he asked again, albeit in an urgent tone, “Does he have close contact with the Anemo Archon?”

           Aurel raised her brow and glanced at him through her peripheral vision. “More or less. He’s the messenger, so of course he has Lord Barbatos’s favor.”

           He returned his attention to the deacon and narrowed his golden eyes, trying to grasp something from this assembly. 

           As if sensing the traveler’s gaze, Dahlia’s eyes briefly flicked toward Aether. For a second, his expression shifted. Not hostility. Not recognition. A flicker of skepticism at an unknown outlander.

           Then Dahlia’s gaze swept back over the crowd. His gentle smile returned, and he opened his arms wide as both priests behind him pressed their palms together in prayer.

           “The Lady of the Winds, beloved of our Anemo Archon, is expecting a child!” he announced.

           The whole plaza gasped, some awed in disbelief. Murmurs rippled across the gathered crowd as birds flew off from the cathedral spires when the bell rang loudly once again. Some women were clutching their hands to their mouths as their eyes welled up with tears. A few elders whispered prayers under their breath, while several younger attendees turned to one another in curiosity and confusion.

           "Now, as the truth is made known, let us rejoice!" Dahlia declared as his voice rose high. “For though the winds paused, they shall rise again. And when they do, they will carry not only blessing, but a new breath, a new voice, a new song born of wind and grace.”

           A hand shot up from the crowd. Dahlia turned to them with a patient smile.

           “Yes, my dear?”

           “You said the Lord has not abandoned us… He will still continue showering us with his blessings, right?”

           Dahlia gave a reassuring nod.

           “Indeed. But from this point on, we must understand that these blessings are now intimately tied to the Divine Couple’s well-being. When the Lord is joyful, his winds flow freely. When his Lady smiles, the land flourishes. And when both hearts are light, Mondstadt knows prosperity.”

           He paused, letting that settle before adding gently, “But should sorrow touch them, the winds may falter.”

           Another hush and the crowd grew solemn.

           The two priests then stepped forward in perfect synchronicity. “When the Lady smiles, the Archon’s joy will return. And the winds shall once again sing across Mondstadt,” they said in unison. 

           Dahlia rolled the scroll and looked down at the crowd. “Know this, the Lord still watches over us. He has not turned away,” he continued with a firm voice. “But if you wish for blessings to return in full, then give back your love. Visit the shrine. Offer your prayers. Let the Divine Couple know their people walk with them, even in times of quiet.”

           Dahlia bowed his head one last time and turned his heels. The two priests followed behind, guiding him back toward the tall cathedral doors.

           Aether’s breath hitched as his eyes followed their shrinking figures amongst the sea of the crowd. 

           Dahlia is the Anemo Archon’s messenger. He knows what’s going on inside the Sanctuary.

           Those were the only thoughts running through the traveler's mind right now. An objective. A mission to accomplish he gave to himself. All to free you from the place where Venti’s people worshipped you. 

           He knew Venti had become too paranoid and overprotective, to the point where you mustn't stray far from his side. The god was overflowing with feelings— perhaps overflowing with happiness because of these miracles and blessings— at the knowledge you were bearing his child.

           And because of the declination, it must be related to how you reacted to it. That was his best guess. 

           Without thinking, his body pushed forward through the thick crowd. 

           He couldn't let this chance slip away. Dahlia must also know about you and your whereabouts.

           “Wait!” Aether shouted, weaving through cloaks and shoulders. 

           “Aether!” Paimon called out behind him, flitting after his trail. “Hey! Where are you going?!”

           Aurel, still standing idly at the plaza as she digested the Church’s words, saw the traveler cut through the gathering in haste. People shouted and glared at the blonde man. Her eyes widened upon the realization of what Aether was doing. She glanced back at the murmuring crowd, then down at her basket, second-guessing her choices. 

           Finally, with a deep, reluctant sigh, she shook her head and ran in the direction from which Aether came. He may be the Honorary Knight and Mondstadt’s hero, but she needs to catch Aether before he does anything reckless.

           By the time the blonde traveler reached the threshold of the cathedral, the heavy doors had not yet shut. He stepped inside with his heart pounding loudly in his ears. With a loud voice, his voice echoed across the high marble arches.

           “Wait!”

           Dahlia and the two priests halted in the middle of the candle-lit nave, the lingering scent of incense curling in the air. They turned slowly, the two priests unsurprised except for the pink-haired deacon, as if they were expecting this.

           The traveler's boots echoed on the polished marble as he stepped forward, panting slightly from the chase.

           “You’re… you’re the herald of the Anemo Archon...” Aether said between breaths. “You can reach him, right?”

           Dahlia regarded him with a calm but bewildered gaze, his lashes half-lowered in thought. “Indeed, I am,” he answered softly. “Though I am just a mere messenger entrusted with passing his words to his children.”

           Aurel and Paimon had finally caught up to him, the pair standing near the cathedral doors as they caught their breaths. Paimon was the first to trail after him, quickly hovering near Aether with a nervous look on her face. Aurel flinched upon seeing the two knights guarding the door. They may have seen them but chose to say nothing. She slowly stepped forward and listened from a distance, as if one single echo from her shoes would mean a disturbance in this sacred palace.

           “Can… can we request an audience with him and his wife?” Aether’s voice wavered with desperation as he stepped closer. 

           The silence that followed was palpable. Dahlia stiffened and his expression faltered into something unreadable. His purple eyes widened with unease before flicking toward the two priests beside him. The clerics exchanged sharp, knowing glances, their eyes narrowing in warning as they turned their attention back to the traveler.

           “I… I’m afraid not,” Dahlia finally said. His voice was low as though the very question had summoned a chill in the air. “Lord Barbatos prefers to keep their solace undisturbed… It is a sacred time for them both.”

           “Then what about a message?” Aether took another step forward as his voice raised slightly. “We don’t even need to step foot near the tower! Just let him know what’s happening. Please, just ask him to give [Name] her freedom!”

           Dahlia’s mouth remained slightly ajar, but no words came. The priests looked increasingly tense. One of them placed a hand subtly on the edge of his robes.

           “She doesn’t deserve this,” Aether continued, voice rising with each breath. “You all call her the Lady of the Winds, but she’s locked away in that tower like some secret no one’s allowed to speak of! She was deceived, and now she’s trapped. And none of you are doing anything about it!”

           A heavy silence fell along the quiet hall. Aurel sensed the increasing tension between Aether and church members and quickly marched to his side, disregarding the pair of eyes fixed on her at the noise her heels made on the tiled floors.

           Dahlia’s features hardened, though the guilt in his gaze was unmistakable. He turned slightly toward the cathedral guards standing near the entrance with his jaw tight.

           “She deserves better,” Aether cried, stepping forward again. “Barbatos is keeping her there against her will, isn’t he?!”

           Aurel grabbed his shoulder. “Traveler, that’s enough—“

           But Aether pulled his arm free with a harsh shrug, shaking off her grip without looking her way. “She’s being deceived!” he yelled. “She has a right to choose her fate! Why won’t any of you do something?!”

           The cathedral guards were already in motion, their heavy boots echoing against the marble floor. Steel-clad hands closed around Aether’s arms, yanking them behind his back. He struggled, muscles tensing with resistance. 

           “Wait— just listen!” Aether shouted, backing away a step, but it was too late. He struggled instinctively, but the weight of the guards' grip was unyielding. “You can’t just ignore this!”

           Aurel stepped back in alarm, her hand hovering midair as though unsure whether to intervene or withdraw. But one of the knights misread her proximity and, in the commotion, grabbed her by the wrist as well. The basket of bread fell on the floor with a thud and rolled away as she cried out in pain.

           “W-Wait—!” she gasped, caught off guard. “I didn’t—I'm not involved!”

           “She’s with him!” One of the priests barked. “Take the fairy as well.”

           Paimon whirled around with wide eyes as another guard rushed in and seized her. “What?! No! You have to be joking, right?!" 

           “Stop! At least let Aurel go!” Aether shouted, his struggling renewed with twice the force. “She had nothing to do with this!”

           But the knights remained resolute. With an iron-tight grip, they dragged the three out. Paimon struggled desperately between the guard's hold, kicking and shouting. “H-hey, stop this! Aren’t you both from the Knights of Favonius?! Don’t you know he’s the Honorary Knight?!”

           “[Name]’s not safe with him!” Aether’s voice echoed against the stone pillars of the hall. “Barbatos is not who you think he is!”

           Dahlia said nothing more, his mouth pressed in a tight line as the situation quickly grew out of control. His eyes followed Aether’s retreating form, emotions clashing and swirling in their depths.

           “She has a right,” Aether shouted one last time, his voice ragged and hoarse. “Please… just let her go!”

           The grand doors of the cathedral slammed shut behind him, leaving only the fading echoes of his cries to disturb the silence.

           Dahlia flinched visibly, his eyes scrunching tight and his teeth clenched as he looked away. The taller cleric stepped beside him, laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

           “Do not forget your place, Deacon,” the man said coldly. “You speak for the Anemo Archon, not against him.”

mhmm I love me church politics. next chapter would be the longest of all the chapters. all I can say is you sinners would be having a whole feast ahead in the future lol

[104cadetlauren]

Levi’s Eye Panel in Chapter 132 Shows the Stages of Grief—Except Acceptance

If you're a Levihan shipper like me, you already know the infamous scene between Hange and Levi in Chapter 132, or what we collectively call “Levi’s goodbye and Hange’s sacrifice.”

The most memorable moment in that chapter is Levi giving Hange the modified Scout salute. But what I want to focus on is Levi’s eyes. His eyes were drawn in three distinct panels, which, to me, means Isayama wanted us to feel Levi’s inner turmoil. Each panel expresses a different emotion—and what amazed me is that the anime added/changed the final panel.

If you notice, the anime version conveys the same emotional weight—except for one detail: the scrunched nose (attached on the coming paragraphs). That small change, for me, added a different layer. In the manga, it was despair. In the anime, it felt like… anger. And that shift gave us a new perspective.

So I placed the panels side by side, and what resonated with me was how they mirrored the stages of grief—except acceptance.

A quick psychology note: the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. These stages can vary in order and intensity depending on the person.

Let’s go back to Levi’s eye panels.

The eye panel happens after Hange says, “So just let me walk away.”

Her words sounded like an order—firm and final. There was no convincing her otherwise. That’s how it came across to Levi. They refused to look at each other, but if you pay attention to Hange’s eyes, she’s scared. She doesn’t want to die, and she doesn’t want to leave Levi behind.

We all know what Hange looks like when she's obsessed with Titans—excited, animated. This wasn’t that. This was fear disguised as courage. But she could never fool Levi.

Now look at the manga panels (Right to Left): to me, they look like Bargaining. Depression. Denial.

And the panel added in the anime? That’s ANGER. The fury of a man who has lost too much to cry.

Remember the nose scrunch I am talking about that is not in the three panels above?

Now let’s try to digest each stage of grief through Levi’s eyes based on how I interpreted them. (This is deep headcanon territory—so you’ve been warned.)

Bargaining (laced with regrets)

Is there any other way?

Should I stop her?

What if I stayed behind instead? Could I buy us more time? Think—there must be another way. I can’t lose the last person I truly care about. Why does everything I touch die?

We can almost hear the chaos in his mind. Bargaining is desperation dressed as strategy. Levi’s a soldier. He’s trained to assess, recalculate, find alternatives. But in this moment, his calculations are just grief trying to negotiate with fate.

And Levi, in that instant, is willing to offer himself.
But deep down, he knows—Hange won’t let him. She’s already chosen.

If I wasn’t injured, maybe I could do it.
If I were faster. Stronger. If I hadn’t made so many damn mistakes.

Bargaining isn't always with God—it’s often with yourself. It's guilt trying to rewrite the past. It’s the need to trade something, anything, to undo the inevitable.

And he respects her too much to strip that choice away.

Depression

Paralyzed. Defeated.

Levi can’t move. He’s stuck. All he hears is the rumble of the approaching Colossal Titans. The ticking clock.

Why am I still alive?

What’s the purpose of being here, existing and surviving if I just kept on losing the people I care about. Kuchel, Petra, Olou, Erwin, My Squad, and now Hange. For the freedom of humanity, yes, what does that mean really? Is surviving and choosing humanity worth all the pain I suffered? I hope so…

If only I wasn’t injured, we wouldn’t be in this situation where I have to lose someone again.

If I wasn’t injured, I could’ve fought—either instead of her, or at least alongside her. Why?

Denial

Levi knows Hange doesn’t want to die.

Imagine spending years protecting this one person. (Even if you're not a shipper, let's agree that after Hange lost her left eye, Levi is always seen standing on her right—call it platonic or romantic, it's protection.) He even pauses during missions just to check on her. Now, that same person is ordering him to let her walk to her death and he was supposed to just accept it.

Levi’s inner turmoil:

We had hope. We could’ve flown the plane.

We could’ve stopped Eren in time.

Why is this happening now? Why do I have to choose again—Why does it always come down to this? This is too much, I refuse to accept this.

Then the added anime panel:

ANGER

Have I not sacrificed enough?

Will her death finally mean something?

What the hell was it all for?

If I let her walk away… will we be free then?

This isn’t hot, screaming rage we used to see in Levi. It’s quiet and suffocating. The kind that eats you alive. It’s not directed at Hange. It’s directed at the world. At himself. At the cruel cycle of sacrifice and survival.

Why am I even called “Humanity’s Strongest” if I can’t save a single one of them?

Then, the panels move away from his eyes. We don’t see them when he gives the modified salute and says, “Dedicate… your heart.” Notice the ellipsis. The pause. We can assume it was hesitation.

The eye panel missing here, I believe, is acceptance. Because Levi doesn’t really accept it—not in that moment at least. But he has to let Hange believe he does. He pretends to accept it without looking at her. He doesn’t want her to see the pain. He doesn’t want her to regret her decision. He respects her, her resolve, her sacrifice.

Or maybe—he refuses to look at her because he can’t. He knows he’ll break if he does. He doesn’t have the willpower to watch her walk away. And maybe the salute was acceptance, in its own way. Like, this is it. It’s too late. But I want you to know how I really feel.

I know it won’t change anything. But I heard you, back in the forest. I’m letting you go. My heart is yours. Do what you want with it. Trample it. Reject it.

But if you can… please come back alive.

So that’s my how I interpreted Levi’s detailed eye panel in the manga and the anime. Tell me what you think, let’s exchange ideas!

-Lauren

[defenseur-des-opprimes]

20th of Prairial - a memory of a beautiful day

If you are pure enough to long for a God, you will find one in your heart.

Dear Citizens,

it is the 20th of Prairial again, and therefore allow me to remind you of the day that should have been the most beautiful for our republic. The celebration of the Festival of the Supreme Being.

Perhaps you think that such celebrations are no longer necessary in the afterlife? But the very fact that I can still speak to you through your hearts and minds is proof of the immortality of the soul. So, come again, and unite in joyful celebration. Because...

Every institution, every doctrine which comforts and elevates souls should be welcomed while those that degrade and corrupt them should be rejected. Bring back to life and raise up all the noble and great moral ideas which people have tried to erase; bring together, by the joy of friendship and the bonds of virtue, those who were being separated.

The concept of the Supreme Being and of the immortality of the soul is a continuous call to justice, which makes it both social and republican.

Since both liberty and virtue are from the bosom of the Divinity; neither can exist amongst men without the other. Do you, the great-hearted people, wish to crush all your foes? Then practice justice and offer the Divinity the only acceptable form of worship. Let us today, under His gaze show our genuine happiness. Tomorrow we will again combat vice and tyranny, today we demonstrate to the world what republican virtue is, and so honour the divinity even more.

Wisdom is what our enemies wanted to banish from the Republic. Being of Beings we have no need to offer you false prayers, you know your creation, neither their needs nor their most secret thoughts are unknown to you. Hatred of bad faith and tyranny burn in our hearts together with the love of justice and of our country, we shed our blood for mankind; this is our prayer, this is our sacrifice this is the faith we offer.

Cherish Liberty, bought at the price of the blood of your brothers; use the power which nature has given you to spread republican virtue.

Give us virtues, talents, enlightenment, Love of our duties, respect for our rights, Pure freedom, and protective laws And morals worthy of our laws.

(OOC: The colorful excerpts of the quotes are from the book Robespierre and the Festival of the Supreme Being by Jonathan Smyth)

[arctic-hands]

First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

In your statement you assert that our actions, even though peaceful, must be condemned because they precipitate violence. But is this a logical assertion? Isn’t this like condemning a robbed man because his possession of money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn’t this like condemning Socrates because his unswerving commitment to truth and his philosophical inquiries precipitated the act by the misguided populace in which they made him drink hemlock? Isn’t this like condemning Jesus because his unique God consciousness and never ceasing devotion to God’s will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion? We must come to see that, as the federal courts have consistently affirmed, it is wrong to urge an individual to cease his efforts to gain his basic constitutional rights because the quest may precipitate violence. Society must protect the robbed and punish the robber.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. "Letter From Birmingham Jail"

[in-the-drowning-deep]

Six Song Soundtrack - Esha 'Rook' Mercar

Thanks so much for the tag @themildmahariel! Tagging @dancing--lights, @mildlyupsetzebra, @maagisterpavus and YOU if you're reading this!

Full playlist here.

1. An event that defines your character's past

Typical, complaining 'bout a miracle And I'm sad to say I'm here It's unclear why I'm devastated Broken is the understatement of this whole year ...When you don't belong, the hills will know It's visible, you don't belong here Long way down the road from the hill I know Invisible, my weakness

This is less an event and more just the background noise that makes up who Esha is, but still. I have a lot of thoughts about the parallels between Tevinter and England, and especially about the parallels between Minrathous and London (beyond the fact that the population of both eat a lot of fried, salted fish).

Esha is an elf in Tevinter, which - put mildly - is not a great position to be in. She sees herself as having been wildly lucky: she was adopted by a human family who loved her, then it turned out she was a mage, then she got a sponsor for her studies who didn't do blood magic and didn't enslave her even if he probably could have done.

Is the bar here through the floor? Yes. But while Esha is furious about all the shit she's been through, she also doesn't feel like she has the right to be angry, because every other elf she knows had it worse. So she's isolated from other elves, but also from humans (because she's still an elf, still Other, and reliant on their protection to keep her safe from slavery).

It's, uh. Not a great mix! She spends her twenties scrabbling to maintain her position in the Tevinter pecking order (such as it is) while working with the Shadow Dragons to undermine it, and goes through a series of one night stands and toxic relationships in search of a sense of belonging.

And then one night she pulls a building down on a group of slavers, and the dwarf who witnesses it offers her a job. Thedas will never be the same again - and nor will Esha.

2. How others see them

If dark the night, be the light When all other lights go out You ask, who will answer? In need, who will come? When the last line is broken When the day is all but done It's you, your name they're calling From the deep, they will rise Go forth and they will follow Time to fight, it's time to ride

To her team and the people she and the Veilguard work with, Esha is 5'0 of pure stubborn determination that things can and will be made better. She's floored when Emmrich says he's a little jealous of her being a 'dashing young freedom fighter', and again when Evka says she can find the path through anything - she's genuinely never thought of herself as doing anything but whatever in front of her needed to be done next.

She's even more floored when the people she's helped start offering to help her in turn, let alone when the armies of the North bow to her leadership in the Battle of Minrathous. But as far as they're concerned, she's earned it ten times over.

3. How they see themselves

And I stare at the soldiers before me ...Knowing every last one of them is painted in light As I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right ...And my saint, she is dancing As every step I choose to take begins to set the world aflame

As above - Esha sees herself less as a dashing young freedom fighter, and more as a repeat fuck-up who doesn't know when to quit. Most of her victories feel pyrrhic, and she spends a lot of time desperately hoping a higher level adult will come in and take over.

4. Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

And to those gods, I will speak bluntly, We've an accord, if you ever touch or harm [her] Please rest assured that you might not fear a man But to a woman by the end you'll kneel and plea 'Cause I'm more than what my mum told me to be

Harding is the first person Esha feels like she can be honest with, about the messy stuff as much as the rest. They spend a lot of their time travelling together before VG talking in their tent late at night, or chatting back and forth with Varric, who's also very good at teasing things out. By the time Veilguard starts, Esha is already fiercely protective of her, and that only gets stronger as the game goes on - but Harding feels the same way. Each of them would bring down gods and break into the Black City itself to save the other.

Which is quite something for two people who consider themselves 'a fuck up who doesn't know when to quit' and 'no one special', respectively.

5. A major fight scene

Bring wings to the weak and bring grace to the strong May all evil stumble as it flies in the world ...I'm trying to find my peace I was made to believe there's something wrong with me And it hurts my heart Lord have mercy, ain't it plain to see? That this is a cold war Do you know what you're fighting for?

This feels like a Shadow Dragon fight anthem as much as it does Esha's, ngl. The fury and the desire to make things better - they're blazing bright with both of them, and it underscores every one of their battles.

6. End credits

What was it that stayed my hand then? With dagger held unsheathed, blade pointing in its side I'd been set upon by a predator It was just looking for a meal, I saw ribs and fearful eyes What is it that stays my hand now? With so much misery that I could mercifully put ends to For that animal I let slink off into the undergrowth, unscathed

So, Solas. I've said before that Esha goes the redemption route mostly for Harding and the Inquisitor's sakes, but I don't think that's the whole of it (even if she'd never consciously think about the other reasons).

A big part of her long-term arc is learning to sit with the stuff that's underneath her anger - fear, guilt, and self-loathing. She still feels like she benefited from the structures she's spent her adult life trying to destroy, and like she's never done enough for the people she cared for. She sees a deeply uncomfortable amount of herself in Solas' going from being part of the Evanuris - if a bit of an outsider - to the rebel who brought it all down at the cost of everything he loved.

Like I said, she's trying not to think about it, and she'd never ever admit it out loud. But as she learns to forgive herself and come to terms with her failures, there's also the beginnings of understanding there for what Solas did. Eventually that understanding shifts to pity, and finally (decades later) forgiveness.

[dykedvonte]

I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.

I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?

The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.

[dinosaurwithablog]

Truth! 👊🏻👊🏼👊🏽👊🏾👊🏿 Power to the people!!

[vaguely-concerned]

bunter keeping peter from being swallowed up by an evil bog with the kind of hysterical strength otherwise only known by mothers deadlifting cars to save their tender babes is something that can actually be so personal

[off-color-darkrai]

Every single time I see some person in the Transformers Fandom trying to convince me "Well actually, both sides are equally as bad":

[dinosaurwithablog]

We, the people, should listen to Abe. Let's protect our Constitution... let's protect our country... let's protect our people... let's protect our rights... let's stand by our allies... let's do the right thing... let's get rid of those who pervert our Constitution... let's do it now, shall we?