#the journey is linear because —

[cowboylikedean]

the link between the outro of guilty as sin, waolom, icfh, tsmwel, and bdilh is just so striking to me every time i hear one of those, but especially guilty as sin.

If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly. I choose you and me, religiously.

the scandal was contained, the bullet had just grazed. at all costs keep your good name.. you don't get to tell me you feel bad

They shook their heads saying "God help her" when I told them he's my man. But your good lord didn't need to lift a finger. I can fix him, no really I can. Woah maybe I can't.

then say they didn't do it to hurt me BUT WHAT IF THEY DID

you caged me and then you called me crazy

I just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal.

i forget if this was ever fun. I just learned these people only raise you to cage you. Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best, clutching their pearls sighing "what a mess?" I just learned these people only save you 'cause they hate you.

when he ghosted her, she blamed the fandom. in part because she felt ashamed she alienated us* for the sake of this guy who fucked her over and so focused on the fact she shouldn't have had to and the fact that she did was, itself, a red flag. the disdain of our* self righteousness was blaming us for the fact she had to alienate us and it still wasn't enough to keep him around vs blaming him for that. because blaming him would blame her too.

ending the standard edition with clara bow after the alchemy, too, draws it in. she feels terrible she did that to us and loves us so much... but she's also terrified of how bad that felt.

[lowstakesvampires]

[xysidhequeen]

Since Danny opened up his trauma to Jason, did he ever comfort Danny whenever he had nightmare of his parents doing things on him?

Jason has comforted Danny after and during nightmares. Not all of them, he doesn't catch them all.

Sometimes Danny's nightmares are loud. Sometimes they're ice crackling out from him in waves, covering his room and the hallway and Jason just knows. He busts through the ice and the doors between him and his hurting king, melting the ice with his flames until he can finally get to Danny and wake his frozen body and remind him he's safe, he's whole, he's alive. Sometimes his nightmares are deafening, they're a Wail shattering walls and ceilings and everything around him. Sometimes Jason has to push his body one slow step at a time into the middle of a hurricane, bleeding and hurt but not half as hurt as his screaming friend.

But sometimes Danny's nightmares are silent. They're quiet because screaming didn't help. Screaming made it worse. Noise brought their attention back to him. Pleas and cries and screams made them angry, angry he was using their son's voice, their son's body. So sometimes Danny is quiet, locked in a silent prison of his own mind and the only way Jason can tell is if Danny didn't pull his aura entirely back into his body and he's able to feel the pain.

Danny has gotten better about locking his aura down as his mind slowly realizes he doesn't need to anymore, that he doesn't need to be in survival mode and he can make the subconcious decision to ask for help because he knows it'll come.

But sometimes the fear is stronger. And on those nights, Danny is alone.

[anagram-for-mongo]

“I don’t think my wife understands me” but it’s about wearing fashion i got made fun of for wearing in the past

[the-river-dreamer]

oh dang, you right. it ain't straight but it's for sure linear.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

*cackles in validation* Hey. Hey guys. Is Atsushi the bookmark because he’s the protagonist of the story and thus the page is marked depending on his phase of the journey, or is he the protagonist because he is the bookmark, where his very existence necessitates him becoming a catalyst so the story can unfold and be read in linear time?

[beifong-brainrot]

I do find it annoying how a lot of Zutara fans tweak the character's stories, personalities and even the timelines to suit their own needs.

Once again, there's nothing wrong with fanon and headcanons, however if looking through the lense of canon, you're objectively wrong.

I ended up stumbling on a post from a Zutara shipper. (At this point I'm regretfully considering not following the tags for Zuko or Katara because I get way too much Zutara content lol) I'm not replying directly to her because I don't want this to turn into an argument, and I know she doesn't take criticism very well.

Ok, So let's break this down.

The character who was first out of the group to trust Zuko?

I'm quite sure this is referring to the scene in Ba Sing Se's caves. And yes, that is a very important scene. I think it's a very important scene preceeding Zuko's 'relapse'. It shows how he's matured during his time in Ba Sing Se and therefore it serves to add to our dismay when he joins Azula. I adore the fact that Zuko's journey to redemption is not linear, it certainly adds a lot to the character and shows us how his trauma affected him.

It's also a horrific moment for Katara. To have her worldview on Zuko and firebenders as a whole challenged, and then for it to go blowing up in her face. It rips open old wounds of her childhood. It refreshes her resentment of Zuko and the Fire Nation as a whole. It parallels the death of her mother when Aang dies due to Azula's lighting and she is unable to do anything about it. It places her back in that spot of helplessness. Even though she's grown up, even though she's a master waterbender, she still comes a hair's breadth to losing one of the most important people in her life.

No wonder she hated Zuko so much after this.

It's an important moment for both characters, but I wouldn't say it is that in a romantic sense. It's a sweet, hopeful moment that then turns absolutely horrific and visceral for both parties.

I could argue that there are other characters who could be given the title of 'first to trust Zuko'. Funnily, Appa being one of them lol.

But other characters trusting Zuko dovetails nicely into the next point.

The character who emotionally connects to Zuko?

Well, technically, I'd argue that most members of the Gaang connect emotionally on one level or another with him?

But I'd argue that Aang is the person Zuko connected with the most. Aang is Zuko's parallel. Aang is the first person to reach out to Zuko. Aang is the person who showed mercy to Zuko, multiple times. Aang is the person who valued Zuko's life, the life of someone whose whole life goal is to capture him.

This was also an incredibly important moment to Zuko. This is the thing he brings up when trying to convince the Gaang to let him join.

Zuko: Why aren't you saying anything? You once said you thought we could be friends. You know I have good in me.

The character Zuko feels safest letting his guard down around?

It's Mai. Love her or hate her, her relationship with Zuko is incredibly important to him. Maiko isn't my favourite Zuko ship, in full honesty. But even platonically, Mai and Zuko are one another's reprieve from their respective shitty lives.

People often talk about Katara touching Zuko's scar while discussing healing his scar, however one could argue that she did so as a medical examination. Mai touching Zuko's scar is a casual thing, neither of them really make a big deal of it and that's the beauty of it.

I'm mainly talking out of my own personal experience, as someone with a huge amount of burn scars, but there is a world of difference between someone inspecting my scars like Katara did and simply accepting them as a part of me, like Mai does for Zuko.

With Mai, Zuko isn't the scarred banished prince, Ozai's son or Azula's brother. He's just Zuko. And they speak freely with one another, arguing like real people do. Often, being comfortable having arguments is actually a sign of being comfortable with one another.

The character who helps Zuko heal from his trauma?

Once again, this is a bit of a flawed question. By the end of the show, Zuko isn't even fully healed, in my opinion. He has made leaps and bounds on the road to recovery, but when he will truly heal if ever is yet to be seen.

Zuko's journey to recovery includes plenty of people. This includes Iroh, Aang, Song and Jin. People who show him the error of his coping mechanism. Who challenge his worldview, who coax him out of the his shell of pain and anger.

The character known for showing most compassion to others?

Yes, Katara's compassion is a huge part of her character. Her need to help and protect those who cannot do that for themselves cannot be understated.

But Aang's compassion for others and all beings is just as great, if not greater than Katara's. Compassion and nonviolence are huge parts of his culture and his own philosophy.

Aang: Wait, we can't just leave him here. Sokka: Sure we can. Let's go. Aang :No, if we leave him he'll die. Aang airbends himself off Appa and retrieves Zuko, bringing him to Appa. Sokka: [Sarcastically.] Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let's bring the guy who's constantly trying to kill us.

Friendly reminder that Aang could've absolutely wrecked Ozai, but held back because his own moral compass was so powerful. Hell, he was friendly and nice to Azula, the woman who literally killed him.

This is why Aang and Katara work so well together. They're both incredibly compassionate people who will immediately jump in to help others in need. Like they did during the Painted Lady, destroying the factiry together.

The character who primarily bears the burden of having to step up into a parental role?

I think "parental role" is an incredibly vague term. There's a lot of things that go into a "parental role". Katara plays a stereotypically "maternal" role, while someone who plays a "paternal" one would probably be Sokka.

Katara deals with very "homemaking" tasks like sewing and cooking, etc. And Sokka often takes on the role of leader, hunter, gatherer and also protector, despite being a nonbender.

This coincides nicely with their core childhood traumas. The loss of Katara's mother impacted her greatly, leading her to have to step up into a motherly role. While Sokka was clearly heavily traumatised by his father departing and the crushing responsibility of having to care for his entire village.

Sexism also probably played a part in this dichotomy.

The character who represses their emotions to be strong for others?

I'd argue that this could apply to all the members of the Gaang in some capacity.

Aang's pain is something most of us will never experience and cannot hope to understand. The complete horrific destruction of his culture and home followed him through the entire show. He was entitled to his grief and rage, yet he supressed it. We see during Appa's kidnapping, how easy it would be for Aang to rage, to let himself be destructive. And yet, he wakes up every day and chooses to smile and goof off, because his friends need someone to remind them how to be children.

Sokka puts on a very impressive bravado, despite having a lot of insecurities. However, as the oldest member of the Gaang (pre Zuko) he puts on a facade of the confident and unbothered older brother. Even if he's the butt of almost every joke, he still keeps that demeanour up, letting it slip only a few times.

I'd actually argue that Toph is the person whom this label fits best. While we know Toph as witty, callous and strong, we have to remember that she kept up the facade of her parents' good, helpless little blind girl for no reason other than her mother and father's comfort. She actually hides a lot of her hurt, covering it up with a prickly exterior.

I want to do longer think pieces about Toph and Katara so apologies if this isn't complete.

I'm actually baffled by the idea of Katara repressing her emotions. She's actually quite straightforward and open about her feelings. She yells and feels a lot of emotions and lets them be heard. She gets angry and sad. She's actually kinda bitchy sometimes and that's honestly why I love her so much.

The whole inciting incident of the show was her getting so pissed off she somehow pulls a giant iceberg from the bottom of the sea.

She is anything but repressed.

She is angry.

She's angry at the fire nation, at Sokka, at her father, at men, and with good right to be so.

This is what makes her an amazing character and one who broke the mould of a lot of female characters at the time. Her anger and unrestrained emotions rang true with a lot of watchers at the time. I'm not sure why this is being taken away from her rather than celebrated.

I reiterate the point I made at the beginning of this post: there is nothing wrong with headcanons and fanon interpretations for one's enjoyment. I do find it a bit odd when it changes a character too much (because then, why not just create an oc?) but it's all in good fun. However, you shouldn't push that onto other people and how they perceive canon and you certainly shouldn't use it to take away from other characters. It's a very unfair way of entering discourse.

[nenelonomh]

giving up the 'new year, new me' mindset

the concept of "new year, new me" is alluring because it suggests a fresh start and the possibility of transforming our lives overnight.

however, this mindset can often lead to unrealistic expectations and immense pressure to make drastic changes all at once. instead of focusing on an all-encompassing transformation, it’s more beneficial to adopt a sustainable approach to personal growth and improvement.

embracing gradual, meaningful changes throughout the year can lead to more enduring and fulfilling results. this approach allows you to build on small successes, develop healthy habits, and maintain a positive outlook without the stress of an all-or-nothing resolution.

adopting a healthier mindset:

set flexible goals: instead of rigid new year's resolutions, set flexible goals that allow room for growth and adaptation. recognize that progress is not always linear.

focus on habits: prioritize building positive habits rather than setting ambitious goals. habits form the backbone of lasting change and are easier to maintain.

celebrate small wins: acknowledge and celebrate small achievements along the way. this reinforces positive behavior and keeps you motivated.

continuous improvement: adopt a mindset of continuous improvement rather than a complete overhaul. this approach encourages ongoing personal development throughout the year.

reflect regularly: take time to reflect on your progress and adjust your goals as needed. regular reflection helps you stay on track and adapt to changing circumstances.

self-compassion: be kind to yourself. recognize that setbacks are a normal part of the process and use them as learning opportunities rather than reasons to give up.

practical steps:

identify key areas: focus on a few key areas where you want to see improvement. breaking it down into specific areas makes it more manageable.

create a plan: develop a realistic plan with actionable steps to achieve your goals. ensure it fits within your daily routine and lifestyle.

track progress: use a journal, app, or planner to track your progress. seeing your achievements, no matter how small, can be a great motivator.

seek support: share your goals with friends, family, or a support group. having accountability partners can help you stay committed and offer encouragement.

remember, personal growth is a journey, not a destination. embracing a mindset of gradual improvement can lead to more meaningful and lasting changes, making each day an opportunity to be your best self.

🫶nene

instagram | pinterest | blog site

[drdemonprince]

Most of us begin the Autism unmasking process looking for greater self-acceptance, but don’t realize what a messy, uncertain, weakened, traumatized, resentful version of ourselves we’re going to have to accept. Secretly, we hope that the unmasked version of us will be just as capable and comfortable as we always pretended to be — but also much happier, and more authentic. 

The great challenge of unmasking, then, is letting go of all pre-conceived notions of the type of person we must be, so that we can simply exist in the moment, feeling whatever we feel and needing whatever we need. 

It can take many years for a person to reach this point. I’ve also noticed there are common phases that Autistics move through as we go about unmasking — periods of questioning, self-loathing, anger, withdrawal, exploration, relief, and obsessive self-consciousness, just to name a few. 

Not all of these phases appear for everyone, of course and they do not necessarily come in a specific order. Rather than viewing them as stages that progress in a linear fashion, we can see them instead as common psychological defenses that emerge when a person is having a hard time reconciling their disability with their beliefs about who they should be. 

Important internal work is happening when a person seems to be “caught” in any particular phase. Some phases are needed corrections for society’s anti-disability stigma — such as the phase where a person believes that Autism makes them inherently superior to allistics. Others are corrections for those corrections, a hypothesis and antithesis that gradually resolve into a synthesis within the disabled person’s life. 

These phases don’t last forever, and we learn something important each time that we pass through them. Like the phases of the moon, these phases may recur in our lives in an almost cyclical fashion, bringing us closer to accepting the truth of ourselves each time. Remember as you read through this list of phases that arriving at a final state of “recovery” is not the goal. When we unmask, we’re not trying to get rid of our disability, after all — we’re just hoping to understand and accept all that is inside us a bit better. 

And so, to help you prepare for your unmasking journey, here are some of the common phases of unmasking: 

Questioning 

It’s incredibly common for a masked Autistic person to spend months or even years questioning whether they actually are disabled, or have the “right” to openly identify as such. Even after a person has researched Autism at length, sought external input from loved ones and a therapist, and integrated themselves deeply within the neurodivergent community, they may be struck with regular bouts of uncertainty. 

We can blame this on a society that investigates every single claim of disability repeatedly for evidence of fraud, and a culture where disabled people are accused of being delusional, manipulative attention-seekers. 

Obsessing (About Autism)

One way that questioning Autistics try to resolve their uncertainty is by consuming every piece of information and commentary about Autism that they could possibly find. Autism often becomes one of our special interests, early in our unmasking — making us see Autism between the pages of every book, and on the confused face of every stranger. 

When a person is obsessing about Autism, they may reference their disability as an explanation for every single behavior they or anyone else ever exhibits. Tying your shoes in the “bunny-goes-round-the-tree” style is an Autism thing. Liking the small spoon is an Autism thing. That rude comment I just made about your appearance is an Autism thing, and so you cannot criticize me for it, because that’s a core part of my being I can’t change. Every person in the obsessed Autistic person’s life may be assigned disability labels: he’s got ADHD, she’s a PDAer, your dad’s undiagnosed Autism is the reason he stands in the middle of the room watching TV. 

Obsessing (About the Self)

Unmasking requires a high degree of curiosity about the self. A person can’t even notice there’s a disjoint between their authentic feelings and how they present themselves to others unless they look within. Unfortunately, doing so means constantly asking ourselves whether our actions reflect our true selves, and what our “true self” even is — and thinking too much about these questions can make the mind loop back on itself infinitely. 

When I first started unmasking, I could not stop assessing how I carried my own body. I knew that my posture was “bad,” in neurotypical terms, but was that because I had muscle underdevelopment caused by Autism, or because I was always trying to make myself inobtrusive and small? Would it be “unmasking” for me to stand straight and claim more space — or would that be me masking even worse, by imitating neurotypical confidence? 

Autism Supremacy 

Though many unmasking Autistics experience a big drop in self-esteem, it’s equally as common for us to take immense pride in our neurotype, even to an excessive degree. During the Autism supremacy phase of unmasking, Autistic people may feel that their disability actually makes them more moral, logical, emotionally attuned, intelligent, or compassionate than others. 

“Autistic people do have empathy! In fact, we have more empathy than anyone else!” You may hear an Autism supremacist declare proudly, pushing back against the stereotype of us as “anti-social” monsters. But the argument that some of us actually experience hyper-empathy, while true, does nothing to challenge the ableism of equating a person’s emotional sensitivity with their humanity. 

I wrote about the many phases that unmasking Autistics tend to pass through, and the various needs those phases exist to meet. You can read the full piece (or have it narrated to you by the Substack app) for FREE at drdevonprice.substack.com

[nana-b0b]

And we have a cover, something quite simple to what I had in mind at first but I think this one fits much better with the concept I was looking for.

RAN… What is Ran? It means "orchid" in Japanese and it's the name I decided to give to this graphic novel, or whatever you want to call it.

The truth is that this project didn't even cross my mind, it was a complete improvisation on my part that was born with a vague sketch of Sukuna sitting and with the days, for some reason, I made another one where he is together with Aurora (OC) fighting because she didn't want to get dressed haha and the thing really got out of hand!!! I couldn't stop thinking about that drawing and a whole new narrative line for my OC and well, let's get to work! ❤

Ran is a short graphic novel of no more than three or four pages that I plan to publish weekly (or when my time adjusts) that tells the temporal space that Aurora (OC) is currently living, a kind of abduction that confined her to a domain that she cannot break and where only the king's will is done (or that is what he expects).

This novel is thought in non-linear time (it has no exact chronology, they are situations that I draw here, which happen in Aurora's day to day life in there where she does not know how fast time passes both inside and outside the domain). We will also venture on journeys into her past and learn more about her turbulent clan and her mysterious ancestor.

Inspired by the Heian period of Japan with erotic and fantastic overtones the idea of the sketches is to show that sensual and indomitable side of Aurora, how dare she take it against him?

❤This novel contains 18+ so be warned, please take your precautions.

Come sit down for a while and enjoy these graphic pieces as much as I enjoy doing them, and let's get to know this side of the garden.

List of cap (here you will find a link to them): RAN

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

Note from Nana: These are my other networks! Here you can find more of my content!

IG:

https://www.instagram.com/nana_bloog?igsh=MmRjaGt4ZjE5ODRm

[tidesreach]

actually so tired of this frankly very ableist idea that you should remain single until you are 100% healed from all of your trauma because it implies that a) healing from trauma is a linear journey and b) you are somehow less deserving of a romantic relationship if you aren't 100% healed like i need some of you to stop treating mental health conditions as some sort of GOTCHA in a ridiculous fandom ship war it's extremely fucking harmful actually traumatised people are not unworthy and should not have to close themselves off from romantic love like i'm not sure who needs to hear this but you can both heal and be in a relationship the two are not mutually exclusive you can love and be loved while you heal sometimes it can even be conducive to the healing to know someone has your back to know that they love you anyway

[e-vay]

so… i turn thirty this year & after two failed relationships, im unsure how to have hope i’ll ever find my “person”. Ive been following you for a long time… how did you have hope that you’d eventually find someone and have a happy relationship?

If this is too intense or personal to ask, dont worry i just,,, i dont know. Its a struggle to feel like i’ll ever find The One and i know you went through something similar so… maybe you’d just have advice?

Thank you,,, i hope youre having an amazing night ❤️

I don’t mind you asking me this. If talking about the hard times I went through can help others get through it, I think it’s worth discussing. 

Like you said, I also struggled with love for a long time and after a few devastating relationships I gave up on dating altogether for a while. But, in hindsight, that ended up being a blessing because I was able to spend time bettering myself and—most importantly—learn to love myself. Yes, having a partner can make our lives richer, but I think it’s important to be able to enjoy your own company. Before, I thought the void inside of me needed to be filled by another person, so I would go out of my way to find somebody to do that without actually worrying whether or not they were the correct fit for me. Having time to focus on myself made me a better person (I think), and it ultimately ended up being for the best because I no longer felt like I was less than. Of course, I would still feel lonely from time-to-time and I’ve always been a romantic so I love the idea of love, but I got to the point where I felt fulfilled enough on my own so that when I met my now-husband, the feeling was significantly different. It wasn’t “I need to put this person in the hole that is my heart so that I can crawl my way up out of this pit,”... It was instead “Oh, this person significantly ADDS to the joy in my life” and that’s one of the reasons why he stood out to me as a partner. Though I would have liked to have met my husband sooner in life, honestly? Had we met sooner, before I matured and improved myself, we likely wouldn’t have worked out. I'm not saying you need to improve yourself. I'm just saying that that's what helped me and ended up giving me hope.

I also think society gives us too many unrealistic expectations and goals that we’re expected to meet by certain “deadlines”. Everybody moves at their own pace and has their own journey that’s unique to them. We can’t all be expected to follow the same linear path; humans are just too different. I was my husband’s very first girlfriend and he was 36 years old when we started dating. But when I’ve asked him if he’s upset/disappointed he never had a relationship before meeting me, he’s told me “No, I think we met when we were supposed to.”

Lastly, I want to address my personal beliefs on “The One.” Y’all know I’m a romantic and I do believe in soulmates, but I also believe we’re capable of having more than one soulmate. The world is too big for us to be limited to the chance of only ever finding one single person who is compatible for us. And if we miss out on meeting that one person, our chance of love is shot??? I just don’t believe that. When widows/widowers remarry, does that diminish the love they had for their late spouse? Of course not. It doesn’t mean their first love wasn’t just as important and meaningful as their new love. So, maybe you could find it helpful if you adopt this mindset as well. I think it makes the idea of romance seem less impossible.

I don’t know if this makes you feel any better but at the very least I hope you don’t feel worse for having read it! I don’t know you personally, but I wish you absolute happiness.

It's going to be okay 🙂

[thisdreamplace]

for those who struggle

i recently got sent an anon message about frustrations surrounding the law, and how non-dualism hasn't made it any easier for them, but actually just more frustrating to the point where they're officially walking away from everything and wanting to just go back to live as they knew it before any of this.

the truth is that, oversimplification runs rampant in this community. as well as, hiding behind the realities of how difficult it all can be, because people are afraid of affirming that it's difficult or identifying with difficulty... but when we hide from this experience and try to come off as if it doesn't affect us, while simultaneously trying to give out advice, there tends to be more damage than good happening. the oversimplifying isn't the fault of anyone, as the truth is most of this is simple. but in actually living it, it tends to not be simple at all. the ego will fight till the very end to keep things the way they are, even when they hurt us. and that is worth being honest about.

when it comes to non-identification and indifference, this is not meant to be used to as yet another way to pretend something isn't happening or push down your feelings or gaslight yourself. i see these posts like, "just ignore the 3d and don't identify with it and you would have already have what you wanted" ..... this doesn't actually really help anyone, unless you're a person who strives on that kind of mentality. but i think a lot of people need a little more gentleness and realness, otherwise this journey wouldn't have been so difficult and painful. we'd all just get it overnight, but clearly, this community stays extremely active for a reason. because the million ways its already been explained still leaves so many confused and frustrated.

indifference is a daily practice, and it is NOT one that includes pretending something doesn't exist in exchange for getting what you want. it is actually, the extreme opposite. it's by acknowledging what's there... and allowing that to be what it is. the non-identification comes in from how you choose to see YOURSELF in relation to whatever that thing is. "this is painful, this sucks, i hate it... but that doesn't mean tomorrow won't be better for me. it doesn't mean my life is doomed..." etc etc etc. it's this very small flip within yourself, that actually leads to results. not trying to force yourself into believing you aren't even who you are when you've identified as yourself this entire life. remember that god's name is I AM, and literally nothing else.

and doing something to get something else is just... not it. it's time for you to truly want to feel better, regardless of anything else. that's why so much of this starts to get trickier than it needs to be.

non-identification is literally as simple as realizing... you are bound to no past, and you have the opportunity of every future you can possibly imagine. why ? because non-identification is literally just non-attachment. when you're not attached to this idea of who you were, of the struggles you used to face, you're able to allow in different experiences. and y'all... this as simple as being able to say to yourself, "i am allowed to experience something new" and don't let your fear of the unknown stop you from experiencing something new.

here's where it doesn't feel so simple though. how can you just stop identifying with this whole human self when the traumas of the past keep coming back to haunt you ? thats the thing. you don't just stop identifying with it. you let this be a process, a non-linear path to liberation. slowly, but surely, if you keep at it everyday, even when you feel you're only going backwards... one day you will realize how much more free you are. how much more easier it is to move into a new beautiful story for yourself, one that isn't contiminated by your past. but let today be today ! and whatever may come, let it come.

this is why just focusing on yourself is so helpful because if you're simply doing the best you can for yourself and your feeling state, the daily dramas are no longer your ruler.

the gag is that, the more you just do these small daily practices of sitting with yourself, choosing to not engage in the stories you used to identify with in the past, and allow new experiences to come to you... the more easy it gets, the more the truth of yourself begins to show itself on its own. you have to realize that the days are going to keep passing by anyway... so stop counting them, and just commit to yourself.

i also want to quickly note that so many seem to leave out the fact that behind all of this, within the pure nothingness that is also everything. behind our human identifications and all the things we have experienced in our lives, there is unconditional love. and when we actually begin to stop identifying so deeply with who we thought we are, we are lead right back to unconditional love. love in its purest form. so, use love as your guide when things get too difficult. it's the truest thing to who you really are.

you have to let allow yourself to experience the beautiful, despite how strange it may feel. because it's going to feel strange if you've never really experienced it before, and the ego is going to fight because even when it's good, the unknown is still strange and scary. and you never have to be perfect at this to get to experience the things you want, believe it or not. i know that i still have a long way to go on this journey, there may be much more time before i ever get to fully experience the promise in full, but that hasn't stopped me from experiencing the desires of my heart on a daily basis. that's because i used these simple things, these small little flips in how i chose to see life. even if the anxiety never went away, or it was a more difficult day full of tears... this is way more possible for you than you realize. if only you're willing to allow your life to be different than it's always been. just that small allowance, opens up all the doors.

xo dream 🕊

[genderqueerdykes]

I can't reply to the post directly but I saw a post where you were talking about trans masc erasure especially when you were in college and like....I feel it. I started college in 2003 and identified as a cis butch lesbian because I didn't know there was anything else to be, but also MOST IMPORTANTLY because my "resources" and info on trans men were basically Boys Don't Cry, which every lesbian I knew referred to as a lesbian film and Brandon Teena as a lesbian. There were also vague comments from time to time about Chaz Bono at some point, but again, everyone around me was referring to him as a "confused lesbian". What's frustrating these days is that while there is more information out there and more spaces, there still isn't enough. Like, I learned basically everything I know about my body from Gen Z friends who had better education and affirming teachers. And also finding space when you're almost 40 is an impossible task sometimes. At almost every trans masc group I've attended I've been the oldest by almost 10 or sometimes almost 15 years. It's a really lonely experience. A handful of times we've had moderators who are young and not trans masc and they've talked over me and tried to "correct" the language I use to talk about my experiences - for example, I call myself FTM, and I also say things like "when I was presenting as a woman" or "when I thought I was a lesbian". I use this language intentionally because there were over 30 years of my life where I had no idea of the possibility that I could be anything but a woman and that IS how I identified, and there are over 30 years of experience with that identity that I am still recovering from and that shaped the course of my life in a way that's difficult or impossible to explain without acknowledging it. Part of our erasure unfortunately comes within the community and people not listening to the experiences of others whose journey doesn't line up with the plot beats of a cinematic, linear coming out story (not to knock that if someone has it! But leave room for those of us who don't!). Even though I'm on T and have had top surgery, there's still so much I've had to figure out myself and it's a lonely life. I don't know how to date or make connections (or even if I should! I'm aromantic which I think complicates things sometimes). Anyway I don't know if any of this is relevant but like. I just wanted to say I relate to the erasure stuff. Wouldn't change who I am for anything, but I would change the world in which I had to figure it out.

im really sorry you can relate to this, it affects so many people and a lot of people are proud to say they don't care. it's not okay. trans men and mascs need community irl. i'm bet things were way harder back then, i can't even imagine how hard it must've been to talk about being transmasculine in 2003.

im going to keep my reply brief because i do not want to distract from your experience

[bittersnsweetz]

ohhh my god i just realised why i love narumitsu so much, despite the obvious (mutual pining, slow burn, one-sided enemies, to friends, to distant friends, to close friends, to lovers all that good stuff)

its BECAUSE they have a shared emotional journey that is so narratively satisfying to me that as im typing this im barely able to contain my stimming

phoenix defends miles, so convinced he can save him and is almost blinded by that fact because he knows edgeworth as so good and so pure and he totally definitely absolutely would never willingly hurt anybody and then he ghosts him for a year which phoenix obviously interprets as yet another person abandoning him, leaving phoenix to pick up the pieces, and that whole time phoenix is beating himself up because wow this is just like when he put all his love on the line for dahlia and it turns out she was just using him this whole time and the absolute mess of emotions that arises when edgeworth comes back, alive, with no apology whatsoever.

and then two years later phoenix loses his job and edegworth is trying so hard to help and be there for him while also juggling his prosecutor job and the challenges that arise from adjusting to a new justice-driven mindset, but phoenix is already closing himself off and refusing to talk about it because hes stingy and secretive and edgeworth has seen the stingy in passing but never to this extent, where he can tell that phoenix NEEDS someone but apparently that someone isnt going to be him. and he's on call with him one night and he hears trucy for the first time and hes mortified because so many complicated emotions and questions arise from that alone: "wright are you sane" "wright are you seeing someone" "wright why didnt you tell me about this so i could help you" and i do think edgeworth gets overwhelmed by all this at once, the secrecy, the daughter, the friend who visits phoenix every now and again, the lack of healthy communication. and suddenly everything that he thought theyve worked so hard to build together has come crashing down and theres nothing phoenix will let him do to help

and its the shared parallel of the initial proposal to help "let me defend you"/"let me be there for you" being completely rejected and the repeated efforts to do so being met with a sudden shift (prosecutor miles edgeworth chooses death/i have a daughter and a new friend who helps me now) and how its so difficult for the both of them to realise at the time that its for their sake that they're doing it, that neither of them are doing this to hurt the other intentionally (although for phoenix i definitely think theres spite involved, but not to the degree to which edgeworth ends up experiencing what he does emotionally), and the idealisation that gets completely shattered by reality

just. UGH. the full circle that is them, after everything is said and done, finding closure in each other again, however non-linear that journey is, and, this is important, CHOOSING to still stay with the other through anything and everything that comes to pass, and truly SEEING the other behind their professional masks. Seeing them entirely and not just the attractive parts. im rabid.

[boundinparchment]

IN POWER WE ENTRUST THE LOVE ADVOCATED

Celestia fell and the future remains uncertain, preventing you from finalizing the gift intended to convey what mere words alone could not. Zandik, in turn, struggles with his own creations. A trip to Remuria, now uncovered by the sea, provides some clarity for you both. Official (or unofficial) sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Rated Mature to be safe, minors DNI. TW: pregnancy. 10,154 words. Available on AO3 here. Reblogs, kudos, and comments appreciated. Note: This was on my Fics For Gaza donation list and I ran with the idea. Donations were low but this was a story I wanted to tell regardless.

You rearranged the sheets across the stand, shuffling them until the first page was showing again and then staring at the notes so carefully written.  This was the third draft, as marked by the linear strikes in the top left, your way of keeping track of which version was the latest.  The first three pages in particular were disarming at a glance.  Their notes were meticulously inked and set in stone.  You were happy with each note’s placement, the rhythm and cadence and melody.

A strong beginning would carry through the rest.  That’s how it always worked.

After massaging your bow hand and testing your fingers, the joints less than agreeable today, you pulled the pendulum on the metronome and began again.

The first bars were practically woven in your very essence, a scattering of rests and triplets that attempted to capture exciting youth.  Closing your eyes, you allowed memory to carry you through the first dozen and a half bars.  The octave dropped, flowing notes giving way again to staccato frustration and shifting sands before they bled into crisp tundra and warm hearths.  

It led right into the second movement, legato curves that mimicked the way Fontaine’s water seemed to stretch on forever.  Hope, passion, dulled for a time by low notes and shuddering breaths, before a promise twinkled in the tide.  A journey, more notes stretching into eternity, disrupted again, only this time, an echo of earlier bars in a different octave, certain and slow.  

This would have made a better duet and could have been arranged as such; the thought crossed your mind more than you cared to admit.  The recording of it would have been easy to achieve but you didn’t want that.  This was your work and you wanted to play it in a single performance because otherwise…

Your fingers found the familiar patterns, an amalgamation that you hoped sounded like a push-and-pull.  They brought back such vivid memories for you but would that be the case for your audience?  A motif from a god’s request, a flurry of emotion as destructive as its cause, and then a closing bar that mimicked the first, long and full of hope in the flickering light of a burning tree.

Inhaling shakily, you pulled the next paper to the left and followed your latest addition, pencil marks harder to read between the erasures and the smudging.  You carried through the first five bars, certain of their arrangement and then felt out the rest, fingers slower than your mind as your thoughts raced forward, unease and trepidation taking hold.

A burning ache ran through your knuckles and up to your elbow and you pulled your bow away, a wolf tone coming with it.

You swallowed the scream clawing at your throat and instead let out a shuddering breath through your teeth.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

A sonata was something you could write in your sleep, backwards, and upside-down.  Especially given your source material.

The world might have changed but your love hadn’t.

Dreams were little more than solitary moments of brain activity with Celestia gone.  And while that meant having to more consciously work on your relationship, it didn’t make it any less organic.

Maybe this was all pointless.

He had to know by now.  His power of observation knew no bounds.  He would not have missed the fact that you had been gone longer than usual the other day to obtain proper evidence in black and white.  Especially the day after a visit from Tsaritsa where she asked to speak to you privately.  

This entire idea was a waste, absolutely insane.  It would have been easier to just…

You settled your cello back into its stand and rose, idly smoothing out your sleeves as you tried to pull yourself together.  The arrangement would come to you.  It always did, in the end.  There was time.  For now, walking away was best.  You didn’t want to restring either your instrument or your bow all because you’d tried to force what instead needed coaxing.

Gathering up the tray on which you’d brought in the small pot of coffee and a pitcher of water, you left your study and headed back into the kitchen.  There was already a fresh pot percolating on the counter, the smell enticing and yet stomach-churning all at once.  This was a new blend from Puspa Cafe, one you had picked out yourself weeks ago.

Well, at least he could enjoy it properly.  For now, you basked in the scent, the unease in your gut settling as you rinsed your dishes and settled them into the device on the counter.  You hooked up one hose to the faucet and put the other near the sink’s drain, as Zandik showed you, and turned it on.  The motor whirred and you watched water splash on the glass door until suds began to rise.

Your home was full of such little devices.  Dishes were a waste of time for both of you when your minds were better equipped for other things, he had said.  That, and you’d been unable to hold anything for more than a few seconds for months at a time as your hand healed.  He used extra parts for a clothes laundering machine and a special typewriter for your sheet music and even a special percolator to extract the most out of coffee grounds and tea leaves.  

And that didn’t begin to cover the little wind-up creatures you displayed on the windowsills or the hand-crafted ring with a new stone in place resting in your jewelry box.  The swimming otter was your favorite reminder of Fontaine.

The layout and design was different from what you had conceived in the dreamscape, save one decision.  A proper basement, reinforced and deeper than the standard to allow for most of Zandik’s larger projects.  Whatever was too unsafe for the house was kept in another workshop nearby.  So far, nothing ever caught on fire or caused an explosion.  The only things that both of you agreed to keep were the tall windows, this time attached to a small glass sunroom where you loved to lounge when the mood struck.

Today, however, was gray and heavy with the promise of rain.  While you didn’t put much stock into such things, the weather was not a help to your mood nor your creativity.

The steaming pot on the counter clicked and you poured some into a handmade clay cup, the glaze matte and rough against your calloused fingers.  You held it tight in your good hand, your other supporting the bottom, and savored the warmth as you brought it down into the basement workshop.

Distractions rarely ever helped but you were running out of steam; maybe seeing Zandik busy would reinvigorate you.

Zandik frowned as he heard the wolf tone; the sound itself was faint but it spoke volumes of your frustration.  They were more common lately.  Despite the stone foundation and the insulation, your studio was not entirely soundproof and therefore he could still make out faint melodies if he listened hard enough.  Your footsteps, too.  You paced sometimes, occasionally stepping in time with the signature you were working in.  Breakthroughs were a flurry of steps, sometimes the vibrations of the piano to compare, over and over, only one change applied at a time.

He did his best to tune out what he could, for your sake.  Questions were only met with a harried shuffle of papers and an attempt to be nonchalant.

You were a terrible liar, the skill worn down from a lack of practice, but he would not press.  After all, you’d made it clear that if something was wrong , you would tell him.  So he could only conclude that whatever you were working on was for him and it was intended to be a surprise.

But why did you always stumble over the same section?  Was the composition too difficult, did your tendons seize up?

Zandik tightened the bolt harder, wrench slipping when its target would move no further in the same way his thoughts ran from him.  He tested the joint, and, satisfied with the range of motion, stepped back to assess the whole picture.

Which was a whole jumbled mess of…

What was this meant to be, anyway?

Pierro had offered a stash of blueprints, barely legible and all of the missing crucial details.  Briefly, Zandik wondered if the old man was considering a trip to the depths of the Abyss for one final battle with the way the conversation went.  The entire encounter was as bizarre as their initial meeting in the desert, perhaps more so with the glimmer of pride that exuded from his former superior.

He’d been unable to stop the curling of a sneer for the better part of several hours afterwards.

Faintly, Zandik heard your footsteps in the kitchen, the rush of water, and then a beeline for the basement door.  Usually, weather-permitting, you were outside or at least closing your eyes in the lavish warmth of the sun.  You were tired as of late, even if you smiled through the daze of fatigue.

He counted each steady beat of your steps as you descended, the familiar bitter and smooth scent wafting down along with you.  It was the closest roast to what he had in the desert all those centuries ago and now that supply was finally beginning to even out, he did not mind indulging in occasional memories.  It was a shame, however, you were only carrying one mug.

Every time you were around the scent, you were tense and he could practically smell the acid on your breath.  You began abstaining, even from the decaffeinated blends, and avoided being around it for too long, otherwise you were liable to be sick.

Another adjustment you waved away.

And on top of it all, your mind was clearly burdened, otherwise you would not be struggling as you were.

“I thought you’d like it fresh,” you said, offering the mug as you drew closer.

White knuckles on one hand, your grip tight: overcompensating.  Your other hand cradled the bottom, fingertips grazing the unfinished ring, trembling with weakness.  The very last thing he wanted was you burdening yourself over something so trivial when your hands had much better purposes to serve.

“I was going to come upstairs, rooh’ albi ,” Zandik said.  “There was no need to trouble yourself.”

Something flickered across your face that he couldn’t name, gone before he could identify itself, lips pulled between your teeth in thought.  He took a sip, savoring the bright bitterness, pleased with how the adjustments in temperature and the efficient filters brought out the Ajilenakh nut subtleties.  

You stepped further into the workshop and dragged your eyes over the workbench and the metal arm, Pierro’s blueprint pinned on the wall above as a guide.  Between the burns and the flaking of the material itself, Zandik was surprised he’d made it this far, just assembling a series of moving arms.

“It’s not ‘trouble’, Zandik.  I needed the break, as I’m sure you heard,” you replied wryly.  “No use pretending you didn’t hear me banging on the piano yesterday; I’m almost certain Sumeru City heard me.”

Your voice wavered ever so slightly, a warble that anyone else would have passed off as simple frustration.  This block went deeper for you than a mere lack of inspiration and it was beginning to seep into your very bones.  No wonder you were always exhausted.  He was painfully familiar with the other end of the spectrum, one that often kept one of his younger Segments in cycles of ennui and despair because he happened to take the portion of his life during which he was bored by the Akademiya’s authority and illogical rules.  Not all ideas could be pushed through as if they were little more than a target for your claymore.  

But you knew this.  Of course you did.

You held up a finger and turned your gaze back to him.  The circles were fading but your eyes were still a little puffy.

“Before you suggest that I work on something else, I’ve tried .  I attempted working from the end but that requires having an ending in mind.  Other pieces feel as if they’re just standing in for the rest, hollow shells that are perfectly adequate compositions but empty arrangements.   It’s all up here,” you gestured to your head, “but it won’t work its way down into my hands and put my fingers in the right places.”

Zandik placed his cup down out of range of the workbench and took your hands in his after removing his gloves.  Nothing was more infuriating than when the connection between one’s heart and mind was lost, severed entirely.  There were several projects over the years too ambitious for him to endeavor as a student or even in the early years as a Harbinger.  He’d scribbled them down in vain and his Segments came across them decades later, finally equipped with the experiences necessary.  Usually they all fell to Omega.

The words forming themselves on his lips were not what most wanted to hear but he was never one for empty platitudes.  What good was comfort if all of it was a lie?

Your hands were warm still from holding the mug, 

“Perhaps this particular piece isn’t ready for you, yet,” he said at last.  “Continue to force it and you’ll hate your craft entirely.”

“I don’t have that luxury, Zandik,” you murmured.  “This is the only way I know how to…”

You squeezed his hands, the tightest he felt in years that no doubt hurt you in the process.  There it was again, that nameless apparition gliding across your brow and the color of your cheeks.  Ever since that visit from the Tsaritsa (he knew not what to call her now, old habits died hard) and a subsequent trip from Pierro, you were acting as if you were…

But if you were , he would know .  Because you would tell him and there would be signs and he would be able to research and mitigate and stop it from taking you from him.  The world changed with Celestia’s downfall but the event had not taken his intelligence and all that came with it.

“It’s important to me that I express what I need to through my composition.  I know it doesn’t make sense to you to do that—“

A spark flared in his chest and he inhaled through his nose.  He kept his tone even, for he wasn’t angry, but did you not see how hypocritical and illogical this was?  Wasn’t this a repeat of the very situation that gave you a physical traumatic response over playing?

“Do consider the consequences when I tried to keep something from you thinking it was a clever and romantic idea.  What can’t you express in words, rooh’ albi ?”

“It’s a gift , Zandik.  The whole thing is a gift for you, speaking defeats the purpose when I’m trying to invoke particular emotions and memories.”

“But you feel stuck .”

You shook your head.

“Less stuck and more foggy.  Uncertain.”

“About?”

You pulled your hands away and threw your arms up, gesturing all around as you paced.  “Everything before was always a given.  We could dream and build and the world we knew stayed as it was with little changes and the rules were static and the stars never shifted.  The average person knew the world was safe and steady and I can assume that here , too, but the rules changed .  The future is a foreign land for everyone and here we are, continuing on as if…”

Strange. You never expressed that before, not with such animation and intensity.  And you saw enough of Teyvat away from Celestia’s rule to know that although Visions and Archons and leylines were no longer present, the landscape didn’t change entirely.  Most nations stayed the same, except for where the Abyssal corrosion struck hard and had already eaten away at the land.

Change was different for everyone, he reminded himself.  To talk about it and know it occurred were merely conceptual in nature; to see it meant living through it, which in turn shook the equilibrium, and it took time for it to set in.  A scarce few years of this compared to one’s life in a couple of decades or so was still a shock to the system.  

What scared you so?  What needed to instead be translated first and foremost in such a manner rather than simply spoken aloud?

You were hardly this obtuse before and he was beginning to understand why his previous decisions were so infuriating for you and so many others.

Zandik let out a slow breath, the love he held for you winning out against the rising flare of annoyance.  He didn’t agree with it but on the other hand, if you were truly dying , you wouldn’t have the strength to continue essentially running head-first into a brick wall every day.

You met his eyes and a silent plea marred your features, begging him not to press.

Maybe that was precisely the problem.  You were pressing yourself too hard with no alternatives as of late.  The weather was too poor and he was only using Pierro’s pile of Khaenri’ahn blueprints as a distraction away from a solution to further slow the Abyssal corrosion that was slowly eating at him.  Ironic that Celestia was the very thing that kept the balance of the burden of immortality and slowed it down as punishment for daring to survive.  Both of you were too far in your own heads.

A curse of its own, really.

He stilled his brow and instead held his arms open, beckoning you back to him.  Your warmth was instant, curling around him like a well-tended hearth.  He nuzzled the crown of your head as you burrowed into him.  Amid the scent of your shampoo and soap, sweet and fresh, was a note that he couldn’t figure out and yet drew him closer to you all the same.

“A change of scenery might be beneficial,” Zandik murmured, idly rubbing his nose against your hair.  “There’s only so much to do when one’s environment is the same.”

You nodded, turning your head to brush your cheek against his.  Per your request, he’d attempted to keep the facial hair you found so enticing, but a recent trim left it shorter than usual and a little scratchy.  It didn’t prevent you from touching it, either with your own face or a traveling hand.  He would figure out a preferred style, given time.

“You’re more of a field researcher than a classroom scholar, I’m sure you’ve been feeling rather stifled too,” you replied.  “Hard to figure out possible options when you’re cooped up in here.”

“I haven’t been—”

“But you haven’t exactly left Sumeru since we settled here, either.  Not without me or at least not without a very specific purpose.”

He huffed against your ear.

“You can’t not explore this world, Zandik, that’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

“And you never asked me not to.  It’s my own doing.”

Deep down, he knew could you manage without him if he chose to disappear for weeks at a time to explore and study the changes in this world.  Hell, he could find a way to travel to the fractured moon in the sky and you would be perfectly fine in his absence.  That was part of the driving force behind so many of the devices around the house.  If your hands hurt, then you had a means to do dishes or cut up vegetables or restring your cello with ease.  

The frown that tugged at your mouth any time the weakness in your hands struck or the wound flared up was enough to revitalize a second life’s purpose in finding ways to make tasks accessible to you again.  

But what good was seeing any part of this world without you by his side?  At least dreaming provided a means to close the distance, as Natlan had proven.

This time it was your turn to shift and burrow your head under his chin, no doubt in an attempt to stop craning your neck to reach him.  There it was again, that faint scent that was so familiar and rooted to you , sticking out like a thorn, enticing nonetheless.  His chest constricted, stomach dropping as he felt the familiar fire beginning to creep up on him.  Had you laced yourself with an aphrodisiac?  

If you were down here any longer, he was liable to sweep off the workbench’s contents and replace them with you.  And while both of you enjoyed spontaneity, something in your body language told him you would not be up to it right now.  Perhaps after lunch, nestled on the chaise, listening to the rain, little more than closing distance.  Yearning settled itself into the pit of his stomach and every cell in his body just wanted to be near you.

“Consider it, rooh’ albi .  You don’t need to answer immediately,” Zandik murmured.  “We’ll discuss it further when I come upstairs for lunch.”

Zandik felt your nod against his chin and your hold on him eased as you stepped away.  You looked better, a little more lively, and your departure kiss was petal soft and full of conviction.  As it always was.

Nonetheless, when the door upstairs closed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what had you, his unwavering and steadfast soulmate, so terrified and uncertain?

You hadn’t expected the company after lunch but it was welcome nonetheless.  He settled behind you, finding the perfect spot on your neck.  Your body responded instantly and neither of you bothered to fully undress before he rocked into you, slow and languid.  Just when either of you drifted off, the other moved or twitched, starting up a series of thrusts all over again.

The goal wasn’t pleasure but you both came easily in tiny gasps and choked groans.  Neither of you moved after that, uncaring about the rest as sleep crept up on you.

It had taken everything in you not to ask why, of all things, Zandik had chosen that blueprint.  It was obvious what it was from the picture alone.  Pierro was to blame, really, for even passing it along.  No doubt the Tsaritsa confided in him about her finding, both of them under the impression that Zandik was already privy. 

No wonder he, too, was having a block of some kind.  He was creating something from an ancient blueprint that, to him, was utterly useless.  All to keep himself occupied while his brain idly attempted a remedy for something that…

You rubbed your face against the pillow for a second, willing yourself to relax.

Zandik was right.  A vacation was needed.  More than.

So much of Sumeru was an adjustment, both in the temperature and the culture.  You hadn’t even seen the desert yet, despite asking, but Zandik was adamant about never stepping foot out there again if he could help it.  You’d taken to everything just fine, except for the brief stop at the top of the Tree, where a little spout saw fit to mock.  

But when you pushed through the fog, you felt your heart tugging towards home.  Or rather, your old home.  Arguably, it could be said that you were home as long as the man next to you was there, but the sentiment didn’t quite fit at present.

Fontaine. It had been so long since you left, you’d lost track.  After burning Irminsul, you found yourself in Sumeru and never quite managed to go beyond the reaches of the land of Wisdom.  You heard numerous discoveries through letters and reports, from chatter in the city and from Zandik himself when he did, in fact, venture out for days at a time.  What was it the Tsaritsa mentioned on her last visit?  Something about Remuria, Petrichor’s successful growth now that old ruins surfaced again, visible from even Chenyun Vale?

Maybe a trip to the mainland could fit, too, if either of you wanted.  You would have to inquire about the Opera’s schedule of events.  Zandik had probably been to Fontaine, or a Segment had, but perhaps some remnants of the Research Institute would pique his interest.  This wasn’t just for you, after all.

And it might be the last excursion for a while, depending.

You pushed away the faint thought that came with a memory of a young sleeping boy in your lap years prior.

When Zandik finally stirred, you tangled your foot with his and pulled him back, earning yourself a hot gasp against your ear.

“There’s too much of a good thing, rooh’ albi ,” he teased.

You bit back a laugh, agreeing silently for a different reason.

“I was thinking,” you began, Zandik’s form enveloping you again.

“Always a good place to start.”

You shifted just so and the hand on your hip gripped tighter, squeezing you in silent warning.

“What if we went to Fontaine for a bit?  Perhaps to Petrichor, see the ruins of Rumeria?”

“You truly wish to see what the myth was like, whether it measures up to the tales?  It might be far less grand than what you grew up hearing,” Zandik countered.

“That’s not a proper reason not to see it,” you replied, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye.  “In fact, I would argue that would be precisely the point.  It’s silly to not expand my knowledge of where I was born, even if that means it might not match the expectations set by millenia of epic tales.”

Zandik pulled you closer and settled back against you, burying his nose in your hair.  He’d been doing that every chance he had ever since that morning.  You’d done nothing to change your routine but the increased physical affection only managed to give way to doubt that perhaps you did a poor job hiding these last few weeks.

His lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing the soft flesh just enough to extract a sharp exhale from you.  Against your skin, he whispered, “Fontaine it is, then.”

Without the leylines, traveling from deep within Sumeru’s forests was half a day’s journey in and of itself.  You passed a grand palace on your way to Bayda Harbor, a hidden jewel that resembled something you might have once attempted in the dreamscape.

You heard the harbor before you saw it, a soft swelling of shouts and the hum of crane motors amid the usual bustle of port activity.  Over the hill, you caught a glimpse of colorful houses, their chimneys smoking, and the scent of cooked fish and fresh fruit wafted across the landscape.  Sparkling water came into view as the dirt path gave way to flagstone, iron railings sweeping down the curve of the path, guiding travelers down towards the main thoroughfare.

“Exponential growth since I was last here,” Zandik said, leaning close to be heard over the noise.  “Half of these buildings are new.  I remember when this had nothing more than the port authority and a three boat pier.”

He pointed to the sweeping curves of the building to your immediate left, one of the only buildings in pure Sumerian style.

The rest of the buildings were a jumbled array of styles, plaster and brick painted in soft colors with tiled roofs, a maze of stairs and outlooks carved into the very hills.  You got the impression that, no matter where one stood, they were privy to a unique and stunning view of the water and the land beyond.

Newly invigorated, you began to climb, mindful of your path as to remember the way down.  With all of your belongings packed neatly and only a hand’s wave away along with your weapons (Zandik determined that the void used was a pocket of the abyss and therefore unconnected to Irminsul), neither of you had to lug cases to the dock first and backtrack.  Some rules remained, regardless of Celestia, and you were thankful for their convenience.

Once you reached the top, where a white plaster building was perched and the scent of spiced meat trickled out through the open doorway, you finally dared let your eyes skim past the coastline.

Petrichor had been little more than a small remote island when you were a child.  Your last visit was short, a curated walk around the buildings and the festival square, with a history lesson about the power of music.  The cats were friendly and your entire class took turns trying to earn their favor when the tour guide’s back was turned.  Last you heard, the Traveler followed some keen treasure hunters and uncovered the entrance to the long-forgotten world trapped beneath the waves.

Nothing prepared you for the swelling aqueducts, rising spires, and the amphitheater that spanned most of the basin beneath the plateau. An entire civilization built on music, determined to defy the fate laid before them, exposed to the world once more.  Its very essence glittered under the late morning sun and all you could do was stare.

Fairytales held their grains of truth after all.

“I imagine this is what it felt like to lay eyes on that Ruin Golem for the first time and clamoring inside,” you said.  “All of the paintings about the myths were so very wrong .”

“It was said that no true civilizations were built in Fontaine for millenia; Gurabad grew and fell all before Remus’ arrival from Sumeru,” Zandik replied.  “Always a shocking perspective, how advanced some areas of the world became while others struggled with their environment.”

“Gurabad?”

“A story for another time.  I prefer not to discuss those expeditions when we are about to board a vessel upon which my inner ear will be displeased for most of the journey.”

You swallowed your own wave of nausea, a normality now, wishing you could commiserate properly.

Instead of returning the way you came, Zandik led you through the rest of the cliffside, through terraces and up and down small flights of stairs.  You came upon a better view of the amphitheater, which, from this angle, looked more akin to a large…transmitter.  There weren’t any seats, from what you could make out.

When you said as much to Zandik, he agreed and said, “It would not surprise me, given it was a land where music was central to its culture.”

Eventually, you made your way back down and boarded the small ferry to Petrichor, packed with people.  Zandik, of course, selected a secluded spot towards the back where there was relative privacy.  You weren’t certain if your nausea was aggravated by the smell of the fuel, or the boat’s movements, but you emptied your stomach in the first ten minutes of rocking waves.  Zandik was green in the face, quiet and leaning his forearms on the railing to focus on his breathing; you felt his eyes on you as you took a swig from your canteen to rinse your mouth, ridding yourself of the acrid taste.

“Small boats and I never agreed,” you said.  “Too little surface area.”

He stared at you a second longer than necessary, relenting only when you joked about getting sick so he didn’t have to.  You could see the gears turning in his mind out of the corner of your eye.  He knew.  There was no way he didn’t by now.  Even if the boat made for a good cover, he must have put all of the pieces together himself.

All of this was so silly.  He’d made the arrangements himself over the last week, determined to plan a trip that was bound to at least spark a chance for both inspiration and new memories.  Ambitious in its scope, you knew he put every forethought and afterthought into each choice from the length of time to the destination.  Your Zandik loved to plan, after all.  He’d muttered about needing to account for spontaneous variables but if he was nothing if not thorough.

For the rest of the short trip, the two of you discussed your itinerary in short fragments, distracting one another with the prospect of being on land again.  You would spend the rest of the day exploring Petrichor, getting a lay of the land, do Remuria’s ruins tomorrow (and the next, if it was needed), have one more day on the island, and then take the aquabus into Fontaine proper if you still needed time away. 

The ride concluded sooner than expected and the newly-constructed wooden pier gave way to a winding stone path up through Petrichor’s streets.  You couldn’t help but pause and stare.  The trees were the same, if a little weathered, the flowers and the grass seemingly frozen in time.  A once-grand Statue of the Seven laid not toppled but modified, Lady Focalors seated on the ground while Sir Neuvillette rose from a splash of waves behind her.  In comparison, Sumeru’s statues were toppled entirely at the behest of Kusanali herself, who no longer wanted to be separate from her people as an idolized leader.

Your eye tracked a few more buildings towards the coast, bigger and a little flashy.  It all paled in comparison to the ruins visible from the beach, their scale on par with Fontaine City itself.  Here, the very air seemed to hum with notes, like windchimes nudged by a breeze.  The longer you looked at the rising spires and sweeping aqueducts, the more prevalent the sounds became.  They were trying to form a song but when it was this disjointed, it was difficult to—

A hand on your waist and a whisper of your name snapped you out of your reverie.  Zandik’s garnet eyes searched your face before boring into your own for a second.

“Need I worry about you sleepwalking into the sea at the correct note wafting through the air?” he asked, sardonic.

“No.  It’s unusual, is all.  You hear it too?”

“Everyone can.  If you look, the spires are all different sizes, as if they’re—”

“Tuning forks,” you concluded.

Zandik nodded.  “We’ll adjust and our brains will likely sort out the sound in a few hours.  People would not be living here if it was that much of a nuisance.”

You could tell by the twitch of his lip that he had more he wanted to say but instead, he settled one hand on the small of your back, silently ushering you onwards.

It must have been the memories stirring up all of your energy; in the last few weeks, you never seemed as lively as you did now.  Every time your eyes laid on a building, you were full of tales of childhood fun and nostalgia.  You could seemingly trace a single brick with your eyes and have an entire moment come back to you with striking clarity.

Zandik wished he could say the same but perhaps it was for the best that his home village was no longer on any map.  As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he much more enjoyed the warm swelling in his chest at your smile and the way every cat you encountered bumped its head against your palm.  One went so far as to weave itself between his legs and yours, slowly blinking before it settled down for a nap near a flowerbed.

You were so often hidden behind a veil as of late.  Such moments were common for most, some temporary and others not, but his skin itched at the notion that something was amiss.  It had to be.  Even if it was a matter of neglecting your mental health as of late, at least it would be an answer.

But then there was the matter of the boat.

On the trip from Sumeru to Snezhnaya all those years ago, you had the smallest bout of nausea but quickly acclimated.  Like most, you adjusted perfectly fine; by comparison, the crystals in his inner ears never quite found the right angle and he suffered every time.

His second lamentation of burning Irminsul was the lack of leylines through which to travel freely.  An act he took for granted for centuries.

That you were compelled to be sick on such a small boat so quickly…

Unusual, to say the least.  Were you nauseous prior, he wondered.  If so, why?  You’d eaten nothing out of the ordinary and already long overcame the agony of caffeine withdrawal.

Zandik listened and watched your expression as you regalled him with a story about the bakery you were stopped in front of.  All the while, he felt the pressure around his ankles as another cat wove between them, purring so loudly he wondered if it was mechanical.  His trousers would be covered in fur by the time you reached the rented cottage and he made a mental note to acquire a lint roller as soon as convenient.

He watched you, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, your eyes focused on the golden interior and drinking it all in again.

“We’ll have to stop by first thing in the morning, when everything is warm,” you said, turning back to him.  “I had the best brioche here.  There was a pâtisserie not too far, unless they moved…best desserts outside of Fontaine City…”

You continued to lead the way to the town square, small but full of garlands of flowers, where musical motifs were carved into stone pillars around the stage.  A gaggle of children ran past, one of them claiming to be God-King Remus in a theatre mask, another pretending to be Chief Justice Neuvillette, Melusine plushie in hand.  From what Zandik gathered, they were fighting over who was the rightful ruler of all of Fontaine.  They took to the miniscule stage, gesturing and making sound effects, captivating their entire audience.

A white cat with mismatching eyes presided over the performance, tail flicking occasionally.  It laid its eyes on you, blinking slowly once, before turning its attention back to the children.

He never had the time for such antics growing up.  Or rather, whenever he did try, he was too logical for the rest of his peers and supposedly ruined the fun.  That was before, of course, he grew smart enough to know how to build counter-arguments.  He had not yet returned to his parents with bruises and welts from stones at that point.

An experience he would never relate to.

But it was why Celestia’s downfall was so important.  No one would be subjected to a fate tied to a name, to a constellation, born to suffer.  All were equal.

Even the shy ones on the sidelines were included in the play-acting, less an audience and more stagehands and storytellers.

Zandik’s eyes fell to you, your gaze lost again for the briefest moment before you blinked.  The expression differed little from your time overseeing your students at the House of the Hearth, with a little fragment that escaped him.  Did you miss teaching?  Perhaps it was worthwhile to reach out to the Zubayr Theatre upon your return, to see if they needed an extra hand.

After all, you needed to have something else to call your own, not just your music.

“There were hardly any people here before,” you said as you left the square.  “Let alone children.  School visits were really the only time this place was filled with anything other than desolate silence, except for the cats.”

“They’re akin to their brethren from Sumeru, well-tended to and beloved by most,” Zandik observed.

The two of you finally reached the small house, nestled closer to the beach at the foot of the small rock formation.  At one end, a view of the glowing Harvisptokhm beyond the high mountains; the other bore a glittering view of bygone eras, gaps in the aqueducts glowing with strings of what the locals referred to as Ichor.

Late into the night, you watched the strings, waving a hand over them in mimicry of plucking them as you drifted off, humming a new motif to yourself.  

Some of his worries began to slip off of his shoulders as he held you tight, a sliver of your brightness finally within your grasp again.

The only thing keeping your fatigue at bay the next morning was the excitement to trek up the partial aqueduct to the Clivus Capitolinus, the entryway into the Domus Aurea and Sacellum Requietis.  It was there that the God King Remus gave his final orders and the Grand Symphony self-destructed, taking everyone with it.  Little survived the shattering of several sub-level-bubbles within Teyvat itself.  That Remuria rose from the sea was, perhaps, a final usurpation of the prophecy Remus fought so hard to defy.  

Or so the tour guide said.  You were still recovering from your trip to the viennoiserie for breakfast.  Your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you’d openly stared at Zandik’s coffee with intense longing.

The air here was fresh and cool, kissing your bare arms with a faint breeze.  You’d missed this.  In the deep jungles, the air was so moist and heavy, leaving you sticky on particularly humid days.  But here, you felt as if every breath was easy and clear.

You gave a side glance at Zandik.  He shrugged, letting go of your hand just enough to shake his own in a so-so gesture.  The guide wasn’t wrong, then, just inaccurate.

The bronze aqueduct was full, it turned out, of the Golden Ichor that made up its harp-like strings.  It was only when the role the Ichor played was brought into the narrative by the guide that you paused and properly looked at the shimmering liquid.  

Putting memories and souls into bodies of metal was part of the legend but the Ichor was thought to have been long since lost or merely a mechanism for the tale.  Seeing it now, before you, only managed to ground the dawning realization that others achieved a system not unlike the one Zandik had.  And Remus had done it long before Celestia’s rule.

He must have sensed your train of thought, for he chuckled softly upon seeing your fixated gaze.  

“It’s little more than Primordial Water mixed with what other legends call a Philosopher’s Stone.  Pierro would call it something else but it’s the very pinnacle of alchemic achievements,” Zandik murmured.  “Both materials are archaic and do not take erosion into account.”

The Segments were a part of the past, long gone.  He rarely, if ever, spoke about them beyond a longing for more hands.  

“Is that your way of saying you did it better?” you teased.

He shot you a warning smirk.  “How foolish, rooh’ albi.  My work speaks for itself.”

You continued on, ears perking up at the description of Capitolium as a paradise overflowing with beautiful melodies.  When you reached the summit, your eyes traced a soaring and sweeping structure reaching for the sky; Domus Aurea, King Remus’ palace.  You wondered briefly if pipe organs were based on what little Fontainians knew of their predecessors.  The towering copper pillars glinted in the sun, winking at those who stared up at them.

The interior made the Library of Daena back in the Akademiya seem like a playpen.  Copper everywhere, except the stone floors, Ichor flowing through every free inch and only adding to the majesty.  The acoustics were impeccable, providing a means by which a speaker could address an audience with ease and shapes for soundwaves to flow and encapsulate listeners.

You came across a small crossroads on the way down to the Sacellum Requietis and grabbed Zandik’s arm when the tour guide glossed over the perfect tiles on the ceiling.  Your soulmate paused and he, too, began to look around, wondering just what caught your eye.

“Go stand over there,” you whispered, pointing to a corner diagonally from you.

Zandik’s red eyes lingered on you, narrow in their curiosity.  You nudged him gently before he complied and stood in the corner, facing you.  

You gestured for him to turn around, and when he did, you shifted and whispered into the corner in front of you.  What you said was of little consequence but when you heard Zandik’s reply as clear as day, you felt a wild surge of satisfaction.

“The low arches and the curve here allow the sound to travel and follow the arches perfectly,” you whispered.  “This entire crossway could be packed but two people would be able to get messages to each other easily as if they were right next to each other.”

“Exceptional eyes.  The material must matter, though.  And the distance.  Too close and the individuals might as well just turn around.”

You grinned and whispered one last message that left Zandik’s cheeks burning as you returned to his side.  It earned you a graze of his teeth on the shell of your ear and a threat he intended to make good on later.  He would, you had no doubt.

Continuing along, you caught up with the rest of the group.  As you reached the Sacellum Requietis ,all sound immediately perished.  A beautiful amphitheater, silent as a grave, you imagined ancient performances in honor of the Grand Symphony, of Phobos.  The tragedy of the very harmony that glued Remuria together was not only in its attempt to subvert the fate written for its people but that in order to do so, it needed to absorb their souls in the process.  Its corruption came from those it was meant to save.

Acoustically, the structure was undoubtedly perfect for containing and enveloping audiences in waves upon waves of sweet notes.  You strained in the silence, trying to hear anything other than the hushed whispers of the fellow tour-goers and the guide.  Distantly, you could make out a faint ringing, its pitch changing as the breeze whispered by.

As you descended into the center, your eyes trailed up towards the spires surrounding the arena.  If you turned your head, the ringing seemed to have an origin point in one direction or another.  Somehow, though, you doubted they were only tuning forks.  They were too tall, too narrow to do more than provide a faint hint of a note.  Not quite a transistor in function, either.

You stepped up to the podium, where the God King would have given his final command, and closed your eyes.

Like every leader that came before, Remus only wanted to protect his people, you mused.  All it took was one dissonant note amid the harmony he intended for it to all go wrong…

You swallowed, hands gripping the stone stand where the sheetmusics made of souls would have once made its home.  In the depths of your heart, you heard an agonizing dirge, felt the pressure of the sea beginning to encroach, ready to swallow an entire era and its mistakes along with it.  

Change was a constant and perfection was the antithesis of it.  Did Remus realize that, in the end?  Was he terrified of failing his people?

What was it Zandik had said all those years ago?  And we must change, mustn’t we?  Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.

Your hand pulsed.  Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly before you craned your neck back and shielded your gaze.  A flock of seagulls soared nearby and the clouds still floated, crisp against the bright blue sky.  You turned your attention back to the stage to find Zandik examining the remnants of golden bees, completely enamored with the prospect of a creature no longer in existence.

Regardless of whether Celestia still loomed overhead or not, you would feel the same, suffer the same block.  This wasn’t just about you, what your body would endure, but everything that laid between you and Zandik.  What was the point of building it all, if not to face a curve in the road together ?

Already, you felt the notes beginning to weave themselves together, a marriage of the first two acts culminating in the creation of a brand new tune.  Slow, tentative, and then picking up the tempo again…

You scribbled notations on napkins at lunch and tried to keep yourself from humming.  Inevitably, you let a few notes slip before the day was out, earning you a quizzical stare before bed.  It took everything in you not to blurt out your breakthrough but to do so would ruin everything.  He so often graced you with creations and you wanted to do the same.

“I missed hearing you captivated,” was all Zandik said.

It held more weight in your heart than he knew.

The gnawing frustration in the pit of his stomach was beginning to wear him down.  His patience would hold until you returned home but by then, he would have a comprehensive methodology in place to test for various illnesses.  Zandik was never one to settle and leave an issue be, not when it came to your wellbeing.

He could forgive your desire to curb caffeine, considering the rebound and withdrawal migraines were agony.  Your fatigue could be mental as much as physical.  Same could be said for some of the dietary changes you made recently.  

But when you leaned over to kiss him the morning after the visit to the ruins, Zandik could not get his mind off of the way you smelled .  Just…in general.  Beneath the scent of the new soap during the stay and the hint of salt water, there was a shift in your own chemical composition.  Similar to the fluctuations you normally endured yet stronger, more potent.  It stirred a strange visceral reaction in the recesses of himself he was still trying to unravel and he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was the only logical thing that stood between him and the conclusion you were not disastrously ill.  He knew the smell of death and disease.  Neither came close to you.

Today, you decided, was best spent in Petrichor itself and among the people.  Already, you seemed to have more color in your cheeks and life in your eyes, although your attention seemed almost wistful at times when you thought he wasn’t looking.  Previously, such an expression had an edge of sorrow in it, but whatever resonated with you in Remuria had done its job: you were hard at work, thinking of combinations and patterns that were invisible and silent to all but you.

The first stop of the morning after breakfast was the bookshop near the square, specializing specifically in sheet music, history of various instruments and musical theory, with the smallest section of general interest.  Zandik browsed the theory section after pressing a kiss to your forehead and wishing you a successful journey; your smile might as well have bundled the sun itself and tucked it into his gut, the way excitement exuded from you.

Zandik picked a few tomes and settled into the cafe nook towards the front of the store.  He knew the rush of a new idea and the fixation that came with it all too well.  But too much, too fast, and you might burn yourself out before it was finished.  After everything that happened, you did not deserve to flicker out like a dying star.

Although he tried to delve into a collection of various theaters and performance halls, and a comparison of their layouts for acoustics and which provided the richest sound, your joyous exclamation tore his attention away.

“A full collection of recreated compositions!” you held up your find like a hunter with a prized rabbit as you approached.  “All of these are based on the music box the Traveler found!”

Your eyes practically glittered with stardust, the way excitement illuminated your face.  How long had it been since you last looked at him, at anyone, like that, Zandik mused.  What plagued your soul in such a fashion that made these moments rare occurrences as of late?

He watched as you returned to the bookseller charged with opening shift, your enthusiasm met with understanding nods and additional questions.  From here, the sun hit your hair perfectly but it wasn’t the star in the sky that made your entire being exude such brilliance.  There was, of course, something to be said about the return of one’s demeanor and true capacity, but this…

It was as if you had a renewed lease on life itself, unfettered, your mind having worked through something in the Sacellum Requietis.  Zandik leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Possible.  It was always a possibility, although not necessarily probable .  Besides, everyone exhibited differently.  Would explain most of your symptoms.  And the enigmatic smile the Tsaritsa had given on her visit.  Surely you trusted a physician in addition to a mere Archon’s sentiments?

If that was the cause.  Speculation would do little good without further evidence and a proper blood test.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, though.  From that perspective, he allowed the train of logic to continue, and envisioned the blueprint tacked to his workshop wall, faded and illegible.  What would a collection of thin metal arms be good for?  Not strong enough to function as a claw, too light for a set of windchimes to dangle.  But there was a motor, and a little soundbox attached…Pierro’s stilted slap on the shoulder made far more sense in this context…

By the time you were finished, and paid for the large armful of bound compositions, Zandik was already used to the notion of laughter and shouts in the background, wide eyes and an excitement for the world, all a layer to your music while he worked.

You would tell him when you were ready, he knew.  Just as you would anything else.  He couldn’t help but let his gaze rest on you periodically after he took your purchases and tucked them under one arm, your hand safely in his free one.  Mindlessly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the size and pattern of them memorized long ago.

“What, do I have something on my face?” you asked, catching his gaze.

Zandik took the time to trace his eyes over your brows, your eyes and cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your welcoming lips.  Not a detail out of place.  He let go of your hand long enough to brush away stray hairs, which were immediately taken by the morning breeze.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The rest of the trip was a complete blur wrapped up in sunny days and relaxing evenings, productive even if it meant lounging on the hotel balcony and watching the remains of the Research Institute from a distance.

In the end, you settled on visiting the mainland, too; you were already halfway there, after all.  It was Zandik’s turn to fill your luggage with more blueprints and parts and you watched as he disassembled a wind-up frog powered by a tiny Pneuma cell.  Both of you spent a whole evening craned over a table of gears and tiny arms as he put it back together as if by memory.

He was never far from reach.

And your resolve only settled further.

You were filled with what you could only describe as a new sense of self, cradling the fear that once gripped you the same way one might hold a baby boarshroom: tender and with care.  It found company amid excitement and happiness and hope.  Although movement was still a long while off, your stomach flipped itself into tangles as you returned home and began assembling all of the sections you created while away.  

Once or twice, you spotted Zandik out of his workshop, ears stuffed with cotton on the days you were playing; when you questioned him, he gave some answer about the air pressure difference getting to him and that he would hear your music when you intended to share it.  In turn, he was equally cagey about keeping his workbench covered and asked you to flick the lights at the top of the stairs first if you insisted on coming down.  He had been practically vibrating all the way back from Fontaine after a visit to a mechanical artisan and, much like yourself, could not wait to channel renewed energy.

You completed the final bar in the early hours of the afternoon within a week of your return, more than satisfied.  Zandik, in turn, proclaimed his finishing touches were done some hours later that very day.  If fate were still a presence in the world you knew now, you would have allowed it to lay claim to the coincidence once upon a time.  He forbid you from entering one of the few extra rooms, distracting you with teasing kisses until you all but forgot about the possibility of what laid beyond.

That evening after dinner, you handed an envelope to Zandik, its edges flattened to oblivion from running your nails along them.  You half-expected his nimble fingers to pull out the top flap but he merely examined it and then gave you his undivided attention as you settled in and took up your usual position.  The Cryo panels of your cello’s body were a familiar form against your knees, a solid comfort you could rely on to help convey the sentiments words could not.  

With your back to the large pane of windows and sunset providing you light, you dove through the first two movements.  The third began as it always had, the beginning of the end that circled around and offered a clean slate for all.  Slow and tenuous, plucks of curiosity and drags of uncertainty, winding themselves into a motif that pulled from the first movement, and then the second, forming a new pattern that made your rib cage rattle every time you played it.  The approach was literal, too on the nose perhaps, but it was accurate.  You had allowed yourself to delve into the slow and stilted structure from before the trip and proceeded to drag it out, mold it, and bring in some of the bars from a recovered Remurian symphony.  Upon first hearing it, you imagined the lapping of waves and desire for a future safe from destruction, where more than just life itself could prosper.  

You allowed the last note to hang, counting before you pressed your hand to the strings to still them.  

Your audience of one had tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and closed his garnet eyes.  He wasn’t sleeping, although his breathing was steady; an idle hand played at the air above his knee, his mind seeking the patterns you presented and working to unravel them.  Quietly, you settled your cello into its stand and padded over to him.  You took his other hand, still and resting in his lap, and laid it flat against your abdomen, the heat of his palm searing through your clothing.

Slowly, Zandik opened his eyes, blinked, and then flexed his fingers.

“Quite a gift,” he whispered.

“One that warrants a lengthy discussion and decisions.”

His hand, once tracing your composition, found your bow hand and pressed it to his lips, his breath kissing every inch of your scars.

“I already have mine.  Come.”

Legs trembling, you followed him through the living room and upstairs to the door he previously barred your entry from.  Words failed and instead you swallowed, silently staring at him, your question heavy in the air.  Zandik merely leaned forward to unlatch the door and push it open, nodding his head to direct you inside.

This room was always sparse, little more than an obligatory guest room used occasionally for storage.  It never held more than a bed to begin with but your heart lurched at the device hanging from the ceiling.  Charms and trinkets spun idly, a star and a music note among them.  You stepped into the room and brushed your fingers over the arms, watching it spin.

You turned back to Zandik, lips quivering and eyes burning.  He closed the distance between you and reached up, finding a winding key with ease and twisting it thrice before he nudged you back.  You watched as the arms slowly spun, all the while, a familiar tune played softly.  As the rest of the music played out, you nestled yourself against Zandik, the final scratches of anxiety falling away.

“We did not come this far only to not see what laid outside of a fated existence,” he murmured.  “I have my own trepidations but I am intrigued by the possibilities presented.  However, if you feel—”

“I knew that day standing on the conductor’s podium that I wanted this.  Us,” you replied.  “And I can think of nothing more worthy of the future we’ve carved for ourselves.”

Zandik buried his face in the crook of your neck.  Once again, you pulled one of his hands and pressed it to your lower stomach, intertwining your fingers over his in a new, silent promise.