#then there was the fact that i had internalized this by about fifth or sixth grade and i never wanted the other kids to look at me like they

[july-19th-club]

crazy how i’ve never known a time when i wasn’t masking or overperforming in order to impress adults, so for the majority of my schooling no adult in my life ever noticed there was something off about how i interpreted and interacted and that it was not easy to keep up with the pace they expected me to be at, or they willfully ignored it because some woman when i was seven had told them i was supposed to be too smart to struggle

[queenie-avenue]

Hey! I saw your post about the requests and was wondering if you could write a story about Sebastian and a female MC, which contains a lot of angst ( with a happy ending ) maybe about a huge misunderstanding with jealousy on MC’s side and all is good in the end? :)

Thank you!! 💚

You're so pretty, it hurts.

—> he's so popular he can barely give you the time of day now.

⤻ reader is a female, reader's house is not specified, reader is insecure, reader is easily jealous/a bit clingy, angst with a happy ending but it's like more internal turmoil than straight up arguing, jealousy, all characters are in their sixth year, ominis is the best wingman, mentions of the events in hogwarts legacy, sebastian is on the quidditch team as a beater

note: i know that sebastian is canonically unfit, and i love him for it, but i think he would be good as a beater. thank you for the ask, btw anon! <33 keep them coming!

🦋 ⤻ archives.

Ever since the events of last year, you and Sebastian weren't that close anymore. He had promised things would be the same, but a part of you felt like Sebastian blamed you for the events that happened in your sixth year. You blamed yourself too, to be honest. If only you had been more persistent, if only you had been more persuasive, Sebastian wouldn't have lost his sister and uncle.

You still dream about the hollow eyes of Solomon Sallow, at times. Regretting how you did nothing to stop Sebastian from going down the path of evil.

Although you and Sebastian did not talk that much anymore, you still heard whispers about him. Well, technically they weren't whispers given how everyone was speaking about him to the point the whispers grew into a buzz that you could not fizz out from your brain. Your dearest slytherin boy had decided to try out for the quidditch team this year now that Professor Black finally allowed the darn sport to be played. Ominis told you — yes, Ominis and not Sebastian — that Sebastian wanted a way to let loose that anger inside him, he hoped that being a beater would help with his issues, get his mind off things.

That seemed to work, given how little he seemed to think of you nowadays.

Even now, as you sat in the library, you heard giggles from girls who thought that Sebastian looked rather dashing in the quidditch uniform or how some guys were jealous of the attention Sebastian was getting. Even some guys fancied the slytherin boy too.

You slammed your book shut and practically stormed out from the library. "A library is meant for studying, not gossiping." You muttered, overcome with jealousy, ignoring the fact that you had been gossiping with Poppy just weeks ago.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

You stood at the side of the quidditch field, staring up at the sky as the slytherin team flew overhead, practicing drills for next week's match with hufflepuff.

"You know, this would be much easier if you talked to him." Ominis said, interrupting the gawking session you were currently undergoing. You had invited Ominis over to the quidditch field in an attempt to make things less awkward when Sebastian would eventually descend from the sky back onto the green patches of grass.

You stood there alongside with Ominis, making small talk as you stared up into the sky — your eyes almost being burnt off by the afternoon sun — as you look at Sebastian flying up there.

His hair riding against the waves of the wind, the curls flapping like a bird's wings, the way all the worries in his chocolate eyes flutter away when he rides on the broom, going against the current of the wind. He looks happier, happier than he was throughout the remainder of fifth year and you can't help but feel jealous and left out. You wished you could make him that happy, so joyous that all his frustration seemed to melt away like snow when spring slowly came to reap.

Insecure thoughts plagued your mind as you played with your fingers, your head slowly dipping as it now paid more attention to the ground and dirt rather than the glorious sight that was Sebastian Sallow.

You didn't even notice when he landed and began speaking.

"[y/n]! [y/n]!" Ominis' voice brought you out of your daydream, and your eyes immediately snapped up to be met with those eyes.

"Hey." Sebastian's smirk was brighter than the sun.

Hey? Was that all he would say to you after avoiding you for the better part of the first two months of the year? "Hi." You replied dismissively, looking away. Ominis seemed to sense your apprehension as he nudged you. Poor Ominis, really.

"What are you guys doing here?" Asked Sebastian as he reached out to grab your shoulder but you simply moved away.

You would have paid to see that look on his face again.

"Just watching the show." You shrugged as you looked over at the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team that had landed. Imelda seemed to shoot a particularly dirty look at Sebastian for riding away from them. "You did well. I saw you." You commented rather stiffly.

"Yeah well, training will do that to you. I can finally walk up the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower without running out of breath!" He laughed and you responded with a polite chuckle.

Then you both just stared at one another.

"Confident about the game?" Ominis asked, attempting for what seemed like the millionth time to help with the relationship.

"Yeah." Sebastian said rather cockily, looking like the fifth year you first met. "We're going to pummel hufflepuff, just you wait." You smiled at that.

Just then, one of the other beaters, a rather tall girl practically ambushed Sebastian, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Oh Ominis, and the new fifth year!" She said, but all you could focus on was how chummy she was with Sebastian.

"I'm a sixth year now, actually." You corrected, perhaps a bit too sharp.

"Hah, yeah, sorry. You just made an impression was all, the whole defeating Ranrok thing." The girl smiled and you could tell she was genuine in her awe of you but your eyes kept glancing over at where Sebastian and her made contact. You had no claim over the boy but you felt like your heart was shattering into glass pieces as he returned her side hug.

"We should probably head back to doing drills, before Imelda burns a hole in either of our heads." Sebastian commented, his eyes drifting towards you intently.

"You will be watching us during the match, right?" The boy confirmed, looking at you with anticipation.

You were almost tempted to make a snide remark about how he didn't need you anymore given the fact that he had a whole team and school of people who wanted to be near him.

All you did was give a simple nod before excusing yourself, not wanting to have your heart broken further.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

As he soared through the winds, your eyes still remained on him and only him. You didn't even know whether or not Slytherin was winning. You could hardly care for anything else other than the triumphant look on his face every time he blocked or parried a bludger. God, maybe a bludger to the head would help see sense and just speak to you properly about why he was acting so strangely.

You barely registered it when they announced that Slytherin had won the match, only realising it when Sebastian practically tumbled to the floor, thrown onto it by the same girl you had been so jealous of the other day.

Sebastian smiled at her and lifted her up into the air, his eyes brighter than ever.

Had he ever looked at you that way?

You wanted to puke, you wanted to scream, but you couldn't. Not here. Maybe because of your pride but the moment his eyes met yours, you dashed. Skirts fluttering in the wind as you ran and ran, practically sliding down towards the edge of the black lake. With no one there other than the mermaids at the bottom of the lake, you sank towards the ground.

Perhaps it was a bit dramatic but you were a teenage girl and you saw your crush embrace another girl like it was nothing. You think you had the right to be dramatic.

You sat down, not caring about whether or not the dirt or water would stain the fabric of your skirt. You didn't care much about anything except the way Sebastian looked so happy without you.

Had avoiding you really made him that more relaxed?

You curled up, holding your knees close to your chest as you fought back tears.

The sun had set by the time you finally regained enough sanity to wonder whether it was time to head back to the castle.

Before you could have any other rational thought, you heard the rustles behind you, your wand raised and pointed at the intruder only to see a boy with freckles dotted all over his face raising up his hands. His forehead was marred with sweat, cheeks red and mouth panting as he stared at you.

"Where the bloody hell were you!" He practically screamed, causing you to lower your wand.

"Well, I'm here, as you can tell." You didn't mean to make his worries seem like a joke but it just slipped out.

"I was-" he panted. Despite how fit his arms had gotten, Sebastian still couldn't run well, it seemed. "I was looking for you everywhere! I thought you went to go fight Ashwinders, or something! I was scouring the entire place for you." He said, approaching you and grabbing hold of your shoulders, shaking you like a mad man as he looked into your beautiful [e/c] eyes. "Don't- Don't scare me like that. Please." He begged.

"I- I didn't mean to." You replied, shocked at how emotional Sebastian suddenly was.

"Please don't do that again. You know I lost her, I can't lose you too." He said and you knew he was obviously referring to Anne and you felt pity for him, but you also felt annoyed. You wanted to push him away as he embraced you, his sweat smearing all over your dirt-stained clothes.

"If I'm so important to you," you started, "why have you been avoiding me?" You finally let your emotions spill out as you caressed the side of Sebastian's face, eyes leering over his prominent freckles. You had once joked they looked like constellations but really, Sebastian was as bright as a star. "You kept running away from me," your hands gently touched his skin, enjoying the texture of the slight stubble he had shaved. "You didn't talk to me, I thought I did something wrong."

"You did nothing wrong." Sebastian cut in.

"Then tell me why."

"It was- I couldn't help it. I was terrified. I know you promised to always be by my side. But I was so scared I'd disappoint you, I wanted to better myself. At the start of the year, throughout the holidays, I kept having the urges to use dark magic. I knew I might cave in and use it and I- I didn't want you to see me when I eventually failed." Like you, it seemed Sebastian was finally spilling out everything he ever wanted to say. "It was so stressful." He whispered, head buried in your chest.

Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact the mood was so emotional, you would have thought Sebastian was trying to cop a feel.

"It didn't look stressful earlier when she hugged you." You thought aloud.

"Is that what you're upset about?" Sebastian asked, looking up from your hug.

"Ngh.." you groaned, not wanting to admit your jealous tendencies but Sebastian simply smirked as he wrapped an arm around your waist knowingly.

"I just needed a way to vent out all that stress. Ominis suggested Quidditch so I gave it a try. I just wanted to be better for you." He whispered. "You like more athletic guys, don't you? The way you look at the Gryffindor boys when they fly tells me a lot." He said, expressing his own envy.

"I don't like other boys, I just like you." You left those words hanging in the air.

"I was scared I wouldn't be. That if I caved, you would leave, like Anne did." He said, his grip on your waist tighter now.

"Even if you fell back into dark magic, I'd be there to pull you out. I would never abandon you." You emphasised, holding Sebastian closer.

"But it wouldn't sit right with me. I wanted to let you go, that's why I didn't respond to your letters all that much during the holidays, I thought you deserved some better." He said, blurring the lines between your relationship. "But when I saw you on the first day... I just couldn't. I wanted to be selfish. But I knew I didn't deserve you, so I wanted to become someone who did."

"You were always enough." You told the slytherin boy, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

"I'm getting better. I don't- the urges for dark magic aren't there anymore. Whispers tempting me but when I look at you, they all disappear." He admitted, one of his hands reaching up to brush your lips, taking in the curve of your eyelashes, the blush on your cheeks and finally the way your lips were pursed. "All I think of when I see you," he breathed, inching closer, "is just how much I want to be with you." He admitted.

He was getting closer and closer until there was barely a centimetre between the both of you.

His lips were so soft.

Both of you tumbled to the ground in a passionate embrace as your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. It felt like forever as he continued kissing you, giving you only a bit of space to breathe before he dived back into your lips, wrestling your tongue like if he didn't taste it, he may die. His hands travelled up, bunching around your hair as he tugged softly, causing noises of ecstasy to escape from your lips.

"Sebastian." You called.

"[y/n.]" He responded as he pushed his lips harsher into yours.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he pulled away. His eyes bore into yours, the reflection of you sparkling in his.

"Trust me, you are enough for me." You whispered as you pulled him into a chaste kiss, something sweeter than the desperate first kiss both of you had.

"You'll never leave my side?" He asked.

"Never." You smiled.

Sebastian's tense expression finally loosened as he kissed you again. "I suppose we can't exactly call each other friends anymore, can we?" He chuckled as he dived back into another kiss.

"Yeah, and that also means you can't let anyone else hold you like this. Even your quidditch team." Sebastian laughed at your words.

"With how jealous you are, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner."

He kissed you again and it felt like heaven.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Ministry of Magic: Part 4

Inter-Department Politics

I talked about The ministry's structure and functions more: here, here, & here. but I was reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (the book) and encountered this footnote gem:

It fits what I always felt was the case in the books regarding the different departments in the ministry. How there is an internal hierarchy within the departments and it does change on occasion (probably depending on the minister and Wizengamot at the time). Like, we see Crouch Sr is demoted from head of the DMLE to head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation.

Besides the DMLE clearly having the top spot, many of the recent ministers we see in the books had a job in the DMLE prior to being ministers:

Crouch Sr was the head of the DMLE and set to become the minister after Millicent Bagnold.

Rufus Scrimgeour was head of the Auror office in the DMLE prior to becoming a minister.

Pius Thicknesse became the head of the DMLE after Amalia Bones was assassinated which set him up to become a puppet minister later.

Kingsley Shacklebolt who becomes the minister after the war was also an Auror.

I just found the position of the DMLE in the internal ministry hierarchy and the fact many historical ministers probably came from it interesting. Like, head of the DMLE to Minister of Magic pipeline is real and probably kinda common-ish.

If we take the post-books and CC canon into account, Hermione was also the head of the DMLE before becoming Minister of Magic. (Though, I don't really like that canon for her).

The DMLE was also one of the first Departments established when the ministry was founded (which makes sense, honestly. It makes sense all the departments need to obey the law. What's interesting is the department's close ties with the minister which I bet is corrupt as shit more often than not). Along with the Department of Mysteries which I talked about some headcanons for here.

I don't know, I just found this note interesting.

I think the floor levels we see at the ministry kind of illustrate the hierarchy of the departments.

The minister and his support staff are on the first floor

The second floor is the DMLE

The third floor is the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes (where Fudge started his career)

The fourth floor is the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

The fifth floor is the Department of International Magical Co-operation

The sixth floor is the Department of Magical Transportation

The seventh floor is the Department of Magical Games and Sports

And finally, on floor nine there's the Department of Mysteries, but it stands outside of the above hierarchy and practically is only answerable to the minister.

(I kinda headcanon 90% of the past ministers of magic were from either the DMLE or the DMAC and it's rare for anyone who starts out at the other departments to get there unless they get a high position in one of the "better" departments first)

[buthowboutno]

HELLO I'm new to asking things here but I've a small,,, tiiny question that idk if anyone's asked before or not but

What happened at metro tower between sweets and Leo? And, I suppose, with everyone else there, if anyone (like April) recognized Sweets

Because Donnie didn't, Raph and Mikey didn't say anything,,,

Leo and April are the only two that basically said "oh! You're the kid that almost died while we saved the world" so Idk I kind of was curious on, I guess

Like other than, obviously, Leo saving sweets but I guess how he found them? Because I know it's stated somewhere Sweets locked themselves in their moms office but idk

You don't gotta answer this at all (especially if it's a stupid question 💀💀) I just I got myself curious ig

this ask prompted me to write a whole ass snippet about what happened. i blame you. /aff

(snippet under the cut)

If it had been up to Splinter, Leo wouldn’t even be five feet away from his cot in the med bay, much less searching through the remains of Metro Tower. Mikey was still out of commission and Drax was doing some weird mystic ritual on Donnie to help with his head.

If it had been up to Leo, Raph would be in the med bay instead of digging through rubble by his side. April tagged along as well, but she was a floor below looking for… something.  

Leo might have been too ticked off about April and Raph bulldozing his plan to listen beyond every fifth word of their justification.

(Didn’t they know that this was Leo’s—?)

(After all that, they still trust—?)

They hadn’t found any survivors since the first day of searching, when Donnie passed out after manifesting a mystic slide for a group of harried interns that were stuck on the third floor. Mikey’s hands had cramped up so bad after guiding the lone barista out from their cupboard on the second floor that he was still having trouble holding a fork.

Leo wasn’t even sure why he insisted on coming back, to be honest. After four days trapped in this building, there was a good chance that any stragglers would have died of dehydration by now. Donnie’s scans, at least, didn’t show anyone in the building that they didn’t get out already.

Leo just… had this feeling. He couldn’t explain it.

Raph jumped up and tapped the big red ‘5’ hanging from the ceiling before the stairwell, startling Leo out of his thoughts. Under his massive hands, the sign crumbled off of the wall.

“Uh, whoops?” Raph said, looking sheepish as he turned towards Leo.

Leo snorted, “Property destruction. Nice.”

“That was… not my fault,” Raph said, his face screwed up as he stepped towards the stairs, “This whole buildin’ is— "

The floor creaked dangerously beneath Raph’s feet, prompting him to stumble backwards out of the stairwell. Leo took a few tentative steps forward, noting the slight shift in the floor but otherwise no other changes beneath his feet.

“Falling apart,” Leo finished, jumping up and down for good measure. No change, but Leo didn’t like the cracks slowly making their way up the walls.

“Maybe it's time to head back?” Raph suggested gently, taking another scared step backwards when the floor started creaking again, “Raph is getting a little geeked out.”

Leo nodded, taking a step towards Raph before he was struck with this urgent feeling in his chest. Like he had left something behind.

“I’m gonna take a quick look around,” Leo said, stepping back into the stairwell, “You’d better go back down and grab April.”

“Leo–”

“I’ll portal out if the building starts falling down, scouts honor,” Leo said before ducking up the stairs. Raph’s responding groan told Leo that Raph wasn’t going to march up there and grab him. Probably more due to the fact that the stairs would give out underneath him, but Leo would take what he could get.

(Leo was going to be majorly cussed out about this stunt when he got back.)

(Worth it.)

(At least, he hoped it was.)

The sixth floor of Metro Tower, surprise surprise, was functionally identical to floors two through five. The building was mostly leased out to a bunch of different companies doing Spirits knows what in their copy and paste cubicles. 

(They didn’t find any survivors above floor twelve. Leo tried not to think about it.)

Leo raided a few of the fancier looking offices, sending various pieces of tech back to Donnie’s lab through mini-portals. Bribery, maybe, but mostly practice. Leo’s portals had felt off since the–

…Yeah. He needed the practice.

Leo heard a muffled shout from down the hallway, immediately pulling out his second katana and running quietly towards the noise.

Leo noticed the kid first. They had dustpans duct taped to their chest and back like some budget LARPer. They held a yardstick out with a broken pair of scissors haphazardly attached to the end, trembling like Mikey after a fourth cup of coffee. A Kraang zombie shuffled towards them, its face half-melted at this point. 

Why was it still–?

Leo needed to tell the others about this. Donnie was positive that everyone who got infected would’ve been released after they closed the portal to Kraang Prime. This was– this wasn’t a good sign.

The kid shouted at the zombie like they were trying to scare off a bear and tossed a stapler at its head. Decent shot, but ultimately useless. The stapler landed on the zombie’s head and was slowly absorbed into the Kraang viscera protruding from its skull. 

The kid yelped, moment of bravery apparently lost, and ran in Leo’s direction.

Leo recognised that face. It was just a passing photo, something Casey swiped past while stammering about nerd shit like the ‘space-time continuum.’

(Donnie’s influence, no doubt. Leo may have been Casey’s sensei, but Donnie tended to infect people with his intelligence.)

This kid was younger than the photos, though. Their hair was cut short just above their ears, and the dark circles under their eyes told Leo that they hadn’t been getting much in the way of water or sleep since the invasion started.

That half second of thought cost Leo his chance to take down the zombie before it lunged at them.

The kid, thankfully, heard the zombie before it had the chance to grab them and whirled around with their makeshift spear. Their jab landed solidly in the zombie’s chest, but that still didn’t stop it. The zombie's neck craned out in a truly unnatural manner and bit the kid’s hand while it was still holding their spear. The kid let out a painful shriek that rattled inside of Leo’s skull.

That finally spurred Leo into action, sprinting on the front pads of his feet and slashing the zombie clean into three pieces. The body hit the ground without so much as a tentacle reaching out in protest.

The kid fell to the floor, eyes open with fear as they held out their left hand. The mutagen had already started spreading, past their second knuckle already, but it was moving slower than when–

Leo should’ve thought a little harder before he let his reflexes take over. In a second, he sliced off the kid’s pinky and ring finger before the mutagen had a chance to reach their palm. 

They screamed out in pain, immediately clutching their left hand to their chest and staring up at Leo with wide, terrified eyes. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leo tried, “I’m here to help.”

Their face was quickly turning white from the blood loss, but the look on their face made Leo think that they’d still try to stab him if he came any closer.

He’d probably deserve it, to be honest, but the kid needed a hospital above anything else. Leo reached down and grabbed the kid before they could fight back. He quickly sliced a portal through the wall and walked out onto the sidewalk in front of Metro Tower. With two more twirls of his katana, April and Raph were standing right next to him.

Leo tried not to think about the ache in his chest after opening up those portals. He pushed the pain out of the back of his mind as he focused on putting pressure on the kid's hand.

“What the–?”

“Med kit, now,” Leo demanded, not even looking at Raph. The kid was trying to wriggle out of Leo’s grasp, but the blood loss was obviously starting to get to them.

Raph wordlessly took the kit from his belt and handed it over. April was standing behind him in shock, hands twitching as if she was trying to figure out what to do.

“Fucking… wizard,” the kid stammered, now clutching onto Leo instead of fighting him, “My g-goddamn hand.”

“You’re welcome, pal,” Leo said flatly. He dumped the travel bottle of rubbing alcohol on their hand haphazardly before wrapping it up as tightly as he could.

“Eat my ass, Dr. Strange,” the kid muttered before looking up at Leo with a sudden and unusual clarity, “I think I’m going to pass out now.”

“Wh– no, wait!” Leo protested before the kid slumped fully into his arms.

That must’ve rattled April out of whatever funk she was in. She reached into the med kit and grabbed one of the instant cold packs, harshly squeezing and then shaking it to activate it.

“They’re going into shock,” she said, leaning down to apply the pack to the back of the kid’s neck, “Leo, can you portal–?”

The moment April touched the kid, Leo was sent into the mindscape. It wasn’t the same as a normal ninja mindmeld; typically, Leo was still able to see through the eyes of his physical body while it happened. This was like his entire consciousness was captured and taken somewhere else.

Leo turned his head to the left and saw April standing next to him, her eyes trained on something else. 

Donnie? No, not Donnie.

Not his Donnie.

This Donnie was… older. Scarred. Taller than Leo thought his twin could ever grow to be. He didn’t speak a single word, just held Leo’s gaze with an intense expression and nodded.

Leo understood, in a split-second, that the kid in his arms was precious. They were family. The pull, the call that compelled Leo back to Metro Tower was more than an antsy feeling driving him out of his cot. 

This… this was one last wish of a doomed timeline.

Leo also understood that if he let this kid bleed out on the streets of New York, the ghost of Donnie future wouldn’t let him sleep peacefully for the rest of his life.

“April? Leo?” Raph asked, his tone incredibly concerned as Leo snapped back to reality.

“Donnie called them ‘Sweets’,” Leo murmured under his breath.

“...What?”

Leo shook his head, clearing the images from his mind, “Right. Let’s go.”

[coimbrabertone]

Bottlegate and Cola Wars, I Can't Take it Anymore!

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blogpost about the Viceroy rule in NASCAR, and one thing I cut from it was a brief discussion of the Cola Wars in NASCAR. This week, I'm tackling that issue, along with its sports drink offshoot: the bottle wars between Gatorade and Powerade.

So, to review from the Viceroy blog, while NASCAR banned sponsors that clashed with series sponsors, it did not ban competing sponsorships among different teams - in fact, it encouraged it. Thus, Pepsico got involved with Hendrick Motorsports quite famously, initially with a number of Jeff Gordon Pepsi cars, and more recently with Mountain Dew cars from the likes of Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Chase Elliott.

That came to an end after 2020, and come 2023, Chase Elliott would be scooped up by the competition: the Coca-Cola Family of Drivers.

Peaking in the late 90s/early 2000s, the Coke family once consisted of (circa 2003/2004) Steve Park, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Michael Waltrip, Bobby Labonte, Tony Stewart, Bill Elliott, Ricky Rudd, John Andretti, Kyle Petty, Kevin Harvick, Dale Jarrett, Elliott Sadler, Greg Biffle, Kurt Busch, and Jeff Burton.

That's the entire three-car lineup of Dale Earnhardt Inc., both JGR cars, both Petty Enterprises cars, both Yates cars, the Wood Brothers car, Kevin Harvick who succeeded the late Dale Earnhardt at RCR, and 60% of the Roush Racing lineup.

Coke wasn't fucking around.

Unfortunately, Pepsi had Jeff Gordon.

Well, they also sponsored Jeremy Mayfield with Mountain Dew at this time, plus Pepsi/Gatorade had deals with Jeff's Hendrick Motorsports teammates (most prominently Jimmie Johnsons) as well as the other two Roush drivers in the form of Matt Kenseth and Mark Martin, plus Ryan Newman of Penske, but Jeff Gordon is the most relevant one for the first part of this story.

That's because the Cola Wars in NASCAR came to a head at Daytona International Speedway on July 3rd, 2004 for the Pepsi 400.

Coca-Cola was promoting their new Coca-Cola C2 (essentially a soda halfway between Coke and Diet Coke by the sounds of it) brand, and they sponsored an armada of cars in this race:

John Andretti in the DEI #1 Chevy,

Greg Biffle (who won the 2003 Pepsi 400) in the Roush National Guard #16 Ford.

Tony Stewart in the Joe Gibbs Racing Home Depot #20 Chevy.

Ricky Rudd in the Wood Brothers #21 Ford.

Kevin Harvick in the RCR GM Goodwrench #29 Chevy.

Kurt Busch in the Roush Sharpie #97 Ford.

Bill Elliott in his self-owned #98 Dodge.

and Jeff Burton in the Roush #99 Ford.

Coke had eight bullets in the gun to steal the thunder right out from Pepsi's flagship race - in what Pepsico pointed out was a blatant marketing stunt - however, like I said...Pepsi had Jeff Gordon.

John Andretti would crash out, Greg Biffle would end up a lap down, Jeff Burton in twenty-sixth, Bill Elliott eighteenth, Ricky Rudd seventeenth, Kevin Harvick fourteenth, while Tony Stewart in fifth and Kurt Busch in fourth were closest to pulling off Coke's marketing upset.

Unfortunately, none of them could stop Jeff Gordon from winning from pole in his DuPont/Pepsi #24 for Hendrick Motorsports.

It was the biggest moment of the Cola Wars, but 2004 had another Pepsi vs. Coke battle going on at the same time: Bottlegate.

You see, despite the Viceroy rule normally stopping this kind of stuff, in 2004, NASCAR decided to have Gatorade (Pepsi) sponsor victory lane, while Powerade (Coke) bottles would be placed on the roof of the winning cars. How the hell was this allowed to happen? Well, despite the France family running both NASCAR and the International Speedway Corporation, at this time, NASCAR had a deal with Coke and ISC had a deal with Pepsi - the same people in the guise of two different companies signed deals with two rival brands. Of course this was going to cause issues.

Pepsi did not want their drivers in their victory lane photographed with bottles of a Coca-cola owned sports drink.

Thus, Bottlegate began.

Matt Kenseth, Mark Martin, Ryan Newman, Jeff Gordon, and Jimmie Johnson were all sponsored by Pepsi, thus, as soon as they got out of the car in victory lane, they would punch and/or sweep the bottles off the roof, instantly getting Coke products out of the pictures...which pissed off Coca-cola a lot.

They were paying good money just to see drivers knock over their product!

So, after the Pepsi 400, with the aforementioned embarrassment of Coca-cola, NASCAR made a rule banning drivers from punching the bottles off the cars.

Coke drivers won the next two races with Tony Stewart winning at Chicagoland and Kurt Busch winning at New Hampshire.

But then Pepsi's Jimmie Johnson won at Pocono on August 1st.

Well, instead of punching the bottles, Jimmie calmly got out of the car, received a giant cardboard Lowe's sign from someone on his crew, and placed it in front of the Powerade bottles.

I love this stuff, this is generational pettiness over here, the Coke guys and the Pepsi guys each trying to make the other brand look bad, it's great!

Unfortunately, Coke and NASCAR didn't seem to think so, because Jimmie Johnson was fined $10,000 over the sign incident.

So yeah, this was NASCAR in the 2000s, where corporate money was everywhere and there were enough sponsorships going around that the drivers, the tracks, and the series all had separate deals to have to worry about. Hell, three Roush drivers were with Coke and the other two were with Pepsi - compare that to nowadays where the vending machines at RFK Racing are from Fastenal.

How the hell am I supposed to drink a wrench?

[my-castles-crumbling]

Sixth Chapter- Clandestine

In celebration of Sirius's birthday, here's the next chapter!

CW: internalized transphobia, transphobia, poor coping mechanisms, vague mentions of blood, improper binding, descriptions of illness, vague mentions of abusive parents.

Regulus

Pandora became his ally- the only person besides Sirius who knew.

Though he hated the idea of someone knowing such a vulnerable secret, he soon realized it was necessary. Sirius knew how to be a boy, but Pandora knew how to have a uterus, and he realized that though he hated it, he needed both areas of knowledge.

Pandora was also some sort of angel- even at such a young age, she had a way of phrasing things that didn’t cause the goosebumps to form on Regulus’s neck. She never accidentally said ‘she’ or ‘her’ and only looked at Regulus with a vague, non-judgmental gaze when he lamented about his stupid, traitorous body.

With the patience of a saint and none of the squeamishness that Regulus himself possessed, she taught him the reality of what his body was doing, beyond the facts he had read in his anatomy textbooks.

In secret, she helped apply balm to his back when the bandage cut into him. She made sure he had everything he needed when his body inevitably bled once a month. She joked about something called “syncing up.” She never complained. She always remembered.

He had only ever felt so appreciative of Sirius.

-

He’d dreaded the holidays. The subject had been taboo between himself and Sirius- as if bringing it up would somehow make it approach faster.

Somehow, the idea of having to act like a girl felt even more nauseating after spending the past three and a half months as a boy. It felt like he had finally let himself breathe (Metaphorically. The bandage made actual breathing difficult sometimes.), and now he had to go back to holding his breath, gasping for air, breathing through the tiniest straw imaginable.

He had nightmares about it.

About having to respond to his old name. About being forced into petticoats and elaborate tutus. About looking down to see the swell in his chest.

Barty and Evan became concerned that the pressures of homework were getting to him.

But then, a miracle happened.

Dragon Pox.

The rumor went that a seventh year student in Gryffindor had interacted with a Peruvian Vipertooth while on holiday with his parents and had fallen ill. He was currently under quarantine in the Hospital Wing.

Where Regulus headed almost immediately.

He knew Dragon Pox could be lethal, but usually only to older people, so the gamble was worth it, in his mind.

Sneaking out was not his thing. Sirius was the rule breaker, the one who lost points and got detention. But he knew he had to do it.

So the night after he heard the rumor, he waited for Barty and Evan to fall asleep, then crept quietly from his bed out of the Common Room.

He made it about five minutes before bumping into someone.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How had he not seen him? He was sure the corridor had been empty.

But there he was, suddenly and completely. James Potter.

“R-Regulus?” the taller boy asked incredulously.

Regulus sighed, knowing this would not end well. “Yes.”

“You know it’s one in the morning, right?” Potter asked, still looking shocked.

Regulus drew himself up to his full height (which was still much shorter than Potter) and retorted, “I could say the same to you!” He tried to ignore his sweaty palms and nervous heartbeat. Merlin, Potter was tall.

Potter hesitated for a minute. “I…fancied a stroll.”

Regulus smirked a bit. “Same.”

They looked at each other with raised eyebrows, clearly not believing each other for a moment.

Finally, Potter shrugged and offered, “Filch is down that hall. There’s a secret passage here,” he gestured to the portrait in front of them. “Brings you to the fifth floor. But, erm….stay away from the girls bathroom near there, yeah? There might be…a surprise. You don’t want to get seen nearby.”

Regulus snorted. Potter had no idea how right he was.

But he had other concerns. “Are you going to tell Sirius you saw me?”

Potter thought for a moment before asking, “Are you going to tell any Professors you saw me?”

He had no reason to. “No.”

Potter grinned. “Then no.”

Within 8 hours, Regulus had Dragon Pox and the fifth floor girls' room was covered in mirrors that screamed insults when you looked in them.

-

Dragon Pox was awful. It was terrible and miserable and uncomfortable and the worst sickness Regulus had ever had.

It was also ten times better than going home for Christmas.

He spent the first three days half-delirious with a fever, resisting the urge to itch at the pustules on his body, avoiding looking at the way his skin had turned green. Admittedly, he was already avoiding looking down, as he had to remove the bandage to allow his skin, and himself, to breathe properly.

Madame Pomfrey visited him three times a day, bubble-head charm around her mouth and nose, to give him potions and food.

By the fourth day, he finally could keep the food she gave him down and sleep without dreaming of Puffskeins sitting on him or Sirius growing wings and a beak. Pomfrey informed him with the air of telling him that someone had died, that he would, unfortunately, not be able to go home for Christmas. He couldn’t fight back a smile. She also told him, a bit more angrily, that his parents had chosen not to visit. He grinned at that.

She left his bedside muttering about Regulus and Sirius being ridiculously similar.

He was finally allowed out of quarantine on the 27th of December. He awoke to a tired-looking Remus Lupin in the bed next to him, and a very excited-looking Sirius bouncing in his seat energetically, literally sitting on his hands to keep himself from moving, it seemed.

“The fuck…” he mumbled, quickly pulling the covers up to cover his clothed but unbandaged chest.

“Merry Christmas, Reggie!” Sirius all-but screamed, waking Lupin in the bed next to him.

Regulus felt that his annoyance was mirrored in Lupin’s disgruntled expression.

“Sirius, it’s early,” Lupin complained. Regulus nodded his head emphatically.

“But Regulus is out of Dragon Jail and you’re okay and we can celebrate!” Sirius screeched, grinning from ear to ear.

Lupin groaned and pulled the sheet of his bed over his head.

“Why are you here?” Regulus asked, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. It was nice of Sirius to visit as soon as he was able, but he could have waited a few more hours.

“Because Remus was here too– he had a migraine last night– and we’ve been waiting for you to get better to open presents, and now you’re better so now we can!” Sirius blabbered, bouncing in his seat again.

‘Better’ was a strong word. His skin was still a bit green and he felt weak. But Sirius’s enthusiasm was also contagious. “Alright. If Lupin is up for it, I’ll go,” Regulus muttered.

Lupin threw him a scathing look behind Sirius’s back that Regulus returned with a grin.

Christmas had never been so different.

Sure, they were celebrating two days late. But they were also celebrating. Sirius snuck Regulus into Gryffindor Tower, which was warm and bright and gave a distinctly Christmassy feel, and the three boys opened their presents while Sirius sang carols loudly and off-key, replacing the traditional lyrics with inappropriate verses.

Regulus was overwhelmed by the presents he received- books from Barty and Evan, new flying gloves from Dorcas and Pandora. An engraved knife from Sirius. Even Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew had chipped in to get him some sweets. He tried not to think too hard about James Potter buying him Chocolate Frogs. Had he ordered out for them? Gone to Diagon? How–?

He received no gifts from his family, though he got cards from both Andromeda and Alphard, addressed to R. Black and wishing him a Happy Christmas. He stared at them for some time, wondering what they meant- did some of his family still support him?

Missing were the presents from his parents. When Lupin left to use the bathroom, Sirius explained with a shrug that he couldn’t resist, and he’d opened the gifts, only to find ‘nothing of value.’

“I burned it all,” Sirius shrugged with a small smile.

Regulus knew that meant the presents were probably either ridiculously feminine items or letters telling him to ‘see sense.’ Either way, he was thankful.

-

Regulus found over the next week that he genuinely liked Lupin. He was unassuming and didn’t push, and possessed the same sarcasm that Regulus prided in himself. He seemed to calm Sirius a bit, but was still good-natured enough to put up with many more of Sirius’s antics than Regulus ever would have. He understood why the two were close.

He also gave off an energy of safety that few other people did. It reminded him of Pandora- between his overly large sweaters and stacks of books, Remus seemed inherently non-judgmental, as if Regulus could spill his soul to him and Remus would just nod and turn back to whatever tome he was immersed in.

He was also delighted to find that Lupin also shared his joy of teasing Sirius. It took about a day for Regulus and Lupin to warm up to each other, but soon Sirius was whining about them ganging up on him.

“You have far too big a head as it is,” Regulus remarked with a smirk, earning a snort from Lupin.

-

Friendship was something that Regulus contemplated deeply over the next few months. Perhaps it was because he was so isolated as a child- his parents had never allowed him to play with the neighborhood children and no Wizarding children had ever been deemed worthy. Only interacting with his family had given him a skewed version of reality- of what it meant to be a friend.

He was very selective about those he allowed near him. He knew that he was risking more than the average person by spending time with people, by letting them in. And he’d learned from the best to keep people at an arm’s length.

For some reason, though, Barty, Evan, Pandora, and Dorcas were the exceptions.

It took him a while to realize that true friends could, perhaps, be trustworthy. That it was possible for friends to enjoy spending time with him with no ulterior motives.

He learned this through learning about his friends. Through them being vulnerable with him.

He learned that Dorcas lived with her grandparents. That her mother and father had been killed in a Potion-making accident, and she was the oldest, with four younger brothers. He learned that she had to take care of her siblings sometimes and absolutely hated being told she wasn’t capable of something. He learned that she’d pierced her own ears last year as soon as she’d gotten to Hogwarts and wasn’t friends with her roommates because they were bigoted; because her parents had raised her to stand up to shite like that. He learned she was protective and unapologetically fierce and terrified of something happening to the people she loved. He wondered for a while why she wasn’t in Gryffindor, until he saw her curse an older Ravenclaw for making fun of Pandora. The Ravenclaw was in the hospital wing for a week.

He learned that Evan and Pandora had been ‘unplanned,’ that their parents had never really wanted kids and had ignored them for most of their childhood. Like Regulus, they had been raised in wealth and with a Pureblood ideology, but they’d been so ignored that their parents hadn’t even realized that they’d made friends with the Muggles of their neighborhood. He learned that Pandora was desperately kind and cried when inanimate objects broke because she felt bad for them, but also could throw a mean right hook. He learned that Evan had once snuck a pet snake home and it had taken an entire week before his parents noticed. He still talked about it sometimes.

And he learned that Barty had a father in the Ministry who had such high expectations of him that he sometimes felt he would break under the pressure. That his father was horribly disappointed in him for being sorted into Slytherin, and he requested weekly grade reports from all of the Professors to make sure Barty stayed in line. “He only loves me when I get good marks,” Barty murmured one night, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. It was.

And in turn, Regulus allowed his friends to learn that his parents were Purebloods who expected him to act a certain way. Who were bigoted and conservative and were disappointed in him for not being the same. He allowed them to learn that his parents and family disliked him, that there was a barrier there. That he was somewhat in pain because of it.

But he didn’t tell them why. Only Pandora knew that.

-

In the Spring, James Potter made the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as a reserve Chaser. Regulus had taken to flying in the early evenings, practicing hairpin turns and quick dodges for tryouts in the Fall.

It just so happened that Gryffindor practiced in the evenings.

And James Potter on a broom was a sight. He was a natural- his movements were quick and fluid and effortless. But most of all, he looked joyful.

Regulus felt envious.

-

Lupin caught him watching one evening.

He looked dead on his feet and Regulus briefly wondered if he was having another migraine, but he seemed cheerful enough.

“D’you like Quidditch?” the older boy asked conversationally, sitting near Regulus, but not close enough to make him feel that they had to continue talking if he didn’t want to. Merlin, he wished everyone was like that.

“I want to be on the Slytherin team,” Regulus was surprised by his own confession. Only his closest friends knew that.

“Too violent for me,” Lupin said with a laugh. “I’m prone to too many injuries already.”

It was true. For a boy who seemed to enjoy a night in the library more than on the Pitch, he was covered in scars. Regulus gave a snort in acknowledgement.

“Does Sirius know? That you want to play?” Lupin continued, watching Potter fly loop-the-loops lazily.

“He knows everything about me,” Regulus murmured vaguely, entranced by the way Potter flew. He wanted to be that good.

Lupin looked at him a bit strangely, but said, “He’s good at that. Keeping secrets.”

And Regulus finally looked towards him, a bit startled. “Who said I had a secret?”

Lupin smiled gently. “Nobody. But if you did, I think Sirius would be good at keeping it.”

Regulus nodded his head slowly, relaxing again, refocusing on the streaks of red in the sky.

-

The Spring also brought back old anxieties. Old nightmares. Old nausea.

Because Dragon Pox could only be caught once. He would have to go home now.

As the professors started warning of end-of-the-year exams, Regulus started panicking. He tried to distract himself, to zone in on conversations with friends and Quidditch games and studying. But he couldn’t.

His friends were worried again.

He knew it, because he saw the way they exchanged glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. He became even snappier and meaner than usual.

Sirius told him that it would be okay, that they would get through the summer together.

He cried.

He didn’t cry often, but he cried on Sirius’s shoulder and worried for what the summer would bring. He truly questioned if he could make it through. What would his parents do when they found out how he’d spent his year?

It was only a matter of time before someone else found out. He’d just thought- feared, really- that it would have been Evan or Barty.

But Dorcas was the one who found him one evening, circling the Pitch long after dark, sniffling and wiping tears and snot from his face with his sleeve like a child.

“Oi!” she yelled, waving him down.

If it had been Barty or Evan he might have stayed in the air. But he never said no to Dorcas or Pandora- he hated making Pandora sad and he was terrified of Dorcas, though he would never admit either fact.

He touched down to the ground a bit sheepishly, avoiding the older girl’s eyes.

“Something is wrong,” she stated firmly, not for the first time.

“No,” he muttered, sounding like a petulant toddler.

“Regulus Black, I swear to Merlin if you don’t tell me right now I will-” Dorcas started in, eyes flashing.

“It’s May, Cas! I have to go home, soon!” he erupted, feeling the weight in his chest ease slightly. “I– you have no idea– I just–”

Dorcas’s brown eyes looked like they were aflame as she asked hesitantly, “How bad is it, Reg? You don’t really talk about it…”

He was on a roll, now, “Bad enough that I purposely got Dragon Pox to avoid the holidays, I–”

“The fuck, Reg?” she cut him off, looking both distraught and incredulous. “You can die from that!”

He took a breath and shrugged. “I mean– we’re young. It only kills adults, usually.” He already regretted admitting to what he’d done.

She looked like she wanted to slam her head against the stands. “Reg, you can’t–”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Cas,” He cut her off. “You have no idea…” He was choking up again now, thinking about that house, those voices, the spells, the hunger, the outfits, his name. The feeling that his body didn’t belong to him.

But Dorcas saw him about to crumble and pulled him into an embrace, even as he squirmed a bit- he usually avoided touch from anyone other than Sirius, for fear someone would somehow feel something suspicious.

But he only fought for a moment before breaking completely. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispered desperately between tears.

“Why, Reg?”

She sounded anguished, and he felt his heart in his throat. He needed to talk more about it, needed more people who knew, who understood, who loved him for him.

So he opened his mouth and the truth spilled out.

-

Dorcas was the first person that he told by choice. That he told, understanding (as best he could at his age) all the consequences, knowing more about how to word his feelings. Sirius had been through desperation, his parents and family had been accidental, his teachers had known already, and Pandora had figured it out.

Dorcas was an informed choice.

And when Dorcas tilted her head to the side and was silent, he took it as a rejection.

“I…I should go…” he murmured, heart pounding, wanting to melt into the ground.

She then snapped out of it and grabbed his hand. “No! No, Reg, I just….can I ask questions?” she asked in a panicked voice.

He thought about it for a moment. Of all the responses, that was not the one he’d anticipated. “Erm…sure.”

She exhaled, still looking nervous. “So…you’re…a girl?”

He shook his head vehemently, feeling his stomach lurch. Why had he done this? Why had he told? “No. No, I’m a boy.”

She scrunched her eyebrows, trying to comprehend. “But you…used to be a girl?”

He had to consider that one for a moment. Had he? He used to wear girly clothes, but he’d never liked it. Never wanted to. “No, I’ve always been a boy, I think.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“But you…?” She gestured to him.

“I…my body is like a girl’s,” he confirmed, feeling the goosebumps start to form as Dorcas’s eyes raked curiously over him.

They were silent for a minute. Then two. Their eyes met.

Then Dorcas nodded. “Alright. If you say so.”

Regulus wasn’t sure how to react to this. “If I say so?”

She shrugged. “Who am I to tell you if you’re a boy or girl? If you say you’re a boy, you’re a boy, right?”

Relief washed over him. She made it seem so simple. “Right,” he whispered.

“But your parents don’t agree?” she asked, looking angry, now.

“No…they…they force me to…to be a girl. They talk to me like I’m a girl. They….punish me if I…if I say anything,” Regulus murmured.

“Fuck that,” Dorcas swore vehemently. “Come home with me.”

Was it Christmas again?

“I…you have so many sibling, and your grandparents…” Regulus protested halfheartedly.

“Yeah, they won’t even notice an extra kid around!” Dorcas grinned. “Plus you can help me babysit. It’ll be fun!"

“I…I’ll ask,” Regulus relented with a small grin.

-------

Click here to read the WIP and leave comments and kudos!

[miirshroom]

Elden Ring and Tolkein's Legendarium

In a way, Elden Ring as a game can be viewed a deconstruction of all things common in "fantasy".

It has been said that the Lord of the Rings is the origin of the high fantasy genre. The first step of a deconstruction (or of duplicating results) is to look at a thing and examine the elements it is made of. The more general the better - the goal is to find the things that inspired the thing:

The setting is inspired by research into many real world mythologies and folk tales. And Tolkein's religious beliefs as a Catholic.

Tolkein invented full language systems that were used to add extra significance to the names of people and places

The personal history and psychology of the author had an undeniable influence on the themes of the story (when Tolkein writes about the devastation of war it is from a place of sincerity - because he lived it)

So, these are the ingredients of a successful fantasy story that also apply to Elden Ring - draws parallels to previous fantasy stories, use of exotic words and naming schemes that are internally consistent as parallel to the real world, and incorporates psychologically-driven themes (in the case of Elden Ring I believe that it is less of the psychology of a person and more about drawing on the psychology of the gaming company FromSoftware...but that is a topic covered in other posts).

But regarding the works of Tolkein there are a few more...explicit parallels to be drawn. Which for legal reasons regarding the rights to adapt Tolkein's Legendarium will likely never ever be confirmed by FromSoft. But as I see it getting references under the radar of the copyright lawyers is a time honoured tradition of fantasy stories so I will attempt to explain these connections as I see them, regardless.

A linguistic connection is formed in the space between two main points that I am aware of: Gelmir of Nargothrond as the possible naming inspiration for Mt. Gelmir, and geographical region "Taur-en-faroth" containing part of the name used for Fort Faroth.

Gelmir

"J.R.R. Tolkien has become a sort of mountain, appearing in all subsequent fantasy in the way that Mt. Fuji appears so often in Japanese prints. Sometimes it’s big and up close. Sometimes it’s a shape on the horizon. Sometimes it’s not there at all, which means that the artist either has made a deliberate decision against the mountain, which is interesting in itself, or is in fact standing on Mt. Fuji." - Terry Pratchett

First addressing Gelmir - literally the volcanic mountain is a reference to Tolkein. As clear of a declaration as possible that Elden Ring intends to stand on Mt. Fuji.

Gelmir in the "canon" version of the Legendarium was an elf of Nargothrond who was captured by the forces of Morgoth at the "Battle of Sudden Flame" which was the fourth great conflict in the War of the Jewels (the war over the 3 silmarils for which "the Silmarillion" is named). He was subsequently blinded and tortured for 17 years until his death - after having his limbs cut off to taunt his brother Gwindor into attacking recklessly - at the start of the fifth great conflict known as "The Battle of Unnumbered Tears". Gwindor himself was captured and held prisoner for an additional 17 years after this battle, before escaping at the expense of having a hand cut off and eventually dying in another battle of the war. He was in love with a golden-haired elf maiden named Finduilas (name meaning "hair of spring leaf") who he also called "Faelivrin" meaning "Gleam of the Sun on the Pools of Ivrin" ("Pools of Ivrin" being a location in the land called Beleriand). She was killed before the end of the war by being nailed to a tree with a spear.

For context, the sixth great conflict was called "The War of Wrath" and was the final one. Morgoth brought dragons to the battle to blast the battlefield with fire and lightning - which had never been done in any previous battle - and the outcomes were that Morgoth was beheaded and kicked through a portal into the void and the northwest corner of the map including almost all of Beleriand (an area equal to the size of the entire Middle Earth map at the time of the Lord of the Rings story!) sunk into the ocean.

There is a lot to work with here already - first being Gelmir's associations with flame and imprisonment and torture that are shared by both Tolkein's and Elden Ring's purposes. Blindness is noteworthy, considering how often this is a theme with Elden Ring characters and even partial blindness is enough to cause madness as indicated by the Prisoner Helmet. Taking a few lateral steps arrives at a golden haired maiden who shares the method of execution used for Marika. And her name meaning "gleam of the sun on the surface of the water" exactly describes the imagery seen in the Elden Ring item "Memory of Grace".

But there's still more to spin from this line! Because Finduilas had another lover named "Túrin Turambar" who was a friend of Gwindor and whose family line had been cursed by Morgoth. Túrin owned a magic helm upon which was perched an image of the Golden Dragon Glaurung - similar to the style of helmet worn by Elden Ring's Banished Knights - and which allowed him to survive dragon fire. Túrin found on the grave of Finduilas a naked woman who he called "Níniel" or "Maiden of Tears" - because she had lost her memory and was crying - and wed her with neither knowing that they were estranged brother and sister (this is based on the Finnish story of Kullervo, with which Tolkein was especially fascinated). This was revealed to them later to be a machination of Glaurung when Túrin was in the midst of slaying the dragon, and subsequently both Túrin and Níniel self-destructed. Before meeting his end, Túrin also described himself in (probably) poetic terms as having blindness being the curse placed upon him by Morgoth, which is assumed by readers to be more a matter of tunnel vision or short sightedness rather than literal blinding. He is also apparently prophesied to return to life someday in the supplementary materials.

What this means exactly for Elden Ring is up to interpretation. A story could be spun by combining Gelmir, Gwindor, and maybe even Túrin into a single character who are motivated by unrequited and/or incestuous love - to fill in the empty spaces around the characters of Marika, Radagon, and Godfrey. But there is even more nuance here because there are the alternate Gelmir's to consider.

In one version, Gelmir was king of the gnomes, by which Tolkein was inspired by the Greek "gnōmē" meaning "thought" or "intelligence". But this was dropped due to the cultural confusion with gnomes being wrinkly little creatures.

In another version Gelmir was the same character as Finwë, an elf who was born during the "Years of the Trees" that preceded the era called the "Years of the Sun". At this time, the light of the world was confined to the Lands of the Valinor (a pantheon of Creator types) in the west provided by the female golden tree named Laurelin in the south and the male silver tree Telperion in the north. Finwë's wife was a weaver named Míriel Therindë and his son Fëanor was responsible for forging the Silmarils and jealously guarding them (And also he invented the 7 palantíri scrying stones + 1 master stone, and the Tengwar writing system). The grandson of Fëanor and last of his line was Celebrimbor, meaning "silver fist". Celebrimbor forged the three rings for the elves (named for air, fire, and water) that were subject to the One Ring but never corrupted by it. So, yeah, it's possible that "Gelmir" is selected for being a seemingly niche character who was actually in another lifetime very closely connected to these core events of the history.

The 3 Silmarils contained the remaining light of the two trees that were destroyed and had the sun and moon forged of their fruits by blacksmith Aulë. When the trees were first made they were sung into existence by Yavanna and watered by the tears of Nienna (who was a teacher of the wizard Gandalf and in earlier versions of the Legendarium called "Queen of Shadow"). Nienna again wept healing tears upon the trees to grow the fruits when they were dying. Morgoth stole the Silmarils and set them into his Iron Crown, and upon his defeat the stones were pried out and the crown beaten into a collar for his neck (in the brief period of time before he was kicked into the void anyways). One Silmaril was thrown into the sky where it became the Evening Star. Another was cast into the sea. And the third was cast into a firey pit in the earth along with its possessor.

And as an addition, it is not farfetched that Morgott = Morgoth is an intended spiritual parallel. Considering that Morgoth was indirectly responsible for the blinding and killing of Gelmir (brother of Gwindor) in Tolkein's mythic history. And in Elden Ring this seems expressed in the Shattering War though Morgott pursuing Mt. Gelmir most fiercely. Also, Morgoth was the identity taken by Melkor after he was released from the chains made to bind him by Aulë, which is paralleled by Morgott being the name used by the previously bound Margit (it is called 'Margit's Shackle').

Faroth

"Faroth" is a Sindarin word meaning "hunters". The "Hills of the Hunters" (Taur-en-faroth) was a location in West Beleriand, the aforementioned western part of the continent that sunk into the ocean at the end of the War of the Jewels. In these hills was hidden the secret elven city of Nargothrond. The same from which Gelmir of Nargothrond is associated. The city began as a Dwarven Hall for the petty dwarfs (exiled and unsociable dwarfs smaller than typical dwarfs), was conquered and ruled by the House of Finarfin (a son of Finwë), and was sacked and turned to the lair of the dragon Glaurung some time after The Battle of Unnumbered Tears. And then fell into the ocean.

At this point there are too many names, so I sketched a family tree of all of these elves:

Some general trends:

Of the 3 family lines the middle one has significance for being the one to produce the Númenor Kings of Men

The family lines at the two sides have plot significance as discussed in the Gelmir section, but then just kindof die off.

Typically only the male lines matter for continuity, except for Idril in the 3rd generation removed from Finwë. The origins of the women spouses and daughters mostly are otherwise not mentioned or appear and disappear as needed from the aether (with 3 exceptions: Indis has a famous uncle, Nerdanel has a significant blacksmith father, and Eärwen's extended family has some substance to it)

If a writer wanted to do a legally distinct take on this mythology while borrowing from it for whatever reason, it would be easy to condense the feats and characterization of these 3 lineages into one truncated one. Maybe fuse Finduilas with Idril - two blonde ladies with minimal character - and also fuse together their lovers and you have a Marika + Godfrey. The narratively satisfying thing about Finduilas being associated to Gwindor (who is practically the same character as Gelmir) is that it creates a closed loop for the whole lineage when Gwindor/Gelmir is substituted for Finwë, which is a very attractive proposition for a story where time is a wheel and regression to the origin point is a principle of the Golden Order.

Also this region calls attention to the significance of the river Ringil. That word comes up as: 1) a mountain river through Taur-en-Faroth that is tributary to the Narog river, 2) a sword held by Fingolfin (another son of Finwë), and 3) as the primordial tower - possibly made of ice - upon which sat the south lamp Ormal (an orb containing the gold light of the world in the First Age that would later pass to the gold tree Laurelin in the Second Age). In an earlier version of the writings. The blacksmith Aulë created the lamps at the request of Yavanna, who was herself responsible for the growth of fruits and trees. The end of the "Days before Days" (which preceeded the "Years of the Trees") occurred with the breaking of the lamps by Melkor, after a period of time where he had poisoned the land and caused the things made by Yavanna to rot.

There is a confusing timeline here in the early history with spans of time lit only by the stars between the destructions of these various sun/moon light sources, with Yavanna singing all living life to sleep due to the lack of light except maybe the elves are still awake and doing things? The lamp and tree stuff and a bunch of elf stuff happens before the First Age of history, but the start of the First Age is also called "The Awakening" so again I don't grasp the sleep thing. Aulë was also responsible for creating the "Seven Fathers of the Dwarves", but he made them too early and they had to go to sleep so that the elves of Ilúvatar could pretend to be the first sentient mortal life? I have lost interest in interpreting the mythic timeline, so I'll just end this with more context for the lamps:

"In the middle of Arda, where the light of the lamps mingled, amid the Great Lake lay the Isle of Almaren, where the Valar dwelt." - The One Wiki to Rule them All

"In J.R.R. Tolkien's older writings (not used in the published version of The Silmarillion), the Valar sought peace with Melkor, asking his assistance with fixing the lamps upon Arda. Melkor, still envious and hateful of the rest of the Valar, agreed to give them a strong, sturdy substance. He gave Aulë ice. Melkor permitted the Valar to do as they wished until the fateful day when the Lamps' light and heat finally melted the ice. The pillars crashed upon Arda, flooding it with water and darkness." - The One Wiki to Rule them All

I suppose that if I have a point here it is that Radagon's Sore Seal talisman is found at Fort Faroth, which through the winding etymology of words is tied to Mt. Gelmir. Perhaps the blind Radagon was a hunter on a fruitless quest seeking the lost light of the Golden Sun from the days before days - guided by the distant memory of the reflection of it's light on the water. Perhaps there is other meaning to be found. After a certain point any interpretation found through these linguistics should be cross-referenced with everything that can be learned from all other sources of information in the game.

The Rings of Power

The big brazen choice - in my opinion - was to name the big metaphysical artefact "the Elden Ring"...and then draw direct parallel to the Rings of Power. Not the 3 rings granted to the Elf Kings under the sky - I've yet to identify how or if those are expressed in game. Not the 9 rings granted to Kings of Men either - those are seemingly represented in the 9 Night's Cavalry (and possibly the 9 weapon talismans that each feature a ring at the top of the head) . What is most relevant here are the 7 Great Runes matching "seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone".

The first critical part of that phrase is the reference to "stone", as I have brought up previously that the shattering of Marika's Hammer equates to the shattering of the wisdom of stone. But the second point of note is that the dwarf lords of Tolkein received their own curse from holding their rings of power - obsession with gold. A similar obsession is seen in Elden Ring where all of the demigods are corrupted by their great runes and covet the grace of gold.

The arrangement of the Elden Ring also has some synergy with the arrangement of its runes - 6 of the 7 dwarf lords pair nicely through the even numbers. The Seventh Dwarf Lord was the chief among them "Durin the Deathless", who was reincarnated 7 times by being reborn as one of his own descendants. His clan also was generally known to absorb members from all other clans due to his central importance. The first Durin (one of the 7 original fathers of dwarves) built the underground city of Khazad-dûm that would later be called Moria after a creature of shadow and flame that may-or-may-not have wings (a Balrog of Morgoth) was uncovered in its depths by Durin VI. Durin III was the one to receive the Ring of Power from Celebrimbor, and Durin IV was contemporary to the first rise and defeat of Sauron. Durin VII is apparently contemporary to the timeframe of the Lord of the Rings and second defeat of Sauron, though he did not participate and seems to be known instead for reclaiming Khazad-dûm from the orcs.

So what's the point of the elaborate Tolkein parallel? There may be 7 ring-shaped great runes, but there is also clearly one ring that rules them all - the Elden Ring. So examining Tolkein is one of several avenues of analysis reaching the conclusion that the ring is a dangerous object that corrupts everyone who touches it and must be destroyed. Of the six endings the only one that understands this is Ranni's Age of Stars. And in the Lord of Frenzy Flame ending the Tarnished succumbs to the power of the ring with head becoming a ring of flame matching the firey beacon on top of the Frenzy Flaming Tower - itself visually recalling a depiction of the Eye of Sauron atop the tower of Barad-dûr.

And even more, there's one ring bearer in particular who provides another piece to the puzzle of Radagon and Marika's dual identities. The dissociative identity of Gollum and Smeagol can completely describe the relationship between Marika and Radagon. Two thoughts in one body. With this lens I think that Radagon/Marika were likely not separate entities at the time of their Shattering and may have never had a separate existence. They can appear to hold conversations with each other through reflective surfaces, such as a very shatter-able mirror.

It is quite possible that another Great Rune (or more) will make an appearance in the DLC. If this does happen, I'll re-evaluate Ring of Power theory based on the nature of the added rune.

A Micro Parallel to the Macro Scale

One last note which, again, is oblique enough for plausible deniability. The end of Patches questline would have the Tarnished deliver the Dancer's Castanets to Tanith, inside the volcano. If you know anything about castanets, they are typically made of hard materials such as wood or ivory (or plastic) and carved into a pear shape. Not so for the Dancer's Castanets. From a visual examination these are made of metal cast in a circular shape and with a ring shaped engraving filled with filigree. A metal ring-shaped object delivered to a volcano, echoing the One Ring delivered to Mt. Doom in the Lord of the Rings.

[midnightmah07]

so the song obviously talks about how Brutus betrayed Julius, but many people use it differently and bleh

Anyway, I feel like the song would resonate with Rigel on a more man vs man(Rigel vs his internal conflict) type view

As we know, Rigel has learned the lesson of death at six years old, the same time he learned that not everyone is a good person, i.e. his friend Scylla slashing his face

I feel like this part would be more of Rigel talking about how he feels about Perse. Hence the second-third, fourth, and fifth-sixth lines. She's the person that showed Rigel love and he's forever grateful for that, but he's envious of her, mainly because she can leave the Isle of Woe, while he and Idia's families are stuck there for eternity. He wants to be like Perse when it comes to the choice of staying or leaving, but the think is that his family chose to stay on the isle because due to how they formed they became after their curse, the Isle was the only place that'd accept them and not call them demons or monsters.

This part would be more on how Rigel wishes to be like everyone else when it comes to normality, but it's more disguised as wishing to be great as everyone else. And for the mother part, it's the fact he feels ashamed for his pica and knows his mother is also ashamed of it, so that part "my mother wished she'd had a son" is more a type of way of his mother wishing for her son to not have pica, to have nothing wrong with him so that way everyone is happier and not suffering because whilst is Rigel is suffering, so his mother because she feels at fault for causing this, and Rigel feels ashamed to be her son knowing how much agony he's causing her

I'm still thinking about the other lines, but those were the only two that I could actually come up with a thought of :3

Ohhh those are very cool :OO and I get it def, I mean Perse was stuck to the Island of Woe too but her relationship/future marriage to Idia kinda broke the Achillea-Shroud bond so yeah after that she'd be free to leave if she wants to, since she's not the Shroud's servant anymore– you're also super creative for thinking about all of this :OO

[professional-idea-haver]

So I've been working on my debut book Salvation for going on five years now, right? I spent that fourth year taking a break from it due to my cross-continental move and have spent this fifth year struggling to get back into working on it. Like, every time I try to work on it I hit this brick wall, and its always some issue or hang up that's keeping me from wanting to put in the energy to go through a sixth draft's worth of re-writes. The real vexing part of it though? I haven't had this issue working on other stories, stories that are just short drabbles. Stories that are either self-contained, or are fanfiction works that I can just dive into because I'm writing them for myself and folks who're already familiar with the source material. Thinking about the differences between an original work and a fic work, I'm noting the following observations: -Writing is lonely work The biggest obstacle to setting aside time to write is knowing that I have an obligation coming up, or people to take care of, or just wanting to have social time rather than sit by myself time. In that sense, I need to either use writing as "I want to be on my own" time, or use it to fill the gaps when other people aren't available to socialize.

It's a little bit of a problem, especially when I'm craving to collab with someone else, whether its streaming, story writing, or whatever. But, maybe, if I can embrace the isolation as a way to make some space for myself, I can find a way to work more consistently. -Establishing a setting can be incredibly taxing. I'm not the type of writer who gets super exciting about world building. If anything, this is the part that's felt like drudgiest busy work to do. Other people enjoy it, it's not for me. There's some amount of world building I need to do for any given story to help its context, its setting, but I think I need to avoid going into more detail than is necessary so I can keep my "camera" focused on what I enjoy most. -I need themes and characters to get invested It was easy to write Evening's Dreamer because I already had an idea of what the story was going to be about when I sat down. In fact, I was so excited to bang this out that I put my other writing projects on hold to work on it. It helped that I was writing an FFXIV fic and that the general structure was there, but I knew what its heart was going to be, which made all the difference for figuring out what to include, what to build to, and what setup was necessary. Prayers started as a difficult project because I kept bouncing between different ideas, but once I settled on one unifying theme, it made building the architecture so much clearer. I might know my story needs four legs, but if I can't decide between making a chair or a table, I keep waffling and try to mash the two together in a way that doesn't work. In both of these stories, I started with either a theme or a character and was able to use one to inform the other. In Dreamer, I had a theme that helped me figure out what my character was like. In Prayers, I had a character that I couldn't make feel right until I figured out the theme of her story. -I'm still trying to internalize "Just make the thing!" attitude Going back to work on Salvation after working on these short stories has definitely been for the better, but remembering how much pressure I'm putting on this book to succeed did not help. Redrafting is hard. I hate it. It's the worst thing about trying to get a story right, and having more story to fix makes it worse for executive function. The best I can do is to remind myself to finish the project and hope it's good enough for editing after I go back and clean it up. I hate how often I have to remind myself of this.

[exprimis]

The author's bio is a treat:

Charles S. Faddis served for 20 years as an operations officer in the Central Intelligence Agency, including as a department chief at the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center and as a chief of station in the Middle East. He earned his B.A. from Johns Hopkins University and his J.D. from the University of Maryland Law School. He is the author of several books, including Willful Neglect: The Dangerous Illusion of Homeland Security and Beyond Repair: The Decline and Fall of the CIA.

I wonder what he identifies as the failures of the CIA? Let's see:

The CIA had no sources inside Al Qaeda to tell us about the 9/11 plot.

The CIA didn't immediately attribute COVID-19, known to be descended from bat-borne coronaviruses, to the bat coronavirus gain-of-function research in the Wuhan lab.

Bureaucracy and a risk-averse culture.

Loss of skills, but also loss of mystique: "The people who run our government [...] have done their best to turn the CIA into just another federal agency. [...] We act as if anyone can be taught to conduct espionage—as if this is no longer an arcane craft to be practiced by a select group of unique people."

"The CIA has proved unable to put a source inside a Chinese bio lab, within the leadership structure of the Taliban, or next to Vladimir Putin."

The CIA has been politicized: backing Hillary Clinton in the Benghazi inquiries, aiding the Trump dossier investigation, and former intelligence officers decrying the Hunter Biden laptop as Russian propaganda.

The first point is transparently false; read the 9/11 Report and you will learn that the CIA had "real-time intelligence" on Bin Laden as early as 1996, with a plan to capture the known terrorist financier in place by the fall of 1997. That Bin Laden was planning to hijack civilian airliners was known as early as 1998.

The second point is still a matter of contention.

The third point is true of every part of government, but is especially true in international politics, geez.

The fourth point makes Charles Faddis sound like he's been reading too many spy novels where there's no risk of war from getting found out.

The fifth point is false as to Al Qaeda and laughable as to Putin. And if the CIA had any assets in Wuhan, their existence would be so totally classified that the CIA would hesitate to use their information in public, because the CIA prefers to not have its spies tortured and executed.

The sixth point reads like the seething cope of a man whose ideology is opposed by the Deep State, whether or not his facts are right. It is incredibly ironic that he complains that the CIA, which historically reported only to the President, was a political tool of the presidential administration of a Democrat.

So what does he identify as solutions?

Fire a lot of people.

"Recruiting must be completely revamped. Quotas are absurd. Focusing on color, gender, and sexual orientation is at best irrelevant. We want the best, and that means those people who possess the unique blend of skills and abilities that enable them to do what everyone else considers impossible."

Make training tougher.

Flatten the org chart and make it all about ops, not about analysis or support.

... for a man complaining that the CIA wasn't able to put spies in specific locations, he seems awfully invested in removing the ability of the CIA to recruit people who will blend in in those locations due to their color, gender, and sexual orientation.

[vampirequeen019]

Here it is. Chapter 4 of this story.

Tags for this story: Light Angst, sad themes, self-destructive tendencies, depression, symptoms of depression, happy ending.

⚠️ In no way am I knowledgeable of what depression is or how to treat it. I asked Google Sensei for help on finding the information I wrote in here. So it's not accurate, nor it pretends to diagnose depression or treat its symptoms. ⚠️

Song that plays in the background while I was writing this fic: "I Miss You, I'm Sorry" by Gracie Abrams.

Second Date, Second Chance.

Chapter 4.

Sadness, its consequences and the road to recovery.

Two months later.

        Kagome arrived from her twelfth appointment with her shrink, exhausted. They had made a breakthrough today. The psychologist was sure that after what happened in this session she would get better sooner.

     It had not been easy to get to this point. The first few sessions Kagome was reluctant to participate in them. She would just stay quiet most of the time or she would only answer as little as possible. The psychologist told her that it was fine, that it was her space and she could spend it however she wanted, either speaking or in silence.

       In the fourth session Kagome confessed to the psychologist that she had no idea what to say. She felt that she had to say something but she didn’t know what. The psychologist asked her questions about her classes. That, she could talk about. Her classes were something that was constant in her life, therefore it was easy to talk about it.

       At the end of the session, the psychologist gave her a blue-bound notebook with gold-edged pages and a simple pen. She told her that she could write whatever she wanted in that notebook but that every day she had to do it and if she wanted to, she could show it to her at her next appointment. “For example. I have a diary in which I write not what I did during the day but the dreams or nightmares I had during the night before”. Kagome tensed for a moment. The psychologist knew that that might not have served as an example and that Kagome might withdraw again.

       When Ayame asked her to give therapy to her friend, she wasn’t very convinced at first if it would be a good idea because if she didn’t want help, no matter how much they wanted to help her, they couldn’t. But when her niece told her what was happening with her friend, her nightmares, the fact that she didn’t remember anything and that when she woke up she had these feelings, it worried her. That coupled with the fact that she did not sleep well due to nightmares, the lack of appetite that she presented, were signs that there was something hidden in her subconscious that did not allow her to have a normal life. So she decided to help her at no cost.

       When Kagome took the notebook and the pen, the psychologist internally breathed a sigh of relief. She said goodbye to her and went back to the university dorms.

       In the fifth session Kagome broached the subject of nightmares. At first, she only asked for information but halfway through the session she began to tell her about her nightmares and what they made her feel. The psychologist listened to her attentively and sometimes she would write something quickly in her notepad and then paid attention to her again.

       In the sixth session, the psychologist explained that there were many factors that could trigger nightmares, such as the stress of daily life or anxiety. A problem at home or at school, a move or the loss of a close person or a loved one could trigger nightmares. The fact that although she did not remember them, the feeling of desolation, pain and sadness was probably due to the loss of someone very dear to Kagome.

       Kagome tensed for a moment but the psychologist didn’t miss a detail of that movement. She wrote in her notepad and continued with the session.

       By her eighth appointment, Kagome was diagnosed with mild depression based on the symptoms she was displaying. The psychologist told her that there was a solution and treatment for what she had. She told her about medications that would be prescribed as treatment and that they would continue therapy.

       The next two appointments Kagome talked about her classes for the new semester and her work. About her friend Ayame and the cute boy she had met in one of her classes. He was her partner in a class project and they shared two other classes, so they spent a lot of time together.

       By the twelfth session, Kagome talked about Sesshomaru. Once she had started to speak she couldn’t stop. She told the psychologist everything, from what she did that day before the party, her meeting with Sesshomaru, the hours they spent together, what she felt when she spent those few hours with him. Their promise to see each other to have what would be their first date. The texts from the day before this, and the day of their supposed date. She didn’t leave out any detail. She told her everything she felt in those moments without hiding anything from her. The psychologist handed a box of tissues to Kagome.

She brought a hand to her cheek and felt the moisture there.

Heh? Was she crying? But how?

       The psychologist sometimes took notes in her notepad to immediately follow attentively to what Kagome was saying to her. They had made further progress in this session. Bingo! She had found the trigger for Kagome’s nightmares and depression.

       “From what you tell me,” she began, “this encounter with that person was a very impactful event for you. So much so that without fear of being wrong I can tell you that he was the trigger for your nightmares and your depression, Kagome.”

       She crossed her legs as she continued to talk and watch Kagome. “Why are you surprised by the fact that you are crying?” She stared at her intently. “Kagome, have you allowed yourself to mourn the loss of this person, this…” she looked down at her notebook, “…this Sesshomaru?”

       Kagome’s first reaction was to nod, but she stopped and thought about it for a few moments. Had she done it? Had she cried for the loss of Sesshomaru? Had she cried for who she thought was her soul mate? And then she got it. No, no she hadn’t. Not even once.

       “No. I have never cried for him.” As she said it, new tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

       The psychologist brought the box of tissues closer to her again. “It is very likely that your subconscious has somehow forced you to cry for him. Crying cleanses our hearts of things that hurt us. And I think it’s time for your conscious self to do it too.”

       “I recommend that you have someone you trust close to you in these next few days, you are going to need them. Preferably someone who knows about Sesshomaru, Kagome.”

       Kagome took a tissue and wiped her tears, having managed to calm down a bit and stop crying for a moment. She nodded her head and said only one word, “Ayame”.

       The psychologist nodded and took her cell phone from her desk. “I’ll call her then. Wait here please. My assistant will bring us some relaxing tea in a few minutes.”

       Kagome nodded and the psychologist left the office to talk to her assistant and call Ayame.

       After a few minutes the psychologist and her assistant came in, the latter with two steaming cups of tea. She offered a cup to Kagome, who took it and thanked her. She left the other cup near the psychologist and left the office. Kagome was silent. From time to time she drank a bit of tea but without saying anything.

       When Ayame arrived to pick up Kagome, her aunt the psychologist, told her again that she shouldn’t leave Kagome alone for any reason. Ayame nodded and helped Kagome into her car. The psychologist said goodbye to her, reminding her of her appointment the following week. And how important it was that she do what she asked.

       That day, between sobs, Kagome told Ayame everything she hadn’t told her about Sesshomaru and the effect she had on her life despite only having known him for a few days. Ayame held her close for what seemed like forever.

       Eventually, Kagome fell asleep and Ayame took the opportunity to try to sort the pending issues she had and that for obvious reasons she couldn’t do. That day Ayame took it upon herself to take care of Kagome the best she could. Resting and sleeping only when Kagome did it. Her aunt had warned her that Kagome might do something like harm herself or worse. That made Ayame pay special attention to Kagome, of course without the latter knowing her real reason for doing so.

TBC.

A/N: If you or a loved one suffer depression or think you may suffer depression, please seek professional help. You are important. Your mental health is important.

Link to the previous chapter:

[bonesandthebees]

So Jack. Jack deserves so much better. I get why Wilbur used the Voice on him (I’ve already explained the meta reason), but still, poor dude. He’s so damn loyal, but even still when he realises he fucked up by taking over the watch he panics. I’m sure he spends the entire time Ranboo and Aimsey were there silently praying not to be seen and freaking out.

And it’s such a dumb idea to place himself there, but when it comes up he probably just thought it would make things easier for Wilbur (which it did, but also not) and not of the consequences. And Wilbur realises the full weight of that loyalty right before Ranboo shows up. Because Jack is fully loyal to him and risking his life. It’s one thing to tell himself he’ll probably be fine, but Jack just lost his deniability. Suddenly the threat of Jack dying over this is a lot larger.

Then everything with Ranboo and Aimsey goes down and suddenly they have to go, but Jack has had a lot of time to lose his mind over what he’s about to do by then and has second guesses. And Wilbur’s plausible deniability idea is a good solution. It is. But fuck he could have asked Jack for permission first. He didn’t, because it was the only option he saw and ignoring a “no” is worse than never asking at all.

There are other reasons too. The first being defending Jack so that even if they get caught (which they did) he would be fine. The second being the fact that he needs Jack to do this and he can’t risk him backing out now because then all of them are screwed. The third is that they are out of time and don’t have time to properly discuss it. And the fourth is that Tommy just used his Voice, so Jack already knows it exists. The fifth is that Ranboo will out the Voice anyway once he wakes up so using it on Jack might as well happen. The sixth is that Wilbur had probably been planning to use his Voice on the guard their anyway, so it’s sort of continuing the plan he had fronm the start.

It’s a mix between wanting to protect Jack and being selfish, but some part of me feels like there’s a lot of meaning in Wilbur, who always keeps it close to his chest, being willing to use his Voics to try and protect a jack. But it’s still incredibly fucked up. What happened to consent? Part of me hopes Jack will still forgive him if the saving his life plan works. The other part of me thinks Jack definitely shouldn’t because it’s fucked up.

-🎄

yeahhh during the entire aimsey ranboo confrontation jack was just standing there like "if I don't move they won't see me if I don't move they won't see me if I-" he was internally panicking a LOT.

jack didn't think about the consequences, but he took the shift to help wilbur. because he's just that damn loyal. god, it hurts. and you're right. wilbur realized that right before aimsey and ranboo showed up, which is why he decides so quickly he has to figure out how to keep jack from getting punished for this.

all your reasons for why he chose to do it are exactly right. it's a combination of all those things. again, he should've asked, but he was feeling the time pressure and he didn't want to risk jack saying no. it's definitely fucked up, but he's desperate and wants to protect his friend. also shows a bit about wilbur's view on healthy relationships (aka, he doesn't know how healthy relationships are supposed to work)

[piratesexmachine420]

The only real metric even worth comparing is person-hours and probe-hours, I think, and even then only relative to location, and even then you might want to break it down by instrument/experiment. No point in trying to pit, say, the VeGa 1 balloon against Skylab.

I refuse to give the USSR credit for the first woman in space, though. If you want equality points you have actually keep flying women. Between April 12th, 1961 (first human spaceflight) and December 26th, 1991 (collapse of the USSR) the USSR flew 2* women on 3* person-flights, out of 94*† flying cosmonauts and 142*† person-flights. If we include Interkosmos cosmonauts, these numbers rise to 3 women, on 4 person-flights, out of 101 flying cosmonauts and 150 person-flights.

In that same time, the USA flew 13‡ on 19‡ person-flights, out of 154‡§ flying astronauts and 285‡§ person-flights. If we include payload specialists (whose selection is (was?) more complicated than traditional astronauts) these numbers rise to 15 women on 22 person-flights, out of 154 astronauts and 312 person-missions.

* Not including unflown cosmonauts or Interkosmos cosmonauts †Including Soyuz 1, 11, 7K-T No.39, 7K-ST No.16L, and TM-13 ‡ Including Challenger STS-51L; not including unflown astronauts or payload specialists § Including X-15 flights over 50 miles, even X-15 flight 191, Apollo 1 and Gemini 6; not including Gemini 9, ALT 1-16, or unflown astronauts

Now, 13 is obviously not half of 285. Even if we restrict ourselves just to the Space Shuttle program, 13 is still not half of 201. Obviously inequitable. But 6.7% is a hell of a lot bigger than 2.1%. Today the disparity is even wider -- 20 women and 28 men are active members of the NASA astronaut corps, 1 woman and 22 men are active members of the Roscosmos cosmonaut corps. Only four Russian women have flown to space since 1991, three cosmonauts and an actress. (Not actress-turned-cosmonaut, just actress. She went to the International Space Station to film a movie for state-owned TV broadcaster Channel One Russia.) The US has put up another fifty or so. (exact figure depends on how you want to consider private spaceflights, payload specialists, space tourists, etc.) No Russian woman has flown more than once since Yelena Kondakova in 1997, who flew twice. No Russian or Soviet woman has flown more than twice. There are more American women who have flown to space exactly four times, than there are Russian women who have flown ever. No Russian woman has ever commanded the ISS, or, for that matter, any mission. Arguably the Soviets had one, Valentina Tereshkova "commanded" her single-occupant Vostok 6; but given the technical nature of the Vostok capsule, and the fact her flight was shorter than the three flight preceding her, I'm more inclined to say she was a human life sciences payload. The Soviet Union flew the first woman into space because they heard the US might be doing the same (misconstruing the Mercury 13), and they wanted to be first. Then, they didn't fly a single woman for another twenty years. None of the other four candidates would ever fly. Then the Soviet Union did the first female spacewalk, because they heard the U.S. was going to be doing the same, and they wanted to first. No Soviet or Russian woman has conducted a spacewalk since.

It's shameful. Next time you hear when someone say "the first woman in space was Russian", remember that, in a fight for equality, it's not about the first. It's about the second. The third. The fourth. The fifth. The sixth. The seventh. Forever.

It's about the runners-up. There better be a lot of them.

The Soviets kicked our ass in the space race its so dope "Oh you went to the Moon, yeah thats cool I guess, we got pictures of fucking Venus, you ever been to Venus? No the fuck you did not."

[amicidomenicani]

Question Dear Father Angelo, I’m a 2X year-old girl who’s always kept close to the Church and Her precepts. I’ve been in a relationship for almost … years and I’m not married yet because my boyfriend works in a different city and I’m about to graduate from university. I’ll get to my point: my boyfriend and I have sexual relations using protection; initially, my intention was to remain a virgin until our wedding, but then I let go (however, I feel guilty every time, but he’s non-practicing and this causes in me an internal conflict). I always brought these sins to the confessional, but I never confessed the use of a contrceptive because I didn’t think it important. I ask you to kindly clarify how I should make my confession because this situation makes me feel bad, I wouldn’t want to have taken Communion sacrilegiously by not confessing this sin. Easter is approaching and I want to receive Jesus in the most righteous way possible. I’ll be anxiously waiting for your answer and I wish you a happy Easter. Priest’s answer Dearest,  Unfortunately I couldn't get to your question sooner. There are e-mails which have been waiting for an answer for a long time, but I’ll make an exception and answer yours almost immediately.  I’ll start with your boyfriend, who is non-practicing. In other words, he does not rely on God, which puts him at risk of creating a moral law of his own, deciding subjectively what is good and what is evil. To a person who calls himself “non-practicing”, God stops being the starting and ending point of his life, including his sexuality and his love life. I’m not surprised by the fact that he made up his own morality. Engagement is a time for laying the foundation of marriage, a time to learn how to truly love. Your boyfriend believes himself to be truly loving, he doesn’t think he needs to learn how to love. But it isn’t so.  Sex before marriage is not true love for two reasons: The first: because one gives himself to somebody who doesn’t ultimately belong to him. Somebody who belongs to him in his desire, but not in reality. The body of the other person doesn’t belong to him yet. Both partners know this is the case, because they know they are free, they feel it internally. They know the other is free to leave as he pleases. The second reason: it is not true love because one does not give himself in totality. Precisely for this reason, in order not to give ourselves totally, we use contraception. What is contraception if not the refusal to give ourselves completely, the refusal to give the other our capacity to become fathers or mothers? It is a refusal, by the way, that we make while actualizing our procreative capabilities. Somebody rightly pointed out that “lust is a skin-deep lie, possession disguised as gift”. I’ll come now to your question. You say that you have always confessed having had sexual intercourse, but without detailing the means of contraception. Well, the confessor knows that sexual relations before marriage usually involve contraception. This does not change the order of the sin confessed, because it is implicit. Your confessions are therefore valid and you should not trouble yourself over this.  However, one needs to confess the method of contraception if it’s also an abortifacient, i.e. Plan B, IUD. In addition to going against the Sixth Commandment, which prohibits impure acts, that would put one at risk of going against the Fifth Commandment as well: do not kill. Using abortifacient methods means to clearly expose oneself to the possibility of eliminating a human being at the beginning of his existence. This is always a particularly grave evil. Pope John XXII said that “Human life is sacred […] From its very inception it reveals the creating hand of God.” (Mater et Magistra 194) and the Second Vatican Council: “Therefore from the moment of its conception life must be guarded with the greatest care while abortion and infanticide are unspeakabl

e crimes.” (GS 51).  It is superfluous for me to exhort you to live your love life in purity. You have everything to gain and will help your boyfriend make big gains in every way as well.  I wish you the best for your future. I recommend you to the Lord and bless you. Father Angelo 

[demethinkstoomuch]

A Survey of House Leadership Titles

We know just enough about each house and its founders that I think there might be some threads to pull at in terms of what different house titles say about the house intends of its leadership, or some other interesting observation  -- in some cases, not a lot, but I’d say enough that there’s enough for me to play with and gnaw on like a naughty cat who should not be chewing embroidery thread.

The Second: No Known Title????

This is so interesting to me. Like, Judith is heir to the House of the Second, and this is a fact that, nevertheless, never at any point makes anything about the internal structure of the second even the slightest bit clear. What is she even heir to? I’m assuming it’s hereditary, because that seems to be the case across the board except for the Sixth. But what is she actually heir to? The training facility? The cohort command within the system??? Something else???

We don’t know, we just know their cohort ranks. Judith’s father was an admiral -- but I am sadly forced to conclude not Sarpedon, because Judith’s father projected a career for her that would force her to stay mostly within the system, and Sarpedon’s career has mostly kept him out of system. This constitutes the entirety of what we know about the Second... But, there’s information in this non-information. What this all says about the Second is that they try and present their cohort ranks as the important ones, the ones that Really Matter...But, then again, Judith, a mere captain, is the heir of the house, so...Are they what Really Matter, really? We don’t know the rules about which contexts things matter in, which I would call not encouraging. That said, I’m betting that Judith a) tries to avoid this contradiction sincerely and steadfastly by honoring the Cohort’s chain of command, and b) she isn’t the only one. If there’s an illusion that there is no mess or complication or strangeness here, it’s a precious illusion that no one intends to disturb until push comes to shove. What the Second cares about most, between their hierarchy and the cohort’s, is a question they do not want to answer.

The Third: King/Queen(?) of Ida, assumed

Man, that is such the most attention-whore title. The pageantry! The showmanship! Crown princes! Princesses! I bet there’s a literal crown, don’t you? (Also, while I’d assume from numerical order that the 5th came after the 3rd, I get the vibe from the general atmospheres of the houses the title order might have been different, that the 3rd picked King and Queen because it’s like Lord and Lady, but bigger and better. If it isn’t, then this is what would have happened if the chronology had played out differently.)

By the way, I do want to know why Babs is a Prince. Like, is that a family rank? A cavalier primary rank? A combined Cavalier-Family rank? A courtesy title? Answer the question, Naberius Tern!

The Fourth: Baron/ess of Tisis

I don’t have much to say about this one, except that my guess is that it’s kind of like the Third or Fifth titles, but, like, different (and a little bit Less Fancy.) I think that is not a coincidence even a little. Also, Baron sounds very cool.

The Fifth: Lady/Lord of Konniortus

Oh, man. I have takes on this one. For one, this is 100% an Augustine decision. For two, Oh, good heavens, he was so smug about it for centuries. It’s powerful, yet understated. Grand as all hell, but not showing off. Everyone would have wanted classical nobility titles, but the specificity of some makes them a bit weaker. I’m thinking of, like, the Lady of the Mercians, or Empress Matilda going by “Lady of the English” as an uncrowned queen for the way the term can sort of gently elide over questions of specific rank. It’s simple, classy, brief.  Augustine is judging half the titles on this list and laughing with a sad shake of his head, like it’s cute that you tried to go as hard as “Lady of Konniortus” and you absolutely failed. And those are the ones where he’s not actively rolling his eyes. But more on that in, oh, about 3 houses from now.

The Sixth: Master Warden

OK, but you know who deserves to be smug for her rad naming skills? Cassie. And I say Cassie, to be clear, because I know it’s her name. Or, the name someone who knew the things Cassie knew about the Sixth. Because, really, I think this refers, in an oblique way, to the Break Clause. Because that clause is, well, it’s the key. It’s the key to the literal and metaphorical lock binding the Sixth House to the empire and to the planet. The whole facility is a prisoner, in a way, overseen by its warden. The whole facility is a lock. And do you know what we call the internal jaws of a lock?

Nothing, actually, because there isn’t a part of a lock that one calls “the internal jaws,” I’ve looked up locksmithing terms when google could not avail me. But...I do know that, if Palamedes and the Sixth thinks of a part of the lock as the Internal Jaws, he’s talking about the little metal pieces inside the lock that the key’s teeth and cut are meant to fit into and around, so only the right key will fit. They are jaws in the sense that teeth fit into them.  When Palamedes makes this little riddle during the Fifth’s dinner party, he’s talking about The Wards. And that it can be unlocked, if a key that fits the ward(en)s is produced, is how the Sixth House is like a lock.

I love that for the Sixth. I got so excited about this realization that I went to some lengths to include this line of thinking in a sixth-house centric fic, because it was simply too good to leave out.They went for an elaborate, multilayered self-created reference that refers back to their secret secession plan, and they’ve stuck with that for 10,000 years without giving away the Bit. Good for them. Really, just delightful.

The Seventh: Duchess/Duke of Rhodes (Assumed)

So, this is more or less just like how I read the Fourth’s nomenclature, except they went with Fancy over Cool. It’s very nearly as important as King/Queen, but not quite, which suits them well enough.  Unless there’s a higher rank and Dulcie’s parents have that rank, which they might. It seems implied. They also keep up the theming, with Pro being a Knight of Rhodes. Point is, they, the Third, the Fifth, and the Fourth are all a part of a system of names, with the Fifth a tiny bit set apart, and the Third probably clawing for the top.

The Eighth: Master Templar of the White Glass

I love this title, and part of what I love is that I know Augustine hates it and rolls his eyes every time he hears it. Because I think it’s a Christabel idea. And I say that for a couple of reasons. The biggest being, it sounds very cool but it makes no sense. Like, flash your mind through literally every point at which Silas or the Eighth house are mentioned. How many of them refer to, in any way, anything pertaining to White Glass? Once, only once. Harrow refers to “White glass mysteries,” but that’s it. It’s a mystery. Outside of that, this title only exists, is only referred to, is only acknowledged at all, in the Gideon the Ninth Dramatis Personae. Sure, the Eighth get described with White, and Templars seems reasonable. They are even referred to as White Templars, because, sure, sensible. But White Glass? Is a throw-away concept here, one only Harrow seems to ever think about. It is a cool-sounding title that refers to nothing of any significance. Its only justification is that it’s rad. It’s just a little stupid, but joyfully so.

Which is not a Mercymorn thing. But I can totally see it as a Christabel decision, one she got very excited about. Like, this is the woman who made One Flesh, One End a thing for the next 10,000 years. Christabel seems to love this stuff, and I think if she got cheerfully enthusiastic about it, Mercymorn would go along with it, and that would enshrine it forever.

The Ninth: The Reverend Father/Mother

So, this is another very good one. Like, Anastasia and Cassiopeia are over here thinking of legitimately good and clever titles, ones which contain a duty, and a secret, and it’s the duty at the core of the house’s leadership, at that. Obviously, the idea of a Reverend Mother is one suitable for the Abbess of a nunnery, so that checks out to begin with, but there’s another layer to it, too. A reason why it’s Reverend Mother and not, say, Abbess, that catches my eye post-Nona, but really ought to have caught my eye before that. “Reverend Daughter,” as a position of heirship, is something important because it’s a Ninth invention. The existence of a Daughter or a Son, as opposed to just having Sisters or Brothers and Mothers or Fathers, creates a direct family line within the ruling family. It becomes a bloodline and an abbey in the same breath.

Harrow insists from the Pool Scene onward that it was critical, the whole future of their house, to have an unbroken bloodline of necromancers descended from Anastasia. And at the end of Nona, we see why: Because Anastasia made a pact with Alecto that is recognized as being attached to Anastasia’s descendants, known by blood. They are the unfulfilled vow, Harrow is right! A line of parents and children, reaching back to their original parent, who made a promise. Mothers and Daughters, all the way down. That’s what the House is really for.

A+ Naming, Anastasia. Fantastic. Beautiful.

[intangibly-here]

it’s a fact (that i want you in my life)

various (diluc, kaeya, xiao, zhongli)

- scenarios; 6.8k words - gn!reader - fluff & angst - hurt/comfort - warning: description of injuries/blood, mild cursing

————————————————————

is it really so hard to be understood?

[argument & reconciliation scenarios]

title from mckay, jeff bernat - angel 2 me.

requested by @nanana-kashi

————————————————————

❥ diluc

it’s a chilly evening, as always. 

you trod down the dusty path, steps kicking up clouds of dirt and sending pebbles skidding as you walk. the dim glow of street lamps illuminate the edges of your figure, passing under them on your stroll returning home. you take carefully measured steps past the countless rows of grapevines, past the stone walls of the building’s perimeter, and arrive at the polished front doors. 

the dawn winery is quiet in the evening, only the chirping of crickets filling the silence, whereas servants would fill the air with talk and work during the day. fishing out a key from your pocket, you unlock the door with a click. 

all that meets you when you enter is more silence. empty again.

diluc has always been a busy man. he’s a hard worker, as are all of the people that surround the two of you are, and he carries the heavy weight of an entire legacy on his shoulders. recently, however, he’s been especially illusive, managing the angel’s share during waking hours and working undercover as the “darknight hero” so to speak throughout the evenings. 

while it’s not out of the ordinary for diluc to work nights on end, it is unusual that you haven’t caught a glimpse of him at all, between visiting the angel’s share during his usual shift or roaming the paved streets of mondstadt. even asking charles himself remained fruitless. 

“my sincerest apologies, but i haven’t seen him. i’d thought he was with you.”

it’s even more unusual that he hadn’t told you a word of what he’s been up to. were you that untrustworthy?

you close the door with a resigned sigh, removing the bow that’s been strapped to your back and resting it against the wall across from the entrance. your pull your gloves off, the mahogany leather of it reminding you of ruby eyes and stiff clothing. they drop into a box rested on a nearby shelf. the unsettling silence closes in around you, and for a moment, you breathe in a strikingly painful loneliness. it fills your chest uncomfortably, like it’s carving out a hollow space in-between your ribs, gnawing at your heart. then, you breathe out, and the discomfort dissipates. no, he trusts you. you know you both do.

even so, something shifts wrong inside you without diluc here. 

you’re not sure how to feel about it.  

you minutely fiddle with your ring, cool silver pressed against warm skin, finger tracing the simple engravings carved into it with care. it’d been your request for something subtle, away from the flashiness of blinging jewels and rare stones. 

he’ll be back soon. 

you say this, turn the words over and over in your head just as you turn the ring on your finger, but you know better than that. you had truly believed it the first day, but then the first day bled into a second, a third day into a fourth, a fifth, sixth, seventh—

and now you stand here on the eighth day by the arching doors, inside the enormous mansion, cold and disappointed and alone. 

you shake your head, chastising yourself internally. it’s no use worrying yourself down over it. dropping the rest of your belongings in a pile by the foot of the bed, you scratch the back of your head and turn to the bathroom. best to run yourself a shower and get to bed quickly. the whirring of crickets and fireflies keep you company ‘till the sound of splashing water erases the quiet. 

you’re toweling your hair off, foggy wisps of steam trailing behind you as you leave the bathroom, when you hear the resounding click of the front door. 

diluc?

leaving the towel hanging around your neck, you walk to the entrance room where the man you’ve been waiting for stands upright, glancing at you when you enter. it only lingers for a second, before darting back to his own hands.

“welcome home.”

“thanks.”

the clock ticks in the heavy silence. 

“not going to say anything?”

he lifts his head up to face you properly for the first time in a week, confused. fiery red hair shuffles with his movements, and he releases it from the confines of his hairtie. “what is there to say?”

you take a deep breath, shoulders rising, then falling again. you fiddle with your ring again. “we haven’t seen each other for days, and there’s nothing you want to say?”

“...” he purses his lips. 

“i’ve been looking for you.”

diluc looks away. “..i’ve been busy.”

your stare turns frostier by the second, the beginnings of a bonfire starting inside you. oh really now? just an ‘i’ve been busy’? “busy enough that you couldn’t spare even a second to let me know that you were doing okay?”

he bristles at your chilly tone, hackles rising, and body turning sharply away, apparently preoccupied with hanging his coat up. “i don’t need you to fret over me like— like this.” 

the words have you suddenly losing all your temper, leaving behind only the dredges of a deep-seated sorrow.

“am i not allowed to worry about my husband?”

his untold frustration seems to only grow at the dimming fire flickering out in your eyes, and his eyes narrow. still, he stays silent, a brooding look on his face. it wars with the thinning desperation you unconsciously let yourself show tonight. 

“ —even if you won’t tell me what you’re up to, why won’t you see me at all?”

the loosening hold on your emotions is gripped tight once more at the deafening silence not unalike how it were even without him. your face is drawn neutral once more, and you turn to make your way back to bed. 

“..alright, diluc. goodnight then.”

seems like tonight was a lost cause as well. you trail through the hallways, pausing before the door to the study. you enter against your better judgement, something pulling at you to not do this— but really, did you have to listen to that voice? something curls inside you, hurt and tired. that voice never helped with anything anyway. diluc’s still drifting, far, farther away from you and you’re still alone. 

(you know your emotions are getting the better of you, but you just can’t help it. how are you supposed to handle something you’d never dealt with before?)

standing before a relatively smaller bookcase, you reach up to pull out a book rather carelessly—

diluc opens the door, a regretful nervousness on his face and brow furrowed, to see the heavy wooden shelf tumble onto you. his eyes widen, and he lunges forward. 

thud.

- 

you blearily blink your eyes open a couple times to dim spots floating across your vision. two distinct voices murmur somewhere in the vicinity of the room. last you remember, you’d left diluc at the front door... and went to pick out a book for the study.. and oh.

so you’re recovering now, you’d assume. 

you trace the bandages on your head with sublime caution. the door clicks shut, bringing you out of your thoughts, and you tilt your head on the pillow. red. it’s diluc. he’s in his casual attire, plain white top and black slacks, but is still so stunning. maybe even more so than his regular clothing. 

diluc whips where he was staring at the door towards you, eyes wide and hand flying to his face. it’s flushed a brilliant crimson pink. 

oops. 

snapping out of his daze, diluc rushes to your side and kneels by the bedside. your mouth opens to protest his actions, then pauses, and closes again. it’s about time you receive an explanation. you two are past unnecessarily polite formalities. he grasps your hands in his calloused ones like a lifeline. 

“i’m so, so sorry, my love.” he stumbles over his words, almost like he’s choking them up from the bottom of his heart. maybe he is. “i didn’t want to get you caught up in the— the incompetence of the knights, and all the troubles that come with cleaning up after them.”

he glances away at the floor, gazing somewhere you can’t reach him. 

“...all it brings is sorrow.”

he takes a shaky breath, and his eyes glisten from underneath his mussed bangs. his hands tremble in yours, and your eyes soften. you run a hand through his hair in a silent gesture. continue when you’re ready. it’s alright. 

“a-and so i didn’t tell you, didn’t go to find you. there was a really— really unexpected gathering of abyss mages, and i didn’t want you to get involved. but you’re right— i shouldn’t need to hide it or avoid you because of it. i’m—” 

he chokes back a sob, wiping furiously at his eyes, and for a moment, it reminds you of how he was before everything happened. how bright he was. how open. but it’s of no importance any longer, and you brush the stray thoughts aside. mature or not, cheery or not, he is still diluc. he is still the man you love. 

“it’s okay, love. it’s okay.” you shush his sobbing gently, cupping his face in the palm of your hands. “i forgive you. i always will.”

you nudge him up from the floor and into downy bedsheets, nestling him in front of you. encircled in your embrace, diluc huddles closer to you, sniffling all the while. 

“when the bookcase fell on you, i was so scared. i— i thought you’d...” 

he trails off, face buried in the crook of your neck. you can feel him pressing his cheek into it, nuzzling closer. you lean your head against his in a comforting manner, i’m here love, and the heavy conversation peters into a soothing silence. you both move in tandem with your breathing, intertwined and floating in the newfound peace. 

“..’m love you...” 

but a whisper in the (welcomed, for once) silence, diluc drags out the mumbled syllables childishly, probably embarrassed from the entire ordeal. you press a warm kiss to the top of his head and smile for once, affectionately, softly, sweetly—  

“love you too, diluc.”

❥ kaeya

sometimes, just sometimes, the personality of kaeya alberich, mister cavalry captain of the knights of favonius, gets on your nerves.

kaeya is sly and sweet-talking, words sharp and lined with double meanings left and right. even at night, tucked into each other and settling into the quiet of drowsiness, teasing words will slip out of his lips and leave you either furiously blushing, firing back at him, or cracking up in full blown laughter— most of the time.

his joking manner is what drew you to him, the way he’s the spark in the room and how he brightens up your life with every passing moment.

it is also what is pushing you away now.

you know you’re being stupid. his joking and teasing is just one of the many parts of the man you fell in love with, inseparable and intertwined. it’s just kaeya being— well, kaeya. and it’s a wonderful part of him that you’d never want him to give up on.

the thought itself doesn’t exactly help when you’re spiraling into a pit of unwanted emotions.

lately, you’ve been heading home late, exhausted and worn out from putting everything into your job during the day. you hadn’t anticipated the rain to come down so hard and in turn didn’t bring an umbrella, resulting in absolutely waterlogged clothes and soggy shoes as you neared the pathway up to your home. today, you’d just like a little soft peace and quiet.

the thought stings like a sharp slap to the face when you open the door to kaeya’s unusually boisterous laughter (usually it’s less... annoying than this...), the room smelling thickly of wine. you can hear the clink of glass against glass from where you’re standing in the doorway.

whenever kaeya happens to consume alcohol, he becomes rowdier than ever; this incident is no exception. you shake your head and sigh. apparently kaeya is sober enough to notice you, because he looks over at you and grins in a telltale sign of mischief.

(not sober enough to recognize your breaking point it seems.)

“kept me waiting long enough, sweetheart! look at poor lil’ lonely me, sitting here with only this wine to keep me company.” he shakes the bottle in his hand, pouring another glass, taking another sip. “don’t you think i deserve a little something? maybe—”

the rest of his words are drowned out in the buzz of your mind, piling on your strained emotions. it’s so much. too much. (it’s unreasonable, you know you know you know, but you can’t stop, won’t stop, it won’t stop—)

does he not see you?

the words fly out of your mouth before you can reign in your haywire thoughts—

“would you just shut up? asshole...”

—anddd you didn’t mean to say that.

the rainwater drips from your clothes and pools onto the floor in a miserable puddle. the shocked look on his face and the thump of the wine botte falling to the floor says enough to send you turning on your heels back into the pouring rain. the door slams shut behind you almost achingly as you run wherever your feet will take you.

stupid stupid stupid! why did you say that! your head throbs in a mixture of hurt, guilt, and confusion. you stumble on rain-sodden ground and stray pebbles as your feet rapidly grow sore, unable to keep up with you anymore. 

your legs give up from under you, and you collapse to the ground, face buried in your hands. even if you were tired, you shouldn’t have just shouted at him like that — he didn’t even know what you were upset over! you didn’t tell him!

picking the pieces of your thoughts back together as the adrenaline wears off, you unsteadily rise to your feet once more, knees shaky and weak. it’s as you’re preparing the walk home from who knows where you ran to, you hear a loud grunt from the vicinity behind you. 

oh no.

just as you feared, when you turn around you’re greeted face-to-face by a shield-bearing mitachurl that’s likely strayed from its camp. its shadow looms in front of you, crawling forward as it slowly makes its way to you. you scramble for your sword, fingers digging at the buckles of your belt, then realize you had left it hanging on the sword rack at home. 

(kaeya...)

the stomping grows closer, like an ominous sign, and you curse under your breath. as much as you’d like to believe you can survive this relatively unharmed, your wobbling legs and unarmed hands say otherwise.

without another moment to spare, the mitachurl dashes forward, swinging its shield as if it were weightless. you put all your effort into dodging its sweeping blows, the embedded stones whistling by your face as you scan the area in another attempt to run—

as you turn your head, the mitachurl charges in from your blindspot, slamming straight into the side of your head. 

fuck. 

the impact sends you falling backwards in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs and stinging scratches. the throbbing at your temple doubles over, and when you tentatively reach up to touch it, you feel it’s sickeningly sticky. blood. a lot of it. 

black spots swim across your vision, and hazily, you think you hear a voice call your name in the distance. whatever it was, it’s soon drowned out by the sound of the creature stomping towards you impendingly. 

hallucinating already? you bark out a hysterical laugh in spite of it all, then hunch over in a fit of hacking coughs. red streaks across the dry grass. it burns. you rub at your throat. any further efforts would be futile. you know a hopeless situation when you see one— or in this case, are in one. 

thump.

another bruise blooms on your leg, and you wince. closing your eyes, your fuzzy conscious awaits its silence. there’s a swoosh, the raising of the mitachurl’s shield, and you brace your body for the impact—

“love, you— what— i—“

something, someone, lifts you up, up, up. and you’re drifting, carried in gentle arms and smooth fabric. the air grows heavier, the whistling of finely honed swordsmanship hanging in the wind, and the thundering steps draw to an abrupt stop. a familiar voice trickles into your ears, but your mind is sinking sinking...

(it trembles.)

on the edge of your sopor, just before you fall into its depths, you feel a clammy hand clutch yours. it’s warm. 

mind empty, the bone-deep exhaustion swallows you, vision fading to black. 

-

you awaken to soft white sheets and bandages looped round your arms. your muscles scream at you when you try to rise, flames of pain crawling up your torso and singing your nerves. a grimace paints itself across your face, and you slump back against the pillows. what had happened again...?

the lock clicks, door swinging open, and you turn your head to face it. kaeya steps in, a tray in hand as he closes the door with a twist of his hand. when he raises his head, his eye widens, and you can see the faint bags under it, red rimmed at the edge. you purse your lips, heart panging in your chest. 

neither of you speak when he shuffles to the bedside, setting the tray down on the nightstand and picking up a stray pillow that had fallen to the ground. it must’ve been when you’d just woken up; you hadn’t noticed. he tucks in back into its spot behind your back, propping it to help you sit a bit more upright. he doesn’t retrieve his hands from where they rest on top of yours. 

you start, “kaeya, i’m so—”

he doesn’t let you continue, pressing a finger to your lips. 

“sweetheart, i should be the one saying that.” he ruffles your hair endearingly, expression both relieved and pained at the same time. “i was drunk and just let you run out there—” he pauses. “i pushed it too far.”

you can feel the start of tears welling at the corners of your eyes, hands trembling and teeth wearing at your bottom lip. “...i still should’ve spoken up. you wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

he smiles warmly, genuinely, the cheerful glint in his eye sparkling at you through glossy eyes. “then next time, speak up, alright darling? we both can learn from this.” you nod, and he cups your face, thumbing the rims of your eyes and the side of your cheeks where rivulets of tears paint transparent rivers.

“may i kiss you?”

there’s a lot more to unpack to your actions, both your physical injuries and mending the worn strings of your minds, but for now—

you nod wordlessly once more and lean in, meeting him in a soft, sweet kiss. he wraps his arms around you in a familiar hug that you’ve sorely missed and pulls back, pressing more small, but equally as sweet kisses across your face. 

—for now, this is enough. 

❥ xiao

“you need to take better care of yourself!”

xiao rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in protest like a child. he sure is acting like one right now. why is it that he’s only like this when it comes to medicine? every time... you grimace at him, glaring threateningly and shaking the porcelain bottle in your hand. the round pills roll over each other, rattling in the container. 

“xiao...”

xiao just huffs and snarks back, turning his face away as if it’d do anything. 

“i’m doing fine. adepti don’t need medicine.”

it’s a weak argument, and he knows it. why is he fighting this so much? it’s just taking painkillers. no matter; it’s time to put in the finishing argument. 

“it’s from zhongli.”

the statement has him freezing in place, chewing his bottom lip nervously. of course it’s the mention of zhongli that has him finally seriously considering listening to you. petulant kid. can’t believe you’re really dating this thousand-year-old child. 

“i—”

he cuts himself off and goes silent for a beat, another argument on the tip of his tongue, but accepts the medicine in defeat anyway. you drop the little jar into his outstretched hand, and he pockets it in a flash. now if it were only that easy from the beginning...

“fine. but you have to stop nagging me so much.”

you can agree with that one. 

“alright, it’s a compromise.”

unconsciously, his mouth draws into a pout, and you chuckle, dipping down and kissing his cheek. his face shifts from awkward confusion to sudden realization, immediately stiffening up and stalking off in a mere shadow of his usual cool. 

if you spy the pink flushed tips of his ears and the prominent blush on his cheeks as he leaps off the balcony, you keep it to yourself. 

-

so much for taking care of yourself.

“and you were saying?” 

the door slides open, frame rattling as the illustrations of one panel swallows the other. xiao in all his midget glory strides in, footsteps careful as he closes the door behind him. a tray is balanced in one hand as he does it, somehow steadier than you’ve ever actually held a tray before. even with two hands. is this an adeptus thing too? expert, perfect, unbelievably infallible tray holding? you can tell from the expression on his face as he makes his way over that something’s tipping him off. he’s definitely grimacing, like he would when you said something unbearably stupid— in his terms of course. not yours. 

is he a mind reader too? wasn’t that only a rex lapis thing? like with the prayers?

“you look like shit.”

even worse than earlier goes unsaid. his face is typical frosty-xiao, but his brows are furrowed and disbelief shines in his eyes. guess it wasn’t your thoughts after all. but actually, did you really look that bad?

“yes, it’s that bad. now sit up so you can eat.”

whoops. 

holding yourself from making any snide comebacks, you move to touch your cheek as you sit up, a little shocked when it actually makes contact with the back of your hand; it feels as though your face was set in front of an open fireplace. a damp towel drops off your forehead, plopping on the blankets. it’s lukewarm. huh, didn’t notice that before. 

removing the used towel, xiao sets the tray down on your lap meticulously. now closer, you can see the plates of cold noodles and steaming bowls of jewelry soup sitting on the wooden tray. the smell is incredibly appetizing, as expected of smiley yanxiao, and you take care in preparing to eat the sumptuous meal. 

“aw, thanks xiao.” 

he turns his head away habitually, too shy to meet your eyes. you can, however, see his fingers subconsciously fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. the sun takes that moment to peek out of the clouds and through the window, outlining the contours of xiao’s face and soften his sharp features. it makes him look almost luminescent, like an angel descended from the skies, and you’re drowning in his being. he’s stunning. 

feeling your stare, xiao whips his head back around, narrowing his eyes and nearly growling. like a cat, your mind supplies. your cat. 

(and then you laugh at your thoughts, because xiao isn’t anyone’s. you just happen to be by his side for as long as wants you here.

and yours, him.)

“don’t stare,” he hisses, and then you can’t hold your laughter any longer, hacking out laughter at his defensive demeanor. “you- !”

he hastily picks up the pair of chopsticks on the tray, taking a mouthful of mushroom-topped noodles between them and stuffing it into your mouth. you immediately cease your chortling to chew, else you shove yourself into a choking fit. 

floating bits of dust fade in and out of the sunbeams falling on the floorboards, as if playing peekaboo with the air. the noodles are perfectly seasoned, mixed with just the right amount of sesame and savory sauce to not be bland, but not taste overpowering. they’re light and easy to swallow, and xiao hands you a cup of tea as you finish your bite; his fingers brush against yours, soft and warm. you sniffle. your runny nose hinders your senses, but you can still smell the faint scent of qingxin blossoms, and a relaxed smile makes it’s way to your face as you take a sip. 

this is nice.

❥ zhongli

you’d first seen morax in the midst of a fierce battle. 

jueyun karst was as empty as always, save for the presence of several adepti crouching in the shadows, more than the darkness would usually hide. then, as you sat high in the branches of one of the many golden trees in the valley, feet swinging over spikes of climbing amber protruding from the ground, you sensed a change in the atmosphere. the wind whistling through the treetops and over your head shifted sharply, soft gusts transforming into howling gales that had you falling backwards. 

cursing under your breath, you gripped the branch tightly, face scrunched in a grimace. by the time the turbulent winds had stopped, your hair blown astray in a hilarious mess and your back rebalanced against the trunk of the tree, a squirming, inky mass of something had appeared, hovering in the air just above the ground. it steadily grew in both physical size and energy, the air humming and pulsing with it’s indiscernible movements, until it towered at the height of the larger trees, far larger than any human could. 

you could feel the surrounding adepti grow increasingly concerned, their energy fluctuating wildly, but they showed no signs of movement. why? shouldn’t they be neutralizing this threat? your feet pick up their movement again from where they’d stilled during the storm, swinging back and forth. forwards. the lump of dark energy steps towards the harbor. backwards. another step. forwards. it pauses in its steps, unfurling its wings. back-

thump. 

so that would be why they hadn’t moved. almost as if heaving a sigh of relief, the chaotic energy of the adepti lurking nearby immediately deflate, retreating back into a neutral state. oh hoh, a big shot? when a gold-pattern embellished white robe emerges from a tear in empty space, you nearly topple over from your spot in the tree. bingo. 

the storm clouds in the sky poured as they fought, the sound of pattering raindrops both filling your ears and serving as a backdrop to the clashing of metal and vicious growls. as you watched him fight, the prime adeptus rex lapis, lithe form crossing blows with the distorted form of an abyssal beast, you knew from somewhere deep in your soul that something was bound to change. 

(it was when you were leaping down from the tree to leave, silently thanking him with a glance in his direction, that your gazes interlocked. morax made for an awfully odd sight when he had both a curious spark gleaming in his eyes and a dissolving corpse at his feet. and well, if it got even odder when he invited you to tea, that would be his problem, not yours— even if you had accepted the offer.) 

soon after, in the days following that first “meeting”, you’d seen zhongli (as he preferred to be called) in town, lingering indecisively around various stalls both big and small. noticing his dilemma, as a good friend (if you could be considered that; you’d only watched him slaughter a demonic monster and talked over tea once after all) you walked over and helped him out. 

multiple tea outings, three bags of mora and several weeks later, zhongli is looking into your eyes— and wow, this is really reminding you of your first meeting, where he was beating the shit out of that thing while you all just sat around and waited for him to be done and— he’s getting closer? please say this is going where you hope it’s going—

evidently you win this time, because zhongli moves forward and presses his (soft, soft, soft—) lips to yours in a breathtakingly warm kiss. 

he tastes faintly like the sweet syrup of the almond tofu you’d shared earlier, and the moment he draws his head back to allow you a breath, you pull him back in for another. 

-

your shoes step soundly against polished flooring as you enter the doorway of liuli pavilion, soft chatter drifting between the rhythmic click-clacking of your stride. the waitress greets you politely as you walk in, taking a glance at the clipboard she’s holding, then gesturing for you to follow her. 

“based on your attire and the time, you must be the one mister zhongli is waiting for, no?” 

to the assenting dip of your head she gives her own in return, leading you through the back doors and to a secluded table out in the open. settled by the railing overlooking the harbor is zhongli, pristine as always, sipping a steaming cup of tea. 

he doesn't notice you at first, attention trained on the book lain out on the table, but then you're sliding into your seat with a quiet thank you to the waitress, chair audibly scraping against the pavement, and he looks up. remarkably deep amber eyes meet yours, but then again, you’re not meeting a random passerby now, are you? 

(you’re not wooing just anyone.)

or at least, that’s what you’d thought. however, by the time he’s mentioned guizhong for the— what, 5th time tonight? you can’t say you’re completely unfazed. guizhong was his partner in war, best friend, closest companion; of course he would talk about her. it’s only natural now that you’re getting to know each other more. 

yeah. natural. 

you rest your head on the palm of your hand, leaning forward onto the table. the glass of wine in your other sloshes against its confines. your eyes follow it as the liquid tips and turns over itself, deep mahogany flowing into semi-opaque purples and vibrant reds. 

guizhong. she’s an inarguably important part of his very, very long past. you understand this— but really, did he have to talk about her regarding every single thing? it’s as if— as if you were just— just there. you’re missing something. there’s a label for this feeling, you know there is, but it’s only escaping your mind the more you think about it. just what is it...?

��the leaves of this tea have been harvested from wild glaze lilies themselves, then additionally infused with the purified essence of glaze lily blossoms. countless meticulous steps and tremendous efforts must have been taken to execute this brew as splendidly as it was. it is most definitely an exquisite tea befitting of guizhong’s legacy.”

zhongli pauses, then sighs wistfully, a reminiscent expression painted on his face. 

“an... unfortunate end she had. time never stops, neither for gods nor mortals alike.” 

ah, yes. irreversible, unalterable, set in stone. you’ve heard these words so many times over, no matter how eloquently they’d been reshaped and rephrased. no matter how different they’d sounded every time. no matter how much you wished you could stop overthinking it. 

looking less like a new romantic interest and more like a replacement, you chuckle inwardly to yourself as zhongli stares out over the harbor, a new mortal friend to chat with. the thought hits a little too close to home, and oh that was the word you were looking for. 

you are just a replacement. 

how could you not be? you see how zhongli looks when he talks about her. though he doesn’t say it outright, you know he loved her.

still loves her. 

and so, who— no, what are you but just another someone? 

and here you were thinking you were someone special. of course you just had to stick your nose somewhere it didn’t belong. 

you’d really thought you could keep your head cool in all situations; no, before all this you really had—  but suddenly when emotions and love are involved, everything spirals out of your control. vile thoughts crawl up from the depths of your soul, clawing at your rationality and eating away at your want want want. 

and so when zhongli turns to look into your eyes again, mixed emotions rise in your heart like bile would up your throat. the wine you’d been drinking all night loosens your tongue, and the words are slipping out of your mouth before you can take them back. 

“are you really going to talk about her all night?“

fuck.

zhongli frowns for a fraction of a second, his head tilting to the side in contemplation, then parts his lips and replies:

“is there a problem with it?”

his answer makes you want to throw your head back in hysterical laughter. his energy is completely placid, which actually might make it even worse. he’s genuinely asking. genuinely fucking asking. here your head is, overrun with thoughts left and right, mind fraying at the seams, and that’s what he’s asking? is there a problem? your hand clenches and unclenches, nails digging crescents into the palm of your hand. he has to be joking. 

a waiter arrives to change and refill the empty pot of tea, but immediately stiffens at the silent atmosphere. once the new tea leaves have been added and begun to steep, he immediately hightails it out of there, nearly slipping in his haste.

clink. 

you set your wine glass on the tabletop. need to sober up after that one. zhongli still looks faintly puzzled, but allows you to do as you wish, and you both watch as steam floats up from the spout of the teapot. pouring a cup of glaze lily tea, your mind taunts, you take a sip to clear your head. 

huh. that’s odd.

you pull the porcelain rim away from your mouth, tilting the cup to stare at its contents. nothing is out of the ordinary, and the tea smells as fragrant as ever, but there’s a particular... sweetness to it? if it were any more bitter you wouldn’t have payed it attention, but the brew shouldn’t be.. sweet?

“zhongli, did you add anything to the tea?”

the bewilderment on his face only grows. 

“i don’t believe so? nothing other than the tea itself should be present...”

the corner of your mouth quirks down, eyes still inspecting the tea dredges in the cup. then why was the tea... was it really just your taste buds? a foreboding feeling sends shivers down your spine, and it’s building building building—

zhongli’s eyes suddenly widen, and he startles back from the table like a frightened colt. his head whips to the side, spear immediately appearing in his hand, and he draws his shoulder back at a speed you hadn’t seen before. the tip slices through air and hits its mark instantaneously, pinning the waiter from earlier to the wall he was lurking behind. zhongli rises from his seat, the tips of his hair glowing amber, and promptly knocks the man out with a blow to his neck. the waiter lets out a choked sound, then slumps unconscious. a crumpled piece of paper falls from his pocket. 

instructions. zhongli understands what’s happened the moment he picks up the piece of parchment. most likely sent because of the swindling incident yesterday. a desperate last-resort attempt at ridding the millelith of a witness. 

dexterous fingers begin to unfold the note. 

but why implement such an unskilled assassin? they barely had any killing intent whatsoever, else they would have been noticed sooner. there are no weapons other than this dagger on them either... his eyes swiftly scan the contents of the note, and all at once, everything falls into place.

the tea. he should’ve realized it sooner. 

the clatter of rattling dishes sounds from behind him, and he spins on his heels, staring wide-eyed—

red red red stains your hand and drips through your fingers, spilling out of your mouth and splattering the ground. red. your throat makes a garbled noise, not unalike the one made by the waiter just moments before, and your eyes dilate out of focus, rapidly glazing over. red.

you collapse in your chair, and all he can see is red. 

picking you up carefully in his arms, he closes his eyes (from the red red—) and teleports to the pharmacy. 

a single plead hangs in the air. 

- 

you jolt awake, hand flying to your mouth and chest heaving anxiously. you can still taste the metallic tang of blood. your blood. 

then, as you’re trembling from what could have been a brush with death, firm arms wrap themselves around you, tucking you securely into a warm chest. 

“shh... it’s okay. it’s okay.”

a low voice murmurs reassurances to you, cradling you in safety and tranquility. zhongli runs his hand through your hair soothingly, bringing you down from the frantic state you’d awoke to, and now you can recognize where you are. zhongli’s living room. you’re settled on his lap, gathered in his hold, and you can feel his steady breathing against you, a stark contrast to your own labored breaths. it’s when he’s sensed that you’ve regained rationality that he begins to explain. 

“you were out for a few hours and collapsed due to the poisoning that was originally intended for my consumption. i sincerely apologize for that. it was an unfortunate mishap.”

his voice is smooth and saccharine sweet as he talks, a deep rumble that you can feel as you lay your face on his chest. he takes it on himself to explain a little further of what happened while you were unconscious, which you are grateful for so you can sort your... thoughts out, from before the interruption.

(while he brushes over the matter of carrying you in his arms rather perfunctorily, it still lights a warm flame in your heart. you want this to work out. desperately.)

when his narration peters out to a natural quiet, the muffled hum of early morning workers bustling about outside, you ask the question that’s been on your mind since the very beginning of your outing. 

“is this,” you gesture to him, to you, to the comfort, the hugs, the love, “because of guizhong too?”

understanding finally washes over zhongli’s face in subtle waves, and he gives the most mesmerizingly fond smile to your doubting question. a rich chuckle bubbles up from his chest, the endearing tinge to it only pushing your slight confusion forward. 

“ah, so this is what your previous question was mentioning.”

his eyes soften, the smudge of red under them only making the gold of his irises bloom even further. the hazy look in his eyes makes you feel like he’s drifting. you can recognize that well enough.

(drifting away from you, a faint bite of a bitter voice whispers.)

“yes, i did love guizhong. she’d departed from this land all too soon for me to convey it, and it is one of the few things i still regret to this day.”

the words spark a pang in your chest, the sharp, tingling-sour kind that reminds you of unripe sunsettias and overly spiced mint, but you take a deep breath and it fades. you should hear him out. you need to. you want to.

“i retold my memories with her to you because they were... my happiest memories. they were all i had to speak of, other than the redundant miscellaneous knowledge i’ve retained over the years. i’d thought you’d rather hear of happy experiences rather than the long tangents i can run myself off of. i’ve been properly chastised by this incident nevertheless.”

he gently tilts your head up from where it’s buried in the front of his silk shirt, wiping away the stray tears that roll down your cheeks. you sniffle and wait for him to finish speaking, chest already lightening. 

“however, remember this— while i did love guizhong, you are not a mere semblance of her for me to retain by my side.”

he calls your name softly, reverently.

“my love, you are not a replacement. the one i’m in love with now is you.”

relief, warmth, and love love love surges in your chest altogether as he smiles gingerly, and you cup his face with your own hands, feeling the heat of his flushed cheeks against your palms. 

his lips are plush, soft against your own chapped ones as you draw him into a kiss spelling all the things you couldn’t say out loud. that you were frustrated at the thought of being a rebound for him. that you were terrified at the thought of dying with regrets. that you were unimaginably relieved at his explanation. 

that you love him too. 

zhongli takes it all into stride, leading your hands to rest on his waist as his own cup the back of your head and nape of your neck. he kisses fully, wholeheartedly, lips moving tenderly against yours, giving back what you’re bringing forward to him, for him, in equal measure. it feels right. 

thank you, zhongli.