#<- i want to incorporate that line somewhere in my fic

[kylos-starlight]

Me sitting here like: "Do I reveal {🗡} the normal way like "here's my new f/o" or do I want to reveal him through one of the gush posts?" 🤔

Or maybe I make a first meeting fic— I'll try to keep it short ;^;

[russilton]

Huh crocheter George... I can see him doing it and he seems like a person that would make stuff for his friends?

Someone gave Carlos a crochet chili? So something like that

Obviously first to like Alex and Lando etc and now I want Lewis to be a bit jealous and offended that everyone seems to be getting something self made from George from him (except of course, it's fine to give something with potential mistakes to your best friend and other friends but to someone like Lewis? It would have to be perfect which means improving a lot before you dare present something....)

(Anon I have been working on this for months now- since you sent it, but you can’t complain it’s late or that I made it knitting instead of crochet since you got what is in essence, fic) (un-edited because my wife is sick, there was no planning, just vibes)

word count: 4679

It started as a stupid way to prove to Alex he did in fact have artistic skills. Somewhere between grainy YouTube videos and detangling knots it became a way to decompress between sessions, it made for good practice with repetitive actions and not making mistakes, something in following stitch patterns that isn't that different from memorising turns and breaking points.

Incorporating new colours and designs teaches him to build patterns in his head that help with race planning. It's surprising how much the skills intersect. The only problem that arose was just how many scarves he ended up with.

So, George makes everyone scarves. Everyone gets a scarf. It’s a straight line and easy to follow. He has to get rid of the results of his labour somehow.

Aleix? Scarf. Bono? Scarf. Marcus’ scarf has extra fancy tassels. Riki’s has his first ever pole time embedded in it in little pixelated number shaped stitches. Mike’s scarf is almost as long as he is tall, George finally conceding it was long enough when he ran out of yarn at that weekends race. Shov’s scarf is connected in a loop, when asked, George teases ‘it’s because you’ve been here forever, Andrew.’ and has to duck out of the room and set off running before it gets pelted at his head. Shov does keep it though, along with one George manages to slyly pay Anthony to slip into his bag for Jenson. Toto gets sent home with scarves for Susie and each of his children. His is hidden at the bottom, so George doesn’t have to look him in the eyes when he finds it.

George only has to squint at Fred with red ears and nose, on a chilly Silverstone test day huddled up beside Mick in their boyband style white puffers, before he’s handed a black and silver scarf a week later. It doesn’t matter how much he protests being from a northern circle country, if Valtteri got a scarf so does Fred.

The fact Valtteri’s attempt was one of his earlier ones and has a finger sized hole in it is of no consequence. After all, Alex’s scarf has more holes than it has clean runs, but George just tells him it’s to get him used to the Williams style of living. If James Vowles' scarf is a lot neater, George challenges Alex to go and fight him for it.

Charles gets one in a red so vibrant it almost glows, though it’s not until after a summer break, George wouldn’t be caught dead working with Ferrari red in his garage, even now. Mick’s is a similar red, if paler, patterned with a grid of white stitches, and he looks surprised when George drops it in his lap, but it morphs into his wide bright smile when George just nods at him. Even Nicky receives a scarf in Williams blue with little wonky maple leaves patterned in white down the length of it mailed to him after a particularly stressful season opening. Nicky's girlfriend sends him a photo of him wearing it while they stand in snow up to their ankles. It feels good to know he's doing alright.

Eventually George’s scarves get more and more complicated, new patterns and shapes appearing as he pushes the boundary of his easy little plans, and finds new ways to occupy his mind during the hardest parts of the season. Eventually even drivers George knows a little less well find themselves with an unlabelled gift George gets snuck to them— Yuki and Guanyu both have the good sense to not question it too hard. Esteban texts him a middle finger, but he doesn’t get it back.

Even Roscoe gets a scarf, perfectly shrunk in size for his boxy head, rows interwoven with yellow and purple that he wears proudly as a bulldog can for a modelling photo in his home in LA alongside Angela who’d been more than excited to partake in George’s unspoken mission. The Bulldog looks stylish and comfortable despite it not being even close to the right season for it. He’s a professional after all.

—

Lewis gets nothing, which, y’know, he’s fine with. Roscoe got one so that kind of counts, and he’s been told he’s hard to buy for with his eccentric fashion sense, doubled by the fact he has enough money that even he doesn’t know what to do with it all sometimes. He’s worn more scarves than most people have ever owned, the majority of them handed to him by his stylists and then neatly returned that same week, their loan period from the brands vying for his attention ending without much fanfare.

He’s only kept one or two that particularly held his interest, and while Lewis doesn’t know their exact price, he knows that they probably cost more than one of the team's laptops. While Lewis has long been comfortable with his wealth, every now and then it still catches him, like a missed tag in a shirt, itchy and distracting.

This was one of those times.

When he’d first seen the scarves popping up around the garage, in the early part of that season when they’re still racing in deserts and countries close to the equator, he assumed its a new fashion trend he just isn’t aware of yet. It doesn’t make sense to him the way trends usually do; the heat of the climate combined with the way all of them are so varied and different. The only connecting factor is the handmade air to them, holes and sloppy loops peppered across the lengths. He even starts to wonder if one of the mechanics partners was sending them to races with gifts.

Lewis is used to purposefully distressed fabrics, so it takes him longer than he’d care to admit to realise what’s going on. He really should have noticed when Bono got one, as notoriously intolerant to modern trends as he usually is, but it isn’t until Valtteri of all people texts him a photo of himself with one tucked around his neck and newly trimmed mullet on a cycling trip between races that he finally cracks.

———

[VB sent an image]

LH: Where the hell did you get that thing, I keep seeing them everywhere

VB: This is a moustache Lewis, you should be familiar with the concept

LH: Har har

LH: wise ass.

LH: I meant the scarf

VB: Ask your boytoy

VB: it was him who threw it at my head in Spa last week

LH: George???

VB: who else

LH: don’t call him that- since when is he buying everyone scarves?

VB: but you knew who I meant didn’t you

LH: answer the question

VB: I’m pretty sure he made it, there’s a lot of holes

LH: Since when does George knit?????

VB: these sound like questions for YOUR teammate, I have pedalling to do

VB: 👋➡️🚴‍♂️

LH: what the hell man

LH: did you seriously just ghost me rather than answer

LH: fuck you

LH: and your secrets

LH: I hope tiff beats you

LH: 🖕🏾

[Valtteri BottASS liked a message]

——

The conversation with Valtteri leaves him even more confused than he was before. Despite the fact he now has even more questions swirling around his head, he does not ask George what’s going on. The last thing he wants to do is find out why he’s been excluded from the man himself. Lewis chooses not to question exactly why that is.

He’s also glad he hadn’t asked his stylist to find it for him like he’d planned to, containing his mild embarrassment down to just Valtteri, who he’s reasonably sure won’t tell George he asked about it. Valtteri may deeply enjoy fucking with Lewis, but not enough to have a conversation with George about it. If there’s one thing Valtteri objects to on all levels it’s being involved in… whatever is going on between Lewis and George.

Lewis isn’t quite sure what it is either. They’ve been dancing around each other for years now, Lewis isn’t quite sure when George turned from colleage to friend, and he really doesn’t know where they stand now they’re teammates who spend almost every week together in some form. The formality of clear labels was lost somewhere in the late night strategy sessions and food shared at different tables across the world at every hour of the day, from late breakfasts in Qatar to eyes-barely-open meals at 3am in Singapore. He wouldn’t call George his best friend… but he’s not sure he would call George just his teammate anymore either. He’s George. Whatever that means.

That lack of definition bites him in the ass sometimes, such as cases like this one where he has no idea what he is to George in return.

In his final year with Mercedes it had only gotten harder to figure out where they stood. In the years prior it had been a little easier at least, they'd had their ups and downs as they fought the car and worked hard not to fight with each other, but they'd always settled somewhere level. George's warmth toward him had felt unshakable.

Now it feels like they're both in some kind of pendulum motion, sliding from a desire to keep some distance, to make it hurt less, to an almost clingy need to soak up the time they have remaining together. It feels silly really, it's not like Lewis is retiring, he'll still be there, a couple doors down from George...but he can't escape the reality of knowing it'll be different.

Coupling that with his already complicated and grief heavy emotions about the entire team, and the fact their needs don't exactly line up most weekends, it's been a hard year. Lewis is pretty sure he's pulled George into more hugs this season than he has any other teammate before, but that didn't stop the sting of weeks where George seemed to catch a glance at him and turn tail and run for his drivers room. He doesn't feel particularly emotionally intelligent, but the slip of pain and something pinched in George's too clear eyes had been plain as day.

He knows there's nothing he can really do about it other than let George feel what he feels, but it still felt like a balm when George would grab his hand after a good race with that crazed joy in his eyes he always got, sweat practically flicking off every strand of his hair, and smile so bright it shone reserved just for Lewis, rubbing away any awkward moments from that weekend, like when George had winced when Lewis as squeezed his hand in greeting in Silverstone, mumbling something about sore fingers that Lewis hadn't understood.

Coming into their final races together as they do now, every movement feels amplified, every gesture and discussion hangs with the weight of being potentially his last with his team the team. Thoughts about George and scarves get lost in the heat of desert tracks and a cloying grief he finally has to face head on without the facade of getting through the year. He's not sure he's ever felt this emotional in his life. Leaving Mclaren had been a breath of fresh air and a weight lifted even if he'd loved what they had achieved together. Leaving Mercedes feels like moving away from England for the first time, unsure of what will be on the other side, or if he'll be able to make somewhere foreign and so different feel like his home again. Unsure if he wants to.

George seems to almost disappear behind that. Lewis figures he's giving him time to say goodbye to his team uninterrupted. Despite the fact George had been part of the Mercedes family in a way almost as long as Lewis has driven for them, they both know there's something different about it, and he's thankful for the space. He can press down the guilty, aching and confusing emotions he has about George into a box in the back of his mind to be handled late. He doesn't have time to unpack Georges furtive, almost nervous peeking at him between monitors when he's listening to Shov present their debrief for what might be the last time.

That's does however leave him ultimately unprepared for when George does finally demand his attention, by appearing on the doorstep of his drivers room after they're wrapped up for the evening, qualifying finished and preparations for the race day concluded, with what appears to be a colourfully wrapped lump in his arms.

Lewis is still blinking at the shiny obstacle between them, overhead lights glinting off the chrome coloured paper, when George speaks.

'Sorry mate, I hope I didn't interrupt anything did I?' His voice is oddly high pitched, sounding a little like when Lewis knows he's trying to lie to Toto about how much sleep he's had.

'No man I was just packing up for the night'

'Mind if I come in before you leave? It won't take long I promise,'

Lewis murmurs a quiet uh sure as he steps back, gesturing George inside and then shutting the door behind them as he see's curious eyes in the engineering bay start glancing over toward them. Even Bono, Mike, and Marcus, still clustered in the corner as normal poking away at their laptops seem to be looking over, trying and failing to seem subtle as if Lewis hasn't had over a decade to pick up on what Bono looks like when he's trying to listen to gossip.

In the privacy of Lewis' drivers room George spins around to face him and before he can even ask what's going on, George is pushing the thing he brought with him into Lewis' grasp

The parcel isn't too dense, but there's a weight to it that feels like it has to be good deal heavier than the wrapped scarves Lewis had watched George pass out in the past, and it looks at least three times the size them. Lewis barely has a second to try and figure out what it is before George’s fingers twitch toward him, like he’s itching to pull it from Lewis’ hands and unwrap it himself because Lewis is being too slow. Wordlessly, Lewis holds the package back out, gesturing for George to go ahead, and rather than steal it back out of his hands, George crowds up into his space to start unpicking the paper.

George’s wrapping handiwork has never been strong, but Lewis can’t really pay attention to that when George is this close, towering above him but seeming almost small in his nervousness. The moment feels strangely intimate as George slips those long fingers between his own crumpled tape job, tugging the attached parts free until he pulls back the final fold to reveal his signature woven handiwork.

George steps back then, leaving Lewis holding his presented gift in a cradle of paper. Out of the corner of his eye Lewis sees him twist and wring his fingers together as he watches, but Lewis can barely focus on how George might be feeling as a wave of... something hot and warm rushes over him.

The lump turns out to be a jumper. It's a bright mustard yellow, rich and bold. Or at least, part of it is, the arms and chest in one continuous colour that ends abruptly partway down the torso when one line stops and continues in a slightly paler shade. The difference is almost imperceptible, and likely would hidden entirely if the colours weren’t butted up against each other like this, juxtaposed the way they are. Towards the hem of the thing, the colour shifts again, one step lighter for the last handful of rows falling at the waistline, the changes creating a gradient down the body. When Lewis traces it with his eyes, he can spot small areas in the neck and wrists where the pattern falters, warped patches that correct quickly but don’t quite line up with those around them. Rather than make the whole item look bad, there’s an odd personality to it, a touch of handmade individuality compared to a lot of the pristine items Lewis gets handed by his stylist, not a spec of lint in sight despite the fact they aren’t headed to a closed catwalk, but a dusty paddock.

As his fingers lift the folded bulk of it he spots a little detail along the neckline, a tiny, almost unnoticeable LH in a dark gold colour that would settle in line with his ear. Surely enough on the right side, there's a tiny 44 in the same font, the pair crowning his shoulders. Twisting the woollen form again, he sees there are tiny stars stitched into the cuffed sleeves in the same colour. There's seven by his count, and an eighth peeking out from the inner band where it would press against his wrist.

He's not sure how long they've been stood together now, silent but for the rustling of paper and the jumper as Lewis studies George's work. As he finishes his inspection he becomes aware of the anxious energy practically radiating off George in the silence that the same man finally snaps and breaks.

'I know its uh, pretty hot where we are but I figured, when you get back home- I mean when you get back to England you can- I tried to finish it earlier but-' George stumbles, words sounding unsure and faux light before Lewis interrupts him

'Did you make this?' He breaths, fingers pressing into the stitches as if it might tell him instead.

'Yeah, I wanted to make something... bigger. I know it's not quite what you're used to with the fashion stuff but I thought...well I don't know what I thought' George explains, words trailing into a lilting mumble. When Lewis' eyes dart up to meet his face, George's cheeks are glowing even in the low light of the one lamp he'd left on, face twisted as if braced for a blow. Like he thinks Lewis is going to be mad at him for this, somehow.

'George...man...'

'Sorry- It's stupid I know, if you don't like it I'll take it back, I won't be mad, I swear-' George isn't looking at him anymore, eyes darting around at his feet and his hands that he shoves into his pockets only to yank them out and wring them together again, fidgeting so he doesn't have to meet Lewis' gaze. His uncertainty makes Lewis' stomach hurt.

'It's perfect'

'I can even save the yarn, it's not actually that hard to unravel- what?'

'It's perfect, George, I really like it' He repeats, grabbing Georges arm with the hand he isn't cradling the jumper with, forcing George to stop trying to climb the walls with his eyes and look at him properly.

'You do?'

'Of course? Did you think I wouldn't like it?'

'I dunno I just- I wanted to make something special.' George rasps, surprisingly wet looking eyes boring into his. That stumps Lewis, and he has to drop his eyes back down to the gorgeous golden knit work, so undeniably a labour of care. It must have taken months, When Lewis was so deep in his own head trying to figure out if George felt anything or was just waiting for him to leave, the man himself was working in secret on something just for Lewis.

'How long did this take you?' He whispers into the space between them, not sure he even wants to know the answer, fingers still wrapped almost too firmly around Georges arm, a little worried George might run for the gates of the paddock if he lets go.

'You don't want to know- since before Imola at least. I normally just do scarves cause uh, they're just straight lines y'know.' George starts tentatively, before the dam seems to burst and he begins rambling 'I had to unpick half of it in October cause I'd counted wrong and it was shaped like a pear- there's still some wrong bits I couldn't fix, sorry about that- and I hope its the right size I had to ask Angela for them and she said they're a couple years old and-'

He continues but now it's Lewis' turn to freeze up, puzzle pieces clicking together in his head as he realises George has been working on something just for him since at least May. For over 7 months while Lewis was absorbed in fighting the car and his own emotions George was working away at something specifically for him, without even being sure if he would like it.

George has started to go off into a tangent about getting knitting needles through airport security when Lewis finally stops him, squeezing his arm.

'Why... why'd you do all that just for me?' He grits out, voice scratching against his raw throat, trying to make eye contact with George so he might read it in his face why the hell George put more effort in for him than anyone else.

'Just for you- Blimey, Lewis, cause I had to say thank you somehow, didn't I?'

'Cause I'm leaving?'

'No! No- 'cause you stayed. 'Cause you made me feel like this is my home too. 'Cause you listened to me and never made me feel too young or not good enough when I made mistakes and you never treated me like the enemy or just some guy across the garage. I know I keep saying it but you probably saved my career-'

'George- you would have been fine without me, you've always been good-' Lewis tries to interject, but George just steamrolls past him.

'Yeah but- you didn't make me figure that out on my own. I learned more in a month with you than three years at Williams. You made me a better person'

'George-'

'Please, I know it's a bit much, maybe, but I just had to do something before you left, so you knew.' George's voice cracks a little over the last words, and Lewis doesn't feel much better, eyebrows furrowed and throat clogging as he tries to choke down the indescribable feeling climbing up his throat and threatening to suffocate him in response to George's frank honesty. He's always been better at being vulnerable than Lewis.

He doesn't know what to say anymore, how to tell George that it was never a hardship to be his teammate, that Lewis was the one who struggled to articulate what George meant to him. That he's going to miss this like breathing and he wasn't prepared for that.

Words have never been his strong suit though, so instead he turns slightly and gently throws the jumper onto the nearest couch, ensuring its landed safely and ignoring Georges noise of confusion before he turns and drags George into his arms.

It's become natural, to hug George, another thing that's evolved over the last couple seasons when Lewis would have sworn himself touch averse for the most part. His arms wrap tight around George, one clutching at the middle of his back as the other skates up to cup around the back of his head, fingers slipping on shower damp hair and George's shirt collar.

George's nose tucks into his neck like routine, cheek pressed hard into Lewis' as he winds a long arm around the shorter man's neck to clutch at his shoulder, the other tugging at Lewis' shirt, gripping like Lewis is going to pull away, as if he hadn't initiated it.

Lewis squeezes harder than he imagines is probably comfortable, but George just makes a wet noise into his neck and digs his head down harder, fingers clutching tighter as Lewis runs a thumb over his hairline. There's a damp feeling growing on Lewis' shoulder but he doesn't care, he's not sure how he isn't tearing up himself, maybe he would be if he wasn't trying to memorise the feeling of how George fits against him.

It crashes over him then, blunt as a hammer, that this is what he's afraid of losing. He's afraid of losing this closeness with George when he leaves, when he's no longer going to be the experienced, advising teammate but just another obstacle on the grid George needs to climb over. He might lose the George who crowds into his space looking for Lewis to celebrate with him this way. He might lose the joy and adrenaline of George flinging himself at Lewis with the confidence that he will be caught, when it might be strange if they aren't teammates.

'I'm sorry' he blurts out, words crawling from somewhere in his lungs, only for George to make a confused noise, trying to pull back and stopping when Lewis only grips harder.

'What're you sorry about' George gets out, words wet and quiet where they are muffled against Lewis' shoulder.

'About this, the hugging, I just-' Lewis starts, but George just laughs at him, damp and a little hysterical, face tilting till their noses are practically brushing so he can look at Lewis from within his embrace.

'The last thing you ever have to be sorry for, is hugging me. You can do it more if you want'

Lewis stares at him for a second, gaze darting over George's lax but wet eyes, and the way his cheek smushes into Lewis' shoulder at an angle that must be uncomfortable but yet he makes no attempt to move away from, and yet another thing clicks into place, very much the theme of the evening. He was clearly teasing, but even Lewis can hear the truth under his words.

He brushes a seeking thumb over the nape of George's neck, dragging across the hot skin there. George shivers, fingers flexing against Lewis back, and that's all the permission he needs to tip his mouth onto Georges, lips slotting together in a kiss he hadn't even realised he'd wanted.

It's hardly picture perfect. George's face is sticky from his own tears and Lewis can taste it on his lips, his own cheeks are hot and itchy, and the angle they're at makes the seal of their mouths messy at best, and yet its the best thing Lewis has ever tasted. The hand George had at his shoulder slips along to thumb Lewis' jaw, pressing over his beard, and Lewis wants to drown in it. All his experience flies out the window in the face of following his gut and holding George as close as he can manage.

The slide of their mouths should really be indecent, wet as it is, and he's starting to think a little about being too loud, when he shifts slightly and George makes a breathy whimpering noise that sends any worries about being overheard right out of his head.

Time melts a little, as they curl together, until Lewis' neck really can't tolerate the angle anymore, and he has to pull back, panting harshly just in time for something to go clattering the the floor outside in the engineering bay, making them both jump and reminding them abruptly that they are in fact still at work, in thrown up rooms with paper thin walls that the cleaning staff are going to want to vacuum soon, as thorough as they are.

'We probably shouldn't be- well- we probably should have figured this out before now' George muses, still sounding awful breathless for an athlete Lewis seen run several miles for fun. They'd pulled apart a little in shock at the noise outside, but he's still gripping Lewis' arm, and there's that bright, beautiful smile creeping across his face again.

Lewis glances just over his shoulder, where the jumper is still lying haphazardly on the sofa.

'I dunno, Man. Better late than never?'

[hashtagdrivebywrites]

Y'all bear with me on my bad phone pictures and excessive notes lmao, but, uh, ask and you shall receive.

Here's my concept art for Jason in my fic Imprint, where he's a halfa and Danny's biological dad and the king father/king regent? of the infinite realms.

Here's the first ever sketch I did somewhere around chapter 2 or 3:

Featuring larval Ghost!Jason, Pit madness/Lazarus Water and little bitty Ghost!Danny.

I was already thinking about the possibility of a crown but didn't know what to do with it yet so I just left a halo as a placeholder DBZ-style, which you'll see in the next few concept stages until I finish the latest one.

Ah, the oldest concept I had for the Pit is that it laid dormant in Jason's mind and would physically pull itself out of his head, which is why it's kind of half melded with Jason's helmet in this one. And I'm still kind of considering that idea, but I'm leaning more towards it coming from the bulk of Jason's body instead, as we see it in chapter 8 of Imprint when readers get to see Jason's ghost nonsense from an outside perspective. They (the Pit) is definitely more tiger-like now, and you'll catch a glimpse of a sketch dump where I'm trying to get a handle on tiger shape language (?). They'll still be water based and colored like the pits/a lagoon. It may be hard to picture- just trust me.

Uhhh let's see....the "lantern ribcage" is a part of the design that's really important to me so you'll see me consistently playing with it as I go through these early concepts. That's his core nestled in the lower part of his ribs, visible but protected behind the iron cage of his bones.

I wanted to incorporate Jason's helmet and other parts of his vigilante/hero uniforms in his ghost form since that part of his life is deeply personal to him.

I also knew that I wanted him to have a very monstrous aspect to his design- and I can't resist slapping pointy teeth on any of my concepts that deviate from being strictly human. So those aren't going away. Nostrils to breathe smoke and fire so Jason can better emote with most of his face being metal.

Danny's default ghost form, opposed to Jason's will still kinda be the one he has in his original dimension- black and white suit and the classic DP symbol on the chest, but probably better armored and with a bat emblem thrown in somewhere. So thats what I drew him with here- though little kid sized, with an added black streak in his hair to complete the inverse of the Lazarus Pit streak he has in human form.

In ghost form, when Jason needs precision, his go-to weapon will be the All Blades, which I have kinda illustrated here.

I may kinda set the bones of this design aside to use as a more humanoid ghost form that's closer to his living form, but that's still up in the air.

Here's concept 2, which I did on chapter...5? I think? Which is when I decided I wanted to make Jason's most comfortable ghost form to be kinda big and outrageous:

This one's got some notes doodled around it- but I'll type them out in case you can't read my handwriting.

Jason was definitely leaning more toward dragon (and I'm still trying to find the balance between dragon and phoenix that works nicely for him, but we're getting there.)

I decided not to put heat pits on his face recently so that the parts of his head modeled after the helmet are smooth metal armor. I tried to elongate the head but still keep the lines of his helmet in the design.

This is also the first time I started messing with horns- which have been bent in just about every direction at this point trying to make them mesh well with the rest of his design. The uppermost notes in the image mention basing the shape of his horns off of one of his weapons. I thought that the flaming all blades would just be overkill at that point and decided to play with using the Kris knife he gets from the League. Which is....still overkill but it's less fire to draw, so we'll call it a even. There is also a note on my decision to make his horns into a pair only because of being Bruce's second son and the second Robin. (I have put way too much fucking thought into this if you haven't figured that out already).

Tried a different look for the teeth and ended up scrapping it.

I also started leaning more into making his back look as messed up as possible at this point and started thinking of the....mountain range in plated rows like a croc's back.

And here's concept 3, which also starts playing with colors and the all-tail, no-legs look that I decided to stick with:

This is definitely the biggest jump between concepts so far and was sketched up while writing chapter 7, which I think is the first time we get to experience his ghost forms (there's 2 that we saw in that chapter).

So I continued to smooth and lengthen the head and tried a different thing with the teeth- which I kept. I also felt a lot better about the lines from the helmet with this concept. I tried curling his kris knife horns forward, trying to play with their form. Those have changed since.

This is the first time I added hair, but it's hard to see. He, like Danny, has an inversed streak of black at the front of his 'do to reflect the Lazarus stripe.

Again with the halo placeholder because I was still on the fence about the crown. Started trying to make the mountains of his spine more volcanic looking. Don't know if I'm keeping that or not yet.

So the three major differences between this and it's predecessors is the 1) mantle of smoke that is constantly being expelled from his body that is supposed to imitate a kinds cloak/mantle; 2) the tail, which has since been changed into a fiery tail instead of a ghostly one; and 3) I slapped his Robin 'R' from the movie UTRH on him to make this form more...him, I guess, and also to make Bruce cry like a baby.

So the things that I have changed is the ribcage, the shape of the horns, the crown (which finally has a rough design and a name based on the fight he has to win to earn it- yes, I already have that arc scribbled out and will most likely be adding it into the story) and I added some extra stuff to the face to match the written descriptions in Imprint.

SO. -Claps hands together- I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, and I am always interested in hearing how y'all have interpreted these characters for yourselves.

If this is something you want me to do again with other character designs, let me know and I will. I am working on Jason, of course, and the Pit, Frankie boy, Danny's big long boi form, Gotham and some other odds and ends.

(Whoops forgot tags again)

[gingerbreadmonsters]

HEART EYES CRY BLOOD!!

or: yours sincerely, wasting away.

gn!reader, blood, violence, and extended discussions of death, the world’s worst stress dream with a happy ending, i promise. life and limb and all that. my undying and eternal gratitude to @zozo-01 and @androgynouspenguinexpert, who sacrificed their time, laptop battery, and brainpower to feed my delusional mind, and all my love to @sincerelywhistler for creating possibly the most beautiful vega on earth and inspiring the barbie ponytail agenda. warden not wanting to miss a thing in 16,800 words or less.

this fic is the combination of two other series of mine, human nature and peaches and cream – it’s entirely possible to read this fic without having looked at either of those, but i think you’ll enjoy it a lot more if you know what’s happened so far in both of them!

human nature masterlist

peaches and cream masterlist

main masterlist

Recipe for undying love:

Add veneration, sacrifice, and subversion to a small saucepan, and simmer over medium heat until thick enough to coat the back of a teaspoon.

Stir in devotion until fully dissolved, then immediately remove from the heat.

Mix blindness and faith together in a separate bowl, then add slowly, mixing until fully incorporated.

Transfer mixture to clean bowl, then sift in persistence, stirring continuously until mixture becomes thick, smooth, and glossy.

Add fortune to taste, then transfer mixture to a greased and lined tin. Bake for 35 minutes at 180°C, or until a skewer comes out clean.

Leave to cool slightly on a wire rack before turning out. Best served warm with cream and fruit, but can be kept forever in an airtight container until you are discovered, or until all escape conditions have been met and the universe can begin again.

It starts…

…to be honest, you don't actually know how it starts. It's a total mystery, as far as you're concerned – it could have been anything. You're not sure if you were even there at the time, or if you just stumbled in by accident. You don't know when it starts, or who starts it, or why it even starts at all.

More importantly, you also don't know how to get out.

The first time was a total accident. You'd not gone far, only for a little walk down to the park for some fresh air. It’s kind of a weekly thing, you see. Both of you have to do it – it’s important that the neighbours see you two doing ordinary human things like shopping and walking and laundry, so they don’t get suspicious.

Obviously, you have to modify your human form a little bit so that you can’t be recognised by anyone who might be looking for you, and it’s a little bit annoying. Hiding your demonic features is less comfortable than it used to be, so you’re always grateful to come home and shed the disguise. It’s just so itchy, so stiff and awkward – your gums ache with the quiet pressure of suppressed fangs, and your skull cries out for the horns that it knows should be there.

Sometimes you go together, and other times you go one at a time. Going alone is fine, even if it gets a bit tricky trying to field questions from your neighbours. The two of you came up with a cover story when you moved in, and you've done your best to stick to it – it's kind of a silly story, and you had to watch a lot of television to make sure you got all the details right, but it seems to be working.

You did your best to make it as bland and generic as possible – no details that anyone could use to try and track you down. Forgettable. You never mention how you met, or even anything close to it – in fact, you and Vega have never even heard of Dahlia. As far as your neighbours are concerned, you're newlyweds from the other side of the state, looking for somewhere to settle down. That’s a pretty normal thing, right?

Vega's job – you still haven't really decided what it is, but definitely some sort of dull office thing – lets him work from home a lot more than it used to, and your job (Vega suggested ‘copywriting’, which is apparently some sort of bookish computer-y thing to do with adverts) is mostly online too, so you thought you’d take the opportunity to get a bit further out of the city. Both of your families live out of state, which is why nobody comes to visit you, and nobody saw you moving in because… um…

…oh, because it was very sudden! Yes, that’s it. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that the family who used to live here had to move because of a work thing. Some sort of exciting opportunity that had come up, maybe? Or a promotion? In any case, they’d practically jumped at the chance to sell their house to you so quickly. You and Vega had been living in a tiny flat in the city, so you hadn’t really had much stuff – no need to pay for a huge moving van, right? It’s not surprising, then, that nobody had seen you arrive.

Yeah – yeah, it’s like you just appeared out of thin air. Yeah, that’s so funny. Haha.

Unfortunately, everyone seems very chatty in this tiny little town, and keeps asking difficult questions. It got a bit awkward when one of the neighbours asked about why you didn’t have a car – luckily, Vega had been there at the time, and managed to make up some lie about having taken it for repairs a few days ago. That evening, you’d both spent several hours on the computer trying to figure out what sort of car you were supposed to have, and you’d even gone on a little reconnaissance mission around the neighbourhood, to see which types and colours of car people living here tend to have.

It’s in the garage now, some generic-looking shiny thing in some inoffensive colour or other that Vega magicked up with the help of a very complicated-looking repair manual. Unfortunately, neither of you actually knows how to drive, which makes it a bit hard to actually look like you’re using it – the whole driving thing is much less intuitive than either of you was expecting, and neither of you have been able to make it do anything useful! It’s a nightmare!

You could probably make it go with magic, but if you’re honest, that’s a lot of effort and energy for not a huge amount in return. For now, you’ve just settled on leaving the garage door open and conspicuously washing it with a bucket of water and a sponge every so often, to make it look like you know how to use it. That’s probably enough, right?

It was kind of difficult, trying to figure out what things you needed when you first arrived. All those mundane human things that they like to keep in their houses, like lunchboxes and pianos and those bicycles that say they’re for exercising but don’t actually go anywhere. When you’d arrived the house had been furnished with all the stuff that the, uh, previous tenants had owned, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If that means having to drag Vega all the way to the closest garden centre at 9am on a Saturday to go and choose a suitable plant for the empty space on the front lawn, then so be it.

(Obviously, it’s a peony. Dark pink and white stripes, big flowers with soft petals. What else?)

You know what, it doesn’t even matter. You’re just rambling, now. The important thing is that you’d not been home when you felt it, that very first time.

You’d been about five or six minutes away, walking back through the park. It was busy, so many humans around that you couldn’t do anything suspicious – but you’d felt it, all the same. Gravity failing, air rippling around you, something deep and vital being snatched away. Silence where it shouldn’t be, a dry sort of cold, bitter and biting. No moisture in the air left to freeze.

Panic – pure, unfettered panic, turning your body to acid. All you could do was run.

Fighting your way through the slow, stupid humans that blocked your path, streets flying past as you pushed yourself faster and faster. Something had been wrong, so incredibly wrong, pulled out from under you. Running across the road without looking, footsteps loud against the pavement, turning the corner, and-

You’ll never get your hands on us again. Either of us.

Yellow caution tape, stretched across the street, fluttering just outside the boundaries of a tall, solid ward. It’s enormous, a huge dome that ripples and pulses with power. If you were human it would probably have been imperceptible, but to your demon’s eyes it was more like frosted glass, obscuring what was inside but not quite hiding it. You could make out the blurred shapes of people inside, but no more – the magic was almost unbelievably strong, all thick and liquid. What could have been happening?

You’d known you had to get inside. But how? It didn’t feel like Vega’s magic, there was none of that familiar sherbet fizzle on your tongue, it didn't bleed into your aura in that seamless, easy way. This had been something else, something wrong – grim and cold and clumsy, more of a sledgehammer than a switchblade.

Ducking underneath the tape to face it, your stomach lined with lead. Someone else was doing this.

It recoiled from your nervous touch, or maybe it just pushed you away? It was like gravity, or maybe magnets – like poles repelling, your own face in the mirrored surface of the ward.

Gritting your teeth, you’d forced your hand into the seething mass of magic up to the wrist, and though it screamed for you to leave, you didn't give in. He’s taught you too well for that. The world swam around you as you fought your way inside, and it was like trying to walk through oil, sticky and solid.

Closer, closer. Your body, getting impossibly heavier the further you go, laden with the iron weight of so much magic pressing in on you from every direction, and oh, it hurt, it hurt. Crushing, grasping, squeezing pain, trying to trap you in its brutal fist – but with every torturous step, the picture got clearer. Cars, more than normal, parked haphazardly in the street. Trees, still and unmoving with the lack of breeze. And humans, all dressed alike, swarming around the middle of the street, running into one of the houses – wait, that’s your house – the sound of shouting, screaming, gunfire—

Are you there, darling?

Delta uniforms. It’s the Department.

They’d found you.

If you’re being entirely honest, you don’t really know what you did next.

You didn’t scream, you’re fairly certain, but you think you froze. Paralysed with panic, all you could do was stand and watch as the shrieking carnage began, a crashing wave of blood and death and fire, and the whole new life you’d built for yourself turning to ash in the summer sun.

Hidden behind a parked car, you’d watched in horror as more and more humans poured into your house, descending upon the eye of the storm. Windows breaking, walls crumbling, your lovely front garden set ablaze and trampled into nothing. Magic coursed through the air with every breath, every fabricated cell of you singing with vicious power as wards formed and shattered, as the earth slipped and shuddered, as pure, seething energy tore through brick and bodies alike.

Pain, raw and ravenous, the sort you thought you’d escaped from long ago. Flooding your body, lighting up every simulated nerve – the hateful heaviness of your physical body binding you to the ground. You couldn’t make sense of it. Falling down inside your own mind, dizzy spirals in the riptide of anguish that swept you away.

Away from home, away from him. How could you have been so stupid?

I can feel you, darling. You are there, aren’t you?

Vega’s voice in your head, fainter than you’d ever heard him, fault lines in the asphalt. Staked to the spot, waist-deep in the sand. You couldn’t say a word.

Precious thing, you have to leave. Leave now, and you must not return. This place will never be safe for you again.

Something building in the ground, in your core, in the atmosphere – magic, but whose? His words, fractured glass in your shattered mind – how you’d fallen to the ground, ears ringing, crushed under the incredible pressure. How you’d tried to crawl, dragging your pathetic form out from behind the car, brittle claws snapping and breaking on the ground.

A word that wouldn’t form, desperate and terrified. The liquid mess of your face, the bloody puncture marks in your lip. Panicking, panicking, all your insides turning out. You’d screamed aloud in agony, uncaring and unknowing of who might hear – your only thought was him.

I know it hurts, my sweet. I know. And I’m sorry.

Wanting him, needing him, every molecule of your existence set ablaze in horror. You’d been so utterly blinded by fear that you couldn’t even think about fighting it, so absolutely consumed by this new, most instinctual panic. A frightening crescendo in the Spellsong, so unbearably loud in your core. Drowning, drowning, clawing at your own throat for something that wasn’t there. Voice breaking, heart breaking, teeth and gore and hatred.

If only we’d had more time.

A celestial being, struggling to breathe. The unfeeling terror of the vacuum of space. Every nerve singing with pain, overwhelmingly bright and crushingly dark all at once – your skin peeling away, blistered and burning as your heart turned to diamond and your eyes turned to ash, and this world and this plane and everything in it—

Goodbye, my darling.

-ceased to be.

I love you very, very m—

01001100 01000101 01010100 00100000 01001101 01000101 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01001101 01000001 01010010 01010010 01001001 01000001 01000111 01000101 00100000 01001111 01000110 00100000 01010100 01010010 01010101 01000101 00100000 01001101 01001001 01001110 01000100 01010011 00001010 01000001 01000100 01001101 01001001 01010100 00100000 01001001 01001101 01010000 01000101 01000100 01001001 01001101 01000101 01001110 01010100 01010011 00111011 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101

It starts…

…wait, it starts?

What?

Fuck, it feels like your head’s about to split in half. You crack one eye just barely open, before clumsily slamming your hands over your eyes with a weak hiss – it’s so bright, that single slice of sunlight, and it hurts.

Blinded, you can’t tell what’s happening at all. It feels like you’re lying down, something rough and painful scraping against your face and all down your right side, and through the insistent ringing in your ears you can hear something…. rustling?

It takes a few minutes for the worst of the pain to subside, but before long you’re able to peel one hand away from your face and push yourself up to sitting. Your head won’t stop spinning, but it’s progress, at least.

Timidly, you blink one eye open, peeking through your fingers just in case, but the worst of it seems to have passed. As your eyes adjust to the light, you realise where you are.

You’re… back in the park.

The roughness you were lying on is the paved path that you always follow on your way back home, and the unusual sound you could hear is coming from the trees overhead, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. It’s just as busy as it was earlier, and the humans walking past seem to be staring at you warily, collapsed in the middle of the path – hurriedly, you check that your human disguise is in place, but it turns out you didn’t need to worry. You were already camouflaged, just as you were when you last walked through here.

But – but how?

The terrible aching in your head is the only sign – you can’t find anything else wrong with you, physically or magically. How did you get here? What happened to you? And what’s that – that feeling…

Staggering to your feet, you ignore the stupid human onlookers and their stupid whispers. It doesn’t matter what they think, and it doesn’t matter how you got here. None of it bothers you, nothing can touch you now. All that matters is what happens next.

You’ve got to do what he said, you’ve got to run – there’s nothing left for you here any more, is there? They’ve taken it all, haven’t they? This place isn’t safe anymore – the Department will be hunting you now, they’ll be here any second, and you aren’t far enough from where – from where they – they—

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Looking away from the gates in the distance, back into the park, you can see the dark nest of trees that you’ll have to reach if you want to rift away unseen. It’s not far, maybe a little more than a hundred metres. If you ran, you could be gone in less than a minute. You don’t know where you’d go, but anywhere has to be better than here, right? You couldn’t possibly stay here, a fly desperately clinging to the web – he’d want you to escape, wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he said? That he wanted you to be safe, and leave him behind?

Can you leave him behind?

It’s ridiculous. Even if you went back, what would you do? You’d be walking straight into a trap for nothing. Demons dissolve when they die, magic scattered back into the universe – there’ll be no body for you to find. Even now, at this very moment, everything that made him will have already disappeared, never to return to you again.

He’s gone, he’s gone. You try to suppress it, but you can’t – in your mind’s eye, you can’t help but see it – your house, your lovely warm house, with the photographs you took hanging on the wall and the flowers blooming in the garden that he grew for you. Perhaps they’re still there, or perhaps they’re destroyed – perhaps you’re the only one who remembers them now. Are you all that’s left of your love?

You look towards the trees.

You’ll leave. You’ll leave this place and never come back, and they’ll never ever find you. You’ll leave and live and forget him, forget this cursed place and this cursed plane, and you’ll become something new. Something different and demonic and utterly unrecognisable.

It’s what you ought to do. He wouldn’t want you to be so… so sentimental.

The air freezes.

What’s happening? What’s happening? Déjà vu hits you hard and fast – your insides turn to ice as you reel, knocked backwards by the sudden weight of the memory.

Floating, falling, lighter-than-air. The balloon of your skull pops and you spiral into silence, unknown claws tearing at your middle and all your insides falling out. All the warmth is sucked out of the air in a second, your skin raw and tender as all the nerves there start to sing.

It’s that same thing you’d felt before, that crippling, burning absence that had told you something was wrong before. It’s exactly the same, every agonising ripple of loss that tears through your core – and before you can even realise what’s happening, you’re already running as fast as you can towards the house.

You’re definitely going too fast for anyone to think you’re human, but you really don’t care, leaving a trail of shouts and curses behind you as you push people out of the way. At one point, you’re fairly sure you phase right through a man who doesn’t get out of the way fast enough, and the almost-certain car crash that you leave behind as you dart across the road isn’t exactly the most subtle thing you’ve ever done, but there’s no time for that now.

The ward looms above you as you turn the corner, stretching up into the sky, and you tear aside the caution tape to hurl yourself against it with a bitter snarl, clawing and biting at the bouncy, stretchy surface until you can slice a gash big enough to let you through. It repels you at first, but you bare your fangs and push, jamming your body into the gap and squirming inside.

Briefly, you laugh to yourself – you’re doing it exactly as he taught you, but with none of his finesse or elegance. What would he say, if he could see you now? Something clever, you’re sure.

The ward tries to force you out, just like before, but you won’t be deterred. The Department’s warding is no match for the white-hot force of your desperate fury, slashing blindly at the thick layers of magic over and over again until they crumble away in front of you. Gradually, the blurriness of the barrier gets clearer and clearer, and although your core aches with the effort, you keep throwing yourself at it until it finally lets you through.

The scene that greets you, stumbling from the suffocating grip of the ward, is no less horrifying than it was before. Deltas everywhere, laden with guns and sprays and shock sticks, filling the street and advancing on the house. It’s like a nightmare, those terrifying dreams that humans have when they sleep – it feels like watching the end of the world. Unmarked vans full of faceless, heavily armoured soldiers are parked haphazardly across the road, a peaceful suburbia turned to a terrifying prison.

But hold on – why are they doing this? It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they be going back into the house, when you know they’ve alre—

Are you there, darling?

Blindsided, you stagger backwards as his voice echoes through your head. How is he…?

I can feel you, darling. You are there, aren’t you?

You must be going mad – what magic is this? It feels like him, exactly like him, as if he’d never been taken from you at all. How can this be happening?

Precious thing, you have to leave. Leave now, and you must not return. This place will never be safe for you again.

As the soldiers descend on your house, the same buildup of magic as last time fills the air, yet it barely registers in your frantic mind, smashed flat against the ward as the painful pressure swells and swells. Once again, you try to struggle against it, but it’s too strong. You can still see more humans throwing themselves at the house, even as others are engulfed in flame, or crushed by invisible force, or thrown screaming from the upstairs windows.

In the back of your mind, you realise that he’s saying it all again, the exact same way he had the first time.

I know it hurts, my sweet. I know. And I’m sorry.

The sound of gunfire, humans shouting, Your physical body starts to falter under the incredible force of magic pressing down on you, soft tissues disintegrating into nothing, and you watch in horror as your body starts to break down. Frantically, you flood your form with healing magic to try and reverse it, but it’s no good – the more magic you use, the less stable your body is, and the faster it erodes.

Is this how it ends? It would be poetic, you suppose. A second chance to live, and all you could do was die with him.

If only we’d had more time.

It’s getting harder and harder to think, crushed backwards against the unrelenting surface of the ward. As your body melts away, you smile with what’s left of your mouth, and close what’s left of your eyes.

Goodbye, my darling.

It’s not so bad. If you really concentrate, you can almost feel his arms around you once again.

I love you very, very m—

01010111 01001000 01001001 01000011 01001000 00100000 01000001 01001100 01010100 01000101 01010010 01010011 00100000 01010111 01001000 01000101 01001110 00100000 01001001 01010100 00100000 01000001 01001100 01010100 01000101 01010010 01000001 01010100 01001001 01001111 01001110 00100000 01000110 01001001 01001110 01000100 01010011 00101100 00001010 01001111 01010010 00100000 01000010 01000101 01001110 01000100 01010011 00100000 01010111 01001001 01010100 01001000 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010010 01000101 01001101 01001111 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01010010 01000101 01001101 01001111 01010110 01000101 00101110

It starts…

…well, you know.

Gasping for air, your eyes snap open as you sit bolt upright – the familiar sunlight sears your eyes, but the pain isn’t quite as bad as before. Air rushes back into your lungs, back inside your body and free of the suffocating force that only moments ago had held you, and even though you don’t technically need it, you’re pathetically grateful for the learned relief.

The pavement scrapes your palms as you push yourself to your feet. You’re here again, dumped back in the park just like last time, and as you look around – really, properly look around this time, you start to realise what’s going on.

It’s the same humans as before, the same breeze in the trees, the same clouds in the sky. It had been the same ward and the same soldiers, the same words in your head said in the exact same way. Déjà vu, on an unbelievable scale.

It’s a loop.

That’s what it’s called, right? A timeloop? Like the thing from that film you saw on the television, the one where the same day keeps happening over and over again, and they had to find a way to stop it. You’re stuck inside until you find a way to do some specific thing, and you’re supposed to keep repeating the day until you figure out the perfect way to do it.

(You’d asked Vega if these timeloops were real or not, some quirk of some branch of magic you’d never tried before, and he’d said they weren’t – just human flights of fancy. Oh, the irony.)

You can’t be certain that that’s what’s going on here, considering it’s only happened twice, whatever it is – wait, or is it three times? Should you be counting the number of resets, or the number of times the same things happen? Because they’re not the same, and if this is going to keep happening then you should probably make a decision on that sooner or later…

The air pressure plummets around you, earth swaying underneath your feet, and your mind is made up. Not about the stupid counting thing, that can wait – but about what all this means, what you’re going to do. For you, right now, the choice is clear.

You don’t know why this is happening, but you must have been put here for a reason. There must be something important you have to do, something that the universe can’t do without – something must be wrong, and you must have to fix it. Why else would this be happening to you, and why else would you, specifically, even know about it?

Nobody else seems to be clutching their head in timeloop-induced pain, nobody else seems to be crying and screaming about the existential horror of being forced to, perhaps indefinitely, repeat the same fifteen minutes of their life again and again. As far as you can tell with your limited knowledge, you’re the only one who knows.

There’s only one thing it could possibly be, one reason that you might be trapped here.

Vega.

You’ve got to save him. Whatever happens, wherever this leads, you’re going to get him out of there, no matter the cost. He’s too important to lose – to you, and seemingly to the rest of the universe as well.

Most likely, it’s something to do with his plan, his grand scheme to take back the Sovereigns for Aria. Could they be doing this? You can’t rule out the possibility. Who else would have the power to even try and pull off such an enormous magical feat? Time travel? You can’t even imagine how much magic it must be taking.

Then again, it’s not like it really matters who’s behind all of this. You’d do it no matter what. If there’s any chance that this could work, you have to take it. There can’t be a world without Vega – there just can’t be. It’s impossible. There’s just no way.

Goodbye, my darling.

You’ll fight for him, as hard as you can, for as long as it takes. He saved you, once before, and in doing so he gave you everything. You won’t fail him now.

The ground shakes again, and you start to run.

I love you very, very m—

01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 00101100 00100000 01001001 01010100 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01000001 01001110 00100000 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00101101 01000110 01001001 01011000 11000011 10001000 01000100 00100000 01001101 01000001 01010010 01001011 00001010 01010100 01001000 01000001 01010100 00100000 01001100 01001111 01001111 01001011 01010011 00100000 01001111 01001110 00100000 01010100 01000101 01001101 01010000 01000101 01010011 01010100 01010011 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01001110 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01010011 01001000 01000001 01001011 01000101 01001110 00111011

You keep running, and running, and running.

Loop after loop, you keep learning.

How many has it been, now? Fifty? Sixty? You’re starting to lose count. Every time, you try something new. You’ve given up on trying to maintain any semblance of humanity – something’s stopping you from rifting, but you abandon your disguise and let your demonic form take over, reaching the ward in about a minute and worming your way inside. After some experimenting, you’ve discovered that the weakest part of the ward is actually behind one of the houses on the opposite side of the street, so you’ve started aiming for there instead – it’s a little more difficult to get close to the action from there, but you’re iterating your way through finding a route.

You’ve tried to leave things behind, or leave yourself notes between loops so that you don’t accidentally forget anything, but nothing you do is ever permanent. Unfortunately, it all gets washed away at the moment you’re reset, so you can’t set things up in preparation for a future loop. It would be helpful if you could, but apparently it’s just not meant to be.

Right now, your focus is on trying to get into the house in time to help Vega escape. Something about the structure of this particular ward is designed to suppress magic use inside it, so you’re not as powerful as you should be, and it’s not possible to rift from inside the barrier either. You know you’ll have to get him out of the house and outside the barrier in time – but it’s not as easy as you’d hoped.

It feels like he’s set up a barrier of his own around the house that you’re not strong enough to break through on your own, and it’s blocking out almost all outside magic. That means you can’t talk to him and ask to be let in, or tell him about your plan, and it means you have to wait for the Department to break through before you’ve got a chance of actually entering the house.

You haven’t been able to figure out where in the house he’ll actually be, for when you do manage to get inside, but you suspect he’s in your bedroom, upstairs at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. It would make the most sense – even before all of this, it was one of the most heavily warded rooms in the house, and the physical distance between that room and the front door that they’re mainly attacking from gives him just that little bit more time to react before they reach him.

If he is there – and you’re fairly sure he is – then you can’t actually see him. It’s probably a good thing, because it means the Department won’t be able to see him either, but it makes your job a lot harder as well. You’ll have to figure out a way to sneak inside and convince him to come with you, then escape without being seen.

Goodbye, my darling.

If you could just get up to that room… but how?

I love you very, very m—

01001001 01010100 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010011 01010100 01000001 01010010 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 01011001 00100000 01010111 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100111 01010010 01001001 01001110 01000111 00100000 01000010 01000001 01010010 01001011 00001010 01010111 01001000 01001111 01010011 01000101 00100000 01010111 01001111 01010010 01010100 01001000 00100111 01010011 00100000 01010101 01001110 01001011 01001110 01001111 01010111 01001110 00101100 00100000 01000001 01001100 01010100 01001000 01001111 01010101 01000111 01001000 00100000 01001000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01001000 01000101 01001001 01000111 01001000 01010100 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01010100 01000001 01001011 01000101 01001110 00101110

It’s been days. Weeks, perhaps, or maybe months. You’re not sure.

Loops upon loops, the same neverending fifteen minutes. Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred – or is that six hundred thousand? It’s a good thing you don’t need to sleep.

You’ve managed to get a little closer, but it’s still not enough. You’ve tried to get in through the garden, through the back door, through the secret entrance to the basement Vega made that only you and he have ever known about. No matter what you do, you just can’t reach him in time – gunned down in the kitchen by the Department, burned alive as the hallway fills with fire, blown to bits when a grenade comes sailing over the fence and scatters you across what used to be your very neatly-kept lawn.

There’s just so many of them, filthy rats swarming through the street, flooding your house like the disgusting vermin they are. The stupid magic-dampening effect of the ward makes it almost impossible to cloak yourself for long enough, and there’s almost nowhere to hide once you get close enough to the house.

Electrocuted, clubbed, impaled, dismembered – and not enough magic to put yourself back together. You die every time, and you remember them all.

(You don’t know if the loop resets when you die, or when he dies – but with no way to record any proof for the next loop, there’s no way to tell. It doesn’t really matter that much, seeing as you – for obvious reasons – can’t do anything after you die, and whatever magic Vega does seems to wipe out everything inside the ward, including you and him at roughly the same time. So, in a very real sense, there’s no actual benefit to knowing. You’re just curious.)

Vega still says the same thing, no matter what you do, and you always hang on to his every word, no matter how much it hurts. It feels… comforting. Knowing that he’s so close, that you’re almost, almost there – a hopeful reminder that one day, this will all be over, and he’ll finally be yours again. He says goodbye as your broken body fizzles away into nothingness, and the agony of death is almost worth it to hear him again.

Goodbye, my darling.

It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Two immortals, cursed to hear each other die over and over again. There’s a joke in there, one that if you weren’t so tired, you could probably think of. You’d say something clever, and Vega would laugh. He’d give you that mischievous, knowing smile, and slip his hand around your middle, and lean down to kiss you even though you’d have to hide your demon fangs and tongues because there's humans watching.

Waking up doesn’t hurt any more, though. So, you know. That’s something, at least.

I love you very, very m—

01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 00100111 01010011 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010100 01001001 01001101 01000101 00100111 01010011 00100000 01000110 01001111 01001111 01001100 00101100 00100000 01010100 01001000 01001111 01010101 01000111 01001000 00100000 01010010 01001111 01010011 01011001 00100000 01001100 01001001 01010000 01010011 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01000011 01001000 01000101 01000101 01001011 01010011 00001010 01010111 01001001 01010100 01001000 01001001 01001110 00100000 01001000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01000010 01000101 01001110 01000100 01001001 01001110 01000111 00100000 01010011 01001001 01000011 01001011 01001100 01000101 00100111 01010011 00100000 01000011 01001111 01001101 01010000 01000001 01010011 01010011 00100000 01000011 01001111 01001101 01000101 00101110

It feels like years. Centuries, even.

You feel old. The blinding, neverending sun, dust gathering in the tiny creases of your palm. Your body doesn’t age, but your mind feels ancient – you haven’t seen the night in what feels like a million years. Has your life been longer inside the loop, or out of it?

You don’t give in.

Iteration after iteration, you keep trying. At times, you can’t help but feel like you’ve tried everything – that every possible option has been exhausted, that there’s just no way. That you’ve searched everywhere, killed everyone, heard and seen and done it all, and yet still it’s not enough.

Everything is always exactly, exactly the same. It used to be comforting, but now it’s just infuriating.

You’ve wondered if the secret might be to stay outside the ward altogether – if maybe you going inside distracts Vega in some way that means he always dies, or if you should try to dismantle it from the outside in the hope that it would force the Department to retreat and regroup. But, alas, neither of those ideas work either, any of the hundred or so times that you try them, and all that happens is you end up right back at square one.

There have even been loops where you don’t try anything at all. Instead, you’ve tried to make sense of the loop itself, figuring out how it works and where its limits are. As far as you can tell, the loop is always reset at the point when Vega dies, expending all his magic to shatter the ward from within, killing anything and everything that’s inside. You don’t know what happens after the ward breaks – presumably all of that force escapes outwards, devastating the surrounding area and likely wiping half the town off the map.

The loop also seems to have a sort of physical boundary, one that you’re unable to cross by physical or magical means. It’s roughly circular, with the house at its centre, extending about three or four kilometres in all directions. You can travel freely within it, but you can’t leave and you can’t signal anyone or anything outside.

You can’t rift – you can’t even open a rift, let alone travel through it, which you privately suspect to mean that there’s someone or something very powerful running this whole thing. Like this, you’re entirely cut off from Aria, and far away from anyone who could help – even the Spellsong sounds weak and strange, on the edge of changing key. How could such a thing be possible – what could have the power to do that?

Throwing yourself against the wall, the same impossible wall, forever. Who do you have to thank? Who do you have to blame?

The memories are a little less clear than they used to be, but it doesn’t stop you from dreaming. Dreaming about the life you used to have, the slow, golden days from before it all began. Are those days still there? Will they ever come again? Or is this all that’s left, now – is this the most you’ll ever have?

He still says it, even now – even when you’re not inside the ward, his voice still finds you. He tells you to go, to save yourself. To leave him behind. He says goodbye, time and time again, and you never let it stick.

Even after all of this, every torturous decade that passes in the prison of your stolen time, you can still picture him exactly. Every detail of his face, his form, his smile. As if he were right there, right in front of you. As if this had never even happened at all.

Goodbye, my darling.

The tiny bubble of eternity, stretching out in all directions. Does he smile as he says it? Or does he cry, and you’ve just never known?

 I love you very, very m—

01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 00100000 01000001 01001100 01010100 01000101 01010010 01010011 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010111 01001001 01010100 01001000 00100000 01001000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01000010 01010010 01001001 01000101 01000110 00100000 01001000 01001111 01010101 01010010 01010011 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01010111 01000101 01000101 01001011 01010011 00101100 00001010 01000010 01010101 01010100 00100000 01000010 01000101 01000001 01010010 01010011 00100000 01001001 01010100 00100000 01001111 01010101 01010100 00100000 01000101 01010110 01000101 01001110 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01000101 01000100 01000111 01000101 00100000 01001111 01000110 00100000 01000100 01001111 01001111 01001101 00111010

The park, again.

You’re fairly sure you have the first part nailed down. After an uncountable amount of tries, you’re certain this is the fastest way to reach the ward. You need to revert back to your demonic form, with its elongated proportions and affinity for speed, and brace yourself to phase through the humans and cars and buildings that stand between you and the weak point in the ward.

This time, you’re going to try mind manipulation again. If you can just get a few more of them under your control, and take out the one who shot you to death from across the street last time, you might be able to hold them back a tiny bit longer…

Your human disguise disappears in an instant – teeth splitting and sharpening into fangs, bloody horns piercing through your scalp as they bloom out of your skull, and the screams around you begin. Good. It means they get out of your way quicker.

Smiling to yourself in grim satisfaction, you turn to run. There won’t be any obstacles in your path until you get closer to the gate, so you can just—

It’s you.

…What?

No, no, no.

This can’t be right.

You’ve seen this all before, every single part of it, every moment in excruciating detail. A closed system, a circular world, repeating over and over again. Nothing ever changes, and nobody but you can remember it.

Something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong. Never in a million million tries, a million million loops – not once, not ever has this happened before.

There’s a voice in your head. You can’t move.

Of course it’s you, the voice marvels, and you can feel someone behind you. Someone magical. But how? There’s never been anyone magical here before. Ever.

Your nonexistent blood turns to ice at the sound of quiet footsteps, starting to circle slowly around you. Sharklike. Predatory.

I should have known.

Slowly, whoever-it-is steps into your field of view, and you frown as you try to figure out where you’ve seen him before. Because you have seen him before, haven’t you? Why does he seem so… so familiar?

He’s a demon, that much is clear – his tail sways slowly behind him as he walks, and long, pointed claws catch the afternoon sunlight as he flicks his hair out of his eyes. His horns aren’t as tall as Vega’s, but they seem to be well-maintained and shiny. For some reason, it takes a little more effort than it should to make your eyes focus on him, like the world goes a little bit hazy around his edges.

He reminds you a little bit of a Concubus, although you can’t quite put your finger on why. Maybe it’s something to do with the way he walks, effortlessly smooth and steady, or the way his presence seems to draw you in without even trying. He’s not especially tall or short, and his features conform to mostly-human proportions – his fingers aren’t so inhumanly long like Vega’s are, his fangs not nearly as sharp or numerous, and his eyes don’t have the black sclera that you’ve come to favour. There’s just something so irresistibly, fascinatingly beautiful about him that leaves you unable to look away.

(Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you remember Vega saying something about an incubus. Or did you read it in his file? Oh, come on, come on – what did he tell you? It’s right there, on the tip of your tongue…)

(Hm. It’s probably nothing, and you’re probably wrong, but you just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you’re forgetting.)

It’s weird, though. He looks so much like a demon, but he doesn’t feel like one. There's emotion there, certainly, but which ones – and why can't you tell? Your aura fizzes and pops as it touches his, like it’s unsure what to make of him, and the air tastes like a strange kind of energy you feel like you should recognise. It soaks into the song of your being, the invisible space between the stars, like something primaeval and powerful – an ancient, inevitable force.

He catches your eye, and something splinters in your mind as he smiles. Involuntarily, your legs give way underneath you, and if his magic wasn’t still keeping you upright, you’d be in a graceless heap on the ground.

Maybe you were wrong. He’s no demon, no ordinary one at least. He’s something new, something strange and ethereal, reality bending around him like light around a black hole. A walking, talking law of the universe – wearing a demon’s crown, and looking so very, very familiar.

You’re not… His mind is uncomfortable to speak into, multicoloured static filling your head like an ache, but you struggle through it anyway. You’re not from here.

I suppose.

The not-demon raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow, looking you up and down. But, to be fair, neither are you.

A twinge in your chest, a niggling, scraping feeling in the back of your brain. You’re hardwired for the adrenaline of the chase, for the mission you’ve been fixed on for so long – it’s unnatural, to still be here in the park for so long.

I have to go. He needs me.

Is that so? muses the not-demon, pretty lips twisting into a wicked smirk. Are you sure?

He opens his hand to reveal what looks like a pebble of some sort, perfectly round and black and smooth, before tipping his palm and letting it fall.

I think he can wait.

Shocked, you stare as the pebble doesn’t fall at all – instead, it just hangs immobile in the air, frozen at the very moment that it left his hand. There’s no telltale ripple of psychokinesis that you can feel, no illusion cast over your senses. It’s like time just… stopped.

Seeing your surprise, he sighs, and leans slightly to the right. Behind him, the rest of the world is frozen, too. Humans caught mid-step, mid-smile, mid-breath. Trees that blow in the unmoving breeze, clouds that hang suspended in the breathless, staring sky.

A creature who controls time. Is he the one who’s behind all this?

I – I don't understand.

Your voice is so small as you try to push down the fear, the instinctive sense of danger that flickers wildly in your core. Who are you? And how did – what do you mean? How do you know me?

He shrugs, strangely casual. I know everyone.

But – but…

I know everyone, and I know everything, he says evenly, unblinking as he walks slowly towards you. I know every word in the world, every note in the Spellsong, every drop of blood and blade of grass that there ever was or will be. Little demon, I know every thought you’ve ever had, every speck of stardust that ever formed you, and I know how every single moment of your entire existence will end.

Paralysed, all you can do is watch as he stops just in front of you, expression utterly impassive. What is this? What is he going to do to you?

So, I have a question for you.

He leans forward, closer and closer, until his face is right in front of yours. Staring up at him in terror, you want nothing more than to back away – but you can't, you can't, trapped in his inescapable web and entirely helpless.

He sighs, sadly.

Does it ever work?

…Hang on.

Well, you’re not sure what you were expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn't that.

The not-demon continues, inspecting every tiny facet of your confused face like he might find his answer written there. It's not that I don't think it's admirable. It is. But don't you ever get tired?

Does it… work?

He nods. Yes.

I don't… You're so, so lost by this whole conversation – what on earth is he talking about? I don't know what you – what do you mean, ‘it’?

Oh, don't lie to me.

He says it lightly, waving his hand like it's a joke, but there's something sharp and steely just under the surface. Call it ‘professional curiosity’, if it makes you feel better. I want to know, and I’m asking you nicely. Does it work?

His gaze has turned hungry, almost manic in its intensity – reflexively, your magic recoils from the tidal wave of power that surges inside him, towering over you like a tsunami, jaws open to swallow you whole.

Tell me, little demon, ‘cause I want to know. Is it worth it? Is it better?

This change in him – is it mania, or is it madness? The realisation blossoms in the back of your petrified mind, fault lines in the frozen surface of the sea. This – this creature, whatever he is, that feeling that you couldn’t quite explain.

Does it make you happy, hm? Holding on so tightly to your quest, forever. Tell me the truth, if that's what this is – because your ignorance doesn't look very blissful to me.

It wasn't just fury, and it wasn't just fear. Yes, yes, you can taste it now, sweet and tart on your paralysed tongue. It's heat and blood and savage need, it's sweet revenge and desperate, ravenous desire – this is a man driven out of his mind with passion.

You’re not scared, are you? Of a little question like that? the man spits, like sour acid splattered across your skull. No, I don’t think so. So answer it, and answer me – are you pleased with what you’ve done? Is this the eternity you always dreamed of?

You can't move, can't breathe, can't think. It's like staring into a black hole, this incredible force looming closer and closer. You have to run, why can't you run? Your mind stutters, buckling under this crashing, crushing weight of stress and terror and confusion.

I don't know what you mean, you sob, wanting nothing more than to rub your eyes as hot, scared tears finally spill over. What is this – who are you? I don't know, I don't know – I want – please, Vega, I – I just want – Vega, Vega, I need—

The not-demon says nothing, face utterly blank as he just watches you cry. It's embarrassing – you can't help the awful wailing that tears its way out of you, every fraction of your being screaming out for help. You want him to go away, why won't he just go away? You don't want to be here, you don't want to talk about it, you don't want to be alone – you want Vega, Vega, Vega!

Lovely Vega, wonderful Vega – he's so safe and kind and precious to you, and you need him so much. You don't want to be scared. He keeps you safe from being scared. He should be here, but he isn't, and it’s not right, it's not right! Why can't he just be here?

Nothing moves. You cry and cry and cry, and it's the only sound in the whole wide world.

So you don't know.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, before he reaches out to slowly take your hand in his. Of course. Of course you don't.

It's strange, but he doesn't feel warm or cold – it's like his skin is exactly the same temperature as yours. All you feel is the pressure as his fingers fold around yours, both hands enveloping your own, and sweet magic ripples across your face as your tears suddenly dry up all on their own, as if they were never even there.

I’m sorry.

Why does he look so… so sad? It's frightening.

I thought….I thought that maybe you could have been like me, he says quietly, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth over your knuckles. Apparently not. Although, maybe it's for the best.

He smiles mournfully, and tosses his head in a mock show of vanity. You can have too much of a good thing, you know.

There's a sudden sort of crumbling, crunching noise, like an eggshell cracking, and your whole body drops to the floor like a stone as the paralytic magic holding you up collapses. Caught unawares, you only just manage to avoid landing flat on your face – he's still holding one of your hands, and you barely manage to get the other one underneath you in time to save you from a very nasty nosebleed.

Careful, now.

He watches you scramble to your feet in amusement, before swiftly looping his arm with yours and guiding you the wrong way down the path – well, the wrong way to you, seeing as you always go in the opposite direction. Walk with me, won’t you?

It’s not exactly like you have a choice, but you nod anyway. Okay.

As you walk, time begins to move again, but much more slowly than it should. You pass a jogger, running in slow-motion in the opposite direction, and for some reason you get the tiniest, nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right about her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the not-demon reaching out a curious hand towards the ground, and you watch as a dandelion growing by the side of the path is plucked from the earth and summoned to his fingers.

You’re confused. Was that psychokinesis? It looked like it, but it didn’t feel like it. If you had to be specific, you’d say it felt less like a physical manipulation and more like a psychological one, closer to telepathy or dreamwalking or something. But that can’t be right, can it? What kind of magic could he be doing, that seems one way but is actually another?

Regardless of your astonishment, he catches the dandelion out of the air and twirls the stem between his fingers, to the left, then the right, then the left again.

It’s a lovely world, isn’t it?

You nod warily, unsure what to make of all this. It seems best to just let him talk.

He holds the dandelion up to the sunlight, narrowing his eyes as he examines all of the little fluffy seeds, a soft white bubble atop the skinny, green stem, neatly sliced at the bottom from where he’d picked it.

I wonder…

Bringing it back down, he blows gently on the puff of seeds and watches as they come loose, fluttering in slow-motion through the air and leaving the bare stem behind. Some begin to fall to the ground much more quickly, while others are carried away by the wind, slow like air bubbles rising through thick honey.

So detailed, he murmurs, as he watches the seeds tumble away with the breeze. It’s remarkable.

Surprised, you turn your head to look at him. Detailed?

It's a strange word for him to choose – surely the world is just… like that? This is just how Elegy is, with all its rules and laws and creatures. What an unusual thing to say.

He doesn’t elaborate, but just keeps walking. You’re carried along by his arm in yours, a melancholy mockery of the way Vega used to walk with you, and you can’t help but close your eyes as the sense of loss swirls up inside you once again. So near, and yet so far.

I wish things had been different, you know.

At first, you’re not sure who said it. Then, you catch sight of his face, and realise he’s wearing exactly the same expression as you.

It’s not that I regret it, as such, he says wistfully, but I wish it hadn’t come to… this. To all of this.

His tail curls thoughtfully from side to side, just barely noticeable at the edge of your vision. When I noticed it, I thought that this might have been the answer I was looking for. A solution, at last. Or the model for one. A way that I could fix everything, for good.

Sunlight glitters off his fangs. All I wanted was what I used to have. What was taken from me.

There’s something hard and ruthless in his voice as he says it, form blurring ever so slightly at the edges. Not enough to really notice, but you feel the tremors of escaped emotion stirring in your own core as if they were your own.

Perhaps they are. You must not be as different as you’d first thought.

His words in your mind, full of longing, rhythmic like a prayer. I wanted it back – that life, that world, where nothing ever went wrong. I thought I would be willing to give it all up, if I could just have that world back.

Your shirt flutters in the slow breeze as you pass a woman walking a dog, holding the lead in one hand and her phone in the other. She shivers slightly as the two of you stroll past, and that irritating feeling of forgetting something tingles again in the back of your mind..

I wouldn’t want power. What would I need it for? the not-demon continues, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes as he gestures mindlessly in front of him with his free hand. I’d give up everything. I’d let the universe spiral off in its own direction, let it tear itself apart the way it always seems to want, and I’d just keep that tiny little piece all for myself.

Idly, he reaches up and flicks his hair out of his face with a single, pointed claw. He seems distracted. You’d wager that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

I’d keep just enough to hide myself away, keep my little, perfect world protected, and I’d live forever in that little bubble of time where nothing could ever go wrong again.

He laughs humourlessly to himself, a quiet, grim little thing. Sorry. I think what I mean to say is… thank you.

Time stops.

You’re not just saying that – it really does stop again. Nothing moves except for you two, no sound except for your quiet footsteps on the path, slowing down.

Me? But I…

Something like dread crawls up your spine, slow and creeping. I haven’t done anything.

No, he replies calmly, you haven't. And I understand it now. Your little experiment – it hasn’t worked, which means I need to find another way.

Sorry, your what?

You must have heard him wrong. You must have. There’s no way he actually – there’s no way he means that.

I’m sorry, you manage to choke out. ‘Experiment’?

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything. In an instant, you’re seeing red.

You mean this whole time – time thing? The looping? you hiss, suddenly furious. It’s been nothing but an experiment?

He shrugs, suddenly cagey. In a manner of speaking.

How did you…? You don’t care who he is, or what he is, anymore – all you care about is tearing his stupid fucking head from his shoulders. This has all been a test? Hundreds of years of torture, losing your mind in the prison of this neverending spiral, and it’s never meant a thing?

What have you done to us? you scream, words turning to raging radio static as you hurl them into his head. What have you done?

What have I done? I’m hurt, little warden, he gasps, and that name, that name – right word, wrong voice, and it burns your skin like hot oil. For once, it’s not my fault.

Then whose is it? you snap, fingers twitching, simulated blood simmering with rage. Who do I have to blame?

Infuriatingly, he has the nerve – the nerve! – to just roll his eyes and keep walking. You won’t like it when I tell you…

You won’t like me if you don’t fucking say it, you spit, sharp claws digging into his skin as you try to struggle out of his grip on your arm – but he’s stronger than he looks, practically dragging you along by the elbow, and you can’t even draw blood. Who is it? Tell me!

Of course it’s got to be difficult, he mutters to himself, and your aura flares in fury at his exasperated tone – like you’re just a child throwing a temper tantrum. Why does it always have to be difficult?

He finally lets you go, and you skitter backwards away from him on pure instinct, your form swaying and changing constantly as magic rolls beneath your skin. Claws lengthening and shortening, blood freezing and melting, bones stretching and contracting. You can feel your magic surging, pressing against the bounds of your physical body, seething with your desperation to destroy.

You’re making a scene.

The man stands still, regarding you with what you can only describe as a miserable sort of rueful pity, and it makes you even angrier. Actually, I suppose that’s sort of the problem.

He knows you won’t respond, head too full of rage and mouth too full of fangs. I thought you would have realised, by now, but I guess not. Didn’t you think it was odd, how nobody noticed us?

The question takes you momentarily by surprise, before you realise what he’s talking about. Of course. You’re always in your demon’s body nowadays, so you quickly learnt to tune out the screaming. It hadn’t even occurred to you that nobody was panicking, at seeing two adult demons, horns and tails and all, walking through the park.

I thought it might be better if we weren’t disturbed, he says gently, hands raised slightly like he’s trying to soothe a cornered animal. I thought you might want to be alone when I told you.

Your laugh is a horrible, screeching thing, wild and frenzied as it forces its way free of you. Told me what? Told me that none of it was real – that this has all just been a game to you? That you’ve been playing with us for some sick amusement?

That’s not—

The air around you starts to shimmer as it heats up, grass just barely on the edge of catching alight. You say you know everything – you have no idea what it’s like! How many times I’ve died for this, for him – you don’t care! It doesn’t matter to you how much we’ve suffered, how hard I’ve tried, because it’s all just some fucking joke to you, isn’t it?

You think you can just take him from me? you spit, venom pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin. He’s mine. And you could never understand what it’s like, to do what I’ve done – what I’ve had to do! Do you think it’s easy, to have him dangled just out of my reach, dying over and over again when I can’t save him?

The earth stands still and watches as you howl your grief at this monstrous, stone-faced stranger, utterly silent except for the ragged breaths you don’t even need.

The only creature in this world I could ever truly love, and he’s dead, you laugh, manic tears running down your face. He’s dead! He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s just gone, and I can’t follow him.

Shuddering with rage, you stalk forwards, thinking only of one thing. Is that what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to see? What it looks like to be cursed with false hope, forever? Your fucking experiment worked, then, because you will never, never know how it f—

I do know!

The man’s voice shreds through your body as he screams, a shockwave of sparking, glitchy static forcing you back several metres into the grass. Of course I fucking know!

Stunned, all you can do is reel as your mind is overwhelmed with emotion, washing over you like a tidal wave and knocking you flat on your back. Something like electricity courses through you, locking up every muscle, the stinging crack of a lightning bolt as it spears you to the ground, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—!

Is this how he truly feels? Is this what drove him mad? You gasp for air against a raging torrent of grief, white-hot and agonising, consuming every atom of your being in torturous fire – images flash by, too fast to see, leaving only the impression of a handful of flowers and a lonely, sunlit grave.

It feels like your mind is too big for your skull, excruciating pressure as it fills with voices, vying against the Spellsong for control of your form – you feel as though even your demonic nature, that most base of things that creates you, begins to falter under the hellish weight. It’s morphing, changing, all the magic in your body burning up as it turns from the bubbling, aching lust that formed you into something else, into this starving, sobbing desire that roars into the empty sky.

You are made again, full of fury and love and sorrow. You are your mission, single-minded in your quest, a ravenous force and a never-ending power, seeking only to regain a world that is no more. This universe is yours, turned inside out at your will, and… and…

…hang on. This isn’t right.

Blearily, you try to force yourself back into your own brain, struggling to form the thoughts that you know should be there. There’s a lie – a false memory, that you should have seen coming from a mile away. That’s not how you came to be, that’s not the right story. You weren’t formed from lust. You’re an Inchoate, not a—

Concubus, you breathe, and the illusion shatters.

It takes a little while to come back to yourself.

When you do, you’re still lying there in the grass. Your tail is digging uncomfortably into your back where you’re lying on it, and your gums ache from your fangs constantly lengthening and retracting, but you’re still you.

There’s the soft sound of footsteps, and a hand appears in your vision. Grudgingly, you take it, and the man pulls you to your feet.

Sorry about that, he says sheepishly, the tip of his tail curling from side to side in faint embarrassment. I, um… well. You know. Sorry.

Time seems to still be frozen – no feeling of the breeze in your hair, or sound of the leaves in the trees rustling faintly. The sun is high in the sky behind you, and you wonder how you ever missed that he casts no shadow.

It’s you, isn’t it? you marvel, as the pieces fall into place. The incubus he told me about, the one who brought him to the Department in the first place. That was you.

It’s strange. You don’t have nearly enough evidence to prove it – it’s not like he’s the only incubus in the world, and Vega never showed you what he looked like, or even told you his name. He only ever mentioned him once or twice, back before you escaped. But for some reason, it just feels right, something instinctive deep down inside, telling you that it’s the truth.

He nods, wry smile playing across his face. I think his exact words were ‘you human-loving pathetic little upstart worm’ at the time, but yes, ‘incubus’ will do. That was me, a very long time ago.

Did you know, back then? you ask, curious. That he would come to me?

Not at the time, no, he replies. But, well – you know what they say. Everything happens for a reason.

You gesture vaguely with one hand at the lazy world around you. Even this?

Even this.

He ducks his head, looking strangely remorseful. And I meant what I said: I am sorry that I have to tell you. But you deserve to know, and it wouldn’t be right to keep it from you.

You’re about to protest, but he shushes you first. I know. I’ll explain everything, I swear. All you have to do is close your eyes.

Warily, you look around, but nothing has changed. Yet.

What are you going to do?

I won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about, he says. Close your eyes, and just listen to me. Listen to my voice.

Hesitantly, you do as he asks. You can still vaguely sense your surroundings as your aura gently reflects off of them, feeling the grass beneath your feet and the leaves of the trees above you, and you can feel that the incubus hasn’t moved at all.

(Is he still an incubus, after everything you saw? Probably not. But he still hasn’t given you his name, so it’s the best you can do.)

I don’t want you to think, he says solemnly, I just want you to answer me honestly. Alright? However feels right – the first answer that pops into your head.

Okay.

Good. Where are we?

You nearly open your eyes out of reflex, caught off guard by the bizarre question. …What?

Nope, it wasn’t a joke – he sounds serious. I mean it. Where are we? Where is this place?

It’s – it’s the park. Near my house.

The incubus clicks his tongue in understanding, like he hadn’t known. The park, right. And your house! That’s very good. But where is your house, exactly?

Well, it’s close to the park, you reply, still confused. Shouldn’t he know that too? It’s only about ten minutes’ walk from here, back the way we came.

Ten minutes… I see. You can’t see it, but you’re fairly sure you can hear the minute sound of him nodding his head – the tiniest friction of skin and hair and fabric, and you strain your ears to try and focus on it. But if I want to go there and visit you, I’ll need more than that. Remind me what street your house is on?

Uh… I mean, it’s definitely nearby… It’s just on the tip of your tongue – fuck, what street do you live on? You know how to get there, but the name… If you turn right, then left, then keep walking, it’s sort of straight ahead.

Right and then left? Ah, I know the one, he muses, before his voice turns all puzzled. He sounds sad, and that feels… wrong, somehow. You don’t want him to be sad. But there are lots of houses on that street, aren’t there? And I wouldn’t want to get the wrong one. So what number is your house, then?

Oh, it’s number… You go to say it, but the answer isn’t there. Lost in thought, you snap your fingers like it’ll help you remember – because you do remember, obviously. It’s your house! Of course you know which number it is!

It’s, um…

There’s an uncomfortable pause, as he watches you try to rack your brain for the right number, and you start to get more and more embarrassed the longer it goes on. Come on, come on, why can’t you think of it?

Eventually the incubus just gives up. You know what, it doesn’t matter, he murmurs reassuringly. That was kind of a difficult question. Shall we do some easier ones?

Relieved, you hastily agree. Yes, please.

Alright. Alright, we’ll do that.

He thinks for a second, before humming quietly in satisfaction. You know what, why don’t we talk about Vega for a little bit, hm? That sounds good. You like Vega, don’t you?

Mmm, Vega. You smile dreamily at the name, letting the incubus’s low, calming voice wash over you. Yeah.

Yeah? Mm, I know, he laughs, not unkindly. And I can see why. He’s so handsome, isn’t he?

Mm-hmm. Vega…

Without even having to try, the thoughts fill your mind – the image of Vega’s form here on Elegy, and the warm feeling of being bathed in his astral aura. He looks…

Even after all this time, you can picture him as clearly as if he were right here in front of you. The gentle curve of his horns, long hair pulled up high, falling messily past his face and down his back. Tall and lithe, elegant fingers tipped with savage claws, the sly curve of his tail as it sways lazily back and forth. In your head, sweet blood drips from his fangs, gore smeared indulgently across his face and down his neck, running down over his chest, a slick, shiny trail that leads lower, and lower, and lower…

  Dark eyes and a darker smile, ever knowing – ever hungry. Vega’s is a cruel sort of beauty, and no matter how long his absence, it never fails to captivate you.

He’s so pretty, you mumble, only barely aware of the words. He looks so nice.

Oh, I’m sure he does, replies the incubus, and you can hear the indulgent grin in his voice matching your own. And he’s so clever, too! Don’t you think he’s clever?

You nod, because it’s true. Very clever.

Clever and beautiful… I see, I see.

The incubus gasps theatrically, like he’s surprised himself, and you find yourself hanging onto every little sound. Ooh, but he’s got big plans, hasn’t he? Lots of ambition! And I do like that, in a man.

You can’t help but laugh delightedly at the way his voice dips all low and flirty when he says it, like a special secret from a best friend. But he’s not all work and no play, is he? That would be pretty boring. I bet he knows how to unwind, when he wants to. Is that right?

Absentmindedly, your hand drifts up to your neck, fingers pressing gently over the tender shape of Lyra that you know is there. It stings slightly, fresh as it is, the deep bite of his namesake star sitting just where your pulse ought to be.

Yeah, you breathe, only slightly embarrassed. Yeah, he does.

Obviously you can't see it, but you can practically taste the wicked smirk that spreads across the incubus’s face at your admission. Mmm, I thought so.

He starts to move, circling slowly around to your left, the quiet echo of his footsteps on the concrete floor. He even found the time to get married, didn’t he? That’s pretty impressive. And he found himself a real catch, too – you know, I heard the wedding was something very, very special indeed.

Your wedding ring suddenly feels like it weighs a ton as he mentions it, enormously conscious of the weight on your finger that you’d almost forgotten was there. So sorry I couldn’t come, by the way. But is that true? Did you have fun?

Oh, your wedding day… Hadn’t it been so wonderful? Flowers and ribbons and confetti everywhere, like a great big birthday party, and all those floaty, happy feelings you got to gobble up from all the people watching you. Vega’s lovely words to you – the special promises you made, to be together forever and ever. And the music! That big piano thing that the lady played for you, so loud and sweet-sounding, the whole song of your being singing along.

Even after you and Vega had left the ceremony, you’d still had fun. He’d carried you in his arms back into the room you’d passed through earlier, the one with all the balloons and chairs and decorations, and shown you the cake he found – it was the tallest cake you’ve ever seen! It had so many layers, and it had lots of flowers made of pink sugar stuck to the sides. There were two little figures made of sweet-smelling stuff on top of the cake as well, that were shaped a bit like humans, but you hadn’t really been paying attention to them.

You’d really really wanted to try some, but you hadn’t seen any sort of spoon to eat it with, or a knife to cut it with. And perhaps you could have made one with magic, but you couldn’t really be bothered – so instead, you’d reached out and excitedly clawed a handful of sweet cake out from the front, scooping it up into your mouth and enjoying the rich, buttery redness that had been hiding inside.

Vega had refused at first, but he’d relented when you’d taken a second helping and offered it to him, neatly taking a bite out of the red and white chunk of cake and icing sitting in your palm. He hadn’t wanted any more after that, though, so you’d helped yourself to the rest, burying your face in your palm until half your face was smeared with all of that sticky, gooey goodness.

Oh, it had been so delicious! You’d been tempted to take the whole thing home with you, but that would have been quite greedy – and you did already have plans for dinner, so you’d just settled for taking one more handful, as well as some of the sweet flowers from the sides of the cake as a snack.

Red velvet flavour, Vega had said after you’d got home, sugar flower dissolving on his tongue, peering at the list of cake flavours he’d found on the computer screen. How…. unpleasant. Why would humans even want to eat that?

You’d been so confused. Is velvet the shiny one? I thought they made music out of that.

No, I think that’s ‘vinyl’, dear, Vega had replied, although he’d looked a bit unsure. It’s the one that’s mostly smooth, but a little bit fluffy. Like a sort of fabric, I believe. Did you think it tasted like that, darling?

You’d shrugged, too preoccupied with licking the sugary, cakey mess of crumbs and icing from underneath your claws, making sure not to get any of the red stuff all over your nice white clothes. Whatever it is, it’s nice. We should find some more.

Lost in the lovely memory, you startle as the incubus quietly clears his throat, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing around the room – shit, you were meant to be answering a question, weren’t you?

Lots of fun, yeah, you say happily, rocking softly from foot to foot in content. He’s so good to me.

Yeah? Oh, I bet he is, laughs the incubus, slowly coming around to your other side from behind you. Real husband material – you want to hang onto that one, for sure. And I bet he took you on a hell of a honeymoon, didn’t he?

You start to reply, but then you realise you don’t know what to say. Did you have a honeymoon? You must have done…

The air is cold and still, and you can hear every near-silent swish of the incubus’s tail as he walks, the tiny sounds of the building settling around you. No? Hm. That’s funny. I could have sworn you two went on holiday somewhere… And pretty recently, too. Don’t you remember?

Holiday, a holiday… why does that sound familiar? Did you go somewhere special with him lately? Did he take you anywhere unusual…?

It would have been pretty late at night, wouldn’t it? the incubus continues, thoughtful, and you let his voice lead you back into the maze of your memory. Yeah, that’s right. It would have been dark outside, and he’d have led you inside, wouldn’t he? Maybe by holding your hand? Or asking you to follow behind him?

Now that he mentions it, that sounds… yes! Yes, you remember! Walking side by side with him in the dark, streetlamps overhead as you’d got closer and closer to the building – oh, and how he’d said to stay close to him…

You remember going inside, don’t you? You’d just gone inside, and you were looking for the stairs. Do you remember the stairs?

He’s right, you had been looking for the stairs. How could you have forgotten? You’d been trying to find a way to get downstairs, to see what was going on. You’d been curious. Why had you been curious?

But you didn’t find the stairs. You saw someone instead, didn’t you?

Someone unexpected, someone who shouldn’t have been there…

A strange man, someone you didn’t recognise.

He’d been so odd. Saturated with magic, but no sound at all – singing with no voice, a terrifying emptiness where something ought to be.

The incubus speaks again, low and gentle. And he was scary, wasn’t he? You were so, so scared. Because it was frightening, there in the dark, talking to that strange, scary man.

Yes… you murmur, shivering in the chill of the empty room. Yes, I remember…

But it was okay, wasn’t it? he asks, and there’s something indescribable in his voice that you can’t quite name. You got away. You held Vega’s hand, and you turned and ran, as fast and as far as you could. You ran all the way outside into the night, and you kept running until you could run no more, and then you rifted away.

You start to agree, but there’s a strange sort of friction in your mind when you do. Is that not what happened? Why does it feel wrong?

No, you manage to force out, but the words are slow and painful as your eyes fill with tears. No, I didn’t hold Vega’s hand.

The incubus nudges your aura gently with his own, a silent question. You bite your lip to stop it trembling so much, and let him take you in his arms as you start to shudder uncontrollably.

Why not? he whispers sadly, and this time, you know he already knows the answer.

Streetlights flickering outside. I couldn’t.

Why?

Cold concrete under your feet. There was nothing to hold.

Why?

Because he wasn’t there, you wail, and the corridor is filled with the airless song of your grief. He was already dead.

Silently, the hazy spell of the incubus’s voice falls away, and you open your eyes. Not to the trees and sky and earth of the park that’s near your house, but to the grim, dark grave that is the CloseKnit headquarters, and the moment that the world itself ceased to be.

You’re back.

The incubus holds you softly as your body convulses with awful, aching sobs, lowering you gently to the ground when your legs start to give way and you can’t hold yourself up any more. I’m so sorry, he murmurs into your mind as he kneels with you, rocking you back and forth as you cry uncontrollably into his shoulder. I’m so sorry, little warden.

It’s torturous, how the memories come back all at once, as if they had never gone away. The sheer, absolute panic of that moment, of seeing the empty space where Vega had been only a fraction of a second before. How you’d felt something give way deep inside you, some buried well of power so immense and vital that to even think of it was to fall apart – all you remember was a sharp flash of light, brilliant and blinding, and the sudden feeling of falling.

A sickening crack, your body and your mind splitting open as magic poured from your being, rending the very sky and the entire universe that hid behind it. Nothing had been real, nothing had mattered – only you, only the murderous, vengeful fear that filled you, the agony of your terror and the fury of your fear.

How? you weep through tears, not trusting your voice to come out as anything but a screech. How could I forget? I thought – I really, really thought he – that it…

That it was real?

He quietly shushes you as you start to keen, pressing his face to your hair. I know. I know you did. And it’s not your fault. It did exactly what you designed it to do.

You couldn’t bear it – couldn’t bear to believe that it could even be real. That such a world, such a cruel and awful world, could ever come to pass. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be allowed.

Your body spasms and twitches uncontrollably as you cry, all messy and wet. Just another thing that’s out of your control.

You couldn’t believe that he could be taken from you, the incubus whispers, words full of the terror you can’t say. It was impossible, surely? For him to just… disappear? For everything he ever was or ever would be to have vanished in an instant, leaving you behind?

It had all been so fast. Trembling behind him, peeking out over his shoulder at the horrifying, empty shape of that – that creature, that thing. One second he was there, and the next…

Dissolving into the air, returning to the Spellsong as if he had never existed at all – the ring on your finger that suddenly had no pair. You hadn’t even seen his face.

Poor, sweet little warden. The real world was too horrifying, so you dreamed a new one for yourself instead. You needed comfort, you needed to be safe – so your mind took you to the one place in the world where that could be true.

But you couldn’t quite forget, could you?, the incubus muses, sounding strangely proud. Or perhaps… fond, in a bizarre sort of way. You had to make sense of it somehow. You had to explain to yourself why he wasn’t there, and why he never said goodbye. So you dreamed that too – a Vega who was still alive, but always out of reach, and whose last words were that he loved you more than anything.

Held tight in the incubus’s arms, your form trembles erratically, magic desperately melting and setting over and over again to try and keep up with the emotions that flood through it – even the air temperature starts to change, heating up and cooling down with every wave of grief.

Your hair grows long and limp, hanging miserably to the floor to hide your face, before suddenly getting shorter again with every spike of rageful sorrow that flares in your heart. Layers of fat and muscle writhe like snakes under your skin as it flickers between colours, freckles splattering themselves across your back before they fade just as quickly, and your whole face aches as everything moves – your eyeballs changing shape in their sockets, your cheeks splitting as your mouth widens, then sewing themselves back together when it narrows again.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, again and again forever, just to hear those precious few seconds of his voice again. To hear the words he never got the chance to say.

What do you look like now? Would Vega even recognise you at all? Acid tears burning trails down your face, searing tiny divots in the concrete when they fall. Try as you might, you can’t make your body stay still.

The incubus shakes his head sadly. You just couldn’t let him go. You couldn’t accept that there might ever come a time where you and he would have to be parted, so you clung to whatever pieces of him you could, whatever hope you could find.

His voice comes to you as if underwater, muffled and dim, and you feel as though you truly are lost in the darkness of the sea. A creature of the deep, sunken to the seafloor, tiny fish picking at the soft tissue until there’s nothing left but bones. Soon all you’ll be is sand, nothing but grit and stones rolling in the current, floating adrift and never to be put back together again.

The ultimate escape, your very own one-more-chance – if the only way out is to do the impossible, then you never have to leave. What else is grief, but love that doesn’t realise it’s already dead?

He smiles blackly, and you feel the still-tender bite marks on your neck start to burn. The most perfect prison, for the warden of demonkind’s worst. You really do never fail to impress.

A car that doesn’t go, and a cake you didn’t make. It’s all gone now, and you’re the only thing that’s left – an impossible spectre, risen sobbing from the grave. Buried under the weight of the life you thought you’d have, crushed under the rubble of a peony and a picket fence.

You don’t know how long you spend there, a puddle of limbs splayed across the concrete, crying your endless eyes dry. Perhaps it’s a day, or a year, or a century. Perhaps you’re there forever, never leaving, never stopping even for a moment. It’s impossible to know.

What do I do?

Brokenly, you nudge the words into the incubus’s mind, begging that he’ll have an answer. I don’t – I can’t, I don’t know how…

The words don’t come, but the incubus seems to know exactly what you wanted to be able to say. You don’t know what comes next, he says softly, and perhaps you don’t even know if there is a next. What could possibly come after this? The world has already ended. All you know is grief, and you can’t imagine a time when that grief is not your entire mind.

Creatures of emotion, and the magic that follows it. The great curse of demonkind, that we must become our love.

You feel sick. There’s nothing left. He’s gone.

The incubus pauses for a second, before sitting back slightly and tilting your head up so you can see his face. Gone, you say?

Where else could he be? you mutter, with a voice like smashed glass. He’s nothing, now. I can’t feel him, not at all.

He shrugs, face carefully blank. I guess.

Your sore eyes narrow. What’s that supposed to mean?

You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? Whatever it takes, whatever has to happen, for you to see him again.

He lets out a deep breath, a faraway look in his eyes. You don’t care what it is. You don’t care what it’ll cost. Reality means nothing, if it keeps you from him – you’d tear the world apart to find him again. In fact, you already have. He’s the only thing that could ever matter any more, and he’s the only thing that could ever satisfy the awful emptiness inside.

The half-smile on your face probably looks more like a grimace. How did you know?

Didn’t I tell you before? I know everything.

He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. You and I aren’t as different as you thought, little warden.

Does it change anything? you scowl, pathetically trying to cover your pain with frustration. No matter what I say, he’s no less dead.

Yes, well… His gaze flicks to the right, sliding sideways off of yours. About that.

He sighs.

I have a… a theory, I suppose. Untested. I can’t say it’ll work for sure.

A theory? you repeat, suspicious. What theory?

Look, he admits, it’s something of a work in progress. I think it does what it’s supposed to, but I haven’t had the chance to try it out yet.

What does it do?

The incubus clicks his tongue, claws drumming quietly against your arm.

I’m looking for someone. Someone I lost, a little bit like you.

He blinks, suddenly thoughtful. Actually, a lot like you, now that I think about it. Hm. In any case, I want to bring them back – and I think I know how.

You stare up at him, perplexed. If you know how, then why wait?

There’s… well, there’s a lot that could go wrong, he replies gingerly. Messing with reality is a tricky business, little warden. If I’m not careful, it could do all sorts of… unpleasant things. Things that I can’t allow to happen.

There's an unspoken question there, and you have a horrible feeling that you know what it is. That you know what this has all been leading up to.

You want to try it out on me, you say. On us.

If you wouldn’t mind…

He says it so casually, picking lazily at his claws like he’s talking about the weather. Not to be rude or anything, but when we’re talking about magical experiments that might permanently delete us from every dimension of the universe, I do have some suggestions as to which of us should go first.

Ah. There it is. That’s why he’s hesitating.

Is this really what you want to do?

If this goes wrong – and for all you know, it will go wrong – you might end up completely destroyed. Past, present, and future. You’d be removed from time entirely, and the world would simply go on as if you���d never existed. You’d never have coalesced, never have gone to Elegy, never have met Vega at all. A new universe, one less star in the sky.

Would that be better? Would you even know you’d disappeared? Would anyone really miss you, if you had never existed in the first place?

For a rational mind, it’s dangerous – too dangerous. But what’s the alternative?

If you say no, what comes next? You’ll have to pick up the pieces, and learn to live with everything that’s happened. Knowing what you know now, you’ll have to find a way to live without him. You’ll have to make your own way, on the run from the Department – will you take up Vega’s mission in his stead, to fight for the survival of your species? Or will you crack under the pressure, faltering and failing alone, abandoning the fate of demonkind to someone else?

A world without Vega. You can’t even imagine it.

By all logic, you should say no. You should – but this chance! How could you live with yourself, if you threw away your only hope at bringing him back? What could possibly be left for you, in this new, terrible world, that you wouldn’t trade for the chance to see him again?

You’ve already lost everything. There’s nothing left to risk.

I think…

The incubus raises an eyebrow, pointed tip of his tail brushing his hair out of his pretty face, and your broken heart aches.

I think you already know what I’m going to say.

He smiles, wide and only a little sinister. I can see why Vega likes you.

In the back of your mind, you can very nearly hear some sort of dull, droning noise – a low, glitchy buzz like electricity. Your skin starts to itch, and you can feel some of your hair start to float as it goes all staticky.

The demonic mind is a funny thing, the incubus continues solemnly. If you had the choice, would you want to remember this? Or would you rather not know?

I don’t want to forget.

The answer is obvious – you don’t even have to think about it. I don’t regret it. Any of it. I don’t regret fighting for him like that, and I don’t regret who I’ve become. And if the chance ever comes for revenge…

The incubus nods, and you can feel his satisfaction mirroring your own. You want to know why you’re doing it.

Of course.

And all it cost…

He trails off, lost in thought, and you have the strangest sort of helium feeling in your head, your body growing almost imperceptibly lighter. You really do love him.

Light sparkling off the diamond on your finger, shattering into streaks of bright red and electric blue. I do.

Then remember him, little warden, the incubus murmurs, as everything begins to flicker and fade, colour leaking out of the world around you to leave only black and white and grey. Remember him, and let me do the rest.

He closes his eyes, and the humming, buzzing sound in your head gets louder. It clicks and cracks like the radio, a familiar sort of whirring sound underneath it, like the soft friction of something spinning. A record, perhaps? Or is it something else?

As the noise thrums through your body, you fix Vega’s image in your head as hard as you can, filling your mind with thoughts of him and the world you want to wake up to. His voice, his face, the feeling of his form curved around you as he holds you close to him. The song of his being, sweet and swirling, harmonising with yours.

Bloody fingerprints on the fridge door, claw marks gouged into the arm of the sofa. Wisteria growing up the trellis, stacks and stacks of spare hairbands in the bathroom cabinet. The shape of Lyra brands itself into your mind, the dim light of a fading constellation – and the radiance of your own namesake star cries out in return, reaching into the chattering sky like a lighthouse staring out to sea.

The static feels like a storm, strange winds blowing you from side to side as the noises grow. It’s getting more and more difficult to see, but you feel it as the incubus lets go of you, standing up and starting to walk away. Something about it sends an instinctual pang of fear through your body, and you hurriedly call after him.

Wait!

The figure in front of you turns, features beginning to blur until you can barely picture his face in your head – even though he’s right in front of you, you find yourself struggling to remember what he looks like.

Is this the end? you shout, desperate in a way you don’t really understand. Will I ever see you again?

He laughs, summer light and sunshine easy, and it sounds like a farewell. Who’s to say? he calls back to you, and you notice that he’s unmoved by the wind that beats furiously against your body. Perhaps, if this works, we’ll meet again someday. In a world where both of us can get what we want.

The gaps between your thoughts are getting longer, splintering and stretching, dissipating out into the universe like stardust. Reality twisting beneath you, swallowing you up, ever expanding and entirely unknowable. You can feel it, just barely – time turning back on itself, things and places and people not the way they were before. A new world. A new reality.

As your body crumbles into electric dust, you can feel that you’re almost gone. Your voice has nearly vanished, a blocky jumble of noise that tumbles away in the storm, but you know he hears you all the same.

I look forward to it already.

As your mind begins to dissolve into static, through the sandy, glitchy storm you can just about make out the shape of the mysterious incubus, silhouetted against the collapsing universe, and blowing you a kiss with the tip of his tail. Then I’ll be seeing you soon, little warden.

01001001 01000110 00100000 01010100 01001000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01000101 01010010 01010010 01001111 01010010 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01010101 01010000 01001111 01001110 00100000 01001101 01000101 00100000 01010000 01010010 01001111 01010110 01000101 01000100 00101100

And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

01001001 00100000 01001110 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01010111 01010010 01001001 01010100 00101100 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010010 00100000 01001110 01001111 00100000 01001101 01000001 01001110 00100000 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 01000100 00101110

Recipe for undying love (REVISED):

Add dread, rage, and sorrow to a bowl, and mix until a smooth dough forms. Chill in the fridge for at least one hour, then roll out it on a flat surface until thin and use it to line a loose-bottomed tin.

“I… I think I did the wrong thing.”

Line case with baking parchment and cover with baking beans. Bake at 200°C for 20 minutes or until crisp, then leave to cool completely on a wire rack.

“I can’t make a mistake… but I made one.”

Mix together denial and agony in a large bowl, then slowly add faithfulness. Stir continuously until fully incorporated. If mixture splits, add a small amount of vengeance and continue stirring.

“His magic is still there. At least part of it. Maybe enough.”

Separately, add misery, regret, and a pinch of self-loathing to the bowl of a stand mixer, and beat until soft peaks form. Fold in beaten ingredients to original bowl, then transfer to case.

“I have to go back.”

Dust generously with terror, and refrigerate for at least four hours, or overnight, until fully set.

“Doc.”

Remove from fridge approximately fifteen minutes before serving. Best served chilled with double cream, caramel, or chocolate sauce.

“Will you come with me?”

You knew the risks. Can be kept in an airtight container for as many cycles of your self-inflicted timeloop as you can stand, or until the reality you came from is manipulated enough to force your husband’s killer into bringing him back from the dead.

01010111 01001000 01000101 01001110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01010011 01000001 01011001 00100000 00100111 01000100 01001001 01010011 01000001 01010000 01010000 01000101 01000001 01010010 00100111 00101100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01001101 01000101 01000001 01001110 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000001 01010100 00100000 01000001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01000001 01001101 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01001110 01001111 00100000 01001101 01001111 01010010 01000101 00101110 00001010 01001101 01011001 00100000 01010011 01001111 01010101 01001100 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001010 01001111 01001001 01001110 00100000 01010111 01001001 01010100 01001000 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 01010010 01010011 00101100 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001110 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01000001 01010000 01000001 01010010 01010100 00101110 00001010 00001010

human nature masterlist

peaches and cream masterlist

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

[bonesandthebees]

Hi Bee! You seem to read a lot of books, and I've been trying to get back into reading books rather than fanfiction as of late (which is going good atm). I used to read a lot of actual books when I was younger, but once I was a pre teen I'd discovered fic and had trouble reading actual books unless I had to for school lol. Anyway, my question is do you have any book recs? While for right now, it is going well, I only have two books I'm planning on reading after I finish the two I'm reading simultaneously right now. So it'd be nice to have some more for once I finish those as well. :D

Another reason for my wanting to get back into reading actual types of books is studying a more formal written literature to improve my writing, and to observe what author's do with their writing style that I'd want to incorporate in my own writing. If you have any tips for studying/observing, I'd also love some of those.

While this doesn't really have to do with the whole book thing, I just wanna say that you definitely inspired me to want to write more. Most of your titles always sound so cool and make me wanna read anything of yours solely based off them, and your plot, descriptiveness, metaphors, Greek mythology references, and so many other little things about it make it so enjoyable to read and something I'd strive to be within my own writing. A little silly, I know, considering it's MCYT fic, but your writing is genuinely so cool.

That's all I wanted to say, bye bye.

this is so kind thank you!! it seriously makes me so happy anytime someone tells me my silly fic writing inspired them to start/improve their own writing. writing is such a beautiful art but it's also a skill you have to put so much time into. you're off to an amazing start already with recognizing that you have to read published novels to improve your writing. it seriously helps so much.

I can definitely give you some recs! I'll put them under a read more, but since you asked for tips when reading novels:

try to pay attention to things you like and don't like about the author's writing style. like if you're reading a novel and there's a line of description that's particularly gorgeous or sets a scene super well, consider annotating the book with a pen or highlighter or if you don't own the book itself, copy down the line/paragraph somewhere (notebook, notes app, smth like that) to refer back to later. or if you find yourself super immersed in a conversation going on between two characters, take a step back to notice how the author writes out the conversation. is there a lot of physical description of what the characters are doing while they speak that lets you picture th escene easily? or is the dialogue rapid fire back and forth which forces you to just be sucked into it? what about it do you like?

or, on the contrary, if you find yourself struggling to enjoy a book try to notice what about the writing style is pulling you away. is there too much flowery description that makes you want to skip ahead? is there too much exposition so you feel like you're just getting an infodump instead of a narrative? take stock of what your own thoughts are as you read and then try to figure out why that is.

also, a tip I heard once is that you can always try to emulate a specific style. if you want to improve your writing and you just read a book with a writing style you really want, maybe try and write a random scene in that same style. it doesn't have to be anything original or even good, no one ever has to see it, it can just be for your own practice. just keep the book beside you and try to pick out what makes the writing style distinct, and try to emulate that. not saying you have to adopt that style, but just trying out a new style can give you some variation to help you develop/improve your own.

okay now book recs time, this'll get long so putting it below

now you didn't specify what kinds of books you like to read so I'm going to just throw in a few from a few different genres I've read. most of these are books I've recced here on my blog before but they're all a bit scattered so I'll rec them again. now, I mostly read fantasy or historical fiction because I just like those genres but I'll try to include some variety here

Genre: Fantasy (Typical Medieval)

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

one of my all time favorite novels. incredibly expansive fantasy worldbuilding that draws from a variety of cultures that's not exclusive to just europe. of course there's one country that's fantasy england, but you also have countries that take inspiration from asia, africa, and the middle east. you follow several characters that vary in age, race, gender, sexuality, etc. and they're all wonderfully fleshed out and fascinating. the story itself is also just fantastic and the world really swallows you whole. there's also a prequel to this called A Day of Fallen Night that I actually think I liked a bit more than Priory, but I'd recommend reading Priory first because it's easier to get into the world through that one whereas ADOFN is a bit more dense.

Genre: Fantasy (Apocalyptic? Sci fi? Kind of?)

The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin

similar to priory, the fifth season is a masterclass in worldbuilding and creating interesting worlds. that's where the similarities end though. technically speaking The Fifth Season is a fantasy and not a sci fi, although it feels more like sci fi to me tonally. The Fifth Season explores a world that is so regularly tormented by apocalyptic natural disasters that everything is formed around survival and it makes for such an interesting culture. the story also does an incredibly interesting and unique thing with POV that I rarely see in novels so that's also super fascinating to dig into for writing study. currently reading the sequel to this one and I love it so far.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Hild by Nicola Griffith

alright if you really wanna stretch some writing/reading muscles this is definitely a book you can try out. but be warned, it is dense. I'm a fairly fast reader and it took me so much longer to read this than I was expecting just because of how dense the writing is. this story takes place in 7th century Anglo-Saxon Britain so there's a lot of Old English words thrown in, and while there's a glossary at the back it doesn't cover everything. this is a really interesting novel though that dives deep into the time period and the specific life of one girl as she grows up at the heart of the political machinations of the Anglo-Saxon kings. really great if you're like me and think learning a lot about what life was like in this time period is super fun, but I could see it being a drag for people not super into history like that. I still think it's a really good story though on its own, especially with how the main character is characterized as she grows up, and how it represents all the politics going on at this time

Genre: Satire/Dystopian Fiction

Chain Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah

I'm including this because I'm trying to give you a bit of genre variety. If you want to read an adult dystopian book for our modern day this is definitely an excellent one to pick up. warning, it's incredibly effective as a dystopian novel because all I felt was dread and fear after finishing it. it takes place in the near future where the prison industrial complex has been combined with the entertainment industry. prisoners who are serving a sentence of either 25+ years or life are given the option to compete in televised gladiator style death matches. if they survive 3 years, they'll be released. the novel is incredibly on the nose and not subtle whatsoever about it's criticisms of capitalism and racism, especially the racism that the prison industrial complex is built on. the horrifying thing about reading it is how easily I could see this becoming a reality, especially the brand sponsorships. it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time because of how ridiculous but realistic it was.

Genre: Mystery/Thriller

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

And here we have my all time favorite novel. this novel is a great example of unreliable narrator and how to tell a story two different ways. if you don't know the twist for this already, go into it blind, I promise it'll be more fun that way. the premise of the story seems simple—the morning of their 5th anniversary, a man's wife goes missing and the story follows his attempts to find her. but it gets way messier than that. this novel is an excellent example of how to characterize horrible people and still make them enjoyable to read about. also, if you're like me and enjoy media about two shitty people having an unhealthy and fucked up relationship, you'll adore this.

Okay that's a lot so I'll stop there for now, but feel free to pop into my inbox if you want anymore recs! especially if there's a specific genre you're looking for. if I've read anything that fits what you're looking for I'd be happy to throw it your way!

[a-fluffer-nutter]

Spied On

A/N - Finally finished the fic for Day 14 of Tickletober lol. The prompt was "Lose," which isn't as incorporated in this fic as other prompts have for the others, but a loss does happen so...lol. So the main reason behind this fic is that my favorite fic I have ever read is from the one and only @wigglygiggler and while they aren't on Tumblr much anymore, I would still like to say that "You're a Sneaky One" is my favorite fic, so I made this, a kinda sequel to it. I've always wanted to do a TF2 fic, so why not use my inspiration from Wiggly and put my own personal spin on things. Here is a Sniper x reader fic and I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 3,815

            Engine rumbling, you rode your motorcycle over the dip in the driveway, slowing down to a sluggish stop once in front of the RED base. Pocketing your keys, you ripped off your helmet and placed it on the leather seat of your ride before smoothing out your messy hair.

            “Hello, darlin’,” your eyes flicked up at the sound of Engineer’s southern drawl, having heard you arriving well before you parked.

            “Evening, Dell,” you smiled, smoothing out your jacket as you approached.

            “What do we owe the pleasure?” Engineer asked expectantly. Normally, as Miss Pauling’s assistant, you arrived with a truckload of supplies, ranging from medical equipment for Medic to gun supplies and ammunition for most everyone else. Today, it was clear you had other business to attend to.

            “Heard your teleporter is acting up,” Engineer stepped in line with you as you walked back in the direction he had come from, knowing exactly where the broken machinery was. Withdrawing a small USB from your pocket, you flashed the drive as you as your expression slipped into one of neutrality. “Got your fix right here.”

            “Good, t’was buggin’ me that I couldn’t get it fixed,” he shrugged his shoulders as you smiled to yourself, always having appreciated that the man was the only merc that could recognize his own mistakes and shortcomings. If only the others were like him, your work would be so much easier.

            “Firewall glitch, it seems. At least that’s what the higher ups said,” the USB clicked into place as you finally managed to insert it, making at least four attempts of spinning the drive around and failing to get it in the hole. Growling to yourself, the screen lit up vibrantly before you stepped over to stand in front of it.

            “Figures,” Engineer mused, his voice trailing off as he walked off somewhere behind you. As you began to furiously type in your credentials, a shrill screech rattled your teeth. Turning around, Engineer was almost right on you, dragging a folding chair. “For you, dear.”

            “Heh, thanks,” appreciating the gesture, you took a seat, your back instantly thanking you. Before driving here, you had assisted Miss Pauling with burying more bodies than you could count, the damned system dedicated to despawning corpses on the fritz…again. Having had no time between that job and this one, you had swiped a few baby wipes from the van and cleaned off any traces of blood and guts that you could find coated on your figure. You knew you smelled like a bloody daycare, but working with the mercs was like own one, so it worked.

            “It’s you!” your temporary peace was sliced with a knife when Scout’s voice pierced the silence between you and Engineer. Of course, you didn’t dislike any of the mercs, the completely opposite in fact, but Scout was…loud and distracting. A delightful conversationalist when you sought one out, but when you were focused on something important, like fixing the teleporter so these mercs could stop bitching to Miss Pauling about not having access to good liquor, Scout was a bit of a nuisance. And by the sound of his voice, it seemed like he was intent on getting under your skin that evening.

            “Hey, Jeremy,” you sighed, having no plans on humoring him today. The faster you could get this done, the fast you could eat and by helping them out, you knew the mercs would invite you to join them for dinner and that meant…

            “I heard a rumor about you,” fingers stilling, you stared at your reflection on the screen, noting the clear annoyance in your eyes before continuing to type.

            “Ah?” was all you could say, beginning to exit out of the program you were in. As you started to reboot the system, Engineer leaned over to see what you were doing, knowing you had to be nearly done. He was the only person that deeply appreciated your knowledge of technology and computers, and while you were never going to be an expert in munitions and defensive traps like he was, there was still an appreciation for the skills you had.

            “You have a boyfriend,” flinch visible to both mercs, Scout began to point and laugh at you. Inhaling sharply, you wished for the reboot to go faster, your ears warming to a cool pink.

            “Bold of you to say that as you’re the reason why Miss Pauling doesn’t come by anymore,” Engineer countered, taking the words straight from your brain.

            “It’s not my fault the Administrator is a bitch that can’t appreciate a perfect love story,” you let out a huff of a laugh as the screen relit, the system live. “Though it would be a damn shame if I told her that you were smitten for a certain somebody.”

            “Fuck off, Scout,” you uttered through your teeth as you began running a system diagnostic program, making sure your work was a success. While you were on a first named basis with both Scout and Engineer, you would switch to using their titles when upset, specifically with the younger man.

            “What they said,” Engineer gestured to you with his thumb, the rest of his fingers folding into a fist. Engineer was a saint and for that you were thankful. As he desperately tried to draw away Scout’s attention from you, a green bar inched across the screen; the program nearly finished.

            “But Engie, don’t you want to know who our friend here is into?” Scout’s voice lowered into his version of a sly purr, which sounded more like a dying kitten than a suave cat, though you knew the bastard thought he was hot shit.

            “Does it really matter?” Engineer’s mouth was as straight as a heart monitor connected to a vampire, his patience wearing thin, which was hard to do, as he was certainly one of the most patient of the mercs. Glancing over at the screen as it let out the victorious noise of a scan finished with no errors found, you and Engineer let out a sigh of relief. All you had to do was get the teleporter to send you one burger, and you would be free.

            “I think a certain man from down under would like to know,” Scout leaned closer to you, his mouth nearing your ear.

            “And done,” you stood up suddenly, knocking Scout back as the teleporter flashed to life, the desired burger rotating an inch above the tray. Eyes wide, you looked straight at Engineer, trying your damnedest to avoid making eye contact with a now ornery Scout. “I’ll go get the others and tell them it’s time for dinner.”

            “Sounds good,” Engineer drawled with a smile, watching you hastily head toward the closest door, wanting to get as far away from Scout and the entire situation as fast as you could.

---

            “Here you are, mon amour,” Spy poured you another glass of wine, one out of his personal collection. The man found your taste in wine and “finer beverages” up to par with his own tastes. Thus, whenever you were able to stay for a meal or even a few minutes, Spy would emerge from his room with a bottle in hand.

            “Thank you, Spy,” you smiled politely, glad to feel a bit pampered, despite the company you were keeping. Picking up the glass, you took a sip, appreciating the sour, yet crisp notes of the crimson colored wine. Spy had said the winery that this wine had come from was his hometown, though he had said this about most wines he had given you, so you knew the man was just messing with you. You never cared, as you enjoyed the man’s company, being one of the only mercs you could have a formal conversation with. He was also the only merc that would offer you wine after consuming an ungodly amount of fried food such as tater tots and French fries.

            “Bien entendu,” Spy replied as he took your hand and planted a kiss on each of your knuckles, an innocent act that you could tell had another meaning, as you had noted a specific glint in his eyes as he placed your hand back on the table. Drawing you hand away, you gave him a short nod before standing.

            “I should be going,” your voice was calm and polite, despite the chaos starting behind you.

You stood in the foreground of the beginning of a spat between Soldier and Demoman, the drunken Scotsman taking offense to Soldier’s suggestion of ways he could do better during their next match. While Soldier did not specifically blame Demo for that day’s loss, he did have many opinions on how things could have gone better, and based on what you had heard, most of these suggestions weren’t too extravagant. Having seen the entire match from your desk, you knew that everyone had performed poorly, though you would never say those words out loud. All the mercs liked you, of course, but if some of them heard you say this, they wouldn’t hesitate to skin you like a trophy elk.

Bottles shattering against walls acted as your theme song as you walked out of the room, narrowly avoiding Pyro’s boot that was thrown dangerously close to your face. Without flinching, you were a battle hardened warrior trudging through a warzone. Nothing could faze you.

“Don’t stay too long!”

Only one thing could faze you.

Sighing, you pushed Spy’s final comment to the side. You knew that Scout hadn’t been the one to tell him, the bastard doing his best to learn every little thing about his rival had certainly overheard one of your conversations with the man outside. Spy probably lingered outside the van as you stayed the night, watching you rush away early in the morning to get back to work, not wanting to be tardy as the Administrator would definitely use her power to find out what caused your delay. Thankfully, Spy would never get you in trouble with the Administrator, liking you too much to get you terminated, in both meanings of the term. Who else would he share a drink with in the evenings?

Turning back around to take in the mischief and hedonism taking place, you let yourself smile before slipping out the door.

---

Moon waning, the lot was dark as you made your way to your intended final destination for the night. Falling asleep was never really your intention, but it was always so hard to leave him, especially now that the two of you had come to terms with your mutual infatuation.

Familiar click resonating in the vast emptiness of the night, a small smile flickered onto your face. A warm light sliced through the darkness as a door to the camper van opened. You could never get the jump on him, even if you were intentionally being as silent as possible, though after being mutilated by and mutilating enemy spies for quite some time now, the man was always hyper aware of his surroundings.

“Hello, love,” your voice was soft, not wanting your words to be picked up by the wind, though you knew it reached its target. A gentle hum was heard from just inside the camper, the ray of light now partially impaired by a thin, shadowy silhouette. The figure hopped down onto the cool asphalt, small pebbles crunching beneath his boots as he turned on his heels to lean against the fan, eyes scanning your figure. 

“How can you even see with those on,” sarcasm dripping from your words, a smile crept onto his face.

“Ya being insensitive. What if I told you they were prescription?” heart fluttering, you homed in on his words and thick accent, finally being able to hear it again after a week of busy work away from the base.

“Are they?”

“Oh, fuck no,” you let out a soft laugh as you had closed the distance. Now within arm’s reach, he drew you in with one arm around your waist. Placing a hand on his chest, you looked up at him and any chill from the night air vanished.

“Oh, uh,” cheeks growing warm, you had suddenly remembered your interactions with Scout and Spy from earlier. Nervously glancing over your shoulder, you stammered, “Ah, inside. Let’s…inside the van.”

“Right,” noticing your hesitation, Sniper scanned the lot, checking each window before ushering you around the back of the van, taking your hand to help you step up into the vehicle. “Best go in. Keep the mozzies off us.”

Shadowing you, Sniper did one last scan of the base before shutting the doors, then out of caution, locked them before turning back to you. He would never intentionally lock you in anywhere, not wanting to overstep a potential boundary, but with your sudden bout of anxious energy, he figured it was for the best.

“You alright?” you let out a long sigh before turning back around to face him. Sheepishly, you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Yeah,” you replied with less confidence than you had hoped for. “Fucking Scout, man.”

Brows arched; Sniper gestured for you to take a seat before he made his way to the fridge. Never needing to ask, Sniper withdrew two bottles of beer and placed them both next to you. Taking a seat on the other side of the bottles, Sniper leaned over to grab his kukri. Quicker than you thought was possible, the bottle caps flung across the van, rolling away for him to find another day.

“Scout knows about us,” you finally finished your thought, brain switching back on as Sniper handed you a bottle, the wisp of chilled vapor dancing in front of your face before you took the drink from his hands. “He would stop hinting at it while I was working with Dell today.”

“I’ll skin the bastard if he says anything,” Sniper tipped his bottle back, letting the chilled liquid slosh past his lips. “Kid’s got a big mouth. Maybe I’ll have a word with him before he spreads the goss around.”

“I can deal with Jeremy,” you sighed, mirroring Sniper’s actions as you took a swig. “It’s Spy I’m worried about.”

“Spook’s been watching us?” Sniper’s natural frown deepened. “Explains why you were all worked up.”

“He didn’t follow me when I left, but he certainly implied he had before,” you groaned, letting yourself relax enough to fall into Sniper, your head resting on his shoulder. “Demo was having a fit when I left. Started fighting Soldier by throwing bottles and shit. The loss today really fucked with a few of the guys.”

“You should’ve heard Soldier when we got back. Bastard wouldn’t stop following Heavy around. Something-something about wasting too many bullets or some shit,” Sniper’s head tilted down so it rested against yours. “If it wasn’t for Medic, Soldier’s arms would still be on backwards.”

Softly giggling, you slipped your hand on Sniper’s lap, finally feeling completely relaxed. The days since last spending time with him had dragged on, and you kept having to drag yourself out of your childish daydreams while on the job. You had been living for today, and now it was all paying off. His larger hand rested on yours the second you squeezed his thigh, running his calloused fingers over your knuckles with a gentleness that still shocked you, despite having grown close to him. Watching him through the monitors every day, ruthlessly killing any member of the opposing team he could spot, it was occasionally hard for you to separate the man you loved and knew and the persona he wore when working.

“No offense, but all of you looked like shit out there today,” a low chuckle resonated from deep in Sniper’s chest.

While your focus was always on the monitors that featured Sniper, you still had work to do. Analyzing each of the merc’s actions, you had a spreadsheet that detailed each major success and blunder for each person for each round. Rarely talking about your office life with the mercs, you did like to occasionally remind them of their faults when you are particularly irritated by one of them. It was always funny, until the man laughing was the one you were criticizing. Today, your notes were numerous, writing more than you had in over a month.

 “Was an off day for everyone,” Sniper shrugged, your head rising gently with the movement. “Dunno why. I was probably off since I hadn’t seen your pretty face in a while.”

“Dork,” you teased, squeezing his thigh again, but a bit closer to his knee. Leg jumping unexpectedly, you drew away to sit up. “Did I hurt you? I don’t remember you getting injured before the match ended.”

“S’fine,” Sniper grumbled, avoiding your look of concern. Put off by this action, you crawled a bit closer, leaning around to get a good look at his face, as he turned away. Lips pursed, you were about to chastise him for lying about an injury, until you saw the redness of his cheeks.

“Oh,” your voice dropped, then your lips contorted into a sly smile. Hand back on his lap, you squeezed the same spot, “You’re ticklish here too? For one of the most ruthless mercenaries in the world, you’re pretty damn ticklish, now aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, much to your amusement. Mischief beginning to overcome you, you reached out and traced a finger down his exposed neck. Choking back a laugh, Sniper instantly whipped around and grabbed your wrist, holding it away. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Since when was it illegal to make my boyfriend laugh?” you teased, reaching your other hand out to tweak his hip.

“Is that what I am?” grin slipping onto his face, your words played in his brain like a broken record player. Grabbing your other wrist with ease, Sniper pulled you across his lap, twisting you enough that you landed on your chest. Before you could push yourself up, Sniper began to knead his fingers along your ribcage. “Hm, I like the way that sounds. If I’m your boyfriend, then I guess it’s not illegal for me to do this, then.”

“Sh-hihi!” squirming beneath his touch, you were completely trapped between his hands and his torso. You may be strong, thanks to the number of bodies you have to drag around to dispose of, but Sniper had the advantage of being a ruthless killer with few morals, so pinning you was easy.

“Somethin’ the matter, darlin’?” Sniper asked with faux curiosity, fingers crawling up your torso to worm beneath your arms. Your laughter amplified as you frantically tried to smack away his hands, with little success.

“It tickles,” you yelped through your laughter, desperately wiggling around in attempts to roll over. This action would give him more access to your sensitive spots, but at least you would be able to see his actions and use your arms more effectively. “Sn-sn-sniper!”

“That’s kinda the point, doll,” his words increased the ticklish sensations, intensifying your desperation. Allowing you to follow through with your plans, Sniper relaxed his grip and slowed his attack down enough for you to finally flip over. Not only did he not want to overwhelm you, but not being able to see your smile was growing old.

“You evil man,” sweetly giggling, you swatted at the man’s hands that skittered gracefully over your belly. Sniper was smiling slyly down at you, clearly enjoying the playful torture he was putting you through.

“Am I now?”

“Yes,” you peeped out before lunging up, wrapping him in a tight hug. Before he could react, you began to scribble your fingers over his ribs, nails tracing each bone, noting how pronounced they felt beneath your touch. “Sometimes I forget how thin you are.”

“Am not,” his voice was quiet, his words short. Body twitching beneath your touch, Sniper’s breathing became harsher, uneven, untrained.

“Are too,” you let out a chuckle, your chin resting on his shoulder. Fingers trailing down his torso, you grasped a bit of his shirt and tugged, untucking it so you could creep your hands beneath the fabric.

“You sneaky bugger,” unable to hold it back any longer, and wanting you to have a bit of fun, not that he would admit to that, Sniper began to laugh. Wheezy and raspy, as if his voice box was full of cobwebs, his laugh was melodious to you. Sniper would compare it to a koala in heat, but you adored the sound of his laughter. It was unrestrained, free, and very him.

“You’re acting like you hate this,” you teased into his ear, feeling him shiver away from the lips brushing up against the lobe. Blunt nails drawing chaotic designs into his belly and sides, you let out a small laugh as he refused to reply, just uttering a small groan of annoyance between peals of laughter.

Ever since finding out his little secret, you took it upon yourself to make him smile whenever the timing felt right. Normally, these little playful scuffles happened after a bad loss, like today’s, though sometimes one of you just needed a pick me up after a hard day on the job. Normally, the two of you were very serious individuals, especially when working. Both amazing at what you did, it was easy for either of you to get caught up in whatever nonsense the job brought you. Thankfully, after falling for one another, being able to pull off the masks of stoicism and relax when the two of you were alone became commonplace. While neither of you specifically liked to be tickled, the fact it was an easy way to draw laughter from your significant other made you forget about your general dislike of the action.

“I think that’s enough for now,” purring into his ear, you pulled your hands away from beneath his shirt and hugged him again, resting your forehead against his. “Feeling better?”

“Never said I was feeling bad, ya cheeky bastard,” he replied with no malice, smile still plastered to his face. As he ran his hands over your hair, you let out a soft, peaceful sigh. “But, now I’m completely knackered.”

“Mind if I join you, tonight?” you asked while yawning, your words sounding a bit distorted.

“Why wouldn’t I?” in one quick motion, he lifted you to your feet, sweeping you off him by hooking under your arms and stood. Letting out a small squeal in delight, you wrapped your legs around him, holding him like a koala as he walked you over to the mattress he called a bed, laughing the entire time.

Falling asleep with him was never your initial intention when spending time with him, but you were never going to say no to your love. This was just a perk of your job, so why not savor the moment.

[alexanderlightweight]

Malec based on the story of Savitri and Satyavan please? There’s a ted ed video of it if you need it

i had a lot of fun with this so i hope you enjoy and thank you for the prompt!

for anyone curious about the story here is a link with the video.

even if you're not curious because of the fic, i'd suggest watching as its a beautiful soulmate story and i absolutely loved incorporating it with malec.

<3 lumine

-

Magnus startles as an arrow flies past him, embedding itself in the last demon he was about to snuff out.

“Now that’s a weapon I haven’t seen for quite some time.” He says into the darkness, “what ever are you trying to hunt in Brooklyn with one of those?”

A figure steps out of the darkness, tall dark and devastatingly handsome and there’s a look of contained wonder as he steps closer to Magnus.

“I was shadow hunting.” He’s told with a dry smirk, “I thought I saw one.” 

It’s then that Magnus sees the dark lines he will never fail to recognize creating runes across the man’s neck and arms.

However, shadowhunters don’t leave Idris anymore, content to stay safe and let the rest of the world suffer the demons that nephilim no longer hunt nightly.

They swore to never come out of their city after the Uprising and failed negotiations for new accords. In their own words, the clave will not send aid for anything less than world catastrophes.

Magnus finds he has less free time and gets his hands a fair bit dirtier, but it’s also much less troublesome.

He doubts the werewolves, vampires and less powerful warlocks agree but well, that’s their problem.  Magnus quite prefers not having to deal with nephilim though he will make an exception for the one in front of him.

“And what is a lone nephilim doing wondering the streets of the outside world? Is there an apocalypse I haven’t noticed?”

There’s a pause and a pained grimace and the shadowhunter shrugs, “I’m no longer welcome in Alicante.”

Magnus takes a moment to wonder why but some instinct in him is both curious and intrigued and he steps closer. “I’m Magnus Bane. Tell me over a meal why you’re exiled in my territory, you look like you could use one.” Magnus doesn’t mean to say it, but he can’t help it and instead of getting offended, the shadowhunter seems confused.

As if it’s been a very long time since someone cared about his wellbeing, even as a method for information.

He’s activating every single one of Magnus’ normally non-existent protective instincts and Magnus tuts and opens a portal. He holds out a hand and after a moment it’s taken and he’s followed through to his lair.

He meant to take the shadowhunter somewhere less private, less personal but it’s too late now and Magnus smirks, as if this was his plan all along.

“Drinks?” He suggests and then because he really is concerned, he snaps his fingers and summons plates and bowls of foods and pitchers and pots of drinks.

There’s a moment of contemplation and then, in an intimate but careful gesture the shadowhunter brushes his fingers against Magnus’ wrist in quiet thanks.

“I’m Alec.”

He’s told, no family name offered and Magnus immediately thinks, “Alexander.” He doesn’t realize he’s murmured it aloud until Alexander blinks and then smiles softly at him, nodding.

There is a carefulness as Alexander sits and eats and drinks slowly that makes Magnus want to rage.

“Will you tell me, what happened?” Magnus asks, because while he could demand it, he wants to know because Alexander trusts him.  It’s a silly hope but even as Magnus is reminding himself not to be disappointed to not find out, Alexander nods.

“A rift opened in Alicante two months ago and Lilith attacked. We couldn’t keep up with her demons and the clave summoned Asmodeus, striking a deal with him.”

Magnus stares in shock and despite what he wants, his glamour falls and he can tell instantly that they’re recognized.

For a moment, Magnus thinks Alexander will attack him and the part of him that hates himself and his father thinks it will almost be deserved.

“They’re so much prettier on you.” Alexander blurts out and then he flushes, as if he can’t believe he said such a thing and Magnus can’t either.  “Sorry it’s just. They just look different.”  When it becomes clear that Magnus doesn’t understand what he means — he’s only ever seen his father’s eyes staring back at him — Alexander scowls. “It’s like the difference between one of those plastic mundane gems and a real one.”

Magnus is beyond flattered and he blinks, wondering just where exiled shadowhunters learned to be so coy.

Especially after learning that his father is involved in the reason Alexander no longer has a home.

“What happened?” He asks and he can’t help but reach out and press his hand to Alexander’s knee in comfort.

Alexander gives him an almost apologetic look, features tight, “I’m from one of the disgraced families, Magnus.” He admits, like Magnus would ever hold his parents against him, especially in a situation like this. Magnus isn’t surprised that Alexander is from one of the many families who joined the Circle and fell from their prestige when returned to Idris.

“Asmodeus wanted a nephilim soul, freely given. My family was picked because we have the most children for spare heirs. I volunteered for my siblings and the deal was struck. Fifteen months of life tied to Edom before Asmodeus collects me to harvest my soul.” Alexander shrugs, unaffected as if he has long since accepted his fate. “In return, he closed the rift.”

Magnus is unsurprised by both the clave forcing innocents to clean up their mess and his father’s part in this.  Undoubtedly, the real reason his father gave Alexander so long was to force his soul to wallow in despair with the knowledge of his fate.

“And the exile?”

“My soul is now tied to a demon. I am unfit to reside in the walls of Alicante and so I came here.”

“Where are you living?” It should feel like an interrogation but it feels so easy, to wonder and be concerned for Alexander and he’s given a small smile in return.

“The abandoned Institute in Manhattan.  The angelic core was never able be retrieved and so while it’s a bit run down, it has enough energy to power some wards and protections.” Alexander shrugs, as if Magnus doesn’t know exactly what kind of conditions the Institute is in.

“You’ll stay here instead of that drafty place.” Magnus says — a tone of finality he doesn’t even understand himself — in his voice. “Darling, nephilim are a rare treat in the downworld these days. It simply isn’t safe and while I could ward the Institute for you—”

“Magnus I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Alexander cuts in, looking distressed at the very idea of causing Magnus so much work.

“I didn’t hear you ask me for anything,” Magnus teases and Alexander blushes, looking away for a moment. “However, warding the whole Institute seems wasteful when I can simply keep you here, where the wards are already in existence and can keep you safe.”

“Magnus, you know now that nothing can keep me safe. Not forever.” Alexander hedges, something soft in his voice as if he’s worried the reminder will hurt Magnus… and it does. “I only have about a year until your father claims my soul.” Alexander reminds him and he looks worried, as if any of this was ever Alexander’s fault.

“That’s still a year that I can protect you. That I can keep you safe, Alexander.” And then, because Magnus isn’t sure how he knows that Alexander is where he meets his fate but he murmurs a soft, courageous, “How can you ask me to give you up even sooner than I absolutely must?”

It shouldn’t be this easy to know that Alexander was meant for him but Magnus thinks he knew from the moment Alexander took his hand that this was different.

And Alexander breaks and turns, shaking as he presses himself to Magnus and hugs him tightly.

Whatever strange fate has them meeting, Magnus already knows that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Alexander.

—

They fall into their relationship with a desperation born from an hourglass that never stops its trickle of sand.

Catarina and Ragnor are happy for him until they learn the circumstances and while they want to protect him, they love him too much to cause him anymore pain. Catarina cries when Magnus tells her and she holds him close and kisses his forehead, promising him everything she can.

Ragnor buries himself in his archives and studies rituals, dark magicks that Magnus can use against his father. Artifacts that will protect him and boost his powers and Catarina helps him with Alexander.

There is a toll on a soul when it’s sold to a demon and the contract to Asmodeus drains Alexander daily. Asmodeus gave Alexander so many months to live not out of generosity, but because he wanted to feed on the despair of a soul abandoned by everyone it trusted.

However Alexander trusts Magnus with a fervor that still astounds him and Magnus caresses Alexander’s face as his boy bathes in potions and herbs. Anything to combat the strain on his soul and keep up his strength.

Because Alexander will need all the strength he can get, just to hold on.  But he’ll survive because Alexander would do anything if it were for Magnus’ sake.

Magnus kisses Alexander’s brow and taking a breath he begins to weave his magic into the very fiber of Alexander’s soul, beyond where Asmodeus can yet reach.

Alexander smiles up at him and kisses Magnus’ palm when he reaches out.

“You are my world, Alexander.” Magnus tells him and Alexander chuckles and kisses his palm again with voiceless adoration. “I will never have another after you darling, I couldn’t bear to, so you must stay strong.”

“I’ll always try my best, to live for you.” Alexander promises because it’s the only thing he can try.

—

Asmodeus comes as he was always going to and while Alec won’t be able to fight — he’s not even going to try, he can’t — Magnus has hope for his vitality and health. Things that have been carefully boosted and curated over the last year to help him stay conscious when he’s taken to Edom.

“Magnus, somehow I thought you had better taste than the dregs of my contracts.” His father says a moue of disdain on his face as his voice drips with disappointment.

“What do you want for him?” Magnus asks, because that’s how he has to start this. Trying to bargain for Alexander.

Asmodeus looks at him curiously and then he grins, smile wide and vicious as he takes him in.

“Does he mean so much to you then?” Asmodeus asks and he grips Alexander by his hair, shaking him like he’s some pest. “Think less of what I want for him, Magnus and tell me what you’re willing to give me.”

Magnus swallows and offers, “I will release you from the binding I put on you. Free to leave Edom as you wish.”

Asmodeus looks at him for a minute and then laughs and shakes his head.

“I will gain far more than that from a willingly harvested nephilim soul, Magnus. You bargain too cheaply, still afraid to take risks.”

Asmodeus takes Alexander away and Magnus grits his teeth and triggers the array that will take him to Edom.

Magnus attacks his father before he has a chance to be surprised that Magnus followed him.

His magic lashes out, whipping through the air and never once harming Alexander even as Asmodeus tries to use him as a shield.

Realizing the futility, Asmodeus throws Alexander to the side and Magnus watches as his boy meets his gaze and nods, just a little.

It’s enough to fuel him and Magnus puts every ounce of possessive, desperate adoration into his next blow and it takes his father down.

Not for long and Magnus snarls as he’s thrown into the rocks. 

His father portals and Magnus follows him, spitting blood and smearing it across his jaw as he wipes his mouth.

The next attack, Magnus sends shards of molten fire through Edom’s sands to sear his father’s talons. There’s a whistle of rage and then Magnus is being choked and he grabs the whip with hands that sear from how much more powerful his father’s flames are.

Magnus breaks the tether and screams as he throws acid at his father. It falls as harmless as dewdrops against Alexander — his magic will never harm his boy — but his father bats it away effortlessly with an almost annoyed sigh.

“Really Magnus, this grows tedious. Though I admire your determination, even if it could be better applied.” Asmodeus leaves and Magnus opens the five potions Cat and Ragnor prepared for him and down them in quick succession.

Then, he takes off the platinum bands on his wrists that have been constraining his power, saving the last of it for this final effort.

He portals a last time, right as his father is about to drag Alexander into the ceremonial halls and Magnus follows, waiting until they’re in the ritual room before he attacks.

Alexander is motionless on an altar but his eyes are clear through his pain as he watches Magnus, his sides heaving with labored breath as Edom very atmosphere slowly poisons him.

“Do you want him to die for no reason at all?” Asmodeus asks mockingly, “at least this way his death won’t be a waste.  Or do you want his soul for yourself?”

Magnus clenches his fists, feeling the burns there that sting with fire as if it had never been put out.

“No matter how much I admire your pride and tenacity, I will not give him back to you.” Asmodeus warns, a cruel, smug glint on his face.

Magnus growls, face twisted into a snarl of hate as he once again readies himself for an attack.  Just as he’s about to release it, Asmodeus sends a blast of lightning through the sand.

Magnus curses as glass forms around him and shatters under the weight of his magic.  What is meant to be an attack turns to defense as he deflects them from himself, feeling warm blood slide down from the shards of Asmodeus magic he couldn’t destroy.

“You’ve impressed me son.” Asmodeus tells him thoughtfully and Magnus spits out blood as he forces himself to stand straight and not waver. “I will give you one wish alone, as a reward. A boon from a father to his heir, as long as it isn’t that.” Asmodeus motions to Alexander and smirks, as if Magnus needs to be shown what he means.

Magnus doesn’t even need to think.

There was never a chance his father would give up Alexander but he already knows what he wants.

“Then I want you to release my magic. All of it, every single piece of my magic that you’ve hoarded away for yourself.

“So be it.” Asmodeus says with a vicious laugh, “my heir finally understanding how deals work. A pity for your lover.” Then his eyes narrow, “though if you hope to take him back by force, I will not be lenient in teaching you a lesson.”

If he thinks his words will shatter Alexander or Magnus, then he’s mistaken because his boy is looking at Magnus with nothing but love and trust and determination in his eyes.

“A vow then, upon our blood. I will never again ask you for Alexander or his soul. I will not try to take him from you by word or force. Nor will I try to gain back his soul once you’ve harvested it.  In return, you will give back to me every part of my magic that you have ever taken from me. You will return it intact and you will never again be able to touch a single part of my magic again.”

Asmodeus is surprised by the vow but delighted and he chuckles, the image of a proud father as he drops Alexander — abandoning his limp form in the sand and glass — and comes forward to hug Magnus.

The vow clicks into place as they embrace and Magnus knows the moment Asmodeus realizes what has happened.  His father grips him harder in cruel disbelief before he laughs.  It’s a harsh, angry sound but he also seems wary.  As if Magnus has surprised him in a way he didn’t expect.

“You’re more clever than I remember.” Asmodeus tells him, eyes covetous as he stares at him. “You’re perfect to rule with me, why do you deny it?”

“I have a kingdom of my own.” Magnus reminds him with a dark, bloody smile as his stolen magic returns to him, Alexander along with it and he picks Alexander up and holds him to his chest. “I have no need for antiquities or legacies, father. I have plenty authority of my own without needing to rely on handouts.”

He smirks back at his father, content with the fact that he has, for the first time, successfully beat Asmodeus.

“They’ll let him return now that I no longer own his soul.” Asmodeus reminds him, “do you really think he’ll stay with you with that kind of a choice before him?”

“You’ve already forgotten how I won. Alexander is mine, a part of my magic lives in his soul and will forever, forever bound to him in an eternal way. Alicante will never let him through their wards and he wouldn’t want them to.”

Magnus ignores any further attempts at manipulations and turns, knowing that his father won’t dare to attack him.  Not with all of Magnus’ reclaimed magic writhing around him, furious at the idea of Asmodeus — the thief — coming near. 

So much of his magic is strange and fearsomely different from its time trapped in Edom but all of it curls around Magnus and around Alexander.  It gives him the strength to turn his back and carry Alexander out of his father’s throne room.

Magnus walks through the dilapidated palace and into the sands of Edom and takes a deep, gasping breath because he didn’t know if that would work. Magnus had only hoped and hoped and he holds Alexander unconscious body to him fiercely.

A portal opens to the strongest most secret of his lairs and Magnus walks them through.  Soon he will return to his seat of power but for a few days, he will content himself in reassuring himself that the man he loves still lives.

Here, safe and belonging only to Magnus and himself.

[singt0me]

hi! I came here from ao3 to drop you a (hopefully not too random line) about your KH fic, "spark a thought." a friend and I revisited it recently and had a good chat about how it lingers in your mind a little differently every read-through. it's bittersweet and surreal. I know it's been years since you wrote it, but I was curious as to whether you had any thoughts to share looking back at it--like what you were hoping readers would take away, or what details or facets of canon influenced you as you wrote it. (big ask. no pressure. I really like hearing writers talk about their processes. hope you're well in this year of our lord, nearly ten years later.)

i saw this ask cleaning out my inbox and looked at the date and realised I had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever

happy 10 year anniversary to my first ever ao3 fic wooo! give or take a few days

(i'm so sorry im replying to you 2 years later ily)

it's been. a long time. i considered going through and looking over it but i feel like my writing has changed so much since i posted the fic that i'll just be cringing my way through every line so. just gonna go off memory.

i think the main thing about that fic was it's an au where everything is the same except our main trio doesn't have keyblades. so the world is still semi tearing itself apart but it's created somewhat of a pocket universe for the occupants to keep them safe. hence why they're having so much trouble leaving, because there was no where to go. i think there was some fuckery with a sign? yeah. live laugh love destiny islands

i remember i'd planed to write a sequel that unfortunately never happened! it would have been roxas in twilight town and him dealing with being stuck there. I have a thing with caged bird imagery and the concept of being trapped somewhere and having to claw your way out. or not being able to. it's a theme i've incorporated a lot into my writing with a few other fics for different fandoms.

but anyways! i do really love this fic so much. it's the one that made me realise i actually really love writing and it's something i want to do seriously one day. thank you so much for reading and enjoying and sending me this message <3 i hope you're having an AMAZING day!!!!

[nachosncheezies]

2, 3, 18, 20! :DDDDDD

:D Hello Tiger and happy new year to you! 🎉 Thank you for asking me!! For this ask game, if anyone wants to send me more!

2. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

Hmm, another new thing huh? How about... target word counts! I'm pretty sure I've never done that before. Bitter Truth poured out in one sitting and it was so close to 500 (within <10 words) that I decided to edit to hit the round number. The Brain Disease is pretty unpopular, I think, as canon goes, so I then decided to write a matching, 500-word counterpoint and A Joke A Lie was born. (That one was dramatically harder to do in 500 lol, so it was a great exercise!)

3. What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

X Files, specifically season 8. I've been working forever on a series of scenes for filling in the blanks there and fleshing it out. The big beats I've drafted don't really lend themselves to non-chronological posting, so I have a bit to go yet before it's ready.

18. Share your favorite ending line

From a joke a lie (a couple of sentences, for context):

Her ear lands on his chest, and Holy Saint Anthony, gentlest of Saints. There is a heartbeat; Who are you? A lie, a lie, his beautiful mind is untouched, and the gratitude of my heart will ever be Yours.

Given where Scully is at by deadalive, I knew I wanted to incorporate prayer in that piece somewhere and I was gonna go with one of the rotes to Mary, but once I realized Saint Anthony is the patron of not just miracles and lost souls but also of lost people, finding a spouse, and pregnancy, it was too perfect to ignore.

20. Share your funniest line

I liked when baby Puerto Rico Scully told sweaty Puerto Rico Mulder that he looked like a hobo and vagrant but ymmv xD

[dangerpronebuddie]

so I love all of these WIPs, you're doing an amazing job!! could u tell me more about WIP 1-3? I literally wanna read all of them but let's start somewhere 🤭

Hey dear 🥰🩷 Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying them!

1. Eddie is a gremlin and makes it everyone's problem.

I've answered for this one a few times, but I am more than happy to tell you a little bit more. Eddie's sass has managed to keep him sorta out of trouble so far, but it's bound to backfire eventually right? The bar fight fic was supposed to take a week or so, but... with like 30 other ideas bouncing in my head like the DVD logo, it's been pushed to the back burner. If I share a new snippet, I'll probably have the entire fic on here, so I'll give you one I've already posted, that happens to be my favorite part of the fic!:

Eddie looked up from the floor, an ice pack pressed to his eye, and winced at Athena’s unimpressed expression.

“Alright. Who started it?” she asked, resting her hands on her belt.

Like a line of dominoes starting with Bobby, the entire team turned their bruised heads towards Eddie, who grimaced and shrank away from their glares.

“Really, Eddie?” Athena asked.

“In my defense, it was in Hen's defense,” he reasoned.

“You cannot blame all this on me, Edmundo,” Hen drawled.

“It's true,” he persisted, turning his pleading eyes on her. She simply rolled her eyes. He turned back to Athena. “One of the guys in there insulted her. I was already kinda miffed ‘cause my patient took a swing at me, so I tried to calm him down.”

“Calling him a repressed boomer isn't exactly the way to go,” Chim piped up, his voice still nasally. Eddie was surprised the dude didn't break Chim's nose.

Buck snorted a laugh, the traitor.

2. Welcome home cheater (brand new wip)

Jealous Buck my beloved! I'm hoping to get this short and silly piece out before Thursday, but... Ya never know! I'm hoping to incorporate all the 7x04 stills in some capacity, at least the ones involving Tommy, but we'll see how it goes! Have something I just wrote:

"Evan," Maddie said, "you didn't mean to hurt him, did you?"

"Not Eddie," Buck said in a quiet voice.

"Oh." Maddie drew out the word as she nodded. "You were aiming for Tommy."

Buck grimaced.

"If you explain what really happened, I-"

"I can't do that," Buck protested.

"Why not?"

"Because if I tell him I was aiming for Tommy, he's gonna want to know why. And I can't tell him without telling him," Buck explained.

"Maybe you should tell him," she suggested.

"Are you out of your mind?" Buck balked.

3. Eddie has a burn on his arm, bruises on his skin, and a target on his back.

Slight Air and Purging Fire, my baby 🥰. The amount of Eddie whump in this fic surprised even me 😅. I regret nothing. It's pretty much complete, but I have a few scenes I need to move around and tweak some more. For you, here's a little snippet:

They rolled to a stop and Buck leapt out of the cab, sprinting around the side of the building. Eddie lay crumpled on the ground, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead. His eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged.

“Eddie,” Buck gasped out, dropping to his knees beside him. He pressed his fingers to Eddie's pulse. Thready, but there! “Eddie, baby, wake up,” he pleaded, carding his fingers through his hair.

Ask about my wips!

[popcorn-plots]

some shit that went down at school today

my friend (@salidqueen) and I watched Elf in my gov + cit class today and I will never, ever get over the second-hand embarrassment of that movie

I got to get to know @d0nut-gh0st a little more and we talked about fanfiction and cookie run and I got to impart my knowledge on him (the average height of American males in the 1990s was 5'10". also the fact that Mayor Lionheart was read his Miranda rights implies the fact that not only does zootopia have a constitution to draw rights from, it would also have to have a constitutional federal republic-like government in order to have a supreme court so that somewhere along the line, the supreme court death with the Miranda v Arizona case that led to the installation of your rights being read aloud when your arrested. The idea of this government also means that zootopia had founding fathers. Zootopia Hamilton.)

I was writing and found out that runza's are a really popular food in Nebraska, so I decided to put a restrauant that serves runzas a few blocks away from Scottsbluff High only to look it up and.. guess what. There's literally a Runza's Restraurant 5 minutes away from SHS by car. That was insane. Also there's a water tower right across the high school which may or may not be incorporated into future fics...

Today at lunch, the lunch ladies said that if someone had a sticker on the bottom of their tray, they'd get a prize and I had a sticker, so I got a little sticker Polar Express ticket, a jingle bell with a card that says "believe" and a pack of junior minds. It was one of the weirdest interactions I've had in a while.

The drama teacher was talking about how he had abbreviated TikTok and had accidentally said something innapropriate. Cue five kids running up to him from the back (the classroom is the size of two classrooms, separated by a folding wall and an office) into the front to ask him what he said. He refused to tell up, so I told salidqueen that he had probably said 'tits' or something, then I pointed to their tits and said "tik, tok" and they laughed really hard

"are you reading a fanfic or..?" "Only a fanfic would have Stephen railed as hard as he just was." "...That's going in the quotebook."

My friend (not on Tumblr, we'll call them Mars) is a therian and today they were wearing their usual collar and fox ears and like a pull chain collar that looked like a necklace and mars showed it to me and I grabbed the end, wrapped it around my wrist, went "kinky" and literally used the collar to pull them into a kiss, it was amazing. and then they were blushing really hard and had to facetime their girlfriend (they're both poly) to tell her what just happened. It was absolutely amazing, and idk what happened but I really liked the collar on Mars so I either discovered a new kink or something else, I have no idea

We played poker in AP Psychology

I got overwhelmed playing poker because I don't know how to play and it was too fast-paced for me to get the hang of it, so I played solitaire (with the second deck of poker cards) while watching my two classmates playing poker

A third classmate joined the game halfway through and in 20 minutes, completely demolished the two other guys playing. it was probably the most entertaining 80 minutes of the day

As I was walking out of class, one of the teachers that we'll call Mr. R was throwing little bags of candy over the edge of the bridge (yeah my school has a bridge that connects the second floor with the staircase literally across the cafeteria and commons) to students below. I told him I wanted one, so he turned and threw one at me. I didn't actually catch it, but I picked it up, and when I looked down, salidqueen and giving me an L so I flipped them off from the second floor, literally in front of like three teachers and SHE FLIPPED ME OFF TOO. and NO ONE CARED

[onpurposeilovehimonpurpose]

I should be sleeping, but instead, I am awake thinking of a fanfic that I plan to post.

I've been going back and forth about something and maybe someone here may have an opinion. Not sure if it'll sway me either way, but I'd like to get some feedback.

So in the book, I think there is a strong case for Henry having autism. It could've been a fever dream, but I could swear CMQ maybe commented and agreed about this theory somewhere?

That said, I definitely take a lot of things from the book when writing post movie-verse canon fics, but not everything from the book fits in movie canon. When it comes to certain things, I worry that I may be projecting from myself and from book Henry too much.

Does anyone have any thoughts about Henry being autistic? It's just a couple of lines and not at all the theme "if you can make it one?" of my story, but I also don't want to be writing and leaning into that being a part of Henry being his true self in the movie version fic if that didn't seem to translate as such. Maybe it doesn't have to for some I suppose and that may be all right too of course. Would love some feedback. Gonna actually try to sleep now.

Edit: I suppose I'll be taking some time to think about this and how it is interpreted into my story. I may wait a little while to post it as I reflect on how I intend to incorporate this into my story. Thank you to those who commented with their thoughts and the link to the CMQ thread.

[immortalarizona]

“Can it be that it was all so simple then, or has time rewritten every line?

If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me—would we? Could we?”

— Barbara Streisand, “The Way We Were”

the Magic Trio, the loves of my lives <3

art I did for my MCU fic Carpe Diem, a time travel fix-it set in my own alternate timeline starring none other than my favorite disasters, Wanda, Stephen, and Loki!! once my ao3 is up, I’ll link to the fic on here. more rambling about the costume designs under the cut if you’re interested :]

for Wanda, I went with a design that combines elements I liked from her WandaVision costume with the absolutely stunning Russell Dauterman 2021 comics redesign, plus a bit of my own flair (my friends know I will go feral for Wanda in a ponytail). I plan to do a whole post showcasing this design more in the near future, so stay tuned!! for her facial features, I envision my Wanda being portrayed by the Spanish Roma actress Alba Flores, because oh my word sheeeee <3

for Stephen, I went with a lot of the structure from his Multiverse of Madness design, just simplified for my sanity and with the saturation upped by quite a bit. also, I brought back the gloves, both for thematic and character reasons (I have a whole 1.5k-word character study about Stephen and his gloves that I may post here at some point, lol).

for Loki, I incorporated a lot of vaguely Norse elements because ✨ vibes ✨. (example: all the braids in hir hair, what you can see of hir belt, etc.) fun fact about the design of hir vambraces, I wanted it to echo the look of Thor’s helmet, hence the vaguely wing-looking design you can sort of see. the horn design is somewhere between Ragnarok Loki and President Loki, but I think I’ve arrived at something that works!!

edit: I was looking through one of my old sketchbooks and it turns out I was fiddling with a completely different design related to plot elements I hadn’t yet determined at the time I drew this?? sooo we’ll see if I end up keeping the vaguely Norse costume around lol.

also this isn’t related to the costume design but fun fact about that design in the background, it’s actually taken from that one art of Scarlet Witch from the Darkhold. this was not a random choice, though it would be spoilers for me to reveal why just yet :]

[imaginespazzi]

Niviii, bestie, how are you? Hope life’s treating you well, and especially as well as you treated us with part 6!

As always, my thoughts:

Was waiting on when Katie would make an appearance again and you did not disappoint! Someone needed to finally talk some sense cause god knows we were getting nowhere leaving it all to those two dumb gay idiots (affectionate) to figure it out.

But for real, I loved this scene between mother and daughter and hearing others acknowledge that the bond between them was always just different. More. Katie’s like “honey please, it was too obvious”.

As always, I love when real events bleed into the story so absolutely loved draft night getting incorporated here. I could feel the tension as Paige inched closer and closer to Azzi on the carpet like oof the writing was- *chef’s kiss*.

Then them escaping to finally get that moment alone together again and Azzi finally giving in 🥹. Also, their dramatic ass goodbye being only two weeks or so prior to this LOL. Were just absolutely kidding themselves thinking they could really survive staying away from each other.

You already know how I feel about a Drew cameo!! Pleassseee, the whole “you are gonna get married right?” killed me in the best way. He will accept no other outcome, that’s his pookie for life and P will absolutely not mess that up for him again!

The UCLA team finally welcoming P with open arms- we really have come so far.

But omg this whole scene – them finally getting to have the date. What dreams are made of. But P was so done with Azzi here lmao, the NBA quip (tbh, Azzi definitely has a case cause like how is she meant to know that games start late October and not early October?! Like ntm on pookie now 😩). And then the stray that P’s Lebron posters caught – very valid.

For real though, that scene was so healing after everything we’ve all been through with this fic 😌. And P flying all the way to Cali during school – DOWN BAD.

And then just when I thought you’d written my favourite fluff scene, you go ahead and write the dancing in the snow scene.

I don’t even really have much more to add for that specific scene because I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. Just know that dancing in the snow/kissing in the rain scenes have my whole heart and this was no exception.

Then the final scene. I was actually wondering whether you would have Azzi winning the natty because I didn’t know if you could do that to UConn, even if just in a fic, but I appreciate you doing it for the plot (I know it must have killed you a lil writing them losing- and NOT EVEN MAKING IT TO THE NATTY GAME) 😭.

But it was only fitting that we got Paige in Azzi’s jersey this time around (side note: something I badly need to see irl at some point).

And the ending – THE ENDING – look, that may also be how I’ve imagined next season panning out irl (the kiss) but obviously with them both on the court… and since I know there’s almost no chance it would actually happen, I’m glad we got to live it out here.

What’s next?

First of all, I can’t believe we’re coming to the end, like from one offhanded comment about “what if Azzi had chosen UCLA?” being my roman empire to this? Insane.

Not that I had a single doubt but whatever expectations I had coming into this, trust, you more than exceeded every. single. one.

I’ll prolly go on a much longer thank you after the last chapter or epilogue so I’ll save it for then!

But yeah, in terms of what’s next, imma leave it to you, Nivi.

The “or so she hopes” at the end has me a little worried, but remember “everything changes, except the ending” and you did promise us a happy ending 😌.

Favourite lines:

Taking the picture is a task, both of them bickering about angles and lights. It’s unnecessary arguing, in true Paige and Azzi fashion really but there’s something so mundanely domestic about it that Azzi finds herself wanting to memorise this moment too. They finally get the frame just right, somewhere in between what they both wanted. Azzi smiles at the camera, her Paige smile, as the blonde in question presses her lips against her cheeks.

Bonus (also because this is how I want it to play out irl next season when they win the natty lmao): 

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad would kissing you right now be?” Azzi asks, still a little breathless. 

A myriad of emotions flicker through Paige’s face before settling on a mischievous smirk, “probably pretty bad but you should do it anyways.”

Alternate lyric/song (I fucking love arms tho, that song just fits this entire fic so perfectly):

In the darkest night hour, I search through the crowd. Your face is all that I see, I’ll give you (I've given you) everything, baby, love me lights out.

Side note: I was a little high when I first read part 6, and it was an experience (in the best way)!!!

As always, thank you. You already know.

Much love,

-🙋‍♀️

Bestieeeee, I'm good love, thanks for asking and I hope you're good too! Can you believe I finally wrote a chapter without breaking your heart?

If we left it up to Paige and Azzi, this fic would end up running in circles for another 10 chapters but thank god for Katie and common sense. I really love Katie and Azzi's relationship and she felt the perfect person to make Azzi see sense

The draft scene is probably my favorite scene to have written throughout this whole series, an accumulation of everything else and I'm so glad you liked it because I wanted to do the confession justice and I hope I did

LMAO okay so I was fully gonna drag it out a little longer cause 2 weeks is so short but a) I wanted to include the draft and b) let's be honest these idiots definitely are the kind people to only make a dramatic goodbye last barely 2 weeks

I love Drew so much so you know I had to add him in here but yeah that's their no.1 supporter and you best believe he will drag them to the aisle if he needs too

I threw in that UCLA team line for you, I knew you'd appreciate the growth!

Even though I've been teasing my anons with sadness for most of this fic, the date recreation was always gonna happen from the minute I wrote the call lol.

Honestly as much as I love writing angst!Pazzi and fluff!Pazzi, bickering!Pazzi is my favorite and I just had to add that in

I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED THE SNOW SCENE. It truly adds nothing to the plot but it popped into my head and I was like fuck it, the people deserve their dance in the snow moment lol

You know me too well. It physically hurt to write UConn losing (at least they'd already won in this universe) but for the plot, and because it's Azzi, with a heavy heart, I wrote another team winning it all.

I put all my hopes and dreams for next season into that ending and yeah look it's not happening, but life imitates art right? Why not manifest?

I have to go back and find your ask because man I can't believe we've come this far. WE DID IT BESTIE! We lived your roman empire out just a little bit and there's just a little bit left to go!

Alright, there's maybe just a little bit more turbulence to come but I think you're gonna like the actual ending I have planned (you have to or I will actually cry)

XO!! Fantastic song choice!

LMAO I love that for you babes! And thank you for always, always having such a detailed review for me. They mean the world to me and I appreciate it so much. Til next time my love <3

[cult-of-husbandos]

I have a pretty new Yandere blog, how do you get people to interact with and request and enjoy your oc’s?

And can I request more from the Yandere Ai? Like how their first days went?

hi🖤 first off, congrats on your new blog! yanderes are amazing to write for! and second, honestly, just have fun with it! that probably sounds so superficial and vague, but tbh it's true! i put tags in my fic posts that my saying that my requests are open. that's usually about it when it comes to advertising my oc's lol.

also, i like to give my oc's very distinct and specific writings towards their characters. for example since you're starting a yandere blog, think about what kind of yandere you like or others may like in terms of anime, media, writings, asmr, etc.. like, what kind of yandere are they? are they soft, cute, and lovesick about the reader or full-blown obsessed, crazy, and driven by the reader's cries. they can also be somewhere in-between. is the reader willing or not? what are the traits/personalities of your oc's? when you think yandere, who do you imagine? femboy built? bara-body built? it's up to you! they are your oc's. (i like writing willing readers bc it's much more fun to write about, but that's just me)

this is just me, but i also like to incorporate how others would feel and talk in my scenarios. i dislike dere/anime scenarios that have stereotypical responses and cliches or make the reader seem like they can't do anything. i hate that trope in manga and anime, so it transfers into my writing.

in my mind, having the mc say "ok fuck it we ball" or "fuck yeah, awooga" is much more entertaining than the same stockholm syndrome "omg sexy yandere pls don't take me from me from my tyrannical responsibilities and giving me food and a place to live rent free aaahhhh" cliches. again, that's just my opinion. if you want to write something like that, it's completely up to you. i like my fics to be relatable and fun to read. it all genuinely depends on the direction you want to take for your blog and your fics.

once you start writing and starting molding your oc's and going the flow with your writing, people will read. soon enough, people will put in requests and more will enjoy your writing.

and if i can give you any advice: just have fun and don't try too hard. even if no one requests as long as you enjoy it and do your best, you'll be fine. it's your blog! i used to have the same feeling when i wrote my first arata ryuu fic. then he became a follower fav, and now yami ai is tied at being the first follower fav with him! which just fuels me to write even more dere husbandos i have lined up!

and lastly, ofc! it'll probably be a reaction fic since it seems like a simple prompt.

have fun and i hope to read your fics in the future!

[liminalmemories21]

Weekend WIP Game

tagged by @jesuisici33

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more)

1. WIP List:

kid fic

untitled 5+1 thing of conversations TK had with Carlos's sisters (maybe?) - there's like half of one written, so it's sort of an unknown quantity

Knave 4 eventually

Secret is a strange thing for Paul and Nancy

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?

kid fic I think - somewhere around 5,000 words

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

Knave 4. I don't even have to have started writing it to know that.

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

I mean, I'm not really writing any of them at the moment because I'm still coming down from Knave 3, and I'm at the stage where everything I write feels like I'm repeating something I've already said somewhere else before.

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

Kid fic, because I have no idea where it's going

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

At the moment, all of them, because literally everything I have put on paper this week feels like I've written it before in another fic.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

Maybe the 5+1, just because I don't have siblings and I want to get that dynamic right

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

umm, all of them? Okay, maybe not Knave 4, but that's only because it exists basically only as a vague notion at the moment.

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them?

Knave-verse, hands down. I think the OCs have taken over the show between Massey, and Tulson, and Amy, and the various cousins I've invented for Carlos.

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

[eyes list] I'm gonna guess Knave 4 will be, just because there's probably not going to be a lot of sex in conversations TK has with Carlos's sisters, or in a 5+1 about being insecure about parenthood (okay, I suppose there could be sex in that one, but there probably won't be)

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

Not Knave 4. I swear I am sending those boys on a caper. They have had enough angst.

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)?

I mean, none of them really exist yet . . . so?

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

this is probably one of my weak spots as a writer. so i'm not sure tbh

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

I think I've definitely been trying to write kid fic for the longest time

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

Probably anything Knave-verse related, because they have become a whole universe now

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

Not really. I do frequently go to bed, and then instantly have like whole paragraphs that unspool in my head and I have to roll over and type messy notes into my phone so I don't forget them.

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't?

Again, anything knave-verse related because it requires figuring out something semi-plausible for a heist. Although, also - not that I"m writing one right now because we're all on indefinite hiatus - but the seasons interstitials always involve so much trying to figure out time line shenanigans, and looking up things to do in Austin

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour?

Probably anything knave-verse related, although I try and incorporate humor into everything

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

5+1 of TK talking to Carlos's sisters is definitely going to be told either all from Luisa's POV, or alternating Luisa and Ana.

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs

Knave 4 - so okay, there was a news story that went around a while ago (not that long ago?) about a curator who was replacing paintings in museum inventory with forgeries (not even good forgeries! which let's be honest is the part that going to offend TK the most). And, one, I really want Carlos to have to go undercover as a curator to catch this guy. But, also, more importantly, two, when Carlos figures out that to pull it off he basically needs to think WWTKD (What Would TK Do) and loosens up and fakes at being TK, TK has a deep oh shit moment of what have I unleased on the world, and also that is so hot we need to go home right now, no like right right now or I'm going to do unspeakable things to you in public.

tagging @iboatedhere, @freneticfloetry, @ravens-words, and @carlos-in-glasses