#( ALSO THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN ANON! )

[meownotgood]

any recommendations for viktor smut?

of course!!! my favorite viktor fic ever is academy excellence by gaybybirth, I've read it a ton of times, the tension is sooo good so if you have time and want to build before the smut it's perfect... also they have this collection of more really great fics (every lover is a madman is my fave out of the collection, but I've read all of them countless times lol)

the necessary energy by nokwisi was one of the first viktor fics I read and it hasn't left my mind since. I also recommend whatever it takes, I come back to that one like monthly

if you want to fuck viktor and jayce, my favorite jayvik + reader fics are oak, moss, rain and what crumbles, what remains by weltraum_vaquero. but they also have reflections which is a solo viktor fic, super amazing (and lots of great jayce fics if you're into him)

if you want to fuck machine herald viktor, highly recommend synaptic spark by heraldeez. you can't convince me viktor wouldn't make his own equipment. if you know what I mean

finally, if you want a modern au fic, I love down horrendous by emeraldiis, honestly I read the stuff before the smut all the time because vik is so damn cute. and omg... do I love a good kiss scene...

[heartorbit]

if your art is food, it'd be like those fruit hard candies flavoured. Which is yummy (⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! candy reminded me of emu and so i must draw her for you

[basketobread]

my dumb fuck ass just spent 30 minutes trying to find Save Us White Girl and caved and "help white girl bg3" immediately returned it via google,,,,, had help white girl, white girl help stuck in my head,,,,,

THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO MUCH TBH I CANNOT BELIEVE IT CAN IMMEDIATELY BE FOUND LIKE THAT???? everyday this comic finds its way back to me and i'm unsure if i'll ever be able to outdo it... it might be my magnum opus, i fear... (this is a good thing)

[luminique]

HEAR ME OUT, one sided love?? Imagine s/o doesn’t like lighter back, being oblivious about lighters feeling and only see lighter as a friend meanwhile lighter is so MADLY in love with them and is aware of s/o not liking him back but he can’t help it because you’re the only one that makes him feel this way even if his feelings aren’t reciprocated… they’re so doomed think about the potential angst!! 🫤

lighter isn’t perfect. his body is littered in scars of his past, his actions are solutions to mistakes he had made before. to say that he deserved something as rewarding as love didn’t sound right to him, but oh, would it feel right if it was from you.

it was definitely not an immediate fall, rather it was slower like starting a fire. you bring the materials you require, some wood and a starter. it’s difficult to get a fire going, even he knows that with his lighter in hand. his hand gets warmer the longer the flame is out but it doesn’t compare to the accidental grazes of your hand against his gloved ones.

he had poked you once with the spikes on his gloves. the look on your face when you brought your hand up to rub it while you apologized for it. why were you apologizing? every soft “sorry” that came out of your mouth was like sprinkling water onto the fire. best to get fresh firewood so that it doesn’t go out.

ensuring that the fire is a consistent flame is also important to prevent accidents. accidents like playfully taking off his sunglasses and putting it on yourself while imitating him. somehow, that didn’t cause the fire to go out, in fact, it made it burn even brighter than before. the redness on his face when he watched you was comparable to the orange and red hues of a fire.

he stayed close to the fire, close to you. feeling the warmth of love on his skin, finding it calming but also terrifying. it doesn’t rain often in the outer ring but that doesn’t stop him from worrying that it would all of a sudden. so he lies awake at night, thinking about all of the possibilities, the what ifs and its outcomes.

he thought he had considered everything. from keeping the fire from going out, to ensuring it was a stable flame, to tending it slowly and carefully. what he didn’t consider was getting too close to the fire, burning through what he thought was tough skin.

he was too focused on trying to maintain a certain personality, not quite showing his interest in you. so when caesar was talking to you about her love stories while everyone was hanging around the bar, his heart rate increased. just like how consuming alcohol affects one’s mental and physical state, so does it affect a fire. maybe someone poured his drink into the flames as he watched it burn even brighter than before, making him eavesdrop on your conversation.

but a large flame meant a higher possibility of getting burnt, and soon he saw the burn marks on his skin. as you continued to talk with caesar, the longer he let the fire burn him. how you had said that real love wasn’t like the stories, how you seemed disinterested in romance, how you had believed that no one was interested in you. at that moment, he ended up getting more drinks from burnice, hoping it would soothe the roaring flames within him. he drank so much and fell asleep to the soft crackling of the fire, your voice acting as background noise.

he woke up to the coldness of the bar counter pressing on his cheek. the fire had been put out by you when you tapped on his shoulder. the memories of last night flooding into his mind like water. maybe it was all some nightmare and you did like him back, but the sudden coolness of your touch made him realize the reality of it all.

you didn’t like him, and not because he did anything wrong but because he didn’t do anything in your eyes. you were feeding the fire in his heart and he mistook that fire for your heart too. he sat up straight, took one look at you and shook his head. you still cared for him, came with water and woke him up gently. he never intended to get so severely injured because of his own growing feelings for you.

his own feelings, you didn’t even know he had any for you. the pile of ashes, you both stared at it and yet only he knew that fire existed. the flames had misled him, danced around his heart that craved for you, that only asked for you as its fuel. now all he can do was sit next to what was once a big fire, feeling the cold on his skin despite the layers. no warmth left, no light left, no love left.

[bixels]

Do sunset and twilight have any sort of relationship in your human au? (Your art is so SO BEAUTIFUL by the way, I have spent so much time staring at it. I love your lines and use of color).

Yes.

[maofa]

I have see this headcanon that I love which is:

In every Alive!Kuina AU she is the one to save Hiyori, not Zoro. Ecen if Zoro is alive. ESPECIALLY if Zoro is alive. New ship! It got called Hiyoku (i'm not the one who decides these things tho)

But the funniest part of this is Zoro teasing Kuina about her crush and she just uno reverse it vy bringing up... everything he dies towards Luffy.

They end up fighting over who has the better s/o and she beats his ass every time

oh my gosh hiiii

ok so that’s something I didn’t know I needed in my life so please accept these messy doodles of them being silly ;3

[pinkeoni]

anon: Gif request of the Byers brothers if you’re feeling it 🫶🏻

[achingly-shy]

spotify wrapped 2023: #51 + teen wolf for anon

"or were you all in a dream amelie, amelie? i don't know" amelie — gracie abrams

[vladdyissues]

I always liked to share my cute Au's But I never got to the right place to say them...Sharing this anonymously I know it's cowardly...I'm a coward, one who thinks Danielle would be a nice daughter for Vlad and Danny

No mistreatment, no abuse, none of that... Just love, love from cute husbands and their spoiled little daughter who likes to braid her father Vlad's hair while eating cheese balls, Little family moments where they go to play and Dani's "ewww" sound when her parents kiss, When they snuggle up on the couch to watch a movie covered with a blanket and laugh while watching Frozen while Dani says that Olaf looks like Danny, Vlad spitting out his breakfast coffee while Danny tries to cook pancakes for breakfast while his daughter tells how she likes a boy at her school, And Vlad screaming that he knew that putting her in a public school was a terrible option, Sobbing into Danny's cute chef outfit about why he didn't grow up so fast and how he didn't want to be without a nun...Oh just walking in the park, Danny scolding his husband between kisses for spoiling his daughter so much and not giving her all his attention, and having cute moments when his daughter goes to school, Many kisses and caresses are more cloying than a cup of honey with chocolate and sugar, And how Dani jumps on his parents' bed shouting "it's daylight!" Like a child when it's already Christmas...

Yes, Pompous pep is love.

It truly is ♥

[corrodedcoughin]

I have a head cannon that Eddie and robin have The most unpredictable relationship. One second they act like boyfriends in law, then they act like mortal enemies, 5 seconds later they’re crying together about robins most recent sad fun fact about animals. Steve can never keep up with where they’re at but I’d glad that his favorite people are so close. (Also when people ask them how they met Eddie will go on and on about how brave Robin is and she just says “we found him in a dumpster”)

Publishing this out into the st universe for everyone to be as delighted by it as I was/am

[stormyoceans]

https://x.com/aforyou__/status/1843229302063841501?t=4iBxUj8uAVwk3S2UDvWuUQ&s=19

THE PLOT THICKENS

OH SO WE ARE AT THE INTERACTING WITH EACH OTHER ON INSTAGRAM STAGE OF THE RELATIONSHIP OKAY ALRIGHT COOL. COOLCOOLCOOLCOOLCOOLCOOL. I SEE.....HAHAHA............HA......HOLY FUCK WE ARE SO GETTING THEM FOR GMMTV 2025 AND I FEEL SO SICK IN THE HEAD ABOUT IT I JUST

SCREAMING SHAKING CRYING THROWING UP SPINNING COUNTERCLOCKWISE ON THE CEILING FOAMING AT THE MOUTH SCREECHING AT A FREQUENCY ONLY BATS CAN HEAR

[mars-ipan]

Hi, it's me again. I decided to follow your advice and try to seek out your 'actually serious' analysis, which led me to your komahina bible, the most easy to find compilation of this supposed analysis. Here are my thoughts-

1) Overview

- Most of this 'analysis' isn't analysis but a summary/overview of the game. It's not so much a 'bible' as a children's book summary of the bible, which at that point it would be better to play the actual game itself. It's clear it was made for a presentation on the 'uninitiated' if you will, but if that's the case, you shouldn't be advertising it as the literal bible on the subject.

- When you are not regurgitating points from the game beat by beat, the screen is halfway filled with either manga panels or fanart. My gripes with manga panels are, that even though they do depict the events of the game, the way they can be depicted by the artist can be pretty subjective due to the freedom of the medium in comparison to sprites, and that the role of one character can differ depending on whose pov manga it is (chiaki vs nagito). Fan art therefore should be scrutinized even more since it fully depicts abstracted and even the fandomified version of events, leading to situations where it's either unclear what is actually happening or betrays your more shallow view of the characters (i talk abt this later.)

- When you do use pictures directly from the game it's either a possible screenshot from a memorable moment or dialog from the wiki, limited almost exclusively to the freetime events. This leads me to believe that you haven't actually played the game(there are other factors hinting towards this) or watched a Let's Play of it, but going off of merely information that's already widely known and circulating within the fandom, and easy to search on the wiki.

2) Incorrect/Questionable information

Here I'll compile a lot of information that's either plainly wrong or baffling to having come to that conclusion , leading more credence to the theory that you either haven't actually played the game or your memory of it isnt as good as you think.

-"if Nagito's plan went off of without a hitch, he would have killed anyone that was closes to him at the time" plainly wrong. Komaeda's goal from the start was to make himself the victim, so by dying this way his death could have meaning and help the others. For somebody that keeps talking about Komaeda's "Martyr complex" this is truly a weird take to have.

-"Nagito...got the nurse for sure sick" is there any proof that specifically points to Komaeda for this? I believe the takeaway should've been that Mikan got sick because she was around all of them AND she overworked herself trying to take care of them. Is this just an awkwardly phrased attempt to make more of a connection between Tsumiki and Komaeda? I don't think you needed more than the ones that already existed.

- "he helps Junko brainwash a bunch of students" Kamukura at neither point in the anime or Danganronpa 0 was ever specifically implicated in the brainwashing. He never 'helps' Junko, especially in that way. If you meant, participates in the student council killing game, you should've said that, but even then his agency and influence is limited.

-"they found the Remnants and captured them!"...no, they didn't. The Remnants presented themselves as survivors and the Foundation took them in. They handed themselves over willingly. It was a pretty big piece of the final part of the game...

3) Komaeda and Komahina

- "Nagito's habit of putting people on pedestals" Where. Sure, he certainly parrots the belief that the "Ultimates" as a unit are at the top of the food chain and should be prioritised, but its clear that doesn't exactly carry over to his classmates like teruteru, Kuzuryu and even Souda sometimes. Just because of a few positive comments refering to them as Ultimates and the trial which he literally breaks down in, this is a hard position to support.

-"Nagito manipulates Hajime into playing the game" How. He literally just told him to play it. How is that manipulation. Also, isn't it a bit unfair to put the blame on Koizumi's death to him as well? I think they were multiple factors playing into this, but sure, how else are you gonna convince people that Komaeda is a twisted fucking cyclepath that loves leading people to their deaths.

-The way that you say the Kuzuryu/Pekoyama relationship mirrors Komahina as 'I will give up my agency for you/ I just want you' is also confusing. Unless of course you mirror Peko's struggle with her agency and harmful beliefs the clan enforced on her with Komaeda's own belief system, in which case, idk man, i feel like you are giving a bit too much credit to the supposed severity of Komaeda's views and trying too hard to make Hinata the 'rational' and 'grounding' one in the relationship.

- Again, the amount of times you refer to Komaeda as a freak for doing something 'weird' or even being drawn weirdly doing it , mostly in the manga, makes me belief this isn't just an affectionate tongue in cheek joke as you claim, but an actual way in which your interpretation of Komaeda is colored.

-"it doesn't excuse his nonchalance towards tragedy and murder but explains it" what needs to be excused here exactly? Komaeda doesn't need to immediately bawl his eyes out when someone gets killed or else he's suspicious and...bad? I am confused with what you mean by this. If you mean that Komeada shouldn't be so nonchalant about murder because he's constantly trying to kill someone else, that is plainly incorrect and i explained above why.

-Posturing about Komaeda's 'black and white thinking' while in the next exact slide you show fanart of him smugly explaining he has Borderline. First, i want you to explain to me the black and white thinking in a way that isn't "oh, the friends and classmates i previously liked turned out to be fucking terrorists". I think that's a pretty justifiable situation for your thinking to go from white to black. Also, if that is enough credence to assign Komaeda BPD, you really don't know how BPD works, especially since you assigned it to the one character you constantly talk about being a freak (and also lust...pseudo lust? after).

- The insistence with Hinata not really understanding Komaeda and running away, even if he wants to understands him is pretty suspect, especially when compared to the game. Hinata is confused and overwhelmed yes, but it's not just that he wants to understand Komaeda but that he still feels fondness for him, he still follows his advice and puts his faith in him and the way he mourns him in Chapter 5 is also pretty indicative of this. It's just another part in the pattern in you making Hinata the confused, rational, 'morally pure' man that's 'tempted' by 'corrupted' manic pixie mentally ill demon Komaeda. Something tells me your priest AU isn't so much playing with dolls as much as...what you actually believe these characters dynamic is.

- The whole page where Servant is basically made into a joke about how hot and sexy and freaky he is doesn't help your point either.

-The most damning evidence of course is a drawing in the second to last slide, wherein Komaeda is supposed to be analogous to 'guy who has something wrong with him' (distorted, freak, mentally ill) and Hinata is analogous to the guy that 'is the only one that understands them' (the rational one, the relationship of understanding doesn't go both ways).

- Your slide with sources is pretty vague and unclear. Also the way that you credit "Your superior mind" before the game itself when all you've been doing is repeating and misinterpreting the plot of the game is ...ironic

So yeah, that's all I got. Feel free to 'debunk' my observations as much as you please, I just want to know if there's actual basis behind everything you just said or I should go digging for 'the actual serious analysis' yet again.

i think you forgot that fandom is meant to be fun

[shizunitis]

I need to say this to binghe and you're the closest real life binghe I know so just hear me out will ya

No matter what society says of you, you are still very loved and I'm so happy that by the end of the novel, you got the happy ending that you deserved.

I'm so sorry that you sometimes feel unloved and unwanted. If I could've met you, I would've showered you with poems every day. Fate was too cruel to you and you deserve all the love the world has to offer.

I'm so glad you found a person who actually loves you for you. And that you didn't have to try to fill a void by collecting women and treasures like pokemons. I'm so happy that you're so happy.

I'm so sorry for how the world treated you before shen yuan transmigrated. No child should've been subjected to so much pain. And how the cultivation world treated you when you came out of the abyss.

I know that me apologizing for all the pain you suffered is fucking useless and stupid but I can't even give you a physical hug. So please just bear with me.

I'm so glad that now fate will be kinder to you and that you've finally found an anchor to ground you. Shizun is one lucky man. How I wish I could've pat your head and coodled you when you were crying but nevertheless your happiness is everything. Try to never be sad again, Luo Binghe.

Yours truly,

xxxxx

i feel it would be a bit inappropriate to complain that he's getting this message instead of me, so i'll let it go this once. just this once.

co-sign, or whatever 🙄

[skitskatdacat63]

2011 Japan Post-Qualifying

[myokk]

When will you release new chapters on Ao3 🥲

Hi!!

I'M ACTUALLY ALMOST DONE WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER​🥹​🙏​ I'M SORRY IT'S TAKEN SO LONG...I just checked and I haven't updated since May 1st​😫​ this chapter is really crazy...and I've been having lots of difficulty pulling everything together and writing well😔🙏

Here's a little excerpt...​💓​

Her father barely gave her time to get to her feet, legs still shaking and fingers visibly trembling before he would cast that terrible spell again: Legilimens.

Eloise found that she could last a few seconds, staring defiantly into her father’s eyes, before it would become too much and she would collapse. She vaguely wondered if everyone felt the same when their memories were invaded so, or if it were just another show of her disgusting weakness.

She could tell that her father was holding back today. He wasn’t ripping into her memories and tearing them up like he had been the day before; this time, he was focusing specifically on the same group of memories that had to do with the day she was removed from their family and banished. Maybe it was curiosity for how she perceived the day, but whatever it was, Eloise hated reliving the worst day of her life over and over again. The day she had lost everything. The day it had been confirmed to her that she didn’t belong, would never belong. (Of course, before it had happened, she had long-sensed it coming: more and more frequently, she had spent entire weeks in her room, alone, without being able to leave.)

The emotions burning and tearing her apart were going to leave only a charred husk of herself in their parlor if they kept this up for much longer. It had been so long since she had thought about that day, and she would have preferred to never remember it again. If she thought her memories had faded since they happened, she had quickly learned that the assumption was erroneous.

“You need to clear your mind of all emotions, fool girl,” her father spat. Eloise took advantage of the fact he was talking to collapse into an armchair to her right. The bright light of the late morning was filtering through the windows and even though it was the end of October, it felt warm. She sat with her head cradled in her hands, not caring that she was being frightfully disrespectful by not looking up at him with her usual composure. Sweat trickled down her neck, her breathing was uneven. “How could a daughter of mine let herself get so carried away by hysteria? You’re a Babbit. So show me. Get up.”

Eloise got to her feet and shuffled over to stand in front of her father again. She tried to clear out her mind. Compartmentalize and fold everything that made her her into a small, tiny, insignificant thing that could be shoved into a corner. Picture a smooth pond, a drop of dew from a leaf suspended above, slowly rolling off the leaf and falling into the center of the pond, the ripples slowly circling out perfectly and look…there…was another perfect drop, about to fall into the middle of the pond and -

Loud, shaking footsteps came closer and disturbed the peaceful stillness of the pond and all of a sudden she was being tossed around by huge waves, salt and bile filling her mouth and she couldn’t breath, and then she was eleven years old and gasping for breath and bleeding on the very floor she was currently lying on, five years later.

Eloise was at her father’s mercy once again. She couldn’t move. Imprisoned inside her mind.

Her parents were both looming over her, an unimaginable disgust she had never seen before marring both of their beautiful faces. Theirs had always been a cold beauty - faces carved from marble, cut-glass features and generally impassive. She couldn’t make out the words they were hissing at her, but the hatred was something tangible that she could feel and it would stick with her forever. It was an oppressive and dark and overwhelming feeling. Her mother raised her wand, no doubt to cast another -

But her father grabbed her mother’s hand and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and slowly lowered her wand, and then they were both gone. Eloise doesn’t know how long she had laid there, bleeding and gasping, before Leo burst through the door, face wild. He had only finished his first year of Hogwarts - was only twelve-about-to-turn-thirteen, and yet it was on his shoulders to try and nurse his sister back to life. Loli appeared and silently assisted, holding her healing hands over the cuts as Leo cleared away the blood.

Eloise had remained silent the whole time, swallowing up any tears that threatened to spill out and staring up at her brother with solemn eyes. They both knew it was the last time they would ever see each other, and she had already ruined it enough with the blood. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, try to reassure him that it - that she - would be okay, but no words came out.

“I expect you to continue practicing your Occlumency,” her father said as he extracted himself from her mind and looked down at her with disgust.

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hi! Number six of the drabble prompt list, and if I may suggest, with a sad jealous Laudna.

hi! I'm sorry this one took a few days. I um. got a little carried away with it again. these were only supposed to be like 500-word prompt fills, and this is uh, slightly more than that. so I hope that's ok.

for those who don't want to find the prompt, it was: "You just didn't look for me." naturally I went ep 64 with a healthy splash of canon divergence, some good old-fashioned hurt/comfort, and pate as a thinly veiled metaphor.

length: 2k

~~~

Laudna whirls on her, snaps, “We looked for you. And the others. Every fucking day.” She holds Imogen’s gaze, holds her piercing stare until Imogen tilts her head. “You just didn’t look for me,” she whispers. 

Imogen steps forward, quiet but insistent. “No, sweetheart, no, we did. I did. Every day.” She does not reach out, afraid, not of Laudna–never of Laudna–but of herself. Of what she might do if given the chance at the wrong time. Her heart pounds an unsteady rhythm.

“I want to believe you,” Laudna says. She toys with the brass ring on her left hand, twisting it around her finger anxiously, twin snakes coiling. “I do, truly, it’s just…” 

Imogen studies her, searching for answers in a frame both foreign and familiar. Laudna is pale and gaunt, cheeks drawn in, though that’s hardly unusual. Her stringy dark hair lacks luster in the eerie light of the red moon, crispy and clumped together in places by something Imogen can’t identify. Cast in the long shadows between buildings, Laudna is on edge, ready to claw and screech and lash out with those wicked talons if provoked. She is wild, and she is beautiful, and she is frightened.  

“I understand,” Imogen speaks slowly, gently, distinctly aware of each word’s weight. 

The others are still in the inn, consorting in the tavern. The Hells and their new friends, chatting, laughing, and drinking the night away, simply happy to be home. Introductions were made, and tales of grandeur waited to be spun. 

Laudna had been unnervingly quiet after the initial elation wore off. Her hands remained folded in her lap or picked intently at the skin around her nails. Pâté’s silence was even more concerning. He had been coaxed out of hiding in Laudna’s hair with the promise of scratches and nudged his beak into her wrist until she began stroking his greasy fur. 

She spoke when spoken to, adjusting in her seat and responding eagerly when prompted. The moment the attention shifted, though, her forced smile would drop. Every so often, she sent a furtive glance in Imogen’s direction as if to ensure she was still there, then looked away just as quickly. Exhaustion crept at the corners of her eyes, and her gaze would fall to her lap whenever the conversation turned to the adventures in Wildemount. 

The group from Issylra hadn’t said much about their travels, but Imogen gathered their transplantation had not been as, ah, pleasant wasn’t quite the right word. Illustrious, maybe, Imogen considered, fussing with a seam on her new dress. Laudna’s blouse was tattered and stained with a thick substance that did not match her ichor’s usual viscosity. 

Laudna had stood abruptly, muttering something about air, and disappeared outside. After making puzzled eye contact with Ashton, who tossed his head at the door and sighed heavily, Imogen followed her. 

She had found Laudna around the corner, curled into herself against the wall of the Spire by Fire. A feral thing, hardened and reshaped by whatever circumstances found her while they were apart. 

She has not calmed yet, and Imogen is reluctant to curb the swell of emotion that has Laudna dangling by a thread. She is tangled in it, ensnared in a knotted web, and Imogen is unsure how to extricate her. She is all jagged pieces and raw edges, a tempest of fury and loss that Imogen cannot rely on her mental connection to unravel. Laudna is something of a mystery to her now in a way she has never been, and it’s all Imogen can do to not toss her circlet to the winds. 

Instead, she waits. 

Laudna is muttering to herself, tugging at her clothes. Pâté flaps about her head, wings of sinew and bone making an abominably wet sound Imogen hadn’t realized she’d missed. The tip of one wing tangles in Laudna’s hair, and she swats at him irritably, sending him tumbling through the air until he manages to right himself. Imogen extends a hand, and he flies to her, settling in her palm on his hindquarters. He gives a disgruntled shake, and his wings squelch back into his body, tail coming to rest around his paws. He peers up at Imogen, then looks back to Laudna.  

“I tried,” he croaks in that gravelly way of his, and Imogen strokes his disgusting little head with one finger. 

“I know,” she assures gently. He could be referring to any number of moments across a lifetime, a few weeks, mere seconds ago. She sets him on her shoulder and feels pinprick claws pierce the fabric of her dress for stability. Crass and wretched as he is, Imogen can’t find it in herself to hate him. He is an extension of his maker, creepy and ungainly and off-putting, so Imogen must love him a tiny bit. She scratches under his chin, ignores the feeling of magic-touched bone, murmurs, “Thank you for keepin’ her safe.”

“Boss didn’t have the best of times without you.” He pipes up, a little rueful, in a manner Imogen assumes is meant to be quiet. Laudna, only a few feet away, catches it.

“Pâté,” she snarls. He squeaks and tucks himself into Imogen’s collar. 

“He’s just confirming what I had already guessed,” Imogen defends, an attempt at lightness that doesn’t quite land. “It’s not his fault you haven’t told me anything.” 

“He ought to have stayed in my head. Then he might leave well enough alone,” Launda warns. 

“You don’t mean that,” Imogen counters calmly. 

Laudna spits, “He should have stayed dead.”

“Hey.” 

She huffs a sardonic, dry laugh. “Not everyone deserves second chances.” 

Imogen inhales sharply.

There it is. 

“Laudna…” She softens. She cups Pâté protectively. His fur oddly damp against her skin. She takes a cautious step forward. 

The pieces begin slotting into place, building the frame for a jarring picture of something severe enough to reopen this old wound. 

The fight sapped from her limbs, Laudna slides her back down the wall until she sits in the filth and dirt of the alleyway with her knees drawn close to her chest. Imogen winces as rough stone drags across jutting bone and paper-thin skin. 

“Are you… Do you want to be alone?” She asks–because what else can she do?– and half-fears the answer. 

Laudna’s head jerks up, and something Imogen can’t decipher flashes in her eyes. After a moment, her head shakes minutely, and Imogen lets out a relieved sigh. 

Tense silence leaches from the pores of the building’s rocky exterior.  

“We tried to find you all. Every day. We didn’t–we didn’t know where we were. Where anyone was, and–” Laudna breathes at last. “Orym was… was angry. Vengeful. And Ashton…. He was our friend.”

“Ashton?”

“I hurt him,” Laudna continues as if Imogen hadn’t spoken at all.

“Hurt who?” 

She shudders. “I killed him, not Prism.” Inky tears well from eyes pressed shut. Her voice is impossibly soft, hollow, seeming to ask, Do you hate me yet?

The narrative is convoluted at best. Imogen fruitlessly attempts to splice together the fragments of memory slipping through Laudna’s teeth like snowflakes, to arrange them into a cohesive whole among the scraps she gathered at the table. The Issylra group returned rattled, apprehensive and tense, but this is deeper. Laudna is shaken. 

“Wasn’t he a member of the Ruby Vanguard?” 

“He was confused, just like the rest of us. Angry at the gods.” Laudna’s eyes flicker to the glowing red moon. Her fist, clenched in her hair, tightens. “And I killed him.” 

Imogen steps closer. “We’ve all killed people.”

Laudna shakes her head. Her voice hardens once more. “I don’t begrudge you the shopping or fraternizing with royalty or, or whatever else it was,” she says lowly, “But we didn’t have that. We didn’t save a toy store or home-cooked breakfasts. We spent every moment fighting to get back to you. And now,” she swallows, “we must reckon with the cost.” 

She is utterly exhausted; Imogen can see in the dim light. Although bone-weary and at her wits’ end, Laudna’s elegant cheekbones curl with shadows that twist and hide in her skirts. Hunched and fearful as she is, Laudna is still hauntingly beautiful. Something warms in Imogen’s chest. 

“You did what you had to do to survive,” she says, “No one can fault you for that.” 

“I’m sorry.” Laudna’s voice breaks, fracturing in tandem with Imogen’s heart, and she sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Laud, no–” Imogen crouches next to her, yearning to touch, to take Laudna in her arms and bite and hiss and growl at anyone who dares approach. She restrains herself, carefully plucking Pâté from her shoulder and setting him on the ground between them. He turns to her skeptically as if to say, Really? After what she said? Imogen nudges him in Laudna’s direction. He sniffs, beak in the air, and ruffles his fur before bounding to Laudna’s ankles and putting his weird, cold little dead rat toes against her shin. She ignores the pawing fragment of her soul, ashamed. 

“I’m sorry,” Laudna mutters, “I must seem…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

Laudna begins incredulously, “I–”

“You survived,” Imogen reiterates, “against gods and people powerful enough to destroy them.” She sighs, “I sent you a message every day, you know? Sometimes more than once, if I’m honest, ‘till my nose bled and Deanna had to patch me up.” Imogen offers a half-smile. “All I got was static. I just had to hope you were out there, somewhere, lookin’ for me, too.” 

Laudna looks as if she might melt into herself, refusing to look at Imogen. Her shoulders shake, and she confesses with a gasp, “She’s back. I brought her back.” 

Imogen’s blood chills, but her tone remains neutral. “Who, Laud?” 

At last, Laudna meets her gaze, eyes wide and wet and horror-struck. “Delilah.”

The name hangs between them like a stone ready to drop and shatter and bury itself into their flesh. Searing rage erupts in Imogen’s veins. 

“I’m sorry,” Laudna shrinks back, “I’m so sorry. To all of you. You all gave so much to–to find me. And–”

“It’s not your fault,” Imogen interjects.

“–and I wasn’t…I was weak. I lost control.” 

“Laudna,” Imogen cuts her off with the steely calm of a thunderstorm on the horizon. She cannot afford to process this now, not when Laudna is trembling in an alley. Not when Laudna, unmoored and terrified, needs her to be an anchor. No, Imogen will save her questions and unfiltered anger, for another time. A time when Laudna is safe and warm and at no risk of coming unraveled in her hands. When Laudna is in a place to know Imogen’s wrath is not, could never be, directed at her.

“Laudna,” Imogen repeats, because she cannot bear the thought of her not understanding, “this is not your fault. None of this.” She does reach out, then, offering a lifeline should Laudna choose to accept it. She does, hesitantly, as if waiting for Imogen to recoil. Her fingers are cool, bird-light against Imogen’s red-scarred palm. Laudna seems to notice at the same time.

“Imogen,” she exclaims, words still tear-tinged and quivering, “your hands. They’re–are you alright?”

“Oh, they–they don’t hurt, usually. Promise. I’m fine.”

“I should have–I’m sorry, I suppose I was–”

“Laudna,” Imogen interrupts again, not unkindly, “please.” 

It’s then that Laudna seems to notice Pâté clawing his way up her skirt. She scoops him up and holds him to her, murmuring apologies into his fur.

“‘S’okay, boss,” he rasps, squished against his maker’s chest, “I can’t hold a grudge.”

They sit like that, hand-in-hand, hand-on-rat, until the easy stroke of Imogen’s thumb against Laudna’s has smoothed out the worst of the jagged edges. Until the tension falls from Laudna’s spine and she relaxes into Imogen’s touch. 

“The others are surely wondering where we’ve gone.”

Imogen shrugs, snorts, “There’re so many people at that table I think they’d hardly notice two missing.”

“Still,” Laudna says, “we ought to get back.”

“Do you want to?” It’s her choice. It always will be if Imogen can help it.

Laudna considers. “I think I’d rather like to hear the end of Chetney’s story from the Savalirwood.”

“Oh gods,” Imogen groans, flushing at the memory, “no, you don’t.” 

“Fearne and Deanna, hm?” 

“Best to let them tell it.”