#(to be clear I have no problem with people with religious trauma I have a problem with antitheism because it's not only fucking stupid

[alostchord]

Antitheists will come online and say shit like "all religions are bad" mf name one thing all religions share in common

[burningsuitfire]

Essek and religious trauma

Saw this post from @balleater here and having been meaning to write a meta on the subject, theorizing about what we know.

Essek admits to being seriously traumatized when Caleb talks to him in the Grove.

(141) Caleb: Somewhat hypocritical coming from me, but try to be kind to yourself.  Essek: You, more than anyone, showed me that trauma doesn't define you.

The simplest conclusion is religious trauma, along with neglect and abandonment.

In the wrap-up Matt puts serious emphasis on Essek's parents and family being "very deeply steeped" in the religious culture alongside how Essek has "very much eschewed" the religious culture, that no one has ever genuinely cared about Essek beyond his influence and talent, that his family didn't understand or support his focus on dunamantic research (or his career), and draws clear lines about the negative aspects of Dynasty's theocratic authoritarianism and uncompromising cultural zealotry, at points Mercer even compares it to evangelicalism and doomsday cults.

He also gives us hints that it's a bad situation for anyone who doesn't follow the official faith, like in Eiselcross when Caleb asks questions about the mandated religion and Kryn theories on the beacons:

(124) Essek: It is an interesting idea, though I would caution to keep it close to the chest. Such conversations might be considered sacrilege in some circles of the Dynasty.

Which as word of god tells us Essek had a very bad relationship with his powerful authoritarian den family that didn't understand him or his goals, and he grew up in the Bastion (which is a temple to the Luxon), when the Dynasty laws are founded on the faith and enforced by the military:

(EGtW) The laws of the dynasty, which stem from the faith of the Luxon, are enforced by a network of trusted Aurora Watch captains and soldiers

To the point where Matt emphasized how even petty criminals in the prison were systematically "beaten and emaciated", sacrilege could have ugly consequences, even growing up.

Especially considering that all we know of his father is that he seemed to have a temper to the point of extremely self-destructive tendencies, and that he was possibly military and thus law enforcement (warriors function as both in the Dynasty).

Even in the dinner conversation when he was being outstandingly open, Essek was very careful not to tell the nein anything that could allow other Kryn to question his faith:

Marisha: So his lying about it [consecution] was just about going along with the zealotry and not- Matt: Exactly, because he didn't want people to think that there was something up.

And then there's Essek's massive trust problems, which are specifically focused on the word "trust":

(131) Caleb: We feel we can trust you more than my old teacher. (You see, when you say the word "trust". It's simultaneously like seeing a small hit to the heart... and whatever icy bit that cracked melts away for a minute. There's a moment of him hearing the word and letting it wash over him.) Essek: I'm thankful for the trust you put in me. And I hope to make this up to you.

(124) Essek: I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust. When I- when you gave me trust, it gave me a perspective that was so agonizingly striking. So easy to see that I refused to acknowledge it at first, even. (135) Essek: The more I begin to see Beauregard, yourself return with these markings- I've only just recently learned to trust. It's hard to begin to mistrust so quickly.

Where there's a theory that it might stem from the Dynasty's training for echo knights and dunamancers (when we've heard Essek tell Caleb that the training is comparable to that of scourgers), and we even see the echo knight in Zadash react very strongly to the word "trust":

(13) Mollymauk: We just need to know who we can trust and who we can't.  Thuron: You cannot trust anybody in this city. You cannot trust yourselves. Anyone who has not bound themselves. They are the enemy.

Other context and info gives us that consecution and worshipping the Luxon and following the umavi-written "system of pure faith" created from their interpretation of the beacons (as EGtW dictates the Luxon is canonically silent and unconscious) is required for people to hold Dynasty political/spiritual/military office and influence, to work for the theocratic government (comprised of the 12 noble religious den families), and that dunamancy and the Dynasty's dunamis research is only accessible to those working for the government.

And it seems like Essek hints at unattractive consequences to others discovering he's been lying about his faith (and/or the dangerous nature of his career):

(131) Essek: I just know that I've also survived this long, weaving the intricacies of deceit like I have, by knowing how best to keep myself out of the complications as best as I can.

Finally, we have Essek's relationship with punishment and pain, alongside the Dynasty's systematic religious corporal punishment:

(57) In the shadows there look to be multiple figures. Some human, some ogre-ish with more reinforced bars, drow. Emaciated, beaten. Not looking happy and healthy, but then again, what good Dungeon of Penance would?

(77) ...days of chosen sunlight in which the nightfall is dispelled and the people of Rosohna and Xhorhas bask in the sun. Even those who find pain and challenge in its presence, as it is part of the worship. (EGtW) The Kryn drow who emerged from the shadowed depths of the caverns beneath Xhorhas now endure periods of sunlight as part of their worship. Periods of days, sometimes weeks, will transpire in a state of perpetual evening, enabling the darkness-bound denizens to go about their work. Such periods briefly come to an end to usher in periods of scheduled, mass worship under the sunlight.

(99) Essek: I will take my leave for the night. Thank you for not throwing me into the water. (97) Essek: The pain is somewhat comforting because I am my own punishment. (91) Essek: I have seen those far older than you that have experienced maybe half the pain I see in your eyes. Age isn't everything. Experience is what hardens you, prepares you for the worst. (138) Beau: My essence will haunt you. Essek: And I would deserve it, like I deserve all of the things that haunt me. Jester: Aw, Essek... Essek: Don't- offer me any solace. (141) Essek: Maybe it's time I just found my way. Really began my penance. I've procrastinated long enough in dealing with my sins. I convinced myself I'd be alone for so much of my life. It's hard to say goodbye when I don't feel alone anymore, but… I understand. I understand and accept what I've done.

[skaldish]

What would you say to someone that says something like "I'd rather study hard science than believe in myths made by humans"? Obviously it was a conversation about spirituality and religions and this person very clearly has put science in the place of God, but I'm really speechless when something like that happens.

(it might be a bit of a useless question, I apologize)

I guess it depends.

In my experience, most people dig their heels really hard into "science over religion," as a reaction to something that came up inside them.

For people with religious trauma (whether they recognize it as such or not), hearing someone talk about religion can recall the memory of how it felt to have religion overpower them. When someone says something like the statement you mentioned, it's to reinforce their own sense of agency in the face of that bad somatic memory resurfacing.

Even if such statements are intense, they're rarely actually personal; they're a reaction to the memory, not a reaction to the present conversation.

In these situations, I actually reply with something like, "Yeah, I don't blame you. The way Christianity works has major issues." Or say things like, "I mean, whoever believes mythology literally comes from the mouth of the divine clearly doesn't have their head on straight."

I say these things because it helps people get out of that defensive mindset. When it comes down to it, a big reason why a lot of folks are uncomfortable with religious talk is because they've experienced people trying to convert them that way.

But when it becomes clear to them that I'm not wholly uncritical of religion, it opens the door to further discussion about it, especially if the topic moves away from "our individual beliefs" and towards a discussion about the meta of religion and spirituality; how it functions as an anthropological phenomenon.

I've actually had long conversations with atheists about it. Many of them do in fact have thoughts on the matter and will avidly get into it, and it's during these conversations that I'll offer disambiguation about religion and about science as it comes up. And it really just is disambiguation; I'm not actually trying to persuade them of any one thing or another.

Keep in mind though that mileage varies. Even if you were to engage the person you mentioned this way, you may not be able to point out they're just substituting God with science. This would shed light on the fact they're still thinking like a Christian; that even though their thoughts have changed, their pattern of thinking has not. And if they haven't come to terms with the existence of that thought-pattern yet, then the act of pointing this out will only make them mad.

But I think this is where my advice sort of runs dry. It doesn't really feel invalidating of my spirituality for someone to come at me with a hard "science-only" stance. That's because a) I love science, and b) my own spirituality is not based on "having faith" in any way, so challenging my faith doesn't actually do anything because I don't believe in anything without evidence.

When people bank hard into atheism, my reaction is generally, "Well yeah, that's a reasonable response to have to religion kicking the shit out of you." It's only when an atheist is being an asshole to me because I have a spirituality do we have a problem.

[toastofthetrashfire]

My Top Shows 2023

Doing this at the last minute but here goes--the top 10 shows I watched in 2023!

*Note: I rate my shows on a letter scale cause I don't like narrowing it down to a specific number. (S-standout As-Strong Bs-Fine Cs-There's some problems Ds-ooof)

1. Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

This one instantly became an all time favorite. It covers themes about grief and loss in a deeply empathetic and humanizing way along side the supernatural elements. I don't know if it's because I've experienced loss myself or because it's a universal experience, but I love shows like this that help you understand what it means to grieve and heal in a familiar yet new light. It reminded me a lot of Natsume Yuujinchou (another favorite) in that respect.

Aside from the larger themes, you have a distinct directing style, quirky sense of humor, well-rounded cast of characters, and excellent acting (the lead actor was also in Your Name Engraved Herein and he's just as standout here). In addition to all that, the show gives us a main trio of characters whose strengths are deliberately not their wits. This is used for humor but also to make more meaningful points about connection, empathy, and different ways of thinking (yes, I headcanon the main trio as neurodivergent).

Rating: S+

2. The Eighth Sense

This show! Another piece that is deeply rooted in exploring trauma and loss. This time within the framework of a romance. I'm usually pretty hesitant with stories that bring disability into romance, especially mental illness. There's a tendency to lean into the idea that love cures all and other not so great tropes. The Eighth Sense does a great job balancing that line, giving us romantic beats without wading into them uncritically. In the end, healing and love are things we choose not something guaranteed, but there's still an immense hope in that. I'm an giant sucker for shows that tackle both queer and crip experiences with nuance and grace, and the Eighth Sense hit that mark for me (so much so it even had me writing a little meta). On top of that it has beautiful cinematography and visual choices.

Rating: S

3. Moonlight Chicken

A beautiful show all around! P'Aof constantly knocks it out of the park with every show he directs, but I felt particularly strong about Moonlight Chicken. I adore the way it centers on themes of home and community. It even inspired some meta and a bit of personal reflection for me on what it means to choose home as someone who is queer and disabled. The show gives us the messiness that comes with navigating new and old relationships and somehow also the simplicity of it all. And of course, the show includes a Deaf character and handles his story with nuance and clear care.

Rating: S

4. Shadow

Singto, Fluke, and Fiat in a queer horror show--sign me up! It wasn't as scary as I expected, more psychological (which is good because I am so picky about what types of horror are too much for me vs what I enjoy). I loved the way the show played with time and reality and drew upon various religious practices to create a unique atmosphere. I also adored the attention to small details that make the piece ripe for analysis. I will probably be eyeing clocks and tech in many shows to come. It's also a show that is bringing up themes about queerness, mental illness, domestic violence, and historical trauma. I'm continually drawn to pieces that are queer and crip, so I suppose it's no surprise that this one drew me in too.

I know this show was divisive, about as many people thought it stuck the landing as didn't. I happen to land in the former category. I adore media that makes me stop and think, and given the amount of meta the show had/has me writing, I'd say it well and truly tickled my brain. The show didn't always go where I most wanted or expected but I think that challenged me even more to really think about what the show might be trying to do (my thoughts on that here, spoilers though).

Rating: S

5. Our Dining Table

Japan does a lot of things well, but I'm particularly fond of their slice-of-life. Our Dining Table fits right in there with food and found family at the center. It's warm and cute, but has a depth beyond it's soft exterior, delving into loss, loneliness, and what it means to be fully seen by those around us. All of this tied up in a queer bow. It was easily the show I was most excited to watch each week when it was airing.

Rating: S

6. Mysterious Lotus Casebook

Another one I fell in love with this year! While it has plenty of tropes, cutting through the core of all of this is the growing friendship between the main trio, especially between Li Lian Hua and Fang Duo Bing. Their relationship and personal growth as characters was really beautiful to watch, on top of it just being a fun show with a great balance of humor and drama. Plus Fang Duo Bing's mom 😍

Rating: S

7. One Room Angel

Another solid entry out of Japan. As much as I love Japan's bright slice-of-life offerings like Our Dining Table, they also excel at stories that don't shy away from heavy or complex emotional themes. And I'm noticing as I tackle this post that I really resonate with heavy themes. One Room Angel has it's lighter moments and own quirky humor. But it also tackles depression and suicide as it explores the journey of finding enough connection and meaning in life to keep moving forward.

Rating: S

8. I Feel You Linger in the Air

I Feel You Linger in the Air was such a beautiful show! I'm so happy we got a historical thai bl this year and that it was so so lovely. I really liked last year's To Sir With Love but it does have it's Lakorn/soap style that is a bit more of an obstacle for me. IFYLITA certainly has it's drama, but it feels more tightly drawn. Throw in a little time travel and beautiful love scenes and it was a delight to watch.

Rating: S

9. My Beautiful Man S2, Eternal

When I watched the first season of My Beautiful Man I liked it but wasn't exactly sold. I read a bit of meta from the community which changed my tune a bit. But it wasn't until watching season 2 and Eternal that something really clicked. I immediately went back and watched season 1 after finishing the film and oh boy did I fall in love. Not only do S2 and Eternal give us great character growth and forward motion to Hira and Kiyoi's relationship, and they feel like a natural expansion of the first season in the best way possible. What can I say, I love the whole series!

Rating: A+

10. Kiseki: Dear to Me

Kiseki: Dear to Me feels like an outlier to me. It's hard for me to put my finger on just what made it click for me, but I was so into it when it was airing. I recognize that plot wise this show is a bit of a mess, but at the same time it hit something just right in my brain. Perhaps it was the emotional intimacy the actors portrayed? They did a fantastic job drawing me in. Apart from that I couldn't take my eyes off of Ai Di's impeccable fashion choices, and the many many cameos were quite fun.

Rating: A+ YMMV

A few close contenders:

My School President (S) *split airing 22' and 23'

Tokyo in April Is... (A+)

Laws of Attraction (A)

Bed Friend (A)

The End of the World with You (A)

Me, My Husband, and My Husband's Boyfriend (A)

If it's with You (A)

Our Dating Sim (A)

Love Tractor (A)

The Warp Effect (A) *split airing 22' and 23'

The New Employee (A) *split airing 22' and 23'

La Pluie (A-)

Midnight Museum (A-)

[justmeinadaze]

I'm In Control Part 7 (Steddie X You)

A/N: I bare you your crack for the weekend. Snort your serotonin slowly please lol <3

Warnings: Daddy Steve and Sir Eddie and all that that implies (I regret nothing). She really pushes them this time so some degrading from the guys, slapping, and a bit of the rough stuff. All three talk about their traumas. Y/N talks about her religious trauma a bit more. May be triggering if you grew up in a household or town like that. My bio mom liked to pretend she did she I heard a lot of this same stuff myself.

Word Count: 3276

Boys,

Went to work. 

See you later :) 

-Y/N

“Should we be worried?”, you place your head in your hands as you look at TJ who’s casually lounging on one of your couches.

“I don’t think so but it’s something to be cautious of. You may want to call your clients down here and just bring them up to speed.”

“Well, I told them I was going to see them at their shoot tonight but if I know them, they are probably on their way down here anyway.”

“I haven’t seen bullshit like this since the early nineties—” 

A small knock on your door interrupts him as it slowly opens. “Hey, sorry. We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?”, Steve cautiously pokes his head through. 

You smirk at your boss who chuckles. “You’re amazing. No boys. I actually wanted to speak with you. Come in.”

“Why do you sit on top of your desk like that when you have a thousand chairs?”, Eddie asks as he leans against the edge of it next to you.

“Makes me feel tall. Also Mr. Munson, I’m not sure if you saw but the sign on the door says it’s my office so I can do whatever I want.” He scrunches his nose at your playful tone. 

Steve steals your desk chair, gliding closer to you and TJ. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, the cops raided a set the other night.”, TJ sighs as you press play on your tv. He gestures towards it as he continues. “Our wonderful city officials are trying to look good so they are cracking down ‘drugs’ and ‘prostitution’.” 

“But…none of that is happening.”, Eddie folds his arms as he watches the screen. 

“Not with any of my people and sets I work with. You guys know if you see any of that kind of shit, you let me or Y/N know.”

Steve lets out a heavy sigh as he leans back in his chair. You reach for the stress ball on your desk and throw it at his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”, you flash him a comforting smile. 

“We just want you guys to be aware. It really shouldn’t be a problem especially on Luke’s set. His studio is so big I don’t think they would even dare try it.” He glances at the three of you before clearing his throat. 

“Since everyone is here…”

“My other client isn’t here.”, you interject.

“Yeah, but I know where he is. I keep losing you three.” TJ stands, trying to make himself more authoritative. “Where were you guys yesterday?”

“Audition.”

He turned to face you. “All day? Really?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Auditionsssss.” You make sure to put obnoxious emphasis on the S. 

Your boss narrows his eyes at you as both men try to contain their smiles. 

“You, young lady, are lucky I like you.”, he points his finger sternly. “From now on if I call you answer. If we have an event or party EVERYONE must remain there until I dismiss you. Understood?”

You faux salute him. “Yes, sir.”

“Gentlemen?” They affirm with mumbled yeahs. “Good. Now that all that is out of the way, I’m going to go back to my office and eat my delicious lunch in peace. Don’t bother me.”

He grins, jokingly pushing your shoulder as he leaves you office. 

Your eyes shift between them, Eddie’s head was down towards his sneakers as Steve was still looking at the TV.

“Wow. Well, don’t get shy on me now.”

“Are you ok?”, Eddie was the first to speak. “I…I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

“Eddie…”

“Steve was right. We weren’t in the right frame of mind. I definitely wasn’t.”

“Eddie, it’s okay. I’m ok.” You wrap your arm around his shoulder, pulling him in front of you so you could hug him from behind. “You didn’t hurt me. Not physically anyway…” His chest rose and fell as he sighed. 

Your eyes flicked to Steve who was watching you both. “I’m sorry I smacked you.”

His nose scrunched as he shrugged. “I deserved it.”

“Oh, okay. Well, fuck you then.” You and Steve smirked at each other. 

“I’m sorry for being an asshole.” He slides his chair closer to the both of you. 

“I know we said we would talk later but I feel like I should at least get this out now. I’m not sorry for what I said in the parking lot…or back at the house. I’m still extremely angry you didn’t talk to me. I understand why you didn’t, agent and client and all that but… it just hurts that you guys don’t trust me.”

“We trust you.”

“Daddy and Sir, trust me. Steve and Eddie don’t.”

##################

“Cut! Steve! Do we have a problem?”

“No! No… no fucking problem.”

“Ok, well, you can’t do anything with it soft, son.”

You and Eddie look at each other from your spot behind the camera as you sigh and reassuringly pat his arm. 

“Mr. Harrington!”, you beckon him gently with your finger. 

“Y/N, get his mind right or else—”

“Or else what?”, you cut the director off as you grab Steve’s hand. “Jason, if you want him to use his dick you need to get off his and relax, okay? We’re a bit overamped with everything going on.”

You tug the man into a corner behind the set where no one else could hear or see you. 

“Talk to me, babe.”

“I don’t know…I just…can’t focus.”, he sighs as he runs his fingers frustratingly through his hair. 

“Steve, look at me.” You slide your hand down his chest to the outside of the boxers they had him wearing, rubbing your hand below his waist. “When you go back out there, don’t focus on the cameras or the director. Don’t focus on yesterday…”

His shoulders deflated as he exhaled. “Hey no. Focus on me, Daddy.” Steve’s eyebrow raised coyly as he softly smiled. You felt his cock gradually begin to harden against your palm. “If it helps just pretend she’s me.”

“Mmm… but she’s not you.”

“I know. That’s the magic of acting.”, you giggle as he grins, running his tongue his lips. You lean closer to his chest as his head falls on to your shoulder. “Everything’s going to be alright, Steve. I promise.”

His lips find yours for a moment before you pull away. “You ready?”

He nods, going around you with a more determined stride as he heads back to the set. 

##################

Eddie throws their keys on the counter as the three of you head into their house.

Your eyes scan their exhausted looking frames. “Do you guys want to crash and we can talk tomorrow?”

“No. We should get this out of the way now.”

“Wow. Thanks Steve. That makes me feel special.”, you scowl at him.

“Honestly, I… I don’t know why we are doing this. We can’t have a romantic relationship. It would be hidden and only we would know about.”

“Okay. So why does the whole world have to fucking know?”

“Because you would be ours.”, Eddie interjects as he leans his back against their couch. 

“Ohhhh, I see. So you don’t trust me enough to tell other men to fuck off so you need to parade me around so they KNOW to stay away.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That is seriously hilarious to me. You know that you two literally fuck people every single day and it doesn’t bother me?”

Steve slyly chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, but what if we were at a club or event and some random girl just climbed on my lap or started making out with Munson here. How would that make you feel?”

“In that scenario that would piss me off but I would…I would hope if we were in a relationship, you would tell that girl to respect your boundaries and get off your lap. I would trust you. God, Steve, why are you like this?”

When he doesn’t answer, you sigh in frustration as you step away. “Okay…” You bite your lip as you pace between them with your hands on your hips. “Okay. I have an idea. I want to talk to Daddy and Sir.”

They glance at each other, completely confused. “They trust me. Maybe they can help you say what you need to say.”

“No.”

You pout your lips, allowing your body to slowly push you into that headspace to get them where they need to be. “Please, Daddy.”

Steve’s face twitches slightly at your tone. “I said no.” 

You saunter back over to him, untangling his arms in front of his chest as you glide your hands up his body. “Pleeeeeease. Steven is afraid to open up to me and I need to know why.”

When his eyes met yours, you knew he was there. Daddy was ready to play. 

Steve reached for your throat, gripping it tightly in his huge hand. “I told you not to call me that AND I said no. Geez, Eddie. She never listens.”

He released his hold on you, shoving you backwards into a broad chest. “Probably never been disciplined properly.” You quickly turn around to see Eddie glaring down at you with his beautiful brown eyes. Since you three had begun your dynamic, you had learned little details about their body language and tone. Eddie’s voice told you that Sir hadn’t completely come out yet. 

“Oh, but Mr. Munson. I have.”, your hands reach up to cup his cheeks. “I came from an aggressive religious upbringing, remember? They were way more strict than you could ever be especially since you can’t seem to take charge without Daddy’s help.”

His strong hands shot up, gripping your wrists, and aggressively pulling them off his face. “I don’t need his help or permission to handle brats like you.” There he is.

“I don’t think I’m the one that needs handling.”

Eddie pushes himself off the couch, staring down at you as he bumps you with his chest. “I know you do.”

“How do you know that, Eddie?” You try to maintain your confident tone but it shakes as he bumps you again, walking you backward towards the bedroom. 

“Well, for one, you can’t seem to remember who you’re talking to.” He turns to Steve who has been steadily following behind. “Stupid little girl wants to know more but can’t even follow simple instructions.” His hand grabs you jaw, holding you still.

“Who am I?”

“Sir.”

Eddie shoves you back hard against the doorframe, making you wince. “Louder.”

“Sir!”

“Good girl. Hopefully you’ll remember it this time.” You stumble onto the floor as he pushes you into the room. They both come in and sit on the edge of the bed, stepping over you as they do. 

“Why…don’t you…trust me?”

Steve grins as he beckons you over with his finger. You obey, crawling to his lap on your knees. His fingers gently trace along your cheek down to your lips. 

“Because you are a whore.”

Your chest caves in as you exhale, searching his eyes for an explanation.

“Aw, Eddie. I don’t think that was the answer she was expecting.”, he says with a voice dripping with mocking. “You think you’re the first woman we’ve done this with? Where are they now, honey? They aren’t here. They. Leave. They always do.”

You saw pain flash quickly through his eyes and disappear just as fast. 

“Girls like you use us and then when you’re done, you’re gone.”

“You…haven’t known me for…for very long. Why do you think I would hurt you like that?”

“Like he said,” Eddie looked down at you with contempt. “You all do. Everyone in our lives leave. Anytime my mom fucked up in some way, she would blame it on me and my dad would beat my ass. When he got arrested…it’s like she saw no further use for me. There was no one to shield her from so she dumped me on my uncle’s doorstep and ran.”

Your heart ached for him as he hung his head. Your hand started to reach for his knee but you stopped, allowing it to hover. “Can I touch you?” Eddie didn’t verbally answer, instead placing his palm over yours and guiding it to his leg. 

You glanced back at Steve who was now glaring into the void. “Daddy?” He subtly shakes his head. “Talk to me, baby. Please. Help me understand.”

“Haven’t I given you enough?!”, he snaps. Your nose scrunches as you glare at him. 

You chuckle sarcastically as a light bulb suddenly goes off in your head. “Oh, I get it. Is that why you prefer Daddy? Was Mr. Harrington not so nice to Steven?”

Both sets of eyes abruptly look at you as you rise to your feet. You can tell just by Eddie’s look alone you’re very close to the target. Steve slowly stands well, his eyes penetrating yours. 

“Color, Princess?” Your eyes never left Steve’s but you could see in your peripherals and by the sound of his voice that Eddie knew the real game was about to get started. 

“Green, Sir.”

“You remember what you have to say for us to stop, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Steve’s hand connected with your face causing you to take a few steps backwards. 

“Why do you keep pushing, little girl?”

“Because I want to understand!”

He slapped you again, this time a bit harder than before. “Why?!”

“Why do you fight it so hard, Steve?!”

As he went to hit you, you ducked down and shoved his chest. Eddie intervened, grabbing your upper arms and holding them behind your back. Steve slid off his belt and handed it to the boy behind you who used it to tie your wrists together. 

He tossed you to the bed on your stomach, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. You heard clothes being removed behind you before Steve climbed on top of you. You yelped as he smacked your ass, pressing your face into the mattress as he sheathed himself inside of you. 

He gave you no warning or time to adjust as he began roughly thrusting into you. The man laid his full weight on top of you, pushing himself deeper into you as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Got nothing to say now huh, little one? Had plenty to say earlier when you were mouthing off. You still seem to think you have some control over us but you don’t, you fucking slut. You never will so stop making demands and stop pushing.”

“Then why do you have feelings for me?”

“Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Is that what he told you?” You whimpered as he thrust into your harder. “Your—mmm—you’re not an idiot—mmm-- for caring. You deserve to…fuck… to be cared for the way you do for other people.”

Steve pulled out of you and flipped you around, lifting your legs around his waist as he entered you again. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“How did you know you could trust Eddie?”

His brown eyes shifted towards his friend before looking back at you. You craned your neck to kiss his lips and he allowed it. His head fell beside yours as he pumped his hips harder against yours. 

“I care about you to, Daddy. I like you a lot. Both of you.” You gently kissed the shell of his ear as his hips sputtered and he came inside of you, his body trembling above you. 

“Fuck. Baby…I…”

“It’s ok, Daddy. It’s ok.”

“I can take care of her, buddy. Come here, sweetheart.” Steve rolled out of the way as Eddie lifted you onto his lap and leaned his back against the headboard. He reaches behind you untying the belt and tossing it to the floor.

You straddle his waist, taking his cock in your hand and gradually began sliding yourself down onto him. You both groan at the feeling as your head falls to his forehead. Eddie notices that your hands remain on your thighs as you start grinding and bouncing your hips. 

His own palms glide down your arms, grabbing your wrists and placing your arms over his shoulders. He leans in to kiss your lips.

“You can touch me, pretty girl. It’s alright.”

Eddie giving you more control drove you wild as your pussy tightened around him. 

“Fucking hell. Come on, baby. Make yourself cum.” His fingers dug into your waist as he guided you, moving you faster against him. 

“Can I…please, Sir…” When he nodded his head, you completely let go; tossing your head back as you came.

His arms wrapped around you as he lifted himself up onto his knees, thrusting into you as you clung your yourself to him. Eddie loved the way your body fit perfectly against him. If he had his way, he would never let you go. He grunted into your neck and you both moaned when you felt him cum inside you. 

He expected you to let him go but when you didn’t, he sat back down on the mattress, running his hands through your hair and down your back. 

“My dad was never around. Actually, neither of my parents were.” You climbed off the metalhead’s lap to turn and look at Steve who was staring into the void again. “My father was a cheating dick head who always made sure to remind me I was never good enough.”

You watched him as he got up, disappearing into the bathroom and coming back with a rag. Eddie motioned for you to sit in front of him and you did, opening your legs so the other boy could take care of you. 

“I know that feeling.” When Steve’s eyes meet yours, you deliver him a tender smile. “Religious family, remember. My brother and I were always reminded how terrible we were and not just from our parents but the church and the town. My mom and dad didn’t even see me off when I moved here. They said California is a state of sin.” You roll your eyes as you sigh. 

“I imagine they don’t know what you do?”, Steve asked as he threw the rag haphazardly into the bathroom doorway. 

“Pfft, God no. They’d lose their minds. Kidnap me and probably take me back home.”, you laugh. 

“We wouldn’t let that happen.”, Eddie grinned as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Do you really think I’m a whore?” You felt the arms around you stiffen. 

“No.” Steve’s voice was so low you could barely hear him. 

“Um, louder, Daddy. I can’t hear you.” You playfully tilt your ear towards him and a smile spread across his face. 

“I said no, beautiful.” You grin as you lean back against Eddie’s chest. “I think, like Eds said yesterday, we’re jaded. It’s…easier to lump you in with the other girls we’ve been with because—”

“We like you so much it will hurt less when you leave.”, the other man finishes. 

“When I leave… Gentlemen, I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon. I get it though. I really do. You’ve been hurt by so many people… but I promise not just as your agent or your friend or… you’re safe with me. There’s no rush. We don’t even have to put a label on it. Let’s just see what happens.”

“I can do that.” Eddie tenderly kisses your shoulder.

“Me to.” Steve reaches out to move a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Good. Now, can we eat because I’m fucking starving.”

#################

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[kortacqueen]

MORE MORE MORE KORTAC INSPIRATION HAS HIT LETS GO

Hutch, my man, is a computer genius

However his true power remains long unknown UNTIL a bet comes around

During one of the team game nights, König loses and is forced to reveal a story about a scar not gotten in the field

He shares a long scar running up his forearm and says it’s from a dirt biking accident, mentioning that there may be footage of it somewhere

He doubts anyone actually saw it since it was only aired locally

Hutch says ‘if I find it, can I show it to everyone?’

König responds (he is a little drunk) ‘I bet you can’t find it, but if you do I’ll owe you one favor AND tell you another story of a scar, just you.’

Time passes and people move on. It’s a while before they are all able to have a full team game night together

Before they can start, Hutch gets them all to the rec room, his computer hooked up to the TV

A long video file ready to play as everyone sits down.

‘I win our bet König’ was the only warning everyone got before Hutch started a video of a 15 year old König dirt bike racing in the mountains on old footage.

Clear as day, near the end battling for 1st, a kid nicks König’s bike and he falls off the hill into the deep mud on his arm

Quickly getting back up, he fights for the top spot. In the final stretch, König passes the kid and flips him off

Then proceeds to mock him while on the podium with his still bleeding arm, gesturing that he’s crying then laughs and points

Safe to say a fight broke out and the footage cut off

Hutch was standing there a little to proud of himself, and he does receive his special story

Out of solidarity, he has not looked at anyone’s search history on base.

Hutch, Declan, Oni, Roze, Zeus, and Horangi are great singers and have amazing range

Stilletto, Zero, and Askel should never be allowed to sing and aren’t banned but they will get glares

All of KorTac are a little sadistic in battle, but there is definitely a range.

Surprisingly König, Stiletto, and Oni are at the top of this list. Callisto is the only one who will force them to stop.

Oni can, will, and has cut off arms with his katanas just to leave them to bleed out

König likes to use a sledgehammer when available, he swings so it hits the enemy’s head but there is usually a wall of floor to meet them.

He has a biting problem too. If you put your hand on or near his mouth he will bite you through the mask if need be, fingers have been lost and König thinks it’s hilarious.

All of them carry a spare balaclava in case comeones is ripped, most often Horangi’s or König’s.

Some of them take medication for many things

Most for PTSD and depression, König for those and anxiety and insomnia (caused by his anxiety and depression)

The man is bad WITH his medication, without it he is so much worse. As an unmedicated kid who needed meds, he would hardly leave his room and would panic attack upon returning

The days that he misses, he locks himself in his room and cries all day

Though one of the lesser religious of the group, Klaus embodies the Christmas spirit the most

Though, he acts more like a demented Santa

Singing carols with twisted lyrics as he completes his missions, finishing with a ‘ho ho ho, and have a merry Christmas in hell’

He gained an affectionate nickname of ‘Krampus’ given to him by Fender and König who grew up with it.

It was not out of kindness or humor that they gave him this name like everyone believes.

To strengthen his bond with the name, he researched several different traditions over many countries with the creature and began to terrorize them all.

Fender and König were terrorized the most and their childhood trauma/fear was used against them.

Declan found this especially funny. You could tell Klaus just pranked them is Declan was seen with tears in his eyes.

Eventually, Fender and König call him Krampus throughout the year, while the rest stick to just Christmas time.

Zeus, although very polite, can be incredibly judgemental.

If someone eats something he deems as disgusting, he’ll scrunch up his face and give this horrified look.

This look has spared no one and made several people cry.

The reveal of König as a Colonel had shaken everyone. Apparently Zero was the only one who guessed right but was under the impression König had no idea how he got there

Which, to be fair, is kinda true

[arcadian-litterateur]

gally as galileo galilei

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

summary: an analysis of james dashner’s choice to name gally after galileo galilei, and the similarities gally and galileo galilei have.

word count: 560

warnings: talk of trauma, triggers, death, and abuse/manipulation by religious groups

a/n: happy birthday will poulter! this is the first part of my wave of stuff for will's birthday. just a lil observation i made, and ofc, a lot of love for my sweet precious baby, gally.

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 in The Maze Runner is named after an important historical figure. Thomas is Thomas Edison, Newt is Isaac Newton, etc…

Everyone acts like these characters got their names randomly, but it's so obvious to me that their names directly correlate to their purpose in the story.

Thomas Edison was an inventor who created unique solutions to problems that had stumped other scientists for ages…Thomas was able to creatively solve the Maze after the Gladers struggled on it for three years. Isaac Newton was smart as hell, and he made discoveries that laid the foundation for many other scientific discoveries. Sound familiar? Newt laid the foundation for the Glade by holding a massive amount of info and ideas. Winston Churchill spent his life trying to gain world peace…much like how Winston tried to make both sides happy and bridge the gap when Gally took over.

With this information in mind, let's take a look at Gally and his namesake, Galileo Galilei. Often called the father of modern science, Galileo made over fifty revolutionary discoveries about science, influencing tons of scientists, namely Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein. Galileo discovered the moons of Jupiter, the rings of Saturn, the phases of Venus, and the craters and mountains on the moon. He also proved the earlier theory of Nicolaus Copernicus that the Earth was revolving around the sun. He invented an early microscope. He developed the mathematical ideas on the motion of objects on an inclined plane, the acceleration of free-falling bodies, and the movement of a pendulum. Basically, he was a really cool dude.

Gally was one of the most knowledgeable and foundational people of the Glade, made clear by his position as a Keeper and his obvious love for stability. He wasn't afraid to share his opinion (much like Galileo) and consistently contributed important information and solutions to the Glade. Also, to be a Builder, you have to have at least a basic understanding of physics. Gally obviously understood basic physics concepts, because all of the buildings in the Glade are sturdy and standing. Similarly, math is very important to be a Builder, so as Keeper of the Builders, he obviously had an understanding of mathematics. Basically, Gally is smart. Like his namesake.

But the similarities don't end there. When Galileo tried to bring forth his evidence of the Copernician doctrine that the Earth revolves around the sun, he was labeled a heretic by the church and ex-communicated, and placed under house arrest for the rest of his life. Yeah, for stating his opinions, he was forced out of what should have been a safe place, ostracized, and had to die alone. Similar to Gally, don't you think? Sure, he shouldn't have antagonized Thomas without explaining why, but the truth still remains that he had trauma and Thomas was a trigger. He thought he was helping by pointing out Thomas's role in his memories, and then instead of at least listening, his friends of the past three years immediately sided with the boy they'd known for three days, ostracizing him from the only safe place and family he'd ever known. He was also left to die alone by these friends, much like Galileo.

Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, James Dashner knew what he was doing here, and Gally and Galileo both need to find better friends.

[0junemeatcleaver0]

Do you think Armands real problem with Benedict is the fact he sees what an acolyte he could have become for Marius if they hadn't have been separated so tragically by supposed deaths and then abandonment because of him falling under the cults spell to survive?

Okay, so instead of taking a nap like I should definitely be doing right now, I'm going to answer this instead because I've not stopped thinking about it since I first read it hours ago lmao

Also, I'm not going to bother to go back and dig through the book, I'm giving myself full permission to go off memory and *~vibes~*

So I personally think that Armand is projecting quite a bit onto Benedict, tbh. It's jealousy, for sure, but there's a bit more to it than that, I think.

There are clear and obvious parallels to be drawn between the two characters. Benedict was a monk, Armand was basically training to become a monk. They were both made by powerful vampires who they had romantic relationships with while still in their teens. Both hopelessly devoted and in love with their Masters (at least at a certain point).

And if I weren't absolutely zapped from being an adult today, I'd probably attempt some poignant spiel about projecting onto the mirror-world image of yourself and how big a knee-jerk reaction can be when you find yourself occupying the space on the attraction/repulsion spectrum where the two feelings meet.

Because that's what I think this is to an extent.

I think, yes, Armand feels some type of way thinking about how things could have turned out for him and Marius if the Coven hadn't quite literally torched his whole life and then absorbed him.

I think Armand also has some identity issues--its a motif that follows him throughout the entirety of his character arc. Because of his backstory, I don't think he's got a clear idea of who he is outside of his relationships to other people. And while I don't think he legit would boil himself down to "I'm the teenage vampire with religious trauma and a very old boyfriend" (lol), I do think that having someone around whose history so closely mirrored his own to a certain extent would have had his hackles up.

But beyond that, I think in his mind Benedict's biggest sin is doing things Armand wouldn't do--or doing them differently to how Armand would do them.

Like when Armand is livid with him for having killed Maharet in her own home. And you might think at first that he's mad because you would be--what Benedict and Rhosh did was fucked up. But then he goes on to talk about how much he wanted to go speak with her and ask her questions and they killed her before he could do that.

And I'm thinking to myself, "Bud, you sure this isn't actually about the break in and murder? Because that type of thing would be especially upsetting to you in specific?? For reasons??"

And then Benedict was like, "Shut up, cult leader. You're not free of sin here either", and Armand tells him to hurry up and die (which is lowkey hilarious).

And from there, Benedict goes on to wrap his speech up like this (yes, I know I said I wouldn't pull out the book. I lied.):

"Those of us made young," he said, "we never grow up. Five hundred years or a thousand. It makes no difference. Time gives us room to be forever stupid and blind with the confusion and passions of the young, vulnerable to the masters who made us and ensnared us." (Blood Communion, page 107)

And then Armand shoots back with this:

"Oh, stuff and nonsense," said Armand. "I was never a child. I was a man before I was ever Born to Darkness, you imbecilic creature! Maybe you were a child, in your monkish robes, with your dark Christian longings, and maybe you still are. But I was never young. And I have learned through suffering and anguish and loneliness such as you, cowering in the shadow of your master, have never known." (Blood Communion, page 108)

And I can't help but feel like this is an argument Armand has had with himself. That he's had the thought before that perhaps a part of you freezes at whatever age you were turned. That being turned so young might have long lasting effects on a vampire. That he may have gotten the short end of some stick here.

But he cannot allow Benedict of all fucking people to be the one to point that out. Refuses to give Benedict the win there and so he pushes back in what I think is a really telling way. Bringing up Benedict's past as a monk as though it has any real bearing on this conversation ('dark xtain longings'? Weren't you prepared at one point to bury yourself alive for God? Pot, meet kettle). And then going on to throw Benedict's attachment to Rhosh in his face.

I don't know. Part of me feel like the thing in this scene that really cemented Armand's distaste for Benedict is the fact that he's walking away from his Master. He's been in his favor, under his protection for so long and he's willingly giving that up.

Part of me can't help but wonder how much of him looks up to Benedict for that, and how much of him loathes Benedict for that.

[tarabyte3]

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 4/? (12.8k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, sexual harassment, workplace sexual harassment, alcohol consumption, religious trauma

A/N: To all of my fellow readers with mother issues, this chapter is for us 💖 Because those troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags hit real hard this chapter (I'm not projecting, you're projecting). But I eventually make it up to you, I promise. (As a reminder from my notes last chapter, David uses voice to text when they're chatting 😏) Also, I changed the formatting for texting conversations because eventually there will be texting while there is external dialogue, and I don't want it to be confusing. So his texts continue to be in italics and Reader's are in italics AND quotes.

Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from Tanaka Mhishi's poem in Literary Sexts II. Text divider 1 is from Francisco de Goya's Witches Flight. Text divider 2 is from Caravaggio's Sacrifice of Isaac.

Chapter 4 - I am fragile and unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat.

That night, after calming down from your conversation with David, you finally do the thing that you've been putting off for far too long. The thing that causes panic to swell in your chest and your mind to recoil whenever you start to examine it. 

You think about your mother.

So you pour a glass of wine, set your phone off to the side, flop down on your couch, and you begin to metaphorically unpack.

You've always prided yourself on being an intelligent woman. You know, logically, this will help you feel better in the long run. It will help you heal. Help you grow. And right now that's what you yearn for—to know and embrace yourself as you truly are, not who you pretended to be for so long that you almost believed it. Not your mask.

The mask that you built because of her, you think. One crafted out of fear and shame. Other people may have honed it, but she laid the foundation.

You also know she's the reason you have so many hang ups and difficulties forming connections with people. You know it's part of the reason you've been miserable for so long. You know this needs to be done. You know that.

It still…well, it hurts.

You learned at a young age to be fiercely independent because you couldn't count on her for support. Or encouragement. Or warmth. Her answer was always the same: "Pray or go to confession." As if all of your problems were your own fault or stemmed from a lack of faith.

And the message was clear—The only love you'll ever get is God's love. Maybe he can fix you.

You wanted it, though. God, did you want her to gather you in her arms and tell you, just once, that she was proud of you. That she truly loved you. You did everything you could to please and placate and impress her, hoping if you were good enough or hid well enough, you might finally get all of that. You got good grades, you were well-behaved, and you went to church, even when you stopped believing. You gave up your dream of being an artist for her, for christsake!

Sure, a part of that was because she tainted the piece of yourself you turned to for expression and escape. But since you're already unpacking every horrible bit of this, you can finally admit to yourself that you also gave it up for her.

For nothing.

Because it didn't work. Getting a business degree and an office job didn't make her proud, it only created a new direction in which you were lacking. You lost a part of yourself and got nothing in return. The thought of it makes you so angry that hot tears prick your eyes.

You get up to pour yourself another glass of wine.

You don't even know why your mother treated you the way she did. You think that if you could at least know why it might be easier to stomach. Then you wouldn't feel so confused and lost. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be something solid you could sit with.

Perhaps she saw that you weren't what she would call normal, and she hated it—wanted to spurn you into changing and hiding. It's ironic, then, that her disgust just fueled that darkness within you. Gave it the sustenance it needed to grow, devoid of warmth, in the corners of your heart and mind.

Maybe all of this would have turned out differently, if only she had loved you.

Or perhaps that's just who she is, and, even if you had been everything she wanted, it still wouldn't have made a difference. Still wouldn't have been good enough. You got it from somewhere, after all.

You'll never know either way.

What you do know is this: If you couldn't count on your own mother, then why would you ever think you could count on or trust anyone else?

Why wouldn't they brush you aside eventually as well? Why bother getting close to anyone—assuming they didn't bore you in the first place? Why wouldn't they see the real you and look just as disgusted as the one person that should have loved you unconditionally? 

And people continuously proved you right by walking away when you didn't thaw under their attention or they caught a glimpse of that darkness—until David. Until he looked and saw the real you, and it only made him want you more.

Well, you're thawing now.

No.

You're melting.

You wonder what your mother would think of you if she could see you at this very moment. On one hand, you've laid waste to the life you built for yourself for a man that stalked you. She'd have a few choice words for you there, such as disappointment and embarrassment. "What will people think?" But on the other hand, you finally have someone and he's rich, which would go a long way towards forgiveness. Because, even though she prides herself on her piety, pride is her greatest sin. She would tell everyone she knew, as if it were her achievement, while conveniently leaving out the rest of it. Like the fact that you're happy.

As you're pouring your third glass of wine, you debate calling her. It's not too late. She should still be awake. You can finally ask her why. Why nothing you've done has ever been good enough. Why she cared about God and what everyone else thought more than her own daughter. 

You can ask her why you can't remember the last time she hugged you or told you she loved you. Because a daughter should be able to recall that, shouldn't she? Oh, she said it plenty in front of other people. She gave you scraps with no meaning behind the words or warmth in her eyes. But in private, where no one else was watching her performance? You got nothing. You starved for affection. Maybe you can ask her why.

But you know that's the alcohol talking.

And it wouldn't do any good anyway. You won't get the answers you seek or the apology you need. You won't get promises to do better. You won't get a mom.

This was all for nothing.

Instead, you pick up your phone and block her number.

No contact. A clean cut. Never again.

You expect that to hurt, too, but for the first time since you started this, you feel lighter. Because you're finally done looking for hope where there isn't any to be found. You're also finally acknowledging that you deserved everything she never gave you. And that isn't a failing on your part—it never was. It's her failure. Another one of her sins. Now it's her loss.

Maybe you should have done that years ago, but you're doing it now. You're moving forward and letting go, and that's what's important.

While your phone is in your hand, you check your messages to confirm that David hasn't sent you anything. You aren't surprised. You hadn't expected him to. But that doesn't mean you didn't want him to.

You want it all the time now, you realize. It's only been a couple of hours since you ended the call, but you'd still love nothing more than to get back on and talk to him again until the early hours of the morning.

You may have been able to stop yourself from angrily calling your mother, but the combination of wine and your already weakening grasp on your self-control when it comes to him means you're typing before you even realize it.

"Thank you. For everything. I can never say it enough, David, because you've done more for me than any person in my life EVER has. I mean it. Truly. I'm so grateful."

"Also, for the record, I'm certain I could pick you out of a crowd now."

You're welcome. Always.

And I'll keep that in mind the next time I need coffee.

You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage?

You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost.

The next morning, you sleep in until a gloriously late hour. Just because you can. And because last night was emotionally exhausting—you're certain the wine didn't help either. Even when you're no longer tired, you lie in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, and bask in the knowledge that you never have to go back to that office ever again.

Or speak to your mother, you think with a contented sigh.

You feel untethered, but not adrift. No, you know exactly which direction you're headed, and now you have the freedom to do so.

Eventually you resume your search for a new bed on your phone as well because you start to think about how blissful this lounging would have been on a comfortable mattress. With silk sheets. And a new nightgown... Oh, now there's an interesting thought. You could get something new and sexy. Maybe something with lace. Or more silk. Or, even better, something sheer that barely covers your ass.

You also think about how much David would enjoy all of those things.

You start off looking at sleepwear that leans more sensible than sexy, but as you begin to wonder what he would think of each one, you quickly find yourself clicking on more and more revealing pieces.

It's when you're looking at a see through, drapey number that comes off with only a clasp between your breasts that your phone buzzes with a new text message.

You grin. You wondered how long it would be before he reached out to you. Now you're absolutely certain he's keeping tabs on you and saw how racy your searches were getting. Part of you was doing it on purpose—baiting him until he couldn't resist any longer. Even if it gave him away. You know better than to trust a coincidence.

Are you enjoying your first day of freedom?

"Immensely. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet." You're smug as you hit send because now you've added the thought of you in bed to his mental image of the lingerie.

Is that so? Sounds as though you're having a lovely morning.

Any other exciting plans for the day?

"Not unless you count a date with a book on my nightstand."

Depends on what kind of book.

"Well, there are two of them for me to choose from. One is a murder mystery. The other is a steamy romance novel." It's a lie. You have two art history books and an Amedeo Modigliani biography on your nightstand.

I see. Two very different types of thrilling.

"Exactly. On one hand, the murder mystery would stimulate my brain."

It takes a minute longer for you to get a response to that.

And what would the romance novel stimulate?

"My heart, David. What else?" You bite your lip in excitement as you continue to type.

"Now tell me which one you would like best."

If I had to choose between the two, I would prefer the murder mystery.

"Of course you would. But I meant which of the lingerie you would like best. Because I know you were watching me."

There's another pause.

All of them.

"All of them?! But there were so many!"

I'm certain. I liked all of them.

Especially since you'd be the one wearing them.

A pleasant heat unfurls in your chest and creeps up your neck at the thought of him sitting there, watching you browse, picturing you in every outfit…and maybe even saving a few of the links for later.

"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin."

I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.

Fuck.

The mental image of his hand trailing up your thigh—pushing the hem of the nightgown higher and higher while the fabric and his palm slide over your quivering flesh—flashes vividly through your mind.

You had been enjoying a morning of relaxation and contentment just a few minutes ago. Even with a bit of light teasing about the lingerie, it had been peaceful. Now? Now that feeling has been reshaped and is nothing more than a memory. Now a slick heat has ignited in your core, and you're left nearly panting and writhing in your blankets from the intensity of it.

How quickly he can send you reeling.

God, you're definitely buying that one. Later. Right now, however, you finally have the chance to flirt with him—really flirt—and you're going to take it. Because you know where this is headed. You know where it could have resolved yesterday but didn't because you were at work.

And you're so glad you're not at work right now, stuck squirming and struggling at your desk as you try to ignore the swollen ache between your legs. Instead, you're squirming in the privacy of your bed, and you no longer have to ignore anything. Now you have no intention of stopping.

This is how you want to respond to him.

You're also really enjoying feigning innocence, and you're curious to see how much longer he'll play along. Because you have no illusions that he's buying a second of it.

"I don't think I'll be getting the black one with the sheer lace top, though. It didn't look very comfortable. I wouldn't be able to wear it for long."

Before he can reply, you quickly type out, "Wait. You're not busy, are you? I should have asked first before carrying on about my online shopping. That was rude of me."

I'm not anymore.

"Just get out of a meeting?"

I just canceled my last meeting because I've suddenly found something much better to do.

"Is helping me pick out pajamas really that thrilling?"

You can stop playing dumb now. You and I both know exactly what you're doing.

"What am I doing?" You straighten up and hold your breath in anticipation. You must be getting to him. You expected him to hold out just a little bit longer. Not that you're complaining. Not when you know you have his full attention.

You're trying to get me bothered as payback for yesterday.

"Is it working?"

You know it is.

"And just how bothered are you?"

Very.

You let out a shaky breath as you sink back into your pillows and begin to settle in. "Good. But that's not the only reason I'm doing this, David."

Is that so? What other reason do you have?

"Because I want to. Because I'm enjoying having the freedom to respond to you the way that I want."

Intriguing. And how are you doing that?

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." You shift your phone to your dominant hand to keep it steady. Then your other hand disappears beneath your covers and continues traveling down to the waistband of your panties.

Will I?

"You will. As long as you continue to please me." You nudge the fabric out of the way to give yourself the access you need and eagerly slip your hand inside. When your fingers finally brush over your arousal, you groan with relief.

There's nothing I want more than to please you.

"Is that so? How are you going to do that?" You repeat his words back to him as you rub a little harder along your damp folds. The added pressure makes your eyelids go heavy with lust. You spread your legs wider, seeking even more of that friction.

By giving you what you need.

God, you want that. From him. The thought of it makes you ache. Your fingers move to circle over your clit, dragging some of your wetness with them, and you moan into your empty bedroom. You shakily type out, "And what do I need?"

Me.

Shit. You had planned to go slow and tease yourself. You wanted to draw out the banter so you could savor your first time touching yourself to him. Because, despite the fact that he's turned you into a horny wreck several times already, you've held off until now. But as you read his text—that single word—it's as if your body has been doused in kerosene and lit on fire. Your hand speeds up.

"You seem awfully sure of that."

I'm very sure.

Are you going to tell me that I'm wrong? Or are you going to be honest?

You quickly debate finding a way to deny it. To get him to push harder because his arrogant confidence is stoking the flame in your belly and you want more. But every response you come up with sounds so flimsy. You know it won't work. He'll just call out the lie. He knows exactly how you're responding to him now, and he won't let it go, like a shark sensing blood in the water.

Well, if he wants to circle, then you'll give him prey instead—something he can't resist.

"Honest."

There's a good girl. Then be honest for me. Tell me what you need.

You cry out and your hips roll to meet the rhythm of your fingers. Your other hand is still gripping your cell phone, holding onto it for dear life so you don't drop it and miss a single word. "You."

That's right. And are you thinking about me right now?

"Yes." You are. You're thinking about his hands all over you, driving you wild and breathless and working needy little whimpers from your throat.

Very good. I hope you're thinking about all of the things I plan to do to you when I finally get my hands on you.

"Tell me. Please." More, you think. God, you need more.

And spoil the surprise? You'll have to use your imagination for now.

You grunt in frustration. "That's a little difficult when I don't know what you look like."

That is unfortunate, isn't it?

He's so god-damned smug! Jesus, it's infuriating!

There's a responding surge of wetness beneath your fingers, and the slick sound becomes obscene in your quiet bedroom.

"I've told you, it's unfair."

Nothing about this is supposed to be fair.

Your grip weakens and your phone nearly slips from your grasp, but you frantically right it. You're getting so close… "David, please!"

I promise when we move forward, you'll find out for yourself. But only when you're ready.

Unless you're done hesitating?

You know he's dangling that in front of you, tempting you with what you want so you'll say yes. You want to say yes. You want to call him right now and let him hear you say it as you moan and beg into the phone.

But that's giving him too much.

You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in him—which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourself—and because he would delight in never giving it back.

"I suppose we'll see, won't we? I would hate to ruin the surprise."

Now who's being unfair?

"I'm only playing by your rules."

Clever.

My clever, beautiful girl. I can't wait to see you like this. I bet you look so good for me right now. Don't you?

"Yes!"

That's right. So fucking good and needy for me. God, I want you so much.

Your grip goes slack again, and this time you do drop your phone onto the bed. But you don't stop to pick it up. You're too far gone now, and you couldn't type even if you wanted to. Instead, you redouble your effort and greedily chase your orgasm, your hand moving in rapid strokes against your clit.

It's fast and messy and desperate. You haven't masturbated like this in years, but the tension has been building inside of you. It's grown under all of his teasing, his suggestive comments, his perceptive observations, and his unrevealing photos until you couldn't ignore it any longer. Now you need to release it at last—to immolate yourself in your desire.

For him.

"David," you moan. His name rolls off your tongue for the first time in ecstasy. It happens so naturally, as if you've said it that way a hundred times before. As if your mouth knows the way to give shape to your longing.

Hearing his name, when you're already poised on that edge, is your undoing.

You throw your head back into the pillow and arch off the bed with a cry as that tension finally snaps, sending a white hot fission through your veins in its place. Your toes curl and your newly freed hand bunches a fistful of your sheets, pulling them taut while your whole body shudders with every violent swell of pleasure.

As you come, all you can think about is him. "Fuck!" The movement of your fingers over your clit becomes jerky, but never slows. You're determined to make every second of this feel so fucking good. "David!" It rolls and rolls and rolls through you, weakening and yet seemingly without end as you work every last bit of rapture from your sensitive flesh—

Until, finally, you collapse against the bed with a whimper, and your hand flops weakly down onto the mattress next to you. You lay there, gasping for breath, your eyes closed, and your limbs and your brain and your belly humming in the heady afterglow of your release.

By all accounts, this should bring you a bone deep satisfaction. It should have quelled the fire that burns for him, even if only temporarily.

But as your mind clears, you feel quite the opposite. As if something has awakened inside of you, stirring from a deep slumber in that same way he roused your darkness.

And it's ravenous.

You grope along the bedspread for your phone.

When you pick it back up, your hands are still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

"I think I'm rather enjoying my new freedom."

So am I.

A groan is wrenched from your chest as you glance up at his previous messages and wonder just how much he was enjoying it. You have a pretty good guess.

"God, David. I miss you."

I miss you, too. But not for much longer.

"Would you like to chat now?" There's a renewed flutter of interest from your swollen sex as you think about doing this again, but for him.

There's nothing I want more. Unfortunately, I have some important personal matters to take care of this afternoon, but I promise the evening is yours. How does 6 o'clock sound?

There's a pang of disappointment in your chest. That's hours from now! But before you can pout, you remind yourself that you're an adult. You can control and entertain yourself until then, for christsake. Besides, he said the evening was yours. You'll have plenty of time to talk to him later.

You also really want to ask what sort of personal matters because you're curious about what they could be, and about him in general, but he would have elaborated if he wanted you to know. The word personal also denotes a certain level of privacy. So you leave it be. For now.

"That sounds lovely. I'm looking forward to it."

Me too. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your date with the book on your nightstand.

"I've changed my mind there, actually. I have a lot more shopping to do instead." You give your phone a little grin.

Oh?

"Yes. It's been so productive and satisfying thus far. Who knows what other wonderful things might result from it?"

I see.

"I hope you enjoy your afternoon."

I'm certain I will. Enjoy your shopping.

You end up purchasing some of the lingerie that gets you particularly worked up whenever you think about him—especially the maroon one. Then you spend the rest of your day purging your wardrobe of your boring work clothes and whatever else reminds you too much of your old life. The result is a sparse apartment and an even barer closet, but you like it. It's a reflection of where you are in life and of all the room you have to grow and rebuild the way you want.

You may occasionally take breaks from downsizing to browse for new outfits and dresses, but it's to figure out what you like so you can eventually replace what you're getting rid of. It's definitely not to keep David intrigued throughout the day and looking forward to talking to you again. Not when he's so busy. That would be cruel.

You can't remember ever smiling this much.

You log on several minutes early. You don't care that it's probably a little pathetic. You don't even care if it lets him know exactly how eager you are for this. You've been checking the clock since five and you were getting impatient. You can only pace so many circles in your living room before you lose your mind. Not that sitting there and staring at your own face is any better, but at least it gets you closer to him.

To your relief, he logs on a few minutes early, too. Possibly because he knows you're already here, but you hope it’s because he was impatient as well. The electronic chime makes your heart swell in your chest.

"Hello, David."

Hello, darling.

The image of you on the screen practically swoons at his greeting. There's no other way to describe the gentle tilting of your head, your dreamy smile, or how your eyes soften with affection.

You barely recognize this woman.

You're not sure you've ever made that face before now. Or if you have, it was when the National Gallery rotated Cornelius van Haarlem's Two Followers of Cadmus devoured by a Dragon back into display after you hadn't seen it in a while. Never for another person. Certainly not for a black square not even three centimeters wide.

This man is dangerous.

Getting impatient, were you?

"I knew you were going to say something," you grumble as you fight off a sudden wave of embarrassment.

How could I not? You have no idea how lovely this feeling is. It's gratifying to have such a beautiful woman wanting to talk to you.

You lean in close and lower your voice. "In that case, I was very impatient."

Hmm. I'm so very pleased to hear it.

Did you have a productive afternoon?

"I did, actually. I accomplished quite a bit."

Good. And did you have fun shopping?

"You know I did." You give the camera a heated smile. While it wasn't as risque as the lingerie, the clothes you were looking at—low cut silky blouses, high slit skirts, backless tops, skin tight pants—were still sexy, just in a more subtle way.

Do I?

You roll your eyes and ignore the obvious bait—something that would have irritated a response from you just a few days ago. "How was your afternoon?"

Also productive, despite the circumstances.

"Circumstances?" You cock an eyebrow, no longer able to ignore it. He really does know how to push your buttons, after all, much to your chagrin. "Do you mean with your personal matters or do you mean spying on me?"

Both, but I wouldn't call it spying.

"Well, I would! So it serves you right." Despite your fake outrage, you're thrilled he was still paying attention, even when he was busy.

Do you want me to stop?

You pause to consider your answer. You think you should probably be unsettled that he's monitoring all of your activity. If any other man did that, you would be furious and horrified, but he's not any other man. He's also not holding it over you, making you feel bad, or controlling what you're doing. So far—your answer would change if he were. He's simply looking.

And you enjoy knowing that he's looking. In a strange way, it makes you feel connected to him, even when you aren't chatting, as if it's just another aspect of your relationship. It also makes you feel like you're the most important and interesting thing in his life—you'll admit that particular feeling has become quite addictive. You enjoy being able to take advantage of it as well, like you did this afternoon.

However, there may be times when you do want privacy for a specific reason. He certainly doesn't need to know every detail about your hygiene purchases or your embarrassing Google searches. Well, future embarrassing searches, anyway. It also makes it very difficult to surprise him if he can see what you're up to.

"No, I don't want you to stop." Your lips curl into a seductive smile. "I like it quite a bit, in fact. I just have one condition."

What's that?

"If I do ever ask for privacy, you give it to me. No questions asked and no looking."

Of course. Then you'll have it.

"I mean it," you say seriously. "I need to trust you'll respect my wishes."

You have my word that I will give you privacy whenever you request it. You only ever need to ask.

"Alright." You relax in your chair, mollified by his response. Because you believe him. "Thank you, David."

You're welcome.

Now tell me about your productivity.

"That's not a very exciting topic of conversation, I'm afraid. In fact, most of it was quite boring."

Tell me anyway.

"Well, I went through my flat and got rid of everything that felt like it belonged to the person I was pretending to be and not me."

I see. That doesn't sound boring. You shed another one of your layers.

I bet it felt good.

"It did! It felt freeing. I didn't realize before how much my place felt like a stage. As if the performance didn't stop, even when I was alone. And when I had a roommate? God, no wonder I was always so miserable."

It's also probably why you grew to resent every roommate you've ever had, no matter how much you didn't mind or tolerated them when they moved in. It didn't matter if they were quiet or cleaned up after themselves. Their presence meant the only place you could truly let your guard down was your bedroom. It was exhausting.

"But now the set dressings are gone. No more calf length pencil skirts or tacky lingerie. No more gifted kitchen gadgets and holiday candles. No more cheap art prints of pieces that I don't even like.” Then you grumble, “God, I swear I had like, half a dozen versions of Irises.”

No more mask.

"No more mask," you repeat out loud with a sigh of relief. Even saying it feels incredible. "Speaking of, you'll be pleased to hear I've also been doing some reflecting since we talked yesterday." You can't help the smug grin that creeps onto your face.

Oh?

"Yes. I've figured out where my reflex to apologize when I think I've upset or inconvenienced someone comes from."

Have you? Does that mean you're ready to talk about your mother?

You huff out a laugh and shake your head. Of course. You should have seen that coming. "You're frighteningly good at that."

It's a gift.

You can feel his smirk through your screen. "So it is. And I'm glad to know that I'm predictable."

I never used that word.

"It's true, though." You shrug, unbothered by your own statement. "It's a behavior that's usually learned in childhood. In this instance, I'm not particularly unique."

I disagree.

"I just meant that a lot of people have troubled relationships with their parents." A lot of them developed the same issues from it as well, you think to yourself. Granted, the cliche is that women in the sex work industry have daddy issues, not mommy issues. So perhaps you're not entirely predictable.

And yet, they're not you. They didn't become what you are.

"And just what am I?" That's another thing you haven't looked at too closely. You've been so consumed with the "who," you haven't really considered the "what."

You're something entirely different. Something more like me.

"That's not an answer."

I assure you, it is.

"It's not, David," you insist. "I still don't fully know what that means!"

If you're expecting me to pathologize you instead, I'm not going to.

"Why not?" You tilt your head curiously. You weren't actually expecting him to, but now you're intrigued as to why he won't.

Because that's not an answer to your question either. Those terms and labels are just more costumes that don't suit you. You're far more than that.

Before you can object that you disagree and that it might actually help you understand yourself better, he continues on. As if he anticipated what you were going to say.

It would also imply there's something wrong with you. But there's nothing wrong with you, despite what anyone may have told you in the past.

"You really do have me all figured out, don't you?" There's more affection in your voice than you intended.

I told you. I see you.

"You do. And I'm guessing you see my text message history, too." You raise an eyebrow at the camera in challenge, daring him to deny it.

You thought a lot about what else he would have access to after he blindsided you with the knowledge of your side bank account. Reading your texts would be absurdly easy in comparison, so of course he knows about your relationship with your mother. It's also how he knew that threatening to tell her your secret would be so effective.

That as well.

"I think that's the first thing I know you've seen that I feel embarrassed about."

Why?

"Because it means you've seen the worst of my mask," you say quietly.

I wouldn't say that. I saw a daughter desperate for her mother's affection and approval.

"Oh, god," you groan as you rub a hand over your face, completely mortified by his phrasing, but unable to find fault in it. "That's exactly what I mean!"

You're not the one who should be embarrassed by those messages.

"I'm the only one that is. Or will be. Trust me, she thinks everything she's ever said to me was righteous and justified, and you can't get blood from a stone." You flop your hand back onto the desk—a little harder than you meant to—and it makes your webcam shake.

You can already feel that mixture of hurt and anger rising in your throat and threatening to spill out. You quickly swallow it down and take a deep breath to regain control over your emotions. You're not going to have a breakdown on camera because of her. You're done letting her hurt you.

It's not righteous or justified, but I'm guessing you know that already.

"I do, but I appreciate the reassurance anyway." You give him a soft, grateful smile. Then your face falls as you glance back down to your keyboard. "What else did you see?"

Most of your text conversations with her are arguments. I suspect your phone conversations are similar.

"They are," you confirm without hesitation. "I don't think we know how to communicate any other way."

But you're not the instigator, are you?

"No," you sigh heavily. "I do everything I can to avoid an argument because I'm just so tired of it, but it usually doesn't matter. She can always find fault with my tone or something I've said. And of course there's also the fact that I don't go to church, don't have an important career, haven't gotten married, and don't have or want children. You can imagine her disappointment."

I shudder to think.

What an exhausting, horrible woman.

"That she is," you can't help but laugh. Despite the heavy topic of conversation, his irritation on your behalf is endearing. "I hate calling her or answering the phone. And God forbid I need something! You'll note that when I needed money to keep my flat, I became a camgirl before I even thought about asking her for help."

I had noticed you never considered doing anything else. Then I read your messages and it wasn't difficult to understand why.

You try not to feel mortified once again at the reminder that he's seen those. Instead, you tell yourself that he saw them and he kept looking. They didn't disgust him or scare him off—from you anyway. Even after reading them, he still wanted you.

You truly understand now what he's always meant when he says he sees you. It's a very assuring, lovely thought.

"It turned out to be a wonderful decision, at least." You give the camera a coy smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I would have to agree. A very wonderful decision.

"She wouldn't have helped me anyway, so I knew it was pointless. The few times she did, she lorded it over me constantly. As if I should be forever in her debt because she paid for my university textbooks years ago."

Is that another reason you were so afraid to take my money? Or why you were worried about feeling as though you owed me?

"Huh…" You lean back in your chair as you mull THAT one over. You hadn't quite connected those dots yet, but now that he's pointed it out, you have always been bad at accepting any help or gifts. Every single one felt like it came with an unspoken expectation or debt of some kind that would be called upon later. Now you know why.

You briefly wonder what other sort of connections you'll make in the future. Because you're starting to realize there are still plenty of them left to be uncovered.

"I think that was part of it, certainly, but you have to admit, the circumstances were also a very big factor as to why I didn't want your money."

Of course. You thought I was trying to buy you.

"I absolutely did! And in a way, you were," you tease. "It was just my attention you were paying for."

I made no attempt to hide that what I wanted was you, but it really was a gift. I knew the money would give you the freedom to think about everything I said, and once you did, you could no longer ignore your mask. Then maybe you would finally rid yourself of it. I wanted that for you.

And I wanted to see what would become of you when your strings were cut.

"Well, are you pleased with your handiwork?"

Quite pleased. I'm enjoying seeing the real you and how beautifully you've flourished in the light, now that you're no longer hiding.

"I have flourished, haven't I? I feel at home in my own skin for the first time in my life." You arch your shoulders, stretching lazily as if to savor the truth of your statement, before resting your forearms on the desk. You look quite pleased with yourself as well. "For so long I've been afraid to peel back all those layers and confront what's underneath, but now that I'm finally realizing who I am and what I want, I can't stop picking. I like what's underneath."

So do I.

You deserve to be proud. You've been working very hard to find your truth.

A warmth radiates through your chest at his praise.

"I have." Then you smile sadly. "Unfortunately, the truth hasn't always been painless."

No. It's never that.

"But every second has been worth it to have this." You glance up at the camera and let the double meaning hang in the air.

I'm glad. And I would have to agree. Wholeheartedly.

After a hesitation, you say, "One of those painful truths was realizing that my mother probably had a big hand in making me what I am."

Darling, NO.

The only thing she had a hand in was making you feel ashamed of yourself or like you had to hide what you are. She tried to destroy something exquisite and she failed. You are what you are despite her.

Do you know why? It's because you're better than her. You always have been and she knows it. Why do you think she treats you the way she does? That woman is a monster and she doesn't deserve any part of you.

Your eyes immediately fill with tears as you read the chat box. No one's ever told you that before. You may have come to the same conclusion last night, but you had no idea how much you needed to hear it from someone else, so to speak. Now hearing it from him?

"God, David. I've never…" you trail off, your voice choked with emotion. It takes you a second to get control over yourself enough to continue. "Thank you. And you're right." You sniffle and quickly try to blink away the tears. Then with more force, you say, "I've endured her for too long. Thankfully, I never have to again. I blocked her number last night and I'm cutting her out of my life."

You did?

"I did. Once I realized there was nothing good there to hold onto, even the idea of removing her from my life brought me more peace and happiness than having her in it ever did."

Good. I hope it does.

"So far, so good." You give him a teary smile.

I'm sure that couldn't have been easy.

"It wasn't. Or at least the process of coming to that conclusion wasn't, but it was all far more anticlimactic than I thought it would be."

Is that why you sent me that message?

"Oh, god." Your face begins to burn with embarrassment as you remember texting him while more than a little tipsy. "Yes," you finally answer sheepishly while you glance up at the ceiling. 

Why are you embarrassed by that?

"Because, if I'm being honest, I was two and a half glasses of wine in when I sent that."

Were you now?

"I was. I knew it was the only way I would be able to cope with that whole process."

And did it help?

"I think it did. I got through it, anyway. I'm just glad that I didn't call or text her. God, that would have been a trainwreck." You glance suggestively up at the camera and lower your voice. "I have far less self-control when it comes to you, apparently."

You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing that.

"But we should both be grateful that I didn't send you anything messier than I already did."

I don't know, sounds intriguing.

"See, you're thinking about me sending you something sexy, but I'm worried about sending you something frantic and emotional," you laugh. "Which would have been far more likely given the circumstances."

Hmm. I see your point.

"So anticlimactic really was for the best all around. And it's done now."

Good riddance.

"Do you want to know the worst part, though?" This time there's a bitterness to your smile, and it doesn't meet your eyes. "Through all of this, I never stopped wanting her to love me. I tried so hard. I never stopped trying, but she did. A long time ago. She'll never be the mom that I want, just like I was never the daughter she wanted. I know that now and I've finally made peace with that reality. Plus, realizing I would never understand or get any sort of closure was another big catalyst for me to finally pull that trigger the way I did." Your face finally softens. "But I never would have confronted any of that if not for you."

You would have gotten there on your own. Eventually.

“Possibly. I was getting exhausted from it. To the point that everytime my phone rang, I considered tossing it out the window rather than answer it.”

I could make her life miserable, you know.

If you asked it of me.

"Tempting." You let out a chuckle and wipe away the remnants of a tear drying on your cheek. "But I'd rather her not be in my life at all, even through you. I'm making a clean cut so she can no longer use me to build herself up, and for her that will be a worse punishment than anything you could think of."

I don't know. I have a very vivid imagination.

But I will leave it be unless you change your mind.

"I do appreciate the offer." You smile gratefully. "That's twice now you've given me the opportunity for vengeance."

It won't be the last, should you ever feel the need for it.

"Is it strange that I find the thought of you wanting to make someone miserable for hurting me sweet and endearing?"

No.

I would hurt anyone you asked me to, even if all they did was annoy you.

"You would?"

I would. Without hesitation. For you.

"Fuck," you gasp as you squirm in your seat, suddenly very turned on. "I really like the thought of that."

Do you?

"I do." 

How much?

"This much." You bite your lip as you bring your hands to your top. Then you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. The heat that started between your thighs rises to your belly. This is finally happening.

There's a pause.

You're sure?

"Yes. I'm so sure you didn't even have to ask." Your fingers continue to methodically work each loop as you speak, driven on by determination. "I'm done hesitating. I want this, David. I wanted it last night before I got interrupted, and I wanted it this afternoon."

You’ve found closure for so much of your past—all the ties to your old life, your social media, your friends, your job, your mother—and you're done looking back. All you want now is to move forward. After all the emotional turmoil you went through to get to this point, all you want is to fall into him.

Once you’ve finished, your top spills open, revealing the cups of your bra and your bare stomach on the screen. The chat box sits, unmoving, and you realize he must be watching very carefully. So you slide the fabric down your arms, seductively arching your chest towards the camera to make a show of it, until it comes free. You toss it to the side without looking. Then you're left in nothing but your bra and skirt.

"I want you to see me. All of me. I want to show you what you're missing, hiding from me behind that screen. You could be here with your hands and your mouth on me, instead, you know. I want you to think about that, and I want you to touch yourself while you do." You look directly into the webcam with all of the desire, need, and heat that has been building up inside of you for the past week. "Because I plan to as well. Again."

You have no idea how much I’ve resisted doing all of that. It's taken every ounce of my self-control to resist you.

"Why can't we just give in then?" You beg for the camera. "Why can't we just skip this part? Come here now. Tonight. Touch me instead."

You aren't ready for that yet.

"I strongly disagree!" You scoff, almost offended at the implication that you don't know what you want.

Besides, I get to see you like this first, remember? I get to see you in a way no one else ever has. I've earned it.

"You have," you sigh in acceptance. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. "Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Not just because I'm too fucking horny to argue with you properly right now, but also because I said I would, and I'm still going to enjoy letting go for you. Just know that it's a poor substitute for you. Because what I really want is to hear your voice as you tell me how good it feels to fuck me. I want to hear the way you moan and gasp when you lose control of yourself inside of me. I want to know your face when you do. Because I want you, David."

It takes a moment for him to reply. You're aware you'll never get to know exactly how he responded to you. You'll never get to see the look on his face or hear the sounds he made as you said those things to him. But, you think with no small amount of smugness, you can take a very good guess.

Then you'll have me. Soon.

Until then, show me what I'll have.

Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to see you.

You stand up from your chair to do as he instructed. The angle of the camera means your face is no longer in view, and it reminds you so much of your streams that it's momentarily jarring. But once you unzip your skirt, you bend forward to push it down your hips, and the sight of your own face brings you back to the moment.

The one where you're stripping for your stalker slash blackmailer, and it's the sexiest, most romantic thing that's ever happened to you.

Your skirt hits the floor with a soft thump, and you step out of it as you nudge it to the side with your foot. If you remove one more thing, it will be the most he's ever seen of you. Now each step forward is not only new, but is one step closer to getting what you really want: Him.

The thought is thrilling.

So thrilling that you waste no time. You hook your thumbs into the thin elastic of your panties and slip them—slowly, inch by inch to continue teasing him—to your knees, baring your lower half to him.

You stand there for a few seconds, letting him take it all in. That's what he wanted, after all. To see all of you. For you to show him all of you. Every moment between you has been leading to this, and you won't deny him now.

When you sit back down, you slide your panties the rest of the way off. They get thoughtlessly added to the growing, scattered pile. Then you stay there on your repurposed dining room chair, bare skin on wood, and you wait.

As you do, you're very careful to keep your legs closed. It wouldn't do to rush this and give everything away all at once. Especially not when you currently hold all of the power. He may have earned this, but so have you. And you’re going to relish it for as long as you can.

Except there's still nothing new in the chat box. You tell yourself he's probably just settling in and enjoying the view, but the silence is unnerving. You have no way of knowing what he's thinking right now, if he's even enjoying it, and that makes you feel exposed. You’ve gotten so comfortable with the back and forth—of getting some feedback—that not getting it is a sobering reminder that you can't read his expressions or hear the tone of his voice. All he really is to you is text on a screen.

“David?” You call out hesitantly.

Another minute passes and you start to wonder if he's intentionally trying to make you squirm. He does enjoy it, after all. Or perhaps he recognizes how the balance of power has shifted, and he's trying to take some back for himself. It does seem like a very David thing to do.

Then, without warning, your mind offers up the possibility that he's disappointed. That you aren't what he was expecting and now he’s—

God, you’re beautiful. I knew you would be.

Relief courses through you, alleviating the weight that was settling in your chest.

Or maybe he was just taking his pants off, too.

I want to see the rest of you.

That's all the reassurance you need to banish that momentary doubt completely.

You reach behind yourself to undo the clasp of your bra. Rather than remove it, you hug the material loosely to your chest and give the camera a coy glance.

“You mean like this?” You tease as your fingers play with the straps.

Yes.

Take it off.

You slowly lower your arms, letting it fall away from your breasts. And just like that, you're naked on screen—something you never thought would happen. Something you swore would never happen. But there you are, running the tips of your fingers enticingly up the tops of your thighs and over your bare hips. For him.

Seeing you like this was worth every second of waiting. You're stunning. Just perfect.

“Thank you, David,” you say softly, touched by his compliments. It’s sweet, but if he keeps this up, you’ll be feeling more affectionate than horny.

You have no idea how much I want to be the one touching you right now.

That's better.

"Oh, but I think I know exactly what it's like to want you to be the one touching me. Do you have any idea how much I've fantasized about your hands on me since you sent me that picture? God, if I hadn't been at work, I would have made myself come so many times."

That's why I didn't want you distracted.

"I wasn't distracted this afternoon," you say in a husky voice.

No you weren't. 

Did it feel good to finally give in?

"Yes." You bite your lip as you remember the way that growing tension in your belly finally gave when you moaned his name. "It felt so good to respond to you."

Did you think about me touching you like you wanted?

"God, yes. In every way I could think of."

Where did you imagine me touching you? Show me where you like to be touched.

You run a finger from your jaw, down the column of your neck, and then trace along your collarbone. "If you kiss me here, I'll be weak in your arms. But if I feel your tongue here, you'll have me begging."

Then I'll have you weak and begging.

Is that all?

"I was getting there." You smile playfully. “So impatient.”

You continue to run your fingers down your sternum, letting your knuckles skim against the swell of your breasts. You stop and move to cup the soft flesh with your hands.

“I want your lips and your hands here,” you moan as you start to gently massage yourself. Your nipples harden under your palms as you rub over them, causing a pleasant shiver to snake its way through you. Then you arch into your own hands as you think about what it would be like to have his hands here instead. Whether his touch would be gentle like this, or harsh as he wrenches a shudder from the sensitive peaks.

I'm going to enjoy doing just that. Especially if you'll be this responsive for me.

“More so,” you vow, breathlessly, "because it would be you. Are you touching yourself now?"

Yes.

“Fuck,” you hiss. "Are you imagining that it's me instead?"

You know I am.

"Good because I want it to be me. I'm aching to put my hands on you, too.” Your hands lower from your breasts to brush across your stomach. “Where do you like to be touched, David?"

By you? There's nowhere I wouldn't want your hands.

Intriguing, but you know he can give you more than that. "Then where should I start?"

There’s a brief pause that almost feels like hesitation.

My face.

"Your face?” You blink in mild surprise. You weren't expecting that answer, but now you understand the hesitation. He was preparing to admit something vulnerable to you. “That's very intimate."

Is it? Maybe that's why I've never liked it before, but I think I will if you do it.

Despite how sexy all of this is, your heart flutters at the sweetness of that line. He wants intimacy with you, not just the sex. You're reminded of what he said to you yesterday: ‘I want you to be mine in every way it's possible to want someone.’

“I like the thought of that.” You lean in towards the camera, letting your eyelids go heavy as you lower your voice to something both seductive and tender. "Do you want me to cup your cheeks and stroke my fingers over you as we kiss?"

Yes.

"Then maybe I could…” You drop to a half whisper, “kiss along your jaw as well."

It's like you read my mind.

There's a pleased flush in your chest that creeps onto your face as the hint of a smile. "Do you have facial hair?"

No.

"Good to know." You imagine your lips moving over smooth, tanned skin. You wonder if it will be soft, or a little rough with age.

Do you prefer beards?

"I don't have a preference. What looks good depends on the person." You tilt your head curiously. “Have you ever tried growing a beard?”

Once. It didn't suit me.

“Then I'd prefer you without one.”

You're assembling these new, small pieces together with your existing mental image of him. It's like staring at a magic eye puzzle—if you look hard enough, you can almost swear you see the shape of him. But then you blink and it's gone.

You need more.

“Where would I touch you next?”

My chest.

"Is that so?"

Yes.

"Please tell me you don't shave your chest, too. Promise me you have chest hair."

I promise I have chest hair.

"Oh, thank god,” you sigh with relief. “Because you have hair on the backs of your hands and wrists and it's so fucking sexy. I can only imagine how sexy the rest of it is."

You like that, do you?

“Yes.”

Then I think you’ll be pleased.

"Christ, I like the sound of that.” You squirm a bit in your seat. “Where else do you like to be touched?"

My cock.

You nearly choke on a whimper. 

Up till now, this felt like an exploration—or as much as it could be with only you on the screen. You were expecting a buildup of teasing and touching and sharing before you both truly let go. Instead, he sent you reeling. Again. He must be getting impatient.

As you stare at that line, there's a painful ache of arousal between your legs. You unconsciously grind yourself down onto your chair to alleviate some of it. The seat is going to be a mess by the time you're done, you think.

"I plan to touch you there a lot."

Yes you will.

"Are you circumcised?" You can't help the curiosity that seeps into your voice.

I'm not going to describe my cock to you.

"David!" You pout at your screen. "I'm not asking for numbers, here. I just want to know what it would be like to stroke you."

And you'll find out eventually.

“That's not fair.” You are completely naked, after all.

I already told you it's not supposed to be fair.

“Yes, yes, you’re very mysterious,” you huff in disappointment.

Like I said, you’ll find out eventually.

“Soon, I hope.”

Soon.

Now I want you to go back to showing me where you want my hands.

“Do you?” You lean back in your chair. “You want more to think about while you're touching yourself?”

That's exactly what I want.

“Hmm, how can I ever say no to that?” Then you lean even further back so you can caress over the curve of your hips. “You can run your hands along here as you feel your way over my body. It will feel lovely, but I'll enjoy it even more if you grab me instead. Because I want to feel how much you need me.”

That's good because I want to grab you by the hips to hold you still as I slam my cock into you.

“Fuck, David!” You cry out. Your hands reflexively grip and squeeze your own hips at the mental image, your fingers digging almost painfully into the bone. Your sex clenches in anticipation, hoping you’ll get what he said would come next.

If he was there with you and not still on the other end of the call. God, you wish he was there.

After that, you also know the teasing and buildup has come to an end. You can't hold back any longer, and he's made it very clear that neither can he.

"Do you know where else I liked to be touched?" Before he can reply, you finally tilt your hips and spread your legs wide, exposing your sex for the camera. You settle your knees on either side of the seat of the chair with your calves tucked against the wooden legs.

You like to think, if he were there in person, he would have been opening his mouth to answer as the words died on his lips. Instead, you imagine his fingers frozen over his keyboard as he gets to see the part of you he's been waiting for. You're certain he's been going slow—stroking himself enough for it to feel good, but not so much that he loses control. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until he's gotten this.

You end the exploration of your body by reaching between your thighs. Then you cup your mound and begin teasing your fingers along your folds. God, you're already so wet. "Right here. Especially by a hand that knows what I need."

Show me what you need.

You plunge a finger into your entrance and moan at the intrusion. You can't remember the last time you did this. Usually you focus on just your clit with your fingers or your vibrator, eager for the release and not caring much about indulging in the process. You didn't have a reason for it other than getting off to relieve some tension.

Now, as you slide your finger out and draw it over that sensitive nub, you want it back inside of you. You want to be full as you think of him. So you press two inside of you instead.

"I want to know what you look like so badly," you gasp as your fingers begin to work your cunt.

Do you?

"I do. And I want to know what you feel like."

You will, that I promise you.

"God," you whine and slip a third finger into your opening. "This feels so good. I haven't fingered myself in a while."

Why not?

"I haven't wanted to. I just wanted a quick orgasm."

Then I continue to keep my promise, don't I? I made you want to.

"Yes! Christ, I want to," you gasp and rock your hips up to meet your hand. "I want to touch myself like this for you. I love knowing that you're watching me, David, and that you're getting off to it. But more than that, I love pretending that it's you."

If you're pretending that it's me, you need to go deeper because I intend to fuck you properly.

You slam your fingers into yourself as far as they will go, and your head falls back with a cry. “God, I want you to fuck me. Please!”

While I grab your pretty hips and make you take every bit of me?

“Fuck! Yes, exactly like that!” You whine. “I can't believe you're going to make us wait for this! Because you don't have to. You could have me now."

I could.

I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I?

You glance down at the camera, your eyes heavy with lust. "Would you like that?"

You're not answering the question.

"That's because I know better than to say yes," you pant. Your fingers are still working inside of you, stretching you in a way that is both satisfying and not nearly enough. It's driving you crazy.

What does that mean?

"We both know that if I bare my throat to you, you won't be able to resist ripping it out."

I would never hurt you unless you wanted it.

"I believe that you would never want to, but I see you, too. You couldn't help it.” Your hand slows, and you tilt your head as you consider your computer screen. “Could you?"

There's a moment of stillness from the chat box, and you briefly wonder if you've upset him, even though you know you're right. You know there's something about him that’s dangerous and predatory. He admitted as much himself. And it’s not like you feel the need to be overly careful or afraid of him. The thought doesn't bother you. You simply know that you can never tempt him by actually offering yourself up as helpless prey. Or he might just get a taste for it. 

Because you can love a predator as long as you never forget, for even a second, that it's still a predator—no matter how much it shows you its belly and loves you back.

You know all of that. Instinctively. Logically.

And yet.

You do so love being his favorite little prey.

"It doesn't scare me, David," you say quietly to break the silence.

No?

"No. Quite the opposite." You draw your fingers out of yourself to rub over your clit with a moan. "It intrigues me."

I know it does.

Why do you think I’ve done all of this? I knew, from the moment I saw you, that you could want what I am.

“And what are you, David?”

Darling, did you really think I would answer that question? Where's the fun in that?

“But I want to know.” Your fingers speed back up against your bundle of nerves. “I want to know everything about you.”

You will.

“And I want to know every secret you keep from the rest of the world.”

Don't worry, you’ll know me completely.

Eventually.

His words feel like a promise and a threat. You shiver with pleasure.

You shift down far enough in your chair to get a better angle. Then you bring your knees up and plant your feet wide against the edge of your desk. You know this has the added bonus of giving him an even better view of your opening. It also gives him a hint of what it might look like when you finally lay back and spread your legs for him.

"Can you see how wet I am?" You drag your fingers over your clit with a gasp. “Can you see how much I want you?”

Yes. I can see exactly how eager you are.

"Good. As you're stroking yourself, I want you to think about burying your cock right here.” You move your other hand between your thighs. Without hesitation, you plunge your fingers into your entrance again. Now you’re pleasuring your clit while also getting that enticing fullness you ache for, and it feels fucking incredible. The sight of both of your hands moving on your screen only adds to the indulgence.

As if I could think about anything else.

"I wish I was watching you right now instead of myself."

You want to watch me stroke my cock to you?

Your whole body shudders, and you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. "Yes! I want to watch the way your hand slides over your cock and how it throbs and twitches in your fist. I want to see what I do to you."

What you do to me…

You drive me insane. I've never needed to fuck someone like I need to fuck you.

"Jesus!" You wail as your hips jerk forward, and your knees start to shake. “David!”

That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name.

"If you keep talking like that, I'm not going to last long,” you pant.

Good. I want to see you let go for me.

“But I want you to enjoy this!”

You think I'm not enjoying this?

I finally got to see how responsive you are to my words and hear the sounds you make when you're like this. This is everything I wanted. Better, even. Now I can't imagine how much better it will be in person.

When you're full of my cock instead of your fingers.

“Fuck!” You’re driving those fingers in and out of your cunt with purpose now. You're no longer giving him a show. This is you feeling your orgasm closing in on you and scrambling for it, desperate and needy.

Fuck, that's good. Look at you. You're so god-damned beautiful as you fuck yourself for me.

"God, yes!" You gasp as you arch in your chair. "For you."

Only me. Only I can see you like this.

Say it.

"Only you, David."

That's my girl.

Now you're going to come for me.

“I'm so close,” you whine.

And I'm going to come as I imagine your tight little cunt.

“David,” you gasp, barely able to speak now through your ragged breathing. “Please.”

It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore.

Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!

“Yes,” you barely whisper. You're not even sure the microphone picked it up, but you have nothing more to give. The tension building inside of you is becoming nearly suffocating as you read every word. You feel you might drown in it before you ever find release.

As you continue seeking your own satisfaction, a photo pops up in the chat.

At the top of the photo, there’s the edge of a laptop keyboard, which is sat on top of a very ornate and expensive looking wooden desk. But that's not the point of the photo. No. That's not what strangles your breath in your throat or sets a flame in your chest that licks at your cheeks.

The polished surface of the desk is streaked and splattered with come. His come.

You imagine him standing in front of his computer, urgently stroking himself until he's shuddering out his orgasm and spending himself across the surface. All while his eyes never leave you on the screen.

You made him do that.

Your hand speeds up—the circles your fingers are rubbing over your clit are becoming almost brutal and painful, even as pleasure rakes up your belly and your whole body starts to tense. You're so close. So fucking close. You didn't know it was possible to balance on that edge for so long without falling in either direction.

You can't tear your eyes away from that ruined surface or get the thought of him fucking his own fist out of your head as you keep chasing oblivion and—

This is what you do to me.

Oh.

You bury your fingers into your cunt just as your walls clench down around them, and you come undone for the second time that day. To him.

You open your mouth to cry out, to wail his name as part of your release, but it gets choked to nothing more than a thought as your climax slams into you so hard that it knocks the wind out of you. You throw your head back from the force of it. As you try to ride each pulse of ecstasy out against your fingers, the muscles in your legs tense. Then you're involuntarily pushing against your desk with your feet.

The front two legs of the chair lift off the floor.

For a brief moment, your stomach lurches and you think you're going to topple backwards. Instead, you stay like that, hovering between stability and free fall, letting a wave of fear and adrenaline wash over you. Perhaps that should have ruined this, but the additional sensations only heighten and sharpen every breathless shudder until all of your nerve endings thrum. You’ve never felt so painfully, blissfully, alive.

Once you're fully spent, you carefully let the chair fall forward, returning to its proper position on all four legs. Then you bring one of your own legs down to plant a foot onto the carpet to ground yourself and stop that feeling of weightlessness still lingering within you.

God, you're stunning. The most exquisite thing I've ever seen. You were wonderful for me.

You sit there, bonelessly draped back in your seat, sweaty, your arms hanging at your sides, with your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. And you try to smile for him anyway because, between his praise and your orgasm, you swear you’re glowing.

But you didn't scream my name.

You let out a breathless sound of protest. “Couldn't. I tried. Seeing what I do to you…it was too good, holy shit." You swallow hard and shift forward into a more comfortable position in the chair. "But I thought it, David. You were the only thing I knew while I came for you."

Mmmm, that's very good. But you're still going to do better next time. I’ll make sure of it.

"With you?" You ask hopefully.

With me.

FOR me.

Your face burns, and there's a weak twinge of arousal between your legs. Even though it's a mere shadow of what you’ve already experienced today, you’re amazed it's even possible after that.

…You still don't even know what he looks like, you think.

God, he's dangerous.

Won't you?

"Yes," you moan. "I promise I will scream your name until my voice gives out, as long as you're the one coaxing it out of me."

Yes you will.

You whimper. "When?"

Soon.

There are some things I need to take care of first. Then I will send for you.

Your heart begins to pound with nerves and anticipation. This is really happening. "How long?"

Only a few days.

A grunt of shock is ripped from your throat. "Days?!"

Now who's eager?

"I can't help it," you purr, softening at his teasing as you run your hand along your still trembling inner thigh. "I want to see you. And I want you inside of me."

You'll have that.

I'LL have that.

"How many days?" You're almost afraid to ask.

I'll have a car pick you up Monday evening.

There's a heavy drop of disappointment in your stomach. "That's three days…" 

Enough time to have all of my obligations done and taken care of. I want to be able to focus entirely on you once I have you. Like you deserve.

“But that's so long!” It's taking everything in you not to pout. You realize now you’ve been interpreting “soon” to mean you might finally get to see him, say, tomorrow. Or maybe even still tonight. It never occurred to you that it might be longer and that you’d have to wait for him.

I know, darling. I don't like it anymore than you do. And I would never make you wait if it wasn't important, but I have promises to keep.

“Alright,” you sigh. You find that you're, once again, reminding yourself that you're an adult. You can be patient.

And now that you're thinking about it, this gives you plenty of time to prepare as well. You don't have promises to keep, but you can certainly think of a few appointments you should make. When the time comes, you want everything to be perfect.

Besides, after that you’ll never have to wait again. Will you?

“No, David.” You lean forward as you stare into the camera. “Once I have you, I intend to never wait again. Because once I have you, you’re mine.”

That's my girl.

Later that night, when you go to sleep, you take your laptop with you and leave it open on your dresser, facing the bed. On your side table, you prop your phone up into its charging stand and make sure it's positioned just right as well. You want to give him two angles to enjoy this time. Then you sprawl out on top of your covers, still completely naked.

On your phone, you carefully type out, “I hope you didn't think the show was over. Because I still have more I can give you, and it would be such a shame to waste it. Enjoy, David. X”

As you hit send, you reach into the top drawer of your nightstand and pull out your vibrator. Then you settle back, and—with a desire that feels nearly insatiable now—you work several more orgasms from your clit while you gasp and moan and scream his name.

All while you know he's watching.

A/N: See? Who needs therapy when you have fanfiction?? 😌 (Christine please ignore the 🚩💕) I debated about whether or not to write a phone call with her mom, but I realized I don't actually want to give her a voice. Because this story isn't about her or even the reader's past. It's about healing from trauma, moving forward as the worst version of yourself, and falling in fucked up love with a stalker/serial killer. 😌

[khaire-traveler]

***I have the flu and cannot really word things well right now, so forgive me if this makes absolutely no sense lol. Maybe I can edit this when I am feeling coherent.***

I've noticed a big, glaring problem within the pagan and polytheist (and even witch) communities where people will trauma shame others, especially with religious trauma related to Christianity. There seems to be this weird expectation that people should have all their trauma resolved (religious trauma especially) prior to entering the pagan space because otherwise, they are deemed as "problematic".

Of course, taking your trauma out on others isn't cool, and if you are doing that, I encourage you to please seek therapeutic help, if possible (this is sometimes a symptom of trauma, and people need to understand that it's not something traumatized people do intentionally), but you are not a bad person for having trauma. You are still very welcome in this community, and the fact that all of your life's trauma is unresolved doesn't make you a bad worshipper of the gods. It doesn't mean you aren't allowed to exist within this religious space.

The thing some people fail to understand is that trauma ain't pretty. I see many people speaking on behalf of traumatized individuals or discussing how traumatized individuals need to "get their shit together" before they can interact with the pagan community, and it honestly pisses me off. Clearly, these people do not understand that trauma doesn't fucking work that way. It doesn't fit into this neat little box and is not something you can simply "get over", especially religious trauma.

Obviously, this is not an excuse to be an asshole and treat people from other religions (specifically Christianity) like shit; I am just trying to say that having unresolved trauma doesn't make someone "evil" or "sinful" or "problematic".

People need to stop treating trauma like it's something you can just "get over"; it's fucking annoying, disrespectful, and shows a clear lack of understanding of what trauma actually is.

[screechthemighty]

This one goes out to the Found Family enjoyers. 😘😘 Also I just want to establish real quick since we have *checks notes* two chapters left...the main meat of the "time travel" part of this fic is going to be resolved over the course of THREE fics now. So we have Meryl and Wolfwood's journey back to July in this one, Vash's journey back to July in "moments until the crash" (which I will resume working on in earnest once I'm done with this one), and then a fic covering the new events of July that...I don't have a title for yet but it will probably be more Tombi lyrics. So yeah, just wanted to make that clear. Anyways, onwards!

the unknowable tomorrow | a tristamp fanfic part seventeen: meryl and wolfwood

content warnings: nail biting, body horror, religious/cult trauma, reality warping, suicide mention, abusive behavior (general knives cw)

works cited: one incident in this fic is inspired by an idea from "Low Profile" by spectre_anon, specifically chapter three. quotes are used from episode 10 of tristamp. incidents from trimax, especially vol. 1 ch 4, vol. 8 ch. 3, and vol. 9 ch. 1. song of the chapter: "piano man" by billy joel.

.

“We know you’re in here, Stampede!”

Well, this was a great way to start things.

Wolfwood kept his head on a swivel as he and Meryl moved through the warehouse. He wished there was somewhere else he could send her—this was an active firefight, and her “people shot” count was still at one—but he’d have to make do. Long as I get shot at more than her.

“There’s nowhere for you to run!” continued the voice. The guy sounded like a real asshole, the kind that would be a pain to deal with properly while keeping casualties low. Granted, he couldn’t have cared less about the casualties, but he didn’t want Vash on his case about killing. He didn’t want Meryl to see him pull the trigger, either, not after everything she’d said back…

Nope. Don’t think about that now. Keep moving.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked a new voice nearby. Wolfwood stopped, holding out an arm to block Meryl as he did. “I don’t think we want the police sniffing around here.”

“We’ll take him to the police once we get him. Just some upstanding citizens freeing the wastes from a criminal. No one has to know, yeah?”

Great. Not only was someone trying to get Vash for his bounty again, they were unscrupulous sorts themselves. Probably dumb as bricks, too, with the way Wolfwood’s luck had been going. As Wolfwood scanned the passageways between boxes, he spotted a brief flash of red and the blue-green of Vash’s prosthetic arm. It looked like he was trying to climb up onto a stack of boxes, probably to get a better view. Wolfwood hissed to get his attention. He had to hold back a flinch when Vash spun around with his pistol drawn—not just because he was fighting the urge to raise his own weapon, but because Vash’s quick draw was so damn fast. It was unnerving.

The radiant smile that appeared on Vash’s face when he realized it was them erased all the danger from him. Wolfwood smiled back, despite the tension eating away at him, and gestured upwards. When Vash nodded, Wolfwood ran over, Meryl close behind. They worked quickly: Wolfwood boosted up Vash, then Meryl, then jumped to grab Vash’s hand and let himself be hauled up. The height gave him a clearer view of the space. It looked like the warehouse had been carved directly from stone. It was the sort of cool, dry place you kept food before it was shipped. The haphazard placement of the crates and comments about the cops made Wolfwood suspect the original owners had either abandoned the place or been ousted by the new occupants.

“Are you hurt?” Meryl whispered.

Vash shook his head. “They’re really lousy shots,” he whispered back, “but there’s a lot of them.”

Great. “You got a plan?” Wolfwood asked.

“That’s the problem. They…”

Vash immediately shut his mouth as footsteps and voices grew closer. All three of them shrank down as low as they could. Wolfwood could feel Meryl pressing close to him, Vash’s hand on his shoulder. The weight of responsibility for both of them felt as suffocating as the fear of being heard by the men below.

“…don’t know why he’s bothering. There’s got to be easier places to steal from…”

Steal. Which in Vash’s case would mean steal back. And it would probably be too much to ask that it was something small that he already had in his pocket like last time.

“They took a Plant,” Vash whispered once the men were further away. “I need to get the truck she’s on.” Wolfwood bit back a sigh. Of freakin’ course. “I already have the keys. I just…”

They had to duck down and fall silent again when more footsteps went by. Vash settled for pointing in the direction they needed to go. In theory, they could make their way across the top of the crates. In practice, as much as people had a tendency to not look up, they’d be clear and obvious targets if they were spotted.

Better than trying to navigate on the ground, I guess.

“Someone’s gonna have to carry Meryl,” Wolfwood whispered.

“Hey - !”

“You gonna look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve secretly been a competitive long jumper this whole time?!” Meryl’s face went pink, but she didn’t reply. “No regular person could make some of those gaps. It’s nothing personal.”

“…fair,” she grumbled.

Vash smiled at her apologetically. “Here, climb on. I promise I won’t drop you.”

Wolfwood wasn’t surprised Vash didn’t drop her, but he was a little surprised how damn graceful Vash was about it. He could look like a bundle of flailing limbs even when he was pulling off impressive feats, but this time he was so focused that he made the trip across the maze of crates look effortless. Wolfwood couldn’t complain, though. That meant they had one less thing to worry about on a trip that was already giving him ulcers.

The vehicles were unguarded when they reached them. Wolfwood got to stabbing as soon as they hit the ground, pulling out his pocket knife and going for any tires that looked easily punctured. There were four bikes and three smaller cars parked next to a bigass truck that could only be holding the Plant, and even it was completely unguarded. He was going to question the intelligence of these people when he noted a loose charge cable next to the truck. They’d unplugged it, which meant it probably didn’t have enough juice to get anywhere far. “Damn it,” Wolfwood mumbled.

“I can fix this,” Vash said without hesitation. He pulled a bundle of keys out of his pocket—there had to be enough to cover most of the vehicles there, if not all of them—selected one in particular, and passed it to Meryl. “You be ready to drive when the battery is full. Nico, can you hold them off without…?”

“No killing,” Wolfwood grumbled. “I know.” At least he hadn’t really had to shoot anything since they last bought ammo. Less risk of it running out. “Just be fast, okay?”

They all took their places—Meryl in the driver’s seat, Wolfwood behind a nearby car for cover, Vash rummaging around under the hood of the car. Wolfwood wasn’t sure what Vash was doing and he didn’t have time to check. Someone was already approaching fast.

“Hey!”

Wolfwood’s first shot was just a warning, and fortunately drove the guy back to cover. It didn’t stop him from screaming, though: “He’s at the cars!”

Damn it. Wolfwood took a deep breath and focused down the rifle sights. No killing. Pretend it’s a take alive mission. Vash said they’re lousy shots, so they probably are…

That didn’t make the first sign of armed men any less harrowing.

Missing on purpose was just as hard as actually hitting them would’ve been. If he wasn’t aiming shots to drive them back, he had to aim for parts of the body that wouldn’t kill them outright. He knew how to aim with precision, sure, but his impulse was to go for the center mass. The torso was easiest to shoot, dropped a person quickly—both things you’d usually want in a situation like this. But Vash had asked him not to kill. So, he tried.

He didn’t exactly shed tears whenever a shot did hit—for example, when a bullet he meant to fire at the floor accidentally hit a guy’s foot, causing him to collapse to the floor in pain. Whatever, he’d live. Wolfwood would’ve moved on to a more pressing target if the guy hadn’t sat up and suddenly gone pale. Not from pain, not from realizing where Wolfwood was and that he could theoretically make a more fatal shot. He was looking at something over Wolfwood’s shoulder.

“What the fuck is that?”

Wolfwood risked glancing over his shoulder and froze immediately.

Vash was glowing. His plant markings were clearly visible, racing across his face in intricate patterns. His eyes were a more vivid blue than ever. It almost looked like his body was moving underneath his coat, flexing and stretching in ways a normal person wouldn’t usually move. Wolfwood even thought he saw something starting to sprout from his shoulder. Petals? Feathers?

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be seeing this. What’s happening to him? What’s he…

Vash suddenly jerked his hands away. His body snapped back into place, so suddenly and sharply that it was almost more alarming than the changes had been. “Start it!” he yelped as he slammed the hood shut.

Meryl, fortunately, recovered faster than Wolfwood did. The truck roared to life. Wolfwood stayed frozen in place until Vash ran to his side and started dragging him. “Come on, we’ve got to go!”

His legs recovered before his brain did, carrying him into the car before anyone started shooting again. As Meryl drove them out, Wolfwood glanced at the car’s dashboard displays. The battery had fully charged.

Vash had done that. Vash had created power and recharged the battery. It felt like just the other day he’d been in that bathroom, small and explaining how he couldn’t create anything. Now…

Wolfwood stared openly at Vash. “That’s new,” he said.

Vash smiled sheepishly. Before he could explain, something shot off one of their rear-view mirrors. Wolfwood cursed; Vash was leaning out the driver’s side window fast as he could even blink, pistol aimed. Wolfwood leaned out the passenger’s side just in time to see a motorcycle trip as the tire gave out.

Guess I got that one. He aimed for the tires of the next one. It took a few shots, but it did finally slow down, veering off as the driver lost control. He heard the sound of another one tipping over and crashing. It went silent after that, aside from the sound of the truck they were driving.

“Is that all of them?” Meryl asked.

“For now.” Vash sat down heavily and started reloading his pistol. “They’ll probably try to catch up. We should get as much distance from them as possible.”

“Agreed.” Wolfwood sat down as well and rubbed his eyes. “Is the Plant okay?”

Vash paused, his head tilting slightly as he glanced over his shoulder. Wolfwood couldn’t look at his face too long; even with his sunglasses dimming the brightness of his eyes, he could swear he still caught sight of the Plant markings in his eyes. “She’s okay,” he said finally. “A bit rattled. Wants to be back with the others. But she’ll be okay now.” His shoulders slumped slightly as he smiled. “And I was on such a good streak of not getting into shootouts before noon.”

Wolfwood checked the car’s clock. Sure enough, it was almost 10 a.m. “…you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days,” Wolfwood said flatly. “I can only take so much.”

“All those cigarettes will kill you before Vash does,” Meryl retorted.

Vash started giggling as Wolfwood switched his glare to Meryl. “Sure, everyone gang up on poor old me.” He pulled out a cigarette and held out his hand to Vash. He felt the press of the lighter in his hand almost immediately. “Wiseass.”

He did roll the window down before he started smoking. He wasn’t a total asshole.

The matter of how Vash had managed to pull off what he’d done didn’t come up for a while—first because they were all still too frazzled to talk about it, then because Vash had to move into the back of the truck to calm the Plant down. That left Meryl and Wolfwood alone, but it seemed like neither of them knew how to address it.

You saw that too, right? What he was turning into? What did he look like to you?

There was really no way to ask that question without opening up a whole can of Eye of Michael worms. It was bad enough Meryl knew as much as she did; explaining their religious dogma and why it left Wolfwood with a queasy, about-to-be-struck down feeling would take energy he did not have. So Wolfwood kept his mouth shut and his eyes fixed outside, looking for any signs of trouble.

Shockingly, none came. He thought those idiots would fight harder for their stolen good, but maybe having their transportation taken out and seeing Vash transform into…that had given them second thoughts. He shouldn’t have looked a gift thomas in the mouth. Easy was good. Not having to shoot more was even better. But the silence left Wolfwood with too much time to think.

He’d catch a glimpse of the bruise whenever he glanced down, but when he actually looked, it was gone. He knew that something had changed in July…no, before July. Some event had tipped the scales of his guilt, made him so sick about abandoning Vash that he’d thrown all common sense to the wind and gone back for him. And it must have been something Vash had done; the more Wolfwood thought about it, the more he realized that a lot of his memories around Vash were hazy, odd, slippery as a worm larva trying to burrow back into the sand. Something had changed. Something…

Does it have to do with the Eye? Or…

A wave of nerves collided with the headache his mixed-up memories were giving him. Wolfwood took a deep breath and started chewing on a hangnail. He hadn’t been a nail-biter before Conrad had gotten to him; even then, it was something that only happened when things got really bad. He guessed all this time travel bullshit counted.

“Are you okay?” Meryl asked.

The hangnail came free with a slight stab of pain. The metallic, familiar taste of his own blood drew him back to the present. “Might have to ask Vash about what happened there,” he said finally. “I don’t think he could do any of that before.”

“I don’t either.” Meryl took a deep breath. “But it’s a good thing, though…right? Or at least not a bad one?”

Wolfwood glanced down at his ankle, at the wound that was never as bad as it should’ve been and the explanation he’d been too afraid to ask for. “Reckon it depends on what he does with it.” As long as he doesn’t waste something that special on guys like me.

They had to pull over eventually to give the engine a break. Wolfwood felt his whole body go tense as he and Meryl started to open the back of the truck. He was bracing himself for Vash to look like something else again, something bordering on divine. All he saw was the Plant wrapped up in her bulb and Vash sitting with his back pressed to the tube, head leaning to the side, out so cold he was snoring and drooling.

“At least he feels safe enough to rest,” Meryl said. “I still don’t know how he can sleep like this, though.”

“You get used to it.” Wolfwood tapped his knuckles against the floor. “Hey, Spikey. Rise and shine.”

Vash jerked slightly, snorting on his cut-off snore as his eyes opened. He looked around the space like he was trying to remember how he got there. “…that wasn’t a quick nap,” he said groggily.

“Yeah, doesn’t look like it,” Meryl said. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Vash yawned and stretched. He could be freakishly floppy when he did, but it hadn’t bothered Wolfwood before now. Of course, back then he’d just thought Vash was like the one kid he’d known from the orphanage who had rubber bands for joints and dislocated his shoulder to use as a pillow. Now, Wolfwood half-expected Vash to unpop every limb and twist into a form that looked more like his sister’s.

And who cares if he does? It’s just Vash. You know him.

Wolfwood forced himself to remember the little kid at the start of all this, to imagine that kid chatting away as he stood up. “…always a little tired after electricity. Not sure what’s up with that.” Vash smiled sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t scare you guys too much.”

“No, of course!” Meryl said, maybe a little too quickly. “It was just…unexpected, that’s all.”

“Yeah, for us, you were just saying how much it sucked being specialized,” Wolfwood added—even though, for once, the time travel bullshit had nothing to do with his headache. “Guess you decided to do something about that.”

Vash laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. Something like that.” He turned around and started checking on the bits and bobs the Plant was hooked up to. “It’s been a lot to take in. Livio’s been really helpful…”

The name slammed into Wolfwood’s chest, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He had to force the next words out: “Did you just say …?”

“Oh! Yeah, I was going to tell you!” Vash turned to face him again, a bright grin on his face. “I stuck around after last time, just to keep an eye on things…I guess whatever you wrote to him worked, because he ran and hid when those guys came back. They really wanted him for some reason, but…” His smile looked a little pleased with himself, and a little embarrassed at the same time. “…guess they didn’t know a famous outlaw was in town.”

Wolfwood’s brain struggled to take all the new information in. “So…Livio’s…?”

“On Ship Three. I figured that was the safest place.”

He remembered, then.

He hadn’t even been on the ship five minutes and he was already itching for a cigarette. The entire situation was too weird. There was a spaceship in the damn sandstorm and he was on it, waiting for Vash to wake up from his dirt nap. He’d taken to twirling his lighter, drawing a few agitated looks from some of the ship’s occupants. He thought about actually lighting it, just to be a contrary asshole, but he wasn’t looking to get kicked out.

“Nico?”

The nickname nearly made him drop the lighter.

He was afraid to look. The whole situation felt so unreal; he was sure he was hallucinating. Brain damage, wistful thinking, whatever. But the sound of hesitant footsteps forced him to look up out of instinct, his body bracing itself for an attack.

An attack didn’t come. The figure stopped a safe distance away, staring openly. It had been ten years. He was twenty, maybe twenty-one, a grown man now. So much about him had changed: the broad shoulders, the sudden extra height (since when had he been the taller one, since when), the clean clothes, the overall vibrancy that he’d grown into. But he still wore his hair the same way–fair white and scruffy, half-pulled back now.

And he had the same golden eyes.

“...Livio?”

The smile was the same, too. That same smile he wore when the Tomas chicks ate out of his hand the first time, or when Wolfwood showed off his lighter tricks. He smiled like the world was a good place, like those little miracles were proof that everything was just and beautiful.

Wolfwood could almost believe that too for a second. He didn’t even protest when Livio practically tackled him in a hug. “I knew you were alive,” Livio said, his voice thick with tears. “I knew it.”

Crybaby, Wolfwood wanted to tease. Words didn’t come. He just held onto his brother with everything he had.

The full story came out after that. Livio was practically tripping over himself, excited to explain every little thing about the ship, the crew, the place he’d apparently been living for the past nine years. They had these things called Flora on board. He was working in the medical bay as an assistant. Vash came up a lot. Vash this, Vash that. Vash visited regularly and taught Livio how to fight and brought him back things from the deserts of No Man’s Land. Vash was the one who had brought him here to begin with, found him outside of Hopeland and brought him to safety.

Vash the Stampede had saved Livio’s life.

That fact cemented itself in Wolfwood’s mind the more he thought about it. That other version of Ship Three still existed, but it felt more and more like a hazy memory, an odd dream. Real and unreal. Maybe it had happened somewhere else, but it was being scrubbed away, replaced by a time when Livio was alive.

Then the rest sank in.

Livio was alive, his Livio was alive. There was no gunfight on the steam ship, no gun barrel pressed to Livio’s temple. The ship had still nearly hit Hopeland, turned there by Legato for whatever reason, but they’d been able to stop it. They still went to Ship Three…still left in a rush when Meryl and Roberto had been taken…except this time, no, no, they’d taken him, too, fucking Zazie had stolen Livio and Wolfwood had ridden into July City with his mind only half on the mission and half on popping that little worm freak’s head off with his bare hands…

But only half.

Because three people had entered that elevator and kept going down, two injured but alive. Because when the adrenaline had faded, when he’d finally managed to wrench his fingers off the trigger and remind himself that he couldn’t shoot Elendira, as much as he wanted to…

He could’ve followed the others down, but he hadn’t. He’d still taken the other elevator up with Vash. He’d still walked down that hallway, Vash just behind him.

What a load of a babysitting job this turned out to be.

“Wolfwood?”

His body jerked away from the sudden touch of Meryl’s hand on his arm. She looked worried. Vash did, too, but nervous at the same time. Like he had some idea of what was going through Wolfwood’s head…like he knew…

But it’s done now.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He could still remember Vash’s eyes behind those sunglasses. Soft, nonjudgmental. Kind.

Hey, Wolfwood? Thanks for everything.

Wolfwood tore his gaze away and ran.

Meryl shouted after him, but the sound quickly grew silent. Or maybe he just stopped noticing. His mind stayed fixed on one truth, one solid and fixed point in the mess that his life had turned into.

Vash the Stampede had saved Livio’s life.

And Wolfwood had given him up to Knives anyway.

.

“Wolfwood!”

Meryl’s brain was a scrambled mess. Vash’s confession had shifted in her memories, layering a blanket of new memories over what had once happened. No longer was the white-haired man a gun-wielding phantom who had fallen off the edge of the sand steamer, limp and lifeless. He was Livio—bright and smiling as he ran into Vash’s room to hug him tightly, introducing himself politely as they followed Luida to the Geoplant, shielding her and Roberto from Zazie even though they’d just met. The clashing memories were enough to make her feel woozy, but she knew that whatever Wolfwood was feeling had to be worse.

His brother was dead, and then he wasn’t. That was a lot bigger than a few scars and an absent bruise.

But before she could go after him, a hand gently rested on her shoulder. “Let him go,” Vash said. “I think he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Meryl looked up at Vash in surprise. He was staring after Wolfwood with a tight jaw and eyes that were starting to look teary. For a moment, Meryl’s attention was torn in two. Wolfwood was obviously upset, but so was Vash. She weighed her options, tried to figure out which of them would be more likely to open up to her. The deciding factor was knowing, deep down, who Wolfwood would want her to choose.

“Are you okay?” Meryl asked.

Vash shook his head. His hand dropped off her shoulder as he turned and started closing back up the truck. “Nai founded the Eye of Michael,” he said. “I didn’t poke around too much, don’t worry. I just…had to know.’ He hesitated in front of the truck’s closed doors, his shoulders visibly tense even under his bulky jacket. “He’s the reason Nico was taken away. Nico, all those other kids…” She heard a soft thump as his head hit the doors. “He’s the reason I’m trying to learn more about my Gate.”

“To protect Livio?”

“To protect myself.” Vash wrapped his arms around himself tightly. “I took Livio off Ship Three for an away mission. He wanted to help more…he’s a good kid, you know? I didn’t know Nai was in the area until he showed up at the hotel. He’d seen us together, asked me if Livio knew what I am. Of course he does. I told him years ago. But when I told Nai that, he…grabbed my arm and I started to just…” He gripped his right arm more tightly. “…unravel. I was changing. I guess that’s normal, that’s something Independents can do, but I didn’t know that then. He knew. He knows how my own body works better than I do.”

Vash laughed harshly, tearfully.

“I couldn’t stop him. I was scared. He left me looking like a…a monster, told me to see if the humans accepted me then…”

Immediately, Meryl stepped closer to Vash. He flinched away from her at first, but after a few slow, deep breaths, he turned to face her. “So, uhm, I can transmit emotions and thoughts through touch when I’m like that,” he admitted. “So, I did scare Livio when he came back. But we talked things out. And he’s still my…” He laughed again, burying his face in his hands. “He’s more a brother to me now than my actual brother.”

Vash sank into a crouch. Meryl only hesitated for a second before hugging him tightly. She didn’t feel any emotions that weren’t hers, which was probably for the best. Her own growing anger was bad enough. “I’m so sorry, Vash.”

“I miss my brother,” Vash said. “I miss Nai. I love Nai. But the day he cut off my arm, he said he was Millions Knives now, and Knives…Knives has hurt almost everyone I love. He’s hurt me, and acted like that’s a good thing...he killed my…” He choked on a sob and hugged her back tightly. “I’m…I’m so angry at him. Meryl, I think I hate him. I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t…”

“I know. I know,” Meryl said softly. Even justified hatred didn’t feel very good. She knew from experience. “I’m sorry, Vash. I wish…”

She wished she knew what to say, what to do. But she was an only child and a normal human who would never have to deal with the kind of pain Vash had. All she could do was observe.

Again.

That terrible feeling of helplessness gripped her ribs, making it feel hard to breathe. Meryl pushed down her own urge to cry—even if at least some of the tears were sympathetic ones, it didn’t feel right for her to cry now—and started humming Vash’s song as she stroked his hair. It was all she had to offer for action. It didn’t feel like much of anything, not against the sheer mountains of pain Vash must have been feeling.

But to her surprise, Vash’s tears began to quiet. He didn’t hum along, but he still seemed soothed. His breathing slowed. His grip grew a little less desperate. Eventually, he pulled away from the embrace, wiping his tears away. “Thanks,” Vash whispered.

Meryl shrugged, suddenly unable to meet Vash’s eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve done so much for me.” His fingers rested over the place she’d been burned during the Big Fall. “You pulled me out of the fire. You defended me. You listened. A lot of people can’t even listen but you do. When I’m with you I feel understood.” He smiled at her. “We’re not even the same species, so that’s kind of a big deal.”

It sounded so much bigger when he said it that way.

Vash stood up, dusting the sand off his pants as he did. “I know there’s no easy answers,” he said, “not to this. But it does feel a little better saying it all out loud.”

“I can see that. Hey, Vash?” There was at least one thing she could say, and it was something she was pretty sure Vash needed to hear. “I know you don’t want to hate him, but…hate and anger aren’t the same thing, you know? You’re allowed to be angry with him, even if you still love him. He has hurt you.”

Vash nodded. “Yeah.” Then, “Don’t tell Nico I said this, but at this point I’m not even mad at him for hurting me. Lots of people have hurt me by now. I’m mad that he acts like he isn’t hurting me. No matter what I say…” He sighed. “Other people have changed. So far…he won’t.”

That won’t seemed so heavy, as if Vash was starting to realize there may not come a day when Knives would. She wondered what that would mean for the future—a future that, so far, still seemed to lead to July City.

What else can I do?

Is there anything I can do?

“Will you be okay watching the truck alone? I want to try and talk to Nico about some things.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” She had a feeling if no one had managed to catch up to them so far, they were in the clear. “Worst case scenario, I can always hit someone with it on purpose this time.”

Vash laughed and leaned over for one more hug. “That’s true.”

His laugh sounded genuine, and his steps weren’t so heavy as he went in the direction Wolfwood had gone. But Meryl still felt a tightness in her chest as she watched him walk away.

Wolfwood said he was twelve when he was taken, that he was about twenty-two now. Depending on how long it had been since their last portal, Vash could have anywhere from nine years to months until the day she met him in the future. Was that enough time?

Was there anything else she could do?

.

He’d smoked his way through the rest of a pack by sundown.

Wolfwood didn’t know why. They weren’t making him any calmer. His hands still shook every time he tried to light them. The sting when they burned all the way down to his fingertips or lips wasn’t harsh enough to be real punishment. He couldn’t even say he was doing it to kill himself faster. Any cancer cells the cigarettes might have spawned would be undone with the next vial. And there wouldbe another vial, and another, and one after that. Not because the orphanage needed him. Because he was a coward who couldn’t even die right.

Bastard, miserable piece of shit, you should’ve just let him kill you, a lot of people would be better off if you’d just…

He heard footsteps. Wolfwood didn’t have to turn around. He knew the tread of those boots by now, same as he’d learned Livio’s footsteps when they were kids. Wolfwood didn’t say anything. Couldn’t bring himself to.

“...Nai sends you after me, doesn’t he? Is that how we meet?”

Wolfwood flinched. He had this sudden mental image of Vash standing there with his gun drawn, aimed right at the back of Wolfwood’s head. He wouldn’t fight it if it were. He deserved that. He deserved worse. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp. “How’d…?”

Vash must’ve shrugged; Wolfwood could hear the rustling of his jacket, the soft myeh Vash would make sometimes. “I looked into the Eye of Michael after I found Livio,” he said. “It wasn’t hard to put together. The two angels sent by God kind of gave it away.” He huffed, sad or amused or both, it was hard to tell. “He’s always been dramatic.”

Wolfwood wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. He tried to will that gun into Vash’s hands. Tried to tell himself that he wasn’t hearing softness in that stupid voice, again. “He got it in his head that you needed looking after,” Wolfwood said. “You were going to July anyway, but he wanted to make sure you got there in one piece. I volunteered.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the full truth, either, but the full truth didn’t matter. Vash needed to know he’d volunteered. He needed to understand…

“Because they’d leave Livio alone if you did?”

Damn it, Vash.

Wolfwood glanced over his shoulder. There was no gun in Vash’s hands, no betrayed look in his eyes. “You said,” Vash continued, “you could handle it. That you wanted it to be you, not any of the others. I’m guessing they came back for Livio…”

“Stop.”

“...because they knew you two were close. Did they threaten him anyway?”

“Stop.”

“Say they’d leave him and the others alone if you…”

“Who gives a shit?!” Wolfwood was on his feet so fast it made him dizzy. The cigarette fell from his lips only half-smoked, but he didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter why I did it!”

“Of course it does - “

“No, it doesn’t, Vash!” Wolfwood wanted to grab Vash by his stupid jacket and shake some sense into him. He wanted to turn and run away. The conflicting impulses froze him in place, body tense and shaking. “Stop trying to justify this! Stop talking yourself out of being angry with me! You should be angry with me!”

“Why?”

“Why…” Wolfwood growled in frustration and rubbed his eyes. “What part of this isn’t sinking in? You saved one of the people I love most, and I handed you over anyway. That’s how I repaid you. I’m worse than low. You should hate me. Just…” He could finally move again, stepping forward to shove Vash as hard as he could. “...fucking hate me, damn you!”

Vash barely staggered. Wolfwood might as well have shoved a brick wall. At that proximity, Wolfwood had a full view of Vash’s eyes. He looked so deeply sad that it felt like a knife to the chest. But not the sorrow of grief or betrayal Wolfwood remembered from after Knives had cut his arm off. This was something else.

Empathy.

“Wolfwood,” he said quietly, “did you follow me back to Ship Three for Nai? Was that part of it?”

He could’ve lied. Maybe if he did, Vash would finally take the justice he deserved. But it would ruin him, too, so Wolfwood told the truth. “No. The job was done when all that happened. Contract fulfilled.”

“So…what I’m hearing is that you owed me nothing, not even on Nai’s behalf, and you…stayed with me for a week until I was let out of that cell? Held me when I was scared? You nearly gave up going home for me…because you wanted to?”

“Because I did owe you,” Wolfwood corrected. His voice sounded weak to his own ears, pathetic. “After what I’d done, I couldn’t just walk away. I’m already a monster, I couldn’t…” He took a deep breath. “It should’ve been someone else. You deserved better than me.”

Vash nodded. And then he smiled. “You know,” he said, “monsters don’t cry like this.”

Was he crying? When had he started? Wolfwood desperately scrubbed them off his cheeks, leaving smears of dust and ash instead. “Don’t,” he whispered again. “Please. Just…damn it…”

“I was mad at first, for the record.”

“Good.”

“But you know what I kept thinking about?” Vash looked away, staring out over the desert landscape. “For a long time, I’d look for Nai whenever I left Ship Three. All I wanted was for him to come back and apologize. If he’d just…” Vash’s voice broke; he shook it off and rested his hand on Wolfwood’s shoulder. “You came back for me. You’ve tried to make things better. My own twin won’t do that, but you have. And that’s why I forgive you for whatever’s coming. Because I want to. Because I know you’re not a monster.” He squeezed Wolfwood’s shoulder gently. “My decision, Nico. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

He didn’t deserve this. Nicholas D. Wolfwood didn’t deserve that kind of grace and he never would. But here was Vash, giving it freely.

His knees finally gave out. Wolfwood collapsed, forehead pressed to the sand. He apologized, over and over, for all of it. What he done (would do) to Vash. What he’d done (was doing) in the name of the Eye. For every drop of blood on his hands. He didn’t ask forgiveness, because he still didn’t feel he deserved it, but he’d burn alive if he didn’t confess how low he truly was. If he didn’t at least apologize.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. Vash hummed quietly, that wordless tune he’d been using since he was a kid. Wolfwood didn’t have the strength to push him away, didn’t have it in him to reject that forgiveness. He still didn’t think he deserved it, but he wanted it. Absolution felt like pain medication after a long contract, like the first hit of nicotine, like Livio’s embrace on Ship Three. Like those fleeting moments when life felt beautiful and kind.

Eventually, he ran out of things to confess. Vash hadn’t let go; Wolfwood had long given up fighting against it. When he did pull away, it was only far enough to look Vash in the eyes. “He’s going to kill you,” Wolfwood said. It was the truth he’d been too afraid to say, but what consequences were there now? Livio was alive, so the future could be changed. Vash already knew what he’d do one day, so there was no more fear of judgment. What was the worst that could happen? “He’s got some crazy plan to wipe out humanity and he needs you to do it. He needs whatever it is you can do. Something about a bridge, I don’t know. They don’t tell me these things. But whatever it is…”

“He doesn’t care how much he has to break me to get it,” Vash finished. He didn’t sound surprised. “Because Knives knows best, right?” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “And he probably thinks I’ll just go along with it.”

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t need you to do it willingly.”

Vash sighed, pulling away fully to sit down in the sand. “No. I guess not.”

From that angle, Wolfwood could see how red and puffy Vash’s eyes were. “Geez, don’t cry over me…”

“I was crying about Nai, so don’t worry.”

“That’s worse.” Wolfwood huffed as he settled down himself, staring out over the wastes in front of them. “How old is…?”

Livio. How old was he now? How tall had he gotten? Did he still talk to his imaginary friend, ask for the same stories, cry at every big emotion, good or bad? Was he healthy? Was he happy?

“I have a picture. Do you want to see?”

Wolfwood’s heart leapt up into his throat. He had the new memories, of course, he had some idea of how Livio looked grown-up and untouched by Conrad and his needles, but a picture felt more real, somehow. Vash reached somewhere into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. It showed a Livio who looked to be in his teens, wearing the white clothes of Ship Three. The sleeves were a little short, so he’d probably had a growth spurt recently. He was grinning, holding up a tablet that showed he’d scored a 90 on something.

“That’s when he passed the exams to enter the medical program,” Vash explained. “The kids usually start their career training in their late teens. He’s sixteen now, so he’s started this year. He wants to be a doctor so he can go back to Hopeland and help the kids. And he wants to see you again one day.”

Wolfwood could feel tears forming in his eyes. He passed the photo back to Vash to avoid getting it wet. “Doctor, huh? Didn’t know he could handle blood like that.”

“He’s tougher than he looks. Actually…” Vash stood up and held out his hand to Wolfwood. “I can tell you about when he picked that path, if you want. But we should get back to the truck. Meryl’s probably worried about us.”

Wolfwood nodded and took Vash’s hand. “Yeah,” he said as he stood up. “Yeah, sounds good.”

They walked back to the truck side-by-side. Vash told Wolfwood about the dustlung outbreak that happened when Livio was thirteen, his second year on the ship. He hadn’t been in any danger, having already had it while he was at the orphanage, and he took advantage of that to volunteer with the kids on board. He’d spent weeks in quarantine, helping distribute medicine, telling stories, keeping their spirits up as best he could.

“They all loved him by the end of it,” Vash finished as the truck came into sight. “He probably could’ve started a child gang if he wanted to. They still think he’s really cool.” Vash smiled fondly. “He is, to be fair.”

“He always had potential. He caught a girl who nearly fell off the roof once. Never been prouder of anyone in my life.” Despite the deep ache in his chest, Wolfwood found himself smiling, too. “You realize that hiding out in Hopeland and fighting deacons counts as doing something stupid, right?”

“Maybe, but I don’t regret it. He means something to you. He…means something to me, too.” Vash’s footsteps slowed, his expression suddenly growing uncomfortable. “I’m not trying to replace you, I promise. He really does want to see you again one day. I’m glad he’s in my life, but I wish…I wish it was you.”

The ache in his chest suddenly had a name. Wolfwood had to take a few deep breaths before he could respond. “It’s…I’m not mad at you. Don’t resent you or anything. He’s doing better than most of us could hope for.”

Vash nodded. “You can still be upset about the situation. Even around me. I won’t take it personally or anything.

Maybe Vash wouldn’t take it personally, but he’d still feel Wolfwood’s pain a little too deeply. That was almost as bad as him taking it personally. “Moping about it won’t fix anything,” Wolfwood said. “I’d rather focus on the fact that he’s okay now.”

And he’d stay that way if Wolfwood had anything to say about it. He had two reasons to steer Vash’s future now. If Livio was dragged to July, that meant he was in danger.

I won’t let them hurt him again.

Should he tell Vash everything he was going to face? Would that be too dangerous? Meryl got out of the truck and started walking to them before he could decide. I’ll talk to her about it. She might know what to do.

“Are you okay?” Meryl asked.

“Better now,” Vash said. “Right, Nico?”

“I’m functional.” And hopefully he didn’t look too much like he’d been crying. “Do we know where we’re going? Don’t think just driving around is going to get us anywhere fast.”

“I do! I can navigate. We’ll have to keep moving so eventually someone else will have to drive…”

Vash kept chatting as he walked away, but Meryl hung back. Wolfwood thought she was going to say something to him; instead, she gave him a quick, one-armed hug before running to catch up to Vash.

Oh.

Maybe the gesture shouldn’t have been a surprise after their conversation last time, but Wolfwood still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. It was more grace and forgiveness that he didn’t deserve, and yet neither Meryl nor Vash seemed to care about that. They gave it freely anyway.

Three reasons, he decided as he followed the two of them. He had three reasons to fight for the future.

If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fight.

.

Vash barely had to be bullied into sleeping first that night, which really spoke to how tired he was. Meryl was glad she didn’t have to fight him about it, and just as glad that it gave her a chance to talk to Wolfwood.

“Do you think we should tell him everything?” Wolfwood asked.

“I…” Meryl sighed. “I don’t know. It feels drastic, but maybe…”

Her hands clenched the steering wheel. She’d been thinking about the changed events of the future while the boys were gone. As it turned out, Livio’s survival hadn’t just influenced her later interaction with Wolfwood.

“What do you remember about July now?”

“Uh…lot of it’s the same, up ‘til we find you in the tower. Elendira hurt…” Wolfwood took a deep breath, but it wasn’t enough to hide the note of rage in his voice. “…Livio. And Roberto looked like he had some blood on him.”

“That’s his. Livio tried to be a distraction, so he got most of the nails, but Roberto…he still got hit. But not in his gut like before. Just his arm.” Which was still potentially bad. The words brachial artery and don’t want to mess with this her were thrown out there. But…

“Wolfwood, he was alive when I went back up for Vash.” Meryl felt her eyes start filling up with tears. “He still gave me the derringer, but he was alive. He and Livio were going to get out of the city together.”

“…Shit,” Wolfwood breathed. “Damn. We really did something, huh?”

Meryl nodded and reached up to wipe the tears away. “And that’s a good thing. I’m grateful, I really am. But I was thinking, maybe all of this…we can change things, sure, but what I’m worried about is that no matter what we do, Knives is never going to stop. We can make Vash realize what he’s like, we can save Livio and Roberto, but that doesn’t fix that Knives wants Vash back.”

“Right. Right.” Wolfwood groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we convince Vash not to go to July willingly…

“And if no one is ever able to catch him for the bounty…”

“God only knows what kind of tantrum Knives will pitch.”

“Pretty much.”

“Shit.” Wolfwood rolled the window down and lit a cigarette. “So, we turn this thing towards July and put a bullet in Knives, then?”

“That’s not…first of all, can you even pull something like that off?”

“I’m about ready to give it a shot. Pun fully intended.”

“What happened to dying a normal death?”

“You know the amount of bullshit I’ve already done for my family? I can do one more thing. Killing an angel isn’t that far off from betraying one, if you think about it.”

“…okay, that would make a great quote,” Meryl admitted, “but the plan is still stupid.”

“You got a better one?”

Meryl glanced in the rearview mirror. Vash was still fast asleep, right down to the snoring and drooling combo. “The only person who can beat Knives is Vash,” Meryl said finally. “Maybe…we tell him the truth, if he wants to know it. And then we trust him to do what’s best.”

Wolfwood looked like he was about to bite his cigarette in half from how tight his jaw was. “He shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly. “Even if he’s capable of it…”

“We’ll be there for him no matter what happens,” Meryl said. “I think we’re a lot more capable of that than we are of fighting Knives ourselves.”

Wolfwood sighed out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Not happy about it, but I’ve barely been happy about the way my life is going for…” He paused, then counted on his fingers. “Most of it, so I guess I shouldn’t be too shocked.”

Meryl grimaced. “Well, hopefully you’ll have something to be happy about at the end of all this. Do you mind taking over? I need to write something down.”

Remembering dates took longer than she expected, and she had to ask Wolfwood for help a few times, but before it was her turn to rest, she had a timeline of what was to come written out. “So, we give him this, tell him some of what’s at stake…then it’s his call,” Meryl said. She rubbed her eyes and bit back a yawn. “Only so much we can do now.”

“Don’t remind me.” Wolfwood slowed the car to a stop. “We’ll do it in the morning. Get Vash up, then you get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Meryl went to open the door, but hesitated. “Wolfwood…earlier, when you said ‘family’…”

It was hard to tell in the low light, but she was pretty sure she saw Wolfwood blush a bit. “Listen, it’s your damn fault for letting me tag along this long,” he said. His words were defensive, but his tone had too much honesty in it. “That’s what happens when you feed strays. Everyone knows that.”

Oh.

Meryl stared down at her hands for a moment. It somehow would’ve been easier if he’d said he was in love with her or something. That she knew how to respond to. This felt…bigger, somehow. Maybe it was because of everything they’d been through together, or maybe it was because she knew how important family was to Wolfwood. Either way…

She was surprised to find she didn’t mind the idea.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you with the truck,” Meryl said quietly.

Just like that, any awkwardness was gone between them. Wolfwood laughed, and Meryl started giggling along with him. “Yeah,” he said. He was smiling. It was one of the few real, genuine smiles Meryl had seen on Wolfwood’s face. “Yeah, I am, too.” Wolfwood nudged her gently. “Go on. Sleep.”

It took more effort to wake Vash up than it did to convince him to sleep, but eventually he took Meryl’s place in the passenger seat while she tried to make herself comfortable in the back. Despite the inherent lack of comfort that came with sleeping in a moving vehicle, she found herself dozing off quickly, lulled to sleep by the sound of the motor and the quiet conversation between Wolfwood and Vash.

It was strange to admit that she felt safe, but she did.

.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Wolfwood winced. That wasn’t the best way Meryl could’ve opened the conversation. Vash looked between her and Wolfwood with a confused expression. “Uh, am I grounded or something?” he asked.

“Why bother?” Wolfwood said. “It wouldn’t stop you from doing boneheaded stuff.” No, joking about this wasn’t going to make it any easier. Might as well just jump in. “It’s about your brother.”

And there went the mood, predictably. Wolfwood almost felt guilty, seeing the light go right out of Vash’s eyes, but it was a conversation they had to have. Better to just rip the rest of the bandage off. “I know we talked about some of this yesterday, but things with Knives aren’t going to get any better,” Wolfwood said. “People are going to get hurt. People are going to get killed. And I’m not saying that’s your fault, that’s all on him. But it would be on us if we didn’t warn you.”

Meryl nodded in agreement and held out the timeline she’d written the night before, carefully folded up into a tidy square. “It’s all here,” she said, “if you want to read it. Everything that’s going to happen in the future. We don’t want to force you, but we thought you should have the option. It’s up to you how much you want to know.”

Vash took the paper carefully, as if it were a live worm that might sting him at any second. “I’m the only one who can do something aren’t I?” he said quietly. “Not because it’s my penance. I just…am.” Wolfwood expected him to start tearing up again, but instead Vash just smiled. “How awful is that?”

Meryl hugged him immediately. Wolfwood joined in the embrace. Vash still didn’t shake, didn’t cry. “I have a few years, right?”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood said. “Yeah, you’ve got time.”

“Enough time to be a little selfish?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“There’s a little bar in the place we’re going. No limits on the drinks this time. I want…” He gripped Wolfwood’s arm a bit more tightly. “…I want to have a few drinks with you. Play the piano again. Just be normal for a little while, you know?”

“I don’t think that sounds selfish,” Meryl said, “but it does sound like a good night. I’d love to.”

“Count me in, too,” Wolfwood said. “Think we can convince them to give us free drinks? We are about to be their heroes and all.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.” Vash pulled them both a little closer. “I’m so glad to have you both.”

There were still no tears in his voice, but the earnestness there hit harder than tears. He sounded young again, like the kid locked up and alone, desperate for comfort, happy to find it even in the company of a stranger.

But they weren’t strangers anymore. Wolfwood may not have meant to be so sentimental to Meryl’s face the night before, but he had meant every word.

They were part of his family now, for better or for worse. And he’d do what he had to for them.

.

It felt like a miracle that they made it into town without anything going wrong. The warm welcome they received felt even more surreal as a result. Vash looked just as taken aback as Meryl felt—which led her to wonder how many less-than warm welcomes he’d received lately—but he warmed to the treatment quickly. Wolfwood was much more closed off until a gaggle of kids started following them around, asking questions. He may have kept side-eyeing the adults, but he had no problem chatting with the kids.

“Oh, there was a hundred, at least,” Wolfwood said. He didn’t seem deterred when the claim was met with a chorus of disbelief. “That’s how many I counted.”

“It was ten at most,” Meryl interjected. “We wouldn’t have made it out if there was one hundred.”

“Sure we would’ve. That’s thirty…something each? We could take that many.”

Meryl narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t tell if there was a compliment hidden in the tall tales boasting—if Wolfwood really thought she could handle thirty-ish armed bandits solo—or if he was just messing with her. Vash interjected before she could think about it too hard: “It sure felt like a hundred.” He finished inputting something into the various machines the Plant was connected to and stepped back. “That place was so messy, you couldn’t turn a corner without running right back into someone – “

“Look!” yelled one of the kids.

The Plant was peering out of her bulb. While some of the kids shrank away at the sight, even more pressed forward, poking their heads through the railing that separated the guests from the equipment. “Easy, don’t trample each other.” Wolfwood scooped up one smaller child who was dangerously close to being squished by the railing and set her down next to him. “You’ve never seen this before?”

Meryl wasn’t surprised when the kids shook their heads. She’d only seen a Plant’s body in textbook illustrations before that day on the sand steamer. The Plant’s visible eye moved from Vash, to her, to Wolfwood. Did she recognize them? Had they met before, or did she know them through Vash?

“Do you want to say ‘hi’ to her?” Vash offered. The girl Wolfwood had moved nodded. “Here.”

The girl took Vash’s offered hand and walked closer to the tank with him. A nearby Plant engineer and a few security guards watched carefully. Meryl was a little surprised they hadn’t tried to stop them, but maybe they wanted to see where this was going. “Just put your hand right here,” Vash said. “She’s friendly. I promise.”

The girl pressed her hand against the glass with no hesitation, reaching up as high as she could. Her gaze was intense at first, but brightened into excitement as the Plant bulb opened more, giving a full view of the Plant’s face. One long, slender arm reached out as the Plant reciprocated the touch. The girl jumped up and down in place. “She’s smiling!” she said. “Do you guys see that? She’s smiling!”

“I told you she’s friendly,” Vash said. There was joy in his voice as he watched the moment of connection. “Anyone else want to say hello?”

In the end, every one of the kids, even the ones who’d backed away at first, came forward to touch the glass. Most just gave a simple greeting, a hi or a hello, but a few had more to say.

I think you’re really pretty.

Thanks for giving us power and everything.

I’m glad you’re back safe.

Every kind word made Vash’s smile grow more radiant—not necessarily bigger, but definitely brighter. Meryl could especially see it in his eyes, in the way they softened, taking in the scene as though it was everything he’d wanted.

And maybe it was. This was humanity treating Plants with kindness, appreciation. Everything Knives seemed to think would happen. This was just a small moment, but it was something.

There has to be more I can do in the future. I’m a reporter, aren’t I? I can use that to advocate for the Plants. No matter what changed about the future, that she could do.

I won’t let his faith in us be for nothing.

“I have never seen that happen with a Plant before,” said the Plant engineer as the last of the kids left and the Plant retreated back into her bulb.

“I think she’s glad to be back with her people,” Vash said cheerily. “Or maybe I have the magic touch.”

Not even Wolfwood and Meryl’s looks of alarm at the semi-confession were enough to knock the smile off his face. He was practically floating as they got settled into town and headed to the bar. Meryl kept bracing herself for something to go wrong, for people to decide that turning on Vash was worth the money it might bring them, but it didn’t happen. They were welcomed into the bar as heroes. As Wolfwood had hoped, the drinks were free. Meryl kept her own consumption to a minimum, and Wolfwood looked like he was holding himself back, too, even though he had more than her. Vash had more than both of them. He didn’t get falling-down drunk, but he was a lot less hesitant to get on the piano this time. His cheer made the lyrics of the song he was singing a bit surprising.

And the waitress is practicing politics as the businessmen slowly get stoned…

But she guessed that made sense in its own way.

Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone.

It was exactly the kind of normal night Vash had wanted. Meryl was hesitant to end it for him, but she was starting to nod off at the bar, and there was only so much alcohol Vash could consume before he got dangerously drunk. Wolfwood ended up preemptively carrying him, just in case he wasn’t sober enough to make it back. “Don’t whine to me if you have a headache tomorrow,” Wolfwood cautioned as they reached their motel room door.

Vash giggled. “I have a secret. Guys, I have…”

“Hold on,” Meryl said. She opened the door and let the boys in first before following. “Okay. What secret?”

Vash giggled again. “I process alcohol more efficiently than humans do,” he said in a loud whisper. “I probably won’t have a headache at all.”

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. “Showoff,” he said as he dumped Vash onto the bed. Vash’s giggles turned into full laughter. “At least tell me you’ve exploited that to win a bet or something.”

“Oh, yeah. I needed the bus money.”

“I’m only a little mad at you, then.” Wolfwood started yanking off Vash’s boots. “You should still get some sleep.”

“Mmm, yeah. Should probably head out early tomorrow.” Vash waited until his boots were off before he curled up on his side, grabbing one of the pillows and clutching it to his chest. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Meryl tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. She could only stare helplessly at Wolfwood as he put his hands on his hips and stared down at the floor, his jaw flexing as he mulled it over. Vash lifted his head to look at them. “Hey, don’t look sad,” he said. “I had a good time. And I think I’ll go back home after this. See everyone again…figure things out.” His head dropped back to the mattress. “It’ll be good for me, I think.”

“That’s a good plan.” Meryl sat next to him. He was still smiling, and it wasn’t the somber smile he wore when he was upset. He really did look happy, just tired. “We’ll be there in the morning to get you there, okay?”

“I know.” Vash’s eyes drifted shut. “Thank you, guys.”

Meryl started carefully stroking Vash’s hair. He didn’t seem to need the comfort; he was out cold in seconds. Wolfwood shrugged his jacket off and stood over the two of them with his hands in his pocket. He was wearing the clothes Vash had gotten for him. They made him look older, less like a child playing dress-up as an adult and more like the early twentysomething that he was. “Probably a smart idea to get out of here early,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Meryl replied.

“Still sucks, though.”

“Yeah. It sucks.” Meryl sighed and got up. “Almost everything about the situation he’s in sucks.”

Wolfwood nodded in agreement. His gaze drifted to the window as Meryl walked to their bag. She started her usual routine of checking what supplies they had. Wolfwood was low on ammo. That could be a problem in the future, though if they were leaving before even the shops opened, they might just have to deal with it. She should fill up their water bottles before she went to sleep. She…

The water bottle in her hands was suddenly in Wolfwood’s. “You sleep,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

Meryl wanted to argue, but the sudden feeling of heaviness sweeping over her won out quickly. “Just be sure you sleep, too,” Meryl said as she stood up shakily. “We don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“Yeah, true.” Wolfwood grabbed the other water containers and started for the bathroom. “I’ll get us refilled and then right to bed. Promise.”

Meryl was barely able to get changed into something more comfortable before crawling into bed. She could see Vash in the next bed over, curled up and facing her. He looked so young and peaceful. She didn’t think he’d even looked so peaceful when she knew him in the past. The last thing she heard before drifting off to sleep was the sound of Wolfwood crawling into his own bed.

She hoped he slept well, too. Not just to face what the next day might bring. He deserved the rest.

They all did.

.

Vash, true to what he’d said, barely showed any signs of the last night’s alcohol consumption, aside from chugging a lot of water directly from the sink. Wolfwood wanted to be jealous, but he was too wrapped up in the big picture.

“Where’s your head at?” he asked as they finished packing up.

Vash shrugged. “Trying to focus on one thing at a time. I’ll make better decisions about Nai when I’m back home.” He glanced at Wolfwood. “If you don’t have to leave before…do you want to see him?”

His first instinct was to say yes. Even from a distance, even to see if Livio was okay for himself. But he had that fresh memory of Livio on Ship Three, clear and vivid as any of his old memories, even if deep down he didn’t really feel like he’d experienced it himself. He could hold onto that for now. Besides, for all the forgiveness he’d been given lately, he didn’t think he was ready. Didn’t think that he deserved to be in Livio’s presence again. When all of this was over, maybe, but for now…

“Probably better if I keep my distance. I appreciate it, though.” He gave Vash a light thump on the arm. “Just promise me you won’t let him reach your level of stupid decisions, yeah?”

Vash chuckled. “I’m trying. He’s got more common sense than me, but…well, you’ll have a lot to talk about.” He stood up and glanced out the window. The light outside was still orange, and the sounds of the early risers getting to their jobs were starting to filter through. “Maybe I’ll come back here one day. It doesn’t seem like a bad place.”

Hopefully, if he did ever come back, he’d receive the same warm welcome, or at least one of indifference.

They didn’t see many people on the street as they left, but the few they did were friendly enough. Stay safe, come back soon, all of that. Wolfwood still stayed cautious until they were out of sight. He’d heard about how quickly Jeneora Rock had turned on Vash when they needed the money. A repeat of that would ruin Vash’s seemingly good cheer.

The appearance of a portal not too far from town wasn’t enough to make Wolfwood feel any safer. He was almost hesitant to hand over his lighter, much as the item had started feeling like a good luck charm. “Straight home, okay?” Wolfwood said.

“Yes, Nico, I’m going straight home.” Vash pocketed the lighter, hugged Wolfwood, hugged Meryl. “And I’ll think about it. About…all of it.”

Meryl was slow to let go of him. “I’m really sorry,” she said quietly. “I know it’s a lot to put on you. If there was any other way, we’d take it.”

“I know.” Vash’s hand rested on her shoulder for a moment before he looked out over the horizon. “See you in the future.”

“See you, Vash.”

They lingered in front of the tear in the scenery, watching Vash walk away, whistling as he went. “He’ll get there okay,” Meryl said quietly, “right? If he were going to get into trouble, we wouldn’t be leaving right now.”

“I think so,” Wolfwood said. “It’s the after I’m worried about.”

Meryl nodded and looked back at the portal. “It feels different this time.”

He knew what she meant. Going through these doors had always felt like stepping through the unknown before. This time, he had a strange feeling that he knew what was on the other side of that door—or, at least, had a better idea than he had.

Vash only had about four years. That didn’t leave them with many incidents to run into.

“We’ve handled it all so far.” Wolfwood held out a hand to Meryl. “I’ll stay close.”

Meryl nodded and took his hand. “I will, too.”

And with that, they stepped through, another step closer to a future that was feeling more and more uncertain.

[givemearmstopraywith]

hey, absolutely no disrespect meant here, but i noticed in one post you referred to yourself as a jew, and in another said you were censoring g-d out of respect to your family's jewish heritage, which you are exploring. amongst all this, you are clearly a christian. are you jewish or not? if you are not personally jewish, i really don't think you should be referring to yourself as a jew in a post where you claim christian theology (jesus being g-d) is true.

instead of sending me asks like this, can you maybe google what it means to be jewish, or what it means to be a jew? there is a wikipedia page about this. that way i don't i have to repeatedly unpack my generational trauma on the internet for (literally) thousands of strangers? the search function on my blog is broken- fine, but i have talked about this a lot, repeatedly, in the time i've had this blog, and it is not something i feel comfortable divulging openly. nor should i have to- nor should i have to worry about my identity being policed by strangers. this ask is worded with a certain tone of well-meaning authority, which is fine, i understand, and i am not mad at you, nor do i think you are trying to come across as harsh. i appreciate that you took the time to send this because it shows well-meaning concern. but this tone of authority comes from somewhere. where is it coming from? if you do not already know how i can be a jew and talk about christian theology, then you don't have the authority to question my identity, because questioning that means you must have no prior knowledge of the history of the jews whatsoever, about religious versus ethnic identity, the history of forced conversions to which jews have been subject, the necessity for religious and cultural assimilation, and so on.

whether you intend this or not- and i don't think you do, insomuch as i think you are genuinely well-meaning and don't want to harm or offend me personally- the wording of your question demands, implicitly, that i need to unpack both my personal ethnic and religious history, as well as that of my family. i am either lying about being a jew or i am not qualified to talk about my own identity because i must be christian, or i am not qualified to talk about christianity because im a jew. both of those things, being jewish and christian, of which i am both and neither because i am an ethnic jew who has not been baptized but studies christianity theology, are fraught with generational trauma and a certain concept of privilege, in the sense that a non-jew would never be asked to justify their connection to judaism versus their connection to christianity, because non-jews are not subjected to the same level of biopolicing that jews historically have been. a non-jew can move in and out of the spaces of judaism and christianity at will. whether i practice judaism or i practice christianity, whether i get a rhinoplasty or change my name, whether i censor g-d or type out the name in full, i will always be a jew. someone who is not ethnically jewish can convert to judaism from christianity and leave christianity behind in full, but i cannot opt out of being a jew, nor can any jew. centuries of ethnic cleansing have cemented this as fact.

if jewish people- who practice judaism or who are non-practicing ethnic jews- want to criticize what i talk about they are welcome to, but i have yet to encounter any jews who do, on or offline.

to make it clear again: i don't have a problem with you specifically, but i've had this blog for nearly six years, i have been studying theology for four of those years, and every so often i get a bunch of messages like this that parrot the exact same questions i get asked by other christians in my theology program that very, very genuinely can be answered by googling "what is a jew?" rather than telling me how i should refer to myself. and i am kinda tired of it! i am kinda tired.

[via-the-ghoul]

A Hanging Dying dream forever repeating

AKA: the Via-Verse’s version of Alagadda’s origin.

After working off and on on this for months and debating whether or not I should post it, it’s finally, finally here! This takes some elements from other tales, but I made it my own lol.

Anyways, TW: mind-altering, body horror, death by childbirth, heavy usage of blood, emotional child abuse, plague (which has descriptions of killing people), religious themes, child abandonment, mild gore, medical themes, suicide by hanging, slit throats, and someone snaps their own neck at one point, a knife’s briefly mentioned, cosmic horror, chains, brief mentions of drinking, someone plays with another person’s trauma in an attempt to manipulate them.

Sorry about the long list of TWs, but it’s just text, no pictures.

Anyways, here we go! (The document this is saved on is 12 pages long what is wrong with me lol)

Have you ever heard of Alagadda? Probably not, most haven’t these days. It was a kingdom long ago, before it became something else at the cost of memory. Do you wish to know what happened? …Good.

It all started as most stories do: before anything noteworthily weird happened. There was a king, there was a queen, she was pregnant, they loved each other very much, and the kingdom loved them. Nothing that made it seem too different from most kingdoms.

Except, of course, for one thing. The king had a certain secret, one that would hand the ink and pen to the hands of fate for Alagadda.

He had a love for forbidden magics. His nights spent at the Wanderer’s Library, writing the names of Gods and various sights across the sea of universes. Eventually, the Way he used just closed up, but that didn’t matter. He already had what he needed to grant his greatest wish.

Dyo’s surroundings felt like a dream to him. A faint memory of a dream from centuries back, that was what this was. He knew he wasn’t in Alagadda anymore, and he felt off. Was this fear, or bewilderment? And what were these colors? And why wasn’t this entirely unfamiliar?

He could hear birds chirping somewhere on his left. Why was the sound’s location so clear? And what kind of birds were these, with a song so beautiful and clear, something he could sing along to if he possessed vocal chords?

What was this strange, new, beautiful world? The sky above him, it was blue? Was that the word for it? Why did he know the word?

Gosh, if only he still had his body. Then he could investigate this strange new world he was thrown into. See the birds. Maybe sing.

The king wished that him, his queen, and his future child would live forever. The kingdom loved them, and he loved his queen, so there was no problem he could think of. Plus he had a common trait to most mortals: thantophobia. He was a strange man driven by fear. Not very strange, actually, when comparing him to others.

He whispered into the abyss, and three brothers answered. The youngest draped in darkness, his pale face standing out with a sliver grin. The middle a strange mismash of armor and arms, dust and clutter. The eldest of pale colors, faced in pure shadows and towering over the night sky. Three ways to die. A deal was made, a game of cards for immortality.

He fought for this immortality, he really did. He was able to top the two younger. But the eldest defeated him, far, far too easily, crushing the built up hope. And then they returned to the shadows without a word, leaving him alone.

The queen gave birth three days later. The child survived, but she faded away. The child didn’t cry, covered in their mother’s blood. The king didn’t understand why, and did not hold the child. So they remained, wrapped in dark clothes by the midwife, for someone else to take care of.

Time seemed to return to a familiar melding for Dyo. He couldn’t tell how many hours it took before the sun began to set. He knew that soon, a familiar night would appear. He felt strangely sad, he rather liked this new day. But he couldn’t really hear the birds anymore, and he was rather tired of being stuck in one place. Perhaps something familiar would help this horrid wait for some poor soul to come across him.

However, a new sound came from his right. Faint, but approaching. He had heard variations of this sound back home, and it sometimes appeared in this new daytime, but never was the crushing of leaves back home, and never was it approaching him here.

Footsteps. The stepper was probably wearing boots, from the sound of it. He honestly couldn’t wait, he really wanted to move around this new world. See the birds. He wondered what new colors they would be.

The footsteps got closer and closer, until finally a shadow covered Dyo. He could feel himself smiling. He never smiled back home. He could get used to this new world. He felt a gloved hand grab him, and hold it up to the mysterious face of the new being. The face…

It was probably the most horrific face Dyo had ever seen.

The plague came after that. Sores spotted the people of the kingdom, blood and bile coming from screeching mouths. The screams of the people echoing in the streets for years. The inescapable smell of death. But the king never heard them, never smelled rot or tasted bile.

The king had hidden deep in his castle, sobbing, mourning his queen, and only his queen for all those years. Unaware of the state of his people. He had put the lords in charge of it all, the kingdom and his child. His child…

His child grew strange. They were quiet, and rarely smiled, but weren't mean. They did try to help the people, as much as a child could. Sometimes, when there was no hope that someone would survive, they would sit by their side until they fell, no matter how the doctors warned against it. Strangely, the child never grew ill themself. Despite most people accepting the child, there were… rumors about the kid. Whispers of being the devil’s child and witchcraft, which the child somewhat heard. They didn’t believe it, but… it explained why their father never played with them like other fathers did.

10 years after it all, the king finally listened, having returned from his sorrows. He heard the screams. He saw the blood, and he saw the corpses. But he didn’t blame himself, no.

He blamed the child. He accused them of not being his child, of having been a spirit possessing them sent by the brothers to torment him, bringing the plague with them wherever they went. A monster that must have killed the real child.

The child didn’t understand. They had never met their father before this, but they heard they weren’t supposed to do this. They were supposed to love their children. That was what they saw with the fathers in the street. Was this why he never showed himself? Were they really a monster? A fake? Were those whispers right?

The king ordered the child to be locked away in their room, and never let out. Proclaimed them to be a contamination spreading monster. Some believed and some didn’t, but the ones that didn’t didn’t do anything to stop it.

Perhaps they were supposed to be locked away, perhaps there was something wrong with them. That was what they wondered, anyway. Their father hid away from them for so long, after all. Perhaps this was the reason. Perhaps they were born of dust and shadows, their mother unable to bear the beast she created. Perhaps everyone was right, perhaps they doomed the townsfolk they loved by existing.

The child began to cry.

There was something completely off about the figure’s face. It had the same mask-face as the people back home, but there was something off about its construction. The mask felt too organic, the yellow eyes uncovered, sunken deep in its head. Too expressive, too wrong, that was the eyes. It’s eyes, something changed in Dyo upon seeing the creature’s eyes.

Memories began to appear in his head, of long before, of a state of wakefulness, of trees and blue birds, and colors! So many forgotten colors, bright orange paints like the sky when the sun rose, the green grass and trees he could get lost in, a blue sky, a blue sky! And purple, purple was his closest friend’s favorite.

His childhood friend. The king’s child. By the stars, the king had a child! Why couldn’t he remember more about this lost child?! What happened to them?

Dyo didn’t see the strangely beautiful abomination for long, as it wordlessly put it in a dark brown bag. Brown, he could remember the color of tree trunks and dying leaves and the child’s eyes. The child…

Though now he was in darkness, he could tell the entity would let him out sooner or later, it had too. Perhaps there were more wonderful joys he had forgotten that the entity would show him. Though, why weren’t all these joys back home? Why were they hidden away? And what happened to his friend…

The king tried again the next morning. He knew he may not be able to resurrect his wife, or his child, but he was willing to try to give himself immortality again. Not with the brothers, of course. He simply called into the void, hoping someone, anyone would answer.

Something did come out, draped in dark robes and with a hidden face behind bandages, if it even had a face. They called themself an ambassador of a faceless being. They promised the king much more than immortality. They said they could make the king a God. A God… a God could bring back his wife and child. A God would never die. He could have it all, as long as he did what the thing said. The king smiled for the first time in ten years.

Meanwhile, our child looked out their window. A small wave to a boy their age they got along with, but the boy didn’t see. Perhaps the boy would forget about them. And they’d be up here forever. If they weren't such a clever child, perhaps they would try to jump out the open window. Alas, the child didn’t wish to die. Maybe not wanting to sacrifice themselves for the kingdom was part of being a monster. Not wanting to kill the twisted, sick devil that cursed the town-

It was at that time a crow landed at the window. The child liked crows, even though their father didn’t, as they were always nearby when they went to visit their mother’s grave, back before the tower. It was strangely comforting to them. So the child then took a piece of lavender from their shelf. It died when they plucked it, and it was rotting, being here for years, but the child didn’t care. They placed the lavender in front of the crow, and it picked it up. It almost seemed to smile before flying off. The child felt better. Maybe they were not a monster. Crows seemed more trustworthy than the king anyway.

Time was melding again in the bag. Or perhaps it was Dyo not liking the dark. It felt like he was floating in the darkest void, where no one could hear him scream, even if he had the vocal cords necessary. Gosh, perhaps the entity would give Dyo a body so he could actually talk!

A sudden blast of light and another gloved hand later, he was out of the bag. Apparently the entity lived in some sort of cave. He could make out some sort of cloth in the background. He didn’t know why, but Dyo figured it was called a blanket. People… slept on blankets. They never slept back in Allagadda.

He saw a table with another cloth on it, this one not a blanket for sleep. It was soaked in red blood. Medical cloth. This was a doctor of some sort. The entity placed him on said table, laying on the cave’s wall. The blood was dry, but the blanket was somewhat wet. Attempts of cleaning blood that never really worked. The doctor stared at him, before staying one sentence, in a dark, echoey voice.

“I know you are alive.”

Three years passed, and the kingdom grew strange. The king started to paint over anything that wasn’t black, white, yellow, or red. His favorite colors. More people started to wear masks, masquerade masks, forever. No one seemed to question any of this, and just went along.

The child meanwhile, disappeared. They had attempted escape twice before, and the lack of fighting back once they were caught again made them think escape wouldn’t be much of an issue. As the plague had been fading out, the king simply assumed they returned to the darkness they came from. This is not what happened, they merely escaped, without anyone noticing this time. Though some suspicion was casted on the new young court jester, theories they let out the kid, nothing ever came of it.

The child had grabbed a mask and ran off with it. No one was to see their face, no one was to know who they were. They cut their hair and changed their name. They ran to the town doctor, and claimed to be an orphan child seeking apprenticeship. The doctor took pity on the kid, and took them in. No one realized who they really were. No one claimed them a child of the devil, or a witch.

Dyo wished he could respond to this, he really could. He really wished that he and the entity could have spoken this whole time, about the sky, and the birds, and all these questions that were in his metaphorical brain. But he had no host, and he couldn’t look into this thing’s mind. Maybe he was still getting used to this dimension? He simply frowned. The entity tilted his head a bit.

“Huh, I thought you could still speak in this state. I must have overestimated you, my apologies. Hold on.” The entity picked him up again, and flipped Dyo around. Now they could only see the cave wall. The entity better have a good explanation for this when he actually gets a body.

He could still hear, however. He could hear the bag opening, tools being taken out, as well as something soft. Sewing, wet tearing sounds, soft fleshy noises? How did he not feel any of those in the bag!? And why did the entity think he wouldn’t want to see this over a boring old cave wall?

After what seemed like hours, he was flipped back around to see the entity’s crude creation. Flesh draped over bones, a tear in the “face” to simulate a mouth, bulging eyes and no hair. A small mannikin of flesh.

“I could have done better, but you will just destroy it anyway. No use wasting more spare parts than necessary.” The entity sighed before placing Dyo over its face.

Finally, he was getting pretty bored.

The years went on. No one mentioned the king’s child anymore. It was getting harder to see any colors that weren’t the king’s favorite, even in the yellowing sky.

The people began to change as well. They seemed to be losing themselves, more and more thinking merely of parties and wine. It didn’t affect everyone, but most that weren’t inflicted ran to other kingdoms. Eventually, the only people not affected were the town doctor, and our child. Our child…

Our child wasn’t much of a child anymore, and despite having hid it so well, they never forgot their past. They could still be found laying the last bits of rotting lavender at the Queen’s grave. Sometimes, they’d talk to the crows, simple little greetings, but still.

You see, that one crow in the old prison, it would come back. The child would talk to it eventually, when they ran out of lavender. They were friends. Once, the crow even gave a piece of rotting lavender to the child. They never forgot that. They even took it with them when they escaped, though they had now lost that decaying flower. The child spoke better with crows than people since then.

Though one day, 20 years after the day the king first invoked the three brothers, it was time for the final step of the thing’s plan. No one could have guessed. No one but the king knew the thing. And the king was too entranced to question its word. No one could have guessed what it wanted.

“Thank you, you do not know how frustrating it is to need to talk but have no mouth! I am sincerely grateful-”

“Why are you here?”

“...Huh?”

“Why are you here and not… there?” The entity’s voice was cold and stern. Clearly not a fan of Alagadda.

“Oh, right, I was so ungratefully thrown out of my home for daring to be worried about my king, daring to question the ambassador, daring to care about my people!” Dyo was still, admitting, getting used to puppeting a body in this world, and this body didn’t have all the necessary parts to move, but he tried dramatically throwing his hand to his face and his other hand where his heart would be. The intent could probably be read however, judging by the entity’s reaction.

“Sounds about right. There is no care in that kingdom, no sense. The moment someone begins to fall out of line…”

“Not a fan huh?”

“Of course not! That kingdom is an artery in the body of the pestilence. It is filled with animal instincts, only chaos, consuming, destruction with no rhyme or reason, and that ambassador would not have it any other way.”

“...Have you been there before?” A potential way back. As much as he liked this new world, he did want to go back. He couldn’t get revenge without going back. The entity hesitated before giving their answer.

“Yes. I am waiting until I have made enough progress on my cure to retur-”

“How did you get there? Have some unfinished business I need to, well, finish.” The entity froze. Something about that question thawed away all that cold from the entity. In there, somewhere, was something afraid to lose him.

“You… Want to go back there? What could there be to justify entering that place again, when you have just begun to find yourself again?”

Dyo tilted the fleshy thing’s head, and paused.

They found the king in the middle of his court, hanging by a rope. But no one seemed to care. They simply threw him in the grave, not bothering to remove the rope or even bury him. He just laid there, as crows feasted on the body. Even the town doctor, so far unaffected by anything, found herself uncaring to the king. Her apprentice never really cared for the king at all anyway.

That night, however, they still couldn’t sleep. They still wondered what could have happened to prompt this, so they looked out the window. What if the king really did love them, and this was their fault? No, that couldn’t be the case. Perhaps they’d see a crow outside, something to ground them in reality.

However, they didn’t see that. Instead, they saw… something slowly moving, for walking or even stepping didn’t feel right, through the street, rope around their neck. They couldn’t make out a single other feature, but enough was enough, and they could read context clues, they were not sticking around any longer. The town was going mad, and the apprentice and the doctor could not do anything about it. They had to leave, they had to. They panicked, putting on their mask, before they ran downstairs in an attempt to get their superior out with them…

The doctor was dead. Simply lying there, throat slit. Knife next to her. Blood was everywhere around her. Far too much blood for this type of wound.

The apprentice was horrified, and ran outside. It didn’t matter how, they had to get out of here as quickly as possible, and never look back. They’d mourn later.

But as they ran, they heard something behind them. Something was chasing them, but that wasn’t what they heard. It must have been floating, as they could also hear faint sounds of wind. No, the apprentice heard the thing talk. The voice sounded like a wind chime, neutral and sing-song. The apprentice didn’t want to listen to what it was saying. It clearly had bad intentions.

“THIS IS MY KINGDOM NOW. ACCEPT YOUR DESTINY AND TURN AROUND.”

The apprentice just kept running, and running, and not turning back. This wasn’t a home anymore. They didn’t know anything about the thing, but they knew the thing didn’t have good intentions. They knew their kingdom wouldn’t be a good place to be. Especially with the blood they felt on the ground.

And they did it. They ran all the way out. Perhaps they were tired, perhaps they thought they were safe, but they looked back. They’d never been anywhere else before.

A chain wrapped around their torso. Knocking them down, pulling them back into the kingdom, back with that… thing.

“YOU FOOLISH, FOOLISH CREATURE. YOUR DYING BLOOD WILL FLOW TO THE HIDDEN ONE, AND YOU SOUL WILL ROT IN YOUR COT FOREVERMORE. NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU. IT IS YOUR PURPOSE.”

The apprentice was terrified, they really were, but they didn’t show it. They knew damn well that no matter where this was going, they would die. But they knew the thing wanted them to bleed as they died. So maybe, if they died bloodlessly, they’d be safe from the… thing. They didn’t know, but they didn’t want this thing to have their soul. If they were right, perhaps they’d be somewhere safe, far away from this thing. Perhaps their mom would be there. Their knowledge of anatomy left them with one real option now, even if they were scared to die. It was on their own terms, at least.

Before the apprentice could fully be dragged back into the town, they wrapped their shaking hands around their own neck, and turned it as hard as they could.

“...what do you mean by finding myself? I’ve always known myself!” Dyo smiled, trying to ignore how much he only remembered after waking up here. That didn’t mean he wasn’t the same old Dyo. The entity’s head tilted.

“Alagadda used to not be a dream-state pocket world. It was a kingdom here once, until the Ambassador appeared. He changed people into caricatures of themselves obsessed with the king. Take yourself, for instance.” Dyo wasn’t smiling anymore. He could remember it now, figments of what Alagadda was. Blue sky. Their friend, the king’s child, a child around his age at the time, who he was close with, but disappeared one day, and then everything was foggy.

“When I knew you, you loved theater so much. You were so happy, I remember your smile so well, even after all this time. You wanted to be an actor. You became the court jester instead, suddenly obsessed with the king. It took a toll on you. You were miserable the last time I saw you, and when we met again today, I assumed you were warped so much that you were just… gone.”

Dyo remembered a lot more as they said this. The theater. There was a theater, where no actors killed themselves at the end. Where dying in the play didn’t mean anything for you. He had wanted to be there, with the actors themselves. They seemed to be having so much fun, and he’d practice his silly little improvised monologues to his friend. His friend, his only friend at the time…

They still couldn’t remember who this entity was. Strange. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could get the entity to jog his memory…

“I missed you. I mourned you. I, I should stop. This is a lot to take in-”

“No, please continue. Who, who was I, to you?”

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t have to matter! The king doubted this kid even existed, they didn’t have to be in the kingdom. It wouldn’t affect the plan at all. They were entirely optional, and had willingly thrown away a chance at eternity. Strange. They did not accept the purpose of being locked away forever. So they left the child to rot away, feasted on by bugs and crows.

The king was hanging at their throne again, twitching, faint breaths, but no words. The three lords and the court jester each also hanged in a different corner of the court, each noose done too tight, blood dripping from their necks. The Ambassador held up a golden cup, and blood, all of the blood throughout the entire kingdom, flowed into it. The Ambassador went to the twitching, shaking king, who began to slowly reach for the figure.

“WITH THESE, THEIR BLOOD, IT IS THE HANGED KING’S.”

They held up the cup for the king, who held it himself. He held the cup behind his veil, to his small, rotting lips. He began to sip from the cup.

And then he dropped it.

“...We were close, very close.” The entity said. Dyo simply waited for them to continue, but they didn’t.

“...And…”

“My apologies. I tend not to dwell on the past, considering how warped the kingdom has become, so I tend not to talk about it. No one has heard of the kingdom anyway.”

“Heh. Strange that I can’t remember you though. Can you turn into a bird or something?” the entity let out the smallest of laughs.

“No, no, I just was successful in leaving my old life behind.”

In all fairness, Dyo wasn’t entirely honest anymore. His disappeared friend and this mysterious person claiming to have been his friend… it couldn’t entirely be a coincidence. But something felt… off. Something else happened. This wasn’t just an Alagaddan who left, something changed about them. Sure, there was no influence from the Ambassador, but there was something else Dyo couldn’t put a metaphorical finger on. Maybe if they played their cards right, he could get the figure to reveal it. Reveal if they could be friends again.

“Well then, what’s your new life like? This boring old cave doesn’t really jog the imagination, you know?” Maybe they’d give away a God or two with the details.

“I seek to cure the pestilence.”

“For anyone in particular?”

“Humanity.”

“...Why, though?”

“I believe that curing such a horrible ailment is simply the right thing to do, and it is why I am still here.”

Ok this wasn’t going anywhere. Why they are still here, though…

“What do you mean, why you’re still here? What happened to you?”

The hanged king was dead, the hanged king was alive. The kingdom was dead, the kingdom was alive. No one was truly dead, and the only one truly alive was the Ambassador, the real one in control. Everything was on repeat. Everyone would go through the motions of partying, drinking, forever and ever. The kingdom didn’t exist and it did exist. It was somewhere else. No one back on Earth remembered it.

Everyone would go through their motions, like a play, of sorts. Everyone had their roles to play. The lords walked with the people, and the king wrigged and withered chained on his throne, but the Ambassador was the one in charge. It was like a dream for them. Everyone only remembered what they wanted them to remember, and that didn’t include that child.

That child… the Ambassador barely thought about them. They were dead. They were dead, and they’d never know what the kingdom became. That was that.

The Ambassador was intelligent. They knew everything that had gone done in the walls of the kingdom, the many that entered, the few who’d left. They had trapped another goddess, one of the moon, in a cycle of trying to destroy the king, being attacked and almost killed by them, before returning to the sky to rest, before coming down again once per year. They even had found a use for the prison meant to contain that child, keeping the bird who’d betrayed the queen in there before repeating the cycle. They knew a lot.

But they were not entirely correct about that child.

“Whatever do you mean by that, Dyo?”

“It sounds like something should’ve killed you, but didn’t. Whatever happened-”

“Enough about me. I am afraid I have come across much more selfish than I truly am, I do not wish to dwell any more on me, let alone my past.”

“No, no. Tell me what happened. Now.” Dyo was getting impatient. This being clearly was hiding something. Dyo didn’t like when things were hidden. He needed to know it all.

“No.”

“I don’t think you know what’s really happened to me, do you? I… I am royalty these days! You better explain exactly who you are now!” Dyo forced the body up, and stared down the being. They didn’t look like much, muscle-wise.

“No.”

“You have no one, do you? That’s why you’re all alone here. No one would miss you if I were to-”

The entity ripped the mask right off the body, cutting Dyo off.

“I really let myself hope…” it said. Its eyes were filled with fire. But now, Dyo felt a bit more… comfortable here. He could speak in the entity’s mind.

“How rude. I bet if your father cared about you he’d be very disappointed.”

Dyo couldn’t really see where the entity was taking him, but that remark seemed to make them go faster. Seemed to, as they were rather slow either way.

“Why are you gripping me so hard? I thought we were friends!”

“We were, yes. You have made it clear that we are not now.” They did loosen up a bit though. Nice to know Dyo had found a way under their skin.

“Didn’t you miss me?”

“Yes, and I still do. Here we are.”

They were back in that field. A couple of dark birds flew off as they arrived. Maybe they were the same ones from before, maybe not.

The entity left him on the ground, face down, before beginning to leave. Dyo could not believe this rudeness!

“Hey, don’t leave me like this! At least let me see the stars!”

The entity didn’t respond.

It all started unlike how most stories do, with a young human snapping their own neck in a final act of defiance towards a God. Said God had then returned to their kingdom, but the human had woken up somewhere else.

Said somewhere wasn’t too different from the place they left, but there were more trees, and there was no kingdom. Or was there? It was very dark, the person couldn’t tell. Was this what death was like? They slowly got up, putting a hand on a tree. No reason to stay here all alone, when they could explore this strange world. …Until he heard a coo behind him.

Turning around, they saw someone. A crow. The person let out a small smile.

“Hello,” Said the human. After everything that happened that night, it was nice to see something, anything familiar. They sat down in front of the crow.

And then it wasn’t a crow. It was a being wearing shadows like a robe over their pale body. Its gray eyes stared into the person, into all they ever were. Horrible and beautiful.

“Oh.” The human did not react with fear, or even shock. Strangely, the figure still brought them comfort. Perhaps the being had been there their whole life, under the appearance of the crow. Perhaps it was some sort of guardian angel. Or perhaps it was one strange coincidence. It didn’t matter anymore.

“GREETINGS.” A voice akin to if whispers in the darkness spoke loudly instead came from the thing.

The two simply sat there for a bit. Until they began to talk again. About the kingdom, and about the thing that warped it in its own image. About the thing that drove it. About the curse that was still in the human’s blood, even if they escaped the kingdom. Even if their mind was clean. This burning red malice, it still lingered in the kingdom. In humanity. And whether they liked it or not, the human was a part of this now.

A deal was struck there. The king was never correct about their child’s identity, they were never some spreader of disease sent by the brothers to torment the king. They were merely a child who wanted to help the people of Alagadda. But they were not a mere child anymore, and the people of Alagadda could not be helped anymore either. They were consumed by a plague of madness, one the human could never hope to stop with what they currently knew.

So, the human would perfect a cure to the madness of spilt blood, eradicate it, and then they would return to the darkness they were in now. Or die trying. This was to be the human’s purpose, to cleanse the red-stained madness, one they took without hesitation. Only once it was gone, or if the physical burden on their rotten form grew too much, should they return here. To be a savior, to free the people of Alagadda, and help this… thing, that the king was wrong to use as an insult, who was better family than the king. This was something that the human accepted.

…Oh, who am I kidding?

They were not human anymore.

Come on, where was it? They knew it was somewhere in this journal- aw, there it was, right at the beginning. A simple list of names. Not every name, just the ones they could remember. A collection of them, lined up neatly. So many still unaccounted for.

The people of Alagadda. All gone from life and from memory. They couldn’t hope to remember every single name, but they put the ones they could here, as a memorial. It was necessary, since they were the only one who could mourn Alagadda.

They had hesitated at first, reading his name again, but it was needed at this point. His name was one of the first ones written, as the memories of him were some of the fresher, even now. They were close once, very close. But he changed. Sure, the kingdom changed everyone, but once away from the kingdom, he was still much more cruel. They did not wish for any part of this man to be remembered anymore, but they couldn’t just erase it. They couldn’t erase that boy who saw he was having a bad day and created poetry on the spot just to make them feel better, playing in the flowers, laughing together…

The doctor crossed out Dyo’s name. Never again, not even in death. Never ever, ever again. That boy was gone.

…Though, they figured the old them was gone too. They were not a quiet child worried about a father who never looked at him with love. They couldn’t care less about the king anymore. They were helping people now. They were untraceable to the kingdom now, no one needed to know, no one, no one.

No matter. It still hurt, just how much the two had grown apart. Perhaps it was meant to be, the two being driven apart. Maybe they should’ve stopped being sentimental and smashed the damned mask to smithereens.

This was why they didn’t sleep that night. What if Dyo came back? What if somehow, he saw the light? Or what if he came back to attack them again, and they had another chance to crush him?

But all throughout the night, Dyo did not return. It was quiet. Under different circumstances, they believed it would have been calming. But they couldn’t relax, Dyo could show up again, or someone sick could show up at their door needing help.

But as the sun rose, no one showed up. A part of them was sad Dyo didn’t show up again, but they buried that part of themselves. Their time as a child, as an allagadan, ended centuries ago. They were a professional, a doctor, they couldn’t keep thinking about the past, there were people they needed to save.

[onlyancunin]

On the topic of this post:

I read all your replies, comments and reblogs. Thank you for everyone chiming in, it's always interesting to read. Some even asked if I'm in therapy. Yes, I am, and yes, I have artistic trauma. And I still consider my take valid, but thank you for your concern. Some notes I found really interesting to read. Most of you were kind, so thank you for it. I did not write it to upset anyone, I sometimes post my opinions here, but that's just that - my opinion.

To people explaining to me how fanart works & why it's important: I literally learned how to draw by drawing fanart. I don't know what else to say. I understand the importance of fanart & the way it helps people. What does it have to do with anything? I envy people who can just post their stuff. I'm blocked on all fronts with whatever I try to create. I've been drawing all my life, it's like my "main talent" I always had and I still don't see my works as worth anybody's time. This is what's a mystery to me. Not the history of fanart. All religious work is just one big fanart for example, I know how it works & I still stick to my opinion.

On the topic of no art being truly original because everything was done before: I don't know if some of y'all know, but I have been trained in arts. I've been working commissions since I was 15 (so literally 20 years now), just never commissions that were fanart. The story tropes & archetypes are there for a reason. But there's a difference between literally using someone else's IP vs coming up with things of your own that's inspired by some other works. Can we at least agree to differentiate between the two? To everyone curious about how it works, I recommend the book "Steal like an artist", which delves deeper on difference between stealing/plagiarizing and getting inspired. Which is not say that fanart is stealing anything - I'm just saying, on the topic of transformative works it is blatantly obvious that all ideas are weaved from the same materials, much like everything is made with the same basic molecular building blocks.

And lastly, in case it wasn't obvious: not all fanart. There are creators I deeply admire & respect, not only for their craft, but also for what they do with source material, and I'm glad they post their works. How they expand on the ideas and explore avenues, how they add to the original stories & express themselves through their interpretations, truly inspires me and keeps me going.

I don't terrorize fanfic writers and/or visual artists, send hate mail or leave hate comments under their works, I'm just having my struggles & voicing them. It reflects most of all on myself, I thought we're clear on that.

Also - it was suggested to me that part of the misunderstanding might stem from English being my second language. While I feel like I voice myself somewhat accurately (?), maybe it really does contribute to the problem. So I'm leaving it here just in case.

Thank you for reading. Just to be clear, I will not be responding to anymore comments/reblogs. I just don't want it to drag & it's not all that fun, believe it or not.

You do you, don't let my opinion influence you (too much).

[utilitycaster]

ngl but I feel the attitude among many people who are insistent on "but what if the Prime Deities are bad/the Vanguard does have a point" assumes a very western and Christian view of deities as all-powerful entities who will individually intervene on your behalf, as well as an understanding of religion purely as centralized, with the gods and their followers in perfect lockstep.

The world of Exandria has made it abundantly clear this isn't the case. While Vasselheim is a city run by religious interests and has significant political power and cultural importance, the three largest political powers on Wildemount are all significantly out of sync with it - the Concord is ruled secularly and permits private worship of any deity, the Empire prohibits worship of several of the Prime Deities of import in Vasselheim, and the Dynasty is a theocracy in the name of a divine entity outside of the Prime/Betrayer dichotomy. Tal'Dorei and Marquet are similarly secular in rule. We've also seen that the way in which people worship the same deity can vary wildly; the obvious example is Fjord and Caduceus, but we've also seen multiple devotees of the Raven Queen, Kord, and Ioun with very different practices, and the sourcebooks discuss further small sects and different interpretations. Personal worship seems to be fairly decentralized outside of specific places like the Dynasty and Vasselheim, and Vasselheim permits a diversity of options as well, although with limitations.

In general, the problem with, say, Tuldus, isn't "your religious trauma or disillusionment isn't valid"; it is. The problem is that this was visited upon him by specific mortals, not the deity they worship, and certainly not the entire pantheon which is itself locked in cataclysm-level disagreement and has been for millennia.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

so.. non-c//a criticism about spop. because, you know, c//a wasn't the only thing that spop messed up. I'll just get straight to the point.

Horde Prime was a bad villain.

he had such a cool character design, i had high hopes for him. but like everything else in s5, horde prime's potential was wasted.

to put it shortly, he was boring. he was the typical pure-evil villain archetype with none of the charm. his motives weren't very interesting, we know nothing about him except that he's hordak's brother and an egotistic fascist with a god complex. his VA did a good job but his character was so badly written, even they couldn't salvage it.

even hordak was more intimidating than him until he got defeated by the inexperienced teenager who was never shown to be improving her skills but that's a whole another post

i thought the whole religious trauma aspect of it was going to be explored more, but it just turned out to be cartoonishly stupid, with the typical brainwashing trope.

not to mention, they even added shipping fodder in scenes with horde prime, because of course they had to. how else would people know that catra loves adora? she hasn't ever shown it so the only way the crew can convince everyone that she cares about adora is by having the main villain point it out (not to mention the scrapped off script where he says "you always wanted more but all she ever wanted was you" because we love a villain who exists solely to provide the viewers with ship angst)

the first one pisses me off so much because they didn't even bother to draw catra's eyes dilated yet had horde prime mention it?? all while glimmer was sobbing and pleading him to not hurt adora, but she's not the one in love apparently. i feel like this show was trying to gaslight us

anyway, shipping aside. one common trope in media you may have heard about is the third-act breakdown. this is something that usually happens to villains where their once intimidating and confident façade starts to break apart as they are close to being defeated by our hero.

the keyword here is third-act. if you want a villain to be genuinely scary or an actual threat, you cannot make them lose their cool as soon as something goes wrong. because it just makes them look insecure and weak, and you're left wondering why they're even the main villain in the first place.

and the problem with horde prime is exactly that. as soon as adora swoops in and saves catra, horde prime is immediately angered and upset that his plans failed. and from there, we see him get irritated and lose his cool easily multiple times.

this lessens the anticipation because you're not wondering how the protagonists will defeat him, you're wondering when they'll do it. because if he loses his cool so easily, it's clear that he's not cunning or calculating, he doesn't have a backup plan. and a good villain always has a backup plan, they are always one step ahead of the heroes, because that's how you raise the stakes.

it's no wonder horde prime isn't even a memorable villain and people only talk about how he brainwashed catra or how he "ships catradora". there's nothing else notable about him and it's honestly so evident that he was only introduced so that the previous villains could be redeemed for the sake of making certain ships canon.

they literally had to make it so that adora might die because of the failsafe thing, because having horde prime as a villain wasn't enough stakes.

they tried to make a connection between adora and horde prime with mara being his previous nemesis, but it was really hamfisted and didn't provide enough tension or exposition. it certainly didn't feel as tense as any of the fights between catra and adora.

horde prime could have been a really cool and threatening villain, but spop decided to focus more on handing out free redemption arcs for all the antagonists and butchering everyone's character arcs instead. bravo.