#I might start working on some original content. now that I can ease up on this

[cerealforkart]

DnDads the Manga is caught up!

Now you guys, the podcast, and I are all on the same page. So, it’s time for a bit of housekeeping. Being caught up means that next week there’s going to be no new manga pages (I make these pages pretty quickly, but not that quickly, but you’ll have just gotten a new episode, you’ll be fine). The release day is still going to be Wednesday, but from here on out, manga pages will come out on alternating weeks when episodes don’t come out.

As a little treat to celebrate I’m gonna try opening sketch requests again. So if you’d like, send in your favourite characters, ships, scenes, poses, prompts, AUs, fics, anime characters you’d like to see Taylor cosplaying, or whatever else you’d like to see sketched out

[vibingandsimping]

This is exactly who you think it is. 🦜🦜

Might I request the origin characters (+ Halsin) of your choice caring for a burnt out/sick Tav?

Hello! I shall call you bird anon…

(Leave me and my family alone)

But ask and you shall receive! Requests/thoughts always make my day.

Origin characters + extra companions taking care of an exhausted reader pt. 1

No forewarnings besides maybe some suggestive mentions and a little angst. Mostly all fluff + comfort… barely proofread

Characters included in this part: Astarion, Gale, Lae’zel and Jaheira

Astarion

Astarion, when you present him with the problem after his insistent pestering, is a little lost. Everyone has their breaking points and their limits. You just held a confident front for so long that he started to believe you truly lacked one. He suggests the pleasures of the flesh at first. “To ease that pretty mind,” he claims with a smirk. You can tell in his gaze it’s his default- he was used for his body for so long it’s clear he’s unsure of what else to say. A bit of frustration with both him and his past bubbles up. It hurts to know he values himself that little and at the same time… it’s frustrating that he thinks it will solve anything. After a curt “No thank you.” he seems to deflate a bit. You stalk off to your tent as he watches from afar.

He sat with himself as he contemplated his abilities. You’d done so much for him over the period of time you’d known each other. Quite frankly, he hates to say it but he’s realized he’s taken you for advantage. He reminisces over the times you’d let him feed and he has had his nose pressed into your skin. How he’d inhale your scent and memorize it with your blood. He broods over it for a little before beginning to test different scents and oils. What he believed would work with your body chemistry and what he knew you liked.

It’s an hour or so later when you hear slow footsteps. Whoever it was made their presence known, so as to not scare you with a sudden intrusion. You’d been laying with your head in silence and the dark due to how it throbbed. Everything seemed so loud and overwhelming. He speaks smoothly and announces his arrival, you just grunt in acknowledgment. It seems to amuse him as he laughs gently and places something on the ground. Which? You’re unsure- and you could care less to check right now. It’s only when you hear the flick of a match and the room illuminates that you peek. He has a couple of wax candles laid out that seem to be dripping in mixtures. He smiles at you in such a way that you push suspicions aside. The room flickers with the light of the candles. “Relax. I made these special for you. Just focus on them and let the world wash away.” You watch him for a minute more as he lights the candles and the scent grows stronger as it burns with the wax. At first, it also overwhelmed you. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and focus on taking deep breaths. With each inhale, you draw more of it into your lungs and feel your muscles slack. Whatever he used was working wonders to calm your body and ease your mind. He did miss his calling as a perfumer.

The feeling of cold hands on your neck tenses your so delicately relaxed frame. His voice comes out in a shush, making you shiver from the tone. The way his fingers move so slowly tells you he’s holding a part of him back. It’s likely the reflex to make things more… intimate. A part of you swells knowing that he is trying a more simple intimacy on you. Thumbs dig into the tense muscles until they’re worked from the stiffness. Soft moans of content escape your throat. Though, just the same are the groans of pain when he reaches a more tender spot. “You’re lucky you have such a caring companion.” He muses half-heartedly, an attempt to make you smile. It did, matter of fact. You’re sure he knows because his movements become more confident. You drop your head back into your pillow and breathe out a sigh. He didn’t say anything but you could feel his eyes on your back. It was quite comforting to know he was there if you needed it. You eventually drift into a half-conscious state as he works your tender flesh. By the time he’s left you to rest you were already asleep.

Gale

Gale’s watchful eye concluded your growing burnout long before it settled in. He was a wizard- a man who studied for a living. He understood frustration and burnout. He’s faced it many times before… and it’s never an easy thing. When you settle down at the camp for the night, he can’t seem to get his eye off you. You walk around slowly and seem out of it. The man sits in his thoughts for a moment longer and decides to make his way over to you. You, of all people, deserved to have a moment to relax and truly replenish your mind. His hand makes contact with your arm and you’re snapped from your daze. He gazes down at you with a softness and silently asks you to follow him. You’re too worn down to argue and just nod.

He winds you out of the forest and towards a still lake. A drinking deer turns and shoots out from its spot when you two arrive. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he bashfully smiles. “Water is soothing to the mind and muscle. I’ll take care of you- let me.” The moonlight dappling the water is tempting and he seems harmless enough with his request. You relent and begin to slowly peel the clothing off your body. Turning back around you stride into the water only to find it pleasantly warm. It was almost hot- glancing up at him as he removed his robe, you knew he tampered with magic to heat the water. You’re not complaining though. It’s already doing wonders to work out the aches in your muscles. He slides in behind you and asks you permission to touch you. You hummed approval as you closed your eyes and put your trust in him.

He lathers his hands with soap and begins to work your muscles along your back. Simultaneously massaging gently and washing you clean. His fingers work from your neck to your shoulder blades, down your spine, and to your legs. He slowly turns you around so he can repeat the same process down your front. He’s careful around your more intimate areas, eyeing you cautiously to gauge what’s too much. It feels nice to be doted on and not have to bathe yourself for once. You’re sure he knows it, too. Then, he whispers for permission to do your hair. You barely speak and instead hum once more. He chuckles a little before wrapping an arm around you and one under your head. He dips you into the water until your hair is thoroughly soaked and pulls you back up. Like that, he begins to lather shampoo into your scalp. His fingers work wonders and you moan a little. The moment is gone too soon for your preference and he’s washing it out.

After a minute more of holding you in the water as he rinses you off, he guides you out. You almost protest like a child, wishing to relish the hot water a little longer. He hands you a large linen cloth and you dry yourself off. Squeezing your hair until it no longer drips annoyingly and wrapping it around yourself to conceal your intimates. He follows alongside you back into camp and you head into your tent. He lingers beside you while you settle down and gather some night clothes. Then, as soon as the eyes are noticed, he leaves you to your own devices. You manage to get to sleep surprisingly easily and the night passes mostly peacefully. In the morning, your previous clothes are folded neatly outside your tent. They’re clean and practically spotless. Gale must’ve taken the time to wash them while you slept and hung them to dry overnight.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel’s instinct is to scold you for showing weakness. Githyanki are warriors and have no time to tend to the frail. Yet, you’ve proven anything but frail in the time she’s known you. She’s utterly torn and wears it on her face obviously. You’re unsure why you turned to her for comfort, it was obviously a mistake. You sigh exasperatedly and trail off as she watches. You almost make it to your tent before her hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you to look at her. “Battle me,” she speaks blatantly. “Githyanki soothe their mind and body with battle. It is all I know to do. Battle me.” There’s a desperation in her voice. She cannot stand to see you so exhausted and fed up. You squint at her and almost protest that all the battling you’ve done is what led you to this point. The expression she held deterred you. You complied in the end.

She leads you into a dirt clearing and unsheathes her sword. Her face is like the steel she holds in her grasp and you ready yourself. There’s a moment of silence and anticipation that hangs in the air as you two lock eyes. She makes the first move, launching towards you and missing the side of your face by a few inches. You retaliate and dig your weapon of choice into her side. She grits her teeth as she is sent sprawling a few feet away. The girl gives you little time to react. Her next attack flies at you and you two are a clash of steel and flesh. There’s an adrenaline that elicits your veins and your head clears. The worries of taking care of everyone fade and you focus solely on your sparring partner. It’s like a second wind that envelops your body. It takes you a few hits until you realize she’s purposefully leaving herself open and using weaker moves.

She was allowing you to win. To taste her blood and victory in battle. You’re almost insulted if it weren’t so flattering that she was laying herself openly for you. You lay a final hit on her and she kneels with her head bowed. The two of you pant as wounds seep blood. Nothing is too deep and can easily be fixed by bandage or magic. She pulls herself to her feet and smiles softly at you. “A formidable opponent. You underestimate your power.” It was her form of a compliment, you supposed. She then followed you back into camp and sat you down. She runs a wet rag along your scrapes and cuts. The crimson washes off and leaves the wounds exposed to the fresh air. The githyanki is gentle in her touch as she wraps them with a bandage and secures it in place. The muscles in your body flex as you test the hold before turning your attention to her. You go to tend her wounds but are met with a hand in your face. “I am fine. I am strong enough to take care of myself. You, on the other hand, need to recover to lead us onward.”

You quirk a brow at her before pulling away and allowing the campfire to warm your bones. She works deftly on sealing her wounds and you can’t help but feel a little rejuvenated. It wasn't pampering of sorts- but she cared. She tried her best to show it and that’s truly what mattered. She fought against her nature to shame you and instead attempted to cure your ailments. She was rough around the edges but had a soft heart. The thought made you smile softly as you watched the shadows of fire dance along her olive-green skin. She catches your gaze for a moment and seems flustered. “Go rest.” She commands softly and you laugh breathlessly. It takes you a moment to get to your feet but you manage it. Some sleep would surely help repair the worst of it as long as you took it easy the next day.

Jaheira

Jaheira was an older elf. She could spot the telltale signs of wear. Whether that be mental or physical. She took care of her harpers for just about as long as she could recall at this point. It felt nice to not have to be the one in charge- but maybe she took too much comfort in it. A little guilt weighed in her heart. Too late to dwell, though, you needed assistance. The crackle of the fire was all that could be heard as you sat in front of it. You were still- seemingly lost in thought. She groaned a little as she lowered herself to a seat. Her knees weren’t as they used to be. The sound alerted your mind and you snapped out of it to look at the woman. She smiled softly at you and handed you a goblet. In her other hand was a bottle of wine and her own goblet. “Do not worry, no funny games this time. Just something to unwind.” You scrunch your nose a little before grabbing it.

The bottle uncorks and she pours a glass for you two. It’s not the finest wine but certainly was much better than the gruel served at the tiefling party. You draw your knees to your chest and take a long sip. After she takes a sip of her own she clicks her tongue in thought. Her gaze isn’t on you but on the campfire as she begins to speak. “You are more powerful than you know,” she begins and you look at her from the corner of your eye. “I’ve seen it firsthand. You vanquished the curse of the shadowlands and defeated Ketheric Thorm. I am surprised you didn’t succumb to exhaustion sooner.” You tense, almost expecting it to be an insult. Her softness of tone betrays that thought. “You need to rely on your friends and company more. We are here to help. We care. I care.” She enunciates the last word by looking at you. You can’t help but feel a soft fuzz blooming in your chest. Was it her words or the alcohol?

“I took care of my harpers for a century or more. It is hard work to look after the well-being of everyone else and yourself. I think I became too comfortable in letting you guide me. I apologize for that, truly.” You open your mouth to speak but she shushes you with a point of her goblet. That gesture makes you flush a little and take a sip of your wine once more. “I have seen many people in my life. I have lost many people in my life. You are among some of the most… wonderful I have seen. I will be damned if I lose you to anything beyond yourself.” She smiles at you, the age lines on her face only speaking to how truthful she is being. You can’t help but feel relaxed by both the influence of the alcohol and her words. You realize anything you say would be practically pointless. So, you just shuffle to her side and press against her. She hums in satisfaction and wraps an arm around you. You can hear her swallowing her wine more clearly. There’s a comfortable silence that is punctuated occasionally by the crackling of the fire.

“Another pour?” She offers as she holds the bottle and you cannot help but laugh while gesturing your goblet. Indulging for a night hurt nobody and hell you deserved it. She refills the two glasses and rests her head against yours. There’s a mutual understanding of comfort and connection between you two as you sip and watch the fire. It’s nice to not have to say anything in return. To be able to simply sit and digest the fact that somebody appreciates the fact that you work so tirelessly for them and everyone around you. It’s only til your goblets empty again does she finally pull away and cork the wine. You stand and allow the buzz of the alcohol to warm your veins and loosen your mind. She offers a hand out with a sheepish smile, “Help a gal up?” you tease her for a minute and grab her hand as she hoists herself off the ground. She regards you with a softness and plants a gentle kiss against your forehead. You two part and head to your respective tents to sleep the night away.

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 4/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers. I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited. This was another hard chapter to edit/rewrite, but I did it ^^ I hope you guys like fighting/sparring scenes ^^" Ok, let's feed that hunger, shall we? ;)

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 4/9?

Word Count: 9.9K / 50K+ for now

In the days that followed their meeting in the library, E kept their distance from Logan. They must have been tangled up with all the contract adjustments and whatever else came with their mysterious agenda, or at least that’s what he assumed. Logan couldn’t say he minded their absence; if anything, the tension between his shoulders had finally started to ease, and his routine felt a little less invaded.

He hardly saw them around the mansion. E would appear in passing, usually on their way to Charles’s office or briefly dipping into the library, but they seemed to vanish as quickly as they appeared. They never crossed paths otherwise. Not in the gym, where he’d half-expected to catch them training, nor in the kitchen, where they always managed to get there before him and leave behind only faint traces—a mug in the sink, an empty coffee pot. Even Ororo, who spent most of her time outside tending to the gardens, mentioned she hadn’t seen them lingering around the grounds. And as the days dragged on, Logan felt the empty space they’d left lingering.

A part of him was curious now, his wariness easing as he'd learned more about them. He’d gotten a glimpse of them beneath that composed exterior, enough to see that they weren’t the threat he’d originally thought, maybe even enough to say they weren't so different from each other—if he squinted. Their goals didn’t seem so far from his, and neither did their need for freedom. He found himself wondering, almost against his will, what they were doing when they weren’t working. It didn’t sit right, not knowing.

And soon enough, he realized he’d started keeping an eye out for them. Them, the person who’d been in his face day in and day out for weeks, was now barely a shadow in the mansion’s daily rhythm. It was… odd, and the feeling only grew with each day they didn’t cross paths.

But then, on the fifth day after their meeting, Logan’s curiosity finally got a break when Charles called the team to his office. He could sense something was coming—the air in the room was thick with it. The team gathered, shifting uneasily, the only absentees being the three younger members. Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze as sharp as ever as he watched each person in the room. His eyes kept circling back to E, who stood slightly off to the side, their expression a wall of carefully constructed calm. They didn’t look at him or anyone else, a clear signal they weren’t here to play nice.

Charles cleared his throat, drawing their attention as he settled behind his desk. “I’ve called you all here to discuss an important matter regarding the security of the school.”

Logan’s gaze narrowed, his instincts already piecing together that this had to do with E. Sure enough, Charles’ steady look swept across the team, his voice carrying a calm authority. “It has been decided that E will be training with you all from now on. They won’t be part of the team, but as they work here at the school and have the right to defend it, it’s important for everyone to understand their abilities. In case of an attack, we all need to be on the same page.”

The discomfort in the room was tangible. Everyone shifted, casting skeptical glances at E, who remained silent, almost impassive. Their appearance looked more severe today—dull skin and eyes, their horns lacking their usual shine, and their hair pulled back in a tight bun. They wore mostly black, save for a few touches of dark red, with no jewelry and only the barest hint of makeup. Jean watched them closely, brows furrowing as she tried to read their thoughts, but E’s sharp glare in her direction made it clear that wall wasn’t coming down.

Scott was the first to voice his hesitation, clearing his throat as he looked between Charles and E. “Is that really necessary? We’ve never had any outsiders train with us before.”

Logan couldn’t help the low chuckle that slipped out. “Forgot about me, Summers? I was an outsider once, too.” The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before he cast a quick glance at E. Just as he expected, their attention—once fixed on their perfectly manicured red nails—flickered to his, briefly meeting his gaze before quickly looking away, the moment slipping by as quickly as it had come.

If they weren’t friends, Scott would’ve probably fried him with his visor for that comment, but Charles remained patient as he waited for the room to settle. “E works alongside us here,” he said, voice steady but unyielding. “They have every right to protect the students, just as we do.” His gaze swept over each person, settling on them a moment longer than necessary. “It’s important we trust one another in times of crisis.”

Logan’s gaze drifted back to E. They stood rigid, a subtle tension in their posture that hadn’t been there before. If he was reading them right, they didn’t want to be here any more than the team wanted them here. It wasn’t just distance, it was a quiet wariness, like they were on guard against everyone, Charles being the only exception. Even Jean’s curiosity only earned another glare from E, a silent warning to stay out of their head.

As the murmurs of agreement wrapped up the meeting, Logan lingered, eyes settling on E. He wasn’t wary of them anymore, not exactly, but something about them made him curious. He’d seen a glimpse of who they were under that mask. He wasn’t sure he trusted them yet, but he respected them—at least enough to want to see more of what they were capable of. And there was that other thing, too; he’d noticed it in the faint shadows under their eyes and the worn edges of their aura. Whatever was keeping them going seemed to be running thin.

“Hey,” he called out before they could leave. They turned slowly, an eyebrow raised, the only indication they’d heard him.

“When d’you have time to spar?” he asked, trying to read their reaction.

Their face barely shifted, but he could see a glint of amusement behind their guarded look. “Right now, actually,” they replied, their voice steady and even. “Unless you’re busy.”

Logan pushed off the wall, straightening his posture. “I’ve got time.”

They nodded, excusing themselves to change and, twenty minutes later, they met him at the bottom of the staircase. They were both now dressed in gear more suitable for what lay ahead, and Logan couldn’t help but notice the way their presence had shifted from the last time they spoke—the carefully polished exterior was there, but the energy behind it was dimmed, like they were holding something back. As they stepped outside, Logan led them to a secluded corner of the grounds, far from prying eyes. The shaded glade lay far from the main paths, ensuring no students or teachers would wander by, a quiet space with plenty of room to move freely.

As they reached the clearing, he rolled his shoulders, flexing his arms and testing his range of motion with a low, almost eager hum in his throat. “Alright,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

E’s lips curved into a faint smile, tight at the edges, as they removed their shoes, grounding themselves in the cool grass. Logan studied them, and it seemed like even the glint in their eyes was dimmer than he remembered; they looked tired, worn.

“You sure you’re feelin’ up for this?” he taunted. “Look a little beat.”

At those words, a faint smirk tugged at their lips, a dangerous spark lighting in their eyes—not quite playful, but charged with a hint of anticipation as they settled a few feet from him, their toes curling slightly in the green blades. “Looks can be deceiving,” they stated, their eyes narrowing with a brief, steely flash. “So don’t hold back.”

Logan chuckled, a low growl under his breath . “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They shifted into their stances, circling each other slowly, and Logan took a moment to assess them, noting their balance and posture, looking for signs of fatigue or hesitation. E looked drained, their skin and eyes lacking the usual intensity, their expression guarded but when they lunged forward, it was with a speed and grace that took him off guard. They were light on their feet, with an economy of motion that spoke of years of training. Even so, they lacked their usual edge. He’d felt their agility before—those brief, charged touches when they went after him over the past couple of weeks. But now, with their first steps, he saw a whole new side to them.

As Logan moved in, he blocked their strike, and the force behind it surprised him. They were damn quick, and strong enough to make him realize he couldn’t take this lightly. He dodged a swift kick, aiming a punch in return, but they twisted smoothly out of his reach, moving with a precision that was… stunning.

A flicker of respect—maybe even awe—stirred in him, and he noticed the shift almost immediately. E’s movements, initially strong, suddenly sharpened, a faint glow sparking in their eyes as they draw strength from his reaction. Each impressed thought, every ounce of admiration, pulse under their skin like fuel, strengthening them further.

Their smile widened, feeling the strength coursing through them now, a flash of teeth as they spun around him, arms a flurry of open-palmed strikes and swift fists. Logan blocked most of them, dodging the rest. They weren’t just good—they were damn good. And as his recognition grew, he felt an odd, almost tangible energy radiating off them, a surge that seemed to seep from the esteem they stirred in him.

“Not bad,” he grunted, his breath steady despite the exertion. The thrill of a real challenge was humming through his veins, the kind that made his blood come alive. But he couldn’t ignore that other feeling creeping in, like something slipping just beyond his control, something wild and powerful in E that his respect seemed to unlock.

They closed in again, and as their bodies met, Logan realized just how agile they were. It wasn’t only that they were fast; it was the precision of each movement, the way they slipped around his strikes like water weaving through rock. He found himself pushed harder, each dodge and block requiring his full attention.

Their style was unlike anything he’d seen before: smooth, swift, each movement flowing into the next like a performer weaving between shadows. There was a seamlessness to their steps, an exotic grace laced with foreign influences he couldn’t quite place—Arabic, maybe, or something even older. As they exchanged blow after blow, it felt like choreography, mesmerizing—E’s motions were fluid and graceful, carrying a rhythm and elegance that Logan could respect, even as he fought to keep up. This wasn’t just skill; it was... Art. And the more he admired it, the stronger they became, each spark of his interest feeding into their movements like an unseen force binding them.

Realization struck him like a blow—yes, they were good, but their power was intensifying, fueled by him.

He’d heard of mutants who could channel the emotions of others, drawing strength from positive thoughts like attention and interest. But feeling it now—feeling their strength mirror his thoughts… it was unlike anything he’d experienced.

They were more than a match for him, and his respect for their skill, their grit, surged. The moment that thought crossed his mind, E’s strikes grew even faster, their focus intensifying, and he was almost sure of it now. His every impressed reaction were seeping into them, fueling their intensity.

Their strikes picked up speed, and Logan found himself on the defensive more than he’d anticipated. They were fucking sharp. For every hit he blocked, two more came at him from new angles, as if they were testing him, pushing him to see just how far they could go. And with each strike, with every dodge, their energy grew, their fatigue seemed to melt away. The fire in their eyes reignited, and their form tightened, honed into something intense and unyielding.

He went in close, using his instincts to counter their movements, but with each passing moment, he witnessed how his respect only made them stronger. It was mesmerizing—and unsettling. The bond felt tangible, like an invisible current between them, and it was taking on a life of its own.

Logan ducked under a high kick, his instincts leading the way, and countered with a low sweep that nearly knocked them off-balance. E rolled out of reach, landing on their feet with a fluid twist that made Logan pause, even for just a fraction of a second. The way they moved was intoxicating—a mix of elegance and deadly purpose that sparked something inside him. He couldn’t help it; for a split moment, he was simply watching them, almost spellbound.

But there was no time to linger. E closed the distance with a burst of energy, a flurry of controlled, powerful strikes, fists and open palms, that had Logan moving on impulse alone. Each hit was controlled, precise, but damn, the force behind them kept him on his toes, like they were trying to push him to his limits. And maybe, deep down, he wanted them to. He blocked, deflected, and when he caught their wrist mid-swing, he allowed a small, knowing smirk to flicker across his face. That’s when he saw it—the glint of mischief in their eyes, quick and bold. E twisted out of his grasp with a move so smooth it felt like he’d tried to catch water.

Logan tightened his grip as they shifted, pulling them back to him, but the moment their faces were mere inches apart, time seemed to pause. Their eyes were locked onto his, unflinching and intense. There was something fierce there, a silent challenge that pulled at something deeper inside him, stoking the embers in his guts. It was like they were daring him, testing him not just as an opponent but as someone who understood the fire behind their eyes.

E must have seen the battle between reason and desire flicker in his gaze because they seized the moment, breaking free in a swift motion. Logan let them go, both impressed and curious, wanting to see what they’d do next. They didn’t waste a second, attacking with renewed vigor, moving like a force of nature, their body a seamless weapon of precision and raw determination. Logan could feel the shift—a resolve in them, the power that had been lying dormant now fully awakened. They weren’t holding back anymore, weren’t playing it safe. The series of blows they threw with rapid precision drew him into that primal place where his instincts ruled, and he was forced to meet them there, letting the feral part in him slip closer to the surface. The thrill of it sparked through his veins like wildfire.

“Alright,” he growled under his breath, almost laughing as he absorbed another blow and stepped back, chest heaving. “So you’re not playin’ around.”

Their eyes glimmered, never breaking eye contact, that confident grin tugging at their lips. They let out a breathy laugh, low and challenging. “You finally noticed?” they teased, their voice smooth with the thrill of the fight. There was something almost predatory in the way they held his gaze, the way they readied themselves for the next round. The air between them was tight, charged, every breath a shared battle. They circled each other once more, both panting heavily now, both intent, and Logan shifted his stance, ready for whatever came next.

He braced himself as they lunged, and this time, he met them head-on, gripping their fist mid-swing. The impact sent a shock through them both, a raw electricity that stilled the moment. E didn’t pull back, and neither did he. The space between them buzzed with an unspoken understanding—a recognition of equals, of opponents who respected each other enough to give everything.

Logan’s gaze drifted over their features, taking in the fierce focus, the glint in their eyes that had come alive in the heat of combat. He could feel his own pulse thundering in his chest, the thrill of the challenge, the sheer admiration for their skill. Whoever they were, whatever their story, they were damn impressive.

Their faces stayed close, eyes locked in a dance of silent words and wild, racing thoughts. He realized then, amidst the push and pull, that they weren’t just sparring. They were testing each other, challenging what they thought they knew.

When they finally broke apart, their breath heavy, Logan took in the slight rise and fall of their chest, the gleam of sweat on their neck. He let out a slow, impressed hum. “You weren’t holdin’ back, were ya?” His voice was low, rough with something more than exertion.

“Not my style.” E’s sly smile was full of restrained satisfaction. “But I thought you’d be a little faster, Wolverine,” they taunted, breathing hard, a mischievous edge to their tone.

Logan chuckled, the sound more rumble than laugh. He rolled his shoulders, a smirk playing on his lips as he nodded. “And you’re better than I thought. Maybe I misjudged ya.” The admission came with its own weight, but it felt right. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to get that fired up.”

And there it was again, that pull in the air between them, a flash of mutual acknowledgment that only seemed to heighten E’s energy. It hung in the air like an invisible thread, binding them to something that was no longer just a sparring match.

“Guess you bring out the best in me,” E added, their voice softer now but no less charged as they straightened, wiping a sheen of sweat from their brow.

This fight, this moment, was more than just a test of strength; it felt like a line had been crossed, an unspoken understanding forged in the heat of battle. Logan’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, and for once, he didn’t bother suppressing the feeling. He’d had his fair share of fights, of sparring matches, but this had felt different—charged, almost like a trial, a test that had changed something between them.

He let a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. “Seems like we both do, huh?”

Their gaze glinted, a hint of mischief mixed with something he couldn’t quite place. “Careful,” they said, voice low, “You might actually start liking me.”

He shook his head, though a glint of something warmer shone in his eyes. “Don’t go gettin’ ideas. I still don’t trust ya,” he said, though there was a reluctant admiration in his tone. “But I can’t deny you’ve got skills.”

They both stood there in the quiet clearing, the tension between them heavy and electric. It wasn’t just the fight that left him on edge—it was that undeniable force that surged through them, the energy that seemed to bloom under his attention, his respect.

They held his gaze a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them. And finally, E’s expression softened, the intensity in their eyes dimming as they nodded slightly. “You ever want another round, you know where to find me,” they said before turning on their heels, the tension between them lingering like the echo of a battle not quite over.

As they walked away, carrying their shoes in one hand, Logan felt a strange pull, something magnetic urging him forward, a reflexive need to know more. Before he could think better of it, he called out after them, half-jogging to close the distance. E paused, glancing back with a raised eyebrow and a hint of amusement in their eyes.

They were checking their phone, frowning at a few missed calls, their thumb hovering over the screen to call back. But before they could hit the button, Logan spoke up, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. “When d’you reckon we could do this again?”

They looked up, and for a second, there was a gleam of something mischievous in their eyes, a playful spark that was hard to miss. Their lips curved, and that teasing smile tugged at him in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh, can’t get enough of me now, huh, pretty boy?”

Logan felt a tingle in his gut, the playful edge in their voice threw him for a second, that casual nickname landing unexpectedly. They made him feel like he was fifteen again, trying to play it cool in front of someone who seemed way out of his league—a completely new feeling for him. A part of him wanted to fire something back, maybe a quip about how he wasn’t in it for them, but for their skills. But he deflected instead, maintaining his composure. “I want to know more about your style. It’d be good for the team. Could give us an edge, y’know?”

“Good for the team,” E echoed, amusement flashing in their gaze as they cocked their head, weighing him. “If you say so.”

They turned their phone over in their hand, clearly tempted to tease him further, but before they could say anything, he cut them off, “Remember the training sessions Charles mentioned in the meeting? Did he told you about the Danger Room?”

E raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at their lips. “I might have heard of it… but maybe you could tell me a little more?”

Logan nodded, sensing an opportunity. “Well, it’s…let’s just say it’s our own personal, high-stakes training ground. If you want, I can walk you through it sometime.”

E considered him for a moment, their posture straightening as they regained their composure. “Alright. How about we meet back here tonight, after dinner, for some sparring again, and then you can tell me more about this danger room you’re talking about.”

“Tonight, huh?” he said, a hint of a smirk returning. “Yeah, I can make that work.”

“Good,” they murmured, their hand brushing his arm as they stepped past him, a fleeting, electrifying touch that sent a shiver through his skin. It was nothing—a casual touch—but it was enough to spark that strange charge between them again, something he could feel deep in his gut.

“See you tonight, then,” E said with a half-smile, their voice low, almost intimate. They turned, heading back toward the mansion with that damn sway in their step, every move as deliberate as their fighting style, leaving him there, watching and feeling just a bit off-balance. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, tonight, he was in for more than just another spar.

Logan was no stranger to being haunted by his thoughts, and most of the time, it was his past. But this was different—it wasn’t memories lingering in his head, it was someone alive and present, shifting through his thoughts like they had every right to be there. He’d spent the better part of the day moving from task to task, hoping that the routine would get his head on straight. He’d given three history lectures to classes who looked mostly bored out of their minds, walked the mansion perimeter twice, and even joined Hank in the lab for a solid hour before irritation got the best of him.

And still, every damn time he tried to clear his head, they were there. E. A quiet thrill snuck through him at the memory of their last spar, at the way they’d moved with that sharpened focus, picking up on his admiration like they could feel it.

Which they probably could. If his suspicions were right, E could sense admiration the way he could sense a lie—and that alone was a reason to keep his distance. But he hadn’t, not really. He’d leaned into it, watching the way they seemed to glow under his attention. That look in their eyes when they caught his gaze? Couldn’t shake it.

Damn it, it was making him question everything.

You’re not some lovesick puppy, bub, he thought, dragging his hand through his hair, frustrated. Get your head on straight.

E wasn’t his responsibility, not in the usual sense. He wasn’t there to watch over them or protect them. That wasn’t his job. Not that they needed him to, anyway. But the pull they had on him—some strange mix of curiosity and something else—wasn’t something he could easily shake off. He wasn’t sure if it was admiration, attraction, or something more dangerous, but it gnawed at him all the same.

Things never ended well when he got close, especially with someone like them. It was better, safer, to keep his instincts in check.

But still, when he thought about seeing them again, it felt like a twist in his gut, like he was waiting for something he couldn’t name, something primal. It was maddening, intoxicating—a feeling he hated as much as he longed for. And he couldn’t help himself.

His thoughts braught him back to them again, as he remembered the way E’s strikes had picked up speed, their movements sharpening with every surge of his admiration. The memory sent a chill down his spine. His jaw clenched as his mind raced. The urge to spar again—to see how far he could push them, what more they could become—tugged at him. But damn it, he had to remind himself to focus. He was here, not in the damn glade.

“Get ahold of yourself, damn it,” he muttered, hoping the sound of his voice might help break the spell. “You’ve got enough ghosts followin’ you around, don’t go invitin’ another.”

But E wasn’t a ghost. They were sharp, present, and so fucking alive. He didn’t want to admit it, but that made all the difference. This wasn’t some lingering regret or phantom from his past. It was real. And that made everything harder.

It wasn’t just his admiration—it was the way they challenged him, the way they made him feel. That pull, that instinctive response—it was there, simmering under the surface. And maybe that was what scared him the most.

Because even now, he couldn’t decide if it was them or their powers making him feel this way. The pull was real, but was it them? Or just some side effect of them feeding off his admiration?

Damn it. Logan clenched his fists, trying to shake it off. But no matter how much he fought it, E’s presence lingered, just out of reach, but never really gone. They weren’t his responsibility, not really—but hell if his instincts weren’t practically begging to make them his.

Hours dragged on, the sun dipping lower in the sky, but Logan found himself waiting for night to come. Waiting for the next sparring session. His body was wound tight, focus frayed, and he knew damn well it was because of them. No matter how hard he tried to pull himself back, some part of him was already leaning forward, eager to step into that clearing again, to see how much further they could go, how much more they could push each other.

His reason fought to resist, but he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep fighting it.

Logan settled into his seat in the dining room, but he wasn’t really there. He’d forced himself to join the others for dinner, hoping that the casual chatter would ground him, help shake E from his mind. But as plates clattered and conversations flowed, he found his thoughts still circling back to them—and to the way their strength had fed off his admiration. It gnawed at him, that feeling he’d fueled them somehow, that his respect had made them stronger, sharper. A part of him didn’t want to go down that road, but damn if he wasn’t already obsessing about the next sparring session, counting down the minutes.

He tried to focus on the idle talk around the table, but most of it only seemed to make his hackles rise. People were talking about E—debating whether they’d be joining the team in the future or if this was just a one-off thing. To them, it felt like E was edging their way in, and they didn’t like it. He could see the unease in Bobby’s frown, the way Marie’s gaze flitted to him, clearly feeling out where he stood on all this.

Eventually, the young woman turned to him, her brow raised in question. “So, Logan… what d’you make of her?” she asked, misgendering E without a second thought. “You’ve spent more time with her than the rest of us. ”

His reaction was swift and sharp, his tone a bit harsher than intended. “Them,” he corrected, voice edged. He took a steadying breath, reigning himself back. “They prefer ‘them.’”

Marie and Kitty exchanged a glance at that, a silent conversation that didn’t escape his notice. He forced himself to ignore it, though the sting of irritation remained, mingling with a faint, unexpected defensiveness. He wasn’t the type to stand on ceremony or correct people just to be polite. Still, he wasn’t going to stand by and let them talk about E without a damn bit of respect. But again, why the hell did he feel like he needed to stick up for them?

He tried to keep his tone casual as he shrugged, downplaying it like he didn’t care one way or another. “They’re alright. They’ve helped me out with some legal work, actually. Seems like they know what they’re doing. We sparred too… they’ve got a style that’s different. Pretty sharp. Could be good for you all to pick up some of that.”

The more he spoke, the harder it became to keep the admiration out of his voice. It wasn’t just that they were capable—there was something in the way they moved, the way they fought. Respect had never come easily to him, but with E, it was there, raw and undeniable.

Kitty raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and Logan felt a small spark of irritation as she leaned in. “What’s so special about it?”

He tried to keep it casual but the words flew out of him before he could stop them. “It’s… fast, strong, fluid… almost like watching something crafted. Like art.” Damn it. He hadn’t meant to let so much appreciation slip through, but it was hard to ignore how their moves had lingered in his mind all day.

His comment hung in the air, and he could see the others’ gazes shift toward him, noting how his tone had softened. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, feeling a bit exposed under their scrutiny.

“What’s their power, though?” Bobby asked, curiosity written across his face.

Before Logan could even think of a response, a smooth voice coming from the doorway cut him off. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady about their powers?”

Logan turned, catching sight of E leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over their chest, a teasing smirk on their lips. They looked different than they had after sparring earlier—not as radiant, but still damn good, with that casual confidence that could set anyone on edge. They had changed again, now in some kind of foreign traditional outfit, somehow looking both beautiful and dangerous as their gaze shifted over each face at the table.

Bobby’s cheeks flushed pink at E’s words, and he fumbled for a response, while Marie shot them a half-hearted glare. Logan didn’t miss the slight flicker in E’s expression—a hint of something softer, like a crack in their armor, but it was gone in an instant, too quick for anyone else to catch.

Ororo was the first to break the silence. “What brings you here, E?”

E straightened, sauntering into the room with an air of nonchalance, though their smirk said otherwise, metal chiming on their ankles and wrists. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said, though the smirk made it clear they weren’t sorry at all. “I’m just here for Logan,” they added when reaching him, their hand finding his shoulder and resting there, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Logan’s frown deepened at their words and actions—like they owned him, like he’d just been summoned. Something primal flared within him at the look in their eyes, and he fought to keep his own expression in check, unwilling to let that part of himself show.

“We had another sparring session planned,” he explained quickly, shrugging off their hand, his tone a bit too abrupt. He didn’t want them getting any strange ideas about what this was.

E gave a small nod, a glint of mischief in their eyes. “Yes, a sparring session,” they repeated, voice low and almost playful. Their gaze lingered on him for just a beat too long, that glint sending his instincts flaring.

They turned with a casual wave of their hand, bracelets chiming with the motion, before glancing back at him over their shoulder as they sauntered back toward the hallway. “I’ll be outside. Don’t take too long,” they tossed back with a wink, disappearing around the corner.

The room went quiet as E left, the tension hanging thick in the air. Logan forced himself to finish his meal, trying to ignore the eyes on him. He could practically feel the questions lingering unsaid, the looks exchanged behind his back. But he kept his focus on his plate, forcing himself to eat slowly even as impatience thrummed beneath his skin. Finally, he excused himself, heading into the kitchen to put his dishes in the dishwasher before slipping out the back.

When Logan reached the clearing, he found E sitting cross-legged in the grass, the deep black of their tunic blending with the shadows, disturbed only by the dark red sash at their waist. When they shifted, the golden and crimson bracelets at their wrists and ankles chimed softly, each note cutting through the quiet night. Even their hair and makeup, immaculately done, added an edge to their poised, lethal beauty—a sharp contrast to the rawness of their last sparring session.

They looked like they were dressed to perform and, for a few heartbeats, he was mesmerized. They were utterly still, chest rising and falling so slowly that they could almost pass for a statue, something sculpted by a master, with an eye for each curve and line. The moonlight washed over them, casting an ethereal glow that only added to the aura around them, one part mystery, one part raw strength.

They had felt him, of course. He didn’t have to make a sound; the energy rolling off him was enough. A faint, knowing smile blossomed on their red-painted lips, soft at first, then sharper as it settled. Eyes still closed, they spoke, their voice smooth as silk in the quiet night. “I’m glad we’re doing this again, Logan.” They paused, savoring the weight of his gaze. “I couldn’t focus all day. You… lingered.”

Logan felt his pulse kick up a notch, his mind flicking back to his own restless day—the way he’d had to force himself to push through the usual motions, when all he really wanted was to get back here, back to them. He tried to keep his expression steady, giving a small shrug as he stepped closer. “Your style’s… intriguing,” he said, hoping it sounded casual, unaffected. But he knew better, and they did too; the spark of warmth they felt from him seemed to seep into their own energy, feeding them.

They savored it, and now he could tell. He watched as something in them shifted, as if they were becoming more than they had been a moment earlier, like his presence and attention added a new depth to their form. Finally, they opened their golden-hooded eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. The shimmer of the powder accentuated the sharpness of their stare, turning it into something almost regal.

Rising to their feet with the delicate chime of metal, they moved with an effortless grace, stretching in a way that was deliberate, flexing their muscles as though reminding him of what he was about to face. “It’s called kalaripayattu,” E said, their voice steady. “It was my foundation. But… it changed, especially in Turkey.” Their gaze darkened momentarily, a flicker of something painful passing through their expression before it settled into a smirk, masking the past. “Not all evolutions come from the best places.”

Logan's jaw tightened at the admission, a familiar pang settling low in his chest. He’d seen that look before—the one that spoke of scars hidden under skin, memories too heavy to carry yet impossible to drop. The urge to say something, to tell them he understood that kind of burden, nearly surfaced, but he bit it back. This wasn’t the moment for words; they both knew that. Instead, he nodded, letting the unspoken understanding hang between them as he rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he watched them, that low hum of anticipation lighting up in him again.

E grounded themselves, digging their toes into the grass like they did before their last fight, finding their balance in a way that was both practiced and primal. Their stance shifted, flowing into something new—a crouched position, one leg stretched back and the other supporting them low to the ground, arms raised toward the sky, palms pressed together, like a warrior in prayer. The pose was unexpected, striking, and undeniably dangerous.

“You ready for round two, pretty boy?” They smirked, mischief dancing across their face, challenging him in a way that was hard to ignore.

Logan felt his pulse spike at the nickname, an involuntary reaction he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. It got under his skin in a way that was both infuriating and exhilarating, making his chest tighten with something unspoken. He cracked his knuckles, returning their smirk with one of his own. “You think you got it in you to keep up?” His tone was thick with confidence, with that hint of wild pride that only emerged when he faced someone capable of pushing him to his limits.

“Oh, I know I do, sugar.” They let the word roll off their tongue with a teasing lilt, eyes gleaming with challenge.

They shared a look, two rivals who’d found a rare equal, sizing each other up, caught between the thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of knowing that tonight, there was no one else who could possibly match them.

And then, as the tension reached its peak, both held taut in that breathless moment, they launched at each other. Their bodies collided, a clash of motion and control, every inch a dance of precision—not with brute force, but with a dynamic grace, a synergy that felt almost primal. E moved first, sliding low to the ground, almost flowing, their actions fluid and deliberate, bracelets and anklets chiming with every shift. Each touch, each brush of their hand along his arm, shoulder, and side was deceptively soft, like a caress meant to lure rather than harm. But Logan wasn’t fooled. He felt the energy coiled in every motion, understood just how deadly each one could be if they chose it to be. He knew the strength they were capable of. Those strikes—gentle as they were—carried a restrained power, and he sensed it, a whisper of the damage they could inflict if they changed their mind and decided to hurt him.

They circled each other in a rhythm that came as naturally as breathing, bodies weaving in and out, almost as if bound by a magnetic pull. E struck out with an open palm, a grazing motion that skimmed across his ribs, a warning rather than a blow. Logan responded, ducking low and twisting around, countering with a restrained swing that they sidestepped with ease, pivoting on one leg, the other extended gracefully behind them. Their fighting style was a thing of beauty—each move sharp, controlled, yet inherently lethal. It was all in the restraint, the elegance in the way they flowed around him, closing the distance only to slip away, like waves ebbing back from the shore.

The touches, brief as they were, left lingering warmth against his skin, almost delicate in contrast to the fierce intent that lay beneath them. Logan could sense it with every shift in their stance, every breath they took—if E wanted to, they could bring him to his knees. It was a tantalizing threat, one that made his blood sing with the thrill of the fight.

In return, he matched their intensity with his own. He countered with his own practiced moves, his ferocity meeting their grace—rougher, rawer, like fire pushing against wind. He didn’t back down, wasn’t about to let them get too close without a response. He dodged, weaved, barely avoiding some of their strikes, slipping by with mere inches to spare. When they made contact—a calculated strike to his shoulder—he could feel the charged intent behind it, even as they held back, making him stagger back just enough to shake it off, smirking, before charging in again. They danced around him, a perfect, untamed rhythm building between them, and he found himself moving faster, sharper, like every step forward fueled the energy between them, both testing the other without any intent to truly harm. He could feel it in the air between them—something feral, almost like a mating ritual, the way their movements mirrored, challenged, and matched.

They struck again, this time low, forcing him to leap back and adjust, his grin widening with every movement. It was as if they were bound not by competition but by an unspoken connection—a bond that thrived on the intensity, the way they pushed each other without ever holding back. They were not opponents, nor allies in the typical sense. There was no give, no yield. Neither wanted to win or lose. They just wanted to keep moving, to stay in that almost sacred moment, as if time could stretch itself around them, infinite, like two forces swirling endlessly into one another, an ouroboros that neither began nor ended.

E’s presence seemed to shift, to pulse with each strike and dodge, a captivating intensity building under the lights as if drawing energy from the exhilaration in Logan’s gaze. The more he felt—admiration, awe, the raw thrill of the dance—the more vivid they seemed, their form almost transcending reality in the moonlight. Their eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered joy, and he saw it, saw the way they thrived under his gaze, every ounce of respect and challenge he sent their way amplifying their allure, making them seem more vivid with each passing second. They absorbed his fire, his strength, and reflected it back, their entire being moving with an entrancing grace that felt more alive than the world around them, their movements turning quicker, sharper, a need to show him more, to perform for him, to be seen. It was like they wanted him to witness the full extent of who they were, to understand how much he fueled them, empowered them.

And still, they did not relent. They wove through their attacks with such artful grace, arms sweeping in wide, lethal arcs that never quite struck him, but came close enough to make his heart race. Logan could feel the tension build in every swipe and brush of their hands, a coil wound tight within him, a primal urge to keep going, to fight like this until the stars themselves faded from the sky.

In a final sweep, they pivoted and leapt into the air, their body twisting mid-flight as they spun over his head, landing with barely a sound, crouched low, their gaze burning as they looked up at him, alive with energy, skin aglow. They seemed transformed, radiating something almost otherworldly, as if their exchange had unlocked something deep within them.

They rose slowly, never breaking eye contact, a faint smirk tugging at the edges of their lips, and Logan felt a surge of awe and something deeper, something inexplicable. This hadn’t just been a fight—it was communion, the give-and-take of two forces that could spend eternity bound in this endless, exhilarating cycle. In that timeless, breathless exchange, Logan felt the truth of it. He’d found someone who matched him, who fed off the same fire, who thrived under the heat of his gaze just as he could under theirs. And as he steadied himself, breath ragged, he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want this moment to end.

But then, unexpectedly, E burst out laughing—an honest, unrestrained, melodic laugh that broke free as if from a place long hidden. They threw their head back toward the sky, eyes closed, arms open, an untamed joy that caught Logan completely off-guard. That sound—it wasn’t mocking, nor was it triumphant. It was raw, genuine happiness and it sent a ripple through him, something deep and visceral. His chest tightened at the sight, at the way E’s expression softened for just a breath, letting the mask slip enough to reveal the humanity underneath all that skill and bravado.

It lasted only a few heartbeats, but in that space, Logan felt a shift. The air between them crackled differently, heavier, as if the laughter had broken down an invisible barrier neither had admitted was there. E’s eyes met his, searching, almost daring him to react, to see beyond the sparring and the guarded quips. For once, there was no battle in their gaze, only an invitation.

Logan’s eyes lingered on them as he tried to steady his breathing. A slow grin creeped across his lips, a rare thing that made the edges of his face soften, the soft, unguarded joy in E’s laugh still echoing in his mind. “Enjoying yourself, huh?” he said, voice rougher than he intended, a mix of exertion and something deeper. He’d seen them as fierce, elusive, hidden behind layers that only cracked in quick, playful smirks. But tonight, they’d shown him something true, almost sacred, and he couldn’t look away .

E’s smile didn’t fade as they stepped closer, their chest rising and falling in time with their breaths. “More than you know,” they replied, voice low and charged, carrying a promise unspoken yet understood. They stood close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from their skin, the space between them almost humming with potential.

Logan’s gaze couldn't leave them, their bare sincerity, their easy grace, the way they stood under the stars as though they belonged there more than any place he’d ever seen. For once, he was stripped of any clever response, any guard. He didn’t look away, either, though something in him warned he probably should. He could feel it—how much more they seemed to want to show him. How much closer he wanted to be.

They could feel the fire burning in his gut, feeding their hunger in a way that made the ache to stoke it grow stronger. Under his curious eyes, they began moving in slow, hypnotic turns, delicate and precise, metallic chimes echoing from their wrists and ankles. They were dancing—an ancient and untamed choreography, meant only for the night air, the moon, the stars, and him. Logan could almost feel the pulse of their energy in his bones, awakening that place deep inside him that almost never stirred, except in moments like this—moments fleeting and rare. His reason urged him to keep his guard up, but his defenses were slipping, worn down by the rhythm of their dance and the raw humanity of their movements. He found himself stilling, breathing slow, caught in the silent music only they could hear.

Then, they stopped, releasing a deep, contented sigh, like someone freed after being bound for far too long. They looked at him, an unfiltered calm in their gaze, and the sight of it drew something close to an ache in him.

“Thank you, Logan,” they said, their voice holding a warmth he rarely heard from anyone.

He gave a short nod, gruff as always, but inside, her words struck him with a strange weight. “Didn’t do much,” he muttered quietly, shrugging it off.

“Oh, but you did.” E’s lips curved up, but there was no teasing, no facade, only quiet gratitude. They extended their hands, twisting their fingers and wrists slowly in delicate, almost playful movements, while their bracelets chimed softly against their skin, as though savoring the freedom, the lightness they’d reclaimed. “Since you gifted me peace, tonight, I’m gonna give you a gift of my own,” they whispered, stepping forward. They reached out, their fingers brushing his forearm, a casual touch that set his nerves on fire. "You’re leaving yourself open here," they murmured, their skin grazing his, their voice close enough to send a shiver down his spine.

A current shot through him, sharp and electric, but he rolled his shoulders, masking his reaction behind a rough mutter. “Ain’t used to sparrin’ against dancers.”

“You’ll learn,” they replied, their smirk tugging back into place, the hint of that earlier mischief glinting in their gaze again.

For a moment, they both fell silent, the night air cooling around them. E’s eyes shifted upward, to the expanse of stars overhead, and Logan felt the pull too. The sky was scattered with pinpricks of light, stretching endlessly into the dark. It reminded him of how vast everything was, how small he was within it, how his years—his long, battle-hardened years—were just a blink in the vastness above. And yet here, with them, under this open sky, he felt strangely anchored.

Beside him, E’s voice softened, thoughtful. “You ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

Their words hit him, catching him off guard, reaching into places he usually kept sealed. It gnawed at him, the way they stood there looking like a piece of the sky had touched down, that soft glow in their eyes, one of peace, of gratitude, maybe even of kinship. There were few people who’d ever asked him something like that, fewer still who might actually understand the answer.

“More often than you’d think,” he muttered, the words escaping before he could second-guess them. He kept his eyes trained on the stars, the expansive sky above, as if it could ease the ache that always lingered somewhere in his chest. “Don’t matter where I go, or who I’m with—there’s always this… hole. Even when I’ve got a good thing goin’ on.”

They stayed quiet, listening, and somehow that silence gave him the space to keep talking.

“I got a family here, I know that. Hell, got more people than I ever thought I’d get who actually care if I stick around or not,” he said, his voice gruff, but his words open. “But sometimes… feels like I’m just borrowin’ time. Waitin’ till somethin’ pulls me back out there.” He motioned vaguely to the woods, to the wild that always seemed to call his name when he lingered too long within four walls.

E shifted, their eyes softening, and that glow in them brightened almost imperceptibly, as if his words, raw as they were, had stirred something in them. They looked at him in a way that felt like understanding, a wordless acceptance of the parts he rarely let anyone see. He felt his pulse stir again, just under his skin, something vulnerable and hungry for connection clawing its way out.

“Maybe you’re meant to belong somewhere that’s not on a map, you know?” They tilted their head thoughtfully, a gentle shrug in their shoulders. “I know that sounds… vague, but some of us are a little too wild, even for this world. Doesn’t mean you’re without a place, Logan. Maybe it’s just somewhere different.”

Logan let the words sink in, feeling the honesty in them settle like warmth into his chest. He wasn’t used to anyone framing it like that. Usually, the mansion’s residents treated his absences like quirks, a fact of his nature, but it was different with E. They seemed to see through his wanderlust, to recognize something in it that went deeper than just the need to roam.

“Hell, maybe,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shrug off the sudden vulnerability that gripped him. “Dunno if anyone ever told me it was all right to be that way.”

“Guess I just did,” they said, that teasing gleam returning, but softer this time. “Wherever you belong, Logan… you’re welcome in my orbit.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What happened to ‘I don’t need anyone, especially not you’?” His voice was rough, but there was an unmistakable spark of curiosity in his eyes.

E’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of defensiveness tightening their features before they smoothed it out. “I don’t need anyone,” they repeated, but the words held a different tone now—less sharp, more open. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t offer a place to someone who needs it… if they want it.”

The words hung between them, suspended in the night air. Logan felt himself drawn to them again, a subtle battle between reason and instinct churning inside him once more. The reasonable part of him couldn’t fathom giving in to that unspoken need, but another part of him, primal, wanted to reach out, to take up their offer without a second thought. So against his better judgment, he let himself step closer, studying the way they seemed to radiate with a quiet strength, a calm that fed into his own unrest in a way he couldn’t quite grasp.

E met his gaze, eyes steady and searching. “Who knows, maybe it could calm the need to wander for a time.”

A flicker of something softened Logan’s expression as he watched them, the words settling deep. “Not a lotta people see me,” he admitted, his voice gruff but his gaze locked onto theirs. “Not like this.”

E smiled, soft but sure. “Maybe because most people aren’t looking in the right places.”

They reached out, their hand brushing his forearm lightly once again, this time lingering—grounding him as much as it startled him. The tension between them was palpable, gnawing at his insides, at that hollow void that filled him. It felt like their connection was solidifying, and it was dangerous. It made his pulse race, his mind screaming at him to pull back, even as every fiber of him longed to stay close. He felt the warmth of their fingers as they pulled away, leaving a faint tingle in their wake. And suddenly, he wanted to know more about them—where they came from, what scars they hid beneath their words and allure, where they honed their fighting skills, what their true power was. So many questions burned on his lips, but he settled for something less intrusive instead.

“What about you… you ever stick around long enough to feel like you could belong somewhere?” he asked, voice low. He didn’t know where the question came from, only that it was out there now, drawn out by a need to connect, another piece of himself he rarely showed.

E paused, searching his eyes. “Once, maybe,” they murmured, and for a moment, a flicker of something deeply personal passed over their face. “But not for a long time.”

The weight of their words hung between them. They shifted again, the lingering sorrow barely visible before it was replaced by their usual confidence. But Logan caught it, the faint sadness, the echo of a familiar ache that mirrored his own. For just a heartbeat, they weren’t his rival, his partner in combat—they were something else, something fragile and human, someone who understood, and it awakened his protective instincts, making his claws itch under his skin.

“Guess we both got a little lost along the way,” he said softly.

They nodded, still holding his gaze, that warm glow growing just a touch brighter. “Then maybe we don’t need a map tonight. Just… a moment to be here.” Their eyes softened, catching his, and the way they looked at him, as if he was the only other soul in the universe, chipped away at some wall he hadn’t even known was still there.

Logan managed a rough smile, a smirk that barely covered the pull he felt toward them. “Guess I could live with that.”

E’s smile spread, almost in relief, as the two of them stood there—not fighters, not strangers, but two people sharing the same quiet space under the stars, filling the empty places between them, if only for a little while. Before he could stop himself, his thumb found its way to their cheek. The pull between them felt almost tangible, a lifeline connecting two drifting souls lost in the unending current of life.

Their face relaxed instantly under his touch, their eyes closing as a deep sigh escaped their lungs. They sensed his desire before he even realized what he was about to do. The world around them seemed to fade, the rustle of leaves and distant hum of crickets dissolving into the quiet thrum of their hearts. He leaned in, his lips so close they could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between them charged with anticipation.

And then they felt it—a subtle, almost magnetic pull as the energy began to flow, unbidden, from him to them. It was faint, like the first tremor of a storm. Panic flickered behind their eyes as they opened, the realization sharp and immediate. With a graceful tilt of their head, E shifted just enough for his lips to brush their cheek instead, the warmth there a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

Logan froze for a moment, surprise flickering across his expression before he blinked, as if shaking off a spell broken by the soft press of his lips against their cheek. He pulled back, eyes searching theirs for answers, confusion and something deeper swirling in their depths. The space between them thickened, heavy with the unspoken.

“I—” E’s voice wavered, a soft, apologetic smile tugging at their lips as their fingers drifted to the necklace at their throat, the cool pearl grounding them. “It’s late,” they said, each word layered with unexpressed longing.

Logan’s brows knit together, confusion still etched across his face as he took in their expression, the unguarded look that spoke of things they couldn’t voice. E took a long, steady look at him, memorizing the rough kindness in his eyes and the silent question he wouldn’t push. The pull between them ached with what they had to refuse.

With a deep breath, E took a step back. “Goodnight, Logan.”

The silence lingered as he watched them walk away, their silhouette fading into the night. Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something deeper than he’d anticipated. And for the first time since they’d met, he wondered just how much control he truly had over the pull that tethered him to them, an unknown force that defied the walls he’d spent a lifetime building.

To be continued…

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

[3hks]

Hi! do you have any advice for new writers who want to start posting on tumblr?

Tips on Creating a Writing Blog!

Thank you so much for asking! I'm incredibly honored that you decided I was worthy of this question LOL, it means a lot to me. I've been growing this blog and managing it for about a year now, so let's see what I've got to offer!

1. KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO POST

Are you looking for a place to post advice, promote your work, or something else? If you've already decided to upload content, you probably already have a good idea of what you want to post!

Before officially publishing anything, I suggest having a simple list of topics to write about beforehand. Believe me, it's really easy to suddenly run out of creativity and thus, there's nothing to write about! Just keep some spare ideas at hand!

BUT, besides just being aware of what material you wish to share and having ideas of possible subjects to write about, you need to consider your uploading schedule, which brings me to my next point!

2. UPLOADING SCHEDULE V.S LIFE SCHEDULE

One of my biggest mistakes I made when starting a blog was uploading a bit too often in the beginning. Yes, I'm sure you're super excited to begin posting, but if you want to maintain a consistent uploading schedule, come up with your schedule first, then start!

I posted around twice a week when I was still new to Tumblr, which honestly drained my ideas out REALLY fast; not to mention the fact that I'm so much busier now, I don't exactly have the time to write two posts to upload in one week.

Choose a reasonable schedule that balances out both lives!

3. ALWAYS BE THINKING OF IDEAS

If you're not looking to write a more informative or advice content, this may not directly apply to you. It's so, so, so easy to run out of ideas, which means that you should always be open to fresh content ideas!

To be honest, I don't have all-around advice for this, unfortunately, but if you find yourself reading and noticing a common mistake--that could turn into a good post! Maybe you don't like how certain things are written--that could also become a good post!

At the end of the day, a blog is often based around opinion anyway!

4. REMEMBER YOUR ORIGINAL GOAL

It's incredibly easy to get obsessed with follows, comments, and likes once you start publishing content online. This can quickly delve into a poor mentality that will hurt you and your blog!

It doesn't hurt to celebrate reaching a milestone or getting a lot of followers, but if you find yourself competing for more and it's not helping you, then take a step back and remind yourself of the results you wanted.

Did you want to help people?

Did you want to make a change?

Did you want to bring awareness to something?

Were you looking to promote something?

Did you want a lot of followers? (You have every right to be as obsessed as you want regarding your follows if this is the goal lol)

But the point is, posting on social media isn't supposed to be something negative!

5. KEEP THINGS ORGANIZED

Use catchy titles to attract people, use headings to organize your ideas, keep your blog organized! There's quite a bit of features when it comes to Tumblr (in my opinion), so there's some stuff to explore!

A clean-looking post (and blog) seriously helps attract readers; no one wants to read a big block of text, but bullet points, headings, even images help ease the eyes and engage the reader!

Frankly, I know that this sounds like pretty general advice, but it really does depend on what kind of content you wish to upload! I had a fun time figuring out how to manage this blog--it's super simple and there's really no wrong moves! If something doesn't go the way you wanted it to, make some changes and work from there! Thank you, once again, for reaching out! (I might consider writing a full-blown post later on)

You got this! (Happy Halloween!)

3hks <3

[fallenhanari]

Hello! Sorry if this is abrupt, but I’m a new follower of yours, and I’d love to hear more about all of your Amnesia WIPs if that’s alright! It’s one of my favorite otome games and I love to see it getting new fan content 😄

Plus I’m also considering starting to write fanfic for it myself (but am still nervous about putting my writing out there lol)

Omg anon, you just made my day. I've been getting back into tinkering with a couple of these WIPs this past week actually, so they're fresh in my mind too. Amnesia was one of the first otome games I played when I was getting back into them after a break a few years ago, and I'm so attached to the worlds and characters honestly. And Shin unexpectedly became a big muse for me for a while, though I do have stories for multiple other characters even if he features most often lol. He's not even my favorite overall, but something about him just absolutely compels me to write, it seems. I'd also love to see if you get to putting any future writing you do out there!! Honestly, just the act of writing can be really fulfilling if you're not ready to share - I have some WIPs for other fandoms that probably won't ever see the light outside my docs since they're more for me than for posting - but there's such fun in sharing with the community too. Fandoms for specific console/PC otome games tend to be on the smaller side since most players spread themselves across many games with time, so all the writing we can get out there is exciting imo. Anyway, moving to what you're here for haha. So for Amnesia I have four WIP documents in various states of worked on. I'll break them down under a cut since I might just ramble on a bit much, knowing myself lol. Also heads up for mild smut discussion though there won't be much detail.

Shin/MC Sequel (E-rated, PWP, post-canon Heart World) This one is the oldest file, but I haven't actually worked on getting down concrete ideas for it until literally this week, woops. Last year I posted my first Amnesia fic which was a PWP/smut oneshot for these two involving Shin initiating a kind of sex game to try to ease MC into more direct intimacy then getting in over his head by the end with her. Right after finishing writing and posting I decided I wanted to do a sequel fic where MC proposes a similar type of game and gets a bit of a taste of her own medicine. Where the original focused on edging, this one would focus on overstimulation. At the time I quickly got distracted and in too deep with another WIP in this list, but I reread the posted story recently and got back in the mood for exploring those two in that vaguely post-canon verse. If the smut writing wants to cooperate with me I might be moving forward with this one soon enough~ And though none of them have documents yet, I have started considering some other ideas to explore in this series, mainly one for their first time having penetrative sex and one where Shin bottoms for MC for the first time. I just find the particular dynamic I wrote them with here weirdly comfy to settle into, so it makes me want to explore their evolution of intimacy more and more! Math Fools (E-rated, PWP, poly, tentatively Spade World but probably doesn't matter if there or Clover World or AU) This one has the least meat to it so far, but it's probably obvious who it's featuring by the name lol. There's a particular scene in Ikki's story in Amnesia Later that I was reading and made me stop to create a new document. Ikki, Kent, and MC engage in silly roleplay shenanigans and all get hilariously into it, so of course my brain went and extrapolated that into a potential smut scenario. In its current state the document is a literal single sentence: "So y’all are into roleplay now huh? Ikki, Kent, MC, I see all of you." And that basically is the extent of my thought into this one so far. I have no idea what kind of roleplay they might get up to, and it's even possible I'd turn this into a sillier comedy fic instead of smut if that's where the characters took me when I started writing. But they're all absolute goofballs together, and I think it'd be fun to explore one way or another! Not Even a Real Idea TBH (G-or-T-rated, post-canon Spade World, pre-poly, fluff and silliness) Despite the title, this is moderately more developed than the last one! I just didn't have a title idea when I made the document and have yet to change it since I still don't have one and didn't want to just make it a throuple title only lol. Since it's post-Spade World, Ikki and MC are our established couple here. Near the end of Ikki's Amnesia Later story, there's this part where the best way I can describe it is Shin being very earnest toward and observant and fond of Ikki and MC's relationship, while Ikki is a complete menace toward Shin in every capacity. I don't even remember the exact content of the scene as I think about it right now, but that was the whole vibe that came across to me. And I just think Spade World MC totally has the capacity to become a bit of a menace toward Shin too if she wanted. So these two start teasing Shin in various slightly flirty ways after talking to each other about their mutual interest in him. And Shin isn't really getting it for a while, too much a shipper on deck to realize they're individually and together flirting with him and sort of courting him in their strange roundabout ways. So they probably eventually end up having to be direct with him, and then the throuple antics can begin. This one truly is vibes-based and not so much concrete writing/scenes/ideas yet for me, but I think it'll be neat lol. It could be a longer oneshot or a smaller multi-chapter thing; I haven't fully decided for it yet. I think I'll need to go back and replay the scene that got me thinking on it to iron out their dynamic before I get into it.

And I'm now hitting a new character limit I didn't even realize Tumblr had, so uh. Look to a quick reblog to see the last WIP and the end of my message to you anon! Sorry for the weirdness lol

[grigori77]

So, about Critical Role’s statement on the new WOTC OGL ...

I know, I know, it LOOKS LIKE they’re trying to hedge their bets, that they’re trying to appease the evil empire (WOTC) while also trying not to alienate their fans, and perhaps there’s even a fraction of truth in this point, but ... REMEMBER FOLKS, THESE GUYS ARE NOT JUST A BUNCH OF FRIENDS PLAYING A FRIENDLY GAME OF D&D ANYMORE.  They’ve built up a real business based around what they’ve been doing, and this is something they need to protect.  If it was just about THEM, about the game and the webcast at Geek & Sundry, you know they’d cut ties in a heartbeat, going back to using Pathfinder like they started out with before the release of 5E.  But there’s so much more to it for them now.

They’ve got The Legend of Vox Machina on Amazon (there’s a reason there are subtle differences between what’s happening in the show, from powers to races to the names of the gods themselves, compared to the original Campaign 1 liveplay, and thwat’s so they can get around the copyright issues in order to make the series IN THE FIRST PLACE).  They’ve got all of the offshoot merchandise, which people have to make, and a series of tie-in expansion books and games - sure, some of them have been published by Darrington Press, but there are others which were specifically made by WOTC themselves, which means their contents are trapped FRONT AND CENTRE under the conditions of the new OGL).  MOST OF ALL, though, they’ve got the show itself, hell, they’ve got the ENTIRE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY of Critical Role itself, which isn’t just run by them - they employ HUNDREDS OF OTHER PEOPLE, from their crew to evrybody working on the periphery, right down to all the jobs that were created just to help them make and distribute their tie-in games and merchandise.  That’s a hell of a consideration.

If they piss off WOTC by coming right out and saying what I’m sure they REALLY WANT TO about this, that could put them in a really bad position given that D&D Byond is one of their major sponsors, they’re using the 5E platform and intelectual materials to put this together in the first place, and some key parts of their own material are now, thanks to this new OGL, technically THE INTELECTUAL PROPERTY of WOTC now too.  They can’t just drop D&D Beyond as a sponsor and wash their hands, they’re pretty STUCK right now.

So yeah, they’re being cautious about what they’re actually saying here, so it sounds like they’re trying to appease BOTH SIDES of the argument.  Because they REALLY ARE.  They have NO CHOICE.  It’s clear enough if you actually PAY ATTENTION and read between the lines here that what they’re saying to WOTC is purely to put them at ease, there’s birtually no real SINCERITY in their words, but when they’re talking to the community at large, the ones who are being GENUINELY HURT by this new situation, they’re thoroughly commiserating with them, entirely trying to prop them up, their sincerity HERE is COMPLETELY REAL.  They love us, they’ve made it abundently clear OVER AND OVER AGAIN already, and they don’t want to fuck us over about this.

Look at it this way - look at this in eighteen or so months’ time, when the current campaign comes to an end and they have cart blanche to do whatever they want when it comes to Campaign 4.  If you ask me, they’ll jump ship entirely, go to one of the other gameplay systems or even create their own (they might even do it SOONER if Matt can come up with something himself while Campaign 3′s still happening), and when they come back to Exandria (or maybe even a completely new setting, which I think MIGHT BE more likely, even if it does mean saying goodbye to the possibility of tying in with the previous campaigns going forward) there will be some MAJOR SHAKE-UPS where they no longer have to pay ANY lip-service at all to WOTC’s properties.  Hell, if there’s any way they can use a little legal grease to try and wrangle Exandria and Stuff out from under WOTC’s grip while they’re at it I’ve no doubt they’ll try, although I’m a good deal LESS confident about THAT.

Just remember, these guys are on OUR SIDE.  They’re in a really impossible situation right now, and they have NO IDEA how this is actually going to turn out so they are JUST AS SCARED AS US right now, but they’ve got A WHOLE LOT to lose if it all goes proper south on ‘em.  So just think about THAT before you start badmouthing Matt, Marisha, Travis, Laura, Ashley, Taliesin, Liam and Sam about trying to play the middle or delivering a “milquetoast” statement.  This really is THE BEST they can do right now ...

[age-of-greta]

The Moon

The Moon represents illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.

Author’s note: hi!! Welcome to the last part of The Moon, the epilogue. I hope you have loved this fic as much as I did. Thank you all for following along. With that being said, I am working on a new fic (where my Josh girls at?)! Originally I planned to start it at the end of next month, but upon further reflection I might postpone it because… I am working on a very spooky Halloween series!! I plan to release one special a week in October. So stay tuned for that!! Again, THANK YOU & enjoy The Moon <3

Paring: Sam x reader & Jake x reader

Warnings: adult content, cursing, alcohol consumption, fluffffffff, maybe slight angst?

Word count: 4.3k

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER:

“Shit! Sam, can you check the oven?” You yell down the hall, still grasping for the zipper on your sundress.

“Got it out five minutes ago my love! All is well here I promise!” Sam yelled back from the kitchen.

You took a deep breath. Thank god. You had been running around all day like a chicken with your head cut off; cooking, cleaning. Now you have to make yourself presentable in twenty minutes or less. Well, that was when they were supposed to be here anyway. Realistically, you knew it would be at least thirty to forty five minutes before someone walked through that door. It was your housewarming party, sort of. You and Sam had moved into your own house in Nashville around three weeks ago. As much as you tried and worked, things still weren’t fully unpacked. Moving was dirty work, it was even harder when Sam would pause from unpacking to “christen” a new room. As stressful as it was, it had been blissful. Except now you were all sorts of stressed. When you had planned this party surely you thought everything would be in order and decorated. That wasn’t the case. Sure, some of it was. The kitchen was in okay shape and the living room. Yours and Sam’s bedroom was okay too, it was really the spare rooms and basement that was a disaster. All of that swam through your mind, but your biggest enemy today was this goddamn zipper on your dress. It wouldn’t budge.

“Motherfuck.” You spat. Then, you heard laughing in the hallway.

“Need some help?” Sam said, leaned against the door frame with an amused look.

You gave him a glare and nodded. He scooped your hair to the size and ran his hands over your back, grabbing the zipper and tugging at it with ease.

“There.” He said, looking at you.

You were wearing a pink linen sundress, it was sort of short, but it complimented your body and tan gracefully. It was a square neckline with fun ruffled sleeves. You had crimped your hair and pulled some of it back in a golden butterfly clip. You wore a gaggle of gold necklaces and a medium sized pair of hoops. Your makeup was dewy and glowy, with your eyebrows brushed ever so slightly up. You felt pretty. Genuinely pretty. Sam must have thought so too, as you could see the way he was looking at you in the mirror.

“You smell good.” He said, as he spun you around and placed his hands around your waist.

“Thank you Sammy.” You said, beaming a smile up at him.

He smirked at that familiar nickname and pecked a kiss at your neck.

You giggled. “It’s almost five and I have so much to do!”

“Relax.” Sam said, still kissing up and down your neck while his hands roamed. “I got the cheese board out of the fridge, the green beans are in the crockpot, pasta salad in the fridge, and the fish is in the oven on warm. Besides, they're always late anyway.”

You start to give in, you’re always putty in his hands.

Then the doorbell rings.

“Goddamnit.” Sam says, tearing his face away from you. “Really? The one time they’re actually on time?”

You laughed and pressed your forehead to his.

“Get the door. We can finish this later.” You said with a smile.

He kissed your nose. “Yes ma’am.”

Then he’s off and you're cleaning your appearance up. He didn’t do too much damage, thankfully. You exit the room and walk down the hallway with your woven platforms thudding against the hardwoods. You see that familiar black curly hair and smile big.

“Hi cousin, welcome to our home!” You say.

He smiles back and wraps you in a hug.

“So this is the harlot’s den that stole my best friend and roommate from me?” Danny jokes.

You roll your eyes while Sam chuckles.

“Just you?” You ask.

Danny laughs. “Yeah what do you think? I thought I’d come by early and help a bit.”

“Early?” You say furrowing your brows. “Danny it’s 5:03. Everyone was supposed to be here at 5.”

“And yet here I am, the only one here. I would say that constitutes as early.”

You groan a laugh. “Okay fine. Sam, can you give him a tour?”

**

It had in fact been 45 minutes until that doorbell rang. In that time Sam had given Danny a whole tour, had a few beers, then started eating the fruit off of the fruit pie you had made. You figured the next to arrive would be Jake- and he was bringing his girlfriend. When you heard Josh’s boisterous voice from the other room you smiled and headed out of the kitchen.

Standing in your doorway was Josh with a bottle of wine with an obnoxious red bow. But next to him was Jake, his sunglasses still on, and his girlfriend with a plate wrapped in tin foil in her hands.

You swallow before speaking. “Well nice of you to join us!” You say, making your presence known.

“My apologies for being late, my lady.” Josh says, handing you the bottle of wine and pecking your cheek.

“You’re forgiven, but only because you brought wine.”

“Hi, Jake.” You lean in giving him a light partial hug.

“Birdie.” He retorts lightly tapping your back.

“Gwen!” You exclaim, pulling her into a hug.

She hugs you back. “Sorry we’re late. Jake didn’t turn the oven on before he popped these in.”

She unwraps the plate and displays an array of cookies. Gwen was always well intentioned, but her cooking skills were awful. You couldn’t help but think that Jake may have intentionally turned off the oven.

You chuckle at her. “Sounds like him. Wanna come pop these in the kitchen with me?”

“You bet.” She says, offering a smile.

Gwen and Jake had been dating for about three months now. You liked her, you really did. She was very kind, a little soft spoken, and she was pretty. One night Josh drunkenly leaned over and said: “You know she kinda looks like you.” This caused Sam to grip your thigh a little tighter, but you brushed it off. If you were being honest, she did resemble you slightly. Except your style was a little more refined or extra if you will. Gwen loved the basics and she could effortlessly pull it off. Perhaps that’s why Jake was attracted to her. You didn’t think Gwen knew anything about history with you and Jake. Why would he tell her? If she did know, she didn’t seem too concerned with it. She was always kind to you. You couldn’t help but like her, but personality-wise you two would never be beyond surface level friends and that was okay.

“Where do you want these?” Gwen scanned the room for empty counter space.

“You can put them on the stove, it’s not on. Thank you for making them by the way, you didn’t have to do that.”

She waved her hand at you. “Happy to. I love this kitchen by the way. Your style is so eclectic.”

You laughed. “Thank you. Wanna grab the guys and start the grand tour?”

You two made your way back to the group making small talk on the way there. You took your place next to Sam, who absentmindedly wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Birdie, where’s Margo?” Josh asked, furrowing his brows slightly.

“Florida. She got called into a travel meeting yesterday. She was upset about it to say the least.”

Josh groaned. “Oh boo.”

“Tell me about it.” You replied.

Josh and Margo were… friends? They hung out randomly it seemed. You didn’t believe anything romantic had popped up, but truthfully you didn’t fully know. They seemed like the opposite version of the other but also somehow the same. But in group settings you could find them side by side joking and cackling in a corner somewhere.

“Alright!” Sam exclaimed with a clap. “Ladies and gentlemen prepare yourselves for a once in a lifetime tour this evening where your tour guides will show you every square inch of this lavish home. Except for the basement, because all of the weird sex shit is down there and my partner here gave us a red flag for that part.”

You scoffed and lightly smacked his chest. “Oh my god that’s enough beer for Sam tonight. Our basement is still a disaster right now, but next event I promise it will be open to the public.”

“So you need time to clear out all the weird sex shit?” Danny asks, in an amused tone.

You huff and roll your eyes. “Okay right this way everybody.”

**

After the tour had come to a natural conclusion everyone was sipping beers on the back porch.

“This is where we’re going to put a pool in.” Sam announces, talking with his hands.

You look at Gwen and smile. “So what did you think?”

“It’s really nice. I can’t wait to see it once you get everything finished. You should come by and decorate their house.” She says, nudging Jake.

He offers her a small smile and nods in return.

“I actually sort of did for a few days when they moved in last year. It was absolutely hectic.”

She chuckles. “With this group? Never.”

You felt as if you needed to keep the conversation progressing. “I really like your jumpsuit. Where did you get it?”

She was wearing a navy sleeveless jumpsuit and sandals with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, a few whispys framing her face, and pearls on her ears. She looked cute, sort of nautical.

“Ah, thanks. It’s from Nordstrom Rack I think? But I mean look at you. You look and smell like a birthday cake.”

You laugh at that. “A birthday cake? That’s a new one.”

“She’s just as sweet as birthday cake too.” Sam smirks, putting his fingers in his mouth and pretending to lick them clean as a lewd gesture.

Your cheeks turn pink. “Jesus Christ okay seriously no more beer for you Sam.”

Gwen laughs with no thought behind it as Jake looks off in the backyard.

Sam didn’t typically act this way, but you assumed he was taking a chance to say something like that in front of Jake. Almost as a reminder. He never brought up what happened, but you could tell sometimes he still felt some way about it. You couldn’t say you blamed him.

“I’m going to cut up some more fruit to top the pie with.” You say excusing yourself away. “Danny, no more beer for this one.” You point at Sam.

He laughs and salutes you as you walk inside.

Once back in the kitchen you take a breather and pour yourself a small glass of wine while grabbing the fruit, cutting boards, and a knife. You take a sip and begin washing the produce. You hum absentmindedly as the water runs. Once washed you begin to dry the fruit and start to chop up some strawberries. Then you cut up pineapple and decide to clean up the mess before you get to your last fruit.

“Wine?” A voice pops up from behind you.

You jump, slightly startled. Then you see Jake standing in the doorway with his hand up on the frame. His sunglasses are finally off and he has a beer in his other hand.

You huff a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Just something to take the edge off I suppose.”

He steps closer towards you. “Want any help?”

You shake your head and look back to the fruit. “I think I’m good. I just need to cut the kiwis now.”

You begin placing the sliced strawberries and pineapple on the top of the pie.

“Nonsense. I’ll cut these up for you.”

You both reach for the kiwis at the same time and your hands touch, grazing by one another. You look over and Jake’s eyes are staring back into yours. Silence. Mere seconds have passed and you feel as if it’s been forever.

“Hey Jake they’re playing cornhole if you wanna-“ Gwen states stepping into this kitchen. “Oh sorry if you’re helping I can just partner with Josh.”

You rip your eyes away from Jake and shake your head. “No, no. Go play Jake. I’ve got it from here.”

You can see in your peripheral he glances back down at you. “Okay yeah. Let’s go.”

Then he leaves the kitchen and grabs Gwen’s hand wrapping it in his.

You chug the rest of your wine and cut the kiwis.

**

“Fuck that was so good.” Josh states, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah it really was. You two could call yourselves chefs.” Gwen says, taking a sip of her water.

You and Sam laugh simultaneously.

“What? Did you poison us or something?” Josh asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Something like that.” Sam starts. “The fish filets? They’re plant based. We’re full veg now baby.”

Sam wraps his arm around you as you continue to giggle at his antics.

“Oh son of a bitch. You two have somehow now become more annoying.” Danny teases.

“I mean what a better opportunity to make this announcement than at a dinner party where you actually enjoyed your vegetarian food?” You ask, lifting your wine glass off of the table.

“I think I would rather have been poisoned.” Josh jokes.

You all laugh at that.

“I think I’m going to grab some pie. Anyone want some?”

Jake asks, starting to get up.

Everyone raises their hand.

“Well shit let me just go put on my butler uniform and I’ll get to work on bringing that out for you all.”

Gwen laughs. “I’ll get a bell for you babe!”

You tip your wine glass towards her and nod. “Now that is a good idea.”

She lets out a laugh and inches closer to you. “Right? He’s been so weird today, it’s good to see him smile. I think he’s just tired, they were in the studio last night.”

You force a smile. “Oh definitely. They might as well take overnight bags when they go.”

Except, they weren’t in the studio last night. Sam was at home with you and you knew Danny went ax throwing. It was seldom Jake or Josh went without the other two, especially since they had their own studio in their house. You tried not to read into that too much.

Jake returned a few minutes later with the pie cut and portioned. He plopped a slice down on everyone’s plate. You all ate with an array of small talk bouncing around the table. When you were finished Josh and Danny did the dishes and cleaned up while you and Sam had gotten the fire pit going outside. Jake had grabbed one of Sam’s guitars and was sitting by tuning it. Gwen stared at him in awe, you remember those days.

But your head was glued on Sam. Watching him try to light some fancy logs you two had bought as he cursed under his breath. A smile curled up on your lips and a light laugh left you. Sam turned around and beamed a smile at you. “Hush.”

You threw your hands up in defense. Finally, he got it to light. Then everyone gathered around the campfire while Jake softly strummed. You laid your head on Sam’s shoulder while he held your legs. He smelled so good, just like himself. You swear you would turn his scent into a candle if given the opportunity.

Josh and Gwen were talking about something in depth while Danny entertained Sam. There were a few bottles of wine that were brought out, so everyone poured a glass. Sam took the light sweet liquid and brought it to his lips, softly humming and running his thumbs over your skin. He glanced down at you and gave you a wink as you grinned back at him.

You were so in love and you felt so at peace. Surrounded by the people you love the most: your friends, your soulmate, your family.

**

THREE YEARS LATER:

Wedding planning was a bitch. You shut your laptop and groaned. If you got on Pinterest one more time you might have thrown up.

“Hey it’s okay. I don’t care what anything looks like. All that matters is that it’s you and me up there.” Sam offers in a kind voice. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

You sighed. “I know Sam, it’s just so fucking stressful. I thought us having a tiny wedding would be easy. I stand corrected.”

Sam chuckled and placed a teabag in a mug. “Baby nothing with me is ever going to be easy.”

That brought a smile to your face. “I know. That’s why I’m marrying you.”

He placed your tea down next to you and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Just a few short weeks and you’ll be mine forever.”

“I already am.” You remind him with a grin.

**

The day had arrived. It was hectic to say the least, but you and Sam had spent last night together cuddled up in bed discussing how no matter what everything would be perfect. You were all back in Michigan, choosing to get married at a lake house you had been to as kids. It was secluded and beautiful. There weren’t many people invited to your wedding and you and Sam had chosen to skip the groomsmen/bridesmaids aspect. Per tradition, you hadn’t seen Sam all day, but you could hear him. He was getting ready on the third floor while you were on the second floor. You could hear him pacing about and raising his voice at his brothers. It made you giggle. He was nervous, as if you would ever say no.

“Makeup and hair is here. You ready?” Margo asks you.

You smile and nod. “Send them in.”

You were about to begin your getting ready process. You had already had various hair treatments done, your teeth whitened, nails done, toes done, spray tan, you had even gotten a special facial (not from Sam). All that was left was makeup, hair, jewelry, then dress. The dress of your dreams. It was just a plain and simple white silk dress that hugged your body perfectly. The train was rather small and you opted out of a veil. Sam would be in a classic black suit, tailored specifically for him. You had seen the previews of the suit and it made your heart skip a beat. The theme of your wedding was florals. Really just purple, blue, pink, and orange wildflowers. These flowers were scattered amongst white roses on the small wooden arch and dusted around the aisle. You would be married right in front of the lake, with a small reception at the lake house after. It was simple and small, but everything you could have wanted and more.

Your hair sat in rollers while the makeup artist rolled a nude pink lip liner over your lips.

“I’m going to run something down to Josh.” Margo announced, leaving the door slightly ajar.

You gave her a nod as you heard her click down the stairs. The makeup artists continued to focus in on your lips and you stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful. Dewy plump skin, natural contour and blush, light warm smokey eye with lashes, paired with this nude pink satin lip.

“Margo hold up!” You heard your fiancé almost yell out.

“What’s wrong Sam? Getting cold feet?” She asked with a laugh.

You heard him scoff. “No. I probably have the hottest feet in the history of feet right now. I need you to please come and fix Daniel’s tie. He thinks it’s straight and it isn’t.”

You chuckled at Sam’s concern. He had tried to be the calm one about this wedding. But deep down you knew he was just as much of a perfectionist as you were. He had been there to ground you through the stress of the planning, but you had secretly heard him get snippy with his brothers on the phone when they chimed in on the wedding. He had put a lot of thought and effort into this day, but didn’t want you to stress about it.

You sat in your chair as your rollers were taken out and your hair was sprayed and teased. Truthfully, you loved the way your hair had turned out. It was full of volume and light curls. You added your gold and pearl earrings and sprayed perfume onto your hair and body. The last thing you had to do was put your dress on. You smiled as you slipped the white fabric up your body and Margo got to work on pinning.

“Oh fuck. You look so beautiful.” She said, giving a small sniffle.

Margo looked beautiful too. She was in a light green midi dress that tied in the back. Her light pink hair contrasted it perfectly.

“Stop it right now.” You say, pushing a tear away. “I’m not crying on my wedding day.” A half sob half laugh escapes your throat.

Margo wraps you in a hug and then clears her throat. “So we’re ready then?”

You nod and give her a smile.

“I’ll go rally the troops.”

Margo heads down to get everything in motion and you stare out the window at the arch and the beautiful scenery around it. There would be no more than twenty people attending, but you still felt a little nervous.

Just then you heard a knock on the door frame. You turned around to see Jake. He had an indescribable look on his face with a soft smile.

“Wow.” He breathed. “You look absolutely breathtaking. Sam is going to cry his eyes out.”

You laughed at him. “He better.”

“I just wanted to come down and say, I’m happy for you. I’m happy for you and Sammy both. It’s a beautiful day.”

You smiled brightly at him. “Thank you Jake.”

He returned the same smile. “I’ll see you down there.”

Then he’s off down the stairs filing in with everyone else.

Only one thing left to do now, and that was to get married.

**

Sam did cry; borderline sobbing. That melted your heart. The ceremony was beautiful. Your family, Josh, Danny, Jake and Gwen, Sam’s family, Margo, aunts, uncles, a few cousins, and a photographer friend were in attendance. They all followed you and Sam into the “reception.” Which was really just the large outdoor patio. Josh rigged up speakers and acted as the DJ.

“For the first time Mr. & Mrs. Kiszka!” He bellowed into the small karaoke microphone. Everyone collectively cheered. There was the first dance, a few speeches, and of course food. You had catered a vegetarian burger joint and a modest sized vanilla cake. Everything was delicious. After the champagne toast, you took a few pictures before a majority of the crowd shuffled out knowing once the alcohol began to flow things would get out of hand. You hugged your parents and family who came, promising to meet for brunch tomorrow. Then turned your attention back to Sam who was more than eager to have you to himself. He kept his hand around your waist the whole night while everyone played drinking games and danced. Gwen had gotten incredibly intoxicated as she swayed around in her lilac dress. Jake eventually had to sit her down and force water and bread onto her, before resuming his drinking activities.

Josh was pouring more tequila shots for everyone while his vape hung out of his mouth. “Gather round! Gather round! I have the nectar of the gods!”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and turned towards you. “I can’t keep my hands off of you Mrs. Kiszka.”

Sam’s eyes were a little red and he had the slightest smell of alcohol on his breath. He had been incredibly diligent with pacing himself on the extracurricular activities, as you know he wanted you both to enjoy your wedding night.

You smiled mischievously at him. “We’re married, Mr. Kiszka. You don’t have to.”

Sam reached down and scooped you up while you erupted in giggles.

“Sorry Josh! No can do! I’m taking my wife to our room. An apology fair in advance to everyone staying in this house tonight. We won’t be quiet!”

You lightly smacked his arm as he walked into the house, still carrying you. “Sam! Goodnight everyone! Thank you for coming!”

You and Sam both laughed giddy with each other. He finally got you both into your room. Then, he unzipped you out of your dress and let it fall to the floor. You had on white lace lingerie underneath and Sam gave your ass a light smack as you plopped down on the bed. He sat beside you with soft eyes.

“I can’t believe I get to call you my wife. Forever.”

You grin at him. “Forever baby. I love you.”

“I love you. You’re so beautiful. Ethereal even.”

“Don’t make me blush. Why don’t you get out of those clothes? Do a little strip for me.”

He smirks at you while starting to undress. “Your wish is my command. Happy wife, happy life right?”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Shut up and come here.”

**

The next morning you woke up next to your husband sleepy eyed and well rested. You glanced over and saw him sleeping peacefully bathed in sunlight, his arms still wrapped around you. You looked over at your ring sitting proudly on your finger and couldn’t help but smile. This was your life. He was your life. You would follow him to the ends of the Earth, and he would for you as well. You started to scoot over slightly and he subconsciously pulled you closer into him. You nuzzled into his chest, content to lay like this all morning as your breaths synched. It was a preview as to how your life would go.

You and Sam, moving together fluidly as one.

Forever.

***

Fin

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: death, trafficking references, slavery (Kerch indenture system), injuries, broken bones, blood, violence, implied violence, abuse, ptsd, implied child abuse, loss of loved ones, grief, dehumanisation, imprisonment, misogyny, implied sexual assault (there isn't a scene focusing on the event itself and what happened isn't explicitly stated but it's very strongly implied that the character experienced this during the course of this chapter), dead bodies, murder, non-consensual drug use, choking/airway trauma, child abuse, separation from home & family

Note: You guys... this is over 8000 words long... it was not originally suppsoed to be this long but I love Anya so much I just looked up at some point like 'oh damn, whoops'. Other than it being so ridiculously longer than all the other chapters I really hope that you enjoy this, I am honestly so happy with it I'm so excited to be able to share it!!! I do, however, want to say please read through the content warnings, because this chapter is pretty dark <3 Thank you all so much for reading!!!!!!!!

AO3 link

Interlude - Anya

The end of Anya’s life was characterised by knocks on doors. So mundane. So simple. 

The first one came at the Van Eck house. Joras wasn’t long back from a voyage with one of Van Eck’s shipments, as a Squaller he travelled with most of the trade ships to call winds or calm the skies whenever necessary, and had caught a bad break to two of his fingers during the journey. 

“What did you do this time?” Anya asked, shaking her head, letting gentle humour lilt in her voice, as she gestured for him to sit down with her. 

Joras insisted he had got his hand trapped between the boom and the thwart, which meant nothing to Anya because she didn’t know the parts of a boat - and that meant she couldn’t be certain whether or not the story added up, because she didn’t know how booms or thwarts worked. She felt suspicious as she eased Joras’ hand into hers, but she said nothing. It wasn’t too difficult an injury to fix; Anya traced her fingertips lightly over the broken bones and shifted them back into place, the dark bruising shrinking beneath her touch, the quick cracking sound of his bones filling the air between them and then dissipating just as quickly. Joras flexed his fingers in and out of his fist, then pulled a sharp arc through the air so a brief gust of wind flew through the workshop. Anya laughed as her hair lifted briefly up off her shoulders and then resettled. 

“Perfect,” he smiled, “As always,”

“You just do that because you like to hear me laugh,”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to hear such a beautiful sound?”

Anya liked Joras - enough that she didn’t mind his flirting, and might even reciprocate from time to time - but theirs was a difficult friendship to maintain. So frequently he vanished, and for so long, and so often he came back injured. For the past year or so the two of them had been the only Grisha indentured at the Van Eck house, and so much of Anya’s time was spent alone trying not to go mad in the confines of the workshop. Wylan would often sneak to see her, when he could; on early mornings, or when his father was out or busy with other occupations. 

She’d once told him, when they were alone in the workshop, that sometimes she thought she wouldn’t mind kissing Joras. More to fill a silence than anything else, not that it was a lie but just that she couldn’t think of anything else to say, but Wylan had burst out laughing and Anya wasn’t sure she’d ever been happier to see him smile. She still threw one of her grapes at him in mock offence, though. 

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry,” he managed, still laughing, as he picked up the grape and threw it back at her, “You just took me by surprise,”

A moment passed. 

“So… Joras?”

“Oh, leave me alone,”

“You brought it up!” Wylan cried, laughing again, before suddenly wincing and glancing at the door as he lowered his voice, “Why don’t you just ask him?”

Anya raised her eyebrows. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could spontaneously combust,” she said, restraining a giggle, “Or… I don’t know, accidentally kill him or something,”

Wylan laughed again, pressing one hand over his mouth to try and muffle the sound.

As Joras looked at her now, somehow she knew that he genuinely meant that he enjoyed her laugh, that even though the sound was a silly, fun-filled shriek and not the pretty drifting and tinkling of bells, that he thought it was beautiful. She stared back into his eyes for a minute, eyes that so calmly settled on her as though they had never wanted to be anywhere else but here, the dark moss of a forest floor containing a thousand beautiful secrets that Anya wanted to learn. 

“What?” he smiled, a little nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Anya shrugged. 

“Just you,”

“Oh? You like what you see?”

“I might,” 

Joras’ smile changed ever so slightly, something sparkling on the edge of those dark green eyes. 

“And if I said-”

A banging sounded against the door, and Anya collapsed back into her chair like a deflated balloon as Joras turned his head towards the sound. It would either be Wylan or Paige, one of the younger maids in the house; no-one else ever knocked. 

“Come in,”

The door crept open and Paige leaned cautiously around its edge, looking suspiciously like her nervous smile was trying to hide something. She greeted Joras quietly, her focus clearly elsewhere, before turning towards Anya. 

“Mister Van Eck would like to see you in the main house,” she said softly, “He said to Tailor Wylan’s scars,”

Anya frowned, feeling her guard raising inside her. There was a schedule for Tailoring Wylan’s scars, and she shouldn’t be needed until next week. But she nodded anyway, stood and walked to the door, catching a final glance at Joras over her shoulder as she left. He looked worried. She tried to give him as reassuring a smile as she could manage. 

Paige led Anya to the living room door and then knocked, and when they were called inside a moment later Anya was once again set to alarm when she realised that it was not Wylan’s voice she could hear, but Jan Van Eck’s. They would not be able to have much conversation, then, if he intended to hover over them like a hawk. She bit her lip, something anxious seeping through her chest, and followed the maid inside.

Wylan wasn’t there.

The door banged shut behind Anya and she whirled instinctively, fighting the urge to duck and pull her hands over her ears, to see that Paige had disappeared. She turned back with about as much politeness and dignity as she could muster, to find herself faced by Jan Van Eck, with two of his guards either side of him, and a man she didn’t know. He must have been a similar age to Van Eck, maybe a little older but it was hard to say, and wore the same mercher black, an expensive looking tie pin, a thick, gold wedding band, and shoes so well shined that when she dipped her gaze Anya could see her own frightened reflection staring back up at her. 

“Mister Van Eck,” she managed a polite smile, lowering her head in the customary Kerch bow, “I was expecting that your son-”

“Wylan will not be joining us today,” his voice was cold and as the words rushed over her, Anya’s blood seemed to shiver into matching its temperature, “Well?”

It took Anya a moment to realise that he was no longer addressing her, but the stranger at his side. He looked her up and down, like he was surveying a painting in a gallery or a cut of meat on a market stall, and then shrugged. 

“Agreeable terms,” he replied, before holding his hand out towards Van Eck, “The deal is the deal,”

“The deal is the deal,”

They shook. Anya stood there, blinking, as the stranger marched straight past her and out of the door as though she weren’t even there. 

“By tomorrow morning,” he said over his shoulder, “If that’s possible,”

“Of course,” Van Eck nodded, “As soon as possible,”

Anya didn’t understand. She watched the door close again, fidgeted with the sleeve of her kefta, waited until she thought it was appropriate to venture:

“Sir, I’m sorry, I do not-”

She cut off in a gasp as Van Eck grabbed her shoulder, shoving her almost onto the floor as he hissed into her ear so the guards could not hear him. 

“I know what you did, you little wretch. I should sell you into a whorehouse on East Stave for pulling a stunt like that,” he spun her round to face him with almost embarrassing ease, his hand was bigger than her entire shoulder, and a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face as he pushed her towards the door and said: “But luckily for you, Councilman Hoede offered a far more favourable price,”

For a moment Anya barely registered what was happening, could do nothing but search her mind for what she could have possibly done. 

“Rest assured,” he continued, “you will never get anywhere near my son again,”

Anya stumbled. Wylan. He knew that she’d been helping Wylan. 

And now she was going to leave him here, in this house, they were going to take her away and who would be here for-

“Wylan!” she shouted, because surely, surely, he had to be here somewhere, he had to hear her, he had to know, she had to warn him, “Wylan!”

She didn’t know where she found the strength to break free, but the next thing she knew she’d wrestled away from Van Eck’s grasp and was running into the hallway, screaming Wylan’s name up the staircase. The guards were, of course, on top of her in seconds.

She was on the second step of the stairs when they grabbed her; a hand under her shoulder, on her waist, an arm wrapping around her middle and dragging her backwards. 

“Wylan!” she tried again

Please hear me.

“Wylan!”

“Wylan is at university,” said Van Eck coolly, watching her from across the hallway with his arms folded across his chest, “And if you have no intentions of calming yourself-”

“Babink,” she snarled at him, trying to push forwards through the guards’ hold on her, ignoring the stunned looks on the faces of servants hovering nervously in doorways, “You do not deserve a son like him, you do not deserve the ground that he walks on,”

Never had she spoken like this before, not to him, not to anyone. It might have been her only chance to ever do so. Might as well lean into it. 

She spat and snarled every word that she could think of, every possible name that she could call this man, fighting uselessly against the iron grip of the guards pinning her in place. Van Eck just stood and watched her, almost with mild amusement, like a parent waiting for their toddler to tire themselves out instead of succumbing to their tantrum. She paused for breath, which felt heavy and constricted in her chest, and Van Eck studied his fingernails. 

“Are you quite done?”

“Nothing would ever be enough to be finished with you,” she hissed, still trying to step forwards against her restraints, but she had to admit that she was running out of Kerch words to say.

She resorted back to babink, sure that he would understand its meaning well enough, and he just gave a long, low sigh. 

“Knock her out,”

“I could kill you!” she shouted, hurling herself forwards and almost tumbling straight onto the floor with her own momentum as her wrists fell free. It wasn’t true, of course, she wasn’t even sure she could’ve done it if she’d tried. But it felt good to say it, to scream it, “I could kill you for what you did to him!”

Van Eck’s hand landed on her shoulder, tight and painful, and then the guards were on her again and she was being forced towards the ground. 

“If that is at all true, Anya,” he said, leaning down like he was speaking to a very small child, “then you have missed your chance,”

Pain exploded on the side of Anya’s skull, and everything went dark. She dreamed of Ravka. She woke up in chains. 

Waking up came, at first, hand in hand with a strange sense of confusion for her surroundings. Her mind quickly lost its grip on the image of home that she’d been lost in, replaced by tall walls and dark, austere wood panelling beneath wallpaper that told the stories of somebody else’s god; at first she thought she knew where she was, a small storage closet off a service corridor at the back of the Van Eck house that moved from the Grisha workshop to the servants’ staircase and above. This room was the right size, had the right panelling, had the same basic shelving units at her back and neatly folded piles of linens - but she was facing the wrong way, she realised, because sitting like this should mean the door was behind her and instead she was staring at it dead on; the door, also, bore no brass hook on its back but instead there was a slender hat rack at its side, empty of property but for a red kefta draped over one of its pegs like the skin of a dead animal yet to be transformed into a coat for sale. Her red kefta, with the white embroidery and the loose stitching along the cuff where she’d caught it on a nail protruding from the top of the table. She could see the little rip from here, the broken red and white threads curling over each other and hanging frozen in the air. It reminded her that this was not, in fact, her kefta, not really, that such damage would never have so easily occurred upon the fabric of the real thing; this was a Kerch kefta, a false impression of something that was supposed to mean so much more than it, and Anya did not own it. Anya did not own anything. If she’d moved to pick up the costume now she would have felt fabric practically ready to break between her fingers, seams set to burst with the pressure of quick movement, a practically translucent weave, a red ribbon pinned to the lapel - nothing about it built for battle. But she didn’t do that, couldn’t in fact, because there was another thing wrong with this room: Anya was chained to a chair. 

This hadn’t particularly surprised her, it hadn’t been the first thing to alert her something was amiss, and it definitely wasn’t the first time she’d woken up like this during her time in Ketterdam. But it was the realisation that she did not know where she was that made the panic grip her; the foreboding sense that this was new, this was different, and that meant she didn’t know what was going to happen next. 

She didn’t know how much time passed before the door clicked and groaned its way open, but it must have been at least an hour. Footsteps had sounded down the corridor more than once and Anya had braced for the appearance of a stranger, but none had come. This time, though, the footsteps had been different - one in command, expensive shoes and a confident stride, another more nervously obedient scurrying afterwards, and two more in almost perfect time with each other. Someone important, with a servant and two guards. She was sure of it. Whoever was keeping her here, they were coming to collect. 

Anya had quite easily readied herself for the arrival. Her hands were bound tightly to each arm of the chair but she didn’t need her Grisha power to summon tears, she was well-practised at calling for them on cue. With cheeks wet and eyes still brimming, she lowered her face towards her chest and waited for the door to open. Look weak. Look frightened. Look willing. Look quiet. 

It was one of the guards who opened the door. The lock giving way to his key with a loud clunk that slightly surprised Anya - Van Eck rarely bothered with a lock if she was already in chains; he knew well enough she would not get anywhere - and in he stepped, harsh face peering over her and beady eyes flitting over the room. Anya looked up slowly, sniffing through her fake tears, blinking both to adjust to the sudden stream of light pouring through the open door and because she knew that more droplets of water would roll prettily down her cheeks as she did so. She let a breath catch in her throat as her eyes met the guard’s, pleading silently until he turned away and stood to attention with his side towards the door. 

Her captor stepped inside, and immediately Anya clicked the pieces together. It was the same man she’d seen at the Van Eck house, with his slowly roaming eyes and fingers that twitched briefly towards his wedding ring before falling still. She’d first thought him to be closer in age to Jan Van Eck but perhaps the lighting here was less flattering. She would guess he was at least in his early fifties, and he was as obviously prosperous as he had looked at their brief earlier encounter; dressed in fine mercher black with a large, dark blue stone glinting in his tie pin. 

Luckily for you, Councilman Hoede offered a far more favourable price.

So this was it, was it? This was all that her desperate fighting had gotten her. A house farther down the same road, new people to learn, new rules to follow, new threats to contend with. No chance of moving any further. No chance of helping Wylan. 

She was still on the same fucking street. And all of it was over. 

Hoede was followed in by a servant but the other guard remained outside the door, perhaps in case she started shouting again or tried to get out. They obviously knew everything she’d done in her final moments at the Van Eck house. 

“Anya?” asked Hoede, not that it particularly sounded like any kind of question of introduction, studying the tears of her cheeks with what she, grimly and yet victoriously, thought might have been satisfaction, “I am glad to see you have awoken,”

I’m sure you are. What a waste of money it would be if I’d dropped dead on my way here. 

“I am Councilman Hoede and, as you should know, I purchased your indenture just recently,”

Anya nodded, slowly, then attempted a halting, nervous: 

“Yes, sir,”

Hoede gave a single, sharp nod, still surveying her. 

“Well before we can take this agreement any further,” he said, as if she was agreeing to anything here, “we need to discuss what happened yesterday,”

Yesterday? How long had she been unconscious? What had they done to her? 

“I am very sorry, sir,” she said, emphasising her accent ever so slightly, “I was frightened, I did not understand what was happening and I panicked,”

“That’s very understandable,” Hoede nodded, “It is not uncommon for those like yourself to be prone to such hysterics, I know, but you must learn to keep them under control,”

“Of course, sir,” she managed, through gritted teeth. 

“Are you calm enough now that we can remove your bonds? You will be sensible?”

“Yes, sir,” Anya bit the inside of her lip, hard, “Thank you,”

Hoede regarded her for a moment longer, then snapped his fingers towards the boy at his side. He was maybe twenty or a little more, Zemeni born but with no hint of an accent in the few words she’d overheard him sharing with Hoede as they walked down the hallway, slender and neatly fitted together like his joints had been intentionally snapped into place. He smiled at her and Anya felt the skin on her arms turn colder even though there was no breeze in the room. Why would he look at her like that? What did he want from her?

“Show her to the Grisha workshop,” Hoede told him, “But know that I will keep a close eye on you, young lady, and misbehaviour shall not be tolerated,”

And then the door had banged shut and he was gone. The guard followed him out, and the pair was alone. Anya swallowed tightly as the servant knelt at her feet to first free her ankles, and then her wrists. 

“I’m sorry about him,” he said, softly, “But I promise, it’s not too bad here,”

She resisted the urge to huff in reply; servant he may be, and his seeming dislike of Hoede may not be false, but he had more power than her here and she would not risk taking the bait in a cruel plan. If she had learned nothing else of this country, she had at least learned that everyone always had an ulterior motive. 

“What’s your name?”

“Anya,”

“Good to meet you, Anya. I’m Ori,”

She said nothing.

“I’m told you were brought from Councilman Van Eck’s house?” he asked, almost cheerily, as he unwound the chains from around the chair leg. 

“Bought,” she corrected, distantly, as though it were a simple matter of grammar. 

“I met his son once,” Ori continued, as though she had not spoken, and though it seemed he would have gone on, Anya lurched forwards and grabbed his shoulder before he could utter another word, fire in her chest. 

“Wylan?” she whispered, forgetting any hopes of keeping herself away from traps or tricks, forgetting any sensible need to hide her secrets, “You’ve seen him? Is he-?”

“Y-years ago,” the boy stammered in surprise, leaning away from her, “When he was a child,” 

Anya dropped away from him, breaths shuddering through her chest, nodding and lowering her gaze apologetically. 

“Excuse me,” she dared to murmur, “I… I do not know what came over me,”

Ori glanced at her for a moment, then his easy smile returned and he offered her a hand to get to her feet. 

“You are close with him? Wylan?” he asked, either ignoring or not noticing how nervously Anya accepted his outstretched hand.

How was she supposed to answer this without wading into dangerous territory? She had acted rashly, without thought, and now she was going to have to face the consequences. 

“He is kind,” was all she dared to murmur. 

There were two other Grisha in the workshop here; a Fabrikator named Yuri, a couple of years older than Anya, and Retvenko, a Squaller some good amount of years older than either of them who’d been at the house ever since the Ravkan Civil War. When Anya stepped over the threshold that first day they both looked up, then at each other, some kind of secret language passing between their silent eyes. As soon as Ori had introduced them to each other he left, and Retvenko beckoned Anya toward him to issue her a warning. She listened, terrified, promising herself she would be careful. But, of course, that didn’t make a difference. It took about a month. 

They both knew, afterwards, when she crept to the workshop like a frightened mouse and spent the entire day in silence, studying the ground, trying to keep herself from crying. Yuri watched her over the top of his work, and she felt like she was going to catch alight beneath his gaze. Retvenko did her the small blessing of ignoring her, but for passing her a glass of water when they paused for lunch. 

“At least drink,”

Anya said nothing. When the pair returned she had not moved an inch from where she sat, had not touched the glass. Yuri held out a piece of fruit towards her and suddenly a dam burst inside her; the tears flooded out of her from despair and pain and sorrow and from being so overwhelmed by this simple, tiny act of kindness. Sobs burned like fire in her throat, the tears felt like acid on her cheeks. She was vaguely aware of Retvenko calling for a maid, of words passing between lips, of being shepherded out of the workshop and up the servants’ staircase to her little room. They claimed that she was ill, and she got three days alone, shivering in her room, to stitch the pieces of herself back together. It was lucky timing, if you could call it that; Hoede’s wife returned from her break to the countryside that week and remained at the house for a full five months. For a full five months, nothing happened. 

*

“May I ask why you're here?” said Anya, offering a chair to the boy who had just been led into the Grisha workshop. 

He looked too young to wear the purple stadwatch uniform he was clad in, but she guessed he must be just a year younger than her. There was a nasty bruise under his eye, dark purple and blue, that Hoede wanted her to clear up for him. 

“It’s my new post - well, first post, really,” he said, as he sat down, “I’m staying here for a while, I think; they want extra security at the Councillmen’s houses because of what happened to the Zemeni Trade Ambassador,”

“We should be introduced properly then,” she nodded, “If we are to know each other for some time. I am Anya,”

“Joost,”

“Good to meet you, Joost,” she stood slightly to lean over him as she reached out to Heal his bruise, “This will itch for a moment, but then it will be fine,”

Anya didn’t smile much these days. There were too many things going on inside her head for that. It was barely a month since they told her that Wylan… 

No, Anya didn’t smile much at all these days. But when Joost looked up at her with those wide, pale blue eyes, something tugged at the corners of her mouth. He’s clearly never experienced Grisha power before, and the awe in his expression made him look so innocent that she couldn’t help it. She smiled, just a little, to see that innocence still existed somewhere. And so close by. 

It had only been after about a week of living at the Hoede house that the Councilman asked her about Wylan. That boy, Ori, must have told him. Anya seethed - more for her own foolishness than for him reporting on her; she should have known that he’d do it. That he may have had no choice but to do so. 

“Perhaps, Anya,” Hoede had said, “if we don’t have any problems, it would be possible to arrange some time for you to see him again,”

“Really?” she’d whispered, looking up, in spite of herself. 

She tried to reel it back but it was too late. Hoede had heard the desperation in her voice, seen it in her eyes. He knew he’d got her. He smiled. 

It wasn’t true, was it? She knew that, really, of course she did. Even if Hoede wasn’t outright lying to her, Van Eck would never allow it. 

“It may be possible. Can we agree that if the next month passes without issue you will be happy to write to him?”

“He-”

“I’m aware of the child’s lack of sight,” Hoede waved a vague hand, “I am sure someone would be able to read it to him, and that he could transcribe a reply. Would you like that? Do we have a deal?”

It didn’t matter that she knew, somewhere inside of her, that this was a front, a trap, a lie. It didn’t matter if it was just a dream. Because he’d found her lever anyway, and Anya nodded even though she knew that she probably shouldn’t. 

“We have a deal,”

And that was it, then. He had rendered her incapable of saying no. 

It was an evening not long after this that the second knock in the build up to Anya’s death came calling. The knock came on the door of her little bedroom and she was led out to the back of the house by a guard in Hoede’s green livery with no answers to her questions. The air was crisp enough to raise the hair on her arms as she padded out into the night, to see Hoede and a group of guards waiting for her. Anya was shoved roughly forwards by the meaty hand of the guard who brought her downstairs and found herself almost tripping straight over a girl lying in the grass of the garden. She was on her back, staring unblinking at the dark sky with empty eyes. There was nothing behind them anymore, there was only the reflection of the stars far above. Anya gasped. 

“What- what happened?”

“It is not of your concern,” snarled Hoede, his eyes dangerous. 

Anya took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I cannot Heal her if she is already-”

“She is dead,” said Hoede, simply, as if both of them couldn’t already see it. As if it didn’t matter, “Make it look like she was choked,”

“Why-?”

Anya’s question died with the sting of a hand across her cheek. 

“Do it,”

Shivering, though not because the night was cold, she knelt at the corpse's side and took her hand into her own. There was nothing to feel beneath the press of empty skin; no blood, no movement, nothing. But she must have died quite recently because livor mortis, where the blood pooled on the underside of the body without a heart to keep it pumping, had not yet begun. Barely an hour then, maybe less. 

The girl was young, Anya realised - at least a year younger than her, probably more. She was dressed in scant fake silks, her body lithe beneath them, her feet bare. Her skin had the golden hue of someone who’d been raised in the Southern Colonies, under a brighter sun than that of Kerch, and her brown eyes were wide and startled, more like they belonged to a doe than that they matched the leopard spots painted on her cheek and down her neck. 

Anya raised one hand to the girl’s neck, very slowly, and began to trace her fingers across the skin. With her other hand she reached out to her insides, trying to find out what had happened, and was met with the shock of water inside her lungs. Water? She had drowned? 

She traced a thumb over the girl’s pointed cheekbone as though to brush away a non-existent tear, smudging the edge of a painted leopard spot. What did they do to you? 

This couldn’t be right. The girl bore no signs of drowning; her flesh had not bloated, her skin had not discoloured. Her skin and hair were bone dry, but she couldn’t have been dead longer than an hour.

But there were too many eyes on Anya to investigate much further. Too many threats for her to dare taking much longer. She apologised silently to the stranger as she spread bruises across her throat and then, with a sharp tug through the air that sparked real tears into the corner of Anya’s eyes, crushed her windpipe. 

“What was her name?”

No-one answered her. She could hear them moving behind her but she stayed leaning over the girl anyway, brushing the hair of her face as she began to whisper a prayer. They were pulling her away before she’d got the chance to close the girl’s eyes. 

“No - no wait, please, let me-”

“Your job is done,” 

“No, please, please, let me pray for her, let me- let me-”

The guard holding her gave her a sharp shake, strong enough to rattle her teeth so they felt like they might spring right out of her jaw, and lifted Anya clear off the ground with casual ease as she continued to try and pull away. 

“No, please, please-” she tried, still scrambling uselessly towards the girl, “Please-”

She earned herself a smack on the side of the head, and finally fell silent. They held her there as two more guards collected the corpse, and Anya watched Hoede through a stream of tears as she bit her tongue to keep her pleas and questions to herself. 

“You will not breathe a word of this to anyone,” he said, looking down at her, “Understood?”

Anya breathed tightly, lowering her gaze not from fear, and definitely not from respect, but because she did not want him to see her cry. 

“Yes, Onkel,” she whispered, “Of course,”

She did as she was told.

Anya had written to Wylan at least five times since coming to this house, though a reply had never come and she knew in her heart that the letters were never sent. It was a month ago, now, that she’d dared to ask Hoede about the possibility of seeing him again. 

“I’m afraid I learned just earlier today that the boy has left the city,” he’d said, almost distracted, “to attend music school in Belendt. I assumed you knew of this - did he not write to you?”

Of course he didn’t, Hoede knew that. But Anya didn’t even care for this cruelty, because she’d stopped listening by the time he said that. Because there was not a chance that Jan Van Eck would let his son leave this city. If Wylan wasn’t in that house anymore it could only mean one thing, she knew. She felt like something was piercing her through the stomach; the moment Hoede had left, a painful sob forced its way from her throat and she fell onto her knees. Yuri’s gentle arm appeared around her shoulders and she wept into his chest, unable to articulate any of the thousand things inside her head. She didn’t need to hear anything else. 

She knew. 

She knew. 

But, somehow, once Joost had drawn that smile out of her, it was like she’d remembered how to and her body didn’t want to let go of it. He started stopping to talk to her on his every round of the house, even bringing her little trinkets that he’d bought in the city - a little beaded bracelet, a whimsical map of Kerch with an ocean full of hand-sketched sea monsters. 

The third of those fate-sealing knocks, if you believe in things like fate, came not for Anya, but for Yuri. No-one knew why Hoede had come for the Fabrikator this early evening, and no-one knew what had happened whilst he was gone, but when he returned something profound had clearly changed.

“Yuri?” Anya ventured, watching him, “Are you-?”

He flinched to look up at her, eyes flashing and wild. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he whispered, “I don’t- I didn’t- I- I-”

His words broke into fragments as though he couldn’t breathe, but before Anya could say anything more he had lurched to his feet and met her in the centre of the room. 

“It broke her,” he hissed, grabbing Anya’s hand so tight enough to be painful, “It’s inside her head. It’s in my head, all of it. It’s screaming,”

“Yuri-” Anya tried, pulling her hand to no avail, “Yuri, please-”

“She doesn’t even remember,” the way his voice shook almost made it sound like he was laughing, but he looked absolutely terrified, “So much metal in the body. I can feel it,”

“Yuri-”

He pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head, then said softly: 

“You need more calcium. Did you know that? I didn’t, before, but I can feel it now,”

“I- what? Yuri-”

“I can help with that,”

“What are you-?”

Yuri raised one of his hands and then suddenly there was a guard on his arm, forcing him backwards. He didn’t struggle, but he kept his gaze on her and his free hand still held hers close. 

“They came for me,” he whispered, eyes wild and desperate, gripping her even tighter and pulling her close, “They’ll come for you too. They’re coming,”

“Let go of me, Yuri, let-”

“Pray,” he snarled, letting go of her so she fell backwards with her own momentum and crashed against the wall, “They’ll come for you next,”

Anya stared at him, shaking, pressed against the wall on the floor of the Grisha workshop. What was happening? This was Yuri. Yuri, who had found her on the bad nights, brought her food and water, who had sat with whilst she wept. Yuri, who had held her when the news about Wylan came, who had cradled her like a child and never pressured her to tell him any of it, who had let her cry into his shoulder for what to him would have sounded like nothing of more gravity than a weather report. She stared up at him, still quivering, as someone offered her their hand to help her to her feet and someone else began to lead Yuri out of the workshop. 

“Wh-What-?”

“He didn’t mean to hurt you,” murmured someone to Anya’s right, and after a beat she realised it was Greta’s hand that she was holding; a maid about her age who had always been kind and gentle, “He has a very bad fever, it’s addling his mind. Mister Hoede wants him quarantined, to make sure it doesn’t spread. Don’t pay his words any heed, it doesn’t mean anything,”

Anya nodded stiffly, a little shakily. 

“Are you alright?”

“I- yes, thank you,”

Greta smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll bring some tea,” she said, “It’ll do you good,”

Anya could only nod, and return shivering to her chair at the workbench. He was just spouting nonsense, wasn’t he? It was just a fever. Wasn’t it? She shuddered, rubbing her wrist where the shadow of his hand still gripped her. 

The last knock didn’t take too long to come.

Anya and Retvenko were sitting in the workshop, in their customary silence, when Greta rapped the open frame as she stepped into view. 

“Mister Hoede asked for you to go to the boathouse,” she told Anya, with a light shrug that told Anya there was no point in asking why because Greta didn’t know either. 

Anya nodded, glancing briefly back at Retvenko with frightened questions in her eyes that he either did not notice or did not care to acknowledge - it was impossible to tell with him - and followed her out into the garden. Crossing through the damp grass it was difficult to push away the memory of the dead girl she had Tailored, and as she tried to push the thoughts away Anya forced herself to focus on the crocuses growing near the boathouse and around her feet. She could smell them in the air, rising up to greet her and cradle something close to her chest. Joras had given her a bunch of crocuses, once, that he got at the harbour on his return; six of them, tucked together in a brown woven ribbon. 

“How did you possibly afford this?” she’d asked, holding them close and inhaling their scent like a drug. 

“Who says I bought them?” he teased, and when he saw her stricken expression: “I picked them Ani, don’t look at me like that!”

They’d both laughed. Anya convinced Paige to let her keep a glass of water from the kitchen in the workshop, and the crocuses sat in the centre of the table until they’d turned so brown and dry and wilted that she could no longer justify keeping them. Looking back on it, she wished she pressed them when they were fresh; she could have tucked them into the pocket of kefta and kept them close forever. But they were long dead now. 

“Pretty,” Wylan had said, when he was certain it was only the two of them in the room; only Anya knew that he could see the flowers, “You have definitely got to ask him to kiss you,”

“Wylan!”

“He picked you flowers, Ani,” he’d teased, having overhead the nickname that morning, before Joras left for another voyage, “He even chose a ribbon for them. I bet he’d say yes,”

Anya blushed so profusely that she wasn’t sure she’d ever looked pinker in her entire life. 

“I should never have told you,”

Wylan grinned. 

“You did though,” he preened, “Now you have to live with it forever,”

Anya wondered if Joras knew where she’d gone, if he ever thought about her anymore. She thought about Wylan, grinning at her over a vase of crocuses, laughing, the light dancing in his eyes, and suddenly felt the desire to rip every single flower from the beds and tear them into a thousand pieces. Why was the smell so strong? She hated it. It was choking her. She prayed for something, anything, strong enough to overpower it so she never had to smell those stupid flowers ever again. 

“Anya?” 

Anya flinched as Greta’s hand brushed against her elbow, shaking herself back into reality. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Anya rubbed a disobedient tear off her cheek, “Yes. Thank you,”

They walked inside in silence. 

Hoede stood inside the boathouse, with a stadwatch officer, whom Anya guessed must be high up by the little stripes on the breast of his jacket, and another man wearing mercher black, but they weren’t the first thing that Anya noticed. The first thing she noticed was the large metal… well, box, she thought, for lack of a better word to describe it. The front wall was made up mostly by a large window and inside she could see a small table, wherein sat a small boy kicking his feet off the edge of his chair. A stadwatch guard stood behind him. 

Hoede nodded at Greta to dismiss her, then beckoned Anya wordlessly to the box and gestured for her to step through the open door on the side. The stadwatch guard closed the door behind her, and she heard the sound of a lock being moved on the outside. This side of the glass was mirrored, so Anya could no longer see Hoede or the strangers in the boathouse, but there was a vent above the glass and she could hear them speaking. The guard directed her to sit down, and she followed the instruction. 

“What’s going on?” asked the boy, looking between them. 

The guard told him to be quiet, and with a nervous shiver he stuck his thumb into his mouth. How old was he? Not yet ten, surely. What was going on here? 

An entire hour passed by as a hum of voices began to slowly filter into the boathouse, a small crowd gathering for no purpose that Anya could divine, before the door opened once more and Hoede stepped inside. He patted the boy on the back. 

“Be brave, lad, and there’s a few kruge in it for you, ja?”

The boy nodded nervously, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“And you,” he turned to Anya and she braced as he grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face up to meet his eye, “You do as you’re told and this will be over soon, ja?”

Anya forced her serene mask over her features, the cloak she wore day in, day out, and gave him a vague, empty lie of a smile. 

“Of course, Onkel,” 

He nodded, apparently satisfied, and stepped back through the door. There was another low conversation on the other side of the glass that Anya could not properly hear beyond the edges of words - “results… Fabrikator”, “the dose”, “compensate”. What the hell was she listening to? 

“Sergeant?” called a voice she didn’t know, loudly now and clearly for the ears of those trapped inside this strange box, “First test,” 

The stadwatch guard instructed the little boy to pull up one of his sleeves, and almost as soon as he had done so he produced a small knife and crossed it over the child’s skin. The boy burst into tears as blood leaked onto his pale skin and Anya, glaring at the stranger, immediately leant forwards to him as she tried to whisper comforts. 

“Let me see,” she murmured, “I can-”

“Stop that,” snapped the sergeant, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Hoede’s voice floated through the grate telling him to leave off and he stepped away. 

Anya shot an angry stare to the mirror that she hoped was aimed at Hoede, and then laid her fingers softly over the boy’s cut to close the wound. He stared at her, then back at the smooth, unbroken skin of his arm, running a finger over it like he couldn’t believe what had happened. 

“Was that magic?” 

“Of a sort,” Anya smiled, watching him. Innocence, she thought again, with an internal shake of the head, that’s still all it takes to make me smile, “The same kind of magic that your body does, given time and a bit of bandage,”

The boy nodded, still running his fingertips over the place that she had Healed him. 

“Yes, good,” came Hoede’s impatient voice through the grate, “Now the parem,”

Anya frowned. She didn’t know that word. 

The sergeant demanded the boy hold out his arm again and he shied away, shaking his head, but the man grabbed his wrist and pulled it sharply towards him as he slashed the knife across his forearm once more. Before Anya had a chance to respond, he had placed a small envelope in front of her on the table. 

“Swallow the contents of the packet,” said Hoede. 

If he thought she trusted him enough to do that without question then he must be mad. 

“What is it?”

“That isn’t your concern,”

“What is it?” she demanded, refusing to touch the envelope until she was answered. 

“It’s not going to kill you,” he said, impatiently, “We want to judge the drug's effect, we're just going to ask you to perform some simple tasks. The Sergeant will make sure you do only what you're told, understood?”

Anya nodded, more because she saw no other way out of this than following instructions than because she felt convinced, and slowly reached for the little packet. 

“No-one will harm you, but if you hurt the Sergeant you have no way out of that cell. It's locked from the outside,”

Anya nodded again, then peeled back the edge of the envelope and tipped the contents down her throat. 

“Is…” she frowned, but still the hope that she had tried so hard to kill sparked inside her chest, “Is it just jurda?”

“What does it taste like?” asked Hoede. 

“Like jurda, only sweeter. It’s-”

Anya cut herself off with a sharp gasp as every muscle in her body seemed to seize. She inhaled heavily, leaning back. She couldn’t smell crocuses anymore. She could smell blood - the boy’s blood, bleeding lightly on the skin of his arm across the table from her. She could hear his heartbeat, and the sergeant's heartbeat, and the heartbeats of everyone on the other side of the mirror. Each one of them sounded different, she realised; every heart had its own individual pattern, and she could hear all of them without even trying. What was this? It was… beautiful. Anya sighed, and realised she was smiling. A different kind of smile. A new one. 

“Just the same as the Fabrikator,” said someone on the other side of the glass. 

His heart rate had risen; he was scared of her. Good. He should be. 

“Heal the boy,” called Hoede. 

Anya knew, somehow, that she wouldn’t need to try. She didn’t even look at him, just to see if it would work - and it did. She waved her hand; no touch, no line of sight, nothing. The boy’s cut closed in an instant, and Anya felt something rushing inside her. 

“That was magic,” he whispered, and she did turn to see him then. 

“It feels like magic,”

“Anya, listen closely,”

Anya made a soft humming sound. She didn’t really want to listen to him anymore. She didn’t have to. She could do anything she wanted to. And that was definitely going to be a problem for Councilman Hoede. 

“We’re going to perform the next test now. Sergeant, cut the boy’s thumb off,”

The child cried out in fear, scrambling to sit on both his hands as he frantically shook his head. The sergeant stepped forwards, but Anya wasn’t worried. She looked up at him, smiling her brand new smile. 

“Shoot the glass,”

“What did she say?”

“Sergeant!”

Anya watched him. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if it was working. She reached out to him again - it was so easy, so quick. The sound of his blood rushing moved through her like she was floating on the surface of the True Sea, she wrapped an invisible hook around his heart and felt its rhythm as she raised the rest of her focus to his brain and said again: 

“Shoot the glass,”

She knew that it had worked this time. There was a slight knack to it, but once she’d done it once she knew that she could do it again and again and again. His heartbeat calmed and settled, safe and eased in her command. Comfortable. His face went slack, his eyes blank, and then he drew his weapon and turned to follow his orders like a good little watchdog. 

The gunshots were loud but they couldn’t frighten her now, not when she could control them - not when the heartbeats were even louder. Not when she was floating. The glass rained down ahead of them, a shattered mirage, and a frenzy of cries filled the air. Guns were raised, the cocking of pistols hit her ears, but Anya was calm. She was not afraid. She would never have to be afraid again. 

“Wait,”

All of them - every single one, with a single word - fell quiet and blank. They looked up at her expectantly, patiently. Her toy soldiers. 

“Hoede,” she beckoned, “Come inside,”

He obeyed, of course. 

“Come here,” she whispered to the boy, not commanding him like she had done the others. 

He shuffled towards her and tucked himself into the arm she offered him, either too scared or too confused or too overwhelmed to ask any questions. 

“Don’t look,” she whispered, gently easing him against her shoulder and stroking the back of his head. 

He settled into her, one tiny fist clinging to her kefta. Anya looked up at Hoede, waiting in patient, expectant silence.

“Do as you're told and this will soon be over, ja?”

It was definitely not for innocence that she was smiling any longer. 

*

Anya didn’t know the layout of Ketterdam well, but it wasn’t hard to find her way to the harbours. She ran as far as she could down the Geldstraat, only halting briefly in front of the house that she was pretty sure, though she didn’t know the street or the front of the house very well, belonged to Jan Van Eck. She hesitated - but she didn’t even know why. Wylan wasn’t there. Wylan was… he wasn’t there. There was nothing left in this city for her, not anymore.

It was time to go home. 

[mangocheesecakeicecream]

There's no matheme for love it doesn't lend itself to fantasy or to any of the other little compositions that we have in the graph of desire but it would have something to do with being cool enough with your own split subjectivity to allow the same in another you might think of this as a kind of radical approach to acceptance or something along these lines but remember lacan's definition giving what you don't have this is love and to have it reciprocated i think sometimes that the ultimate horizon of this lacanian stuff as far as human beings are concerned is a way of being with another person that allows lack not to be a problem overcome at the level of the dream of eden overcome by a series of spa treatments where you and your partner hold hands as you get massaged nothing like that it's a little grittier than that it's about being fucked up together if you will and i would like to suggest that as we think about this as a clinical practice i'd like to suggest that there is something satisfying productive not maladaptive well adaptive about being able to be fucked up with somebody you were not an addict and now you're not you're always gonna be an addict that's who you are that's what you are and when you find somebody who's cool with that who can hear that you're in a different place i think the goal of lacanian analysis is to turn out subjects who know how to love in this way who can see split subjectivity as a handsome condition instead of the decline of humanity the worst part of modernity and so forth it's just the opposite i don't know what kind of mood that results in maybe a kind of humility i think self-compassion comes very naturally to people who have undergone the lacanian psychoanalysis and reached the end but uteromorphic dreams of wholeness and all the fundamental fantasies thereof those are the things that usually you don't see when you meet people like this it doesn't mean that they're happy with their misery or with you with yours it just means that they have a kind of contentment which is different from happiness a kind of ease around discomfort i think that's worth holding in mind as we take a little break here i think it's worth holding in mind as we start moving deeper into the graph of desire when we come back from lunch or whatever this break is for you i want to talk a little bit about how it is that language comes into our lives and i want to show you at a really granular level even at the risk of verging onto developmental psychology how this happens how it is that we wind up as split subjects and how it is that others primary caregivers in particular play a part in this what i'm trying to get at here is some way of showing us where we come from as linguistic beings but also in the spirit of this essay what i want to show is how we become these desirous fuck-ups these people that are never satisfied that are constantly miserable that constantly have to buy the next thing how do we become so vulnerable to capitalism it has something to do with how we are introduced in the field of language it has something to do with developmental psychology and i think lacan has a pretty good finger on this i bet you'll be able to come up with some other people who also have good fingers on this but for our purposes when we come back i want to talk about the introduction into language how that works how it produces the fantasy of wholeness i want to talk about how it also marks the origin of desire and with that an opportunity for something else something beyond desire and if you follow up the right hand side of the graph of desire as we did at the start of this class beyond desire is the drive

-Samuel McCormick

[leclercsbf]

i just saw your post about how things seem to be a bit tense between the both of them and i agree, i thought i was the only one who sensed it

for some reason it feels like we’re also getting less content of the both of them together this weekend, for some reason and with the little content they’ve posted, the both of them do look a bit tense around each other. they look like they’re being more careful around each other if that makes sense and not as ease as they always seem to be, maybe i’m overthinking this but their smiles don’t seem to be as bright? as usual too.

i don’t want to judge the whole thing of the tidbits we’re getting too so im hoping that its just me overthinking this and we can judge the whole thing better as we get more content.

and that video of carlos saying he likes his teammate, you’re absolutely right it does look like charles gets less tense once carlos says that, it kinda looks like he’s just exhaling out all the tension and he does look relieved, he seems to smile a bit more after that too cause he seemed quite down prior to that. im thinking it just made him feel better and it was probably reassuring too to hear it out of carlos’ mouth, given everything that happened.

truth be told, this was all kinda expected considering it’s been less than a week since the drama and they probably haven’t had the time to kinda straighten things out after that until now but again you’re right, we’ve been through much worse and i think they might just need some time to settle things and talk things out cause at the end of the day they do get along really well, regardless of what people seem to think.

am i kinda upset that this all had to take place in singapore? yes. but again, im sure they’ll go back to being giggly messes around each other in no time (well at least i hope they do)

im sorry for the rant!! i just also wanted to say how much i absolutely ADORE AND LOVE your fics and your content <3

first off, please don’t say sorry! i absolutely love asks and i’m always happy to read through them, especially when they’re bursting at the seams like this one. that said, i will be putting my reply under the cut just to avoid adding another wall of text, but again—the wall is very much appreciated! don’t ever doubt that.

it’s honestly very interesting to me how more of us seemed to have picked up on the tension than i originally thought, because at first it was just me and goggles who were going back and forth about this whole thing. i feel like we were all kind of just second-guessing it, or maybe we were afraid that talking about it would make it seem more real and therefore more of a cause for concern, and overall it just feels a little strange to speculate based off of the little bits and pieces that we have to work with. however, i do feel like the stuff that the ferrari social media team has been posting is very telling. we all know that they release content whenever rumors about tension in the team start cropping up, but putting a photo of the two of them for the quali result post? come on now. they didn’t even do that for monza, and that’s monza. something’s definitely going on here. i feel like that’s the most compelling example i can provide, but generally it just seems like this week they’ve been throwing out content of the two of them that clearly doesn’t have their usual vibe.

i do agree that they probably haven’t had any time to sort things out, especially with charles delaying his flight to singapore. i’m just as upset as you are that this had to happen here out of all places because it’s singapore, goddamn it, i was so excited at the beginning of the week—but i’m not too worried, and i honestly feel a lot more optimistic after quali. carlos seemed pretty intent on sticking to charles, and after seeing this on top of the olive branch that is “i would have picked charles, esteban. i like my teammate”, i’m inclined to think that carlos is trying to mend things one step at a time. charles’ post-quali review is also very compelling, because look at the way he just smiles the moment he talks about carlos—as if it’s muscle memory, as if he simply can’t help it. they’ll be just fine, anon. we just have to wait it out.

this got long as well, but hey, thank you so much! i’m really glad you like my work and my content, even if the latter is literally just me brainrotting all over everyone’s dashboards. i’m currently working on a new charlos fic, so i’ll try my best not to disappoint. ♥️

[dreamsclock]

THE ULTIMATE DREAMSCLOCK UPDATE!

hello. hi. as most of u are probably very unsurprised to hear, i have bit off WAY more than i can chew in terms of personal projects. this is now something i am beginning to belatedly realize is A Problem for many reasons. mainly a) i am chronically overwhelmed esp with the biggest exams of my LIFE next months and b) i can’t take on any more projects realistically that i want to begin.

poll + more info under readmore bc i have chronic can’t-shut-up syndrome (adhd)

SO. in order to actually produce content for you guys i am Cutting Back Which Fics I Work On. at least until july. this SHOULD allow me to finish at least some fics and hopefully move on in the summer to other ones, but since im indecisive i thought i’d let YOU guys decide which fics i continue to work on!!! so here’s a poll.

the top five will continue to be worked on, and i plan to finish checkmate + hold him close in the next week anyway. so vote for your next five faves, and from there i’ll figure out which ones i’m gonna continue

this SHOULD help me make a good dent in these fics while also working on stuff that makes people happy :]

IN ADDITION TO THIS. i am also only streaming three times a week. ‘only?’ you might be thinking. ‘sparrow dreamsclock, you don’t even stream ONCE a week!’ to which i say Be Quiet. kidding but i’ve been putting way too much pressure on myself to try and stream every night and then beating myself up when i’m too tired 😭 so hopefully limiting myself to three times a week helps!!

STREAM DAYS: Monday, Wednesday, Saturday

I could stream more than this!! But at the very least you’re promised three streams a week unless something goes horribly wrong.

AO3 UPDATES: Wednesday, Sunday

AGAIN this is to try and give you guys some kind of consistency 😭😭 i know im very erratic + unreliable when it comes to uploading so i wanted to try and provide a schedule. no idea WHAT updates these will be, but you know Something will be posted there which is awesome

YOUTUBE UPLOADS: Beginning May

‘but sparrow!’ you may be saying. ‘you just said the most important exams of your life happen in may!’ to which i say Be Quiet. Yes. I Know. I’m An Idiot. but i wanna start providing youtube content Too!!! whether this be dsmp analysis or stream highlights or original minecraft choose-your-own-ending games i’ve made, i’ll be uploading (hopefully consistently) beginning may!!!! more info to come. unless i forget of course.

ANYWAY. if you’ve sat through all of this then HELLO HI!!!!! sorry. this announcement sounds self important and dumb but honestly even writing this out has eased like a load of my anxieties. ever since the end of 2021 i’ve been so overwhelmed with the frankly dumb amount of projects ive given myself, and it’s most of the reason ive been burned out since then too :’) thank u for being understanding and thank u for being such a source of inspiration for me and thank u thank u THANK U for being the best people ever muah ily

this starts from TODAY Btw!!! will be uploading a chapter of checkmate tonight and also streaming which i’m looking forward to. we’re gonna Chill until summer and then i can go crazy with projects again. but this feels more manageable!!!!

tune in for my stream tonight at 9pm (fnaf time FUCK YEAH) and thank u again :]

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Finish the Feed and Plug the Thing! (And Play the Music!)

Today, under the cut, I shall demonstrate my new ability to create original music that might be recordable! (Guest Starring the Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel!)

My web serial! My brainchild! My empire of dirt! I write this, I'm only on social media because I want people to look at it, and they're not. I suspect I've sold my cow for some magic beans and it turns out they're not even regular beans, they're foam peanuts. Nevertheless, the people in my orbit seem decent in general SO I WILL CONTINUE TO BROWBEAT YOU WITH GUILT-INDUCING REMINDERS UNTIL MY READERSHIP IMPROVES! No need to thank me! It's a service I provide!

Current known readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10?

Current supporters: 2 (hi Kith and 5th!), 1st Goalpost: 5?

So! I am doing a Hazbin Hotel fic, while working sporadically on the serial. It involves David and I have a lot to say about mental health, fictional universes and massive multiversal crossovers, so it's still technically serial content, even if you may not want to read it.

But, I like to use side projects to experiment. I have to have something I like enough to put a lot of effort in, but I don't want to feel terrible if that effort comes to nothing. The fic happened because I drew David Vivzie-style to test my drawing ability and stamina. (It's improving! I can draw! Slowly!)

I am writing MUSIC with STAGE DIRECTIONS for David's stay at the Hotel, both reprises of Hazbin Hotel tunes with new lyrics, and new songs with public domain melodies. There is a LOT of music in the public domain. I've been filking pop songs, but that's still legally grey. When I filk this stuff, there's no limits!

...but that's not true, because a lot of it doesn't have lyrics. My process up until now has involved rewriting music with existing lyrics. Never before did I tackle an instrumental. Now I have!

I would call it a 75% success. It scans, fairly well, but I think I made an error in choice of melody. I LOVE this raggy 1925 arrangement of Hungarian Rhapsody - I listened to it a million times to do this and I STILL love it - but if you actually had to sing it at speed, I think your tongue would fly off. Hamilton has unsingable music like that, too, but I think this came out too complex to be catchy. I can barely sing it and I WROTE it!

Nevertheless, here it is (stage directions omitted for ease of reading along fast enough to keep up), with some background on the fic for context: David has, at this point, convinced Alastor they were best friends in the 20s, and made friends with Angel Dust in a more conventional way. Alastor does not wish to be second-best at anything (we've already got a canon song about that!) and is registering an objection from the piano.

...That's probably still incomprehensible, but the point is, it scans. You gotta ignore the intro and start reading when the treble kicks in, but I do think it scans.

ALASTOR: Funnily, we’re both used to dining with refinement Trust two chefs to know I thought our dinner was almost perfect When the waiter served it But then you fondle The ketchup bottle! There’s bearnaise right there on the platter, what’s the matter? Must you stoop so low? Horrors! It’s just as if you called the sous-chef over —  “This needs salting!” So insulting! DAVID: Darling! The sauce is no improvement If the meat is poor With ketchup, there’s no dressing there to dress up  No one loves a pompous bore, Bestie! A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? Formal wear is not required Friendship outshines one’s attire And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete, it’s not a test I can’t be beat, I’m always best D: Although your doubtful dedication’s Quite despicable I don’t envy your situation That’s forgivable A: I’m dedicated when it’s worth it Is that true for you? And of course my friends deserve it What I’d do for you! D: Oh, I forgot, my poor coat is soaking Might you mop up my reckless joking? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: And one more thing, I’m a little squeamish You think we could keep the murders cleanish? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: You’re so competitive Do you just want to win? A (counterpoint) : (If that’s better, I’ll do better) D: Hey, I need devotion, too, if you’ve a notion to! You can’t be listening Might you do anything? A: (If that’s better, I’ll do better) D: A fur coat, a fancy car, how ‘bout a chocolate bar? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: For the salt lick, I hope I’m forgiven? I show respect with little gifts given A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: If I’ve annoyed, I think I should mention I just enjoy all kinds of attention A: And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete, it’s not a test I can’t be beat, I’m always best And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete… D: Can we have sex? A: I ca… [spoken] Old friend, if you were a woman… I’d turn lavender [note: 20s slang for gay] with shame. D: Ah. Tant pis! Shave and a haircut, no sale!

It diverges at the end, they need time to talk to each other, but it's very close!

And I should add how I "transcribed" the music to write that, because it almost broke me. It was so silly I started cackling and had to confess what I was doing and show the spouse the placeholder lyrics. You see, transcribing the beats and stresses as dashes and numbers wasn't working, so I decided to use words. I decided to listen to this music over and over, trying to find words that had a matching rhythm, and place them into stanzas with a rhyming scheme. THIS is what THAT looks like:

It’s okay it’s not even ready it’s a steady It’s an onion bowl Oh but it’s not a begonia-bopper It’s a hot dog topper It’s a taco And it’s a tico It’s okay it’s not even ready it’s a steady It’s an onion bowl Oh ba-by but it’s not a holy hanger it’s a radio And it’s okay but it’s just a Samples! It’s not a rosy robber It’s an onion bowl It’s not a motherfucking compsognathus  It is just an onion bowl But it’s Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s no pony in a pickup It’s a tuesday hiccup coat And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polka dots and polka dots It isn’t very much to listen It’s okay but it’s Not much of a good decision It’s okay but it’s It isn’t very much to listen It’s okay but it’s Not much of a good decision It’s okay but it’s Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s a blue doughnut boy he’s got a taco truck (not a pony in a pickup) And it’s a tree it’s a tree it’s a tree but it’s not It’s a blue doughnut boy he’s got a taco truck (not a pony in a pickup) And it’s a tree it’s a tree it’s a tree but it’s not Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s not a puddle puck in a piston It’s just a whiny duck who won’t listen Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s not a puddle puck in a piston It’s just a whiny duck who won’t listen And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polka dots and polka dots And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polk— It’s not anybody it is just a Camaro cap!

I can't sing that version either ("It's not a motherfucking compsognathus!" I'm dying! 😵I'm dead!) but I'm still fond of it. And look, it worked! Kinda!

If I want to do this for the actual serial, I may have to pick simpler music, or simplify it by choosing PART of the melody to use and repeat. I can't write or read musical notation, but most people can't either, so if I can link you to a piano roll or someone's recording of an old record, we can both sing along on the internet. And maaaybe some day I'll be able to record something. I wouldn't be good at playing or singing, but if you throw enough money at me, I can pay someone!

SO PLEASE GO BEG PEOPLE TO READ ME AND GIVE ME MONEY! THANK YOU!

[scoundrels-in-love]

3, 15, and 22 for the fic writer asks! 💙

Hi hi love <33 Thank you so much for asking! (And for always reading & commenting. I appreciate you so much.)

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? Oh no, that is so hard to answer. I think there is something I treasure about every fic that imprints it in my memory. Sometimes it might be something that happened during writing process, like a realization or a conversation. I am, however, still very partial to when the sun is coming though, you fill my head with you. It was a scramble to write it after my original idea for the exchange didn't work out and it was my longest fic by far at the time (amusingly enough, I have quite a few fics that come close to the word count now, though it still reigns as longest) and I genuinely like how it turned out.

Climb on your tears like a ladder to a rose, baby (There's a time to rest, There's a time to move on) is, I think, one of my favorite for deeply personal reasons. (It's just self-projection with a side of character study.) Somewhere out there is a Jaime piece to go with it, which would encompass more grief and guilt things from my own heart.

From Trigun, there's a special place in my heart for I was caught in a crossfire, I was still as the night (You were an angel in the shadows) because it was first fic I wrote for the fandom, first fic I wrote in, honestly, years, with any ease, all the while putting a lot of myself into it, for catharsis. Also, the way people reacted to it actually tied me to fandom, encouraged me, made me feel like maybe someone wants to read whatever little I have to say.

What can I give that is all for you? These arms are all I have (But I hold you like I do love you) was my first exploration of non-Meryl POV and I was nervous about it, but I also had shitton fun with it. It was written in frenzy, but I am happy with it's internal consistency, even though it required some rewrites (which usually means death sentence for a fic), so it feels like mark of some growth as a writer. 15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

It depends! Back in the day, long before Braime days, I used to write fics and then try to come up with titles all on my own. Later, I switched to finding Vibe songs I'd often play on infinite loop as I wrote and the titles came from those, or the songs were actually inspiration that sparked the idea for the fic in the first place. Lately, I just try to find a song that would have a line to fit the fic. ... Sometimes, it takes much longer than I'd like.

As for chapter titles, Everything about you is on the tip of my tongue is only one that actually has chapter titles and I just thought it'd be funny if every title would be a Warning relevant to the content. (Actually, my sibling came up with the idea and 3rd chapter's title, haha.) 22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Typically, in most vague sense, yes. I know what events I'd like to take place, even though I often have no idea how I'll get there or how I'll connect them, so a concept of ending is floating around. Sometimes, if the fic is more of a spur of the moment thing that is driven by an emotion or two, I will not and just let the flow deliver me there.

Send me fic writer ask?<3

[25thnightbaam]

It has been a few days since the official announcements of the three Atlus games. I have collected my thoughts on them and will be going over them, as well as some speculation and assumptions on Persona 6. Starting with the two Persona games.

First off, Persona 5 Tactica. Honestly, no matter how many times I've rewatched the trailer, I am not interested at all. The only reason being it's yet another P5 spinoff. I am tired of these spinoffs! Yes yes, we know Atlus, P5 is your moneymaker, but ease up on licensing more spinoffs! When I first saw the leak it did not surprise me to see another spinoff. I said this before, but it will not surprise to see a few more spinoffs. If you are looking forward to it, good for you, but it just doesn't interest me. Maybe if I see more gameplay later, I might gain some interest. For now Persona 5 Tactica is a pass for me.

Next, we got Person 3 Reload! Now this I am interested. Admittedly my want for a P3 remake has waned a bit over the recent years. While my want for remakes of the original Persona or the Persona 2 duology have heavily increased. Disappointed it is neither of the latter, but I'm happy the rumors turned out to be true for the former. I liked what I saw.

Though, some more disappointments have come out since the Xbox showcase. Like the whole voice cast being recast, but this quickly became an interest. Especially since KaggyFilms (Alejandro Saab) is in it! It's been years since I last seen any of his videos and, also, apparently he's a vtuber now! After checking out a Youtube video showing off the new voice actors' previous roles, I am intrigued in hearing their takes on the characters. Then there's the disappointment this isn't going to be a remake/definitive edition of P3. After taking some time to think on this, I accepted it. It's fine. I still got the original P3: FES to re-experience the Answer. And if I want to try out as the Female MC, I could get the recent P3P ports. It helps its cheap, especially when it goes on sale. Thankfully, thanks to a Famitsu interview, it has been corrected that content added in the FES for the main game, will be in Reload (https://noisypixel.net/persona-3-reload-producer-clarifies-fes-story-will-be-featured/). Just not the Answer or Female MC. I've seen some of you saying they could be added as DLC. Spending a bit of time thinking on this, I feel like the Female MC won't be. As they said, this is a remake of the original, vanilla version. The Answer has a higher chance, but not good enough to be DLC too. I will not be surprised if they do have the budget and the resources to do so. It is Atlus. Overall I am still very happy to see P3 remade and modernized. Like this new fans that started with P5 can experience P3 with the quality of life improvements P5 has.

Before I move on to the last announced, and best, game, I'd like to give some thoughts on Persona 6. So far, on Tumblr anyway, I have not seen anyone talk about Persona 6 after these announcements. You may be wondering why I'm bringing this up. Well if you haven't noticed or didn't think further on it, who is the team working on Persona 3 Reload? P-Studio! The team formed in the early 2010s to work on the mainline Persona games and maybe whatever other Persona-related project they pitch to Atlus to work on. If I remember correctly in a recent video posted by IGN, they said they started development in late 2019. Basically, Persona 6 is still years off. Who knows, they might have a small group on the side working on pre-production. Either way it looks like we still have to wait a bit longer for the next mainline Persona.

Finally, we have the best game to be announced from the Xbox Showcase! Metaphor: ReFantazio! I am hyped, excited, happy! I thought this project was dead, but so happy to be wrong! Some of you newer Atlus fans might be confused on this game or never heard about it. Sometime after P5 launched in Japan, Katsura Hashino, and some other heavy hitters of Atlus, formed a new internal studio to work on non-Persona projects, as some of the members were part of P-studio. Their first game was teased as Project Re:Fantasy with some art shown years ago. And here it is, alive and well, now officially titled as Metaphor: ReFantazio! I love everything I saw in the trailer. If I am given the choice to only be able to buy and play only one of these three announced games, it will be Metaphor: ReFantazio.

[recipro-turbo]

brother mine - year six

Chapter Rating: T Chapter Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Notes: originally posted to twitter here. tensei is 21 in this chapter.

Chapter-specific content warnings: hospitals, child abduction and endangerment

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Awareness returns to Tensei slowly.

He feels like he’s at the bottom of the ocean, several hundred leagues beneath the surface. His eyelids are too heavy, limbs filled with lead. He can’t make any sense of what he hears, doesn’t know who, if anyone, is speaking.

Tensei’s breathing, he knows that much. Every breath hurts, but it’s a muted sort of pain. He focuses on that sensation, clings to it like it’s the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing him back up.

He wasn’t imagining the sounds. As consciousness slowly returns, he registers voices. Two of them. Tensei might know them… they sound so familiar to him, but he can’t quite…

No. No, he can.

One of them is Manual, the third year from U.A. High currently working with Team Iidaten for his work study. The other… Mother? It sure sounds like her…

Tensei tries to move. Agony spikes up his right arm, near his exhaust pipe. He must cry out, because he hears someone say his name. They’re talking to him, but it gets lost somewhere along the way, muffled by the waves of darkness that threaten to pull him back under.

Opening his eyes is a daunting task, as heavy as his eyelids feel. Finally, finally, he pries them open, the shock of bright white making his eyes sting. He fights to keep them open―if he closes them now, he’ll fall back into the darkness, deep beneath the ocean, right back where he started―and blearily tries to take in his surroundings.

Slowly, so slowly, the world comes into focus. Tensei is in the hospital. There’s no oxygen mask, but he’s distantly aware of the IV drip in his arm. He can hear the beeping of his heart monitor, too loud in the quiet room.

“Senpai?”

Tensei lets out a soft groan of acknowledgement, turning to face the source of the voice. Mizushima hovers at his side, eyes wide with concern. Mother stands behind him, looking every bit as worried.

“Sh-should we call a nurse?” Mizushima asks. “If you’re in a lot of pain, maybe we could see if they can up your pain medication. I mean, they should probably know anyway―”

“Ease up a little, Mizushima,” Mother says. “Give him a second.”

“Right, right. Sorry, senpai!”

Tensei lets his eyes fall shut for just a moment. The nurse can wait just a little while longer, he just needs to remember how he got here. What happened?

-x-

The first thing he remembers clearly is being sent out on patrol with intern Manual. It had been mostly uneventful, helping with small acts of heroics and de-escalating situations before things could turn violent. Then mid-afternoon, Mother―Algorhythma―had radioed the two of them with news of an urgent child abduction in the area. A villain with an unidentified Mobility Quirk, but nothing that Ingenium couldn’t handle. 

The child in question? Tenya Iida. His little brother.

Whether Alogrhythma had been aware of that fact, Tensei wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter who the child was, of course, but the stakes felt higher, somehow. He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t be the reason Tenya would never be able to make his dream of being a hero a reality.

The villain was fast. Not faster than Tensei, by any means, but he handled corners a lot better than what he was capable of. That had been enough to put some distance between them for a little while, but when they reached the highway, catching up was inevitable. As he closed the distance, the villain became desperate. Somehow, he did the only thing he knew would send Tensei off his trail.

He threw Tenya off the side of the overpass.

-x-

Tensei’s eyes fly open. He throws himself up, eyes wide with panic, heart monitor skyrocketing. “Tenya―”

“Honey, calm down―”

“Tenya, oh my God, he’s… is he… did I..?”

Time moves in slow motion as the villain throws Tenya aside. His brother’s scream of terror overrides any sense of logic or reasoning he’s capable of. He jumps after him, engines roaring with fury as he rockets over to Tenya. He doesn’t stop until they’re clear of the traffic below them, but now he has a new problem―his engines have stalled, and they’re still several meters above the ground, falling fast.

One way or another, this is going to end badly… but he’s not going to let his little brother die today. As quickly as he can, Tensei puts himself between Tenya and the ground, holds his brother close to his chest, and hopes the airbags the support department installed in his armor work as well as they did in testing.

“Senpai, he’s all right! Tenya’s safe.”

Tensei snaps back to reality, gaze flickering up to his kōhai. Mizushima is motioning over to Tensei’s left…

…where Tenya lays bundled in a too-large Iidaten hoodie, fast asleep.

He lets out a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to brush a few stray strands of hair out of his brother’s face. There’s a bandage on his cheek, small cuts scattered across his skin, and a bright blue cast on Tenya’s arm, just barely visible beneath the gray fabric of the hoodie.

“Tenya’s very fortunate he came out of this with a broken arm and a few scrapes,” Mother says. “But you… Tensei, you could have died. What were you thinking?”

Tensei opens his mouth to argue―what kind of fucking question is that?―but Mother is quick to cut him off. “Your engines stalled mid-air, Tensei. If your airbag system had malfunctioned, that fall at your speed would have killed you both. What. Were. You. Thinking?”

The fight leaves Tensei far faster than he wanted it to. He looks back down to where Tenya lays. “I didn’t think,” he says, voice just barely above a whisper. “I moved.”

Mother’s expression softens. “Keeping your emotions in check on the job―especially in situations where someone you care about is in danger―is difficult. But it’s an important skill to learn, Tensei. When someone’s life is on the line, keeping a cool head is what ensures everyone involved makes it home safe.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but one of the nurses pokes her head into the room. “Glad to see you’re awake, Ingenium! I hate to interrupt, but I need to check your vitals.”

Tensei knows this conversation isn’t over, but Mother lets the topic drop for now. Before she steps away to let the nurse go about her business, she wraps her arms around him tightly.

For the first time all night, Tensei notices how distraught she truly is.

“Thank you,” she whispers, “for getting Tenya back to us alive.”

Never one to get in the way of someone else’s work, Mother pulls away after a moment. “I’m going to call your father and let him know that you’re awake. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Not long after Mother steps out and the nurse leaves to let him rest, Mizushima heads out―“Villain attack or no, I’ve still got an essay due tomorrow!”―leaving Tensei alone in a too-quiet hospital room. Tenya still sleeps peacefully at his side, despite his earlier outburst. A sad smile finds its way to Tensei’s lips… of course nearly dying would take a lot out of someone, especially a kid Tenya’s age.

“I’m sorry,” Tensei murmurs softly, bringing his hand down to rest on Tenya’s head. “I’ll work hard to be a better hero, Otouto. For you.”

Tensei can feel himself growing tired, his latest dose of painkillers beginning to kick in. He makes an attempt to get comfortable without waking his little brother, but the soft shifting of fabric tells him that he’s failed in that department.

“...Niisan?”

“Hey, little man,” Tensei murmurs, looking down at Tenya. Sleepy red eyes meet his gaze. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Tenya sits up, the Iidaten hoodie slipping off his shoulders. Tensei feels a pang of guilt seeing the cuts and bruises that litter his brother’s skin, but takes some small comfort in knowing that this could’ve been much worse.

“How’re you feeling, Otouto?” Tensei asks. “I know everything that happened had to have been overwhelming for you.”

He remembers Tenya didn’t give the villain the satisfaction of screaming or crying, no matter how scared he had to have been. No matter how much distance had been put between them, his little brother’s faith in him didn’t waver for even a second. He had been so brave, and―

There’s a sob.

Tensei pulls Tenya close without a second thought, ignoring the way his right arm protests. “Oh, Tenya…”

“You’re hurt,” Tenya manages to squeak out.

“I’m hurt,” Tensei acknowledges, “but I’m alive. I’ll get better.”

“My fault.”

“No, no, no, Tenya. This wasn’t your fault.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of his brother’s head.

“You got hurt saving me!” Tenya sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry―”

“Shhh, shhh.” Tensei tucks his head beneath his chin, using his good arm to rub his back. “It’s part of the job, Tenya. You’ve seen me get hurt before, and sometimes it was because I helped someone. Do you think it was their fault?”

“No,” he whimpers.

“What makes this any different?”

Tenya sniffles. Tensei figures his logic must be sound, as his little brother doesn’t offer any argument. Satisfied, he moves to lay down, bringing Tenya with him.

“It’s late,” Tensei says, tugging the thin, white blanket over them. “Let’s get some sleep, okay?”

He hears a sleepy hum, but nothing more. In moments, Tenya is dead to the world, head resting on Tensei’s chest with his ear over his heart.

With the last dregs of his strength, Tensei drapes his good arm over his brother protectively, then allows sleep to take him.

[moobloom-mention]

TommyInnit's Therapy Sessions (Gone Right???)

Summary: As much as Tommy hates to admit it, maybe Puffy's therapy sessions have begun to work.

OR

A fic in which c!Tommy wants to feel better

Content Warnings: Cursing. Past abuse. Past torture. Death. Grief

Word Count: 2090 words

----------

It was impossible to recall the day Tommy’s world had faded from vibrant bursts of color to dulled shades of gray. 

He’d always known the day would come; Wilbur used to claim that he’d signed his soul away the day he proclaimed his love for cobblestone. 

“Only a matter of time before your whole world turns into cobble,” Wilbur had teased. 

It was a joke that’d instantly earned the man an offended shout from Tommy, followed by mocking insults over Wilbur’s inability to judge considering that the man dressed regularly like a drug-dealer. Of course, not a single eye had been batted over their teasing spats at the time, childish quarrels brushed aside with ease as amends were silently made. 

It was admittedly easy for his mind to slip toward times like those, moments when he’d felt at least some resemblance of comfortability in his life. 

He’d yet to be plagued by the weight of trauma or the looming threat of permanent death, his childhood a version of intact whilst he formed friendships amongst the other members of the server. 

“You were naïve back then,” Dream had supplied during a quiet night in exile, voice thick with boredom as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

And in retrospect, it was. 

When he’d first joined the server, he never could have realized the sacrifices required to fight- let alone win - the war for L’Manberg’s independence. He hadn’t even learned his lesson after the war he’d lost two lives and two disks during, still optimistic as ever after being exiled by Schlatt and watching Wilbur spiral into the depths of madness until death finally claimed his idol’s soul. 

Hell, Tommy hadn’t even given thought to the idea of his own best friend exiling him until the order sealing his fate left Tubbo’s lips. And then, as if Lady Prime hadn’t already gutted his soul, Wilbur’s original goal of destroying L’Manberg was fulfilled by none other than Techno and Dream. 

He supposes that it was only a matter of time before the naivety so prevalent in his mind was replaced instead by a new adjective to describe himself. 

“Hollow.” 

The word feels bitter on his tongue, charring his taste buds as though he’d lit his mouth on fire. 

“Like you’re numb?” 

“No.” 

Tommy pretends not to hear the sharp inhale coming from across the table. He might not be saying what Puffy would like to hear, but at least he’s trying to paint a picture of how he feels. Two weeks ago, he never even imagined he’d admit something like that to Puffy- this should be called progress. 

And for now, hollow is as close as he can get; after all, Tommy isn’t numb.  

He doesn’t feel as though the spark inside him has momentarily been muted, able to be reignited with enough breathing exercises or lists of coping mechanisms. 

It’s more-so that the spark that’d burned so brightly within him had been savagely ripped from his body alongside his organs, leaving behind nothing but a blood-drained carcass to stumble, lost and dazed, across the server. 

“Thank you for telling me, Tommy. It can be…difficult to admit something like that.” 

He only offers a weak shrug. 

“Would you be up for questions about it?” 

“Yeah, why not.” 

He tries not to fidget as Puffy leans back into her chair, eyes fleeting across the countless words on her notepad as though she can’t decide where to begin. 

Tommy can’t blame her; he wouldn’t have a clue either. 

“Let’s start from the beginning. How recently would you say you’ve begun to feel ‘hollow’?” 

“Uh, since Dream has been in prison I think?” 

A small piece within him longs to claim that his first manifestation of feeling hollow had arrived the first time he’d visited Wilbur’s grave. Hours had been whisked away just staring at the damning words carved deep into the cobble tombstone, an embarrassing flame of hope held gently in his heart that Wilbur would dig his way out from his coffin- that he’d laugh and claim his death was some cruel prank. 

Tommy had spent most of his time at the gravesite pleading- no, begging for Wilbur to at least respond to the unanswered questions burning inside him. To let him ask if his suicidal tendency had been the fault of Tommy’s inability to be enough, or if it’d been Tommy’s refusal to take off his red-tinted glasses shielding him from reality’s dull color palette. 

He’d never gotten a response. 

But it sure as hell hadn’t dampened the swell of hope expanding within Tommy at the time. 

Only when Dream had been declared locked away in prison had his burning flame dared to flicker for the first time. 

Which, in retrospect, was odd. He thought exile would’ve beat aside most of his instinct to rebel against authority, but in the end, Tommy had still found it within himself to flee to Techno’s cabin, even if he’d have to face Dream’s wrath in the end. 

“Is there any reason as to why you think this feeling of hollowness has arrived only now?” 

“I don’t know,” Tommy admits, “I just…don’t think I’ve had time to dwell on everything before. I’ve always had at least fuckin’ someone after me or some goal I’d have to achieve before I could sit down and get some actual sleep. I had a- well, it was all a distraction, innit? Never let me have a moment to focus on grieving n’ shit.” 

“Grieving?” Puffy echoes, leaning forward despite Tommy’s sudden want to crowd away from her gaze. “Were you never given the proper time to grieve Wilbur’s death-?” 

His cheeks flush; embarrassed. “Oh, no- I’m not, it’s not-” 

Fuck, where does he even begin with that? 

He isn’t given any time to explain anyway, Puffy’s gaze already flooding with sympathy as her voice softens. “It’s okay if you’re still grieving, I heard you two were close-” 

“It’s not that at all, Puffy! I-” 

The lump in his throat swells as he mutters his words in a voice far too small for his liking; it’s an awkward contrast to his previous outburst. “I- uh, can’t grieve for him anymore.” 

His confession feels barren, void of emotion as though it was an idea that hadn’t once eaten away at Tommy, seemingly addicted to the guilty churn of his stomach. 

So quickly had the raw sorrow over Wilbur’s death been engulfed by a war of inconsolable rage. Every pang of abandonment the man caused and word of insanity that had been uttered into Tommy’s ear had festered vengefully within him until he simply couldn’t find himself able to handle it anymore. 

Wilbur- a very long ago, Tommy might add -used to croon softly into his ear whenever Tommy grew furious, his words destroying the flint the blonde needed in order to set his anger alight. He’d offer to play hushed songs under the supervision of the night sky, offering to be his anchor of sanity so long as Tommy returned the favor. The moment that Phil had emerged from the rubble of L’Manberg with nothing but a crumpled, curly-haired corpse had marked the definitive end to an outlet for Tommy’s bottled anger. 

So Tommy had done what he knew best. 

He’d dumped the unwanted feelings elsewhere before his wrath could be misplaced on someone undeserving of it. 

The third time he’d visited Wilbur’s grave had been his last, the entirety of the visit wasted through furious hot tears slipping onto the settled soil that covered his idol’s casket. Not a single word had been given to the man’s rotting corpse that day, only a silent, bitter vow taken that Tommy would leave every parasitic emotion there with the person who it should’ve always belonged to. 

Puffy doesn’t attempt to stoke the scalding emotions arising once more within Tommy’s mind, only nodding as she rushes to move toward a different subject. “I noticed you said that you felt you were distracted by a goal earlier. Did you ever find distractions that were helpful or positive? Maybe like a hobby?” 

Tommy finds a dry smile accompanying his expression. “When the distraction wasn’t a psychopath hunting me down? Yeah, ‘was better than thinkin’ about the lives I’ve ruined.” 

Puffy doesn’t match his dry smile, lips instead pressed into a fine line. “And whose lives would that be?” 

“I mean, whose life haven’t I ruined?” Tommy proposes, forcing the tension from his shoulders. He isn’t even sure why the room has suddenly grown so small; he’d come to terms with the fact that he left destruction and loss in his wake a long time ago. 

Even if Niki’s hatred toward him and Fundy’s attempts to remain distant still ache. 

“Not mine.” 

“Pfft,” Tommy mutters, “Okay, Captain Puffy.” 

His hand lifts to press persistently at his forehead, Puffy had mentioned something about raising Dream before, right? “I got Dream thrown in prison, surely you’re not thrilled about that.” 

“No,” she admits and Tommy’s heart seizes in spite of the expected answer. “But him being locked in prison is no fault of your own, Tommy. He…abused and manipulated you for the hell of it.” 

Ah, that’s right. Dream never really had a reason to torment him, did he? Dream had only ever really chastised Tommy for his disobedience; a reason that even now the blonde isn’t sure is probable cause for the torture he’d endured. 

“I was still involved, though. Just like how I was involved in fucking up all sorts of people’s lives. Tubbo almost died the day I asked him to confront Dream with me for the disks, y’know. He never would’ve seen Ranboo again- never would’ve adopted Micheal if Punz hadn’t shown up in time. 

“Even now I’ll help Tubbo tend to SnowChester and when I look at him, all I can see is the expression he’d given me the day Dream held an ax to his neck. He looked defeated, as though he’d already accepted Death’s embrace before it came- and he was smiling, doing anything to convince himself he was prepared for a grave of his own.” 

There’d been far too many times Tommy had nearly fallen to his knees in front of Tubbo and wept, sobbing for some sort of “-apology. I look at him, and I want to apologize.” 

“So what’s stopping you?” 

“I’m a pussy,” he admits with ease. It’s only the next sentence he struggles with, “I feel like I have time, and too much of it. Every second I waste is just replaced by ten more to be wasted as well. Why create an awkward situation begging for forgiveness when I can always do it tomorrow?” 

The room grows silent, and Tommy’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“What if you didn’t have tomorrow?” 

His eyes level where the red carpet meets oak planks. “What?” 

“What if,” Puffy repeats, tone suspiciously cautious. “We pretend that tomorrow doesn’t exist? That today is your last day on the server and after this, you’ll never see anyone here again. Then, you can apologize or do whatever you need to in order to make amends with whoever you think you’ve wronged.” 

Don’t get him wrong, the idea isn’t…bad per se. If it really were his last day, he definitely wouldn’t mind swallowing his carefully-guarded pride if it meant attempting to right his wrongdoings with people he’d used and tossed aside as though they meant nothing. 

Maybe he’d even be gifted with a hug, one that doesn’t need words for both of them to understand the meaning behind it, consoled by those closest to him as they whispered sweet nothings like Wilbur had once done for him. He could earn back the whole-hearted promise that Dream would never so much as look at him again, so long as he promised to remain tucked underneath a protective cape of red and white fur- 

“Here now, Theseus, dry your tears. Y’know I’m too awkward for this sort of thing.”  

“A thousand years and you still never learned, dick’ead?”  

“Nah, too busy ragin’ wars with other servers.”  

A blink and Tommy finds himself standing in front of Puffy, a look of confusion crossing her face as his legs seemingly pull him toward the door by their own accord. 

“Tommy? Where are you-?” 

“Sorry, Puffy. I’ve got Big Man shit to do for my last day.” 

“But our session isn’t over-” 

“I’m burnin’ daylight!” 

If today was really going to be his last day, he’d need every minute he could get.