#for reminding me that i need to post something this week

[blueinkphantom]

Phantom of a Book

Summary: While in prison, Techno finds out a new fact about Dream and with it a new escape route opens up for his roommate. The choice of whether or not to use said escape plan gets taken out of their hands, however, when a visitor comes. (7,280 Words)

Aka. a Fic that was supposed to be finished on the 17th December for the Dreamnoblade Christmas Event. I just now managed to finish the second chapter which is why i didnt post it here before.

Bubbling of lava was the only sound reigning in the cell.

It had been weeks since Technoblade joined Dream in prison. Two months if Techno's inner clock was still to be trusted. Which it was more than Dream's at the very least. The green teletubby's was pretty destroyed by now considering he didn't even know how long he had been in prison so far.

And technically, Techno was already supposed to be out and about. By a bit under 2 months to be exact. Either Phil's inner clock was just as terrible as his roommates or he forgot to read the will.

Either way, it didn't seem like his original escape plan was happening any time soon. As a result, they had started to try digging a tunnel from the hole in the corner. And it was successful so far. They already got... two blocks downwards with Dream right now breaking the next one a bit to the side.

Every now and then he'd get him to pause a bit and eat something. Only having potatoes didn't give Techno much to work with but he still tried to cook them a bit so they weren't completely raw at least. It was working okay-ish, he'd say.

He wished being the spirit of an object would erase any need for food. Then at least they wouldn't need the potatoes. Unfortunately, they were only halfway a spirit so to say.

Speaking of that subject. He was still curious how Dream seemed to know what to do with him when he was recharging in the sword. It’s not common knowledge after all. And he doubts there are many books on the topic if any. So the only way he could see Dream knowing about this was through personal experience. Which brought up another question.

Was Dream friends with someone like Techno or was Dream himself like him?

Glancing over to his roommate, it was hard to tell. Similarities to the object are usually only obvious once the object is known. But considering he also didn't know what Dream even was, it would be even harder.

His right eye reminded him much of an eye of ender down to the slitted pupil while the other was more pale, probably a result of what also caused the scar across said eye. His hair was as white as snow but that seemed more recent. Looking at his black hands, he still didn’t have any more clue. He could see the guy as the spirit of a weapon, maybe his Nightmare axe but he knew that didn’t need to be true. Philza once told him off a librarian who had been the spirit of the very library she worked at. There was also someone that had been the soul of a pair of elytras.

“What are you staring at?” Dream asked in an annoyed tone.

“How did you know what to do?”

“What do you-”

“At the execution, when I had to retreat into the sword. How did you know what to do?”

Dream stared to the side. “Does it matter?”

“Of course. Chat’s curious. Imagine the clout I could get from potentially unlocking more of the mysterious guy’s backstory.”

“Well, curiosity killed the cat.” The guy muttered, probably in an attempt to get Techno to stop pursuing the topic. Unfortunately for both, Techno could be stubborn.

“But satisfaction brought it back. And besides, Technoblade never dies and with it Chat too. Thought you’d know by now.” Techno chuckled.

Dream grumbled.

-----

There were many topics Dream would rather talk about than this. So many in fact that Dream tried to pick any that would distract Techno from the current one.

“You know, if you are also like me, you can just tell me. I won’t judge. I won’t use it against you or whatever you think I will do.”

“Why are you talking like you already know?”

“Call it a hunch. I have been told to have a sixth sense by some.” The piglin grinned at the other who in turn raised an eyebrow as the edge of his lips moved slightly up.

“A sixth sense or voices that whisper hints?”

“Eh. Same thing.”

Dream's tail swished back and forth as silence resumed. His thoughts stayed on the topic, debating with himself if he maybe should tell him. He already clearly knew that he was something. Besides, Dream knew what Techno was.

“Fine.” Dream stared back at the lava wall, vehemently ignoring Techno’s presence and gaze at him as he stood up.

“So are you-”

“I’m the Revival Book.” Dream confessed to Techno with a firm look all while broadening his shoulders and uncurling. Something Techno seemed to find amusing, though he didn't comment on it. Though it was unsurprising. Technoblade still seemed taller despite sitting. Taller and handsomer with the orange glow of the lava throwing him into a warm hue.

"Ah." was all that Techno uttered at first. Eyes slightly widened either at Dream telling him or the object named.

Dream's tail kept swishing back and forth behind him and he resisted the urge to wrap it around his own leg. "Well, roommate who is also the spirit of the book that can bring people back. I may have a new escape idea." Techno announced happily though Dream could see the nervousness on his face which made him instantly hesitate.

"And what's that?"

“You know how we can retreat into our object at any time if we want to? If you have the book here, what if you-”

“No.” Dream could see where this was going and no way in hell would he do that.

"Very fair. Very fair. Can't blame ya considering the horror stories that exist. I can tell ya, being stuck in someone's inventory is not pleasant. 1/5 stars. I'd take this vacation over that any day." Techno chuckled. “Well. Guess we will stick to the current plan.”

“What would it even bring? I can walk myself out so me being in your inventory won’t bring much. At most, there’s one less person to fight against Sam and anyone else who wants to stop us.”

“Well, not if a certain someone finally read the note I left him. You know how I knew this was a trap? Well I had planned that someone gets me out via a stasis pearl chamber. If he still were to read the note at some point, I could get us both out as long as you have the book with you here. But also I get it if you don’t wanna.”

Dream stayed silent. What if Techno doesn’t ever let him out?

-----

More time passed. Techno’s suggestion was almost like an elephant in the room, keeping a certain amount of tension in it. Neither spoke about it. Not that they talked that much during said time anyway. Only quick words when food got dropped in or the silence got too much. Despite not doing much, this place had a strange way of sucking the energy out of people. Probably the mining fatigue extending into more areas than just mining.

A chance to escape, one requiring lots of trust. Techno wouldn’t blame him if he passed up on it. He would still return later for the teletubby whether the guy trusted him or not. He couldn’t leave him here. When he first heard of Dream’s imprisonment he figured the favour would be used for a breakout. By now Dream wouldn’t even have to use the favour for it. Techno get him out with or without it. He couldn’t leave anyone in here, especially someone who had never gone against him and instead assisted him. Heck, he had any chance to keep him in weapon form and instead took care that he could come back as soon as possible. He will get Dream out.

Who knows, maybe it's even a courtship behaviour for whatever species Dream is. He’s pretty sure he saw something with cages and caging under one species, either creepers or wardens.

He was brought out of his musings when Dream stepped in front of him, leaning against the wall in what looked like an attempt to keep the pressure off his right foot.

“Okay.” Dream’s voice cracked halfway through. It had gotten better before but with the new silence, the bit of progress regressed a bit.

“Heh?”

“You can put me in your inventory.” He could see Dream slightly shaking, something he tried to unsuccessfully suppress.

It took Techno several seconds to respond, surprised by either the trust or saddened by the desperation. Considering who it was, the latter seemed more likely even if he hoped it wasn’t that.

Before he could respond in any way shape or form though, redstone ticked loudly alongside the heavy shifting of machinery.

Dream tensed immediately, form stiffening more than Techno thought possible. He barely wasted a second as he put himself between his roommate and the slowly retreating lava curtain.

It only took him a small bit of time to register who was on the other side.

Sam, of course, Warden of the prison. And Quackity.

-----

"Well. Well. Well. If it isn't my two favourite prisoners. How have you been? You been good?" Quackity asked as he waltzed off the bridge wearing netherite armour and ...were those shears?

"Yeah, you know. We've just been chilling. Not much to do in here." Techno replied while keeping his eyes on him, only shortly glancing over to Dream who was standing in the other corner, leaning on the chest.

"Hm. Im sure. I'm sure." The duck's eyes squinted at him as the grin stayed on him. He turned around to where Sam was still observing them from the other side and called out "Okay, well. Sam-" Seeing a chance, Techno sprung forward, not seeing his roomy shaking his head as a pink fist connected with Quackity in an attempt to throw him into the lava below.

Unfortunately, the three months had taken their toll, the punch not doing much besides pushing Quackity a bit further just before the edge where he turned quickly to him. "Yo, what the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Techno?! We didn't even start! What is wrong with you?" Techno chuckled even as the duck was slashing at him with the shears, leaving multiple cuts of varying size and depth. "I was gonna ease into it. I was gonna ease into it. Okay but since you so clearly wanna rush things along, why not?"

"Sam! Keep this guy in check." Keeping him in check apparently meant, aiming a bow at him with an arrow notched, ready to fire any second.

When Techno looked back in the cell, he saw Dream near the hole, Quackity close to him. "Here's what's gonna happen. I am sick and tired of these prison visits." He stepped closer and closer to Dream, with his roommate trying to get further and further away to the other corner until he was pressed against the chest. "I've been trying to get the revival book for the longest time, Dream. And today, you are gonna give me the book. You wanna know why?"

"I'm not giving you the boo-"

Quackity slammed his fist against the wall right next to Dream's face. "You wanna know why? Because this guy, this guy right here is your only way out of here and if you won't give me the book, he dies and with it your only chance of getting out of here. That's the only reason he's here. So that I finally get the book after all this time you’ve wasted."

"That's kinda harsh,” muttered Techno. “Don't do it, Dream."

"You know what I don't even care if you break out. If this guy gets you out. All I care about is the Revival book, and you are gonna give it to me.” If Quackity had half the knowledge about stuff, he's gonna care a bit more probably. Besides, it's not like Techno can really die. Not unless his Sword gets smashed to bits and the Sword is safely tucked away at home. Speaking of death...

"Wait. Hear me out. Hear me out, Dream. Does he really have any leverage? Cause if he kills me and my best friend is a Necromancer, doesn't that kinda just work out? You could just revive me after. I'm just saying." Dream’s eyes were locked onto his, the same thought Techno had probably crossed him too. Techno won’t die. Then his gaze skittered to Quackity, awaiting his reaction which was as expected another slice of shears at the piglin before turning to Dream again.

"You know what just give me the Revive Book. Just give me it. I'm not playing games anymore. I don’t care."

“I can’t give you the Revival Book, you know that. Hell, even if I could give you the book you're just gonna kill me. And probably kill Techno right after. The whole reason I'm in here is cause I have the book. Otherwise, I'd be dead."

"Okay then you know what. What if I just killed you both right now? No more best friend for you, Techno. And no headaches for me. Why not stop the madness, right? Not like the book brought many good things with it anyway, did it? So I'm just gonna kill you both and get this over with."

"Now let's just relax first. Let's calm down." Techno tried, moving both hands up to no success as Quackity didn’t stop talking. 

"No no. I should just kill you both right? So why not? Starting with you Techno and don’t think I’ gonna forget about you, Dream. And I'm gonna make sure it's painful enough as payment for ruining the execution and every second I have wasted here just because you couldn’t do a single thing. Just because you wouldn’t tell me and wouldn’t open that goddamn book." Any protests from Dream got ignored as Quackity turned to Techno. "I've been waiting a long ass time to do this." The first slash still hit him but the next got blocked by Dream who put himself between them. "Oh, you wanna go first? Wanna make sure that there's no chance for Techno to come back? Want him to watch his buddy die? Fine by me."

Techno tried to pull Dream away, out of Quackity's range but before he could make much progress, the rips on Dream's form spread. Rips that reminded him of torn-apart pages until they split apart entirely and green mist formed. Green mist which seemed to dissolve but turns out to have just entered the object as a book was left behind. One that Techno didn't hesitate to grab before Quackity could. And by the duck's wide grin and eyes, he knew that the guy was aware of what it was even if he didn't know the full extent of its connection to Dream. "Techno, give me the bo-" He saw the swing and felt part of the blade enter before the sensation abruptly left. His arms stayed raised in defence as he slowly took in where he was.

Blackstone walls with Nether bricks. A pink sheep connected with a led to a wall decoration bearing three wither skulls. Lava flowed down in the corners and stone bricks on the floor, some with moss.

It was the Syndicate Meeting Room. He was out. He was-

"Did it work?" A familiar voice. A familiar voice that he was incredibly glad to hear.

"Oh my god. Phil." He was still on edge as he turned to his best friend for years.

 "Here, drink that. Drink that." The immortal handed him a glass of milk alongside a golden apple. Both of which Techno gladly consumed.

"Phil. I gave you that book three months ago, Phil!" Techno exclaimed once he swallowed the bite he took out of the apple. His wounds healed, stitching themselves back together with the feeling of pins and needles pricking his flesh.

"You said three months!" Philza tried to argue.

"No, I did not! I thought you'd take like two days. I've been in jail for three months!"

A look of realisation came across his oldest friend. "Wait, wait wait. Oh my god, you said three days."

"Bruuuh."

"Well at least you got a book out of it, it seems."

Ah. He nearly forgot. He looks down at his right hand, still holding the book, still holding Dream there.

"What's with it?"

"Well. The good news is, we don't need to head to the prison soon."

"Not fancying another visit to Dream?"

"I mean if he was still in there, I'd go back. You know break him out and stuff. Return the favour and all.” Techno moved back to his hair, settling down into it and setting Dream down on the table, out of his inventory even if it would probably take a while for him to come back with the hits he took.

"Did he break out?"

"Now yes. Next thing is waiting till he’s back." His gaze stayed on the book, noting the glowing green writing, and the firm but used-looking leather cover. An eye of ender was sitting on the front inside a golden frame. One that looked just like Dream's. Slowly the parallels became clearer.

The white hair from the pages that were still as white as snow despite the many years this book probably existed. The eye. The black on his hands from the ink that likely stained the pages. And the green highlights in his hair from the glowing title.

It made sense.

Dream is the spirit of the Revival Book.

----- ----- -----

It's been a few days since Technoblade got teleported out of the prison.

Getting used to being out again went well so far. Sure, he may be a bit apprehensive about potatoes now. For all the love he held for the multi-use vegetable, even he could apparently get enough of them, especially when he's had nothing but potatoes for weeks. If they had at least been prepared in different ways but no. A shame considering how many different delicious meals one could cook with them. But now he lacks any appetite for them. Dream probably won't have one either once he returns, whenever that is.

Dream's book was still on the pillow where Techno had put it upon entering the room. He figured out quickly that he wasn't entirely comfortable with leaving Dream out of his sight in this state. Sure, he'd probably notice if anyone tried to sneak in but this felt safer. Besides, this way he got a comfortable amount of warmth from the fireplace while still staying a good distance away. Techno's been freezing more than usual after getting used to the heat of the cell. No doubt Dream would have even more issues considering his longer stay. He's probably gonna need several layers of clothing when he comes back.

If he comes back.

Techno tried to shake that thought.

Now he knows that there can be different recharging times from one object spirit to another. Heck, with all the things Dream went through in that prison, it shouldn't be surprising that he took a bit longer. It didn't stop Techno's worry from constantly nagging. It didn't stop a few of the voices from throwing in their concerns as well.

The book still had that green shine over it. Dream was still alive. Logically, he knew that. The small bit of a tail he had barely ever ceased from swishing back and forth whenever his thoughts drifted to his roommate. There was nothing he could do but wait. Wait and hope Dream returned.

Knock, knock.

Techno turned to the door, hand already on his sword's handle before he even thought about it. Silently, he neared the door.

Chances were, it was just Phil who had made it a habit to check on him daily. Preferring to be safe than sorry though, Techno listened first to make out anything suspicious. Not that it was needed when a voice soon rang out. "Heya, mate. It's me." Just Phil. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nearly earned Phil's fist in his face when he opened the door.

"You know, I'm all for trying out new greetings but I don't think a fist to the face is the best." Techno smiled more when Phil let out a laugh at that.

"Didn't expect you at the door so soon. Anyway, you ready for the meeting?"

He stared at his friend blankly for a tick. And another. "About that..." He sheepishly looked away, avoiding Phil's gaze.

"Did you forget about it?"

"Yup." His mind was running between preparing for any unwanted visitors, preparing for when Dream was back and taking care of his usual chores. Everything else had slipped his mind.

Phil clapped him on the back. "It's fine. Come on. We still got time."

They packed and headed out with Techno carrying Dream in a bag that would hopefully not prevent him from forming like being in an inventory would. The meeting itself went by in a blur. His mind drifted to the book beside him. To the person in it. Like it always seemed to. Even before this whole thing, his mind would sometimes drift to Dream. Curious about what his favourite flower might be, his favourite animal and more.

When Niki and Ranboo asked where he'd been the last months, Phil answered for him. Explaining how he'd been locked up and stuck there till Phil, rather late, got him out with the stasis chamber. What followed were concerns about Dream's breakout and questions of if he had anything to do with it to which Techno was honest. Though he did try to avoid mentioning how Dream's like him, well aware that the teletubby would prefer as few people as possible to know his status as spirit. Techno himself avoided many people knowing. Too many had wished to wield the sword that housed the mighty warrior.

Luckily, he managed to calm them mostly down, partly thanks to bringing up a few things about how the prison was handled and reassurances that he would ensure their safety.

The meeting got dismissed rather early and once Techno was back at his cabin, he only went out to feed the animals again before falling into bed, taking the book with him.

-----

More days passed. So many hours and still Dream didn't come back out. Techno continued with attempts to keep his worry down. Him and Dream just take different times to form again. The teletubby had been tortured for weeks by the time he was there. They had different objects, him a sword and Dream a book. Maybe it's the material. Maybe- Maybe Quackity had carved into Dream while in the book. So many factors that could delay it. So many reasonable explanations.

Maybe Dream just didn't feel safe to come back around him? He tried not to think about that. But also, he couldn't blame Dream if that was the case. He couldn't put him outside. That was too risky. What if someone decided to visit right then and take him? No one had come to attack yet. No warden or duck or ex-best-friends with a murderous promise. None. Yet.

He glanced at the unmoving book on what could probably be considered a makeshift nest. Pillows and blankets and a cloak he had made for Dream surrounded the book from beneath and around. The faint green shimmer never stopped, reminding Techno of an enchanted object. It reminded him of how Phil and Chat described his sword whenever he was inside.

It was beautiful and unnerving at once. The longer he stared, the more he could see the parallels between the book and Dream. The eye of ender on the cover fit with the one Dream had. The green glowing writing in enchanting language matched the words he could see through some tears in the clothing Dream wore when they tried the book on Techno. The pages nearly looked white as snow or rather Dream's hair. If he took a guess, the ink used for the words and sketches inside was probably as black as the tips of Dream's claws that gradually went over to his usual skin tone along the arm or the words on his skin when not using the book.

He gently felt along the cover with one of his hands before removing it as if burned. He technically held the book for multiple minutes by this point - hours if one were to include the time he accidentally fell asleep with it in his arms - still he tried to keep it to a minimum for Dream's sake. He knew Dream wasn't the biggest with touch. Touch-starved? Most likely, based on how he still leaned towards Techno in prison and how he'd been before, way before. Willing to touch? Eh. Considering the bits he learned while roommating with him in prison, it wasn't surprising. Trust this broken is hard to get again, even more so when all recent touch seemed to have been with the intent to hurt.

It reminds him of himself before he met Phil.

A groan brought him out of his musings. Steve was looking at him with such a puppy-eye look that Techno barely had to think about what he wanted. "You hungry, Steve?" Another groan. "Alright. Alright. You get your food." He rose back to full height before picking Dream's book up. "Just need to do something quickly." He tried to carry as many blankets and pillows too before moving everything downstairs into a mostly hidden corner in the basement and restarting the nest. Maybe if the delay was due to being constantly in the same room as him, this would help Dream feel comfortable enough to come back.

He stepped away, eyes on the book before turning and climbing back up and started making dinner.

-----

Having many animals had its perks, Techno would like to note. They were good company, fighters and more. However, they could also be a disturbance to his plans.

When Techno woke up the next day, he found Dream's book next to him, one of the foxes lying on top of it.

He sighed, before softly petting the fox which continued to sleep despite the gradual removal of the book from below it. With it in hand, he headed down and started his daily routine, item placed once more on a seat near the fire.

The voices started throwing different suggestions for why Dream was still in there. Ranging from simple refusal to death. He tried to ignore that last suggestion. Dream couldn't be dead. The book would have to be destroyed. Just like the sword had to be broken and shattered into pieces for Techno to die. The voices were wrong. Nothing more to it.

He tended to his farm and animals, cooked and fixed some of the fence around their clearing that was starting to deteriorate a bit. A squirrel shortly paused his work as it climbed along the structure.

It was when he was putting away the dishes that a green light from behind made him freeze.

Turning showed a green mist taking shape around the book and a second later, Dream sat there, left eye focused on Technoblade as his face shifted between multiple microexpressions.

Dream was there. Dream was back. His hair was still white, one eye with a whiteish hue over it and one leg missing.

They both stared at each other for several ticks.

"Welcome back, teletubby." Techno greeted him, trying to go for humour with all the relief in his chest at seeing Dream out.

"Why didn't you open it?" Dream asked, voice rough from not having used it in more than two weeks. A frown sat on his face.

"Huh?"

"I've been inside for days. You had so many chances. Why didn't you open it?" Dream looked at him as if he had grown a second head. As if he was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"Why should I?" Techno asked back. "You didn't give away what was inside even under torture. I could be wrong but I was under the impression you weren't really a fan of anyone else knowing what was written inside."

"Yeah, but not like that ever mattered. It sure as hell didn't matter when Sam let Quackity in the first time. Didn't matter when Quackity tried to get it to open with an axe while I was inside."

"It matters to me," Techno responded, stomach sinking at the thought of someone attacking him while inside the object. No wonder Dream's right leg didn't form. Severe damage could limit how much of one's body can be formed. Especially if it's damage to his object. He wouldn't be surprised if his torturer had intentionally aimed at his leg in hopes this would happen.

Dream was silent, eyes moved to the side as Techno's own flickered over Dream, trying to find anything else that was missing or damaged. Except for a missing ring finger, he didn't find much to be concerned about. Scars of course. Plenty. One or two in the form of a familiar smile, some burn scars and others from an axe or knife. But nothing else that would impact Dream's ability to move much.

After many more ticks, Techno clapped his hands. "So, anyway. I made some food if you want. Fish with spinach. It should still be warm."

His roommate squinted at him. "I'm fine. I can get some myself."

"Sure. Sure but I may have made too much, so really, you'd be doing me a favour," Techno continued, hoping for an agreement. And he got one, although reluctant and with obvious scepticism.

He didn't let that dissuade him though and put some of the food on a plate before noticing a slight shake in Dream's hands. "Wanna sit at the table?"

Dream looked to it before shaking his head. "Alright. Hope I didn't salt it too much though. Phil says I sometimes go overboard." He also for some reason had always accompanied it with a wink which Techno was still confused by, though that detail didn't feel important.

After sniffing at it and still looking for something off, Dream took a bite and then another. He didn't keep track of how many but it turned out too much as it didn't take long for Dream's face to turn pale and attempt to rush outside only to reach a window and promptly throw up.

Ah right. Stomach's not used to that much.

-----

Carefully, Techno cut more and more slices of wood away. The form was slowly becoming recognisable much to his satisfaction, but there was still a decent way to go. Once finished, it would fit neatly next to the wolf, crow and pig carved from the same material. After that, he already had another one in mind.

The fire in the chimney flickered softly. It crackled regularly from the bits of water in the wood which was unavoidable. The warmth helped well with the current weather. A snowstorm ruled outside. Not the strongest snowstorm that Techno had ever seen but still not one that should be underestimated.

Looking over to Dream, who sat on a couch near the chimney, he was somewhat glad for the weather. The guy was determined to get out and do whatever stupid thing he had in mind. And that was when his body hadn't even fully healed to its capability.

Not to mention the appointment he had booked for Dream to get him a prosthetic because let's be honest, Techno doesn't have the medical and mechanical knowledge required to get Dream a good one. Not even a decent one. There was maybe one or two people on the server who could make a good one, but Techno didn't trust either of them with this.

Safe to say, Techno wasn't entirely comfortable with letting Dream out and about. Not until he at least healed more. And even then he hoped the guy would stick around. Continue the roommates arc and all. Nothing else. Chat shut up.

In his slight distraction, he slipped and the carving knife cut him on his finger. It luckily didn't get deep, piglin skin is rather sturdy, still blood exits. He put the wood and tool to the side and went to get a cloth to stop the bleeding. When he turned from the cabinet where he got the cloth though, Dream stood right there, eyes fixated on where the wound is, the cut looking like a crack in metal.

"Let me look at it." Confused, Techno did.

Dream held his hand and Techno could feel his face heating up for some reason. His friend leaned down with his head so close that he could feel the heat of his breath as he whispered something Techno couldn't make out. A tick and he felt the skin there tickle. The wound glowed green as it sealed shut. Stunned he kept staring at where there was just a wound but now there was nothing. Only a small faint scar that's barely noticeable.

"How did you-"

"The book didn't just have the secrets to revival." Techno glanced up and saw Dream also still looking at where the wound was. He shortly lifted his head before averting his gaze and moving back to where he was with the help of the stick one of the woods wolves - one that for some reason loved to steal Techno’s glasses - gave him.

-----

It started with the wolves barking outside.

They didn't bark when it was a friend. Every time Niki, Ranboo, Phil or Dream entered this area, the dogs didn't bark. That was the first sign for them to get ready.

They had discussed this, him and Dream. Techno would go out, armour and weapons at the ready. Dream would try to hide somewhere in the house where he hopefully won't be found while Techno tries to get them out of this with the least amount of bloodshed. As much as Techno wanted to get back at Quackity and Sam, killing them could lead to more unwanted attention from the rest of the server, especially if they got confirmation that Dream was still with Techno instead of on his own somewhere. Right now, the priority was safety.

So Dream hid himself away covered by Steve. As embarrassing as the position seemed, Dream figured neither of the two looking for him would risk angering a bear just to see or get what seemed to be in its grip.

If he had a mouth, he would have stopped breathing when he heard Quackity enter. And he knew those footsteps even if they sounded more unsure. He also knew the ones that followed and noted a third one he expected missing. Just Quackity and Technoblade then. Sam probably stayed outside in case Dream tried to sneak away.

The two inside were talking. Dream knew they were talking but he couldn't focus on the words. He tried to. He needed to know but he couldn't. Mind

A screech cut through his haze. For a second he worried that it was Techno before registering the next words. "Technoblade, get your fox off of me, dude. Get your fucking fox off of me."

Dream tried to peek and sense what was going on and got a rough image. A dark blue figure shook in pain as a smaller, way smaller green one tore into his arm that had reached up to a bookcase.

"Aw, come on. They just want to play. Ain't that right, Em?"

"It's literally biting me. Get it off of me." Dream had to admit, that fox was determined. She didn't let off despite the way Quackity shook his arm. Good fox.

Blood was soaking through his sleeves when one of the wolves came from behind and bit into his leg, mauling on it multiple times. It didn't go missing on him that it's the same he lost and he wondered for a second if the hound knew.

If it wasn't for his current mouthless state, Dream would have burst out laughing when another one bit into the intruder. For a second, he thought they might be close to actually kill-

Quackity's form poofed, leaving his items behind. He heard a cackle from somewhere in the room. He'd have thought it was himself if he could make sounds. Instead, it was Technoblade who seemingly couldn't hold it in himself.

"Well done, Em and June. Well done, you two." Techno praised them. Tears crinkled at the edge of his eyes as he petted them.

He stood back up properly and went to the door only to come back rather quickly. "Welp. Sam dipped too. Probably scared of the big fearsome fox and hound. Probably helped that Ravyn was outside too." Techno's gaze stayed on the outside a bit more. Likely making sure that no one was there anymore. "Dream, you can come out. Pretty sure we are not gonna have to worry about them for a bit."

Dream did so after a few more ticks. Forming around the book again. However, he realised a moment too late that it left him stuck with Steve, who seemed to like holding him. "Um. Techno. A little help?"

"You know what? Nah. Who am I to take my emotional support bear's emotional support war criminal."

"Techno!" Dream tried to wiggle out of the soft arms, only to be held closer. He would have tried again if not for the snout moving against him as the wolf that still had blood around its snout was starting to lean against him. Same for the fox as they seemed to cuddle together against him.

Moving would be impossible now without accidentally hitting one of them.

Reluctantly, Dream gave up, sagging in Steve's hold while Techno brought in two more wolves. One snowy one and one woods. Both joined the animals already resting and Dream didn't need to look up to see Techno smirking at him.

"When I get out, I'll get my revenge."

"Sure you will, bud. Sure you will. What do you want for dinner?"

"...Broccoli Gratin."

-----

Dream settled back in the same place on the couch the next day. Once more idly watching as Techno carved a new wooden figure that Dream could make out to be a cat. It looked good already. Incredibly so. He had spotted the wooden figures on his shelves before and debated asking but never did.

"Whe-" His voice cracked. He moved past. "When did you start with wood carving?"

"Uh. Probably around eight months ago? Give or take. Been wanting to get into it a few years ago. Didn't really get to. Stuff got in the way. Lost the books teaching woodcarving. Got called to war. You know, usual things?"

"Heh. Yeah. Usual."

Dream's gaze shortly went up to Techno's eyes. They were blue. Like the sky but, more colourful. Like aquamarine. Like the gem on his sword.

"You know, I wasn't always the spirit of a sword." Techno at some point voiced. "It's been... roughly about a hundred years ago I think. I was in an arena, one of their best champions even if their treatment of me never really matched it. The audience would cheer whenever I fought, not that it mattered to the owners besides the money it brought them." He huffed. Dream stared, unsure how to respond.

"I was good enough that I caught a certain god's attention. The Blood God loves to see fights and apparently, he loved to watch mine. So much so that he gave me a blessing." The last word was accompanied by a tone he couldn't pinpoint. Dream glanced back down to the figure the other was still carving.

"That night, I became immortal. Not to be killed unless the sword he gave me was shattered beyond repair. It was also the night I became free. So both immortality and freedom. Pog if you ask me." Techno seemed to be carving details like the eyes and mouth now. He was silent after that. It took only a few more ticks for Dream to open his mouth instead.

"I made a deal with Schlatt. He got protection and an army, I got the book. Then one moment I was there, burning a copy of the book, the next, I was like this." It was less than Techno told him. But Techno didn't need to know about the experiments. He didn't need to know about Punz and how somehow only he became the spirit of the book, not his mercenary.

"Huh. Always thought you were a bookworm. You sure you don't write any fanfics?"

"Oh my god, no." Dream immediately responded.

"That was a suspiciously quick denial," the piglin joked.

"No, it's not. What?" A smile tugged at his lips, tail swishing back and forth behind him.

"Come on. What's your pen name? I promise I won't tell a soul." Techno grinned.

"No, I'm leaving." Dream said as he planned to stand up, only for one of the wolves to settle on top of him.

"Yes. Good, Yawn." Techno encouraged.

"No, No. Bad." Dream tried to discourage it to no avail.

"Well. Guess you're stuck now. Now where were we?"

Dream leaned his head back, scratching the spotted wolf with one hand.

-----

Dream couldn't sleep. It was nothing new. He spent plenty of nights awake either by choice or inability. Usually, though, he didn't need to figure out a way how to get out of another person's arms.

Slowly, he started shifting into a mouse, making himself small and light enough that hopefully, Techno wouldn't wake. He stepped along the bedsheets and down onto the floor. He gave his sleeping roommate one last glance before changing to a screech owl and quietly flying himself down the ladder and through an open window. Once on the porch, he shifted back.

It was cold. Freezingly so. He didn't have the cloak. Or anything really fitting for the temperature.

Just a few hundred ticks and then he'd go back in.

Before the time passed though, he heard the floorboards inside creak and just a few ticks later, a cloak found its way around him and a certain piglin next to him.

"Nice night, isn't it? The sky's so clear you can even see the stars and constellations like the Nightmare Eater and the Lava Walker." Techno spoke softly. Eyes up to the sky as well.

"Which ones are those?" Dream asked, not so much for the knowledge about stars and more just to hear Techno's voice.

His roommate pointed to different stars while leaning closer to Dream, their heads next to each other. "This one's Nightmare Eater. A phantom that feasted upon the nightmares of gods till they had enough and punished it by turning it into stars, never to get another meal." He pointed to another cluster. "And that's Lava Walker. A strider who had helped a young adventurer get help from his friends after falling down from a great height in the nether. The injury could have caused his death if the strider didn't get them. As thanks, the lil guy got immortalised."

Dream looked from the stars to Techno, seeing them reflect in his eyes. A sparkle in his blue eyes that entranced Dream. He didn���t even notice their hands being intertwined.

Techno turned his head down, looking back at Dream after noticing his silence. His eyes flickered to his lips.

They stared at each other as the moon shone down on them.

With the stars as only witnesses, Techno kissed Dream and Dream kissed back.

[hivemuthur]

Nothing's New - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut to come somewhere mid-way through

Ch.1. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,2K

tag: #nothings new

summary: More meetings, welcomed and unwelcomed + some foreshadowing. Nothing exactly smutty in this chapter, but I'm leaving it on explicit rating, for reasons of angst and generally adult emotions. Also, I should go to writer's jail for starting so many fics with dialogue.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Why the fuck are you only telling me this now?” You fume over the phone. A sloppy text message from Mel has made you stop in the middle of the street. Now. Now, when you are heading to act out your pretend chance meeting with Viktor. Now, when you are ten minutes away from the drop point and haven’t finished replaying all possible conversation starters in your head yet. Now, when your knuckles are white from clutching your coffee cup. Now, when you are bathed in the cold sweat of fear and the hot sweat of the temperature. Why now. Why now.

I feel you should know this. Viktor is seeing someone. Please don’t eat me.

You are going to fucking eat her and clean your teeth with her bones.

“Jayce spilled just recently. He was afraid I would tell you.” Oh, the irony. Mel is whispering on the phone, which indicates that Jayce is around, and her clock is ticking. “Apparently it’s been going on for about six weeks. It’s someone from work.”

“What?! Six weeks? What was that scene at your party then?!” To counter Mel’s whispering, you are screaming. White-hot anger surges through your veins, blinding fury. The audacity. The audacity to make you feel bad for doing something adjacent to moving on when he himself has moved on weeks ago. People scoff as they walk past you, and you glare daggers at them. Fuck off.

“I understand this is… hard, but… I thought you were happy with Paul? Maybe this is the way to fix this?” your friend offers carefully. Very carefully.

“I am happy. I am so fucking happy it makes me sick,” you spit into the speaker against Mel’s sigh. The thought of Paul makes you feel guilty. Your entire relationship has been built on guilt poisoning your reason. But the thought of Viktor. With someone else. That’s different.

“This is all I know. Jayce is leaving, I have to run!” Mel ignores your protests, puts the speaker an inch away from her mouth, and sends you three in-air kisses. You almost throw your phone into the trash bin. You almost slap a person walking past you who gives you a sodden look. You almost kick a beer can under your feet with the force of a rugby player.

This is so, so different. The thought of you and Paul suddenly makes you sad. The way he is a picture of kind insecurity, even though most of him is mouthwatering. There are ugly parts of him, yet invisible to the naked eye. He makes the thought of being touched by someone other than Viktor bearable.

Viktor touched you like he was keeping you. His claiming hands, a constant reminder of his yearning. Which is why, when he stopped, you forgot. You became unkept. A stray in a shelter, getting food, water, and blankets, but no carer. And you could’ve lived without all of those, but not without the belonging. For you, it decayed much sooner than for Viktor.

And then Paul found you. He stumbled upon the pieces of you, left to be picked up and put back together. And Paul touched you like he was asking for permission to be kept. So the two of you strays agreed to keep each other. With time, his touch became familiar; it had overridden the default touch of Viktor. It became comforting, consoling. You never long for it, but you always welcome it. And you no longer need a keeper.

And Paul is a man that everyone envies you for. He’s a man that steals glances and twists the necks of women who congratulate themselves for having a decadent taste in men. In fact, Paul just looks like he fucks well and would make a good dad in the future. He’s hot, but not intimidating, smart, but not a buffoon. Clingy and needy at times. He gets angry in traffic and then patronises you when you freak out about weak Wi-Fi. He has a sadness and kindness to him that makes him a whole human. And sometimes, a whole human is more than you can bear.

You wonder, who is this woman who found pieces of Viktor, and how has she put them back together? If she did. If he let her. If he is in pieces at all.

You feel yourself in fragments, appearing and disappearing, as you approach the shop. And oh God, he is there, and Jayce is running late. Viktor is... picking a bed.

Your shirt clings to you awfully, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the shop window—face red, remnants of foaming anger visible at the corners of your mouth twisted downwards, hair all messy from digging your hand into it, and two fucking sweat stains under your armpits. Great. Just great.

Why is he picking a bed? Is his bed soaked with you, and he wants a fresh one for the new woman? Is he ready for someone else’s scent so soon? You aren’t ready for him being ready.

You snort up three breaths in a row, no exhales. You hold them until one of your feet steps through the door, announced by a bell. Before your mind can throw you something—anything—you’ve prepared, you feel yourself walking up to him, and you hear yourself blurting out, “Why are you buying a bed?”

Viktor, who is standing by a frame much bigger than the one you two used to sleep in, looks up at you slowly, his lips disappearing into a thin line. “Because I need a bed. And hello.”

“What’s wrong with the old bed?” Unbelievably, you’ve lost all of your common sense. All that matters is why Viktor needs a new bed. His eyebrows raise, and he… smiles. With a horrible, smarmy curve of his lips.

“I don’t have a bed anymore,” he answers sweetly, acid dripping off his tongue.

He didn’t have the bed anymore. For months, he had slept on his tiny couch, which had significantly buggered his spine. But he couldn’t bear it—the bed had smelled of you, and whenever he came near it, it was as if you were still there, lying there, waiting for him. At first, he had wanted to burn it. He asked Jayce for help, and Jayce was frightened. He fidgeted around Viktor and asked him wary questions like, “Are you sure this is what you want?” or, “Isn’t it illegal?”

Viktor scoffed at the last one. He was convinced that if he had told the police why he was burning a bed, they would have helped him do it. But since he was in no shape to chop it with an axe while picturing your face or drive it out of town to build a pillar of hate to pay his respects to you in an eternal flame, he settled on a Craigslist deal. Some poor fucker wanted a bed in exchange for a book. It happened to be the first edition of Naked Lunch. The poor fucker had no idea.

You would have loved it. So he burned it instead.

He burned it on the balcony in the middle of the night, hoping it would make him feel better. Hoping you would feel the tickle of the flames around your soul as he purged it from his being. Hoping that this symbolic act of destroying a piece of literary history would also destroy his feeling of this—this thing he dared not name.

And now, he has just collected a shiny new set of keys to his apartment that he is going to give to Julia the next day. Not to live together, too early for that. But to come and go as she pleases. He will do things differently now. He will do them better this time.

And it is easier, because Jules isn’t so co-dependent. She is collected and pretty. She is alright with anything Viktor proposes. She never challenges him and manages to be funny on rare occasions. They have a lot in common, and it feels comfortable. Yes, Jules is an easy ride—one that he needs after his road through hell.

“What happened to the old bed?” you insist. You loved that bed. It was small and cozy and soft, and Viktor would always jokingly complain about it. And then he would really complain about it, because when he wanted to be far away from you, the softness of the mattress would suck you both into the middle by morning, like a black hole.

His vile smirk turns into a full, shit-eating grin. “It’s gone,” he says coldly. “I hated it. It was bad for my back. Why are you here?” He shoots you a look, and you feel a new wave of sweat pushing itself through your skin.

“I saw you in the window,” you blurt out idiotically, as if that would explain anything. You bite the inside of your cheek, your face contorting into a new expression every second. How utterly mortifying.

“And? You thought you could say hello?” He shifts his weight onto the cane, pinning you like a butterfly on one of those museum boards. Splayed flat, stretched and dried out, dust under anyone’s prying fingers. “Or… you thought it was proper to just come in and be disturbingly weird?”

“I— What? I am not being weird! I’m asking you a question, and you lie to my face,” you hiss, your tone defensive. Oh, he has caught you. His eyes glint, clearly pleased with your mind struggling to formulate a proper comeback.

“Disturbingly weird it is, then,” he deadpans, that fucking smirk still on his face.

Weird. He remembers it so well. He didn’t want to, yet the sensation burned itself into his brain. Even more now, as the act of burning history had the opposite effect of what he desired. After the last remnants of Naked Lunch lifted into the hot summer air and disappeared into glimmering dust, he felt himself stepping into the weird club. The way your weirdness was fascinating and hot. The way his was full of fear and remained unaccepted.

You were neurotic but refused to acknowledge it fully, even though you wore it as a verbal badge. The constant fidgeting, moving objects around, slow pacing across the room as you read your books, always with a soundtrack because your mind needed distractions to remain focused. You could sing a song and read a book simultaneously, and Viktor loved it. He lived to observe all those people encapsulated within you, every single one incomplete, as if you were made of a bunch of different personas.

The fidgeting became overwhelming when he asked you to move in with him. It had been fast, and he owned it—the recklessness of the decision. He left you a way out: keep your old place, just in case. The “just in case” came in handy three years later, when you returned to a dark cage shrouded in dust.

But back then, you had no idea what to do with yourself once your stuff travelled with you to Viktor’s. When you were a guest, the pressure was less. You could move things around, and he would put them back where they belonged after you left. Now, you debated heavily before touching anything. Your books splayed on the floor, your records in a box, while you moved from place to place trying to figure out the value of a random bundle of tomes that some poor soul had sold to your boss for a stupidly small sum.

Viktor was sitting at his desk, trying to work, but your groans made him wince, and your skittish movements lingered in the corner of his eye. He turned in his chair and sighed.

“Come here,” he beckoned, his arm opening in a welcoming gesture, inviting you to sit in his lap. You paused, a puzzled look on your face. Then, you dropped your computer onto the bed, walked up to him too fast to save yourself any dignity, and straddled his hips, hiding your face in his neck.

“Why are you being so jumpy?” Viktor asked, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from whatever answer you would have to come up with, signalling that whatever the reason was, it was alright.

“I am always jumpy,” you mumbled into his collar. No way to say this. Happy and sad at the same time. Excited and frightened. Bold and shy. Full of his love and hungry for more.

“Hmm, but this time more than usual,” he mused, placing a hot hand on the nape of your neck. A thought struck him.

“Miláčku, are you nervous about a new space?” His question was met with silence, only your nose pressing deeper into his neck. He chuckled, pleased to stumble upon the answer so quickly.

“Do you not feel like this is your home?” he asked, his tone warm and gentle as he propped your face against his palm and lifted it so you would look at him, the response painted on your face.

“Would you like to change something? Would you like to, say, paint a wall?” His peace offering made you wince at your own immaturity. Yes, you wanted to change something. Yes, you wanted to feel less like an invader. The comfort of being a guest was long forgotten, morphing into the feeling of being a stranger probing Viktor’s space, trying to squeeze yourself into it.

Seeing your eyes fixed on him expectantly, your mouth forming a pout, he continued. “Would you like a bookshelf?” A timid nod. He smiled. There we are.

“And maybe a record shelf?” An unhinged display of affection at this. You rubbed your face against his in thanks, nodding a few more times and purring. He chuckled, rolling your hips on his, warmth pooling low under his belly button.

“Hmm, and would you like to get all those things now?” Or would you rather seal the deal with a nice, afternoon fuck? He licked the lobe of your ear, breathing you in through his nose. Your hips pressed down on him, a sweet weight of your ass splayed on his lap making him warm. He ran his flat palms down your back to ground you further, his touch addictive.

“No. Now I want to do something else,” you said, picking up the ball, nipping at his lower lip. You kissed his beauty marks, and Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss. So much fun to crack you open.

“Ah, distracted already?” he mumbled before kissing you deeply. His hands travelled to cup your ass cheeks, his palms filled with your flesh, just as things should be.

“You always distract me.” Spoken with embarrassment at the admission. Sweet civility, your decorum still intact at those tiny confessions. He swallowed all of them, kept them to himself, and grew stronger and better each time he was granted one.

“And… I’m sorry for being weird,” you said, pulling away an inch to rest your forehead against his.

“I like weird,” Viktor said with a smile, his tone closer to a love confession than a blunt statement. “I am weird,” he added, tracing the lines of your face with his fingers.

“No, you are not,” you chuckled, disarmed. “You are… peculiar,” you announced, poking his lips gently, affectionately.

“That’s just a fancy weird,” Viktor snorted. Peculiar. What a word. What a beautiful word to be given to him. He would wear it like a crown from that point forward. You had anointed him with your gift, and he would cherish it with pride.

“No,” you defended, your brows furrowed at this clear misunderstanding. “No. Weird has bad connotations.” Your finger rested on the tip of his nose, accentuating your point. “Peculiar is fascinating and curious,” you mused as your finger began tracing upward, all the way to the spot between his eyebrows, and then higher, to the line of his hair, brushing it away so you could cup his face. “Odd, in a good way.”

“Alright, word wizard. Did you just come up with this?” he relented with an embarrassed chuckle.

“No, I thought that on the first sight,” you announced proudly. You had. Peculiar was entirely Viktor’s. Wonderful, fascinating. Never fully uncovered, always something there lurking to surprise you. A wild landscape of his brilliant mind, of his raw body—so flawed, so beautiful, like an unfinished sculpture. Every time you remembered his angles, they would shift into something even more mesmerising. The complete lack of effort within him, the way he dressed like a man from a novel. The way he was always incomplete, always searching.

“Peculiar at first sight. Do you have a word for everyone?” he murmured. Seeing your timid nod, his eyebrows shot up. “Jayce?”

You laughed; this one was easy. “Big. Just big. Big everything—big hands, big teeth, big smile, big personality. There is enough of Jayce to literally hug the world,” you said, your tone warm and friendly, as all of this was true about Jayce.

Viktor chuckled, thought for a second. “Mel?”

“Rich.” The word came slightly too fast, and you grinned. Viktor laughed knowingly. “But it goes to everything about her, as I love her,” you clarified, your expression soft. Mel was rich through sharing it with other people. Her fortune came back to her, the more she gave it away. The fortune of her money, her personality, her beauty, spread across all the people she knew.

“Oh, I know. For yourself?” He cocked his eyebrows, his look probing. He had so many words for you. Beautiful. Unhinged. Skittish. Tender. Focused. Distracted. Vulgar. Weird. Hot. His.

“Uh… chaos,” you chuckled awkwardly. Yes, the chaos of your mind never tamed. Which was why your life landed in books. They had provided you with all the personalities you mended yourself from, making your chaotic being work. And Viktor seemed to like all of them.

Until he stopped, and there you were. The weird gained its disturbing friend, and it was no longer cute or fascinating. Now, it was gnawing at him, because he could see those parts of you that he once loved so dearly through a distorting layer of ice, burning his eyes.

“It is none of your concern how I furnish my apartment,” he says calmly. “I am seeing someone and would like your remaining stuff to be removed. Here.” His words stab at you as he pulls out a keychain from his back pocket.

“Next weekend, I’m out of town. Feel free to come and collect your things. Leave the keys in the post box,” he recites, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “If you don’t, I will dispose of them on my own.”

A rush of blood to your head—cold and vile—leaves icy spikes in your veins as it travels upward through your body. Your face drains of colour, your mouth agape. Thousands of “what”s push themselves to your tongue, and you let one slip through.

“W-what?”

“What is so surprising? The pragmatism, or the fact that I had the civility to tell you I’m moving forward on my own accord?” he asks, his tone so utterly cruel it makes your insides twist. “Take this as the last ounce of respect I have left for you.”

“Are you implying that I do not respect you?” you spit, the fury you felt while talking to Mel surging back with full force. What a wanker. “You blocked me. Everywhere. I had no way to let you know.”

“Just take the keys.”

“I… still have my set,” you offer weakly, instantly regretting it as Viktor’s lips curl into a smirk.

“These are new,” he says with feigned innocence. Of course. But you already know this, so why does it shoot straight through your chest? Why does it leave a steaming hole in it? Why do you want to take the keys and stab his eyes with them? Why do you want to scream at him—and yet you can’t.

You take them wordlessly, staring into the void. They burn your hand. “Okay. Alright,” you sigh, defeated, sliding the keychain into your pocket.

An automated smile glues itself to Viktor’s face. So why does he feel so rotten? Surely, this is a victory. Here you are, crumbled into a sad twat of a person, resigned from any further attempts to talk to him. Here you are, exactly where he wants you—hunched and shrunk under the weight of his boot stomping over your cruel heart. You lost, and he won.

So why does he feel so shitty?

He clears his throat and looks away.

“I will have you know that Jayce is desperate to piece the gang together. You and your new… partner will receive an invitation to dinner on Sunday. Jayce has informed me that we are expected to play nice.” The word “partner” is laced with so much venom, the radius could make all the kittens in the vicinity drop dead.

“W-what?” you ask dumbly again. What the fuck? Jayce has lost his mind.

Before you can ask again, the said madman appears by your side.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks wearily, but his embrace is warm.

“Can… can I talk to you for a second?” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. And the worst part is, there’s nobody to carry you home on the top of your shield.

Jayce glances over to Viktor nervously, but Viktor’s eyes are fixed on the mattress in front of him. Jayce sighs, nods, and pulls you a few steps away, pretending the reality isn’t as fucked up as it is.

“What’s up?” He keeps his tone light.

“Jayce, a dinner?”

“Uh, he told you already? I meant to… Yeh, I had an idea that maybe if we all meet and clear the air, things could move forward, at least a bit?”

When he sees your mouth opening and closing a couple of times, and your eyes not blinking even once, he adds, “Please. This is killing me. I feel exactly the same as I did when my parents were divorcing.”

You sigh, finally. Finally, a breath. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and you can feel Viktor’s secretive glances.

“Can I leave at any point?”

Jayce’s face lights up with relief. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, thank you for giving this a chance,” he blurts, so happy, wrapping you up in a hug.

You want to wince away at first, afraid that he might feel how restless your heart is or that he might smell how sweaty you are. But in the end, Jayce’s hug does what it had always done—it calms you, making your head give up. It is what it is.

“I’m gonna go,” you say weakly, pulling yourself away. Jayce shoots you a knowing look and nods, placing his hand on your shoulder before you disappear completely.

You don’t spare Viktor so much as a glance, his keys still burning a hole in your pocket.

***

You despair. The number of times Paul calmly tells you that you could still turn back makes you sick. This poor, kind bastard. He has agreed to this ridiculous idea in an instant, before even checking how you felt about it. Seeing that what you felt is utter peril, he does his best to calm you down and present you with around a thousand options for how this could go.

“We can just not go. We can pretend you’re sick. We can pretend I’m sick, and you can go alone. I can go alone and test the waters for you. We can stay for a drink. We can leave if you feel uncomfortable. Just remember this awesome thing called ‘free will,’ okay?” he says, sitting cross-legged, naked, on the bed.

You are pacing, also naked. Panic surges through your vascular system. It carries said panic to every tissue of your body, making it slowly decompose into a puddle of cries and sobs.

“Hey,” he says, getting up and rushing to hug you. “It’s alright. He’s just a guy.”

This very complacent lie makes you shoot him a look. He tries to be respectful of your old life, of your friendships. Unbidden, his love is too sweet on your tongue as you feel yourself becoming complacent as well.

And then you remember Jayce. His face when he was sad, and he was so, so fucking sad it ripped your heart out. And you feel this vast emptiness that is left after Viktor. With the absence of him, the absence of Jayce and Mel is unbearable. So you sigh.

“Alright. Okay. Let me just… try to do something to not look like a rat.”

Paul chuckles, assuring you that you never look like a rat. When you walk down to the restaurant, your feet stomp heavily on the pavement, and your hand squeezes Paul’s palm in an unrelenting grip. At the door, he says it again, “We can turn back.”

You shake your head and step inside, bravely hiding behind the mass of your boyfriend. Jayce spots you instantly. He gets up so fast, his cutlery clattering to the floor.

“I was afraid you were going to bail,” he whispers loudly into your ear when you finally make it across the room.

“I… thought about it,” you admit under his glare. “You have to thank this guru,” you add with a sigh, gesturing to Paul, who just shrugs, as if it were obvious that you would have bailed without him.

They exchange embraces. You smooch Mel’s face obscenely, actually quite happy to see her, before slumping into your chair, the question staring you in the face. Where is Viktor?

Noticing the question mark distorting your forehead, Mel quickly adds, “They’re on the way. Traffic.”

Bullshit. Viktor lives nearby, and there is no traffic on a Sunday evening. A small relief creeps into you—maybe the outer gods heard you, and it is Viktor who was going to bail. Maybe you have been pulling your hair out over nothing, and this will turn into just a nice evening with your two friends and your lovely boyfriend. Maybe—

“Apologies. Traffic,” comes a sharp tone, accompanied by a shrug and the familiar sight of a cane being hung over the chair’s armrest.

Something sinks in your chest. Peril has just taken relief’s head, ripped it off, and taken a huge shit into its neck. But this isn’t the worst. Introductions come next.

A girl comes running in after him. Pretty. Nerdy. Just… pretty. Nothing remarkable. Pliant and nice, with slightly shy body language. Potentially intelligent. Potentially nothing.

And suddenly, you feel odd having Paul at your side. It feels like you are trying to prove something. It eats at you—that Viktor has shown up with someone so unremarkable, while he himself oozes confidence about his champion. Your champion seems to be completely overblown—his massive frame, his charm that could sweep anyone off their feet.

Overachiever. Poser. Liar.

You feel a nasty fucking thing hatching in your chest. It envelopes your heart, fills your veins with ice, and you could swear the whites of your eyes have gone black. Your hand hesitates when she repeats your name with an oblivious voice, pulling her palm out for a handshake. Your own palm hovers as you muster every ounce of willpower not to slap that mediocre face.

“Hi, Julia. Nice to meet you,” you manage, swallowing the beast, which rakes its claws at your insides as it slides down to your stomach. Your throat burns as you down an entire whisky glass.

You realise it would feel less painful were she obscenely beautiful. Her absolutely average physique has meant that there was something within her soul that beckoned Viktor forth, and the thought makes your own soul wail.

You watch them all from your seat, exchanging names and glances. Jayce knows Julia from work. Paul knows both Jayce and Mel. Which leaves… oh.

“Right, sorry. I’m slow in this weather,” you chuckle a bit too loudly. “Paul. Julia. Viktor.” You gesture clumsily, presenting them to each other before scrambling back into your seat, craning your neck to eye the waiter back to your table.

You watch Paul charming Viktor’s new girlfriend with his smile. You watch Viktor’s slender hand disappear into Paul’s firm grip. You watch their eyes meet, cold and challenging.

You feel a sudden urge to slide under the table. To bury your head in your knees. To bite through the wooden floor to the basement. To dig your own grave and fall asleep in it forever.

“Thanks for the invite, Mel,” Julia beams at your friend, and you spot Mel’s unctuous smile gluing itself to her face. This one is one of her best—so oily and sleek that even Jayce notices. He presses a kiss on her cheek so deep that she has to relax her face.

“So… how did you guys all meet?” It falls on the table and it takes you a few seconds to pick it up.

Holy fucking shit in heaven. Of course. He hasn’t told her. He hasn’t told her that this innocent dinner with friends is actually a farce with the high potential of turning into a carnage. She is oblivious to you. She has no idea. Ignorance is bliss.

“Uh… well, me and Viktor know each other from university, but that you know. Mel I met at a business convention, and, well…” Jayce stammers, stumbling over his words as his forehead begins to glisten with sweat.

Poor soul. You feel so sorry for him, you throw him a lifeline.

“And I am Mel’s friend. Best bitches since business school,” you say, giving the best fake smile you have. Not as good as Mel’s, but it does the job. “And Paul and I met at my work. You can connect the dots,” you throw out nonchalantly. And Viktor was fucking me into heaven for three years. For two.

“Oh, so you’re in business too?” Julia really tries, but the tension is just too palpable. You blink, dumbfounded.

“Uh, no.” A forced chuckle, as if business were a vile way to live. “I sell books.”

“Alright, that’s just unfair,” Jayce intercepts, taken aback by your modesty. You are not trying to be modest; you are trying to give as little information about yourself as possible. You almost smack him, but he continues.

“She finds books like you wouldn’t imagine. Medieval texts, first editions, magic books—all the crazy shit people would write down and publish. Precious objects,” Jayce muses as you try to smooth a crease of panic from your forehead.

“And they trick people who have no idea of their value into selling them rare tomes for chunks of copper,” Viktor murmurs, twirling the wine in his glass.

“Knowledge comes at a price. Of all people, you should be the one to understand that,” you shoot back, your nails slicing through the skin of your palms. You feel Paul’s hand on yours. He doesn’t look at you; he just entwines your fingers together on your knee. The saviour.

“Anyway, it’s actually all incredibly bureaucratic and boring,” you offer weakly, finishing your second drink. “And what about you?”

And then Julia talks. How she is an assistant at the lab where Viktor and Jayce work. How she was always fascinated by their projects. How she thought Viktor distant and mysterious at the beginning, only to discover he was a sweet man. How she just couldn’t say no when he asked her out. Each sentence is a stab into your chest, each of your hard gulps making Viktor smile triumphantly. Until—

The first thing you see is his smirk dropping from his face. The second is Paul’s face as he pulls you in to whisper into your ear, disguising the act as a gesture of affection.

“Smile. And nod. Do you want me to punch him?” he murmurs, the question inaudible to anyone but you.

You smile lovingly, place your hand on his cheek, and shake your head. In fact, you smile so much that your face hurts, and you find yourself needing to physically relax your cheeks with your fingers.

The conversation carries on, all faces a tad sour save for Julia’s. She does most of the talking and asking questions. She focuses on Mel and Jayce, leaving you and Paul to exchange inside jokes. And he does such an exceptional job distracting you that some of your smiles are actually genuine.

You are on your third drink, and your body relaxes despite itself. The food arrives, finally bringing some silence, occasionally broken by hums of appreciation and Jayce’s voice, since he talks with his mouth full. For a moment, you forget Viktor is there—until Julia leaves for the bathroom and leans over to give Viktor a kiss.

His neck cranes to meet her mouth. His hand travels to her throat; the other squeezes her waist. Very briefly, his eyes meet yours. Before you can combust from the look, her hair falls, shielding them both, and all you can make out is the sound of lips smacking apart when she finally pulls away. You wonder what would happen if you stabbed your hand with a fork.

Viktor clears his throat and returns his attention to his plate. You watch him separating meat from the bone, chewing, and swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. And he feels your eyes on him, the smug curve of his lips betraying him.

Paul picks up the glove. He clumsily rolls a chunk of pasta onto his fork and asks innocently if you want to try his food. Absently, you nod, taking a sip of water first to flush your mouth. The bite is too big, and he smears sauce on your cheek and nose. You don’t worry about decorum; you chew as you always chew—jaw working heavily as you gulp down. You can swear Viktor’s eyes are burning a hole in your throat. Paul chuckles at how gross you are and leans in to kiss the sauce off your cheek, nose, and the corner of your mouth. He lingers and comments on how it tastes even better now. It’s all very sickening, and you feel dirty doing it. You can see Viktor eyeing his fork.

Julia returns and plops down next to Viktor with a happy sigh, as if she’s just had the most satisfying number two of her life. You cackle at the thought, but it dies in your throat when Viktor chirps, “I missed you,” to her and presses his lips to her temple.

You feel yourself simmering beneath the skin. It’s all too much.

“Excuse me for a second.” You offer another sweet smile, stand up, place a hand on Paul’s shoulder, and make your way toward the entrance. A gush of sticky air isn’t exactly a relief, but at least it’s not acidic.

“Sorry, can I bum one?” you ask a woman smoking outside. She gives you an understanding look and pulls the cigarette pack toward you.

“Sure, honey. Did you spot your ex in the crowd?”

“Uh, you have no idea. Thanks,” you exhale, letting her light your cigarette. You don’t smoke, but now it seems suitable.

You are expecting Paul to come out after you, ordering a regroup.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Viktor deadpans, giving you a scolding look.

“I don’t,” is all you manage to say without choking on the smoke. “Please, leave me alone,” you plead, seeing him move closer. You could rake that face with your nails. You could slap him and walk away. You could throw his keys back at him and tell him to eat shit. But no. Jayce needs you to play nice.

“Are you not having a nice time?” he asks innocently, just aiming to hurt. “I thought you wanted things back to normal.”

You sigh, looking at the cigarette lying oddly between your fingers. “I…” Your voice falters. And then, despite your efforts to hold the words back, they refuse to stay. They slice your throat open from the inside, bleeding straight into his ears. “I miss you.”

A slap. A slap straight through his heart, hooking his lungs out of his chest. Your beast gets him, instead of sweet Julia. It coils in, purring and eating him from the inside. It’s all he wanted to hear. He won, again. And he feels like shit about it, again.

Viktor’s cane wobbles under his weight, a sharp, uncomfortable cough forcing its way out of him. His face twists. He stands there, still as stone, except for the erratic rise and fall of his chest. His lips part, his tongue flicks to wet them, but no words come. He looks like he is suffocating under the weight of what you’ve just said.

“Fuck off.” The words come out jagged, like broken glass, his voice harsh and cracking. “You have no right.”

You deserve it. You have no right, indeed. Your chest tightens, your lungs pulling for air that isn’t there. He has gone for the kill, but his voice… His voice doesn’t match his words. It’s soft and trembling.

“I know.” Your voice cracks too, balancing on the edge of fury and despair. You step toward him, the cigarette still burning between your fingers, ash crumbling onto the pavement. “But I do.” It feels like scraping off a scab too fresh to be poked at.

Viktor’s eyes widen, just for a moment. It’s quick—too quick—but you catch it. A flash of something buried deep, a flicker of something that makes your knees want to buckle, to throw yourself at his feet. His jaw clenches hard, his lips twitching as if biting back every single thing he wants to say.

“This was supposed to be over,” he hisses finally, but his gaze betrays him, darting down to your mouth, lingering on the curve of your jaw.

“It… is, I just—” You step even closer, the words clawing their way out of you, half a plea, half a challenge. “This is different.” There is no logical explanation for how this is different, except for the absolute certainty, the gnawing truth in your heart of hearts. You are utterly convinced that Julia existed only to spite you, whereas Paul existed to save you, and in principle, the connection between him and Viktor was non-existent. You wonder, for a second, if you should tell him. And then you picture how he would react, and you decide not to.

His hand grips the handle of his cane tighter, his knuckles turning white. “Do not—” His voice wavers. “Do not do this to me.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow and cruel even to your own ears. “What am I doing to you?” You gesture wildly, the cigarette burning low, its ember a heartbeat away from searing your skin. “I try to do right by you. All you do is block me and slap me around.”

“You left!” he snaps, his voice rising, sharp enough to cut through your already battered flesh. “You are the one who left, and now you stand here, saying—saying things you should have said before.” He looks completely crestfallen.

The silence that follows is deafening. Your shoulders slump as you stare at him, and for a moment, you don’t recognise the man in front of you. The Viktor you know wasn’t this—this wreckage, this storm barely holding itself together.

“I left because you made me,” you whisper, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “Because you pushed and pushed until I broke. And now I don’t even know if there’s enough of me left to stay mad at you.”

His head dips, his shoulders collapsing in defeat. His free hand runs through his hair, tugging at the roots like he wants to rip something out—anything, just to make the ache stop.

“You think it was easy for me?” he asks quietly, almost a whisper. “To let you go? To—” His voice cracks again, and he stops himself.

That is a first. You knew how hard it was—you had to crawl through your own shitty tunnel. You knew it was hard for him, but you’ve never heard him admit it before.

You both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick like tar. The cigarette finally burns out, the last ember dropping to the ground as you let it slip from your fingers.

“Then why didn’t you fight for me?” you ask, and your voice breaks. “Why didn’t you—”

“I did.” His words come fast, cutting you off, raw and painful. “I did, but you didn’t see it. You wouldn’t.” Viktor fights his hands to not reach out for you and wipe your tears away with his thumbs. He fights his body to not pull you flush against him, to kiss you deeply and whisper a secret into your mouth. He takes a step back, and it costs him everything. Then you both stare at the thing in front of you.

The truth. Ugly and jagged, sitting between you like a gaping wound neither of you knows how to heal. You had both fucked up, royally. And then you went ahead and jumped into something new, hoping that a tiny bit of duct tape would seal a hole in a massive, overflowing tank of feelings.

“Go back inside.” His voice is soft now, a whisper lost in the sticky night air. “I’ll be right there.”

“Everything alright here?” Paul’s voice reaches you before you see him, and you wince. Viktor takes notice. Paul’s arms are crossed on his chest, lips pressed into a thin line.

You nod and drag yourself in obediently. A quick stop in the bathroom to fix your sorry face. A slump into the chair next to Paul, as he places a loving arm around your shoulders. Viktor comes back to the table with an unreadable smile on his face, his eyes wet, but only you can see it. A civil, nice evening, ending with exclamations of how you all should do this again. How it was fun.

“All good?” Paul asks you when you walk home. When you walk to his apartment, the one you silently refuse to move into.

“Yes, just… why did you come out after me?” you counter, puzzled. You pin him with your gaze until he relents into an embarrassed chuckle.

“I thought you needed saving, is all.”

“I don’t need to be saved from anyone, Paul. Don’t intervene again. I’m an adult,” you scoff, opening the door to his apartment.

For the first time, you flinch away from his touch when you are in bed. Tears choke up in your throat all night. But you hold them tight, not letting any slip out. And you realise it takes so long to get over losing someone. That no band-aid, no pretty and nice boyfriend, no amount of friends or sad music could make the process faster. And you realise it isn’t possible to get over Viktor so quickly. And then, you realise that your grief hasn’t moved an inch. It’s still in denial.

[debussy42]

study

just a small blurb I wrote to get through studying ! It's only the first week of class and I'm already so overwhelmed with work. Sometimes I just need to read some encouragement to push through. Hopefully everyone is doing well with life! Study hard and push through <3

The hours stretched on, and you could feel the weight of time settling in. The textbook in front of you was becoming a blur again, but this time it was different—it wasn’t the frustration that had you staring at the same page for far too long, but a quiet fatigue that wrapped itself around you like a blanket.

You were still moving forward, still making progress, but it was slow, the words on the page swimming just a little bit more with each passing minute. You leaned back in your chair for a moment, blinking a few times to clear the fuzziness in your eyes, then returned your gaze to the textbook.

A shadow fell across your desk, and you looked up to see Levi standing there, his eyes glancing over the pages you were studying. His presence was as steady as ever, like a rock against the current of your tiredness.

“You’re still going?” he asked, his voice low, though there was a slight edge to it—concern, maybe, or just that sharpness he always carried.

You nodded, giving him a tired but determined smile. “Yeah, just pushing through. No stopping now.”

Levi raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, instead reaching over to pull a chair from the nearby table and sitting down across from you. He folded his arms, leaning back slightly as he observed.

You went back to reading, the quiet hum of the headquarters filling the space. The subtle noise of pages turning, the soft tapping of a pen on paper, and the occasional murmur of conversation from the other side of the room—it all blended together, a familiar rhythm.

Eren was pacing in the corner, muttering to himself about strategies, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He was always like that, thinking in overdrive. Armin, as usual, was absorbed in his own world of books and notes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled down equations that barely made sense to you.

Mikasa was at her usual post, seated near the windows, her gaze sometimes flicking to the horizon as if watching for something—or someone—though you knew she was just deep in thought. Her ever-watchful eyes seemed to scan the room, always alert.

Jean was half-lounging at a desk, flipping through some reports, while Sasha was in the kitchen area, snacking on whatever she could find—her little bursts of energy always so infectious.

You heard her laugh, a full, unrestrained laugh, followed by a teasing comment aimed at Connie.

“Seriously, you can’t be that bad at cooking, can you?” Sasha asked, though it was clear she was just teasing.

Connie, without missing a beat, retorted, “I’m not the one who burned the bread last week.”

Their playful back-and-forth tugged a quiet smile from you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed their lighthearted moments until now.

Levi seemed to notice your small smile, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. He didn’t say anything at first, but there was a softness in his expression—a rare moment when his usual stoic demeanor slipped, just slightly.

"Good to take a break sometimes," he remarked, though his tone was still firm, as if to remind you that you didn’t have to push yourself so hard.

You let out a soft chuckle, more out of exhaustion than amusement. “I guess so. But I can’t help it. I just want to keep going.”

Levi didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze drifted to the side for a brief moment, as if thinking something over. Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flask. He slid it across the table toward you.

“Tea,” he said simply, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“You’re offering me tea?” you asked, surprised.

Levi shot you a look that was almost a smirk, though it was barely there. “It’s not poison, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You laughed softly, accepting the flask, and took a sip. The warmth of it spread through you, a gentle comfort that made the fatigue in your body feel a little more bearable.

“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling a little more awake, a little less bogged down by the endless studying.

Levi just nodded, his expression unreadable, but there was a subtle hint of satisfaction in the way his shoulders relaxed.

As you sat there, the quiet buzz of the room continued—everyone else going about their tasks, the comforting sense of routine and camaraderie keeping the space alive. Even in the midst of your exhaustion, the people around you made everything feel a little lighter.

And you realized, in that small moment, that even though the studying was tough, even though it was hard to keep your focus, you weren’t doing it alone.

The soft clink of a mug being set down on a table caught your attention, and you glanced over to see Hange, their ever-enthusiastic grin lighting up the room.

“How’s the studying going?” they asked, leaning over your desk with that curious tilt of their head.

You gave a small, tired shrug. “Getting through it, slowly.”

Hange grinned wider. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?” Their eyes flicked over to Levi for a moment, and you noticed the way he just gave a brief nod, a flicker of approval.

“I think you’re doing great,” Hange added, their voice warm. “Don’t push yourself too hard, though. It’s all about balance.”

You couldn’t help but smile at their words, feeling a little lighter despite the tiredness still tugging at you.

The steady presence of the crew, each person contributing in their own way—whether through their quiet dedication, their teasing, or even just the way they all existed together in that room—was grounding. You weren’t just studying for yourself anymore; you were part of something much larger.

And that made the weight of it all feel a little less heavy.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

DARK CREAM WEEK: day 5- punish/reward

idk man i think your threats would work a lot more often if you stopped being so handsome about it fdrgbegh<333

dark cream week and comic are by @zu-is-here

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumpee who is so touch starved that they will do literally anything for just a ghost of contact but who also hates being touched for whatever trauma reason, so they’re stuck in this hellish limbo between their desire to just be held by someone and the awful prickling feeling they get whenever someone so much as brushes against them.

Bonus points if their master/caretaker/teammates/whomever within the context has no problem being affectionate but they just won’t do anything unless they are literally asked or something of that sort.

This opens up a lot of potential for some really soft emotional scenes

(prompt 12)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Honestly your tags are so fun to read every time, i'm almost more excited for them than the actual post (but not entirely because your art is SO GOOD!!!! i adore it). If you don't mind me asking, what are you studying?

i am studying psychology because i refuse to see a therapist so ill figure out whats wrong with me myself !!!!!!!

[cookinguptales]

that said, as much as I've been struggling the past 48 hours or so, I have to admit that it has felt a little clarifying.

I've been playing the hell out of stardew valley, like I always do when I'm struggling with my PMDD, because the calming repetitive movements and bite-sized tasks (which induce the illusion of productivity) make it much easier to calm my mind and like...

I keep thinking "wouldn't it be nice to make something that soothes...?"

I felt a little embarrassed last night when I was writing about how I realized that AITNISTS would have meant the world to me when I was a queer, disabled teen feeling very broken and unlovable, and how now it almost feels like I'm writing bedtime stories for a ghost.

but... I think to some degree, that's nice, too... if I'm writing what soothes me, maybe it'll soothe someone else, too. making art that soothes people that feel broken... I think that would be nice. or... kind, at least. maybe.

it's something to aspire to, at least.

like sometimes I do feel this weird need to make something beautiful or complex or important but I guess "important" can mean a lot of different things, and so can "beautiful"...

I'm obviously never going to win any kind of literary prize with monsterfucking hurt/comfort but like. idk. maybe it's enough to write the kind of book that would have made me feel like I was capable of being loved and wanted when I was a kid.

especially if it helps anyone else now...

idk. it's a nice thought, at the very least.

[lupismaris]

..

[gentil-minou]

Gosh I need to edit this more before I actually start posting but I'm just so excited so here's a preview of my wangxian OUAT au, featuring wwx as emma, lwj as regina, and ayuan as henry (though are veering far away from both canon in both cases so no need to be familiar with the show to enjoy)

----

The doorbell rings.

He blinks once, then twice. Wei Wuxian isn’t normally one to get visitors, especially at this time of night. He tries to remember if there’s a no-candle policy in his lease his landlord might nag him about when the doorbell rings again.

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the door, already preparing an apology for something he probably didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to do and another apology in case he did know. He opens the door and sees….nothing.

Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy.

At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there.

But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?”

The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.”

So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably.

The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” the boy asks, his smile so sweet and unassuming that before Wei Wuxian even realizes it, he’s turned to the side and let the boy in.

The kid is wearing a blue puffy coat and carrying a white backpack that has homemade floppy ears made of felt that make it look like a bunny. They bounce up and down as the boy walks inside and slips his shoes off. Wei Wuxian very maturely resists the urge to tug on those floppy bunny ears, though only just.

Shoes off, his socks patterned with fluffy white clouds, the boy turns back around to look up at Wei Wuxian. His entire face beams up at him as if he were a sunflower facing the sun, which wow what an ego-boost. He’s got dimples, little baby dimples that are very cute and look very pinchable but that doesn’t matter because there is a baby in his house! And okay he’s at least ten years old but regardless why is there a whole entire child in his apartment? What is one supposed to do when some random kid shows up at their doorstep and invites themselves in?

“Oh shit uh, wait not shit,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Shit, sorry. Um. A drink, you want a drink?”

Ask the random child if they want something to drink, apparently. Perfect.

The kid nods, still giving him that doe-eyed look. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much by way of child-friendly beverage options, but he wasn’t exactly expecting something like this tonight. He settles on milk that looks like it hasn't gone too bad yet. Besides, expired milk builds immunity and character in children, that's how it works, right? He pours a glass for the kid, making sure to give him the cleanest one even though there’s a tiny crack on the surface.

He guides the kid over to the coffee table and hands him the milk. The kid takes the glass and sinks onto the deflated beanbag while Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the couch. He grabs a can of beer from the six-pack still on the floor beside the table and takes a sip. Wait, is that allowed? Can he drink alcohol in front of children?

The kid doesn’t seem to care. He takes a tentative sip of his milk and makes a very polite face that fails to mask his disgust, before putting the glass down on the table next to the forgotten cupcake. Fair, it’s nice to see him asserting boundaries and all that.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, amused despite the situation. "Who are you and why are you in my house at—" he checks his phone for the time"—five minutes to midnight on a Friday night?"

The kid doesn't answer right away. His eyes are still focused on the cupcake, but in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. Wei Wuxian tilts his head to get a better look and sure enough, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows like the kid is trying really hard to ask a difficult question. After a minute, it becomes clear he hasn’t worked out a nice enough way to ask, but it’s a good thing Wei Wuxian knows enough about being a hungry child to recognize one.

He nudges the cupcake over to him and says, "Help yourself." Immediately, the kid grabs the cupcake with all the care in the world, like it’s a priceless artifact and promptly devours it. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile as he eats. Suddenly the cheap cupcake feels like an excellent choice.

When the kid finishes licking the last bits of frosting and crumbs off his fingers, he sits politely with his hands in his lap and looks longingly toward the kitchen. He’s still too nice to ask forthright, but Wei Wuxian knows better and he isn't a monster.

Wei Wuxian gets up and opens one of the cabinets to look for something that’s probably child-appropriate, pulling out a bag of his least spicy chips. Chips are made of potatoes which are vegetables which means it’s probably not that bad for kids. Either way, the kid takes the bag gratefully and eats the chips with relish, even though they’re definitely way too spicy for someone his age.

“Alright, alright. You’ve been fed. Now tell me, who are you?” he asks again, though he can’t stop the tiniest bit of fondness from creeping into his tone. It’s just that everything this kid does is so cute! He can’t help himself!

The kid stops eating and tries to speak, but what comes out instead are the quietest little coughs Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. He’s been eating these spicy snacks and slowly turning as red as they are, but he’s so polite he hasn’t said a thing about them.

All at once, Wei Wuxian realizes he likes this kid, despite knowing practically nothing about him. It’s strange. He hates the kids the customers at his job will bring sometimes, especially when their parents just let them loose like it's a daycare and not a coffee shop. Wei Wuxian isn’t mean or anything, it’s just that wrangling kids is way above his pay grade. He didn’t even get along with other kids when he was a kid. All the other foster kids stood clear of him pretty much as soon as the social worker told his foster parents he was known for being “emotionally dysregulated” and labeling him a problem child.

But this kid is different from all the others, even though Wei Wuxian can’t quite put his finger on what’s so special about him. He seems like the kind of kid who would politely ask for steamed oat milk and say thank you, then ask his parents to let him give Wei Wuxian the tip. When he finishes, he’d probably throw his trash out without anyone asking and call goodbye to him one last time before he leaves. Even just imagining it makes Wei Wuxian feel wistful for something he’s never really wanted before.

It doesn’t help that this kid’s got what must be the fluffiest hair he's ever seen, and those dimples! It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to keep himself from pinching those chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t quite succeed and leans forward anyway to ruffle the kid's hair. "Ask for water, you silly,” he says, already standing and heading back to the kitchen.

When he hands him the glass, the kid just looks up at Wei Wuxian with his big, bright brown eyes filled with wonder. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian like he has the answer to everything. Wei Wuxian doesn't, but it's nice to feel like someone thinks he knows what he's doing.

The kid drinks half the glass before clearing his throat and finally answering Wei Wuxian’s question. “I’m Sizhui, but you can call me A-Yuan. Or even Little Radish, if you want! You called me that before.” He says it all in one breath, practically vibrating with energy by the end.

Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He’s not sure why he would ever call anyone a radish, and he’s pretty sure he’s never met this kid before. Does A-Yuan have mistaken him for someone else? Could this kid have some weird memory loss, except one where he gains fake memories instead of losing them? It’s definitely not the strangest thing about this whole situation.

Like all problems Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to deal with, he decides to ignore that for now and asks, “Okay, A-Yuan then, why are you here?”

“Because,” A-Yuan starts, leaning forward and looking at Wei Wuxian with all the seriousness someone pre-puberty could possibly possess. “I need your help.”

“…Okay…” Wei Wuxian replies. The world must truly be fucked if someone is coming to him for help. He hasn’t had a vegetable in a week, unless pizza actually does count. “What do you need help with?”

He’s expecting the kid to say something normal like “my homework” or “getting to the train station”, you know, normal things a kid would ask a stranger to help him with.

He’s not expecting A-Yuan to respond gravely, “To save the world and everyone we love.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, speechless. A-Yuan doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he lifts his backpack onto his lap and rummages through its contents. “My family’s in trouble, our family. Everyone we know is, and you’re the only one who can fix it. Look here, see, I’ve got this book, it’s all written here. There’s a curse that’s affecting everyone and we need to break it.”

He plops the book down on the coffee table. It’s not at all what Wei Wuxian expects. It’s hand-bound, with a simple red fabric cover that’s blank except for the title that’s written in Chinese calligraphy. It’s written entirely in Chinese, in fact, completely by hand with the same impeccable calligraphy. Inside are what appear to be a bunch of stories or folktales. There are beautiful gongbi illustrations on every other page, inked in bright colors with an incredible level of detail.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but be impressed. The book is something he would expect to see at a museum or in a period drama, not on his coffee table with its chipped surface and water stains.  

A-Yuan flips to a picture of a man with long hair dressed in black and red robes. He’s playing a flute as shadows dance and twist around his frame. Then tendrils lift high into the sky and block out the sun. He’s standing on a pile of human bones, to really sell the whole villain energy this guy’s got.

A-Yuan points at the guy. “That’s you, you see?”

Wei Wuxian does not see, he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if his body was covered in shadows. Also, he would need way more conditioner for that length of hair.

The kid continues, interpreting Wei Wuxian’s stunned silence as something else entirely. “You’re the only one who can help them, who can save us all.” A-Yuan thrusts the scroll out to Wei Wuxian, who’s too floored to do much more than take it from him. “So, I’m here to bring you back.”

Wei Wuxian has to admit, the guy in the picture does look pretty badass. But it’s still just a drawing, and there’s little to suggest this looks anything like him at all.

He glances up. A-Yuan smile is so bright and excited that Wei Wuxian wishes he could feel his excitement too. The guy in the picture does look super cool, like someone he’d want to dress up as when he was A-Yuan’s age.

But all he feels is concern and confusion. Before, he was actually starting to enjoy spending time with this kid, but something is wrong, though it’s not what A-Yuan thinks. There’s a random kid in his apartment late at night, making up stories. And whether he likes it or not, Wei Wuxian is the adult here. He has to remember that.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and the smile slowly drops from A-Yuan’s face and Wei Wuxian feels like the absolute worst person on the planet for doing that to him. “But I don’t know what this is, or who you are. I want to help, you’ve just gotta give me some actual answers. Where are your parents? Do they know where you are?”

A-Yuan looks down and mumbles, “I was so sure you’d remember if you saw this, if you held it.” He tightens the hands on his knees into fists and looks up at him with a startling conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. I know it, I know who you are. You’re Wei Wuxian. This is you. And you’re the only person who can save us.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his temples and contemplates chugging the remainder of his beer. He holds it in his hand, wishing he’d gotten another pack. “Look, I don’t know how you know my name, maybe you saw it on some mail outside or something, but—"

"You're my dad!” A-Yuan hastily interrupts. “That’s why, that’s how I know!"

Wei Wuxian drops the can. There's a splash of something spilling all over the carpet and he should probably make sure it’s not too bad. He's too busy trying to figure out how he could have a ten-year-old at twenty-five when he was definitely still a virgin at fifteen.

The initial shock slips away, leaving him only more confused. He raises an eyebrow at A-Yuan, willing him to explain.

"Not my real dad," A-Yuan says, rolling his eyes like somehow Wei Wuxian is the one claiming something impossible. "But you're my dad in every way that counts."

Wei Wuxian wishes he hadn't dropped his drink. He'd really like to take a sip of it now. And several more, maybe the rest of the cans, too.

This day needs to end. He should have stayed home and drank his way to oblivion, so he’d have been too far gone to answer the door in the first place.

TBC

[izzy-b-hands]

Just submitted a new patient request to Anchor Health. Cross your fingers for me, so I can get set up w/a doc I can stick with who can handle my T and PCP stuff and maybe even mental health stuff? (their website let me mark all three as things I wanted them to provide care for at least)

and the poor local PP can get back to trying to help others without me taking up any more of their scarce resources and staff

[solidcarbon]

.

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[edwardseymour]

so the author of jane seymour: an illustrated life reposted my ‘jane seymour x haunting through art’ compilation post on her facebook page …

[willowwispfox]

I’m feeling bold and chatty today, usually I’m pretty quiet on tumblr and my chatter is saved for my artfol. I even posted some artwork which I rarely do outside of my art sites just, out of fear i guess? But I got the good vibes going today so I guess that’s finally been put towards posting on here for once.

I hope y’all out there who see this have a good day too, sending positive vibes your way!! 

[todayisafridaynight]

SORRY in advance for the long ask pleeease take your time and take care, I hope you feel better + get to have a good time at the con or hanging out with your dad :( It means the world to me that you enjoy my stuff though! It did take me a while to notice you were even following me (hence. @ing you on a post you'd already seen gdjfshld) but we got there eventually...

Definitely definitely was expecting to see more of Infinite Wealth at the summit… since the tweets mentioned character introductions but didn't specify for which game, I was under the impression we'd at least be introduced to the as-yet-unidentified voices in the trailer. Gameplay would've been HUGE to include too 😩 I guess it makes enough sense though, since it's not The Upcoming Release...

I shall bide my time. I have no idea what to expect from fall summit (as intended). But if it's going to be a seasonal thing, I figure a potential "winter summit" is the latest it could be to show us gameplay for something that's suppsed to be an early 2024 release, if not just putting out trailers or other showcases and stuff independently.

LEGIT THOUGH IT JUST MAKES IT SOUND LIKE KIRYU IS LYING TO SOUND COOL GDJSKGLDS which is also Arakawa-esque… "maybe I felt like impressing an idiot kid"… If nothing else, I feel like I'll enjoy the dynamic they're going for with those two. Specifically casting Kiryu as a "big brother" figure rather than a father figure also makes me WEEP because the only "aniki" Ichi's ever had is Jo. So it's like... from Jo to Joryu...

Also I just really like the acting choices by the mocap actor for Kiryu, I feel like we've never really seen him move that… casually? His mannerisms also 100% make him look like he's lying lol like there are multiple "tells" it's so funny

I glossed over the proposal (because I expected that to be the main topic anyway, being the only dialogue scene we got) but I completely agree with everything that's been said, basically. Reverse chick magnet for life… but I do expect there's more to it than meets the eye because summit is pretty focused on "generating buzz," so the fact it feels so out of place is probably what they were banking on.

Because like, on top of everything mentioned, Ichiban is portrayed as an entirely passive participant in the romances in 7, and IIRC for Saeko and Eri he wasn't really even fully aware they were into him. So for him to not only be the one to propose but bomb so hard a seasoned hostess (as Kiryu points out in JP)--who'd rather be groped than subjected to Weird Shit--blew up at him and there was fallout from Adachi and Nanba is a huge deviation from how he's portrayed.

It's also kind of like, to me, the translation says something a little different than what was actually being said; Ichi's emphasis wasn't really on the fact she rejected him (implying he expected her to accept + placing more importance on his own feelings vs hers), but the fact she "chewed him out" (implying he should've known better in the first place than to ask).

Of course, he's apparently planning on trying again so he is hoping she'll accept eventually, and the general tone of the interaction suggests he should've known better regardless, but both say something slightly different about his characterization in this scene to me. There's also TL weirdness with Ichi saying Kiryu seems like a good dude rather than just… him explaining that he doesn't mean anything bad by saying he doesn't seem like a ladies' man, which is a bigger mistake but less consequential, I guess.

There's also Saeko's line from the original teaser, "You say that like you're proposing," so it would seem she's already caught off guard (i.e. not taking it seriously yet) and not too thrilled with the idea (provided it's the same convo). I don't really have much to go off of, but if they are in a relationship, I can only assume either she's made it clear she doesn't want to get married or his proposal method was just That Bad, or they're not in a relationship.

In the latter case all I have to pull from is other media with characters who are somewhat like Ichi, but it made me think of times I've seen characters propose for legal or financial reasons or etc. and get Totally Owned, and I'd honestly find that a believable Ichi Situation… Ichi thinking like 50 steps ahead and not explaining himself properly and just Making Saeko More Mad… I'm just musing, though.

Yokoyama and co. were--if I heard right--being pretty cagey about whether they ARE in a relationship in the first place though, which strikes me as odd compared to RGGS' openness about Kaito's ex in the Lost Judgment DLC. So… definitely not beating the red herring allegations just yet, at any rate. Especially when said DLC involves a fake-out on a proposal lmao

Putting all that aside since we can't make any definitive statements anyway, I AM going to make the definitive statement that literally every single design in Gaiden so far is indeed drippy as hell.

such is the cruel fate of being shadowbanned on this webbed site I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream etc etc ( ╯-╰ ; ) but we did get there! and i very much do enjoy what you post :]

if there's nothing for fall summit (though i'm going to hope a lil there will be since that's what. three months from now) then there'll definitely be something for winter summit. if the idea is that there's more of a focus on gaiden since its release date is sooner, then it's fair to assume- with that logic- the winter one'll have the bulk of LAD8 news and demos. either way, im excited for both to see what both of them bring us !

ignoring the elephant in the room of the proposal thing, i also really liked the vibe of it all (and ive also been trying reeaaally hard to make a joke connecting jo and joryu since that's also a bit i enjoy) (❁´◡`❁) i did like that lowkey feel and just the casualness of the atmosphere and the slight awkward/uncomfortable-but-not-overly-offended-and-even-minorly-comedic energy from kiryu lmao. cant ever go wrong with having a scene that's there to slow everythin down a bit, and it does help set up a kind of homely/familial vibe ♪(´▽｀)

i dont need to comment any more on the proposal thing either LMAO everything ima say i been repeating for the past. X asks 😩

and with that. yeah everyone looks FIRE as hell in gaiden (EXCEPT nishitani ima be 100%.... idk the loud primary colors aren't doing it for me.... points for the nails and hair though) 😩

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57

Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)

An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.

Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.

That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.

It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.

He'd seen the numbers camped outside.

Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the

Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.

Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.

Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.

He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.

How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?

He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.

But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.

Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.

"They burned her."

Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.

"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.

Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.

Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.

"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.

Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.

"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."

Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.

Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."

The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.

Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.

"And let her come to you when she's ready."

"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.

Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."

"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.

He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.

They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.

Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.

She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"

Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.

The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.

"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.

Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.

Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.

"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."

Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.

"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.

"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.

He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."

"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."

"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.

Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."

Gods, he loved her.

Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."

Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."

Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."

Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.

"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.

"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.

But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."

Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.

So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.

Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.

They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.

On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.

The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.

"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."

Rowan grunted his agreement.

Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.

Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.

"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.

This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.

Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.

The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.

"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.

"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.

Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.

But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.

Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.

"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.

If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?

Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond

"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."

"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.

Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.

Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.

Where the hell was Aelin—

Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.

The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.

The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.

Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.

Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."

Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.

Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.

Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.

Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.

But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.

"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."

For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.

"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."

"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."

Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.

The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.

Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."

Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.

But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.

Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.

At the Queen of Terrasen.

She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.

A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.

There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.

A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.

Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.

Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.

She did it again, and again.

All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.

A call went down the line. The queen has come.

Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.

She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.

The queen has come.

Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.

Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.

"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"

And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.

That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.

He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.

Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.

This first battle would set the tone.

It would set the tone, and send a message.

Not to Morath.

Impress us, Hasar had said.

So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.

To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.

To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.

She was no helpless princess. She had never been.

Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.

But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.

They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.

Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.

"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"

How far they both were from Rifthold.

From the assassin and the captain.

Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.

Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.

At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.

Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.

Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.

Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.

What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.

Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.