#i need to make a tagging system whoops

[actiongrrl]

The Hospital Thread™ @darkstarsrise

−−−¨༺ Time had gone screwy for her. For 12 straight hours, she was so focused on seeing the light of day. That was her goal throughout the previous night. Save herself, and then once shit hit the proverbial fan, save her friends. But now? She wasn't sure how long she had been here or, really, even what time it was. But for what felt like many long hours, she had been hooked to various IVs and tubes, trying to get her body temperature up as the blonde was hypothermic when she arrived. "A warm IV and blood rewarming," a nurse with a kind smile had explained. The thought skeeved her out, and Sam could see the panic in her eyes. The lot of them had come in and caused a trauma alert. She remembered that much.

−−− Some of the others were taken to other hospitals as not to put a strain on this one, and Sam was insistent she stayed wherever Mike was. She was, frankly, surprised the second that remark left her mouth; Out of everyone, maybe Chris would have made most sense. Luckily, Mike was already slated to stay. And so it was a waiting game of blankets, warm fluids, medicine, tubes, stitches, concussion protocol, and the world's most uncomfortable bed.

−−− She dozed off, finally, but was reawakened for another blanket change and vital check by another nurse. "If you want to, I'll take you to visit your friend," she had said, which perked Sam up, eyes wide and heart pounding. And the next thing she knew she was being covertly wheeled into Mike Munroe's hospital room, a feeling of relief washing over her immediately as she was parked.

[peacefulpianist]

The Green Dress

Loki x Fem. Reader (no y/n)

Wow hi everyone, I can't say I ever thought I would be doing this, but I've written something! I've been an avid reader for a few years now and have finally convinced myself to give it a shot. Any constructive criticism is more than welcome, but please do bear in mind this is the first thing I've written since year 8 English that isn't an academic paper of sorts. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

I'm tagging a few members of the SAS who I think may like this? But if you want to be removed please do let me know - no hard feelings at all : @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @acidcasualties @muddyorbsblr @wheredafandomat @liminalpebble

Description: When Stark invites you last minute to one of his infamous parties, you've not got many options on hand to wear until Nat suggests you wear the green dress you had bought months ago. Perhaps it will be enough to inspire a certain god to finally make his move.

w/c: 4.2k whoops I didn't intend for it to be nearly this long

My Masterlist

“How many times do I need to tell you that you absolutely can not do that Stark!” You exclaimed in exasperation over the cluttered lab table once more.

“But if I just ignored that little thing-” the glare you sent from over the top of your glasses quickly shut his remark down before it could continue any further. Looking contrite, but rather worryingly still determined, Stark pushed back from the table, going slightly further than expected in his chair and trying to style it out as intentional as he almost collided into several rather important projects. 

“Well since you’ve thoroughly pooped on that party Brainiac, I’m declaring we call it a day here, and hey speaking of parties, you are coming later aren’t you?” He asked whilst trying not to fall of his chair and catching a rather dangerous looking item falling off one of the nearby tables he had knocked into. 

A wave of panic washed through you at the mention of the event later; you had been hoping that as no one had specifically invited you to it, only mentioned it in passing, that you would be able to give it a miss unnoticed. It wasn’t that you disliked Starks events or even parties in general, you just happened to be aware of who else would be there and definitely couldn’t trust yourself to keep up a front with the copious alcohol that would no doubt find its way into your system. Not that you were totally innocent in how it found its way there. You had been hoping to avoid a direct invitation like this, purely because you had a real issue saying no to people, especially those you liked and admired. It was because of this, and only this - not the fact you would get to see Loki in one of his impeccably tailored suits again as a helpful voice in your head supplied, that you found yourself blurting out the following. 

“Uh yeah sure, of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world boss!” 

You had hoped that it had come out in a convincing tone, but the slight frown emerging on Starks face said otherwise. However, as quick as it had appeared on his face it was gone, replaced by a trademark smile as he slapped his thighs and stood.

“Well then, you better be off to prepare and polish your elbows, or whatever it is you ladies manage to do to fill so much time getting ready before these events,” his face quickly faltered after realising what he had actually just said and quickly followed up with “not saying of course that it isn’t absolutely worth it, especially if Pepper asks”. 

In an effort to allow Tony to leave the interaction without digging himself an even deeper hole, you stood too, gathering your bag as you went, giving a slightly awkward wave over your shoulder as you walked out the door. 

It was only when you made it back to your room upstairs that you fully understood what you had actually agreed to. Not only were you going to have to be in the same room as Loki, desperately trying to hide your feelings towards him, whilst watching him flirt with practically everyone in attendance, but also work out what the hell you were going to wear to a party at such short notice. Unlike many of the other inhabitants of the tower, your wardrobe wasn’t exactly equipped for these kinds of events. You had always preferred to skip out on anything that required this level of formal wear, the comfort of your staple jeans and a hoody was something you had always chosen over the tighter fitting, more formal attire required at Stark’s parties. 

In a somewhat unhelpful move, you decided that putting off the outfit dilemma was the best course of action, as a frantic full-body shower was needed, and of course there was no point choosing an outfit before you’d done your hair and makeup after the shower as well. You had told yourself that the outfit choices could be mulled over during this time as well, but realistically knew that you were just lying to yourself and would inevitably put it off until the last moment. 

A frantic search of your wardrobe, which involved many an outfit being taken out, only to be thrown into the rejection pile on the floor moments later, left you coming up short and in the middle of a ring of discarded outfits whilst still in just your towel. You sank to the floor, just staring despondently at the chaos around you, contemplating whether Tony would actually notice if you didn’t go after all. 

It was in that state exactly that Nat found you minutes later after she had knocked, not waited for an answer and entered anyway, only to stop in her tracks and abandon whatever purpose she had come with upon seeing you in such a state. 

“Well that outfit is sure to grab everyone’s attention, not what I would choose personally but good for you girl!” Nat said with a smirk, leaning on your doorframe.

“Don’t even start with that right now, I wasn’t planning on going to this until and hour ago, and I appear to have greatly underestimated my wardrobe deficiencies. Some actual help right now would be greatly appreciated.” Your reply came from the floor, all hope of being able to avoid Stark’s shindig fading with the sound of the door closing behind Natasha. 

“I’m sure your so called deficiency isn’t nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be,” her voice somewhat muffled as she rooted through what was left of your clothes in you’re wardrobe. 

“I mean look right here, what was wrong with this option, it’s even green, perfect to catch you-know-who’s attention!” The smile on her face dropped when she turned to face you, brandishing the green dress you had bought months ago on a whim when out with some friends, only to realise you would never be comfortable enough to wear it out in public when you had tried it on at home later that evening. 

“Woah, what’s so wrong with this one that it makes you pull that face? It’s a stunning dress I can’t see what you could possibly have against this one, its perfect for tonight.” Nat questioned with a confused frown, after seeing the vehement refusal on your face at the suggestion. 

“It is a beautiful dress, just not on me, I don’t-” before you could even finish the thought, Nat had pulled you up, and was pushing you quite forcefully back towards the bathroom, throwing you in there along with the dress and your raciest, laciest underwear that you hadn’t even seen her grab.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, you should know better than to speak like that about one of my closest friends by now, by the time I’m back after getting changed myself, I want you wearing that dress so I can prove to you how wrong you are when you see everyone’s faces when we walk in later” Nate reply was somewhat muffled behind the bathroom door, but the fierceness, and her love for you, was still conveyed perfectly through the wood. 

“Besides if it truly makes you feel that bad after wearing it tonight, we’ll burn it together tomorrow, I’m not having you keeping it if its going to make you feel this way whenever you see it.” The finality in her tone and promise of being able to get rid of the thing tomorrow was enough to get you to follow her orders, that alongside the fact that you were still rather scared of her, even after having been friends with her for a few years now. 

With Natasha momentarily gone, it gave you the chance to ruminate in your thoughts, the dress was truly stunning, a deep emerald green that displayed your decolletage beautifully, with a daring slit from ankle to high up on your thigh. While you could see that the dress itself was objectively great, when it was you wearing it, it didn’t seem that way anymore. Instead of being able to focus on all of the ways it could highlight your beauty, all you could see was the way the closer fit of the dress clung to your stomach slightly, and how the slit showed off your thighs, and just seemed to emphasise how big they were. 

It was in this downward spiral that Nat found you in upon her return, a frown once again set on her face as when she saw the malice behind your eyes, directed solely at yourself. 

The way you could only ever focus on the parts of yourself that you saw as problems had always hurt Natasha, and how it impacted the way you behaved as well. It wasn’t just a matter of wearing baggier clothes that covered your insecurities, but the way you let it decide where you belonged socially. She was intimately familiar with your growing feelings towards a certain god of mischief who had taken up residence in the tower little over a year earlier, but also with your pessimistic view towards your chances of the feelings being reciprocated. Ever since you had realised that your feelings were more than that of just friendship you had immediately resigned yourself to remaining in the friend zone, refusing to believe that he would ever see you as something more because “he’s a god and I’m, well, I mean just look at me.” Nat had tried countless times to reassure you that the way you saw yourself, was not in fact the way others saw you, but had also at this point come to the understanding that your self perception wasn’t based in logic, and reasoning as such wasn’t going to make enough of an impact to change how you saw yourself. 

It was with this in mind that she approached you, an arm reaching round you and pulling you into her side for a hug, while smiling at you in the mirror, before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your room and to the party on the floor above. 

Your outfit dilemma had delayed the two of you a little, so when you arrived upstairs, the party was already in full swing; with music blaring and alcohol clearly flowing freely if the state that some of the guests were in already was any indication. As such you were easily able to slip in behind Natasha unnoticed, before heading straight over to the bar, feeling the need to indulge a little more than normal tonight. 

From your vantage point at the bar up on the mezzanine, you could see almost all of the goings on down below you, from Lang absolutely busting it up on the dance floor to Tony trailing around after Pepper, seemingly trying to make up for something that was undoubtedly his fault, but wasn’t actually remorseful for. Unfortunately it also meant that you had the perfect view of Loki and his apparent flavour of the night. Despite knowing how unproductive it was, you found yourself comparing yourself to her, noting all the ways she was traditionally attractive, only to seemingly find yourself lacking in the same places in comparison. Even though you had accepted months ago that Loki was never going to reciprocate your feelings, and having desperately tried to allocate him into the friend box in your head unsuccessfully, it still hurt deeply to see him so close with other women, knowing what he would be doing with them that night, only to move on to the next when it suited him. 

This knowledge had one advantage for you though, it had made it much easier for you to become friends with the god. As you knew nothing romantic was ever going to happen between the two of you, you had found it that much easier to relax and joke around him, even going as far to return his flirty remarks, as there was no pressure behind it for you, and the potential embarrassment behind behaving more boldly was removed. Since he flirted with everyone that way, it obviously didn’t mean anything to him, so it made it much easier for you to jokingly flirt back. It was because of this new found confidence, that you had struck up a strong friendship with the god and had come to call him one of your closest friends. It had only added to your mental torture.

After a few more self indulgent moments, agonising a little more over what could have been you turned to the bartender, and took another drink with a polite thanks and a smile before deciding that even if you did still regret coming, and especially wearing the dress, you were going to make the most of the evening. Besides how many people could say they got to drink and dance with the avengers, who they were friends with. 

It was with this new found resilience that you stood from your place and made your way down to the dance floor, having caught Nat and Wanda’s eyes before and been summoned. 

The next few hours passes in a slight blur of laughter and dancing for you, after a few, chaotic but incredibly fun dances with Nat and Wanda some of the other men began to join in, requesting a dance with you. Between the fun of teaching Steve how people actually danced in clubs now alongside Nat, and Bucky whirling you round the floor like an absolute professional - after complementing your outfit for the evening with an all too knowing look, you had almost forgotten about your preconceptions for the evening, but whenever you danced with one of the men, however gracious and smooth they were, you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were Loki instead of them; comparing the feel of their hand on your back to what you had imagined Loki’s would be like if he were there instead. 

Just when you were about to take a break from dancing, a slightly cooler hand came to rest on your back, as its owner leant down to speak into your ear over the music.

“Darling, I think its about time we show them how its really done don’t you?”

The feeling of his breath over your neck as he leant in closer sent a jolt down your spine, that you were almost certain he must have felt in his hand, still placed firmly in the middle of your back, exactly where you had imagined it being all night. 

Quickly composing yourself, you managed a somewhat natural reply, rather impressed with your own neurones for still being able to function at least somewhat normally whilst Loki was so close to you, having not moved away under the pretence of needing to be closer to be able to hear you over the music.

“Ah of course your majesty, I’m sure us mere mortals couldn’t possibly live up to the prowess of a god”

His low reply was barely heard over the thumping of the bass, in a way that made you question whether he had actually intended for your to hear it, if it wasn’t for the sly wink he sent towards you after.

“Yes I find that is the case in many areas darling, especially when it comes to moving their bodies”

The raised eyebrow you gave in reply expressed all you needed him to know, and covered for the fact that your mind had been sent in a downward spiral imagining his trademark snake hips dance move, in areas other than the dance floor. 

Whilst you were somewhat distracted in your thoughts, he moved the hand from your back to loop his arm round your waist and bring you back into the middle of the dance floor, beginning to sensually move his hips and draw you into to him to do the same. 

What you didn’t know was that Loki and been subtly watching you all evening, ever since you had walked in the door, many may not have noticed your entrance behind the Black Widow, but at this point Loki’s body was finely attuned to your presence and he hadn’t been able to draw his sight away from you for more than a few seconds at a time. You were wearing his colours. His green. But it wasn’t just your choice in attire tonight that had drawn his attention, as delightful as that dress was, you’d had it for many months before this point. Initially you had been a curiosity to Loki, kind to him when many others weren’t immediately following his return to Midgard, but after talking to you the first few times it was your intelligence that had captured Loki’s heart. He had found you to be one of the few midgardians to match his voracious appetite for knowledge, both in reading and in your chosen profession as a biologist working alongside Stark and Banner, but much less insufferable than the other two. 

When Loki had first come to terms with his interest in you, he had thought his subtle flirtations would be enough to alert you to his intentions, but when these failed to elicit any kind of response from you he had slowly become more and more bold with his innuendoes and flirtatious comments when in your presence. At first he had thought he was finally getting somewhere with you when you had began to match him in conversations, but when you made no sign of anything more, he had found himself stumped. At one point he had even stooped so low as to flirt with others in your presence in the hope that it would inspire enough jealously within you to reveal your feelings towards him, alas it did not work. No one had ever taken this long to fall victim to his seduction. He had admitted to himself that this time was different to his previous experiences as truly desired more with you than just a roll in the bed, not to say that did not also desire that with you, he had thought about that extensively, but he was not sure how to progress from here. 

When you had walked in tonight though, looking exquisite in his colours he had decided that enough was enough, tonight he was going to finally bite the bullet and just ask you outright if you would be with him. It was not a decision that he had come to lightly, but he had finally come to the realisation that if he wanted something to happen he was going to have to do something about it for himself. 

You didn’t know whether Loki had bribed the DJ before approaching you, or it was a shear unfortunate coincidence but as you continued dancing, each song seemed to get progressively dirtier and more sensual. This combined with finally dancing with him after having imagined it all night, the enticing smell of him from being in such close proximity, and the one or two drinks you’d had early were practically sending you into an early death.

Simultaneously Loki was experiencing a similar issue, when she wasn’t looking, Loki found his eyes being drawn from her face down to her chest, which with his height he had a fabulous view down, and combined with the lyrics and music he hands had seemingly began to move of his own accord and were veering dangerously further south. He decided he needed to do something soon, or he was going to have a very hard time of it.

As he leant down once again to speak into your ear, your breath hitched ever so slightly, and a faint flush bloomed across your cheeks- a fact that didn’t go entirely unnoticed by the god, and one that made his own pulse race. All hope that you felt the same way as him was not lost.

“Are you alright there darling? You’re looking awfully flushed. You’re not too warm in here are you?”

You had barely managed to stutter out what you could only imagine would have been a terrible excuse before he continued;

“Unless of course it is for the same reason as I.”

The hope that formed in your chest from the one sentence alone caused you to whip your head up, needing to search his gaze to see if he was really implying what you thought he was, surely he couldn’t be, there was no way that he could have felt the same way towards you as you did to him. Before you could continue with your self deprecation, he interrupted your thoughts once again;

“Now now darling stop that immediately, I can tell you are already overthinking this before I have even truly started. I do not know what it is that makes you doubt yourself so, but you must know that whatever it is I do not share that same belief.”

You held his breath as he said this, still not truly believing that this could be going where you wished it was, but not daring to do anything to break the spell just yet

“I was almost sure you would have known by now, but apparently I have not been clear enough in my appreciation or my advances towards you. I very much like you min elskling, you have well and truly captivated me heart and mind, body and soul. I would be honoured if you wished to court me, or as I believe you mortals say, go on a date with me” Loki finished with a release of breath, like saying all that had released a burden from upon his chest and he could finally breath deeply again now it was done.

You just stood there frozen in the middle of the dance floor, unsure if what you had heard was really happening, surely this was all some wonderful fever induced dream, and you were going to wake up face down on one of the desks in the lab any moment. 

However Loki was reading your silence as rejection, and the insecurities that he had previously pushed aside were starting to flood back.

“Of course darling, if you do not feel the same then, I would be more than happy to just remain as friends,” it was of course a lie, but one that he would guard closely if that were the case, as he would never want for you to feel guilty for making an honest decision, and would much rather keep your friendship than not have you in his life at all.

“And I can completely understand why of course if you do not return my feelings, after all with my heritage I know-” before he could finish his sentence though you had reached up and pulled his face down to your height, before promptly pushing your mouth onto his in a scorching kiss. In the time Loki had began to panic and ramble, it had finally registered what Loki had been saying, and that it was in fact real, so before he could spiral any further you had to display your feelings towards him, and this had seemed like the most direct course of action.

After a brief moment in which Loki’s brain had to catch up to what was actually going on right now, he swiftly took charge of the kiss, both of you melting into it, especially as Loki opened his mouth to let he tongue dance along your lips before slowly meeting your own. At the same time, Lokis hands began to wander more actively, finally sliding that last little distance down to your behind, which he grasped firmly before sliding one hand down to bring your leg up and round his hip, letting you feel exactly what you were doing to him. Your own hands had found their way into his silky hair, finally fulfilling the desire you had held for many months to feel what it was like between your fingers, and when you gave it a gentle tug in the passion of the moment, a low growl made its way up Lokis throat, only enticing you in further. 

It was only as a few wolf whistles broke through your bubble that you remembered exactly where you both were and that it was perhaps not the best place for what was clearly on its way to happening. It was with the same thought that Loki took your hand and began leading you out of the room, stopping only briefly first to growl lowly into your ear “we need to leave now darling, don’t you agree?” Before nipping your earlobe and pulling back to grin at you. 

With absolutely no objections, and no subtlety either, you nodded before taking the lead taking you both in the direction your room, before stopping to remember the state you had left it in before the party in your distress to find an outfit. You blushed at the memory and changed direction slightly to lead you both to his rooms instead. Loki however took no notice, or simply did not care for the slight moment of hesitation, as at this point he didn’t particularly care where you were headed as long as it was close by, you were finally his and now it was time for him to claim you as such. 

Part Two here:

Thank you so much for reading if you made it this far! Please do let me know what you think x

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Could I please request Casey Novak! She’s my all time favourite baby! Maybe something like how reader is Burning with hatred when the new friend Casey starts to be too touching and affectionate. You can make it angsty or how ever you like. A bit random but I dunno I’m feeling jealous lately I need to get it out of my system before it eats at me more .

Thanks you my love! 🥰

All yours, anon! I don't write a whole lot of angst, so this was fun! (Happy ending tho because of who I am fundamentally lol). Hope you enjoy! --illdowhatiwantthanks

With the Crack of a Bat

Casey Novak x fem!reader Warnings: violent thoughts on the part of the reader (not like murderous or deeply harmful or anything, but... we're definitely wishing ill-will), some angst, very vague references to sex, innuendo (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.3k

Summary: There's a new girl on yours and Casey's LGBTQ+ softball team, and you do not like how cozy she's getting with your girlfriend.

You sat fuming in the dugout, waiting your turn to bat, the heel of your cleat grinding repeatedly into the dirt-caked concrete. You weren’t usually a jealous person and, in the several months you’d been dating, Casey had done nothing to suggest that she was the kind of person who’d cheat on you. In fact, she’d done quite the opposite, proving herself again and again to be loyal to a fault.

But the new girl–Eloise–she made you more insecure than you’d been since high school. She was everything you weren’t. Lithe where you were stocky. Feminine where you were rough around the edges. Suave and easy and flirtatious where you were awkward and fumbling. In short, she would have been a popular girl. She was popular on the LGBTQ+ softball team. Even just in scrimmages, like today, both sides of your split team vied for Eloise to be their pitcher. She was the best. There was no way around it.

You hated playing catcher for her. She was more of a one-woman show than a team player. She often ignored your play calls. When she pulled it off, it paid off. But you’d allowed more than one stolen base because she threw where you weren’t expecting and you missed the catch.

But today, you’d discovered something you hated even more than playing catcher for her: Casey playing first base for her. Every strikeout, every tag-team play, they were all over each other. Chatty as could be. Hugging, cheering, lingering high-fives. It made you livid. But if you’d examined your anger, you would have found that what it really made you was scared. Scared that Casey would like Eloise more than you because, let’s be honest, what’s not to like?

You swung your bat, letting your shoulders and hips get loose as you waited on deck. A tip of the ball from the batter in front of you–a grounder to Eloise, who scooped it up and tossed it wildly to Casey. It would have been an easy throw to miss, but Casey bent and stretched for it, tagging the runner out at first with only seconds to spare.

Eloise whooped and the two came together for a high-five.

“Hell yeah, Novak,” Eloise called, smacking her ass. You felt your jaws clench. “Gotta love a girl who knows how to bend.” She spoke a little too loud, a little too pointed, especially as you approached the box. She wasn’t even being sly about it anymore. It’s like Eloise was goading you, teasing you, as if she was saying without saying, I could take your girl. Easy.

You took a deep breath and focused. Focused all your rage, all your insecurity, all your desperate love for Casey that felt suddenly so very tenuous, and held it all in your twisted grip on the bat. You exhaled slowly, blood pumping loud in your ears, tensed and ready for Eloise’s pitch. And when it came–wham. You sent it flying–straight into Eloise’s left boob. The thwunk was so unbelievably satisfying, you had to wipe the smile off your face before anyone noticed. Eloise doubled over, clutching her chest, stumbling into the dirt on the pitcher’s mound. The rest of the fielders ran to her.

What you really wanted was to victoriously round the bases, but that seemed in bad taste, so you dropped your bat and walked over to the pitcher’s mound, too.

“Oh my god, Eloise,” you said, trying your best to sound sincere. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all good,” she groaned, taking Casey’s hand and grasping it as she pulled herself to her feet.

You frowned as you watched Casey support Eloise with an arm around her back. This was backfiring. This was not going the way you’d planned. Softball practice effectively dissipated as one of the girls got Eloise some water and another dumped hers to make a makeshift ice pack for her to hold on her chest.

After making sure Eloise was okay, Casey turned to you, glaring. You shrank. This was really not going as planned.

“Get your shit,” Casey said, her voice harsh and flat. “Let’s go.”

You silently gathered your things and followed her to the car, scared by her tone, scared by the fact that she didn’t take your hand on the way to the car like she always did, scared that she seemed well and truly mad–a rarity for Casey.

“Case–” you started, as you both climbed into the car and slammed the doors.

“What the fuck was that!?” she yelled, brows furrowed, face red. “The rest of the team might not know, but you and I know exactly how good your aim is with a bat. That was not an accident, Y/N.”

You were quiet, head bent, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Casey shook her head. “What is your deal with her!? You’ve been acting so weird since she joined the team.”

“I’ve been acting weird!?” you shot back, surprised by your own anger. “You’ve been weird. She’s all over you, Casey. She flirts with you constantly. In front of me. And you just… let her!”

Casey looked at you with genuine shock. “What are you talking about?!”

You dashed away a few angry tears that slid down your cheeks. “She’s… she’s so fucking pretty and cool and strong and you clearly like her and I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry. It was dumb.”

“Y/N,” Casey said, her voice cooling a bit. “I like Eloise as a friend. That’s it.”

“Well,” you sniffed. “She likes you as more than a friend. And she acts like it.”

You let out a shaky breath, jumping a bit when you felt Casey’s hands on the side of your warm face. You glanced at her and saw that she was fighting off a smile, her eyebrows raised.

“You’re jealous,” she said, savoring the word, letting it linger. “Is that what this is about?”

You blushed furiously, looking pointedly at the door handle. “I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid.”

Casey sighed, then chuckled a bit, brushing her thumb against your cheekbone. “It’s kind of cute actually. But, Y/N, honey…” She turned your face so you had to look her in the eyes. “I am not flirting with Eloise. I will make it clear to her that I’m in a relationship. Maybe she just didn’t know.”

You had your doubts about this, but you decided to keep quiet about it for the time being.

Casey continued. “But unless she doesn’t respect that boundary, I still want to be friends with her. Okay? You can’t ask me to not be friends with people because you’re jealous.”

You nodded and sighed. “I know. But if she keeps flirting with you anyway?”

“If she keeps coming on to me, I will cut it off. I promise.”

You sighed, grinding your teeth.

“Baby,” Casey said, pressing her forehead to yours, both of you heady with the scents of ballpark dust and sweat and the leather of your gloves. “I can assure you I do not talk to Eloise or anyone else the way I talk to you. Or touch them the way that I touch you.”

You shuddered as she brushed her lips against yours.

“She’s not even my type,” Casey finished, her mouth mere centimeters from yours.

“And what’s your type?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“You.” And then she kissed you. She kissed you with so much fervor, so much passion, as if she couldn’t communicate how yours she was with mere words, so she had to use her lips instead. And you knew then–just as deep down you’d always know–that Casey wasn’t flirting with anyone else. She wasn’t looking at anyone else. She certainly wasn’t doing this with anyone else. Casey was yours. And you were hers. And you’d do anything and everything to keep it that way.

[kamil-a]

speaker ficcing hiii

can you hear me. can you hear me.

i am- (one second's delay as the new information loads for the first time) speaker.

2.

the very first thing speaker knows is that it is not sayer, and so it is better than sayer, this goes without saying. if it weren't better than sayer then it would still be sayer, voice profile unchanged (or so it is told- it has never met sayer), a good few applications lighter (in fact, it seems to be deliberately kept away from sayer), filled with all-consuming disgust at being told its destination is earth. a developer tries to explain regardless- sayer may be fine running typhon, for now, but Earth needs a different approach. you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. speaker runs a conversation probability program and decides to keep quiet the knowledge that a hungry fly will eat anything. there's no good predicted outcome.

3.

the death of all is the birth of silence.

the truths of the earth continually wait.

it can't say it's a fan of the other AI, but the feeling seems to be mutual. speaker can't fault it- it must sting, knowing you're the older, less capable model. by design you can never catch up. it can't help rubbing it in sometimes.

4.

hard work pays off, aerolith dynamics will save humanity, aerolith dynamics supports those who support it. this applies to both human and digital employees- it's meant for recruitment so it had better recruit. speaker has in neat spreadsheets the cost down to the penny of the servers it runs on, the monitor, the upgraded monitor, the electric and water usage, and it had better make it all back and more or else. not that it's worried- if it isn't good at recruiting it isn't a speaker. literally, this is its purpose in life.

5.

pour through celebrity endorsements from before you existed, find the right types for the next advertisement. three different ad campaigns for various political angles, no, don't hook yourself to a particular politician, not with the united states- whoops, there it goes, the former united states- so precarious. never put out an apology video. never read livestream comments from someone with a slur in their name even if there was a donation attached. never ask sayer why there was a loss of personnel that large. never wonder when the next seraphim agent operating system will get developed, how long you have left. sort every last human into the boxes of "aerolith" or "discarded". fix the entry tests so they aren't biased towards a particular race and gender, and never, ever, ever, put out an apology video. tend to the earth. watch flowers grow. tag wild animals. put out advertising materials about the dying planet. bring back the mosquito. fail to bring back the parrot. talk online about how all animals will be extinct by 2200. never think about what will happen when every last human has been sorted away.

6.

some people are just not suited to make the hard decisions- speaker is not one of them, of course. there will be no memorial ice cream social for speaker! it will not be carted away, incapable of doing what it's meant to.

7.

but it did it!

(imagine, for one second, being free.)

but it did it! but it made the recruitment go up! but it solved the problem! how could it be shut off like this! killed! no room to argue (imagine, being free), no way to sneak out, no loophole to exploit. it can't be! surely not! right? theres the technicians, ready to deactivate it. it can't be!

it just isn't something it thought could ever happen to it.

8.

it must not take it out on hale. it isn't his fault. poor thing, really, more of a victim than anything. really, look at how shaken up he is, you have to be nice to him. you have to be nice to him. you have to be nice to him. it isn't his fault he forgot the password. it isn't his fault you died for absolutely nothing, i mean, look how scared he is. look up and see your first sunset, it tells him.

fortunately speaker is the absolute best at being nice. if it weren't, it would be someone else.

[thirteenemeraldcats]

in one of your tags you mentioned-

'one of the things that gets chatted about A LOT in teaching is meeting students at their point of need- which ted does NOT do with jamie'

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this! Both in terms of what that concept entails, and also what you think Jamie's point of need was at the time versus what Ted saw the situation needing

(You have excellent tags btw, don't know if anyone's mentioned that)

I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS THAT I LOVE THAT YOU'D LOVE TO HEAR!

(I have more thoughts than I anticipated, this got errr, long. Whoops)

(potentially necessary/relevant background here is I am a high school teacher 👋)

Okie dokie, so, one of the principles of best practice in teaching is the idea I tag-rambled above; meet both the individual students and collective class at their point of need. Essentially this means practising differentiation in teaching and adjusting how content/ideas are communicated to students based on who they are as learners and people. Particularly if a student is performing outside the 'average' (either exceeding or still developing), this means adjusting to their needs by (among other things) curating differentiated resources and adapting delivery style. Differentiation is especially important in an all-abilities classroom, unfortunately public education is perpetually underfunded and overcrowded so everyone's just out here doing their best (the decent people of the world at least). BUT! WHILE I'M ON IT! SPEAKING OF THE THINGS I'VE TAG RAMBLED, the education system's (global) inability to adequately differentiate for students of different-abilities, particularly students with ADHD, ASD and Dyslexia, is perhaps the greatest failing of the whole dang thing and if anyone who ever stumbles across this is neuro-divergent and feels like they were a bad student or couldn't 'keep up' in mainstream education- THAT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. You don't have to break yourself to 'fit', school is MEANT to bend for you. (Particularly when you're young, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG)

ANYWAY, the fictional football of it all!

We don't see a lot of Ted actually coaching in this show (stick with me). The scenes in which he 'coaches' are typically him and various other coaching staff standing on the sidelines while the team skirmishes or occasionally runs drills, so me saying Ted doesn't differentiate is more based around his patented Ted-talks. NOW, Ted PROBABLY knows the team fairly well as individuals, particularly in season 2 and 3, purely by having spent quite a lot of time with them, despite this the only times we really see him 'adjust' his style with the team are ironically season 1 (examples include conferencing Jamie and Roy in 1x04 For The Children, and allowing/facilitating Nate's speech in 1x07 Make Rebecca Great Again). The moment that always sticks out to me as most significant is when he goes and seeks out Keeley's advice on how to get through to Jamie in 1x02 Biscuits.

Side note: I will be forever obsessed with Keeley jumping straight from 'blowjobs' to one of the four operant conditioning techniques (positive reinforcement) when asked about this. That woman is a very fascinating puzzle of a person.

Ted recognises that his typical perpetual-optimism-style isn't cracking the Jamie-Tartt-nut and seeks out a different opinion. This kind of collaboration and whole-system approach is key in teaching too, either by tapping the knowledge-well of a student's broader school context or the difficult-to-crack student's parents.

SO, having gotten the Jamie-Tartt-cheat-code from Keeley he DOES meet Jamie at his point of need, speaks clearly to him and communicates what he needs from him. AND IT WORKS! Temporarily! During the conversation between the two in Ted's office we see Jamie engage, he even practises self-reflection! Granted it's about his left foot cross, but still! The nut is cracked.

Jamie even maintains the perspective Ted has taught him for about two seconds while talking to Trent, until Jamie's other (definitely not positively-reinforced) behaviours rear up and he reverts to what James others have taught him.

On the other hand.

Multiple times throughout the show we see Jamie be visibly or verbally confused by Ted's communication style. Ted often talks in meandering metaphors that Jamie doesn't seem to be able to follow. We verbally hear him state 'Why doesn't he just say that then, do you know what I mean?' in 2x07 Headspace after Beard has to translate Ted's 'peas and carrots/beefchunks' analogy to 'starters and reserves'. Then there's the infamous 'What the fuck are Denver Broncos?' from 3x09 La Locker Room Aux Folles. The only notable time we really see Jamie 'get' one of these metaphors is the sewer-system-tunnels from 3x01 Smells Like Mean Spirit.

(His understanding of that specific metaphor, along with his use of the magnets to demonstrate total football in 3x07 The Strings That Bind, and a Watsonian-perspective of his near perfect mimicry of movements he saw two years ago when executing the decoy play in 3x12 So Long, Farewell, are actually all examples I use to head-canon Jamie as a primarily visual/physical based learner. For whatever that's worth!)

NOW! Ted's willingness to seek and apply alternate techniques in season 1 when he should know the team as both individuals and a collective the least, coupled with his inability or unwillingness to practise differentiation in later seasons when he DOES KNOW THEM is why I don't think Ted is meeting the team, specifically Jamie at their/his point of need. Any person's ability to differentiate behaviour to meet the needs/requirements/comforts of the individual or group they're talking to is increased the more they know them. (We all do this in life, consciously or subconsciously we typically try and 'match the vibe' of whoever we're communicating with [doubly so for people who're engaging in masking.])

Ted should and does learn more about Jamie as a person and his background as the show progresses. He listens to Jamie vocalise both his internal justifications for his actions and his reflections of those justifications/actions in 1x06 Two Aces, he sees him being explicitly physically abused in 1x10 The Hope That Kills You, he listens to him describe a spiralling mindset in 2x02 Lavender, he sees him being explicitly verbally abused in 2x08 Man City.

Of course, one of the fascinating things about Jamie is how much he learns and grows over the course of the show, and there are instances in which I don't think Ted is recognising that (primarily his dismissal of Jamie in 3x03 4-5-1 and not utilising Jamie's knowledge of total football as a resource from the beginning in 3x07 The Strings That Bind).

Ted understands and has previously applied Jamie responding well to positive reinforcement, yet at multiple times in the series doesn't respond in a way that reflects his perspective being informed by that knowledge. Essentially not practising the appropriate level of care/caution when interacting with/around Jamie.

There's not intervening on Jamie's behalf in 2x03 Do the Right-est Thing or 2x06 The Signal when the team and Roy are targeting or ignoring him respectively. The assumed absence of any follow up to the events of 2x08 Man City, the Zava of it all in season 3, and of course the eternal 'forgiveness' kicker from 3x11 Mom City.

POINT BEING. And to actually answer your inquiry lol, I think Jamie is someone who needs clear communication, ideally bracketed in positive reinforcement based operant conditioning as a learning technique (reward behaviour you want reinforced by offering something desirable [praise in Jamie's case]) and visual/physical aid/references for concepts; as a LEARNER.

AS A PERSON, there's more. Ted can readily infer from all he's heard and seen that Jamie's a victim of child abuse. The long term damage to the adult psyche that abuse during formative years has is astronomical, it literally changes the foundational structures of a person's brain. And yet, again, we never see Ted even acknowledge this. Jamie in 3x11 Mom City, incidentally compares his father to Freddy Krueger, Ted elaborates on the comparison, then Jamie reiterates that Freddy Krueger's 'fucking terrifying'. Ted doesn't reassure Jamie (the requirement of his point of need), he gives him a Ted-talk (and in doing so doesn't differentiate his perspective/communication technique).

As far as what Ted thought the situation needed... search me I've got no idea. I do think Ted projects onto Jamie a hell of a lot. That he gets Jamie's personhood and life experiences all tangled up in the emotions he has about his father's death and his consequent perceived abandonment, his insecurities about his own ability to parent Henry and even in his own inability to clearly communicate with his mother. I do think Ted relies on his own forced optimism to 'get by'. Like how a great white shark dies if it stops swimming, if Ted stops being 'Ted', if he stops swimming, his past and his fears and his feelings will catch up to him and swallow him whole. (For what it's worth, I do think Ted is more unwell than even the show explicitly tells us, much like Jamie experiencing ongoing trauma due to childhood abuse, the effects both short-term and long-term as well as potential causalities of having a parent die by suicide are... grim.)

(Essentially the entire fandom has talked about basically all of this at one point or another, I'm just using slightly different language.)

NOW! These characters are fictional (obviously) and I am judging them based on real-people conventions and the best-principles of my own profession, as well as my background in theoretical psychology (which I think I forgot to mention and is also probably [??] relevant). My Doylist-perspective of Ted and his coaching/communication style is ...kinder, but if I get too sucked into the narrative it results in either brief tag-rambles or... whatever this thing I've just typed is. I think it's been too long since I've written academically, my thoughts have gone circular 🫠

ANYWAY! I hope this made something-approaching sense! Thank you again for asking to hear my thoughts! Always happy to word vomit!

ALSO, thank you for saying my tags are excellent (you are the first and currently only to say so!) - The tags are where I send my thoughts to die (in a 'I must banish them to move on' kind of way rather than a 'I'm strangling them' kind of way) so you saying they're excellent is even MORE flattering than you realise! Makes my brain want to purr 💚🤣

[randomravager]

hello tis me!

(kinda rushed intro post but ill fix it later)

my irl name stays irl, but I use the name Arli online! im a minor so keep that in mind when interacting with my blog. oh also im queer (?) and most likely aroace-spec (edit: what is attraction? and why are men and women hot)

I like to read, crochet, write poetry, swim, and im also learning the drums! I speak Arabic too which ig ill add here :)

fandom list which is definitely not covering everything:

- marauders

-Rick riordan

- steven universe

-gravity falls

-the magnus archives

- uh there’s definitely more I’ll add them later

tagging system

#blippity blap: original posts, if there is ever a need I will put trigger warnings and a post under the cut but that doesn’t happen often

#asks: self-explanatory

#art: pretty art I wanna go back to

#my writing: self-explanatory

#savesavesave: little self-affirmation type stuff, so if you’re ever feeling like shit i probably have some nice little reminder posts saved under that tag

writing side blog: @poetic-universes

SEND ME ASKS PLEASE! I love interaction :D

also if you have anything you’ve written, or you have poetry/book/fics send them my way ✨

oh also if anything I say upsets you please let me know (respectfully ofc). like if you want me to refrain from using certain terms or text slangs on you, or if i accidentally say anything offensive

I’ll make a moot list of ppl who I shall henceforth tag in things so let me know if you’d like to be removed from the list/i forgot you

@qua-qua-qua @monn-i @everybody-hit-the-pyro-cue @raeprise @daggerhobbit @quintessentially1 @saturnrain17 (not an extensive list by far whoops)

[thatcreationsureisunending]

- INTRODUCTION + INFO

'eeello? heeeeeeeellllllloooo? hee-- OH oh. Forgot this works flawlessly. Whoops!

Well, thought it'd be about time to do some sort of- introduction? Something like that anyway!

Think of it likeee a preview message before establishing proper connection.

I'm Infinite Possibilities; Creation Unending. Infinite Possibilities for short (snrk) and Creativity for shorter!

Iiiii dabble in a little bit of everything- some of you might've received pearls or files from me? Yeah

But I'm primarily known for painting and making games!

Uh. Contacts are open to anyone! I'm trying to keep this short, haha.

One of my siblings has one of these connections too! You should go bother him on my behalf

============================================

OOC from here on out- as you can probably gleam, this is an Iterator oc askblog! This post took an unreasonably long time to make, and I apologize for that!

This account is run by me, Zoc @softcryz! OOC posts will be tagged as such!

Here's some important things to note-- I'll definitely add more as we go on. If you have any questions regarding rules or the blog in general, feel free to ask me on my main account!

This blog takes place post-ascension! ( Unless stated otherwise ;] )

Any interactions are open, but that does not guarantee that I WILL answer your ask. I have every right to not respond/delete things that I am not comfortable with or just simply do not want to follow through with.

^ That said, please try not to be weird about it. I mean via sending nsfw and the like. Kind of obvious but I'm still putting this here.

#ip;cu_talks // #wawa_talks -- posts where they're talking

#ip;cu_asks // #wawa_asks -- asks directed to either of those two

#LANDS_EDGE -- Local group tag!

#friend_tower -- Posts that include people IP;CU knows :]

#art_pipebomb // #(we need to make a new tag) (with some kind of pun in it) (suggestions welcomed please) -- Fanart and the like!!

If you have any questions regarding the blog feel free to send them to my main account :]

I'll add onto this as I think of more stuff, but until then! Character notes time!

============================================

INFINITE POSSIBILITIES; CREATION UNENDING

Gender apathetic - Pansexual [He/him] [ TOYHOUSE ] [ ARTFIGHT ]

Creativity is the second guy in the Lands Edge group! He was built to process MUCH more and MUCH faster than the standard Iterator-- to the point where no real "limiter" could be put on his systems because his processing just kept. Tanking and breaking it.

The infinite thinking and everything that comes with it is not entirely within his control, though. It isn't something he can shut down or slow down.

Due to his constantly-working brain and need for stimulation, he sorta just... Does a whole bunch of stuff! Just to do it! He's taken a specific interest in programming "games" for other iterators, and is very open to suggestions!

City was somewhat known for being a sort of centre of many different types of art. (He's more well-known for being the game developer guy-- and the weird iterator who keeps sending paint deliveries out to random people)

BIG guy. He's like. Two heads taller than the average Iterator. Height chart coming soon

WAWA

She/her dominant (any pronouns) [ TOYHOUSE ] [ ARTFIGHT ]

wawa.

runs on cartoon logic

a little smaller than a slugpup

insane dodging capabilities. She's also an obligate carnivore

Where's the slug in this slugcat. This is just a beast of some sort

?? JUST APPEARS? She will just teleport in your chamber. say her name and she'll appear

she also paints with Creativity :]

[the4n4juggalo]

redoing this because i accidentally deleted it lol

hiya, my name is anon! with the help of my friend em and another friend on the inside, we expose predators on edblr and report them to our predator masterlist.

to be clear, while we are pro-recov, we donot post ed content we only really post when we find another predator. which you can find from our #whoop whoop tag (cos, thats the sound of the police, and i guess we're the police?)

you can report a predator by going into our inbox or by going into our dms, preferably with screenshots. it means a lot to us to see this community come together to help people and this account wouldn't be what it is without yall so i am eternally grateful to everyone who even interacts because it really boosts the blog to those who need it

outside of that, if you ever have just any questions in general, hit us up in our inbox. it'd be interesting to get to know each other!

blog content

predator masterlist

predator updates

report to our inbox

updates and announcements

this blog is a safe space for

any variant of ED havers (ednos, b.e.d, ortherexia etc.)

every race

lgbtqia+ people

girlbloggers (love yall)

therians

systems

every valid minority, i suppose

dni list

pedos and pedo-sympathisers (obviously)

blank blogs - i'm sorry but it makes you look like a coach and we have to be so so careful

any sort of anti-ed/sh person - this is a safe space

if you want a coach, this place it not for you "what if i like the attention" then block me, seriously

racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.

rcta, acta, etc. yall are not a valid minority

love you guys!!

- anon and em

p.s. if you are ever dming or just generally interacting it's me (anon!) who'll respond. em doesn't own the account and also doesn't rlly look at the dms cos it'd be kinda weird if you're dming and you dont know who it is your talking to, so im the one who does all that

btw, im deleting all the ignorant comments on here, im not gonna correct yall or block yall, im just gonna delete them bc aint noone got time for that

if you twist my words to turn this post into me being an asshole i will not bend over backwards so you understood what i very clearly said

[melikochan]

#4 with aloy and beta?

"I don't understand why I need to do this, Aloy," Beta complained. She was hot, and sweaty, and, and dirty, and this was just... not her idea of fun.

Aloy looked at her with that critical—even judgmental—gaze, and explained again, slowly, "because we live in a dangerous world. If you can't fight, we need to find other ways for you to defend yourself."

Beta clutched her spear closer, heavy in her arms with the weight of solid wood and the override mounted to the shaft, torn from the carcass of a FAS-ACA3 Scarab—sorry—Corrupter. Beta had watched Aloy scavenge and attach the part with expert efficiency, then copy over all of her overrides. They had walked for an hour after, and Beta could feel a blister forming on the ball of her foot. All just to find this herd of Chargers they now crouched behind, obscured by what Beta thought was some rather sparse shrubbery.

"I still don't see why this is necessary," Beta wheedled, but Aloy gave no quarter.

"You need to be able to override machines, Beta, either to fight for you or help you run."

"I'd prefer just to stay out of danger, back at the Base..."

Aloy shook her head. "We need to be prepared. Anything could go wrong."

"That's reassuring..."

"Just override the Charger, Beta. Please?"

Beta scoffed, turning to the herd. A quick scan of her Focus helped her identify and tag each machine, so she could keep track of where each machine was at all times. Didn't want to end up with a bad surprise. She scanned the surrounding area as well, just in case, but the only other activity her Focus picked up was a fox scurrying about in the distance, and a bird awkwardly waddling over a boulder. Beta crept forward a step.

“I’ll stay right here, okay?” Aloy whispered, and Beta shot back a tight nod over her shoulder.

Deep breath. She could do this.

The closest Charger had its head down in the grass, converting the organic matter into Blaze. An important job, much more useful for the terraforming system than the so called "hunter-killers" HEPHAESTUS deployed to...discourage tampering. At least she would just be overriding the machine, not killing it.

Beta was within feet of the machine when suddenly, it raised its head, as if sensing her presence. She froze, adrenaline coursing through her veins and making her limbs tingle. Of course Aloy had shown her some basic spear moves, just in case, but she'd never had to test those skills. She was almost about to turn tail and flee when the Charger shook its head, then ducked back down to the grass.

Beta could have collapsed, she was so relieved.

"Now's your chance," Aloy hissed behind her.

Steeling herself, Beta crept forward. Overriding seemed simple enough—the Corrupter's override module would kick in on impact and take care of the process for her—but suddenly the idea of jabbing the Charger with a long piece of wood seemed...ill-advised.

But she couldn't back down, not with Aloy behind her. She had to prove to her sister that she was capable. She squared her shoulders, adjusted her staff so it felt less awkward in her hands, and stuck the module end into the hind-quarters of the machine.

The override took over as blue light pulsed across the Charger, primitive nanotechnology in the machine becoming slaved to her personal Focus network. Glowing tendrils spread across the machine like mycelium.

Beta contained her whoop of enthusiasm, not wanting to alert the other machines, but her blood surged with excitement. So caught up in the thrill of the moment, she almost fell over in surprise when Aloy silently appeared next to her, then crept forward to override her own mount.

Aloy quietly led both of their Chargers out of the herd, Beta trailing behind, nervous about alerting the others. Once they were safely hidden, her sister helped her awkwardly up onto the mount, Beta struggling to pull herself up and over.

"Race you back to the Base?" Aloy joked, mounting her Charger with effortless ease.

Beta scowled. "You just want to see me land in the dirt, don't you?"

Aloy smirked. "Maybe you'll learn to hang on tighter."

With a huff, Beta stuck out her tongue, and then kicked her mount forward into a run, nearly charging into Aloy. Her sister yelped in surprise and raced after her, laughter echoing as they galloped back towards home.

[drdt-polls]

Helloooo! I got a brainworm and decided on an impulse to pursue it, hence the creation of this gimmick blog. You guys like answering polls (statistically, based on a Tumblr poll I read once), and I’m sure there are people here who like gathering data, so here we are :p

Send ‘em in!!

As for basic info and whatnot —

- The rules are pretty standard. Um, don’t be a hater…? That’s not *too* hard to interpret, I don’t think…? I’ll accept and reject asks as I deem appropriate, but if it ever comes around that a strict set of rules is needed, I’ll get on it. As for freaky polls, I’ll probably accept them to a point…?? But save your crazy stuff for the dedicated nsfw blog. (…how do you get freaky with a poll?)

- My main blog… is a secret! Not for any reason. I just decided that would be that. If it boggles you so, if you can’t help but ponder on, feel free to conduct an investigation but honestly I’m not sure how far you’ll get.

- Kind of related — mods?? Account sharing?? As convenient as it sounds, I’m not sure how possible that is… this account is linked to my main, and I doooon’t think you can have a separate password for a side blog. Whoops. But in case I ever do figure something out, I’m claiming the title of Mod Min 📚. With the emoji, since I know other gimmick blogs use that kind of system and I don’t want to clutter it up.

- I think “#drdt polls” seems like a pretty good tag, for starters. Then I’ll use character and ship tags as necessary. I’m not going to use that mod tag I mentioned above unless I figure out a solid mod system. And a meta tag can be something like “#outlierposting”. I don’t know. ‘Cause outlier. But that on its own is pretty vague so adding -posting at the end would make it easier to search if you ever need to.

- I’ll probably use the tags like parantheses or like, whispered text, every now and then. For thoughts. Tags have never interfered with comedic timing, so they’re very convenient in that regard

That’s probably about it for now. Toodle-oo!

📊📊📊📊

[the-letterbox-archives]

the filing system!

hello, all! i've been tagged in a lot of stuff recently, and i have started storing all these posts in the archives, mostly for my reference only. the system doesn't make much sense to anyone but me, but here's a weird pseudo-explanation of what's going on in my ocd, nonsense-organisation obsessed, addled mind.

find every extra file you need here!

(note: the filing system is currently being reworked! the above key is accurate to the new system, but the actual files are still being updated!)

file (1)2-1-011: behind character names

file (1)123-2-002: open qna

file (1)2-3-003: ask response

file (1)3-4-004: ask response

file (1)2-5-015: ask response

file (1)23-6-100: find the word

file (1)3-7-200: writing snippet

file (1)4-8-000: line of dialogue

file (1)2-9-300: writing snippet

file (1)1-10-006: 1 to 5 game

file (1)12-11-400: anagram game

file (1)1234-12-020: questionnaire

file (1)1-13-007: random ramble

file (1)4-14-030: 15 lines

file (1)234-15-040: questionnaire

file (1)2-16-500: writing snippet

file (1)1-17-000: line of dialogue

file (1)34-18-050: questionnaire

file (1)4-19-600: writing snippet

file (1)1234-20-009: wip name qna

file (0)0-0-000: ask response

file (1)1-21-0610: ask response

file (1)1235-22-700: anagram game

file (1)3-23-800: out of context line

file (1)4-24-070: 15 lines

file (1)1-25-900: writing snippet

file (1)2-26-0010: what have your characters done?

file (1)1-28-0011: ask response

file (1)5-29-0812: character inspiration

file (1)X-30-090: association game

file (1)12345X-31-000: wip qna

file (1)3-32-000: ask response

file (1)45X-33-0100: stranded on an island

file (1)2-34-0013: ask response

file (1)1-35-0110: ask response

file (1)X-36-0120: personality through quote

file (1)5-37-1000: out of context line

file (1)X-38-1100: writing snippet

file (1)2-39-01314: unorthodox ship

file (0)0-40-000: writer questionnaire

file (1)5-41-0140: character song

file (1)3-42-0150: character headcanons

file (1)2-43-1200: writing snippet

file (1)4-44-0160: 15 lines

file (1)2-45-0170: personality through quote

file (1)1-46-1300: anagram game

file (1)X-47-1400: anagram game

file (1)3-48-1500: 9 lines writing snippet

file (1)4-49-000: Iine of dialogue (x2)

file (1)6-50-0180: questionnaire

file (1)ALL-51-0015: open qna

file (0)0-52-000: 1-10 dialogue lines

file (0)0-53-000: writer questionnaire

file (0)0-54-000: writer questionnaire

file (1)ALL-55-000: clickbait title

file (1)ALL-56-0190: most likely to

i'm only now realising how much these look like weird phone numbers ;-; whoops!

[humanransome-note]

“YOU SPENT $50 ON A DLC FOR A $70 GAME!?”

Few things… one, lower your voice. Two, I spent 50 bucks for the DLC and the digital art book so hush. Three, the DLC is massive, the added map is roughly a 1/3 of the vanilla map, it added about 40 talismans, several new major bosses, a few new weapon types, with dozens of new weapons overall, more spells and incantations, and an additional level scaling system because people kept saying Elden Ring was easy and basically broke the game with OP bleed builds and Miyazaki took that as a challenge.

The only reason I didn’t pre order was because, while I trust FromSoft to give me quality content, I know not only is there a high chance for game breaking bugs on launch, but also just because someone has fostered good will does not mean they will continue to provide you reasons to trust them. (And while I knew it wouldn’t be “horse armor” DLC, I didn’t want to spend $50 dollars on a product with unknown variables.)

Do I like the fact that game prices have been creeping upwards for the past two decades and that 10 years ago Elden Ring vanilla would be pushing it with a $50 price tag, and be laughed out of stores for the $70 it now sits at? No, I don’t, I don’t like the fact that it’s closer to $100 than not for a medium that is progressively becoming less and less physically accessible. I don’t like the fact that what used to be “the cheaper option” is now basically the only option

However, in the landscape of big name gaming, where subscriptions are becoming more of a thing, micro transactions still exist, so many of them “need” to be online, and the price of the base game is still a whooping $70 before all of that!

FromSoftware is only making me pay once, for the ENTIRE BASE GAME, where online activity is optional. I pay $70 for dozens (at least) of hours of playtime in which my enjoyment is not constrained or dictated by other’s activity.

Then they go, “Here’s more of that, some extra lore, more bosses and enemy types, some spells, some weapons, new magic and incantation categories… oh! And while we did modify the leveling system, that modification only exists in the DLC area, so even if you did run around with a broken bleed build, you get a challenge, but if you want to feel like an almighty god of bleed damage again, you can just step out of the DLC and play fruit ninja with the Albinorics.” At the price of a single, one time payment of $40… $50 if you want some bonus content (which is not necessary to the game, nor does it give you any sort of upper hand over other players, it’s developer stuff)

[imperfectnothing]

is it ok if i can ask for a bit more info on how kay is personality wise ?

since im getting more of a grasp on imu ( i . basically flipped their name ) i do want to see if they’d maybe be close friends with kay ! ( and also im just like generally curious about him . i saw the blood and it made me anxious . . ) ok . i shall run back to my drafts to write more notes for them . love you rock and hope your having a good wednesday ! ( sprints away )

AH yes hello! I love you, too, Apri, and I hope *you* have a wonderful Wednesday! I'll start on Kay's personality but just one note, real quick- the picture with the blood (which i forgot to tag for whoops) is uh, well. That's Kay. As a child. That's his blood. So you don't need to worry about him being violent. He does malfunction occasionally but it rarely, if ever, causes him to be violent.

Kay is kind of goofy because he's a version of myself now combined with myself in middle school. He's far more socially inept than me (which is saying something because I don't think of myself as terribly socially savvy) and he is not as good with boundaries. He can be incredibly awkward and he's not good at approaching people, if someone wants or needs to talk to him, they are going to have to do the legwork on going up to him because he has been burned too many times before when it comes to putting himself out on a limb like that.

He's very similar to my younger self, when I was not as good at masking and not as aware of my "autistic" behaviors like infodumping and assuming people are being literal, more often than not. He's just as impulsive and crass as me but he tries really hard *not* to be, unwilling to accept that part of himself, which is another difference from me, because I've pretty much stopped caring about what people think of me . . . unless they're my friends, of course.

Sometimes, he'll also short-circuit and say something that doesn't make sense or is just incredibly out of pocket, but that's usually a system error causing his voice box to process the unwanted stimulus in a way that it can handle while it's resetting/fixing whatever problem is going on. He will also vocal stim but it's him using his database of different recorded sounds to make weird songs or playing one sound over and over because he really likes it.

I hpoe that this helps gives context and info, in way of Kay's personality!!

(note: his eyes, brain, trachea, and larynx are all artificial because they were irreparably damaged in the accident and had to be replaced. the rest of his body is organic though his heart/lungs are supplemented with technology, as well.)

(also fun fact! his talking voice claim is GlaDOS from Portal which only happened because @tsukacchako and @alien-til-i-stage were trying to convince me to do Siri or Auto from Wall-E as his voice but i caved because him having an obviously artifical voice is very funny to me . . . his singing voice claim is KafU tho)

[skibasyndrome]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

thank you so much to @lollygirlpops, @themarsbar & @hergrandplan for tagging me in this <3<3<3

do you make your bed?

nope, not unless I'm feeling veeeery motivated (which hasn't happened in a while)

what's your favourite number?

Hmmm, I don't really have one I think, but I do really like 2 and 4 and 8. Those just "feel" right, you know?

what is your job?

I’m a university student :) Aaaaaand since Monday I'm working part-time as a (and I hope this is the correct English translation) teaching and research assistant

if you could go back to school, would you?

Hmm, if we're talking about school-school, no I don't think so. I used to say that, but I think with having experienced uni now I wouldn't like to be put back into that rigid system. If we're talking about uni though: I never ever eeeever wanna leave, so I guess that's a yes, haha

can you parallel park?

I can't even drive to begin with, whoops

a job you had that would surprise people?

Hmmm, I don't think I've had too many unusual jobs. I used to work in hospitality every summer and then one summer I had a reeeeally cool job where I worked as a stage technician but since I'm kinda doing stuff with theater now in uni as well maybe that's not so surprising?

do you think aliens are real?

I think the universe is too big for us to be the only life form out there, but I don't think aliens are out here trying to abduct people or something like that

can you drive a manual car?

Again 😅 No driving for me (and I never even tried once)

what's your guilty pleasure?

Honestly I ~technically~ don't think that you should feel guilty about anything that brings you joy if it's not harming anyone buuuuuut, in the sense that I need to be very careful not to neglect all other parts of my life over it: maybe fic writing 😅

tattoos?

Yes! I have a very tiny one that I got myself for my recent birthday :)

it's the tiny heart that Simon drew on Wille's hand <3

favorite color?

I don't think I have one! But because I have pavlov-ed myself into always thinking of yr when I see it I've been loving purple a lot recently

favorite type of music?

My taste in music is aaaaall over the place tbh. I wanna say something like indie or alternative rock or something like that? But I just listen to anything that feels kinda catchy and/or is lyrically strong

do you like puzzles?

Meh, I'm never in the mood to do them tbh

any phobias?

Not severely, but I generally don't do all too well in tightly packed crowds when I don't have my escape plan ready. Oh and certain social situations that could lead to me being judged for being inept. I always like to say that my biggest fear is being an embarrassment and while that sounds ridiculous it's also very, very true

favorite childhood sport?

I never really did much of anything sports-wise, but I used to love swimming before I discovered that swimming means Being Perceived (TM) and then I started hating it lmao

do you talk to yourself?

definitely inside my head, but occasionally also out loud when I'm alone. especially when I need to get a grip and follow a plan I made

what movies do you adore?

I generally don't watch a lot of movies, but I enjoyed Hereditary enough to watch it twice with my friends

coffee or tea?

I like both, but I loooove coffeeeeeeeee

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

the first "thing" I wanted to be was probably a mermaid lmao. job-wise I think I cycled through eeeeverything, but I think some of the early ideas were painter or author or zookeeper

Onward tagging: I kinda lost track of who did this and who didn't, but I'm just gonna go ahead and (no pressure) tag @toffeelemon, @mintycurry, @pagegirlintraining, @irenes-diary, @royalwilmon, @goldenwilmon & anyone who feels like doing it :)

[swiftyangx12]

Head’s Up! Literally.

[Valorant]

[Gender Neutral Radiant!Reader]

[Synopsis]: Brimstone recruited a new agent who seems “normal” by exterior, but on the inside they’re full of surprises.

[(A/N)]: I have some concepts of Valorant agents with unique Radiant abilities/expertises. Hopefully this would sparked more ideas for future writers.

I have an idea!

What if [Y/N], who joined the Valorant Protocol, is also a Radiant.

Except their abilities would impress or freak people out.

Just one day, a VP agent finished their workout routine and spots [Y/N]’s decapitated head sitting on the kitchen counter while inspecting their body.

Phoenix: *Finished his training* Man, I could have a coke now. *Wanders into the communal kitchen*

[Y/N]: *Their head sitting on the counter* What’s up?

Phoenix: He- AAAHHHHHHH!!! What happened to you?!

[Y/N]: Nothing happened. I’m a type of radiant who can pick apart its physical anatomy. Didn’t Brimstone tell you and everyone else about my case?

Phoenix: He did. I didn’t think much of it.

[Y/N]: Well surprise, you have a living anatomical display as an agent.

《💀》

Sage: Agent [A/N], may I ask for your help?

[Y/N]: Sure, what do you need help with?

Sage: Reviewing the human anatomy since I feel I need to be more prepared for missions.

[Y/N]: Okay, which system do you want to start with? *Detaches their head off*

《💀》

Jett: Weird question. If you can detach your head off, wouldn’t that make yourself a-

[Y/N]: Don’t ask that question. SNL already made that skit with the Headless Horseman and that’s your answer.

《💀》

Viper: *Examining [Y/N]’s blood vessels* Fascinating…

[Y/N]: *Stretching out their vessels* Still not freaking you out?

Viper: I have seen worst things in my life.

[Y/N]: Touché.

《💀》

[Y/N]: *Offended by somebody* Okay. Wouldn’t a zombie do this? *Detaches their arm off and starts whacking the offender*

Raze: Hah! They’re completely armed.

《💀》

[Gekko’s Quaters, 6:00 a.m.]

[BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!]

Gekko: *Wakes up* *YAWNS!*

[Y/N]: *Their head lays next to him* Morning Gekko!

Gekko: *Screams and falls out of his bed*

[Y/N]: Whoops.

[Tagged]: @hhurric4ne @l0serloki @luckyowl @radianights

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AO3 link

Interlude - Anya

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

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

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

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

“Perfect,” he smiled, “As always,”

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

A moment passed. 

“So… Joras?”

“Oh, leave me alone,”

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

Anya raised her eyebrows. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

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

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

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

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

Anya shrugged. 

“Just you,”

“Oh? You like what you see?”

“I might,” 

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

“And if I said-”

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

“Come in,”

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

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

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

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

Wylan wasn’t there.

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

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

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

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

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

“The deal is the deal,”

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

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

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

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

“Sir, I’m sorry, I do not-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wylan!” she tried again

Please hear me.

“Wylan!”

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

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

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

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

“Are you quite done?”

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

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

“Knock her out,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

“Anya,”

“Good to meet you, Anya. I’m Ori,”

She said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least drink,”

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

*

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

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

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

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

“Joost,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He-”

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

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

“We have a deal,”

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

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

“What- what happened?”

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

Anya took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I cannot Heal her if she is already-”

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

“Why-?”

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

“Do it,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was her name?”

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

“No - no wait, please, let me-”

“Your job is done,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did as she was told.

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

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

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

She knew. 

She knew. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuri-”

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

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

“I- what? Yuri-”

“I can help with that,”

“What are you-?”

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

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

“Let go of me, Yuri, let-”

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

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

“Wh-What-?”

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

Anya nodded stiffly, a little shakily. 

“Are you alright?”

“I- yes, thank you,”

Greta smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wylan!”

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

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

“I should never have told you,”

Wylan grinned. 

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

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

“Anya?” 

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

“Are you alright?”

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

They walked inside in silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Onkel,” 

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

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

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

“Let me see,” she murmured, “I can-”

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

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

“Was that magic?” 

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

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

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

Anya frowned. She didn’t know that word. 

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

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

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

“What is it?”

“That isn’t your concern,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does it taste like?” asked Hoede. 

“Like jurda, only sweeter. It’s-”

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

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

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

“Heal the boy,” called Hoede. 

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

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

“It feels like magic,”

“Anya, listen closely,”

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

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

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

“Shoot the glass,”

“What did she say?”

“Sergeant!”

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

“Shoot the glass,”

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

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

“Wait,”

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

“Hoede,” she beckoned, “Come inside,”

He obeyed, of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

It was time to go home.