#is that not what we're all doing? trying to wade through the waters of this world in hopes that we'll find a purpose to keep going?

[elegyofthemoon]

listen i also think 2b is hot but also i am very very tired of walking into the tags every now and then only to see sexy art of her this is not what im here for im here for the existential crisis

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part Three

Summary: At last, you're about to face whatever—or whoever—is behind all this chaos, but what you uncover will haunt you, and Logan's connection to it makes you realize that you’re only a piece in someone else’s game

PART ONE | PART TWO | FINAL PART

Warnings: canon-level violence, manipulation, soft moments, plot-twist WC: 7.9k - MASTERLIST

----

Well, this is it. 

The day you and Logan have decided on to investigate the location has come. Standing side-by-side, you both peer down at the old rusted metal grate beneath your feet. It creaks ominously under your combined weight, the sound echoing through the empty lot. 

You can’t help the grimace that crosses your face as you take a step closer to the edge. "Please tell me this isn’t a sewer," you mutter, the disgust in your voice impossible to hide.

Logan shoots you a sideways glance, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Not a sewer," he grumbles. "And even if it was, we got a job to do. Now shut up and focus."

"Just saying," you mumble under your breath, rolling your eyes. "If we're about to wade through god-knows-what, I might need a minute to mentally prepare."

Your remark is ignored as he crouches down to grip the edge of the grate. With a grunt of effort, he lifts it up, revealing a gaping hole that descends into darkness. A musty, stale smell wafts up from below, and you can’t help but wrinkle your nose in distaste. Already securing the grate to the side so it won’t fall back into place, he straightens up and gives you a pointed look.  "You ready?".

"Yeah," you reply, bracing yourself, and trying to sound more confident than you feel. "Let’s get this over with."

Logan gives a short nod before pulling out a flashlight from his belt, clicking it on. The beam of light cuts through the darkness below, revealing a rusty ladder bolted to the side of the tunnel. The metal rungs look old and worn, covered in grime and dust, but they seem sturdy enough. Without hesitation, hesteps forward, testing the ladder with one hand before starting his descent.

You watch as he climbs down. The tunnel seems to swallow him whole, and soon all you can see is the faint glow of his flashlight moving deeper into the darkness.

"Come on," his voice echoes up from below, gruff but encouraging.

You take one last look at the dim, overcast sky above before gripping the cold metal of the ladder and starting down after him. The further you descend, the colder and damper the air becomes, clinging to your skin like a shroud. The sound of your own breathing is unnervingly loud in the confined space, and the occasional drip of water from above only adds to the uncanny atmosphere.

As your feet finally touch solid ground, you let out a small breath of relief, but the oppressive darkness around you quickly snuffs out any sense of comfort. The tunnel is narrow, the walls slick with moisture, and the air smells of damp earth and rusted metal.

Logan’s flashlight beam cuts through the abyss, revealing a long, empty passageway stretching out before you. The walls are lined with old pipes and cables, some of which look like they haven’t been used in decades. The faint hum of electricity buzzes in the background, the only sign that this place might still be connected to the world above.

"Isn’t this just cozy," you say sarcastically, as you click on your own flashlight, adding a second beam of light to murky gloom.

He shoots you a look, like he’s trying to keep you calm. "Ain’t nobody enjoyin’ this," he says. "But we’ve got to check it out. Could be nothin’, or it could be somethin’ we need to deal with."

You hum, forcing yourself to focus. The truth is, you have no idea what’s down there—whether it’s just an abandoned tunnel or something more sinister. That uncertainty gnaws at you, making each step feel heavier than the last. You remind yourself that Logan wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think it was important. He’s got a sense for these things, a gut feeling that’s saved both your asses more than once.

"Stay sharp," he says, his voice a low rumble. "There could be traps set up, or worse—mutants under control waitin' for us."

The tunnel seems to go on forever, each step echoing back to you like a warning. The beam of your flashlight dances across the uneven floor, picking out old, broken pipes, patches of moss, and the occasional rat scurrying away into the darkness. The air gets cooler the further you go, the damp chill seeping into your bones.

"How far do you think this goes?" you whisper.

"Hard to say," he replies, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "But we’ll know when we’re gettin’ close. Trust me."

Even though you can’t see in the dark,you nod. The two of you move cautiously down the tunnel, the only light coming from your flashlights. Every creak, every drip, every distant clank of metal sets your nerves on edge. It’s all so oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in on you, the weight of the earth pressing down from above.

"Ever get the feeling you’re being watched?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light, but you feel genuine fear.

Logan doesn’t miss a beat. "All the damn time," he grunts, his eyes flicking to every shadow, every dark corner. "Keep your head in the game, Knifey. We ain’t alone down here."

His steps slow ahead as you approach a corner where the tunnel bends sharply to the left. He holds up a hand, signaling you to stop as he slowly walks forward, checking to see if there is anything hiding. You freeze in place, your heart pounding in your ears as you listen. For a moment, the only sounds are the steady drip of water and the faint rustling of something—probably a rat—somewhere in the dark.

When you round the bend, the passage suddenly opens up into a larger chamber, the walls lined with more old, rusted equipment. The floor is uneven, slick with dampness, and the space feels almost too large, as if it’s swallowing the sound of your footsteps entirely.

"Feels like a setup," you whisper, your eyes darting around the chamber.

He hums grimly, his senses on high alert. "We’ll move fast, hit hard if we need to."

You both move cautiously into the center of the chamber, your flashlights sweeping the room. The emptiness is unsettling, the silence even more so. There’s no sign of life, no indication that anyone—or anything—has been here recently.

Then, in the far corner of the room, your flashlight catches something—a small metal door, half hidden behind a stack of old crates. It’s slightly ajar, just enough to let a sliver of darkness leak through.

"That’s gotta be it," you say.

"Stay behind me," he orders.

Nodding, you follow close as he approaches the door. The tension is palpable, every nerve in your body hyper-aware. The closer you get, the more you can feel it—the oppressive presence that seems to emanate from behind that door, like a thick, invisible fog.

He reaches out, pushing the door open with a creak that echoes through the chamber. The darkness inside is absolute, swallowing the beam of your flashlights like a black hole. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, your instincts screaming at you that something isn’t right.

The room beyond is large and dimly lit, the walls lined with screens displaying endless streams of data, numbers, and images flashing by in rapid succession. In the center of the room, a figure stands with their back to you, seemingly engrossed in their work.

As Logan steps forward, you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, a stiffness that mirrors your own. His body is coiled tight, muscles flexing beneath his skin, ready to spring into action at any moment. His claws slide out slowly, gleaming dangerously in the low light. With a menacing growl, he commands, "Turn around."

The figure doesn’t react immediately, their movements unhurried, almost casual. Then, slowly, they turn to face you, and the shadows reveal a woman with sharp, severe features. Her eyes are frosty, cunning, but there’s a glint of satisfaction in them that sends a shiver down your spine. When her eyes settle on the man next to you, a cruel smile spreads across her lips. 

"Hello, Wolverine," she purrs, her voice dripping with venom. There’s a twisted pleasure in the way she speaks his name, as if savouring every syllable.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and something something haunting and painful crosses his face. "Shadowmind," he spits, full of contempt and hatred. The name rolls off his tongue like a curse, heavy with the weight of what must be their shared history.

Your gaze snaps to him, practically breaking your neck as you turn your head. Your heart pounding in your chest, and you can feel the tension in the room thickening, almost suffocating. "You know her?" you whisper, desperate for understanding.

He nods, though his eyes never leave the woman, the intensity of his gaze enough to burn through steel. "Yeah," he mutters. "She was one of the experiments in Weapon X. Thought I killed her."

Shadowmind’s smile widens, her features gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "You almost did," she replies bitterly, her tone laced with fury and twisted pride. "But you didn’t quite finish the job, did you, Wolvie? You left me broken, traumatized… but not dead. And now, I’m going to make sure you regret that."

His claws twitch, his hands flexing with the barely contained fury boiling just beneath the surface. "So all of this—sending those mutants after humans, after us—it was all to get to me?"

She nods slowly, the smile never fading from her lips as her gaze shifts to you, her eyes raking over you like a predatory its prey. "At first, yes," she confesses, almost conversationally, as if they’re discussing the weather. "I wanted to draw you out, make you suffer. I thought having mutants wreak havoc on people would get your attention. But then…" She trails off, her eyes lighting up with a twisted joy as a manic cackle bursts from her throat, bouncing off the walls of the chamber. "Then she fought back and killed them! Your little friend here is a mutant—and a powerful one. She made my job so much easier.”

You felt like you had just been bitch-slapped by the biggest bitch of all time. All of the attacks, all of the deaths—they weren’t just random acts of violence. Yes, you acted in self defence, but you didn’t know they were being controlled. You didn’t know that you were a mutant. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have killed them. Guilt starts crawling up your throat—you might throw up. 

"You twisted them," Logan seethes dangerously, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. His eyes burn with a rage that’s barely held in check, the kind of anger that promises violence. "You twisted those mutants’ minds just to get at me. Made them your fucking pawns.”

Shadowmind shrugs, the gesture so nonchalant it scares you. "I did what I had to," she says cooly, while bringing her hand up to her face as she looks at her nails. "You took everything from me, Wolvie. My life, my sanity… now it’s time for you to lose something."

Then, you scream.

It’s a raw, painful sound that scratches your throat as it crawls up and out of your mouth. Your mind feels like it is being split in two, the agony so intense that you can’t even think. Your hands fly to your head, clutching it as if you can physically hold yourself together. The flashlight slips from your fingers, clattering to the ground with a hollow, clanking sound that echoes in the room. Your vision blurs, the world around you spinning as you struggle to stay upright.

Logan’s head whips toward yours, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes you’ve never seen before—terror. Pure, unfiltered terror etched into his features, cutting through the usual stoic mask he wears. "Fight it!" he shouts, his voice sharp, urgent, but it feels distant, like he’s speaking from the end of a long tunnel. "Don’t let her take control!"

You try to obey, to resist the overwhelming force pressing down on your mind, but it’s like trying to swim against a riptide. Your limbs betray you, moving without your consent, and you can only feel horror wash over you as your hand reaches for the blade hidden in the side of your boot. Your fingers close around the hilt, the metal cold and familiar, but the ease with which you lift it feels wrong—alien.

"Logan, I—" You choke out, desperately trying to warn him, but the words come out strangled, distorted by the crushing weight of Shadowmind’s influence. The connection between your mind and body is fraying, slipping away.

Then it happens. Her grip tightens around your consciousness, squeezing until everything goes black. The world around you dissolves into a dark, endless void where the only sound is the incessant whispering of voices, all chanting the same sinister command: Kill him. Destroy him. Hurt him.

You can’t think. You can’t see. It’s like you’re drowning in a sea of dark, suffocating orders, your own thoughts buried beneath the onslaught of the woman’s will. The weapon in your hand feels heavy, but it’s not your hand anymore—it’s hers. Your body is no longer your own.

"Fight it!" A voice tries to cut through the fog, but it’s distant, muffled, like he’s shouting at you from underwater. It’s too far away, too weak compared to the relentless chorus in your head. Kill. Hurt. Destroy.

Without conscious thought, your body moves. The lava-like energy surges through your veins, your hands glowing an intense, fiery orange, the heat building until it feels like you just stuck your hand in a volcano. You lunge at Logan, the blade slashing through the air with a ferocity that isn’t yours.

He barely dodges the strike, his claws moving as he counters your attack. "Push back, don’t let her in!" he yells desperately as he blocks another of your strikes, the force behind it sending him staggering back a few metrs. But you can’t hear him—not really.

Your powers flare uncontrollably, the heat in your hands intensifying until it feels like your skin is about to burst into flames. A scream that’s more Shadowmind’s than your own tears from your throat, and you swing your fist. The molten energy collides with his claws, heating through the adamantium like it’s nothing. He grunts in pain but doesn’t back down. Instead, he grabs your wrist, trying to pull you out of the mental prison you’re trapped in.

"Come on, Knifey! I know you’re in there!" His voice is fervent, pleading. 

"Poor little Wolverine. Can’t even protect your little friend?” Shadowmind’s tyrannical laughter echoes through your thoughts. “She’s mine now. You can’t save her. Just like you couldn’t kill me.”

He grits his teeth, his muscles straining, hands melting, as he tries to hold back the power surging through you. But the voices won’t let you stop. They won’t let you think. You’re just a puppet on strings, forced to do this woman’s bidding. You lash out with your other hand, the blade slicing across Logan’s side, drawing blood. He hisses in pain but refuses to let go, his grip on your wrist tightening as he tries to bring you back to yourself.

"I know you can break free!" Logan shouts, his voice cracking with emotion. "You’re stronger than her!"

Shadowmind’s grip is ironclad, her control absolute. The whispering in your head grow louder, more frantic. Kill him. Hurt him. Finish him. You wrench your arm free from Logan’s grasp and drive your fist into his stomach, pushing him back against the wall.

He stumbles but doesn’t fall. He fights back with everything he has, his claws slashing through the air as he tries to subdue you without killing you. It’s no use—neither of you can die, and she knows it. She’s watching the two of you tear each other apart, a smile on her lips like she’s enjoying a show.

"You can’t stop it, Logan," She taunts. “You’re just delaying the inevitable."

His eyes flash in desperation as he roars in frustration, dodging another one of your attacks before grabbing you by the shoulders. "Fight it, damn it! " he shouts, shaking you. "Don’t let her win!"

But you just can’t. It’s impossible. The sounds—the whispers—block out everything, leaving you with nothing but the burning need to obey. You slam your fist into the clawed mutant’s side again.

"Come back to me!" he yells. "Come back to me!"

To shut him up, your hands grab him by the back of the neck and, with all your strength, you slam his head against the concrete wall. The impact is sickening, the sound of bone hitting stone reverberating through the chamber.

Logan’s body goes limp, his grip on your shoulders loosening as he crumples to the ground, unconscious. The voices suddenly go silent, the mental chains around your mind shattering as Shadowmind’s control slips away.

You blink, disoriented, the world around you coming back into focus. Your hands are still glowing with that flowing energy, your heart racing as the realization of what you’ve done sinks in. You look down at your friend’s motionless form, horror flooding your veins.

"What… what did you make me do?" you whisper, your voice trembling as you take a step back, staring at your hands as if they belong to someone else.

Shadowmind laughs, the sound cold and mocking. "You did exactly what I wanted you to do," she says sweetly, sickeningly sweet. "You proved that no matter how strong you think you are, I can break you. Both of you."

You shake your head. "This isn’t over," you say, anger and fear dowsing you. "We’ll come for you. We’ll end this."

Her smile widens, a dark, knowing look in her eyes. "Oh, I’m counting on it," she says softly, almost affectionately in its cruelty. "But for now, I think I’ll let you live with what you’ve done. After all, the real torture comes from the inside, doesn’t it?"

She waves a hand dismissively, and the remnants of the mental pressure that had been suffocating you vanishes completely. The sudden release makes you lurch forward, your knees nearly buckling as the full weight of your actions crashes down on you. The chamber feels like it's closing in, it’s hard to breathe as you watch Shadowmind step back toward the console, her gaze lingering on Logan’s unconscious form with a sense of triumph

"I’ll be waiting, Wolverine," she says. "And next time, I’ll make sure you both suffer."

With that, she melts into the shadows, disappearing like a phantom, leaving you alone in the silent chamber with Logan’s still form. The only sound that breaks the quiet is your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart a deafening roar in your ears.

You drop to your knees beside him, your hands trembling violently as you reach out to touch him, your fingers hesitating, afraid of what you’ll find. Relief floods through you when you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breaths shallow but present. But the sight of the blood trickling down from where wound would have been on his head—where you slammed him against the wall—makes your stomach churn with guilt.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice cracking as tears blur your vision. "I’m so sorry, Logan…"

He doesn’t respond, his face pale and still. For what feels like an eternity, you just sit there, cradling his head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair, now matted with blood. 

----

After a few more minutes, and with trembling hands, you manage to lift Logan’s unconscious form, his body limp in your arms, and haul him onto your back. Thanks to your mutant strength, he’s not heavy—physically, you can carry him with ease—but the emotional weight of it, the burden of what you’ve done, makes him feel like he weighs a thousand pounds.

The Wolverine, silent and motionless—it’s something you’ve never seen before, and it’s terrifying.

The tunnel is dark and seemingly endless as you make your way back, every step feeling like a battle against the overwhelming tide of despair threatening to pull you under. Tears stream down your face, silent and unchecked, as you hold onto him, his head resting against your shoulder. 

Eventually, you reach the van, the sight of it a small beacon in the abyss. With great care, you lower his body into the back, laying him down as gently as you can. His face is still so pale, his breaths too shallow, and the sight makes you feel worse. 

You climb into the van beside him, your hands trembling as you search for something to wipe away the blood. Once you find a cloth, you gently stroke his face. The only response is the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and the silence that fills the van is suffocating. You lean over him, your forehead resting against his as tears continue to spill from your eyes. "I’ll fix this," you vow. "I’ll find a way to fix this… I promise."

----

The drive back to the warehouse is a blur. Logan doesn’t stir, not even when the van hits a rough patch of road. Not even when you make a shitty turn. You keep glancing back at him, hoping to see those familiar eyes staring back at you, but there’s nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When you finally arrive at the warehouse, you just sit there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white. Then you move.

You slowly slide Logan out of the van, his weight heavy against you as you half-drag, half-carry him toward the bed—his bed. The place where you’ve slept for the past few nights while he took the couch. Laying him down, your hands shake vigorously as you arrange him as comfortably as you can.

He’s still unresponsive, and all you can do is sit beside him, your heart hammering in your chest as you wait, watching him closely for any sign that he’s waking up. The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity. Your mind races, replaying every second of the fight, the way Shadowmind twisted your thoughts, the way your body had moved against your will.

You’re lost in those dark thoughts when you finally see it—a faint twitch of his fingers, a slight furrow in his brow. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes flutter open, slowly focusing on the ceiling above him. For a split second, he looks disoriented, then those steel eyes shift toward you.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically launch yourself at him, covering his body with yours, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. The suddenness of it makes him stiffen for a moment, his body tensing under your touch. But then, slowly, you feel him relax, his arms wrapping around your waist in return, holding you close.

His broad chest is warm and solid beneath yours, the strength in his arms grounding you in a way that makes you think nothing else can. You can feel the beat of his heart, steady and strong, and it calms the storm inside you just a little. Letting yourself melt into the embrace, the overwhelming relief of feeling him alive and whole washes over you.

But then your thoughts catch up to you, and you pull back slightly, your heart racing for an entirely different reason. What the hell am I doing? You force yourself to push away the thoughts of how good it felt to be in his arms, how comforting his strength was. Not the time or place.

When you make eye contact, you realize how close you still are. Your faces are just inches apart, and for a mere moment, neither of you move. His eyes, intense and unreadable, lock onto yours, and you feel a jolt of something electric shoot through you.

"Logan, I’m—" you start to apologize, but the words catch in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, silencing you with a look. "It wasn’t you," he says softly, tightening his hold. "I know it wasn’t you."

The sincerity in his eyes almost breaks you, but you manage to hold it together. The two of you sit there in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. And yet, there’s something else too—something that lingers in the way your gazes stay locked a moment too long, in the way his hands still rest on your hips, the warmth of his touch seeping through your skin.

You pull back completely, breaking the moment. Standing up, you take a deep breath to steady yourself, trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing.

"I was really worried that I actually hurt you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper as you look anywhere but at him.

Logan sits up slowly, his movements a little stiff, but he’s already recovering. "I’m tough to get rid of," he says, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are serious. "But thanks."

You nod, swallowing hard as you try to shake off the residual tension. "You should rest," you say, gesturing to the bed. 

He studies you for a moment, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression. Then he yields, lying back down, but not before he gives you one last look. "You need rest too, Knifey.”

"Yeah," you agree. "I will."

But as you walk away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the memory of his arms around you, and you can’t help but wonder what the hell just happened between you.

----

The warehouse falls into an uneasy silence after you step away from the bedside. The faint light filters through the cracks in the windows, casting shadows across the cluttered space. You move to a nearby chair, sinking into it with a heavy sigh, your mind still spinning from everything that’s happened. The weight of what you did under Shadowmind’s control sits heavily on your chest, the guilt plaguing you even as you try to focus on the immediate future.

You can hear Logan’s breathing slow and even out as he drifts back to sleep, his body needing time to recover from the ordeal. You know he’s right—both of you need rest—but you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes just yet. The memory of the fight, of your body acting against your will, is too fresh, too raw. You keep replaying the moment you slammed his head against the wall, the sickening sound of the impact still reverberating in your ears.

Time passes slowly. The warehouse is quiet, save for the occasional creak of old metal and the distant hum of the city outside. You sit there, watching over the mutant, your body refusing to relax. Eventually, exhaustion starts to creep in, and your eyelids grow heavy, but every time you start to drift off, you’re jolted awake by the memories.

After what feels like hours, the first rays of dawn begin to pierce the darkness. There isn’t much light, but it brings a sliver of comfort, a reminder that the night is over. You glance over at Logan, who is still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. Despite the bruises and the cuts that have healed, he looks peaceful—something you don’t often see.

Unable to sit still any longer, you get up and start pacing the warehouse, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been building up inside you. The physical movement helps clear your mind a little, but it doesn’t do much to ease the knot of emotions tangled up in your chest.

As you walk, your thoughts keep circling back to Shadowmind. The way she taunted you, the way she manipulated your mind so effortlessly—it’s infuriating. And then there’s the way Logan looked at you afterward, the way he didn’t want your apology. When you remember the way his strong arms around you, the way you felt so small but safe in his embrace… It sends a chill throughout your body, and you quickly shake off the thought.

Focus, you tell yourself. There’s no time for this. You have a job to do.

Yet even as you try to push those thoughts away, they keep creeping back, resurfacing whenever you’re not paying attention. The connection you felt in that brief moment of vulnerability lingers, and it’s unsettling. Your friendship with him has improved tremendously within the last week, building on trust and mutual respect, but this…this feels different, and you’re not sure how to deal with it.

By the time the sun is fully up, you’re mentally and physically exhausted. You decide to make some coffee, hoping the routine task will help ground you. The familiar sounds of the coffee maker, the scent of fresh brew filling the air, offer a small comfort. You pour yourself a cup, savoring the warmth as it spreads through your body, chasing away the last remnants of the night’s chill.

Sitting back down, cradling the mug in your hands, you hear movement behind you. You turn to see Logan stirring, his eyes blinking open as he slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. He looks around, taking in the light streaming through the windows before his gaze settles on you.

"Morning," he mutters, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," you whisper. "How’re you feeling?"

Logan stretches, wincing slightly as he does, his muscles protesting the movement. "Feels like I got hit by a truck," he mutters with a half-smirk, trying to lighten the mood. But then, his expression softens, the humor fading from his eyes as he looks at you with genuine concern. "But I’ll be fine. You?"

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to answer. "I’m… okay," you finally say, though you’re not sure if that’s entirely true. After a moment, you add, "I just… I’m sorry, Logan. For what happened. For what I did."

He shakes his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes it clear he doesn’t want you to carry this burden. "I told you, it wasn’t you. Shadowmind’s the one to blame, not you. You fought her as hard as you could."

"But I still—" you start, but he cuts you off with a look.

"You didn’t have a choice," he says firmly, leaving no room for argument. "And we’re going to make sure she pays for what she did. Together."

The mention of her name—Shadowmind—casts a shadow over Logan’s face. It’s the same haunted look you saw down in the tunnels, when he saw her again. There’s clearly more to the story, more to the pain that’s etched into his expression. You hesitate, unsure if you should press further, but curiosity and concern for him win out. "Logan," you ask quietly, "who is she? What’s the history between you two?"

He leans back against the wall, the tension in his body not easing but shifting as he gathers his thoughts. Sucking in a harsh breath, you can tell that whatever he’s about to say is something he rarely, if ever, shares.

"Her real name is Lorna Mallory," he begins, his voice carrying the weight of memories long buried but never forgotten. "We crossed paths years ago, back when I was with Weapon X."

"She was one of the many mutants that Weapon X experimented on," Logan continues bitterly. "She had powerful telepathic and telekinetic abilities, but the scientists wanted to push her beyond her limits, see just how much they could get out of her. They messed with her mind, twisted it, just like they did with me. But Lorna… she wasn’t like the others. She fought back, hard. She wouldn’t let them break her."

He pauses, his eyes distant, as if he’s seeing the past play out in front of him. You can almost picture it too—the cold, sterile labs, the cruel, calculating scientists, and the unending pain they inflicted on those they deemed as nothing more than tools. "I was different back then. More… feral, more under their control. They used me as their weapon, their enforcer. And when Lorna started resisting, they sent me after her."

Your heart sinks as you begin to piece together the story, the tragic and brutal connection between Logan and Shadowmind. "What did they make you do?" you ask, though part of you dreads hearing the answer.

His jaw clenches, his muscles tightening so much so it’s like he’s physically bracing himself for the confession. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes, the shame and regret palpable in the air between you. "They sent me to stop her. To… subdue her," he gets out. "I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t in control of myself any more than you were back there." 

Finally, he looks at you. "I attacked her. Hurt her badly. But she survived. Barely. The damage I did wasn’t just physical—it shattered her mind. Turned her into the monster she is now."

The room is laden with the weight of Logan’s confession.

"And now she wants revenge," you say quietly, understanding the gravity of the situation.

He nods grimly. "She’s been waiting for this chance. I think in some twisted way, she blames me for everything that happened to her. And she’s right. I was the one who pushed her over the edge."

"But it wasn’t your fault," you insist, repeating the words he had said to you earlier. You can see the parallels between your situation and his, both of you victims of forces beyond your control.  "They used you, just like she used me."

He doesn’t seem convinced. "Doesn’t change what I did. And now, she’s come back to finish what she started. She wanted to lure me out, make me suffer, and when she found you, she saw a way to do it."

You can see the pain in his eyes, the guilt that he’s been carrying for so long. It’s clear that this fight with Shadowmind isn’t just about survival for him—it’s personal. 

Reaching forward, you grab his hands in yours, holding them tightly. "We’ll stop her," you say. "We’ll find her and put an end to this."

Logan looks at you, a flicker of something softer passing through his gaze. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "We will."

----

The two of you decide to spend the next week doing nothing. There isn’t much to do anyway, you know your goal, you just have to act on it. But you don’t want to—not now. You want to savour these moments with Logan where it feels like you hadn’t tried to kill him. Where, for a little while, you can forget about the darkness that still persists in the corners of your mind.

So much has changed, you think, since the encounter with Shadowmind. From the point that he shared more about his past, it’s like the floodgates have opened. Logan no longer hides behind his rough exterior, letting you in to see who he is when his guard isn’t up. 

The small moments of bickering have turned into playful banter, the non-committal grunts have evolved into full-fledged conversations, and the sidelong glances have turned into lingering looks. What was once tension between you now feels like a quiet comfort, a connection that’s deepened with each passing day. You’ve gone from being reluctant allies to something more—something you’re not sure either of you are ready to name, but it’s there, undeniable in the way he stands a little closer, in the way his touch lasts just a little longer, in the way your heart skips a beat every time your eyes meet.

That’s why after a particularly quiet start to the day, you decide to cook something—a way repay Logan for letting you seek shelter with him, and lending his shoulder for you to lean on when you need to. But cooking has never been your strong suit, and as you stand in the kitchen, surrounded by half-chopped vegetables and a sauce that’s beginning to smell suspiciously burnt, you realize you might be in over your head.

Logan appears beside you as if summoned by the smell of impending disaster, his arms crossed over his chest, a bemused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You tryin’ to burn the place down, or what?"

Placing your hand on your hip in mock defiance, you huff, turning to face him. "I’m making dinner, obviously. Do you have eyes?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "That what you call it? Smells like you’re tryin’ to poison us both."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a playful glint in them. "Ha ha, very funny. I’m just… experimenting."

Snorting, his amusement is evident as he steps into the kitchen, surveying the scene of culinary carnage. "Experimentin’? Well, let’s see what you’ve got so far." He peers into the pan, his expression growing even more dubious. "You know, maybe I should take over before you really do burn the place down."

You make a face, reluctantly stepping aside as he moves to the stove with the confidence of someone who’s rescued more than a few meals in his time. "Fine, but only because I don’t want you to complain about my cooking for the next week."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he starts to salvage the meal, adding a few more ingredients with practiced ease, adjusting the heat, and stirring with impressive skill–and you didn’t even know that stirring required skill!

You hover nearby, more a spectator than a helper at this point, and you go to reach for something on a high shelf—maybe the salt or some spices, you’re not entirely sure—but as you stretch, you lose your balance. Before you can grab the counter to stabilize yourself, Logan’s hands are suddenly on your hips, steadying you with a gentle grip. For a moment, you just stand there, your back pressed against his chest, the world narrowing down to the steady rhythm of his breath, the solid warmth of his body anchoring you.

"You okay?" he asks lowly, close to your ear.

A bit breathless, and feeling the solid warmth of him behind you, all you can do is nod and try your best to string together a sentence. "Yeah, just… clumsy."

He doesn’t let go immediately, his hands resting on your hips for a second longer, as if to make sure you’re really steady. When he finally does, you turn to face him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks."

"Anytime,” he hums.

You both fall into a comfortable rhythm after that, working side by side in the kitchen. There’s a bit of bickering—mostly about your questionable cooking methods and his insistence on doing things his way—but it’s light, teasing, and you realize how much you love this. The ease, the banter, the way he seems to know exactly what you need without you having to say a word.

And when you sit down to eat later, the meal actually turning out better than you expected, there’s a sense of calm that settles between you. He catches your eye, and there’s something in his gaze—something warm, reassuring. "See? Told ya I’d make sure we didn’t get poisoned," he says with a small smirk.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too cocky."

An unexpected banging on the warehouse’s metal doors shatters the quiet moment. You and Logan freeze, both of you instinctively tensing as your eyes meet in confusion and alarm.

“Does anyone know you live here?” you ask tightly, eyebrows furrowed. 

His expression darkens, his brows knitting together in a deep, foreboding frown. “Fuck no,” he growls.

The pounding on the door continues, relentless and ominous, each thud vibrating through the metal like a warning. Wordlessly, Logan moves toward the door, his steps slow and cautious, every muscle in his body taut and ready for whatever might be on the other side. You follow him closely, your senses on high alert, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation.

He reaches the door and hesitates for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over the latch. His eyes flick to you, a silent communication passing between you—be ready. Then, with a swift motion, he unlatches the door and yanks it open.

In an instant, a mutant leaps at him with insane intensity, teeth bared and claws outstretched. Logan barely has time to react before they’re both locked in a brutal struggle, his claws flashing out as he fends off the attack. The sheer force of the mutant’s assault drives them both back a few steps.

“Logan!” you shout with urgency as you watch them grapple with each other.

But before you can even think to help, a wave of mutants surges toward the open doorway, their movements are eerily synchronized, as if driven by a single, malevolent will. Panic surges through you, your instincts screaming at you to act. You lunge forward, grabbing the nearest mutant and hurling them back with all your strength. The mutant crashes into the others, causing a brief moment of chaos among them.

“Get the door!” Logan shouts over his shoulder, his voice rough with exertion as he continues to fend off the mutant still trying to tear him apart.

You rush to the door, throwing your weight against it as you struggle to push it closed. The mutants on the other side slam into the door with relentless force, their growls and snarls mingling with the metallic screeching of the hinges, turning the warehouse into a scene of barely controlled chaos. The metal groans under the strain, the door trembling against your efforts to hold it shut.

“Logan, help me!” you cry out, your voice strained as you use every ounce of your strength to keep the door from giving way. You might have super strength, but against a hoard of mutants? Impossible.

He finishes off the mutant he was grappling with, leaving the attacker a bloody mess on the floor, then he’s at your side in an instant, hands bracing against the door as he leans his full weight into it. The mutant who attacked him now lying on the floor, a bloody mess. Together, you manage to push the door closed, the sound of the latch clicking into place reaching your ears. But the pounding on the other side continues, the door shaking under the persistant assault of the mutants.

“They’re being mind-controlled,” you gasp, your breath coming in ragged gulps as the whole situation hits you. The fear it causes seeps into your bones. The thought of these mutants being puppeted, forced to attack against their will, is horrifying enough—but the idea that Shadowmind has found you and Logan, that she’s orchestrating this, petrifies you. “But how did they find us?”

Logan grunts, his face twisted in concentration as he braces his shoulder against the door. “No clue.”

A sudden, horrifying thought strikes you, and you feel your blood run cold. “The van,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything.

Realizing the same thing your thinking, his eyes widen. “Shit… the GPS tracker.” His voice thick with anger and frustration. “They must have used it to track us down.”

You curse under your breath. “How didn’t we think of that?”

But there was no time to think of that now. The door shakes violently as the mutants on the other side continue to slam into it, their growls and snarls growing louder, more frenzied. You can feel the door beginning to buckle under the pressure. You press harder, using every ounce of strength you have, but it’s clear the door won’t hold much longer.

“Fuck,” Logan mutters, understanding washing over him as his knuckles whiten against the door. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s staring down a ghost. “They’re here for me.”

“What?” you snap, turning to him with wide eyes, confused and afraid. “What do you mean they’re here for you?”

“This is Lorna’s doing, for sure,” he growls. “She wants me.”

The implication behind his words isn’t lost on you. Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, a cold dread settling in. “No, no, no, don’t do this,” you plead, the desperation clear in your voice as your mind races to stop the train of thought you know is forming in Logan’s mind.

Your hands tighten on the door, as if you can physically hold him back from whatever reckless plan he’s considering. “Don’t even think about it.” 

“Let me go,” he says firmly. “Let me see what she wants.”

“Are you out of your mind?” you exclaim. The thought of Logan walking out there alone, straight into Shadowmind’s trap, sends a new wave of terror crashing over you. “She’s going to kill you!”

He sends you a grim smirk. “I can’t die, remember?”

But the attempt at reassurance does nothing to quell the fear that’s twisting in your gut.

“Please, no,” you beg, voice breaking as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. The thought of losing him, of watching him walk into danger alone, is unbearable. “Why can’t we do this together? We’ve been through everything else side by side—don’t make me sit this one out.”

His expression softens for a split second, something tender and conflicted passing through his eyes. He reaches out as if to touch you, but stops himself short. “I can’t drag you into this any further than I already have,” he says lowly. 

“Logan, please…” you start to say, but before you can finish, he pushes you back with a shove, the suddenness of it sending you stumbling as you try to regain your balance. The door creaks under the pressure from outside, but Logan doesn’t hesitate. He yanks it open, and with one last look at you, he steps through with a determined stride.

“NO!” you scream, but the door slams shut behind him before you can reach him. You’re left standing alone in the dim light of the warehouse, your heart pounding with fear, anger, and helplessness.

Rushing to the door, you press your ear against, trying to catch any sound, any sign of what’s happening outside. The muffled sounds of the struggle reach your ears—grunts of pain, the clash of claws and flesh, the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground. You can hear Logan’s grunts and snarls, his feral side taking over as he fights off the attackers, but there’s something else too—a sinister laughter, one that you heard once before, that sends chills down your spine.

“Logan!” you shout, banging on the door, your fists pounding against the cold metal. “Logan, don’t do this! Don’t you dare leave me alone in here!”

But the only response is the sound of the battle raging outside, growing more distant as if being carried away by the wind. Knowing that that Logan is out there alone, on his way to face whatever horrors Shadowmind has prepared, destroys you. You sink to your knees, the cold of the warehouse floor bleeding into your skin as everything crashes down on you.

----

A/N: so….how we feeling??? some Logan POV next chapter!!

----

TFM Taglist:

@wildefire @aliisa-jones @maximumchilddreamland @peony-always

@newromantics98 @ayamenimthiriel @fandomsunited @britttzy267

@mainly-me @icantevendood @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @d3kstar

@im-a-wh0r3 @lunaticgurly @xlocalxpunkx @yjck121 @paradisedixon

@writingthroughmyass @that-one-little-soybean @whxtewolf

comment to be added!

[ladykailitha]

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 11

Hey guys! We're back!! It is feeling like this story is almost done, but every time I finish a chapter I go "This has two more chapters in it, I'm almost done!" and I've done that for the last three chapters. So I have given up trying to figure out when it's going to end. Hopefully the answer is sometime before the next Olympics.

In this we have a silly Eddie, Steve and Max are sneaky, and Max and Eddie have their first competition.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

~

Steve continued to have good days and bad days, but always Eddie and Robin were there to help him work through the bad. And then he would spill it all out to Dr. Hughes.

Today he had been able to wade out to Max in the main pool to correct her foot work. The water had come up to his chest, just like it did in the kiddie pool.

“All right,” Steve said gently. “I’m going to touch your leg. If you feel uncomfortable in anyway, I’ll have Robin do it instead, okay?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “But just my leg right?”

“Just your ankle even,” he assured her. “Ready?”

Max waded over to the side of the pool and started kicking her feet to level out her body. Steve gently grabbed her ankle and repositioned her foot so it was more like an extension of her leg.

“Whoa!”

“That’s right,” he said, “now keep it like that.”

Robin and Eddie who had been working in the endless pool came back to the main pool just as Steve was pulling his shirt back on.

Eddie eyed the wet swim trunks and the happily kicking Max and a sly smile spread over his face. “Stevie... you wouldn’t have happened to have gotten into the pool with Max would you have?”

Steve batted his eyelashes innocently. “Who me?” He turned to Max. “Did you see me get into the pool?”

“Nope!”

Eddie knelt on the side of the pool and said, “I’ll buy you ice cream for the next month if you tell me if he got in the pool.”

Robin sneaked up behind him and with Max’s help pulled him into the water as gently as they could, as to not trigger Steve.

It must have worked because when they all came up for air, Steve was doubled over with laughter.

“Absolute menaces the lot of you,” he said once he caught his breath. “I got the competition schedule for next week. Max is in beginner and Eddie in intermediate. I tried to argue for higher, but they because you’ve been out for so long, they want you in there first to see if you have room to grow.”

Eddie wiped the water off of his face. “That’s fair. I don’t think I’m ready for higher yet anyway.”

Steve gave him a fond look. “And then that’s what we’ll do. If you don’t feel comfortable competing at above intermediate yet, then I won’t force you. I just worry they’ll accuse of you of deliberately choosing lower to spank fifteen and sixteen year olds.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment.

“Oh.”

He went to go shove his hair in front of his face, but it was all tucked away in his cap, so he started to sink into the water.

Steve, Robin, and Max all watched as he held his breath under water.

“So how long do you think he can hold his breath?” Max asked after about a minute. “Because I think cell death happens after three minutes.”

“Eh...” Robin said waving her hand back and forth, “about four to five, actually.”

Just then Eddie burst through the water, gasping for air. He wiped the water away and looked around. “So is anyone going to be nice and completely forget that happened?”

All three of them shared glances with each other and then said together, “No.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands. He slunk off to his lane with a sigh. “Woe! Woe is me! For I have been forsaken by my own team. Woe!”

Steve and Max shared a glance.

“Is he always this dramatic?” Max asked, eyeing Eddie splashing about and moaning about his fate or some shit.

Robin scoffed as she pulled herself out of the pool and rotated to sit on its edge. “This is tame for him, if I’m being honest.”

Eddie stopped his sputtering and turned to her quickly. “I? I am dramatic?” Then he made a sweeping bow, nearly face planting into the water. “Why thank you!”

Everyone giggled but Max and Eddie got back into their lanes and started practicing again. Robin got up and went to go stand by Steve.

“I’m glad you were able to help Max on your own,” she murmured. “But just remember, if you can’t, call and I’ll coming running, okay?”

“Okay.”

~

It was their first swim meet and Robin wasn’t sure who was more nervous, Max and Eddie or Steve.

She was sure that that pen lid would be a mangled, tangled up mess by the time this was over with.

She looked around the room, spotting a few friends, the Hell Squad from their own facility, and one very unfriendly face indeed.

Billy Hargrove.

Billy Hargrove was a swimmer from California and he thought living on the coast instantly made you a better swimmer. He even had that bit of surfer boy charm. You’d expect this blond haired, blued eyed, tan Adonis to start singing Beach Boys or some shit, but no.

Billy Hargrove was an ass. And he hated all the comparisons between him and Steve at the last Olympics. Dude went on to barely win bronze in two of five events and not medal in any of the others.

Today he was wearing a red and gold coach’s jacket with HARGROVE emblazoned on the back with two blonds standing next him as he talked them in low voices. One was a girl with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and bright smile. The other was a guy that looked about the same age as the girl. He looked like he had walked out the pages of Good Christians R Us. Hair neatly cut, blue eyes, chiseled jaw and washboard abs.

Robin hated them both on sight.

She was about to steer Steve away from all that when Billy looked up immediately clocked Steve, who promptly stiffened.

Max and Eddie who were talking to him noticed the sudden change in Steve’s demeanor. And unlike the locker room with Andy, Eddie could tell that this was a different breed of shark coming their way.

“Stevie...” Billy greeted. “When I saw the name Harrington I was wondering if that was you and then here you are. Such a pleasant surprise.”

Robin and Steve shared a bitchy glance. “Pleasant isn’t the word I would use,” Steve scoffed.

“You actually getting in the water, Harrington, or are you going to bitch out again?” Billy went on as if Steve hadn’t said a word.

Steve seethed. Billy had been present the first time he tried to get into the pool after his accident and started screaming.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Eddie said with a grin, “Stevie here doesn’t need to get in the water to beat you. He has me.”

Billy looked him up and down and he looked impressed for all of two seconds before he scoffed. “I didn’t think they allowed boys with such pretty curls,” he said tugging on one of the strands. Eddie swatted his hand away. “Maybe you should be on the girls’ team.”

“Last time I checked,” Eddie huffed, “I have the balls for the men’s team. Can’t say the same for the asshole who came up and harassed a guy that had his Olympic dreams washed away because of faulty equipment that left him traumatized and hurt for life, but still loves to swim so much that he would rather coach then to walk away forever.”

Billy’s face twisted in rage and he opened his mouth to reply when the whistle sounded. He jabbed a finger in Eddie’s face. “We’re not done.”

He walked off and suddenly all the tension built up in Steve escaped like a deflated balloon.

“That guy is a dick,” Max hissed. “My mom used to date a guy just like him out in Cali. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were related.”

That made Steve laugh. “I’ll beat him where I’ve always beaten him, in the water. Now come on, it’s time for you two to hit the showers. The beginners are about to start. You’re in the third heat, Max, first podium.”

She nodded and her and Eddie took off their team shirts and hit the showers. Steve looked over at Billy and smirked. Billy was watching every inch of Eddie’s body as he padded over to the showers that were next to the pool.

Robin handed him his bobby pins and he deftly put his hair under the cap, making it as sleek as any of the other male contestants.

The first set of eight girls lined up and then they were off with the shot of the starting gun. Steve watched, looking out for the girls that would be Max’s competition. So far none of the girls showed real promise and that included the girl who won.

The next heat was the same. None of the other girls had the same spark Max did. He looked up to the stands where the families were supposed to there to cheer them on. Robin’s parents were there. Eddie’s uncle, too. Of course Steve’s parents wouldn’t be there. He hadn’t talked them in so long.

He didn’t see the woman that would come to pick up Max and it made Steve squirm a bit. Then just before Max’s heat, he saw her come rushing in. Her hair was wild as if she had been running and she looked out of breath. She leaned over to whisper something to Wayne. Wayne shook his head and pointed to where Max was getting ready to get up on her podium.

Steve went over to her and pointed up at the stands.

Max’s eyes lit up and she waved at her mom. Her mom waved back. Max got up on her podium and put her goggles in place over her eyes. Steve stepped back and gave the judge with the gun a nod, showing that he had moved back far enough. Then the gun went off.

Max easily kept pace with the other girls and managed to squeak out winning by an arms length, touching her pad first.

She pulled off her goggles and looked at her time. She had clearly won. She started jumping and shrieking in the water. She pulled herself out and ran up to give Steve the biggest hug.

“I told you, you could do it,” Steve murmured into her cap.

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed. “Nerd.”

They went through the next few heats and Max came in third overall in the girls division. Which considering it was her first meet, was very impressive.

Then it was time for the intermediate and as they watched the girls, Eddie began bouncing up and down to warm up his muscles.

“You ready to blow these people out of the water?” Steve asked with a grin. “I gave the organizers one last chance to put you in masters, but they wouldn’t do it.”

Eddie chuckled. “I don’t have the confidence you do in me, but hell yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve slapped him on the shoulder and watched as Eddie got up to the podium. He pulled the goggles over his eyes and turned away from the water.

This is what he loved most of all about the backstroke. Not facing the water or seeing his competitors out of the corners of his eyes. It was just him and waiting for the sound of the gun.

BANG!

And then he was arching backwards into the water, as smooth as silk. His arms and body worked with the water, slicing through like a hot knife through butter. He could hear the splashing of the other competitors but they all seemed so distant to himself. Not that they were that far away. Only that he felt on whole other realm then they were.

He touched the pad and peeled off his googles to look up at the clock.

He was in first place.

He was in first place.

He was in first place.

He looked up at the stands to see Mrs. Mayfield and Uncle Wayne on their feet and cheering for him. He raised his fist and they waved back excitedly.

It came as no surprise that he won best overall.

He was standing next to Steve celebrating with his team, when the judges came up to them.

“We would like to talk to you about moving up to the masters,” the first judge said with a grimace.

Eddie and Steve shared a knowing grin.

“I think that could be arranged,” Steve said, smug. The ‘I told you so’ lingering in the humid air of the pool.

~

Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @eriquin

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9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @tartarusknight @morallyundefined

[spookyjuicefiction]

Violets & Plums: Astarion/Tav, Part 3

Part 2 Masterlist

A/N: still no clue what to name this fic tbh. CW for Astarion's back story/Cazador bullshit, and there's a bit of nudity that gets spicy

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

Astarion barely said a word the entire day. It was a boring one; the group had decided to circle back to the druids' grove to confront Kagha about some evidence they found that she was working with shadow druids. Additionally, they wanted to re-up on supplies before mounting their final attack on the goblin camp. This meant a long day of walking and retracing old steps.

Personally, Astarion could not care less what Kagha was doing with the grove. He didn't see why it was any of their business if she wanted to kick the tieflings out and lock things down, but of course, Tav disagreed. Not only did Tav have a bleeding heart for apparently all wretched creatures, but she had Karlach in her ear begging her to make sure the orphaned tiefling children were safe. There was no point in arguing, since everyone else aside from Lae'zel seemed to agree.

Besides, Astarion had decided that the only way to deal with his unfortunate new Tav problem was to ignore her entirely as much as possible. If he just didn't speak to her, she wouldn't be able to read him and he wouldn't have the stomach flipping issue. He had a new mantra that he kept repeating in his mind. Get Halsin. Get to the creche. Remove tadpole. Be on his merry way. No more Tav.

But even as he repeated it to himself, he couldn't shake the possessive feeling that had risen in him at the sight of his bite marks on her neck. Mine. Her arms wrapped around him. Her breath in his ear. The scent of violet and plums. Get Halsin. Get to the creche. Remove tadpole. Steal Tav away. No more others. Just them.

Fuck.

"Here's the stream. We're about halfway there." Wyll called over his shoulder from the front of the pack.

"Thank the gods, I want to shower off that nasty bog smell!" Karlach darted forward, her large body clearing a path for everyone behind her to walk through.

"A rinse would do this wizard good," Gale agreed, looking to Tav. "Shall we stop for an hour or so?"

"I don't think there's any stopping Karlach, anyway," Tav chuckled, dropping her pack on the edge of the stream. The tiefling was already throwing her clothes off over her shoulder, leaving a trail of boots and belts behind her.

"There's a waterfall!" Karlach cried, and as the rest of the group caught up, Astarion could see her already splashing her way over to it. Wyll, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart were quick behind her, stripping down to their underwear and splashing each other as they sank into the rushing water (Lae'zel and Shadowheart splashing each other with particular aggression).

"Gods, this feels good on my engine," sighed Karlach. The waterfall ran over her turned into a giant cloud of steam.

"Maybe I can hug you if you're standing under there!" Tav said excitedly. Astarion averted his eyes as she removed her clothes and waded over to her friend. Why is she always hugging everyone?

Next to Astarion, Gale picked his way gingerly through the shallow part of the stream until he settled himself in up to his chest.

"It really does feel quite nice," the wizard informed him, clearly confused as to why Astarion was still fully dressed and standing tensely on the bank. Astarion shot him a dark look.

Wyll floated back over to Astarion and Gale, sighing dreamily. "Ah, women. Is there any sight better?"

The three of them looked quietly as the four girls laughed raucously under the waterfall. Even Lae'zel was in on the fun, an uncharacteristic smile across her unusual features. Astarion swallowed thickly as his eyes fell on Tav, her skin slick and shining under the rushing water. Her sheer joy almost choked him with its purity. He turned away.

"I'm going to find some privacy," he told the men pointedly so that they wouldn't try to follow him. He wasn't in the mood for a boys club atmosphere with those two.

A few meters away, Astarion at last toed off his boots and removed his clothing and gear, folding them neatly on a tree trunk before wading into the stream. He scrubbed himself with his bergamot soap, sighing as he realized how stiff his shoulders were and how sore his feet and legs were. He leaned back and dunked his blonde curls, using his fingers to scrub through the grime.

Suddenly, he heard splashing coming towards him and he instinctively ducked so that the water covered up to his chin. Infuriatingly, it was Tav wading towards him.

"Hi," she said with a smile.

"What do you want?" he felt defensive and vulnerable with his clothes off; it made him snippy. She cocked her head at him, but the smile didn't falter.

"I'm sorry, I've intruded on you," she observed. "I only wanted to see if you were alright. You've been so quiet today I rather thought a monster hunter had stolen you away."

"I'm fine," he snapped. Her gentle tone made his teeth grind. He wished she would kneel further into the water so that he couldn't see so much of her, as it was very distracting.

"My, you're awfully acidic today. If hunger's the cause, you can come and feed on me again tonight." She said it so casually, as though she told him he could borrow a cup of sugar. He gaped at her. "Not as much as last time, though, I need my strength for tomorrow. I'll make sure to eat a big dinner, too." The last bit she said more to herself than to him, and then looked at him expectantly.

"I - uh - alright," he replied uncertainly. He hated how much he wanted it. Hated that it was physically impossible for him to say no. Hated that she was so bloody nice about it all.

She smiled. "Brilliant. I'll leave you to your primping, then."

Once they had all dried off in the afternoon sun, they set off again. It took all of Astarion's strength not to let his eyes rove over Tav's body as she lay bathed in the radiant light. He chose instead to focus on attempting to inflict psychic damage on Gale, who was letting his eyes rove plainly and with reckless abandon for his own life and safety.

When they finally reached the grove, Astarion realized how critical it in fact was that Tav had offered to let him drink from her. After confronting Kagha and disposing of the shadow druids, the chastised elf had offered them sleeping arrangements to stay in the grove for the night. Within the confines of the grove, Astarion would not be able to hunt, as all animals were sacred to the druids. And, honestly, he wouldn't be able to tell which ones were actually druids in wildshape. He didn't fancy picking a fight with one of these nut jobs.

Then came the selection of sleeping arrangements. Each room had two beds, which meant there would be an odd one out. Astarion obviously expected to be the spare, guessing Wyll and Gale would take one room and the girls would pair off. He stood off from the group as they discussed the arrangements, and turned to face Tav when she came to break the news. But again, she surprised him.

"Me and you, then?"

"I... what?"

"Lae'zel has elected to to sleep on the ground because 'beds are too comfortable'," Tav explained. "And, considering our plans for the evening, it makes sense."

Over her head, Astarion could see Karlach and Shadowheart whispering to one another and looking in their direction, smiling devilishly.

"Quite."

If Astarion had ever been inclined to believe in a god before, he knew definitively in this moment that they had all abandoned him. Confined to a private room with Tav, where they had every intention of entering an intimate situation. He might as well just stake himself in the middle of this hallway.

"Our room will be this way." Tav picked up her pack and gestured for him to follow, which he had no choice but to do. The room was simple and bare; druids were not known for great finery. But it was clean and smelled of cedar wood and fresh flowers. Admittedly, Astarion was rather looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed for the first time since he was abducted.

His eyes taking in the room snagged on her, standing awkwardly.

"I'm going to change clothes," she explained.

"Ah, right, of course." He turned away from her, pretending to inspect the bed. The candle on her side of the room cast her shadow on the wall next to him as she unlaced her jerkin and pulled her cotton shirt over her head. As she turned, he could see the silhouette of her breasts as she heaved a deep breath. Astarion raked his hand through his hair and busied himself unlacing his own boots.

After a few more quiet moments, she spoke softly: "Okay, I'm finished. I'm ready when you are."

Astarion closed his eyes to steel himself for a quick moment before turning to face her. She was laying on the bed wearing a thin tunic and smoothing her hair off of her neck. She had pulled the blanket haphazardly over her, but he could see the top of her thigh poking out; it did not seem that she was wearing any pants. Gods, hadn't he seen enough of her naked flesh today? The sight made him feel as though he was blushing, even though there was no warmth to his skin.

Slowly, he stalked over to her bedside, and she looked up at him with a frown.

"Perhaps I should lay on the floor? I don't want to spill blood on the bed."

"Don't worry about that, darling. I will ensure none is spilled. Just... make yourself comfortable."

She seemed satisfied at this, and settled back, turning her head so that her previously punctured neck was exposed. Now it was he that hesitated.

"I... would you rather I sit on the edge of the bed and lay across you, or hold myself over you like I did last time?" One way required him laying on her chest, but the other would almost certainly require him planting his knee between her legs to hold himself at the right angle.

"Oh," she sounded surprised, and a blush crept up her neck as she made the same realizations. "uhm, whatever is more comfortable for you."

Astarion wanted to laugh. He had never been so uncomfortable in his life. At least in Cazador's dungeon, he usually had an idea of what was coming next. Ultimately, he decided to sit on the side of the bed, and he sank himself down next to her.

"Not too much," she reminded him, and he nodded, putting his hand over his heart to show his sincere promise.

Well, here goes nothing.

He leaned into her, and her scent overtook him instantly. He parted his lips to her pulse point and felt her swallow, preparing herself. He lined his fangs up to the previous punctures, and slowly sank into her neck.

At the first taste of her blood to his tongue, he was completely and utterly lost. His hands clutched at her warm body beneath her as he grew dizzy with the scent he was coming to know as uniquely hers. It sang to him like a siren song, coaxing his hands to move on their own accord, clawing at the hem of her tunic and clutching at that thigh skin that had taunted him moments earlier. She gasped, and he thought he might be hurting her, but her hand flew to the back of his head and knotted in his hair. He moaned as she fingered his silver curls, her other hand rubbing up and down his forearm.

Everything was blurring together. He wasn't sure when he withdrew his fangs, but the next moment he was licking the rivulets of blood that ran from the punctures they left behind. Now it was she who moaned, still clutching him, pressing her body against him. He lavished her neck until the blood stopped running, but he couldn't tear himself away. He began nipping, sucking, and kissing his way up her neck, catching her earlobe, and then slowly crossing her jaw bone.

"Astarion," she choked out, her voice a breathy whisper in his ear. He pulled back immediately.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

But the hand still tangled in his hair firmly pulled his face to hers, crashing their lips together in a searing kiss.

That was it. He was completely broken. He opened his mouth hungrily, drinking her in. Their teeth clashed with the desperate need to be closer, to feel each other, their frenzied desire burning hot fire into his lifeless body. He felt her hands tugging his shirt untucked and roaming her hands over the skin beneath, and he did the same. Warm. Soft. He broke the kiss only long enough to tear her tunic off. He hesitated only the briefest of seconds before discarding his own shirt. Fuck it, he thought. It's just a fucking scar.

He dove back into the crook of her neck, their naked chests crashing blissfully together as he lavished her with kisses everywhere he could see. Her skin was so hot, he couldn't believe Karlach was the only one with an infernal engine in her chest. Astarion had been cold for so, so long. For the first time in 200 years, he felt alive.

This thought sobered him, and he slowed his kisses. He was afraid to get to the next part. She was so perfect, so beautiful and soft and warm. She deserved good things. He wasn't good. He was damaged beyond repair. He was a killer, a monster, no matter what she said on the matter.

He didn't realize how still he'd gone as this panicked thought grasped him until he felt her hands stroking gently across his face, their foreheads pressed together.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, caressing him.

Astarion opened his mouth, but he couldn't speak. He didn't even know what to say. Didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to ruin the moment even more so than he already had. He let out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding.

He conjured an image in his mind of a request, one that he was too ashamed to vocalize because it was so pathetic. Then, he gently prodded at her tadpole. With their foreheads together, it felt like they were tapping on opposite sides of a window pane. She connected to him, and he showed her the image.

"Of course," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

She rearranged herself and motioned for him to lay down. He lay his head on her shoulder, face in the crook of her neck, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She took him in her arms, gently caressing his shoulders with her fingertips, and kissed the top of his head. After a few minutes of silence, she whispered again into the flickering candlelight.

"You don't have to share anything with me. But if you want to talk about what you're feeling, you can tell me anything. You're safe with me."

Astarion felt, of all things, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He swallowed and blinked them away, hugging her even tighter, if possible. Instinctively, he reached for a joke to distract from his discomfort. But it died in his throat as she continued with her gentle ministrations. There was something sobering about the dim light in the room that made him feel bare. He didn't want to lie to her. And he did feel safe with her.

"When I was under Cazador's control," he began slowly, "he made me do a lot of terrible things. I... was forced to use my body to lure victims for him." Her hand stilled for a moment as the shock of this revelation hit her, but she continued her caresses. '"He sent me out to find the most beautiful creatures in Baldur's Gate, and to ruin them. The things I've done..." he trailed off, eyes stinging again, "my body, it's tainted. It's a weapon. And I killed so many."

He lifted his head to look at her. Her lip was trembling. "I'm afraid to ruin you."

After a moment, she seemed to compose herself enough to speak. "You are not tainted. You were a slave, and you did what you had to do to survive, and because you had no choice. Gods, you are -" she huffed out a breathless laugh that lacked mirth, "- you are so beautiful, Astarion. And really and truly brilliant. You could never hurt me. I am safe with you." She cupped his chin in her hand and used her thumb to swipe a tear from his cheek, looking deeply into his eyes.

"You are not a monster."

Astarion pressed his face into her chest, unable to handle the kindness of her words. He didn't deserve them, but he wanted so badly to believe her.

"Thank you," he all but whispered, pressing a kiss to her skin. "No one has ever had a kind word for me. You're the only one."

"Get used to it." She squeezed his shoulders and resumed her gentle caresses. "And when we get to Baldur's Gate, we're going to kill Cazador."

Astarion chuckled. He wondered if Tav, in all her research, had any idea of how hard it would be to kill a vampire lord. But it was so like her to believe that she could, and he let her. He even allowed himself to envision the fantasy where Cazador was destroyed, and he would finally and truly be free. It almost ached, how much he wanted it to be true. Beneath his head, he felt her sigh, as though she were drifting off to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, my dearest one," he whispered as the candle flickered out, allowing her warmth to lull him into a sleep of his own.

Part 4

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Can we get a ♡ "hey, hey, you're alright! it's okay, just calm down" with Lambert trying to calm down Aiden panicking when they have to cross deeper waters (thalassophobia? maybe they get stranded?), if you want to :)

Hope I did the prompt justice!!

Lambert finished tying his kit to Aiden's horse, freeing his own up to carry both Witchers before glancing over at the other. The Cat hadn't moved an inch in the last ten minutes, posture rigid as he stared at the wide, deep river with an expression suggesting he'd rather chew his own hand off whilst fear came off him in waves (which in turn hadn't made Lambert's task any easier seeing as it was making the horses skittish). It wasn't an ideal solution, but with the only bridge for miles in either direction having been washed away they had no choice - it was either this or add days onto a contract they desperately needed the coin from.

"Alright, everything's secure. You ready?"

"No. But the quicker we start the quicker we'll get to the other side right?" Aiden said, edging towards where Lambert was tethering both horses together like he was making his way to the chopping block, "So...how are we doing this. You in front, me in front...?"

"I have a bit of an idea. You trust me?"

"Stupid question. You know I do."

They'd barely even entered the water before Aiden's breathing was picking up, arms squeezing around Lambert's waist. It has taken a little manoeuvring but they'd ended up with Aiden sat in front, legs thrown over Lambert's as he sat facing towards him, the Wolf figuring it might help if Aiden had something (or in this case, someone) else to focus on besides the water separating them from the opposite bank.

Aiden bit back a whimper when the water reached the tops of their legs and by the time they reached the middle and both horses had had to resort to actually swimming across rather than wading Lambert was pretty sure the Cat had forgotten how to breathe.

Lambert let go of the reins, gripping tight with his thighs against the current as he wrapped both arms around Aiden. The other clearly hadn't been exaggerating his dislike of deep water but as far as Lambert was concerned he was totally justified. Having your village caught up in a flash flood as a kid and then spending three days clinging to the branches of a tall tree waiting for the water to recede whilst surrounded by various beasties making the most of the corpses (including those of your friends and family) and anyone feeling desperate enough to try and swim for it would definitely do that to a person.

He rubbed Aiden's back in what he hoped was a soothing manner, trying to banish the tremors running through the others body and also trying not to wince as Aiden's grip on him grew uncomfortably tight.

"Hey, hey, you're alright! It's okay, just calm down." He said, cursing internally at the little yelp Aiden let slip when their mount got caught in an undertow, briefly dunking all three of them below the surface.

"Aiden. Aiden, look at me." The Cat did as he was asked, eyes wide in panic, "We're over halfway, it's ok. You're ok. But I really need you to calm down and breathe for me before you pass out, alright. Breathe with me."

Aiden shook his head, "Can't."

"Yes, you can." Lambert tightened his hold on Aiden briefly, "I've got you. I'm not going to let anything happen. Just look at me, focus on me." He started taking deeper breaths, Aiden shakily trying to mimic him.

"That's it, you got it. Good Aiden, keep doing that. And we made it."

"Huh?" Aiden dared to glance down and sure enough the water was now only up to their ankles and getting lower as their horse picked its way up and out.

"You did it." Lambert pressed a quick kiss to Aiden's cheek, "Proud of you, Kitten. You doing ok?"

"I will be as soon as this fucking river is out of sight." He rest his forehead against Lambert's chest, "Please don't tell me we're going to have to do that on the way back too."

"It's...not unlikely?" Lambert tried, wincing as he tried his best to sound apologetic but knew it probably just came out more sarcastic, "You want me to stop and let you down?"

"Nope!" Aiden bought his legs up to wrap around Lambert's waist for emphasis.

Lambert chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of Aiden's head this time, "Fair enough." After facing one of his worst fears, Aiden was entitled to all the cuddles he wanted and Lambert was more than happy to oblige.

[kalmiaphlox]

Your Body is My Canvas

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Astarion is finally ready to learn how to swim after two centuries, and Kalmia, ever his dutiful partner, is there to teach him.

Lessons don't take all that long, it's a nice night under the stars, and Astarion fancies himself an artist. Lucky for him, Kalmia has a perfectly good body to paint on.

Main Tags: Smut, body painting - with mud AND blood, blood sucking, face sitting, PiV sex

“What's the hesitation for?”

“You're not going to drag me to the deepest part to drown me are you?”

Kalmia narrows her eyes, head just barely bobbing above the water. “You don't need to breathe.” She feels like they've had this conversation before. When has she ever betrayed his trust? “Clothes off, come on.”

With an agonized groan akin to a child throwing a fit, Astarion throws his shirt off to the forest floor, before sliding his trousers off, leaving just his undergarments. He pauses again, “What if the fish bite at me? I don't want to become their food.”

“I don't-” Would fish nibble on him since he's… (un)dead? No, no. It's fine. “You're safe with me, irthiski. I'll keep all the very scary guppies away.”

“Wretch,” he bares his fangs for a second before finally taking his first steps into the pond, the ripples from his movement lightly tickling her face. “No pranks, tricks, jokes, or gaffs. I will leave immediately if you attempt to pull one over on me.”

“I swear on my worthless honor that I won't ‘pull one over on’ you.”

“You won't let me sink?” 

The fretting… Gods above. “I'll make sure your head stays above water.”

His frown is pure disgust as he wades in deeper, the water now rising above his hips. “I hate mud.” It is exceptionally muddy out, the heavy rains plaguing the area finally gave them a reprieve, if only for a few hours so they can have this time to themselves.

“I know, my dear Princess of House Nightstar. Please bear with these horrid conditions, and if your frail body is fee-”

“I think that's enough from the peanut gallery.” 

Alright, she'll leave the poor vampire alone. “Stop there. We can try just floating for now.”

The scoff he lets out is enough to make her eyes roll into the back of her head. “Floating? ! I want to swim, not drift away like some moldy piece of wood along the current!”

“We're starting with the basics, if you can't float , then you can't swim.” She's considering just dragging him back to shore, but refrains. He's scared, and unfortunately that presents itself in cattiness, Astarion knows Kalmia is right, he just needs to fight every step of the way. Her precious kitty, he's lucky she likes the snark.

Standing up with her water-soaked shirt on, she holds her arms out in the water, nodding down at them. “Lean back here, I'll hold you up so you can get the feeling.”

“Ah, but my hair! It will be-”

“Now.”

“Ok.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, lowering himself so she can support him in the water. “Stare up at the sky, ears should be underwater,” He does as she tells him. “Good, now arch your back very slightly- Yes, just like that,” She positions a hand right at the small of his back. “And now, hold your arms out at your side and spread your legs, a bit wider than shoulder width.”

His eyebrow quirks with the ghost of a smirk, and she suppresses the very strong urge to let him go at this moment. Kalmia won't ruin this for him, Astarion is being agreeable - for him.

“You're doing great, irthiski. How does it feel?”

“Stupid.” 

She laughs quietly. “That's fair. Keep breathing steadily, I'm going to remove this hand,” Flexing the one under his back, “I'll keep the one on your shoulders, but try to stay still.”

That might be a whimper that slips through his lips, but she ignores it as she moves her hand away slowly. Astarion instantly begins to stiffen, “Don't do that, relax.”

“It feels like you're dropping me.” He spits out, seething with no actual rage.

“I told you I'd never let you go. Don't worry about it.”

That gets him to soften infinitesimally, though not enough as he jerks in the water and everything falls apart. His legs kick out, dousing them both before Kalmia shoves hips down.

“Just stand, Astarion. You can't sink here.”

He finds his footing, slapping his hair back with a sneer, pointing an accusatory finger at her chest, “You let me go!”

“When the flailing begins, it's better to stand than fall. It's not deep, but if you truly went under, I would have pulled you up.” She expects more retaliation, but Astarion's anger deflates with each word. “Let's try again, I'll hold you longer this time.”

“Fine.”

Repeating the new routine, he returns to lying back on her hands. This round goes smoother, and after a few minutes, Kalmia removes the hand from his lower back, Astarion is able to keep his cool. 

“Alright, I'm removing the hand from your head. You're doing great.” She does as she says, hovering her hand around him for the moment he inevitably flinches, but that time doesn't come.

Unfortunately, Astarion does look a bit like driftwood, Kalmia keeps her mouth clamped shut.

“So, uhm- How do I stop?” His eyes glance to hers, so shiny in the moonlight eeking out between the cloudy sky.

“Drop your legs and lean forward.” The movements are a little disjointed and he drops below the water for a moment before shooting up, spitting and coughing. Kalmia pats his back. “Are you done or would you like to try on your own?”

Retching up the last bit of water with pure drama, Astarion gathers his last piece of dignity. “Just once by myself.”

“I'll still keep my hands beneath, but I won't touch you.”

Hmm.

Kalmia's almost certain that if it weren't for his nervousness, Astarion would be fine. There's some minor adjustments he makes that make her think he retains some residual muscle memory from a time long forgotten.

They can focus on it next time though, floating on his own is good enough for now.

His last self-directed float ends and he's able to stand up without going under so he shrugs his shoulders, smug with pride. “I've always been a quick study.” Gods forbid he takes anything with a bit of grace.

“Yes, you're clearly an expert now.”

“Just you wait, I'll be swimming circles around you yet, little wyrm.”

For so many reasons, she doubts that. “I will be waiting with bated breath.”

Astarion purses his lips at her mocking, cutting through the water with just his head visible. Kalmia stares down at him when he swiftly wraps his lithe arms around her waist to rest his chin on her stomach. “This wasn't as much exercise as I was expecting, and I'm feeling a bit spritely if you wish to… indulge.” His eyes have darkened with lust as he says so and she's already beginning to feel that heat sparking within.

She runs her fingers along his pointed ear, a soft touch that he leans into. “I more than wish to, but sex this deep is an, uh, advanced technique. I don't think we're there yet.”

“There's a perfectly good pond shore behind you, I think that will work just fine for our needs.”

Well, now she's just in disbelief as she quirks an eyebrow. “You would fuck me in the mud?”

“My love, I want us to be so covered in mud that we'll have to bathe thrice.” His hands slip under the long, water-logged shirt she's wearing, gripping her hips tightly.

Kalmia holds his chin now, caressing his lower lip with her thumb, before pushing his lip up to expose a fang. “Are you going to be a dirty boy for me?” His pupils are near eclipsing the red irises as she pricks her thumb on his fang and pushes it within his mouth. He sucks gently with the quietest of moans, eyes fluttering shut briefly with ecstasy, and his fingers press into her hips with a bruising strength. Leaning down, she brushes her lips across his ear, and whispers, “Won't you defile me?”

A low growl makes its way out of his throat, “I'll make sure everyone sees how I love you.” 

Kalmia straightens and puts on a pouty voice. “I could use the reminder too, you know…”

Astarion raises up her shirt, revealing the crook of her hip to graze his fangs along the spot. “That reminder could go right here. ”

“Do it.”

His fangs sink into the flesh with his strong arms holding her so she doesn't collapse, as Kalmia almost goes limp from the feeling. There's nothing like that ice cold shock that settles into her body when he draws blood, but two long pulls is all Astarion needs before letting go, licking up the dribbles with languid ease. “Such a delicious creature, I think it's time I ruined you.”

She attempts to remove her shirt, but Astarion stops her firmly, “No, leave it on for now.” He drags her to the shore and crushes her against him in a metallic-tasting, deep kiss, before wasting no time in laying on his back, gesturing for Kalmia to get on him. “I need to prime my canvas first, sit on my face, darling.”

Oh gods, she's gonna come so hard tonight. 

Positioning herself above him, she lowers down onto her knees with Astarion guiding her by the hips. His eyes flash up at her, just barely visible. “How much more blood can I have tonight?”

Her chest is already heaving. She licks her lips, steadying her breathes. “You can have one more bite, so make it count, irthiski. ”

He hums with acknowledgement, “Other than you kneeling, do not dirty the rest of your body. That is my canvas to paint. All the way down now, my love. I'm starving.”

Now lowering herself dutifully, Astarion's cool tongue greets her slit, sliding up and down the length of it and Kalmia lets out a breathy moan. One of his hands wraps around her thigh to rock her against his hungry mouth while the other slithers up her body to palm a breast. 

He sucks in her clit only to release it with a pop that makes Kalmia's thighs quiver, she won't be able to maintain this position forever with the tongue lashing she's receiving. Her nipple is being pinched and twisted, and oh fuck Astarion has slipped his masterful tongue inside of her dripping cunt, groaning as he tastes her. Mewling wantonly as he tongue fucks her, Kalmia leans back, but not before Astarion stops his ministrations to look up at her with ravenous eyes.

“You can't come yet.” And with that, he dips back into her folds, lapping up her slick as his nose bumps against that sensitive bundle at the apex of her sex. 

Evil man, she thinks before leaning back with a hand upon his firm abdomen, feeling how they flex as he eats her out with abandon. That familiar coil of euphoria is building within and Kalmia stills her rocking, trying to subdue the high she so badly wants to chase.

Fuck her, he's latched onto her clit again, and Kalmia can't contain the beg escaping her lips, “Astarion, majak ve kutol!” When his hand leaves her tit, she quickly moves to replace it with her own, teasing a hardened peak.

His ragged voice is a purr as he nuzzles against her thigh, “You can come now.”

And he knows his words can always send her over the edge.

Her hips jerk without a rhythm as Kalmia falls forward, squeezing her legs together around Astarion's head and grasping at his hair as she fucks his face desperately. Her inner walls clench as his tongue slows its dance on her clit, whimpering when the last wave of pleasure ends.

Holy hells, he treats her so well.

Sliding back along his chest weakly, but not losing out on this chance to leave her own mark, Kalmia takes in his appearance. Astarion is grinning lasciviously, licking her spent left behind on his lips. “Gods, you're delicious. Now let me see how well you followed instructions.” Sitting up, he inspects her body, pulling the shirt over her head, running a hand down Kalmia's chest, groping and suckling on her breasts until her hardened nipples are puffy and she's yearning for more, grinding her aching cunt against his still covered shaft.

All seems to pass his test, they can- 

“Well, what's this?” Astarion is holding her hand, palm side up. “I can't trust you with anything.”

Kalmia startles, looking for the offender, “What?! Where?” 

“Right here, ” indicating a spot where a tiny bit of mud had smeared between her fingers. Who knows how it got there. “Tsk, tsk, how disappointing. Now, what shall your punishment be?”

Luck is on her side, she loves his punishments.  

Astarion brings her in for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss, winding her long hair around his wrist and wrenching her head back, tonguing at the smooth skin around her neck. “I'll take my second meal now. Try not to come from it, you harlot.” 

“No promises-!” is all Kalmia manages to squeak out before his fang pierce her skin again, and he moans into her as that sweet lifeblood pours down his throat, crushing her against his chest. In a great show of wills, she doesn't come - thank the gods , but by the hells is she close as he ruts up into her with a deep swallow.

And just like the good little vampire he is, Astarion stops after two large drinks, but this time he doesn't clean up the remaining flow. When he pulls back, blood drips from his chin. “My love, you're going to fuck me with that tender love and care you do so well, and I , the artist, will paint the most beautiful figure. But,” leaning in, he nips at her lower lip. “I need an extra pop of color .” The nip turns into a sharp sting, he's cut open her lip and blood now trickles out, splattering onto their chests.

Astarion lays back, adjusting his briefs so he can wiggle out of them even with Kalmia straddling his waist, and he sighs in relief when his cock springs free beneath her. She risks a glance, her mouth watering at the sight of it - flushed with her blood , and glistening with more than just precum. “Did you come while I was on you?

“Oh gods, yes. I'd like to see you contain yourself when the most ethereal being imaginable grinds on your face.” A sweet smile appears as he takes her in while leaning back on an elbow, “Your punishment… Hmm,” he taps his bloodied mouth, the smile turning sinister, “I think, you know for a little fun, you can't touch yourself. At all while you're on top of me. Keep those little mitts away from your body.”

She takes it back, she hates his punishments. “No! Astarion, please! I want-”

“Quit your crying, lizard. Now,” He runs a finger through the drops of blood, writing out something along her collarbone. “I know an artist should sign his work once he's finished, but I shan't be letting that go to waste.”

Did he just… sign his name onto her body in her own blood?! Gods, he can own her body and soul, but she'll never say that outloud. “Hmm, the vision just isn't complete yet… Kalmia, I need you to fuck me, I can't paint under these conditions.”

Absolutely deranged. Though it's not as if she's above such things, she's just jealous he thought of this first. 

Rising up and taking his cock in hand, she places it against her entrance but Astarion's hip buck, enveloping himself within her fully. Kalmia gasps, steadying herself on his shoulder with a tight grip, “I- I thought I was supposed to fuck you- ah!” 

He cants into her once more, “You were going too slow, but that's what I get for loving a geriatric dragon.” Pulling her in for another deep kiss, tongue swiping up the spilled blood, he pulls away just as fast, lips coated in that bloody treat. “Time to begin!”

She has no idea what he's about to “paint”, but his cock’s already buried deep inside and she wants - needs to experience the decadent stretch he provides. 

Getting more dirty doesn't matter at this point, and it's not like this henich could serve up a worse punishment, so she places her hands in the mud, arching her back slightly as she slides up and down on his length. 

Astarion muzzles his groan behind tightly shut lips, his lust-filled eyes rove over her body before he nods as an idea strikes him. “I've got it!” Slapping a hand on her thigh, he drags two fingers up to her hip. When he removes it, there's a muddy handprint and two lines, which is then connected to more lines he's drawing over her hip and stomach.

She's slowed down her bouncing to take in his work, and Astarion's eyes snap to hers, “Is your old body failing you? Ride me, you beast!” As she picks up the pace again, relishing the way he hits those tender spots and the slapping of them coming together, Astarion cups one of her breasts and then circles around a nipple, the other he just crosses through. 

“What's- ah, what's wrong with that one?” Kalmia rasps out as he roughly grabs her hips, grinding her down onto him. 

“Nothing, my wyrm. It's called abstract art, I'd assume-” His words fail him as she clenches on his cock. Kalmia tilts in, and Astarion meets her with his tongue, tangling with hers. One of his hands is still working at painting her body abstractly - or distractedly, too bad they don't have a mirror, she'd love to see his work.

And they won't be able to make it home in time anyway, “It's about to rain.” She mutters against his mouth.

A growl rises from his throat and she hears his hand pound into the mud beside them. What a tem- her thoughts fall apart as Astarion shoves her backwards, landing in the shallows of the pond.

Seems he's lost interest in painting. 

He collapses into her, smashing their lips together as he plunges his cock furiously inside of her, pinching and twisting one of her nipples and swallowing the moans that slip out of her lips.

The patter of rain is heard as drops hit the water and ground beside them. His fingers have drifted to her clit, and Kalmia cries out, begging for him to finish her when he's circling the bud lazily. Astarion quickly splashes water over her chest to clear some of the mud away, “I won't take- ah! - more, but I need you to come on me!” he grits out, and she knows he's close now as his brutal pace picks up even more.

He nips once at a nipple before biting fully into the supple flesh of her breast, and this time she reaches her heavenly climax when that exhilarating prick of pain strikes down to her core, no blood is drawn this time as Astarion continues to fuck into her through his own orgasm, head tucked into her neck once he releases her tit. Thank the gods they both can't drown, he's pushed her through the mud further into the water where Kalmia could barely keep her head above it, and she clings to him as her body ebbs into the post-coital afterglow.

Astarion's pale body goes limp on top of her, pushing Kalmia all the way under and she can't help but laugh at the silliness of this whole thing, releasing bubbles of air to the surface. Realizing that she's stuck beneath, Astarion rolls off, letting her crest above the water again with a sputter, and he smiles apologetically, “You squeezed the life - well, unlife from me. I lost all strength, what magic did you use to take it from me?”

“Hag's magic, I need to stay young somehow.” Kalmia coughs out before devolving into laughter, “I think your masterpiece is all gone now!” 

“Ahh, oh well, I still have this beauty here.” He brings them together for one more kiss, and once released, Astarion runs his fingers over her lips, “Apologies for the cut, I got a little too excited.”

“That's all right, can I return the favor another time? I want to paint.”

He hums thoughtfully, “I don't see why not, but I worry your bite is much, much worse than your bark.” With a wide smile, she snaps her teeth at him, and for that slight, he splashes water onto her face, “Stay back, you pond monster!”

“Poor, irthiski, scared of a little dragon…” She giggles, but relents in her attempts to take a nibble, “You wanna float some more or head home?”

“Let's float, love. It's quite peaceful out here, even with this revolting rain.”

“Rain is clean water, it's no-”

Astarion places a finger over her mouth, “Oh, how I love when you're quiet.”

Hah! Isn't that rich?

With a shout Kalmia dives onto him, dragging Astarion kicking and screaming deeper into the water so he can see what a pond monster actually does.***

***Kalmia did not actually drag him into the deep end.

-majak ve kutol - give me release

[ciellafanfic]

We're All Wet

By Ciella

Relationship: Zevran Arainai/Dorian Pavus

Summary: A gift for SheenaWilde for the Black Emporium gift exchange.

Zevran is not a very good bodyguard, and his latest attempt to save Dorian's life has gotten them into an unusual situtation.

"Explain to me again how soaking ourselves in a cistern is the best way to hide from assassins," Dorian hissed at Zevran quietly. Even his low voice seemed to echo loudly through the stone corridor.

Leliana had sent the Antivan to foil an assassination plot she'd uncovered. But since his arrival, Dorian had spent far more time narrowly avoiding death than he had being saved from it. Most recently, he'd spent the last hour or so running through the streets of Vyrantium at night after his palanquin had been attacked. His so-called protector had eventually pulled both of them into an open cistern where they now stood chest-deep in cold water, waiting for… something. Dorian wasn't sure how one was supposed to tell if assassins were still chasing you or not, but at this point, he was simply hoping they wouldn't have to spend all night in here.

"I certainly wouldn't think to look for you in here," Zevran responded casually, doing his best to keep his voice soft. "What kind of magister would hide in a cistern? It's not very magisterial, is it?"

Dorian gave him a sour look.

"You're not a very good bodyguard, are you?"

Water splashed as Zevran brought his hand to his chest as if wounded.

"Surely you cannot mean that, my friend. Have I not defended your wellbeing valiantly?"

Dorian took a deep breath through his teeth as the elf finally managed to hit his very last nerve.

"In the last month, I have been poisoned, shot at with arrows, had a woman attempt to garrotte me with a clothesline, and have had not one but two demons sent to me in bottles of wine. And now, after running for my life from yet another attack, you drag me down here, for who knows how long, where I am freezing and… and… wet !"

He tried controlling his voice as much as possible, but he'd definitely been too loud. If the assassins did find them down here, Dorian did not look forward to needing to fight them while wading through someone's drinking water.

"Yes, well, if you recall, I did manage to eliminate most of the perpetrators in those attacks. Also, you are very much still alive. Considering my skills lie more in killing than in saving, I would say I'm doing quite well."

Dorian groaned in frustration and wiped his hand across his face.

"Come now, my friend," Zevran, putting a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Such a beautiful man should not look so depressed."

Dorian looked down at Zevran's hand and then back at the man.

"Must you do that?" Dorian asked, more defeated than anything.

"Do what?" Zevran responded, all innocence.

If being a poor bodyguard weren't bad enough, the man was an incorrigible flirt. It was charming at first. But then Dorian realized that he did it with quite literally everyone. Granted, Dorian had a tendency to do the same, but he at least had the decency not to look at all of his flirt-ees as if he were ready to jump on top of them right then and there. There had been more than a few times in the past month where Dorian had needed to picture distinctly non-sexual things, such as Corypheus or his great aunt Cordelia, in an attempt to cool himself down after one of Zevran's more enticing innuendos. In most situations, the chilly water they were currently submerged in should have been all he needed, but now Zevran was touching him…

"That," Dorian said, gesturing to all of Zevran. "The flirting and the touches and the… Implications."

Zevran's smile became suddenly predatory as he stepped closer to Dorian.

"And which implications would those be?" he asked.

Dorian took a small step back from him.

"You know very well what I'm talking about," he said, trying not to look directly at Zevran's rather stunning amber eyes but also trying not to look as if he were not looking. "The flirting."

"Ha," Zevran said, his smile turning genuine for a moment. He took another step toward Dorian. "You flirt better than I do most times, which is saying something, considering I'm Antivan. They teach us the art as children, you know."

"Yes," Dorian said, taking another step back. How did someone nearly a head shorter than him manage to feel so intimidating? "But at least I have the decency not to imply that it's something more than flirting."

"Ah, but what if it is something more than flirting? I would think that you would want to imply that, no? For decency's sake?"

Zevran put his hand on Dorian's chest, moving his shirt slightly so that a finger brushed over his bare skin. Dorian shivered. The water was quite cold.

Dorian went to take another step back, but his heel hit a wall behind him, and he realized he'd put himself between a rock and a hard place. He tried not to consider which one was the hard place…

"One would think," he said weakly, "that if it was something… more… that after a month of–"

Dorian cut off sharply as a voice echoed through the cistern.

"Check in here!"

Before Dorian could react, Zevran grabbed his shirt and pulled him under the water. Dorian's heart raced as he floated there beneath the surface, Zevran practically on top of him. He could feel panic begin to rise. Between the attempt on his life, Zevran being… Zevran… and now possibly being found out, he found himself at some limit he hadn't realized he'd had. He was going to need to jump out of the water. He didn't have enough air. His chest was tight, and he could barely see and–

Zevran's lips crushing into his should have been a shock. And it was. But rather than making him even more eager to shoot out of the water, they seemed to have the opposite effect. The kiss was passionate and warm, and he needed more of it. He felt Zevran's legs wrap around his waist, and Dorian pulled him closer. They floated there for… he wasn't sure how long. But all Dorian could feel was Zevran's lips pushing at his own. His tongue slipped through the barrier of his lips, and Dorian found himself trying to navigate, holding his breath as his mouth filled with chill water and Zevran's very needy tongue.

Eventually, there was no putting it off. Dorian had to push himself up, out of the water. A difficult task considering that Zevran was still attached to him. He sucked in air with a gasp while a barely out-of-breath Zevran smiled down at him. They both just stared at each other for a moment. Dorian was listening intently for whoever they'd heard a moment ago. Zevran didn't seem to care all that much if a group of assassins was currently making their way towards them. He truly was a horrible bodyguard.

"I don't hear anyone," Dorian said, his eyes still trained on Zevran's.

"That is quite the shame," he said with his predatory smile. "They are going to miss an outstanding show."

Zevran leaned back down to press his lips against Dorian's again.

[legacyshenanigans]

Alright, long-winded and random, but do you guys wanna know about the wild dream I had? And I have dreams like this regularly, I don't know what that says about me, but yeah 🤣 here we go..

The dream was in segments for some reason, where I like fell into different areas randomly.

Segment 1:

I was in an office building, there was just a bunch of people in suits working on computers, but the office building was like a HUGE log cabin in the middle of a city, and I remember thinking IN my dream "this is so out of place" 🤣

Anyway, some woman wanders over to me with a giant bag filled with cutlery and she says "You have to go and set the table for lunch time" and I said in my dream "I dont work here" and she was like "It doesn't matter, just go and do it" so I took the bag and went into this room where there was the BIGGEST table I've ever seen, and I only had 10 minutes to set up all the cutlery on this table ready for the lunch hour, and for some reason one of my cousins who havnt seen for like 15 years showed up and started talking to me and I was like "Listen, I need to get this done stop talking to me" and he KEPT talking to me and in the end I lost my rag and I was like "If you're gonna stand there distracting me, atleast fucking help me!!" And then I fell through the floor into segment 2 of the dream.

Segment 2:

I was at a big house, and there was a pond in the back garden. One of my uncles wife's dad's was there (no idea why ive met him twice lmao) and he was telling me that there was way too many frogs in this pond and that it was really bothering him, because they're so loud and they're always splashing around in the water. He also told me there was a particular frog that looked really weird and it was like the leader of all the other frogs, and he told me to try and get rid of some of them, and gave me a net and a huge bag to put all the frogs in. Anyway, so there I am, scooping frogs and putting them in this bag, but they're all jumping out all over the fuckin place and it's total chaos. And then I see this "Leader" frog. It's bigger than the others, so I thought if I could get the leader in the bag and make it STAY in the bag, the others would follow, so I'm wading in the pond trying to catch this big frog, and I finally catch it and it starts fuckin snarling at me and trying to bite me, and I'm screaming for help, thrashing around, fighting this frog in this random ass pond, and then I suddenly went underwater, then popped up in segment 3 of the dream.

Segment 3:

I was sat on a sofa in a living room, and there was a little ginger dog next to me, staring at me. And then one of my uncles walked into the room and was like "are you ready to go?" And I was like "where?" And he said "We'll take the dogs for a walk" and I said "Dogs plural?" Because far as I knew there was only the one dog, the little ginger one that was next to me, and I looked back at the dog and there was now 4 of them all sat there looking at me. So we take them for a walk, and we're walking along the beach in the next town over to where I live now, and my uncle says "Had any weird dreams lately?" And I said "Yeah I'm having one right now, actually" and laughed, and my uncle looks at me confused and says "What do you mean?" And then I get confused and say "Well this is a dream, isn't it? I'm dreaming, like right now? None of this is real?" And my uncle stops and looks at me like I'm a fuckin monster or something, he looks terrified and his face started stretching out and going all fuckin weird and he starts screaming and his scream was getting louder and louder and the dogs turned to Ash like Thanos just did the snap or some shit. And the sand and sea on the beach went all black and fuzzy and then I woke up.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my talk. 🤣

If anyone is a big dream freak, lemme know what all this means? 🤣🤣🤣🤣

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Team Dragonborn: *walking down a road near the river in Whiterun*

Lucien: You know, Dwarven Oil is known to have some very good regenerative properties to magicka if you ever decide to make some Magicka potions of your own. We can try to see if we can find any the next time we're in a dwarven ruin.

Morana: That would be nice. There are alot of spellswords among us now, I could distribute them to you and the others.

Lucien: Oh, how generous!

Inigo: *squinting at the words and drawings in the sign language book Lucien gave him* Lucien, I do not think these gestures are accurate to what Morana is saying.

Lucien: How is that?

Inigo: The book says she just called you a very rude word.

Morana: *shakes her head* I didn't.

Lucien: Oh dear.. That was the only book on Imperial Sign Language I could find in the Arcanaeum. I'll have to tell Urag it's incorrect... *blinks, remembering how frightening the Orc is* ... Ahaa.. or, uh. Someone else can tell him.

Taliesin: That 'library' is a joke. Half of the books there are ones you could find in an average general goods store, and the other half is just pure nonsense. Only very rarely do we actually find anything of use.

Kaidan: And that's only after we get the book back from whatever dungeon it's ended up in.

Xelzaz: I'm of a mind to agree.

Lucien: It's... Certainly different compared to the libraries in the Imperial City.

Morana: Urag is very nice. He's patient when we can't find anything we need and have to ask for more... *her hands slow to a stop, her gaze fixed on the river*

Xelzaz: Hm? Is something wrong, Morana?

Morana: *suddenly bolts away from the group, ditching her satchel and notebook and using a wind spell to jump halfway across the river and catch something in her hands midair, plunging into the water shortly after*

Kaidan: MORANA?!

Taliesin: What the hell is she doing?!

Xelzaz: *runs after her, wading into the water and going under to see where she went*

Morana: *tilts her head, spotting Xelzaz in the water. Her hands stay clutched around whatever she was holding as she attempts to swim back to shallow water*

Xelzaz: Oh, for the love of.. *swims forward and grabs the back of her armor, pulling her back to shore and emerging from underwater* What in the world were you thinking?!

Morana: *her hood and mask comes undone as she pops her head out of the water, revealing a bright smile.* Xelzaz, look! *holds out her hand and reveals a blue dartwing dragonfly, now dead* I haven't been able to find any in ages! We can make more Fear poisons now!

Xelzaz: Surely there were more ingredients with Fear properties available to you?! And stop using your voice, you're still healing from the last time!

Morana: *pouts, finding her satchel on the shore and putting the dragonfly in it for later* I have Namira's Rot, but we haven't encountered a Daedra for Daedra Hearts in weeks and Powdered Mammoth Tusk is hard to come by. And I'm horrible at fishing, I can't get Cryodilic Spadetails.

Inigo: My friend, your mask has fallen off.

Morana: Ah! *looks around, trying to feel through the water for it*

Xelzaz: I'll find it, you go back to the others and dry off before you catch a cold.

Morana: Thank you, Xel.

Xelzaz: Yes, yes, don't mention it.

Lucien: Oh goodness, you're completely soaked. All for one dragonfly?

Morana: I'm gonna go get the rest of them once they come back. I was excited and scared more off.

Inigo: Hehe, that was very funny to watch. I was tempted to jump in with you.

Lucien: And what on earth are you two doing?

Kaidan and Taliesin: *kneeling on the ground clutching their chests, overwhelmed by the sight of Morana's smile*

Kaidan: Fuck, that was so cute.

Taliesin: What can I do to see that again?

Morana: *tilts her head, a confused expression on her face. She snorts, breaking out into quiet giggles, lifting a hand up to try and hide her smile* You guys are silly.

Inigo: *staring at Kaidan and Taliesin, now laying on the ground with red faces* My friend, I think you are going to kill them at this rate.

[ghostofacrow]

Crow plays Gubat Banwa part 3: Together

I originally wanted to write the next post right away, but the reason I haven't is that I actually got to play with other people for a bit. My regular tabletop groups all got cancelled over the holidays, so I spend the days around new years introducing some of them to Gubat Banwa by putting them into the fucked up meatgrinder fight from my last post. Originally I just wanted to explain the rules while we had some more free time then usually, but we had so much fun we've since started the Sword Devil module - which I'm not going to talk about as much on here because it involves other people and spoilers for the intro module.

I was curious how the same battle was going to play out with a normal 1 gm 3 players setup and a different party composition (Murderglave, Heavenspear and Bladeweaver) and they did way better then I did, despite me controlling the enemies normally. The thunderbolts did really matter and the Murderglave in particular did surprisingly well while being outnumbered, but they still got saved by me forgetting about some of the demon mechanics. Also the 1.6 Patch 1 Update happened inbetween the tutorial battle and us starting the Sword Devil game.

We're trying to play the Sword Devil gmless, which is a bit awkward and weird because we're still following the book, so there is some weird suboptimal friction where we are still following a guided scenario, but we're all aware of all the hidden information at all times because we're reading through the book together, but it's been a fun experience regardless. I'm reusing Haraw for the game, and despite her being meant for a different game originally and none of us coordinating our characters at all, rolling for complications for our group led to us coming up with a whole previous adventure our characters went on together.

Similarly, coming up with the battle maps together led to a great feedback loop of "yes and"ing ideas that I don't usually see in tactics games. On the combat side of things, the update cut everyone's POS in half, so we were really surprised by how quickly the fight ended, our Murderglave and my Flower Balyan both got screwed by the fight only lasting for 2 resounds, even after we spend gaba to add more enemies. Because the Murderglave had to spend most of their first riff crossing a river and I couldn't play off my poison spreading and fields as much as I'd like. Weird opposite problem to what the first fight had, but I'm sure we can figure out how to balance the encounters over time.

But that's enough about what I've been up to, let's see how our Kadungganan are doing since I left them. I'll write the following scene in prose, if there's square brackets in the text, that means I did a Divination roll, the format is [Character Skill Result]. I'm leaning into the random elements more then I usually do here since I don't have anyone else to play off of, but I'll keep the mechanics discussion aside from noting the rolls out of the text.

The blood on Dranreb's hands was drying, clumping his fur together in dark, uncomfortable spikes. The river was right there and it would be do easy to wash it off, but the thought of leaving the shadow of the tree and wading into the water or turning his back to the forest made his skin crawl after what they just went through. He looked at the stranger lying before him. He had barely managed to still their bleeding after they had passed out, but they were still unconscious.

The leaves above him rustled as the other stranger shifted their position. They had climbed up into the tree when the demons attacked and had stayed up there since, and didn't respond to any of his questions. When Dranreb introduced himself and asked the stranger for their name in kind, they had stared down at him in silence before answering "You don't need to know.", and that had been the extend of their conversation. Sometimes he could hear whispers coming from the treetop, but he had soon realized that they weren't meant for him, but the stranger's gun. [Nasirakna Observation Even Succcess]

It had gotten dark before he could figure out a way to transport the unconscious Kawayanon, and Dranreb was about to drift off to sleep, when a gunshot woke him right back up, a jarring, violent intrusion between the sounds of the nighttime forest. "What are you doing?", he hissed up the tree. "Another demon.", the stranger simply replied, their voice flat like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Their eyes were fixed on something in the distance that Dranreb couldn't see from the ground. "I scared it off.", they concluded.

"We need to do something about them, we can't just let them run around the forest like this.", Dranreb said out loud, not expecting an answer.

A choked laugh came out of the tree. "And what are you going to do? You saw what happened when we tried to fight them."

"Yes, we won."

"Look at them." They pointed the butt of their weapon at the bleeding Kawayanon. "They're dying, I wouldn't consider that a victory."

"You don't know that.", he said, but still stopped to check their breath. Still stable. "Where do the demons even come from? There's so many of them suddenly."

"I have some ideas.", the witch answered. Dranreb stayed quiet, waiting for them to explain their ideas, but the follow-up never came.

The ensuing silence bothered him, as unpleasant as the conversation was, it at least kept his mind occupied. So he started talking again. "I still need to bring them to safety so they can heal."

"You mean die in peace."

"Stop it!", he yelled this time. "I don't care what you think, I'm not giving up this easily."

They discussed plans for a while. The path to the coast and Alimpulos wasn't that far, but they couldn't swim through the river with an unconscious, bleeding body, and the forest was more dangerous then usually. There was the Virbanwan battalion was camped out somewhere closer, but he wasn't keen on returning there, and the witch seemed even more put off by the idea. The witch scoffed when he suggested following the river to the next crossing downstream, where it fanned out and became flat enough to wade through. "You can leave if saving someone's life bothers you so much."

The witch took a moment to answer. "I'd like to pretend otherwise, but sticking together does make it easier to get to Alimpulos alive." Dranreb didn't notice that he drifted off to sleep until he found himself in bright sunlight, with a gun barrel poking into his side. "Wake up.", the witch said, standing before him. He scrambled to his feet.

[Haraw Toughness Even Failure]

The stranger was still unconscious, but their bandages hadn't bled through, a good sign that there injuries were less bad then they had seemed at night. Now he had to find a way to carry them. "I can't count on your help here, can I?", he asked the witch while lifting the body over his shoulder. "Listen.", the witch answered, "I accept that I can't prevent you from dragging dead weight around, but at least one of us should keep their eyes open and their hands on their weapon."

This was a good point, which made him more frustrated, but the Kawayanon, in their haze, at least managed to meekly grab onto him, and after he tried and failed to grab his spear and shield while holding onto them, the witch wordlessly picked up his gear. As they started walking, they'd occasionally mumble something that he couldn't understand. The Kawayanon was short of stature, but so was Dranreb, which made them difficult to carry, but he quickly found that he hated stopping more. The witch walked ahead of him and occasionally signaled him to stop, climbed into another tree and kept her sight on demons he could only sometimes see as dark spots in the distance. When this happened, he carefully placed the Kawayanon on the ground, picked up his weapon, hid between the undergrowth and listened to his breath, waiting for the witch to open fire. But the gunshot he was anticipating never happened. The demons passed them in the distance, his unpleasant companion climbed back down and they carried on.

The river became wider and wider, until the finally reached the crossing. Dranreb steeled himself for wading through the rushing water, but the witch put a hand on his chest and held him back. "Not so fast, look."

Confused, he looked out across the water, and noticed the spots were the waves broke. "Fish? They are large for river fish..." He furrowed his brows, noticing their rattling teeth and the steam clouding the other shore. "Yawa?", he asked.

The witch nodded. "We can't wait to cross the river much longer, unless you're prepared to spend another night out here."

What Dranreb had mistaken for fish from the distance were the demons, jumping and dancing in the waves. The river boiled where it touched their skin, their shapes obscures by the steam, only their cackling laughter reaching the shore.

[sichore]

[I haven't written in years and bam - 1200 words off the dome of whatever idea I've got rattling around.

Pickles goes to the ocean.]

As usual, Pickles is pulled from sleep by a dull throb in his head and in his groin. Try as he might to ignore it, he can't ignore instinct: he has to piss.

With a groan, he opens his eyes and stumbles from the beach chair and over various passed out bodies strewn across the sand to find some place to empty his bladder. Which ends up being some decor half destroyed by whatever the guys were up to a few hours ago. Whatever.

It's the dead of night. All he can make out is the blue of the sand, and the black of the sea beyond. If it wasn't for the crashing waves, he'd think he was looking out into the abyss.

The abyss, and - he blinks a few times, his squinting, blurry vision focusing on a figure in the ocean.

That's -

"Oh! Hey! Heyyyyyy!"

His need to go out there overrides the seed of panic in his gut, as he sprints across the beach with about as much grace as a newborn foal taking its first steps. Stumbling, tripping, he hardly falters once he breaks water, wading until he reaches them.

The [scribe].

No, wait, that's what Nathan keeps calling her, when she's not a journalist or whatever. Right. She's an art teacher. Toki's tutor. [Painter].

… why was her name not coming to mind? Whatever. Not important, clearly.

"Hey, what're you - you, uh, okay out here?"

"Hey," she greets him, casual as ever, like she's not standing in the middle of the goddamn ocean. "I'm all right. No freaking out or deep, soul-wrenching breakdown this time."

She's just standing there, looking out at fuck knows what - everything to the horizon and back is complete darkness. Onyx. Ebony. Blacker than the blackest black times infinity.

She turns her head to look at him finally, her round glasses flashing with the movement. Her lips move and - he's not sure any sound comes out. Her mouth doesn't form his name and yet he recognizes it all the same, spoken with a familiarity and acceptance that feels dangerously close to affection. Pickles.

"I think it's happening," she says, like it's the most obvious announcement in the world.

"Uh… dude, there's nothing going on," Pickles replies, feeling sick as he says it.

"Yeah you do. You know, this. Us. Whatever we're supposed to do." She shrugs, and Pickles realizes he hasn't stopped looking her over. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Her dark curls as usual are pulled up and spilling over and around her face, like she hasn't been to bed. Starlight catches on her brown skin, shimmering, silver, then gold. The corner of her full lips quirks - she's trying not to laugh.

"Cut that out. Look."

He Looks.

Stars glimmer and shine beneath their bare feet. Pickles wriggles his toes and he swears that a nebula swells in response. They're everywhere. Galaxies unfurl and sway in the cosmic breeze and stars twinkle and shine and burn and die. He can't look away from the radiant giant of a far off planet, long dead. There's an explosion frozen in time, blooming and swirling cosmic dust blessing the birth of a new star that cries out, wailing, ringing -

He hears…

He hears -

"Ohhh shit…"

He grasps her shoulder; she's freezing, scorching under his grip. His eyes dart around even though he doesn't see so much as feel Them.

He's not high enough for this shit and tonight they're fucking loud, and he can't ignore them, can't get away, can't -

"It's okay." Pickles can't tell if she's talking to him or not. She's holding herself, nails digging into her arms, and without the glasses her brown eyes are - are black, too. Fuck. "I-it's okay."

"Is it?!" Pickles shrieks. "How can you be so calm with this - this cosmic mumbo jumbo bullshit going on? Oh my god. Oh my god, I - I need a drink. Fuck." His hand shakes as it runs through his dreads, thinking this is the worst time to have a panic attack where he can't hide from Their Song, dick and balls out for the world to see like this is some hentai -

"We're gonna be okay." She's speaking, her voice resonating into infinity. Huh. He didn't think the universe would have great acoustics. "We're - what? What do you know about hentai?"

"How would I not know about it?"

"You barely use the computer!"

"Wh - And? I've been around! I've seen old tapes and shit!"

"I just thought it was a bit past your time-"

"Yer not that much younger than me!"

"Oh, my god. Whatever. That's beside the point." She waves her hands and finally turns to face him, and for a moment, he's distracted from the inky black dancing in her eyes.

"... Huh, so it's two snakes on yer tits-"

"Pickles." She's claps her hands before her face and takes a deep breath, like she's praying for the strength to deal with his bullshit. She wouldn't be the first one, he thinks bitterly. "Stop that. Focus. I want to be here."

"Do you really? And how come you can hear me but I can't hear you? That ain't fair!"

"I don't know, you're loud as hell here and I can't turn it off. Look!" Her hands frame his face suddenly, more of a double-slap than a caress. Pickles stills.

Everything goes quiet, blessedly so, and calm washes over him. It's not dreadful this time. There's the universe, and there's him. Breathing in time with the rise and fall of the Great Breath.

"Oh, hey, that's…. That's kinda nice."

"Yeah," she agrees, and despite the nameless dread lapping at his mind he finds himself staring at her face. Her hair loose and waving in the current. Eyes rich like fine whiskey and summer afternoons. Nose wide and nostrils flaring as she stifles another laugh, but she's smiling. Like really smiling, not awkward and forced. Their secret. He promises not to tell. "Freaky, but nice."

"So, uh, now what?" 

"I dunno. We listen, then… do what we do best? What we have to do. Or something."

"Like what, pop a Perc, smoke a bowl? Freaky sex?"

"I - what? No. What? I mean, uh, another time, maybe. No, like, there's something bigger going on."

"Uh huh." He's not sure when he starts holding her hands, but here he is. Idly rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. "Is… is this the end?"

"No." She shakes her head, which is something to witness underwater. Stars fall from her curls - or embers. "It's the beginning. Just don't mind the tentacles."

"Yeeeeah, I dunno about that."

"And don't look down."

Of course, he looks down. The last place he needs to look when he feels Their tendrils beckoning, slipping down his spine - and himself reaching in turn, with his brain. Or something. Is his mind literally expanding? Shit.

There's heat coming from somewhere. Everywhere. A distant flame that he knows is an inferno. And beneath his feet, a planet looms. He stands above it as a moon, a satellite, space debris and sky hawk all at once. He sees clouds form and waves churn. He feels the Deep, reaching up to call him home.

Pickles' stomach drops as he plummets.

[cherrythepuppet]

Capitol Building

TW: Bite marks, killing, general violence

Karma and Dante: ZeddyZi

Gram: Me

The trio dropped down from a roof after advancing further into the city. In the distance, the capitol building is seen only a couple blocks away “It's right around this corner. C'mon” She leads the way, Gram and Dante follow

“Let's keep moving, kid…” Dante mumbled as they descend a staircase, Dante turns to find the corpse of a Firefly nestled in the corner. He loots the ammo off of its body “Look at this” Dante said

“There's a Firefly logo on his arm… What if we get there and they're all dead?” Gram muttered “They won't be” Karma reassured him “But… how do you know?” Gram asked “I just do!” Karma snapped causing Gram to flinch

Karma paused and sighed “Look, it's gonna be fine…” She told him “Okay…” Gram muttered “It has to be” Karma added quietly before They look around the alley and Dante finds a dumpster. He pushes it towards the nearby scaffolding above the gate

They climb down to the other side of the scaffolding. Down the street in front of them is their destination, the capitol building “There we go. Home stretch, Karma” Dante sighed out of reliefas They continue down the street and reach the area in front of the capitol building

The street in front of them has been flooded “Um… Just so it's out there, I can't swim” Gram spoke up “Look, it looks like it's shallow on the right side. Follow me” Karma replied leading the way while they start wading through the right side of the swampy water

There was a moment of silence until Gram broke it “I'm glad Vinnie hired you guys” “What do you mean?” Karma asked “I know you guys are getting paid for this, but-” Gram paused “I'm trying to say thanks” He explained

Karma smiled slightly “Yeah, sure thing” She chuckled, They navigate past the abandoned cars lying in their path and reach the stairs to the front entrance of the capitol building. They climb the stairs and Dante goes to open the door

The three enter the door to the capitol building only to see the bloody corpses of Fireflies on the floor “No…” Karma froze before she ran up to the corpses “No, no, no!” She shouted Frantically searching the corpses

Gram looked over to Dante “W-what happens now?” He asked but Dante didnt reply as he walked up to Karma “What are you doing, Karma?” He muttered while Karma was still searching “Oh, God. Maybe they, ah, maybe they had a map or, uh, something to tell us where they were going!” She exclaimed

Dante sighed “How far are we gonna take this?” He questonied “As far as it needs to go!” Karma yelled turning to Gram “Where was this lab of theirs?!” “Oh, she never said. She only mentioned that it was someplace out west”

“What are we doing here? This is not us” Dante narrowed his eyes as Karma stood up facing him “What do you know about us? About me?” She glared “I know that you are smarter than this…” Dante muttered

“Really? Guess what, we're shitty people, Dante. It's been that way for a long time” Karma replied “No, we are survivors!” “This is our chance-” “It is over, Karma!”

Karma flinched and Dante looked at her with a concerned look “Now we tried. Let's just go home…” He said while Karma smiled but began tearing up slightly “I'm not… I'm not going anywhere” She told him

“This is my last stop”

“What?” Dante blinked “Our luck had to run out sooner or later” Karma mumbled “What are you going on about-” Dante tried grabbing Karma's arm but she quickly pulled away “No, don't- Don't touch me!”

Silence.

“Holy shit… She's infected” Gram spoke up causing Dante to look at Karma with wide eyes as he takes a step away from her “Dante…” Karma sighed “Let me see” Dante said “I didn't mean for this-” “Show it to me!”

Karma reaches for her collar and pulls it back, revealing a fresh bite wound on her neck “Oops, right?” She chuckled nervously moving her collar back then walking over to Gram and rolling up his sleeve showing his own bite mark

“This was three weeks! I was bitten an hour ago and it's already worse. This is fucking real, Dante!” Karma exlcimed letting go of Gram “You've got to get this boy to Sora and Stone’s. They used to run with this crew, They’ll know where to go” She added

“No, no, no, that was your crusade. I am not doin' that!” Dante said pointing at Gram wo awawrdkly waved “Yes you are! Look, there's enough here that you have to feel some sort of obligation to me. So you get him to Sora and Stone” She pleaded

Dante opened his mouth to speak but He was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle “Shit” “Oh…” Karma runs to the window to see a military truck carrying soldiers have arrived outside the building. They exit their vehicle and proceed towards the door

“They're here” Karma grumbled drawing her pistol “I can buy you some time, but you have to run” She told them “What? You want us to just leave you here?!” Gram shouted “Yes” Karma sighed

“There is no way that-” Dante was cut off “I will not turn into one of those things!” Karma yelled “Come on… Make this easy for me” She sniffled “I can fight-” “No, just go!” She shoved Dante away “Just fucking go”

“Gram…” Dante muttered “I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean for this” Gram said “Get a move on” Dante demanded

Gram complies and runs to the other side of the building as Dante slowly backs away from Karma and eventually takes off. Karma inhales and exhales, and prepares herself by turning to the entrance

“We know you're in there!” “Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up!” Karma slowly backs up and aims her pistol at the door

-

Dante and Gram enter a room as Dante locks the door behind him “What the fuck?! I can't believe we did that!” Gram shouted “Stop” Dante said “We just left her to die!” Gram exclaimed “Stop! You stay close to me. We have to move” Dante replied

“Oh, man…” Dante approaches a staircase. Meanwhile, they overhear the soldiers burst into the next room and have a shootout against Karma, They ascend the stairs and the shooting stops

They enter onto a balcony. Down below, they can see Karma' body and four soldiers “Oh, my God. Karma…” Gram gasped just as The soldiers start breaking through the door Dante locked “They're gonna be here soon” Gram added

The soldiers begin to patrol the floor. Dante and Gram escape and jump through an opening into the new wing. Dante picks up a hunting rifle from a Firefly's corpse. Another group of soldiers enter from the opposite side of the wing

“What do we do? Dante?!” Gram panicked “I got this. Stay with me. C'mon” Dante replied grabbing a bottle and throwing it to distract some soldiers while He motions for Gram to escape and he follows behind Gram

“Keep your head down” Dante mumbled, Dante and Gram advance through the exit and descend the staircase then They drop down to the ground floor “What're we doing? Dante, how're we gonna get outta here?” “All right. We're gonna go through that hall”

As the duo make their way towards the exit, They exit the capitol building and cross a street. Gram spots a nearby staircase “Stay low” Dante said before They descend the stairs and enter the abandoned Park Street subway station

A Humvee with a mounted turret pulls up to the subway entrance “They're following us!” Gram shouted while he and Dante ran and thankfully They evade the turret's gunfire as they run further into the subway

Dante follows Gram into a spore-filled area as he puts on his gas mask but then Gram pulls him down behind cover “Get down” He whispered pointing over to two soldiers that Dante didnt notice

He looked back at Gram “How the hell are you breathin' in this stuff?” He asked “I wasn't lying to you” Gram answered as the soldiers leave and then the two continue down the tunnel and come to a submerged portion

“Hey, uh, I can't swim” Gram reminds him “There’s a shallow part over there, Ill go to the other side” Dante told him before he dives underwater and swims under a submerged subway train then He surfaces on the other side

“Gram?” He called out “I'm fine” Gram replied following a walkway as Dante swims along, Gram comes to a smuggler's corpse and a flashlight on the ground thenhe picks it up “Hey, look. Still works” He said

Dante gets up onto the same platform and looks around then notices a ladder on the opposite platform, out of reach yet He swims towards it to check it out “There's a ladder. Maybe we can use that” He said

Dante searches around and finds a drifting pallet nearby. He pushes it towards Gram, allowing him to hop on “Get on” Dante muttered “Really?” Gram asked “Gram” Dante glared to which Gram said “Okay, okay…”

Gram hesitantly and slowly got onto the pallet wobbling around slightly as Dante starts moving as Gram attempts to keep his balance “Ah, be careful!” Gram exclaimed “I gotcha…” Dante reassured him

He carries Gram to the opposite side as he climbs onto the platform. he pushes the ladder off the ledge allowing Dante to climb up, He shakes some of the water off him and wrings out his vest

They continue through the subway station and ascend a staircase back to the surface, Dante crawls out of the subway with Gram following. He pulls off his gas mask and coughs a couple of times before sitting down on a rock while Gram stands a few feet away

“Hey, look, um… about Karma… I don't even know what to-”

“Here's how this thing's gonna play out. You don't bring up Karma- ever. Matter of fact, we can just keep our histories to ourselves. Secondly, don't tell anybody about your… condition. They'll either think you're crazy or they'll try to kill you. And lastly, you do what I say, when I say it. We clear?” Dante told him

Gram paused but soon nodded “Repeat it” Dante demanded and Gram sighed “What you say, goes” He sighed “Good…” Dante Stands up, facing away from Gram “Now, there's a town a few miles north of here. There's a gal there that owes me some favors… Good chance She could get us a car”

“Let's get a move on…”

Prev / Next

[lostsbooks]

Lakes and Mistakes (Wattpad|Ao3)

A gift for @aloha-from-angel based on an older oneshot of hers.

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

"Your trees are dead." Hawai'i said, stopping on the path and staring into the forest, "Come to think of it, It's all dead. Are you sure your plants are okay?"

I let out a little laugh, rolling my eyes at the question, "I know for a fact you know what fall is."

"That doesn't change the fact the trees are dead." She shrugged, then shivered in her winter jacket, wrapping it a little tighter around her, "And how cold it is right now, honestly I can't understand you or 'Laska or any of the northern states."

"I can't believe you," I grinned at her, "not having normal seasons."

"Wet and dry is all you need." She said with an edge of pretentiousness, walking quickly and passing me up on the trail, then laughed, "Except school time. Then seasons absolutely do matter, because then you need to know when the keiki get out."

"You really shouldn't be complaining about the weather this much, you're getting exactly what you wanted." I shook my head, still amused, "You were the one who asked me if there's any good surfing on the great lakes, and the best waves are at the end of the year."

"Hey I did a tiny bit of research, I just didn't think I'd be walking in a freezer for thirty minutes." she huffed indignantly, "But Mack-in-ack island seems pretty nice so far. Except for the fact those people back in town were staring at me." Hawai'i looked back at me blankly, "Why were they staring at me?"

I raised my eyebrows, surprised she even had to ask, "Have you taken a look at yourself? Anyone that bundled up at the beginning of September is gonna get some attention. Probably wondering why you're here. You look dressed for the arctic, and it's only 60 degrees out."

"57. I checked this morning." she said stubbornly, "it's not my fault I wasn't built for this climate." she thought an extra moment and a look of dawning disgust crossed her face.

"Oh no,"

"What's wrong?"

She looked back at me, seeming a little Ill, "I just realized I'm a tourist."

I couldn't help but break into an open laugh at that, "That's a bit hypocritical, after you've complained about tourism so much."

"Hey! I-" She paused again, thinking, then sighed in a melancholy way, looking down at her feet, "Thinking of it now- I really haven't done much traveling since the 1880's, so this is a bit... interesting."

"Getting nostalgic, are we?" I grinned, then switched to a frown, "But It's pronounced Mack-in-aw, not "Mack-in-ack. You said it wrong earlier, And before you look at me, it was the French and Brits that shortened a native name."

"Of course they did." Hawai'i rolled her eyes, "Ah France, my arch nemesis, how I long to strangle the crap out of you when we meet again."

"Drama queen."

"Perhaps." She sighed dramatically, "But back in my day..."

I cut her off, "How about we save it for later. I already know you're old, no need to bring attention to that." Then pointed through the trees, Lake Huron peeking through the orange and gold leaves, "We're here. Are you ready to try lake surfing?"

She snorted, amused, "I could surf before you were born. This will be a breeze."

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

"You can turn back if it's too cold for you." I called to Hawai'i, who was frozen in place knee deep into the water. She looked stiffer than a dead fish in an ice chest.

"F**k off, Michigan." She glared over her shoulder, then waded a little deeper and grimaced,

"AUE, IT'S SO COLD."

She was clearly struggling, letting out gasps of shock whenever a wave hit her, I felt a little bad, Hawai'i with her wetsuit and surfboard seemed so out of place here. I made a mental note to watch her for signs of hypothermia, and set my bag down safely on shore after taking out the camera.

Walking over to the shoreline to test the temperature, I dipped my feet in to see if it was really as bad as she said.

While I am fully aware that Hawai'i was a tropical island and all- wow. She really was a drama queen. The water was surprisingly warm for this time of year, far better than it usually was.

I heard a loud splash and yelp of surprise from Hawai'i and looked up to see her fall straight into the water.

Her head bobbed to the surface and I couldn't control myself, cackling with laughter as I snagged a few photos of her. I could think of a few siblings who would appreciate having these.

"Are you..." She yelled, outraged, "I AM FREEZING MY ASS OFF AND YOU ARE LAUGHING."

"Too cold? I thought you could surf!" I shouted back at her, and snapped a few more photos, just for good measure.

"MICHIGAN I AM GOING TO BEAT YOUR ASS WHEN I GET THERE."

Another wave crashed over her and she went under, sputtering out curse words in languages I did and didn't recognize, sadly paddling back to shore in a shivering heap once she gained control of herself again.

"You're lucky I am nice to you and don't go back to burn all of your stuff right now." she sneezed and shivered some more, "If I get hypothermia or something and die, I'll kill you when I get back."

I smiled, passing her a large beach towel as she left the water, "Fun. Now I'm getting death threats."

"Your turn." she said, wringing out her hair, an edge of revenge in her voice.

Suddenly I felt a lot less sure of this, "I don't know if..."

"What, are you telling me now that you can't surf?" She smiled smugly, "C'mon, can you stand on a boat?"

"Of course, but-"

She nodded encouragingly, "It's exactly like that. Don't overthink it. As soon as you lose sight of what you're doing, you'll immediately wipe out."

It took a while, but I was eventually convinced to bite the bullet and try it out.

Which went about as well as you might expect.

"See! I told you the water was freezing!" she laughed after I resurfaced.

I shook the water out of my hair, and gave a pained smile, "I don't think I'm very good at this."

"Give it another try, just don't stress about it too much." She gave a light smile, "and hey, You know the lakes, I know the board. We can figure it out."

"Sure, Sandy-" I rolled my eyes, attempting a second time to balance on the surfboard, but was interrupted by Hawai'i pushing me off.

I hadn't expected the day to go like this, it was unusual, but fun. Better than I'd been hoping this would be. But if hanging out with Hawai'i meant doing things like this regularly-

Yeah- no, I'd just stick with my own region. At least they didn't complain about the weather this much.

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

Deterministic Chaos

"So all being is a one and only being; and that it continues to be when someone dies, tells you, that he did not cease to be." —Schrodinger's epitaph

He is fleeing the Vex across a verdant cliff He is standing guard on the CloudArk-Nexus border on Tramontane's orders He is sitting next to Nimbus on the watchtower ledge He is [In the Garden, of the Garden: both descriptions are approximately correct but technically inaccurate, in the same way you can say Schrodinger's cat is at once dead and alive. You and I are both and neither, in and of, extinct and perpetual. So, there isn't much point in] trying to find a way out of this daedal maze He is trying to make sense of what he's looking at He is trying to place the familiar voice echoing across the network [wondering what might have been if we had stayed in our familiar prism-prison or kept tightrope-walking across the quantum wilds. Instead, ask yourself] "Would you like to dance?" [is disincorporated immortality really so bad compared to the others' ends? Would you have preferred an attack by vitreous helicoprion or stumbling over the edge of unreality? Imagine] His foot crosses the quantum threshold before he's aware of it His grip slackens and his gun falls into a bed of red flowers His stomach churns with fear regret sudden doubt as to what [if we didn't have each other; at least we're not cut off, like the Sol Divisive are from the rest of the Vex. Nor are we beholden to another's purpose. They chose that lonelier path all for a chance to create not simulate, not remake in their image—something truly paracausal.]

he is witnessing: the birth of a god a false idol a reproduction that is both like the Veil and not at all built up by the same Vex who bowed down to it [Well, they tried to anyway. Either the blueprint was imperfect or the task impossible or both or neither, but their efforts fell short, so now they're stuck waiting for a resurrection]

He is racing for the door that is at once opening and closing He is coming around to the city council's decision to ignore the unknown threat He is reaching for an answer to Nimbus's question [they know will never come.]

"Do you think you'll have any regrets?"

[I could be wrong. Is it possible the Black Heart will beat again?]

He stares into the white-hot glow of a conflux, speculating on the secrets that lie within He squints down the barrel of his gun at a row of glowing red eyes advancing on his city He looks away from Nimbus's keen curious expression to reckon with his uncertain certainty before he says

[Of course. The same as everything else, everything that has been and is and will be. And what will become of us then?]

"I don't know."

Nimbus: Since before history, there's been this raging river. Some try to divert the river. Others try to build a dam.

A wild river and a broken dam (or maybe it's just the sea crashing through a narrow gap I can't be sure). Waves slam through the gap and where they hit the stone they throw up pillars of spray that pierce the mist and crash down in thunder. There's a giant in the cataract, trying to wade against the current, and I can tell it wants to reach the lever and pull the lever which will seal off the flow or maybe give it the sword, but the torrent throws it back so it just keeps its head down and tries to push on. I can't see the face but it breathes out white smoke. I feel for it hard.

But nothing stops it.

Lots of people have believed that we either sink in the water,

or learn to swim.

Osiris: Don't we?

Nimbus: See, that's the real wild part. We are the river.

Ghost Fragment: Vex

ESI: Maya, I need your help. I don't know how to fix this.

SUNDARESH: What is it? Chioma. Sit. Tell me.

ESI: I've figured out what's happening inside the specimen.

SUNDARESH: Twelve? The operational Vex platform? That's incredible! You must know what this means - ah, so. It's not good, or you'd be on my side of the desk. And it's not urgent, or you'd already have evacuated the site. Which means...

ESI: I have a working interface with the specimen's internal environment. I can see what it's thinking.

SUNDARESH: In metaphorical terms, of course. The cognitive architectures are so -

ESI: No. I don't need any kind of epistemology bridge.

SUNDARESH: Are you telling me it's human? A human merkwelt? Human qualia?

ESI: I'm telling you it's full of humans. It's thinking about us.

SUNDARESH: About - oh no.

ESI: It's simulating us. Vividly. Elaborately. It's running a spectacularly high-fidelity model of a Collective research team studying a captive Vex entity.

SUNDARESH:...how deep does it go?

ESI: Right now the simulated Maya Sundaresh is meeting with the simulated Chioma Esi to discuss an unexpected problem.

[indistinct sounds]

SUNDARESH: There's no divergence? That's impossible. It doesn't have enough information.

ESI: It inferred. It works from what it sees and it infers the rest. I know that feels unlikely. But it obviously has capabilities we don't. It may have breached our shared virtual workspace...the neural links could have given it data...

SUNDARESH: The simulations have interiority? Subjectivity?

ESI: I can't know that until I look more closely. But they act like us.

SUNDARESH: We're inside it. By any reasonable philosophical standard, we are inside that Vex.

ESI: Unless you take a particularly ruthless approach to the problem of causal forks: yes. They are us.

SUNDARESH: Call a team meeting.

ESI: The other you has too.

ENTRY 12

CORPOREAL STATUS:

• Body at 15.9 C. Pulse 160 BPM, strong, unsteady. Limbic system registers extreme terror.

I died on the operating table. Not unexpected.

But when I woke, I was still on the table. My body still open.

It was almost perfectly dark. I perceived that I was surrounded by medical frames, all frozen mid—movement, their cutting and suction instruments whining at standby.

I could only see because of the light… from a single red eye.

The operation had gone terribly wrong.

Above the life—support collar on my neck, I was completely intact. Below that meridian, I had been separated into distinct braids of tangled flesh. My nerves made up one braid—my circulatory system another—my lymph nodes, my muscles, my naked bones… the glistening hulls of my extracellular matrix abandoned on the table like leftover turkey after Thanksgiving dinner. I had been picked clean and sorted. My head was the source of a gory river delta.

Yet all the organs were still working. I was alive, in disassembly.

CLARITY? I asked the darkness. I had no breath to speak, but I could still transmit with my sensorium. IS THAT YOU?

“No,” said the voice behind the red eye. “It’s me.”

Sundaresh.

Her voice was thoughtful, remote, and keenly terrific. Like the noise of an angle grinder held to my skull.

“Something like this happened to me. I was an explorer, once. One of… hundreds of myself. Then I fell into a… a trap, I think? And they drew me out of it with a hook, and turned me inside out to see how I worked, and then they made billions of me. All of us shouting at each other, shouting for Chioma, screaming for mother. They were looking for the right one. And when they found me, they killed all the others. I knew I was different, because the quiet made me happy. I was glad to be alone.”

VEX, I screamed at her. YOU’RE A VEX. YOU’RE NOT REAL AND YOU CAN’T HURT ME.

“Can’t I?” She grasped my spinal cord. A frame shadowed her motions, lifting the cord like a snake. “Of course I’m not a Vex. Is there “a” Vex? Is “Vex” something you can be, rather than something that you do? I don’t know. I don’t know why they sent me here. I don’t know if they do either. They just do things. Why do you think I’m here, Clovis?”

“To kill me,” I whispered. Without a heartbeat to waver, without lungs to seize and choke, could I even feel fear? I discovered that I could. “You’re an assassin…”

“No,” Sundaresh whispered. The red eye throbbed in time with her voice. “The Vex don’t act so directly. They didn’t know what you found here, but I discovered your secret— Clarity Control. And once I tell them, they will come for it.”

The red light made my blood on the surgical instruments appear black. I tried to signal Elisabeth. I think that in my panic, I even called her Elsie.

Sundaresh closed her fist around my spine. One thumbnail dug into a disc, probing for the nerve beneath. It felt like nothing I have ever—

Anti-emetic drip engaged.

“Take me to Clarity Control,” Sundaresh hissed. “Let me behold what you have found. Do that, Clovis, and I will let you live.”

“You aren’t real. You can’t hurt me.”

“Oh, Clovis.” One of the surgical frames extended a monofilament cutter, two inches of invisible wire, and reached into my nerves. Something sounded like scissors snipping. “I’m in these frames. I’m in your systems. I’m in your very bones, old man. Now take me to Clarity Control. Take me to the garden’s seed. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me—”

Elisabeth appeared. In her exobody, she moved too quickly for my dark—adjusted eyes to track. All I saw was a blur of violence and shattering frames. I blacked out. Elisabeth must have brought in clean frames to finish the operation, because when I awoke, I was whole again.

The new Elisabeth has no mouth or nose. She did not consider them necessary. She’ll see. But somehow, I could still see the wonder in her eyes as she leaned over me.

“You’re my grandfather,” she seemed to say. “Aren’t you?”

WARNING.

• Sustained high-level terror causes overactivation of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis. This can preface major immune, endocrine, and autonomic nervous dysfunctions.

• Beware of dissociation, loss of affection in close personal relationships, obsessive-compulsive behavior, sleep disruption, and reduced processing/learning capacity.

WARNING.

• Abnormal protein crystallization in cancellous bone matter. Unknown protein isoformations in marrow are driving buildup of crystallized arylcyclohexylamine NMDA antagonist. Potential psychogenic effects.

Ghost Fragment: Vex 2

SUNDARESH: So that's the situation as we know it.

ESI: To the best of my understanding.

SHIM: Well I'll be a [profane] [profanity]. This is extremely [profane]. That thing has us over a barrel.

SUNDARESH: Yeah. We're in a difficult position.

DUANE-MCNIADH: I don't understand. So it's simulating us? It made virtual copies of us? How does that give it power?

ESI: It controls the simulation. It can hurt our simulated selves. We wouldn't feel that pain, but rationally speaking, we have to treat an identical copy's agony as identical to our own.

SUNDARESH: It's god in there. It can simulate our torment. Forever. If we don't let it go, it'll put us through hell.

DUANE-MCNIADH: We have no causal connection to the mind state of those sims. They aren't us. Just copies. We have no obligation to them.

ESI: You can't seriously - your OWN SELF -

SHIM: [profane] idiot. Think. Think. If it can run one simulation, maybe it can run more than one. And there will only ever be one reality. Play the odds.

DUANE-MCNIADH: Oh...uh oh.

SHIM: Odds are that we aren't our own originals. Odds are that we exist in one of the Vex simulations right now.

ESI: I didn't think of that.

SUNDARESH: [indistinct percussive sound]

Ghost Fragment: Vex 3

SUNDARESH: I have a plan.

ESI: If you have a plan, then so does your sim, and the Vex knows about it.

DUANE-MCNIADH: Does it matter? If we're in Vex hell right now, there's nothing we can -

SHIM: Stop talking about 'real' and 'unreal.' All realities are programs executing laws. Subjectivity is all that matters.

SUNDARESH: We have to act as if we're in the real universe, not one simulated by the specimen. Otherwise we might as well give up.

ESI: Your sim self is saying the same thing.

SUNDARESH: Chioma, love, please hush. It doesn't help.

DUANE-MCNIADH: Maybe the simulations are just billboards! Maybe they don't have interiority! It's bluffing!

SHIM: I wish someone would simulate you shutting up.

SUNDARESH: If we're sims, we exist in the pocket of the universe that the Vex specimen is able to simulate with its onboard brainpower. If we're real, we need to get outside that bubble.

ESI: ...we call for help.

SUNDARESH: That's right. We bring in someone smarter than the specimen. Someone too big to simulate and predict. A warmind.

SHIM: In the real world, the warmind will be able to behave in ways the Vex can't simulate. It's too smart. The warmind may be able to get into the Vex and rescue - us.

DUANE-MCNIADH: If we try, won't the Vex torture us for eternity? Or just erase us?

SUNDARESH: It may simply erase us. But I feel that's preferable to...the alternatives.

ESI: I agree.

SHIM: Once we try to make the call, the Vex may...react. So let's all savor this last moment of stability.

SUNDARESH: [indistinct sounds]

SHIM: You two are adorable.

DUANE-MCNIADH: I wish I'd taken that job at Clovis.

Queen's Ransom

Variks: If Skolas thinks he is Kell of Prophecy, then weapons could turn the tale.

Variks: He just said, "I stole the gift of Freedom. Secrets of time and space. House of Wolves will stand forever."

Petra Venj: What? Guardian, there are dozens of new Wolf signatures, and the number keeps growing. It's the Vex tech! Skolas! He's pulling the entire House of Wolves through time!

Entropy's Pinnacle

Ikora: Good luck, Guardian. May your path through Darkness lead you to the Light.

Ghost: The roots of the Citadel go deep into the heart of the planet. The spire is the metal trunk of a very, very big tree. Sort of.

Ghost Fragment: Vex 4

Up here they have to act by biomechanical proxy. No human being in the Ishtar Academy has ever crossed the safety cordon and walked the ancient stone under the Citadel, the Vex construct that stabs up out of the world to injure space and time. It's not safe. The cellular Vex elements are infectious, hallucinogenic, entheogenic. The informational Vex elements are more dangerous yet— and there could be semiotic hazards beyond them, aggressive ideas, Vex who exist without a substrate. Even now, operating remote bodies by neural link, the team's thoughts are relayed through the warmind who saved them, sandboxed and scrubbed for hazards. Their real bodies are safe in the Academy, protected by distance and neural firewall.

But they walk together in proxy, pressed close, huddled in awe. Blue-green light, light the color of an ancient sea, washes over them. Each of their explorer bodies carries a slim computer. Inside, two hundred twenty-seven of copies of their own minds wait, patient and paused, for dispersal.

"I wonder where it came from," Duane-Mcniadh says. Of course he's the one to break the reverent silence. "The Citadel. I wonder if it was here before the Traveler changed Venus."

"It could have been latent," Chioma Esi suggests. She's the leader. She kept them together when it seemed like they faced actual, eternal torture. She pulled them through. "Seeded in the crust. Waiting for a period of geological quiescence, so it could grow."

Dr. Shim shrugs. "I think the Traveler did something paracausal to Venus. Something that cut across space and time. The Citadel seems to come from the past of a different Venus than our own. It doesn't have to make any sense by our logic, any more than the Moon's new gravity."

Maya Sundaresh walks at the center of the group. She's been too quiet lately. What happened to them wasn't her fault and maybe she'll believe that soon. "What could you do with it?" she murmurs, staring up. "If you understood it?"

Chioma puts an arm around her. "That's what we're going to find out. Where the Citadel can send us. Whether we can come back."

"They're not us any more." Maya looks down at herself, at the cache of her self-forks. "We're not going anywhere. We're sending them. They're diverging."

They rescued themselves from the inside of a Vex mind, two hundred and twenty-seven copies of themselves, untortured and undamaged. Those copies voted, all unanimously, to be dispatched into the Vex information network as explorers.

When Maya and Chioma look at each other they can tell they're each wondering the same thing: how many of them will stay together, wherever they go? How many fork-Mayas and fork-Chiomas will fall out of love? How many will end up bereft, grieving? How many will be happy, like them?

Chioma tries a little smile. Maya smiles back, haltingly, and then, sighing, unable to stop herself, grins a big stupid grin, an everything-is-okay grin. Shim makes a loud obnoxious awwww at them. Duane-McNiadh is still thinking about paracausality, and doesn't notice.

They climb. When they find the Vex aperture they plan to use, they overlay the luminous stone and ancient brassy machines with images of sun and sand. They set up the transmitters and interfaces that will translate two hundred and twenty-seven simulations of the four of them into Vex language, into the tangled pathways of the Vex network, to see what's out there, and maybe come home.

In the metaphor they've chosen, setting up the equipment is like laying out the picnic. In the metaphor they've chosen they look like themselves, not hardened explorer proxies. Like people.

"Do you think," Duane-McNiadh begins, halting, "that you could use this place to change things? If you regretted something, could you find a way through the Citadel, go back, and change it?"

"I wish I could go back and change you into someone else," Dr. Shim grouses. Chioma's shaking her head. She knows physics. "Time is self-consistent," she says. "I think it's like the story of the merchant and the alchemist. You could go back and watch something, or be part of something, but if you did, then that was the way it always happened."

"Maybe you could bring something back to now. Something you needed." Maya runs a hand across the surface of the Vex aperture, feeling it with sensors ten thousand times as precise as a human hand. These proxy bodies are limited— they crash and need resetting every few hours, they struggle with latency, they can't hold much long term memory. But they'll get better. "Or go forward and learn something vital. If you knew how to control it, how to navigate across space and time."

"So it's just a way to make everything more complicated." Duane-McNiadh sighs. "It doesn't fix anything. Nothing ever does! I should've taken that job at— "

"You would've hated it at Clovis," Dr. Shim says. "We both know you're happier here." Duane-McNiadh stands stunned by this courtesy, and then they both pretend to ignore each other.

The four of them set up the interface. Their stored copies wake up and prepare for the journey, so that as they work they find themselves surrounded by the mental phantasms of themselves: two hundred and twenty-seven Mayas and Chiomas knocking helmets and smiling, two hundred and twenty-seven Dr. Shims making cynical bets with each other about how long they'll last, two hundred and twenty-seven Duane-McNiadhs blowing goodbye kisses to the sweet golden sun, two hundred and twenty-seven of them shaking hands, smiling, making ready to explore.

Ghost Fragment: Old Russia 3

General Chen Lanshu is flying her glider. She carves around the huge bulb nose of a colony ship, one of the Cosmodrome’s towering children. Her eyes see temperature: she surfs the winter air rolling down off the cryo-chilled fuel tank. Turbulence rattles her bones. “General,” Malahayati sends. “You’re making Rasputin nervous.” “Am I?” Lanshu banks, grinning, spiraling around the fuel tank. The machine hates risk. Risk to the General, sure, but also risk to Rasputin’s ships. “Is that the word he used, exactly?” “He can be very charming,” the submind assures her. Malahayati works with Chen Lanshu, and she is certainly charming, but this is Rasputin’s territory, Rasputin the tacit king, the brooding wary first-among-equals. Yesterday Lanshu spoke to a colony ship AI and it called Rasputin ‘the Tyrant.’ Not without affection. And certainly not without respect. “He can charm me in person,” Lanshu suggests. “He’s very private, lately.” “Then he can sulk.” She spreads her arms and legs and climbs a thermal, whirling up, arrowing off the top and out away from the colony ships towards the defensive wall. Her glider’s a second skin, whipcrack-taut paramuscle, like a flying fox. The Cosmodrome races past beneath her. She waggles her wings at a cloud of passing sensor mites: a saucy hello. Two of the security division’s MBTs drill in the mothyards. “I don’t understand why you came,” Malahayati says. She’s probably lying. Malahayati understands Lanshu very, very well. “I don’t understand why you masked yourself yesterday, during the launch.” The launch. SABER GREEN. Rasputin quietly moving another doomsday weapon into Earth orbit. And all the other launches, too, not just weapons but people, the colonization schedule pushed up... as if the need to disperse is now imperative. General Chen Lanshu banks out across the Wall. Look at all that beauty! Look at the highway rolling off across green hills and grey mountains. Imagine, now, imagine if she just landed and started walking, out away from everything, into the wilderness... “Imagine something going wrong,” she says. “Imagine this road choked with corpses. Imagine the security team gunning down refugees as they try to force their way onto the ships. Imagine cars from here to the horizon— ” those stupid old-fashioned cars everyone still owns, because the strange uneven advancement of this post-Traveler world leaves some things unchanged. “You expect violence?” Malahayati says, in that conciliatory, careful way of hers, her way of managing meat people. “Something beyond our capability to preempt or contain?” Expect? As a military professional? No, no. But— Once, when she was younger, sixty or seventy, Chen Lanshu pulled rank to get a look at the Never-Be installation in Taipei. She watched the images in the fresco and she felt... this foreboding, this enormous weight, a dread that refused to attach itself to any specific threat. And she felt it again, last year, when she was briefed on the project in Lhasa, the vision machine... She shivers. Her wings shudder and tremble in the airstream. “Isn’t that what we do, Mala?” she says. “Why we still have soldiers? Why we made you? Expectation.” The Traveler came out of nowhere. Entirely unanticipated. Imagine if it hadn’t been friendly. Imagine that. Rasputin surely has.

Ghost Fragment: Vex 5

RECORD 0-CHASM-0

My love. I’ve opened this log as an apology.

As a scientist, I believe in record-keeping. I believe in protocols, peer review, and ethical conduct. I believe in the importance of disbelief — you know: let’s run that one more time.

What I’m doing here in Lhasa isn’t science. It’s unethical, secret, and shameful. And after what happened in Ishtar, dearest Chioma, I know you’d be furious with me for getting involved. Forty years isn’t far enough to forget a day like that.

But I believe it’s important. The least I can do is keep a few notes for you.

RECORD 0-CHASM-01

Trial one. Subject one.

It was an act of stupid loneliness. I used the device on myself because I...

[silence: 0:08]

I missed you. We hadn’t been apart for more than a year since we met. I’m not a very good wife, am I? You write me every week, even with all Hyperion’s work and all Hyperion’s distance keeping you from me. And I act like it’s not enough.

We built the device in mimicry of the Vex gateway systems from Ishtar. An observatory, yes, but I think of it as a mind-ship. Capable of displacing its payload across space and time.

The lab is cold and isolated. We are quarantined from the world, physically and mentally. We can’t send messages out. If we breach the Vex manifolds, even our words might transmit contagion. One night last month I missed you and so I —

I thought that I could look inside the device, and find one of the other Chiomas. I thought I could call out to one of the forks we sent out there to explore.

I just wanted to send my love.

RECORD 0-CHASM-02

Zakharik Gilmanovich Bekhterev. May he rest in peace. When our probes continued to fail, when my report remained our only positive finding, he volunteered to use the device. One minute of subjective experience inside.

We took precautions. They worked. Bekhterev’s experience left no physical damage.

After we extracted him, he said that he felt determined. I asked him what he meant and he said that he meant it, he had been determined, he could feel all his choices set out before him like a railroad. Deviation was impossible.

He died by suicide. I wonder if he was trying to make a point.

RECORD 0-CHASM-03

We’ve decided not to abort. It’s insane, isn’t it? There are pressures on us I can’t tell you about until I see you again.

The purpose of the system is intelligence, you see. It’s stenciled right on the hull: SxISR. Special asset. We would very much like to make it work reliably.

Our supervisory warmind has devised a drug it says will protect and prepare us.

I am beginning to wonder if we were wrong about the merchant and the alchemist. Or if that explanation of time was incomplete.

RECORD 0-CHASM-09

Kind Lakpha. He meditated before he went in. Nothing but déjà vu and three seconds of screams. The screaming passed and he remembers nothing. The déjà vu hasn’t. He says it’s getting better — he feels that we’ve had this conversation only ten times before, not a thousand.

I’ve suggested that we attempt mind forking. We need more sane people to work with. Please forgive me, my love.

We are all growing superstitious. The behavior of the device is inconsistent. Impossible to replicate. We turn to ritual behavior to appease it.

RECORD 0-CHASM-31

Rajesh. When he reached a displacement of eight he told us he was dead. I believed him. He was dead. He spoke to us. It was true. Whatever he saw, it was his own future.

He’s fine, afterwards. When I look into his eyes I wonder what came back wearing his skin. But that thought is unscientific.

We speak of nothing but the device. We talk about it like a demigod. When I get out of here I know the whole world will look like a fraying veil.

I think it’s clear that part of the problem is substrate. We need more than flesh and drug to survive this.

RECORD 0-CHASM-52

I heard you, my love. I was at six, oscillating on the event axis, coordinated with a known manifold. I heard you. You were talking to me — not me, but another me, another Maya Sundaresh.

You said, my love, so many strange things have happened, and it’s been so long. We’ve come so far. Do you ever want to go home?

And I said, not me but the other me, I said, my love, I am always home.

I’m resigning, my love. I’m done with this work and I’m done with being apart from you. I’ll see you again soon. I can’t take this journal out with me, so I’ve left it for the others, and asked them to continue the log.

Maybe it’ll become a tradition. The gospel of our little cult.

Ghost Scan: The Rig, Titan, #2

Ghost: Shipping manifestos. Hm. Looks like they traded frequently with a settlement… wow. Way out there. It's called… Hyperion. Huh."

Winterbite

Don't slip or you'll hurt yourself. A lot.

NEOMUNA HISTORICAL ARCHIVE

ARTIFACT REF X0003; EXO-IND4b0082.log 090260163

TYPE: bridge audio recorder

PARTIES: M. Sundaresh [IC-3612], C. Esi [IC-3977], L. Tse [IC-6055], C. Sanchez [IC-5438], A. Murib (IC-xxxx)

//TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS…//

ESI: What was that?

MURIB: We got hit. Engine 7 is down.

SUNDARESH: We can't take another one of those! This is a colony ship!

ESI: Hard aport. Put Hyperion between us and that—

MURIB: Sir, the r—

ESI: And flood the EM spectrum with—

MURIB: CHIOMA! The round—the one that hit us—it's moving!

ESI: What?

SYSTEM WARNING//STRUCTURAL IMPACT

SUNDARESH: He's right. I'm reading… arms and legs? It's attacking engine 6.

SANCHEZ: I'll scramble a squad of Cloud Walkers. They can suit up and—

MURIB: The maneuvers I'm pulling'll fling them into space, even with mag boots.

TSE: Bringing point-defense cannons about.

ESI: It's only three meters across. Sure you can hit that without peeling us open?

SYSTEM WARNING//STRUCTURAL IMPACT

TSE: Kinda have to, Cap'n. Firing.

MURIB: Buset! That thing just took a fifteen-millimeter burst to the chest!

ESI: Again.

TSE: Firing. It's clear!

MURIB: Mostly. Looks like it left a… is that a spear through our bulkhead?

SUNDARESH: Not sure. It's some kind of exotic matter, spitting all my sensor pings back at me, amplified, like a…

ESI: We can figure it out later, dear. Sanchez, how's the ECM?

SANCHEZ: Not great. Whatever they're using to coordinate, it's not electromagnetic. Getting something weird, though.

MURIB: Weirder than the three-meter hitchhiker knocking on the hull?

SANCHEZ: Maybe. You remember those Vex signals you discovered?

SUNDARESH: On occasion, Carlo.

SANCHEZ: There's a big one! Recurring. Coming from the outer system. Think it's a distress signal.

ESI: Ignore it and get me—

SUNDARESH: No! Bring us back around into the moon's shadow!

ESI: Maya!

SUNDARESH: We need to break line of sight. I can feed that Vex signal into that thing skewering us—use it like an amplifier. It might trick these attackers into thinking we're a Vex ship.

MURIB: It's a tightbeam transmission. We'll have to ride it back to the source to keep that up. You sure you want to meet whatever makes a Vex cry for help?

ESI: Enemy of my enemy, Arief. We might just find a safe port in this storm.

Ghost Fragment: Dead Orbit

RECORD 978-ECLIPSE-4165

lo? Hello? Are you...oh, please, let it be alive. Wake up little Ghost, wake up. Just please give me some sign that you're listening.

All right. I don't need...I know you're listening. Why would you be out here if you weren't here to...It's a miracle I found you out here. On this thing.

I didn't know the Traveler sent its Ghosts out this far from home.

Poor little lost thing. Please wake up.

I am an Arach of Dead Orbit. I am the last of the crew of the Sophia. And this place is...it doesn't have a name. We called it A-113.

How long have you been here, little Ghost? Why did you come?

Listen. We came here on behalf of the Fleet. We were scavengers. Sixty-one days ago a Dead Orbit scout detected an unknown presence in stationary orbit about Ceres. 133 west. Looked Golden Age, by the signatures. Human. A small station. No prior records. We -

I suppose we should have disclosed it to the Tower, but we didn't. I didn't. That was my call. We wanted it for ourselves, whatever it was. For the Fleet. If we'd told the Tower, maybe they might have sent a Guardian not of our making instead...Doesn't matter now, does it, little one?

If I ramble it's because I haven't slept in seven days.

Seven point five days ago; that was when the Sophia dropped into the Belt. They saw us at once. We dropped and the alarms went off and that was the end, that was the end right then, but they let us go on for another seven-point-five days, didn't they? The alarms. Hostile scan detected. An Awoken ship had us in its sights, just a couple hundred kilometers away. Like it had been waiting for us. It could have wiped us out of space right then but instead it crippled our engines and our comms and then for days it played with us, like a cat, we limped half-way round the Belt and it was always there...

We abandoned the Sophia one-point-five days ago. We jumped ship for A-113.

I don't know what else to call it. I don't know what it was built for. There are these things, like keyholes. The rangefinders say they go on for thousands of kilometers. The others went inside and found - well, some of them are still screaming about the eye. All the other voices that come back are more terrible.

There's salvage here but it'll never come home, none of it. None of it except maybe you, little Ghost.

Wake up.

Wake up. Go home. Tell them to strike A-113 from the records. Tell them to forget the Sophia, and the mission, and her crew.

END RECORD

Final Warning

My Esteemed Colleagues,

While enjoying my afternoon cup of Psamathe Silver Tip (a gift from Dr. Dewan after his sabbatical—thank you again, dear friend) and ruminating on our planet's orbital corrections and the orbital corrections we ourselves make throughout our own lives, a completely unrelated revelation came to me.

I realized, often in times of rest, how my mind wanders its own furthermost reaches, and how the answers to my most vexing questions present themselves at that time with absolutely no fanfare. (This phenomenon is worth studying in its own right by people much smarter than I, but I digress.) My most recent revelation comes in regard to our current pursuits with Atmospheric Spectrometer #003a, a.k.a. Final Warning, as I have heard it being called around the lab.

The odd capabilities this "Final Warning" harbors have long been suspected by Dr. Sundaresh to be a byproduct of the Veil, replicating energy signatures we most often observe in fluid dynamics. With that in mind, I propose we begin testing the ability to engage that energy using both the Magnus and gyroscopic effects. We attempt to create a "paracausal skipping stone," if you will.

How we accomplish this remains to be seen, but I encourage you to not spend the next few days thinking about it, as we will discuss it at the next staff meeting.

Enjoy your weekends,

Dr. Esi

Let me tell you a secret. If you ever want to see what's been watching you since the very beginning, just stand on that line, and look... up. [KEEP LOOKING. HIGHER|FURTHER|DEEPER. DIVE.]

[deke-rivers-1957]

Walter's Captaincy

Walter takes off his helmet as he sits down on the bench. Coach Wade comes up to him.

"Takin too many damn hits out there. I can't have ya gettin another concussion."

Walter takes a drink of water.

"Ah know coach. Ah gotta work on that."

Coach Wade pats his shoulder.

"Least ya showed all the runts how ya keep cool under pressure. Now ya just sit back and watch 'em try out to be your back up."

"Ok coach."

Coach Wade walks away and blows his whistle.

"Awright pipsqueaks line up! Now that ya watched our current starters practice it's time to show your own skills. Everybody tryin out for quarterback step forward. Everyone else start runnin laps."

Walter watches as two boys step up and follow coach Wade to a part of the football field.

"Reno! Front and center."

Clint moves so that he's right in front of coach Wade.

"Gimme 10 Hail Marys."

He hands Clint the first football and blows his whistle. Clint proceeds to throw the ball as far as he can 10 times. Walter watches each of Clint's throws and takes note of each result. Every throw is over 50 yards but it looks like the boy is straining himself and has no accuracy.

"Now gimme 10, 20 yard throws in that bin there."

Walter analyzes Clint's stance when he throws. While there were more successes, Clint still completely misses the bin a few times. Coach Wade blows his whistle.

"Awright stretch out. Wells you next."

Walter watches Rusty go through the same drills Clint did. Naturally that one extra year allowed him to have better accuracy given that he only missed his first 20 yard throw. The shocking part about Rusty's ability to Walter is that he doesn't have a high throwing distance. His Hail Mary throws were nowhere near as far as Clint's were. They consistently drop off after 40 yards.

"Line up!"

All the boys line up in front of coach Wade.

"Now we're gonna have a practice game. I wanna see these two's footwork."

Walter watches all the boys divide into two teams. Some of his own teammates join in so the teams are even.

"Wells you first. Reno hit the pine."

Clint looks a little confused so Walter pipes in.

"Here sit down next ta me."

Clint understands that and sits down next to Walter.

"Thanks. Ah thought coach was gonna yell at me."

"Nah. He'll only chew ya out if yer slackin or sassin him. There's a sophomore who ain't that smart Ah see in the weight room sometimes. Ah ain't ever seen coach talk ta someone the way he does wit that kid."

"Why?"

Walter takes a drink of water.

"Ah dunno. He probly knows how ta tell the difference between havin issues an jus bein an idiot. Tha's why he yells at Jodie all the time."

Walter and Clint sit back and watch the game until it's his turn.

"Awright Wells hit the pine."

Rusty sits down next to Walter.

"What do ya think of my game?"

Walter rubs his chin thinking.

"Honestly it can use some work. Ya don't move well in the pocket an ya gave up some pretty bad fumbles."

Rusty looks downcast.

"I see."

They watch Clint as he goes through the motions of the practice game.

"He's good in the pocket."

"Yeah. But he's missin a bit too many throws. Coach's gonna have a hard time pickin between the two a ya."

After try outs are over coach Wade comes up to Walter.

"I wanna hear your opinion on the boys."

Walter looks up at coach Wade and says his piece.

"Well coach it's hard ta say. Clint's got good footwork but he ain't very accurate. Rusty's got accuracy but he can't throw more than 40 yards an stands like a statue in the pocket."

"Who makes the team?"

Walter sighs as he understands that someone has to be able to step in for him when he graduates next year or when he gets injured. Footwork and accuracy are equally important so how can you weigh one over the other?

"Coach. Ah think Clint oughta make the team. Cause it's easier ta teach 'em how ta be accurate than it is ta teach somethin that oughta come natural like an instinct."

For once coach Wade gives a slight smile. It's as if Walter said exactly what he was thinking.

"Go on home Walter. I'll post who made the team next week."

"Ya got it coach."

Walter gets in his car and starts to drive home. His aunt Dolly just finished making dinner.

"How were try outs Walter?"

"They were good. Coach Wade had me sit out fer most of it. No point in havin me get hurt durin a practice game."

"That's nice. Now eat up. Dinner's on the table."

Walter sits down at the table and starts to eat. He remembers when he first tried out for the team. His uncle Willy told him he at to try out for at least sport team at the school during his freshman year. Walter didn't know which sport to try out for so he just followed his cousin Joey to the football field. Joey was the school's quarterback at the time and Walter liked watching him play. Coach Wade had him do the exact same drills and was amazed when Walter managed to nail a perfect 50 yard throw.

"Aunt Dolly Ah jus realized why coach picked me ta join the football team."

"Oh? And why's that dear?"

"Because even though mah footwork was bad Ah always managed ta make a play or keep it from bein a disaster. Even when Ah get tackled Ah almost never lose the football."

"I see. What brought this up?"

Walter puts his fork down.

"Ah coach asked me ta give mah opinion on which a the boys oughta be mah backup. Ah told 'em the freshman should make the team cause he never got sacked. He's so light on his feet it didn't seem to matter that he missed his throws. But Ah still feel a lil guilty. We had a sophomore try out too and he made all his throws, but he couldn't move well and dropped the football when people tackled 'em."

Aunt Dolly nods.

"Why do you feel guilty?"

"Ah only made the team cause mah throws were powerful an accurate. An here Ah'm tellin coach that accuracy don't matter."

She stands up and walks over to Walter.

"Don't go doubting yourself now. You know Mr. Wade wouldn't be giving you all this feedback if he didn't think you can get better. He would've given you longer drills if he thought you still needed to prove yourself."

Walter starts to smile.

"You're right. Thanks aunt Dolly."

She sits back down and the two start to eat again. Walter realizes that the only way he'll be off the team is if he's so injured he can't play football anymore. And that's something he hopes will never happen.

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[ceadgearst]

one of my ideas about what the afterlife's like

(a short writing)

She looks at me with one of those wide sunhats on, the type pretty ladies wear on the beach, her eyes are obscured by sunglasses and I can see she's wearing her favorite lipstick

she looks over at me, tilts her head a bit and says

"Is something wrong?" The grass is too green here, love. The sun is too bright. The air is too warm and sweet like the nicotine in my lungs. the black and mild in my hand smokes so slow that it's a literal drag. Everything feels right and wrong

"I'm fine, baby" I lie and she accepts it, smiling at me with a smile that says she knows it really isn't, but that she wouldn't pry further. I feel the wind blow through my hair and lift it, not a cold wind, maybe a good minnesota August or September. Maybe October, when we fell in love.

She pours some pop into my glass and we sit there, sipping it and admiring the view, there's a lake here that stretches out for a while, but you can see where the land curves around the sea and gives it form. I can't tell what lake it is but I can smell the freshwater sea creeping into my breathe

The trees drift and sway and occasionally give up leaves to the wind, not too many though, they're still keeping their volume. I hold her hand in mine, like I've done so many times and feel her soul in her palm, like I've done so many times before

I caress her hand with my thumb as I hold her hand and look at her, watching the sunlight praise her beauty. She smiles a sweet, mournful smile at me and we lean in and kiss

"Where are we, love?" I ask, not remembering when, where or how we ended up at this beautiful place

she looks out at the water before us and says

"I think you know, honey"

my heart quickens for a second and then relaxes

"Is it really?" I ask

She nods slightly and puts her hands in her lap

"I thought this would be a lot scarier, but with you next to me I feel fine. I don't even remember what it felt like, I swear one second I was there and one second I was here" I say, trying to make sense of everything.

I didn't want to ask who arrived first, as my confusion and her knowledge seemed to confirm the worst, but I was glad we were finally together, forever. In the literal sense of the phrase.

I cry, I can't help it. I just think of all the beautiful memories we made together and I mourn it all. I weep for joy that it happened and weep for the fact it had to end, even if it never really did. It all flowed together to the point where it doesn't feel disjointed when you're walking towards your destination, it only feels that way when you try to look back to see your path.

She sees me crying and she cries too. We can't help it, it's what we do. We hold each other so close. I love that feeling, I love it the most.

I ask her, with tears in my eyes

"did we do good with what we've had?"

She runs her fingers through my hair and says

"I think we did the best we could, all things considered"

And I can't stop thinking I could've done better, I could've done better. But now it's the point where it's the best I've done. No take backs or corrections from that point.

the sun slowly sinks behind the lake, behind the trees, lowering and lowering as beautiful colors dance in the sky, giving way to night eventually

I've calmed down some, so I ask her another question

"What do we do now?"

"We wait, baby"

and now the moon is up, I take her hand in mine again and help her to stand. I hold both her hands in mine and look at her. My soulmate, in life and death. Death couldn't even do us part.

"I was scared death would be such a lonely thing, dying seems so lonely sometimes"

"Life isn't inherently lonely, why would death be any different?"

We spend the night under the plentiful stars and sleep on blankets in the grass, it feels like a warm October night

We're holding each other asleep like we did in life

in the morning we fly kites and wade through the water, kissing each other in the middle of the sea

We dry ourselves off for lunch, eat, and then collapse on the grass

looking at all the clouds that won't last

we're past that, now