#it pains me to admit that the story would probably be better as a whole without sorata considering i DO like him

[darnell-la]

Sub! Logan would be so fucking hot. And the way you write him is soo good! I'd love to see your ideas about how he would act as a sub.

note: we rushed this BUT we have more. better ones coming soon!

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Going to pearls,” a woman spoke as she got into his car. “What’s your name?” He asked to confirm. “Y/n,” she said. The man turned around, realizing that this young lady was alone.

Usually, he picks up a huge group. That’s why he has a limousine, but she’s alone and has no one on her guest list.

“You gonna drive, handsome?” Y/n asked. Logan quickly turned back around and began driving. He was surprised by the nickname, but he let it go. He’s been called everything by now.

Logan’s been driving for ten minutes, music low, and y/n looking out the window. He’s never felt this awkwardness because it wasn’t him and only one person in the car.

“So — Friends busy?” He asked. Y/n slowly turned her head, looking at the man in the mirror. “All canceled. As always,” she added before she looked back out of the window.

“Oh,” he said, feeling a bit bad. He could see she paid one hundred for every hour tonight, and he would be with her for six hours.

“I mean, I can talk to my job, probably give you a refund or somethin,” he said, feeling like he should help her in some way. Usually, the man couldn’t care less, but y/n’s a young woman going to a club alone.

“I’ll be fine — Guess all the drinks I bought will be for me,” she said in a low voice that pained Logan to hear. She seemed sweet, and her friends canceled out on her. All of them.

“What was this for? Like, tonight? What did you have planned for tonight?” He kept a conversation going which confused y/n. His profile says he preferred not to talk and that he wouldn’t talk first.

“Well, it’s kind of my birthday, so — Yeah,” y/n sighed. “Oh, well — Happy birthday?” He said, not knowing if it was appropriate. The woman giggled to herself at his attempt to make her feel better.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna drink? I’ve got plenty and I can’t leave with any bottles,” she said, pointing to the bottles on the table, all hard liquor and only one juice for a mixture.

“I kind of have to drive you back home,” Logan turned down her offer, which he’d never done before. “C’mon! It’s my birthday,” she smiled at the man as she raised a bottle for him to take.

Logan waved her off, wanting to be responsible and think about her life that could be at stake, but he still felt bad about the empty spaces on the couches.

“Fine, but only if you don’t report me,” he joked, making her laugh as she took a bottle herself. “Cheers to me and my only friend who showed up which is the bodyguard,” she raised her drink.

“Cheers,” the man chuckled before raising the drink to his lips. He watched the girl drink, thinking it would be a small amount like any young lady, but her — She had almost chugged half the bottle.

“Woah, bub — Don’t hurt yourself,” he said, making her roll her eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t be mad because I can drink more than you,” she said, wanting to have some kind of fun tonight. Getting her bodyguard drunk and then driving her home sounds like a fun story to tell.

“Trust me, y/n — You can’t,” he said, but y/n didn’t believe him. That was until he shrugged his shoulders and chugged the whole bottle. The expression across her face was stunned. She’s never seen anything like that before.

“What the fuck,” she whispered. “Yeah — Kinda my power,” he chuckled. The man turned around to start his job and stood outside of her closed section until she spoke.

“Wait! I-I’m kind of alone so I don’t mind if you — stay? Please, I kind of feel like shit,” she admitted. She told her friends she was completely fine about their cancellation, but she’s not. She lost a lot of money and her mood was talk.

Logan couldn’t turn the offer down just like the last, so he stayed. The two drank all night, finishing every last bottle. She even got him to dance with her which he wouldn’t have done with anyone else. He had no idea what’s gotten into him tonight.

“God, tonight was fun,” y/n said as the man turned the corner where her apartment was. “Yeah, it was,” Logan smiled as he took a quick look at the young lady who was now sitting in the passenger seat, body turned towards him.

“You don’t understand how much I appreciate you, Mister Logan. You were the best fun I’ve had in like years!” She admitted. He wasn’t scared to drink and dance like most of her friends were.

“You’re the most fun I’ve had in maybe forever,” Logan meant it, but she had no idea who this man was. She was too sad to notice when she first met him and now she’s too drunk to realize.

“Is there a way I can repay you? Maybe like a cup of tea? I don’t fuckin’ know,” y/n laughed with him. “I don’t know, hun, I kind of have to get back home,” he said.

“How far do you live from here?” She asked. “About thirty minutes,” he said. “Oh, no,” she gasped. He’d been drinking because of her, and now she was going to have him drive back and half an hour just to get him.

“Don’t worry, bub. I've been doin’ this a lot,” he said. “Yeah, but I’ll be stressed all night. Please, stay the night. I have a spare room? It’s the least I can do,” she said, sounding like a beg. “God, it’s hard to turn you down. Do you know that?” He said as y/n smiled.

Logan parked the car for the night before y/n got him situated in her spare room. “Still want tea?” She asked. “I think I’ll be fine, bub,” he said. “But a shot would due,” he added. He had seen the liquor drawer she had.

“Comin’ right up, handsome,” she said before walking off. As she did, he couldn’t help but watch her figure. He scanned her dress earlier, but she looked way better just now. Maybe it was the alcohol? He didn’t know.

“You always drink this much?” She asked. “Yeah, and you?” He asked as she handed him his shot before sitting next to him with hers. “As you can see,” she giggled.

“Cheers to a goodnight with a man I brought back from the club?” She couldn’t help herself. “Cheers,” the man downed the drink as he watched her. She’s looked so drinking…

“God, that it’s hard,” she shook her head. “Yeah,” he aimlessly said as he watched a drop of liquor roll down her lip. “Hey, c’mere,” the man said, softly turning her face before wiping the liquor from her mouth.

Y/n was shocked and silent, not knowing what to do after. That seemed so sweet, but at the same time, she was drunk out of her mind.

“They look pretty,” the man spoke, breaking the silence. His thumb grazed her bottom lip, loving the smooth feeling of them. “Really?” She asked low, feeling shy all of a sudden. She hasn’t been all night until now.

“Mhm hm,” he mumbled as he slowly leaned into her. She felt like she was in a trance the way she felt she needed to lean in. Her heart was raising until their lips touched.

At first, it was sweet and slow, maybe a little tongue but after they both opened and locked eyes, they couldn’t help it.

Y/n quickly hopped on top of Logan, now grinding on his hips as he held her up by her ass. The man was shocked at her aggression and dominance but couldn’t complain.

“You taste so good,” she said under her breath as she kissed him. “I’m glad I took you home,” she added before moving down to his neck. She felt this hard urge to mark the man she hardly knew.

“Fuck, y/n,” Logan moaned low. He knew his voice could go that high. Y/n hummed into his neck, sucking long and rough to make sure he was living here marked up.

“Can feel how hard you are. Bet you’ve been waiting for me to touch you all night, hm?” She asked, hands traveling down his stomach until she could palm his clothes cock.

“Mhm hm,” the man whined at her grip. “Words, baby,” she demanded in a soft voice. “Y-Yes, baby,” the man’s mouth went slack at her touch. “So good,” she said before pushing him down in the bed.

“Gonna be good for me tonight?” She asked as he nodded quickly. “Gonna be my birthday gift, baby?” Y/n had lifted her dress before fondling with his belt. “Yes, yes, I am,” he couldn’t hide his heavy breathing.

“Oh god — You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Y/n pulled Logan’s cock out. He was heavy and huge. “Yes, I am,” he answered, wanting to be good for her. He wanted to make her proud. He wanted to make a woman he barely knew, proud.

“He looks hungry,” y/n stroked the man, watching his pre cum leak from the tip. Y/n spat on the man’s cock, making his eyes widen because no one has ever done that to him before. They’d just wrap their mouth around him or push him inside with no preparation.

“Gonna feel so good,” y/n lifted her hips before sliding all the way down in one go. “F-Fuck,” the man cried out, his already bucking up into her.

“Fuck — Could you be my bodyguard every night?” She jokingly asked but the man nodded back so quickly, she thought about it. Maybe he isn’t too bad. He was fun tonight. He could be fun every night.

“Gonna let me wet you every night, baby?” Y/n asked as she leaned down on his body. “Fuck, yes — I wanna be with you every night,” the man’s hips moved slightly up into y/n, causing her to clench around him from how deep he gets.

“How old are you again, baby?” Y/n asked. “Two hundred,” the man’s hands gripped y/n’s ass, not thinking about his response. “A man with a sense of humor — So hot,”

Y/n rolled her hips, grinding on the man to feel every thick and long inch in her. The way his skin rubbed her walls, made her squeeze around him. He was close but felt embarrassed about how short he was going to last.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Y/n asked, seeing the man bite his lip, trying to focus on holding back. “C’mon — I want you to fill me,” y/n whispered in his ear before giving it a light slick.

“Fuck,” the man let out a shaky moan as his legs shook. “C’mon, baby — Cum in me,” y/n began bouncing in the man’s cock, feeling him twitch inside her. She just knew he was going to give her a big and well-needed load.

“C’mon,” y/n rode him harder, filling the room with their skin slapping against each other and her wet cunt coating his cock. “I’m cumming!” Logan warned through his teeth as his hips bucked upwards a few times.

Y/n kept riding him, mixing his seed inside of her until she felt like she had enough. “So fuckin’ good, baby. I wonder if you taste you,” y/n spoke, feeling the urge to suck him dry.

“Fuck, it’s too much,” the old man said, grilling her hips a bit tight so she could slow down, but she wouldn’t. “Oh, really?” She asked, feeling the knot grow in her stomach. She was so close.

“God- Fuck — I can’t take it, baby,” Logan tried begging her. “Yes, you can. Just a few more seconds, baby. You think you can do that?” She asked, looking into Logan’s eyes. They were glossy and full of lust.

The man nodded his head with a shaky hum, feeling the need to cum again. “Good boy,” she spoke as she leaned up, rocking her hips back and forth until she couldn’t anymore.

Y/n released on the man, earning a whine from him. After she came, he couldn’t hold himself in. He had come inside of her again. For the second time.

“Oh god,” y/n breathed out, feeling so full. “S-Sorry,” the man shook as she leaned in front of his face, hands rubbing his cheek. “Wanna feel more of you,” she said.

The man was shocked at how many times this woman could go, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. He wanted to pleasure her and make her happy. He tried to be good for her. And he was for the whole night and many more.

[aryaryxoxo]

GOSH ME LOVE BRATTY/SASSY BITCH READER WHO ABSOLUTELY HATE MIYA ATSUMU AT SIGHT

So likeeeee you were just minding your own business, right?? Just trying to strategize for the next damn score—

When out of NOWHERE, BOOM—You get smacked in the head by a volleyball

Not a cute little bonk. More of a full-force, might-send-your-soul-out-your-body, anime cutscene-type shit

Your glasses? Gone.Your dignity? Also gone.Your will to live? Hanging by a thread.

And you’re just there, like, “What the actual fuck just happened,” while holding your poor, abused head and trying to find your glasses on the floor. One of the lenses almost popped out. You were on the verge of tears. Not from pain—from rage

You slowly turned around like some horror movie villain and guess. GUESS who you see

Miya. Fucking. Atsumu.

That blonde setter menace with his smug little face. Already hated him when he and his twin decided to copy your team’s freak quick like they invented the damn thing—but THIS??

Nah. This was personal.

And the worst part? He just looked at you.No apology. No concern. Just a blink and then moved on like you were a minor inconvenience in his journey to greatness.

Oh it’s ON now.

You were gonna make this man’s life miserable.

You stomped over to Tsukishima and was like, “Block his freak quick.”

He didn’t even blink. “Okay.” That’s why he’s your ride or die.

And like. Sure. It didn’t always work. But the way Atsumu glared every time Tsukki was up there trying? Worth. Every. Second.

And then. THEN. It’s Atsumu’s turn to serve. You know he’s like, a neat freak about silence during his serve. Like some zen monk. So what did you do?

You whistled. Loud. And long

Did he look over? Yes. Did you pretend like you didn’t do anything? Also yes. Were you dying inside? No, because you live off of this man’s irritation now.

Then on the next serve? You whistled again.

And when you “accidentally” shoved past someone and tripped into the floor like a walking disaster?

Whole gym turned. Atsumu looked at you like you were the embodiment of chaos.

You? You just stuck your tongue out at him.

Because yes, you are that childish. And yes, you live for the drama.

By the third serve interruption, you knew he was about to snap. And oh he did.

He literally stormed over to you, pissed as hell, looking like he wanted to fight you in the parking lot.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You blinked up at him all sweet like.

“What? Can’t handle a lil’ noise?”

“Oh, so you admit it? You’re just being disrespectful now?”

You crossed your arms. “Okay hypocrite, your cheer squad was SCREAMING when it was our turn to serve. But the second it’s your golden moment, suddenly the whole gym’s gotta act like it’s a funeral? Kinda hypocritical.”

And like—the CROWD WENT SILENT. You could hear a pin drop. Ukai was sweating. Someone in the audience gasped. The umpire legit looked like he wanted to murder someone

“If you two don’t cut it out,” the ref said, “I’ll eject you both.”

Okay fine. Whatever. You backed off.

BUT. Every time Atsumu scored? He looked at you. Deadass eye contact.

And every time your boys outsmarted him? You stuck your tongue out like the menace you were born to be.

And when your team WON?? Like you know they would

Ohhhh, the way you marveled watching him bow across from you. Like there he was, looking like he just lost a war, and you leaned in all smug and whispered:

“Better luck next time, pretty boy.”

The look he gave you??? If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under. But also like… you blushed a little. Shut up.

And then. You saw him talking to his captain. And like… yeah. That hit weird. Probably their last game together. Okay maybe your heart twinged a bit.

Just a bit.

10 YEARS LATER

He’s in some fancy-ass interview chair, looking expensive, hair still stupid, wedding ring flashing on his finger.

The host goes, “So, how did you and your wife meet?”

He laughs. Like, full laugh. “That woman HATED me.”

He’s grinning like it’s his favorite story in the world

“Hit her in the head with a ball once. She never forgave me. Messed with my serves, made noise, faked accidents, tripped all over the gym… stuck her tongue out at me every time I looked her way. I used to glare at her. Every. Damn. Game.”

And then he shrugs, soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Now when I score, I still glance at the bench and she still sticks her tongue out. And I still glare. And I still love it.”

Side note: thank you everyone for 300 followers hihi😘😘

[dogydayz]

I have SO many feelings about Skids and Swerve too

I just dunno how to word them gnajakak

For my that I'm working on that is Swerve centric, Skids plays a MAJOR part in Swerve's story and I had to sit down with my friend to study his character and there is SO MUCH I could go on about him!

One major part is how he hates sitting back and doing nothing, but being forced to do so and watch anyway. Due to his trauma that he forgot, but very much still affects him, where he was forced to witness the people he thought he had just saved die.

Skids looked the WORST during the Swearth arc. Like, he looked more miserable seeing Swerve suffer than when he was reliving his trauma istg

Also this scene

Look at how he's so tenderly holding Swerve's face-

And this one too

IT TOOK ME A BIT TO NOTICE BUT SKIDS IS HOLDING SWERVE'S OTHER HAND AND UGH!

Also, look at him piggy backing Tailgate

He also would and has thrown punches for the people he cares for and very easily resorts to violence for them

Also Swerve calls Skids his best friend and would do everything to save his friend and even cried panicking for him (we don't see his visor doing the lil corner tear thing often)

And he also is always so concerned about Skids in general he also gets a lil aggressive when it comes to his friends

And just AAAAAAAAAAAA

I DONT THINK PEOPLE TALK ABOUT THEIR FRIENDSHIP ENOUGH WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE THEY'RE ALWAYS IGNORED WHEN THEIR FRIENDSHIP WAS SUCH A BIG PART IN SO MANY MOMENTS!!!!!!

Ahem

Anyway

Sorry for the ramble I just get a lil passionate about them and I just think more people need to do more stuff about them or know about them 😌

And this isn't even all I have to say, but a lot of it is relating to my au that ties into canon and stuff I explore in general in the story and that is a whole other ramble in itself gkdkakaak

Hope ya don't mind this long ass ask tho TuT

I LOVE THIS!!! Ill be entirely real i dont often go back thru the comic because of how painful so many parts are (it makes me cry really easily) so youve been able to describe it soooo much better than i have. I adore them. i literally adore them. Skids cares so much for people. It’s WHY his trauma affected him so horribly. oh, and also? when he was literally DYING, his only thought was to try to GET TO BRAINSTORM. TO TELL HIM WHAT HAD HAPPENED. TO ADMIT TO IT HAVING BEEN HIS OWN DOING. HE DIDNT EVEN CARE ABOUT HIMSELF!!! Skids’ EVERYTHING is utterly agonizing to me. in my story when he gets revived and everyone is freaking out in unadulterated joy, Nautica feels horrendous because she cant seem to make herself feel more excited to see him again (due to the whole grief thing). And she tries to apologize, but he just grabs her by the shoulders and is like “I literally COULD NOT CARE LESS about that! I’m alive, and all of you still are too-! That’s all I care about, you’re all okay!!”

Swerve will probably break down seeing him back tbh. that shit fucked him up. He was like, noticeably more nervous and such after all of that went down (and can we talk about the fact that Cyclonus basically took over in standing up for Swerve and comforting him? Like. FUCK man. goddamn it. im going to be violently ill about all of them.)

[holdmymetaphor]

okay heres some things about houses childhood i think about

theres clearly a few dynamics here

-he hates his father, resents the abuse, recognizes that bad things were done to him

-probably when he was very young, he didnt understand why bad things happened to him, was not intentionally A Bad Kid

-because he surmised his dad was not his dad at 12 i assume the abuse started from a young age.

-house mentions ice baths and sleeping outside, but he also mentions his father not speaking to him for months at a time, which is interesting to me. when house tries to qualify the severity of abuse to eve he says "not as bad as your [trauma] if how your acting about it shows how bad it is." which to me is pretty noncommittal. was he doing that bc he was still kind of lying, trying to get info out of her? if not, it seems like house is actually unsure of how to qualify his own abuse, which would lead me to believe it was largely emotional and verbal. although i suspect that his father did physically abuse him at times, to me this exchange implies that house thinks the ice baths and sleeping outside were the worse of it (interestingly both acting on his whole body and ability to regulate temperature)

-at some point he acts out intentionally, instead of unintentionally, bc his father is Wrong and shouldnt be abusing house in these ways(the fact that the thing he wanted to hear from his father was "you were right, you did the right thing" 😭😭)

-this leads to worse and more cruel punishments, which house both detests and wants to avoid repeating. furthering his resentment, but reinforcing his fathers authority

- despite his knowledge that his father is wrong, his dad claims to do these acts out of love, to teach dicipline, to toughen him up. (in this way his struggle with god is really an allegory of his father: is it better he hates me (i deserve pain) or loves me (i dont deserve pain) when he does awful things to me? or is it better for him to not exist at all (things just happen, there is no deserving)?

-in my perspective, especially as house got older, into his teens, he was actually probably really "well behaved" finally smart enough to fake social cues and swallow his pride so that his father wouldnt hit him or what have you (which is why he regresses to a child often as an adult, because he was not allowed those things)

its interesting to me, to see how all of houses character is shaped around the shadow of his father. the parts where he is similar: rigid, principled, yell-y, and where he is intentionally different: encourages independent thinking, respects challenges to his authority (only when he has authority lmao that all falls apart when people take his power(read:agency) away, his biggest trigger)

and none of this even gets into his mother, blythe (a word which means both happiness and bland disintrest) which is a whole nother can of worms. the fact that at the funeral she said that "the war was over" (which implied that no matter how much house actually listened to his father, there was still a part of him that couldnt help but to point out the logical issues, and therefore continued abuse)

lastlly, she had said that john loved him. which i think house believes to be true. especially when he tries to talk to his dead father in season 6, he says "i think i focus on the wrong things," implying that he did want to find some peace with that relationship, and that he wanted his fathers love, despite it being illogical, painful and confusing.

that he was willing to look past the abuse was shocking to me, because house is right his father shouldnt of abused him. but it was coming from a place of love, however ill concieved.

this is as close as we get to house praying to god. to admit that the suffering of life cannot be defied or denied, and grasp for the love nestled in between all the pain, however flawed, wrong, or illogical.

in a lot of ways, his story is so much about houses struggle with the body, its agency, its disability, its doom. he literally becomes a doctor to grasp with this ideologically (at times paradoxically) instead of physics because his question isnt really about existance in general

its about why he exists in the broken, painful way he does. and at the end of it, he sets down his need for an answer, righteousness, and admits that despite it all, his body cant help but love. and that love is the death of him. the end of his suffering.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Animated Series ending tier list

Okay this is based on a discussion with @j4gm, kim and mifil the other day

These are all cartoons with the exception of Homestuck. I'll admit I don't get invested in a lot of TV shows, even animated shows, so this is limited to stuff I like. Maybe i forgot something but if i did it's probably not worth talking about.

Here's the list if you're interested in building your own.

So I'll go through each item one by one and explain. Yes, I did arrange them based on better (left) and worse (right) for each tier. I'll start from top to bottom so I have the most energy for the better show endings.

I'm rating them both in how they respect the stories of their show, and how entertaining/cohesive they are as a piece of media. To be honest, the former matters to me more than the latter, but some of the shows at the top of this list aren't even ones I particularly like, because their endings were just that well written.

Astonishing

Owl House. This show got better and better with each episode. I don't know, I was blown away by how bad it was at the start and how great it was at the end. And of every item on this list, this one's ending episode had the best pacing. There was lots of room to breathe, lots of reminders of the connections between various characters, and the villain was taken care of in a satisfying way. And we got a beautiful epilogue. The only reason Owl House is in the same tier as She-ra and Gravity Falls, instead of being its own category, is because I felt it had some shortcomings, particularly s3e2 focused on a bunch of characters nobody has ever had any reason to care for, and a lot of the cast don't reach the potential they could do because they lack focus, so I don't have as much emotional attachment to it as a lot of other shows listed here. Anyway here's my favourite moment:

2. She-Ra and the Princess of Power. This is my favourite show on this list because I think it's the most cohesive of the lot. Even though it has a rough start, and often follows cartoon logic, from the very beginning of She-ra to the end it focuses strongly on the same themes. The cycle of abuse and pain and that feeling you will need to earn love, you need to earn the right to exist. It does so with a wide cast of characters, but it's also very good at trimming down to a smaller cast when it needs more focus. There are a lot of good decisions to make sure it worked in the small runtime it had. The ending of she-ra is basically its entire final season. It's one long arc. It doesn't have any major weak spots like The Owl House's final season did, and it has more room to breathe, with 13 incredible episode of about 20 minutes each, more than twice the length. And it delivers on every single character. Every member of the cast gets a moment to shine across the season, yet it isn't so distracted as to pull attention away from Catra and Adora. What makes She-ra's ending a bit weaker than Owl House's is the pacing of the final episode. Heart part 1 and 2, while great, is absolutely rammed, and one of the weaker episodes of that season because of it. You don't get enough room to breathe, you don't get to soak in the characters' emotions quite as much as in the episode prior, Failsafe. But I would count Failsafe as part of the ending. So while season 5's finale isn't even the best finale of She-ra (s3 and s4 were harder hitting), the final season as a whole is incredibly strong. And it's a very entertaining piece of media too! Ugh. I love it.

Here's this powerful scene of Catra whispering and yet screaming to Adora to stay with her, even in the end.

3. Gravity Falls.

To be honest I'm not much of a Gravity Falls fan, so I don't have as much to say as I do about the other two shows, but this ending is highly regarded across the cartoon community. It works perfectly within the smaller scope of the show, bringing a wide, crazy calamity for the characters to work with.

My problem with Gravity falls is Mabel. Not that she's a bad character, but that they don't spend enough time making her a good one. And the ending reflects that - it shows her doing something very major, overturning the world, and that's interesting, but it keeps presenting Mabel's problems as rather shallow instead of focusing on her psychology and why she's making these mistakes. Meanwhile it spends a lot of time on Dipper and explaining and justifying his teenage boy mentality and it drived me crazy how much more of a main character Dipper is than Mabel. Because it's Mabel I relate more to. She's more like I was when I was 12. It's a teen boy's show for teen boys, so I don't like it as much as Owl House or Amphibia. Other than that the ending is a good time and I love the themes of family, I love that Dipper has such low self worth and is grappling with the idea of what manliness even is, facing misguided pressure from other relatives like Stan and Ford. And I love the relationship between Stan and Ford, the mistakes they made, and how Stan ultimately takes responsibility for being an obstructive little shit by removing his memory, taking Bill with him!

Yeah, perhaps this show's ending could've been further strengthened by Stan having his memory lost forever, or having a harder time regaining it. But it makes sense in the stakes of Gravity Falls, where the world resets after every episode even if there was a zombie invasion. I don't see them having Stan forget his great nephew/niece as the ending of the show.

And it has a nice scene with the characters driving off in the bus... Heartbreaking. I love that Stan and Ford go adventuring together afterwards. And I love the theme song.

Remaining rankings below - I think these three should be celebrated most. It's gonna be a shorter summary from here.

Genuinely Good

These are endings that blow you away, but do have a couple nooks and crannies stopping them from reaching the top tier. Another person's list might put them at the top.

Adventure Time Distant Lands: See what's crazy about Distant Lands is that anyone one of these episodes might be the best in the series if it was a different show, but Adventure Time is such a good show that the way Distant Lands is different stands out to me. Like, Together Again, you might think I'm crazy for not putting it above Owl House, but while it's a fantastic episode, really emotional, it's not even my favourite Distand Lands episode. That would be Obsidian which I felt was a more honest resolution to the characters of the show itself, showing the limitless future ahead of the cast instead of what TA did which was demonstrate that Finn really didn't go much further after the end of the show. I felt TA was very limiting in that sense, it contradicted the ending to Adventure Time, which had the strength of "the adventure never ends". Which means that growth never ends. Finn is supposed to be an ever changing character, but in Together Again, he's stagnant.

Other than that, it's absolutely top tier. But not good enough for me to call it the best of the best. Even if I think Finn's character writing was a downgrade, or harmed the main show, I think where DL and TA did better than Come Along With Me is it was actually coherent and had strong themes rather than being a mishmash of random parts of Adventure Time that they wanted to shove in before it was over. It was a better tv finale, one of the best and most emotional ever made, but it's hard to call it a better Adventure Time finale, because AT's legacy hinders on so much more. 2. OK KO: Let's be Heroes: This is a show that went under the radar. It was coming out at the same time as Steven Universe, which was far more popular. So I'll explain it to you: OK KO has two endings. KO has grappled with his alternate persona, TKO, for the entire show. In the first ending, TKO takes over, and starts fighting everyone in a giant tournament. He literally kills all the cast, while KO is struggling to regain control. KO's epiphany is that TKO is a part of himself he buried long ago. KO has always tried to be the sweetest kid possible, so all his rage and fire, all his strength, was neglected and buried. That became TKO. It's similar to the ending of Celeste. They fuse together, but KO is crying because he killed all his friends. So he makes a wish to the God of the Universe to give everyone a happy ending. Then you get a really nice ending montage of all the characters from OK KO having the time of their life. One interesting touch was Venomous, KO's bastard father, had very little to do with KO in this timeline. KO clearly wanted nothing to do with him. But Venomous is shown raising his adoptive daughter Fink and doing a fantastic job. The final episode of OK KO has KO seemingly stuck in time acceleration. Time is flying by, his friends are achieving their goals, leaving the town, way before he can begin to process what he's even doing here. Everything is going faster and faster and it's like he's jumping forward! He doesn't know what's going on!!! But when he explains his plight, he's told... This is normal. This is a normal part of growing up. What seems like time acceleration is just time passing by. Then the rest of the episode show KO going through his life in the same manner. A big gag of the show is KO is age 6-11. That's his age. It's the same as the target audience for OKKO. But you see him grow up. His twelth to fifteenth birthday... 18th to 24th birthday... 25th to 35th birthday... At the end, he's in charge of the Bodega, a full adult looking after runts just like Mr Gar did. I dunno, I felt this was a very meaningful way to end the show. Even if it's not the most emotionally heavy hitting series, even if it's way too short, it did something that stays in my mind to this day. Time goes by in such a flash that you don't notice it was there to begin with, so appreciate the good things life throws at you.

3. The Legend of Korra: The show Korra wasn't particularly great, if I was rating the media as a whole it would probably be at the very bottom of this list. Yes below Star and Homestuck and Kipo. It's not remarkable in the slightest and constantly fumbles.

However I was at the edge of my seat during the series finale in Season 4. I was excited by the conflict between Korra and Kuvira. I loved the metalbending battles. I loved Korra's actualisation, how Kuvira is a very good rival, how their whole conflict plays out with Korra demonstrating such an INSURMOUNTABLE LEVEL OF STRENGTH both in power and character to save Kuvira from her own mistake.

I love how Korra decides to take a break and leave with Asami into the spirit world through the portal she just opened. It was a nice relationship in a show that has so heavily fumbled its prior character dynamics.

And you can't forget how it felt watching this the first time. Afterwards, Bryke made a post on tumblr saying "Korrasami is Canon". You have to remember, this was long before Bubbline was anything more than subtext in two episodes. This was before Steven Universe's "Stronger than You". This was the first time two girls were confirmed to be in a relationship in a kid's cartoon in America. I was so happy. You have to understand Korrasami did a lot of good things and made a lot of the queer representation in these other items possible.

Did the job

These are endings that were OK. They were satisfying but they weren't anything special. They weren't the best episodes or seasons of the series they're from.

Avatar: The last Airbender: I will be honest this show is in a similar realm to She-ra wherein its whole final season is one big buildup to a couple of fast-pased episodes. And honestly its final episode might be better than She-ra's in a pacing sense? But... The simple part is I don't like Avatar as much. I didn't feel particularly strongly about most of these characters. It's a very competent tv finale, with strong scenes - the Agni Kai, and Katara's capture of Azula, are particular strong points. But it's quite long and there are a lot of scenes I don't feel much about, like Aang vs Ozai. Back in the day lots of people were unhappy Aang spared Ozai, and I get that it's not in character for him to just kill him, but it was the original "deus ex machina" for Aang to find a way to get out of it and get what he wanted. It isn't particularly interesting. And then Aang x Katara... I don't care. So yeah ATLA does the job. It's a great final season but I don't care for the finale itself and the characters. while great for the time - by far the EARLIEST show to release on this list - are more childish and cartoony than most. They don't have depth required to compete with more modern cartoons. You've only got maybe two outstanding characters in a tight story vs She-ra's one dozen in a looser story, and honestly I value character more than cohesion because that's what you remember. That's what makes you feel things. Anyone can make a story where things happen but what makes you care? Being a bit harsh here because a lot of people call this the greatest show of all time blah de blah and throw away everything all the other shows do better. But the ATLA finale isn't even in the top ten most interesting episodes of the series. This part went hard though (couldn't find a video of it alone):

Azula starts the scene dominating Katara, and then Katara turns the tables and restrains her using the very ice which fire is supposed to melt, which is mentally destroying for Azula. All she can do is scream and breathe fire when she is restrained, unable to let out all her rage and pain. And Katara spares a moment to witness this, looking troubled, before she runs off to Zuko, attempting to save his life.

2. Adventure Time original ending: Why is my favourite show of all time listed so far down? Why? Well it's because while that AT finale is emotional, hits a lot of themes, it's... a fucking mess. The first part is a war which has only been relevant for two episodes, the second part is a dream sequence which destroy any tension you might've had, and the rest is an unrelated battle against GOLB because we needed a real final boss.

It's a really bad tv finale. And it even does harm to my favourite character in the show, Princess Bubblegum, by making her seem irrational. She's someone who has had the entire series for us to get to know her, to see her biggest flaws and see her struggle to overcome them. So for her to fall back on them yet again, nearly fuck everyone over, with such little buildup and justification and literally throw a child tantrum when Finn interrupts it, it's an injustice to her. She deserved better than everyone thinking she's a fascist forever. The AT crew should have respected their own work on that character better instead of leaving her off like that.

But... even despite these issues, despite being so incoherent? It's a great Adventure Time ending. It makes perfect sense. Of COURSE it's anticlimactic! Of COURSE there's a ten minute dream sequence of crazy shit happening! Of course it's so sudden, things happen so quickly without much time spent to reflect on them! It's Adventure Time! This is what we're HERE for! And the emotional heart of the episode, it isn't really in the Great Gum War or the battle against Golb. It's in Shermie and Beth, and Future Ooo. The fact that the world will end again, but even then.. it's fine. Everything changes. Everything grows. Nothing can stay as it is forever, but letting it go might allow something new and beautiful to take its place.

It's in Jake trying to protect his home, freaking out, and BMO coming in... instead of being looked after, BMO decides to reassure jake, even in certain doom.

It's in Time Adventure. We may not be able to go home, turn back time, relive the past and return to how things were, but... you and I will always be back then.

3. Scavenger's Reign: I felt this show started stronger than it ended. The ending wasn't offensive but it wasn't good either. Honestly I don't have shit to say about the ending, other than that Barry is an annoying stereotype of an autistic character with no agency of his own and it breaks my heart. I liked how relentlessly bad Kris was and I liked Azi struggling to save the day. I liked how her character evolved from being straightfoward and pushing down Levi's curious, kind traits, to embracing those very things in her memory.... while maintaining the strength in adversity needed to challenge someone like Kris. The baby alien thing sure was there. I dunno, the earlier eps with those two hit harder than the ending. The worst part is the sequel bait. We are not getting a sequel. Why is there sequel bait? Seems like the crew were a bit too optimistic for a team of cartoonists working for HBO Max.

But the show as a whole is incredible and has left a strong impression. So, an inoffensive ending is completely fine. I like how everyone is still stranded because of Kris, who meanwhile is dehydrating to death in space because of the organic Levi invasion, and all the people they left behind are chilling in the alien wonderland, learning how to live comfortably.

4. Fionna and Cake: We're now moving into the endings I dislike for one reason or another. I liked Fionna and Cake's themes with Simon and Betty, how it showed a bit more from Betty's side, how obsessive she was with him and he didn't even know.

This does have a weakness though. It removes agency from Betty. It was her choice, in the finale, to sacrifice herself to become GOLB. She was chasing Simon over and over and over again, SHE was the obsessive mad scientist, and she finally achieved her goal at great cost even though could've given up at any time. It was a tragedy. But here it kinda shifts the blame on Simon, even though he was a victim of Betty's obsession. I'm not accusing it of victim blaming, more that I really liked that it was Betty making her own terrible mistakes. It added a lot of character and conviction to her. I don't think Fionna and Cake undermines this much. Kim was a lot more bothered. Besides the Simon plot, the rest is.. ok. It was very predictable Fionna would want to protect the boring, happy world she came from. It fits and it has heart. But it's not remarkable. The ending montage is... weird. Why is Jay and Little Destiny here? Why is Baby Finn here? What about their worlds? Won't they be missed? Did Farmworld Finn fucking die? And the big problem with Fionna and Cake is.. it's such a meanspirited show, even compared with Adventure Time. It relies on you finding tragic shit really funny, like BMO having a horrible gory deeath in jerry. When Fionna and Cake has desensitized me this much, it's hard to feel emotionally invested in this world anymore. It made mistakes by showing too many alternate universes and undermining the world of Adventure Time itself, and I have issues with how Marceline was completely absent from the series - AGAIN - despite allegedly being so important to Simon. It's an outright BAD Adventure Time ending!!! I do love the presentation of Casper and Nova, how it was revealed it wasn't Simon Petrikov but the little Fionna and Cake fan who was able to write the story that finally got through to him and made him realise he needed to stop holding betty back.

"You were a good experience, Simon. Goodbye."

Mistakes were Made

These are the endings that fumbled, disappointed people. They still have value in them but theyre largely disliked by the fanbases involved. I'll explain a bit of why.

1, Arcane: This one just ended last night and is the reason I'm making this post.

I explained a bit here and here, but the issue is: Arcane's a much better show than it has any right to be. It's a league of legends cartoon. But season 1 is so heavy hitting, a tight ship from start to end focusing on the dramas of Vi, Jinx, and the people around them. The main weakness of season 1 was Jayce, Viktor, and Mel. It would distract from the main story in order to focus on them, but wouldn't spend enough time making them compelling characters. Season 2 has this issue tenfold where it seems the scope of the season was so big that it had very limited time to have those amazing scenes from season 1. And there certainly some heavy hitters, like Ekko save-scumming his conversation with Jinx to find a way to stop her killing herself, or Caitlyn and Mel's battle with Ambessa, or Jayce and Viktor yetting themselves into arcane oblivion, but... the finale itself seems very disconnected from the rest of the series, having a generic big bad in Possessed Chaos God Viktor. It lacks any of the intrigue of the Piltover vs Zaun conflict that was so important from s1e1 all the way to s2e4, after which it was promptly discarded in favour of other distractions. And as a result, Jinx and Vi are left as side characters in the ending of their own series, with a lot of their internal struggles left behind. Instead of the tragedy of season 1's ending, we are left thinking of the tragedy of how much better the ending could've been if they had just one more season to give these characters justice.

The strongest episode of the season is probably episode 6. If you know, you know.

2. Ducktales: So if you were a casual viewer of Ducktales you probably had no issues with this one. It's a competent TV finale where stuff happens and all the characters get involved and there are emotional themes.

What's weird about this one, and why it's so far down, is because of Webby's role. Webby is a misfit because she's not a member of the Scrooge family. She's a wannabe. She wants to be part of them, part of the siblings, and she has more in common with Scrooge and Della's brilliance than the other three, but she will never have that blood relationship. Her own parents are dead too, so she has feelings about watching the triplets reunite with their mother.

But in season 3... Ot's like the Ducktales writers were told they only had one episode left to work with and just made something up, and what they decided to do was take the "found family" trope and say "actually it was real family the whole time because Webby was Scrooge's secret clone daughter".

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The show did such a good job before this point showing Webby's development as she gets loved and accepted into the family. But for her to have always secretly had that blood relationship undercuts it fully.

It also undercuts her relationship to her grandmother, who tries to move out of the picture as soon as the truth comes out. The show does have Webby embracing her gran to show theyre still family. But we already had this story told in a better way with Webby and Scrooge and the triplets.

The fact the finale has nothing to do with the rest of the season is also why it's so far down. The season 2 finale was pretty spectacular by comparison and had compelling scenes like Della freaking out over protecting her kids and "running to the moon" with them, recycling her trauma (yes a ducktales character has trauma).

If you're not bothered by it, it's an inoffensive, fun finale. But more obsessive Ducktales fans and Webby fans were quite upset, myself included.

3. Kipo and the age of Wonderbeasts

I can't remember much about how this show ended. Honestly that's part of the problem. The first season was far more intrigueing than anything that followed and the whole thing came out across 2020 and it was a forgettable experience despite Karen Fukuhara voicing the energetic Kipo.

What I do remember is being pissed off about some things. Like how a lot of the talking animals were turned into non-talking animals and that was how things ended for them, and no vaccine or anything was made. It pissed me off somehow? Please kipo fans tell me your feelings on this.

I also disliked the final villain. She's a lot like Kris from Scavenger's Reign but even more generic and disappointing.

I dunno, to me the finale represents the wasted potential of this show. How it takes place in a world that rivals Adventure Time's, but Netflix did away with it so quickly, releasing three entire seasons in one year and leaving it with a generic end.

The peak into everyone's futures is nice, but it's not intrigueing like with The Owl House or Adventure Time.

4. Steven Universe: What a hot mess of an ending that threw out so much potential for the wider Steven Universe world. The motivations of the main villains were narrowed down to "we have emotional problems". Steven Universe has a consistent issue where it has emotional scenes at the expense of characters and story.

But I rate this more highly than the SU Future ending, despite that one having perhaps more cohesive writing, because I felt that the SU end had some incredible scenes that carried the spirit of the show while SU Future constantly undermined the original series without providing enough value of its own.

In particular, the scene James Baxter animated of Steven and Steven. This was mind-blowing, it was the climax to the most important part of the story, the truth of Steven's identity and whether he was his own person.

In retrospect that scene brings more value to me than all the bad parts of SU... but SU had so many amazing characters. It's a tragedy that Steven was the only one of them that the show still loved by the end.

Hardest line:

She's GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!!!!

5. Amphibia: Season 3 was plagued by being worse than season 2. The opening episodes on Earth were kinda bad, just "Amphibia season 1 episodes but in a far more boring setting". I hated anything involving the secret agents.

The fact Kipo, Scavenger's Reign, and Amphibia all have corpo villains at the end, and the fact I didn't like any of those endings, shows to me that it's not a particularly great thing to add to a fantasy story.

The first sad part is "the magic is destroyed". A popular theme in Disney shows. Well, what happens here is Sasha, Anne, and Marcy lose their magic abilities, and they decide to stay on Earth and lose the ability to travel to Amphibia. It's not massively offensive but it's kind of played out and generic and it does the sad thing of separating the trio from their found family. What's controversial is the epilogue shows that Anne, Sasha, and Marcy stopped hanging out after the end. They just broke off from each other's lives, it was easy as that. It wasn't a lifelong friendship. They do reunite in the end but it's been like ten years. It undermines the emotional turmoil that was present across the whole show. What Matt Braly wanted to show is sometimes things happen. Despite how much you want to be best friends forever... you stop being close to people, you lose touch with them. But this isn't a story that makes much sense when the characters have been through so much together in a fantasy world. It's like Marcy's worst fears have come true, and while that's a point of growth for her, it's frustrating for the viewers who believed the endgame bonds between the characters were better than that.

[Edit: Other than that, a lot of characters weren't delivered in justice s3 with how they had been built up in season 2. Sasha is hardly present in season 3 and Marcy is genuinely not present at all, and when we watched it we really thought they were gonna do more with Marcy when she came back. Swim in that emotional trauma a little bit! But no she's fine even with her evil father figure gone. It could've been better, should've been because season 2 was so stellar.] And I wasn't a fan of how Anne was portrayed at the end. I don't like how these stories make their characters "grow up" in such a way that they come across as love-all hippies instead of having anything resembling their original personality. Where's her sass? Why is she so melancholic and only melancholic? But that's a personal problem I haven't seen many others talk about.

Other than that, it's a competent episode. But it's the ending to a weaker season compared to what came prior.

The cat in this drawing has been my discord icon since we watched it though.

What the Hell?

These are the endings that shat the bed. I hate them! Everyone else probably does too.

Steven Universe Future: Unlike the other endings of this section, I did feel like Rebecca Sugar was going somewhere with SU future. They had a specific goal in mind for what they wanted to do, and every episode reaches towards that goal in some way. That's why a lot of people think Steven Universe Future is better than the more disjointed, huge tv series that came prior. It had a set start middle and end and carried through those themes. Unfortunately, those themes suck. Yeah, it's great deconstructing the impact Steven Universe had on Steven as a character, showing the damage that was done to him, the ways he's been let down. In isolation, it's a great way to show how a difficult childhood can affect you in adulthood, in ways that you would have never expected. This is the value SU Future has. It also has good sections showing how some other characters have recovered, how Pearl for example is healing and far more social than she ever has been but still has a ways to go, and finally talks to someone about her feelings over Pink Diamond, the previous Pearl that served her. Volleyball is a great episode. Unfortunately it takes the wrong lessons from the mistakes of the show. Steven Universe really wanted us to fall in love with its many characters, but it spent so much time showing Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl's flaws, spent so much time showing them failing Steven, that they ultimately came across as incompetent and sidelined. This is an issue with the original show. Steven Universe Future: "You know what? You're right! That was bad!" Me: "So are you going to do those characters justice and show them having growth and being competent and caring for Steven?" Steven Universe Future: "No. We are going to show them BEING EVEN WORSE and COMPLETELY FAILING to connect with Steven!" Me: "... For the entire thing????" Steven Universe Future: "Yes. this is never fixed and Steven leaves the county because of it." Me: "What the fuck?" Even people who were really into the whole thing were taken aback that Steven's kaiju transformation, the manifestation of his deepest fears about himself, was resolved with a hug. Just like the major conflict in the original show. And instead of a meaningful denouement, the show skipped all the resolution and went to Steven running the fuck away in an episode that would've had equal emotional value if it was in season 1 episode 1, or a competely different series. It was cheap and easy to make a bittersweet ending of Steven leaving the city. And it made it feel like the tragedy of Steven's mental breakdown was more important than his healing. Like they couldn't make an interesting story of him getting better because they're incompetent writers. I did like the scene of Steven crying his eyes out after he detransformed. And a lot of scenes in Future did go hard. But the Crystal Gems deserved better. Hell, Jasper deserved better.

Hardest scene:

2. Star vs the forces of Evil: Hooo boy. In the animation community this is HERALDED as The Worst Ending. It is the flagship of disappointment.

It disappointed people who loved the magical world the show took place in. It disappointed people who wanted to see Star reach her potential. It disappointed every shipper of every ship, not that I ever cared for the romance dramas but they took a lot of screentime on the show to its detriment. It disappointed people who like to apply basic logic to the things they watch. What a disaster!

Okay so why is it so hated?

Well, Star had been on the decline for a while. It had a fantastic start to season 3, with a great big war for Mewnie where everyone had great character moments, Star died and came back to life and utterly annihilated the villain. Toffee was a great villain, by the way.

There had been a bit of romantic tension between Star and Marco and they both had crushes on each other but refused to ever admit it and Marco thought he was into some other girl, and Star let him go at the start of season 3 and started dating... her ex... this shitty guy called Tom... he's a good character but a terrible boyfriend who kind of suicide baits Star back into his life. And Star would become a terrible girlfriend. I dunno, people really thought that pairing would be endgame but it was clear to me it was just an artificial obstacle in the way of the inevitable Starco ship. Like Kelly. Who Marco dates for a whopping half an episode before they break up offscreen. Great?

Anyway the romance in this series is on the same tier as Korra, though it does try to build up its endgame pairing from the start.

But from season 3 onwards Marco felt more like a joke character. I don't know, they didn't treat him with much respect.

The thing that EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT with Star, oh god it's going to be the longest thing on this list, is Moon and Eclipsa and Mina and the atrocious decisions the characters made.

I'm going to bullet point it so it's vaguely readable:

Star's mother, Queen Moon, goes missing following the events of the start of s3 special.

Star learns that the throne was stolen from monster-fucker Eclipsa and wrongly given to her own family line so she gives the crown to Eclipsa, to great controversy. Eclipsa is a dark magic user who is 300 years old and she's pretty cool but the show takes a sharp turn from this point to being about a racial conflict - Monsters being discriminated against by Mewmans and how a lot of people want to keep it that way.

The council which was previously on the side of good really HATES this decisionn and is now portrayed as bad.

Conflict breaks out and people are against Eclipsa and her giant person-eating husband leading the kingdom.

People have their homes given back to the monsters that they were stolen from hundreds of years ago. It's a silly cartoon form of reparations but it is shown giving them hardship because they are made homeless. By the way nobody in history has been made homeless because of reparations.

These homeless or disgruntled mewmans find Moon, who has re-emerged and decided to stay away from the kingdom. They want their old queen back and side with her, and she thinks they need someone to represent them. She also hates Eclipsa for various reasons.

Moon decides the best way to deal with Eclipsa is to arm the biggest fascist monster-killing character in the world with an invincible undefeatable army of magic soldiers, and retake the kingdom and go to war against the side her own daughter is on.

Moon gets a surprised pikachu face when she realises she can't undo the spell she used to make this fascist evil super army.

Star decides the best way to resolve this is to delete all magic. Kill it. They go to the source of all magic and use a spell to kill everything there. Lots of reindeer die.

Then every magical thing in the universe gets deleted. Every single magic-born creature. The entire council is murdered. All of the creatures in Star's magic wand die. Countless portals to other worlds are closed down, meaning many of the characters can no longer go and see their friends anymore. This is directly shown, by the way - not just inferred.

Somehow, Ponyhead survives.

Then this is capped off by Marco and Star wanting to reunite... and in a scene that is supposed to be emotional, they cleave their universes together. Mewnie lands on top of Earth. Normal humans are screaming as they are chased around by giant creatures.

The story ends.

Yeah do I have to explain any more why this one was unpopular? It's the biggest fumble you can speak of.

My biggest issue is how dumb they had to make Moon in order to achieve this outcome.

But Starco is kind of cute, even if Marco wasn't half the character he used to be by the end.

3. Homestuck: Which ending do you want me to discuss? Act 6? The epilogues? Or HS^2?

Let's start with the main work, as that's what makes Homestuck qualify as an animation.

Act 6 was a vast disappointment because it sort of ended. We had so much talking for so long that we were hoping something cool would happen and then we got a flash where the characters hit each other with sticks. There were no stakes in Collide, not really.

Then we got the Frog flash. We watched a frog for 8 minutes.

Then that was it!

There were so many unanswered questions. What the hell happened to the final boss and the MAIN CAST, for example. We had learnt earlier in the story that in some point of the future, the main cast all get stuck in a little homestuck house which Vriska fires at Lord English. But we never learn when, we never learn if they're ok, we never learn if English is killed or what happens to Vriska. So for a long time there was this disturbing implication that the cast would all die not long after the series ended.

We had the Credits which were much better but further solidified this implication, and it had Terezi fly out into the void looking for Vriska forever, which made me sad and depressed but that was because of my personal involvement in the story really.

Act 6 is more of a "mistakes were made" ending, but it's the Epilogues and HS^2, and the actions of creator Andrew Hussie, which are why it's rock bottom here.

I don't want to give my breath to those items. Let's just say they were the most meanspirited, intentionally offensive, hostile, character-destroying sets of stories every done, created by people who accused every homestuck fan who didn't like them of being "not really trans" or "pedophile harborors" or "deserving to be lined up and shot" (real quote).

And then the fact Hussie fired his entire crew twice and blacklisted them if he ever had any suspicion they complained about his leadership or financial decisions anywhere.

And the fact the entire whatpumpkin team were left uncredited in the original release of Hiveswap Act 2 because Hussie didn't want to give them any credit because he wants his friends to be a hivemind.

I have so much hatred for what Homestuck became. It's tragic because this series was such a big part of my life for so long.

It's also tragic because the main work is a masterpiece. Even Act 7, despite the criticism, is Guzusuru's masterwork with how much effort went into the animation. How much heart went into each illustration the old Paradox Space team made.

So that's it. Homestuck is the one that is not just a little bit worse than Star. Leaps and bounds worse.

But that's it. I have a lot of opinions on endings because they can colour how you view the entire previous work.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 8

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: angsty fluff, otherwise none? let me know if i missed something!

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 7 here

Tuesday's Gone masterlist

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Once the doctors gave you the green light, you and Emma were officially discharged. Emma was practically bouncing out of there, her tiny hand clutched around Russell’s like he was her personal superhero. She’d decided in about five seconds after she learned that he was her dad that he was her new favorite person.

Convincing Russell to let the hospital staff check him out had been a whole different saga. It took some serious persuasion, mostly from you and a lot from Emma – her best pout and puppy-dog eyes could probably end a world war if used correctly, so Russell didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t give much away about how the exam went, but the scowl on his face as he emerged from the exam room told you all you needed to know. Whatever they'd said, he wasn’t a fan.

You had a pretty good idea why.

You could still picture his body, covered in scars and marks, like a patchwork quilt made from bad decisions and even worse luck. Each scar told a different story – some small, some big, all of them like little chapters in a book he’d never let anyone read. It was like looking at a piece of modern art, if modern art was made from pain and survival instead of fancy paint strokes and pretentious meanings. There were burns that looked like they came from some kind of fire he’d never mentioned, cuts that hinted at fights he’d never bothered to explain, and old bruises that had long since faded but never really went away. When you thought back on it, you realized it should’ve been obvious he wasn’t who he said he was.

Construction worker, my ass, you thought.

But you were too busy buying the story, too busy being swept up in the charm and the confusion to notice the signs. Now, looking back, it was like one of those plot twists in a movie you didn’t see coming.

But you hadn’t known better. And now? Now, it didn’t really matter either.

Emma, hand firmly clutching Russell’s, skipped ahead of him, her energy almost back to normal. Almost. There were still a few hints of what she'd been through in the way she glanced around, the way her eyes would linger a second too long on a stranger. But it was getting better. She was healing, and so were you. In a weird way, it felt like a fresh start. Maybe this time, it wouldn’t all fall apart.

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You were back in Idaho Falls. 

It had been a couple of weeks since you’d clawed your way out of that nightmare you’d rather forget – and bury six feet deep. But your brain? Yeah, it had other plans. It was stuck on a loop, replaying the worst moments like a twisted director’s cut. Honestly, even Hitchcock would’ve taken a bow and said “Bravo!” The suspense, the drama, the way it all spiraled out of control… honestly, the whole thing could’ve been an Oscar-worthy thriller if it wasn’t your life.

And, okay, maybe you’d gotten a little paranoid about leaving Emma alone. Alright, maybe more than a little. But come on, who could blame you? You knew the danger was over, logically, but paranoia wasn’t exactly known for its rationality. Every time you even thought about giving Emma a little space, that nagging voice would whisper, What if? and boom, you were back in full-on protective mode.

As much as you hated to admit it, though, you weren’t navigating this tightrope of anxiety alone. Russell had been… well, there. A lot. Not living with you, though, and that, of course, confused the hell out of Emma.

“Why? Daddies are supposed to live with their families!” she’d declared, pouting like it was written in the stars, a law of the universe that no one could break.

But reality wasn’t so neat. There were years of unresolved baggage between you two, enough to make even the most optimistic couples’ counselor break out in a cold sweat and quietly back out of the room. Moving in together? That wasn’t just a leap – it was more like an Evel Knievel stunt. High risk, no safety net, and plenty of ways to crash and burn. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

Still, Russell had clearly decided that proximity was his job. He was there nearly every day, and on more than a few nights, too. 

“Just in case” he’d say. You didn’t know, but he loved staying there when the both of you were sound asleep. During those times, he felt an indescribable peace. 

And then there was his latest obsession: fixing everything. It started innocently enough – he noticed a cabinet door hanging loose and gave it a quick tune-up. Then he spotted the wobbly bathroom doorknob. Before long, the guy was like a one-man Home Depot commercial, patching up squeaks and quirks you hadn’t even realized were annoying you.

And at first, you didn’t even notice. But one day, you walked into the kitchen, and something felt... off. Not bad-off, just different. Quieter. 

The cupboards didn’t bang shut anymore, the sticky drawer slid like butter, and that creaky floorboard by the living room? Silent. It was like Russell had decided that if he couldn’t fix all your problems, he’d settle for conquering your house.

And the worst part? It was kind of working.

It wasn’t just Russell who practically set up camp in your life after everything that happened. Your family had decided to make sure you and Emma were okay by showing up unannounced on a daily basis. Whether it was Anna, your mom, or your dad, someone was always stopping by to “check in.” But you knew that was just code for “making sure you hadn’t completely lost your mind.”

You didn’t blame them, though. What had happened wasn’t the type of thing you could just shake off, no matter how much you wished you could.

Colter had stopped by, too, not long after you got out of the hospital. And in his typical Colter way, he’d brought Emma a new Veterinarian Barbie – the exact same one she’d been playing with when she was taken. The one you had to leave behind at the warehouse, the one that now felt like a twisted keepsake of that night. That Barbie had somehow turned into a symbol of everything that went wrong, but Colter had a way of turning it into something better, lighter. He was trying, really trying, to be there for his newly found niece, like he wanted to make up for lost time.

Speaking of that warehouse nightmare, Colter had filled you in on what went down once you and Russell split up. Apparently, when you went up to check the upper floor, Colter stayed behind to look for clues on the ground level. Then he heard a bunch of grunting, some fighting noises, and the moment he rushed upstairs... poof, you two were gone. His next step was to follow the muddy footprints – Ecca boots, of course – all the way to a back exit where the trail just... disappeared.

He quickly reached for his phone, trying to call either of you, without any success. He then – almost desperately, he opened the Locations app and tried to see where Russell’s phone was. 

That’s how he found the building in Springland where all three of you were trapped in. And that’s how he found out that James Rourke was probably behind it. 

Apparently, Rourke had been the big boss over at Horizon’s Idaho branch. He also learnt that he used to be Russell’s superior and after learning about his shady businesses with the help of Reenie, he knew Rourke was behind all of this.Turns out, Rourke was involved in some shady business dealings, which Colter pieced together with a little help from Reenie. So, not only did Colter find out that Rourke was behind everything, but he also had a handy Sheriff’s connection in the town. He might not have been thrilled about it, but at that point? He didn’t have time to be picky. It was his brother and niece at risk.

“I really can’t thank you enough, Colter” you said as you pulled an envelope from your pocket. Before you could add the obligatory it’s not much, Colter held up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t even start with that” he said, nodding toward Emma, who was happily immersed in her new doll set. Russell, much to his apparent dismay, had been assigned the role of the dog for Barbie’s vet checkup.

A small smile tugged at Colter’s lips as he looked back at you, letting out a sigh. “She’s family… and so are you” he said simply. Then after a beat, he added with a wry shake of his head, “Though, I’ll admit, it’s still a little hard to wrap my head around.”

You held the envelope out anyway, giving him your best no-nonsense look. “Colter, seriously. Take it.”

He glanced at it like it was a snake about to bite him. “Nope. Not happening.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Alright, fine. If you’re gonna be stubborn, at least stay for dinner. That’s non-negotiable.”

Colter raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to decide if he wanted to argue with you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Yup” you said, tilting your chin up. “It’s the least we can do. Plus, Emma’s so excited to show you her other barbies. You wouldn’t want to break her heart, would you?”

Emma perked up from the floor, where she was busy trying to get Russell-as-dog to sit still. “It’s so cool! You gotta see it, Uncle Colter!”

Colter sighed, his shoulders relaxing in defeat. “Alright, alright. You win. Dinner it is.”

“Good choice” you said with a grin, slipping the envelope back into your pocket. “And just so you know, I make a mean lasagna.”

Russell, still stuck in his ridiculous dog pose, chimed in from the floor. “She’s right. It’s downright addictive.” He then glanced over at the doll set with a raised brow. “Wait a second. Is that… a dog in the kit? Why am I the dog when there’s a perfectly good toy for the job?”

Emma giggled mischievously and scrambled to block his view, clutching the box like a tiny defense lawyer. “No, there isn’t!” she insisted, her grin giving her away entirely.

“Oh, really?” Russell said, narrowing his eyes like he was about to cross-examine a witness. “Then what’s that little plastic furball right there?” He reached for the set, but Emma squealed, pulling it out of reach and scurrying behind Colter for safety.

“It’s not a dog!” she said, clutching the box like it held national secrets. “It’s… it’s a cat in disguise!”

Russell dropped his hands dramatically. “A cat in disguise. Well, excuse me for not being on the cutting edge of veterinary espionage.”

Colter chuckled lightly, shaking his head at the absurd scene before him. “Kid’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“Tell me about it” Russell muttered, going back to his dog duties with a theatrical groan. Emma just beamed, clearly victorious in her completely made-up argument.

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The cold drink in your hand grounded you in the peace of the moment. It was quiet. The only sound in the room was the beers’ sizzling from their glasses. Across the room, your Tiffany lamp bathed the room in a warm glow, making everything feel a little softer. Dreamier.

Next to you, Russell sat on the couch, staring down at his beer like it might give him answers. He’d gone quiet, which wasn’t exactly new. These late-night moments always seemed to pull him deep into his own thoughts.

Dinner with Colter had gone surprisingly well. Actually, better than well. Great, if you measured it in Shaw-family terms. He’d looked awkward at first, but Emma had done her thing. She had a talent for making people feel like they belonged. She’d taken one look at him and decided to get to know “the guy with Daddy’s face but short hair.” By the end of the night, she’d even wrangled a promise out of him to come back soon. 

Whether he actually would? You wouldn’t bet on it. He didn’t exactly radiate family guy energy.

Not that you could blame him. In these quiet moments, Russell had told you bits and pieces about their family: how their dad raised them, why he and his brother weren’t exactly close, and even that he had a sister. That last part had been news to you, and it still hung in your mind. 

Then again, you didn’t even know Colter existed until about a week ago.

But hey, he didn’t know Emma existed until about a week ago, so who were you to judge? 

The night felt like an old familiar one, like five years ago when things were simpler. But now, everything was heavier. Everything was more. Still, you couldn’t deny that you appreciated the quiet, the feeling of just being here, with Russell beside you. Not a word needed to be said, just… existing.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Still thinking about opening that brewery?” you asked, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Russell glanced up, surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to notice he was still breathing, let alone thinking. He let out a dry chuckle, leaning back against the couch. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do” you said, taking a sip. “You talked about it like it was your big shot. You even had a name ready. What was it again? Pour Decisions?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “God, no. That was your suggestion.”

“It was a great suggestion” you shot back with a playful grin.

“It was a terrible suggestion” he countered, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth told you all you needed to know. The other name you’d thrown out, Ale You Need Is Love, had clearly stuck with him a little longer than he’d admit. “And yeah” he continued, taking another long swig of his beer, “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” you asked, eyeing your drink. “What’s stopping you now? You’re free from Horizon, probably sitting on a nice stack of cash from all those years with them…”

“Yeah, well… it’s not that simple” he said, taking another swig of beer. “It’s not just about the money. It’s time, connections… I’ve never really built anything that would stick. I’ve always just been movin’, never really settlin’ in.”

You glanced at him, noticing how his gaze was stuck on the fuzzy carpet beneath his feet. His words didn’t feel like they were about the brewery anymore, not entirely. “Maybe… it’s not too late to build those connections.”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, you saw the conflict. He was debating whether to take this conversation in a whole new direction, one that would definitely touch on you and him – your relationship, or more like the mess of it. But after a moment, he let out a long breath, as if resigning himself to the truth. 

“I’m not sure the one I want to connect with is still there to hear me out.”

“Sometimes all you gotta do is try” you said, your voice was soft but honest.

Russell didn’t speak right away. His eyes flickered from his beer to the floor, like he was fighting with himself, deciding whether it was worth saying what he really needed to say. 

Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath and set his glass down on the coffee table. It was time to rip the band-aid off. 

“I don’t know–” His voice was quieter now, almost shaky. “I don’t know how to say any of this… Hell, if words can even make up for any of it.”

He stopped, eyes closing as he rubbed his hand across his face like he was trying to scrub away the years of regret. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with the weight of all the things he’d been carrying. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for leading you and Emma into all that… all that danger. For not telling you what was really going on. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark for so long. I’m so sorry for all the times I wasn’t there. When you needed me. When Emma was born. God, I should’ve been there.”

His voice cracked then, and you could see the fight in him, like he was trying to hold it all together. He ran a hand through his hair, the guilt still weighing him down. “I’m so sorry for hurting you… I never, ever meant to do that. I... I just don’t know how to fix it, or where to start.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the years of building walls, of running away from the things that mattered most. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like he was really letting those walls down.

You sat there, the silence thick with his words, heavy as hell. Regret, apologies, lost time –it all hung in the air. You didn’t rush to fill it, though. You needed a minute to sort through what to say next.

Russell’s eyes were fixed on his hands, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight like he was bracing for a blow, waiting for you to throw it all back in his face.

But you didn’t. You knew he was battling himself just as much as he was battling you. And somehow, that made it harder. But also… maybe easier?

Finally, you spoke, your voice steady but quieter than you intended. “You can’t fix everything in one night, Russell.” You reached for your drink, taking a long sip, trying to steady your pulse, trying to steady everything. “Hell, you probably can’t fix everything, period. But that doesn’t mean you don’t try. And you tried. Hell, you’re still trying, from what I can see. You’re glued to this couch. This house. Didn’t even ask you to stay with us… yet, here you are. Because you care. Because you see that I’m a nervous wreck. Because you see Emma adores you and wants you around…”

You stopped yourself then. The words you didn’t want to admit to yourself started clawing their way out. I want you around too. The thought stuck in your throat, but you kept going. “From what I see, you’re not just trying – you’re learning. You’re making things right. And… I’m not saying I’m not still pissed at you, because God, I am. But... now, I see how it wasn’t just your fault. Not entirely. How everything turned out... that’s on me, too.”

You exhaled slowly, finally meeting his eyes, seeing the rawness in them that mirrored your own. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Emma… I’m sorry I didn’t even hear you out that night… I’m so sorry, too, Russ.”

His hands rubbed over his face, and when he looked at you again, you saw tears threatening to fall – tears he’d never let himself shed before. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just natural you reacted that way” he said. “You don’t have to forgive me, Y/N. I don’t even know if I deserve it. But… if there’s any part of you that thinks we can make this right, even a little…” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I swear.”

You set your drink down, the glass suddenly feeling like it weighed a ton. Without overthinking it, you reached out and rested your hand on his. His skin was warm, a little rough, and he froze the second you touched him, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to move. His eyes darted to the place where your skin met his.

You didn’t bother with words… sometimes they just got in the way. Instead, you leaned in, just enough to leave the door wide open. He caught on quick, letting out a slow, shaky breath before he closed the distance, like he’d been waiting for permission all along.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. His hand found the back of your neck, steady and warm, like he was afraid to push too hard, but couldn’t let go either. His lips on yours felt like a quiet promise, a way of telling you he wanted to make things right – even if he didn’t have all the words for it.

For a moment, it felt like all the years of hurt, anger, and regret hit the pause button. The kiss didn’t fix everything (hell, it didn’t fix a goddamn thing) but it cracked open the part of you that remembered: you still cared. And judging by the way he kissed you, so did he. 

You also realized something you didn’t want to before: you not only cared. You still loved him, deeply. Even after everything, you still longed for his touch, his presence.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was uneven, like he’d just run a marathon. “I’m sorry, Y/N” he said, his voice full of that raw honesty you didn’t hear from him often. “But I’m here to stay, if you let me.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “It’s gonna take more than one good kiss to fix all this, Russ…”

“Good thing I’ve got time” he said, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “And a lot more where that came from.” and with that he dwelled back into your lips.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, he closed the gap again, his lips finding yours like he was making a promise. This kiss wasn’t hesitant – it was steady. Like he was saying, Buckle up, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.

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Next on Tuesday's Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 9):

Before you knew it, you were in the bedroom, your blazer tossed somewhere on the floor along with his shirt. The rest of your clothes followed in a blur of fumbling hands and breathless laughter, the weight of the past two months – and the years before that – melting away with every touch.

When he finally had you beneath him, his gaze softened, the intensity giving way to something deeper. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your hands cupping his face. “I’m sure.”

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And… we’re going straight into the smut with the next one. (Alright, not exactly, but we’ll get there soon!)

Read Chapter 9 here

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[giorno-plays-piano]

Binary Star

Part I

Pairing: academic rival!Satoru Gojo x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power play, hurt/comfort, no curse au, this series will get darker as the story progresses.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?

____________

He is really going to get her this time. This is the finish line, quite literally: the graduation; his last attempt to win and emerge victorious from the very last battle between him and her. It has to be it.

If he couldn't win against her for the last time, Gojo would probably have a mental breakdown right in the middle of the ceremony. Geto standing right next to him rolls his eyes to the ceiling over his friend who's shaking from excitement and fear. Of course, Satoru wouldn't admit it even under torture, but Suguru knows better. The girl his friend has been competing with throughout high school isn't just smart: she's completely insane like Gojo and as big pain in the ass as him. Who knows, perhaps she'll really win this round. He prefers not to think of it.

Satoru searches for her in the crowd, standing on his toes despite already being a foot taller than anyone else in the hall. Is she here? This nightmarish woman who has been pushing him to give high school his all because she dared to take away his crown of the best student during their freshman year? When Satoru saw the scores, he thought he might have had a heart attack. There was no way he was no longer #1.

"That's what you get for messing around the chem lab," Shoko snorted while Satoru dumbly stared at the name of that annoying girl, always the teachers' pet, heading the list. His name was written right under hers.

What the actual fuck?! She got a better score than him? Him, the genius, with his undeniably superior IQ of 180 that he flaunted at any given time? Who did she think she was, Sheldon Cooper or something?

It got him so fired up he actually started studying.

"You're so dumb," Geto eventually said after his friend had gotten in the argument with the girl during their ethics class - again. "You know you could be making out with her now, right? She's the only person who could actually get along with your stubborn ass."

"Wha-a-at? What about you?" Immediately disregarding his question, Satoru was already pouting like a kid. "Wouldn't you date me?"

"Yeah, over my dead fucking body."

To be fair, it's not that Gojo never thought of her that way - she was pretty, even if he was never going to admit it out loud - but she was also so insufferable Gojo really couldn't focus on anything else but beating her in that game they were playing. The best score on the history exam? They both wanted it. Math test? Him and her were working on those questions as if their lives depended on it. Biology project? Satoru made sure to do the impossible, submitting something he would get a Noble prize for, and yet he still somehow managed to get the same grade as her. It was absolutely infuriating.

Why on Earth did she decide she could be better than him? He was Satoru Gojo, after all. The one and only son of Gojo family, who was not only embarrassingly rich but also fucking smart - his parents used to flaunt his talents throughout his whole childhood and continued doing it well into adulthood. He couldn't tell them he was no longer #1. What would his mother say? Dear God, it was hard to imagine what would happen to his father of he learned some random girl got a better grade for that English paper than him. It was, at the very least, unbecoming of Satoru.

But she was unrelenting, irritated with his status of the school genius, and ready to fight him on every occasion. Satoru had no idea what could piss her off so much - in the end, he was the most charming guy around, wasn't he? - but there wasn't a day she'd let him have his way. She was brave, persistent, and knowledgeable, and he hated her very much.

The fact that Shoko and Suguru were asking him to please get together with her and stop antagonizing the whole school only riled up Gojo even more. As if he was going to date that nerd!

When he learned she'd be running for the valedictorian, it was the last drop. No fucking way. She couldn't take it away from him - even if he had never actually cared about being a valedictorian.

If his friends had thought he was obessessing over her, now they realized Satoru went completely nuts. He started studying so much he barely slept: it was a given, considering the bags under his eyes were making his skinny ass look like a starving raccoon. Geto couldn't drag gim out even in between lessons because Satoru was immediately burying his head in the books.

It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?

Pfft, of course she won't. She'll probably stab him in the parking lot once he tries to get into his car.

But when the headmaster finally announces the results, and his, Satoru Gojo's, name is called, he no longer sees her in the crowd, and the sweet taste of victory suddenly turns to ashes in his mouth.

Where is she? She couldn't have known it would be him. To be frank, he didn't either. How could she leave right before the results were announced?

He gives his speech with a stupid smile plastered all over his face, but his mood has already soured. She had to be there to hear he was named this year's valedictorian! What face did she make? Did she leave right after she heard it wasn't her? Did she cry? Did she run away because she couldn't take it? Wasn't she going to say to him anything at all?

How could she just... vanish?

He doesn't know why he expected her to be the bigger person and come tell him he did great, but he truly did. Suddenly, he realizes he wants her to look him in the face and say he is good enough.

Did he need to be the bigger person, perhaps? But, wait, isn't he a bigger person by default because he's the winner, he wondered. The winner is always the bigger person if he doesn't rub loser's face in the dirt, right?

In the end, he couldn't even enjoy the victory he had been craving for so long.

"She had something urgent come up," Shoko says later in the restaurant, making a tsk-ing sound while Gojo listens to her with a frown on his face. "Something about her family."

Something about her family? What could be as important as the announcement of valedictorian?

"Are you dumb?" With a sigh, Suguru cocks his head to the side. "Plenty of things are more important than this valedictorian crap."

Maybe to somebody else, but not to her, Satoru thinks. Beating him has always been the only thing on her mind, and nothing could have changed that.

__________

He will be mulling over it for a long, long time once he realizes she did not follow him to Harvard despite her scholarship.

Part II

Tags: @minshookie29

[natti-ice]

The Truth Will Set You Free- Tom Riddle.

Pairing: Tom riddle x fem!reader

Summary: a mysterious letter reveals Tom’s biggest secret.

Warnings: angst, written in third person (she/her pronouns) (1k words)

Author’s note: this is a reupload, I wrote this a while ago!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

"YOU'RE MARRIED?!?" She yelled at him, watching the color drain from his face gave her the answer. Tom closed the book he had been reading peacefully as he lounged in a plush chair in his dorm room.

"What are you talking about, dear?" He swallowed, he saw Y/N holding a piece of paper in her hand, confusion and anger in her facial expressions. He had no idea how this could have got to her, barely anyone knew about this.

"I received this letter this morning" she started, showing him the paper she had been clutching onto for the past twenty minutes. "I don't know if this is some sick joke or if you've been lying to me this whole time. Tom, is it true?" She didn't know what to think, when she got the letter she thought it was someone trying to play with her. But as the letter went on it seemed too real

"Tom and I were wed the summer before his sixth year. Once he graduates we shall start a family together, I believe you deserve to know since there are talks of your attachment to him. Just know, this is how it has to be, he cannot be yours."

Reading this brought a sharp pain in her chest, she thought she knew the man she loved. She knew he had his secrets, but she wouldn't think he would withhold this from her. Her emotions were all jumbled into one, she didn't know what to feel.

"It's true," he said in a hushed tone, his head hung low like a dog being scolded. "You weren't supposed to find out this way"

"Like this? Or was I not supposed to find out at all?" Okay, it seems her anger has gotten the better of her

"Please let me explain, Y/N" Tom begged. His usual stoic demeanor had completely vanished, he had never let his emotions show this way, it made him feel weak.

"I don't know if I want to hear it, Tom. How could you do this to me?"

"I didn't do it to hurt you" he raised his voice as he became angry at himself "I figured if you knew, you would want nothing to do with me" he admitted

"You're probably right about that" she said sarcastically

"Y/N, please don't joke about this" he warned "if you'd let me, I'll explain to you everything that happened. Only the truth" his eyes met hers he could see the pain in them, that shattered his heart. When he met Y/N he knew he had found the only person in the world he could truly care for. She broke down every wall he tried to put up with ease, there was no way he could let her get away.

"Fine, go ahead" she whispered as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat

He sighed, calming his brain before proceeding to tell her about something that has eaten at him every day for the past two years. "At the end of my fifth year, my mother put me into an arranged marriage. I fought and fought to get out of it, but no matter what I said I couldn't get out. She paired me with some pure-blooded floozy who couldn't last a day without her father's money, the day of the ceremony was the worst day of my life. My mother expects me to have children with that girl and I honestly couldn't care less about that stupid girl." Talking about her put a bad taste in his mouth, he hated her with every ounce of his being.

"I just don't get why you didn't tell me" Y/N said during Tom's pause

"I didn't tell you because it's a part of me that I hate. Having my name attached to someone who I will never love, isn't something I'm proud of. When I met you, it was like that terrible situation was in the past and you were my future. For years I have been trying to find a way out of this marriage. I plan to divorce her as soon as I'm done with school." He felt slight relief as he finally got this off his chest, it always weighed heavy on him.

Y/N stood a foot away from Tom, as he explained his story her heart broke more, she had never seen Tom in such pain before, and it definitely wasn't a good feeling to watch. "What about your mother?" She asked

"I don't care about that woman! She hasn't a motherly bone in her body, once I'm done with school I'll never see her again" His hatred for his mother ran deep, Y/N knew he never liked his mother. She understood why, if she was her mother she'd probably feel the exact same way.

"Y/N" Tom reached for her hand, wrapping both his hands around her, bringing it up to his mouth gently kissing the back. "I am very sorry I never told you about this, I've never been good at telling the truth but that's no excuse. I promise you, you are the only person I will ever love." This is the truest thing to ever leave Tom's mouth

God, he's so beautiful she thought, searching for any trace he was lying to her. Sometimes she felt foolish thinking about how much she loved him, his hold on her was so strong. But she wouldn't change a thing.

"I'm so conflicted right now" she admitted, "but I believe you, you swear you want nothing to do with her?"

"Cross my heart, I would never dream of being with her" he brought his hand up to Y/N's cheek, slowly stroking it with his thumb. "You are the only person I want to marry" he whispered

"Good, because I don't think I'd like a life without you" she slightly grinned

"What if, when we're done at this tragic place, you and I run off together? We won't have to worry about anyone else, it'll just be us living our life together" Tom suggested

"That sounds like a very thought out plan, dear" she smirked "perhaps I might take you up on that offer" she leaned in, slightly pecking his lips

"You really have to get those papers signed, Tom. I am no one's mistress" she half-joked but he knew she was serious.

"Anything for you my dear"

Join a tag list!

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Even Better: part 1 (Angst) (18+)

TLR!Michelangelo x reader

Part 2

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A/N: Finally finished The Last Ronin the other day. Other than making me cry like a bitch, I have to admit it made me thirst for some TLR Mikey. Dude deserves a good smut written about him🖤 And to be honest, I had a hard time stopping once I first got started. This is my longest one yet, goodness😭😂

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You’re April’s daughter and Casey Marie’s twin sister. Most of your life you’ve been dreaming about the turtles of your mother’s youth, but nothing could have prepared you for the real deal.

Reader is at least 20. As far as I know, Mikey is in his 40’s.

Warnings: Spelling, age difference, masturbation (reader), caught in the act, oral - female receiving, dom Mikey and sub reader, dirty talk, unprotected sex, a little pain, size difference, size kink?

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Your mother had told you and your twin sister many stories about the turtles and their rat father over the years. How she and your father met each other because of them. How Splinter taught both his sons and your parents how to fight. How Leonardo fiercely protected his brothers, and as your mother put it, was seen as an absolute killjoy by his brothers. How Raphael matched your father in temper with an equally big and golden heart hiding within him. How Donatello could speed days locked up in his lab, and the many times he inspired your mom in her own lab. And how Michelangelo could light up a room with his loud jokes and bright smile. You and your sister would often point them out in the picture frames hanging around the lair, and beg your mom to tell more stories about them, no matter how mundane. The time your mom and Donnie made a tracking device in the lab, the time your father and Raph played hockey a whole night, or the time Mikey pranked Leo so hard that Splinter put him on cleaning duties for a whole month. You wanted to hear it all. Every single little detail.But that didn’t change the fact that they are all gone now. Your mother’s best friends and your father.

As you and Casey Marie got older, you continued to ask your mother for stories. But while Casey Marie wanted to hear about New York City before the Foot came to power, while you still asked for the turtles, getting more and more interested in the mundane part of their lives. Like whose room was it that you had made your room in? Who used to sit in the seat you sat in when eating dinner? And that mug you found in the storage, who did that belong to that? So many questions, and your mother could only give you so many answers.

Once you reached your teenage years, you started fantasizing about the four mutant turtles. Was that wrong? Their pictures literally hung on the walls of your underground home, so it wasn’t as if you could just ignore them. It probably didn’t help much that you didn’t like going outside, deciding to stay in the lair with your mother, while Casey Marie went out and explored. But that just gave you more time to help out your mother and learn more about the turtles.

As you gathered more and more information about the turtles, you started to form scenarios in your head, imagining how it would be to get together with the turtles. Which one of them would be the best friend, the best boyfriend, or even the best in bed. That proved to be a question you would contemplate for years, finding yourself staring at the pictures of the four turtles in the hallway in your early twenties, still with that little question in the back of your head. Although your thoughts about the turtles had calmed a bit once you had hit your twenties, you could not deny that they still lingered in the back of your head from time to time. So when your sister one day brought a passed out mutant turtle home, you did not know what to do with yourself. You were shocked, and maybe even a bit scared. He was way bigger than you had thought he would have been, but given his age it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

Your mother knew who he was straight away. It was Mikey. The turtle whose room you had been occupying every since the day you and your sister grew too old for sharing the same bed with your mom. He was bruised and bleeding badly. Thank God for your mothers medical skills, otherwise Mikey’s fate would have been a dark one.

It took some time for Mikey to wake up, but when he did, he was much different than you had thought he would be. Your mother had spoken highly about his jokes and his warm happiness, but during dinner the day he woke up, you saw none of that. The only time you heard him speak the first day, was when you overheard a conversation between him and your mom in the kitchen. His voice was much deeper than you had anticipated, catching you off guard. And of course he heard you gasp and stopped talking, not speaking a word until you had gotten what you needed, and leaving the kitchen so they could continue their talk.

Three days had passed, and Mikey had still not spoken a word directly to you. He had thanked your sister for saving him while you were close by, but that was pretty much. There was this one time where he took up the whole hallway, staring at the exact picture of him and his brothers, you had found yourself staring at many times. When you asked if you could pass by, he did not say a word. He just looked at you out of the corner of his eye, before moving to the side, giving you more than enough space before you ran by.

Michelangelo was really nothing like you had expected him to be like. You had thought he would be nice, open and warm, talking your ear off like your mother had said he always did. But now he was silent, closed off and cold. He almost seemed angry. It scared you a little bit. Made you nervous whenever you were around him. Whenever you were sitting and talking with your mom or Casey Marie, you would lock up when he entered the room. But as much as he scared you, you also found him very interesting. You blamed your teenage fantasies for finding his form attractive. His toned muscles, covered in bruises, and the visible veins on his neck, arms and hands. The wrinkles on his face told of the things he had been through, and his eyes were always so distant, as if he was watching something no one else could see. But when his eyes suddenly snapped to you, catching you staring at him, you panicked, quickly avoiding your eyes, feeling your cheeks getting red. Luckily for you, Casey Marie came into the room, as loud as your mother had said your father was, telling Mikey about something, giving you the distraction you needed to run to your room. You stayed there the rest of the day, too embarrassed to come out.

That evening you laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling above you. You cursed yourself for choosing this room when you were little. Now you couldn’t fall asleep without thinking about Mikey’s eyes on you. Anywhere you looked, you were reminded by the fact that Mikey used to look at the same walls as you did. Heck, you were even sleeping in the bed he used to sleep in. As far as you knew, the blanket, pillow and sheets were also his. It did not matter how many times you had washed them over the years, because they now suddenly smelled strongly of him, not letting you rest for a moment.

You found yourself getting frustrated. None of the turtles had invaded your head so badly ever since you were a teenager, and now you could feel the same need and tension from back then build up between your legs. You pressed your naked thighs together under the blanket, feeling the wetness in your panties. You sighed out in frustration, as you once again remembered the old turtle’s eyes on you. As much as you had felt embarrassed under his eyes, you could not help feel aroused at the thought. He had caught you staring. Michelangelo had caught you with his strong gaze. And now here you were, laying in his old bed with your panties soaked just thinking about him.

Your fingers moved down your stomach, getting closer and closer to your core. It was okay to touch yourself with the older turtle in mind, right? You had done it before, so why would it be any different now? And with that thought you let your fingers slide into your panties, where you found your clit. With yet another sigh you started to rub your small bundle of nerves, letting your thoughts drift back to the muscular turtle. His broad shoulders, his big hands, his thick thighs. With his general size, you could only imagine what he could be packing in secret. You used both hands to slide your panties down, leaving them somewhere under the blanket, before pushing your legs out further, letting your fingers continue their movements around your clit.

A  knock on your door caused you to quickly pull your hand out from under the blanket. You sat up in the bed, staring towards the door as it opened. You were almost ready to sink to the ground when you saw who it was.

“Sorry”, Mikey said. “Were you sleeping?”

“Just about”, you answered, tugging the blanket closer around you.

“Sorry. I just wanted to see my room once again”, Mikey said, his eyes falling towards the foot of his old bed. “May I?”

You nodded, watching him as he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He stood for a moment, staring into nothingness, before his eyes moved to his surroundings. It was almost just the way he remembered it. You had only moved a few things, but other than that, it looked like his old bedroom. Same bed frame and all. He let out a small chuckle, remembering all the memories he had between these four walls. The chuckle was light, lighter than sounds you ever had heard from him. That surprised you, and Mikey noticed, though he decided not to say anything about it, acting as if he forgot you even were in the room. Acting as if he couldn’t smell the heavy odor in the air. Truth be told, he did not notice the odor when he first came to the room, nor did he notice it when he walked into the room. It wasn’t until he stood a few feet from the bed that he really noticed it. But with his back turned to you, he did not dare to move or look in your direction. It was the same smell he had noticed when he caught you staring at him earlier that day. It was a scent that seemed to follow you, at least whenever he was around. Yet it wasn’t until now he realized what that scent could be signifying.

You watched as Mikey moved around the room, feeling your legs shake under the blanket. As horrified as you were, you could not deny the excitement. Knowing that lower half of your body was naked under the blanket, with the old mutant just a few feet away from you. You clenched your teeth as you rubbed your thighs together, your eyes lingering on the way his overalls clung around his thick veiny thighs. You had to keep your breathing calm as you the movement in his muscles, and the way his big hands smoothed over an antiche on one of the shelfs. Slowly, making sure his back was still turned to you, his focus on everything else except you on the bed, you let your hand move back under the blanket, once again finding your now dripping core. You suppressed every sound as you slowly started to circle your clit again, your eyes focusing on his hands. The size, the veins, the roughness. You could only imagine how they would feel against you. His rough skin against yours.

“You’re young”, Mikey rumbled, his back still turned to you. You froze, your heart pounding. Yet you managed to remove your hand before he spoke once more. “But you’re not stupid. You know I know what you were doing. I can smell it”. He turned his body towards you, taking small slow steps towards the bed, his voice deep and echoing against the brick walls of his old room. Once again, terrifying yet strangely arousing. It was at that moment that Mikey decided to let go. For the past 20 years he had traveled alone. He was tired. He felt lonely. And with this sweet scent in the air, begging him to come closer, he had to surrender. Even though you were one of his best friend’s daughters, he could not deny your beauty or how your hormones in the air drew him to you. “I could smell it when you were staring at me, and I can smell it now as I’m telling you”. He was now so close to the bed, that his knees were hitting the mattress at the end of the bed. In a slow move, he was standing with both of his knees planted firmly against the bed under him, towering over you. You were too stunned to speak, your mouth dry as you tried to swallow. But damn it, it didn’t change the fact that your heart was beating fast and your nipples were hard under your shirt. “But one thing I can’t smell…”, the mutant continued. “... Is if you still have your underwear on under the blanket”. He took a hold of the fabric of the blanket, pulling slightly at it, making it move down your body, stopping right over your hip. You whimpered slightly. You knew you found Mikey attractive, but this was almost ridiculous. He hadn’t even done anything, and you were already out of breath. “What will I find, (Y/N)?”

“Off”, you choked out. “They’re off”.

“Good girl”, Mikey hummed, pulling further on the blanket. It tickled as the blanket slowly moved off your skin, causing you to curl your legs up against you. With the blanket in his big hands, Mikey’s stare burned into your dripping core, just behind your closed legs. He could almost feel the heat from his towering position, watching the glistening of your folds in the dim light, your sweet scent taking a hold of his senses. Mikey suddenly felt hungry. Hungry in a way he had never felt before.

The churr that erupted from his chest almost made you jump in surprise. It was deep, deeper than you had ever dreamed it would be.

Silently he let go of the blanket to grab a hold of your ankle, his big hands easily opening you up for him. Not that you tried to fight him. No, not at all. All you could do was watch him and his hungry eyes as he crawled further onto the bed, making you gasp at every touch of him against your skin, and marvel at the sheer size of his hands on your ankles. Mikey used his rough hands to keep your legs open for him, letting him move closer to your core. Your breath hitched when you felt his breath against your knee, just before the inside of your thigh. You let out the slightest moan as Mikey’s eyes locked with yours, just as his lips meet your thigh, just above your knee. His hands slipped under your knees, sliding up the outside of your thighs, bringing your legs over his shoulder and onto his shell, before curling around them, his big strong arms holding you open, revealing your aching core even further.

“I’ve always dreamed of having a woman in my bed”, Mikey murmured against your thigh, his lips slowly making their way upwards, letting his tongue lick and his teeth nibble on the way. “Though I always thought that it would happen while I was a teenager, but life has its ways to surprise us”.

“Me too”, you breathed out, making Mikey look questionable at you, his lips still working their way closer to your core. “I used to dream about you when I was a teenager”.

Mikey let out a chuckle. It was almost a laugh. Your heart almost stopped at the sound. You had never thought that you would get to hear the mutant laugh. A chuckle? Sure. A laugh? Never.

“Is that so?”, Mikey smiled against your soft skin, feeling himself getting more daring. He could literally smell and see how his words affected you. The way you bite your lips with your pupils blown wide, and how your beautiful center started to cling around empty air. The thought of how you would cling around him, brought him dangerously close to dropping, making his churr sound as he spoke. “On my bed while I was gone? You’re a better girl than I thought, waiting patiently for me to come home”.

You sighed at his praise, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. This was already better than anything you could have made up in your mind. “Mikey”, you sighed, grabbing onto the sheet under you, breathing heavily at the close proximity of his lips to your flower.

“Is this how you’ve dreamed of me?”, he asked, before his tongue drew a line, all the way from the bottom of your core to the top, flicking your clit on the way.

“Mikey!”, you gasped in pleasure, your hands flying onto the arms around your legs.

“Not so loud, (Y/N)”, Mikey whispered against your mount. “We can’t let them hear us”.

You nodded, bringing an already shaking hand up to your mouth, before Mikey let his large tongue flick your clit once more, enjoying the feeling of how your thighs tensed in his grip. It was soon followed by another flick and yet another. It didn’t take long before you grabbed a hold of the front of your shirt, biting down on that instead of just covering your mouth with your bare hand. Mikey saw how that made your shirt rise further up, letting out a deep churr like moan against your clit. The vibration of one of your heels kicked against his shell, while a head flew to his bald head. Your head rolled back as Mikey started to suck on your clit, making your shirt rise even further. One of Mikey’s hands moved from your legs and up your side, until his hand was right on your breast. Your shirt rose over his two big knuckles, exposing your chest. You groaned against your shirt in satisfaction as Mikey’s gigantic hand started palming your breast, while his tongue and lips continued their work on your clit. Mikey hummed against your clit, finding the taste of your juices and sounds sweeter than honey. He wanted more.

With the hand of the thigh that Mikey’s arm was still wrapped around, he replaced his lips and tongue with his thumb on your clit, letting his tongue sneak down to your entrance. He growled at the sight of you squirming against him, his thumb rubbing circles on your bundles of nerves, while his tongue started exploring your insides. Your eyes fell shut as you threw your head to the side, your hips buckling against his face, and your small hand grabbing on to the one that was still groping your breast. You were close. Fuck, you were close. Your free leg over Mikey’s shoulder started to move frantically as you got closer, the other shaking against Mikey’s grip. He took in the sight of you. You red flushed face, your now messy hair, and the way your breast shook ever so slightly at each sudden move. Mikey started to grind himself against the mattress under him, getting himself closer to his drop, his tongue doing curled motions inside your warm walls, all while his thumb still assaulted your clit. That was when you started to grab onto him frantically. You were close, so fucking close for him. Mikey growled against you. He was going to get you there.

And then it happened. Your legs clamped around Mikey’s head as you came with a muffled scream that sounded like his name, and your legs spazzing over his shoulder. Mikey quickly retracted his hand from your chest, forcing your legs open with both his hands, licking up every last bit of your orgasm, every breath from him sounding like a groan. You puffed and panted, your hands forming fists around the sheets as Mikey rode out your high, until your legs finally started to relax under his hands.

Mikey sat up and started to undo his overalls. His moves were almost frantic as he undid his belt, followed by his straps, all while you laid there and watched him, still recovering from the earth shaking orgasm he had brought you, your now soaked shirt clinging to your collarbone. You once again started rubbing your thighs together, the sight of the undressing turtle making your heart pound.

“You like this, don’t you, (Y/N)?”, he growled with a smug smile, as he started to push the overalls down his body and down his muscular thighs. “Just like you used to dream of, huh?”

“Almost”, you smiled back, feeling yourself getting more mischievous, letting a hand slide down to your now overly sensitive clit. “It’s even better”.

The terrapin growled at the sight, shoving the rest of his clothes onto the floor, revealing himself before you in all of his naked glory. You marveled at the full sight of his toned body, feeling your body shiver with need once more. Mikey huffed before he grabbed a hold of your wrist, moving your fingers to his mouth, so he could suck off what little slick you had picked up on them. That alone caused you to let out a choked moan.

“No more self pleasure”, he said, before throwing your hand to the mattress, his hands finding the hem of your shirt. “Take this off and I’ll show you what’s even better”.

Whatever sound you made, it was enough to make Mikey chuckle as he watched you sit up to take off your shirt, leaving you fully naked in front of him. Once your shirt hit the floor he slowly crawled over you, his deep eyes watching you like a predator hunting a prey. Instictly you leaned backwards, slowly letting your back fall against the mattress, until Mikey had you lying fully onto the bed, with him positioned between your legs. You felt his breath across your face, his beak so close that you instinctively closed your eyes, your lips searching for his. His lips were rough yet soft, and moved against yours with ease. The kiss started out sweet, as if he hadn’t just fucked you dirty with his tongue. Your arms moved around his thick neck, your fingers tracing shapes on the back of his head, your legs curling around his thick thighs. Mikey’s hands moved to hold your close by the shoulders. It wasn’t until a soft moan escaped your lips that his large tongue dared to ask for entrance. And once entrance was granted, this got heated once again. Mikey started to grind his cloaca against your soaked flower, his lips swallowing every sound that came from your pretty mouth.

“Mikey”, you moaned against his lips, buckling your hips against him. “Please, Mikey. I want it”.

Mikey pulled from your lips and placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, before his eyes caught yours. “Tell me if it hurts”, he whispered, a sudden softness in his voice. In the short time you had known him, you had never heard Mikey be soft. “Tell me and I’ll stop”.

“I will”, you nodded, feeling a soft kiss against your lips, before his kisses started to move down your neck just by your ear. One of his hands moved between the two of you to his cloaca, where he pulled himself out with ease, before he slowly started dragging his head up and down your folds before he found your entrance. With even more kisses down your neck, he slowly pushed into your tight hole, groaning against your skin. You had to bite down onto his shoulder in order not to scream. He was so much bigger than you had thought he would be, stretching you out to the point where it was hard to tell the difference between pleasure and pain.

“You’re doing so great, (Y/N)”, Mikey groaned against your ear, almost making your eyes roll back just by the sound. Your arms hugged tighter unto him as he moved further in, making him groan by how tight your walls were hugging him. “Fuck”. You whimpered against him, adjusting to his size. Mikey brought a hand to your face, pulling back slightly so he could look at you. “So good. You’re doing so good, (Y/N)”, he said before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

“Please, Mikey”, you whimpered, nudging him with your leg. “Please move”.

Mikey answered you with another kiss, before letting his head drop back down to your ear. He ever so slowly started to pull out of you, before slowly pushing back in. You quickly hide your face against his broad shoulder once more, whimpering at the small wave of pleasure. Mikey listened closely to your muffled sounds at his slow speed, trying to find any signs of pain. But once he found none he slowly started speeding up.

“Shit”, he moaned against your ear, his thrust becoming harder. “You feel so good, (Y/N)”. Your hands clawed onto his shell, your sounds muffled by his rough skin against your mouth.

Mikey’s legs moved further apart, making it easier for him to move against you. With the bed starting to creak lightly under you, you prayed that neither your mother or sister would hear anything. Neither the way you whimpered against the mutant turtle, or the way he cursed and groaned against your ear, telling you how good you were. Michelangelo fucking you raw on his old childhood bed was not something they needed to know. But you would be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamed of this moment, ever since he was brought back down to the lair. And now you were enjoying the full force of his God-like thighs.

Mikey placed a hand over your mouth and pulled back, looking down at you with hungry yet mischievous eyes. “Is this what you’ve dreamed of?”, he asked, his hips continuing to drive into you, setting a new speed. “To be fucked like this but and old mutant?” You nodded frantically, wanting to scream against his hand. A bright smug smile grew on his lips, bringing a boyish charm you had never seen on him before. He almost looked 20 years younger. “You’re such a good girl, (Y/N). Tell me, who is fucking you this good?”

“You, Mikey!”, you whimpered against his hand, your head spinning at the second high that was starting to build in your lower region.

“You’re getting close, ain’t you, (Y/N)?” His hand moved from your mouth to your throat, making you fight to stay quiet. Your heart beating faster and faster as you got closer and closer to your second orgasm. “Who are you coming for, (Y/N)?”

And with that your second orgasm that night hit you like a brick wall. Your body spazzing and your head spinning, you let out a loud soar moan. “Mikey!” The said mutant roughly pulled you in for another hungry kiss, swallowing every sound as you came hard around him. His speed continued high, the bed creaking while he rode out your high. His thrusts started to become erratic against your still shaking body, before he too came, groaning your name out loud.

Mikey stayed upon you, as the both of you caught your breath. With one last kiss, he slowly pulled out of you, leaving the two of you with small noises of complaint by the lack of each other. He laid back on his shell, staring up at his old ceiling while catching his breath. He instinctively pulled you close with his big arm, letting you rest your head upon his shoulder. He knew he should leave. You had both been noisier than he had wished to be, and he feared what April would say if she found him cuddling with her freshly fucked daughter in his arms. But Mikey could not deny how nice it was to be laying there with you in his old room. Who would have thought that his teenage dream of having sex in his room actually would come true.

“So”, you smiled from his side. “Was this just like your dream of having a woman in your room?”

Mikey chuckled, pulling you even closer. “It was even better”.

[neverenoughmarauders]

💕⏰️💥

You must think I forgot or lost this given the delay in answering, BUT it's more like your third question BROKE me, because suddenly I have this whole new vision for canon.

Anyways, let's start at the top:

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Honestly, it must be the present (poison?/what do you call an anti-present??) for @caslyra: A bit of werewolf legislation, which is the story about how Umbridge set about drafting that bit of anti-werewolf legislation in 1993.

⏰️ Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random?

Bit of both? Gosh, this is where my AuDHD comes in. Without a schedule, I feel stressed, and with a schedule, I feel stressed. For my long fic I usually tell people when the next chapter will be posted.

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

So here's the thing. When people ask this, I usually answer Remus and Tonks' deaths. Like sure: I will never forgive JKR for killing Sirius (among other (more important) things...) but I see why he had to die before DH, as much as it pains me to admit it. And I can joke about Prongsfoot being canon, or whatever, but I like the idea that Sirius is as ambiguous as he is. Is he gay, straight, pan, bi, ace, aro? Is he in love with any of his friends, or did he never have a chance to find anyone (or wasn't interested)?

So why Remus and Tonks? Well, because they're killed off-page and for no other reason than symbolism. Yes JKR wanted an orphaned boy, and yes she wanted all of the marauders to die. And my feelings on the matter: F*ck that symbolism.

But... I thought about the Forbidden Forest/resurrection stone scene, and thought: okay, lets just say that Remus dying "must" happen, so that we get the reunion in the Forest. What if only Tonks survived? And that's when my brain exploded.

If I could change one* thing, it would be to have Tonks be the one to kill Bellatrix.

JUST THINK ABOUT IT!!! IT MAKES SUCH NARRATIVE SENSE.

Firstly, Bellatrix and Tonks have many encounters throughout the series, and that is probaly why in the end Bella kills Tonks. BUT in these encounters, Bellatrix basically fare better than Tonks every time, especially the battle at the Ministry (in OOTP), which is a big deal for the plot of HBP.

Tonks is devastated that Remus is off trying to kill himself because now all his friends are dead, and he isn't emotionally prepared to see the witch he has fallen in love with move on and marry someone else. (She won't but he doesn't believe that). We're now going into interpretation land, but there's no way Tonks doesn't feel guilty about her role in Sirius' death (having lost against Bellatrix so that Sirius had to take her place), both as his cousin, but more importantly because Sirius was Remus' last remaining friend. And it shapes Tonk's motivation to go after Bellatrix: "I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix."

And we know Bellatrix' motivation for killing Tonks. She married Remus--a werewolf (which is why she deserves a f*ck tonne more respect from the fandom because had she not, she would probably have lived).

The thing is, Bellatrix killing Tonks is the expected outcome, really. Having Tonks rising to the challenge in the Battle of Hogwarts, after always having to flee or end up at St Mungo's would have been more satisfactory.

But it doesn't end there. What about the symbolism, you ask? Well, I think Tonks would have served as a wonderful parallel (and opposition) to Lily. Lily chooses death because of her son (refusing to step away), but Tonks chooses to live because of her son, when she otherwise might have chosen to die heroically.

Okay what do I mean?

Well, it would make the whole Tonks having a breakdown and be a complete mess in HBP more narratively satisfying. You get the impression she doesn't feel she can live without Remus (and in many ways it's incredible--and incredibly predictable--that Remus fails to see this). She's SO down. And understandably so. Can you imagine the person you love willingly throwing away their life because they don't think they're worthy of love (and you're just like I AM RIGHT HERE LOVING YOU!)?

Even when Teddy is born, it's not difficult to get the impression it's Remus she values most (I am not saying she does!!!) because it's Remus she's asking about in that battle (not the fight more broadly). She wants to find Remus. And we know he is likely dead if she ever finds him (he doesn't seem to know she's dead in the forest, and he was duelling his killer last time anyone saw him, which was before Tonks sets after him). Making it possible to interpret it so that Tonks basically gave up fighting hard when she learned what had happened. I AM NOT SAYING THAT'S HOW I SEE IT, but it is an interpretation that's within the realms of canon, and I hate that.

“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?”

Now, don't get me wrong, I get why Molly gets to kill Bellatrix, but the taunt makes no sense!! Ginny is the only one not of age, and by only a few months. Molly's children will be fine. (Or as fine as they can be, I’m not pretending it won’t affect them). And while Molly has lost a lot to the wars, Bellatrix is by no means the driving force of that as far as we know.

But what if this is Bellatrix' taunt to Tonks instead:

“What will happen to your son when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Tonks' curses danced around her. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as Daddy?”

And Tonks, whom we have seen suffer so much in the HBP because she was worried she would lose Remus, who now has lost Remus, who lost her dad a few months ago; who has nothing but her son really (sorry Andromeda, I am sure she loves you, but she did choose to spend christmas alone when she was heart broken in the HBP so I will stand my words) fight back; and kill Bellatrix. It would make more sense to have witnessed her suffering in the HBP if it builds up to this: that when her fear became reality, when she might before have chosen death to follow Remus, she now chooses life, because she has a son to live for. (Again, I am NOT suggesting she chose death with Bellatrix murdering her, but in this version that would be the narrative, that she now chooses life!)

It would also fit so well with one of the key themes at the end of DH: Do not pity the dead Harry, pity the living.

PITY THE LIVING GODDAMMIT!! It's right there! For someone who wrote that line, she decided that the biggest tragedy of them all was death (judging by how many she chose to kill).

Finally, I think it continued to give credit to Remus' fears. Remus does not want Tonks to marry him because he's old and tainted. Now he is right, btw. Tonks marrying Remus is what, in canon, leads to her death. (Well technically, Tonks getting pregnant with Remus' child but one thing leads to another). Does that mean she would have survived, otherswise? We don't know, of course. But Remus is right to be scared of the idea. He loves her, and he understands, far better than she does, just how dangerous it is for her to get involved with him.

But even when she lives, his fears become true:

“I am not being ridiculous,” said Lupin steadily. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.” “But she wants you,” said Mr. Weasley, with a small smile. “And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.”

"After all Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so" might be one of my favourite canon lines. Yes it's personal.

Remus' argument is that Tonks deserves better: someone young and whole, or you know, young and alive. Tonks is widowed at an incredibly young age in this version.

At the same time, I like it because in this version he's also wrong, in that the way Tonks is hurt has nothing to do with him being a werewolf. After all, Remus, young and whole men die too. Just look at James Potter. (Or Fred Weasley, Cedric Diggory etc. or even boys... Oh... Colin). In the end, it would have handled Remus with the same ambiguity that some of her fates and characters get: he is right, and he is right to be scared; but he is also wrong, and he's wrong to be scared.

As someone who grew up with the fact that I might have had a terminal incurable illness (I didn't, in the end), only to then a few years after learning I was healthy nearly be killed in a terrorist attack, I like the idea that we have fears that are real, and yet sometimes that leaves us blind to the fact that life fucks with us all.

Remus and James, two incredibly different people, in canon end up sharing a smiliar last year of their lives: in hiding with their wife and son, knowing there is a target on their back. I think Tonks not dying would have made the parallel clearer, that in the end, Remus died just the same as any person (instead, I at least get caught up in the fact that he was bloody right, because Tonks was killed by Bella).

Okay speech over. I am too tried (it's not even late) to fix this mess, so it is a ramble. One day I'll clean this up and make it a better post.

*let's never get into whether this is one or two things

[hodari-pavels-good-boy]

Espresso Chapter 3:

Vaunting

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

Pairing: Hodari Pavel x Reader Word Count: 2.1k Chapter: 3/? Rating: E

Tags: Angst, Angst with a happy ending, miscommunication, fluff, eventual smut

A/N: This is a multi chapter Hodari x y/n story! Gender is not specified so everyone can enjoy it (though I did originally start writing it with the intention of it being a male reader lol). Tags will be updated as the fic goes. Cross-posted Here on Ao3. Fic below the cut! Enjoy :)

In the days that passed since Hodari confronted you in the mines you’ve been avoiding the Pavel house like the plague and succinctly the mines themselves. ‘It’s nothing personal’ still echoes in your head and you’ve decided the best course of action would probably be to avoid all of the southern half of Bahari Bay for right now so you don’t accidentally run into the miner or his daughter and risk catching Hodari’s ire. The message was received loud and clear the first time and you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to hear it again. You’re not one to place yourself where you aren’t welcomed or wanted. 

This clever plan however, has its drawbacks. Only sticking to the northern half of the bay has unfortunately proven to be quite a challenge. It comes with the steep price of annoyance from the town’s stern hunter who has been trying to mentor you in proper use of your new bow and you fear his patience is running thin with the various excuses you’ve been feeding him.

Your ore stash has also taken a hit with not being able to actually venture into the mines or the foothills that surround them. Thankfully you still had a decent supply set up from your excessive late night mining but it's not an expansive supply by any means so there wasn’t much to spare. This means you’ve been stuck with the less-than-ideal pickaxe you had been hoping to ditch in favor of a better one. You’d been planning on talking to the miner about the upgrade but no longer see that happening in the foreseeable future so you’ll just have to make do. 

You feel yourself cringe internally at the memory of the conversation still freshly haunting your thoughts. Thinking back on it, he didn't seem mad per se but any interaction with him is most likely going to be tense and awkward and you'd rather avoid the whole thing if you can. It’s bad enough that when you spot him in town you find yourself ducking into the nearest building to avoid any confrontation with him.

Regardless of anger, your heart still hurts and your self esteem definitely took a harder hit than you’d like to admit, even if only to yourself. Fitting in and finding your place here has been nothing short of difficult but you thought you had been making headway. If you were feeling bold, you might have even said becoming friends. ’We- I don’t know you’ floats its way back into your thoughts and you stop it in its tracks before you can spiral again. Finding out you had been very mistaken and overstepping boundaries left and right unknowingly is as painful as it is embarrassing. 

Deciding to stop the tiny pity party you've found yourself in, you get ready to head into town. You’ve been needing to stop by Zeki’s for a few things and no better time to do so than when the day is still young. Now that the weekend is here once you've finished what you need to do, you're looking forward to not having to worry for a few days and take the time to relax and soothe your hurt and embarrassment in peace. With one last quick check you leave your plot and start your walk to the general store.

As you’re making your way down the hill Sifuu spots you. “Y/n!” She calls and waves you over. 

“Good morning!” You greet as you approach her. She smiles and claps a large hand on your shoulder. “Haven’t seen you around the last few days, my iron has been running low!” she laughs. You smile placatingly and brush it aside, apologizing letting her know you’ve been busy.

“Haven't we all! Tell you what, I’ve got some extra gold in it for you if you could help me out and get me some extra for tomorrow. I’ve got an order I've been working on that’s requiring a bit more than I expected. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She winks and you hesitate. On one hand you do want to help her and the promise of some extra coin is as good a motivator as any. On the other hand… you still aren't planning on going anywhere near the mines anytime soon. ‘Well good bye gold’ you silently mourn.

“I'm sorry, I wish I could help but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be going down in the mines right now. I’ve got a lot going on right now and won't have time” you apologize, the tiny lie falling from your lips. You hope she doesn’t ask any for any clarification and thankfully she doesn't. She just narrows her eyes but doesn’t press any further. You internally let out a sigh of relief, you really didn’t want to explain the situation. As kind as the blacksmith is, you have a feeling she wouldn’t be the best person to talk about this with.

She sends you off with reassurance that it’s okay and that she hopes to see you around town again before heading towards her forge. You head the opposite direction towards the docks, reasoning Zeki’s can wait a bit longer. A few hours of comfortable silence later spent with Einar as you fish together, the sun is high in the sky and your stomach is telling you it’s time to eat. You sell Einar your tiny haul and head back towards the town for some food. 

Between the time and it being the weekend you figured the inn would be empty for the lunch period. Walking in you were surprised to find that instead of the silence you were expecting, the inn seemed to be quite busy and filled with life. Sifuu and Badruu are here lounging at the long table by the door laughing loudly, drink spilling as their cheeks color a ruddy hue from what you're not sure is from the joy they're projecting or from the spirits in their cup. Both Kenli and Zeki sit across from them, one far more interested in the going ons across the table than the other. In the corner at the end of the same table, Delaila and Chayne are more quietly talking amongst themselves. Curious, you walk over to the bar where Reth is. 

“What’s going on?” you ask the cook motioning to the commotion behind you. 

Reth laughs, wiping the bar down. “I guess everyone decided to have a break day. They're all taking the afternoon off to catch up before the end of season rushes hit everyone.” You nod along and slide into one of the stools at the counter.

“Guess I’ll take my lunch over here then, I don’t want to intrude.” 

Reths gives you a weird look before throwing the towel on his shoulder and leaning against the countertop. “Look I’m not wanting to stick my nose in where it isn’t wanted so you can tell me to forget it and it's gone, but are you doing okay, sweet tooth? You’ve seemed pretty down every time I’ve seen you the last few days. Starting to miss the smiles around here.”

You take a moment to think before you answer, this is Reth. If anyone is going to be sympathetic to the situation, it’d be him. "I'm fine. I just- do you ever realize you misunderstood something and the aftermath of that... just kinda sucks?" 

Reth’s face changes from curious to mildly confused at your question. "Yeah. I guess so. What happened?" 

You're not sure if you want to tell him the whole situation, not wanting to cause a bigger issue, but the genuine concern in his eyes placates some of your nerves. You can trust him. "It's not a big deal really.. I just thought I was finally understanding the gift giving and friendship rules here” you pause before sighting, “but I guess not."

Reth stays quiet for a moment as he ponders the words and then tilts his head, " So what happened?" He asks again.

You look down at the counter picking at the grain of the wood., "I accidentally overstated my welcome in someone’s company and misread a situation. It's fine, I'm just a little embarrassed." 

Reth gets a bit more serious now, everyone in town adores your presence. You've been so kind and helpful to everyone! Eager to learn the customs unfamiliar to you without complaint and you go out of your way to help everyone you come across, even at your own inconvenience and expense. You've been so kind to him in particular, he can't imagine who wouldn't want you around. Surely there's just been a misunderstanding "Who-" he starts before Ashuras booming voice fills the inn

"Hodari, my friend! You made it. We were getting worried you wouldn't actually come"

Hodari says something in response but you don't catch is as you feel your whole body lock up, refusing to turn around

Reth shoots you another strange look at your reaction before his eyes widen, putting the dots together. "What did he say?" He begins but you shake your head. 

"It's really not a big deal, Reth. It’s more of an ego hit or sting to my pride than anything else."

Reth just hums and gives you an almost withering look to tell you he’s not impressed with the answer but drops it and you feel a wave of gratitude towards your friend. As time passes you slowly start to relax as you realize the miner hasn’t seen you as they all gather amongst themselves to chat. 

Reth sets a bowl of your favorite soup in front of you that you hadn't ordered yet. You look up at him quizzically and he shrugs. "It’s a new recipe, you're the first to try it so let me know what you think. On the house for testers of course." You nod and take a sip and can't help a smile as the flavor bursts across your tongue, there's nothing new about it at all. And with every spoonful, you feel just a little bit warmer. After you've finished, Reth takes the bowl from you. "Want me to go talk to the grouch?" He nods his head towards where Hodari is talking and laughing and you stifle a laugh at the image in front of you with the ‘grouch’ descriptor while shaking your head. 

"No. It's okay, really. I misread the situation, it stings and I'm so embarrassed. But it's probably for the best. I don't want to force myself to be somewhere I'm not wanted." 

Reth scrunched his nose at that huffing ".. I don't like that. We don't do that. Sure we can be pretty strict in our traditions and some can be harsh if someone deviates" he pauses gesturing to his entire self, "but we repay the kindness we are shown." You nod along to appease him but don't say anything as he continues. "I meant it when I said you don't have to tell me what happened, but I'm not gonna lie, sweet tooth, I'm a little confused what he could say or do to make you feel like that. He’s a bit gruff, sure, but under all that he tends to mind his own business and is always willing to help out when it's needed. I mean, he hasn't even shown any issue with me. Maybe it's just a really big misunderstanding?" He says not unkindly. 

You shrug noncommittally, wanting the conversation to move on. Reth picks up on the change pretty quick and switches the topic to something more neutral. Soon enough he has you throwing your head back in laughter, Hodari and the conversation far from your mind. Before you know it, over an hour has passed and you needed to be heading back home. You tell Reth as such and he offers to help you sneak and you slip out the back so you don't have to walk past the whole group still engrossed in their conversation or Hodari. 

As you're leaving from behind the inn, your steps feel a little lighter. Even with everything that's happened, you still have friends who care for you and it'll be okay. This has been a learning opportunity and you’ll give yourself room to grow. Lost in your own self assurance as you start the walk home you almost miss the sound of footsteps racing behind you. Subconsciously you start to brace for impact from Auni when a girl's voice calls out "Y/N!" You turn around to see Najuma tearing out from seemingly Jel’s shop, if the harried tailor and Tish running out from the building are any indication, and running right towards you.  'Oh no..'

[Dividers by the-aesthetic-shop]

[cloud-somersault]

Something that absolutely destroys me about shadowpeach is just the fact that they weren't "good" to each other. They loved each other, sure, but sometimes love just isn't enough.

They are "right person wrong time." They helped each other unintentionally go into a self-destructive paths, and the worst part is that only Wukong managed to get out of it before it ruined him.

Its just so fucked up, imagine you love someone and they love you but they are undeniably going into a path with no return but they do change and they become better, but only after you're gone.

Yeah, I think shadowpeach is compelling and interesting for the layers of tragedy it has. I really do think they're the "right person, wrong time" type of dynamic. If they met each other later on, there wouldn't have been any major problems; just ones they could address as they come up.

But I think...it's a great showing of how people can change each other. A chance interaction can change a person for life. We, as people, are made up of those interactions, the pain, the hurt, the love, the joy we've been shown and what we've given to others.

Wukong and Macaque were doing what they felt was right. In the way they felt was right. And they didn't know how to address it or be better, because confronting the communication issues and lack of respect and value means admitting there's a problem, and neither of them wanted to do that.

I don't think Macaque wanted to, he just wanted to put up with it and stay on Wukong's good side. He disregarded his own hesitations and doubts and believed in this person wholeheartedly instead of making his own decisions and choosing to go against the grain. It's hard to say "no" to the Monkey King, admittedly, but Macaque, probably, felt as if he couldn't.

In s4, he subtly tried to remove himself from the uprising against Heaven, but Wukong dragged him back in on the premise that they're "bros" and it'll be a fun "whatever" kind of time and not a life or death situation. Macaque saw that truth; Wukong refused to.

And that's a lot of Wukong's whole story - thinking he's invincible, that he's above everyone, that he's the handsomest and strongest and best ever. he was entitled and didn't like being told no. Very haughty and spoiled. A brat. He had sense and was funny and showed kindness when he needed to, but he was selfish, also.

Against all that, Macaque's in an odd position. They're friends, but Macaque is quiet. He's subtle. A shadow. Introverted and observant, he probably never felt as if his voice mattered or would change anything. But getting the attention of the Monkey King is a high honor!

And Wukong just thought Macaque was cool, another strong guy with shadow magic that he could get into mischief with. Someone like him!!

It reminds me of a dynamic you see a lot in media. The adventurous main character paired with a more shy and scared secondary character. The main character drags them around unwillingly into situations, assuring the secondary character everything will be fine. And, eventually, it takes the secondary character standing up for themselves for a change to occur.

And that's what happened in that cave.

There is tragedy...in someone you love changing after you're no longer in their life. But...it's more important that they changed at all. A lot of people don't. It's difficult to change. And Wukong was traveling (and was trapped) in this journey with people, learning and humbling himself along the way, learning friendship and love. It took that specific environment and discipline to change him, because changing the Monkey King?? Is a huge task, something that Macaque by himself couldn't do.

And that's said around this fandom like it's a bad thing. I know Macaque would see it as one, because that's his character, but...I don't know. I don't see it as one. Maybe you're not what that person needs, not at that moment, not at that time. And that's..okay. I think that's something we gotta accept.

Because we can't fix everyone. We can't hold ourselves to that standard. Just as I said before, people are collections of their interactions with others, and maybe those other people...are what Wukong needed at that moment. Maybe Macaque wasn't at a point in his life, maturity wise or life experience wise, to direct Wukong on the path to change. Maybe that wasn't his burden to bear.

Sometimes it takes a specific person to say something. With how people weave in and out of each others lives, I think the takeaway should be more "I'm glad you changed. I'm proud of you. You did it!" Like, let's focus on the end result, because...if people change for the better, than they can help others change, and maybe Wukong is the right person at this right time to help Macaque change.

[just-xylia]

Some Thoughts on Persona 5 and it's characters

So, Person 5 is such a great game and it’s one that has stuck with me for a long time. That being said, it is far from the best Persona game, and it could be so much better. 

The best part of Persona Three was how everyone's Story arcs and growth happened in the main plot. You didn’t need Social links to understand a character, their motivations, or how they overcame the trial to get from point A to Point B. On top of that, the members of Sees did not solely rely on the main character to grow as a character. So Figured I’d sit through each of the Phantom Thieves and see how we could improve on their arcs through the main story alone. 

Let's Start with Ryuji. A fact about him that is almost forgotten is that his leg is chronically damaged. It seems like the writers forgot about that fact and only brought it out when it’s plot relevant. Now to be fair, this is far from the only piece of Media to do this. (Ex: Iida from MHA, and to some extent Collei (Genshin Impact) and Firefly (HSR) fall under this as well) In Ryuji’s case it could have been so much more effective. Like so many events could have been Ryuji saying that he can’t participate because of his leg. For example the beach scene. Hot take, we don’t need a Babe hunt scene in every Persona game. You could have easily replaced that with Ryuji talking to someone about how much his disability has to hold him back from having fun with friends, and the anguish and guilt that comes with that. If you made Ryuji’s leg condition not a fact about him but a thing he has to live with, can you imagine how much more impactful that would have made his big running moment at the end of Shido’s temple? Goodness, that would have been even more of a moment, (Oh and get rid of the scene afterwards where he gets beat up for literally no reason. He needs hugs, not fists.) On top of that, can we please talk more about his trauma of going through the whole abuse that Kamoshida put him through? He and Mishima should bond over that. Mishima deserves to have a friend and healing companion in Ryuji, not have everyone annoyed at him. ALSO, He could bond with Ann about that whole ordeal as well. They both were hurt, and watched people they cared about get hurt by the same man. They both seem the type to put other people's needs over their own. 

Speaking of Ann, I feel like we could have gone into an arc with her trauma over the whole Kamoshida situation. I would have loved to see her struggle to continue modelling (an arc similar to how Rise quit her Idol career), or honestly even just with her image of self after that ordeal. Now do I trust Atlus to properly handle an arc about a girl having self esteem issues and not turn it into some creepy scene? (Looks at the overuse of Hot tub scenes and most of the events in P4) Yeah no I don’t. But we aren’t Atlus and can totally make this into a productive arc, because I WANT Ann to overcome this, and I want it to be a realistic struggle. I want her to use anger to cover up her pain, and to be humbled by that, whether it's from Ryuji, or Makoto, or hell, even Shiho. Her arc doesn’t even have to end with her magically getting better, and it shouldn’t. She’ll need to admit to herself that she needs professional help, and While Maruki would help a bit, she needs someone who isn’t trying to, you know, brainwash the whole world to think happy thoughts. 

Now How do you fix a problem named Morgana? Easy actually. Just make Morgana a normal ass cat. Morgana does not need to speak in order to get a personality right. Look at Koromaru in P3. Koromaru was great, and never  uttered a word (Unless it's Aegis, cause she can understand Dawg Tawlk). Morgana can still be spunky and have an attitude and not speak a word. In fact, it’d probably be more endearing if He was just a normal ass cat. Have the cat start off standoffish and then slowly but surely get more comfortable around the Phantom thieves. It’d work so much better.

Now I feel like Makoto already has a decent story arc within the main P5 story. The dynamic between her and Sae is already so good. You know what would have made it better? Exploring that dynamic at the same time as exploring the Dynamic between Haru’s father and her forced marriage at the same time. I feel like we should have introduced Haru into the Phantom Thieves at around, if not at the same time as Makoto. We’d get more Haru screen time, and It’d give us a chance to see Haru and Makoto bond over their struggles. Sure, the protag CAN be there to help, but I feel like Haru and Makoto have the potential to have a similar kind of bond that Yukari and Mitsuru had. 

Now with Yusuke, Goodness, the whole ordeal with Madarame. How do you have confidence in your artistic skill again after learning what your art was used for? How do you trust another adult figure with your craft again after that? That is what He’d have to figure out. Now imagine what happens if one day he gets contacted by a mysterious contact that goes by Alibaba. There’s no request for money, or for art. Just needed someone to talk to about feeling alone in the world. Now when that same Alibaba ends up being Futaba? Goodness you already see how famously they get along, but now they have a previous connection so that they can easily have more of a bond. They easily work as sibling vibes, and they would be each other's closest confidant. They could give each other the confidence needed to show their true sleeves to the world, and fight against those who wronged them. 

For Kasumi, I feel like we need to get rid of the Kasumi actually being Sumire twist. It can be a good plot line if done right, but Maruki remains a fantastic Antagonist with or without adding that twist. Instead what would be interesting to see is Kasumi continuing her anti- Phantom Thieves thoughts even after receiving her Persona. Would she rat out Joker? No. She would instead enter different palaces and mementos trying to help the world in her own way. She would be an interesting obstacle to the phantom Thieves. Not a friend or a foe. Someone who would help at some points, but hinder at others. This would also make daily life so freaking intriguing when talking to Kasumi as well. Having to keep up this pretense that all is fine when there is that underlying tension. She is a hindrance of Joker’s own making. A character who would not be afraid to call the Phantom Thieves Hypocrites and make them see that she is right. She would be the cause of any disagreement or fight between the Phantom Thieves. Not that she intends to tear them apart. She just sees Justice in a different light. Of course, she also disagrees with Akechi’s view of Justice, both when he is hiding his true nature, and especially after he shows his true colors. 

Now as for Lavenza, just make her the main Velvet Room assistant, and maybe Justine and Caroline are just little messengers or something for her. She’d be forced to keep you in the cell, but you’d see the remorse she feels over the whole situation. You’d see her lack of trust in the “Igor” that we talk to. And Justine and Caroline? They’d be the ones trying to discreetly contact us in the real world, hoping to get help for Lavenza, but of course their personalities don’t help them in getting anything but little hints across the storyline. 

As for Akechi, I feel like they used him the right amount, but maybe he could have been used less in game play. Make him only available for the two boss battles he is a part of the team for, and for the one part where you first run into Maruki in his Palace. He isn’t meant to be a Phantom Thief. He is just there for the moments he needs to be there for. 

Anyway, those are my takes. Make sure all the Phantom Thieves are together once you have Futaba, and let the phantom thieves be there for each other. And goodness it would be so nice if they don't always agree, hell it would be interesting if they didn’t agree on who’s heart they want to change next at some points. In any case, these are just my thoughts on how P5 could have been made better just by giving the characters more time to shine. 

[alliskit]

The Grand Design.

This was seriously delayed due to lots of travel and a big life update:

Baby #2 is on the way!

My motivation levels are knotted to my feelings. And for the last week or so I've been feeling the 1st trimester….. 🤢

Also some news on the fic:

From here on out I will be writing in almost exclusively Abbi, Astarion, or Halsin's POV. Occasionally, based on situations there may be another. (I.e. Gale will get a few in Act 2)

Thank you to all who are keeping up with this! I know the POV's are different than many other stories, but it's been a blast getting inside of these guys' heads.

Also, I live on your comments and kudos. I'm not afraid to admit I'm a sucker for approval.…

I love you guys!

Song I listened to while writing this (Abbi’s POV):

On AO3.

CH. 20: For The Ones We Lost And The Ones We Found.

- I Wish I Was Dreaming (Abbi POV) - The Worst Fight With The Best Reward (Astarion POV) - Names Have Meaning (Abbi POV)

I squinted into the sun behind my sunglasses. I would probably need to apply more sunblock soon, but the warmth felt amazing on my stretched stomach. Sylas was due in three months. He was going to be beautiful. Hopefully, he ushered in a new season filled with love and a lot less pain.

Brian held my hand across the small glass table as we sat poolside. "You were right," he smiled under his ball cap, "This was the best year of our marriage." His smiled faded to disappointment as his thumb rubbed my hand. He turned his bittersweet look to me, "I was an asshole for so many years."

I tipped my head, "Wait... that's not..." My hand fell to my stomach as I looked around me. I realized no one else seemed to be here today, but I could've sworn there had been tons of vacation goers meandering, sun bathing, and swimming around us.

He huffed a laugh, "I jinxed myself it seems. Shouldn't have been so confident in saying you were going to die first."

I was a little confused, but played along, "I'm just glad I ignored you and made the will like I said we should. And yeah, saying that I had a near zero chance of finding someone good for me and Sylas, if you died, was a dick move."

"Did you?"

I shook my head. "You've only been gone since April, it's like August."

His face pinched, "Then why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Both of us can't be gone already."

A cool breeze tossed a little of my hair. There was a storm forming out over the ocean I hadn't noticed before or just didn't remember — if it was even really there to begin with.

Brian looked around at the empty pool area. "I was a dick to you. You deserved so much better. I'm glad we had the time we did, though." He focused back on me as the storm crept in behind him, "Even if I did a shit job showing it, I loved you with my whole being."

I wanted to believe him, I really did. He seemed genuine — regretful. I considered the changed memory around us as a chill spread through me, "Am I dead?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it. You don't belong here, yet."

"So I'm dying?"

He smiled down at our laced hands, then into my eyes, "You were the best thing that ever happened to me." He paused, letting his words sit between us. "Go be the best thing that has ever happened to someone else. And tell Sylas, 'I love you, Tad.'"

I didn’t have time to really feel anything about what he said before the temperature around me dropped. A strong wind blew back my hair.

"Wake up!"

I snapped to where I heard the voice. I wasn't at the pool or pregnant anymore. Instead, I was standing above myself and Astarion in some open field, back in the mountains. I was cut open like I was halfway through a major abdominal surgery.

"Thou must choose.” I turned to see Withers standing where Brian had just been.

“What the fuck?”

"You may continue amongst these realms or rest with those whom thou hast lost." He watched me patiently.

I noticed Durge, bloodied with his neck twisted at an odd angle. I pointed down at him, "Is he dead?"

"It is endearing to see one far nearer death's door concerned for one's compatriot. He is in stasis."

I was very confused. Astarion yelled for Lae'zel to get help. I looked back to Withers as the reality of my situation dawned. Everything Brian had just said started to make more sense.

"Did I really just speak to Brian a minute ago?"

He nodded.

Then I heard weeping — Astarion's weeping. A visceral chill spread through my insides as his cries ripped through me. I watched on as he cradled my limp body to himself, getting covered in my congealed blood. Something deep within me ached.

I remembered what Brian had actually said to me six years ago as we sat by that same pool on vacation, pretending to be happy. We were talking about setting up a will and he told me I had to die first because it would be the best thing for Sylas. I thought it was a joke.

He schooled me on how it was much simpler for a widower to find a new wife who didn't mind that they had kids. Also, how much easier it was to find a woman who didn't have any. He made a point to tell me that widows aren't so fortunate and are targets for predators, narcissists, and abusers. I wanted to tell him that I had no kids when I found him, but I kept it to myself. He went on to tell me that I was likely to end up being single for a long time and little boys needed both parents, especially a father. So, it would be better for Sylas if I died.

I told him he shouldn't test God.

Clearly, God had heard.

I watched Astarion wipe snot and blood across his face. He was still so beautiful. The ache I was feeling started to take shape. As I stood over us, I knew I ached for him.

And he ached for me. The line between us was as tight as ever.

I could hear Brian's "Did you?" echo in my head.

Yes, Brian. I think I have. And no amount of sense or reason could change it. The line had embedded itself too deeply, wrapping its cord around and around my heart. Even if we never had any real romance or ever married, and I grew old as he stayed perfectly young all of my days, I knew I had to spend the rest of my life knowing him.

I glanced over at Withers, "I choose him."

I woke up because I was too warm. I stretched, the bodies around me shifting. I peeked down to see Sylas, Scratch, and Muffin snuggled up to me. It reminded me of being home, Sylas tucked next to me with Maggie curled up between my legs. God, I missed her. Now, instead of Maggie, it was a decent sized owlbear cub.

My head swam with the remnants of my really weird dreams. I remembered dreaming of my 'baby moon' vacation with Brian. I dreamt of walking the mountains out here, but both were slipping from my memory as the present took their place.

I glanced down at Sylas again. I realized I couldn't remember how we even got here after I went to the bathroom. I remembered leaving him, but not coming back. I remembered Durge walking me, but little else.

This insane journey was taking a toll on me. I could feel a dull ache in my abdomen from the workout before dinner. It had been a while since I put my body through something that tough.

I ran my fingers through my son's soft hair. He stirred.

"Good morning, bud.”

He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. As if something woke him suddenly, he threw himself on top of me. Then, he sobbed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Sy. What's wrong? What's the matter?" I held him tightly as I tried to comfort him. He backed up a little, sniffling. I brushed back his hair that started to stick to his tear streaks and snot. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He looked confused, "No, Mommy, you almost died."

The breath in my lungs stuck fast. A faint image of my body being held while cut wide open floated to the front of my mind.

It wasn't a dream.

I stared at him, not sure how to reply. I just pulled Sylas back into another hug. "I'm here. It's okay. It's okay."

But that tightness in my abdomen told me it wasn't.

"I want to go home," warbled out of Sylas.

Tears welled up and snuck out of the corners of my eyes. I wanted to go home too. I tapped my heels three times. The weaved vines above my head didn't budge.

"Me too, Sy... Me too.”

We cried because there was no way home.

Back on Earth, the authorities were likely telling my parents we were 'missing — presumed dead'. People got lost in the mountains all the time and were rarely recovered within the first few years, if at all. Our loved ones were likely getting ready to bury us.

Maybe, we did die. Maybe, this was whatever came after. Maybe, this whole journey was something my mind made up to help my soul make sense of it all, to help me move on. These 'close calls' with death were getting more and more common. Eventually, one of them would really be the end — whenever my soul finally accepted it to be true.

But, I wasn’t ready to accept the truth, so I held onto Sylas.

Astarion POV -

I love a bloody fight as much as the next debaucherous lech, but those daydreams never once included fighting a whole team of V'laakith's greatest warriors while trapped inside of a collapsing temple. The inquisition pinned Lae'zel in a proverbial corner and she was a terrible liar. By that I mean, she refuses to do so even if it might benefit all parties involved. (She still does this. Wait, is she reading this on the Astral Plane? Either way, Gith, you need a lesson in deception.)

Now, they were going to kill us and go find Abigail and kill her and take the artifact. At least if all of us (Durge not included since the bastard got a pass on joining on this little trip) would no longer need to worry about our tadpoles since death is the only way the Gith deal with them anyhow.

But, it didn't sit right with me to let Abigail die after all I did to keep her among the living. She didn't deserve this. Though, technically, I didn't either. If it were up to me, I would have left Lae'zel and Shadowheart to take the blame, as they were the sole ones responsible for the artifact being with us and not being with us currently.

Lae'zel was so sure if she told the truth and showed her loyalty before V'laakith, she would walk out scotch free. Turns out both she and Shadowheart serve a goddess of treachery and lies. So, I would have to get my fill on Gith blood, which would be a first.

I smiled viciously at the guard standing next to me as the fight broke out. She hesitated just long enough for her animal brain to register the predator before her. But, my mouth was already around her throat and knife up her exposed ribcage before she could attempt to fight back. I loved the arrogance of Gith armor with too many holes over soft areas. Though, I wouldn't get the element of surprise on any of the rest unless they were distracted, so I would need to dry her up enough to strengthen my other abilities.

Her blood sang of her death moments before I heard the arrow splitting the air behind me. I Shadow Stepped backwards. The archer turned in surprise, but I was too close and too quick for him to take another shot with the crossbow. My knives sliced his head nearly off his shoulders.

Once again, another with no armor in appropriate places. I licked his splashed blood from where I could reach with my tongue. The female tasted better.

I didn't notice the wielder across the room. I fell to the floor shaking, lightning rolling through my body. I forced breaths to center myself as the magic wracked through me. I would be downed until it stopped. I turned to see the clashing between Karlach, Lae'zel, and the Inquisitor. Then, a small red bottle was hurled in my direction: Shadowheart, ever the cleric. I caught it easily, swiftly ripping the cork out with my fang, and dumped it back. The waves of shock faded. I grabbed my dropped knives and stashed them back into their sheaths, summoning my bow.

The caster across the room crumbled under Wyll’s spell before I could make my shot. There were two more left.

I wanted to shake Abbi for giving up her gun. Five shots to the head and this fight would have been over by now. Though, I'd already downed two of them. What were the others even up to?

I stood and watched four of them grabbing at their heads under the thrall of the Inquisitor's mind link. For gods sake, were we this weak? Another spare fighter swung down on an incapacitated Lae'zel, likely in hopes of punishing the wayward. He never got his chance. Karlach's hammer answered as it smashed through his ribcage. She even whacked him on the back of the head to push him off her weapon. He caught fire like a match.

The Inquisitor's steel mug cracked, exposing his fear as she turned her nasty bloodied smile on him.

"Wanna dance?" she teased, lifting the hammer back in the air.

Well, well, look who's the bloodthirsty one now. I sent her.

Fangs, I need a distraction. The mind link is a concentrated spell.

I shot an arrow at his head. He ducked just in time for it to knick his ear, but it did the trick, the link snapped.

Lae'zel shot up as if she had been building up pressure, "Tsk'in'va!" His head chopped in half as her sword cut down. The circlet he was wearing sliced his eyebrows and tiny nose clean off under slash's weight. It was gloriously disgusting. I would have celebrated it with Durge had he not been… Well, Durge.

She spit on him through her panting. Then her anger gave way to a new emotion I’d yet to see: trepidation; doubt. "She tests me. A trial of faith — only the heaviest souls soar the Astral," she murmured.

Gale tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she forcefully pushed him off.

"I'm not sure it gets any clearer than V'laakith's personal lackeys telling you she wants you to die," Shadowheart spat.

Lae'zel spun weapon ready, "I will cut your blasphemous tongue! He was lying!"

Shadowheart didn't move, "She's not my goddess. And I'm pretty sure she's after the artifact and prefers we were out of the way."

Karlach stepped between them, "Alright you two, the last thing we need is to have a second round. Don't make me summon Sylas."

Lae'zel lowered her weapon as Shadowheart smirked at Karlach.

"Guys," Wyll called to us from the doorway, "I think we're going to need to figure out a secondary way out..." He closed the large door he was peeking out of. He thumbed at it, "More are coming this way."

Gale quickly cast an Arcane Lock, "That should hold for a bit, but any wielder worth their magic will eventually unlock it." He panted, "I'm not going to be able to cast much more, by the way. I'm spent."

"Oh, I think you could get it up with the right motivation," I teased.

The wizard wanted to be mature about it, but he was sputtering his reply through a grin, "Leave it to you to find an innuendo in all of this." He shook his head, chuckling, "Ever the comedian."

"Your favorite one."

He shook a finger at me, "Ah, don't be so quick to claim it. I would have you know —"

Shadowheart slapped his hand out of the air, "No monologues right now. We need an exit."

He smiled sheepishly, "Right, of course. Let me see if I can detect anything."

A sudden round of weapons and magic slammed into the doors interrupting Gale.

"Pay attention, Gale!" Shadowheart prodded.

"I'm a bit tired and the noise spooked me. Give me a moment!" Gale shut his eyes and tried to concentrate.

We waited impatiently as they beat against the doors. I caught myself chewing at my nails again. My claws hadn't dropped, but they were starting to grow out. Shadowheart had found me clippers at the grove, so my nasty habit needed to stop. I shut out Cazador's phantom threats as I clasped my hands behind me.

"So?" Karlach inquired.

Gale huffed, "All the noise is distracting me. I'm having some trouble."

"You know, we could just dip into the tadpoles," I added.

Everyone stared at me.

"What?"

Shadowheart fought back first, "And risk turning into mindless monsters like Durge? Are you crazy?"

"He said whatever happened wasn't the tadpole's fault. Apparently, he's able to use the power of another spell to create a blast with his mind. He did it against the gnolls."

Karlach looked uncertain, "You're sure he just didn't remember he had the ability? Are you sure it's the tadpole?"

I raised my hands in surrender, "It's what he says, I'm not in his head... often."

Gale rolled his eyes. I was in Gale's head often since his little orb incident. It was a shrine to Abbi and magic. So, Abbi and Mystra — disgusting. I did it, mainly, to see if he was up to anything. So far, he was boring. He missed his cat and library. He played lance board in his head when he was bored. He wasn't very good at it.

Another large slam shook the doorway, spooking us. Gale held out his hand, "Oh, what in the hells, give me one. I'm as cooked as dinner right now and could use a boost."

I pulled out the jar I'd stolen from that stupid Gith doctor we'd killed after she tried to trick us into our deaths. Good riddance. I passed a squirming tadpole to the wizard.

"Bottom's up, as Abbi says," he paused. In fact, we all paused. We had set out midmorning, despite being tired, at the insistence of Lae'zel. We all agreed we needed the distraction from the events of last night. And hopefully some good news. Abigail hadn't been awake yet, but she was fully stable and Sylas had been sleeping next to her. A vision of her face with flushed skin, came to mind.

I joined Gale and grabbed one for myself. I pushed a harsh breath through my nose and held my worm up towards Gale, "For Abbi."

He smiled softly and nodded, "For Abbi."

We tossed them back and chewed. It was terrible. Vomit inducing. Halsin's blood almost came back up as I forced the guts down my throat. Gale was plugging his nose to keep himself from spewing breakfast.

I nearly made a remark about it being a waste when I felt the heat through my dead veins. The room lit up before my eyes as I took a deep breath, every part of me sparking to life.

The power surged. I stared down incredulously at my hands, likely smiling as idiotically as Gale was.

"That was exactly what I needed," he exclaimed. "If that's what it always feels like — gods, I could eat them all."

Karlach, Wyll, and Shadowheart watched us curiously while Lae'zel silently judged.

"Alright, pass one over," Wyll asked, holding a hand out to me. I tossed one and he caught it easily. "Here goes.” He cringed awkwardly as he chewed and swallowed. "Gods, that was —" His face fell open in awe as the power coursed through him. Illuminated veins glowed a dark purple and black through his skin. "Incredible..." he whispered.

"Shit," Karlach spat. "Hand it over."

Shadowheart recoiled from the tiefling, "Are we really doing this?" She glanced around.

The tiefling shrugged and threw hers back, no chewing. She gagged, her fist guarded her mouth from letting it come back up. She belched a moment later, then shook it off, "Alright, let's see what we've got." She sucked in an audible breath, "Holy fuck..." She watched her hands much like I did. "This is... Oh damn. What the hells? This is not natural. But, gods, it's... amazing."

We all snapped to the yelling at the doorway. The lock was holding, but they were clearly getting frustrated.

"They are calling for reinforcements. Specifically to find anyone who can cast," Lae'zel stated.

"Ugh! Alright, give it over," Shadowheart said, hand out.

I smiled at her wickedly. "Say 'please'."

"Fuck you!"

I tossed the tadpole. I hoped it would land on the ground, but she caught it, as she shot me a nasty look. She forced a breath out of her mouth as she stared at the worm. It squirmed in her palm. She squealed and tossed it back as Karlach laughed.

"Lady of Sorrows, guide me," she said through her bites. She swallowed. "That was disgusting," she tried wiping her tongue, then she gasped, eyes wide at something unseen. Her powers were now enhanced by the new tadpole.

I shook the bottle lightly in my hand, showing Lae'zel the last two, "Your turn."

"Never," she said flatly.

Gale and Wyll started to speak up in opposition.

"Hush!" Karlach snapped. She turned to the Gith. "Listen Lae, I understand your stance against mind flayers as your kind's mortal enemy, but consider it: your goddess is hunting us. Maybe, we use these things to our advantage against her? A little 'fuck you, I've been loyal, take this you bitch'?" She placed a hand on her burning heart, "I can relate. I was sold by the person I trusted most to one of the most hated devils in Avernus. They didn't expect me to even get off the table when they replaced my heart. Most didn't. I was lucky."

She held her hand out in offering, "Today, you are lucky. You have a tadpole in your head and you're not your worst nightmare. Even better, you get to use all these nasty fuckers against them. And you reminded V'laakith you are more powerful than she thinks you are. More valuable than she thinks you are." She turned and took the bottle of parasites from me, facing Lae'zel again. "Once again. I understand your commitment to the belief that she stands for all Gith kind, but don't you think you could prove your worth if you had the better means to do so? It might just take a tadpole to prove her wrong."

Lae'zel never stopped watching her with the same judgmental anger she had the entire time we all partook. She turned that angry look to the bottle presented before her. With a timid hand, she took the bottle from Karlach, holding it up before her eyes for inspection, as if she'd see something new in the murky water.

"I should toss this to the stones at my feet," She looked intensely back at Karlach, "But today, I will choose to trust your judgment over mine." She glanced around at the rest of us, "If we so much as show a single symptom of transition, I will not hesitate to kill all of you and then myself."

A large, concentrated blast shook the doors. We all peeked back to see they were still holding. "Sounds good!" Karlach said quickly. "Your turn."

Lae'zel pulled one out and held the wriggling thing in front of her face before tipping her head back and dropping it into her mouth, also swallowing it whole. Her face pinched in silent agony, then burst open wide with shock. The powers were spreading through her just like the rest of us.

"Well... what did we get?" Karlach asked, smiling.

Wyll answered, "I can just... feel that whatever actions I take in battle or otherwise are... blessed? I don't know how to best explain that if I act first, strike fast, I will strike true."

Karlach shrugged, "Cool."

Gale nearly laughed his way through his description, "My magic is amplified. I feel as I did before the orb. As if I won't spend nearly the energy it has taken to cast before now. Speaking of —" He reinstated the lock on the door with a smug look on his face. "They will need an archmage to clear that one. Should buy us time to find an exit... or make one."

Wyll slapped him proudly on the shoulder. Gale nodded his thanks.

Karlach's grin was criminal, "Watch this." She shot into the air. "I can fly!" she yelled as she soared about the room.

Shadowheart gaped up at her in evident jealousy. We all wore shades of it. Guess we would need to consume a few more to get that gift. Unless, these gifts were tailored to our natural talents. Though, I wouldn't have pegged flight for Karlach.

She stopped mid air above the body of the inquisitor, wild joy on her face, "All of you can Misty Step, but I can't. No matter how much I try. I can only do it with the scroll. Now, I can fly!" She started zooming through the room. "Let me see if I can't find an exit," she called from above us.

"Shadowheart?" Gale prodded.

She closed her eyes, then guided her hands over herself. A red magic followed them as it cast over her. "Alright, someone try to stab me."

We all looked around at each other, confused. Lae'zel didn't hesitate. Her sword shot toward Shadowheart's middle. Shadowheart didn't even flinch. The sword shifted as if it had been parried or knocked away. It was Lae'zel's turn to be confused.

"I'm invulnerable," she leered.

"Far out, Shaddy!" Karlach called from a high window. Shadowheart beamed up at her. "Your turn, Fangs!"

My salacious grin met the group as I fingered one of my blades, "Let's just say my bite will kill you as swiftly as my blades." I stashed my knife on quick fingers, then shook my hands once out ahead of me. My claws dropped out immediately, as if on a switch.

"Deadlier than ever," Gale complimented.

I shook them once more and they retracted. "Thank you, Gale." He smiled knowingly. I'd actually used his name for once.

"Lae'zel?" Wyll said, elbowing her.

She glared at him, then her smile was a threat, "You will all see my glory in battle soon. I will not spoil it for you."

Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

"Yo! Fam. There is shitloads of loot in here!" Karlach called from one of the alcoves she had flown into.

She wasn't wrong. We all felt like paupers robbing kings as we stuffed our pockets with all the gold, jewelry, weapons, armor, and gems. Shadowheart had all of us pass her any potions and elixirs. I slipped on a few rings, non magical, since those went to Gale. Gale 'a-hahed' from across the room, placing a new circlet on his head. He looked down at the rest of us from a balcony as we went through more chests and bodies.

"It's more arcane support!" he cheered, pointing at his head.

"Good for you, Gale," Shadowheart called back as she smiled and shook her head.

As if manifested by the wizard, I pulled a silver circlet from a chest. It bore a deep red gem in the middle. I could sense some kind of magic. I turned to call him over, but looked up into Lae'zel's face as she stood over me.

"That is a rare githyanki circlet. I have only read about it."

I held it up to her, "What does it do?"

"The red is rare. Many have been designed similarly, but never with this," she tapped the gem. "This will allow one to disrupt another's mind or magic if they attempt an attack. Its existence is supposed to be rumor."

"Does it use Faerunian magic?"

Her brow pinched, "Why?"

I palmed the circlet, eyeing it. "If it can disrupt —"

"You are thinking of Abigail."

I wanted to be bothered by her immediate assumption, but she wasn't wrong. Instead of making something up to hide my small embarrassment, I nodded.

"If it is made with metals of Tu'nurath, she may be able to use it. If it is what I believe it to be, it was created to stop those with magic from wielding against the wearer as well as inflict psychic damage."

My brows rose, "Well, maybe I'll keep it, then."

She rolled her eyes, "I was more inclined to help you when you were acting on the benefit of Abigail. If this is a vanity project, give it to me, since it is of my people." She held out a hand in wait.

"Fine, it's for Abbi. Put your grubby paws away." I slipped the circlet into my small bag as she left.

"Guys..." Karlach called from inside the other alcove which held two smaller Lathander statues. A wide doorway was open behind her. "I think I found our exit."

[Lae'zel Note: I am receiving each parcel as Abigail sends them. I do not need to lie when my sword can speak for me, Elf.]

[Jen Note: Wow, Astarion, glad you weren't the only other one there then. Fuck you, again. Next time we face off with a Gith death squad, we will see how you can do all by yourself.]

Gale truly was a new wizard. He had been a little less insufferable since his injury, likely humbled, but I started to wonder if Mystra hadn't rejected him solely on personality differences back before the orb debacle. I had saved us from imminent doom (one in which I happened to lead us into, but that is beside the point) with a large gem that unlocked the Lathanderan death device which I "found" as we wandered the temple. The device, powered by the legendary Blood of Lathander, had opened a doorway where the rest of the creche stood waiting for us. Somehow Gale "remembered" "just in time" that he could portal us back to camp.

I tossed the same legendary mace into the air as I stepped into camp through the waypoint Gale connected to. Shadowheart gave me a concerned look as I caught it behind my back without looking.

"Impressed?" I smiled proudly.

She wasn't amused, "Hardly. They probably wouldn't have found us had you not turned on the largest alarm in Faerun. Hope you enjoy your consolation prize."

I rolled my eyes as she passed me. I stared down at the prize and wondered if I couldn't find a way to extract Lathander's blood from the stone. Though the Dawnbringer wasn't known to look lightly down upon the undead, but the undead rarely graced his mornings... until now. I wondered if he might not grant a boon since I would be using his grand mace to fight 'for the good of Faerun'. It would likely work wonders against this shadow curse Halsin talked about.

Camp was alive with chatter from the group of us recently returned, but the previous silence we had walked into seemed to still be sitting in the corners. I glanced around as I unbuckled my armor, setting on the ground in a heap. I ran my hands through my hair taking in a deep breath of mountain air. I cringed as I felt the wet. I forgot I was covered in blood and now my hair was slicked with it. Then, a familiar scent passed on the breeze.

Abbi.

I realized I'd taken for granted that she was with us for all the adventures until now. She hadn't been in camp when we returned. To be honest, I hadn't even looked for her. I was too caught up in the adrenaline and high of what we just endured.

I trotted to Gale who was chatting with Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel about how we would need to postpone a fire to avoid being spotted. Gale was offering to set up an illusion spell so we wouldn't have to, maybe even try a magic fire that was smokeless. I hoped he hadn't been holding back on that one and had instead been able to access it only with this new tadpole's powers.

"Wizard, I need prestidigitation."

I gasped as I was splashed with what felt like a waterfall.

"That should do it," Shadowheart laughed.

"What in the hells was that?!" I shook out my arms, failing to stop the dripping. I glanced around to see everyone seemed to be in some state of amusement.

"Payback for what you pulled in there," she added. She looked me up, "At least you're clean now."

"You remind me of a drenched house cat," Lae'zel teased. The others thought she was funny.

I sneered, "And you remind me of something that crawled out of bog." She snapped irritated eyes to Shadowheart as she covered a laugh. Wyll bit his lips as Gale forced his eyes elsewhere. I glanced around at the impudent group, "Excuse me while I dry off."

Gale whispered something as soon as I turned around and a force rolled over me, drying me from head to toe. I spun around to thank him. All their eyes were staring at my head. I rolled mine and splashed my hands in the puddle at our feet and ran them through my hair again.

"Better?" I snapped.

The others nodded. It was high time I found Abbi.

Before that, I found the druid. He and Sylas were going through a book of what looked like botanicals. Sylas saw me first. He looked at me like I was... missed. He shot up and ran for me. I had seen him at breakfast and it had to be just before dinner now. And it wasn't as if he knew the perils we fought today, but here he was charging for me. When his small body hit mine, arms wrapping my waist, the muscles in my body locked up tight.

Another small body came to mind: a young girl, gripping my waist, begging and pleading — begging for help, pleading for safety. I was told a pretty face was assumed to be trustworthy. They were right. Even kittens wanted to trust the fox, but the fox dragged them off to dinner with the wolf.

His eyes weren't pleading. Instead, they were pleased. If only he knew who he was so willing to trust. But, it seemed I wasn't immune to touch anymore. Something inside me was coming loose. Something else was waking up. Something I buried in the dark of night was now breathing life again in the light of day.

I pushed the memory of the little girl deep down as I let the warmth of his small body warm mine. I dropped to my knees before him, eye to eye, hazel to red, and hugged him properly. His small arms made a home around my neck as mine wrapped him tightly around the back.

I didn't deserve this, but I would take it anyway. I would take it all. Nothing was ever mine until now and I wasn't giving any of it back.

He pulled away first, "Mom won't talk to anyone. I tried to share my necklace with her, but she would only use it to talk to Halsin and to Durge for a minute, then gave it back."

I sighed, "Gale tried and tried to locate the necklace. We suspect it was thrown over a cliff."

Sylas mimicked my sigh, "Can he make her a new one?"

I shook my head, then grabbed his arm softly, "We will figure something out, even if we have to teach you both how to speak the language properly. I'll even teach you elvish if you'd like."

His face lit up, "Yeah, I'd like that. Halsin said something about learning the language too. He's been showing me all the names of the plants and animals."

I grinned, "I'm not surprised he started there." I stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Can I speak with him for a moment?" Sylas nodded. I patted him as I stepped toward the druid's tent.

He was already standing, waiting for me. "How did everything go?" he asked softly.

I turned toward the setting sun, letting it caress my face as I answered, "Gith are as vicious as all the stories make them out to be, but much more cunning and intelligent. It was quite difficult to outthink and fight them."

"It turned violent?"

I crossed my arms, looking up into his concern, "All I can say is that we will never let Lae'zel speak for the group ever again. She can't fib to save her life — literally."

He pushed a laugh through his nose, "I can imagine. That led to the violence then?"

I tipped my head, "We had some... difficulty with the Zhathisk." He watched me, waiting. "We broke it. The doctor tried to kill us for breaking it. We killed her instead. Turns out the machine is part mind flayer and kills the host to extract the worm."

His brow creased, "That seems counterintuitive to what they believe."

I smirked, "Lae'zel is having a crisis of faith."

Halsin glanced up at the main campsite, "I know how she feels. Maybe I will speak with her." He faced me, "Though, I imagine you came to ask of Abbi?"

"Does she have to be the only reason?"

I heard his heart hitch. I hadn't planned to incite the reaction in him or the one to my own pulseless heart. I slapped a smirk on my face to make it seem like I had. His eyes brushed my features.

"Well," he continued, "I told her what happened. She had dreams about it." He noted my expression and softened, "She only remembers seeing you hold her while she was cut open in the field. She was quite overwhelmed to find the scarring. I did try to remove it with greater healing, but all her scarring seems to be permanent."

"Sylas says she won't use his necklace?"

He shook his head. "She spoke to Durge, from what I could hear it was amenable, but she is still affected. She's been training on the overlook all afternoon. Probably still there, I reckon."

I squinted into the fading sunlight once more, "I guess I should find her." I tipped my head back to him for a moment, "Do you have some Detect Thoughts potions?"

"I do believe I can spare a couple." He turned to dig through his pack. He twisted back to toss me the two pink bottles.

"Thank you." I nodded once and started to step away.

"Astarion," he called. I faced him. "She... cut her hair."

I was confused, but simply replied, "Alright," and went back to heading in the direction of the overlook.

Weapons of different kinds were strewn about her. I noted a few notches in the tree nearby. She was pulling back a longbow, slowly, with surprisingly good form. I realized I had never asked if she'd used one or followed up on her trade to learn. Today, I would remedy that.

A strong gust pushed her newly cut hair past her face as she held the pose, stalwart in the wind. She was statuesque, as if she belonged scattered among the Lathanders on the mountainside.

I could have stood like the tree, rooting there to watch her forever. Instead, I cleared my throat. She turned, lowering the bow, her linen wrap shirt laying gracefully over her beautiful body as it perked in the chill.

Her heart ticked up as something new lit behind her eyes at the sight of me.

Something new lit inside me at the sight of her.

And whatever magic had been tying us together knotted itself deep within my chest.

Abigail POV -

The only reason I wasn't sweaty was due to the mountain breeze that had been cutting past me all afternoon. It was slightly chilled, but it was what I needed to stay focused and keep going. I had gone through the whole routine Lae'zel led us through last night. I had practiced the stances I'd seen my companions hold during their own personal training. I would probably need to finally borrow Sylas' necklace and ask Lae'zel and Karlach for technique pointers.

Now, I was pulling the longbow back again. I wasn't shooting. I wanted to work on the pulling and holding which used muscles I wasn't used to using. I wasn't unlearned with a bow. I had really enjoyed archery back home, but it was all for leisure sport and not actual combat. I'd wanted to go bow hunting, but never got the opportunity. Brian, despite being an avid outdoorsman, wasn't much of a hunter. We had friends who were into it, though. It just hadn't lined up on any of our schedules to do it. Brian always insisted he would have to join too and couldn't go with them by myself.

My left arm shook as I held the pose, grip tight around the bow, as the string pinched my right fingers. A strong gust burst through my chin length hair. I felt my breasts tighten. I hadn't changed out of my camp clothes, thus I wasn't in any underwear. But, no one was here and I didn't care anymore. They had all seen me already anyways. The chill made my body clench and I could feel the scar up my abdomen.

Durge had been so regretful. He had begged me to be his retribution. He didn't want to be possessed anymore. He wanted freedom. Halsin had agreed to start Ki training to help train his mind, the same training he once had from his previous Archdruid to get his bear form under control. He told Durge he needed to get back into the practice anyhow.

Part of me wanted to give Durge what he wanted. Put the rabid dog down. Pull the cord, so to speak. He didn't want to live and I didn't want to possibly die again at his hand. I didn't want my friend to kill me and I didn't want my friend to be sick of killing people. It seemed neither of us were destined to get what we wanted.

I wanted to go home. Desperately, achingly.

I wanted to race after the tieflings and beg Dammon to give me my gun back. Astarion was right, I was a fool.

Instead, I would train, learn all the weapons I could. I wouldn't be the weakest link anymore. I would learn to speak Common and whatever else we needed to exist in this whacked up Narnia. And, if by some insane miracle, we got the chance to go home, we wouldn't hesitate.

A cough sounded behind me. I lowered the bow and twisted around.

There stood my only chain that kept me rooted in Toril. The whole world seemed to hold its breath with me as I stared at his beautiful face in the golden light. My body had never been so confused about what it wanted to do. I wanted to throw the bow and fall into his arms, my mouth finding a home with his. I wanted to stand there and weep over what we just went through. I wanted to push it all deep down and ignore him completely.

The line around our hearts was pulled tight, like the bow's, pulled back and ready to snap us together.

He held up a pink bottle: Detect Thoughts.

Halsin must have told him about my necklace, or lack thereof. He stepped up to where I was, our eyes never straying. It's like his mind knew the terrain inherently. He stopped just before me and held up the bottle. There was no jest or tease in his face. His face looked down at me in lightly lidded eyes.

I wondered if he wanted to kiss me too.

I took the potion from him, our fingers lightly brushing. I pulled out the cork and tossed it back. He followed right after. He silently took the bottle from me and stepped aways to set them side by side among the scattered weapons I'd brought to try out. When he looked back at me, I had to tell myself to breathe again.

Halsin said what I saw was real. I had been outside my body somehow. I had felt him hurt for me.

As he joined me, his hands cupped both sides of my face and turned mine up to his. Those same wine-colored eyes swallowed me whole as they watched me. I let myself drink them in. They were the color of life. The color of oxygenated blood. Living blood. And he was so perfectly, utterly alive. I wanted to tell him.

Your form is almost perfect. I wish you'd told me sooner you were an archer.

The thought broke up mine. I laughed. He smiled broadly back at me, my face still in his hands.

I'm not. I only did it recreationally back home. I didn't even own one until recently. I shoot it in my backyard.

Then, I will have to teach you to use it in action. I'm pretty sure I owe you a lesson. You taught me how to shoot your gun, it's only right I teach you to shoot a bow.

I let my eyes flicker between his. It's a deal.

We start now then. He let me go and stepped back. Get back into position.

I drew back the bow and string. I felt him come behind me, flush with my back. I knew that he could hear my heart slamming in my chest as I tried to keep my breath even. There was no hiding at this point. There was no point.

He reached out and twisted my elbow into the correct placement. It started to shake a little.

We will need to work on that, he sent.

I sent back a picture of a raw wrist and forearm.

Strong elbows will keep that from happening, but so will the right gloves.

I softened.

He put a hand on my lower stomach and pulled it in, causing me to flinch a little against him.

I'm sorry if that's uncomfortable.

I wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet. I forced the automatic tears back into my eyes as I blinked hard. It doesn't hurt. I just wasn’t expecting it.

I was trying to straighten you.

I pulled my core in and straightened up against him. Then, I tipped my head back to look at him. He gave me a concerned look.

You can touch me, I give you permission.

The callback registered. His concern turned to something I couldn't quite decipher as he watched me.

Let's knock an arrow, shall we?

I nodded. He stepped away and grabbed one from the quiver. He got back into place right behind me and turned us toward the only tree on the overlook. I docked the arrow and set up the shot. He pulled me in again, without hesitating, so that I was fully up against him. I could tell he was taking in deep breaths.

Why do you breathe when you don't have to?

I felt him hold it, then release it in a long exhale. He turned his head into my hair and took another deep breath.

To feel more alive.

I could have stayed there forever, if my arms weren’t likely to give out.

I don't want to get hurt. I sent back the image of the raw wrist again.

He hummed against me. I promise to make sure you won't. I felt him twist my elbow. Take the shot.

I took it.

The arrow cut through the air and struck the middle of the tree trunk. No ricochet burns.

We didn't move, just stood there staring at the tree while I stood in his arms.

I tipped my head back again to look at him. His lidded eyes watched me.

Did you know Abigail means 'beyond the stars' in elvish?

I shook my head. Realization rolled over me with the chill of the mountain breeze: I was from beyond his stars. Beyond the planes of Toril and the connecting realms.

I felt his hand creep up near my rib cage. I sucked a small breath at his touch.

We don't have any Astarion's that I know of on Earth, but Rion is similar to Ryan and it means Prince or Crowned One.

He smirked, I quite like that.

I knew you would. Also, Asters are flowers that are said to represent the stars. The word Aster in Greek, an old language on Earth, literally translates to it. "A Star - Aster."

His eyes looked between mine, The star prince and the one who is beyond them.

I let the revelation sit between us. It was really as if someone out there had placed me on that ship and sent me here to him. Or it was one hell of a coincidence, but to be honest, I rather liked the other reason.

May I call you Rion?

His lips tipped at a corner, Prince?

It would just seem like another nickname to the others.

His smirk softened with his eyes, You may call me whatever you wish, my darling.

I felt his words pour all the way through me and pool between my legs.

I’m not sure what to call you. I already call you Abigail and I'm not fond of another Gale. He paused, his soft breath brushing my face. I sucked it in like it was the only air in these mountains. There is a term in elvish for those who are dear to us: meldanya. May I call you that?

His eyes watched for my reaction.

What does it translate to?

My darling or my dear.

My eyes widened, my face an open book on how I felt about it. Yes. Yes, you may call me that.

Good, Meldanya. He swallowed as his gaze fell to my lips. A longing look passed over him.

Take the shot, Rion.

He paused, his eyes grew lidded as they went back up to meet mine. I don't want to get hurt.

My hand went up behind his neck, running lightly in the bottom of his hair. I promise to make sure you won't.

And as the sun disappeared behind the shining star of Lathander, Astarion kissed me.

IRL Author's Note: The elvish I'm using is from Elfdict.com, the online collection of languages from the Tolkien library. It's more complete than the DnD ones, thus easier to use. Tsk'in'va is Gith for "Eat shit." HA FADE TO BLACK SUCKAS (just kidding, you'll just have to wait on CH. 21 lololol Sadly, no full smut on the horizon yet for these two, just some slow love.) "Tad" what Brian calls Sylas is from a children's book "Tad and Dad". It's very cute! A baby tadpole growing up with their dad frog who teaches them how to be a frog. It's one of my son's and hub's favorites. If you have a friend/family member having/had a son, I highly recommend gifting it to them.

[cowboylament]

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“If something isn’t suited to you.”

He swallowed and we stared at each other a moment, but his face twisted slightly under the thought rising in his mind, “I think I’ve shown I’m capable of voicing my displeasures. I’ll myself admit that I believe I’m deserving of some good faith.”

“I’m not saying that,” I said carefully. “I just want you to know that I want to know. I’m not fragile or anything of the sort. I’ve drowned and hallucinated, and fought that thing twice. If I do something that isn’t suited to you then I would like to hear about it.”

“Everything you do is suited to me,” Lucien said, and I could tell just from the way he said it that he, like me at times, had felt better judgment on the horizon of his mind but had spoken before he could let it get to him. Adding after, “But I would tell you. I don’t find you fragile at all.”

or

Bryaxis is still loose, and Lucien is helping Y/N sleep

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five (AO3) 

A/N: This post was too long so I had to split it up, the second half is linked at the very end/ in the reblogs or, if that is too messy you can read on AO3 linked above!

Landing outside the apartment seemed to thrust us back into a life I did not realize we’d paused from. The day was in motion: carts rattled streets over, and the noise rose into the air and fell back down into ours. Sounds faintly of sea crashing to shore, of people talking with exuberance, of everything that had been left behind, returned without scorn or discrimination to us both. Things that had been unreal before became real now. In part, even, it seemed the whole world was leaning closer than it ever had, that some of the gap I had long felt, had inexplicably been closed. 

Lucien’s hand squeezed me before he let go. He said nothing; arms crossed, the offer still settled between us. I understood then that he was not coming inside. I hesitated to say any words that preceded departure, and it probably looked like a standoff, but was really an acknowledgment of a kind. He who had always looked and seen me so clearly, now something deeper and more real between us. To have both a veil removed from our eyes of the other, and for that truth to be a new and added layer between us. What we’d learned also closed a distance from which we could never retreat. Words in those circumstances could not be said, and I knew he could manage my silence. I bowed my head, and he copied as our farewell. The gesture conveyed more than a few things: I’ll be back and take care of yourself, and find me later. 

Later? 

Whenever you wish. 

He did not leave until I was inside, his eyes on me the entire time, as I crossed the street and slipped wordlessly inside. 

Upstairs, I bathed in hot water, banished the chill that had set in from both the lake and from the physical distance between Lucien and me. I did not realize, even in the silence of our trip to Dawn, how close he lingered, and had gotten used to the feeling of his nearness, of he and I being in the same place. Without him there the world was different. But even before Velaris, this was one of the first things about him I’d ever learned. Sinking my mouth below the water, I let my hair fan out. 

Mate. 

How sacred the word had always seemed and unutterable. Now, the truth of it out in the open and there before me—his story, his life before. To have and then lose, forever, what was impossible to replace. To love in such a way and for them to be gone, somewhere unreachable. What he must feel each day. 

I tried to imagine, but even just conceptually, the feelings were too large, beyond my scope. But I could imagine parts of it, I could imagine other things—how he felt the night previous, holding me against himself, fingers splayed wide, the desire to protect someone from a fate that has already happened. That’s how I felt. I wanted words that could remedy his pain, but to try and diminish his grief, I knew, might only have the opposite effect. His loss too real, enormous, and these feelings, these memories, how he lived and carried it, were all of her left. So even if there was a word, a phrase, that might relieve something to him of what had been taken, I knew it must remain unsaid. 

There was, then, an overwhelming admiration in me at what he was. And this was the beauty of the world, I thought, something that I missed most of all. That lots of people have the capacity and every reason to be cruel, but wake up each day and decide not to be. 

And that, yes, was enough. An ache for him inside me eased. 

I pulled the plug and listened to the tub empty. From the careful pile of his hand-me-down clothes in the corner I dressed and the warmth remained. His old things, soft malleable with history, eased me, the tea he’d bought in the shop for us, the kind I’d used to drink with Deryn in the kitchen soothed the throat that had taken so much water. Even in an apartment with nothing inside, I saw he was everywhere. Just the hint of him made what had not been possible possible. One might live here, I thought, comfortably. Not just endure it. Even if I never owned a bed, even if nothing else changed. 

So I found my makeshift mattress, crawled into the tangle of sheets, Lucien’s jacket crumpled at the bottom. What little light there was so close to winter fell in the windows to rest lazily upon it. I didn’t feel guilty, climbing beneath the duvet, pulling it slowly over my body, taking the jacket into my hands and pressing it to my chest. The day was already half lost. I was still so tired. Within my inner ear, a humming echoed, a familiar voice. I remember you, I thought. Mom. I remember you. She was there that night. Not fact, I thought, but true in its own way. I settled further, pressing almost painfully into the bed with need for it. Then another faint whisper began pulling from across the room. But whatever I had been living on gave way, and sleep came again with nimble fingers, closing my tired eyes. 

Tugged into the dream, it was almost the same: I follow the light through the stream. The needle appears and I follow it still, as it sinks into the soil, and with it disappears the thread down, down further still. There in the thicket, no one asks for my name, even as I expect it, even with no one there. Or…movement in my peripheral. There he is. I turn, but Rhysand is sitting, disheveled, unkempt. 

“Can magic hold history?” He asks. I remember.

I have an answer now. This time, I say it. But it ends as it always has: each word given dissolves the dream a little more until it's gone. 

Light fell against the wall in such a way, familiar now, that I knew just a single hour had passed. But it was a good hour, I thought, I could feel it clearing the final dregs of what had become so potent in the woods. In my hands, clutched, Lucien’s jacket remained. I ran my thumb over it a few times before releasing, rolling over, and sitting up. Body heavy, despite or because of the sleep, I couldn’t tell. I rubbed at my eyes, my arms dragging. Only upon removing them did I realize someone really was there, beside me, in my peripheral.

I suspected, though, he'd come eventually. Casual as he was now in an empty apartment, sitting in a chair he'd found who knows where. He was watching the room, considering it, as if to give me privacy while I woke, his bottom lip tucking under the top. 

Eventually he spoke, "Bit sparse for my taste."

"Lucien told you."

“Can you blame him?”

“No. Probably not. Hoped he wouldn’t though.”

Rhysand added, a bit smug, “I believe it was you who said we were responsible for one another.” 

“Fair.”

“Please. Try keeping your resentments in check.”

“I’ll rein it in. I’d hate to make my only guest uneasy.”

He smiled, but I could see the lightness in his being begin to disappear. I had a feeling Lucien would go to the High Lord, suspected he might mention the apartment, knew though he would have to mention the drowning. And almost as if we, too, were connected by mind, in the same instant, the memory was brought forth. I could see it settle on his face, what he’d been told, a more serious, more concerned and caring demeanor taking shape, “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.”

“Not sleeping?”

I shook my head.

“Just recently, or most of the time?”

“Most of the time.”

He hummed, a sense that I confirmed only something he long suspected but hadn’t asked, “Nightmares?”

“I just couldn’t.”

The caw of a crow leaked through the window out of sight. 

“When you went into that lake, were you trying to die?”

“No,” I said, pulling the jacket between my fingers. “I just…she was gone again. And I was so far I didn’t know how to make it back again.” 

“I see.” 

Thoughts passed over him like a rain. Some sense, I could see, an illusion lifting, of what was happening, of thinking you’d make it through dry. It is a relief to acknowledge that the circumstances, despite wishing they were different, were not going to change. It gives a power back, one unknowingly given away, to a nameless thing one often hopes will intervene. But no one else was coming. 

“You know what I thought of you when we first met?” 

I’d expected him to ask if I was going to do anything of the sort again, if my passive investment in whether I lived or died was putting his friends at risk. I shook my head, “No.”

“Me either,” he said matter-of-factly, which made us do something close to laugh. “Not right away. You were a bit of a mystery to me.”

“The whole not speaking thing will do that.”

“When Helion mentioned you’d been out there since the curse, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. That you didn’t know there had been a war at all…” He lifted a brow, in thought, as if this fact still troubled him to this day, just remembering it caused him some sort of reluctance. “But then you were so…normal.”

I could not think of a word less likely to be used to describe that time. And as such, it must have shown on my face because he huffed a laugh. 

“You didn’t talk, so what? Azriel isn’t a conversationalist. No, I thought you were normal. The more I was around you, the more normal you became. Everything you did, if I thought about it enough, was precisely what made sense for what had happened to you.” 

To be understood, I thought, and to not even realize it. That I had thought this long something entirely different. It was interesting, I considered briefly, our ability to believe a story despite all evidence. This constant occurring realization that a fact might be presented to us over and over, and we will instead choose to believe only what we believe to be true. Which is not the same thing as a lie.

Rhysand continued, “And then, when I thought more, I realized you reminded me of my friends.”

“Really?”

“Feyre first,” He said, with a faint smile, the same pleasure Feyre herself had shown in the library. “But then Azriel, and Cassian, of Nesta. You even reminded me of myself.”

“I don’t have your charm.”

“Few do.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but there was a sudden catch, a gravel to my voice that had risen, “You remind me of my husb—of my friend.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“You should. He’s one of the best people I know.” 

Even the outside world had gone silent. The crow became momentarily docile before picking up again only once Rhysand spoke. “I wanted you to come here, maybe foolishly, because I thought it would help, because Velaris had helped my friends, helped me. But if that is not the case, you do not have to stay. I’ve spoken with Helion. You have been paid for your work. There are options for you. You could get a home, take some time, get that cat.”

I blinked a few times, a kind of welling happening, that I had given that impression, “If I’ve known anything since I arrived here, it's how sad I would be if I left. How much I did not wish to go.”

And when he did not seem surprised as I expected I realized, truly, how little I had perceived of what was genuine. 

“It wasn’t Velaris that was wrong. It was me. There were things I didn’t understand, but I understand them now,” I said, because homes are precious, even ones that are not your own. It's easy when not endeared to overlook this. Outside, I considered, lay a winter sky. How pure it looked, solid, true. Beautiful, I thought, had thought, had noticed. Even half tired, even deep in my own suffering. Yes, even suffering had not been able to stop my notice, to obscure the beauty. 

Curiosity piqued his features for this nameless thing I had come to understand, but as was his nature, the question sat in his mouth. It seemed, however, as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his face holding the tension of some hidden pleasure, that the reason he did not ask me about it was because he already knew the answer.

“You should know, too, that you misunderstood me.”

“When?”

“That night, the dinner, in the parlor.”

“Ah.” Lucien. His perpetual need to right wrongs in my life. One might feel grateful for it, and I suspected in a minute or two I would, but just then I held that cherished, long-lost emotion, of friendly annoyance. That he seemed, always, to see what was right, and to be noble enough to do it. I’d have liked a glimpse of the old Lucien, who apparently had behaved at least some of the time badly; that way, I would not be the only one between us.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t mean to give you that impression. I’d have told you as much, but I thought you’d come to me when you were ready.”

“I was waiting for you to ask.”

Rhysand hummed, understanding, “I never got to answer you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I’ve had one since you asked. It’s why I came here.”

I bowed as if to say the floor is yours, to allow him, in his own words, to come to me when he was ready. 

“I did think it would be different,” He said with a certain hush. “It was hard to imagine returning here and things ever going back to how they were. I didn’t think there would be laughter or music, or if there was, I didn’t think that I would enjoy it. I was right, in a way. Things aren’t the same. I don’t think they ever will be. But it's a good life, better than I ever even thought to dream.”

I was sad for him and for myself. For the lives we could’ve had, the lives we did have for a time—lost now, irretrievable. Even if not by death, but by the irrevocability of life. But I smiled, “It’s nice, or—it’s something I’ve come to like. That the worst things are imaginable. But goodness, the beauty of our lives, is impossible to predict.”

“A fine thought.”

Yes, fine. I tucked my knees in and held them close, “We’re alike, aren’t we? The solar courts.”

“How so?”

“We were both waiting for the other to approach. You seem to allow people to come and let themselves be known to you at their will, but I was waiting for you to want to know me. I was waiting for you to ask.”

He smiled, “Interesting, isn't it?”

A sigh, almost involuntarily left. This feeling that something had been resolved, truly resolved, not the way it had been before under a veil of silence, of defeat. To have, at last, succeeded in some way. Yes, Lucien had been right. Things had been wrong for a long time. But they were beginning to not be that way anymore. 

“Sorry also.”

"For what?"

"The stuff. Some of it they didn't let me return. I tried to make sure your money wasn't wasted." 

Rhysand raised a brow, "Believe it or not, that is the least of my worries. You should know just as well as I that there are bigger beasts than lost furniture.”

His words struck me like a bell, ringing in my ears. 

“Oh.”

“What?”

The dream had returned. I was distantly aware that I had stood, that the blanket was dragging behind me, and how filthy it would become, but there was a sense that things were coming together. My mother once described this mechanism as being like a needle. The piercing focus that could happen in the library which could not be interrupted or stopped, the thread of reason so easily lost. Working there, one came to know the look and understood not to stop this person in their pursuit, that something within them, a realization or theory, was coming together, like a seam between two fabrics to make an idea. 

I grabbed the book I’d been reading. 

In Dawn, the fog of lethargy had settled along the mind, but now it had cleared. I could recall the passage, could recall it as easily as I might say my name. 

“You asked if magic can hold history when we were in Dawn.”

“Okay.”

I began to flip through the pages, “Have you heard of Leylines?”

“No.”

I turned, found him behind me. His silent movements, or perhaps in having the brief clarity to keep the balance of certain things, to see so clearly, the world had to move away from my view. I handed him the book, and he read the short entry, his brows cinching. 

“You think…Bryaxis is traveling underground.”

I huffed a laugh, “No. It's not really about the leylines. Or it is. Conceptually.”

Rhysand looked at me, and I narrowed my eyes, the words not quite yet developed in my vocabulary. I closed my eyes, rubbed at my temples.

“There’s a lot of pieces.”

“Give them to me then individually.”

I nodded, the suggestion reminding me so much of Deryn, of the way we’d been. Nights in the library and then afternoons by the stream. The pair of us able, always, to think better together. 

“Azriel believed Bryaxis was hunting me. I think that is true, I just don’t know why. But the why isn’t important. What matters is that Azriel said the beast told us this, I think he’s right there too, the beast has told us exactly what it’s doing.”

I knew of half-truths, I knew of veiled words, so in this the beast had spoken true—we were equals. The duality of these words, I felt them like you’d feel magic in your bones, and their scope opened for me. 

“When?”

“Both times. Everything—it said it only goes where it feels at home, where it’s familiar. When I said that it defiled the caves, it told me that I did. It knows where I’ve been.”

Rhys looked at me, his eyes rounded, curious, wondering. 

“Anyone who has been close to Brayxis knows that it is unbearable, that it fills you with a sense of—”

“Despair.”

I nodded, and his latching, his finishing the sentence, seemed to give greater legitimacy to my theory, the pieces falling into place.

“The caves are where I went when females were removed from the library. I think it was telling the truth.”

Rhysand began to shake his head, this desire to comfort, but I shook my head faster, this childlike logic, that to do so would make my idea more true and real. 

“Not in some terrible way,” I said, pointing at the book in his hand. “We know the land holds power from Calanmai, and this proposes that certain places, like leylines, may be used to bolster one’s magic. Bryaxis derives its power, in some way, from the manipulation of despair. That land holds history to me.”

I turned up at the High Lord, and he was following, but some aspect was missing, a key component. I closed my eyes, tried to find the thread, the final piece, to connect—

“You said it,” I said suddenly. 

“What?”

“When we were in Dawn, you said the mornings were beautiful. And Night Court is in its element, its beauty is most pure, once it’s dark. Lucien, when he’s around flame or you around shadows, there’s an affinity there, the power is easier to use.” 

“It is.” 

“It would make it easier to hunt me if there was already a feeling of despair. If the places, the land and its power, were imbued with strong memory.”

“Bryaxis said it knows where you’ve been.”

I nodded, “The cottage, I went there after the burning, the caves, then last night, I think it was there. I don’t know, but there was a moment…by that lake I used to swim there with my mom. Almost like persistence hunting, it’s wearing me down, going places where the feelings would be harder to fight. When we were in the caves, my light drained like nothing.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed. 

“We were trying to find the link, this is the link.”

“Why would it tell you all this? Why would it give you the answer?”

“That I don’t know yet.”

Rhysand nodded, staring at the page on leylines. Perhaps it made no sense, but perhaps, maybe, it made all the sense in the world. There was something there, the way an old neighborhood can put you back in an old mindset, old body. Yes, if he did not believe me, I believed me. His gaze met mine, paired with a smile, small, but real.

“Good,” he said. “This is good.”

“Really?

“Really.”

I smiled, then, felt it strike as it had that afternoon in Dawn. How present it was. Like I might hold it in my hands. 

***

The High Lord left a little while later, some notes in hand of what I’d said to consider. He also took the book with him, but I made him promise to give it to Nesta when he was done. He swore, hand over his heart, before the door shut behind him. 

With the apartment empty, I began to go about life in a normal way, which felt odd. I couldn’t recall a time since the cottage where I had faced routine banality. Tidying the bed, changing the linen, hanging the jacket on the hook so it wouldn’t get dirty, cracking the window a while for new air, making a tea, washing the cup. There were things I wanted, I thought. Taking the jacket off the hook and bringing it to the bathroom, passing it through fingers and soap gently. Things I still didn’t have. I wiped my hands, hung the thing out to dry. 

Overhead the floorboards creaked. There was a new and small pleasure. Rifling through drawers with mostly nothing in them, I spotted things I had forgotten: pressed flowers, a pack of cards, pages. I saw them differently, with less absence than before. I opened another drawer, metal glinted in the candlelight. Lucien moved through his apartment, from the kitchen to the table. I pressed a hand to the wall. Could feel his invitation—twice as many dishes. Turning toward the kitchen, my ribs, which I don’t know if they could tense, seemed to relax nonetheless.

***

When I finally found Lucien again the next day I was pretty well rested. Not perfectly, but enough. And he answered the door quickly. I’d floated up there unannounced, almost unaware. Folding my bed up carefully, fluffing the pillows, I was circling a kind of drain, some center I orbited closer each time to the door with every task I did, going toward the desk drawer and opening it, closing the window, pushing in my chair, until I was knocking.

“Hello Lucien.”

“Hello Y/N.”

I remembered, as he stood there having come with such haste, what Feyre had said. That she had never been here. So I wondered if his speed was because, with the sound of the knock, he’d never been expecting anyone else. That he came as he did, feet against the wood floors faster than I heard him walk from down below, because he knew it was me. He stood now, and the early afternoon light, which, so close to Solstice, was all we really got, was obscured by his body. Even so, in the soft glow, there was something tired on him I could tell. Very beautiful all the same.

“I have something for you.”

He opened the door a little wider in invitation. Through the threshold, there was a point of relief. Palpable, like returning; a breath, time, or a warmth to life that outside did not appear to exist or have space. Hands in his pockets, he was poised, the door having been shut so gently I hadn’t heard. In the living room, a fire shifted and popped. The logs burning down, the coals aglow, his tired seemed obvious now, more clear. The lines of his face, the shadows, the pools of purple under his eyes. There was a desire to say, even in Velaris, go lie down. I’ll watch the world. I know what to do. I’ll keep it warm for you. 

“No sleep?”

He shrugged, rubbed his eyes, “I figure you lasted as long as you did. A rough few nights won’t kill me.” His words swelled discomfort under my skin like a wave knocking about a stagnant tidepool. When he saw my face, he raised a brow. “Remember this feeling. Next time you think not to tell me you’re sleeping poorly. It’s how I’ve felt for months.” 

“So you’re a tattle tale and a bastard.”

Lucien’s eyes went wide a moment, and I thought, perhaps, I’d done as I always had. Maybe this was the wrong thing to say.

Instead, he laughed. A huff of one, laced in surprise, but yes, a laugh. And it reminded me of a life that had happened but stayed away until now. Something about it, the teasing remark maybe, or just the ease, old but familiar. 

“It wasn’t so long ago you couldn’t say two words my way. Am I to suppose you’re getting used to me now?” 

“I suppose, yeah.”

He smiled, “Rhysand stopped by then.”

I bowed my head in confirmation, “But it was good. We know now where it’s going—Bryaxis. I think.”

“You worked it out.” 

“We did. Going to Dawn helped. I was up late. Reading.”

Lucien hummed. That lingering guilt he had, I watched it grow smaller in his worldview. For having done what he believed was right, for taking me somewhere that by all means had been home, for rest. Not wrong. I understood the conclusions made, the pull to the woods and that stream. His eyes going for my hands. 

“Right,” I said. The weight of the object at the forefront of my mind again. Easily forgotten, but now returned to memory, like it were nothing. And in a way it was really. “I got this a while ago, in Dawn, but.” 

His amusement slightly fractured in his processing the words. 

“I really hate gifts,” I admitted.

“I remember.”

“Yes but please don’t feel you have to get me anything in return just because I did this. I’ll hate it.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I saw it and I thought of you. Which is—which is what I prefer. As far as gifts go.”

“You thought of me?”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing. Words exited my mouth before I could catch them, “I think of you all the time.”

His face did not change. No smile of amusement, even as I was sure in the light he might see the deeper red that pulled at my skin. Strange, I couldn’t have guessed. To be more careful with words when sleep was had, on this I noted. 

“It’s small,” I said, as a show of self-awareness. Not wanting him to think I saw it as something more than it was. My hand outstretched, his eyes dropped, and he put one palm face up. 

He stared at the weighty thing now dropped there. The object known to us both, glinted in even the faint sunlight. How it had kept such quality, I wasn’t yet sure, had tried to guess once I’d grabbed it from a drawer, but didn’t have enough time to figure it out. 

“It’s a pen,” I said. “It keeps a duplicate of what you write. I thought maybe—you’re always writing letters. Maybe you’d find some use. Or that it would be helpful. But if it isn’t. That’s fine, too.”

“Thank you,” He said, before I could explain any further, and turned the thing over in his hand, running his fingers along it. “For thinking of me. Did you get it at the Copper Market?”

“I did.” 

His face transformed in such a way that made it clear the joy of before had been masked in part until now. Like a fog, which had now cleared, and did not make it so much bigger, but more present and real. It was short-lived, however. Something captured his attention. A tapping. Brief as it was, there and gone again when I turned toward it. 

“Sorry to interrupt—”

“No, not at all.”

“I’ll—”

I saw something. Just before looking away. There was something…something new. I blinked a few times, trying to spot what precisely had captured me. My brows creased. There was only the vaguest impression of change with no direction, no obvious answer. But, change it was, in this room. 

“Oh,” Lucien said, and I followed his attention. “I forgot you haven’t been here since I did that.” 

My eyes landed on it. A bird house. Or, something like it. More like a trough for horses or pigs, but smaller. Fixed to the window, the lip of it could be seen from where we stood. It made the window pane look smaller. That’s what was different. 

“You did that?”

“Yes,” His mouth twitched. “Despite being a High Lord’s son, I know how to do such things.”

The picture of it passed through my mind, saturating it. He, first going to find the thing, then walking with it through Velaris. The way he’d carry it home, tucked under his arm, hidden away in his jacket. How he’d lean out of the open window, his sleeves rolled up, hammering the thing in place, holding to the windowpane, the nails held between his lips. That look of concentration he has, eyes narrowed, a wrinkle in his brow the singular flaw. This focus which made him look angry, though he was not that way. So rarely that way, despite his looks. The opposite, I thought, of the ocean, which could look gentle but was not so underneath. And then when he was done he’d rise, back again, into the now quiet room.

“You said you missed feeding the birds. Since you don’t have a window to the courtyard, I thought you could do it here.”

My daydreaming broke, “You did this for me?”

Lucien’s brows creased, but only a moment, “Of course.” 

However soft my heart had been made, it grew even more tender. To think of him, to imagine that all that work putting the fixture in came from his memory. To feel the conversation that proceeded, the confessions that seemed too overpowering, large. And it would’ve been fine enough—knowing that he remembered Deryn, that he could recall what I’d said later that night. And yet…

Surprisingly painful, this kindness, to be remembered even smally, and for even that faintness to prompt a gesture. Still, I tucked that feeling away for later, kept it safe somewhere, until it would not hurt so badly, until I could look directly at it. 

“I think the birds know what it is. They’ve been lingering at my window. I was nervous I’d get the wrong food though. I was hoping you’d help me.”

“Yes,” I said. “I could help you.”

He began to reach for his things, “Go get your jacket, I actually need to go to the market anyway. Unless you’re busy.”

In all ways but the official passage of Solstice, Autumn had slipped finally through our fingers. There was a slight panic upon confronting the chill outside, to recall that hunger and desperation, the memory of survival. But when a strong gust turned down the street, and on instinct, I turned away from it into Lucien, I remembered that such times had passed. It helped some—did not fully alleviate the grief of missing the season that had passed, having been within myself when it was there, but I had learned in the woods that some things can be counted on to come back.

“Will you go to Dawn again?” Lucien asked.

I tucked my chin into my jacket, which was really his jacket, that upon seeing it on me he said to keep it which I said I would not do. 

“Yes, but Rhysand has tasked me first with resting and getting better.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

“Feeding birds feels like a good start.”

“It is,” He said, turning toward me as another gust slapped at our skin. “I could teach you to winnow to the house of wind, too.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised. Thought I wasn’t going to?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought maybe you forgot.”

“You weren’t exactly in good shape to try, all things considered.”

We took a sharp corner and were slapped again with a gust, the skin raw. Inside too, a reflection of this rawness, of exposure, that what had seemed to be a slip of the mind had really been a careful calculation. That I was waning so far from existence, he hadn’t thought I could do it, knew that I couldn’t. And I knew that the thought was neutral, was an assessment that was true, and in my best interest, but I hated it nonetheless. All that lack out in the open. I wouldn’t have had anything in me to winnow with. Even then, grasping for the threads of power, I found them there, but thin and wispy all the same.

“Whenever you want to come find me, we can do it. I have nothing going on at the moment.”

“The human lands?”

He shrugged, albeit a bit tense, “Jurian can handle it. I think. There are more important matters here.”

“Like Bryaxis?”

“Like the birds.”

The market came into view and we rushed toward it. Enveloped in the mechanism of the many moving pieces of buyers and sellers, the crowd dulled the cold just enough. A warmth permeating, like that of Lucien’s. 

“Is there a spell?” I asked, dropping my hands from around my arms, the heat dripping through.

Lucien gave a quick glance, “No,” he said and nodded in our direction. He was so sure of it, of most things really, that it didn’t occur to me to ask if he knew where we were going. I assumed that he did, some mythology of his I had developed even after all this time, that in everyday life he was the counter to my knowledge, our time together so seamless, that what one of us lacked the other possessed. Plus, it was too busy to speak. We walked single file. He looked back, checking I was still there, eyes brightening each time, it seemed, he saw that I was, reaching a hand to pull me through at times like a needle and thread. And when things got too tight, he spoke with sure manners, to no surprise, even with strangers, he managed some kind of softness about him, a pleasure to it I could tell, in how kindly people reacted to his excuse mes and thank yous. 

It was only when we passed the same female at the same booth for a third time, that I understood that though he had a confidence about him, he did not always know what he was doing. I could see it then more clearly, that small wrinkle in his mouth, between his brow. 

I grabbed the arm of his jacket, “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, turned, and did not call for me as I found a stall open, where I wouldn’t bother anyone with a question. My steps, in a kind of harmony one can feel, were drawn, as it were, to a young female standing alone, before a table of books. 

“Hello,” she said once I looked up.

“Hello.”

She must’ve been my age. Her eyes were kind and bright, a face that was not playing up or pretending because a customer was near. Sellers of books, often readers themselves, can be such a way. Warm and inviting, happy for even the possibility of talking or recommending a book, or otherwise so engrossed in their own private habits, have little time or patience for anyone else. 

I asked if she knew where we might find seeds or animal feed. Her voice was soft and kind, flowing out of her mouth like water, like a spring stream. We were close, she said, just a left turn up ahead and then a right, in a corner where it was warmest because it was small and beside a bakery where they kept the doors open so the ovens' heat spilled out. She told me too that the male running it will haggle, but only if you try the second time you go, and if you forget to on the second trip, he’ll never let you haggle again. She rolled her eyes a little at the curious detail.

“You’ll smell it when you get close, the bread that is,” She concluded. 

“How do you know this? About the haggling?” 

“He’s my father. And I’m not just telling you to go to his stall because he is. In fact, that would normally work against him if he didn’t know so much.”

“It must be a competitive business if you’re saying so.”

“You’d be surprised. He’s always yelling at someone.” 

I laughed a little, imagining, remembering. To know a father so well, to recall his mannerisms, and for those mannerisms to be true. I thought about it sometimes, if the claws had done something else, if they were suddenly not the people I remembered. Or if these things lasted, if even through the erasure, they remained at their root themselves. The splice, Deryn once said, was so small. He’d worked so hard to make sure of it. But things had gone wrong.

My eyes scanned the books, and I ran my fingers over the spine of one. There were many. Too many. I grabbed one and read the first page. There was immediately that sense one gets when the book they are holding is understandably what they will read soon, that they have found it at precisely the right moment. Somehow the season, the opening paragraph, the mindset, is precisely aligned so that this meeting has happened. 

“It’s about a knight who is searching for his brothers.” 

“Is it good?” 

She nodded, “I only sell books I like unless they’re too damaged.”

There was more than a table full, boxes behind her, stacks rifled and I was sure some had sold based on the hour of the day, “You’ve read all of these?”

“Long weeks of travel. And I’m fast,” She said the last part like an afterthought. 

I placed a few coins in her hand, “I should be faster.”

“Thank you. Let me know what you think!”

“I will.” 

And as final as that was, I felt a sense of impossibility of leaving just then. Some urge unmet. 

“I was an archivist,” I said. And her brows lifted. “I might be able to help. If you want, if you bring your damaged books to me, I could try.” 

It seemed only natural to meet her kindness with my own. That she had given me all the knowledge she had when I had requested it, and that in return I might offer up mine. 

She smiled in that kind way, “Thank you.”

I told her where to find me, where she might find me if I wasn’t at the apartment, and her eyes widened at the mention of the river house. But we parted ways and there was a kind of pleasure, the thought of seeing her again. I hoped I would. 

“It’s this way,” I said to Lucien, his cheeks a little pink when I revealed we’d been going in the wrong direction. 

“What was that?”

“She helped me, so I offered to help her.”

He looked over his shoulder back at the young seller, “How?”

“I said I’d help fix her books.”

I could feel his surprise. The complexity of it, of feeling sadness and happiness closely linked. The sadness of how that skill came about, what it meant to offer and to remember, tied to the happiness of offering at all. Of doing something again that I had not done, had seemed once to have no interest in doing. And in response, his hand rested briefly between my shoulder blades. No manuvering, no squeezing, just a reminder, I think, a need, to do something, and this was something he could do.

She was right. On scent alone, anyone might’ve found it had she said only it was near the bakery. When we got to the right stall my mouth watered, while the heat of the ovens was so powerful that Lucien unbuttoned his jacket. Her father was tall, taller than the average male, and with his age had acquired salt and pepper hair, which made him feel trustworthy. He did not scowl as he stood without customer, but instead had a blank look about him, that he was taking in each scene. When I approached this didn’t change.

“I’m looking for some seed for local birds,” I said. 

He hummed, “Which locals? They tend to stick to certain neighborhoods.”

He had a straightforward way of speaking that might’ve felt rough or callous, but I could tell was simply business, was his way of thought, narrowing down in his head the possibilities by every detail I gave. Lucien stepped forward to stand beside me, staring at the male, though this went unnoticed by him as I listed off the different kinds we’d seen. He handed me a slip of paper and pointed to one where it listed the ingredients.

“I’d do this one.”

I scanned it, “Would that be good for winter?” I asked. “Seems light.”

The male shrugged, and I saw even in such a short time the family resemblance, “They are city birds. They will get food in winter they don’t need anything too adventurous.” 

I gave him a skeptical look. 

“You think you know better?” He asked.

“I think I’m being thoughtful. Even in a city there are hungry things.”

“Fine. Let's try this, you take a small bag of these seeds, and then my recommendation. See how you fare.”

“Alright,” I said after a moment of thought, his hands on his hips, his brows slightly raised like he was skeptical I knew what I was talking about too. Some resolve in me, a dormant feeling, sparking, shifting, just so slightly into the light, into life. Determination now, to return and prove my sincerity. Even if he were right, in the end.

“And I will give you your selection on the house,” He said half mockingly, pleased in that muted way one does with business. “I’m this sure you’re going to come back and prefer my blend.”

He packed up my purchase into bags and offhandedly commented about a few of the birds I mentioned, before passing off to me my things with a farewell. With her advice in mind, I did not haggle, not that I was the type to anyway. I adjusted the cache first awkwardly and Lucien tried to take them, but I refused him. There was a time when this had been a pleasure, and I could feel it some then. The way it was at the cottage, the lifting of heavy things, the repairing, stacking, chopping, to know that I could count on my body to do something which in other circumstances might be done for me. To feel the meat of something and know it was me, my hard legs, my sturdy arms, which took its weight. Lucien stood in his side long glance beside me, but as I moved the larger bag over my shoulder, desperate and shaking, it landed awkwardly and slipped too easily from grasp. 

 I think you are barely surviving. 

“I can do it,” I said as he caught it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucien said, lifting it onto his own shoulder with ease. “I need to grab a few things still. You can come or you can look around.”

I turned toward the market, my chance now to blush. Only unlike Lucien I did not have such a resolve, could not quite stand to come against the vision of me he had again and again, which was so precise, so correct.

“I think,” I said, shifting, the stalls even against the wind, had taken no hit, each still as busy as when we arrived, as the sun began its descent. Night was approaching fast. But they had never been adverse to it, I suppose. “I think I will look around.”

His mouth twitched, “I’ll be just over this way.”

“I’ll find you.”

We did not turn from each other right away. There was a sense of something unfinished there, but I could not then name it, the momentum disintegrating too rapidly to tell, leaving behind a film of restlessness. It was with some reluctance that I turned, a need to do something, and the only thing I could conceive was to move. 

Lucien’s eyes followed me, but not for long. I disappeared into a wave of people which accepted me easily, and we began to move as one, those trickling off when they saw a place to stop. It made me think of Nesta, of the Copper Market, of Dawn itself. 

I was acutely aware of my free hands, of the things I wasn’t carrying. Grandfathers, women, even children, all around me, moved and laughed together, passed off objects, switched bags to other shoulders. I watched it all, walking with no particular curiosity or need. 

Something odd happened after a while. Absently, I wandered away from the current and found a stall selling bracelets and earrings, hair forks, pins. Not at all strange, to find this here, no, what was strange was that I wanted some. 

New things. 

Sitting under my skin I noted a flinch, a habit to withdraw from beauty. But I could not bring myself to connect to it, could not find the logic that had persisted. No, it was distant for now and so, with some reluctance, I ran my hands over the cold metal, polished in its finery. It felt good. The smoothness, the seamless work felt good, but so did the not-so-seamless desire in me, which I had not felt in so long. To buy these things, to appreciate them more than just by glance, but to actually own them. Remember, I thought, remember. The things you used to have, remember what you lost. And I did. Looking down at my hand, I knew just what had once been there, the shape of it, the curve, how it had felt in my hair.  For a long moment, this act of memory allowed both things to exist at the same time, a phantom laid overtop of the other. 

I thought of the nights at the dance hall, when I had pulled the piece from my purse, had twisted the hair, had danced so wildly it had fallen out. Hands passing other hands until it was in my possession once more, retrieved from the ground. I recalled the night my mother had lent it to me, and the few years later, when she had given it to me to keep. I couldn’t recall where I’d left it when I’d left it behind. 

On instinct, I closed my hand around the phantom, and as such, it dispersed. But it was okay. I could feel it now, something left behind. An anchor to the past, like the object knew as well as I did, that it was being bought in honor, rather than as replacement. The vigil such comfort to me that I reached for another, but found the flinch; the old logic had returned.

But that made sense. It would be too much, to try and hold so much of the past at once. 

And so came the new common feeling of happiness and sadness together. There were things I used to have that I did not have anymore, but I could again. Even, I thought, if it was different. 

The male polite asked nothing of me, until I raised my head and said, “Price?” 

After which I wandered more, tried to find that same opening where things that happened met what was happening, where it didn’t hurt so badly to have something new, but as I passed jackets and sweaters, there was again the feeling of what I could not do, that somehow these things were not mine, that I couldn’t make them be mine. All the while, the jewelry seemed, with each step, to belong more to me than anyone else. Which was apt, I thought, that such large progress happened from the continuous culmination of such tiny things. I stopped again only to get tea, before turning to see a familiar figure stood at a stand selling flowers.

“Hello Azriel.”

The Shadow Singer turned, smiled, “Hello Y/N.”

He had in his hand some stems of Bluebells. Their blooms were wide and open, as if spring had come and gone only yesterday and I had failed to notice. It would be months before those sprouted again in Dawn, most places really. 

“Those for you?”

“Gwyn,” He said, smiling gently in that way—that way everyone knows. “I’m going to see her perform tonight.”

“That’s nice.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his voice in that soft register he seemed to use when it was us alone. He tucked in his wings to accommodate the others around us, though his attention remained fixed on the flowers before him.

“I read once if you turn it inside out without tearing it you’ll meet the love of your life.”

“Really?”

I nodded. 

He looked at those in his hand and plucked one off, carefully pinching it between his fingers, before peeling it open to reveal the inner soft petal, until the whole thing retracted, caving in on itself, so that the inner place was revealed. The same smile returned.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Some say the flower means eternal love.”

He considered this with continued satisfaction, before meeting the female’s eye who was running the stall. He passed to her the sum and she smiled, her wrinkled face wrinkling more with the pleasure.

“Are these from Spring Court?” I asked.

She nodded, giving a toothy grin, “That they are. Picked them myself.”

I could not conceal my shock, the woman was certainly advanced in age. That she could even make the journey seemed magic in and of itself. “How did you get them here?”

Winnowing would be too rough, by cart or foot, the journey was too long and dangerous. And the city was a secret, so any trade routes seemed, by nature, out of the realm of possibility.

“We have long had a deal with some farmers over there. But the journey itself, just the people in my family know the way, know what to say to the flowers so they last.”

“You speak to the flowers?”

“It helps.” 

“How?”

“Living things,” she said, her brows creasing in thought, “Are all connected. Everything communicates in some way or another. This itself is a source of power; the meaning, the choice of each word matters. When we’re kind, we find things open for us, bloom, grow. When we’re unkind, the world begins to close itself, to rot, and remain stagnant.”

I swallowed, “So you just…speak?”

She nodded.

“Good things?”

“The best things you can think,” She said before handing me a bouquet, “Try it. They’ll last longer than you think.”

And before I could refuse or find my money, another customer pulled her attention away. If she did hear me call after her, which I suspect that she did, she ignored me. Azriel smiled, amused, when I turned back.

“How’d you know they were from Spring Court?”

“Most of the flowers she’s selling are out of season, and none of them really bloom at the same time. You could plant anything in the soil from Spring Court any time and it would grow. An anomaly of that place.”

“You read that I assume?”

“No,” I said. “A friend of mine told me. She was studying healing, wanted to see if she might use soil from spring to grow herbs.”

A hush overcame us and Azriel nodded along. My friend, the woman married to my husband. And her husband, who had been, who had fought against the rules, who had studied Dawn and had spent hours here and there copying paragraphs for me to read. Texts that related to my work. He’d been kind. And now he was gone. 

“I’ve been meaning to come find you.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” He said, and we turned and began to walk through the market together. Our togetherness, as it had always been, requiring no strenuous work, no extra words or welcomes. “I feel I behaved rather badly when we were in Dawn, before Rhys told me about what happened to you. I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“I haven’t thought twice about it.”

“Yes but, I have. And I didn’t like how I was. I’m sorry for pushing you.”

I turned toward the Illyrian, his face unblemished, “Thank you.”

Silence came, but it was one which bloated with the sensation of someone about to say something, and having nothing left to say, I waited for Azriel to speak again, let him find his words as he had so often allowed me to. The market chattering with people, lively, even as the cold wind whipped. It was not spring, but the life bustling about reminded me of it.

“I wanted you to know something else.” 

I hummed, sensing the strain in the words, their difficulty dragging up from his chest. He looked about the market and did not betray himself. Anyone looking would find nothing amiss. But that sound was familiar to me, the texture of his voice. 

“I spent time away from people. Not like you, but…similar.”

My mouth dried, “Really?”

He nodded, “I went to the Illyrian camp when I was 11, but before that, I was kept in a cell. I was allowed out for an hour a day.”

I turned slow to look at him. I did not attempt to say anything, aware there was nothing I could that would ease or right what he’d shared. He looked at me and instead passed something between us worth more than any words. Though he had decided to bring it up, I knew he did not wish to linger here too long. 

Azriel continued, “I just thought it might be a comfort. It's easy to think you’re still there, still alone. Even after.”

There was nothing to say, I knew. So let the moment pass with only our recognition in one another. I had once believed that I had learned a thousand languages in my time alone, but just then, I considered that it was only one with which I could proclaim a fluency: grief.

Then many thoughts came at once, that at the time were peaceful and readily understood with a simple harmony, but now are difficult to untangle and place. I just know that first, I thought of Lucien. The afternoon his fingers pulling the belt loop of my pants and that desperation I had, in his room, when he spoke of home, to do as Azriel had just done, to make someone aware of what they shared, what they understood, to banish the isolation in suffering. Then I considered Rhysand, his initial impression of me, and quickly from there many conversations came to mind. It was not just Azriel, right now, who was trying to close a distance. All of them, since I’d gotten here, had done the same in some way. I did not need to be ashamed, the room with which I occupied was one they knew themselves. Here, in the landscape of our grief, we found mutual solace in one another. Which is not to want for it to happen to anyone else, but a way to live with the fact it had happened to you. Thus came a new thought. A very good new thought, I realized, and the right one: my suffering did not have to take me further from the world, it could actually bring me closer. 

A breeze without temperature blew across the market unnoticed. Life then, when it is clearing of relizations, looser and wider than it will ever be, allowed, as it sometimes happens, for the draft to slip through the world. Closing around it again, the wind passed on to a place beyond reach, deep behind bones and flesh, between strings and shadows, where a door that had been shut, was suddenly, wordlessly, flung open. 

Across the street, Lucien stood, speaking to a male over some food. Azriel and I stopped to watch him. His hands gestured, nodding along, crossing over his chest, pointing. In the cold air his breath fanned out before him perpetually, never quite adjusting, his warmth always making itself known. I smiled a little, watching him. How the sun struck his face, he always catching it even as there was less and less of it each day.

“I’ll see you,” Azriel said, and I found him watching me. 

“Bye.”

He smiled differently than before, amused more. I thought, briefly as he walked away, I heard a laugh. But I couldn’t be sure it was his. 

I assumed Lucien did not see me approach, but just as I was within earshot, sidling up next to him, he spoke. 

“You ran into Azriel?”

“He was buying flowers.”

“That’s nice,” He said, the conversation so normal. As if we had had this very same conversation with him a thousand times. Which was nice. There was no other word. Not just then, so I collected the moment and put it away for later. It would be too hard to hold what it meant. To have a life, to have a life that could be mundane and people in it where things had been said, where so much had been said, that one could settle, at last, on the order of the day. He gave me a side long glance. “Flowers?”

“She gave them to me, the female at the stall.”

He gave a better look, “Peony and… hydrangea.” 

“Yes,” I said, turning the bouquet to be sure, but I knew it was right. Pressing the petals to my nose, I hid on some instinct the pleasure that pulled at my mouth to hear him say the names. “Azriel got bluebells.”

“For Gwyn?” He asked. 

I eyed him, “Are…they?”

Lucien smiled and gave me another glance, more amused now, and laughed, “I should think, yes. Or, at least, that is what we think.”

“We who?”

“Nesta, Feyre, and I.”

Lucien turned again and began mulling over the meats before him, his attention split and yet neglecting neither thing, “What do you think of chicken?”

“I think that sounds lovely.”

“If I buy enough, will you stay for dinner?”

“Yes.” 

Lucien's eyes flicked toward the male, who, leaning against the makeshift counter, said a price. 

***

For a moment I didn't notice, entered his place as I had before, shrugging off my jacket, kicking my shoes aside. While hanging the still-warm clothing, however, I realized things were not as they were. But much like the window and the feeder, what had changed had somehow affected the space around it in such a way that it was difficult to say what had happened. It left only the traces that something had happened. 

"Are you alright?" Lucien asked. 

He’d been talking about a willow tree he saw in the human lands, and the things he saw in it day to day while he walked. Now though his face had twisted and turned over into worry, brows furrowed.

"Yeah," I said. "Why?"

"You were...quiet."

I brushed him off, "Aren't I always?"

Lucien looked at me, "No." He said, "but you looked a little afraid." 

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

"No need to apologize, just wanted to make sure." 

He moved then toward the kitchen and I walked back to the couch and ran my hands over the fine material as pots and pans began to shift and clink together.

"Would you like to help?" He asked. 

"With the cooking?" 

"Yeah."

I gripped the cushion some, staring at the seed in the corner, unopened, and the window in the darkening night, birdless. Tonight they will eat somewhere else. And if I got the chance, I would tell them I was sorry, that I didn’t know they were waiting for me. If I did, I’d have come back sooner, I’d have done things differently. 

"It won't be much,” Lucien said, “just chopping the vegetables."

With his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, he had already begun. I could hear it, though his hands remained hidden, moving, emptying his bag, moving plates and knives into place. And now he was inviting me into it, the offer lacking pressure or weight, that I could join him, or I could stay where I was. 

"Sure."

His mouth pulled in some small way up, and he stepped aside to make room before I took my first step, the space beside him seeming to have belonged to me longer than the question had been said, like he occupied it just to be sure nothing else would take it should I want it. Rounding the corner, I washed my hands and came beside him. The spell of normalcy once again trickled over me that made it difficult then to look directly at.

Lucien cleared his throat, “Did you get anything at the market?”

“I did actually,” I said. “A hair fork.”

“Hair fork?”

“Maybe you’d like it,” I said, gesturing towards his hair. “It’s two prongs kind of, and you can pin your hair up. My mom gave me one. I wouldn’t dance without it, but I lost it a while ago.”

“When she came?” He asked. 

“Before.”

His attention set on me turned away before he said, with such simple curiosity it made me ache, “I’ve never seen you with your hair up.”

“I did it more when I was younger. Now just special occasions.” 

“Really?” He said as he pulled bones. 

I nodded, “Really.”

“Planning something?” 

I smiled a little, but it faltered slightly as I said, “You’re the only one I do things with.”

He shrugged, “Maybe you want to do some alone.”

I thought about it a moment, “After so long, I prefer someone there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even if we’re not really together. Just feeling another presence, across the room or, upstairs…”

“Isn’t that a little bit the same as being alone?”

“No,” I said. “No it’s not the same.”

The perpetual heat with which Lucien was surrounded grew a little hotter before it ebbed; he silently worked. Not the same, I thought. To know someone is there, that is itself a different kind of alone. Perhaps that word would have worked before she’d come, but it was not that way now. It was a relief to be this close to others. To hear footsteps overhead, to walk to the apartment and listen to the living, to hear a language you could understand. 

We were quiet, working in silence for a while, until he withdrew his attention to face me. Holding, in his hand, a Y-shaped thing between us.

“A wishbone,” He said, before extending it toward me. The thin thing nearly snapped between my fingers when I took careful hold. 

“Do you have a wish?” He asked. Maybe. Surely. Just then, however, nothing took precedence. So I wished that Lucien would win, that his wish would come true. Once I nodded, we pulled, and the bone snapped in quick, easy. Lucien held the bigger piece. I was glad for him, even childishly, in spirit, that he might have what he wanted. That this meant we both won. 

I asked, knowing his answer, “What did you wish for?” 

“We shall see, won’t we.” 

“You’ll tell me when it comes true?”

“I will.”

Then, seeing I had chopped through some of the vegetables he’d given me, he passed even more, and said not to dice, but slice those into strips. I did as I was told, glad to be helping in the end. Every so often Lucien would look over and say good or nice work or you’re good at this. 

There was a reason I was good at this, though, and I knew it. Before the woods, before I scavenged, before even on those birthdays Deryn and I would go on our own out to the middle of nowhere, I had learned. And that delicate tangle of history and memory sat like a stone in my throat. You’re right, it’s not the same. He’d said. 

The knife slowed in my hand, and in part it barely seemed to be my doing, but my mouth hung open with hesitation, so I knew it must have something to do with me. I wanted to say something. Needed, now, just to focus. The sudden, prolonged quiet at his side drew Lucien’s gaze, though he did not say anything. Waiting, as he had always done, when he saw me trying to speak. I wiped at my forehead, the heat of the stove filling the kitchen.

“My dad liked to cook.”

“Really?”

I nodded, feeling each individual fiber of the carrot break under the sharp edge of my knife. A little pressure, leaning forward, shifting my feet, and more breaking.  

“He didn’t like help though.”

“Is that so?” He said, and one could feel the life in the air between us, of his amusement that inflated the memory some, gave it real shape and feeling. And there was joy in this, in his interpretation of my past with his knowledge of the thing that we made together, this world, as he had put it. 

“Yes. My mother is the one who taught me to cook.”

He hummed, resumed his own cooking, and sliced into the breast before saying, “Jesminda hated cooking.”

“Completely?”

“Completely. It's why I learned to cook.”

There was something familiar on my face and I knew it immediately, having just felt it in my peripheral. That teasing sort of amusement, the hidden pleasure of a joke with the self. The thought of a younger Lucien moving awkwardly around the kitchen, just for her sake. 

“What?” He said.

“Nothing,” I said, pushing the carrot strips over and reaching for the sweet potato. Lucien grabbed from my side a freshly cut slice and it snapped in his mouth with satisfying crisp music. It reminded me of the cottage, of those nights as the bugs outside chirped in summer, a breeze passing through the window. Or, or, the sound of the chopping from outside. Sitting on the lawn with Mom. Dad in the window, peering. The smell off the clothesline, the cool grass, the turning of pages, and the clinking of plates. That curse now, not feeling quite so burdensome, that one memory led into another, that some things couldn’t be forgotten unless everything before it was forgotten first. 

“My dad also used to tell me luck skipped a generation. Like curses and twins, he’d say.”

“Do twins skip generations?”

“I think so.”

“Why?”

We made dinner that way, doling out stories as we thought of them, interpreting, remembering, following our own threads back toward the present. With no particular pattern of rhythm, just the flow of our recollections as they came, falling out of our mouths like appetizers. Sometimes discussing, sometimes letting it sit there, but each person, wherever they were, became clearer, more known as we went. 

“I’m finishing up if you want to set the table,” Lucien said, wiping the counter. 

A dormant feeling of pleasure rose through me at the thought. This small sculpting and the small audience he’d be for what I might put together. It had been a long time since such a thing had been done by my hand, and even longer since someone else besides myself saw it. I left him, found the linen closet on instinct, and began to rifle through, in search of good textile, ones to offset the warmth of the carrots and potatoes, what I thought would go well. There was a slight shock to me that he owned such a variety, but with his manners, I also wasn’t surprised if I thought much about it. Taking the pieces I wanted out, I shut the door. The rhythm of movement wasn’t difficult to find again, a low thrum from life before. Before there was forgetting, before needing to remember, back when the cottage had voice, before we knew life could be different, these were things I liked to do.

Lucien came out just as I was adjusting the flowers in a vase that I’d found lying around on a side table near his desk. 

“It looks good.”

I smiled slightly, “Thank you.”

He placed the hot plate down and there was a need to stop a moment and look at what had happened, what between us we’d created. The rag in his hand, he placed his fists at his waist. The tangibility of it moved me to a degree. Lots of people, I thought, live a life close by to someone in which nothing was made. He and I, I saw then, were not like that. It occurred to me then that the setting looked like a garden, or something wilder. A field I decided. The field just west of the cottage. With its fine greenery, its tangled colors. 

I looked up at Lucien, who sighed with pride, “Shall we eat?” 

When I nodded, his hand casually reached for a chair, pulling it out, gesturing for me to sit. He didn’t even seem to notice it either, the exceptional care he took, the gears in his mind turning as he went to his own spot. 

“These are from Spring Court?”

“How’d you know?”

“The smell,” he said. “It’s different. I remember it.”

“I knew because everything was blooming at once.”

He hummed, picking up his fork and knife, “That’s a long journey.”

“I asked her about it,” I said, falling silent a moment as I bit into the chicken, which was so full of flavor it returned a longing in me, borrowed from the past, of those bland meals I’d made and what I’d forgotten to hope for. “She wouldn’t tell me how, but she said part of what she does is talk to them.”

“Talk to who?” 

“The flowers.”

“Flowers?” He said, and I saw his brow raised in curiosity. “Have you heard of this method?”

“If you can believe it, I don’t know everything that comes with natural things.”

“I’m skeptical of that more than the first thing.”

“She said to say only the best things.”

Lucien stared at the petals for a moment, brushing a hand along them. He did it so gently that the whole flower didn’t even shake at its touch or seem to register his fingers, nor did any fall off into a pile underneath. I wondered what it took to become like that, to have hands that could do so little harm. 

“I’ve thought about your offer,” I said once we’d finished eating, the pair of us leaning back lazily in our chairs. I could not remember a time I had felt so full. 

“Have you?” 

I bowed my head. 

“You don’t have to know right now. I didn’t expect you to.” 

The tips of my fingers grazed my glass, the delicate detail, but without his particular touch, the drink inside hit with a wave of movement. “What happened in Dawn can’t happen again.”

Lucien leaned forward, elbows on the table, “What can I do for you? Whatever you want. Do you want me to take you to the house of wind now? Do you need to pack?” 

I shook my head, “I lived with Deryn...to do something like that again...”

“You don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to have that life again.”

“Why?” 

“I seemed to have a habit of getting in his way. Even when I tried not to. And I don’t know…here.”

“You won’t be in anyone’s way.”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I will be. I’ll be on your couch and in your apartment and you will have things you will want to do and I will be there, sometimes, in your way.”

Despite having been the one who suggested the house of wind, his shoulders dropped noticeably with relief when I revealed with whom my reservations lay. That it was with him I had them, that I had, even hypothetically, chosen his company instead of any others. 

“It was hard for him and for me,” I said, “living together. I started to ask him for things I’d promised not to ask, things I knew he couldn’t give, and so he put distance between us. Wouldn’t even—he would sleep in his office, send me away. I was this terrible reminder of what he didn’t and couldn’t do, that we were tied irrevocably, miserably, for nothing.”

Lucien’s gaze had not hardened as it had when he’d learned of Deryn first. But even so there was still a palpable guilt. These are stories that, given any other circumstance, I would keep to myself. But with Lucien, there seemed to always be a need to confront them. My throat clamped around the story, wanting for it not to be said, but I had already said it. 

“While his resentment I can forgive, I admit I’m not so fair in my judgment. If you came to treat me with the same coldness I don’t know if I would survive it.” 

“You know, don’t you, that this is different than that?” 

I stared at him, silently. Who was to say that this would be different? That this brief peace would not be broken as all things had come to be broken. The good intentions of good males, who see what is wrong and want to fix it. That is how it started. And to lose this friendship, I thought, impossible to survive. 

Lucien shifted, the heat of him enveloping like arms, roughly rubbing at his face, “He wanted you to want for nothing. I’m not going to be that way. I’ve never been that way.”

I sighed stared at him from my place. I could sense what little my face gave to him, could count the thoughts within that he was briefly unaware of. 

“There also isn’t anything binding about this. If something isn’t suited to you, if there’s something you don’t like about what we’re doing, then you can change it. You have power here as much as me,” He added. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“If something isn’t suited to you.”

He swallowed and we stared at each other a moment, but his face twisted slightly under the thought rising in his mind, “I think I’ve shown I’m capable of voicing my displeasures. I’ll myself admit that I believe I’m deserving of some good faith.”

“I’m not saying that,” I said carefully. “I just want you to know that I want to know. I’m not fragile or anything of the sort. I’ve drowned and hallucinated, and fought that thing twice. If I do something that isn’t suited to you then I would like to hear about it.”

“Everything you do is suited to me,” Lucien said, and I could tell just from the way he said it that he, like me at times, had felt better judgment on the horizon of his mind but had spoken before he could let it get to him. Adding after, “But I would tell you. I don’t find you fragile at all.”

I smoothed my hair in the places where it had been ruffled. The flowers between us so fragrant it wafted my way with every breath Lucien let out, no matter how slight and gentle. As if I were a fawn, that even the smallest shift in his chest would send me running. But I supposed that was how he knew me, what I had been doing all this time. 

“Alright,” I said, after a moment. “Then I’ll stay.”

Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him.

“I have a condition.” 

“What is it?” 

“When you cook, let me do the dishes.”

Lucien countered, “If you help with dinner then I get to help too.” 

“Fine.”

Lucien smiled, “I’ll clear some space in the dresser for your clothes.”

Side by side we stood at the sink, he taking the dishes, drying them, and putting them away. We did so mostly in comfortable quiet, the new conditions of my life settling like dew. I tried not to be on edge, but to do this momentarily shrunk me back into the shell of life before. A feeling of being out of place, waiting for the rug to be pulled from beneath me. I know Lucien could tell, the way he looked at me as I shifted my weight, rocked on my feet, kept my eyes turned toward anything else. In response he shifted closer, our shoulders touching, so even if something did happen I knew he’d be quick to take hold. I was not going to fall too far from him. 

“You can go get whatever you need,” he said when the last dish was put away. 

I dried my hands and made for the door. His own eyes lingering on my back and his fear palpable enough that I took my sweater off and threw it on the back of the couch. Some logic, some reason for return, no matter how flimsy, was enough. The world was built on such truths. My sweater was here so I must return. Lucien in this comfort turned away. 

Downstairs already felt foreign. A limbo setting in, of what was not really mine, but mine too, just out of commission a while, which made it feel like I was breaking some rule. And inside was even stranger. My apartment was lifeless in the way a cellar was lifeless. Which is to say it was somewhere it seemed nothing had ever or should ever live. It frightened me almost to be there. The way it would when I was younger in the cottage. Even the upstairs shifting movements of Lucien offered little relief.  I paused at the door, took stock, tried to shift my fear into endearment. It was a place that did its job. It had welcomed me and held my things and let light in. The water was warm and the kitchen was cool. When it rained nothing leaked, when it was cold it kept what it could out.

Yes, I thought. 

For however brief and thin it was, I felt the history of the place settling over me. I was sorry for the neglect, for the things I couldn’t give it. It occurred to me then that perhaps the lifelessness was really not the apartment’s but my own. It could be good, I could tell. I could have had a big bed and books where dust would settle. But I had not put anything in it. And now I was leaving it for a while. 

“Sorry,” I whispered, for not trying to make it what it so clearly had been born and wished to be. A home. 

Lucien was stoking the fire, his back to me. Against the wall, the bag of seed slumped tired and unopened. He pressed at his temples with complete exhaustion, and I leaned my back to close the door so he knew I was there. His tired disappeared as he turned toward me, soft and smiling.

“You can place your things in here,” He said, guiding me into his room. 

A drawer had been emptied and pulled out, waiting for me. 

“Getting rid of the clothes just for me to put them back,” I said.

“They’re coming home again, who could blame them?” He said, which I suspected was for my benefit, so I did not feel bad. I hummed in agreement. It was hard not to turn and look at his bed, where I knew he would sleep tonight. If I did, I suspected he would offer it to me, and he’d certainly insist when I said no. He’d take my look as a different kind of longing. So we filed out, half of the room burning against my face.

“I set you here,” He said, pointing to the cushions now swathed by a top sheet, ticked carefully into its crevices to keep it in place. A comforter bunched and folded neatly at the bottom with blankets, a pillow at the top. “The windows are drafty so I moved the sofa enough that you’re close to the fire. There's wood in the closet if it goes out and you really need it. But you can wake me too if you need anything, if there’s something not to your liking.” 

“It's to my liking,” I said. “A big improvement already to what I was doing.”

Lucien nodded, staring at his handiwork, his focus changing just enough that I could feel the avoidance in his gaze. That he was not looking at me and that not looking took great effort, the way my own had in his room.

“If you still can’t sleep too,” He said. “Come and get me. Or I could stay with you. It might be hard somewhere new.”

“That’s alright,” the flame licking at the pristine pattern of the linen, words floating lazily from my mouth, “Sometimes I think I only ever sleep when you’re close by and that room is very close.” 

Lucien turned, and the theory settled between us, nuzzling at my chest and face where heat bloomed.

“Sweet dreams,” Lucien said quietly.

“Sweet dreams.”

That same restlessness from earlier, despite the tire of the day, hummed, but we did not linger. He stopped only at the table, paused, before he leaned down into the bouquet, hand cupped, and whispered into it. I could not make his words out, and he did not mention it. He went to his room without looking back, and once he was settled, or so it seemed from what sound slipped through the crack in the door, I went to the bathroom to wash up. The warm water spilling around me, I tried not to get too caught up in it. I didn’t wish to disturb the silence at the end of a long day. Outside, now that the leaves were all gone, there was a perfected quiet that said in absence, winter. I wiped my face, washed my hair mechanically, let it be any other chore, and finally walked back, soaked, to my bed. 

***

Lucien, however, was right. 

Sleep was difficult. It came late in the night after I’d kept myself busy and ended early in the morning with something of a familiar heaviness settling over my limbs. Sitting at the window watching the feeder, I knew that Lucien would find me and know. I’d considered going to the kitchen for tea or breakfast, but I was too worried I’d wake him. That exhaustion which had been present yesterday. From his room came no sound, so I knew his sleep must be a bit like death today. 

Instead, I’d risen and with a privacy I had not had before, lifted the heavy seed into my arms and slowly, quietly, poured the seed into the feeder. It took maybe ten minutes for any birds to show up. Stealing a pen and paper from Lucien’s desk, I began to write down which species I saw. It required a kind of stillness and tolerance for idleness, and nothing that I had grown accustomed to in Dawn. As such, my thoughts trickled and flowed in varying degrees. It took about an hour, but eventually my tally became overrun, and I flipped the page silently around. 

So many things. 

Living things that had no access to the comforts of in here, did not have a Lucien, or a market. I remember, I thought, what it was to live so wildly. Winter was there, food would be scarce. A mother flew along the windowsill, landing, investigating, and then leaving again to return with three smaller chicks. There was a pang. I wanted to tell them I’d always be there, but the promise seemed so easily breakable and more false if said aloud. So I did not speak, did not want to seal that fate, pull it from a place of vague concept into reality. Instead, placing the pen down, I leaned in toward the window and rested my chin along the sill and hushed so only I could hear, but with enough feeling that they would know something had changed, I said, “I will do my best to keep it full. You will not be without food too long.” Which felt plausible and more real. 

The sun rose half-heartedly then and was lingering in the air, despite it seems terrible odds, for an hour before a crow landed.

Unlike the other birds, it didn’t settle beak down, no, it’s looking directly at me. My brows raised as we stared at one another, assessing. The silent bird. Was Lucien right? Would the same crow come back? Does one loaf a friend make? There had been one particularly loud one over the weeks, louder than any other bird that roosted in the courtyard. Perhaps this was that very one. It cocked it’s head to the side. There's nothing here, nothing changed, it's curiosity is lost on me. Then, carefully, it leans forward and taps the glass.

But I don’t understand, I almost don’t even really believe it could behave in such a way, though I know that they can. When nothing changes, it taps again, three times. Still, I don’t understand. I can’t let it in. Maybe if it were my apartment downstairs, I’d consider, but this is Lucien’s and— 

The bird nodded its head awkwardly, as if there was an itch, and hopped over to my right to tap the glass over my shoulder. I turned, in the corner, on a faint streak of light thrown to the side in an afterthought, is the other seed. The small bag I’d gotten. I hadn’t put any out. I looked back at the bird who was waiting so patiently, who stared at me again. It seemed pleased, but I might’ve just imagined that. The trough is not depleted, but I understand the desire, wanting to be sure there is something else, that once this is gone, food won’t be gone for good. It’s winter after all, or nearly. Just shy of two weeks, and I know that there is something terrifying about eating a meal without the supplies for one behind it. So I dipped my hand in the bag and took a handful. I slid the window open at a speed I judged wouldn’t startle and pushed my hand out. 

The crow seemed curious again, and I wondered if it wanted something else from me, but either way, it hopped over to my hand with no fear, like it knew something about me, like it knew I meant no harm. 

Careful, so as not to pinch my skin, it pulled a few seeds and placed them against the wood of the sill, taking each one in its mouth one at a time. After, it again fished from my hand with the same gentleness.

“Do you know my friends?” I whispered. 

The bird continued its cycle. Plucking from my hand and eating what it has pulled out. Every so often it rubbed its head against my fingers, like we knew each other. And I thought maybe we did. Somehow. 

“Will you tell them I’m sorry I left?” 

In answer, it nudged my hand a little. I smiled, but before it could take any more, it stiffened and flew away. I watched it swoop toward the scholar tree and disappear. Just as well, the crack in the window with the morning air had made the room a little too cold, and my fingers were frozen. I dropped the seed in the feeder before shutting out the near winter. 

“You’re cold.” 

It surprised me, but did not scare me, to learn that he was there. Lucien and the soft morning a caress against his features. His own clothes hung in ways I had never seen of him, sleepily, messily, which is an intimacy I had not remembered could happen—to learn and see these things for the first time and feel the surprise. The words he’d said to me came out with familiar displeasure, that this state he’s found me is again one he cannot allow. 

“Yes, well,” I said, and began to rub my hands together. “That's easy to fix.”

He hummed, his hand briefly lifting, like a flinch, before settling back at his side, “That crow has been tapping at my window before there was any seed.”

“It can tell you’re nice.” 

“I think it was looking for you. Wants more bread.” 

On a low-hanging branch the bird shook its feathers, hoping to and fro. “I’ll have to get some.”

“How long have you been up?”

I pinched the hem of my sweater and rolled it in between my fingers, the question hanging between us a moment before I answered, “A little before dawn.” 

“Did you sleep?”

“Some,” I said, and looked over my shoulder at him, where he held an assessing face. “It was different though. Different than before—sleeping.”

“Truly?”

I nodded, “Just took a little wearing out, and then I fell asleep.” 

“Real sleep or the other?”

“No. Nothing like before.”

We were silent then, the morning lying over us like a blanket, the cold breeze prompting a return to sleep or to bed or to somewhere that it was safe and warm where the day would pass quickly. But I could not go, something under the skin seemed to hum and itch, latching itself onto my bones and my thoughts so that it was known.

“I know I have to rest, but I think the idleness is what kept me up. Having some power back, I think it wants a little release.”

“Did you wish to go to the library today?” 

“I thought it would be good.”

Lucien considered, “Could you winnow there?”

It was surprising to me, what I felt when I reached within myself, both the firmness of it and also how small it seemed and easily wasted. And yet it was making itself known, sinking into every available space, growing like mold. 

“A little. It’ll come out one way or another. I’d rather be in control when it does.”

“Don’t wish to glow spontaneously?” Lucien said, smiling. 

“No. Not particularly.”

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll see how much you can do. At least we know the rest is doing something, we just have to manage what that something is.”

I nodded, “Give and take, I suppose.” 

“As all good things are. Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes please.” 

***

There was no greater gratitude than that which I felt after walking outside for the clothes that Lucien had given me. It was cold on the streets of the city; my hands, within a minute of being outside, required the unfolding of the sleeve to drape over my fingers as shelter, so I knew the House of Wind would be only that much worse. 

It helped, too, that Lucien was never too far.

“How much power have you had recently, would you say?” Lucien asked, the pair of us standing to the side as carts rolled by, families bundled sat upon them, wrapped in fine colorful wool with gift bags. His eyes trailed them. 

In the years after he’d arrived, there were times—rare moments, as the days got shorter, where I would think of him out in the world celebrating solstice. Where the rest of his life was myth, this, I thought, was closer to reality. I took comfort in the broad celebrations, the traditions, and how unvaried they were across the courts, and liked how, for that brief period, I knew what he was doing, even if the precise day remained obscured to me. I imagined the gifts and the food and the wine and a fire and laughter. I imagined his hair against the pine and those men who had called his name doing the same, but with softer indoor voices. I imagined a house. I imagined it warm. 

And now that would be real. Now I would see for certain that which had remained so close to me in those final lonely years. Solstice, an ever-looming threshold. To make it to that day, I thought, a precious, beautiful thing. 

“After we saw Bryaxis in the caves it didn’t really come back. A little that day I glowed, since I had really slept, but otherwise nothing more than that. Most of the time I didn’t feel anything.”

“And you feel it now?”

I rolled my shoulders, “Yes.”

He bowed his head, face turning and thinking, “Could you make it?” 

The House of Wind had always felt far, but that distance had seemed more conceptual rather than large or contained by specific classifications and boundaries. So to imagine, to try and take that power and apply it, seemed both to diminish the distance and exalt it. To make a monster but also to give it limitations, make it beatable if I managed such a distance. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“What do you suspect you could do?”

“It feels like how it did in the cottage. Like I could get myself out of a bind but not further.”

“Alright,” Lucien said, pacing. “Alright.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking maybe I need to do more cooking.” 

When I turned to him, he was smirking ever so slightly, but the web of his thoughts were there just behind his amusement. I wanted to smile with him, but the prickling antsy feeling under my skin intensified, and for a moment it was as if my whole body were full of energy that I almost considered winnowing the distance just to see if I could. But Lucien spoke, and it dissipated again.

“You need to feel the drop first regardless, so why don’t we start with that and then move from there,” Lucien said, extending a hand to me. Poised as the gentleman that he was, and so handsome, a female walking by let her eyes follow him as she walked. He didn’t notice. He remained fixed on me, though I did not at once take his hand. 

“Can we…” I said, sweat beading at the small of my back even in this weather. “I’m a little afraid of the height.”

He dropped his hand to his side, shifting a little, “Would you…Would you like me to carry you again, the first time?”

I nodded, grateful that he had come up with the same idea as I had so that I would not have to ask. Despite his having done it before, it seemed now to ask for it, to want for it, disqualified me from doing so because I didn’t have any real need for it. And as such, the words were lost. But he had offered, and if he offered, I could have it, which was a rule I had made up in that moment and felt very surely thereafter. 

He bowed his head and approached, and this time, even with less awkwardness than the last, he moved with greater reluctance. Each of his movements seemed to be assessing the tension of my muscles. He bent and, gently, he found my legs, sliding along the pants and allowing me to put my arms around his shoulders. We fell gracefully together into the embrace. 

“Alright?” He asked, settling me. 

“Mhm.”

“You’d tell me if you weren't?”  

I turned toward him, the light of the sun too weak to warm my cheek where it found it, “What could I be hiding?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You forget who I am. The only thing I like to keep from you is my sleeping and eating habits.”

His eyes found mine and held a sharpness. 

I smiled lightly, “What happened to joking?”

He let out a huff of a breath, “Is that what that was?”

“I thought so.”

“You’ll have to work on it. Your sense of humor is rusty.” That made me smile, and he watched it, my mouth, how it pulled with his teasing before adding, “And maybe save it for when I’m not so worried about you.” 

“You’re still worried?”

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t answer right away, turning so that our noses skimmed, and he gripped tighter to me. It was the least gentle he’d ever been, and even so, it still was careful. 

 “I confess,” he said. “I find it difficult not to want to protect you from everything. Which is not something one wishes to hear.”

That night in the tent, how he had held me with his hands splayed wide. That urge to step between the world and a person, to not let it be so harsh, I had felt it too. Even before knowing his past, that first moment in the woods when I saw his scar, it had happened then. So I understood what he meant then, of this desire, and knew too of its duality. That while it might feel important, even noble, to want to protect someone from the world, one must trust their ability to live in it. That living in it allowed them access, yes, to pain, but joys too, triumphs, which often requires one to go against one's nature. 

“Your desire hasn’t been restrictive to me. I feel you place more faith in me than anyone.”

“Good…I don’t…I don’t want to be—“

“I know,” I said, thinking briefly of Deryn. “You’re not like that.” I fought the urge to press my hand to his cheek, to soothe the place between his brow. His breath fanned against my face. I added, “I have the same urges for you. But I think we’re both doing well, don’t you?”

He smiled very slightly, “I do. Sometimes I think you have too much faith in me.”

My eyes dropped to see if his mouth might pull again with amusement, but it did not. 

“Impossible,” I whispered. His chest rose so far and so tightly into me from his intake of breath that I could feel some doubt about to rise from his mouth. But I could not let such a thing take root or flower; had to cut him off and speak again, “Will you count?” 

He blinked. My affirmation unchallenged moved further into the realm of possibility and hardened to fact. It was indeed impossible. I trusted him as I had trusted no one else. And faith was not about what would be done, more so a matter of it being possible to be done. And so in this, you could never have too much, as failure to do did not mean it was never possible to begin with.

“I will,” he said, his words said into my shoulder. The light within me writhing, pulling to the top, he looked away just in time before it became unbearable, uncontrollable, what such closeness does. “We can do this until you're comfortable.”

“Let’s see how I feel once we’re up there.”

“Alright. One, two…”

I held my breath. It won’t be you falling, it’ll be me. He’d said he wouldn’t let me hit ground, and this I believed, but the sensation, the stomach in the throat, the free fall—

“Three.”

I did my best to keep my eyes open, but as we folded in and landed on that nothing, fell through the bitter icy air, my eyes stung, and instinct turned over. I gripped Lucien fiercely, and when we landed, I could feel his chest moving with warm laughter. My fists clenched so tight I don’t know how he even managed such a movement with his clothes pulled taut to him. 

“Don’t be mean,” I said into his throat.

“I’m sorry,” He smiled. “I just can’t believe you’d willingly go to find Bryaxis and be afraid of a little drop.” 

“I don’t recall fear being based on logic.”

“Yours certainly isn’t.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth, don’t you?”

He smirked, “If you’re well enough to call me a bastard, I think I can have a laugh at your expense.”

He was so much like Deryn in that moment that my heart began to pound. I knew I couldn’t tell him so, that now was not the time with what we shared, but it was the thing that I had loved most sitting there between us a moment, recognizable and real again. That friendship, those things that came with being known.

“Are you ready to try again?” He asked eventually.

The second time I didn’t hold on quite so hard, but tucked myself into him again. On the third, I only closed my eyes. Lucien shifted from amusement to dutiful teacher as easily as he slipped through the universe. He counted the seconds of the drop aloud, and hitting ground never came as a surprise or too soon. It took five tries for me to stop flinching, seven before I felt sure of the act, after which he dropped me to my feet on the street outside our apartment. I could feel the length of the drop onto the terrace the way one feels the ghost of their hair after it has been chopped, how the hand runs down it in instinct too long when washing it.

“Does it hurt to land?” I asked, refusing to let the fear take its hold, wanting to keep the momentum. The freedom ever closer with each try, freedom of movement and power, to do with one's body what they wish, to put it in the places it wanted to go. For all that the cottage was, it was still its own prison. I couldn’t leave, had nowhere left to go. To feel my life opening again in a way it had not in so long, I imagined a bird from a cage. 

“No. It will feel strange, like pressure, but it won’t hurt. We can take a second if you want.”

“No,” I said definitively, “let's do it now.”

I took his offered elbow. A particularly sharp gust taunted the streets with winter, and I shivered. 

“Do you want my jacket?”

I shifted a little closer to his side, our hips brushing, “No. You’re very warm, I can feel you through my clothes.”

The heat around him again intensified, and he cleared his throat, “Make sure you bend your knees a little.” I did so, and he bowed his head. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. One, two, three.”

There was real fear, more real than just the falling, but the sensation of something there, then ripped away. A rug from which fate could pull at any instant—that pendulum. I did not close my eyes because such a sensation was no longer shocking. Not just the falling, but the feeling of losing something you were sure would remain, that which seemed solid. Falling was familiar—Nesta and the dance in Dawn, Deryn, the tea with Lucien, my phantom mother. A curse. A punishment. I hadn’t done what I was supposed to. 

True pain.

The wind knocked from me and I fell to my knees with a gasp. The cold stone of the House of Wind bit into me, and in fear, my body tried desperately for air. On all fours, I scrambled, pressed my forehead into the stone. It was too much, too many sensations at once. The cold air, the pressure in my bones, the pain in my knees, and yet I was aware of absence, of being without.

Had Lucien gone?

No.

He was a distant point, I knew him immediately in the places I didn’t shiver. Not Lucien, I was relieved, not again. But something was gone. Something I could now not remember, what I had not known to hold onto. The place without shivering shifted. I found his arm and gripped to it. 

Still nothing occurred to me. I could not feel what was gone. How fragile everything felt immediately. I did not understand. How could it happen this way so often, was loss so easy? How did nothing come back?

“Can you stand?” Lucien said, and his voice broke through a silence like a rock would a window pane, bringing with it all other sound. I closed my eyes with momentary relief. Of course, I thought, sound. The world never this quiet, not here. Lucien, I realized, would talk. He’d talk to me, even when I couldn’t answer, even if I couldn’t hear. 

I shook my head. 

How had I not noticed it, how had I missed the world without its voice?

He moved a hand slowly up my spine to wrap around my shoulder and lifted my head from the ground, telling me to breathe slower, longer, deeper. I did not look at him. 

“I didn’t know it would feel like that,” I said once I could, my voice croaking, and a heat rose so intense I knew there must be some light, even faintly, rising to the surface of my skin, dancing as it would in water. I closed my eyes, but it was not enough relief, so I placed my palms over my eyes. 

“What did it feel like?” He asked. 

“Like—like,” I said, the words hard to voice, as it had been hard to speak months ago, only now instead of them not being there, they were held back by embarrassment. I swallowed, let Lucien wait for the answer as he would, “Like loss.”

When he said nothing, the heat got warmer, the light brighter. I could see it through my closed eyes. 

“It's just me. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“It is embarrassing,” I said. “To not be in control of your body. That’s embarrassing.”

It felt like a long time that we sat there with my words the last to be said, but time is strange in the way it lasts, choosing seemingly at random moments to lengthen or shrink. Rarely ever did it seem to do so when and how we wished. Happiness so quick to escape, shame so obstructive, impossible to get around with any speed. 

“It must be very frustrating to know your body can do something and be unable to make it do it.”

The light on my eyelids diminished in quality, and I nodded. Despite not looking at him I was aware of his movements, of how in that moment he moved closer to me, pushed his legs out, so we were both sitting on the ground together instead of me on my own. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” I said. 

“You’re bleeding a little.” 

His finger brushed my knee. The pants were torn and there was a spill of red, only a little, on the newly raw edge. I placed my palm over it and within a second the wound had closed. It would’ve been cleared in maybe ten minutes on its own.

“What made you so afraid?”

“It feels too easy,” I said, my eyes stinging. “Things going away all the time. And I can’t do anything. They just go.”

“That's what the winnowing felt like?”

I nodded, “I close my eyes and something's gone, and I don’t understand. I don’t get how something there can go away, and I don’t even get a say.”

“With this you get a say.”

My whole body tightened, pulled closer to itself, “But why does it have to mean something going? Why does it always have to be something going? When do I get a say in what is staying?”

Lucien was quiet for a moment, and I could tell that his attention had drifted elsewhere, but where that was remained hidden until he spoke, “If you look over the railing, the ground is still where you left it. Maybe that's the better perspective. That you can look away because it's there. It’s waiting for you to come back.”

“Even if there's another perspective it's not what it feels like. Life does this to me on its own. I’m just not willing to subject myself to it on purpose.”

“It won’t feel like this forever.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, shoulders slumping. “If someone needs to take me to the library when I want to go.”

“Don’t give up.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not how you are.”

“It is,” I said, swallowing the constraint in my throat. “I give up all the time. The night Bryaxis found me in the cottage, when he caught me, I just laid there. My body acted spontaneously. I didn't decide that. In the lake, you were the one who brought me back. I didn’t choose to go.”

“I felt your legs kick,” He said, pausing a minute. His voice was strained, a similar affliction to my own. Twin constraints, words that were weighty and wanted out. If not by the body, then by ourselves. “Under the water, you weren’t dead weight.”

I shrugged, unwilling to allow his point to be made clear. 

“It used to be so hard for you just to find one word. The first weeks I was back I watched you try—over and over again, to talk to anyone. And those days returning to Dawn, or the bookseller at the market. You’re so willing to believe in a different outcome than what has already happened.”

“I’m tired of things not being different. That willingness, the feeling, it's gone.”

“That's because I have it. I’m holding it for you until you can manage.”

For a brief wild moment I hated him. It was unfathomable to the point of rage the amount of feeling I felt surging inside myself for him, for his kindness, for his ability to know what to say. To strip me of these feelings that, for as desperate as I had been to rid myself of, found fists clenched around just the same. When I glanced down at my hands I found them open; the glow I saw had faded when I wasn’t looking. When I was ready to face him again, his own hand was waiting extended for me. 

“It won’t feel like that every time, I can even prove it if we try just once more,” He said. 

The railing of the terrace must’ve offered enough protection because while his hair whipped this way and that, I only got the barest of caresses at the very top of my head. There he stood, noble and in all his glory, this male who’d remembered, who had seen me so clearly from the beginning. His face, briefly broke, unsure.

He added, “Maybe, if there's anything left, you could put your faith in me. Just a moment.”

He who wanted only to help, and he who made me brave. I did not know how to say it, to convey the consistency of my faith in him. How I knew he was going to come back, even if not in the way I wanted or expected. How he would not let me fall or drown. These things I knew without knowing. My palm latched to his, and he pulled me up. I could only show him. Then, with the same swiftness before I could hesitate, he winnowed us down below. 

Children laughed, adults laughed, birds rose into the air and came down again, the world moved ever on.

“I’m going to do it a little differently.” He said, shifting to face me. “If that's alright.”

I nodded.

“But this time you really will have to tell me if something's bothering you.”

“Nothing was bothering me. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“What then do you lie about?” Lucien said, and my eyes turned up to face him. He was smiling again. A little bit of that ice seemed to melt, my body more malleable to his belief and mood. That must’ve been the desired effect because he moved on, “Nesta said you were good at leading.” 

“Not usually. Deryn did that.”

“So you won’t mind if I do it now?” 

Slow, like it were a dance, he took position and I let him guide me to grip onto his shoulders. It was juvenile, the hold, as if I were back in youth and he was someone I liked. In those days it played out the only way it could; we’d sway back and forth to slower songs meant for greater technical skill we did not have, nor were we brave enough yet, sure enough in our bodies, to try and possess. To desire and be desired is a skill one acquires with age and as teenagers my friends and I were incapable of such things without intense embarrassment. 

Lucien settled his hand on my lower back, pulled my pelvis to him, his thigh against me.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded. 

I didn’t even have the time to let the fear truly take when we’d already winnowed and struck ground. The fall was simpler, easier then, Lucien’s grip on me so pronounced that I could not go rigid, and our position prevented me from letting my knees buckle. He didn’t count. He didn’t wait. One moment we were one place and then we were another. 

I took a sharp inhale, almost didn’t believe it, how different this time was with him there, close, supporting. Shifting side to side, the solid ground went nowhere. And when I turned, it was not the city down below, but the view of it from above. 

Lucien was watching me closely. An almost second embarrassment arose in his being right, that I had been so assured in my truth while he himself was in the position of fact. 

“Better?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling away. 

“Good,” he said before stepping back himself, revealing softly closed fists. “Good.”

He gave me a second to recover a little more. He crossed the terrace, briefly stood in the doorway before returning with water and bread. I declined the bread so he pocketed it. I was sure I would see it again. It was about a half hour that we stood there. The terrace remained empty as it had been all morning. The space was large, we were halfway to the entrance of the house, and there was a good amount of distance behind us to the railing. A gust of wind might grow tired from crossing it. 

“If I asked you to winnow to the training ring above, do you think you could do it?”

“Where?”

Lucien pointed overhead to a vacant space. 

“That's the training ring?

“Yeah. It's where Nesta and the Valkyries go.”

She had mentioned it of course, but I suppose…I don’t know what I had supposed. That she were born that way. Training, as it were, was an abstract concept, the way memory was, some people had a gift for it, while others did not, and maybe you could improve as a warrior, but Nesta seemed so assured of that role, it was hard to imagine any real upkeep. As I thought it however, I could feel the foolishness. It was always shocking to confront what you were so willing to believe if nothing intervened. 

“Who trains them?”

“Cassian and Azriel.”

I nodded, “No. I don’t think I can make it there.”

“Where do you think you could get to?”

I felt for the power, though some of it had been used it wasn’t nearly all of it. And what had been used was capable of replenishing much faster than if I had hit bottom. But this power, too, seemed to have a mix of the intangible and unreal, especially as I felt for it with hands I couldn’t see. It surprised me just how much a good meal, sleep, physical things might matter as they seemed to be real in a way power was not. That they could enact on each other seemed out of sorts. 

“I could cross the terrace,” I said. 

“Alright. Let's see.”

The pair of us stepped back until we reached the railing. Lucien, assessing, crossed his arms and stared at the doors where, in a moment, I would be. His face returned to an unreadable quality, were he anyone else, if I did not know the softness of his interior, I might never want him to teach me anything. I tried to imagine instead asking Cassian or Azriel, imagined myself up in the ring with their watchful gaze, and much preferred this scenario.

Finding the grip on the world, the fold through which one could step, was harder than I remembered. As if the paper had been creased too many times, it would not give where I wanted it to. But the space was so short that when I finally got a good hold, I stepped, sure it would be close enough. Only when I blinked, I had barely surpassed the halfway point we’d been standing when we’d arrived. 

I winnowed again and was at the door. 

When I turned, Lucien was still at the railing. Before he could speak, I attempted to close that distance but again made it only half of the way. He began to walk toward me. It wasn’t even worth it for him to winnow. I turned away. Now, I thought, would be the time one wishes to disappear by great distances.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“Frustrated.”

The wall I made was not enough to deter him and when I saw his shoes enter my gaze I wondered why I ever thought it would be. His voice quieter then, desperately encouraging, “You did very well.”

“This is nothing.”

“I don’t think so,” He said. 

My shoulders sagged, perhaps because I knew he meant it, that he really saw this to be an achievement in a way I did not. I was not making it easy for him either, but I could not help it then, did not know how to celebrate the realization that I was still not where I wished to be. This constant state of bumping into something I was not expecting or had thought I had left behind, old thoughts and inabilities. 

“You’re proving to have quite the bias,” He said simply, and at last I looked at him. “After maybe one true night's rest and a handful of good meals you’re able to winnow. I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted, but that is, categorically, very good.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to be this way.”

“I know.”

I crossed my arms, “What now?”

“You fixed some books while you were here last?”

“Just one.”

“Let’s see how many you can work on today, try and build up your strength.”

There was a time I could cross from one side of Dawn to another. I could spend all day in the archive, working, repairing, and if I were truly tired, I could still winnow home. Useless body, I thought—a door open for freedom, and yet I could not step out of it, did not have the energy to make it there. 

Wordlessly I made for the door, Lucien falling into step beside me, his hand reaching for my arm so that I turned.

“I just want to say,” He said the wind dying between us just as soon as the words left his mouth, like the world wished to be sure I could hear him and was listening, “I know it's hard to see this with everything you’re trying to do, but I think the female I saw in the woods those years ago would be amazed to see what you’ve done for yourself.”

I remembered something, that this was a part of life that I liked. How, without warning or premonition, a perspective could move so swiftly in, could obliterate what was there before and in an instant your life was changed forever. The self-loathing, the reprimand, the disappointments, they all warped under the heat of his words. In fact, those feelings never again had the same grip; he had permanently altered them and diminished their power. 

And then I remembered her and the world that she loved. 

She would love it here. 

The wind, the sea, the sky so close. Those vivid colors, those gentle caresses of a life lived in the world. Climbing each night stairs, where in the other room there was a presence sleeping close by. To be able to give the birds things she had once been unable to find. To sleep on a couch, to even consider in which part of the world she’d be an inconvenience. A sharp ache, a good ache, bloomed. To be something so here, so normal, as an inconvenience. 

Had I truly forgotten this beautiful world, what I liked in it? 

No, I thought, I had misplaced my attention. I remember you. 

Which was itself a freeing thought. 

In remembering I felt her close. Lucien was right. I could feel her amazement, adopted it, let it be mine too, running through the list of everything that I had wanted to remain in the world when I had been gone that I had found still waiting. And as if he knew I had come to its end, Lucien added:

“I know I am.”

A/N: Post was too long, the rest of part six is in the reblogs or linked right here

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal happy new year! Your 🐓 story was (unsurprisingly) absolutely fabulous - so full of emotion and character depth and delicious angst! Major props to you!

First theme this time is “beautiful future!” They’re living their best happy lives and I love that for them!

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️ (omg big career changes! I really love the path that you’re setting up for eddie and i’m loving watching buck grapple with change - he’s grown the hell up! I’m so proud!)

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩 (you know i love an established relationship fic so I was very excited to read this description and so far it’s so much fun! Two clipboard tyrants! “Diaz men do [marry their high school girlfriends]”! Why do bad things [eddie breaking his foot] happen to good people [buck and chris]?! It’s such a delight and I can’t wait to read it all!)

- PCA <3

AH thank you! I am so so happy you liked it! I love this theme, btw.

66 for ⚡️(YAY! Glad you like the change! Buck might have one of his own coming ):

---

Nevertheless, it’s great. Buck makes good food. They raise a banner. Congratulations on the promotions! It reads. And in smaller letters, Screw you for leaving us Cap & Eddie. 

Eddie feels a happy sort of sadness. As weird as that is to say. He left the army due to injury. A painful, sudden process. He left Texas after a fight, loud and frustrating. There was no celebration. No warm send off. Either time. And when he’d left the 118 the first time… Shamed and frightened and knowing what he was doing was putting them in a rough spot with Chim gone, with Buck just not understanding… Yeah, that had sucked, too. But this? This is lovely. This is right. This is the way to enter a new chapter of his life. 

Bobby cries. It surprises Eddie, even if it’s sort of exactly what he expected. He knows Bobby’s a softie, underneath the captainly exterior. But still, it kind of makes Eddie choke up. Because… Fuck. Wow. There they go, huh? There’s probably no better team. Who knows if there ever will be again. At the 118 or anywhere.

When Bobby starts to cry, Buck starts to cry. Which gets Eddie going. Hen and Chim aren’t far behind. The whole thing sort of devolves into a weepy group hug. The last one. 

Later, Eddie finds Bobby by his office, packing out the rest of his things. It’s kind of a devastating sight. It makes Eddie temporarily forget that they’re leaving together. 

“Hey,” Bobby says as he approaches. “What’s up?”

“Just, uh… Just feeling kind of sad,” Eddie admits. 

“Yeah, me too,” Bobby nods. 

“You know,” Eddie says. “I’m pretty sure… No. I am sure. Choosing this station saved my life.”

Bobby inhales. Looks at him. 

“Me, too.”

Eddie nods. “That’s on you, you know? Pushed me into picking you.”

Bobby chuckles. “I was right. We needed you.”

“I needed you guys,” Eddie says. “Obviously.”

“Sometimes life works out that way,” Bobby says. “You get exactly who you need when you need them, whether or not you know it.”

Eddie smiles. “I just wanted a job and to work with people I sorta liked.”

“Yeah. Same here.”

---

96 for 🪩 (YAY! So glad you're liking it. And haha yes there will be a comedy of errors):

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“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs. “Both? Why? Is one worse than the other? Does one look bad?”

“No!” Buck says quickly. “No, Chris, you look great in both. Really.”

Chris sighs. “I don’t know.”

“You do!” Buck insists. “Why would you think you don’t?”

“I guess…” Chris starts. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Whatever you feel isn’t stupid, Christopher,” Buck says. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”

“I guess I have this idea of everything being perfect in my head,” Chris says. “But… It never feels perfect when I try on my suit. Like… I don’t look as good as I wish I did.”

“Hmm,” Buck says. “I get that.”

“You get that?”

“Hey! Yes! You think I wasn’t a teenager once?”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Come on.” 

“Yeah! I was. Okay, at my prom… Well, alright, I drank too much to remember everything clearly. Don’t do that this weekend or your dad will kill you and I’ll have to pretend to agree. But, okay, at my prom I was like this tall, skinny, lanky kid with really bad acne and… And pretty much the only friends I had were because I was on the football team, so they didn’t care about me, as a person, you know?”

“Really?” Chris asks.

“Really,” Buck confirms. “You have friends that really care about you. And you look handsome in your suit, even if you don’t think you do. I’m serious.”

Chris sighs again, not really believing it.

“Hey, is this about Ainslee?” Buck asks. 

Chris goes beet red. “N-no. Why would it?”

Buck shrugs. “Because you’re into her?”

“I never said that!” 

“You didn’t have to,” Buck says. “You’re obvious as hell.”

“Hey! I am not!”

“Well that confirms it,” Buck smirks. 

“Ugh, Buck.” 

Buck laughs as they pull into the shoe repair parking lot. He kills the ignition and hops out of the Jeep. Chris remains in the vehicle. Texting or watching TikToks or something. He walks up to the front door of the shop. One of those glass doors with a bell that rings when you walk in. And that’s when he sees it. The sign. Written on printer paper with black Sharpie, taped to the door.

Family emergency. Be back by 11. Sorry & thx! 

“What?” Buck asks aloud. “No, no, no.”

The schedule plays out in Buck’s mind, bumped and adjusted to this eleven in the morning timeline. This is wrong. Everything is wrong. Because Buck based it all on a map. And the map isn’t mapping if he has to turn around and come back here!

It’s not an exaggeration to say Buck storms back to the Jeep.

“What? What’s wrong?” Chris asks, alarmed by his sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s closed until eleven. For an emergency,” Buck explains. 

“Oh boy,” Chris says. “Bet that throws you off schedule.

“Sure does,” Buck says through gritted teeth. “Would you please text Ainslee and let her know we will be early to pick her up?”

Chris, noticing Buck’s tense expression, just nods and opens up his texts. 

🪩

It’s nearly ten by the time they get to Ainslee’s. Traffic has also decided to slow Buck down today. Lovely. Such a great start to his long day.

Ainslee takes a while coming out of the house. Her reasoning being, it’s too early to function. She was in competition to be class Valedictorian. She must function this early on school days, Buck thinks. But what does he know?

Chris moves to sit in the backseat with Ainslee, relegating Buck to the role of chauffeur. Which, he could have seen coming honestly. What’s more than a decade of history and a stepfather-stepson bond in the wake of a high school crush? Nothing! 

“Hi, Ainslee,” Buck greets when she gets in the Jeep.

“Hi, Mr. Diaz,” Ainslee says, absentmindedly, focusing on what looks to be a prom planning binder.

“Oh, no. Uh, I’m the other one,” Buck says.