#one half done and another that is less pressing because it is of my character drake

[pluralthey]

another sketch page commission :)

[spacebarbarianweird]

I loved your Tiefy headcanons! Highkey gonna picture horn and tail socks forever now 😭 also making LACE when you inevitably marry him??? Ugh—

But may I posit another race that rarely gets mentioned..? 👀

Half-Orc!Tav, especially if they're nothing like the stereotype and are actually very quiet/timid/gentle despite being this massive wall of muscle 😭 (me living vicariously??? No! Never!)

I love Half-Orcs! I got to know DnD through Neverwinter MMORPG, and my first character was a very cute Half-Orc Ranger. She looked like someone who had a lot of Elven ancestry (she was even more petite than a fem!Tiefling my friend played), but I still love Half-Orcs (though, completely switched to Half - Elves as my preferred race).

So... Half - Orcs!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Half-Orc!Tav

Unlike Half-Elves, Half-Orcs take the worst from their ancestors.

The Gruumsh, the evil god of your Orcish ancestors, whisper darkness in your ears, demanding to release the rage in your blood

For a human, you look like an orc, you are considered ugly with your green skin and fangs.

As for orcs, even if you wanted to live with them, you would be considered a weak seed.

You were adopted by a childless human couple who ran a tavern in Luskan. You don't know who your parents were but you know it was a story of violence, not of love

You decide to move to Baldur's Gate - you can easily blend with creatures of all races there. And no one will be surprised to see a half-orc there

But the only job you are offered is being a bouncer.

Unfortunately, you are too shy and timid to kick people out or beat them.

Sometimes people yell at you: "Go back to Many-Arrows, where you belong!". And you want to cry because it's not like you have ever been there. You are ugrukh and not welcome among the children of Gruumsh.

Eventually, you find comfort in hunting - the innate rage finds its way out, and you don't really need to talk to anyone except for the people you sell meat to.

Sometimes you don't talk to anyone for weeks.

And it works for you.

Until one day you somehow find yourself in a role of a leader of traumatized and fucked up people.

They are such a bunch of sad excuses for heroes you are done.

You yell at them. You Orcish blood boils in your veins, intimidating everyone in camp.

Beware the rage of a quiet half-orc.

Since that moment, you notice a lot of attention from Astarion.

It's weird since orcs and elves are natural enemies.

You suspect he wants something from you because no one in their right mind would call a green-skinned seven feet tall Half-Orc beautiful. It just doesn't work.

Maybe a real orc would find you more or less pretty, but to be honest, banging a half-orc would threaten them with weak children.

Though, you pity Astarion. You know what it is like to hide in shadows and to be disgusted about your own body.

You listen. You help. You give him blood.

Hoping deep inside, it isn't a cruel joke to mock you later.

He confesses to you, almost crying with embarrassment.

You are hurt. Of course, you were right. It was all manipulation.

You leave him be, going into the woods to hunt, to let out all the distress.

But you know too much about him. It's not fair to punish him for an attempt to make things up.

You return to him sleeping in his tent. You watch him with awe - he is so delicate, so fragile, as if made of glass.

Suddenly he starts breathing heavily as if someone is chasing him.

He screams. You've never heard anyone screaming so loud and desperate. He sounds like someone who is flayed alive.

He wakes up the whole camp, but you order everyone to mind their business.

You make him sit on your lap, wrapping his hand and legs around your torso and start lulling him like a child.

"Neyë, neyë. Ragh ala," you whisper to him.

You press him as tight as you can, stroking his back and hair, while he cries, pressing his face into your chest.

You sit like that for what feels like an eternity, when Astarion finally composes himself and mutters. "You are aware I speak Orc, are you?"

"Yes, I heard you practicing some compliments, but you couldn't choose the worst language for that."

You just ask for one thing. Never lie to you. Never say anything he doesn't really mean.

"If I ever hear you saying I am beautiful I wil hit you."

"But isn't a lie. I mean it."

One day, he untangles your hair and braid it.

The other, he takes your hands and fixes your nails.

"Gods, you are beautiful", he greets you every time you come to him.

"You promised not to lie."

"I don't lie.."

And… suddenly you stop hating your own reflection or hiding your body in rags.

Or choosing the worst pieces of clothes for yourself. You even start wearing adornments.

Post-game, you decide to stay in Baldur's Gate. The city is so diverse no one is surprised to see an elf and a half-orc together.

The first thing Astarion does is sew you a dress. It's made of thick black fabric which makes your muscled body look elegant. He even persuades you to wear heels, though it makes you even taller.

Together you open a tavern - Astarion is always inside dealing with customers and you bring food from the woods.

When he drinks your blood, he always sits on your lap, while you place your hand on his inner thigh.

You often carry him around bridal style - elven bones are hollow and orkish muscles are made of steel.

When you are upset, he puts everything aside and hugs you whispering: "Neyë, neyë. Ragh ala"

---

Orcish Language

Source

Neyë, neyë. Ragh ala. - come here, come here. Calm down.

Ugrukh - broken bones. Used to refer to those too weak and lame to be worthy of an orc's attention

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[luvfae]

BLIND DATE

summary: no 33, first date. from my scenario prompt list.

fandom: daisy jones & the six

parings: eddie roundtree x f reader, karen sirko x friend reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering

a/n: rising from the dead because there’s a serious daisy jones & the six smut shortage. i’m here to solve all your problems, send in requests you can see which characters i write for here

“He’s a nice guy, Y/N,” your friend, Karen Sirko, said to you, a smile on her face. “I promise.”

You gave Karen a blank look. “Last time you said that to me the man ended up crying mid date because I was wearing the same perfume as his ex,” you said, arms crossing over your chest.

Karen laughed. “But this time I mean it,” Karen said. “He’s in my band, Y/N. Just trust me.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, opening the car door and stepping out. You were wearing your favourite outfit, your hair done nicely, thanks to Karen. “If this goes bad you owe me a drink.”

Karen rolled her eyes. “Have fun!” She yelled before driving off, leaving you no choice but to go inside this restaurant and find your date.

Karen hadn’t told you much, all you know is he’s got blond hair, he’s the bass player in the band Karen’s apart of, his name is Eddie and apparently, he’s a really good guy.

You looked around, there was people everywhere. Most people were in groups of two’s, three’s or even more. There was an exception of two people who were sat alone, one was a red haired boy who was half way through his meal and the other a blond boy, tapping his foot as he waited.

Obviously it wasn’t the red haired boy. You took a deep breath and walked over to the blond boy, praying to God this was Eddie and not some random guy.

“Eddie?” You asked, grabbing his attention, his eyes shot up to meet yours and you swear you died and went to heaven.

“You must be Y/N,” Eddie said, standing up, his chair scraping against the floorboards as he moved to give you a hug. “Karen has told me so much about you. She didn’t mention how beautiful you are though.”

You smiled bashfully, rolling your eyes as you took your seat across from him. “Thank you,” you said.

A few drinks and a meal later, you and Eddie were laughing with one another and getting to know each other. You had told him how you and Karen met and he had told you how he had joined the band. You and Eddie had really hit it off and for once Karen’s blind dating idea was actually working out.

Eddie paid the bill and shortly after you both stood up. “I had a lot of fun,” you smiled at him. Eddie took your hand as you walked out of the restaurant and onto the chilly night air of Los Angeles. “We should do this again sometime soon.”

“Who said the date was over?” Eddie asked with a chuckle. By now you were both drunk, and normally when you got drunk you liked to end the night in your own bed at home, but you just couldn’t leave Eddie’s side. You didn’t want too leave his side. “Wanna come back to my place? Have a few drinks and watch a movie?” He asked.

You smiled, “sure.”

Eddie waved down a cab and soon enough the pair of you were back at his house, which coincidentally was also where Karen lived. You had only been there once, briefly, when Karen was the only one home. You and Eddie were sat on his bed, watching a movie, except the movie had long been forgotten about because his lips were on yours and somehow you had ended up in his lap.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, undoing all of them and pushing it off of his shoulders. Your clothes came next, Eddie undressing every article of clothing on your body in less than a minute, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. He kicked his jeans off and you pushed him back, flat against the mattress.

“Is this what you were expecting to come out of tonight?” Eddie asked, breathless as your lips trailed along his jawline and neck.

“I thought i’d end up going home tonight and never contacting you again,” you replied, pressing your lips against his once more.

You felt his fingers slip under the hem of your panties. You gasped as his fingertips brushed against your clit, slowly making his way towards your entrance.

“Is that good?” He asked, pushing two digits inside of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“Yes,” you managed to whimper out as his fingers grazed the deepest parts of you. Pressure was building and you could feel your orgasm already approaching, but you weren’t ready yet, you wanted more.

You pushed his boxers down, his dick popping free from the fabric. You slipped away from his fingers and looked him in the eye as you aligned yourself with him. Eddie’s hands landed on your hips, guiding you down onto him.

His fingers clamped around the skin of your hips, Eddie’s fingers turning white from the grip he had on you. “Fuck,” you whispered, legs shaking as he filled you thick.

You moved your hips back and forth over and over again, gaining momentum with each move. Eddie was starstruck, too busy listening to the pretty sounds coming out of your mouth to even make a noise.

You switched from back and forth movements to bouncing up and down, skin slapping against skin until your calves started to burn and your vision started to blur. Eddie shoved his hand over your mouth, keeping you quiet.

“You’re being so loud, sweetheart,” He whispered. “You’re gonna wake the whole house up.”

You looked down at him, crying into the palm of his hand as your orgasm washed over you, growing so tired and weak that you collapsed onto his chest, whimpering into Eddie’s ear.

“Aw, are you all fucked out, huh?” He teased, you nodded your head, eyes fluttering shut. “Well I haven’t came yet so…” Eddie’s hips snapped up into yours, making you yelp. “You’re gonna have to keep it up for a little while longer.”

Eddie fucked himself into you, hitting angles that he wasn’t before. You kept your lips on his neck, sucking bruises into his skin to keep the sinful noises that desperately wanted to escape your lips in.

“Good girl,” he whispered, hands tangling through your hair.

You moved your mouth towards his ear. “Thank you,” you whispered, tears brimming your eyes. You were so sensitive but so needy at the same time. You didn’t want it to stop but you needed it to before it became overwhelming.

You pressed your lips against his, shoving your tongue inside of his mouth, moving your hips in time with his and it didn’t take long for Eddie’s movements to falter and his hips to start stuttering and you felt him finish inside of you.

There was not much talking after that, in fact you didn’t even get dressed, didn’t even move. The pair of you woke up the next morning fully naked, on top of each other, stone cold sober.

After the initial shock, you got up, changed back into your clothes from last night. “I really have to go,” you said with a smile as Eddie tried to convince you to stay.

“Well come back later,” Eddie begged. “Please?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine,” you said before shoving your feet into your shoes. “I’ll come back later on tonight.”

Eddie smiled, triumphantly and you blew him a kiss as you walked out his bedroom door, hoping to sneak out of the house before anyone woke up. But right as you rounded the corner into the kitchen you came face to face with Karen.

Karen’s eyes widened upon seeing you, makeup smudged around your face, your hair ruined. She nearly choked on her coffee.

“I’m assuming it went well?” Karen asked with a smirk.

“Yeah…” You cleared your throat, your skin heating up. “It went great.”

“I told you so,” Karen laughed.

“Now leave me alone, i’m doing my walk of shame,” you said, pushing the front door open. “But i’ll be back tonight!” You yelled, waving goodbye to her.

Karen laughed, shaking her head.

[gaykamenriderdreams]

Ok so like. Everyone and their grandmother who watches Gotchard knows that Kurogane Spanner thinks Chemies are "just tools". Like, he just straight up says it, here it is, badda bing

But like. And hear me out on this one. I think this is more complicated than just "oh the rival character is a bastard who thinks puppies don't have feelings and therefore it's okay to go around kicking them all day"

Because I think Spanner thinks of himself as "just a tool" too.

(I am physically incapable of writing a post that doesn't get long so the rest of this is going under the cut. Spoilers up to episode 14)

I mean, just from a design standpoint, the guy has a wrench for a face half the time. There's definitely something to be said for Valvarad's mask being representative of how Spanner presents himself, or even thinks about himself (especially since Spanner created the Valvarad suit single-handedly, apparently????)

Also just like. The guy's first name. Is freaking Spanner.

Like, one of these??? And that's just his name???

Like I mean a bit on the nose but alright. Also, if he picked that name himself (and with a name like that, it seems likely). What motivated that. I simply must know.

(Diversity win! Local Trans Man absolutely hated by Every Area Teen because he's just such a bastard at all times!)

Also, for all his talk about Chemies being tools, he really doesn't treat them poorly. Like he DOES say that he really doesn't care about collecting them, he's just doing his job (performing his function, you could say)--

But like, this is also the same guy that has three Vehicle Chemies that are just his that he does not like being apart from even for less than two minutes

Like we all done been knew that Sabimaru has a special interest in Occult-type Chemies, you can just SAY you're only interested in Vehicle Chemies.

Or he could just, y'know. Have three Chemies that he really cares about and be content with that. Like those pokemon NPCs with six Magikarp and no interest in getting anything else.

And it's extra odd because we've been told that higher number Chemies are just plain stronger than the others (at least when used by regular alchemists for combat), but none of Spanner's Chemies are level 9. And he doesn't need to use number combos like Ichinose does- so why doesn't he just have three 9s and call it a day? Even IF Valvarad only works with Vehicle Chemies, why doesn't he have Golddash and Steamliner (7 and 9) instead of Gekiocopter and Madwheel (4 and 6)? We just don't know. But it could be because he cares about His Three Chemies Specifically, as much as he verbally denies it.

And another thing. Even when things go wrong, he doesn't take it out on his Chemies!

When Gekiocopter hits their altitude limit and can't take Valvarad any higher, he doesn't express any frustration towards his Chemy. I feel like if he really hated Chemies in general, he'd get mad at Gekiocopter and replace them with a higher-flying Chemy as soon as possible. But he doesn't.

Sure, Gekiocopter is "a tool"... but you don't get angry at a tool for asking it to perform past its specs. It's your fault in the first place for not respecting its limitations when you chose to use it. All the pressure and vitriol in the world won't suddenly make the impossible possible. (I wonder, is this empathy? An understanding of what it's like to be pressed to the breaking point? From one alchemist's tool to another? Surely not.)

And with episode 14 hinting that some things previously assumed to be part of his personality may be "just following orders..." And with how useless he's got to be feeling, losing over and over again despite having spent so much time and effort forging himself into a weapon for the alchemists to use as they see fit... aghhhhh I'm soooo curious where they're going with all this. THERE'S POTENTIAL.

Anyway. All this is not to get anyone to like the guy (though as you can tell, I'm a big fan). I just really wanted to express my thoughts about how there could be more than just "generic jerk" going on under the hood for this car crash of a human being.

TLDR: Kurogane Spanner is a massive tool (derogatory) (complimentary)

[gildedlavender]

Ok, so here are my very long winded thoughts about OBX part 2. This might be a lot, but I’m not only heartbroken but extremely angry. First, fuck the Pates/Shannon. Finding out that the creators of your favorite show not only hate JJ and Kiara, but also their fans is awful. Having the nerve to sit there and say all that bullshit to try and justify killing JJ? If Rudy wanted to leave, which it’s sounding like that, they gave JJ the worst end possible and tried to ruin his character just to spite him, which is pretty evil. They could’ve written him off any other way with an easier possibility to come back next season. Not to mention them talking about possibly making Riara a thing?! Excuse me?! Kiara would never be with anyone else in the last season, let alone him. I swear to god if they try to pull that shit, Madison better raise hell on that set, because no one hates Riara more than her.

The disrespect to not only JJ but Kiara as well just baffles me. They made Kiara lose her soulmate and now she’ll be the only one who’s alone and miserable. JJ going through hell the whole second half of the season only to have no character development, his friends not be there for him or seem to care about what he’s going through, then die and barely have anyone except Kiara react?! He was abused his whole life, only for his real father to kill him. What kind of an ending for a beloved character is that? JJ literally died for no reason. He’d given Chandler what he wanted already. Having him still die afterwards was just cruel and unnecessary. Not to mention, his death felt weird and rushed. First, instead of running away after giving Chandler the crown, they just stand hugging in his vicinity, then when JJ gets stabbed, Kiara just stands there and doesn’t intervene until he’s done getting stabbed? Then, you expect me to believe he died that quickly afterwards, when Sarah got shot and they had time to drive her all that way before she “died” and came back to life? Rudy gave a good performance, and Madison gave a pretty good one, but I needed more from her in that scene. Everyone else’s reactions were off as well. Why was nobody trying to get him to a hospital, put pressure on his wound, or do CPR? Why wasn’t everyone sobbing and doing everything they could to keep him alive? Then they just buried him in the sand in Morocco?! That made me sick. They can’t even visit his grave. It’s so disrespectful.

Not to mention, Jiara just got together at the end of last season, then the first season we see them as an actual couple, he fucking dies and they’re over, and to make it worse, we barely got any Jiara scenes in Part 2. It literally feels like we never even got to see them as an actual couple. One bad angled kiss scene in 10 episodes is preposterous. If Rudy actually asked for less Jiara intimate scenes, the Pates should’ve shut that shit down immediately and made him do his job. I don’t know why he’d suddenly have an issue though since he didn’t seem to have one in season 3, or Part 1. And Madison’s acting in part 2 during most Jiara scenes, except the last episode, were really emotionless. Even if she was mad at Rudy, she shouldn’t have let that affect her performance. How can both of them be so unprofessional?

The Pates basically said all the couples were endgame. Now you’re telling me, that after everything, everyone gets a happy ending but Kiara and JJ? How would anyone want that for a fan favorite couple? Genuinely why did they even bother making Jiara a thing if this is how they were going to end. What was the point?

Next, a big fuck you to Rudy and Madison for going through that whole press tour giving us hope like that about Jiara. Talking about them being endgame, JJ having great character development, and Rudy acting excited about another season. Literally none of what they said was true. I genuinely don’t know how anyone allowed this to happen. If Rudy wanted to leave so bad, why did he always say he loved playing JJ? He couldn’t suck it up for one more season, seriously? I don’t know what happened between part 1 and 2, but they felt like two completely different seasons. How was he ok with that being JJ’s ending? And the Pates have to be the dumbest people on earth to throw away almost their entire fan base like that. This isn’t some high brow drama where killing main characters is expected. This is a fun teen summer show about treasure hunting. The only way they can make this right is to use the crown to bring JJ back. I would have to think by now, they’re realizing what a horrible mistake they’ve made and that they’re going to be in a lot of trouble for season 5. I’m praying that they can convince Rudy to come back for at least one episode to give him and Jiara a happy ending. I don’t care what they have to do. This was one of the best teen dramas out there and it brought me so much joy. Now I can’t even stomach rewatching it. I’ve never seen a show destroy itself so completely so quickly. Regardless, JJ will always be one of my favorite characters and Jiara one of my favorite ships. They deserved so much better.

[amandacanwrite]

How do you begin the first chapter of a story you already have planned out?

Always with an action!!

I personally don't believe in telling people there are wrong ways to do a thing, but I will describe what I personally think is best for the opening scene of a new story/novel.

A really common pitfall, in my opinion, for any fictional narrative is getting caught up in exposition. It makes sense that we get the urge to do things this way, because it's how we tell stories to friends about things that have happened to us.

"Okay, so let me give you background so you know who is who or whatever..." or "Okay, so for context..." are how I start a lot of tea spilling sessions, and its great for colloquial storytelling, but not a great way to get readers engaged from the start.

Whenever I start a book, I think of it less as a historical account and more of myself as the writer arriving to the character's life at a specific point in time, and leaving it at a specific point in time. Because of this, I think the best way to start a story is in the middle of something in their day. Here are some of the first paragraphs from my vampire story:

I scraped another jagged line in the already-worn paint on the wall, marking another tick among the other tidy rows of carved lines in the wall. I relished the feeling of old paint and soft, decaying wood sliding beneath my too-long fingernail. It hurt, but at least I was feeling something.  The first thing they did to me when I arrived at The Tower was glamour my name away.   One moment I was a person, and the next I wasn’t. All I was left with was the milk-warm feeling of the glamour on me dissipating too quickly, leaving me cold and without a sense of self. I could remember everything about my life—everything that had led me to this horrific moment, but not the core of my being. Not the most basic of identifiers. Not my name. 

And another from my Unseelie Court Meets Peaky Blinders WIP:

I pressed my back against the cold, damp brick outside the public house on Main and Besom. My heart raced so fast that I could feel the steady thump of it painfully in my neck. I didn’t know how far I’d run, but I knew I’d done it faster than I ever had before.   How many days late was I now? Five? No wonder Thomas had two others in tow.    I panted, my ribcage straining against my corset, even with it only loosely laced. I felt like I could hardly get a breath in at all. Closing my eyes and forcing myself to slow, I looked down the alleyway behind the pub. If I dodged down that way, I’d have to walk through some of the dodgier areas of The Strid, but it would be better than risking running into the Half-Blind Barber’s men.    I’d heard about Thomas’s proclivities from my friends in the Rose Garden, and I knew that he would relish the chance to carve me up like a roasted pheasant. 

I like starting stories this way because 1) it's way more fun to write for me than to spend hours trying to come up with an engaging, yet exposition-y opening and b) I get to lead with character instead of trying to find some way to shoehorn them into the lore.

The thing that's really awesome about your reader? They usually read a lot and can fill in a lot of the blanks. I found when I was first writing I always panicked about the reader seeing my story EXACTLY how I saw it in my mind. But at the end of the day, that's not actually that important and over-explaining anything can actually ruin reader immersion.

I try to never write two thousand words of description where a well-placed metaphor or comparison will do. Let your reader's mind do the heavy lifting.

Could I describe a castle in thousands of words talking about the period of architecture and the way that the buttresses look? Yes. I can. You know what's faster and more entertaining to read?

"The castle has the austere elegance of a sacred temple, and was nearly as quiet as you would expect one to be, too."

You have an image in your mind, reading that, right? See, in my head, I see a mormon temple; not because I am mormon, but because I have been to a mormon temple and I find their structures beautiful but also incredibly, deeply haunting.

Someone else may think of the time they visited the Sistine Chapel. Or of the Wayfarer Chapel in Palos Verdes, because they had an aunt who got married there. Yet another person may thing of their local jewish temple. Another person may think of Wyrm's Crossing in Baldur's Gate. At the end of the day, it doesn't truly matter what they see in their heads or understand is going on based on the text--what matters is that they can glean what this place looks, sounds, and maybe even smells like because they have linked it to a place that they have ALREADY experienced IN REAL LIFE)

All of those tangents to say--I don't worry about backstory until I need it. I like to try to make the reader feel like they're getting to know the characters at the same time they're getting to know each other.

Sorry for this very long winded answer--thank you for asking me about writing! I LOVE talking about it (as you can tell rip)

[love-and-monsters]

The Warlord and his Lady pt. 7

M dragonkin X F human, 16,180 words

I’m making up for the last chapter being slightly shorter by making this chapter almost DOUBLE THE LENGTH. This wasn’t really intentional, but I couldn’t find a good stopping place so it kind of just kept going... Hope it’s not too long for you all! Also, we’re approaching the endgame now... only a few chapters to go...

Content warning: Discussions and use of poison, character injury

(Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5) (Ch. 6)

The ballroom is strikingly pretty, with domed gold ceilings and elaborate enameled patterns on the walls, but all I can think about is how much I don’t want to be here.

I’m not supposed to be here. Well, I am, but not really. It’s an open ball, meaning there’s no need for a formal invitation to attend. Everyone from the surrounding area is free to attend. But the fact is that I am not the sort of person who typically attends balls, nor am I the sort of person who generally likes balls. Attending a formal event where the main activities are standing around and dancing isn’t the most fun for someone whose body is actively giving all the time.

Attending is something I’ve been more or less press-ganged into doing. I can understand why- the ball is being held to celebrate the new warlord, and it’s sort of an insult to avoid attendance. But just because I understand it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I watch the rest of the people in the ballroom idly dance and chat. People will occasionally strike up conversations with me, but they never last long. There are even people who ask me to dance, though I always turn them down. I don’t want to risk collapsing on the dance floor.

After some time of idly watching other people dance, talk, and generally have a better time than me, I slip out of the ballroom. My back and legs are starting to throb and I want to take another look at the medicine I’m carrying with me. I’ve been experimenting with mixing a few different painkillers together, which has been working better than expected, but it also makes me more tired. I’m debating whether or not to take an awakening mixture along with it when my legs start trembling.

It’s not something I’m unused to- sudden bouts of muscle weakness are common with my condition, and I haven’t come up with anything to fix that yet. Unfortunately, I’m too far from the ballroom to hurry back to the seats in there. Ah well. There’s no one out here, so no one is going to see me awkwardly sink to the floor and dirty my nicest dress.

I press my back against the wall and pluck at my bag with trembling fingers. The weakness will pass- I might as well take the time to take my medicine. I swallow the bitter medicine and pop a piece of sugar in my mouth to take the edge off. As the candy melts on my tongue, I tilt my head back to rest against the wall and close my eyes.

There’s silence for a few moments, a silence that is abruptly broken by someone clearing their throat. My eyes snap back open. “Excuse me,” the throat-clearer continues. “Is everything all right?”

I don’t recognize the face of the man in front of me, but I certainly recognize his tail. He’s the only draconid I’ve ever met in my entire life, possibly the only one that’s ever even been in the town. Our new warlord, Rastek.

He’s wearing formal wear, a red and gold vest over a white shirt, his hair done in a fancy braid that curls up at the back of his head. His eyes are a striking shade of gold in the warm half-light trickling in from the ballroom.

“Yes. I just needed to sit for a bit. I’ll be all right.” To prove my words, I shove myself to my feet. My knees tremble, but you can’t see it under my dress.

“There are plenty of places to sit in the ballroom,” Rastek says.

“I needed a break,” I say. “I’ve never been to one of these before. It can be a little overwhelming.”

To my surprise, his face breaks into a smile. “Ah. I’ve been to several and I’m afraid I don’t see much of the point to it. There’s only so long I can dance and talk politics before it becomes tiresome.” He gives me a sly look. “I’m afraid that’s why I’m out here. After seven or eight balls, you start looking for excuses to avoid them.”

“I suppose I figured you were holding them because you enjoyed them,” I say. It hadn’t really occurred to me that he wouldn’t like them either.

“They’re politically beneficial, and there’s nothing to endear you to your people like holding a fancy party with a bunch of free food. But they’re not quite my idea of a good time.”

One of my legs picks that moment to give out. I stumble, but catch myself on the wall before I can really fall. I’ve had a lot of practice catching myself. Rastek looks alarmed, though, his hands half extending as if to catch me.

“Are you all right? I’m certain there are some quieter rooms nearby if you need to lie down.”

“I promise, it’s nothing. I just need…” I rummage through my bag and pull out a vial of strengthening solution. I’ll feel it in the morning, but it’s better than collapsing in front of our new warlord. The concoction tastes foul going down. The energy seeps from my stomach into my limbs within a few moments.

Rastek watches me take it and a flicker of realization crosses his face. “I know you,” he says.

I pause. “You do?”

“Yes, a couple of people mentioned you. You’re this town’s herbalist, yes? They said you nearly always had a bag with all kinds of concoctions in it on your person.”

I give a barely humorous laugh. “It’s not just because of my trade. I’ve got a medical condition. That’s what got me into herbalism in the first place- it was far cheaper and easier to create the medicines I need myself than to seek out other sources.”

Rastek’s expression falls a little. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a concern of yours,” I say as gently as I can manage. “Just the way things are.”

Rastek nods. “I also heard that you have particular skill with… concoctions other than medicine.”

I hesitate. Warlords usually don’t bother to involve themselves in local crimes- they station guards at the towns for the worst of crimes and mostly allow for the people to take care of things otherwise. But it’s still not the greatest idea to go telling people willy nilly. “Is that what you’ve heard?” I say in the most neutral tone possible.

He smiles faintly. “From a few different people. They seemed quite pleased by your skills.” When I don’t respond, he laughs gently. “I’m not going to arrest you.”

“Forgive my suspicion, but you saying that you’re not going to arrest me doesn’t mean that you’re not actually going to arrest me,” I say. Rastek lowers his head in a slight nod.

“I understand. Let me explain myself, first.” He leans in a little, turning so his back is to the doorway. He’s large enough that the motion completely obscures me from the view of the ballroom. “You’re aware of my position as a warlord.”

“Of course.”

“I control sections of the eastern border. A border that has recently been threatened. My soldiers are skilled, but… well, skill can only do so much to hold back overwhelming force. I’ve petitioned others for aid, but there’s been some hesitancy in providing it- I’m new, after all, and my failure might mean more prestige for others. I’m looking for something that might ensure my victory.”

“That’s why you’re coming to me,” I say. Rastek nods. He could still be looking to arrest me, but it seems unlikely he’d be making up a story and attending to it personally just to get me.

“You seem to have some skills. I thought we could have a partnership,” he says.

I hesitate. This is a big opportunity. Working for a warlord means pay, good pay. Better than I can make as an herbalist. It means access to people of a higher educational background. Maybe people who can understand my condition. Maybe people who can help me. But if I go into this and screw up, or don’t get him the results he wants… well, he seems like a nice guy, but getting on the wrong side of a warlord is generally not considered a great strategy for a long and healthy life.

“Can I ask why you picked me in particular?” I ask, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. “I’m sure there are people more skilled than I am, and there are certainly people more educated.”

Rastek looked amused. “I don’t know if pointing out that you’re underqualified is the best move when someone offers you a job.”

“I want to make sure that we’re on the same page with this,” I say. “And if there’s a specific reason you’re wanting me, then I’d like to know it.”

He looks pleased, so I feel I’ve done something right. “There is a reason. The talk around here is that you’re quite creative with your methods. Better at creating more effective solutions. Stronger ones. Most poisoners focus on single targets- useful for assassinations, but less useful for an army. I’m hoping that your creativity will help us come up with a solution that makes it highly effective in large doses. And perhaps make something that’s more useful for combat- quicker acting, more disorienting, all of that.”

He’s not wrong. I experiment constantly, changing the herbs and ratios that I use. I’m mostly experimenting for medicinal reasons- I want to make something that’s more effective in treating my condition. But medicine isn’t so far from poison, and I can use the results of even unsuccessful experiments to create new and interesting poisons.

“I could do that,” I say slowly. My mind’s already reaching for possible combinations, ways to increase potency over smaller batch sizes. “I mean, I think. I can at least try.”

Rastek smiles. “Thank you.” His smile fades a little. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” I say, although I’m starting to think I should sit back down, no matter how disrespectful that might be to a warlord. One of my legs has started to shake, even with the effects of the strengthening solution. I reach back to steady myself against the wall.

“You’re looking unsteady,” Rastek says. He stretches out an arm, not quite touching me, but offering the support. “Is it your condition?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing serious. I just need to sit for a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” I rarely get embarrassed about my condition, but looking like this in front of Rastek is bothering me. I don’t want him to think of me as weak.

Rastek glances down the hall. “Can you walk for a little ways? Just down the hall. I can give you support if you need it.”

“Yes, I can walk.” Rastek offers his arm and I cling to it with both hands, leaning my weight against him. Despite that, he’s steady as a rock. Being this close to him means I can feel the way his muscles shift under my grip and the warmth of his body. It’s surprisingly soothing.

Rastek guides me down the hall and past several doors before abruptly stopping. “I think this is it…” He retrieves a key from his pocket and unlocks the door with the hand not supporting me.

The room beyond the door is dim. Rastek illuminates it with a wave of his hand and a spark of magic. It looks like a small sitting room, with a few plush seats and a small tea table in the center of them.

He guides me into the room and I settle in the nearest seat. It’s almost ridiculously comfortable. “There we are,” he says. “You can rest in here.”

I glance at him. “Why do you have a key?”

He pauses and his cheeks go very slightly pink. “It was suggested to me that I might want a private place to retire to that is not my room. Lest there be rumors.” His gaze roves the room before falling on a particularly shadowed corner. “The idea seems to be that I would be able to claim this room is for political discussions instead of…” He waves his hand vaguely in the corner of the room. I have to squint to make it out, but then it strikes me. There’s a bed nestled into a nook, barely visible from the door. Certainly more discreet than the lavish bedchamber they presumably gave him as an honored politician.

“Oh,” I say, letting my tone show that I’m understanding his implication. The flush of color spreads, though, creeping toward his forehead and ears.

“That isn’t what this is, of course,” he adds hastily. “I just thought you would like a private place to recover. I wasn’t intending to proposition you.”

If I was I more sensitive person, I might be offended, seeing how quickly he backpedaled. But I’m just pleased he’s not intending to try anything with me. “It’s fine. I’m grateful for your generosity.”

He nods his head, settling in a chair across from mine. “No trouble at all. I was glad to be of some assistance to you.” He glances toward the now-closed door of the room and adds, in more of an undertone, “I was rather getting tired of the ball, anyway.”

“It’s definitely quieter in here,” I agree. There is only the very faint sounds of music and people’s voices through the door. Silence falls over the room and I take the opportunity to glance at Rastek. He sits slightly forward in his chair to avoid squishing the base of his tail, the majority of which is curled across his lap.

We sit together in silence for some time. My body starts to grow stiff and sore as the aftereffects of the weakness set in- one of my legs is throbbing in a way that lets me know it will be a pain to walk on it the next day. Rastek glances at a watch tucked in his uniform. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” I say. “You don’t have to sit with me. I don’t want to keep you if there are important things to handle at the ball.”

Rastek’s nose wrinkled just the tiniest amount. “No. Nothing terribly important. I did my requisite few dances and spoke to those I needed to.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “You said this was your first one, didn’t you? A shame that you’re not feeling well.”

“I was struggling to enjoy myself anyway. It’s hard for me to dance.”

“You’re not missing all that much,” Rastek says.

“I don’t know. A lot of people tell me it’s quite nice.”

Rastek turns his gaze so he’s looking directly at me. His gold eyes glimmer, reflecting the dim lights of the room. “Perhaps. I’ll admit, it might be nicer when you have someone worth dancing with.” He tilts his head to one side, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “But I’m afraid I haven’t met anyone like that yet.”

The world dissolves into swirls, like a paintbrush dipped in water. I try to blink, but my eyes won’t open- or maybe they won’t close. It’s hard to tell. I focus all my attention on them, forcing them as closed as possible, then flinging them open as hard as I can.

My eyes fly open with a surprising amount of force. My entire body jerks with it, and I realize that I’m panting. My heart’s thundering in my chest.

The thaumatist, who has been leaning over me with his hands hovering over my chest, sits back. “There she is,” he says calmly.

Rastek makes a soft, wounded noise. I turn my head to see where he is. He’s slumped over, less than an inch from resting his weight on the flimsy fabric of the tent. One of his hands is partially covering his face, but I can see some of his expression. He looks exhausted and sad.

The thaumatist settles his hands on his knees. “It wasn’t all that bad this time. Though I am glad you got me. Emotional distress makes these things more likely to happen.”

“What happened?” I ask. I try to push myself upright, but my arms don’t want to cooperate. “Did I slip again?”

The thaumatist looks at Rastek like he’s waiting for Rastek to speak, but when he says nothing, the thaumatist begins. “Yes. Your slipping was relatively minor this time.” The thaumatist hesitates for a moment before he speaks again. “There seemed to be conflicting magical forces at play.”

“Which means what?” I ask. I half expect Rastek to demand answers, but he doesn’t say anything. He barely looks at me.

“It could mean your soul is tethering itself more firmly to your body,” the thaumatist says. Rastek actually looks up at that. “Or it could mean magical interference from somewhere that your soul was attempting to resist.”

Rastek actually speaks. “Which is more likely?” His voice sounds a little rusty. I wonder if he was crying.

The thaumatist shakes his head. “Difficult to say. The magical conflict itself makes it hard to discern anything clearly.”

Rastek nodded once. “Hm.”

His silence was unsettling, but moreso was his expression. He looked blank, almost dazed.

The thaumatist cleared his throat. “I can stay nearby, if that would be beneficial- if it happens again and I am able to sense the magic at work from the beginning, that might help me distinguish exactly what is happening.”

Rastek doesn’t say anything. The thaumatist looks at me in askance, but I don’t know what to say to him. “I- I-” I look back at Rastek, silently pleading for him to respond. He barely glances at me, then focuses his eyes on the thaumatist.

“Stay nearby. Just outside, if you will.” Rastek’s voice sounds steadier now, though there’s still that rusty edge to his voice. The thaumatist nods, stands, dusts himself off, and heads out of the tent. Rastek slumps back down, supporting himself with one arm. He looked moments from falling against the tent wall and bringing the whole thing down on top of us.

We sit in silence for a while. Rastek doesn’t look like he wants to talk. He just gazes emptily into space. I can’t read his expression at all. It looks completely blank.

In lieu of speaking, I run the dream over in my mind. It feels like a memory- it’s not as faded and distant as most dreams are after I wake up. If it was a memory, then it must have been the day Rastek and I met. I certainly felt more comfortable in my own skin there. It makes me realize how constant the sense of alienation has been since I woke up here. I never feel like I know what I’m doing.

I’d agreed to work with him in the dream. And, apparently, I’d been poisoning people before that, if what memory Rastek said was true. Was I just an indiscriminate poisoner? What does that say about the person I was? The person that I am now? What does that say about Rastek, if he fell in love with a person like that? He seemed to be kind before- now I feel like I’m looking at everything he’s done or said in a different light.

A part of me wants to ask Rastek about this. I want to have some explanation, something to reassure me that I’m not as bad of a person as I think I am. But I don’t know if I can trust him. I’m worried he’ll lie to me.

More than that, I’m worried that he won’t. That it will be worse than what I’m thinking.

Rastek shifts suddenly, knocking against the tent wall and causing the whole thing to wobble. I look over at him. He’s moving his hand to cover his face again, but he’s not fast enough. I see the wet tear tracks running along his cheeks.

I speak before I can stop myself. “Rastek?”

He shuffles, turning partially away from me so he can cover his face more easily. He takes in a breath, but it catches and comes out sort of wet.

I’m not sure what to say. Rastek makes another soft noise, like he’s barely resisting sobbing, and my chest squeezes. “I, um,” I try again. “Are you… um.” I don’t want to ask if he’s okay, because that seems like a stupid question. But I can’t think of anything else to say. Eventually, I give up on words and just lean over to hold him.

Rastek doesn’t move to hold me back, but he also doesn’t try to move away, which I take as a good sign. He makes another quiet, wet-sounding sob. I pat his back. It’s a little awkward. But I don’t feel like I should let go.

It takes some time, but eventually, Rastek sniffs and moves away from me. He’s not covering his face anymore, so when he leans back, I can see that his eyes are red and puffy. “Was it, um. Bad, this time?” I say in reference to the slipping.

He looks confused for a moment before processing it. “It was not as bad as it could have been.” His voice scrapes his throat, raw and rough. It wavers, right on the edge of cracking. “You’re all right now, which is what matters.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Rastek.”

“It’s growing quite tiring, watching you nearly die over and over,” he says, his voice soft and tremulous.

“I’m sorry,” I say, since I can’t think of anything else. Rastek doesn’t say anything. He stares absently toward the wall of the tent. A part of me wants to comfort him. He looks so miserable, so pained. But another part wants him to comfort me. I want to be angry at him, that he kept things from me, but I can’t bear to yell at him when he’s in this state. I want him to tell me everything he knows, get all the information I can, and I also want to forget all of this every happened so we can go back to the way things were before.

My chest heaves with a soft sob. A couple of tears dribble pathetically down my cheeks. There’s a moment of silence, where I half-hope that Rastek didn’t hear me. Then he digs a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to me. I blot awkwardly at my face.

“If,” Rastek begins quietly, “you do not want me to be here with you, I do understand. I can arrange for someone else to-”

“That’s not going to make things better,” I say. Rastek falls silent. I take another moment to clean my face and collect my thoughts. “It’s not like anyone else understands the situation anyway. Even if I wanted to leave, I’m kind of stuck with you.”

Rastek stays silent. Maybe it’s a testament to how well I’m getting to know him, or maybe it’s just a sign that my memories are returning, but I can tell that it’s a wounded silence. “I don’t want to be mad at you,” I say. “You’ve been good to me, and I know it’s not your fault that things are like this. I just… I want to know why you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“When could I have told you?” Rastek asks. His voice is soft, surprisingly gentle. “I didn’t want to risk upsetting you and making you sicker. I planned to discuss it with you eventually. It wasn’t something I was deliberately trying to keep from you. There was just never a time that felt right.”

The worst part is, what he’s saying makes sense. I understand why he didn’t want to tell me. If I was in his place, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it either. And yet, I can’t help feeling hurt and angry that something so big was kept from me. It doesn’t make sense to be angry with him, but I want to be angry anyway. I want to do something that gets the emotions churning in my chest out so that someone else has to deal with them.

“We met because I was a poisoner,” I say. My voice sounds steady, if a little disconnected. Rastek stares at me in naked surprise.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “We did.”

I take a moment to force the words out of my mouth. “I’ve killed people, then. Or at least, sold stuff that people used to kill other people.”

Rastek opens his mouth, jaw shifting as he scrambles for something to say. “You haven’t killed anyone. You’re not responsible for what people used your poisons for. It’s like what I said yesterday, about the weaponry. A weaponsmith who makes a sword is not responsible for the people the weapon kills-”

“It’s not the same,” I say. “Swords are practical tools- you can use them as a guard or to hunt animals. Poisons are just for killing.”

“People used your wares for hunting,” Rastek said. “For protection from wild animals. And yes, some of them were used to kill, but you were careful. Always to people who needed that.”

“Who would need that?” I mumble.

“You gave an undetectable poison to a young woman to poison her parents. It saved her younger sibling from being abused and sold to a man as his wife. Another man, you sold him a poison to kill his abusive wife and allowed him to gain her money along with his freedom. And you created a rather clever poison solution to protect a family from magic-empowered creatures that stalked their small farm.” Rastek affectionately cups his hand along my face, fingertips tickling my skin. “You were not evil or indiscriminate. You were clever and skilled and you used both medicine and poison as tools. Yes, you are formidable, and I’m certain that your poisons have been used to kill people. But you are not a killer.” He shifts his hand so he’s stroking it through my hair. “Sometimes, the best way to protect people is to stop the things that are hurting them. It can be painful to take on that kind of power. We both need to hurt and kill to protect things we care about. But it does not make us evil. It’s just the way of the world. There’s no shame in doing what you need to in order to survive.”

I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “I- I just don’t want to hurt people.”

“I know. I don’t want to hurt people either.” Rastek took a deep breath of his own. “But I would. To protect you or any of the people under my command. That’s why we’re not evil. We don’t hurt to hurt. We only do it to protect.”

My jaw trembles as I open my mouth. “I don’t want to hurt people.” It takes considerable effort to get the next words out. “I don’t even know if I could do it to protect someone. Not even…” I can’t manage to get the words to rise to my throat. I hope he understands what I mean, though. Not even you.

Rastek is silent for a moment. His hand falls away from my face to rest on my upper arm, where he delivers a gentle squeeze.

“That’s all right. I’m not going to ask you to.” His hand moves away completely. Without that little touch, I feel a little disconnected. Like the few inches of air between us have suddenly become solid steel. “If you no longer want to make poisons, that’s fine. I won’t put pressure on you to do so. We may have met due to your skills with poisons, but it is not the reason I love you.”

He says those words, that I love you so easily. Like it’s something he never doubted. Like it could never be in doubt, no matter how much I feel like a different person who replaced his wife. It’s a weighty feeling, but also startlingly pleasant. Reassuring.

Perhaps it’s cruel of me, but despite knowing both his and my past, I can’t think of him as a monster. Not someone who promised to care for me, to even love me, despite my memory loss. Even if he’d shown no remorse, I don’t know if I would have been able to hate him for it. The love he offers me is too overwhelming not to accept.

“We, ah. We met at that ball in my town,” I say hesitantly. Rastek stares at me, his expression one of barely-constrained hope. Like he’s trying not to get himself too excited for something that might not be real. “I was sick, so I went outside the actual ballroom and that’s where we met. You took me to a private room to rest and we talked… We never danced, though, even if we were at a ball.” The memory gets distinctly fuzzy after that. I have to focus to even grasp any of it. “We stayed there half the night. Even though you were supposed to go conclude the ball.”

The guardedness of Rastek’s expression has melted away, leaving nothing but naked delight and disbelief behind. “You- you remember.”

“It just came back to me when I was sleeping. It’s jus that snippet, nothing else, though.”

Rastek lunges forward and I’m pressed into the expanse of his chest. His breathing shudders with emotion. The hug is about as tight as he can manage while still being mindful of my physical health. “You remember,” he murmurs. His arms shift and he pulls away to stare intently at me while he clutches my hands. “Tell me what you remember.”

I fumble for a moment, stumbling to pull up details I can give to him. “It was at a ball, one for your… inauguration, or something? You were introducing yourself as the warlord and I had to come, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I stepped outside because I was sick and then you came up to me and we talked. You recognized me and then… you took me to a room to sit down for a bit.” I grin at the memory. “It was a room they’d given you in case you found someone you liked, I think.”

“Well,” Rastek says, his smile never wavering on his face, “I did find someone, didn’t I?”

“You seemed very eager to convince me it wasn’t like that when we were in the room together,” I tease. Rastek chuckles, eyes gleaming with fondness.

“It wasn’t like that, at the time! I was trying to make sure you were comfortable.”

“My memory gets kind of fuzzy after we go into the private room,” I say. “Did we talk for a while?”

“Most of the night, if I remember correctly,” Rastek says. He grins in a way I can only describe as sheepish. “I believe I had to be fetched to preside over the closing ceremonies.”

“Seriously?” I ask, genuinely surprised. Rastek laughs.

“What can I say? You were quite fascinating. Though I suppose I should have been more careful about us being spotted when we went in there. I think not being in my bedroom helped prevent the rumors from spreading, but a couple politicians did make some comments the next day about warlords having impressive, ah. Stamina.”

I burst out laughing, even snorting a little. Rastek grins back. “No- no way! Oh my god, they actually said that?”

Something tells me Rastek was expecting this reaction, because he looks pleased with himself. “In so many words, yes. It was mortifying at the time, but you’re right- it is very funny now.” His expression shifts then, getting even more smug. “And, well, they weren’t exactly wrong…”

I practically double over, wheezing. One of Rastek’s hands hovers next to me, ready to support me if I need anything, but otherwise not impeding me. When I slow my laughter enough to straighten back up, I see nothing but fondness in his eyes. “One good thing about losing your memories- I can tell you my old jokes and you still think they’re hilarious.”

“You’ve told me that one before?”

“To the extent that you’ve asked me to stop bringing it up, yes,” Rastek says. “I suppose losing your memories gets my counter rest to zero, though. I could see how quickly I can get you to ban me from telling it again, though.”

“No,” I chuckle. “We will not be doing that.” Rastek grins back at me, eyes gleaming, and my heart flutters.

“As much as I would love to stay here with you,” Rastek says, glancing toward the tent flap to assess the sun’s progress in the sky, “I do have some work to attend to.”

I can feel my face fall, but I do my best not to show my disappointment too much. “Right. I get it.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can be,” Rastek says. He takes one of my hands in his and rests his other hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you something to eat, first, so you can take your medicine.”

Despite not having eaten a lot over the past day, my appetite is still pretty small. But I don’t think Rastek will let me squirm out of it, so I nod and brace my weight against him to stand. “Yes, I’ll- Oof.” My vision swims for a moment and Rastek’s touch vanishes as surely as if he’s pulled his hands away. I wobble, suddenly untethered, and reach out for him. Unfortunately, my vision is swirling into just an array of colors and I can’t find him. Distantly, as if through a thick sheet of plexiglass, I can hear Rastek calling for the thaumatist.

My vision gradually returns to clarity, like slowly adjusting the focus on a camera. I’m still standing, though I’m also leaning my weight pretty heavily against Rastek. One of my hands is fisted around the fabric of his shirt so hard that my knuckles have gone pale.

“Hm,” the thaumatist says. He looks almost fascinated, which is more disturbing than him being completely emotionless. He’s definitely leaning closer to me than I’d like. “Well. That is interesting.”

Rastek huffs impatiently. “Please. If you’re ever going to use the phrase ‘that’s interesting’ again, then at least do the courtesy of also explaining what you find so interesting without me having to ask.”

The thaumatist looks unperturbed, despite Rastek’s tone. “Your wife is being assaulted through magic.”

There’s a moment of silence. Rastek takes a deep breath in and lets it back out. The next word that comes out of his mouth is said in the most chilling tone I’ve heard from him. “How?”

The thaumatist continues to look mildly interested, at best. “Whoever is doing it seems to be trying to throw her soul out of her body once more. However, the protective spells on her are dampening its influence. It actually seems to be having the opposite effect- her soul, in response, is tethering itself tighter to her body.”

“That’s why I remembered something,” I say. The thaumatist doesn’t look surprised by this announcement.

“Yes, returning memories would be a likely side effect. However. I would not suggest allowing this to continue. The magic is not hurting her right now, but allowing the attacks to continue increases the chances that something will go wrong.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that we allow the attacks to continue. Even if they do seem to be helping with her memory,” Rastek says. “Can you trace the magic?”

“Perhaps, if it’s not otherwise designed to block me.” The thaumatist lifts his hands away from me, moving them through the air like he was tracing lines I couldn’t see. “Ah. They’ve got a bit of a sensor on this spell. The instant they sense me trying to trace it, they’ll-”

Something happens. It’s like my vision gets sharper or a weight eases off of my chest. I release tension I wasn’t even aware I was holding along with a big sigh.

“Yes. They ceased the magic to avoid me tracing it.” The thaumatist drops his hands.

Rastek purses his lips. “Did you get anything from it at all?”

The thaumatist tilts his head to one side, eyes distant. “Yes. The signature was stronger than I was expecting.”

Again, Rastek has to prod him to get him to say anything else. “Which means?”

“The magic user must be closer by than I thought,” the thaumatist says. “I was rather working under the assumption they were casting from a safe base some distance away from us. It makes the most sense, since that would make it harder to trace the magic. But this signature would seem to indicate that they are significantly closer.”

“How close?” Rastek asks. His shoulders are set, tense, and his teeth are gritted. He leans forward to the thaumatist. “As close as the enemy camp?”

“Possibly,” the thaumatist said, seeming completely unintimidated by a warlord leaning into his personal space. “I would certainly say it’s fairly likely- tracing the distance through magic signature is hardly an exact science, especially considering how fast it was dropped, but I would say it had a much stronger signature than I would assume it would have even coming from the nearest town. And given that our encampment and the enemy’s encampment are the only two settlements of people out here…”

“It is possible it could be a rogue agent who’s stalking nearby as well,” Rastek says. “I’ll send some soldiers to do a sweep nearby. At the very least, even if we don’t find them, it should send them packing, at least temporarily. If we don’t see any signs of anyone, then perhaps it’s time to show our enemies a little more aggression.”

He bares his teeth as he talks, a strange, strained smile pulling at his face. A worm of worry crawls its way into my stomach. “Rastek, don’t be too hasty. We need to be at least a little cautious.”

“I’m being as cautious as I can be, considering the person who nearly killed you might be right under our noses.” He looks at the thaumatist. “Do you think you could sense them? Track them using magic, somehow, if you know their magical signature?”

The thaumatist looks unimpressed. “I’m hardly a bloodhound.”

“But can you?” Rastek presses.

“Possibly. I offer no guarantees.”

Rastek nods. “Come with me, then. We’ll gather some soldiers and head out.” He turns toward the entrance of the tent.

“Rastek!” The cry bursts out of me, without even thinking about it. He stops, looking back at me. “Let me come with you.”

His expression drops into a solid mask of disapproval. “No.”

“I’m not staying here by myself. And do you really want me hanging out here at camp when the thaumatist is off with you? What if something happens again?”

Alarm darts across Rastek’s face before he shuts it down again. “That’s a fair point,” he says after a moment. “You’ll ride with me, then.” He turns his gaze to the thaumatist. “Stay here with her while I gather some people to come with us. If anything happens, you know how to alert me.”

“Of course,” the thaumatist says, though he doesn’t seem particularly concerned. Rastek steps toward the doorway, then pauses and hurries back over to me.

“Take your medicine and rest while I’m out. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” One of his hands cups the back of my head and he leans in for a quick kiss on my forehead. My skin tingles pleasantly under the tickle of his warm breath against my skin. Rastek straightens up and hurries out of the tent.

The thaumatist almost instantly closes his eyes and sits in the sort of cross-legged position that I associate with meditating. The air around him seems to be faintly charged with a feeling similar to, though not the same as, static electricity. It makes my brain go slightly fuzzy.

The tent flap shifts and a familiar face pokes through. I stare, surprised. “Ethan?”

It’s the servant boy from the kitchen, the one I’d spoken to a couple of times. He flushes furiously, pink spreading up to the tips of his ears. “My lady, you, uh. Remember my name?”

“Of course,” I say, before realizing that it might be strange for me to do so. “I thought you would have stayed back. I didn’t realize you were coming with us.”

Ethan’s face goes even redder, and he ducks his head so I can’t quite see his expression. I assume it’s rather bashful. “Y-yes, well. They indicated they could use another cook at the encampment and I thought it might be some more experience and anyway, I was the only cook who could really go, so I thought- yeah.” He drops the tray of food he’s carrying in front of me. The thaumatist shifts in his meditation, opening his eyes slightly. A strange expression flickers over his face- like he’s trying to get his eyes to focus on something right in front of his face. Ethan ducks in a quick bow and scrambles out the tent flap.

“Everything all right?” I ask the thaumatist. I can’t even tell if he can hear me. After a moment, his eyes close again. A moment later, he takes a piece of toast from the tray and starts chewing on it without opening his eyes.

That seems to be all the answer I’m going to get. I content myself with thinking that, if there really was something wrong, he would not be casually munching on toast. I take my own breakfast, then my meds. Rastek’s still not back. I occupy myself by flipping through a few of the books. The idea of handling poisons still unsettles me, but it’s also interesting to see how thorough my notes are. At least I seemed to put a lot of time and effort into the whole making poisons thing.

The tent flap rustles and I look up in time to see Rastek stepping through. The thaumatist opens his eyes and rises to his feet. “We’re almost ready to go. Your horse is already prepared,” Rastek tells him. The thaumatist nods once, then heads out, leaving me and Rastek alone together.

His expression softens when he turns to me. “How are you doing?”

Admittedly, the medicine I just took is making me both sleepy and nauseated, but I don’t want to say that in case he decides not to let me come. “I’m all right. Is everything ready?”

“Nearly. You’ll need to get on your riding gear.” Rastek pulls some sturdy-looking clothes out of a bag and helps me put them on. “You’ll be riding behind me the whole time. It might take a while to round the whole of camp, but we’re not going to be able to take any breaks.”

Hm. I hadn’t considered the no-breaks idea. I’m not entirely sure I can manage riding for an extended period of time without one. My legs hurt just thinking of it. But I have a weird, bad feeling, and that’s more pressing than the concern about an aching back and rear. “Sure. That’s fine.”

Rastek seems mildly surprised by my acquiescence, but he just nods. “Good. Then we’ll be off.”

We exit the tent together, with Rastek slightly in front of me. He leads me toward the edge of camp, where there’s a semicircle of soldiers waiting for us. A couple of them are dressed in armor that covers all of their bodies, and I do mean all of it. They remind me of knights, though the face shielding seems to be flatter than I remember knight helmets being. The others are wearing less armor, but their faces are still at least partially concealed by masks.

It’s a weird choice, considering that, at least from what I saw, none of the soldiers riding out into battle were wearing any sort of masks. Doesn’t that make it harder to ride? Or at least to see where you’re going? I consider the idea that they’re used to prevent inhaling the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves, but then, no one else on horseback has been wearing them.

Rastek must sense my confusion, or at least see it on my face, because he takes a moment to pretend to adjust his horse’s tack in order to speak to me. “We’re tracking magic users. Standard practice is to hide your face.”

“But not us,” I say, not questioning, just a little uncertain.

“We’re working under the assumption that they already know us,” Rastek says. “Anyone around here likely knows of me already- and if they’re the people who attacked you, they must know your face because they’ve already used magic on you.”

I grimace. “You’d think people would be more cautious about showing their faces at all, if a magic user could kill or hurt you based on knowing that alone.”

Rastek shrugs. “Maybe. But magic users that powerful are quite uncommon. Magic attacks are rare, at least distanced ones that require the knowledge of what someone looks like.”

“So I’m just massively unlucky,” I grouse.

“Something like that,” Rastek says. “I could get you a mask, if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

“If they already know me, I’m not going to bother,” I say. “Does this mean that the person is someone we know? Or could they just have seen a portrait of us and gone off that?”

“Portraits don’t work super well- they’re not always completely accurate, and that can interfere with the spell. Don’t ask me how exactly that works, but it always works best if the caster has seen what the person actually looks like, not the way another artist saw them.”

“Then that means the person knows us? Or at least me?”

“It could mean that,” Rastek says. “But more likely they saw us in passing, at a ball or something.” The horse shifts impatiently and Rastek straightens. “I would suggest asking the thaumatist about this if you want to know more. I was never all that good at the specific mechanics of magic.”

We settle in on the horse together. Rastek makes a signal with his hand and we start off at a steady, quick pace. The thaumatist rides next to us, looking incongruous between all the soldiers. Even his horse doesn’t seem to suit him- I keep feeling like he should be riding a ghostly pale horse instead of a sturdy brown thoroughbred. The horse we’re riding suits Rastek, though- steady, reliable, and strong. I can feel its muscles shifting as it runs.

The riding isn’t that different from any other time before- interesting to start with, then boring, then gradually painful. The saddle we’re in at least seems to be designed differently than the other ones I’ve ridden in. I’m no horse tack expert, but even I can tell it’s slightly wider and more padded than the other soldier’s saddles. That helps, if only a little bit.

We move through forests for a little while, then the trees thin and we hit fields. Every now and then, we’ll have a momentary stop while the thaumatist guides his horse in circles, looking at something the rest of us can’t see. But by midday, we haven’t found whatever it is we’re looking for, and I can’t tell if we’re actually any closer to doing so.

By afternoon, I’m starting to become genuinely concerned that I’m going to fall off the horse. My legs have crept past the ‘sore’ part of muscle tiredness and moved into the ‘generally kind of numb’ part. On one hand. Less painful. On the other. More difficult to ride a horse when everything from the waist down feels tinglingly dead. Rastek helps by keeping one of his hands on the reins and the other on my waist, gripping at my clothes. Whenever I slip sideways, he straightens me back out. I’m certain he can tell that I’m losing my balance more often now than when we started out, but he hasn’t made any comment on it. I don’t complain either- I asked to come on this trip and I knew it would be difficult, so I’m not going to whine about it.

The thaumatist abruptly pulls to a stop, tugging on his horse’s reins. His gaze snaps toward the west, perpendicular to the direction we’re riding. He’s still for so long that I start to wonder if there’s something wrong with him. The soldiers we’re riding with close ranks, drawing in a tighter circle around us.

“What is it?” Rastek calls out. His voice seems uncomfortably loud now that the clatter of horse hooves is mostly silent.

The thaumatist speaks, his voice barely carrying. “Something… is impinging on my senses.”

A couple of the soldiers shift nervously. Rastek ignores it. “Is it what we’re looking for?”

“Maybe. It’s communication magic. Which could be what we’re looking for. It could also be completely benign.” The thaumatist looks at Rastek, completely unconcerned and neutral. “Do you advise us to follow?”

Rastek hesitates for a couple of moments. The hand at my waist tightens. “We may as well check it out,” he says. “If it’s something innocuous, then we’ll just continue on our way.”

The thaumatist nods and spurs his horse in the direction he was looking in. We set off at a quicker pace, almost a canter (at least, I think that’s what it is- I’m not practiced with horse terms.)

When it happens, it happens so quickly, I almost miss it. One second, we’re loping across the plains, the tall grass waving around us. And then there was someone abruptly bolting away in front of us. The thaumatist’s horse rears with a shrill whinny. It takes me a moment to realize the fleeing person must have been lying down in the grass, trying to go unnoticed, before they realized we were going to trample them if they didn’t move. Their sudden appearance works to their advantage- the horses spooked and, while we were trying to get them back under control, the person was making headway through the grass.

Rastek yanks on his horse’s reins, forcing it into submission. With a single kick, he spurs it forward, charging after the person’s rapidly-retreating back. I hunker down in the saddle and cling on with all my might.

The person ahead of us must be using magic to run faster, because they’re almost managing to outpace us, even though we’re on a horse. They’re bent forward, almost parallel to the ground, trampling the tall grass in their way so thoroughly that it leaves a trail for us to follow. I

I can’t tell what they’re trying to do- even with their magical might, they’re not going to be able to outrun over us forever. We’re gaining on them steadily. It would make sense of they were trying to get back between the trees, since the terrain would slow the horses down enough that they could get solidly ahead and hide somewhere. But they’re instead moving deeper into the grasslands, heading away from the trees. Maybe they’re just trying to get further away from the encampment. Or maybe they’re looking for-

“Cut them off before they get to the Ley line!” Rastek bellows over his shoulder. A couple of the riders behind us break away, apparently trying to get around our target, but they’re going barely faster than us- I can’t tell if they can go fast enough to make it. Rastek’s not sure either, because he directs his next order to the thaumatist. “Choke the Ley line off!”

“Impossible, from this distance.” The thaumatist’s voice still sounds relaxed, despite him yelling from the back of a horse. “Physical restraint would be the most reliable course of action.”

Rastek growls. I can feel it rumble through his chest. “Hold on,” he tosses over his shoulder at me. He kicks his heels and the horse jolts forward, sprinting at full tilt. I cling to Rastek and grit my teeth so the wild bouncing doesn’t make me bite my tongue off.

We gain more on the running figure. The horse’s hooves are nearly touching the trail of the cloak that blocks their face from view. Rastek wraps the reins around one of his fists and draws his sword. The blade glints in the sunlight as he draws it down toward the figure, just within swinging distance.

It happens within a second. The figure, without braking stride, twists and something catches the sunlight for just a second. Rastek jerks and slumps sideways in the saddle with a loud cry. The horse whinnies, almost a scream, and veers away from the figure. I sway, clinging to Rastek- it’s fortunate that he’s strapped into the saddle, because I wouldn’t have been able to hold him up all by myself. There are shouts of confusion from behind me and the glimpse I catch of the other soldiers shows that some of them are breaking off, heading our way. The confusion is all the figure needs. They sprint several more yards away and there’s a pop of displaced air as they vanish.

“No,” Rastek groans, fumbling to straighten himself up. A wave of relief washes over me- he’s not dead, not even unconscious. He’s at least somewhat okay. “Fuck… dammit.”

“Hold on, hold on,” I say, making eye contact with the closest soldier. “Someone’s here to help.”

The soldier takes the reins and places a steadying hand on Rastek’s shoulder. “Sir, status report. Where were you hurt?”

“Ugh,” Rastek groans. His teeth are clenched, his breath coming in shallow little pants. I can feel the rigid tension through every line in his body. “They hit me with a throwing knife, I think.” He straightens up a little more and curls his hand away from where it’s cradling his side.

There’s immediately red. Streaming red, soaking through his clothes. It looks like the knife just barely missed his armor, burying into the lower left part of his abdomen. “It hurts, but I believe it’s just a flesh wound.”

“Can you make it back to camp?” the soldier asks. The other soldiers and the thaumatist stand in a loose circle around us. The thaumatist urges his horse closer.

“I’ve no great skill in healing,” he says, whispery and unconcerned. “But I could stem the blood for long enough that you could make it back to the camp where you can have proper medical care.”

“Yes,” Rastek says. I can hear that he’s gritting his teeth. “Do that.”

The thaumatist pulls his horse even with us, the soldier on Rastek’s other side breaking away to join the others. There’s a faint electric feeling in the air and the thaumatist’s had shoots out. He touches Rastek’s side for just a second, then pulls back, easing his horse away. Rastek huffs out a long breath, almost a wheeze.

“We should return to camp quickly,” the thaumatist says. “It won’t hold for more than a couple of hours,” Without waiting for a response, he turns his horse back toward the camp and kicks it into a quick trot.

Rastek doesn’t immediately follow. He shifts a little in his saddle, letting out a couple harsh breaths. I reach up to tentatively place a hand on his back. “Are you sure you’re okay to be riding back now? The thaumatist could maybe send a message or something instead, to get a healer out here.”

“No,” Rastek grunts. “It’ll take too long. And it’s not a bad wound.”

“You got stabbed,” I point out.

“I’ve had worse,” Rastek says. That does not make me feel any better. “It hardly hit anything important,” he continues, like there are any parts of him that are unimportant. But he’s already kicking his horse into higher gear, despite the short, tight breaths he’s taking every time his wound is jostled. I just settle into the motion of riding, trying to at least keep an eye on Rastek.

We do make it a solid amount of the way back to camp. In fact, we get close enough to be able to see the shapes of tents and people on the horizon. But the horse suddenly shifts beneath us, gait faltering in uncertainty. I struggle to grab onto something, but before I can even steady myself, I feel Rastek slip sideways in the saddle. The horse gives a shrill, frightened whinny, and my attention is abruptly split between trying to drag it to a stop and trying to stop Rastek from falling. I don’t manage either- Rastek falls sideways, still strapped into the saddle so he’s literally dangling from the horse, his head brushing the ground while the horse whinnies and starts picking up like it’s going to run. I put all my attention toward the reins, tugging on them as hard as I can.

The horse pulls to a stop just as the other soldiers fall in next to me. One of them grabs the reins while another hops off their horse to unstrap Rastek. A third tries to pull me off the horse to lead me away, but I shoo them away and scramble back to Rastek’s side.

Rastek groans and struggles to sit up as soon as he’s unbuckled from the saddle. One of the soldiers pushes him back so he’s lying on the ground. “Get a healer,” they snap and I hear the sound of hoofbeats headed away at top speed. I don’t turn to see who’s going. I just struggle closer to Rastek, forcing my way through the throng of concerned soldiers. They part pretty easily for me.

“Rastek!” I say. He blinks, focusing on me. There’s a fine sheen of sweat over his forehead, his hair slicking down to his skin. A flush sits high on his cheekbones, at contrast to the pallor of the rest of his face. His eyes focus on me, but their usual golden sharpness is lost- he looks a little foggy. A quick glance at the wound shows me that whatever the thaumatist did to stop it from bleeding has failed or worn off or something- there’s a fresh, steady trickle of blood staining his clothes once more.

“’M all right,” he murmurs. His voice sounds lost, like he’s out of it. “Just- just fell.”

I tap his face gently, but firmly, trying to draw his attention. He focuses on me after a couple of tries. “Talk to me. Stay awake, okay?” He did it for me. I have to do it for him now. And no one seems keen on taking me away, so perhaps this is a regular occurrence.

           “Hmm,” he grunts. His eyes close, then flutter open again. There’s definitely a concerted effort on his part to look at me. I’ll take it, rewarding him by brushing some of the hair out of his face and clearing some of the sweat away.

“What are you feeling?” I ask. His wound is still bleeding, but his reaction seems incongruent with dying from blood loss. People who have blood loss are often cold and very pale- he’s warm and sweaty, more like he has a fever. The knife did hit his guts. If it nicked something important and there’s bile or waste pouring into his bloodstream- I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know if that can be fixed.

No. There’s magic here. There’s medicine of some sort. There must be a way to fix him. I can’t think like he’s already gone.

Rastek takes in a breath. It rattles a little in a terrifying way. “F-fuck it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” I say, smoothing his hair back again. His eyes drifted mostly shut before he forced them open again. “Keep talking to me. What does it feel like exactly?”

“Burning,” he says. His breath comes in another trembling rasp. “Like something’s burning under my skin.”

It’s not the most helpful description. I don’t know what that means for him- it could mean something important got perforated, or it could mean some kind of infection setting in and I don’t know how to fix it.

Racing footsteps behind me alert me to the approach of a couple of soldiers and a healer. The healer drops to her knees as soon as she’s within reach of Rastek. She pushes me out of the way, not cruelly, but with blunt efficiency. Rastek makes a pained noise, but I’m not sure if he’s reacting to me being shoved or the healer pressing her hands against his side.

“What happened?” she asks, all business. One of the other soldiers fills her in. I change positions so I’m next to Rastek’s head, busying myself by stroking his hair and murmuring soothingly to him.

The healer pokes at him for a few moments, probing. Rastek twitches and grunts when she touches the wound, but I can see his gaze getting less focused. He’s fading, clearly exhausted. The healer binds his wound and directs the other soldiers to pick Rastek up on a makeshift stretcher. I rise to go with them and my legs buckle.

One of the soldiers grabs me before I hit the ground. “My lady?” she says. “Perhaps you should lie down-”

“No,” I snarl. I’m tired, so it’s not the most vicious sound I’ve ever made, but it does give the soldier pause. “I’m going with him.”

She hesitates, exchanging glances with the other soldiers. I can see their respect for my position warring with their obvious fear of what Rastek will do if anything happens to his wife. “Allow me to escort you, then,” she says after a few moments. I nod. I’m not sure I could make it wherever they’re taking Rastek without help.

As it turns out, they’re taking him to a large tent in the middle of the camp. I can hear whispers and gasps from soldiers as they see us walking through. I ignore them, keeping my eyes fixed on Rastek. His tail dangles off the stretcher and I can see it flex ever now and then. It’s reassuring. It means he’s not dead.

Once we’re in the tent, the healer sets up a section blocked off from the rest of the tent by curtains. I’m forced off to one side, almost pressed up against the curtain barrier as a few other healers come in and start fussing around him. I’m in the way- I know I am. But I can’t bring myself to leave. If something happens to him- if something happens-

No one tries to get me to leave, but no one speaks to me either. They’re all focused on Rastek. I wait, twisting my hands together, my heart in my throat. It’s the only thing I can do.

I don’t know how long it takes exactly, but after a while, the bustling of healers slows. A few of them clean up their tools and hurry off to work on other soldiers. I get a good look at Rastek for the first time since they’ve started working on him.

They’ve stripped off his armor and shirt, leaving his chest completely bare. It would probably be hot, but his sickly paleness and labored breathing really take way from that. His side has been thoroughly bandaged, but I can see lines of red tracing up his side, moving out in a starburst pattern from the wound. It reminds me of an infection.

“We examined the wound,” one of the healers says, turning to me. I startle a little- they’ve been ignoring me for so long I started to forget they could even see me. “The wound is not deep, and it managed to avoid his organs. It required stitches, but the cut itself is not dangerous. On its own, it would take a while to heal, but it would certainly be survivable.”

I can sense the weight of something unsaid behind her words. “There’s something else wrong.”

The healer looks a little uncomfortable. “We were hoping for your assistance with this, my lady.”

I’m really hoping my face doesn’t show how worried that request makes me. “I’m not a healer. What would you need my assistance with?”

She seems a little confused, but she explains regardless. “The knife he was stabbed with was poisoned. It’s the only explanation for why he’s gotten so sick so quickly. We were hoping for your assistance in determining what the poison is and what antidotes might be effective.”

It feels like the world drops out from under my feet. I can hear my breath whistling in my chest, coming too fast and too shallow. “I- I can craft poisons, but curing them is not really my area of expertise…” My voice sounds weak, even to my ears.

“Your husband said you had some training in medicine,” the healer says. She’s looking a little suspicious, but I don’t care. “Even if you cannot craft the antidote yourself, just being able to narrow the list of possible poisons would be a great help.”

Rastek stirs a little, head turning toward me. I can see his eyes focusing on me. His gaze is a little bleary, but I can read his expression. “I would like to speak to my husband for a moment,” I say, putting my focus into sounding like I know what I’m doing. “Alone.”

The healer hesitates, then dips her head and leaves, swishing the curtains closed behind her. I turn to Rastek.

He looks worn. Tired. There are shadows under his eyes and his breathing is heavy. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. If he wasn’t already lying down, he would look like he was about to collapse.

The urge to bust into tears hits me, strong and sudden. I fight it back. Rastek needs me. I can’t break down now.

“They said you’ve been poisoned,” I say. My voice is remarkably steady. Rastek dips his head. Even the effort of nodding seems to exhaust him.

“I would assume,” he says. “I had hoped it wasn’t the case, but…” His lips curl. “It’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” The word bursts out of me louder and harsher than I expect. The thing I said about my voice being steady? Gone. The word quivers like a leaf in a storm. Rastek looks almost frightened for a moment, and I clamp down on my emotions as hard as I can before speaking again. “We might be a little beyond unfortunate. Rastek, I don’t know what to do.”

He grimaces, licking his lips. Despite the fine sheen over the rest of his face, his lips are rather dry and cracked looking. “You don’t do anything. Go back to the tent. I’ll tell them you’re too close to work on this or something. It’ll emotionally effect you badly enough to make you sick.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say. “Rastek. You’re dying.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “There are good healers here, and draconids are resilient. If they can keep me alive until the poisons works out of my system, then-”

“And if they can’t? You look awful already. You don’t even know what kind of poison it is. What if it’s always fatal?”

“Then I suppose I die,” Rastek says. There’s barely any emotion in his voice. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely unbothered or if he’s just too tired to emote. “I told you already, I won’t let anything happen to you, even if I-”

“I don’t care what happens to me! What about what happens to you?” I whisper-yell. Rastek sighs and gives me a mournful look.

“The healers will do their best to help, and I will do my best to stay alive. But right now, there’s nothing you can do.” He reaches out and I step forward to let his fingers interlace with mine. His hands are clammy and his fingers actually feel weak against mine. It’s so strange and scary to feel just how exhausted he is. I can’t help him the way he helped me. Again, that feeling of incredible uselessness washes over me. I can’t do anything. I can’t help him. I’m going to sit here and watch the person who cares most about me in this world die. Because I can’t do jack shit to stop it, even though I should be able to. Even though people expect me to.

Unless… I can help. I have to be able to help. I can’t leave Rastek here to die. I have to help. No matter what.

I turn, sliding my hand from Rastek’s, and whisk open the curtains around his bed. One of the nearby healers looks up at me as I step out. I swallow the anxiety swelling in my throat. “I can help,” I say. “But I’ll need time to research. Let me stop by my tent first to gather some of my belongings and then I can begin.”

“Wait,” Rastek says from behind me, his voice pitching with alarm. “You don’t have to-”

I look over my shoulder at him, mustering the most reassuring smile I can. “Please. Let me help you.” His brows draw together, but before he can say anything, he sags back and lets out a few wheezing coughs. He shivers, despite the warmth in the tent. I turn back to the healer. “It might take some time. But I will manage it.”

“Of course, my lady. I’ll have someone accompany you to the tent,” she says. A guard materializes at my side. I give them a nod of acknowledgement and cast one more look over my shoulder at Rastek. He’s gazing after me, brows furrowed.

“It’s okay,” I mouth back at him. “I will make sure you’re all right.”

As soon as we step outside the tent, the thaumatist appears out of nowhere. He doesn’t say anything, but he does fall into step beside me as I walk. After a few moments of silence, where he doesn’t seem to be preparing to say anything, I speak. “Rastek was poisoned.”

The thaumatist nods. “Yes. I overheard.” He turns his gaze to me, thoughtful and assessing. “I also overheard that you were planning on helping.”

I glance at the guard. They don’t look like they’re paying attention, but I still don’t want to be too open about my memory loss. “Yes. He’s my husband. Of course I’m going to help.”            The thaumatist nods and falls into silence. I can still feel his assessing eyes on me, even when I’m not looking. It unnerves me.

When we arrive at the tent, the guard stops to wait outside for me. The thaumatist does not. Instead, he ducks into the tent right on my heels without waiting to be invited.

“I assume you want to talk about something,” I say as he glances around.

“I am here if you wish to talk about something,” he says. “I thought you might. Given that you’re volunteering to help unpoison your husband. With precious little knowledge about how poisons work.”

“I have some memories back,” I mutter, retrieving a few books from my stash. “And I’ve got all of my old notes. I have to be able to figure something out.”

“There is no guarantee you will be able to do that,” the thaumatist says. “And working off of incorrect or incomplete memories may not allow you to create the antidote. It may only poison him worse.”

I stack my books and turn to glare at him. “Are you here to stop me, then? Because I’m not just going to sit here. I can’t.”

The thaumatist shrugged. “In truth, I don’t really care if you save him or not. He’s a good employer. But someone of my skill could find employment anywhere I desire.” His voice is perfectly flat, like he’s saying something everyone already knows instead of bragging. “But you are, strictly speaking, my client currently. I am supposed to be ensuring your health. Which is why I would like you to exhibit caution.”

I narrow my eyes at him. If he doesn’t care about Rastek, why the hell would he care about me? Then again, he’s definitely proven himself to be strange. “You can’t possibly be interested in my just because I’m your client.”

The thaumatist shrugs, making his robe shift on his shoulders. “You are an interesting case. I’d like further opportunity to study the spell on you and its general effects. Which I cannot do if you are dead. Or comatose.”            That gives me pause. “And are either of those things likely to happen?”

“It is a possibility, depending on how strong the spell is and how determined you are to retrieve your old memories. If it has some form of failsafe, trying to regain your memories all at once could become quite damaging to your mental state.”

My eyes narrow further. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“No,” the thaumatist says. “Because you were recovering them slowly enough that it wasn’t a concern. But now you are going to deliberately attempt to recover at least some of your memories, which is much more dangerous. Especially considering your fragile physical condition.”

“Then you are going to stop me,” I say. The thaumatist shakes his head.

“I have no real intention of stopping you. Only of warning you of what might happen. Attempting to recover your memories may damage you. Possibly severely enough that you will not survive.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “And I don’t particularly appreciate you only warning me because I’d make a really neat subject for you.”

“That is not the only reason,” the thaumatist says with the barest hint of irritation in his voice. “If you die and Rastek survives, I would not put it past him to throw me in prison for failing to save you. If he does not kill me.”

“You couldn’t magic your way out of that situation?”

“Possibly. But draconids are known for their perseverance and I would prefer not to be hunted for the rest of my life.” The thaumatist crosses his arms over his chest. “Concern for me or yourself does not seem to be changing your opinion.”

I shift the stack of books in my arms, grimacing at their weight. “I don’t care about me if it means I can save Rastek. And, sorry to be rude, but I don’t really care about you, either. He’s been caring for me all this time. I need to do something to try and save him.”

“He’s been caring for you because he wants to,” the thaumatist says. “You’re not obligated to repay him.”

“No,” I agree. “But I want to.”

“You’re an idiot,” the thaumatist observes with the same casual air of someone commenting on a particularly brightly colored shirt.

“Whatever. You’re free to stop me,” I say, only because I’m fairly confident he won’t. sure enough, he sighs, but makes no moves to stop me as I head back toward the tent entrance.

He doesn’t try to stop me, but he does trail after me like a shadow as we head toward my work area. I don’t try to shoo him off. The more the merrier, right? Anyway, at least if I do manage to kill myself, there will be someone in the tent with me to drag my corpse back to Rastek. Or, at the risk of being too optimistic, maybe he’ll even save my life.

Once I’ve tucked myself away in my little work-tent, the first order of business is to find out exactly what Rastek’s been poisoned with. Unfortunately, diagnosing a poison is more difficult than I initially assumed. Several of them list symptoms that I’m not sure how to test, like determining if there’s ‘degradation to the stomach lining’ or ‘mild damage to the kidneys.’ A lot of different poisons also have similar symptoms, so differentiating them isn’t easy. And finally, several poisons are touted for only really being identifiable postmortem. I don’t have the luxury of waiting for that point. I need to identify the poison before it kills him.

The only bright spot is that, when I look through the book I wrote, there’s a section categorizing poisons based on their delivery methods. I can eliminate a decent swathe of poisons that need to be ingested to take effect, as well as several others that have weirdly specific ways of being administered (the weirdest being ‘direct spinal injection’). Several others I can eliminate based on their kill window. A lot of the more potent ones are powerful enough that we would have been dragging his corpse back to camp if he’d been hit with them. There are also several that don’t show symptoms until hours to days after the injection, which also eliminates them.

Even after taking down several swathes of possible poisons from the list, there are still over a hundred that it could possibly be. I comb through the list, going over each one in as fine detail as I can manage. Sometimes, there’s a major symptom missing that lets me strike it, like a certain poison always causing a severe rash all over the body within an hour of its introduction. But more often than not, the poison ends up getting shuffled over to my ‘possibility’ list, which gets more depressing to look at the longer it grows.

Even after looking into the details of each poison, the list of possibilities is still over fifty different poisons long. And my head is killing me. It pounds like someone is striking my temple with a hammer in rhythm, my eyes watering. My stomach turns and I drop my head into my hands, blocking out the flickering light of the room. It helps a little.

“You’re pushing the barriers of the magic,” the thaumatist says. His voice is a little distant, like I’m hearing it from the other end of a tunnel. “I would recommend taking a rest.”

I growl from beneath my hands. “I can’t take a break. Rastek is dying. I just need a few seconds.” My head throbs harder and I feel the blood drain from my face as my mouth goes dry. My stomach clenches and I manage to get my mouth over a cup before I spit up a mouthful of bile.

“I did warn that pushing the magic would have some physical effects,” the thuamatist says. I don’t notice him getting closer, but there’s suddenly a hand on my back. My headache recedes and my vision focuses. “I would advise taking a break. I can stabilize you, but the magic is not going to hold forever.”

“It doesn’t need to hold forever,” I say. “It just needs to hold until I figure this out.” The overall pain of my head has gone down, but every now and then, there will be a massive spike of pain that makes my vision go gray and fuzzy. I want to lie down. I want to bury myself in my pillows and hide until this pain goes away. But I can’t. Rastek is suffering so much worse than I am right now, and he’ll die if I don’t do anything.

Despite the throbbing in my head and my dizziness, I fumble for my book and force it open. It takes a few moments for my eyes to properly focus, and even longer for my brain to make the letters on the page into words. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I stop, he dies.

If I can’t figure out what kind of poison it is specifically, maybe I can combine some antidotes to cover my bases. I flip through the books, trying to locate some sort of comprehensive list of antidotes. There’s nothing comprehensive, and the list of poisons with the bright red marker of ‘no antidote known’ makes my stomach twist even worse. My vision blurs as I flip through the pages until the swirling words all blend together. I blink hurriedly, but my vision refuses to clear.

“You’ve been in here for a long time.” That’s Rastek’s voice. My head snaps up, surprise and relief burning in my chest. His name tries to rise to my lips, but it sputters before it gets there. Instead, a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, like my body is moving on its own.

I speak then, my mouth moving on its own accord. “It’s only been a few hours.” As I speak, I register the room and feel rather surprised. I’m not in my tent anymore. I’m in a small stone room.

Even the surprise I feel is weird- there’s no physical reaction from my body. I can feel my heart thumping steady as ever in my chest and there’s no startled swoop of my stomach. My body moves on its own, like I’m locked into a full-body mechanical suit that’s being remotely controlled.

Oh, of course I can’t control anything. I’m not actually here. This is a memory.

“I’ve been trying to concoct a proper antidote to this poison. The issue is that when the body tries to purge it, it causes massive damage to the liver and kidneys, so trying to speed up how quickly the body gets rid of it is actually more dangerous. If I can find out some way to protect the liver as the poison is expelled- or maybe some way to neutralize it altogether-”

“Darling,” Rastek says. His voice is honeyed with affection as he steps closer. “You’ve been in here all day.”

“I haven’t figured anything out yet,” I admit. “There are some medicines that might be able to help the liver and kidneys, but nothing that’s strong enough to protect it entirely.”

“Speaking of medicine,” Rastek says in a prodding tone, “you need to take yours.”

“I took it,” I say. “It’s fine.” I step back from the book and stretch. My legs throb and both my knees and my spine crack. Rastek winces at the sound. “I’m not hurt, my joints are just a little stiff,” I mollify him.

“It’s not good for you to stand here all day,” he says. He steps closer and presses a kiss to my head. He smells like armor polish. “And perhaps I’m rather missing my wife.”

I massage my head. There’s a tension gathering around the base of my neck and back of my head that’s prepared to graduate into full-blown pain. “This is important.”

I’m not saying it’s not,” Rastek says. His voice is almost pouty, a tone I’ve never heard from him before. It’s adorable. “What I am saying is that, when I asked you to take this job, I didn’t expect you to commit every waking moment to it. You are allowed to have a life outside of it.”

“I do,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Nor did I expect you to sacrifice your health for it,” Rastek continues, his voice growing more pointedly concerned. “When was the last time you ate? Or rested?”

“This morning,” I say. “I’m hardly starving. And this antidote could save lives. I think it’s worth a little bit of discomfort.”

“You’re not obligated to cure every poison in the world,” Rastek says. “That’s not even what I hired you to do.” One of his hands rests on my back, running up and down along my spine. “What’s bothering you? You’re not this driven unless something’s eating at your mind.”

“Mrgh,” I mumble and don’t elaborate. Rastek gives me a few more moments, waiting patiently. Then he grasps my waist and hefts my up, prompting me to give an undignified squawk. “Rastek!”

“You were ignoring me,” Rastek says. “I was out of alternate options.” He shifts me like he’s preparing to throw me over his shoulder. “Now, I suggest you tell me what’s bothering you before I decide that you’re too tired to keep working and haul you upstairs-”

“Put me down! I’m fine! You can’t just drag me around whenever you want!”

Rastek’s voice is deeply amused as he answers. “As a matter of fact, I can. You’re quite light.” He sways me lightly, like I’m a particularly grouchy little cat that he’s captured. “Darling. Tell me what’s bothering you. Or I am going to bring you upstairs and sit in our room with you until you fall asleep. Which, given your state, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, really.”

“Put me down first,” I say. Rastek considers the proposal, then lowers me to the ground. I groan. “I’ve been trying to cure this poison. I want to have antidotes on hand for a lot of the poisons I use. But this one’s proving tricky to figure out.”

“Hm,” Rastek says. He leans over to look at my notes. “No success so far, though?”

“Not that I can tell. I’ve gone over a few results, but it’s hard to make the antidote less dangerous than the poison. If I can find a way to make the liver more efficient while also stopping the damage it accumulates, I can do it, but I’ve gone over like five different ways of doing it and none of them seem to be right. This one is the closest,” I continue, stabbing a finger at the third example, “but that one causes a buildup of a different waste product that can cause death anyway, so I don’t think it’s working.”

“Darling,” Rastek says gently. “Perhaps it can’t be cured and you’re stressing yourself out over nothing.”

“All poisons can be cured.” I massage a hand over my head. “It’s just a matter of finding out what’s going to do it.” I squint at the page. My vision is blurring a little. “Maybe… Maybe if I find out a way to block the poison from receptors entirely? That might work? Unless that starts blocking too much and then the receptors can’t get what they need, which means-”

“You’re exhausted,” Rastek says, gently cutting me off. “Don’t try to hide it. I can see it. You’ve been at this for hours and you need to rest. Not curing this specific poison is not going to be the end of the world.”

I grimace, but flip the book closed. “Yes, I know. Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good,” Rastek says. “Come on. There are some flowers blooming in the garden that I think you would love.”

My vision blurs over and doesn’t clear. It takes me a few moments to realize that the memory has faded, and even longer to realize that my vision is still blurred because tears have flooded my eyes.

It takes me even longer to realize that there’s a hand on my back. Someone is speaking quietly, their voice gentle but insistent. “If you can hear me, please attempt to put your hand in mine.” There’s a hand in front of me, hovering steadily. It takes me two shots, but I manage to get my hand in there.

“Good.” There’s a feeling like static electricity. My eyes water even more, forcing a few tears out. “Talk to me, when you’re able.”

“Uh.” My mouth feels weirdly numb, but the more I move it, the more I’m able to form words. “I think I just had another memory.”

“Indeed.” It finally registers in my mind that I’m talking to the thaumatist. He gives my hand a slight squeeze before dropping it. “The magic is getting weaker, I believe. Your soul is starting to settle more firmly in your body.” The thaumatist gives me a look I can’t quite read. “Tell me. Your other life. You mentioned having a sister at one point, yes? Rastek mentioned it to me.”

“Yes,” I say, not sure where he’s going with this.

“What is her name?” The thaumatist’s voice is light, but something about both the tone and the question makes my stomach do an unsettled flip.

“It’s-” I stop. My sister’s name. I should know this, obviously. It’s my sister. I’ve known her since she was born. So why can’t I remember it at all?

My mind scrambles, clawing through names, but the uncertainty only makes it worse. My heart pounds in my chest. “It’s… it’s…” A couple of names float to me, but I can’t tell if they’re right or not. My stomach rolls. “I think it’s… Eryn?”

“It may be,” the thaumatist says. “But as far as I can recall, that is the name of your sister here.”

My mouth feels dry. I lick my lips and try again. “It’s… Corrinne.”

“Again. The name of one of your sisters here.” The thaumatist’s voice shifts ever so slightly, taking on just a bit of pity. “As you recall more of your time here, your other memories are fading. And the more you take on this task of trying to heal Rastek, the more likely it is that you will regain memories.”

“So I’m going to forget everything in my old life?” I ask.

“Not everything. There will probably still be little bits and pieces that you can put together. But a large amount of it will fade. Names of people, places, details.” The thaumatist gives me an assessing look. “The two sets of memories can’t exist at the same time. One will always overwrite the other.”

“The more I try to save Rastek, the more I’ll forget about my old life,” I say. “My choices are either forget everything in my old life or let Rastek die.”

“That assumes your old memories are going to be enough to formulate a cure. They may not be,” the thaumatist says.

I grit my teeth. He’s right. Even sifting through my memories, there’s nothing that conclusively points to an antidote. There might not be anything at all.

But if I give up, what am I giving up for? Some hazy memories of a life that I don’t even have anymore? I need to try. I need to do whatever I can to save him. No matter how slim the possibility is. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

“In the memory, I was trying to find an antidote,” I say, “but I wasn’t finding anything.” I close my eyes, scrunching my face up with the effort to remember. “We were talking about trying to keep a patient alive even though their liver was failing, because the poison would make their liver worse the more they tried to clear it from the body.” My head throbs. I ignore it. “I think… that’s kind of like what Rastek has now. Maybe that’s where the memory came from.”

“What antidote did you find?” the thaumatist asks.

“That’s the issue. I didn’t find anything,” I say. “No matter what I tried, the poison was still killing the patient. If you let it stay in the body, then it gradually damages everything until the patient gets so sick they die. If you try to get it to filter out faster, it damages the liver and kidneys until the patient gets so sick they die anyway.”

“I’m afraid all this stuff is a bit over my head,” the thaumatist says.

“You don’t need to say anything, I’m just talking out loud to try and figure this out,” I say. “There’s got to be a way we can balance this. There’s always a solution. There has to be.” My head throbs even worse and my vision starts to blur.

“The magic is surging again,” the thaumatist warns. “Your soul is-”

“Fuck that.” I grit my teeth. My vision blurs alarmingly, but it doesn’t fade away. “Not right now. I have other shit to do.”

Slowly, my vision slides back into focus. My head throbs, but I squint through it. The thaumatist stares at me. I can’t read his expression, but I think he’s surprised. Or maybe a little horrified. “That… was not something I was aware could happen. Fascinating.”

“You can study it later! We just need to make sure they his liver and kidneys don’t give up while we’re getting rid of the poison. If only we had dialysis, that would make this all so much easier!”

“I am afraid I’m failing to understand what you’re talking about,” the thaumatist says.

“That’s fine, just let me think. I don’t think we can do a dialysis equivalent, so we’ll have to do something that prevents the poison from hurting his body. Or at least something that stops his liver and kidneys from collapsing completely. Gotta help them limp to the finish line and fix them later.” My head’s still pounding, though it feels strange now. More like I can feel my blood pulsing through my temples than any pain. There’s a tingling behind my eyes and in my fingers. Something is prodding at the edge of my memory, not concrete, but almost there. It gives me a rush of confidence. I know how to do this.

“The medicine that I use is designed to strengthen my muscles to make them stand up against the degradation that’s constantly wearing them down. If I can remake another medicine that does something similar for his liver and kidneys, maybe that can work…” My voice trails off into mumbles. The thaumatist watches me, but thankfully doesn’t say anything else. Every now and then, when my vision starts top blur severely and my head swims, he lifts his hand and there’s a tingle of magic in the air. Whatever he’s doing seems to be keeping the worst of the magic at bay- every time he waves his hand, my vision refocuses and I get a little rush of energy.

I move through my supplies with a practiced ease. It’s weird- the less I think about it, the easier it is to do. My body moves almost without conscious input from my mind. I pull herbs off the shelves, letting instinct guide my actions. My brain buzzes with energy. I’m going to save him. I can do it.

The entire process takes hours. My legs ache and tremble, my head pounds with a continuous pain, and my brain feels like someone’s run it through a wringer. I feel awful. But I have something that I think will work.

There’s a pretty big part of me that realizes this isn’t a good idea- I’m testing this on my husband, who’s injured and weak, and it’s an antidote I’ve made mostly on instinct. But I don’t have much other choice. And, despite the anxiety of my head, my gut is calm. There’s some innate part of me, deeper than any other part, that knows I’m right. This will work. I would bet my life on it.

I would bet Rastek’s life on it. That’s more important.

“We need to take this to him,” I say.

“I can take it,” the guard, who’s been half asleep the entire time, says. “My lady, you should get some rest.” He honestly looks pleased just to be of some use, but I shake my head.

“I have to give it to him.” I have to be with him when he takes it. I have to see if it works. And, really, I have to be there if it fails. I can’t just give it to him and hide away if he dies. “You can come with me. But I need to be there.”

The guard looks unsettled, but he nods. The thaumatist gives a slight bow to me. “Go to your husband. I will join you later, to ensure the magic in you is still stable. But you will be all right for now.” He waves a hand at me. “Go.”

I gather my antidote and run.

The running doesn’t last very long. I end up walking back to the medical tent, and not very quickly at that. The guard follows my footsteps silently, eyes glued to me.

The tent is quieter when we arrive. Rastek has been moved, shuffled to a more secluded area and surrounded by a curtain. One of the doctors looks over at me when I enter.

“He’s resting. One of the servants stopped by to bring him some dinner,” she says. “They’re trying to get him to eat, though I’m uncertain how receptive he is.”

I lift the bottle in my hand. “I’ll dismiss them. He needs to drink this and rest. I’ll keep an eye on him.” The doctor nods and turns back to another patient on a bed. The guard following me stops at a gesture from me, allowing me to step behind the curtain without him following me.

Rastek’s area is bigger than before, allowing space for a bed and a few other people to stand around him. He’s breathing, though shallowly. Bending over him is another person, their back to me. My brain stutters for a moment before I realize that the person is familiar to me.

“Ethan?” He snaps his head up toward me, eyes wide. And that’s when I see that he’s holding a flask of something dark and viscous.

Ch. 8 here

[perlukafarinn]

This has been done a million times before and no one asked but I decided to rank the songs from Nerdy Prudes Must Die.

Let's go Nighthawks!

15. Cool As I Think I Am

I actually do love this song but when I listen to the full album, it’s one of only two songs I sometimes skip. The sound of it is very sweet, just like Pete, and it’s a great song to establish his character and his conflict in stepping outside his set social role (also props for originating the “I’m not a loser” refrain that repeats several times throughout the show to great effect). It’s just maybe not as exciting as the rest of the songs on the list.

14. Bully the Bully

Very catchy and fun, and the “cool beans” verse holds a special place in my heart (as do Grace’s little spins). Half the fun of it are the (very cute) dance moves which makes this song a little less effective when just listening to it. I love the guitar riffs and hearing all the nerds teaming up and happy for the only scene in the entire show.

13. Bury the Bully

I don’t usually prefer the shorter reprise but this song is too unhinged for me not to love it. Some highlights: Grace’s immediate acceptance of the situation and detailed knowledge in disposing of a body (and the casual “how else he gonna fit?” like she’s not suggesting something absolutely psychotic), “oh god, she’s snapping again”, Ruth coming around faster than the rest of the nerds because she’s apparently only slightly less unhinged than Grace, the discordant slamming on the piano keys after every “hack all his limbs off”.

12. Dirty Dudes Must Die

Would be much higher if only it were longer. This was the heel-face turn I was waiting for and Angela absolutely kills it, the deranged energy is off the charts. Grace singing “who will pray for you” and pointing at the audience gives me chills as does that final “run”. It feels like another story is just beginning.

11. Go Go Nighthawks!

I love all the sounds in this song - the beats that sound like lockers closing, the school band drums and trumpets, the jocks grunting and the “caw caws” from the cheerleaders. They add so much and convey such a strong sense of the setting, a must for a show that doesn’t really have any sets lmao. Also, fuck Clivesdale!

10. The Best of You

This song is just super cute and it makes me happy to listen to - Lautski own my entire heart, I can’t help it. Many have pointed out the Disney channel sound of it but it also reminds me a lot like those mid 2000s pop punk British boybands (think McFly and Busted) and I think that was deliberate with the British accent Joey and Mariah put on a couple of the lines. Anyway, I love how overwhelmingly bright and happy this song sounds, because it almost rounds back to sinister as you just know this can’t be the end of the show - we don’t get endings this happy in Hatchetfield!

9. Just For Once

This is the other song I sometimes skip but only because it’s five minutes long and such a character piece that I’m not always in the mood for it. Lauren blows me away with her ability to perform in character. That switch from Ruth’s amateur acting in the verses to the more sincere chorus is so beautiful. And that ending, oof. “I used to dance”, gets me every time.

8. Hatchet Town

I love a good mob song and this is an all time favorite for me. The Hatchetverse has been successful in establishing a multitude of interesting side characters that make the world feel lived in and that really pays off here; the song works if you don’t know most of the characters but it’s so much better if you do. 

This is the first scene in the show that expands the story outside the school and the characters there, and it makes the danger feel all the more pressing, especially with how frantic and sinister it sounds. It’s also endlessly quotable; in a way, aren’t we all Dan Reynolds (with Action News, weekdays at 10 PM)?

7. Dirty Girl

Seems like I’m a much bigger fan of this song than many but I could never resist a musical theater song about sex. I love how weird and gross this song is while also containing some masterful lyrics. I love this bizarre look at sex through Grace’s warped, sheltered worldview. Most of all, I love that this is the first time we hear the line “will you pray for me” in the show and every time it appears after it’s in a wildly different context.

6. Cool As I Think I Am (Reprise) 

This song makes me cry and I’m not afraid to admit it. It's the way Pete starts the song being so brave and so gentle as he convinces Steph to make an impossible choice, how they come together in the middle of it, finally completely honest with each other about their feelings, and how at the end the song slows as they’re both overwhelmed by the tragedy of the situation. “I’d have to let you go” let me go curl up and cry for a week, maybe.

5. High School Is Killing Me

A killer intro (heh). This is how you set the mood for a show! The slow start with Richie and Ruth is perfect and then the beat kicks in and I ascend to a higher level. A really strong aspect of the songs in this show are the harmonies and we get some incredible ones here - they sound so good together. This may also be the catchiest song on the soundtrack.

4. The Summoning

Oh my god this song!! First the intro with the chant, the trio’s bright voices underscored by the creepy whispers in the background, and then the descent into immediate chaos as soon as the Lords enter. I guess this is more of a “theatrical” song in that it’s not really something you listen to out of context of the musical but it works so incredibly well in context. Hearing all five of the lords together and taunting our protagonists is so insanely good. And I love how this song works musically, too, with the guitars and drums in the louder parts almost battling it out with the piano in the slower parts. Jeff Blim really popped off with this one.

3. Literal Monster

God, the foreboding atmosphere in this song is unmatched. The incredible build-up to our antagonist, managing to make a believable threat out of a cliched high school bully. Kim Whalen belting “He roars, and we cry” lives rent free in my mind. And then Will Branner shows up and lives up to every single expectation instantly. 

2. Nerdy Prudes Must Die

Extremely basic opinion to think this song is great (the real unpopular take might be that it’s only number two) but what do you want me to say? That the similarities to the Halloween theme don’t make me wanna clap my hands with glee? That the music and lyrics don’t both absolutely slap? (“Will you pray for me” I will give you my entire life actually) That Jon Matteson belting “I’m not a loser” might not be the single greatest moment in the entire show? This is why they invented musical theater. I will take no further questions.

1. If I Loved You

Look I am Lautski trash, I will fully admit that, but this song is also just a bop. It’s the most fun song in the show to sing along to, by a mile. It is young, stubborn love boiled down to its most entertaining bits. It is two people almost coming together but missing each other by a hair and that hair is having too much pride to be the first to admit you’ve got a crush. This song has drama, it has fun, it has two characters vehemently denying their feelings for each other while insisting the other only deserves the best. “Don’t need a lover boy, need a lover man” marry me, Mariah Rose. How about that? Also, Joey Richter’s improvement as a singer has been severely underappreciated and this song shows his voice off perfectly. 

I am ranting but that’s because I cannot coherently express how much I love this song. In a soundtrack filled with nothing but hits, this one hits me right in the heart. 

[cljordan-imperium]

Pixies - PT1 (JAN 2016)

Due to a newly discovered allergy to MRI spinal contrast, I am sidelined for a second day and unable to do final revisions on the chapter that was supposed to be next. Instead, I'll take you back in time 6 years...to when Brie was an RP Character and I wrote a multi part storyline because my writing partners were all busy and I was bored. Enjoy!!

I pressed “END” and stared at the phone in my hand.  I’d just gotten off the phone with Eric and made sure he was at the club and would be there till it closed.  We were getting ready to head out to battle a small army of demonic pixies, something that had apparently not been seen on Earth since around the time my brother was born.  To give you a clue on about how long ago that was. Justinian I was a childhood friend of my brother.  Yes, THAT Justinian I that was emperor of Rome.  The last demonic pixie infestation is said to be one of the reasons for the Nika Riots that took place in Constantinople in 529 AD.  In case you have never heard of these riots, because I certainly hadn’t before this whole thing started, let me give you a short lesson.  Two things to remember about these riots that lasted over a week is that they destroyed over half of the city and there were over thirty thousand people killed. 

If you were to sit down and Google Nika Riots like I did you would be confused on how a dispute over the pardoning of two members of rival chariot racing teams could lead to such chaos and devastation. According to history, sporting teams and in particular chariot racing teams were like the mob, street gangs and a political action committee all rolled into one.  There were two main ones, the Blues and the Greens.  The Blues were the favorite of Justinian by the way.  For a reason that is never quite explained easily, supposedly the Blues and the Greens fans and members got into a riot after one particularly ugly chariot race and it resulted in over 500 team members and fans being arrested for murder.  They were all convicted and sentenced to be hung.  All but two of them were, those two escaped and it just so happened it was one from each team.  To try and keep the peace among his people, Justinian commuted their sentences to imprisonment but the fans and team members demanded total absolution. This lead to yet another chariot race to determine their fate. Somewhere in the middle of the race, both teams and fans unified to not cheer against each other but to start ranting and challenging Justian. While this doesn’t make sense much to begin with, what came next makes no more and possibly even less. 

By the time you’re done reading about the strange politics and maneuvers that my brother’s friend supposedly did to end the riot that killed so many and destroyed so much, you’ll be sitting there thinking that they must have been half mad in those times.  While my brother’s behavior at times does tend to make me wonder about that, the truth is that to cover such a strange happening as the uprising of thousands of demonic pixies, you have to come up with a very strange tale to explain the devastation that ensued.  So, you end up with what history has recorded.  Now, so you can understand my concern for Eric and why we now had over 700 Nephilim on the grounds of the clave and even more portalling in almost every minute, I’ll tell you what really happened.

The Nephilim have been in existence since the first sin was committed and demonic forces first held sway over man.  There are stories they came later, but in reality our race is as old as mankind itself.  By the time of the Nika Riots, there were claves of Nephilim in all major ancient cities.  In those times we didn’t have to hide our true nature,  people of those times were more accepting that there were beings and beasts that were not of humanity and had not relegated them yet to the bedtime stories meant to scare and thrill.  Constantinople had one of the largest claves in the area, and it also had a horrid demon problem that didn’t seem to be diminishing over the years.  As the clave grew, so did the demonic presence.  Some would say that this was to keep the balance of power between good and evil, others have various theories, but everyone agrees that’s just how it was.  

Normally the demonic forces took their normal forms, that is until 529 when the first reported sightings of demonic pixies was recorded in Constantinople.  Now, we’re not talking about just a few demonic pixies, we’re talking about thousands of them suddenly appeared in the city, and for some reason the chariot races seemed to annoy them.  So at each race, a horde of demonic pixies would rise up and attack the spectators, often killing dozens through the use of their magic.  Being as pixies are, at their tallest, three inches in height, they were hard to kill with the weapons that were in existence at the time because they weren’t accurate enough.  The populace demanded that Justinian do something about this since his association with the Nephilim, mainly my brother, was well known.  The problem at hand were the weapons the Nephilim used were no different then in most respects than they are today.  Rarely does our race encounter such small demonic forces.

Race after race, people were being attacked and killed till that fateful day when the riots began.  More pixies than normal swarmed into the stadium as the races commenced and began the slaughter of the mortals that were there.  Outraged that Justinian had done nothing to thwart the problem, those in attendance began to riot the palace that was next door to the colosseum since it seemed to be immune from the pixie attacks and they blamed Justinian for not having this problem resolved already.  Justinian sent word to the clave of what had happened and requested immediate assistance.  Even in ancient times, Nephilim could portal, so the clave sent out messengers to all the major claves and soon an army of Nephilim were at the palace.

Because the rioting was even more disruptive than the chariot races, the pixies never relented on their attacks on the mortals.  This was what accounted for the high death rate.  Mortals, not able to combat the pixies began trying to catch them on fire.  Pixie wings will burn, but they do so slowly which only caused fire to spread throughout the city, causing the devastation that history has recorded.  Even with the massive army of Nephilim on hand, eradicating the pixies was a slow and tedious process since they could only be killed by iron.  For each pixie, it would need to be struck by iron to knock it to the ground, where it would then be impaled by iron and killed.  When you are battling thousands of pixies, killing them one at a time is not a very productive, nor speedy, process.  So again a call went out among the Nephilim for the mages to be brought together to find a remedy that would allow the Nephilim army to take down the pixies in large groups.

The mages worked tirelessly around the clock as the rioting and pixie attacks continued throughout the city.  Using a few pixies that the Nephilim forces had captured as test subject, the mages tried all different matter of spells, potions, poultices, and powders.  None seemed to have much affect, even those that contained substantial amounts of iron.  Justinian and the Nephilim Council of the time were beginning to believe that the city would fall to complete ruin and that the pixie problem would spread throughout the Roman Empire if it were not contained quickly.  More mages were brought in and more test subjects captured.  Any and every possible idea was to be tested until one could be found that would work.

 

It was during one trial when a mage realized why none of the powders were working, they fell right off of the pixies.  A way needed to be found to make the powder stick to the pixie and then it would work.  Since the pixies were also demonic, the mage came up with perfect plan.  The powder to be used was to be a combination of blessed salt and finely shaved iron, a rather coarse grit instead of fine grit powder.  While the elements of the powder were mixed together, the mage would recite blessings and incantations that gave the powder the power of the Divine.  An Elemental Nephilim would be required for this to work properly, as there had to be something for the powder to stick to on the pixie.  The day before the recorded end to the riots, the first trial was held in a courtyard of the palace.  The Elemental Nephilim caused a fine mist to form in the air around the pixies.  Other Nephilim then used bellows to blow the powder mixture onto the pixies.  As the mage had predicted the pixies fell like stones to the ground and seemed unable to get up from the weight of the powder now stuck to them, they also are reported to have been slightly smoking.  Large iron shields were then used to smash the pixies to death.  

Word was sent out quickly through the city to gather whatever large iron objects could be brought to the colosseum to smash all pixies that could be found, since they most often congregated there because that is where the rioters who were still trying to breach the palace were creating the greatest disturbance.  On that day, it was not one team’s supporters who were rushed out of the colosseum, it was all mortals that were rushed out as the army of Nephilim rushed in.  The Elemental Nephilim took positions high around the colosseum and created an atmospheric disturbance that formed a light mist in the air that coated Nephilim and pixie alike.  As soon as all were coated, the mist was dissepated and the Nephilim on the colosseum floor drew out dry bellows containing the blessed and enchanted powder that they filled the air of the colleseum with until all of the  pixies lay writhing on it’s foor.  Nephilim and mortal alike began using the gathered iron objects to smash all the pixies to death.  In the records it is said that the dead pixies covered the floor of the colosseum in a two inch thick layer, which is about four pixie bodies thick.  To take care of the pixies that were still elsewhere in the city, pairs of Nephilim, one of whom was an Elemental, were sent out throughout the city.  Within 24 hours, all of the pixies were dead.  

As time moved forward and the belief in the supernatural diminished, no longer could the story be told of the pixie invasion of Constantinople.  Those who passed on the history had to come up with mortal reasons for the devastation and massive loss of life that happened during that week.  How they decided in the end to make it over chariot races, I still haven’t quite determined.  Personally, even to the logical mortal mind a pixie invasion would make more sense than that!  But, that is what history has stuck with and no man the world over believes.  Unfortunately, the pixie problem has resurfaced again in my city.  It is threatening those I love and the innocents that I protect.  Now it is my clave who has called on Nephilim the world over to come to our aid to wipe out an infestation that is as large as the one that Justinian faced.  I am hoping the only known living Nephilim who attended that erradication of the first infestation, my brother, will make it back to the clave before we must leave to face this deadly and tiny foe.  Otherwise, this is my battle to lead and honestly I’m a little nervous about that.

THE IMPERIUM CHRONICLES TAG LIST - @ceph-the-ghost-writer @kjscottwrites @writingpotato07 @saltysupercomputer @careful-pyromancer @late-to-the-fandom @autumnalwalker @perasperaadastrawriting @fearofahumanplanet @jessica-writes22 @dogmomwrites @mjjune @verba-writing @blind-the-winds @shipping-through-eternity

Anyone wanting added/removed, just let me know.

[todayimgonnaplay]

Today, I'm gonna play: DmC: Devil May Cry (the reboot)

I remember the time when this was announced, everybody including myself hated the reboot's look and feel of it. To this day it's still hushed, shoved deep into the abyss so that everyone can forget it ever happened. I did play the demo about a year or two after it released and remember somewhat enjoying it, but not interested in getting the game at all. This time, I decided to take a leap of faith and see how it's aged.

My ''first'' DMC was DMC 4, which I watched my cousin play. I remember thinking how cool Nero's demon arm was and his overall design; Dante was very much unknown to me at the time. Years later I found a PS2 copy of the first game . Not realizing the series wasn't as easy as expected, I gave up after the first few missions. I did try 2 later, and then eventually 4 special edition to play for myself. 4 has been my favourite so far for having more accessible gameplay, and also i'm biased towards Nero lol. It's also the first DMC I have completed

Coming into the game I had extremely low expectations and imagined it'd be an absolutely absurd game filled with vulgarity and excess violence for the sake of it, but having just finished the game, I feel like this title is...overhated? Maybe it actually is super vulgar and excessive (especially when comparing with the original series) and that my expectations just so happened to help me see the game in a better light. I remember the trailers having Donte (I will refer to his meme name for the sake of comparison to the original Dante) act obnoxious as hell, but in the game he's...calm???? and caring??? Really surprising aspects that made me like the game.

In terms of story, I personally don't think of Devil May Cry in general for storytelling. They seem to exist for the sake of thematics for levels and gameplay, and that's what I see here too. You have a hero that's presented as initially flawed (with the whole drinking and sex in the intro), gets a motive to be the chosen one to go on a quest to fight evil, has a guide and learns a few things along the way (demon and human relations with the world), and beats evil. An almost classic hero's journey type. Some of its most emotional moments were a bit lacking, and he does flip people off or come up with edgy comebacks, but I could see Donte as a regular guy at least. Is he better than the original Dante? No. But he is good as his own character. I also liked the first half of the game regarding Vergil compared to the depictions I've seen of him in random cutscenes I watched online. It was a nice change of pace, even if predictable. Kat, a new character was also decent in her role. But none of the characters remotely created much interest, except for Donte because I was focused on whether he'd be too much or not. In terms of villains, one particular boss who is a news anchor striked me as interesting for trying to put Donte in a bad light, and his role is quite unique too, unlike what I've seen in other games.

The gameplay is one of the most fun aspects in this title. You have the classic switching weapons that Dante has, but I found it slightly more and yet less accessible than Dante in the main games. There are designated button inputs for Angel and Demon weapons, and you need to press the attack buttons along with it in order to use it. Switching is done with the D-pad, which felt awkward at times. But regardless, fast and flashy combat in this title has been the best I've experienced in this series by far. I had a huge issue with platforming in 4, often feeling very clunky but DmC does a much better job at it, with two grappling weapons that allow you to swing, or pull obstacles as platforms. But it's not perfect, as there was one mission that was quite clunky and had me falling multiple times. Another issue I noticed is the how the game hints at special items scattered in the level by using a beeping noise, akin to Mirror's Edge. The latter does a good job at it by using 3D audio and varying volumes, but it felt difficult with this game where the volume felt loud enough to think I was near something, but it was never near enough. Nor could I tell from which direction it was coming from. In fact, I could only recognize this beep's purpose because of my experience with Mirror's Edge, as the game does not tell you what it signifies. Adding a text box would have helped, which the game already does a good job in conveying tutorial information with the use of triggers in the levels.

Another great aspect of the game is its art direction. Limbo feels so alive and dynamic, with bold text popping off and adding to the atmosphere, it screams ''cool''. There's also a nice variety of colours rather than having them be muddy and grey for settings like this, which I've seen in other games. I couldn't get into gothic settings before, but now I'm very intrigued! In addition to that, the level design is quite straightforward and structured in a way that I felt less confused compared to DMC 4 having multiple paths and constantly getting lost. Soundtrack it's very fun, I think DMC as a whole does not miss on that. It's got the usual rock and metal vibe that always hypes up battle. I will be checking the OST too. Sound effects are also doing a great job, with the battle end result being my favourite. It has this little scream that plays as if Donte is in a fit of rage. In addition to that effect the screen also has these close ups of him as he gets ready for the next round, reminding me of what Hi-Fi Rush has done (even if that's a newer game). Little bits like that create nice transitions as the player continues on. Apart from playing, I do wish this game had a different title. I get it's a reboot, but it does make it hard to distinguish sometimes.

I'm sure this is a very unpopular opinion so take it with a grain of salt, as with everything I write here anyway. Having finished the game, a part of me wishes that there's a sequel, or that Donte at least retconned and made into his own character as something other than being a reboot Dante. That could probably relieve him a bit of his reputation. I think in order to enjoy this game to its fullest, is to not think of him as Dante at all, or even DMC if we go that far, but rather it's own thing or an alternative universe. And to also keep your expectations low!

Terms exclusive to the game: Limbo - An alternate yet alive world of the game's setting where demon enemies run amok

[lavendertowerarchives]

Am I plural? Am I poly? How many is enough, how many is too many? How may I ignore my biases and social constraints so that I may gain any amount of insight into either?

Hell if I know, man. To begin, I want to clarify, I am highly doubtful that I am plural. I am highly confident that I am polyamorous. I've just been kicking both ideas around in my head for a nonzero amount of days and they've been getting on my fucking nerves with how repetitive the thought strains are.

As for plurality, it's one of the more persistent nagging doubts in the realm of "do I have this certain mental wackness." Seeing as I own a computer with internet access, it makes sense that I would come into contact with the concept of DID and multiple personalities in general, sometimes reading stories of those who have been diagnosed with/found out about/suspect they have something of the sort.

In my first engagement with the idea (because I almost always run through the checklist of "do I have this" for every condition I see), my response was no. Of course not. I think I'd know if I had two+ personalities. Later, in my second consideration, I noticed that yeah, my memory loss problem is really... a problem. More than a character trait. Now, many conditions involve memory loss (especially ADHD, which is a major pain in my ass every day), but upon closer inspection, more of the (admittedly common) symptoms lined up.

Given my intimate relationship with depression, anxiety, (frequent risk of) substance abuse, memory loss, and su1c1d@l tendencies, I'm sure there's something amiss. This is just the main package for anyone neurodivergent these days. This served as validation for my theoretical exploration of self-diagnosis (I want to reiterate, I really don't think I have it, but detailing my search and process will help me stop fucking thinking about it).

I've known for a while how I change when I'm around people vs alone. I won't describe every single emotional switch, but I will note how I'm generically happier, more optimistic, less foggy in the brain, more inclined to create, mostly not rejection sensitive, and less stressed by conventionally unstressful things when not alone. As for the other half... It's just that shit in reverse. I sit. I do nothing. I barely eat. I don't talk. I hate myself and work out ways to reliably end myself. That shit sucks, man.

The black and white nature of the switch made me reluctant in previous years to analyze exactly what made the change. In my mind, it was clear: I'm just not depressed when I have people with me (bar some exceptions). Now that I'm coming at it from another angle, I can see the polarizations which occur outside the "good/bad" binary.

I routinely get mad at myself. This, alone, isn't much cause for concern. However, knowing me, it is insanely difficult for me to get mad at another... thing. It takes a lot of "clearly" "unfair" punishment done explicitly to me to make me hate something, and it has to be done in such a way as to not become perverse sadism instead (to be dissected later). Anger is just not something I understand as an emotion, partially because it's just never... out. I hate myself a lot, yes, but it comes out more as disappointment in my inability to do normal tasks.

I can't feed myself today? Oh well. I'll just starve.

I forgot JH's birthday? Damn, my memory is awful.

I missed the third clutch button press in Celeste for the thirtieth time in a row? Well, resets take four seconds. I'm making progress.

When the switch is hit, and the personality shifts, the above reactions are replaced with "you fucken asshole. You dipshit. Fuck you, Lavender, you can't do shit without breaking down." This is a complete switch. I seem to be the only thing I can get truly mad at. Everything else is just learning. Again, this is only when that specific trigger is hit, when I'm alone for too long, and I have no contact with people.

Lastly, I just can't see myself as part of myself. I know that sounds silly, but I don't have the correct terminology to describe a permanent feeling of disassociation without actually disassociating. My limbs don't feel like my own. There is a continuous static between "Lavender, move your arms" and the arms moving. My muscle memory is my single greatest and most reliable trait I have, and it's my fascination with encoding movements to a single reflex that has kept me in decent shape for so long. Yeah, I know my mind is connected to the flesh I see in front of me and vice versa. It just never feels like it.

The only time I can distract myself from this piloting sensation is when that switch isn't hit. It's part of the reason I'm so good (read: decent) at video games. I can play any given character in SSBU for ten minutes and memorize their whole kit. I never transition "into" the character because I never transitioned out of myself. So what if another bitch hitched a ride in my head? I wouldn't know, I say I would know how to switch if I really did have two people living in my head, but I never really tried now, did I? When playing games, the transition is physical, discrete, and automatic. I just pick up the controller or put my hands on the keyboard. I wouldn't know if there was such a trigger for changing personalities.

All of this is evidence for me being plural, having more than one fucker in this skull, having two personalities, etc. It doesn't convince me. I don't think it's plausible. I'm sure I'd feel much different than I currently do if it was the case. Then again, how would "I" know? I already can't easily remember things which aren't right the fuck in front of me.

As for the polyamorous conviction, I've taken much more time to deliberate. I believe I am. I believe I can love multiple people at once with no interference between them. It took me a while to realize that I'd been doing it my whole life. Society's focus on monogamy and singular, permanent relationships has screwed over my discovery's pace and consequences.

I crush on so many people. It used to be horrid in high school. Any cute chick who gave me more than five minutes of her time was instantly in my head every hour of the day. To be clear, I thought most girls were cute/pretty/hot/sexy/whatever in high school; it didn't take much looking at a female form for me to find something I liked. I haven't really changed much. I don't like being attracted to so many people against my will, but oh well. Can't really stop that.

Regardless, the linchpin in this conundrum was that each new addition to my roster of infatuations did not impact the rest of the list (outside very few complications). I didn't have a ranking system. I didn't have a system outside of "I like this one most. Wait, but I also really like this one." I felt awful at the time (still do) about making contingency plans for each romantic endeavor, telling myself "Oh, well if girl A doesn't work out, I've got girl J on my radar still."

Fast forwarding to today, I have since admitted to myself that I had generated (without my consent) numerous genuine crushes on people during the time I've been with my partner, each one never causing my love for them to waver. I'm not saying it didn't, but I am saying it was never because of another person's hold on me. It will happen again. It's happening right the fuck now. I cannot get JH out of my head. Idk if I really "love" her or not but I guarantee she is much more than just a friend to me, even if she hasn't responded to me in days. I fucking hate it. Why can't I just leave her behind? Why do I obsess over her?

Self-loathing aside, I simply just... do love multiple people, and am more than capable of it. I will never get enough love, and I will never run dry of my own supply for others. I've ran out of patience for others' company. I've never stopped loving someone for any reason other than them literally forcefully abandoning me, and even then, that's got a shoddy hit rate.

So, why have I combined these two opposite conundrums of outward love and inward hatred? I can't be sure of either of them. My own internal biases keep me from confirming either. No one wants to get close to me, so I can't pursue anyone romantically. I want to regale you, the poor reader I'm probably keeping hostage, with tales of the literal hours a night I pine away for a chance to get closer to someone. I need it. I need it more than anything. I can't even start to think of it or else risk ruining my night simply because it's such an overwhelming hunger I have. I can't try to explore the depths because once I realize how hungry I am, I can't live with the fact that there's so much food for everyone else and I'm just... starving. No one wants to love me except my partner. It's not nothing. It's amazing. It's delicious food. I'm just still hungrier than every single friend I have, combined. That, I will stake my life on.

Contrasting this to the persona I desperately want to separate from my own, I can't say that it's a real separation I can make. I hate him. I keep referring to myself in the third person simply because I don't want to be associated with him. I don't want to be associated with me. I want out. Out of life, out of my body, out of my mind, out of this fucking house. This fucking life I'm "living" is garbage and I instinctually blame myself. I want to drag the fucked up mess of parts out from my own self and make it into a strawman scapegoat for me to slit the wrists of and choke with my own bare hands. I can't do it to myself, after all. Not because of a lack of willpower; I am fully committed. I just need a guarantee I won't get caught alive.

It's pure emotion. Both problems, both diagnoses, are only theoretical and not real because I do not have the mental capacity and emotional strength to withstand my own needs.

[kyogre-blue]

For the last couple weeks, I've been on a big grinding kick in Genshin again... it's been something, that's for sure. But I got a lot done (for some reason).

On alt:

Obtained Baizhu C2

Obtained Ayato

triple crowned Diluc, Kaeya and Zhongli, with also enough books for Childe to be triple crowned whenever I finally get him

Did the Narzissen quest line and explored a good chunk of Fontaine

...bought some cute wings...

I'm more or less finished off the Mond book domain. There's only Anemo Traveler left at 6/6/6, but since swirl scales from EM anyway, the talent levels aren't important enough for me to do another 114 gold books right now (for context, that's two weeks or so of doing the mond book domain every single day).

I did buy Welkin, so I'm going to keep logging in for the next few weeks, but I'm going to take it easy otherwise. My only current plan is to mess around in the teapot. I've finished another of the farming achievements, so I'll take the opportunity to rearrange the second area of Emerald Peak (since I can remove those fields). That should complete it, since I finally furnished the fourth area, and I've got some plans for Floating Abode next.

For future grinding, I should do artifacts (Deepwood/Gilded, then Emblem) and also the slow march to triple crown the next batch (Baizhu, Qiqi, Ayato). For future pulls, my priority will be Itto, Childe, and Neuvillette (for his kit lol), but since I don't care about the 4 stars now that I have C4 Thoma, it's just a matter of dumping everything I have into whoever comes around first and whether I get them or not isn't really pressing. The pity will carry over anyway. (Alhaitham and Wriothesley will be skips for now.)

On main:

prefarmed Navia levelling stuff (no artifacts or weapon for now, pending what the build guides will say)

obtained Kirara, currently finishing her last ascension

done most of Fontaine exploration, with every area except the Court at 100%

finished all world quests that aren't gated by the archon quest

finished all achievements except the commission and archon quest ones

Man, Genshin exploration is so... you just turn your brain off, and then suddenly it's six hours later. Repeatedly. Still kinda fun seeing the numbers go up though. Hopefully, the final region will be pretty small and easy to complete... But I'm 8 hydroculi short, which is not a good sign, since I can't get the resonance stone formula (no archon quests = no reputation).

The world quests this time were kind of a mixed bag, but mostly a miss. I liked the stuff about the Melusines and Elynas, very uh Durin-style. Generally, the Melusines kind of grew on me, though I still don't like their design, especially the bottom half. I liked the Pahsiv quest too, and unexpectedly the final little quest with Lanoire. (The handling of the camera on the small interactions at the very end?? Dang, who knew Genshin could do that kind of fine detail.) However, I really did not care about the Narzissenkreuz at all, or the Fontaine Research Institute stuff. The Narzissen fiasco was especially very tedious and convoluted. I know it's setting up Sandrome, but like... a perfect example of the issues with Genshin's lore and how it negatively warps the current day storyline, plus the worst of their excesses.

I'm going to be rolling for Navia in 4.3 because she is Geo (easy guarantee to get her, with 150 saved wishes, 10 pity, and 22K primos), and I'm considering the weapon banner. I think it'll come down to what the 4 stars will be (I really want Akuoumaru refines, so I might decide based on which half it's on). I did also fish for Kirara on the Ayato banner, and I did get her within 20 pulls, so that was great. She was the last pre-Fontaine 4 star I was missing, and I wanted to go ahead and build her. I'm not taking the Fontaine 4 stars past lv20, and now the only "backlog" character I am missing is Dehya.

I also... got Qiqi C1 in those twenty or so pulls. So hey, guarantee on Navia, which will put me quite a bit over budget. I can save for supposedly-Geo Chiori and Arlecchino, who has actual pants, holy shit. (That said, where's my Mond boy, Mihoyo??)

This 4.2 patch and the upcoming 4.3 one have some nice QoL updates, which bring some much needed minor conveniences. For me, the most impactful was probably the ability to quickstart weekly bosses. (Farming Apep on my alt to finally get some Dendro crystals, god...) But shout out to being able to unlock but not start story quests, and being able to replace daily commissions with exploration or events.

For next patch, we'll be able to one-click collect and resend expeditions and start at the key when doing a domain multiple times. Tiny things but holy shit, they're finally actually updating something. Man, if I drag this out enough, maybe they'll let you quickstart reputation too. And maybe even a goddamn skip button one day... we can dream.

But I gotta say the most exciting thing for next patch is probably the annual Lost Riches rerun with the new water-capable mini seelie. Really want that for my alt, where I have almost no pets.

[mdhwrites]

I don't think people understand how small books are as a medium. How they've essentially become niche media as far as most people are concerned. Like the original person said: 5000 copies in a week is enough to be considered one of the best selling in the United States. As an independent author, one of my books actually cracked into the top twenty on Amazon for one of its categories, Dark Comedy, just because it sold like twenty five copies in its opening week. (Warning: Erotica)

But another way to compare it? Look at how wealthy the top performing authors are versus other mediums and how consistent that wealth is. The difference between JK Rowling, who is mostly not wealthy from her books as she's only had the main Harry Potter series as a real success, none of her books afterwards have done anywhere near as well as an author of her infamy should have, and James Patterson, an author who has well over a hundred books credited to him. Of course, James Patterson has his own issues but someone who mostly only goes by books, who has such an incredibly prolific output, with a brand that actually does inspire loyalty and has made him a household name as an author, not just one series... and he's HALF of what Rowling is. The lowest author on that list is equivalent in wealth to the 41st wealthiest director, M Night Shyamalan, and none of the top ten authors make as much as even the 50th richest actor in the world.

Books just don't make money and that is indicative to the fact that people aren't buying them. If they don't buy them, they literally can't consume them. If they can't consume them, they can't be a part of a fandom for them.

Of course, even if books were still big... The Harry Potter fandom really exploded with the movies because there's a LOT, especially about modern fandom, that books are kind of hostile to. Art is a big driving factor for fandom culture, MUCH more than fanfiction, but when it comes to books, many will have covers that never depict the characters. The characters themselves might get a couple paragraphs of description very early into the book but then never again and it's left to interpretation which some artist just won't bother with. Even if they might be interested in that, you don't have scene redraws or the like without them having to come up with the whole thing.

And then there's the time investment problem to reading. As much as I love this medium, VERY few take longer, and none of the others give less without your investment, than books. They take a long time and if you don't have a good theater of the mind, even a good book is going to give you so much compared to a sixty hour video game. Even if we go for something more priced alongside books, books aren't cheap, especially physical copies. A lot of traditionally published books are still pushing about ten dollars, even digitally. For ten dollars on Steam, you can get WILD amounts of value back, making books seem all the harder to get into. Even for trying to read on public transport or the like, there's loooots of mobile games out there for free to kill that time now unlike twenty years ago. All of which matters because right now the economy sucks and most people barely have any money for entertainment so that value proposition is pressing down on a lot of people in a very sad way.

Then there's the final ouroboros that comes actually from fandom culture: Because we are so much more connected, it's so much easier to talk about what you like. To find people who are into it... EXCEPT for books. You are taking a real gamble of being the one crazy person who has read the book if you're just picking up a random work on Amazon. That discourages you from reading anything not already popular, thus narrowing how many books are being talked about, discouraging people even more from trying new things, etc. etc.

It's a rough time to be into writing right now and unfortunately it's pretty questionable when, and if, books as a medium will ever have their day in the spotlight again. Not that they'll ever be gone, books still have the power to tell stories in ways other mediums will simply never be capable of, but they will continue to be niche and that's something people need to remember instead of putting unrealistic expectations on their series.

And if you want to help your favorites series, make sure to leave reviews, word of mouth is still the best form of advertisement in the world and maybe help there be a place for other fans to come to find you, even if it's just a Reddit dedicated to the work. Have a nice day everyone and see you next tale.

A lot of female protag books I've seen in recent years aren't really fandom worthy? At least not fanfic worthy, not sure about the rest of fandom. I notice it's often a very explosive boom of popularity, and there is a lot of buzz but almost no fanfics for the books, movie or show at all. They're power fantasies? But they don't serve anything else that really captivates people to stick around and write.

--

Harry Potter blinded everyone to the fact that books very rarely get big fic fandoms. Yeah, there are a few exceptions, but it's just not something I would expect with 99% of books that are fandom-bait.

The reason is simple and has nothing to do with the books' content: One printing of a novel might be like 20k. A bestseller sold 5k in a week. An unpopular tv show "no one" liked had a million viewers per episode.

There's a real survivorship bias in talking about what generates a fic fandom. We can work backwards and say what generally doesn't generate one, but having all of the traits of the big fandoms' canons tells you nothing about whether this other thing will get a fic fandom.

Here are the top few book fandom sections on FFN:

Harry Potter (847K)

Twilight (222K)

Percy Jackson and the Olympians (80.5K)

Lord of the Rings (58.3K)

Hunger Games (46.4K)

Warriors (27.1K)

Mortal Instruments (17.5K)

Maximum Ride (17K)

Hobbit (13.1K)

Phantom of the Opera (12.8K)

Chronicles of Narnia (12.8K)

Gossip Girl (10.4K)

A song of Ice and Fire (10.1K)

Outsiders (9.9K)

Vampire Academy (8.7K)

Divergent Trilogy (8.4K)

Song of the Lioness (8.0K)

Inheritance Cycle (6.3K)

Look at how those numbers plummet and look at how many of these things have major, popular adaptations with a bajillion viewers.

People are always like "But Twilight...", but the existence of a few freak outliers doesn't mean other books are going to generate that kind of fic or twimoms or people turning Forks into a theme park.

So these recent books' content might contribute to them not taking off in this particular way, but lack of fic doesn't really need an explanation.

[alpaca-clouds]

Fluffcember Day 13: Sibling Rivalry

My prompt for Day 13 of Fluffcember is Snowball fight.

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Genre: Humor and Fluff

Characters: Marie, Simon, Anna Belmon & Greta

Length: 1328 words

[Ao3 Link]

The icy winter cold seemed to be cutting into Marie's fingers, as she focused on her target. It was just a training target, but it had to do for now. She did not want to torture a poor animal with her still less than perfect archery skills – not that her parents would allow her to go hunting for at least two more years.

She let go of the string and the arrow flew… and hit the outer ring of the target.

“Fuck,” she cussed, as she took out another arrow. Why was she still so bad at this? She had trained since autumn and should be great, really. While she would probably never be a bloody monster hunter – not that she wanted to – she still wanted to help her little town by hunting down some game from time to time. Just as aunt Greta did – or her papi.

She tried to remember what Greta had told her. Breathing was important. She had to breath out in the moment she let go of the string. Hence she tried to focus on her breathing. In and out. In and out. Calm down, she reminded herself. You can do this. You are a Belmont after all! The target seemed to be so much closer suddenly. She was certain she could do it this time. She let go…

And something hit her right into the back of the head, sending her arrow flying somewhere into the forest.

Marie did not even have to turn around to know who the culprit was. “Simon!” she growled and threw her bow into the snow.

The blond-haired boy was laughing at her. Even though he was five and a half years younger than her, he looked about her age, because that stupid dhampir bastard was growing so much quicker. It really wasn't fair. “You look stupid!” he teased, as she quickly gathered up some snow to take her revenge.

Of course revenge was not easy. With superhuman speed he vanished seemingly into air, only to appear behind her, throwing another snowball.

Somehow Marie managed to evade. She really did not have those stupid hunter reflexes her father was always talking about, but she knew her stupid little brother. Throwing her snowball she at least managed to hit his shoulder.

It sucked so much to be the only human in her entire fucking family! Why did nobody get it?

“You throw like a girl,” Simon laughed. “Oh, I forgot, you are one!”

He really had a knack for making her blood boil! Why was she cursed with a stupid brother like this? What had she done to deserve it? She ran for him, trying to grapple him before he disappeared, but once again, nothing of this shit was bloody fair.

That asshole little brother of hers could even fly. So fucking unfair!

“Simon! Marie!” That indignant shout belonged to the youngest Belmont child. Anna. Who had either been outside the entire time – fuck did Marie know – or had heard them and came to intervene. Because of course she had to intervene. Little miss perfect.

At least it distracted Simon for a split second, allowing Marie to grab him. She was maybe not a good hunter, but she did manage to take him by surprise and throw him face first into the snow. He yelped in surprise, before she pressed his head further down into the icy cold. Not that he felt cold that much. Again: Unfair.

“Marie,” groaned Anna and came over to them, her step light. She was a dhampir, too, though her hair was fiery red like their mother’s. “Let him go.”

Marie grunted. “He started it.” She really did not like the idea of letting her brother go. He deserved a little revenge.

“Don't get down on his level,” Anna chided. “You are just…”

She did not get any further, as Simon broke lose. Even Marie had not seen it coming, as it was now her who slammed face first into the snow.

“I don't need your help, lil' sis,” he said, making Anna groan once more.

“I am not trying to help you, I am just saying you should stop behaving like little kids and grow up!” Cute of her to say, of course, considering she was only six years old – though she looked like nine or ten.

“Make me.” Marie could almost hear her brother grin, before he let go of her – no doubt attacking the younger sister.

Anna was not cursed with being a human though. While Marie's stupid mortal eyes had a hard time following, she could make out her sister evading the incoming hand full of snow, as she almost fairy like glid back over the snow, her feet barely breaking through it.

Next thing Marie knew, Anna had managed to grapple Simon. While he was half a head taller than her, she managed to hold his hand behind his back. “Now stop it!” she grunted.

“Stupid bitch!” Simon protested and tried to break free.

Out of the two of them, Anna had the greater strength for one reason or another. She easily kept him held.

“Just stop annoying Marie,” she asked. “You two are so embarrassing. We should be role models, you know?”

“Role model yourself,” Simon spat.

And Marie could not help but see a chance. While her sister was still wrestling Simon, she formed another snow ball and tried to focus. Then she threw it and – somehow – actually fucking managed it: She hit Simon in his stupid face.

“You!” he groaned, when an exasperated sigh sounded from right behind Marie.

“What are you kids doing again?” The voice was all-too familiar to Marie of course.

She turned around to see her aunt standing behind her, arms akimbo, looking at them with a gaze that told her, she was not surprised, but still felt let down.

“We are just having a snowball fight.” Simon tried to play innocent.

“Simon is just an idiot,” Marie said and did her best to give her voice a firm tone.

Anna looked at their aunt. “They are arguing again.”

“Simon started it,” Marie quickly said, before she could stop herself. That sounded totally childish. Stupid her.

Greta, of course, still saw her as a child – even though Marie was already 13. She ruffled Marie's brown hair, before going over to the struggling dhampir children. “Let him go, Anna.”

And Anna listened, of course. Nobody did argue with Greta, after all.

“So, did you start it, Simon?” Greta asked.

Simon shrugged, not looking at her. “I just threw a snowball.”

“And why did you do it?”

“Because I felt like it. It's just a fucking snowball.”

“It is still not a nice thing to do just like that,” Greta said.

At this he grunted.

“And you?” Greta looked at Anna.

“I just tried to get them to stop.”

This made their town's major sigh. “Of course you did.” She shook her head. “All three of you. You need to learn to get along. You are not little children anymore.”

Marie did no look at her aunt. Of course she was not a little child anymore? But what was she to fucking do, when Simon just kept being a dick? She crossed her arms and Greta sighed.

“Simon. Say you're sorry.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Simon.” There was a dangerous tone in Greta's voice now.

Simon just crossed his arms as well.

“Simon.”

This got him to sigh. “Fine,” he groaned. “I'm sorry.”

“Now look at your sister, while you say it,” Greta said.

Simon rolled his eyes, before looking at Marie. “I am sorry, okay?”

Marie shrugged. “Fine.”

At this display of affection Greta just shook her head. “You know what? I can use some help in the smithy. So all three of you will help.”

Looking over at her stupid brother, Marie sighed. She loved helping Greta – though she could most certainly do without Simon. Still she smiled at her aunt. “Of course.”

[mrskurono]

title: Baby Fever a/n: ok you know what I’ll admit it, all I’ve been thinking about lately is Geto. He’s on my mind constantly. Should I be working on something else, yes. Is Geto the first jjk character I really had a crush on, maybe. I just....fucking Geto ok this has taken me four times to right jfc word count: 1.7k tags: no sub/dom dynamics, romantic sex, established relationship, manga spoilers, fingering, multiple female orgasms (not overstim though) breeding kink, needy Geto, creampie, unprotected sex, pregnancy mention, body worship, really just soft sex ok, unedited character(s): Geto Suguru (jjk)

They had grown. 

Both girls that was. 

Into wonderful adolescences that brought a set of different challenges. Geto was ready for that be it blindly. And he loved every part of it times two. Each time he looked at either of the kids though he could vividly remembered rounder cheeks, rosier faces and goofier smiles. It left him reminiscing over that more and more now.

You noticed it in the most subtle ways. Geto wanting more. More of those days even though he wouldn’t outright ask.

A trace of his fingers along your collar bone drew you away from what was in your lap. For the most part you’d ignored him once he came to bed but it grew almost impossible when the sorcerer had his lips pressed to the conjunction of your head and neck while a light touch traced down your chest. Not irritated in the slightly, you still give a playful sigh as you put your book down.

“Can I help you?” You can’t even turn your head to see him. Geto’s face is pressed to you with a trail of peppered kisses following suit.

With a firm grip he slipped his fingers against your thigh to give it a playful squeeze. Geto pulled out of the crook of your neck enough to finally look at you with that off brand smirk of his, “Mayhaps.”

You grin just to lean down and catch his lips on yours. Instead though you pull away just as he was going to lean into you. Earning your own smirk to play on your lips, “Mayhaps if you ask nicely Mr. Suguru.”

The hand on your thigh tightened. Pulling you towards him in a meager attempt but for the most part you stayed rooted where you were. Only slightly letting your legs fall open as your smirk grew into a full blown smile. He was awfully soft for a man on the run orchestrating a death cult. 

Geto slipped his fingers up along the crotch of your bottoms. Nudging his forehead against yours like he’d done every night this week. An eye roll that held no merit you grab his face and kiss him deeply. There isn’t a second in hesitation as you lean into him. Geto’s fingers moving up to help you wiggle out of your bottoms. A similar scene playing out just like the previous nights but you didn’t mind in the slightest with his attention fully on you.

“You’re so wet.” He commented against your lips the second his index finger dipped between your folds.

“And you’re already hard.” You toss back to him when your palm presses up against the stark hardness hidden under his robes, “Why don’t we help each other out?”

A nod and he didn’t stop to push back into the kiss. Geto hovering above you but it was your teeth nipping playfully at his bottom lip. Leaving the man to groan as his fingertips danced on either side of your clit. Your hips coming up to join in the motion of his fingers rubbing against you. Only for a few moments though because once they were soaked enough Geto couldn’t keep them from slipping inside you.

“Fuck...you’re so needy,” You moan against Geto’s lips as he curls his fingers in on you. He wouldn’t hesitate to make you cum like this before the main event even started.

Lips back to your neck, Geto hummed something but then nodded and mumbled against the softness of your ear, “I need you.”

Reaching down to grip his forearm as Geto’s fingering picked up in it’s urgency. You regretted the moan when his fingertips brushed over your g-spot. Within seconds he was back at it. Not leaving your sensitive spot alone as your cunt twitched and tightened around him with the impending orgasm. He was gonna get one from you with not much more than a snide remark on your part.

“F-Fuck...” Lip taut with tension as you bit down, fighting it wasn’t in your best interest, “S-Suguru- I- I’m gonna-”

“Cum-” His voice almost desperate, hot breath against your neck, fingers not letting up on their assault, “Please cum- Please I need you to cum- Please-”

The want in his voice too much. Just the way he wouldn’t stop after your orgasm tipped itself over. Fingers pulling a toe curling orgasm out of you as you clutched onto his robes and felt every fiber in your body tingle with hopelessness for him.

Fingers slowing, Geto simply wiggling them around in you and feeling the slickness covering his knuckles. It was when you snagged him for a long drawn out lazy kiss. Just to follow it by an order that he get undressed already, meant the man had no choice but to listen.

Rid of his clothes and between your legs before you knew it. You look down to see him swiping his cock up through the drool of your cunt. What wasn’t on his fingers previously now coated his cock with a beautiful glisten. Geto more than enthralled seeing his cock slip between your cunt lips. Each movement of his length grinding into your sensitive nub sent a shiver up your spine. Either he was too into watching or he was teasing you. A few more swipes and you demand he get on with the main course already.

One push and Geto’s cock slipped down to the hilt with ease. Stretched thoroughly from the nightly fucking all week. Today was no different. Juices squelching around his cock Geto pushed himself down to his base. Feeling his cock bottom out in you no problem. Leaving the man to hover over you. Caged in by both his arms on either side of you. And his hair tickling your face when you looked up at him.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re handsome.”

Geto stalled a moment. Savoring the way his hips felt snug in yours. The residual feeling of your walls twitching around him. Not a day would go by where he didn’t swear you were made for him. 

“I love you.” His words clear and concise. You looked up at Geto once more.

What smirk you had early softened into a smile. Bringing his face down to yours for a kiss, “I love you t- fuck-” Before he let you finish Geto grinned against your lips and thrusted into you without warning. Just to watch you convulse and loose yourself on his cock. Just as beautiful as ever. He felt himself unable to control himself all over again.

Each snap of his hips into your core left you breathless. He wasn’t rough. Never was he rough. Geto’s cock curved in the right way that left you rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts. Even if it felt like he was going to split you in half, you still wanted more.

Orgasm or not Geto was bringing you right back to the edge. He always did. As you showered his face in breathless kisses. Some of those met with his own lips. Others spared on his neck and collar bone as you watched with a dazed look at where your bodies met. Geto buried inside you with each thrust. His hands hooked into your hips with your legs slightly elevated so he could defile your deepest parts. Every night this week he’d fuck you like this. In the drunken pleasurer of it all you might have thought he was trying to breed you.

“Please-” Geto’s voice peeled you away, “Please cum-”

Thinking he wanted you to cum on him again you half ass nod, “Yes- Fuck yes I’ll-”

“No-” He groaned more of a gasp. Geto putting his forehead against yours even with the dew accumulating on it, “Please- Please can I cum- Cum in you- I just-”

More than surprised. Of course he’d done so more than once before. Now he was asking you? 

“Love why ask just-”

“I want another baby-” Geto broke your question up, his hips still a mind of their own. His breath ragged against your lips and sweat making his hair cling to him, “With you- Another one- Just one- Let me fill you up- Let me fuck a baby in you- Please- I- I love you so much and-”

“Yes.”

Geto’s turn to be surprised.

“Yes please, god fuck yes- Fuck a baby inside me-” You grab Geto’s face. Caring less if you cum at this point and more for the warmth of his release. Lips smashing onto his you don’t hesitate to moan into the fevered kiss.

Geto pulling you down on him with each thrust. Driving his cock in you as deep as he could. Quicker than before like he was desperate for it. Even while your legs twitched and curled, knowing he was breeding in you, something snapped in you.

The way you can on him. Scream only muffled by the fact Geto wouldn’t move his lips from yours. Each rippling twitch of your cunt around him was maddening. Hearing and feeling you craving him sent him into a tizzy until it was simply too late. With the way he snapped his hips into. A rumbling moan emanating up from his chest. It was far too obvious when the first gush of warmth overwhelmed you.

Full well past just what oozed out of you. The mixture of cum and juices soaked the two of you as Geto’s arms waivered a little. A moment of uncertainty if he was going to pull out and waste the gift he just gave you. Instead you yank him down on you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders and loosely with your legs around his hips. Making it very obvious he was to stay in place on and in you.

Hand drawn down his back you ignore the sweat between his shoulder blades. Instead engrossed in the feeling of Geto’s cock still inside you and the heat of his chest against yours. Sighing softly to lay a kiss against his cheek you hug him a little tighter, “...you could have just said something you know.”

Exhausted and without a real witty reply. Geto had been saving this all week and now he was a little spent. Mumbling something but you didn’t hear.

The idea of being pregnant, with his child, making you smile more and more with each passing second. Even as cum dripped out of you. It was right away that you kissed the side of his head, “Looks like we gotta keep trying until you succeed huh.”

No question to it there was a twitch of excitement in all of his body. You knew neither of you would be happy now until Geto got what he asked for.

[randomshyperson]

Palm Springs - Leigh Shaw

All Works Masterlist

Summary: In Palm Springs, Leigh meets you. The season one finale re-imagined.

Warnings: (+18), smut, cursing, dom!reader, bottom!leigh, explicit language, explicit consent, brief mentions of harassment, fluff, brief rivalry dynamics, hopeful ending.

Words: 5.378K

Notes: My love, @abimess, this is my apologies for you. I kept mistaken "Wanda" instead of "Leigh" at some points in the writing, but it all worked out in the end. I hope you all enjoy the read, this is my first time writing for this character.

//-//

You threw the signed divorce papers against the passenger seat, ignoring the thick tears that welled up in your eyes.

Raising your hand, you turned up the radio and kept driving. Your cell phone started ringing the next moment, but you ignored it. It was probably Bucky or Steve calling to find out where you were after your little outburst at the company fundraiser.

Honestly, it wasn't your fault. You were handling it all very well, but Carol decided it would be a good idea to give you the divorce papers while you were surrounded by your closest friends, and that was the trigger. But now you were driving to Palm Springs, finally taking the damn vacation your ex-wife had put you through so much hell to get, but now, the seat next to you was empty.

It took a few hours to get there, since the complex is in New York, but you didn't care, having spent most of the way trying to understand how you managed to lose a woman like Carol Danvers.

No bags, you ignored the curious look one of the hotel staff gave you as soon as you pulled into the parking lot, smiling slightly as you took off your sunglasses and asked for directions to the front desk.

You frowned slightly as you were almost run over.

"Watch where you're going!" You shouted angrily at the driver, and the woman returned you the same angry look. Great, you've barely arrived and you almost died. This weekend was promising.

Stepping back, you waited for the woman to drive, not failing to give her a wry smile as she passed you. After this, you walked to the reception desk, and the area was quite full, which was normal for a weekend.

"Reservation in the name Danvers." You said to the receptionist after the greetings. He smiled as he checked the information.

"Valentine's suite, I see." He commented cheerfully. "Shall I prepare a second key for your partner?"

"It's just going to be me, buddy." You grumble, ignoring the uneasy feeling in your stomach. The man smiles awkwardly, but doesn't apologize.

After checking in, you go up to the third floor.

The room makes you sigh with disgust, the flowers and chocolates give you a headache. It takes ten minutes to find a chambermaid and ask her to remove all the decorations.

While your room is being cleaned, you decide to buy something to wear, since you didn't bring anything to spend the weekend at the hotel.

"Good morning." You mumble the greeting as you enter the gift store, your gaze wandering around.

"How can I help you, dear?" The saleswoman asks politely, smiling at you.

"I need something to wear for the two days I'm staying. It was a last-minute trip." You tell her, and the saleswoman looks surprised, but doesn't comment.

The woman eventually showed you the summer shirt section, and you sighed softly as you looked through the options. She walked away to attend to another customer, and you left your attention to the clothes.

A moment later, you picked out a few pieces and turned to talk to the saleswoman, only to run into the woman who had almost run you over earlier looking at the book section.

"You again." You let it slip not so low, attracting the woman's attention. She frowns for a second, and then she recognizes you. But before she can say anything, the saleswoman is speaking.

"Oh, you two know each other already?" She asks excitedly. "It's amazing how we can find friends here in Palm Springs isn't it?"

"We're not friends." You both inform at the same moment, and you squeeze your eyes shut slightly. The woman straightens her posture, pressing the book lightly against her chest as you switch the shirts on your arm. The saleswoman's curious expression prompts you to speak.

"Actually, she almost killed me." You say. "It was going to be quite a headline for this hotel. I'd be careful about the people you guys host around here."

The saleswoman looks at you with confusion, while the other woman lets out a dry laugh.

"You're the one who walked across in the middle of the street!" she defends herself. "It's not my fault if you weren't taught how to cross the street in school."

"Oh, so it's the victim's fault now?" You retort and the woman looks at you incredulously. A third customer enters the store and stares curiously at the argument, but the saleswoman is quick to gesture between you, smiling wryly.

"Oh come on, I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding" The saleswoman remarks and you sustain the annoyed look the other woman is casting at you. "There's no need for an argument."

"Of course not." The woman says forcing a smile, but her posture remains aggressive. "We are both civilized adults."

You bite your tongue to avoid another provocation, looking away from the green irises in front of you.

"Of course you are." The saleswoman says smiling, and then her gaze catches the shirts hanging from your forearm and she lets out a light exclamation. "Come on, I can finalize your purchase if that's all, dear."

You turn toward the cashier next, and it is only after you have paid for the clothes and are leaving that you see the other woman again on your way back, but she does not look away from the books to you. You couldn't care less.

//-//

In your room, you can't resist the urge to look at your phone.

Bucky has called five times. And Steve even sent you an email. You sigh weakly, feeling guilty as you catch a glimpse of Tony and Natasha's message notifications.

Your friends didn't care that you started crying in the middle of the meeting you were at because your ex-wife decided to bring a sensitive topic like the end of your five-year marriage to the table, but you were hating yourself for it.

At this point, you didn't even know what you had been crying about anymore. You and Carol had always had a difficult relationship, and since you got married, you began to wonder why you had done it in the first place.

You loved her so much when you first met her, and then everything gradually broke down. The lack of compatibility, the jealousy and possessiveness, and the lack of time. Carol was a soldier in the army, and you were a Shield special agent, and your jobs took up a lot of your schedules. But you knew that this was just another empty excuse. After all, your best friend, Natasha, was also an agent, as was her wife, and they made everything work properly.

Maybe things were meant to happen that way. That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

After taking a shower, you grumble lightly as you realize that you forgot to buy a bathing suit. And well, everything special about Palm Springs was the magnificent pools.

You figured the shorts and top you had would have to fit.

The pools were considerably more crowded than the rest of the hotel, and this was probably due to the current temperature.

You decided to buy a drink before sunbathing, realizing that most of the chairs were occupied.

The bartender was a pretty girl and smiled mischievously at you when her gaze fell on your collarbone exposed by the cut of your shirt, but you just gave her a half-hearted smile. Being newly divorced wasn't exactly the best scenario for flirting.

"What can I get you?" The woman asked as she rested her hands on the counter in front of her. You bit your lip thoughtfully, running your eyes down one of the menus left on the wood.

"Honestly, I don't know anything here." You say. "But I would like something sweet."

It takes a few minutes for her to prepare a drink for you, and you thank her as you accept.

As you sip a drink that tastes like strawberries and condensed milk, you look around the surroundings.

You frown slightly as you recognize the woman from the store, watching her sit in one of the chairs that has just been emptied in front of the bar. She doesn't notice you, but you notice her exposed legs, mentally scolding yourself for doing so.

As you take another sip of your drink, your tongue getting used to the sugary sweetness, a man approaches the stranger in front of you. From this proximity, you can hear the conversation, or rather the small harassment that he was doing.

Rolling your eyes at the stranger's clearly offensive attempt to approach the other woman, you force yourself to get up and walk over to them.

Well, Nat always said that you were a person with a natural talent for theater and you wish she were here now to see the little scene you caused.

Pretending to trip over the sunshade support, you made a sudden movement and knocked your entire drink against the man's collarbone, who let out an exclamation of anger and surprise as he stood up.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You asked in a falsely guilty tone, forcing an expression of shock. Before he could say anything, you were already grabbing one of the towels left on the little tables beside the chairs and throwing it harder than necessary against the man's face. "Here, honey, clean yourself up."

The man blinked in surprise, and glared angrily at you for a second before muttering "whatever" and turning to leave. When he was already a safe distance away, you turned your face to look at the seated woman.

"Sorry about your book." You speak as you notice that the spilled drink has dripped a little on the pages. "But if you ask me, the ending sucks."

"Thanks, I guess." The woman mumbles not keeping her gaze on you. "I didn't need you to help me, by the way." She adds and you roll your eyes, realizing that the chair next to her got empty after your little commotion. When you sit down, she raises her gaze to you in disbelief.

"Who said I was helping you?" You retort. "I love throwing expensive drinks at strangers."

Your joke elicits a nasal chuckle from the woman, who softens her posture.

"If you want to lose money, I suggest donating rather than wasting it." She teases back and you bite back a smile, shaking your head slightly. When she opens the book again and leans her back against the chair, clearly deciding to ignore your presence, you copy the position, but stand with your arms folded across your chest and close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun against your skin.

You are tired from the trip, and eventually fall asleep. When you open your eyes again, the woman is no longer there.

//-//

Since you have napped until the afternoon, there is no chance you will sleep early. You try to distract yourself with television, but most of the programs are pay-per-view and you have probably already exceeded all the limits that a Shield salary can afford, so you decide to spend some time on the activities included in your weekend bundle.

After putting on a shirt to join the lobby, you take the elevator down and step out into the outdoor area, not surprised to find the place as busy as before. The difference is perhaps the lack of children because of the time of day.

You walk toward the bar and roll your eyes slightly when you notice the same man as before being loud and boisterous along with a small group partying near the place. But you ignore them as you sit down on the first stool you find.

"Well, if it isn't my knight in white armor." A female voice comments wryly beside you, surprising you mildly. You look at the woman with a raised eyebrow, but she is looking straight ahead.

"So you expect me to call you a princess? We don't even know each other." You retort in the same tone, and watch the woman bite back a smile, rolling her eyes slightly.

You stand in silence while you order a drink, this time smiling in the same way that the bartender smiles at you. While you wait, you can' t help but look over to the side.

"You know, I think I might need to get your name." You begin in a tone of false seriousness, not knowing why you want to pull conversation with the stranger, but doing it anyway. "Since I need to know who to sue for attempted hit-and-run."

The woman laughs lightly, and as she sets her drinking glass back down on the counter, she turns her body toward you, without getting up.

"The smart thing then wouldn't be to say my name, don't you think?" She retorts with amusement in her voice. "That way I avoid a lawsuit."

You smile in a corner, shaking your head slightly. You lean your arm on the counter, and it takes a moment for her to speak again.

"I'm Leigh."

"No last name so I can't find your ID, right?" You tease and she smiles, licking her lips for a moment. "Well, I won't tell you mine either then." You comment before telling her only your first name, and she laughs lightly. "May I at least know your profession? Or, I don't know, where you're from? I need that information to track you down."

You joke, and Leigh makes a thoughtful expression for a moment.

"I'm from everywhere actually." She says mysteriously. "Because I'm an international jewel thief."

You smile at the mixed tone of seriousness and playfulness in her speech, respecting her right not to want to tell you the truth, and acknowledging the identity she chooses to assume.

"Oh, really?" You ask joining in the joke. "And let me guess, your disguise happens to be as a fashion stylist, right? And you have a red motorcycle and deadly poison hidden in your lipstick?"

Leigh holds back her laughter, nodding.

"I can't confirm any of that information, actually." She says. "After all, a little incident happened and I wasn't able to finish the story."

You laugh at the teasing, taking a sip of your drink. Before the moment of silence lasts any longer, you ask if you can approach. When Leigh consents, you take the seat next to her.

"And what do you do?" she asks as soon as you sit down. You clear your throat lightly.

"I'm a secret agent, actually." You tell her and from the woman's expression, she still believes you are joking. You do not correct yourself however. "Lasers and villains, the whole story."

Leigh smiles, murmuring in understanding.

"And what is a secret agent doing in Palm Springs?" She asks next and you assume a dramatically thoughtful expression.

"I got a hint actually." You reply. "A jewel thief, fugitive from the government. I'm trying to gather information to effect her arrest."

Leigh fakes an expression of horror making you laugh.

"If I see anything suspicious, I'll give you a heads up." She jokes and you smile, enjoying the whole thing. Before you can add anything else, the small group next to the bar let out loud laughter and they attract your and Leigh's attention.

You frown slightly when you witness the guy from earlier whistling at one of the hotel staff, the people with him finding his little scene of harassment funny.

"I guess a drink in the face isn't enough for some idiots." You comment and Leigh sighs mildly. She looks at you at the same moment you look at her.

"Maybe more drinks will be enough."

That's how you end up doing a little mischief that involves distracting the stranger with comments about his muscles while Leigh approaches and manages to get the man's card. When you walk away, after she hands the bartender the hotel ID after ordering a round for everyone at the bar on the stranger's behalf, you were laughing.

"I'm beginning to believe your thief story." You amused comment as soon as you and Leigh reach the trail out of the bar area. She just smiles at your words. You clear your throat next. "I guess I need to show off my secret agent skills then."

Leigh looks at you curiously, but you just smile as you nod in the direction of the gardens.

You walk for a few minutes in silence, and you remember everything you have observed since you arrived at the hotel, and are able to find the small opening in the fence that you saw some staff members pass through in the afternoon.

"Please, milady." You joke as you make room for Leigh to cross the path first, and she rolls her eyes with amusement before doing so.

You end up in some kind of unfinished private garden, but one that is still very pretty.

Perhaps it is an area under construction for some kind of party, as it has a stage set up in the center and some folded chairs scattered about.

Your attention falls immediately to the piano that has also been set up high on the dark stage.

"How did you find this place?" Leigh asks as she looks around, and you walk past her to get on the stage, eliciting a giggle.

"Field study, of course." You reply with false seriousness. " A secret agent never goes anywhere without studying the whole place first."

Leigh murmurs in agreement, deciding to follow you to the stage. You take a seat on the piano bench while she remains standing in front of the organ.

"Do you have any requests?" You ask looking down at your fingers as she studies your face.

"Old Mac Donald had a Farm." She replies and you choke on a laugh.

"And I thought your taste in music was as good as your fashion sense." You tease causing her to raise an eyebrow.

"Is that your way of complimenting what I'm wearing?" She retorts but you just bite back a smile, moving your fingers across the keys.

You decide to play a melody that she may not recognize, but is exactly what you feel you should play.

When the first notes of " Spring - Ludovico Einaudi" echo in the room, Leigh looks at you in surprise, but you just smile.

It takes a moment for her to surround the piano, and to sit down next to you. You continue to play, enjoying the sound and concentrating not to misplay the notes.

When you make a particularly fast movement on the piano, Leigh looks at you impressed, but you just push your shoulder lightly against hers, smiling. Neither of you regains the distance from before, and you continue to play.

When you finish, you are silent for a moment.

"Where did you learn to do that?" She asks in her low, impressed tone as you both look down at your hands on the keys. You sigh slightly, moving your fingers away and placing your hands in your lap.

"I used to play when I was a kid." You reply. "Before I was a secret agent, of course."

Leigh smiles, biting her lips lightly. You look away from the movement, to her hands quickly.

"Let me show you." You whisper as you reach out your hand to hers. When she accepts, you position her fingers on the keys, and then fit your hand on top of hers. "You start like this."

The sound is far from perfect, and Leigh laughs every time she misses a note, so you don't really care.

You stay like this for a few minutes, until you can get her to complete five notes without making a mistake.

"See? You' re almost a pianist already." You comment with a smile, looking at her face. She mimics your movement, and you feel your heart skip a beat from the closeness.

You feel the tension build in the room, but before you can think of doing anything, a male voice is breaking the spell.

"Sorry, but this area is for employees only." Informs the young man from the hotel, seeming slightly embarrassed to interrupt. You and Leigh quickly walk away, standing up and muttering an apology in unison to the guy, who waits until you leave by the trail he guides.

When you reach the entrance to the social area again, the employee closes the gate, waving slightly. You and Leigh exchange amused smiles.

"So... what do you want to do now?" You ask the next moment, wanting to prolong the evening.

"I want to swim." She declares and you frown slightly, then shrug. You nod in the direction of the pools and you exchange a glance before starting to walk.

//-//

At the edge of the pool, you sigh slightly.

You exchange a look with Leigh, standing next to you, and then you laugh softly as you both begin to undress.

You can't resist the urge to look at her, especially since she jumps in first and you catch a glimpse of her body covered only by a bikini. Ignoring your uncompensated heartbeat, you jump into the water next.

It's a good thing the water was cold, because you are feeling your face and body heat up at the way Leigh looks at you.

Trying to lighten the mood, you swim around her, casually meeting her gaze again as she mimics the movement.

You laugh lightly when you realize that you are swimming in circles around each other, and decide to stop. Leigh swims in front of you a moment later.

"Hello, superspy." She greets you almost in a whisper waving her arms to continue on the surface in front of you.

"Hello, international thief." You speak back in the same tone, your gazes locked on each other.

You wonder if she would like you to break the distance, as her gaze has lowered to your lips for a few seconds. But before you can surrender to this urge, she takes a step back.

"I'm cold."

And then she swims away, and you wonder if you have taken the whole thing the wrong way.

Following her a little way back, you look for towels.

//-//

"Which floor are you on?" You ask as you reach the elevators, each with a towel around your body. You watch Leigh tighten her arms against herself slightly.

"Second." She replies half-heartedly, and you nod.

"Let's go together then."

She gets into the elevator first, and after she presses the button, you stand next to her, your back against the wall.

The tension is back the moment the doors close, but after the pool, you find it best not to take any action, not wishing to make Leigh uncomfortable.

You reach her floor a moment later, and when she doesn't leave, you hold your breath.

You risk a corner-of-your-eye glance at her, but she continues to stare straight ahead, sighing slightly.

Trying not to look like a complete mess, you wait for your floor to arrive.

//-//

The way down the hallway is silent, and despite your nervousness, you don't fumble to open your room.

Leigh enters first, and strides into the room as you close the door.

She stops in the center, her gaze scanning around for a moment before returning to you. You hold your breath, and then she lets the set of clothes in her hands fall to the floor.

You bite back a smile, mimicking the movement. Taking a deep breath, you do the same with your towel, and ignore the heat in your cheeks as Leigh's gaze descends to your body covered only by your underwear.

She removes the towel at your waist next, and you stare at her exposed legs for a moment before moving slowly toward her.

You smile shyly as you stop in front of her, and it takes a second for you to slowly lift your fingers to touch her, tracing the outline of her arm and watching her skin shiver.

"Everything okay?" You ask softly raising your gaze from where your fingers were touching to her eyes. Leigh sighs, shaking her head in agreement. You give her a short smile, placing your hand on her cheek, and watching her lean into the touch slightly. "Use your words." You ask in a whisper, your other hand repeating the motion of your fingers from before, even more slowly.

"Y-yes." She confirms half breathlessly. "And you?"

"Yes." You say, your hand reaching for the strap of her bikini. "I'm going to kiss you now, Leigh."

She nods in understanding, sighing heavily. You didn't correctly calculate how attracted you were to her, because the moment your lips touched, you felt your head spin and it was hard not to push her against the bed immediately.

You both sigh against the kiss, and you slide your tongue into her mouth next, your hand on her face running down to her neck, deepening the kiss even more.

Leigh seems hesitant to touch you for the first second, but then she gasps against your tongue, and brings her hands to your shoulders, bringing one of them up to the back of your neck and scratching the skin, making you sigh.

With the hand that was on the bikini strap, you use your fingers to pull the strap down, and with the other hand you repeat the movement on the other side. When the bikini falls to the floor, your hands go down to her waist, and you pull her toward you.

Leigh gasps at the contact of your breasts bumping together, breaking the kiss with a wet sigh, and you take the opportunity to move your mouth down her collarbone, enjoying the sounds you manage to get out of her whenever you bite her sensitive skin softly.

You lean against her to lower your kisses to her breasts, and when your mouth finds the hardened nipple, she arches her back, closing her eyes as her fingers force your head forward against her breast.

"Oh." She moans as she feels you suck on her nipple, your other hand moving up to give her other breast due attention, your fingers playing with the tip. " Oh, fuck, that feels good."

You smile against her skin, feeling your core tighten with the sounds you are tearing out of her.

When your hand on her waist moves down to her ass, squeezing the flesh and pressing Leigh's hips against yours as your mouth continues on her breast, she moans loudly as she throws her head back, shuddering against you.

It's enough to make you lose control. You need to know how she tastes.

Gasping, you move your kisses down again, and Leigh holds her breath as you get down on your knees.

You kiss her thighs first, while your hands pull down the fabric of her panties.

When the fabric falls away completely, you swallow dry, your gaze glazed on the exposed intimacy of the woman in front of you, your mouth salivating to taste her.

"I-I'm gonna fall." She comments shyly, and you notice how her knees are already shaky. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stand up.

You take Leigh by the hand to your bed, and she stands there, making you smile. You move forward against her mouth again, and she sighs, almost losing her balance from the intensity.

"Lie down." You ask between one kiss and another, making her moan softly. "Spread your legs for me."

Leigh gasps against your lips as you slip your fingers through her folds for a moment, before pulling away until she obeys. You bite your lips as you watch her lie down.

Before you join her, you remove the rest of your clothes. Leigh's cheeks redden, but you give her no time to register this, climbing onto the bed with your knee between her legs and kissing her again.

As she begins to squirm beneath you for more friction, you move your kisses down her body.

She closes her eyes when your mouth is at the level of her belly, breathing hard.

When your tongue touches her pussy, you both moan loudly. You are amazed at how wet and hot she feels, the taste filling all your senses. And Leigh bites her lips to stop herself from moaning out in pleasure when your tongue begins to move against her clit, sucking and licking her devotedly and making her whimper.

"F-fuck." She moans breathlessly, her hips thrusting into your mouth. "Yeah...right there... don't stop..."

You lift your hands to her thighs, holding her open. Your own intimacy pulsing from the way Leigh is surrendered to you and the sounds she gives you.

Keeping the strokes of your tongue as deep as you can and being sure to press your clitoris in return, you feel her pussy tighten and Leigh's body begins to quiver in spasms.

"I-I'm... close... fuck..." she begins to whimper disconnected words, long moans escaping her throat. It takes only two more strokes for her to come on your tongue, her moan loud enough to be heard in the next room, but neither of you care.

You drink all of her cum, enjoying the taste and feeling on edge, without even having been touched yet.

Moving up your kisses again, you deposit slow kisses against Leigh's skin, waiting for her to recover from her own orgasm.

When you reach her mouth, she kisses you back with the same intensity.

You just know you're not going to sleep early tonight.

//-//

When you wake up, your bed is empty. You are surprised by this, really.

The night was very good. Much better than any one-night stand you have ever had.

After getting dressed by finding your articles of clothing, you walk to the front desk.

It takes a few minutes to find Leigh, and you frown when you realize from the bag in her hands, the documents, and the car key that she is leaving.

"Wow, you weren't even going to leave a note." You tease as you catch up with her. She is startled by your sudden presence, but forces a smile.

"Look, I'm sorry..." she starts but you shake your head.

"No need." You interrupt by putting your hands in your pockets and shrugging. "It was just one night after all."

"Yes." She reaffirms what you say, staring at you. You hold her gaze, and a long minute later she sighs. "No, it wasn't."

You swallow dryly, watching her. She seems conflicted about something, her expression going from worried to guilty in a few seconds, and then she takes a deep breath and shakes her head before looking at you again.

"I can't." She says, and you sigh lightly. "I just... can't."

"It's okay." You decide to say, ignoring the way your stomach is flipping with nervousness or your heart is racing. "We are civilized adults, aren't we?"

Leigh smiles, and you watch her eyes water for a moment before she quickly hides her emotion. You feel the same way.

" This is a goodbye." Leigh says next, and you look away to the floor, nodding in understanding.

"Goodbye, Leigh. It was nice meeting you." You say as you look at her again, forcing a smile even though your eyes are watering.

She smiles, approaching to kiss your cheek close enough to your lips to make you shiver. She doesn't pull away immediately, raising her mouth to the height of your ear, she whispers "I left a note." and before you can understand what has been said to you, she is gone.

It is only at the end of the day, many hours after she has left, and you are already inside your car that you rummage in your pants pocket looking for the car key that you find the note.

It is a piece torn from the page of the book "Unmoored in milan", the paper stained with drink. In the corner, in cursive letters it is written. "to my favorite secret agent. Leigh Shaw, Los Angeles."

You smiled at the words, and as you were driving back to New York, you wondered how long it would take Natasha to find out Leigh's phone number.

//-//

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