#to risk being completely cut open; THREAD

[two-thrones]

"An annoying setback, this."

The words permeate throughout the Sand Creature's mind, waylaying his own thoughts just as effectively as if the other man who had given voice to them were flesh and blood, standing right next to him instead of the disembodied sentience that he currently was. Xenres would sigh, only he'd end up with sand in his mouth.

Glowing eyes squinting against the onslaught of dirt and debris, one structure stands out among the others, a vague shape in the worsening storm, yet still discernibly a large stable; the front of the building left wide open but deep enough to offer shelter from the elements to the animals presumably inside.

An easy entrance makes for an easy exit, and Xenres quickly ducks around the corner, getting off the streets and out of the path of the gale. It's precisely what one might expect; a series of stalls lined up along one wall, with miscellany to care for the horses scattered about. Only the stalls are empty. Idle steps carry him farther in, the Sand Creature offering a quiet response to the personality in his head, spoken aloud: "Yes, well. You, of all people, know you can't control a sandstorm."

A seemingly innocuous enough comment, judging by the moment of silence from the other, it's taken as anything but. "A shame that it isn't something harmless, then, like rain— oh, wait."

At that, it's Xenres' turn to stare, unamused, at the various tools on the wall in front of him, although before he can quip back, another presence is suddenly felt in the center of the room behind him. Body tensing, he wheels around, fully anticipating to find an arrow or sword aimed at his face.

@origami-assassin, a starter that's long overdue

[lumosinlove]

Write Me In

Part Five

~

His office felt weird. New York felt weird. Even being with Cassie felt weird. Leo was so groggy in his real life that sometimes, when he was washing his face or sitting in a meeting or grabbing a bagel for lunch, he wondered if he had just been sleeping that whole time with Finn and Logan. He wouldn’t put it past himself to dream up something like that. Leave it to him to think making dinner for two of the biggest names in the music industry was a daydream. And the kissing, of course, but he spent far more time thinking about salt water in Finn’s hair and the way Logan looked walking around the markets. It was all smeared gold in his mind. And then there were the dirty dreams which he kept accidentally thinking about in meetings.

The article was going to lead this month’s issue, which meant it would come out right as Finn and Logan started up their tour again. A crew was being sent out to Nice for the cover shoot and Leo had been so jealous when he found out that he’d had to excuse himself from the meeting for a moment. He missed them. He probably scrolled through their messages too much.

The thread started when Leo had settled into a cab and opened the app to text them that he’d landed, only to find an incoming FaceTime call interrupting him. Leo had saved their numbers under their initials—as if that would really fool anyone. So, when Finn’s first FaceTime had popped up, he’d been more than surprised to find difficult little rock star calling him instead, complete with a photo that Finn seemed to have taken himself—him and Logan basking in the sun, hair wet from the ocean and cheeks smushed together.

Leo had answered with, “and what’s Logan saved under then?”

Finn had just grinned and ran off screen—presumably to grab Logan’s phone because a second later, Leo got a text of !! from grumpy<3

Leo figured that was subtle enough to keep. He’d pushed his headphones into his ears and let Finn’s voice fill his head as the city rose up and greeted him in its sunset.

Somehow, without so much as a ripple, talking to them had started feeling like talking to old friends. Once a day. Twice a day. Photographs of their lunches and messy work spaces in between. When Leo received his fist voice memo, he’d had to lock himself in the bathroom at work and breathe a few times before hitting play.

“Hi, Le,” Finn’s voice said. “Okay—we’re writing today. Lo, hello, say hi.”

“Hi, hey,” Logan said, then let out a wicked cough. “Sorry, Finn made me do one of those ginger shots and I’m in hell.”

Leo covered his laugh with his hand.

“Shut up, it’s good for you,” Finn replied. “Okay, anyway. So, this is called—oh, I’m gonna be on the piano. But this is—and I’m gonna try to play it straight through.”

“Stop interrupting yourself,” Logan said, then it sounded like he got closer to Finn’s phone. “It’s called Neon Signs and it’s off of the new album, and we know your editor wanted you to hear one more song for the piece so—ouais. Go, Finn.”

“I was going to say I’m on the piano and on the album it’s also piano. So. There.” He laughed and played a few chords. “Okay. It’s about one of the times when we almost got together, but we didn’t. We were at a bar that we weren’t old enough for.”

“And Finn got us stuck outside because they wouldn’t let us back in,” Logan said.

“Fool them once, and all that,” Finn cut in.

“It was freezing.” Logan’s voice, then a pause. “And I kissed him.”

“Again,” Finn said, laughing. “Anyway, spoilers. Here we go.”

There were a few seconds of dead air. Just Finn breathing. Leo pressed his headphones against his ears and kicked up his volume in time to hear Logan whisper something in French and Finn hush him.

I wanted you to meet me outside.

We’re not old enough to drink, no, not quite.

And leaving this bar means risking getting stuck out in the cold.

But I said ‘follow me’ you said ‘all right.’

Pulling up your hood against the frost bite.

And now that we’re here, there are too many things I want you to know.

But somehow I can tell tonight is not when you’ll be told

That just the look of you beneath that neon sign

Sure is something to behold…

It’s soft and blue…

Like me and you…

Maybe I’ll do this forever,

Only kiss me when it’s snowing.

Cause at least it isn’t never,

Though I can’t see where we’re going.

If only that light from that neon sign

Made you see me

Just as brightly

Oh God

Where’s my,

Neon,

Bar sign?

One that you can read.

Put it over me.

Bathe me in signals and the arrows pointing where I want to lead.

“Oh,” Leo said softly to himself—reacting to the lyrics, but also to Finn’s piano. It was a meandering, sad tune. As if even the music wasn’t sure what its next note would be. The song took them out of winter next and through to summer. Into humidity, and strings lights and patios and dorm rooms, sweltering with the door closed and no AC. A goodbye—was this them going to college? And it was Logan singing. Fall and desperate for something to last. Finn fumbled a little on the piano, cursed softly, and despite the next sad lyric, Leo could hear Logan smiling. Instead walked into my own past. You’re sitting on the bed and I’ve never felt less or more alone.

Leo listened to it four times. It was hypnotizing. Yes, he knew the story. He’d been given the precious task of telling the story—but they were telling it, too.

Meanwhile, the article was going through drafts and drafts. He’d fought hard to keep the section about Logan’s market in. His editor hadn’t seen the relevance, and maybe Leo’s relevance wasn’t entirely music-based, but those markets were in the songs. Maybe not in so many words, but Logan was as gentle as his voice could be when he was there. He stood still in that space, listening to the rhythm and thrum of the people around him.

Sending cover shoot to you without me :/ Leo typed out.

Finn replied almost instantly: I’ll refuse to pose until you arrive.

Then Logan: I will lock them out.

Ha, Leo wrote.

No Ha. It’s my house.

I’m at the office—in the final meeting for the article. He thought for a second, then smiled as he typed out. Everyone’s so happy for you.

You are coming to our first show, Logan typed out, and then a few seconds later, ? accompanied it, as if Finn had forced it out of him.

I’m coming to a show. Not sure when yet, Leo said. I’m on another project and have to finish it up before—

His eye caught on his phone’s clock. Jesus. He’d been in here for ten minutes texting like a teenager between classes. Before what? Before I can come back to you. Before I can come home, before I can come back because I miss you.

The thrill that came from being able to know he missed them because he knew them was strong.

—before I can make it, he finished. Have to go back to meeting now

Finn sent him five rows or pink hearts, Logan said, we miss you, and Leo sat back down in his meeting with a smile on his face that earned him weird looks. Cassie stared at him until someone asked her a question.

~

“Okay, so you’re gonna spill all your beans now.” Cassie jabbed him gently with her fork at lunch. “Like. Right now.”

“I don’t have beans.” Leo tilted his bowl to her. “This is my mama’s chicken salad recipe. Want some?”

Cassie groaned. “Just tell me why you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot every chance you get!”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you are.”

“I’m not, I’m not.”

“Yes, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Cassie grabbed onto his arm. “Tell me.”

“I’m excited for them,” Leo said. “That’s all. I’ve always looked up to them, and this is a big deal.

“So we are talking about Finn and Logan?”

Leo froze, caught. “Oh.”

It wasn’t his fault. They filled every little space of his mind. And if there was somewhere they couldn’t reach, they pressed up against that part, all warm and insistent.

Cassie threw her head back and squealed. “Leo. Tell me, tell me—”

“Oh-ho my God, they kissed me.”

Cassie stared at him, voice cutting off. Leo slapped his hands over his own mouth.

“You don’t know that,” Leo said quickly, just as Cassie made a soft, breathy sort of screeching sound.

“Wh-at?” she set her fork down with exaggerated precision. “What did you just say?”

Leo glanced around the courtyard they were in, but they were alone. In the shade, sun dappling down on them, and alone.

“They?” Cassie’s hand on his sleeve twisted the fabric. “They kissed you?”

He hadn’t meant to say a word, but the knowledge was like a fire inside of him. Being wanted like this. Being wanted by them.

Cassie started laughing, surprised and delighted. “Leo.”

“Yeah, they—apparently, um.” Leo shook his head. He didn’t even know how to say this. “They’ve been tracking my career since I just had the blog, and we were out by the fire pit and we almost—but we didn’t. And then we talked and I told them about Jack—sort of.”

Cassie’s blue eyes went wide at that, but she stayed quiet.

“And they sort of got why I was saying no.”

“You said no?”

“At first, at first.” Leo pushed his lunch away and dropped his voice. “Okay, okay, okay, sworn to secrecy.”

She squealed again through a shut mouth and hit him repeatedly in the arm.

“So, Nice,” Leo said. “Logan’s house.”

“Yeah, fuck you, by the way, meant nicely but with jealousy.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But, so that night happened where they made the move a bit—”

“What does that even mean?”

“Mm, hard to explain. They were actually—” Leo’s laugh interrupted his words. “They were so bad at it.”

“Finn O’Hara is bad at making the moves?”

“Only when he means it, apparently.”

Cassie’s waved him on. “Okay, more, I need more.”

“So, we talked it out at the markets.”

“Ah. That’s why you like those sections so much. It’s all coming together.”

“Shut up.”

“And they kissed you there?”

“No,” Leo said. “Logan kissed me, just once, and um…” Leo bit back a grin. “And then later, Finn. Mostly because—I mean we said we’d take it slow and Logan was just keeping that promise, but I may have lost some resolve with Finn because—fuck, because.”

“He’s Finn O’Hara,” Cassie said. “I think ‘fuck, because’ is a fine reason.”

“And that’s when he said they want me to come back once I’m off their project. I mean, I know I have the follow up piece but…then I’ll be done.”

Cassie had her chin in her palm, the way she sometimes did when she was thinking. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

She sat up straight. “Both…of them?”

Leo opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Honestly, I haven’t been even…feeling strange about that. Is that weird?”

“No,” Cassie said, shaking her head. “I mean, not if it’s working. You’re not, like…jealous?”

“No,” Leo answered. It was the truth. “I know I probably should be.”

“They are basically high school sweethearts,” Cassie said. “Like, this article, the way you describe them…That’s soulmate shit right there. I don’t mean you don’t fit with them, I’m just…”

“I know where you’re coming from, but…” Leo sighed, smiling. “And I went there, too, but it’s just not like that. I like the way they are together. The way they treat each other. I like it as much as I like the way the are with me.”

“Holy shit,” Cassie said, then laughed. “Oh man.” She pushed her lunch aside in favor of pulling her laptop out of her bag. “Holy shit, holy shit, which show do you want? Which show, Le, I want to book that all out right fucking now.”

“It’s one night.”

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna be a hell of a night.”

Leo reached forward and grasped her hand. “Don’t even joke about that with me, I’m a wreck.”

“Yeah, well, you need all the help you can get. You were there for, what, three weeks, and you just kissed?”

“I am—”

“No, I commend you, cowboy, you just have eons more willpower than I do.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Now, which show?”

Leo had been thinking about it. Of course he’d been thinking about it. He pictured them in different cities. Walking different streets. But, in the end, there was no question. Leo wanted to be where they had figured everything out. Maybe they’d figure out each other, too.

“Italy,” Leo said. “I want Italy.”

~

He was nervous to see them, that was for sure. Cassie always followed through on her work quickly, but Leo felt like he had blinked through being home before he was staring down at an empty suitcase again. Italy. Milan. It would be warm. He’d be there for a week. Something casual for the shows. Something nice for press events. Something comfortable for…mornings? He stared in his underwear drawer for too long. When was the last time he’d had to care what he looked like in his underwear, much less what his underwear looked like. That turned into staring at his t-shirts for too long, only to pick up his Heartthrob O’Hara t-shirtand fold it into his suitcase. Then he sat on the edge of his bed and googled Logan Tremblay t-shirt. They weren’t that good. Grainy photos just plastered on fabric. He typed in Night Swimming lyric t-shirt. There were hundreds, but Leo had fun scrolling. He’d probably added too many things to his cart when he finally found what he was looking for. The shirt was white with four words in forest green on it.

OH MY

GREEN EYES

Leo bit back a smile and ordered it to be delivered tomorrow.

The next night, he was cooking dinner and squinting at his iPad, when the recipe webpage disappeared in favor of an incoming call.

“Milan?” Logan asked when Leo answered.

“Yep,” Leo said. He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Is that okay?”

“That’s longer,” Logan said.

“I know,” Leo sighed. “But it’s when I’m in between projects and can write your follow up.”

Finn mirrored his position, squeezing into the frame beside Logan. “Why don’t you come here right now? I’ll write you a note, get you out of school. Photoshoot tomorrow, you can watch us kiss on camera.” Finn snuck a hand out to grab Logan’s chin when he wasn’t looking and turned his face to kiss him, even if Logan was smiling too much to make it last.

Leo leaned forward. “I…As tempting as that is...”

“I liked it when we were your job,” Finn shot back. “You were around all the time.”

“Oh yeah? Not me,” Leo said. Finn blinked, and Leo fought a smile because he’d got him. “Kissing subjects is…”

“Fun?” Finn said. “A right we may exclusively reserve?”

Logan looked over at him with a smile and Leo was tempted to take a screenshot. He didn’t know how that would go over. He’d never taken a photograph of them himself. He knew that spooked some celebrities. In the beginning, he’d thought he’d die if he offended them. He still felt like that a bit.

“Shut up,” Logan said to Finn. “We don’t want to be Leo’s subjects.”

“I was kidding.”

“Listen,” Leo said. “It’s a right you can reserve, I’d just prefer you do it as you and not as Night Swimming.”

“Deal,” Finn said. He put his palm over the camera briefly, as if they had shaken on it. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking dinner.” Leo said, mimicking Finn’s sing-song—and then realized he’d basically just sung in front of Finn and tried to forget about it. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to come back,” Logan said.

Leo arched a brow. “To cook you dinner?”

“Non,” Logan laughed. He rested his chin on a palm, and Leo got basically an entire screen full of those green eyes looking over—him, he realized. Logan’s gaze darted over his face like he could do it for hours. “Other things.”

Heat washed over him, and Leo bit his lip. “Hmm…Play me more songs?”

“Can do, Sunshine,” Finn said.

They kept him company while he finished cleaning up, taking him through the packet they’d been sent concerning their photoshoot tomorrow.

“We’re doing it down by the sea,” Finn said. He was lounging on the couch, Logan at his feet holding a cup of tea. “And some house shots.” He tapped the leather couch. “Probably right here. Or the kitchen…Well, if it’s the kitchen, I know what I’ll be thinking about.”

Leo laughed as he shut his dishwasher. “Yeah, that kitchen gets a lot of action when I’m there.”

“Not when I’m there,” Logan said.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Finn said, running his fingers through Logan’s hair. “We’ve got a pretty good track record in Italy, don’t we?”

~

Leo didn’t sleep much that night. He usually didn’t before a flight. Something about the anticipation. Not that this was bad anticipation. He let himself drift and think, rather than fall and worry. Still awake, but lighter. The story was out of his hands now, gone to turn into paper and ink. He would write his follow up, but then…

Just three people, Finn had said. Just three people.

On his nightstand, his phone lit up his dark ceiling. Leo turned his head. There weren’t many people who could get through his Do Not Disturb. Part of him got nervous, wondering if something was wrong, and he propped himself up on an elbow quickly, pulling the phone off its charger.

you’re awake

Three words, soft as a whisper. From Logan. Just Logan.

A moment later came the ?

Leo rolled onto his back, grinning.

are you spying on me somehow?

Finn said you have trouble sleeping, came the reply.

I do sometimes, Leo sent. And then, do you not like question marks or something?

I just thought I was right

Leo laughed out loud, all to himself.

well, I am awake.

are you okay? Logan asked.

Yeah. Just thinking.

A bit of a pause, just long enough to make Leo bite his lip.

about what?

Leo typed his reply out slowly, carefully. Savoring getting to say these words. Getting more than one kiss from you.

An immediate reply. maybe I won’t ruin it this time

Leo smiled. I think the last thing you did was ruin it.

:)

God. Smiley faces from Logan Tremblay.

go to sleep so you get here faster, Logan wrote. or just get here now.

Job—remember?

:(

Leo laughed again. I do have a surprise for you when I get there.

what is it? Logan asked immediately.

“Classic,” Leo whispered to himself, but just sent a smiley in return. Then, after a moment’s thought—

goodnight, green eyes

~

The article, when it came out, was hot as lightning. The photographs were gorgeous. Natural. They turned into each other like puzzle pieces, dressed in the muted, gentle browns of the house, and then the bright jewels of green and blue. But it was the opening show that came after it that caused the storm.

Leo didn’t get a single bit of work done—but neither did Cassie, so it was fine. He had never watched a grainy live stream closer and made Cassie go out and get him lunch so he didn’t have to get up. He brought his phone to the bathroom with him. He’d never refreshed Twitter so many times to find new photographs and videos. Finn, getting a pride flag thrown up to him at one point. The moments when they shared the microphone now sometimes ended in a kiss. A kiss. Leo was laughing and choked up all at once. Logan’s hat said rouge.

“Is there a reason you didn’t choose that show?” Cassie asked.

He’d thought about it. Being there. He could have gotten out of work—not in a I’m sort of kind of dating them and suddenly I miss them every second please let me go way but in a…this is important for the follow up way. But. He hadn’t. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to.

“This is a long time coming for them,” Leo said carefully, and found it true. “This is something they thought they’d never have. It’s theirs. And I wanted them to have it more than anything.”

Cassie’s eyes softened. She’d wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “They better know how lucky they are if they’re getting you.”

Leo smiled and tilted their heads together, turning back to the show.

“Well, fuck,” Finn’s voice echoed through the stadium as he sat down at the piano. “You guys know what song’s coming by now, I guess.”

Rooftop, Leo thought, and shushed Cassie so harshly that she rolled her eyes and knocked him lightly on the shoulder.

Logan was still on stage, though, and getting up from behind his set. Leo’s heart leapt right into his throat.

“Something’s happening,” Leo said. “Something’s happening.”

“You shush,” Cassie said.

“Or at least you thought you did,” Finn said, then leaned back and laughed, the microphone barely catching it over the answering cheers. Logan crossed the stage, taking his time. Finn made room for him on the piano bench seat and Logan slotted perfectly against his side.

“No, look,” Finn played a few chords. “Rooftop has a special place in my heart, but it’s no part of tonight. Tonight…” He looked at Logan. “Tonight how about a little duet, Tremblay?”

Leo knew these chords. He loved these chords. And now, he could think of the lyrics that were about to come. They were probably some of the first words written about both of them letting themselves have each other…It was perfect. The crowd knew the song, too, and they were manic when Logan started playing the piano’s lower register, almost like a bass to Finn’s higher, softer melody.

A crew member brought out a second microphone and fixed it over the piano. Logan thanked him with a nod, and leaned in.

“You should have seen Finn trying to teach me piano,” his voice echoed.

Leo leaned closer to the screen. “Oh my God.”

Cassie sorted. “You’re so smitten.”

“They’re playing Keep.” 

“Yes, I know, I am a fan, too!”

I see you in the morning staring out over the waves.

I find I don’t need my instincts, never thought I’d see the day.

I could just roll over, yeah, I could close my eyes,

Cause I don’t have to grasp at glimpses, no, I’ve got my whole life.

I’ll tell anyone who asks, 

“Harmony, harmony,” Cassie said, imitating Leo’s accent.

Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and put his palm over her mouth. But she was right. The harmony, Logan joining in on the chorus, was exquisite.

I’ll show anyone who wants to see.

Like sea glass, or pebbles found on the beach.

Oh God, look at what I get to keep.

I’ll hold it as long as my breath lasts.

I’ll say it in all the languages they speak.

Like histories or songs sung while out at sea,

Hey Sunshine, what do you say you keep me?

Cassie made a strangled noise before Leo could. She pulled Leo’s hand away from her mouth.

“Sunshine? He just—They just changed the lyrics,” Cassie said. She got her arms around Leo’s waist and shrieked, making everyone in the office look at them. “He changed the lyrics.”

Leo was going to melt into his keyboard. Or cry? No. He was going to love them.

“I see you in the kitchen just before we go to sleep—” Finn gave his head a little, sharp shake, smiling, and when he looked up, Leo saw that he was crying, unable to sing through it. The crowd filled in. I find I don’t need my instincts, you are mine to keep.

Leo touched his lips lightly. Leo wouldn’t forget that sound, the stadium singing for them like that, even through a video. Not ever. He wouldn’t forget the feeling of knowing how much Finn and Logan deserved it. And how much he wanted them to have this. And how sweet is was when Logan played the last note, Finn wrapping an arm around him and pressing a lingering kiss to his temple, and Logan catching Finn’s tears with a gentle hand.

Finn found one of the stadium cameras, touched a hand to his mouth, and held it out.

Oh God, Leo was going to really love them.

~

Leo could feel the change in the air the moment he stepped of his airplane. Humid, but light. He rolled up the sleeves of his button-down and put his sunglasses on as he stepped into the warm afternoon. He was a little groggy from his flight, but not too bad. He was hungry, though, and in desperate need of a coffee—which he was most certainly in the right place for.

“Mr. Knut?”

Leo turned, pulling his suitcase up to his side. A man was standing there, sleek in a light gray suit and a driver’s cap. He had a neatly tripped gray beard, kind eyes, and a light British accent.

“Yes?” Leo said. “Oh, are you—”

“Mr. Tremblay’s driver, yes. Ralph, it’s a pleasure.” Ralph motioned towards his suitcase. “Might I take care of that for you, sir, on the way to the car?”

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” Leo said. “But thank you. It’s nice enough of him to send you to get me. Very kind.”

“Yes, he was very keen. This way, sir.”

Leo followed him the short distance to the car park, remarking on the weather just because he wasn’t used to being called sir. Ralph was kind about it, offering small talk right back. The car was shiny and black, the windows so dark and opaque that Leo guessed that was why Logan used it. He stored his suitcase and laptop bag and stuttered around Ralph opening his door for him.

“Oh, wow—thanks so much.”

“Of course, sir.”

Leo slid into the smooth, leather seat. The whole car smelled new. There was a water bottle waiting for him in the door side pocket, nestled into a tortoise shell cup holder. Leo took his sunglasses off just as the door shut—

And then someone was grabbing onto his shirt and tugging. An insistent, warm mouth covered his, swallowing Leo’s sound of surprise.

Logan. The warm, pine scent of him. The feeling of canvas when Leo made to touch his hair. The weight of him swinging a leg over Leo’s lap. Callouses on his hands where they smoothed up Leo’s neck.

“Hello,” Leo gasped. “Fuck.”

“Hi.” Logan barely said the word before he was kissing him again. Leo had to let his head rest back against the seat he was so dizzy with it. His mouth probably tasted sour, he was probably sweaty, maybe he even smelled from the plane, but Logan didn’t seem to care.

“Where’s—”

“Sound check,” Logan gasped, and then he had Leo’s bottom lip gently between his teeth, pulling and letting go. “He’ll be at the hotel by the time we get there.”

“You don’t need—your sound checked?”

“I need this.”

From his place on Leo’s lap, Logan put a hand on the ceiling. For a moment, Leo wondered what the hell he was in for in the back of this car, but Logan’s fingers found a button that he pushed and up a partition between them and Ralph began to rise.

“Hotel, sir?” Ralph asked as the sheet rose.

“Merci,” Logan confirmed, and then the partition cut them off in a muffled, tinted-window bubble of their own making and Logan’s hungry green eyes were all Leo was left with.

Their breathing sounded loud to Leo’s ears. He got his first good look at Logan. White t-shirt, black cotton shorts. Green hat, backwards. Tan, gorgeous, just like Leo remembered him, but even more real. A small scratch on his cheek from somewhere. He’d cut himself shaving on his chin, a little red dot. Leo reached up and took off his hat, letting his bangs fall forward in their gentle waves. They were pretty light from all the sunshine.

“Can he…” Leo whispered. “Can Ralph hear us?”

Slowly, Logan shook his head.

Leo reached up and tucked his fingers through Logan’s hair. He could have lived off of the way Logan’s eyes slipped closed. “How long is the drive?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Hm.”

Logan’s smile looked like one of his soft, lulling songs. “What does that mean?”

Leo didn’t answer. He’d been taken by surprise, but that was fading now. All it left behind was want and relief. For now, he was done with the distance and the florescent lights of his office. He was back in Logan’s arms.

Thirty minutes felt like five. Logan’s soft sounds filled him right up as Leo kissed his neck—that was when Ralph’s gentle knock from the driver’s seat came. Leo broke off, startled. His mouth felt puffy—and good. Logan’s warm weight felt like the only thing holding him together.

“Ouais,” Logan called. “One moment.”

As Logan leaned their foreheads together, the world filtered back in. Leo became aware of the sound of a crowd outside, and had to laugh.

“Are we about to be photographed?”

“Probably a little,” Logan said. “It’s okay. You wouldn’t believe how many times Finn and I have had this happen.”

“What, got a little heavy in the car?”

Logan grinned, ducking to kiss Leo again. “Mhm.”

“That’s…” Really hot.

Logan slid off his lap, back to his side. They both spent a moment trying to pull themselves together. Logan would have to get out first, which made Leo feel a little better.

“They’ll bring your bags to the room,” Logan said. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Ready?”

Hands banged against the windows, making Leo jump. There were some chants of Finn’s name, along with Logan’s, and Leo realized they didn’t know who was in the car. “I—yeah.” The room. “I think so.”

Logan considered him for a moment, then took off his own hat and placed it, bill forward, on Leo’s head.

“Oh,” Leo said. “Do I look—”

“You look how I want you to look. Merde, I want Finn to see you.” Logan grinned. “But it may be a bit much for a photo.”

Leo reached up and touched the hat. It was green and had said the word LOVE on it. That was a story Leo wanted to write. Logan could say a lot with his hats. There were whole twitter accounts dedicated to the way he hinted at future songs or albums with what was on his hat.

LOVE. Leo was wearing the word love.

“I know I shouldn’t hold your hand quite yet,” Logan began, trailing off.

Leo laughed. “That would spark some wild rumors.”

Logan looked at him over the rim of his glasses, the shadow making his green eyes bright. “Stay close to me, okay?” He popped the car door and the sound of the crowd doubled, frenzied, screaming, yearning. “Stay close.”

Leo could hear his own heartbeat. He could feel it in his throat. He did want to hold Logan’s hand. “I will.”

And Leo experienced the cameras and fans from an entirely different view. He’d followed Finn and Logan around. He’d never walked with them, not like this. Not side by side in a way that signaled to everyone he was with them.

He stuck close to Logan’s back, as promised. He caught some curious looks, felt phone cameras trained on him. The sun was bright and he was very glad for Logan’s hat. He tried to take it in, if for nothing further than that this was the biggest crowd he’d ever followed a star through from this close, but it was over in a flash. They were in a cool hotel lobby, marble and stone, and a smiling woman, motioning them to the elevator. Logan’s two security guards got in with them.

The sudden silence was loud. Logan took his sunglasses off, casually folding them into his shirt and leaning back against the wall as they rose.

“Here we go, Tremz,” one of the guards said, fist bumping Logan as he passed him through the open doors. “See you tonight. Remind Finn the dinner res he asked for is at eight-thirty.”

“Thanks, Paul.” Logan looked back from the hallway. “Leo?”

“Sorry,” Leo said and strode forward. “Thanks—Thanks, Paul.”

Paul was a massive guy, but when he smiled he looked like a teddy bear. “You got it, man.”

There was only one door on this hallway, right in front of them with a large brass knocker, and no sooner had the elevator shut than did it swing open to reveal Finn—sweaty, in a soft looking gray t-shirt and running shorts, and grinning.

“Jesus,” Logan said. “You scared me.”

“I heard the ding,” Finn said cheerfully.

He was looking right at Leo. Leo drew Logan’s hat off, trying to catch his breath.

“There were crowds,” Logan said, as if explaining.

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Are you guys famous or something?”

Finn ignored the joke. He walked right up to Leo, wrapped him up in his arms, and held on tight. Leo had maybe been expecting a kiss—probably something a tad more obvious than Logan’s sneak-attack. But the hug was better. Finn was warm. He smelled like sweat and sunscreen from being on stage.

“Hi,” Finn whispered in his ear. He pulled back, holding Leo’s cheek briefly, then gently tweaked a curl of Leo’s blond hair. “Hi, Sunshine.”

Leo covered Finn’s hand, turning his mouth against it. “Hi.”

“Come here,” Finn said, laughing. “Come in.”

“Ouais.” Logan put a hand low on Leo’s back, guiding him through the suite door. “Where’s my surprise?”

“What surprise?” Finn asked as the door shut behind them. Sure enough, Leo’s bags were waiting there, neatly side-by-side near the small kitchen.

“Not till later,” Leo said.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “How later?”

“Tomorrow later.”

Logan huffed.

Finn came up behind him, pressing a small cup into his hand. Espresso.

“Oh, how did you know?” Leo sipped it down easily. Hot and slightly sweet with sugar.

“You’re in Italy,” Finn said. Next he was wrapping an arm around Leo’s waist. “You understand that if it’s a physical surprise, he’s going to dig through your luggage?”

Leo toyed with his delicate espresso cup.“Not if I say not to.”

Finn’s chin hooked over his shoulder. Leo could feel his laugh against his skin. His strong chest against his back. His hips— “You think he’ll listen to you?”

They both regarded Logan, who was still glaring at them—and glancing at Leo’s suitcase.

“I think he will.”

“Hm,” Finn said, and Leo felt a kiss land on his neck. “I think you’re right.” Another kiss to the exact same spot. Over a mark Logan had made? “I see someone has already gotten to you.”

“I was accosted in the car,” Leo said.

“Classic.”

Logan just rolled his eyes and began dragging Leo’s suitcase into another room.

By that night, the fans who didn’t read up on their music stories had already figured out who he was. Leo Knut—last seen on the road writing the coming out piece on Night Swimming. Sure enough, Twitter was full of wearing Lo’s hat wearing Lo’s hat???

“Ooh, you’re so undercover,” Finn commented when he glimpsed Leo’s phone once they were back in the car, speeding through the night on the way to dinner. “They don’t know what’s coming for them.”

Leo clicked his phone off even as Cassie texted nice hat. He looked at Logan, at a purplish bruise Leo had left on his neck. “No, they really don’t.”

Logan covered the mark with his palm and grinned out the window. Leo laughed, looking, too, then paused.

“Hey, are we leaving the city?”

“Yep,” Finn said.

“Where?” Logan asked.

Finn shrugged exaggeratedly. He’d changed into a dark blue button down, light slacks, and pretty brown leather shoes that Leo badly wanted a pair of. He’d pushed a dark green button down towards Logan, dark trousers, and white, pristine sneakers. He’d taken one look at Leo and told him he was perfect, but Leo had showered and changed anyway. Dusty red shirt. He’d followed Finn’s lead and left the collar loose.

Logan kicked at Finn from his seat across from the both of them. Finn just stuck his tongue out and took Leo’s hand across the console between them. Leo stared at it for a moment. Finn’s pale fingers that would be playing a guitar to thousands of people tomorrow were right there wrapped up in his own.

“Where?” Logan insisted.

“Jesus, Lo, can neither of us try and surprise you? I know you found all your presents as a kid, but you’re not finding the ones I give you.” Finn dropped a wink. “I’ll give it to you when I decide.”

Apparently where was a castle. Literally a castle. Soft lights flooded up the old stones to reveal turrets and archways. A man in a tuxedo was waiting for them at the entrance. They were given champagne in thin, airy glasses and leave to roam the lit gardens before their dinner was served. The air was mild, but the feeling of Finn and Logan at his shoulders was better. Finn had something to say about every flower, every piece of architecture, as if he had studied up for this night. They ate dinner under the stars, watching fireflies dart through the greenery.

It wasn’t until they had been served an array of desserts and left truly alone that Leo thought to bring up the article and how they were doing—it was different to ask without a screen between them.

“We’re so good,” Finn said. He looked at Logan, who nodded. Finn wrapped an arm around Logan’s chair, scooting it closer to his. Leo watched him lean into him. His brown eyes flickered to Leo even as his lips brushed Logan’s skin. “Lo?”

“Ouais, I…” Logan gave up on words and tucked his face into Finn’s neck, laughing.

Leo leaned back in his chair, glad the table let him stretch his still plane-cramped legs out under the table. “It’s so nice to see you up there. Really. I can’t wait for tomorrow. You just look so…free.”

“We feel free,” Finn said. “And it’s thanks to you.” He held out a hand across the linen tablecloth and, after a moment, Leo took it. “How are you, Le?”

Leo let out a slow breath, watching the way Finn’s thumb tracked across his knuckles. “I’m…” He laughed a little. “That’s quite a question. Really quite a question.”

Logan laughed, and when Leo realized he was laughing at him, he threw a sugar coated almond at him in a neat arc across the table—which lost all its effect when Logan caught it in his mouth.

“Non, seriously.” Logan leaned more into Finn’s side. “Leo?”

Leo looked around them. They both had a knack for finding these slices of paradise. Though, lately it had been feeling like any where they were was heaven, even his own kitchen.

“Being on tour with you was wonderful,” Leo answered. “And Nice was, of course, perfect. So beautiful…God, this is beautiful.”

“Why am I sensing a but?” Finn asked, brows drawn together. Logan looked downright nervous.

Leo shook his head, bringing his other hand to hold Finn’s as well. “No. Well, yes, but not like that.”

They both looked at him expectantly. Patiently.

“You’ve been sweet in waiting for me. And honest about wanting me.”

“We fumbled and recovered,” Finn said.

“We do want you,” Logan said earnestly.

“Well, I…I hope so,” Leo said softly. Finn’s hand tightened around his.

“Yeah?” Finn whispered.

Leo nodded. Logan couldn’t quite reach with the angle, but he reached for Leo, too, hand on Finn’s wrist.

“It’s been—what? A week and a half of video calls? You know all these glorious places are amazing, but when we’re just sitting around…I mean, when we’re just talking… Or you’re watching me wash dishes, do laundry. And I start to feel like…”

He felt the words well in his throat like tears as he looked between them. He understood Cassie’s hesitation. He understood his own hesitation. He’d been nervous that he’d come back and something would have changed. Like adrenaline leaving the system. But it hadn’t.

“I’ve never not known how to be without someone before,” Leo said. “But you make me feel like I don’t remember how to be alone.”

Finn’s smile was tearful and Leo realized he felt a little like that, too, even as Finn leaned forward and kissed him. It dissolved into a laugh, into kiss to his cheek. A piece of silverware clattered to the ground as Finn tugged Leo’s chair closer and hugged him as best he could.

“Rouge, you’re pulling the table cloth, the table—” Logan’s voice came, laughing. Leo heard his chair scoot back and then there was another pair of arms around Leo’s neck, Logan leaning over the back of his chair. He managed a sloppy kiss to Leo’s mouth, despite the angle.

Leo closed his eyes and held on. He waited for Finn to make him laugh. Or Logan to say something in French. But they stayed quiet, surprising him. He peeked one eye open, only to see that Finn, whose forehead was pressed against Leo’s temple, had his eyes closed, too. Leo didn’t dare move him to try and get at Logan, but the content sigh he felt against his neck was enough to go on for him. Wind whistled through the trees around them, bring the smell of some sweet flower. Leo closed his eyes again and leaned back into Logan’s shoulder and Finn’s arm. It was like a blanket, their quiet. They’d been more serene than he’d expected from the beginning—puzzles, dinner, reading, morning runs. This was something deeper. It was as if something unhappy had finally been able to settle for them, too. The questions were still there. How will this work? What will people think? But they were muted and far off.

They looked up at footsteps on the patio, only to find a surprised waiter holding a pitcher of water.

“Ah,” the waiter said. “Pardon me. Uh…”

“Hi,” Finn said, only lifting his head. “Yeah, we’ll take the check.”

~

They laughed about it on the car ride home, the waiter’s face. Speeding through dark hills, and then streets still filled with chatter and light. Leo watched out the window as they slowed in narrower streets. It gave him a glimpses of passing faces. Laughing, eating, kissing.

Finn’s hand pressed to his thigh. “Are you composing sentences right now? I think you are.”

Leo looked over at him. “Maybe. And you?”

“I’ve been watching you two write in your heads for the last ten minutes,” Logan said. He’d stretched his legs out so their feet slotted together in the car space between them.

“Well, no one got on my lap, I had to do something to pass the time,” Leo said, squeezing one of Logan’s ankles between his own.

Logan just looked at him with bright eyes. “I don’t want to have to stop.”

Leo let his head fall back against the seat and he put his hand over Finn’s. “You just deal with that every day?”

“All day,” Finn said. “You don’t even want to know the things he says to me before we go on stage.” Finn laughed and scooted over in his seat, pressing right up against Leo’s side. “Actually, you probably do.”

No one was waiting at the hotel this time. There were no bright flashes to catch what Leo was sure was an intense flush on his cheeks. They stayed close in the elevator, their security shaking their heads at how giddy they probably sounded—all that content silence had bubbled into talking over each other and far too loud laughter. Finn fumbled a little with the hotel key, but then they were inside the suite and met with a blast of AC. Finn went to turn it down, but Logan got his hands on Leo’s waist and pulled until Leo had him pinned right up against the side of the entrance hall.

“This is how I first met you,” Leo said, staring down at him. He traced a hand under Logan’s jaw and watched the way he bared his neck for more. “I was so surprised. And you were so beautiful. And also you literally did not stop making out with Finn which was, like, okay then.”

Finn’s laugh reached them. “I asked him that after you left. I was like, how long was he standing there actually? And he wouldn’t tell me.”

“What’d you want, Lo?” Leo whispered, leaning down to kiss him softly. “Me to walk in ready to go right then?”

“Non, I wanted to see if you thought I was hot,” Logan said, then laughed as Leo pulled back to follow Finn’s voice into the living room. He called after him, “And you do!”

Finn had his dress shirt half unbuttoned and his belt in one hand, frowning at something on his phone.

“You okay there difficult rock star?” Leo asked, trying not to stare at his pale chest against the blush color.

Finn looked up, all big brown eyes suddenly—how did he do that? Switch between unbearably hot to unbearably sweet in two seconds—and smiled. “Oh. This isn’t what it looks like.” He gestured to himself with his belt. “I just wanted to change. And yeah, just tomorrow’s call times.”

Call times. Show tomorrow. Leo took a breath. Right. What time was it? Midnight? One? Leo knew they should sleep. He’d seen them on the nights before shows many times now. Logan drank mint tea. Finn read. Unless they had friends at the shows, or family, they tried to get as much sleep as they could. Logan slept in as much as he could. Finn seemed incapable of sleeping in, but he went for a run and he ordered up a big breakfast. God, Leo wanted to make them breakfast again. He wanted the way they sat with him, looked at him, made him coffee.

Leo nodded. He emptied his pockets, setting his phone and wallet on a side table. “I hope it’s not too early? I know your routines the night before a show and this isn’t it. It’s early for me, technically. But it’s late for you.”

Leo’s eyes drew down Finn’s body again. The half-untucked shirt. He was pretty sure those socks he was wearing were the ones advertised on TV offering arch support. Why, why was that hot right now? It was. And maybe Leo wanted the way Finn looked right now to be exactly what it looked like. What then?

Finn was quiet, glancing at Logan as he came into the room and sat on the back of the couch to look at Leo. Finn drew in a slow breath, stretching his arms up and behind his head, so that when he spoke his voice came out tensed like his muscles—which Leo could see more of now, the sharp cut just above his waistline. “I mean, you could…” He grinned, dropping his arms and relaxing. “We could get you on the right time zone.”

Leo bit at the inside of his cheek. That wasn’t exactly the line he’d heard in Finn’s voice during all of his laundry-folding day dreams, but it was so very Finn that it was better.

“What did your team think when you said I’d be staying with you?” Leo glanced up around the room. “I mean, in the same…” Bedroom? “Suite.”

“They’re our team for a reason,” Finn said. “They know what’s their business, and what’s ours.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “And my being a reporter isn’t their business? I bet at least a few people would disagree with that.”

“You’re not the kind of reporter they worry about,” Logan said. “Unless you suddenly revealed a long-range camera in your suitcase.” He tilted his head teasingly. “That’s not the surprise, is it?”

“No,” Leo laughed. “Definitely not the surprise.”

“And just to be clear,” Finn said. “Because looks like we’re not great on being clear—”

“Room, not suite,” Logan cut in.

“Jeez, way to grab my punchline and yank it out from beneath my feet.” Finn strode closer and put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “But yes. We were hoping…I mean, there is another room. Two other, in fact, for you to choose from.” He tilted his head. “But I was hoping just your suitcase would be staying there.”

“We,” Logan said, rising from his seat.

“We were hoping.”

Logan stood in front of Leo. He held out his hands palm up, and Leo put his palms into them. Logan gave a gentle tug. When Leo hesitated, worrying the inside of his cheek, it took about half a second for concern to flicker over Logan’s face.

“Le?” he asked gently. “What…What did I do?”

“No, no, no,” Leo said. “Nothing. I want that. I really, really want that. I just…” Leo sighed, cursing himself. The nerves he’d felt while packing sprung back at him. Look at them. Look at them.

“It’s been a while for me,” Leo said softly. “I mean—I mean a while. And you two know each other—so well. I just don’t want…to, like, disappoint, or…”

“Non,” Logan said.

“You couldn’t,” Finn added. “Leo, you couldn’t disappoint us. Like, ever.”

Leo knew that. He did. He even believed it. It didn’t stop the idea that he would from making him want to crawl under the covers and hide.

“I’m looking at two people who know each other inside and out,” Leo said. “And I love that about you two. But—yeah. That’s all.”

Finn and Logan looked at each other. Leo didn’t mind the silent communication ability. He even liked it. It was sweet. In his dreams, he got that ability with them, too. One day.

Finn stepped forward. It wasn’t the stage walk. It was just him. Even in the button-down that Leo now knew to be the softest linen, it was just him. Not all the photos Leo had seen of fans catching him on the street—sunglasses, t-shirt, notebook or coffee…smiling, talking with them, and uncapping Sharpies with his teeth. Leo had looked at the photos from that particular day a lot. A lot. Summer in New York, headed to the recording studio, stooping so a girl could slip a necklace she had made him over his head.

“Okay.” Finn smiled softly. “There’s one thing we can do no matter what. It’s late. We can just get ready for bed and…and then whatever you want.”

Logan nodded. “Whatever you want.”

“We do know each other through and through,” Finn said. He tucked a stray curl behind Leo’s ear, but Leo felt it spring back into place. “Which is why we know how much we want you here.”

Leo shook his head, putting a hand against Finn’s chest. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m just…” Leo looked to Logan. “I…This is like a dream? A really good dream.”

“Leo.” Finn’s voice was overly serious, but Leo caught the spark in his eye. “Were we your celebrity crushes or something?” 

Leo’s laugh surprised him, head falling back. “Finn.”

“Aw,” Finn wrapped his arms around Leo’s waist. “I embarrassed him. Look, Lo, we were his celebrity crush.”

“First, I meant because you’re so sweet. And second, I’m pretty sure you could attempt world domination with the number of people who would name you if asked who their crush is,” Leo said.

“Maybe,” Finn replied. “But I only care about one.”

It was the little things, first. Logan left small pools of water all around the sink when he washed his face. He went to Leo’s luggage, and Leo only had time to call out a warning don’t before Logan was pulling out a t-shirt with a delighted laugh. Thankfully, it wasn’t his surprise one…But it was Finn’s.

Leo was brushing his teeth next to Finn O’Hara in Italy, and Logan Tremblay was holding up his HEARTTHROB O’HARA t-shirt with a grin on his face that said it all.

“That was also a surprise,” Leo said around his toothpaste. He groaned, and put a hand over Finn’s delighted eyes as passed him to go rinse his mouth.

When he leaned up from the faucet, Finn was there, rinsing beside him. Leo cleared his throat, laughing a little under the feeling of Finn’s gaze. He tried to escape, honestly he had no idea what to say, but two hands caught his hips and a hard, warm chest met Leo’s back.

They looked at each other in the mirror. The lights were soft and dim, bringing out each of Finn’s freckles. Leo put his hand over where Finn’s rested low on his stomach.

“I’m embarrassed,” Leo said, smiling down at the sink. “It’s stupid, right?”

With a slight pressure to his hip, Finn turned Leo around. Leo rested back against the counter’s edge, and Finn nudged his way to stand between his thighs. He carded Leo’s hair back from his face, the ends damp from washing his face.

“Nothing about you could ever be stupid,” Finn said.

Leo traced the N of his NASA t-shirt, then one of the trails on a shooting star. “You probably see people in that shirt all the time. Probably have signed that shirt a million times.” Leo closed his eyes. “Shit. I’d say I’m not some crazy fan, but younger me was definitely a crazy fan.” He looked up at Finn. “But you know all about crazy fans.”

Finn smiled a little. He barely had to tilt his chin forward at all to brush their mouths together. “I do know a little about that.”

“So maybe the shirt doesn’t even matter?” Leo asked hopefully. Finn’s brown eyes were staring at his mouth—that still had toothpaste on it maybe?

“Everything about you matters,” Finn said, and kissed him.

It brought back the rush of the ocean. The heat of the sun, sitting against those cliffs when Leo had been so confused, so in want. He knew how to hold himself together. God, if there was one thing he was so very good at in this world, it was holding himself together.

“Maybe I’m your crazy fan,” Finn whispered. “I’ve been stalking your writing for long enough.”

Leo laughed. “Mm, that’s true.” He reached up for Finn’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

He didn’t want to hold himself together anymore. He didn’t want to hold back. Nothing he knew even compared to this. Not the fame, not the novelty. This. Worn out t-shirts and getting to have a perfect fit in a legendary love like theirs. These were new muscles, letting himself go, and he’d been straining them with these two. They felt stronger now.

The band of his pajama pants was wet from being pressed back into Logan’s puddles. Finn tasted minty, and with him standing between Leo’s thighs like this, Leo got to tilt his head up into the kiss.

“How do I look?”

They broke apart to see Logan standing in the bathroom doorway. He wore a soft looking pair of gray boxers, and his chest and arms filled out Leo’s t-shirt in a way Leo had never, would never have even thought, to imagine.

While Leo sat there staring, Finn laughed. “That thing looks like it’s about to fall to pieces.”

He wasn’t wrong. There was a hole near the collar, the letters were faded at the edges. But it was so damn soft from years of being washed that Leo couldn’t bare to part with it. He reached up and pushed his fingers through Finn’s hair. That gorgeous red hair. Maybe there was so much more he couldn’t part with now.

“Ouais, me too,” Logan said. Leo didn’t know what he was talking about until he walked forward and reached up for Finn’s hair, completely messing it up. “Everyone’s obsessed with it, but how can you not be?”

Leo laughed as Finn squinted one eye shut but let them have their fun. It was soft and thick, the sorter strands at the sides feathering through Leo’s fingers like velvet.

Finn put a hand on Logan’s chest, tapping over the letters of Leo’s t-shirt. “I always guessed that was why everything they put my name in is red, too.”

“Marketing?” Leo said.

“Yeah.” Finn sighed, shrugged, then smiled. “Le, that shirt really is about to fall apart.”

“I…wear it a lot.”

“Oh yeah? All around the city with my name on your heart?”

Leo bit his lip. It was more than that. It was what he wore when he was sad, or had had a bad day. When he was sick, or exhausted, or angry.

And then, over the past month, that comfort had shifted to them. A bad day at work ended with four hour FaceTimes until Leo was too sleepy to talk anymore and Finn’s soft voice. Goodnight, Sunshine. And when he couldn’t sleep, somehow Logan always knew. The soft light of his phone lighting up his bedroom from his nightstand and never letting him feel alone or sinking or like he would never sleep again.

“Le?” Finn asked softly. His hair was a mess from their hands. His eyes were pure syrup again, asking, checking, worried—loving?

“Hi,” Leo said. “Sorry, hi.” He put a hand on Finn’s cheek and looked at Logan.

Logan tilted his head. “What are you writing right now, Soleil?”

Leo closed his eyes briefly at the nickname, leaning his head back to bask in it. “Dialogue, I guess.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, wrapping an arm around Leo’s waist. It completed the circle of the three of them. “Of?”

“How to ask you to take me to bed,” Leo whispered.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, and then Leo was being kissed.

He’d written a lot of words in his life. It was almost funny to be asked what he was writing right then. He wasn’t even sure this was something that could be written. What did kiss have on what Finn gave him? It was just what Leo remembered. The heated energy from that middle of the night kiss in Nice, only tripled.

“Hey.” Logan’s voice was low. Leo felt fingers tighten in his hair and he gasped, breaking Finn’s kiss long enough to be pulled to another mouth. The ocean and the shade. The shade and the ocean. Finn’s laugh echoed against the bathroom tiles. He was watching them. He had a hand on Leo’s back, and probably Logan’s, and let them kiss.

No, Leo couldn’t have written this down. Logan, pulling him towards the bedroom. Finn flicking off the bathroom light and leaving them in the yellow-pink glow of a reading lamp and the moon.

“I’d raise the sun if I could,” he said. He caught Leo up around the waist again. “Just because it’s dark in here doesn’t mean I want it to be.”

“Finn.” It sounded pleading, but Leo hadn’t meant it that way. Not stop. Not more. Just… “Have some compassion for how full my heart can be right now, O’Hara.”

And then Leo took that famous NASA t-shirt right off of him. The stars and the comet trails, they were still there. Finn’s torso was its own sky map and Leo, wondering what Finn liked, bent to kiss a trail of his own along one thin collarbone.

What words existed for the feeling of Finn chest rising and falling against his mouth.

What words could Leo have used to describe the smile Logan gave him as he let Leo pull his t-shirt off of him next? All Leo could comprehend was the sheer strength of his arms and the dark trail of hair that led down into his boxers.

There were no hesitations, like Leo had thought there would be. The pauses were woven in, just turns and folds and lifts like pages. Yes? This? Grins and breaths and—Logan’s sounds. Logan. Logan knew what he wanted. Finn knew what Logan wanted. Leo, very quickly, knew what Logan wanted and shared a slightly dazed grin with Finn about it. He got to watch Finn’s practiced fingers, and see how much Finn enjoyed giving Logan everything he could possibly desire. It was as sweet as it was unbearably hot. Finn looked so pale against Logan’s tanned skin. Marble. That was a word Leo had used before, but it applied. Jesus Christ, it applied.

What did grip have on the way Logan clutched at Leo’s shoulders when they were at last as close as anything could be, his thighs shaking against Leo’s. Bliss, certainly, was nothing compared to the look on Logan’s face when Finn’s hand pressed over the strong curve of his adam’s apple and asked him how he liked it, told him they looked gorgeous. Throbbing held nothing to the way Leo’s heart pounded, and more than nothing to how close those words brought him to the edge. Rhythm. That’s what Logan had. Leo set his hands against the small of his back—two dimples there, made for Leo’s thumbs—and held on.

“Mm—” Logan’s breath came out short and he froze, mouth open against Leo’s neck. His back was slick with sweat now. Finn sat back on his heels just beside them, working himself slowly.

“What you waiting for, baby?” Finn breathed. He’d not been moving much, but there was a sheen over his nose and temples, too. Just from watching. Now, he shifted behind Leo and wrapped his arms around his waist, nuzzling under his jaw.

Leo reached between them and Logan muffled his sound in Leo’s neck. Logan hadn’t been warm from the second he met him, but oh, he was warm now. Burning in Leo’s hands, against Leo’s body.

“I just want it to last,” Logan said shakily, but he was moving again, like he couldn’t help it. “You’re leaving in two days.” Logan wrapped his arms fully around Leo’s shoulders. “Don’t.”

“Don’t even know how—” Leo’s eyes slipped shut and he tried to breathe through the mix of white hot pleasure and blue tenderness pulsing through him. “How to think about leaving.” He smoothed his hands up Logan’s back, feeling the way it flexed as Logan moved against him.

“Ouais,” Logan said, a smile slipping across his face. He pulled back, his breathing jumping as their hips shifted. He kissed Leo hard, then cursed softly and let his head fall back. “Fuck…Leo…”

With his hair falling back and out of his eyes like that, Leo’s language left him entirely. He’d seen him like this on stage, lost in the music. He’d watched from the VIP booth, from the wings. Logan was closer to him than Finn was, always staying in one place. He’d seen the lights catch his every angle as he threw his head back, sweat dampening his dark hair, and played with everything he had. Tonight, Leo felt like theirs in that same way.

The sheets were kicked towards the end of the bed, or pooled on the floor. Leo’s head was on Finn’s chest, Logan’s forehead pressed to the top of his spine. Leo couldn’t stop touching them. He trailed his fingertips down Finn’s chest and watched goosebumps follow in their wake. Logan had a thigh thrown over his hip and Leo stroked the unbearably soft skin behind his knee. He dipped his thumb in the divot below Finn’s bottom lip.

Finn smiled sleepily, his eyes closed. His eyelashes were dark just now. In certain lights they tinged lighter, like his hair. “You’re ticklish.”

“You’re soft,” Leo replied.

“Is he asleep?” Finn whispered.

“Non,” came Logan’s voice, though he sounded part of the way there.

“I’m not kidding.” Leo reached back to hold Logan’s hip. “I’m getting up if I start keeping you awake with my tossing around.”

That was a lie. There was nothing that could haul Leo out of where he was right now.

“Nu-uh.” Finn kissed Leo’s temple. “No tossing. Not with the weighted blanket I have.”

“You travel with a weighted blanket?” Leo asked skeptically.

Finn reached out and picked up Logan’s hand, kissing his knuckles. “Sure do.”

“Oh,” Leo laughed.

“One-hundred percent effective, I promise.”

When Finn turned the lights off, it sent the room into near complete darkness and so Leo could do nothing but feel, in every nerve, and expanse of exposed skin, the way Logan nudged his nose into the soft hair at his nape, and the way Finn rolled onto his side to hold them both.

“Show tomorrow,” Finn whispered. “You ready?”

Leo smiled. “Do I have to be ready? I think that’s supposed my question to you two.”

“You have to be ready,” Finn placed a kiss to his neck. “It’s a Leo show.”

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 5/Finale)

Summary: After the destruction of Nostramo, Sevatar gets emotional and wants to see you.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, power imbalance, violence, predator/prey, stockholm syndrome, noncon

Word count: 2581

Song: She Wants Revenge - Sister

Still he pulled back the sheets And said, "You better lie down, 'cause the angels are watching," She closed her eyes and said, "Quit the talking You can hurt me, do whatever you like,"

Sevatar had long since left the captain's bridge. The legionnaires lowered their heads, trying not to look at the man. The serfs, almost crying and trembling with fear, fled to their holes. Even the most fearless brothers tried not to get in his way, feeling the wrongness and creepiness. It was as if his dark soul had found a way to spill out. The air shook with his Gift, which he could not contain due to strong feelings.

There was little that surprised or awed the First Captain. His mind worked differently. The man still remembered the Zoa Tower, which Shang called beautiful. Sevatar could not understand how one could define something or someone as beautiful. However, now he could fully realize this when he saw the destruction of the world.

Nostramo, a world without sun and law, was destroyed no more than an hour ago. But Sevatar still saw the destruction of the universe before him. What was created by the Galaxy over millions of years disintegrated in a matter of minutes. How the threads of life were cut, tectonic plates shifted, and magma flooded the planet like blood.

It was a wonderful sight.

A sight that haunted him even after the world was left in ash, the ships set off far from their home system. Even when the first captain gave the order to kill every dissenter at Nightfall. Be it mortal or space marine. The primarch's order was law and they had to obey.

His family had long since died, and distant relatives served the Night Lords right here. Besides, he never liked his hometown. Tall mines in which one had to work until exhaustion. The smell of adamantium and black clouds full of toxic rain. The only thing he will miss is the crows.

Sometimes the man regretted that he had not taken them with him on the ship the last time they were on Nostramo. But years of self-control and meditation helped him cope with the consequences of the Gift. And with you, he completely forgot about his curse for a while.

You. Your image immediately appeared in his head when the red glow of the burning world disappeared from his black eyes. Sevatar immediately realized that he wanted to share this moment with you. He wanted you to feel the same way he did. A man wouldn't risk taking you to the porthole. He only liked to see you in his chambers. But maybe you can see it in his eyes?

Sevatar slightly opens the door to his quaters and remains on the threshold, not daring to enter. You sat at the very end of the room, legs crossed and ears covered. Rocked like a child, hoping to calm down. You felt Nightfall being torn apart by the countless number of weapons that were used. Heard the despair of the planet being destroyed.

If you were a psyker, did you hear the screams and tears of the dying?

You feel how the air in the room is changing, how your hair is electrified from a strange sensation. As long as you dare to look at the returning man. Your eyes, filled with fear, light up with a spark of hope.

“Is it over?” - much to the space marine's disappointment, yes. Apparently his face spoke for him because your eyebrows immediately furrowed. - “Sevatar, are you fine?”

The last time anyone showed concern about his condition was his mother. Huh, Sevatar didn’t think about her for many years. It's not that he misses her. But you appeared and images of his mother hugging him in the hope of easing the pain began to emerge in his mind. You did it better.

“Yes, little mouse, I’m fine.” - the man succeeds before going inside, locking the door. - “Now finally help me take off this armor.”

You quickly jump up and rush to the space marine, attentivelly and extremely carefully helping the man remove the second skin. You are too weak for such weight, but your delicate fingers easily cling to the necessary parts, giving the man the opportunity to remove the armor. You both are silent, each thinking about your own.

“That chronicler that we hung at the entrance. What did she do? - the words cut through the silence like water through a stone. Sevatar was about to leave, having discussed all important matters with the primarch, but a question arose by itself. He didn't even understand why he asked it. But worst of all was Konrad Curze's smile.

“Oh, she took part of the report on Piamen joining the Imperium. To make a list of questions and write a book. But without asking my permission and taking away important documents, theft was committed. The criminal deserved her punishment.”

Sevatar raises an eyebrow at the primarch's excuses. Not that he regretted the death of the annoying remembrancer. He didn’t care, besides, an order is an order, it must be carried out. It was just that he was partly amused by Curze's attempts to justify his thirst for violence as a noble act. The Night Lords were justice, but there was no point in denying their dark desires.

“Be that as it may, everything turned out only in your favor.” - pointed teeth stretch to their full length, like a crescent moon. - “No more keeping track of a useless crew member. And you began to sleep more often, didn’t you?”

“Are you scared?” - you nod confusedly and the man chuckles. He shouldn't have asked such an obvious question. Even though you were safe and began to perceive Nightfall more as a home, you were still an ordinary serf girl. For whom Cheraut Incident is akin to the end of the world.

The fact that Konrad Curze almost killed his brother, after which he hastened to hide in his native system, raised trepidation among mortals. The Night Lords were only too happy to mock their cousins, but even they were surprised at such a sharp attack from the primarch.

All the time on the way to Nostramo, the ships languished from human fear and the gloomy anticipation of the space marines. Opportunities to bring justice to their home world. Final and irrevocable judjment at the cost of billions of lives.

“The whole planet was thundering. And people screamed so much. I think I can still hear them crying. Or maybe my imagination is running wild, I-I don't know. I never would have thought that one of the worlds of the Imperium would fall in this way.” - you pull your head into your shoulders, putting the last detail back in place, realizing what you just said. - “Beg your pardon, my lord.”

“Hmm, it’s even a pity that you were hiding here. Seeing the whole world die is an unforgettable feeling. Especially if you came from it. Imagine if Terra was also destroyed.” - Sevatar grins, enjoying your surprised look.

“B-but that won’t happen, the Emperor won’t allow it.” - you were so frightened by the very thought of destroying the heart of the Imperium that you began to contradict your master. But Sevatar was in a good mood and he even liked your hope, flimsy as dirt.

The first captain doesn't answer you. Doesn't know what to say to this. If the Emperor so wishes, Terra can be destroyed in a matter of minutes. Or, on the contrary, the Legions would line up to protect the planet. But first and foremost, Sevatar served Konrad Curze. He was ready to carry out his orders first and foremost. Like now they have already destroyed the world. Their former home.

The man sits down on the bed, not taking his eyes off you. You fiddle with your hands, not daring to approach Sevatar until he gives you an order. Obedient girl. As you promised, you served him well and he appreciated it. Maybe he should have sent you to bed or touched your tattoo again as usual.

But today Sevatar was overwhelmed with feelings and he realized that this was not enough. He needed more. He didn't know what exactly he wanted from you. However, the desire to devour you took hold with incredible force as soon as he remembered the death throes of Nostramo.

The man pats the bed next to him. Sevatar chuckles as your eyes widen. Just like a crow. It's not that you were afraid, but the first captain's behavior was unusual. Even if he cares about you, the unknown is always scary. Especially on the Night Lords' ship.

You purse your lips and hesitantly approach the bed before lowering yourself onto it. The air filled with heat. The man continues to study you, not knowing what to do with you next. Until an idea comes to mind. Spontaneous and foreign, but it’s just right for a space marine. After all, why not satisfy his curiosity.

“Take off the top.” - you shudder, unable to understand the order. But your hands still reach for his shirt, as soon as Sevatar frowns. His voice drops, almost sounding like metal scraping. - “I won’t repeat it. Strip.”

You quickly remove the cloth, trying not to anger your master, looking at him carefully. Waiting like little prey to see what the predator's next move will be. But the snap of man's fingers pull you out of thoughts and you almost whimper, removing the fabric covering your breasts. You want to hide from the examining gaze, hug yourself with my arms. But you don’t do this, unable to move.

And Sevatar looks at you, unable to understand his train of thought. And why did he order you to do this? The body is like a body, ordinary mortal skin, on which it is easy to leave bruises (he can already see a couple) and easy to remove. The flesh is soft in comparison. Two bulges that reveal your femininity. Nothing special, he had seen naked bodies more than once in skinning pits.

But he can't turn his back on you. Something about you touches him. Sevatar clenches his teeth, almost growling. You cower, finally covering yourself, as if in one moment the man will tear you apart. In part, that's what he really wanted to do. Sink his teeth into the flesh, tear out pieces of meat, bury himself in your hair and remain in your scraps for an eternity.

Hearts sound loud and fast, echoing in a man’s head as he moves closer to you. Unwanted thoughts take over the mind, throwing all irrationality to the wind. He must touch you. He must tear you apart. Should kill you. Must be inside.

You can hardly breathe when a heavy hand touches your shoulder, caressing the tattoo. But this time Sevatar doesn’t turn you around with your back to him. Quite the opposite. With his other hand, the Space Marine throws your arms off your breast and presses your waist to him. The little heart is beating fast like a mouse caught in the clutches of a beast. The cheeks warm with the realization that the man is wearing only a loincloth.

The silence is abruptly interrupted by your short scream as Sevatar sinks his teeth into the line connecting the shoulder and neck. He was too cautious and careful so that you wouldn't break. But it still hurt you. The man licks your wound, enjoying your sobs. He fixes his gaze on you, hoping to see your suffering. And freezes.

Your eyes are wet, your mouth is slightly open. You were hurt, but there was something else in your face. Soft and gentle, long forgotten and buried in the depths of the minds of the Night Lords. But even as a mortal boy, Sevatar cannot remember a similar look. Only his mother looked at him like that, but still there was a difference. You didn't see him as a son.

You raise your hands and run your fingers over Sevatar's shoulders. Tender, fragile fingers that have never known hard work, have never held a weapon in their hands. Until you finally lock them behind his neck. You press your whole body against him so that he can feel your breasts.

For the first time in a long time, the man's breathing becomes unbearable. But not from pain, as usually happens in battle or because of the Gift. Sevatar would even say that he feels better than ever. His hearts began to beat even faster, and heat rushed through his body. You hissed in pain, feeling the hot skin beneath you. But you still clung to him.

“I can break you.” - he won't kill you. He won't let anyone hurt you. Any man who dares to look at you or speaks to say goodbye to his life. - “I am your master. And you are mine. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He didn't like to share. Never lived in the slums of the night city. Not now, when he took the place of first captain. If he wanted something (and this rarely happened), he devoured it without leaving a trace. The Terminators were loyal only to him. And you. You should have given yourself to him too.

Sevatar watches with a sigh as your eyes fill with tears, rolling down your cheek. He instinctively licks them, touching your cheeks with his tongue and lips. Your eyes. And your lips. The last part of the body especially touched his nerves, but the man restrains himself so as not to rip out your lower face with his teeth.

“Do whatever you like.” - you pronounce the cherished words with a breath and a groan. Before fearfully and hesitantly rushing towards the pale face of the killer holding you captive. Your lips touch the scar on your chin. - "I'm yours."

You're a good girl. You are very very good. It’s even a pity that you fell into the hands of a beast who can barely control himself. Which knows only how to kill, cut and torture. But he will learn. And may it always hurt you, you will enjoy it just like now.

Sevatar tilts you until your head hits the pillow. The man settles on top of you, squeezing your waist and shoulders. He runs his fingers over the tattoo. He remembers, no, he studies what has eluded him all these years. What he was deprived of as an Astartes.

His hand lands on one of your breasts and squeezes, making you squeak, digging your nails into his shoulders. A bloody grin runs across Sevatar’s face, causing drops of your own blood to fall on your face. His hips move against yours on their own, as if imitating a process erased from his code.

This is only an imitation perverted by chemical treatment. And even so, Sevatar realizes a simple truth. He wants to be inside. He wants to take his sword and plunge it into you up to the hilt. He wants to fill you up so that liters of blood pour out of you.

Sevatar peers into your face before burying his nose in your shoulder with a groan. The whole body and mind are overwhelmed by a contradictory feeling of peace and rage, merging into a strange symbiosis. There is a confession on the tip of his tongue that he wants to say, but he can’t because he doesn’t know what the words are. Only one thing comes to mind.

“Call me Jago.” - the man almost closes his eyes from the coming sleep. Ahead there was only eternal night .

“This means?”

“Yes.”

[drivinmeinsane]

Would you wanna expand on Anna and K being siblings in all ways that matter? I agree, I'd just like to hesr your thoughts on the matter too :]

Oh man, you've opened a can of worms. 👀 Here's some of my rambling threads of thoughts complete with my mauled digital copy of the script and screencaps galore.

Spoilers for Blade Runner 2049 under the cut.

From the moment Ana is introduced, even before we meet her face to face, she is a mirror of K. They are copies of one another. Two people can't have the exact same genetic code, but the closest one can get is twins. They shared their defining memory and splintered off later in life as siblings do.

There was always meant to be two of them. The files say that one died from an illness and the other lived. We find out that Ana was stuck on-world from an illness that she developed. Only, she didn't die. She was left behind and abandoned to work for Wallace and other corporations needing her memory making services. Ana is the real girl and K is her ghost.

A life of freedom as long as it's behind glass. K has the same as long as he obeys the rigid system that keeps him tethered. Neither are truly living. It's escapism. They both dream of realities where they are loved. By illegally putting her memory into K, Ana created a family member. He's her copy—a sibling, a twin—someone who shared her life experience and could relate. Two children, protecting the only item they have left from a father who they had never met. As one, they had stowed it away in a furnace and enduring being beaten. They lived this. Together. Ana's last name of Stelline. Little stars. It beings to mind the Gemini zodiac sign. The twins. Castor and Pollux and their horses. K was the invisible companion of Ana, an unborn ghost. Maybe she imagined him when things got too dismal. Maybe she thought about having a brother or a sister. When the time came, she offered up the memory to the Wallace corporation so the burden of that childhood could be shared, understood. A sibling made reality. A ghost was made solid, living flesh. Who would have thought that replicant would come looking? Who would have thought Officer K would break every shred of genetic modification and careful conditioning to find her, his sister, while searching for answers because he cared, because he was part of Ana's scattered family and didn't know it.

Again, they mirror each other. In the same moment that Ana is looking at the snow falling on her hand, K is doing the same. Even in the end, they are connected. Left hand and right hand—two parts of a whole.

No one had ever come for K. He makes sure someone comes for Ana. He knows what it's like to want family so badly that your very bones ache, that you would kill another one of your kind for the first time for it. He found their father and brought him home. He was a good brother, a good son.

There is a void over Ana's right shoulder where K should be. Her ghost—her copy—has died even if she does not know it yet. His death in a roundabout way fulfills the prophecy of the DNA database findings. Two siblings, a boy and a girl. One dies. He haunted her before his inception and he haunts her still after his body is found on the stairs of the upgrade center. If only she had spoken up. If only K had told Deckard the truth. If only there had been another way to love someone without remaining a stranger.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record because I've honestly lost count of how many times I've said this, I genuinely believe Deckard would have shrugged and accepted the fact that he and Rachael had had two kids.

I think the three of them could have been happy together, but Blade Runner 2049 is a modern Greek tragedy seeped in the lore from thousands of years ago. There are no joyous endings here.

[pattrat]

yet another abandoned au rabt under the cut

the orange paper was me tryna figure out an au where the niigo vs are all part of a victorian era detective thing! kagamines are main detectives and stuff yeah I HAVE A BIT OF A FIC WRITTEN im putting it here read at your own risk

also im just saying this now the "hope we can go there" is because len's got overall bad health and often gets pain while walking or moving around a lot or quickly,,,,,,, rin just has straight up anger issues idk

Rin was pissed. She'd wanted to read with Len again, but their mother had made her see instead, telling her that she could do so after finishing her women's work. Frankly, it was annoying, and Rin has better things to do.

Most of all, she was, albeit only slightly, concerned about the fact that her brother was left alone in the main room.

The blonde girl took to repairing the ripped tea towel, running her needle and thread through it quickly yet carefully, so that she could get it done as quick as possible.

She was almost complete when she heard a shallow knock on the door.

It was light and hesitant, which easily lead Rin to the deduction of it being her twin brother.

"Come in." Her voice pierced through the air, prompting Len to carefully open the door just enough for him to step into the room and close the door behind him. He maintains his position at the doorway, uncertain if Rin's in a close or distant mood today. She sighs, patting the spot on the sofa next to her to show Len that yes, he can sit. She also states it out loud, telling him to 'get his cush on the plush'.

He sits and grabs a cushion to place onto his lap.

"What's up?" Rin inquires, pausing her work on the tea towel to look Len in the eyes. "You seem restless, more so than usual."

The boy fiddles with the embroidery of the cushion and runs his hand along the sequins that were once threaded on to it before taking in a small breath. "...Well, hmm... Mother handed me an envelope..."

"Oh, really? What is it for?"

"..Father said… useless."

"Do you think so, too?"

"Mmm... I- I am guessing it's.. an inquiry, for our business."

"Is that so?"

"...Yes, I am quite sure. Though, I am- I'm afraid of what it may contain."

"We can read it together then."

“I want to go there.”

“Me too. I hope we can.”

Len carefully pulls out an envelope from a pocket and passes it to Rin, who takes it out of his shaky hand, tearing open the seal as she starts reading out loud. "Alexiel and Rihanna Kagamine, I have contacted you to see if you can investigate a theft that occurred during a gathering in the main hall of my home during a party.”

“Theft..?”

“Yes, it seems like it.”

“Hmmm.”

Rin continued reading; “My home is located on the outskirts of the town, and you'll see it by the dragon statue on the front lawn. Please come to my aid.

Regards, Megurine Luka.”

I MIGHT NEVER FINISH THIS. SORRY.

[quarantineddreamer]

Ulaf

For @andorappreciation Week 2023! A little backstory for Ulaf 💙 Opening below and complete fic below the cut.

Ulaf was not an innocent man. 

Of course he wasn’t. He was too old to be innocent in a world that was hard, containing “rules” that were arbitrary and ever-changing. 

He committed his first crime when he was no more than 8 years old–and if he was being honest he was surprised it had taken him that long. His stomach was horribly empty, the kind of empty where even the grit of dust on his tongue held a certain sort of appeal. He hadn’t seen his father in over two weeks, a new record. He swiped a piece of fruit from a woman’s bag the moment she set it on the ground to examine another item, and he ran, fast, the wind whistling in his ears like a scream.

His father eventually came home a week after that. He wore the same clothes Ulaf had last seen him in–now patterned with sweat and other mystery stains–reeking of booze, not a credit left in his pockets (not that there had been many to begin with) and a large, greening bruise on his face, the ugly of his insides seeping onto the surface of his flesh. 

A week after that, Ulaf’s father disappeared again, but Ulaf wasn’t too sad about it. This time, he didn’t wait for his father to return. As soon as he realized what had happened, he committed his ninth and tenth crimes (stealing a coat to fend off the cold and a new pair of shoes to keep out the rain). Then, he found a new place to live–in an abandoned building on the outskirts of town. 

Ulaf thought he might have seen his father one more time a year later–the briefest glimpse of a pair of familiar, vacant eyes belonging to a man stumbling out of the cantina–but 6 years after that he realized he had been mistaken, because a stranger walked up to him, clapped a hand on his shoulder and laughed drunkenly as he told Ulaf about a man he’d killed 7 years ago. “You’re the spitting image of him. Miserable bastard…You interested in a bet?”

It was lucky Ulaf possessed not a single thing of value, it wasn’t possible to gamble with nothing.

Or maybe that wasn’t quite true. 

He couldn’t gamble in the way his family had for generations before him, but he gambled in other ways, took risks when he needed to for survival…and when he didn’t need to, because he found something in his veins turned to gold when his heart was pounding, lungs burning, the prickle of danger sending shivers down his spine. 

It was the only time he felt like he was worth something; capable, powerful, above the grime and the muck and the cruelty into which he had been born. It was the only time, that is, until he met Neel. 

When Ulaf was 19 he stumbled upon an open doorway, a pool of warm, yellow light beckoning, the delicate clinking of fine glassware, the easy hum of chatter–not a single voice raised in anger or distress, not a single soul bothered by anything that existed beyond the walls immediately around them. At first he thought he might be dreaming, or else, he’d stumbled upon some strange portal to a parallel universe.

Ulaf walked through the door and into a room drenched in opulence. There was food everywhere, no one was worried about the draft streaming in from the outside, everyone was dressed in beautiful and intricate clothes–a single thread of which Ulaf felt certain was worth more than every bit of fabric cloaking his body. 

No one seemed to notice him, they were too caught up in themselves. Ulaf found an empty bowl–large, ornate, and purple, looking like it had never once been used–and set to work wandering the party, casually scraping food (pastries, fruit, vegetables, meats, all unidentifiable and bite-sized)  into the container.

When the bowl was filled to the rim–practically overflowing, in danger of spilling if not balanced correctly–Ulaf began making his exit, and…locked eyes with a boy–about his age, dressed in worn, ragged clothing the same as him, with short brown hair and a long, skinny frame. 

Ulaf waited a moment, bracing for a shout, for an arm to rise and a finger to point, an outraged glare to appear upon the boy’s face–throw him under the speeder to make his own escape easier. 

But the boy only continued to watch him with curious, gray eyes–the same color as the sky outside. 

Ulaf took a hesitant step towards the door, holding his breath. 

The boy did nothing. 

So, Ulaf continued walking steadily for the exit, clutching his bowl of treasures tighter to his middle and staring straight ahead. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy following him, gaze never lifting from his face as he slipped through the crowd.

For some reason, Ulaf did not feel the need to run. His path intersected with the boy’s at the entrance to the party and they both stopped, silent and still staring.

“You know,” the boy said quietly, looking down at the bowl of food in Ulaf’s arms, “I think that bowl is only for decoration.”

Ulaf blinked in confusion, glanced at the bowl, perfectly useful–what they were supposed to be, what else?

“I’m just saying,” the boy murmured, then lifted his eyes, corners of his mouth turning upwards into a small smile. “It’s probably made of something valuable. You might be able to get some credits for it after you’re done with it.”

“Okay…” Ulaf didn’t know what to do. Usually all his instincts would be pushing him to leave, run, get away, but something had taken hold of him, rooting him to the spot, and he suspected somehow that the boy was responsible. 

“I’m Neel,” the boy offered his hand, spotless, glowing–he’d taken the time to wash them recently, maybe in preparation for this, for whatever little good that did to help him blend in considering his outfit.

Ulaf awkwardly shifted the bowl in his arms, rubbed his palm against the side of his leg–not that it would accomplish anything, he was certain there was plenty of dirt on his pants as it was–and took the boy’s hand in his own, gave a tentative, gentle shake. 

“What’s your name?” Neel asked. 

“Ulaf…” he replied, beginning to feel restless, shifting his feet.

“Ulaf,” Neel repeated, nodding his head. “Nice to meet you, Ulaf.” He leaned closer and asked quietly, “Are you willing to share?”

He’d never shared a meal with anyone. His mother had died giving birth to him, he had no siblings, and his father had never been much company. The idea of sharing was new, but it seemed nice.

Ulaf silently nodded. Together, he and Neel stepped into the fresh air where the cold bit at his cheeks, trying and failing to chase away the steady flush that had risen there, accompanying a ticklish sensation that was playing in his gut.

They found a rooftop to sit on while they ate, legs dangling over the edge as they talked. Later that same night the richness of the stolen food would make them both sick, but the next day they finished the rest of it anyways–too rare a gift to let go to waste.

The night marked the beginning of a new phase in Ulaf’s life. He and Neel became fast friends, partners, working together to get through it all. Ulaf learned how to laugh, because of Neel. Learned there was more to life than survival. Learned happiness.

It was Neel who convinced Ulaf that they could get jobs, make money–find stability. And he was right. Their home was changing, old buildings being torn down, new ones being built up. There were more residents arriving, hosting fancy parties like the one Ulaf had met Neel at; more wealth streaming in, carving new features into the landscape of the town. 

Ulaf found he didn’t mind it. It made work easier to find, and that work was pleasant enough. Construction challenged him in unexpected ways–mind and body–and he was surprised by the satisfaction he felt when a project finished. Something new in place, rising from rubble, thanks to the work of him and his team. 

He and Neel were a part of the team that tore down the old building they had once called home. The walls came down with unnervingly little effort–all in one morning’s work. That same day, they took what little credits they saved and moved into an apartment together, sleeping on the floor, wondering at the ceiling over their heads–no more need to worry about the rain.

When Ulaf was 25 (and Neel 26), they met Ver. One drink after a long day on site, “just one drink,” Neel wanted, and Ulaf’s entire life changed. Again. 

From the moment Neel saw Ver–across the room, black hair cascading down a slender shoulder, drinking something pink and sweet–Ulaf could see how he felt about her.

Because of Ver, Ulaf learned love. He learned jealousy, and hurt, and the bitter taste of swallowing it all, hoping it wouldn’t cause him to choke. But in spite of everything, he could see how happy Ver made Neel, and in that way, she made him happy too. And anyways, it was his fault, he reasoned, for not realizing sooner how he felt about his first, longest, and best friend…

A few months later, Ver had moved in with them. Ulaf enjoyed her goofy sense of humor; she was a good cook, a fierce friend, and she never made him feel left out. The first thing she told him after she and Neel announced they were getting married was, “But I don’t want you to think this means you need to move out. Okay?” Like it had never been a question to her, but she knew his mind, and she knew he would need that reassurance.

In the end, they all ended up moving out when Ver became pregnant. With three sources of income, they just managed to afford a new home: a cozy house a few blocks away, with three bedrooms, a run-down, but proper kitchen, and even a little living room, where they carefully arranged second-hand furniture, flickering, barely-functioning lamps, and a dusty, green rug.

Their unusual, but loving family gradually grew into the space, filling it with a warmth it had not previously possessed. First Xara arrived, with beautiful eyes of slate-gray, just like her father’s. Then two years later Zo joined, possessing her mother’s same contagious, bubbly laugh. The persistent ache that had haunted Ulaf’s chest for years now, eased somewhat. It was hard to regret how his life had gone when he felt the love he did for his friends and for their children. 

He made sure they felt every bit of support and care he had never received. 

Xara was the curious one, always asking questions, always wanting to learn. It was no surprise to anyone when she started school and became fully absorbed in her studies. When she was old enough, she even taught Ulaf to read–something he had never had the privilege or time to do when he was her age.  

Zo had a rebellious spirit, like Neel, that got her into trouble more often than not when she hit her teens. But when she was hissing fire at her parents, she confided in Ulaf, and he provided her with what guidance he could–usually managing to convince her that Neel and Ver were on her side too. 

They grew up too fast. They all did, decades flashing past like the lights on a speeder. 

Zo married a good man who became ill and died tragically young, leaving her a widowed mother to their five year old son–named Ulaf, after his great-uncle. She came home to live with Neel, Ver, and Ulaf again.

Xara showed up one day with her best friend–a woman who she reintroduced to them as her now-fiance. The celebration that ensued lasted well into the earliest hours of the next morning. There was a strange combination of joy and grief that settled in Ulaf as he watched Xara and her wife-to-be, witnessing a future he’d never quite imagined was possible…

While Neel and Ver aged gracefully, Ulaf found he did not. His bones began to ache fiercely in the chill of winter mornings. He left construction work not long after his 65th birthday, his fingers grown too clumsy for the tools, his back too painful, his feet weary. He was surprised he had lasted as long as he had, not just because of his deteriorating physical health, but because the work had been gradually drying up for years before… 

Ulaf was 68 when he overheard Neel and Ver’s hushed words in the kitchen. “There’s not enough…” “We have to figure something out.” His friends had never kept secrets from him before, a weight like a rock settled in his stomach. 

Not long after, Ulaf was lying awake one night, listening, because Neel hadn’t come home yet… 

The door gave a familiar creak as it slid open–they’d never managed to figure out how to fix it in all the years they’d lived there–and Ulaf slid from his bed and padded softly into the living room. 

He found Neel sitting–saggy-postured, and exhaustion pouring out of every angle of his body–on the couch, picking mindlessly at the edges of a hole in the upholstery. 

Ulaf switched on the light, announcing his presence and revealing Neel’s face: one eye swollen shut, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, staring at palms scraped raw from a fall. It reminded Ulaf of his father; pulled him right back to the nights of hunger and cold, fear, loneliness. 

“Neel,” he breathed, collapsing into the seat next to Neel, gently taking his hands and turning them over carefully, wincing at the depth of the scratches. “Hold on.” He rose–joints voicing their complaint in loud pops–to grab the spare bacta patch they had from the kitchen cupboard along with whatever other bandages he could find.

“Don’t tell Ver,” Neel murmured upon his return, flinching as Ulaf began to dab lightly at the cut on his forehead with a damp cloth. 

“Neel, I don’t know if–”

“Please,” he repeated, and Ulaf saw a desperate light in his friend’s eyes that sent a cold spark of terror in him. 

“What’s going on?” Ulaf whispered, lifting the cloth to check his work, reaching behind him for the bacta patch when he saw the wound was clean.

Neel gave a hard swallow, looked away for the first time since Ulaf had joined him in the room. “I got fired, they saw I couldn’t keep up anymore–not that there was enough work to begin with. And then… You know we’ve been helping Zo with taking care of the kid ever since…” He shook his head. “We were cleared out. Nothing left. And now…”

Ulaf looked down at the bacta patch in his hand, fingers worrying over the packaging as he tonelessly said, “How much do you owe?” 

He heard Neel give a heavy sigh, “Too much.”

“How much, maybe I can help–”

“No,” Neel argued fiercely. “And then what? We’ll be no better off.”

Ulaf stilled as memories came flooding into his mind. “We had nothing before…”

“When we were young, Ul,” Neel protested, “when we were young. It’s different now. What with the kids…”

In the silence that settled, Ulaf tore into the bacta, gently lined it up with the wound on Neel’s face and pressed, before dragging his hand away, lingering on his friend’s cheek. He handed Neel the damp cloth to put on his swollen eye and looked to his empty hands. “Who?” he asked quietly. “Who do you owe?”

“I didn’t want to get wrapped up with a whole crew. I went to the one at the end of the road, just off the market. But it was a mistake, he’s worse than most. Demanding. Uncompromising.”

“Okay,” Ulaf murmured, lifting his head to stare at the shadows pooling at the end of the dark, empty hallway where not far-off Zo was sleeping with the son she’d named after him, where the woman who had given him a family–Ver–was dreaming, maybe nightmares. And then he turned back to find Neel’s steady, gray eyes watching him, turning him into a boy again, running through alleyways, ears ringing with laughter. “Don’t worry,” Ulaf told him. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“Ul…”

Ulaf took one of Neel’s hands in his own before he could fully realize what he was doing. “It’ll be okay.” He didn’t know what else to say, ‘Thank you’, would echo with a finality too sharp for Neel to accept–would only lead to him resisting. And…

‘I love you,’ would be a betrayal. Even if it was true, it would be. To Ver, to Neel, to his family. 

Ulaf slowly stood. “It’ll be okay. Go to sleep, I’ll be back.”

Neel rose, something unreadable on his face. He reached a hand round to the back of Ulaf’s neck, pulled him in close till their foreheads were touching, the bacta patch a bubble pressed between them. The only sound was that of their breathing, kept in perfect rhythm, and Ulaf could feel it, for the first time in years… His heart pounding, something in his veins turned to gold…

It was a while before they broke apart. Ulaf waited to leave until Neel had limped his way down the hallway and shut the door to his and Ver’s bedroom. 

Then, he walked out of his home and into the moonlit street, the crisp, night air setting his lungs on fire with something fierce and brave. 

He tried bargaining with the man who had loaned his friend money, but the man’s greed was evident, his threats only increasing in severity with each passing moment Ulaf spent with him. 

In the end, their arguing was too loud–attracting the attention of local law enforcement. A banging on the man’s door interrupted them, the man turning his head with a scowl. 

Ulaf took advantage of the man’s distraction to grab the man’s blaster from his belt and fire. 

The Imps came rushing in, saw the man writhing on the floor in pain, clutching at his side, and arrested Ulaf on the spot.

At first, the work in Narkina 5 reminded Ulaf of his days spent working alongside Neel, putting pieces together…only this time there was no end, and it was always the same, and the pain was there, always there, every ‘night’ when he went to bed, every ‘day’ as he worked, and every ‘morning’ as he rose, forced to do it all over again.

Until one day, he couldn’t do it anymore. 

In his life, Ulaf had stolen. He had lied, to himself, to his loved ones, for decades. And, he had committed an act of violence against another person.

He was not an innocent man. 

But he was a good one.

[ecopunkbeginner]

Mend #2: headphones!

The foam got loose! The fabric holding it in detached almost completely from the plastic.

My original plan was to make a crochet cover, but I got most of the way done with one and discovered it was very difficult and very annoying to try and fit the foam in the correct shape. I tried to wrap it in yarn friendship bracelet style to compress it to a similar size as the other, but it was damaging the foam :/

After fucking around with it in multiple ways including cutting open an old sock, I felt like the original fabric might get in the way (of the sound, if nothing else) if I didn't do something with it.

So I sewed the fabric back onto itself! I did it in small chunks starting with the cardinal directions as "anchors", then filled in the spaces between them, because I was worried that if I just went in a circle without already having the foam approximately where it's supposed to be, it would end up with some sections that wouldn't fit into place later. And I was NOT about to have to undo any more stitches after having to do it with black thread earlier!

Naturally, this has resulted in a different shape from the other one, because the fabric isn't anchored to the same place.

It's thinner/taller, but it squishes the same so I don't think it'll be a problem.

I did not try one bit to make these stitches clean or even, which is fine because you can't see them! I know I'll have to improve on that eventually since I want to do artsy visible mending, but right now I'm working on just doing these things and making them functional, otherwise I'll never start at all.

I cut off any thread that would have been at risk of tickling me, and left everything else as long as possible, because I want as much leeway as possible. I don't know how or if this will help me at any point, but that's the strat for now. I don't mind the thread being visible - it's not exactly ✨ aesthetic ✨, but I only wear them in the house, plus the threads match the duct tape that was already on there.

Ngl, I'm kind of afraid that it's not gonna hold, so I'm trying to think of a way to protect it from further damage, but I'm coming up empty so far. Any tips would be appreciated!

[alienheartattack]

Introduction to Demonology

Welp, I thought I was done but I wrote more fanfiction, and it's completely unhinged Rivamika incubus porn. It's explicit and definitely weirder than I usually write, don't read if you're a minor, etc. Thanks to the RM Discord for encouraging my degenerate ass. Enjoy!

You can read it on AO3 as well!

In the weeks and months after Eren’s death, Mikasa grew to dread the setting sun, to view the encroaching darkness outside as a mirror of the darkness inside her mind. Without him, without answers to the questions she’d been too afraid to ask, she felt adrift, like a dead leaf tossed around in the currents of life, unable to control her direction. Her body seemed to accept this state wholeheartedly, denying her the comforts of sleep more often than not. Most nights she would lie awake, replaying the last moments of Eren’s life, trying to determine whether she could have done anything to stop his thread from being cut short. Sometimes she would be able to gain a few minutes or hours of light rest, though that came with the risk of now-familiar nightmares of blood and steel.

She made the mistake of letting slip her issues to friends and acquaintances and was bombarded with potential solutions, and in her desperation she tried them all: warm milk, deep breathing, bitter-tasting herbal tinctures, every pill and powder and potion available at the pharmacy. None of these remedies could stop her wandering thoughts or calm her body enough to give her the relief she so desperately needed from her physical and mental weariness.

One night, she lay in the dark, having dutifully choked down some valerian root tea whose taste of sharp herbs and dirt came through even after adding copious amounts of cream and sugar, cursing herself for her ability to withstand even the strongest sedatives.

“I would do anything to get some sleep,” she murmured to no one.

Anything? a ghostly voice responded.

Mikasa sat upright, adrenaline animating her body, more awake and alert than before. She definitely wouldn’t sleep at this rate. “Hello? Is someone there?”

I’m here, the voice said. She could not divine the source of the low, silky tone; intensely masculine but with an amused bent, as though the speaker were smirking at her. 

Not here here, it clarified, as though it could sense her confusion. I’m not some intruder, but I can show myself if you want to speak face to face.

“Show yourself,” Mikasa demanded, her voice displaying more resolve than she felt.

The darkness in the room shimmered, moonlight and shadow undulating until they coalesced into the form of a man floating above her bed as though he sat in an invisible chair, his powerful limbs splayed in a posture of confident nonchalance. He wore a black suit and white shirt, open at the collar to reveal his collarbone and a hint of muscular chest, and held a delicate china teacup in one hand, taking occasional sips from it. But what Mikasa noticed most was his face: a strong, masculine jaw, a sharp slash of a noise, dark hair hanging over eyes that glowed an otherworldly silver, and a pair of curved, black horns atop his head.

“What are you?” she wondered in an awed whisper.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. You’ve never seen a demon before?” the man said. Mikasa shook her head. “Then I suppose it’s your lucky day to be visited by a high prince of Hell.”

“I— I don’t understand.” She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, but the man — the demon — still floated above her bed with such ease that she felt as though she was the one out of place, not him.

The demon let out an exasperated sigh. “You want to sleep, I can help you sleep. In exchange, you help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” he griped. He drained the last of his tea and waved the cup away, making it waver and vanish, the inverse of his entrance into her room.

“Well, excuse me for not knowing how to interact with a demon who shows up in my bedroom in the middle of the night,” Mikasa fired back, crossing her arms and glaring up at him.

Her annoyance piqued the demon’s interest; his lips curved into a small smile. “My name is Levi. I’m an incubus, which means I get my life energy through sex. The exchange is simple: you let me fuck you, and I’ll make you come so hard you’ll sleep like the dead.”

Mikasa frowned, holding his gaze with skepticism bordering on anger at his audaciously blunt offer. “Sounds like you’re trying to trick me into letting you drain the life out of me.”

“Tch. Not the best metaphor, then. Sleep like a baby? I just didn’t want to make you think of babies when I’m offering you as many screaming, gushing orgasms as your body can handle.” He shrugged as the filthy words rolled off his tongue, as unconcerned with his speech as Mikasa was scandalized by it.

“I don’t know. I mean… Eren…” she mumbled. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which lay clenched in her lap. My hands were meant for him , she thought. My touch, my body… they were supposed to be his.

“No, they weren’t,” Levi said flatly. “Where the hell did you get those ideas?”

Mikasa blanched. “You can hear my thoughts?!”

“Yeah, and they’re a huge fucking bummer. I get that you had a thing for Eren, but let me assure you, he is exactly where he deserves to be. Eternity isn’t long enough for that piece of shit.” He snorted, a soft sound of contempt punctuating his words. “I can make you feel very different. Maybe some things you’ve never felt before. I’ll show you if you want.”

“So you want to fuck me so you can show me what it’d be like if you fucked me?” She cocked one eyebrow at him.

“No, I mean literally show you.” She nodded and he reached out to her, two fingers extended like he was blessing her, and pressed them to her forehead for a moment. Images flooded her mind faster than she could process them: her throaty cries, his rasped moans and words of praise, skin slapping against skin, the squeak of her bed, the musk of sweat and sex.

Cold prickles of awareness broke out on Mikasa’s skin, goosebumps sprouting where she imagined he would touch her, contrasting with the sudden warmth and wetness surging between her thighs.

Levi watched as the familiar blush of arousal spread across her cheeks, coloring her gloomy countenance into something more lush and lively. “Don’t throw your life away for a dead man. Don’t give up one of the few things that makes life worth living.” 

She was silent, still unsure, so he added, “Have you ever considered why the pleasures of the flesh are Hell’s domain and not Heaven’s? Because they’re too good. It would be so much harder to keep the weak little humans in line if they realized that their limited time on earth was much better spent fucking than praying.”

Mikasa’s breaths came heavily, her body’s restlessness melting into arousal. “Look, I want to say yes, but I just don’t understand what the downside is supposed to be. There’s no way I just get fucked and then go to sleep. There’s got to be a catch. And what if I can’t sleep tomorrow?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the people who are out there speaking with great authority about Hell and demons are the ones who are trying to claim your souls in the name of Heaven. They don’t exactly have an incentive to tell the truth,” Levi said. “Sleeping with a demon creates a bond, but I only feed from you as often as you want me to, and I never take more than I need. If anything, I’m at your service. And your cervix.” His lips quirked into a brief smile; she grimaced and shook her head at his approximation of a joke.

“And this is really going to work? I’ll be able to sleep?” she asked nervously, grasping for more reasons to refuse him but finding none.

“You’ve never jerked off so many times you fell asleep? Or whatever the girl equivalent of jerking off is?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t even thought about touching myself since Eren.”

“But you’re thinking about it now,” he said, his voice deepening to a rumble, like the ominous yet strangely comforting sound of distant thunder.

“It’s kinda your job as a sex demon to turn me on, isn’t it?” she asked. The acknowledgement of her arousal combined with the knowledge that he could hear her inner thoughts as though she was speaking them made her bold; there was nothing to hide from him.

“Not all of us work that way, but it’s better for me when the other person enjoys it. Their energy tastes so much better.” Levi swallowed thickly, his own arousal growing along with Mikasa’s. There was power in her beneath the hardened sedimentary layers of her pain and grief, the hint of it already beginning to intoxicate him, and that power would only grow stronger once he unlocked the secrets of her body one by one.

“If you still have doubts, maybe this can convince you,” he said, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, flexing it like he was lapping at her now-slick pussy and not the air in front of him. Mikasa watched his tongue grow in length so slowly she thought she imagined it, until it thickened and grew a fork at the end, resulting in two prehensile shoots of muscle that undulated independently of each other.

Her mouth opened unconsciously, her breaths coming out in long, desirous pants. “I want that on my clit.”

“Not yet,” he said. “There’s a process. Just let me do my thing and I give you my word, I’ll blow your mind so many times you’ll forget your own name.”

She sighed, sadness tingeing her excitement. “I think I need that.”

Levi floated downwards, settling on top of Mikasa, his hands planted on either side of her shoulders, his weight pinning her to the bed. She shifted her hips beneath him, pushing her nightgown up her thighs as she sought out his bulge. She worried about staining his expensive-looking suit with her wetness, but she found herself sliding against soft, smooth skin that was diamond-hard when she pushed against it.

“Where did your clothes go?” she asked, trying to figure out when she stopped gripping the shoulders of his sportcoat and started gripping the firm, defined musculature of his shoulders.

“To Hell,” he replied with a smirk. “I can’t make your clothes disappear, though.” He reached down and yanked her nightgown over her head, leaving her naked beneath him. His skin was comfortingly warm against hers, as though he were a mortal man and not a demon, and she found herself completely unashamed of her nudity. She felt so bashful even thinking about taking her clothes off in front of Eren, and—

“No more Eren,” Levi interrupted her train of thought, and bent his head to kiss her.

Mikasa didn’t know what she was expecting from a demon’s kiss, but the lush press of his lips was not it. He kissed her like he was drinking her in, sucking at her lips and twining his tongue — now returned to its normal size — with hers. He stoked her arousal like a precious flame, letting her burn brightly but not out of control. He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, stroking her with his thumbs and marveling at the softness of her skin.

“You smell like sunlight and strawberries,” he murmured against her lips, following his words with a soft bite.

She pulled away from him, looking at him with amusement. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

“Shut up. I basically get drunk when I feed. Don’t mind the bullshit I say,” he grumbled.

“Don’t want to admit you want me really fucking badly?” she countered.

“Not as badly as you want me,” he replied, reaching between their bodies to grip his cock and rub its length up and down her spread pussy, waiting for her expression to register exactly how much length he had. His eyes flashed silver with excitement when her kiss-swollen lips formed a perfect surprised O.

“Can you make your cock change size like your tongue?” she asked, canting her hips so she could rub her soaked folds up and down his erection, coating them with her moisture.

“Uh huh,” he sighed. He wasn’t even inside her and he was already feeling feverish and frenzied. His lips stretched into a rictus grin and he kissed her to hide his excitement from her; he needed to warm her up before he could give her everything he had, and he didn’t want to scare her off with his intensity.

Once Levi managed to calm himself, he strayed from her lips, pressing hot, open-mouthed, desperate kisses along her neck, shoulders, and collarbone, finding that she liked a hint of teeth at her pulse point, but she cried out and squirmed beneath him when he sucked hard at the juncture of her shoulder and neck. He could actually feel her dripping on his cock while she moaned. Cradling her close with one hand, he let the other wander, tracing his fingertips over the lines of her body, the firmness of muscle and bone contrasting with the soft pliability of her breasts. He focused his efforts there, alternating between soft caresses and pinches, and the sting of his fingernails tracing around her areola and over her nipple. When he finally grasped her breast, she shrieked and bucked beneath him, her back arching as though he had branded her.

“More!” she demanded, her eyes shut tight so as to focus on the intense sensations. He obliged her, kissing her deeply and grabbing her breasts with both hands, massaging them roughly, pinching and pulling at her nipples while she devoured his tongue and soaked his cock. After a little while he wrenched himself away from her mouth and attacked her sensitive, swollen nipples, mindlessly sucking and biting at them, snuffling like an animal. Mikasa’s fingers grasped at his hair, tangling her fingers in it and occasionally pulling when pain won out over pleasure. She soon found he liked the pulling, and that he’d work her even harder when she threaded her fingers through his dark hair and yanked with all her might. When he looked up at her, his pupils were blown wide, a thin silver rim surrounding inky blackness.

“Don’t you ever fucking stop,” she admonished him after a few moments of staring.

He scoffed at her. “I haven’t even gotten started.” Before she could even comprehend what was happening, he had her legs spread and her knees touching her shoulders, his thumbs pulling her labia apart so he could kiss her pussy and swirl his lengthening tongue around her clit, surrounding and massaging it with the forked end. She trembled beneath him like he was electrocuting her, her entire body fluttering with unspeakable pleasure. Levi’s eyes rolled back in his head as her juices coated his tongue, sweeter and more powerful than even the finest wine. Within minutes she was coming, half-words and incoherent sounds spilling forth from her lips, a primitive language that Levi could understand nevertheless: Yes, more, I love this, I never want you to stop.

So he obliged her, backing off from her sensitive clit momentarily and snaking his tongue down to her entrance. Mikasa made a questioning noise, wordlessly asking him if he was going to fuck her with his tongue.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, already excited to see how she would react to his tongue filling her pussy, its tip pressing against her g-spot and rubbing furiously. Her moans grew raspy, her throat raw and dry from overuse, but she still managed to let out a healthy wail at his internal massage, and somehow got even louder when he traced circles around her clit with his fingertip. He gave thanks to his demonic nature for allowing him to keep a superhuman pace; whereas a normal man would get tired from the repetitive motions, he drew strength from her frantic responses. This allowed him to keep going even as Mikasa’s inner muscles clenched around his tongue, denoting her second orgasm, then a third in quick succession. 

The fourth came on much more slowly, but promised to be a big one when she started quaking in his arms. She was incoherent, her inner monologue completely switched off, her thoughts focused solely on Levi and the inhumanly wonderful things he was doing to her. Her nerves felt like they were frozen and on fire at the same time, heat and cold running through her in equal measure, her muscles alternately clenching and relaxing. Her skin felt cool and slick, though she could not tell if that was from her sweat or his, his saliva, or her cum. As he continued working her clit with his fingers and her g-spot with his tongue, she began to feel warm again in her chest and between her legs, shaking and keening as though possessed, then exploding and spurting cum all over Levi and herself as she screamed and sobbed through her climax.

“I’m not done with you yet, but let’s take a break,” he suggested, curling up next to her and pulling her against his solid, muscular body.

“Water!” she gasped, and he produced a glass of perfectly cold water from thin air, which she gulped down in such a frenzy that rivulets escaped from the sides of her mouth and dripped onto her breasts. Levi lapped the water from her skin and conjured another glass for her, refilling it until she was sated, capturing any errant drops with his tongue. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath stirring his arousal, but he told himself to stay still, to let her decide when they could get back to it.

“I feel like I haven’t touched you at all,” she said after a while, lifting her head so she could bask in the shining silver of his eyes.

“Touch all you want.” He rolled over onto his back, opening himself to her. She propped herself up on one elbow and let her eyes and hands rove over him, from the softly amused, almost affectionate look on his face, down to his corded arms and thick chest, his segmented and defined abdomen, and then the flat, slightly sloping plane that led to his pubic hair and the largest, most beautiful cock she’d ever seen. It was half hard, resting against his thigh, with a streak of moisture adorning the tip.

“Is this where the term Leviathan comes from?” she asked with a grin, wrapping her fingers around its impressive girth and working up and down his length.

He returned her smile, excited by her excitement. “Uh-huh. People think it means a sea monster, but—”

“They haven’t gotten a chance to see this monster?” she interjected.

Levi snorted a laugh. “I didn’t realize my shitty jokes could be transmitted through our sex bond.”

“I guess we’re both gonna learn some new things tonight,” Mikasa replied, looking down at him with a heavy-lidded gaze and tightening her grip. He soon grew fully erect, his huge cock pointing at the ceiling, drops of precum forming and spilling over her fingers.

“I need your mouth or your cunt, something, just… more…” Levi panted, desperate for contact. “It’ll fit, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.” He willed his cock to produce more precum, the massive organ becoming slick and shiny as Mikasa stroked him. She nodded, her energy returning, growing along with her enthusiasm to take his cock inside of her. Without a word she gripped him by the base, lifted herself up, and lowered herself onto him, sliding down as though she was made to fit him.

“Oh, fuuuuuck ,” she groaned, her eyes sliding shut in bliss. She stayed still, trying to get used to the sensation of being so completely filled, of having his cock igniting every nerve ending inside of her, but Levi couldn’t wait any longer. His cock began to move inside her, thickening and stretching her, rubbing her inner walls the way his tongue had done. Mikasa went off like fireworks, lapsing back into her feral, languageless state, broadcasting every sensation as sighs and gasps and yelps. Levi grasped her by the waist and thrust up into her as fast as he could, slamming his hips into hers so fast it sounded like applause.

She tipped her head back and howled at the overwhelming rush of sensation, being filled and fucked within an inch of her life. Each thrust felt like he was spanking her pussy with each impact, making her come a little, her pussy clenching around him, emitting little spurts of cum every time he retreated. In the midst of this he rolled her over, landing on top of her, still pistoning in and out of her without missing a beat. She bent her legs back before he thought to do it for her, taking him even deeper.

“Fuck, Mikasa!” Levi moaned over the sounds of her fevered howls and skin slapping skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Behind,” she managed to say; he didn’t understand, so he searched her mind for the mental image he hoped to find: him on his knees behind her, driving into her even faster and harder than before, his tongue snaking down to tease and fuck the tight bud of her asshole, her pussy dripping with cum and saliva, soaking the sheets beneath them.

“Whatever you want, my dirty girl,” he groaned, trying not to come just from the thought of him inside her twice over. He flipped her over and replicated the mental image exactly, thickening and lengthening his cock so he could fill her up completely, bending down and doing the same with his tongue on, then in her ass. Mikasa shook and sobbed beneath him, her body wracked with an ecstasy beyond comprehension, each cell in her body singing in perfect harmony.

Levi felt his orgasm building, starting in his balls and inner thighs, coming on fast and uncontrollable, more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. Usually he’d siphon a little of his partner’s life force while coming, still able to maintain his rationality during the transfer of power. This was something else entirely, a ball of white light and energy growing inside him, threatening to engulf him once it exploded.

Please, please don’t let me kill her, he pleaded with himself as he tipped over the edge, just before his thoughts faded into utter incoherence. I need to have her again.

His orgasm overtook him, the entire world going blinding white except for himself and Mikasa, flashes of intense color flying past him. Then even she disappeared in the blinding glow and his vision went entirely white. A tiny, rational voice wondered whether he was dying, but he found himself okay with the prospect.

When he came to, he sat upright, panting as though waking from a nightmare. Mikasa lay a warm hand on his chest, rubbing it in absentminded circles.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, letting out a deep yawn. “You just fell asleep for a few minutes.”

“Oh,” he sighed. “You’re alive.”

Her smile was crooked, loopy with exhaustion. “Very much so.”

“I came so hard I was worried I killed you.” His hand sought hers, squeezing it once, unwilling to vocalize the fact that killing her suddenly seemed like the most heinous taboo when she’d been a complete stranger a couple of hours earlier.

“Well, if you did, I would’ve died the happiest I’ve ever been.” She brought their clasped hands to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. He pulled their hands back to him, kissing her hand in return, as if to tell her that affectionate gestures were his job, not hers.

He looked around the room, suddenly disoriented, the surroundings and this woman both familiar and unfamiliar. “Was that flower always there?” He gestured towards a small clay vase on her nightstand that held a single bright blue bloom.

Mikasa poked her head up and furrowed her brow. “It was dead before, or at least dying. I was thinking of throwing it out. Did we do that?”

“I think we did,” Levi replied, letting out a confused sigh of a laugh. He pulled the blanket over Mikasa, tucking her in as she curled up on her side in preparation for sleep, her eyes already closing. He reached over to pluck the blue flower from its vase, inspecting its unfurled petals and the soft dusting of pollen inside them. Struck by an overwhelming urge, he nestled the flower in Mikasa’s hair near her ear, pleased by the contrast of blue on black, of the flower’s delicacy and the strength of the woman whose mind and body could disarm a prince of Hell. His usual protocol was to slip back through the closest portal that would take him to his quarters, but the thought of sleeping alone — without her — made him shudder. Instead he cuddled up next to her and brushed his lips against her forehead, drunk on the combined scent of flowers and sex and this wounded woman who’d somehow ensnared him. Smiling at how fortunate he was to come across such a precious mortal, he closed his eyes and allowed himself some much-needed rest.

When Mikasa woke the next day, she was alarmed to find that the clock on her nightstand read 1:47 in the afternoon, and even more alarmed to find that she felt refreshed and awake, ready to start what was left of the day with a clear head and an elevated mood. She flopped back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling with a bemused smile on her face. The sheets were cool and dry beneath her, a far cry from her soaked bed a few hours earlier. The vase by her bed was empty; perhaps she’d thrown out that old flower like she’d meant to, and her demon lover was just a strange, vivid dream.

She waited for Levi’s voice in her head to tell her otherwise, and was disappointed when she did not receive a response. Sighing with disappointment, she got up to shower, trying to determine a productive activity for the remaining daylight hours: maybe weeding the garden, or stopping off at the market for more eggs and milk. Undressing in the bathroom, an azure blur caught her eye in the mirror: a crushed flower, as blue as the sky, tucked behind her ear. She cast her gaze down her body, inspecting herself and finding a bruise — no, two — no, dozens of them. Fingertip-sized on her breasts, larger and deeper ones on her neck and shoulders and thighs, and even a couple of scabs in the shape of Levi’s teeth where he had bitten her.

Her fingers skated over her wounds, making her shiver and whimper at the combination of pleasure and pain that radiated throughout her body. One hand drifted between her legs, spreading her free-flowing fluids around, circling her clit and fingering her pussy in a poor imitation of Levi’s supernatural prowess, while she replayed the previous night in as much detail as she could remember.

Not once, not even in passing, did she think of Eren.

I need Levi , she thought, fucking herself with desperate intensity as she braced herself against the sink. I need to feel him again. I need his hands on me and his tongue wrapped around my clit and his cock stretching me until I feel like I could burst. I need to come on him, all over him, as much as I can handle it.

“Come back tonight,” she whispered as she chased her peak. “Please.”

About fucking time you said something , Levi’s voice echoed in her head. I was starting to think you didn’t want me back.

Mikasa laughed aloud, joy and surprise and blessed relief enveloping her, pushing her over the edge. She came, her pussy pulsing around her slick fingers, her lips crying out for her demon lover.

Levi let out a deep, rumbling moan. That’s my girl. I’ll be there at midnight. Don’t bother wearing clothes this time.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, her mind buzzing with anticipation, and her eyes flashed silver in the afternoon light.

[hms-no-fun]

hey can you just generally ramble about your terezi (and (terezi)) choices? I am interested in your process for her characters this chapter.

yeah! naturally i have a lot to say about a lot of things so spoilers for godfeels 3.2 A1 solo below the break!

let me just start this by saying that (Terezi) has been the BIGGEST pain in my ass of the entire core cast since beginning godfeels 3.

getting A1 out the door in general has been something of a nightmare, in part due to inconvenient irl circumstances but also because this track had a LOT of heavy lifting to do. Double Album is an ambitious project --too ambitious, arguably, considering how much time it takes to write (lots) and how little it pays (nothing)-- and this first glimpse into what's to come needed to do a lot of recapping prior events, moving pieces around on the board, clarifying character motivations, giving everyone a reason to be staying/going, and setting up several hefty dozens of plot threads in both major and minor ways, all while simultaneously being entertaining enough to read that old and new readers alike don't just get bored and peace out before we even get to the stuff that this story's actually about.

i think on balance A1 is going to wind up being sort of an odd duck among the tracks for this reason. i've been thinking of it as sort of a pilot episode, very much in the mold of the pilot of LOST whose very minimal flashbacks belied the load-bearing structural centrality that the flashback device would come to occupy in the series. but it's also a pilot episode for a series that's already three seasons in, which just further complicates the logistical job it needed to do. here again i took inspiration from LOST (get used to this comparison, btw-- everything from chapter 8 onwards has been/will be heavily inspired by LOST in theme and structure), where the season openers always had to pull double duty of cleaning up the mess from whatever bomb dropped in the season finale to completely change the status quo AND giving the core cast time to acclimate to the new status quo in a way that sets the audience up for what this season's gonna be about. it's a fun and punishing challenge that takes a lot of trial and error. there have been so many versions of A1 that all conveyed largely the same information in completely different ways to wildly different ends.

i'm glad i put that work in, because i'm really proud of how A1 ultimately turned out. i think it accomplishes the goals i set out for. and in a serial work like this you just don't get a chance to redo your first episode. if this part didn't work, if every character wasn't utilized with absolute precision, everything that followed would be at a disadvantage. i feel more confident in the future of this side of the story than i did when i first started writing it. but it was hard!

and at the center of that challenge was (Terezi), the character whose desire to go with Silverbark is easily the most obvious of the departing cast and yet simultaneously the most mysterious. i have a document for every writing project where i save cut material just in case, and the one for A1 is over 8000 words. of those, just shy of half are scenes involving (Terezi). because ever since the start of gf3, she's been a delightful, infuriating wrench in all my plans. it's easy enough to understand why she would want to go with Silverbark, but what does she feel about it? how does she feel about what she did to June, what June/Risk did to her, or about the state of Earth C today, and especially about the medicated domestic 30-something Vrisrezi who've just shown up out of the blue?

i wrote the dream strangulation scene in 3.1 chapter 1 knowing it would put a dent in her and June's relationship that would be a pain point through the rest of 3.1, but i'd always planned for them to get on better terms before the end (until Vrisrezi showed up, at which point all that progress would be painfully backpedaled). but as soon as she left the house, (Terezi) completely closed herself off and refused to come to the table again. throughout gf3 and especially chapter 8 i tried to find ways to let her talk about what was on her mind, and she just wouldn't. the Host-intruded memory of them getting into an argument watching Consort Jerry Springer and the birthday flashback where (Terezi) eats leafs both wound up defined in their conflict by (Terezi)'s own silence, her refusal to say what's really bothering her. even as she opens up some in the latter scene, she remains infuriatingly closed off to Risk and us. the question she thinks she's answering is why she's uncomfortable on Earth C, but the question June and Risk are really asking is, why am i not good enough to make this place feel like your home?

this is a dominant theme of Divergence Syndrome-- characters ensconced in noise looking for silence, or characters sick of silence hurtling mortally towards cacophony. the strict meaning of silence vs noise change depending on the person. all the circus flashbacks are moments where characters just can't quite bring themselves to say the thing they really want to say. silence and noise, secrets and truth-- you might draw some comparisons here between this theme and the concept of Voidthought as introduced in A1. i try not to push my hand when it feels like characters don't want to be accessible. it's easy to want to give everyone center stage all at once, but it gets to being too much very quickly. you've got to pick your battles, give everyone their moment when the time is right, when you and they both feel ready for it.

but with (Terezi) i genuinely was like. hey. tell me the thing you really want to say. give me something to work with here. i'm trying to understand how you got here from where we left you in gf2. were you just lying when you said you loved how unpredictable June was? were you lying to Kanaya when you said you liked how boring Earth C was compared to Alternia? what changed in those eleven months between gf2 and gf3 and why didn't i see it until it was too late?

and she just WOULDN'T. every time i've tried to get her talking it felt forced and wrong. she only talks in narration when she wants to. she refuses to humor her guilt even to herself. i wrote a complete version of the scene in Dave's room where Silverbark is much, much meaner, just to try and get a rise out of her. but it was so out of character, it was too much, too forceful. you just can't drag secrets out into the open like that. not with a Mind player as stubborn as (Terezi).

that scene was for me, really. i needed to write it because i was mad at her. i won't share it here because i think quite a lot of it will end up recycled in some form down the line. i don't exactly want to give the impression that (Terezi) is a distinct entity, because none of these characters are. it's more that i see the narration itself, and each characters' varying awareness of it, as having strict rules and boundaries. there's that moment at the end of A1 where Vriska pops into the narration just to say, actually no i don't want my feelings on display right now. i'd planned to have a whole lot of prose there! but when i wrote that interjection, it felt right. it showcases a different form of closing one's self off-- where (Terezi) is doing bullheaded self-harm in her silence, Vriska there is being mature and recognizing that sometimes you just have to let things go. good characterization in this story isn't just about dialogue. every word you read is a function of character in some form. 3.1 was narrated largely by VV. 3.2's narration/structure is what i've been calling "paramniscient epistolary" --basically a roving narratorial eye that can take the form of disconnected third person narration but give way to direct influence from characters whenever they desire. the epistolary part will make more sense come future tracks. but all of that is to say that yeah, to let that device be honest in what it is, to really fulfill VV's promise of letting these characters have genuine agency, i need to be willing to step back and let them be obtuse sometimes.

the original version of that scene between (Terezi) and Silverbark broke rules i didn't yet know, and it taught me a lot about what this story wants to be. gf2 was so much about June expositing her every thought, having revelations, working through shit, coming to terms with her Self. gf3, at least so far, is the opposite. (Terezi)'s lack of answers, her refusal to self-examine, is a protest against the kind of sincerity that June often embodies.

the horror of encountering a Terezi who's well-adjusted and happy is that for (Terezi), it feels inevitable. like a death sentence, a sword hanging over her neck. it's proof that if she ever got what she wanted, she would have to lose so many of the things that she still feels are essential to her Self. i think she tried to force herself to get better in gf2, under the assumption that simply being with someone you love who loves you is enough. but getting better requires work. i don't like the pervasive idea in fiction that couples getting together is the Solution to interpersonal problems, because it's not. it can help! but when you're accustomed to being alone, it's easy to stay alone even when you share every waking moment with someone else. i think Terezi is proof to (Terezi) that getting better takes work, and she despises the notion that she needs to do that work, that this version of her "getting better" is obviously preferable to who she is now. it's revealing that she imposes parentheses on herself so immediately upon meeting Terezi. it's worth noting that when Vriska tries to talk to (Terezi) in the A1 solo, she doesn't use those parentheses.

i think (Terezi) knows that if she even started to have a conversation about all this stuff, she'd lose. there are so many little moments where you can see her resolve shake a little. her harshness is a manifestation of instability. to open that door even a crack is to consent to demolishing the whole house. so she closes herself off altogether. she tells Terezi she'll kill her if she speaks to her again, and when Vriska begs her to seek help, (Terezi) spits in her face.

infinite credit to janet girlpillz for all the art in A1 solo but this panel especially. it took a lot of work to get the mood and tone just right. i cannot overstate how lucky i feel to have her in my camp. this moment would be nothing without her.

it was important for me that the impact of this particular patooie be almost entirely on (Terezi). Vriska's shocked, yes, but in the way of being interrupted mid-sentence more than anything. i wanted to see the moment right before Vriska can emotionally process what's just happened. nonverbal, not overly emotive, surprised, taken aback. but not mad. not sad. not angry. it's (Terezi) who's angry. Vriska laughs it off pretty fast once the fluttersled departs, because she sees the gesture for what it is. it's not really about her or for her. it's (Terezi) kicking the dog to chase it away, maybe because she thinks its for the dog's own good, or maybe because she just doesn't want the responsibility of taking care of a dog, except she IS the dog and she might not even know it.

as to (Terezi)'s turn towards "Justice," i'm not even sure she really believes it. does she actually think June is guilty of a crime? or is this just an extremely elaborate means of tethering her fate to the woman she used to love? and in fact, is that love truly in the past tense for her?

right now, (Terezi) and the rest of the crew are in a state of transition, carried forward by the high-stakes manic momentum of chapter 8 into a new life with new rules without really knowing what that actually entails. i think their commitment to any idea of their role in that future is highly precarious, especially as we proceed out of that manic phase into what will, eventually, become the new normal. right now their motivations are all hypothetical, contingent, abstract. that is not enough in the long term. it will take something real, something personal, to get them not just to stay in Silverbark's company, but to live there. Silverbark has sown the seeds of these in each of her conversations with the core cast. but to paraphrase VV, their ultimate reason for choosing to do what they will do is theirs to decide.

it wouldn't take much to shake (Terezi) out of her present self-destructive funk. it's just that there aren't very many things that could, and most of them are on Earth C. the question for me going forward is, what will it take to transform (Terezi)'s present verve for becoming "a detective" from an elaborate larp into a genuine career conviction? she can't maintain her delusion of moral superiority without that. (Terezi)'s a real piece of work but i don't think she enjoys lying, even and perhaps especially to herself. but she is a serial lifelong liar-by-omission. the currency of her deception is silence.

and that's something that (Terezi) and Silverbark have in common.

my final note (dear god does this woman ever shut up) is on the characterization of Terezi. she obviously doesn't get many lines in this chapter, and that's interesting. I have a hard time imagining that even a medicated 30-something Terezi is particularly good at holding her tongue. part of it is just sheer practicality. there are ELEVEN characters with speaking roles in this chapter, and of those Terezi is the least... i don't want to say "important," because she IS important. least relevant, maybe? none of this interpersonal drama has anything to do with her. when you think about it, Terezi is in a similar position now to the one Silverbark was in when she returned to Earth C. older, wiser, fundamentally different, while simultaneously stepping into the role her less mature younger self occupied in all these people's lives. i think she recognizes that the only thing she can do in this situation is cause trouble, so she mostly avoids contributing altogether. her home base in the scene is Vriska, until at last the space opera drama mamas fuck off to their Very Important Story and she can safely make jokes again. wow, what a bitch. let's go get omelettes.

it'll be interesting to see (when we get to it, which will be a long time from now) how Terezi fits in with Jane and Karkat, and on Earth C in general. how will the media respond to her? how will culture at large respond to her? jesus christ man, it's gonna be such a fucking mess.

anyway, those are some rambling thoughts on Terezi and (Terezi)! i hope your thirst is sated, or at least that you didn't drown.

[ill-written-god]

T/M | 702 | f/nb human/angel | fantasy, horror elements i guess | continuation of 'curse', tentacles

Everything smelled of lavender, making her nauseous. She hated lavender. But she was dreaming, so she probably could change it, somehow. She tried thinking very hard about chocolate. Nothing happened. 

It’s an amalgamation of both her and Abe’s apartments. She’s looking for chocolate cake, so she steps into the kitchen. Abe is there, already cutting the brownies.

“Hi,” they say softly, hesitant. 

“Hey,” she answers, waddling through the fogginess of a dream. When she’s offered the cake, she bites in and some clarity comes over her senses.

“You said you’ll come," she says out loud to make the memory more tangible. Abe nods. 

“I don’t like invading your brain like that, but it’s the only way I can show you.”

They eye each other, Jade munching on her cake. She swallows.

“Well?”

Abe sighs, resigned.

Their skin peels off, strings of flesh forming the shape of feathers. Their whole body unravels, weaving itself back into a fleshy creature of uncountable wings, eyes and tendrils. 

Jade's eyes can’t wrap around the depth of the image in front of her, so she closes them, lights throbbing behind her eyelids. 

“This is me,” says Abe’s voice, echoing from everywhere around her.

“Is this what you were so scared of?” she asks, the sight still imprinted in her brain. “You look… right.”

“Did you not like the blond hair?” they ask, covering their nerves with amusement.

“Course I did,” she scoffs, opening her eyes again. It was easier to look already, and it probably would be with each time. “But this is more you.” She bites her lip, wiping away everything she thought about life up to this moment. “What happens now?”

“Nothing.” Abe shrugs with a soft movement of their feathers. “I’ll leave you alone, I just wanted-”

“Oh, don’t,” she rolls her eyes. “You’ve always been a drama queen. Just come here.” She spreads her arms and, albeit with a lot of hesitance, she gets a bundle of warm threads of life to embrace. After a moment, tendrils snake around her middle to hug her back.

“But we can’t kiss," Abe reminds her, almost whining. "If we do, I turn, and who knows what’ll happen to you.”

“You said melted eyeballs," she recalls.

“At the least.”

For a moment, she’s completely quiet. 

"What about other people?" she asks eventually.

"Only you will see me like this. For other people, I'll stay Abe, the local barista."

"That’s stupid," she frowns. 

"That's GOD for you," they shrug.

They stay quiet, just embracing each other and softly swaying to a song in their heads.

“Do I even need eyeballs?” she asks eventually.

“Baby…”

“What if we like… scoop them out?” 

“Lil, what the fuck?” They try to lean away from the hug, eyes moving to better see her, check if she's being serious, but she keeps holding them close. 

“I'm just considering our options!” she defends. “Can we kiss, like, here?”

“I don’t know, and I don't want to risk it.”

She hums in thought.

“But you're already in this form, so…”

“Not risking it, still.”

She huffs.

“What about sex?”

The tendrils around her flexed.

“Well, it’s safe, apparently. We can keep doing it.”

“Damn, GOD is perverted.”

Abe snorts. 

“But no, I mean here. In this form.”

Abe goes still, the tendrils around her tightening minutely.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am. What were you thinking, showing me tentacle porn?” she teases, and if the angel in front of her could blush, they would.

“Well…”

“Were you thinking about fucking me with all these?” she asks, caressing the tendrils that composed Abe, from wings to makeshift appendages to holding up the countless fiery eyes. “Would you let my eyes melt just to use me like this?” she follows, her eyebrows quirking teasingly. Abe squirms in her hold.

“No, of course not!” they protest, but her hold only tightens. 

"Just play along, baby. Ugh, this is the part when I would grab your pussy if I knew where to look."

Abe chokes out a startled laugh. 

“Oh, you’re serious about this.”

“How about you reach down and see for yourself?’

Abe does and then proceeds to show her all the fun parts of their true form. 

[werdlewrites]

The Season of the Witch: Allumage

Chapter Twenty-five: Once Upon a Time

Now a series! Allumage being the subtitle for "season 1" masterlist-about-patreon-ao3 share support through likes, comments, and reblogs!

UPDATED 7/26/24

summary: It left her frozen with fear - petrified to stone as she stares down to their hands, hearing the question before it’s dancing in the chilled air, rattling in her mind and clawing at her insides. Joyce needed her help - just how Jonathan needed her once upon a time.The woman’s voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. Pained, knowing just how much weight the question carries. “Can you try again, for me?” warnings: mentions of fire, trauma? bloodwc: 6,163

It had only been five days since Autumn had last been inside the Byers home. When all was still normal. When she was sprawled out across the living room floor, hand aching as she wrote every useless piece of information about Amerigo Vespucci, laughing at Jonathan’s jokes or when his mother ran from room to room trying to find her keys just before her shift. Only five days, yet it had felt like a lifetime ago. Four days since she sat beside Jonathan to make flyers for the boy, before seeing his bike and becoming haunted by a sickening feeling to soon follow her for days on end.

The ties of friendship that held Jonathan and Autumn together were twisted, and tangled, tension posing a risk for the thread to snap, an all too familiar occurrence. Though, there was some faith in renewal, when or how was unclear. That project was long forgotten, completely dismissed whereas others were graced with an extended deadline. All of it now seemed so pointless.

No smiling boy was running to greet her, taking her by the hand to drag the teen along so he could show off his new favorite obsession, a new movie, anything. It’s those memories that keep Autumn at bay, her engine still running as she sits just outside her home away from home, eyes glued to the new addition carved through one of the walls, just near the window. She assumes it had been Joyce’s doing after all that Jonathan had said, but why?

“She’s losing it.”

His words repeat over in her mind, a reminder of their last encounter and all else that had been shared. No matter whether sad or angry as emotions ran high without the strength to pull them down.

“So, it’s easier to dismiss because it’s me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He never bothered to clear the air between them or explain his reasoning for finding understanding in Autumn’s experience and disbelief with his mother. She was after all, what Hawkin’s High spat in her face; a freak.

A heavy sigh falls as the teen cuts the engine, finally gathering enough strength to pull herself away from the jeep, unashamed by the relief she feels when taking note of the lack of her friend's car, not ready to face him just yet. Not at such a sensitive time. But there’s panic, and confusion as the sound of Joyce screaming reaches Autumn’s ears. Suddenly, the girl is running up the path, uncertain what to do, but knowing someone she thought of as a mother needed help.

Her foot barely makes it to the porch before the door swings open, Lonnie stumbling out with a look of bewilderment on his face. He had been forced out, like a thorn embedded into the skin of a fingertip now being rejected out for fear of harm. He wasn’t needed here, an unwelcome pain in an already shattered home. Their eyes meet briefly, his duffel bag falling to hang at his side rather than clutched to his chest as it had been. It was an attempt to appear more in control than he was, and she didn’t buy it.

“Good luck,” is all he says, bitterness dripping from his tongue as he stalks past her, towards his car where he throws the bag carelessly into the passenger seat.

She waits with a glare burning through the windshield, watching as he peels out from the unpaved driveway, and back onto the road to begin his journey back home. The moment he is gone from her sight, and she is certain he’s unable to disrupt any attempts at finding even the smallest moments of peace, she pushes forward, calling out to Joyce. Autumn makes it just over the threshold before pausing, immediately overwhelmed by the drastic changes in what used to give her comfort.

The space where she once lay was now cluttered by books, and pieces of wood from the hole being patched together - though poorly. Furniture had been toppled over, Christmas lights strung up throughout the room and into the hallway, and towards the kitchen where the woman stood, seething. Her silhouette just barely stands out in the darkness, every window holding newspaper articles of Will, their words containing only sadness, and refusing to let any light pour through. This place is foreign to Autumn as if she’s stumbled into someone else's home entirely.

Joyce takes a long drag of her cigarette, too lost in her thoughts to notice another guest had entered her home. Even in the shadows, you could see the anger brewing. The bounce of her knee, with one hand on her hip that clung to her side all too tightly, with the other carelessly flicking the cigarette onto the tile without any ashes ready to fall.

“Joyce?” Her voice is soft and delicate. She fears one wrong step or wrong tone may set off the many landlines Joyce used as a barricade, keeping herself safe from the war around her. But each bomb remains inactive, silent - the wires disconnecting the moment doe eyes find the teen slowly moving deeper into the home.

That anger seems to settle, replaced with a feeling of ease, and bliss as Joyce immediately moves through the debris, arms out and welcoming. “You came,” she says with a heavy, and relieved sigh before wrapping the girl in a tight embrace.

Autumn sinks into the woman, her arms delicate as though she were made of glass, ready to shatter at her feet. “Of course I did,” her words come as a whisper, shaking as his eyes stare back at her from the kitchen window. “What happened? I saw Lonnie-” the girl begins to ask as they part, pausing as she takes note of Joyce’s scoff paired with a heavy roll of her eyes.

“He’s an asshole,” she mutters around the butt of the cigarette - the mere mention of his name igniting that familiar pain as she angrily swipes at her coat, ripping it from its spot laid out over a chair to instead hang it up, out of sight. ‘He only ever cared about money.”

Autumn is left to stand amongst the wreckage, the chaos feeling claustrophobic as the lights hang mere inches from her face, and hardly a bare opening on the floor as Joyce allows her heartache to tear the home apart. She pictures those many nights between then and now, and all that’s taken place for it to get here - how she cried out to nothing, though swearing it had been something. She comes back with arms empty and cigarette gone, shoulders slouched as she’s freed from the weight of her ex-husband's presence, and the pressure of the day. Her eyes saying she was aggravated today had even happened to begin with - that she was forced from a world of denial, and to say goodbye.

“I don’t have much t’offer,” she says with a weak smile. “I just - I haven’t been working, and-”

“It’s okay, Joyce, really,” Autumn interrupts, earning warmth from the other as her smile grows with fondness. Then there’s a small silence to settle between them, the teen's mind whirling with questions and unsure of how to ask them.

Where was Jonathan? Maybe she didn’t truly want to know the answer.

What was the reason for Joyce asking for her company? Was it rude to ask? Did she simply need someone on her side, someone to talk to? Or did she need a helping hand around the house, something Autumn had done time and time again as she babysat Will?

She doesn’t get the opportunity to ask, barely processing the gap between them lessening as Joyce encases her hands just as she did hours ago, a pleading look in her eyes. “I need your help,” she murmurs, the tone cracking with a forced confidence.

“Whatever you need, Joyce,” is the girl's reply. Willing to sacrifice her hours - her days as she organized furniture, and carried out broken pieces of wood. To clean the dishes - help the woman get her life back in order so she could attempt to move on. But moving forward was never an option for Joyce Byers.

“Come sit down,” the woman suggests, guiding the girl towards the couch Lonnie had so clearly spent his night in. “I was wondering about your-” she pauses, unsure of how to continue, the right words to say, instead letting her hands express what was caught on her tongue. Fingers moved to each side of her temples, waving wildly and leaving her guest to give her a quizzical look.

A puff of air fills her cheeks, frustration building when she realizes the teen is unable to understand the message. With a heavy sigh, she reaches for her again, the hold gentle, yet ready to latch on tightly for fear that Autumn may turn her back and seek refuge from the pressure of such a large task. The mother had nowhere else to go, no other real options - and while she would forgive Autumn if she turned away, it wouldn’t put an end to this restlessness. Joyce Byers would keep fighting for an answer.

“Jonathan, he, uh,” she pauses, eyes wandering elsewhere as a brewing shame bubbles in her gut. “He - he told me about what you did f - for him.” She remembers when Jonathan had found her in Will’s room that morning, eyes red with tears and a lack of sleep. Her voice was broken and hoarse from the screams the night prior and the hushed pleas for her youngest to come back to her, to speak through the lights she filled his room with.

They argued that morning - Jonathan locked in his certainty that Will was gone, reaching out into the endless sea to light a beacon and bring his mother back ashore. But she was far gone, and that’s when he confessed where he had been the night before, hoping to change the tides of the storm she was drowning in.

“I asked Autumn to look, mom. To really look for him.” The air shifts in an instant. The sound of the kitchen clock is painfully loud in the silence as she stares wide-eyed, waiting for a sign of hope. For life to fill a withering heart, giving vibrance to a dying garden. “She didn’t see him, okay? There’s nothing out there.”

Pieces of her fell away like an old flower, drifting off into the wind and disintegrating with time. “No,” she whispers, the tears pooling just at the edge before spilling down her cheeks. Jonathan’s admission does nothing but send her further out into the abyss, denial, and desperation carrying her out into the horizon. “No, god damnit! He was talking to me! He’s here!”

Joyce was no stranger to the wonders of Autumn Reid. She answered many questions over coffee, finding her amazement endearing, and found some peace in knowing Joyce never needed the darkness she carried. Until now.

It left her frozen with fear - petrified to stone as she stared down at their hands, hearing the question before it was dancing in the chilled air, rattling in her mind and clawing at her insides. Joyce needed her help - just as Jonathan needed her once upon a time.

The woman’s voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. Pained, knowing just how much weight the question carries. “Can you try again, for me?”

The words act as a dagger, piercing through the girl and allowing a held breath to seep through the wound, her body deflating, and collapsing into dust in the woman's hands. She can feel the thud of her heart trying to break free from its cage, the burn of her skin as darker memories find her. The girl easily becomes a shell of herself, the ghost of the unknown creature reaching through time to steal her away, leaving her eyes empty yet burning with sadness as tears push forward.

“I-I just can’t accept it,” her voice breaks through the silence, her attention now elsewhere - looking to the laid-out drawings done by her youngest son, untouched for the last five days. “I know what Jonathan has probably told you. I know - I know it seems crazy, but I just - I don’t think he’s really gone.”

It’s just like the boys, and like every moment before this - a piece of her needing to take a moment to breathe, and reconnect with just a shred of harmony. But the dagger is pulled from her chest with weakened hands, allowing the opening to heal, and give life to a hollow form with enough strength to shake away the weight of her words. For just another moment, Autumn chooses neglect for herself over the sake of others.

“I-I just need a minute, okay?”

Glistening eyes, full of mourning, and uncertainty pull from the scattered papers, looking to the girl with surprise. Her lips quiver, overwhelmed by the unknown sacrifice about to be made - yet knowing the girl was willing to make the journey was enough. Joyce whispers a “Thank you,” before releasing the girl from her hold, watching as she moves through the home on autopilot, down the hall towards the bathroom.

The water runs cold over shaken hands, across her neck, and trickling down her back. Letting each bead of water ease her into a state of tranquility, ignoring the heavy cloud looming just in the distance, a reminder of a time before when she last looked in this mirror - seeing only something stripped right from a nightmare as lightning flashed across the glass. But, there was only the afternoon sun pouring in, highlighting a tired reflection and reddened eyes.

Her body moves without warning, standing just in Will’s doorway to drink in the sight of lamps scattered throughout his room. The girl wonders if this, no matter the outcome, would be at all beneficial or more harmful for the mother. But with hopeful eyes lingering on her, she quietly makes her way in to sit just at the edge of the bed, Joyce leaning against the wall with nerves visibly wound tight.

Joyce is unsure if she was meant to witness what’s to come but isn’t ushered away, so she remains tucked deep into the shadows if she was ever needed.

Autumn carried nothing with her aside from a stone draped around her neck; a bringer of light, the banishment of evil. It wasn’t intended for this, but the teen now understood it held more than one purpose as she had chosen it for an accessory to the funeral.

She falls into the darkness, eyes easing shut with a focus on the soft sheets beneath her fingertips, and the breaths that fill her lungs, lulling her into that familiar hell. She traces over every seam and small pattern with subtle motions of her fingers, loosening the threads, and willingly accepting the hold they soon have on her. They creep like vines, digging through her skin to entangle in her veins like a foreign parasite, something to be exterminated yet she lets them spread.

Linen crawls and tears its way without mercy, wrapping around her spine and pulling - the pressure slowly forcing her body to cave inward. It reaches Autumn’s eyes - scratching and burning. Encouraging fresh tears forward from the sting.

Suddenly, in the darkness, there’s only a vision of white and all she can picture is thread consuming her like a cocoon. Despite the pain and the unknown that awaits, her eyes open, and it’s instantaneous. The thread is pulled from her skin with ease, dissipating in the air as if it never existed. Tears are dried with attention now locked on something she’s never seen in this space. One of the lamps that sat just across from Will’s bed, was now inches from her, the only source of brilliant light in a dreadful place.

Autumn kneels before it, thoughts racing with its reason for following her here. The light flickers beneath the shade, and without a second thought, she reaches for the chain to pull - not considering the void that would soon come after, and only thinking of Joyce and the way Jonathan described her speaking to the lights. Maybe it was something - maybe it was nothing at all. Still, she pulls, catapulting herself into the emptiness where her only company is the sound of a shaken breath and a beating heart that quickens with passing seconds left in the stillness.

Then..it begins to break.

The shadows part like a sea. A light emerging just behind the lamp, creating a halo for only a moment before it begins to spread like a virus, rapidly, and with purpose. It’s difficult to tell if it’s the light that invades or rather a veil that is peeled away to reveal a truth beneath the dark. It creeps along. Her surroundings becoming more detailed, leaving the girl puzzled and though she would never admit it, frightened. There have only ever been vague suggestions in the void, leaving assumptions up to her as darkened rubble or water spilled from her hands. Then the occasional, ominous spark of light without a source pulling her in before disappearing, only returning in nightmares. But this - this was something else.

Beams of fluorescent light reflect off of white tile walls, the floor shining with fresh polish, encapsulating the girl in a blinding box she couldn’t recognize, though her body reacts as the images sink in. Heart presses into her walls, growing large and beating faster - pushing up into her throat to leave her strangled until she’s forced to swallow it down. The lights shine down on a simple bed, boring and neatly made. Every corner was tucked in, impossible to easily get inside. It didn’t seem to be there for comfort but rather placed there as a necessity.

Drawings line the walls. The only source of beauty in a lifeless place. Child-like scribbles in a multitude of colors, some of what she assumed to be themselves, or friends - a tall man with no name. She wonders if any of them could be the boy she seeks. A final gift. A message just before his shell had been pulled from the water. None of the work was his, but maybe...he had been stuck at a time.

There’s something in the distance to pull her away, eyes wide and heart racing as an echo moves through this space. Her attention focuses on the sealed door in wait, anticipating a familiar beast to push its way through. It would corner her in such a small room, and if it could - kill her. Finish the job. Or let the fear from its existence fill her until a frail heart collapsed. But nothing ever comes, only a continued stretch of silence and building curiosity.

Cautious steps are taken until her hand finds the handle, still expecting for something just on the other end to come rushing through without warning. But the more she pulls back, the more of the same - no demon with teeth bared, only glimmering walls in a long hallway, lined with doors to hold secrecy. Another room just across the way holds bold numbers stamped into the steel, “002”, and it refuses to surrender as the girl pulls at the lever.

Another noise, something small yet much closer now - an object colliding with the floor telling her that despite the emptiness, she wasn’t alone. Was someone waiting for her just at the end of the hall, behind those double doors?

Was there anything at all?

Autumn continues down the long stretch of simplicity. Each doorway passed presents a momentary wave of anxiety - like a haunted house, waiting for something to pop through without warning. Nails are left embedded into palms, marks of perseverance as the girl refuses to give in to the fear. Even as they lay against the two doors, letting a soothing but shaken breath fill her lungs before pressing forward.

All stands still.

A picture frozen in time, not a speck of dust seen dancing through the air as light shines down from the ceiling. Toys were left behind, scattered across the painted floor with purpose - as if hands had only just touched them moments ago. Every surface was spotless. The mirror to hold her reflection held no flaws. Not a single print as curious hands wandered. A gasp held prisoner in the girl's throat, a beating heart slowing to a still as the scene slowly etched into every corner of her mind. A rainbow screamed out against the white walls, stretching outwards - was it all an attempt for comfort in such an awful place?

Autumn’s vision fades and her chest aches. The girl’s body gave in to the sudden shock as fingers gripped at the door's edge, mind aware she was rapidly fading but too weak to force another breath. A hollow boom cried out from within, begging for life - for safety, and yet something held her captive.

A pitiful sound fills the quiet, a war brewing inside as she fights for freedom. A moment before all risks fading to black, she pulls herself through, and it’s as if she’s found the sunlight after spiraling into an endless ocean. She gasped for air, fingers clutched to her chest to feel the pounding just beneath the skin. Rejoice - celebrating with newfound life as clear color fills her sight once more. The girl found herself at a wall, and forced her way onto the other side - but for what?

There had been no sign of Will, only missed moments as residents had already fled. Their crayons tipped over onto the counters, ready to add another piece of work to the collection on the wall. And a small, seemingly out-of-place figure lying just next to the abandoned toy cars. It calls to her - fingers wrapping around it with ease like a magnet to metal, studying every detail with intrigue. A tall bird with wings tucked in tight, standing proud upon its pedestal - meant to be used as a chess piece yet somehow, here, on the floor where only Autumn stood. The board is perfect - the only game left unplayed despite the missing piece, wound tight in her grasp.

She can hear them moving.

The faint skid along the wood from a lazy player, and the gentle tap as a piece was laid down - the opponent more confident with their moves, though remaining kind. Back and forth they went in the depths of her mind, an echo reaching forward yet none of the pieces moved across the board. An aggravated sigh, yet not of her own - but from elsewhere. A stolen memory. A soft voice follows after, encouraging their partner, “Have more patience,” and despite the warmth in his words, resting embers begin to hold a familiar glow.

The breath from the unknown drifts along, whispering, coaxing life into a steady flame that slowly begins to spread, burning and demolishing all in its wake. She can feel the heat lash outwards, striking her like the palm of a hand and the girl stumbles back - seeking support from a shelf where objects rattle and tumble before falling from their place, rolling across the floor.

It’s coming for her again - the pain. Fingers crawl up her spine, and into her neck where they grip, strangling the girl before they move like vines through her mind to pull and separate, digging just behind her eyes until all she can see are flashes of white. Autumn surrenders to it, letting her knees give way as the pressure pulls her deeper down, almost anticipating the floor to give way for a new layer of hell to swallow her whole. Yet all remains.

Her vision is hazy, and her fist is clenched tight around the wooden piece as knuckles press into her chest. There was a deep ache, burning and leaving her throat scorched as she was unable to catch her breath. Autumn knew she was spiraling - she could see it all in the perfectly clean floor, her panicked eyes blown wide yet each time she reached within to take control it slipped away. Then the reflection is tainted - tarnished by blood as it trickles from her nose. A spare, trembling hand moves to swipe just along the skin, though she can feel the tickle of more slowly beginning to collect - draining her.

“Autumn!”

A voice echoes all around the girl - not in her mind, but in the room. A warm embrace, something to remind her that she wasn’t alone. Joyce was still out there, clinging onto her and full of worry. A shockingly similar sight from only days ago with Jonathan as he pulled his friend into his arms. “Stop, stop,” the woman cries.

Her touch is of a ghost as she grips Autumn’s wrist and taps at her cheeks, desperate, unwilling to see where the end of this road may lead the girl as blood stained her clothes from the service. Her voice is broken, full of sorrow for Will and wherever she believed he may be, and now that familiar guilt that crept through the cracks, eroding as it became too much for them to handle. “I can do this,” Autumn speaks out, unknowing if her words will be heard but Joyce doesn’t continue her attempts to reach the girl, she’s only met with bone-chilling silence.

There’s a soothing breath to fill her lungs, rooting itself deep within to give a moment of peace in a storm that left her foundation rattled, and nearly shattered. And while she searches for new ground, the world around her does all it can to keep her unsteady. The scene around her has changed - moved. Small cracks dance along the once perfect, shining mirror, reaching up towards the sky, seeking out help as distress wracked the room. Crayons had fallen from their pictures, crushed beneath frantic steps. The chess pieces were now scattered along the floor, unmoving, frozen in time with chairs toppled over around them.

There’s a rumble. It’s far from her, short-lasting yet deep enough to pull her attention towards a single door that remains untouched. The sound of machinery, something heavy and metal colliding with the floor just beyond where she cannot see - closer now. She can hear the pieces break and scatter across the surface, yet no footsteps follow after, no voices to pair with what she could envision in her mind. Frustrated workers, a silly mistake as they pick up what’s been broken and return to the job. There’s only silence, and a small crack in the bird as her grip tightens around its figure.

Then, there’s movement. It’s almost difficult to see at first, Autumn blinks several times thinking her vision would clear, but it’s there, and it’s creeping in like a predator to its prey. Smoke spills in beneath the gap of the door, a looming threat rolling across the floor to reach out for her, to consume and suffocate. A flicker of light pulls the girl in - a brilliance of red and yellow moving with harmony just in the other room. The flames stretched through to destroy all that they could, leaving burned marks along the floor where they kissed.

There was no monster waiting for her this time, only death as it turned her universe to ash. She wonders for a moment if the beast would have been less cruel.

The smoke wrapped its way around her legs like shackles, claiming a prisoner for more fuel to the flames as they crawled up the other side of the door, working their way inside - closer. Suddenly, fingers stripped from flesh and darkened by death reach from the other side, clawing at the tile before turning to grip at the edge of the door, pulling with what strength they still had. Autumn reacts almost instantly, scrambling from the now messy floor to set herself free from the weights that hold her back, running for the double doors that stand tall, and clear from soot as unknown people bang against the other entrance. They call out for help and she knows even if she tried, it was too late.

The door gives way to her force, welcoming the girl into something familiar yet distant all the same. She stood in the hallway of the Byers home, eyes fresh with tears in Will’s doorway and staring out down the hall. Joyce was long gone, leaving the home cold, and empty with a heavy darkness looming all around her.

Black vines broke through the wall and floorboards, etching their way throughout the home like a parasite with intent to kill. It was all so eerily still in the home, every step she made forward echoing as the floorboards gave way. “Joyce?” She calls, peering around corners in hopes of seeing some sign she had only just left.

“I’m here,” is her response, but not from within - from outside.

The home was deserted. Robbed of life despite the clear signs it once blossomed. Molded bread sat out on the countertop, clearly cut into and enjoyed once upon a time. There were no Christmas lights to guide her on the path and no clutter to skip around. The walls remained whole. No tears or wounds forced through the foundation, no newspapers to remind you of the grief. What did stand out...was the posterboard laid out over the carpet, along with scattered cards. Some, concealed by thin vines, working to pull the old material deep into the earth. But the few exposed, she manages to read; “Amerigo Vespucci was a merchant, an explorer, and a navigator from the Republic-” It was her handwriting - a project long lost with Jonathan before everything had gone wrong - maybe just hours before.

A crack of lightning shocks her back into the moment. The crumbling paper fell from her grasp to join the others as hell consumed the world at her feet. There’s fear eating away at her heart with attention now on the windows, a never-ending night stretching through the sky with no moon to cast a peaceful glow. Only the unshakable sensation that something was around every corner, watching, waiting to pull their next victim into the shadows. The safety she once felt beneath this roof is long gone, replaced by the unseen threat and she seeks sanctuary in the open space.

The front door creaks open, weary eyes taking in a world without fire, without a soul for miles, and the only source of light being a storm that raged through the clouds. A warning to stay alert, and that she shouldn’t linger for long. It was a cold and dead place. Everything around her seemed crumbled and rusted with time. Greenery is now rotten and black, spilling out toxins into the air that swarmed her vision.

Hell had consumed Hawkin’s - but how? Why?

Autumn is moving on autopilot through the thinned woods, their leaves dried and fallen away giving a clear view down the path. Where Joyce was, just beyond those windows, winter was beginning to creep in and the leaves were just starting to fall away yet still hung to cloud your vision. Now, only tall trees stood in her way, waiting to collapse as the rot ate them from within.

And somewhere buried beneath the storm, the thunder booming and shaking the ground with each step, the girl could hear something faint that didn’t seem to belong - something to bring pause and drag her gaze every which way through the decrepit woods, searching for its source. Nothing at first, until it dances through the sickened air as the chaos dwindles, and without much thought she follows after it, pushing past low branches with pace quickening as it becomes more clear - it’s a voice.

“Darling, you got to...let me know,” weak, small, and pained in the distance. Obvious frailty and unmistakably belonging to a child, luring her closer in with a sense of panic - overwhelmed by a need for clarity. “Should I stay, or should I..go?”

It’s closer now, more crystal than what she’d heard before. Always left in wonder of who had been there, reaching out to her through the thick fog - their voices distorted by Autumn’s cluttered and torn mind. “If you say...that you are mine,”

It’s a boy, and he’s broken - a lullaby to give comfort as he’s already surrendered to his fate, unable to continue on. Or did this all too familiar song act as a mantra to keep him thriving in the darkness?

“I’ll be here ‘til the end of time.”

She’s now running towards it, like a moth towards a burning flame until the trees give way, opening like a gate for her to spill out into an opening. Castle Byers stands tall amongst the wreckage of time at the center of it all. The tarp is unmoving - beckoning her inside to take a look - to see no one was there and that it was all a trick of her mind as the voice doesn’t return. After this long of a journey, Autumn refuses to give in to the building doubt - basking in that shred of hope that if not him, maybe some kind of sign would be left behind, so she inches closer. The snap of a few twigs breaks beneath her feet, and suddenly it all changes.

“Hello?”

The world around Autumn begins to spin while the fort stands steady, staring back at her. The knees that carried her all this way were growing weak, legs shaken, unable, and too fearful to move forward for worry of collapse as the universe rocked back and forth on a point. Each breath was stolen from her chest, shock settling in as his kind voice enveloped her like a warm embrace, a voice she hadn’t heard in nearly a week.

“Will?” she practically choked out, unable to pry herself away from her place in the soil as she waited for another message - a silent prayer that this was no twisted game. But it comes to her again - kind, confused, full of that same innocence despite all he had gone through.

“A-Autumn?” He’s reaching out to her through the cold air, gripping at her heart to pull her in and she succumbs to it, nearly crumbling into the earth as tears creep forward.

“Will!” she cries out, racing forward to meet him there - to hold him. To take him home if she could, unaware the trees begin to fade around her, withering to ash to dance away in the unfelt wind. Her fingers barely register the feeling of the icy, slick tarp before it too begins to disintegrate, along with the wooden beams to hold it strong through storms.

"No-” comes with a desperate, hushed plea - disbelief sinking in as she watches the smallest sign of him slip away from her. Sickly pale skin hidden within his hideout washes away like dust, soon unrecognizable as it melds with the rest of the swarm. “No, wait! Don’t-!” Hands reach for him, diving forward to hold onto something, anything - a plume of dust rising as she lands, leaving nothing in its wake - only darkness.

She’s lost control, arms reaching outward into nothing as a rush of air stings her lungs. There’s metal on her tongue, choked back as she fights for a sense of balance while another voice eases her back into reality. “You’re okay, I’ve got you-”

A crushing weight pins her tightly, not to cause harm but to provide security and comfort. Autumn can feel the soothing roll of a thumb along her arm and allows the hushed voice to coax her down from the panic. “You did good,” Joyce says in a soft tone. And while unseen, Autumn can hear her sadness - sniffing back tears she’s unable to wipe as she cradles the girl close.

And when the struggle slows to a stop, the teen is finally able to rest in the other's arms. Tired eyes open to meet hers - full of sorrow yet she fights it back with a small smile. “Welcome back,” she offers, gently rocking in place to help comfort the distressed girl.

Autumn doesn’t speak at first, letting the world sink in - almost anticipating for it to slip away. For the shadows to creep in and swallow it whole. But Joyce remains, as motherly as ever - something Autumn never had, and something Will needed. Her tight hold and gentle smile are enough to push the sadness just over the edge, spilling freely along her cheeks to collect in strands of hair.

“Will,” is the only word she manages to offer.

[niennawept]

25, 29 for the fic writer asks?

Hi! Sorry for the delay - been busy the past few days! Thank you very much for asking. I had actually forgotten I wrote the scene below, and it was nice to revisit the "darling graveyard" to pick out a something I had to cut.

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Yes. It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but yes. Particularly emotional scenes will sometimes make me cry. There's this one future scene that I cannot think about seriously without getting teary, so I know I'm gonna be a wreck when we get there.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

So this never fit into Scars anywhere, but I do imagine this conversation happened offscreen at some point, but the results were summarized somewhere else in the fic. Palariel stands up for the Southlanders (SFW, but cw: discussions of forced labor and whippings):

“I have just been to tend the humans,” Palariel said, with a careful, even tone. She set her medical supplies down against the nearest carved table leg. When he did not reply, she leaned across the surface — her red-gold hair fanned out over the worn map of the Southlands, obscuring his work.  “What of it?” Weary eyes met her own and she fought the softening of her resolve. This was a conversation that she must have. If she did not advocate for the captives, not one would. “They cannot keep up this pace. And I have treated more lash wounds today than I have in centuries. This needs to stop.”  Adar’s expression did not change, not even in the small ways she had come to notice with time. “What would you have me do?”  She had thought about the way to address this as she tended welts and stitched lacerations with silkthistle thread, planning her strategy like she plotted to win at logic games against Mahtan in Valinor. This was a negotiation that she must win. “Allow them rest. They are bone-tired and getting weaker all the time. If we do not slow down, they will be worn through and who then will dig your trenches? We do not have enough uruks to complete it alone.”  There — a flicker of frustration in his brow. “No.”  “Why?”  He exhaled with thinly-veiled displeasure — irritated that she would not drop it. “Because our position is exposed. Every moment we do not work extends the time that we risk being found and ridden down in a cavalry charge by your kin.”  “What remains of my kin are in Valinor, singing the praises of beings who would not help any who linger still in Middle Earth, and most especially not us. But I see your point.” Now was the time to ask for what she truly wanted. For he had already denied her once and this request was smaller, easier to say yes to. She placed her hand over his much larger one, soft as a summer wind. “Can they not be less brutal in punishments at least? The humans cannot handle both the haste and the lash. They are tearing their injuries open anew each day and compounding them from it. The blood loss alone will take them, if infection does not. If it continues, many will not be able to work at all.”  He stared at her hand on his, clearly weighing the options.  “They will not work without it,” he said, firm decision in the lines of his body. He drew away from her. But she would not let him end this. “You don’t know that for certain,” she said, walking around the table. “Memory is a powerful thing. I have not been set to dig in two moons but I flinch still at the sound of a whip. I think that they can be persuaded.”   He was weighing her words; she could tell. Wondering how much of the truth she spoke and how much of it was what she must say to spare them. When he said nothing, she advanced again. “Please. You need only try it for a day, perhaps two. If I am wrong, what have you lost?” He was silent for a long time. Palariel forced herself to wait. Holding very still lest she shatter the fragile quiet of the tent. The tension in her was close to snapping, a thread stretched taut. But she waited.  “Fine. But if they slow because of it, I will not spare them again.” “I understand,” she acknowledged at a whisper, but her mind was already whirling with ideas about how to get the Southlanders to comply. She would have only one night to think on them before trying to convince Ethelred when she returned to renew Royse’s fever medication. Another day, another compromise, another negotiation.

I wish it had fit, but there were other things I needed them to talk about at the time, so it got summarized and cut.

[dreamcatcher-roulette]

I've had your post up in a separate tab for ages, but life 😮‍💨😅

Just wanted to say I appreciate the in-depth response about RAID (and cosmic rays!) and especially the S.M.A.R.T. article - it'll come in handy as I'm quite complacent 😅 about my personal backups (I think my music files have the most "redundancy" via iPods 🤡)

*I dunno if you'll find it interesting, but the OP's schadenfreude in this Reddit post was amusing to me, at least 😅

https://www.reddit.com/r/Netsuite/s/Bxu6bFnrkS

But tbh, even for the outage referenced, 🤡 I would've been more angsty about the potential hours! of productivity lost (i.e. bc users getting anxious about deadlines, etc.) rather than the potential that our data pre-incident would be corrupted or lost.

Anyways, in any case! Thank you for sharing your tangents! I hope you're doing well!

Ahh what a great honour to be a long standing open tab. Funnily enough I started drafting this yesterday and got distracted from it as well. My original response to how I’m doing was going to be “semi patiently waiting for the Dreamcatcher comeback announcement” but since then we got Fromm messages saying probably not until at least June (noooooo) and now I'm also neck deep in ACC, much to my dismay. I have nothing intelligent to say about batteries, they’re complete mysteries to me as well, but they sure do exist. Unfortunately.

Anyway! I do have things to say about backups. Below the cut 😉

The thing about backups is that you can definitely get way deeper than you need to, I think it’s mostly important to be aware and comfortable with your level of risk. The majority of people don’t hold too much irreplaceable data on their personal computers, and the data that does come under that category often fits within free or cheap tiers of cloud backup providers. Before I had my current setup I used to take a less structured approach to backups. I sorted my data into three categories:

Replaceable, which encompasses things like applications and games which can be re-downloaded from the internet (and, if the original download source were no longer available, this would not be a huge deal);

Irreplaceable but not catastrophic, which encompasses things like game saves, half finished software projects, screenshots I've taken etc; and

Irreplaceable and catastrophic, which encompasses things like legal documents but also select few items from category 2 I'm just very personally attached to.

Category 1 items I had on a single hard drive, category 2 items I copied over selectively to a second every now and then when I got struck with a particularly large wave of paranoia, and category 3 items I did the same but with the additional step of scattering them through various cloud providers as well. Now that I have an actual redundant drive setup in a server I have Kopia running on my personal computer to periodically back up everything that isn’t on my SSD, but I still rely on those external cloud providers for offsite backups.

It’s important to note my setup is ultimately designed with hardware reliability engineering in mind but those aren’t the only factors at play when thinking about backups, especially for enterprises. That Reddit thread is hilarious and I can see exactly where both sides are coming from, it’s a common enough disagreement between people of different departments. Senior software engineers tend to be paranoid old bastards who loathe to trust anyone else's code, which is in direct opposition to so many “software as a service” business models these days. But from a business perspective it makes complete sense to always have your own copy of the data as well, even if it isn’t the copy being used. It’s not just loss of productivity (although I agree that’s the most likely extent of any service down time) but often there are legal obligations on keeping records of certain types of work, and, while I’m pretty sure a company could win a court battle to absolve itself of responsibility in the event of a trusted third party being the one to drop the ball, that’s not the kind of argument you even want to risk getting into when there’s such a simple extra safeguard that could be put in place.

My assessment of the risks of my own backup solution of course has a MUCH lower threshold for striking out controls based on cost. I'm a hobbyist after all, this whole thing does not generate money it only takes it. Most notably I don’t have any full offsite backups, which leaves me vulnerable to near total data loss in the unlikely event of a house fire or someone breaking in and just picking up and leaving with the whole lot. The problem with defending against either of these scenarios with a “proper” 3-2-1 backup strategy is that the first server already cost me enough, I don’t want to go investing almost the same amount into a second one to stick somewhere else! And paying any cloud provider to host terabytes is no friendlier on the wallet.

There’s also the issue of airgaps, which is something enterprises need to think about but I do not have any desire to entertain. If a bad actor were to infiltrate my network in such a way that gave them root access to the server hosting all my data I would have no ability to restore from a ransomware attack. Of course this scenario is very unlikely, I’m already doing a lot to mitigate the risk of a cyber attack because running my services securely doesn’t incur additional costs (just additional time, which does mean I haven’t implemented everything possible, just enough to be comfortable there are no glaring holes), but it’s still something I am conscious of when running something which is exposed (in a small way) to the internet. Cybersecurity is also a whole separate but interesting topic that I’m by no means an expert in but enjoy putting into practise (unlike BATTERIES. God. What is wrong with electrical engineers (I say this with love, I work with many of them)).

In conclusion, coming back to how this relates to my dreamcatcher images blog, you can rest assured that my collection of rare recordings is about as safe as my collection of rare albums is, in that, barring a large scale disaster, they should be safe as long as I want to keep them. Which is hopefully going to be a very long time indeed, because I don’t just enjoy the process I also enjoy the content I’m preserving. But the average person probably doesn’t need to put the same level of effort into archiving — Google and Microsoft’s cloud services have much more redundancy than a home setup could ever achieve and can hold all the essentials (like the backup of the Minecraft server on which you met your oldest friends, for example).

[i3utterflyeffect]

Triple Affirmative

it's once in a blue moon lads. that means it's fic time (even though im very rusty) anyway i wrote this in 30 minutes or smthn bc i had the idea and thought it was cool

AO3 Link

Summary: Two mysterious stories become one. Sometimes, you must join the cycle to end it.

Sliver knew this was risky. How could fae not know? 

The danger of gene editing had already made itself clear when iterators had begun to come down with the rot. The process of creating creatures was safe, of course.

But to control to a new, separated puppet was completely unheard of.

Nonetheless, Sliver was sure that if this worked, everyone could escape this damned cycle.

The triple affirmative was not something other beings needed, but none of the iterators had a choice in it. If they could all ascend, however, there was nothing left to stay here for.

Faer sat down in front of the new puppet.

It was a green, furred slugcat— a variety special to Sliver’s cold reigon. They were adaptable, clever, social. They could travel long distances.

It was perfect.

Faer began the process.

Despite the tingling of faer neurons reaching out, the alien feeling of a new body, it came quite easy. Fae’s mind wanted to flit about, the excitement getting to faer, but the distraction was too costly to risk, so faer set into a low power mode, only focusing on the work.

Cycles and cycles passed. Faer did not know if the others were calling.

All they knew is that the solution was close.

So close

that they could

touch it.

100% COMPLETE.

The notification was jarring, startling fae out of faer focus. 

Faw could feel the defined surrounding of the slugcat. That was a good start.

Sliver moved one paw.

Then the other.

Slowly, fae stood, and a thrill rushed through their body.

TRIPLE AFFIRMATIVE.

Sliver had found the way out. They were free. Everyone could finally, finally be free!

The excitement overwhelmed faer systems, and at first, faer didn’t care to monitor that feeling.

That is, until fae felt a spark.

Suddenly, agony ripped through every piece of faer— from the smallest neuron to the surface of their can— and it hurt, IT HURT— 

A scream ripped from faer vocal cords as everything began to malfunction in an agonizing series of individual processes.

First, faer cooling systems.

Then, the gravity of faer rarefraction cells.

The spine carrying faer puppet began to seize as faer body thrashed in the air, and neurons dropped dead one at a time.

It was at the very end, where the chill of death settled in, that something happened.

The scorching pain became background to an unusual sense of peace.

Fae could see it. 

Fae could see it all. 

Every ancient that had built faer and faer siblings. Every creature that had journeyed to the void sea. A cycle that spun on into eternity.

Sliver was not sure where fae was, or even who fae was, but the knowledge of ten thousand eons poured into their mind.

Fae thought faer processors would not be able to take it, and yet somehow, faer mind was clear as ever. The knowledge wound through every part of fae, before neatly furling in faer chest, like golden thread on a spool.

Fae felt more awake than ever, not weighed down by every process that had plagued faer mind anymore.

Somehow, the feeling didn’t quite dissipate with the high that came with it.

Sliver’s senses returned to faer, and fae found faerself staring up at faer hanging puppet, limp in the air.

Fae could feel their eyelids over their eyes still, but vision remained with them all the same.

When fae opened faer eyes, fae saw golden string.

It hung from every surface, somehow denoting a date in faer mind.

The answer finally came to faer as fae stared into the yarn intertwined with everything.

Fae could cut these threads.

Fae could cut a cycle short.

My string...?

Looking down at faerself, fae found a thread spiraling all around them, tangled and knotted, unruly.

It did not end. In fact, it seemed to go on forever. Fae’s paws went through the wires when they tried to cut it.

Eternity was designated to the thread.

It would never end.

But if fae could cut each thread but faer own, that meant fae had found the Triple Affirmative. For everything.

Everything but faerself.

A grim whisper of a laugh escaped faer lungs, sounding more like a breath of air than a sound.

Fae finally wobbled up onto faer own two feet.

If fae was the solution, then fae needed to get moving. Faer siblings would not free themselves.

Silently, fae wondered if eternity would be more bearable if fae could journey.

Fae would have to find that out for faerself.

[badnikbreaker]

headcanons / thoughts about rusty rose, how i’ll be writing her, and et cetera below the cut ——

obviously this all comes with the caveat that as we get more episodes, this might all change.  but we don’t know when that’ll happen and i don’t wanna wait to play in this space, so i am simply going to party now and adjust later!

for the sake of ease, i’ll mostly be defaulting to a hypothetical ‘rusty has either been hacked back to allying with the resistance or has broken free of the council on their own’ verse for most interactions; otherwise i’m confined to combat threads.  happy to do other stuff!  just assume that if we haven’t plotted specifics, rusty’s probably gonna be Nicer rusty

rusty doesn’t remember a great deal of her backstory — this is partially to get me out of the risk of writing a thread where amy confesses her history only to have future episodes stomp on my dreams.  that being said, while she doesn’t remember it consciously, i DO have a backstory in mind of her that i’ll be treating as canon until we get something else, just for my own reference.

i’ve seen some people suggest that rusty’s line about her upgrade being ‘necessary’ suggest that she opted into them willing, which isn’t how i took that line nor do i think it makes a ton of sense for who amy is, especially THIS amy; prime!amy, even more than their game counterpart, seems to have a lot of love for the natural world — you can see this in thorn, but even in the mainverse ames says that the forest is the most beautiful place in the world.  it just seems out of character for her to opt in to eggman’s particular flavor of fucked up industrialization, let alone in a way that puts innocent, helpless creatures like flickies through such pain.  i’m totally open to being wrong, but in the interim the backstory i’ll be alluding to is different.

i love that tails’ backstory is basically ‘canon, but what if sonic wasn’t there?’ and want to keep that, generally, for ames.  obviously metal sonic wouldn’t exist, but i want to keep the generalities — specifically, i’m going to be pulling a lot of her sa1 arc and combining that with a general ‘amy’s kidnapped and not rescued’ thing.  when the council started destroying green hill, amy did everything they could to protect the wildlife, especially the animals.  she grew very close to the flickies in particular, and while fighting off badniks to defend them, she was captured and brought to the council.  because they were obviously very strong, the council opted to rebuild rather than execute them — and started calling them rusty rose as a cruel joke at their expense.  she, blessedly, remembers little of this — both the backstory and the process of becoming rusty rose, aside from the fact that it was Not Pleasant.

it’s fascinating the the only moment of mercy we really see from rusty is when they see black rose.  i do think the fact that seeing a version of herself that HADN’T had all her limbs ripped off and organs removed causes her to glitch out, at least briefly, is cool as hell and feeds into some other rusty thoughts i have.  wouldn’t it hurt, don’t you think?  to suffer, and learn that there’s a version of reality where you don’t?  wouldn’t it break something?

it’s genuinely fucked up that rusty can be hacked?  like, there is so little to them left that’s organic, that’s THEM.  she’s not amy or a person at all, she’s just a weapon that the council wields.  this sweet, kind, friendly, loving person who wants to save everyone got turned into a completely identity-less weapon of mass destruction :(  i’m miserable about her soft smile watching knuckles and rouge escape and how it drops immediately back to emotionlessness as the council takes back control.

also if she pulls a gamma i will blow this whole place up <3

[theink-stainedfolk]

Under The Knife

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Chapter Snippet(???): "First Cut"

The smell of antiseptic burned Saville Calder's nose, but he had long grown accustomed to it. His fingers danced with precision over the fresh sutures, securing the thread and tying it off with a practiced flick of his wrist. The patient on the table was still unconscious, sedated from hours of invasive surgery. Good. He didn’t need the man waking up and making a mess of things now.

"That should hold. Assuming you don't do anything stupid," Saville muttered to the still body, almost conversationally, like the unconscious man could respond.

The door to the OR clicked open behind him, but Saville didn’t bother turning. Another nurse, maybe a nosy doctor coming to ask pointless questions about how he managed to save yet another poor soul from death’s doorstep. The usual.

But the presence standing just a few feet behind him didn’t feel like the usual.

"Saville Calder?"

Saville froze mid-cleanup, his eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar voice. He wasn’t used to being addressed by full name unless someone was trying to put him in the ground—or worse, a meeting with hospital administration. Slowly, he turned to face the speaker.

A tall man, dressed far too sharply for a place like this, stood in the doorway. Black tailored suit, crisp shirt, and a cold, calculating gaze that lingered on the unconscious patient for just a second too long. Cigarette perched between his fingers, half-burned, despite the massive 'No Smoking' sign plastered all over the place.

"Who the hell are you?" Saville asked, crossing his arms over his blood-smeared coat. "And put that out. If I wanted the place to stink of tobacco, I’d have taken up smoking myself."

The man’s lip curled in mild amusement as he raised the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. "Arce Devereux. I’m here for him." He nodded toward the man on the table.

Saville glanced over his shoulder at the stitched-up patient, his expression completely flat. "Yeah, well, he's not exactly here for anyone at the moment. He’s unconscious. You want to have a chat, I suggest you wait for him to wake up. Assuming he doesn’t die in the next twelve hours."

Arce’s gaze flicked back to him, sharp as a scalpel. "He won’t die. Not after you saved him."

Saville's brow lifted, more in curiosity than surprise. "You have a lot of faith in my abilities. Most people would just call it reckless luck."

Arce took another drag from his cigarette. "Most people aren’t me."

Saville sighed, dropping his gloves into the biohazard bin. "Look, if you’re going to try intimidating me, get in line. The board's already booked for Thursday."

Arce chuckled, a low, dark sound that echoed in the sterile room. "Intimidate you? No. I don’t need to do that. I’m just here to make sure my man wakes up. He has something I need."

"Must be important if you're risking secondhand smoke in my hospital."

Arce's eyes narrowed slightly, but he extinguished the cigarette against the metal tray, the sizzle loud in the room’s silence. "You saved him. Why?"

"Because I could," Saville said, shrugging. "It’s literally my job. I save people. I’m a doctor, not your personal fixer."

"You’re something, all right." Arce stepped forward, close enough that Saville could smell the smoke lingering on his skin. "That man holds information critical to me. If he dies—"

"Then I’m sure you’ll send someone to retrieve whatever you lost," Saville interrupted with a wave of his hand, as though dismissing the entire ordeal as a nuisance. "Listen, Devereux, I don’t care about your little syndicate or whatever criminal empire you’re playing with. You want him to wake up, you let me do my job without this ‘shadow-of-death’ crap. Or better yet, let me refer you to a counselor."

For a second, Arce’s gaze hardened, as if calculating just how long it would take to slit Saville’s throat and walk out. But then he smirked.

"You’re either the bravest man I’ve met," Arce said softly, "or the stupidest."

Saville cocked his head. "What can I say? I like to keep people guessing."

A slow, humorless chuckle escaped Arce's lips as he stepped back. "Do whatever you need. But if he doesn’t wake up with all his memories intact, doctor…you’ll find out just how much of your wit it takes to survive."

Saville didn’t flinch. "Noted. Now, if you’re done with the brooding threats, please take that outside. Some of us still have work to do."

Arce’s lips twitched into a half-smile as he backed toward the door. "This isn’t over, Calder."

"I certainly hope not. This place could use some more excitement." Saville returned to his instruments, giving Arce his back without a second thought. It was a move of defiance, or maybe indifference—it was hard to tell with him.

When the door finally shut, the tension drained from the room, leaving Saville alone with the quiet hum of machines and the soft, rhythmic beeping of his patient’s heart monitor.

"Syndicates," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Always so dramatic."

---