#and now i will disappear for an uncertain amount of time because i have a paper to write and exams to study for

[onmywayt0insanitu]

when your bf is an "unfair" advantage

[nolita-fairytale]

bad moon rising | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

summary: in another lifetime, you meet mikey berzatto by chance one halloween night in nyc.

or, the fic based on this headcanon

warnings: angst, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person pov, drug usage, high mikey b, swearing, family drama, depression, not a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

a/n: i wrote about grief again. shocking, i know. thank you all for your interest based on the headcanon it came from and thank you for your patience. i wanted so badly to post this around halloween and have been sitting on it since the better part of last year as one of my wips. finally, finally, it's here!! i took a slightly different approach than the headcanon, but i think it still does it justice. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the carmy taglist.

this what-if fic takes place october 2021 because it's make my heart surrender-canon that mikey and reader never met; reader x carmy are best friends and colleagues but it has not gone further than that.

masterlist

Halloween, in another lifetime:

“Can I get hands, please!” Carmy shouts out to the entire kitchen, only to be met with a strong chorus of ‘hands’ in response.

His team works together like a well-oiled machine; a tight run ship, led by a captain near-suffocated under the weight of the chip on his shoulder. 

“Chef!” you hear the sound of your general manager’s voice ring through the kitchen, causing many a-heads to turn. She rarely comes into the kitchen during dinner service unless it’s serious. Her eyes lock with Carmy’s as he looks up from his expo, as if she’s about to deliver bad news. 

His mind races through the possibilities, preparing to solve the next oncoming crisis. Could it be an undercooked steak? An overcooked duck breast? Another complaint of ‘too salty’ or ‘underseasoned?’ 

“Chef, you uh… you have a visitor,” she says instead–the last thing he expects to hear. 

A visitor? 

“Wh-?” 

“Someone’s here to see you. Says he’s your… brother??” Carmy’s ears begin to burn, as he searches for your face amidst the chaos, your gaze there to catch him even from across the kitchen. Your presence feels reassuring, like a strong man in a storm. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s knee deep into service and he cannot get the sound of tickets being added to the expo out of his head. He opens his mouth to say something but he’s uncertain any words come out of his mouth, unsure of what he’d even say. You send him a reassuring nod, and it’s as if in one look, you’ve made the decision to go. 

“Chef, you good?” Carmy hears you ask the head pastry chef. 

“Yeah, we got it. But don’t take too long,” she answers with a curt nod of approval. 

He watches as you nod again, this time in recognition of your boss’ answer, as you pull the food-grade nitrile gloves off of your hands, discarding them in the nearby trash can. Without a word, you follow Kate closely behind, exchanging a few words with her as the two of you disappear to the front of house. There’s a war inside of Carmy as he watches you go–a pang of guilt and a feeling of relief–that whatever it is, you’ve agreed to take care of it. 

In all of the years that he’s been in New York, no one’s come to see him–the possibility of it happening now, let alone as a surprise, feels improbable. 

Must be a prank or some shit…. 

It couldn’t really be Michael, could it? 

As you seek out the answer, your feet carrying you faster than you anticipated, you realize that you’re searching for a face you’ve only seen in photographs. Kate follows closely behind while you push through the front door of the restaurant only to find a man pacing just outside of the restaurant, a ghostface mask in hand. You can tell he’s been sweating, the circles under his eyes just as dark as the ones you’ve become so familiar with in Carmy, with an anxious look in his eyes as his gaze turns towards you. 

He’s certainly not the larger-than-life older brother you’ve seen in the sparse amount of pictures that Carmy’s shown you.  

“I got this, Kate,” you mutter over your shoulder with a confident nod, letting your general manager know that you’re good on your own. “You sure?” she asks you quietly. 

“I’m sure,” you answer, watching as a disappointed look spread across Michael’s face as soon as he sees that: 

“You’re not Carmen.” 

“Uh… no. I’m not,” you reply, hearing the front door to the restaurant close behind you. The man swears under his breath, and you watch as face changes from disappointment to annoyance quickly, as you try your best to come up with an explanation that may satisfy him. “He uh… he can’t come out. Not right now. So he sent me.” 

Michael scoffs with a shake of his head, his eyebrows quickly rising and falling incredulously as he takes another drag off his cigarette. 

“Shit... the guy can't even make time to see his big brother?" he asks, the annoyance obvious in his voice this time. 

You take a step towards him, your arms folded across your chest. 

“I’m sorry. I-, I don't think he was expecting you,” you answer, much more compassionately this time. 

“Right,” Michael mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear. You watch as he throws the butt of his cigarette down on the pavement, before stamping it out. 

“It’s just-. He would if he could. I know it. It's just a busy night. I-... we're doing 200 covers tonight and uh... well, he runs the kitchen so,” you try again, and you can practically feel the disappointment (and resentment) burying itself deeper in Michael. 

“Yeah, no thanks, lady. You don’t need to explain it to me. Jagoff can’t even make time to say ‘hi’ to his brother. Sends you to do his dirty work instead,” Michael dismisses you, bitterly. 

He takes a beat. And then another, as if he’s accepted that he’s not going to see Carmy after all. 

“Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure-,” you offer, taking another step towards him. 

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” he dismisses you again, this time gentler. “You don’t need to make up for his bullshit.” 

You open your mouth to say something—anything in defense of Carmy—but you’re certain that nothing you have to say will be enough for your best friend’s older brother (save for Carmy coming out here himself).

With a nod, you accept defeat, turning to go back inside. But there’s something that stops you—like you just can’t just go back inside without trying to remedy the situation one last time. This time all you say is:

“I don’t know how long you’re in town for but… we should be off by midnight.”

Michael only offers you a sympathetic smile before you slip back inside. 

—---------------------------------------

It’s not until you and Carmy are packing up your things to head home that he brings it up—his mysterious visitor—hesitant to ask the question that’s been eating at him all night. 

“So uh… was it really him? Michael?” he asks you, cautiously, as he watches your face carefully for any kind of reaction. 

“Uh… yeah. I mean, at least the guy I recognized from your pictures,” you reply, hoping that the answer (or the fact that he missed his brother) won’t break his heart. 

A beat.

“What’d he want?” Carmy asks, trying to mask his curiosity as best as possible. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Seems like he found himself in the city. I didn’t ask. I didn’t… know if you wanted me to.” 

Carmy tries again. 

“Oh no. It’s-, no I didn’t-, no, it’s okay.” 

He takes his time, making up his mind about what he wants to say next. 

“It’s weird, right? Guy can barely pick up the phone to say hello but… he can show up unannounced and just like-, expect me to drop everything?” he asks you—the look in his eyes telling you that his mind is miles away. 

“I- I don’t know, Carmy,” you reply, heavily. “Are you… do you wish you had gone instead of me?” 

Carmy’s quiet as he follows you out of the back door of the restaurant, thinking his answer over. 

“I don’t know,” he answers slowly, a lack of confidence as the words fall out of his mouth. “Maybe?” 

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel and right now he just feels… ambushed, which only makes him want to shut down. 

Instead, Carmy changes the subject back to your post-work plans, the two of you debating what kind of post-shift late night meal you’re going to have before settling on a few slices of pizza on the way back to your place. You and Carmy cut through the alley to the front of the restaurant so that you can begin your late-night sojourn, and it’s only when he spots something odd that he stops you. 

“What the fuck?” Carmy cuts you off, holding an arm out in front of you to stop you from walking any further. 

You follow his line of sight right over to a figure moving towards the both of you. In the brief glimpse you’ve gotten of the person moving towards you, all you can see is a quick flash of the ghostface mask they hold in their hands as a bus drives by, obstructing your view. 

Carmy’s heart stops, fear filling his chest as the bus speeds by, the person getting closer and closer until…

“Michael?!” Carmy shouts, squinting as he sees the man approach. His expression of pure shock leaves his jaw agape, rendering him speechless as he scrambles to try to find better words that: 

“What-, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Shit,” Michael scoffs playfully, with a chuckle, his breath uneven from the light jogging pace he’d kept. Michael takes note of the arm his younger brother’s extended, shielding you from him. “What? Can’t your big brother come surprise ya in the big city?” 

Carmy shoots him a look that says, ‘when have you ever done that’ and Michael nods knowingly, his eyebrows quickly raising, then lowering as he makes peace with the fact that he’s never been that guy. 

“Me and Deb… we came up for the weekend,” Mikey admits with a heavy sigh. “Tried to do something nice for her but, you know, broad’s been a real bitch-.” 

“Mikey,” Carmy warns, taking a tone you recognize—the kind he uses when he’s going to yell at the saucier for a broken mornay. 

“Right,” Mike course corrects at the volume of a mumble, heaving a heavy, yet disarming sigh. 

Carmy nods slowly as he allows some part of him to relax, his arm falling away from you as the two of you exchange a look. 

“We uh…. Got into another fight. She’s on her way back to Chicago now,” Mikey explains, the disappointment evident in his voice this time, almost as if it were an apology. 

“Sorry,” Carmy mutters quietly, as you exchange a look with him. 

“Nah it’s-, she’ll get over it,” Mikey brushes off with a shrug, his tone shifting as he extens an arm out to you.

“Fuck, where are my manners? I never properly introduced myself earlier. I’m Mikey. Mikey Berzatto,” he grins with a charm and confidence that’s been absent in both of your interactions with him till now. The smile that spreads across his face is contagious as he looks from you to Carmy, then back to you. “Shit. I’m sorry. ‘M fuckin’ jagoff, interupting your night like this. I should probably get-.” 

“No!” you protest, almost too quickly, earning a look from Carmy. “We weren’t-, we were just getting off work and were gonna grab a bite. Maybe even… a drink?” you suggest, a hopefulness in your eyes as you turn towards Carmy. 

“Yeah?” Michael asks, his interest piqued. 

“Uhm. Just gonna grab a bite actually,” Carmy forces out, sending a glare in your direction. 

“You know what’s crazy? I know a spot. With food. And drinks,” you challenge him, silently begging him to just go with it. 

“You cool with that, Carm?” Mike asks this time, looking from you to his younger brother once more. It’s the first time that Carmy thinks Michael’s ever looked to him for approval. 

Carmy’s quiet for a moment, torn between wanting to burn it all down or declare a gleeful ‘yes’ because at least Mikey wants to spend time with him. 

“Um. Uh. Yeah. Yeah okay,” Carmy finally agrees. 

“Alright, let’s fuckin’ do it!” Mikey rallies. 

And as he turns to go, your voice instructing him that it’s only a few blocks from here, you and Carmy fall into stride, just a few steps behind Mikey. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Carmy threatens you—though there’s no weight to it—through gritted teeth. 

You shove him playfully, bumping your shoulder against his side as the two of you walk, answering with a promise that: “You’ll thank me later.” 

—---------------------------------------

You sit on one side of Carmy, Mikey on the other, and you can see why Carmy looks at his older brother like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars above. There’s something different about Michael—something different than when you met him just hours ago outside of the restaurant—as he corrals the three of you into a round of shots. 

As the shots of tequila arrive at the bar, Carmy dismisses his, his attention fixed to the still-full whiskey on the rocks he’d ordered earlier, just to appease his older brother. He watches you carefully as you and Mikey clink glasses before throwing back your own respective shots. 

“Carm?” Mikey asks, nodding towards the third, untouched shot glass. 

Carmy hesitates. 

“It’s fine. I’ll take his,” you jump in, half as an attempt to give Carmy the out he so desperately desires, and half because, admittedly, meeting the great Mikey Berzatto makes you a little nervous.

Before anyone can protest, you reach out, picking up the shot glass, before tapping it down against the bar top, fearlessly throwing it back. Michael watches you with a sense of amusement, as your face crinkles in response to the sting of the liquor and the bitterness of the lime you chase it with. 

He smirks, sharing a knowing look with his younger brother that says, “I like this girl,” which in turn only causes Carmy to blush. Before Mikey can say anything more, the song that blares through the speakers changes, earning his attention as he hears the familiar words:

“I see the bad moon a-risin' I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today”

“Alright, alright. Think it’s a little too on the nose if I admit that I love this song? On Halloween? C’maaaaaahn,” Mikey asks, almost as if it’s a confession in reference to the easily recognizable Creedance Clearwater revival hit. 

“No! No, I love this song,” you’re quick to assuage his hesitation as your eyes light up in response to his recognition. 

“You got good taste, kid,” Michael notes confidently, winking in his brother’s direction. “I like this girl, Carm.”

Only this time, he says it out loud. Carmy only shakes his head, the blush already running across his cheeks taking a deeper shade of red. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh. You both uh.. Like music,” Carmy smiles, gesturing from you to his brother. At least this is going a lot better than he expected it to, he reminds himself. 

“Oh yeah?” Michael asks, clearly intrigued. 

“Oh that’s right!” you exclaim, simultaneously. The excitement that brews within you has you stumbling over your words as you manage to get out:

“You’re-, oh my god! The Lennon jacket!” 

“What?” Mike asks, shooting you a funny look. 

“I’m sorry. I just-. I realize I’m not-,” you stammer over your words, trying your best to explain your earlier exclamation over your own excitement. 

“You gave Carmy the denim jacket – the 1950s selvedge Wrangler!” 

“Just like the-,” Michael starts, the two of you finishing his sentence at once with: 

“... just like the one John Lennon had!” 

“Marry this girl, Carm. Marry her right now. Tonight! Or I will,” Michael encourages, slapping his hand down against the bar. He speaks with so much bravado and conviction that you can only imagine that there was none left for Carmy. “Fuckin’ christ. I never should’ve let you two meet,” Carmy groans on an exasperated exhale as he shakes his head once again. 

“Oh c’mon, Carm,” Mikey rouses him, with a playful eye roll. 

“It’s totally my favorite jacket of his! I-, well, it’s a long story but we actually became friends over the jacket because he spilled a drink on me and-,”

“Ahhh real smooth.” 

“No! No, it was okay, I promise. I-, I don’t know if we would’ve gotten to know each other if he hadn’t so-. Call it a lucky jacket, I guess,” you smile, stealing a look in Carmy’s direction. He shoots the smallest smile back to you, cognizant of the fact that Mikey’s observing the entire interaction. 

As you begin to tell Michael the story about the aforementioned Lennon jacket, it could be minutes, hours, or days that pass, once you and Mikey finish trading facts about music like they’re trivia cards. It’s almost as entertaining as watching Mikey and Carmy go at it, bouncing facts about the history of denim like you’re at the French Open. 

You excuse yourself to the restrooms—partially because you really have to pee and partially because it seems like this evening is going well—wanting to give both brothers some time alone. And as soon as you’re out of earshot, Mikey’s on Carmy like an FBI Investigation. 

“This your girl, Carm, or what?" he asks with a casualness to his voice that sets off alarms in Carmy’s head. 

"Mikey, stop it,” Carmy dismisses him, hoping more than anything for this to be the end of the conversation. 

Instead, Mikey scoffs, shaking his head as he downs another shot. 

"Then at least tell me you're hittin' that." 

“Michael!" Carmy hushes his brother, a warning and protectiveness in his voice this time. 

"Are you fuckin' serious right now, Bear?” Michael pushes further. “What, you're telling me you're not when she’s walkin’ around in your jacket, talkin’ about wearing your clothes to your big brother and I’m supposed to think-?" 

"She's not!” Carmy cuts him off. “She doesn’t do-, she’s.... my friend. Jus’ give it up alright.” 

"Shit. Wish I had a friend like that. Ya friends, kid, or are ya... you know... friends?" Mikey smirks, earning a venomous glare from his younger brother. 

Carmy shakes his head in response, jaw clenched, as he stares down at the bar top, a feeling inside of him that he doesn’t like when he even thinks about Mikey looking at you like that. 

"Shit, I thought I taught you better than that, Bear." 

There it is again.

That feeling. 

He’s not sure how to name it, but it’s enough to make Carmy want to deck his brother right then and there as it rises inside of him. 

"I'm serious, Mike. We’re just friends,” Carmy spits out. He’s much more serious this time. “Cut it out." 

But Michael’s too quick, his voice growing louder as he interjects on the tail end of Carmy’s insistence.

"Oh come on! The chick's smokin' fuckin' hot. And I can tell that you like her. I'm not blind, Carm. I see the way you-."

And if it’s as if something snaps inside of Carmy as he exclaims: 

"Don't talk to me like you know what's going on in my life! Fuck!" 

"Carm-." 

"Can't even pick up the damn phone and then you just... waltz into town acting like everything is okay?!” he fumes, standing up out of his chair. 

His face grows redder with each word, and it only confirms Mikey’s suspicions: that his little brother is absolutely a goner for you. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Carmy like this and he’s torn between feeling proud of his kid brother or pissed that the kid’s turning this around on him. 

"Well, if you ever bothered to come home. You know mom's been askin' about you since you never fuckin’-,” Mikey roars, eager to relinquish the hotseat here.

“Oh don't bring mom into this!" Carmy protests.

It’s your voice that snaps him out of it—brings him back to earth as he hears you ask:

“Everything okay?” 

Carmy can practically hear his heart pounding away in his ears; can feel the blood rushing through his head as he takes a deep breath. He swallows, takes a beat, then turns to you. 

“Yeah uh. I think we should go,” he states, his voice uneven and tense as you try to get a read on either brother. 

“Uh… yeah, I guess we can-, um,” you stammer out, wondering how things went from good to hell in a matter of minutes. Carmy mutters something about getting your stuff as you try your best to put the pieces together. 

“It was uh, nice to meet you, Mikey,” you say softly, as soon as you get your coat on. 

“Yeah. You too, sweetheart,” he nods, something distant in his voice. Carmen scoffs at his brother’s usage of the word before tugging on your arm. 

You wait a beat, in anticipation of some kind of goodbye between the brothers, but there is none as you follow Carmy out of the bar. 

—---------------------------------------

Halloween, again — in this lifetime:

When Carmy comes to, he can hear the faint sounds of an episode of Pasta Grannies in the background, uncertain of what time it is. 

“Hey, you. You fell asleep on the couch and I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” you say, as he begins to sit up. Carmy blinks his eyes a few more times, watching as you make your way from the kitchen island over to the couch, taking a seat at his feet. 

“Did you still want to watch a scary movie? You know, in the spirit of the holiday?” you ask him with a soft chuckle. 

All Carmy can remember before falling asleep was what he was thinking about: what it would be like if you had met Mikey. It’s something he thinks of often, especially as the two of you grow closer—as your relationship gets more serious—and it’s something he hates that he’ll never be able to give to you. 

“This was his favorite holiday,” Carmy manages to get out, the sleep heavy in his voice. 

You’re not all that surprised. Carmy’s been on edge lately and you assumed it was because Mikey’s birthday’s coming up. But this… this makes sense too. 

“I wish I could’ve met him,” you smile, reaching out for one of his hands. 

Carmy nods. 

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah. Think he would’ve loved you.” 

Maybe a little too much, he thinks to himself. 

“You think so?” you ask with a vulnerability and a desire for reassurance that catches Carmy off guard. 

He nods with much more confidence this time, offering you a soft, sympathetic smile.  

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know so.”

[sirenontheloose]

MASTERPIECE IN THE MAKING

When did it start? Was it when she skipped lunch, lost in the world with her guitar? Or when her beautiful smile widened as she greeted everyone? Perhaps it was when her eyes shone brightest under the stage lights, captivating everyone, but especially me.

GENRE: fluff??

“Please, Dani, just this once!” Y/N begged, her voice barely above a whisper as Daniela—or Dani—rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time too,” Dani replied, exhaling sharply as she stared at her hopelessly romantic best friend.

Y/N bit her lip nervously. She and Dani had clicked easily when they met through mutual friends before Dream Academy, but the two couldn’t have been more different. While Dani thrived under the spotlight, Y/N preferred staying out of it, except when it came to Lara. And now, they were backstage, whispering frantically just five minutes before KATSEYE’s live stage, all because Y/N couldn’t bring herself to confess.

“I can’t, Y/N,” Dani said, crossing her arms. “Lara probably thinks I’m into her now because of all the gifts you’ve been giving her through me. I mean, seriously, how many times can I hand her flowers and gifts without looking suspicious?” Dani cringed at the memory of Lara’s confused look last week when she handed over yet another gift box.

“Dani, this is adorable, but... what’s all this for, sweetie?” Lara had asked, her smile polite but her tone uncertain. Dani had felt her stomach sink, the unspoken ‘are you into me?’ question hanging heavily in the air. The way Lara tilted her head and tried to let her down gently still made Dani want to disappear.

“I promise this will be the last one, please, it’s my best work yet, Dani,” Y/N pleaded, weaponizing her rarely-seen puppy eyes.

Dani stared at her in disbelief. The awkward, 24/7 ‘don’t talk to me’ best friend was giving her puppy eyes. And all for Lara.

“Fine,” Dani said, exhaling sharply. “But this is the last one, Y/N, and I’m serious. Next time, you’re going to face her yourself, or I’m telling her everything, including how you’ve basically forced me into being your personal delivery girl.” She grabbed the gift, shaking her head as she turned to leave.

Y/N winced at the possibility of her long-time crush knowing the truth, her heart pounding at the thought of finally facing Lara. The idea sent a wave of panic through her chest, but she pushed it away. For now, all she could do was hope Dani wouldn’t actually follow through on her threat.

As they finished performing “My Way,” Dani’s head was spinning, searching for the perfect excuse to avoid being cornered by Lara. Truthfully, it wasn’t hard to just leave the gifts and flowers in their dressing room, but Dani thought it wasn’t fair for anyone but Y/N to get credit for her hard work. It felt like her responsibility to ensure everything Y/N prepared actually made it into Lara’s hands.

“Lara, hey,” Dani greeted awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck as she approached.

Lara turned at the sound of her name, her expression showing a mix of exhaustion and curiosity. “Oh, Dani. What’s up?” she asked, her tone light but her gaze was steady. Dani swallowed hard, silently praying Y/N’s latest creation wasn’t going to get her into more trouble.

“For you,” Dani said, her voice almost too fast as she quickly shoved the gift and bouquet into Lara’s hands. Lara’s gaze was unreadable, making Dani’s nerves flare up.

“Dani,” Lara began, her tone careful. “Listen, the gifts and flowers are nice, and I appreciate everything you’ve been giving me. Especially the sculptures—they’re masterpieces, and I couldn’t be happier to be the one receiving them, but—”

“You love the sculptures?” Dani blurted out, her eyes wide with excitement, as if this were the best news she’d heard in weeks.

Lara blinked, caught off guard by Dani’s overenthusiasm, her brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, but that’s not the point,” she said, her voice softening with confusion as she tried to process the strange amount of excitement coming from Dani.

“She’ll be over the moon when she hears this,” Dani whispered quietly, grinning as if her biggest dream had just come true.

“Who’s she?” Lara asked, furrowing her brow, reading the excitement on Dani’s face with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

Dani’s eyes widened slightly at the slip, quickly recovering but not without a hint of panic. “Oh, no one, uh… just someone who’ll be thrilled to hear you love the sculptures.”

As if the universe had suddenly shifted sides, let’s just say... Lara did not let that go.

After pressing Dani to reveal more about “her,” Lara had pieced together that the sculptor was her secret admirer. True to her word, Dani didn’t reveal who “she” was, leaving Lara both frustrated and intrigued. For two days, Lara tried and failed to extract more information from Dani, whose responses ranged from cryptic smirks to outright denials. Determined to uncover the truth, Lara turned to the person closest to Dani, Manon.

Catching Manon just as she finished practicing her part, Lara approached her with a determined smile.

“Water?” Lara offered, holding out a chilled bottle toward Manon, who looked up in surprise.

Manon raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a half-smile. “Okay, what’s going on? You don’t just hand out water for free.”

Lara placed a hand over her chest, feigning innocence. “What? A girl can’t do something nice now?”

Manon leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. “Not when that girl is you. Spill it, Raj. What do you want?”

Lara sighed dramatically, dropping the act. “Alright, fine. Do you know anyone close to Dani who’s good at sculpting?”

A knowing smirk curled Manon’s lips. “Who?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

“You obviously know who,” Lara said, rolling her eyes. One look at Manon, and Lara knew she was hiding something—probably enough to end the little game Dani and her secret admirer were playing. Lara sighed, exasperation clear in her voice. “Please, just tell me. It’s driving me crazy,” she pleaded.

The truth was, it was driving her crazy. The artwork felt so familiar, almost painfully so. And while the thought of discovering who was behind the masterpieces scared her especially if it turned out to be someone she hadn’t even considered but her curiosity was winning out.

Manon, on the other hand, knew this wouldn’t end well if Dani and Y/N kept the secret much longer, not with Lara actively searching for clues. Other than Dani, Manon was the only one who spent enough time with Y/N to pick up on the obvious signs. Even without Y/N outright admitting it, her crush was crystal clear. After all, Y/N only ever visited the KATSEYE house when she knew Lara wouldn’t be there.

“All right, Raj, what’s in it for me?” Manon asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Deciding to finally offer Y/N some much-needed help, she figured Lara could use a hint or two, of course only if the price was right.

“I’ll pay for your food for two months,” Lara promised, extending her pinky in a hopeful truce. Her expression was serious, but there was an unmistakable edge of desperation as she waited for Manon’s response.

Manon raised an unimpressed eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s it?” she teased, dragging out the words for effect.

Lara groaned, her patience already wearing thin. “Fine! I’ll do your laundry too.”

“For two months,” Manon quipped, wiggling her eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

“Don’t push it,” Lara shot back, her voice laced with annoyance as she crossed her arms.

Manon chuckled, clearly enjoying her rare position of power. “Deal,” she said with a triumphant smirk. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. What I’m about to tell you might change everything.”

Manon leaned back, crossing her arms with a smirk that screamed satisfaction. “All right, I’ll give you a hint, but don’t expect me to spell it out for you.” She paused for dramatic effect, watching as Lara leaned in closer, eager for the answer. “You don’t have to look too far, Raj. The answer’s been right in front of you—literally.”

Lara blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Manon shrugged nonchalantly. “Exactly what I said. You’re smarter than this. Think about it, who’s been around, leaving clues for you to find?”

Lara’s mind raced, replaying her recent encounters. Dani had been acting strange, sure, but she was certain Dani wasn’t the one behind the sculptures. Then there were the sculptures themselves, especially the way they felt oddly familiar, as if the artist knew her better than anyone else.

“You’re telling me it’s... someone close to me?” Lara asked cautiously, her voice quieter now.

Manon’s smirk softened into something more genuine, almost sympathetic. “Closer than you think,” she said cryptically. “But don’t take too long figuring it out, Raj. Some things are worth the risk.”

That night, Lara thought was running wild. Manon’s words lingered in the air, their weight settling on Lara’s chest. Closer than you think. What did that even mean? Her mind raced, running through the possibilities, but it always came back to one person, Y/N. The girl who’d been elusive yet everywhere, the one who made Lara feel things she didn’t quite understand. The sculptures, the unspoken words… Was that what Manon was hinting at? Was it possible that Y/N had been there all along, right in front of her?

Lara exhaled, pushing the thought to the back of her mind for now. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she needed to do it face to face. She needed to see Y/N for herself.

Meanwhile, Y/N was carving one of her latest pieces, enjoying the calmness of her art studio, completely unaware of what was about to unfold. The soothing, acoustic version of “My Way” played softly in the background, the only sound filling the space, until it was abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone stepping inside.

Y/N turned around, and believe it or not, standing there in the doorway was none other than Lara Raj, in the flesh.

Y/N froze. Don’t get her wrong, sure Dani was a superstar, but Dani was also the same girl she’d shared embarrassing moments with, like the time they both ended up puking after their first drink. Lara, however, was different. How? Well, for starters, Y/N was madly, hopelessly in love with her.

“Yes? What can I help you with?” Y/N said, pushing everything she felt down as best she could, trying to appear confident and unbothered despite Lara’s presence. Unfortunately, the way her eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding Lara’s gaze, betrayed her effort. And as one of KATSEYE’s most observant members, Lara noticed that almost immediately.

“I’m looking for Y/N,” Lara said, deciding to play along.

She smirked, clearly enjoying the way Y/N was trying so hard to appear calm, despite the obvious nerves that betrayed her. It was almost too easy for Lara to notice the little tells—the way Y/N’s hands trembled slightly as she fumbled with her tools, unable to focus entirely on her task. Lara couldn’t help but smile, amused by how much of an effect she had on the girl. It seemed Dani and Manon had kept her visit a secret after all.

Y/N wished she could lie, tell Lara that “Y/N” wasn’t here, and escape this moment. But then she remembered what Dani had said, and something shifted inside her. Maybe it was time to woman up and face the love of her life—ready to accept whatever response Lara might give. Y/N had meant it when she told Dani that the last gift was her best work, her final sculpture for Lara. But as always fate had a way of turning things around. Who would’ve thought that Lara would walk in the moment Y/N decided it was time to move on?

“I’m Y/N,” Y/N confidently introduced herself, though her voice wavered slightly. She was ready, no matter how fast her heart raced.

“I know,” Lara softly muttered, a playful glint in her eyes. “Nice meeting you again, Y/N.” She smiled warmly, her gaze lingering on the flushed girl in front of her, clearly amused by the mix of nervousness and determination in her expression.

“You remember me?” Y/N exclaimed, a hint of disbelief in her voice, as if the two of them hadn’t gone to the same high school. Her cheeks flushed a little, suddenly feeling aware of how much she was overthinking this moment.

“I always remember the pretty ones,” Lara flirted, her smile widening as she took in the sight of Y/N’s nervous energy. There was something about Y/N that had always intrigued her, but she didn’t want to make it too obvious, well at least not yet.

Y/N blinked, trying to process Lara’s words. She had always imagined what this moment would be like, but never in her wildest dreams had she thought it would be so overwhelming. Was Lara serious? Or was this just another joke to her? Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively looked away, not sure if she could handle the playful intensity of Lara’s gaze. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh it off or let herself believe that Lara might actually be interested.

Lara, sensing Y/N’s internal conflict, decided to be straightforward with her. “You were the one behind the sculptures,” she said, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity.

Y/N froze, her heart sinking. She assumed Dani was the one who spilled the secret. Cursing her friend under her breath, Y/N forced out a laugh, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Yeah, I am,” she admitted, her gaze dropping to the marble floor, unwilling to meet Lara’s eyes. She could feel the weight of Lara’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up, afraid of what she might see there.

Lara looked around the room, taking in the artwork, her eyes lingering on each piece. “They’re amazing,” she said softly, her voice sincere. “I can tell you’ve been putting a lot of time and effort into them.” She paused, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “They’ve got so much heart in them. It’s... it’s really impressive.” 

Y/N blinked, surprised by the genuine praise, her heart skipping a beat. She wasn’t sure how to respond. The compliments were both unexpected and overwhelming, and a part of her wanted to brush them off, to avoid letting herself get carried away by the moment. But another part, the part that had poured so much of herself into each sculpture, wanted to acknowledge the truth.

“They are impressive because they were made based on you,” Y/N said, her voice steady but not without a hint of emotion. “You are impressive, both on and off stage. Thank you for the kind words, and I'm sorry for using Dani to deliver them. I guess I just wanted you to feel appreciated.”

Her heart raced, each beat louder in her chest as if it was the only sound in the room. For the first time, she forced herself to meet Lara’s gaze, feeling the weight of her eyes on her like an electric current. Her body tensed, the words stuck in her throat, and her hands were clammy. She felt exposed, as though every part of her soul was on display. When Lara stood before her, it was as if every emotion she had buried for so long was now laid bare in that moment, raw and vulnerable. The silence stretched painfully between them, and Y/N’s mind raced, only able to focus on the fear that Lara could sense the nervousness trembling beneath her words. She hoped, prayed, that Lara wouldn’t see how much she was shaking inside.

Lara didn’t immediately respond, her expression unreadable as she processed what Y/N had said. For a moment, the air felt thick with anticipation. Then, the corners of Lara’s mouth curved into a soft, thoughtful smile, the kind that reached her eyes. “I appreciate that,” she said quietly, her voice surprisingly gentle. “And I don’t mind Dani delivering gifts on your behalf. You’ve put a lot into these, I can tell. It’s not just about the sculptures, is it?”

This is it, Y/N thought, feeling the words hanging in her chest like a weight. She stared at Lara for what felt like an eternity, her breath shallow as her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Her hands clenched slightly at her sides, a desperate attempt to ground herself. She caught her breath, her pulse quickening as the moment stretched on. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling but determined. “I’ve always admired you... and I believe the admiration turned into something deeper, maybe love... I’m not too sure.” She could feel the heat of a blush creeping up her neck, but she forced herself to hold Lara’s gaze, desperate for her to understand, yet terrified of the silence that would follow.

“You’re driving me insane,” Lara murmured, her voice low and husky as she closed the distance between them. Without another word, she let her lips meet Y/N’s, her kiss both gentle and urgent, as if it held everything that had been unsaid between them.

THE END

[wantonlywindswept]

adopted baby Guard Din idea that I am never going to write

because it would involve logistics and quiet moments and idle life which I am very down for reading but cannot for the LIFE of me actually sit down and write

So the war ends, Palps is outed as a Sith and an asshole and dies somehow, and the Senate eventually decides that the clones do count as people and thus are allowed to leave the GAR if they want. Give the bureaucrats another few years and they might even give out backpay and citizenship, so long as you stay in the service--wait what do you mean the entire Guard is resigning. What do you mean they've already left orbit?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE NOW MILLIONS OF FILES ON THE HOLONET ABOUT THE SENATE'S SHADY DEALINGS???

Guard, collectively: lol cya suckers

Fox is of course one of the last ones out, and since this was all planned on the down low, everyone's been split into groups so they can take commercial flights, since they're not about to be accused of stealing ships. (They also leave their weapons and their armor behind, in a giant macabre pile in the middle of Corrie HQ. Even their helmets, their faces, they discard: it's time for a rebirth.)

He and Thorn and a few other Corries have a stopover on some tiny station, waiting a week for a delayed transport to arrive, and in the meantime they're approached by some locals who just fled the planet below. Separatist remnants attacked their homes, forcing them to leave everything and everyone behind; can the big strong clones do anything about it?

The Big Strong Clones: Oh shit we finally get to kick some Seppie ass? Sign us the FUCK up.

The eager group does not include Fox, who could not care less about the Separatists and would very much like to finally catch up on his sleep. Unfortunately that means that the group that goes down to the planet is Unsupervised.

(Thorn does not count as supervision. Thorn, bereft of Senate oversight, has finally allowed his Inner Chaos Gremlin to fully emerge. Thorn needs more supervision than the shinies.)

Thorn, three days later, waking Fox from half-hearted sleep by dropping an entire natborn child on him: Hey boss, look what we found! None of the refugees claimed him, so we called dibs. Can we keep him? Fox, staring at the child: ...

Din, staring back: ...

Fox: ...no..?

Din: *sad but understanding big brown eyes*

Fox: Nevermind this is my child now.

Din has gone from two parents to one parent and hundreds of overprotective brothers.

Eventually his group makes it to their destination, Din in tow. I am uncertain of what the destination is but it is a planet that is as far away from Coruscant that the Corries could find. I am tempted for Tatooine not because I like Tatooine (I share Anakin's loathing of sand and deserts) but because Luke's description of Tatooine in ANH was 'if there's a bright center to the universe, this is the planet the furthest from'. 

Corries, hearing that: Fuck it sounds perfect. 

Anyway they make it to Tatooine, there is probably purchasing of some shitty land/buildings that nobody wants out in the wastes bc crime, scum, villainy, etc, but it's not like they have problems taking care of anything that tries to mess with them. 

Where did they get the funds?

Shh don't ask about it.

Stone takes up moisture farming. Thire takes up farming-farming. Thorn shoots gleefully at anything that shows up unannounced within a ten-mile radius. Literally everybody dotes on Din. There are a surprising amount of peaceful days.

Eventually some dumb shiny goes: Hey don't kids need friends? Shouldn't we set up some playdates for him or something?

The shiny is not called dumb for asking the question, but they are called dumb for thinking that the question would only ever be taken rhetorically. Fox disappears for two weeks and then comes back with a black eye and a yowling hissing Boba tucked under one arm, looking stupidly pleased with himself.

(Boba is also pleased to be back with people he knows will keep him safe. Boba will not admit to this under threat of death or dismemberment. Boba is a SERIOUS SCARY ADULT BOUNTY HUNTER.)

Boba also decides he will be Mortal Enemies with Din, which after about ten minutes of meeting him morphs into If Anyone Hurts Din I Will Kill Everyone In This Room And Then Myself because all clones be the same, really.

Din has gained another brother/bestie. (Or potential future boyfriend, whichever floats your boat.)

Somehow they still end up overthrowing the Hutts.

Officially the GAR knew and knows nothing about the Guard leaving Coruscant as soon as the metaphorical paint was dry on their sentient status.

Unofficially Fox's batch harangues him every single day for photos of his new kid(s). They eventually show up unannounced, demanding time with their nephew. (They are shot at by Thorn.)

Din gains five new uncles.

The batch proudly show pics and holos to their battalions. Din gains millions of new uncles.

Fox finally gets a full night's sleep.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (11)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Congratulations! You have successfully made it all about you (positive). This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Sorry that the tags haven't been working for the past couple of posts! I had to go in and edit the html for each individual one T-T please forgive me

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

A strange sense of satisfaction fills you as surprise fills the man’s face, but you don’t show it. You need to see this through. If you’re powerless in the face of his ability, you simply need to borrow his power. So what if he’s akin to a god? All you need to do is bring him to your side. Whoever that author is, whoever took over (Y/N)’s body—maybe they aren’t capable of using such an asset effectively. However, you’re confident you won’t let that advantage go to waste.

The man hums in thought. “I suppose it could be done without much fanfare. I would simply need to shift my attention to your experiences and abandon the current story. However, you would need to have your story recorded somewhere, in whatever form you may wish for it to take.”

You understand what he’s getting at. A story needs a medium, just like that manuscript. There are many options: on film, as a novel, as a collage of pictures. No strict rules exist for expression of self.

“I’ll keep a journal. Every day, I’ll write an entry, and I’ll also use it as a planner. This way, my ‘story’ will have the events that occurred in my life, how they affected my ‘character development,’ and also outline how I expect the story to ‘progress.’ Is that good enough?”

You still don’t think of yourself as a fictional character. You’re real, in every aspect, to yourself. But that doesn’t matter right now. Functionally, you’re a character to this man. You’ll use that assumption to put yourself in the most advantageous position.

“Yes, that would be a rather interesting way to tell your story. There are indeed many stories that were written in the form of diary entries, so this is not an issue at all. This would, in fact, make things easier for me. I would not have to go through the paperwork and expend energy to bring someone from another world since you already exist in Twisted Wonderland as an established character. There is just one thing you should know before you make this decision.”

“Tell me.” Of course there are strings attached. There always are. You prepare yourself. Self-sacrifice in small amounts is necessary, of course, but if there’s anything you can negotiate with . . . .

“I will have to take the previous author’s soul out of (Y/N)’s body. (Y/N)’s soul will regain control of her own body, since it was never removed, only dormant. Since the author’s original body cannot function without a soul, she cannot return to her world. It will disappear, never to be recovered, lost to the fabric of what forms this space. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Is that it?” You expected something else. This has nothing to do with you giving up anything. In fact, it could even be considered a bonus. This woman whose story made your life and relationships exceedingly difficult will disappear down to the traces of her soul. It’s an easy decision. “Of course.”

“How cold-hearted you are.” He chuckles down at his teacup. It never seems to drain empty no matter how he sips it. “That is not an undesirable quality in protagonists, although they often do not have a happy ending in fairytales.”

“Is that supposed to deter me or something?” You stay resolute. “My future was always uncertain no matter if it’s a story or not. I’m in the mafia. I’ve come to terms that horrible things could happen at any moment because of the nature of my job a long, long time ago. It’s my responsibility to plan so that I reduce those chances as much as possible. And you’re going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He glances at the fireplace, which has burned down to glowing red embers. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are under my jurisdiction. I am partial to tragic endings, but I also do not mind if an amoral character triumphs in the end. Some of my peers would adamantly ensure it does not happen.”

You furrow your brows. This is not the first time he brought up something being under his “jurisdiction.” However, this is the first time he’s mentioned “peers” instead of “characters.”

“There are others like you?”

“Yes, of course. Twisted Wonderland is filled with too many stories for me to manage on my own. Since you are mainly involved with the Leech Mafia and stories of the Coral Sea, you fall under my jurisdiction.”

It makes sense. This man compared himself to a god, but he isn’t one. He isn’t omnipotent or omniscient.

“Who are they?”

He tilts his head. “You would not know us even if I told you.”

“I’m curious. Tell me anyway.”

“Such a curious character.” He glances at the embers again. “Alright, I see no harm in it. My peers overseeing Twisted Wonderland include Walt Disney, the Brothers Grimm, Hanna Diyab, Victor Hugo, and Lewis Carroll, among others.”

None of these names ring a bell. It is just a list of names, but having more information is never a bad thing.

“And your name? I should know how to address you.”

“Oh, I have not yet introduced myself to you? My apologies, I must be turning forgetful in my old age.” He laughs at himself in a good-natured manner. “My name is Hans Christian Anderson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduce yourself as well. He extends a hand to you. When your hands connect in a firm handshake, the new deal you’ve made feels solidified.

Anderson looks at the fireplace one more time. The light has died completely, the little room lit only by the moonlight pouring in the window. With a gentle but decisive clap of his hands, he stands from his armchair.

“That was a fruitful discussion, and I thank you for your patience and understanding. I fear time has run out, however, and so I will be sending you back shortly. I’ll place you right back where you came from: at the moment when I brought you here.”

“Hold on!” Too soon, too sudden. You still have so much to say. He holds up a hand, stopping your protests.

“If you’d like to communicate with me, simply write a request for it in your new journal. I wish you best of luck.”

And with that, the world goes white again.

This is the story of a girl whose name is no longer hers. A girl so common that she may as well be a faceless background character in another person’s story. A girl who wishes, more than anything, to be the protagonist of a love story that will sweep her off her feet and solve all her problems.

Her family is normal. Her friends, too. And so is she. It isn’t enough for her. The world inside that game she plays is so magical, so whimsical, so perfect. The characters are handsome, powerful, clever, funny, or rich, or some combination of those qualities. If she enters this world, surely all those wonderful characters would treat her as someone special. They’d love and revere her unconditionally. She pines for a man who would love her and her shortcomings in their entirety, no matter what she does.

The beauty about fictional characters is that because they are fictional, they can be whatever she wants them to be. She can wholeheartedly believe they’ll love her, and there is nothing wrong with that. But she isn’t satisfied with that alone. It needs to be real.

Desperately, she writes a story revolving around a faceless, flawless main character who she desperately wishes she could be. Everyday, the writing consumes her, dragging her into a fantasy of bliss. She begins to resent her reality. Nobody in real life will love her the correct way. Nobody can be as good as the characters she pours her love and headcanons on. She doesn’t consider how love can be gradual, nor does realize someone might have to get to know her before loving her. After all, in her fanfiction, the perfect mafioso loves her main character upon the first meeting and devotes himself with no questions asked. Isn’t that the ideal love?

One day, a miracle occurs. She meets a man who offers to make her story into her reality. Jumping on the chance to live her perfectly crafted life of happiness, she agrees. Finally. Finally, she will be loved the way she wants.

At first, everything went perfectly. Real life follows her fanfiction to the letter. Jade is charming, Floyd is endearing, and a string of coincidences leads her to meet Vil, another handsome bachelor. Love surrounds her at every turn. All she needs in this life are the handsome men who give her special treatment. After all, this body, this life—(Y/N)—was created by her, for her use. All of the previous relationships this body entertained no longer matter. They aren’t hers, anyway.

The polaroids that occupied her nightstand are probably in a landfill somewhere. The aesthetic was cute, befitting the tastes of a character she modelled after herself, but the person in them is irrelevant. Some side character she’s never going to see again. No matter; she’ll eventually replace those polaroids with cute photos of herself and her new love. (Y/N)—no, the placeholder—has served its purpose. It will not miss those useless decorations since it will never again have its own consciousness.

So where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was wrong from the start. She should have cursed that old man for scamming her. Her happy ending was never a guarantee. How dare a throwaway side character upend her perfect, fairy tale ending? Is that even allowed? They’re all just characters anyway. How can they steal from a real person?

Until the very end, she couldn’t see anyone around her as anything other than characters in a story. Maybe if she did, she might have gotten the love she wanted. Now, she disappears, having never achieved the goal she so desperately grasped at. Like seafoam, her hopes and yearning for love bubbles and disappears.

Hans Christian Anderson places a book into an empty spot on one of his many shelves. He has always been fond of tragedies. As for this new story that’s unfolding . . . who’s to say how it will end? He’s a patient man. With a smile, he settles into an armchair and sips from a cup of tea. He’s looking forward to it. When it eventually ends, like all stories inevitably do, he’ll shelve it and find another story to bring to life.

The world suddenly flashes into focus. The sun’s dying embers flicker on the sea. Sand shifts between your toes. Fingers graze your neck. Before you can activate your Signature Spell, (Y/N) crashes into you and you both topple over into a bed of sand. Bloodlust raises the hairs on the back of your neck. But it isn’t coming from (Y/N). Instead, you instinctively wrap one arm around her and hold the other one out in front of you, shielding her from Jade.

“Wait, wait! Jade, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He freezes. One of his hands stops a centimeter away from (Y/N)’s hair. She doesn’t react. Slowly, you lay back down, heaving a sigh. You shift her face to the side so that she doesn’t suffocate in your shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, complementing the slow rise and fall of her ribs.

“See? She’s asleep.”

Jade furrows his brows. “I fail to understand. Most importantly, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, staring up at the stars that unveil themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m just a little tired.”

You explain everything to him. He seems skeptical, but eventually, he accepts it. He sits in the sand next to you, his hand covering yours. You pretend not to notice, but it offers a soothing calm to your exhausted mind.

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at his side profile. “Even if I write that Vil Schoenheit will cure your parents, it might not happen because of continuity issues. Maybe (Y/N) will still be able to convince him.”

“That’s alright.” He catches your gaze. “It would make the story progress more smoothly if we continue with our talks with Walrus.”

He accepted it so quickly. For that matter, so did you. You wonder briefly if there is something at play that makes you accept the reality of your situation as fact—if it’s because you’re a character after all—but that’s all speculation. Not worth your time and energy to figure out.

“Bottom line is, this is my story now. So I’ll make sure the curse on your parents is dispelled.”

“How reliable.” Jade gives you a gentle smile, one that causes an unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “Thank you. What would you like in recompense?”

You weren’t expecting him to offer anything at all. But since he offered, you aren’t one to refuse.

“Money.”

His quiet laughter blends in with the sound of rushing waves.

“No hesitation at all, I see. Of course, I will pay you adequately for your invaluable help.”

“I also want something else.” You fiddle with the strands of (Y/N)’s hair. “I’d like a vacation. Just a week or two after everything settles down so I can go back to my hometown with my mom.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Yeah.” Your heart feels a little lighter. “You should visit the Coral Sea after your parents wake up as well. I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with them.”

A pause. You scrutinize Jade’s expression in the low light, but his expression is wholly unfamiliar to you. He almost looks . . . nervous.

“Would you come with us?”

You blink. “Don’t you want to spend time with just your family?”

“Yes, but my parents would be delighted to have you over again. You have not been to our home under the sea in a long time, and I would be more than happy to show you around again.”

“It won’t be a bother?”

“Far from it.” His thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand. “I . . . We are very fond of you.”

You can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive, but you accept. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve travelled to their home under the sea, and this most likely won’t be the last.

Suddenly, (Y/N) shifts on your chest. A soft noise escapes her lips as though she’s finally awakened from a long nap. Her bleary eyes find yours. Kind, lovely, and gentle eyes. The eyes of the (Y/N) you know and love, the eyes of your friend.

“Huh? Are we on the beach? What happened?”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hug her tightly. Confused but sweet, she reciprocates with reassuring pats to your arm.

“Yeah, we’re on the beach. Let’s get you home.” You sit up and smile as she fusses over the sand in your hair. Normalcy is slowly but surely returning. “I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

[rainbowsaltblog-archive]

My Big Feedback Thread

@santae-salt

(Note: apologies if this is a bit messy or ramble-y. I wrote this in my notes app.)

Hello all. I'm not quite sure how to start this to be honest. I've been around since Alpha. I remember being very excited for all of the new features and constantly giving feedback in one way or another. I've kinda stopped for a while, but now users are scared to give feedback due to the new rules and, well, I have nothing to lose. I have had nothing to lose since August and doublely so since the last one of my referrals stopped playing due to the AI thing. I've been online and sometime communicative here and there. I've helped a couple of users and have contemplated staying here until Thirs Tee got new art (the oldbies will remember me comming Zale x Thirs Tee art and posting about it. It still is my favorite piece), but the amount of issues I've had and I have seen other players have has gotten to the point where I have to say something.

I don't know how long this'll be up, but I hope staff at least reads this. I still recall my good experiences with most of y'all. I hope y'all understand where I'm coming from. I'm not intending this to be harsh, so (naturally) apologies if it comes off as such.

The Good Things

Firstly, Santae is the first petsite that I've played on that had nonvinary characters off the bat, as well as label options for our pets! It may have been because I joined in around Pride Month and it may not have been an option before, but I love that it is an option for our pets to be nonbinary or agender and such. Silvershade and Skye (especially Skye, I vividly remember them) are so cool to me. I love nonbinary characters being canon rather than something assumed!

Secondly, the friends list and block list? Wonderful, no notes. I can now befriend people onsite. I can now block people. I wish at the very least the blocking feature came out earlier, in case users felt uncertain around certain users.

Thirdly, I love the starter pets. I love the pipsqueak dust. My pets are primarily pipsqueaks because I love their little baby wide-eyed forms. The starter pets are also really cool, especially Nochturns. Not many petsites, I feel like, have moth-y creatures, so I'm glad that Santae does. It was actually the pets that brought me back. Multiple times. Which I suppose is the point of a petsite.

Fourthly, I'm glad patch notes are their own seperate thing now. Again, wish they came earlier, but it's nice tobe able to look in one place for important patches rather than on the Discord.

There is good things, glints of gold-like sparkles in a rock. Beautiful, womderful things I love about the site and hope that this will become a good petsite, solidly in with some of the greats. But there's a lot of issues that I have that, as it stands currently, I cannot continue to play as a result.

Accessibility

I will say major strides in this topic have been taken. I appreciate some of the settings (such as reducing animations around site, color sensitive mode, auto mining, etc) that have been put in place with disabled users like myself in mind. I especially appreciate the auto mining. It makes the worry of having to click or tap multiple rocks disappear, and it helps my wrists not get strained.

But there still isn't ALT text. I recall, early on in my account, seeing a Tumblr post someone put out misusing the ALT text feature and had noted that ALT text was meant to describe the image for those who use screenreaders. I was reassured that ALT text would be used properly... and then never saw it used again. Tumblr posts from your site's blog are one thing, but the site itself also does not have ALT text currently. Those who use screenreaders won't necessarily be able to know what each image is. I know that someone else pointed out that the images of the shop links don't have it and that it's rows and rows of buttons. It's just inaccessible, especially on a website where people look over the site initially before joining. I appreciate the quests having the ability to toggle on their names and what they have requested, but I wish this was something implemented earlier and sitewide, and it's still not a replacement for alt text.

(Quick note: I have no idea if other petsites have this issue as well. This is more coming from a concerned player who tries their best to care about accessibility. I do know that it's heavily advised to have ALT text and it's not horribly hard to add in the code.)

Secondly, the colored text in news posts makes it hard and distracting to read. Plain text would be better, especially since some colors might be worse on the white backing of the news posts than regular, plain text. I'm unable to personally read through them half because of the colored text (the other half is the centering breaking the news post formatting at times). I understand wanting to make your characters' names stand out, but perhaps there is a better way of doing so? Maybe allow users to opt into the colored text highlights if they choose, so that not only are players that don't want that don't have to go out of their way to toggle it off, but also so that potential players interested in the site aren't turned off by it.

A lot of the much smaller issues that I have with the site (not very accessible on the forums, espcially not on mobile, lack of dark mode, some smaller things that I'm forgetting) makes it feel like accessibility is an afterthought. I'm not intending to be harsh here, but it just doesn't feel welcoming for many users. Mining should have come with auto mining when it came out. Images should be described when released. Dark mode should be included (and I know a lot of site have issues with that, but still). Granted, this site is still in Beta. Things still can be added. It hasn't been fully released yet. I understand, I do! It's just the way it has been brought up before, reassured that it is on the list of things to do, and then nothing happens that makes it feel this way, I guess. I get rhat images are catchy. I get that the colored text is pretty. I get that this site is in Beta. But it just feels like accessibility is an afterthought.

A little small thing that personally annoys me a tad bit but doesn't neccessarily fit here, but I'm not sure where else to put it: I wish there was more disability pride and representation onsite. Canes, crutches, and wheelchairs still aren't things onsite, much less wearable for our avatars. I recall suggesting a disability pride pin (because some people (like me) like the disability pride flag's colors) and was told that staff was afraid of having too many pride pins. The only disability presented onsite is bad eyesight (through the glasses some NPCs wear), which is a disability, but I wish there was more. I get that not every player or potential player is going to feel represented (which is why I always design "my" player character off of my beloved OC Zale). There are over a thousand players (as of writing this, over 1,200 players have been online in the last 24 hours) and potentially one to two billion people speak English. I wish, however, there was a bit more disability representation.

Transparency

When I read criticisms of this site, one of the main ones is "lack of transparency", and I can see why. When several users asked if the images onsite were AI generated or AI based, we (even staff themselves) were lied to. We were told that the characters weren't AI, only to be revealed that they were based on AI by CJ later on in an announcement. When we asked "hey, these items are exactly the same image as these other items. Were these images drawn by staff?" we were lied to. We were told that they were all drawn in-house, only to be told that they were bought assets. When people started to ask if CJ had tried to start another petsite, we were told that he had not, only for it to come out that he had (and that's a whole thing in of itself that I don't remember all of the details of, so I won't say more). When players asked if lootboxes were going to be a thing, we were told that they weren't. A week later, the pet crate lootbox began to exist. We were lied to, again. Artist and staff pays aren't super well-known and, again, feel like they have been intentionally hidden. How much are artists being paid to make onsite assets? I wish things weren't intentionally obscured like this. I was staff at one point, and things were still hidden from staff, and it's annoying and saddening. I wish CJ and anyone else that knows on-staff were more transparent rather than lie and hope no one notices. Even now, the information that the intial NPCs are traced over AI images isn't well-known and feels like it's intentionally hidden. The feedback thread has been unpinned in the past (it's pinned again now) but has been locked. The lootbox feedback was locked. After the lootbox feedback and some user confusion (it feels like), the constructive feedback rule was added, much to the confusion of many. Several feedback posts disappeared, again much to users' confusion. I wish there was some transparency to all of this. Would being upfront with "hey, we have a no AI rule now, but we have used AI in the past" turned away players, including myself? Yes. But it would have been honest. It would have been the right thing to do.

Transparency is just something that feels like it's lacking a lot of the time. We don't know why certain actions do or do not happen. While there was some transparency about the KS pets returning, and the cash shop items returning, there isn't a ton of it, especially with regards to CJ giving away premium items at random. We can't question staff actions (which is a semi-normal rule on the petsites I've been on, but the extent of which this rule is enforced is not). Actions are taken, things are removed or changed, often without the why. Someone won multiple contest catogories in rhe first contest without any second checking or reason why (or any backup in case someone did win multiple catogories for the contest). Again, forum threads disappeared without any reason why, making several users in one case think negative action was taken. There's no clarity, no transparency in staff actions and staff why's. Why does CJ mass gift with his name attached, anyways (genuine question. Y'all can send out items via the Santae Team account)? Until I joined staff, I didn't realize that Ember was the only programmer/coder for the site (and the "I'm stuck in CJ's basement jokes" aren't that great in my opinion. IDK). Assistants as a role disappeared abruptly, it seems. CJ will go on rants about the negative things in the Discord chat (which I get the frustrations, I do, but it feels like there's a time, place, and way to do that). Users are afraid to crituque this site, even before the rule was solidly out into place, because there are rumors of people being banned for bring up something as simple as "I don't like this feature very much".

I don't think we should be scared of negative actions for sometimes saying crits in a not-super-constructive manner. Is it annoying? Yes, but sometimes players don't know what annoys them about a thing but need to voice it anyways. I know I have done such on other sites, but striking down on negative opinions feels like it's cultivating an enviroment where one has to be positive or else. "It's just a beta, things will change" shouldn't be a go-to response for some things. CJ complaining that people thought the saying were cheesy made me feel a bit afraid to voice that I don't think eveey gift from CJ needs a message like that. Staff complaining about how their actions are always seen as negative make players afraid to voice their opinions. Criticizing players for bring up negative opinions will make players less likely to voice them.

There's also just the feeling of needing to please CJ. I mean no harm towards you, CJ. I know I have directly named you several times, but there are times where it feels like you're overstepping as an owner and needing to meddle with things that don't necessarily need you, personally, to deal with them. I understand not wanting to hear criticisms, but blanket banning non-constructive criticisms and making players be afraid of criticizing you without any transparency as to why maybe you banned some users that happened to criticize you is bad, bas in the way of being overly controlling. I get wanting the userbase to like you, but sometimes the best way of getting a userbase to like you is by listening and not gift bombing (especially not different gifts at different timezones. That cultivates some unhealthy behaviors). Heck, the userbase doesn't have to like you for the game to be halfway decent. Neopets' TNT is well-beloathed for making bad decisions, but players still play, Neopets is still a Thing. Neopets is still loved... in a way. Flightrising, Dragcave, I don't even know the owner, much less have an opinion on them, and I still love them (FR less so due to accessibility issues). I'm not saying "become TNT". Please don't. But not every player will love you or even like you, and that's okay.

I wish staff turnovers, when I was staff, were a little more transparent, and I wish I could've said goodbye. I wish we were told why staff was parting ways. Maybe things have changed. I hope so. I wish the NDA was more blunt on what former staff/current staff cannot say. I didn't entirely know (and still don't) what I'm allowed to say. I don't know if I would be released from the NDA if I was banned. I don't know, still, why certain things happened while I was staff. It felt like both discords were a bit of a mess when things should have been more smoothed out. It felt like the beta-general didn't have a well-known purpose. I was told it was meant to discuss news and such about the site when people have trailed off for long periods of time about non-news stuff. Heck, we made a ton of Thirs Tee family jokes back in Alpha (I vividly remember the Thirs Tee family tree). I wish that things were clearer, I guess. I wish things were more transparent.

Uh, woah, that was a ramble. Apologies. I feel like it's all important though. Again, I mean no hard feelings here.

Summary

This'll be quick because I missed an hour of an event I wanted to go to. Oops.

But:

- There should be more accessibility and transparency.

- There should be oversight and backups when something unexpected happens (like maybe scan enteries before posting to make sure they fit the theme and don't misgender characters)

- Criticism is valid. Sometimes that is voiced simply and "non-constructively". That's okay.

- CJ should take a step back. I heard some people suggest a PR person.

Anyways, I've got to go to my event. See y'all on the flipside!

*looks both ways then teleports out Old School Runescape style*

[raainberry]

Blue Hour

“The blue hour is the idea that everything is about to end or, on the contrary, that everything is about to start again.”

Jihyo x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - it was only supposed to be a fling

wordcount - 1.9K

T/W - Blood (mentioned (1) once)

A/N - missing the killing me good era😔 i actually don’t know how to feel about this one but i miss my girl so

Twenty to thirty minutes.

That’s how long it takes for the sun to fully rise. To show itself in the morning.

It takes the same amount of time to fully disappear. To hide itself in the evening.

In each case, the moon isn’t too far away. You remember seeing it every time before she showed up.

And every time after she left.

Nature’s schedule is strict. So was her’s, leading the two of you to only meet at night: in between two blue hours.

“It’s a little cloudy today.”

The sound of her voice broke your staring contest with the moon, finding the glow in her eyes to be more interesting. The latter shone brighter than yesterday, you noticed as she leaned against the railing beside you.

Your own smile pulled a little more at your lips as well, excited to see hers again. You’d only part for half a day’s worth every time, yet it always felt like it stretched as each day passed.

“I didn’t get to see much of the sunset on my way home.” She pouted. “Did you?”

She hoped the rooftop of her apartment building had offered a better end to your day than it did hers. After all, the sunrise and sunsets she’d witnessed from here so far were nicer.

You shook your head in response, though, making her frown. “Just a glimpse.”

“Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow.” She said, still hopeful.

Her optimism made you smile. The sun could stop shining for all you cared, she would do its job better anyway. She was one little sunshine, a true ray of light you wouldn’t have dared to approach if she hadn’t done so first.

“I doubt it. Fall is coming soon.” You reminded, but she shrugged, looking at the darkening horizon with the same spark in her eyes.

“The sun still sets during Fall, don’t be so depressing.”

“But it’s not as pretty.” You pointed out, pulling her eyes to you.

Maybe that’s what you were looking for, she realised, giggling at the sight of a familiar smirk on your lips.

“And what if I’m there?” She asked, grinning and posing with a hand under her chin for you.

She fluttered her eyelids, giving further into her own banter; her grin warm, playful and inviting as she urged you to join her point of view.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, giving in to the harmless corruption with a soft kiss on her happy lips. She managed to steal a few more from your own, smiling into each one despite having to chase them.

When you managed to pull away, she pointed fun at your flushed cheeks, something you expected by now. You sported the shade proudly, her teasing never bothered you, but sometimes you did wonder how she managed to turn you into such a mess.

Maybe it was because things were still recent between the two of you. Or maybe you were just too far gone and—in all honesty—too down bad for her.

Either way made sense, so you never bothered to look further.

“Why do you still blush like that, we’ve been doing this for weeks, you should be used to it.” She teased, but her words landed in a different tone on your ears.

They made you think.

For weeks, you repeated…

“I am, that’s the problem.” You slipped out just under your breath. It was too late to retain the words, so you tried to keep them out of her ears.

It’d been weighing on your mind for a bit, how uncertain your relationship with Jihyo has been.

Whatever was going on between the two of you, it wasn’t exactly conventional anymore.

It was, only until about three weeks ago, when it was all supposed to end. You should not have seen her face past August 31st. That’s how flings worked. How summer flings worked at least. Or how you thought they worked?

You weren’t really sure of anything regarding love and affection. Relationships had taken a whole new meaning the second she laid her lips on yours that one night at the bar.

The feelings, the thoughts, the moments… It was all new.

She was new.

Maybe infatuation was the right word at the time. Now it just felt weak. Unqualified. Wrong.

You couldn’t tie the bond you’d developed down to such an ephemeral idea.

Not when your feelings for her settled in your heart with intentions so far out of field.

“The problem?” She repeated after a while.

Way to ruin the mood, you mentally congratulated yourself.

“What exactly is the problem, Y/N?” She asked, holding onto your sleeve with a couple fingers.

A timid and discreet gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes fell down to her hand, and you couldn’t help but feel some of that hope she’d showcased minutes before.

Meeting her eyes again, you noticed the spark was gone, replaced by a clouded gaze similar to the blue sky above. It seemed heavy. Not as dark, only busy.

Was she worried?

“I just… Don’t know where this is going. That’s all.” You tried to shrug it off, pulling your hand away to get the sleeve out of her grip.

The busy streets below kept an awkward silence away from the two of you, allowing you to feign interest about their noise and random happenings.

The distraction could have been sweet if only it weren’t from your own mind.

It was hard not to think it all over. It was hard to focus on the rational part of it. The one telling you to leave tonight before getting hurt more than you already were.

It was hard because of how loud the other part was.

The one happy with just a glance from the woman beside you. Happy with just standing next to her. Seeing her smile, hearing her laugh. Satisfied with her kiss, her touch… As long as you learned more about her.

More than you should.

You sighed into the night, feeling your rationality push through.

“Would it make you feel better if I said I don’t know either?” She broke the silence.

Your eyes found her again, catching her smiling down at her own hands. That smile seemed heavy as well, as if she was forcing it out to avoid any other reaction.

“Not at all.” You said truthfully, causing a chuckle to escape her lips.

You didn’t understand why, especially when her eyes started watering instead of just… crinkling in joy.

Her teeth suddenly pulled on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as she tried to find words. The right ones. Ones that would make you stay even longer.

Her lips alone weren’t enough for that anymore.

“But… Don’t you want to figure that out together?”

A breath caught in your throat. Then another, after a second. It felt as though you didn’t know how to breathe anymore. Like her question shook much more than your heart.

You looked at Jihyo once more, hoping it would fix it like it did everything else, but her focus remained on her own fingers.

“I know I want to.” She said, picking at her nails, a giveaway of her nerves. “I just thought it was obvious.”

Her eyes finally raised to meet yours, sadness written all over the smile she tried to send you.

“Do you actually?”

Your voice came out a whisper, and it didn’t surprise you. You weren’t sure you wanted to know her answer to that question. You gave her a chance not to hear it. To get away and break the rules with no consequences for a little longer.

Truth was you’d let her.

“I think I like you.”

There it went again; your breathing.

“You think?” You chuckled, but only to fight the tears suddenly pooling in your eyes. “Jihyo, I can’t do this anymore.”

You stared out ahead, your gaze landing on nothing and everything all at the same time. So many lights, buildings, so many trees and people… Yet nothing registered.

All you could process, all you could feel… It emaned from right next to you.

The skies above reminded you of it. The familiar blue drowned its details as time deepened its shade. You watched it happen so many times with her you could blindly tell the time.

08:10pm.

That’s when she decided to take your hand in hers, pulling you away from the overwhelming sights.

That’s when you felt the warmth of her hands against your cheeks as she made you look into her eyes instead.

You focused on the lights reflecting in them instead, trying to avoid her thoughts. They could hurt.

“Tell me something, Y/N…” She trailed off, her eyes desperate for even a sign of your focus on her. “Do you regret any of what happened between us?”

“Yes.”

You watched silently as the effects of your answer painted her features.

They tensed up. Eyebrows lowered, lips narrowed, yet eyes watered, holding a sense of hopelessness you witnessed for the first time… It was messy. As if even she didn’t know how to feel.

You, however, could tell.

She wasn’t angry. She was exasperated. Frustrated.

“Can you feel it too now? Do you see why I regret it?”

You should have known she wouldn’t answer the way you wanted her to.

You knew she was stubborn.

You should have expected her lips on yours.

Just like you knew you’d melt into them with a single kiss despite yourself.

Your will never mattered when it came to her. You always ended up folding to hers, giving into a second kiss before intiating the third one.

And you rarely pulled away first.

“Why?” You practically begged through breaths she’d stolen from you.

The gentle brush of her thumb against your skin, the warmth and care she seemed to hold in her eyes for you, the silent words you could make out in them… It almost made you break down right then and there.

It all suddenly became so obvious.

“Because I like you.” She smiled.

It was bright again. It made you believe her a little more, although you still weren’t convinced.

Maybe she sensed that, as she wasted no time to argue her point.

“That’s why I’ve been making excuses to keep seeing you.”

“My flight back was delayed, can I stay at your place?”

“The company’s letting me choose the flight date and I don’t actually have to go back to work for another week…”

“Can we stay friends? I’d love to just hang out with you. Maybe come see me in Seoul some time?”

“It just happened, let’s just put this on reunion excitment.”

“Yes, friends don’t kiss each other. But friends with benefits do. So no, it’s not weird.”

Maybe they were not all excuses. Some you definitely had a hand in. Yet you remained clueless for some reason.

Love really makes you dumb.

“I thought you were playing me.” You mumbled.

“Then you don’t know me at all.” She said, amused.

“That would be because I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Yet you learned to, didn’t you?”

You nodded, looking down in embarrassment. You couldn’t help but feel ashamed of the drama you’d caused.

You scolded her for not being honest, but you were just as guilty.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled again. “This is all new to me, I guess I freaked out a little.”

Your confession caused a few giggles to escape her lips, to your delight. The sound made you smile as you admired the happiness radiating from her features again.

The intensity of your emotions made it feel as though it had been months since you last had the chance to.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. My intentions could have been a little clearer.” She admitted. “I want to date you.”

You chuckled at her small clarification, finding the moon in the dark blue sky again.

It shined a little more. The blue was turning into its darkest shade yet, as the day finally left room for the night.

The blue hour was over, and it made you smile.

You had all night to spend with Jihyo. The woman holding your smiley cheeks so softly in between her hands.

For the first time since you met her, you couldn’t wait until the next one.

Because this time you won’t have to forget about her once the sun comes out of hiding.

[strxnged]

CHILUMI: # a chasmic mistake.

CHAPTER I: descent.

chapter summary. in which Lumine makes a decision she will regret; in which Childe has everything under control.

wc. 3.4k. genre. enemies to lovers, adventure, pining.

table of contents / next chapter

Lumine’s muscles tensed as she felt the ground beneath her feet give way. She should have seen this coming, having ignored the signs placed around the area warning against trespassing. She’d never been the type to pay them much attention, nor had her target. And Paimon wasn’t around to drag her back, either—her floaty friend was left behind somewhere as she’d scaled the mountains and skidded back down them, only willing to stop for one thing.

That one thing would be her blade to the neck of the Eleventh Harbinger.

Paimon had said this whole thing was pointless, that “Mr. Moneybags” would only get them both into danger. Lumine had initially agreed, but seeing Childe, the man who had tried to kill her and wipe out all of Liyue Harbour, recklessly hunting a bounty across the nation had driven her to devote herself entirely to stopping him. 

Countless duels had commenced over the last few weeks, and Lumine had contributed greatly to the chaos that followed in his wake. He liked resisting her, and she liked that she got closer to defeating him every time. But it was because of Childe. It was all his fault. Him, and those damn Fatui.

Lumine had caught word of a bountied creature, some kind of rare animal belonging to a Sumeran noble. She had already understood that this was his goal. But she found it very suspicious of the deceptive (and wealthy) Snezhnayan to chase just any bounty. Surely it wasn’t just over some Mora, because that was definitely not worth falling several hundred meters into the so-called solar chariot ruins known as the Chasm. Thus, she had been keeping an eye on him. A very close, hunting eye.

He had told her about his plans himself during one of their duels, saying, “You can’t blame me for bounty hunting. You’ve done enough of that to understand the thrill of it.” And this, she could not deny. In a way, he was her own target, the unattainable bounty being satisfaction.

Lumine had never been great at saving herself from near-miss falls, but whatever ability she could muster would momentarily have to come into use. She would grab ahold of something—anything—to keep from getting herself stuck in the abandoned mines. She slid down a crumbling slate of rock, which angled her closer to the gaping black hole below. The Qixing had claimed to have sealed it off completely; how could it be that there was now a wide mouth to the dark caverns below?

Making quick use of Anemo, she managed to propel herself to the edge of the gap, scrambling up to uncertain safety. Only once she was assured the rock would hold her did she venture to peer down the hole. 

“Hey, girlie! You sure you wanna go down there?”

The nauseatingly charming voice echoed dramatically from somewhere above her and she looked up.

Childe stood on some jutting rocks further up the opposite side of the cavity, waving his fingers at her from over the edge. “Hello!”

She didn’t respond, making a face she hoped he could read from his distance.

“Someday you’ll be happier to see me,” Childe said. “Come now, no need to look at me like that. Suppose I’ll catch you later, then, traveller. Careful on the way down!”

With that, he took a step and a hop over the edge, soaring confidently towards the depths of the Chasm. A flash of grey and ginger later, and he had disappeared into the darkness. Lumine crawled to the overhang’s edge, gazing down into it again.

She had no defensive logic for the decision she was about to make, and yet… she had to. He was dragging her down with him without even touching her. She had to follow him, no matter what.

—

The first thing Lumine noticed upon landing was an ache in her legs. Her glider had served her well for most of it—but the amount of time it took her eyes to adjust to the low light level still had her legs nervously tensing for most of the descent.

It smelled of dank cave, metal, and some bitter scent she couldn’t place. She immediately took to a rock that was just the right size for leaning on, and regained her wits as she looked around. There was no exit; that was clear.  The cavern appeared to be fairly large, narrowing towards the stone ceiling from which she fell, assuring no simple clambering out. She’d find a way out eventually, as she always did, but escape seemed to be quite out of reach for now.

Damn. If only she could contact Venti to fly her out. But then, even if she could, the last time she had seen him he was too intoxicated to fly straight. It wouldn’t serve either of them well. Also, as lovely as Venti was as a friend, he was one of the last people she’d like to be stuck underground with. Childe was further down that list, of course.

Around herself, she could make out the shapes of different rocks and minerals, dismally glowing cave-dwelling blossoms, and in the distance, the faint silhouettes of abandoned mining equipment. 

And no Paimon. Paimon would have no idea where she was.

Lumine had no chance to grieve this lack of communication, because she heard footsteps and disfigured yelling just a moment later.

“Who’s there? Name yourself!”

She said nothing, hopping over the rock and gliding further down into the cavern. Unfortunately, she noticed the Fatui camp’s fire all-too-close to where she landed.

“There’s an intruder!” The distorted voice of a Pyroslinger broke out and she groaned internally. Not even a minute to catch her breath? Really?

Lumine’s attacks came naturally, blowing down the Fatui’s elemental shields and stunning them with Anemo vortexes. Finally reaching the last enemy, the Pyroslinger Bracer, she took slow steps towards the corner she’d blasted him into. She always soaked up the last moments of her victory for what they could offer: the Pyroslinger’s arms raised to protect himself, muttering curses just loud enough for her to enjoy, and the inevitability of his defeat. Her movements halted, suddenly, though it was neither her doing nor the Fatui skirmisher’s. Her vision was dimming, and she looked around herself to see strange dark mud covering the ground. Her nose was overwhelmed by the bitter smell now, and her legs were leaden.

Three shots from the recovering Pyroslinger now struck her chest, knocking her off her balance. She collapsed to the ground with hands cushioning her fall in the egregious mud. She looked up as the Pyroslinger repositioned his gun to aim again. She couldn’t pull her hands out of the mud fast enough to reach for her sword, which had fallen to her left.

“Stand down, comrade,” a tenor voice said from somewhere behind. 

The Fatui skirmisher looked up from her and cocked his head. “Who gives you the authority?”

A second later, two arrows had struck each of the skirmisher’s shoulders, just hanging onto the top of the fur, and a third zipped directly into the feather on his hat, knocking it clean off.

“Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya, grants me absolute authority.” Childe stepped into Lumine’s view, giving a cold smile to the skirmisher. “Can’t recognize one of the Eleven Harbingers, comrade?” A dim flash bloomed above his gloved palm in a shapeless lantern of elemental energy, casting an eerie blue glow on his visage. 

The skirmisher stood straight, giving an awkward salute. “Forgive me, sir.”

“You’re off the hook, but don’t go aiming your gun at me again,” he chided. “Her Majesty will hear about it.”

“No, sir. But—” he gestured to Lumine “—she took down my whole squad.”

Childe peered into the shadows, noting the unconscious or incapacitated forms of said squad. “I see.” His dim elemental lantern extinguished and he offered Lumine his hand, which she greeted with nothing but an offended stare. “Good work, girlie. You know, you really don’t have to attack ‘em unprovoked, hey?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” she spat, getting to her feet without his assistance and dusting herself off. This mud would surely leave quite the stain.

“Don’t I get a ‘thank you’?”

“I had that under control.”

“I’d beg to differ,” he said, leaning over to her to wipe a bit of muck out of her hair. She froze, at first, and then stepped away from him, slapping his hand away. Fetching her sword from the mud, Lumine nearly stormed off.

But then she realized, with much consternation, that she had nowhere to walk away to. Her goal had been to stop him. She wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

By now he should have prompted a duel, as had happened each time before. She’d interrupted him chatting with (interrogating) innocent civilians in Qingce Village, prevented his discovery of Albedo’s camp, and taken clues for herself. Rumours were everywhere, of course—and yet they had both been acquainted with similar directions to the earthquake zone which had dropped them here. The targeted creature was last spotted and chased away by guards of the Chasm. The guards were the reckoned finish line of their race for intel. But the guards were at the Surface, and they were down here. 

Childe grimaced at her movement. His eyes didn’t leave her.

Lumine cleared her throat. “You didn’t, by chance… end up talking to the…”

“The guards? Nah, I didn’t make it that far. You thought I might have come back for you, girlie?” He sniggered.

Lumine stared at him blankly. She wanted to ask him, what now? But she also didn’t want to be confronted about her decision to come down here in the first place.

He turned to the Pyroslinger. “When’s your relay over?”

“Twenty-seven days.”

“Rations?”

“We’re fine. There’s water sources down here, and mushrooms we can roast in the worst case.” 

“Good. Carry on, comrade.” He eyed a Fatuus in the shadows, who was groaning in pain. “And… try to take care of your squad, will ya?”

“Acknowledged.”

Lumine almost felt guilt for causing this group all the trouble. But then she remembered. They were Fatui.

And so was Childe. She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword and glared at him. He turned to her with an amiable smile, ignoring her stance.

“Now, then, traveller, whaddya say we explore a little?”

Lumine tightened her hand’s grip on the hilt. “For what?”

“Well, for fun, of course.”

She gave him a hard look. “Okay,” she said slowly, relaxing her hand, “let’s explore. For fun.”

—

Oh, it was excruciating walking alongside her enemy like this. Lumine hated how he walked a little bit ahead, how he pointed out directions they should go, how he made small talk. How he attempted banter and she fell into the trap of responding. How he never hesitated at a single turn, offering light from his vision in case she found the dark to be too much (which she denied, affronted by the preposition that she was afraid of darkness).

“It seems to narrow into a smaller cave, here,” Childe was saying, “why don’t we—”

“You should let me walk ahead,” she interrupted.

He cocked his head at her, Fatui mask in his hair shifting with the movement. “Why? You want to protect me?”

“No, idiot. I don’t trust you.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust his intuition—it was sharp, she could admit—but that she hated being out of control. She was used to the “why don’t we—”s from Paimon, but rather than observant reminders as it was with her pixie companion, it sounded like suspicious schemes. Anything he said sounded like a part of a ploy, a puzzle to unravel. Some kind of evil mission, probably. It always would be with him.

He tch’d, but gestured for her to walk ahead. “You have so little faith in me.”

“I wonder why, Childe,” she spat his codename. “I wonder why.”

With a pause, he sent Lumine a more serious look. He spoke carefully. “I think it would help,” he said, “if you took the time to hear me out a little, girlie.”

Lumine studied his expression. It wasn’t often she got to see his expression reveal anything more than military, wiley, or bloodthirsty. The corners of his lips were nudged back, his brows were slightly gathered, and his eyes were direct. And his Fatui mask was as red as ever.

“I respectfully disagree,” she said, taking the lead ahead. “No amount of explaining can justify your actions. And don’t call me that.”

“I’m not trying to challenge your morals, traveller.”

She threw her arms out. “Then stop acting like you want me to fancy your ass.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Childe?”

He hesitated again, boasting an irked expression. “I don’t need a babysitter, but you’ve been following me for weeks. Why?”

“You have the codename ‘Childe’ for a reason, don’t you?”

He went silent. Lumine looked over her shoulder to see his brows lowering.

“Giving up on your own case already?”

His gaze set into hers. “Do you hear that?”

Lumine listened, and then latched her eyes onto an ominous shape in the darkness. There was a soft, rattling snarl, which she recognized as that of a Geovishap only a second before it was too late. She leapt before Childe, raising her sword just in time to deflect the pounce of the dragonish Creature. Its claws scraped against the stone floor as it fell back, gearing up to leap again. Childe dashed past her and the Geovishap, and aimed a shot right at the nape of its neck, causing it to freeze milliseconds before lunging. It twitched, falling to its curved back.

For a second, Lumine thought he’d slain the Geovishap in a single shot, but it then began to twitch, spin, roll, towards Childe this time. He dove out of the way, narrowly escaping one hit which only seemed to aggravate the Geovishap more, landing directly in front of him with its claws out. Lumine always thought of Childe as rather tall and altitudinally advantaged, but when standing before an adult Geovishap he looked so small. Fleeting fear overtook her mind and with a leap from behind she took a steady blade through its skull.

Childe stepped back as it crumpled in his direction, Hydro blades dissolving into elemental energy as he gave her a taunting look. “You know, I had that under control.”

A proud smile spread across Lumine’s lips. “Ha. I’d beg to differ,” she said, planting one foot on the creature’s back, almost too high to reach, and driving her sword heavily into its back through scales.

His gaze shifted between the hilt of her sword, her overstretched leg, and her expression. A grin bloomed gradually, blessedly, on his own face and he laughed jovially. “Alright, then. You can lead the way.”

Lumine cleared her throat and withdrew her blade, swinging it inattentively before sheathing it. She forced her smile down. “Yes. Good. I will.”

He took to walking behind her, and she hated that more, because she could not see him. After a few minutes, she commanded, “Walk beside me.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He took to her right side with an expression like a satisfied fourteen-year old who just won a match of cards. “We should find somewhere to set up camp pretty soon, no?”

Lumine huffed. She did not want to set up camp with No. 11 of the Fatui Harbingers.

“Unless you want to go back and find my subordinates. I’m not sure how pleased they would be to host you after your unprompted attack, but I am great at convincing.”

“You’re not always so great at convincing,” she said, still unable to admit he had a point. She had no way to tell the time but she knew it had been late afternoon upon their descent, and they had been walking for several hours. Her legs were in need of rest.

“I’d like to think sometimes it takes longer than other times, but the job always gets done.”

“You’d like to think a lot of things.” The tunnel around them was widening rapidly as they walked. “I’d like to think this is our way out, but how likely is that?”

He pointed ahead. “There’s actually a bit of a semi-cave there, under that overhang, you see? You wanna set up there?”

She squinted into the darkness. “You’re joshing. There’s nothing to see.”

“Come on.” They walked in the direction he had gestured towards, and there was indeed a semi-cave, three walls but a big enough opening on the fourth side that there was no chance of getting trapped. “Is this to your liking, girlie?” he asked, like they were touring a couple’s apartment.

“Could be worse,” she conceded, and dropped her bag against the wall. “Now, by setting up camp, what is it you’re actually referring to?” Lumine crossed her arms, eyeing him. “Fire, food, shelter, and comfort? Or do you just conk out for a few hours on the ground?”

“Do you think I’m a savage?” he asked with a laugh. “I carry a leather blanket in my bag. I can make a fire with wet wood. I know how to turn a snowy tree into a cozy shelter. Hm… But we haven’t got any kindling, so shall we find some cave grass?”

Lumine, slightly insulted that he supposed her straightforward method of setting up camp to be savage, sauntered towards the greater opening of the cave and surveyed the area. There was still a strangely sufficient amount of light, though perhaps not enough for her to pick up on details such as potential grass locales. She squinted, trying to decide quite how far away the other side of the cave really was.

“Let’s walk this way.” Childe waved her over, providing his blue glow with elemental energy. She wished she knew how to do that. But she didn’t dare ask, knowing that sharing any trade secrets with a Fatuus would be both humiliating and disgusting.

“Childe,” she said, instead, and then hesitated. The forthcoming inquiry was terrible, but had to be inquired nonetheless.

“Yeah?”

“What are we gonna… or rather, what are you doing down here, and…”

He met her eyes without a tinge of sass. “You’re really asking your sworn enemy to reveal his plan to you?”

“Uh…” Lumine sucked air through her teeth. This was atrociously painful. “What’s the plan?”

Childe’s face broke into a wide grin and he howled. “You are so cute.”

“Answer the damn question, Harbinger.”

He chuckled some more. “Alright, since you asked so nicely. I already have enough leads that I know the bounty’s down here.” He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a few days to reach it.”

Lumine narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you… know the Chasm well?”

He clicked his tongue. “Not particularly, but I don’t get lost.”

“You don’t get lost? Not even in massive, cursed cave systems?”

“Nope!”

“Do you have much experience underground?”

“Oh…” he said. “Yes, a bit.” 

For a fraction of a second his smile flickered, and this Lumine noticed with suspicion. However, she decided not to push it, keeping a watchful eye on him as they descended deeper into the cavern.

Wherever they were going, Lumine would have to stay on her guard for the deception that the Fatui Harbinger inevitably had in store for her. She knew how to survive, but she did not know the Chasm. She had not even seen a map of it before, and only had a trifle of knowledge about what had happened here. She was aware that it was related to the cataclysm 500 years ago, but its role was a mystery to her and the reason for its hushed nature in Liyue was just as mysterious. It was unclear whether Childe knew the Chasm, but he was of this world and was therefore at an advantage.

That, and he was the one who had some kind of true motive for being down here.

And Lumine’s only motive was to prevent him from accomplishing it.

author's note. please reblog if you enjoyed. thanks so much for reading! i'm so excited about this series man i poured my soul into it

— table of contents / next chapter

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

[asimplearchivist]

𝓒𝓗. 𝓥𝓘𝓘 — [𓂾𓏏] (‘𝓻𝓭𝓽’ | 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ ru is growing up fast. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 5.5k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ i am so sorry this took so long. it’s a bit shorter than I’d prefer, but i’m hitting a point where i’m going to have to move time along some and i agonize over timeskips bc i worry about writing them well. the next chapter will see Ru aging up some more with copious amounts of fluff, then we’ll be headed for the main arc of the fic. fingers crossed that i can keep the momentum going! ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

You couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Khonshu.

For so long you had grown accustomed to his obstinance and ire, learning how to circumnavigate his myriad moods as well as the boundaries within which you could deal with them. Most of the time he had no true qualms with you quipping back at him, but every now and again he grew too touchy (borderline sensitive) to tease and sass. Working as a nurse had forced you to grow a thick skin years ago, so his biting remarks had never fazed you (which you think puzzled him, at times), but while he was mostly ready to dish it out, he couldn’t always stand to take it in return. The behavior almost reminded you of a scorned child, if you were honest, so when he was at his lowest points of temperament and patience, you treated him like one. It worked far more efficiently than it should (at least ninety-nine percent of the time).

But you had started to notice some odd changes in him. Subtle ones, perhaps, because he still sure as hell had his moments where he acted like a toddler (and even Ru couldn’t compete with some of the moon god’s tantrums), but you were observing a certain…relaxation in his demeanor. You didn’t know how else to describe it.

Overall, he had grown wordier than ever, talking away even when you didn't pry him for information, yet he spoke in a smoother, milder, and quieter register (when he wasn’t fussing at you about getting injured in the latest alley bawl, anyway)—especially around Ru, whom he shared conversations with more frequently than he did with you, despite the fact that you could actually respond.

He wasn’t nearly as consistently agitated as he used to be—new moon nights left him inexplicably broody, still, but he had proven to be far more pleasant company, even while you were out and about on patrol. He continued to pop in from time to time to check on you throughout each day, but the urgency that had colored his previous inquiries about your activities was now curiosity.

He looked better, to boot—you hadn’t quite believed your eyes when you’d realized that the dust littering the edges of his cloak and bandages had disappeared, as had the tattered hems and frayed wrappings. The gold ornamentation shone as though freshly polished no matter the lighting nor the lack thereof. Even his skull didn’t appear quite as washed out and weathered. (And if you had been studying the slightest bulking of his gargantuan, if lean, figure—strictly out of curiosity—then…well, that was between you and the weight of moonlight at your back.)

You were uncertain of what had caused all of these minute, almost inconsequential shifts in the lunar deity. You hadn’t thought that you’d been acting any differently than usual, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened in your routine to warrant such altered behavior. 

The only thing changing was that Ru continued to grow like a little weed, having hit the nine month mark. He was babbling almost constantly, although no comprehensible words had yet emerged from his pouty little mouth. He had mastered crawling, much to the dismay of your poor nerves, and although you had already baby-proofed the entire apartment thrice over in preparation for it, turning around one day to find him grinning gummily up at you without having made a sound had startled you more than you’d readily admit. He found great joy in sitting in the middle of a castle of wooden blocks within which you would encase him, watching you with glittering eyes, before going full kaiju and knocking them all down like it was his sole purpose in life. Lizzie was doing her damnedest to teach him old rhymes and such, but all he could manage was a monotonous stream of monosyllables and somewhat off-beat clapping.

Watching Khonshu with Ru was something that never failed to soothe your worst of days, even if you were bemused by the development. The old bird had only grown more comfortable interacting with the baby, picking him up and toting him about on his narrow hip without any prompting on your part. He played games with him, too, but only if he thought that you weren’t paying attention or were in a different section of the apartment. 

You weren’t certain how to feel about the odd way that the moon god reacted to every new milestone Ru surpassed—with equal parts troubled perplexity and apprehensive sobriety.

He has chewed that ring for hours and has produced enough saliva to drown in. What is he doing? Surely he realizes that it is inedible.

“He’s stimulating his gums—they’re probably sore. He’s starting to teethe. I need to start keeping them on rotation in the fridge to help numb the pain.”

It…hurts him?

“They call it ‘cutting teeth’ for a reason. They have to erupt from the gums. It’s not a fun time. He’ll probably start fussing about it soon enough—if you don’t want to listen to him whine, you don’t have to stick around for it.”

Khonshu did, though. He stayed even when Ru screamed at his lungs’ full capacity, clutching to your shirt with tears dripping from his eyes with the discomfort, crying until he tuckered himself out and faded into uneasy, fitful sleep. Khonshu hovered constantly at your back, beak tapered over your shoulder to observe with a fraught tension you couldn’t shake from rising the hairs on the nape of your neck. The only relief the baby seemed to get was when the lunar deity held him, his massive hands not quite engulfing the growing child as completely anymore—almost instantly Ru would cease his complaints, snuggling into Khonshu’s arms or chest as though nothing was bothering him but your soft-spoken conversations afterward.

Khonshu had mentioned before that he was able to heal Ru and had done so on enough occasions that you’d need both hands to count them. You certainly weren’t one to offer any sort of protest—trying to keep up with your son’s development was overwhelming at the very least. You cataloged every occasion studiously in his memory book, but even that still felt insufficient.

You were neck-deep in cooking supper on a stormy Friday evening when Ru reached ten months old, facing a full moon night that always caused the city—and the maternity ward/NICU in particular—to enter into inexplicable chaos. The benefit of this, you supposed, was that Khonshu’s powers grew to their full capacity and—in so doing—granted you more ease with which to deal with the, at times, utter buffoonery that would plague your efforts to keep the peace in the city. Your stamina, strength, and speed lasted longer, and you recovered faster.

You were cooking over the stove while you had music playing through a speaker, lending an ear to Ru under Khonshu’s watchful eye in the living room. The god had the babe engaged with colored blocks, although Ru was more in the mood to throw them at the deity than to build. Khonshu’s continual commentary on the infant’s inaccuracy and lack of strength had long since fallen into background noise—if he was calm, then you had nothing to worry about.

So it was the near deafening silence you only noticed once you turned off the burners to serve yourself a plate that alarmed you. You turned sharply on reflex to peer into the adjacent room, heart thrumming in alarm, but you accidentally bumped into the doorframe and grunted.

Don’t cause a racket, he is concentrating, Khonshu told you tartly.

Your brows shot up and your mouth dropped open. “I—why didn’t you say anything?!”

Your son looked over his shoulder at you, blinking as his pouted lips parted and he smiled with the two teeth that had emerged in the lower front of his mouth. He bobbed a bit, but Khonshu’s hands tightened around his forearms to hold him upright as he stood on unsteady feet upon the god’s thighs. Ru gurgled, eyes shining as he straightened up and bounced a little.

“Oh,” you breathed, slipping over the threshold to kneel at Khonshu’s side, “look at you, baby. Good job—you’re doing so well!”

Khonshu leaned back against the couch and cocked his beak. He has been attempting to stand all afternoon, but he requires assistance.

“That’s normal,” you murmured, reaching out for him. Khonshu wordlessly relinquished the babe as you hefted him by his sides to stand on your own knees. It took him a moment to regather his equilibrium, but Ru flapped his arms with a delighted squeal once he found it. “Oh, baby—you’re growing up so fast.”

Khonshu slouched to peer at Ru inquisitively, poking his rounded tummy with a spindly index finger. We shall work on your stance, he rumbled, so you are able to stand your ground.

You let out a wet chuckle, swiping your eye on the elbow of your sleeve as surreptitiously as you could manage. “You’re not going to teach my infant the fine art of combat right now.”

When do you propose I begin, then? The sooner he learns, the better.

“At least wait until he’s five,” you sighed, the corner of your mouth tugging upwards as Ru reached out to grab at the end of Khonshu’s beak with grasping, flexing fingers. “Then we can worry about him getting into fights at school, okay?”

Khonshu stiffened. …School?

“Yes? He’ll have to go eventually. He’ll start preschool in a couple of years.” You leaned in to nuzzle your son, grinning as he slobbered on your cheek. “But we don’t have to worry about that right now. We’ve got time, even if it feels like it’s going by so fast.”

Khonshu hummed, low and flat. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but his rigid frame gave away little in the way of indicating his inner thoughts. You almost missed him being able to emote like he had at the Christmas party…but he hadn’t brought up his shapeshifting ability since, so you hadn’t tried to press him about it because he had looked uncomfortable for the majority of the night every time you’d looked at him for too long.

You are…all right with that? he ventured finally, caution couched in his tone.

“I have little choice in the matter,” you told him, “since I don’t possibly know how I could homeschool him with everything else I have to do every day. I’ve been researching some local private schools to see what the best options are, but Lizzie said she’d help me find one.”

But sending him away to be surrounded by people he doesn’t know— he started, then stopped.

You nudged his arm with your elbow just as Ru finally caught his beak and pulled it down slightly. “He’ll be okay. I fully intend to get a feeling for the teachers available before I make any final decisions. It’s a little scary, sure, but it’s a necessary part of growing up. I can’t always be there for him, unfortunately. But it starts off slow, thankfully, and I feel like he’s smart enough to keep up without effort—actually, I think he’ll get bored, but…”

…If you are certain, Khonshu acquiesced, although he didn’t sound pleased in the slightest.

You smothered a smile, deciding not to tease him about his evident worry. “Don’t worry, big guy. He has his mom who’s an avatar of an ancient god, his red-headed godmother, and you—which goes without explanation—to back him up. I don’t think we have anything to be scared of.”

You forget that I deal in the realm of the supernatural as well as that of mortals, Khonshu responded quietly.

“You’re letting yourself think about it too much,” you told him. “Thinking up worst-case scenarios only makes things worse, you know, and it doesn’t give you any more control of whatever’s going on. I had to learn that a long time ago.”

Khonshu turned his head to look at you, instead, and Ru let out an unhappy grunt when he lost his quarry. I would spare you from the knowledge of all the danger that lies out there, he murmured.

“We can cover it once it comes up,” you told him. “Like you said before, I don’t have to know everything. I think it would overwhelm me, honestly. As long as we don’t have an apocalypse knocking on our front door, I think we’ll be okay.”

Khonshu gave a curt nod and said no more on the matter.

“I know that look,” you told Lizzie, refilling her tea cup with the Earl Gray she’d brewed earlier to help quell her growing headache. You added the sugar and cream according to her taste since her hands were occupied, then sat across from her while glancing towards the window in the oven to check on the baking casserole. “How’s your mom?”

She had Ru standing on her lap while poking small slices of banana into his mouth to keep him distracted while you were bustling around the kitchen—she had just gotten home from work and had taken a call from one of her sisters on the commute, resulting in her low mood. You hadn’t wanted to bother her with the baby since she was tired, but she had bee-lined straight towards him claiming that there was no better cure for her ills.

Ru had gotten better at standing up in the last month, having little trouble in keeping his balance now unless the surface on which he stood was unstable—like your lap, or the cushioned furniture. He was totally enraptured by the fruit Lizzie was feeding him, grasping at her hands as though she was summoning the sweet treat out of thin air.

“Her dimensia’s getting worse,” Lizzie sighed, her normally well-kept curls a little frazzled from the humidity and her nervous habit of running her hands through her hair when stressed out. Normally the job didn’t bother her so badly, so you wondered if her boss had been an outstanding prick more than normal. “Saoirse wants to put her in a home, Lisa wants to bring her to her husband’s farm, but I think hiring a home health nurse would be best. She’s so attached to that house since Dad built it when they got married, I’d hate to see her part with it.”

“It’s a tough call to make,” you admitted, propping your jaw with your fist and watching her focus on Ru, “and I definitely don’t envy you. But my recommendation would be to get her established with someone so she can build a rapport before she starts to have more memory trouble. It’s just little things right now, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. She forgot to pay the water bill again and couldn’t understand why the meter got shut off. Saoirse checks on her over the weekends, but it’s not often enough in my opinion. She’s just having a harder time keeping up with stuff now.” Lizzie frowned and leaned Ru back to sit on the edge of the table so she could pass a hand through her hair with a sigh. “I’ve almost got half a mind to move back in with her.”

Your brows rose. Lizzie was one of the most dedicated people you knew when it came to pursuing her dream career. She’d fought tooth and nail to get the experience and record necessary to work for her current firm, and the thought of her forfeiting all the comforts that accompanied her position surprised you. You knew she had a closer relationship with her mother than her older sisters did, but you hadn’t realized before how worried she was for her.

“With your experience, there aren’t a whole lot of remote employers that wouldn’t hire you,” you offered. “You could get into transcription maybe—that way you could work from home, or wherever you end up. I know she likes to take road trips.”

“It’s just a thought. I’m not so sure I want to move all the way back to the countryside,” she responded wearily. “I’ll do some research on our options and keep an eye on her. I know it’ll only get worse from here, but…maybe it won’t happen as quickly as it does to others.”

“Maybe.” That hadn’t been one of your favorite topics to cover while in medical school, honestly, and one of the key points of why you hadn’t gone into psychiatrics. “Just know that I’ll help however I can. You know that.”

“Thanks. But enough about me—you mentioned you’ve been looking into preschools? It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“I’m not looking to enroll him quite yet, I’m just trying to get a lay of the land. I want to get as much paperwork done preemptively so I won’t get as overwhelmed with it when the time comes. I want the best for him—I didn’t have a great primary education, and he’s already so smart. I don’t know that much about schools over here, though.”

Lizzie studied you for a moment, watching you ease back to your feet to check the oven. “You still don’t want to move back to the States?”

You raised a brow at her. “Do you want me to?”

“Heavens, no!” She placed a hand over her metaphorical pearls. “I just wondered if you’re still avoiding your parents.”

“Leave it to you to be so blunt,” you sighed, but you knew she was only concerned and intended no malice. “I’ve been talking to them, so it’s not like that. I just…they were right, and I should have listened to them. They’re not smug or anything, but I don’t know that I can face them. Not right now, at least.”

“It won’t hurt to wait until this little one could handle the trip better, anyway,” Lizzie added, giving him the last bit of banana. “And I would certainly hate to see you leave.”

“Besides,” you continued, leaning down and opening the door. Golden-brown on top—perfect. “I’ve got a good job. I’m saving up for a permanent home, and I’m throwing around the idea of moving out of central London to get away from all the noise. There are excellent resources at his disposal.” And you weren’t so sure what Khonshu would do if you decided to leave, either. Would he just follow you? You didn’t really want to think about the possibility that it might cause him to sever your…arrangement. (Although you did wonder if him growing so close to the both of you was part of the contract.) “I like it here, besides, and I’ve got you. I never had a lot of friends growing up, and I don’t know that I could handle missing you.”

Ru babbled, slapping insistently at Lizzie’s empty hands while you grabbed a hand towel, pulled the dish out of the oven, and set it on top of the stove. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s hard to uproot your entire life once, never mind twice and with a baby.” 

You swiped the towel over your perspiring forehead, glancing towards the living room and realizing you’d left your own mug of tea on the coffee table. “Hang on, let me grab my drink.”

You stepped out of the room, but Ru’s incomprehensible string of noises caught on some familiar syllables. “Ma-ama! ‘Ama!”

“Oh my god!” Lizzie squealed as you whirled back into the kitchen. She was nearly bouncing in her seat, hands secured around the babe’s waist so he wouldn’t fall.

His face lit up when he spotted you. “Ma-ma!”

“Oh,” you breathed, tears springing up into your eyes. “Oh, Badru.” You picked him up and held him close, pressing a litany of kisses along his forehead. “Baby.”

Lizzie was positively beaming. “I’ve been working with him on that,” she claimed, “and I was starting to worry he’d never speak!”

“So now we focus on ‘auntie’,” you chuckled, sniffling quietly as your cheeks ached with the breadth of your smile. “Oh, I can’t handle it. You’re too sweet, Ru. My sweet boy.”

Your excitement, granting you an extra burst of energy unlike any magic Khonshu had ever imbued into the armor, bled through your entire shift at the hospital until you met up with him to start your patrol. You would almost dare to say that he was as pleasantly surprised by the good news as you were, if the warmth in his tone afterwards had suggested anything of the sort.

“Come on, baby. You can do it.”

“‘Ama!” Ru fussed, slapping the rug beneath him with no small amount of dissatisfaction. His frown was mighty, and almost enough to cause you to cave. But you had been working with him all month to start toddling—even if he couldn’t walk that well, and only took a few steps, you wanted him to start as early as possible. He was already hitting certain benchmarks early, and you wondered what all he could do with a little more encouragement.

“You’ve gotten so good at standing up by yourself,” you reminded him. “That’s the easy part. Can you at least do that for me?”

Ru was momentarily distracted by the pillow directly to his right and palmed the pale cashmere knit, part of the barricade you’d set up in case he fell. You sat against the base of the armchair adjacent to the couch, only about a yard away from your unhappy toddler. You’d shoved the coffee table to the other side of the sitting area, so he had almost the whole rug to himself. You’d negotiated with him for the past ten minutes to try again after the last failed attempt, but you felt that your offer for some ice cream as a reward was falling on deaf ears.

“Are you listening to me?”

He wasn’t, if him leaning down to tug the corner of the pillow up so he could chew on it was any indication. You sighed and dropped your face into your hands.

…What are you doing?

You jumped and looked over your shoulder at the lunar deity looming over the armchair, stooped to stare down at you with his staff held out from his flank. “Oh. Just…trying to see if I can get him to walk. He’s taken a step or two, but he’s being stubborn.”

And from whom could he have inherited that trait, I wonder? he mused.

“Oh, shut up.” You turned around to face him, crossing your legs underneath you and leaning back on your hands to meet his scrutinous gaze. “At least he’s tenacious.”

About things you would not prefer, correct? he responded.

“Yes. But maybe that will make it harder for others to push him around when he’s older. I was a bit too much of a doormat, and I don’t want him to get picked on like I was. Obviously I don't need him going around starting fights, but…I want him to be able to stand up for himself.”

Hmm. I think he will have little issue on that front with you as his mother. Khonshu tilted his skull to the side. You seem adept in how he thinks already.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Khonshu gestured behind you.

You twisted to look where he indicated, then your mouth dropped open as you were met face-to-face with your boy. He let out a squeal, startled by your sudden movement, and toppled backwards—you caught him mid-fall, anchoring him and tugging him into your lap. You were in disbelief, mostly, processing what you hadn’t seen.

You studied Ru’s face for a long moment, seeing certain features with which you were all too familiar from looking in the mirror. You were so very proud of him, and thankful that you’d been able to have him regardless of the circumstances. You’d go through it all over again just so you could experience the marvel that was him growing and learning. You hugged him close.

He holds much affection for you, Khonshu murmured, observing the pair of you thoughtfully. I…did not realize how early he would start to develop such thoughts, albeit remarkably simplistic.

“I hold much affection for him, too.” You kissed the crown of your son’s head, easing to your feet and bouncing him a little on your hip. “I promised him some celebratory ice cream. Do you want some?”

That is unnecessary.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you want some?”

…No. Thank you.

“Suit yourself.” You shrugged a shoulder as you slipped Ru into his booster seat. “I promise you that it’s better than those cookies I made, though.”

Khonshu grunted in disbelief, leaning against the partition between the kitchen and the living room and watching you step over to open the freezer. You pulled out the carton of double chocolate and pried it open before you grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and returned to the table. You sat in front of the boy and slipped some into his mouth. His eyes lit up and he gurgled excitedly, licking his lips and slapping the tray in front of him.

“Yeah,” you responded brightly with a smile. “That’s the good stuff, isn’t it?”

…You understand that he will be more difficult to manage now, right?

“Of course. But it’s a natural consequence of growing.” You took a bite for yourself, grinned around the spoon when Ru let out a disgruntled noise and slapped at your elbow, and offered him another. “I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to. I’ll miss carrying him around, sure, but…maybe if I work harder I can still pick him up even as he gets heavier.”

If he continues to eat like that, it will pose a challenge.

“He’s a growing boy!” you defended, smothering your chuckle to cast a faux frown towards the lunar deity. “And I think he’s earned a treat.”

At this rate, any accomplishment he makes will be rewarded.

“And it’s well-deserved.” You paused, then slumped against the back of the chair. “I…I’m just glad we’ve gotten this far.”

Khonshu cocked his head at you.

“I almost lost him,” you said quietly, heart squeezing with the recollection of feeling so helpless, listless, on the verge of catatonia but only focused on the babe trapped within you. You smoothed your free hand over his head on reflex, soothed by the texture of his hair against your palm. “I might not even be here if not for you, and I don’t even know if he would’ve made it or not if I had…you know. I wonder sometimes what would’ve happened if you hadn’t showed up when you did. I think about how lucky I was that you found me. And…I’m grateful. I’m so grateful—to you, and Liz, and Ru—for all keeping me going. I owe all of you everything.” You looked up at Khonshu through your lashes, face warming. “I owe you everything.”

That seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he shifted his weight and brought both hands to grip his staff, leaning into its haft and bringing the crescent before his head to hide the majority of his unyielding face.

…It was only per our agreement, he responded finally.

“You saving my life to start with wasn’t,” you pointed out gently. “I just want you to know I’m thankful that you’re in my life, too. You’ve helped me so much without me even asking, and I could never repay you for it all. Ru’s happy and healthy in part because of you.”

Khonshu stiffened, just slightly, but it was enough that you noticed. Very well.

You shook your head with a fond smile. “To be such a conceited god, you sure have a problem taking compliments.”

And just like that, it seemed like a switch was flipped—he straightened, pressed his shoulders back, and raised his voice to his usual lofty tone. It is only reasonable to give credence to your patron, he told you haughtily, but there was a lingering softness to his voice that told you he was putting on airs. It is about time that you acknowledge the work I’ve done.

“Mmhmm.” You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to your fussy son. “Maybe I need to try popping that ego again—I like you better when you’re sweet and quiet.”

And yet you continue to converse with me.

“You’re all I’ve got,” you confessed, effectively shutting him up. “You and Liz. Like I said, I owe you a lot. Even if we’re…whatever we are on paper, you’re still important to me. To Ru. You’re…well. You’re my friend. Maybe that’s weird.”

Khonshu, as still as the statues that the ancients had painstakingly chiseled and carved from the finest of stone, tightened his grip on his staff. You heard the wood creak quietly.

“I can take it back if it bothers you that much,” you added, voice lowering with embarrassment at his lack of reply. “I don’t guess you’d like to be reduced to something so trivial after you’ve been a god in the eyes of humanity for so long. I shouldn’t have said anything—”

I possess few friends, Khonshu interrupted softly.

You clicked your mouth shut, watching his body language relax into something unguarded and…vulnerable, almost. It reminded you of him at the party, shoulders high around his mandible as though expecting a blow—except that you didn’t have anthropomorphic facial features to try to decipher the intricacies of the emotions playing in the back of his mind. The almost nervous drumming of his fingers on the hilt of his staff was telling enough, though.

“I can’t imagine why,” you told him. “You’re incredibly loyal. I thought you were going to snap Kyle’s neck.”

His back curved forward as he leaned towards you slightly. I would have, had you asked.

You blinked. “I…don’t doubt it. But that’s unnecessary—he hit on one of the ER doctor’s wives after you chased him off and finally got fired. Even the board wasn’t going to play with assault charges on his behalf. Now that’s karma at its finest.” You paused, chewing on the inside of your lip as you gave Ru more ice cream. “You take painstaking care of us, too—even if you’re a bit of a mother hen sometimes. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone other than Liz that’s so concerned about us.”

…I can’t have you unwell, he replied lamely.

You bit your cheek to withhold your smile. “Of course. Thank you anyway.”

He huffed, but he retained his open posture. You are welcome, Sri mewt.

He is one year old.

The statement almost sounded like a question. You turned your head to look over your shoulder at the moon god looming over you in the darkened doorway. He hadn’t been there a moment prior, seemingly summoned by you flicking the lights off in Ru’s room now that he had finally fallen asleep.

The boy had seemed to sense that the day was a special occasion, as he’d kept you on your toes with all his boundless energy. You and Liz had taken him to an aquarium, which he had loved, and you had bought him an octopus plush to go along with his most beloved raven. He now had both of them under each arm, tucked under the blanket in which you’d brought him home from the hospital what felt simultaneously like a whole lifetime yet a mere day ago.

“Yeah,” you whispered. 

So inconsequential, in the grand manner of things, he mused, low and—dare you say it—wistful. Millions are born in a millennium. Time eventually will claim them. And yet…

“Feeling nostalgic tonight?” you murmured, smiling softly up at him.

Only contemplating the plight of man’s ephemerality, he returned evenly. You are born and you die in such a short amount of years—you accomplish so little in your lifetimes, and yet you laud the temporality and fragility of your lives. It has always puzzled me.

“Not all species live thousands of years like yours does,” you pointed out. “Frankly, I’d be terrified to live for that long. I’m afraid I would go crazy having experienced everything at some point, with nothing else to see or do.”

Khonshu lowered his beak to gaze directly at you instead of the crib that housed your slumbering son. I can assure you, he rumbled, that five thousand years is insufficient to experience all that life has to offer. I still learn daily things I never would have expected. 

You raised a brow, lips tugging up into a grin. “At least you’re not bored. I’m glad that we entertain you, at least.”

He scoffed. You do far more than entertain me.

“Annoy you, then. I’m sure you just love spending your free time babysitting.”Badru is…intriguing, he admitted. I have little experience interacting with human children. I have learned much about your people merely by observation that I did not know before through my avatars. And I am…grateful, to have been afforded the opportunity.

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] || Also on AO3 and my personal website

Chapter 5: Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon

“Okay, okay, wait, here’s a good one.” Tim held up a finger. “If you were a piece of music, what would you be?”

“Flat,” Gerry deadpanned.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a goddamn symphony played by an expert orchestra.” Tim didn’t so much kick Gerry as nudge his ankle gently with a toe. “And you know I’m not talking about the sheet music. C’mon, I answered your stupid question about only being able to eat one kind of cheese for the rest of my life.”

“With an equally stupid answer.”

“Wensleydale is amazing and don’t you forget it. Now answer the question. You. Music. What?”

Gerry laughed, in the slightly loose way he did when they were…not drunk, exactly, but more relaxed than when they were on duty or expecting to be. It was a sound Tim had come to love over the last few months, and he still didn’t hear it nearly often enough.

They’d never spent time together outside the Archives after their first meeting—most of their conversations had been equal parts playful, sexually charged banter and exaggerated, over the top “flirting” calculated to provide Gertrude Robinson the maximum amount of embarrassment—but not because they hadn’t wanted to, more because they’d had the unspoken understanding that Gertrude wouldn’t like it. Gerry, still Gerard back then, had especially seemed worried that she would somehow know and disapprove. Now that Tim knew she was psychic to a degree, of course, he understood that better. But then he’d had his six-month performance evaluation with Elias Bouchard, his first actual prolonged contact with the man and the first time he’d spoken to him one on one, and it had left him rattled and uncertain. He’d found himself in front of Pinhole Books, leaning on the bell, and Gerard had taken one look at his face and brought him in, in every sense of the phrase.

It had taken another week for him to, almost shyly, tell Tim that he’d always hoped his friends would call him Gerry.

Gertrude appeared to have accepted their friendship, and to their credit, they’d toned down the outrageousness in her presence. And most of their time really was spent in hunting down information about the Stranger, or the Unknowing, or one of the other Fears—as Tim himself had pointed out, everything else didn’t stop just because of piddly little things like the impending end of the world. There was also the fact that Gerry did still possess a legitimate business, albeit one of the sort that was largely by appointment. Still, when they had a bit of free time, more and more often they had begun to spend it together. They’d even started to spend it places other than Gerry’s flat or Tim’s house.

The pub was jammed full of people, mostly students celebrating the end of exams, and they’d been lucky to snag a table to themselves. The noise and general chaos meant they had trouble getting served, but it also meant they had some privacy. They could have talked openly about the Fourteen and the Unknowing if they’d wanted to.

They didn’t want to.

“Come on,” Tim coaxed. “First answer that comes to your head. Doesn’t have to be anything highbrow if you don’t want it to be. Just your leitmotif.”

“My what?”

“What’s the song that’s playing when you walk onto the stage?” Tim made a show of looking at his watch, absently shaking out his other hand to relieve the tightness around his ring. “Three, two—”

His phone, which was face down on the table, buzzed abruptly, cutting him off. Gerry let out an exaggerated sigh of relief; Tim stuck his tongue out at him as he reached for the phone. It never crossed his mind not to answer. He didn’t have much of a social life these days, save people he essentially honey-potted in order to get information for cases (which he only felt a little guilty about), and he hadn’t spoken to his parents since Danny’s death, which they refused to consider anything but a disappearance until they found his body. The only two people who really reached out to him anymore were Gerry, who didn’t own a mobile phone, and Gertrude.

And if Gertrude was calling him this late on a Friday, it must be important.

He thumbed the CALL button without looking. “Yes, ma’am?”

More or less as Tim had expected, Gertrude didn’t waste time on pleasantries or idle chit-chat. “My office. Both of you. Twenty minutes.”

“Sure.” Tim hung up without further fuss, tossed a couple banknotes on the table, and stood. He offered Gerry a cheeky grin that his friend could definitely see right through, but none of the people around them could. “What do you say we go somewhere a bit more private, eh?”

Gerry definitely caught Tim’s meeting, but gave him a smirk in reply. “Only if the dress code is more casual.”

They headed out into the cool June night air, stumbling towards the nearest Tube station and singing two different sets of words to an old drinking song while somehow both supporting the other. Once they were settled in their seats on a car to themselves, though, Gerry turned to Tim with a serious expression. “Gertrude?”

“Wants to see us in her office.”

“Jesus Christ.” Gerry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought having you working for her meant she’d stopped being in her office all hours of the night.”

Tim twisted his ring absently as he stared at the window opposite him, with its view of the concrete wall of the tunnel occasionally broken by the flash of emergency lighting. “She hasn’t been working late. Not at the Institute, anyway. Dunno what she’s been doing on her own time. If she wants us to meet her at the Institute, it’s for a specific reason.”

Gerry stared at him. “You just…know that, do you?”

“Just a guess. You know how paranoid the old bat is.” Tim shrugged and refocused his attention on Gerry. “Not without reason, but still. Has she ever visited you at the shop?”

“No, come to think of it.”

“And she won’t ever. It’s too well-known in…” Tim hesitated. He still tripped over saying it, but it was true. “Our world. Too likely someone might think to look for her there, or lay a trap for her.”

Gerry exhaled. “Yeah. Mum’s reputation precedes me. And she won’t go to your place because—”

“Probably because she’s trying to keep more people than necessary from knowing how involved I am,” Tim answered. “Or so she has someplace They don’t know about to go if things go pear-shaped.”

“Yeah, you’re her secret weapon for sure.”

Tim studied Gerry for a moment, then decided he was probably actually being serious. “Something like that, I guess.”

It took them eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds to get to the side door of the Institute that led directly into the Archives. Tim was surprised to find it locked. Before he could go around to the front door—or pick the lock—he heard a voice from the shadows behind him. “You’re early.”

“You’re surprised,” Tim noted.

Gertrude stepped up beside him and produced a key from her pocket. “I can’t Know the future, Tim, only the time it should have taken you to get here.”

“We cut through a couple back alleys.” Tim automatically clicked on the pocket torch he’d taken to carrying everywhere after the Night Market; it really didn’t do a whole lot to illuminate more than the barest bit of space ahead of him, but it turned back the darkness enough to remind him which side of it he was on. The Archives were the last place in the Institute to see daylight and the first to lose it, and Gertrude often didn’t bother to flip the switch when she arrived. He’d started to suspect she could see in the dark and just hadn’t realized it yet. He, however, could not, and not tripping over his feet was always a plus. A tiny bit of light was preferable to a whole lot of noise if he knocked over a shelf.

Sure enough, Gertrude didn’t put anything on until they reached her office, at which point she switched on only the old-fashioned desk lamp. Tim knew then it was serious serious. She didn’t want to risk being spotted if a cleaner or the night watchman took it into their heads to come into the Archives for some unknown reason. And if this was something she didn’t want anybody knowing about at all, it could mean one of the rituals was closer than they’d suspected, or it could mean she’d learned something about the Eye’s ritual—although he’d like to think she wouldn’t discuss that right at the Ceaseless Watcher’s seat of power—but whatever it was, he’d have to be on his guard.

“Do you have your passport with you?” she asked Gerry without preamble, before she’d even sat down behind her desk.

Gerry patted his jacket pocket. “Never leave home without it.”

“Good. There is a flight leaving Heathrow at three minutes to midnight, and we are going to be on it.”

“Where to?” Gerry asked.

“Eleven fifty-seven out of Heathrow? Either Paris or Helsinki,” Tim said with a slight frown. “Finland’s more likely to be the Dark than the Stranger, so unless you’ve got a good lead that their ritual, whatever it is, is going to come sooner than the Unknowing, or it’s a stopover on your way somewhere else, I’m guessing France.”

Gertrude paused in what she was doing and raised an eyebrow in Tim’s direction. “Do you simply have that information memorized?”

“Manuscript I read through last spring. Interesting premise, but the guy couldn’t put together a decent sentence to save his life, and his sleuth couldn’t deduct his way out of a wet paper bag.” Tim shrugged. “Anyway, one of the major plot points centered around needing to locate exactly which plane had got off the ground first on a particular night, and I remember that in particular—that it was always either the Helsinki or Paris flight that left at that particular time and it was just a matter of finding out which one had been cleared for takeoff before the other. Stuck with me, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Gertrude resumed her rummaging. “Well, you’re correct, Tim, it is France. To start with, at any rate. I’m not certain where this is going to lead, but we may be gone for quite a while.”

A look flickered across Gerry’s eyes briefly, mingled resentment and fear. Tim reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. He knew, because Gerry had told him, how much he’d hated his mother dragging him around the world without a warning, how much he’d hated not being able to put down roots, but also how frightened he had been every time that this would be it, that this trip would be the one she left him behind or fed him to something. Gertrude wasn’t like that…probably…but the fact that she just expected him to drop everything and go had to be stirring up feelings. “So what are we telling Elias? Or are we?”

“If he asks, which I’m sure he will, tell him I’ve gone on another research trip and that I will report in as necessary, as usual.” Gertrude laid two cardboard folders, a thick leather zipper folio, and a bunch of keys on the desk. “Do not mention Gerard.”

Gerry’s hand tightened. Tim hadn’t consciously realized he was still holding it. “Wait, Tim’s not coming?”

“I need him here, Gerard. Among other things, if Elias believes Tim to be unaware of what I am doing, he likely won’t pay too close attention to him.” Gertrude studied Tim. “And he may be less…on his guard with you.”

“If he is, it’ll be deliberate,” Tim rejoined. “Something ultimately harmless but that he can test out, you know? To see if I’m passing it on to you. Because I’m sure you’ll check in with me more often than you will Elias, if only to make sure things are running smoothly here. So he won’t relax until he’s sure—either that I’m not telling you or that you’re not…prying my secrets out of me.”

Gertrude looked momentarily nonplussed. “I…yes, quite. Do you have a solution?”

Tim considered for a moment. “Maybe. There was a code my mates and I would use for passing notes in school sometimes where only every third or fourth word was important and the rest of it was nonsense. Took a bit to write, but it was doable. I could send you reports—daily, maybe—and if there’s anything…clandestine you need to know, I can put it in code.”

“How would you know if it was the third or fourth word?” Gerry asked curiously.

“We’d doodle in one of the corners, either a tree or a tusked pig.” Tim grinned at the confused look on Gerry’s face. “Because it rhymed. Tree…three. Boar…four.”

“Clever,” Gerry admitted.

Gertrude nodded slowly. “I admit, I can’t come up with anything better. All right, we’ll give it a try. Only contact me through your Institute email address.”

“Why?” Gerry began, then stopped. “So Elias doesn’t know you suspect anything. He’ll pay more attention to any private emails.”

“Correct. I’m fairly certain my email is securely encrypted, and beyond even Elias’s prying, but I am less confident about Tim’s. Regardless of what VPN you might be using.” Gertrude had a degree of familiarity with technology Tim wasn’t accustomed to among people of her age; she was old enough to be his grandmother, if only on a technicality. But despite the fact that everything in the Archives ran on carbon paper and magnetic tape, and the fact that she had as recently as that morning got into an argument with Elias over the fact that they weren’t tied into the Institute’s intranet, her knowledge of modern software was eclipsed only by her knowledge of the Fourteen.

“What’s the wireless password down here?” Tim asked, and he was only partly joking. He usually used his phone as a hotspot when he was using his laptop—instructions from Gertrude, who did the same on the rare occasions she openly used her laptop on Institute property, usually on Tuesdays or Thursdays when Elias was preoccupied with his budgeting and his meetings with department heads respectively—but if he was going to make it easy for Elias to spy on his emails, might as well go the whole hog. He could probably play it off as having finally escaped the paranoid old bat.

“The Institute doesn’t have a wireless network. Everything is hardwired,” Gertrude informed him.

“I could set up a router.”

“Not necessary. That’s another reason I need you here.” Gertrude grimaced. “I…acceded to Elias’s request that we—how did he put it?—‘bow to the inevitable march of time and progress’. He’s sending someone to install a desktop computer on Monday. I will need you to be here, and I will need you to get it up and running while I am away.” She slid one of the cardboard folders towards him. “This should give you a head start on what to put in. After that, use your discretion.”

Tim nodded. He didn’t bother opening it; there would be plenty of time for that on Monday. “What are the other two?”

“This one is a description of the usual duties of an Archivist in general, and at the Institute in particular.” Gertrude placed the second, much slimmer cardboard folder on top of the first. “You’ll need it in order to keep things running while I’m gone, nominally at least. Elias won’t expect perfection, of course, or even much in the way of effort, but you might further allay suspicion if you’re attempting to follow a set of strict instructions.”

“Class clown was always my favorite role.” Tim grinned. “And the last one?”

Gertrude held it out to him with both hands, her expression as serious as he’d ever seen it. “This is a copy of everything I have on the Unknowing so far. Keep it safe, and keep it close. I may not be able to give you any more until I return, but if anything happens to me before then, this may be the only record of our progress thus far.”

Tim took that with the solemnity it deserved. He knew that, however much she trusted him—or purported to trust him—she had yet to fully take him into her confidence. That she was giving him this information was the final confirmation that she truly, genuinely believed he was fully on her side. If he had been a spy for Elias, or anyone else, this would be enough to set him up for life. Possibly eternity.

“I’ll take this home with me tonight,” he said. “But—will you take a suggestion?”

“Of course I will, Tim. You’ve more than earned that.”

Tim tried hard not to blush as he slid the two cardboard folders back to her. “Put these on my desk. With a note telling me you’re going away and aren’t sure when you’ll be back, but that everything I need to keep things going while you’re gone is in here, and that you want me to focus on getting the computer set up. Maybe add that you want me to email you progress reports every night? Just…” He shrugged. “If we want to keep Elias from knowing how much I know, the last thing you want is for him to know I was here tonight. That I had any advance warning.”

“That…is an excellent point,” Gertrude admitted. “Very well.” She took the folders, withdrew a piece of stationery, and carefully wrote the note he had suggested, then handed it to Gerry. “Will you?”

“Sure.” Gerry accepted the folders and slipped out of Gertrude’s office.

Once they were alone, Gertrude turned to Tim. “I know you two are close, but—”

“Don’t call asking to talk to him?” Tim completed. “I get it, boss. We think Elias is going to be watching me, or watching you through me. And as long as he doesn’t know for sure that Gerry’s with you, or that we’re close, it’s an advantage. So no, don’t worry. I’ll survive a few weeks without my best friend.”

“It may be longer than a few weeks,” Gertrude cautioned him. “As you rightly surmised, the Dark’s ritual is approaching as well.”

“Over sea and under stone,” Tim murmured, not quite under his breath.

Gertrude, however, had ears like a lynx. She actually smiled slightly. “If the ritual is to take place somewhere in the United Kingdom, I suppose Cornwall is as likely a place as any. But that’s just my point, Tim, we don’t know. Any one of these rituals could be taking place in any country. The Buried’s ritual was to have taken place in Washington—I’ve already stopped that one, thank goodness—and I rather suspect the Hunt’s might as well.”

“Right, I know. I still say the Slaughter’s is probably going to be in the Middle East.” Tim sighed. “So you’re not coming back until you’re sure you know where they’ll all be.”

The door opened, and Gerry slipped back into the room as Gertrude said, “Not quite that intense. I am simply letting you know that, while we are primarily searching for the Unknowing and the Stranger, I won’t ignore any other hints, and that may delay our return.”

Tim hesitated. On the one hand, he didn’t really want to be left alone with the Archives longer than necessary. On the other…

“I think maybe you should, though,” he said slowly. “Even if they’re not coming any time soon, and even if they won’t be as cataclysmic even if they don’t work, wouldn’t it be to our advantage to know where we need to go? And, you know, if we don’t have some kind of hint we might not be as lucky as you were with the Buried. I could be wrong about the—what did you call it? The Risen War—but even if I’m not, there’s a lot of ground that covers. The United States is huge. And what if the Vast’s is taking place in, like, the middle of the Pacific Ocean?”

“I rather suspect that one will be happening in space, actually.”

“Great. I’ll work on charming Elias into funding for a rocket ship while you’re gone.” Tim ducked the pen Gertrude threw at him. “Seriously, though, boss. Unless you get some kind of clue that something is kicking off soon back here—and if I do, I’ll pass it on—why not knock it all out in one fell swoop? After all, you’ve got me here to run things. And the longer you’re gone, the more Elias will think he’s getting me on his side.”

Gertrude studied Tim intently, possibly judging how serious he was, possibly trying to decide if he was, after all, looking to go over to Elias’s side. Tim didn’t break eye contact, but he did find himself fidgeting with his ring, which suddenly felt a bit tight. He hoped she wouldn’t take it as an indication of his guilt, because it wasn’t. It was just hard to sit under her scrutiny and not squirm a little. Gertrude Robinson had a way of looking at you that indicated she was staring into your very soul, and the fact that she likely could do exactly that if she wanted to didn’t help matters.

After a long moment, though, she nodded and seemed to relax. “You do have a point. All right. That folio contains another copy of the same instructions on your desk, just…annotated a bit. Instructions on how to keep this place a touch on the disorganized side and hopefully slow Elias down a shade or two. I will reply to your emails at least every other day, and call you in case of emergencies.” She hesitated, then added, “Keep your passport up to date, and a bag packed for emergencies. I may need your assistance in a hurry.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll be waiting for your call and hoping I don’t get it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Gertrude rose from her desk, then handed over the keys. “The iron one is for the outer door to the courtyard. The brass one is for the main door between the Archives and the Institute. The one with the green key cover is to my office, the red is to Document Storage. These small ones are for the filing cabinets, and this one is for my desk drawer. Do try to stay out of my office unless strictly necessary, at least when Elias might be watching.”

“Thanks.” Tim accepted the ring and jangled them at her. “Two questions: Can we lock the doors on our way out without these, and if not, how do you want me to explain why I already have these before I get your note?”

Gertrude pulled out the lone key she had used to get them into the building in the first place. “Fair point. Go unlock the interior door, then leave the keys on your desk as well. I’ll lock us out.”

Gerry shadowed Tim—rather literally—as he made his way to the door. He waited until the lock opened with a soft snick, then took Tim’s elbow. “Will you be all right to get home?” he asked in a low voice.

“I’ll be fine,” Tim assured him quietly. He reached out with the hand not holding the keys and the torch and touched his cheek lightly. “Wish I could go to Heathrow to see you off, but I think that might defeat the purpose. Look after yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah. You, too.” Gerry hesitated, then took the torch from Tim’s hand and clicked it off.

By now, Tim knew the feel of Gerry’s lips on his well enough not to be surprised, even though he literally couldn’t see it coming.

They made their way to Tim’s desk to leave the keys next to the folders and note. Tim took a moment to memorize the way they lay against the paper, just so he could know, even if he could never prove, if they’d been moved come Monday. Then he nudged Gerry, and together they headed to the outer door to the courtyard, where Gertrude was waiting.

She opened the door, ushered them out into the crisp, cool night, and locked it behind them, then pocketed the key and turned to Tim. “Good luck,” she said solemnly, holding out her hand.

Tim shook it seriously. “And to you, Gertrude Robinson. Safe travels. I’ll see you in a few months.”

He shook Gerry’s hand, too, but the look he gave him—and got in return—said everything they didn’t want to say in front of Gertrude. With that, the two of them turned and headed down the street. Tim stayed where he was, not moving, until they disappeared from view, swallowed up by the darkness.

“Good luck,” he whispered again, a lump in his throat and an unaccustomed flutter of nervousness in his stomach. Would he ever see either of them again?

He chided himself as superstitious. Of course he would. They’d be back inside of six months, with news of all the rituals they had disrupted and a plan to stop the rest. And Tim would be right here to help.

For now, though, he turned, checked to ensure his wallet and phone were still safely in his pocket, and sloped off in the opposite direction, towards the late running bus stop that would get him home.

[mla0]

i'll never stop thinking about the character of shaun andersen. i just won't! because it's a tragic one that starts out bad, then seems to get better, only for it to end in complete misery, and i think the amount of disagreement on the character only further proves how good the character actually is, in terms of writing. because it is complicated, and there's a lot to love and hate at the same time there

in the beginning of the series all you know is that shaun doesn't believe michael, and that there's a backstory involved where neither of them believe the other's story; one says michael did it, the other says slenderman did it. because at the beginning, we only see michael's perspective, it is his channel after all. but once you start progressing, you see shaun more. shaun starts posting to the channel, starts having these sit down talks. and they change over time, from being calloused and throwing blame, to more desperate pleas to give up. and you start to realize that on shaun's end, it's all just this packaged up denial coming from fear and wanting to be "normal," in a world where shaun not just understands, but has seen, what the world does to people who DON'T fit into that "normal" archetype. so the thought that, the entire time, shaun has been in the same camp but has managed to hide it away, is both sad/sympathetic while still making you very angry. of course shaun is scared. but the lashing out and denial only makes the situation for them both so much worse. it fixes nothing

fast forward a little longer, and after finally convincing shaun to work together with him, michael disappears after patrick ran eric off. him and patrick only show up to scare shaun and stormy on a few occasions, but other than that it's almost completely radio silence. shaun is alone, but finds someone: stormy. shaun gets close to stormy, they start dating eventually, and things seem pretty stable between them. there's little videos showing them being happy and goofing around, while still trying to dig into things at their own pace. and then patrick shows up just to tell shaun that stormy is going to die. then, michael shows up and is acting like everything is fine, but shaun remembers. in the so it goes videos, you can see shaun's anxiety, asking if stormy will be okay, spending more time with her, and you can also see michael pulling back away from stormy as though he knows what's about to happen. you can feel it coming, but it still hurts when the other shoe inevitably drops

and shaun breaks entirely. you can see it the moment they find stormy's corpse. shaun gets quiet, gets stoic, gets obsessed with the arbitrary goal of finding the hands, immediately lashing out (and barely holding back tears) in "no luck" when michael tries to talk shaun out of this. michael knows what's going on here, but there is no stopping it. before this, it seemed like shaun was healing, and i think that's true. but now, the floor that shaun had been sitting on before at what we thought was the bottom cracked, and shaun fell even lower down into despair and rage. shaun tears apart the last relationship worth caring about, burns the bridge, and is entirely alone. dies alone. tries in vain to keep michael safe, doesn't tell habit where michael is in a final good act, but still, ultimately, dies completely alone, with michael's fate entirely uncertain. if habit was right, and it already knows where michael is, then he's doomed too

it's as though the andersens are doomed to be alone. whether from shaun's own flaws and denial, whether from patrick scaring them off, from slenderman killing someone they were both close to, and finally, shaun burning the final bridge with michael, only to try to save his life at the very end. whether futile or not, shaun didn't give in. it's a parallel to childhood to me. this time, regardless of if it was true, regardless of what happens to shaun, shaun doesn't throw michael under to save herself. and oh, it hurts me... someone who kept fucking up, someone who had massive flaws and lashed out and hurt people, but who under the fear and anger still wanted to do the right thing. still wanted to help.

and it meant absolutely nothing. because the world did not allow it. they were always going to be alone, and they were always going to die.

[therentyoupay]

She can tell that they’re talking about her (or half-talking, who knows) the moment she steps out of the room. They could be trying to re-evaluate their current situation, perhaps, which isn’t precisely what she’d been hoping for. She is a guest, but she is also an intruder; she is welcomed, but she also feels very much the third wheel—whether they want to see it that way or not. Elsa swirls the water in her glass, thinking of Anna and poor (past, current) decisions and True Love gone horribly, horribly wrong, and what it means for all of them now.

So much for finding a solution.

Elsa drinks and refills her small glass two times before she considers herself ready to venture back out and watch the easy, friendly interactions of her sister and her sister’s roommate. When she shuts off the tap, she realizes that someone else has already entered the kitchen.

“Hey,” says Jack, gently, as soon as she has the courage to turn around. He looks twitchy and uncertain, and a little off-balance. He keeps trying to stick his hands in his pockets, only to realize that his pajama pants have none. “How’re you doing?”

Elsa’s smile is genuine, if not very tired; it’s late, and she’s not really enjoying herself, after all. She opens her mouth to make an excuse, then realizes—there’s no need. What comes out is a sigh instead.

“Sorry,” she laughs, then hums. “I’m actually pretty tired.”

It’s a little disconcerting—and also a tiny bit sweet—to see how quickly and how powerfully Jack associates this feeling of Elsa’s with his personal interference this evening. She can tell from the gape of his mouth, the wince to his eyes, and by the slant to his shoulders that he feels guilty, which is—well. Which is currently how Elsa is feeling too, so now what are they supposed to do about it?

Jack’s face contorts, then goes unhelpfully blank. Dissatisfied with his absence of pockets, Jack instead hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. He does not seem to realize the effect this has on the amount of skin visible at his stomach… particularly the lower abdominals, where they cut into the faintest shape of a V over his hips. Before she can tear her eyes away, she catches the unsettling sight of a fine dusting of hair down his navel, disappearing into the low-slung, pulled-down waistband of his pants. Her eyes jerk back to his, prepared to fight or fly, but Jack is not looking at her directly.

“I promise we’re usually… more fun than this?” Jack scratches at the back of his head, uneasy and avoiding her gaze. “Or, like… I don’t know. I’ve just… had a weird day, is all? I really didn’t mean to take over your night.”

Elsa looks down into her water. “That’s very… sweet,” she concedes. “But it’s not necessary. You didn’t do anything wrong, especially not by coming home to your own apartment.”

“Yeah, well. I mean.” He shrugs. “You’re bored.”

His voice is calm, but his posture claims that he is personally affronted by this. Like this is a matter of personal responsibility. Elsa finds herself grinning a little in amusement; it’s not like she doesn’t know what that feels like.

“I like being able to see your friendship in action,” she claims teasingly, but Jack is not having any of it.

“Yeah, well, what about you? I mean—where’s your action?”

Elsa raises a single brow.

“That’s not—that’s not what I meant.” Jack heaves an exasperated sigh. “Look, I just wanted to come in and apologize, because I’m feeling kind of like a selfish douchebag, and I just wanted to let you know that there’s a spot on the floor with your name on it, if you want it.” He seems to think better of himself. “Next to Anna, I mean. On her side.”

Elsa nods, slow and sage. “Very appropriate,” she manages, without cracking too much of a grin.

“Yeah. Yes. Right.”

Elsa waits a beat. “All right. Thank you.”

“Course,” says Jack, and stands there.

She nods slowly to herself, and tries not to drown in the silence. She can feel the familiar stirrings of panic begin to wake inside her, but two deep breaths help her to recenter before the feeling has a chance to emerge. Jack seems to be waiting for an answer, she realizes.

“I’ll just be another minute,” she announces awkwardly, and Jack trips over himself as he straightens and turns back to return to the living room.

“Right. Totally. Yeah, we’ll see you—just a minute.”

Elsa is left alone in the kitchen once more.

————

start from the beginning of livable 🎄🎁❤️

[sunaleisocial]

Study: Even after learning the right idea, humans and animals still seem to test other approaches

New Post has been published on https://sunalei.org/news/study-even-after-learning-the-right-idea-humans-and-animals-still-seem-to-test-other-approaches/

Study: Even after learning the right idea, humans and animals still seem to test other approaches

Maybe it’s a life hack or a liability, or a little of both. A surprising result in a new MIT study may suggest that people and animals alike share an inherent propensity to keep updating their approach to a task even when they have already learned how they should approach it, and even if the deviations sometimes lead to unnecessary error.

The behavior of “exploring” when one could just be “exploiting” could make sense for at least two reasons, says Mriganka Sur, senior author of the study published Feb. 18 in Current Biology. Just because a task’s rules seem set one moment doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way in this uncertain world, so altering behavior from the optimal condition every so often could help reveal needed adjustments. Moreover, trying new things when you already know what you like is a way of finding out whether there might be something even better out there than the good thing you’ve got going on right now.

“If the goal is to maximize reward, you should never deviate once you have found the perfect solution, yet you keep exploring,” says Sur, the Paul and Lilah Newton Professor in The Picower Institute for Learning and Memory and the Department of Brain and Cognitive Sciences at MIT. “Why? It’s like food. We all like certain foods, but we still keep trying different foods because you never know, there might be something you could discover.”

Predicting timing

Former research technician Tudor Dragoi, now a graduate student at Boston University, led the study in which he and fellow members of the Sur Lab explored how humans and marmosets, a small primate, make predictions about event timing.

Three humans and two marmosets were given a simple task. They’d see an image on a screen for some amount of time — the amount of time varied from one trial to the next within a limited range — and they simply had to hit a button (marmosets poked a tablet while humans clicked a mouse) when the image disappeared. Success was defined as reacting as quickly as possible to the image’s disappearance without hitting the button too soon. Marmosets received a juice reward on successful trials.

Though marmosets needed more training time than humans, the subjects all settled into the same reasonable pattern of behavior regarding the task. The longer the image stayed on the screen, the faster their reaction time to its disappearance. This behavior follows the “hazard model” of prediction in which, if the image can only last for so long, the longer it’s still there, the more likely it must be to disappear very soon. The subjects learned this and overall, with more experience, their reaction times became faster.

But as the experiment continued, Sur and Dragoi’s team noticed something surprising was also going on. Mathematical modeling of the reaction time data revealed that both the humans and marmosets were letting the results of the immediate previous trial influence what they did on the next trial, even though they had already learned what to do. If the image was only on the screen briefly in one trial, on the next round subjects would decrease reaction time a bit (presumably expecting a shorter image duration again) whereas if the image lingered, they’d increase reaction time (presumably because they figured they’d have a longer wait).

Those results add to ones from a similar study Sur’s lab published in 2023, in which they found that even after mice learned the rules of a different cognitive task, they’d arbitrarily deviate from the winning strategy every so often. In that study, like this one, learning the successful strategy didn’t prevent subjects from continuing to test alternatives, even if it meant sacrificing reward.

“The persistence of behavioral changes even after task learning may reflect exploration as a strategy for seeking and setting on an optimal internal model of the environment,” the scientists wrote in the new study.

Relevance for autism

The similarity of the human and marmoset behaviors is an important finding as well, Sur says. That’s because differences in making predictions about one’s environment is posited to be a salient characteristic of autism spectrum disorders. Because marmosets are small, are inherently social, and are more cognitively complex than mice, work has begun in some labs to establish marmoset autism models, but a key component was establishing that they model autism-related behaviors well. By demonstrating that marmosets model neurotypical human behavior regarding predictions, the study therefore adds weight to the emerging idea that marmosets can indeed provide informative models for autism studies.

In addition to Dragoi and Sur, other authors of the paper are Hiroki Sugihara, Nhat Le, Elie Adam, Jitendra Sharma, Guoping Feng, and Robert Desimone.

The Simons Foundation Autism Research Initiative supported the research through the Simons Center for the Social Brain at MIT.

[dashawfrostart]

Long Time No Talk - And This Week In "Time & Again"

... I am not gonna lie, it's a been a while. I really stopped posting virtually everywhere for a few months - that is, undoubtedly, because of my remarkably introverted tendencies when it comes down to posting on social. But for those, who know me, this should not come as a surprise.

Some endeavours we take sound awesome at first - but afterwards the spark simply dims, and you don't feel like that was a nice idea anymore. It happened to me a few times - and let's be honest: this happens to everyone of us from time to time! Maybe it has to do with the amount of effort we didn't anticipate, or maybe the idea just doesn't sound as exciting over time, for some tend to lose interest quickly. Blogging hasn't been easy for me in my twenties and later on.

I feel bad about it though. Because this is something that I really wanted to do. I'm an old-schooler after all 😎. But truth be told, it's never too late to start over or continue! And my writing practice makes it an important undertaking. Just as I've already mentioned in my very first blog post: my goal and the purpose of this website hasn't changed. Some people I know in real life are fascinated with my manner of writing - although I myself am not particularly convinced. I think I have a lot of room for improvement. It's all pretty subjective though. But I don't like to look back, to dwell on the past, and to hang on to whatever has been lost. Instead - even though I might stumble on my way - I will go further and press on. Giving up is not my motto. I am still very eager to practice writing - and I will do it here.

And lately I even came up with a nice way to fulfill that wish.

On to the important topic now! To make this place a bit more lively and significantly less boring, I decided to take on a great responsibility! And I've been thinking about that for a while already. I'm going to start posting once-per-week posts with updates on how the work with "Time & Again" is coming along. I guess I could share that with the rest of you. Mind you: I've never been a big fan of spoilers and I didn't like to show off the unfinished pieces and WIPs very much... Although my views recently started to shift. I think I might be okay with that now. Let this be my little devlog, just like the videogame developers would've put it - but about my graphic novel instead of a game! (the game might still be coming out... It's still in my dreams, but who knows? Opportunities might suddenly turn up, right?!)

And just to tease you a little more... There's A LOT going on with "Time & Again" right now ;) You think I disappeared from the face of the Earth without a reason, or because I'm lazy, or because another one wave of typical for me "social networks disappreciation" covered me up?!.. No, you're wrong! 🤪 I've been, indeed, working very hard on the continuation of my strange story that will sure take quite an unexpected - for some - turn of events.

To avoid turning this post into a sudden wall of text - although if you're here reading my notes AND my graphic novel, then I'm sure you must not have anything against walls of text, you know what I mean, right? 😁 - for this first post from "This Week In 'Time & Again'" series I'll just briefly mention what I've done so far.

As some of you remember, Chapter 4 broke off on a rather uncertain note.

There is a reason to it. The next 4 chapters are going to be somewhat different in style and feel. It's an experimental graphic novel after all.

Over the past few months, I spent a lot of time polishing the script for the rest of the story, trying to straighten the paths that have been bent and didn't make the creation look good. In the last few days, I worked diligently on making the page templates for Chapter 5, and arranged the text lines, and speech bubbles.

At this point of time, the storyboard for Chapter 5 is 100% complete, and now I just need to fill all the pages up with the artworks! Simple and exciting!.. I perhaps made it sound extra simple. But really, it has never been easy. Making all these artworks takes time - sometimes a lot of time. One really should not underestimate the work of artist, because it's a tough job (that sometimes hardly ever pays 🤪). Right now everything goes well and quite fast. I'm not competing against time, I'm just working on it continuously and dedicatedly with a minimum of distractions as possible (still play Doom mods tho XD). So I'm getting there!

So far, I'm aiming to release Chapter 5 at around Christmas/New Year's. That said though, since I'm planning on complete overhaul of the design elements for the rest of the websites and social prior to release of Chapter 5 - for the new concept requires that! - I honestly might not make it in time. But the time will tell. No reason to plan way too far ahead and attempt divinations before starting the main part of the work 😁 So I'll just see how it goes.

That's it for today, folks! See you next week with another one - hopefully larger and more substantial! - post from "This Week In 'Time & Again'" series! Take care! 👋 (and prepare yourselves to be spooked 😈, heheheh!)

[sailtomarina]

I need your permission

Theirs was a new romance, something fresh off the cauldron and still simmering with unrealized fantasies and hopes for all the future held. The relationship was public and had been for a number of weeks, but was only truly a surprise to those outside of their circles. To everyone else, their fascination with one another was obvious.

So it came as a surprise when Hermione admitted Draco still hadn’t visited her flat, a modest, two-room apartment in a trendy neighborhood near Diagon Alley. They spent all their time at his place, or the manor’s library, or Theo’s.

“It’s been what, two months now?” Harry’s look of skepticism had her feeling oddly guilty.

“Something like that, but it’s not like I made a conscious decision to avoid my place. Everywhere else just seems more…suitable.”

Harry’s eyes carded around her living room, taking in the wall of bookshelves, mismatched furniture, the army of potted plants taking up every surface and window. Her place was small, but lived in like a home should be.

“Ah yes, this hovel must be beneath Malfoy.”

She smacked him over the head with a cushion. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Then what do you mean?”

Hermione chewed on her lip, clearly uncertain about whether or not she should tell him. Harry was her best friend who supposedly knew her better than anyone else. There probably wasn’t a better person to ask.

“When you look at my home, what do you see?”

“Books. Also…books.”

“Harry, I’m serious!”

“Furniture meant to sleep on. They’re comfy. A jungle of plants I suspect you sourced from Neville. Too many cat toys. A scary amount of wall space dedicated to platforms for Crookshanks—”

“And what do cats shed?”

“…is this a trick question?”

In triumph, Hermione gestured wildly at her surroundings and Harry realized the sofa and chairs were indeed covered in signature orange hairs.

“I can’t have Draco coming over here getting covered in Crookshanks! Have you seen the clothes that man wears?”

“Here’s a thought: how about you just clean? You know, a common chore we all do to keep our homes livable?”

She snorted. “Obviously. I clean as frequently as I can, but you know me, Harry. I’m busy. I’m out more often than in. I don’t clean up as much as I should and I just don’t want to bother with worrying about it when there are tons of other places we can go instead.”

Harry stared at her for a moment. His look reminded her of his expression when she fell off her broomstick only a few meters off the ground.

“What?”

“Are you, or are you not, a witch?”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’ll give you the same reason I give for cooking and gardening without magic: I prefer doing them by hand.”

“But why?”

Now it was her turn to stare at him in disgust. She disappeared into the kitchen for a couple of minutes before returning with a plate.

“Here.”

She shoved a muffin at him and he grudgingly took a bite. As predicted, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he moaned.

“My god, this is bloody delicious.”

“Okay, now try this one.”

“Blah!” He spat out the second muffin into his hands before guiltily looking up at her.

“Need I state the obvious?”

“I fail to see how cleaning is similar to cooking.”

“I’m not going into a practical lesson right now, but trust me when I say that cleaning by hand is 10x more thorough than cleaning by magic. Didn’t you ever wonder why Snape’s detentions always involved scrubbing the cauldrons rather than just vanishing the mess?”

“I don’t know, maybe because the man was an arse?”

She sighed in disappointment. “Harry…”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I still don’t see why you can’t just plan ahead and make sure to clean before Malfoy visits.”

Her shrug summed up her lack of interest in hurrying the milestone.

“I need your permission to make a Floo call.”

Thrown off by the sudden change of topic, Hermione pointed out the Floo powder before returning to the kitchen to clean up the muffin disaster. Casting a quick evanesco on the cat hair, Harry popped his head into the fireplace to place his call.

“Draco Malfoy’s flat.”

“Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call?”

“You’ve got about five seconds to get your arse over to Hermione’s flat before she catches me and shuts the connection.”

“And why do I need you to tell me to go see my girlfriend?”

“Take it or leave it. Chances are the opportunity won’t present itself again for a long time.”

The blonde pursed his lips as he considered Harry’s statement. “Back up, Potter. I’m coming through.”

And not a moment too soon.

The second Draco Malfoy shook off the remnants of powder and muttered a vanishing spell, Hermione rounded the corner.

“Draco!”

“Hey, love, why—achoo!”

The immaculate scion in his tailored suit doubled over violently in a fit of sneezes and inelegant coughs. Hermione fussed over him, her hands fluttering in uncertainty.

“Draco, what do I do? How can I help?”

“Ahhh, ahhhh, achoo!” He backed up towards the fireplace, fumbling around for Floo powder. “I need to leave. I’m so sorry, I—”

Another violent cough and he was gone.

Silence reigned and Harry tried to blend into the bookshelf behind him. What he would give to have his invisibility cloak on hand.

Hermione’s eyes moved slowly from Draco’s last spot over to her friend, narrowing in realization.

“Perhaps I should have been more clear, though I didn’t realize you’d be so moronic as to go around me and invite him into my home. Draco is allergic to cats.”

“I…uh, figured that one out. Why didn’t you just say that at the start?”

He should’ve fled the moment her expression transformed into a sickly sweet smile. He should’ve remembered the bluebells and little birds viciously attacking Ron. He should’ve remembered Hermione’s vengeful streak.

“I’m going to cook, and while I do, you will clean this house by hand. You will also call Draco this instant and apologize for almost killing him, again, before inviting him over for supper.”

“I don’t see how it’s my fault the ferret almost died when you didn’t even tell me…” Harry’s mumble ended in a yelp when her thrown slipper hit him on the head.

“Call. Apologize. Clean.”

WC: 1081

[engie-ivy]

How no one would've died if Remus and Sirius had secretly been sleeping together.

The 31st of October 1981

These last days of October there’s a noticeable chill in the air. Remus tucks his chin further in his scarf as he and Peter walk the street together after leaving their latest Order meeting. People dressed up in costumes are walking around, reminding Remus that tonight is Halloween night.

Remus feels drained. Order meetings used to be exiting and exhilarating, when they were fresh out if school, barely eighteen years old, ready to finally be full wizards and fight the bad guys. He’s only twenty-one now, but Remus truly feels at least fifty years older than that eager, naive boy.

There hadn’t been much too say at the meeting. Lily and James weren’t there, now that they recently put the Fidelius Charm in place. McGonagall and Moody had pressed them all to be on their guard, as it’s uncertain what You Know Who’s next move is going to be, now he has no way of finding the Potters, no way of finding Harry.

Frank and Alice said they’re going on a stake-out outside of the LesStrange villa. Peter has a night off, after having shadowed Augustus Rockwood, whom they highly suspect being loyal to He Who Must Not Be Named, for these past weeks. Remus said he’s going home to go over his notes from his time undercover in the werewolf camps again, to see if he has missed anything. Sirius said he’s going to search Grimmauld Place again, which is his now that his parents have passed and Regulus has disappeared. No one expects him to find anything there, though. Yes, Regulus had been, maybe still is, a Death Eater, but not one of importance. Chances are small that there’ll be any useful cues in that place. Still, Moody was happy with Sirius spending his time at Grimmauld Place, as that place has a massive amount of protective spells around it, curtesy of Sirius’ father. With Sirius being the Secret Keeper now, he’s very likely to be the prime target.

Remus desperately wants Sirius to go into hiding, but hiding just isn’t Sirius’ style. When Remus brought it up, Sirius told him not to worry. Even if the Death Eaters caught him, he would rather die than betray anything. Remus had just stared at him, wondering how on earth Sirius could think that would ease his mind.

Peter rubs his hands together against the cold. He looks anxious and on edge. Remus gets the impression he wants to tell him something, so he patiently waits.

“Sirius’s going to Grimmauld Place a lot,” he finally says.

“He is,” Remus agrees.

“It’s weird though, innit?”

Remus shrugs.

“Well, I think it’s weird, because...” Peter lowers his voice. “I’ve seen Sirius. When he was supposedly at Grimmauld Place. I was shadowing Rockwood, and I saw Sirius visiting him, in the company of other alleged Death Eaters.”

Remus just stares at him.

“At first I thought, maybe he’s there on a mission,” Peter continues. “But he was acting much too shady. Wearing a dark cloak with the hood up. At first, I barely recognized him, but it was him, I’m certain!”

The colour drains from Remus’ face as he stares at Peter. “You’ve... never mentioned this before.”

“I didn’t want to accuse him! I still don’t,” Peter says defensively, but the accusation is as clear as day. “I mean, he’s the Secret Keeper, for Godric’s sake! I don’t even want to think about what would happen is Sirius is a traitor.” Peter shudders.

“No,” Remus murmurs. “No, that’s... No. We must trust that Lily, James and Harry’s secret is safe.”

Peter nods. “But if something does go wrong,” he says, looking at Remus intently. “Then we won’t have to think too long about what happened, right, Remus?”

Soon, they are far away enough from the location of the Order meeting to Disapparate. They say their goodbyes, Remus Apparates in front of an old apartment building and starts climbing the stairs to the twelfth floor. All the while, his mind is spinning.

You see, the thing is, Remus already knows Sirius hasn’t been telling the truth about his activities, Remus already knows Sirius has been keeping things from the other Order members, and Remus already knows Sirius hasn’t been at Grimmauld Place for any of these evenings.

Remus walks to the last apartment of the hall, opens the door and steps inside.

Almost immediately, he’s being pressed against the door with hands tangling in his hair and lips pressing against his own. For a moment, Remus gets lost in the kiss and every other thought disappears from his mind.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Sirius breaths against his lips.

You see, the thing also is, Remus knows exactly why Sirius has been lying about where he’s going when he’s supposedly at Grimmauld Place, Remus knows exactly what Sirius has been keeping from the Order, Remus knows exactly where Sirius has been on those evenings, namely, naked in Remus’ bed.

This thing between them started after a mission gone wrong. The Death Eaters had a far larger number than expected. There were explosions, screams, and flashes of green flying around. Remus remembers being hit by something, he doesn’t know what, but suddenly his head was spinning and the world became blurry. He remembers strong arms grabbing him, and when his vision came back, Sirius and he were standing in his apartment, clutching each other and breathing heavily. Their eyes met, their breath caught, the atmosphere became charged, and the next moment, lips were pressed against lips, hands were roaming, and clothes were discarded. It wasn’t just ‘make me feel I’m alive’, it wasn’t just ‘let’s enjoy ourselves while we can’, it wasn’t just a way to release tension, it wasn’t just sex. It was years of stolen glances and lingering touches, it was years of longing deeply hidden, it was years of feelings misinterpreted as friendship.

They wanted to keep it just for them. The war had already taken so much, maybe if they kept it just for them, it wouldn’t take this. Also, it wouldn’t be a vulnerability for their enemies to exploit.

So you see, Remus knows for a fact that Sirius hasn’t been with any Death Eaters. Maybe if he hadn’t known that, Peter’s words would’ve planted a seed of doubt in his mind. He knows there are things Sirius isn’t telling him, but he also knows Sirius loves him.

And that Peter is lying.

It doesn’t have to mean he’s the spy, though. Maybe he’s just scared people will suspect him, and has decided it’ll help him to place suspicion on Sirius. And even if he is the spy, the worst thing he can do is send the Death Eaters to Grimmauld Place, thinking that they’ll find the Secret Keeper there.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius says, cupping Remus’ face in his hands and caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re worrying, Moony. I can tell you’re worrying. Let’s forget about the war for tonight, okay? Tonight it’s just you and me.”

He kisses Remus again, and for a moment, Remus is tempted. Tempted to forget about everything but Sirius, to get lost in the feel of Sirius’s body against his, and deal with this whole Peter situation tomorrow. Then he remembers the way Peter had looked at him.

“We won’t have to think too long about what happened, right, Remus?”

And something just doesn’t sit right.

He gently pushes Sirius back. “I need to tell you something.”

“Now?” Sirius asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yeah, I’m concerned about Peter. There’s something off with him.”

Sirius pales as he stares at Remus in alarm. “Peter?” He asks, with much more fear than Remus had expected. “What about Peter? You have to tell me, Remus. You have to tell me now!”

“Pettigrew’s the Secret Keeper, his loyalty is questionable, the Potters’ safe house has been compromised, Sirius and I are going there right now, send back-up.” Remus watches as his Patronus hurries away to convey the message to Dumbledore. Still, he can barely believe the words he just spoke, but there’s no time to lose.

A select number of Order members have read the Potters’ address from a piece of paper written by the Secret Keeper (Peter, not Sirius, Remus reminds himself), and therefore they can enter the house in Godric’s Hollow.

“James, Lily!” Sirius shouts as they barge through the door.

James stands in the living room pointing his wand at them.

“You lied to Lily about the cat having broken that vase her sister gave you,” Sirius quickly says.

“You secretly wanted to be a Seeker instead of a Chaser, but you’re eyesight wasn’t good enough,” Remus immediately follows.

James lowers his wand with a relieved sigh and Lily appears from the kitchen, holding Harry in her arms. “You nearly gave us a heart attack! What the hell is going on?”

“I was wrong,” Sirius says. “My plan... I was wrong... I...”

As time is running out, Remus takes over. “Peter cannot be trusted. We think he’ll betray your location. You have to get out of here, now!”

James is pacing the room, cursing under his breath. Just the thought of someone he trusted intentionally hurting his wife, his son... Lily is sitting on the couch, trying to sooth a crying Harry, who should’ve been asleep in his bed by now. Sirius is sitting on the other couch across from them, with the Potters’ cat curled up in his lap. He’s pale and shaking, wrecked with guilt that his ‘brilliant’ plan nearly cost his brother and his family their lives. Remus is sitting next to Sirius, holding his hand and not caring who sees.

Dumbledore is sitting on the only chair in the room, and while Remus is immensely thankful the man acted as quick as he did and came to bring them to another safe house and casted some extra protective spells, his calm serenity is getting on his nerves.

Moody enters, looking even more grim than usual. “The house has been destroyed. Blown to pieces. It was Him himself.”

Lily lets out a sob at hearing everything they had is gone, but mostly at realising how close they had come to being gone themselves.

“So Peter really...” Remus whispers, and James has a few things to say about Peter that probably aren’t suitable to Harry’s ears.

Sirius presses himself against Remus and hides his face in his neck, while Remus runs his fingers through his hair.

Remus feels angry, betrayed, tired and sad, but as he looks around the room to the people he holds so dear, he can’t help but think that things could’ve been much worse.