#Where. is the conflict. noone even tried to kill either if them!!!

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 12 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

He wanted to help. Was desperate to help. The need to be close, to pull her out of the depression she was drowning in, was slowly killing him. Azriel could think of nothing else except her. Nothing except the pain she was in.

He swung like a pendulum between pleading at the door or hammering on it when his frustrations overwhelmed his sense. No matter how wrong he felt each time, Azriel could not stop himself. The desire to rescue her from her perceived nightmare plagued him. There would be moments of clarity where Azriel would realise that he was too intense, that his care would overwhelm her, and he’d pull back. He’d sit on the roof, circle the house in flight, then return slightly calmer.  

Although she did leave the bedroom, somehow Nesta evaded him. Night after night, she slipped past him as easy as a wraith.

Nesta would not allow him to see her, but she accepted some care. Even if she did not know it was from him. The clothes that Mor had scavenged for the sisters were completely wrong. Mor’s cast-offs wouldn’t suit either sister, and he doubted Nesta’s chest would fit in them. He had spent a painfully long-time in Velaris’ boutiques. In his five-hundred years of life, they were places that he had strode past without ever sparing a glance to the interior. Azriel had not known there were so many options from necklines to sleeves to hems to buttons to ribbons. He agonised over material, colours, and patterns in an attempt to match the sorts of gowns Nesta had worn in the mortal lands. For Elain, he was far less picky. Still, both females had a basket of clothing left outside of their door. As well as gowns, Azriel had found undergarments, shawls, and lighter, summer dresses. Shoes were more difficult so he’d purchased a range of sizes and styles, hoping at least one pair would be suitable.

Sure enough, on the night that he left them by the door, they were gone by the morning.

It was not just clothes either. His speciality was camp slops, but for Nesta, Azriel tried to cook something more substantial – or at least edible. Cerridwen and Nuala flitted around him, offering conflicting advice. One called for more garlic, the other claimed there was already too much. They helped him to produce meals that he left in the kitchen ready to be heated.

The food in the kitchen was nibbled at. The level of the soup went downwards. It was never a massive amount of food gone, but something at least. So, then he began flying to the bakery and amassing a variety of sweet foods too. He’d rather that they ate even if it was all sugar and cream.

And Azriel still could not understand how the hell she was slipping past him every night.

Because he was a stubborn bastard, he’d stayed awake during the nights as if to catch her when she emerged. But she didn’t emerge. When he conceded defeat and sleep stole him from this realm, he’d wake to find that Nesta had crept out while he slept. It did not matter if it was night or noon, Nesta always seemed to know the instant that he fell asleep. She’d creep around at night, at day, always avoiding him, always slipping past him.

‘Are you doing this?’

The shadows that had been fighting each other beside him on the floor outside of Nesta’s room froze.

‘Are you helping her?’

They swarmed to him, brushing against his skin with their cool touch as if to say that he was their only master. Azriel had not sent his shadows in to spy on them although they had tried. He had been the one to pull them back and ban it. It was tempting. If there had been no signs of life, Azriel would have kicked down the door, but since Nesta did not appear to be in immediate danger, he would wait. He would wait and wait and wait until she was ready.

The bond tugged painfully at his ribs. How much of his devotion was due to that? Would he still be here day after day if the bond did not summon him to her side?

The others had appeared – except Cassian who was not able to fly yet – to do a cursory check. They were surprised to find him there, holding his vigil. Azriel said nothing of it. They knew him well enough to know that the guilt for not protecting the sisters was his reason to be there, but not the only one. A mate was a sacred thing that Azriel had never dreamed of having. Never did he think the Mother would choose him for another. And now that he had a mate, he did not want to think of the bond at all. Nesta needed to love him for his character, not because the Cauldron forced her. If she knew the same creation that had warped her into something she hated had paired them together, she would reject him. Azriel was desperate to prove to her that he could be somebody to love, somebody who would care for her, that he was not rotten and broken inside.

‘Please,’ he whispered, not knowing who his plea was for.

He was mindful not to ever make a lot of noise. If the sisters could hear noise at such an amplified level then they were likely able to hear even his heart beat.

Azriel stopped in his tracks.

That absolute madam. That clever, wonderful madam.

Now, Azriel knew exactly how Nesta was seemingly moving in synchronisation with his sleep. She could hear his heart, could identify the change in his consciousness to know the exact moment that he fell asleep. It was so cunning that Azriel was proud of Nesta. He was also kicking himself that it had taken eight days for him to work it out.

All those hours that he’d sat straight-backed pushing away fatigue thinking that he’d catch her the instant that she emerged. It had been a game of cat and mouse – but the mouse had outwitted him. How many times had Nesta tip-toed over his slumbering form to get to the kitchen?

His delight that he had figured out her scheme soon shifted to panic. Azriel functioned on minimal sleep; it was the way he had always been. It was not healthy for Nesta to stay awake until dawn was creeping in the sky.

Azriel sat on the roof, staring out across the city. The spring day meant that even the Illyrian Mountains were visible on the horizon. Their snow-capped peaks called to him. However bruised his heart was when it came to his people, Illyria - the land itself – always summoned him home. For once, Azriel dreamed of being there, in a quiet corner of paradise, where Nesta could exist in peace. The thought burrowed into his chest making the tug of the bond ease slightly. It was a promise of a future that he was desperate to have for his own.

Nesta would not let him in. Azriel could continue to tread softly, leaving packages beside her door in exchange for dirty laundry, preparing meals for her in the kitchen, but she was stubborn and hurting. Locking herself in the rooms would do no good.

He pressed his lips together, wondering how to manages this. If Azriel pushed too far, he risked her snapping. Without pushing, they’d be stuck in this loop until Feyre returned.

No, it was time for Azriel to do what was necessary. As her mate, he knew what Nesta needed.

***

Once again, a soup had been prepared in the kitchen. The bread was improving too; this one had seeds kneaded into it.

If only Elain would eat more than a couple of spoons.

Nesta perched on a chair pulled close to the edge of the bed. This room had been assigned to Elain, but Nesta would not leave her alone.

‘Please, another spoon, Elain.’

Elain’s eyes shuttered closed again as if that would block Nesta’s voice.

‘You need to eat.’

That had pushed too far. It did not take much these days to force Elain over the edge. She rolled over, pulling the blankets up past her head to hide from the world.

Nesta held back her tears until the bathroom where she could cry undisturbed – not that Elain ever stirred. Her sleeps came often and deeply, not waking for anything unless she decided to.

She returned to the bedroom where she forced herself to eat the rest of the now-cold vegetable soup.

What a life that had landed in her lap. Had the village discovered their absence? Were they worried over them? Nesta wondered if word had been sent to her father in Niva that all three of his daughters had irrevocably changed into something worse.

Part of her wanted to break out of the room to demand answers, but the fear of what she was trapped her in this wretched place.

After sitting beside Elain and stroking her brown locks as she slept – all she did was sleep – Nesta returned to the bathroom to wash out her bowl.

At the sound of the door handle rattling, she stilled for a moment. Nobody had tried to do that in a few days, but Nesta was militant at double-checking the lock when she returned to the bedroom.

She turned back to the tap, poised to twist the brass handle when her blood stilled. The unmistakable sound of the key scraping against the lock had Nesta abandoning the bowl in the sink and racing towards the bedroom door.

Shadows wrapped themselves around the thin key. Those traitorous, little bastards.

The door flew open and Nesta flung herself at the wood, both hands outstretched.

A foot shot out, blocking the door from shutting.

Nesta pressed herself against it, ramming the door with all of her strength.

An arm pushed itself through the gap, gripping the edge of the door.

Her feet skidded along the floor as Azriel forced his way into Elain’s bedroom.

‘Get out!’

More of his body pushed through.

She spat the same words at him again and again to no avail.

When Azriel stood in the bedroom, it snapped something in her. Nesta hit at his chest until her palms stung from the effort.

He seized her wrists in an attempt to subdue her, but she booted his shins. The fight that had deserted her on the worst night of her life finally ignited. There was a tussle where Nesta used any free limbs to attack Azriel while he let her.

Then he span her around and crushed his body to hers, knocking the wind from her chest. His heart throbbed against her back. Nesta tried to break free of his hold but the man was too strong. Her arms were clamped at her side, his locked around her.

‘Get out,’ she hissed again.

Nesta lurched forwards, hoping to throw him off. Azriel remained curved against her, following her movements. She was acutely aware of his strong body pressing into hers and his heavy exhales against her ear.

‘This is a tomb.’

One hand locked onto her chin to turn her head towards the window. Nesta had drawn the heavy, velvet curtains on that first night and had not opened them since. It was too bright for Elain.

He forced her to look at the bedsheets covering the large vanity. It was too painful to see what she had become. Nesta was all gangly limbs and pointed ears. It made her sick.

She managed to land another hit as Azriel adjusted his hold on her. A scarred hand yanked open one curtain so that a harsh beam of light streamed in from the faerie world that she wanted no part of. Then he pulled the sheet away from the mirror.

‘Open your eyes.’

His breath curled on her cheek but Nesta kept her eyes screwed shut.

‘You think you’re stubborn, but you haven’t met me,’ he said. ‘I will stay here holding you until only the poets remember our names.’

A hand stroked against her cheek. ‘There is no spell to reverse what happened. You are high fae.  I cannot change that, Nesta, but I can help you accept it and move forwards. I want to help you.’

The tip of his nose pressed into her temple. No man had ever put his hands on her this way, so consuming and intimate.

‘Look in the mirror.’

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Nesta could have wept at what she saw. The face wasn’t hers. It was crueller, harder on the edges. Her grey eyes had turned silver like molten metal. All of her felt wrong – looked wrong. She had been broken then put back together the wrong way.

Nesta could not look away. As much as she despised what she had become, she could not stop herself from staring. It was a stranger staring back at her. Then her body trembled, wracked with heaving sobs.

Azriel turned her, crushing Nesta to his chest. His arms tightened around her then his wings cradled them both in a cocoon.

This could not be her life. This could not be what she had become. All of her choices had been stolen from her.

‘Where were you? You were supposed to save us. Where were you?’

She felt his breath shudder. ‘I failed you.’

Nesta broke away which was only because he had permitted it. His own expression was anguished. He reached out a hand for her either to touch her or hold her again, Nesta did not know. She did not want it. Would never want anything from these faeries again.

‘No, you have ruined my life. You, Feyre, all of you who forced yourselves into our home and dragged us into a world we wanted no part of. You have ruined our lives. Now, get out.’

#nezriel

[rurifangirl]

12 for Shou…?

has your oc ever engaged in cannibalism?

(/lh)

OHHHHHSHSOOGOGOGO OH BOY I HAVE QUITE THE STORY HERE SO SIT ON YOUR SEATS, WE'RE GONNA GO ON A RIDE

(Tw for cannibalism even if I don't rly go in details cus sleepy)

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

So first off, this isn't on his own oc post, mainly because when i finished It, It wasn't a thing. This isn't recent either, ad I've hinted he did something arguably worse than trying to kill Rui and Lyva, even if that's another long story so, we'll focus on this. Keep in mind that Shou Is currently over 200 y/o, so what I'm going to say happened quite a long time ago.

This happened when his mother was still alive, an pretty much the head of the palace. Shou had already dealt with much preassure, since he was younger. Not only he had to hide the fact he was trans, but also had to deal with the preassure of becoming the next reignant. Even so, he's got some mixed feelings.

He doesn't blame her for having raised a snake demon on her own, but on an outsider's view, she did influence a lot on how he percieved himself permenantly, making him feel as if he'll never be more than a demon and things such as that.

At that time, he didn't have much authority nor power actually, the only thing he had control on was hiding his powers. But, that was destined to only crumble sooner or later.

Another thing I've never talked about, was his hunger.

Currently speaking, it's not a problem. Sure, It may have resurfaced like twice or three times, but it's merely an intruisive thought. But back then, hohooho It was so much worse. There where times where that brought him physically sick, even vomiting because of that, and others where a servitor or two seemed to good to be left alive.

There were some that inevitably tried to help him, growing closer to him, even if Shou tried to push them away. If that would've gotten thus far, he would've never forgiven himself. But if everything went right, we wouldn't be here.

Now, I have two versions here.

One of them in which a specifical servitor grows very close to him, being the one helping him with many of his attacks. It,, doesn't end well unfortunatly, as Shou loses control and ends up devouring them alive. Mind you, his current demon form Is a LOT toned down from what It was originally,, so I'm leaving y'all to think about how different It was. "Fortunately" for Shou, he gets to clean up the mess, but to this day endures that guilt and disgust of not being strong enough to have let them live. Which would give another reason for Shou to have now mastered his demon form.

The other one Is similar, but doesn't involve a closed one, rather than just a random servitor. Difference Is, he had actually enjoyed that. And It brings an even more conflict, whether to be punished for that horrible crime, or to continue that pleasure in secret. He does continue several times, but realises that if he gets caught, It'll be the end of him. He'll end up regretting what he had done as time passes, keeping that away from anyone else.

I've never really set up on which Is the official thing, so take the one you'd like the most. I kind of jump on n off on which i like more.

Even then, in both versions he does end up fighting those struggles, at least in majority. It's still very much there, but not as strong. He occasionally gets corpses to eat if his desire gets a little too high, even before he met the whole gang.

Currently noone knows about him having eaten people, at MAXIMUM he hinted something to Qiran, but nothing more. Qiran's dence anyways so they probably didn't pick It up either.

And as im now finishing this i realized his and Qiran's relationship may be quite slower because of this n I'm egdkjjhguiuguuek, especially if i go w the first version

If there's anything else unclear lemme know cus idk if i put everything 😭

Tags;

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @dopesaladlady @audre-falrose @nadi-117 @infra-jaded

#I put it under a readmore so if it's uncomfy ya can skip it #ruruasks #rurusocs #oc #ocs #my ocs stuff #shou #oc lore #ruruslore #? kind of #my ocs

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE, brief hint of prostitution.

wc; 10.2k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

It turns out that you’ve worked yourself to the bone all these years. Day after day, you woke at seven, left at eight, and stayed in the betting room until late evening into the early morning. You didn’t realize just how taxing it was until now. For the first time in a long time, you’ve gotten more than just a couple of hours of sleep. You slept into noon.

This must be how Finnick felt for those years. He could, more or less, go to bed when he wants and wake well into the afternoon. And although the whole day isn’t up to your interpretation, you’ve had your fair share of evenings with friends. To think that he used to live like this every day, while you were busy worrying over tributes, or pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion is unfair.

And for a moment, you can allow yourself to be upset at him and yourself for letting it go on for so long. Finnick’s time in the Capitol is far from fun and perfect, but you still hate how he wasn’t required to do all the same things you are. That he didn’t put in as much effort as you have. Even if you two weren’t talking…

You count to three and let it go. 

You think you can stop being mad about this now. To you, it looks like things have changed. Of course, you can keep your guard, but you can stop talking about it. You already know all the shitty things that he’s done, he knows it too. With that acknowledgement, you can save the thoughts for a rainy day.

You get out of bed at noon, dragging your feet around the room. It’s funny how you’ve kept that wake, eat, watch, sleep schedule for this long, and it was so easily broken. You thought that you’d have to fight with yourself to sleep in past seven, considering that some habits are hard to break. Yet here you are, sluggish. You suppose that more sleep doesn’t automatically mean being more energetic.

Not trying to be too slow, you only take a ten minute shower instead of your normal thirty. Finnick’s been in the betting room since midnight last night, it’s going to be a full thirteen hours by the time you go to switch with him. He’s running on fumes, he hasn’t slept in a day, if you remember correctly. The sooner you get down there, the better.

Not to mention, like nights, the mornings are extremely boring. As you’ve observed for the last couple of days--and years--the tributes are up to nothing. In the morning, they’re either still sleeping or getting ready to spend their day doing mundane shit. At nights, the careers might go hunting for obvious tributes, or they’re all going to bed. 

On one hand, you think that this is good for Finnick. Like you’ve said before, he’s not as practiced during chaotic situations inside of the betting room anyway. The last time he saw anything remotely close to that was maybe yesterday, when you were going around talking to Capitol people. But that wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.

You’re talking about the times where you’ve been in full-blown mentor mode. Quick on your feet, even faster problem solving, a silver tongue that easily has mentors falling on your feet. The only times you’re like that is when there’s an unpredictable fight that includes your tributes. You’re here for damage control, so anything that your tributes do inside of the arena, you’re going to be there to try and clean up what they can’t. Whether that be injuries, them losing all of their stuff, sponsoring weapons in the midst of a fight, whatever.

But on the other hand, he’s just out of practice. If he took afternoons instead of you--fat fucking chance--he would be able to go right back to how he was before. It’s like flexing a muscle, all your instincts are still there, you just have to relearn a few moves to make the whole job easier.

And you’re all about easy.

You go for black skinny jeans and a yellow-orange shirt with a breast pocket, and then slip on a pair of tennis shoes. As always, you’re the only one in the dining room, so you’re free to watch the television as you eat lunch. The avox serves plum and lamb soup, with a side of jasmine rice to make it more filling. You thank him quietly, already distracted by what’s going on the screen.

Without any context, you slowly put the pieces together by yourself. Starting with your tributes, Annie and Marsh are already off near the snares. They’re currently having lunch too, eating the sponsored food that you gave them yesterday. The gamemakers are allowing you to hear their conversation for the first time in days.

The gist is that Annie wants to go up to the dam. Like, follow the stream of water to the top and inspect the dam for herself. The condition of the cement will hopefully determine when they should leave the shack and head towards the village. But they’re working through one step at a time. Getting to the village is a whole new problem, as far as she’s concerned. Marsh agrees.

The Seven tributes are at the stream getting water, with the boy cupping his hands and bringing water to his lips that way. They’ve still got no supplies from the cornucopia, looking pretty dirty from sleeping in leaves and dirt for the past couple of days. They still look healthy though, so that’s a good sign. They’re getting all the nutrients that they need, to a certain extent.

Five boy is still on the edge of the woods off to the left, far away from the rest of the tributes. He’s not as close to the treeline as he was yesterday. If he keeps there for a while, you’re sure that he’ll surely be overlooked and hard to find like Nine girl. Who, speaking of which, is actually on the move today, instead of just sticking around in the grass and bushes.

She’s got her hair tied out of her face, any loose strands are tucked behind her ears if it can reach. She’s walking through the grass, heading towards the cornucopia. You think it’s a stupid idea, that surely she’s going to get herself killed for being so calm about walking straight into a wild pack of careers.

Until you look to see where the careers are this morning, and find that they’re inside of the woods. The cornucopia is completely vacant, all their supplies are there for a tribute’s taking. Nine girl saw this and decided to take a chance and grab what she can. Which means that she’s been camping out in the grassy hills the entire time, or she was in the trees after all. Either way, she’s kept a pretty low profile since the beginning. This is going to give her a new spotlight to work with.

She heads right inside without hesitation, not even waiting to hear if there’s any voices. Yeah, she’s definitely been keeping track of the tributes in the sky, and even going as far as to watch the cornucopia in her freetime. Especially if she’s so forward and confident. Considering she’s spent the last couple of days cloud gazing, this is fairly impressive.

She grabs a backpack, vaguely going through boxes and only stopping long enough to grab handfuls of items. She moves on quickly, eyes sometimes flickering to the mouth of the cornucopia. At least she’s not stupid enough to entirely rely on what she saw a couple of minutes ago. She knows that going inside is completely risky.

By judging what you can see with the careers, she has nothing to worry about in the end. The careers are far into the woods, and they’re only getting farther. In fact, the only tributes you think that have to worry about what they’re doing is the Seven tributes. In your opinion, they could be moving a little quicker.

If the careers do run across District Seven, this’ll be the first real conflict since the bloodbath. Of course, Sanguin killing Three boy yesterday was an event, but he didn’t really stand a chance against her in the first place. That was banking on false hope. With the Seven tributes, they might not have weapons, but they’re also two people. Just like Annie and Marsh. They have a chance, you always have a chance with bigger numbers. Where one person fails, another will prevail.

Nine girl grabs a knife on her way out of the cornucopia, officially heading towards the woods. She should’ve just went straight towards the village, that way she wouldn’t have the chance of running across the other nine people that are currently in the forest. This is all dependent on her goals, you suppose, but no one willingly tries to pick a fight unless they’re a career. It’s just the truth.

The last tribute that you haven’t mentioned is Bauhinia, Cecelia’s girl. Bauhinia already has a backpack of her own, courtesy of the raid she had conducted on the cornucopia by herself on the second day of the games. She’s got a bottle full of water, so that means she’s found her own source by now. 

Actually, she’s been up against the dam for the past couple of days. Which means that the dam is leaking from some area, otherwise she wouldn’t have the water up that high. Not without a second stream, and from all the time you’ve spent watching the tributes, she hasn’t been to the original water stream.

Well, the dam is certainly more dangerous than you originally anticipated. It’s only the fifth day of the games and it’s already leaking water. You give it a couple more days until the entire thing blows. You keep saying a week and a half, you’re not sure it’ll even last the half part. The gamemakers are impatient this year. Or maybe they have no control of it. Either way, everyone is going to be going home sooner than usual.

With the hopeful exception of District Four, of course.

At any rate, Bauhinia is moving through the trees too. She has a knife in hand, which means that she’s looking for something or someone in particular. You’d say she’s just hunting, but there’s an edge to her steps. You bet that Cecelia is on the edge of her seat right now. Her only tribute is up to no good.

You finish up lunch, go to the bathroom to brush your teeth, and leave the apartment. On your way down to the betting room, you hope that whatever Bauhinia is planning, she’s not going to act on it just yet. She needs to wait a little longer. If something does happen, Cecelia’s going to need a shoulder to lean on.

When you enter, you see that Finnick sits on the couch, elbow on the arm, leaning against his fist. Gloss and Enobaria are with him, with Gloss leaned forward onto his knees and Enobaria with her arms crossed. The only person that seems to be standing in your bizarre group, is Cecelia. Who’s swaying from side to side, hand on her mouth.

Looks like they’re all just as captivated as you were when you were watching. You check up on the Morning Line Odds, which might as well be known as the Afternoon Line Odds, with the times you’ll be showing up from now on. Annie and Marsh still hold their odds at 6-1, they haven’t moved since the first day, that's just fine with you. As long as they don’t drop lower, they’ve still got the interest of the Capitol.

As for the only group that actually poses a meaningful threat, Sanguine has moved up. From a 4-1 to a 3-1, she’s now tied with the boy from Two. You’re not surprised, it was only a matter of time before she went up—before any of them moved, actually. It’s worrying, though. No matter how many times you’ve seen it before.

You stop next to Finnick, staring up at the screen. In the time it took you to brush your teeth and get down here, things have changed. The gamemakers have focused on Bauhinia and the careers, so it explains why everyone—with the exception of Finnick, who sounds like he’s sleeping—is on edge. Doesn’t mean you have any clue what's going on.

You take a moment to analyze what you see. Bauhinia still has her knife in hand, moving through the trees. It looks like she’s trying to be quiet, carefully placing her feet in spots that shouldn’t be possible. All to just narrowly avoid a stick that might give her away. Give her away…

The careers are also going through the woods, but their camera is angled weird. Instead of watching them from the front, so that you can see their faces. Or from the back, allowing you to see where they’re going exactly. It’s at a diagonal, barely catching One girl, who’s leading the pack through the woods. The main is One boy, who’s in the middle, but even he’s a little blurred.

Oh.

Oh!

“Oh!” You let out, causing your friends to jump at the sudden voice. They’ve been quiet for so long, you just snuck up on them, “Is Bauhinia stalking?”

Stalking, a term mentors use when one tribute is following another. Normally because the stalker has ill intentions, or they’re observing for future reference. It’s like when the Seven tributes followed the careers all the way to the stream of water and didn’t attack. Observing. 

But Bauhinia isn’t observing. She’s got a knife in her hands, she’s making an extra effort to be closer, to hear their conversations. She’s moving right along with them, waiting for a perfect moment to strike. Bauhinia isn’t stupid enough to attack all three of them, she’s waiting for an opportunity to pick one off.

You wonder what got her to think like this, to suddenly get up and decide that she wanted to risk her life. She isn’t specially trained in any way regarding fighting, Cecelia said it herself. And if you remember correctly, she only scored a six. The Morning Line Odds say that she has a 14-1 chance. She’s going to get herself killed.

“Yeah, she has been for a while now. She only just got closer.” Gloss says, looking over you, and then his eyes land on Finnick, “He’s been out cold since nine.”

Well, you more or less called it, even before you got down here. She looked slightly more relaxed the last time you saw her, but now she has to be more careful with how she’s putting herself in danger like this. One bad move can be the cost of her life, unlike before when she had a little bit of breathing room. She must’ve been loosely following.

As for Finnick, you’re not at all surprised. You gently place your hand on his back, rubbing slightly to wake him up. It takes a moment, reminding you of the last time you woke him up like this. He doesn’t stretch this time around, mostly makes a noise and raises his head.

“What time is it?” He yawns, and sinks into the couch, “Is she here yet?”

“A little after one.” You answer.

Finnick looks up at you, and lets out a sigh of relief. He must be exhausted, probably won’t even last a minute on his bed before he’s knocked out. You give him a smile, pat his shoulder, and take a seat between him and Gloss. There’s not much room, but you can imagine that Finnick won’t be staying here much longer.

“Annie and Marsh are doing fine.” Finnick yawns again, crossing his arms and staring at the tv, “The last time I checked, anyway. Which was…”

Enobaria lets out a laugh. Gloss snorts and finishes his sentence; “Five hours ago.”

Finnick vaguely motions to Gloss. “What’s happening now?”

“Flower girl is looking for trouble.” Enobaria says, “She’s like, ten feet from them at max.”

Finnick squints, humming slightly, “I’d head up but I have a feeling I should stay down here.”

“Probably.” You agree, “You can use my shoulder as a pillow if you want.”

Without missing a beat, he takes you up on your offer. He places his head on your shoulder, and only lifts it once to readjust. You smile a little to yourself, but it quickly fades when the betting room is suddenly filled with unfamiliar voices coming from the speakers.

Two girl--Vanilee--has a kama in her hand, which is surely a unique choice of a weapon. It’s not chosen often, mostly because of its range. Think of a scythe, with the curved blade and all, just with a shorter handle. It’s much better for hand-to-hand combat, you think. It’s not going to be much use for long distances, unless you were to throw it. Then again, you’re no expert. You don’t even remember seeing that in your cornucopia.

The sixty-fifth Hunger Games had all the classic weapons. Spears, tridents, bows, axes, swords, scythes and knives. You chose a knife and a sword, obviously. As most careers do, since they’re the easiest things to figure out. The only problem is trying to find a sword that isn’t too heavy, a knife with a blade that isn’t too short, bullshit like that.

Anyway, Vanilee is stopped, eyes searching the woods around her. Bauhinia is perfectly hidden behind bushes, not only crouched but also blending in. It’s understandable why the careers haven’t seen her by now, even with their experienced eyes. At least they caught on that the air was weird or whatever, but you can’t give them that much credit in the end, especially if Bauhinia has been following them for a while now.

Yeah, for a bunch of people that have been practically trained to think a certain way and catch onto situations, they’re not very in-tune with their sixth senses. Literally, even a hint of a gut feeling and you’re going to be searching around. Hell, you even did that yourself! The pond on the first day is the perfect example of this.

“What is it?” Sanguin asks, impatient.

“I swear that there’s someone following us.” Vanilee says, moving her hair behind her neck.

“Like who?” her district mate, Geare, asks.

Vanilee shrugs, not giving it up. She ventures out a little bit, squinting and searching. She won’t find anything, you’re sure of it. With the way that Bauhinia has placed herself, she’s in the best position she can be in. Except for the part where one career has caught on to her stalking. That’s the only bad news. Where one will go, the others will eventually follow.

“She’s just paranoid.” Sanguin says, stabbing her sword into the ground and leaning on it like a cane, “I think I would know if we were being followed.”

Vanilee’s eyes land on Sanguin, “Okay, genius. Don’t you think that it’s weird we haven’t run into any tributes yet?” she raises her eyebrows, shakes her head like she’s waiting for an answer, neither Geare or Sanguin says anything, “That’s what I thought. Maybe my paranoia will do something for us.”

Sanguin sighs, eyes rolling into the back of her head like a teenage girl. She runs a hand through her hair, and then slaps her thigh when she lets it fall, “Fine, let’s take a break. Whoever it is will have to move at some point. We’ll hear or see them, problem solved.”

Hypothetically, yes. But you watch as Bauhinia slowly sinks herself to the ground, crossing her legs. She’s lucky that her backpack doesn’t make any noise, otherwise she definitely would’ve been found by now. For a while, the careers all sit there, drinking water and eating a small portion of food to keep them going. So far, their hunt for other tributes has been a bust. What a surprise.

However, Vanilee signs her own death certificate when she says that she’s going off to pee. She’s told to stay nearby in the case that someone is around them. Sanguin even offers to go with her, it just leaves Geare by himself, though. It still leaves a problem, two of them can go one way, the other can stay back, or Vanilee can just go by herself. In the end, one person will get picked off.

The moment that Vanilee heads off, Bauhinia slowly and carefully begins to follow her. Cecelia has finally taken a seat on the edge of an armchair, fingers intertwined and pressed against her lips. Enobaria is shaking her head, upset that Vanilee can’t just pee in front of her alliance. It’s a stupid situation. And it’s almost rightful what Vanilee gets for it.

The good news is that Vanilee isn’t stupid enough to get out of earshot. If she were to scream, the others would hear. It would take them a moment to get to her, but at least they’re close enough if the situation were to arise. The bad news is that it doesn’t matter, not with the way that Bauhinia springs on Vanilee.

Really, Bauhinia doesn’t fuck around. She wraps her arm around Vanilee’s neck in an armlock, and then uses her other hand to tighten the hold. She has the same face of determination that everyone else gets when they’re trying to kill and survive in the Hunger Games. 

Vanilee digs her nails into Bauhinia’s tan skin, hard enough to draw blood. This is the reason why Bauhinia lets go, clutching the spot. She lands a kick to Vanilee’s back, making her trip and go sprawling in the dirt and grass. Vanilee opens her mouth, drawing in a long breath of air, clearly going to scream.

Bauhinia’s on top of her, disregarding the blood running down her forearm. A squeak leaves Vanilee’s lips, just before Bauhinia’s fingers are tight around her neck, squeezing hard. Vanilee’s eyes widen, face quickly turning a shade of red as she struggles to breathe. First her fingers try to wriggle their way beneath Bauhinia’s hands, but then they settle for scratching down her neck and face, trying to inflict enough pain to get Bauhinia to get off.

It’s hard to watch, you can feel the pressure on your own stomach and hips, hands growing harder and tighter around your neck as you give up. As you slowly stop coming up with solutions to get out of the hold, as you forget the one way the training expert told you to leave a situation like this.

You reach for your throat, rubbing the spot where Lennox was sure he’d be able to cut off your air supply. You swallow thickly, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

You get a confused glance from Gloss, and Finnick hums quietly. 

It’s the sensation of being trapped, not being able to escape. This happens all the time, especially with people hovering over you, even if it’s a joke. If you can’t have an easy escape, then it’s a cause for trouble. Even watching people not be able to leave, especially in a situation like this--

You take a deep breath through your nose, and hold. 

Vanilee is turning blue, still fighting to escape. Bauhinia’s got red scratch marks all over her, some even bleeding slightly, blood running down her skin. She’s patient, and doesn’t at all seem to be concerned about the other careers. Not even worried that they might come looking for her if she doesn’t make it back soon.

You let out your air slowly, feeling nauseous.

“Are you alright?” Finnick asks.

“Still not over it.” is all you say, Finnick lifts his head up. You glance over to see that his eyes are open now, staring at the screen.

“Yeah, I can see why. Look away, I’ll tell you when it’s done.”

“Thanks.” you breathe, placing your head on the couch, staring at the sky. Well, the sky through the glass ceiling. There’s no way that the architects would ever let a place like this fall victim to something so heinous like rain.

“You went through something like this?” Gloss asks.

“Something similar.” Finnick says, he lets out a sigh, “And then got stabbed right after. To be fair, she was beat to hell in that fight. It was hardly fair.”

“But she got revenge, if I remember right.” Enobaria says, “(Y/n) single handedly killed three out of four of the career tributes.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t even count one of them, that was mostly mutts.” you say.

“It counts. I remember it counting.” Enobaria says.

It’s quiet for a moment, “Okay, it should be done.”

Right on time for you to look at the screen, a cannon blasts. Bauhinia releases Vanilee, stretching her fingers outwards, staring at her hands for a moment, like she can’t believe she’s done it. The moment that Vanilee’s name is yelled, Bauhinia is up and off of her, sprinting up towards the dam. It’s not very smart of her, she should be going downhill, or at least running the way she came for a while to put distance between her and the others, and then move downward diagonally.

Finnick goes back to putting his head on your shoulder. Enobaria has her jaw set, shaking her head. You can’t blame her, Vanilee was a trained volunteer. She got a nine on her training score, while Bauhinia landed herself a six, if you remember correctly. Even Vanilee had the feeling that there was something wrong, and she still went out by herself.

Two careers left in the game, though. It’s satisfying to see a second name greyed out on the Morning Line Odds. One less career for Annie and Marsh to worry about. If they were to go out and try and attack them now, you’re sure that it would be more than a fair fight. The only threat left is One girl. Sanguin.

Speaking of which, she’s running up towards where Vanilee lies in the dirt, red-purple hand marks bright around her neck. Geare is right behind her, weapon already displayed. At the pace that Bauhinia is going at the moment, you don’t think that he’ll have the chance to use it. But then again, the careers always bounce back in some unpredictable way.

Sanguin is quick, leaving Geare completely behind her, “Vanilee?” she yells.

She’s more or less making the same mistake that got Vanilee killed by leaving Geare behind her. Although, you all know that she can take care of herself in a fight. In fact, unlike Vanilee, Sanguin probably would’ve found a way to get out from underneath Bauhinia. Whether it be from the same way you did it, through momentum. Or some other unique tactic.

You’re not saying that Vanilee didn’t try, she definitely did. The marks up and down Bauhinia’s face and arms says so. The problem was that it wasn’t enough. But to be fair, there’s not much you can do in a situation like that in the first place. She was underprepared, caught off-guard without the opportunity to catch her breath and evaluate the situation before Bauhinia was back on her.

However, Bauhinia’s quick movement saved her. Just before Vanilee went to scream, Bauhinia cut off her vocals to make it impossible. And it’s not like she could’ve done much to stop the scratching, she needed both hands and all of her weight to put pressure on Vanilee’s neck.

Anyway, you think you’ll stop now. You’re beginning to struggle again.

All that matters is that it’s one less career in the arena, one more rung up the ladder. Gloss and Enobaria both have one tribute left before they’re sent home, which is actually pretty good news. It’s only been five years, but that’s ten tributes dead from District Four. Annie and Marsh can turn the tide, create a new era for Four in this decade. 

Gloss is sat back now too, his hands resting on his thighs. Cecelia is digging her thumb nail into her other palm, clearly worried over Bauhinia. The clock is ticking down for Bauhinia, she got a headstart away from the remaining two careers, but now she’s started a real hunt for herself. The careers will either give up, or work themselves to the bone for revenge. And they never let anyone off easy.

Sanguin slows down when she sees a body, she doesn’t stop until she’s standing over Vanilee. Her sword was originally raised, now it’s tip-down into the grass. She sighs heavily, “Motherfucker.”

Geare appears behind her a couple of seconds later, paling immensely when he sees what used to be his district mate. He freezes in place, Sanguin shakes her head, points the tip of the sword at Vanilee’s throat, “She was strangled.” and then looks up to the woods around her, “Whoever did it has to be nearby.”

“Not if they ran.” Geare manages.

“Then we fucking chase them.”

Gloss breaks the silence between you guys, “Sanguin is an excellent tracker. All she has to do is find Bauhinia’s trail.”

Spells for even more trouble, more than just for Bauhinia. Annie and Marsh have been walking the same path everyday for five days. By now, they’ve stomped their schedule into the grass and dirt. If the careers were to just barely run across their shack, all they’d have to do is follow your tributes’ path to their snares. After that, their field of snares is gone for.

You let out a breath, running a hand through your hair before sinking a bit. 

“The careers won’t wander upstream.” Finnick murmurs.

“They will if Bauhinia leads them up.” you whisper back, “You think that they’ll head back down?”

“If they’re smart they’ll leave the woods after they find her.”

“Fat chance, the careers are hound dogs. They caught the scent of one tribute, they’re going to be bloodthirsty for more.” you close your eyes, “I think it’s time for another sponsor gift.”

“The gamemakers will get suspicious. You’ve said so yourself a long ass time ago.”

He’s right. Annie and Marsh aren’t hurt or starving, sending another gift out of the blue would turn heads. Either you start hoping that one of them gets injured badly enough to need something other than healing cream, or you just have to let fate have her way with the arena. Which is hard to do, considering all the other times she’s screwed you over.

“This is their games.” Finnick reminds you, “Not ours. We’re in no control here.”

“I just want to help.” you say.

“I know. We just have to wait.”

Even though Gloss didn’t directly predict it, Sanguin goes around looking for a path to follow and finds the way that Bauhinia had run, “Grab her kama, let’s go.” she says, and then starts walking down the path.

Geare lets out a shaky breath at first, uttering out an apology. He takes the weapon and heads off after his only ally. It’s only slightly funny how Vanilee was the one acting a buffer between them, and now they’re having to work together. They start off walking, but end up jogging the longer they go on.

“I will not lose them.” Sanguin snarls.

Bauhinia isn’t running anymore, there’s sweat running down her face, she wipes her forehead to get the sweat from going into her eyes, and ends up smearing blood. She’s near the top of the hill, you can see the dam through the trees. She’s going to corner herself, there’s no doubt about it.

If she’s not careful, you think she could actually end up running the careers straight into the Seven tributes. It’s unlikely, you think. But if she runs along the dam, maybe a little downwards, it’ll bring her to their huts. They’re not at them right now, you don’t think. They do have to come back eventually, though.

Bauhinia huffs, sucks in air through her nose heavily. She winces when she stretches the skin in her neck and face, gently pressing her hand to the marks as if it’ll magically relieve the pain. She closes her eyes, takes another deep breath, and then takes off running again, not heading uphill, off to the right side.

Oh, that’s not good. 

“She’s going to lead them to Annie and Marsh.”

“You don’t know that.” Finnick says, but he’s lifted his head.

“She leads them to the stream, all they’d have to do is head half a mile down and they’re at the shack. They take up home there, and District Four is fucked.”

“She’s bringing them into uncharted territory. The careers are going to be more apprehensive--”

And all at once, you, Gloss and Enobaria answer the same way; “No, they’re not.”

On any other day, the unison would be funny. But Enobaria just lost a tribute, Gloss is worried about Sanguin heading in recklessly without thinking first, and Cecelia might lose her second tribute. The stakes have definitely risen today.

The chase continues for hours. You watch as people come and go out of the betting room, all wary about leaving when something so important is happening. None of you move from the couch area, except to stretch your legs if they fall asleep. Finnick dozes on and off, waking on his own every now and then.

Bauhinia is running them in circles at this point, zig-zagging. She ran towards the stream for a little while before heading straight down the hill, then decided that was an easy way to catch her, so she took a sharp right to head back to where she killed Vanilee. The body has been collected already, it was collected as soon as they had all cleared out of the space.

Annie and Marsh have just now started their way back, thankfully. It’ll be sundown in two to three hours, which will then give Bauhinia better cover. Gloss said that it’s going to be shitty to try and track in the dark. It’ll definitely slow Sanguin and Geare down, and by then Bauhinia will be long gone.

“It won’t last that long, though.” Gloss said, “Bauhinia’s getting tired. Sanguin and Geare have been forced to work hard like this for hours. It’s only a matter of time.”

He was only saying what all of you were thinking.

Finnick goes from his head resting on the back of the couch, to placing it on your shoulder. You reach up and behind to rub his hair slightly, “You’re going to have a kink in your neck if you keep this up.”

“I’m literally exhausted.”

“Then go up to your room, you’re going to be miserable tonight.” you say, he hums.

“You think Annie and Marsh will be fine?”

“I can take care of them, if not.”

He sighs, “Okay.” Finnick gets up from the couch, yawning loudly and stretching his arms above his head. He gives one last look to the screen before looking at the others, “Good luck.”

“See you later, Finnick.” Gloss nods. Enobaria waves, Cecelia thanks him for his company.

Just before he goes, he leans on the arm of the couch, staring down at you, “I might sleep through dinner.”

“I’ll go and get you, don’t worry about it.” you smile, “Go sleep.”

“Thanks.”

He leaves, and as soon as he’s through the door, Enobaria snorts slightly. You and Gloss look at her, “There’s totally a thing between you two.”

“Okay, fuck off.” you wave your hand, “You have other things to be worrying about.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” Enobaria’s amused.

You raise your eyebrows tauntingly, “My tributes are going to kick Geare’s ass.”

“Ha!” Enobaria laughs, “He scored a ten!”

“And Sanguin scored a nine, yet your little boy in there’s a sheep.”

“Oh, that’s got to burn.” Gloss smiles, Enobaria socks his upper arm, barely earning a look of pain out of him.

Half an hour later, Bauhinia’s running on fumes. She’s inhaled all of her water by now and sweated it out. Every step she takes, she grimaces as if she’s got scabs on the back of her feet. It’s probably her calves burning from all the exertion. She’s completely out of breath, her face an underlying red color.

Bauhinia slowly comes to a stop, walking a little off to the side by a giant tree. She leans against it for a moment, you can imagine how awful she’s feeling at the moment. She lets go of the tree for only a moment, sways, and collapses in the grass, struggling to breathe. In a little less than two minutes, she’s hyperventilating, and it’s not exactly quiet.

Game over.

Sanguin and Geare are close behind her, both experiencing their own unique versions of exhaustion. Geare complains at least once every twenty minutes, while Sanguin just continuously hydrates, pauses, and keeps going. She might have scored a nine, but she’s got the determination of an eleven. Sanguin’s a fucking trooper.

There’s no way that Bauhinia is getting up from her spot in the grass. She has half the mind to clutch onto her knife though, knuckles a pale color from her hard she’s gripping it. It’s only ten minutes later when Sanguin and Geare are almost on top of her. Bauhinia falls silent, eyes slowly moving to where she had stopped running.

“Fucking hell.” Geare says, his voice is quiet, getting louder as they come to the spot, “Can’t fucking believe this.”

“It’s impressive.” Sanguin admits, “But they’re stupid. They could’ve at least tried to hide themselves. It’s like they didn’t even care.”

Bauhinia moves the knife around in her hand, Sanguin uses the sword to poke around at their surroundings, “I’m not seeing a path.”

“Which means?” Geare asks.

“Either they scrambled up a tree, or they’re right here.” Sanguin turns, looking at her ally, “Don’t kill them.”

“Yeah, I don’t plan on it. Not after all of this.” Geare says, they split, going two ways.

Bauhinia slips out of her backpack straps, which is smart. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach starting to arise, though. You know exactly what she’s planning, and she’s not going to get very far. She’s not the only one that can ditch a backpack and go running. 

Bauhinia tucks her knife in the leather belt, turns over onto her knees, watching through the bushes for the perfect moment to run. Geare has backtracked slightly, wanting to be thorough, just in case Bauhinia didn’t drop off there, and created a second, more invisible path. Sanguin turns her back.

You’ll give Bauhinia some credit, because not only is she arrogantly stupid, she’s also resiliant. One second, she’s standing over her black backpack, the next she’s twenty feet away from the careers already. All she had to do was quietly sneak away, but with the way she’s whipped through the bush leaves, she’s caught their attention.

“It’s a girl!” Sanguin shouts, shedding her backpack, “Give me the kama!”

Geare’s ripped it off of the backpack, completely destroying the strap that was holding it in place. Sanguin must run track in high school, because she moves through the trees like she’s running on solid ground. She doesn’t look where she’s stepping, just keeps her eyes on Bauhinia, tracking her every movement. Bauhinia moves upwards, Sanguin pushes for a diagonal path. There’s no getting out of this one.

At least Bauhinia’s running on adrenaline, otherwise you’re sure she would be some form of a corpse by now. You can’t imagine that all of this running is good on her heart. Especially when she’s probably not used to running for long periods of time.

Sanguin gets right up on her, but she knows that she won’t catch her exactly. It was smart of her to ditch her sword, since that’s heavier that shit. But it raises the question of the kama, because there’s no way she’ll know how to wield it… right?

Wrong.

Sanguin comes to a full halt, nearly throwing herself forward from how hard she stops. She draws her arm back quick enough to be a blur, and then whips it forward, the kama disappearing from her fingers. Sanguin is strong, because that fucking weapon flies through the air at twenty-five miles an hour at least. The curved blade goes right through Bauhinia’s back, sending her sprawling into the trees.

Sanguin is breathing heavily, continuing up the hill to her prey. It’s the same predatory look in her eyes that you saw in Lennox’s. The desire for sweet revenge, or the sadistic mindset of murder for enjoyment. No one who volunteers for the Hunger Games is in their right minds. You’re surprised that the districts don’t require them to go to therapy after shit like this.

Bauhinia is sobbing into the dirt, hands balled into fists. Blood has seeped through her shirt where the kama has stabbed her. Only a couple seconds later, Geare is coming up behind them both. Sanguin isn’t concerned, doesn’t even look to check. Instead, she leans down and grabs the handle of the kama, and without a single hint of remorse, yanks the weapon out of her back.

You cringe, a gag rising in your throat at how much blood comes gushing out. Bauhinia’s scream of agony is nightmare-inducing, making goosebumps raise on your arms and a chill go down your back. Forget watching her strangle Vanilee to death. This is worse. Much, much worse.

Sanguin’s covered in rich colored blood, little specks across her face like freckles. The kama is quite literally dripping in Bauhinia’s blood, landing in droplets in the dirt, grass and weeds. Bauhinia’s scream-sobbing, her back is a giant open wound, you think you can even see her spine. How the fuck is she still alive?

“Oh my god.” you breathe, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead. You feel hot, and your mouth is watering more than usual.

The Capitol finds entertainment in moments like these, and even worse, tributes like Sanguin long for murders that keep everyone on their toes. Cecelia lets out a shaky breath, sniffs, and then stands, “I can’t do it.”

“Cecelia, I’m sorry.” Gloss says.

“I’ll see you next year.” is all she says, and then she’s gone too.

A giant puddle is forming beneath Bauhinia, the stench of metal and dirt has to be strong enough to bring tears to your eyes. You remember when you cracked a head open, and immediately puked after. It’s the same thing, only yours being slightly worse.

“You’ve trained a fucking psychopath.” you get up from the couch to have something to do to take your mind off of the rising vomit in your throat.

“Yeah…” Gloss’ voice is distant.

It’s hard to watch the rest of what happens to Bauhinia. Like promised, Sanguin doesn’t let her get off easy. Bauhinia should be dead already, and yet the hits just keep coming. Sanguin’s so ruthless that Geare doesn’t even feel the need to step in, leaning against the tree with a dead-straight face, arms crossed.

Sometimes Bauhinia is able to grasp a few words, always a plea for Sanguin to stop. Otherwise, she’s gurgling blood when Sanguin hits harder. Just this morning, Sanguin’s odds had already boosted from a 4-1 to 3-1, but now they’re 1-1, Geare is 2-1. And your tributes are fucked if they ever run across these two.

By the time Bauhinia does finally die, it’s almost an hour later, Sanguin and Geare weren’t even done with what they wanted to do. They pick up their shit, and on the way out, Geare lands a particularly hard kick to the side of Bauhinia’s head. They don’t look back when they walk away.

The show is over. They grab Bauhinia’s backpack at where she’d collapsed and set up camp right there. Sanguin grumbles about how Bauhinia probably stole the backpack from the cornucopia a while ago. They raid it, toss the remaining stuff into the bushes, and start a fire. They have enough water to drink and take their time to catch their breath. But they’re not planning on doing anything else today. They’re at least a mile away from the stream, as far as you can tell. 

Annie and Marsh are almost back at the shack. They’ve already eaten their dinner on the way, from what you remember. And if they’re hungry later tonight, they agreed to just eat it cold. They don’t want to take any chances when it comes to being caught at their homebase. You appreciate the both of them.

Five boy, who was on the left side of the arena, has now migrated almost all the way to the right side of the arena. The gamemakers were all so caught up in showing the chase for hours that they weren’t able to show what the others were up to. The boy moving from one end to another is actually pretty impressive, but you’re starting to worry. The right side is becoming crowded.

Your two tributes, the two careers, and now Five boy. District Seven is three miles away at most, the only person who’s on the other side is Nine girl. There’s eight people left in the arena, and more than half are too close to your tributes for comfort.

The evening goes too quickly for your liking, you just spent hours feeling nauseous for Cecelia, and now that it’s over it’s almost forgotten completely. Annie takes watch in the shack tonight, Marsh falls asleep next to the wall, one arm bent above his head, the other resting on his stomach.

Five boy travels for a little while longer before making his home. He picks leaves off of bushes and chews them while making a bed of grass comfortable enough to sleep on. Nine girl looks like she’s found herself a hiding spot under a rock that’s behind a fallen log. The log is a home to bugs, so you’re not entirely sure if it’s a good spot to stay for the night or not. And District Seven is comfortable in their huts near the middle-top of the arena. 

With the sun setting already, and the betting room mostly cleared out, you feel comfortable enough to get up and try to eat dinner. You’re not exactly hungry, especially not after all that you’ve just watched, but you know that you don’t want to be ordering food in your room in the middle of the night. Or gorging yourself in the morning.

“I probably won’t come back down here. I don’t think another fight’s going to break out tonight.” you briefly twirl a strand of hair around your finger before letting it go.

Gloss gives you a hug, bidding you a good night. Enobaria says the same, you wish her good luck when it comes to breaking the news to Wade. She rolls her eyes, “He’s going to be dramatic about it, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be awful. The real fun here is going to be telling Cashmere what Sanguin did.”

You both look to Gloss, “Yeah, she’s not going to be thrilled. You think the gamemakers will kill her?”

“If she starts licking blood off of her fingers, definitely.” you say, which earns a laugh out of your friends.

The second you step out of the betting room, you start feeling better. It’s fresh air from what you’ve been breathing for the past hour. While the hallway smells like stale concrete, it’s also more moist than it is inside, but not moldy. The inside of the betting room is dry, mostly because of the fact that it’s underneath the glass ceiling. If you were to describe it; dirt, sunlight, and dust. And if it’s particularly hot: sweat.

You don’t head straight up, opting for a few minutes to yourself before you ultimately have to explain what happened in the arena to Finnick. You’re sure that you won’t have to get into the gorey details, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t know the severity of it. Every couple of years, tributes like Sanguin come around, and it’s always a bloody ending. They always get stuck with some title like ‘Ruthless’ and take pride when other mentors steer clear.

Sometimes, you hear people debating whether or not you fall under that topic. And honestly, sometimes it’s hard for you to know, yourself.

You take the elevator up to the Four floor, holding onto the railing. You’ve seen more than your fair share of gorey moments inside and outside of the arena by now. At this point, you’re sure that you’re being tested to see how far you can be pushed before you snap. The truth is that you have an immeasurable amount of patience. It’s going to take a while.

The moment you get upstairs, you go ahead and turn the tv on and wait. Finnick had only come up here a little while ago, it wouldn‘t hurt to give him some more time before he’s subjected to a boring night. He can always just sleep down there, of course. But it’s more comfortable to sleep in your own bed, even if it’s just for a little while.

You take a seat on the couch, untie your shoes, and watch Annie. She’s talking to Marsh at the moment, mostly speculation on who died. Two tributes is a lot, considering all that’s happened. It isn’t until the anthem comes on, do they realize that they can just look into the sky and see who it was for themselves.

They both slip out just in time to see that Vanilee is one of the dead tributes from today. Annie grins slightly, elbowing Marsh. He elbows her right back, looking just as happy. And with Bauhinia showing up next, they head inside right after. 

“Two careers.” Marsh whispers, “We ought to take them on ourselves.”

“Us and what army?” Annie asks.

They’re both quiet for a couple of minutes, until Marsh speaks again, “I think we could do it.”

“It’s a risk.”

“The entire Hunger Games is a risk. We knew that and volunteered anyway. What’s the harm in a little more?”

Annie doesn’t answer him, he drifts off to sleep. The truth is that if you’re not ready to go at it with a whole heart, you shouldn’t go into it at all. Annie is conflicted, you hope she doesn’t buckle just because Marsh is applying pressure. All it takes is one moment of hesitance with the careers now, and your tributes are screwed.

Still, you sit and watch for an hour or so longer, as the tributes settle into their spots. The moment that Sanguin says that she doesn’t want to take watch tonight, you’re at ease. You pick up your shoes by the back, and head up towards your room, right after telling the avoxes that you’ll be out to eat in a moment. 

You drop your shoes off in your room. On your way over to wake up Finnick, you can hear the door close. It’s Elysia, dressed in sunshine yellow and pink. She gives you a slight wave before sitting down at the table. You continue on your adventure to Finnick’s room, gently knocking on the door before you open it.

Finnick is passed out on the bed, anyway. You stand there for a moment, hesitating on whether or not you should actually wake him up. You think that you’re just fine to keep going in the betting room for a while longer. If you take it easy after dinner, you should have loads of more hours in you. And you’ll actually get to see Cashmere and Wade for the first time in a couple of days. 

However, it doesn’t work out like that. You go to turn and leave, but Finnick inhales sharply and sits upright on his bed, “Fucking Christ, you scared me.” He lets out a small laugh, and rubs his face, “That’s one way to wake me up.”

“Through your sixth sense?” You joke, Finnick snorts.

“Something like that.” He looks at you, “Anything wrong?”

“Just dinner time. And I should probably catch you up on what happened after you left. Get dressed, Elysia’s out here.” You flick on his lightswitch, since the room has grown dark without any natural light, and then you leave.

Elysia is at the table, food displayed all across it. She helps herself, giving herself small portions. Knowing her, she’s planning on trying everything at least once to try and not seem rude. You take your regular spot, and start out pretty light, not wanting to push yourself. You don’t know how much you’re going to be able to tolerate.

Finnick comes out a couple of moments later, wearing jeans and a black shirt. He sits beside you, but stares at the tv for a while, probably trying to figure out what happened exactly.

“Today was… eventful.” Elysia says, there’s a hint of distaste in her voice. You’re so glad that you got stuck with an escort that’s some form of sane. If you had one of those Capitol people that act like your former prep team when something bad happens, you would’ve murdered her by now. It makes for hard conversation when you’re at opposing sides. 

“Finnick missed it.” You tell her, “Do you think there’ll be a recap of it?”

“Do you want to watch the recap?” She asks, face twisting, “Does he?”

You both barely glance at Finnick, who’s not very entertained by all the vagueness. It doesn’t even cross your mind that Elysia might be right and he wouldn’t want to watch someone literally get their back ripped out. You’ve seen the shit that Finnick has done, or watched when he was bored.

“Finnick’s got an iron stomach. Your back is to the tele anyway, you should be fine as long as you don’t turn around.” And you should be fine if you don’t watch the particularly bad parts. In the end, Elysia helps you rewind to when Bauhinia collapses in the bushes.

“This happened thirty minutes after you left.” You say, deciding that you should eat while you can.

Finnick doesn’t seem bothered at first, watching as the careers come around and start looking for her. It’s only their natural instinct, and it’s the same thing for when Bauhinia pushes herself to her feet. Finnick does react when he realizes that she’s going to run.

“Wow.” He says, pulling apart a honey roll, eating it in bits.

“It gets worse.” You say.

Elysia barely glances over her shoulder, apprehensive, “Much, much worse.”

Bauhinia runs, Finnick exhales. Sanguin shouts, collects the kama, and leaves Geare in the dust. He’s moving behind her, but not as quickly.

“She’s fast.” Finnick sounds impressed, “And so is Bauhinia.”

“Not fast enough.” You find your fingers twisting the ring, anxious.

Sanguin catches up, and the moment she comes to that quick stop, you hold your breath. The kama flies through the air, lodging into Bauhinia. Finnick tilts his head. The room falls silent, Elysia finishes her meal just in time for Sanguin to reach Bauhinia. 

You turn your head away, but you’re still stuck with the sound of squelching and blood-curdling screaming. Finnick’s face twists, eyebrows pushing in, “How did Cecelia take it?”

“Left before this happened. Gloss tried to apologize, but she said she’d see us next year.”

“Probably not.” Finnick shakes his head, “And this went on for how long?l

Elysia turns the tv off, “Practically an hour.”

You two go back to eating, Elysia’s space is cleared. “Anything else happen?”

“Nine girl got a backpack this afternoon, just before I went down to see you. Her pick of the litter since the careers were absent from the cornucopia. Five boy is almost on the right side.”

Finnick chokes, “Already? When did he start heading that way?”

“Sometime during the great chase, the gamemakers showed all the tributes after the fact. Also, Marsh has proposed the idea of him and Annie going after the careers since they’re down a tribute. Annie doesn’t think it’s a great idea.”

“That’s because Annie has some common sense.”

“Yeah.” You agree.

Elysia stays out with you guys just long enough to pass on a few messages from Laurel and Pleurisy. It’s not anything important, just meaningless facts about their progress, they want to know your opinions on if your tributes still have a chance. Your answer is yes.

She goes to her room, Finnick finishes eating. You tell him that he can probably sleep for a while longer without having to go downstairs. You got confirmation from the careers that they weren’t going to try and go night hunting after what they’ve been through today.

“What're you going to do in your free time?” Finnick asks, you shrug and jab your thumb down the hall.

“Go outside and try not to puke.”

“Did it know you were so squeamish.” There’s a cheeky smile on his face.

You give him a look, and then disappear down the dark hallway. Your fingers find the doorknob, twisting it. The summer air is surprisingly cold, but surely refreshing. You take in a deep breath, and feel like an idiot almost immediately after. It’s air.

Finnick comes out right behind you, shutting the door. The city is calm, no one is in the streets celebrating an exciting day. You lean against the railing and take in deep breaths of air. It wasn’t a good idea to rewatch the recap, you’ve decided this now. Even if you weren't watching it directly, you still heard it all.

“Annie and Marsh are going to be okay.” Finnick says.”

“I think so too, as long as they don’t go running towards the careers. That’s a fight I don’t want to watch them lose. If you thought Sanguin on Bauhinia was bad, imagine what she’ll do to Annie.” You look at Finnick.

He hadn’t considered that, you can tell by the look on his face. He sighs, which turns into a yawn, “Well, Annie Can take care of herself.”

“Hopefully.”

“There’s no hoping, she can take care of herself.” Finnick pauses for a moment, “Imagine having Annie or Marsh in Victor’s Village. One of them could be our new neighbor.” 

You snort, smiling, “Talk about a nightmare. My house already hosts practically everyone during the dinners, adding Annie’s family on top of that means we’ll have to get a bigger table. Or worse, build one ourselves.”

“Reed is handy!” Finnick laughs.

“He’s not handy, and neither is Mox.” You shake your head, the ide app either of them attempting to build a table is stupid. You’ll just have to find some sort of carpenter and hope that the dining room is big enough.

“How many people do you normally have over?” Finnick asks.

“Think you have a table?” You joke.

“Maybe.” He grins, “I’m just curious, honestly. Last time I went to one of your dinners, I was sixteen.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my entire family, which is four. And Caspian’s family, which is seven.” Finnick laughs, you chuckle slightly, “Sometimes Mayor Burrula and his family, which is four. Definitely Anchor…” you trail off, counting, “Sixteen people, give or take.”

“You’ll invite Anchor but not Mags?”

“Oh! I forgot Mags. She comes to our dinners every night, though. Guess I should count her as family at this point.”

“Anchor isn’t?”

You look at Finnick again to see that his eyebrows are raised, “Still curiosity?”

He shrugs, “Are you still dating?”

“No, not anymore.” you follow a car until it turns a corner, “We were only together for a couple of months… last christmas through August.”

“Huh, felt like longer.”

You give him a look, “How’d you even know?”

“I pay attention. Why’d you break up?”

You hum, “Well, for starters, he’s like five or six years older than me. He’s worked through all of his problems, and I’m not even done yet.” you pick at your nails, “He didn’t like seeing me stressed out all the time, either. He was there for me when I needed him but he thought that I was dragging him around like a weight.” you look back at Finnick, “Partially your fault, mostly mine because I don’t know how to chill out apparently.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Finnick says.

You make a face, and then punch his arm as hard as you can. Finnick’s still rubbing the spot when you go back to where you were standing before, “Anyway, asshole. Him and I still hang out when we can. I take care of Mags, he takes care of Luther.” you snort, “You and Scotch have something in common, can you guess what it is?”

“Fuck you.” Finnick’s laughing, “I’ve done my part this year!”

“After I nearly killed you three times.” you run a hand through your hair, getting it out of your face, “But yeah, Anchor and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Seeing someone else?”

You look at him, “Are you?”

Finnick shakes his head, “No, not yet.”

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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[when-they-write-stuff]

Quick ficlet that is dedicated to @foreverthemomfriend because she mentioned a prompt that got into my head and refused to leave.

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: Sterek

Warnings: Slight violence, not graphic.

Summary: Prompt here

The thing is, Derek knew his soulmate was an idiot.

Laura told him to stop grumping and just be happy that he had a soulmate, but Derek begged to disagree. Because his soulmate was a literal idiot and Derek couldn’t put into words how often he felt like he was covered in bruises, or scratches, or other miscellaneous injures.

He was a werewolf. He wasn’t supposed to wake up in the morning and feel like he’d been hit by a truck. It was clear his soulmate was a disregardful spaz because he was always wounded and in return, Derek was always feeling it. 

And he was so done with everything years before they’d even met.

Derek decided he could go his entire life without ever meeting his soulmate. He— she— they— them— whatever, sucked. Derek woke up one morning with what could only be a black eye and he knew he’d gone to bed perfectly fine. Which means his soulmate was doing stupid things.

Again.

Laura thought it was hilarious. And sometimes… sometimes, Derek was okay with that. Because she didn’t find many things hilarious since the fire.

But then again, his face hurt. And it was all his soulmate’s fault.

“Clearly, they’re going to get themselves killed before we even meet,” Derek said in a growl, as Laura touched a cool cloth against his left eye; which felt far more painful than it looked. “And then I won’t be able to kill them myself for putting me through so much pain.”

“You’re acting like a baby, Der.”

“I’m a werewolf,” he growled, not caring how babyish that sounded. “I’m not supposed to be healing at the rate of a stupid human. I’m not supposed to be hurting at all.”

“I think it’s kind of cute,” Laura said teasingly. “You falling for a little human.”

Derek was quiet at that, hit with a sudden onslaught of grief. Because he didn’t think it was cute at all. He’d fallen in love with a ‘little human’ before and it hadn’t ended well. It never ended well.

He pulled away from Laura’s gentle touch and stalked into his bedroom. Closing and locking the door behind him, Derek glared at the opposite wall for a long second and tried not to think about her words. Tried not to rest on the fact that yes, he’d thought he’d fallen in love with a ‘little human’ before. 

When Paige had sore fingers from practicing cello all day and Derek could’ve sworn he did too. When Kate showed him the callouses on her hands and Derek thought he had ones that were similar. But it’d all been a lie.

Growling, Derek clenched his fist and drove it into the wall. 

And over in Beacon Hills, Stiles felt the first shot of pain from his soulmate that he had since he’d been twelve years old. 

-

Because see, Stiles had felt something once. His dad had been called away to take care of a fire and Stiles felt such pain, that it didn’t even feel like an injury. It felt like a broken heart. It felt like a torn soul.

He’d stayed under his covers all night whimpering. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t make it go away. He stayed curled up in a ball all night trying to just breathe.

And by morning, he was able to move again. He stopped feeling like he was on the verge of tears. Later that day, his dad said there’d been a fire in the preserve. 

Stiles didn’t see the connection.

- 

The thing is, Derek was oblivious. Stiles was an idiot. And long after Derek Hale returned to Beacon Hills and Stiles Stilinski developed a crush, neither of them actually realized… things. Which really should have been expected.

Derek realized it first.

He felt it like an assault when they were trying to track down Jackson as the kanima. Hit by both surprise and sudden pain, he dropped to his knees and brought a hand to his face, gasping in pain. He could feel a blow, then another. He felt like his lip had been split and then like someone had kicked him in the ribs.

Among the chaos, the conflict, and the fighting, Derek wasn’t sure anyone else noticed. He didn’t stop feeling the throbbing or the onslaught of pain until he was aware of Scott catching him by the neck and dragging him toward a waiting Gerard.

Then the rest of the night was a bit of a blur. 

Derek wanted— he wanted— he didn’t know what he wanted. He needed to be somewhere far away. Away from the feeling of blood on his lower lip, the taste of Gerard in his mouth, or the feeling of Jackson’s flesh underneath his nails.

But then Stiles showed up. Stiles, with a split lip, bruised face, and black eye. And Derek realized that no matter where he went or how far away he got, he’d never escape.

Stiles’s tongue darted out to trace the cut on his lower lip. Derek felt his own sting.

He turned away from the boy and didn’t look back.

-

It took Stiles a little longer.

He didn’t even linger on his possible soulmate until one day during school, when Stiles was doing his best to stay awake during one of Harris’s lectures. The last thing he needed was another detention, even though he felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

At one moment, he was blinking tiredly at Harris’s powerpoint. During the next, he felt himself drifting off. And then all he knew was pain.

It felt like someone had stabbed him straight through the back. Stiles convulsed and slipped out of his seat, hitting the floor hard. But he didn’t even feel the pain of that, too wrapped up in the waves of agony that crashed over him. He heard the sound of startled shouts, felt Scott scrambling toward him and taking his arm, leeching some of the pain away. But then the boy made a startled noise and yanked away, brown eyes wide.

“Stiles—”

Stiles barely heard him. He clawed at his chest, certain he’d feel blood or torn flesh, or something. But he was okay. He was intact.

His soulmate wasn’t.

“They’re dying,” Stiles said in a gasp, his throat tightening to a painful level. “Scott, I think they’re dying.”

“Who, Stiles? Who’s dying?”

But Stiles didn’t know. All he could do was writhe, feeling the foreign object twist in his chest from somewhere unseen. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard Harris bellowing something to those around him. Felt calloused hands on his shoulders, trying to drag him up. Stiles gasped and struggled, and tried to breathe.

And then the feeling was gone.

Like a breath of fresh air, the pain was gone, the burn was ebbing away, and Stiles dropped like a rock, pressing hard against the classroom floor. He gasped for breath, aware that his face was streaked with tears but not remembering when that happened.

All he could think was his soulmate was dead. There was no way someone survived that much pain and then walked away healed. Turning his face away from the classmates that stared, Stiles bit back a sob. Scott touched his arm again. This time, there were no black streaks. No pain to be taken. Nothing other than the hopelessness Stiles was feeling.

They didn’t talk about that day again.

-

Allison wasn’t Scott’s soulmate. When they first met and she shot him, she didn’t feel a thing. When Stiles was possessed by the Nogitsune and the Oni stabbed her, Scott said there was no pain.

She’d said the same thing. But in a different way.

- -

Derek felt the Nogitsune like a headache that never left. He couldn’t be around Stiles but all he wanted to do was stay close. To take care of him. To say everything was going to be alright.

Then Void threw him against the wall of his loft one day. Derek’s back cracked against the cornered stone and Void jerked in pain. Then his eyes snapped to Derek and a sick smile curled across his features. Derek felt like his world was crashing down around him.

But Void didn’t say a word.

And afterward, Stiles either didn’t remember or didn’t want to talk about it. Derek couldn’t be sure but he was too scared to press it. So instead, he stayed quiet.

Eventually, the nogitsune was killed. The pack retreated into themselves to mourn. And Derek never visited Stiles in the hospital.

Then Kate shot him in the chest. 

-

Stiles knew what he was running from.

He watched Derek struggle for breath with Braeden’s hand wrapped around his arm and knew that if he turned away, there wouldn’t be any coming back. There was blood trailing down Derek’s lip and a hole in his stomach. Stiles was leaning heavily against the jeep and he barely felt like he could move himself. And he didn’t want to.

But then shattered grey-green eyes met his own and Derek jerked his head with a faint ‘Save him’ leaving his lips and Stiles knew that if he turned away, there wouldn’t be any coming back.

He still turned away. He knew what he was running from.

Stiles only looked back once. 

- 

When Stiles arrived home four years later, he expected to see the grumpy-looking werewolf sitting on their couch that faced the door. The man had an open book in his lap but wasn’t paying it any attention and when he met Stiles’s gaze, he didn’t look happy.

Stiles still put on a bright smile. “Hey, Der! You, uh, waiting up for me?”

“Did you have a good day at work, Stiles?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said, forcing himself to stay cheery. “Just fantastic. You know, the little things.  Spilled some coffee on myself this morning and ended up drowning in paperwork sometime around noon. I missed lunch though. Got anything on the stove?”

Stiles tried to scoot around him and head for the kitchen, but Derek was there in an instant, cutting him off. Stiles sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and silently cursed, glancing up at the man’s narrowed eyes.

“So is that a ‘no’ on having something on stove? Because that’s fine. I can order in.”

“Paperwork and spilled coffee, Stiles? That’s all?”

“Um, yes?”

Derek’s eyes flicked to the bandages wrapping around Stiles’s shoulder and his face tightened a fraction. Stiles noticed with a pang of guilt the small ice pack that was bandaged to the man’s own shoulder. It looked like it’d melted hours ago. “So you weren’t shot in the shoulder earlier, then?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said, ducking his head. “I forgot about that.”

“You forgot?”

“I would have called,” Stiles joked weakly. “But I figured you already knew. And I really didn’t want to get yelled at.”

Derek’s face softened. Calloused fingers reached out and found Stiles’s own, and Stiles couldn’t stop a small sigh from leaving his lips as Derek threaded their fingers together and leaked away some of the pain. The werewolf leaned forward and touched his lips against Stiles’s forehead. “I was just worried about you.”

“I know,” Stiles said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“One of these days, you’re going to get shot when I’m doing something public. Like buying groceries. Or making conversation with the neighbors.”

“And today?”

Derek’s face tinted red, the color going all the way to the tips of his ears. Stiles tilted his head up and studied the man’s face before barking out a laugh.

“Oh my god, were you on the toilet again?”

“I was in the shower.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “Well, then it could’ve been worse.”

“I was so surprised I slipped and fell, Stiles.”

Stiles barked out a laugh, unable to stop himself. Derek growled lowly and Stiles chuckled, leaning forward to press a quick kiss against his lips. “Sorry. Let me make it up to you? I am starving.”

“There’s no food on the stove.”

“I was talking about something much more edible.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he hoisted Stiles up, throwing him over his— uninjured— shoulder. Stiles yelped and tried to struggle, only to go limp as they entered the bedroom. He was grinning when the man dropped him onto the bed and lifted his arm, stripping off his shirt. The look in Derek’s eyes was nothing other than predatory.

And maybe a little soft too. 

The man leaned forward and kissed him hard, before dragging his lips to the shell of Stiles’s ear. “I always knew you were an idiot, you know.”

Stiles shivered. Derek’s tone dropped an octave.

“Care to make all those years up to me?”

“Oh please,” Stiles managed to get out. “I’ve made it up to you plenty of times, big guy.”

Derek growled again. Stiles couldn’t help grinning as sharp teeth skated down his neck, nipping here and there, and then latched on above his collarbone. Derek smelled like pine and aftershave, and his lips were warm. His presence was heavy and it was warm.

When one finger slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, Stiles couldn’t help jerking. He slammed his hand up against the headboard and barked out in pain as one of his fingers popped. At the same time, Derek let out a startled grunt.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Stiles dissolved into a fit of giggles and Derek buried his face into Stiles’s shoulder, sighing heavily.

“Idiot.”

Stiles didn’t even try to argue with that.

#sterek #teen wolf #ficlet #when-she-writes-stuff talks #foreverthemomfriend #i tried not to write it #i really did #but my self control is in tatters #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fbi stiles #soulmate au

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 6 Travel: Day 1 Cross posted on Ao3 Rated Explicit

Summary:  The silence between them is louder than anything Percival has ever heard. It makes him uncomfortable and that discomfort causes him to ask every question he has for The Weeping Monk. Lancelot is uncomfortable answering Percival's questions but does so anyways. Gawain, well he's exhausted and stressed and full of anxiety.

+++Percival+++

By noon Percival complains that he needs to stretch. It isn’t so much that he needs to stretch as it is that the silence between the three of them is thicker than the air in the house when his parents fought. He wanders a way into the woods under the guise of stretching and listens to see if the other two will speak. They don't and it frustrates him to no end. The silence between them all is deafening. The sun is high in the sky and the air is stagnant. He makes his way back to the clearing they’ve stopped in and stands by Gawain who hands him a water skin and piece of bread and dried meat. He eats it slowly and eyes them both in the process. It’s uncanny. The two move in tandem without speaking. Gawain throws a water skin to Lancelot who catches it with a nod, drinks and throws it back. They should need to speak, being strangers and all. But it's like they can read each other's minds instead. Perhaps it's because they are both warriors? Either way it’s eerie and puts Squirrel on edge. Finally Gawain speaks, it's a short sentence directed to no one in particular. “We need to get back on the road.”

With little hesitation Lancelot mounts Goliath. The process is slower than it ought to be and Percival wonders how bad his ribs hurt, as he stands. He brushes his hands on his pants and approaches Gawain who is checking the tack on his own mare one more time.

“Can I ride with you awhile Green Knight?” “Yes.”

So he climbs up in front of Gawain and they set out. Lancelot rides slightly ahead to the right, he seems to curl in on himself a little. Though admittedly he doesn’t know what he looked like riding the last couple of times. Nothing good he imagines, being so close to death as he was. As they continue along the path he wonders if Gawain is purposefully falling behind to watch the monk. He doesn’t quite know what benefit it would give him, but he trusts the knight's judgment implicitly.

As the silence stretches his discomfort only grows. He can only sit still and watch their surroundings so long. He feels alone, even seated in front of the Green knight. And he does not want to be alone. He sucks in a deep breath and then he does what he does very well and blathers into the air. It's nothing important until it is. He doesn’t mean for the questions to start coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean for his anger and his uncertainty to come out, but it does. He can feel the weight on his shoulders start to sink into his stomach and he has to move. He starts by turning in his saddle enough to see Gawain out of the corner of his eyes and look at Lancelot completely.

"Where are we going? Do we know if it's the right place? How can you possibly know where we need to go?" He watches Gawain turn his head to look at Lancelot and then down at him.

"According to him,” a nod in Lancelot's general direction, “Nimue made a deal with Uther that involved our people sailing to some other land."

"Nimue would never! This is our home!"

"She did Percival. To save you." Lancelot rasps, lifting a hand to his side. His ribs were probably aching. Unlike Percivals own bruises, Lancelots had only just begun to really heal. “But I don’t understand. Where would we go?” “I don’t know where Uthers ships were to take the Fey. Only that they were supposed to take them from Beggars Coast.” Lancelot informs him, hand visibly pressing harder on his ribs. “Why are we heading south then? Isn't that west of us?” “Yes,” Gawain supplies behind him, chest rising and falling against his back. “We need to avoid the Paladin camps and that means being low enough not to pass through them.” “Alright then.” He settles some, leaning back against the man. They lapse into silence again. It eats at his insides, makes him squirm uncomfortably. The longer he sits in the tension stretching between them the more the pressure grows inside him. The anger that has simmered since their escape is now boiling at his surface. He can practically hear Gawain thinking behind him and he has no idea what is happening in the mind of the Monk. He fidgets and Gawain taps his arm startling him. “What is it Percival?” He prompts a voice gentle enough that it causes Percival to still. Unfortunately the question was all the spark to tinder and Percival erupted into an inferno of rage. “Why did you help them hunt down your own kind?” The venom in his words burns his throat on the way up, leaving a bitter spice on his tongue. When Lancelot does not immediately answer the rest of his questions join the first in the open air between them. It only serves to add fuel to the wildfire of his heart. Gawain does not stop him and he doesn’t know if he should be glad or angrier for it. “Why Did you use me as bait to track the other Fey down? Why couldn’t you just let us go? We never did anything to you, or to the bloody paladins. You're the reason my family is dead, and the reason The Green Knight died. Why did you Rescue me? Were you going to use me as bait again? I don’t understand you. I should hate you.” His voice breaks here fire turning to steam, and steam into tears as he tries not to cry in front of The Green Knight. “But I don’t and I don’t understand why I don’t. Tell me you’ve done good things? Tell me you aren't all evil to the core?” He swallows and breathes heavily. Gawain's arm tightens around him and he leans back into the embrace. His eyes never leave The Weeping Monks back and he hopes the man can feel them burning into his soul. Taking him apart seam by seam. The slump in the man's shoulders and the way he bows his head against the barrage of questions remind him of shame, and maybe the monk does feel that, maybe. But Percival is too irritated and wrathful to believe that; too angry to remember that he doesn’t know Lancelot's story or his motives. He wants answers and the monk's silence is not an answer. Perhaps it's an admission but he wants to hear Lancelot say that he did those things. Give some answer for them. “Give me an answer, damn it!” He commanded the monk, determination coloring his voice turning it hoarse and high. His nostrils flared and he heaved in deep breaths to try and calm himself down. “Let him formulate his words Percival.” Warned Gawain. Which only serves to enrage him further. How dare The Green Knight of all people protect The Weeping Monk. How dare he betray his people like that? How could he support the man who had killed so many of his own? It made Percival sick and further served to remind him of his own internal conflict. “What does that mean?” He sneers, voice harsh as he turns to side eye the man behind him. “I imagine that he is trying to figure out how to say it in a way that makes sense to an eleven year old.” Observed the knight, arm still tight around his shoulders. He wiggles until it comes free. He does not want to be touched by the man who he looks up to. Not right now, not while he tries to justify the Monk. “He can talk to me like I’m an adult. Gods know I've seen enough.” He disagrees bitterly. It's then that he notes that Lancelot has slowed enough to plod along beside them. He looks over at the hooded man and furrows his brows. He’s tired of waiting. “Look at me,” the demand startles them all, but he does not back down.

++++++LANCELOT+++++

How exactly is he supposed to answer the boy? He swallows down the bile in his throat and tries to think of any answer that might satisfy him. There isn’t one. Lancelot had killed hundreds of Fey, had been the one to lead armies to burn their villages and forests and collapse their caves. He had stood by and watched as men and women were strung up on crosses and burned alive. The echoes of their screams chasing him even in restless sleep. He stood by and watched as children were pulled from their mothers arms, the way he had been, and killed on the ends of swords, axes, and arrows. His life is painted in rivers of red, blood and flame and rage. There is no answer to give the boy but the truth. And the truth is wretched and disfigured. The truth is bitter and poison and damming and yet it is all he can offer. Percival was right, the Fey had done no wrong to Lancelot or to the church, save the inherent belief that by their mere existence they were demons born of the devil. People fear that which they do not know. That is why he himself had been feared. He was a killer, an assassin and the brothers didn't know him. They had simply feared him and shied away from him, save for when he gave the orders to burn. In that one moment they were united. United as murderers. It is no wonder he can not feel the grace of God when he cries out. He lets his shoulders slump and hangs his head. Maybe the boy will simply accept that there is no good answer and they can continue in silence. It is not. The boy demands an answer. An answer to some of the very same questions he remembers asking Carden and the other brothers when he was first taken from his homeland.Questions that had kept him up in the darkness of his cell, that rolled around in his mind like the echoes of his mothers voice. He knows that his responses will not satisfy Percival, just as Cardens had never truly satisfied him; but, he will dignify the boy with an answer nevertheless. He slows his horse to match Gawain's pace and stares straight ahead, hood falling over his face. It will be an agony he cannot bear if he is to look at the boy now. He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth before he finds the words and manages to speak. His voice is low and sounds like a wet stone on steel to his own ears, then again his head is throbbing still. “Killing Fey… it’s all I’ve known since I was younger than you are now. It’s what they trained me to do from the moment they took me from my home; tore me from my mothers arms.” Percivals voice is laced with disgust as he butts in.

“They trained you to be a murderer as a child? Didn’t you ever think it was wrong? When you got older?” Lancelot wishes he hadn’t obeyed the last command and made eye contact, the boy looks terrified and hurt and three kinds of enraged. “I did. Yes, especially at first. However as I got older it was harder to believe I had any other choice. When I refused to obey, or hesitated to spill blood, they would take my hands and make me do it anyway and beat me, after, until I couldn’t move for days. I was desperate to survive, so I did as I was told.” “That’s not an excuse! It doesn’t make it right!” Percival objected, though it sounded weaker than his previous sentiments. He hangs his head again, sombre and dejected and studies the horn on the goliath's saddle as though it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. It is several moments until he gathers his thoughts again. The smell on the air is bitter with anger and leaves him feeling more nauseous than the headache. He listens to the steady rhythm of the horses moving along the path, of the stream nearby and finally he can speak again. “I know. And neither was using you as bait. I… I am truly sorry for that. I hurt you in doing so.” “Then why did you do it?” The fire is gone from Percivals voice, and something closer to shock fills it. He pointedly does not look at Gawain though he can feel the man's gaze on him. He flushes slightly. Then, resuming his forward gaze, “ I chose to see you not a boy, but as a tool. I was given orders and I needed to obey them.” “What does that even mean?” Gawain intercedes on his behalf, voice like ice chilling him to the bone. “He saw you the way they saw him. Fletching on an arrow, a dog to chase foul, smoke to run out foxes.” “Yes.” He whispers in agreement,, nodding his head marginally and tensing his shoulders. “How did you see the people in my village?” The heartbreak in Percivals voice is enough to stop him answering. He does not wish the boy further pain, he won’t lie to him, but he can’t answer this. Not right now. Likely never. “I. I won’t answer that.”  Now he does meat Gawain's eyes. Not in challenge; but in supplication. “Do you regret it? The things you’ve done?” Gawain asks over Percivals protests. It's not a change in subject, a very uncomfortable subject, but it is a change of topic and for that he is grateful. He does not turn his eyes away from the hazel ones staring into his soul. He feels vulnerable beneath the other man's gaze and yet he cannot look away though he desperately wishes he could. “Yes…” he starts slowly, “I do. More and more with every passing day. I knew when I was young that it was wrong. At some point, it stopped being about right and wrong. It was about survival. I did what I believed necessary to stay alive. At some point though, being alive wasn’t the same as living. Looking back…. It would have been better to let them kill me. I wanted to believe in Fathers words. Some days that hope of salvation he offered was all that kept me from going mad.”  He lets his voice drift soft at the end. Finally he looks away from Gawain and raises a hand to pet Goliath's neck. Sucking in a shuddering breath he attempts to settle whatever emotion it is rising in his chest and causing his throat to ache. “But knowing it was wrong is why you chose to save me?” Percival speaks again in the simplistic, honest way of children. “In part.” he notices the expectant look on Percival's face from the corner of his eye. “It was the knowledge I already had, something Father said and didn’t do, and Gawain's words to me. It was as though some part of me shifted. I didn’t have a choice after that. I knew it was the right thing—The only thing, I could do.”

He casts his gaze from Goliath's neck back towards the road, hands shaking so much that he grips the reins tightly in an attempt to make them stop. The boy falls silent, face scrunched up in thought. Lips pursed and chin tucked to his chest. He doesn't ride forward, but remains at Gawain's side. It’s an invitation. Gawain may ask him questions if he likes. He doesn’t and Lancelot finds himself relaxing at the knowledge that his answers have sated his new companions for the time being. There is an edge in the silence prodding at him like his ribs every time he breathes. Still, even with the sting of it present the journey turns in a more amenable direction.

The sun is beginning to touch the tops of the trees. It would be prudent for them to settle in for the night. As though the knight riding beside him can read mind Gawain directs Percival to look out for a clearing to stop for the evening. It doesn't take them long to locate a spot off the road, near the stream. It's perfect, secluded enough not to be noticed, unless they let the fire burn, yet it maintains plenty of sight lines to the road. They work in silence, practiced in their own right, as they unpack their few belongings. Gawain tasks Percival with gathering firewood and filling the water skins. He trusts the boy to know if the water is good or not. When he has gone and Gawain has given the horses their grain, the knight turns to him.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” There is no malice, only deep rooted exhaustion and annoyance in his features. He nods his agreement and maintains the eye contact, waiting and not dismissive. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He notes softly. Gawain grimaces and pinches his nose, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” “Both of those points are still true.” He schools his features and forcibly does not smirk. It’s fun getting under Gawain's skin. He doesn’t mean to do it, but seeing the knight riled up turns his stomach pleasantly, so when it happens, as it will inevitably do, he pushes it just a touch. He’s good at reading people's limits, he had to be.

Gawain inhales sharply and Lancelot returns his focus. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” Gawain's voice is as unwavering as his eyes. They do not leave his face as the man stares him down, waiting for an answer. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Hazel's eyes linger on his face and his cheeks heat under the scrutiny. The Green Knight stares at him, more than he likes. Absently he wonders if it's his way of trying to understand him. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Supper is meager, but filling. Dried meat and some cheese. The fire is warm against his skin, and it is comforting. He watches as the flames orange tendril flick at the night air, coiling and unraveling. He admires the way the coal shines bright white. He forces his eyes away when an unwanted memory enters his mind. He stretches his neck and shoulders, wincing as it jostles his ribs, and focuses instead on the sounds around him instead of the smell of the fire, or the outline still visible through his eyelids. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” The reprimand is clear in The Green Knights voice. He shakes his head. He hadn’t because he deserved the burn in his lungs with each breath to remind him of those he allowed to burn alive, most notably the Moonwing tribe. He deserves the ache in his joints and muscles for all those he has knocked down and left bruised and bloody in his wake. The nausea to remind him of those who had watched their family die around them. If his pain could not cleans him then it could be a reminder of his past actions. A reminder of who he was and what he had done. It was an atonement, not an absolution. “You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. He doesn’t answer, just does what he knows they want him to do. He reaches for his bag and pulls out some of the bark. It's been ground finely like tobacco sometimes is so he can tuck it under his tongue or into his lip. It's more potent this way. He places a pinch under his tongue and instantly his mouth waters from the   burn. It is much more bitter this way than straight from the tree. Silently he settles himself into his own bedroll, cloak pulled securely around him. He falls asleep not long after listening to Gawain hum some ancient Fey song into the night. It's distant and all too familiar and pulls him right into the arms of sleep.

+++++GAWAIN++++

When he has finished sending Percival to gather firewood and water he turns his attention to the monk. He does not enjoy the prospect of him taking watch alone, nor can they avoid it.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.”  he attempts to keep his voice neutral and it seems to work as the monk turns towards him and makes eye contact. It doesn’t waver and that is a comfort to Gawain as much as it is prod to his pride. Lancelot should not feel capable of making  prolonged eye contact with him, they are not on the same level. He lets his eyes flicker over the other briefly as he crosses his arms and speaks. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He rubs a hand over his face and settles for pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand falling instinctively to the pommel of his sword. He thought the man whispered before because he was uncomfortable, but it was becoming clear that perhaps it was simply in his demeanor to be quiet and subdued. It’s irritating. It's not that The Weeping Monks voice is monotonous, but that it is soothing even if it is raspy and low. His voice is too soft for a murderer, for a paladin. They were loud and boisterous, not… this. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” He refrains from sighing, only just and straightens his shoulders instead. “Both of those points are still true.” There is a flash of emotion on The Monks face as he says the words, amusement almost. Gawain grinds his teeth and clenches his hand around the pommel of his sword, his other hand coming to rest at his side in a fist as he inhales sharply.   “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” He aims for stern and threatening and knows he has hit the mark as he watches The Monks face as he formulates his response. He notes the way his jaw goes slack and then tightens as he furrows his brows blue eyes raging as he comes to a decision. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.”  Gawain finds himself staring at blue eyes, and sculpted face longer than is appropriate or necessary. He forces himself not to react as pink rises across the other man's nose and cheeks. He narrows his eyes slightly and nods in acceptance. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Their supper is nothing special, left over dried meat that Bliant had insisted they take and some cheese. There is enough for one more day and then they will need to take time to hunt. They wouldn’t if they could travel at a faster rate, but he knows what it’s like to ride with broken ribs and bruised skin and doesn't push them. Beyond that Bliant had been firm in her reprimand that they were traveling too soon and The Monks injuries could still be threatening if they were not careful. He watches The Monk through the fire, he is like some cold unmoving wraith and when the flames cast flickering shadows across his hands and face he can't help but admire the way they highlight the curve of his back and throat as he stretches out his neck and shoulders. He frowns when he notices the way the man winces from the pain and wonders if he's used any of the willow bark they were sent with. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a reprimand and yet that’s exactly what his tone implies. He really shouldn’t care if the man has chosen to neglect himself, and yet he does. The orders from the Hidden echoing in his mind and weighing on his shoulders.

The Monk shakes his head and that's all the answer he gets.

“You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. A smile inches its way across his face. For all his anger earlier the boy still shows compassion and inadvertently trusts with his actions. It warms Gawain to know that even after everything the boy is not completely irreparably damaged. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. The sound of a rustling cloth draws his attention back from the boy and to the man across the fire. He watches with interest as he pulls out the little tin of ground bark and places a pinch beneath his tongue. He almost laughs when his eyes water and he swallows instinctively from the burn. Gawain knows the feeling like he knows the feel of his armor, or a blade in his hand. He thinks that perhaps The Monk does not and some distant part of him aches for that. It isn’t long before the Monk joins Percival in the act of sleep, curling his cloak around him and shifting more comfortably on his bedroll. Absently he hums an old lullaby of the Fey. He isn’t entirely certain why he does it, but it brings him comfort as he sits in the dark the flames of a dying fire his only company.

There is an energy brimming in him, aching to get out. He knows this energy, it’s familiar as it coils in his chest and squeezes his lungs. Anxiety. He has every reason to be anxious he thinks; for instance, his mind supplies, you died and now you're alive; not to mention The Monk asleep across the fire from him; or Squirrels mixed feelings of attraction and respect for the man; and The Hiddens orders to bring The Monk before Nimue and the Elders alive; nor the concern for his people taking a deal with Uther and leaving themselves vulnerable on the beaches, lastly the knowledge the Nimue may not even be with their people considering that very agreement. Who let her make such a decision? Did no one council her against it?  Of course not, fool, you weren’t there to be the stable one . They’re all just children. Why did I let her name herself queen? There had to have been a different way?

It didn’t matter now if there had been a different way or not. Not while he sat alone in the darkness, the embers of the fire the only source of light, dim against the void of the night. He sat, posture straight and proper as he had been taught as both boy and warrior. Tilting his head back, hair catching slightly in the bark of the tree he looked to the sky for answers. Where did he start? What did he start with, his emotions, the challenges, the people? It was all intertwined with no reprieve in sight. What was the most immediate source of discomfort? What was the most important issue at hand? What needed to be addressed first? Ultimately it was the ones that he was surrounded by currently. There would be nothing simple about sorting through his feelings about The Monk or determining the best course of action for helping to dissuade the boy from becoming more enamored by him. He wondered and wondered into the night about why the Hidden wanted The Monk alive. What could the man possibly do for the Hidden, for the Fey. His comment about the Fey using a warrior like him had been rooted in truth, he could certainly help change the tides of the war with his knowledge and skills with weaponry. But there must have been much more. Much much more. Right? He is a murderer, a kin killer. There is nothing about the man that says he should be redeemable. And yet that's what The Monk said it was that he seeks. He grimaces and suppresses a shudder as he recalls that he had offered the man forgiveness. Forgiveness of all things, for what, that he himself might feel better? Because he had hoped that the words would extinguish some of the hate in his heart? For the slim chance that he could be a good role model for Squirrel because the boy deserved people in his life that were good. Who weren't worn out by war and made ugly and deformed and broken by the things they have seen and the things that they have done.

Instead he had Gawain, broken and defeated by the consistency of war, turned bitter against the race of men. Gawain, who given the chance, would have stabbed The Monk in the back if it meant he could never kill again. Gawain who was loyal to his people, to a fault, and obedient beyond his own understanding to the Hidden. Nimue who was too busy to give him the attention he needed from some kind of motherly or sisterly persona. Nimue, made impulsive by the sword, violent even. Nimue with her boy troubles and love of manbloods. Nimue with too much worry over too many people for someone so young. Pym, barely a healer. The girl who wove nets who was never meant to be something more, but who always wanted to be. The girl who was too young to give wise counsel but tried nonetheless. The girl who sought to be useful and skilled but who was never important to anyone. The girl who deserved just as much and more than Percival himself. Arthur and Morgan man bloods who gave council. Good counsel at that, even if he did not wish to admit it. Kaze with the blood of a fierce warrior, and a taste for blood, but wise beside. Counselor of queens and battle hardened. And now, The Weeping Monk, harbinger of death and destruction, grey in ash and a parrot too. A man incapable of thinking for himself, content to live as a slave taking orders from his master even after he's been kicked like some kind of overtly loyal dog. He laughs bitterly, mirthlessly, the mist of night damp on his skin. What is he to do? To be? Why had the Hidden saved his life. It most certainly was not so he could be a mentor or a father to Squirrel, certainly it could not have been for the sake of the Monk. They could have chosen to tell anyone of the elders that he was not to be killed, instead they had resurrected him from the dead. He could have been done. This world no longer his responsibility. The Fey no longer his to protect or be concerned about. He should be dead, returned to the green where he should be able to rest for eternity. Instead, here he was, exhausted and cold, and so tightly wound that when the sound of a snapping twig reached his ears he found his feet in a fluid motion, sword drawn and at the ready. His eyes scanning the forest for signs of enemy and attack. Looking into the nighttide and saw nothing. Heart hammering rapidly in his chest he breathed deep and listened to darkness around him. No sounds followed the first. The tension does not leave his body. Slowly and carefully he makes his way around the perimeter of their camp stopping and listening occasionally. Satisfied that there is nothing nearby he returns to his location by the tree and settles in for a long night of waiting, wondering, worrying and overthinking.

#Fanfiction #Writing #Ao3 #Redemption My Love #Gawain and Lancelot #Gawain #The Green Knight #Lancelot #Lancelot the Weeping Monk #Squirrel #Percival #Cursed TV 2020 #Cursed Fanfiction #Lancewain #Enemies to allies to friends to lovers #Slowburn #Chapter 6

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 3

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 3: Tommy and Leah leave Midland and face uncertainty. 

Leah trembled as she walked into the room. Five of the girls were there including Bea. Tommy stood outside by the door, his back to the wall to let them have their privacy.

           Bea stood when she saw the conflicted look on her face. “What’s going on?” She demanded.

           Leah was still in tears. She was perched on the precipice of her life. She could stay there as a prostitute with a questionable future or see if she could find what Jonah hoped for her.

           “I’m leaving.” Her voice was thick as she stooped down to retrieve her coat and bag.

           Bea’s eyes flicked to the door. Tommy’s shoulder was visible, the hallway hazy from his cigarette. A flash of anger crossed her features and she stormed out to confront the man. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The woman snapped and jabbed at his chest with two fingers.

           Tommy could tell she was protective over Leah. And he recalled sleeping with her months earlier, but was probably drunk and remembered very little. “She’s free to make her own choices.” He replied calmly. He was accustomed to being on the receiving end of anger and hysteria.

           Bea’s eyes narrowed. “You fuckin’ Shelbys are demons.” She spat.

           Leah rushed out to diffuse yet another argument. She tugged at her friend’s arm. “He isn’t making me do anything, I’ve made up my own mind.”

           But Bea wasn’t having it. “You’re just movin’ onto the next, huh?” She shoved him. The man sighed and took the abuse. “Your wife was murdered ‘cause of you and now you want another victim to have on your arm? You just don’t fuckin’ care, do you? As long as they’re pretty, eh? Fuckin’ monster, you and your kin.”

           “Stop, please!” Leah begged. She didn’t want Bea suddenly having to deal with the Peaky Blinders. “Jonah didn’t want me doing this.” She tried to draw her attention away from Tommy. “He wanted something better for me.”

           She turned to her, green eyes filled with anxiety. “You don’t think I better for you and all the other girls?” Muffled sounds of sex could be heard down the hallway from them. “I want to see you thrive, Leah. But that man right there will get you killed.” Anger slipped back into her voice. “And as soon as you’re dead and buried, he’ll move onto the next.”

           Leah looked at Tommy. His face was hard to read and he didn’t interject to defend himself. But he wasn’t a monster, she couldn’t see that in him. He was simply damaged like her. “It’ll be okay.” She smiled weakly and touched her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

           “Lee…”

           She gave her friend a hug and drew away. Tommy offered an arm to her and Leah turned away from the other girls. There was a sense of guilt knowing she was leaving them behind in the same situation she was escaping from. But she couldn’t take them with her as much as she wanted to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           The car was waiting in front of the hotel still, but the rain had let up. Damp darkness hung over the city. Tommy opened the door for her and held a hand out as she stepped inside. The Bentley’s luxurious interior only reminded Leah of whom she was really dealing with.

           Tommy slid into the backseat beside her and told the driver the destination. They were both quiet as the car traveled down the lamp-lined roads of London. Eventually, they arrived in a nicer area of London. The streets were quieter and the houses appeared well maintained.

           “Where are we?” Leah asked quietly, not familiar with the location.

           “My sister Ada’s,” Tommy answered. “You can stay here for the night. I’ll back ‘round tomorrow to talk. I want to give you the night to think about whatever you need sorted.” He got out of the car, helping Leah down. “Whatever I can do to help get you settled again.” He knew they had both been unsettled for a very long time. Tommy was aware that he only moved further from comfort every day. He set himself up for a chaotic life. But if he could help Leah along, it might give him a reason to get some sleep.

           Ada was accommodating, despite the late hour. She set up Leah in the spare room before giving her privacy. Then she returned downstairs to where Tommy lingered by the front door.

           “How can you trust her?” Ada wasn’t scared of Leah. The Shelby woman could certainly handle her if necessary. Her small handgun was always within arm’s reach. But Ada was concerned about her brother’s fragile state and what a prostitute might do to further shatter him.

           “She’s harmless,” Tommy replied. “And she’s well aware of what we do. She wouldn't test that.”

           “What you do.” She corrected him fiercely and crossed her arms over her chest.

           “Whatever you say, Ada.” Tommy shrugged and opened the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           The next day, Leah was quiet. She made polite conversation with Ada and fussed over Karl, but she was deep in thought. So much so that while playing football outside in the street with Karl, she nearly got hit in the head with the ball.

           Now, noon had rolled around and she sat in the parlor. She was overwhelmed with uncertainty. The night hadn’t done much good and she still hadn’t cleared everything up and made up her mind. Jonah’s face had kept crossing her mind. Those lovely brown eyes that held so much warmth and adoration. His strong hands and his dazzling smile. There was still something deep in Leah that hadn’t accepted he was gone. But she knew that if he were alive out there, somewhere, he would be doing everything within his power to return to her. With every year that passed, another piece of Leah resigned herself to the loss.

           Now she had to deal with the fact that he wanted the Shelbys to take care of her after he passed. Both Tommy and Leah had delayed it, intentionally or not. She wanted to continue dragging her heels more but she wasn’t exactly sure what she was afraid of.

           Maybe because it was Tommy Shelby.

           Maybe his influence and power.

           Maybe it was the way he made her feel.

           The front door opened and from where she was sitting, Leah could see Tommy enter.

           “Uncle Tommy!” Karl cried with joy as he catapulted off the stairs and into the man’s arms.

           “Oof!” Tommy grinned and staggered back a few steps from the impact. “You’re getting big, eh? Sprouting like a weed, ‘fore you know it, you’ll be bigger than me and your mum.”

           “Gonna be taller than Big Ben!” Karl beamed. “I played football with Lee, gotta scratch!” He proudly showed his uncle the scrape on his forearm.

           “Look at that. Getting scuffed up on the streets of London already. Don’t tell your mum, yeah?” Tommy chuckled.

           Seeing the tenderness between him and his nephew was striking. Gangsters weren’t thought to have souls let alone be able to love.

           Tommy noticed Leah watching him from the parlor so he set Karl down. “Why don’t you go find your mum, eh?” The little boy hurried off with a clatter of footsteps after being shooed away.

           Leah averted her eyes as Tommy walked into the parlor. “It’s nice to see a man who’s good with kids.” She admitted shyly. She could remember how the neighborhood kids would flock to Jonah because they wanted to see his army uniform and he’d play along when they pretended to be out on the battlefield, holding up sticks as guns.

           Tommy opened the front button of his coat before sitting across from her. “I have a son, Charlie, who’ll be three soon.” He informed her. “Like you said before, Miss Ward, there are things you don’t know about me.”

           She nodded but couldn’t help be shocked by the news. It was one thing seeing him with a nephew; it was another thing knowing he was raising a child. All the while, the world painted him as a devil. “There are things you don’t know about me too.”

           “Would you like to get to know each other better?” The question was an outreach but his face was like stone. It was as if an internal conflict was yearning outwards.

           Leah’s palms began to sweat. His blue eyes sent chills down her spine because she could still see the way he looked at her those fateful nights. “I’m afraid I’m not very interesting, Tommy. I suppose my story is just a little sad. But I don’t need sympathy.”

           He made a low noise of understanding and nodded. “I’m not very interesting either.”

           Leah laughed and shook her head. “I find that very hard to believe. Nearly half the country knows your name. Maybe even more than that.”

           A faint smile formed on his face. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing her laugh. “Do you like kids?” He asked.

           “Oh, ‘course.” She nodded. “I always wanted to be a nurse. My mother was before she and my father opened the chemist shop. I wanted to be a midwife.” She told him.

           Tommy saw a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. He wondered how long it had been since anyone saw it.

           “I was meant to go off to school after Jonah came home but…” The light faded quickly at the mention of her husband’s death.

           “Would you like to go now?” Tommy offered. “I know people in the field.” He knew many people in many fields but decided he’d had enough grave injuries to rack up a repertoire with some doctors.

           Leah picked at her fingernails, her eyes downcast with shame. “That’s kind of you, but I think it’s too late for me now.”

           He could’ve argued that it wasn’t too late but decided not to be too aggressive about it. “I could offer you a job at my home in Warwickshire. You could look after my son. His nanny is ‘bout to have a baby and will be on leave soon.”

           She swallowed. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” She prefaced anxiously. “But I just don’t think I’m qualified. I have nothing to offer you; I’m just a-” Her voice faltered. Just a whore. That’s all she’d known for several years.

           “I don’t need you to offer me anything in return.” He replied and leaned forward to try and catch her eye.

           It was hard to resist those baby-blues. “It’s not just that.”

           “What is it then?” He rested his arms on his knees, his gaze steady on hers. His presence was strangely comforting. Leah never had intimate feelings for a client. Sometimes she had men blindly profess their love to her but she never even felt infatuation for any of the men. But when she was with Tommy, she felt like she was floating from euphoria. Now she wanted a man she had slept with twice, yet she barely scratched the surface of who he was. “You’re confused about our relationship.” Tommy surmised as she bit her lip and gave him a shy but longing look.

           She nodded meekly. “I know it meant nothing to you because-”

           “Who said it meant nothing?”

           The two stared at each other for a bit. It was clear neither of them was willing to be the first to admit the truth. Both of them were severely deprived of affection and had clear physical chemistry, but it had been some time since they found love. They were rusty on the ins and outs of actual relationships and not just flimsy companionships.

          Leah decided it wasn’t the time or the place to take that chance with him. “Ada said there was a dress shop in Birmingham. I thought I’d inquire there about a job. You won’t have to worry about me after that. You’ve already done enough, Tommy.”

           He frowned. “Would you want that?”

           She nodded and smoothed her skirt. “I just need to get my things from my room and find a flat in Birmingham. It would be nice to get away from London.”

           “Most people don’t want to go to Birmingham.”

           “I do.”

           Tommy sighed slightly. He couldn’t picture the beautiful woman in Small Heath. He thought she belonged somewhere like Warwickshire much more. He could see her all done up in the trappings of a wealthy woman. Just like Grace had embraced it.

           That’s what he wanted. He wanted someone to fill Grace’s shoes. To be on his arm. To be a mother to Charlie. To kiss the top of his head at night and whisper small comforts to him. The realization made Tommy feel like he was drowning in a sea of helpless misery because he couldn’t replace her. But he couldn’t be without her.

           “Right, I’ll find you a flat. I’ll pay rent for you. Anything else you need, you can always come to me.” He offered.

           “I have money saved. I can pay rent.”

           He raised an eyebrow and reached for a cigarette. The day was hardly half over and he already wanted it to end. “The first year, I’ll pay.”

           “First month.” She replied. “Honestly, I’ll be just fine on my own.”

           “First six.”

           “First two.”

           He couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Alright. Fair enough.” He stood up and shook her hand. He wanted to add a clause in the verbal contract; he’d get to see her every so often just to ease his sorrow. But he kept that to himself. If luck were on her side she'd find her balance in Birmingham, find her way, and escape. No one in their right mind wanted to be stuck in Birmingham. No one in their right mind wanted to be stuck with him either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Leah didn’t dislike Birmingham as much as others seemed to. She liked the change of scenery because it reminded what she was leaving behind. She began work at the dress shop. An older man owned the place, but his youngest daughter ran it. Beth was a little younger than Leah but the two got along well. Leah got to know her neighbors and became familiar with her surroundings.

         Then, she started to notice men in flat caps lingering around the front of the shop. At first, she thought it was a coincidence, then she realized it was Tommy’s men. They all sported similar shaved haircuts and the signature caps. It was far too often to be a coincidence after the first week.

           “That’s Isaiah.” One morning, Beth pointed out the young man who was taking a smoke across the street. “Isn’t he just as handsome as can be?” She sighed and leaned against the counter, cheek resting on her hand. Her eyes fixed on the young man jostling another boy about. The two were laughing and giving some well-aimed jabs, just acting as boys will.

           “Who’s that with him?” Leah asked as she swept up around the shop. She looked out the window to see they were somewhat familiar to her. They'd been around the shop a few times in the past week. They were smartly dressed compared to the rest of the city and had the flat caps to prove where they'd gotten the money from.

           “Finn, he’s Tommy Shelby’s younger brother.” She answered. “They’re all Blinders. But who doesn't like a little danger? Leaves ya breathless, doesn't it?” Beth gave her new friend a coy smile.

           So he was keeping an eye on her. Leah sighed and shook her head. “I dunno anymore." She mumbled under her breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Two days later, Tommy finally made an appearance. He walked into the shop, slipping off his cap. He nodded to Beth whose eyes went wide at the sight of him. The pristinely dressed Blinder stood there, exuding intimidation that came naturally from his reputation and icy blue eyes. “Is Leah in?” He asked while he approached the front counter.

           In the backroom, Leah could hear his deep voice. She came out before Beth could answer him. “Tommy.” She greeted with quiet shock.

           There was no mistaking the look of relief on his face. Their eyes met and for a few beats, they didn’t speak. Neither of them noticed until Beth cleared her throat to disrupt the tense moment.

           “Oh, sorry.” Leah’s cheeks went red. “Tommy, this is Beth, the owner’s daughter.”

           He gave her a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.” Of course, she knew who he was just like everyone else in Birmingham, so there was no need to introduce himself.

           Beth looked a little squeamish that the head of the Peaky Blinders was standing so close. Most Brummies kept their distance if they knew what was good for them. “Likewise.” She said quietly.

           Leah could sense her discomfort. “Maybe we could talk outside. Beth, is it alright if I step out for a mo’? Won't be long.”

           “No, that’s fine.” She wasn’t about to interfere with Tommy there.

           The two went out to stand by the shop. Tommy lighting a cigarette once outside. He paced a few steps as he took two drags. “Sorry to interrupt while you’re working.”

           “That’s okay.” Leah could feel her heart beating faster. She had managed to keep herself busy the two weeks she spent apart from him. But now that he was nearby again, she felt the yearning for his touch. “I just thought you’d come around sooner.” She admitted sheepishly. “I know you’ve had your men watching the place from time to time.” She told him honestly. "Beth recognized some of them, your brother was around I guess. I dunno if you knew or..." She bit her lip.

           “Well…” He shrugged but knew he was caught. Of course, he'd had some men check the shop every so often. He wanted to be sure Leah was safe in his city. It was overbearing, he knew that, but he was away and felt uneasy. “I was in London for a bit. Just wanted to make sure everything was coming along for you. Wanted to make sure you weren’t having any problems either.” He gestured with his cigarette to make it seem like it was nothing but a casual drop by. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his expensive shoes. For a moment he debated whether he had the courage to really go through with what he was planning. His eyes returned to her and the words tumbled out. “Do you want to get a drink with me? Tonight?”

           Leah was surprised but not unpleasantly so. “I suppose that’ll be alright.” She nodded and felt a twinge of thrill and anxiety in her stomach. There was no telling what would happen between them both. They hadn't talked candidly about their complex and confusing relationship. She was afraid that they were on completely separate pages and she would make a fool out of herself.

           He didn’t speak for a bit, just eyeing her. He was definitely a hard man to read by face value but after spending a lot of time with men at their most vulnerable, Leah thought she could pick out male emotions.

           “Are you lonely, Tommy?”

           His lips parted and a bit of smoke escaped as he let out a huff of bitter amusement. “Do lonely men go to pay for companionship?” It was his natural defensive mechanism, answering a question with another question.

           She nodded with a wrinkled brow and a frown. There was no telling what he was getting at so she indulged his question. “Sometimes, yes.”

           “But you’re not a whore.” He pointed to the door beside her. “You’re a shop girl.”

           Leah couldn’t help but smile. It was refreshing to hear him reinforce the new chapter of her life. “You can still be lonely and want to take out a shop girl. Not all men go to whores when they're lonely.”

           He let a smile tug at his lips but didn't reply. “I’ll see you at the Garrison at nine then?” He pulled his gold pocket watch from his waistcoat to check the time. His little detour was going to make him late to a family meeting but he couldn’t have cared less.

           She knew he was avoiding the root of probably many of his issues. Losing Jonah was definitely the root of her issues. For years she coped on her own without the comfort of anyone else. She could only imagine Tommy was doing the exact same thing. “Okay.”

           He pulled on his cap and went to leave before she stopped him with a touch to the arm.

           “Sorry, I just-” She reached up and carefully brushed a fallen eyelash from his cheekbone.

           Tommy froze when he felt her gentle touch on his skin again. Even a fleeting graze of her finger was enough to make him long for her. It took everything in his power to not bring her back to Watery Lane and resume where they’d left off all those weeks ago. There had been a hunger gnawing at him those two weeks they were apart. Perhaps he had become addicted to her and was coping with the withdrawals.

           Leah’s eyes fell to a glint of metal poking out from the brim of his flat cap. It was chilling to think that all the men who had been lingering around the shop were probably sporting the same weapon. What was stranger was how Tommy reacted under her touch. Birmingham’s most powerful men looked ready to fall to his knees for her. “Just an eyelash.” She explained, a quiver in her voice. She took a step back to break the spell and let the stray eyelash fall from her pointer finger. “Anyway, I should get back to work.”

           Tommy realized his hand was shaking. “Oh, right.” He nodded stiffly but wasn’t really comprehending her words or his own. God only knew how he was going to get through the rest of the afternoon.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #ofc #oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ada shelby #ada thorne #charles shelby #finn shelby

[packsbeforesnacks]

Dirt Off Your Shoulder || Blanche & Winn

[Part One | Part Two | Side B]

TIMING: Saturday, February 8th, 2020, Noon LOCATION: White Crest General Hospital PARTIES: @harlowhaunted​ & @packsbeforesnacks​ SUMMARY: Winn doesn’t die, c’mon, as if. Blanche, exasperated: MEN. WARNINGS: Medical blood, mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms, potential self-harm.

Winn burst through the doors of the emergency room in the early dawn, shambling and groaning. Nurses were on him in seconds — typical, when a shirtless, shoeless man comes in, covered in blood, with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder. “It burns, get it out, please.” He fell to his knees, and a nurse’s hand jostled the bolt, causing Winn’s vision to go white and hot and please, please, please no, not like this. He felt himself being hauled up to his feet by firm, unwavering hands, but he knew he was slipping. The Hunter had gotten him good, probably to the bone. Not that Winn would ever find out, if they didn’t get it out of him quickly. The silver sizzled inside of him, and, oh, the lights were brighter now? He dimly felt a hand fiddle in his pants, looking for a wallet, but, fuck, Winn had forgotten it. Here lies, John Doe. A bubble of laughter slipped out of his mouth at the thought. Winn tried to open his eyes, tried to get them to focus, and saw the face of a man, lips pursed in obvious concentration as he assessed the wound. Had that much time passed? Fuck.

“Get him to Surgical Suite A,” the man said, “and get me Rodrigo and Aaron.”

“Yes, Dr. Harlow,” said one of the nurse’s, Winn thought, hoped. But. Wait. Harlow?

“Hey,” he gasped out, tugging on the sleeve of the good doctor as he started to turn away. “Tell Blanche I’m sorry, okay?” He coughed. “Adrien… too…”

That was the last thing that Winn remembered.

“Winn Woods?” Blanche repeated to the nurse looking at her like she had five heads. Blanche remembered her, she had been there when she brought Alain the other night. When she burst into the emergency room half in tears saying she needed help bringing someone in with a head injury. And here she was, again, this time looking for someone else. Adrien texting her asking how the hell she knew his hockey coach and accusing her of making her mother cry had not been great. “What room is he in?” And now she wandered the hospital in search of his room number, head down, hood up, and AirPods in. Her concern for Winn was the only reason she was subjecting herself to GhostVille, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she finally found the right room without having to talk to someone’s Great Aunt Sally.

“Winn?” Blanche poked her head in, relieved a circulating nurse wasn’t here. The one at the desk probably already texted her mother that she was here. Definitely wanted to avoid all forms of family while she was here. She brightened, though, when she saw him in bed. She found him!

Oh, wait, he was injured.

“Winn! Jesus Christ! What happened?”

Winn had woken up, which was a good first step to not being dead, he figured. Dawn had shaken off its frigid dew, burning into a spectacular morning, if the light streaming in through the window was any indication. He took a deep breath, noting the slowly subsiding throbbing in his shoulder — where he’d been shot, he was remembering — and tried to figure out how he’d ended up here. Most of the events after the Hunter — ‘cause it had to be a Hunter, right? who else would be out that early? — had put a bolt in him were blurry, elastic. He remembered finding the tree where he’d tied a pair of pants, bolting to the hospital as fast as his four legs could carry him, not really giving a shit who saw him. Changing back in the bushes, the way the silver lit up his nerves, and then… nothing. Huh. Problematic.

‘Course, more problematic still was Blanche Harlow showing up to his hospital room and— Oh, fuck, had her father operated on Winn? She asked him what happened, and Winn considered his options. He liked Blanche — trusted her way, way more than Noah, and he had found out Winn was a wolf (stellar week for Winn, really). Telling humans wasn’t always a mistake (hell, Winn had ended up a werewolf because some folks had trusted him) and Blanche seemed like the type to know when to keep her mouth shut. (Maybe to her detriment, but Winn couldn’t say much ‘bout that.)

“Close the door, Blanche,” he settled on, voice as even as possible. He paused, before adding, “Please.”

It was then that Blanche remembered his cryptic email from earlier in the week — he knew some secret about her and it had made her anxious enough to ignore his subsequent emails, and then he ignored her text and left her on read, which made her ignore his email about skipping class again. Not that that mattered, because he didn’t look too good. If her dad had seen him that meant it had been really bad. Blanche frowned at him but shut the door anyway — she glanced down the hallways to make sure Dr. Harlow or a visit from Nurse Harlow weren’t in the works. She turned and went to sit in the chair by his bed.

“How are you feeling? Are you feeling alright?”

Winn took a deep breath. “Blanche, do you trust me?”

Blanche stared at him, alarmed. “I— I mean—” Trust him. Sure. But she also kind of thought he was sort of an idiot and wasn’t expecting a question like that. “Of course I do. Why aren’t you answering my questions? Are you high—you told them you smoke, right?” Blanche clamped her mouth shut before she could get going on her anxious tirade of questions.

“‘S okay if you don’t. Trust me, I mean. You, er, might not, here in a minute. You wanna sit down? Wait. ‘Course. You’re sitting already,” he babbled, trying to calm his nerves. Winn had come out to folks all his life, but nothin’ was quite like the frenetic anxiety of tellin’ someone that you turned into a big wolf-creature once a month (... or so). And unlike when he’d told Noah — been, some might say, called out on his shit — Winn didn’t only have to nod his head to give an answer. No, he had to come clean.

Was this what it was like havin’ more than just wolves for friends? It’d been a while since he’d had either.

Another deep breath. “Alright, so. Sorry. Just… a lot. Uh, I’ll answer your actual questions, first. I’m feeling better, since your dad got the fuckin’ crossbow bolt out of me, but for a minute I thought I might be a goner — not tryin’ to scare you, just the way it is —  and, uh, I mean, I haven’t… spoken to anyone? Just woke up a few minutes before you got in here. So, no, they don’t know I smoke yet, but ‘m also not high.” He snorted.

Blanche went from confusion, to more confusion, to wondering if she should call a nurse when her mind registered the words crossbow bolt. “You got shot?!” Her voice rose a few octaves, eyes bugging out of her head as she leaned forward on the edge of her seat. “Who?! What?! When?! Were you drinking?! I’ll kill them! What?!”

“Damn it, Blanche, calm down for a sec, I was gettin’ to that.” Winn sighed. “Sorry, I ‘ppreciate the concern, really, but, even if he’s a shit dad, your dad is a halfway decent doc. I’m fine.” A pause, as he studied the younger woman. If Winn wasn’t an only child, he got the feeling that, given his reputation as the Golden Boy of the Zhou-Delacour family, that his younger siblin’ might’ve been like Blanche. Bit of a spitfire, a little too “leap before they look.” Ready to literally kill for their friends, ‘pparently.

“I don’t know who. I already told you what—crossbow bolt, to my shoulder”—he gestured at the gauze packed into his healing wound—“and this mornin’ before I, uh… changed… back.” He let that particular revelation, vague as it was, hang in the air. “And, yeah, I drank a bit yesterday. Might’ve been a bit of an amateur about the aftermath, if ‘m bein’ honest.”

She shot him a look. The look that said she was not happy and also, she hoped, said that you couldn’t just tell someone to calm down after saying you got shot. Blanche opened her mouth to tell him just that, but the mention of her father made the words catch in her throat, a mixture of conflicting emotions on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest, listening, nodding along with his story until… “Wait— back up. You’re doing this well and you were shot this morning?” Blanche said, brows furrowing. “What do you mean changed back? What— Winn! Stop telling the story in parts! I keep getting confused! What’s going on!”

Winn groaned. “Alright, but, promise to just stick with me until I finish talkin’? No runnin’ out of the room. Pinky swear?” He held out his pinky, dead serious.

She made a face at him in disbelief. Now she was imagining the worst — drunk, frat boy shenanigans. Still, she wrapped her pinky around his. “Pinky swear,” Blanche said. “No running. Just tell me what happened.”

“So, I’m a werewolf—” Winn started, or tried to.

“You’re a fucking what?” Blanche immediately blurted out, jaw dropping.

“—and I—” Winn paused, looked Blanche dead in the eyes, and said, “I just asked you to stick with me until I finished talkin’. Whatever happened to ‘Yes and?,’ huh?” He smiled as best he could, given the coil of dread in his gut. “Alright, so, the short version — ‘cause not everythin’ is relevant to how I ended up here — of that story is that there’s a fraternity — shut up — of werewolves down South, and I rushed that fraternity, and I got turned into a werewolf partly because I’m really good at—” He cut himself off.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Some shit went down, I went to Europe for a while, I came back to the States, got some killer”—oops—“therapy, and decided that I wanted to become a counselor.” He’d tell her about Dorian, eventually. About Conner. About Jules. About the worst day of his life. “And I— Uh, I know I said that I would just tell this front-to-back, but y’sound a little like a tea kettle, B. Need a sec?”

Professor Hideki Okamoto had told her he turned into a fox a little after she accused him of being a murderer. Blanche had almost gotten sick then, but maybe that was only because of the dangerous fire trick he pulled… Though judging from the way her stomach tied itself up into a knot and the high-pitched distressed sound that was coming out of her as she sank low in her seat… “Nope,” she wheezed. “Keep going.” This was fine. Blanche knew werewolves existed! It wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world! But maybe it was a combination of the fact that Winn just got shot. “Wait— No.” Blanche held out a hand to stop him. She was about to slide right out of her seat and onto the floor if she kept doing that. Breathe. Get your shit together. She rushed a Hunter with a fucking sword in his hand two days ago! Some news about her friend wasn’t going to get her.

“Was it a Hunter?” Blanche asked, forcing herself to sit back up straight… and lowering her voice so she sounded halfway normal. It wasn’t working. “Oh my god. A Hunter went after you? Does he know you’re you?! Did he see you shift back? Where was this? Who was it? Did you see them?” She was on her feet now, her nervous energy better used as pacing. “Oh my God, I’ll have to get her—” Nell. “—to make you a magic blur bracelet too! Why do they always go after my friends? This sucks! I’ll kill him!”

Winn’s head buzzed, though he guessed he was partly to blame for that—Christ, had he really gone through a 24-pack yesterday? And smoked a bowl? And done some shots? Unhealthy coping mechanisms out the wazoo, he had. Then again, it wasn’t… strictly his fault that his world had gotten flipped on its head. The sheer magnitude of all of that hadn’t left him even if a crossbow bolt had knocked some sense back into him.

“We… are going to talk about all of what you just said later. Because, like, I’ll be honest, I’ve had a real shitty forty-eight hours, and I had no clue that you knew about any of that shit. Though, that, well. That explains the lack of faintin’.” He pursed his lips, humming a low note in the back of his throat. There was a cup of water on his bedside table he hadn’t noticed before, and he gulped it down greedily. Oh God. More of that. Please.

“You’re makin’ my head hurt more with that pacin’, B. Jus’ lemme finish, alright. Deep breaths. I’m here now. I’m alright. I’ve been a werewolf for longer than you’ve known I was a werewolf, and one measly crossbow bolt ain’t gonna take me out”—granted, it almost had—“that easy.”

“But—but—but that doesn’t even make sense!” Blanche burst, looking at him exasperated. “You got shot. By a crossbow!” As if he needed reminding. She let out a small groan though and practically threw herself back into her seat, pulling her knees up to her chest as she stared at him. She would mention, later, that she’d only been on the full train ride to all things Supernatural Fuckery for a few months, but now was a bad time to talk about that. Apparently. She took a deep breath to appease him. “Alright, alright. Continue.”

“So,” Winn started again, hopefully for the last time. He licked his lips. “So, I’m a werewolf, sure. But, apparently, none of my packmates figured I needed to know that wolves weren’t the only things hidin’ in the dark?

“So, Thursday night, I’m tryin’ to figure out why the Arena’s lights are fuckin’ up, and I go back to the electrical room and it’s just covered in ice. Somethin’ whips my phone outta my hand — sorry if you’ve tried to message me since then, by the way, forgot to tell ya for reasons that’ll become clear — and I end up fighting a fuckin’ Zamboni — don’t you dare fuckin’ laugh — with this older guy? An exorcist, I guess? Because ghosts are a real thing now?

“And I’m a pretty good guy, and I can compartmentalize, and it’s all fine, ‘s all good. I turn into a wolf every full moon, ghosts aren’t that big of a stretch. But then I go to this frat party, and I run into a Hunter because of fucking ‘course I do, but we’ve got bigger problems, because a monster tries to suck the fucking bones out of some undergrads. And at that point it occurs to me, y’know, what the fuck. How did I not know any of this shit?

“I get home, I throw myself into my bed, I message Remmy and Ricky to apologize for tellin’ them the chest on the beach isn’t cursed — because what the fuck do I know — and I pass out. And I wake up, and I skip class, and I down, just, copious amounts of booze and smoke pot to cope, because, as I’ll remind you, I had thought werewolves were the only fuckin’ thing around.

“Then, Remmy gets back to me, and mentions folks being able to do magic. And Ricky is a little shit and tells me ‘No duh, the fucking chest is cursed. We tried to tell you!’ And M—”—wait, no—“this other wolf I know, he tells me ‘I don’t know why you’re surprised? Did you not know? There are hundreds of creatures out there!’ and I’m like ‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me.’ So, I drink some more, I smoke some more, and it’s the fucking full moon of all fuckin’ nights.

“I turn, everything is just fine, I am in a part of the woods that I think no one will come out to, but I guess I’m an idiot, and I wandered too close to some asshole Hunter’s territory, so I get a shoulder full of silver bolt and they give chase and, not to scare ya B, but I only got away because I was lucky—or maybe the Hunter was just dumb. Either way, I find my jeans, put ‘em in my maw, and run to the hospital as fast as three-and-a-half limbs can get me. I cried in a bush. It was fine.

“And, uh, yeah, so, I was, y’know, a little bit of an idiot. And now I have a headache. But your dad got the silver out, miracle of miracles, so my arm’s… almost good? I think? It’ll take a little longer to tell.” He stops, giving her some time to let all of that sink in. “So, um, moral to the story, never shift while crossfaded?”

She had so many questions. So many. Blanche stared at him for a long time after he finished speaking. Too long, really. Her mouth hung open slightly, disbelief clouding her features. Maybe it was that she couldn’t believe Winn went to a frat party and fought a monster with bone sucking abilities with a Hunter. Or maybe she wanted to throttle him for being really fucking stupid.

Both. Definitely both.

“I—” she started, and then had to stop. “You—” Nope. “But—” She took another long moment of silence to formulate exactly what she wanted to say. “You fucking moron!” Blanche finally burst, running her hands down her face. “I’m not even a werewolf and I know that! Don’t get crossfaded and do anything other than prepare for the incoming hangover!” Like that ever happened in real life. “Okay, okay, not important. Where was the Hunter’s territory because I’m going to walk my happy ass over there and shove my foot so far down his throat that he’s going to wish I shot him with a crossbow!” Blanche leaned forward on the seat again, staring at him hard for a moment, and considered.

“Iseeghosts,” she blurted out. “There, we’re even.”

Winn blinked.  Shesawwhatnow?

“I—” he started, and then had to stop. “You—” Nah. “Wha—” There was a knock at the door, and Winn froze, looking to Blanche for some indication of what the fuck he was supposed to do? “Blanche,” he whispered. “I need you to distract whoever comes through that door. If they check under this gauze, they are going to be pretty fucking confused, and I am going to be, how the kids say, fucked.”

“What do you mean?!” Blanche hissed, her brow furrowing as she stood slightly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to—Dad?!” Jean had let himself in, freezing at the sight of his daughter in the chair next to Winn’s bed. She immediately stood up, body tensing. She hadn’t seen her dad since that night in the gas station and she was not prepared. Knots of anxiety twisted in her and her palms began to get clammy and she felt like she was going to throw up.

“Blanche,” Jean said, stiffly.

“Uh—” She had backed over to the other side of the room while he moved over towards Winn.

“Mr. Woods, I’m glad to see you’re awake. I hope… your friend hasn’t been riling you up. I just want to check your shoulder, and I’ll be on my way to rounds—” Medical jargon started coming from him and Blanche watched in horror as he got closer and closer to Winn. Do something you moron! He trusts you to help!

Crap. What could she say to distract her father? What was mortifying enough to make him turn around and pay attention to her instead of Winn? Blanche thought hard, and of course picked the first thing that came to her head.

“Uh— I’m going on a date with a frat boy and having sex with him in a cave!” she blurted out. Jean, who was normally a very stoic and serious man, turned 40 different shades of red in about .2 seconds and whirled around to face his daughter.

“Excuse me?”

Blanche had her back pressed against the back wall, eyes wide as she tried to read whatever emotion that was on her father’s face. This was going poorly.

“Yup! So much cave sex! Lots of it. And I’m not even on the pill! And he’s probably too stupid to bring condoms! Whatever will we do? Oh yeah! Have sex! In a cave!”

Winn glanced around the hospital room for something that he could use to—well, to open his wound back up. Fuck, this was going to hurt. He looked back to his bedside table. Glass, no. Too loud, Dr. Harlow would notice glass shattering. Paper? No, paper cuts didn’t require trips to the emergency rooms. There was nothing. Except. He looked down at his hands. Fuck. Just then, Blanche started yelling about “cave sex,” causing Dr. Harlow to turn around.

Shit. Okay, now or never. Never let it be said that Winn didn’t do anything for the werewolf community. This was probably extremely gross, but Winn didn’t have time to think about that — his immune system would block anything bad, right? He tore the gauze away from his shoulder carefully, but quickly, clenched his teeth, and jammed his thumb into the closing wound, and yanked up, hoping he could approximate the damage that had been done to him.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. He couldn’t stop a small gasp from coming out as he reopened it. Ow. He looked to Blanche’s face as she stared at him past her father, silently mouthing “sorry,” and pushing the gauze back town, taping himself back up as best he could. He wiped his thumb, bloody as it was, on his upper leg, underneath the hospital gown, and blinked away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Wait, did she say date with a frat boy?

“Blanche Louisa Harlow, how dare you disrupt a patient’s—”

“Yeah, Dad, whatever! We’re going to go into the cave and have holy motherfucking hell—” Guess when Winn decided to reopen his wound. “Sex,” Blanche finished, lamely. “Without protection.” Did Winn just fucking do that?

Jean looked fifty shades of angry, and Blanche sort of wanted to go die in a hole. She just said the words ‘cave’ and ‘sex’ consecutively and also implied a strong chance of pregnancy. Great. Awesome. Loved that for her. Anxiety was twisting her insides inside out and now she definitely knew she was going to be sick at some point that day. God, she was going to fucking kill Winn.

“And also, Winn was just saying how he wants to be discharged against medical advice!” Blanche hissed, shooting him a glare.

Jean made a face. “What?” His head turned towards Winn. “What?” he repeated, still confused.

“I—” Winn wanted to kick himself. He could’ve spent that time thinking of a better cover story instead of stabbing himself with his thumb. “Yes, I’m a, uh—” Quick, Winner, think of a religion that refused medical treatment. “Scientologist?” he tried. “Clearly, I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t have no other choice. Clearly. And while I thank thee”—alright—“Good Doctor, it is time I take my leave of this place, lest my, um, soul not go to the great beyond and join with the Motherland.” Shit, dumbass, he didn’t know anything about Scientology. Other than Tom Cruise. Wait. “Tom Cruise would be very disappointed in me.” … Wait, no.

He smiled weakly at Dr. Harlow. “If I could just get some fresh gauze before I go, I’ll, uh, yep. Be… on my way.”

Was Winn talking about Tom Cruise?! NO! Blanche ran her hands down her face, exasperated as Jean stared at him like he had four heads. “Scientologists usually have cards—” The tiny card in their wallets with their identification. Blanche coughed loudly.

“He’s new at it, really—can’t you just get a nurse to redress his wound and grab the AMA paperwork so we can go?” Ah, so they were a ‘we’ now. Blanche realized the second she said discharge that it meant she was the ride home. That was fine, she just hadn’t been expecting it. Jean, clearly exasperated and angry, looked between the two one more time, before shaking his head. He moved and went to redress the wound himself.

It was painfully quiet for the three minutes it took him to do so. Painfully quiet. Blanche wanted to melt into the floor. “The nurse will be in with the paperwork shortly,” he said flatly. Jean moved towards the door, before turning towards Blanche. “We will discuss this later.”

Blanche was always quick to anger, but her expression turned stony as she stared back at her father, and she sneered. “No, we won’t. Get out,” she snapped. And he did. Letting out a slow breath, she turned towards Winn, waiting a few seconds. “... What the HELL was that?!”

“... I panicked?” Winn said, honestly. “Look, I just forgot that the Jehovah’s Witnesses—fuck, I could’ve said I was a Jehovah’s Witness—existed, or that people refused medical treatment. I’ve never not wanted to get proper treatment!” He tried for a joke, a half-truth. “Glad I didn’t have my wallet on me when I rolled in here, otherwise I think your dad might’a thought we were lyin’ or somethin’. Little cards, who knew?”

He winced as he rolled his shoulder, trying to get his body to get with the program. Damn it, he’d been asleep for most of the healing earlier, but now he’d have to actually deal with it. “But, uh, thanks for the… um, cave sex cover story? Don’t know where you came up with that one, B, but you really saved my bacon.”

The nurse came in, squinting at Winn as he handed him a clipboard and a pen. Great. He was definitely a hospital cautionary tale now. He went to leave as quickly as he had come, though, with only the vague assertion that they could use a wheelchair, being as Winn didn’t have any shoes. Which… fair.

“Can I keep the gown? I, uh… didn’t have a shirt either?” The nurse didn’t look very impressed, but nodded shortly, before shutting the door behind him.

“I knew about the cards!” Blanche hissed, but that was probably only because she had heard her parents bitch about them too many times whenever they were home. Still she stood in the corner as Winn got situated in his wheelchair, wondering how on earth she was not only going to explain how exactly she had come up with her cave sex story—thank you Regan—to Winn, but also how she was going to keep Winn from getting another crossbow bolt into his head.

The nurses would have a cow. Not only had he had major surgery, but he was leaving not long after he officially woke up. Blanche had her tonsils out when she was like 14 and that definitely wasn’t how this was supposed to work. Though, she didn’t imagine she was going to be shoveling excessive amounts of ice cream into Winn’s mouth. If anything, he was going to give her ice cream.

“For the record,” she grumbled when they were finally cut loose. “I’m not having sex in a cave—we’re going on a hike! A regular hike! And I hate you.” She stewed. “Okay, no I don’t, I’m going to kick someone’s ass for you but oh my god, Tom Cruise is going to be disappointed in me?! Winn!”

Winn shrugged, sheepish, and dodged the less-than-salient (or, less favorably, boneheaded) points. “Like I said, though, I don’t know the Hunter who shot me. You’ve got no one’s ass to kick.” It was a bit odd, how easily he fell into the assumption that Blanche knew a.) more than he did about the supernatural, but b.) that he knew far more about protecting himself from Hunters than she did or could.

“So, uh, I know that I just got crossfaded to my immediate detriment yesterday, but, um, d’you wanna get high? Because I feel like both of us need a come down. A vent sesh.” Oh! Speaking of which. “So, wait. This means you didn’t know I was a werewolf? I thought you’d figured it out!” And then he’d told her anyway, and the world hadn’t ended, so, really, he was at fault here. In his defense, it had been a rough week. One that looked like, thankfully, it would end on a high note.

“Oh, trust me, I have a few ideas on whose ass to kick,” Blanche muttered, a certain French hunter coming to mind. Well, two French hunters coming to mind. Except only one of them had admitted to hunting beasts. Of course, it couldn’t be Kaden’s fault, the coincidence would be too strong. She shook her head. “Whatever, I’m just glad you’re okay. Adrien scared the shit out of me, you know.” Blanche looked at him and stared at him. She thought about the week she had. Her nasty panic attack, the whole Alain situation, Kaden’s stupid fucking ghost, and the mistakes she made with Regan and Remmy, and considered.

“No, I actually didn’t know you were a werewolf. How the hell did you think I figured that out!” she said, frowning. “Yes, I’d like to get high,” she confirmed, digging in her pockets for her keys. “Desperately.”

#wickedswriting #para #Blanche #Dirt Off Your Shoulder #medical blood tw #self harm tw

[tjswritingstuff]

Before the Wolf Moon

Chapter 4

The bell above the door chimed. Stephanie looked up for a second she forgot the way that she greeted people when they walked in the store. The well-rehearsed lines flew from her mind. “You're here?” she asked dumbly.

“I...” Annabelle stopped, then restarted, “the police haven't found Amy yet.”

“I'm so sorry,” Stephanie said softly, “how can I help?”

“I don't know,” she said, “you said you could help me find her, so if you can....” she trailed off.

The circles under her eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. She rubbed them unable to stop the tears from falling, “please, if anything happens to her it would kill me.”

Stephanie didn't lie and tell her it would be okay. She said, “let me close the store, and we'll do what we can.”

It was before noon. She'd lose a lot of business in the hours she had left, but there were things more important than catering to the whims of tourists. Taking care of the people who came needed genuine help was her top priority.

Stephanie turned off the open sign and locked the door. The paperwork could wait until later. She debated taking Annabelle upstairs but thought she might find the professionalism of the store more comfortable.

“I need to go upstairs to get some stuff,” Stephanie said, “you can have a seat and I'll be right back.”

She didn't plan on being gone for more than a minute. Annabelle didn't look like she could stand to be alone much more than that

Annabelle was looking around the shop when she made it back down the stairs. She was staring a picture hanging on the wall of a tree.

Stephanie sat a precariously balanced stack of books on the counter and pulled out a portable burner from the cabinet, “I'm going to make tea.”

“Is it like magic tea?”

“It's chamomile,” Stephanie said, “it's soothing, but not magic.”

“Oh,” she said, “I expected something more mystical.”

“you won’t be disappointed,” Stephanie said softly, “I think you should know that I've been working on finding Amy. I hit a dead end.”

Annabelle looked up from the table cloth, “what kind?”

“The person who took your daughter took something from me. I have been trying to figure out how they could have known I had it, but I haven't been able to come up with an answer, no one knew the thing that was stolen from me was here.

It's used in a ritual; the problem is that generally the target for the ritual is supposed to be a blood relative of the person who performs it.” she avoided saying exactly what the ritual was for.

“What does that have to do with my daughter?” she asked.

“There's a good chance that the person who took Amy is related to her.”

“How good?” she asked regaining interest in the table cloth.

Stephanie shrugged, “I've never heard of this ritual being done with a victim that wasn't a family member.”

She weighted the words carefully, “I know the police have probably asked you a lot of really personal questions, and I know that this makes it all harder, but what can you tell me about your daughter's family.”

“It's just the two of us,” Annabelle said softly, “I had her young, got a job and did the best I could. My parents tried to help us, but they just didn't understand why I kept her. I couldn't make them understand that even though I hated the way that she came into my life, that girl is my entire world. I'd die for her.”  

She stopped talking, Stephanie handed her a box of tissues, then asked, “so her father's not in the picture?”

A bitter snort of laughter met that question. “No. If he comes near my daughter I'll gut him.”

Stephanie felt the energy in the room flare. She realized she had no idea what was under Annabelle’s psychic armor. Chances were for it to be so well built it was nothing good.

She busied herself making the tea but made a mental note not to mention Amy’s father.

“I tried to do a locator spell.” she explained, “but the person who took her doesn't want me to find them, they're warded.”

“How could they do that?”

“It's not hard, the right spell, the right ingredients, and a witch willing to mix the two is all it takes.”

Annabelle thought about it for a while.

Stephanie let her contemplate it without comment. She didn't want to get started until the tea was ready. Its effects were stronger and more reliable when the drinker was unaware of its magical components.

Stephanie took out a set of white porcelain tea cups with gold rims. They were pretty, but they also helped add to the illusion.

She set everything on the table then reached for the tarot deck. “I'm going to start with a card reading.”

“What do I have to do?” Annabelle asked.

“For now, relax. Let the tea steep and think about what you're going to say to your daughter when we bring her home.” She shuffled the cards and started talking filling in the silence with the sound of her voice.

She was trying to get past Annabelle’s defenses as subtly as she could. She tried to reassure her that she could trust Stephanie and her intentions were only to help.

With each rotation of the cards in her hands Stephanie added an extra layer of compulsion to her words. “You should try the tea,” she suggested when she saw the woman's eyes were starting to drift closed.

She the deck down in front of her guest. “Cut the deck,” she ordered gently.

Annabelle hesitated over the cards her finger tips resting just on top of the deck. “You're missing a card.” she said softly.

“I am,” Stephanie said, “how did you know that?”

“I don't know,” Annabelle answered, “it just felt like something's missing.”

“Your daughter?” Stephanie suggested, wanting to believe the missing card was a coincidence. That she wasn't reading that clearly from a single sip of the tea and a little persuasion. If that were the case, then Stephanie had no question why her daughter would have been targeted.

“My world,” Annabelle corrected her, “I have to get her back.”

“We will,” Stephanie promised, “cut the deck.”

There was no more hesitation. Three almost perfectly equal stacks were separated out then she put them back together.

“I'm going to do a Celtic cross spread,” she said softly, “I want you to focus on finding your daughter and draw, I'll show you where to put the cards.”

“The first card you're going to pull will represent yourself. You're going to lay it face up here.” Stephanie tapped the spot for the card on the table in front of her.

Annabelle flipped the card and put it in the spot looking not at the card but at Stephanie.

“Your self card is the Eight of Swords. It's a test,” she said, “this is the point where you are going to figure out how strong you are.”

She pointed at the spot for the next card. Annabelle pulled it and laid it down.

Stephanie studied the card for a second feeling slightly more hopeful, “your situation is the Four of Wands. Achieving our goal will take team work. It's a test, but you aren't going to have to face it alone.”

Annabelle fidgeted, “I feel pretty alone.”

“I know, I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m going to do everything in my power to get your daughter home safely,” Stephanie reassured her.

When Annabelle was ready they pulled the next card.

Stephanie said, “The challenge card is the Ace of Wands.  It's normally representing a new beginning. The person that took your daughter is trying to become something inhuman. We have to stop him.”

Annabelle sipped the tea and looked at her, ‘I still don’t know what you expect from me.”

“I don’t know yet either, I’m still trying to figure it out, but I know you’re important,” Stephanie gestured at the deck.

Annabelle pulled the next card, “Seven Wands?”

Stephanie nodded, “It’s representing your recent past. Up to this point you've almost always been successful. You haven't had many setbacks. Even the things that should have destroyed you you've risen above.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” she said, then smiled, “most of my family calls me stubborn.”

“You ready for the next card?” Stephanie asked. Annabelle looked like she wanted to say something else. She changed her mind and reached for the next card.

“Place it there,” Stephanie showed her where it fit in the spread. Then said, “This card represents a higher power. It’s the Ace of Swords. Your goal is clear, but it may take a sacrifice to get what you want.”

“I don’t care,” she said vehemently, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She didn’t ask what kind of sacrifice it might take. Stephanie was glad because she didn’t have an answer.

The next card was pulled without prompting from her and she read it without looking at Annabelle, “your near future card is the Two of Swords. It means we need to spend some time gathering information before we decide on our next move. This card indicates conflict within the team, something communication can normally resolve.” she looked up, “you still don't trust me.”

“I'm trying,” Annabelle said, “but this is a lot to accept.”

“I know, we'll get through it.” Stephanie promised.

Annabelle flipped the next card without responding.

“Your blockers and inhibitions are the four of swords, it's a card of the past.” Stephanie said, “it normally means to remember your roots, history, and ancestors. There's something behind you that affects what's happening now, and you aren't ready to face it.”

“I can't,” Annabelle said looking down.

“You know what it's referring to?” Stephanie asked.

“I know what I'm afraid it's referring to,” Annabelle corrected.

“Okay,” she said, “that might be what we need to talk about.”  She hoped there would be a clue about who they were dealing with in the other woman's past.

“The next card is allies,” she said and showed Annabelle where to place it.

Annabelle laid it down and looked up hopefully.

“The Ace of Cups, that's good,” Stephanie smiled, “it means you have an abundance of love and support. There's people that are willing to help you, if you let them.”

The snort of disbelief told her that was something they'd have to come back to, “two more, then we'll discuss more of what it means.”

The next card was placed down on the table, “Three of Cups,” she closed her eyes, “you need to bring in your support group, family, friends, anyone you trust, they can help you. It’s a compliment to the four of wands from earlier.”

“Last card,” she said.

Annabelle seemed to sense the blank space in the spread and laid it down where it belonged without prompting.

“The Seven of Swords,” she smiled, “there's a story with this one. A warrior slipped into the enemy encampment the night before a battle and stole their weapons, securing victory and demoralizing the enemy forces.”

“What does it mean?” Annabelle asked looking at the cards like she expected the meaning to be as obvious to her as it was to Stephanie.

“We're going to win,” Stephanie smiled, “as long as we work smart and get all the information we can before making a plan.”

She looked at the cards laid out between them. It didn't tell them much more than they already knew, that they had to work together. That there was information Annabelle hadn't been willing to share that would help them find the person that had taken her daughter, and that they needed to call in more support and team work to help fill in some of the blanks for them.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Annabelle said looking at the table.

“I know,” Stephanie said, “but maybe it's time you talk to someone.”

She stood up and picked up the tea cup staring in the brown liquid like it held the answers, and could pull the words that she didn't want to say out of her.

She bit her lip Stephanie could see her searching for the words she didn't know how to say.

“It's okay,” she said, “you don't have to tell me right now.”

“No,” Annabelle said, “if it's the same person I need to find her before he hurts her.” She closed her eyes, “I was kidnapped when I was thirteen.”

Stephanie wanted to say that she was surprised, but it was too much of a coincidence. The past has a habit of repeating itself.

Annabelle's voice fell to a flat monotone. She didn't look up when she talked, kept her eyes glued into the bottom of the cup.

It the kind of story that Stephanie had heard too often, the kind of thing no one should have to experience.

“How old are you?” she asked already having a nagging feeling that the woman was too young for how old her daughter was.

She bit her lip, “twenty-five.”

“Your daughter -”

“Yeah,” she said looking down, “my parents didn't know what to do to help me. They tried to convince me to give her up. To let someone more capable take care of her.”

“But you couldn't?” she asked.

“She was mine,” the words came out small, “she was the good that I got in exchange for all of the bad.”

Stephanie closed her eyes, “the ritual takes a sacrifice. It's usually of a blood relative.” She needed to tread carefully, “do you know his name, or if he had family here.”

Annabelle nodded slightly.

Stephanie handed her another tissue for the tears streaming down her face.

“We're going to find your daughter. I promise.” she didn't say they'd find her before anything bad happened to her. That was a promise she, and one that Annabelle wouldn't believe.

“I'm going to call my parents,” Annabelle said, “they need to know what's going on.”

Stephanie carefully wrapped the cards in the velvet cloth and put them away.

It was a good spread, full of positive energy. She'd have to gain Annabelle's trust, but they'd made leaps and bounds in that direction already.

Annabelle came back into the room clutching her phone to her chest.

“Finish your tea,” Stephanie suggested, “it will make you feel better.”

Annabelle sat back down at the table and traced the rim of the cup with a fingertip, “now what?”

“Now we figure out everything we can about this ritual and how your family is connected to it.”

She could see the Annabelle relaxing as she drained the cup of tea. She sat the cup on the table.

Stephanie picked it up, glancing quickly at the leaves in the bottom. The leaves added nothing to what she already knew.

“What was his name?” Stephanie asked.

“Mark,” she said, “I didn't know him. He knew my parents. I guess that I had seen him around, but he didn't stand out, I didn't even know who he was.” Her words trailed off, “I got away. Amy is smarter than I was, she'll get away.”

“Did he live nearby?”

“I don't know,” she said, “I can't remember.”

“It's okay,” Stephanie reassured her, “anything that you can tell me might help me find them.”

Annabelle seemed to run out of steam, “I think he had family here.”

“Do you know his last name?”

She shook her head,

Stephanie got the impression it wasn't because she didn't remember it was because it was easier not to remember. “There was a trial, you should be able to find something about it.”

“I'll do that,” Stephanie agreed, “I'm proud of you. You're holding up so well.”

The blank look stayed on her face, “I want to try to do another locator spell on your daughter, will you help me?”

“What do you need?”

“Blood,” she said, “not much, just a drop of your blood and I want you to hold my hand while I do the spell so that it will draw off her connection to you. It might get past the magic they're using to keep me from finding them.”

“Okay,” she said looking down at her nails, “how badly is this going to hurt?”

“It's going to sting, but it will be over before you know it.” she promised.

Blood was one of Stephanie’s least favorite spell components. It never came without pain, and while it gave things a stronger kick she didn't like the way it made her feel.

She treated it as clinical as she could. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and a bottle of rubbing alcohol before she opened a plastic box full of lancets and pulled one out.

“It's just like getting your finger pricked at a doctor’s office,” she promised.

The vial for the blood was already uncorked and waiting. Annabelle held out her hand and closed her eyes.

“One...two...” Stephanie didn't say three before quickly piercing her index finger with the lancet. She squeezed as much of the other woman's blood as she could into the vial it was only a few drops but that was all that she needed.

“Ow,” Annabelle gasped inspecting the damage to her finger.

Stephanie capped the vial and set it to the side before cleaning everything up.

“Okay this is the fun part.” she said, “I'm going to have to go get some supplies from the store. You just sit here and concentrate on your daughter, try to remember everything about her that you can. What her voice sounds like, how her hair smells, what makes her laugh, everything about her that comes to mind.”

She searched through her candles and found a purple one. She placed it on the table in front of the woman, “I'm going to have you meditate on this while you think of her.”  She lit the candle and the flame danced to life.

“I don't know how to.” she said.

“It's easy,” Stephanie said, “here, hold my hands.”

When she'd done what she asked Stephanie smiled encouraging, “the idea is to center yourself to focus your energy on your task and let everything else wash over you. Your thoughts, your feelings, those are all thing's you're experiencing, they aren't you. What you want to do is get in touch with that core that is purely yourself.”

Annabelle nodded.

“Okay, I want you to breath with me,” Stephanie said, “inhale slowly and steadily, counting to five. Hold it for another five, then exhale for five.”

She pulled her own breath in, counting it off in her head then exhaling. She sat with Annabelle for a couple more rounds of breathing then said, “good just keep doing that until you can hold the rhythm without counting, you'll feel your heart beat. Your body will feel like it's trying to realign itself. Your back will straighten, your feet with sit a little firmer on the ground. You'll feel things, ignore them and let them come. Don't focus on them. Let the experiences pass. I'll come back in a few minutes.”

Stephanie gathered the supplies she needed. The one good thing about running an occult shop, she had any spell ingredients she needed.

She grabbed a county map and hoped it would be enough.

Annabelle was still staring at the candle when she came in. Her body moved slightly with the breaths that she was taking. She didn’t noticed Stephanie had reentered the room. It was a good sign.

“I don't think I've ever seen anyone take to meditation so quickly,” she said and sat the map down on the other side of the candle.

Annabelle looked away from the candle. Her eyes were slightly unfocused like she'd woken from a daze.

“I'm not sure I'm doing this right,” she said, “I feel tired.”

“That's how you know you're doing it right.”

Stephanie held out her hand to Annabelle, she took it.

Stephanie said, “we're going to see if we can find your baby. Close your eyes, keep breathing the way you were, and let’s find her.”

Stephanie didn't expect the spell to work any better than her scrying spell had. The candle flared instantly. She picked it up and held it over the map watching the wax drip down the side onto the paper beneath it.  

She put the candle back down and whispered to Annabelle “blow it out.”

“There,” she said picking up the map, “see that wasn't so hard now was it? Now we have to go figure out what's there.”

“It's a farm,” Annabelle said looking at the map, “when I was a kid we lived on that road. There was a farm a little way up from us,” she closed her eyes, “this is a nightmare that just won't end.”

“I promise, we're going to end it.” Stephanie assured her.

Continue Reading

#Before the Wolf Moon

[thorinkingoferebor]

24 hours later: i'm still outraged as ever & i've found a couple of new things to be outraged about that i somehow just missed yesterday. which is understandable. hard to keep track of all the fuck ups!

what was the point of euron fighting jaime? also how did they even end up together? that was another case of characters just conveniently appearing at the right time at the right location (which is like euron’s mine character trait at this point: randomly showing up without any real reason just to fuck shit up in the most annoying way possible). Also: why didn't Jaime just go for this route the first time around?! he might have even made it in time. why is euron so obsessed with killing jaime? why is euron in general? what's his point? was he ever meant to be anything but a cheap plot device? everyone deserved better than this

the fact that the unsullied officers just left tyrion with jaime no questions asked is probably the dumbest moment of the entire episode. dany has often and loudly questions tyrion's loyalty but nothing suspicious about tyrion (THE HAND OF THE QUEEN) wanting to stand guard outside the tent and sending everyone else away. like what's he gonna do? free the person he clearly loves most in the world with a key that just magically appeared in his hand while davos somehow sneaks past the entire greyjoy fleet to leave a boat at the foot of the red keep? naaah (how did davos get back from there btw? did he tow another boat? was he not alone? why am i even trying to make sense of this we all know this plot was written on a piece of toilet paper)

and what's with dany never learning of jaime's escape?! someone must have checked on such a high profile prisoner in the morning? someone must have noticed and told dany who just hours ago threatened tyrion with death should he ever betray her. why did noone come up with the idea to use jaime as a hostage??? but guess everyone just forgot about him, just like the writers forgot about his arc :))))))))))))))))))

where did all the dothraki come from? why are there still so many unsullied left? it sure looked like 90% of them died in winterfell. then we see a significant number in episode five and in the trailer for episode 6 it looks like thousands??? do they just respawn? are we following video game logic now? (btw remember when soldiers had actual personalities? when was the last time an unsullied beside grey worm or a dothraki did anything to remind us they're more than npcs. what do they think about all of this? what did they think about the army of the dead? how are they coping? why was everyone suddenly ok with senseless violence against children even though dany has been saying for years she doesn't want that. yeah sure, she started the kings landing BBQ but she was in a completely different part of the city. there was no way for the foot soldier to know that she was indeed butchering civilians and not just wiping out the last remainders of the lannister forces that hadn't put down their weapons. i’m glad though that they all apparently learned to communicate with each other telepathically otherwise they would be as freaking lost as me rn

one thing the books and previous seasons have been really good at is small little world-building elements that pay off later. and they could have used that in season 8! there wasn't any need to introduce new stuff they could have just used what's already there. they did well on that account with lyanna, jorah and theon. Theon probably had the best arc this season tbh (not a tough competition but it's something) and died a stark and a greyjoy. His identity was the major theme of his journey and seeing it played out this way was satisfying! Lyanna and Jorah both embodied "Here We Stand" in their final moments (Jorah quite literally) and that was wonderful! Why couldn't we get something like this for the Lannisters? Why couldn't we get one final, brilliant scene with cersei trying to turn the tide (backup plan? never heard of it). Don't get me wrong, Lena's acting was fantastic but why couldn't we get a "Hear me roar" moment? Her arc was tide to house Lannister more than any other and yet we didn't get anything? Why didn't we get any rewarding rains of castamere parallels? if they're set on wiping house lannister off the map why not show the tragedy and irony of it. why not remind of us tywin's fantastic speech in season 2? they could have used any of those themes but they didn't???

i'm still not even ready to begin to vocalize my opinions regarding jaime. every time i think about it i can feel my life drain out of me. what a fucking waste you guys

what i can vocalize now however is how much i do hate cersei's end and how they treated lena. I cannot get over that. like i realize she is a villain and i realize she is not meant to be a sympathetic character and she never had a chance to get redemption or get out alive but the show treated her like dirt in the end and just like jaime she was eventually reduced to the incest plotline. she started this show out as someone completely at the mercy of the men in her life (her father, her husband) and while jaime was a big part of her arc her main objective was always throwing off that control and taking it herself. sure she overdid it massively and became power hungry but that power hunger is a direct result of the way she was brought up and everything she was forced into/everything she was denied. weirdly, her conflicts are very similar to brienne's. both women didn't want the roles their peers tried to force them into, both women wanted to escape and both women assumed to do so they would have to take on male traits. brienne did that by rejecting her womanhood completely for 7 seasons and aspiring to be a knight. cersei took a very different route. maybe because she had that option (brienne couldn't mould herself into a proper lady unlike her) or maybe because that was literally her only option (imagine tywin's reaction to cersei putting on armour...). in the years that follow cersei and brienne obviously take very different paths and they have very different personalities but just as brienne deserved her knighthood and the affections and acceptance of the man she loves, cersei would have deserved to be free of men trying to decide her fate for her. but she never was. first it was her father, then robert, then her father again, then the high sparrow and when she finally wiped them all out she had to let another man she despised into her bed to maintain power. brienne managed to escape the confines of male-dominated society forced on her, cersei never did. they could have either shown her finally free before her death, free of the men that tried to control her all her life, free of the power hunger, free of societies expectations or they could have had her face her ugly deeds. i doubt she would have ever regretted any of it but it would have been so much more satisfying to see her properly outsmarted, to see her face off either dany or sansa or jon (or even tyrion or jaime had his character arc not been ruined before that). she was a fantastic, complex villain until she basically just started to stare off into the distance. it would have been so satisfying to see her face reality before the end. Instead, we got rocks. but even that scene (as beautifully as it's acted) isn't satisfying. cersei, who has never been one to just weep helplessly, is first reduced to begging jaime for her life & to save their child (AGAIN WHAT WAS THE POINT! I WILL NEVER GET IT!) and then she keeps freaking out because she doesn't want to die at all and certainly not this way (very self-centred as always whereas jaime is much calmer and at peace with what's about to happen and ready to take care of her even though he’s worse off) . i don't know if this was intentional or just a happy accident but even in those final scenes it's very obvious that the love cersei has for jaime is not the same kind of love jaime has for her. i guess they both ended up wanting to die in each others arms seconds before it happened so there’s that. but it’s a cheap ending for the best actress in the show before they robbed her of all opportunities to shine

oh and lena's instagram combined with her body double’s yet unseen work on the show has now convinced me that we're incredibly likely to see cersei's and jaime's mutilated bodies/heads next week. can't wait to see their characters disrespected on a whole new level jfc i’m so tired

i can't even think about brienne these days. absolutely seething. at this point i would prefer it if the brienne/jaime romance had never happened in ep. 4. if they'd stuck to glances and meaningful gestures at least it would have made more sense. brienne would have been his "what if" when they erased jaime's character development and made him return to cersei (which i maintain could have made sense because no matter what jaime will always love his family no matter how much he also hates them IF ONLY THEY HAD PUT IN THE FUCKING WORK). but she's not a "what if" now is she. she is his "this happened and it was good and important" but we're just going to forget this. we're just going to forget that the last 8 seasons have been leading up to this point. we're gonna forget that for the entire first half of season 8 jaime didn't even flinch at the thought of cersei dying. four episodes of jaime glued to brienne's side and then we're just expected to believe he doesn't care after all. then we're just supposed to believe she is never mentioned again and no thought of her crosses his mind or anyone else's for that matter (looking at you tyrion). I genuinely don't get what the point of that romance was then. to keep jaime in winterfell for a bit longer so him getting captured would make more sense? i feel like there were like a million ways to get the same outcome without throwing brienne under the bus. brienne and her entire arc were used as a cheap plot device for jaime and it wasn't even worth it cause they then butchered jaime's arc. god i'm so angry.

remember the last time a tv show fucked up in the last episode? yeah, dexter!  i'm calling it now: got will end exactly like dexter in terms of plot and level of satisfaction. jon will kill dany (a family member/romantic interest) and then go north to spend his day in the wilderness (lumberjacking away miserably)

the more i think about it there is not a single thing about this episode that actually makes sense. this goes beyond plotholes, this is just a plain hole

#text posts by thea #thea watches got #this is my last big rant i promise #just need to get this stuff off my chest as well #it's a coping mechanism #got spoilers

[turtle0verl0rd]

The Paint On Our Skin

Soulmate AU where whatever your soulmate writes on their skin appears on your skin. This applies to makeup, marker, paint, nail polish and I’m also throwing dye into the mix

In this fanfic I follow the headcanon that both Walker and Andi are pansexual, Amber is lesbian, Buffy and Marty are asexual, Jonah is bisexual, and Tyrus is canon king, and bexie ofc. Ambi crush. Gonah and Jandi if you squint hard.

@wandiarts I hope you like it! Happy belated birthday!

Andi had always adored her soulmate, although she didn't truly know them. Ever since a very young age, her soulmate doodled the most fascinating little drawings all up her arm, which made Andi return the favor happily; although Andi always was more of a craft kind of girl. Some doodles faded while others stayed forever, which Andi comprehended her soulmate must have gotten some of them turned into more permanent tattoos, to the utter horror of her grandmother. 

Andi didn't bother with the gender of her soulmate. Everything her soulmate did would give off an aura of intriguing, yet inexplicit, mystery. Her soulmate's doodles were never really gender-specific in any way, however, the presence of makeup across her face and the day her bangs were bleached expressed definite feminity. It made sense to them since Andi always admired their friend Amber in the way that surpassed the lines of platonic feelings, which lasted all the way up until Amber had left for college, where she then found her own soulmate. But if they turned out to be a boy, Andi wouldn't mind either, as she had a fair share of boys she liked too. Boy, girl, something out of the binary, none of it mattered to her. She didn't care who's arms she drew security in, as long as her heart found contentment in them.

"Thinking of your soulmate again Andiman?" Speaking of boys, there was her friend Jonah who smiled at her before sitting down with the company of their other friends: Gus, Cyrus, TJ, Buffy, and Marty. 

"Maybe a little," Andi said sheepishly. "I mean, you all found yours already, why can't I too?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find them soon." Cyrus beamed, holding her hand across the table comfortingly with his free hand, the other locked with TJ's. Cyrus had discovered his soulmate back in middle school when he wrote a reminder on his hand to pick up his order from the bakery and his soulmate met him there. Everybody was ecstatic for the two of them, although Buffy was hesitant at first regarding her teammate and her best friend being soulmates considering she and TJ had such a colorful history. But that was the past and they had since then mended their conflicts; with help of Cyrus' not-so-subtle meddling of course. 

"I mean at least you have a significant other." Buffy quirked an eyebrow with a laugh.

"Hey. You love me and you know it, 11.5." Marty cheered as he nudged Buffy's side.

Now Buffy was a rare case. She did indeed have a soulmate, but not in the typical sense. The doodles on her arm all showed up in gold, which she quickly decided was strange and after doing research discovered she was wound in a situation where her soulmate was drawn to her in a purely platonic sense. At first, she was distraught she would never experience love as Cyrus and Andi would, but she couldn't be any happier with Marty. So what if it wasn't romantic attraction, they loved each other just as strong.

"What got you thinking about your soulmate?" TJ questioned with a furrowing of his eyebrows.

"Well, I mean you guys aren't entirely helping the cause," Andi scoffed playfully with a head tilt to how TJ and Cyrus were cuddled up to each other closely. "They made more drawings today. Usually, that makes me happy but today it just made me miss them in some weird sense." Andi felt a pang in her chest. "Guys, am I going to be okay?" She said in a small voice of worry.

The group wore sympathetic smiles as they nodded, Jonah pulling her into a small side hug beside her. Her almond eyes watery as she wore a sad smile in response.

"You may be weird, but you're no different from any other teen our age, Andi." Buffy smiled at her.

"There's nothing wrong with you, absolutely nothing." Cyrus encouraged, squeezing her hand in assurance.

"Can I see it?" Gus shyly asked with care.

Andi wordlessly pulled up her sleeve to reveal a multitude of swirling colors up her arm. The tips of the swirls resembled miniature hearts. The group exhaled in awe as they gently traced the design with their fingertips.

"Okay, that's really nice." Marty chuckled.

"It's beautiful." Buffy breathed.

"They really are an artist," Jonah affirmed.

"Are you going to draw something back again?" Cyrus asked, not taking his eyes from the painted design.

"I want to, but I'm not sure what. I want it to be special this time." Andi admitted.

Cyrus squealed immediately in response. "Do I sense romance in the air?"

"This isn't a Hallmark movie, Underdog." TJ teased fondly. "But that does kinda give me an idea."

"Oh, that's dangerous," Buffy smirked.

"I'm serious, Driscoll." TJ rolled his eyes. "What if we used the art to communicate?"

Andi beamed at the idea, but then immediately inflated. "How did I not think of that? That's really good, TJ."

TJ smirked cockily. "Well, I mean- look at me."

"I don't get it." Jonah cocked his head in question, which made everyone burst into laughter.

"Good one man." Marty gave Jonah a thumbs up, making Jonah scratch his head.

Later that evening, the trio Cyrus had dubbed the 'Good Hair Crew' laid head to head illuminated by the fairy lights string above them. They were still attempting to brainstorm art ideas which would allow Andi to better know her soulmate. It wasn't the scarcity of ideas that delayed the ordeal, but instead Andi's ability to shoot them down.

"What if you drew two swans in the shape of a heart?" Cyrus proposed.

"Too cheesy." Andi scrunched up her nose.

"How about a Cherry Blossom Tree?" Buffy recommended.

"Too basic." Andi shook her head.

"Is your name with a hearted 'i' out of the question?" Cyrus considered.

Andi hummed. "Too simple."

"Okay, what about you as a cartoon, maybe holding a heart?" Buffy suggested.

"Too hard." Andi sighed.

"Are you sure it has to involve a heart?" Cyrus verified.

Andi groaned as she sat up. "I already told you, it's an unspoken rule the last doodle has to resemble the next."

"Sorry." Cyrus shrunk back into himself as he sat up, the curly hair girl beside him following suit. "We might have to reschedule this affair, if I don't get back soon, Sharon might think I was kidnapped and sent off to China."

"Sayonara, Cyrus," Buffy smirked as she made way for him to pass through the small shack. Although Andi quickly took into account Cyrus' clumsiness and the number of paintbrushes on the floor.

"Wait, Cy-"

It was too late. Cyrus had already stepped directly onto a paintbrush and slipped right into a desk of open paint, splattering paint directly onto the three of them. In most situations, Andi would be upset, but one glance at her friends and they were all bursting into infectious laughter, which somehow evolved into a breakout of a huge paint fight.

By the end of it, the trio was sprawled out, covered head-to-toe in tides of paint and laughing breathlessly in between worn out pants for air.

"We look like walking abstract art." Buffy pointed out in laughter.

"I kinda like it. You know what? I'm not washing it off just yet. TJ's gonna hate me." Cyrus giggled, knowing full well he could pour soup into the boy's lap and he would probably apologize to Cyrus.

"Me neither, Marty can deal with being bootleg C-3PO for awhile."

"Then it's settled." Andi grinned.

Andi had lain on her back, forming constellations in the popcorn on her bedroom ceiling in the dark as she tried to drift off to sleep. It hadn't been too late, but waiting for the paint to dry sure did kill some precious sleeping time. It was at this time Andi noticed cursive on her stomach in a pleasant yellow sharpie, the only place desirable place not covered in paint:

Next time you start a paint war, invite me :) -W

Andi audibly gasped as she reached for the nearest sharpie, a nice shade of Persian blue. Andi giggled as she wrote back on her stomach.

Shadyside Park. Tomorrow at high noon. Be there. -A

She went to cap the marker when a reply from her soulmate came moderately quickly.

I hope you're not kidding because I'm not when I say I will be there -W

Andi squealed as she traced the sentence over and over again. Overwhelmed with glee, she ran to her parents' room.

"MOM! DAD! LOOK!" Andi cheered, lifting her pajama shirt slightly with a radiant smile.

"Oh, Andi! This is amazing!" Her mother, Bex, praised as she read the inscriptions. "I'm so happy for you."

Bowie scratched his head as he asked the question they were all wondering themselves. "’W?’ What could that mean?"

"Bowie, It's probably the kid's name," Bex smirked fondly.

"Or maybe... it means something else."

"I doubt that." 

"If it helps any, I don't think I ever would have written them if Cyrus didn't spill my paints everywhere." Andi wondered aloud. Everyone glanced at each other with a glimmer in their eyes.

"The universe!" They all cheered in unison, pulled each other into a laughter-filled hug.

Andi stood in the park that following afternoon. She was starting to wonder if coming to the park in the middle of a school day was the best idea, but nonetheless there she stood, drumming her nervous nails against her side. Her soulmate had the same thought of painting their nails the color of Andi's sharpie color, so her right hand was mustard yellow while her left was the Persian blue she drew in.

Cyrus and Buffy were through the roof when Andi told them about how she and her soulmate were going to have their First Moment together, and as much as they were disappointed they couldn't be there for it, they understood how momentous this was. A First Moment was special. A First Moment was something you told your children. A First Moment was a memory you treasured in your heart up until the day you died. Andi heard her parent's own First Moment so many times she could probably relay the story in her sleep.

Andi looked up from her nails to lock eyes with a young boy standing a bit of distance away. She gasped as she noticed his bleached hair, just like hers, and the flood of painted color all across his skin. It was him, it was her soulmate.

Andi's eyes furiously searched to memorize every last stroke of color in the boy's eyes, brown suddenly never being the same, every shade suddenly bringing her a raw sense of belonging, like a home she felt she always knew.

"Hi." She breathed, her lungs feeling as if they were falling from her body.

"Hey." The boy responded, drawing closer to her. "I'm Walker."

"Andi." She blinked, delicately shaking his hand in greeting as electricity sounded through her fingertips, needing to be closer to him. 

He stepped closer to her and her eyes fluttered as she felt his warm, tingling breathes, although it could have easily been the growing blush upon her cheeks. And then, she felt a streak of wet and cold on her cheek. 

She gaped as she saw Walker's amused smile before her, paintbrush in hand and a dash of lime green on his cheek, right where she felt the sensation. She quickly grabbed her own brush with a giggle. "I thought we were having a moment there!"

"Who said we weren't?" Walker countered as he leaned back to try and dodge Andi's attack of color.

"You're not wrong." Andi nodded as they continued to dance around each other and laugh as they spread color onto each other. 

At one point as Andi tried to run away from Walker after an especially devastating streak of violet down his nose, her foot hooked around Walker's causing her to lose her footing and sink towards the grass. Instinctively, Walker reached out to scoop an arm around the valley of her back and pull her closer to him. "I got you, you're safe."

"I know." Andi melted, feeling like the entire world faded away as she looked up at Walker's face framed by the low sunlight. Every minuscule freckle and scar like the starry night sky and a halo of light around Walker's long eyelashes. 

Andi pushed herself closer to Walker, rubbing her nose against his and wrapping her arms around his sturdy neck as she pressed her lips to his. 

Walker reached out with his other hand to cup the side of her jaw as he kissed her back with tenderness, yet security. Andi wanted to describe the feeling but the only words she could draw was finally.

Andi smiled against Walkers lips as she felt her heart soar within it's home in her chest, for it knew the joyous news that her soul had found the one she loves, and will forever continue to love. By every new breath in her lungs, she fully understood this would be the love that lasted a lifetime. By just the feeling of Walker's hair within her fingertips, she securely knew her love for him would extend even after the day the sun died out and it would illuminate the heavens across all of space; just like a star after years of its perishing. The feeling of the paint on their skin stood as a constant reminder of that day and the long-awaited eternity she could have only seen before in her wildest of dreams. 

#wandi #andi mack #walker brodsky #tyrus #muffy #my writing

[jonsafan-blog]

House of the Undying and Valyrian Daggers

As expected, the prophecy is coming true. Discusses leaks later in the post.

Daenerys walks into the throne room and it is covered in snow/ashes. We now know that is snow. She puts down a torch, and I didn’t realize this before but I think that was foreshadowing she was going to burn it. She approaches the throne but does not sit on it. Then she hears her dragons and departs from the throne room.

My analysis of this scene after the fact is that Daenerys will never really be queen. She won’t stop and rebuild... because we know she is beyond that. She doesn’t see the people of Westeros as people. She can’t liberate people who are already liberated... merely conquer them and cause them fear.

She hears the call of her dragons... because it is the dragons that inspire her. However, my belief is that she will try to fight Jon in the next episode, politically or militarily, and what we are hearing is the dance of dragons.

That conflict will lead to her doom.

Daenerys goes under the Wall and crosses to the other side. It’s whiteout winter over there and she shivers. Then she sees a dothraki hut like the one she shared with Drogo. She enters it, and suddenly it’s like she’s on the Dothraki sea because it is clearly warm outside. She’s in her happy place. And guess who is there? Khal Drogo and Rhaego. Aww. He calls her the “moon of my life.” The rest of their conversation is in Dothraki.

She can’t believe it. She replies, “This is dark magic, like the magic that took you from me.” She approaches, uncertain and adds, “Took you from me before I could even...”

But then Daenerys changes. She’s happy and says: “Maybe I am dead and I just don't know it yet. Maybe I am with you in the Night Lands."

Khal Drogo looks up at her and replies, “Or maybe I refused to enter the Night Lands without you. Maybe I told the Great Stallion to go fuck himself and came back here to wait for you.”

Daenerys smiles. “That sounds like someone you would do,” she says.

She looks down at her baby, and Khal Drogo softly says, “Or maybe it is a dream. Your dream, my dream... I do not know.”

Khal Drogo is about to kiss her. “These are questions for wise men with skinny arms.” And then, “You are the moon of my life. That is all I know and need to know.”

Daenerys is starting to break emotionally as Drogo continues. “And if this is a dream... I will kill the man who tries to wake me.”

They touch foreheads. Daenerys looks at Rhaego. Dragons cry in the background. Daenerys begins to cry as she restates what Mirri Maz Duur reminded her of, but this time in the common tongue: “Until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Until the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves.”

She walks away. Drogo is devastated.

Analyzing this I know why the final book is called A Dream for Spring. It’s not about the seasonal spring... it’s about the future Daenerys longed for herself... and it’s only a dream. It’s her realization that her dreams of the future are not going to happen which drives her mad.

But in the context of the show... here are my predictions.

When Daenerys “goes under” and “crosses the other side” it is referring to two possibilities: 1) She dies. 2) She crosses the line. Hell and immorality are implied in both, and when she goes Beyond the Wall she is becoming the Queen of the Ashes instead of Westeros.

Remember, the “snow” on the throne wasn’t snow at all... it was ashes from the city she burned down. Daenerys is fully accepting that part of herself by choosing to go under and cross to the other side.

That said, there is more to this vision, and it’s the Dothraki part which causes me to splinter on possibilities rather significantly.

We have leaks, but narratively... and based on the books... we have two destinies for Daenerys: she dies in a normal way... or she dies and comes back as the Night Queen.

What?

Oh, I got book evidence for the second one, but for the first, the leaks are pretty clear about what is going to happen: Jon eventually stabs Daenerys because his family will never be safe. Beyond that there is some uncertainty about what happens. It could be a fairly banal ending in which the story is pretty much over at that point.

Or...

Daenerys becomes the Night Queen.

There is some weird inkling of another leak, and given a leak almost noone discusses about a dothraki hut being built for the season yet not appearing in the show so far, I want to talk about my wild theory. It’s kind of bananas, but I’ve been waiting for the House of the Undying ash vision to be confirmed to share it with you.

So other leaks have stated it’s possible that Drogon carries Daenerys body beyond the wall. Jon feels so guilty for what he did that he goes into exile at or beyond the wall. Also, Bran states there must always be a night king.

For this wild theory to happen a few things must occur which nobody has discussed:

Arya is in King’s Landing.

Arya’s dagger is in King’s Landing.

A godswood is in King’s Landing.

Do you see where I am going with this?

What is Jon is given Arya’s dagger... and he kills her in the charred Godswood because BranTree DIDN’T EXPLAIN WHY ARYA HAD TO STAB THE NIGHT KING WITH THAT SWORD... but we keep being reminded of it as an audience.

Drogon takes Daenerys because Daenerys is alive-dead, and goes beyond the wall because that’s what Night Kings/Queens do to build their army.

AND OH GOD THE WILDLINGS ARE UP THERE. And so is the broken wall.

But time to settle down and talk about the book connections.

Because they are fucking interesting.

I am not even exaggerating.

Time for a primer on Dothraki religion! Or rather, religion in general.

I’m not kidding.

So there is one theory most people believe D&D dropped the ball on. And given the leaks seem kind of light on what happens next episode, perhaps Azor Ahai hasn’t happened yet. Perhaps Jon wasn’t supposed to kill that Night King, but Daenerys Night Queen.

So the Lord of Light has this great enemy called the Great Other... a god of death, cold, and darkness. The Lord of Light and the Great Other fight a continuous battle with each other over the fate of the world (A Song of Ice and Fire). Melisandre calls the White Walkers “cold children” in the books.

Are you getting chills? I’m not even to the Dothraki part, I’m building up to it.

We know that Craster sacrificed his sons to the White Walkers, and we know that the Weirwood trees are somehow connected to the White Walker’s creation.

There is also book evidence which suggests Melisandre sees Bran being tempted his teacher towards darkness as leaves flow in the wind. He is reminded the trees are rooted into the darkness and will make him strong like mother’s milk.

Who created the Night King in the show?

The Children of the Forest... who I believe are servants of the Great Other. They carved the trees and signed the Pact for peace between the Children and the First Men, leading the First Men to adopt their religion.

That said, it seems to be implied in the books that the Children and the First Men worked to defeat the White Walkers in the book the first time around, so it is possible that the Children had no idea they were serving an evil God.

When the Andals invaded Westeros, they burned down the Weirwood trees as much as they could, and the Pact ended, though the First Men still followed this clearly evil religion without realizing it.

The Andals believe in the Seven, which like the Christian is one God in seven forms. There is also a Lord of the Seven Hells who performs black arts. I think it is just another iteration of Lord of Light vs. Great Other, and the Lord of Light used the Andals to invade Westeros and try to stop the spread of the Old God religion.

Now let’s get closer to what the Dothraki believe now that it is obvious we are setting up a Lord of Light vs. Great Other fight.

Essos actually has children of the forest. They are called the Ifequevron. They lived in the Forest of Ifequevron just north of the Dothraki sea. The Dothraki did not attack them either out of respect or fear. It is believed they were wiped out by the Ibbense, and once the Ifequevron disappeared, the Dothraki began attacking the Ibbense.

They left one city that the Dothraki call the “City of Ghosts” and people that have visited report seeing trees with carved faces.

Weird how the Dothraki didn’t attack them... super weird.

Maybe because they weren’t supposed to.

But onto Dothraki religion:

They worship a horse god and Dothraki aren’t worth anything unless they can ride a horse. Their god is called the “Great Stallion.” When someone times, their god parts the grass and claims the deceased for his khalasar so the dead can ride with them in the nightlands.

What.

What.

What.

So we know that there is a Great Other who is the god of the dead. We also know Melisandre clearly believes the White Walkers are enemies. The Night King joined the dead to his own khalasar - a nomadic horde. And together they rode into the Long Night... Yeah. Not a coincidence.

One important function of khalasars is that when a khal dies, the groups underneath him (but no bloodriders) either fight to claim it or break apart on their own. I believe that with the Night King dead, if that wild theory is true... Daenerys becoming a White Walker is just part of the Great Other’s plan to replace his general of death.

But I’m just not done yet.

In Daenerys’s vision, she is called the “moon” of Khal Drogo’s life. She is the wife to the sun - which is a star. And I believe the Dothraki are wrong about it being the sun or that the meaning is lost in translation.

Interestingly, the others have a story about a Night King who was bewitched by a Night Queen who had skin as pale as the moon.

Oh to Dothraki death beliefs and funeral customs.

According to the Dothraki, stars are horses made of fire and the starry sky is a great herd of fiery horses running across the sky. These stars are dead Dothraki. The more fierce the Dothraki, the brighter the star.

When a horselord dies, a horse is slain so it can be mounted in death. These dothraki are then burned beneath the open sky. If a child dies before they are old enough to ride, they will instead be reborn to begin life anew.

Drogo was burned to custom: a square made of wood is positioned with the khal’s horse in the middle. Over the horse, another platform is constructed. This platform is laid east to west, from sunrise to sunset. It has three levels. The third levels is set north to south. On that level, the khal is placed with his head in the direction of the Mother of Mountains. His body is only burned when the first star has been seen in the sky.

Why did I give you all those details?

Oh boy.

Guys. I’ve been holding this crazy theory in for a while. I’m not holding back.

So let’s consider for a moment the Mirri Maz Duur prophecy... which we were reminded of in Daenerys’s House of the Undying prophecy and in the last season in the dragon pit.

Let’s remember context: Daenerys wasn’t asking about when she would bear another child... but when Drogo would be able to ride a horse again - thus be a khal again.

Mirri said: "When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before."

Now a popular theory and not one I discount because of Daenerys’s similarities to Cersei is that she will become pregnant. However, Daenerys is going to die or she’s going to destroy the world. But that’s not the point of my funeral description.

George R. R. Martin gave those details for a reason.

First, Khal Drogo was burned when the first star rose in the sky... and that was the red comet. That’s what happened in the books, though the show was slightly different (because none of these fine details are shared) and it doesn’t show up until season 2.

However, the show did point out it meant dragons... but back to the pyre and the prophecy.

Drogo’s second platform was laid east to west, from sunrise to sunset. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.” But Drogo died unable to ride a horse... so I believe he didn’t go to the nightlands... I believe he was reborn... as Drogon. Rhaego as Rhaegal. And Viserys, who had to walk because of his crimes against Daenerys for hitting her, was reborn as Viserion.

Okay, that last one is a little silly and I’m mostly joking.

That said, Drogo was reborn on a pyre. That red comet was him rising in the west and setting in the east (dying). He was then reborn into Drogon.

From there, “When the seas go dry” Daenerys left the Dothraki sea for the Red Waste. But the “mountains blow in the wind like leaves” is meant to represent something happening in Westeros. For Daenerys to go west, first she must go east... which she did. Then she went west and the White Walkers came like leaves in the wind.

It’s possible Daenerys becomes pregnant again, but I believe what Mirri’s snide statement is really stating is an unintended prophecy. She will become the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

According to Dothraki prophecy in the books:

As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name. The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world.

The Dothraki also believe in something called “Ghost Grass” which sounds a bit like snow though it is actually a plant rumored to glow with the spirits of the dead. It is supposed to cover the whole world... and that’s how it ends.

But the Stallion Who Mounts the World? The one Mirri tried to stop?

Daenerys brought the largest army in the world to Westeros - including a Dothraki arakh army - like razor grass. He would be “fierce as a storm” like Daenerys Stormborn. Enemies will tremble (like Jon). The Bells... the fucking bells will sing his coming. Or Daenerys coming.

God damn it. I believe my crazy theory...  okay? I can see the books ending this way.

Anyway, the milk men (pale people like Westerosi) in their stone tents (hey, castles!) will fear his name.

The Stallion is also supposed to bring everyone into his khalasar... which is what Daenerys basically intends to do. The Great Other is doing this by killing everyone... and Daenerys seems like an enticing general.

Essentially, I believe the Dothraki had similar beliefs as the Ifequeron like the First Men did with the Children of the Forest. Only their beliefs morphed to it Essos. Because they bring death, I think they are actually worshippers of the Great Other whom they call the Great Stallion.

But if Daenerys is the Stallion Who Mounts the World and works for the Great Other... who is supposed to fight against her?

I dunno. Maybe the man the Lord of Light brought back from the dead for some weird reason.

The Last Hero and Azor Ahai are not the same person, just like the Andal Seven are not the same as them. Details on them are pretty light so I won’t get into. They are all iterations of the fight between the Lord of Light and the Great Other though. They may not have even happened in the same places. There may be more.

So let’s look at what happened.

The Last Hero is a Westerosi tradition happening during the Long Night.

 Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods, the children still lived in their wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds –

This was alluded to in the Wight Hunt, but it’s possible some iteration could happen again briefly. If Jon goes North, he will have “a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions.”

Azor Ahai goes a bit like this:

Darkness lay over the world and a hero, Azor Ahai, was chosen to fight against it. To fight the darkness, Azor Ahai needed to forge a hero's sword. He labored for thirty days and thirty nights until it was done. However, when he went to temper it in water, the sword broke. He was not one to give up easily, so he started over.

The second time he took fifty days and fifty nights to make the sword, even better than the first. To temper it this time, he captured a lion and drove the sword into its heart, but once more the steel shattered.

The third time, with a heavy heart, for he knew beforehand what he must do to finish the blade, he worked for a hundred days and nights until it was finished. This time, he called for his wife, Nissa Nissa, and asked her to bare her breast. He drove his sword into her living heart, her soul combining with the steel of the sword, creating Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

Although he had Lightbringer, Azor Ahai did not fight alone. The Jade Compendium mentions that when the hero thrust the blade through a monster, the creature burst into flame.

There are similarities to the last one. It’s possible that a Valyrian sword cannot kill a Night King or Queen, merely the sword that created them underneath a Godswood. 

It’s possible that the present timeline is mirroring the defeats or lack of personal involvement Jon has had in defeating his enemies: He could not fight the darkness himself, and it took a water dancer to end the Night King. Then he went to fight the Lannisters, but the Lannisters brought destruction upon themselves and died holding onto each other.

The third conflict, Jon will succeed in defeating his enemy because he will kill Daenerys (his Nissa Nissa). But in killing her, he powers the dagger which will later be used against the monster she becomes, and the “burst into flame” is likely alluding to the fact he will be killing Drogon.

As for the dream... perhaps when someone becomes a wight or a White Walker they are tricked into a dream they never wake up from. As Daenerys is destroying the world as the Night Queen, she thinks she is back with Drogo and Rhaego in the Nightlands.

But none of these very discrete details would ever play out in a single episode, at best just some of them, and I am just reviewing them to highlight that Book Daenerys may be on her path to becoming a White Walker herself if Jon uses that god damn dagger.

And we know he is going to stab her. And we know the leaks aren’t long enough to tell us what happens next episode.

So maybe a really unexpected twist happens and Jon accidentally creates another damn Night King and he has to put the monster down.

#jonsa #anti-daenerys #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire

[coelenterata]

BrickClub 3.8.20

Even more men arrive, and Thenardier is making sure everything is in place for the, uh, plan. (Montparnasse is apparently outside talking to Éponine and it just occurred to me that they are nearly the same age and both want a life they can’t have, oof, but obviously it’s very different situations still?? It’s a half-formed thought and not the point of this chapter.)

The plan, as far as I can tell, was that Valjean would recognize Thenardier by the inn sign and, having recognized him and furthermore surrounded by strange/sinister men, be frightened, and therefore agree to pay him money, at which point Thenardier would have him write a letter to his daughter allowing some of the accomplices to kidnap her, and then Thenardier would be able to let Valjean go to get the money with the assurance that he would do so, because they would have Cosette. That... seems to have been the plan. And it doesn’t seem like the stupidest plan in existence? Only Thenardier doesn’t actually know who Valjean is, and underestimated him. And also Marius already warned the police.

Anyway, Valjean understands that he is in trouble even before he knows who he is dealing with, but is not afraid, and is in fact preparing to deal with things, and even Thenardier revealing who he is does not particularly faze him, which in turn makes Thenardier angry because it doesn’t fit into the plan he had.

Also because Thenardier wants to be angry. “You’re the cause of all my misfortunes!” he says, which, nah. He’s kind of twisted the past into what suits his anger better? It’s odd, time and time again, and painful, to read the valid points Thenardier makes about how terrible poverty is and how shitty it is that rich people exist, and then watch him run off to the wrong conclusions/”solutions” -- Hugo has a whole paragraph expressing that better than I ever could.

At some point, having had Thenardier demand “immense amounts” of money from his, with so many people being threatening in the room, Valjean stops being completely calm and tries to escape and in doing so behaves like a victim finally, and gets tied to the bed, and then Thenardier is a bit calmer, and tries to go through with his plan. Because he has understood now, too, that Valjean is scared of the police.

We interrupt this summary for symbolism, kind of: Hugo tells us that Valjean does NOT look like a drowning man, which feels like a deliberate reminder of how he HAS been a drowning man. This is a terrible situation, sure, but it’s not the worst that has happened to Valjean by far. Also Thenardier removes the screen to reveal the chisel and, ta-da, the red light, because it’s all open threats now...?

I’m also gonna note here that Hugo made sure we could recognize each of the criminals either by name or by previous description, and there’s more criminals here than Thenardier wanted because they all wanted to have a job, which I guess answers the question about why these people follow the orders of Thenardier, who seems to have not achieved anything ever. I mean also, maybe this plan would’ve worked with anyone but Valjean, but uh, it does not work with Valjean.

Thenardier wants 200 000 francs, and that’s when Valjean has to write a letter, for which,, one of his arms gets untied,,,, and that’s Thenardier’s first mistake. The second mistake is assuming Valjean would give him a real name or real address.

Mme Thenardier and one of the men go to get Cosette, and everyone waits, and then she gets back and has found out that the address was false, and there would be trouble except Valjean gained time and has freed himself, and that’s when Valjean gets dramatic. He grabs the chisel, “ominous light”, thanks Hugo, and then Hugo pauses to explain the convict’s implement for getting out of ties/bonds/handcuffs, to be very very very clear that Valjean is basically beating these people at their own game?? And then Valjean uses the chisel to hurt himself and prove that they can’t do anything to him, everyone is understandably kind of horrified, and then he throws the chisel out of the window, which, very dramatic and emphasizing the refusal to be involved in violence, but also a bad idea, because then they grab him again because he is defenseless and still tied by one leg to the bed, and Thenardier plans to kill him.

Aaand here’s where I’m going to actually talk about Marius.

Marius has been standing on furniture, wearing no shoes, holding a gun. I feel like it is important to keep that in mind. He is standing shoeless on a desk in a dark room and holding a gun and looking through a hole in the wall having a great big crisis.

He was preparing to get the police to come in, but then he hears the name Thenardier and that puts an end to that, because ACTUALLY the reason Valjean didn’t recognize Thenardier is so Hugo could have Thenardier say his name out loud and make Marius have a crisis.

Oh Marius. Caught between two conflicting duties, two conflicting ideas of what is Right, two beloved people’s conflicting interests, in a way it sometimes feels only Marius can be. (What I don’t quite understand is, saving Valjean is both For Cosette and the right thing, saving Thenardier is only For Georges, but then Marius is obsessed with debts also I guess.)

Somewhere in there Marius briefly considers firing the gun but doesn’t when Thenardier says not to hurt Valjean, and he just keeps standing on furniture and hoping to not have to make that choice, and also knowing nothing about anything. He is confused but impressed by Valjean, he hears the name Urbain Fabre and the U. F. is explained but now he doesn’t even know Cosette’s name. (Hugo tells us a kind of stupid reason why Thenardier can’t say her name, because Marius can’t learn her name from someone other than her, I guess.) He does assume that Valjean is giving his real name and that he, Marius, will see and save Cosette soon, which, buddy, I am so glad noone is doing a crime to you, because you would not get out of it.

Spoiler alert, he does not get to save Cosette. He does get to worry about how the kidnapping means he can’t get Thenardier arrested, but that too passes, because Valjean actually knows what he’s doing.

And he does not end up making any choice, because Hugo has left him something to avoid making a choice, or rather Éponine has: the piece of paper on which she wrote “the cops are here.” Amazing. Thank you Hugo for inventing the coincidence.

Marius throws the piece of paper, plus plaster to make it heavy enough to fly, at least he has a grasp on the laws of physics, the people in the other room find it, they decide to clear out, no time to kill anyone, Marius’ idea worked. Congratulations, Marius.

And then there is an argument about who gets to go first out of the window because all of them are stupid I guess! Thenardier thinks drawing lots is foolish, and he’s right, but he too is foolish because he starts a whole rant about how foolish it is and wastes more time, and then finally, finally Javert arrives -- with the only line worthy of ending such a long chapter.

#brickclub #this is the longest post because i do not apparently have the brainpower to be brief #i'm very very sorry

[banditthewriter]

Somebody Like You - Billy Russo - 3/3

Thank you to the people that messaged about this story. I’m glad you enjoyed it! Here is the last part. It’s a little longer than usual, but I couldn’t figure out a good place to split it.

Thanks you @slytheringranger for the request!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

***** After learning that the guy you had become involved with was not only in the mob but apparently some sort of mob boss, you weren't sure the best course of action. Would he take offense if you just ghosted him? Was that even an option when he knew where you lived? Daisy apologized for how she told you about him, but you thanked her for telling you the truth. Better that than him making a fool out of you. A few days after the reveal, while you ignored every phone call and text from him, you pulled you tablet over to you and typed in the one thing you had been avoiding. Googling your ex was one thing. Googling your ex because he was in the mob was something completely different. You spent almost the entire weekend looking up information about what he was involved in. It seems like after he served time in the Marines, he got involved with some people doing some low level running and worked his way to the top. And damn if you weren't just a little impressed by his tenacity to make it to the top of the mob in just a few short years. The businesses he owned were legit; his way of paying dues after his almost conviction a few years back. That meant that the place where he had helped you get a job was technically owned by a mobster but not run by the mob. In fact, besides his name on some of the paperwork, it showed no connection to the mob at all. And if the workers knew that a mob boss was the company owner, none of them seemed inclined to care. You had only worked there for a few short weeks before Daisy spilled the beans, but you hadn't gotten even a whiff of corruption at work. That presented a new conundrum for you. Billy got you the job, or at least helped get you the position. It made you feel sleazy to stay at the job knowing what you now knew, but you weren't ready to leave yet. The pay was good but you needed to restock your savings before you could be unemployed again. Your phone buzzed and you hesitated as you picked it up. Every day, twice a day, you got a text from Billy. It was almost noon so it was time for his first daily message. Please give me a chance to explain why I didn't tell you. I owe you that much. He owed you? You looked around at the office building where you were working and shook your head. You'd consider yourself even. And maybe part of you was worried that if he explained himself and you could see any sense to his explanation, you'd forget that you should be scared of him and end up back in his bed again. And that wasn't where you wanted to be. Or, well. It was where you wanted to be but it wasn't where you needed to be. When you thought you were sleeping with the owner of the company, that was one thing. Thinking about sleeping with a mob boss that owned the company made you realize how stupid you had been. Another buzz had you looking at your phone once more. In the time since the reveal, he had stuck to his routine of a noon text and an eight at night text. This soon after his last message would mean that it probably wasn't him. Except today, apparently. I just wanted to let you know that I have to come to the office where you work. It's not on purpose, I swear, but maybe we can talk while I'm there. Oh hell no. You grabbed your stuff, shooting off a message to the person you were supposed to be meeting, and high tailed it out of building. The last thing you needed was to run into him here. At your apartment once more, you curled up on your couch with the television playing softly in the background. Billy had called twice since you left the office but you ignored both calls. What could you even say to him? "You're a mob boss and you lied to me about it but that's okay because I was kind of falling for you?" You had been, that much was apparently obvious in your inability to forget about him, but you couldn't just let his involvement with the mob be swept aside. There was enough danger and violence in the world-- hell, in the city-- without him adding to it. Feelings or not, you needed space. ------ The knock on your door startled you. You paused the movie you were watching and checked the clock. It was just before five, but you weren't expecting guests. You heart pounding painfully in your chest, you made your way over to the door. Not for the first time you wished you had a peep hole. Instead of dwelling on that, you thread the chain into the lock so that you could only open the door a few inches. Billy was standing at the door and when you tried to slam the door shut, he smacked his hand against the wood to force it to stay open. "What do you want?" Billy met your eyes and you were almost swept away by memories of him holding you, him joking around with you. Somehow you found the strength to just continue glaring at him. "I was at the office and when I couldn't find you, I asked around. Turns out no one knew who you were." He narrowed his eyes but there was something more sad than angry about his tone. "You didn't have to quit because of me." "I didn't," you said as you shrugged a bit. "I only know like two people there so maybe you didn't ask them about me." "But you're home before five?" "Yeah, the moment you said you were coming by the office, I left." "Wow," Billy said as he finally dropped his hand from the door. "Fucked up so bad that you left work to get away from me." You weren't about to correct him, but he looked so down trodden. The memory of the two of you talking late at night, the gentleness in how he touched you, had you conflicted. Carefully you shut the door. With a deep breath, you undid the chain and opened the door once more. "You have five minutes." Billy stepped into the apartment but thankfully didn't try to move to the couch. Instead he stood by the door and waited for you to shut it. Once done, you turned to him and gestured with your hand for him to begin. "I didn't go into it wanting to deceive you," he said to start with. "I gave you my card because I thought you were attractive and looked at least a little interested in me." "And then I didn't call," you said, urging him to get to the point. "And honestly I kind of forgot about you until I saw you at the bar again. You looked like you were having a shitty night and I wanted to make it better." He shrugged, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. "It was just supposed to be something simple and easy; feelings weren't supposed to get involved." "Feelings?" That was the first time you'd heard tell of feelings. At least on his side. The confused look on Billy's face didn't clear that up for you either. "I don't know when I started to fall for you, but I did. And seeing your face when your friend told you who I am just damn near killed me." "Your five minutes are almost up," you whispered, trying like hell not to let his words effect you. "I didn't tell you about being William Russo because I'm trying to be more than that. Sitting on trial for everything I was charged with puts things in perspective. I'm trying to take this organization legit but that's not really something you bring up on a first date." "What about a second date or a third date or before you sleep with someone or-" "I know," he said as he took a step towards you. He saw you flinch at his nearness and gave you a brief nod as he stepped back once more. "I should have told you but by time you were close enough to me that I should have said something, I cared too much and was scared I would lose you." And that was what you had been afraid of since the moment he mentioned feelings. Maybe even before then. Your heart was pounding in your chest and all you wanted was for Billy to wrap you up in his arms and let you be safe there. "Your five minutes are up," you said as you stepped around him to unlock the door. As you started to open the door, he spun you around and pressed you against the hard wood. He crashed his mouth against yours in a hard kiss, his hands cupping your face as he traced his tongue over your lips. Not caring that you were in the middle of kicking him out, you wrapped one arm around his neck to pull him closer while your other hand clutched at his jacket. You should shove him away, maybe slap him for even trying to kiss you, but you didn't want to separate him from you. You'd missed this too much. And maybe you were worried that if you did stop him, if you stopped this, you wouldn't get another chance. "Forgive me," he begged between kisses, angling your head so that he could kiss you deeper. "Please. Take me back." You wanted to crumble. You wanted to melt into the kiss and stay there with him. The hand that was fisted into his jacket started to move, your intention of wrapping around him, but you brushed against something hard and heavy in his pocket. You pulled away, dropping your hands to pull his jacket open to reveal a gun tucked into an inside pocket of his leather jacket. "Trying to go legit my ass," you swore as you pushed him away. His eyes widened and followed your gaze to the gun and then he looked back up at you. "Wait, I can explain--" "I'm tired of your explanations," you said through clenched teeth, pushing against him again. "You came to my apartment with a damn gun?" He started to shake his head but it wasn't like he could deny it. You spun around and opened the door, glaring at him as you pointed out into the hallway. "Get out of here or I swear I'll call the cops." Billy waited a moment as if he thought you would immediately changed your mind, but when you did nothing more than just jerk your head at the door, he finally just nodded. "I'm sorry Y/N," he said with a shake of his head. "This isn't what I wanted. I wanted more." "Go," you said, voice quivering as you tried not to cry. Finally he closed his eyes for a moment and stepped through into the hall. With one last look at his stiff back, you shut the door and locked it. That was that. ------ A plain white envelope was taped to your door when you got home from work a few days later. Your landlord sometimes left information that way, so you grabbed it and stepped into your apartment. After you changed into some sweats, you slid your finger under the flap of the envelope. The handwriting wasn't familiar so you looked down and saw the signature. Billy. The urge to throw the letter away was strong, but you decided to read it. If he brought it to you knowing how you felt, you could at least read it. Y/N, I know that you're tired of my explanations, but I need to explain why I had a gun with me. I am trying to go legit, but I made a few enemies. I was able to fix things with most of them, make amends or just compromise enough so that I don't have to look over my shoulder, but not all of them. There's one in particular that I feel like would love to see my name followed by the word deceased. The times we were together, I kept the gun hidden, but I have to admit that I didn't think you'd let me in your apartment. Much less get close enough to see the gun. I know that I've blown my shot with you. I know that you want nothing to do with me anymore. This isn't about me asking you to take me back. This letter is just so that you know I am trying to be a better man. If I thought there was still a chance for us, I'd never let you go. I want you to know that. Maybe I'll see you around. Billy You read the letter twice before you read the last part again. He must have given up on you. That should make you feel better. It's what you wanted, right? So why did those words make you want to cry. You folded the letter and put it on your coffee table, taking a deep breath before you stood up. You were about to do something really stupid. ------ Anvil was housed in a large concrete building. The name wasn't even on a sign; if you missed the name on the door, you missed it completely. Your time dating Billy meant that you had been there once so you were able to find it with both trouble. The man in the front of lobby looked confused when he saw you, but when you introduced yourself he nodded and picked up the phone on the desk. "Mr Russo, there's a woman here asking for you. Yes, I know, but it's Y/N." There was a moment a silence and then he nodded, gesturing for you to have a seat as he hung up the phone. "Mr Russo will be down in a minute," he said as he gave you a knowing smile. You made your way over to the comfortable chairs in the waiting area, tapping your toes as you waited for Billy. Coming here might have been a mistake but you weren't turning back now. Just as you were starting to think that Billy was not going to show, the double doors came open. He was wearing one of his three piece suits that made your mouth water a bit. He shot a look at the guy who had called him and then took a few steps towards you. "Y/N, surprised to see you here. What can I do for you today?" His voice was perfectly polite and professional and it took you by surprise. He was giving you what you wanted, what you had asked for. This was him trying to place nice. You glanced over at the guy that was pretending not to eavesdrop and stepped a little closer to Billy. "I have questions," you said in as even a tone as possible. He motioned for you to continue but you tilted your head towards his employee. "Mind if we take this somewhere... else?" After a moment he nodded and lead you up some stairs and down a few halls to where his office was. It was smaller than you had expected with windows everywhere. He gestured for you to have a seat across from his desk. He hesitated at his own chair before he moved over to sit in the chair next to yours. "What are your questions?" "I read up on the charges. Weapons, drugs, assault," you listed carefully and then you took a breath, meeting his eyes before you jumped in completely, "and conspiracy to commit murder?" "That one was a stretch which is why it got dropped. The other ones were rooted in truth, but they got dropped as well." "The witnesses disappeared," you reminded, trying to keep your tone even but you needed these answers. "No, they decided not to testify. Yeah there was some witness tampering there, but none that can be proven." At your shocked look, Billy gave a soft laugh and leaned back in the chair a bit. "I'm not trying to hide things from you. You wanted the truth so that's what you're getting. I'm not Prince Charming, Saint Peter isn't gonna call my name any time soon. These are facts that I've accepted about myself." You bit your lip and looked down at your hands, trying to process the information you had. Billy wasn't exactly a good person, but you didn't think he was a bad person. He did seem sincere in his strides to become legit and get out. And even though just the idea was blowing your mind, he did seem to genuinely care about you and what you thought about him. With that in mind, you looked up and met his eyes once more. "Would I be in danger for being with you?" Billy's eyes widened at your words slowly as it sank it what you were getting at. He shifted until he was leaning forward a bit, tilting his head a little. "I've divided the organization up as well as I can, even between competitors and enemies. I always played both sides of the fence in case I needed a quick out. My last worry was taken care of when I signed the last of my rights over." "So you're mob free?" He shrugged and then offered a short nod. This was it. You knew that you'd have a hard time explaining this to Daisy and Charlie and the others, but you'd made a decision before you walked into the building. Now that you had the information, you stood up. Billy joined you, obviously curious. He didn't move as you stepped closer to him. The only change in his appearance was a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You reached up and pressed your palm flat against his sternum, giving him just a little push. "Thin ice," you said as you stepped up into his space. "No more lies, no more bullshit." The smirk was starting to stretch into a full blown smile. He whispered your name, tugging you in and leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. This kiss was your way to pour all of your feelings into this man. This was a kiss that said you wanted to be with him, you wanted to trust him. His hands brushing along your hips, pulling you in closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, you knew that you'd been hooked from the moment you met his eyes in the bar. "I won't disappoint you," he said as he pulled back, smirking at you as he rubbed his thumb against your cheek. “Are you sure about this?” You smiled, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to his palm. "There's more to you than your past, so why not?" "And if my past comes back to haunt us?" He was serious. You could see a sliver of worry in his eyes as he asked. You squeezed his hand and stepped closer, leaning in to kiss his lips this time. "Then I trust you to handle it," you whispered against his lips. His smile made your heart speed up and you shook your head with a laugh as you leaned in for another kiss. You knew you were going to have your hands full with this one.

X

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[matrixaffiliate]

A Twist of Fate

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon​

FFN and AO3

Chapter 15

Marlene knew she shouldn't be kissing him, but she couldn't bring herself to care as his hand gripped her waist and his tongue ran across her bottom lip. She wasn't sure if this was a part of their fate, but she desperately wanted it to be. Suddenly her mind was flooded with possibilities of them. A life of both her powers and happiness because she had Sirius. And he only reinforced these feelings with his remorse when he brought his lips to hers. She wasn't some plaything to him, Marlene was sure of that. But all of these thoughts seemed immensely unimportant as Sirius’ lips caressed her.

She was content to lay with him for eternity on that cot, but the cell lock rattled and Sirius bolted upright, bringing her with him, just before the guard entered.

“You've been summoned by His Majesty,” the guard looked fearfully at Marlene.

She bit back her unhappy and conflicted feelings on being interrupted and assumed the character Sirius had worked to build for her.

“We will oblige him, but he will not find what he seeks in this meeting.” She put added emphasis on the word ‘we’. She wanted it very clear that she and Sirius were a package deal. The guard seemed to catch the edge in her voice and nodded to Sirius.

The walk back up to Minos’ main throne room was long and gave Marlene far too much time to think about what had just happened.

She had been shameless in her flirting leading up to Sirius kissing her, mostly to try and figure out where his feelings had been. Marlene smirked to herself, he had made that relatively clear. But now that she knew he cared for her as she did for him, there were decisions she had to make.

Sirius obviously had feelings for her, but they had known each other a grand total of five days. To be fair, they had spent almost every waking moment of three of those days together, and she'd confided in him things she'd not even told her parents, but they hadn't spent all that much time together. There was no guarantee that if they pursued a relationship after this they wouldn't tire of each other a month into it. She barely knew him.

You know him better than you know Giannis. A part of her argued. Sure Giannis was a guarantee of stability, but she'd spent all of four hours with him. Suddenly Sirius seemed less of a wild card. He didn't fear her. He was already her equal, she would give up nothing to be with him. And she indulged in admitting that the demi-god could kiss. But she would still be Fate's daughter with him, in that her mother could still pull these stunts, like sending her to kill the Minotaur with another halfling. Giannis was an escape from all that. Giannis was her choosing to be human. Sirius was her choosing to be an instrument of Fate. Did she really want to be that? Considering where it had got her thus far?

Her internal struggle was cut short as the guard opened the door to Minos’ throne room and marched them in. If Minos had been hoping to only see her, he didn't let it show on his face. Instead, he turned to a servant.

“Chairs, for our guests,” he smiled at Marlene and she wished her foresight would kick in. As if wishing were all it took, suddenly she saw herself and Sirius bound in their chairs heading back to Athens.

“How dare you?!” She thundered. Well, Sirius did tell him she had a temper. She turned to the chairs being carried over and concentrated. If this didn't work she'd just berate Minos. If it did work, then hopefully he would take them seriously. It took a great deal of effort, but both chairs splintered under her gaze. Marlene smirked, she could get used to this level of control over her powers.

She turned back to Minos who gaped at her. “You are too weak to deceive Fate, Minos!”

Sirius sighed and began tossing bunches of grapes at random people in the throne room as if he was bestowing blessings himself. “I did try to warn you, Minnie.” He tutted. “You had to go and make her mad, didn't you? Now she'll be a right terror to you. What were you planning? No sense in lying my pet, she already knows.”

Minos sputtered, “I, I, I only wanted to speak with you!” He insisted.

“One more lie Minos,” Marlene stared him down, “one more, and you will spend this day a leper, so as to let your Kingdom know the true nature of your mind.”

Minos choose to set the issue aside and try a new tactic. “I do not wish you to die at the hands of the Minotaur. Please, for your safety, return to Olympus.”

“That's sweet of you, pet,” Sirius walked up to some poor noble and took the man's goblet from his hands before taking a long drink. He grimaced and turned to Minos. “You drink this? Maybe you are as crazy as Miss Fate says, this is awful! Maybe after we kill your toy I'll teach you how to care for grapes, pet, because this won't do.”

“It is written in the Book of Fate that we will enter the maze with the twelve mortals.” Marlene had tired of these games. If Zeus was this bad she had no idea how her mother put up with him. “You can either allow it willingly, or you can face the consequences that come from disobeying destiny. There is nothing to discuss!”

Sirius had sauntered over to Minos’ throne and as Marlene gave her ultimatum, he plopped down on Minos’ lap.

“See, I told you not to make her mad, you naughty boy you.” He popped a grape off the bunch he'd been idly snacking on and bumped it against Minos’ nose, making a high pitched boop sound that nearly caused Marlene to break from her role as the cold and unfeeling daughter of Fate. Then Sirius proceeded to toss the grape into Minos’ open mouth. “Aw, what a good pet. See it's not so hard to be reasonable. If you do as you're told you might even get a reward.” Sirius leered before placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek and standing. “Oh, and those cots were quite thoughtful, Minnie. I think I'll be far more comfortable tonight.”

Marlene bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the look of total and complete disbelief on Minos’ face as Sirius flailed back across the room to her side.

“Are we clear, Minos?” Marlene asked in a tired voice.

He nodded silently.

“Then, good day,” she turned on her heels and stalked out of the room towards their cell, the guard running to catch up to her and Sirius.

“Soooo,” Sirius sang as they walked, “the chairs were impressive.”

Marlene sighed, “He was going to bind us once we sat down and send us back to Athens.”

Sirius grunted, “That would have been an inconvenience. Is he going to keep playing these games?”

Marlene tried to focus and took his arm so she could close her eyes while they walked. Her foresight suddenly seemed much clearer but her heart also lept at the feeling of his skin under her hands again. “No, we descend into the maze at sunset.”

“Wow,” Sirius’ voice had a bit of a tight edge to it and it was as if she had somehow turned her sight to him as she could see his desperately good intentions concerning her, and the conflict he had over her. Marlene immediately opened her eyes. As much as she wanted to pursue that conversation along with perhaps continuing their activities from earlier, the noon high sun told her they only had a few hours to figure out how the two of them were going to lead the twelve tributes into and out of the maze, along with the little problem of killing the beast.

The guard placed them back in their cell, and Marlene had an idea for the latter.

“I want to try something. Up for some experiments?” She smiled at Sirius, finally dropping her inhumanly bleak facade.

“Am I going to explode like those chairs?” He chuckled.

She rolled her eyes, “Minos upset me and I wanted him to know it.”

“Where do you think I came up with the story of you having a temper?” He smirked at her.

“You're ridiculous,” she shook her head before plowing on. “I'm going to close my eyes and turn to the wall. I want you to move around the room and then stop. I'll see if I can see it before you do it.”

Sirius nodded as she shut her eyes and turned away from him. She concentrated on Sirius and suddenly she could see him and the path he chose. She smiled and turned to see Sirius halfway to his stopping point.

“It worked,” she said excitedly.

Sirius stepped closer to her and took her hand, “Of course it did.”

She wanted to kiss him, desperately. She wanted to run her hands through his hair again and hear him groan as she pulled her nails along his scalp. But she had enough of her mother in her to somehow deny herself.

“I should try it with someone else,” she said quietly staring up at him, “make sure that I could do it with the Minotaur too. If you know every move before he does it, he won't be able to touch you.”

Sirius smiled, “And perhaps I might lasso a bull-headed death-beast in the process.” He chuckled as he looked down at the vine around his neck. “Father did say it would be both useful and fabulous.”

Marlene felt her heart soar. They had a plan.

She spent the rest of the day practicing, reaching out to the other cells and to the floors above them and while she was never able to see more than a minute into their futures, she could control her sight and she could direct it, that was what mattered.

However, walking down with Sirius and the other tributes managed to dampen her enthusiasm just a bit. The guards locked them in the entrance and Marlene turned to give the twelve the instructions to stay out from underfoot and they'd be fine.

“But how will we make it back out if you and the Son of Dionysus are separated from us?” One of the girls cried.

Marlene was about to assure her that it wouldn't happen when she felt her cloak catch on the wall and begin unraveling. And as her mother had promised, her destiny revealed itself to her, and he was standing to her right. In her foresight, she saw him step away from the dead bull and kiss her, she saw him standing next to her in her mother's home, she saw him standing next to her in a million scenarios all at once, and she knew she was fated to be the Instrument of Fate, with this Son of Dionysus by her side.

“My cloak was made to unravel,” she smiled at the girl. “Its string will be your guide out. Sirius’s nose will be our map in.” Marlene turned to smile at him and he took his cue, shifting into his adorable dog.

Sirius barked once and then started down the maze, their group close behind him, Marlene's cloak unraveling with every step.

#blackinnon #blackinnon fanfiction #sirius x marlene #sirius black x marlene mckinnon #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #GreekMythologyAU #GreekAU #we're off to kill the Minotaur #still laughing at the antics of the Greek gods #laughingatZeus'expense

[shardclan]

A Moment in the Summerlands

The granary serving both Aphaster and Feldspar is filling as the fields empty.

 Queen Rebis stands in the reaped remains, alone save the quiet presence of Nayvadius. Though she went there knowing that it was the same place her predecessor often stood, her mind is not on Telos. She looks at the easternmost grasslands dourly, knowing that they have been harvested early. Dragons and beastclans alike are preparing themselves for an early winter courtesy of the changed winds. The possibility of a food shortage is so likely that she considers it already a reality.

For the first time, she feels relief at the thought of a satellite clan that will diminish the capital's numbers. The promise she made with Lightweaver still burns, but the partial banishment of her attachments means fewer mouths to feed. There are comparisons to the rule of the Investor already reaching her ears. The climate change and the food storage it will bring is not an unknown, and the clan is braced for rationing, closed borders, and all manner of restrictions.

She worries that she is naive to think she will be able to winter their clan without doing anything drastic. Her upbringing was idyllic, her image of Aphaster idealized by a lack of conflict. She is grown enough now to understand that may not have been for the best.

She emits a quiet prayer to the high noon sun that her choices will be the right ones.

Arcanus sets down the Sunbeam Sentinel and closes his eyes. Across from him, he can feel Carnelian watching him.

He has already admitted that he toasted to Telos' departure with Gethsemene. That was supposed to be it. That was supposed to be enough. But Carnelian is not Gethsemene. While she and Arcanus were sure to grow closer from now on, she was tangential to all that had happened since Aphaster came to be, and to who Arcanus had become since then.

Carnelian is integral--an attachment that Arcanus gained that grew with him. He knew everything, and even though they have not seen each other for eons, Arcanus feels that Carnelian still knows even the most remote corners of his heart.

Carnelian would never actually prompt him to be honest, but the untouched cigar gently smoking in its tray, the unpoured liquor, and the carefully neutral expression are all glaring to Arcanus. Expressions of compassion from a difficult man.

Resentment stings him, and embarrassment on its heel. It's only a fleeting feeling, but he is angry that someone as opaque as Carnelian can see through him so easily. He has walked through Aphaster with his head high, his mission accomplished and promise kept, and yet Carnelian pierces through it without a word.

Arcanus lets out a sob with only the most passing attempt to restrain it.

He has missed Aphaster so much. He is so happy to be home.

But Telos is not there anymore.  

With as little sound as possible, Carnelian closes the blinds, and sits with him in the dark. The sound of the guardian's grief passes over him and fills his home as inescapably as rain.

"Telos would never have allowed it," Dantalion spits.

"Telos had to make other allowances," Heaven points out meekly. "They just...didn't affect us."

Heaven has never seen him so furious. Dantalion is within arms reach, holding tightly to himself and seething, and Heaven feels as though the Sea of a Thousand Currents is already between them.

"Our life is here," he grits. "Your family. Our family. You shouldn't have to leave just because of some ambiguous demand from Lightweaver!"

"Lion..." Heaven tries to soothe. "It's not ambiguous. I have to go because Rebis is attached to me."

"I'M ATTACHED TO YOU!" Dantalion explodes. 

The air between them buzzes, a rushing vibration that both can feel in their bones. Neither is sure if it is the unexpected anger, or his thick witch's blood calling something into their home.

"I'm attached to you," he forces himself to say more calmly, but he is trembling. "But everything else I'm attached to is here, Heaven. Everything you're attached to is here too. There's nothing for us in the Isles. Just a bunch of bad memories. A place where I fucked up and didn't recognize a dragon made to masquerade as a spirit, and a place where a bunch of our clanmates who are either dead or gone used to live."

Heaven swallows. The attempt nearly chokes him, but he manages to whisper, "I still have to go."

"I know," Dantalion admits wearily. He rubs at his eyes. "But I don't think I can go with you."

Lavi finds Carnelian standing at the door. He drops, holding onto his knees and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.

"He's--he's here, right?"

Carnelian nods, but he is quick to throw a blocking arm in the way to prevent Lavi's passing. They meet eyes, and a spark of irritation jumps between them.

"I don't think he wants you to see him right now," Carnelian says with unusual patience. "Not like that."

"But you have seen him," Lavi shoots back. "In whatever state he's in. He came to you first."

"He came to a place where he doesn't have to deal with echoes of Telos first," he corrects with an arched brow. "I didn't think you were the jealous type."

"I just--" Lavi blusters, immediately ashamed of his cattiness. "I just want to see him... Please."

"Let me say it again, but so you can hear it: Your father wouldn't want his son to see the kind of grief he is dealing with right now."

It amazes Carnelian how easily diffused Lavi is by the acknowledgement that Arcanus considers him a son. Lavi is Imperator, and a half-feral that towers over the other glamours that the clan has accustomed itself to using, but he is also only a young drake who hasn't seen his father in half a cycle. Playing on that leaves a surprisingly sour taste in Carnelian's mouth.

"You come running to where he is every time," he offers peaceably. "One man to another, he needs that right now, but that's not something I can do."

Carnelian's strange softness jars some suppressed emotion loose in Lavi, to the older dragon's chagrin. "I was supposed to take care of things. I was supposed to have really good news for him, but--!"

"Gods, shut up before you piss me off. You're just like him; you'd do the right thing even if it killed you."

From inside, a muffled croak: "He means that you've done your best and shouldn't worry so much..."

The imperial and the guardian meet eyes again, and with a tired roll of his eyes, Carnelian opens his door and watches Invigilavi run in and leap into Arcanus' waiting arms.

Carnelian closes the door to leave them alone and wanders off into the fog of Bramble Step without a care. They need each other, and Arcanus knows the locks. They'll be fine.

The moment plays over and over, no matter how Azricai tries to get past it.

It was sad, but peaceful to watch Kea go. She had seemed a little confused that Azricai had specifically come to say goodbye to her. The remnants of Tawhiri respectfully parting, maybe? She took Azricai’s hand anyway.

Kea was warm. She was so, so warm.

"Azricai helped lift the stigma around you from your grandmother's exile."

The words were said coolly. Not blurted. Deliberate. Equinox' emotional geography was smooth and stone still beside Azricai. She had never seen it coming.

In her moments of clarity, Azricai knows it was a betrayal of her trust. But she also knows she would have done the same--she just had the benefit of so much practice that she would have picked a better time. She would never have let anyone feel the way she had in that moment. 

"She's been looking out for you since she joined the clan. You're the reason she became the Gale Wolf. She first learned how to be the person she is now with you, Kea." Equinox moving, letting Azricai go. She knew they couldn't remain together after that. "The Gale Wolf was created for you."

Kea had no reason to disbelieve Equinox, even though it was unbelievable. But if she had, Azricai's stumble would have given her away. The naked expression on her face. The way she yanked her hand back, covering her face as though she could somehow put her impenetrable persona back together by hand. The anxious horror of watching Kea piece her memories back together. Re-contextualizing. Shedding light on places inside her that hadn't come to the surface in eons to see where this new information came in.

"I..." Control of the situation had been wrenched from Azricai's hands. She had never felt so vulnerable. Not even when Lavi had asked her point blank if she loved him. "I did not want you to feel manipulated. I didn't want you to think less of how far you've come for my involvement."

Kea's eyes had softened with understanding Azricai had not ever dared to think about. "But that's the point of you isn't it? You only ever push forward what's already there. Like you did for Iblis. For everyone who has ever come to you troubled." A warm blush had spread across her cheeks. "Though I guess it's a little embarrassing that I was the guinea pig."

"You weren't!" Azricai cried. "You were never any such thing! You were my family, and you deserved better! That's all it was ever about!"

It embarrasses Azricai now. How she must have looked. Crying out and weeping before a woman who, until that moment, had never been aware that Azricai cared for her. Much less considered that somewhere in those unknowable depths, Azricai was genuinely attached to her--that she had been from the start.

But Kea had smiled. The way she only did with Iblis. With Camellia and Kiele and her children. With dragons she considered Family. The open gates of the Observatory awaited, and she would not go back on her decision. But she had spared a moment to embrace Azricai and say the only words that she thought needed saying.

"Thank you."

The words are still lodged in Azricai's heart. She sits alone inside the hollowed marble pillar she has called home since their first days in the Sunbeam Ruins. 

Rebis needs her. Lavi needs her. 

But no matter how many time she closes her eyes, the conversation replays, and the strength to do anything but curl deeper into her pillows eludes her. 

#Flight Rising #c: invigilavi #C: Arcanus #C: Rebis #C: Azricai #C: Carnelian #C: Heaven #C: Dantalion #In which there are Stages of Grief (tm) #Aphaster Stories

[legrandepapillon]

Safety (washette)

Summary: The zombie apocalypse seemed like the worst thing that could happen, but it wasn’t all bad. Prompt: “I just want to protect you.” Author’s Notes: based on the video game State of Decay 2, but instead of a little camp thing I decided it would be cooler if it were a complex

“Alright, people,” Washington’s voice rings out, loud and sharp over the hum of the compound activity going on outside. It was a late Summer evening, and although the sun was still high in the sky─blistering down on the heads of everyone around them─the clock definitely betrayed it. It easily looked to be around noon, but in two hours, they’d close the gates to the militarized apartment complex and the Field team would set out for the night. They recovered survivors, supplies and weapons during the evening time─preferred it against the broad daylight, when most of the infected were particularly ravenous or the cover of nighttime, when raiders ran the most rampant. Things quieted down during the evening time. Almost time, the older man thinks, a single hand shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. No matter how many years he’d spent doing this since the original outbreak, or how hard he tried to push it to the back of his mind, supply runs would always make him nervous. His well-trained Field crew could easily become one of those mindless, flesh-eating monsters. “Let’s get inside. We don’t want any civilians out when we open the gates.”

Most of the people that had taken up in the complex were just normal people. Most of the people that George and his field crew had recovered had jobs inside the complex─gardening, cooking, inventory, etcetera─but it was only a handful of people that had been outside the gates since the outbreak, and all of them had been personally trained by George himself. He didn’t see the need to put civilians at risk, doing supply runs, when he could prepare a few trusted associates to do it.

Due to this, George was very tentative about who was around when he opened the reinforced gates. He didn’t like anyone that wasn’t at least somewhat trained in defense to be around, should a raider or an infected manage to get past the defensive line set up outside the gates. He made sure that civilians were safe at all times─it was his biggest rule. The only one he had that had a no tolerance for being broken.

Except… there were a handful of exceptions.

He’s surprised, really when he’s ambushed by his lover─it was weird, to think in a world where people were cannibalizing each other, that he had found romance─attacking him with a suffocating hug. See, George had a special rule about members of the Field Team. He wasn’t a naive man─he was very well acquainted with the dangers of what went on outside those walls. When they went out on supply runs, there was a good chance that either a raider or an infected could take their lives. And despite his team being a bunch of very well-trained professionals, they had hearts. They’d had families, and romances long before the outbreak. And this family cared greatly for them.

Washington never wanted to have the opportunity to say he’d denied someone of seeing their loved one just hours before said loved one had been killed.

So, he allowed certain amount of family members to be out when the gates opened. Of course, his partner─boyfriend just sounded so juvenile, and didn’t fit their preference anyways─took advantage of this established rule and was around him until just seconds before they pulled out of the compound to go on the run.

Arms encircling Gilbert’s frame, George allows the facade of the hardened military commando to fade away as he presses a kiss against their cheek. It feels nice, he must admit, to be loved. He’d spent so many years alone until the Outbreak. He’d let his military career and then later, his work in law, take over his life. Had never stopped and made any plans for a private life. But afterwards, when he’d been at Site Zero and had found the kid─terrified, shaking and locked in a medicine room─things had changed. Gil had been a resident studying to be a surgeon when Patient 04728 had managed to escape and infect many of the hospital’s patients, and had originally proven to be an asset to a group of people that hadn’t had a medic yet. But all that time spent in a truck alone with Gilbert until they found a place to settle permanently had sparked something in what George thought was a long defunct heart. He found it sad that it took the country he’d fought so hard for going to shit for him to stop and think of himself.

It had been four years since they’d met at the site of the outbreak, and Washington isn’t sure if he’d have made it through this long without them.

“I hate this time of week,” Gil whines, when they’ve released him from the hug. They’re a few feet shorter than him, and it’s cute how they stand on their tiptoes to keep their arms wrapped around his neck. “What are you guys going for again?”

“Food and munitions. James received intel about an abandoned armory a few cities over in an overrun city. Raiders and scavengers have made attempts before, but it’s surrounded by what was previously a military base. And you know what that means.”

Gilbert did. It meant that the Field Team would be greeted with not only a city full of infected, but a city within that city of infected. That was far too many zombies to possibly take on without the proper equipment. It could mean more weapons, which could also mean expanding how many people were on the Field Team, but it could also be certain death.

“I hate when you go on long runs.”

“It’ll just be a week and a half. Just hold out for a week and a half. While I’m out, I’ll see if I can find you a new color of ribbon,” George says, referring to the ribbon that Lafayette wore around their neck. It had started out as a joke─using one of the purple ribbons that Gil used to tie up their hair and tying it in a bow around their neck. Washington had said it made them look like a present, tied up just for him. After that, it had become a sort of tradition. If he found a new color ribbon that Laf didn’t yet have while they were scavenging stores or homes, he’d bring it home to them. And every morning, before Gil went to work in the infirmary and George went to work with his Field Team─whether that be training, working on a run, or gathering intel about what the compound needed and how they could acquire it─Washington would tie a ribbon around their neck.

They wore it pridefully, along with his old dog tags. A small, little luxury of a gift that George could give them in a world where they encouraged people not to keep more than they could carry should they have to evacuate the compound.

“I don’t have maroon yet,” Lafayette reminds him─though, they already know that George kept track of all the colors they did or didn’t have. Sometimes it seemed it was more important to him than it was to them. “or white. I think white would look nice with my work scrubs, don’t you?”

“Anything would look nice on you,” Washington mutters, trying to prevent his team─who were all chatting idly with their own loved ones while their truck was loaded up with food and supplies they’d need for the next week and a half─from hearing. The teasing that he’d receive if they did would be positively unbearable. “I’ll look for maroon, but I wanted to get you a gray to match your civilian clothes.”

“Speaking of civilians, do you want to offer any explanation on why you made Eliza Schuyler your Field Medic and not me?” they ask, arms crossing over their chest. He had known this was coming, as word would’ve travelled unbelievably fast. There was a small amount of medically trained people working in the infirmary, and when his Lieutenant had made it known they would need a medic onsite for long runs, he had a select few to choose from. Lafayette had been the closest to becoming an actual doctor before the outbreak─just been a few months from achieving his surgical degree. However, George knew that he couldn’t have Laf in the field.

Not only was it a conflict of interest─he knows himself, and knows that if it came between him saving the rest of his crew or him saving Lafayette, he would choose them time and time again─but he didn’t think he could stand them being in the field. Being in the line of danger at all times.

“It’s nothing personal, m’love,” he begins, but now Gil is crossing their arms and there’s an expectant look on their face. “I have to act in the best interest of the entire Team.”

“Then why didn't you pick me? I am the most qualified in this compound. You know that. Should anything happen out there, I’d rather my knowledge over hers.”

“To be fair, she was studying to be a doctor, too. She wasn’t yet a resident, but she was damn close. You can’t dismiss her qualifications, you can’t pretend she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” George says, using his ‘commander voice’. This calms Gil considerably, as they do look a little embarrassed to have been rude about Eliza’s competence. “Finally, Eliza has no relationship ties to anyone on the team. As of now. The second that a relationship between her and a member of the Field Team is confirmed, you know she’s off the team. I can’t put anyone on the Field Team that I may consider more favorable than the other members.”

“But, George─”

“Gil, please. I just want to protect you.” George gives them a withering look, not wanting to continue the conversation any further.

The words he spoke were true─it wasn't about competency or technicalities about playing favorites. He didn't know how to use his words to say it, and maybe he didn't want to admit it, but he didn't know what he'd do with himself should any harm come to his lover. They were the light at the end of tunnel, his reason to keep soldiering through every bleak day. The United States had been completely quarantined, for every person that he managed to save, five more died, and he was forced to willingly put himself in the line of danger nearly every day. Just to save people who were more than likely to be doomed anyways.

All of these things had taken quite the toll on him, but Lafayette… they taught him how to see the rainbow after a day of rain. They showed him that even though it felt like the world was over, they didn’t have to mope around about their predicaments. They painted pictures of evacuations and rescues sure to come, showed him that it was possible to laugh through the dark times.

He loved them. More than he would ever have the guts to admit aloud.

Seemingly sensing George’s disposition, Lafayette settles back on the heels─growing quiet, the argument squashed. Or at least, for now.

“This isn’t fair,” they whisper, hand coming up to gently brush against his cheek and pout forming on their lips. George brings his hand up to meet theirs, gripping it like it’s a lifeline. “I want to protect you, too.”

“You know how you can protect me? Stay here, where you can be safe.”

“Washington! Gates are opening, time to roll out!” Mulligan’s voice calls, interrupting their little moment. Though still despondent about not being on the Field Team, they seem to be cheered up a little. After rising to the tips of their toes to plant another sweet kiss on George’s lips, they gently remove the ribbon from around their neck and offer it up to him.

“For good luck. Come home to me alive, you understand? I’ll kill you if you die out there.” they say seriously, tying the ribbon around his wrist. George gives a bark of laughter, and though the phrase is funny, he knows there’s a serious connotation there. “I love you. Be safe.”

“I will. For you.”

#boy do i have a queue for you #an idealism #hamilton #modern hamilton au #hamilton fanfiction #drabble #fanfiction #one shot #ficlet #otp #writing #my writing #george washington #marie joseph paul yves roch gilbert du motier marquis de lafayette #gilbert du motier marquis de lafayette #marquis de lafayette #george washington x gilbert du motier marquis de lafayette #george washington/gilbert du motier marquis de lafayette #washette #hamilton zombie au #a smol contribution to the lil zombie au the hamfam has going #its a little au to the au but #anyways #fluff