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supercasey · 4 years ago

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TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter), and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

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ilguna · 4 years ago

Text

Lacuna - Chapters 5-8 (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing. MURDER, GORE.

wc; 13.9k

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

–

-- CHAPTER FIVE --

With every passing day, you and Finnick manage to get closer. More information is swapped between the both of you. The nights where neither of you can sleep because the games are only getting closer, you two swap stories. He’ll tell you stories of his family. Some of them are things he’s experienced directly, other’s it’s a family tale.

He’ll tell you about how he’s gotten so good at fishing. That originally his parents thought that he would be useless when it comes to providing, but he eventually came around. They just had to find out how he wanted to do it exactly. This is where the spear and the tridents come in. He tells you that he’s learned knots of his own, and he takes the time to teach you how to tie them. They’re all very effective.

Finnick one night, comes into your room--he tells you that you have the better view of the city, and that’s one of the reasons why he likes to sit in your room for so long--with some paper and a pencil. He sat at the window, drawing the city, flipping through papers quickly as he drew the Capitol people. Made designs of clothing on his own.

He’s not good, but the more he goes on, the more he seems to get a hang of it. It only takes an hour before he’s completely run out of paper. After that, he throws it into the corner of the room and goes back to staring out the window.

Finnick tells you of the kids he wants to have, but he’s always teetering on wanting them, and then changing his mind because he’s scared of them having to go into the games. But then he laughs bitterly and says that he’ll never have to worry about that after all, because he’s going to be killed.

This is when you’ve had enough of it. You tell Finnick that his odds are extraordinary, like your own. He wants to argue that the careers will win, but you firmly get a hold of his shoulders and simply tell him that if he does this to himself, then he won’t win at all. That the careers might have a bigger chance, but he can change those odds if he just tries harder.

You tell him that he’s lined up for a win. That he knows his knots, he knows how to throw. He’s learned different plans and how to start fires and set snares all in the span of three days. You tell him that he’s tall, so he’ll be able to run, and he’s fit and not underweight, and if he’s felt what it’s like to starve, then he’ll have another advantage, he’ll be able to go hungry for as long as it may take.

He’s charming, and smart. Elysia, Mags and his stylist are constantly telling that that the Capitol is swooning over him. That he’s become desirable because of how attractive he is. Finnick is going to have a good chance at getting sponsors, because he’s showing that capability. And for him to turn it all down just because he thinks that District One and Two are going to win is ludacris in your mind.

When you were done with the entire speech, there was silence. Before you had the chance to let go of him and go back to staring at the city, watching the lights get dimmer and brighter as they reflected off of the buildings, he kissed you. It wasn’t long, because he held you in place for a couple of seconds, before he backed off and went back to silence.

He thanked you, and you assumed it was because of you restoring his confidence, and then he turned the attention on you. Demanded to hear the stories from your family, know what happened to your parents. What it’s like having to parent a little sister and all of that.

You explain to him that since Mox is such a softie, he sometimes got picked on. Which is the sole reason you took on fighting lessons from the neighboring boys because they supported you beating the fuck out of the bullies. All it took was for you to jump on them one time, and they left your brother alone after that. Reed tried to be disapproving, but at the end of the night, you could tell he was proud.

You tell him that Alyssum gets bigger everyday, and you know that she’s going to grow up happy. She might feel lonely and sad because she never got to know your parents, and maybe yourself. But she’ll feel loved all the same, because you guys will be her parents. You’ll protect her, and teach her to fight and tie knots and fish like you were.

You explain how everything works in your family, how the young ones get taught how to survive at a young age. How you didn’t even realize that it was a thing until you arrived the other day. He laughed at that, and told you that he thinks that’s how it works with everyone. But you remind him that some of the kids that are about to be thrown in with you are nowhere near as skilled as you guys are.

Then you gush about all your interests. It gets sad when you tell him about how your parents die and it’s such a burden sometimes as you try to live up to be like your mom. It’s difficult for you to go into their room still because the wound is still relatively fresh, and he understands that. He mentions that he heard about the accident a while back and he meant to give you his condolences.

You tell him that you’ve recovered and you appreciate the thought at least. And instead of going back to his room that night, the both of you end up passing out on the floor. You remember bringing the blanket down from the bed and swaddling him in it first. You found another blanket inside of the bed chest, and you did the same to yourself.

He woke you up only an hour or so later with his own nightmare, and only then did it come to you, that he probably has nightmares of his own. Which is why he ends up dodging sleep most of the time. You’re not the only one that has the problem when it comes to sleeping, and it was a little dumb for you to think that you’d be the only one that has those kinds of things.

You woke him up of course, and he stayed up long enough to clear it from his mind before he went back to bed, absolutely exhausted. You too went to sleep, and then at noon Elysia had found the both of you passed out on the floor. She let you guys sleep for as long as she could afford, she clearly had heard you two talking and she knew how late you’d stayed up.

The others are still buying your stupid act. Thyme now struggles to hide her laughter when you mock them behind their backs. Finnick is just as amused, but he doesn’t have the same trouble of trying to hide it. He’s very good at covering for you when it comes to things.

And miraculously, throughout the last two days, neither of you had talked about the fact that he had kissed you. Almost like it has disappeared in thin air, or it was something you had hallucinated. This entire time, you’ve been going a little crazy over it, until he did it again yesterday.

He lingered a little bit though, he didn’t want to leave to go to bed in his own room. His hand still on your cheek, and the longer you two stood there, the more your body started to heat up out of embarrassment. And then as cheeky boys do, he uttered a small, “You’re pretty, you know that?” and left.

Needless to say you couldn’t sleep last night because of it. This morning you felt energized though, because today would be the day you finally get to perform for the gamemakers. They’ve been monitoring you for these last couple of days of course, but this is going to be it. Today will be the day where they set your score in stone.

“Eat well!” Elysia tells you and Finnick, “but not enough to make yourselves puke.”

That part is obvious.

You all sit in silence, you’re mostly imagining yourself inside of the room with the gamemakers alone. Trying not to be anxious, because there will be plenty of eyes on you. Trying to throw the spear straight as best as possible. Or you could throw some knives.

There was this trick that you’d learned from Reed a while back. He only showed you how to do it once, and then no matter how many times you begged for him to do it again, he never would. Thought that it was useless and would never come in handy for any situation, especially for the games.

You’ll need two knives, and two seperate dummies.

“Is the training area closed?” you ask once you’ve swallowed your stew, looking to Elysia.

“Yes, since you’ll be doing it in private today, they don’t see a reason for you to practice. You’ve had three days to do whatever it is you want to learn now.” she tells you.

“No, not learn.” you tell her, looking over the table, You settle for the blackberries in the middle of the table. You pick up the spoon, beginning to mash the berries. They watch you curiously as you pick up two knives, and then head out of the room.

You’re not very hungry anyway.

In the confinements of your own room, you lock the door. With the mashed berries, you use it to draw two people, a little taller and a little shorter than you. You place the mush off to the side as you back up, watching as it slides down the wall from the layers being a little two thick.

With one hand, you place the knives between your fingers. The aim for this is to get the left one in the head and the right in the chest. And on the first try, you only get the taller drawing. One in the chest, the other in the groin.

Just like that, you go back and forth. Pulling the knives out of the wall, leaving nice holes leaving behind. You’re about to give up on it, because you’ve been getting close, but not exactly. Until you nail it. You replicate the throw you did a couple of times, get the knives back and throw in the exact same way. With the same result.

After about thirty more times of the same result, with different distances and all, the hole where they keep landing is pretty big, and one of them even slips through and falls inside. You laugh, looking at all the damage you’ve caused, knowing that they’re going to have to repair this all by themselves. There won’t be any time for punishment because they’re already sending you inside of the games.

The second you’ve walked out of the room, Elysia hands you the outfit, not even asking why there has been thumping for the past hour, and she leaves. You get dressed and end up meeting Finnick in the hallway to see he has a similar outfit. You go to shut the door when he places his foot there, sticking his head in.

“You threw knives at the wall?” he asks, “Are those people outlines?”

You grab his arm, pulling him out and shutting the door behind you. He laughs, and slips his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he guides you to the elevator. Mags and Elysia don’t even blink at the fact that he’s holding your hand at all. After they’ve escorted you to the room, they go back to the floor, where you’ll meet them.

You sit in the District Four spot with Finnick, talking to Allio, Lennox, Trink and Eytelle until they’ve left. Then, you look over the District Three boy curiously, wondering if he’ll want to be your friend inside of the arena. Then he too, leaves.

The girl goes, and you turn to Finnick, “You’ve got this, okay? Plenty of skills, I’m sure they’ll have something for you in there.”

“You too.” he tells you, and then his name is called. He’s pulling his fingers from your hand but stops long enough to kiss your forehead. Once the door shuts behind him, Thyme snorts.

“You guys dating?” a couple of the others snicker.

“I have no clue.” you whisper.

“But you like him?” one of the girls ask, she seems excited to talk about something, have a little bit of drama to pass around. Ignore the impending doom that’s creeping up on you guys the more that time goes on.

You can feel your face get hot, “I think so.”

“Who doesn’t?” one of the boys sigh, he’s got his head leaned up against the wall. You’re pretty sure he’s from District Seven—Mac, his district mate nods along, Cass.

You guys go back and forth on it, them asking you questions, but you don’t reveal too much. The only person you consider giving the information to is Thyme, since she’ll be in the alliance. The others will think that the way to get to you will be to kill Finnick, which isn’t entirely true.

You’re trying to distance yourself from those feelings, but it’s kinda hard to do. He’s holding your hand, he’s kissing you. You’re learning about all the things he did back home, how his family life was. He’s sleeping with you on your bedroom floor, and through all of this you’re digging up memories to compensate for all the memories he’s giving to you. And along with that is coming the feelings for him you never knew you had before. Or, the ones you suppressed because you never thought you had a chance with him.

Finnick talked to so many girls, they swooned over him. But he never dated any of them, and that’s what kept the girls coming. They thought that he was always playing hard to get but maybe….

You can’t afford to dig them up.

Fifteen minutes seem to drag on. As you’re forced to keep up with the conversation, listening to them list off all his good qualities, sinking you deeper into your feelings. Just before you get up, one of the girls mention how you’re lucky. Not because of his good looks, but because he seems to care about you a lot. He’s going to be good in the games and she seems to think that he’ll try to protect you.

When you walk into the room, you see that the gamemakers are watching you walk in. You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. Your hands are a little shaky, but you ignore them for the most part, “(Y/n) Gallows, District Four.”

You set up two dummies on the other side of the room. Then you use the berries to mark the spots where you’re going to hit them exactly. On the way back, you pick up the knives, and turn to look at the gamemakers.

“You may begin.”

You place the knives between your fingers, with the exactly placing being perfect. One breath in, and then out, you draw your arm back.

The knives fly from your fingers quickly, and the sound of the dummies hitting the wall makes a dull thud sound fill the air. You stare for a moment, like you can’t believe you just showed them this trick of all things. But then you see you got them exactly where you had marked. There’s not even a little bit of the berries showing, it’s just… knife.

You turn to look at the gamemakers, and they nod, giving each other looks. Some lean over to talk to others, and they dismiss you from the room. On the way back to the elevator, the jitteriness of it all escapes your body, and you finally feel normal again. It slowly starts to come to you the longer it takes for you to get back, that you probably scored high, it was threatening enough.

It had to be more impressive because they were at different heights, and the precision, how you did it so quickly with no practice throw before. The distance between you and the dummies were over twenty feet clearly. You might not use that exact maneuver inside of the arena, but you’ll definitely be able to do something like it. Close, far, your aim is impeccable. You’re deadly, like you’ve been telling yourself the entire time.

Once inside of the apartment, you go ahead and sit on the couch. Elysia tells you that it might take a while for the program to come around, so you curl up and take a nap in the meantime.

When they do come to wake you, you see that Laurel and Finnick’s stylist have also joined you inside. Mags sits in an adjacent chair that’s twice the size she is, but she looks comfortable. Finnick is just by your feet, and Elysia is next to him.

“Here we go.” Elysia mutters, before turning on the television.

They introduce the program first, explaining it as if the people in the Capitol would suddenly forget how all of this works. And then, they start with the first district, Lennox. He gets a solid score of ten, and Trink follows with a nine. Allio gets a nine, Eytelle gets the same. The boy from District Three gets a ten, the girl only gets an eight.

And then so quickly, Finnick shows up on screen. Without even thinking about it, your hand finds his, and you’re both squeezing tightly.

“Finnick Odair, with a score of…” Caesar purposely builds tension, “Ten.”

“Wow!” Elysia cheers, looking to him with big eyes, “You did well!”

“Now for (Y/n).” Finnick gives you a look, and the both of you start squeezing again.

“(Y/n) Gallows,” Caesar nods at the paper, “Ten.”

You’re even, the both of you are even. But you’ve gotten higher than Eytelle, Trink and Allio. You, Finnick and Lennox are the high scoring ones. They’ll be sure to take this into consideration.

“That’s good!” Elysia looks genuinely happy.

Finnick doesn’t release your hand, but the both of you don’t hold on as tight. Instead, you watch as the numbers fly by, revealing just how capable some of the other districts are. Most score a seven to nine, none getting as high as a ten. Only a few, the younger ones, fall below a six.

And then it gets to Thyme, you find yourself holding your breath again. Until she gets a score of nine. You hope that’s because she threw the knives like you taught her to. Or she had her own set of deadly skills that she hadn’t bothered to show off before.

You guys gather for dinner, the stylist joining you for once. You stuff yourself full as usual. Mags is the first to excuse herself tonight. She’s been doing a lot more later, putting herself out there. Elysia and Mags have been talking you guys up over the chances that you have to win. Only Mags can truly secure every single sponsor, and send them through during the games.

She says that you guys have promise, but the interview in two days really will determine how everything goes.

After Mags is you, and Finnick takes that same opportunity. You take the time to thank Laurel for all the outfits that she’s been making lately, and she brushes you off, saying that it’s really nothing. Then after that, you’re heading back to your room as usual.

Finnick sticks around again, but not for as long. He doesn’t kiss you like the nights before and like this afternoon. But he does bid you goodnight and leaves you to be alone. To sit and wallow in all the emotions that you’re feeling.

The main one being anxiety.

--CHAPTER SIX --

It’s obvious that they’ve been watching your body language, and it’s kinda hard to hide it when Finnick is so out there with it. Like he’s purposely trying to draw people in to thinking that you two are together. It isn’t a bad strategy, to bring in more sponsors and shit like that.

But then you remember that they won’t see you side by side really. It won’t be until you’re standing with the others, watching the interview go on, when you’ll see what happens. The only time they have seen you together was during the second day, and maybe during the training session days. You’re not sure if they show that footage or not actually.

You just hope they don’t have cameras here, inside of the apartment, or you’d be screwed. They’d be able to broadcast all the private moments you’ve had with Finnick for the entire Capitol and the people back home to see. Or the kiss before the private training....

It doesn’t matter to you that Mags, Elysia, Laurel and--you’ve finally learned Finnick’s stylist’s name--Pleurisy know of your encounters. Mags is staying in the same building that you are, so she’s bound to know what’s going on. Elysia has caught you two only once, and even though she isn’t chatty to you and Finnick much, she definitely goes at it when talking to Laurel and Pleurisy.

Just by the looks they’re giving the both of you, it’s obvious.

Elysia thinks for a moment, and then she shrugs. You’re not sure what that’s about exactly, but she backs up.

And then proceeds to spend so much time hammering in manners that she seems are proper. She’ll tell you to sit with your back straight, hands together. A constant smile is on your face, and you manage to keep that on for a long time. She asks if you can get the blush going like you did on the chariot ride, and it isn’t very hard to do it this time.

Finnick asks what’s your secret, and you don’t give him a single word. Because the truth is, you’re thinking of all the times he’s kissed you. How it’s made you feel, talking about it with the other tributes as if you guys were a bunch of friends and they were teasing you about your crush.

You think of all those girls back home who like him so much, and here he is choosing you. You think about how Reed will absolutely destroy Finnick if it gets back to him that you’re kissing Finnick. How he’ll go big brother mode and then proceed to give you a talk when it comes to boys.

You’ll remind him that you’re not actually dating and it was harmless flirting. At least that’s what you’re thinking, or hoping actually. But you know deep down that it’s not flirting because flirting isn’t kissing. Flirting is teasing, and glancing across the room at each other when the other isn’t looking.

You’ve slipped past the flirting stage, and you’re heading to something else that you’re not excited for. One of you is going to die inside of the arena, and it’s going to ruin everything between you two. The other will be devastated because of the fling that was going on, and you’ll struggle to overcome it. Maybe it’ll be easy. Maybe it’ll be a reason to continue to go on, to win and go home.

You’re able to do everything that Elysia wants you to do easily. The blushing, the giggling, the specific wave style. How your legs cross, hands in your lap. Your body posture, the look of wonder and curiosity in your eyes.

Elysia is confused on how you do it so well. You take a guess that Finnick knows what your trick is. All those months of pretending to be alive during school paid off a little too well. Those months have left you a partial actress, the Capitol people are going to be putty in your hands. For once, you’ll be manipulating what they think of you.

A part of you is excited to go into the games. You’ll play off this stupid look but the second you get inside you’ll turn into a machine. The entire act can be dropped off and you can go back to being cold, and really hating this entire thing. No more acting like you love it here, or the people around you. No more playing pretend, you’ll finally be able to be yourself.

Because the truth is, you’re not always this happy. The smile on your face nearly falters after a while as you struggle to not think about what it’s going to be like in the games. How your entire life will be changed when you get back home. Nothing will be the same, you’re not going to be happy when you get back home.

You’re going to remember every face that you kill. Learn their names and eventually meet their families and--

“Are you crying?” Elysia sounds appalled, but it has to be shock.

You wipe your hands on your face, and when you pull them away you can see only a little bit of wetness. You’ve only just started crying it seems.

Finnick jumps to comfort you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” you try to brush him off, and he looks like he’s going to argue with you, but then he accepts it. You know that he’ll bring this up later tonight, since the both of you sit in your room with the nice view in silence. Tonight will not be filled with silence.

Elysia moves on to helping Finnick. She brings out the inner confidence, and you watch a he transforms completely. He sits up taller, which means that he’s been slouching this entire time. You’re not sure how you didn’t notice that, but knew that Eytelle was doing it. Maybe it’s because she’s nearly six foot, as Finnick is only five foot seven-ish right now.

He’ll get taller, he’s only fourteen right now. There’s plenty of time for him to keep growing. The same goes for you, but you’ll still end up being shorter than him no matter what happens. Boys are tall, girls are normally short, with the exception of Eytelle and her giant genes apparently.

Finnick smiles, and when he does, it sends butterflies through your stomach. You find yourself biting your lip hard, trying to fight back the smile that wants to creep over your face each time he looks to you. He plays the charming role well, and soon enough you’re forgetting the fact that you were crying, focusing on Finnick.

Elysia slowly transitions into asking you and Finnick questions--ones that Mags had come up with. You’ll go first, answering the question as humbly as possible, flashing a smile and making sure that it reaches your eyes. Every now and then you’ll widen your eyes, drop your mouth open like you’re taking in information. But the smile will reappear, and you’ll say something dumb like ‘wow!’.

Finnick sounds much smarter. He lets the spotlight stay on him for a little bit, and then he’ll turn it on Elysia. When the question of winning comes up, he tells Elysia that he thinks he’s got a good chance, and then refers back to his number. You answer will a flush, a giggle and then a tiny shrug, simply saying that you’re sure that you won’t be dumb enough to die in the bloodbath.

It isn’t until you’re halfway through the interview when you realize that they might not buy the act anymore, because of the ten you had scored. This is when you ask Mags if the other tributes will realize that it is an act, and she shrugs. She doesn’t give you a straight answer, letting Elysia read it out to you.

Mags says that they’ll probably just think you’re skilled in some way. If you’ve been keeping it up behind the scenes, even without the careers around, then they’ll probably believe it. You then realize that you probably fucked it up a little bit when it came to Thyme and Finnick when you wandered around with just them for a while during the training sessions. That the others probably saw that you weren’t this dumb, bubbly girl who can’t believe that she’s learning so much in so little time.

You remember the fifteen minutes before your own private session with the gamemakers, and you decide that you did a pretty good act there. You must have looked hopelessly in love or something if they kept talking. They’re going to see you as some love-struck girl that has no clue what the fuck is going on. That’s probably for the best.

You guys go ahead and eat lunch once you’re done with the little coaching session. You definitely feel better about the interview. It’s not like it’s going to last long, only three minutes. The buzzer will go off before you know it, and suddenly you’re going to be worrying about being thrown into the games. This is all going to be too fast.

You avoid conversation with Finnick as much as possible. But unlike other days, you purposely stay at the table, eating slowly. Watching as Finnick stuffs himself quickly like you had been doing this entire time. Before you know it, Mags has excused herself from the table. Ten minutes pass--which is normally when you also try to escape--but you’re still eating. Finnick, eating so quickly and so much, is clearly full and can’t stand anymore.

When he leaves the table, it’s just you and Elysia. She seems to wait for Finnick to be gone completely, watching his retreating figure.

This is probably the only time you have sat with Elysia alone. You and Finnick are normally sticking around each other, even around Mags. It’s because the both of you are in it together. There’s really no point of sitting around Elysia unless she’s providing you with information. Where you’re going next, what’s going to be happening at whatever time…

“Aren’t you going to go too?” she asks, and you look over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of blonde hair.

You turn back to her, scooping up a spoonful of stew, “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Well, when you’re done eating I’ve got to teach you how to walk in heels. So finish quickly.” She’s pleased with the fact that you’re not leaving as quickly as you normally do.

Soon enough, you get tired of the taste of the stew. This is when Elysia calls up Laurel, and takes you to a spare room that you haven’t been into yet. Elysia gets you fitted into the shoes right when Laurel appears out of nowhere.

The shoes aren’t too bad at the beginning. They have you walk in all sorts of ways. Making sure to make small steps, or bigger steps where they make your hips move a certain way. The entire point of this is to make you look appealing, and more girlish in their opinion.

It’s a little bit later when you realize just how tight the shoes are. Laurel takes the size of the shoe, makes adjustments with the width and length, and then sends it to the assistants that you’ve only seen a total of three times. You’ll see them again tomorrow before and during the interview, since they’re supposed to be sitting in the front row with the other stylists.

When you’ve got the walk down, and your feet are officially aching, you’re allowed to take them off. You’re dismissed, allowing you to go back to your room to take a nap. You don’t get that far though, because Finnick is already sitting by the window, pad of paper and pencil in hand as he’s sketching again.

He’s clearly heard you come in, these doors aren’t very quiet. Yours especially, it squeaks like it’s been overused, and even if you try to turn the doorknob to make it more quiet, it clicks.

“I’m pretty sure you have the wrong room.” you joke, sliding off the flats you’ve been wearing all day.

Over his shoulder, you see it’s a drawing of you. Sitting on that couch, tears spilling over your eyes and down your cheeks. He must have photographic memory if he’s able to draw this so well. It was so long ago too, a couple hours at least.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks finally, just as you sit down next to him with a little distance in between.

“I was just thinking about what will happen post-games.” you tell him, bringing your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs, “If I make it out, I’m not going to be the same.”

“None of us will.” Finnick says, and you look over to see that his face is blotchy. He’s been crying too.

“What about you?” you ask, because he looks like he needs the support, “What’s got you down?”

“I just miss home.” he says simply, the pencil on the paper stops, and you see that he’s made a perfect picture in his own style. He closes the little makeshift sketchbook and tucks it beneath a chair nearby, along with the pencil.

Just like that, you’re off to sitting by each other quietly again. But no words are needed, just basking in each other’s companies.

Again, the both of you fall asleep on the floor. But you’re wide awake for most of the night, busy staring down at the city. It isn’t until Finnick stirs around two in the morning, when you think you should go back to bed. He doesn’t allow you to make you own little bed, as he holds up one end of his blanket as an invitation to join him.

You’re about to tell him no, but he tells you that you need to sleep. If he just goes back to bed then you’ll probably stay up longer. This way, he’ll be sure you’ll go back to bed.

You know it’s a bad excuse as much as he does. But you comply, sliding beneath the blanket with him. You carefully wrap your arm around his waist like a hug, tucking your head beneath your chin. He uses both arms to pull you closer, letting one of them act like your pillow.

You don’t fall asleep for a while anyway like this. You try to even out your breathing to make it look like you’re sleeping. Even going to the length of closing your eyes, hoping that you will actually sleep, but it doesn’t come. You’re forced to lay here in Finnick’s arms, thinking about what it’s going to be like in the games.

It isn’t long until the tears come back, and you’re struggling to keep them from landing on Finnick to keep from waking him. It’s so funny how the tables have really turned. How he’s gone from being the insomniac, to you being the one who can’t sleep at all. You’re the one stuck in your thoughts, worrying about what’s going to happen.

At some point, you fall asleep. You’re not sure when but it had to be between the time of three to six in the morning. You briefly woke when Finnick got up to use the bathroom, but you went right back to sleeping. A couple hours later, Elysia had shown up to get you guys to eat breakfast.

You ate slowly, trying to savor everything. But soon Laurel gets impatient and she takes you to where she’ll be preparing you. Finnick is right by your side up until Pleurisy whisks him away. He can’t do more than wave, before the door is shut and you’re left to Laurel.

You listen to the assistants bubble. Jumping from topic to topic ecstatically. You can’t feel the same, you’re tired. They cover the bags underneath your eyes well, and eventually Elysia comes in to feed you an energy shot. You’re pretty sure it’s some type of coffee. In no time, you’re perking up and you feel just as bouncy as Laurel’s assistants.

They fix your hair, making it silky smooth, straight. And then they curl it up. They apply more highlight than anything this time. Telling you that you’re going to want to shine in the lights during the interviews. They say that it’s their personal favorite when the tributes will be a little shiny, a rainbow on their cheeks and noses, and wherever else they apply it too. They say that their friends enjoy it as much as they do.

Once they’re done, they slip out of the room, leaving you and Laurel alone. She quizzes you a little bit, and you’re smiling, and gushing and playing stupid again. She says that they’ll eat it right up, and that you’ll probably need one more energy shot, even though you feel like you’re going to bounce off the walls enough already.

Elysia comes in, feeds you the liquid, and that’s when she informs you that it’s good to be a little shaky. Humble is what you’re going for. Damsel is your main word. To be shaky and scared and a deer caught in headlights is what they’re going to want to see.

The shoes come last, and once you’re standing tall, your feet not being squeezed too tightly, you’re turned around to see yourself in the mirror. All you can ask yourself is if you’re going to be taller than Finnick with these heels on. They must have decided that since you did so well in the smaller ones, that you’ll do just fine with the bigger, taller ones.

You’ve grown at least three inches.

The dress is a beautiful baby blue. It’s an off the shoulder dress, and it relies mostly on your upper arm to stay in place. It clears room for your collarbones but doesn’t allow any cleavage to show. You’re happy for that part.

Around the top of the dress is white gems, upon closer inspection, they’re little water droplets. They’re placed irregularly, like they’ve been racing down a window when it’s been raining. The dress is long sleeved, but the arms are made out of the same see-through material the chariot outfit was made out of. It’s poofy, nowhere near skin tight.

The top part of the dress gathers at the waist, creating some wrinkles. This is where more gems appear, and then it gets bigger completely. It seems like leg slits are going to be your thing, because there’s one on this dress too. There’s two different materials for the bottom, the silk that’s the base, and then the same fabric that’s used for the arms and tops of the dress.

More blue eyeshadow and white eyeliner. Black mascara, you’re guessing because it brings out the color in your eyelashes more. Your mother’s ring is on your regular ring finger that you’ve been wearing it on this entire time. The shell necklace isn’t anywhere to be seen, this time it’s almost a choker. It’s made out of chain, it’s another wave but it’s a little loose around the neck. It doesn’t slide, though, it stays in place no matter how much you move.

Laurel also gave you little water droplet earrings that dangle. They’re uneven of course, still building off of that ‘water runnin’ effect.

“Wow.” you turn to look at yourself more, “This is amazing--”

“I know.” Laurel smiles to herself, “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

She then escorts you back to where Mags, Pleurisy, Peeta, Elysia and the rest of the teams are. Finnick is wearing a white shirt beneath a navy blue suit. Clearly they’re trying to savor the more feminine blue for you. But you’re sure that it would look good on him too.

“Wow!” Finnick’s mouth drops open.

“Yeah, I know. I said the same.” you laugh.

You take the elevator down to where the stage will be. Lining up with the other tributes. Once you see the others, you can clearly tell that you two are standing out a little more. Finnick especially, Pleurisy’s hair stylist must have used a ton of product to get curls like this to stay in place on Finnick’s head.

Trink nods approvingly at what you’re wearing, and then she goes back to looking at the stage. Soon, she’s introduced and you watch as she goes up for her interview.

You’re not all that nervous, despite the fact that you’ve never really been in front of people like this. Except for at the reaping, that’s the only time you can recall being put in front of a ton of people at once.

Not to make yourself nervous or anything, but you’ll only be put in front of a small audience. The real numbers are the people in the Capitol, and the districts. Your brothers back home will be watching you get up on stage. Watch you play as the dumb girl. You wonder what they’ll think about it all.

Before you know it, three minutes has passed. And then again. You’re quickly moving on to District Two, and then three. It isn’t until you’re standing on the steps of the stage where you get the little butterfly feeling. Finnick squeezes your hand a little bit, and then lets it go completely.

“(Y/n) Gallows!” Caesar is calling. You smooth out your dress, before bounding up the steps, making your face heat up immediately. He reaches for you hand, and you take it gently, letting him guide you to where you need to stand.

You’re already looking to the crowd with the wondrous look in your eyes. When you catch a couple of people, you wave eagerly, a smile spreading over your face easily.

“You’ve been in the Capitol for a few days, now,” Caesar begins, and you turn to look at him, nodding a little bit, “Anything in particular stand out?”

Your mouth falls open as you mock thinking, and then you giggle, “This entire place is beautiful! A much different scenery than there is in District Four! I was a little bummed when I couldn’t see the ocean, though.”

“Ah, the ocean.” he nods thoughtfully, “I see you’re wearing it in little bits, tonight.”

“Oh, yeah!” Another giggle, you’re getting tired of this. You hold out your hand for everyone to see, extending your neck a little more as if it’ll straighten out the choker, but it hasn’t moved from it’s perfect spot this entire time, “It shimmers in the light! My stylist is very smart!”

The audience reacts accordingly, a couple people exclaim how pretty the entire outfit is, Caesar builds off of that, “That ring, is it a token from your district?”

You widen your eyes a little bit, nodding a little slower this time, “It was my mother’s. My brothers gave it to me before I left.”

“And did they come to say goodbye?” he asks.

Well, that’s what you just implied, Caesar. But you keep going, “Oh! Of course, that’s how I got the ring,” the both of you laugh for a moment. Caesar then asks what you told them before you left, “I told them I would try to win.” you tuck some hair behind your ear, trying for the innocent look.

The buzzer goes off, saving you from making you look anymore like an idiot. There’s a couple of complaints that it ended too early for you. But Caesar sees you off, and you take a seat. Trink looks over, eyeing you up and down, and you give her a small smile. She nods, and then goes to look to Finnick, her face expression shifting entirely. She elbows Lennox a bit.

They’re still sizing him up.

You scowl very briefly, catching your mistake as you then turn to Finnick. You catch his eye for a moment and he winks at you. The camera’s don’t miss it, and you hold your hands up to your face as if you’re embarrassed. The truth is, is that you’re trying to hide your laugh at his not-so-subtly flirting. The camera pans in to your face, you wave a little bit.

Finnick plays the cocky role very well. You watch as he’s got the audience watching him very intently, interested in what he’s going to say next. None of it is a surprise, after a while, they expect what his reaction to things are going to be. But that doesn’t stop them from cheering at everything he says. The crowd is absolutely fawning over him.

His time is up before you know it, and he joins you in the seating. The girl to District Five is called up, and during that time, when the audience and the camera’s attention is shifted, Finnick reaches for your hand. You allow it, scooting your chair over a little bit to make it less noticeable.

Finnick laughs at your attempt.

-- CHAPTER SEVEN --

“Favorite color?”

“I thought you asked me that already?” He asks, and you give him a look.

“No, you asked me that. Favorite color?”

He thinks for a moment now, which gives you time to think of your next question. You’re hardly as good as Finnick when it comes to questionnaires apparently. He had a ton of questions for you, all sorts of variety. And here you are, asking the basic questions like his favorite color.

“Sea green.” He says, and you can’t help it when you scrunch your face.

“Sea green?” You repeat, and he laughs, nodding, “Why?”

His face turns a little red, which obviously means that it has to be embarrassing. You’re sure that he doesn’t appreciate it when you lean towards him a little more, excited for what the answer is going to be. He scowls for only a moment, and then sputters out a laugh.

“It’s because—“ he shakes his head, “It’s the color of the dress you wore during the tribute parade.”

“That’s it?” You ask, “That’s what you were so embarrassed about? After everything that we’ve done together you’re blushy because your favorite color is the color of a dress I wore?”

Seeing how ridiculous this is, he laughs, shrugging slightly, “I guess so.”

You yawn again, and this time you struggle to keep your eyes open after. Finnick laughs at you, and you lazily swing to punch him in the arm. It isn’t very hard, but it’s enough to make him complain about it.

“Alright, that’s enough.” You tell him, using the window to get up. Then, you trudge over to the bed, flopping onto it, “I’ve got to sleep.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tells you, his voice faraway.

You’re about to agree that you’ll see him tomorrow. Until your brain starts thinking over what’s going to happen exactly. Is it another training day? Or is it something else?

And that’s when your eyes fly open and you sit upright on the bed. All the tiredness suddenly drains from your body as you look to Finnick.

You’re going into the games tomorrow—or today. It has to be sometime early in the morning. Today is the day you’ll be put on a pedestal. Sometime in the evening, you’ll be placed with the others.

“What is it?” Finnick asks.

You’ll be forced to kill your fellow tributes.

“We—the games.” You gasp, jumping out of the bed as you return to the window. The festival has long since stopped, probably because they’ll need to be up early tomorrow to watch you guys fight against each other. There will be reruns, but they like to be there when it actually happens.

“What about them?” Finnick comes back over to you slowly, and you place your hand against the window, then you turn to Finnick.

“They’re today! The games—!”

“Did you forget?” He asks.

Did you?

You’ve had this past week of getting prepared for sponsors, worrying about learning new tricks and making allies. You’ve been so caught up in Finnick and your feelings. You’ve neglected to think about when the games start. You’ve been having so much… so much fun that you’ve forgotten to count down the days.

You’ve been so carefree.

Maybe you are a damsel.

“I did.” You tell him, turning to the window, “I did forget.”

You have to get rest tonight or you’ll be screwed later. Even if it takes hours, as long as you try, it’ll be better than nothing.

“Bed, sleep.” You tell him, “Stay or go, I don’t care.”

“Staying.” He seems glad at the invitation.

Finnick curls up around you, and seems to fall asleep faster. You have to coax yourself into a mindset until you’re there. But even then, Finnick’s breathing is throwing you off and every time he shifts, you can’t help but jolt awake.

Eventually, you make a pattern out of Finnick’s breathing, matching it with your own. Slowly dragging you down under, until you’ve fallen asleep too.

The morning passes like a blur, though. Elysia wakes you up, Finnick nowhere to be seen. Then she tells you that he was up early, and he’s still taking a shower. Says you might as well do the same, so you take your time with scrubbing yourself clean, unsure when the next time will come.

Inside the games, they’ll likely offer a place for water in a couple of areas. But all the times you’ve watched and paid attention, it was mostly streams and ponds. Hardly anything above a pond. But the location changed every year, so maybe you’ll get lucky.

The longer you spend inside, the more likely you’ll get scars, and have dirt build up on your body. Under your nails, in your hair, in the creases of your skin. Blood does the same, which is why you’re hoping you won’t get the pleasure of having to kill anyone. And if you do, it doesn’t get all over yourself. The last thing you’ll need is having to walk around with blood on you for a while.

Clothes are one thing, but the skin is another. You’ll be able to feel when it layers onto your skin. When it dries and cracks in the heat. You hope that it doesn’t get too thick enough to the point where it’ll be able to be peeled off. Or you don’t accidentally smear it all over yourself.

Clothes you can wash, and you don’t feel the blood directly if it’s on the clothes. More like the weight, but even then it’s not really something to be worrying about.

You move your hair out of your face, this time so you won’t have to worry about it getting in your face when you’re running. Or during the small duration of the bloodbath at the cornucopia. You’re not entirely sure what the other career’s plans are, but to secure the cornucopia would be the best idea.

All the food, clothes, medicine and weapons you could ever want will be placed inside of it. It’ll have spears and tridents. Iodine for the water. Bread, dried fruits and vegetables. Clothes if yours get ripped and ruined from fighting.

It’s normally the career’s ideals for winning the games. They secure the one place that’ll keep them alive—because they don’t normally go hungry they’ll starve easily. Deprive them of weapons and they’ll be forced to use fists, while you might have made one yourself, or someone like the boy from district three. Medicine if they get hurt after hunting down the local tributes during the first couple of days.

Of course, they can get sponsors as well as the rest of you. But for the sponsors it’s less likely, because they do have the cornucopia. If they have all they ever need at the reach of a hand then what’s the point of sending them anything? If they run out of things towards the end of game, the prices skyrocket, and then sponsors don’t want to send shit anymore.

You hope that won’t be the case with you.

The plan is to kill the careers as fast and efficiently as possible. Do it without alerting the others, and go from there. Luring them seems brilliant, and the first one on your list is Trink. She’s going to get what’s been coming at her for the last couple of days. And like you said on the train when you were on the way here, she seems capable. She’s bigger than the average girl that gets thrown in, especially for a career.

You’re rushed when it comes to breakfast, because they’ve got to get you extracted to the arena as soon as possible. Elysia bids you and Finnick goodbye, before taking off to the betting area. Where she’ll be lining up the sponsors for Mags.

Mags gives you the bit of advice that you already know, to stay the hell out of the bloodbath and run in the other direction. The only problem with that is, is that you’re technically in the career pack. Running is out of the question, you’re going to have to head right on in. Also to set up a temporary camp, food and water, stock up as much as you can.

Mags kisses your foreheads, and she’s off too. Laurel comes in to escort you to the plane with Finnick and his stylist, Pleurisy. There, Laurel promises to see you again really soon, and you and Finnick are brought up to the plane.

Once inside, he’s sat across from you. A man comes up to you, a thick needle in his hand as he looks over it slightly. You hold your arm out reluctantly, you’ve never been afraid of needles and you’re not going to start now. He presses the needle to your arm, and then finally looks to you, “Tracker.”

When he slides it in with no prior notice, you jump a little bit. You wince when it’s inserted, because it does hurt. And then he moves on to another unlucky tribute, but they don’t look as willing. You watch as she has to have her arms held, and even then she’s struggling.

“Hey!” you push yourself up, and Finnick goes to grab your hand to stop you. Sliding past him, you move the workers aside, “You can’t assault her like that.”

“We’re not.” the man who put the tracker in your arm says.

“You’re going to leave bruises and that’s against the rules. Even if you’re not getting thrown in personally, we’re supposed to be packaged goods.” you shove him aside, the other girl working for the Capitol moves out of the way for you. You crouch down in front of the district girl, and it looks like she might be from twelve. Wobbly knees, probably one of the poorer parts of the district.

“Can I see your arm please?” you ask her, and she carefully shows you it. You’re very gentle when you place your finger where the tracker will go, “Just right here. It’ll pinch a whole lot, but the pain goes away, okay?”

She nods, but doesn’t look happy. You offer her your hand, and she takes it. The man goes to do it, then he stops the second he sees the look in your eye. The girl gladly steps in, and she’s very gentle too when placing it in. Giving the twelve girl a heads up before placing it in. The girl squeezes as tightly as possible, but soon she stops.

You brush her hair back and give a smile, “See? Not so bad.”

“Thank you.” she mumbles, and you laugh, going back to where you were sitting before.

The plane ride is quiet, you and Finnick mostly steal glances at each other. Until you’re lowered to where you need to be in the tunnels. There, you’re split up. He doesn’t go before giving you a quick kiss though, promising to find you in the mess that will go on above. Told you not to get killed too quickly. He wants the district back home to at least know that you’re a thing.

Laurel is very courteous. She asks you if there’s anything she can get you at the last minute. You get bread and water, filling yourself up as full as possible before you’re sent up. You hope that Finnick has enough sense to do the same.

She tells you that it was a pleasure being able to design your outfits. She tells you that you and Finnick are her best bets. She says that she’ll send anything she can afford when you’re in need of it. And you promise her too, that you’ll try and win. You’ve been making this promise a lot lately, whether you’ve mentioned it or not.

Your brothers, Caspian, Finnick, Elysia, Mags and now Laurel. You really have to fall through with it now.

When the final countdown is announced, you give Laurel a hug, apologize for the mess you’re about to leave behind, and then she stops you, grabbing your hand. She slips on the ring, telling you that it passed the test. She wishes you good luck, you step in the tube.

It feels just like a coffin.

-- CHAPTER EIGHT --

They raise you slowly, allowing you to take in your first sights. Which is a blue sky, clear of anything abnormal. The higher you get, the more you can see. Trees, plenty of them to your right. You can smell the faint scent of the sea, or some salty body of water. It’s close.

Higher up you can see sand, and then you see the water. The arena is shaped like a dome, so there’s not really any corners. But it’s sectioned off like there’s supposed to be corners. The cornucopia is in the very middle, staring at it dead on you can see two of the terrains. Behind it to the right is a beach, palm trees litter it, beyond that is the body of water that you can smell. The beach doesn’t last for too long, but just enough to make the water look like a mirage.

You can hear a waterfall, hopefully buried somewhere inside of that water area. A place you’ll be able to retreat to if the alliance goes to shit. You’ll have to mention that to Finnick privately, let him know that would be the rendezvous spot if you two were to be split up. Or the other would be driven out by the stupid ass tributes that you made friends with.

You may or may not be regretting that now.

Because it would be so much easier to kill them than keep them around. But anything to survive what you’re about to live through, right?

There’s trees all around the rest of the place. The cornucopia is in a very small clearing, only large enough to hold the pedestals for the tributes and the cornucopia itself. Most of the trees nearly come into contact with the metal plates, it’s cutting so close.

If the girl next to you really wants, she could lean over and touch the branch behind her. You hope she has the common sense not to do it. However, that would be the fastest way to go so you don’t have to die a painful death. Getting exploded into a million pieces because you stepped off before the designated sixty seconds, really is tempting.

She doesn’t do it, and before you know it, the first thirty seconds have passed.

There’s a ring of tributes, and you try to memorize who is where. There’s only so many you can see because of the structure blocking it. That’s fine, you’re sure that most of them will try to run anyway.

To your right is the girl from ten, you think. Small, feeble, easy to kill if she tried to come at you. Next to her is the boy from three, and he looks like he’s positioning himself to run, not a problem. Lennox is next to three, and the both of you make eye contact for a moment. He grins, like he’s enjoying the first shot of adrenaline that he’s going to be getting the second he steps off. Asshole.

Girl from three, boy from six, Eytelle. She also looks like she’s going to be running towards the cornucopia, so it looks like that you’re going to be doing is obvious. You’re going to have to match what they’re doing. Can’t be seen as the chicken who didn’t want to go right on in. You may be playing dumb, but you’re not that dumb.

Next to you is the girl from seven, Cass. She offers you a small nod, like she’s challenging you to a race. She’ll be stepping off for the middle, which isn’t great. You liked her, and you were hoping that she’d be alive for a long time. Trink is on the other side of her, and she’s eyeing Cass like she wants to pounce immediately and not even wait for the weapons.

Another couple of nobodies after that, and then you can’t see anymore. This only means that Finnick, Thyme and Allio are on the other side. Maybe Cass’s district mate too, but he’s not a part of the alliance. You’ve only kept a tab on the seven tributes because they’re good with axes. If they’re smart, they’ll team up with the boy from three to get their own personal weapons made. But it doesn’t look like they’re that smart.

You look up to the sky to see an extra five seconds. How you’ve managed to analyze that so quickly, you’re unsure. But you’re glad that you’re processing things quickly. Because you’ve got to go.

The gong sounds, and you’ve stepped off the metal plate instantly, sprinting towards the middle as fast as possible. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that not even Lennox is that fast. You’re first to the cornucopia, getting your hands on a sword first, since the spears are buried in the back. Along with whatever else will be put there for specific districts.

One quick glance, no trident in sight. Finnick will suffer.

You spin around quickly, and ten is at the edge of your sword, reaching for a weapon herself. You can feel that fear pierce your heart quickly, and suddenly you’re swinging the sword as fast as you can manage. Eyes glued to the girl to make sure that she doesn’t get to you first.

However, you have the misfortune of watching her head come clear off. The blood squirts everywhere but onto you. But you can still feel the spots where it should be itching. Your neck, face, arms, the rest of your body. Thick, thick layers--

“Wow!” Trink’s voice is peppy, and she takes the sword from your hand quickly, “Good job, Gallows.”

She throws the sword at a boy from five. You watch as it goes clean through his back, he falls to his knees. All sorts of things spill from his arms, scattering around his body. Around him, there is no one.

The boy from district six then comes in, like he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to kill you guys. But he falls too, blood trickling out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. You’re not surprised to see Allio, Finnick and Thyme. Thyme is being held onto tightly by Allio, he throws her forward.

“Tried to run. Let her mate go.”

“Should kill her now--” Trink starts circling her like a vulture.

Behind her, a glint of light. You take the knife from one of the boxes likely filled with food and medicine, and you throw it before you even see who it is. Just like that, you watch as Thyme’s district mate falls, sword falling from his hands too. The one that you had used on the first girl, and the one that Trink had used on the boy from five.

You step out of the cornucopia long enough to see who’s dead, and while you’ve been caught up in watching them kill the others, you completely spaced the fact that there might be more dead. It wasn’t just you guys fighting, everyone had been struggling to get the stray items that were strewn randomly to at least give them a chance. It’ll be a boring set of games if you’re able to kill them immediately.

Cass is dead, a snapped neck you’re sure. Boy from five and six it looks like, they’re from you guys. You got the girl from ten and the boy from eleven. But the girl from three is like a starfish, facing the sky. A couple feet away is the girl from eight, and then the boy from nine is just on the edge of the trees.

“Three kills.” Allio sounds proud of himself, “You guys?”

“Thanks for the save.” Trink winks at you, and then she dives straight into the boxes, forgetting about killing Thyme.

“One.” Finnick tells you, you whisper your small ‘two’.

Trink snorts, “Two. The stupid lumberjack bitch thought she’d be able to make it here before I could. Then five was too easy.”

Lennox hadn’t got anyone, he fought the boy from ten for a minute but he slipped out of grasp. Eytelle and Thyme are both zero, Eytelle doesn’t seem too ashamed by the number, she says that she’ll just make up for it later. Which really opens your eyes to see that they think this shit is just one big fucking game for them.

You guys pack up a bag or two, before clearing out of the cornucopia to allow the gamemakers to collect the bodies. You take the canteens and the iodine down to the water, filling up. On the way, you can hear the cannons.

You count them out for the others, deciding that you can have the brains now.

“Only eight?” Allio sounds unimpressed.

“Not many people to kill in the first place.” Thyme mutters, filling up her canteen with water, and then looking into it a little bit, like she’s suspicious, “There’s seven of us already.”

Eytelle shrugs, “Still a good number down. I’m sure that we’ll be able to get more tonight.”

You share a look with Finnick, wondering if you’ll be able to take out one of them during that time. He must be thinking the same thing, because he looks down, smiling at the ground. He carefully shuffles over to you, before throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“Mags is probably mad at us.”

“I would be too.” you laugh, and you guys get a little close for a second, like he’s about to kiss you. But then he pulls away, and Lennox wants to go back to the middle before one of the others can rob you guys.

Like you said, they’re about securing the middle so they can thrive off of it the entire time. Makes you wonder if it’ll be possible to destroy everything in the middle to keep them from living for so long. Blame it on one of the singled out tributes that won’t be anywhere to be seen until the final minutes.

The boy from three would be perfect. He knows his way around weapons, so it would be believable if he destroyed it. However, that would just mean you’re placing a bounty on his head, and you’re not entirely sure if you’ll be able to live with that. But then again, you’ve already killed two people, who’s to say that hasn’t ruined you already?

Maybe it won’t be you killing him directly, but one of the others will be doing it. The guilt will eat you alive—then again you have just killed two people, where’s your guilt now?—and you’ll have to see the families of the tributes you killed if you do win. For people like Trink, Allio, Lennox and Eytelle, it’s not a big deal.

They’ve been training for this their entire lives. They volunteer, they’re not picked. They want to be inside of the games, so they can have the cash and glory when they get back home. They’ll stand proud in front of the tribute families, they’ll sneer at the ones that they killed. They don’t fucking care because to them, it’s just a small price to pay for a big house, infinite money and the memory of being a winner.

Careers are fucking nuts.

You pull Thyme and Finnick back a moment, the others don’t notice. Too busy planning out when you guys will go out and kill. Makes you sick to your stomach.

“There’s a waterfall in the lake.” You tell them, “We scope it out, check to make sure if it’s possible to stay inside. If we get separated, we go back there.”

They nod, and then you bounce a little bit, letting the smile come over your face, “So, are we going out tonight?”

“Yeah, might as well,” Allio flashes you a look, “Up for it?”

“She’s got two under her belt, I’m sure she’s ready.” Finnick mutters, the others ignore it, and he turns to you, “How are you holding up?”

“Not insane yet.” You tell him, Thyme laughs at this, shaking her head.

At the cornucopia, you gather the backpacks for them. Inside, it’s got iodine, bread and a sleeping bag. All the other years they had packed well, if you had one of these, a knife and knew how to hunt, you would have to try to die. This year it looks like they decided to undersupply.

Thyme rations out the food, calmly explaining that they should try to eat as little as possible. The food will last longer that way, and it wouldn’t hurt for them to do it anyway. If you guys do happen to run low on food, then they’ll only have to eat a little bit to survive. She tells them to be prepared to drop in body weight, and stay hydrated. Water might be a good substitution.

You know all of this, so it isn’t a bother. You and Finnick stand next to each other. He keeps messing with your hair, and you keep ruffling his. A ton of curls lay on top, it looks like they did something to make them stay permanently. Personally, you prefer his straight hair, you hope that the curls will go away sooner rather than later.

He plays with your ring on your finger a little bit as you look around, distracted. Because the feeling that someone is watching you is beginning to freak you the hell out. You look over the tree line next to you first, and then the one behind Finnick.

The others are talking about where they want to start. By the lake on the left side or the right? They think no one will be dumb enough to try and go into that water unless they want to die. At sometime or another these other tributes had to have gone into the water and learned how to swim at some point, right?

You and Finnick are probably the best in the arena, coming from four. But that doesn’t mean that the others might be just as good.

If most of them can’t swim then that means the lake is the best bet.

Another idea pops into your mind, but you keep this one to yourself. In case there is a way to execute it, you’ll want it for emergencies. However, you wonder if there’s any willows hanging over the water. Or some vines running along the rocks.

Finnick will be able to make them a lot better than you will. But you’ll be able to tie the knots for him. You two can work together on it. It will have to be at the end of the games so they don’t see it coming. Draw in the careers and then kill them.

Perfect.

“We’re starting on the right of the lake.” Eytelle decides, tired of the bickering, “Let’s go.”

You keep your water in hand, knowing that there’s more in the bag if you run out. On the walk around the arena, you listen as they talk about their own family life. Occasionally they’ll ask you a question out of what looks like genuine curiosity. You keep the conversation flowing, because you want to know what the hell is in the minds of a couple of lunatics.

You find out that Thyme has a couple of sisters. Two older ones, one of them looks nothing like her, and it’s a speculation about who her mom had gotten with in order to have her. Her mom constantly denies that she cheated, but it’s a running joke. All of it is good fun.

Trink is an only child, but Lennox has a younger brother back home. Allio has an older sister but a ton of younger brothers. Eytelle is the oldest sister of two.

It goes around like that. You’ll ask a question, everyone will go around, and it stops at Finnick, even though you know almost everything about him now. Soon enough, you all are laughing it off, like a couple of actual friends.

It’s only been a few hours since the games have started. The sun isn’t that hot just yet, but you’re sure they’ll turn up the temperature later on. When the stakes are getting higher and the water runs dry.

Another hour passes just hunting. Thyme collects berries and leaves. She’ll peel bark off of trees and nibble on it in the men’s time. The others don’t seem as interested, and they even look down upon her a little bit. She says that if they can, then preserving the food would be smart.

Since you’re the only one with precise aim, you’re put on the duty of throwing knives. You’re able to take down a squirrel and rabbit. You see something move off to the side in the bushes, but you hesitate. The others don’t catch this, since they’re up ahead. But Finnick does, and he turns to look immediately.

Crouched in the bushes is the boy from three. He holds up a makeshift knife, and you don’t know if it’s meant to be threatening or not. Finnick looks like he wants to launch, but you settle the problem immediately by pressing your finger to your lips and motioning for him to get down. Then, you take Finnick’s arm and pull him along.

“What—“

“Shush.” You tell him, pushing past him as you get back to the others. But on the way, he holds you long enough to say;

“Making friends with everyone is not how you win.” And then he lets you go.

You’re not making friends, you’re giving them chances. It’s not your fault that the others had missed him initially. Your goal isn’t to kill as many people as possible, every single person that you come across. Your goal right now is to take out the career pack, which you can’t do immediately. It’ll take time to build up to.

Well, maybe you should have started a fight with three. It would have given you an opportunity to kill one of the others while you’re at it. Then the pack would be down to six, and it would continue to get slimmer. It’ll happen sooner or later, but you wonder when they’ll finally realize that it’s you, Finnick and Thyme till standing while it’s two or even one of the others.

All of them dying tragic deaths while they’re out with one of you. Trink dies to a knife thrown at her. Eytelle is drowned, Lennox is hung and Allio dies because of another tribute. Doesn’t have to be in that order, but could you imagine?

You’re hoping that the districts and the Capitol know of the plan that you’re forming. If they’ll switch who they’re betting on to one of you. Although, it is very popular for one of the outsider districts to be good, only for them to fail later on. The sponsors had learned their lesson after a while, getting on the poorer districts, only for the careers to win time after time again.

They’re basically wasting their money trying to aid someone that turns out to be a dud. You know that you’d be betting on the careers after that. Notice the pattern in which the careers win, and go from there. It really is all about potential. Their size, the district they come from, the number they get inside of the private session with the gamemakers. Who they’re posing as and all of that.

“Sun is setting already.” Thyme mutters, and you turn to see where it’s setting.

“Set up camp here?” Lennox proposed, but three comes to mind nad you turn to see Finnick thinking the same thing.

“Sure. I’ll take first watch.” You tell them, watching as Thyme sits right where she’s standing, and the others follow.

You're all sitting near a big tree, hidden by bushes slightly. If someone were to walk by, they likely wouldn’t see you. But watching as Trink throws in some wood and pine, she’s going to swans a fire. That will definitely let the others know where you are.

There’s seven of you, it won’t be that hard to kill you all at once. You know what to look out for, dark hair, blue eyes. You’re sure that Finnick will even stay awake to help you out with watching for him. The problem with that, is that you might allow three to kill one of the,, and then alert. While Finnick will alert immediately.

Actually, you really have no clue how he’ll react. He’s a different story, he’s got other things goes on inside of his head. He looked down at you when you spoke of your kills as if you were supposed to just stand there and let them kill you. He didn’t look that impressed with the waterfall idea.

Maybe he’s also realizing how useless the temporary romance was. That it was just getting the both of you attached to each other. Making it harder to kill…

You can’t help it when you go to glare at Finnick. If his entire ploy was to get you to like him and then use that against you, he’s going to have another thing coming. He thinks that you’ll hesitate when it comes to killing him, huh? Just because he’s from back home, doesn't mean that you’ll spare his life for your own.

Allio and Lennox get Finnick stuck in a conversation, giving Trink a perfect time to slide up next to you as you start the fire to cook the meat, “I saw the look you gave him.”

“And?” You ask, you’re really just hoping he didn’t see that. Two can play at that game. If he knows that you know, then it’ll be ruined. If he thinks that he can't get you to fall for him and not let it be the other way around, you have your own strategies.

“Nothing.” She crosses her legs, and you focus on the fire. It light a lot faster than it did inside of the training center, because you’re not for the dumb act anymore. She won’t know the difference anyway, she’ll be too focused on saving her own skin.

Thyme comes over to help you clean the body. It’s mostly silence, but being left alone to your own thought did torture. Thinking of what he did in the training center was all for show. Get you to soften up when it comes to him. He was probably just glad that you were the first to offer an alliance so it wouldn't look suspicious.

“How long do these alliances normally last?” You ask bitterly, Eytelle snorts.

“Couple of days. I give it until there’s five other tributes left in the arena with us,then we split.”

“So four more until we hit that point, huh?” You ask.

“We might keep you around.” Trink grins, “Eytelle and I are planning on hightailing it the fuck out of here the second there’s a sign of danger.”

“Sounds smart.” Thyme mutters.

“You’re invited, kid.” Eytelle says, and then she gets up to go to the guys. She kicks leaves all over Allio, before letting them know that if they want to eat, they better come over.

You all gather around the fire, thinking the second alliance over. There’s a lot going on at the moment. First is you and Finnick, second is you, Finnick and thyme. Third is the entire pack, and fourth is you, Eytelle, Trink and Thyme. Then there’s the really quiet ones, like three and the boy from district seven, Mac.

They’re not people you would rely on, but you I’d talk to all of them before the private session. Made a friend out of some of them. Then again, you did kill two of them. Boy from eleven and girl from ten. But that’s their own fault, they should have known better than to go into the middle, would have lasted a lot longer if they had just ran, all of them.

As you guys are trading food, drinking water and still talking, the anthem for the fallen begins to play. On the way to look to the sky, Finnick shares a look with Lennox. They have the same thing that you and the other girls have. Him, Allio and Lennox are gonna split when shit gets shaky.

Those in the sky are the people from the bloodbath. There were no other following deaths that you know of.

First on screen is the girl from three, boy from five, following is the boy from six. Cass from seven, boys from eight and nine. Then the girl from ten, and finally the boy from eleven.

“I’m surprised district twelve lasted this long.” Allio remarks, a couple of them laugh, including Finnick.

They’re quick to wrap up the night, not really wanting to go and hunt around. There will be plenty of time to do it tomorrow. And you promise to wake them up if anything happens. Like smoke from a fire or a part of the forest lights up.

You stomp out the fight and then sit against the tree, holding onto the little knife in your hand tightly. The others curl up next to each other, mainly Trink and Lennox.

Thyme sticks close to some bushes, probably for an easy escape. Allio and Eytelle are on opposite sides of the fire. And Finnick sits next to you.

You wish you could just ignore him and call it a night. But you’re going to give it away that you know.

“Why did you let him go?” Finnick asks after a while of silence, making sure that they’re asleep. He must have noticed the pattern in breathing just the same as you did.

“Didn’t see a point in killing him.”

“He’s smart, (Y/n). He’ll come back with a knife or something, you saw him in the training center—“

“Maybe he’ll spare my life later on, did you think about that?” You ask him, turning to look at Finnick, “he owes me. Because had we told them, you know that it wouldn’t have been a quick death.”

He takes this into consideration, and then speaks quietly, “And if he comes over here tonight?”

“I’ll wake you up.” You grab his jaw, making him look to you, “Promise.”

When you let go, he gives you a kiss. Then, you watch as he pulls out the sleeping bag, still staying right beside you. You place your hand on his back, and then you look to the woods.

You’ll keep him safe. Even if he doesn’t deserve it.

LACUNA IS THE FIRST VERSION OF BELAMOUR

//MASTERLIST//

#ilguna #finnick odair #lacuna chapter five #lacuna chapter six #lacuna chapter seven #lacuna chapter eight #lacuna

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ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

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black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG, some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it.

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway.

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience.

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain.

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands.

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more."

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet.

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring.

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected.

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough.

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago.

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you.

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better.

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home.

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from.

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing.

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering.

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas.

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd.

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal.

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault.

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name?

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do.

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why.

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success.

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts.

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point.

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process.

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing."

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar.

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks.

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you."

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered.

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space.

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat.

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him.

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive.

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already.

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you.

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles.

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows.

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off .

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse.

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think.

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own.

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want.

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way.

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear .

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you.

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are.

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them.

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you.

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself.

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all.

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long.

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar.

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe.

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off."

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws.

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?"

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper.

"You are going to wish that you could die."

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it.

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body.

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight.

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats.

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have.

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages.

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself.

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom.

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns.

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.”

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs.

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says.

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them.

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you.

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers.

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out.

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues.

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest.

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head.

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is:

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead.

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway.

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer.

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you.

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.”

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal.

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference.

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is.

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new.

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will.

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking.

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore.

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that.

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you.

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings.

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment.

Someone says your name and you swing.

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor.

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway.

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to.

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building.

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too.

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you.

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love.

If you can love.

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed.

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself.

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is.

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there.

Until the night when it’s not.

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win.

You would take it back if you could.

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster.

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal.

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them.

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive.

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips.

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again.

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly.

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you.

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you.

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist.

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair.

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out.

“I didn’t-”

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have.

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking.

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her.

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan.

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster.

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing.

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it.

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips.

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with.

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go.

Frustrated, you pull back.

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown.

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress.

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees.

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh.

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free."

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath.

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat.

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve."

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits?

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again.

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time.

Not with Taehyung.

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him.

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating.

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could.

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up."

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind.

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been.

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately.

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you .

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you.

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder.

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come.

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.”

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for.

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose.

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena.

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake.

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs.

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have.

He’ll learn.

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it.

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face.

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes.

The giant swings.

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jennsmischievousmind · 4 years ago

Text

Fucks not Found

Haunt the Living

“Time clock, guys let’s go!”

Riding the hors-bord was fun not gonna lie, better than any Disneyland ride.

“Side doors opening. Subs in place," you announced "Four the comms?”

“Comms cut. we’re good.”

You got on the Kismet, guns at point except for Five. Two and Three joined everyone at the rear of the yacht. Three was in bad shape, limping and making a mess of blood everywhere he’d go. Being his grumpy self, he rejected Five’s help, he was fine.

Responsible of Murat you were always in contact with him, and so hacking the military meeting room to hear his brother’s bullshit.

“Listen closely. The enemy is us. We must target him not where he is strong but where he's weak. Hospitals, to take away his safety. Schools, to take away his future. Youth, to suffocate his hope. Commence gas attack.”

His evil speech made you shiver, this so called human shit head.

“Murat you got to step in, right now!” You heard Rovach’s voice being cut off and Murat taking over. “Join me, brothers. So you don't have to kill your own people again.” You let out the breath you were holding.

“Murat has the high ground” you keep the squad informed, then turned to Three. “Hey G.I J,” you handed him his Kevlar.

“They have some fancy food up there.” you rolled your eyes knowing he was going to ramble.

One mimicked you “Really? Tell me more about that. Don't hold back.”

“This fish soup they call... labu... labuan...” Three was ranting, obviously because he was stressed as fuck.

One had heard enough “I'm fucking kidding. Focus.” But Three wasn’t done yet, they started their usual quarrel.

“It's so delicious, man. They put this little cheese on it.”

“Does it have to be on the walkie-talkie? And we're all standing right here. Yeah?”

“Don't you give me attitude, okay?”

“Over and out,” One warned

“I...” Three quivered, holding back his rant, you patted his shoulders holding back a laugh.

“Okay, Rovach’s in his panic room,”

You ran to the engine room.

“When I pop this, the magnet pulse lasts for 15 seconds.” One pressed the screen. “Welcome to the world's biggest magnet.”

"Four, still on top?" One inquired

"Always" his cheeky voice boomed in the comm

One gagged, he got the wrong idea all alone. We split then, Two and Three went to the second deck. Stepping on the main deck Five followed One, while you followed Seven, the 4 of you hiding behind low walls, ready to activate One’s magnet.

“Fuck!” you cocked your head at One’s voice.

“Ah, fucking American-made! The fucking chip fell out.”

“What?” Five almost yelled.

You sighed “I told you to be gentle with it!“

“The chip fell out!”

“Well, fix it.” Seven argued

“I can't just fix it, all right!” The phone is very fucking complicated.”

“Give it to Eight then!” Five pushed One’s arm, you extended your arm exasperate.

“CONTACT” Seven suddenly yelled. Redirecting your attention to the shore, you saw a bunch of military guys ready to shoot at you. Seven and you immediately covered One and Five, the guards dropping dead in an instant.

“Wow,” you look at the mess on the shore and at your gun.

“Hey,” Seven handed you a mag “it’s us or them.”

The shooting roused the bodyguards on the main deck, they started shooting, great.

“One! put the phone down and use your gun.”

“I got it, I got it, I got it” he almost laughed, this old man really!

“GRENADE!” Seven yelled pushing you backwards out of harms way.

“ONE!” you screamed

It all went so fast, the grenade left off the floor in a fastens, sticking on a wall far from you, people flew around the boat, smashing into the walls, hung on the metal parts of the yacht.

"Alright Baby Yoda's on board" you muttered to yourself watching the scene unfold before you.

One kept oo-ing at his own device, not expecting a result like this one. 15 seconds out, they all fell down from the walls and began heading for your area. One pressed it. They flew to the other side.

"Holy shit!“

The bodyguards had chest armors, made with metal that’s why they were moved around like puppets, One and his giant magnet being the puppeteer.

“Wow I mean, I wasn't "sure" sure it’d work. I had a suspicion, but I, uh” One ranted while you 3 look at him in disbelief, he wasn’t sure? ... "God, this is all so fucking dangerous.”

“I hate you so much!” you threw him your empty mag.

“Move!” Seven lead the way

“Hey, hey! You like that phone now, motherfucker?” One kept ranting at Seven who didn't even care.

“This thing is amazing.” he was like a teen who'd seen tits for the first time.

Three and Two were covering the stairs, Three was wowed by the magnetic field.

“Stop fucking around. We gotta find Rovach." One acted like he wasn’t wowed a second ago.

“Yeah well he's ass is still in the panic room.” you show him the CCTV of the room.

“The backdoor is near the kitchen, the deck above.” Two reloaded her gun, and tightenned her ponytail, you look at her, she was damn too gorgeous for a gun fight.

“Four, still with us?” you called in

“You have to move fast," he huffed “This boat is fucking huge, they’re coming from everywhere.”

You ran up, Seven and One leading while Two was covering behind. You never leaving Five's side. One stood up ready to enter the kitchen when a shot fired from inside. One dropped down, activating the magnet in a flash. The 8 guards came flying into the walls, followed by utensils like sharp knives..

You slide next to One “you good?”

He seethed “I’ll live,”

“Let’s go” Seven motionned to you for cover. Standing behind him a hand on his shoulder. He shoot at the remaining guards Two hadn’t shot yet. In the corner of your eye you caught One’s juggling with the phone before it hit the ground.

“More guys coming” Three announced

“Flashbang!” you threw it in, before coming in with Three and Seven, getting rid of the incoming guards. The boat started moving.

“Magnet! Where is the magnet?” Three screamed, there were too many guys for you 4 to handle.

“Fix the phone!”

“I'm trying! The screen is cracked!” he yelled back at Seven, next to you.

“I TOLD you to be EXTRA gentle with it!!”

“Fuck you Eight!”

The look you gave him, if he wasn't your boss you would have shot him! Three and you shot a few guys coming east.

“We get it! One yelled exasperated “They're dead!”

“Stop yelling at us!”

"Shit.” Seven sighed. "They got our position. We need to move."

Two ran to kill the engine.

“We should split up.”

Seven and three took off, you stuck with Five and One.

Five went to talk to a security guy pined to the wall by some rotisserie meat fork “What the fuck?”

As soon as she approached him another guy sprung out, before you could cover her, she dodged his fist, grabbed a extinguisher ready to smash him, you look at her proudly, but the thing flew from her hands heading to guard’s face. One had activated the magnet again.

“I feel like a Jedi.”

“That's not how the Force works!” you rolled your eyes.

Rovach's head of bodyguards ran into the kitchen, you held up your gun to shoot him but One pushed Five your way, so the guard would follow him not you 2. His sudden concerned for his teammates, had you baffled for a second.

“Five, flush him out.” he groaned ino the comm

‘Go, go’ you guide her to the deck, looking back at One, he kinda had it handle, still fighting with the bodyguard on the ground.

"Find Rovach. I'll distract the guards." Four stated in the comm.

"I’ll cover Five! Five and Eight going for Rovach.” Five held your shoulder glancing back while you lead the way.

Sudden explosions had you tumble against the railing, Five grabbing a hold of you before you could trip over for a dip.

"Thanks" you look at your watch, it wasn’t supposed to blow now.

"One, bad timing!"

He only grunt back, nearing Rovach's suite, you were still shielding Five behind you, shooting at anyone coming your way.

“I've got four guys on me. I'm on the upper deck, and I'm screwed.”

“Come on Four,” you muttered to yourself.

“We're in Rovach's stateroom." Five announced as you stealthily entered the panic room.. the asshole coming out of it as soon as you entered without seeing you.

“One, Rovach is leaving with a guard. What do you want us to do?” Five asked while you covered the door.

One ignored her, “Four, where are you at?” he asked over the comm

“One, please help me!” Four’s strained voice echoed in the comm, something was wrong, your heart clenched.

“Four? Give me a hint, buddy.” you could hear One running.

Waiting for his next order you became agitated hearing Four’s cry of help but you couldn’t let Five on her own. You started breathing in and out loudly to calm yourself, you still had to protect Five and yourself.

“What's your 20?” Seven asked One “Anybody got eyes on the target?”

“Negative," you answered Seven

“I don't know my 20. Stay off the channel. I'm going for Four.”

You look at Five, One going out of his way was unusual..

“Four, where you at, buddy?”

“You're breaking your own rules.” you could hear Seven’s smirked, your lips twitched.

“We gotta move,” you ran to the safe-boat area, since Rovach couldn’t board a boat anywhere but here.

“Hey” Five squeezed your arm, then look ahead, a hors-bord was getting away, with Rovach in it.

“One,” you tried to focused back on the mission, “I got a shot, your call. It’s right now!”

“Don’t shoot!”

“But...” you lowered your gun. But you had no time to worry about Rovach when you heard Four cry out as a cracking sound resonated in the comm, a gasp leaving your lips. Before you could yell at One to help him, Five snapped you out of it when she screamed seeing a guy coming. He shoot once, you shoved Five behind you, shooting back he dropped dead.

“Eight, you...” Five hold your arm

"Y/N..." Four whimpered your name, his voice so low you could barely hear it. Heart clenching, you stumble on the railing.

“It's a big ship. Say something, pal.” One was still looking for him

“He’s going to kill me."

“Billy stay with me...” Five glanced at you, your eyes became teary, you bite your lips holding a groan.

“Eight” One warned as you used Four’s name.

You tried to regain your composure, ready to shoot, but your hands were shaking. The yacht had become unusually quiet, most of the guards were down. You heard a single gunshot on the upper deck.

“There you are." One's voice sounded relieved. "Cleavers”

A silence then Four's voice cut it “Whut?”

“It’s TV show, come on let’s go, fucking Millennials. Eight focus.”

“I am focus!” sniffing you let out a sigh, you shook your head at Five, but she didn't listen.

“Eight has been hit, we got to go.” you hissed at her.

“Shit, Eight?” Four inquired, worry in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you grabbed the railing holding your side “it grazed me.”

“She’s not! Shut up.” Five put your arm around her neck leading you up the stairs.

“The ship is still sinking guys!” Two interfered

“Murat?’ you called out in the comm. The thump of an helicopter drew nearer.

“Meeting point!” One called out

Five run to the upper deck followed by your limping ass, soon collided with Two and Three.

“Hey lovebirds” Five joked

You look around still alert until One appeared in your peripheral vision, he tapped your shoulder in reassuring gesture, eyeing your side, you nodded.

Four followed, holding his right arm. He held you close until it was your turn to board. Aboard the chopper, you made a sling out of a shemagh for him while Five argued with you to stop moving so she could heal your injury.

“It’s just a bruise” he muttered to you while you tied it around his neck “hey” you finally looked at him, worry still filling your eyes. “Gah” you cried out as Five patched your own injury. Four chuckled at your stubbornness, he kissed your forehead as you leaned on him slightly, seething. No one cared about how close you were with Four, everyone was focused on getting the shithead.

It was one of his choppers, so no doubt he’d get in to save his ass. And he did. Seeing Three was about the choke the Rovach’s guard you scoot closer to Four, but stayed alert just in case.

As the chopper was nearing a refugee camp, the all team had a hard time seeing the desolation in these camp. No human-being should live that way, no child should be out there seeing people die, this isn’t a life, it’s surviving day after day without knowing what’s to come.

Seeing One’s face you understood why he started this strike team, so somewhere someone could do something governments were afraid to do, or were not willing to, to keep their privileges.

This camp was one of many Rovach’s liked to gaz. One opened the chopper’s door, Rovach immediately tried to bargain for his life. The chopper lower down, One did what he had to do, what he might have dreamed to do. He shoved Rovach out the chopper, 3 meters fall with a lovely welcome ceremony from the "rebels" leaving in the camp. Sticks and stones, punches and kicks, revenge.

The team watched as the people get their revenge on Rovach. Everyone sighed, finally, the team’s first mission was done, a success.

Four discreetly intertwined his fingers with yours, you look at him, you’d never imagine finding someone after cutting yourself from the world. Looking around you smile at this new crazy family. One would argued on that obviously.

The chopper did a pit stop near a base in the desert.

“I told you, bruise.” Four removed his arm from the sling to get dressed properly. You punched is arm, he flinched. “What's with you and scaring me!”

“I'm not the one who got shot.” he said lifting an eyebrow, you frowned, he was kinda right, he looked around “Damn I'm sorry alright, and you scared me too luv! ” he took your hand in his swiftly kissing it.

After a few minutes you watched as everyone was looking far in the distance in silence. “Are we posing for Vanity Fair or what? Let’s go home!”

Getting on the jet, you went to talk to One, about what happened on the boat, as he was not there yet, you sat in his seat in the cockpit.

“Y/N huh?” you turned your head to see Seven in the airlock.

“Blaine,” you smiled, now he knew your name.

“Hey by the way, I’m sorry about your brother,”

“We don’t talk about Six,” One’s voice startled you.

“..Why’s that?” Seven asked him as he walk past to his seat.

As he wasn't answering you stood up in the cramp cockpit “Because it makes One cry,” letting One sit you patted his shoulder. “We got to talk, old man.” You left the airlock almost crashing into Three.

“Bring us back to that fucking California desert papi!”

Last chapter ; Eighth chapter - One, but not done

A/N: don't forget to double tap if you liked it. 🙏

#6 underground four x reader #6 underground imagine #ben hardy #billy x reader #four imagine #four x reader #jennfic #fucks not found #Billy/Four

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captainfangirlll · 6 years ago

Text

BOOK JON SNOW VS SHOW JON SNOW

Books: Jon is 15 years old in books, he still has the mind of a kid, he plays with Robb and his other siblings , the best family relationship he have are Robb and Arya, Bran aswell meanwhile Rickon and Sansa are distant (in Rickon case is because he is practically a baby)

Show: Jon is a teenager in the show, we can see his relationship with Robb in a matured way, we also acknowledge he has a good relationship with Bran and the best with Arya.

Books: Thorne starts to dislike Jon in books when he starts to train his companions, Thorne said to Jon that it would be easier to him teach some tricks to Ghost than Jon teach his friends, Jon answer to him that he would like to see Ghost doing some tricks and everyone laugh at him, since that moment Thorne said to Jon he made a mistake.

Show: Thorne just dislike Jon since the beginning there is no a specific reason why he treated him bad.

Books: Qhorin orders Jon to kill Ygritte, but Jon secretly lets her go instead. Before she leaves, Ygritte informs Jon that Mance Rayder would accept him, if he wanted to join the free folk.

Show: Ygritte scapes from Jon in show so he is captured by the free folk.

Books: Jon is a warg in books like Bran, he sees through the eyes of Ghost, and witnesses thousands of wildlings, and giants and mammoths, before being attacked by an eagle in beyond the wall journet with Qhorin, Jon informs the group, who recognize him for a warg.

Show: We don’t see Jon warg skills in show.

Book: Jon kills Qhorin with the help of Ghost, to win the trust of thr wildings, so they agree to bring him to Mance Rayder.

Show: Jon Kills Qhorin by his own, Ghost is not with them.

Books: Ygritte is kind of adolescent in books meanwhile Jon is a pre teen that’s why he is so scared and nervous about her sexual implications.

Show: Jon and Ygritte have the same age but Jon is still nervous arround her.

Books: Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall and a member of the brotherhood without banners, tells Arya that he is Jon's milk brother, as they shared the same wet nurse, Wylla.

Show: We don’t see Edric in show so Arya never knew this.

Book: Jon didn’t fight with his sword in castle black battle with the wildings he spent all the battle in the wall with the arches helping Donal Noye in the defense of Castle Black against Styr's raider, he finds Ygritte who dies in a grief-stricken Jon's arms.

Show: Jon spends a time in the wall with the archers but then he down for the battle and fight sword to sword with wilds, also he finds Ygritte but Olly kills her before anything happens in front of him.

Book: Mance Rayder figths in casttle black battle this crows vs wildings battle is for days, Donal has Jon command from atop the Wall while the blacksmith descends to defend the gate. After Donal is killed by Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, Jon reluctantly takes command of the Wall's defenses, after prompting from Master Aemon. Jon successfully holds the Wall against overwhelming odds for several days.

Show: The batlle of casttle black is in one night.

Books: Fearing that Melisandre might burn Maester Aemon and the infant of the captured Mance Rayder for their royal blood, Jon secretly swaps Mance's son with Gilly's son. Jon sends Samwell Tarly to the Citadel to train as Castle Black's next maester, sending Aemon, Gilly, Mance's child, and Dareon with Sam.

Show: We don’t see any intention on Melissandre side to burn Maester Aemon, also Mance doesn’t have a son in show and he is the one burned by Melissandre by Jon kill him before.

Books: In King's Landing, Queen Regent Cersei Lannister is outraged to learn of Jon's appointment as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, as he has given Stannis Baratheon shelter. The small council agrees that Jon must be removed from command. Grand Maester Pycelle suggests informing the Watch that the crown will send no more men to the Wall until Jon is removed. Cersei is delighted with Qyburn's suggestion to send a hundred recruits with secret orders to remove Jon. She plots to send Ser Osney Kettleblack to carry out the plan, but both Osney and Cersei are imprisoned by the Faith of the Seven before these plans can come to fruition.

Show: Jon ascension as Lord Commander didn’t have important in Kings Landing.

Book: Jon never went to hardhome to rescued wildings the ones who goes are his nigths watch companions and some wildings so he actually haven’t kill a white walker yet.

Show: Jon goes to hardhome to rescued the wildings and he fights with a White Walker and killed him also meets the night King who until now doesn’t exist in books.

Show: Jon and The night king exchange a lot of glances.

Book: We haven’t see the Night King in books, there also no evidence about a Knight King just about a leader figured with a white woman by his side.

Books: Jon finds out Ramsay Bolton will marry Arya Stark, Melisandre informs Jon she has had a vision of a girl on a dying horse making for Castle Black. Melisandre reveals that she had changed the appearances of Mance and Rattleshirt with a glamor, so that Stannis actually executed Rattleshirt and that Mance has been serving Jon. Mance is sent to secretly rescue Arya.

“ Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl” — Jon Snow.

- - -

His heart seemed to stop for a moment. No, that is not possible. She died in King’s Landing, with Father.

“Lord Snow?” Clydas peered at him closely with his dim pink eyes. “Are you … unwell? You seem …” “He’s to marry Arya Stark. My little sister.” Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton’s bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she’ll fight him. “Your sister,” Iron Emmett said, “how old is …” By now she’d be eleven, Jon thought.

(...)

While Jon despairs, Melisandre appears and offers a way to save Arya. She points out that Jon has power, and shouldn't be afraid to wield it.

“Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “Your Wall is a queer place, but there is power here, if you will use it. Power in you, and in this beast. You resist it, and that is your mistake. Embrace it. Use it.” ...“Take my hand,” she said again, “and let me save your sister.”

Show: Mance is dead in the show burned by Melissandre, and the one married Ramsay is Sansa Stark, Jon finds out about this but he doesn’t do anything to help her.

Books: After Stannis's wife, Queen Selyse Baratheon, arrives at Castle Black from Eastwatch, Jon negotiates with Tycho Nestoris, an envoy of the Iron Bank of Braavos. Jon agrees to a loan so the Watch can purchase food and supplies and hire ships.

Show: We never see this political Jon skills what a shame he he never negotiated with the Iron bank in the show, because stannis borrowed his ships to him.

Books: When Jon finds out about Hardhome he intends to rescue them, but he is interrupted by a taunting letter from Ramsay which claims that Stannis has been defeated and Mance captured. Jon relinquishes command of the ranging and announces his intention to ride south against House Bolton to save Arya and defends the Nights Watch. He does not order the Night's Watch to fight with him, but asks both wildlings and black brothers alike to join him of their own volition. Most wildlings in the Shieldhall agree to support him, but Jon's decision causes great discontent within the Watch's upper leadership.

Show: Jon go to Hardhome and doesn’t recieve any Ramsay letter.

Books: In books Jon is killed by some of the members of night watch in the confusion resulting from Wun Wun's killing of Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, he is attacked in the mutiny at Castle Black. While stabbing the Lord Commander, Bowen Marsh and Wick Wittlestick state "for the Watch" also because he is planning break his vows to rescued “Arya” from marry Ramsay.” with some castle black mans and the wildings.

Show: In tv show the members a of night watch killed Jon because he let’s the wildings pass the wall Thorne and Olly participate in his murder but in books Olly doesn’t exist and Thorne didn’t have part in this and he is still alive.

Books: Jon finals words and thoughts are dedicated to Ghost and Arya:

When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. "Why?"

"For the Watch." Wick slashed at him again.

Jon manages to ward off Wick's second attack, but when he tries to draw Longclaw, "his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard." That's when the second knife hits.

Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. "For the Watch." He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whitspered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold…

That's the last appearance of Jon Snow in "A Dance with Dragons, wich is also the last books realized so is the last time we know about him in books, and we all know what happens with him on show.

Other differences

• In books the quote “Love is the death of duty” by Maester Aemon is used when Jon decidesld break his vows from nights watch to save “Arya” (who is actually Jeyne Poole no Arya as I said in my Arya books vs show). Arya is the character Jon loves the most and he thinks on her in every moment:

And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him. (A Game of Thrones, Jon III)

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt.His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard’s heart. He’d had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo’s blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life.

Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. — Jon when he meets Ygritte

They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.

• Jon is more political in books than show, we seem him negotiating with the iron bank, confronting with Ramsay, taking decisions about Mance and Gilly babies and more, also Jon is not that perfect in books as in show, he have selfish thoughts sometimes but at the end he tries his best.

• His relationship with Ghost is deeper in books, he can warg him and is always by his side.

With all this changes between books and show we can assume that yes, Jon is gonna be resurrected but we don’t know if in the same way, but he will be darker after he comes back, he will abandoned the nights watch to save “Arya” and is gonna be king in the north but we will see it in a different way than the show.

He is gonna be a secret Targaryen too, and also ride a Dragon because in books we have the prophecy of the three heads of the dragon

“He has a song. He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire,” Rhaegar tells the nurse before looking directly at Daenerys and saying, “There must be one more. The dragon has three heads.”

So with that we can assume we will see Jon and Daenerys riding the dragons in books also one more Targaryen (maybe Aemon or Tyrion book reades knows what im talking about )

Also I think he is gonna do more important things to the long night, is very posible we see Jonerys in books too and Jon killing her at the end, but I think is gonna be played different with the Azor Ahai prophecy because I have the strong theory Jon is Azor Ahai:

“There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.” — Books prophecy.

Azor Ahai killed Nissa Nissa who was his wife. In order to unleash the powers of the sword Lightbringer so that he could defeat the darkness of the Great Other, he had to sacrifice her by plunging it into her heart. I think we will see that with Jon i Daenerys in a very unexpected way, I mean not intentionally way.

“According to prophecy, our champion will be reborn to wake dragons from stone and reforge the great sword Lightbringer that defeated the darkness those thousands of years ago. If the old tales are true, a terrible weapon forged with a loving wife's heart. Part of me thinks man was well rid of it, but great power requires great sacrifice. That much at least the Lord of Light is clear on.” — THOROS OF MYR.

In conclusion I really have big hopes for Jon finale arc in books, since there is no night king in books I expect Jon contributes to the battle against the others in a really original way, also his real identity as a Targeryen be more important in the history even i he has the same ending in books if he is journey is good it will don’t matter. Also he go to the wall by his choice not because he is exiled.

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khoicesbyk · 4 years ago

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The Good Captain.

Author’s Note: This is my version of what book 2 of Distant Shores should be like. Y’know the book 2 that we readers of Distant Shores rightfully deserved! One more thing: in this fanfic, the MC’s last name has been changed to Bennett but; in the game it’s Carter. I decided to change it from Carter to Bennett; because Bennett sounds better to me. Also; her original occupation has been changed as well.

***Rated: Mature 18+. Contains sexual content, nudity, some violence and strong language.

***Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters.

***Characters: Captain Edward Mortemer (LI), Kyra Bennett (MC), Robert Finnegan (Main Antagonist), Charlie, Ginny, Jonas, Maggie, Samuel, Octavia, Henry, Axton, Adelia, Kendrick and Oliver Cochrane (Side Characters)

***Disclaimer: All character names (except MC) and/or some dialogues belong to Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 2,784 words.

To make this chapter, a little more accurate; I’m timing this around winter 2019/early 2020.

Chapter 2: The Revelation…

As the sun sets; Captain Edward Mortemer gazes over the ocean and watches the colors blend into one another. She’s on his mind again. Her smile. Her eyes. The touch of her skin. He clenches his fists; in order to fight back the emotions and tears that were creeping up on him. She was just in his arms then she was gone.

He missed her. He longed for her. He wanted her back. He loved her.

“I knew I could find you here!”, a familiar voice called out to him. It was Charlie coming to check on him.

“Aye. I’m here.”, he replied.

“Thinking of the lass again?”, she asked.

“Always, Charlie. Always…”, he told her.

“She’s out there Edward. You’ll find her.”, she said reassuringly.

“Aye. I will find her. Wherever she is. I WILL find her.”, he responds. Charlie pats him on the back and leaves him to his thoughts.

“Kyra…wherever you are. Just know; I will not stop until I’ve found you. I will not give up until you’re in my arms again.”, he tells himself before making his way back to town.

She’d been gone for almost 3 1/2 months, at that point. Just vanished into thin air. And poor Edward; the man drove himself crazy, endlessly searching for her. He never got to tell her; what she truly meant to him. He never got to tell her; that he would move heaven and earth for her. He never got to say the words “I love you”. That’s what he wanted. To tell her, that he is MADLY in love with her. He had to find her. No matter where she was. He was GOING TO find her.

But for now, he had to shift his focus to this mysterious Captain Finnegan he’d been hearing about. Apparently this new captain and his crew; had been terrorizing many across the Caribbean. And always at night. This new captain sailed aboard the Dios Del Mar. He and his crew were effective and brutal. Leaving nothing behind; but terror and destruction.

They had even struck down the first of the Seven Lords of The Sea.

Whereas Edward and his crew sailed aboard The Jewel Of The Sea. It was slightly bigger and more agile of a ship than; The Revenge. It did the job he needed it to do.

By the time he reached the tavern; the sunset had turned to night but a ominous dark cloud started to form. He couldn’t put his finger on it but; after looking at the cloud for a brief time something didn’t sit right with him. An eerie feeling was in the air; and he and the crew were about to discover why.

After ordering pints for everyone; Edward settled into, what supposed to be a night of being with his crew. They were his family. Even though; Samuel and Octavia had crossed and mutinied against him. He forgave them. He welcomed them back into his life, his heart and his crew once again. They were all sitting around Kendrick, singing the shanties of old, drinking and laughing. It brought joy to his heart; to see the family he created together again.

That’s when thunder started to rumble; and the winds picked up. It sounded like a hurricane was brewing outside. But as Edward and his crew would discover; this was no ordinary storm. A violent wind blew into the tavern, dousing all the lamps. And then suddenly; they were reignited and when they reignited, a familiar figure stood before Edward and the crew.

“Hello everyone! What a time to be alive!”, he exclaimed.

No one could believe who it was they were seeing. It was Robert. He was alive. He had returned.

“What witchcraft is this?!”, Charlie asked. She was the first to shake herself of the initial shock.

“Ahhhh my dearest Charlie! Such a quick one, you are.”, he replied.

“You’re supposed to be dead! You were killed by the Admiral!”, Edward says to the man who was his former first mate and friend.

“And yet; here I stand before you, boy! As nimble as ever! And with my own crew to boot!”, he replied as he gestures to the crew behind him.

“You can’t be alive! You’d have to be a God to have survived.”, Edward said to him. His hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword.

“I’m not a God my boy. Well; at least not yet.”, Robert casually replied.

“This is impossible!”, Edward exclaimed.

“You know, that’s funny. She said the same thing.”, he answered.

“What are you babbling about?”, Edward asks.

“Ohhh I think you know exactly what I’m referring to Edward. Or should I say; I think you know exactly who I’m referring to?”, he replies.

“Robert…”, Edward sneered. His jaw clenched tight.

Robert merely rolled his eyes.

“Kyra, my dear boy.”, he tells him. Edward froze in his place.

“You…you’ve seen her?!”, he asks.

“Ohhh yes! We had lovely little conversation in future. That’s how I got this!”, he says before producing the golden compass, “although, she might not be happy that I stole it from her.”

“If you did anything to harm her; I swear I will have your head!”, Edward growled as Charlie and Jonas restrained him.

“And there in lies your problem, boy. You’ve always let your emotions cloud your judgement!”, he replied.

Edward was livid. But, Robert once again just rolled his eyes.

“Calm down, boy! I never touched her!…Pearson did!”, he said with sly grin as he gestured to his first mate.

“You bastard!”, Edward hissed, clearly ready to pounce. He was going to kill Robert.

“Would you lot like to see her? That way Edward can finally calm down, about the girl he clearly loves.”, Robert asks the crew, clearly overlooking Edward’s fury. Most of the crew nodded their heads.

“Very well! Mari! Be a dear and show them the girl, will you?”, he commanded one of the women in his crew to do.

“Sí, mi capitán”, she replied before waving her hand, and producing a screen that gave everyone a view into the future. The tavern was mostly empty at that point; save for the two crews.

And there she was. She was alive and judging by the look on her face; clearly troubled. She was sitting down but he wasn’t quite sure what; but it looked like she was in some kind of room, surrounded by strange contraptions. Edward couldn’t believe what he saw. He thought he’d never see her again, but there she was. And although he was rightfully furious at Robert; he was thankful and his heart overjoyed to see her.

“Are you happy now?”, he asked, obviously annoyed at this point.

“When was this? Where was this?”, he replied with questions of his own.

“When? About a month ago. Where? A doctors office.”, he replied.

“Doctor?! Is she sick?”, Edward replies; clearly trying to hide the concern in his voice.

“Watch!”, Robert replied.

Just then the door opened.

“Good afternoon Miss Bennett! I’m Dr. Everett. I’m here to take good care of you.”, he said as he greeted her with a handshake.

“Thank you Dr. Everett.”, she replied sheepishly.

“I know you’re nervous Kyra, but I can assure you that I will do my very best; to offer you the best care possible.”, he tells her.

“I know…I’m just…I guess I’m still in shock.”, she replied.

“I can understand that. But as I said; I will do my very best; to offer you the best care.”, he says with a warm smile.

“Thank you again doctor. So; what do the results say? I can’t be that far along can I?”, she asks.

“You’re actually a lot farther along than you think, Miss Bennett. You’re currently at 11 1/2 weeks.”, he tells her. That was right on time with her timeline.

“Holy shit…”, she thought to herself before asking the doctor, “so, what happens now?”

“Well today, you’re scheduled for an ultrasound. We have to calculate what your due date will be.”, the doctor replies.

“Okay. I can…we can do that.”, she said.

“Excellent! Right this way!”, he says as he gestures for her to follow him.

“That’s enough for now Mari.”, he tells her. That’s when the screen vanishes.

“Happy now? She’s fine! Well…as fine as she can be; given her condition anyway.”, he tells everyone.

“I don’t understand. What condition she be in?”, Henry asks clearly confused.

Robert lets out an aggravated sigh.

“You lot never were all that bright. So, allow me to put it plainly: she’s with child. More specifically; she’s with his child.”, he replies, nodding towards a now very pale looking Edward.

“M-my child?”, he asks.

“Yes, my dear boy. She’s having your child. You’re not only a captain but soon; you’ll be a father as well. The doctor she went to see, helps new mothers give birth.”, he explains.

Edward was stunned into a dead silence. Kyra was having his child; and he wasn’t there with her. She was in the future and he was currently in the past.

“My God…”, he said still trying to process this new information.

“I’d order you a celebratory pint buuuuuut seeing as how the tavern is empty; I’ll just have to owe you one.”, Robert says to Edward.

“So, you’re doing all of this was to torture me?”, he asks Robert.

“No not at all, my dear boy! I’m only here to offer peace…and to get you and the crew to stand down.”, he replies.

“Stand down?! For what?!”, he asks Robert. That’s when he gave Edward and the crew, the rundown of the legends of Atlantis and Poseidon’s Trident. He told them how he was going to find the the trident, and use it to become the greatest pirate of all.

“Yer mad Robert! Absolutely mad!”, Maggie exclaimed.

“Why thank you Maggie darlin’!”, he replies with an icy smile.

“Captain Robert sir, I’d like to point out that; we all know the legends. And we all know that; the trident as well as Atlantis can never be found. Sir.”, Samuel quipped.

“That’s why I intend to be the one to find it. To prove you all and the world wrong. The trident will be mine!”, he proclaimed.

“Robert what the hell happened to you?! You used to be brave and smart and strong! And now? Yer babbling about old legends that ain’t true!”, Charlie says to him. That’s when he shows them the first of the seven key fragments. “But it is true! As you can plainly see! Once I have all the key fragments; it will only be a matter of time!”

“We will stop ye!”, Ginny yelled at him.

“My little one! Ever the fierce protector you are!”, he replies sarcastically as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Enough! This madness ends now!”, Edward growls as he draws his weapon. And when he draws his; Robert’s crew draws theirs as does Edward’s crew. All ready to strike at one another.

“Don’t be daft boy! Think of your child! What will Kyra think if she were to find out that you died being foolish?”, he asks him.

“You blackguard! You won’t touch her!”, he sneered back.

“You’re right. I won’t. But if you die here; neither will you.”, he tells him.

“What are you talking about?”, Edward asks.

“Callie hand the boy the amulet, won’t you?”, he tells one of the women with him. With a flick of her wrist; she tosses him an ornate amulet. “This is the amulet of Atlas. It’s one of three amulets. I have the amulet of Orion. Can you guess who has the other one, my boy?”

“Kyra has the other one?”, he answers.

“Aye. That she does. I gave it to her. They give you the power to transport you to the future and to the past. Consider them as presents from me and my crew; to you and her on the impending birth of your child.”, he tells Edward.

“You’re lying!”, Edward told him.

“Mari! Show him please?”, he commanded. Once again the screen into the future was up. “This was ohhh…about a week ago.”

There Kyra was sitting at her desk; clearly showing the biggest sign of pregnancy: her stomach had grown. She was going through stacks and stacks of papers, scrolls and books in both English and Ancient Greek. She was trying to figure out two things. 1.) how Robert got his hands on that key fragment; and 2.) the legends of Atlantis and Poseidon.

That’s when a noise startled her from her studying. She knew that it wasn’t good.

“Not again. Not now.”, she muttered. She knew not to leave her office; but she had to find out what that noise was.

And there stood Robert and his evil company. “Why Kyra! You’re pregnant and glowing! How are you doing dear? Are you alright? I hope the last time we spoke; didn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

“Go fuck yourself!”, she snapped at him.

“Quaint as ever I see. Well you’ll be happy to know that; I’m not here to steal from you. I’m here to give a gift, actually!”, he explained.

“Thanks but no thanks! If it’s coming from you; it’s a curse not a gift!”, she replied.

“So, you’re going to be defiant, eh?”, he asks her.

“I think the term you’re looking for is stubborn; and yes I am!”, she said to him. Although she’s pregnant; and clearly in danger, she was not about to back down. She then asked him, “What do you want?”

“Callie? Be a dear, won’t you?”, he commands her. And just like with Edward she tosses Kyra an amulet. “Now pay attention girl! That is the amulet of Triton. It’s one of three. The others are the amulet of Orion and the amulet of Atlas. I have Orion. All of them, give you the power to travel back and forth in time. To use it; think of the place and time you want to be or the person you want to be with; and the amulet will do the rest. I discovered that in my studies; as I’m sure you will in yours.”

“Why would you give me this?”, she asked him.

“Don’t you think Edward should know, that you’re pregnant with his child?”, he replied with a question of his own. “I mean unless of course you’ve already told him…ohhhh wait!”

His crew snickered behind him. She stood there fuming.

“You really are a sick bastard! You do know that, right?”, she told him.

He merely shrugged. “You may see it that way; but to answer your previous question; I’m giving you that amulet for the same reason, I’m going to give the other one to your beau: to get you both to stay out of my way!”

“So this is a threat, is that what I’m to understand?”, she asked.

“Think of it as a promise my darling girl. A promise that if you get involved; you, your child, your dearly beloved and even the crew might not survive.”, he sneered at her.

“I will stop you! And even if I don’t; I know that Edward and the crew will!”, she snapped at him.

“It’s adorable to see how loyal you are to them. And I’m sure when I see them, they’ll be just as loyal to you. Well I don’t want to keep you; I know you’re busy studying, so we’ll see ourselves out. Goodbye for now! And ohhhh! At least, think about my promise to you?”, he says to her; before disappearing into the shadows with his crew.

“What am I gonna do?”, she says to herself while clutching the amulet to her chest and holding her very growing belly.

When screen vanishes again; Edward is furious. “You dare threaten her and my child?!”

“I’ll tell you; as I told her. It’s a promise not a threat. As long as you and the others stand down; no one will be hurt. But if you get involved no one will survive!”, he says to him. Clearly annoyed by the defiance he then asks, “let me guess my boy, you’re going to stop me?”

“We all will!”, Charlie growls. Edward was poised and ready to slice Robert’s head clean off his shoulders.

“I was hoping to avoid this but; so be it! If you plan to stop me you might want to do it fast…like right now!”, he says before a lightning strike hits the tavern; setting it on fire and trapping the crew inside. Edward had to get out. He had to see her. The amulet was his only hope…

Stay tuned for chapter 3! 😘

K. @txemrn @choicesficwriterscreations

#choices #choices fanfiction #fanfic #khoicesbyk #pixelberry #choices stories you play #distant shores #edward mortemer #captain edward

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vicunaburger · 4 years ago

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Imperfect and Inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 3/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,618 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: I’m just gonna sit here like it hasn’t been 2 months since an update

Chapter 3 - Late Night - Taxi

It was 1:30am.

There was a light drizzle all day, which turned mostly to slush due to the drop in temperature the last few nights. Not enough to soak through to the bone, but enough to make one excessively damp, which was arguably worse depending on the type of clothing one sported.

Unhappily, Magdalena sat outside on the fire escape, her umbrella doing little against the wind whipping the rain around her at such a height. Something was wrong, and it was gnawing away at her nerves by the minute. Dewey was supposed to have been home hours ago, so why wasn’t he going into his room? His van sat parked in its usual spot, having been there when she arrived, but she didn’t see him go into the apartment building. Faint noises through the apartment caught her ear, but they weren’t his sounds. Lighter footsteps, a softer touch on the light switches and refrigerator door.

Even though they had been meeting every night for the past three weeks - sometimes only a few minutes at a time - they had not reached the point where she could venture in and out of his home as she pleased. Dewey often met her on the steps outside, or as he got home from band practice. Never the right time to invite her inside.

What if something had happened to him? He could be lying in an alleyway somewhere, beset upon by local vandals. Maybe he was tutoring one of his students and lost track of the time?

What if he was on a date?

Magdalena pulled herself into the fur collar of her coat, resembling an unhappy feline as she stared holes into the window glass. If he was on a date, without her, she was going to be extremely distressed to say the least. She wouldn’t be too angry with Dewey; perhaps she was too old fashioned in her attempts at courtship. Too slow to reach the intended result. Truth be told, she was rusty in the art of new-age courtship; the very idea that she was pursuing him without reciprocation was almost too much for her to handle. It was unladylike, but so was this entire century.

The soft sound of the window being opened in front of her brought her attention back to the present, finding herself face to face with Dewey’s roommate. He blinked at her, which she mimicked, and cleared his throat with an awkward grumble.

“Uh… can I help you?” He asked, giving her a suspicious glance.

“I take it Mr. Finn isn’t home?” Magdalena adjusted her posture, trying to put on a more intimidating air. “Why would that be?”

Ned’s eyes seemed to glaze over briefly, “He’s at the bar on 5th.”

“5th and what?” She fought the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to risk breaking the tenuous hold she had on his subconscious.

“Matinee. It’s open mic night, he’ll be there for a while until someone drags him home. Usually me.” He explained, seemingly unbothered by her on the fire escape.

Nodding, she took a deep breath, standing in preparation for descending to the ground below, “Don’t worry about him tonight, I’ll take care of him for you. Go to sleep or… whatever you do at night. If needed, you’ll recall this conversation happened in the hallway like a perfectly normal human interaction. La revedere”

—

Magdalena stood just outside of the bar under an awning, shaking out her umbrella and doing her best to put herself in a more presentable state. Offkey caterwauling of drunken patrons made her regret her sensitive hearing, wincing as she opened the door to the chorus of an 80s love ballad.

She weaved her way through the small bar like a serpent through the grass; the small room filled to the brim even so late into the night. It didn’t take her too long to find the musician, hearing his distinct laugh and following the sound to the far side of the bar. He was surrounded by empty beer bottles and a few random patrons - female, she noted - his face flushed with laughter and alcohol.

Dewey caught sight of his neighbor immediately; sticking out from the usual crowd wrapped in her fur trimmed coat.

“Snow! Wha- what’re you doing all the way here?” Dewey stumbled his way through the girls surrounding him, “I wanted to c-call, ya know. But I need your number… so I can call you and stuff. How’dya know I was here? Are you magic?”

He was trying to be subtle but having to yell over the noise made that rather impossible. Magdalena reached out her hands, grasping his shoulders to steady him as he wobbled in place. Dewey, perhaps misunderstanding the gesture, pulled her tight to his chest, engulfing her petite frame in a hug.

His body was so warm, she thought she might melt.

Magdalena wasn’t going to let his opportunity slip away, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the mixed scent of his soap, sweat, and the blood sluggishly running through his veins. Even when they would sit side by side on the front steps of his apartment, she had yet to be this close to him. Social convention dictated that a certain amount of distance must be kept between people of small acquaintance.

Technically, since he was the one who broke that social boundary, she felt comfortable enough to start showing him more physical affection, and not just hidden wordplay.

“Not magic, I’m afraid, just well informed. Your roommate told me where to find you, and warned me about how inebriated you might be.” Magdalena allowed herself the small victory of sliding one hand behind his back, patting him gently. “It’s late, Mr. Finn, don’t you have practice tomorrow?”

Dewey’s gasp was audible even with the noise around them, his grip tightening around her, “Oh… oh… OH SHIT. I gotta go to sleep. Gotta go home. Not in that order. Mags!”

He let her go, placing his hands on either side of her face as he struggled to see her clearly. She could feel him adjusting the placement of her head within his vision, trying to keep her head steady as he wobbled around.

“Mags, do… do you have a car? Did you drive?” Dewey leaned forward as though they were sharing a secret. “Can you take me home? Maaaaaaags, you’re my only hope.”

Magdalena didn’t answer him at first, completely thrown off kilter by his incredible closeness and his use of a new nickname for her. “Mags” was a new moniker in her history; often being reduced to “Magda” by close friends and family only. Was he being sincere? Condescending? His logic being muddled by the amount of beer in his system?

Eh, she would take what she could get.

Magdalena nodded her head, watching him follow the movement with his own, “Come, we’ll go home, Mr. Finn. No cars, but the walk will sober you up in no time. Get your things.”

It took a while to get him out of the bar; Magdalena made sure his tab was paid, and that he had his coat on before the stepped outside. Even walking halfway down the block was a struggle, but not because he had a few pounds on her and thought it was “a great idea” to lean on her for support. It was struggle because she could very well

It wasn’t the fact she had to support him; it was the fact she had to do so without using near her full strength. Truth be told, she could have easily lifted him off his feet and carried him over her shoulder, but that would have been terribly suspicious given her small stature. It didn’t help that he would start slumping over, tripping on something or other on the sidewalk and narrowly avoiding splitting his head open on the cement.

Magdalena managed to subtly put him back on his feet, thankful that he was too muddled to notice. Suddenly, Dewey stopped cold, wobbling in place as she kept him steady.

“Maaaaags. I can’t walk anymore. My legs are bad.” He whined loudly, “How far?”

She winced at the volume, knowing it was probably the result of him unable to hear himself clearly, “We’re not even halfway to your apartment, Mr. Finn. Come on now, if you can stand, you can walk.”

Pouting, Dewey slipped himself to the ground with dead weight, sitting down on the sidewalk with a huff, “Too far.”

For a brief moment, she questioned her mental faculties in regard to her affection for him, “Ahh… I see. Would you like me to leave you here out in the rain and call transportation?”

“…no.” Dewey’s pout became more pronounced.

“Then we find ourselves at an impasse,” Magdalena bent down to be eye level with him. “Tell you what, my home is about a block away. If you can manage that distance, I will offer my sofa for the night.”

He eyed her suspiciously, “Do I get a pillow?”

She nodded, getting up and extending him a hand, “Yes, and you’ll be next to a fireplace, Mr. Finn. I am nothing if not hospitable.”

At once, Dewey leapt up from the ground on his own, seemingly catching a second wind at the prospect of a warm place to sleep. He threw his arm around Magdalena’s shoulders, squeezing her tight to him with a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“C’mon, Snow White, take me to the cottage~” He waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him a soft bit of laughter from his escort.

“Cottage isn’t the word I would use, but do as you will, Mr. Finn.”

Writing Tags: @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs @mrgeuse @amywright @beetlebitchywitch

#school of rock au #school of rock fanfiction #dewey finn x oc #school of rock broadway #school of rock musical #writing time

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adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

VIII

September 23, 2277.

It’s been a few days since my recall. Percy told me to rest and we’ll leave for Rivet City in two days. Something about looking for a scientist called Madison Li. Percy said she might know where her father is.

On the wall opposite the couch hangs a photograph of the young mistress and her father. Percy said his name is James. Yesterday, she caught me looking at it and told me she was in a rush to leave the vault but she could never leave the photograph behind. He’s the splitting image of the mistress. Almost.

The mistress and I had supper in silence, a slab of brahmin steak the mistress seared herself, with Instamash on the side. The dog is currently curled up in my lap while I sit on the couch. I can’t remember sitting something on something relatively comfortable and relaxing for once. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I relaxed and let my guard down before this Vault girl walked into my life.

It’s… difficult acclimating to my new employer’s lifestyle. I have no complaints for the free food and board that comes with it, but having this much time to myself still feels strange. I’m afraid spending most of my waking hours standing in the corner in the Ninth Circle has something to do with it.

Percy saunters over and calls my attention, a book in hand. “Hey. I thought you might like this book, Charon,” she tells me, handing it over. The cover is faded and the paper is yellowed, but it’s intact. There’s a dog- a wolf?- on the cover, and its coat pattern looks similar to Dogmeat’s. I found it interesting, but to be truthful…

“Thank you, miss. Unfortunately, I cannot comprehend this book.”

“What do you mean? This book is in English so...”

I hesitated on whether I should tell her or not. Wastelanders never knew how to read or write, but I was born before the bombs fell. Granted, the circumstances robbed me of the opportunity to learn, but shame grows at the pit of my belly. I felt pretty damn stupid.

“I barely remember how to read, miss.”

“Oh. That’s fine, I can read to you and teach-” Percy stops mid sentence and has a look of surprise on her face. “-wait, how do you know the contents of your contract then?”

The itch in my brain returns, but I am too exhausted to entertain it. The nightmare took a toll on me. “It was taught to me. Please, don’t ask.”

My mistress nods, taking the book from my hand. “Okay. Do you want me to read to you?”

“If the miss wishes to,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

“I’m asking if you want to, big guy,” said my mistress, a smile on her face.

It wasn’t unkind.

It’s warm, like the ones she gave me when she used to come by in the Ninth Circle. When did an employer care for what I want? I’m still learning to trust this girl, but how can I say no to a good thing?

“Yes.”

Percy’s smile turns into a grin, her too white teeth gleaming. I think I’ll never be used to how healthy the mistress looks compared to the other denizens of the wasteland. She scoots closer, the dog nestled between us, and opens the book.

“Chapter one, ‘The Trail of the Meat’,” she starts. “Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway…”

??? ??, ????

I feel the warmth of another person beneath me. A whisper tickles what’s left of my ear, voice familiar.

“Please.”

It’s Percy’s.

There’s desperation in her voice, and I get on my hands and knees to look at her. Face flushed and glasses fogging, she looks me in the eye, with an expression similar to the ones I see on the women in the skin mag she found in the scrapyard. She’s dressed in that stupid blue jumpsuit, and I grab the zipper and undo it, dragging slowly. Underneath, she wears her shirt and boyshorts, the fabric sticking to her sweat-drenched body.

Head thrown back, her pale throat is exposed. I lean in to swipe at a bead of sweat with my tongue, my ruined mouth dragging against the skin on her neck. The mistress’ skin is as soft as I imagined. My hands scrambled for purchase, squeezing her breasts, rough fingers slipping beneath her shirt, pinching her hard nipples. I latch on to one, and she sighs softly, small hands grasping what’s left of my hair.

“Please.”

I stop, on my hands and knees once more, and my hands move lower, grasping her shorts and peeling it from her hips, ruined fingers touching her in places I have no right to. She leans in and kisses my ruined cheek, before slipping her tongue in my mouth.

“Charon, please,” she begs, breaking the kiss and bucking her hips against me.

I kneel between her legs, ready to service my mistress.

“Charon…”

I want her to never stop saying my name.

September 24, 2277.

I jerk awake, an uncomfortable pressure between my legs, and I look down, cursing myself. I’m too fucking old for wet dreams. Suddenly having a nightmare seems more preferable. Of all the dreams I can have, why that, and why her?

I hear a gentle knock and Percy’s voice from outside the door.

Dammit.

“Charon?” she calls again. I scramble to find my pants, do my best to conceal the hard-on I have, and hope she doesn’t notice it.

I open the door, and Percy stands there, I can no longer stop myself from looking at her. Droplets of water are dripping from her hair, down her neck, and to her sleeveless white undershirt. She wears her vault suit with its sleeves tied around her waist. The thin, wet fabric of her undershirt reminded me of the dream I had and I felt myself twitch at the sight of her.

“Miss. What do you need?”

“Lunch is ready,” she tells me, and I nod. She turns around and descends down the stairs, and I follow her, eyes trailing down her spine, to the curve of her ass, to her legs. The guilt settles in and I look away, even if she doesn’t know where I’m looking. It felt dirty, ogling the kid who’s offering me a roof over my head.

We eat our meal in peace like before, and Dogmeat lies on my lap while I sit on the couch. After fifteen fucking years of standing in that corner, I will take every opportunity I can to sit. I pet the dog’s head until he falls asleep, the rise and fall of his breaths slowing down. The mistress sits on the other side of the couch, sipping a Nuka, legs raised to the backrest.

“Looks like the two of you had taken a liking to each other,” said Percy, that smile on her face again. I felt the corner of my mouth tug upward, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t feel the need to.

“What about me, Charon? Do you... like me?”

My head whips to my mistress’ direction, and she must’ve seen the look on my face for her to let out an awkward laugh. “Seeing how you didn’t hesitate to put down Ahzrukhal, I hope I’m earning your trust and not doing anything to earn that treatment,” the mistress explains.

When Percy clarified what she meant by the question, I felt somewhat relieved. I’m not blind nor numb; she is attractive, even when I’m more used to the sight of ghoulettes. My body’s reaction to her says it all. I thought she was on to me, and I was terrified for a moment. Not a lot of things terrify me.

I have no reason to let her know about that, and I hope the mistress never asks. This new employer is treating me so well, I’m afraid her finding out about the physical attraction I felt for her will result in the sale of my contract.

“Yes, I do like you, miss. Your treatment of other people and I is much more preferable than Ahzrukhal’s,” I tell her, and she gives me a sigh of relief.

“Great! Great, ahem- that’s good to hear. Very reassuring,” she mumbles, a nervous crack in her voice.

“Miss, is there something bothering you?” I ask her.

“Oh, me? I- I guess I’m just a little worried,” Percy stutters, averting her eyes from me. “I mean, you are the first person I’ve travelled with since I got out of the vault. I have friends here in Megaton, sure, but never someone who’d watch my back while I look for Dad. Then you came along. I’m still learning to trust you, and I hope you’ll trust in me too.”

“Your worry is not necessary, miss. The contract entitles you my absolute loyalty.”

“Loyalty is different from trust, Charon,” said Percy. “It’s the difference between you unflinchingly following Ahzrukhal’s orders to fuck someone up, and letting yourself be vulnerable to me so I can patch you up, if that makes any sense.”

I raise a brow, curious. “Please explain further.”

Percy gets off the couch and paces around. “Okay. Remember how you stood down when I asked you to, when Barrows and the others pointed their guns at us?” she asks.

I nod at her, and she sits back down. “I’ve been reading your contract. It says that you were to remove all immediate threats to my safety, and yet, you listened to me and let me talk them down.”

“I merely listened to your orders, miss.”

“But it says on your contract that you can refuse to entertain orders or requests that can cause harm to your employer or to yourself, correct?” Percy asks again, to which I nod. “Well, you must have trusted my judgment enough to entertain my request to stand down even when there’s an immediate threat to both of us.”

I am getting impatient trying to find the meaning behind my mistress’ words. “Miss, where are you going with this conversation?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t you? I wish I can talk like that,” Percy mumbles, an embarrassed look on her face while she palms at the back of her neck.

“Charon, I want you to trust my decisions not just because I am your employer, but because you think it’s sound,” Percy tells me. “At the same time, if you think something I do will compromise us, I want you to speak up.”

Pondering on her words, I finally look her in the eye. “So, you want me to question you if you think that your decisions would endanger us?”

“Yes, precisely that. I told you that you’re open to make suggestions and ask questions, right? I meant that I trust your input and opinions. So, if you have tactical advice, observations, or comments, you’re free to make them,” Percy replies.

“I understand now, miss. However, I don’t see how my input is of any value.”

“Hmm, I’m just a nineteen year-old girl who got lucky that the wasteland didn’t kill me the first month I spent outside the vault,” Percy replies. Hearing that she’s older than eighteen made me breathe more freely for some damn reason, but it also reminded me of her youth and how old I am in comparison. My mind pulls me back to my darker thoughts about her, and I felt disgust for myself.

“Sure, I know how to set broken bones, sneak around, and hack computers, but you? You’ve got more combat and survival experience than me. Hell, I would’ve been blown to bits if you didn’t tackle me when that Super Mutant threw the grenade. There was probably an oversight in my tactics for you to get hurt like that,” Percy continues. She looks… guilty.

“You’ve been around for more than 200 years. Surely there’s something in your wisdom that will help us,” she adds, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Charming. Very well, miss. I shall consider it as a standing order, and endeavor to provide my insight when necessary.”

“Thank you. I’m glad we had this conversation, Charon,” my mistress replies.

The afternoon went by slowly. While I spent my afternoon servicing my shotgun, Percy tinkers with a bunch of fission batteries. Soon, it was nightfall, and my mistress took me to the Brass Lantern for dinner, too tired to cook after an afternoon of work.

On my last bite of noodles, Percy turns to me. “Hey Charon, wanna grab something to drink?”

“There is nothing in the contract that prohibits me from accepting food and drink from my employer. So, yes.”

“Well then. Off to Gob’s saloon we go.”

I follow her through the rickety metal scaffolding that leads to the establishment, and the dog follows behind me. As soon as she breezes through the door, a woman with short red hair and a ghoul behind the bar counter stop whatever they’re doing.

“Well hello, Miss Dangerous,” the woman greets, smirking. Percy walks over to give her a hug. “Nice to see you, Nova. Hey Gob,” Percy greets, turning to the ghoul.

“Hey kid. I heard you were back in town, it’s good to see you in here again. We’re having a slow night,” Gob rasps, cleaning the bar top with a rag.

“I made new friends,” Percy tells them, and gestures to me and the dog. “Gob and Nova, meet Charon and Dogmeat.”

There’s a flash of recognition in Gob’s face, and his shoulders droops, cowering. “Holy shit. Charon?”

“Oh right! You’re from Underworld too,” Percy comments, taking a seat near the radio. “You two are familiar with each other, Charon?”

“I cannot remember, miss,” I tell her, brain itching. I was thinking long and hard when the other ghoul speaks up.

“I-I uh, remember when I told you that Moriarty bought me from slavers fifteen years ago? Charon was with them.”

Fuck. I remember now. My mistress turns to me with an expression that I can only describe as horror.

“You were a slaver?”

The venom in my mistress' voice terrifies me, and I am not easily terrified.

“They held my contract, miss. Then, they sold it to Ahzrukhal.”

Percy’s face softens. The tension from her shoulders melt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Then, the soft look on her face gets replaced with a worried one. “My God, they used you to capture slaves?”

“...yes.”

Tense silence.

“Hey, I’m sorry for bringing it up. Didn’t mean to dredge up the past,” Gob finally breaks it, fetching scotch from the liquor shelf behind him. “The regular, kid?”

“Yeah,” Percy replies, exhaling shakily. “Well, at least I’m holding his contract now. He won’t have to do that shit anymore.”

The corner of my mouth tugs upwards again and I hope she didn’t see it.

“Can I get you anything?” Gob asks me.

“Beer.”

I settle beside Percy, who’s already downing her shot of scotch. Gob hands me my beer and I take a swig.

Nova sits beside my mistress. “C’mon, let’s have some fun.”

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #charon fallout #fallout charon #oc: percy zhou #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout #fallout 3 fanfic #fallout fanfic #writers on tumblr #tw: past slavery #cw: sex mention

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nureyevv · 5 years ago

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The Thief and The Secretary (...and the detective)

Juno Steel didn’t need to say he loved Rita. Sure, she got on his nerves from time to time but... she was also the most reliable person in his life. That had to mean something.

And Peter Nureyev? Well they’d finally patched things up, and yea, the situation still wasn’t perfect, but they were healing. Even just as a friend, it was intoxicating to have that eccentric, one of a kind man back in his life.

Those were two unwavering truths in a galaxy of uncertainty, but the reality of the first two statements did nothing to make the third fact any less prevalent.

Peter and Rita together? Seems good on paper, but in reality they produce a level of chaos previously unknown to man kind. In short, it was a lot.

So despite what Buddy and Vespa and Jet and... well all of them who said he was being to sensitive! He knew it was more than that.

Yea, maybe he was a bit put out when Rita turned to Peter instead of him to ramble about her shows. Yea, maybe he missed being Nureyev’s go to in a pinch— his partner in crime. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be rational. The two were a force to be reckoned with and he could prove it.

It started out innocent enough. Peter would paint Rita’s nails and do her make up. Rita would doodle on his arms with pens during mission briefings. And, of course, anything they did together seemed completely adorable— honestly the two could have robbed a person stupid and they wouldn’t even know. They’d be too caught up in how Nureyev stood two feet taller than Rita and she’d still found a way to snatch his glasses from his face.

The dynamic was simply too powerful and too unstable.

The thing about Rita was, no matter how level headed a person was, it was hard to say no to her. Even when Juno managed to be blunt with her it still felt like there might have been a bit of a yes in there. The thing about Nureyev was, despite his cool analytical demeanor, the man had a little crazy genius in him waiting to be let out.

They also both had a fondness for drama

This combination was nothing less than devastating.

Two weeks on the ship together and Rita had found that it was impossible to make enough popcorn for everyone on the ship with their microwave. Not enough space for that many bags. Now, if it were Juno he would have just taken turns. Sure it would have taken longer, but there was the same end result

Rita though... Rita wasn’t that patient. But she was also very smart. Smart enough to known the ships energy production system reached about the same temperature as the microwave, and smart enough to know how to get six bags of popcorn there.

And Nureyev? Well Nureyev was just slippery enough to get those bags where they needed to be.

Long story short, the ship had smelled of popcorn for weeks— not to mention Nureyev had nearly lost his eyebrows on the trip back down when one of the bags caugh aflame.

Juno liked those eyebrows, too.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how two certified geniuses could get into so much trouble. And figuring things out was quite literally his job.

They talked about him too. Nothing bad he supposed, but it was still... frustrating.

Like- like he’ll be minding his own business and Nureyev will mention his pocket toothpaste, unprovoked

It’s none of his business if Juno liked to have emergency access to toiletries? It was sanitary!

And besides, Nureyev had pockets full of junk from the outer rim to the sun and back. He had no room to judge!

Oh, and, of course, there was the peter and Rita movie nights

Rita had just about every show in existence downloaded onto her comms long before they left mars, but the biggest screen on the ship was in the public sitting area just off from the kitchen.

Ever since the two of them had started hanging around each other it seemed like they were always watching something new. With Rita, it made sense. She’d been addicted to shows as long as he’d known her. Peter, though? Juno couldn’t see the appeal of watching a bunch of reruns for a master thief.

It didn’t matter— it was harmless in comparison to their popcorn related highjinks— and yet... well it was a lot of things.

Juno hadn’t got a good nights sleep in a couple days. THEIA was long gone, as was the misfigured shape as Miasma just before she was the victim of an unknowing suicide. He’d been moving on from all that, slowly but surely. In sleep, however, it was difficult to be in control of his mind.

When he closed his eyes he still heard voices sometimes, not exactly like when the Martian pill had still be in his head, but more of an echo of searching through others minds. He saw the face of Yasmin Swift and heard Ramses’s drawl. Bad dreams, that was all they were. He was never actually back in that blood sucking chair, but in the moment before he woke it sure felt like he was.

He was used to the nightmares— their intensity would fade and fluctuate in the months to come. He could handle that. For now he couldn’t help being a bit irritable. Lack of sleep always seemed to do that to him.

So sleep deprived asshole Juno was at the wheel when he stubbled across Nureyev and Rita having one of their usual movie nights a few days after they passed Saturn. Rita’s hair was in two tight braids, platted with Peter’s expert precision. Curlers were scattered across Nureyev’s own head, leaving Juno amazed that his hair was long enough to even hold them. They both sported green face masks that looked like just another skin care tip he didn’t know the first thing about. The biggest difference between the two was that Rita’s mask had pink salmon snack dust near the mouth.

“Y’ want wan?” Rita asked Peter, mouth stuffed full with crackers. Peter’s response came in the shape of a pained smile— one that said he’d fallen into that trap once and wouldn’t go back. He just had to find a way to put it nicely.

“I’m going to have to pass, unfortunately. I’d hate to deprive you your treat.”

Rita seemed to consider this and nod in agreement. “That’s a very good point, Mistah Petah”

By all means Juno could have just kept walking. The exchange was, admittedly, very sweet. With all his complaining, he had to say he was happy to see them both enjoying themselves. But then he caught sight of their film of choice.

Andromeda, the original. He knew the story well.

That was the last straw— Juno knew just about everyone in the galaxy had scene andromeda, but it felt... personal. Like they were watching his life story unfold on screen. It made his skin crawl, and, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know how this pair had gotten so close so fast. Some of the most impactful people in his life were gathered in that room. He had a right to know how it’s come to be.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll bite. Someone explain to me what’s going on here,” he snapped, harsher than he’d expected.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “Just passing the time, detective.”

“That’s not what I— I mean when did this even happen?” He asked, gesturing vaguely at the two of them. How did I miss it his mind added, silently.

“It’s a small ship, Mistah Steel, we were bound to cross pathes eventually,” said Rita with significantly less snacks in her mouth. They looked at him with that look they both shared— the one that said, even though he was being an asshole, even though they’d make him apologize later, they were more worried about him for the time being. How could two people so incredibly different look at him the exact same way?

“Juno... are you alright?” Asked Nureyev when he didn’t answer. He wanted to be angry, to let himself fester in the self pity of being left out. But then again, it seemed almost natural now.

Of course— of course these two would get along. After all, if they could put up with him, they could probably put up with just about anyone.

If Juno was being honest, they were two stellar picks anyway

He let out a groan and collapsed onto the empty space on the couch right in between them. “I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you encourage her like this. I can’t stand this show.”

“Boss, weve been over this— just cause your taste is the absolute worst and you hate everything universally loved doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way!”

Juno gave her an unconvinced look.

Nureyev chimed in: “actually, I have to agree with Miss Rita, I quite enjoy this— oh what was it called again?”

“Andromeda” answered Juno and Rita in unison.

“Ah, yes, Andromeda. We didn’t have anything like this in the outer rim.”

This seemed to catch Rita’s attention, her extensive movie knowledge kicking in. “Andromeda was a galaxy wide success, though. Surely you must have heard of it?”

There was a pause.

Juno knew Nureyev had never been in one place long enough to keep up with pop culture, and if he did stick around he wouldn’t have had the kind of spending money on him to see a movie. After that, he and Mag had been too busy trying to save the world to bother with things like that.

Rita, of course, hadn’t seen that side of Peter Nureyev. Juno thought he’d save him the trouble of explaining. “Rita the outer rim was ravaged by war. I doubt things work the same way they do on mars.”

This answer was enough to satisfy Rita. Nureyev, with a grateful half smile, nodded in agreement. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m fond of this Andromeda, though. I can understand why she became to popular.”

Juno rolled his eyes while Nureyev continued. “Actually, now that I think of it, she reminds me a bit of you, detective.”

Rita snorted from beside him, finding the comparison immensely funny after all of Juno’s comments. She then descended into coughing, evidently having choked on one of her salmon crackers.

Juno... well he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He’d always seen Sarah Steel in Andromeda— in all of North Star’s shows, really— but ever since he had his eye removed things had been different. Not exactly better. Knowing what he did now wasn’t easy, but it also left a lot less room for being bitter over twenty year old mistakes.

And now that Peter pointed it out, he thought he could recognize a bit of his brother in Andromeda, too. They said to write what you know, and Sarah had known her boys, at least back then.

He glanced at Nureyev to his right and Rita to his left. A few months ago, thinking about the old days would have sent him spiraling into a whole abyss of Things He Didn’t Want To Think About. But now? He felt strangely ok.

“You know... it has been a while since I’ve seen it. Maybe I’ll stick around.”

Rita nearly spontaneously combusted at that sentence. Peter smiled softly in that knowing way. “You know, I believe I have an extra face mask, too, if that sounds alright.”

Juno thought that sounded pretty good.

#part two baby!#i think there will be a third but no promises #these are so much fun ok #the penumbra podcast #tpp #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #rita tpp #rita and peter are best friends ok this is the hill i die on #my writing

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morelikesin · 4 years ago

Text

Security

The fourth chapter of my self-indulgent kiss fic! Caustic and Bloodhound are the exclusive focus here, but the other love interests are mentioned. Below is the chapters in order.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Intro

Chapter 2 - Mirage

Chapter 3 - Octane

Chapter 4 - Caustic (You are here!)

Chapter 5 - Ending

Chapter 4 below the cut!

Teams had already been randomly selected by the time Octavio and Bloodhound made their way to the dropship loading dock - the former of the two strapping on his mask just as they approached the others. Their entrance earned a few brow raises.

"Late with someone, huh?" Anita chortled under her breath, looking the pair up and down as if trying to uncover something - her and the others remembering distinctly that Bloodhound and Octane left the group hangout early together last night. Bloodhound cleared their throat and, fighting away the flush appearing on their face, defended themselves with a "It vasn't like that. We just sl'lept in."

"I see," She hummed. She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but caught herself. She turned her head and went to her assumed teammate, Loba, leaving the two to their own devices.

Octane rest a lithe hand against the small of Bloodhound's back. As the hunter looked to him, he gave a fingergun with his free hand and a tilt of his head, "I'll see you later, cariño."

Bloodhound flushed slightly deeper. They're never going to get used to how outwardly affectionate Octavio was, but they didn't fully mind. "The Allfather will gift us today."

"I don't need gifts, mi amado! I have skill. You do, too - ten cuidado."

Bloodhound bore a snort and a smile. "You, as vell."

The two split off to find who they were paired with - Bloodhound making their way to check the roster. Lifeline and Wattson, Revenant and Gibraltar, Crypto and Mirage, Wraith and Pathfinder, Loba and Bangalore, Octane and Rampart, and Caustic and-

They jolted just slightly when taken out of their thoughts by the tap on their shoulder - quickly turning to see who it was.

Hello, six foot five.

Caustic gestured subtly between the two of them. "Suppose you're my partner, this match."

"Suppose," Bloodhound nodded. "I don't r'recall us ever being paired in a duos before."

"There's a first time for everything," The man spoke, "Doubt it to be far different from our trios matches."

"Assuredly."

Due course of the dropship had Caustic and Bloodhound land near the front of the Bunker. Their luck could have been worse, considering - Caustic managed a Hemlok with every possible attachment at level two, while Bloodhound had to make the best of a Mozambique and a single arc star. They both managed entry-level body shields to boot.

When they reconvened in a seperate building overlooking the events taking place in the valley below them, Bloodhound was offered a Triple Take and a level three magazine for it.

"I know you're a damn good shot," Caustic quipped as the hunter took the gun with a minor bow of their head.

"Þakka fyrir," Bloodhound loaded the lengthy rounds into the mag as they spoke, "That's ver'ry kind."

"Truth isn't kindness, I assure you," Caustic replied.

It took only mere moments of quiet to pass - the two of them just done with looting - to start hearing nearby gunfire. Bloodhound aimed their sniper towards the noise to observe the line of fire. As they predicted, the streams followed from atop the hill to the right of bunker, and similarly from a rooftop below said hill. The hunter leaned towards their teammate for confirmation, "It's two teams so far. I say we push forward."

Caustic gave a nod and held his Hemlok close to him, "I'll head onto the roof first," stopping his speech to open the building door, making sure Bloodhound kept close behind before continuing, "You keep back with that sniper of yours. Mozambique for if things don't go according to our calculations."

"I can do that."

As they got closer, the figures became clearer - the two on the roof happening to be Lifeline and Wattson. Bloodhound split off from Caustic and took cover behind an already-opened supply bin - nearby the fight but far enough to ensure the shots would be as effective as they could get them. Taking a second to look where Caustic was, the man watching for a signal, they quickly looked back to the two teams and studied the situation briefly before steadying their aim on Wattson's middle back and giving a raise of their arm to signal Caustic. As the man lifted himself up onto the roof, the hunter fired a shot at his target - and as planned, it immediately downed her.

Caustic wasted no time giving two shots towards Lifeline, and as she was already understandably confused as to the rapid events, she took few secondary bursts to go down as well. With that, the woman gave a playful scoff, with her and her partner quickly clearing themselves of their items and shields.

Bloodhound made their way to the roof after watching the hill for a moment - deciding that their ceasefire was a result of their third party. They assumed right now they'd be healing up, giving a small window to pick them off as well.

"Good game," Wattson politely complimented the pair before jumping down the roof with Lifeline, and of course now making their way towards the center of the map to wait out the games and watch. It was always a shame that stakes were normally so high that teams couldn't exchange pleasantries after a fight, but post-game always made up for that.

Bloodhound immediately switched out that Mozam for a Spitfire, along with its ammo, as Caustic lifted a hefty L-Star and kept tab to conserve its ammo as their wasn't much of it. A few quick armor trades and some shield cell and syringe collecting were necessary before the hunter nodded towards the hill incline.

The two slowly made their way up, the task slightly harder for Caustic given the heft of his ability equipment and his larger size. Deciding against a quiet approach, deeming it unnecessary given the team most definitely heard their fight be stolen from them, Bloodhound holstered their gun and activated the tracker on their wrist.

"They're both on the upmost fl'loor."

Caustic nodded as he prepared one of his gas traps near the front door, giving a "I'll block the ground floor, keep them from the roof."

Bloodhound proceeded to find a steady foothold in the metal legs of the building before jumping up and grabbing onto a shallow beam. Before their grip could falter, they tucked in their legs and pushed up with their feet to then scramble up to the roof. It was an impressive height to do so seamlessly, and so quickly.

It always impressed Caustic how Bloodhound could so easily climb and maneuver themselves places - figuring it from their time spent in the woods and their innate talent as a hunter. The thought shook itself from the scientist's mind as he heard shuffling from inside the building. He responded with a reload of his Hemlok.

Bloodhound had since lost the sight on the team - their tracker able to give them vision on persons through walls for only a few moments - but based on hearing alone, they sounded as though they haven't moved from the floor they were on.

That was until the door to the roof opened. The hunter instinctively reached for the arc star and flicked their wrist sideways to throw it directly towards whoever opened it.

"Well, damn," was all Mirage said after realizing Bloodhound managed to stick him with the star.

Backing away in time for the burst of electricity to surge momentarily, Bloodhound could hear Caustic's gas trap from below be set off from, assumedly, Crypto. As per the men's firefight below, the hunter finished off Mirage with relatively few hiccups, proceeding with a notification from the game announcer that another team was eliminated.

"Of course you'd have an arc star - why wouldn't you have an arc star?" Mirage teased prior to unloading himself of his items.

Bloodhound hummed and picked up the level two helmet diagram Mirage had dropped, inserting the chip into their belt so other teams' guns would register the head protection. "I almost didn't take it, Allfather believe me."

"Good thing you did, I guess," Mirage laughed in the charming way he always did, "But I'm sure you would'a got a- would'a found a- would'a.." Mr. Witt paused briefly and restarted, "Sure you would'a came up with somethin' either way. You're smart like that."

"Þakka fyrir," the hunter gave a nod at the compliment, "that's ver'ry humble of-"

Mirage then leaned up and gave a kiss on the side of Bloodhound's mask. His voice dripped something playful as he spoke, "Win the game for me, will ya?"

Bloodhound could only nod and watch as Mirage backed away and threw a pair of fingerguns before leaving the building by heading downstairs. The Gods must think it funny to watch their reserved hunter be so outwardly flirted with by not one, but two people.

They found themselves wondering what Caustic was like in that regard.

The thought, along with Mirage's well-meaning kiss and the casual flirting of Octane earlier that morning, flooded Bloodhound in the form of suddenly hot skin. They tried to push those ideas into the back of their mind.

Upon returning downstairs to check the loot Crypto had, Bloodhound noticed Caustic had been inserting a scope into his L-Star.

"..Ve make a formidable team, Dr. Nox," the hunter praised, replacing the simple scope on their Triple Take with one that had a four times range. "I mean it as a compliment when I say I'm impr'ressed."

The scientist cracked a gritted, throaty chortle, "The same can be said about you."

Bloodhound knew it was probably meant to be a simple courtesy, returning a compliment, but it did make them feel a special kind of appreciated. "..Thank you."

The match proceeded to go almost unnervingly well (not to mention quick) - Wraith and Pathfinder were wiped by Loba and Bangalore, who were then shortly after cleaned by Rampart and Octane, who were then almost immediately picked off by Bloodhound and Caustic - the two watching the events unfold and partaking when they knew they could secure the overbearing amount of loot.

Rampart held out a lovely Kraber for Bloodhound to take ahold of as if it were a gift - wearing a cheeky smile and chewing her bubblegum before blowing it in a big, round bubble. It popped, and she pushed the piece to the side of her mouth to speak, "Guess you earned this then. You mates did good! Real good."

Bloodhound bowed their head a bit upon taking the new weapon, and traded it out in place of the previous Triple Take. In regards to her compliment, Caustic and Bloodhound gave a simultaneous "Thank you," surprising them both in doing so.

Rampart had then started walking towards the zipline to leave - the line still bouncing slightly from the previous team's departure - turning around and waiting for Octane by leaning against the balcony railing.

"I'll be rooting for you, amigos!" The man gave a playful, loose salute as he took a step backwards - his head turning a bit to look up towards The Cage. He then gave a quick "Aguas!" and nodded up towards the tall structure before quickly escaping with Rampart via zipline.

As soon as the two heeded the warning and looked behind themselves, a sniper shot cut through the air and just barely missed Caustic - the bullet marking etched deep into the thick metal of the wall not a few inches from him.

Taking that as a clear sign to haul their asses somewhere else, they took cover inside the building they previously stood on the balcony of, and kept away from the main window.

"Dammit - they have high ground over us," Caustic spoke gruffly, and took a moment to prepare a gas trap behind both doors that lead outside. As they inflated with the concentrated poison, he spoke again, "Do you think you could get a shot on them from here?"

Bloodhound, in an attempt to answer that question, stood closer to the window and discreetly lifted the Kraber to aim towards the tallest point of The Cage. They caught a glimpse of Revenant and Gibraltar leaving the tallest ledge and retreating inside - the hunter lost as to what they could be doing in there.

"Not at the moment," they finally replied to the scientist as they lowered their gun and backed away from the window again. "They retr'reated inside. I assume them to have to come out sooner than later."

The man nodded and crouched down, one knee on the ground. Resting his arm over his opposing thigh, other arm at his side, he checked the timing of the ring via tool-bracelet. "We have thirty until the ring closes in. My guess would be that they'll wait to see who the ring favours, and act accordingly."

The hunter, while Caustic was talking, had crouched down similarly to how he did - though one hand planted itself to the ground.

"I think that to be our best bet," they agreed. "I'll keep a concentr'rated eye on their position - be my better ears."

Caustic remained nonverbal, but aloud confirmation wasn't needed to understand that he would do that anyway. At least, it's just something Bloodhound has taken note of him doing during games or day-to-day.

Inching closer to the window, remaining crouched, they aimed their Kraber once again towards the doors of the tallest floor.

As if on cue, Gibraltar had opened and kept close to the doors - seemingly using a shield cell.

Bloodhound relayed back to their partner, "I have an opening."

"Take it."

And so they did - a perfectly lined up headshot on Gibraltar cracked his armor and left him bare for another shot. Attempting to realign, Bloodhound held their breath once more, and just as they had a shot-

They were suddenly pulled back and heard a deafening crack whizz by where their head once was. Their breath was caught in their throat, and the grip on the Kraber tightened from the sudden event.

Bloodhound looked back to Caustic, who had pulled them closer to the wall - out of sight of the window - and flush against his body, arm tightly wrapped around the front of the hunter's waist. The relieved breath the man exhaled came before his statement, "Revenant had a shot on you eastward. I'd noticed just before he took the shot, it seems."

The hunter swallowed. The way Caustic was holding them made thoughts they ought to push deep back into their mind bubble up and come into disconcerting clarity. If it weren't for the current situation, they would've taken the opportunity to shyly entertain these thoughts - but the ongoing game kept their mind rational.

"Thank you - you're a gr'reat scout," they praised.

Caustic's hold around Bloodhound loosened as he took away his arm - the latter kneeling as they had before and holstering the Kraber. Caustic offered a cheeky "Last I recall, you're recon."

Bloodhound merely gave an exhale in response - the kind that isn't a laugh, but is indicative of one. Promptly after their banter ceased, the ring had stopped and highlighted the new arena.

"The ring is to our benefit - good faith."

"My assumption prove true?"

Bloodhound answered the man's question by activating their tracker - sure enough, Revenant and Gibraltar had now met up and were heading towards their building. Deciding against leaving the inside, despite how most often it was fitting to get to the roof, the two looked at one another with a nod before standing up and equipping their weapons of choice - the Spitfire and L-Star for the hunter and scientist respectively.

"They'll have to pass through these variables to come inside," Caustic began, "though my grenade is prepared if they become unpredictable."

Bloodhound nodded and gave a raise of their hand - the motion urging them to listen in on any noticeable footsteps or noises likewise. Several moments of patience granted them the detection of the opposing team coming up to either door - Caustic and Bloodhound reading each other like a book and splitting to take on either opponent.

Bloodhound took the opportunity to call upon the beast - speaking a low "The hungr'ry wolf always tekst að vinna," and releasing a noise similar to that of a wolf's cry from somewhere almost otherwordly.

Gibraltar hadn't been fast enough to notice the traps before attempting to get close - the gas set off quick and Caustic's stream of fire coming quicker. As the tank rose his shield and fired his G7 Scout, however, the scientist found the fight surprisingly even-matched.

This left Bloodhound to take care of Revenant. Figuring the bot to be smarter than to trot inside a building where Caustic was known to have set up camp, the hunter made a hasty exit via the window - finding the bot attempting to scale up the roof. Raising their gun to land armor-shattering hits, Revenant bailed on the high ground idea and threw down a dark swirl of power that left the hunter shamefully confused - the draining power emitting from it making their head near-dizzy as it mixed with their Gods' given inner beast.

They then found themselves being pinned against the outer wall of the building by their neck - the bot's spindly fingers digging into the skin. The pain was different from the paint-ball-esqe bullets that they faced on a regular basis while partaking in the games. Kicking Revenant square in the chest, the blow quite powerful, to try and get away only caused the bot a moderate stumble and an immediate harder press against the wall. The dull pain became more noticeable, and it was then that another kick was delivered into his attacker's chest out of genuine injury.

If Caustic hadn't broken away from the fight with Gibraltar - the latter unknown to Bloodhound to be downed or otherwise healing - to aid the hunter in the form of shooting burst rounds into Revenant's side, Bloodhound imagined they wouldn't now have the chance to scramble up to the roof and recharge their shield.

The next few moments were almost too quick to occur for Bloodhound to take note of in detail; Revenant was painfully low from Bloodhound's earlier shield-break and Caustic's several rounds put into him after that, Gibraltar came from the other side of the building to back his teammate up, and as a final stand Caustic threw down the gas grenade he held onto and made his way up to the roof with Bloodhound. It was then that, with clear sight on either enemy through the noxious fumes, the pair brandished their weapons and opened fire until a loud clash erupted through the arena.

The announcer spoke.

"We have our Apex Champions."

Almost as if they didn't believe it, Bloodhound checked their tool-bracelet. In bold, block letters read the title "CHAMPION".

They released a shocked breath - the high of their beastly calling wearing off just in time to exchange words with their fellow competitors. Just before they left the roof, Caustic and Bloodhound looked to one another. The look lingered for a deceptively long moment before Caustic turned his head and left for the ground - the hunter swallowing back a dry throat and taking after him.

It wasn't until all the Legends returned back to the dormitories, their pleasantries and praise on one another's efforts (especially towards the winning team) having been exchanged in full and then some, that Bloodhound started to really feel the aftermath of the wound they received.

They bit it back. Given what happened the last time they dared to share their discomfort after a match, they felt no desire to bring it up in front of anyone else. They considered having a word with Revenant about etiquette and watching his inherent roughness, but he'd apologized for the last time. It took him a while to do so, but he did nonetheless.

Chalking it up to a mistake, the hunter stood the dull ache and simply kept their hand against the side of their neck to hide any visual marks as they spoke with their fellow legends and humbly accepted their compliments regarding the game, not to mention the collective eight eliminations between the two of them, along with Dr Nox.

Unbeknownst to them, however, the man could tell something was wrong by the ever-so-subtle hitches of their breath at the ends of their sentences. This worry was confirmed when Bloodhound had moved their hand to adjust their gloves - a splotch of irritated red staining their skin.

The legends talked for nearly an hour in the dorm's communal living room - though when conversation ran dry due to everyone's growing need for some personal time and relaxation, Dr. Nox had asked Bloodhound to stay. With everyone else gone to their rooms upstairs, the hunter expected the man to want a word about their win.

"You fought well, blesséd hvati," Bloodhound praised. They were cut off from offering any more as Dr. Nox gave a "You, as well." He kept speaking as to make sure he got in what he needed to say.

"My intention isn't to pry where I'm unwanted, but I've noticed your demeanor to be...concerning. I've taken note of an irritation on your neck."

Bloodhound quickly swallowed. He noticed? They knew the scientist to be observant - it being one of his more obvious traits - but they could've sworn to the Gods that they kept the injury well-concealed.

With nothing able to hide it anymore, as a deflection would prove useless, Bloodhound slowly removed their hand and gave a slow nod.

"..Perhaps. It simply aches, Dr. Nox - I'm capable of withstanding it."

The man took an odd breath in, one indicitative that he had gone to speak, but it didn't see itself through. He gave a hesitant "As long as you're sure."

With that, they parted with a nod, a gracious "Good game," and left for their respective rooms.

The sudden knock at Bloodhound's door caused them a momentary startle. Realizing the cause of the noise shortly after, they sighed and turned to grab their mask. Quickly clipping it on, thoughts focused on who could be visiting mere hours after the day's game, they grasped the doorknob and opened the door just enough so their figure could be seen.

Sighing in a small amount of relief, the hunter gave a small "I didn't expect you to visit, Dr. Nox."

The man released a small chortle, grainy and throaty as his voice always sounded. Bloodhound was shy to admit that they'd grown to like it over the time they've known him.

"I can leave, if you prefer time alone. I simply worried about your injury."

"That's very consider'rate of you," Bloodhound assured, their tone purring as they dismissed the other's concern, "But you needn't tr'rouble yourself over me."

Dr. Nox merely snorted in response, before following it up with a "Your health affects the games. Even if I weren't personally concerned, I'd be concerned for your performance."

He was personally concerned, then?

Bloodhound quickly sighed. They found themselves flushed, all of a sudden, and the thought that Dr. Nox cared on a personal level - or assumedly so - was the reason for it.

"...Thank you, I suppose."

"Welcome. Could I take a look at that wound of yours?" Almost as if to prove his intentions, the man casually displayed an ornate medkit - not unlike the ones used in the games, but it was clearly more expensive and probably even better equipped. "It'll heal on its own fine, but I assume you'll want it gone faster."

Bloodhound slowly nodded, hand reaching cautiously up to their face to start undoing their mask. Turning around and using the heel of their foot to pull the door open a bit more, inviting the scientist inside, they gave a softened "You'd assume cor'rect. I vish not to hinder myself if I can help it."

Dr. Nox proceeded into the room carefully, closing the door behind him. He took note of the desk against the western-most wall and set the kit down, wasting no time getting it open and the needed aid ready.

Bloodhound was known to be somewhat of a hybrid naturalist-botanist-zoologist (talk about a mouthful), and proved extremely useful in and out of the games if one wanted trivia about the wildlife, the extinct wildlife, or if no syringes were available and a plant or two could be makeshifted into some sort of medicine. They had plenty of abilities beyond that, but these were the ones that their teammates would experience the most. Dr. Nox could recall several times the hunter would mention the Leviathans path as they travelled through King's Canyon - and even more times they would easily identify a medicinal plant and save them an extra syringe, or especially if they didn't have any in the first place.

The scientist only recalled this from noticing the various potted plants set on the sills of the room's windows - lush and clearly thriving under the hunter's care. From the time spent with Bloodhound, he's gotten quite familiar with the various species they run into - and every time he would correctly identify something, the hunter would give praise.

It was sickly sweet, this praise that they always gave, and yet the man has yet to find himself grow tired of it.

He, in the past, would chalk this up to his never-ending crave for knowledge. Bloodhound was a great resource for new information, and even someone he could discuss higher levels of conversation with - but in the past few months (not to mention this past definite tension-filled game), the feeling has since become more than a need for knowledge, and a need for something else. He didn't dare try to find what this was, but in the back of his mind he knew exactly.

The hunter then set the mask beside the kit - pulling the man from his observations. The motion caught his peripheral vision and urged him to look to the other - with the view amazing him still, albeit how much he tried to not confess it to himself. Dr. Nox thought it a shame how that hunter hid that pretty face under a mask all the time.

"The br'ruising has deepened, I believe," they suddenly spoke, their fingers brushing against the sizeable bruise on their swan-like neck - to which Dr. Nox merely swallowed and stuffed the feeling that action overwhelmingly filled him with.

He made a subtle turn of his head to inspect these said bruises. Reaching out a bit, the man made sure to confirm that Bloodhound would be okay with them being touched by giving a low "I need to be able to touch you to give you proper treatment." The hunter simply nodded.

It was a foreign feeling, being touched on their skin by anyone, let alone skin-to-skin. They couldn't help but feel themselves becoming flushed again - hoping Dr. Nox wouldn't notice.

Dr. Nox noticed. He made sure as hell to not make it seem that way, though. Taking a cotton pad doused in antiseptic, he gently pressed it into the abrasion and monitored Bloodhound's reaction.

They made a soft wince through a bitten lip, closing their eyes and furrowing their brows just slightly. Dr. Nox felt obliged to give a "Sorry," and the other replied with a dull-pained "No need."

After a thorough cleansing, the cotton pad was discarded and traded for an applicable square bandage. He was careful to be gentle around the area as he applied it. Bloodhound looked grateful for the caution.

They blinked their eyes open, looking to the man and his focused grey eyes. They'd only been able to admire them for a moment before Dr. Nox noticed the gaze and met it back - to which they quickly looked away as if they had been doing nothing. The man went back to the bandage applying. Both of their hearts might have skipped a beat there.

It didn't help the hunter that Dr. Nox's fingers brushed against the angle of their jaw occasionally - damn the placement of that wound. Swallowing out of a habit of nervousness, the man obviously noticed the feeling and met his eyes back to the hunter.

It was so quiet, between the two of them, and yet the situation was so loud in trying to make itself known. The near-caressing hand on Bloodhound's neck, the axiomatic want in their eyes, and when did their bodies get so close-

The final straw might have been when Bloodhound raised a hand to softly, so achingly softly, touch the hand the man had pressed against the side of their neck.

Before Bloodhound could register what was happening, the two of them suddenly had their lips pressed together - passionate and hard as if Dr. Nox was unable to hold back from kissing the hunter any longer. They emitted a low, short whine as the man then held the back of their head - Bloodhound melting into his firm, sizeable hands.

Unbeknownst to the hunter, that whine did a thing or two to the scientist. Dr. Nox pressed their lips a touch harder, making Bloodhound emit a smaller, higher-pitched mewl in response. The hunter found their hands reaching to grip the collar of Dr. Nox's fur overcoat - and when they pulled away just slightly, parting their lips to breathe, the scientist took the opportunity to kiss against their open mouth and press his tongue against the other's. Bloodhound's brows furrowed further, their skin became unbearably hot, and their grip tightened as the kiss melted into a tight-lipped french.

A long moment after, the kiss was over, and the two pulled away for a needed breather - eyes still shut.

Bloodhound swallowed. The aftertaste lingered.

Dr. Nox then took his hands away to rest them at his sides. Bloodhound noticeably hesitated to take their hands back.

It was quiet between the two of them for a brief few moments - each processing what had just took place.

Dr. Nox spoke first. "..My apologies."

Bloodhound blinked, moving their dominant hand to hold the other in front of their waist, arms bent. Before they could even think to ask what he meant, he continued.

"..Suppose I should've..." The man paused briefly to take in a breath, "requested permission in advance of that."

Bloodhound looked down, loosening the hold on their hand a bit, "..Suppose."

There was another second of quiet between them.

"But I.. vouldn't have said no, Dr. Nox."

The two looked at one another again at roughly the same moment. Bloodhound swallowed again - their gaze soft. To their surprise, Dr. Nox's own gaze was softened as well.

"You can call me Alexander."

"..Alexander."

Bloodhound liked the feeling of that name in their mouth just as much as Alexander liked hearing it come from their mouth.

"..You may call me Blóð. Blóðhundur."

"Blóð I shall call you, then," Alexander spoke with a perfect pronunciation.

They watched each other a few moments more, both silently realizing just how much they loved hearing the other intimately saying their true name, before tearing their eyes away reluctantly out of tension. They found themselves in distaste of the quiet replacing what they wanted to be the other's voice. The hunter raised their hand and rest their fingertips against the bandage Alexander had applied - making a small wince. It felt better than before, though.

"..Þakka fyrir. For your concern about me."

Alexander gave a taut nod, "I couldn't not be."

There was another few moments of silence - despite how much the mind thought, their mouths didn't move.

In an attempt to find a place to start, Blóð spoke up in a softened voice. "..Ve should talk. I.."

They couldn't finish the idea, with the unplanned words never making their way past their lips. They slowly closed their mouth when they realized they couldn't convey anything verbally.

Though, the hunter felt a wash of relief douse their nerves when Alexander seemed to understand what they meant anyway.

"We should," he began cautiously - taking his time with how he was saying it. "Talk about.. us, I assume."

Blóð gave a weak nod.

In truth, they were nervous. Differing reasons they were, with Blóð being anxiously new to romantic relationships and Alexander focused intensely on not messing anything up. While the former had gotten experience with their feelings and otherwise these past few days with Elliott and Octavio, they've quickly learned that with each person, the experience is different each time - the only factor that remained the same was how incredibly strong the hunter felt for each. To their lack of bemusement, the experience with Alexander was no different.

When they gathered a humble amount of courage, Blóð reached out to touch the man's hand. The hold was loose, and only consisted of their fingers pressed together, but it was something.

That something visibly took the scientist aback - but when he then pulled their hand closer and properly held it, palm to palm and fingers intertwined, suddenly it felt as if everything would be just fine.

#apex legends #apex caustic #apex bloodhound #my work #original #don't steal #my art #traditional art #morelikesin #finished #my writing

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