#Imagine not getting enough clean water to drink let alone bathe for a few years

[pyrepostings]

Glasses in whump.

Whumpee who has them taken away/broken early into its long captivity.

Caretaker brings whumpee to get a new prescription after it is rescued, and oh the unintentional trauma triggers there.

Blood pressure cuff. Velcros on and pumps tighter and tighter with every heartbeat-

Things near its eyes, both sticks and paddles to cover them, the lights are suddenly off with a flashlight in its face.

Cold metal devices it's expected to press its face against. Smells like chemicals. Orders given on where to look. To hold still.

Whumpee takes the question of "what's the lowest line you can read?" As a test, and becomes noticeabley distressed when it 'fails'

Eyedrops. Drugs that change its ability to see. Sticky. Lashes clumping together. Hands on its face.

Then in the waiting room, either before the appointment or after while getting the prescription filled, all the glasses on the walls looking looking, staring, eyes watching. Everyone can see whumpee, whumper knows where it is.

This feeling is magnified if video or pictures of its torture were passed around or sold. Everyone can see your pain, the glasses on the walls say. Everyone can see everything you're doing wrong, all the rules you're breaking.

Choosing frames. Paralyzing decision or a gift of choice?

Does whumpee think it deserves the gift of sight?

Everything is too bright after. The new glasses make the world even blurrier as it adjusts.

But in the end, it's all worth it.

[teacup-crow]

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh���” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

NSFW Alphabet [Trafalgar Law] Complete Set

·         A = Aftercare

Law will insist you clean-up and go to the bathroom to prevent infections. Exhausted? You are, but he’s a doctor. And he knows what’s best for his S/O. As tedious and uncomfortable as it is to move – let’s face it, he just screwed your brains out – he will order you out of bed to do this task, but he too has to clean up, so he will do most of it for you and for himself as you happily lean against him.

Once he’s done, he’ll lead you back to the bed and tuck you in. Sometimes he’ll crash with you, but most of the time he has work to do and will make sure you’re contented before he leaves you; getting you some water to drink for example. He is a captain after all, but you know this.

·         B = Body part

His favorite part is of course his hands, and for you it’s the same. He finds enjoyment in the fact he can make you come so undone with just a push of a finger. The avid way your body takes him is a turn on and he takes great pride in hearing you beg for more – men and their pride, right? The inked letters on his fingers look so delicious as they sink into you; he almost can’t believe how perfect this feels and how warm you are.

You love his hands, not for the same reason, but because he’s gentle and considerably skilled with them; the tattoos are a bonus, because damn do you worship them. Whether he’s performing surgery or using his hands to activate his Devil Fruit, it’s a major turn on for you. Of course, there are other parts of Law you adore too – his sharp eyes and taunting mouth – but overall, his hands turn you on the most.  

·         C = Cum

Law doesn’t understand your fascination with his cum – it’s a mess to clean – but he doesn’t mind covering your face or filling your mouth if you ask. It’s warm and tastes decent, because he eats well, and you love it. He can’t deny how good it makes him feel to see you so worked up over something he considers irrelevant – he doesn’t plan to have kids with his profession; too dangerous. But if you love it, then good for you. Just don’t ask him to cum inside you. Nope!

“Cum can reduce wrinkles and smooth the skin.”

Why does he bothering arguing with you?

·         D = Dirty Secret

Law won’t admit it, or bring it up, due to it being so embarrassing, but he’s often fantasized about what it would be like to cut you apart with his Devil Fruit ability and fuck you senseless. He’s not even sure it can be done, but dreaming about your detached head watching him as he screws your body turns him on. Won’t happen though, because he’s too much of a prude to suggest it.

·         E = Experience

He may be a doctor; an expert on anatomy, but Law doesn’t have much experience with sex. The first time he had sex, it was based off instinct alone. Fill the hole, right? Can’t be too hard. It was … all right, he reckoned.

You made it better. He learned what made you come undone, and even learned a few things about himself. This didn’t turn him into a slut, but he began to enjoy it more. There’s still a lot he has to learn, but he knows more than before.  

·         F = Favorite position

Missionary, obviously. He doesn’t know much else, but on occasion, Law will let you ride him. This is better achieved in his desk chair, as you have no choice but to be on top. He doesn’t like not being in charge and he has no problem reminding you.

“Let me ride you. Sit down.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t order me around. You won’t leave this bed for a week.”

·         G = Goofy

Not likely, Sunshine. Law is a serious character. You’ve only seen him act out of character around Kid or Luffy – something about these two brings out the dweeb in him; testosterone, you assume. Not much changes in bed. He’s a bit more domineering, ordering that you get on your knees, and sometimes you think he’s a bit of a sadist; he makes you beg quite a bit before he fucks you.

Afterwards, he’s rather gentle with you. He’s a doctor, remember?  

·         H = Hair

Pirates seldom groom or bathe for that matter, but Law manages to find time to freshen up when he can. Hygiene is important to him; he’s the sub’s only doctor. He changes outfits frequently and trims his goatee and sideburns – pubic hairs too; black as the hair on his head – when they grow out of control.    

·         I = Intimacy

Depends on him. He’s a calm and collected man; things don’t normally bother him unless his plans are ruined or he’s around Kid and Luffy. This being said, he’s eager to please you; he’ll give you sweet kisses and such. But, if he’s annoyed and in the mood, you can expect some sore muscles and a lot of orgasms.

“Remind me to thank Kid later. Or punch him in the face.”

·         J = Jack Off

Law has you, but not all the time can he just stop what he’s doing and find you, so he has to use his hand. Trust me, he imagines fucking you; can even hear your voice as you beg and praise him. Masturbating isn’t as pleasing, but it works for him.    

·         K = Kink

Begging and orgasm control; Law is a simple man.

·         L = Location

His room mostly, but Law will sometimes lead you to the operation room on the Polar Tang and wreck you on the operation table. But there was that one time on the Sunny.

·         M = Motivation

Your devotion and suggestive nature motivate him; the subtle and eager method you use to instigate sex does the trick, but sometimes Law is just aroused. Your body is great, but just being near you turns him on; he’s just too stubborn to tell you.

·         N = NO

Harming you is never something he’d agree to – as well as shooting his cum into you. Golden showers are also a no; it’s nasty and he’d never agree to it.

·         O = Oral

He prefers to receive rather than give, because he’s not too skilled in oral. However, he will make an attempt if you ask. You’re vocal during sex and if given oral, you tend to guide him when he’s falling short of expectation. Law doesn’t like this much – due to hating orders – but he does it for you.

“I don’t mind at all not receiving; I happen to like your cock.”

·         P = Pace

Slow at first, because he likes to draw out your moans and make you beg for more, and once you do, his pace quickens until your breathless and horsed. You have mentioned before how the first hard thrust drives you insane, so sometimes Law shoves his cock into you roughly; damn do you tighten around him when he does this.

·         Q = Quickie

Sometimes quickies are all either of you have time for. Law doesn’t openly ask for them, but he will motion away from the crew when he’s in the mood and fuck you against the wall or in a secluded room inside the sub.

·         R = Risk

Unless it’s agreed on or planned out, he won’t risk it. He’s a simple lover, so there’s not a lot he’d be eager to try unless you mention it first. The process is too lengthy at times; consequence and plans to prevent either of you from getting hurt.

·         S = Stamina

Law can fuck, but he needs breaks. His stamina is average. You don’t mind, however, because during this down time he’s gentle and intimate with you.

·         T = Toy

Not gonna happen. Why? Because he doesn’t have time for foreplay; perhaps once he finds the One Piece. Sex toys are also not the easiest items to come across – more elusive than Devil Fruits.

·         U = Unfair

Besides making you beg for him; Law can be unfair at times. He’s a tool so sometimes – quickies generally – he gets off and doesn’t do the same for you. Now when he has time, Law will make it up to you; he’s not a complete asshole. He just doesn’t know how to manage his time well.

·         V = Volume

The occasional curse and grunt are about the only noises he will make, other than urging you to beg for him. You make enough noise for the both of you.

·         W = Wild Card

He likes to see you in his clothes; his yellow hoodie looks good on you, but he’s extremely greedy and won’t let you wear them in front of others. His hat is another story; not in a million years. It’s his and he’s not sharing.

·         X = X-Ray

Law is average. It’s skinner than most you’ve seen, but you don’t mind; he’s a thin man.

·         Y = Yearning

You yearn for sex more than Law, but sometimes he needs a release. He’s a busy man and sex is usually the last thing on his mind.

·         Z = ZZZ

Law is an insomniac – look at the shadows under his eyes.  He’s much too busy to sleep and even after sex he returns to his role as captain and doctor of the Heart Pirates. You have to sometimes convince him to come to bed, and sometimes he will.

[managedmischiefs]

BAD DAY//MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

word count: 3k

warnings: body image issues

before we get into the writing i just wanted to say that i’m not, in any way, criticizing mgg’s body in this fic. it is never my intention to make others feel bad about their bodies. i have plenty of experience w that and it feels awful. if anyone has a problem w this fic then please let me know. thank u.

i collapse onto the couch after a long day of cleaning the house, blasting music and dancing around while i have time alone. the house has been in need of a serious cleaning and when i woke up this morning with the energy to be productive, i didn't let it go to waste. the dishes were washed, all the laundry washed and folded and put away, rugs vacuumed, trash put on the curb, bathrooms scrubbed down, and mirrors cleaned of scuffs. and by dinner time, i've finished and feeling accomplished.

matthew has been away at work all day and was only able to spare me one text around lunchtime to tell me that he might be later than usual. i responded with a text that was far sweeter than it needed to be, professing my love multiple times and adding a slew of cute emojis. days that run long typically mean bad days, and bad days mean a very upset boyfriend. that never ends well.

when matthew doesn't arrive home by six, i send him a text to let him know that i'm going to order chinese food for the both of us, and that he can eat when he returns home. i get nothing in return.

i watch tv while i wait for the food to arrive and only half pay attention to whatever is on the tv. my only thoughts are of my boyfriend and how horribly his day must be going. the food arrives and i put it away for later so that neither of us have to eat alone. i take my place on the couch again and wait anxiously for the door to open.

surely enough, the front door swings open and matthew comes stomping in. i hear his backpack hit the floor and then his keys following, and then the door slams closed. he doesn't come into the living room where he know i always am when he gets home, and instead goes rushing up the stairs and presumably to the bedroom. surely enough, the door slams shut a second later.

a heavy sigh falls from my mouth. i shut the tv off and go to pick up the things he had thrown onto the ground. i give matthew a moment alone to collect his thoughts and once i've tucked away his keys and hung up his backpack, i make my way up the stairs and to our bedroom.

i knock on the door softly before entering, my heart breaking at the sight before me. matthew is sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, arms trembling and shoulders shaking. i can hear him sniffling softly, fighting back tears. he looks so helpless and so broken and in the five years that we've been together, i don't think i've ever seen him like this after a day at work.

i close the door gently behind me, and when the door clicks, i see matthew flinch slightly. "hi, sweetheart," i whisper, walking a few steps closer. "can i do something for you? can i help?" matthew hesitates with his answer, sniffling before nodding a tiny bit. "yeah? okay, what can i do?" i move to sit next to him now, a few inches away. i know he won't give me an answer when he's in this state, but sometimes, just asking helps. so i just sit and wait with him as he fights off his tears.

"you can cry, you know?" i whisper. "you can cry if you need to. don't hold it in." matthew shoulders start to shake even more, his hands sliding up and into his hair. he tugs on the strands, letting out a strangled sob for the first time. my heart absolutely breaks, and i reach forward to place a hand on his back, stroking up and down the fabric of his tee shirt. "baby, i'm here right. it's okay. you're okay."

he reaches his hand back and clutches my hand, tugging on it, but not lifting his head. i scoot closer, but as soon as our legs are touching, matthew's other hand starts pulling at my thigh, trying to get me even closer. so i move to stand in between his legs, pulling his hands out of his hair so he won't give himself a headache.

and once his hands are away from his hair, he grabs my waist and pulls me right into his lap, tucking his face into my neck. this is the time that he finally lets himself go, sobbing into my shoulder and holding my waist as tight as he possibly can.

"oh, my love," i coo, brushing my fingers through his hair and running my fingers up and down his spine, "i've got you. i've got you. just let it out. i love you so much."

he hiccups and trembles as he cries, and cries, and cries. i rock him back and forth just slightly, hoping the movement will bring him some sort of comfort and tranquility. and i'm not sure how long we just sit like that, holding each other as i whisper sweet nothings into matthew's ear. but eventually, his cries slow down and he's just shaking in my arms, clutching my sweater.

"can you look at me, baby? it's okay, i've got you," he lifts his head slowly, staring at me with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks, pretty lips pouting and nose scrunching up as he sniffles. but i give him a smile, raising my hands to wipe the tears off his cheeks and brush his hair off his forehead. "hi, my love."

matthew's lips quirk up in the slightest but they don't stay that way. "hi," he whispers, voice cracking.

"so do you wanna talk about it or go do something else?" i keep touching his face, wiping the new tears away and letting his nuzzle his cheek into my hand.

"something else, please." he says.

"okay, that's fine. are you hungry? do you want dinner? it's in the fridge, i can go heat it up."

"no, no, i'm not hungry." he shakes his head, turning his head to place a kiss on the palm of my hand. "i think i wanna go take a bath, if that's okay?"

"of course that's okay. you do whatever you want. do you want me to come or do you wanna be alone?" matthew just shrugs in response. "okay, well, why don't you go alone and i'll come by in a little while?"

"yeah, okay," matthew nods and slowly ushers me off his lap, dragging himself into the connected bathroom. he closes the door behind him and i hear the water running a few seconds later.

i can honestly say that i've never seen him so upset, at least not in recent times. he's had his fair share of breakdowns over the years but this feels different. he's been upset over a bad day at work or not getting a role, but i can't recall a time when he cried that much.

i go downstairs and, regardless of what matthew said, heat up the food i ordered. i know that he doesn't have time to eat on busy days and usually tears through the fridge and pantry when he gets home. he didn't do that today so i can only imagine how hungry he is.

i leave the food in the microwave so it will stay hot and then head back upstairs. i knock gently on the bathroom door, waiting for a response that i never get. "matthew?" i crack the door open just the tiniest bit but don't poke my head in. "is it okay if i come in for a few minutes?"

i hear the water sloshing around before he hums. "mhm."

i enter the hot bathroom and close the door behind me. matthew's legs are pulled up to his chest, forehead resting on his knees and arms wrapped protectively around himself. i sit down beside the tub and reach over to run my fingers through his damp hair.

"sweet boy," i coo softly, "i know you said you don't wanna talk about what's making you upset, but i think it'll help. i don't wanna force you, but i wanna help you feel better." he leans into my touch when i trail my fingers down his cheek, almost purring like a cat.

"m'dizzy," matthew murmurs so quietly i barely even hear him.

i furrow my eyebrows at him, cocking my head to the side. "you're dizzy? from the heat in here?" i jump up and open the bathroom door so some of the heat can travel out. "did you drink enough water? have you eaten enough today?"

matthew shakes his head no, sniffling yet again. "no."

"no," i repeat, defeated. "well, i heated up the chinese i ordered and i left it downstairs. so maybe you can jump out of the bath and come eat and you'll feel better? sound good?"

i stand and hold matthew's towel out for him as he slowly climbs out of the bathtub. i watch him carefully, making sure his dizziness doesn't overcome him. not that i could do anything like catch him if he fainted. he’s too tall and i’m too short. i pull the plug on the drain and usher matthew back into the bedroom.

i watch in careful silence as he pulls on pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, scrunching up his nose in the most adorable way. and once he's dressed, he turns to me with his shoulders hunched forward, almost like he's waiting for me to tell him what to do and where to go. i've been doing it since he walked in the door so i suppose he's too far gone that he needs me to continue.

i give him a small smile and grab onto his hand, leading him down to the kitchen. i point to a barstool in a silence instruction to take a seat, and retrieve our food from the microwave.

"so," i state as i sit down and dig into my fried rice, "i finished the next chapter of my book today! it's not the best writing i've done so i'm gonna do extensive editing on it, but at least it's done. i've been stuck on this chapter for weeks and i'm just relieved that i can move on."

"i'm sure what you've already written is amazing," he half heartedly, stabbing a piece of chicken before pushing it off his fork again.

i keep talking about my writing process, and observe him as he plays with his food and doesn't eat anything at all. i've finished my food in ten minutes and matthew hasn't eaten anything. he responds every now and then with short sentences or one word answers, and doesn't lift his head much.

i throw out my containers and fill up a glass with water and ice, placing it beside matthew's hand. i sit on the barstool beside him, facing him instead of forward. "you haven't eaten anything, sweet boy. you need to eat. did you eat anything today?" matthew ducks his head even further down and shakes his head no. i resist my urge to sigh. "okay, can you tell me why? i made breakfast for both of us and i thought you ate."

"no," he shakes his head again. "i don't- i just don't wanna eat."

he's never acted like this before and it's truly heartbreaking. he doesn't seem like the man i feel in love with and he's even a completely different man from the different man he is when he's upset. this is a new version of my boyfriend that i hope makes a one time appearance.

matthew takes a long breath and pushes around his rice before starting to speak. "last week, on set, i had a fitting for outfits for the episode we filmed today. and the kevlar vest that i've been using for years didn't fit. it was too small. so i," he hesitates, and then tilts his head a little towards me. i instantly bring my hair up to his wet hair and start scratching his scalp, "i just, well, this past week i just decided to eat less and hope that i could fit into the vest today. but it didn't work. it was still too small and it looked absolutely horrible. i looked horrible. ugly."

and yet again, my heart breaks for him. i've never really heard of matthew having issues with his body, except for the off comment that he didn't look good in an outfit or that it didn't flatter him. nothing to this extent. but i've had my fair share of body image issues over the years and matthew has always been quick to remind me that i'm stunning, regardless of whether i'm wearing an extra small or a large.

"i'm sorry you feel this way, love," i drag my hand back to the nape of his neck and play with the short hair there. "and i know exactly how it feels to not fit into clothes that you used to fit into. but you've helped me realize that we don't keep the same body every year. our bodies change as we get older. remember that red dress you really liked on me? it doesn't fit me anymore because i'm not as skinny as i was when we met. but i got a new one that suits me better. it's okay for your body to change and there's nothing wrong with it. you're beautiful no matter what, or handsome, if you'd prefer that."

matthew nods, wiping his cheeks when he finally lifts his head. "i just looked so bad today."

"i'm sure you didn't. i always tell you that i look horrible in outfits you think i look good in. everyone is always really hard on themselves and that's natural."

he drops his head again and let's go of his fork, letting out a heavy sigh and resting his hands in his lap. but i stand, moving his hand away and sitting down on his lap, placing my hands right on his ribs. "when you filmed season twelve, you started to work out more. remember?"

matthew nods. "yeah, of course. what does that have to do with anything?"

"you thought that you would put on weight in muscle, and that's exactly what happened. your shoulders got broader, your thighs got thicker. and you know what?" i lean forward until our noses are touching. i manage to get a tiny smile out of him when i give him an eskimo kiss, our noses rubbing together. "i absolutely loved your body before and after you started working out. you know how much i love your thighs. they're sexy, baby. i know that me telling you things like this doesn't really help but i love your body, no matter what it looks like. what your body looks like doesn't define you."

"really?" he gives me the most adorable puppy eyes. "you like my, you know, my body?"

"i love your body, matthew," i move my hands down from his ribs to his stomach, slipping them under his sweatshirt and placing them on his bare skin. "i love everything about you." matthew lets his head fall forward and presses his forehead into my shoulder as i let my hand continue to roam his skin. "i'm not gonna force you to eat if you really don't want to, but i don't want you to starve yourself either. so i'm gonna go, okay? i'm gonna go sit in bed and you can either eat or not and not feel pressured by me staring at you, and you can join me when you're ready."

i place a kiss on matthew's nose before retracting my hands and heading back to our bedroom. part of me wants to hold him down and force him to eat all of his food and another part of me knows that letting him make his own decisions is the right choice. forcing him to eat when he feels badly about his body is the worst thing i could do. it could make him spin even further out of control and that is obviously the last thing i want.

so i curl up under the duvet on my side of the bed and flip the television on, skimming through the channels until i find some random romcom that i watched with matthew years ago. i leave that on and start scrolling through my social media.

just a few minutes later, matthew comes wandering into the room and closes the door behind him. when he walks towards the bed, i notice he's holding his pint of fried rice in his hand, and while i would normally not support eating in bed out of fear of getting the sheets dirty, i make an exception for this.

he gives me a weak smile as he climbs in beside me, instantly tangling his legs with me. i roll over and rest my head on his chest, bringing my arm around his stomach, resting my hand in his sweatshirt pocket. i try my hardest to ignore it as matthew scoops rice into his mouth slowly. i can tell it's a little bit of a chore for him to be eating, but nonetheless, i'm proud of him for doing it, even if he only eats a few pieces of rice.

"we watched this movie a long time ago. one of our first dates, right?" matthew mumbles.

"mhm," i nod against his chest, "we watched this in your house in the living room and ate pizza and complained about the acting."

"i love you," matthew randomly confesses, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead. "thank you. i don't know what i'd do without you."

"well, you'll never have to find out because you're stuck with me," i quip, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "and i love you too. a whole lot. and i love your tummy too. i think i might love your tum more than i love you. no offense."

[baepsaesbae]

Heal Me, Kill Me Ch.1

Pairing— Kim Namjoon x reader (only in this chapter), Kim Taehyung x reader (main focus) ft. Yoongi

Genre— Vampire!Taehyung x Vampire Hunter!y/n, ANGST, smut +18, comedy (i tried)

Warnings— Death, violence, oral (f receiving), fingering, explicit unprotexted sex

Word Count— 7.6k

Summary— You’re one of the best vampire hunters in the world. That's to be expected when your parents are the best of the best. Your life had solely revolved around ruthlessly killing vampires. You were essentially a cold blooded machine. However, things take a turn once you meet Kim Taehyung, your latest target.

A/N— Huge shoutout to @dee-ehn for this beautiful banner! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think! 

You didn’t choose this life. You had no past trauma that spurred you on to take this path. Most vampire hunters became hunters because a loved one was murdered and they wanted revenge or some bullshit like that. Not you though.

You were born into this lifestyle. Your parents were allegedly the best hunting team in history. They were usually too busy with work, so you were practically raised by the faction itself. The grandmaster of the Vampyre Extermination Company (VEC for short) was your main parental figure. 

While normal children went to school, you were being trained in combat. The only lessons you had were those pertaining to vampires. You knew everything there was to know about them. Being the youngest member of the company, it was clear that you were a prodigy. 

By the age of 13, you had already killed 5 vampires. Most seasoned hunters only kill 5 in their entire lifetimes. You were incredibly smart, and used your youth to your advantage. 

That was ten years ago. You had lost track of your kill count (not that it matters, it’s officially documented somewhere). You were now the youngest person ever to achieve the Expert Hunter title. 

None of that fancy stuff matters to you. You get assigned a job, and you do it. That’s all it was. In fact, you were on a job at this very moment. 

You were all dolled up sitting at the bar of a very busy nightclub, with a drink that you had no intention of drinking. Your assignment had been spotted frequenting this club quite often. He preyed on young women (as most of them do) and many of them had gone missing from this location. 

You had on the skimpiest dress you could find. Its low cut neckline coupled with a push-up bra had your breasts nearly spilling out of the dress. Its tight material clung to your body to reveal your curves. You absolutely hated it. 

“Why are you alone, pretty girl?” a drunk man stumbled up to you. He definitely wasn’t your target.

“I’m waiting for someone to kill,” you replied nonchalantly.

“To kill? That sounds kind of scary,” he put his hand on your waist.

You grabbed his wrist and twisted it, causing the man to cry out in agony. 

“I don’t have time to waste on you. Get out of my sight or else I’ll break your wrist,” you warned with cold indifference.

The man scampered away as soon as you released him. You refocused your attention on the crowded dance floor. It’s possible that the vampire would smoothly dance with a girl before luring her to her doom.

You began to sigh in frustration when there was no sign of your target. Suddenly, the room’s temperature dropped. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, and goosebumps covered your body.

He had arrived.

There was no doubt about it. You felt a malevolent presence as soon as he entered the buidling. Your eyes scanned the club again, in search of the source. Finally, you found him.

There was a tall handsome man standing in front of the dance floor, surveying it as intensely as you were surveying him. He glanced your way, causing you to freeze up. When your eyes met, you shot him a coy smile, and turned to your drink.

Hopefully that was enough to pique his interest. You debated on whether you should sip your drink or not, to make you appear more vulnerable. It didn’t take long before a deep voice rang in your ear.

“Are you waiting on someone?” a seductive voice asked.

You could already tell he was using his charms. One of a vampire’s many tricks was their gift of persuasion and seduction. Supernatural powers were involved, of course, but their good looks helped seal the deal. 

“Maybe. Maybe not,” you replied before sipping your drink. 

“If you were, you probably wouldn’t have smiled my way,” the man took a seat beside you.

“Ah, you got me there. You’re a sharp one huh?” you smiled.

“In more ways than one, dear,” the man chuckled before extending a hand, “I’m Namjoon. Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m ___. The pleasure is all mine,” you shake his hand, taking note of how eerily cold it was. This was definitely him. 

The night went on with playful flirting and shallow attempts at getting to know each other. You were well aware that everything both you and Namjoon said was a lie. Namjoon insisted on ordering you a drink after you finished the first one but you politely declined, saying you’ve had more than enough for one night (another blatant lie). 

Namjoon finally made his move. He leaned over to you and kissed your exposed shoulder. 

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked. You could feel how heavily laced his words were with mystical persuasion. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you kissed his cheek. 

It wasn’t hard to flirt when your target was so attractive. In fact, that’s how most of your hunts have gone ever since you got older. You’d seduce them into letting their guard down, and kill them when they weren’t paying attention. It was a slight perk that vampires were much better at fucking than humans, but you were willing to keep that information private. 

Back at Namjoon’s apartment, he wasted no time getting you undressed. You were passionately making out with him on his bed when reached down to palm his clothed erection. Namjoon released a guttural moan.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, kissing down your throat. 

His hands wandered down between your thighs, rubbing your clit. He kissed his way down your stomach, pausing before your heat. He delicately flicked his tongue down your folds. You bucked your hips up, begging for more. Namjoon slid in his long slender fingers while his tongue worked your clit. 

He expertly curved his fingers into you, hitting that special spot perfectly. His intensity picked up, causing your cries to get louder. He held you down as you started to squirm beneath him. He sucked on your clit as he rapidly pumped in and out of you.

You came without a warning, your body shaking from the impact. Namjoon licked up all of your juices. Your chest was heaving as Namjoon kissed a trail back up to your lips. His eyes were darkened with a dangerous hunger you were all too familiar with. 

Going any further would be dangerous, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was too alluring to resist, plus your motto was that there’s no harm in having a little fun. A satisfied smile crept across your face after you tugged off his bottoms. His dick was just as big as you imagined, and you needed it inside of you immediately. 

You immediately straddled Namjoon, lips still locked as you lowered yourself onto him. You moaned into his mouth as he filled you completely. Your hips moved on their own accord, leaving you no choice but to enjoy the ride. Namjoon let you take the lead, enjoying an unfamiliar balance of power in the bedroom. His hands rested on your hips as you rocked back and forth.

“You’re so hot. I could stay like this forever,” Namjoon praised.

“Have you ever been tied up before?” you asked before kissing his ear. As much as you wanted the night to continue, you knew Namjoon was at his limit. Endorphins were high, right now would be the perfect time to devour you.

“No, I haven’t. I’m usually the one doing the tying. But I’m always willing to try something new,” Namjoon smirked.

“Wait here then. And close your eyes!” you giggled.

Your legs were wobbly as you made your way to your discarded bag. You were delighted when you reentered the bedroom to find Namjoon still closing his eyes.

“Good boy,” you cooed while taking out silver chains.

“Are those chains I hear?” Namjoon sounded excited.

“Yes, I’m gonna chain you up real good. You’ve been a bad boy,” you whispered into his ear. Namjoon groaned, and you noticed his cock twitch. 

With impossibly quick motions, you wrapped the chains around Namjoon’s wrists. The silver burned his skin upon impact. There was no need to chain up his legs, as the silver severely weakened him. He tried to wiggle free of the chain but it was no use. His eyes darted open to see you smiling down at him.

“There’s no use in struggling, Namjoon. These chains are pure silver and are anointed with holy water for extra measure. I am ___, from the Vampyre Extermination Company. You have been found guilty of numerous kidnappings and murders,” you say as you take out a wooden stake.

“Fuck you, you bitch!” Namjoon spat at you, fully baring his fangs.

“That’s not very nice, dear. You were so sweet to me before. Well, before you were going to kill me of course,” you laughed as if it were a joke, “Thank you for showing me a good time. May your soul rest easy in the next life.”

Namjoon bared his fangs at you while you plunged the stake into his chest. Blood gushed out of his wound. Cries of agony filled the room. A few moments later, Namjoon’s body turned to dust. The job was complete.

You made a call while getting dressed. Your clothes were soaked with blood, but that was nothing new. 

“Hi, I’m gonna need a clean up crew at this address. Nothing super messy, just burn the bed I guess. Yeah, the mess was pretty much contained. Mhm. Yeah. Ok thank you,” you say curtly.

Back in your hotel room, you rewarded yourself with a bubble bath (after a shower of course). With most of the blood scrubbed off, you relaxed in the fragrant water. You had a habit of reflecting on your life after every job.

Was your life ever going to be normal? Probably not.

Were you going to die on one of your jobs? Probably.

Do you enjoy your job/life? Maybe? You couldn’t tell. 

You did acknowledge that you loved the thrill of the hunt. You enjoyed acting weak and innocent, only to violently kill your targets. The sex and stuff was a nice bonus too. You were taught that vampires prefer to ‘wine and dine’ their prey. Apparently happy people make for happy meals. Due to this, it’s quite common for vampires to seduce their victims before devouring them. 

‘Do vampires make other vampires?’ you asked when you were a child.

‘Yes. But they rarely do that because they are solitary creatures. Also, only the strongest vampires can turn humans since it drains their own life force tremendously,’ was the answer.

You got an assignment about once every month. During the time that you don’t have anyone to kill, you enjoyed traveling. The VEC pays handsomely. You never understood where all the money came from, until you were told that the deceased vampires’ assets get transferred to the VEC. How that happens, you had no clue. But it doesn’t matter; you get paid well enough to travel wherever you wanted to at a moment’s notice. 

You perused the internet for flights to France. You’ve been craving macarons lately. You were about to buy a ticket when your phone rang. You groaned when you saw the VEC caller ID.

“Hello?” you answered.

“___. I need you to come down to HQ immediately.”

“Grandmaster?” your eyes widened. You never got a direct call from him. Whatever this was, it must be urgent. 

He hung up as soon as he delivered the message. Typical. He’s a very straight to the point kind of guy. 

There goes the rest of your relaxing evening. You packed up all of your belongings. A driver was already waiting for you in the lobby. Again, you had no idea how the VEC can be so quick and efficient, but you’re thankful for it regardless. 

The car brought you to a private airport, in which a jet was already ready for you. 

‘This must actually be serious,’ you thought. The VEC was boujee, as they usually flew you out first class, but the private jet is a first.

Within a few hours, you had finally arrived at HQ. You were greeted warmly upon entrance. After a quick congratulations on another successful job, you were escorted to the Grandmaster’s office.

“___. Please take a seat,” the grandmaster said as he paced back and forth.

“Is everything okay, Yoongi?” you asked. You always dropped the formalities when you were alone together. This man had been more of a parent to you than your actual parents, with whom you only had fleeting encounters with.

“It’s your parents. ___, I’m so sorry. They were killed on a hunt,” Yoongi placed a firm grip on your shoulder.

You silently processed the news. More than anything, you felt shocked. Shocked, because they were supposed to be the best hunters in the world. Shocked, because you felt nothing. You felt no sadness, no anger. You were so detached from your parents, they might as well have been strangers. 

Yoongi on the other hand, looked like he was about to break down. He had known your parents for a long time. They were practically family to him, just like you. 

You get up to embrace Yoongi in a long hug. You seldom showed true acts of affection, but this was as genuine as it gets. More than anything, you felt sad for Yoongi. You couldn’t fathom what he felt. You couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a loved one, mostly due to the fact that you didn’t have any loved ones. Yoongi may have been the closest thing to it.

You helped sit Yoongi down. After he was seated, you poured him a drink. Lord knows he needed it. 

“Did their target kill them?” you asked, breaking the heavy silence.

“Yes. Their bodies were drained and left out in a field. I began to think the worst when your parents failed to make two check in calls in a row,” Yoongi took a swig of his drink.

“Their target must be pretty powerful…” your voice trailed off.

“He is. I knew he was strong, but taking out our two best? Inconceivable,” Yoongi scoffed, “I’m gonna kill the bastard with my own hands, I swear to God--”

“I’ll go,” you interrupted.

“You?” Yoongi blinked, “Absolutely not. I already lost your parents, I can’t lose you too--”

“You haven’t been in the field for years. A male vampire would never trust you, so you would have to resort to immediate violence. If he took out both of my parents, then his physical strength must be no joke,” you stated the facts.

Yoongi looked at you dumbfounded before taking another long sip of his drink. 

“Fine. But I’ll go with you--”

“No, you won’t. Your presence will blow my cover.”

“I can stay in the next town over.”

“Just to snoop around and fuck up my hunt? No thanks.”

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn, kid. How about this? Give me a night to concoct a safe alibi for you. I get to plan out how your first encounter with him goes. You can choose to kill him on the spot, or go for your usual route,” Yoongi raised his eyebrows as he said the last bit. 

“Works for me. I’m pretty sure I can’t suddenly kill him without the element of surprise and a shit ton of luck.”

“You’re willing to seduce your parents’ murderer?” Yoongi couldn’t hide the concern in his voice.

“This is just another job to me. A job is a job. Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way. That’s what you’ve always preached to me,” you shrugged.

That was Yoongi’s last straw. He pulled you in for a tight hug as a single tear rolled down his cheek. He kissed the top of your head.

“I’m truly sorry, ___. I never should have let you into this world. Your parents insisted that I train you. I should have refused, and let you live a normal life,” Yoongi apologized.

“Yoongi, you did nothing wrong. I’m perfectly fine the way I am. Believe it or not, I’ve probably saved a lot of people from becoming someone’s midnight snack,” you try to lighten the mood. 

“I just worry about you, you know? It’s almost as if you’re my own kid,” Yoongi sighed, finally letting go of you, “Come back here tomorrow morning at 10am. I’ll have your assignment by then.”

“Please get some sleep, Yoongi,” you squeezed his hand.

“I can’t sleep. Not like this. To be honest, I’m afraid that I’ll dream about your parents,” Yoongi admitted.

Noticing that you didn’t know how to respond, he quickly dismissed what he said.

“I think the alcohol is getting to me. Don’t mind me. Go to sleep, kiddo,” he patted your head.

You excused yourself and headed to your room. Your new target has sparked intrigue. You were in awe at how powerful he must be. You concluded that he must be clever. Your parents knew every trick in the book. They knew how to hunt and kill every and any type of vampire. At least, you thought they did.

You drifted off to sleep. Your last thoughts lingered on the vampire who killed your parents. 

That night, you had a strange dream. 

You felt trapped. You couldn’t move your body. All of a sudden, you were freezing. The sound of water surrounded you. Everything was pitch black, and soon, it was getting harder to breathe. 

“I loved you” you heard a muffled voice say. 

You woke up in a cold sweat. What the hell was that? You couldn’t remember the last time you had a nightmare. You weren’t even sure if that could be classified as a nightmare. After getting up to drink some water, you went back to sleep without giving it a second thought. 

“Yoongi, this is literally the worst cover you’ve ever made,” you admitted as you examined the file he handed you.

“I worked on it all night! I believe it’s foolproof,” Yoongi argued.

The bags under his eyes got impossibly darker, hinting at the fact that he probably did work on it all night. Upon realizing this, you decided to tone down your criticism. 

“Maybe it could work. I’m just worried that I won’t be able to play the part,” you stated. 

“I feel like this role is more natural than just being a flirt. But, of course, I could be mistaken,” Yoongi gave you a disapproving glance.

“Okay whatever. Yes, I’ll make it work,” you rolled your eyes. 

You were flown out to the target’s town the next day. Your living arrangement had already been prepared. You found yourself settling into a small cottage surrounded by a forest. It looked like something out of a fairytale.

It was oddly freeing being able to go on a mission in normal clothes. There was no need for revealing and uncomfortable clothing. You didn’t have to beat your face with makeup or worry about how your hair looks. Yoongi emphasized the importance of being plain. You needed to be someone who could easily sneak up on the target.

So, with a regular t-shirt and jeans topped with a jacket, you made your drive to the target’s location. Even though Yoongi’s plan was less extreme than you’re used to, the possibility of it taking a turn for the worse was still present. After all, this was the monster who murdered your parents. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down. You took a deep breath. It was now or never.

You pulled up to an impressive mansion. From what you could tell, there were no neighbors for miles. The house looked like something from a horror movie. The yard was overgrown, and the building was decrepit. 

There was a large fountain in the middle of the front courtyard. Unfortunately, the fountain had been neglected. The water was filthy and the statues were covered in moss, making them unidentifiable. 

Now standing in front of a grand, or rather, once grand front door, you mustered up the strength to knock. You firmly knocked on the door three times. A minute passed, and you couldn’t hear anything from inside.

You tried again, knocking harder and for a bit longer. There was still no reply for a couple of minutes. You began to think maybe he had left. Or maybe he was so weary of strangers that you’d have to force your way in.

You tried a third time. You were about to yell, ‘Hello? Is anyone home?’, but the door slowly opened.

From behind it, peered out the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen in your life. He was so effortlessly stunning that you forgot why you were there for a second. A tall man with dark hair gave you a quizzical look. 

“Can I help you?” his deep voice vibrated.

“Hi! I have a flower delivery for a Mr. Tom Davis?” you presented an extravagant bouquet of flowers to him.

“Sorry, you have the wrong house. Which is an incredible mistake, as I don’t have any neighbors remotely close by,” the man was still standing cautiously behind the door.

If you couldn’t lure him out, it would be damn near impossible to kill him like this. On the other hand, you weren’t too eager to try and have him invite you in.  

“What really?” you glanced at the address, then dropped your jaw in surprise, “Oh my god, you’re right. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience! My first delivery, and I already botched it,” you began to mumble as you turned back to your car.

This was a calculated mistake, of course. This was all a ploy to make you seem naive and vulnerable, just in a more innocent way than you’re used to. 

“Do you need help with directions?” the man called out to you. You smiled, this is just what you’d been waiting for. If you could just catch him off guard, you could easily lop off his head with the silver short sword hidden in your jacket. 

“That would be awesome!” you spun around happily. 

You walked back up the steps and approached him before he held his hand out.

“Stop right there,” he commanded.

You froze still in your tracks. He wasn’t using any magic, but his sudden request was unexpected. 

“Can you hand me the delivery papers from there please?” he asked, avoiding eye contact, “Sorry, I’m not good around strangers.”

You wordlessly handed him the papers. You were dumbfounded. Vampires were the masters of suave and the epitome of seduction. This man gave off no such presence. Other than his otherworldly attractiveness and subtly powerful aura, you never would have pinned him as a vampire.

You quickly put yourself back on high alert. Maybe that was his plan. Maybe he was a more passive vampire. Those were rare, but still a possibility. 

“If I’m not mistaken, I think you took a right instead of a left at the crossroads that led you here,” he said quietly as he held out the papers for you. 

Now you were flabbergasted. You took back the papers, but awkwardly lingered on his front porch. How would you come back? You couldn’t use a delivery excuse again, that would make him even more suspicious. Your mind raced as you thought of something to say or do.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” he observed.

“Oh these? Yeah I guess. Flowers are supposed to be pretty, aren’t they?” you laughed nervously. What was he trying to do?

“Yes, they are pretty externally, as are most things in life. But I think their true beauty lies within their intent,” he slightly opened the door wider, revealing half of his body.

“These flowers have intent?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“For example, this Mr. Tom Davis either loves his partner a lot, or whoever is sending these to him loves him a lot,” he gestured towards the bouquet, “A mixture of orchids and wax flowers is a nice way to express a lasting love, patience, and sometimes even lasting wealth.”

“These flowers say that much?” you were amused.

“Only to those who listen, I suppose,” he seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

“I wish I knew as much about flowers as you. I don’t know jackshit about them, and I was just bequeathed an entire flower shop,” you sighed. You hoped he would take the bait and prolong the conversation. 

“You own a flower shop?” his face lit up for an instant before his features returned to a more somber state, “And, I’m sorry for your loss.”

 He almost had a cute boyish charm about him. His condolences seemed sincere, not at all like the false statements you were used to being fed by his kind.

“Well, I guess I do now. I have no idea how to run it, so I’m kind of freaking out about it. I have all these orders but I’m not even a certified florist. Oh, and thanks,” you shrugged, hoping to give off the illusion of helplessness.

“I don’t mean to overstep any boundaries, but maybe I could be of assistance?” he offered, his eyes finally meeting yours.

Something happened at that moment. You felt a pang in your chest as soon as your eyes met. Those weren’t the eyes of a hungry predator. Instead, you saw only kindness and maybe something else that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe Yoongi was wrong, maybe this wasn’t the right target.

“Are you sure about that? I don’t want to overwhelm you,” you took a step closer.

“It may be a nice change of pace for me. I don’t socialize much these days,” he chuckled. Seeing him smile made your heart skip a beat. It was so wholesome. Part of you thought you saw a flash of a fang, but another part of you wanted to deny it. 

“Well, you would be more than welcome to come visit my shop! I promise I won't bite,” you winked at him, extending your hand.

You noticed that his smile faltered at the mention of biting, but he quickly dispelled his observable unease. He slowly reached his hand out to meet yours. You prepared yourself for the worst, as he might yank you into his home with enough force to pop your arm out of its socket. 

Instead, you were met with a firm handshake. You gave him the name of your flower shop and politely excused yourself. He shut the door as soon as you were off the porch, but you still felt his eyes on you.

You got back into the car and stared at your hand. There was no doubt about it. His hand was just as cold as every other vampire you’ve encountered. It wasn’t the type of cold you could blame on poor blood circulation. No, it was the undead type of cold. 

As you drove back to your cottage, you admonished yourself. Why did you feel disappointed that it actually was the target? You should rejoice. You can avenge your parents (not that that really mattered to you). You’re a step closer to getting this job done and going home.

But you couldn’t quite decipher what you felt. You felt as if you had a genuine interaction with him. God knows how long its been since you’ve actually gotten to be yourself. You always had a role to play. 

Even though you almost fell for his stupid smile, you couldn’t detect a hint of magic. Nothing he said was laced with magical words of persuasion. There was no shroud of alluring lust that you could feel. 

You plopped onto your bed. You needed to focus. 

‘All you gotta do is kill the target. Easy peasy,’ you thought to yourself.

You figured you should do your routine check in call. Yoongi was probably worrying himself sick. Usually calls are spaced out every few days, but a call on the first day would ease Yoongi’s nerves.

“Hello?” Yoongi picked up after the first ring.

“Hey Yoongi,” you greeted him. Usually he doesn’t answer these calls, but this job was an exception.

“Thank god you’re okay. How did it go? Did you kill him?” he asked eagerly.

“No, I didn’t have an opening,” you sighed.

“How are you going to meet him again? Don’t tell me you tried to seduce him…”

“No, I did not. Stop assuming that! He has a weird appreciation for flowers, so I told him he can come by the shop. I don’t know why you gave me a florist alibi, but it worked out perfectly.”

“Honestly, I don’t know either. The alcohol mixed with sleep deprivation had me thinking funny things,” Yoongi admitted, “Either way, I’m glad you’re safe. What was he like?”

“He was...nice?”

“...nice? Did you just call the monster that murdered your parents nice?” Yoongi asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know how else to put it. He was weird. He didn’t act like a stereotypical vampire. He didn’t use any form of magic. He was oddly shy. I even began to doubt he was the target until I shook his hand. His hand was eerily cold, so he’s undead for sure,” you explained.

“Sounds like a peculiar case. If you run into trouble, call my personal line, got it?” Yoongi ordered.

“Yes sir,” you affirmed before hanging up. 

The next day, you headed to the flower shop that the VEC had set up for you. It was a quaint shop that looked like it had been part of the local town for years. Another impossible feat achieved by the VEC. The town itself was quiet. It was mostly full of elderly folks whose family had moved on to bigger cities. 

The shop was filled with flowers of every color. A myriad of different species were spread across the interior. You sneezed the second you walked in. Good grief, this place was gonna have your allergies fuck you up. 

A pile of papers were piled up on the front counter. Upon examination, you groaned. Yoongi is SUCH a bastard. He actually gave you flower arrangement orders that needed to be fulfilled. 

‘It will help with the authenticity of the shop! Every order has already been prepaid so you have to make them. Have fun~’ he wrote in his instructions. 

“You fuckin piece of--” you were cut off when you heard the front door chime.

“Hi! Welcome in,” you exclaimed quickly as you turned around.

An elderly couple had entered the store. They kindly greeted you, saying they thought it looked so pretty from the outside that they had no choice but to come in. 

You watched them from behind the counter. You were oddly moved by how sweet they were to each other. They held hands the entire time. The man smiled fondly whenever the woman pointed out a pretty flower. They laughed together as they strolled through the store.

You felt as if you were invading their privacy somehow, but what else were you supposed to do? They were your only customers, so you had to pay attention to them.

Soon your attention turned towards the front door. Would your target actually show up? Vampires are creatures of pride, so they aren’t ones to break a promise. However, this one was different. Maybe he won’t keep his word. That would suck. It would make approaching him even harder.

The old couple shuffled over to the counter with a dozen roses in hand. Together, they had 6 white roses and 6 red roses. 

“Would that be all?” you ask with a smile.

“Yes ma’am,” the man replied, handing you money.

“Call me old fashioned, but roses are my favorite flowers,” the woman said to you.

“They’re my favorite too, a classic can never go wrong,” you reply happily.

“Do you know why this bouquet is special?” she asked you. 

“Please enlighten me, you say, leaning over the counter.

“Red and white roses together symbolize unity. I’m so happy I was able to find unity with my soulmate,” the man answered, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh stop, you sap! The poor girl doesn’t care about old farts who are in love,” the woman playfully slapped his arm.

“I think it’s incredibly sweet. I’m happy for you two. Please enjoy the flowers!” you bow to them.

“Don’t worry dear, you’ll find your own soulmate too!” the woman called out to you as they left the store. 

After they had left, the store quieted down. Your only company was your own thoughts.

Soulmate? Love? It’s not that you didn’t believe in that stuff, it’s more like you didn’t believe that stuff was for you. Your line of work was extremely dangerous. Any hypothetical loved one of yours would constantly be in harm's way. 

By the end of the day, you managed to finish 2 extravagant bouquets. The town’s post office was more than happy to deliver your finished products. It appeared that they didn’t get much work nowadays. 

This became your routine for the next few days. An entire week had passed, and there had been no sign of your target. Patience wearing thin, you began to think of another excuse to go to his house. Hopefully this time, he would be less cautious. Rain poured outside as if to mimic your growing anxieties. 

You had grown strangely fond of the flower shop. Being among the pretty flowers was calming. Putting arrangements together was a new challenge that you’ve never faced before. It was, perhaps, the most peaceful time you’ve had in your life. It was almost as if you were living a normal life. 

The front door chimed, and you automatically called out a greeting to the potential customer. You weren’t answered. That didn’t really bother you though, as you were engrossed in reading the day’s arrangement orders. How the hell did Yoongi get so many?

“Hello again,” a familiar deep voice disrupted your focus.

You looked up and once again faced the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He had finally arrived. He looked less cautious than before, but still nervous nonetheless. 

“You actually came!” you exclaimed, you couldn’t tell if the excitement was genuine or not.

“I always keep my promises. I’m sorry it took awhile for me to get here. I had to wait for...uh…” his voice trailed off.

“For?”

“The weather.”

“The weather?”

“It’s easier to travel in gloomier weather. Preferably rainy,” he answered concisely.

“That’s odd,” you noted. Of course, you knew the reason why. Sunlight would instantly kill him.

“I suppose I’m rather odd,” he glanced around the shop, “You have a wonderful set of flora here.”

“Thank you! I can’t really take the credit. I just sell them, not grow them,” you say bashfully.

“But it takes a keen eye to pick the best ones,” he replied, examining the flowers closely.

“Everything was here when I arrived. I’ve just been selling and making shitty arrangements,” you slowly crept towards him. 

Now was your chance. You could land a fatal blow while the weirdo gawked at flowers.

“You’re making arrangements?” he whipped around to face you with inhuman speed. You couldn’t help but jump back.

“Yeah! I have a ton to go through. I had no idea this place was so popular,” you say quickly, trying to act natural. He was too unpredictable to do anything rash. 

“Do you need help with those?” he asked.

“Actually...if you don’t mind…” you gestured towards the huge stack of papers on the counter, “Maybe if you can give me some tips, I can make them faster! And hopefully they’ll turn out prettier.”

“Sure,” he nodded. 

The rest of the day was spent making arrangements together. He had a talent for picking the perfect flowers and giving them the perfect placements. You were in awe. Was this a secret vampire power? Or was this guy just weirdly into flowers?

“Hey, I never got your name,” you say. You realized you had only labeled him as “the target” in your head. 

“Ah, yes. I’m Taehyung. Kim Taehyung,” he gave you a shy smile, slowly extending his hand to you, just as you did to him during your first encounter.

“Pleasure to meet you, Taehyung! I’m ___,” you replied, giving him a firm handshake.

Taehyung went back to arranging flowers, but you froze in your place. Your eyes grew wide in shock. Your jaw silently dropped. It was a good thing Taehyung couldn’t see your face, or else he’d think something was wrong.

Which there was. Something was definitely wrong. How could you be so stupid?!? You gave him your name. Your real name. One of the most important rules about vampire hunting is to keep yourself as anonymous as possible. Vampire hunters are excellent liars. And you usually were as well. You’ve never slipped up like this before. Was he charming you somehow? You couldn’t detect a hint of magic anywhere. 

“___? ___ did you hear me?” Taehyung waved his hand in front of you.

You snapped back to reality.

“Sorry, I guess I zoned out for a second. What did you say?” you gave him an apologetic smile. Not only did you give him your real name, you also just zoned out in front of an extremely dangerous vampire. What the hell is wrong with you today?

“I asked which flower embodies you the most,” he said.

“What? Like personality wise?” you couldn’t help but chuckle, “That’s a weird question. Are you a walking Buzzfeed quiz?”

“Buzzfeed? What is that?” Taehyung looked confused.

“It’s a news company. Or an entertainment company? They basically write clickbait articles. But they also have personality quizzes for literally anything. But wait, what kind of flower would I be? I don’t know,” you answered him.

“Why don’t you know?” he asked innocently.

“Because I’ve never been asked that before?” you were genuinely amused by this guy, “But I guess I’ll humor you. Let’s say I’m a rose.”

“Why a rose?”

“Cuz I’m beautiful, duh. And I can be thorny if you’re not careful,” you winked. 

Taehyung seemed to seriously mull over your answer. It was silent for the next few minutes. You meant to come off as playful, but maybe he took you seriously? You couldn’t figure him out at all.

“I don’t think that was a sincere answer,” Taehyung finally said.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t think that was a sincere answer,” Taehyung repeated, “I think you just said you’re a rose because you don’t know many other flowers.”

“Alright, which flower do you think I am then?” you asked, now slightly annoyed. 

You were taken aback by how odd this vampire was. He was much too pensive. Too thoughtful. Not once did you feel any lust or hunger in his aura the entire time he’s been in your presence. Not even when you were at his mansion. 

“I can’t answer that,” he replied as he tied a ribbon around a finished vase.

“Why not?” you inquired, taking the vase from him.

“I don’t know you. I can’t make an accurate judgement,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t believe him. Any other vampire would have said something charming. They would have picked a pretty flower to ‘compare to your beauty’. It was the perfect question to show off their charisma. 

“Which flower do you think you are, then?” you asked. 

“Belladonna,” he answered without skipping a beat, “Which is also known as deadly nightshade.”

“And why are you a deadly nightshade?”

“You would understand if you knew me,” he stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes.

His gaze was piercing. He was an enigma that you became determined to solve. Everything about him was intriguing. 

“Is that a threat? Or a flirtation?” you questioned, amused.

“Which do you want it to be?”

“Preferably not a threat.”

“Then take it as a flirtation.”

“Well now that just seems disingenuous.” 

Taehyung laughed. It was a real, hearty laugh. His deep laughter echoed around the room. You joined in his laughter. You were actually enjoying yourself. To be quite honest, your guard was completely down. You trusted him. You actually wanted to befriend him.

Closing time had rolled around. By some miracle (which was Taehyung) you managed to get through half the stack of orders. Finished bouquets were scattered across the shop. You profusely thanked Taehyung for all his help.

“All of these are so beautiful! I really could not have done it without you. I feel bad for my previous orders now…” you realized that your bouquets were hideous compared to Taehyung’s.

“I can come help you finish the rest of your orders tomorrow, if you’d like,” he offered.

“Are you sure? I can’t pay you for all your help just yet,” you paused to think if you should offer to hire him.

“Don’t worry about that. Money is not a concern for me. I genuinely would like to help you. At first, it was because of my appreciation for nature. After today, I think I actually enjoy your company,” he smiled.

“Wow, you actually enjoy my company? I’m flattered,” you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t contain your smile. 

“You should be, I generally don’t like company,” Taehyung leaned in to close the space between you two. 

He was now extremely close. His face just inches away from yours. You could smell his cologne, the scent made him even more alluring. You caught yourself slowly leaning closer to him. You instantly snapped yourself out of his spell.

Pulling back, you looked around the room. You couldn’t find it in you to meet his gaze, even though you felt his eyes on you. You were surprised once you realized that there was still no hint of any magic. What had just happened?

“God, there’s a lot of vases I gotta carry to the post office,” you say after clearing your throat.

“I can help,” Taehyung replied, already beginning to gather up vases.

“You don’t have to! You’ve already helped a bunch today. There’s a cart around back that I can use,” you didn’t understand why you were getting so flustered.

“Please allow me to help you, ___. I’m stronger than I look,” Taehyung gave you a reassuring smile. Of course he was. 

“If you insist. I’ll go get the cart,” you happily fetched the cart.

What is this feeling? Were you actually enjoying yourself? You completely forgot that you had to eventually kill him until you were outside by yourself. The thought disappointed you. You quickly shook your head. This monster killed your parents. He’s a monster. A bloodsucker. A beast that must be slain. 

Even knowing that, why did you feel so conflicted? Your time with him today was surprisingly enjoyable. He was so unpredictable. Your sparse conversations felt natural, as if he really just wanted to get to know you. 

Taehyung helped you load up all of the vases onto the cart. He even pulled the cart for you, accompanying you to the post office. The trip was mostly done in silence. Every time you tried to spark a conversation, he would reply curtly, not giving you much to work with. It was rather peculiar for a vampire to be quiet or shy. 

He walked you back to the flower shop after the deliveries were dropped off. You both lingered in front of the entrance, not really knowing what to say.

“So, you’ll swing by tomorrow?” you asked quietly.

“If that’s okay with you, yes. I’d like to make bouquets tomorrow too,” Taehyung nodded earnestly. 

“That’s 100% good with me. I’ll see you tomorrow!” you wave at him before turning towards the shop door.

“___--”

“Yes?” you turn around.

“I--nevermind. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Taehyung awkwardly bowed before departing.

His weird standoffish tendencies never failed to entertain you. It somehow added more charm to accompany his handsome face. 

You lay in bed later that night, recounting the events of the day. 

Did you enjoy hanging out with Taehyung today? Yes, more so than you could’ve imagined.

Did you have the opportunity to kill Taehyung today? Yes, multiple if you were willing to take risks (which you usually were).

Why didn’t you take a risk? You weren’t sure. It wasn’t that you were trying to be cautious, in fact, you were very careless the entire day. 

Did you catch yourself almost trying to kiss him? Yes.

Hopefully he didn’t notice that last part. You tried to play it off as soon as you realized what you were doing. 

You pulled out your phone to call Yoongi for a second mission check in.

“Hello?” Yoongi answered.

“Sup Yoongi,” you greeted him casually.

“Did you kill the target yet?”

“No, but he came into the shop. He didn’t let his guard down the whole day.”

“The whole day? Was he in the shop all day?” Yoongi sounded confused.

“Yeah, he helped me make bouquets--”

“He WHAT?!?” Yoongi yelled.

“Calm down. He actually helped me get through a shit ton of your stupid orders--”

“You’re telling me that the bouquets I ordered for victims families’ were made BY a vampire? God, you gotta be shitting me, ___,” Yoongi grumbled.

“I think I have to play the long game with this one. He’s too unpredictable for me to land a fatal blow in one strike,” you explained.

“Be careful, ___. I’m glad he didn’t attack you today. Kill him as soon as possible. Then you can come home, and your parents will be avenged,” Yoongi said before hanging up.

Yoongi’s final words swam around in your head before you fell asleep. 

Published October 2nd, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Baepsaesbae.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who left a comment, reblogged or liked Part One of this fic. It made my day ❤️

I hope this chapter reaches your expectations. I’m still knew at writing multi-chapter fics, so I apologise if it’s too long or too boring. I want to let you guys know Kaelin better and also show Nesta’s (and Cassian’s) journey. But enough blabbering. Please give a warm welcome to Part Two!

In which she makes a friend, Part Two

Nesta remained frozen beside Kaelin’s body for what seemed an eternity. Seconds that felt more like hours went by until her mind finally snapped back to reality.

She could not give herself the luxury of freaking out right now. She needed to be practical. She needed to help Kaelin.

The sky was beginning to get dark and Nesta knew they had to get out of the forest fast. She recalled Cassian’s warning the first day she had arrived.

To never wander in the forest at dark, for the beasts which roamed them at nightfall made Hybern’s monsters at the war seem like child’s play.

“Kaelin. Listen to me. I’m going to help you” Nesta said, and Kaelin only whimpered as another wave of pain came “But we have to leave”

“It hurts” the young girl managed to say, tears streaming down her face “I can’t— can’t move”

Nesta eyed Kaelin’s figure. She was way too skinny for a thirteen year old standards, even if she’d been having regular meals for the past month.

But Nesta didn’t think she’d have the strength to carry her.

She had not eaten a proper meal in months.

Did not exercise.

You’re too heavy.

The memory of herself trying to raise another body from the ground came to mind, and she gritted her teeth to avoid screaming.

Once again, she was powerless.

This time, however, she would not lay on the ground.

She would rise. Even if her miserable bones broke beneath Kaelin’s weight.

“I’ll carry you, but you’ll have to help me” Nesta slowly sit Kaelin up, and looked straight in her eyes “Can you be strong for me now? I need you to move just enough to get on my back”

Kaelin nodded weakly and, panting, did what she was told.

Grabbing the girl’s legs in a firm hold, Nesta bit her cheek and got up, her knees screaming in protest.

“Okay ” she breathed, silently praying her body could hold on long enough to make the ten minute walk back to the cabin “I’m going to move now, so brace yourself”

She took a step forward and had to muster all her strength to not fall down with Kaelin. She remembered giving piggy back rides to Elain when she little — before her mother had deemed it unladylike and punished her. A long time had passed since then. She had been stronger and Elain did not have wings to add to her weight as Kaelin had.

But Nesta focused on the action of putting one foot after the other, her breaths coming in pants, willing her legs to keep moving.

‘Almost there’ she thought as she slowly made her back ‘Just keep moving. It’s not that far’

She repeated that over and over in hopes to distract her body. Her arms were trembling and her tights burned, yet she kept her pace.

After what seemed an eternity, Nesta finally spotted the cabin’s familiar rooftop. She almost sighed in relief.

Awkwardly opening the door and closing it shut with her foot, she went to her room, trying to lay Kaelin down on her bed as smoothly as possible.

She tried to regain her breath. Cauldron, how her back hurt.

Kaelin had curled up again, and was clenching her stomach so hard Nesta wondered if she was actually trying to claw her way into her own body so she could rip her ovaries out.

“I’ll be right back” Nesta said, smoothing some hair from Kaelin’s forehead.

She went to the kitchen, searching for something that would calm the poor girl’s pain. Nesta had not had her period as a fae yet —the huge amounts of alcohol and lack of food in the last year were probably the reason why — but remembered how it was when she used to be a human. She’d get horrible headaches and just lay down all day waiting for the pain to go away. She could only imagine how dreadful the experience must be for the fae.

Getting hold of some ginger, she put water in a kettle to prepare some tea, hoping Kaelin would be able to at least drink it. After that, she went into the shared bathroom between her room and Cassian’s.

And stopped right in front of the bathtub.

She still had trouble taking baths.

Had grown used to her old and deplorable bathtub back in her shabby apartment in Velaris.

And when she had arrived and came face to face with a bathtub big enough to accommodate wings, its dark stone a stark reminder of the Cauldron... she had frozen up. Refused to enter it. Even now, after months living in Cassian’s cabin, she could not stomach the ideia of doing it.

So she waited until Cassian left for his training and took a bucket to wash herself. It was a long process and rather difficult to wash her hair, but at least she could stay clean.

Yet, she could not do the same with Kaelin. The girl was sweaty and dirty with blood. And Nesta knew that a hot bath would do wonders to the cramps, relaxing her.

Raising her chin as if battling an invisible enemy, she got near the bathtub for the first time, turning the faucet and letting it be filled with hot water. Her heartbeat quickened as the water rose and rose, her powers a volcano in her veins, and she had to close her fists tight enough to hurt to not shatter the whole bathroom.

‘It’s not the Cauldron. It’s not the Cauldron’ reaching a tentative hand, she dipped it in the water to check the temperature ‘This water is hot. The Cauldron’s was cold. They are not the same’

Nesta turned the faucet off, and some tension eased off from her shoulders. Looking around the bathroom, she located the camomile oil Cassian kept. She had once heard it helped ease the soreness of the muscles after extensive training.

Putting it in the water, she found herself feeling a bit guilty for using it. It was not hers. Nothing in that house was. But Cassian was not here, and she doubted he’d notice that the little flask was missing some of its content.

She went back to her bedroom, and helped Kaelin take her leathers and tunic off, as she did with the band the girl had wrapped around her breasts, as small as they still were. Only thirteen, the period in which her body was slowly maturing, yet she was going through those body changes alone. The danger of being found out hanging around her neck like a rope.

Nesta tried not to flinch at the sight of the purple bruises along Kaelin’s back and ribs. A girl training the same amount as an Illyrian boy.... she must be very strong to take it all.

Kaelin wobbled towards the bathroom with Nesta’s help, breathing a sight of relief when her body came in contact with the hot water. Letting her soak for a while, Nesta stripped down some clean linens and left them on the bed.

Now the only matter were the clothes.

Nesta had brought few clothes with her, and most of them did not go along with the ruthless Illyrian weather. She eyed the lower drawer of the dresser. The one which she had not dared to touch.

She had been stubborn and refused to accept any more charity from her sister and her mate, sticking with her old dresses and overcoat instead. It was not as if she left the cabin long enough to die of frostbite.

Yet even if Kaelin was used to Illyria’s harsh weather, wearing warm clothes would make her more comfortable. Nesta was not as ruthless as to lend one of her thin run down dresses.

Sighting, she opened the drawer. And almost took a step back in surprise. For there lay clothes not in Night Court’s colours or the typical winter clothes one would find selling in Velaris.

No, they were Illyrian clothes. And not just leathers.

There were cotton sweaters, leggings, tunics and soft pants that Nesta would have never thought of wearing. And the colours.... Gods the colours. There was a range of colours from grey to auburn, burgundy, royal blue and forest green. The kind of colours that Nesta could imagine herself in.

She was so marvelled by them that she almost missed the small note on top of one sweater.

‘These are for you. I took the liberty of buying them, but if you prefere another clothing style feel free to tell me — Cassian’

He had bought her clothes. He, not her sister. And Cassian had kept quiet about it. Had not said a word before his trip about how she had never opened that drawer.

Had given her space. A choice.

Had she perhaps misunderstood his apparent cold behaviour? Was he perhaps giving her time to get used to her current situation? Was he distancing himself so it was her choice when the time to talk came?

Picking some clothes for Kaelin and laying them on the bed, Nesta tucked that information deep inside herself, feeling an annoying warmth in her heart she had not felt in a long time.

~•~

“What did you say?”

“You heard me perfectly clear or have you become deaf with your age?” Nesta replied to the camp lord in front of her, the mask of a bored and mighty queen mastered to perfection.

“I was not informed about this” Devlon said, anger lacing his every word.

“You were not notified because it was not necessary” she spat back, a cold fury settling in her veins “So let it be known that Kaelin will be staying with me for the time being to help in an important and secret matter, none of which are for you to worry about”

“How dare—“

“Have a good day” cutting Devlon off before he nagged at her some more, Nesta left him standing at the training area.

She heard Devlon bark an order for the Illyrians to get back to training, the sound of swords clashing against each soon rising again. She tried not to flinch at the sounds, keeping her mask up until she was safely back at the cabin.

Once inside, Nesta let herself rest against the door, sighing. She was tired. The events of yesterday and today’s morning had taken a tool on her. It had been a while since she had worn the unfeeling ice queen mask. She didn’t recall it to be so tiring.

But rest would have to wait a little bit. She had to check on Kaelin. And demand an explanation.

The night before, after Kaelin had gotten out of the bath and was dressed, Nesta had given the ginger tea and coaxed her into drinking it all. Not long after that, the poor girl fell asleep.

Nesta, on the hand, stayed awake for the better part of the night, dozing off in a chair near the bed, waking up whenever she heard Kaelin move.

When the birds had started to sing in the early morning, Nesta had came up with a plan. Leaving a tray with light food and tea in the bedside for Kaelin, she dressed herself and braided her hair neatly, preparing to go after Devlon. She had to make sure that Kaelin could stay away from training during her cycle and that her secret kept being a secret.

But the Illyrian had some gaps to fill in.

“Nesta?” she heard a soft voice calling from her room, and taking a deep breath, moved from her position.

“Good morning” Nesta said, finding the girl awake and less pale than yesterday “How do you feel?”

“Better” Kaelin was slowing making her way through breakfast “But, training...Devlon....how—”

“It’s been taken care of off” taking her position from the past night, Nesta squared her shoulders and took a business like voice “You have a story to tell”

Kaelin, noticing how the air had become serious, lost no time and, stopping sometimes when the cramps returned with full force, told Nesta everything.

Kaelin’s mother, as she said before, had a fragile health, made worse by the heavy workload imposed on the females. Add that to a difficult pregnancy, you have the recipe for an early labour.

Right in the middle of the heaviest snow storm to have ever befallen on Illyria. Which lasted for four days and four nights.

Making it impossible for a midwife to get there.

Mikael, her father, aided his wife, Selin, all on his own.

A warrior born to kill. To reap lives.

However, for her he would bring life. He would do everything he could.

It was not enough.

He was not able to stop Selin’s internal bleeding. Or her death.

And so, thirteen years ago, on the day Illyria bled white while Selin bled red, a healthy little girl was born.

Yet after the blizzard stopped and Mikael buried his wife, a boy was announced to have been born.

“Protect her” Selin had whispered with her last breath “Let our daughter be free and strong. Let her know no fear. Let her be as wild as Sanuur, the Mother of all forests. As ruthless as the old Illyrian warriors. As wise as our matriarchs.”

Mikael kept his promise. He raised Kaelin as a boy in secret as best as he could. Until he was killed in the Hybern War.

And Kaelin was alone.

An orphan who nothing deserved to have, save for a duffel bag with whatever she could grab before she was kicked out of her childhood home — a one room wood cabin, built by her father after years of hard work — in the mud.

After the rumours that a Witch now lived with the General, Kaelin had a mad plan: she’d give anything, even her soul, to avoid getting what would raise a red flag to her secret.

“I starved and ate herbs that were said to make one avoid getting periods” Kaelin said, looking down at her empty cup “But those things made me far too weak. I was falling behind training. I am at the age boys grow like trees and start to get buffer. I needed a quick solution”

And Nesta had been feeding her.

Oh, she was going to get sick. Had she doomed Kaelin while thinking she was saving a poor orphan?

“From now on,” Nesta announced “I’ll be the one to keep your father’s promise. You will live with me”

It did no good to dwell on what could have been. What had been done was done.

For the first time in five months, the fog inside Nesta’s mind seemed to lift.

“You will live with me. And I will train with you”

Because never again would she be weak. Never again would she be at someone’s mercy.

Nesta Archeron was going to show Illyria just how much she should be feared.

•

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[jbbuckybarnes]

Scared & Sacred - Ch. 9

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader Description: The Mandalorian had helped you while you were hunted for your family name and you had grown a little closer over the months, but you didn’t expect THIS. How was this possible after just three times of getting so close  to him. You had to find a nurse as fast as possible. Warnings: parenting, fluff, helmetless Din, sibling double trouble, canon divergent, not proofread.

M A S T E R L I S T

Chapter 9 - Off-Day

You had prepared the big weekly breakfast for your little family in peace today. You slept well and deep with Din taking on all the baby duties. This was completely your day of the week. After putting down the last bit of drinks for breakfast you heard heavy steps come closer. When you looked up your heart grew ten sizes bigger. Din had his hair all over the place and a tired look on his face. A style matched by both of the children in his arms, also looking at you. “Ba.” Grogu let out exhausted while Dodie catapulted her head back onto Din’s shoulder. “Bounty hunting was easier than the last 12 hours.” He grumbled in his deep morning voice. “You all came out alive, so I’m proud of you.” You kissed him on the nose and then did the same to your kids.

You cut up Grogu’s food for him. Salad cubes, frog meat and a little piece of a sweet local fruit. Meanwhile Din was hard at work helping Dodie properly put rose marmalade onto her bread. “Huh?” She looked up at him after imitating it and he chuckled and nodded, “Close enough, Dodie.” “How was your evening and morning?” He asked looking up at you with his big tired brown eyes. “Meditated, did my skin care, got to do my hair again and tried a new tea.” You looked well rested, beautiful as always. He did this once a week for you, because usually you had the children in the palace while he sat there playing his king role. He knew he had to sacrifice a bit of his time for you too. “And what’s your plan for the off-day?” He asked slowly waking up further with the help of his tea. “I’d love to go into the forest with the children. But they’ll probably get pretty dirty, so we’d have bath duty this evening.” You scrunched your nose. He grinned and took another sip, “Worth it for seeing their tiny squishy faces.” In his bounty hunter reflex he prevented Dodie from accidentally catapulting her sippy cup at her own face. They both looked at each other as if they were telling each other to never talk about this again and went on about their breakfast while you giggled at their similarities.

Your kids looked hilariously cute in their outdoor clothes for the forest. Now that Dodie could walk your little adventures had become even better and funnier, but also more of a mess with two children to keep tabs on.

Grogu had just plopped down on the floor in front of you with a pout. „Oh, little boy, what‘s wrong?“ A puff of air escaped him before he looked up with his big soft eyes. „Do you want to sit in the hood of my cape?“ You smiled and watched his smile grow extra wide. With a squeal from him you picked Grogu up and set him down behind your head, feeling his little claws grab at your collar. You looked over to your two Djarin‘s, „See, this one is red, that means it‘s ripe and you can eat it. But only when they look like that, yeah?“ He picked off a berry and put it into her hand, curious eyes staring up at him and getting a smile back. Reluctantly she put the berry in her mouth, but then proceeded to clap in excitement. „You wanna pick some for later?“ She nodded heavily and jumped.

Dodie was currently painstakingly trying to climb a big stone alone with her unstable little legs. Din reached to help push her up but she turned around and frowned at him “NO!” His eyes widened for a second and he held his hands up, “Okay, princess!” You looked between both of them, “Just like her parents.” She plopped down on top of the big boulder with a proud smile on her face, you put Grogu on the opposite stone and once again watched as both your children started talking in their own little baby language of coos and babbles. You felt an arm snake around your waist and looked up at your husband, “This is so much better than I could’ve imagined.” Your smile grew as you went onto your tiptoes to give him a little kiss, “It is.” “Can’t believe you almost ran away with that squishy ball of energy.” He chuckled and you pushed your elbow into his side. “Well, let’s say your communication skills also improved by a lot.” You both watched the children hop off the stones and do their wobbly run straight for the mud in the middle of the clearing. “What will we do if they stop being so tiny and squishy and easy to contain?” He asked while watching them. “We’ll see, I have a vague idea.” You looked up at him and gave him a little wink.

“Bath time, sweethearts.” He picked his two dirty kids up and carried them towards the bathtub under protesting yells. “Is mom coming too?” He turned around to you and you gave him a smile. You locked the door behind you, they were good at escaping bath time. “Mamam?” You looked down at Dodie signing that she needed help. You helped her undress and threw her clothes into a bag for Aruki to take in the morning. “Okay, let’s get this behind us, yeah? Want my princess to be presentable.” She made uppie arms and you picked her up before lowering her into the tub filled one third. “Wam!” “Yeah, it’s warm.” You chuckled at her comfortable smile at you and picked up a washcloth, beginning to clean her up. “Hey!” Din next to you put you out of your concentration. You looked over to see a streak of water across his face and shirt. You tried to suppress the laughter but couldn’t hold it in for long, “Definitely your son.” “I’m taking that personally!” He gave you a playful pout before his face showed you one of the most childlike happy smiles you’ve ever seen on him. It wasn’t long until you were cleaning up the kids, doing Dodie’s hair and dressed them in their pj’s. “Bedtime!” You announced and got shiny eyes back. This meant their dad was reading to them and they absolutely loved that part of the evening.

The bed dipped next to you and you felt Din’s arms snake around you a few seconds later. “I don’t like how fast they’re growing. Well, Dodie at least.” You turned towards him and chuckled, “I think that’s the most bittersweet thing about parenting. You have to watch them become their own being.” He pulled you closer for a kiss, “At least you won’t leave the house in a couple years.” “I’d hope so.” You kissed along his jawline and got a relaxed hum back. “Your training going well?” He mumbled letting himself calm down more and more. “I could definitely kick your ass. Still unclear if I’d win though.” “I’d let you.” “That wouldn’t be a fair fight, Din.” “No fight between us would be fair, cyare.” “Fair enough.” You entangled your legs and put your face in the crook of his neck before slowly drifting off.

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[musetta3]

Revka Cadash and the Great Nug Hunt

It’s done! Thank you to @jarakrisafis, who sent me the writing prompt of ‘Carta, twelve injuries, and a greased nug;’ this was so much fun to write. Introducing Revka Cadash, my new Dwarven OC; she’s Jarak’s Inquisitor, Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash’s, cousin.  

PS: @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, you said that you wanted me to tag you when completed, so. Tada! <3

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she did not expect this. She leaned back in her chair, half in the air as she balanced perilously between tipping backwards or slamming into the table. Perhaps the latter would’ve been the better option; she’d seen funerals livelier than this iteration of ‘Saturday Night with Cousin Edric.’

“Ed,” she said, “I’m bored.” He arched his eyebrow over his Wicked Grace cards.

“Go get another drink, then,” he replied, discarding a drake and picking up another card. “Although you’re already tipsy.”

She huffed in outrage, “am not.”

“You are; you can’t keep a straight face. Your cheating’s sodding obvious.” Revka’s mouth twitched in amusement. No one in the Cadash clan—not even Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash, himself—could touch her when she played Wicked Grace. Sober, that is. When tipsy… Everyone, it was said, had their vices; Rev Cadash’s was being unable to keep a straight face when drunk.  

Well, that and sweets. She fished around in her belt pouch and popped yet another nougat in her mouth, toying with her cards. She fumbled through the fuzziness enveloping her for an idea to liven the evening. Drinking alone wasn’t much fun—she rarely drank with the crew on principle, to prevent overfamiliarity. Besides, half-drunk Carta were more trouble than they were worth. They already broke up a fistfight earlier over a card game. She needed something to distract everyone. Revka slammed her (losing) hand of cards on the table, causing several heads to turn.

“Mordhau, Verdin: break out the grease and a mud splasher. Let’s live a little.” She smirked at her cousin, pushing herself away from the table.

“You’re either bored to death, or slightly mad,” Edric replied, clearly amused. “Can’t tell which.”

“Both, sweet cousin, both… and perhaps the slightest bit tipsy.” She sauntered across the back room of their warehouse on the Docks. ‘Greywater Imports,’ it said on the door, which was true—the Cadash clan did deal in import/exports—but their merchandise’s origins were murky at best, and downright illegal at worst. Didn’t stop the Cadashes, however. Nothing did, not even the room spinning as Revka crossed it. 

Mordhau and Verdin reappeared, bearing a squealing nug and a pot of grease. The men cheered when she slathered the nug with grease and made a raunchy joke concerning the last occasion she’d used that much grease for something… something tall, horned, and incredibly muscular. Her hypothetical night with a greased qunari earned her some whoops and laughs.

“Five sovereigns to whoever catches this slippery bastard,” she called.

“Eight sovereigns say you can’t do it,” Edric declared from his seat in the corner, brow arched in challenge. “Too far in your cups, you are. The lot of you!”

She flashed a grin and let the nug loose. It squeaked, scurrying away. It was almost cute, if she ignored the creepy paw-hands and those beady eyes full of indignance. Her niece might like it for a pet, maybe. Her smile fell off her face as several Carta came barreling towards her and the nug. Revka stumbled back. “O-Oi,” she said, “oi! Slow down, you hear? Slow down—”

Alas, that she had forgotten the chair behind her. She backed right into tripping over it, and the others? Tackled by four hulking dwarva was not how Revka thought she’d die. She probably broke ribs from those fools, those squabbling, drunk fools too busy pommeling each other to focus. She crawled out from beneath them and rolled to her feet, jaw dropping.

It was pure chaos. Grown men and women—assassins, smugglers, deadly mercenaries alike—ran about the room like shrieking children, jumping over benches and faceplanting into the floor as they scrambled after the nug. Crawling under tables. Slipping on spilled drinks. Trampling fingers. Edric simply cackled from his corner, of course: the ‘Boss’ was far too reserved to join in the fun.

A flash of pink darted across her periphery. Revka dove under the table, pouncing on the nug with a triumphant ‘aha,’ but her grip was tenuous. The creature wriggled away, leaving her and her favorite gray shirt grease-stained past salvation. She cursed under her breath.

“Come back,” Revka exclaimed, crawling after it. It ran under the keg table, towards the wooden bars partitioning the rest of the room from the back office. If she hurried, Revka could catch it before it reached the bars. She reached out to snatch, it wriggled away. She tried again, but to no avail. She nearly had it when the nug slipped through the bars to the safety of the office.

“Damn it, get back here,” Revka said, reaching through the bars, her groping hands grasped for the nug cowering just out of reach. She looked about the room. What had begun as a nug hunt had devolved into a wrestling match in one corner, several discouraged dwarva drinking off their sprains, a few sleeping under the tables, and an earnest search in another part of the room. If she stood and opened the door, it would alert the others, and that wouldn’t do, not at all. 

Revka eyed the partition before her: the bars seemed wide enough apart for her to fit. She prided herself on her curves, but she wasn’t large; she could’ve squeezed through these bars, back in her twenties, and she hadn’t changed that much…

Revka Cordelia Cadash learned the hard way that she had, indeed, changed much more than she had realized over the years... and all the sweets she’d eaten had gone to her hips.

Her eyes went wide, the size of platters. The curves she had been so proud of not five minutes prior, it seemed, betrayed her in the worst manner imaginable. Revka sucked in her gut and shimmied, pulling herself through the bars inch by inch. She tripped on her own feet on the way out, landing on her broken ribs.

“Agh!” she bit her knuckle to stifle the shout. “Son of a nug-humping bastard, that hurt.” There was a soft coo above her head; Revka craned her neck to see the poor nug, trembling pitifully. Her heart softened.

“Frightened you well, didn’t we?” she asked, slowly extending her hand. The nug flinched.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, “I think you’ve gone through quite enough in the name of fun.” The nug slowly crept towards her, nuzzling her fingers. She scoffed a laugh.

“Come on, you lucky nug,” she said, gently scooping it up and making for the door. “You’ve made me a nice bit of coin; no soup pot for you.” She balanced the nug on her hip as one did a toddler while digging her key from her belt pouch. She unlocked the door and sauntered into the fray.

“Alright, pay up, fun’s over,” she called, mounting a chair and holding the nug aloft. “Wounded against the wall for treatment. The rest of you, clean up this mess. Verdin, fetch the healer, we have…” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Fourteen dwarva leaned against the heavy wooden crates and shelves, with injuries ranging from black eyes to sprained wrists and loose teeth.

Revka shook her head and sighed. “Make that two healers, Verdin. Come on, Lucky: you’re getting a bath.” The nug squirmed as she filled a bucket with water and found a mostly in-tact bar of Antivan soft soap she’d ‘borrowed’ from their stock. She plopped down in her seat at her cousin’s table.

“Did I hear you right? ‘Lucky?’ You named it?” Edric asked. “You broke your ribs for that thing.”

She shrugged, scrubbing the nug with a rag. “Won me eight sovereigns, though. Which, ahem…” she tapped the table expectantly. Edric grumbled and tossed the coin on the table, rolling his eyes at her glee.

“Lucky the Nug,” he mumbled. “You’ve definitely drunk too much.”

“Now, now: don’t bad-mouth your nephew, he’s a good little nug—” no sooner had the words left her mouth, did the nug upset the bucket and send a deluge of water cascading across the table and onto the floor. She grimaced when Edric picked up a sopping Wicked Grace card.

“Hang them up to dry,” she said, scrambling to salvage the situation. “They’ll be good as new—oh dear.” The poor Knight of Wisdom’s eyes had run, gray rivulets meandering down his cheeks as though he was in tears.

“‘Lucky.’ He’s lucky he’s not my sodding dinner,” Edric groused, collecting his soggy cards and departing for the office. Revka fell back in her seat, blowing out all her air.

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she most certainly did not expect this.  

[owlespresso]

royal treatment / emet-selch

Consort!Reader/Solus zos Galvus My ko-fi is still open for donations. I write headcanons and drabbles in exchange for donos. https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso Commissions are also open! https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/post/186937812263/commissions-are-open  SPICY CONTENT below the read more. You have been warned.

The scent of rich incense curls into the air and twines around your robed form as you navigate the royal chambers. Quietly do you tiptoe around the grand canopy bed and the plush leather couches. In the distance, the entrance to Solus’s personal bathing chambers stands. It’s slightly ajar, steam curling into the air from the slight crack, hinting that it’s in use.

It seems Solus wants you to bathe with him, tonight. As the emperor’s constant companion, you are accustomed to seeing sides of him that he reveals to no one else… including his unabashed nudity.

Does he long for a more sexual touch tonight? Or will he simply be satisfied by the lone press of your bodies together.

A thrill shocks up your spine as you near the door, gently pushing them open. 

Steam already rests heavy in the room, obscuring your vision momentarily. Its moist warmth settles against your skin. The smell of sweet roses and chamomile clings to the air and floods your senses. One of his highnesses’s favorites.

The chamber is wide and composed mainly of stark, white marble. A hollowed out, square space in the center acts as the main bath, flooded with crystal clear water. Pillars stand firm on either side of the tremendous room, thick and engraved with intricate, decorative patterns. 

Red and pink petals drift aimlessly over the bath’s surface. A small station to the right holds shelves of towels and toiletries, as well as a rack to hang one’s robe. A table resting in the corner hosts a bevvy of drinks to pick from. Had you been alone, you likely would have perused the selection. 

“And here I was, thinking you forgot about little old me.” The emperor’s voice rings soft and sultry over the open space. He rests against the far edge, elbows resting atop the finely cut marble. The muscular stretch of his torso is held above the water, ilms of perfect skin on full display. He is a man chiseled from only the finest of stones, every curve and sharp plane honed to strict perfection. Though his years on the battlefield have long passed him, it’s clear he still takes care of himself. 

It’s a devotion you can’t help but admire. 

“I could never,” you insist gently, a smile curling the corners of your lips upwards. Just the sight of his bare chest is titilating to you, finally freed from its usual prison of the royal regalia. The thick, flowing garments that usually cover him from head to toe are mercifully absent, letting you know you’ll be able to enjoy his company to the fullest, tonight. “I hope you’re well, my lord.”

You shrug your shoulders, allowing your silken robe to slide from your body and collapse to the floor, a puddle of sleek fabric. You’re completely bare underneath it, nipples already hard, cunt beginning to moisten in anticipation for what’s to come.

“As well as one can be after a long day of dealing with the oh-so-noble court,” he sighs languidly and rests his chin atop the back of his fingers. “I fancied my days on conquering and bloodshed to be over, but perhaps I should bring the troops down south to conquer the rest of Corvos. T’would be a splendid excuse for a vacation.” His gaze drags over the stretch of your body, lingering on the curve of your hips and the soft curve of your chest.

“An invasion as a vacation?” you inquire with a raised brow.

“A vacation in comparison to the dry monotony of conversing with rich fools.” Solus huffs out a laugh.

“Perhaps you should give yourself some time to relax before you commit to that plan,” you say with a soft smile, wading into the warm depths. The water sloshes around your waist, a few of the crimson petals sticking to your skin. “Allow me to help you to relax. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve been put through, today. I imagine count Flavius really put your nerves through the wringer. He was ranting for hours yesterday about the new taxation policy, like he doesn’t have enough money already.”

Upon your approach, he moves from his lofty, lounged position. The water shifts around his steep form as he steps in your direction, arms outstretched. You steer yourself immediately into his embrace, hands resting atop the broad stretch of his chest. The smell of rose water tied with natural musk surrounds you, all too familiar and comforting. 

“As much as I appreciate your willingness to serve your emperor, I would much rather take the lead this time round. Let us use this time to unwind… and wash away the wretched stench of countess Leonus’s perfume.” He wrinkled his nose, eyebrows furrowing into a scowl. His lips set into a pout which you were unashamed to admire as cute. 

He shakes his head as though to clear the memory of it, reaching towards a porcelain dish perched close to the ledge of the bath. He grasped a pale soap bar, meticulously cut into the shape of a rose. The needlessness of it made the corners of your lips curl into a wry smile. Every piece, every belonging was touched by the wealthy’s incessant need to make every object in their house unique and ornate.

He pays no mind to it, instead lathering up his hands as you finally come to stand before him.

“Please, take a seat.” A soapy hand presses against the small of your back, urging you into his lap. You rest upon his thighs, hands perched atop the broad curve of his shoulders. Though this is a dance you knew the steps to, you could not suppress a sharp intake of breath, nor could you fight the sheepish warmth that coalesced in your face. His gaze, keen and searching, roamed from your eyes to your chest, making a grand sweep over your top half. “Truly a sight to die for.”

He emphasizes his point by bringing his hands over your chest, calloused palms and fingers rubbing against your sensitive nipples. They raise to firm peaks within mere moments. Your eyes shut, lips parting around a soft gasp. He leaves white suds in his wake, spreading the sweet scent across your skin. 

“Idle flattery will get you nowhere, your radiance.” Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like it. His flattery, you immediately come to find, will get him wherever he wants to be.

“Oh? Is that why you’re already putty in my hands?” he says with a scoff, giving your hips a pointed squeeze. At this point, it’s more about teasing you than washing you clean. You bathe before your nightly visits to him, he knows this well, and has likely memorized your schedule for the lone purpose of teasing you at the most optimal times.

“Guilty as charged,” you acquiesce with a little laugh. You can already feel the slick gathering hot and heavy between your thighs, cunt drenched with your anticipation. “I can’t hide anything from you, your radiance.”

“At last you realize how futile it is to try and hide from your emperor,” Solus presses kisses up and down the expanse of your throat. There’s no doubt he notices every subtle twitch, every little noise you make. The water sloshes around your midsection as he urges you further atop his lap. The tip of his hardened cock kisses the softness of your cunt. 

His palms slide to cup your bottom, fondly squeezing each cheek. His thumbs caress the supple skin in slow circles, another sensation to add to the blossoming pile of them. It’s a series of delicate but purposeful touches that leaves you breathless and wanting, those long fingers mapping your sides and worshipping your body. No ilm is left unattended, your body relaxing muscle by muscle as he descends upon you. 

Any and all prospects of getting clean are washed down the drain as you lose your common sense to lust, eyes shutting, allowing yourself to get caught up river’s torrent. He’s the pull of the tides, the twining of the dark water around your legs, tugging you towards the soft soil at the bottom of the stream.

“Solus,” you sigh, fingers running through lush, ebony locks. You pull on the strands ever so slightly, feel an inkling of satisfaction as he softly moans against your collarbone. 

“Mmm?” he purrs in response. His long fingers curl around your right breast, giving it a pointed squeeze. Your back arches instinctually, gaze lifted towards the domed ceiling. His lips dance across the other, tongue rasping over your other nipple. He gently teases the firm bud with his teeth, before his lips wrap around it. The molten beginnings of your pleasure lap at your seated form, toes and fingers curling at the growing intensity.

He gives it a firm suck, the light press of teeth tearing a surprised gasp from you. He plays at the other with long fingers, squeezing and twisting it. He grants you no reprieve even as he releases your breast with lewd pop.

“Whatever is it that you want from me, my lovely? I cannot give you what you want unless you tell me.”

“Fuck me,” you plead, warm breath brushing against his ear. The shiver that rolls down his spine in response does not escape you. The tips of your nails run over his shoulders, causing goosebumps to spread over that vulnerable, pale skin. You every trick, touch him everywhere you can in order to elicit more of a reaction. If you know anything about Solas, it’s his unfortunate penchant for teasing. And at this point, when your mind is solely on pleasure, you’ll do anything to speed the process up.

“No, no,” he coos soothingly, “You’ll get your satisfaction later, my love. But for now, allow me to savor the privilege of your company.”

“All the flowery language in the world won’t satisfy me as much as your coc—” you feebly begin to reprimand him, in the middle of your weak scolding, he made a pointed roll of his hips. The heated length of his cock rolls exquisitely along your sodden folds. The sudden jolt of pleasure made your head loll back, a gasp wrenched from your weak throat. 

“Why waste your time on words when you could be making such beautiful noises for me?” Solus croons mockingly, his touch wandering back up to your chest. Calloused hands press to your hardened nipples, the course texture making your back arch all over again, too winded to offer a competent reply.

There’s little else you can do but squeal and croon and writhe atop him.

“There we go. Was that so hard?” he spares you no quarter, the honey-coated words striking hardest when you have almost no way to retort. His fingers find home between your legs, beginning to tease your arousal-slicked cunt. He barely presses into your entrance, eyes shut, head tilting to the side as you roll your hips. The hand not pulling pulse after pulse of arousal from the crux of your legs spans across the full size of your hip, holding you in place.

He drinks his fill of you, kiss after greedy kiss pressed to your soft lips. He pries your pleasure from you, works your body as a master musician works a violin, fingers dancing along thin strings. Your clit twitches with each fine note of pleasure, working you towards a warm release despite his intention to draw it out.

As though sensing the incoming climax, his touches halt. 

“Solus!” you near scream, fixing him with an incredulous stare. Your hands feebly press to his shoulders, your bottom lip caught underneath your teeth. Your hips immediately begin to wiggle and squirm, desperately attempting to grind atop one of his broad thighs. “Please, can we—”

“Hush, sweetling,” Solus cajoles, fingertips dancing up and down your sides. “You’ll receive your pleasure in due time. Bear with me until then. Trust that your beloved emperor will take care of all your needs.” 

How can you not, when he dominates you so sweetly? A shudder rolls up your spine, eyes sliding shut as you melt into his touches and embrace. He completes you, builds you up and tears down when he sees fit, a splendid cycle you immerse yourself in completely. 

It’s impossible to tell how long you spend in the baths. Your world zeroes down to him and him alone. 

He teases you to near orgasm at least twice more, leaving your pink folds agonizingly sensitive. Your cunt twitches when his fingers tease your inner thighs. Had the warm waters not surrounded your lower half, your cunt would have been utterly soaked with your juices. Your chest heaves up and down with each heavy breath, your torso slick with sweat.

“You’ve done so well,” Solus praises. His hands wander downwards, long fingers pressing to the soft flesh of your ass, urging your legs around his waist. Your heels press to the small of his back, weak arms clinging onto him for dear life. “A pitch perfect performance.”

The head of his cock presses snuggly against your sodden folds. It’s enough to coax another moan out of you, made to sing for his majesty as he makes the long slide in. His thick member throbs against your walls as he splits you open. His girth leaves not an inch of you wanting, pressing against every nook and cranny that demands his attention. He fills you to the brim, satisfies you in a way no man ever has or will again.

Tears blur the pale creams and yellows of your surroundings as he takes you. 

“Oh, what are those tears for?” Solus taunts. Plush lips brush against your wet cheeks. Fondness drips from his voice, a hand wandering south. “Are you really so desperate for release? You poor thing.” His voice curls with mock sympathy, as though he hadn’t driven you to this state in the first place. You have half a mind to tell him as much, but the sudden rock of his hips knocks the coherency out of you.

“Is that better?” His long fingers span the length of your hips, squeezing the flesh underneath his palms.

“Do you really have to ask?”–is what you want to say, but all you can manage is a hasty nod. Your eyes fall shut as he begins a sharp, relentless pace. The gentle caution he had spent so long teasing you with vanished in a mere moment, replaced by the domineering emperor foreign territories had grown to hate and fear. Each thrust is consummated by a new, overwhelming wave of pleasure. Your orgasm is brought closer at a faster rate thanks to prior teasing, made putty and limp in his hands.

Finally, at last, your orgasm washes over you. The space behind your eyelids goes bright white, your body trembling and writhing helplessly against the broad stretch of his chest. Your nails feebly catch against his snowy skin, blindly scrambling for purchase.

He fucks you through it, because of course he does. There’s not a drop of mercy to be found within his ragged thrusts. His hot breath brushes against the shell of your ear in the form of pants and growls, for even he cannot keep his veneer of kingly arrogance. He loses his rhythm, his hips jackhammering into your center. He blindly seeks his pleasure, and in a few moments, he finds it.

His hot essence coats your walls, cock hitting the deepest point inside of you. The sheer sensation of it makes every of your limbs quake, wrenches a gasp from your scream-raw throat. 

Silence settles between you, besides your own haggard panting. You pull breath after breath into your weary lungs. You haven’t even regained your bearings when he begins to stand, arms wrapped around you tight. The cold stings against your lower half as he lifts you from the water, easily stepping out of the bath from the elevated bench.

“Twas a grand performance,” he murmurs into your hair, pulling back to press a delicate kiss to your forehead. “I would say you’ve earned your fair share of rest. Allow me to take care of the cleanup.”

Easy, you think to yourself, thumping your head to rest against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, and the fatigue that has settled among inside your limbs drags you into a state of light dozing.

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Eleven (f.o)

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

warnings; swearing, MURDER, MURDER PLANNING, GORE

wc; 18.6k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The opposite of summer; is winter. While summer is hot, with a loud blazing sun, and endless sunscreen and sweat. Winter is cold, bundles of blankets, weeks spent sick in bed, and hot soup that burns your tongue, every night for dinner. You don’t like either of them. If you had to choose between them, you wouldn’t.

Both are miserable conditions to be in. If you’re hot, it’s nearly impossible to reverse. You’re stuck being hot, your skin is sticky, and no matter how much water you drink, you constantly feel dehydrated. There’s no air conditioning unless you’re rich or in school, and no matter how many layers you take off, you’re still hot. Cold baths are impossible.

As for the cold, it’s not hard to warm up, if you have the right things. Endless blankets, but also shivering beneath them, waiting for them to become warm. While the house will be hot during the summer, it’ll be cold during the winter. There is no heater, and your house has no fireplace. If you’re cold, your only option is to continue to put on layers until you’re as fat as a snowman yourself.

And this might seem overdramatic, but you’d rather die than sit in the heat or cold. So, you can imagine how miserable right now is. You want to curl into a ball, hold your knees to your chest while you beg the universe to warm you up. You don’t want to be freezing anymore.

You can’t move, though. You’re stuck on your back, in the endless darkness beneath your eyes. It’s as if you’re glued to the ground beneath you. You don’t know what it is, exactly. But it’s miserable. Cold, hard and unlikable. You’d rather take your chance with the heat right now.

It reminds you of all the times your brothers have thrown you off the fishing boats. Two bodies working together. One of them will grab an arm, the other a leg, and they’ll swing you back and forth, tossing you on three. You can’t hold onto them, no matter how hard you try. There’s no kicking yourself free, either.

You always go flying a few feet over the water, bracing yourself for the impact. The moment you break the surface, your body likes to freeze, the air being knocked from your lungs. You swim desperately to the top, trying to get back onto the boat. When you were a kid and your brothers did this to you in front of your father, they always got pushed in after you.

This time, there is no dad. You swim to the surface, ready and expecting their hands to be out for you. In fact, you think you can see their hands outstretched in your direction. You bring your arms over your head, boosting yourself as much as possible. You want them to pull you the last of the length, out and straight onto the boat, where a towel will be waiting for you.

But no matter how hard you kick, calves burning from the force, or push the water beneath you with your hands, you make no progress. Over and over, you kick, you push, you get nowhere. Why aren’t you breaking the surface? You’ve been swimming for years, you should be there by now.

Your throat burns from how long you’ve been holding your breath. It’s just a little further now, it has to be. You’re sure you can feel the warm air on your fingertips, before you sink back down. Is there something that you’re wearing? When you look down, you see a pair of large boots on your feet. You try and kick them off, they don’t move.

Looking back up, the hand is gone. Your eyes begin to sting because of the water, becoming blurry. Where are your brothers? Why haven’t they come to save you? You kick harder, gritting your teeth. You should be there! It feels like two hands grab onto your ankles, and when you see, there is someone there.

It’s dad, smiling up at you. He continues to pull you down, ankle to calf to knee. What’s he doing? He’s going to make you drown. You open your mouth to tell him, but realize your mistake when it’s too late. You’ve inhaled a mouthful of water. You reach to your throat, eyes widening when you inhale through your nose. A powerful headache hits your head.

You can’t breathe. And your dad just keeps pulling you down further. He needs to let you go! Does he want to kill you? Get off! They’re waiting for you up there! What will they do without you?

Your dad presses a finger to his lips, quieting your thoughts, “Shh.” he whispers, “It’s time.” When he places his hands on your eyes, it’s dark again, but there’s an obvious painful presence in your ribs.

You inhale through your nose, eyes flying open. Your fingers dance over the rockbed, searching for your knife. Where is it? Your entire body feels like you fell down thirty flights of stairs and then some. There’s a pounding headache, and with each deep breath you take, the stabbing pain in your ribs reappear.

There is no knife, no matter how hard you search. As you stare at the rock ceiling, trying to get a hold of your breath to calm down, you give yourself a moment. Wherever you are, there’s water. Loud, rushing water. A drop of water lands on your upper lip, beneath your nose, and you figure this is what brought the nightmare on.

It makes sense, you think. Your nose is burning like you inhale water. You reach your right arm up, it’s heavy and unpracticed, and lazily wipe your nose. The moment you brush against it, another pain is appearing, this time worse. You grimace, moaning, tears welling in your eyes.

You’re hurt then. In your nose, ribs and head, at least, there’s no telling what else. But why? What have you done recently that’ll bring this on? The last thing you remember is muddy, behind a wall that doesn’t want to burst. It was… you had just said goodbye to Blaire, and you’d gotten back to the cornucopia and…

Oh. 

Oh!

It was Lennox, he’d beaten you to near death, right? And you wandered for almost an hour, barely making it through the woods. You’d stopped next to the waterfall, and you were sure that you were going to die. You should be too, you shouldn’t be here right now. But you are, and that means someone found you.

You turn your head to the side, to the right where the rushing water is. You’re behind the waterfall, the water is falling down harder than it normally is. Outside is dark, like the sky is angry at you. Maybe it’s night? But a loud clap of thunder shakes the cave behind the waterfall, correcting your answer. It’s storming, again.

You don’t know how you got here. Blaire, maybe? Maybe he saved you and then came back for you at the waterfall. Found you and pulled you inside. You never mentioned the cave, though. Maybe he figured that out for himself. He’s been taking care of you the entire time. 

You look to the other side too, but you’re met with a fairly distant wall. There is another set up, the sleeping bag that you never thought you’d need. Actually, you’d forgotten that in the back of your backpack. It’s usually so hot, and even when it got cold, you weren’t cold enough for the sleeping bag.

And despite the things laying around, there is no person. You wonder how long you’ve been left alone for.

The ground shakes again, but the cave holds steady. You’re suddenly glad that you’re not outside. If you were out there, you’d probably frozen over already. Not that you aren’t currently freezing over right now, though.

The sound of splashing is enough to make you look over. It’s different from the waterfall, very distinct. You wish that Blaire had left you a knife to semi-defend yourself from outside forces. You wouldn’t be able to do it well, but at least you wouldn’t be left to die.

The figure on the other side of the water seems to be smaller than Blaire. Maybe the water is just warping his figure. It’s the only excuse you can think of. That, or Blaire has shrunk several inches since the last time you saw him. 

He moves through the waterfall, splashing water absolutely everywhere. You feel a whole lot of it on your legs, some on your arms. But you turn your head away to keep yourself from getting too wet. When you look over after the water stops flying, you feel your mouth go dry.

It’s not Blaire, it’s Finnick. His brown hair is pressed flat against his head now, dripping off water. He walks right past you. The only thing he’s wearing is his jeans, which are rolled up to his knees. It looks like hunger hasn’t been treating his body too terribly good, either.

He doesn’t realize you’re awake. You then realize that he’s got a silver trident in his hands, and leans it against the corner of the room. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The sponsors hardly ever gift weapons because they’re expensive. It must have cost them thousands, and it had to have been multiple people pitching in for it. If he’s had this the entire time, you can’t imagine the amount of people he’s been through because of it.

He crouches down in the corner, going through your old backpack. It isn’t until he’s pulling off the canteen strap, when you see that he had it on him. He uncaps it, puts a few iodine droplets in it, recaps and shakes. Finnick pulls out a few medical things from the backpack.

How do you tell him you’re awake without scaring the shit out of him?

You open your mouth to speak, but the moment you do, you can feel something dripping out of your nose. You reach up, dabbing your fingers in it, and it’s blood. Your nose is broken, how many times has it bled since yesterday?

You sniff on instinct, and it’s enough for Finnick to turn around.

“Don’t.” Finnick tells you, moving across the space and pulling your fingers away, “I’ll clean it, don’t mess with it.”

“Right.” you whisper, dropping your arm back onto the stone.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, “Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Both.” you answer, and he hums.

“Okay, well, we should move you, and then I’ll start a fire.” 

You watch him pull on a jacket, and when he turns to face you, his lips are blue. He’s probably cold because of the weather and the water combined. When he gets a fire going, the small space might clear up. You go to ask him how you can help move yourself, when he places two hands onto the fabric beneath you.

You grit your teeth, already not liking the way this is looking. The moment he pulls, tears spring in your eyes, and you reach up, grabbing onto his arm. He doesn’t stop, and once he gains momentum, it seems to lighten up. He moves you right next to his bedroll and then a little further.

The moment he stops, it’s a good feeling of relief. He rolls up the sleeping bag, and then looks at you, “Your stomach is still pretty open, I’ve done what I can with the sponsored stuff, but it’s not working very quickly.”

“Okay.”

“Your ribs are bruised.”

“Broken.” you correct, “My skin is bruised, you mean.”

“Yeah.” he says, “work with me, it’ll be a quick pain.”

He helps you up, the pain in your side hurts, he places the sleeping bag beneath your head, and calls that good. After that, he hands over the canteen and tells you to drink away. You drink measuredly, trying not to overwhelm yourself. You watch as he gets a fire started, and it’s warm almost immediately.

“Did it just start storming tonight?” you ask, he looks over, “It was super hot yesterday.”

“Yesterday? No, it’s been raining for three days straight.” he says.

“Three days?” you ask, that can’t be right.

“Yeah, today’s the third day. The day after I found you, the temp had dropped a whole ton.”

You shake your head slightly, “How long have I been asleep for?”

“Three days, at least.” he says.

“Oh.” is all you say, you close your eyes. Three days? “You’ve been taking care of me this entire time?”

“As much as I can, yeah. I’ve been forcing water in your mouth to keep you hydrated, and I’ve gotten two sponsors since I got you. All from Anchor, too. It’s weird, since Mags normally sends me the stuff.” he slides in more sticks, the fire grows, you can feel it better now.

You hum, “Anchor’s been focusing on me.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“The trident was a gift?” you ask.

“One of the couple that I got, yeah.” he gives you a grin, “it looks nice, huh?”

“Expensive.”

You go back to sipping your water. Finnick keeps going back to the backpack, so it looks like he’s been using it as a way to store things. You reach the end of the canteen before you realize it. When you tell him this, he shrugs and pulls out one of the others and slides it your way.

That’s right, you had Lennox and Trink and Allio’s canteens with you. You go ahead and take it easy on the second one too, “How many tributes are left?”

“Five. Me, you, District One and some other person.”

“Blaire?” you ask hopefully.

He’s shaking his head, “No, Blaire died on the day I found you. At first I had thought the cannon belonged to you, until his body was brought into the sky.”

“Blaire’s dead?” you breathe.

Oh no. He died for you. There’s no doubt that Lennox had beaten Blaire to shit before his death. Blaire probably came clean about how he stole your food and how he’s been with you the entire time too as a distraction. Make Lennox and Trink even more pissed to give you a headstart away from them.

He gave you a hug as a parting gift, didn’t he? He probably knew something like that was coming. It’s why he followed you all the way around. Why he was so upset when he saw you get stabbed. He thought he was in your debt, and he paid with his life.

You press your lips together, trying to keep yourself from crying. Finnick’s staring at you, obviously taking in your expression, “You saw him?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“For an entire week.” you choke, you didn’t want him to die for you. Not like that, “I was fishing for him so he could eat. You know how in District Four, people have a need to repay things?”

Finnick’s nodding, and he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s better this way, I think.” you tell him, “I didn’t want to do it. Who else died?”

“Boy from Seven, don’t know how. I killed the boy from Eight.” Finnick is sliding two bowls of what looks like rice and fish. He takes your water, puts in a bit of it into each bowl, and then hands it back.

He grabs the medical stuff, and comes to take a seat next to you. He starts with cleaning your nose, telling you that it’s definitely broken if you can’t tell for yourself. It’s crooked, angled to the left. He doesn’t want to reset it, and moves to your burnt palm.

“What caused this?” he asks, applying the burn cream.

“Stuck my hand in the campfire after I killed Allio.” you say, and he turns to you with wide eyes.

“You killed Allio?”

“And Eytelle, but she doesn’t count. Allio’s the reason why Lennox nearly killed me.”

“I don’t get it.” he says.

You give him a feeble smile, “I killed Allio two days before Lennox attacked me, did it during the night after he’d fallen asleep. On my way back to my bed, I stuck my hand into the campfire. Lennox and Trink woke up, I pretended I was asleep through the cannon. They woke me up, and we found him dead. Then I stuck my hand into the campfire a second time to give my hand an excuse.

“We went searching that night for a few hours for the tribute. Found nothing, went back and slept, the next day we looked again, still nothing. On the third day, I saw Blaire, and we came over here to refill on water and such. He walked me back to the cornucopia, and that’s when Lennox nearly killed me.”

“Basically did.” Finnick says, he’s turning your hand over in his, “What happened after that?”

“Blaire came around.” You feel your throat closing, “Neither of us were fast enough. Lennox stabbed me with my knife, Blaire tackled him and told me to run. When Trink tried to chase me, he took her down too.”

Finnick nods, “He definitely sacrificed himself for you. At least you didn’t die, because then you wouldn’t have a chance at going home anymore.”

“Obviously.”

“No, not like that.” Finnick says, he’s pulling up the end of your shirt, and you finally get to see your stomach. It’s a complete mess, but it probably doesn’t look as nearly as bad as it did a couple days ago, “On the first day of the storm, just before it started, the gamemakers said that two tributes could go home. You’re lucky I found you.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, and he looks at you.

He’s patient, repeating what he said, “The gamemakers said that two tributes from the same district can go home. They announced it the day after I found you in the trees. You’re lucky I found you.”

“I’m lucky you didn’t kill me.” You breathe.

“That too, I guess. Never really crossed my mind. I saw you laying there with all your stuff and knew I had to bring you back.” 

You get to go home. The gamemakers let two tributes go home once in a blue moon. There’s really only been two or three instances before this. It’s a random occurrence, they feel generous and they’ll bring two home.

One year it had been two career tributes, two tributes that absolutely hated each other, you think. It happened when your dad was a kid. They brought the tributes home, and even months later during their victory tour, they didn’t talk to each other. He had no clue why the gamemakers did it, but it happened.

You’re lucky. This is pure luck.

Instead of it just being you, you can bring Finnick too. The two of you can go home, see family and go to school with each other. You’ll be sharing those looks from kids your age. And you won’t have to feel sorry for his family, and vice versa for Finnick. 

Oh, you can’t imagine how Reed and Mox reacted to the news. After watching you nearly die, this must have been a relief. Finnick would have a better reason to keep you alive. Why would he bother to kill you, when the two of you can make it back? Mox probably cried his eyes out, and Reed likely wanted to do the same, but held it together until he was alone.

You let out a sputtered laugh, but don’t go any further because it hurts. There’s a smile on Finnick’s face too, you wonder how long he’s been keeping that in for.

“So what do we have to do?” You ask, “You said Trink, Lennox and someone else? Do you know who?”

“No, but I think she’s been around here lately. All I have to do is find her. A lot of tributes have been coming around here lately.” He says, “To get water and move on.”

“They were probably feeding off the pond.” You grit your teeth, eyes locked on his hands as he gets ready to clean the stab wound area.

“Pond? How far away?”

You don’t know if he’s doing this to keep you talking or not, but you decide that you might as well go along with it, “There was a deep pond, like an hour and a half from here. But it—“ he starts to rub the area, trying to be gentle. It hurts like a bitch, no matter how hard you grit your teeth or curl your toes, it does nothing, “—it drained. There was a mutt in there too.”

He hums, and when he finally stops with the rag, your skin is much cleaner. It doesn’t end there, you watch him dig through the first aid kit, how he pulls out a bandage and rubbing alcohol. You can feel the tears spring in your eyes already.

“How many times have you done this?”

“At least twice a day. It’s much easier when you’re not awake, though.” Finnick laughs, but the expression fades, he looks over at you, “Try not to make too much noise, okay?”

“Finnick, wait.”

“Can’t, gotta do it before you can chicken out. Hold still.”

“Too late, I’m—“

He doesn’t listen, placing one hand on your stomach, spreading the wound open. You feel nauseous, staring into it. But even worse when you realize what he’s going to do. You wish that you were passed out still.

He dumps some of it on your upper body, and lets it run down into the wound. The further it travels, the more it stings, and the second that it hits the stab wound itself, you’re seeing stars.

“All done.” Finnick says, as if it’ll make you feel better. He applies some cream to it, similar to the one you used for your back. He places the bandage right over the wound, and presses down the sides to make sure that it won’t come up, “Lunch time.”

He cleans up, placing everything into the backpack. While he does this, you peel up your bloody shirt to get a better look at your ribs. The more you bring it up, the more it hurts, it’s stuck to your skin.

It’s a reddish-purple color, spread all over your left side. You don’t dare to touch it, you know the moment you do, it’ll send you into a spiral of pain. You pull your shirt back down all the way after that. All you wanted to do was see.

“Here, it should be fairly warm.” Finnick’s handing over a bowl of the rice and fish. Sticking out of it, is a spoon.

You eat slowly, not really inhaling it. Finnick’s already setting out another bowl before you have time to ask. Beside it is raw fish, which makes the whole cave smell like The Square, but there’s no complaints in your mind. It reminds you of home.

“Do you know what time it is?” You ask, carefully chewing on the fish.

“Late noon or later.” Finnick says, “I’d go out there, but I’d get wet again. I’ll check the sky in a bit.” 

You push yourself up from the roll. Finnick hardly pays attention, squeezing out the water from his hair. He sits at your feet, back to the opposite wall. The further you push yourself, the more it hurts.

“I’ve got your knife and stuff too.” He says, “I’ve been taking the knife with me when I go out.”

“I saw.” 

Another clap of thunder shakes the cave, you finish off your food and set the bowl aside. You give yourself the last push, sitting up. It hurts, you might be skinny now, but the way your stomach rolls onto itself is painful.

You wince, pausing. So much for taking it easy. You want to get to your feet, take in the real damage. You’re hoping you won’t need to use the sword as a cane anymore.

“Help me up.”

“Where?” Finnick asks.

“To my feet, where else?” You say.

Finnick looks like he’s about to object, then shrugs. He gets to his feet, and then comes over. He kneels down, “Once I start, I’m not going to stop.”

“I hope not.” You say, and he grins a little. 

He grabs a hold of your elbow with one hand, and wraps an arm around your back. You use the wall to push yourself up with your other hand. And working together through the pain, he manages to get you up.

“Want me to let go?” He asks, you’re leaning on him, trying to get the pain in your whole body to subside. The headache has become worse.

“Give me a moment.” You tell him.

It’s not nearly as bad as you thought it was. When you were going through the forest, you could feel every little movement. Every step you took, shook your entire nerve system like an alarm. A warning for you to stop before you push yourself too far. But to be fair, you did have a knife sticking out of your stomach.

“Okay, let go.” You tell him, and he carefully removes his hands. He’s still got them hovering, though. And while you walk around the cave, the pain is bad, but you’re getting used to it. It’s not like four days ago.

“So?” He asks.

“Feels good to be on my feet.” You smile, “Better not push it.”

He helps you back onto the floor, and you give him his sleeping bag back. You can sit up against the wall, it doesn’t hurt. Finnick gives you that second helping of food, and you tell him to not give you a third. You’re halfway through the small bowl before realizing you’re full.

“I’ll finish it.” Finnick offers, and you pass it over without complaint.

While he eats, you go ahead and decide that you’re willing to listen to what he’s been doing this entire time. He pauses, shrugs, and then goes back to eating.

“I was with Thyme after the bloodbath. She followed me into the woods. I thought Blaire was right behind me too, since he was so close, but when Thyme and I stopped, he wasn’t there. And Verda—I didn’t even see her.”

“She was next to me.” You tell him, “Died in the bloodbath, didn’t even make it to the cornucopia.”

“One of you guys?” He asks, you shake your head, “Oh, well, I can’t say I’m surprised. She did say that she wanted to go into the cornucopia to gather things before running. We told her not to. Anyway, after that we just stayed here, I got my trident and Thyme and I tied nets and drew in tributes to trap. Until the Eight girl came along.

“She got a hold of Thyme, had a sharp rock and slit Thyme’s throat just before I got her. And then I had to get Thyme too so she wouldn’t bleed out for hours.”

“How many times have you done that?” You ask, “It’s actually pretty smart.”

“I know.” He winks, you roll your eyes, “Plenty of times. It works pretty well when you have enough rope and all that.”

“Huh.” You yawn, and Finnick is raising his eyebrows.

“You have to be kidding me. You’ve been sleeping for three and a half days and you’re tired?”

“Sorry. I’ll try to keep awake. Must be nice to have company again.”

Finnick shrugs, “Nice to see you awake, that’s for sure. You were half-dead when I found you. I didn’t even get inside the waterfall to start when the first sponsor gift came through. You must be important.”

“You too, do you see the trident?”

He laughs, and you do too, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

“Go ahead and take a nap. I’ll wake you up for dinner. Don’t be surprised if I’m not here when you get back.”

“Gotcha.” You slide down the wall, and carefully into the sleeping bag. Finnick is helpful and zips up to your chin. You can’t roll over onto your side or anything, so you’re stuck on your back.

You think it’s going to take forever for you to even feel groggy. But you’re drowsiest than you thought. The moment you close your eyes, you’re slipping off into the darkness.

The only reason why you wake again is because of a cannon, clear as day in the middle of hell’s worst storm. You jolt onto your elbows, the pain returns in your abdomen at the sudden movement. There is no Finnick in the cave, but he’s left you the knife.

You reach for it, fingers wrapping around the familiar pattern of the hilt. You continue to push yourself up and onto your butt. To your right, the fire is smoldering, no longer lit. There’s smoke coming from it, and you fan it away from your face.

Someone’s died, and it’s still not you. It’s dark outside, darker than it was before you fell asleep. It has to be night now, then. It’s the only real explanation. As you wait against the wall, you calm your heart.

It’s not that serious. Four people could have died out there, and you don’t think one of them is Finnick. He’s been able to kill… who knows how many tributes so far, he can probably take care of himself. 

Thirty minutes pass, and then another fifteen. You want to go out and stand in the rain to see if you can find anything, but you’ll only get yourself killed. It’s another thirty minutes, and still no splashing. However, you can hear the anthem start.

“Shit.” You breathe, what if you are alone? You have to know.

You push yourself up the wall, ignoring the wobbling in your legs and the continuous pain in your stomach and ribs. The anthem hits the part where they typically show the tribute. You zip up your white jacket, and pull the hood over your head. You turn your back to the water, and go through it.

Tons of water falling onto your head while you’re already weak, is a horrible feeling. You nearly fall over, but manage not to. The moment you can look into the sky, you can see the blue outline. The rain is too heavy, you’re sure that it’s supposed to have ended by now, but it’s still there.

And then there’s a break in the rain, clear enough for you to see. It’s the District Five girl. She’s gone. The anthem is then drowned out by a flash of lightning, followed by a long rumble of thunder. If you were to take a guess, it had to have hit somewhere near the cornucopia.

It’s cold, and you know you should get back inside. But then you see Finnick moving through the rain, canteens over his shoulder, holding onto a small line of fish. He looks up to see you, and his pace slows down some. He motions for you to go back inside, and you don’t wait for him to do it twice.

Again, you back up through the waterfall. When you get inside, you toss the knife onto your sleeping bag and peel off the thin jacket. It did its job against the rain, but the waterfall has ruined it. At least your shirt isn’t soaked, but everything else is. You squeeze the jacket free of as much water as you can before moving away from the entrance.

Finnick comes through a couple seconds later, again getting water everywhere. He’s got no jacket on, though. Shirtless again, his hair pressed against his head. He looks exactly like he had when he came into the cave when you first woke up. Only now, he’s carrying a lot.

“Sorry.” You say, Finnick’s shrugging.

“Who’d you see? I honestly thought it was you for a moment.” He says, “Can you get the fire started too?”

“The girl from Five.” You grab the fire starter from your backpack. It’s still tucked into the pocket you first stuck it into. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually there’s a spark.

One by one, you place the sticks into the campfire. The fire grows, enough to get the area to feel warm again. You make sure not to sit on the sleeping bag, not wanting to get that wet too. Finnick slowly dries himself off, pulls on his dry jacket and hangs your wet one up.

“You want my shirt?” He asks.

“What?”

“My shirt, and the spare pair of socks?” He holds them out, and you cup your hands.

You catch both, pull his shirt over yours, and then get to taking off your wet socks and shoes. Finnick pulls his own dry socks over his feet, but ignores his shoes. His lips are blue again, and you think that his ears are turning a different shade too. It’s a wonder how he isn’t freezing all the time.

He goes ahead and sets out the bowls again, rice and fish. He dumps in some water, and then places them next to this fire. Finnick seems to have a routine. After he gets the bowls out, he drops in iodine into the water bottles, shakes them, and then sets them aside.

He picks the scales off the fish for a while, not saying anything. You ring out your hair, doing your best not to get it into the fire. With how wet your jeans are, you’re sitting in a puddle of water. It’s going to take forever for it to lighten up.

Finnick yawns, and then looks over to you, “Anything hurting? It’s easier to ask now, since you’re awake.”

“How many times did you talk to yourself while I was out?”

“Too many.” He smiles.

You do too, “I’m fine. It only hurt when I got up.”

“Obviously.” Finnick says, “I don’t think we’ll be getting anymore sponsor gifts. We’re down to the final four.”

“And of course it has to be Trink and Lennox.” You shake your head, “Kind wish it was Allio and Eytelle.”

“Why?” Finnick asks.

You breathe out a laugh, “They were the weak ones, compared to Trink and Lennox. Even I’m better than them.”

“Well, you’re alive. And they were dumb enough to get killed by you… you did say both of them, right? Tell me everything you’ve done so far. I never got to ask.”

You sigh, because you don’t want to relive every single person you’ve killed. But go ahead and tell him it all in vague detail anyway. You pay special attention to the times you watched Lennox and Trink take out other tributes, which was mainly during the bloodbath. You didn’t get to watch either of them kill Blaire.

Finnick seems particularly interested in how you killed the boy from Eleven, Horace, and he almost can’t believe it, “You’re telling me that little old you—“

“Okay!”

“—managed to take down him?”

“It was easy and you’re not going to believe me.”

“I don’t believe you now!” He laughs, but listens anyway. He seems impressed, and every now and then, he’ll pitch in to tell you what cannons belonged to him.

By the time you reach the first time you went to the pond with Allio, you two have narrowed down a lot of people. You tell him that you ended up killing the thirteen year old boy from Twelve. And he tells you that it’s okay, because he got the girl a day or so later.

Somewhere in the middle, you two begin to eat, and don’t go for more. Finnick is obviously tired, so you wrap it up as much as you can without leaving out details. The only time you get gory again, is when Lennox tried to kill you. Finnick agreed that Blaire had died for you, and then you’re left with the sound of rain and rushing water.

“I’ll take watch. You go ahead and sleep. I’ve had plenty of time.”

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod, “I’ll wake you if anything important happens.”

“Thanks.” He cleans up, sets everything into the backpack and passes a water bottle off to you. He tells you to let the fire die out, hands over the knife, and then curls up into his sleeping bag. He zips it up to his chin, rolls over onto his side. And within seconds, he’s asleep.

He must’ve been watching over you during the night while you’ve been out. You don’t blame him for being exhausted. At some point, you figure that since he isn’t actually awake anymore, it won’t hurt to shed your wet jeans, since it’s beginning to make you colder. 

You squeeze out the water, and lay them out next to the fire to dry. After that, it’s just a waiting game. You rub your thighs to keep them warm, and never your hands around the fire. You’re cold, but this is not nearly as bad as what some tributes have gone through.

The rain seems to lighten up sometime during the night. You somehow manage to get your semi-dry jeans on without causing a ruckus. The Stone where you’ve been sitting for hours has dried, and the fire is running on embers. You sit on your sleeping bag now, away from the mist of the waterfall, and continue to watch. 

The sun comes up, it’s warped through the waterfall. The rain seems to be continuing, but it’s not as monstrous as before. Finnick gets up on his own, and insists for you to sleep while he’s out. Before he leaves, he asks if he should be worried about Lennox or Trink coming up this way.

“If they were smart, they should have been in the shack, which is a day’s walk from here. We should be fine.”

“Oh.” Finnick says, and then straightens up, “Oh, so the cornucopia is empty?”

You can see the gears turning in his head, “I wouldn’t test it.”

“How are you feeling?”

You shake your head, “If we get caught in a fight, I’d be worthless.”

Finnick shrugs, “Like you aren’t now? At least then you’ll be able to stretch your legs. Let’s apply more healing stuff and get the hell out of here.”

Of course he’s not listening. You can’t really complain, because it’s a good opportunity. If you’re wrong though, the both of you are dead. You apply the healing cream, and while Finnick is doing this, he promises as soon as the two of you get back, you’re free to sleep.

He shows you what he does when it comes to leaving the cave. You roll up your jeans, and take off your socks and shoes. Your jacket is fairly dry, so you pull that on. What’s left is finding a place for all your stuff. The canteen gets placed beneath your jacket, knife tucked into your belt. Finnick grabs a hold of his trident, and your sword, and then moves through the waterfall.

Again, there is no jacket on him. After you get through the waterfall, you watch him go through the water. It’s only knee-deep, so your jeans shouldn’t get too wet if they’re pulled to your thighs. You take your time with moving through, since the water is resistant, and you’re not the strongest person alive at the moment.

Finnick gets his socks and shoes on before helping you. Then, he stops, “Can I get my shirt back?”

“Oh, sure.”

Once he’s comfortable, and you are too, you bring him through the woods and towards the cornucopia, since you’ve got the path down more than he does. He says that he hasn’t been to the cornucopia since the first day, and he didn’t really plan on coming back.

But if you think that there’s no one there, you two might as well try. In half an hour, you’ve made it. You bring him around the trees and to the front so you two can look into it, while also being concealed. And lo and behold, it’s empty.

“Go.” You tell him, and the two of you move across the sand and into the cornucopia.

The sand is wet from how much water has been coming through the arena. It’s easy to walk through, despite it squishing beneath your shoes. Finnick says that he’ll take watch, you just have to find everything that he lists. You agree. You know the cornucopia better than he does.

You grab a new backpack, and slowly move through the boxes. He wants more shirts and jackets and extra jeans. You can only do so much, getting about half of it, while also throwing in a couple of pairs of socks. He wants dry food, you do your best. It looks like Trink and Lennox have gone through the bulk of it.

While you’re going through, you’re piling everything else into the middle of the building. Finnick doesn’t say anything about it for a while, until he’s watching you toss out the medical stuff, too, “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to set it on fire.” You tell him, “If we can’t have most of it, then they can't either. And what are they going to do about it? Nothing. They’re miles away.”

He laughs, liking the idea. You fill up two backpacks before you two have called it good. Finnick takes them both, since they’re heavy, and he’s in the best shape. You dig through the boxes until you find a fire starter. It takes a couple of tries, and you’re sure that it’s not going to light because of the rain.

But then a shirt catches on fire, and it’s downhill from there. You dump in some more rubbing alcohol, and the flames spread. You laugh, backing up towards Finnick. Lennox and Trink might be pissed now, but it’s going to be worse when they see they have nothing left. In the middle of the pile is the dried food that they must have been saving.

You and Finnick don’t stick around after that. You bring him right back around towards the waterfall. You’re sure that he’s going to make you carry everything inside yourself and go to do whatever he wanted to do earlier, but he’s going inside.

He starts up a fire as soon as the two of you get inside, with the new backpacks leaned up next to the first one. He seems happy, there’s a smile on his face while he gets the room warm again, “Go ahead and sleep now, (Y/n).”

You don’t argue, sliding into your sleeping bag. He zips it up like he did the first time, and you have no time to complain about your wet clothes. With the fire going, and the eventual warmth of the sleeping bag, you’re cozy and tired in no time.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Finnick’s cold hand placed against your forehead. When he realizes that he woke you up, he pulls his hand away, “Are you feeling okay.”

“Yeah.” You yawn.

“Are you sure?”

As you get to sitting up, unzipping the sleeping bag while you’re at it, you can’t seem to think of what he means. You feel fine, you’ve got a headache, but you had one yesterday. Today’s just feels a little worse, and it’s probably because of what Lennox did.

“Just a headache.”

Finnick nods, “Okay, well, your forehead is hot so,” he digs through the first aid kit and pulls out a small bottle. When he shakes it, it rattles. Dumping the contents into his hands, it’s pills, “Fever pills.”

“Oh, sure.” you hold out your hand, and he drops two in. After you take them, he feeds you. You eat less than you did last night for dinner.

Finnick’s asking if you’re hungry anymore, and you’re shaking your head, “Maybe you’ll be hungry later. You did just wake up. Are you still tired?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, well I’m going to take a nap so I can take watch tonight. You think you’ll be okay?”

You give him a look, “Yes, Finnick.”

He laughs, and curls up inside of his sleeping bag. You get back to sitting up against the wall. The fire is going, so you’re still pretty warm. You press your hand to your forehead as if you’ll be able to tell if you’re hot or not, but there’s no giveaway. You feel like you normally do.

You trust Finnick. He’s brought you this far, why would he kill you now? You’re just curious how he knew that you’ve got a fever going. It couldn’t have been obvious, right?

A couple of hours pass of you sitting up, staring into the fire, trying to keep it going because of how cold you are. You keep an eye on the supply of sticks that you’re using. You saw that Finnick had picked up a lot of them on the way back here after the cornucopia. He’s got the sticks laid out to dry, and you’re sure that they’re pretty damp still.

You give up on the fire, daring to scoot only so much closer and you curl up inside of your sleeping bag. The longer you lay there, the more you feel tired after all. You decide to give Finnick as much time as you can offer before waking him up. He doesn’t seem mad, only puzzled.

You eat a little more of the fish and the remaining rice before calling it good. The two of you work together to clean your stomach wound again, and Finnick doesn’t want to just let you lay down after that.

“There’s something wrong, (Y/n). How much do you normally eat?” Finnick says, “Because like three quarters of rice and fish is not enough. And it’s a small bowl.”

You shrug, “I’m not that hungry.”

“Except you should be, and you know this. I can see it in your face.” Finnick says, falling back, he criss crosses his legs, “You were asleep for three and a half days, and ate only two bowls, you should be starving right now.” he pauses, “You’re sick, I know it.”

“How could I be sick?”

“Maybe the weather,” he says.

“But it would have settled in by now, right?”

“Okay, the thing is, it has. You have a fever, you’re not eating much, what else? You said you have a headache? That’s the start of a cold, I think.”

You don’t say anything. You’d like to say that it’s not a big deal, and you’ll wait it out. Until you remember that it’s the Hunger Games and nothing is ever what it seems.

“What’s in the first aid?”

“Bandages and fever pills. I don’t think there’s painkillers or anything.”

“What about the stuff I grabbed from the cornucopia?”

He’s shaking his head, digging through your supply. It’s not much, nothing that would keep you from getting sick. If you are coming down with a cold, you’ll have no choice but to fight through it. Finnick said it himself, there’s no chance of sponsors anymore. Not with four tributes left in the games.

You press your hand to your forehead, sighing, “I’ll take two more fever pills, then. And we’ll see how I am tomorrow morning.” 

“Or later tonight.” he says, but hands them over, “Let’s replace the bandage while we’re at it.”

“Sure.” you agree.

You take the pills, and he pulls the new bandage off as fast as he can. Your skin hurts around the area, as it will. But there’s not much you can do about it. You put on the new bandage, and Finnick insists on you drinking water and forcing the last bit of food down.

After that, you’re being tucked right back into the sleeping bag. When you complain about being cold, Finnick throws a blanket over the top of the sleeping bag to help. It doesn’t do much at all, but after a while, you begin to feel something.

Finnick says that he’s going to go and get more wood, because at this rate, you’re going to be through the supply in no time. You try to apologize, but he shrugs you off and leaves. You spend a while staring at the ceiling, thinking about how miserable it’s going to be to survive while you’re sick.

You’re going to be weak, and since your immune system is already battling a lot when it comes to your almost-closed stomach wound, broken ribs and who knows what else, it’s not going to take a lot to kill you. At this point, something as simple as blood poisoning will kill you.

You guess that all it takes is one major event to spin the games on someone. You were doing so well, until you killed Allio. Two days later, you’re being beaten to near-death. And then again, things turned when Finnick found you, and now you’re sick. It’s a never-ending rotating platform for you.

It sucks too. You’re on the last burst of the games, and you’ve come down with a cold? Out of all things to get, you’ve got an illness that is typically curable at home. How pathetic. Talk about an unpredictable ending, you’ve never seen someone die of a runny nose.

It’ll be a first, and it’ll be sad. Unless Finnick or your sponsors can somehow muster up something to get you back in, you’re going to slowly die. Oh, and you can't even imagine the looks your brothers will get, years after you die. (Y/n) Gallows, fifteen years old, scored a ten, got into the career pack, killed five tributes and then died of a cold.

A smile slowly spreads over your face, before a snort comes from you. It hurts, especially in your abdomen, but who cares anymore? It’s going to hurt until you win. In the Capitol, they’ll fix everything wrong with you. Maybe even the brain damage too, considering that you’re laughing at your own demise.

Or maybe it’s the hysteria. It’s hard to tell anymore. 

You fall asleep before Finnick comes back from gathering more wood. 

In the morning, you can’t bring yourself to sit up in the sleeping bag when Finnick wants you to eat. The thought alone makes you gag, and a wave of nausea settles in afterward. He tries to ask for you to take fever pills if you’re not going to eat then, since your forehead is hot enough to cook anything on it. But the idea of anything going down your throat is a no.

On the contrary to your very hot forehead, is your very cold body. No matter how many times Finnick places a new blanket on top of you, or readjusts to make it easier to feel, it does nothing. You’re still cold, your teeth are still chattering, and you’re shivering. Finnick suggests the idea of getting into the sleeping bag with you, because of his body heat.

Until he realizes that it’s not the body heat that’s the problem. It’s the fact that your body thinks it’s cold. You’re sick, it doesn’t matter how many blankets, or who lies next to you, you’re always going to be cold. So, he settles for watching over you for a while, going back and forth on things.

He comes back over, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead, he pales. He presses his lips together for a while, opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, and then closes it again. A frown forms over his face, and he pulls his knees to his chest, staring into the fire. You watch the flames dance in his eyes.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that you aren’t getting any better. You can feel it yourself. He was right last night, he knew that you’d only get worse. But it’s not like either of you have much of a choice. Your mentors are done with sponsored gifts, there’s four tributes left in the games. What could buy a whole feast and then some on the first day, will buy you a packet of crumbs today.

And that’s just for food, it only gets worse with the more important things, like weapons and food. They gave Finnick's trident at the perfect time. Had they waited, he would have nothing but a knife to defend himself with. You’re sure he could learn the sword, because anyone can learn anything, but he won’t be good at it. Not as good as you are.

You have only a couple of options, and none of them are good. You can wait it out, the sickness you mean, and hope that it’ll go away in a couple of days. Normally when you get sick back home, it’s a gradual thing, it’ll hit the dip, and then go right back up. But if this is day… two? Three? You can’t imagine what the future will be like.

Because despite not doing anything this entire morning, not even sitting up, you’re exhausted. If you really wanted, you could just close your eyes and fall asleep. Even with the pain in your stomach, and the raging headache that’s going on inside your head. The slightest movement of your arms for gesturing, will have you aching.

So, waiting it out isn’t the best option, and neither is banking on a sponsor gift to save your life. And if waiting it out won’t kill you, the gamemakers boredom will. When there’s nothing going on inside the arena, they start to get creative. And you’ve seen what their idea of creative is, multiple, multiple times.

However, it’s not all bad. So far, every year, the gamemakers have introduced something called The Feast. It normally takes place in the cornucopia, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be food. The gamemakers normally choose something that the tributes need, which could be anything.

It could be food, when the food in the arena is getting scarce. You’ve watched tributes in the past fight over an apple. Something so small, but the tributes were all desperate for anything to eat. Or, it could be weapons, for the tributes that couldn’t get anything during the bloodbath. When they do that, though, it typically introduces a second bloodbath.

They would have done that earlier in the games, though. When there are about ten tributes or less left in the games. It’s to speed up the process of the tributes dying, and offer entertainment. Most of the time, the gamemakers don’t announce what’s going to be at the Feast, they just say it’s going to happen.

There’s also medicine, something that you need. You’ve hardly seen them do anything with it before. Not only is it expensive, but the chances of one of the other tributes needing it is low. Unless Finnick is also sick, and he’s not showing symptoms just yet. Unless Lennox and Trink are sick, of course.

Because you could very well be sick because of the bacteria in the pond water. With how deep and dirty the water was, and later the mutt coming around. And you were eating the fish you were catching too, so there’s plenty of reasons for you to be sick because of it. It takes a while for bacteria to really kick in, but then again, the gamemakers could have released one that was way beyond mutated.

And with that logic, it would mean you haven’t been cleaning your water correctly. Which isn’t true at all, you’ve been following what the survival expert told you on the first day. Five drops of iodine for every quart of water, and extra if you think the water is bad, and you let it sit for thirty minutes after.

You’ve been in charge of water since the first day, basically. And actually, now thinking about it, Trink and Lennox should’ve gotten sick earlier on, if it’s that case. The first day, they gulped down the water without waiting the recommended amount of time. So something isn’t right.

The only time you’ve stopped being in charge of water, is when Finnick has been taking care of you. He’ll clean the water, and give it back to you. And you’re sure it can’t be desintry either, since your insides would be turned inside out by now. You and the others have been careful where you do your business.

So, it only leaves one real option, which seems so far away with the condition you’re in. You win the Hunger Games with Finnick. If you win, it’s an automatic ticket to the medical center. The Capitol will do everything they can to fix you back to what you looked like before the games. No broken nose, no broken ribs, no stab wound, no sickness. Pristine condition. Although, they can’t do much when it comes to the weight you’ve lost in here.

If you had thought of that idea yesterday, you’d be so on top of it. But right now, you can’t even sit up, let alone think straight most of the time. You’d rather just stay here and not push yourself anymore than you have to. One bad move and you might as well end up dead.

Then again, it’s not like you have much of a choice. It’s end the games today or tomorrow, or be at the mercy of the gamemakers. And honestly, at this point, you’re not sure if you need anything else from them. You’ve come across more than your fair share of mutts, it doesn’t need to happen again.

“List your symptoms.” Finnick asks, “Please.”

You close your eyes, it’s hard to think with your head throbbing so badly, but you do your best, “Fever, stomach pains, headache, not hungry, aches, chills and tired.”

It sounds like any other cold. But there’s something wrong with this one. You’ve missed something down the line. You haven’t been around anyone that’s sick, recently. Blaire, Lennox and Trink all drank the same water you did. And none of them got sick, and they weren’t acting like they had a cold, either. You got sick after Finnick found you.

Maybe it’s the freezing temperature of the cave? That can get someone sick, right? Except, all the times back home, with no heater or AC never got you sick, it was always someone from school that would give it to you. And you’d end up in bed for days, with nothing nearly as bad as this.

Okay, so maybe it’s not a cold either. The incubation is well past its due date. What else can it be?

Fish, possibly. If it’s undercooked or if it has bacteria on it--which is killed by the heat. Of course, you can eat fish raw, but you always got sick because of it, and learned your lesson after the third time. So, now you make a point of cooking your food thoroughly, and if that means burning it, then so be it. You haven’t eaten anything raw in the arena, not even the squirrels.

Another thing knocked off the list. You said this happened after Finnick found you, so maybe he is asymptomatic? It makes a little bit of sense, since no matter how many times he goes through the cold, waterfall water, he never really shows how cold he is. His lips turn a purplish-blue, but that happens to everyone.

And he would have at least one symptom, right? God, you don’t know. He’s the one that went through all the survival stuff, shouldn’t he be thinking about this more than you? When you open your eyes and look at him, there’s a crease between his eyebrows, and he’s definitely got a thinking look on his face. It’s nice to know that he’s at least trying.

You can’t really be mad at him, though. You’re the one that’s sick, you know your body better than he does. The best you’re doing right now is narrowing down the possibilities, maybe if you get down to it, you’ll feel better. Because at least knowing the sickness is better than dying to an unknown illness.

If it’s not food, because you refuse to eat raw fish--or raw anything, actually. Then that means it’s water. The bacteria has to come from somewhere. You wash your hands beneath the waterfall each time before you eat, and you dry them on the shirt so the water isn’t getting anywhere.

There has to be an instance where Finnick didn’t properly clean the water, then. As far as you know, you’ve watched him clean the water, the only exception being when you’re sleeping. But you’re not consuming water while you’re sleeping, so it can’t be any of those times. Before that.

Yesterday you had two bottles, both had been waited thirty minutes for. The first one was when you had left the cave with Finnick to go down to the cornucopia, you filled up a canteen, and it wasn’t until later into the walk when you finally began drinking. And later when you had come back, Finnick filled them up again, and you didn’t drink it until later that night.

And then there’s the day you woke up. You remember drinking down two of them before giving your body a break. The first one was fresh, Finnick had just gathered it. You watched him drop the iodine into it, though, and he shook it and set it aside for later. The second one had been in the backpack for who-knows how long.

“Help me sit up.” you say, and Finnick moves without question. He pushes the blankets off, and unzips the bag. Then, he’s carefully guiding you upright.

The headache seems to worsen for a moment because now the blood is rushing. But you ignore it for a moment, closing your eyes and pressing your face into your hands. In the two and a half days you’ve been awake, when did you drink unclean water? Or maybe you weren’t awake for it? Finnick said he’d been trying to keep you hydrated.

It’s not right, you don’t think it happened while you were asleep. You were just fine on that first day. You would have had a fever if it had happened then, and with how you were just getting into your problem yesterday, it had to have been the first day. Which bottle, though? 

The first one you drank, or the second one? The first was from the waterfall, the second probably from the lake. The second one tasted just fine though, and it would have been long past the clean date. As for the first one, it had just been taken out. The harder you squeeze your eyes, the more you see white spots.

Oh. Oh, wait. It has to be the first one. It was fresh from the waterfall, he dropped the iodine droplets into the canteen, and then you got up and distracted him from waiting. He handed that canteen over like it was nothing, and you were so thirsty that you hadn’t even thought to wait.

“Okay, well, it’s a water bacteria.” you tell him, he lifts his head, “I don’t know the name of it just yet, but really, all untreated bacteria can be deadly.”

He pales, again, and hums as an answer. He seems lost in his head for a moment, and you let it be. At least you’ve traced where it began and have a basic idea of what it is. All that’s left to do, is find a way to survive it, and make sure you don’t give into it anymore.

And like you said, the only real option that you have is to finish off the Hunger Games. Make that last push, and then you can give into it. It won’t be your job to make sure you live anymore, your life will be in the hands of the Capitol. And considering that they won’t let their victor’s die, you’re okay with that.

“Fever pills and water.” you brush some of Finnick’s hair out of his face.

He makes you sit against the cold wall before moving to grab you food and such. You pull a blanket around your back and over your shoulders. Finnick hands over the water and pills, and you take them without complaint, closing your eyes and breathing deeply through your nose. Before you know it, it’s sliding down your throat.

You give Finnick the go ahead to warm up what’s left of the rice and mashed fish. You want to make it as painless as possible, so chewing a little and swallowing before your mind can tell you to stop.

“Do you know when you got it?” he asks.

You nod, and he waits for you to answer. You know that he has an idea of when you could have gotten it, already. He’s just waiting for you to confirm it, and you’re not really sure if you want to. He shouldn’t feel guilty because of it, you didn’t catch it either. But then he’ll say that he was the one thinking straight, he’s been taking care of you for a couple of days straight, he shouldn’t have gotten distracted like that.

You look Finnick right in the eyes and say; “It’s not your fault, Finn. We both weren’t thinking straight, let it go. I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t.” he mutters.

“You saved me, you know that?” you ask him, he’s staring into the fire again, “I owe you.”

Finnick shakes his head, “No, you don’t. I might have brought you out of the storm, but you’re sick because of the water, don’t you see that? It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

“(Y/n), please.” he whispers, “Stop.”

You don’t push it any further. He’s wrong, and you hope he knows that now. You eat the food without complaint, even though you feel grosser with each bite you take. You turn down a second bowl, since you know you won’t be able to get that one down without a fight. It’s good enough for you, though.

“We need to get a move on, before the careers come around.” you tell him, and he looks over, confused.

“You couldn’t even sit up on your own.”

“So?” you ask, “Give me the backpacks.”

“We should stay here.”

“The careers are going to come up here, Finnick. As soon as they realize what we did with the rest of their supplies, their hunt begins. Trust me, I know.” you motion for the backpacks again, and he finally gives them over to you.

Five spare shirts, three jackets, plenty of socks, no spare jeans. There’s one hat--a beanie--that doesn’t look very thick. Finnick tells you that the outside is still drizzling, not a storm, not full-on rain, drizzle. It’ll be manageable to walk in, but this also means that it’s going to be fairly cold out there after you walk through the waterfall.

You’ve got three knives. One for Finnick, two for you, and your respective weapons, the trident and sword. Endless medical stuff that you don’t even think you need anymore at this point. Your stomach isn’t as open as it was when you first got stabbed. But that’s just surface stuff, who knows what’s going on underneath the skin?

It’s not bad stuff. You’ve even got fish that could last you a couple of days. Without saying anything to Finnick, you unpack all three backpacks, and then begin to fix it. You tuck the fish into a single sheet of plastic, and then use one of the shirts on top of that to secure them. You place it at the bottom with the four canteen bottles. You fold each shirt, jacket, and pair of socks. 

“What’s your plan?” Finnick asks.

“We leave now.” you say, and you can already see him objecting, but you don’t care. You struggle to take off your first shoe and sock, and then give him a look for the second. He doesn’t want to give in, and the two of you stare at each other for a long time, and then he gives in. You tuck both into the backpack that you’ll be carrying.

“The rest of it, please. You can’t just say that and expect me to follow blindly, I’m not a child.” He’s following your example, seems like he’s contradicting himself.

“Here’s what I’m thinking: if I’m like this today, I’m going to be worse tomorrow. There is no medicine on the way, so it’s already out of the question.” You fold two blankets, placing them in Finnick’s bag, “We pack everything, set the rest on fire, and head to the cornucopia to see if Trink and Lennox have made it back, yet.

“It’ll help decide what to do next. If they’re not there, we wait. If they are, then we move immediately, toward the shack in the woods. It’s at least a day’s walk, but since we don’t have that time, we’ll move quicker. You give me a head start, set it on fire, and run to join me at the next place, which we’ll find out.”

“What are we doing?” His tone alone, tells you that he thinks it’s a dumb idea. 

“Leading them out and away from the space they’re comfortable with.” you say, “They don’t like it out there. After Eytelle got ripped apart by the bear mutts, they’ve been freaked out since. They’re not going to like chasing us, but they will. They have no choice.

“If they’re at the cornucopia already, they’re going to be uber pissed. They’ll probably search the part of the woods that I directed them away from, which is over here. They’re like an angry bee’s nest, except they’ll keep stinging until they’re dead. One glance of us is all it takes, they’ll chase us around the arena, and I can tell you that we’ll get tired first.”

You roll up your jeans, when you lean forward, you wince, hissing. You have to stop, breathing heavily to get the pain to go away. Finnick does it for you, tucks his things into the backpack. He gets you to your feet first, and putting a backpack on your back. When you put on the jacket, you have the back around the backpack to keep it from getting wet. You zip it up to your neck, and pull the hood over the top.

“Burn these?” Finnick asks, motioning to the sleeping bags, spare blankets and backpack. You nod.

He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He gives you your sword to lean against like a cane, and grabs his trident. Then, he’s kicking everything into the fire to make sure that it burns up. Finnick holds you up with one arm around your sides through the waterfall to keep you from toppling over, he doesn’t let go until you’re on the other side.

After that, the backpacks come off. He rolls your jeans down, helps you put on two pairs of socks and then your shoes. You struggle a bit when it comes to the extra shirt, since it’s not easy at all to raise your arms above your head. You want to give up halfway through, your ribs are stabbing you and the stretching is doing nothing for your stomach.

But if you can’t even put on something as simple as a shirt, then how are you going to end the games? After the shirt, Finnick helps you with both jackets. While he’s putting on his clothes, you struggle to pull your hair out of the ponytail. You’re raising your arms above your head, your hair is wet and tangled, and you’re trying not to act like a baby about it.

Once your hair is semi-good again, Finnick secures the beanie over your head and ears, and then motions for you to lead the way to the cornucopia. You make sure that your knife is in it’s regular spot first, and then lean on the sword, using it as a walking stick through the woods.

“Explain the plan again.” Finnick says.

You nod, “We check out the cornucopia first to figure out where Trink and Lennox are. If they’re at the cornucopia, then we move on to the shack. If they aren’t, we start another fire and bring them the rest of the way.”

When Finnick left the waterfall this morning, he said that the smoke was nothing but a memory. There was no evidence of a fire at all, which means that the rain put it out, or the fire wasn’t as big as it started off. Yesterday, is a different story. Dark grey smoke was pillaging into the sky, an obvious indicator that something was wrong.

You’re pretty sure that as soon as Trink and Lennox saw, they went running. It’s the last bit of their supplies. Clothes, medical supplies, food, weapons. Everything that they could possibly need to outlast you and Finnick, and now it’s on fire. They’re going to be pissed, you know it.

You think that you’re better off than them right now. Maybe not health-wise, but with supplies? They’re not coming close by a long shot. You noticed that Lennox and Trink have a tendency to use up the bulk of what they hold onto, and rely on the backup stuff from the boxes for comfort.

It’s why you set it all on fire.

“What’s next?” Finnick asks.

“The shack is a while into the woods, but they’ll be desperate to kill us because of how mad they are. We set the shack on fire, which is a second shelter that we found, and move in as far as we can. You see that cliff?” You’re pointing to it, Finnick has to cover his eyes when he looks up to see because of the rain, “That’s our destination. We have the rest of today and a little bit of tomorrow to get there.

“They should be chasing us all the way over there. We set up a trap during the night, ambush them later that afternoon after setting a second fire.” You pause, there’s a smile forming over your face, “And then we win and go home.”

Finnick’s got a smile too, “Sounds simple.”

“Expect complications.” You tell him, “There’s a ton that can go wrong, so you’ve got to be thinking that out for me.”

“Can’t do it for yourself?”

You shrug, pausing for a moment, “At some point, I’m going to get delirious. I won’t be able to think straight. You’ve got to be my net.” You look at him, “Which you are more than capable of doing.”

“Does that mean I can be honest?” You two resume walking, you nod a little bit, “The plan is dangerous and unreliable.”

“If you’ve got another idea, I’m all ears.”

“Why not kill them here?” He asks, “Sneak up and kill them?”

You press your lips together, the smile is widening. Didn’t you say it yourself a long time ago? Back when you were in the Capitol? You’re all puppets for them, and they want a good show. You can think for yourself, but in the end, they’re going to want something better.

“Because that’s not very fun of us.” You say, and he seems to understand, you think. He doesn’t push it, and a comfortable silence settles between you two on your speed walk to the cornucopia.

It doesn’t take nearly as long as you thought it would. In no time, you’re spotting the silver building in the middle of the sand clearing. The closer you get, the more you’re able to see that the pile you created yesterday, is nothing but black charcoal and ash. 

And lucky enough for you, the two of you won’t be wasting any time waiting for the other two to come along. They’re already here, standing over the pile. You and Finnick are already pretty deep into the tree line, but you back up some more, careful not to make too much noise.

You were right, as you normally are. They’re pissed, Lennox is gesturing wildly at the pile, and Trink has her hands on the back of her head. You don’t keep around to watch what they do. This is good enough for you. You and Finnick make a wide circle, and keep on the right side, next to the cliffs.

You expect that they’re going to be taking the path they’re most comfortable with, which is the one that passes by the pond. You two have a head start on them, so you hope that they won’t be catching up anytime soon.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” Finnick asks, you snort.

“Probably throw a party in my tiny house. What about you?”

“Join you at that party, hopefully.” Finnick says, and then he looks at you, “We are friends again, right?”

You deadpan, “You don’t want to hear this, but you’re the one that should be mad at me.”

“Oh, right.” He says, and then laughs, “Yeah, we’re friends again. Which means you can’t be annoyed at me anymore.”

“I wouldn’t say that, you barged in my room.”

“I was already there, it’s not like I was interrupting something.” He rolls his eyes.

You shake your head, “Actually, I think you did. I was going to take a cold shower to clear my head, and you were just there.”

“Bad timing, then.”

“It’s always bad timing.”

Finnick takes over the conversation after that, it’s a nice distraction from the stabbing pain in your stomach each time you take a step. You try to even out your answers and think before you speak, most of the time. Finnick doesn’t seem to mind, as long as you’re responding. 

Even though you don’t want to, you begin to direct you and Finnick towards the pond, beginning to recognize the cliffs. You haven’t been to the shack since the first couple of days, so it’s going to be a little struggle to remember the exact way, but you’ll get there.

It would be nice to set the shack on fire, but it’s not a requirement. You can start a fire almost anywhere, it’s just that the shack will eliminate another shelter. They’ll have no choice but to sleep in the cold rain, just like how you and Finnick will be. 

“Keep away from the hole.” You tell Finnick once you see it.

“You keep calling it a pond, it’s a hole?”

“Force of habit. The pond drained a while ago, it’s just a hole in the ground. You flak in it, you die a slow death. Don’t go near it, because I don’t know if I can fish you out.” You say.

“We have a rope.” Finnick jokes.

At the pond, you and Finnick take a small break. With how fast you’re walking, you’re tiring yourself out, as for Finnick, he’s Finnick. You’re sick, with two layers on, and a backpack and sword to drag along. You’re not doing so hot. But no matter what happens, you don’t sit down.

The break only lasts about five minutes before the two of you are moving on. You divert to the left again, hoping that Lennox and Trink left tracks to the shack, but you can’t find anything, and neither does Finnick. So, you have to wing it most of the way, there’s no choice.

The silence isn’t filled. It’s just the two of you walking. You listen for any voices or extra footsteps, but there is nothing. Finnick’s constantly checking behind you two, to be sure. You gave him the job of being your second pair of eyes and brain, and he’s doing it well.

For now, you try to figure out what the illness is called. Because the more you think over the symptoms, the more it becomes unbearably familiar. You’ve seen it before, you’re sure of it. You just don’t think it’s happened to your family directly. If it was you, you’re sure that you would remember, same thing goes for your brothers.

This just makes it all the more worse. It can’t be Finnick, or any of your school friends. Can’t be anyone from The Square, or their family if they mentioned it in passing. It leaves only Naida’s family, but that doesn’t seem right, either. They’re always careful with their water.

The more you think about it, the more your headache cranks up. You have to be getting close, when’s the last time anyone from Naida’s family was sick? It wasn’t during this winter, so maybe a few years back? God, it feels like it’s on the tip of your tongue.

No, not a few years. Only the winter before the last, you remember now. Naida has gathered snow from outside because it’s free water, she didn’t think anything would be wrong with it. And her kids are normally smart enough not to mess with anything in the kitchen without asking.

However, one of the boys, Taren, had stuck his hand into the pot and took out a handful. Without asking, he ate all the snow, and weeks later, was developing the same symptoms you have. The difference between you and him, is the fact that it took a while to settle in. With you? Two days, tops.

He wasn’t able to see the doctor for a while, and only got worse. He was the only one that had eaten the unboiled snow, and honestly, Naida just thought he had the flu. She placed him in a room all by himself so he wouldn’t get the rest of the house sick—her, her husband, and the three other people in the house, not counting Calandra because she moved out. 

It wasn’t until he developed the rash, when she finally decided that there was something wrong. The illness has a patchy kinda rash, red with small dots. When the doctor saw him, Taren, he knew immediately, because Taren wasn’t the first to be diagnosed with it. It’s deadly if you wait too long, like any bacterial virus. And if the gamemakers allowed it to mutate, it’s working faster than the regular virus.

But what’s the name of it? You grit your teeth and glare at your feet. Taren only had it for a few days, with the right medicine, it was gone quickly. There’s not normally a lot of cases in District Four, either. It happens around, you’ve heard it mentioned before, but you didn’t see it in action until Taren had it.

Oh, come on. You think you guys even had a nickname for Taren because of it. Something catchy, and it’s hardly ever used unless you’re purposely trying to make him mad. Starts with a T… t-something… As you go through the vowels in your head, you stop at i. Ti-Taren--Typhoid! 

You sputter out a laugh, glad to now know the name. There’s nothing you can do about it, but at least it won’t be eating away at the back of your head for the rest of the day.

“What is it?” Finnick asks.

“I know the name of it, even if it doesn’t make a difference. It’s Typhoid Fever, a water disease. I’ve only seen it once before, and it’s because of our family friends, the family next door, the Dorazio’s. They have a son named Taren, and one winter he ate bad snow and got sick because of it. They thought he had the flu, but it wasn’t spreading, so they knew it was something else.”

You look at Finnick, “He had rashes on his arms, the big giveaway. And it’s curable if you have the right medicine, goes away in a couple of days. Whatever the gamemakers had in that waterfall water is a mutated version of it. Horrible, works quickly, and it can very well kill me, but we’ll worry about that later. All that matters is what we’re doing now.”

“And you’re not even sure if it’s going to work.” Finnick says.

“Oh, it’ll work.” you say, “All you have to do is believe.”

“How cheesy.” he mutters, and then laughs to himself, “Is this the hysteria?”

“Haha.” you roll your eyes.

An hour later, you take another five minute break with Finnick. You’re starting to remember the path now, and you’re sure that it’s right around the corner. All you have to do is walk a little further. After the break, it’s another hour and a half before you’re seeing the shack through the trees. The sun is beginning to set, you can see the golden streams of the sunset through the leaves.

“Start the fire now, or wait?” Finnick asks, because the closer you get, the more you’re reconsidering to wait until later. But then they won’t see the smoke from the fire in the sky. You’ll have to rely on the light of the fire to lead them over, and that’s not very reliable.

“Now.” you tell him, “Take out the two blankets and set them inside. That’s going to be our starter.”

You stand outside of the door, watching the trees. Finnick confirms that it looks like Trink and Lennox had been staying inside of there during the storm. You cross your fingers and hope that another one won’t be happening anytime soon. Not only is the cave out of the question, but now the shack will be too.

Finnick lets you get a head start, since you won’t be able to move quickly. It’s only a couple of minutes before you hear him catching up, crunching all the leaves. There’s a grin on his face, and he’s obviously pleased with himself. You don’t dare to turn around to look at the damage until you’ve walked thirty minutes.

By then, the smoke has started to become noticeable. A second pillar, letting them know that the two of you were there. Now is just for the final part. You two will walk most of the night on your way to the cliffs, and then find a spot to hide for the night. In the morning, you finish the walk and set up the trap.

“Easy.” you tell him, and he seems pretty proud of himself too.

“What happens when a forest fire starts?” he asks.

“We let it burn.” you say.

The sun settles below the horizon, the sky turning a medium blue, before going navy. In no time, it’ll be black. You two walk a while longer, trying to put off eating food as long as you can. Hopefully Trink and Lennox have just started their trek to the shack, but there’s no telling if they’ve been walking all day towards it anyway.

You and Finnick hide behind a massive tree, deciding that it’s the best place to stop for the night. You’re pretty far away from the shack, you can’t even see the glow from the fire, which means that it’s a good thing you lit it on fire when you did, otherwise you would have screwed it up.

Finnick leans you up against the tree, the moment you’re sitting, you can feel the dull throb in your feet from walking all day. Your stomach hurts, your side hurts, but you weren’t given much of an option. It was walk all day or end up messing up your delicate plan.

Finnick keeps the fire relatively small, cooking the fish thoroughly. The two of you already have water, you refilled the canteens in the small stream on the way to the shack. The water is clean, and the two of you know this. You hydrate, and take more fever pills, which are getting low. You think that you’ll save the last couple for tomorrow.

You and Finnick eat quietly. He finishes a lot quicker than you do because you’re being careful with not triggering your gag reflex. When you’re sure that neither of you are hungry, he stomps out the fire and dumps a whole bottle of water onto it to make sure that nothing will be catching, and there will be no smell.

He makes you a bed in the leaves, and since it’s still raining lightly, the two of you have to get creative when it comes to blocking your face from the rain. No matter how many times you ask Finnick to be the one to sleep so that you can take watch, he shrugs you off. It’s always an automatic no.

“You’re the one that’s sick, remember?” he says, “You need it more than I do, I slept this morning, back at the cave for a few hours. We’ll be okay tonight.”

You don’t push it anymore, since he won’t even leave room for your argument. He helps you lay down into the grass, and places his spare jacket over your legs as an added blanket. It’s not warm by any means, and you’re sure that you’ll be waking up plenty of times during the night cold. But you thank him anyway.

The morning comes before you’re ready for it. Finnick is leaning over you, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. The first thing he does is make you take the last three fever pills in the bottle, and drink water. And that’s before you’ve even sat up yet.

He refuses to help you do it, sitting back and watching. You’re annoyed, because it’s already obvious that you’re worse. Moving your arms is a struggle even more than it normally is. You get yourself up and onto your elbows first, and then get to your hands. You just barely get up and next to the tree, and don’t consider going further.

Your muscles ache, it’s not immediately painful, but the constant throbbing is making it hurt. You rest, drink water, and let Finnick clean up the camping spot before you get up to move with him. It’s just the last bit of the walk, and you tell yourself this over and over until you start to believe it.

It’s the final stages, you’re sure. Tomorrow, you’ll be dead or not movable. While yesterday seemed impossible, today is immeasurable to that. You’re not even sure if carrying the backpack on your back or using the sword as a cane is possible. But still, once Finnick’s ready to go, you force yourself to be ready, too.

“Let me help.” he begs, holding out his hand for you. There’s a look of guilt in his face, and some tears too, you think.

“You didn’t help earlier.” you snap, because what’s the point of making you do it alone earlier, if he’s just going to help you later? But when you look at him again, you see that your tone has taken its toll. 

You give him your hand, and let him carefully guide you to standing. He doesn’t let you go until you have the sword in your hand to lean on. And before you can even get it, Finnick’s pulling the second backpack over his shoulder. So, now not only is he running on a few hours of sleep from yesterday, he’s carrying two backpacks and the guilt of what the sickness has done.

You don’t bring it up, and you get to walking instead. You’re not nearly as fast as you were yesterday, which means that Lennox and Trink will get closer and closer. But with every thirty minutes that passes, you’re getting closer to the cliffs. What used to be so distant and grand from faraway, seems to hold true up close, too.

It’s another hour of walking before you have to take a break. You try to keep on your feet, but the moment you feel yourself tilting to the side, it’s over. Finnick just barely catches one of your hands, stomps on your foot to keep it in place, and carefully lowers you to the ground like that.

“We can stay here as long as you want.” he says, moving your hair out of your face. He presses his hand to your forehead again, but nothing has changed. You’re as hot as a furnace, and yet you’re so cold it’s not funny. You sit there for a couple of minutes before deciding it’s time to get a move on.

He helps you up, and wants to half-carry you as much as possible, but you tell him it’s not realistic. You keep with your sword, and promise him that the next break is around the corner. When in reality, you’re not considering it until the sun is in the middle of the sky. 

Thankfully, it’s around the same time you two make it around the cliffs. Finnick lays you down on your back, and you close your eyes. The world is spinning too quickly, and he needs to set up the trap before it’s too late. You do your best to keep awake, knowing that your words are slurring.

“Make it look like I died.” you tell him, “Take the spare clothes and stuff ‘em with leaves. Take the extras off of me, it’s not like they’re doing anything, anyway.”

Finnick frowns, but listens. He takes the hat to make it look like your head. He takes off both layers of your jacket, and slips a shirt off of you. He places one jacket back onto you, and then uses the other. The only real part left anymore is the pants and the shoes.

“What now?” Finnick asks, you turn your head in the direction lazily, expecting it to be far away, but it’s right next to you. It looks like he’s mirrored your position.

“Your jacket on the legs. One of us has to lose our shoes.”

He doesn’t say anything, laying the jacket where the legs should be, and then slipping off his shoes and a pair of socks with it. He stuffs them, and digs small holes to keep them in place. You can’t see it with how you’re laying down, so you struggle to sit up and look at your masterpiece. 

It might be the delirium that’s making you think this way, but it looks just fine to you. Now it’s time for the final part. You lay back in the leaves, letting the soft rain hit your face. You’re so tired, and you miss when Finnick asks a question the first two times around, so he kicks your shoe and jolts you awake.

“What?” you ask.

“The last part? You said there’s a last part?” he crouches down next to you, moving your hair out of your face. 

This vaguely reminds you of when you were dying near the waterfall. Only then, you were sure that it would be gruesome and painful for everyone back home. Healthy one minute, dead the next. But Finnick came along and saved you from that, even if you’re still recovering.

As for right now, this isn’t gruesome. It’s painful for sure, the headache, the blood rushing in your ears each time you move too much. The dizziness, the stomach and rib pain, your teeth from all the chattering, and your body temperature. However, unlike last time, you could die peacefully this time around.

“Walk about ten minutes from here, start a fire, and come running back. I’ll stay here and nap.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Finnick says, he’s frowning.

“Who cares?”

“I do. And as your second brain, I can’t agree to it. There has to be a better idea.”

“Ten minute walk.” you insist, “at least there, and then you can run back. Please, just ten minutes of sleep, Finnick? They shouldn’t be close.” you reach for his hand, and he lets you have it, “Please? It’s the last push. Just a little further, and we go home. Promise.”

He doesn’t like it, he wants to tell you no and move on. But instead, he shakes his head, sighs and sheds your backpack. He leaves it right next to you, as well as your sword. If anything were to happen, you could defend yourself if you move quick enough. 

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Finnick says.

“Walk.” you tell him, “Ten minutes, count it. Run back to me when you’re done. I’ll be here.”

He nods, doesn’t say anything else. You watch him disappear into the woods, and then rest your head back on the ground, closing your eyes. You don’t even stand a chance against the fatigue. 

It doesn’t feel like fifteen or so minutes when Finnick comes back. He’s looking a little rushed when he does. You want to ask him so many questions, but he’s not leaving room for it. He gets you onto your feet, gives you the sword, and throws the second backpack over his shoulder.

“We have to go.”

“Why?” you ask, not budging when he tries to pull you along.

“They’re here, they’re coming. I’m pretty sure they saw me. We have to go--’

“No, Finnick. This was the plan.” you motion, you’re feeling awake now. It has to be because of the prominent danger. You have to kill Lennox and Trink before they kill either of you, “I’ll stand here, you follow my directions. Take the backpack contents and scatter them like you were looking for something, go.”

You hand it off, and he listens. It’s mainly medical supplies, but they’re clean and have nothing on them. You and Finnick are sharing a dangerous look with each other, before he’s reaching for his knife to make a wound on himself. It’s bigger than he means it to be, and he bleeds all over what used to be the sanitary bandages, and your white jacket.

It looks like a murder scene.

“What next?” Finnick asks.

You can hear voices in the distance, shouting. It’s loud, the pounding of their feet against the leaves. They’re coming, time is up.

“Scream, loud. I’m dying, cry for me.” you tell him, “This is it, Finnick. Jump when they get too close.”

Before Finnick gets down onto his knees, in front of your fake body, he grabs your wrist and pulls you in. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s doing, when he cups your face and presses a hard kiss on your lips. When he pulls away, he turns you around, and then heads straight for his part of the plan.

You move quicker than you were during the walk here, positioning yourself behind the tree. Everything seems so surreal, like the last twenty-four hours didn’t just happen. You didn’t condense a ten day walk into one and a half. You didn’t just draw in two dangerous tributes to kill. Finnick didn’t just kiss you.

You’re not on the brink of winning.

When Finnick doesn’t scream immediately, you want to move around the tree and scold him for it. But just as you twitch, he lets out the most blood-curdling scream that you’ve ever heard. Worse than what Eytelle had let out during her torture with the bear mutts. Finnick has topped them all.

You can feel your blood run cold because of it, actual chills running down your spine for once. The more you stand here, the more awake you become. You have to be ready for whatever walks around the corner. Tears gather in your eyes, you grit your teeth to keep them away.

And then you hear them, loud and clear.

“What’s the matter, Finnick?” It’s Trink’s voice, sickeningly sweet like she’s talking to a child. Another chill runs down your spine, you can’t imagine what Finnick is feeling right now.

“Go!” He sobs, you can feel the breath he takes in, in your own chest, “Leave me be!”

“Too late for that.” she says, “You’ve fucked up big time. Leading us on like this, a trail of fires? What did you think was going to happen?”

“You take him, I’ll finish off the girl.” Lennox says, you close your eyes for a moment, your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Don’t touch her.” Finnick says, his voice hardening out.

“You don’t get to make a decision like that.” Lennox says, and you can hear Finnick grunt. You wait until you hear the clink of his trident against Trink’s sword, and when it comes true, you whirl out from around the tree.

Lennox is over your body, sword prepared in his hand. He lifts it, going for the kill on your placebo body, until he spots you. You bring the sword up and above your right shoulder, like you’re swinging a baseball bat in P.E. Breathing heavily, you swing and try not to let the momentum knock you over.

He barely moves out of the way, stumbling. His eyes seem to light up at the sight of you, not half-dead after all. You know it’s because he’ll be able to make your death more interesting now. But you won’t be dying, not so close to the end. With Finnick fighting Trink, you’ve got Lennox all to yourself.

And personally, you think it’s time for a little bit of payback for the damage he did to your body.

“Still alive, huh?” Lennox asks, “Thought the stab would’ve killed you by now.”

“My sponsors actually like me.” you hiss, giving him a smile, “They sponsored me twice while I was out cold. What about you? Get anything for your troubles?”

His nostrils flare, jaw clenching as he swings his sword, hard. You catch it with yours, but with the force it hits, you have to catch your balance.

“Not looking too hot. Guess they didn’t like you that much.” he spits.

“No, it’s because the medicine will be useless once we win the games.” you say.

You swing at him now, and when the first doesn’t work, the second surely does. You catch his dominant upper arm, watching the crimson turn his blue shirt red. He’s not happy.

“I’m going to kill you, just like how I killed the boy from District Three. Beaten to death and spit on.”

“Try me.” you snarl.

The talk is over, and it’s clear. You try your best with fending him off, and at one point, when you take a swing for his legs, he stumbles over. It gives you plenty of time to back up and check on Finnick. He’s got the upperhand on Trink. They’re about the same height, but she’s got more muscle, still.

You’re able to watch her disarm him, but he does the same to her. It’s a standoff, and once she realizes this, she takes off running. Finnick goes after her, not even thinking about his weapon. You tilt your head, and see three weapons glinting in the sun. He’s out of a knife, too.

With one eye on Lennox, you continue to back up. You pull a knife out of your belt, watching as Trink breezes by a tree. Finnick’s close behind, it’s going to be easier to kill her with a weapon. She’s so far out of your range now--not even in sight--that it’s useless to try and kill her. So, you throw the knife at the nearest tree to Finnick’s right.

He doesn’t question it, yanks it out of the bark and runs. 

Looking at Lennox, he’s got a murderous glare. His sword is strong in his hand, and with no Finnick to back you up anymore, you’d say you’re screwed. Except, you aren’t. You’ve got the mountain behind you. And if he wants this kill, he’s going to have to work for it.

You work up the sword, and he’s prepared to deflect the swing, but you throw it instead. You don’t dare to stay a second longer, wheeling yourself around and taking off up the slope. Hand-in-hand with the fast turn, is dizziness. She seems to be kind to you now, so you let her settle while you struggle with running.

It’s not easy, being so weak and trying to run so quickly. You suck in air every chance you get, not really focused on breathing out. You have to make it up, have to tire him out before you take him out. This is a breather, even though it doesn’t look or feel like it. But it’s room to make a plan. As long as you keep your pace, you’ll keep out of his grasp.

You get to the top, and then what? Fight him? You have nothing but your knife, and he has his sword, you think. You risk a glance behind you, to check to see where he is and if he has his weapon. There is no sword, though. He’s just running.

A quarter of the way up, you rip off the jacket and throw it back at him to slow him down. He moves out of the way easily, and determination sets in his eyes. You’ve got so much time. No sword means that he can’t just slash at you, he’s got to have a better idea than that.

Halfway up, the fatigue starts. Your knees buckle a bit, trying to get you to give up, but it’s not going to happen. You’re going to live. The pain in your stomach and ribs is nothing. Your heart pounding in your ears and the headache constantly knocking back and forth in your head, is nothing. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Give up!” he yells to you, as if you’ll listen.

You push harder, you can almost see the top now. There’s black spots eating away at the edges of your vision, similar to what happened when you were dying. But you’re not. You’re not dying, you’re fighting to stay alive. And what proves that, is the adrenaline still coursing through your body.

You nearly trip over a simple rock, not paying attention to where you step anymore, more focused on the destination. Lennox sounds tired behind you, it doesn't even come close to how you’re feeling. You’re sucking in air as if you’ve woken up from that god-forsaken nightmare of drowning in the ocean again. There’s sweat everywhere on your body.

For the first time in days, you’re feeling warm--more than warm, hot. That furnace has traveled from your forehead, to the entirety of your body. This is unfair.

One foot in front of the other. There’s a simultaneous burning in your calves and thighs. All you want, is to get to the top.

And then it happens, the break in the trees, you don’t even dare to get to the very top, afraid of falling off and dying at whatever lies at the bottom of the cliff. You turn to Lennox, and the two of you stare at each other, huffing to try and catch your breaths. He’s in much better shape than you are. All he’d have to do right now is crush you, and you’re over with.

He seems to realize that, creeping up on you like a rabid dog. Someone is desperate to get you over with. You bet you’ve been like an itch in the back of his mind, ever since you got away because of Blaire. You won’t let him down, you refuse.

Your legs are jelly, and so is your mind. You’re so caught up in his movements and studying them and whether or not they mean he’s going to lunge, that you almost miss the cannon, clear as day.

You think it’s Finnick, killing Trink. But Lennox thinks it’s the other way around, and you know because of the grin that flashes across his face, “Let’s make that two?” 

He jumps now, and it’s not enough time for you to move out of the way. His body slams into yours painfully hard, the two of you tumbling. You kick, and punch whatever you can reach, to get him off of you. It’s not effective, but there’s a rising scream in your throat, loud and aware of what this horrible scene is a reflection of; the last time you almost died.

“Go!” You scream, tears gathering in your eyes.

The moment that Lennox gets a good upper hand on you, he’s going to kill you. He’s not going to just sit around and take care of you slowly, he’s going to finish you off so that he can go home. He doesn’t want to give a show, he wants to get rid of the girl that’s ruined it all for him.

“No--!” you shout, watching him place his legs on either side of you. The restrictiveness is an immediate panic. He leans forward to secure your hands down, but the moment you buck your hips to the left, towards the edge of the cliff, he’s flying off.

He scrambles to try and catch himself on the edge, but his fingers slip over. The only thing that remains is his hand on your wrist, the only thing that’s holding him above what’s lying beneath. Your arm is bent painfully, tears gathering in your eyes. You have no choice but to hold on as you try to figure out a way to get him to let go.

His grip is hard, unrelenting in your hand. He’s nervous, you can tell by the sweat, but he’s not going to let go. You manage a peak over the side, genuinely curious as to what lies beneath, and you’re not disappointed.

High crashing waves, a dark blue sea. Sticking out is large spikes that have formed over time because of the wave pattern. And with the darkness of the water, it means it’s deep. If you let go, and the height doesn’t kill him, the spikes and the lack of knowing how to swim, will. You’re the only thing keeping him from death, right now.

“If I go down, you’re coming with!” Lennox shouts.

It’s perfect timing, because you begin to slide. You try and hold onto anything nearby, but there is nothing. The trees are too far, and the grass breaks off easily. You have to get him to let go, or you’re going to die with him. You’ve come this far, you can’t go now.

Your fingers fumble with the knife on your belt, trying to unsecure it. It’s a struggle, doing it with two hands is easy, one is hard, but it’s even harder when your hands are shaking because you know you’re going to die, otherwise. It falls out, next to your hip, you sweep up the handle, and pause for a moment.

Stabbing his hand could work, but the movement of sitting up could kill you, too. But so far, you’re not seeing a second option, and no matter how sweaty your hands are, you’re still with each other. So, you take a deep breath, holding it. You let go of his hand, and work up a small burst of energy to get this over with.

You sit up, bring your arm over your head, knife in hand, and lean over the cliff to stab into his hand. It goes right through his skin, and straight into yours. Your burnt hand has gained a new problem, with the blade sticking out both ends. Lennox lets go, eyes wide out of shock.

The knife slips out too, and you barely catch a glimpse of his falling body, flailing through the air. You fall back onto the solid ground, heaving air as nausea sprouts in the back of your throat. 

There’s loud crashing through the trees, like a ton of elephants coming through it at once. You can’t bring yourself to look, afraid of what you’ll see. And it's not like you have the energy anyway.

You’re struggling to keep your eyes open, eyelids fluttering. Just a couple more seconds, you’re waiting for something. It sounds. The cannon sounds, you breathe out.

“(Y/n)!” you hear, just before it’s over.

[dearaliceliddel]

CHARACTER STUDY

— basics.

▸ is your muse tall / short / average ?

Alice is short average, standing at 5′5″

▸ are they okay with their height ?

Considering Wonderland, the height of things always so skewed, Alice doesn’t think much of her height often. But being short has proven to be quite useful at surviving and fighting. But trying to not be looked down upon or people assuming she’s too weak? Hm. Irritating.

▸ what’s their hair like ?

Long and soft, smooth to the touch. Alice has thick hair but where it was once wavy, it’s now straight for her own peace of mind, its own weight pulling it straighter. Dark brown, very nearly black in the right light.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair / grooming ?

Not often, as Alice doesn’t really style her hair unless she is left with no choice. Cleaning and bathing of course takes time, but otherwise it’s merely brushed out and handled to not be a wreck. If she has to, pulling it back into a pony tail or braid can happen on the rare occasion. Otherwise it is flowing free.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance / what others think ?

Considering Alice’s state in her appearances, she is more for comfort and self identity over being fancy. Her bigger worry is surviving and her personal feeling. Yet she is still a proper young lady, and knows how to look nice when she needs to. Alice’s sense of style has always been there, it is merely on a more comfortable level. Her dresses are a combination of utility and appearance.

— preferences.

▸ indoors or outdoors ?

Both. Being outdoors has always held a source of adventure for Alice alongside her imagination. But as the years went on and the trauma, torment, madness, and suffering sank in, she figured out how to enjoy being indoors just as much. She can acclimate to whatever may need.

▸ rain or sunshine ? 

Sunshine is much preferred, as the rain can bring such sad feelings. The sun brings warmth and hope, memories of better years. But one can not deny sitting inside, with a nice warm cup of tea while hearing the rain falling on a roof or against windows.

▸ forest or beach ?

The Forest hands down. Reminds Alice of her home in Oxford, and the estate that had the forest around it, where she would run around so easily. And first found the rabbit hole. While a beach can be fun, there is something about sprawling forests that has her at ease. 

▸ precious metals or gems ? 

Metal’s has many more uses than gems can have, as gorgeous as gems can be. Yet at the same time one can’t deny the chances of a rare stone of some sort being useful in a certain moment. So, I’m going to say both but metal leaning.

▸ flowers or perfumes ?

Flowers. Such things remind Alice of her younger days and gardens. Perfumes can sometimes smell like the same flowers she remembers as a child, and she does enjoy them if needed, but there’s always more enjoyment of the real thing.

▸ personality or appearance ?

Personality. While an appearance can be a bonus, Alice much prefers someone personality and who they truly are deep down and under whatever facade or surface level showing that is given for general public. The personality and personal quirks or ticks are more revealing of ones true self.

▸ being alone or being in a crowd ? 

Alone. Sometimes being in a crowd can be stressful, and bring a headache, especially if she is forced to be touching people as her trigger. Being alone has been forcefully ingrained into her by the torments of her life. But if she is comfortable with some friends, enough so to be considered a group, she does not mind being in the proverbial crowd with someone she knows has her back.

▸ order or anarchy ? 

Order and Anarchy mean nothing if the world is careening wildly on the jagged edge of reality. Alice has seen the best and worst of everything in equal measure, and knows the disgusting truths she wishes she could forget. But if she had to choose, a mix of both. Anarchy is merely chaos with a direction, and order is organized madness.

▸ painful truths or white lies ?

This is another Both situation. Alice is very much driven to discover the truth of situations if she has to do so, find facts, considering how many were hid from her and used against her in lies. But she also understands the need for lies to protect others or herself.

▸ science or magic ?

Magic is merely Science others don’t understand, as Alice has been told before. But she accepts both in equal measure, and loves to learn more.

▸ peace or conflict ?

Alice craves peace for once, even for a short time. Able to sit, rest, be at ease for once, with no fear or sadness. Able to sleep for once without fear, or feel like nothing is wrong. But that is a fleeting notion as she understands conflict shall always come in any form, and sometimes she will cause it if she has to.

▸ night or day ?

Night or Day can bring good and bad moments. Hiding in the dark can only protect you so much, while the daylight does not chase away cruelty. Alice accepts both with how little she sleeps and refuses to do so actively. But she enjoys the warmth of daylight.

▸ dusk or dawn ?

Dawn brings a new day. Watching a sunrise can be quite enjoyable. But she will always ever enjoy the beauty of a sunset and how it paints the skies and horizon like a work of art.

▸ warmth or cold ?

Considering how sensitive Alice is to temperature and the shifts in the air of such things, she prefers warmth. Easily cold thanks to the damage of her body from severe burns and fire. Yet the cold does not stop her and she can force herself through as unpleasant as it is.

▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends ?

Alice prefers to have just a few close friends, and yet she has acquired many acquaintances. A bit of both ever present in her life. She’s worried of opening up to people and accepting them closer as Alice has a habit of loosing those she cares about. But if you earn her friendship and to be close enough for her to be comfortable with you? Then you earned a fiercely loyal friend that will kill for you.

▸ reading or playing a game ?

Books have ALWAYS been a treasure for Alice, even more so being alone. It allows her to feel free and in another world for a while, imagination running wild without worry. And on top of that, she can learn so much from new studies or thick tomes. Her brain craves learning and teasers, alongside fantasy. Reality has so much of her attention already, she sometimes needs an escape. But a game? Now those will still have her highly interested. But its harder to play games alone.

— questionnaire.

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits ?

Refusing to sleep, unable to do so and staying up for extended periods. Eating exceedingly rarely and only enough to be functional and not starve, but still has water and drinks tea commonly. Taking on danger without any fear for herself, and not thinking twice of injuries she may take. Self destruction and self harm. Blaming herself for much at times. Withdrawal and refusing to open up to others without being convinced to do so. Sometimes spiking her tea with a strong alcohol. Using hookah at times, a habit picked up from Caterpillar. Having wonderful advice to give others but often not taking it herself. And as always, Alice’s impossible curiosity.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them ? how has it affected them ?

Almost everyone. Alice lost her family in a fire that was started to cover up the murder and r*p* of her sister. Lost her Wonderland into Madness and even herself. Tormented and tortured in an Asylum for ten years of her life, with almost no real help. Lost her rabbit, her cat, her life, home, everything. Then was nearly broken by the very man that took it all away. So she killed that man in poetic justice so he could never harm anyone else. These moments have changed and hardened Alice through most of her life. Having made it hard to accept others into her life closely, always keeping people at arms length, but also willing to put in her all to help others get a better life than she had, or to try and help them have some sense of sanity. She fears physical contact due too the abuse she had and torments, scared of anything doing that again, even more so after what happened with her sister.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has ?

There is so very few after the age of 8. But before that? Alice remembers fondly how her Father would help so many less fortunate kids or families, to give them a chance to learn, help them with food or clothes. And how Father would take her and her sister out for adventures in the city. Mother being a doctor and taking time at home to teach her daughters at home anything she could. The family dinners, the way they were always such a giving family, despite being so rich and well off. Alice’s older sister Lizzie always encouraging her to be herself, so open and loving. Then there was Wonderland before she fell apart. How she misses her friends even now. Nothing left but pain and heartache, as Alice strives to make better memories in her life.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill ?

That depends on the person and situation. Alice has stepped across the threshold for murder and killing a long time ago, both in Wonderland and in Reality. Blood and gore are no problem. But if it is someone innocent, or a friend, anything like that? She won’t be able to kill. Injure and disable for their own safety yes, or just defend herself, but not kill. If it was someone that truly deserved it? Absolutely. 

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down ?

An emotional roller coaster. Alice tries to keep her emotions kept under control, to think as logically as she can after all her experiences. But she has always felt so very deeply, more than many people, and it does not always work. She gets so angry when she gets sad, frustrated at herself for breaking down and upset she’s broken so. But her tears are always so heavy because she tries to keep it all contained. She would only cry harder if she had someone there to let her cry on and have support of. 

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life ?

It is so very rare. But yes, Alice is capable of this. Although she is usually in the position of front liner and protector, as she has been forced to become with no choice. 

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love ?

Considering how rare it is for Alice, she would be unaware of it at first. Just simply instinct driving her to be closer to the individual that has won her trust and affection. But after she starts to understand it, she will try her best to deny and bury those feelings down. Refusing to ruin a friendship or endanger anyone else. But once she loves someone, Alice loves with all her heart and can be quite a warm person and passionate.

*

Tagged by: @fatherdamned (thank you so much)

Tagging: @nerv0usm3chanic (lucan), @punsandfuturekingsmen @bluescarfvivi @heartsdefine , @trollamulet​, @maiolica-admirer​, @reanimatedmuses​ (Jack)

[duker42]

💜Caught in the Act💜

Captain Levi was such a fucking tease. He had been driving Y/N crazy for weeks now. She just knew the man did it on purpose. The lingering glances her way, dark and calculating. The slow wipe down of his face and neck after sparing. She even swore that he had a little more wiggle to his walk when she was behind him.

Anyone else would have overlooked his seemingly innocent actions, but considering Y/N wanted nothing more than to have her way with the raven haired man, she noticed everything about him. For someone who had never been known to be in an intimate relationship, he knew how to tempt her. Hovering over her after pinning her down today was just the final straw.

Pulling herself out her musings, she found it was later in the night than she realized, all the cadets were tucked safely away in their rooms for the night. She pushed away from her desk and muttered curses as she gathered her clothes and soaps, heading for the communal showers to wash away the sweat and grime of the day.

In the showers, Y/N lathered up her supple form, spreading the sweet smelling suds over her skin. The bruises from the ODM straps accompanied the various scars that littered her body from the years of fighting Titans. The sponge ran over her hardened nipples, causing her to shudder slightly in pleasure. They tighten again as she follows up with her fingers, scraping a nail across the tip.

Since she was alone in the shower room, she took the time to glide her hands around her body sensuously, imagining it was a different touch. Levi’s calloused hands were running across her stomach and down her hips in her mind as the water cascaded over her body, washing away the suds.

She reached the apex of her thighs, sighing as her fingers ghosted across the protrusion of her sex. Swollen from neglect and need, her clit peaked out from between the folds of her femininity. Y/N closes her eyes as her fingers begin to circle around the engorged flesh, running from the hood of her clit to her entrance. The slick desire coated her fingers easily as she moved them.

Running a hand back up to her breast, she began to massage the mound as she pressed a thumb against the bundled of nerves, a sharp sigh leaving her mouth at the flash of pleasure. Flicking the digit across her clit, her index finger presses into her tight cavern. The rotation of her wrist increases as she begins to breath heavily.

Sliding another digit into the heat, her moan was slightly louder as the feeling of being stretched set her nerves on fire. Shuddering as the fingers worked themselves in and out, her mind wandered to the Captain. She pinched her nipple as she imagined his mouth on it, biting her lightly. His fingers continued to prepare her for him as she clung to his broad shoulders. His tongue bathed her breast as he soothed the pain away, her mewl of pleasure causing his grey eyes to flash in desire.

Her hips bucked against his hand as the fingers curled when they thrusted back into her, striking a bolt of pleasure through her. Her legs began to shake as her orgasm overtakes her, her walls clenching around him as she whimpers a quiet, “Levi.”

Her hand stills as her body calms down. Sliding her wet fingers from within her, she sighs as she opens her eyes, satisfaction soothing the desire in her blood. Her eyes run around the room as she goes to turn back under the flowing water. Granite colored narrowed eyes watching her from the entrance makes her stop mid turn. Levi was leaned against the far wall completely undressed and aroused, shaving kit and towel lay forgotten at his feet, his rapt attention set on Y/N’s sated form. His predatory gaze seemed even more dangerous as he pushed off the wall and began stalking his prey.

*****

Levi picked up his tea cup as he glanced towards the empty seat on the other side of Hanji. Y/N was avoiding him. Apparently, he had pushed her just a bit too far today. He had first noticed her lingering looks a month prior. Deciding to test his own hopeful theory, he began a counter strike of hot glances and exaggerated movement when he knew that she was watching. It was amusing to see her flush with desire as he pretended to be unaware of the situation. His goal was to bring her to him, but in true dipshit form, his clumsy attempts had apparently failed.

He hadn’t really meant to linger on top of her after their sparing match today. Too many Cadets watching their movements to engage in the campaign he had begun. This was a dance between the two of them, spectators not needed. But her breathing had picked up when he was on top of her, causing him to pause for long seconds, looking down at her flushed form beneath him. His mind was taken to a more secluded place, where she was under him naked and writhing. He had pushed off of her quickly enough after coming back to reality. Mildly embarrassed at his own lack of control, he had turned and walked away, not looking back at the woman behind him.

Shaking his head, he finished his drink and left the mess hall. Walking back to his office, he realized at some point he was going to have to talk to Y/N. As one of the veterans of the Scouts, he counted her among the few friends he had, regardless of his interest in her. He couldn’t let his ineptness at flirting drive her away. He snorted to himself, slightly amused at how bad he was at the entire thing. He pushes the issue to the back of his mind as he sits down at his desk to tackle the reports awaiting his perusal.

Several hours later he finishes the last document with a sigh. The daylight had faded and the stars had come out. The lamp he had lit earlier was beginning to run low on oil, indicating it was well past curfew for most soldiers. Rolling his shoulders to release the tension, he stands. Knowing that he would not sleep for several hours, he decides to take a shower to remove the grime from the day.

Stripping in the outer room, he lays his clothes on the bench to wrap a towel around his waist and grabs his shaving kit. The water is running, but with the late hour, he figures he would be running into Miche or Erwin. Their late night preference for showering was the same as his, not really wanting to bathe with teenagers. A sigh could barely be heard over the running water. He dismisses it as he goes to round the corner, thinking it was just the sigh of contentment at soothing aching muscles with hot water.

He stopped at the doorway into the showers. Y/N was there, water sluicing down her body as her hands roamed. His eyes widened in surprise as he watched her cup her breast in one hand as the other worked in between her thighs. He set down his shaving kit quietly and his towel slips from his body as he ignores it, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the movement of her body under her own touch. His member hardened, rising to brush against his stomach as he watched her slide another finger into her passage.

The sound of her moan shot straight to his groin as she pinched her nipple, causing his mouth to water at the image of his lips on the peak. He was so close to joining her in self gratification, his hand wandering lower to grasp himself. The sight of her pleasuring herself was such a turn on, his guilt at being a voyeur was nonexistent. It was a show he couldn’t turn away from if he wanted to. He stopped his hand, Y/N was close to cumming and he wasn’t going to miss it. Her body began to shake, making him throb even harder, imagining what it would feel like to buried in her hot core at that moment.

He almost explodes when he hears her call his name. She was imagining him. His desire ramps up to an almost intolerable level. Fuck it, tonight he’s going to make her his. His pupils are blown with lust as he watches her body tremble with the last throes of her orgasm. Her eyes open and she turns, catching his gaze. They widen as she realizes he was watching her, and his restraint snaps seeing her fingers glistening with her juices. He begins to move towards her, slowly, letting her see his intentions.

Levi reaches her, standing as close as he could get without pressing against her. Grasping her hand, he brings it up to his face. Never taking his eyes off of her, he puts the two fingers that were inside her in his mouth. He laps at her skin with his tongue, cleaning all of her essence off while enjoying the look of surprise and lust on Y/N’s face. Pulling the fingers free, he slowly pushes her hand down between them and sets her hand on his lower stomach.

Y/N looks down at her hand and his throbbing erection below it and brings her hot gaze back to his. His grey orbs burn into hers as she slides her hand lower to cup him. His body tightens up at the feel of her touch on his cock and it jumps in her hand. He leans into her body, lips hovering over hers, enjoying the feel of her rapid breaths on his skin.

“I’m glad I caught you, Y/N.”

Mobile MasterList

[mayve-hems]

Old Me | Ashton Irwin x OC

Type: IMAGINE | ONE SHOT | MULTI CHAPTER

Summary: It all started with a lie. One that tore the two Ashtons apart from each other the day before graduation. Five years later, Ashton and Kalypso are showing up to Calum Hood’s wedding, prepared only a little for what is about to come. Ashton is determined to prove to his ex girlfriend that he never has, and never will, stop loving her. 

Word Count: 14.7k

Note: I love my friend Anna because she helped me so much with this and she will forever have my heart. 

Warnings: selling/use of weed, drinking, lots and lots of cussing

Normal

Flashback

-

Kalypso ducks her head underneath a bathtub of water. Her chocolate brown hair billows around her like she’s a sea creature or a mermaid goddess watching over Mount Olympus. If she were a few years younger, she would’ve stained the rim of the bathtub with a hair dye concoction straight from a box.

Resurfacing, she scrubs paint from her fingers, arms, legs, and face. Stuffed deep under her nail beds, she reaches for Paris Pink paint. She hisses, separating her skin and nail, but admires how nice they look. Plain, long-stained black, and mostly healthy. Making a mental note to look up nail salons for a much needed acrylic manicure, she hears a pawing at the bathroom door.

Even though she’s single and lives alone, she knows there’s no privacy in her small apartment. Magik, a black cat she found in a dumpster, is clingier than Kalypso’s little sister, Stella. She has three seconds to stand and pull a towel around her body before she sees her hallway through a newly opened door and a quiet mew enters the bathroom. Magik is too smart for her own good.

“I’m glad it’s only you,” Kalypso sighs and steps onto a blue bath mat right out of the clawfoot tub. The linoleum is cold underneath her toes from her air conditioning, so right out of the bathtub, she never stands directly on the bathroom floor without something there. Kalypso forgets her slippers once again so she maneuvers a leap from the bathmat, through the semi-opened door, and onto her pretty white carpet. “Thought I’d have to deal with Stella,” She smiles once she’s on the carpet.

“Heard that!” Stella, Kalypso’s younger sister, says over her shoulder in the kitchen. Her hands busy themselves with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway, with the kitchen having a sharp pivot to the left when you enter the living room, meaning that if she talks loud enough, Stella can hear everything Kalypso may say about her. “I was giving you time not to smell.”

“I hate you,” Kalypso sighs and turns left into her bedroom. A dream bedroom-- one with 70s rock and 80s pop -scratched- record glued to her ceiling, and blankets covering her bed. Hung LED lights and paint pretending to melt from the walls where the ceiling attaches and the aroma of vanilla incense. “Do you ever go home?”

She’s filled milk crates with vinyls that are used, right next to her bed, underneath the table holding the record player. To the left of her bed is an enormous window showing her a view of the city laid out in color and sunlight. Along her floor, she’s left clothes and other things out instead of cleaning them up.

Pulling her closet door open, two empty canvases tumble from beside her dresser. She picks them up, shoves them back into their designated place, and drops her towel to the floor. Kalypso isn’t worried about the windows on the top floor or her sister inside of her apartment.

Her fingers brush the sleeves of colorful shirts, over her dresser, and pays no attention to the art supplies she’s included inside. Above her hanging clothes are packing supplies and canvases she still needs to send out.

Kalypso owns her own ‘company’ called AKM_arts. AKM, after her initials, and arts because that’s always been her passion. Drawing, coloring, painting, crafting something into the way she’s feeling and letting the world see her so raw. She began as an instagram artist, Ashton Kalypso Montgomery, but quickly started selling custom pieces.

“You’re so pale,” Stella says, watching Kalypso pull a pair of jean shorts up her legs. Her plan for the day was to purchase more circle canvases when the shops finally opened. She needed to start more tie-dye nameplates. A man requested one for his daughter, Auzilynn, which Kalypso couldn’t seem to pronounce. “How are you Australian?”

Kalypso loves showing off her tattoos to the world; her mother's initials tattooed on the inside of her right shisn, a koi fish down her thigh, a single bee painfully placed behind her knee, a feather falling from hip to thigh, and several things in between. Her body is a canvas for anybody that deems themselves good enough.

“You’re two years younger than me, why do we look like twins?” Kalypso pulls a black shirt over her head that leaves the word ANGEL tattooed on her clavicle. “Is this cute?”

“You always looks tupid,” Stella replies, rolling her eyes. “But you’re still pale.”

“We’ve established this,”

“I got your mail for you,” Stella takes a bite from her sandwich, tearing the crust from the rest of the bread. Kalypso and Stella look a lot alike, besides their hair color. Kalypso always opted for a darker, more vibrant color like her natural dark brown. Stella, blonde, preferred pastels when they were in school.

Kalypso snatches the letter from her younger sister’s hand. Addressed for Ashton Kalypso Montgomery, apartment 607B. Stamped with a dog photo, and sealed with red wax. “It’s from Calum Hood.”

“Yeah, I got the same one,” Stella smiles at her sister. Kalypso and Calum’s friend group were close at one point, so Stella hung around as much as she could. The nuisance in the same grade as Calum and Luke that joined everything they did with Kalypso. “He’s getting married.”

“Married?”

“Yeah, his fiance is beautiful,”

Kalypso rips open the packaging. The location, the date and time, and a picture of Calum and his future-wife standing together in front of a brick wall. Stella’s right, Calum’s fiance is beautiful; curly brown hair, a hand placed over Calum’s chest, and a perfect smile. “Cool,” Kalypso tosses the invitation and the envelope in the trash. “Hope he has a good wedding.”

“You’re not going?”

“I love Calum and all, but I don’t want to see Ashton,”

“It’s been five years, Kal, get over it,” Stella brushes her blonde locks from her long face. “Please? I want to talk to Luke.”

“It’s been five years, Stel, get over it,” Kalypso bends down to look into her paint drawers unit for a certain color. Auzilynn’s name plate requires a rainbow painted into a tie-dye pattern. Kalypso isn’t sure if she has the correct shade of blue. “What would I do with my cat?” Opening the drawer dedicated the blue paints, she has more than enough.

“Alexander could watch Magik,” Stella replies, thinking about the guy just down the hall she’s trying to date. They’re in the flirting stage so far, and she hopes they’ll progress further eventually. “And I’m not trying to hook up with Hemmings. I’m trying to get my laptop back from him. It’s been way too long.”

She’s a year younger than her sister. She graduated with Luke Hemmings and Calum Hood. At the end of the day, she was a part of their friend group, including her sister Kalypso, Kalypso’s childhood best friend Michael Clifford, and Kalypso’s boyfriend, Ashton Irwin. WhenKalypso graduated from school, she was ready to take off and leave Sydney, never look back at the place that reminded her of her entire high school career. Stella was permitted to graduate halfway through her last year of school and they moved into the same apartment.

“He probably doesn’t have it anymore. It’s been five years,”

“Ashton probably doesn’t have feelings for you anymore, Ashton Kalypso. It’s been five years,”

Since they’re sisters, it didn’t take long for Stella to finally reach her limit and move into the apartment next door. They enter each other's homes whenever they want.

Kalypso rolls her eyes. “Do you ever stop?”

“Are you going to go?”

“Hell no,” Kalypso lets out a loud chuckle. “You’re hilarious,”

-

Returning from the store, Magik greets Kalypso at the door. Dropping four reusable bags on the floor, she greets her loud cat with pets and kisses. Canvases, paint, stickers, glitter, paintbrushes, all equaling way too much money from Kalypso’s wallet covers the entrance of her apartment. After greeting the cat, she gets started on cleaning her room and putting things away.

She throws the bags on her bed to straighten out the messy place. Clothes are folded or thrown into a laundry basket, blankets are folded or placed on her bed, canvases that turned out bad are put in a repaint pile where she turns them black and makes galaxies, and the craft massacre in her closet becomes properly organized. She puts canvases into an organizer with different sizes for different canvases and anything involving paint bottles or paint brushes directly is thrown into the messy paint drawers. She’s got way too many bottles of the same shade of blue that she needs for the rainbow tie-dye, but adds another into the drawer.

Quickly, though, she has to get to painting. Swirls of orange and red chase each other around an oval canvas. Swirling inward then out, mirroring each other. She goes in order of the rainbow, leaving one strip of purple on the narrow inside of the swirl. Tie-dye on a canvas. After it dries, she free hands the same. The person that ordered it chose basic cursive writing, which is easy with the help of muscle memory. Auzilynn, weird, but interesting.

She prints a label for the canvas and gets the packaging supplies ready so she can slip it inside and put it into the pile of canvases that need to be shipped off. She has eighteen wrapped canvases to go out of Australia, but only a few are staying inside. One, Auzilynn’s, isn’t going farther than the apartment complex a few blocks away. If Kalypso makes it in time, she can get Auzilynn’s out by 11 AM and have it delivered within a day.

Kalypso has over 100 orders to do, and only a few days until they need to be shipped off. She can’t take a few days off for a stupid wedding, it’d be worthless.

Although, she could use the break.

No! That’s stupider than anything else she’s thought of. At the same time, she could show off her glow-up and amazing life. Painting all day and night, scheduling her working hours, deciding what she gets to do. She has things to get done. Her paintbrushes need to be cleaned, canvases need to be organized and shipped, and her apartment is a disaster.

Taking a break from painting, Kalypso pours wet cat food into Magik’s bowl next to the refrigerator . The cat digs into her md-morning breakfast as if she’d never eaten before.

Across from the refrigerator, Kalypso pours a sink of hot water from the tap. Her paintbrushes are already in the sink, waiting to be cleaned. Browns, pinks, and blues explode from between the bristles. Galaxies dropped onto the stainless steel bottom like a picture.

She was thinking long and hard about going or staying. The one thing blowing her mind was Ashton Irwin and how he would have progressed. Was he still tall and handsome? Curly hair and eyes the color dewy grass? Married? Single? Still toying with the bad boy scene? She’d changed after moving away- rebellious tones and sassy remarks blossomed into doing whatever the hell she wanted to, but without so much hatred toward everyone. Weekly-dyed hair turned into natural brown on pale skin. Nobody could stay the same, so would Ashton still love her?

They broke up the day before graduating, Kalypso initiating the conversation, Ashton entirely speechless when she said the words. Kalypso had heard that he slept with a girl named Sage Miller, who was in their grade, the night before while at a party, from Luke. A cut-and-dry breakup where Kalypso blocked her ex boyfriend from her life. At graduation, Kalypso smiled, but every time she looked away from the cameras shoved in her face, broken pieces cut themselves along her throat.

She didn’t want to hear Ashton’s excuse when she broke up with him, she didn’t want to hear what he might have tried to come up with or how it wasn’t his fault. Kalypso, a girl that still knows her worth, realized that sometimes you don't need a guy to be happy.

Kalypso dials her sister for a video call. Continuous rinsing and scrubbing from her paintbrushes, laying them on the counter that wrapped from the sink to the fridge. She heard the dial tone end and her little sister picked up the call. Stella could only see a white ceiling.

“What do you want, Kal?”

“How long do you think Alex will watch Magik for?”

Ashton Irwin could still be single.

-

For Ashton Irwin, he's known about Calum's wedding since he proposed to the woman, but still put off packing until the day before he left. One suitcase full of men's clothes for a week's stay, and one smaller bag of his four-year-old daughter's clothes.

"She's not going to go," Luke remarks, looking at his fingernails. Painted orange with a highlighter by Ashton's daughter. He has a soft spot for his favorite four-year-old, but she likes destroying Luke's nails. "She hasn't even RSVPed yet and weddings in a week."

"You don't know that," Ashton replies. "She could just be Stella's plus-one."

"She's Kalypso, she's not the type to dwell on the past and wait around for peoples weddings,"

"You're kidding me," Ashton throws a dress at Luke. "She dragged me to thirty weddings in four years." Their flight leaves in only a few hours, and Ashton's slowly falling more and more behind on what he needs to get done. He needs to dress himself and his daughter, get a carry on bag ready for her, and manage to get to the airport. Luke's attention was diverted to grabby hands and a soft mewing, his name toward him. "She could've changed and now she's more sentimental or some shit. I did."

"Yeah, and how exactly are you going to explain Auzzie?" Luke lifts her from the floor, sitting her on his lap. They both stare at Ashton from the toddler bed. "Sorry that Sage Miller told you that I cheated on you because she kissed me at a party and you broke up with me. It didn't actually happen and I was so heartbroken I made myself believe her and hey, this kid came out of it. She died two years ago but it's okay because she was a drug addict and had nothing to do with Auzilynn. You want to get married?"

"Yeah, actually," Ashton moves across his room to get into Auzzie's dresser, searching for more than the few clothes he can find. Her toys are thrown everywhere and her clothes are torn from their drawers. He didn't have time to clean it up. "Is that so bad?" He starts pulling shirts and pants sets from the piles of clean clothes and a dress that she wore almost every day.

"What do you think, Auzzie?" Luke asks, shifting to pull her higher up. She looks just like Ashton, with a small mixture of her mother. Curly blonde hair in space buns, eyes that sparkle like glass, a crooked smile that could get her out of trouble. "Is daddy being ridiculous?"

Auzilynn nods her head. Her fingers toy with the part of her white tank top that's rolling up. "I want Doritos."

"You want Doritos?" Ashton asks. He decides he has enough outfits on his arm and in the somewhat packed back that he should start folding everything together. As long as it fits, he'll be happy.

"And fruit snacks!"

"Auzilynn Marie, you're not going to ruin your dinner," Ashton demands. "We're going to be at grandma's house in a few hours, can you wait until then?"

Auzilynn shakes her head then cups her fingers around Luke's ear. "Are we still growing fruit snacks?" She says in a hot-breathed whisper.

"Are we still growing fruit snacks?" Luke asks Ashton, wondering what he should answer. "Are they still growing?"

"Yes," Ashton groans. He ran out of fruit snacks three days beforehand and every place seemed to be out of the special type that Auzilynn liked. He told her they had to grow, and he was so happy children were susceptible. "They're still growing."

"Have you ever been to Sydney Auzzie?" Luke asks. His fingers search under her arms and around her neck for ticklish spots that cause her to giggle the most. Her body tenses up playfully. "Are you going to play with Uncle Mike tonight?"

"Yeah!" Auzilynn replies. Michael's still back in Sydney but visited often. He's probably Auzilynn's favorite.

"Back to Kal," Luke says. "How do you think it's such a good idea to talk to her."

"Because I know for sure that Stella's going." All he's wanted for the past five years is to tell Kalypso what happened that night, not some messed up version Sage had created. He plans to use Calum's wedding as a way to talk to Kalypso. A two-for-one deal; see Calum again and get back on good terms with his high school girlfriend. "If I can talk to Stella, she'll at least let Kalypso know that we conversed."

"How do you know? She could just lie and say you didn't show up,"

"They're sisters. They tell each other everything,"

Ashton has only been told stories about what happened to Kalypso after they graduated. She stopped hanging out with Calum, Luke, and occasionally messaged Michael. Stella became her best friend and her sister in one, and they moved several hours away.

Ashton had once been her drug and suffocated her when they broke up. The butterflies he had created turned into caterpillars that filled her lungs with goo and half-eaten flowers. Rumors told Ashton that she nursed herself with whiskey and sleepless nights from graduation on. He would see her driving around with Stella in the middle of the night, hoodie and messy bun-- when she looked the best.

"Stella probably won't listen to you either,"

Ashton and Sage pulled up to a stoplight in the middle of the night, returning from a party, almost a year after Ashton and Kalypso broke up. Kalypso pulled up right next to them, right before the light turned green, and rolled down her window. She screamed, "fuck you!" at the top of her lungs with a stern middle finger pointing straight at Ashton. She sped off when the light turned green. Something that irked Ashtons somewhat-of-a-girlfriend at the time, but to Ashton, that was a Kalypso thing to do.

"Can't you be positive?" Ashton folds another one of Auzilynn's dresses and sets it lightly in the suitcase. He's prepared for anything to happen, including several changes of clothes. "Can you fold the rest of those while I-" A ding runs through the room. Ashton's phone at full volume vibrates Luke's leg. He grabs it quickly to check who it is. Pleasantly surprised, he swipes the notification away. "That was fast."

"What was fast?"

"For Auzzie's birthday, I ordered this painting thing with her name on it," He clicks on the pattern he chose and flips his phone for Luke to see. "They shipped it already and I ordered it last night."

"Watch it be shitty," Luke laughs.

"I paid $50 for that thing," Ashton shakes his head. He prays that he didn't just waste his money entirely and that hopefully, the creator spelled his daughters' name right. "It better be good."

-

“I guess I can’t say the joke anymore,” Kalypso sasses, looking the large white house up and down. A porch that wraps all the way to the back door, into an over spacious backyard. She tilts her head to one side to comb all of her hair over her right shoulder. “Can’t really fuck your wife, Cal,” Calum glances up from his cement table and leans back in an outdoors chair. He looks like an older version of himself, rather than a completely different person. “Sorry, Mike told me to come up to the front.”

“Kalypso?” Calum asks. Brown hair thicker than life itself, large eyes that sparkle underneath any light, and a hoop through her right nostril. Somehow, she isn’t as intimidating as her high school self had been, but at the same time, she is worse.

Kalypso crosses her arms. In Calum’s high school eyes, there’s no way that the woman standing on his porch is his friend Kalypso. As an adult, he questions how she could’ve changed too much but remained the same. “Are we calling me Ashton again?”

“Huh?” Calum wonders. He is just amazed that she was coming after not returning her invite. She must be Stella’s plus one.

“You said Kalypso as if you are trying to get me to start going by Ashtonn again,”

“No!” Calum stammers. Kalypso used to be an avid member of not wanting to go to formal events. She skipped her own prom to go on a boat with Ashton, still in a prom dress. She barely showed up for her own graduation, and she’s voluntarily going to Calum’s wedding? She must really care about him. “I’m just surprised you showed up. Two days early.”

No hair dye, no lip piercing, no eyebrow slits, and she isn’t wearing a full face of makeup anymore. Gauged ears, a white shirt tied in a knot above the band of a black skater skirt, and tons of freckles.

“Was I really that bad of a friend?” Kalypso wearily asks. “If I was, then I’m sorry.”

“No,” Calum shakes his head and finally decides to stand up. He’s several inches taller than Kalypso still. “We’re going to Melbourne to see my sister next month and I was going to have a little celebration there. I didn’t expect you to come to the wedding.”

“Should I go home then?”

“No!” Calum sighs. “I’m just thinking of you from high school. You didn’t go to shit so I just thought you wouldn’t sit through a wedding.”

“I’ve changed,”

“Yes! I see that,” Calum smiles and gestures to her clothes. She wasn’t the biggest fan of skirts when they were teenagers. She’s gone through a tedious development of her character. “You look nice.”

“It’s Stella. If I had my way, I’d be wearing thigh highs,”

“There’s my Kaly!” Calum holds his arms out for an overly-zealous hug. Kalypso has never been near his height, nor all of his friends, so bear hugs are always expected. His heart beats in his chest like a rhythmic song. “What’s new? I haven’t heard from you in forever,”

"I gave birth to seven children and I'm married to John Mulaney," She looks around the porch, wanting to see what Calum's like now. There's a garden off to the side of the house, vegetables on the right side, fruit on the left.

Calum pulls a chair out for Kalypso to sit down in. He moves the documents on his table to the side so he can focus on her. "Really, huh?" They both chuckle and smile brightly. "Our group finished the kids bet."

"The kids bet?"

"Remember when we had a bet on who would have children first? We all tried to bet on you and Ashton,"

"Did I win? Who was my bid?"

"Michael's won," Calum answers. Michael guessed Ashton in general, Calum guessed Kalypso, Luke guessed Michael, and Ashton guessed Luke. "You bet me."

"Then who has the kid? Luke or Ashton?"

"Not important!" Luke says, clapping a hand on Kalypso's shoulder. She turns in the seat, excitedly. She almost tackles him to the cement out of excitement. How did she think that she couldn't go to the wedding? "Children are sticky and that's gross." She's gone five years without hanging out with her group every day of the week. Kalypso feels like a teenager again.

"Liar," Calum says. "You love Auzzie."

Kalypso laughs harder. Who names their kid Auzzie? "You and Michael babysat my brothers for years, and you enjoyed it."

"Kal, I don't need your opinion," Luke shakes his head. Michael and Luke were suckers for the Montgomery boys. A pair of twins seven years younger than Kalypso. "So, seven kids, huh?"

"Yeah," Kalypso starts to count off her fingers "Pride, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Sloth, Lust, Greed, and Wrath,"

"Some people I could get along with," Luke smiles. He too is surprised by Kalypso's personality shirt. She was a classic skater girl with weed bags and a scale in her car. How did she turn into a perfect art freak? "But for real, husband? Wife? Any babies from them?"

"I've got a house, a cat, and my little sister,"

"Really?" Luke gasps.

"Just not that social anymore," She was once a sociable person, which is concerning to the boys. Ashton has had that big of an impact on her. "So, um, Michael or you got wives, Lu?"

"We're Auzzie's favorite single uncles," Luke smiles. "I mean if you're trying to give me your phone number I wouldn't-"

"-I'll give you my phone number in a friendly way. I'm not getting into your pants, Hems," Kalypso smiles and grabs his phone out of his hand. She unlocks it with the same password he's used since he was twelve. "So do I get to meet Auzzie? I feel left out."

"She's inside with Mike and Ash. If you want to concur that battles," Calum answers. He points to the screen door next to the table. Just inside, Kalypso can see two figures standing tall, shadowed onto a nice hardwood floor.

Kalypso is the leader of the broken-up group, even after five years of going solo. So badass, so intimidating that people didn't want to mess with her. With the five-year glow-up on her shoulders, she's a soft intimidating person. She still falls for hugs and attention, wrapping her arms around Luke's middle. He's grown at least three inches in five years.

"How's your mom? I was going to see if I could visit before I go back to Melbourne," Luke asks, letting go. Kalypso's torn from smiling and feeling depressed. She lives in Melbourne too, the irony of it all.

"She died," Kalypso folds both of her ears over to show the boys white ribbons. Pretty tattoos, but hidden. "Lung cancer got her a couple of years ago." Kalypso and Luke finally sit down in chairs.

"Oh," Luke's face falls. He wasn't that close to Kalypso's family like Ashton or Michael were, but he was still welcomed at any point in time. How did he not know that Mackenzie Montgomery died? "I'm sorry . . . I had no idea."

"It was just family at the funeral. Jasper almost didn't go," Kalypso was close to her mom her entire life. Kalypso, Stella, Jasper, and James' father left and never came back after the twins were born. Growing up from a seven-year-old, Kalypso made her mom into one of her best friends. They did almost everything together.

"Your brother Jasper?"

"That's the one,"

When Ashton and Kalypso broke up, Mackenzie and Michael were Kalypso's main support. A lot of times Stella or Luke were involved, and occasionally a couple of jokes from Calum, but Mackenzie never let her daughter feel alone. A beautiful woman, taken too soon.

"Why?"

"Too hard for him to face,"

Mackenzie called Kalypso and Stella every night after they moved to Melbourne. They'd talk about everything underneath the sun, except for the disease that was ruining Mackenzie's body. She never told anybody about that.

Kalypso clears her throat. "So did you guys ever make a band?"

Luke's face lights up. "We didn't start a band, but I have an apprenticeship at a recording studio."

"Really!?" Kalypso smiles. Luke's second choice in life was to become a music producer, even if he couldn't make it into a band. "I'm so happy for you." She claps her hand into Luke's for an achievement. "What about Michael. Any big breaks?"

"He streams video games,"

"Hey, at least he gets to do something he likes,"

"Are you talking trash on me!?" Michael screams, finally walking out of the house. "Holy shit it's Kalypso." Kalypso pivots in her chair to stare down the blond man. He looks just like he did in high school. "Ashton and I had a bet that you wouldn't come because he's here."

Kalypso's head drops. "Of course. Was I really just that bad of a friend?" Inside, she feels terrible, like she messed up as a person that not even her friends expected her to show up to Calum's wedding. She didn't think she was that bad at socializing."

"No, it's just . . . he's here so we thought you wouldn't want to come."

"I'm an adult, Michael, I can get over things."

"I'm not trying to be rude, 'Lypso, I just- you still go by Kalypso, right?" Michael asks. He hasn't heard either Calum nor Luke say Kalypso, because he wasn't listening. Ashton or Kalypso, he knows her by both names. Kalypso nods her head. "Good. I don't know if I can go back to calling you Ashton."

"Somebody say my name?" A thick Australian accent asks, following behind Michael. Kalypso wants to curl up into a ball, scared of Ashton. Ashton, the boy she was and still is in love with. Ashton, the man that cheated on her two days before they graduated. In his arms, a little girl with flowy brown hair smiles. Kalypso's heart fractures. "Oh,"

Luke reaches his arms out to grab Auzilynn from Ashton. Auzilynn practically jumps from Ashton's arms, but he's too distracted staring at Kalypso. She can't bring herself to look at him. Calum and Luke share uncomfortable looks. The tension can't be cut with a knife.

"Auzzie, can you say 'hi' to Kalypso?" Luke asks, setting her on his lap. Auzilynn is a mini-me to Ashton beside her darker, grown out hair, and softer versions of his features. Kalypso has no idea who her mom may be.

Auzilynn looks toward Kalypso. A wide, toothy smile forces a small smile from Kalypso. She has to admit that the two-year-old is pretty cute. "Hi, K'lyso!"

"Kalypso, babe," Ashton corrects. "Kuh-lip-so."

"K'lyso!"

"It's fine, Ashton," Kalypso says. "Hi, uh, Auzzie." She hesitates. She looks to Calum for an answer about Auzilynn's name. "Is it short for something, or-"

"Auzilynn," Luke informs her. "Auzilynn Marie Rose Irwin."

Kalypso looks back at Ashton, questioning the child's name. Normal middle names with an off-the-wall first name. Ashton smiles a closed-mouth smile, dimples showing and obvious frustration in his face.

"Sage named her," says Ashton. Kalypso feels herself falling apart even more. Suddenly, she can see Sage in Auzilynn. The way her eyes shaped like almonds, her bottom lip tucks underneath her teeth the smallest bit when she smiles, her nose looks as if she were a Who in How The Grinch Stole Christmas. With Ashton mixed inside of her, she manages to be adorable still. "I wanted to name her Marie Adair, but Sage said we were going to move to America when Auzzie was a year old and it would tell everyone she's Australian."

"Are you guys visiting from America?" Kalypso asks. She just wants to know if Sage is in the picture, if Ashton's moved on so much. He has a kid, meaning that he's opened up his heart enough for another woman to enter his life. Knowing her luck, Kalypso wonders if there would even be a place for her anymore.

"We've never even left the country,"

"Then where's Sage?"

"Hopefully the cemetery," Ashton replies. "She died when Auzzie was only a few months old. Drug overdose. Never even met Auzzie after signing the birth certificate."

"Oh, I'm so sorry,"

Feeling guilty, Kalypso finds it sort of funny that Sage was the one Ashton cheated with but Kalypso was more successful than her. Karma is a bitch.

-

"Are you talking shit on me?" Fourteen-year-old Ashton Kalypso Mongtomery asks Ashton Irwin. She slides down the end of the leather couch in the school atrium to sit closer to him. He smells like cedarwood and bonfire smoke. "Afraid of a little competition?"

"What are you talking about?" Ashton Irwin asks. The Ashtons have heard of each other, but never talked directly. All they know is that they're both friends with Michael Clifford, but not the same friend group. Ashton Montgomery spends more time with her sister in the year below than with Luke Hemmings or Calum Hood. "I don't even know you."

"Bull!" Ashton Montgomery snarls. Ashton Irwin watches the ball in her lip move to the side when she gets sassy. He swears she didn't have that yesterday during English. "Stop talking shit, or we're going to have beef."

"We can't have beef if I don't know you!"

Ashton Montgomery's tongue rolls over the fresh piercing in her lip. "Watch your mouth." She disappears into a messy hallway, blue hair dye lost in a sea of students, as quickly as she'd shown up.

-

Ashton Irwin was held back a year, while Luke and Calum skipped one. All of them -Michael, Luke, Calum, and both Ashtons- were in the same grade. Ashton Montgomery stays strictly with her sister Stella or Michael, with the occasional visit with Luke, while Ashton Irwin is known as the new kid Luke, Calum, and Michael adopted.

"So was she hot?" Calum excitedly asks. He's not very well acquainted with Ashton Montgomery. Michael forbade him to try and date her when he first expressed feelings, and the rule still stands.

Stella and Luke are dating and have been for two years, crossing the groups over just enough for Ashton Irwin to be the only one not knowing about Ashton Montgomery. Surprisingly, though, the whole school knows of Ashton Montgomery and her intriguing reputation, so how does he not?

"Who?" Ashton Irwin questions. He lays his hand next to him on the couch, trying to draw a boundary line from Calum to him. Calum still edges closer on the blue fabric. "Can you get me some tape?" He asks Luke. Luke, sitting in the chair next to the couch, grabs a roll of duct tape out of a drawer. "Calum, if you don't back off, I'll tape you to a wall." He rips a piece of tape off loudly.

"I'm talking about Montgomery!"

"Who?"

"Ashton!"

If Calum or Luke had to pick one person to be afraid of, Ashton Montgomery would be in the top slot. She's five-foot-nothing, full of pure sass and piercings. Ashton Irwin has seen his name twin in the hallway a few times and wants to learn about the abyss of Ashton Montgomery.

"Wait, you talked to Ash today? Tap some ass?" Luke asks. He thinks maybe, just maybe, Ashton conquered his fear of ripped skinny jeans, a grey tank top, and a red flannel. Ashton groans. "What? You're the one that wants her.

"And so does Calum,"

"Yeah, but they don't share a name," Luke smirks.

Ashton rolls his eyes. "When is the guy supposed to be here? I need to smoke so I can no longer hear you."

"Ask Mike," Luke answers, shrugging. He's no help. "He's the one that knows him."

"But he's showering,"

"Looks like you'll have to wait a little while then,"

Ashton is ready to kick some thirteen-year-old ass.

-

Luke stands up from the porch table, bored of painting on a canvas. Capturing her attention, Kalypso looks up to make sure nothing is wrong. He's got all 10 fingers, no paint is spilled, and his section isn't complete. "Calum can paint this himself," he says, stretching backward.

Kalypso looks down at their progress. Hood is written in fancy cursive and half painted silver with black outlining. "What time is it?" She asks, throwing her paintbrush into a cup of water. The canvas Calum chose is bigger than the table and one of the most agitating, simple paintings Kalypsos ever made.

"It's quarter till nine,"

"Oh shit," Kalypso jumps up to look at her phone. "I was supposed to call Stella." She quickly dials up her sister.

Luke focuses on the painting instead of Stella Montgomery's voice. So sweet, so soft, so silky smooth and calming like lavender perfume she uses every day. Secretly, Luke missed Stella and everything about her; the way she smiles over the stupidest things, her singing voice, how she whispers his name right before falling asleep.

When Kalypso ends the call, he has to distract himself. Quickly, before he falls in love with teal blue bedroom walls and indie songs. "Are you going to Calum's bachelor party?"

"Isn't that for . . . Guys?"

"Yeah, but you're like, one of the guys so it counts."

"Is there a stripper?"

"It's just Cal, Mike, Ash, and a few other guys. If you want to strip-"

"-I'm good. No worries,"

"So do you want to go?" Luke asks again. He pounds the bristles of a cheap paint brush into the bottom of a plastic cup to remove silver paint. Pounding, pounding harder and harder until he's afraid of destroying the brush. "It's just a sit around and drink beer type of night,"

"Yeah, I guess," Kalypso starts typing. "Let me tell Stella."

The paint water is dark grey, diluted with tons and tons of silver and only a few bristles of black. How does Kalypso spend hours just painting? Luke's back feels terrible and they haven't cleaned up yet. She must be a trooper to be able to do this all day every day, he thinks.

"Ready?" Kalypso asks.

"Yeah,"

-

"Ashton, answer the door," Michael commands. His eyes are glued to the TV, trying to beat Luke at Mario Kart. There's no way he's going to lose.

"It's your house,"

"It's your weed,"

"He's two hours late, it's probably shit too. Answer your door,"

"Pussy," Michael murmurs. He pauses the game while Luke whines about stopping, and stands up. A door leads right into the basement of Michaels's house from the outside, which is lucky because even though Michaels's parents love her, it's easier for Ashton Montgomery to walk into the house that way.

Michaels's hand rests gracefully on the door handle. His heels rise to check the peephole to make sure it is Ashton Montgomery. Unlike all of his friends and everyone else in his grade, a ground-breaking growth spurt still hasn't happened. His right leg is a hair shorter than his left, so he's anticipating it soon.

Michael opens the door to warm air and the smell of honey and vanilla shampoo. His childhood best friend claps her right hand into his. They move into a Bro Hug and let go when she reaches for the baggie in her hoodie pocket with her left hand. The price falls from her lips.

“Got it,” Michael slips the money carefully into her hand. “Hangout for a few?”

Ashton Montgomery nods and walks into the pathway Michael has opened up. She finds a spot on the couch, opposite to the spot Ashton Irwin has taken over.

"So you're still talking shit on me, Irwin?" She asks, pulling her feet into the couch too so she can sit in the fetal position. Michael sits on the floor to play Mario Kart again but turns around to hand her a sugar cookie his mom had made. "My time is not good enough for you?" Her initials are frosted in blue on a white background.

"Wait, so you're the-"

"-plug? Yeah." She slips the corner of the square cookie into her mouth. It tastes delicious. "I heard you're trying to compete."

"I'm not trying to compete, I'm just-"

"Selling? I don't need helpers." Another piece into her mouth, but this time, it's a straight bite from the cookie. Ashton Irwin looks her over, remembering that she's Michaels friend. She's not some stranger Michael invited inside. His mom made her a cookie.

"Will you let me-" Ashton Irwin starts. Ashton Montgomery opens her mouth to interrupt, but a stern finger in her face shuts her up. "-talk. You can't take up the whole neighborhood. You're 14."

"Fifteen," She corrects. "I turned 15 three days ago."

"Yes, of course," He rolls his eyes. "15 and a drug dealer. How could I have thought any different?" Ashton Montgomery takes a larger bite of her cookie, trying to fit the rest into her mouth. A tiny corner remains. "Let me guess, your favorite alcohol is straight vodka, your favorite movie is American Pie, you overcharge on eighths, and you're the baby of your family.

Michael glances back at Ashton Montgomery to see what she has to say. She swallows hard and dusts her hands on her black sweatpants. She doesn't have to prove herself to someone that doesn't need an answer, but she's sassy.

"I'm the oldest, I don't drink, I don't overcharge, and my favorite movie is Cars,"

"Cars?" Ashton Irwin repeats back.

"Mack is under-appreciated and needs more love despite his mistakes. He didn't mean to leave McQueen behind. McQueen made him drive all night and-"

It was Ashton Irwin's turn to interrupt. "-I've never even seen Cars."

Ashton Montgomery takes her finger and points at him angrily. The rest of her cookie goes into her mouth with her other hand. "You're missing out." Her hands move to push back falling hairs from the messy bun underneath her hood.

"You only like Mack because your dad used to call you Mini Mack," Michael pauses the game of Mario Kart again to turn and face the Ashtons. Luke unpauses the game and waits for Michael to realize.

"Mini Mack?"

"My moms' name is Mackenzie-"

"-and she looks just like her. Mini Mackenzie," Michael finishes.

"Can we not talk about this?" Ashton Montgomery covers her face with her hoodie sleeves, wanting to just crawl into a hole and shy away from everyone.

"Is it like a sore subject of something?"

She jumps up from the couch. Sweaty palms dry themselves on her sweatpants. "We're oversharing." She shoves her hands into her pockets. "Don't get too close to your d*g dealer." She turns to leave.

"I'll walk you out," Ashton Irwin stands up off the couch too. Lucky for him, he's hit a growth spurt. He's taller than her by almost a foot. "Did you walk here?" Ashton Irwin is barefoot and not wanting to go far in pajama pants and a shirt.

"I live next door," He watches her piercing move as she sasses him. Just the smallest movement to the side. "I can walk myself home safely."

"I'm being gentleman-ly,"

"I'm being independent,"

"If you're going to be like that, then I'm just trying to ask for your phone number, Ashton,"

"Well you suck at it," Ashton Montgomery pulls her phone from her sweatpants pocket and smiles. A wad of twenties fell back into her pocket. "Here."

"I think this is the most confusing encounter we've had in a long time," Luke says, trying to figure out how to talk about the two without having to say full names. Ashton One and Ashton Two?

"Yeah," Ashton Montgomery accepts her phone back from him. He'd texted himself and inserted his last name into his contact information on her phone. "Still 'wanna walk me home?"

"Of course," he reaches his hand for hers.

-

Luke pops the top off a bottle of beer and hands it to Kalypso. She takes two large gulps from it and grimaces when she remembers she hates beer. It goes down sticky and leaves an aftertaste she's not fond of.

"Oh shit," Luke says after retiring into a lawn chair with his beer. "I forgot how much you hate beer." He takes a large drink to indulge in the tension.

"Bro, I could've told you that," Ashton laughs and sits across from Kalypso. There's a bonfire raging in between them, screaming in flames and burning sticks. Kalypso wants to jump into the fire so she can burn alive. She wants to disappear from Ashton's view.

Without thinking about the gross taste, the way it feels when it hits her stomach, the way too much too quickly twists her light-weight head. She downs the rest of it and throws the bottle into a bucket of glass far away. Ashton sassily looks away as if he were cursing Kalypso out in his mind and sips. He's not much of a drinker either.

Kalypso stands up from her chair and sets off to find Calum. If she can get away from Ashton, she'll be okay.

"Where are you going?" Like asks, getting ready to stand up too. Calum's backyard is spacious, equipped with a pool, a deck with a hot tub insert, and tons of play area for his dogs. Kalypso would be the one to get lost.

"I'm giving Calum his wedding present," Kalypso replies. The chairs they're gathered in aren't far from the door, tucked into a barren area you wouldn't see without a roaring fire, so if she turns the corner the spotlight should illuminate Calum. "Leave me alone."

She walks a few steps to the corner and notices everything. She's only walked from the laundry room door to the fire pit, instead of the glass door to the wholesome part. "Aye! Cal!" Kalypso calls to gather his attention to her.

The dark-haired man looks up from his phone, obviously distracted from walking to the fire. He waves her over with a smile. "'S up?"

She pulls her right hand out to clasp into his and he feels something burn into his palm. He pulls his hand away to examine what it is. Green nuggets inside of a baggie.

"No fucking way, 'Lypso," he grins wide and starts to open the baggie.

"Should be about five grams, maybe a bit more,"

"Oh my god I've never loved you more than I do right now," he pulls her into a close hug, pressing Kalypso uncomfortably into his chest. Calum hugs, as everyone calls them. He forgets about how small people can be, and sometimes just squishes them.

"Good to know that I'm only good for weed,"

"You're good for so much more than that," Calum rocks them both back and forth in the hug, wobbling on his feet. An extreme Calum Hug. "So much more."

"Like making Ashton Irwin uncomfortable,"

Calum squeezes tighter. Kalypso can barely breathe. "That's the highlight of my year, bitch. I've never seen one man so on edge by a tiny woman."

"Calum you're killing me,"

"Oh shit," Calum finally lets go. Kalypso's insides fall from their squeezed positions back to their regular programming. "weed mans still got weed, huh?"

"What type of person would I be if I didn't?"

Calum high fives her. Right hand to left. "Why do you always dap up with your right, but you're left-handed?"

Kalypso smiles. Calum surprisingly smells beer on her. "You see," she says, running and pulling him to the fire. "Because you're right-handed, and he's right-handed, and he's right-handed, and he's right-handed." She points one by one to Michael, Luke, and Ashton. "You just learn how to."

"I guess so," Calum answers. "So since you don't drink, you want something else? I can load a bowl if you want?"

"Sure," Kalypso smiles. She hasn't smoked with close friends in years. Before walking into their graduation, Kalypso, Michael, Luke, and Calum all smoked a joint in the parking lot. None of them remember graduating. That was the last time they all hung out.

-

"Ashton!" Mackenzie Montgomery yells when she enters their homey kitchen from the garage. Jasper and James, Ashton's twin little brothers, enter in behind her. "What's for di-" Mackenzie stops to survey the scene. Both Ashtons dressed in matching band shirts at the dining room table, enjoying some type of dinner. Two scented candles burn in between them. "I didn't realize you were having friends over. You're supposed to tell me."

Ashton Montgomery wipes her mouth with a paper towel. "You weren't answering your phone. I thought it would be okay." She picks up a shrimp from her bowl of Alfredo and pasta to put into Jasper's mouth.

"This is Iron Man," James holds up an action figure missing both legs. Ashton Irwin nods his head and takes another bite of pasta. "Who's your favorite superhero?"

"I'm sorry, I was just really busy," Mackenzie sighs. "Sorry for my disheveled state, sweetheart, I just got off the ICU floor so I'm done for." Mackenzie sets her belongings on the counter a few feet behind the wooden table. "Boys, leave Ashton and her friend alone for once please."

The twins are identical, including their need for glasses. Jasper's wispy brown hair falls in his face and into his black frame glasses while he munches on the shrimp his sister gave him. He's the so-called 'nicer' twin.

"You look like you like Superman," James tells Ashton Irwin. Ashton smiles at the young boy.

James is the outgoing of the two. He swoops his hair to the side to free up his tiny forehead, unlike Jasper. He's more sociable, open, and willing to meet new people. The Stella of the boys. He flirts, he makes friends with, and charms most girls he runs into. Including Calum's sister.

"Where's Stel?" Mackenzie asks, moving from the counter to the sink. "Ashton Kalypso, I'm going to beat you if you don't learn to put things into the dishwasher." She picks Tupperware the shrimp Alfredo had been in and rinses it out. The dishwasher opens, and clean dishes shine. "Ashton!"

Ashton Montgomery rolls her eyes and slides her food to Jasper. James steps away from Ashton Irwin to start eating out of his sisters' bowl. Neither of them uses a fork, causing Mackenzie to groan.

"It's not my fault when Stella doesn't empty the dishwasher," Ashton Montgomery sasses. The lip piercing moves with her lip, and every time it does, Ashton Irwin just wants to stare. Sass is her biggest quality, the thing she's the best at. "Like, ever!"

"She's twelve, give her a break,"

"She's actually thirteen, Mother, but if you say so,"

"Ashton Kalypso Montgomery, can you please not be so sassy all the time? Do you know how to be normal?" Mackenzie turns from the dishwasher and remembers that there's a guest in the house. "I promise I'm not bullying my child, I'm just joking around." She takes a deep breath. "I'm Mackenzie, Ash's mom, but Michael just calls me mom like every other damn person I run into."

"If you're hungry, help yourself, blah blah blah," Ashton Montgomery slumps back in her chair. "I already gave him the rundown."

"So if you make a mess?" Mackenzie asks.

"You clean it up," Ashton Irwin answers.

"Ah! I like you already!" Mackenzie says. She pulls her black hair from her face and into a ponytail. And Ashton Irwin can see the resemblance entirely. "I'm going to go get freshened up. Don't give the boys any dessert, please. And, oh! I never got your name."

Ashton Irwin stands up to shake Mackenzie's hand. She's taller than her daughter, but Ashton Montgomery is an exact carbon copy of her mother. "I'm Ashton." He holds his hand out.

Mackenzie takes it. "Ashton?" She looks at her flushed-faced daughter slumping further into her chair. Mackenzie's eyes go wide. "Oh! I've heard about you."

"Is it bad?"

"Not my place to tell,"

Ashton looks over at Ashton at the table. "Really, huh?"

-

Taking in a breath full of smoke from the end of a pipe, Kalypso leans backward in the lawn chair. Calum's got those expensive lawn chairs with cushions, and a fire pit built into a table. Kalypso's body is warm from the fire and the guys surrounding it. Calum to her left, Luke to her right, Michael on the other side of Luke, Ashton between him and Calum. Laid out in front of her, past Ashton's head, she can see the city she grew up in. Lights that never seem to turn off. Cars and people that will never know it's her sitting on top of the hill, her back facing an expensive house.

She lets go of the smoke in her lungs, a cloud falling from her mouth. So thick and warm it blends in with the smoke from the fire. Luke snaps his finger in her direction, garnering her attention from the pretty lights in front of her. She blows the remains of the smoke in his face, turning toward him. He's chewing on the edge of a cinnamon-flavored graham cracker.

"Truth or dare?" he nods his head toward her. He leans his head back to take the last of his graham cracker. Luke's hands rubbed themselves together to get rid of crumbs and he finally rests them in his lap.

"I'm twenty-three, Luke, not twelve," Kalypso answers. She's not interested in the game.

"Just pick,"

"Fine," she presses the opening of her pipe back to her mouth, ready to ignite her personal flames again. The fires of her drug reflect in the eyes of Ashton's, and he dreads the flick of her thumb on a blue lighter. "Truth."

"Wimp," Luke smiles at her and her lighter ignites. Ashton can't help but watch her, ignoring Michael and Calum's conversation. "Where do you work?"

She breathes in deeply and pulls away from the glass. "I paint custom canvases for people." She lets go of the smoke, turning her head to her right shoulder so she doesn't hit Luke in the face with it. "Follow me on Instagram, a-k-m-underscore-arts."

"Wait," Ashton pauses. He waves his hand in the air to cut her off. "I think I just ordered a canvas from you for Auzzie. Auzilynn, A-u-z-i-l-y-n-n,"

Of course, Kalypso thinks. "Yeah, I think you did," She doesn't want to talk to Ashton. She wants to forget he exists. Kalypso wants the broken gems inside of her to fuse back together, but she can't do that. She doesn't know why. "Uh . . . Mike, truth or dare?"

Michael glances at Kalypso. "Dare?"

Kalypso blinks quickly, forgetting the feeling of a spinning world from her low tolerance. Her eyes close for a few seconds when she balances herself and sets the pipe down on the table surrounding the fire. "Go jump in the pool fully clothed."

"Now you're the one acting twelve," Michael laughs. "But bet. It's hot out here anyway."

-

“Look at the moon," Ashton points a steady finger to the glowing globe in the sky, lighting their way down the bumpy sidewalks. Eventually, Ashton hopes he'll have a car, and when he and Kalypso hang out, they won't have to skate back to either house. "It's so pretty,"

"Not prettier than you," Kalypso blows a kiss toward him, just a few feet ahead. Her skateboard is smaller than his, but the bottom is scratched up and doesn't have as much paint as it used to. Emblems from Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Sublime, AC/DC, and Nirvana's smiley face were once painted over a pink sunset. Scratches from skatepark equipment are starting to fade the emblems.

Ashton catches the kiss in a hand and releases it to the sky until a horrific scream brings him back. Lying on the cement a few feet away from a crack in the cement, Kalypso's lying on the ground. Ashton stop's his skateboard and discards it in the grass. The moon illuminates her clear left cheek.

"Are you okay?" He slides to the ground next to her and grabs her left arm to shift her to her right side. Somewhat of a rash on her right cheek, her wrist cocked oddly, and she just giggles. "'Lypso, are you okay?"

She continues giggling, her chest bubbling from the ground and bouncing her curled hair. "It hurts like a bitch," Kalypso giggles when she's hurt, Ashton realizes. "You should kiss it and make it feel better." An odd coping mechanism, but at least she's not crying.

"Kiss what?"

"My broken fucking hand,"

Ashton presses his lips to her hand. Soft buttons of pink kiss lightly. "Better?"

"Oh second thought, I think I busted my lip open too," Kalypso smiles. Burning, stinging is flowing through her wrist and she winces when she tries to move her fingers. "It needs a kiss." It would be impossible to explain to Mackenzie, to tell her that Kalypso wrecked her skateboard and still manage to ride when she heals. Mackenzie will want to ban skateboards from Kalypso, Stella, and the boys.

Ashton doesn't think, he just does what she asked. As humans ruin everything they touch, Ashton and Kalypso ruin each other in ways that make growth. Like destroying the ground to plant a blooming tree or trimming long hair so it will grow longer and healthier. Ashton's lips ruin watermelon lip balm on Kalypso's, and Kalypso ruins Ashton's wonder of what it tasted like.

A fire ignited between the two, leaving them both breathless after a two-second kiss. Flowers grew from both of them, sprouting beautiful things. They can't believe themselves.

Ashton, the brunette boy that was a year older than everyone else in his grade, kissed the girl he thinks of first every morning until unconsciousness brings him to dreams of marriage and spending the rest of his life with her. The girl that smiles and makes him photograph the way butterflies land and stick to her hair, the way Ashton looks happiest on rainy days with clouds looming in the sky, and everything she never wants to forget.

"I win," Kalypso smiles, even though her entire body is shaking. Ashton sits up and wraps arms underneath her back and knees. Kalypso's pulled from the ground and she kicks until her feet are planted. "I bet Luke you'd do it tonight."

"Do what tonight?"

"Kiss me."

"So you're telling me you broke your hand intentionally,"

Kalypso sighs. "Nope," she looks at her already-swollen hand. It's terrifying. "Go hard or go home, right?"

-

"Truth or dare?" Michael laughs, his shirt gone, and hair wild. "Ashton." he sips a beer, feeling some type of buzz plaguing his mind.

"Truth," Ashton answers. He's holding his beer more than the rest of them. With Kalypso present, he physically cannot become intoxicated. He doesn't know how, but he knows that no matter what she's to be protected. After years of going out drinking with her in high school, he made sure she was safe before he was.

"C'mon man, all you pick is truth,"

"I don't want to go into the pool,"

Michael scoffs. "Fine. What happened two days before graduation, Irwin?"

Kalypso looks up from the ground. She can't breathe. The flowers inside of her started to choke her airways until she knew that Ashton was watching her. Act normal. Act normal. She pretends to be unbothered. Everyone can see through it.

"What happened?" She whispers and takes Luke's glass of whiskey. She drinks all of it at once and hands the ice back to his protesting whines. "I'd like to hear this."

"I didn't do anything, actually,"

"Really, because-"

"-I went to a party," Ashton leans forward to set his beer down. Elbows on knees, hands clasped together. "And I drank something that Sage had given me. I woke up three hours later to Luke screaming at me. Sage told him I cheated on you."

The first time he'd been able to say it directly, out loud, in the presence of anybody else. The first time Kalypso felt she could talk about it too.

"Really? I heard-"

"-Where's your fucking evidence, Ashton?"

Kalypso's eyes went wide. She hadn't been called that name in forever. Her family, her friends, everyone around her adjusted to her new name. She stands up from her chair. She no longer cares what happens, she no longer cares if she's ever around him again. "Where's your evidence that you didn't, Ashton?" The ache in her heart tells her that she still loves him as she did five years ago.

"Video evidence dating that the entire time I was asleep in my bedroom, she was at the diner on George Street telling everyone she was going to prank us with that,"

"Bullshit,"

"Why would I lie? Five years, five fucking years, 'Lypso! Why would I lie about that?"

Kalypso blinks hard, frustrated, and stares at Calum. "I'm going back to my hotel. I'll see you in the morning." She looks back at Ashton. "You can go fuck yourself."

-

"Eight, nine, ten, eleven-" A road of thunder interrupts Kalypso. Lightening lights the setting sky. "It's eleven miles away."

"Really? The radar says it's already storming," Ashton replies, smiling. Kalypso pushes his phone from his hands. Being overdramatic, Ashton falls from his side into a soft thump on his back. "Look, you're so rough you knocked me over!"

"Liar!" Kalypso giggles. Her right hand, jailed in a blue cast, clenches her blanket when she lightly pressed into his chest with her left. "I think you're perfectly fine."

After breaking her wrist, Mackenzie put her daughter on house arrest. Ashton, Michael, and any other friends can visit, but Kalypso can't go see them until she's healed.

"Dinner!" Mackenzie yells from the bottom of their carpeted stairwell. Kalypso stands up from the comfy bed and grabs her phone off the charger.

When Kalypso was old enough to decorate her own bedroom, she took advantage of the design. She was given two closets, one with sliding doors, and one that has a single door leading to a room of shelves. Years prior her uncle helped her remove the sliding doors and shove her full-sized mattress into the space. Pillows along the back of the closet, where the widest part of her bed is. She has a perfect view of her TV and the windows.

"Ashton, dinner," Kalypso laughs. Her hand ruffles his messy curls and giggles at his bandana choice. The same color as her hair- cherry red. "C'mon, I'm hungry!"

"You're going to have to force me, Hungry, I'm comfy,"

"Oh yeah?" Off of her nightstand, she grabs a disposable camera and snaps a photo of Ashton, his stubborn self, and all of his glory. "One day, we're going to be twenty-something, and you're going to look at these photos and say 'thank goodness I'm not that stubborn anymore'."

"And you're going to wonder why you have always been dramatic and use disposable cameras."

"It's easier to print and hang up,"

"I think you're a little bit obsessed with my face," Ashton points to the wall surrounding the bed. Photos of Ashton and Kalypso, some with Michael and the guys, or Stella and Kalypso the few times they've gotten along. She changes the switch of her fairy lights to illuminate the area. She never needed an overhead light with floor-to-ceiling windows scattered around.

"I am not!" Kalypso smiles. Her hair is messy, wavy, and poofy in different directions. She tucks as much as she can behind her ear. Ashton grabs the camera to snap a photo of her reaching for him. "Please! I'm hungry!"

"What'd your mom make for dinner?"

"Grilled salmon,"

"You hate fish,"

"But you don't!" She tugs harder on his hand. "I'm hungry!"

"What are you going to eat?"

"Grandma is making Jasper and I chicken strips," Calypso falls backward onto her hardwood floor when Ashton stands up. He catches her when her butt grazes the ground and pulls her into him. "C'mon!"

"So you get chicken strips and I get fish?"

"Yes!" Kalypso continues pulling Ashton out of her room, down the stairs. Stella and the boys have already made it to the bottom. "It's your favorite. Last night we had my favorite, and tomorrow we get James' favorite."

"You just had to include me, huh?" Ashton asks while he descends from the top floor. Kalypso's two stairs ahead of him.

She shakes her head. "Actually, I requested shrimp alfredo for dinner but no. Mom wanted me to have something you like," She lies.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh!" They end up at the bottom of the stairs and round the left corner to the kitchen. "You're here every day. Might as well include you."

James groans, looking at his sisters' boyfriend. "Do you ever go home?" With Ashton in the picture, James didn't get to spend as much time with Kalypso.

"James Samuel!" Mackenzie calls. "That's not very nice."

Pre-Ashton, James, and Jasper could fall asleep in Calypso's bed with her. When Ashton and Kalypso started dating, Ashton started sticking around until she falls asleep and goes home when he knows she is officially out for the night. The times Ashton stays with the guys, he calls her to talk when she feels drowsy. It's their routine.

Mackenzie sets a tray of chicken strips on the table for the non-fish-liking children. "Ash, can you- My Ashton," She smiles, uncomfortable. "Ashton Kalypso, can you get the tea from the outside fridge?"

"I vow we call her 'Lypso!" Jasper says, already stealing chicken strips. His dark hair falls over his auburn eyes.

"No!" James answers. "Ashton One and Ashton Two."

"Or," Kalypso holds a finger in the air. "Ditch Ashton entirely and become Fletcher and Kalypso." Ashton gives her a side-eye glare. "What?"

"I'm not going by Fletcher,"

"Noob,"

"Kalypso, tea!" Mackenzie demands and points to the garage door. Kalypso disappears inside.

"We should just sell Ashton Kalypso on eBay!"

"James, we aren't selling your sister," Mackenzie shakes her head. She sits on the first chair to the right, and across from Jasper. Ashton and Kalypso always sit next to each other on the other side of the boys.

"But she's a girl," He grimaces. "And she talks a lot now."

"I would rather her talk a lot than be silent again," Mackenzie says. "Ashton, you're a real blessing to her. You have no idea."

"What do you mean?"

"Until last year she never really talked to anyone but Michael and Stella," Mackenzie starts. Ashton couldn't believe that at one point, Kalypso was so shy she couldn't talk. "I swear she talked for an hour straight the day she met you."

"Mom," Kalypso groans, closing the garage door behind her. A pitcher of sun tea half mixed with lemonade in her hands. The only thing the boys will drink besides soda. "There are some things you don't have to share."

-

Three shots down, as many as it takes to go. Kalypso, even hating alcohol, wants to forget his name. She wants to forget that he exists in the real world and that he's so close, but so far away. All she can do is scream his name and wonder why she wasn't good enough. They were too young to know about love, and if they weren't they were too dumb to think that it could last forever.

Kalypso forgot the massive bar and hangout area Michael had in his basement. When the five, and sometimes Stella, became known and interested in alcohol, Michael's was the house to get it from. Easy access, nobody realized anything was touched. Either there, or stealing food from Kalypso's refrigerator, you could find any of them.

Luke sets down a box in front of her at the bar. "Ashton says this is for you." He slides it closer to her. Her palm stops it.

She doesn't want anything to do with Ashton. His stupid box, his stupid face, his stupid mistakes. She was rejecting his presence and everything that comes with it. "Shove it up his ass" She put another shot into her mouth and swallowed. Four in. So many more to go.

"Kal, can you please just take it?"

She slams her glass down onto the marble counter. "What's in it?" If it's stupid, there was no point in opening it.

"No idea,"

Kalypso tucks her pink thumbnail at the paper tape. She is just a slice, just barely a poke, away from whatever Ashton is up to.

"Probably just giving things back,"

"Five years later?"

"You never know." Luke grabs a knife from the other side of the bar and slices the top open quickly. Flaps fly open, revealing several things inside. Michael adjusts off a barstool to get a closer look.

Papers, indented and worn by ballpoint pens of all colors. Stuffed animals, jewelry, familiar things Ashton has given to Kalypso and she returned. Off the top, Luke lays a stuffed stingray on the bar. Kalypso loved that stingray, named it Dionysius, and kept it amongst her pillows for years.

A necklace with Ashton engraved in a silver plate, two stuffed bears his mom had made, and rocks they'd painted together. Movie ticket stubs from every date, and the millions of photos they'd taken together. She glued them to the inside when she gave him the brown box. She gave him the box that way and he never changed it. Maybe they weren't too naive to know what love is.

"Look," Michael says and grabs a photo from the box, pulling it off easily. "You were so small." He gives it to Kalypso to see.

Wide-eyed, a mouth full of braces, and wearing Ashton's clothes, Kalypso was sitting in Ashton's lap. Her hand blocking most of her face, leaving only Ashton and a thirteen-year-old Luke to be seen. Her hand was in a cast-- the photo was from when they first started dating.

Kalypso grabs another photo from the box. Sitting in the front, she was the smallest and not looking in the mirror like everyone else was. Kalypso's bedroom-- her mirror covered in plastic flowers, the boys and Stella posing with her. Calum to her left, Stella to her right, Ashton behind her, Luke behind Calum, Michael behind Stella. Stella had taken the photo. Kalypso was at least seventeen.

On the bottom of the box was a photo printed on regular printer paper of the fire she used to engulf his belongings. A jersey she had with IRWIN on the back for all of his football games, his clothes, and the rest of their photos.

"He kept this for five years?" She shakes her head. "Now, who can't get over who?"

Luke reads a paper in the box. "You should look at this." A giant blue #1 shone at the top of it.

' 'Lypso, I tried to talk to you and your mom yesterday to explain what happened and the whole story. You wouldn't give me the time of day. I wouldn't either, to be honest. '

She reads it aloud. The letter continues, explaining the box. Everything inside was the same and he didn't want it. Another paper, labeled #2, had a list.

1.I've written coordinates down. These are all the places where I knew I couldn't live without you. Something significant happened at each one and I remember them all perfectly. Plug it into google and remember, for me.

2. You can go there. If you want to pretend you're in a fanfiction of a young adult movie where we'll end up together. If you do, I have something there to remind you of it all.

3. You don't have to forgive me or take me back. I just want you to know how much I still love you.

4. They're not in order.

Coordinates:

"Either of you have Google Earth?" Kalypso asks. Luke pulls his phone out. She enters the first set and waits. "Literally we're right here." Kalypso looks for answers in the men.

"How about you go look in the downstairs living room," Luke hints. "That's where-"

"-That's where he asked for my number,"

"And you still have an interrupting problem."

Kalypso rolls her eyes, but can't seem to get downstairs fast enough. A photo is waiting for her where Ashton sat that night. She grabs the paper; it has something else to say.

"I'm the oldest, I don't drink, I don't overcharge, and my favorite movie is Cars." "Cars?" "Mack is under-appreciated and deserves more love despite his mistakes,"

I swear that was the most eye-opening and Kalypso thing I'd heard, Mini Mack

"I remember that night," Kalypso can see it.

"15 and a drug dealer. How could I have thought any different?" Ashton Montgomery takes a larger bite of her cookie, trying to fit the rest into her mouth. A tiny corner remains. "Let me guess, your favorite alcohol is straight vodka, your favorite movie is American Pie, you overcharge on eighths, and you're the baby of your family."

"First night Ashton had bought from me personally," Kalypso felt the warmth through her entire body. Ashton remembered.

"I'm the oldest, I don't drink, I don't overcharge, and my favorite movie is Cars,"

"Cars?" Ashton Irwin repeats back.

"Mack is under-appreciated and needs more love despite his mistakes. He didn't mean to leave McQueen behind. McQueen made him drive all night and-"

It was Ashton Irwin's turn to interrupt. "-I've never even seen Cars."

Ashton Montgomery takes her finger and points at him angrily. The rest of her cookie goes into her mouth with her other hand. "You're missing out." Her hands move to push back falling hairs from the messy bun underneath her hood.

He remembered one of the most insignificant things about her.

"You only like Mack because your dad used to call you Mini Mack," Michael pauses the game of Mario Kart again to turn and face the Ashtons. Luke unpauses the game and waits for Michael to realize.

"Mini Mack?"

"My moms' name is Mackenzie-"

"-and she looks just like her. Mini Mackenzie," Michael finishes.

The next coordinate was where she wrecked her skateboard. Taped to a broken stick is a photo of Kalypso laying on Ashton's bed with him. It was a few days after when everyone finally caught up with decorating her cast, and Mackenzie didn't realize Kalypso had left the house. She wore a white tank top, one strap falling off her arm. Right hand bandaged up, lays in Ashton's next to her. Kalypso was surprised by the camera Ashton's sister randomly ran up to them with. She caught a photo while standing on top of Ashton's bed.

"You should kiss it and make it feel better."

She still has the scar from the wreck on her wrist. A reminder of that night for the rest of her life. The feeling of Ashton's lips on hers. Warm cement painful under her palms.

"Kiss what?"

"My broken fucking hand,"

Ashton presses his lips to her hand. Soft buttons of pink kiss lightly. "Better?"

"Oh second thought, I think I busted my lip open too," Kalypso smiles. Burning, stinging is flowing through her wrist and she winces when she tries to move her fingers. "It needs a kiss."

He remembered eating dinner at Kalypso's house every night for eight weeks straight. The day her cast was removed, they went on their first date.

Makenzie made them do an uncomfortable photoshoot before their showing of Cars. A dress, a bowtie that clipped on, and uncomfortable shoes. Teaching Kalypso how to drive, laughing when she screamed while merging on the freeway. Video games, arcades, records. Their one-year dinner catered by Michael and Calum, listening to 2000s rap the whole time. Kalypso surprised Ashton with the jersey. One time Kalypso fell asleep on Ashton at Michael's house. Kalypso showing off her license when she got the guts to get it. A bonfire at the beach for Ashton's birthday, even though they couldn't swim.

They stargazed every night of the summer until the sun rose or sleep overcame them. Where they met for a concert, where Ashton parked his car at a drive-in date, Ashton getting a bunch of a facemask mixture stuck in his curls.

Their last year together. Driving around for hours on end, listening to AC/DC, and laughing. They always bought slushies beforehand. An entire day on a boat in the lake. Bikinis, tanning lotion, and seven of Kalypso's cousins. All he could see was her. Kalypso got her first tattoo at 18-- a dinosaur encased in a glass jar. A 50s themed Disney Movie marathon Luke, Calum, and Stella helped Ashton plan. The day before they broke up.

The day before they broke up.

'I'll always love you. -Ashton'

She drops the last thing into the box. Does Ashton still love her? Impossible to think about. He has a daughter, probably a girlfriend, probably an entire life she would be imploding on. She puts the box in front of her waist. Kalypso feels bare and like nothing before. "Can you take me to the hotel?" Ashton knew Kalypso better than he knew himself.

Luke nods his head and motions for her to walk with him to Michael's car. On the back window, there's a penis drawn in the dirt.

It's easier for Kalypso to be in the dark, wiping falling tears like nothing. Headlights illuminating the road, not her. Luke pats her hand on the armrest. She was once hard, a badass around everyone but Ashton, and now the only scary part about her is her quick wit.

-

Stella set up the hotel room. Toiletries in the bathroom, pajamas on the bed. The sisters decided to share a suitcase for their two-day trip. They'll fly back tomorrow night-- they'll go back to their apartments after picking Magik up from Jaspers, and Kalypso will spend all night trying to catch up on painting orders.

"What's that?" Stella asks, folding a shirt over her hands. She's getting ready for a shower. Instead of replying, Kalypso sets the box on Stella's bed. Her legs buckle underneath and her sister has to catch her before she shatters into the carpet.

Muttered words. Teas. Stella opens the overly stuffed box that they couldn't close. She is amazed, reading everything Ashton had to say about Kalypso. The photographs, the concert tickets to Blink-182 and some country singers. A stapled-together packet of Kalypso's favorite of everything. Songs, movies, food, drinks, even her favorite names. The joke she always made about naming their kids Asher and Ashley. Her favorite colors and the book she constantly read over and over again and became surprised at the outcome every time.

Ashton knew everything about her when they dated. Things she never realized herself. She knew him as he knew her. The day before graduation, though, he had made his decision.

-

Kalypso applied a white shimmer to her tear ducts. Dabbing opposite of a red smokey eye. Practicing her graduation makeup one last time and trying to get Ashton's opinion about it.

"How many of my bandanas are you going to steal?" Ashton asks, throwing another bandana toward his girlfriend. She wipes the glitter off her middle finger onto her blue jeans.

"We both can wear one," She folds the bandana up into a strap and hands it back to Ashton. "Put it on. You'd look cute."

"Cute? I'm supposed to be intimidating." Ashton giggles, but reluctantly folds the strip over his forehead and ties it at the base of his neck. "Now we look alike."

"Is that a bad thing?" Kalypso asks.

"Nope," Ashton stands up from Kalypso's bed to stand behind her. All he can think about is how much he loves her, how beautiful she always has been. Freshly dyed, cherry red hair chopped at her shoulders, curly from braids. "Are we still going to the beach after graduation?" She had tied a bandana in her hair to hold her hair back too. Black and white, like Ashton's.

"Yeah, but after the graduation party,"

Ashton grimaces. He has a surprise for her at the beach. A stupid party will get in the way.

"C'mon, Ash, your mom is throwing it for all of us,"

"She's such a cock block,"

"Ashton!"

"I'm kidding," Ashton giggles again.

"Now, what do you think of this look?"

"I think that you look beautiful no matter what," Ashton smiles. Her lipstick matches her hair and looks like it would stain his lips. "With or without makeup."

Calypso sighs. "You always say that," She grabs her phone from the floor. A text to Stella asking where she is.

"And?"

"You have to say that,"

If Ashton never said it, he'd be a liar. She is his princess, more goddess-like than anyone had ever seen. "Do you want me to tell you if you look ugly."

"Yes,"

"If I only ever told you when you looked ugly, I'd be mute,"

Kalypso rolls her eyes. "Of course you would say that."

Ashton's head reaches over her right shoulder to press a kiss on her cheek. "You look like the moon and every star in the galaxy."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I can spend three summers straight watching you every time you're around and still get excited for the next one,"

Kalypso blushes. "You're so cheesy."

"I know," A ding from his phone distracts Ashton from his girlfriend. "Luke wants to know if he can come back with Stella."

"Sure,"

Ashton types quickly. The text sends. Luke's on his way with Stella. "Are you excited to be done with school?"

"Yes," Kalypso smiles. Braces removed, teeth are pearly white and straight. "We can hang out so much more than before. We don't have to worry about curfews or my brothers."

"Still dreaming about an apartment with a clawfoot bathtub and large windows everywhere?"

"With high ceilings and at least one cat? Of course,"

"We'll move to Melbourn and live happily ever after,"

"Melbourn? You've never said anything about Melbourn before?"

"I may be trying to pull a few strings,"

"Ash!" Kalypso gasps.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to go or-"

"-Stella entering the room! Please redress!" Stella announces, pushing Kalypso's bedroom door open. "What's the tea?"

"We'll talk about this later, okay?" Kalypso assures.

"Of course," Ashton hopes she's okay with it.

-

"He tried so hard on all of this, oh my, . . . wow," Stella's still pulling things from the box, looking over everything included. Her finger catches on a CD. "What's on this?" Kalypso has no clue but grabs her laptop out of her suitcase.

Her finger shakily presses play and a screen of dark lighting and an ugly girl sitting in a diner booth shows up. It's Sage.

Long, black hair pulled into an overly large messy bun that outweighed her entire head. A square-shaped face and a pig nose permanently turned upward.

Sage shoves a french fry into her mouth while smiling. The person behind the camera asks what Sage was so happy about. She shoves another fry into her mouth. "I came up with a genius idea. Prank the high school sweethearts. There's no way that shit can last forever."

"How'd you do it?" A boy sitting next to her asks.

"I put Nyquil in Ashton's drinks. Knocked him out cold. I'll tell him that he got super drunk and we had sex. The worst thing that'll happen is they'll break up." Sage giggles, covering her mouth. Her fingers are manicured with long acrylics and red nail polish. "I have to show this to like Stella or something so Kalypso isn't that depressed."

"Don't you want them to break up so you can date Ashton though?"

"Ew!" Sage shoves her friend next to her. "I could never. Not into weirdos."

Stella pulls her sister into her arms. The biggest hug she could offer to her best friend. Kalypso partly crawls into her lap, feeling like shit.

"I'm an idiot,"

"You didn't know,"

"Did you ever see this?"

"Not once. I haven't even talked to her since I was like sixteen,"

"I should've believed him." He probably has a wife, another kid on the way, a whole life with no room for Kalypso.

Stella grabs the box and turns it upside down. "He kept all of this for so long." All of the contents spill out onto the floor. "What's that?" She points to a tiny velvet box on the carpet. It only reminds Kalypso of one thing.

"No way," Stella passes the box to Kalypso. "Is this-" She cracks the box open and a gold ring with two silver diamonds on top stares at her. "Oh my God."

Stella picks up the ring. "I . . . I remember this. You and I have the same sized fingers so he made me go with him while you were at work one day,"

"You knew?" Tingles flow through Kalypso's body.

"He was going to propose on the beach. After you graduated. He was trying so hard to get his mom to cancel the party so you'd make it for the sunset."

Kalypso cries even harder, thinking about her past.

-

Kalypso ducks her head underneath the water of her hotel bathtub. Chocolate brown locks billow around her like she's some magical creature or a mermaid. She remembers when she was younger and would've stained the bathtub with different hair dye concoctions. The happiest moments in her life included colored hair -- and Ashton. Chocolate brown, like a symbolistic feature telling her she's not living to her fullest potential.

Her Last dye was that cherry red before graduation. Ashton brought out everything she loved about herself. Quickly, she resurfaced, gasping for breath. She couldn't live without Ashton. Stella threw her clean clothes and watched her run to the passenger door of Michael's car. They sped off, driving way faster than they should have.

Michael stopped in front of Ashton's moms' house, watching Kalypso knock on Ashton's door. Her hair is still dripping wet and staining the back of her shirt. Michael's anticipating someone answering the door. It's just Ashton, Auzilynn, and his mom. Someone will answer that knows Kalypso.

Ashton's the one to open the door. He can't even speak before her.

"You say you fell in love with me in the basement and you remembered that I'm Mini Mack. You stayed with me for eight weeks from the time school got out until I fell asleep when I broke my hand. You set up dates for me and you with Michael, Luke, Calum, or Stella creating stupid pasta dishes with mystery meat because we never had money because we were teenagers. You taught me how to drive. You put up with my constant pictures and annoying comments.

You spent summers with me on a trampoline looking at the sky because I told you that seeing the stars made me happy. You gave me one of your football jerseys when you would wear the other so we would match. You called me beautiful all the time, every single day, and never once let me forget it. You made me feel emotions I didn't know I had. I drowned in you, but yet," Kalypso finally looks up from the ground to lock eyes with Ashton. Her blue orbs lock with brown ones. "I believed someone with a fake tan and an ugly nose over you."

"It was because everyone else did," Ashton says. He's stone-faced, afraid that if he shows emotion he'll crumble. She's his drug, even after five years of straight hatred. "Luke, Michael, Calum, Stella," He looks away. Ashton can't stand to look at her anymore without turning into the high school boy in love with her. He spent five angry years going to sleep without knowing she was safe and secure with a pillow, a blanket, and that stupid stingray. "They all believed her because I couldn't remember."

"Yeah, but I should've trusted you," Kalypso starts tearing up. Her voice can paint pictures of nature scenes you only see in dreams, but her tears could destroy villages and towns. Ashton holds a hand out to her, wanting to bring her inside. "I was so stupid."

"You didn't know," Kalypso takes his hand for the warmth of a home again. One she spent a lot of time during her adolescence. The carpet is still warm and white, the couch with a strain on the armrest from when Ashton spilled something on it. His bedroom upstairs, where they made out one too many times. Her home away from home.

"You wanted to go to the beach," Kalypso whispers. "You . . . you wanted to go to the beach, and right before, I ruined it. I ruined it all. And now you have Auzzie and a maybe wife and I'm never going to be worth anything in your life but just right now I want you to consider, do you still love me? Right here, right now, that's all I need to know and I'll leave you alone."

Ashton pulls Kalypso close to his body for a hug. He smells the same, feels the same, and radiates the same energy he had for several years. "Ashton Kalypso," Ashton softly smiles, trying to lighten the mood. "You overthink way too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I could never stop loving you,"

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 22/32 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both? 

Loriel’s routine was by this point quite well-developed.

She woke at dawn, with the sun. Usually the light was enough to rouse her, but in case it wasn’t, she had a timed rune of frost under her bed set to go off half an hour after sunrise. On the rare occasions that she was inclined to laze in bed, it was enough to get her out of it.

Breakfast would be waiting for her, and it was never late. Loriel did not micromanage. Things in her Keep were done correctly the first time, or they were done by somebody else. Her breakfast varied little. One egg, hard-boiled; porridge, salty,  never sweet; fruit, whichever seasonal. She could draw some energy from the Fade, but repeated use of blood magic attenuated her connection to the Fade enough that she still needed to eat. Someday she would look into eliminating that need entirely, once her other obligations were met. She would eat on a balcony as the sun rose, less out of a desire to see the day begin, and more out of a removed knowledge that some sun was necessary for her health. Someday she would fix that flaw as well, but for now, if she had to waste time eating, she could at least get that out of the way while she was at it.

Within a quarter of an hour she would be at her desk. A stack of letters would be waiting there. She would skim them; few really required a personal response. The ones from Avernus, she put aside to deal with later.

When she finished with that, she would indicate for her seneschal to enter. Her name was Brigit; she was bright-eyed and fervent, relentlessly competent, utterly indispensable. She was most of the reason the Keep still functioned at all. She would be waiting outside the door, a cup of tea in hand. The tea—bitter, biting, oversteeped—was Loriel’s one indulgence. She would drink it and listen to the daily report. Brigit respected Loriel’s time, and began with what Loriel cared about—first, had there been any sign of the Architect? Second, had any Wardens begun to hear the Calling?  And third, had any been killed?

There was never any sign of the Architect. Most of the Wardens at Vigil’s Keep were far too new for the Calling. But every once in a while, there would be deaths. Loriel would ask for their names. She forgot them as soon as she heard them, but it was important she hear them.

The rest of the half-hour was an abbreviated exchange of questions and instructions. If there was anything that absolutely needed Loriel’s personal attention, Brigit would ask for it—but few things did. People needed or wanted the entity known as the Commander of the Grey, or the Arlessa of Amaranthine, or the Hero of Ferelden. Loriel held those titles by an accident of history; she had no personal characteristic that suited her for them.

Then Loriel would hand off any letters that needed replying to. Brigit could mimic her hand and her signature easily enough, and Loriel received far too much correspondence to deal with it all herself.

With the business of rulership out of the way, Loriel would descend to her underground chambers. She would work for ten or twelve or fifteen hours. If she tired early, she would sit and read. She avoided falling asleep underground—it was too disorienting. Each day she ascended, changed into the clothes left for her freshly laundered well in advance, cleaned her teeth, and slept. Once a week, she would bathe, whether she needed it or not—the alternative was to forget to bathe entirely. She did not bother to fall asleep naturally—there was a simple spell for that, and she saw no reason not to use it.

Her research went slowly. But it went.

And so the clockwork of her life ticked on.

tck

The work itself was going better than it had. 

Her methodology was much like her daily routine—plodding, relentless, as bland as it was efficient. She followed procedure, did what needed to be done, even if she had no appetite to do it. Her reams of close-written notes were meticulous to the point of exhaustion. She lived and breathed rigor. Almost everything she tried failed, and each failure was a step closer to success.

Eventually—something would work. 

A dim awareness fluttered in her mind that the bright scalpel of her mind was now little more than a crude cudgel, but what did it matter that she wasn’t brilliant? The work still got done. 

Her underground lab had grown from a single rough chamber to a warren of interconnected tunnels and specialized chambers. The Underkeep stretched nearly as far as the Keep above. In one room, the vastly expanded lab space, tables of glass devices and cabinets of reagents. In another, her library, swollen with tomes both common and rare, with her own notes and manuscripts and diagrams. Another room stood lined with cages holding dozens of creatures subject to her experiments—rats, it turned out, reacted very much like elves and humans to the Blight, and they bred fast. Lines of entropy enchantments lined their cages, keeping them in stasis until it was time for them to be of use. An underground stream provided water, wrested from the depths of the earth and channeled through pipes of stone. All of it climate controlled with her elegant runes. It was never too hot or too cold, never too wet or dry; no mold, no pests, no sunlight, save that which she made herself. 

And below that, another tunnel, deeper than the other, longer, and layered with more protections; it lead to the Deep Roads. She ventured there; sometimes for some purpose—to collect a sample, to check for deliveries from her friends beneath the earth—but most often simply to sit in the dark, to feel the miles of stone pressing down on her, and be empty of thought and of feeling and being. 

tck

One of the few reliable reasons that Loriel ever left her Keep was when she went to see Avernus. Letters passed between them frequently, almost entirely of a technical nature—what reagent could be used to evoke such and such reaction? What were the best ways to keep blighted flesh preserved for study? Where were the most promising leads to follow up on to search for lost Tevinter literature on the subject?—But often letters weren’t enough. So once or twice a year, Loriel would gear up and make the journey to Soldier’s Peak. She would stay there for a handful of weeks, making aggressive collaborative progress with Avernus until both their tolerances for other people dried up and Loriel returned to her Underkeep.

“I see you are still being unreasonable about human subjects,” Avernus sniffed on one such occasion, while they both watched a cauldron boil in silence. 

This was a frequent subject of complaints in his letters. “I see no reason in deliberately poisoning a well. Do you imagine the work would go faster if I was driven from my fortress with torches and pitchforks?

“Torches and pitchforks, hmph! As though peasants with torches and pitchforks are any threat to you.”

“Peasants, no. A Chantry army of Templars? A new Exalted March?”

“Do not tell me you still fear Templars. If that were truly your chief concern, you would not have let so many join your Order. ”

He was baiting her, and it wasn’t going to work. “I do not need to fear them to understand what is prudent, what is necessary, and what is not. The work will continue as it has.”

“And in the meanwhile, your Wardens will continue to die, because of what amounts to self-interest, hm? Because you fear the consequences of a little risk? Because you do not like to think of yourself the way you think of me?”

Bait. This was bait. She was too good to fall for bait. But Maker, Avernus could be really irritating in person. 

“I am working with you to cure the Calling,” Loriel said evenly. “To save my wardens from a terrible fate. What sense would it make to sacrifice their lives in order to save them?” 

Avernus snorted. “Very well, child, suit yourself. At your age I felt much the same.”

Something in the way he said child— not a word he often used for her, a word he clearly used now because he knew it would enrage her—sounded so much like Irving that she nearly lost control of herself. Who in the void did he think he was? If not for her grace, his desiccated corpse would be enriching the soil by now. She could have killed him when they’d first met. She could kill him now, if she wanted.

The old bastard watched her with a defiant, mocking eye, daring her to try. She could, couldn’t she? She was younger, faster, and yes, stronger. For all his experience, she had the more raw power to throw around. They had both seen battle, but his battles were a century old while hers were fresh and bleeding—and she’d bested him before. Granted, she hadn’t been alone then...but she was stronger now. Yes, she could kill him—

But the old blood mage was all she had.

“My title,” she said crisply, turning her eyes back to the slowly boiling cauldron, “is Commander.”

He rolled his eyes at her, and asked how her experiments with draconic gall had gone, and they spoke no more of it that day.

Avernus wasn’t all bad. He could be a cantankerous, amoral, belittling bastard, but he was clever, and not the worst to talk to. Sometimes he would be taken aback by her original ideas, rendered silent and thoughtful by her insights. Sometimes she would make a remark that seemed to her perfectly obvious, but which would send him consulting his notes and tomes, muttering under his breath. Each such instance left her smug and glowing for hours. Avernus never rendered praise—which she preferred—but this was better.

Pathetic, that she cared what he thought of her. And she did care. Commander or not, intellectual equal or not, she was his pupil. Avernus had plumbed depths of magic yet unknown to her, and his mind held secrets it would take her years to extract. And whatever his faults, he never lied, not about anything.

How badly she had wanted to please First Enchanter Irving as a child. How much she had lived for his praise, for his assurance that she was so bright, so special, so different from the other children. How pathetic he had looked when she had saved him from the Fade, how much she had hated his mealy-mouthed supplications to his Templar master. Each time she remembered it, she coated the memory with a fresh layer of poison.

Loriel was no fool, and she had no love for self-deception. She knew exactly what Avernus was, and what he was to her. But he, at least, was honest.

tck

Before she’d found Brigit, Loriel had managed intelligence of her keep with a network of enchanted crystals. Padding invisibly around her own Keep like a thief in te night would never have served for long. The crystals studded the halls of the Keep in unassuming braziers and in decorative sconces, transmitting everything that they saw and heard to a circle of polished silver in a dedicated chamber in the Underkeep. Crystals had special properties of resonance and purity that made them excellent for conveying sound. The real challenge had been getting crystals in a size and index that suited her. They didn’t occur naturally often enough to be worth harvesting, so she had had to figure out how to make them herself, with heated water and powdered minerals and careful spells of entropy to control their growth. It was finicky business; large enough to work, small enough to not be noticed, of just the right purity. The key was blood—her blood, connecting the network to the mirror and to herself. 

The next problem was how to limit the flow of information. The Keep was just too busy to monitor all at once. She’d had the thought to fix it by keying the crystal network to particular activation words, to keep from picking up on discussion of that evening’s dinner—but even then, it was too much. Loriel had lost hours to the mirror, hypnotized by every irrelevant word and image it sent. On bad days, it was all she did.

Three chief things Loriel learned from her mirror:

First: The kitchen girl she’d so thoughtlessly forced to forget her on the first day of her new life was never quite the same afterward. She often cried for no reason, couldn’t remember whole weeks of her life, and she didn’t know why. Her dearest friend—a scullery maid—would comfort her, let her weep into her shoulder, assure her that no, she wasn’t mad, that she needn’t give herself over to the mercy of the Chantry, that surely the Maker would send relief soon. 

Loriel regretted making her forget. She would not have done it, had she known it would break her mind. But neither did she indulge her guilt and shame. What a waste that would have been. Of course Loriel had hurt her—was that not entirely expected?

She knew perfectly well what she was. 

Second: Nearly everyone in the Keep she ruled feared her. Some hated her, some revered her, some loved her, but everyone feared her. 

That Loriel was a maleficar was not exactly an open secret. The new recruits didn’t know, and the old recruits weren’t sure or bold enough to tell them outright.

But oh, there were rumors.

Some seemed convinced that she had died long ago—that her seneschal had killed her, usurped her position, and only pretended to take her directives (after all, how long had it been since anyone had seen her? On these occasions Loriel occasionally made a point to appear briefly in the great hall). Others asserted that Loriel was the usurper, that the old commander had grown too popular and beloved and had planned to betray her, and so Loriel had betrayed and killed her first. Another version had it that Loriel kept the old commander imprisoned somewhere in the depths, chained up and tormented with blood magic. And that was well related to—

Third:   People still spoke of the old commander. Anytime something went wrong— the old commander never would have allowed this. The old commander would never have allowed the patrol schedule to change so inconveniently. The old commander never would have stood for substandard breakfast offerings. The old commander wouldn’t have tolerated this. The old commander would have kept us safe. The old commander cared. Many in the Keep were very confident on what exactly the old commander thought and felt about any subject on the sun you could care to name.

The first of Vigil’s Keep wardens were the worst about it. They gathered together some nights to play cards and drink, just the three of them, and the old commander would come up. Anytime the three of them met, Loriel would be there, too, invisible, intangible, unwanted. It was almost an addiction. Oghren would tell embarrassing stories from back during the Blight, and insist that he’d taught her everything she knew about fighting. Velanna always looked vaguely angry when this happened, but she listened anyway, and even asked questions, and many times Loriel caught her suppressing a genuine laugh. They’d wonder where she was, what she was doing. Sigrun would crack a forced smile and say, probably having a great time without us. They’d laugh. They’d miss her.

Loriel had never heard anything so insulting in her life.

In the end, the crystals turned out to be a mistake. It had been a fun project, but a wasteful one. One day she shattered the viewing mirror. If she really needed it, she could always make a new one, but for now, she was done. 

You couldn’t spend your life entranced by what you couldn’t have. You just couldn’t.

Anyway—she'd found Brigit by then. Brigit ran things better than Loriel could ever hope to. If Brigit made a popular decision, the Wardens all agreed that perhaps they were on the right track after all, with the Hero of Ferelden at the helm and all. If Brigit made an unpopular decision, the Wardens muttered that the old commander would never have stood for it, and if the Hero of Ferelden knew what was happening she would surely put an end to it.

Loriel herself rarely thought of the old commander. She had too much work to do.

tck

The first to go was Oghren. It had been for his own good. The Wardens had only ever been an escape for him, an excuse to wallow in his own refuse and avoid the wife and child he had been too weak to face. Well, no more. Loriel waited until he was sober, or as close as he ever came to it, to break the news.

“Go home, Oghren,” she’d told him. “Or don’t. Lay down in the gutter and finally drink yourself to death, if that’s what you really want. You can go wherever you want, but you can’t stay here.”

He’d sputtered, protested. Demanded to know why, and why now . Weren’t the Wardens supposed to take any old sod? Didn’t she have any respect for their long friendship? He’d kept an eye on her since she was naive little mageling fresh out of the Circle (now that was a funny joke) and now she was really just going to get rid of him? Just like that?

"Just like that," she confirmed, unmoved. “You don’t belong here. You have a family.”

He swore at her, so luridly that she was almost impressed. And then he calmed down. He called her a sodding waste of space, but his heart wasn’t in it. 

She made arrangements to have him taken care of. Supplies, escorts, whatever he needed. She wasn't a monster. She tried to be good to her people, when she could. She hoped he really did go back to his wife and child, though both their names escaped her at the moment. Of course she hoped for the best for him.

But she never did end up following up, and whatever became of Oghren Kondrat, Loriel never learned it.

tck

What was really surprising was how long Sigrun stuck around.

Loriel had assumed for years that Sigrun’s presence in her life was just on the verge of ending. They hadn’t been on good terms since the Dragonbone Wastes, and these days Loriel was not on good terms with anyone at all.

And even if Sigrun was too loyal and true to simply desert, she was foolhardy. She fought like she didn’t care if she died, because she didn’t. Each morning when Brigit recited the names of the dead, Loriel waited and waited to hear Sigrun’s name. That she’d died saving a fellow Warden, or charging a group of darkspawn to give the rest of her squad time, or that she’d simply not returned.

But Sigrun was still here.

How fitting for a dead woman to haunt her Keep, one who continued not to die. If Loriel didn’t know any better, she might have even thought that Sigrun missed Oghren, though Maker only knew why. If Loriel didn’t know any better, she might have even thought that Sigrun missed her, in some strange way. Of the original Wardens of the Keep, Sigrun was the only one who occasionally knocked on Loriel’s chamber doors, tentatively calling out her name and even waiting a few minutes before giving up. 

As though Loriel would tolerate her pity.

She hated to think of her. Hated to remember that she was still there at all, accusing Loriel of wrongdoing just by existing, even though she had no right at all to judge her. Hated to remember how much of herself she saw in the dwarf when she first saw sunlight.

Finally Loriel could take it no longer, and had Sigrun transferred to the Warden fortress in Orlais. Sigrun made only a cursory attempt to say goodbye, and within a blessed month, she was gone. 

tck

Velanna was the last to go.

Velanna was not her friend. She had never liked her, and tolerated her solely because Loriel represented something that Velanna wanted—justification for what had happened to her sister. But she had understood her, in her own way. For that reason alone Loriel half-expected her loyalty.

Even so, it was not altogether surprising when it happened.

Unlike the last time, Velanna did not succeed in barging through the door. The weave of enchantments on the door was far stronger than before. And Brigit was there to intercept her.

“I said, let me through. I know for a fact that she’s in there—you were just about to go in yourself. You go in there every day, I’ve noticed.”

“I am sorry, Warden, but the Commander expressly forbids visitors who have not been cleared beforehand. If you like, I can make your request today during my daily report.”

“I don’t think so.” A burst of unfamiliar magic rattled the door. Loriel was mildly impressed. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to get the job done, but that she had managed to affect it at all was impressive.

“Alright, fine. You don’t need to let me in but I know that you can hear me, so you are going to listen, whether there is a door in the way or not.” A furious inhale. “Has some demon taken your mind and driven you mad? You are not the woman I agreed to follow.” False. Velanna had never agreed to follow her at all.

“For what purpose do you exile your friends and surround yourself with enemies? Are you ignorant or foolhardy that this Keep is now full of Chantry fools and their attack dogs?” True, but flawed. Yes, the Vigil had a great deal more Chantry-faithful, as well as former Templars, in its employ, than before. But all Ferelden was full of Chantry fools and their attack dogs. All Loriel did was permit them the opportunity to die in the name of some higher calling.

“You aren’t doing any of this for us. You care nothing for us, if you ever did. Are you even trying to cure the Blight? Perhaps you are not!”

False. Loriel was trying. Of course she was trying.

“And if I am wrong—if a lick of what I have said is not true—then open this door and call me a liar to my face, you wretched cowardly betrayef." A beat.“Well?”

It sounded like Velanna really expected her to respond to any of that.

Loriel heard a final frustrated slam against the door, hammering footsteps, and then silence.

After a time, Brigit entered, trembling and hiding it. She alone had the enchanted, invisible ring which allowed the wearer to enter.

“I apologise deeply, Commander,” she whispered. “She overpowered me with magic. I was paralyzed.”

“I’m very sorry you had to experience that, Brigit,” Loriel said flatly, not looking up from the letter she was reading. “No lasting harm done, I trust?”

Brigit collected herself and inclined her head. “No harm done.”

“Good. Then, if you might proceed with your morning report…”

Velanna disappeared that day, and didn’t return. When no one had seen her in days and it became obvious that she had deserted, Brigit pressed the issue during the morning briefing. “Do you wish her hunted down and brought to justice?”

By the ever-so-delicate crease between her eyes, Loriel guessed that this was certainly what Brigit wished.

“No. It won’t be necessary.” She paused, considering. "But if she ever tries to return, do not let her."

[thestraggletag]

Darkly Intriguing, Chapter 9

Rating: E (chapter rating PG)

Summary: (OUAT/Addams Family crossover) Belle French, antiques book dealer and restorer, find herself befriending and odd but compelling couple, Gomez and Morticia Addams. It is while she restores the family library that Cousin Rumple first stumbles into her, and the sparks are immediate. But the deeper Belle goes into the strange world of the Addams’s the more worried friends and family members grow.

Trigger warning for depictions of forced psychiatric committent.

For @iguessifinallygotone, who prompted “more Darkly Intriguing”.

She didn’t recall drinking too much the day before. It had been a boring Thursday night and she’d closed up the diner, after which she’d gone to her room and watched some forgettable war movie before falling asleep on her bed. Nothing that accounted for the pounding headache or the general air of ickiness she felt. 

“Good morning, Miss Ruby. Would you care for some water?”

She opened her eyes, trying to blink the blurriness away. When she could finally focused she spotted a small, serious-looking child, dressed a bit like a kid from a Victorian horror movie and holding a glass of water with a straw. It was then that she realised she was tied to a chair.

“Hey, what the f- what the hell, kid?”

She did not recognise her surroundings. They were in what looked like a dungeon of some sort, dark and appropriately dank. 

“Please, you mustn’t hurt yourself. This will be over soon.”

“Not exactly a reassurance, shorty.” She coughed, her throat feeling scratchy. “Okay, make with the water, kid, and with the explanations. Starting with your name.”

“My name is Baelfire Addams. And I wish to enquire after the whereabouts of Miss Belle French. You two are friends, I believe.”

There was something strangely charming about the child’s old-fashioned speech-patterns, but she did not let it distract her from trying to wiggle her hands free.

“Look, kid, is this about your dad? He’s dating Belle, right? Did they have a fight or something? Adults sometimes do that, sweetie.”

Belle had seemed happy, truly happy for the first time in a while, since she’d started dating an Addams. And though Ruby felt uneasy about it she trusted Belle’s judgement. Something she might have to reconsider, in light of recent events. There was quaint behaviour, there was strange behaviour and then there was outright criminal action. And the rotten apple was unlikely to have fallen far from the twisted tree.

“No, ma’am, they didn’t. They were happy. And then she suddenly went away. My father was told she went to visit and aunt in Australia but I don’t believe it.”

She was about to demand he untie her and also stop calling her ma’am when his words sunk in. Belle was gone? She hadn’t told her anything about going away. They were best friends, sisters from different mothers, she wouldn’t just up and leave without at least texting her. And besides-

“Belle doesn’t have an aunt. Her old man’s an only child, thank God. And she wouldn’t just up and disappear. The only time she did was years ago when her fa-”

Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare, surely. Not again. Besides, Belle was an adult. Surely no one would disregard her basic rights.

“Oh, that fucking self-righteous bitch totally would.”

She winced at the cursing a second later, but the kid, Baelfire, barely blinked. She leaned forward and caught the straw being offered, taking a few deep pulls of cold water. Her mind worked overtime, trying to come up with any scenario other than the one she was imagining it. But nothing else would account for Belle’s radio-silence, or Moe fucking French inventing excuses for her absence. She made a list in her head of steps to take.

“Belle’s in trouble, kid. Gonna need you to untie me pronto.”

She barely flinched when the child took out a bowie knife out of fucking nowhere and went behind her back to cut the ropes. She was too busy trying to think what her options were. Telling Granny wouldn’t help much, other than garner moral support. Emma, out of everyone, was the one with any power to do anything. But she would be constrained by the law, and the way she figured whatever she could do could take weeks, if not months. Mother Superior was a well-connected woman, after all, and a clever one. She would drag things on for months, at best. And fuck that.

“Okay, kid, I think I know where Belle is but if we’re gonna get her out of there we’re gonna need a whole lotta luck, a helping and a massive distraction.”

The boy smiled, helping her up from the chair.

“We got both of those. Come on, cousin Wednesday must be getting impatient.”

.

Cousin Wednesday turned out to be a lovely, though sombre, little girl with long black hair, pale skin, a can of gasoline and a book of matches. Her brother Pugsley was much more social and seemingly less of a fire hazard. And they were accompanied by an actual walking hand Ruby tried very hard not to stare at as she drove her red convertible towards Saint Eunice, the charity-run psychiatric hospital three hours away. It was run by the nuns of the nearby convent, and was the pride of the local community. It was spearheaded by Mother Superior, a demure and humble figure that scared the bejeesus out of Ruby, even as a child. Even before she’d done what she did to Belle.

The plan, as they devised on the way there, was frightfully simple: they would locate Belle, create a distraction and extract her with no one being the wiser.

“Thing is the best tracker there is, and he knows Miss Belle’s smell.”

“Of course he does.”

They parked near enough to have a good view of the facilities, and it was then that Ruby noticed a sleek Bently pulling up behind them. A mountain of a man got out, dressed like a corpse with the skin to match.

“That’s Lurch. He’ll do the extraction once the diversion is in place.”

In the interest of plausible deniability the waitress pretended not to notice Puglsey get out of the car with a bolt cutter, the walking hand scurry inside the hospital, or the little girl wander into the back of the facilities with her can of gasoline and her matches. Nothing happened for the longest time and she was almost at the end of her current Spotify list when she smelled something burning. Soon one side of the structure was visibly on fire, plumes of dark smoke dispersing into the air. She caught the faint sound of a fire alarm and soon women in nun habits, doctors and patients were being evacuated into the gardens. She tried not to focus on how haggard the later looked, how thin and out of sorts. Belle had been gone only for a few days, it wasn’t like last time.

A fire truck siren blared in the distance, starting Ruby out of her morose thoughts in time to notice the two Addams cousins running back towards the car, the hand creature perched on the boy’s shoulder. The hulking man trotted beside them, carrying a bundle that looked human-shaped. Belle-shaped.

“Oh, thank God.”

“We will take it from here, Miss Ruby. You must go home so no one will think you involved. I will take Miss Belle to my aunt and uncle’s, she’ll be safe there. She’ll call you as soon as she can, I promise.”

“You’re the politest little criminal I’ve ever met, kid. Please take care of her. And don’t let her father near her.”

He hopped out of her car, looking incredibly unruffled by the general chaos and mayhem around him. She watched him climb into the Bentley before it sped off, and took a second or two to pause and compose herself before she took out her cell and called her grandmother. Granny would give her hell for leaving her tending to the diner mostly alone for the entire day, but if it came to it she would die maintaining she’d been in the kitchens the entire day to whoever came asking.

.

It wasn’t the first time he was asked to supply potions and ointments from his own supply to his cousin. His children got into all sorts of colourful, character-building trouble that they couldn’t get out off scot-free, though it was mostly Lurch the one that got stuck with the consequences. At least this time he hadn’t been asked to supply an entire arm, like the time where Pugsley had miscalculated the reach of his “controlled explosion”.

Sure enough the moment the butler opened the door he spotted scorch marks on his clothing. He also appeared to have singed his eyebrows off completely.

“Well, it doesn’t look as bad as the time Fester brought the children souvenirs from his trip to Ukraine. No radioactive burns this time, at least. Nothing that a little bit of ointment and a few of Grandmama’s leeches won’t cure.”

Certainly nothing worth making him drag his potion collection over. Perhaps a rouse to get him out of his house, get him socialising again. Gomez had tried a hundred excuses to force him out of the comfortable nest of isolation and misery he had built for himself. He did not appreciate having been fooled into getting clean and debatably sober, but as the request had come from Morticia he had been inclined to distrust it less. Usually she was more respectful of his dark moods.

“Ah, cousin, so good of you to come.” Morticia appeared at his side almost out of thin air, slipping a hand on the crook of his elbow to guide him further into the house, in the general direction of the glass house.

“Can’t say I appreciate being lied to, dearie. But at least  I would have thought you’d want to cling to appearances and let me see to your manservant.”

“Mama has seen to Lurch. He’s been bled, exorcised and properly bandaged, never you worry.”

“Am I free to go then? Bae is likely wondering where I am.”

He had left fend for himself long enough. His wee boy was resourceful and independent, but he needed his papa. He had wallowed in self pity and bathed in whisky long enough. 

“Baelfire is here. He and the children got into some mischief, apparently. Burned down the kitchen of a nearby hospital.”

“That sounds like the handiwork of your youngest and brightest. Pretty little arsonist you got there.”

“Takes after her great-aunt in that regard. We’re all so proud.”

She kept walking in the direction of the glasshouse, which was puzzling.

“It doesn’t sound like Wednesday to leave the job half-done. Can’t imagine her settling for the kitchen when she could’ve easily set the entire place ablaze.”

“The fire was a distraction, cousin. Apparently they were on a rescue mission, spearheaded by your boy.” She tugged gently on his arm to get him to pause. Her countenance grew strangely serious, though she was difficult to read. “It seems that Belle was there. Against her will.”

His stomach dropped to the floor at the mere mention of her name, so it took him a few seconds to process the rest of her words, and even more time to notice Morticia was still talking.

“Usually I’m all for the peace and quiet of an insane asylum for a little getaway and a bit of pampering, but I gathered that was not the case here. Miss Ruby Lucas, one of Belle’s friends, seemed to imply that her father had her forcefully committed. And not for the first time.”

“Where is she?”

He tried hard not to focus on the last bit Morticia had confided, lest he be lost in a murderous rage.

“In the glasshouse. She was put in a room at first but it seems confined spaces do not agree with her at this time. Thing said she’d been locked in a tiny room, so that might explain it. Being able to see outside seemed to calm her.”

They entered the glass dome in question, and he noticed Morticia had opened quite a few of the panels, letting the cold night air in. Someone, likely Lurch, had dragged a chaise lounge into the room, the one from the library. He’d seen Belle asleep in it often so it was natural to see her thick brown hair cascading down the edge, or her small form swaddled by the thick cashmere throw she usually favoured. It wasn’t until he got close that he noticed her bruised under-eyes, or the sallow tone of her skin. She was dressed in an old-fashioned white nightgown, likely some Addams heirloom from some Victorian ancestor. 

“She wakes from time to time, but never for long. Mama has been trying to figure out how to counteract what she’s been given, but she’s too weak for bloodletting. We hoped one of your detox concoctions might work.”

He pushed down on the vile rising up his throat, taking one of her hands in his to check her pulse. It was sluggish but constant. He opened her mouth next to smell her breath, years of experience allowing him to identify the humours out of sorts in her body. It was easy to find the right combination of potions to lower the levels of phlegm and black bile and help the production of blood, Belle’s base humour. He put a dollop of honey to cut the bitter taste of some of the herbs and eased it gently down her throat, noticing as her eyes fluttered briefly before closing again.

“She’ll wake in a few hours, hopefully with only a minor headache and some tremors. Those are likely to disappear in a few days. I trust she’ll stay here with you.”

He looked at her again, feeling like someone had tried to take the light away from his little sun fairy. She looked more like an Addams now, skin unnaturally white and lips tinged blue, but it looked wrong, unappealing.

“This is my fault.”

He had doubted her, after all. Had wrapped himself tight in his self-pity and refused to trust in her good nature. Refused to see beyond his past experiences, beyond his heartache. He had left her there. It was all his fault.

But not only his fault.

“I trust you won’t mind Bae having a little sleepover, will you dearie? I have a sudden pressing matter that needs attending.”

“Of course not, cousin. I assume I don’t have to ask what that matter is.”

Her words were laced with a hint of approval and a heap of malice. It did not surprise him in the least. Cousin Morticia was, after all, a fervent believer in the family motto.

[pain-in-the-asguardian]

Pillar

On Ao3 here.

Clouds gathered overhead as the two of them trudged down the street.  There was something heavy and strange in the air.  Not the sense of a storm, exactly.  He couldn't put his finger on it, and he was too damn tired to even try.  The two of them had been through more than enough in the past 24 hours. “Some weird shit's goin' down, yanno?”

Rude grunted a reply, eyes hidden behind his shades even in the darkness, though Reno knew the things had night vision.  “Even if it is, not our problem right now.  You heard the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Two entire days of R&R, just for destroying part of the city.  Fan-fuckin'-tastic.”

“You sure you can make it?  We can catch a ride.”

“I can make it a damn block, yo.”  Rude had insisted that Reno stay at his place, at least for tonight.  It was walking distance to HQ, and his partner had made it clear he wasn't about to let him out of his sight until he was certain Reno wasn't going to fall apart.  In truth, Reno felt the same.  Rude didn't show his pain, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.  He wasn't about to leave his partner alone tonight. Not after what he'd been forced to do.  Because of Reno...

The effects of the healing materia were wearing off, and he was feeling it.  The magic had worked well enough to allow them to complete their mission of escorting the new President to his castle, and taking out an AVALANCHE copter or two, but it could only last so long.  Reno could sense the burns resurfacing, myriad little cuts and bruises making themselves known once more.  They wouldn't be as bad, thank Ramuh, but the materia wasn't a true cure-all.  Only rest and time could do that.

They continued in silence, both lost in their own thoughts of the tragedy they'd unleashed.  The heavy clouds overhead opened just as they reached the apartment complex, rain beginning with a vengeance as they ducked into the lobby.  Perks of a Turk salary meant actually getting to live topside and in a fair amount of comfort.  Rude unlocked the door of his unit, and the two of them stumbled in, only slightly damp.  Reno blinked in the sudden brightness as his partner flipped on the lights.  He'd been here on a few occasions throughout the years, but just for an evening of private drinking and the occasional action flick marathon.

“I need a fuckin' drink. Or twelve.”

The apartment was a decent size, with an open kitchen and living room.  A hallway lead off one side into the bedroom and bathroom.  Rude strode to the hall cabinet, pulling out a towel and tossing it over.  “Here. Shower first, while you're still on your feet.  Then we can drink.  Otherwise you'll drown yourself.”  He removed his sunglasses, wiping them down.  Reno glared at him, and he returned the look evenly.  “I'll find something for you to wear.  Oh, and shampoo in the cabinet.  Figured I should keep some around.”

“Yeah... Thanks.”  He rolled his eyes, but didn't have the energy to really protest.  Clutching the towel, he trudged toward the bathroom, retrieving the shampoo as he did.  Once inside, he peeled off the burnt and blackened suit.  The material was meant to offer some protection from all elements, up to a point.  Guess the explosions were a bit too much.  He huffed a humorless laugh as the once-fine material dropped to the floor in an unceremonious pile.  No salvaging that.  His wounds were visible again, purple bruises blooming across his cheeks and chest.  Well, he'd worry about it after he'd washed off.

Stepping into the shower, he let the hot water fall over him.  It stung, and he winced.  Hot, too damn hot.  Steam rose around him like smoke, and he could imagine himself once again surrounded by fire. It was hard to breathe...  Shit.  Gritting his teeth, he turned down the temperature.  The cold water was just as biting, but it jolted him out of his reverie, and at least it didn't carry memories of flames.  He braced a hand against the wall, droplets falling from the crimson strands that fell limply over his eyes.

It was done.  It was past, and there was nothing he... they... could do about it.  Goddamn it.  An entire sector... All of those people... And for what? What the hell had Shinra been thinking?  And he hadn't even seen it happen. The true extent... because he'd fucking fainted. Reno shuddered.  He didn't know if he was crying, or if it was just the steady, cold rain.  It's over, it's done. Thinking about it ain't gonna help.  Don't. You're a Turk.  You don't get the luxury of a conscience.  He sucked in a breath, a tremor running through his slender, bruised frame.  C'mon asshole, clean yourself up.

The body wash smelled like Rude.  Something citrusy, refined.  It felt strange, and just a little bit pleasing, to surround himself with that scent.  Reno focused on it, allowing himself a few moments to bask in the idea of it before remembering that he wasn't the only one in need of a shower. He gave his hair a cursory wash, much quicker than the time he'd normally spend.  Tea tree.  Rude knew him well. Rinsing off, he stepped out, drying his hair as best he could with the towel before wrapping it around his waist.  Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he sighed.  He looked like shit.  Tired, slightly cleaner shit.  The burn on his cheek had returned, as had the one across his chest.  He didn't want to know what his back looked like.

“Alright, partner.  Your turn, yo,” he called as he stepped out.  After a moment, Rude appeared in the doorway, a rather large first aid kit in his hands.  

“First this.”  He held it up.

“Tch. I'm fine.”  He knew it wasn't convincing, given that his full, artful collection of wounds was now on full display.  Rude gave a grunt of disapproval, nodding toward the bed.  Reno sank down with a soft curse, glaring at the wall.  The injuries might not be as bad as they had been, but they still needed care.  He'd been allowed to leave the sick bay only because Rude had insisted he'd look after him.  He hissed as the other began applying salve to the resurfacing burns.  

“Stuff stinks, yo.  I just washed all that shit off!”  He got a noncommittal sound in return.  Rude was trying to be gentle, but the man didn't have the softest fingers.  What wasn't burned was bruised, and what wasn't bruised still felt tender.  Still, he'd rather have his partner's hands on him then the damn Shinra medics.  He trusted Rude, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the sensation of those fingers against his flesh.  Not that he would... or could... admit it.  He felt Rude press something to his back.  Gauze. Yeah, he figured that sore spot was probably bad... But he wasn't as bandaged up as he'd expected.  That was something, at least.   A sputter of protest escaped him when Rude suddenly gripped his chin, albeit loosely, turning his head so he could apply some salve to his right cheek.  Pale blue eyes met warm brown, and Reno's breath hitched in his throat.

“Quit squirming.”

“Mmmph,” he responded, his stomach making some odd sort of maneuver at being caught in that gaze, body stilling as new gauze was set over the injury.

“That's the worst of them.  Not great, but not too horrible.  Definitely better than before.”  Rude set the kit aside and rose to his feet. He nodded his head toward a black shirt by Reno's side.  “You can wear that.  Should be loose enough to be comfortable.  Booze in the kitchen.”

“Damn. Star treatment here, yo.  Bandages and booze.  You're the best, partner.”

There was a flash of something that might have been a grin before Rude turned toward the bathrrom and closed the door.  Reno picked up the indicated shirt, slipping it over his head.  It was a pajama top, and so it was meant to be loose even on Rude.  That meant Reno was nearly swimming in it.  The shoulders were too wide, hanging off his own awkwardly and lengthening the already overlong sleeves.  It hung low enough to easily cover him once he slipped out of the bath towel.

“Damn Behemoth,” he mumbled with a grin, rolling the sleeves up as best he could.  The fabric was silky enough that it didn't hurt against his skin, and … it too held Rude's scent.  How fuckin' domestic. He glanced toward the door, the sound of falling water emanating from beyond.  Outside of that, the room was silent.  Wthout Rude's solid, immediate presence to occupy them, his thoughts slowly started to drift again, back toward the ruins of Sector 7.  The soft smile faded from his lips.

He'd screwed up, overestimated those damn rebels.  He'd gotten his ass handed to him – him, the Turks' 2nd in Command, and because he hadn't been strong enough... And he'd almost lost his partner.  His stomach churned.  He'd almost lost Rude, and then he'd forced him to... To do the unthinkable.  His fingers curled into the supple material of the shirt's hem.  Rude... How could he act so casual about it?  Even for him, it was...  Too much, too damn much.  He hadn't escaped unscathed either, and Reno knew it. They'd both taken their share of hits today.  Dammit, the least he could do was look after his partner the same way he'd been looked after.  He'd love nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, but he'd survive another few minutes of sobriety. He could do that fucking much.

His mind kept trying to turn itself toward Sector , and he forced himself to look around the room, to find something – anything else to focus on. It was a simply furnished room, all clean lines and uncluttered space.  A dark gray comforter with plum sheets. Sleek black drawers and nightstand, everything in its proper place.  The only things that didn't match, clashing noticeably with the rest of the room, were an odd collection of items from Wall Market that they'd picked up over the years.  Materia pop figures and colorful baubles from the various vending machines, and even a garishly colored fake flower lei from Costa del Sol.  Just a little quirky.  Like the man himself, once you got to know him.  Reno found himself grinning again despite his mood.

The bathroom door opened, startling him out of his memories.  He raised his head, and Rude quirked a brow in question, clad in nothing but a towel.

“What? Thought you were gonna get out of treatment?  Nuh-uh.  Not gonna get shitfaced before I see you bandaged up too, yanno?” Rude's injuries were nowhere near as bad as his own, but just as he'd suspected, the other hadn't gotten away unharmed.  His toned frame bore its fair share of scrapes and bruises, though he hadn't burned as much.

“Hmph. Fair enough.”  Rude dropped to the mattress next to Reno, causing it to dip precariously.  

“Goddamn tank, yo.”  That got an affirmative, and slightly smug-sounding noise.  The most severe injury was a cut along his left arm, though it was nearly hidden by the lines of the tattoo that wound its way around the limb.  Reno carefully smoothed the salve over it, followed by some gauze.  “Dunno how you ya do it... ya got hide like a dragon, yanno?”

“You got speed.  I got defense.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Rub it in, yo.”  He finished up by taping some gauze over the few burns Rude managed to get, mostly along his back.  After carefully pressing the tape along the curve of his muscle, he sat back.  “There.  Now we get to be uncomfortable and itchy all damn night. And now... We need liquor.  Lots of it.”

“Agreed.”

He padded out to the main room.  Rude followed a few moments later, having abandoned the towel for the matching bottoms to the shirt Reno wore.  There was an impressive collection of alcohol already set on the table. That must have been what Rude was up to while he'd been in the shower “Truly, you're prepared for any situation.”  He smirked as Rude poured them shots.  

“Be a shit Turk if I wasn't.”

For a time, silence hung between them.  What was there to say?  Both of them were thinking the same thoughts, but neither could put them into words.  So they took shots.  A bit of everything from a fancy Costa del Sol rum to some cheap flavored vodka.  Even on the best days, he was a lightweight, and it only took a few burning gulps for the heat to start spreading through his veins.  His thoughts grew fuzzy, but no less dark.  Across from him, Rude was as stoic as always, though his cheeks had a darker flush to them. Eventually they took to just passing bottles between them. How did he do it?  How could he be so goddamn calm.  Like it was just any other day, like these injuries were from any other fucking job? He turned to glare out the kitchen window.

The lights of Sector 8 shone beyond, the rain throwing distorted reflections on every surface.  Nothing looked amiss from this side. No smoke, no fires.  A car would slosh by every so often, and the occasional unlucky traveler braving the elements.  It was hard to imagine that the neighboring plate was simply... gone.  No, not gone.  In smoldering pieces on the ground below, scattered across the ruins of the slums.  Because of Shinra.  Because of them. He snarled wordlessly.

“Reno.” He jumped at the sound, head whipping around so fast he made himself dizzy.

“What?” The other held up a bottle, head inclining in silent question.

“How can ya be ssso goddamn calm?”  He clenched his fists, short nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms.  “I... We... Th' whole fucking plate.  Jusst like that.  Like it was just a nest of wererats, and not a whole fuckin' sssection of th' city!”

Rude's eyes narrowed, and he made a show of staring into the bottle, though a sharp hiss of breath escaped him.  “Like Tseng said,” he slurred after a beat.  “We hadn't done it, someone else would've.” He swirled alcohol around a moment before taking an impressive swig. “We did it our way.  Did what we could.”  He winced at the burn.

“I know that, yo!”  Reno rose, slamming his hand on the table and rattling the bottles.  “Ya think I don' fuckin' know that?”  His breathing came in ragged gasps, bruised ribs aching.  “Doesn't make it better!  This ain't what the Turks do!  We ain't th' best people in th' world but somethin' like that...”  His face was hot, and he could feel the teltale pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes. Dammit.  When did he get to be this weak?  “What about Zirconiade?  Everyone... They're GONE because of what they did! Midgar.. the world.. It's ssstill here, Shinra's still here makin' shit decisions because they stopped that thing!  Because of the Turks!”  He ran a hand through his still-damp hair.  “They saved everyone.  And what did we do?  We...”  He shook his head.  “No... Fuck that.”

“We didn't even do shit.  You... Because I failed, you had to...” He tried to fight the tears, but it was useless.  He was the second in command.  He'd started the damn thing, he should have finished it.  Instead, he'd allowed himself to get beaten into unconsciousness, and left his partner to do the deed alone.  And that after nearly getting himself blown to hell.  Reno took a step back, swaying uncertainly.  The world was spinning, and he lost his balance.  And suddenly Rude was there, supporting him, strong hands gripping his shoulders.  When did he even..

“Reno. Enough.”

He managed to stand on his own two feet, though still with the other bracing him, as he waited for the room to stop spinning, for his ears to stop ringing.

“Yeah...” His voice sounded strange to him.  Shaky. “Yeah.” Gripping Rude's arm, Reno turned to face him. Or rather, his shoulder.  Goddamn skyscraper of a human.  He sighed, resting his forehead against one tattooed pec.  “'M'sorry...  It was my fault, yanno....”

“Reno.” His name rumbled in Rude's chest like distant thunder.  “It's not. You were down there longer.  And held your own.  Pretty damn impressive from where I was sitting.”

He shook his head.  He hadn't done a good enough job on his own to keep them from taking down the helicopter.  Shit, some superior he'd been.

“Thought... Thought I'd lost ya there for a hot second, yanno?  On top of every other shit thing... I thought...”

“Gonna take more than that.  Gotta be flashier, too.”

“Flashier than a fuckin' flaming helicopter crash?”  He felt Rude shrug in response, and actually gave a small, huffed laugh at that. This close, he could feel Rude's heartbeat.  A strong, steady pulse. His own was fluttering like a caged bird in comparison.  Reno closed his eyes, trying to focus on that rhythm. The only thing keeping him standing, keeping him grounded, was Rude.  That's always how it went.  Ever since they'd first teamed up, so many years ago.  The man was like a pillar, and the irony of that thought didn't escape him.  He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry at it. Rude rumbled something at him, and he blinked, raising his head.  

“Huh?”

“Said I'm still here.”  He squeezed Reno's uninjured shoulder.  “And I'm gonna keep bein' here.  And.  You need to get some rest. Now.  It's late.  C”mon, you can have the bed, I'm feeling generous.”

“Wow, lucky me.  Your generosity is astoundin', yanno?”  He kept his tone light, even though he wanted to protest.  It was futile, and his partner was right.  This day had been a week.  But if Rude left him, and if he closed his eyes... what would he see?  What would he be left with?The thought scared him.  He felt Rude start to move... and suddenly he didn't want that.  Not yet...    

“Wait...” Shit, when did his voice sound that small?  “Just... stay like this a little longer, will ya?” I don't want you to leave. I don't wanna be alone.  Damn it, he was being stupid.  He was drunk, his body hot and sore.  He'd been all those things before, but not like this.  Not combined with the storm of anger, fear, and sorrow in his mind.  And Rude... God he was so close.  Shit, they'd never been like this before.  Close.  Just them.  

Stop thinking stupid shit.  You've fucked up enough.  

Reno raised his head, pale beryl meeting deep chocolate as Rude stared down at him, unreadable.

I almost lost him...  

And then, before he could think, he raised up on his toes, crushing his lips against Rude's.  For a few fluttering heartbeats, it was amazing.  And then his whisky-soaked brain caught up with his body and he jerked back, panic buzzing through his entire frame.  Rude blinked down at him, dark eyes wide and lips parted just so.

“I'm... sorry, yo.  I didn't...”  Of all the fucking times.  You're fucking drunk and the world is falling down around you, and you're gonna destroy the one goddamn pillar you got left. Some goddamn professional you are.

Shit, shit shit shit shit-

And then Rude's lips were on his again and all of his frenzied worries collapsed in on themselves.  He closed his eyes, taught muscles relaxing, melting slowly into the other's arms.  When Rude finally pulled away, he left Reno blinking, thoughts swirling fuzzily and bumping into one another.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times without any sound, let alone words.  “Whhh?” he finally managed.

“Wanted to do that for a while now, actually.”

“Y-you did?  But I thought...”  He struggled to nudge his thoughts back in line.  It was like herding cats.  “Thought ya... Shit, I thought ya didn't swing this way...”

“Swing both ways.”

“Then why... Why the fuck didn't ya say something, asshole?”

“Didn't think I was your type.  Why didn't you?  Idiot.”

“I was tryin'a respect you!” “By eavesdropping on my dates?”

“That was one time, yo!”

“So you say.”  But he was grinning.

Reno blinked at him, mouth agape, trying to take it all in.  He gave up, letting his head droop forward to rest against Rude's chest once more.  “Fuckin' bastard,” he muttered into the warmth of his skin.

Rude's frame jerked with what might have been a laugh, if he was prone to such a thing.  “You wanna argue about it more, save it for morning.”  He made to usher Reno toward the bedroom again.  “Now, sleep.  You're practically delirious.  Don't want that.”

This time, Reno allowed himself to be led, dropping to the mattress with a groan.  As soon as he stopped being vertical, his body was more than happy to remind him just how exhausted he was.  Oh, he was going to be in pain in the morning. And have one hell of a hangover.  And... the darkness, the horror, was still there, on the edge of his mind. It would always be there, a part of him now, and he knew it.  But for a little while, at least, he had something to keep it at bay.  Even if whatever happened was just for tonight.

“Hey. You still plannin' on sleepin' on the couch, yo?”

“Hmmm.” Rude made a show of pretending to consider.  “Only if you don't move your scrawny drunk ass over.”

He let Rude slide past him with a sigh of exasperation that was only a little forced.  Once the taller man had settled, Reno lay down again. He felt Rude's back against his, a firm unwavering presence.  He took a deep breath, letting his eyes drift closed.  For now, in this moment, he could breathe again.  Their world had changed. Irreparably.  Soon, they'd have to pick themselves up and step back through the door of Shinra HQ.  They'd have to face the consequences of their actions, and so would all of Shinra.  

They couldn't change the past, they couldn't stop the destruction of Sector 7.  That blood was always going to be on their hands.  He could only hope that the new President would never ask anything so terrible of the Turks again.  Rufus had done his share of scheming, but he seemed to have a cooler head on his shoulders than the old man.  And they still had each other.  He'd screwed up tonight, yet his partner was still here.  Rude was his pillar, the one who kept him from collapsing completely.  He only hoped he could be the same for Rude.