#but its literally salt to an open wound to hear your child like this

[aashiqeddiediaz]

do you ever think about how much it hurts eddie when chris expresses how much of his mother he's beginning to lose. because we know that he does his best to keep her memory alive, that they go to her grave and they talk openly about her. but there are things that eddie will never be able to replicate for him - her voice, the way she smelled, the way she'd walk towards him, how she felt when she held him close, etc - and chris will continue to lose those details even if eddie talked about shannon 24/7 for the rest of his life.

that is a sort of helplessness that i don't think anyone talks about enough, and that makes eddie's expression when he overhears chris talking to buck all the more wounded

[delimeful]

or set your teeth against my throat (1)

warnings: vampires, blood, injury, violence, abduction, non consensual blood drinking, depressive thoughts, mild hypnosis, murder mention

-

Vampires, Roman was finding, seemed to have an even more shit sense of hospitality than he’d previously assumed.

Maybe it was ungenerous of him, considering this was the only coven he’d interacted with up close and personal, but he wasn’t really feeling particularly generous at the moment. When he’d been cornered, isolated from the rest of his pack, he’d expected a quick and valorous death, fighting to the last. Not… this.

Another rock made contact with the bars of his cage, the clang of stone on metal vibrating around him. His ears twitched down to flatten against his skull without his input, and he snarled low in his throat as a jeering laugh rose from the crowd.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, being taken hostage for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind, bound and muzzled like some common animal, no, they had to parade him through the streets and batter his cage with pebbles and glass and whatever other projectiles the bloodsuckers thought fitting to torment their captive audience with.

None of it could get through the enchantment on the bars, so he wasn't struck, but it was still rough on the ears. And his feelings.

Not that they cared. That was probably the point, actually.

Gathering his resolve, he forced himself to remain still and unflinching as another shard of rock hit the cage and spun away, clenching his hands to keep them from trembling. None of this mattered. It didn’t matter what they did to him, because he would not break. He wouldn’t tell them a single thing about his pack, not one scrap of information.

He would die first, and without regrets.

-

As it turned out, the coven-- Kin of Æternam, they called themselves-- didn’t seem to care for information. Not a single vampire spoke to him as he was moved further and further into the town, and he couldn’t exactly initiate a conversation himself with a gag in his mouth.

Instead, he watched, and found to no surprise that he didn’t like what he saw.

He’d known many vampires were nomadic, but it was one thing to distantly know and another thing entirely to see the human town around them, half the houses smoldering and the other half looking uncomfortably ransacked. He could see the dark splatters of dried blood along walls or among the dirt, though mercifully it seemed like it had been long enough since their invasion that any remaining human bodies had been cleared away.

Roman didn’t risk interacting with humans often. He knew the tales that were spread about werewolves, and the last thing his tiny pack needed was an angry mob on their tails. Even with his reservations, though, he would never wish something like this upon them. Upon anyone.

The Æternam vamps walked among the ruins casually, as though this was everyday scenery, and Roman supposed that for them, it probably was. Simple routine; find a human settlement, feed to their unbeating hearts’ content, hold revel, and then depart again. Rinse and repeat.

It was enough to turn his stomach, and he was almost grateful when his view of the town was blocked off by their entry into the large stone fort that loomed over all else. Almost.

His opinion of the place went downhill as soon as he saw the ostentatious throne and the vampire sprawled across it, both placed on a literal gilded pedestal. Dark raven hair, corpse-like skin, and glowing red eyes painted the picture of the archetypal tyrant vamp. He found himself strangely disappointed by the lack of originality in the man’s presentation. If he was going to die to a bloodsucker, couldn’t it at least be one with a sense of style?

One of the attendant vamps pulled the door of his prison open, and Roman lunged against his restraints with all his might, snarling past the muzzle. The attendant flinched back, but the iron cuffs that bound him held firm no matter how hard he strained. The vampire on the throne laughed, the way one might at a child throwing a tantrum.

“Oh, you are a spitfire, aren’t you? All the better.”

Roman tried to convey how much this guy’s villain aesthetic sucked with his heated glare alone. He was pretty sure Virgil could have created a better evil persona than this guy in his sleep. At age twelve. While feverish. It was sad, really.

The platitudinous prick-- Roman instantly decided to alternate between very clever and very rude nicknames for the guy in his head-- beckoned, and the attendant unlocked the chain keeping him bolted to the floor of the cage. They proceeded to grab the connecting bar between the cuffs locked around his arms and maneuver him up the steps to the pedestal with probably more force than strictly necessary.

Roman had been riding in that cage for hours, and as such, had time to prepare for a lot of potential scenarios. He grew more and more tense the closer he got to the trite enthroned bastard, mentally readying himself for what was likely to be at best an assault on his person and at worst, a horrifying and gory death.

Instead, he was steered to the side of the throne, and then shoved to his knees, at which point he realized that a horrifying and gory death might not be so bad after all. Because now the attendant was locking his cuffs into a new platform, one that was designed to force him to stay hunched over and kneeling at the side of the throne. He growled, prying at the restraints, but there was little give in the cuffs. He was stuck like this, practically on display for the world to see.

“Perfect, right where a mutt like you belongs,” Vlad the Contemptible smiled sharply, as though proud of his pitiful insult.

Were all vampires this insufferably smug? Like, was it part of the package, along with the dumb looking fangs and the tacky glowing eyes? He was glad that werewolves had eyes that merely reflected light, like the respectable, well-designed creatures of nature they were.

It was possible that Roman was rambling, mentally, a little bit. He wished desperately that he could protest the indignity of it all, denounce these freaks and their humiliating tactics, but in this state, there was little he could do but glare impotently.

The bloodsucker seemed entirely too content to ignore him and his glaring hatred entirely for the next few hours, which confused Roman at first. Clearly, he was still alive for a reason, and he felt as though he’d done more than enough waiting to learn about his fate at this point. Plus, his knees hurt.

At the very least, the pain in the neck on the throne next to him seemed like the type to gloat, so why wasn’t he?

As dusk fell, Roman got his answer. More and more vamps filtered into the wide stone hall, filling the space with their corpse-cold bodies and idle chatter. Once the last bit of sun had faded over the horizon, the Toothed Tyrant slowly straightened up in his seat, drawing all the eyes in the room to him. This was what he’d been waiting for.

What was the point in gloating about your evil deeds without an audience to lavish you in praise for it?

“Kin of mine. As I’m sure many of you have noticed, we have a... guest with us this evening.”

Roman shivered as those icy, glowing gazes moved towards him, jeering or morbidly curious or hungry. He pulled at the chains once more just to have something else to focus on, the shift and clink of the metal drowned out by his rapid heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the vamps could hear it, too.  

The pitiful excuse for a villain was still talking. “... fullest potency once the full moon hits, and our hunt will decide who claims such a reward.” His half-lidded gaze slid over to Roman. “A beast like this one has engaged in plenty of hunts before, I assume? Though, probably not as prey. I’m sure it’ll get used to the sensation eventually.”

Even with the gag, Roman could snarl as fierce as any wolf, and the rumbling growl emanating from his chest made some of the closer vamps lean away.

It didn’t seem to have any effect on the worst human leech of them all. He just smiled in a satisfied sort of way before rising to his feet. “What a rebellious spirit. Perhaps you should save that for the hunt, mutt?”

Think up some new nicknames, you absolute bore, Roman thought at him, just in case those rumors about vampires reading minds were true.

The vamp walked closer, until he was at the edge of the platform and Roman had to crane his head back to see his face.

“Let’s give us both a taste of what’s to come, then.”

Without pause, there were suddenly hands on his shirt, dragging him upwards until the restraints threatened to dislocate something. One moment, he was nearly face to face with the vamp, meeting those eye-searing red pupils. In the next, his vision blurred as sharp pain shot through his neck.

The vamp had sunk its nasty fangs in on either side of his jugular, not deep enough to kill him, but enough that it would only take the slightest twitch of the head for his throat to be ripped right out. His body kept frozen even as he began to choke, his mouth tasting of iron and salt.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t attack, couldn’t even die until these monsters allowed it. The more he fought and resisted, the tighter their grasp on him would become, and the more he would suffer. It would be better to just give up now, save himself the trouble.

(Why am I… That’s not right--)  

Roman only realized the vampire was withdrawing when those sharp teeth finally pulled away carelessly, causing a new wave of pain to roll through him. He automatically tried to reach for his throat, to stem the bleeding, but his bound hands could barely rise a few inches. He bent his head down instead, his pride stinging silently as a cacophony of mockery sounded all around him.

Once his fingers touched flesh, however, he could only feel shallow cuts rather than the gaping wounds he knew should be there. He coughed wetly, and red splattered across his hands, but he could breathe once more. However bad the bite had been, it had healed near instantly.

Of course. It was beginning to sink in that they wouldn’t let him perish that easily.

The vampire king was speaking again, eyes brighter than before, and his words blurred together and slipped away from Roman’s understanding. He could only notice the smear of deep red on the vampire’s face, and shudder where he lay as a chill set into his bones.

-

Time passed in a haze, marked by the constant flurry of vamp activity in the fort around him, the occasional meal to keep him alive, and his connection to the ever-waxing moon.

He felt a faint sense of concern about the way days seemed to slip away, and also about how far away and hard to grasp the concern itself felt. There was something seriously wrong when the growing light of the moon felt more like an approaching deadline than a relief.

The one other thing marking the time, he would much rather forget. Every night without fail, no matter how he fought, the same vampire would drag him up and plunge dagger-like teeth into his throat, leaving him drained and weak on the cold floor afterwards.

Roman wasn’t a fool; he knew that the bites were the reason he felt so exhausted and fuzzy. He just couldn’t do anything about it. The feeling of helplessness only grew stronger and stronger after each night, and slowly, he began to lose the will to fight the dreary feelings off.

By the time the night before the full moon hit, hope was hard to find.

He was slumped awkwardly against the ground when the door to the chamber creaked open, and the noise jolted him out of his dozing as quick as anything. His muscles went rigid and tense.

The head vamp hadn’t drank from him yet today, having left in the middle of the day with an  extensive entourage for… something. It had probably been mentioned in earshot-- they weren’t very careful about what he did and did not hear-- but Roman hadn’t been paying enough attention. Maybe they were scouting out new territory?

Regardless, he had sort of been hoping it would keep the bloodsucker out of his hair for long enough that he could recover even just a bit before… before he ran out of time. So much for that.

To his surprise, there was no trace of the vamp’s normal arrogant strides. In fact, there was barely any sound at all. Roman could only tell that someone was approaching by the shifting of shadows and that dusty undead smell.

Suddenly, there was a cold palm on his arm, and he jerked up with a jagged snarl, his mind screaming at him to do anything to prevent being bitten again. The palm was yanked away instantly, and Roman could see the silhouette of the vamp before him.

It definitely wasn’t the head vamp. Smaller, and with curled hair that reflected the torchlight. He couldn’t see his expression, and his mind still screamed dangerous. His growl increased in intensity as the vamp extended a hand again, but he’d called Roman’s bluff: he had no way to defend himself in the restraints. Whatever the vamp was going to do, he couldn’t stop it.

The vamp’s other hand rose, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

It made it all the more surprising when he heard the clank of a key in a lock. His eyes shot open, and to his disbelief, the chain connecting his cuffs to the platform went loose, no longer attached. A moment later, the vamp’s hands were on his cuffs, but rather than grab them and drag him, there was another clank.

For the first time in days, fresh air grazed his wrists. His hands were free.

A surge of adrenaline hit him, and he twisted quicker than the vamp could react, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the abdomen and a hand over his throat. It would keep the creature from getting enough air to call out an alarm. With his other hand, he immediately tore at the muzzle, his nails going claw-sharp to tear through the straps. He spat the remnants of the wretched thing out, and turned his attention to the vamp.

Cold hands curled over Roman’s own, like he wanted to pry the hand off his throat, but other than that, he wasn’t struggling against Roman’s hold. Oddly enough, his chest was rising and falling in an uncanny mimicry of panicked breathing, and even his eyes seemed oddly dark for a vamp. Roman would have thought him a human if not for the unmistakable fangs.

His grip tightened at the reminder. “You’re not getting any more blood out of me,” he growled, his voice rough and crackly. His whole body felt out of practice. If he stood up and bolted, he risked falling flat on his own face, and if he turned and the vamp lunged…

No. Easier to just… just vanquish the vamp so he couldn’t do anything. One less thing to worry about during his escape.

He lifted his other hand, claws pinched together as a makeshift stake. The vampire twitched once, his mouth opening briefly as though to speak, and then seemed to slump. His hands stopped tugging at Roman’s fingers around his neck, and he pinched his eyes closed, bracing for the blow.

Roman frowned. Was this a ploy for sympathy?

He could feel the way the vamp trembled under him, unnaturally lifelike.

… It was an effective one. Shit.

He lowered his hand slowly, loosened his grip, waiting for the moment the stranger dropped the ruse and lunged. It didn’t come. He just kept waiting for Roman to hurt him.

He abruptly felt a little sick to his stomach. He let go of the vamp’s throat. The guy opened one eye slowly, like he thought it was a trick.

“If you get up from this spot, if you even twitch before I’m out of this building, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Roman threatened, a growl under the words and his lip curling up slightly to bare his teeth. “You won’t get mercy twice.”

The vamp’s expression did something complicated (Confusion? Relief? Disappointment?) but when Roman scuttled back, he stayed laid out on the floor, not moving a muscle. Roman let a breath out slowly, some of the tension fading from him. “Well… good. Keep doing that.”

He could practically hear Virgil sighing as his awkwardness overwhelmed any menace his threat might have instilled. It wasn’t his fault he was off-script, okay? This vampire was… weird.

Roman shuffled back a few more steps on weak legs, and then, once he was sure he was far enough away, he let the shift wash over him like a warm breeze. Four unsteady legs were better than two, and if he leaned a little on his instincts, his inner wolf would make his gait mostly smooth. It was a small but invaluable aid as as he sprinted down long, musty halls until he was finally, finally out of that cursed fortress.

Roman was so relieved he could have cried. He was still weak, and his head was still foggy, but he didn't stop until there was finally trees around him and dirt under his feet. As he collapsed, the night air still tasted like victory.

[pinkmangafish]

Noodles ... and a few surprises

Rating: General

Fandom: Psycho-Pass

Pairing: Kougami and Tsunemori (Shinkane)

Characters: Akane Tsunemori, Shinya Kougami, and pretty much everyone else alive at the end of PP3: First Inspector. 

Summary: Part 1 - Kougami collects Akane from the isolation centre and quickly realizes something is wrong. Part 2 - Kougami arranges a surprise party for Akane, but is that what it really is?

Author’s Notes:  I had hoped to finish this in time for shinkaneweek, but it kept growing. Please point out any glaring canonical mistakes, and if possible, I'll fix them. This is my second piece of fanfic, so I am very new to all of this. I find that I am torn between the relationship between Kougami and Tsunemori, and how the plot moves forward to, hopefully, an end to the Sibyl System.

NOODLES ...

Akane Tsunemori stepped outside for the first time in what seemed a very long time. Well, it had been … No, she was not going to think about that now. Today, though technically an enforcer with limitations on her movements, she was free. Free of that windowless room.  Free of the probing questions from the perfunctorily concerned doctors. Free of the constant surveillance. Free of the need to be on her guard even when she was asleep. Free to go outside and feel the sun and wind and rain on her body. She lifted her face to feel the sun, but it was already late afternoon and the sun had lost most of its warmth. Never mind. There was always tomorrow.

She dropped her gaze and saw the man waiting for her. She caught her breath. This was better than the sun on her face. Shinya Kougami was leaning against a car as nonchalant as ever.

“I’m here to get you.” he shrugged. “Sorry.”

She had half expected Shimotsuki to collect her or to at least send a drone for her, but somehow, she was not at all surprised to see him. She walked down a few steps and then stopped and looked up around.

“I’m hungry,” she announced.

He laughed. “Is that all you can say?”

She walked slowly over to the car and smiled up at him. There were some new lines there that she had not seen in all his visits to her. Most of the time, they had leant on either side of the door as they talked, but even so, she was surprised. She almost reached out and touched his face.

“Yes. Treat me to something,” she replied.

“Yes, ma’am,” He paused as if considering something. Then, abruptly, “I’ll drive.”

Akane nodded and got in the car. If she had expected him to start a conversation she would have been disappointed, but then, she knew him and was not. She did not feel the need to chat, either. Content to be with him she wondered if she was going to have the courage to say what needed to be said. But that was not a conversation to be held in the car. It could wait a little longer. For now, she stared at the city flowing past her window. As they got to areas that she knew, she saw signs of her time away in the shops and cafes that had taken the place of others: a florist where there had been a gift shop or a mall with a new name and look. This is what Yayoi, Kagari and the other enforcers must have felt like she thought. Some of them, she knew, had spent many more years than she had in the isolation center before being granted a reprieve of sorts. A life of boredom and isolation swapped for one of danger and death, but also friendship and the chance to feel like they belonged. Her thoughts abruptly changed direction. She wondered what Homura’s plans for her were. She was under no illusion that he was responsible for her freedom despite the Sibyl System’s claim to have made the decision itself. Assigning her to Shimotsuki as an aide had been a bold move. Staring into traffic, her head against the window, she questioned whether her and Homura’s aims were still in alignment or was he now playing a different game? And if so, was she now a pawn? Then there was Arata, and Kei and the new team of enforcers. So many new variables were in play. She needed to catch up quickly. And … she had to talk Kougami. She sighed heavily.

Kougami glanced at her. He was not comfortable with this pensive version of Akane but he knew her better than to try and distract her. He waited until the car had parked and his door was open. “Akane, we’re here. Let’s get some noodles.”

 She looked at him and then at their surroundings. She recognized the small mall as the one near her old apartment. How had they got here so quickly? She was out of sync. She was unreal and everything else was too real. Had she really been that lost in thought? She would need to be more careful, more alert. Her stomach growled. Noodles? Yes, of course he’d take her to eat noodles.

“I hope Thai is okay? The old ramen place closed down six months ago,” Kougami led the way across the street not waiting for her. She nodded. Then wondered how he know about the ramen shop. She could not remember having eaten there with him. He glanced down at her, “We’re practically neighbors now. I live in that block over there,” he pointed to a small apartment building behind them. So near, she thought.

The small Thai noodle shop was a reminder that the city, no, the country, was changing and changing rapidly. Immigrants were starting to open their own businesses and that, she knew, was a good thing. The restaurant was barely that, just a few plastic tables and chairs. Kougami led her over to a corner table by the window. She wondered whether he even realized he had assessed which table gave them the best vantage point. Probably not.

A waitress appeared with a menu and set down a bottle of fish sauce and a small dish of chili in vinegar. “Sawatdee, kha, Kougami-san,” she said giving Akane a quick, interested look.

Akane realized that he had been telling a story. “I’m sorry, Kougami, I spaced out. Who were you trying to hold onto?”

He looked at her steadily. She had seemed fine when she walked out of the isolation center. Now, though, he could see the signs of exhaustion in her face. “Oh, just some junked up trafficker. He’d been bringing in kids from … doesn’t matter. Except that to bring him down both Gino and I had to hold onto him while Kei shot him with a paralyzer.”

“No!” She looked at him in amusement, her attention finally on him. “You got shot with a paralyzer again?”

“Well, technically, Gino and I are secondaries. We were holding onto the perp, so … Kei wasn’t actually trying to shoot us,” Kougami smiled at her but his eyes were watchful.

“Hmmm, are you sure about that?” she asked. “You had a bit of a run in with him just a couple of weeks ago.”

“Ahh, you know about that?” Kougami shook his head. “I’m not saying that we’re friends now. Hell, I don’t even like the man that much. But we can work together.”

The noodles arrived. Tom yum goong, hot, spicy and delicious, she slurped slowly and steadily. She smiled at him, “Much better than AI hyper-oats.” Then her eyes fell back to the table and she was quiet again. She stayed still staring at the soup that remained in her bowl, but her eyes were moving as the thoughts and questions flooded her mind. At one point she looked up quickly at Kougami and opened her mouth, but then closed it, and dropped her head down again. She stayed like that for so long that Kougami began to worry.

“Akane, what is the matter? Please, tell me … if you can.” He leant forward so he could hear her, but she said nothing. “Akane, you are okay now. You are out. You are safe.”

To her surprise, Akane felt large, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Bemused, she watched them as they slid off her chin and fell into the soup. She wondered reflexively what the soup would taste like; if she would be able to taste the salt from her tears. Then she felt a gentle hand drying her cheeks and looked into Kougami’s eyes. He seemed to become aware of what he was doing and started to pull his hand away, but she grabbed it and held onto him. His eyes widened as her grip tightened and then he stretched out his other hand.

She clung to him desperately, tears still falling and her breath uneven with sobs. All she could hear was that one word, “safe”. She was safe. She was safe. And yet, even though it was true, it was also a lie. She knew that the most dangerous part of the journey was ahead. And yet again, and yet again, she was safe. She held onto his hands for all she was worth.

Kougami began talking again, softly, in no hurry. His voice providing her with another anchor. “One time, in Tibet, I went on a raid with this guy, Dawa, I think his name was. Anyway, he was as tough as they come. Not nasty, just through and through tough. The kind of guy you are glad to have at your back or to follow. The raid went badly. Someone had leaked the plan and they were waiting for us. The fight was brutal, and we lost several people, all friends of his from childhood. One guy literally exploded in front of him as if he’d been hit by a lethal dominator, but Dawa just kept going. A natural leader. Eventually, we got the upper hand, got what we came for and escaped. It took us almost a week to get back. The whole time, Dawa just held it together. Two more died on that trek - one from his wounds and the other slipped into a crevice. Dawa didn’t flinch once, just kept going and kept his people together. When we got back to camp, one of his men was waiting for us. He handed Dawa the body of an old dog. This man, who could wipe off the blood of his friend and keep going, collapsed where he was and started crying like a child. I don’t know if he really did love that dog as much as that or if it was his way of grieving for his friends. I do know that keeping those kinds of feelings inside is a kind of death.” His voice trailed off.

Akane sighed deeply and pulled one hand away and mopped her eyes with a paper napkin. “Thank you, Kougami. I’m feeling tired. Can we go?”

She waited at the table while he paid the bill. By the time he returned, when she smiled at him, her eyes were almost clear. “Thank you for the noodles.”

“You’re welcome.”

Out on the street the strange hyperreal feeling returned. Colours were a little too bright, noises a little too loud and the sidewalk seemed to be moving under her. It was like walking in a distorted holo. She saw a street scanner and flinched. Kougami frowned down at her. Apart from when she had first started work as an Inspector, he had never seen her this unsure of herself. She put her hand into his and felt his fingers tighten slightly. Safe.

Her apartment was only a few minutes’ walk from the mall, so they left the car where it was. About halfway there, she realized she had forgotten her small bag of belongings. “My keys, they’re …” she began to turn back.

“It’s okay, Akane, Yayoi gave me your spare set. I’ll get your things later.”

She thought about asking why he had her keys, but then decided she could not be bothered. As soon as he opened the door, it was obvious. The underfloor heating was on and there was the unmistakable feeling of stepping into a clean apartment. She kicked her shoes off in the hall, walked into the living room and looked around. The large sofa where she had slept so many nights seemed enormous after the one in isolation. She looked over at the kitchen in the corner. There was even a bowl of fruit on the counter. She glanced up at him surprised, “Thank you, Kougami.”

“Well, it isn’t much. I just set the auto-cleaner to do its job and bought some fruit,” he shrugged, but she could see he was both embarrassed and pleased by her reaction.

“I’m tired.”

“Then I’ll leave you to sleep. I’ll come back with your things, but I’ll just leave them by the door,” he stepped back, but her hand did not let go of his. His expression remained neutral as she raised a finger to her lips and began to walk towards the bedroom. She gave a small shake of her head and her own expression was so serious he was in no doubt that this was not a seduction.

With her finger still against her lips, she let go of his hand and opened a small cupboard. When she pulled out a small, plastic, white cat with a pink bow he looked totally perplexed. She set the cat down and pushed a small button on the back, then held her fingers up as she counted down from five.

“Now we can talk. This little kitty has a jammer. Any bugs, and I am sure there are some, will pick up nothing more than a silent room,” she sat down on the bed. Another sigh.

“Where did you get that thing?” without thinking, Kougami sat next to her.

“Long story short? Shion.”

Kougami grunted. Then he shifted so he could look at her. “You said we could talk. So talk.”

“You know there are somethings that I can’t tell you? Not that I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust you with my life. But knowing those things will not only endanger you, but also me, and possibly others, and what we are trying to do.” She had taken hold of his hand again. Her eyes grew wide and very luminous. “But you are right about what keeping things in does to you. To me. Th … there is one thing I do need to tell you, Shinya,” she paused and then gave a little nod to herself. “I love you.”

Silence.

Then, as he registered and reregistered her words, “Say that again!” 

“I love you, Shinya,” another pause. She did not take her eyes from his, “And you love me.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I love you, Akane. You have no idea how much.” He began to reach for her but stopped.

Akane frowned, “What’s the problem?”

He looked embarrassed, “Well, the effects of the dominator haven’t worn off yet. I’m, I’m not going to …, I mean, I can’t … I’m sorry.”

She smiled ruefully, “I have just put your life in more danger and that is what you think about? That can wait. This can’t. The most dangerous phase has begun. It is quite possible that one of us, even both of us, won’t see the other side. You know this.” She put her hand against his cheek as he protested. “And I have put us in more danger. Yes, yes, I have. There is no way we can hide a relationship, and I don’t want to, but it can be used against us. I’m so tired of being on my own, so scared that each time you walk away it might the last time I’ll ever see you and I never told you how much you mean to me. How much I love you. That I’ll be killed, or you will be. Maybe it was all the time I had to think in isolation that did it. But that thought kept growing inside me until sometimes it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Especially after you’d come to see me. I finally realized that I can’t go on without loving you, without being able to love you and yet I have to keep going to help bring down the System. So, I guess I’ve grown a little selfish. I couldn’t live with not telling you I love you. I do you, know? I love you.”

His eyes had never left hers as she spoke. The words rushing from mouth and her expression changing at the end from serious to joyous. She allowed him to pull her over to him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and dropped her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply. She breathed in his scent. He chuckled, “Hey, I’m the one that is supposed to be the hound.”

“You were never a hound. More a wolf,” she returned. The relief of telling him that she loved him was beginning to make her a little lightheaded.

“A wolf, huh? Well, that gives me a few ideas for tomorrow,” he dropped feather kisses across her forehead.

“Only a few?” she asked in a disappointed tone.

 “Oh, Akane, you have no idea,” he looked at her with a wicked smile.

  ... AND A FEW SURPRISES

Akane looked at herself in the bathroom mirror as she toweled her hair dry. She barely recognized the woman looking back at her. The muscles around her jaw were relaxed and her eyes shone. Even her hair looked fuller. Was this what she looked like when she was happy? And she was. Happier than she had ever been.

They had not slept much despite Kougami’s insistence that she needed to rest. Soon one or the other would start talking, words of love falling into the safety of the warm dark room. Or he would hold her hand so he could kiss every line on her palm again and again and only release it to kiss the other. Too long had they waited for this night, words tumbled from their lips and their whispers became a confession of hopes, loss, pain and then again hopes as life brought them together, tore them apart and reunited them. So many years had gone by and they had so much to make up for.

“Akane, food’s almost done,” Kougami called from the other side of the door. “Oh, and put some clothes on.”

She blinked and returned to the present. He was up to something. She opened the bathroom door and a blast of cold air hit her. Quickly dressing she joined him in the living room. “Shinya, why’ve you opened all the windows in the bedroom? And …” she took in all the food on the counter. “Just how hungry do you think I am?”

Her doorbell chimed.

“Oh, hell! They’re early,” He threw her a sly look. “Ah, you stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“Kougami, what have you done?”

“It’s a surprise,” and he was gone.

She wondered if he had ordered more noodles from the little restaurant to add to the mountain of food in front of her. Then she heard the front door open and the sound of several people shushing each other as they piled into her little hall.

Akane got up and, laughing, went to greet them.

“Akane!” said three voices at once.

Shino, Yayoi and Gino, if anything could make her happier on this day, then this was it. She hugged them.

Shion laughed, and poked Kougami’s ribs. “I see you’ve talked,” she said winking outrageously and laughed as Kougami went red. “Well, there is a sight I never expected to see. Shinya Kougami bashful.”

“Shion, Yayoi, you look amazing,” laughed Akane holding the latter at arm’s length. They were both wearing party dresses. Then she turned back to Ginoza, “Hello, Gino, it is good to see you. I hear that you got in the way of a paralyzer.”

“Ha! He told you about that, did he? Ignatov better watch out is all I can say. Right, Ko?”

“What? Oh, yes, Kei has it coming. Again.”

The doorbell chimed again. Akane looked at Kougami in surprise. “Who?”

 “And speak of the devil!”

Kougami came back leading a small group of people. “Everyone, Akane Tsunemori in person. Akane, you know Arata and Kei, and this is Maika Ignatov and Sho Hinakawa. The last two are Mao Kisaragi and Kazumichi Irie.”

“Hey! What about me? Why does no one ever introduce the old enforcer!” demanded Todoroki pushing his way forward. “Pleased to meet you, Inspector. I’m Tenma Todoroki.”

“Just Akane, I’m not an inspector anymore,” smiled Akane. “I remember seeing all of your photos in the files. It is wonderful to finally meet you all. I guess we’ll all be working together now.” The serious looks they all gave her made her pause. “I mean, I’m an enforcer now, even though I’m not assigned to Unit 1 …”  

Mao nodded at her teammates and they relaxed. “You’re welcome in Unit 1 any time, Tsunemori … Akane. Err …. I’m sorry if it’s rude, but we’re starving, and we don’t get to eat out very often. Come on, Irie.”

Todoroki grimaced, “Can’t take them anywhere.” But he and Hinakawa followed them quickly into the kitchen.

What was all that about? All three had become so serious in a blink and then back again. Looking around the room, she began to get the feeling that she was missing something obvious. Before she could begin to think about it, the doorbell chimed. Again. She glared at Kougami as he passed her to get the door. He smiled at her, but she could see he was getting a little tenser each time he went. And that was strange, she thought, it did not quite make sense.

“It will take a little time,” said Arata with his mouth full. He was bouncing from foot to foot and balancing a plate full of food.

“Sorry, what will?” she turned her attention to him.

“Being out. Getting your senses back as it were. But,” he glanced in Kougami’s direction, “you are already on the right track.”

Her eyes widened and she started to ask him what he meant, but he just beamed at her and slightly shook his head. So, something was going on. Well, she would trust them to fill her in when they could. Right now, she had a party in her apartment. Shion had taken control of the music, which was now loud enough to annoy the neighbors. Akane shook her head, that would not be a problem. It was the middle of the afternoon, no one would be home.

“Sorry, Gino, what was that?” She shook herself. Get a hold of yourself Tsunemori.

“I just said that Sugo and I are your neighbors. We’re sharing an apartment down the street.”

“Oh! That’s great! Are you in the same block as Sh… as Kougami?” she asked. 

Gino smiled, “No, we’re down the other way.”

She looked at him, then at Kougami, and saw that Sugo and Frederica had arrived. What were they doing here? In one sense, since Gino and Kougami worked with them it made sense to invite them as well, but …. somehow it felt more deliberate than that. Yes, something was definitely going on. Everyone was behaving normally. Normal for a party, that is, she thought. Mao and Irie were dancing with Yayoi and Shion, Sugo and Kei were playing a holo game and everyone else was chatting and eating.  

An arm slipped around her waist. “Are you enjoying yourself, Akane?” His next words were so low that even though he had bent to whisper them in her ear, she almost missed them. “Say yes.”

“Oh, yes,” She turned to look up at him and he smiled down at her; she did not miss the flick of his eyes at the wall. “Walls have ears,” he breathed.

She laughed, “Shinya, you wretch!” It was all she could think of saying. Of course, everything they were doing and saying was probably being monitored. She had been the one to point that out yesterday. So why remind her of it?

The familiar sound of her doorbell interrupted them. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Kougami kissed her head. “Patience. You’ll see. This is a surprise party, after all.”

He wouldn’t have invited her parents or Kaori. Her parents had been distraught when she was arrested. They had been steadfast in their support for her and called all the time. Even so, this was not the right time for a family reunion. And Kaori had made it clear from her refusal to accept Akane’s call at the start of her sentence that she did not want to be associated with a latent criminal. So who else was there?

“Sorry we’re late, everyone. Work, you know,” beamed Homura with a nervous looking Shimotsuki beside him.

If Akane’s mouth dropped open she made a valiant recovery. “Hello, Sir. Hello, Chief. How good of you to come.”

Shimotsuki, to everyone’s surprise, rushed forward, threw her arms around Akane’s neck and burst into loud sobs. “Oh, Akane, I’m so, so sorry.” Akane instinctively hugged her sobbing boss.

A tiny whisper, “We have to talk. About It.”  

Akane pulled back and stared at Mika who returned her stare and nodded, only to sob even harder, “I really am sorry.”

Homura shot a look at Akane, “Let’s take her into the bedroom for some quiet. Arata,” he threw over his shoulder, “Could you bring her some water?”

Together, Akane and Homura led the still sobbing woman into the bedroom. Arata followed immediately with the water. “Here’s your water, Chief. Get some rest, we’ll all be next door.” Then he paused and shut the door but stayed in the room.

“Well, hopefully we’re safe,” he said. “If we’re not all arrested in ten minutes, I reckon Akane’s jammer is working.”

“Yes, sorry about all the subterfuge,” added Homura. “Here, Mika, have this.” He passed a now dry-eyed Shimotsuki a perfectly folded handkerchief.

Akane sat down next to her. “Mika, did I understand you? You know what Sibyl System is?”

Mika looked pale and nodded. “For a few years. And now, Arata, too.”

“We’re the only ones who know what it really is,” said Homura. “Though I haven’t actually seen it. My father did and he told me.”

“So is this a council of war?” asked Akane.  

Arata answered her. “Not quite, but we all,” and he nodded towards the door to include the rest of the party, “agree that somehow we need to bring it to an end. We just don’t know how yet.”

“So, it is not just the two of us?” asked Akane looking at Homura.

“It never was. I know people who will support us, but it is safer if you don’t know who they are. It is a reasonable bet that all the enforcers will help. While you were inside, we’ve been making all sorts of small changes so we can be ready.”

“You mean like getting everyone to live within a three-block radius?” suggested Akane.

Mika actually smiled, “Yes, exactly like that. Unfortunately, because of our positions, Shizuka and I can’t move, but it was surprisingly easy for SAD to arrange for their people to move here, and then Kei and Arata. Obviously, the enforcers have to stay at MWPSB.”

“For now, at least,” said Homura.

“Is that wise, though?”

“What is more natural than colleagues and neighbors getting together for lunch or dinner or to play a holo game?” smiled Arata.

Homura looked at the time. “This meeting is just luck. We had no idea you had a jammer, so when Kougami said he wanted to give you a surprise party this afternoon it seemed a bit unusal. But when we arrived, he showed us a note about the kitty. Hmm, I think we’d better rejoin the others. They’re covering our absence, but I don’t think we should push our luck. Arata, you and Kei had better come in a few days so Akane and I can give you an “official” briefing on things.” 

Opening the door, Homura pretended to check on Mika who said she was fine and would be out in a minute. As soon as they had all left, Akane pulled Kougami into the bedroom.

“You’ve been planning this all along?” she demanded staring up at him fiercely.

He grinned, “What you thought we couldn’t mange without you? Ouch!”

“I’ll do more than poke your ribs if you’re not careful, Shinya Kougami!”

His smile got bigger, “Akane, you couldn’t expect me and Gino and the others to do nothing. We knew that something was going on, but you couldn’t or wouldn’t say exactly what. Ouch! Ouch!”

Akane poked him in the ribs. He caught her hands and folded them together in his. “Akane, please, I had to do something. I was going crazy. I love you.”

She glared up at him, “Say that again!”

“I love you.”

She sighed happily. “Okay, I suppose we’d better join the party. How long do you think everyone will stay?”  

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Seven (f.o)

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

warnings; swearing, MURDER, CHILD MURDER

wc; 9.8k

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

–

You wouldn’t exactly say that you’re lucky to be alive. More that you’re lucky you had actually gotten back to the cornucopia when you did, that you were sponsored, and your allies hadn’t killed you.

Had you laid in that grass, you would have died. There’s no question about it There’s no way that they would have moved out of the cornucopia after everything that had happened in those trees. Even this morning they’ve seemed to be apprehensive. They won’t admit they’re afraid, but it’s all in their eyes.

Also the sponsor gift that Anchor had sent in. You bet that Mags was already sleeping by then, letting Anchor take the night if she could take the mornings. It would make the most sense. Mags tends to take a lead on things. You noticed that on the train and inside of the Capitol. Anchor mostly sits back and chimes in when he thinks it’s necessary.

Anchor sent in the healing cream, a huge tube of it. Which lets you know that you weren’t getting sponsored by any person, it was someone rich that’s betting on your win. Because of the cream, your back is mostly healed. By tomorrow, it should be nothing but a huge, pink scar that stings.

For now, each time you move your arms and shoulders, it hurts pretty bad on your upper back. It’s no longer bleeding, but it’s open. And so is the back of your blue-grey shirt and the thin, white jacket. Every time there’s a breeze, you can feel it. You need to find a change of clothes.

Although, you’re not really complaining. The cold wind is a small remedy to how hot the wound feels. You aren’t too concerned about it, you vaguely remember the first aid expert in the Training Center telling you that when it feels hot, it means your body is doing it’s job. It’s not going to be infected, not with the healing cream. But your body is still going to act like it is.

Honestly, you’re surprised that you hadn’t died from how much you bled. Not only is your shirt torn, but it’s stained a deep maroon color. Similar to the color of the dress that Trink had worn on the night of the interviews. Only, this time it’s terrifying to see, knowing that it came from your body.

You wonder if your brothers had seen it. Had watched you stick by that tree, catch a breather, and find Eytelle. If they were screaming at the hologram, begging you to keep moving instead of inspecting the scene in front of you, and then grabbing the knife. You know you’d be extremely upset.

You can almost hear them now, how loud and desperate they’d be. Alon with them would be anchor, and maybe Elysia if she’s up that late. All wondering why you didn’t just keep moving. It’s not your problem, it’s not your district mate. It’s an ally that’s offering you a safe escape. The bears will take her as entertainment in trade for your departure.

But then you mercy killed her, taking the entertainment away, and shifting the attention to you, the substitute. 

And then you ran, and nearly made it out of the woods without any repercussions. You were two steps away from freedom, from beating the mutations and showing the Capitol that not only are you merciful and kind, but you’re quick too. You can slip out of their grasp and they can’t do anything about it.

Unfortunately you weren’t quick enough.

Also, in all honesty, you’re not even entirely sure if you killed Eytelle out of mercy, or because when you did make it back to the cornucopia, you just didn’t want to listen to her scream all night. Your allies--and probably the entirety of the Capitol and then some--think that you did it because of mercy, but you don’t care about any of that.

At least it’s kept Allio, Trink and Lennox off of your already shredded back. The last thing you need is them being suspicious of you, and watching every move you make. You think they’re already like that, after how you handled Horace. There’s no reason to fuel it.

If you can take down a seventeen year-old boy, who’s like three times your size and reminds you of the sports players back home, it’s a wonder what else you can do. The moment they start testing those limits is the moment you should probably run, and run far and fast.

For now, you just have to continue being careful with what you say.

Flipping over another box lid, you lean in and rummage through the stuff. More canteens, wire, some rope. Nothing too important. You close it, and move onto the one next to it. You know that the Capitol typically provides two boxes of spare clothes, but you didn’t know how hidden they’d be.

Wincing, you pull the lid open. 

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” Trink asks.

“I’ve got it.” you tell her, “It’s a good pain, a nice burning sensation.”

“I’m not sure if that’s normal.” She laughs, “But it’s nice to see you moving like this, last night was pretty awful. At one point, Lennox was sure you stopped breathing.”

Yes, you remember her telling you this when you woke up. She admitted how relieved she felt. She said you’ve grown on her, you’ve earned your spot in the group multiple times. And when Allio walked away with Lennox to go check out the beach area straight from the mouth of the cornucopia, she told you Allio wanted to find a way to repay you.

It’s nice to have someone in your debt, but you doubt that he’ll actually end up doing anything. He might just thank you or something. You don’t know just yet, they haven’t come back in a while. For a while, the two of you watched them through the trees until you couldn’t anymore.

“I bet.” you say, catching the box lid before the entire thing topples over onto its back, “How badly did I scare you when I came around the side?”

There’s clothes in this box. You can finally change.

“Honestly, we thought you were the one that was caught and Eytelle was the one walking around the corner. We realized we stopped hearing your backpack jostling when we thought about it. We thought that Eytelle had taken some other part. Allio’s always said that she’s slippery when she runs.”

Not enough. She was slow last night. All that boasting of her being able to outrun you all in any situation, was for nothing. You had a heavy sword and a backpack full of supplies and you still kept ahead of her. Had you not tried to slip between the narrow path between the trees, you would have still been ahead of her.

And maybe had even left her to suffer. If you had ran out of the trees with the others, you definitely wouldn’t have ran back inside to shut her up. You would have suffered with the rest, listening to her screams, sobs and pleas for anyone to end it for her. You’re stupid, but not that stupid.

Although, in that hypothetical situation, you can imagine yourself not carrying literally everything on you. It would only be your small knife. No heavy sword, no backpack chocked full of the goodies in the case of you getting separated. In that case, you might still have your backpack and not some shredded fabric and unusable items.

The claws on those bears had to have been long. Because it was enough to tear that backpack straight off your back and still reach your skin. In just one swing of its paw, too. So terrifyingly impressive and it could have cost you your life.

You can’t remember actually seeing that long of claws on the bears last night, though. Of course, it was dark and hard to see enough as it is. All you can remember the most vividly is how bright their eyes were. But when you looked back that one time while running, you were able to see that they were bears before Eytelle announced it.

It’s weird, for sure. Last night doesn’t even seem real to you, and the only things that actively proved it happened is the scratch marks on your back and the fact that Eytelle is nowhere to be seen.

Out of the box, you pull out a new shirt and jacket. You rummage a little more, trying to find a sports bra too, but there’s none. You’d say that you’re annoyed, but it’s not a mandatory thing that you need. The fabric is a little torn towards the bottom, other than that it still does it’s job.

Before the boys come back, you pull the shirt off and toss it into the wood for the fire pile. You pull on the new shirt, Trink helps to make sure it doesn’t catch in your wound on it’s way down. And you tie the new jacket around you waist, since it’s too hot during the day to wear. It’s mostly for the nighttime.

It’s not too cold at night, but it’s not hot either. It’s really riding that line. It’s like springtime in Four, when it’s about to hit summer at any moment. Watching how the temperature rises every weekend, until it’s time for tank tops and shorts again and preparing to sit out on a boat for all hours of the day.

If you win, you’ll never have to fish again.

Right as you close the box and head back to the cornucopia to grab another safe-keeping knife to keep on your belt, Lennox and Allio come back around. Swords in hand, and they’re sweating.

Lennox nods in your direction, “It’s definitely salt water.”

You told him that just before they left. They insisted on double-checking, as if your nose and the years of you living off the west coast smelling the salt wouldn’t be good enough. Then Allio added that they’d check for other things too, so it’s not just the salt water that they were checking.

“Fish?” you ask.

“Think we saw some.” Allio says, taking a seat and pulling out his water. You can vaguely hear it slosh in his bottle. You’re almost out, and it’s time to take a trip down to the pond, “We can’t be sure, though. Who knows what's out there?”

Plenty of water mutts, you’re sure. You tuck the new knife on your belt and then reach for an empty backpack that’s laying against the wall. Their attention doesn’t stay on you for too long, and it eventually fizzles into a debate on whether or not you all should be going out to hunt tributes again.

It’s around the same time the games started yesterday, which is ten. You think it’s a little past that, maybe eleven to twelve? There’s really no way to tell, there’s no clocks in the arena, and it’s not like you can just make them either. All you really have is the sun, and where it’s positioned over the sky. 

Considering that you guys took hours to get to where you did in the woods, only to rubber band all the way back here, you think it’s useless to go and try to get out there again. However, you all were messing around on the way there. It’s not like you were just walking in a straight line, every now and then you were taking breaks and chasing each other like a group of friends would.

If you go out today, you’ll have to keep on track for a while to make sure that you get passed where you were the first time. And it’s not even guaranteed that you’ll come across anyone. It would be nice to, just so the games aren’t dragged on for too long, but none of you are in control of that.

Then again, you need water. You’re down to half your canteen, and you should have been done with it by now and halfway through the next. One or all of you need to get moving out there. Gather the water and come back and start planning on what’s going to happen for lunch and dinner.

They seem to be on track with your thought process, “We need to find something to eat, though, Allio.” Trink argues, leaning up against the wall, “I’m hungry, and we haven’t eaten since yesterday. It’s noon.”

“That’s not too bad.” Allio says, “If we could hold out a little longer--”

“It’ll just create an unmanageable eating schedule.” Trink flicks a rock at him, and it nails his forehead. You watch his face turn pink, and you think it’s from anger with how his lips are turned downwards like his eyebrows already are.

“Alright, so what’s your brilliant idea?” Allio asks, crossing his arms, “Go ahead.” and when she looks like she’s thinking up a plan, he says, “Right, that’s what I thought.”

“Chill out.” Lennox tells him.

You stuff the backpack with a pocket knife, a fire starter, another first aid kit, a rope, and some other things that you think will be important. Water bottle, small fleece blanket, a change of socks. You cycle through the boxes until you think you’re fine, then you remember your healing cream.

“We need water.” you stab the sword into the sand, pulling it out and doing it again as they open up to allow you into the conversation, “The pond is an hour away. I think I saw fish yesterday, so here’s an idea; I take one of you with me down to the pond to get water and food.”

Trink motions your way, “See?”

“That’s her brilliant idea.” Allio says, “I’ll go with (Y/n).”

“We’ll get stuff for fires.” Lennox says.

Trink yawns, sliding off of the black box she was sitting on, “And I’ll look for a backup plan on food while we’re at it.”

Problem solved with no conflict. You’d hate to see how they’d tear each other apart. There’s still fourteen people left in the games. Four of those being you guys, and the other ten being everyone else. You think if a fight were to break out between Allio and Lennox, Lennox would kill Allio because he knows Trink better.

You think you’d kill Allio too. And even though it would be a perfect time to kill him on the way to the pond, you’ll have to hold back. Killing Eytelle was looked at for mercy, if Allio died, there’s no doubt that Trink and Lennox would be suspicious. It would ruin the thin cover you have already.

On the way out of the cornucopia to go behind it and straight to the pond, you’re able to see how the sand is stained red from the blood of yesterday’s events. Obviously, the gamemakers had collected the bodies after the bloodbath when you all left, but that doesn’t mean they had to clean up the sand too.

It’s a gross color. It’s not like the color that had been on your old shirt. This time, it’s a washed out red. It’s obviously blood, and when Allio walks over a patch of it with no remorse, it crunches beneath his feet. So, not only is it a deadly color, it’s also hard and crunchy and the thought alone makes you gag.

And just before you reach the trees, officially leaving the battlegrounds, you see where you had landed in the sand early this morning when the bears had chased you all the way to the treeline. You can see little shreds of fabric scattered over the sand, and where blood had run when you walked over to the cornucopia to hold yourself up.

After that, you’re in the trees and starting your treacherous walk all the way to the pond. You know you volunteered for it, but the sun beating on your head from above isn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. In fact, you think you liked it better inside of the cornucopia, even though it too, has been baking in the sun and it feels like the inside of an oven.

For the first ten to fifteen minutes of the initial walk, it’s quiet between you two. You spend the time stretching every bit of your arms until your back hurts because of it. Allio stares at the ground, and you begin to notice that you’re taking the exact path you took to escape the bears, but backwards. You begin to urge him to move right, because the pond is in a little dip in a cliff area.

Another ten minutes, and Allio has decided to break the silence, “What did Eytelle look like?”

Your face twists immediately when you go to look at him. You’re sure it’s not a real question until your eyes land on his face. He’s not kidding.

“I don’t…” you shrug, you’re not sure how he wants this question answered.

You remember. You saw her stretched out, back on a rock as claws dug into her skin. You saw the blood running down her skin, the ripped clothes stretched too far. Her mouth open wide in a never-ending scream. It was like she was being tortured for them all to see. It wasn’t nearly as bad as seeing Horace’s skull cracked open, but it was still a sickening sight. Right up there with the decapitation.

“Well, you saw her, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say slowly. How are you going to let him down easy?--assuming that’s what he wants.

“How did she look?” 

You should have asked for Trink or Lennox to come along, if you knew that he’d be pulling some shit like this you would’ve.

“In pain.” you say simply, hoping that’ll be enough.

It’s not, “Come on, (Y/n). You saw her, what did she look like?”

“Ugly.” you finally spit, which has him whipping his head back in your direction, “Covered in her own tears and blood. Her skin and clothes were ripped to shreds, she looked like the type of tribute I’d click my tongue at back home and say ‘a damn shame’.” you look at him, “You happy now? Death is not pretty, it’s gruesome and traumatizing.

“No matter how pretty you are for the cameras, you’re always ugly during death, especially in the arena. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but stop romanticizing it. She’s dead, Allio. She knew it was coming. Let her rest.”

“That’s how you really feel, huh?”

“It’s the truth.” you swear to god, if he tries to spin this on you later, you’ll tear him down. Forget him and Trink butting heads, if he even tries to get rid of your spot in the alliance, you’ll make sure it’s his last words.

This all reminds you of what you thought earlier. If you pulled half the shit that they do in here, you’d have your hands slapped and be reprimanded by nearly everyone. Naida’s family, your brothers, people in The Square, everyone at school. They’d all think that something is wrong with you or whoever parented you.

You knew there was a culture difference between the districts, but you didn’t know exactly how bad it was.

You swing the sword in your hand, and you’re glad that Allio doesn’t continue to bring it up. You said what you said, and you’re not going to hand out apologies. And so long for him being in your debt, because you might have just ruined that between you and him.

At the pond, you take the task of filling up the waters, while he adds the iodine drops to them. He shakes, and then moves on. When you’re done gathering water, you go a little further down the pond with him. He helps clean the dried blood off of your back, and when the water stops running pink, you pull your shirt back on.

With the water and fabric combined, you can feel just how good the breeze is against your skin. With the new information, the two of you dunk your shirts in the water, squeeze enough to leave the shirts damp and then wear them. You drink your cleaned water, and figure that Allio can gather more by himself while you wander along the water.

Yesterday, you remember not finding any good spots, but it’s nice to check anyway to ease your mind. If you don’t find any tributes, it’s just insurance that no one will come running later tonight or whatever. Tonight, all the other tributes will know that you’ve lost someone in your alliance. It will be tempting to come and attack.

You’re about to call it, wanting to go back to Allio since you can’t hear him humming anymore. But there’s a rustle in the bush in front of you, that would be to your back if you turned around. You hesitate for a moment, because whatever is in the bush now knows that they messed up. You know that they’re there, and they know it’s any moment before they get hunted.

They shouldn’t have weapons though, and you think it’ll be more tempting to pounce on you, if you turn your back. A dangerous plan, but you’ve got to bait them out of the bush without jumping in there, yourself. The bush and whatever could be behind it, like a trap.

You turn, “Stupid animal.” and pretend you don’t hear the leaves after that, either.

A couple steps back towards Allio, you hear the twig snap, and go to turn back around again, sword weighted in your hands. But there’s a pair of arms around your neck and legs around your hips, like a hug. The arms are small and you think you can break them free, but they’ve got an iron lock. And with how they’re pressed against you, they’re rubbing against the open wound on your back.

You reach for the sword, which is now laying on the bank and is teetering over the edge. And the moment you do go to grab it, there’s yanking on your hair to keep you up, a loud and screaming pain in your temples.

Fuck.

You inhale as much as you can through your nose—which isn’t a lot—turning your back to the water. You can hold your breath for over three minutes. These other tributes? They’ve never seen bodies of water deeper than puddles in their districts. Without a single noise coming from you, you throw yourself back into the water, holding onto the arms around your neck.

If you’re going down, someone is going with you.

The cold water engulfs you. For a moment, it’s like you’ve parted the sea, until it all comes crashing over you. In that time, you can hear the tribute holding onto you, gasps. They must have realized their mistake. Not even a second later, they’re trying to struggle out of your grasp.

Too late, they’ve dug their grave, now it’s time to lay in it. If they were smart, they wouldn’t be struggling like how they are. They’d be playing dead, and they’d have a better chance at holding their breath. And they would have had a chance at escaping.

They loosen their arms just big enough for you to slip out of which causes a nice, searing pain to go through your back because of the friction. When you turn them to face you, hands on their wrists and eyes glaring in their direction, you can hardly make out their face. You can’t tell who it is, but you guess that doesn’t really matter. Either way, it’s going to be painful on their part.

They’re kicking their legs, trying to get their wrists free from your hands. You just hold on, occasionally kicking to keep yourself near the surface so it’ll be easy to reach when they do die. You realize this is like teasing them, knowing that if they could just get free, they’d be able to breathe.

They’re yanking, and you watch as they go to kick your stomach. You turn them to the side, watching their leg go right through the murky water. You kick to get back up again, but they’re beginning to drag you down.

You knew that the pond was going to be fairly deep, but you keep sinking way past the point you thought you’d stop. The light above begins to have trouble making its way through the dirty water. And you finally watch the tribute in front of you take in their first breath of water.

And they choke, you let go of their hands and watch as they immediately go to grab their neck as if it’ll help the pain that’s beginning to flare. With each gulp comes a more panicked look, eyes wide and almost bulging from their sockets.

You don’t watch anymore, feeling a deep burning pain in your own chest. It’s a good burn, reminds you of all the times you’ve held your breath to beat your past score. As you swim to the surface, you think you can make out the figure of Allio, standing over the water.

Trying to swim up while wearing the boots is hard, but it’s even worse with all the clothes and jacket you have on. Had you been barefoot, you’d be above water by now. 

A hand plunges into the water, outstretched in your direction. You give a few more hard kicks before you’re reaching up too, grabbing onto the hand. They pull you out of the water, hand first and then your head.

You gasp through your mouth, grabbing onto the grass to keep yourself from sliding back in. You’ll remember this, how deep the water is. You just kept sinking and sinking. If one of the others had jumped in here, thinking that they could just float, they would have ended up like that other tribute.

A cannon sounds, and Allio is pulling you up the bank a little more. When you’re halfway onto land, he leaves you to do the rest. Underwater you can actually feel how heavy you are, but on land you feel it all, and then some. The jacket around your waist is weighing you down.

With one hand, you push the hair out of your face, still taking deep breaths, “I saw them in the bushes but I didn’t know that they’d do that.”

“Who was it?” He asks, crouching down. He’s pulling your sword away from the edge, “Did you see?”

“No, the water is so dirty down there.” You turn over, sitting on your butt as you squeeze the water from your hair, “It’s deep, Allio. Anyone who can’t swim well can easily drown. It just kept going and going.”

“We’ll stick next to the shallow end for now on.” He says.

You get to your feet, not liking the way the inside of the shoes squish and how the water runs out through the seams. You remember that you packed dry socks for a reason like this, but there’s no point to put them on. The shoes will just get them wet again.

You squeeze the shirt, and then as much as the jacket as you can. While you’re gathering your sword in your hands again, you and Allio watch the body appear at the top of the pond. For a moment, you can’t seem to register the fact that they’re facing upwards because of how bloated their face is.

And then it clicks. A boy who can’t be any older than thirteen is floating on the water. There were only two tributes that were younger than you and Finnick, and it was the District Twelve tributes. 

No matter who it is, it’s bad either way. The girl was only twelve, and the boy thirteen. It doesn’t matter, that one year doesn’t matter. You just killed someone that’s so young, it’s sickening. Their parents back home in Twelve are crying over them, and you’ve just been labeled a child murderer.

It was luck that they managed to survive past the first day. Had the boy--you think it’s the boy in the water--not taken the bait of you turning your back, he would still be alive. Might even be running far away from the pond. But he didn’t, he jumped, and you killed him because of it.

It’s survival of the fittest. It’s not your fault.

“We should start heading back to the cornucopia.” Allio says, watching the gallons of water leave your jacket. It’s holding more than you anticipated, and it actually seems to be where the bulk of the weight is coming from. Of course.

“In a second, what if the Twelve girl is around?” you ask, regripping the sword in your hand. Then, you use the blade to very gently scrape off mud from the back of your jeans.

“How about I handle her?” Allio asks, holding the backpack out to you.

You take it, pulling the straps around your shoulders, “Don’t fall into the water. I’m not going to save you.”

“Good to know.” he says, “We’re even now, by the way.”

He starts walking around the area, stabbing through bushes with his sword. Even? For what?

“What do you mean?” you ask, shifting on your feet. You can feel the water squish between your toes.

“Eytelle.” Is all he says, and it’s enough for you.

After checking around the area for a final time, the two of you regroup and head right back for the cornucopia. There’s no reason to fuck around, your feet are already going to hurt enough as it is by the time you reach the cornucopia. Why make it worse?

The conversation back isn’t much better than the Eytelle conversation, but at least he’s not asking you what it was like to watch Twelve boy drown. Instead, he’s asking you about your own personal experiences with water. 

“District Two is pretty dry.” he says, “No water.”

“There has to be water somewhere, you’re just not allowed to see it. But I believe you on the dry thing, you’re mostly desert, right?”

“Yes.” he says, “Makes for hot summers and freezing winters with barely any snow unless you live up north.”

“Sounds miserable.” you snort.

“What about you? What’s it like in Four?”

You shake your head, looking up, “Well, up north it’s freezing and it gets the most weather. That’s where I am, but down south there’s intense heat and humidity and all that.”

“You get rain?”

“Frequently during the spring and fall, snow in winter, and barely any hot weather in summer.” you slide the sword into a small fabric piece on the side of the backpack, making it so you don’t have to carry it all the way back. When you reach over, you find the handle easily.

“Sounds a lot more exciting.”

You shrug, you wouldn’t say that. Your district may get nice weather and pretty views, but with how much fish you’re bringing in and the way that you live next to salt water, there’s some smells that are permanently stained into you. Salt water, fish and sweat is how Cleo had loudly said on the day you first met them all. And honestly, you thought you did a good job with trying to mask the smell.

The night of the interview, she told you that you’d done a complete one-eighty. You’d gone from smelling like home to smelling like the Capitol. Which is extremely strong and expensive cologne and perfume that you’d have to sell your house a hundred times over to even begin to afford the cheapest selection.

Although, with how Allio has described District Four, you think that they might have it worse. Back home, you’re all used to the smell because there’s no real… variety… so to say, with how the district smells. Of course, in the south it might smell like hot, baking fish that’s been sitting in the sun all day, compared to just sweat and fish. 

But in District Two--as Eytelle had proudly stated hours before her death--they’re all able to afford perfumes. And it’s not like you’re saying that Four can’t afford perfumes, but the higher class don’t necessarily associate with lower class unless it’s for business. So typically, you’re not smelling anyone with perfume unless it’s some kid wearing it to school.

Anyway, back to what you’ve tried to say; you have a feeling that District Two citizens smell like sweat, labor and perfume and cologne combined. Which is an awful smell, you can imagine. The perfume, shampoo, body wash and all of that, that your prep team had chosen all either smelled fruity or expensive. And you’re already getting a headache at the thought of mixing a fruity smelling perfume with sweat.

Deodorant exists, but like… there’s a huge problem with those scented ones too but you won’t get into that. You’ve already made your point. While Two might have low poverty rates and winning tributes, they smell like sweat from baking in the sun and try to fix it by spraying on perfume. That’s what you think, at least.

Naturally, a lot of Four people spend their time in the sun--the boats and fishing, hello--but you’re all used to it by now. After spending hours and hours in the sun, and watching people around you do the same, you’ve all managed to form the same habit to keep yourselves from smelling too bad.

But then again, Cleo proudly saying you smelt like sweat could just mean that all of this was futile. You’re not as nice smelling as you like to think. That, or the smell has been permanently etched into your skin since the day you were born, and the only way of escaping it is to not live in Four anymore. Which definitely isn’t going to happen.

There’s no more talking for the rest of the way back to the cornucopia. By the time you see it through the trees, you’re starting to feel a bit sick because of how hungry you are, and the shirt and your jeans have dried. 

Before you walk into the sand, you have the mind to pull off your socks and shoes to make sure that they won’t make mud on the way to the cornucopia. The good news is that Trink and Lennox have food cooking by the time you get inside. They immediately noticed how disheveled you are, though.

“What happened?” Trink asks.

“Drowned the Twelve boy in the pond.” you pull off the backpack and set it next to where you’ll be sitting at. Then you start squeezing out the water off to the side, “You guys need to be incredibly careful, it’s deep.”

“How deep?” Lennox asks, “Waist, throat…?”

“Fifteen and deeper. Way past your head, obviously.” you put a box out into the sun, lay your jacket on it, and then your socks. On either side of the box is your shoes, and all you can do is hope that the sun will have them dried fairly quickly.

You pull out your ponytail, and then gather it all back up messily into what it was before. You sit between Lennox and Allio after that, watching as another pig is cooked over the fire.

“So that was the cannon.” Trink leans against the wall, “For a second, we thought it was the other tributes fighting it out.”

“Hardly.” Allio says, “(Y/n)’s on a roll.”

Lennox is bobbing his head along, “Yeah, how many is that now?”

You’re uncomfortable, and you trace patterns into the sand, not answering the question. Your silence doesn’t matter to them, because they start marking off the tributes they killed during the cornucopia and trying to pinpoint which ones belonged to you.

By the time that the food is ready, they’ve got Horace, Eytelle and the Twelve boy under your name, completely missing the mark with the Ten girl. They’ve got pretty hefty numbers themselves, but you already knew that. Lennox with the Ten and Six boys, and Trink with the Five boy. You’re not entirely sure with Allio, because he’s not exactly giving up numbers or names. You think his is zero.

“I actually think I got that Seven girl, too.” she draws another line next top her, “Me and (Y/n) are tied.”

No, not tied. She’s just under you, and it makes her just as dangerous as you are. You wonder if you can downplay your kills down to one or two, and not even three. Makes you less of a threat, doesn’t keep their eyes on you. Turns their attention to Trink next.

“I didn’t even kill the Twelve boy.” you reason, and Allio’s eyebrows are drawing in, because he clearly watched you come up victorious, “Just because I dragged him under, doesn’t mean I killed him. Honestly, it’s the water that did all the work. I couldn’t even get a hold of him, I just kept making sure he stayed under.”

“So two and a half, then.”

“No, with that logic, Eytelle isn’t even a kill either.” Lennox says, “He’s half, like an assist or something. The mutts did most of the job.”

You don’t think that the gamemakers are playing along in this case. All kills are final under a tributes name. You finished off Ten girl, and Horace, and Twelve boy. Those are all fair and square, those were under your conditions, you bent them to your will. With Eytelle it’s a little more sketchy, because you weren’t fighting her directly, but you guess it could count because you ended her life.

Four deaths already and it’s only been two days. 

“So, two then…?” Trink asks.

“Might as well give her one, at this point.”

You shrug, “It makes the most sense.”

“Fine, (Y/n) gets one because of Horace. I get three,” Trink puffs her chest, “Lennox gets two and Allio gets... “ her face twists, and then she looks at him, “Half because he killed a pig last night.”

His face twists angrily, but you and Lennox let out a laugh at the same time. It seems to diffuse the tension enough to make Allio’s face relax, but he’s clearly not happy with what Trink has said. She giggles along, smiling down at the sand.

“I got someone.” he says.

“Yeah? Like who?” Lennox asks, he’s slicing his knife through the skin of the boar, and on the inside you can see that it’s cooked.

“One of the nobodies from Nine, I think.”

“Boy or girl?” You ask, you can’t remember their names and you can hardly remember their faces.

“Boy.”

“You’re just bullshitting at this point.” Trink says.

“Shut the fuck up.” Allio snaps, and she’s raising her eyebrows, and then giving you a wide-eyed look like she’s saying, ‘someone’s got their panties in a twist’ and she’s totally right.

“It’s ready.” Lennox says, and you all fall into silence as you tear into the pig.

The rest of the day is spent inside of the cornucopia. When it starts hitting the evening, you go out to check the salt water to see if there is fish. The moment you peer into the water, you know that it’s almost a lost cause. You’d have a better chance of fishing in the pond, but you don’t remember seeing any fish in there either.

The other’s aren’t too worried, saying that you’ll just kill boars and eat crackers until you run out. What happens after that? Lennox says he’ll start hunting for the smaller animals after that. For now, there’s no reason to bother if there’s food at your fingertips.

Almost an hour before the faces in the sky show, you’re pulling your socks and shoes back on. The socks are dry but the shoes are pretty wet, even after you’ve been squeezing the water out of the soles in uneven intervals. The jacket has been dry for a while, so you pull the stiff fabric back over your arms and zip it up to your chin.

You find a nice spot towards the back of the cornucopia that’s behind a pile of boxes. You make it your hope, and have everything set up in arms-length. To your right, at the same height of your hips is your small knife. The sword is off to the left, which will be easy for an intruder to see.

During the anthem, you’re nibbling on your crackers, watching the faces appear. First is Eytelle, naturally since she’s from Two. Now, everyone knows who was screaming early this morning. Everyone knows you’re down to four. Finally, the boy from twelve. The anthem finishes off with a flourish, and the sky goes dark.

Lennox volunteers to watch this time around, and after Trink helps you apply more of the healing cream, you’re laying down in your cozy spot and sleeping for the rest of the night.

In the morning, you wake by yourself. Allio has got his knees pulled to his chest, bags beneath his eyes as he rests his chin on his knees. Every now and then he yawns, as if you guys have woken up early into the morning, but by judging the sky, you can clearly tell it’s nowhere near early. It’s ten or later.

“Where’s Trink and Lennox?” you sit up, scratching the back of your head. 

You can feel the sand falling from your hair and down the back of your shirt, which is so damn gross. Not only do you have shit from the pond yesterday stuck in your hair, you also have sand. Sounds like you need to go down to the salt water and ‘wash’ your hair.

Allio yawns again, this time struggling to tame it. He closes his eyes, and places his forehead on his knees, “Out. They’ve been gone for thirty minutes, now. They should be back soon.”

“Right.” you say, picking up your knife, “Well, I’m going down to the beach to scrub my hair.”

“Don’t want to wait for a buddy?”

“Nah.” you pull off the jacket, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“‘Kay.” 

You roll your eyes, stretching your arms on the way to the beach, and you realize immediately that your back doesn’t hurt at all when you do. It’s a good sign. You knew that it wouldn’t be open for much longer. For good measure, you should apply one last layer, you think. No matter what happens, there’s going to be a scar on your back but you want to make sure that it's completely closed.

It’s a two minute walk to where the beach is. And since you learned your lesson yesterday with the pond, you take off your socks and shoes and roll your jeans to your thighs. The water is pretty cold when you wander in, you’re sure to watch your step and when you find yourself knee-deep in water, you pull your hair out.

You leave the tie around your wrist as you flip your hair over, not exactly thrilled when you watch the debris fall from your hair. You scratch for a while until there’s nothing coming from it anymore. Then, you find a new spot to stand and dip your hair in, again scrubbing with your nails. Your hair isn’t exactly greasy just yet, but it’ll get there soon.

You run your hands through your hair to fix the snarls, and then with your head still being upside down, you gather it all into a ponytail, and stand up straight. You wrap the tie around your hair twice, letting it fall into place. When it’s still too loose, you tighten the ponytail, squeezing out the water immediately after.

It’s not much better, but your scalp isn’t as itchy, and you don’t have many options. You carry your socks and shoes back to the cornucopia, and right through the hot sun. You and Allio wait a while, and when your feet are dry, you brush off all the sand and put your socks and shoes back on.

Finally, Lennox and Trink come out of the trees to the left of the mouth. Over there should only be beach, so you’re not sure what’s taken them so long. It isn’t until they’re within earshot, do you hear that they were scoping out the area to check for camps. Last night, Lennox said he thought he saw someone but he couldn’t be sure.

“It’s clear, I think.” he says, Trink doesn’t bother to sit down, “We took two laps, looking everywhere and didn’t find anything.”

“That’s good.” Allio says, “What’s next?”

“I’ve got to pee.” you say, pushing yourself up from where you sit, “And we need a water refill again.”

Lennox picks up his canteen, and then swishes around the water inside, “Got most of mine left, I’ll be fine.”

“Not me.” Trink says, “You should be drinking more.”

“My funeral, not yours.” Lennox leans back, yawning now too, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Trink picks up her silver water bottle, your canteen and Allio’s in one big swoop, “(Y/n) and I will go and get more water, then. You two stay here. We’ll find something while we’re out.”

“Sounds good to me.” Allio says, “There’s not much to do, anyway.”

“Actually, there is.” Lennox is barely keeping his eyes open, “We should gather a lot of food today so we can go exploring tomorrow. There’s still… what? Thirteen tributes out there?”

“Eleven.” you say.

He motions in your direction lazily, “I’m going to nap, when I get up, me and you are going to go out looking for shit. While I’m sleeping, you can go through the boxes and find crackers and useless shit like that.”

“Sure.” Allio says, “Looks like we’ve got the easy half today.” 

Trink shrugs, “You can think that.”

You go ahead and grab your stuff, now. You slide the water bottles and anything that Trink wants to bring along into the backpack. Then the sword, and you’re on your way out and back towards the pond. An hour trip like this everyday is going to take out your water weight from how much you sweat because of it.

“We can find a spot for you to do your business.” Trink says, diverting the two of you off the path, “Preferably not in the way we’ll be walking back.”

You laugh a little and she smiles.

When you’re done, you and her get right back on track to the pond. But unlike Allio, she won’t let it settle into a silence. No matter what happens, she’s on top of conversation and she’ll switch topics when she realizes that it’s failing or you don’t have much to say.

It’s a fun conversation, and you’ve come to realize that there’s a difference between her and Allio. Allio is down to talk about the dirtier stuff, the type of shit that makes him qualified to be a career. Trink on the other hand is… deceiving. Obviously she’s got her muscles and brute strength like the other boys, but she’s so… girly.

Reminds you of the annoying girls back home, except she’s different. She finds a way to dance between the lines between flattering and irritating, keeping you from truly hating her. She’s likable, but not entirely. You’re sure it’ll be a matter of time before she accidentally finds a way to get under your skin.

For now, you’re just glad you have someone to talk to.

Trink twists her blonde hair between her fingers, making it into a spiral. Then, she ties a ponytail at the base of her neck. She gives you a quick smile before launching right back into what she was saying before. 

At the pond, she finally eases up and let's you explain to her where everything had happened yesterday. She says she’ll keep the deep end in mind, and gathers the water and lets you do the iodine drops. She doesn’t want to go back just yet, wanting to rest so the two of you sit in the shade beneath a tree and eat enough food to settle your stomach and keep the nausea at bay.

“What was going on between you and Finnick?” she asks, “If you don’t mind me asking. I’m just curious on why he didn’t join us.”

You hum, “We were in an alliance, originally. Him and I have known each other for a pretty long time. I think he didn’t want to be allies with you guys when you came over after the chariot ride.” you rip grass from the ground, making a pile, “Maybe he didn’t like your vibes or whatever. He is fourteen, so maybe it’s a thought process thing.”

“Yeah, I was just curious as to why he chose them over us.” she picks at her nails, “I mean, they’re not going to be much help, and I can’t imagine how they’re going to help him win.”

“They’re not.” you say, shaking your head.

Finnick’s best bet was you. The two of you might have scored fairly high, but you clearly knew better than he did. Had he latched on, he would be doing just fine. Wouldn’t have to worry about dinner or watching his back. Assuming that he didn’t meet up with Blaire and Thyme.

He might have, you don’t know. What you do know is that Verda died, and if Finnick had been around, he would have had a friend to rely on, and vice versa. Having Finnick on your side at all times would have been nice, just in case things do start to get choppy with your career friends, he would have been there to even it out.

You think you’re doing fine for now, so there’s really no reason to worry.

“You think he’s going to die?”

“He’s fourteen.” you say, “The youngest victor ever was fifteen. If he were to win, it would be unheard of and break the record. Give hope to the future twelve and thirteen year olds that get chosen. I hardly doubt that they have a chance, though. I didn’t when I was that age.”

“Neither did I.” Trink says.

You’re not that surprised. No one should be ready for the games at twelve and thirteen. Not even at fourteen or fifteen, it’s just so young. At your age, your brain is still developing and it holds onto the trauma. Every time you close your eyes when you go to sleep now, all you can picture is their dead faces.

It’s your fault. You caused every single one of them. And somehow, justifying the deaths as a benefit to your survival, or so that you could live is so much worse. You don’t want other people to die so you can live another day. You don’t want that blood on your hands. But you don’t have much of a choice.

It’s your life or them. It’s seeing your family again, or dying a death that will haunt them forever. The baby sister that fought for her life many times, but in the end she couldn’t make it out alive. 

“Well, Eytelle and I thought you and him were dating with how close you are.” 

Figures, the other girls had thought this too, “Yeah, you’re not the only one. We’ve just known each other for a while. I hate that Four will lose one of us.”

Trink’s eyebrows draw in, “One of you? What does that mean?”

“One of us is going to win.”

“We’ll see.” She says, suddenly getting stuffy. She gets to her feet, brushing off her jeans. You get up without her help.

The two of you wander through the woods for a while, quiet with no conversation. You find out quickly that you’re a lot more quiet on your feet than she is. Eventually, you decide to call it and send her back to the cornucopia, saying that you’ll stay out here by yourself.

“And what if there’s other tributes?” she asks.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Remember what happened the last time you did that?” Trink motions to her back.

You sigh, “Do you want meat other than pig or what?”

She doesn’t argue, you pass off the waters and then watch her disappear through the trees. You go right back to the pond, pulling out a nice branch and getting to work on some makeshift fishing pole. The wire that they provide at the cornucopia isn’t the best, but you make do for it being the fishing line.

You use a small bit of wire to make a hook, and then dig around in the dirt of the pond bank to find a single worm. You apologize to the worm, and then skewer it through the hook. It’s nowhere near the worst thing you’ve done in your life, and nothing like that is going to come close for a while.

You throw the stupid thing into the pond, the only reason why you’re even doing this is because you think you saw a ripple earlier when you and Trink were talking. You’d say you wish you had a spear, but spearing fish here would be useless. Like completely useless, since you’re not standing up and doing it, and the fish won’t appear at the shallow end.

After about ten minutes you think, you’re sure that this is futile and you’re only making a joke out of yourself to the Capitol and everyone back home. So long the idea of impressing everyone with your stupid fishing pole. But then there’s a tug, and a large part of you is hoping that it’s not a mutt, and the other has a feeling it’s a fish.

You’re hesitant with the wire, now realizing that it could slice through your hand if you’re not careful. So, you pull out the metal water bottle that’s halfway empty, and wrap the wire around the bottle as if you’re pulling in the line. And slowly but surely, whatever it is is being dragged up.

Then, you can see it. And you’re yanking the whole lot of it backwards and onto land. It’s a fish alright, and even though you can’t name what it is--you’re mostly used to salt water fish, not fresh--you think it’s edible, so you let it flip around until it’s done moving. After that, you wrap it in your jacket because you smell like fish anyway, and tuck it into the backpack and try for a round two.

It’s a lot harder this time. The wire is in a coil and it takes you a hot minute to even get it straighted out again. Finding a worm is pretty hard too, because you need a damn bait to even get the fish curious. When you find one, you’re plunging the wire back into the water and playing the waiting game again.

You hum an old fishing song that your father used to sing on fishing trips with your brothers while you wait. You vaguely remember Reed singing this back home. When he does, it’s always because he’s trying to focus on something. Normally when he’s making dinner or he’s fixing something in the house. He’s a hands-on type of person.

You manage to get a second fish up, and right when you think you should test your luck with a third, you hear a cannon blast. You pause, hands slowly folding the fabric over the second fish, waiting for another cannon but there is none. Knowing that it could be someone back at the cornucopia, you tuck the fish back into your backpack at the bottom. You fill your water bottle up again, and then toss the fishing pole in a bush so that you don’t have to carry it back.

After that, you’re starting your way back, being sure to watch your back. You don’t want to be the second cannon that goes off today. It takes one person to kill you to get their hands on your goods for the games to turn in their favor. 

You make it back to the cornucopia in record timing, you think. You shout Trink’s name, letting them know that it’s you. Her and Lennox round the corner, swords out and ready. When they confirm that it’s you, they ease up.

“Thought it was you.” Lennox breathes.

“It won’t be that easy.” you joke, and watch as they crack a smile, “I’ve got fish.”

Allio is skinning a rabbit, and there’s already a squirrel hanging from the ceiling. He looks up at your approach and gives you a gentle nod before going back to what he was doing.

“That’s good. I caught a rabbit on my way back.” Trink is proud.

“And she butchered it.” Allio says, shaking his head.

You sit down in your cove, unloading your water bottle and placing your knife and things back where they belong. You pull the fish out of your jacket, and begin to descale it.

“Who do you think it was?” Allio asks, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Yeah, you figured he’d ask a question like this. He was the one prying about Eytelle, after all. You keep quiet and let the others fill in for your silence. You all come to an agreement that the fish should be eaten first so it doesn’t smell too badly tomorrow.

You cook the rabbit and squirrel anyway, wrap them in a clean shirt. Then, Trink clears out a small box just for the food. Once it’s closed, it’s an agreement between the four of you that it won’t be touched until tomorrow. The sun seems to set a little faster this time around.

Tomorrow you’ll all be out in the woods looking for other tributes to take down. You don’t think that you’ll be coming across anyone, but you don’t take the night shift anyway, letting Trink take it by herself. You all wait for the death recap in the sky, and only one face shows up. The girl from Twelve.

Only twelve tributes left in the arena.

You and the two boys go ahead and settle for the night. In the case of Trink being exhausted, she’s to wake Allio. You’ll be getting a full night’s rest tonight. You pull the thin, white jacket back onto your body and curl up in your sandy cove. This time, you pull up your hood to keep the sand out of your hair.

You stand no chance against the exhaustion.

[mockingjayne12]

Anchor: ...In Waves

(Jamie x Claire / Outlander Fic)

 (PART ONE)

PART TWO:

Claire can still feel the smile upon her face, the one in which real laughter had escaped, boisterously through the night, bouncing off the flames, landing squarely on the matching grin of her husband’s face.  She’d relinquished control, if only for a moment, unable to stifle the bubbling happiness, however briefly, from tumbling out as she had watched Jamie dance.  A marked dance of defiance, one in which he tempted fate, in not only believing that the worst wasn’t about to happen, but in the confidence of his dance skills (A sheepish grin for her suggesting otherwise).  For as bulky as he was, Claire’s eyes had been filled with mirth at how light on his feet he appeared.

Jamie had perhaps had a bit too much to drink, stumbling through the trail of trees, enclosing them in their embrace, shielding their outside troubles from seeping into the first night in a long while that they could actually enjoy themselves.  The moonlight peeked through the branches, lighting their way, as she gripped Jamie’s arm.  The fear from before laying dormant, awaiting it’s opportunity to spring up again and steal the laughter away from her.

“Where are we going?” A soft giggle accompanies her question, attempting to quell the rising panic.

“Ye got somewhere else tae be?” He replies, a crooked grin smiling down at her.

“Hmm, maybe,” she cocks her head, causing him to raise his brow.

“Well, dinna let me keep ye, Rawlings,” he teases, causing her mouth to drop open, before she purposely pushes him, having him stumble ahead of her.

“Yer stronger than ye look, Sassenach,” his words louder than usual, coming out as he trips over a branch in the trail.

“Careful,” she laughs, her hand attempting to steady him, but he twirls her into him instead, his face burying in her hair, taking her in as if she were the very air he breathed.  This only further cementing in her mind that she’d not been wrong when she’d claimed to be the the one thing he loved the most in this world.

A contented sigh passes through him, his gaze moving over her, seemingly sobering him up immediately.  She can feel some of the tension from earlier making its way through him, causing her to stiffen.

“Can I ask ye a question, Sassenach?” He asks, the blue truth behind his question refusing to meet her eyes, instead lingering anywhere but her face.

“Of course,” she says, her once happy laughter replaced with one of nerves, her fingers wringing themselves as they settle against her belt.  She swears she can hear every rustle of the leaves around them, a soft breeze trailing over her, sending gooseflesh along her arms, straight up her spine.

He pauses, as if studying something in his mind, the wheels turning, and she’s reminded of the Jamie she’d just married, embarrassed and nervous, asking questions he truly didn’t have the answers to, wanting nothing more than to protect her.

“Out with it,” she says in a light tone, hoping to encourage him, but her words tremble from her mouth, caught by the breeze, swaying with the dizzying effect of the alcohol on his breath.

“Did ye want to keep wee Bonnie?” He blurts out, but the way he’s looking at her, his usually stoic face is filled with one of concern and confusion, and she swears, that’s not really the question he wanted to ask her.

Claire has to admit that her arms feel empty having given the baby to Lucinda, aching to be filled once again with the soft weight of an infant.

“It had been suggested that she stay here with Lucinda,” she tries, raising her brow at him, trying not to betray the feeling of relief with regret mixed into a combination of want welling in her that she couldn’t stifle.

“That wasna the question,” he smiles, knowing that she was dancing around the issue.

“She needs her,” Claire offers up quietly, a whisper like a dagger digging into a scar that though had long ago healed had still left its mark, a reminder every day of what had been lost, now freshly blooming with a stab right where it hurt.

“And yer alright with that?” He asks once again, stepping closer, his hand reaching for her, but never quite landing.

Her eyes well up with tears, a torrent tearing through the blue despair, looking up to find the same emotion reflected in the pools before her.

“She was never mine to keep,” she whispers, the first tear escaping, the drop in the bucket that has Jamie’s thumb making contact with the soft pocket underneath her eye, soaking up her sadness, literally, taking the weight of her world on his shoulders, prepared to weather the storm together.

“Claire,” he murmurs, his cheek resting against her’s collecting her tears and making them his own, the bristle of his scruff anchoring her in time, her hands gripping his shirt to hold onto not just something, but the one thing in life that was her’s to keep.  Of that she knew.

“Jamie,” she breathes, more familiar with his name than her own.

“’Tis a child of yer own ye want…” he begins, and she can feel her breath catch, the soft gasp whispering by his ear.

“Don’t you think our time has already passed for that?” She asks with a bit of a laugh that’s swallowed by a sniffle of tears that refuses to stop.  It’s not as if the idea hadn’t floated across her mind now and then, particularly when she’d first come back to him - wondering if the regret of having missed out on both of his daughters, that he’d want something of the two of them forever, one last chance to get it right.  But he’d seemed content to reacquaint himself with her, and establish a relationship with Bree.  An army of grandchildren that he spoils rotten soon to follow, and with that, the idea had dissipated.  “I am happy for every moment we have together, I—“

Her words are interrupted by his head pulling back, a gaze of what she can only guess as astonishment quickly turning to that of a worrying endearment wash over him as he stares at her.  His hand leaves her cheek, but never breaks contact with her.  Instead trailing down her neck, his short nails tickling their way to the wing of her collarbone until she feels the soft grip down her arm, the gentle yank of her belt closer to him, before resting comfortably on her stomach.  Her hands come to rest upon his, as if by reflex, her body seemingly screaming in recognition of what’s going on before her mind can catch up.

“I sure hope not, Sassenach,” he says, his throat constricting, her name coming out with a choked sound, like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

Claire’s look of disbelief clouds over her, a grin appearing on his face, and she knows he’s telling the truth.

“How could you know?” she asks, no accusation, the feeling of truth washing over her.  He lets out a gruff noise that sounds something like a laugh.  “Of course you know,” she says with a near roll of her eyes.

Every moment we have together…

The words taking on a new meaning, marking another scar ripped open, the salt of her tears rubbing in the wound of a situation that she seemed to find herself again, war imminent and her safety in question.  Her last two pregnancies flashing through her mind, the grieving mother longingly staring at wee Bonnie, one she was all too familiar with.

“Tell me I didna just write your obituary sooner, mo ghràidh,” and the look of concern, the one he’d been wearing since he’d cradled wee Bonnie in his arms, the one she’d thought had been one of concern for the baby, now made sense, the whirling storm in his eyes, battling that of perhaps finally getting the charm of a third try, but feeling as if he’d needed to commit every part of her to memory, limiting her time more so than the original obituary that promised to take them in a fiery blaze.

Her fingers squeeze the now chilled hands of the man who had once told her he’d wanted them to have twelve children, one for each spoon, whose fingers had never once had one of their babies wrap their whole hand around him, but whose heart had been wrapped in love from the start for each one.

“I think we both wrote that one,” she tries to tease, but his face just scrunches even further in concern.

“i’ve no life but you, Claire,” his lips meet her forehead, needing her in that moment to feel that she was there, whole, a solid light in front of the dark unknown that was ahead.  She can feel it in the pressure of his lips, the grip of his fingers, the heavy breath causing a tendril of hair to brush against her face, the erratic beat of his heart beneath her fingertips, the pulse of the current running through them both.  “But seeing ye with Bonnie…it reminded me of when ye were with child with Faith,” his eyes closing at the mention, as if recalling an image of their tiny baby he’d never seen, and she does the same, the image still so clear even after all those years.  “The way ye would have looked with Bree, but…I dinna want ye to suffer.“

Her hands frame his anguished face, fingertips pricking on the scruff, and while he mirrors her movement with one hand, the other refuses to leave that of her stomach, as if letting go would then allow the wave that threatened to swallow them under in its darkness would take her, them, from him.

“I didn’t think it was possible to love you more, Jamie,” their hands holding on for dear life.  “I can’t promise you it will be alright, but any child of ours, a child born out of love, is worth the risk.”

She pulls his head down to her, their lips meeting in a kiss of need, a desperation to the movement of their lips, making every nip count, while the taste of hope floats to the surface.  Only when they’ve completely stolen each other’s breath do they separate, resting their foreheads against one other, holding the other up, their strength drawn from each other, steadying in its unwavering love.

“I meant it…before, I willna part from ye, not again,” his statement sealed with a kiss to her knuckles, settling on the promise of forever, her ring.

“Together,” she offers, faith and fear pouring over the precipice they walk so carefully alongside, the sea of sorrow below them, awaiting their fall, but his hand grips her with a fierce determination that this time would be different.  This time they would both get to parent their child, from the start.

Jamie looks down, his hand still firmly placed against the life they were fighting for.

“Together.”

[typewriterghcst]

Title: But For Me It Was Tuesday Rating: also G-ish, but some allusions to probably what we would consider child abuse in the modern day lbr Characters: one (1) OC, Baron, Natori, Yuki Summary: The events of The Cat Returns, but told through the eyes of the smallest-- oh, sorry, my mistake— the youngest kitchen maid in the service of the Cat King. No romantic pairings. A crush or two may be mentioned, though. Notes: Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, even though I emphatically missed the deadline rip. This one was for the prompt of ‘Movie Extra’, which I took to mean, well, pretty much just what I wrote— the events of the movie as a backdrop to another character’s everyday life, lmao This is another one that isn't Entirely Finished, but I've been working on it since June-ish and I've just lost all motivation to finish it. Though, unlike the last one I posted that was unfinished, the only part missing from this one is the ending.  There's also a part in here involving Natori that needed to be changed, but I liked the wording and imagery of it, and never did get around to figuring out where else to put it, so some of the pacing in here is Off rip

                                                        &&&

She oversleeps. That's the first unusual misfortune that happens to her on this particular day. Opens the day, no less, she  thinks to herself as she forlornly stokes the ovens' gently smoldering fires. Her ears are still ringing from the boxing she'd received— the fact that Cook had had to include a little hop to even reach them means what little pride she has feels just as bruised.

Were she a more superstitious, flighty sort, she might even have taken this setback as the first of likely many portents of an upcoming stressful day. But instead she is only Topolina, the youngest (but emphatically not the smallest; more on that later) kitchen maid currently languishing away in the employ of the illustrious royal castle of the Cat Kingdom.

Of course, it’s there she stops herself. It’s only the chaos of the morning that has her using such bitter language. She should try harder, she tells herself, not to linger on the unpleasant aspects of her current existence, and instead focus on… on… well, she supposes there’s something to be grateful for in all of this. 

Like…

Oh! She has a home. A relatively nice bed to sleep in. And meals, every day.

...Meals which she is most often forced to wolf down in the kitchen in solitude as she tends the fires and keeps a watchful eye on the simmering pots.

Ah.

Perhaps she needs a bit more practice with this gratitude thing, is all.

It’s entirely possible her recent light resentment had begun with her very name, Topolina, a name which had been quite fitting when she stood at least two heads shorter than all the other kitchen maids, one she'd even perhaps viewed with some fondness for its endearing quality. And yet, alas, it now exists as a name which seems only heavily ironic— that is, now that she's hit the tender age of fourteen and found herself towering over all but the very tallest of cats. It feels to dear Topolina like some massive, omnipresent joke that she remains her old timid, meek self, still eager to fade into the background and disappear... now without even the faintest hope of being able to do so.

Metaphorical salt in the wound is the undeniable fact that her pinafore's hem, once perfectly aligned with her ankles and cutely poofy, now drapes awkwardly far above its original position. Perhaps it’s comparatively trivial atop all her other complaints, but when she finds herself thinking back to her old unassuming silhouette, she can’t help but feel at least a little crestfallen. Nowadays, she feels quite akin to a pitifully overgrown shrub, no matter how many well-meaning words to the contrary she receives.

All in all, she imagines such a thing might make anyone feel rather less than appreciative.

It’s as she’s sitting there alone before one of the nine stoves in the palace kitchen, contemplating her rotten luck, that she hears— well. She’s not sure, exactly. It’s something of a crunching sound, like rusted metal grinding against itself, and she can’t imagine what its source could be. She stands, and gingerly inspects the oven itself from every angle she can think of. She even studies her fire iron. Yet still she comes up empty-handed.

Defeated, she flops back down in her original spot.

And then— she squeaks, because the ground under her is moving, slowly twisting back and forth as if she’s sitting on a lazy top. She leaps (falls is more accurate) off the emerging ground once her mind comes back to her, once it stops panicking, and stares in confounded shock as the very spot she’d been settled atop transforms into what appears to be a long-forgotten manhole covering. How long had that been there?! She’s never been made aware of an old servant’s tunnel in this area!

Her perplexion only deepens when she spies just who has made use of this abandoned tunnel— a cat much like herself, though she thinks that he looks quite a sight better than she would have had she just crawled through a dirty tunnel. His off-white suit is pressed and smart, for one, and hardly has a tear nor even a wrinkle to show for the abuse he’s no doubt just put it through.

His sharp gaze falls then on her, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of her ill-fitting, nearly threadbare pinafore, the scuffs of dirt and soot smattered across it, and her probably unkempt fur, smudged and mussed from fire-tending. Oh, if she could just will the earth itself to open its maw and swallow her up—!

“Ah,” he starts, in a much gentler voice than Topolina had expected, turning to her and offering a hand to help her up, “I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” she stammers, taking his hand without thinking. (Were she in a right state of mind, she’d never do such a thing— the very last thing her poor Young Maiden’s Heart could stand is for a handsome gentleman to struggle to lift her.) He pulls her up with little difficulty, though, and in her chest she feels a very peculiar thump, and then a flutter.

“A-Are you here for the king..?” She asks impulsively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, appearing to think that over for a fleeting moment, perhaps aware of the myriad of ways the pairing of her question and his response could be interpreted, before he makes his decision.

“Yes. I would like to have an audience with him. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Y… you’re not here to kill him, are you?” She whispers, perhaps irrationally afraid that the king himself might be listening in on her. And yet, not too irrational— she’s seen his spying Cat’s Eye floating languidly about the castle on more than one occasion.

There’s something pitying in his gaze, she thinks, but he replies graciously enough. “You have my word, miss. I am not here to usurp or otherwise harm your king.” Then, while dusting some nonexistent dirt off his clothes, “I do believe I will need a change of wardrobe, however. It won’t do to adress a king while clad in anything less than my finest, will it?”

He says it without flinching, and in such an earnestly straightforward fashion, that Topolina herself is almost led to believe there really is some flaw with his clothing that she simply can’t see.

“Oh!” She says then in sudden inspiration. Without explaining herself first, she scampers to the open alcove behind him, separated only by an unfinished wall. The kitchen servants have long used the area as a makeshift coat rack, and one particularly bizarre ensemble has been there for as long as she can remember. She comes back around the wall bearing the large hat and cloak before offering it to him, embarrassed now that she realizes that, judging by her actions, this is what constitutes ‘his best’ for her: an absurd hat and a dusty, worn cloak.

He himself appears no less than enchanted at her offering, however, and when he stands before her with the hat cocked just slightly on his head and azure mantle thrown over his shoulders, Topolina finds she’s again being assaulted by those odd, vexing heart palpitations. Is she really such a nervous thing? ...Yes, she answers herself firmly. Yes, she is. But she’s far from convinced nerves are to blame in this instance.

“Oh,” she breathes eventually, clasping her paws together and resting them against the edge of her cheek. “You look like you came out of a storybook.”

Well… that was more childish than she meant it to be.

“Then it’s perfect,” he says succinctly. Then, removing the hat and inclining his head to her, he adds, “Thank you for your assistance, ah—”

“Top— erm, Lina.”

“Miss Lina, it is. I’m quite grateful for your help. I am sorry only to startle you and then run without so much as a token for your assistance, but it’s imperative I make good time.”

Topolina shakes her head. “It’s okay— I-I don’t mind!”

And with a final bow, he leaves her and the kitchen behind.

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Peculiar dashing stranger aside, the rest of her day passes in relative normality. There’s a clamor about the servants some time later, and she catches snippets of an excited buzz about something happening with the prince (something that ties in with a group of special guests, but she’s yet to put together how) as she goes about her duties, but in all, for how bizarre the day started out, it all strikes her as rather uneventful.

She’s instructed eventually to scour the floors in the audience chamber in preparation for a banquet, which means filling an old rusted tub with hot water and soap, and then carting it to said room. She’s no stranger to the task, of course, and thinks nothing of trudging through the hall with this metal burden in her arms.

Perhaps as penitence for her lack of investment in the day’s continuing  Wonders, another ill-fated obstacle is tossed onto the tracks before her. In this case, literally. 

Earlier that day, a courier had accidentally overturned a loose stone in the hallway floor. Scratching his head, staring down at the disturbed piece of clay as though it had personally insulted him in the most obtuse way possible, he’d eventually looked from one end of the corridor to the other and quietly snuck it back into place, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Unfortunately, Topolina notices.

With a decidedly unfeline-like squawk, she trips over the rogue stone; the tub in her arms ends up the victim of gravity, as we all so unfortunately are.

And who should turn the corner then but Natori, just in time to be the unwitting second victim of her bad luck— drenched by the ensuing sheet of warm, sudsy water and so jarred by it, it seems he can do little other than look rapidly from his own sodden person to her no-doubt horrified countenance for near a full two minutes. In the fraught silence that follows, his glasses clatter to the earthen floor, and the tiny sound echoes in her ears like a gunshot. Trembling, Topolina instantly drops to her haunches, paws clapped together in desperate and tearful pleading.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! Please, I beg your pardon— I didn't mean— i-it was an accident!"

"...Topolina," Natori finally interrupts quietly, gently, even, but the hum of exasperation vibrates just underneath his patient tone like a trapped butterfly, "—retrieve a mop and a towel, please.”

“Of course, sir! R-Right away!”

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It’s afterward, as Topolina does her best to mop around him while he tries to dry himself without incurring any extra… floof, that Natori deems an appropriate time to address his reason for coming this way in the first place.

“It’s possible that Cook may have instructed you about this task already, but the kitchen staff will likely be needing every pot and pan that can be spared for today’s dinner, so do ensure that you tend to the ones that have been, er, languishing in... that corner.” When she chances a glance at him, she sees that his gaze is inconspicuously trained on a particularly infamous corner of the palace kitchens, one where abandoned cookware is just shy of creating its own ecosystem by now. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, some measure of indignation rises in her; she’s so very close to telling him she isn’t the one to blame in this instance! ...At least, not the only one.

Ah. Alas, once more. Her courage withers in the face of this culpability, small as it may be. Instead, she goes back to her doleful mopping. Still, there is at least enough nerve left in her to present him with one continuing question on the topic.

"Is it... is it for the special guests?"

Natori pauses, giving her something of a searching glance. "...It is, yes." Then, after a few seconds spent appearing to think this over, he continues ringing out the bottom hem of his robe. It seems at some point while she was distracted, he’d laid the drenched towel at his feet. "I see word spreads fast through the kitchens."

To herself, she thinks that he has no idea how true that is, nor precisely how fast it truly does.

Finally satisfied with all that the towel can accomplish in drying him off (and evidently feeling his now damp robe will no longer leave any puddles as he wanders through the castle), he returns it to her. "Now, Topolina, please try to keep the mishaps to a minimum. We do have an exceptional guest today, after all."

She only nods frantically, all too aware of her ears flapping up and down. To this, he gives an approving nod of his own, and then finally turns on his heel and leaves. Secure in her admittedly paltry position for at least another day, Topolina breathes a sigh of relief as she puts the mop away.

...An exceptional guest, he’d said. Curiosity flares again, this time stronger than before, and she can’t stop wondering just who they could be. For the most fleeting of seconds, she remembers the cat who had interrupted her delayed routine this morning, but he’s quickly waved away.

Honored guests did not arrive to their own commemoration by climbing through old servants’ tunnels.

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Once the dirtiest, most grime-caked pots and pans are finally scrubbed to perfection, she peeks around the corner in search of Cook or Natori, wondering what other (insignificant) part she may have to play in the care of these exceptional guests. To her consternation, however, the kitchen aside from her seems rather empty, present only to the sound of a maid or two prepping extra portions of stuffed mice on the off-chance they’re requested.

Cautious as always, Topolina all but tiptoes through, still careful not to draw attention to herself, and— once she’s certain she’s not being scrutinized— peeks out of the kitchen itself into the servers’ hallway. There’s music playing, muffled, down the hall in the great dining room— something elegant, bouncy. A waltz, perhaps. She wonders distantly who it is that might be dancing, and if the well-spoken cat she’d crossed paths with earlier is anything of a dancer himself. She could imagine him dancing… Oh, the flutter is back.

“Lina—”

“Yes!!”

She jumps impressively high, her hackles on edge and tail fluffed out in alarm.  Yet, when she whips around to face her unexpected company, she’s met only with Yuki. Another of the kitchen servants, Yuki has existed as a consistently friendly, warm presence, to the degree that she’d willingly adopted Topolina’s attempts to shorten her, well, newly embarrassing name, something a few of the other servants (and Natori…) were still having trouble with. Her fright abated, Topolina tries to greet the smaller cat with a smile, but it wavers.

“Oh— Yuki, it’s you.” She’s carrying a large glass bottle, freshly-filled with some unfamiliar pink-tinged liquid, Topolina notices.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki starts in reply. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-It’s okay!”

“What were you looking at?”

Oh. That.

“I was looking for Cook,” Topolina admits reluctantly. “Or maybe Natori. I’ve finished the dishes they wanted me to clean earlier today.”

“I saw The Corner was all clean. It must have taken a while.” Yuki sounds impressed, perhaps. Topolina doesn’t mention it, of course, but deep down she’s a little tickled. “Natori’s already taken his place in the dining room, though, so I don’t think you’ll have any luck getting more directions from him.”

“Oh…” Thinking back now, she realizes she should have surmised that already. At least, if the banquet has progressed to the point that entertainment is warranted. “What about Cook? Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

After a short silence, it suddenly occurs to Topolina that Yuki seems… a little distracted. Troubled, even. Fidgeting, she gathers her resolve for the third time that day.

“...Are you okay? You look like… um, something’s on your mind.”

Just the mention of her evident disquiet is enough to erase its presence from her expression; Yuki almost instantly brightens some, shaking her head gently.

“No, no. I’m fine.” And then, before Topolina can press the issue, “How about this? Stay here— I have to go back in and serve refills. If I see Cook, I’ll ask her what else she wants you to do and then fill you in when I come back. Okay?”

Topolina is just about to enthusiastically agree (leisure time in the sparsely occupied kitchen? Not being the one to personally ask Cook for more work? Of course she’d be on board!), but a sudden eruption of screams and breaking glass from the direction of the banquet room means the two of them are turning their startled attention to the ruckus instead.

“Wh— what could it be..?” Topolina wonders aloud, shaken.

[ and that's it rip the ending i had in mind was that yuki tells topolina to find a safe place, topolina cowers probably in the kitchen the whole time, especially upon hearing an Explosion. and the next day there's all kinds of rumors and tall tales about baron and The Daring Rescue he pulled off. topolina connects the dots and. well basically becomes haru 2.0 crushing on him and indulging in fantasies where she's also swept off her feet by a dashing hero fjfjkda; ]

[na-na-namine]

This took me an ungodly amount of time to write. It was originally going to be a much shorter one-shot, using an unfinished LWA fanfic I had saved, but I just kept adding to it. So it’s going to be a two chapter story now. Special thanks to my brother, @megamanofnumbers for the title!

This chapter is primarily from Amity’s POV. The second chapter will be from Luz’s.

Content warning: Contains blood and graphic descriptions of suffering.

If you want to read here on tumblr, keep reading below.

---

Unspoken: "She can be so stupid, which I love."

"It's Amity," Luz admitted to her friends, smiling sheepishly. "We're going out."

No one said anything as six pairs of stunned eyes were cast on Luz. Willow in particular looked ecstatic from the revelation, while Gus simply raised his hand. But before the illusionist could say anything, a flustered Amity spoke up first.

"We are!?"

"Huh?" Luz turned to Amity and spread her arms out. "Of course we are! We've, like, held hands and cuddled a bunch of times, right?"

Amity's jaw dropped. "Luz, you do that with literally everyone!"

"I do?"

"Yes! You do!"

Luz gave Amity a confused look. "Well, what about all the dates we've gone on, hmm?"

"Da- dates!? " Amity spluttered. "What, the book club? You never said they were dates!"

"Secret book club."

"Luz!"

"Oh, um..." Luz retracted her thoughts in a blur. "But if they weren't dates, what do you call it when you hang out with your girlfriend?"

"Girlfre- you never even confessed to me!"

"I... didn't?"

Amity continued to stare at Luz, utterly flabbergasted. Luz herself was uncharacteristically contemplative for a moment.

"...Oh!" Luz perked up in realization before dropping back down. "I guess I didn't."

"Luz..." Willow narrowed her eyes in disappointment.

Gus shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "Man, that's Luz for you."

Luz shrunk back a bit, anxiously fidgeting with her fingers. "Sooo... I'm guessing what happened on Grom Night wasn't some... unspoken thing?"

Amity sighed buried her face in her hands. She couldn't tell if her ears were burning from embarrassment or frustration. Maybe it was both.

'Unspoken thing?' I can't believe it.

Except Amity could believe it, and that was the worst part. All of that angst. All that worrying over whether Luz felt the same way or not, and it turned out that she did but chose not to say it.

"Amity, I'm so sorry," Luz frantically apologized. "But, um, does this mean we're... not girlfriends?" Luz's lips pursed into a pitiful frown.

Amity felt her frustration melting away, and confidence took its place. She couldn't help but marvel at how adorably stupid the human looked.

"I never said that you dummy." And with that, the witchling leaned in and kissed her silly. It might've not been the exact circumstance she was hoping for, but when Luz kissed her back, she found it hard to care about any of that.

---

Indulgence: "As long as it's a secret club."

Ideally, the library should've been completely barren after closing time, and yet two witches could be heard giggling away deep within Amity's secret hideaway, although ever since Luz came along, it slowly became one she shared with the human-now-turned-girlfriend. Just the thought was enough to send butterflies through Amity's belly.

"Foolish child!" Luz slid menacingly across the floorboards, her hands bent in snake-like motions. "I could swallow you whole!" Across from her was Amity, who was dramatically posed in a heroic stance.

"Do not underestimate me, Gildersnake, for I am the Good Witch Azura, warrior of peace!" The witchling smirked mischievously before raising a pillow over her head. "Now eat this, sucka!" She lunged forward and smushed the pillow on Luz's face, earning a yelp from the human.

"No! My only weakness - cuddles!" Luz sneered on the last word, swiftly wrapping her arms around Amity's waist.

"Wah! No fair, Luz!" Amity retorted bashfully, despite her widening smile. Luz matched it, briefly lifting her girlfriend with her weak nerd arms before falling onto some nearby bean bags. The two witches burst into a fit of laughter and cuddles, basking in their shared warmth and the feeling of comfort.

Minutes of laughter gave way to serenity as the two witches gazed blissfully at one another. A part of Amity felt silly from getting lost in those beautiful hazel-browns, but, thankfully, a much bigger part of herself relished in how happy and secure it made her feel. It was such a refreshing feeling from acting studious all the time. Her reputation and family name often required she keep up appearances, but with Luz, it was impossible to keep a straight face, figuratively and literally.

 "Amity..." Luz whispered in such a way that Amity felt her insides turn to mush.

If her heart sac could pound any harder, Amity swore Luz would hear it. Was it too soon to call this feeling love?

"...I love you."

Wait. Amity's heart skipped. What!? Her eyes widened as she gawked at the now panicking human.

"Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry! It just kinda slipped out and I didn't mean to-" Luz hid her face with her hands and turned away in embarrassment. "It's only been a couple of months, I shouldn't have said that someone please kill me..."

"Luz, it's okay!" Amity brought her face close to the human. "It's okay." Her hands gently pried away Luz's, and aside from how flushed her girlfriend was, she noticed in her eyes a glint of yearning that wasn't there before. The witchling bit her lip. She's so cute!

"I love you, too." Just saying those words lit a spark in her chest, and when Luz kissed her fiercely, that spark burst forth like a thousand fire glyphs.

The moment they part, all the human could utter was "Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

Amity was certain from how those hazel-browns sparkled that Luz was feeling the same way.

---

Nightmares: "I'll be your fearless champion!"

Amity ran as fast she could, trying to ignore the sheer exhaustion wearing away at her body. By the time she had finally caught up, she could already taste blood in her mouth and the salt of her tears.

"Luz!"

Luz was standing before the portal to the human realm. Flinching from the sound her name, the human slowly turned around, sadness written over her face.

"Amity..."

Amity ran up and wrapped her arms around Luz in a tight hug. "Please don't leave. Stay here with me."

Luz stiffened, her fingers gripping the front of Amity's shirt. Her lips part, a soft intake of air, before meeting her girlfriend's eyes. "I can’t."

"Why? I don't want a life without you. I want you here." Amity begged desperately as she rested her forehead against Luz's. "Please, I need you."

Luz shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

"But-"

"You can move on, Amity. You have to.”

"I can't, Luz, I-"

In an instant, Luz faded through Amity's arms and into the portal, disappearing without a trace. The witchling reached out uselessly, crying out into the darkness.

"No, don’t go! Please! Don’t leave me here don’t leave me don’t-"

Amity wakes up drenched in sweat. She could barely make out the tattered roof of Luz's bedroom through her tears and the moonlight.

"Amity!"

She heard Luz call out her name beside her, browns filled with concern and worry. The human was snuggling close enough that Amity could hear her breathe. She felt the sting of her tears, her heart sac pounding, and remembered - Luz was still here.

"Luz," her voice trembled as she buried herself into her girlfriend's chest. "Luz!"

"Shh, it's okay," Luz soothed. She held Amity close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm still here, it was just a nightmare."

"Don't go," Amity sobbed, clutching onto Luz's shirt as her tears soaked into it. "Don't leave me all alone."

"I won't. I'm your fearless champion, remember?" Luz kissed away Amity's tears, her voice filled with sincerity and warmth like always.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

---

Dying: "I'm sorry, Luz! I should have fought my own battle!"

It hurt to breathe. Luz figured she might have a broken rib or two. When she looked down, however, she noticed the front of her uniform was drenched in blood. And it was spreading.

Oh... that can't be good...

Although her mind was hazy, she could barely make out muffled sounds before her.

"...Lu...z...!"

She knew this voice.

Amity?

"Luz!" Amity cried out, crouched next to Luz.

Luz was dying, gasping weakly with her eyes squeezed shut from the excruciating pain. Amity had already cast a healing spell, but her inexperience with such magic was limiting its effect.

"Luz, I need you to stay with me. Say something!"

Luz's only response was a silent cry of agony. Amity took off her cloak and pressed it against the bleeding wound on Luz's abdomen. Luz's condition was worsening by the second, her pulse rapidly drumming beneath the witchling's palms.

She's bleeding so much. Why do humans have so much blood? If only I knew more healing spells!

"Ami... ty…" Luz huffed, her eyes barely opening. They were glazed with pain and fear. Amity felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks, desperate for the magic to heal quicker.

"Yes, Luz, I'm here!" Amity reassured. "You're going to be okay, I promise. Just focus on my voice. Focus on me, okay?"

"A... mi..." Luz struggled to speak again. Her pupils barely flickering with the shine Amity had spent ages getting lost in.

The healing magic isn't working. "I'm here, Luz." Keeping one hand pressed on her cloak, Amity reached down to cup Luz's cheek, shivering at how cold it felt. That terrified her. Luz was never cold, only warm and bright, and full of love. "I'm not going anywhere. You're going to be okay, just..." her voice trembled, panic seizing her with all the signs that Luz wasn't okay.

Luz opened her mouth but didn't have the strength to respond. Her pulse, no longer erratic, was slowing with every beat. 

"Just... don't leave me, okay?" Amity caressed Luz's cheek as her body became wracked with sobs. "I love you, Luz. Please don't leave me..."

She almost didn't notice Luz's faint tugging at her shirt.

"L-Luz?"

Amity glanced down to see Luz scribble something in the dirt. A glyph? It only took another second before she realized what it was. "The healing glyph!?"

Luz nodded weakly as her eyes closed.

Amity fumbled for Luz's torn up notepad that laid in arm's reach. The pen was nowhere to be seen, so she used faint fire magic to copy the glyph onto the paper, taking care not to burn up the notepad. She tore out the page as soon as it was done and pressed it against Luz's chest.

"Please work," she pleaded, silently praying to the Titan for strength. "Come back, Luz, please..."

For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, incredible magic was surging through the glyph, as though it were responding to Amity's feelings, enveloping Luz's body with a powerful blue aura. The magic worked its course, stopping the bleeding and immediately healing the wound on her abdomen.

Amity was in awe at the miracle before her. She could feel Luz's warmth returning along with the quickening pulse of her once-fading heartbeats. "Luz...?" she begged quietly.

Luz gasped loudly, which was followed by rapid and shallower breaths as her body began replenishing what it needed to survive. She clutched onto Amity's arms as her breaths evened out, the pain slowly subsiding from her body. At last, her eyes opened to meet Amity's; hazel-browns meeting amber, shining brightly like they always have.

"L-Luz! Luz!" Amity cried out in relief, throwing herself over Luz and pulled her into a desperate, yet, comforting hug.

"Amity..." Luz's voice was unsteady yet reassuring. She returns the embrace, her arms clumsily wrapping themselves around the small of Amity's back.

Amity sobbed into Luz's shoulder, basking in her familiar warmth; the feeling of her chest rising and falling against her own;  all of those signs that Luz was still here and alive. Her Luz was alive, and she would not let her go until she was sure it stayed that way.

"Thank you, Amity. I love you."

Amity gasped, easing back enough to meet Luz's eyes. Despite her fatigue, the human gave her a smile that melted her heart, as though all was right in the world again, and the witchling couldn't stop herself from smiling back.

"You're such an idiot."

[amorrdemiel]

I am ready for cherry pie.

I was trying to write this in my journal, but sometimes the feelings want to come out faster than my little hand can scribble so I came here to frantically type it all out. 

I asked God to walk deeper into the Garden of Life. Earlier this summer, I knew I had found Heaven, I felt myself forgiven, I felt everyone forgiven, I felt us all to be love. But what I thought was living in Heaven was actually just the entrance, and I comfortably pulled up a chair to gaze lovingly at its doors lol, and I realized I could actually walk within.  But I was afraid. I asked God for the courage and the clarity to walk deeper into the joy of life. And I heard her joy calling me, a song just for me.  I heard her calling me to music, to sit at my piano keys and play. I heard her calling me through day dreams of traveling in a camper van of my own, of watcher her Holy sunrises at different oceans, to gaze at her freckle stars in the night, in deserts I had never crossed before. I heard her call upon the wind of peace, of sleep. I saw her show how gentle life truly was, how it was willing and wanting to caress me, to be caressed.  BUT I still felt fear, and even worse a strange itch overcame me to purposely look for terrible things, things I don’t even want to look at on a regular basis. Wanting to purposely look at murders, at violence, at suffering. And I didn’t understand why. I knew better than to succumb to the itch to seek these things out, I knew it wouldn’t give me wisdom and I felt something strange about the itch. After a really good tarot reading from my sister, she helped me clarify that weird itch to find things horrific.  Joy requires vulnerability, she said. And it is difficult to be vulnerable when you lack trust in life, down to a bone psychological level.  She helped remind me of how when I broke my arm in the summer before third grade, it was a traumatic experience for me that changed the psychology of me forever. I didn’t know this until this week, but apparently because I was a child, they couldn’t give me anesthesia and the two options for my very large break in my arm, was either preform surgery on me while I was very much lucid and awake or rearrange my bones back into place blindly so they wouldn’t have to make a cut on me. Somehow, the best bone doctor in Texas at the time just so happened to be at the hospital in El Paso and he chose to blindly rearrange my bones back into place. and he told my mom and my dad to watch the pain I was about to go through because it would change me forever. My sister stayed too because she is brave and loving and wanted to be there for me, even though she too was just a child. They always tell me about how traumatic it was for them to see me screaming in pain as he was rearranging my broken bones, and I remember just searing pain lmao I just remember it being hours of pain, as they made me twist my arms for X-Rays, and when they kept twisting my arm to put my bones back into place. Truly painful lmao  BUT point of the story is, I used to be a very active child before that, I was always running, playing music, I was always smiling and happily in my garden, I was a straight-A student in GT. And after that I wasn’t, and all the details to me don’t matter any more. (EVEN THO, I felt a little upset that my mom remembered how the doctor told her that I would be changed forever and my parents STILL screamed at me for hours when I stopped getting straight A’s, and couldn’t focus anymore. if the doctor told you I was changed forever, how come you still screamed at me for hours because I got a C? how come you literally told me: When you broke your arm, something got damaged in your brain, you must have hit your head and scrambled something, so try really hard to think what happened and change it, just change it. Go back to how you were. IDK I FEEL LIKE THAT KINDA CONTRIBUTED TO ME CUTTING AND HITTING MYSELF OUT OF FRUSTRATION, WOULDN’T YOU THINK? Like my sister summarized it the best, which was that they were holding me accountable, a child, for understanding the trauma I went through and working through it just so I could get the grades they wanted me to get. -___- BUT WHATEVER I AM LEARNING TO FORGIVE THEM FOR WHAT THEY COULDN”T UNDERSTAND THEN.) The beautiful thing I rather focus on, is after reminding me of this, my mom and my sister both cried and hugged me for a good solid ten minutes and kissed me, and told me that I don’t have to feel afraid anymore, that life isn’t what I feared it to be anymore, and that I am free and can be vulnerable to joy, and that is truly what I rather focus on than the past parents that didn’t know how to cope with what I had gone through.  My sister also reminded me of how I conveniently forgot how earlier this year I went to see a physical therapist finally for my knee which hurt me a lot and made me feel like I couldn't go hiking or any of the adventurous things I wanted to do bc it hurt too much and he straight up told me that it was all PSYCHOLOGICAL. Which was super wild for me to hear, because I think he’s right! lmao.  It reminds me of when I was a child, and I used to run out in my little garden in the sun all the time, and how sometimes I was suddenly forced to stop because I couldn’t move without feeling a lot of pain, and I would look down at my feet and I saw how all those thorned stickers were on my laces, my socks, my shoes and it hurt too much to move so I was just stuck. (Which makes me feel happy about that dream I once had where a large field beckoned me and I began running in its vastness barefoot, and I remember looking down and seeing a bunch of those thorned stickers and somehow missing every single one, and feeling so free.)  Anyhow, I resolved to allow myself to be vulnerable to go into joy, and that even with this psychological, bone deep memory of trauma happening when I move.  The day before yesterday, my sister made it aware to me that our betta Artemis has fin rot (mild) and I felt so in pain because of it. One thing I could never stand was seeing the people (or animals) I love in pain, and I’ve never acted on this impulse, but the first impulse I have when my sister tells me about a traumatic experience she’s had or I see my animals hurt is to say “NO! That’s NOT how you feel, this isn’t real.” BUt it’s so irrational to me, to say this, that I never act on it but I do have to convince myself by becoming more objective to handle the pain of seeing them in pain.  But I guess I have allowed myself to feel more vulnerable and more sensitive to life (I used to allow myself to be sensitive when I was a toddler but I was just so overwhelmed and my parents would yell at you if you cried so I just capped it.) But I’m letting myself be sensitive, so I did feel angry at my sister initially for telling me that Artemis had fin rot, and I felt very upset, but I let it be there and we researched how to heal it and took immediate action the next day and even though my sister was sensitive about it, and I was sensitive about it, we did a great job at getting everything we needed, staying calm and supportive of one another, and it just always surprises me how much me and my sister haven’t adopted the way my mom and dad do things which is screaming, and panicked and violent. (Well, we worked ourselves out of it through love and patience.)  But as we were driving to the pet store for the second time to get something else to help us out with Artemis’s tank, I told my sister about how allowing myself to feel the pain I felt at Artemis being sick, when I got home from the pet store this morning and went to say hello to my pug before getting started with my sister on deep cleaning his tank and getting salt in it to sterilize the wounds, I felt a much deeper and softer joy at hugging Qipsi and holding her in my arms and I realized that joy came from allowing myself to feel the pain of Artemis. That when I let myself feel the pain, it also let me feel the pull, the desire to tend to his tank, his little body and soul, his water much more diligently and the joy that arose in that, and it let me feel the pull and desire to tend to Qipsi more tenderly, and tend to myself more tenderly. And so pain, allowing the suffering allowed joy as well.  My sister told me about how she read or saw that when you allow yourself to feel the pain, you allow yourself to feel the pathway to the healing of it.  And that just shook me because I never looked at it like that. I always thought pain was useless, or was just to burn your ego, or just frustrating, but I see now how it led to more joy, it led to truer joy. How it led to truthful joy, and I never let it show me the healing. I was so afraid of pain, I never let it show me how to heal, I just hated how I was hurt to begin with. But if I could just focus my attention and the pathway to healing, and to feel the healing, the joy of it.  AND SO, here I stand, on the precipice of fate, on the road I am asking to help guide me to the purpose of my life, the highest good of my life, and I feel I understand what joy and pain truly are.  I asked God to lead me deeper into the garden of life, so that I may understand what I am here to provide, what of my highest good can I give back, and I was given clarity and courage. Clarity to understand the truth behind pain, the way it shines a path to the healing of you and me, to the healing of body and soul and courage to face the vulnerability that joy requires, that pain requires to open you to deeper joy, and so it goes.  I want to play and create and enjoy this sandbox of life. 

And I want cherry pie. 

[btsfanficsbcwhynot]

The Hunter (Jungkook x Reader) pt. 4

Genre: Angst, SupernaturalAU

Summary: (This story is based on the show Supernatural) You’ve been a hunter since you were young. You’ve never found yourself falling for someone until you met Jungkook who brought actual joy into your life. What happens when a hunter falls in love?

Masterlist

previous chapter  - next chapter 

Mark of Cain

The Mark of Cain was the seal created by God to lock away the Darkness. God passed the mark to Lucifer who then passed it to Cain, the Father of Murder, to use as a source for the First Blade. The Mark was passed on from generation to generation. You were the current bearer of the Mark, and the only one who managed to control it. Your mother passed it on to you before she got dragged into hell.If she didn’t, the Mark would’ve broken the seal and the Darkness would’ve escaped. You were just 12 years old when it happened. Since then your life changed completely.  Because of its origin, dating back to before God's creation of the Universe, the Mark of Cain has often been called "the first curse."When the bearer of the Mark receives a mortal wound that would kill them, the Mark transforms their soul into a Knight of Hell, so that it can live on, and never perish. It is also revealed that if the bearer does not satisfy the Mark, by killing, it will slowly but steadily turn them into a demon. That’s why you became a hunter, just like your father.  You tried everything to get it off you, cutting it, burning it.. but nothing worked. Your father’s friend once told you that you needed the pass the curse onto a powerful source in order to free yourself. A spell existed that would remove the mark from a human's body but no one risked to say it. If it was not done properly, it would've done more harm than good. Now you were doomed to walk around with this horrible Mark. You were the human safe to keep the Darkness locked it. If it were to be released, the world would've been doomed. When you first used the Blade, you felt uncontrollable murderous rage but you didn’t want to kill innocent people.The Mark had some great powers that any one would desire to have, which included:

It powers the First Blade

Grants immunity to demonic, angelic and magical powers

Telekinesis

Super Strength

Resurrection

Conversion into a demon

Precognition

Binding the Darkness

Corruption of the wielder

Absolute Immortality

Sure, for everyone else having those powers would be a blessing, but you've been living with those powers for years. At first you didn't know how to handle all your new powers but after some practice and passing years you managed to control your strength and your uncontrollable rage. Even though you were immortal, you still feared for your life. You had to keep killing in order to remain human. And you had to for your father's sake...He was already scared of your abilities and you didn’t want to completely lose him once you became a demon.

You had texted Jungkook the address to your hotel. You would've left the town sooner or later so you didn't really worry. You were quite excited to see Jungkook, even though you should've been mad that he left you hanging like that. "(Y/N)... That boy is outside waiting for you" Your dad said behind the closed door. "His name is Jungkook... Tell him I'll be there in a minute." You heard him walk away from your door. You put on a nice flowy dress that stopped just above your knee. It was a nice sunny day and the weather was just perfect for a date. Even though you didn't know where he was taking you. You grabbed your jacket and as you did, you saw that god damn mark again. You were disgusted by yourself. As you left your room you saw Jungkook walking up and down nervously. Again, he looked so good in casual clothing. His hair was parted again. That was definitely your favorite hairstyle on him. "You look absolutely stunning" he smiled at you and looked at you up and down. You did a little twirl, making your dress flow up a bit "Cute huh?" He nodded, agreeing. He took your hand and led you to his car and opened the door for you like the gentleman he was "Where are you taking me?" you asked as you got in "Somewhere special" he smiled and clothed the door, jogged to the other side and got in. He watched as you put on your seatbelt and his eyes fell on your mark. He grew silent and just started driving. The silence was awkward and it was slowly eating you "So... what's that on your arm?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the road. You looked down at your arm not sure if he meant the Mark or the bandage."Oh. I injured myself yesterday. My dad wrapped it up for me" You said. You hurt yourself while fighting that Ghoul last night so you weren’t lying. "Not that. The scar above it." You gulped and thought of what to say "It happened when I was a child. I don't remember" you said nervously. "Oh, I see." You looked out of the window as he parked the car. You saw a huge ferries wheel and kids running around "Really?" you laughed. Hearing you laugh made Jungkook soften his frown. "You told me you haven't been to a Theme Park in years" He shrugged and got out of the car and you did the same. "Let's go!" he took your hand and pulled you towards the entrance. You laughed and held onto his hand tightly. You guys rode almost every roller coaster, ate at almost every stand and just simply enjoyed the time together. He pulled you to a photo booth "Let's lock this day in a picture, shall we?" He smiled and pulled  the curtain so he could enter. He sat down on the stool and pulled you on his lap. You closed the curtain "Sorry if I'm crushing your thighs" you giggled as you selected filters. You chose a bunny ear filter as the first one "I literally see no difference. You look exactly the same." You said and that made Jungkook laugh really hard. At the same time the first picture was taken. As the last picture was about to be taken, Jungkook kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around you. You blushed madly and got off his lap in embarrassment "Let's look at them" You grabbed the pictures and looked at each one of them. Most of them were goofy and dorky but the last one was just straight up adorable. 

You got ripped out of your thoughts as you heard a familiar voice in the background. You knew it was John, a hunter aswell. He was really talented and was one of your father’s greatest friends... until you turned into a monster. Now almost every hunter in the area was hunting you. All of them feared that you’d turn against them and let the Darkness take over you. “I saw her walking in this direction. Do you think it’ll work?” John’s son asked him. You couldn’t understand what he answered him due to Jungkook asking you if you wanted some cotton candy. “That would be nice, thank you. I’ll be waiting here.” He walked off and you made your way to John. His son jumped back as he saw you and grabbed his bottle of holy water “Believe me boy, holy water is not going to do anything” He reached into his back pocket to grab salt but you just rolled your eyes. “You should teach your son better. I’m not a god damn demon. Nor am I a Knight of Hell. If you remember, I was the one who killed the last Knight of Hell. So stop fucking hunting me like I am some kind of animal” Even John stepped away, fearing your powers and abilities. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), you know I can’t let you walk around freely” He was about to pull out a syringe but you were quick to twist his arm and break it. “Even if I am not a killer, don’t forget what I am capable off. Now piss off before I really murder a human” You let go off his hand and walked back to the spot where Jungkook had last seen you. 

Jungkook took you home before midnight like he promised your father and walked you to your door. “I had fun. We should do that again sometimes” He leaned in for a kiss but you stepped back. You thought you’d get too attached once you kissed him and you certainly didn’t want that. You didn’t want to put someone’s life in danger because you just got attached. “text me once you get home” You smiled and opened the door. You closed the door and locked it like you always did. You made sure that the salt in front of the door was still in tact before heading to bed. Jungkook stood in front of the door, blood boiling as he smashed the syringe he was holding behind his back on the ground. “Fucking bitch” He hissed.

[calliecat93]

RWBY V5, CH14 Finale Review: Haven’s Fate

Well my friends, this is it. It’s been one Hell of a volume. It’s had it’s highs, its had it’s lows. But we’ve gotten through them all and once again, we are at the end of the season. To recap, Raven has thrashed Cinder, opened the vault, and is now faced with Yang. Who will leave with the Relic? Will our heroes fall all over again? Or will triumph be ours? For the final time this volume, lets find out.

Overview

The White Fang have been defeated thanks to a combination of Ilia, the Menagerie forces, and the Mistral police. Adam has risen back up, but Blake is already facing him. Once more, he tries to scare her. He mocks her on how she still couldn't face him alone, but this time our favorite catgirl is having none of it. She even outright tells Adam that she is not there for him, which noticeably ticks him off. But he still tries to talk her down, mentioning his new powerful ‘friends’. You know,t he same one who literally told him this recent development was his problem, haha. Thankfully, Sun joins in and points out to him that for all his talk, no one is standing for him. Indeed, the WF has been rounded up, none of Salem’s cult is beside him, and Adam is standing alone.

To rub salt in Adam’s wounds, Blake tells him that he can say what he wants to make her feel bad. But ultimately, she has better things to be worried about. Like I said in the last review, Adam has lost the power that he has over Blake. Is she still scared? Yes. But she isn't running away. She is facing Adam down and no longer gives a shit about him or what he tries to do for her. Her priority is Haven and her friends, not him. To Adam, hearing that Blake sees him as a mere roadblock causes him to finally attack. But Blake and Sun's combined efforts force him to run. Sun tries to go after him, but Blake stops him as all they’ll be doing is walking into a trap and allowing Adam to pick them off. Plus, now he can experience what it’s like to run. Farewell Adam, it’s not the end of you, but i will take the satisfaction of seeing you squirm for now.

With things under control, Sun reminds Blake of her team needing her. So Blake heads back for the school , and good thing too. Even after being impaled by Weiss’ summon, Hazel is still going strong with Nora even noting how fast he’s regenerating his Aura. That is some massive will power, man. Everyone is getting exhausted, and things don’t get better when Hazel manages to break Weiss’ summon. Thankfully, Blake lands a blow on him and joins Ruby and Weiss. She’s alarmed by Weiss’ injury, but there’s no time to worry. Ruby shoots Leo’s weapon before he can fire it, provoking the headmaster to run for it. That leaves only RWB against Mercury, Emerald, and a still raging Hazel. With Ruby leading the charge, the three girls face them off... but sadly we won’t get to see it. Which is my only criticism of this chapter, but... it’s pretty minor because of what happens next.

In the vault, Raven tries to talk Yang into leaving. But Yang is having none of it, figuring out that Raven is the Maiden and having been told of how the process works, there’s only two likely chances of how Raven got the power. Raven gets angry at Yang seemingly obeying Oz and Qrow, but Yang points out that she’s asking questions, advice that Raven herself gave. And it’s not long before through those questions, Yang deduces that Raven did indeed kill the former Spring Maiden. Raven confirms it, trying to call it a mercy kill. Spring was a scared girl who failed at Raven's training and since she’d be hunted with her power, Raven built up the girl’s trust in her before killing her. Wow, just... wow.

This provokes Yang to call Raven out BIG TIME. She calls Raven out on flip flopping between being merciful and a survivor. How she let Yang and the others walk into the trap not because she thought Yang could handle it as she claimed, but because it meant she could have an easier time getting her way. Raven, growing more and more angry, tries to defend herself. She says that Yang doesn’t know her or how many hard choices she 's had, which... Yang agrees with. The only Raven that she knows is the one her father told her of. A woman who was complicated, but always fought for what she believed in. whether it was for her team or her tribe. Then she asks if Raven killed ‘her’ too. At first, I thought Yang meant Vernal, but after like five rewatches I realized that Yang meant Raven herself. She’s asking if Raven killed the Raven that Yang had heard so much about. The Raven that Tai had fallen in love with and had a child with. Had Raven killed any good and just within herself and become nothing but a cold, cowardly ‘survivor’ who only knows how to run? Because to Yang, it sure seems that way.

Raven snaps, her Maiden mask even flaring up. She yells at her own daughter for her harsh words, trying to claim that she’s stared down death multiple times and did what others won’t. Yang shuts her up. Remember how Qrow said Raven has a skewed view over family? Well she has a skewed one over strength too. Strength isn't about doing things that others won’t or being able to punch something harder than anything else. Strength is when you face what scares you and put others before yourself. It’s when you do the right thing and face up to your mistakes. It’s when you take what’s happened to you, and grow into something better because of it. Yang knows this better than anyone. She got dismembered and abandoned. But she grew past her more violent approaches to things, she faced her fears and went to Mistral and her mother, she chose to join the war to be there for her sister, and now she’s here facing her own mother for her loved ones. What has Raven done? She’s abandoned her family. She’s ran away when things got too stressful. She used others for her own gain, which led to Vernal dying. Raven is powerful, but as Yang’s arm trembles once more, she points out that power doesn't equal strength. I am so proud of this girl right now, you have no idea.

Raven snaps once more, yelling at her own daughter for speaking to her that way when she herself is trembling. But Yang, clearly on the verge of tears, admits that yes, she is scared. But she’s still standing there, refusing to run. And for that reason, Raven is going to step aside and let Yang take the Relic of Knowledge. Why? Yang angrily says why, because Raven fears Salem. If Raven takes the Relic, then she’ll be painting an even larger target on her back. Salem will come at her with everything that she has and on top of having the Maiden powers, the bandit leader will NEVER be able to get away from a conflict that she’s tried this long and hard to avoid. But the solution is simple, Raven can let Yang take the Relic, become the target, and Raven can go off with none of the villains knowing that she’s Spring (until Cinder comes back, if she does at all) and be left alone once more. In other words, Raven can let Yang, her daughter, take the fall for her and get away scott free.

Throughout all of this, it is clear through Raven's expressions that she knows fully well that Yang is right. But through stubbornness or guilt, she has yet to confirm it. But in a genuinely heartbroken tone, she tells Yang not to take the Relic, saying that she doesn’t want to get involved in any of this. Yang agrees that she doesn't want to... but she will anyways. She’s not going to run away. If Salem wants to come after her, she’ll wait for her. She walks towards the gate, shoving Raven aside. The bandit is left shocked before, in one moment of vulnerability, cries. She says she’s sorry, and all that Yang can say is that she is as well. A familiar sound effect then plays. When Yang turns around, Raven is gone and all that remains is a lone black feather. Yang goes forward, arriving at the Relic which... looks like an oversized ornament, But it looks cool! When at the podium, all that Yang can do is give in to her emotions and fall to her knees, crying over everything that has happened over the course of the volume.

Meanwhile, Lionheart rushes into his office. He goes through his desk, clearly trying to gather up any possessions he needs before making a run for it. But he’s stopped by the Seer Grimm. Not gonna lie, with everything else that had happened, I had completely forgotten all about that... thing. Salem questions what is happening and after failing to play if off, Lionheart confesses everything. How Cinder changed the plan, how Qrow had the students with him, how the White Fang got stopped, essentially how things went to Hell but weren't his fault. Salem’s response? Well... she doesn't have one. The Seer remains silent, which is never a good sign. Leo tries to beg for a second chance, but still silence. Realizing that something is up, he aims his weapon... and the Seer knocks it off his arm. Leo tries to run, but his leg is grabbed. All that Leo can do is beg for forgiveness and be shown mercy before the Seer’s tentacles wrap around him and drag him off-screen. All we hear is the sounds of... something... there’s stabbing noises but also some kind of disgusting monster noise. Considering that Grimm do eat humans, ugh... yeah... the last we hear of Leo is him, in a pained, anguished voice plea one more time before he is finished off. Salem, looking outright bored, merely says ‘Coward. Damn, that was... that may be one of the most gruesome scenes in RWBY history. Which with Cinder’s attacks on Amber and Vernal is saying a LOT.

Back with the others, the three remaining villains are completely cornered by RWB and JNR. Even so, Emerald insists that Cinder will come back soon and have the Relic. They will win... but unfortunately for her, she is proven wrong. The elevator rises and with it Yang, who is holding the Relic. No Cinder in sight, and we have no conformation on her being dead or alive at this time. Ruby is relieved as Emerald falls to her knees. Mercury, realizing that they've lost, tries to get Emerald to move. It’s actually kind of nice to see some form of concern from the assassin, even if IDK if he’s genuinely worried about Emerald or about getting away. But Cinder's loss causes the thief to have a complete breakdown and to lose control of her Semblance. It causes the room to go dark and a disturbing image of Salem to appear. I... I honestly cannot describe it in words guys. It’s even more creepy than Leo’s death. It doesn’t last long, but everyone is left shocked and trembling as Ozpin confirms that despite it being an illusion, that was indeed Salem. We then see Hazel, who is carrying Emerald, and Mercury running away as Adam watches form the trees. The Battle for Haven is over. The triumph goes to the heroes.

With the fight over, Blake is able to meet back with her parents and Sun. The WF have all been taken into custody, but Ghira confirms that Adam did indeed escape. But Ilia walks in, pointing out that the WF won’t follow someone who ran out on them and now the organization will be left divided. Safe to say, they won’t be causing any danger to anyone for quite some time. For now, Ghira suggests forming a new Faunus brotherhood that will remain committed to bringing peace and equality. Sun, in the meantime, sees the others and pulls Blake away, encouraging her to go to her teammates. Have I ever mentioned that I love Sun? Because I love him.

Yang hands Qrow the Relic, confirming that Cinder is gone, Vernal is dead, and Raven has escaped. Qrow’s not happy to hear that, but he is relieved to see his niece safe and back with them. With the fight over, Ruby finally collapses in exhaustion, but luckily Weiss is there to hold her steady. Blake approaches the two as Yang runs over to check on her sister. Ruby asks Blake why she’s there, which Blake is also wondering. That’s gonna be a fun story to tell, huh? But luckily, Blake confirms that she isn’t going anywhere. Ruby says that’s all that matters before she and Weiss look at Yang, clearly worried about her reaction. And as a new, absolutely beautiful song titled All That Matters plays in the background, Yang slowly begins to smile, agreeing with the sentiment. Weiss holds out her arm and the four girls embrace. My friends, after two volumes and over 20 chapters of being splintered apart, Team RWBY is together once again. I won’t lie, I was crying throughout this moment. Heck, just typing this out is making me teary eyed. It made this finale worth it to me. It was what I was hoping for since the end of V3 back in 2016, and at last it’s happened in the most beautiful way possible.

Qrow goes to check on Ozpin, but he has reverted back to Oscar. The poor kid is exhausted from all the strain and used up energy, but he has a message from Ozpin. The next step is to take the Relic and go to Atlas. That’s all he gets out before passing out completely. Qrow watches the girls reunion before turning to the relic. It glows and you can hear a kind of whispering noise coming from it, which really sells it’s otherworldly feel. And as Qrow lets out a resigned sigh, the chapter, and with it the volume, ends the same way it began: a cut to a black screen. A perfect bookmark.

But of course, we’re not completely done yet. First, I LOVE THE CREDITS SONG. It is called This Time (From Shadows P2) and not only was a new Blake song long overdue, but it is just an awesome, uplifting song that shows how Blake is no longer hiding withing the shadows. If I didn’t want the soundtrack already, I absolutely need it now. But there is still the stinger to go into. When the credits end we, surprisingly, cut to Patch. Tai is there, so this stinger already wins points cause I have missed best dad so much OMG. Tai is tending to his sunflowers... but is stopped when he hears something. He stands and turns, seeing a lone black feather fall before him. Three guesses on who it is. Tai is surprised, but his expression soon turns into a serious, almost angered one as the volume truly ends. IDK if this is gonna be like V4′s stinger and be used in V6 later, but regardless... yep, Tai and Raven reunion is finally happening guys. And going off Tai’s face, it’s not going to be pleasant.

Review

My God... I do not at all know where to begin with this one. Well... lets talk about Raven and Yang first. Because Dear Lord, this episode, just... just this episode.

I have made my stance on Raven very clear. I do not like her. Sure the previous chapter showed that she isn’t evil and has some humanity, but I still don’t like her. It’s like Yang said, she used people, abandoned people, and we can confirm that she murdered an innocent girl as an act of ‘mercy;. My final stance on Raven is that I like her as a character, but I hate her as a person. And yes, there is a difference. Raven is a very complex character. She is cold, cowardly, intelligent, and cunning. She may be distant and dismissive over her family, but she does care about her tribe and did show to sincerely care about Vernal. She’s an interesting anti-villain who is willing to do bad things, but does have humanity.

However I still ultimately hate her. I am sorry, but she is a coward who willingly used and abandoned others for her own gain. While she clearly feels guilty for letting Yang take the Relic and bury herself into a fight that in her eyes is unwinnable, she brought all of this upon herself. She abandoned Yang. She tried to manipulate Yang. When Yang failed to take the bait, she was as cold to her as she was to her own brother. A brother who has now disowned her for willingly aiding a monster wanting to kill humanity BTW. Raven made these choices, gave Yang every reason to want nothing to do with her, and see her for what she truly is: a coward. Does Raven have a chance at redemption? Maybe. And with how she has gone to Tai, I am very interested to see what’s going to happen between them. Is Raven going to try to make things right? Or did she only go to Tai because the portal to him, and by association Tai himself, were all that she had left? But yeah, in the end Raven still allowed Yang to take the Relic and become a target, but does seem to realize that everything that Yang said was true. We’ll see how things play out in the future. But I am glad that Raven ultimately survived, there’s a lot of things that can still be done with her such as her relationship with Tai, the Maiden powers, and of course any info on Team STRQ. So I happily wait to see what happens next.

But the true champion of this chapter is Yang. Oh my God, Yang. She has had a lot of development this volume, which is both good and bad. But I’ll elaborate in my overall V5 review. For now, lets just talk about the chapter. Yang had come a long ways from the early days. She has come to understand what strength truly is. Like I said, it’s not how much power you can dish out, it’s facing the things that bring you down and owning up to them. Yang both in this volume and V4, has face her demons. She learned to calm down and think smarter. She faced her mother after years of searching. She made it to her sister and joined the war to be there for her. She confronted her abandonment issues and while I wouldn’t say she’s over them, she’s willing to let Blake back in. Yang rose from the ashes, and became a stronger person due to it. She has become calmer, smarter, and despite her fears she will face them and anything else that comes her way. It’s one thing to not be afraid, it’s another to be scared but face those fears anyways. Blake put it best, Yang is the embodiment of strength. Both physically and mentally, and I could not be more proud of her.

But regardless, this took quite a tool on Yang. After so long, Yang finally met her mother... and it went as badly as it can get. Their relationship is incredibly bitter, but it’s clear that the two do still have some familial feelings towards each other. I think that Yang does want to have her mom in her life... but she knows that it’s unlikely. And ultimately, she’s going to stick with her sister and her uncle. Her family. When she collapses in the vault, it’s clear how much all of this has had on her. Yang has ultimately pushed Raven away and the chances of making amends is more slim than ever before. Now Yang is left in a war that she knows that she could die in and now has a target on her back. Raven ultimately left her to take the fall, and she’s stuck with it. But as she said, she’s going to face it. For Ruby. For her family and team. For herself. She is Yang Xiao Long, and she will be armed and ready for whatever comes her way.

What sold this scene was, of course, the voice acting. Barbara and Anna Hullum did a fantastic job in this scene. You can feel the anger, contempt, and heartbreak radiating off of them both. In a dialogue-heavy scene where you absolutely had to nail the performance to get the emotion across, they both nailed it. Not gonna lie, this might be Barbara’s best performance as Yang yet and Anna has done an amazing job across the board. Major props as well to Miles and Kerry for directing them and getting the to give the best performances that they can give. Barbara did warn us that the finale was gonna be emotional, and boy was she right. Kudos to you ladies, you’ve come a long ways!

As for everything else... man, what else can I add? I am disappointed that we didn’t get to see more of the fights not in the vault, but again I understand that they needed to focus on those moments. I honestly really loved this finale. Yeah there was no massive brawl, but honestly topping last week’s Maiden fight was going to be very difficult. Some have complained about the length, but remember that we got 14 episodes instead of 12. They didn’t need to cram a whole bunch of stuff into the finale, hence why we got the Maiden fight last chapter and the final confrontation between mother and daughter here. There didn't need to be a huge fight. This volume was focused on character moments and development. Sure, fights are nice, but this was always a show about it’s characters and how they handle the events thrown at them. I feel that the volume nailed that and this chapter in particular showed that. I am very satisfied and anxiously await more.

So... what happens now? Our heroes have won and retrieved the Relic. The next step is to go to Atlas. Whether they’re going to head there immideatly (which is gonna be hard due to the lockdown) or we get a bit more time in Mistral is up in the air, but we’ll find out eventually. As for whose going, Team RWBY most likely will and chances are, we’re going to get plenty of Weiss and her family drama. We may also get to FINALLY meet Professor Polendina and learn more about Penny’s purpose. And there could still be a chance for her to be rebuilt if the professor has a memory unit, albeit she may not remember Vale or Ruby, But hey, she’d be alive again! As for the girls themselves... there may still be some issues between Blake and Yang that have to be sorted out. But we can assume that they’re going to try, and i n he end the team is back together.

As for everyone else... who can say? Qrow and Oz/Oscar going to Atlas is also pretty guarantee. But IDK about JNR, Sun, Ilia, or anyone else. Ilia would be possible since she comes form Atlas and specifically Mantle. But I can see her and Sun being left behind to help the Belladonna’s with the Faunus. Sun would likely come back for when they eventually go to Vacuo, so he wound’t be excluded forever. As for JNR... IDK. I could see them staying in Mistral to let Jaune train with his Semblance, but again who knows? 

As for the villains, it’s probably safe to say either Emerald will want vengeance and stick with the bad guys or she’ll break away since with Cinder gone, she has zero reason to stay and take out her vengeance herself. Cinder herself... it’s still unclear if she’s dead or not. But either way, it’s probably going to be a while before we see anything about her again. Also, remember that Watts is a disgraced Atlas scientist, so it is very likely that we’re going to get some dirt on him. But it’s safe to assume that with the failure of the Attack on Haven, the baddies are going to be going at our heroes harder than ever. Can they face it? Well, we won’t know until Fall. But it’s going to be a wild ride regardless.

Conclusion

There is nothing else that I can say. The finale was heartbreaking, disturbing, and beautiful all at once. It allows closure for some things, but leaves plenty of doors open for the future. I loved this chapter, and I find it a very fitting conclusion to one Hell of a volume. I’m going to be doing a full V5 review in the future, where we’ll go over both the bad and the good of the volume. But until then, this is the end my friends. Thank you for reading my reviews, and than you Kerry, Miles, Gray, CRWBY and Rooster Teeth for all the hard work that you have put into not just V5, but the entire series. It was an exciting ride from start to end, and I am sure that Monty couldn’t be prouder of all of you. 

So that’s it for me guys. As I said, a full V5 review will be out soon. I also will be reviewing RvB Season 16 (and the other seasons) when it begins in the next few months. I’m also going to be watching Gen;Lock when it premieres, but I’ll have to see if it sticks with me before I decide if I want to review it. So if you follow me, keep an eye out for all of that. RWBY Reviews will return this Fall with the start of Volume 6, so until then thank you for reading and remember to keep moving forward.

[expressandadmirable]

RP Highlights: Past and Future

There's a man standing in the corridor of the train, bathed in morning light. He's tall, and his clothing is rough -- thick denim, unbleached cotton, a slouching cap with holes punched through to admit his horns. Shaggy hair of an inky purplish hue hangs long, tied back in a ponytail. His fingers rest on the handle of a large knife, tucked into a weathered old scabbard, which bumps gently against the waving of his tail. He smells of scotch and tobacco and salt. "Good morning, little one," he says in a voice like distant rolling thunder, without turning to look. "Spare some words with an old man, won't you?"

Lux sniffs as she rubs the last of the sleep from her eyes, suddenly becoming much more alert as she catches sight of the figure. She looks over her shoulder to the empty sleeper car, and ahead toward the unreachable dining car where her friends await her. She chews her lip. "Of course."

The man reaches forward with his other hand, and the scars on its red skin are visible in the rising light of this eternal sunrise. He opens the slats in the window, allowing the air of the Cornerian farmland plain to mingle with the metal and smoke of the car as it trundles on toward the city. "Nothing much," he says after a moment. "I just wanted to let you know that, despite everything, you're going to be all right."

Lux steps closer to him, her arms folded loosely over her robe. "Is that so?" Her mind races as she turns to take in the view through the slats, trying desperately to place the figure somewhere in her memory. Papa? She reaches for her cigarette pouch, finding the cedar box conveniently in the pocket of her robe. Finally: "Have we met?"

The man laughs, easy and friendly. "Well, yes. And no, not as such. You take what you can get, when it comes to our situation." He turns toward her. That smile -- yes. So easy, so genuine, like he could charm anyone with it. Those arms, muscular and firm, yet inviting, protective, embracing. Yet, his fingers have callused patches, his jaw a tuck mark. A fisherman and a musician. A Tiefling and a Human. Eyes milky with blindness, yet gazing right into her face. "You don't remember me except in patches, little one. I was much more than a child could possibly understand. Your heart has filled in the rest."

Aviva stares at the man she knows so well, her unlit cigarette forgotten between her fingers. Two men, one man, one figure holding two souls. She does not try to stop the tears. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." Tears stream down his craggy cheeks, burying themselves in the short-cropped beard clinging to his chin. "I'm sorry, little one. I knew this would bring you pain, but... well. It's important for you to understand something, and this is the best way for you to learn it."

Suddenly overcome with need, she throws her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. She would be his height if he had lived, but here she is the height she needs to be to find the safety torn away too quickly in life.

It's perfect, of course. Of course it is. Of course he's exactly that tall, and of course he's exactly that strong, and of course he smells exactly that way with exactly that much scruff and stubble and of course his hands are knobbly and kind and clever and of course of course of course. Because he's dead and in a dream and this is what it's like to meet your dead loved ones on a dead train in an impossible place where the sun paints everything in gold and red.

"You're going to be okay." She kisses her gently, her lips soft and cold, the stubble of her shorn head ticklish against Aviva's neck. Her hair brushes, twirling in a fan. His fingers twist in hers, unsure, young, foolish. His tail brushes against her thigh, all unawares of what he'd left behind within her when he left her behind. She's soft and young. He's old, he's hard, he's kind. Kindness, like an envelope of warmth and love, bathed in the sunrise.

Her father leads her down the endless corridor, hand in hand. "It isn't often that a person gets the chance to face the demons of their past literally, little one," he says, barely a quarter of a step ahead of her, head canted so she can see him speaking. "But you surely know by now that you're a special case."

"Mama always said I was. I have to tell her she was right." She tugs on his hand, a child and a grown woman. "Can you tell her? If I can't find her. If I can't save her. Can you tell her she was right?"

"She knows. You know she knows." He stops, turns, kneels down to get to eye level with her. He brushes a lock of her vibrant purple hair away from her face, brushes the tears from her cheeks with his rough-callused thumbs. "Aviva. The world has hurt you enough. The past has hurt you enough. When you come to the end of the road, you must look to the future."

She breathes deeply, blinking away the last of the tears, recognising the echoes of so many ghosts present in the kneeling figure -- Zahak, Mourat, Priya, Yalaz, so many faces, so many hearts. "I know. I'm trying." She stands, rising to her full height. "I don't want to let go of you." Of any of you.

He rises as well, taking her hands in his. "You don't have to," he says. "But neither should you be trapped by us. You are worthy of so much more love than what meager scraps we few could give. Remember that, and be free of the chains around your heart." He squeezes her hands gently, running his thumbs over her knuckles. "After all -- you'll be freeing all of us. You deserve the same."

* * *

Lux grins, then huffs to herself as a long-forgotten thought occurs to her, apropos of nothing. "Do you think dragons have hollow bones, like birds?"

"I never really thought about it before," Morgan admits. "Birds are really small. Scrawny, I mean. Dragons have a lot of muscle, and their wings are bigger." Morgan's eyes focus on the middle distance as she calculates figures and envisions schematics in her mind's eye. "Could be? But I feel like they might be too fragile if they did? But I've never really paid close attention to dragon bones. I bet that's something Wil would know. Or seems like, anyway. What do you think?"

"They have awfully thick bodies, so hollow bones might not be enough to support them. But solid bones would make them too heavy to fly... Unless they fly with magic as well as their wings." Lux smiles at something in the distance. "I promised if I ever met a dragon, I'd ask. Never thought I'd ever be in a position to make good on it." She glances back at Morgan almost apologetically. "One of my ghosts."

"Who did you promise that to? Or is that a bad question to ask? It just seems like such a weird thing to promise someone."

Lux lets out a small, almost weary laugh. "No, it's not a bad question, just a hard question. But, talking is how it gets easier." She hunches a bit, resting her free elbow against the table while the left hand sits beneath the kettle, the fire in her palm warming the water. "Her name was Priya. We were talking about birds -- she loved them, wanted to study them when she'd saved up enough to go to school. She was theorising about other animals capable of flight, and asked me what I thought of dragons, so I said I'd ask if I ever got the chance." She points to a small tattoo of a crane in flight hidden among the sigils and tendrils of ivy on her left arm. "That's for her. I felt her in my dream."

The 'was' tips Morgan off rather swiftly that Priya is another sad part of Lux's past. She listens quietly until the Tiefling finishes, peering intently at the tattoo on her arm. "That's pretty. The tattoo, I mean. I bet she would have liked it. What was she like, in your dream?"

"A memory. Little more than a whisper, energy present in the figure that looked like my Papa. But I felt her." Lux runs her thumb over the ink in her skin. "In real life she was clever and funny and didn't take shit from anyone. She used to gossip with me about all the ridiculous things her clients would try and get her to do, and she had absolutely no problem telling them to fuck off if they needed it. She swore like a sailor and it always made me laugh." Something deep within Lux's body seems to relax as she speaks. Sometimes old wounds can only heal when exposed to warmth and air.

"What did she do that she could say that to her clients?!" Morgan's eyes grow wide. "If I said that, I would get in so much troooooouble! She sounds super important!"

At that, Lux bursts out laughing, the flame in her hand winking out as she curls her arms into her chest. "Ohh, she would have loved to hear you say that!" She settles into a pleased grin as she reignites the little fire. "Certainly important in some ways, though most people won't admit it. She was a prostitute; worked at the Gargoyle, if you know the place. Seedy as hell, and not well-run at the time, but the madam took care of her people. She would back them without question if they had a complaint against a client -- which, in that profession, happens a lot." She chuckles again. "Priya would have liked you, I think."

"Oh, I know that place! I've never been there, but I've walked past it loads of times. We didn't do locks for them, but we did for some of the other houses. The ones where the workers rented space from the houses. Papa would change them a lot." A pang of homesickness hits Morgan as she talks about Corneria. Odd, since she is, for the first time, in the place that all Gnomes seemed to come from. "Did Priya like her work? I don't know much about it, but it doesn't seem terribly easy, despite what some of the jokes say."

"She did. She wasn't planning to do it forever, but she made good money."

"How did you meet her? Were you a client?"

Lux shakes her head. "I was hired to play in the common area. None of the workers were big fans of management, so they came to my corner when they needed to vent. I guess I was safe. I was never a client; my relationship with her was never that physical. She wanted it to be separate from work." She frowns suddenly. "I'm sorry if that's more than you needed to know. I'm just full of private information this morning."

"I don't mind." Morgan offers Lux a smile. "It's nice to hear about your life before all this. It's good to get to know you more. That's what friends do, right?"

With a nod and a smile, Lux reaches out with her free hand and gives Morgan's a squeeze. "Yeah. You can ask me anything you want, I promise I'll answer. As Sol has said, if secrets are going to come back to haunt us, I'd rather they not be mine." Her smile becomes affectionately wry. "And I swear to the gods, I do have people in my life who haven't died tragically. I have several friends who are alive and well at this very moment, even!"

"I believe you," Morgan laughs softly. "You know, sometimes a lot of sad just happens at once. It doesn't mean you're bad, or unlucky. It's just a thing that is." She squeezes Lux's hand back. "And don't worry. I won't pry or anything, but I'll listen when you want to talk, okay?"

"You would never be prying." Retrieving her hand, Lux lets her flame puff away and lifts the pot, pouring just a bit of hot water into Morgan's mug to re-warm the tea. She pours a second mug for herself. Settling back into her chair, she lets her expression sadden, no guile on her face. "I still miss her. I think she could have been forever, and part of my heart can't let go of that. She died six years ago."

"I'm so sorry," Morgan murmurs. "I can imagine that hurts a whole lot. But you'll have her memory as long as you live. You could always write a song about her, too. Then she can live on for as long as people will sing it."

Lux laughs slightly. "I've composed half a dozen songs for her over the years. But you know what's funny?" She leans in closer. "I don't think I'm a very strong lyricist. They all come out sounding like children's poetry." She sits back in her chair with a huff.

"You should sing them for us, and we can help you! Or maybe when we get back, Princess Sara will help you? I bet it's not as bad as you think it is, though. I bet you're being extra hard on yourself."

"Maybe." Lux smiles. "I would love your help. Remind me next time we stop for the night and I'll play it for you."

* * *

Leaving a kiss on Sol's palm, Aviva straightens and sets her cup of tea on the nightstand, then takes the Drow's hands in both of hers. "I want to keep looking at the future instead of the past. There were people in my dream that I've been holding onto for a long time. But there's a difference between forgetting and letting go, and I think I can finally do the latter." She chews her lip, watching Sol's face, then takes a deep breath. "I don't know whether the future ends tomorrow or in a lifetime, but I'd like you to be in it for as long as makes you happy."

Sol lets her hands be taken and she smirks up at the Tiefling, though her eyes crinkle at the corners fondly. "I think I'll give it eighty years or so. See how it goes." She doesn't try to be subtle about tugging Aviva's hands sharply, not giving her the chance to lean away as she pulls the Tiefling down for a kiss.

When the kiss finally breaks, Aviva leans her forehead against Sol's, spreading her fingers along the scar on her cheek as she grins. "I'm going to get old and fresh before your hair even goes grey." She leans back slightly, narrowing her eyes at Sol's snow-white hair. "Does it even--? Nevermind." She kisses the Drow again, then moves to stand, energy for the day finally spurring her into motion. "Time to get up. We've got Gnomes to meet." She pauses before she can rise, looking down at the tunic she's wearing that isn't hers. "You might need this."

Sol looks upwards at her own hair. "I'm already as stylish as I'll ever be." She then follows Aviva's glance down to her own tunic, and her brows crease as she narrows her eyes at the woman sitting beside her. "Not for at least the next fifteen minutes I won't."

(Lux's text and minor edits by me, incredible dream text by @stonegolem, Morgan's text by @stufflaalikes, Sol's text by @b-e-m-l-t. These three scenes all took place in the space of one early morning: Lux dreamed of all the ghosts in her heart, opened up to Morgan about some of the feelings holding her back, and was finally able to release them and move on. And I feel I should note: I may be the one who writes all the NSFW content, but Sol's player is the one who keeps letting the girls' scenes fade to black, so really we're both to blame!)