#city spies confessions

[city-spies-confessions]

Yo yo! (Mod pls share ur opinion)

But honestly, am I a BIG fan of Mother? Yes. Does this mean what I’m going to say it bias? No.

but we got a Brooklyn Centered book (book 1) Sydney centered book (book 2) Paris centered book (book 3) and Book 4 is about Kat book 5 is about Rio

I Don’t doubt the next book might be about Cairo or Annie. But if James ponti decides to extend the series (he said he hopes to make at least 7 books at least that’s why I’ve heard) since book 6 might be Cairo (or not since we saw how Cairo was found, and we had some of book 5 mixed in with centering him and the other for Rio) Or Annie (if she decides to join) but if not.

hear me out.

James Ponti should make a Mother centered one of Monty

Even if they’re such a parental figure character we don’t really have much information. It would be cool on having one of those flashback chapters talking about how they were recruited. Going back to where they grew up. It would be so heartwarming.

I hope for a Mother centered book, how his world is, maybe angst too

Monty would explore more on who her parents where as she grew up her hobbies, and maybe angst too

But If Ponti makes the next book about Cairo and if Annie joins [book 6] (maybe) book 7 is about her (maybe idk how much he’s gonna write for the series since he’s such a good author and focusing mainly on his other series, but really this is just an opinion of mine) if [Ponti] does do this then if he writes more book 8 and 9 could be Mother and Monty centered! Maybe as a bonus book 10 (could be the last book if he writes) could be about clementine!

Thank you for reading I’m sorry for all the words I’ve had this in my head for two months and I got back into my city spies grind—

That'd be very cool, but I doubt it since city spies is already a bit different from his other books since it's third person, plus it's middle grade and most of those books stay in the main perspectives of children.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Return to office and dying on the job

Denise Prudhomme's bosses at Wells Fargo insisted that the in-person camaraderie of their offices warranted a mandatory return-to-office policy, but when she died at her desk in her Tempe, AZ office, no one noticed for four days.

That was in August. Now, Wells Fargo United has published a statement on her death, one that vibrates with anger at the callously selective surveillance that Wells Fargo inflicts on its workforce:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WellsFargoUnited/comments/1fnp9fa/please_print_and_take_to_your_managersite_leader/

The union points out that Wells Fargo workers are subjected to continuous, fine-grained on-the-job surveillance from a variety of bossware tools that count their keystrokes and create tables of the distancess their mice cross each day:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Wells Fargo's message to its workforce is, "You can't be trusted," a policy that Wells Fargo doubled down on with its Return to Office mandate. Return to Office is often pitched as a chance to improve teamwork, communication, and human connection with your co-workers, and there's no arguing with the idea that spending some time in person with people can help improve working relationships (I attended a week-long, all-hands, staff retreat for EFF earlier this month and it was fantastic, primarily due to its in-person nature).

But our bosses don't want us back in the office because they enjoy our company, nor because they're so excited about having hired such a swell bunch of folks and can't wait to see how we all get along together. As John Quiggin writes, the biggest reason to force us back to the office is to get a bunch of us to quit:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/sep/26/in-their-plaintive-call-for-a-return-to-the-office-ceos-reveal-how-little-they-are-needed

As one of Musk's toadies put it in a private message before the Twitter takeover, "Sharpen your blades boys. 2 day a week Office requirement = 20% voluntary departures":

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

The other reason to spy on us is because they don't trust us. Remember all the panic about "quiet quitting" and "no one wants to work"? Bosses' hypothesis was that eking out a bare minimum living on from a couple of small-dollar covid stimulus checks was preferable to working for them for a full paycheck.

Every accusation is a a confession. When your boss tells you that he thinks that you can't be trusted to do a good job without total, constant surveillance, he's really saying, "I only bother to do my CEO job when I'm afraid of getting fired':

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

As Wells Fargo United notes, Wells Fargo employees like Denise Prudhomme are spied on from the moment they set foot in the building until the moment they clock out (and sometimes the spying continues when you're off the clock):

Wells Fargo monitors our every move and keystroke using remote, electronic technologies—purportedly to evaluate our productivity—and will fire us if we are caught not making enough keystrokes on our computers.

The Arizona Republic coverage notes further that Prudhomme had to log her comings and goings from the Wells Fargo offices with a badge, so Wells Fargo could see that Prudhomme had entered the premises four days before, but hadn't left:

https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/tempe-breaking/2024/09/23/wells-fargo-employees-union-responds-death-tempe-woman/75352015007/

Wells Fargo has mandated in-person working, even when that means crossing a state line to be closer to the office. They've created "hub cities" where workers are supposed to turn up. This may sound convivial, but Prudhomme was the only member of her team working out of the Tempe hub, so she was being asked to leave her home, travel long distances, and spend her days in a distant corner of the building where no one ventured for periods of (at least) four days at a time.

Bosses are so convinced that they themselves would goof off if they could that they fixate on forcing employees to spend their days in the office, no matter what the cost. Back in March 2020, Charter CEO Tom Rutledge – then the highest-paid CEO in America – instituted a policy that every back office staffer had to work in person at his call centers. This was the most deadly phase of the pandemic, there was no PPE to speak of, we didn't understand transmission very well, and vaccines didn't exist yet. Charter is a telecommunications company and it was booming as workers across America upgraded their broadband so they could work from home, and the CEO's response was to ban remote work. His customer service centers were superspreading charnel houses:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/18/diy-tp/#sociopathy

That Wells Fargo would leave a dead employee at her desk for four days is par for the course for the third-largest commercial bank in America. This is Wells Fargo, remember, the company that forced its low-level bank staff to open two million fake accounts in order to steal from their customers and defraud their shareholders, then fired and blackballed staff who complained:

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/09/26/495454165/ex-wells-fargo-employees-sue-allege-they-were-punished-for-not-breaking-law

The executive who ran that swindle got a $125 million bonus:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2016/09/wells-fargo-ceos-teflon-don-act-backfires-at-senate-hearing-i-take-full-responsibility-means-anything-but.html

And the CEO got $200 million:

https://money.cnn.com/2016/09/21/investing/wells-fargo-fired-workers-retaliation-fake-accounts/index.html

It's not like Wells Fargo treats its workers badly but does well by everyone else. Remember, those fake accounts existed as part of a fraud on the company's investors. The company went on to steal $76m from its customers on currency conversions. They also foreclosed on customers who were up to date on their mortgages, seizing and selling off all their possessions. They argued that when bosses pressured tellers into forging customers on fraudulent account-opening paperwork, that those customers had lost their right to sue, since the fraudulent paperwork had a binding arbitration clause. When they finally agreed to pay restitution to their victims, they made the payments opt-in, ensuring that most of the millions of people they stole from would never get their money back.

They stole millions with fraudulent "home warranties." They stole millions from small businesses with fake credit-card fees. They defrauded 800,000 customers through an insurance scam, and stole 25,000 customers' cars with illegal repos. They led the pre-2008 pack on mis-selling deceptive mortgages that blew up and triggered the foreclosure epidemic. They loaned vast sums to Trump, who slashed their taxes, and then they fired 26.000 workers and did a $40.6B stock buyback. They stole 525 homes from mortgage borrowers and blamed it on a "computer glitch":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#too-big-to-jail

Given all this, two things are obvious: first, if anyone is going to be monitored for crimes, fraud and scams, it should be Wells Fargo, not its workers. Second, Wells Fargo's surveillance system exists solely to terrorize workers, not to help them. As Wells Fargo United writes:

We demand improved safety precautions that are not punitive or cause further stress for employees. The solution is not more monitoring, but ensuring that we are all connected to a supportive work environment instead of warehoused away in a back office.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

[ladybracknellssherry]

Good Omens Deep Dive Ahead! **I have edited and added to this several times now, but "ma point" has stayed the same. Probably every single reblog has a different version of this. It has turned into an absolute BEAST. You might be able to watch both seasons faster than read this at this point 😂😭

---------------------- Okay so I am rewatching S2 right now and golly. I've just noticed something. I'm sure it has already been noticed by plenty of other people so feel free to let me know, link me to some metas, please.

A lot of us have painstakingly analyzed every single frame, statue, clock tick, facial expression, and breath of the final 15. Good. Now we're going to look at the scene in S2E4/The Hitchhiker/1941 when Aziraphale and Crowley are in the bookshop doing their little pre-magic show warm-up roleplay foreplay bit. They're being surveilled by a bunch of half-witted nazi zombie spies. Aziraphale is trying to impress Crowley with his * m a g i c * Crowley is trying really hard to support his Angel.

The Blocking!

Keep in mind the camera angles are not quite the same between these scenes, the dimensions look a bit off because the lighting is completely different and therefore camera settings are different, and some of the furniture has moved a little bit in 90 years (but not much because Aziraphale)

1941 Crowley positions himself approximately / very nearly exactly in the same spot in the bookshop where present-day Crowley stops in the final 15 of S2E6 when Aziraphale says "Crowley, come back." The spot where shortly thereafter Crowley says the awful words that make us cry.

gif by stars-bean

gif by yellenabelova

1941 Azirphale with his little coins is standing in or very nearly in his same relative spot as in that scene, when present-day Aziraphale says "I need you," and "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." And where shortly thereafter he says the awful words that make us cry.

gif by wearecrowley

gif by mabellous

Then Aziraphale gets a touch insecure when Crowley suggests they go to the magic shop because it is "for professional conjurors," and Crowley responds with his "My Nefertiti Fooling Fellow" line of support and encouragement and believing in Aziraphale. And in that moment Crowley stands and walks towards Aziraphale. And they are mere inches away from one another either fully in or very nearly exactly where they stood or rather will stand during the kiss. I'm not gonna post a kiss gif we have all seen it ten bajillion times and I do not need to cry tonight it is a Wednesday.

gif by gigew

gif by ajcrowleys

(I’m getting ahead of myself for a second but seriously, c’mon, just look at this fluff muffin's genuine smile above and tell me if it looks anything like that strained nightmare on his face in the gif below.)

gif by dykefaggotry

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE. And take from this what you will. That happy little 1941 West End Girl with his vanished farthing basking in the glow of what he now knows is his Demon's adoration. Rotate our duo 180° around the bookshop and Az is now primed to move into the position where he gives his frantic The Metatron's not so bad of a dude and Heaven are the Good Guys and Crowley is one of the Bad Guys nonsense ridiculousness that totally walks back on Aziraphale's entire character growth over 2 seasons. Could it possibly visually represent that our favorite little white-winged stim-city cinnamon roll found himself in the final 15 in a situation at a complete 180° from that moment in 1941 when he was so happy and being genuinely sincerely himself and he was about to do something that he really actually genuinely wanted so badly to do and it was GOOD and it was RIGHT. Crowley's confession is obviously such a wildcard. At this point in 1941 Crowley is supporting and encouraging and working with Aziraphale and in the final 15 he is doing exactly not that.

And even more. In both the 1941 scene and the final 15, Crowley has just entered, respectively, a church and Heaven to save Aziraphale in the middle of the blitz/a demon army almost war battle. A massive atmospheric difference is that 1941 happens at night and the final 15 happens in the morning. We'll work on figuring out what that might represent.

And then we have some seriously upsetting parallel Angel/Demon on the shoulder blocking/framing moments.

gif by i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

gif by inhonoredglory

and

gif by inhonoredglory

And several more of such occur between the two scenes but I simply cannot.

And here's the part where I ramble and try to make sense of this in terms of the theories and fail miserably.

Get up, stretch your legs, have a glass of water, and take several deep breaths in.....and out..... You good? Let's go.

I've said it many times before and I stand by it that Aziraphale was lying through his teeth to Crowley in the final 15. Not because he wanted to lie to Crowley to convince him to come or to try to push him away - but because he was putting on a show for the Metatron. I think that just like the nazi zombies in 1941, the Metatron in S2E6 was absolutely watching Az's every move in the bookshop. And Az knew it. The first few times I watched it I thought Aziraphale's nervous glances to his left during his weird speech and the divorce were just nervous glances. Then I noticed that after he turned to face the other direction, his nervous glances went in the same direction, to his right side now, all the while to the window. It's alarming the frequency, several times a minute (but you were already acutely aware of the window glances you ineffably clever little shits.) I believe the whole final scene between our babies was an attempt at a sleight of hand by Aziraphale to subversively communicate with Crowley without letting on to the Metatron. How fitting that the parallel scene in 1941 revolved around supporting one another and planning and rehearsing for a performance that required for them to trust each other implicitly. And while I believe the act is for the Metatron, he is acting at Crowley - but expected him to catch on and act with him using coded language, movements, expressions, etc. that he expected/hoped Crowley would be able to read. However, both Crowley and Aziraphale in the final 15 were very clearly genuinely distraught for their own reasons. Crowley is about to finally verbally profess his love - and Aziraphale, I quite think, is terrified about his conversation with the Metatron and what's about to happen and is trying to come up with a tactic on the spot. It seems very likely to me that the intensity of their respective emotions in this moment absolutely doomed their communication.

How this all fits in with the leading theories.

I don't buy into the coffee theory. I think that was a metaphor or an allusion or symbolic of a very real "either accept my offer (which is not something you even want because everyone knows Aziraphale doesn't drink coffee) or suffer some dire consequences." I can't imagine Aziraphale would have ever thought the Metatron's offer was genuine and given out of merit. Surely he knew that he was in trouble. He'd thwarted the apocalypse, quit his job, stopped hiding that his person is a Demon, set off alarm bells in heaven twice in one week, blew up his halo and almost started a war, and hid an archangel on the lam. “You’re honest.” Bbgygrl bold face lied to the archangels for a week and the Metatron knows and Az knows he knows.

I'm not really for the body swap theory. Not really at all.

I’m not really for Angel!Crowley’s memory was wiped. How then would he remember the passwords? Crowley’s personality is very “that bitch” so I think all of his no-idea-who-tf-you-are interactions is just him being catty.

The time stop theory seems the most intriguing, I'm listening, but not yet sold. How prominently the ticking of the clock can be heard at all times in the bookshop feels important. I find myself flummoxed by the "missing minutes" / "continuity error" with that prominent clock in a show where the attention to detail is, “as you might say, a miracle,” that is propelling whole droves of human beings to the brink of discorporation. Here's an excellent breakdown of the timeline/examination of the clock in S2 by thesherrinfordfacility

I am, at this current moment in time, in the camp that believes Az likely attempted to convince Crowley to stop time so that he could explain the situation to him. To explain the threat - either implied, inferred, or direct - from the Metatron. To try to formulate a plan together. Check out this analysis from ineffableigh and take another look at Aziraphale babbling out his Heaven propaganda. Apparently the lip-reading theory that Az was mouthing about "time" has been debunked, but I stand by what looks like Aziraphale making the "time-out" hand gesture. And that damned clock loudly ticking its heart out all season must be important. Mustn't it??

Still, I'm not entirely convinced that any time stopping actually happened, not sure when it would have happened. Crowley was so emotional in a way we have never seen him. I think its highly possible that in the heat of that moment he wasn't catching Aziraphale's signals. I think that Crowley after the talk with Maggie and Nina was so caught up in saying what he was really thinking that it used up any possible bandwidth for LISTENING. But damn those tells seem like they would be/should be giant flashing neon warning signs to Crowley.

I mean, come on, the "C"lues in Aziraphale's ramble that he is spinning a wild-ass tale with coded language that would only make sense to Crowley are pretty obvious to me. If Az was really trying to convince Crowley to do something the last thing he would say is that it would be "nice(r)." And there is no way that at that point Aziraphale could have truly still considered Crowley to be a part of Hell and therefore one of the "bad guys." Seriously? 2 whole seasons and thousands of years spent learning about shades of grey and watching the Demon, who he loves, prove in a million little ways that he loves him back, watching that Demon do the right thing over and over, and TEACHING him, the Angel, the right thing. “Nothing lasts forever.” ?? My son is talking about his BOOKS. He is talking about THEM. They are IMMORTAL. They know what Eternity means. THEY last forever. If Aziraphale wanted to convince Crowley to come back and be an Angel, he would not have used that phrase/reasoning in his argument knowing full well that when Angel!Crowley became aware that his creation would be intentionally shut down, from Aziraphale's own mouth, mind, that was the triggering event that eventually led to Crowley's fall. Further, it would never have occurred to Aziraphale to try to use hurtful language to attempt to push Crowley away at this point because it has already been proven that that doesn’t work. S1E3 “I don’t even like you! “You do!” I think his erraticism in this scene was being totally caught off guard by Crowley's confession and trying to reconcile how to process and handle that while also trying to stick to his tactic of trying to get Crowley to read him. Az is brilliant, but Crowley is the one who usually can problem solve on his feet.

Az is clever enough to discern that he wasn't being offered the position in Heaven by the Metatron - Az was being forced back to Heaven. He wouldn't be happy or excited to make a difference in Heaven because he thought it was "the side of truth, of light, of good." No. There was no longer any freedom from Heaven, no safety for Aziraphale, which meant there was no longer any safety for Crowley. And if there was one motivator for Aziraphale above all other things it would be to keep Crowley safe. He had no choice but to go back to Heaven, so its not a matter of we can make a difference. It is a matter of we have to.

While I believe all of his word horror batshit disaster monologue was a bunch of old tosh, once present-day Aziraphale turns around from that 180° position to follow Crowley, into that final configuration matching that of 1941, he starts losing it. I think he's realizing that he failed in his attempt to get Crowley to understand. He did not expect to have to keep up this act so long. Crowley is walking away. It has all gone so wrong. He is cracking and the honest words start flooding past the lies. "Work with me!" (come on, catch up, please!) "We can be together"...(reluctantly, barely even trying anymore "...angels." And then it just breaks. "I need you!" "You don't understand!" While that would seem to be the case for Az, it really, at least on the surface, does not seem to have applied for Crowley.

The parallels between the final 15 and 1941 suggest to me, at least on the surface, an inverse. In 1941 we saw joy and excitement and wonder and cooperation and communication and trust. Furfur came to take Crowley back to Hell after catching our beloveds working together. And Aziraphale, the world's not best magician, performed a magic trick that may well have saved their existences, and "got it right the time that mattered." The final 15 is, again, on the surface and ostensibly, an abject disharmony. The Metatron came to take Aziraphale back to Heaven, and made a serious effort (no, not that kind, kids) to point out how very much the Ineffables "partnership" is "irregular" and implying, I'm sure, that they would only be permitted to be together as Angels in Heaven (which is a load of steaming celestial garbage.) (We're going to see more of the Az/Metatron conversation in S3, I just know it, there is some seriously important information missing.) But, as far as we were shown, at least on the surface, all of their getting to know one another and trusting one another and being able to read one another - failed to serve them the time that mattered.

And yet. Crowley still lingered in the end and stood so poised and stoic next to the Bentley watching Az step into the Hellevator...It kind of gave a feel that maybe Crowley figured something out. Maybe he had a cool down after storming out and realized something felt very off about that conversation. Maybe he just braced himself and remembered to trust Aziraphale. Maybe as he stormed out he saw the Metatron staring daggers into the bookshop window and it clicked. Maybe in Az's furtive glance back that very last time he once again mouthed "trust me." Some version of Az's message must have finally gotten through to Crowley. Somewhere along the way. It had to have. I can't believe it didn't. All season we were shown Crowley specifically can read Aziraphale. "You have three reasons for calling me" / "tone of voice," the "trust me" lip-reading at the 1941 magic show / Crowley has seen first hand how Az acts when he lies to Heaven in the Job mini-sode. And really. Crowley knows the second coming is on the agenda after his trip to Heaven. These two put the force of their entire existence into thwarting the Apocalypse once. Would he truly believe Aziraphale would want to help bring about the second coming? Sounds unlikely.

So, perhaps, the final 15 isn't in its entirety opposed to 1941. Maybe it's just a few symbolic nods. 1941 Crowley said the magic act they need to perform together needs to be "bigger" more "dramatic." Is there something bigger and more dramatic happening? Are they performing together? Did Crowley catch on? Did they stop time? Or is there a trick, like the photo swap, so surreptitious that it's almost invisible? Perhaps there is just a metaphor in there. Maybe now Crowley has to be the one to catch the metaphorical bullet and Az has to be the one to figuratively shoot? (That's terrifying.)

And then there's still the matter of that damned clock!

Also, let's face it, Alpha Centauri was never a plan. "They'll be shutting this all down in 6000 years.” “All.” As in "the universe.” As in Alpha Centauri included. They were going to have to take some sort of action eventually. I don't think Crowley ever wanted to go. He just wanted Aziraphale to say yes. Yeah, ouch.

Last point I promise is this video from @sendarya

Here, Nightingale Sang in its entirety is lined up with the 13 seconds in which it played in the Bentley and it ends exactly at the final frames of Crowley and Aziraphale. Some have speculated that Crowley had Nightingale queued up to play on the pair's way to breakfast at the Ritz. But that doesn't make sense. Wouldn't one have a song start at the beginning? AND Crowley had yet to have his chat with Maggie and Nina. I'm not so sure that the Crowley we know would have gotten it into his head/summoned up the confidence on his own to ready THAT song. Maybe the often tone-deaf Bentley was trying to comfort Crowley by playing Nightingale? But what I think is that when Aziraphale glanced back, he made the tiniest of little Angel nudge waves to convince the Bentley to play that song. From this vantage point, Michael Aziraphale's creepy smile in the final frame conveys an entirely different sentiment. It makes him look certain. It makes him look like an Angel with a plan. If I'm right in this part, I think that would have been exactly what was needed to finally get his message, intentions, and feelings across to Crowley in a way he could understand.

Come at me hive mind!

Also still new to tumblr and think I royally fudged it on adding those gifs so I'll work on that.

[wolfish-trickster]

Imagine part 2

@taronyuhunter @myendlesslyunexistinglove

It's been some time since you were kidnapped. No explanation reached your ears since. But they didn't treat you badly. No, no, they were kind to you.

During the night Sylus, as you've learned, has been keeping you company. Showing you around the dark dangerous city. Denizens couldn't touch you, but you could reach out to them. Not that it mattered. They walked around the streets like living corpses. Aimless. Slow. Sylus gave you a free hand to do as you pleased. You tried talking to them, asking them where you are and what you were doing here. They only stared at you with eyes resembling porcelain doll's. The nature around was strange too. No animals, safe for the crow that spied on you back in your home, but even that was mechanical. The flowers were wilted and colorless, as if they haven't seen the light in ages nor tasted the water. Didn't matter how much you watered them under amused Sylus' watch, they remained wilted.

During the day, which didn't look that different from the night, the twins kept you company. Their personalities were a huge contrast to both your capter and the citizens. They were jovial, funny, adventure loving, a bit mischievious too. But despite their fun loving nature they kept their masked mouths shut whenever you begged for explanation.

At least they don't mistreat me, you thought whenever you longed for home. You started to wonder what are your friends doing back there. What is Rafayel doing? Did he confess to that girl yet?

The thought of everyone else being happy and you being trapped here brouch tears to your eyes. It was so unfair. Why you? You were nothing special. What could these people gain by having you here?

knock knock

"Can I come in?"

You smiled. "Sure."

Sylus entered your room. Even though he gave you freedom to go wherever you pleased you liked his mansion the most. It was cozy, safe, home-like. Better than the undead city out there.

"What happened?" he asked after noticing your wet cheeks.

"Oh," you wiped them, "nothing. Just..."

By the look on his face he already knew. It was a routine by now. You were content for couple of days, but routinely once a week a sudden wave of depression came over you. You would ask him why he kidnapped you, he would tell you he can't tell you yet. Then you would ask if you could go home. He would tell you not yet. Then after either silence or a crying session from you he'd up and leave for the rest of the night. It has always been like this.

But not tonight.

"I've brought you something," he breaks the silence. Only then did you notice one of his hands behind his back. A gesture unknown for him.

"What is it?" a trinket to keep you busy?

He pulled out his hand from behind his back revealing hia little gift for you. A book. "I've found this in the library."

"You mean the half ruin across the street?"

"It's just missing couple of walls. Easier access. Nevermind that. I've brought this for you. I can't explain you directly why all of this is happening, but hopefully you'll be smart enough to understand on your own," he pushed the book under your folded hands, his long fingers lingering on yours for couple of minutes. Then he vanished. As he always did.

You looked down on his gift, curiosity wiped out all depression. It was an old book, but not fragile. Covered with dark rough leather. Some of its yellow time tinted pages threatened to fall out. There was a single black feather functioning as a bookmark somewhere in the middle. Carefully as the old book and your shaky hands allowed you you opened the pages on the marked spot. You soon found out it wasn't a novela or one linear story. It was a collection of stories. Or myths. The feather marked the begining of a new story. In black ink with fancy lettering there was its name at the very top of the page.

Hades and Persephone.

Part 1

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 6 (smexy times ahead)

To Kara’s surprise, steak dinner happens at Lena’s apartment. From how little Lena has shared so far, she’d expected to wait weeks or months to see where Lena lives. It’s not until she arrives that Kara realizes exactly why Lena is so willing to let Kara into her inner sanctum. 

It’s completely void of personality.

Well, Kara allows, it could be that a lack of personality could be a personality in itself. And there are photos, but they all feature Lena and her crew. All smiling– all recent. Nothing to suggest Lena had a life before National City. She spies a punching bag in one corner, but the rest of the furniture is worn and basic, suggesting the place had come pre-furnished by a landlord who didn’t particularly care about aesthetics. It’s spartan and plain– forthright in a way that actually fits Lena. Still…

Kara wishes the space could have given her a better look at Lena’s inner life. 

The kitchen, at least, is functional enough. Enough that Lena is able to season and sear her steaks to perfection, with some fresh asparagus sauteeing on a side burner. And she does it all with a smile, chatting with Kara as well as she had on the way home. A capable multitasker, Kara notes, though it’s less than surprising. 

Lena seems incapable of being incapable at anything. 

The meal is served up on non-descript plates– at least they’re ceramic and not paper, and Lena does lower the overhead lights to set the mood. Kara moans when the first bite of steak hits her tongue. Moist and savory and perfectly seasoned, it puts anything she herself could have made to shame. The asparagus is also perfectly softened without being mushy, retaining enough of its texture to allow for a bit of a crunch at the center. 

“Are you sure the Army didn’t put you on the chow line? This is delicious!” Kara groans. 

Lena smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “You think ‘chow’ tastes like this?” An arch eyebrow dispels that notion. “Nah. Not so much.”

“Well, wherever it comes from, color me amazed and impressed.”

Kara takes another large–too large– bite, and has to spend several quiet moments chewing her way through it. When she swallows– still too large– she tilts her head. 

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Lena’s eyes warm with mirth, but takes a moment to consider.

“Jumping rope.” Lena shrugs. “I hate it. Can’t stand it.”

“But you can do it?”

Lena waves away the answer. 

“Then it doesn’t count!” 

Lena laughs. “Alright, alright… um. Okay. I can’t draw to save my life.”

It’s a surprisingly candid answer. “Really?”

Lena nods. “Any required art classes were passed on charm alone.”

Kara grins. Lena eyes her suspiciously. 

“What?” 

For a moment, they play a game of silent chicken as Kara waits for Lena to say the words, and Lean waits for Kara to confess what she already suspects. Finally, Lena caves.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you.”

Kara laughs, tickled by the suspicion at odds with the twinkle in Lena’s eye. “Maybe…” she draws out, unable to help the taunt. She relents when Lena’s eyebrow climbs dangerously close to her hairline. “Okay, fine. Yeah. I am. Kind of. At least, I was.”

“You were?” 

“Not much opportunity to flex my brush skills on a cop’s schedule,” she deflects, unwilling to dull the mood with the somber reality. If Lena suspects the deeper reason, she gives no indication. 

Instead, she tilts her head. “Well, I’d like to see some of your work, sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “If you’re willing to share, of course. No pressure.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I just know that anything you do would be amazing.”

Lena’s voice is low and throaty, and Kara senses the shift to a mood far more intimate than playful banter. “In that case, you would be right,” Kara confirms, leaning forward across the table. “Play your cards right, and I’ll prove it to you. Again.”

“Uh uh,” Lena returns, leaning to meet Kara midway across the table. She pecks a tantalizing kiss to Kara’s lips. “Tonight is my turn to go first.”

“Oooh,” Kara purrs. “I don’t mind the sound of that.”

She plays a light drumroll on Lena’s ass as she clears the dishes, which only receive a quick rinse before being forgotten in the sink. Lena’s attention turns to Kara, who feels the weight of her focus like a planar shift. The rest of the world ceases to exist, narrowing to the two of them alone.

They haven’t even reached the threshold of Lena’s bedroom before warm lips caress the skin of her neck. Her flesh prickles with goosebumps, a frisson of desire coursing through her. She wants this, and the flutter of nerves in her belly only heightens her anticipation. She’s never wanted anything– or anyone– as much as she wants this, wants Lena. She doesn’t know what Lena has in store for her, and doesn’t quite know how her body will react to her ministrations. If her current arousal is anything to go by, Kara suspects she might not survive what’s to come. And she’s perfectly fine with that.

Lena guides her with gentle hands to sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, Kara thinks she’ll sit on her lap, like the last time on her couch. But instead, Lena lays her back, leaning over her with a muscled arm holding her up.

“Tell me what you want,” Lena murmurs between slow languid kisses. Kara whimpers into her mouth, making Lena’s lips curl in a smile against hers. “That’s not an answer, love.”

For a moment, Kara struggles to think, but Lena doesn’t relent in her ministrations. It takes long minutes of nearly losing herself in the sensations before she manages to conjure her wish.

“Let’s go slow.” she murmurs.

Lena pauses immediately, but Kara keeps her from pulling away by cupping her cheek. Lena gazes into her eyes, studying her to understand the meaning behind her words. Then, slowly, a low fire sparks deep in her gaze.

“How slow, exactly,” she asks, low and silky.

Kara lifts her chin to kiss her. “As slow as possible.”

Nodding her understanding, Lena runs a velvet touch up under Kara’s shirt; slow enough to count each and every rib. “And where would you like to start?”

Breath hitching when Lena hits a sensitive spot just under Kara’s breast, Kara tries to blink her way to at least partial coherency. 

“Do you have a vibrator?” she gasps.

Lena nods, nuzzling Kara’s ear. “Excellent idea, darling.”

Finally, Kara releases herself to the experience. Lena takes her time with her, going deliciously slow as she raises Kara’s shirt by inches, kissing every exposed bit skin on her way. Not just kissing. Licking, nibbling, suckling. She lingers on Kara’s breasts, brushing her thumbs over pebbled nipples as she diverts back to Kara’s lips. 

Slowly but surely, Kara’s skin heats with pleasure. But when her breath starts to quicken, Lena draws herself away. Without Lena’s body heat against her, chill air washes over her, making her groan. She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration.

“Now, now,” Lena tsks. “I want you to watch.”

Kara’s eyes fly open, and she props herself up on her elbows to watch as Lena unbuttons the fly of her jeans. Her fingers dip beneath her waistband, and Kara’s breath goes ragged in her chest. But just as smoothly as they slide under, they slip back out, and Lena shimmies out of her pants. 

She kicks them aside as soon as she steps out of them, and Kara is left to ogle smooth, tones legs. Lena may not match Kara for height, but her legs are long and packed with muscle. Kara’s mouth goes dry.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Kara mutters. 

Lena saunters closer, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Well, hopefully he won’t be the one fucking tonight.” 

She tilts Kara’s chin up. Kara lets her mouth gape, just enough for Lena to see the invitation and take it. Her tongue slides over Kara’s, then curls languorously up and along the roof of Kara’s mouth. She sucks against Kara’s upper lip as she withdraws, and Kara lists after her when she sits back on Kara’s knees. 

“Do you want to see more?” Lena croons.

Kara swallows thickly. “All of it,” she croaks. “I want to see all of you.”

Lena smiles, pleased with her response. She grips the hem of her shirt with her fingertips, and slowly begins to pull it up, up, up over her abdomen, her breasts, and finally her head. Dark hair flows through the neck opening, swishing around Lena’s bare shoulders. When Lena’s fingers move to her bra, all higher function vacates Kara’s brain. The little strip tease that follows sends bolts of arousal down through Kara’s core, pooling between her legs. Soon, only Lena’s underwear remains.

When Lena twists to deposit her bra on the pile with the rest of her abandoned clothing, Kara catches sight of a dark smudge on Lena’s ribs, but it flashes out of sight and out of mind when Lena turns her attention back to her. 

Thankfully, Lena makes quicker work of Kara’s own pants. Soon Kara is completely and enthusiastically nude, and Kara notes that Lena makes no mention of how wet she is. Kara’s glad for it– she suspects it will be her default state whenever Lena’s eyes take on this sort of glint. 

She jumps when the first rumble of the vibrator tickles the inside of her thigh. She inhales through her teeth, and is answered by a palm pressing flatly against her labia and clit. 

“Easy,” Lena coaxes. Her lips still smirk though. “Don’t want you getting worked up too soon, do we?”

The even pressure on her groin eases some of the edge that had been building within her, and she manages to take a breath that relieves any more. Even so, she knows that once Lena gets to work with the vibrator, she would be hard pressed to draw this out as long as she hoped she could.

Lena isn’t one to disappoint. She plays Kara like a fiddle, taking her tantalizingly close to edge after edge, before drawing her back down again and again. Her technique is expert– the vibrator seems to trace patterns everywhere but her clit. Her labia, her bikini line, even the bottom edge of her belly. Sometimes, when Kara lingers too long on one edge, a warm tongue soothes her clit, dulling the hungry ache.

“Hanging in there?” Lena checks in once Kara stops squirming. 

“Barely,” Kara gasps, panting. 

“You are so hot,” Lena purrs. “You’re doing so good.”

That alone almost almost pitches Kara over the precipice. She curls her fingers into the sheets, gritting her teeth. “Soon,” she warns.

“Just say the word, baby. I’ll get you there.”

Lena starts again, taking her time tracing more patterns around her ultimate destination. Slowly, inevitably, the pressure building to unprecedented heights. Kara’s never been attended to like this, never been read so plainly, so intuitively. It’s as though Lena has already memorized her body, chasing every sensitive part of her with expert precision until even the ebb aches as deliciously as the flow. 

When Lena brings the vibrator closer to her clit than she has so far, Kara cracks. 

“Now!” she gasps.

The vibrator has hardly touched her clit when Kara hurtles over. She can’t help the cry that escapes her, loud and long and desperate. She’s never made a sound like this before. She doesn’t realize Lena hasn’t moved the vibrator before she’s tipping into a second orgasm, then a third. The last lingers for long, long seconds and only then do the vibrations cease.

The whine that Kara issues is inhuman to her own ears, but Lena only chuckles as she climbs up to check on her.

“Still conscious?” 

Kara grunts plaintively, as her fingers slowly release the sheets. 

“That was– whoah!”

Lena’s exclamation is swallowed by Kara’s mouth on hers, lunging for a kiss before full conscious thought has even returned. Lena melts into it, letting the kiss deepen and last until Kara is the one to break it. 

“Amazing,” she finishes Lena’s sentence for her. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Lena’s cheeks flush under the praise. “And you,” she returns, “are a glutton for punishment. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Much longer.” She licks Kara’s upper lip so sensually, it almost makes Kara ask for another round. Almost. “Good girl.”

Kara sighs. “I don’t know if I can return the favor,” she confesses. It kills her to say it, but she barely feel her toes. Lena laughs. “I’m sorry…”

“Please,” Lena dismisses, still laughing. “That’s possibly the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Kara blinks. “Ever?”

“Ever,” Lena confirms. She smiles, her eyes warm and full of comfort as she gazes down at Kara. “How about an early night then?”

A sigh escapes Kara. “That sounds…”

“Amazing?” Lena teases.

“Yeah,” Kara confirms contentedly. “Amazing.”

[outofmydepthatapublicbeach]

on the balcony- Julien Baker x fem!reader

summary: After a long leg on tour, you and Julien are talking at a small get-together with the band and all the crew. You find yourselves alone on a balcony, and something gets confessed.

jj chats: hiii everyone!! this is my first kind of real fic!! i really hope you all enjoy it!! my requests box is opened and i would love to get some of y'alls ideas!!! see you later by gorgeous gorgeous people!!! <333

word count: 800ish

warnings: RPF, kissing, they're both v awkward, i think that is it!!!

feedback is encouraged and i'd love to get some just please be kind!!!

The party was starting to get stuffy, the air was humid from the heat emitted from the bodies of your friends and co-workers. They were celebrating the end of a successful American leg of the up-and-coming band; boygenius. The lead singers and band were somewhere in the middle of everything, everyone talking their ears off. You held a water bottle in your hand, taking a swig from it in an attempt to cool down. 

In the crowd, you spied your favorite ⅓ of boygenius: Julien Baker. You two had grown a close bond throughout the tour. In the beginning, she was quite opposed to the service you offered: make-up. But when one of the first shows in the scorching heat of summer left Julien’s pretty face completely sunburned, she figured you might know how to prevent that. 

You bonded over tinted sunscreen and the lip gloss. You thought that was it at first. But after the first show she had implemented your advice she had come up to you, generously thanking you for their help.

“It’s probably not! Just doing my job!” You blushed, nervous about the tattooed woman in front of you.

To your surprise Julien looked almost as nervous as you felt, she spoke “Hey, could I have your number? In case I need any more help with skincare or makeup or something!” a dry laugh left her lips.

You practically ripped your phone out of your pocket, handing it to her. She entered her number and smiled before walking away. 

Later that night, on your way to your hotel you got a text: Hey! It’s JB! Want to meet up for breakfast tomorrow? We don’t have rehearsals until the afternoon.

Your heart practically jumped out of your chest and that’s when you knew you couldn’t just be her friend.

At about the same time you saw Julien in the crowd, she saw you. In a not-so-graceful way, she excused herself and made her way over to you, almost tripping on a bunched-up rug on her way.

“Hey you,” Julien smiled, her hands empty, one finding their way into the pockets of her Carhart zip-up. “What’re you doing all by yourself?” 

You sighed, pointing to your fellow makeup artist, who was currently wrapped in a guitar tech's arms, swaying to the music that sounded like a whisper at this moment. “Got ditched. But it's okay. I was about to leave anyway, parties aren’t really my thing.” 

“Yeah I’m not a big fan of parties either, do you want to go somewhere quieter?” She asked, looking at you with big brown eyes that reflected purple due to the LED lights that lined the room you were currently in. 

“I’d love that, let's go.” Out of habit with other friends, you went to grab her hand. Julien tensed for a split second, before wrapping her fingers around your hand as you led her out of the room and into a hallway, maneuvering between couples pressed against walls and friends laughing until you eventually made it to a balcony that overlooked the city. The breeze was cool, which left you chilly, but the warmth from the woman next to you and the giddiness that heated your heart was enough to make you forget all about the cold. You turned to face Julien again, taking in all the features of her face.

She was staring out into the city, a slight smile forming on her face as she watched the skyline twinkle like stars do in the sky. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone as beautiful. You turned back to the city, your eyes focusing on a particular car that was zooming down the streets.

“Beautiful.” You heard Julien whisper next to you. 

“Yeah the city is so pretty at night.” you giggle.

“No-” a pause, “No I mean you. You’re beautiful.” Julien said, her voice raising itself an octave.

 You turned to Julien to see her face flushing. “I think you’re beautiful too J,” You smile, as your face heats up. 

The moment freezes, and suddenly all that is real in the world is the woman standing in front of you, before you know it you’re both leaning forward, gentle lips pressing together. Her hand that is encased with yours tightens, while the other moves to cup your face, pulling you into her. Your chest flushed against each other, lips now crashing together, less gentle, more need. 

Suddenly Julien pulls away, then breathlessly says “I like you, like really like you, and I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.” 

You can feel your heart swell a lot before saying “I like you too.” The two of you stand there giggling like teenagers for a while before you decide to rejoin the party. But for the rest of the night, your hand never leaves Julien’s.

[astvrook]

洪水 | YANDERE THEMES | SUNGHOON.

when the «prince of the city» becomes the villain, his subjects are left unprotected from his ruthless reign even in the deepest darkness, and sunghoon, the minister's son, always carried with him the heady scent of his mother's favourite nina ricci lotion and an infectious, carefree, almost childlike smile. yet something about him disturbs the atmosphere, inducing a drop in temperature in the room as he enters, regardless of the season.

sunghoon's a masked angel, whose light fades at the emergence of the inner demon he harbours, being the culprit for the crimes committed on this earth. can be visualised manipulating the minds of those around him; with every apology and promise of amends after his cries, his parents forgive him despite knowing of his repeated wrongdoing. raised to outdo everyone in town, sunghoon's parents excused him again and again.

in the world of opulence, corruption lurks, and he shows no intention of slowing down, and true for you, you remained practically invisible to the park family due to your economic position, which allowed you to remain hidden from their eyes, but everything changed on halloween night.

when, in your boyfriend's house, an individual with an intense gaze and an unrelenting temper took control of his perfect aesthetic and the image of him sent shivers down your spine. sporting traditional day of the dead make-up, where the monochromatic combination creates a singular skull, adorned with flames, bloody roses and scars; his lack of eyes is unsettling.

you ask yourself "what dark impulse drove jihyun, with his flawed mind, to provoke park sunghoon like that?", because park had no intention of stopping.

«¡please let me go!».

it's too late for you, and you can't do anything to stop what's about to happen, so you just huddle in the corner of the room and cover your ears.

jihyun's head is bowed, blood dripping to the ground, moans and sobs escaping his lips. as the fear and pain reflect in his empty eyes and his screams echo, you find him pathetic for facing the demon with no defensive skills, while sunghoon's smile is indifferent to the suffering of others and seems to feed on pain.

dumb. dumb. dumb.

before you know it, sunghoon places your boyfriend's windpipe under his foot and takes his life in a single blow. for a moment, you are captivated as you watch him, yet at that precise moment, the world stops and you meet he's piercing gaze.

"are you enjoying watching?" he asks and takes the baseball bat and slowly brings the blood to his mouth, savouring every glistening drop. then, for the sheer fun of it, he approaches jihyun and slaps his ribs hard, an ominous cracking sound being heard.

as he approaches your presence, confesses: "it angers me to be spied on, darling."

you're paralysed, naked except for the lingerie you're wearing, as sunghoon revels in your discomfort. in panic, you try to escape, but he catches you and pushes you against the wall. with a threatening voice, he warns you that you shouldn't try to run away, at least not yet, and in tears, you beg for mercy, but he shuts you up abruptly.

slowly, he tastes you with malice, sensing every sensation on your skin as your fear grows. this night, he considers you his favourite prank.

"why settle for a mere piece of dying flesh when you can become my possession," whispers, and savours the taste of blood on his teeth, expressing his insatiable hunger. "you can't expose a lamb to a wolf and expect it not to want to devour it," he declares.

on that dark night, sunghoon is ravenous for you.

LISTA MAESTRA DE ENHYPEN.

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: The One He Chose

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Summary: After all this time has Ivar finally caught his wife's trail?

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda @letsshamelessqueen-m @my-soul-is-the-moon @we-are-transcendent

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Anyone working under the delusion that Ivar would accept the fact that his wife had escaped him eventually learned that would not be the case.

His men had stopped their violent search of Kattegat, just as he had promised Bjorn, but he was still searching for her.

Even as the months went on to become nearly a full year.

(Y/N) had been missing for ten months, one week and four days, Ivar was keeping count of his lonely nights. Despite how the people talked he had not let Freydis warm his bed in his wife’s absence.

Instead he spent most of his days and nights in his war room, looking over all the maps of other cities and villages that Kattegat traded with the most. He was furious at the fact that there had been no news from any of his informants, and his relationship with his brothers did little to comfort him.

Bjorn was, as he expected, furious at his sending off warriors to such vital trading cities. He had shouted himself nearly blue when he’d arrived at Ivar’s estate; of course he let the King do his whining and even allowed him to smash his war table in his tantrum, because to him none of it mattered.

His ships had sailed, his warriors deployed and there was nothing to be done about it; not by Bjorn or even himself. Hvitserk, like he always had, chose to remain neutral in the argument. Ubbe was clearly on Bjorn’s side, but unlike Bjorn, Ubbe seemed to understand why he had acted so hastily even if he disapproved of the actions.

Currently Ubbe was the only one of his brothers who had friendly conversations with him, and Ivar would never be able to express how much he appreciated the company in these hard months.

‘Still no news?’ Ubbe asked as they both sat on the beach and watched a merchant ship approach.

‘Nearly a hundred spies and no good news.’ Ivar sighed.

‘No good news?’ the eldest questioned.

‘My spies reported at last that they had a difficult time keeping track of (Y/N) in my time away, she would leave town alone around midday…and would not return home until nearly sunset.’ Ivar confessed, laying back in the sand and covering his eyes.

Ubbe felt his heart begin to beat faster, but he was not sure how much information Ivar truly had on the subject they were discussing.

‘You think she had an affair?’

‘I do not know, that is what tortures me brother. Not knowing things has always angered me, and now it seems I know less than ever. I don’t know if she was unfaithful, I don’t know where she is; all I know is she isn’t here.’

Ubbe had such conflicting feelings battling in his chest as he watched a few easy to miss tears roll down his brother's face. He was relieved to not have been discovered as (Y/N)’s lover, but still he was upset to see his brother in pain and know he was at least partially responsible for it.

‘If you think she was unfaithful why continue the search? Let go of your devotions and remarry, you have no obligations to her.’

'Why would I ever think such a thing?' Ivar asked, his anger visibly raising.

‘I will not let go, Ubbe.’ Ivar said as he sat back up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

‘Not of her, not my marriage and not my anger. I will find her and she will answer every question I have.’

‘But what if you don’t find her? So far it has been nearly a year and you have had no progression in your search. It pains me to see you destroying yourself and your reputation for one woman you can replace so easily.’

Ivar looked over at his brother incredulously.

‘She can’t be replaced, not by Freydis or any woman in this world. She feared me Ubbe, do you understand that? From the day we stepped into that insignificant Christian kingdom, she looked at an army and still she feared me the most out of them.’

‘Ivar, every woman you have spoken to fears you. It would be impossible to find a woman in Kattegat you did not terrify.’

‘I know that, but how many of them would be brave enough to marry someone as vicious as me? How many would make that sacrifice? She could have stayed quiet and let any of those women be dragged away, but she stepped forward. Those Christian men offered her up like a lamb for sacrifice and still she wanted them to live, and was even smart enough to know how to play my mind games.’ Ivar explained.

‘How could I replace a woman like that, a woman that brave, who fears a filthy cripple like me?’

Ubbe sighed and stood up, looking out at the sea and saw that the ship was nearly at the docks, but he decided he could offer his younger brother some advice.

‘You shouldn’t want her to fear you, Ivar. How can anyone love what they fear?’

Ivar looked taken aback, as if he’d never considered not terrifying his wife, but instead of responding he turned his focus over to the ship crew that was unloading the boat.

‘I don’t see how he thought he was secretive?’ one of the men said casually as he helped to dock the ship.

‘He’s young, he’s never smuggled a damn thing and it shows,’

Ivar’s ears perked up upon hearing this conversation and he quickly called the two merchants over; abandoning his own chat with Ubbe.

The two men looked over at the princes curiously; as they had not been aware of the chaotic search for the Christian nun that had occurred while they were at sea.

‘Prince Ivar, Prince Ubbe.’ one of them greeted and the other nodded in agreement.

‘I’m happy that the Gods brought you all back to us, I would like to treat your crew to a small feast on my estate in the next fortnight.’ Ivar said cheerily.

Ubbe quickly understood the game Ivar was playing and he decided he wanted no part in it at all.

He bid his brother a less than polite goodbye and left the two men to Ivar’s manipulation.

A feast for a simple unimportant ship crew was unheard of, especially a feast given by a prince. It would have been considered a great sign of disrespect to decline his hospitality.

The two men thanked Ivar for his unwarranted kindness and went to let the others know that they would all, along with their families, be expected at the youngest Prince’s estate.

Ivar watched the ship crew discuss their surprising treat and he pulled himself up onto his crutches and began to walk back to the markets.

As he limped along his way he subtly motioned for one of his spies, a thrall working outside of the butcher’s stand, to walk along side him.

Obediently the man followed the wordless order and matched Ivar’s pace.

‘Everyone under my purse is to watch the men on the merchant ship that just docked. Every man is to be followed for the next fortnight. I will expect daily reports if anyone fails to report even one hour of their actions I will have them hung.’ Ivar said strictly not looking at the man at all.

As he had wished, his warning went a long way in getting the results he wanted. He received reports in the crewmens’ every action, he’d even gotten reports describing their trips into the woods to relieve themselves.

Still no news of his wife or of what the two men suspected a crew mate of smuggling, but Ivar was sure that this was the right ship.

He had discovered the ship had sailed off the morning after (Y/N) had vanished.

Ivar tasked his thralls with preparing for the feast and he was impressed with how well they had performed.

By the night his feast was set to happen he had large tables sat outside under a cloudless starlit sky and there were heaps of fine dishes and mead as well as wine from England.

The crewmen were all in awe of the extravagant show of hospitality and everyone gave him their thanks in person.

Ivar mingled among them and was pleased that the news of his wife's disappearance had become common knowledge to all of the men.

‘May I speak with you Prince Ivar?’ one of the men asked as he approached the high table.

Ivar was quick to recognize the man as one of the men he’d spoken to on the beach.

‘Of course come with me.’

With a great amount of control Ivar calmly led the man into his home away from the festivities.

‘What would you like to discuss?’ the prince asked.

‘Forgive my intruding, but I have heard of your wife’s disappearance, and I- I think I have some information to give.’ I asked.

This was what Ivar had planned; to give the crew such a grand feast that at least one man would be grateful enough to betray one another.

‘Please, I would owe you an unimaginable debt if you could help me find my wife.’ Ivar said cunningly.

‘I can’t be sure if it was your wife, all I know is that Amund had someone in that crate. We more experienced in smuggling saw him speaking with it, sliding his rations into it even.’ the old man said.

‘A crate?’ Ivar asked.

‘Yes, big crate, it could easily fit one person, maybe even two.’

‘Two?’ Ivar said, feeling his grip on his crutch tighten in his anger.

She’d had an affair and ran off with some nobody; she’d decided weeks locked in a crate with another man was better than the rest of her life with him.

‘You said this man’s name was…?’ Ivar questioned, struggling to keep his anger hidden.

‘Amund, strong boy; he went ahead of the rest of us and the first thing off the boat was the crate.’

Ivar took in all this information, trying to piece together what all this implied and he determined he needed more to work with.

‘Tell me, what happened after the merchandise was unloaded. Did he hide the crate?’

‘No, the crate was in the assigned room when we all brought in the rest, still nailed shut too. The Earl granted us his hospitality to rest after our journey.’

Again Ivar was silent, trying very hard to picture in his mind what could have happened. If (Y/N) was in the crate and this Amund was the one responsible for getting her out why did he leave it sealed?

‘Big enough for two…’ he mused, thinking that if there was a man strong enough inside with her he could break out of the crate with her then she could have escaped with him.

‘Was this crate ever damaged, or moved?’ he asked the crewman.’

‘No, at least not to my knowledge, but the journey had been harder on my body than usual in my advanced age. When the Earl offered us rest I rested, but I did hear rumors.’ the man continued.

‘Rumors?’

‘The merchants spoke of one of our crewmen walking into the Great Hall carrying an unconscious woman. I never saw her, but she was the topic of much gossip while we restocked the ship.’

‘Did anyone on your ship see this woman, even a glimpse of her?’

‘I can not say with certainty, I can only say that Amund smuggled someone out of Kattegat.’

The anger for the old man’s lack of knowledge was red hot and only cooled by his relief of finally having a lead.

Thank you for telling what you could, please enjoy the feast with your family. It is a celebration in the honor of you and all traders like you, what would our world look like without brave men like you all.’ the prince complimented as he dismissed the man.

As soon as the man was out of earshot Freydis, silent as death, immerged from the shadows of the dim lit room.

‘Spread the word, I want this man, Amund identified, and followed. He shouldn’t be able to sneeze without me knowing when and where.’ Ivar ordered, his voice much harder than it had been mere seconds ago.

‘For how long?’

‘As long as it takes for him to let down his guard and let the information slip.’

While Ivar’s spies began to focus on Amund, all the way in Denmark, (Y/N) was adapted into her new life.

In the first week of her new life as a thrall she quickly realized two things.

The first was that the life of a nun and the life of a thrall was eerily similar in many regards. An older, more hardened and experienced woman would assign tasks to her and then would judge if the task was completed correctly and met her standards. If she did well she would be given another, often more challenging task, but if it did not meet Hilda’s standards there was punishment.

It was a rare occasion when (Y/N) was on the receiving end of Hilda’s wrath, which was why her punishments always seemed so harsh in comparison to the other girls.

The second thing was that, even despite the hatred the head thrall clearly had for her, she greatly preferred the life of a thrall over the life she had fled from.

Sure the shed the thralls all shared was cold and hardly much of a shelter at all but she slept fine knowing she wouldn’t wake up to Ivar’s rage.

And even better she found other Christians among the women she now shared status with.

It felt as if she had been welcomed into a new church, even if it had only been a small circle consisting of three women of various ages.

There was Kendra, the youngest being only around nineteen who had been captured and sold from York. Dawn was in her mid thirties and was a cook, she had never said where she was from originally, just that she had been only thirteen when she became the old cook’s apprentice. Finally there was Megan who was closer to (Y/N)’s age being twenty four, she was originally from Essex.

After two years of hiding her faith from her tyrannical husband, praying amongst others was euphoric. Holding hands in prayer was what she looked forward to most when she awoke at first light.

Every morning she would be awakened by Hilda whacking a wooden stick against the walls of the shed from outside before the doors of the shed were thrown open.

‘Get up! Work to be done!’ she boomed unnecessarily.

It was common knowledge that anyone still laying down by the time the doors opened would not only be promptly hit with the stick but they also would get no first meal.

The term meal was used loosely, it was only gr Rx bone broth and uncooked crops or, if they were so lucky, scraps from feasts.

Today’s meal was bone broth and carrots, after receiving her portion (Y/N) went to the corner with her small group and they shared a brief prayer over your meal before eating quickly.

‘What is your chore list today Kendra?’ she asked the youngest.

‘Caring for the Earl’s stock.’ was the answer she was given.

‘Be sure you give the chickens enough, the last few we’ve cooked were more feathers than meat.’ Dawn sighed.

‘I will be…preparing for a visitor.’ Megan said quietly, hardly touching her small meal.

At this all of them went silent.

Megan was often used as a cleaning girl around the great hall, but on the rare occasion that the Earl had important company she was a bed warmer.

It was a truly horrible fate for any woman but it seemed to be an especially cruel task for a Christian.

Every night before Hilda came in to order everyone to sleep they all joined hands in a silent prayer, but even still it was obvious Megan only prayed for God’s mercy and forgiveness.

(Y/N) reached out and took Megan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘God knows your heart and he knows your mind and spirit. He knows what sins you choose to commit and he knows the sins done against you. He will always forgive your sins and in time he will punish those who have sinned you.’ she encouraged.

Megan held onto the hand that she had been offered. Of course all the women of this small congregation were close, but Megan had such a strong connection and admiration for (Y/N).

The lie that Amund had told the Earl was widely believed and widely discussed in the markets. Meaning it was well known that (Y/N) was a runaway bed warmer herself.

It was for this reason that Megan looked at (Y/N) such wonder and great respect. In her unknowing eyes (Y/N) had done the impossible; escaped a lifetime of being nothing but a common whore for Pagans.

‘Hurry up you dogs! There's work to be done and if even one task isn’t completed then no one eats tonight!’ Hilda’s voice boomed.

Realizing that she hadn’t been focusing on her already cooling broth (Y/N) quickly drank the remaining liquid in the wooden bowl and stuck her carrots into her skirts.

Hopefully she would get a moment to sneak away and eat them before nightfall, if not then she would give it away to a beggar.

They all arose and set out to their assigned work locations.

Hilda sent a glare of pure malice at (Y/N) as she passed her on the way out of the shed.

‘If I hear so much as a word against you from the healers I’ll have you flogged.’ the old haggish woman warned.

‘Yes Hilda.’ (Y/N) replied, the air of respect and responsibility in her tone before she went on.

She had been assigned as a healer’s apprentice due to her telling the Earl she had some experience in that field of work.

Her days were spent gathering herbs and roots, mixing and brewing, occasionally there will be a person who is injured or falls so ill they need physical care and when that happens she would be the one to give them care. She would clean them, try to close up or disinfect their wounds and feed them remedies.

Today when she entered the healer’s hut she was met with the now familiar scent of living rotting flesh.

‘Girl.’ the healer, an old ragged woman named Skadi, called to her from the table where she was laying out her supplies.

‘Who is it?’ the thrall asked as she approached.

‘One of the Earl’s blacksmiths; got his foolish self cut and didn’t think to clean the sore.’

‘Infection, can it be treated?’

‘No, but he’ll survive.’ Skadi said sadly as she placed her necessary materials on a tray.

There were ropes to tie off the blood flow and restrain him, a leather strap to keep the man from biting off or swallowing his tongue, and a red hot ax in order to both remove the limb and cauterize the wound.

You hated doing this but it was necessary, the hut stunk with infection but it didn’t smell of death quite yet.

The man was older, maybe forty but clearly he’d lived a hard life to reach that age. He was quiet but his chest was heaving as if he had been fighting for each breath. His eyes were screwed shut and his head was turned away from his rotting hand.

It truly was disgusting to see a hand that mangled. The wound was still open, but no longer bleeding leaving an open gash caked in blackened blood and crusted puss.

She went about tying him down, making sure to be extra precise when restraining the arm that would soon be handless.

This was how she spent her days, in the hut with the sick and injured. It was a far cry from her old life in Kattegat. She was no longer a prince’s wife that was tended to by a full staff of thralls. Now she was herself thrall and she was called upon to do hard, truly hard, work and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Leaving the hut for the day (Y/N) found herself exhausted but hopeful that the man would be ok once he was rested.

As she made her way back to the shed she chomped on the carrots she had stored away from breakfast, thankful to have them at least in case someone really didn’t finish their chores and no one was given dinner tonight.

It was as she finished her last carrot that something compelled her to look over at the beach as she neared the shed.

There was a ship, of course there was a ship at the beach; where else would a ship be if not at sea. That wasn’t what made her stop in her tracks, it was undoubtedly a Kattegat ship.

By no means was (Y/N) an expert on such things but after two years she could single out Floki’s handiwork from any other boat builder.

Those sails, the dragon figurehead…that was not a merchant ship.

With her heart racing she hurried into the shed and huddled into the corner where she slept, but she did not lay down.

She just sat with her hands fiddling with the threads of her skirts, as she thought back to the morning conversation she’d had.

A visitor, an important enough visitor to be offered a bed warmer.

How had she not thought to ask who this visitor was? She prayed with all her heart that it wasn’t Ivar, but there was no way to be sure.

No, Ivar couldn’t know which boat you snuck onto, even if he did he wouldn’t just devote himself to hunting you.

At least not personally.

Ivar was a prince of a wealthy kingdom, as well as a respected warlord in his own right. What man would dare to disobey him if he ordered them to find you.

Everything was hitting her all at once.

She would have to leave tonight…run until she made it to the next town.

With what? No food, supplies or weapons to protect yourself? This wasn’t like the cold journey to Floki’s that last night. This would be a three day trip by foot. Not to mention it was no longer winter. It was spring and roads would be busy and therefore dangerous. A woman in rags traveling alone was little more than an invitation for a rapist on his way.

It wasn’t ideal by any means but it was either risk the dangers of the road or stay and be turned over to Ivar by whatever man Ivar had sent after her.

‘(Y/N), you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’ Kendra said as she sat beside her.

‘Not to be dramatic, but it feels as if I have.’

[abnormallynice]

TWEWY Joshneku City of Angels AU lets gooooooooo when you just gotta admit "who am I kidding Im never coming back to this even though I reaaally want to asdfgh I'll just post what I have"

[Wall of text of lore below~]

TW// Suicidal ideation Angels wander the city of Shibiya to lead spirits to the afterlife. They cannot be seen, unless they want to be and have no personal want of emotions or free will. They cannot feel the way humans do. Physically or emotionally.

Angel Joshua arrives to lead away suicidal teen, Neku. But he wavers and Neku decides against his decision. Joshua becomes intrigued by Neku when the teenager goes out of their way to save the life of another, when Neku was so ready to give up on their own. It's a spark of fascination for Joshua that quickly fades, as time goes on and the depressed-teen-turned-hero-friend fades to memory.

Years later and Joshua is doing the rounds in a local hospital when he spies a familiar face. Neku, now in scrubs, doing his medical residency. During a young patient's last moments, Neku refuses to let the child die and his eyes meet with Joshua's. Neku doesn't see the angel of course, but a familiar spark lights up in Josh. He begins to follow Neku's daily comings and goings in the hospital, then outside of the hospital. Despite careful (but entertained) warning from his angelic colleges, Joshua makes himself known to Neku, and only Neku.

Apprehensive and disbelieving at first, Neku eventually begins to believe this angel and they become closer (or as close as one can get to a being with little comprehension about Emotions). Neku decided on a medical career since the day he helped save a (now) friend's life. He wanted to help people but realized that the job was a lot harder on one's emotional and mental well-being. Unfortunately, you lose as many lives as you save in his profession. In talks with Joshua, Neku remembers another thing he loved to do: sing. He never had time to indulge more in this hobby, thanks to his studies but after Joshua mentions how he's got a nice voice, he begins to experiment with the idea of writing music. We also see the two try to make sense of Joshua's sudden interest in human free will, and thanks to a friend(?) of Joshua's, they locate someone interesting: a fallen Angel. He explains that when an Angel falls from Grace and obtain free will, they become human and receive all the pros and cons that come with it. However, it's not an easy thing for an Angel to do; physically and morally. Also fun fact: fallen angels can see other angels, all the time.

Regardless, Neku starts catching feelings for Joshua and the Angel finds himself mentally struggling to make sense of human attraction. It's like an itch he can never reach, much less scratch. Frustrated and unable to get through Joshua's hard shell (or understand his motives), Neku leaves Shibuya without resolution with Josh.

Joshua is an Angel assigned to Shibuya, and thus unable to leave to look for Neku. The time apart does something to him, and he feels what he believes is loneliness. Or heartache? Whatever it is, the thought of never seeing Neku again is horrifying. He does the unthinkable and Falls. When he wakes up, everything hurts. Hurts. He bleeds, his stomach turns from hunger, his eyes ache and tears stream down his face. But he's...happy. He feels exuberant joy. Joshua travels across the boundaries of his world, exits Shibuya and follows Neku's trail.

Neku answers the door to a rain-soaked, ripped clothing, feet bleeding, wide grin now-human, Joshua. He has little time to process the scene before him, before Joshua word vomits all these new sensations he's been having and confesses his feelings for Neku. How else can Neku respond but with a kiss (now that they can physically touch each other) and they spend the night together.

Neku later explains that he needed some alone time to think, so he cashed in a favor. He left to take a break, but then took the opportunity to make lemonade, so to speak. Neku used a friend's recording studio outside the city to write a song and record it. Upon hearing it, Joshua was brought to tears. It was beautifully melancholic, but hopeful. It suited Neku.

A few days on and the couple is relishing this time together... but disaster inevitably arrives. Neku leaves on a bike to retrieve some groceries, leaving Joshua behind with a "Be right back." Only minutes later does Joshua feel anxiety grip him and he knows something bad has happened. He runs the road that Neku took, finding the young man in the street, having been in a traffic accident. Neku mumbles something about a beautiful light, then dies in Joshua's arms.

The days both drag on and fly by as Joshua tries to now live as a human without the person he wanted to be human with. Despite it all, Neku had met good people and they help Joshua through his turmoil. Eventually, Joshua decides to release Neku's song to the world and it grips anyone who hears it. His life is lost, but his voice will live on and fill his (and others) world with music.

Congrats on making it this far please enjoy this [your favorite donut]

[jerzwriter]

Trystan and Carolina find themselves with lots of time to kill. But when Carolina discovers how Trystan has been occupying himself, she has some feelings about it...

Book: Crimes of Passion Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: Approx. 900 A/N: Thank you to this anon for the ask that inspired this. The prompt can be found in the ask, and it's bolded below (I want to keep it a secret until you get to it!) Participating in @choicesaprilchallenge24

The sun was beginning to set on the busy city street where Carolina and Trystan were staked out. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Carolina lowered the visor, adjusting her glasses and fluffing her hair to ensure her earpiece was still covered. Luke said he’d let them know as soon as their subject was on the move, but as the stakeout approached its third hour, Carolina figured they were just waiting for the word to head home.  

She searched through radio stations, but nothing caught her ear. If she played one more game of Candy Crush, it was possible she'd lose her mind, and she was out of interesting things to read. Trystan had already been gone for about fifteen minutes. He said he needed to use the restroom, and Carolina planned on using that same excuse to stretch her legs the moment he returned. Until then, people-watching would have to suffice.

It was during that people-watching when she spied Trystan heading back toward the car. She was eager to hop out and tell him it was his turn to man their post, but something in his demeanor stopped her in her tracks. Trystan opened the door and slid into his seat, doing his best to avoid eye contact with his partner.

An average woman might not have noticed something was amiss, but Carolina was not your average woman. Gone was his non-stop chatter, the flirtatious energy that usually made these long assignments bearable. But today, he hadn’t so much as looked at her in the past hour, and he was sniffling more than she’d ever heard him before. Knowing it was next to impossible for him to go too long without talking, she waited... but when another ten minutes of silence engulfed them, she had met her breaking point.

“Trystan!” she blurted so loud that the lanky ex-prince jumped in his seat, slamming his head into the roof of the car.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, rubbing the quickly forming bump on his head.

“No, but I do want you to tell me what’s going on. Why are you so quiet today?"

“I haven’t been quiet,” he said, realizing how ridiculous that sounded the moment he said it. He was caught. He knew it, and the smirking beauty seated at his side knew it, too. He turned to her, ready to confess, but Carolina's cheerful manner faltered when she saw his swollen, red eyes.

“Trystan! Have you been crying? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” he sniffed, motioning toward the window. “It's just allergies.”

“Allergies? You don’t have allergies.”

“Maybe it’s something I picked up,” he shrugged. But one look at Carolina's eyes and he knew she already knew.

“All right. Hand it over.”

“No.”

“Trystan, you know I'm going to get it from you one way or another, so why don’t you do us both a favor and make this easy.”

“You have no right to...” he huffed with feigned indignance. But Carolina ignored him; lurching over the center console, she pulled his phone out of his hands.

“That’s theft!” He protested, but Carolina had already entered his passcode and was scrolling through his phone.

“Lina... it’s not... it’s not what you think!” He fretted. He considered yanking the phone from her hands and running out the door, but technically, they were still on the job.

He watched as Carolina’s face tensed. Slinking back into his seat, he let out a long sigh. His goose was cooked.

“Trystan...” she muttered, her voice laced with disappointment. “You promised me you’d stop this!”

Abashed, he raised his hands to his face, a pale attempt to hide his shame. “I know,” he wailed. "I know!"

“You promised me! You promised me you'd stop, but you just went ahead and did it anyway! It's like an addiction!"

“Baby, I swear! I haven’t done it in weeks. I swear! But we’ve been stuck in this car for so long, and... my will was weakened."

“I understand the need to pass the time, but by doing this?" She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, exasperation settling in. “You can’t keep watching those videos of baby animals being born! I can’t keep watching you cry!”

“I know!”

“Why can't you be normal! You know, like checking out hot chicks and hot dudes on Instagram! But no... you need to watch this!”

“If we're being honest, Carolina, some people would appreciate that this is what I enjoy watching. It’s a testament to my warm heart and sensitivity.”

A delicate smile appeared on Carolina's lips, and warmth was evident in her eyes as she reached over to cup her beloved’s cheek.

“Wouldn’t those traits get you imprisoned in Drakovia.”

He raised his hand and covered hers, a beguiling smile firmly in place. “Why do you think I’m in New York? Watch one with me?”

“No!” Carolina insisted.

“Please, just one! I found one with this adorable baby dee...”

“No,” Carolina laughed, as Trystan pushed her back against the car door, lavishing gentle kisses on her neck. “Please!" Her giggles intensified. "Please stop!”

“Not a chance,” he winked, meeting her lips with his own. Carolina's hands grasped at his hair as the heat between them intensified. They were lost in a world that only included each other when a loud, crackling sound disrupted them.

“Hey, Guys!" Luke interrupted. "It doesn't look like you’re cracking this case tonight. The Falcon snuck out an alternate exit and was just spotted at Del Frisco's. You’ve got the rest of the night free unless... do you want to meet at Del Frisco's?”

“No!” Carolina yelled as Trysten belted out a "Fuck no!"

"Uh, sorry...Luke," Carolina smiled. "It's just that we have... other plans."

"Yeah," Luke groaned in disgust. "I'm gonna log off on that note!"

Trystan turned back to Carolina, his eyes alight with seductive mischief. His lips had nearly returned to hers when she grabbed his shirt and pushed him away.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" She teased. "I could pull up videos of newborn baby seals or something... if you prefer..."

"Nah," Trystan breathed as his teeth tugged at her ear. We can invite them to the after-party."

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately

[city-spies-confessions]

Brain stop shipping Mother with random ass people challenge impossible

.

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Pt. 16

The Qunari Plot

Trespasser Masterpost Previous: Viddasala

Josephine: Your agents confirm there are gaatlok barrels in Denerim’s palace?

Leliana: Yes, and in Val Royeaux, and across the Free Marches. The Winter Palace is not the only target.

Cullen: The Qunari are one order from destroying every noble house in the known world.

Josephine: There is a bright side: warning the ambassadors will remind them of the Inquisition’s value.

Leliana: Not when the Inquisition is responsible for that threat.

Dialogue options:

Angry: We’re the leak?! [1]

Sad: We’re the leak. [2]

Stoic: Tell me what you know. [3]

1 - Angry: We’re the leak?! PC: They came in through us? Leliana: Yes. PC: How, damn it? [4]

2 - Sad: We’re the leak. PC: This is our fault. Leliana: Fault, no. But our responsibility. PC: (Sighs.) How did it happen? [4]

3 - Stoic: Tell me what you know. PC: I take it you have new information. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Servant arrested Leliana: The elven servant handling the barrels confessed to working for the Qunari.

Guard arrested Leliana: The elven servant handling the barrels has disappeared. Notes in his quarters suggest he was a Qunari spy.

Josephine: But the servant was Orlesian. That implicates Orlais, not us.

Leliana: But the barrels arrived at the Winter Palace on the Inquisition’s supply manifest.

Cullen: (Sighs.) How are we supposed to fight a war when we can’t even trust our own people?

5 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Who’s our leak? [6]

General: We’re part of the problem. [7]

General: We can still do good. [8]

General: What’s done is done. [9]

6 - Investigate: Who’s our leak? PC: Do you know who got the barrels onto the Inquisition manifest? Leliana: Yes. Several of the Inquisition’s elven workers have gone missing. I had their backgrounds checked. They joined the Inquisition after fleeing the chaos in Kirkwall. Cullen: I remember when Kirkwall was at its worst. Many of the city’s elves converted to the Qun, trying to find a better life. Josephine: And the Qunari turned them into spies. [back to 5]

7 - General: We’re part of the problem. PC (sided mages): A few years ago, we railed at the mages at Redcliffe for becoming corrupt. PC (sided templars): A few years ago, we railed at the templars for becoming corrupt.

PC: We did the same to the Grey Wardens. (Chuckles.) Look at us now. [10]

8 - General: We can still do good. PC: The Inquisition stopped Corypheus and saved the world. We can’t let an outside threat change who we are. [10]

9 - General: What’s done is done. PC: We can’t change what happened, only how we react to it. [10]

10 - Scene continues.

Josephine: I fought to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council. And for what? So we could deceive and threaten those we claimed to protect?

Cullen: Once we locate the spies—

Josephine: This isn’t about the spies! You hid the Qunari body. You’ve all but seized control of the Winter Palace!

Cullen: We did what was right, not what was politically convenient!

Josephine: Do you know what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They are planning to dismantle us as we speak! And perhaps they are right.

The Anchor flares, and the PC doubles over. The advisors move to check on them.

PC: (Cries out in pain.)

Dialogue options:

Anxious: I don’t want to die. PC: The mark is… I thought it was fine. It’s been under control for years. All the demons I fought, all the rifts I closed… I don’t want to die. (Sighs.) Not knowing that the world still needed me. So I’m going to the Darvaarad. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Confused: I don’t know what’s happening. PC: So… it’s been getting worse. I don’t know why. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. What I do know is that the Qunari need to be stopped. So I need to get to the Darvaarad while I can still fight.

Angry: This fucking thing! PC: Shit! Damn it! We save Ferelden, and they’re angry! We save Orlais, and they’re angry! We close the Breach twice, and my own hand wants to kill me! Could one thing in this fucking world just stay fixed? (Sighs.) I need to get to the Darvaarad. You can all fight amongst yourselves one I’m… once I’m back. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Stoic: Don’t worry about it. PC: It’s fine. It’s under control for now. But we don’t have a lot of time. I need to get to the Darvaarad.

Romancing Cullen Cullen moves forward and they hug the PC.

Romancing Josephine Josephine: (Breathes shaprly.) They kiss.

Leliana: Thank you, Inquisitor.

Josephine: Would you… would you like us to inform the Exalted Council of the danger?

Dialogue options:

General: Inform the summit. [11]

General: Keep it quiet for now. [12]

11 - General: Inform the summit. PC: Yes. If we fail, the Exalted Council needs to know what happened. Leliana: I will inform them personally. Josephine: Leliana, I can… Leliana: No. Your job is hard enough already. This is my responsibility. [13]

12 - General: Keep it quiet for now. PC: We can’t finish this fight while worrying about the Exalted Council. For now, we keep this to ourselves. Josephine: Understood, Inquisitor. [13]

13 - Scene continues.

Cullen: I’ll have guards ready at the eluvian, in case the Qunari attack the palace.

Leliana: Maker watch over you.

Next (optional): Unknown Ruin Next: The Darvaarad

[worriedvision]

Here is part 2 of this Kazuha fic. Gender neutral reader, happier ending for the reader. I was going to go with them getting with Gorou, then it went to Ayato, then it went towards Ayaka, and THEN back to Gorou smh. In the end, I did go with Ayaka lol. Might do parts for Ayato and Gorou as well, as those ideas were also different lol.

--

You weren’t unfriendly towards those you spoke to. Thankfully, you didn’t deal with the breakup too immaturely, you knew better than to sulk in public. You had work to do, and you weren’t about to let Kazuha’s hurtful actions affect your work ethic. Over time, you successfully got over him. Well, a big part of that was him leaving Inazuma, never once returning in the time it took for you to build up a great reputation. 

However, you were lonely. Because you couldn’t trust people, you never let people get too close to you. You spend your spare time working on your business, to your parents displeasure. You were always told off by your mother in your house while she visited, only to find out you had yet to make a friend. One day, she insisted you should go along to one of the planned meetings instead of them - sure, they were currently the leaders of the clan, but you were soon to take over.

There, you saw faces you knew. They all knew better than to get too close, and you were about to leave until you accidentally bump into someone, them tumbling to the ground and landing on their backside. You gasp, expending a hand without thought and her gladly taking it.

“Sorry, I should have seen where I was going.” You chuckle. She looks away bashfully, holding a fan to her face, and you hear people whispering.

‘Is that Kamisato Ayaka?’

Your eyes widen, and you realise this was arguably one of the most important people here. Seeing her brother walk towards you two, you suddenly realise he must have seen you bump into her.

“It’s quite alright, really.” She states. “I was hoping to have a chat with you.”

“Oh, okay!” You smile, Ayato giving you a glance - warning you not to harm Ayaka.

--

You and Ayaka were inseparable. You both bonded over struggling with forming bonds (although your reasons were not similar). 

In fact, you had started to feel more romantic feelings for her. You couldn’t help but admire her, and you realised quickly you got slightly jealous when Thoma escorted Ayaka with her errands. You knew better than to blame Thoma, you knew it was most certainly Ayato being protective over his sister.

So, you decided to find a way to confess your feelings for her in a quieter place, somewhere only the both of you knew. It was under Inazuma City, a place she showed you when you became stronger friends. To your pleasure, you couldn’t stop smiling when she admitted she also felt these feelings. You both knew how overly protective her brother could be, and not to mention the rumours that could easily spread if you two were public, so you stuck with being friends. 

One thing led to another, and you both knew you were a real couple. Past was the initial wave of pure love that comes with relationships, and you still had a healthy dose of admiration and love for one another. 

So, you take the risk of Ayato forbidding you from dating his sister when confessing you  were planning to marry her.

--

“How long have you been dating my dear sister, _?” Ayato asks. He, of course, knew the answer. After all, he had his own spies that got all the details needed. 

You answer truthfully, Ayato staring at you as if he’s asking you to continue.

“I wish to propose to her.” You cut to the chase, Ayato widening his eyes. “I promise not to bring any danger her way, and I am not doing this for the clan’s name. I love her, and I cannot see myself with anyone else.”

‘Even Kazuha?’ Ayato wants to ask. He holds back this question, deciding to invite Kazuha to come along to the wedding to test your loyalty out.

“Very well, you have my blessing.” Ayato states, taking note of how relieved and happy you look at this reaction.

--

The day comes, the wedding underway, and you can’t help but look out at the audience, something feeling strange about this. Although you couldn’t see him, it felt like you were being watched by the man that embarrassed you. Brushing it off, you proceed with the wedding.

The entire ceremony was great, it was the reception where he showed his face. Sat next to Ayato, looking at you with this strange look. Guilt? Yearning? Did he want to be with Ayaka instead of you? You really didn’t know.

Kazuha walks over to you while you went to get your newly wedded wife a drink, her chatting with Thoma. You know he’s trying to find some words to start a conversation, but you wanted nothing to do with him. No amount of apologies will remove the horrendous experience of him using you to keep his clan’s name from dying, attempting to trap you in an unhappy and loveless marriage.

The moment he opened his mouth, finally finding the correct words he wanted to say, you walk away with the drinks.

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 16

HELLO. This is bad, I admit it. It's a cry-your-heart-out chapter, I warn you. Oh and there's a Haymitch POV too!

MASTERLIST

16. Risk something

The day after turns out to be one of the best of your life. You decide to forget about the Haymitch situation until he returns, there is no point in worrying about the future when you could be bombed any time, and put your head on the job.

You were right, being a teacher is your life. Maybe not only that, maybe you can have other things, but this is definitely your road. 

«What about we try to read a real book tomorrow? As for the ones who can already do that, I’ll assign some lectures from the library of the District.»

The kids look satisfied with the lesson and you can breathe again. You were really nervous they could hate you or think you are incapable of being a teacher, but it went well. The kids from your district know you as Holly’s daughter, so they trust you, and you tried some calculus, reading a book and some music. For the first day, especially after a trauma, you think it’s okay.

Most of these kids saw their family dying. You won’t push it. If they will find contentment in a book you will see it as a success.

«Can I come in?» 

A voice asks you and you see Finnick Odair at the door. His face is bruised and his expression is broken, but he’s standing up, so… silver lining, you guess.

«Finnick! Of course you can. Do you want an orange? Some kids didn’t eat their snack, which is weird but… well, now that they are in district 13 they can be spoiled sometimes, don’t you think? It’s their right, they are kids.»

He raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. «Am I making you uncomfortable?» 

«A little,» You confess. «You are… Finnick Odair.» 

It’s like meeting a celebrity. It’s okay when you are saved from the games, and you don’t even know what is happening, but here it’s a little weird, like you and him don’t belong in the same world.

He peels an orange, slowly. «Still have my charme, I see.»

You know what he is doing. He is scared to death for Annie so he covers behind flirting. «It’s not that, you know you are not my type.»

«Yeah, no dentures, no walking stick, no white hair.» He jokes and you immediately throw a book at him. 

«Oh shut up, he's blonde.» You point out, «As much as I would like you to miss me, why are you in a school?» 

He sits on a table, he surely can’t sit in a kid's chair. «They’ll try to do a spot with Katniss. Pass-pro, they call it. Katniss is… let’s say it, Katniss is a bad actress.»

«Poor kid.» You echo him. You and Katniss are not friends, but that girls’ life is a nightmare. Forced to be the Mockingjay, forced to be a fighter all her life.

«They want us to do a commercial video. We will tell what happened after our games, and what President Snow made us do.»

You look at him in disbelief. «You and me?»

«Well, I’m the sex symbol and you are the princess, so yeah. Until Katniss warms up.»

«No.» Your voice is harsher than you wanted to be, but you can’t say anything about what happened in Capitol City. That shit made you a murderer. You killed a man, and people like you become war criminals quickly. You can’t give anyone a weapon like that. At least, not for free.

«Daisy…»

«They will use our secrets, Finnick.» You try to resonate with him, you know he is not dumb, he is quite smart. «What if we win and then they turn on us? Say things like we were Snow’s spies?» 

«We are not.» He answers, and he lends his arm. «You could ask for something in return.»

«I want complete immunity for me, for Effie Trinket and the prep team, if they are alive.» You demand in front of Alma Coin. She doesn’t like you any more that she likes Haymitch or Effie, but this is the only way you can do it. You thought about Portia and Cinna too, but they organised the revolution so you don’t think they can be in danger.

«Complete immunity? Miss Trinket…»

«Miss Trinket is an asset of the revolution and she was well aware that, if she changed her job, the kids from the district would have been in worse hands. This or nothing. I’m not eager to do this.» You don’t have that much confidence, but you want complete immunity for your Effie. And, well, for yourself. 

She looks at you like she wants to murder you with her bare hands. «This better be good.»

«It will be.»

The preparation team is hardly professional, but you and Effie manage to recreate a District evolution of your makeup and hair from the games. You sculpt your face with contour and use eyeliner for a doe look, like you are an innocent princess. 

«How do you feel?» She asks you while she braids your hair. You go for a braid, but looser than Katniss’s, because you two are different people but at the same time you are on her team. «I miss the daisies in your hair.»

«I think you should take this eyeliner. You deserved it.» Her hands soothe you, and she deserves something. She had a bad time adjusting and nobody cares. And you want the eyeliner too. «I feel… scared. I don’t want to tell them the truth.»

«You are so strong, darling girl. You can do this.» She squeezes your arms in encouragement.

When you are ready, they take you to the cameras. They are not as prepared as Caesar, but it’s still intimidating. You can tell Katniss panicked.   

«My name is Daisy Pinecone and I was a tribute for the Hunger Games this year.» You begin, and your voice is okay, not too broken but still emotional. «When you are a tribute, President Snow asks you to do some job for him. He… he said I needed to kill a man in order to keep everybody safe. He threatened my mother, my mentor and my escort. The man I killed was not a good man, Snow sent me to him as a reward for something, he wanted to-» You stop, but you know you have to finish it. «To rape me. When I killed him, tho, I didn’t do it for me. I did because I wanted to protect the people I loved from President Snow. This is the man you think is a saint.»

The camera is off now. You are shaking a little, but you manage to keep it up without crying. You did it. Now everybody will know you are a killer. 

You go to your room, just because you need to be alone, but you find Haymitch at your door and suddenly everything is better and you forget about the interview.

«You are back!» You push yourself into him, and he accepts your eager kisses, but you can sense something is wrong. You don’t have that face when a stunning girl wants to smother you with kisses. «I missed you so, so, so much.» 

«I missed you too, babygirl.» Babygirl it’s new. It’s not yours, and it’s odd. You love Sweetheart, occasionally Gorgeous, especially when he is turned on or really tired, but this… you don’t like it so much.

You close your door behind you. 

«Then kiss me properly!» You joke. And this time he lifts you up and takes your breath away with his lips. Again, you don’t have that much experience, but he is really, really good at what he does to you, you are pudding in his hands.

«You, you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.» He whispers against your lips. «You make me crazy.»

«They let you out?» You want confirmation, and he nods. «For good?»

«For good.»

You blush. «Take me to bed, wouldn’t you? I want to welcome you back properly.»

«I can’t.» He takes a deep breath and he takes a step back. You frown, confused. «Daisy… I don’t even know how to begin.»

«You are breaking up with me.» It’s not a question, it’s a fact. His body language, his words, the expression on his face. It is crystal clear. But why?

«Something happened.»

«What the hell could have happened in a rehabilitation centre? Is it for the last time? You didn’t hurt me, you did your best and it’s-» 

«Inez is Marjorie.» He blurts out.

You see the world crumble. This, this is news. Inez, the cute nurse who helped you so much, is in reality Haymitch’s long-last girlfriend, the one who died in a fire when he was sixteen. 

You nearly faint, he has to catch you and now his arms are around yours. It should be illegal how protected you feel even now.

«Pardon me?» You try not to look puzzled, but fail miserably. 

«I reacted that way too, I really thought she was part of the hallucinations.» 

The memories creep in your head. “Get out of her, you demon!”, he voiced in the hospital, before crashing your ribs.

«She didn’t tell me, we talked a lot.» You point out with a whisper. 

«She didn’t want to overstep, she wanted to discuss it with me before.» As much as you don’t like it, you can get why she did it.

«You are getting back with her.» You accuse him.

«She almost died for me, and waited for me all these years… I don’t abandon people, sweetheart.»

He doesn’t. You know how to live without him, yours is not even a relationship, but Marjorie is the love of his life, the girl he has always dreamed about in his sleep. His guilt is about her.

Dear heavens, it was hard enough to compete with a ghost, but the ghost turned real. And you feel ashamed thinking that. 

Marjorie has been through hell and returned. She was just a girl when President Snow tried to kill her, she… she deserves a happy ending. You just don’t want it to be at your expense, but it seems like it’s not a possibility.

«I understand.» You nod, and you can understand it. He blamed himself for her death all his life. «They took her away from you when you were sixteen and now you can be reunited, that’s fairytale stuff.» 

You blink repeatedly to prevent you from crying, and take a step back before he could hug you. You can’t deal with his hugs now. The scent of woods, you’ll never feel it again. You’ll never feel him again.

«That’s not… I don’t…» He stumbles into his words. 

«She’s the love of your life. I refuse to be the wicked witch.»

You really, really try not to cry. And you fail.

«You couldn’t never be the villain in my story.» He tries again to hug you, and now you are trapped against the wall but he’s the one who takes a step back when he sees the expression on your face.

«I’m trying not to be selfish here and that’s not something I’m good at.» You whisper. Tell me you want me, tell me you don’t want her, you want me, you are good with me, you feel something for me, choose me. I’ll be selfish if you ask me. Risk something, I have got nothing. Please.

«Yeah, same situation here.» He takes a step forward and he cups your face with his hands. «Listen to me.»

«You are not my mentor.» You manage a little smile.

«Just this once. You go and live your best life because, the things about being selfish? It’s bullshit. You are a fucking good person. And you are smarter than most people out there. And I won’t mention you are fucking beautiful.»

«Seriously, your language is outrageous.» He ignores you. 

«Will you do that? Live your life, forget about me?» He asks. No, you don’t want to forget about him. You don’t want to live your life without the first man you ever…

«But we could be friends.» You offer, tears in your eyes.

«You want us to be friends?» He repeats in disbelief.

«Yeah, I mean… you saved my life. I don’t want to forget you.» You don’t want to forget how his lips feel against yours, his moans, his kisses, the spot on his neck that you love to bite. Will she bite him? Kiss him? Sleep with him? She will hold hands with him and probably marry him, they are both in their 40s. He will call her “Sweetheart”. You can’t stand with the thought because you know you are the one who will be forgotten.

«Friends.» He repeats. «If that’s what you want.»

His eyes lingers on your lips a little too much, his face is too close to yours, your nose touches his. When you give him a chaste peck for goodbye, he quickly transforms it into a long, passionate kiss. In a moment his hands are around your body and his breath is in yours and it becomes almost painful how you need air but won’t let go.

«Friends don’t do that.» You point out, your chest going up and down trying to breathe. He is already cheating on Marjorie, because he has a silent promise with her. He doesn’t cheat. Are you making him do that? Are you the bad person, the wicked witch, the young seductress? Maybe. But you love him, and you don’t feel bad, you just feel desperate.

«One last time.» He mutters, just as despairing as you are. 

«One last time.» You agree, how couldn’t you agree on that. His hands are on your body, his lips are on your skin as he quickly undresses you to feel you.  

You make love through the tears. Every touch, every kiss and every moan is filled with emotions. It’s not rough, it’s not fast, it’s slow and all you want to do is taste him another time, for the last time.

And then, just like that, it’s over.

«I can’t imagine a world without you.» You whisper against his bare chest. You are not ready to let him go.

«It’s better this way, Daisy. You will live your age without dragging me around and I…»

«You’ll stay with her.» You try not to put poison in your words, but you fail. Again.

«I thought she was dead, Daisy. She lost her family because of me.»

«Stop calling me Daisy, you never called me Daisy this much.» You fight, angry. «I’m letting you go, I’m doing the right thing here, but don’t call me Daisy. And don’t you dare call her “Sweetheart”. Or Gorgeous.» You sound really pissed off, but when you watch him and you see him as broken as you are, you add a little «Please.»

He nods. «You know I… care for you.» You care for me, I love you.

«Of course I know.» It’s just too painful, you’ll stay in this bed forever.

«Come here, a little more.» 

«A little more.» You promise, and you stay in his embrace.

The rehabilitation centre is not welcoming, but the whole District isn’t. And the day I’m supposed to be alone, fucking Holly Pinecone has to shout against my face.

You don’t shout at a victor. You just don’t. But she is Daisy’s mother, so I try to keep my mouth closed. 

«I can’t believe you slept with my baby.» She storms into my room like a fury. I have to take a deep, deep breath. «I can’t believe you have a relationship with her.»

Ours is hardly a relationship, but it’s not the right time to point it out. «She’s not your baby, Holly, she’s an adult.»

«She was born a year after you won the games, you pervert!» She yells. Again.

«Yeah well I’m really old so that doesn’t make her a baby.» The deadly glare I earn tells me to shut up. «It happened, okay? I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it happened. I like her.»

«Yeah, you like her and she worships your ground. She loves you.»

«She hardly loves me, Hol.» Doesn’t she? She’s younger, I know that. 

I really didn’t want it to happen. It was meant to be a soft spot. The gorgeous woman I knew had a little crush on you. And for a year it was like that… But then she was chosen for the Hunger Games, and I didn’t want to lose her. I just couldn’t. And I wanted to do *shit* like making her laugh. 

«She changed. Between you and that Trinket woman… I don’t recognize her anymore.» 

«The games change you, I can tell. Give her time.»

«You give her time! Because she is young, Haymitch. I’m not saying you are a bad man, okay? I know you. But because I know you, I can see how wrong it is. Daisy is smart, smart enough to have a happy fulfilled life after this madness will end. How would she spend her life with you? Cleaning your house and your vomit?» 

Fuck, she’s not wrong. Annoying, but right, and I played the same play in my head everyday at the beginning. But she had the right to decide too.

«We never talked about future plans, Holly you are a mother but…»

«You. You didn’t think about this because, let’s be frank here, you won’t have that much of a future anymore. She won’t lift a finger without your permit and you know it. She loves kids so much she always wanted to be a teacher. You want kids? No. And she’s in her twenties now. Now would be the time to make them. She is so curious, she wants to travel. Do you want to travel? No. You are perfectly content to stay in your victor’s house in District 12. It’s bad to say, but you saw how she looked at Capitol City in the interviews, how she loved that life. And I’m sure she would love travelling through the Districts too. 

Do you think she’ll do that when you will scoff just one time at the idea? No. She will be by your side, just like she spent all her days in the district calling the nurses for you.»

«You are being unfair.» She’s being totally right. 

«And you are being selfish. I’m not saying that you should love her, but if you care for her…»

«Of course I care for her.» I spat. I almost blew up the whole revolution for Daisy Pinecone. 

«Set her free. She will cry a bit but she won’t spend her life hovering over you.» 

«We think the time is up for you, Abernathy. You are okay.» I didn’t feel okay. To be fair, tho, I didn’t feel like shit, not like before. The trembles were bad, but the hallucinations were the worst. I saw my family dying countless times, and Daisy more than once. 

«At least… you.» 

I couldn’t be hallucinating again, but that nurse is… no, it can’t be happening.

«You can go now.» She said, and I stopped her wrist. Not exactly the right behaviour to go out of the rehabilitation centre, I knew that, but her reaction couldn’t be stopped. 

She closed her eyes.

«Marjorie?» I tried. 

«My name is Inez.» She couldn’t lie. She was never able to lie. «Here.» 

She quickly explained. The district had spies twenty five years ago too, they knew President Snow was going to set a fire at my family and at her, they managed to save her but not my mother and brother.

I had to admit I was pissed they couldn’t. Or they wouldn’t. 

«I saw you all these years.» She confessed. «They told me not to contact you, and it was impossible from here anyway.»

All these years, all the guilt, the thought of her trapped in a burning house. I felt tears through my eyes. «I am so sorry.»

«It’s not your fault, Haymitch, just Snow’s.» I heard her voice, but that didn’t change anything. «But we need to talk.»

«Yes, we surely do.» I agreed. 

«I missed you so much.» She was crying now. I couldn’t handle women crying that well. Effie maybe, because I was used to her, and with Daisy was easy, but… «Do you think we could, I don’t know, try again? I know it’s stupid, it’s really stupid but all these years I was trapped here and…»

She was trapped here because of me, that was the hidden truth. 

«I’m with Daisy.» I managed to say. «You met her.»

«Yeah, the kid. I forgot about her.» She laughed awkwardly, «Then I’ll go.»

«We still need to talk.»

«We’ll talk, Haymitch. Go to your girlfriend.»  

«You are back!» Daisy jumped on me, so happy. She was always so happy, it was always a joy to be around her. «I missed you so, so, so much.» 

«I missed you too, babygirl.» That was true. After two weeks together all the time, it has been a torture not to kiss her and hug her whenever I wanted. 

«Then kiss me properly!» I had to talk to her. I didn’t need to linger on her glorious lips or her hips or her breasts. 

«You, you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.» I told her, just because I knew she would make a squeaky sound I liked so much. «You make me crazy.»

«They let you out?» She wanted to know, with her big doe eyes. She had eyeliner on them today, Heaven knows where she managed to find it. «For good?»

«For good.» At least I hoped. I just wanted to get wasted, on wine, on her… 

«Take me to bed, wouldn’t you? I want to welcome you back properly.» And that’s tempting. But not right, she deserved more from me. 

«I can’t.» I sighed. «Daisy… I don’t even know how to begin.»

«You are breaking up with me.» Of course not. I didn’t want to break up with her, even if we weren’t in a relationship. I just wanted to let her know about Marjorie. 

«Something happened.» I confessed. 

«What the hell could have happened in a rehabilitation centre? Is it for the last time? You didn’t hurt me, you did your best and it’s-» 

«Inez is Marjorie.» It’s not my secret to tell, and I’m already cheating on her trust. 

«Pardon me?» She looked lost, she almost fainted and when I catched her, I could smell her perfume. She, and that was hilarious, didn’t smell like daisies. She smelled like roses. And that scent was a fucking addiction.  

«I reacted that way too, I really thought she was part of the hallucinations.» 

«She didn’t tell me, we talked a lot.» 

«She didn’t want to overstep, she wanted to discuss it with me before.» 

«You are getting back with her.» No. That was the right thing, but I really didn’t want the right thing.

But then again, she was quick enough to jump into the solution. I knew she didn’t want to break up, but maybe deep down she took the opportunity. She knew she was twenty four, hell, I tried to tell her after the games. In the games there was a thing, that wasn’t almost real, but now it was. And Holly was right.

«She almost died for me, and waited for me all these years… I don’t abandon people, sweetheart.»

«I understand. They took her away from you when you were sixteen and now you can be reunited, that’s fairytale stuff.» 

«That’s not… I don’t…» I didn’t know what to do. That was odd, I wasn’t stupid, but she looked so stubborn. She wanted kids, today was meant to be the first lesson in the school for the district 12 kids. Maybe that was why she had makeup on. She was so excited, she loved kids.

I didn’t want kids. 

She wanted to travel. I hated travelling. She wanted a Capitol life, a life like Effie’s. She could have it.

«She’s the love of your life. I refuse to be the wicked witch.»

«You couldn’t never be the villain in my story.» I tendered at her sight. 

«I’m trying not to be selfish here and that’s not something I’m good at.» 

«Yeah, same situation here.» 

I got it. I knew what I had to do, how it was supposed to be. I was meant to be with Marjorie, she suffered all her life for me, and I wasn’t going to let Daisy do the same. I could let her free. 

Free to live her life, marry a young man and spend her life with a bunch of kids I didn’t want, or to become a model. 

None of the lives she wanted had nothing to do with me. And that was okay, she was too young. Too bright. It wasn’t her fault I was a broken man, but I was not going to let her waste her life with me. 

No matter how much it was going to hurt.

TAG LIST: @crimsonincursive

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Previous Husband AU, Pt 7

(Content warning for abuse and violence)

---

Over the next week, Lena mutes Tom's number on her personal cell and routes her work cell through to her assistant for screening. She works from home-- well, Kara's home, technically-- rocking the satin blouse and pajama bottom look when she needed to be on video chat.

Besides that, she keeps a low profile as she worked out her next steps. During the day, she reaches out to her lawyers, quietly investigating her options before making any moves. Each night, when Kara returns home with takeout, Lena always asks before sharing what strides she's made.

"Are you sure you want to hear about this?" she confirms for the third night in a row. "I have people to help me with all this."

"Lena," Kara says bluntly. "I want to hear about it. I'm in this with you. I want to know what's going on."

Lena gives her a grateful smile. It helps to talk through it-- it not only vents the pressure of stress that builds in her chest throughout the day, but also makes her exit plan all the more real. The light at the end of the tunnel creeps closer by the day.

The good news, Lena explains that night, is that their finances were never joined. They'd signed a pre-nup-- the one thing Lena will ever thank her mother for insisting upon-- which means that besides a few joint investments that Lena won't be hurting to lose, her resources are safe.

Her main concern is her apartment, which has been Tom's home ever since he arrived in National City. Lena doubts he'll move out evem if she demands it, but if push comes to shove, she reasons she can have a team in to pack the place in one day and have the unit listed on the market by noon the next.

No reason for her to step another foot into the apartment again.

It stings a little, she confesses to Kara, to be driven out of her own home. To make even a single concession just to be rid of Tom. But to be rid of him with minimum fuss and zero risk of confrontation is worth sacrificing her pride.

In fact, despite the dread and anguish that had first driven Lena to Kara's door, she now feels... hopeful. She feels like in a way that makes her realize how miserable she's been-- and for how long.

So it's with a smile that Lena sends Kara to work a week to the day since she arrived in tears. Today she upgraded to jeans and a blouse that's soft on her skin, allowing her comfort while also remaining a tad more presentable than her previous hodge podge of dress codes.

Settling onto the couch to thumb through an R&D report, Lena takes a moment to pause, and simply breathe. She feels good.

When she opens her eyes to get down to business, Lena spies Kara's lunch and keys on the counter. Almost as soon as she notices the forgotten items, a knock sounds at the door.

"Dork," Lena mutters with a grin to herself. She plucks lunch and keys both from the counter on her way to the door.

When she opens the door, it's not Kara she sees on the other side.

"Tom."

The air instantly seems to suck from the room, leaving Lena's chest hollow. Every muscle tenses, teetering on the edge of fight or flight.

The smile Tom gives her would be considered congenial, if not for the dark glint of anger in his eyes.

"Hey babe."

Lena swallows the reflexive "what are you doing here?" that rises in her throat, clinging to what little dignity she feels she has left. She lifts her chin, jaw clenching.

"What do you want?"

Tom heaves a sigh. "I missed you too," he drawls sarcastically. His gaze scans the apartment behind her, before Lena too late tries to close the door tighter around her.

"I almost forgot how dramatic you are," he continues. "But a week is stretching it, don't you think? Even for you."

Saying nothing, Lena scowls at him. "You hurt me, Tom."

"You know I didn't mean to, Lee."

"Don't call me that." She's always hated that fucking nickname, and he knows it.

"Look, I'm sorry. It's just, sometimes you get so irrational, it makes me nuts. I snapped, okay? But I promise it won't happen again. We can work through it, together."

The last sounds almost like the promise Lena had made to Kara, but this time it rings hollow. Even as his words spark guilt and shame in her chest, Lena retains the presence of mind to recognize the red flags his tactics are.

Flipping the blame on her.

Casting her as hysterical, irrational.

Downgrading the severity of the event.

Empty promises to do better, next time.

Lena's hand curls into a fist at her side. There won't be a next time.

Tom looks her in the eye. "It's time to come home," he tells her.

Panic rises in Lena's chest. This is it. The final moment between reconciliation or outright confrontation. Lena hates conflict-- always has. She avoids it wherever possible, but right now, she has a choice to make: a single confrontation now to cut ties, or countless more in the future if she goes back.

She makes her choice.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Tom stares at her, his features suddenly unreadable. Then, before she has a chance to react, he lunges towards her and grabs her bicep in a vise grip.

"Hey!" Lena yelps in reflex, pulling back too late to escape.

"We're leaving," he growls. He yanks her from the doorway into the hall, and starts dragging her towards the elevator.

Lena's socked feet slide too easily on the smooth floor, even as she pries unsuccessfully at his fingers. "Ow! Tom, let go! You're hurting me!"

"Shut up!" he growls, yanking her sharply, making her cry out in pain. "If you had just come home, we wouldn't have to go through all this mess."

The elevator door opens, and Tom flings her inside. She bounces off the back wall with a grunt of air escaping her lungs, winding her. Before she can take advantage of her momentary freedom, Tom is right there, pressing against her to pin her against the wall as the elevator closes behind them.

"Stupid bitch. You're so fucking predictable. You know all I had to do to find you was think who would be gullible enough to take your pathetic ass in. And of course it's the cunt who tossed you aside like it was nothing!"

Lena hisses, grimacing as the handrail presses sharply against her spine. "You're the cunt, Tom," she snarls back. "Poor little boy who has to throw women around just to feel like a big strong man--augh!"

Tom's palm cracks across her cheek just as the elevator dings its arrival at the ground floor. He takes Lena roughly by the arm again and pulls her forward once more-- only to stop short of bouncing off another body waiting to step inside the elevator.

"Kara!"

Relief isn't quite the word she'd use to describe the feeling that lifts in her chest. Fear still coats her throat, strangling her. Meanwhile, Kara's pleasant features freeze in surprise-- then darken a moment later as she takes in the scene before her.

Her gaze bounces once between Tom and Lena, scanning Lena for sign of injury before narrowing in on the grip Tom still has on Lena's bicep. Then her eyes flick up to the wide fear in Lena's, before turning her entire focus on Tom.

All this happens in the space of a heartbeat, and in the next breath Tom puffs upright and thrusts his chest out menacingly.

"Get out of--"

Kara winds back her right fist and punches Tom square in the face.

Lena's left to sag a little and catch her breath when Tom's hand lets go to fly up and cradle his face.

"Motherfucker!!" Tom yells, his voice claggy with blood. Even through his fingers, Lena can see his chin coated with the stuff. Before he can do anything more, Kara grips him by the shirt and hauls him around and out of the elevator, releasing him with a shove towards the door.

"Stay the fuck away from her," Kara growls. She plants herself in the threshold of the elevator, ignoring the repeated bumps from the door trying to slide close.

"Or what, bitch!" he roars back. Anger seems to have dulled the pain in his face, because he struts back towards them, seemingly ready for more.

This time, Lena is the one to stand between them.

"No!" she bellows, sharp enough to stop them both short. Tom only pauses a moment though, before continuing to press forward. Finding her nerve and fueled by her own anger, Lena smacks both hands into his chest, shoving him back. "No."

"Lena--"

Lena cuts Tom's threat off with a glare. "I want a divorce," she declares bluntly. She scowls.

"Until then I'll settle for a fucking restraining order."

Stepping back into the elevator, Lena grabs Kara by the hand and pulls her inside as well. Together they stand side by side, glaring at Tom until the door finally slides shut. They both bristle from the altercation on the ride up, storming back down the hall to Kara's apartment.

Only then, after the door has closed behind them and Kara turns all the locks, does Lena's chest catch. Her breath suddenly shortens, and her next attempt to inhale is sharply abbreviated.

Kara's arms wrap around her as Lena's anger falters, leaving only a bubble of tears that soon bursts into a bevy of sobs. Kara says nothing, and simply holds her as she cries.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

One of the earliest parts of Meddling Mar that I wrote, albeit a moment at least two chapters away from happening in the current setup of the story. For context: after seeing his shooting skills, Damas arranged for Jak to "job shadow" some of the wall sentries to see whether that would be a good fit for him. His fourth day up there, Jak witnessed Marauders ambushing a scout returning to the city. Jak being Jak, he instinctively staged a very violent intervention without stopping to find out if anyone else was already planning a rescue. And promptly panicked because he'd just used the Dark Jak form in front of witnesses. (TW: blood mention)

"You have sage training."

How had he missed it before? How quickly his body absorbed the healing eco, how unerring his shots were-

The boy had been trained.

"No. I don't." Jak kept walking, jaw tight and shoulders tense.

As he passed Rune and Chayne at the garages, he faltered and seemed to curl inward as if avoiding their eyes. He didn't see the gratitude in Rune's face, or the admiration in Chayne's.

Damas caught up in only two strides, catching the boy by one blood-soaked wrist.

"I'm not stupid, Jak. I know what I saw. Why didn't you mention this before? Who trained you?"

"Nobody!"

Jak whipped around, blood-slick skin slipping easily from Damas’s grasp. The same fury that had decimated the party of Marauders danced in his eyes, tangled with pain.

"Nobody "trained" me; I didn't ask for this! I was chained to a table while the Baron injected dark eco into my veins, three days a week, FOR TWO YEARS!"

The second the shout left him, Jak flinched back. Damas didn't think he'd meant to say anything at all -- or at least, anything about what had been done to him.

Damas recoiled as, all at once, the needle scars made sense. Nausea rocked his stomach as he pictured Jak -- he must have been no more than thirteen or fourteen at the time -- screaming while Aldrik Praxis watched pitilessly.

He would've been a child then. Just a child.

No wonder he'd been so hesitant to discuss Haven in front of his little brother.

Damas clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself to remain calm, to keep from drawing more attention to the distraught teenager.

"I'm going to murder Praxis."

"Can't. The metalheads got him first."

So flat and matter-of-fact was Jak’s answer that it startled a blank, almost amused, stare out of Damas.

"That is...shockingly appropriate." He huffed. "I hope the body was left for carrion. It's more than he deserves, but at least he would've finally been of some use to the ecosystem. It is...disturbing to hear that he forced that transformation on you, while my spies didn't even know something like that was taking place. I will need to review their last communiques."

Damas shook his head and hoped Jak wouldn't misinterpret the disgust on his face.

"If you ever see anyone else who was involved in what happened to you -- even if you aren't fully certain it's them -- you get me immediately, understand? It will be dealt with."

He wondered if Jak could hear the promise of vengeance hiding under his words.

As if suddenly very aware of Damas’s gaze, Jak dropped his eyes and seemed almost to shrink.

"They...they didn't mutate me," he muttered darkly. Shame colored his confession, not quite well enough to cover the bitterness. "I did it. I channeled it myself. It was that or let the overdose kill me."

Damas’s startled wheeze took him by surprise. Jak looked up sharply to find Damas closer than he'd been a moment ago, staring incredulously at him.

"You- hold on," Damas ran a hand over his head. Some of the Marauders' blood from Jak's wrist smeared across his scalp and he grimaced. "You're telling me you self-taught yourself one of the lost war sage transformations?!"

One of? Lost?!

Jak furrowed his brow.

"Why'd you say that like it's been done before?"

That couldn't be right. He was a freak of nature. An aberration. Nobody would do this on purpose.

But Damas nodded.

"Because it has. Not since the first two generations of the city of Haven, when eco was plentiful enough to allow for that kind of study. But there is absolutely a precedent for war sages. Just...never this young."

And never created against their will in such cruelty- such evil-

For some reason, this didn't seem to calm Jak. There was a desperation building up over the remnants of anger in his eyes -- a sense of suffocating pressure Damas recognized only too well. He reached out again to place a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Look at me; hey, look at me. You don’t have to do it again," he soothed, "I won't make you act as a sage, I promise, Jak, I promise. But I do need to know your capabilities -- and what you need to avoid to keep you safe, mentally and physically."

"Why?" Jak croaked, "What's it matter to you as long as I can pull my weight?"

"What's it mat-?" Damas stared, then made an aggravated sigh. "Because you're one of my people, Jak! I take care of my own. Would you let Seek run around with a thorn in his foot?"

Suitably distracted by the seeming non sequitur, the boy screwed up his face in confusion. "No?? What does that have to do with-"

Damas’s fingers dug into his shoulder. He stared into Jak's eyes and did not flinch away from whatever he saw there.

"Just because your "thorn" isn't something most people can see on the surface," he said patiently, "doesn't mean I'm going to let you run around on it and drive it in deeper."

Now Jak looked uncertain, even a little lost. It was as if he had no reckoning for being treated as if his pain mattered. As if he mattered. Faced with someone who actually seemed to want to understand, what could he do? If he let any more of the poison out of the wound, would Damas still understand, or would he turn away like everyone else?

"Haven doesn't know it's a...sage thing..." Jak swallowed hard and rubbed his fingers together, trying to scrape off the blood. "They just call it a...an abomination. A monster."

The king curled his lip. "That's rich, coming from Haven."

He let go of Jak's shoulder to casually loop his arm around him.

"That city is a den of vipers, boy. If they tell you the sky is blue, they're lying."

For an instant, Jak stiffened at the unexpected -- and somewhat unorthodox -- embrace. But after a moment the touch -- and the words -- began to feel familiar.

"My friend Sig says that, too."

Unexpectedly, Damas chuckled. "Ah! I knew I recognized that style of gunning."

Jak's head whipped up. "You know Sig?"

He supposed it made sense. Sig was a Wastelander, after all.

"Know him?" Damas smirked at him. "I'm the one who sent him undercover in Haven!"

The thought wheeled through Jak's mind several times, circling closer each time. In a weird, roundabout sort of a way, that meant Damas had saved him twice. If not for Sig taking Jak under his wing, teaching him to fight and shoot, Jak strongly doubted that he would have lived long enough to fight Kor. Sig was the one making sure Jak actually ate, or slept at least an hour or two, when the Underground didn't give him a chance to rest between jobs. Sig never judged him for his transformations, always telling him "if Praxis wants to steal fire from the gods, he doesn't get to complain when you steal it right back". He didn't even know the true reason behind the dark form, but he'd guessed Praxis was at least tangentially involved.

"Sig...he um, he said he was going to train Dax and me. Teach us to be Wastelanders," Jak admitted. "But then I got a- arrested."

The word tripped him up, too filled with memories of horror and dark places.

"He doesn't do that for just anyone, you know," Damas remarked. He sounded pleased. "You two must've impressed him."

With a light pressure on Jak’s shoulders, he guided him away from the garages and towards the public baths in the North Market.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up before your brother gets out of school, hm?"

Jak still didn't really like the public baths -- even if everyone else was as scarred as he was, he hated seeing his own scars -- but it was faster than going all the way to the cove to wash. Mind still whirling, he allowed Damas to lead him to the building, all the while wondering how long this unusual streak of kind fortune would last.

Before the man could go ahead of him to the baths, Jak caught his arm and grimaced at the sticky, bloody fingerprints he left. "Don't- don't let anyone tell Ma- my brother. Please."

Damas’s eyes softened, and he nodded.

"Not a word," he agreed, trying to ignore the slip. "It isn't our story to tell."

*Mar. You almost said Mar, didn't you? I know it's him, I know my son's eyes. But. But I know your eyes, too. And I will find out why.*