#for a girl who is arden but better. and you can’t blame him for that

[jonismitchell]

anyway b*ue is whatever now right. but he really did break my heart and my self esteem for a girl who’s a remix of me

[ladyfogg]

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary:  After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist. 

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater​ and @kitwalker02​. 

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve. 

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is. 

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one. 

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better. 

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked. 

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask. 

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds. 

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient. 

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face. 

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death. 

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop. 

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages. 

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk. 

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return. 

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away.  He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head.  “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair. 

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers. 

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk. 

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon. 

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell. 

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet. 

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders. 

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back. 

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon. 

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.  

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

[moonaft]

When Sorrows Come reactions

Spoilers: I did not get bingo.

25 squares, from left to right, top to bottom: 1. Malvic appears at the wedding 2. Sylvester attends the wedding 3. The High King or Queen gets elfshot 4. One of Tybalt's enemies from the short stories appears 5. Hope chests are relevant 6. Something is revealed about the False Queen 7. There's at least 3 Firstborn at the wedding 8. Someone calls Toby a kingbreaker 9. Dianda punches someone important 10. Toby drinks someone else's blood 11. August attends the wedding 12. Hirsent crashes the wedding 13. [Free space] Toby's dress gets blood on it 14. One of Tybalt's friends from the short stories appears 15. Eira is behind the trouble 16. Gillian attends the wedding 17. Lore about the Torquill family 18. Quentin's identity gets revealed 19. Sylvester doesn't attend the wedding 20. Someone mistakes Sylvester for Simon 21. Raysel's plotline moves forward 22. Toby learns about Tybalt's short story past 23. Someone gets elfshot for the second or third time 24. Toby insults nobility we haven't seen before 25. Lore about the Sollys family

Date: April 11, 2015, roughly 6 months after A Killing Frost. No mischief occurred around Christmas 2014.

Are nobles seriously inviting the kingbreaker in order to make contact with her mother who she pissed off during the divorce? Have they been paying attention at all?

Technically, Toby has never committed treason. She definitely didn’t commit treason against Rhys because she never swore loyalty to him. 

I think this is the first book that introduced Simon ahead of Sylvester and described Sylvester as Simon’s brother as opposed to the other way around. Sylvester is still on thin ice, by the way. There’s a reason I have both “Sylvester attends the wedding” and “Sylvester doesn’t attend the wedding” on the bingo card.

The Luidaeg denied Sylvester’s request to wake Raysel up - why? Did she want to get the wedding out of the way before Raysel’s trial and October’s next rolling emergency?

Yes, the Quentin problem when getting married at the High King’s knowe. Don’t change his appearance and everyone knows where the Crown Prince is fostered. Do change his appearance and everyone in Toby’s party now knows who the Crown Prince is.

“Dean Lorden is probably technically my brother now” woot.

Toby is voluntarily eating and drinking! After so many books of having food forced of her because she keeps forgetting to do so.

Confirmation that Toby officially owns her place and Luna can’t get Sylvester to reverse that decision.

Dean kissing a strange boy -> ah, they went with changing Quentin’s appearance and bloodline. And they went to the Luidaeg for it. Banshee, huh?

Poor Dean. Toby’s approval means something to him. And Toby continues to eat, good for her.

Yes, I too would love to know more about Sylvester’s Dark Years. Sylvester POV, when?

Dean has now officially heard that Oberon is back, and isn’t reacting. I have to assume the Lordens know the details behind how they broke August’s curse.

Oh Quentin, I love you.

Dean still thinks the Merrow descend from only Titania, but Pete confirmed in The Unkindest Tide that Oberon is her father.

Dean does not understand the value of landlines. Kids these days...

I had not considered that Toby and Tybalt’s wedding would be a historic event.

Surprise wedding date! It really couldn’t have been any other way.

Yes, who would have told Sylvester about the date?

Yep, calling Bridget and Etienne is the best option. And Etienne knows May didn’t tell Toby the date, interesting.

Dammit, Sylvester. I can’t cross that square off yet, he might redeem himself. And Etienne talking sense into Toby!

Did the fae make their kingdoms based on state borders? The West at least was based on SCA kingdoms and principalities. I wonder if Highmountain has a new Crown yet.

Good to know that Oberon can go where ever he wants in Faerie. He could probably bring Riordan back if he wanted to. Is Danny not coming? I can’t say I blame him.

Jazz knows about Oberon too.

I do hope August shows up at the wedding, it’s on my bingo card.

Huh, I knew that Ash and Oak aka New York was a place without fae these days, but I assumed some purebloods and changelings could still live there. Uncomfortably, perhaps, and maybe you couldn’t anchor a knowe there anymore, but I didn’t think it was actively hostile to every fae.

Hey, is that Lowri and Nolan? Nolan’s on guard duty, interesting.

Yes, the Ludiaeg could have married you at any time. Should have thought of that before everyone started offering you their knowe for the wedding.

Oh good they’re bringing Walther.

Makes sense Arden can’t come but she is sending Nolan. Nolan definitely is enjoying life these days.

Confirmation that Madden’s boyfriend is human and doesn’t know about the fae.

“I can go order her to arrest herself, if you’d like” Love it.

I have to assume the Tuatha Express is faster than air travel and not as tiring for the people who aren’t opening portals.

Nessa, the Gwragedd Annwn, a new species. As pretty as the Daoine Sidhe are to a nearly human Toby, wow.

And... she thinks the Luidaeg is Toby? I hope this isn’t a calculated insult. I know Quentin grew up with some bigoted people but this is deliberate.

And Oberon is apparently Tybalt?? What is going on her?

Kerry! We haven’t seen you since A Local Habitation. ‘There are no bad Dayes in this week” aww. I love you, Kerry.

Beacon’s Home is actually a Kingdom and not a Selkie-now-Roane holding? Cool.

It seems important that the Maples vs Ash and Oak decision was happening right before/during the American Revolution but I don’t know why yet.

“The ducal consorts are Daoine Sidhe”, yep both of them. 

“Sweet Titania, I love that woman [Dianda Lorden]” Still waiting for Toby’s bisexual awakening.

The Luidaeg confirms the Gwragedd Annwn are Black Annie’s descendant line.

Quentin confirms something’s wrong with Nessa, maybe she isn’t like this at all.

Whee, slightly more Stacy weirdness. I think Barrow Wights would be descended from Maeve, her illusions shouldn’t be better than Toby’s.

Tybalt is apparently descended from both Oberon and the Luidaeg, if his line comes from the Cait Sidhe Malvic sired with his Roane lover.

Confirmation that the Luidaeg can see the future, at least some of the time.

At least Aethlin and Maida seem happy to see Toby.

Maida doesn’t recognize Cass’s bloodline - interesting.

“Um, my boss is Queen Windermere, and my [human] graduate advisor is Professor Weinstein, and my parents are Mitch and Stacy Brown” Cass I love you.

Oh, Nessa isn’t Nessa.

Not!Nessa, holding Toby at knifepoint is not the detergent you think it is.

Toby has a new knife now, sweet. Not!Nessa is a Doppelganger, we haven’t seen one of those in several years. The one in Rosemary and Rue, who wasn’t Gillian?

“Archers,” “I was right about that?”

Perhaps Toby shouldn’t be the one giving orders to open portals, but Aethlin clearly isn’t doing it.

“I punched it in the face” Why do I have the feeling that’s going to solve a lot of problems in this book? And hey, this isn’t a Firstborn or Queen, so Toby got her wish of punching more punchable people.

“You don’t have the authority to order an arrest in my knowe.” Well, maybe you should give her that authority, High King of the Westlands who was almost assassinated.

“Purebloods forgot things, quickly, when they can’t see them anymore” Interesting.

“And even in a backwater Ducky run by a politically unambitious man” Shadowed Hills predates the Mists, Sylvester really just went as far as he could. Or maybe settled there once Amandine built her tower.

“Is he going to try to stab me? Is he better at stabbing than the last batch was at shooting arrows”? I love you Raj. I wonder if the local King of Cats will make an appearance.

Ah fuck, first dead body.

Toby having the most sense in this scene, I love it.

Did Aethlin basically make Toby a hero of the Westlands as well? “Our visiting hero”

Aethlin is not showing up well in dealing with security, nor are his guards.

“People who put deadly traps on doorknobs often forget the obvious, which is that it’s a good idea to lock doors.”

Three dead bodies? RIP Aethlin’s guards.

Only two dead bodies so far. Once Broken Faith had 4, I believe, but we’re only a third done. Good job on not dying, Caitir.

Gordon, hello. I thought the reference to ALH in the “books to re-read” was about the nighthaunts but didn’t expect to see her.

Looks like neither Nessa nor Honey are dead.

This poor Ellyllon doctor, welcome to Toby’s world.

Ah fuck, Tybalt’s elf-shot again.

Good thing Caitir’s a Candela. Thank you, Raj.

Jazz is apparently betting that Toby’s getting elfshot before/during the wedding, this is a girl after my own heart. As is May.

Walther has a fan, I love it.

The Bridge Trolls can search for clues if they want, I guess. We don’t need to worry about people messing with the crime scene anymore.

Toby’s sweet talking the knowe, that didn’t take long.

Toby, Quentin is never going to leave you behind even when he’s knighted and moves back home. He would sooner move the capital to SF.

Evening got her hooks into Aethlin back in 1906, huh?

“I am the breaker of the unbreakable” Yes you are, Toby.

Black Annis was originally named Ismere? I love the lore we’re getting in this book.

There are rumors that Quentin is Toby’s squire, probably started after OBF. The Beacon’s Home Selkies knew about him, after all.

All the Maeve descendant lines with dead Firstborn imprint on the Luidaeg, this is so cute.

So many reasons why Tybalt shouldn’t go looking for Toby as she walks up. Tybalt’s back!

Nolan is great, I love him. Aethlin’s reassuring Nessa, glad to see it.

How does Fiac know enough about Simon and Amandine’s marriage to have negative feelings about it? It sounds like he was around them to notice it.

The Doppelganger isn’t bringing the Revolution, what a pity.

Fuck, she can’t kill Aethlin now. Damn.

This is exactly the scene I wanted to see with a different Daoine Sidhe, but fine. The guards need more training.

Eira killed other seers than the Roane, did she? Did she want there to be no one who could guess her plans?

Toby thinks Maida is upset with her, while I think Maida thinks Toby is the only one she can trust.

Why do none of the Daoine Sidhe save Simon specialize in blood magic? They all suck at it.

“We need to interview your entire staff, and by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’, and by ‘you’ I mean ‘someone you trust’“ Toby’s got this under control.

“I’m sorry, was that disrespectful? I meant fuck you, Your Majesty.” Quentin is not holding back. Chelsea and Raj are literally eating popcorn while watching this. Despite what Toby thinks, she has a court of teenagers.

I wonder what the series would have been like if Penny was sent to Shadowed Hills with Quentin.

I’m glad Quentin got the chance to yell at his father, he needed it. Look, family drama that isn’t related to Toby!

Walther: “I carry the base ingredients [of elfshot] whenever I travel with Sir Daye.” I would too, Walther.

...Are the rest of Stacy’s kids also Seers?

Oberon exists to be more than background, apparently.

Confirmation that the Luidaeg is a century older than Eira! And the Luidaeg will know if she wakes up.

Yes, Toby gets her own court with all her squires and also brothers. Quentin, Raj, one day Chelsea, Peter if he can convince Toby to do it. She has two Seers, an alchemist and her favorite aunts and family in Saltmist.

So the Summerlands have suns as well as moons.

Oh hey, Julie, I thought you died off screen. We haven't heard from you in several books. They’re getting the band back toge- the High King got poisoned?!

“For example, it would be really unreasonable of him to die right now, thanks.”

“If this is where you want to suddenly remember the High King’s evil grand vizier who you just forgot to tell us about until now, that would be great.”

I thought Maida’s father was still alive?

Aethlin has survived his third assassination attempt in the past 24 hours, sweet.

Why did the Librarian call Fiac the Seneschal? He’s the Court Seer.

Oh, so Toby did settle her debts with Mag about her mom’s biography.

We’ve met Tybalt the Torquill family historian, now meet Yenay Ng, the Tybalt historian.

OK, I... didn’t see that coming.

I approve of Toby punching former King Shallcross in the nose. She should punch more nobles on screen.

Huh, I guess that’s where Eira was before she showed up in the Mists.

Is this guy Dawn’s father? The timelines sorta fit.

Aethlin has managed to not get poisoned or stabbed again, good for him.

Of course they enchanted the wedding dress to not get covered in blood. Good thing my ‘free’ space on the bingo card was “Toby’s dress gets blood on it” which was technically fulfilled with the first dress.

I assumed “wine-colored” meant white until it was described in more detail. I approve of dressing the wedding party in red - it will hide the blood.

Sylvester?!? Nope, Simon.

Aww, Simon gets to walk his daughter to the altar. He gets to see his daughter married!

“Then go. Get married. Be happy. You’ve earned it.”

And the wedding is finally on! The local Cait Sidhe are here! Surprise appearance by August!

“As did the man who looked heart-stoppingly like Simon Torquill, but absolutely wasn’t” Oh Sylvester, you made it after all.

I think this is the first time Sylvester’s been referred to in terms of Simon rather than the other way around.

Whoops, more assassins.

I see you, Simon, using your blood to fuel your transformation spells, just like your daughter. Followed immediately by Sylvester charging into battle. And Oberon continues to be background scenery.

Another guard’s death - 3 now? Maybe more?

“Now I have a longbow, motherfuckers, ho, ho, ho” Love you, May.

Badly attempted jailbreak is a bust. Toby’s dress remains pristine.

Surprise appearance by Gillian! I assume August tackled her to the ground when the arrows started flying.

Wedding is complete! Reception go!

I assume Etienne was instrumental in getting Sylvester to the wedding, not only physically but also by yelling at him about what an idiot he was.

Etienne is a little younger than Tybalt, good to know.

They’re going to Disney world without the kids, neat. Surprise August again! Good to know Helen’s seeing a therapist.

Galen has a crush on Poppy. I love this man that we will probably never see again.

Why is Simon a Count again? Shouldn’t he also be Duke Lorden? Does he get a lower title because he’s the second husband, like a courtesy title? Also, glad to see him and August being Lordens.

She hugged him!

Oh hey Sylvester. You could have started with “You make a beautiful bride” and avoided a shitton of trouble. You made it all about yourself. It’s better than if you didn’t attend at all, but man, Sylvester. You disappointed Toby and me.

“Once and future King of Cats”

She accepts the Lorden boys as her brothers!

What does Cliff think of Gilly spending so much time at Half Moon Bay? Does he think she’s in a cult?

Aw, May and Jazz are going to get married!

Oh hey Pete. Only two Firstborn at the wedding, can’t mark that one off. Nice blessing!

That cake sounds super delicious. Fuck, did Oberon give his knife to Toby and then not take it back? Toby has a replacement for her iron knife now?

Oh hi, Gilly. Your mother’s really excited to have you here. I love Quentin egging Toby into eating the cake. “Quentin pressed a fork into my hand, trying to urge me to get on with it.”

And the final blessing comes from Aethlin. He has got to do something to thank her for all her help in stopping the assassination attempts.

Afterthoughts: I am sad none of Tybalt’s friends and family from London/Europe attended. Morane was alive as of 1911, with no word on the others. Hermeline, if she’s still ruling in the Court of Fogbound Cats, has been ruling for nearly three hundred years.

On the other hand, we got a ton of Toby feels and secondary characters. Love the reactions of the Teen Squad.

What a good and heartwarming book.

Spots crossed off:

2. Sylvester attends the wedding 8. Someone calls Toby a kingbreaker 10. Toby drinks someone else's blood 11. August attends the wedding 13. [Free space] Toby's dress gets blood on it 16. Gillian attends the wedding 18. Quentin's identity gets revealed 22. Toby learns about Tybalt's short story past 23. Someone gets elfshot for the second or third time 24. Toby insults nobility we haven't seen before 25. Lore about the Sollys family

Spots not crossed off:

1. Malvic appears at the wedding 3. The High King or Queen gets elfshot 4. One of Tybalt's enemies from the short stories appears 5. Hope chests are relevant 6. Something is revealed about the False Queen 7. There's at least 3 Firstborn at the wedding 9. Dianda punches someone important 12. Hirsent crashes the wedding 14. One of Tybalt's friends from the short stories appears 15. Eira is behind the trouble 17. Lore about the Torquill family 19. Sylvester doesn't attend the wedding 20. Someone mistakes Sylvester for Simon 21. Raysel's plotline moves forward

I should note some of these are rather literal - Eira caused trouble in the back story but she wasn’t active in the main story like she was in both The Unkindest Tide (telling Torin to stop the restoration of the Roane) and A Killing Frost (taunting Toby).

[zhauric]

Prompt #22: Argy-bargy

Kaelivh had found Asande in the Drowning Wench with a plate of mutton and a bottle in front of her. Without bothering with an invitation he slide into the opposite chair and smirked over in the direction of his sister. Asande, unperplexed by his sudden appearance, immediately began speaking as if he had been there the whole time.

“’n now ‘tis is where ye tell me t’ nah go off recklessly,” she said. “T’ nah go out tryin’ t’ stir ‘n create a bigger mess than already started ‘n that I should return t’ me crew ‘n go wit’ th’ whole safety in numbers. Am I close?”

Still holding the smirk, Kaelivh waved a waitress over without bothering to respond. Instead he made an order for himself and waited for the waitress to saunter off before he responded to her accusation.

“You don’t have to speak in that pirate tongue of yours. It’s only me.”

Rolling her eyes she settled back in her chair waiting for him to continue.

“Not going to say all that but still wondering why in the void are you going off on your own? This lonesome shit is getting old, San’s.”

“Oh you’re one to talk!” she retorted sharply. “Isn’t that what you do all the damned time? I work better alone in this case. I know what I’m doing, Kael. I don’t need my big brother who was born just fucking minutes before me trying to be some Twelve cursed shield and protecting me like I need protection. I’m not the girl from when we stole from those damn thieves and you had to protect me.”

“When in the sand blasted abyss have you heard me ever say otherwise?” he responded, his voice growing harder. “I’ve never, not once in my damned years, said you need protecting. Tell me a time, eh?”

Asande opened her mouth but soon her expression twisted in befuddlement.

“Yeah, exactly,” he said. “And if I never felt that way about that day or any other for that matter then why in the void are you always holding onto that?”

Again, Asande grew quiet. She crossed her arms almost defensively, turning her head to the side. Several seconds passed before she turned her eyes upon him again.

“That was the moment, ya know?” she said, her voice softer now. “One of those points in your sun’s that something changes. The fact Arden died because you had to come help your sister...shit, it’s never sat right with me. So any time I get myself in a mess-”

“And you do often,” he interjected with an amused smirk.

Returning the smile, Asande continued. “I get worked up about you being involved. Feel like I am always making up for that day up in my head I guess.”

Kaelivh shook his head and noticed the waitress bringing his food. After she placed it before him and walked off again he spoke again. 

“No reason to. I don’t blame you, San’s. If it had been reversed we both know you would have chose the same as I. We gained our name right when we came into this world, eh? The Stormborn. We shouldn’t have survived yet here we are. Two stubborn as fuck twins that don’t give a right damn what any think of us that aren’t friends or family. And void take me we sometimes don’t give two shits about that either. Da and Ma can speak to that.”

Asande laughed and gave a nod in agreement at that before settling down once more. 

“Aye aye. I get your point and can’t argue it down,” she said holding up her hands in surrender. 

“Good,” he responded with a wider grin. “Then let’s talk how the Stormborn are going to avenge Karz’s death, eh?”

Prompt List

[sirius-archive]

Darling

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, Sirius Black x Reader if you squint hard enough.

Prompts: 13. I lost our baby

Request: 13/remus lupin

A/N: I had an absolute bloody BALL writing this!! Daddy!Remus is so pure and soft and fluffy!!!

I usually don’t like doing a data dump of exposition (which is why I suck at one shots) so I thought I’d make it clear that there is quite an age gap between Remus and Reader. She was eighteen when they met and she’s about twenty four when the story takes place. In saying that, he was not her professor as she had already graduated when they met.

Also, sorry for the format!! My computer is broken so I’m posting on my mobile!! Now, on with the story!

***

Remus Lupin is many things but he never in his thirty-nine years of life imagined that a father would be one of them.

He can still remember when (Y/N) sat him down and told him the news. It had been a Tuesday — of all days — and she had that pretty sundress he’d bought for her on their honeymoon roughly twelve weeks beforehand. Sunlight was pouring through the French windows of their cottage, gilding the room with a delicate, golden glow and lighting the crown of her head like halo.

That had been only nine months ago, yet it still feels like yesterday. Remus smiles at the memory, cradling his little girl closer to his chest. He peers down at her, rocking her gently as she sleeps peacefully in his arms. He can’t get over the little noises she makes; like she’s a tiny, delicate music box that he could listen to on repeat until the day he dies.

“Remus, honey, have you got enough nappies? I don’t want you running out while I’m at work...”

(Y/N) sweeps into the sunroom and her lips hitch into a warm smile, lighting up her entire face as though she bathes in sunlight. He’s always associated her with the sun; his sun after a haunting full moon. Even after the painful aftermath of his transformations, she had been there to help him heal both physically and emotionally. And even though she had only graduated Hogwarts the previous year, she’s always been so wise, so vivacious and lively and always shining rays of dazzling colour.

Remus gawks at her for a moment, speechless, a warm, all-encompassing feeling of love blossoming inside of him. He feels like he might burst from it.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispers when he finally finds himself, giving his beautiful wife a gentle smile, “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to work?”

(Y/N) approaches him, sitting by his side and resting her head on his shoulder. She sighs, warmly, contentedly, gazing down at her little baby girl.

“I’ll be alright,” she murmurs, “It’s just for today. The hardest part is leaving little Peaches behind.”

Remus hums in understanding, a smile flitting across his lips at the nickname they had given Hope before she had been born. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, letting it blossom in his rib cage as he soaks in the moment.

Hope shifts in his arms, her tiny fingers curling around his thumb. Being five weeks premature, she’s a lot smaller than most babies, but she’s just as strong and twice as clever.

Guess she got that from her mother.

(Y/N) sits by his side until she’s late for work, but she hardly cares. She’s clocked up enough hours in overtime to take an entire year off, and everyone St Mungos loves her too much to care. So when she sighs and reluctantly pulls away from her side, Remus doesn’t mask his disappointment.

“I have to go, Remus,” she chuckles, leaning forward to press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth, “They’re expecting me...”

Remus turns his head, just enough to fit his lips against hers. She moans as he kisses her, melting into him as time seems to slide away from him and they kiss until baby Hope tightens her grip on his thumb.

“Looks like someone’s getting jealous,” she jokes, nodding at Hope. Her lips curve into a wicked grin as her fingers trail up his neck, grazing across his jaw, “Can’t say that I blame her.”

Remus snorts a laugh, though it’s cut off by a gutteral groan that rumbles in the back of his throat as she seals a heated kiss over his lips.

“You sure you can’t take today off?” He asks, a little breathlessly, “Say that you’re husband is — ah — feeling a little sick?”

She cocks an eyebrow, mischief gleaming in her eyes, “Didn’t get enough medicine last night? Or this morning?”

“I never do,” he grins, and she bites her bottom lip in that way that drives him absolutely fucking crazy.

“As tempting as that is, I’m expected...” she winks at him, “Though we can continue your — erm — medication once I get home.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Remus murmurs, and with one final, lingering kiss, she breaks away, planting a tender kiss on Hopes forehead before she moves towards the fire place.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she grins.

“That’s impossible.”

(Y/N)’s eyes travel to her daughter for a final moment before she steps into the fireplace and disappears in a flourish of emerald fire.

Remus smiles, the warmth of her presence lingering, like wildflowers in the spring, before the fireplace roars again and familiar friends poke through.

“How’s our baby girl going,” says Sirius Black as he wanders into the room, “Oh, and Remus is here too.”

Remus rolls his eyes, “Can you please keep your voice down—?”

But it’s too late. Hope’s lashes flutter, peeling open, revealing sparkling bright eyes. She flashes a little smile and Remus’ surroundings swirl into an abstract painting before fading. It’s like she’s pinned down the centre of the universe and everything else revolves around her.

Remus is brought back to reality when a bushy mane of thick, brown hair suddenly swallows up his vision, curtailing his face as lean arms wrap awkwardly around his shoulder.

“Oh!” He gasps, and Hermione Granger breaks away.

“Hello Remus!” She smiles brightly before her attention is drawn to baby Hope, “Hello Hope!”

Sirius kneels in front of Remus, poking his finger in front of Hope. Hope grasps his finger, her own hugging his like a ring. Sirius chuckles, “She knows who her favourite uncle is.” A smirk curls around his lips before he flicks his gaze up to Remus, straightening, “Is (Y/N) here?”

“She just left,” Remus says, and he glances up at Sirius just in time to catch a flicker of disappoint ripple across his face.

Just then, Ron Weasley ambles lazily into the sunroom, mumbling a greeting around the food in his mouth before dropping into an armchair, a box of doughnuts in his grasp.

Hermione narrows her eyes on Ron pointedly, and Ron suddenly jolts, like he’s just remembered something, “Oh! We bought these for you and (Y/N) but I got hungry and ate them all so...uh...here’s this box?”

Hermione rolls her eyes, exasperated.

Sirius snorts.

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?” Hermione snaps and Ron glares at her.

“Just because you’re dating Fred, doesn’t mean you get to insult me all the time...”

“For the last time, I’m not dating Fred!” Hermione hisses, eyes darting between Ron and Hope.

“As you can tell, these two have been having problems,” Says a weary voice from the doorway. Remus smiles fondly as Harry Potter crosses the room, crouching beside Remus’ armchair to peer at baby Hope, “How is she?”

Remus beams, “Perfect. She’s absolutely bloody perfect.”

“Just like her mother,” Sirius adds, huffing out a strange, breathless laugh, his smile a little loose around the edges.

Hermione and Harry exchange a surreptitious look that makes Remus only slightly uneasy.

“Anyway,” Hermione pipes up, “We thought we’d drop by and see how you and little Hope are going.”

Hermiones fingers twitch around the hem of her pencil skirt as she gazes lovingly at Hope. Remus smiles.

“You want to hold her?” Remus asks.

Hermione bites her bottom lip, nodding eagerly, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Everyone watches as Remus carefully rises from his armchair and gently hands Hope to Hermione, lowering her into Hermione’s waiting arms. Hermione smile almost glows.

“So,” Sirius runs his hands down his jeans, “Got any plans today, Professor Lupin?”

Remus sighs, suddenly feeling fatigued, “I was just going to spend time with Hope, but now that you guys are here, I thought I might just have a rest.”

“You do look like you could use a rest, old man,” Harry jokes, eyes twinkling deviously. Remus is always caught off guard by that look; the one that fools him into thinking that he’s talking to James instead of Harry.

“When you have kids, you’ll know.”

“If I have kids,” Harry snips, bitterly, “I’m not liking my chances at the moment.”

Remus frowns, glancing at Sirius. Sirius simply shrugs, though he looks as though he’s trying to bite back the urge to say something he shouldn’t talk about. Is there something that he’s missing here?

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Remus says, joints cracking and popping into place as he stretches languidly. He glances at Sirius, “You want to help me with the tea?”

He gives Sirius a pointed look. Sirius nods in understanding, raising from his seat and following Remus out of the sunroom and into the kitchen.

“What’s going on with Harry?” Remus asks, straight to the point, as he taps his wand on the kettle. It begins to hiss and wail frantically.

Sirius waves his wand lazily, and teacups zoom through the air.

“He and Ginny broke up,” Sirius sighs, shaking his head.

Remus’ brows raise, “Again?”

“Yeah. Harry’s having trouble getting over Arden,” Sirius shrugs, “I always thought he and Arden were better suited anyway.”

Remus nods, slowly, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose it’s true what they say, then...that you never forget your first.”

Sirius’ brows pinch together, and he suddenly looks both pensive and forlorn, “I don’t know...I don’t remember my first but I think James was right when he said that it’s the ones you can’t have that you never forget.”

A peal of Hopes giggling laughter bursts into the air, wafting through the house like a breath of honey-sweet summer air.

Remus frowns, watching Sirius carefully, “Sirius, is there something you’re not telling me?”

Even with his back turned, Remus can tell that Sirius bristles, almost as if he were desperately trying to evade an inevitable subject. He seems to be staring at something on the shelf. Remus suddenly realises that he’s staring at a photo of (Y/N) and Hope that (Y/N) had framed a few days ago.

Suddenly, Ron bursts into the kitchen, wide-eyed and flustered.

“Remus!” He pants, skin glowing red beneath his freckles, “It’s-Its Hope...”

Remus’ stomach drops. Before Ron can even finish his sentence, Remus is rushing out of the room, stumbling into the sunroom where he finds a distraught looking Hermione.

“I-I just put her in her cot and now she’s—“ Hermione hiccups a sob, tears streaming down her cheek.

Remus dashes toward the cot, heart in his throat, a menacingly icy cold wave of dread flooding through him—

His eyes widen.

His jaw drops.

“No...” He gasps, lungs shrinking as he stares down into the empty cot. He wheels around, rounding on Harry, Ron and Hermione, “What happened?”

“Hermione just put her down on her cot,” Ron explains, “And-and she was fine! She had been laughing and everything! And then we looked away for a moment and when — when we looked back she...she was gone...”

Remus anxiously scrubs his forehead with the heel of his palm, stumbling backwards on weak knees and plopping down on the edge of his.

“She’s only two months old,” he snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. His breath feels sharp, rattling at the back of his throat, “Where the fuck could she have gone?”

Remus feels like someone has shoved their hand down his throat and scrubbed his esophagus with sandpaper.

“Exactly,” Sirius says, calmly, composedly, “Let’s—let’s search the house.”

They all split up, frantically searching the country cottage. Every minute that drags by feels like it’s been wrung out on a medieval torture device and there’s a faint, frenetic buzzing in his ears, like his racing thoughts are loud enough to collide into one another. His hands are damp, sweaty from fear, his heart hammering and stomach turning to lead.

“I can’t pick up her scent,” Remus bleats, breathing in the air around him for her sweet scent. He feels like he’s sweating iron bullets, “She’s—she’s not here...”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Hermione says, pacing the room, “How could she have just vanished?”

“(Y/N)...” Sirius shoots a hand though his hair, “How are we going to tell her...?”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Harry says, frowning purposefully, determination sterling his expression in a way that Remus had seen countless times on his mother, Lily. Harry steps forward, clapping a firm hand on Remus shoulder, “We will find her, Professor.”

Remus nods, trembling hands raking through his hair.

Suddenly, the fireplace roars to life and (Y/N)’s bubbly voice pours into the room.

“Can you believe that it took me over an hour and one trip to the ICU to realise I had forgotten my notes!” Her laughter carries through the entire house, her footsteps padding into the living room.

Remus swallows.

(Y/N) rounds the corner, looking equal parts flustered and amused. She beams in surprise when she notices everyone gathered around in the living room but her smile melts when she notices Hermione’s damp cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, brows furrowing into a worried frown. Her eyes travel until they meet Remus’ and his heart gets tangled in the back of his throat. She pales. “Where’s Hope?”

Remus claws anxiously at the nape of his neck, “Well — Uh — that’s the thing...I lost our baby...”

(Y/N) huffs out a laugh, breathless and strangled and lacking warmth or mirth, and the silence that follows is crushing, heavy, as realisation crashes over her.

“Your not joking...” she whispers, taking a step back to steady herself, “How—Okay, no — tell me what happened. Walk me through it.”

“Remus handed Hope to Hermione,” Sirius begins, taking a decisive step toward (Y/N), and Hermione gives a shaky whimper, “And then he went to make tea. I followed.”

“We played with her for a little while,” Harry adds, slowly, “And then when Hermione put her in her cot...she just—“

Harry throws his arms up in the air wordlessly. (Y/N) nods in understanding, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggles to remain calm and composed.

“Right,” (Y/N) pants, and Sirius takes another step toward her as though expecting her to crumble into a mess, “Okay...all we have to do is figure out what happened exactly. Let’s — ah — search the house again—“

Suddenly, the fireplace crackles and roars, sheets of green fire exploding within the centre. Two figures step out from within them, and a familiar voice breaks through the silence.

“Howdy all,” George Weasley steps into the room, grinning devilishly at the surprised faces. He turns to Remus and (Y/N), boldly winking at her flirtatiously, “We believe you lost this...?”

Fred Weasley limps forward, wearing a matching grin with just as much mischief as his twin brother. In his arms sits Hope, who is yanking playfully at Fred’s hair.

Fred yelps and beams at her, “We found her playing with the dungbombs. Dropped one on Malfoys fat head. You should have seen the look on that blond brats face...”

“Looks like she has a knack for mischief,” George grins.

“We would have kept her forever but...you know...kidnapping is bad for business,” Fred reluctantly hands Hope to (Y/N), who almost sobs with relief.

“She must have apparated to the shop!” Ron exclaims with a shock.

“A two month old apparating without splinching?” Sirius remarks, sounding both impressed and amused, “Looks like you got your hands full already, you two!”

Remus steps forward, wrapping his arms around his family. He exhales a heavy sigh of relief into (Y/N)’s hair, eyes sliding shut as he presses a kiss onto the crown of his little daughters head.

He may have never imagined himself as a father, but Remus was beginning to realise that there was so much more to being a father than just the title, and it’s just as stressful as it rewarding.

[therealms-number1angirl]

Willo Appreciation Post

Not sure how good this is, didn’t really read the finished copy, but needed to get this out there, so enjoy, if you want.

This is a rant. It has no real train of thought, and it was written between several different writing sessions. You have been warned.

So this is just long-winded, so if you don’t care, just ignore this long, long, long, rant. To start this off, you should know that there will be quite a lot of Elena salt. Like the amount of salt that I’d give Nightwalker in a small post. 

So, we’re gonna start from the very beginning. We all know what happened between Willo and Gavan Bayar. And after that, so many things happen at once for this poor, poor girl. 

I’m pretty sure in Demon King it mentioned that Willo was either just past or almost at her Name Day. She was probably like 16. During the scene in Demon King when Willo was telling her story, I’m pretty sure that Elena said something like, “she took the ring. You all know not to take jewelry from strangers.” Which, yes, is good advice, but it felt a lot like shaming. I can one hundred percent believe that Elena would shame her for having a wizard baby… but seriously?!

Now, she’s like 16-17 may have a wizard baby, her ‘mentor’ is shaming her, she probably has to also take care of her niece (because we never actually know anything about Bird’s parents, other than we can assume one of them is related to Willo). To top it all off, Elena goes up to her and is like, 

“Hey, here’s this super dangerous Demon King spawn. I told his mother he was possessed, added these magical cuffs to his wrists to stop his magic, and need you to take care of him, because I can’t let him anywhere ‘near Demonai camp. Also, you cannot let him know any of what I just told you. Good? Have fun!” 

And no, you cannot change my mind that that is what happened. 

And you know what? Willo took care of him, her own son, and her niece! She was more of a mother to him than his own mother! (Not that we can blame her… ELENA!!!) She gave him a place to stay, gave him new clothes, and even had to take care of his going to college with his girlfriend phase! 

While she’s putting up with her adopted street lord, she also has to take care of her WIZARD SON who is being kicked out of his home by… you guessed it, HER FORMER MENTOR!!!

Don’t even get me started on when Bird started dating Nightwalker.

Then her son(s) are going all the way to Arden, a place that hates wizards, and now her niece is dating… Nightwalker. So, she still has a pretty rough year.

And only 6 months later, Han is being called back from school to help fight the man that scarred her all those years ago. And to make it even better, when he gets back he is carrying a shot and poisoned princess heir, half poisoned himself, and is obviously in love with this girl. 

Somehow, it gets worse. The kid that she’s been raising since he was a baby, who nearly killed himself to save this girl, is now being accused of shooting her by her niece’s boyfriend. (if anyone hates Nightwalker more than me and Han it is Willo)

She can’t even work in peace, because Elena is right there. (If I was Willo, I would’ve hit Elena at least once)

Of course, then Raisa wakes up and makes a whole new problem for Willo. She is in love with Han too! 

Willo, has a nice talk with Han. And, instead of doing what any other rational person, especially a clan-folk, would do, she tells him that Raisa loves him too! And sometime in all that is happening, she manages to sew Raisa a cape, which I think is impressive all by itself.

Okay, so we get to Raisa’s coronation celebration, and this is a huge point to Willo that I just need to endorse. 

Willo gives a speech about equality with wizards. Willo gives a speech about them all living in peace and unity. Willo goes in front of a huge group of her people and tells them that they should make peace with the people that they’ve held a grudge against for a thousand years! 

That would be awe inspiring all on it’s own, but it’s even greater when you get more details.

The only other person that thought about doing what Willo did, at the time, was the QUEEN! And even Raisa didn’t have the courage to make a speech like that. 

And then, you have to think about everything that Willo has gone through. Yeah, the wizards and the clans fought each other a thousand years ago and have been locked in a grudge match the entire time. Yeah, neither group are good to each other. But, you know what. Willo has the most reason out of all of them to hate the wizards!!!

Nightwalker and Elena and Averil talk about how much they hate the wizards and how bad they are, but what did one personally do to any of them? As pointed out by Han, most clan have never even SEEN a wizard before. Let alone fought them! 

Willo was actually spelled, raped, and impregnated by one! She has the most reason out of all of them to hate them, and yet she’s the one asking for unity. 

And then, to make Willo even better? She took down the Bayars. She went with Han to that council meeting. She had faith in him when literally no one else did (even Han himself), and faced down Gavan Bayar. Not only that… she WON. And she stayed alive.

Willo was also super supportive and loving towards her future daughter-in-law, which is not something that you see in the media today. Or in real life.

She got her people out of Marisa Pines as fast as possible, and managed to keep her head.

When Han called a meeting for the clans, Willo immediately knew that something was wrong, and was one of the first to defend him. 

Willo literally talked back to CLAN ROYALTY. Something that several other people have yet to do, maybe minus Dancer, but the things that Willo said were like real roasts. Examples:

“You had no problem using Hunts Alone against the Bayars.” -Willo, interrupting Elena talking about how the Naeming forbids the clans from working with wizards.

“‘He is what you and Elena created, Light Foot.’ Willo said, standing herself. ‘He is offering you the same kind of choice you gave him.’” -Willo, when Averil threatened Han.

Willo was the first matriarch(/patriarch but I don’t know the general term for that, so…) to agree to the truce, and she was the only one to do it willingly!

After Marisa Pines was taken over by Southerners, and Willo came back, she still greeted everyone with deep respect. That’s nice, of course, afterwards, she kind of just stood there while all the drama was unfolding. Though, in Willo’s defense it was probably taking a lot of self-control not to yell at Elena and Averil herself, THEY TRIED TO KILL HAN WITHOUT EVEN CONFIDING THEIR PLANS TO HER, and was probably just enjoying the fact that they were finally getting what was coming for them. 

Now, since this is already 3 pages long, I’m not even gonna get into the Shattered Realms… I might have to make a whole other post for that tbh. 

In summation, Willo is a bad-ass. 

The reason I made this post was because there are so many other characters that are given recognition (whether good or bad) in the series itself and by the fans. There are other characters too, like Jemson of course, but most of them are given their recognition in the stories themselves. Willo has just done so much, and after re-reading for the dozenth time, you start to notice a lot more stuff that you don’t catch the first time around.

I’m sorry for this long post, especially if you’re just kind of scrolling past it or whatever. Thank you to anyone that did read. Feel free to add on, or correct me, because it’s been a long while since I’ve read the first book. 

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

What am I now? What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'

-’Falling’ by Harry Styles

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRDKoMcgavw

I’ve seen and read a lot of fanfictions where it’s told from the POV of one character and that inspired me to write this but... it’s not happy... much... and Harry Styles’ song just also inspired me to write out this fairly sad piece because that song is such a tearjerker man..

I like to this of this as an inside look of the witch's mind and thoughts as well as her opening up about her issues.

WARNING: This small piece contains mentions and/or references to suicide and intrusive thoughts. Reader discretion is advised.

Interestingly... I've come to realize that Amy's behavior makes sense if you know what Borderline Personality Disorder is and what the symptoms are. Many of which she actually checks out for. I study a lot of psychology in my spare time and to my surprise, Amy ended up showing some symptoms even though I swear to God it wasn’t my intention, it just kinda... ended up like that.

For more info or insight on BPD: 

https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/comic-perfectly-shows-jealousy-looks-232343129.html

https://psychcentral.com/lib/loving-someone-with-borderline-personality-disorder/

Amy’s POV:

Apparently most children get their quirks at the age as early as 3 or 4, but when I was 4 years old I didn’t get mine. 5, 6,7,8,9, still nothing. That was it, I guess that just meant I was going to be quirkless forever, on the bright side at least I would be part of a minority that I could one day fight for I thought. If I’m gonna be quirkless I would own it. That’s what I told myself.

But then one day when I was 9 years old I woke up over my bed, floating around my room until my mom came in to make sure I came down safely. She told me everything, how her side of the family has a bloodline of witches that dates all the way back in the 1800’s and one of my great great great grandmothers or something had the same genetic affliction. Just like that everything became different, when I thought it was awesome at first, started to learn just what I am and who I am, and the history of all the great witches of the past. Slowly but surely I discovered more powers about myself, more powers I would one day learn.

Everything was brilliant… until the following year my parents were killed by witch hunters. Dad wasn’t even a witch, he was just an ally, he loved my mom and I more than anything, and they killed him for that. Worst part? When the heroes got to me before I could get barbecued, they didn’t even kill them.

I suppose that’s where it all begins though, after that they decided I wasn’t going to be safe enough here and that my new powers that were manifesting would be too much for them to handle. And because they didn’t want to deal with me, they called on the other witches on the other side of the world. From then on out, I had to leave my old life behind, my best friend and his family who treated me like family. I went from orphaned, to abandoned, to a bloodbath. 

As soon as I got to New Orleans everything else was just as unsafe. Asshole frat boys, an actual Minotaur man, fucking zombies, voodoo witches and of course MORE witch hunters trying to kill us. And also an immortal racist, a Frankenstein Frat boy, a tongueless butler who has tea parties and sex with dead teenage girls, a wicked voodoo deity and an old, axe-wielding serial killer that was once a ghost in Robichaux. Yup. But that’s just a perfectly average day at Robichaux, and a perfectly average day in my fucked up life.

At least I had my sisters like Zoe, Madison and Misty, and Ms. Cordelia and how can I forget Ms. Myrtle? That woman needs to be a fashion icon and I will do justice by her and make sure the world knows who she was. And even Ms. Fiona. The bitch who used to be in charge was pretty badass, I mean if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be the strong, independent witch bitch I am today. Yeah I have a ton of issues because of the borderline emotional abuse she dished out on me and the other witches but still...

My new sisters were by far the least terrible part of the entire thing. Which is why it still breaks my heart to think about how some of them died, because not all of them came back... 

Through all of that I kept myself up though. I learned how to fight back and fight alongside my sisters. I learned how to be strong, how to rely on myself and my sisters because we knew that no hero was going to come to our rescue. I had to be strong, I had to have thick skin and an elastic heart. Yeah that’s right I referenced Sia, she’s an awesome singer, just like Stevie Nicks. Amazing women, inspiring...

Sorry, getting off-topic. Anyhoo, I’ve realized though that it’s better that way. Being with the witches showed me the truth of the world, how the world looks at us and how it wants us to look. We have to be perfect, we have to be charming, we have to smile and look pretty. Why? Because the heroes have to be there to save the cute and pretty damsel in distress so they can feel powerful. 

This idea of heroes and villains is really all just bullshit... all of these villains I’ve seen thus far... they’re kittens compared to the evils and horrors I’ve seen here. It’s not just New Orleans, but I mean Bloody Face was a monster back in the 50′s, then the man who made the Hotel Cortez, he was pure evil and still haunts that hotel to this day. James Patrick March. Evil. Pure Evil and he murdered just to feel something, innocent people who didn’t deserve it. Dr. Arthur Arden, a.k.a Hans Gruper, the Nazi doctor who hid under a disguise and performed horrifying experiments on humans in the insane asylum of Briarcliff. Instead of helping those poor people, he just murdered, butchered and tortured them for his sick experiments. So many lives ruined, mutilated. The victim’s last moments were nothing but pain and a desperate wish for death until he put a bullet through their heads.

Murders, monsters, all of them. They all murdered for fun, and then even normal people were evil, the ones who valued their pride and selfish desires over anything and destroyed innocence itself just to achieve that. 

Those are the real evil people. All For One? Overhaul? Shigaraki? They couldn’t slice a loaf of bread with the amount of sharpness they had all put together. 

Those ‘villains’ that All-Might and my friend Midoriya have fought thus far are nothing compared to the monsters I’ve seen. They’re all a bunch of kitty cats, but I’ve seen and known killers. Real killers. Real monsters. 

A woman from an old asylum once said that ‘all monsters are human’ and she was right, because the monsters I’ve seen were humans. The worst of humanity and I've seen it all. What heroes choose to ignore though is that it's in all of us, and that those who choose not to do shitty things is what makes a hero apoarently. What a crock of shit...

But I guess monsters are just another thing that the heroes like to glamorize so they can fight and save the world from what they deem as the real monsters of the world. When I showed that I wasn’t a sweet and gentle girl as he believed, Midoriya looked at me like I was a monster, which just proved to me that he’s a part of what I’m fighting, and that that’s what this society wants, a good little girl who does good things all for the sake of this society. And I’m a monster because I’m not a good little girl, my sisters aren’t good little girls, no, we’re not a bunch of sad girls who are just waiting to be rescued, we’re witches. We’re not giving those motherfuckers the satisfaction of saving the poor damsels in distress because we’re not, we’re powerful and we don’t owe them anything, not a thanks, not a hug, not a flash of our tits and especially not a goddamn smile that men just love to see on women. 

Men like that are afraid of women like us, they’re afraid of women who aren’t afraid to get ugly and dirty our hands with blood. Afraid of women like me. And I learned how to fight, I was able to keep myself flying, because that was my first power, flight. I can fly based on how I feel, or on how much willpower I put into it. My power comes from my emotions and no fucking misogynist can tell me my emotions make me weak because I can do anything I want based on how I feel and how much willpower I have.

Lately though, it’s been nothing but willpower, as the older I get the more I realized that I’m not loved in this place. I wouldn’t be missed if I disappeared and I know it. I know it. But in life young people like me have to keep going even though we’re also gifted with the power of being painfully aware of all the bullshit that adults try to tell us is the truth, but we know better than that, they just don’t get that we’re not as stupid as we look. Although the sad part is, some of us ARE and they buy into the bullshit and try so hard to be the perfect little shitheads these assholes want us to be.

I can’t do that though, that’s not me. I wish it was sometimes though, who knows, maybe if I was that kind of person then maybe I would be liked by everyone, but that’s not me. Maybe that’s why I won’t be missed, maybe that’s why I’m forcing myself to fly every damn day just to make it through. Forcing myself to pretend that everything’s fine and smiling like a fucking idiot just to make everyone happy and not let them be miserable as me, but this shit’s hard, it’s hard to act like you’re okay when you’re not.

And I’m too aware of this shit, too aware to be truly ignorant and I call people out if I think they sound ignorant. So I’m not surprised when they end up leaving me or trying to tell me to be nicer and that I shouldn’t be blaming anybody or anything just because I’m a cynical and miserable bitch. Yeah, I’m a bitch but I can’t help it. At least I know my shit, I’d rather be a miserable bitch than an ignorant one.

Yet here I am, constantly miserable, constantly thinking and constantly aware that I’m nobody’s favorite person.

That’s just it. I’m not surprised by anything, because everything I do, everything I say, there’s always something bad behind it, that’s the idea I give everyone. I know it, it shouldn’t bother me but apparently, I can’t bring myself to fly because I’m happy, because I’m not. And then there’s always something that shows up in my life, something to make me feel some type of way, not a good way though. I can’t help the way I react to some things, I wish I could though, a normal person would be able to just go out and live life the way everyone else does. But I’m not normal. I never was. And every single day I’m reminded of it, every single day I remind myself it.

Every time I fly it’s through willpower alone, not because I’m so excited that my feelings can make me fly. No, lately I haven’t been able to feel a goddamn thing, and ironically that’s what hurts the most.

For someone who’s first gift was flight and for someone who’s powers allow them to fly, I’m just… falling. 

Constantly, every time I fly, I just feel like I’m falling as the weight of this world just keeps beating me down until one day I eventually hit rock bottom.  I don’t expect anyone to catch me, not even my loved ones. I feel like I’ve hurt them enough. Everyone I love, I end up hurting in some way because I’m just a jealous, overzealous, toxic and cynical bitch. I don’t deserve them and they don't deserve this. All this poison, all this anger and problems, I don't want that for them.

So I don’t tell them that I’m falling when I’m flying. If I’m gonna fall, I’m not going to drag them down with me.

Rock bottom almost doesn’t sound like a bad idea at this point. There are times where I get so frustrated with everything, so angry and so pissed off that I need to get away from everything and everybody and I let myself fly upwards. I just fly as high as possible, so high that I’m in the clouds and I can no longer see the rest of the world beneath me. 

God... sometimes I get so high that I just want to stay up there. I want to stay feeling so high and so powerful like nothing can stop me. I’m invincible when I’m up so high. And yet that honestly terrifies me too, because when I’m up so high I forget everything, even the things and the people I don’t want to forget. How could I ever want to forgive some of the people I love the most? 

When I remember them, that’s when I regain my vision and I start to see how high I’ve gotten, and how far it is to go back down. Everyone can see me and they can see how far I’ve gone, even up that high I can still see their disappointed faces and that just no longer makes me feel so invincible anymore. Because then I start to think ‘here I am’ up on top and yet I’m all alone up here. 

Sometimes when I’m up that high is when I start to think about just letting go of the willpower and letting myself fall from such a distance, close my eyes and just let everything go. Let the gravity just bring me back down until I hit the ground.

 And then I wonder, would that matter at all? Would it be better that way?

But as usual, I can never think of a fucking answer… other than that I should probably just go back home because I have people waiting for me. Ashlen, Hitoshi, Katsuki, Madison... I hope they're not too worried about me... I know they want to see me come home even though I’m the last person I want around, and I honestly don’t know how they want me around. 

Yet I guess it’s enough to make myself fly a little more, just to go back to them, because in the end I feel a little bit of something when I’m with them. They’ve moved my wicked heart, even when I think I’m better off dead, they make me fly. 

I don’t know if I saved myself, or if it’s them who saved me, because frankly it’s too late to save me, but I’m still here. I’m still here so I can go home and see them.

God... I haven’t been home for a while, but I’m on my way back home, I know they’re waiting for me, probably worried about me too.

Ash, Toshi, Katsu, Mads... You guys don’t have to worry, I’m coming home now. After all, I wouldn’t miss seeing your smiles for the world. 

[threads-and-fate]

Session 1: Welcome to Arden High

There’s only one place to start, and that's the beginning. It was an early Wednesday morning. The heat having not settled over the growing gathering of young teenagers yet. The sky was clear and highlighted the tall building they stood outside of. Smooth clean stone fences surrounded the tall school. The school itself was a pale white colored brick building with mosaic windows with various shades of blue, purple, and green. Standing within the gates was and average height girl, with two others behind her. She stood on top of a soap box and was directing the crowd some and half discussing something with one of the other girls. One was knelt and working on something on her phone.

A girl with vanilla dyed hair stood, Hazel Foltz, with a small group, excitedly observing her surroundings. With her stood five other teens, two other girls and three boys.

“This place is crowded, there has to be at least two hundred students here.” The boy with black hair and a hoodie noted, his name is Jamie Runfords.

A girl with colorfully streaked hair stood with him, that’s Camilla Jane Runfords, but don’t call her Camilla, just Cami. She was bouncing up and down, her rainboots making weird squeaking sounds.

"ITS HUGE, IT’S LIKE A WHOLE HOUSE!"

Meanwhile, Jamie was holding her hand in attempts to prevent her running off right away. She stayed put but was squeezing the life out of her cousin’s hand.

An annoyed brunet nearby rubbed his temples. “Cami this is much larger than a house,” Oliver sighed.

"Ok, four houses!" She corrected

Mia, the strawberry pink of our neapolitan quadruplets, giggled at Oliver’s annoyed look. Hazel hummed quietly as she looked onward, pushing her glasses into place. Ethan, a boy with cherry dyed hair and a denim jacket, looked around, standing on his toes to get a better look at the girl at the front. The Foltz’ all were in an almost square.

Jamie looked at the sea of heads and faces fidgeting slightly. "I hope the hallways are big because cramming this many people into classes is gonna  be worse than middle school...”

Nearby a girl pushed a boy’s wheelchair cautiously through the crowd, wearing headphones that lit up to some unhearable beat.

Hazel turned and grinned. “We’ll be broken down into classes, no class is larger than twenty people I read!”

Oliver sighed in relief at that. “That’s good to hear,”

"That’s a little better." Jamie nodded in agreement.

Mia smiled and nodded. “Though we may get separated some then.” She sounded a tad disappointed.

"There’s always study group just in case." Cami pat her friend on the shoulder. "But we should end up together in at least one class!"

She smiled and nodded, enthusiasm returning. “You’re right! And hopefully we’ll have lunch together,”

Cami grinned, Jamie was thinking about Elliot. "I can’t believe we’re finally here, Elliot is also gonna be in 3rd grade this year, I hope I can work out some way to walk with him before our bus comes,"

"If you can’t, he has to get used to going to the bus or his classes alone sometime Jamie.” Cami shrugged. "He's a big kid,"

Jamie frowned at the idea.

The teen at the front was speaking to the black haired girl and the brunette next to her. The brunette looked excited as they spoke, the black haired girl was watching the crowd more so. She seemed a little weary, like she hadn’t signed up to help.

Mia hummed. “He can still be a little protective Cami, till at least 5th grade?”

Oliver rolled his eyes at them. “Don’t baby him too much,”

"All I’ve done is baby him, nobody else would," Jamie said.

"But auntie can do that now for you," Cami reminded him. "That’s her job. She’s your mom now,”

"Really, I didn’t know."

Ethan shrugged. “Nothing wrong with babying him a bit, just as long as he doesn’t get bratty...”

Hazel shook her head. “This is Elliot we’re talking about, Ethan.” He chuckled and nodded at that.

"If he turns out bad I’ll blame myself really," Jamie chuckled awkwardly.

Mia pat his shoulder a bit stiffly.

Cami stood on her tiptoes to see. "Are we gonna go in soon? I’m getting antsy,"

The sound of a microphone being tapped a few times began to get everyone’s attention

“Hello? Is it on- oh there it is, thank you Charisse for making it work!” The girl chimed politely.

The girl stood on her soapbox, dead center of the gates. The large school towered over her, the building was decorative, colorful glass panes made up a gradient on the front tower like structure. The school looked like what maybe a modernized castle may have looked like. Sleek but sturdy and maybe a bit intimidating. She and the other two girls all wore similar uniforms, the ties being the only difference.

Cami squealed. "Its starting!"

Mia bounced excitedly with her. Ethan was beginning to rock between heels and his toes even.

“Hello freshman! Good morning!” Her tone was chipper, but not obnoxiously so. “I hope you slept well, if not I’m terribly sorry this is taking place at seven AM,” She announced.

Oliver huffed a laugh at that.

Cami shrugged. “I didn't sleep last night anyways I was too excited,"

“Everyone, my name is Laci Paulk, I am the student council president. I’ll be giving you a tour today of our quite frankly enormous school,” She went on. Adjusting her braid as she spoke before rocking her weight to one side, her tie was a dark purple. “With me is two students that are now going up to sophomore and junior year, they’ll help answer questions,”

She turned to her company and held the mic out, a faint. “Want to introduce yourselves?” Was heard from Laci.

The other brunette stepped up, her hair was a shoulder length messy bob, her tie was a lilac.  “Morning everybody! My name’s Charisse Galate and I hope you guys are excited! I know I was when I first started,” She spoke enthusiastically. She squinted at the crowd “Aaandd somewhere out theeerree is my brothe- HI JEREMYYYYY!!!” She said unnecessarily loudly to annoy him, waving erratically. A few people winced at the yelling over the microphone.

The boy nearby in the wheelchair slowly covered his face, making various dying sounds. The girl with headphones pat his back sympathetically.

Jamie sent his condolences as well to whoever the girl was talking about.

She passed the mic to the next girl who stepped up as she went down, she had long curly black hair and a tie that was pastel blue. “Mornin’, not gonna lie I don’t wanna be awake but hey, my friends are here so I am too, my name is Simone O’Rourke, I just graduated the year you’re going into.” She briefly waved as she spoke, pushing her hair back out of her face.

The boy in the wheelchair softly laughed into his hands at her usual behavior.

“Also... If you guys know what a packet teacher is... beware of geography,” She warned, “And Lasomono is weird but ok.” She added glancing off.

“Simone!” Laci hissed from the sidelines.

Some students groaned at the info, others were laughing.

Jamie made note of this. "Take the vital info while we can get it guys,"

Laci walked up a bit stiffly before holding out her hand and then taking the microphone. She returned to the box.

“Alriiightt, now that that’s done,” She slightly glared at Simone who was still grinning.  “Let’s get on with the tour shall we? Charisse will be mingling with all of you and Simone will be at the very back to make sure everyone stays together, now!”  She stepped off the box, lifting it to reveal it was the speaker, she hung it from her shoulder like a bag and made a motion to follow.

Simone sidled out of the crowds way to head towards the back. Standing off to the side and sliding along the noisy crowd. Simone took over pushing the boy’s wheelchair once her friends met her in the back of the hoard.

Cami started skipping to keep up with the hoard, Jamie kept pace with her by simply speed walking. Ethan was trying to keep stride with them, Mia joined her in skipping, Hazel was nearly there but not as obvious.

Cami grabbed Ethan’s hand with her free one and smiled. "Can’t lose anyone in the hoard, c’mon Oliver you wanna skip too?"

Oliver shook his head rapidly. “No thank you!”

Ethan smirked at him and promptly skipped along with the girls.

Jamie shrugged. "You’ll have to keep up via speed walking then, they skip rather fast."

Oliver sighed annoyed and continued speed walking.

Charisse eventually had filtered her way towards them, and was skipping with them jokingly “Why are we skipping?”

Jamie pointed to Cami. "I don’t think she remembers how to walk really. She skips a lot so we kinda started a chain?"

Cami nodded. "Its more fun than walking,"

Charisse snickered before stopping and walking instead.

Cami made sure everyone was still semi close by. "Ethan, I’m giving you candy when we stop for not being a stick and skipping with us,"

“Sooo kiddos, any questions?” She quirked her head casually.

Ethan cheered a bit before looking at Charisse. “You’re not that much older than us, why kiddos?”

“Because I can! Next question.” She clapped.

Hazel watched the halls and the decorations on the walls, posters, photos, decor of all sorts were organized rather neatly along the neutral colored surface. Giving it pops of color in a semi-chaotic way. There were framed pictures of classes and activities as well. The school ironically felt like some extension of home with all of the displays proudly showing off it’s students and teachers.

"WHAT’S ON THE LUNCH MENU?" Cami shouted more so than asked.

Charisse’s nose scrunched. “Uhh, it changes throughout the year usually? You can check the site once the year starts to have a heads up for the week’s menu, I advise bringing snacks either way though because we can only get one serving,” She explained.

They had apparently gotten far enough back for Simone to contribute. “AND THE SERVING SIZES SUCK!” Jeremy face palmed.

Charisse rolled her eyes. “And you have the appetite of four of the swim team members!”

Jamie laughed. "I think Cami managed to feed everyone once from her candy hoard in her bag,"

Cami nodded proudly and tossed Charisse a snickers. "Thank you for the heads up!"

“That's.... impressive..” She caught it. “Very impressive,”

"I have lots in this bag."

“Serving sizes are kinda small but filling, so again, snacks.” Charisse pocketed the candy for later.

She took out her favorite brick as an example.

“Leeettts not carry that to school?” Charisse said in a confused tone.

"I read the rules, its allowed actually,"

"What part of the handbook was this?" Jamie quirked an eyebrow

"I dunno but Oliver had it highlighted." She paused then added, "Most of it was highlighted,"

Oliver sighed. “It said no knives or weapons on school grounds.... Technically a brick isn’t a weapon, it’s a building material,”

"Exactly,"

Charisse snorted. “I feel bad for whoever pisses you off- wait can I swear in front freshman? Meh sure,” She muttered.

Jamie shrugged. "Not like we haven’t heard the words before,"

“Fair enough,” She nodded.

Cami snickered. "Auntie gets heated sometimes,"

“So, what’s the student council president like? She seems nice?” Hazel queried.

“Laci? Yeah she’s nice. Mostly focused on studies and president stuff though, she has a friend that’s in your year I think? Or is he in sophomore now?” She pondered aloud.

"Who are the teachers to get." Cami continued the line of questions.

“Uhh, geez well I think you guys are getting Simone’s teacher set so uh- SIMONE COME DO YOUR JOB!” She yelled before stepping off to another crowd.

Simone made an annoyed noise, letting the boy take over pushing the wheelchair and heading forward. “Yeah?”

"Teachers to get?" Cami repeated.

“Hmm, Mrs. Turman’s awesome. She’s kinda slow, she’s older. But if you behave or do well on stuff she gives out caramel or other candy?” She shrugged.

"I like candy!" Cami perked up.

“Mr. Watton is the gym teacher and he’s kind of.... Annoying? Ok, no, he’s incredibly obnoxious.“ She snorted at herself.

Oliver rose an eyebrow. “A bit rude aren’t you,” He muttered to Jamie.

"She could be speaking the truth, we'll have to see for ourselves though, I think it’s kinda funny." Jamie mumbled back with a shrug.

Oliver sighed and nodded.

“He’s waaay too enthusiastic, if you end up like I did, you’ll get him first thing in the morning which is utter hell.” She groaned at the memory.

"Morning gym sounds..ew.." Jamie made a face at the idea.  "Whos idea was morning gym,"

“No clue, but they’re a moron,” Simone muttered.

Cami shifted her weight back and forth in her spot thinking. "I could run in the morning if needed!"

Jamie then prayed he didn’t have gym in the morning and with Cami. One or the other or else he might not survive long.

“Uhhh, the geo teacher, Mr. Clause is kind of a pain, he’s the packet teacher,” She rattled off.

Mia tilted her head at Simone. “This may be more social and less school related but, you’re the one who ended up helping us solve that question a while back right?”

Simone thought for a moment. “Oh the summer warm ups for freshman? Yeah that was me,” She smirked.

Cami stared at Simone's face for a second and slowly nodded. "Hey.. Yeah!! She's right! You ordered blueberry lemonade I think,"

Ethan sighed. “We were stumped, how did you remember that?”

“I had literally an hour before then helped my friends with the same problem,” She grinned “Don’t worry, rarely does anyone get that right without help,”

Hazel rubbed her face, shoving her glasses up. “Uughh, I hate those kinds of problems!”

"Well, we owe ya," Cami added. "If we can ever help you out sometime let us know!"

She smiled politely as they stopped slightly. Seeing a staircase up ahead as Laci turned to face the crowd. Despite a little over a hundred people filling the hall it managed fairly well. It was crowded but not painfully cramped.

“I know we have someone who is in a wheelchair so umm,” She paused briefly. “Charisse, take your brother to the elevator?”

Simone immediately bolted. “I’VE GOT IT!!” She pushed the chair past the crowd, hopping onto a bar on the back that appeared to have been added.

“SIMONESIMONESIMONE NOOOO!!!” Jeremy shrieked as they sharply rounded a corner. Cackling heard down the hall as the girl with headphones ran after.

Laci sighed slowly. “.... You can’t say I didn’t try,”

Charisse laughed. “They’re inseparable what’d you expect?” Was heard from the microphone as well. “She’s just glad they’re all in the same building again,” Charisse continued grinning.

Mia grinned. “They seemed pretty close,”

“And a bit crazy,” Oliver murmured.

Cami nodded at Mia, Jamie sent his condolences out again. "I just hope we don’t hear any crashing noises in a moment,"

Cami sighed. "Oliver, do you even ride the baby coasters at the fair with that attitude?"

“He’s in a wheelchair, she should be more cautious!” Oliver huffed and folded his arms at her.

Hazel awkwardly smiled but nodded as they headed up the stairwell. “He could get hurt,”

Once they made it to the second level they caught sight of the trio again, Simone riding the back of the wheelchair again. At a more reasonable speed this time however.

"If you’re stuck in a wheelchair you should have a little fun!" Cami retorted as they stepped out into the open. "He's alive right over there,"

He looked a bit ruffled and was currently whining at her. “Siimoooneeee, you’re gonna break my wheelchair!” He groaned.

“Nonsense, I re-enforced it last month!” She chirped.

Nell motioned to the duo and signed something at them. Simone grinned and Jeremy sighed again.

“You two will be the death of me.” He motioned as he spoke.

Mia tilted her head. “Why sign language? She has to be able to hear if she has headphones on?”

Hazel shrugged. “I don’t know but come on we’re lagging behind.” She lightly nudged the group forward.

Cami resumed the skipping chain, Jamie was not prepared and screeched a little and caught up.

"You’re gonna tear my arm off," He huffed.

"Your fault for holding on to my hand like I’m five though," She retorted.

Mia curiously watched over her shoulder as the three talked amongst themselves.

Ethan shrugged. “Maybe she's mute?”

“But.... She can hear still?” Mia looked incredibly lost. “But I feel it may be rude to ask...”

"Lets not right now," Jamie agreed.

Cami wasn't phased. "Maybe it's like a code, I have my own code in my head,"

“Why in your head?” Ethan asked confused.

"Helps me group stuff sometimes," She explained. "I have so many thoughts bouncing around at once,"

"But you’ve heard me refer to you guys as oranges before, that’s like code." Cami stopped to stare and think. "Or maybe I only group you like that in my head.."

Mia tilted her head. “I think I’ve heard you mention it,”

Oliver had a look that said he didn’t want to know what went on in Cami’s head. Cami continued walking lost in thought.

“Is she ok?” Ethan asked quietly.

Hazel shrugged.

Jamie nodded. "She's fine,"

Cami snapped out of it and brushed off the question. "Oh, well just know you guys are great,"

Mia beamed. “You are too Cami!”

Cami smiled wide. "Aw thank you! Hey look more buildings.. How big is this school.."

Out a window they were passing showed another large chunk of the school grounds, two buildings were visible along with what appeared to be a soccer field. The shorter building was closer and appeared to be a gym. The building behind it appeared to be two or three stories high on it’s own. It’s dome shaped roof and vaguely visible opening implied it was an observatory. The grounds themselves they could see were well trimmed and kept. Neat purple and blue flower beds lined the walkways.

“This place could classify as a small city,” Hazel murmured.

Oliver glanced over. “Am I the only one listening to the guide?”

“I’m listening!” Hazel huffed defensively. “..... Kind of.”

Mia sheepishly smiled. “Oops...”

Ethan snorted. “Wow, the ever attentive Hazel isn't paying attention?” He jabbed her side to which she smacked.

“Shut up I was trying to be social! And I asked Charisse some questions.” She continued giving her “explanations”. Hazel isn’t one to admit things like this if you couldn’t tell.

Cami was staring at water spots on a ceiling tile. "Hey, that one looks like a plus sign,"

Jamie laughed. "I was half paying attention, Cami's exploring on her own now,"

Simone was still behind them to make sure they didn't get separated. She was pushing the wheelchair along and contently talking with the other two.

Cami gave Oliver a dramatic look. "We won’t survive if we’re too dependent on our elders, we must learn to explore and grow, ON OUR OWN!"

He gave a long sigh. “The school is enormous and I don't want to be late on the first day,”

"And if you act like a grumpy stick this whole tour I'll sharpie your forehead," She threatened.

He backed up slightly at that. Cami took a sharpie out of her bag and waved it towards him in threat. He scowled and stepped behind Hazel who was looking at the classroom signs.

The crowd had slowed slightly, they could barely hear Laci speaking. However, a pleasant ringtone was loud and clear over her speaker before she spoke louder.

“I’m sorry, I just got an important call I really need to take. Charisse please wait and handle this?” She quickly passed the mic to her before disappearing into what appeared to be another classroom.

Cami looked at all the doors and read all the name tags for teachers. "There's the mean geo teacher's room,"

Unbeknownst to our dear students, some of their more interesting teachers were passing through. Adair, the chemistry teacher who has “wasted” talent, saw Thryver, the Acchian faun, sneaking up on the back of the crowd; he already saw where this was going.

"Y'know I really think we should repaint the gym to help bring out motivation." The gym teacher was still prattling on to the astronomy teacher who was clearly not interested, nor paying attention.

Simone glanced over her shoulder and saw Mr. Thryver. “Uh oh,” She whispered, grinning.

Adair looked like he was suffering, watching Thryver and side eyeing Watton, one of the gym teachers. He was already beginning to rub his temples. The teacher group made an interesting lot, Adair dressed in a nice button up, slacks, and a lab coat like most of the teachers wore; he looked the most orderly of them. Watton was wearing a tracksuit, with a whistle being the most notably different part of the outfit. The astronomy teacher looked like a more disheveled Adair. Thryver wore traditional Acchian robes. Dark blue wrapped around his torso and then opening and loosening into a skirt of sorts.

“VITE THA UN DOTELLA!” Thyver abruptly shouted startling the crowd.

Mia jumped a mile, Cami however turned around excited and waved looking for who said that. Jamie also jumped out of his skin at the shout. Ethan whipped around and Oliver may have been one of the people that screamed.

Charisse jerked and blinked. “And there's Mr. Thryver!”

“THAT MEANS HELLO AND WELCOME!” He continued loudly.

The gym teacher scanned the sea of freshman. "ARE THESE THE NEWBIES WE GET TO HAVE FUN WITH IN GYM CLASS?!"

Jamie frowned. "Oh dear the teacher sounds much too excited for gym class I think that girl was right,"

Adair groaned quietly then saw Simone. “And you’re here... Just when I thought the day couldn't get worse.”

“Good to see you too Mr. Adair!” She chimed with fake enthusiasm.

Oliver nodded at Jamie. A bit alarmed. Charisse waved the crowd of teachers.

The astronomy teacher scanned the crowd. "YES WELCOME, WE ARE VERY EXCITED TO WELCOME YOU TO OUR SCHOOL, ITS HISTORY IS QUITE THE CONSPIRACY!"

“Everybody that is Mr. Thryver who just yelled, he's our teacher for Acchian, the man in gym gear with too much energy is Mr. Watton and that enthusiast there is Mr. Lasmono, the astronomy teacher.” Charisse laughed over the speakers as she spoke. “And the man with a look of suffering is Mr. Adair, our loving and dear chemistry teacher,” She snickered.

"Oh don't be silly, our school was not built on any of the stuff you say it was," Mr. Watton laughed at Lasmono.

"Do we know that?" He asked, before answering himself. "No,"

Simone leaned over. “Hey, we may be on an ancient burial ground,”

Jeremy shook his head at them.

Cami nodded interested in what the astronomy teacher had to say. "He has a point though,"

Jamie facepalmed.

Hazel adjusted her glasses. “Actually it’s believed is placed around what would’ve been mid-world’s Thailand, so technically what we have would be Indian burial grounds,”

"ARE YOU KIDS READY FOR SOME HEALTHY TEAM BONDING THIS SUMMER? ALSO IF YOUR INTERESTED IN GETTING YOUR SCHOOL SPIRIT ON I HAVE SIGN UPS READY ON THE SCHOOL WEBSITE FOR CHEERLEADING!" The gym teacher continued. The crowd wasn’t very responsive.

Simone rolled her eyes at his hyperactivity.

The girl in headphones watched the teacher with immense confusion, she couldn't read his lips very well.

Jamie shook his head. "Last time someone said team bonding it meant dodgeball,” He sighed "That's not healthy,"

“Agreed,” Oliver nodded.

The sound of the mic shifting and Laci speaking grabbed the group’s attention yet again.

“Hello, so sorry I had to answer that... ah...” She looked stiffer than before. “I see some teachers have joined us? How are you all this morning?”

"I’M FEELING GREAT!" Watton cheered.

"I’d feel better if the government wasn't lurking to be honest," Lasmono mumbled.

“I’m well, miss Laci I hope you and your friend is too?” Thryver singsonged.

Adair’s expression answered her question.

Laci stiffened mildly. “I’m alright... I’ll chat later, you know uh- schedule and what not!” She awkwardly motioned for them to continue moving, attempting to maintain her previous enthusiasm.

Mia’s expression shifted to concern. “Is she alright?”

Jamie slowly shook his head again. "I would guess no… She looks worried."

Hazel nodded a bit at that.

Cami chucked a snickers bar in her direction. "Just in case," She explained.

Oliver winced as he saw it hit a random student.

"Cami, you can't just candy snipe strangers," Jamie groaned.

"It was for a good cause,"

“Maybe we should check on her after?” Mia gently suggested.

Hazel nodded. “She has to wait for everyone to leave first after all, it'd be hard to miss her,”

"Good plan," Cami agreed.

The tour had finally come to a close, students or soon to be students were all filing out the front gate. It was a little after noon and the heat was worse. The sun shined brightly just outside of the building’s entrance and waves of the heat made it in as the doors stayed mostly open. Laci stood to the left of the building entrance, waving at anyone that looked her way or answering a few final questions. Cami signaled the rest of the group when she spotted Laci through the sea of heads. "C’mon let's check on her before we get pushed out by the hoard!" Mia almost jumped Ethan in attempts to stay with the group.

“Hey, I’m not a ride!” He huffed but helped support her weight, annoyed. Cami started to weave between people like a little rabbit, Jamie awkwardly tried to follow her but was nowhere near as fast.

"I think Cami has a sixth sense that makes her fast," Jamie mumbled to the others, "Or the candy.."

"Probably the candy and a sixth sense,“ Hazel concluded.

Oliver pressed through till they managed to break from the crowd, now out in the open space Laci stood in. Cami waved to her. "Hi! Great job on the tour by the way!" Laci turned and pulled another strained smile. “Thank you, glad to help! I hope you’re all looking forward to your first year here.” She slightly pushed her bangs to the side. Briefly checking her phone before it went back down to her side. "Although, we did notice earlier you seemed kinda stressed so we wanted to ask if everything was ok?" Jamie added onto Cami's comment. Cami nodded and dug around in her purse for another snickers bar. "I tried to throw this at you but it hit someone else instead..." Her eyes widened slightly and she stiffened. Mia stepped forward as well. “We just figured we would check on you?” She gave another concerned look. The brunette looked a bit surprised but thankful. “Ah... Was it that obvious?” She tugged at her button up’s collar. "Maybe we’re just super observant," Cami shrugged.

Jamie was going to say something but Cami did focus on details sometimes so he stayed quiet. Cami handed Laci a slightly squished handful of various fun-sized candies and a smiley face sticker. "The sticker is for a good job," Laci looked a tad confused but nodded her thanks. “So... Is everything alright?” Hazel quirked her head. Laci shuffled briefly to put away the candy before sighing. “To be honest, no. Not at all,” She checked her phone again. "Is there anything we can do to help..?" Jamie asked hesitant. He wondered what kind of situation it was, he was afraid of seeming nosey though and wondered if they should even be asking. Cami rocked back and forth and glanced at Laci's phone, trying to see if she had an interesting case for it. It was a plain light purple. She had put the sticker on the back of it.

“Not unless you’re miracle workers,” She sighed.

Hazel awkwardly glanced at the others before Laci elaborated.

“My.. my childhood friend is in the hospital.. he’s... he’s not doing very well...” Her voice shook slightly, a deep breath and she tried to steady herself. “And it's getting worse..” Cami's face fell, she dug in her purse again for a second but stopped and said nothing for a bit.

Jamie looked awkwardly at the ground thinking they possibly made her feel worse. He thought of his Mom though and spoke up softly. "...Does he like any deserts..? Can we bring you or him anything..?" Laci jumped slightly. “W-well uhh, he likes lemon bread? It's been a while. The medicines he's on... but...” She smiled a bit. “I think that'd make his day...”

Simone had wandered up, catching the tail end of her sentence. Jamie nodded slowly "I think I can try that..yeah.." "Is there anything you like specifically?" "What's his favorite color?" Cami asked following Jamie's train of thought. "Hmm.. lime cupcakes.” She smiled a bit fondly. “And he likes purple a lot.”  She looked calmer at the implications this was giving. Cami smiled. "Purple, I can work with this," Jamie took notes quietly on his phone. "Is there any way we can reach you to give you some food and stuff..?" Simone eyed them briefly. “Wyatt ok?” She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. Laci jumped again. “Oh- oh he’s... He's been better, the doctors couldn't get a hold of his parents and he... heart... stopped... for a - yeah.” She swallowed and nodded stiffly again. Simone scrunched her nose. “Then what are you doing here? Council head or not he's your best friend,” She made shooing motion. Laci sighed. “I can't just-“ "I’ll handle it,” Simone interrupted. "Wait," Jamie interrupted.   "What... Simone you hate socializing,” She raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll get over it, go on.” She waved again. "WAIT I CAN'T GIVE YOU FOOD UNLESS I CONTACT YOU." He interrupted loudly and a bit distressedly. Laci stopped. “Right right, uhhh here.” She pulled out some note paper, tearing a corner off she wrote out a number quickly. “Here, thank you! And thank you Simone I owe you!” She squeezed Simone in a short hug that the raven haired girl cringed at.

"Thank you, now indeed you should go." Jamie pocketed it. "We should have some stuff for you in a couple of days." "Yeah yeah, listen to them and get out of here,” Simone laughed.

Laci bowed a final thanks, practically sprinting out.

Cami gave him a look. "I can put stuff together in hours man," Jamie sighed. "BAKING IS AN ART FORM THAT CAN’T BE RUSHED!!" Cami frowned. "Don't yell at me there's people here now," "If they go to school with us they will see me yelling at your shenanigans again," Simone moved to stand where Laci had been, occasionally answering questions. Cami rolled her eyes and turned to Simone. "Hi!" Simone nodded at Cami. “Questions or just being friendly?” Mia smiled slightly. “That was really sweet, just a moment ago,” She shrugged. “Just human decency,” "Still good," Cami agreed. "And just being friendly." She bounced a little. ‘She's very friendly," Jamie said, Cami couldn't tell how he meant that so she didn't mind it. Simone nodded slightly, watching the crowd, Charisse was on the other side of the crowd that was now thinning out finally. "We saw you pushing your friend around earlier, do you do go karts as a hobby or something because you steer well for sharp corners!" Cami continued bouncing as if she was listening to music. Jamie noticed she had one earbud in and leaned in. "Are you listening to the nyan cat theme?" "....No..." Ethan made a face at that. Simone rose an eyebrow but answered her. “I mostly hoverboard, but I’ve had a lot of practice weaving his chair around the last year too,” She explained. “Oh neat!" Cami exclaimed. "I've always wanted to try but this grump screams at me if I go too fast on a scooter even," "You wear roller skates while on the scooter to go faster," Jamie protested. Ethan lit up. “Didn’t we talk about me teaching you?” Oliver looked like he swallowed a lemon. Hazel looked a bit worried. "OH YEAH!" Cami grinned. "CAN WE GO NOW?" Mia’s enthusiasm seemed to strain even. Jamie looked at Ethan and shook his head. Cami put her hand on his face and nodded like a bobblehead. Ethan was bouncing a bit. “Our house is on the way, we could get our hoverboards and guards and go!” "YAAAY!!" Cami squealed, she handed Simone a sticker. "You did good on the tour too by the way!!"

"NOW LETS GO BEFORE OLIVER OR JAMIE STOP US!" Cami bounded towards the nearest exit at top speeds. Simone blinked, confused by the sticker, watching as the group all left rapidly. Jamie was stressing already wondering how he would explain to Rachel that Cami split her head open.

[sara-reading1]

Inconceivable - avocadomoon

Well," Bellamy says dryly, "this whole diplomacy thing sure is going great."

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

On some level, Clarke doesn't know why she gets surprised by these sort of things anymore. Last month, the entire camp ate some bad not-strawberries and everybody's tongue turned blue for over a week. Two days ago Jorah saw something she insisted to anyone who would listen was an actual unicorn, and on the hike over here, they'd been serenaded by a flock of birds whose caws sounded eerily like a bunch of gravelly old men beatboxing. So - you know. Earth is weird.

Still, every once in awhile it manages to, well - let's go with 'take her off guard.'

"They want you to have sex," says Arden.

Clarke and Bellamy stare at her. Arden fidgets.

"Uh, with each other," she clarifies.

"What," Bellamy says flatly.

Arden flinches a little, which, Clarke doesn't exactly blame her. Bellamy's what the fuck voice is legitimately terrifying. "It's part of the ritual they perform for the spring solstice. All their trade partners do it; it's how they prove their worth to God that they're, er, rejoicing in the bounty of...something." Arden shrugs a little helplessly. "There were a few words I couldn't translate exactly but that's basically the jist - "

"But the sex part came through loud and clear?" Bellamy snaps.

Arden flinches again, and Clarke slaps his arm, an automatic instinct. A few feet away, she can see the grounder clan council - the Marach, she corrects in her head, if they're going to be trade partners the least they can do is use their actual name - standing stoically, watching them with easy, placid patience. They don't look like the type to demand weird sex favors in return for grain and access to hunting grounds, but well - Earth is weird.

"You asked me to come and translate, well that's what I did," Arden says defensively. "It's not normal French, okay, it's French after a hundred years of evolution and it's not like textbooks on the Ark got automatic updates or anything. I'm doing the best I can."

"You're doing fine," Clarke soothes. "You're sure - I mean - it wouldn't be like, a miscommunication of some kind?" she asks hopefully. "Like maybe the word for 'sex' actually means, like, 'gift' or - or 'communion' or something now - "

"They were...pretty explicit on the sex part." Arden shifts uncomfortably. "There were hand gestures." She frowns. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bellamy says.

"Okay," Clarke says, trying to keep her calm, "okay. Can we, I don't know. Can we negotiate? Maybe explain to them that it's - it's not something we do, and we could...offer them something else, instead?"

"I can try," Arden says, looking skeptical. She glances at Bellamy one more time before turning back to the Marach. Even the way she walks away looks reluctant.

"Well," Bellamy says dryly, "this whole diplomacy thing sure is going great."

Clarke glares at him. "Yeah, because clearly the smarter option would be to kidnap their leader and hold them hostage in exchange for two barrels of grain a month, Bellamy."

Bellamy looks contemplative at that, and Clarke tries very, very hard not to be offended that he seems more willing to start a war than to have sex with her. She fails. "Don't tell me you're actually considering doing this."

"I'm not," Clarke says, feeling an embarrassing rush of blood flood her cheeks. "I definitely do not want to have sex with you."

"Good, because neither do I."

"Good."

"Good."

Clarke turns away from him at the same time as he does the same to her, and they stand in resentful silence for a few moments, watching Arden speak and gesture with the Marach. It...doesn't look like it's going particularly well.

"If we're going to have any long-term presence in this area, we need to have peace with these people," Clarke says after a moment, quite needlessly.

"I am aware of that," Bellamy says, enunciating each word in that precise way he has when he thinks she's treating him like an idiot.

"They might take our refusal to do this as an insult."

"I am aware of that, too."

Clarke glares at the side of his head. "You're being difficult."

"You're being sanctimonious."

Clarke huffs. It's not like she does it on purpose. "I'm just saying," she starts, and breaks off when it comes out much louder than she'd intended. Two of the Marach councilmen glance over warily, and Bellamy shoots her a severe look. "I'm just saying," she tries again, controlling her volume, "that we need this. Like, we really need this, Bellamy. We can't handle another fight right now and winter was tough this year; we're exhausted. We can't pick up and move again until we all get some rest."

It's been a very long, fraught week, these negotiations with the Marach, and Clarke can see every second of it on Bellamy's face in that moment. "Why don't you just come out and say what you're trying to say, Clarke?"

"Fine." Clarke sighs. "It's better than what the River Clan asked us to do."

Both of them wince in unison. Nobody likes to talk about the River Clan.

Bellamy glances back over at the Marach. Arden is still talking, holding her hands out in a placating gesture, but none of them look particularly moved. "It's a dangerous precedent," he says, voice carefully quiet. "For us, if not for them. To compromise on our principles so easily."

"Sex is a principle for you?" Clarke asks incredulously, unable to help herself. Bellamy shoots her another dirty look. "No, really, I mean - it's not like they're asking us to kill each other at the end of it, it's just - "

"Oh come on, you know what I meant," Bellamy interrupts, irritated. Clarke squares her shoulders. Fine, yes. "It's a slippery slope - today it's sex, tomorrow it's, I don't know, human sacrifice or something. Besides, we don't even know all the details yet."

"Details," Clarke says blankly, and Bellamy looks pointedly over at the ceremonial center of the Marach camp, a large, stone altar decorated with various bundles of food and flowers. "Oh my God - "

"Yeah," Bellamy says, with finality. "So. Don't go taking off your pants just yet, princess."

Clarke looks at the ground and concentrates on not blushing. She fails again. "We still may not have much of a choice," she mumbles. When she dares to raise her eyes again, Bellamy is focused on Arden, who's heading their way, two Marach in tow.

"There's always a choice," Bellamy says darkly, and Clarke groans internally. That's the kind of thing he says before he starts wars, generally. "Look, just back me up on this play, okay? I'm not going to let them force you into anything that makes you uncomfortable. We'll hear them out but we won't roll over."

"Fine," Clarke agrees, reluctantly charmed by his sneak attack gentlemanliness, as always. "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome."

"Still don't want to do you," she adds.

Bellamy nods knowingly. "Back atcha," he says, and grins a little bit as they fist bump.

Okay, so, Clarke is a twenty-four year old woman who has lived on Earth for the better part of a decade, and pardon her language, but, well - she's seen some shit. She's done some shit. She's lived some shit. And contextually speaking - it wouldn't really be that big of a deal.

The whole princess thing is more of an advantage than anything these days, but this part of it never fails to be irritating - how they underestimate her sometimes. It gives her authority, reverence, helps people look up to her and seek her guidance, but it also makes them think that she's...breakable. It makes people who hate her want to ruin her, and people who care for her want to protect her, and it's annoying as all hell in either incarnation, to be honest.

So while the idea of having weird possibly-public sex with her platonic political life partner in exchange for a measly trade agreement and a tentative non-aggression pact might not be Clarke's favorite way to ring in the growing season, but like she said, Clarke's seen some shit, and last winter she had to perform open-heart surgery on a fourteen-year-old boy with his mother's dagger at her neck the entire time, so like, let's try and keep some perspective here, people.

Clarke's a nice girl, and she does still believe in love. But sex is sex, love is love, you can have one without the other, and she's pretty sick of eating those crappy berries that taste like creek water every day, so whatever. She's not about to lose her head about it.

(Plus, it's not as if Bellamy isn't - that she hasn't - whatever. She's not thinking about this. Shut up.)

But like, even if she had thought about it - which she hasn't - it's not like it would mean anything, that it wouldn't be totally understandable. She and Bellamy have been living in each other's pockets for years, and it's not like there haven't been - it's natural, okay. Perfectly natural, especially considering that Clarke's love life hasn't exactly been all that lively, considering the blood, death and politics of survival on planet Earth. She's been busy, alright?

Sometimes she thinks she knows his body better than she knows her own, she's had her hands in it so many times. Every scar, every wound, every bruise, she knows, can place on the mental map in her head that pulls up every time her eyes close, and even beyond that, even beyond the intimacy that comes from stitching someone back up over and over, holding them together with your bare hands, there's everything else there too - late nights in tents and muddy ravines and muggy, moss-filled caves, early mornings at the edge of camp passed with cups of purloined coffee and seaweed tea. Every fight, every decision, every moment since she first stepped foot on the ground has happened right next to him, standing shoulder to shoulder, back to back, Bellamy Blake - her partner. A complicated man with simple desires, her perfect complement, in so many ways.

(Like - put like that, it's weirder that she hasn't thought about it. But she hasn't. Again, just clarifying.)

But thoughts are just thoughts and, just, it's not like that, with Bellamy, right? It couldn't be like that, not when it's so important for them to be in sync, not when they have an entire colony of people - almost four hundred now, Clarke thinks sometimes, faintly and with no small amount of shock - depending on them to be sane and solid and unwaveringly together. And sex and love and all that, that's just - that's a bad idea. It just - it just is.

Anyway. Not that Clarke would - anyway. She's done talking about this.

"I'm sorry about this," Arden says again, a little frantic as she tries to apologize, help Clarke into the dress and not meet her eye, all at the same time. "I know how you feel about skirts and I tried to talk them out of it but apparently it's important, like a roleplay thing and - "

"Roleplay?" Clarke repeats dumbly, pausing. The bodice on this thing is made from some kind of bone, and she can already feel the ache she'll have later, the old bullet wound in her side that never quite stops hurting. "What, do we have lines or something?"

"Oh - no," Arden says, flustered. Clarke is reminded kind of suddenly that she's barely nineteen years old. As fierce as she is, and as passionately as she fights for them, she still came down with the Ark, still was shielded from the worst of those first few years, tucked safely away in quarantine at Mount Weather. "No. From the way I understood it, it's like a ceremonial, uh, reenactment, I guess? They have this whole story about the seasons, how spring and summer reunite to defeat autumn and winter every year. Spring is female, summer is male, and they celebrate by, uh - "

"Right," Clarke says resignedly, grunting as Arden pulls the last latch together on the dress. It's too small for her, really, made for somebody with smaller breasts, but at least she can breathe in it somewhat comfortably. And it is pretty - the bodice is horrific but the skirt is made from well-made, white cotton - they must have traded with the Mountain for it - and it flows loose around Clarke's knees, brushing pleasantly against her bare skin. It is, honestly, the nicest thing she's worn in years. "That's an interesting way to look at it, I guess."

"Yeah, I thought so, too." Arden's face brightens a little, and she pulls at her braid a little nervously, smiling sweetly at Clarke. "You look very pretty in it, you know."

"Thanks." Clarke smiles back. It feels kind of awkward on her face. "And - you made sure to get them to agree to the lock on the door, right?"

"Yeah, yes," Arden says. "Bran - that's the main guy, the tall one I was talking to - he was really insistent about it, actually. Apparently when the leaders from other clans do it, they usually bring their own people to stand guard. He wanted to make up the difference, since all you guys have is - well. Me." She smiles sheepishly, then blushes and looks away.

"Right," Clarke says slowly. "Well, glad to know the ritualistic sex clan has such high standards of privacy. Admirable."

"It seems important to them," Arden says, maybe a little defensively. Clarke looks at her sharply, and some of her fire finally comes back, straightening her posture and turning her eyes flinty. "It's their religion. It really is important to them. And it's not meant to be an invasive thing, it's - a celebration, meant in good faith. That's why they seemed so insulted when we wanted to turn it down." She shrugs. "It's a great honor, to be allowed to perform this. Apparently."

Clarke exhales slowly, and tries very hard not to laugh at the reality that having sex with Bellamy Blake is, at the moment, a great, sacred honor.

"Okay," she says, "thank you for your help. I appreciate it."

Arden nods, stepping back at the dismissive tone. "You're welcome," she says, back to deference. Clarke is grateful for that, at least. "They'll send him in soon, I think."

"Alright."

"I'll leave you alone," Arden says quietly.

"Wait," Clarke says, halting her, "thank you. Honestly. And - " she clears her throat. "Thank you for agreeing to - I know it might be awkward for you to lie, when we get home, but - "

"It's nobody's business but yours and Bellamy's," Arden replies firmly, and Clarke remembers now why this girl is her second, why Bellamy chooses her to accompany them on these necessary, delicate trips. "Good luck," she adds, a bit wryly, and Clarke laughs sharply, surprising herself.

"Thanks," Clarke says again, and finds herself surprisingly comforted, watching her close the door softly behind her.

Finding herself alone, Clarke moves to sit down on the bed and then changes her mind, heading to the small, wooden table instead. The turf structures the Marach live in are small, and crude-looking, but they're impressive in their sturdiness, and this one is packed full of the highest luxury that exists in this part of the world: wolf pelt blankets on the bed, an array of hard-to-find fruit on the table, even a jug of what Clarke strongly suspects might be the spiced wine the southern clans produce sometimes, when the crops are good enough. Her mouth waters, just looking at it.

She nibbles a little at the food, confirms her hypothesis about the wine. Walks over and touches the elaborate, beautiful designs on the walls, carved into the hardened mud and painted meticulously in vibrant colors. It is amazing, she thinks, what humans are capable of, even in the most dire and stressful of circumstances. It never really fails to humble her.

(She's not nervous. She's not. She is not. She definitely, one hundred percent, absolutely is not even a little bit - )

"Hey," Bellamy says, suddenly appearing in the doorway, and Clarke nearly jumps out of her skin. When she whirls around, he's smirking at her. "Wow, okay, someone's jumpy. It's almost like we're about to - "

"Shut up." Clarke scowls at him, smoothing down the skirt nervously. "You startled me, is all."

Bellamy smirks again, but apparently is going to take the high road on this one, and doesn't reply as he steps inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. The deadbolt sliding into place is a comforting sound. "They treat you alright?"

"Yes." She picks at the dress again fastidiously. "They put me in a dress," she says a little dumbly. Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her, like, well, duh. "I mean, obviously." She picks at the bodice. "It's a little small."

"Still better than what I got away with," Bellamy says scornfully, stepping further into the room. For the first time, Clarke registers his clothing - the dark pants most of the Marach men wear, and his chest, bare and painted in the same swirling spirals of paint that adorn the walls. "I feel like I got attacked by a bunch of overexcited kids with fingerpaint." He grimaces, flexing his arms in apparent discomfort, causing the swirled designs painted on them to distort a little with the movement of his muscles.

"That's," Clarke says, throat sort of dry, "uh, it looks still wet. Won't it…"

Bellamy shoots her another one of those looks. "Yeah - I think that's the point, princess."

"Oh." Clarke looks down at her dress. Suddenly the bright white color and hard-to-unfasten bodice make a whole lot more sense. "Oh. Okay."

"Right. So." Bellamy sounds resigned, running one hand over his brow as he speaks. "I suppose we could try to fake it, but - "

"We can't," Clarke blurts, feeling an odd jump in her stomach when he turns to look at her curiously. "I mean, just - good faith. That's the golden rule, remember?"

"Right." Offer something to a grounder, you follow up. Period. The lesson they'd learned in many, varied, violent ways, that first year on Earth. It hasn't failed them yet. "The whole...principles thing again."

"Yeah, and - " Clarke shrugs. "It seems like a lot of effort to go to anyway, when we could just…"

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish, a mean grin spreading across his face when she trails off into silence. "Gonna be hard to do it if you can't even say it, princess," he says.

"Oh, shut up."

"No, I'm just saying, like - effort is kind of a big part of it. Are you sure you've been doing it right?"

"I said shut up," Clarke says, laughing a little. She's a little relieved, ludicrously, that he's being a jerk about it. It makes her feel a little bit more sure-footed. The laughter bubbles up again at the look on his face - that skeptical side eye he graces her with whenever she does something he doesn't understand. Or agree with. Or like. Or - you know, that's probably just how he looks at her, most of the time. "Nothing. Sorry. Just - this is weird, and - "

Bellamy's mouth quirks a little. "Right."

"Can we just…" Clarke shakes her head, taking a moment to close her eyes and breathe out, gathering some of her calm back around her, a comforting shroud. "We should eat."

"Okay." He's still smirking a little, but joins her at the table nonetheless. "Is that - "

"Mulled wine," Clarke finishes with a grin. "Yes."

"Christ." Bellamy snags it from her outstretched hand and takes a long swig straight from the cask, sighing in pleasure as he lowers it back to the table. "Fuck, I haven't had good booze in forever."

"Not that I don't love Monty's moonshine or anything," Clarke says, "but I know, right?"

Bellamy grins wolfishly and generously hands the wine back for her to take her turn. Clarke shivers a little when his hand brushes her forearm as he pulls back.

"Haven't had a spread like this in awhile," Bellamy comments after a second. He picks up a fruit Clarke doesn't recognize and taps it against the table, frowning and discarding it when the sound seems to displease him. "Might as well take advantage of it, I guess."

Clarke watches him pick up a strip of dried meat and rip it in half with his fingers, sort of transfixed by the movement of his hands in the dim light.

"Here," he says, handing the other half to her. Clarke takes it, bites into it mindlessly, eyebrows shooting to the top of her forehead when she realizes that this is bear meat - the rarest thing on the table, probably. Her surprise is mirrored on Bellamy's face when she looks over. "I'm still not crazy about this," he continues, "especially since we can't be a hundred percent that Arden's interpreting what they say right. But they're obviously trying to impress us. Which is a nice change of pace, if nothing else."

"Either that or this is part of their whole - celebration bounty spring whatever thing," Clarke says, popping the rest of it in her mouth and chewing greedily. God, it feels like it's been forever since she had food that actually tasted good.

"Well, princess," Bellamy says, grabbing the platter of meat and taking it over to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room, other than the table. "Let's indulge. I'd say we deserve it."

Clarke bites back a smile, squares her shoulders, and grabs the wine.

"Now you're talking," she says.

Okay, so, just to clarify something else: she isn't stupid, or anything. She knows what it all looks like. It isn't like that, but it looks like it.

They usually share a room; it's just easier that way. They're not usually rolling in privacy, anyway, and after this thing with one of the Ark refugees who'd gotten maybe a little obsessed with Clarke (she hesitates to call it stalking, okay, it was mostly just...really sincere love notes and a lot of sad staring) Bellamy tends to get a little overprotective, so it's honestly easier just to sleep wherever he is rather than deal with his neuroticism about it the next morning.

The last time she remembers seeing him with a girl was about three years ago, before the cease fire with the Mountain and the trade accord and all that. She'd run into her coming out of his tent one night - an older woman, Clarke doesn't remember her name, something beginning with N, maybe? - and had caught a glimpse of the scattering of dark love bites down the back of her neck. But then came the drought, and the peace talks with Mount Weather, and since then they've been on the move almost constantly, so - it hasn't really been the first priority for either of them.

It's not like she thinks that he's in love with her or anything, that he's spent all these years pining away tragically, like some twisted post-apocalyptic Austen hero. She knows he loves her, of course, the same way she knows she loves him. The same way they love Octavia, and Jas and Monty and so on and so forth. Hard not to love somebody when you live like they do, honestly. Bonds forged in fire and blood and blah blah, whatever.

But - maybe it's still different. Maybe people keep thinking they're together because they are, in a way. Half the grounder clans they encounter just assume that they're married, and the Mountain certainly thinks the same - hell, even Clarke's mother probably does too, wherever the fuck she is now, with her own little group of Ark separatists, roaming around the world, trying to live life. And maybe, sometimes Clarke thinks - well, it's not a real marriage, is it, but does that really matter, at the end of the day?

But that's not - okay, fuck, this train of thought got away from her somewhere. She should...probably stop talking now.

It doesn't take long for them to get a little tipsy - drunk, she fears, is out of their reach, not with just one bottle and years of experience with Monty's booze, refined to battery acid perfection.

It is nice, though, to get a little floaty on wine and food that tastes good, on a comfortable bed with warm blankets, the sound of happy people creeping in from outside, the party that's since kicked into full swing. Clarke is, she dares to think, relaxed.

"This whole - spring and summer thing," Clarke says, reclining back on the pillows, shamelessly taking up most of the bed. "Why is spring a girl and summer a guy? Why not the other way around?"

"You think summer's more feminine?" Bellamy asks.

Clarke shrugs. "I don't think either of them have a particular...gender, honestly."

Bellamy downs the last of the wine, discarding the cask on the ground next to the bed. "The Greeks only had three seasons - spring, summer, and winter. There was a goddess of each - three daughters of Zeus called the Hours." He frowns. "I don't remember the names."

Nerd, Clarke thinks fondly. "I thought the Greek version was the whole Persephone and Hades thing."

"That too. The Greeks just liked stories." Bellamy shrugs. "There's usually one about the seasons along with an origin story, in most cultures. I don't remember them all. O's favorite was the Mesopotamian one, Ninhursag. She cursed her husband to the underworld for cheating on her with their own daughter, which made the earth barren and created winter." Clarke wrinkles her nose and Bellamy snorts. "Yeah. Octavia always liked the messed up ones the best."

"Sounds like her." Clarke sighs. "I guess the Marach's story is nice, in a way. Romantic. The whole idea of it being this grand battle that these two lovers keep winning, over and over, every year."

"Or losing," Bellamy points out, ever the cynic. "Just depends on where you start the story."

Clarke rolls her eyes as dramatically as she can manage. "Of course you would say that."

"Winter comes every year, princess," Bellamy teases.

"So does spring," Clarke points out, and something happens then, with his face, like it twists and darkens a little and he looks down at the bare skin of her knees, peeking out beneath her skirt, and she has to look away. "Uh - "

"You'd make a lousy spring goddess anyway," Bellamy says, a little too loud. Clarke looks back up at him abruptly, caught between outrage and surprise. "Well, you hate it, don't you? You're always sneezing on everything and grumping around for three months straight - "

Clarke laughs despite herself. "It's annoying! People go crazy after being cooped up all winter, they get reckless, hurt themselves more, get pregnant more - "

Bellamy's laughing at her, shaking his head. "You just never know how to have fun."

"Do too." She wrinkles her nose at him. "I'm fun."

"You're a downer," Bellamy tells her.

"I'm - ! You're the one who got all offended about this sex ritual thing, which seems like kind of a downer to me," Clarke says, forgetting to be embarrassed. Bellamy laughs again, a little incredulously, and she crosses her arms stubbornly in the face of it. "You know what I mean."

"I do," Bellamy says, sobering a little. He's sitting close to her feet, reclining sideways across the bottom of the bed, but he's so tall, his arms are long enough that he can reach up and touch her arm without even moving. Clarke feels a little claustrophobic, all of a sudden, even though he's as far away as he can get without leaving the bed entirely. "I just - I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"I don't," Clarke says honestly.

"I mean that." He moves down to her hand, opening his palm up in invitation. Clarke takes it easily, used to that kind of touch from him. "Listen up, I'm gonna be real with you for a second."

"Listening," Clarke replies, smiling when he waits for her to meet his eye before he continues. So grave, she thinks. So formal.

"I know this is one of those things," he says, "that we're gonna do because it makes sense, and you were right before, it doesn't have to be a big deal. But Clarke, I'm not - you have to know I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want me to do."

"I know that," Clarke replies, a little surprised.

"I want you to be okay with it." He purses his lips. "I need to know you're okay with it, alright? That's the only way I'm gonna be okay with it."

"Okay." Clarke feels a little overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, and the way he's looking at her, so serious and insistent. "I'll tell you if I get weirded out, if you do the same. Okay?"

He nods, and Clarke holds her breath as she watches him sit up, keeping his grip tight on her hand the entire time.

"Come here for a second," he says, tugging a little, and Clarke blinks, letting him pull her to her feet to stand at the edge of the bed in front of him. He really is that tall, she thinks a little dizzily. He doesn't have to reach up that far to touch her waist.

"Still okay?" he asks, a little dryly.

Clarke bares her teeth at him and he laughs. "Fine."

"Good," he says, and slides one hand down, experimentally, over the curve of her ass and further down to her thigh. She shivers.

"No kissing," she says suddenly, and he freezes, tilting his chin back and away from her. She feels a wave of something like shame fall over her. "I mean, just - "

"No, good idea," he interrupts, and pulls her abruptly closer, down onto his lap. Clarke squeaks a little, embarrassingly, and grabs his shoulders on instinct to steady herself. "Good idea."

"Keep it platonic," Clarke breathes, fascinated by the way the paint contrasts against his skin, a little paler than usual after the long months of winter, but still darker than her own. It's still tacky, and when she pulls her hand away from his bicep, there's a smear of color on her palm. Her dress has paint on it, too.

"Clinical," Bellamy says, voice a few steps deeper than usual. His palms are on the small of her back.

"Well, let's not go overboard," Clarke says bravely, and the smile she gets is worth the way the words make her insides tremble.

"Really, because I always thought you'd be a 'close your eyes and think of Earth' kind of girl," Bellamy says, settling his hands back on her waist.

Clarke smirks down at him and gets a little more comfortable, watches his reaction as she squirms closer. His eyes go half-mast and he actually shivers, which is kind of fascinating.

"No," she says triumphantly, "you really didn't."

They've kissed a few times, when they were drunk. One horrible night, around the time Finn and Raven had left, Clarke got so tired of being sad that she even went to his tent and asked him to fuck her, to which he responded with a droll, "not tonight honey, I've got a headache," and then kindly tucked her into his bed and glared at her until she went to sleep.

She woke up the next morning with a gigantic headache and cursed herself all the way through breakfast, ducking around corners to avoid him at every turn, thinking he was going to make fun of her. But all he did, when they finally came face to face, was give her one of those unimpressed looks, and said, "don't be such a drama queen Clarke, shit," and shoved the bag of seaweed he'd gone out to collect into her arms. She'd almost dropped it, and snapped at him to be careful, and he'd rolled his eyes and made a joke about doctors and clumsiness and brought up the time she'd tripped and hit her head in the lake and had to be pulled back to shore by Octavia, and then she'd forgotten why she was embarrassed about it in the first place.

Not a big deal. Whatever.

"I'm gonna - quit it, for real, I will walk away right now," Bellamy says, dodging her slap and rolling over onto her leg to keep it pinned down.

Clarke can't reply, too busy laughing at the look on his face. "Look at you! Oh my God, you look like you're about to march into battle or something - "

Considering how many times she's seen him actually march into battle, she'd think he'd take that seriously, but alas. "You know," he says imperiously, and leans a little harder on her leg. "Most girls enjoy this part. In fact, this is kind of the highlight for them, more often than not."

Clarke looks at his face and starts laughing again.

"That's it, I'm gone - "

"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay." Clarke takes a deep breath and pats his head consolingly. "You can go down on me now. I'm totally serious about it."

Bellamy peers up at her skeptically, which is how she knows he's not really angry. "Nah, you know, I don't think I'm in the mood anymore."

"Well, you better get in the mood, buddy, because we've got to work for our food tonight."

Bellamy manages a full two seconds before he cracks, burying his laugh into her thigh. Clarke laughs along with him, just at the pure absurdity of the situation. The absurdity of her life.

"Are we even awake right now," Bellamy rumbles, into her skin.

Clarke shivers. That feels good, she notes absently. "It's possible."

His breath is warm against her skin, and it's not like he's even done anything or even taken anything off yet, but just being touched, in places nobody has touched her in so long, is enough.

Bellamy lifts his head up after a minute, seeming to pick up on her shift. "When's the last time somebody did this to you, princess?"

"I don't know," Clarke says, a little shakily. She's suddenly very aware of their position, of the fact that it's Bellamy leaning down between her legs, with his hands up her dress and his mouth on the inside of her knee. She closes her eyes so she can think clearly, trying to remember. "Um, Rehka, probably."

"Rehka?" Bellamy looks up at her, incredulous. "That was like, three years ago."

Clarke shrugs helplessly. "It's not like I have a lot of time to date."

"Yeah, but…" Bellamy trails off, still looking gobsmacked at the mere concept of a human being going that long without oral sex.

"Oh, like you've been getting it on the regular," Clarke says dryly. "Your room is right next to mine, don't forget."

"Well, it definitely hasn't been three years," Bellamy mutters.

"Three years since...this, not three years since sex in general," Clarke protests.

Bellamy looks even more offended at that, if anything. "Now that's just sad."

"Well, it's not like you're my first choice to break the dry spell," she says resentfully, smirking when Bellamy rolls his eyes at her in exasperation. "Are you gonna get on with it or just hang out and judge my sex life all night?"

"So demanding," Bellamy replies, with faux disappointment. Right, Clarke thinks. Like 'pushover' is really a quality he looks for in bed partners.

Before she can formulate a reply, he slides his hands up and presses his thumbs into the dips of her hipbones, just hard enough for her to feel it.

"You're wet," Bellamy observes, almost casually, "does arguing turn you on, princess?"

"No," Clarke says through a gasp, wincing at the sound of her own voice. Man, that didn't sound even a little convincing.

Bellamy seems to agree, smirking a little and tugging at the waistband of her underwear. "Can I take these off?"

Clarke nods, lifting her hips up so he can slide them down and over her knees. She kicks at them awkwardly, trying to shake them off, biting her lip to keep the laugh in when Bellamy shoots her an exasperated, indulgent look.

"Are we more serious now," Bellamy says once they're finally gone, voice low, and bends down to kiss her navel. Clarke has to swallow a few times before she can reply, her throat is so dry.

"Please," she says, meaning it to be dismissive, but it comes out as a genuine plea, instead. Bellamy kisses her again, then bites gently at the stretch marks that line her abdomen, smoothing the skirt of the dress up and out of the way.

"Just tell me if it's too much, alright," he says, and then moves the rest of the way down. Clarke tips her head back and thinks, yeah, fat chance.

She doesn't feel much at first; it's almost like it's happening to someone else, in a way, and Clarke is just an observer, watching from the sidelines. But then Bellamy makes this sort of - sound, like a grunt almost but more nasal, and presses down harder with his tongue and Clarke gasps so loudly she almost coughs, and fuck, fuck that is good.

She doesn't know what to do with her hands; there's no wall behind the bed to brace against and the fur on the blankets is too slippery, so she grabs her own hair instead, gripping the strands at the back of her neck like she's trying to hold herself down. It's good, it feels so good it's a little overwhelming actually, and Clarke very suddenly remembers that she likes sex, likes being touched and held and kissed.

Bellamy has large hands, nice hands, with calluses that scrape pleasantly against her skin, and he holds her thighs apart, pushing them back and up, against her chest. His mouth is warm and pleasant against her, and he goes slow at first and then gradually gets faster, easing off every time she starts to twitch and tighten up. It's like teasing but also not, because all it does is just make it last longer, and the up and down of it isn't cruel, just - steady, a relentless ebb and flow. The wet sounds of it make it all seem that much more real, grounding the sensations firmly in the reality of Bellamy, leaning over her, his hands on her thighs, his mouth on her clit, rubbing paint off onto her skin and his face buried between her legs.

It's unreal in the way things tend to be when you never expected them to happen - how it just overwhelms you, makes you float along on this giddy little high and you just keep thinking, this is happening, this is actually happening.

She rides that giddy high all the way up and over, fisting her hands in her hair and letting it roll through her, sweep her head to toe like the shockwave from a dropship engine. It feels good, it feels clean, uncomplicated, and Bellamy eases her through it, only pulling away when she hisses at the sudden overstimulation.

"Okay?" he says after a moment, and pulls one of her legs down to rest over his shoulder, using it to brace himself over her. His mouth and chin are wet; Clarke stares, transfixed.

"Yeah."

"You sure? You're breathing hard."

Orgasms tend to do that, Clarke wants to say, but she can't quite seem to catch her breath to manage it, and realizes abruptly that he's right.

"Fuck, hold on," Bellamy says, wiping his mouth quickly and moving out of the vee of her legs, up next to her on the bed, "it's the dress, right?"

Clarke nods, letting him pull her upright so he can get to the laces. "Too small," she manages, gripping his waist as he messes with the bodice, tearing the ties apart and peeling it carefully free. "Oh my God," she breathes in relief when it's finally gone, wincing and raising her arms to let him pull the entire garment up over her head. "So much better."

"Should've told me," Bellamy mumbles, rubbing at the marks on her skin.

"The dress seemed important," Clarke replies wryly, leaning back into his embrace. Her legs are still tingling a little bit.

"I think breathing is actually a little more important," Bellamy replies, in that gently scolding way he has sometimes.

Clarke just shrugs, leaning more heavily against him. There's still paint all over his chest, and now it's on her, too, and some hidden, visceral part of her heart wriggles in satisfaction.

"Do you," and her voice cracks. Clarke swallows and tries again, "do you want to - "

"Yes," Bellamy says.

Clarke laughs and leans her forehead against his shoulder. There's paint in her hair, even. Now it'll be on her face. She doesn't care. "You didn't let me finish."

"Trust me, whatever you were about to say, the answer's yes."

"Careful," Clarke teases, "you shouldn't write blank checks like that."

"I feel pretty confident about you at the moment," Bellamy replies, and slides his free hand up her stomach to her breasts.

Clarke indulges him for a few moments, but it doesn't actually do much for her - never has - and the pressure to pretend is oddly absent. "Come on," she says, pulling away and flopping back down on her back. "Like this."

Bellamy grins at her, lacing their fingers together and letting her pull him down. He settles down on top of her like he's always been there, like he knows just how to balance so the weight is pleasant and not overwhelming. "Hell, princess, I should've known you'd be like this."

"Like what?" Clarke asks, placing her palm on his chest and smearing some paint that's gathered in the dip of his collarbone, pulling it up and drawing a muddy, colored line up his neck.

"Fun."

Clarke gapes at him. "You said I wasn't! Not even an hour ago, I heard you."

"Well normally you aren't," Bellamy says, "but it's the buttoned-up types like you that you have to watch out for."

"I'm not sure how to feel about that, Bellamy."

"Feel this," Bellamy tells her, and bends down to kiss her neck, "feel good."

Clarke takes the direction to heart, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. But, seriously though - "I'm telling you," she says, as he trails wet little kisses down her throat, "I can be fun. I am a fun person. And not just in bed - like, generally."

"Of course you are," he mutters, and bites her chin.

"I mean, maybe I get a little single-minded sometimes, but so do you, and since when are you the gatekeeper of what's considered fun or not, maybe I like studying Lincoln's herb journals - "

"Clarke," Bellamy says, "I'm going to fuck you now."

"Yeah okay," Clarke says, and hitches her thigh a little higher up on his waist. "I'm still fun though," she adds, which is why Bellamy's laughing as he slides inside her, why she's laughing too, gripping his shoulders and grinning wildly up at the ceiling.

The first thrust is always Clarke's favorite and Bellamy doesn't disappoint, pushing in as far as he can and pausing a little to let her get her breath back. Clarke's laugh turns into a moan, one of those really good ones that come out because you just can't hold them in, and Bellamy curses under his breath, his arms shaking a little where they're braced on either side of her head.

"That's it," he murmurs, pulling out and thrusting back in again, slow and steady. "Clarke - "

"I know, I know," she says, and laughs again. "Faster - you can go faster - "

Bellamy breathes out harshly and presses his face into her cheek for a second, a gesture so oddly sweet that she actually tears up a little. I'm so glad it's him, she thinks, and grips his neck with one hand, scratching at his scalp and getting paint in his hair. I lied before, I'm so glad it's him.

She doesn't know how long it lasts, because she loses herself in it the second he starts to move again, holding her knee in one hand and her hair in the other. Her whole body feels like one long, giant current, and every spot he touches is like a live spark, a jolt of electricity, and of course he was right. Of course she should've known it'd be like this.

At some point, he must kiss her, or maybe she kisses him, or maybe it doesn't matter because who cares who started it when it's so good, when she feels devoured in the best way possible, so small beneath him but so powerful, all at once. Clarke wants it to last forever. She wants to go back in time and yell at herself for not doing this sooner. She wants to do it again and it's not even over yet. She wants.

(Understandable that the concept is a little foreign. Clarke's forgotten what that felt like, too.)

Bellamy makes these noises as they kiss, like rough little grunts deep in his throat that make Clarke shiver, and he says her name over and over as she comes, whispering it into her ear like a secret - Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. Then he's right there behind her, as always, pressing in deep and burying his groan in her neck as she shakes and tries to keep her legs from falling back down to the bed in exhaustion.

Clarke whimpers a little, digging her fingernails into his bicep, the ache in her left thigh getting a little unbearable. Bellamy immediately pulls away, easing her legs back down to the bed and pressing his mouth to her sternum, like an apology.

"No kissing huh," he says, and licks some of the paint off the inside of her right arm. Clarke has the presence of mind to hope that it's digestible and not made of those freaky berries that make your hair grow really fast, because that would be awkward.

"Well, heat of the moment, it doesn't count," Clarke replies, waving her hand dismissively. "Besides, we don't like each other remember? That's what's important."

"Right." Bellamy sits up on his knees briefly, unintentionally presenting her with an impressive display of their handiwork. Whatever designs that paint had at the beginning is just a smeared mess of muddy yellowish-grey now, and Clarke bites her lip a little, looking down at her own torso and seeing the matching stains. "Would you look at this?" He's snagged her dress from where it fell, holding it up gingerly. The skirt has ripped from the bodice, and the whole thing is just a scraggly mess. "Think they'll frame it or something?"

"Oh my God," Clarke says, "I don't even wanna think about it."

Bellamy shakes his head and tosses it down on the floor. "Let 'em go wild," he mutters dryly, and grabs the blankets, pulling them up from where they've bunched together at the foot of the bed. "Over," he says, and jabs at her thigh gently.

Clarke grumbles a bit but moves obligingly to let him collapse back into bed next to her. "God, I'm tired." She opens one eye. "Don't say it."

"Say what," Bellamy says, but his face is smug.

"Ugh," Clarke replies, making a face. He laughs in reply - a genuine one, a rare thing for him that's been unusually frequent tonight - and Clarke maybe feels a bit of smugness of her own.

"C'mon princess," he says, manhandling her under the blankets, tucking her into his side with one long, powerful arm. "Let's get some rest. Long hike back home tomorrow."

It occurs to Clarke that she should maybe feel awkward about their nakedness, but -

"This isn't cuddling," she tells him. "Just co-sleeping."

"Of course," Bellamy replies easily.

"I wouldn't cuddle you if - " she pauses to yawn. "If you were the last man on Earth."

"Yeah, I don't like you either," Bellamy replies agreeably, and strokes her hair.

Clarke sighs in contentment and scoots a little closer. She feels much better now that they've made their positions clear.

Arden wakes them up the next morning with a polite knock and two grounders carrying an incredibly welcome basin of warm water, which Clarke indulges in for maybe a little too long, judging by the exasperated looks Bellamy starts shooting her after the first ten minutes.

"Don't even act like you're not checking me out right now," Clarke tells him, weirdly giddy and comfortable in the intimacies of waking up together, bathing in front of each other, being able to look over and watch him get dressed in the early morning light. "You know you like it."

"I check you out all the time," Bellamy tells her. "I didn't think I'm ever subtle about it."

"Oh, you're not," Clarke says, and cups some water in her hands, letting it splash down over her bare shoulders. "It's nice not to have to pretend not to notice, though."

Bellamy smirks at her, and keeps watching.

The Marach leader - Bran, Arden had said - greets them with a friendly smile once they finally emerge, bowing at them each in turn and chattering away in his rapid, almost-French.

"He says - he's thanking you," Arden says haltingly, trying to listen and translate at the same time. "He says it was a beautiful celebration and he's happy you honored them with your participation, and - something about air? Sky? Who knows - oh!" Arden pauses, listening intently when Bran turns to speak directly to her. "Merci beaucoup. Oui." She turns to smile at them both. "He's eager to be friends. That was the last thing."

Clarke's shoulders relax a little, and she feels Bellamy's do the same, next to her. "Tell him thank you," she says. "Tell him we're the ones who are honored, and…" she trails off, glancing up at Bellamy, a look of bland approval on his face. "And that it was our pleasure."

"And ask what they're gonna do with the dress," Bellamy murmurs, just for her ears, and Clarke bites her lip against the smile.

Arden's translation takes a little longer this time, but Bran's good cheer is palpable, and he seems to be patient with her in a way that he hasn't been yet, all week. Who knew, Clarke thinks wryly, that sex could have such an effect even on somebody who wasn't one of the people having it. Wonders truly never cease.

"They have food for us," Arden says finally, turning back with a grin. "Breakfast in their main greeting hall. Then they're going to send us back to camp with an escort, and the first supply of grain they promised us."

"Great," Clarke says, "I'm starving."

Bran touches Arden's arm politely, nodding encouragingly at all three of them and gesturing at a one of the larger turf buildings, towards the center of the encampment. Arden shoots Clarke one last triumphant grin and scuttles off to follow his lead, leaving Clarke and Bellamy to trail behind in their wake.

"So," Clarke says triumphantly, "this whole diplomacy thing sure is going great."

"Oh, shut up," Bellamy replies, raising his voice over her laugh. "It still could've been the altar. I maintain that was a legitimate concern."

"I don't know, that could've been fun," Clarke replies, just to see his reaction. He doesn't disappoint her there, either. "What, too much for ya? Not into it?"

"You are so annoying when you're in a good mood," Bellamy complains, and she laughs again, happier than she's been in months and not particularly caring if he knows it.

Who cares, anyway. They have grain, and new allies. She's clean, the sun is shining, she had two orgasms last night and there's a smear of paint beneath Bellamy's left ear he'd missed that she's going to really enjoy looking at for the rest of the day. Life is good, for the moment.

"Fine," Bellamy says, "you're fun. I'll admit it, if it means that much to you."

"It kind of does," she admits. Their hands tangle together as they walk, so naturally Clarke almost doesn't notice at first, until she does. She's not about to let go, though. It'd be like giving up. "You really don't know what you've been missing out on all this time, you know."

"Well, I do now," Bellamy says, and tugs her a little closer. "Don't I."

"Nothing you'd like, clearly," Clarke says cheerfully.

"Yeah," Bellamy replies. "You're kind of a turn off, frankly." Clarke grins hard at the side of his face until he smiles, rolling his eyes a little and shaking his head.

Not a big deal at all, she thinks, and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back. It's good to be on the same page.

[queenofairandsnarkness]

ASOIAF as Once Upon A Time?

1.) The twins are found far from Westholme. (Which is how Marwyn wanted it, how it was supposed to go when it was Elia-and-the-babes leaving, before the Queen nearly bled out, and a prospect somehow much more terrifying for the King when the babes are sent on their own.)

Arden and Alexander, they are called, Arden with her enormous Liz Taylor eyes and too-serious nature, and laughing Alexander with his shock of white-blonde hair that darkens to brown when he grows up.

They bounce from foster home to foster home, with any separations miraculously falling through the cracks.

At least until the twins are twenty, and a pregnant Arden vanishes for five horrifying months, her boyfriend in the wind and Alex... 

Alex finds her, but the doctors said the baby didn’t make it, and Arden doesn’t remember anything. Every year, on their birthday, Arden lights a candle. 

Then, eleven years later, a boy shows up, with Arden’s inky curls and too-clever grey eyes, and tells them he is Arden’s son, that he was adopted by a couple from a town called Westholme that Alex can’t find on any map.

2.)

They don’t plan on staying- Alex had told his boss everything, and Q had raised his eyebrows and said dryly that while he didn’t expect Alex to do 13′s job for them, it would be nice to make sure that Cthulhu wouldn’t try to eat them all or whatever it was that eldritch abominations did.

But Arden had talked to Cersei Tarrant and her husband Richard, who looked so fucking familiar somehow. She’d talked to them for all of thirty seconds before her thin shoulders locked and her chin went up, and Alex knew that Arden was on the warpath.

Alex tried to run checks on everyone he could. Cersei Tarrant was the town mayor, though she wasn’t listed on any political party database, she had no website.

Lance Lannister, who ran the paper, had no website.

So when the kid finally broke down and told them the story... Well, he claimed that they were all from a deeply screwy fantasy kingdom, that Cersei had placed some horrifying curse on everyone to force them into horrible fates, that the twins were sent by the King and Queen to escape it. Which was kind of crazy.

But there were little things, like the lack of any sort of presence in the wider world. Alex wasn’t sure, torn between Cersei’s poison-green scowls and what he told himself was rational. 

He was convinced when he met Ella Martin, the town librarian, with IV marks in her arms, a dreary personal life, and Arden’s face.

Arden was convinced by some records she found, that Jaime- and oh, Arden had laughed, a broken, bitter sound that scared Alex- that Arden’s son had told her about, with school photographs, showing the same children, every year.

And Jaime working his way through the classes, the only one growing up.

3.)

Arden knew her brother worried about her sanity, sometimes. It was a fair point- she had vanished for months, and she still didn’t remember what happened, except maybe in flashes of her nightmares.

But Jamie was hers, and Sirius’, and she failed Lily, she lost Harry, but here was her son, and that bitch wasn’t going to hurt him any more.

Because she was hurting Jaime, trying to convince him of that he was crazy. Sirius would have cursed her six ways to Sunday. Lily would have left a greasy mark on the floor. 

Arden had always been a quieter soul. Operation Viper- trying to break the curse, figuring out who was who- tickled her fancy. 

Alex had a book he hid- an illustrated history, the drawings like medieval illuminations and therefore pretty much useless for identification.

The twins were going to need a better place to stay- Alex could do some of his work from Westholme, but he was going to start commuting, soon. Arden would be on her own, trying to figure out what to do. She was trying to get a nursing job in town, but she’d bet her hands Cersei was blocking her. A hospital outside of town was interested, though, and the mayor’s reach didn’t extend past the town limits.

Booming, eccentric, and scatterbrained Cedric Leyton offered her a guest home on the edge of town. Well, both of them, but mostly Arden.

She settles in, she lays her traps, and she watches.

4.) 

Jaime is a wizard in the style of his father, Arden realizes with complete and utter horror.

If she had never believed in the curse, if she hadn’t seen those photographs, this is what would have convinced her something is very, very wrong in Westholme. (Which none of her colleagues know about, interestingly, and their minds seem to slip off it when she mentions it.)

Alex’s response is to track down Remus Lupin. He seemed confused, but listened when Alex when he said to sneak into town.

It’s enough to make a woman want to commit fratricide. Remus had gotten along with her, before everything. Now that Sirius was... now with Sirius, he was deeply snappish and unhappy. Also, skeptical, which...

He was a wizard. He turned into a wolf every full moon, for God’s sake.

How did he not believe in this?

But he helps her figure out what she can do, and gets Jamie a second-hand wand that isn’t perfect- or even very good- but is enough until she can break Cersei’s power.

Then Jaime takes a sleeping poison meant for her, and when he wakes...

When he wakes, the curse is broken. Mostly.

5.)

There was a shuffling black dog that works its way through town, a day before Alex is expected back in town. Even after figuring out that Richard Tarrant is King Rhaegar Targaryen, and Ella Martin is his wife and Queen, and they are their parents, and they were wanted, Alex preferred his work. (Arden couldn’t blame him, and only the reality of Jaime made her take a position in Westholme hospital.)

Cersei was banished to... well, it was meant to be jail, Baelor Hightower said with a smile. Magic was still tricky.

Remus has finally decided that Arden was innocent, and while he didn’t think that Sirius was innocent, he knew better than to bring it up with Arden. (Or Jaime, who was semi-accidentally under the impression that his father died.)

Jaime lived with her, having been quietly taken to Ollivander’s for his wand, getting lessons from Remus until...

Sirius escaped, and Remus agreed to watch over Harry.

Arden watched him leave for the last time, takes a cup of mint tea, and sees the dog. Lya Stark is walking behind him, the teenager’s concern clear.

“Ms. Targaryen,” the girl said, ignoring that, strictly speaking, she is Arden Russell, or Princess, if they were going with Westerosi greetings. “He’s been avoiding me, but he looks awful. Could you...?”

Arden looked at the dog, who is watching her with familiar grey eyes.

“Come here,” she said. “I have food and a bed for you.”

The dog came to her, slow and slightly hesitant.

“Shouldn’t he go to the vet?” Lya said, after a long moment.

Arden has to bite back all of the jokes she could make- Lyanna Stark didn’t know the story, and it would be rude to mock a child for trying to do something good. “He’ll be fine with me, I promise.”

When Lyanna finally was convinced to leave, and they were alone, the woman and the dog walked into the cottage.

The dog transformed into a man, ragged and worn but with signs that Alex had gotten to him first. 

“Oh, Sirius, do I have a story for you...” she said, shaking her head.