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embrassemoi · 3 years ago

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SURROUNDED BY THE MOON AND STARS ✷ 37

MASTERLIST ✷ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✷ AO3

PAIRINGS: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L

CONTENT: Panic attacks, intrusive thoughts

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

NOTES: this is an apology chapter bc I apparently freaked everyone out. I’m sorry! And thank you for the support xx

CHAPTER 37 ✷ Paradoxical Posions

It had been approximately four months since Sirius Black had properly spoken to any of his friends; that is if he didn’t count the heated arguments, constant belittling or borderline threats. There was no use trying to speak to anyone these days, not if he didn’t want their wands pointed at his neck or the onslaught of guilty tears and frustration to trammel him further.

It wasn’t a new notion for Sirius to come to a place, where he was supposed to feel loved, safe, reconstructed into a makeshift prison — tainted with embittered memories. First, it was back at Twelve Grimmauld Place where he ran around the halls playing Muggle games with his beloved brother and engaging in stiff etiquette Pureblood customs before taking a turn for something darker. But it was fine because he had Regulus.

Had. It was the only reason why he stayed in that personal hellscape for as long as he did.

However, Sirius never thought that he would face a similar fate with a barbed wire cage entrapping him in the one place that he thought would always be there for him. His true home had been Hogwarts the moment he stepped off that fiery red train. Now, it was nothing more than an empty castle, brunt down to nothing but a rubble of broken promises.

Everything became full and muted. The house colours were no longer bright, the once colourful food was washed over with a tinted grey; magic felt more like a chore than a gift.

Everything within those four months was exceedingly overwhelming that his feelings were absent. Essentially, he fell into a numb state. Perpetual laziness filled him that made everyday actions that he used to love, arduous. His own execution. To him, that void, that emptiness, was like continually falling into a dark, bottomless pit that scattered his thoughts and made it impossible to concentrate.

Sirius knew he fucked up. Merlin, he’s never done something as barbaric as that before.

Barbaric… he used to see his family as barbaric — as monsters. They enjoyed hurting the innocent, wore the dark mark as if it were fine art, not a symbol of mass genocide.

But wasn’t that similar to what he had done? Sirius wanted Snape to hurt, to pay — to finally receive the damage he inflicted onto others. But he never thought he would be stupid enough to actually go to the whomping willow that night.

Still, it's his fault.

With no friends, no one left to turn to, Sirius was often left alone with his thoughts; and he discerned that he was no better than them, his… family. Everything he’d done to separate himself from them was useless. It was apparent that he hadn’t rejected all of his family’s values like he thought he did. He was a monster all the same.

Out of all the Marauders, Peter had been the kindest. He’d check in secret: made sure he ate meals, completed schoolwork, would even update him on Moony’s health from time to time but Sirius pushed him away. The possibility of Peter running to James, telling him whatever he told Peter in confidence was too high.

Sirius had taken James’ absences the hardest. No matter how angry James had gotten at him in the past, their fights never lasted longer for more than a week. Because they were brothers through and through.

James hadn’t spoken to him throughout the summer, avoiding him. Marlene had tried to weasel any morsel of information out of him, but Sirius kept his mouth clamped shut; a vice.

Y/N was almost worse.

Every time someone had told Sirius I love you, it was nothing more than a tether and a lesh, an ownership over him. But with their little time, she understood him, took the time to be patient and not run when the crack in his porcelain skin came shattering.

She was the twist in the bottom of his stomach, making sunspots dance around the room, leaving him breathless and wanting more. Maybe he was getting too ahead of himself, what they had wasn’t love, hardly. However, I love you felt more like a fairytale than a doomsday sentence when he imagined her saying it.

If he’d known that’s what the list of other names had felt like with him, Sirius would’ve tried harder to prevent heartbreak.

And then there was Remus…

Being around Remus was eerie. He hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction, hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t given any indication that he acknowledged he was even present. It was like Sirius had become invisible, disappearing into purgatory while awaiting the green light to hell.

Sirius was the first to admit that he was never a patient man. He hated waiting. Why would anyone willingly wait when they could jump into things head first to avoid wasting time? He’d spent the better part of his childhood waiting, obeying. In the back of his mind, he was always waiting for the day Remus would hurt him — yell — scream — punch him — something other than ignoring him like everything was fine.

But Remus knew that silence was the best torture suited for Sirius. And really, Sirius would rather be hit by him to get any sort of reaction.

But Moony, who was always so scared of hurting anyone — to let the wolf inside him win — hadn’t. But it was hardly surprising. Remus was the most poised out of them all.

But what hurt Sirius most, above the overlook, the radio-silence, there was a shift in Remus that had been noticeable. He looked happy, happier than he had seen him in months.

Sirius sighed, sinking further into his bed. A heaviness pressed against his chest as the extending effort to keep still, to relax, as he noticed the silver light ebb away in the sheening streaks of luminescence stream in from the windows: the full moon was nearing its peak.

He knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness and there's an indescribable ailment that sears its way into him, branding him similar to a cigarette to an ashtray at the knowledge. But he would do anything to build the lost trust.

The feeling of his bed, soft silk sheets and woven Gryffindor quilt was an odd one. These days, he rarely slept in the dormitory, preferring the room of requirements or the common room. He would then wait until the other boys left for breakfast or dinner to crawl in, gathering his things for the day or change. Whenever he did stay in the dorms, there was always a gaucheness that made it hard to breathe.

Except for Moony, who ignored everything.

But the ache in his back was unbearable and he needed to rest.

So when the sickening sound of the door cracked opened, Sirius felt the skin on his body tense, prickling together in shivers and bumps.

His heart broke as he watched Remus’ hazel eyes flit across the room, anywhere aside from him.

Remus opened his trunk muttering something about his study group.

“Hey —” Sirius was never a patient man. “Hi.”

There was a familiarity that lingered between them.

Remus’ posture stiffened, continuing to ignore him. Whatever he was looking for, Remus sprung up, shoving a couple of books in his bag.

But before he left, Sirius stood, stalking towards but stopped dead in his tracks at the small flinch from Remus’ end. Nevertheless, he tried to find his voice again.

“What can I do to make it up?” He heard his voice crack. “I’ll do anything.”

Remus’ actions were more effective than any silencing charm. Any fight or will Sirius had left, dissipated.

He wanted to scream at Remus, but he was frozen in place as he watched him leave, the door clicking shut.

The silence was overpowering.

Sirius’ tie felt suffocating. An invisible hand enclosing around his throat until the veins throbbed. The lights were too bright. The room seemed too scanty. Too crowded. Thoughts were boisterous.

The memories were short, almost in violent bursts that were blinding. Sirius vaguely registered his knees hitting the floor — hard enough to cause splinters of wood stabbing his skin. Nails dug into his thigh, rocking himself as he tried to count to ten, then twenty, thirty —

Hot tears streamed. Agony of coils, thrumming the muscles of his heart.

It was so quiet. There was nothing to combat the thoughts.

“Stop c-crying,” he told himself.

Blood rushed to his ears, head drilling with a force so strong he thought he was going to vomit. His heart speed, thudding in his chest as every bit of him shook.

Panic attacks… that’s what Muggles called these things, right?

This is who you are. A poison.

He shook his head, muttering out no over and over.

This is why they leave. It’s in your blood.

Give in. Do what you were taught to do.

He yanked harshly on his hair, struggling to keep his breathing steady.

Worthless. This is all you’ll ever be. Fucking pathetic.

“Get out. Stop it!”

It really took you losing them all to see how good you had it.

Now you’re left with no one that cares about you.

But did you ever really think they cared about you? You were a charity case.

Your parents were right about you.

Live up to your name. You already did so once. What’s stopping you again?

No! He wasn’t like them!

His fists began to pound on his head continuously, trying to drown out those inner voices. It felt as if a sickle was lodged in his throat, he couldn’t breathe properly. Dark compulsive thoughts replayed over and over again, causing him to go through a strange, twisted mindset. A few seconds to Sirius felt like hours.

The guilt, the grief, shame, stupid fucking heartbreak - he wanted it washed away.

Nightmares plagued him, he doesn’t remember the last time he ate a proper meal. His teachers noticed that he became quiet in their classes, that he was no longer rambunctious or charming, planning pranks with the rest of his brothers. His grades slipped, memories resurfaced, but now with no other option but to keep it to himself.

Forcing a smile is one of the easiest things a person with so much to hide could do. But even he was done pretending.

Sirius Black was drowning, reaching to the pit of a lake where he might not resurface.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Study sessions kicked up again and once Remus reached his usual seat, stowed away in the far back. He slumped, body heavy and limp.

Breathing deeply, Remus attempted to calm himself and took out some parchments and quill. He opened an ink bottle, dipping his quill in.

Remus was familiar with a variety of emotions.

Hate.

Remus was filled with a reckless amount of hate. Remus resisted it; the pain, the transformations, the wolf inside. He pushed it away, preferring to let the monster claw at his throat and keep it hidden away for as long as he could than just letting it happen.

He hated putting his friends at risk. He hated his scars. They were a physical reminder of what happened to him every full moon. He hated how it cut deep into his body, how they looked, how they formed and healed.

The thought made him tug down his sweater sleeve more. Hidden away fiercely under his steel mask.

A cracking sound grabbed his attention. He must’ve grabbed his quill so forcibly that it snapped in half. He sighed, feeling a disgusting shame bubble up, stroking the soft feather.

With hate, he also knew a great deal of anger but what trumpeted all, he knew emptiness.

He never talked about emptiness because it was selfish. How could he be lonely when he had the best mates in life? But it was with him in every waking moment. Remus felt completely and wholeheartedly empty. It nipped at his bones comparable to the way the freezing cold in Scotland burned his face, eating away at his cheeks.

Emptiness felt like standing on a beach. The grains of sand under his feet, surrounded by the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. The light breeze, distant chattering, the smell of the salty sea.

But like a switch, abruptly, the sky turns pitch black, not even the coruscate of stars present. And it’s silent.

There’s no honking of cars, everyone’s gone, the sun has set and the warmth was replaced by a whipping wind; cold, jarring. The crashing waves were gone, the shoreline seemed so far away and every time he ran to it, there’s still no water.

It’s quite paradoxical, isn’t it? Pretentious and vexatious little git he is, but that's what emptiness was.

It’s wordless.

There was a reason Remus worshipped his friends. They softened the pain and scars that littered his body and turned him into a canvas; fine art.

Someone like him shouldn’t have friends; didn’t deserve to be given that kindness. It was both a gift, a plague. It was a constant conflict.

One of his greatest faults, Remus desperately craved to be liked. He was grateful that he had friends, but having none would protect them from his disease.

It was another reason why Remus refused to date, ignored every advance, never asked anyone out. He refused to hurt anyone.

He was never one to have friends, let alone reject them. He didn’t fancy the feeling much. Black was already too taxing and Remus’ resolve was slowly breaking.

Lily and James waltzed in, both talking to each other rapidly in what he could only assume was arguing.

“Dunno.”

“Oi, Evans! Bollocks! C’mon.”

“No, Potter. Maybe it’s you who has to stop being arrogant.”

“But what’s the fun in that?”

In all his time that he’d known Lily, she never once laughed with James. Always at him, but this time… Even James took a double-take.

Lily slipped beside Remus, her body slightly leaned against his as she pulled out her materials.

“So, Professor Moony,” Lily started, dipping her quill into his ink bottle, hovering the tip on a roll of parchment. Her bright green eyes glittered at him. “What’s the plan for today?”

Remus, who had been sitting in a horrified trance at their interaction, forced out a reply. “Erm — we could start with Transfigs since we have that essay due before Herbology.”

“Wait,” James said in a rush, pushing himself up from his seat. A shot of panic went through all of their spines as he spoke. “Where’s Whiskers?”

Lily stood too. “I thought she was with Remus.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her in hours.”

“Shit. Get the map!”

Meanwhile in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey and Y/N spoke rapidly.

“It’s a new development.”

“But it’s possible?”

“Yes. Quite easy to brew too. I’ve made one similar. Would you like the article?”

Y/N agreed, watching as Madam Pomfrey rose from her seat, drifting over to the display of clear containers spread across the wall along with books and hundreds of copies or variations of spells, healing books and research articles.

Pomfrey's office was empty, aside from them.

“Here. It’s by Damocles Belby.”

Her eyes scanned over the page quickly.

Damocles Belby, world-renowned potionner, has made incredible advancements with the research for a stabilizing potion for werewolves. His most recent achievement has been finding that stewed Mandrakes being drunk once a day for a week leading up to the full moon has made the memory and the presence of the human mind during transformations easier to retain.

Stewed Mandrakes properties are known for transfiguring cursed individuals or items back into their original state and used often in memory potions —

“Deary?” Her head snapped up to Madam Pomfrey eyeing her suspiciously.

“Right, thank you so much!” Y/N quickly pushed herself up, picking up her things to leave until Pomfrey called out again.

“What are you planning to do with this?”

She thought about it for a bit. She’s made stewed Mandrakes previously; it was easy, safe, and even if the potion turned bad, there were no negative side effects. For now, she would remain ostensible. “It’s a mere interest.”

She left, not wanting to answer any more questions.

But what exactly was she doing? Researching werewolves intently, looking for some sort of cure? Her interest was beyond just Remus now and something was itching deeper. Could she really —

“Oh, sugar!”

Lily, James and Remus looked frantic as they saw her. Lily’s face was ghostly pale. She jumped onto her, roping her into a tight hug before pulling back to pat the sides of her arms, lifting them and encircling around her.

“What the f —” A flurry of questions hit her.

“Are you hurt?”

“Of course she is! Why else would she be in the hospital wing?”

“This is why I said for everyone to walk in pairs!”

“What happened?”

“You need to lie down.”

“Whiskers —”

“All of you, quit it and stop touching me!” She roared over them. Lily staggered, a shocked expression on each of them. Y/N bombarded, confusion clouding her brain. “What are you guys talking about? I’m fine? I just had to talk to Madam Pomfrey ‘bout something.”

A collective breath went round, their shoulders slumping.

“It’s dark.” Lily looped her arm with hers. “After Mary, you can never be too careful these days.”

Oh. Right. Pairs.

“Was it about becoming a Healer?” James asked, fixing his glasses. “Why do you want to become one?”

She had to fight her grin. “So I can stab people legally.”

Remus and Lily giggled, James — horror-struck.

“I’m joking!”

They walked back to the library before she turned to Remus.

“Hey, Moony?”

He looked at her, head tilting and leaning slightly, she handed him the article.

“I have an idea. I was reading this — I think I can brew you a potion.”

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

October 8th, 1976

This full moon went over smoothly compared to the last one. Remus only stayed in the hospital wing until he woke up and Pomfrey had allowed him to return to his dorm. Sirius was there again, sitting outside of the wing when they left.

They got ready for the day, and Y/N left for a while to let the boys be alone.

“Who is that?” Marlene pointed to one of the many photos on the side of her bed, hung above the small table.

She tossed a look over her shoulder, throwing on her robes. “My friend, Matthew. The one from Ilvermorny.”

Dorcas came bouncing up, observing. “You both look chummy there.”

“Looks a lot nicer than Black too.”

“Is there something you’re not telling us about your little friend?”

She rolled her eyes, changing the topic. “I’ve been thinking of starting a photo wall. Take a photo of everyone that walks in here, take their photo, put it up.”

“Oho! Me first!” Marlene hollered, roping Dorcas in. Lily took a photo with Toulouse before leaving while Y/N returned to the Marauder’s dorm.

“Thank you,” she beamed at a tired Peter who opened the door, descending back into the bathroom.

Remus was sitting on his bed, shoving his books into his bag as he looked up.

“What did you put into that potion?”

“What?” Everything seemed to stop, instantly going into panic mode.

Had she… hurt him?

As if he read her mind, Remus shook his head. “No! Nothing bad happened! Something was different this time. I've never had a transformation be that clear.”

“For fuck sake, I thought — argh! You little shit!”

Remus laughed, as she sat down on his bed, scouting up his rabbit. “Thank you. I feel great.”

“Thank Damocles Belby.”

“You have to teach me how to make that.”

She turned to him. “I can do it, no problem.”

But then a guilty expression filtered over his face. “No, that’s too much of a burden to be created every month —” “It's fine. And didn’t you get an A in Potions?”

“We all have our weaknesses. Didn’t like it anyway — Oh!” He stopped mid-sentence. His body shifted, wincing a little as he did so, turning to his bedside, opening the drawer; pulling out a wrapped, rectangular gift.

“S’for you,” he said, eyes turned shy.

Y/N shook her hands, gently pushing the gift away from him and to his chest. “Remus, you didn’t have to -”

“Please, I wanted to. Go on, open it!”

With a thankful smile, she ripped open the gift.

Her fingers glided along the side of the sturdy plastic. She flipped it around, a list of songs were written on the back, listing from one to ten. At the bottom, written small an in chicken scratch, he had written:

Happy late Birthday

With love, Remus J. Lupin

“It’s a mixtape.”

She was speechless, mouth-opening, closing several times. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

Remus scratched the back of his neck, skin tinting. “S’nothing, really. Now go on, play it!”

She reached for her bag, pulling out the portable cassette player, placed the tape in and pressed play. She handed one earbud to Remus, chuckling as Young Americans by David Bowie played. Clever.

NEXT CHAPTER ✷ NAVIGATION ✷ REMUS' MIXTAPE

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wait-still-rendering · 3 years ago

Text

A Love Letter Circa 2007

Kairi’s cheek sat upon the cool desk.

“Kaiiiiriii.” A pair of smiling blue eyes came into her line of sight. Naminé poked her shoulder a couple times. “C’mon, we gotta meet the boys for ice cream. Roxas says it’s his treat.”

“Fine.” Kairi peeled herself off of the desk, rubbing her cheek. Ow. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that. She stifled a yawn, regretting the time she spent last night playing her new video game on her PS2. Kairi was sneaky this time—muting the volume, putting a blanket over her and the TV’s head, turning off her light, and stuffing one of her old blankets under the door so no one could peek in. Mom hadn’t suspected a thing and Kairi made sure to put on concealer this morning. She could catch up on sleep later tonight.

The two best friends headed out of the school building, chatting about this and that. Kairi yawned again. Whew. She really needed to catch up on sleep.

"Hey, Naminé, Kairi." Sora waved his arms up and down like a doofus.

Kairi cracked a smile, tucking a strand of her strawberry red hair behind her ear. "Hi," she said, happy her voice didn't lilt upward like it usually did.

"Yo." Roxas waved.

"Hello." Naminé giggled at Sora's antics. "Ready to go?"

"Yup. Good thing Roxas is paying because I'm flat broke."

"That's because you spent all of your money on action figures," Roxas retorted.

"And your point? Hm?" Sora put his hands on his hips, leaning forward and almost losing his balance. "I spend money on things that matter. In just a few years these action figures could make me"—he counted his fingers—"11 million munny. I'll be rich one day, just you wait."

"Sure." Roxas snorted.

Kairi skipped ahead of the rest of her friends. Her glittering eyes gazed up at the sakura trees, her earlier fatigue disappearing completely. Spring was her favorite season. There was something fresh in the air. Maybe the dew, maybe the bakery up ahead. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but Spring made her want to dance around like a lovesick girl. Finding love in this weather wouldn’t be too bad, especially with the flowers in full bloom.

She spun around, her skirt billowing in the wind. Thankfully, Kairi always wore shorts under her skirts. Naminé shook her head at her friend’s hyperactivity.

“Don’t try to get everything in sight,” Roxas said. “I only have so much money.” He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to look more stern.

“Like last time when Sora tried to buy eight lava cakes?” Kairi asked.

“Exactly.”

“Why is everyone picking on me today? That was one time,” Sora said, pouting.

“One time too many.” Roxas crossed his arms and sent a sharp look Sora’s way.

“Aww man.”

“Do either of you need the notes for Ms. Lockhart’s class?” Naminé rifled through her bag, blonde hair falling in front of her face. Sometimes Kairi wondered how she could look so angelic. She looked almost like a princess with her porcelain skin and delicate features. “I have some notes here if you wanna copy them.”

Naminé always took thorough notes. Kairi wouldn’t know what to do without her since she could hardly pay attention in class today. She didn’t necessarily doze off, but she found herself reading words, but not really processing them. It happened to her sometimes. She’d be reading a book and confused about what was going on even if the plot wasn’t too hard to follow. Then she would put the book down, pick it up a few weeks later, put it down again, and repeat the process until she finally understood what was going on. Her friends didn’t know about this because it was kind of embarrassing.

“Sooo, what is everyone getting?” Sora asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Why? So you can mooch off of us like last time?” Kairi swore Sora had a bottomless pit for a stomach. That boy could eat an entire whale and not gain a pound.

“No, I’m just curious.”

“Mhmm.”

Naminé walked alongside Roxas, explaining something math-related to him. When Roxas wasn’t looking Kairi made kissy faces at her. She blushed and turned away abruptly from Kairi. Sora raised an eyebrow at her antics. Kairi shrugged her shoulders, a small smile forming on her lips.

“What?”

“Does she ….?” he trailed off, not daring to finish the sentence.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“You’re her best friend,” Sora pointed out.

“I mean, yeah, but she’s never mentioned any crushes to me.”

“Really?”

“Yup. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff.”

Sora looked like he didn’t believe her. “Sure.”

“Listen,” she started, her eyes serious, “it’s girl code.”

He held up his hands. “Whoa, chill. It was just a question.”

“And what if I asked you the same thing? Do you have a crush on anyone, hm?” She bumped shoulders with him and waited as a small smile formed on her lips.

“What? I, uh, huh?” he stammered.

Kairi’s violet eyes lit up. “You do.” She squealed.

“I do not!” Sora’s face was starting to resemble a tomato.

“You totally do. Sooo,” she started, wiggling her eyebrows. “Who is it?”

“You.”

Kairi stopped dead in her tracks, her face turning as red as her hair.

“You don’t mean it.”

“I do,” Sora said. There was no laughter in his eyes.

Her coughing turned into nervous giggles.

“Do you like me?”

��Who doesn’t like you, Sora?” she asked before making the bold choice to kiss his cheek.

Kairi raced ahead after spotting the ice cream shop.

“That’s not an answer, Kairi!”

She spun around and stuck out her tongue at Sora while Naminé and Roxas looked on in confusion. “It’s a pretty obvious answer, you dork.”

#khkairiday2022 #khkairiday #kingdom hearts kairi #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfic #this was inspired by old fanfics i read growing up #happy kairi day!!#i'll go more into detail on ao3

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forlornmelody · 3 years ago

Text

Resurrection Day

Rating: M (just a lot of angst, really. Character death, some graphic violence, and an afterglow moment)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Jayrose, RedArse,

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: The Outlaws have always had a funny relationship with death, but when one of their own dies, they try to rise from their mistakes.

Note: Idk if this is a fic, or more my headcanons strung together. Enjoy?

-*-*

“Do you ever regret it?”

Jason only half-hears her, his eyelids heavy, and his body so relaxed with release that he might never move again. “Mm?” he mumbles, pulling his body through quicksand so he can lay on his side and face her.

Rose’s skin still glistens in the evening light, her hair mussed, and her face flushed. Her voice still throaty from moaning and screaming that Jason’s too busy reliving those last straining moments he almost doesn’t hear her again. “Do you ever regret...coming back?”

Pushing himself onto his elbows, Jason gazes down at her with a crooked grin. “To Gotham? Only when Bruce breathes down my neck.”

Snorting, Rose stretches one arm above her head, and her chest rises towards him in a way that makes him suck in his breath. Focus. She won’t meet his eyes, and her lips keep forming words she doesn't speak. “No, I mean. Do you regret being brought back?” The warmth in Jason’s belly turns to ice.

It’s all too easy to remember that god-awful laugh, and the red haze in his vision, and the blood in his eyes. The searing pain of each blow, and the ache every time he tries to breathe. The numbness that settles in when he reaches the door and finds it locked--when he hears the egg timer on Joker’s signature bomb.

Remembering what came after is harder. Running out of air. So much water, but it’s thicker than water, and he can’t get to the surface fast enough. Screaming. So much screaming. Is he screaming? Everyone’s trying to kill him. He can’t get out. He can’t get out. He can’t.

“Jason?” Rose only says his name when she’s worried. She squeezes his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin until his vision clears. “Shit. Sorry.” Sighing in frustration, she looks away. “Didn’t mean to bring all that back.”

Leaning his forehead against hers, Jason tries to get his breathing under control like his shrink taught him, but it’s easier said than done, and he fears the moment lost by the time he does. He tries to turn it into a joke, to lighten the mood. “That’s like asking if I regret being alive.” Jason huffs a laugh, but it falls flat.

Rose bites her lip so hard Jason half-expects it to bleed. She looks up at him as if she’s confessing to murder. Sorry, Asshole, I fucked up again. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “I was there, you know.”

Jason’s eyes widen. “At the Lazarus Pit?” And there he is, again. Drowning.

“Yeah.” She swallows, and the next part comes out thick. “I was the one who told Ra’s Al Ghul where to find your body. He let me watch, as a thank you.”

Nowhere in that haze of memory does Jason recall seeing Rose, and that it is a whole new betrayal. “Where?” He sucks in a breath. “When?”

“Guess you weren’t happy to see me.” She snorts. “You tried to kill me. Well. Everyone, really. But you were fixated on me.” Rose looks at him, finally. “Thaila had to pull you off me before I stopped self-healing altogether.”

“And then you...left?” He’s angry, as if he has any right to be. Jason probably would’ve done the same given the circumstances.

Rose nods. “And the All-Caste offered to take you in, fix you right up. Guess it worked.” A small smile sneaks onto her lips. But it doesn’t reach her eyes.

One of Jason’s first clear memories of that time--a lonely night in his cell in The Chamber of All. Wondering what happened to her. If she had died right along with him and hadn’t been brought back. Being so angry when he got back to Gotham and she apparently had a life of her own. His memories of her, after, are a little less clear. But the distant look in her eyes tells him all he needs to know.

----

“Dude, don’t be so hard on her.” Roy polishes off yet another hot dog, licking his fingers.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Jason kicks his heels against the edge of the rooftop. He reaches for one of the polish sausages, but his stomach gurgles in protest. Maybe not, then.

“You’ve no idea what she went through to get you back.” He turns to look at him, with those hazel eyes lingering on Jason in a way that always leaves him feeling, well, naked. Which shouldn’t be an issue right? Roy’s seen him naked plenty of times after a mission. There’s only one shower, and that apartment has one tiny ass water heater. Showering together only makes sense? At least there’s room for the both of them, just barely. It often turns into a game of Twister mixed with hot yoga. And like, there’s never been any problem, yeah?

But sometimes the way Jason catches Roy staring at him. Makes him wonder.

If he wants to stare back.

Just every once in a while.

“Like what?” They really shouldn’t have bought the entire foodcart’s stock so the Old Man Gerasimos “Jerry” Angelos could head home early. This is way too much food, even with Roy’s bottomless stomach.

“Maybe you should ask her sometime.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Jason licks his fingers. “It’s easier to not talk about it at all.”

Roy laughs. “Ah, just like how you don’t talk about stuff with anyone else?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason gives him a playful look, but the look on Roy’s face stops him short.

Roy doesn’t answer. He reaches over instead, wiping the mustard that got caught on the side of his mouth. His fingers are so unbelievably warm, like he’s made of fire and not skin. And Jason aches when he pulls away abruptly.

“I uh, I just remembered that my laundry’s sitting in the washer. Probably stinks already.” Roy rushes off, not even bothering to wipe his fingers on a napkin.

“It always stinks, Harper!” Jason roars after him, but his friend has already shut the door.

Roy dies two days later.

------

“Would you be angry if I--we brought Roy back?” They’re on a rooftop, They’ve been waiting here for hours for Valentino’s men to show, and still nothing. Not all the Tuesday tacos in the world can make the night any less stale. Rose is on her fifth one when she gets philosophical.

Jason snorts. “You say that like it’s possible.”

Rose doesn’t say anything, and that’s what scares him.

“It’s not,” he says, louder.

“Why not?” She wipes quac from the corner of her mouth, staring at the rooftop across the street as if Roy’s gonna pop out of the skylight any second. “We brought you back.”

She can’t be serious. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Rose.”

Rose deadpans at him, her lips tight and firm. “I don’t?”

Jason thinks back to the first time he found her. Her right arm bent backward, her left cradling a wound that had bled out next to her. How her eyes stared out at nothing. Someone had pressed the mute button on the universe, except for the thud of his own heart. He should call someone. Bruce, 911, anyone, but his hands won’t move. “Right, sorry.”

It’s a terrible idea, they both know that, but the thought keeps eating away at him. Every time Jason lets his mind wander, it wanders to Roy--his crooked smile, his careless lean--the clumsiness that shouldn’t belong to a world-class archer, but it does. The headquarters seems so empty without Roy in it--so cavernous yet so claustrophobic like it’s going to eat Jason alive.

-----

Three days later Rose is roundhouse kicking a punching bag when Jason finds her. “We can’t use the Lazarus Pit.”

Rose stumbles, missing the bag completely and tumbling to the floor. “The fuck, Jason!” For someone who sees the future, Rose certainly didn’t hear this coming.

Jason helps her up. “We can’t use the Lazarus Pit. I don’t want Roy going through what I did.” He meets her eyes. “What we did.”

Rose nods, still breathless and annoyed in a way that makes him want to smother her with kisses. “You got another idea?” Jason swallows, squeezing the hand he’s still holding. “Jason?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know your HLA markers, would you?”

“My what?”

----

Rose hates going to the doctor. It’s rarely a problem--her regeneration usually prevents her from getting sick, and her injuries hardly last long enough. But she’s been around enough mad scientists that she practically glares holes into the nurse when he brings out the needle.

“Don’t kill him and maybe I’ll give you a lollipop afterward.” Jason elbows her other arm.

“A lollipop is not what I want to be sucking right now,” Rose fires back, looking at him instead of the needle. She relaxes slightly, and Jason kisses her, brushing her hair behind her ear.

The nurse coughs. “Alright. Easy in--and done.”

Rose swallows, taking in a deep breath. “Finally.” She closes her eyes, then stands up, rushing for the door.

Jason pauses in the doorframe, looking back at the nurse. “Uh, keep us posted.”

“We’ll call.”

----

It’s a stupid idea. The morgue doesn’t even understand why Jason Todd, adopted son of Billionaire Bruce Wayne wants to keep Roy Harper’s body in their freezer, especially when Oliver Queen seems to want it cremated as soon as possible. Bribing the owner doesn’t even work--not with Queen’s fortune also in play. So, Rose concocts some dumbass story about Harper’s biological family coming in from out of town. It’s so crazy that both Queen and the mortician fall for it.

Both Jason and Rose hold their breath when his phone rings. And Rose, and her fucking precognition, hugs him tight and fucking squeals before the nurse even says it “It’s a match.”

---

“Nervous?” Jason sits next to her, squeezing her hand as the scientist hooks the catheter tube to a vein in Roy’s chest. Jason has a hard time looking at his body, so he focuses on Rose instead.

“Fucking terrified.” Rose laughs humorously.

“Trust me, if they try anything I’ll shoot them myself.”

“You know I can hear you, right?”

-----

Rose isn’t sure what’s more surprising, the gleam in Roy’s eyes like he just woke up from a nap, or the desperate kiss Jason gives him when he takes his first breath. Or maybe it’s not surprising at all. She should have known from the way Roy always seemed to be in Jason’s thoughts--he always had a convincing lie, and maybe Rose wanted to believe him. Maybe she should feel angry--betrayed, even, but all she feels is relief.

Finally, Jason remembers they’re not alone, and he breaks off from sucking Roy’s face, his face as red as Roy’s hair.

Roy, on other hand, is not surprised at all. “Missed me that much, huh?”

#melody writes #jayrose #redarse #dc comics #jason todd #rose wilson #roy harper #jayroy #lime #been kind of a rough evening so I posted this to cheer myself up #lemme know if you like it #bi!Jason

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years ago

Note

So I read Elixir and I love how you write sex pollen and I was wondering if you could do one for our other federal agent, Marcus?

Jump Start

Warnings: smut. A lot of smut. Unbeta’d writing; soft Marcus.

Words: 3,500

Summary: What if Marcus only went to DC for a while? And what if he came back for you?

Marcus: Still game for tonight?

You: Are you kidding? Cho and Lisbon have bigged up that Aladdin’s Cave for months. I’ll be there.

Marcus: You sure this is what you want for your birthday?

You: Yes.

Marcus: Okay then… Bring a pillow because I’ll probably bore you to sleep with all the art stories.

When the elevator doors part to reveal Agent Marcus Pike, you’re standing by the door to the lock-up. A smile lights up his face when he sees you, and your heart bumps hard in your chest. He slides his hands in his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

He ducks his head, a little shy. You know he isn’t always. You’d seen him in the interview room a few times last year, when your team and his had co-run a case. Watched his eyes go hard, his face stern. He’d slammed a file down on the desk inches from a suspect’s face and the surprisingly rough side to him had made you shiver.

Lisbon had sent you a knowing look and you’d ignored her.

She’d had her chance and she’d blown it, and frankly you didn’t want to know what she and Marcus had shared; how close they’d been.

Marcus had gone to DC after that. A year’s undercover work has helped him heal, you think. Get his head back in the game.

He came back for another co-op case, and thankfully, Lisbon and Jane had been away on honeymoon then.

You and Marcus had worked this one together, sometimes late into the night, sharing take-out and anecdotes from other old cases, and then, you’d started hanging out, a little.

He’s interesting. Funny. Friendly. Panty-melting gorgeous.

Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

Cho dropped that it was your birthday at last week’s after-work drinks, and then Marcus had texted offering you a tour of the art lock up. You’d been rota’d off the day Cho and Lisbon got to see it, last year.

Patrick Jane hadn’t been allowed in. Marcus had muttered something about sticky fingers when you’d asked him about it.

“You ready?” He ducks his head to buss your cheek and you meet him halfway, breathing him in, minty gum, sandalwood, and the gourmet coffee he hides in his office. He shared it with you once and it’s like him, memorable, decadent, addictive.

“Ready.” You pull away, reluctantly, wanting him, but he’s never given you any overt hints that he sees you as anything more than a colleague.

He and Lisbon are cordial to each other when they meet, but for all you know, he’s still pining over her.

You daren’t ask; you don’t want to know the answer.

Marcus punches in a code to the first gate, then plucks the rings of keys from his pocket and opens the dinner door of the lock-up, a smile playing on his scruffy face. He grew the patchy beard during his time in DC and it really suits him, highlights his beautiful jaw and makes his soulful eyes a deeper brown.

This time on a Saturday, no one else is around.

“A private museum,” you breathe as you see all the paintings, sculptures and other art set carefully in frames or on desks or custom made plinths.

“Yeah, I always feel like Aladdin.” He scoffs at himself. “I say that every time. What a dork.”

You turn and grin at him. “I like it. You’re an art geek. It’s sexy.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Marcus’ brow wings up. “That so?”

“Um, sure.” You duck your head, embarrassed. “So. Tell me some art stories, Special Agent Pike. What’s new here?”

He brightens, soulful chocolate eyes going wide for just a moment. “Well. There’s this equine sculpture. Maker’s mark is Italian but we seized it during a raid for paintings. Wasn’t expecting it.” He snaps on white gloves and offers you a pair, then gently turns over the statue to show you the swirling signature on the bottom. “We’re still not sure where the other two are.”

You trace a gloved finger over the horse’s detailed mane, wrought perfectly in cherrywood. “Other two?

“Sure. This is part of a set. You can tell here-” he points out a divot in the base that you wouldn’t even have noticed, and another on the opposite end. “And here. The two connecting statues are missing - other horses, I’d guess.”

“Wow.”

Marcus sets the horse down and meets your gaze. “You bored yet?”

“Nope! More!”

He chuckles indulgently. “Okay. Why don’t you choose.”

You wander around the various lock-up cages for a while, examining instruments, more statues, even a huge quilt that looks woven with gold.

After a few moments, a painting about your height catches your eye. It’s an orgy, but tastefully done, painted in shades of amber and gold, the bodies fluid, enchanting.

“I’ve never seen such a… soft depiction of a group bang,” you smile.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “That came in last week. Rumour has it, the artist was quite the lothario back in the 1800s. A steady stream of, ah, callers to his penthouse in Florence. The accounts of his sexual prowess are something else.”

“I bet.” You eye the curves of the women in the painting; she looks soft, welcoming, her eyes closed in ethereal bliss. “So, how’d you get this?”

“Allegedly, found in an attic. We went to the house to pick it up. The man who gave it to me - said they just moved in - seemed kinda high.” Marcus’ brow furrows. “Very mellow. Pretty sure he’d been smoking something. He was half-dressed.”

You crouch, examine the painting more closely. “And you didn’t… arrest him?”

Marcus shrugs. “Art’s our deal. I did note the address with a colleague in the DEA, so if it gets flagged again, they’ll investigate.”

Something about the painting keeps you enraptured. You spy a little notch in the frame. “Do you think something’s hidden in here?”

Marcus bends next to you to examine the area you point to. He’s been working today, so he still wears his suit, the red tie the little bit of flash he allows himself on the job. His scent weaves around you, the lick of coffee, the gasp of mint, and something uniquely Marcus.

“It looks like something…. Comes undone?”

You both lean in together, and you edge your gloved finger along the groove in the ornate gold-effect frame.

Marcus does the same from the other end. “Wow,” he breathes. “A hidden compartment?” Then his eyebrows shoot up as part of the frame depresses under his finger, clicking. He grins hugely. “Well, now I really do feel like Aladdin.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a little monkey wearing a fez around here, do you?” You tease.

“Maybe a magic carpet. I-”

He’s cut off when a hissing noise pops from the painting. You and Marcus both lean in to try and hear it more closely, and just when you get close, powder sprays from the frame, light gold in colour and smelling faintly musty.

You cough, reeling back, your hands over your face. “Gross.”

Marcus steps back too, wiping a gloved hand over his face and examining the golden-hued powder on the cotton fabric. “What the hell-”

You slowly sit down on the floor. “I feel… sort of dizzy. Hot.”

Marcus crosses to you, crouching in front of you, and if you didn’t feel so discombobulated, you would appreciate the closeness of him, the amber shot through his irises, the slight curl of his cowlick. “I’ll go get help. Maybe some water?”

You’re burning up. A slow dance starts in the pit of your belly, something that you think was always there, maybe, but intensified now Marcus is so close. “Please don’t go.”

His brow furrows in concern. “Of course.” He smoothes a gloved hand over your hair, and then you see it; the change in his eyes, the way they go dark and hot. “I… what the fuck is this stuff? I feel…”

You clutch at his forearms, feeling the play of lean muscle under his suit. “What if…. What if this was the reason that painter was such a, um, lothario?”

Marcus’ gaze has dropped to your mouth and at your words, he blinks. “What? Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Marcus, I…”

He stands up, backing away. “I can’t be near you. Not when I want… I can’t.”

You reach out to him. “What if you stayed?”

He gazes down at you, longing in those bottomless eyes, and now you can clearly see the outline of the powder’s effect on him. “I can’t. Can’t do that to you.”

A flash of hope pierces the haze descending on you. “You want to? Because of the.. Stuff,” you finish lamely.

An expression of half desire, half pain, sketches itself over Marcus’ features. “I’ve wanted to for a while. That night we worked late.” He’s half-panting now, the fingers of one hand curled around the wall of his side of the lock-up. “Wanted to take you over the desk. I - fuck- can’t do it.”

You make to move. “Marcus-”

“Not like this,” he groans, that voice of sin and sex dropping half an octave, California with a lick of the drawl of Texas. “Not… like this.”

“Don’t go!” You beg. Your insides are burning up for him. If he’d just touch you. Just for a moment.

Marcus is shaking his head, fumbling with the door on this section of the lock-up. You lunge for him but he pulls the door closed, locking you in and him out.

He turns the key, then tosses the ring across the room.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Not like this. Goes against everything.”

“But I want you,” you say. You crawl over to the fencing separating you. “At least… touch my hand.”

You pull your gloves off, slide your fingers through the holes in the mesh.

Marcus takes his gloves off too, tangles his fingers with your the best he can. He sighs deeply. “I had this whole date thing planned. Dinner at an Italian that reminds me of a place I ate at in my gap year.”

“Marcus,” you whisper. “So you do really like me.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since I got back from DC, and there you were, pretty as a picture, working late with me, sharing Chinese food. Making me laugh.”

You swallow, wanting him so badly it hurts. Every inch of you burns for him.

“I wanted to go slow,” he rasps out. “I know I jump in. Get overexcited. But with you.. I wanted to do it right. Fuck.” With his free hand he, almost unconsciously, palms himself through his suit pants, his eyes rolling back. “What the hell is this drug?”

You hungrily follow the path of his hand with your gaze. “Lothario, remember?”

“I remember.” Marcus groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. He’s sitting awkwardly. “Bastard.”

“Marcus.” You squeeze his hand. “I want this. I want you. It’s lonely up on that white horse.”

He shakes his head, vehement. “It’s….not… not right.”

You press against the caging and just the pressure of the mesh on your breasts makes you moan. “So I can’t touch you, and you won’t touch me, but you also won’t leave me.” You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, look at the tent in his suit pants. “Touch yourself.”

His eyes pop open. “What?”

“If you won’t leave and you won’t… give in to whatever this is, although I want you more than I’ve wanted any man, ever…. Let me see you.”

A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he looks at you, big brown eyes considering. He’s weighing every option. Marcus is thoughtful, considered. Considerate. He always thinks two steps ahead, encompasses everyone in plans and strategies.

But he’s blindsided by this, and you can’t say it isn’t sexy as hell to see him unravel this way.

“Please,” you add, holding his gaze.

He squeezes your fingers and the air changes between you, and then he leans heavily against the mesh and you take the opportunity to stroke his hair, a little, and it’s so soft. Feels like silk, and you have to touch more of him, but maybe you’ll get to at least see more, so you will your breathing to calm, just a bit, as he fumbles one-handedly with his belt buckle and then slides the zipper of his suit pants down to reveal plain grey boxers, darkened in the centre by a damp patch, and your throat is so dry.

“Have you…” your heart bumps hard, the rush of seeing new parts of Marcus making you even dizzier. “Ever gotten off in this evidence locker before?”

“Can’t say I have.” Marcus’ gaze stays on your face, earnest. “I can go. I can just go.”

“Please. Please don’t go. Come in.”

“Can’t do that.” He closes his eyes; looks like he is silently praying for the power to resist you. His fingers curl into the parted edge of his suit pants.

“Let me see you?”

He sucks in a deep breath, then exhales shakily. “This is not how I planned to seduce you. Just so you know.”

Your pulse rabbits. “You seduce me every moment, Marcus. With every sweet text. Every time you smile at me. All your art stories. When you say my name. Your voice, oh God.”

Marcus’ hand trembles as he holds your gaze through the wire mesh of the lock-up, and he finally, finally parts the opening of the plain grey boxers and draws himself out, and you just drink him in with your eyes, the shape of him, the swollen tip, his length and girth, the curling hair at his base. It looks as silky as the hair on his head and you hear yourself groan needily.

“Marcus.”

He fists himself, his gaze hot on yours. “Not how I planned this date,” he repeats. “I feel like I’m on fire for you.” He rasps out your name and you watch his hand move, and suddenly it’s too much, the heat between your legs cannot be ignored, and you shove your skirt up and mirror Marcus on the floor.

His head jerks around. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“Never knew you had such a potty mouth,” you half-gasp, half-tease.

“For you, I’ll do whatever you want with my mouth.”

You groan at that as you circle your clit with a finger.

Marcus almost growls “Underwear off, I want to see.” His voice, that voice, is gentle-rough, and you think of the day you watched him in the interview room.

“Whatever you say, Agent Pike.”

“Christ.” He’s jacking off in earnest now, his gaze riveted to you as you pull off your underwear with one hand, letting it fall wherever. Your skirt is rucked up around your hips and the fact it’s Marcus watching you is a huge turn on, but honestly you’re not sure if you could have stopped, for anything.

Your combined pants fill the space. You’ve never been so wet. When you slide two fingers inside yourself the sound is obscene.

“It’s.. a wonder.. He ever got… any painting done,” Marcus grits out.

You laugh. “Now? You wanna talk about art now?”

He huffs. “Art is the reason we’re here. Like this.” Then he sucks in a breath and you look down at him, his balls drawn up tight, his cock wet with his own pre-come.

“Marcus Matthew Pike, I swear to God, if you don’t get in here right now, I will never ever speak to you again.”

He hesitates.

“I swear on Van Gogh’s ear,” you add, your internal muscles fluttering.

Marcus half-yanks up his pants, scrabbles for the key. The seconds feel like hours until he appears again, boxers and pants around his knees, shirt tails hanging, and he opens the mesh door and you yank him in and kiss him and you tumble to the floor together, and Marcus grabs both your wrists and pins them above you with one hand, his face dark and determined, and it makes your heart pound.

“Please,” you grate out. “Marcus. I need you.” You spread your legs and try to hook your feet over his calves, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Sweetheart, not yet.” He curls your fingers into the wire of the mesh. “Hold on. Don’t… don’t touch me. I wanna make it good for you, first.”

You hear yourself keen his name as he shucks off his clothes from the waist down, then slides down your body and puts that gorgeous mouth to work. Your favourite thing he did with his mouth until now was talking, but this-

Maybe he’s writing his name, maybe he’s writing a sonnet, but whatever it is, the way he curls his tongue is obscene, and you don’t know if it’s partly the drug, but when he puts two fingers inside you, you come so hard you almost black out. And then lust rears its head again and you grab for him, carding one hand through his hair and cupping him with the other, and he’s slick in your palm and the ridges and heat of his cock feel so good.

“Marcus.” You fist a hand in his hair, pull a little, and he groans and pants, and you take the opportunity to pump him in your fist until he swears under his breath.

"Condom. Oh fuck. Condom."

He hesitates, then drops a soft kiss on your lips - your first, you think, a bit giddy - and you taste yourself, and he licks into your mouth and whispers your name and it's pure, unadulterated bliss.

Then he extricates himself, rummages in his suit pants, and as soon as he has the foil square in his hand you grab for him, pulling him down on top of you.

"After this," you murmur, "you're gonna bend me over the desk." And you roll the condom down his dick and he lets out a long, slow breath and pushes inside you and it's everything.

Everything inside you quiets for a moment that stretches as he starts to move, caging you in with his braced forearms, and you look into his dark chocolate eyes and his heart is on his face, with Marcus it always is. It's your favourite thing about him.

He nibbles at your lips as you make love to eachother, and you hook your legs around his hips to stop him pulling out too much. You want him close, want to feel his skin under your hands. The buttons of his shirt rasp against your dress, and if you were more aware you might think it's ridiculous, him bringing you to orgasm with you both half dressed in the floor of the art squad lock-up, but you can't care. Not when his cock hits you right there, and then you're keening his name and he tumbles over the cliff edge with you, pressing hard in those final thrusts as your muscles milk him.

You curl around him. "Marcus."

He sighs, presses his forehead to yours. "Was that… are you okay?"

You chuckle lazily. "I've never been more okay."

He cuddles you close, nosing at your cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. "Christ, what is this stuff? I could go again."

At his words desire rears its head. "There must be a desk in here somewhere, right?"

And his eyes go hot.

And that's how you find yourself bent over a desk recovered from an abandoned shipping off, the edges intricately gilded. You cling to them as Marcus fucks you hard and fast, just the way he'd fantasised about, and it's so good that you sob his name over and over.

Afterwards he cuddles you so gently, stroking your hair as he whispers praises about how good you felt around him, how next time he's gonna give you a bed covered in rose petals.

You shake your head, kissing him deeply, helping him into his jacket. "You're all I want, Marcus. Any way I can have you."

A flush colours his cheeks as he cups your cheeks. "Dinner? Let me take you out to dinner."

"I'd rather have it in bed. Have you in bed."

His eyes go wide for a second. "The drug.."

"This isn't the drug and you know it." You loop your arms around his neck. "It just jump-started us. Never been so grateful to a horny nineteenth century painter."

Marcus laughs out loud, hugs you, then releases you to hold your hand, tug you towards the elevator. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, right?"

Happiness unfurls slowly inside you. "I could stand to hear it again."

Tagging the Pedro pals! @soldade @beccaplaying @heatherbel @mourningbirds1 @alldatalost @songsformonkeys @agirllovespasta @nelba @chews-erotically @mrschiltoncat @gamingaquarius @alienprincesspoop @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @agentpike @jaime1110 @thegreenkid @pedropascallion @mrsparknuts @buckstaposition @winters-buck @oloreaa @mstgsmy @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @holographic-carmen @cryptkeepersoul @alwaysbethewest @poenariuniverse @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @alwaysbethewest @kindablackenedsuperhero @abuttoncalledsmalls @f0rever15elf

And @arch-venus25 did you wanna be tagged in Pedro stuff?

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quillandink333 · 3 years ago

Text

Scarlet Carnations ~ Epilogue

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.7k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

The first couple of weeks following the incident that had taken my long-lost mother from me was misery in its purest form. Link and I didn’t speak, not even by phone, during that whole stretch of time. In fact, I could rarely bring myself to answer the phone at all. The memory was still too vivid, the wounds still too fresh.

He’d gotten off scot-free in the end as he’d been deemed to have acted in the defence of others—namely, of me. It wasn’t long before I learned of his plea, that if I hadn’t come along quietly, I would have suffered the same fate that he’d brought upon her, and they had believed him. How I felt about this was still something I was struggling to wrap my endlessly pounding head around.

As dark and deep as this seemingly bottomless pit of despair that I’d found myself plummeting down was, however, someone did eventually toss a rope down for me. The time I spent apart from Link gave me the opportunity to properly reconcile with those whom I myself had wronged: Auntie Purah and Paya. The former and I found comfort in our mutual grieving, and even as Paya had never really known my mother well enough to mourn her loss (though, arguably, it seemed no one had ever truly known her), she was more gracious and understanding than I or anyone else would have been, which only made me regret even more deeply my past transgressions toward her.

One day, during one of our continual conversations, she shifted to the topic of the Yiga leader’s executioner. How she could even think of him at a time like this was beyond me, but I digressed. I told her everything from start to finish. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to talk to anyone about it at length. As I spoke, she listened calmly and carefully. Despite what I’d have liked to believe, she had always been the more levelheaded one out of the two of us, save for when it came to discussing things about herself.

By the time I finished, I’d begun bouncing my still healing ankle back and forth, which I’d crossed over my other leg to keep it from touching the ground. I didn’t stop even after I noticed what I was doing.

“It’s painfully clear to see how conflicted you are about all this.” Coming to sit beside me on the sofa in the Sheikahs’ sitting room, Paya placed an affectionate palm on my thigh, bringing its restless jittering to a halt. “I understand how hard this must be for you. But the way I see it, there’s only one question you need ask yourself at the end of the day.”

Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t be an easy pill to swallow, would it? I straightened my posture. “And what would that be?”

“Between the two of them, who do you think was the better person?”

She was looking me dead in the eyes, her hand still resting upon my leg. I uncrossed them.

I’d never thought to compare the two before. What reason would I have had to do so? But now that she’d mentioned it, I hadn’t realized how few memories I even had left of my mother, and the ones that remained were blurry and vague beyond any hope of being recovered. If only she hadn’t left me with the Sheikahs all those years ago, maybe I could have remembered more clearly what kind of person she had been.

On the other hand, Link had always been there for me. Even during the times when circumstances had driven us apart, the thought of him was what had kept my flame burning strong and hot throughout each arctic day, and what had protected me from myself, keeping me from doing the irreparable. He had stayed by my side to the bitter end.

No matter how I’d reflected back on that day previously, the sight of his steely, focused stare and the sound of his crazed breaths, short and sharp, had been ever dominant. But now, I recalled the way those eyes had then glazed over with unadulterated horror. How his arms had shivered as they’d clung to my broken form and how they’d continue to cling for what would feel like millennia until the rest of his unit would finally stumble upon the scene.

My stepsister-of-sorts gave my leg a soft squeeze as I looked back at her with a tremor in my lip. “He s...saved me,” I whimpered. “Didn’t he?”

After a month apart, I made plans with Link for a night out on the pier, where we would celebrate the end of the Organization. The ice cream I’d promised him was at the top of my list of priorities for the evening. Tonight was a dessert-first night anyway, I’d decided. From there, we went and found ourselves a bite to eat at a seafood restaurant within walking distance. I’d hoped eating with him would feel like old times, but he hardly spoke a word throughout the whole meal. I tried lightening the mood with some banter, but this proved ineffective when he brushed off everything I said with mere one or two-word replies.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten us both a bit of something to drink that he finally broke the silence. “Have you...” he started, but lost the confidence to continue.

I perked up at the sound of his voice, wanting to hear more of it. “Have I...?”

“A-Ah...” His fingers poked at the copious amount of chips piled onto his plate next to the practically untouched fillet of fried fish. “I was just wondering if you’ve thought about what you’re going to do now, since...you know...you’re not a detective anymore.”

“Ah, right. That.” I took another sip of my drink, its contents long having fled my memory. “Actually, my auntie talked about it with me and she said she’d consider letting me inherit the company once I’ve acquired the proper education. So to answer your question, I’m thinking about going to school for engineering.”

His brows rose. “Oh! My, that’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s brilliant. I’m happy for you.”

I thanked him with a hesitant grin, then asked, “How about you? Do you plan to stay on with the force, or...?”

“Ahh, well...” What little there’d been of an upward turn in his lips vanished. “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It’s something I’ve been mulling over for a while now. Whether to stay on and honour my father’s work, or...whatever other options are available, I suppose.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?” He raised his head. “I think you should do whatever you think would make you happiest. That’s what you’re father would have wanted, I’m sure.”

This finally, finally, got a real, unsubdued smile out of him. And I intended to milk that smile for all it was worth.

After dinner, I dragged him back down to the arcade on the pier, where I managed to ring a few laughs out of him while we were still a bit tipsy. We steered clear of the toy gun target-type games, favouring other stands like the ring toss where he won me a plush frog that I could only just get my arms all the way around. His aim was spectacular, especially for someone who wasn’t entirely sober. Not only that, but I could never have imagined how sweet and charming he would be like this. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though we’d gone back in time again. That, or the light from the setting sun was playing tricks on me.

But by the end of the evening, he’d reverted back to that quiet, reclusive version of himself that I’d quickly grown to detest. We were out on the docks now, facing the sea. The breeze carried a mist of saltwater within its bows. I breathed it in, soaking up the feeling of it hitting me softly and coolly in the face. A hint of pink in my partner’s cheeks caught my eye, and I wondered whether it was the cocktails or my arms, which were currently wound about his waist from behind.

“Beautiful sunset,” I tried, hoping I could get him to spare me a glance at least. “Isn’t it?” But to no avail. He only continued to gaze westward at the rippling flames reflected in the water. “Hey...” Before I knew what I was doing, my palm had found the warmth of his cheek, and there was hardly an inch or two of distance between the tips of our noses. Without giving myself time to think, I tilted my head, leaned in, and started to close my eyes.

But when I realized he wasn’t doing the same, I halted. On the contrary, he’d been leaning back and away from my advances, his back so rigid and shoulders so stiff it were as though he would sprout wings and bolt were I to make any sudden moves.

“What’s wrong?”

A harsh, jagged exhale. “Zelda, I just can’t—” He grabbed both my wrists and wrenched my arms off of him. “I’m sorry. We can’t do this.” He was bent over the railing, arms folded in on each other. “Not now,” he said, dwindling, “after I’ve gone and...murdered your only family.” A weary chuckle shook him by the shoulders before he raked his hands through his wind-tousled hair.

I fell into quiet thought for a moment. Then, taking a long, thorough breath, I placed a feather-light set of fingertips atop his own. “That woman was never my family.” I’d made up my mind. Figuratively or otherwise, my real mother had moved on a long time ago. And it was time I did the same.

Link must have seen the resolve in my eyes or heard it in my voice, because now he was looking back at me openly, his body turned to face me. Though there was still an air of uncertainty lingering about him as he ran the crease of his cuff between his fingers again and again. But when I brought my arms around him and held him close, he sank into my lips, returning my embrace at long last. A lone pair of tears fell from my eyes the moment they fluttered closed—a culmination of all past ordeals—and as they fell, I couldn’t help but smile.

#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelda pov #detective au

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ilguna · 4 years ago

Text

Redamancy - Chapter Seven (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE. BRIEF MENTION OF SUICIDE

wc; 14.5k

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

–

There’s a familiar feeling of dread when you wake up this afternoon. A bottomless pit in your stomach that sticks with you no matter how hard you shake. You sit in bed for an extra twenty minutes, hoping that positive affirmations will be enough to get some of it to go away. Dread is an unbearably uncomfortable feeling, and it doesn’t go away either.

You have to get out of bed at some point, so you drag your feet around your room, getting shit ready for the shower. Ripped white skinny jeans, an open-back light blue shirt, white underwear. You drop it all onto the white bathroom counter, turn on the shower, and let it run for a couple of minutes as you lean over the sink bowl.

Maybe you’re just hungry. You’ve felt this same hopeless feeling before, and all you had to do was eat for it to go away. You’ll have breakfast, and by the time you get to the betting room, your heart and stomach will be full. It’s hard to convince yourself this lie, knowing that it’s deeper than that.

You take your time in the shower too, no longer feeling sorry for Finnick for taking so long. He’s got Gloss and Enobaria down there, and they’re not so bad when you get to know them well enough. Unlike their crazy tributes inside of the arena, they know when and how to dial it down without causing too much trouble. Every year, it’s like the tributes ramp it up for entertainment. You wish they knew just how fucking insane they looked, how unappealing it’ll get to the gamemakers.

The Capitol likes fun, big and new until it’s gross and they can’t stomach it anymore. It might take them a little longer to get to that point, since they’ve been watching this shit for years, so they’re more desensitized than the rest of you. But it’s going to happen, and the moment it does, the gamemakers are going to censor everything possible to get their exciting program back on track.

It’s sickening, but it’s always sickening.

You wrap it up in the shower, allow the Capitol hair machines to work their magic on your hair. And while you’re at it, you go ahead and decide to let the body blow dryers do the exact same thing. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re not in the Capitol. You’re at home, on the beach surrounded by your friends and family. It’s late spring, early summer. You’ll picnic on the beach after you’re done with the water, and then you’ll play games until sundown. Walking home in the dark is especially fun, Reed drunk is a sight that never fails to amuse.

And then the blow dryers stop, and you’re right back home. You get dressed, one article at a time. Underwear, bra, pants, shirt. To avoid an endless stare in the mirror again, you go out to the dining room.

You turn on the tv, sit at the table, and watch as the avoxes serve a big breakfast. Good, you want to make sure that you’re full. The sooner the shitty feeling goes away, the sooner you can start focusing on more important topics. You take your time getting through it all. Pancakes, with assorted berries, syrups and candies to place on top. You get orange juice, coffee and hot chocolate served in a heartbeat. If you don’t want the berries, you can opt for oranges, apples, plums, mangos. If not fruits, then vegetables.

You stick with the pancakes, mixing and matching your food to try and find the best combination. You’re procrastinating, you know it. The longer you take, the less time you’ll have to spend inside of the betting room. You eat and eat, but find that the feeling isn’t going away. This shouldn’t be how today is going, especially not after the shit you just went through yesterday. It might not have been your tributes directly, but it was bad enough.

At least lady fate has been nice enough to give you a warning, right? Right?

It’s one-thirty in the afternoon. Everyone inside of the arena is awake and working on their own projects by now. Nine girl is relaxing off to the left, she’s got a fire started, and she’s cooking some animal that you’ve never seen before, over it. She’s content, and you think that she'll be able to kite the games easily, if she doesn’t go and pull anything like Bauhinia did.

Had Bauhinia just minded her own business and stuck next to the dam, she’d be alive right now. It wouldn’t have made for an interesting day, but that’s okay. You still can’t believe that she thought it was a good idea to try and attack them in the first place. Sure, it was only one of them, but she really didn’t think that she’d get away with it. The careers aren’t just going to let it go.

Sometimes there’s genius tributes, who can make their way around the arena, fight other tributes and survive off of worms in the ground. And they have everyone fooled, right up until they make their first not-common sense decision. A part of you can understand how they made it so far, because they’ve obviously got the skills for it. They’re just lacking literally the most obviously important details.

Bauhinia had the chance of winning, and she blew it for herself.

District Seven is awake, but they haven’t moved from the huts. They don’t look like they’re planning on going anywhere, either. The dam is leaking water, which has them mildly concerned, as they should be. They’ve just decided to ignore it for the time being, take advantage of it while they can before they have to actually go to the stream.

Annie and Marsh haven’t gone out to their snares at all. You don’t think they’re planning on moving today, either. They’re holed up inside of their shack, splitting food and talking about how they’re going to ration it. Maybe they’re finally going to try and make the push to the village tonight? That’s good, they should make one last round with the snares and gather what they can. Just in case there isn’t any food over there, they’d have some rabbits, squirrels and whatever else to hold them over until their next trip. Same thing goes for stocking up water.

As for the careers, they’re getting a slow start to today’s hunting day. They eat, discuss, go quiet, and then repeat the process about a hundred times until they eventually agree on just heading towards the stream. They pack up their things agonizingly slow, keeping the wretched kama with them so that no other tribute can run across it and keep it. It’s smart, but also a waste of space, considering they broke the strap on the outside of the backpack that would’ve held it for them.

And the only tribute that’s left is Five boy, who is a lot farther along than you thought he would be. He’s practically at the stream, and the path he took was on top of the careers. How they didn’t see him is a complete mystery to you. Like every other tribute that moves through the woods, he’s not very quiet.

Then again, the careers are dragging their feet, so yesterday must’ve tired them out. After walking for several hours, and then running, there’s no way that their legs aren’t sore. Plus, they’re carrying backpacks chocked full of goods they’ll need for a couple of days. At least this shows that they’re some form of human. You’re sure that they’re going to find some way to change that thought in the next day or so. With what you’re feeling today, it’ll probably be in the next few hours.

You finish breakfast, still watching as Five boy gets closer and closer to the stream. With where he’s at currently, Annie and Mash shouldn’t have a thing to worry about. Hell, the kid isn’t even geared up, no backpack, no weapons, he’s just letting the wind decide where he’s going. Even if he did manage to run across your tributes, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He’s harmless.

The careers get ready to go, heading the exact same was as Five boy, of course. Again, if they stick with the path that they’re on, they shouldn’t be a problem with your tributes, either. However, if that were the case, you’re sure your heart wouldn’t squeeze each time you think of the idea of them getting close to Annie and Marsh.

You brush your teeth in your bathroom, no longer taking your time getting ready. You’ve wasted thirty minutes eating lunch alone, dragging your feet isn’t going to delay the inevitable. If today’s going to be a bad day, it’s going to happen with or without you.

Plus, Finnick’s probably wondering where you’ve been this entire time. You know that he didn’t leave to go to the betting room until early this morning. With the confirmation last night that the careers wouldn’t be doing anything else, he decided to sleep for a little while longer. You didn’t really see any harm in it either. The important part is that he got down there this morning.

The elevator down makes you anxious, you press a hand to your stomach, hoping that it’ll ease your nerves. But the more you walk towards the betting room, the more the dread spreads from your stomach to your chest. By the time you’re actually inside of the room, you’re sure that being dead would be better than feeling this for the rest of the day.

Finnick is standing up instead of sitting, arms crossed while he watches the tv screen. Gloss is standing next to him, talking about something. Every now and then they’ll glance at each other, but for the most part, they’re reasonably interested in what’s going to eventually happen. It’s a matter of time before the careers and Five boy run across each other, isn’t it?

As for Enobaria, she’s in a group of sponsors, chatting away. You’d say that you’re surprised or that she’s gearing up for something, but the truth is that it’s a ritual of hers. She’ll lose a tribute, and then she’ll go talk to Capitol people all day to make her feel better. It’s a way to take away from the self-hated. The Capitol people are a fucking escape, with their rich lives, accents and complete obliviousness to social cues. It’s hard not to get lost in them.

Mentors are usually pissed at the Capitol for encouraging the games, but it works a little differently with the careers. You’re supposed to love the Capitol for favoring your districts all because of what you guys produce. The truth is that keeping up appearances is hard, and constantly trying not to be mad at them is even worse. At some point you’re going to snap.

And Enobaria wouldn’t want to ruin the perfect reputation that she’s built up all this time. To be fair, neither would you. It’s hard to get the Capitol to like a district that isn’t very good at the games, and it’s even harder to do when you’ve insulted them constantly. This is why you insult your own district to ally yourselves with the Capitol to make them think that you’re over being a savage.

Anyway, you wouldn’t be surprised if Enobaria doesn’t speak to any of you all today. She should be right back to it tomorrow, though. Nothing is permanent when it comes to her. She could be mad at you today, bounce right back at it the next day. She’ll also probably find a way to blow off steam.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that everyone is still at their respective places. Annie and Marsh are still at a 6-1, Sanguine is at 1-1, and Geare is at 2-1. As for everyone inside of the arena… you wouldn’t say that they don’t have a chance at winning, you’d say that they don’t have a chance at getting sponsored. The higher your odds, the more people are going to keep their eyes on you.

Before Bauhinia died, she was at a 14-1, which isn’t horrible, but isn’t the best either. Nine girl is at a 10-1, you can’t remember what she was yesterday. You can imagine that getting that backpack from the cornucopia has worked wonders for her. The more supplies she has, the easier it’ll be to live out in the woods. You still think that someone should make a run for the village before it’s too late. None of the careers are going to see, and do they really think another, lesser tribute is going to chase them down there?

The village is barren, it’s practically the golden ticket. Plus, Nine girl doesn’t even know about the stream on the right side of the woods! All she probably knows is about the dam leaking water, but that’s not really an efficient way to drink, right? Who knows how many diseases lie inside of the lake water behind the dam. The water probably has concrete dust anyway.

Though, you can’t completely blame them. If you were in the same spot as they were, you’re not sure if going out of your comfort zone would be a number one priority. In your arena, you always went to the pond. And after the pond was slowly being sucked up, you were apprehensive to go to the waterfall because it was uncharted territory… not really claimed, either. On the other hand, though, you knew that other tributes were in that area. Made it a little harder to want to go around there in the first place.

You appear behind Finnick and Gloss, who don’t seem to take notice of your presence at all. With the angle they’re turned at, Finnick could look to Gloss and still not see you. As you listen in, it’s basically meaningless conversation, until Finnick starts asking questions.

“Is she normally this stressed out?”

“You don’t even know half of it. Compared to the last couple of years we’ve known her, this is absolutely nothing.” Gloss lets out a breathy laugh, “I mean, she used to eat, sleep and breathe this room. None of us really understood how she’d survive down here. Sleep deprivation, hours without eating.” Gloss looks at Finnick, “The tributes would die and she wouldn’t even get mad. It’s hard to forget she’s human.”

“Do you think she unintentionally flirts with the Capitol people?” Finnick asks.

Your mouth opens, face twisting in disbelief as you look to Finnick. You have the urge to slap him upside the head hard enough to rattle his fucking brain with a question like that. You don’t mind that he’s asking these questions, he was practically asking the same exact ones last night before you went to bed.

After the Anchor question on the balcony, more followed. He had three years to catch up on, and you guys didn’t even get to finish. You got too tired to go on, so he let you go on the promise that you’d resume the questionnaire another night. He asked practically everything that he could think of.

How you were doing after all these years, what you like to do, how you fill your free time when you’re not in the Capitol. What your brothers have been up to, how Alyssum’s been doing in school, what they do now that they don’t have to work every hour of the day to provide anymore. And then went the questions for Caspian’s family and if you’re still close with them, which is an obvious yes. More questions about Mags, Anchor and Luther.

You think this is a good sign, like it’s Finnick’s own personal way to weasel his way back into your life. You’re practically down for whatever gets him to stay this time around. You don’t want him to be participating in this year’s games but completely fall off the radar by the time next year rolls around.

Anyway, Finnick turning to Gloss to ask these same questions is only natural, you’re sure that if Cashmere and Enobaria were over here too, they’d be more personal. To some extent, you think that Finnick isn’t trying to dig too deep, like he’s unsure of whether or not Gloss is one of your best friends or not. However, if he was going with that path, he wouldn’t have just asked Gloss whether he thinks you’re flirting with the Capitol each time you open your mouth.

“Uh,” Gloss says, smart man. He shouldn’t be quick to answer, but if he’s finding a better way to word whatever he’s thinking, he might have earned himself a hard slap to the side of the head too. “I wouldn’t say that it’s unintentional. We all know that the more you compliment the sponsors, the more willing they are to sponsor. So, I’d say that when she does, it’s on purpose too. She’s good at getting her way.”

“So I’ve heard.” Finnick mutters.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you ask, causing the both of them to jump.

Gloss places a hand over his heart, “Holy fuck, (Y/n). Again?”

You hardly pay attention to Gloss, eyes focused on Finnick, who’s beginning to turn red because of guilt, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“That’s what everyone says when they’re caught.” you roll your eyes, looking at the screen, “What’s up, Gloss?”

“Watching Enobaria unintentionally flirt with the sponsors.” Gloss snorts.

“Ha!” you elbow him, a smile peeking onto your face.

“(Y/n), I just meant that I’ve experienced it first hand. The elevator? The train?” Finnick says, you barely glance at him, “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

You shrug, a cheeky smile on your face, “Hey, I’d be careful next time, though. Who knows what corner I’ll be lurking behind next?” you reach over, fingers finding Finnick’s sides.

Finnick squirms, giving you a glare, “Get your dirty fingers off of me.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll just turn to Gloss instead--”

“I’m not ticklish, living a life with Cashmere will do that to you.” Gloss says.

You pause for a second, “She’s your younger sister.”

“Sisters are cruel.” he says.

You snort, going for his sides anyway, “You’re a liar!”

“Grab her!” Gloss shouts, Finnick laughs.

You move out of the way before either of them can do some real damage. Gloss had been going for your wrists, Finnick for your back. You knew it was only going to be a matter of time before they tried to torture you. But unlike them--the total liars--you’re not actually ticklish.

It’s always the older sibling that messes with the younger ones. Of course, you’ve had your fair share of impish moments and getting on your brothers’ nerves. But you’ve never had the opportunity to hold down Reed and give him hell until he cried and begged and promised to do shit that he didn’t want to. Plus, the idea of Cashmere going that far on Gloss is heinous. Does he really think you’re that stupid?

“Anyway, hear the tributes talk about anything important?”

“For a while the gamemakers let us hear Annie and Marsh. Catch any of that while you were taking your sweet ass time getting down here?” Finnick asks, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Not my fault I feel like shit.”

Suddenly, Finnick’s no longer suspicious, “Sick?”

“Probably not, just a gut feeling.”

Gloss lets out a laugh, “Well, that’s not good. Last time you had a gut feeling was last year when… both of your tributes died on the same day?”

“Yeah.” you huff, “And if this year is a repeat, I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

“I would too. You’ve got quite the streak going on.”

You punch Gloss’ arm.

“So on top of everything else, you’re also psychic?” Finnick asks.

You place your hands on top of your head, “Yeah, something like that. What was Annie and Marsh saying?”

“Village, talking about going there before it’s too late. They both want to go tonight, they’re still worried about finding a water source, though.”

“Figured.”

The further Sanguin and Geare walk, the more they seem to awaken. No longer dragging their feet, conversation has picked back up into its usual vicious state. Mostly about what happened yesterday, and they can’t believe that the chase went on as long as it did. You can’t blame them, at first glance, Bauhinia doesn’t look like a girl that ran track in high school. Then again, appearances can be deceiving.

Five boy has made it to the stream, deciding to take a break. He’s sat on the right side of the bank so no one can sneak up on him from the way he came. He sheds some clothing, dipping his shirt in the water, ringing it out a little to not let him be completely soaking wet, and then puts it back on. You didn’t really consider the fact that it could very well be hot inside of the arena. It looks like it’s the middle of springtime there, like it can’t be more than seventy degrees.

Whatever he does, he doesn’t shed his shoes. He’ll sit in the stream water, let his pants completely soak, but taking off his shoes is out of the question. In fact, he even goes as far as to lift his feet in the air to make sure that they don’t get wet at all. You guess it’s not a completely fruitless idea. Walking in wet shoes isn’t comfortable at all, especially when your skin begins to wrinkle. Plus, if he were to take off his shoes and someone else were to show up, he’d be stuck running through the woods barefoot. If there’s one thing that no one wants to do, it’s run through the woods barefoot.

Rocks, dirt, sticks, needles, poison ivy, beetles, spiders, snakes, whatever can be lying in the grass. Hell, you’ve seen grass that looks like it’s harmless, but it turns out it has razor edges along the blade. It wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that the grass had reached above their shoes, constantly cutting and reopening wounds on their calves. Didn’t make for a very fun time for the tributes.

You can appreciate the determination going on with Five boy. He kinda reminds you of Six before he went and died via forcefield. The both of them have their own set of determinations. While Five boy has, for whatever reason, made it his goal to make it across the woods in a little less than two days, Six boy had been moving to get away from the dam.

Although, you’re really not sure what Five is up to. If he was looking for water, he found it. But you can’t imagine that’s why he traveled across the entire arena. If he’s lasted this long, that means he’s had his own supply off to the far left for a while. Why leave what you know is working? You’re all for taking risks until it’s unnecessary.

Upstream from Five is your tributes, who are still inside of the shack. You can’t hear the conversation, as usual, so you try your best to read lips. You think you catch Marsh saying that they should hole themselves up inside of the shack until tonight comes. Annie asks what they would do if someone came along and wants where they’re saying, he says to fend it off or just make a fucking run for the village.

Annie says splitting up isn’t a smart idea, he agrees, “What choice do we have?” Those words are the clearest. Annie doesn’t really respond, she just brings her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. Then, she shrugs. You can’t blame her, it’s hard knowing what to do when you don’t really have options. And with them being inside of the Hunger Games, everything is a risk at this point.

If they don’t move on, they run the risk of someone coming across them, their shack, their snares and taking one of them out. If they do move on, they leave behind shelter, the way they’ve been getting food, a certain water source, and they go on the chance that they might get caught on the way to the village. It’s not really a winning situation unless all conditions are perfect. Which is hardly ever. Oh, and also if they stay, the dam will eventually be their number one problem.

Marsh says that he’s going to step out and get fresh air, he’ll just be outside of the doorstep. Annie says she’s fine with that, watches him leave and then closes her eyes for a while. They’re not really splitting up, so you can’t see a problem with him just leaving for a moment. If he wanders off, that’s a whole new ordeal, though.

Sanguin and Geare are fast despite their sore legs. The map that the gamemakers show you, tell you that they’re basically on top of the stream. A couple more minutes, and they’ll be able to see it through the trees. And with the path they took, it’s parallel to what Five boy took. This is a fight waiting to happen. Any fucking minute now.

“Back to back.” Gloss says.

“Can’t wait to see what Sanguin has instore for us today.” Finnick says.

Gloss looks over, “You heard what happened?”

“Saw.” you correct, “Showed him what happened when I got back yesterday. Let’s just say that Finnick can eat and watch shit like that all day long.”

“O-kay.” Finnick draws out the world, but he starts laughing along with you two.

And like you predicted, Sanguin and Geare spot the stream through the trees. They’re not really overjoyed, just relieved that they finally found it after all this time. They take their time getting there, dropping off their stuff in the bushes along the treeline. Geare crouches down to splash water on his face, Sanguin complains about her hair being greasy.

They fill back up on water, talking quietly amongst themselves because there’s no use to shout if they’re next to each other. The moment they comfortably fall into silence, Five boy’s voice is heard. It’s not clear, it sounds distant, but it’s unmistakable. You watch as Sanguin and Geare share a look, hands finding their weapons, then dropping the things they don’t need at the moment before they head off toward Five.

A part of you wonders that if Five boy takes off running, if they’ll follow or just let him go. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if they just decided to go after him. But you also couldn’t believe your eyes when you watched Sanguin single-handedly rip apart Bauhinia like she was a fucking animal and not a human.

The careers disappear into the trees for better coverage, taking their time with getting down to where Five boy is. They’re definitely going to chase after him. And if they don’t chase, Sanguin will probably just throw her sword out of nowhere or some shit. Surprise all of you at the same time. If the odds could go to 0-1 with her, you’re sure that they would.

Five boy is humming to himself, turning a rock over in his hand. You watch in silent horror as Sanguin and Geare manage to get closer and closer without being detected. Actually, you’re sure that with their skills, they could easily cross the stream and still not be figured out. If they can do this in broad daylight, what can they do when they have the night as their veil?

You don’t like the chill that goes down your spine.

No words pass between Sanguin and Geare, they must decide that they’ll be able to handle Five boy in whatever way they need. The way that they simultaneously come out of the trees, with their hand-picked weapons brandished and the strict expression on their faces. They look like a pair of villains in a children’s fairytale. However, normally those villains are easy to beat and seem to have a chink in their armour. Sanguin and Geare are not like that.

Five spots them almost immediately, eyes widening and darting up, mouth parting as he watches them. You can see the glint of the sun off Sanguin’s sword land in his eyes for a moment, before disappearing off into the trees. No words come from any of them, he just stares as they get closer.

Sanguin and Geare split, wanting to take Five from both sides, which seems to finally set him off. Five jumps to his feet, crouching over slightly, caught in the decision of fight or flight. Would be he able to hold them off? You don’t think so. Would he be able to outrun them? You don’t think so, either. They’re good fighters, Sanguin’s an even-better runner. There’s no way he’s making out of this alive.

Doesn’t mean he can’t try, though.

And like a fucking psychopath, Five boy screams at the top of his lungs. And while that momentarily catches both of the careers off guard, it also makes Annie jerk to life inside of the shack. She grabs her short blade, throwing the door of the shack open to find what’s the matter. Marsh is already on his feet outside, eyes on Annie.

“What was that?” Annie asks, you can hear her this time.

“It’s not far away.” Marsh says, “We shouldn’t stay.”

“We can’t leave now, can we? Where will we go?”

“Up?” Marsh asks.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

Another scream, Five boy has brought his fists up to his face like he’s getting ready to fight. He’s an idiot, he’s going to get himself killed. If Annie can take out One boy--Colt--without blinking her eyes, Sanguin and Geare can both easily do it with their eyes closed. You have slight hope for him, looking at the Line Odds to see what the gamemakers are making of him. He’s at 15-1, worse than Bauhinia.

“He’s fucked!” you exclaim.

Sanguin bites, swinging her sword right at him. He ducks out of the way, jumping at her legs. He takes her out, scrambling on top of her, getting the sword away from him. He raises his fist up high, and before Geare can catch it, slams his fist straight into her teeth. You can feel the ache in your own front teeth, especially since he gave her all knuckle. She’s got to be feeling something.

Geare grabs a hold of Five, yanking him off and backwards into the water, which is now a huge factor. It’s splashing everywhere, getting all of them wet, slowing their movements down. The stream seems to get heavier, moving faster to make balancing impossible. No thanks to the gamemakers, you’re sure. A little interference never hurt anyone, right?

Sanguin scoops up her sword in her wet hands, which are still stained red from Bauhinia’s blood yesterday. She rinsed them off with the water from her water bottle, but even after that, and scrubbing them in the stream not five minutes ago, they’re stained. And they’re about to be stained again, you think.

Geare holds Five boy in place, raising up the sword. Five stays still eyes on the silver blade that’s about to make its home in his chest. His life is probably flashing before his eyes, every mistake he’s ever made is suddenly at the front of his mind. What he said to his family last before they had to say their goodbyes. It’s all he can think about.

Marsh has now geared up for the fight, completely switching gears from his original intention of running, “What if it’s the careers?”

“What--are you hearing yourself? You’re right! What if it’s the careers--you just want to run right on in?”

“There’s two of them, Annie!” Marsh shoves Annie’s backpack into her hands, “And just in case you forgot, we’re careers too! This could be our opportunity!”

“Or it could be our death sentence!” Annie grabs a hold of his arm, “This is stupid.”

“Come or don’t, I’m going down there.”

He tightens the strap on his backpack, quickly making his way down the hill. Annie stands there for a moment, runs a hand through her messy hair, and then lets out a sigh. She heads down there after him, tightening the straps on her own backpack, and gripping and regripping the short blade in her hand. This is bad, very bad.

The fight is about to go from three to five. The original stakes are now unmatched, now that two more careers have been added to the equation. District Four versus Five boy versus what’s left of the career pack. Who’s going to fight who, you wonder. Will Sanguin and Geare stay focused on their original plan, or will they be completely distracted by your tributes.

The tension in your chest has met its breaking point. Loud, shaking, vibrating. This is it. Exactly what you feared is going to happen. Last year, a couple of tributes had managed to kill both of your tributes at the same time. This year, it’s going to be the careers, since Sanguin is dead set on killing Annie at least, and Geare will naturally go for Marsh to finish District Four off once and for all.

“(Y/n), breathe.” Finnick’s rubbing your back.

Sanguin brings the sword down, she misses Five boy by a hair. He turned sideways just in time, but Sanguin’s not fucking around. She’s desperate to get this over with, tired of outsider tributes slipping through her fingers like sand. She raises her sword much quicker now, and slams it through his arm, pinning him to the ground. He screams.

Marsh quickens his pace, Annie quietly ushers him to slow down. He doesn’t listen to her. They both make it down the hill just in time to see Geare pin Five’s other arm down with his foot. Sanguin holds out her hand, Geare hands over his own weapon. One moment, they’re all still, Five has no way of escaping, Marsh and Annie are an audience to some sick show.

Chaos is what happens next. Sanguin moves faster than Marsh had predicted. She easily kills Five, a cannon going off. But Marsh has revealed where he was, moving towards her, swinging his own sword before she can pull hers out of Five. He brings the blade up high, Sanguin flinches to cover her face with her forearm. The blade slices right through her skin, blood flying, a yelp of pain leaving her.

Annie moves forward too, apprehensive at first, like she doesn’t know where to start. Attack Sanguin or Geare? Does she even want to be placed in the middle of this? If she ran now, she could save herself. Fuck, she could run all the way to the village and none of them would be able to catch her. She’d be able to hide herself somewhere where they’d never be able to find her.

And then Sanguin catches sight of Annie, and suddenly the whole mood is shifted. With her target spotted, Marsh is an easy object to get out of the way. She shoves, rips her sword out of Five, blood gushing down her arm at an unhealthy pace, and storms her way over to Annie.

It’s too late for Annie to run now. Her chin lowers, she makes sure that Sanguin can see the shortblade, and the fight really starts. Sanguin swings, Annie dodges and moves closer. It’s the same dancing game that she played with Colt, except this time, Sanguin knows of Annie’s games. For every step Annie takes forward, Sanguin moves backward to keep her away.

At some point, though, she can’t run any further. It’ll make her look like a coward. Annie is persistent, she won’t let up until Sanguin conforms or runs. Subject yourself to the fight, or find a way to get out of there before Annie does some real damage. And since Sanguin isn’t a career for nothing, she steps up.

Blade on blade, over and over and over again. Annie swings up, Sanguin blocks, slips and goes downward. Annie will narrowly get out of the way before bringing her blade down as hard as she can, breaking through any barriers that Sanguin thought she had built up. You’ll have to say it, they’re evenly matched.

The adrenaline that must be running through them is fucking nuts. Sanguin swings upward, Annie backs out of the way, bringing her short blade down. Sanguin just barely dodges, but you know that she’s in pain because of her arm. Annie tries to fake her out like she did to Colt, but Sanguin works faster than that. It’s okay, Annie recovers.

As for Marsh and Geare, it’s not as intense. They don’t have problems with each other, not like Sanguin and Annie. All Marsh really has to do is take out Geare before Sanguin somehow gets an upper hand on Annie. Once he’s gone, Sanguin will be too. Her pride is too big for her to just run away from a fight she’s been itching for since she first saw Annie during the bloodbath.

Marsh seems more successful. Geare might have scored a ten, but he’s lazy. Almost like he’s trying not to take it as seriously, as if he could also do this without trying. He can’t, the number that Geare scored was a reach. He too, looks like an eight or nine at most, he fights like it.

Annie keeps pushing, her strength never-ending. She’s got the same amount of stamina that Sanguin has, maybe more. The careers can run for hours on end, but you never saw use in something like that. If they get caught in a fight, they’re going to want to keep going, they don’t want to die. Annie can always go back and forth between running and walking, anyway. It’s not that easy when you’re using a sword, or in this case, a short blade.

Sanguin lets out a shout, moving faster than Annie can catch her. Instead of swinging her weapon, which is no doubt having its way with her arms now, she shoves Annie back hard enough for her to topple over. Annie hits the stream water, creating a wave that briefly reaches into the air, and then it comes all crashing down.

All at once.

Sanguin rolls her wrist, spins toward Marsh and swings. A strangled scream leaves your throat when you cover your mouth. Geare moves out of the way, far back enough for the blade to not even come close to touching him. However, Marsh is unsuspecting, back turned towards Sanguin. He can’t see the blade coming, much less has a reason to think he’s in any sort of danger.

For a second, it’s not as bad as it seems. Sanguin’s blade forces Marsh to his knees with how it hits the back of his legs. But then Geare moves forward, sword over his shoulder, eyes locked on Marsh. The two of them work together seamlessly, it’s almost like they’ve been brainwashed with how their movements are mechanical.

Geare brings his sword down, sword connecting with the side of Marsh’s neck. There’s no way he can defend himself, Annie just has to sit here and watch. Sit here and take it. The blade goes clean through without a struggle. His silver sword, glittering beautifully in the sunlight, has blood all along the blade.

Another cannon blasts.

Where Marshs’ head was before, has now been replaced by a fountain of deep red blood. The body falls forward, legs slanted uncomfortably. The gamemakers show Annie, and you can see she’s on the edge. There’s tears in her eyes, face slowly turning red. She’s no longer sitting, she’s already on her feet, knuckles white from how hard she’s gripping the hilt.

A stand still, you think. Where will they go from here?

Annie launches herself at Geare, completely pissed. He’s already covered in her former district partner’s blood, but with the way she collided with him, it rubs off on her. They struggle, Sanguin trying to grab a hold of her too. Logically speaking, there’s two against one. Annie shouldn’t get the upper hand here.

But Annie didn’t volunteer for the Hunger Games for nothing.

With one hand wrapped around his forehead, yanking it back, stretching his neck so that it’s accessible, the other hand has her blade sheathed. And with no hesitance, because the longer you wait, the bigger the chance of interference, she slits his throat, and shoves his body forward.

Like yesterday, with the bloody freckles across her face, Sanguin gets a face full of blood. She catches him, arms wrapped around him to make sure he gets down comfortably. Annie spins her blade between her fingers, and finishes off Geare, her short blade in the back of his head.

Another cannon. Enobaria and Wade are going home.

Annie places her foot on Geare’s back, pushing him forward while she yanks her sword out. Sanguin can’t handle all the weight, so she falls back, trapping her beneath the dead body. Annie stares down at Sanguin for a moment, breathing heavily. She’s caught in a decision, should she take out the last career, once and for all?

It’ll take away the threat. Four people left inside of the games after Sanguin is gone. But it also goes against her moral dilemma of killing people when it’s not needed. She just needs to do it. Sanguin will keep following her if she doesn’t, Annie doesn’t want to be chased, does she?

She’s shaking, eyes filling with tears, “This is your fault. It’s all your fault.”

Sanguin opens her mouth, eyebrows drawn in. She doesn’t speak, only stares and waits. Annie lifts her sword, taking in a deep breath, and slams the blade right through Geare’s back, and into Sanguin. It doesn’t kill her, but it’ll keep her down.

Annie gathers the backpacks, transfers the goods without a single word, and then scoops up Marsh’s sword, finding a spot for it so she doesn’t have to carry. She takes one last look at Sanguin, and then spits on her. Saliva mixed with blood, it lands on Sanguin’s cheek.

Only three tributes dead, maybe four if Sanguin’s wounds kill her anytime soon. Annie takes off through the trees, straight downhill and towards the village. It’s a shame that it took for Marsh to die for the plans to finally fall through. Either way, she won’t have to worry about Sanguin going after her. She can take her time getting to the village.

“Okay,” You breathe, “Okay, it could be worse.”

“Why didn’t she just kill Sanguin?” Gloss asks.

“Because she doesn’t need to.” Finnick tells him, “Sanguin isn’t a threat to her, and won’t be for a while.”

It’s quiet, you let out a slight laugh, “We know how stupid it sounds. If Annie had the choice of running away from Geare and Sanguin instead of killing Geare, she would’ve just run.”

“Huh.” Gloss hums.

Enobaria no longer needs to talk to the sponsors. You watch as they all let her go, she slowly bids each and every one of them goodbye. When she finally has her back turned to them, she gives you three an eye roll. Enobaria stops a few feet away.

“Insufferable.” She huffs, “Had I known Geare would be dying today, I would've just stuck with you guys. They act like I need the condolences.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t talk to them unless I have to.” Gloss gives her a smile, she glares.

“I’ve got to go tell Wade the news.” She hugs Gloss first, even after what he said, “I’ll see you next year. Good luck.” You're next, she gives an extra squeeze. Finnick gives her a one-armed hug.

“It was good seeing you.” You smile.

“Yeah, whatever—“

Gloss snorts, “I’m sorry for your loss!”

Enobaria flips him off, you all watch as she leaves the betting room. You look at the Line Odds next to see that Annie and Sanguin have moved. Sanguin has gone down to 2-1, probably because Five boy got the jump on her, and Annie was able to match her power. Annie has moved up to 3-1, whereas previously she was 6-1.

Good news, it’s all good news. Annie’s alive, she’s moved up on the odds board. Even if she didn’t kill Sanguin, she at least injured her enough to keep her away. You know for a fact that Sanguin’s going to go running to the cornucopia with her tail between her legs. She’s not going to bother to go after Annie.

For the most part, Annie’s fine. She’s got a scratch here and there from not being able to move out of the way in time, but other than that, she’ll be able to easily overpower Sanguin. Beforehand, Sanguin’s idea of revenge could be supported by her health, now it would be a stupid move. It would be stupid for her to do anything but go home.

“Shouldn’t you be loading up a sponsor?” You ask, looking at Gloss.

“I’m going to let her suffer some. Maybe that’ll make her more humble.”

“I’m pretty sure Annie letting her live was grounding enough.” Finnick mutters, you all laugh.

Annie runs through the trees, she’s almost out of the forest. She’s going faster since it’s all downhill, but the clearing beyond the woods is flat. And the hills will slow her down even more. The problem isn’t so much Sanguin anymore, but the other tributes seeing her. Nine girl, who has her own weapon. The Seven tributes, who are working in a pair.

But as far as you can tell, they're not near the tree line. They seem to be stuck where they are, probably confused about the three cannons. One and two are normal, signifies a small fight, maybe the careers ran into other tributes, or the careers lost one of their own altogether. But three is bigger, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

Sanguin is still laying underneath Geare, wincing each time she moves. A moan will leave her mouth when she tries to push him off, the sword blade digging around in her wound. She pants, pauses, and tries again, gritting her teeth. Geare is bigger than her, it’s going to take a moment to get him off of her. She’s probably under some sort of pressure, knowing that everyone is watching, that the gamemakers are waiting to collect the bodies.

She presses her hands against Geare’s shoulders, slowly pushing him off. It’s like peeling a bloody shirt off of a wound, you’ve got to do it slowly if you want little to no pain. All at once is going to hurt like a bitch. However, at the angle she’s going with, it’s probably making things a whole lot worse.

She barely slips out from underneath Geare before he comes crashing back to the ground, sword hitting the dirt next to her. She lets out a groan, fingers finding her stomach. She’s in the same situation that you were in five years ago. Except her wound is all surface, hardly goes that deep. Your entire knife got shoved in, five to six inches, maybe more? Sanguin is going to survive.

She gets to her feet, grabbing her sword. Annie left her nothing, so she’s got to get to the cornucopia before sundown if she wants to be safe. She stands around the area for a couple of seconds longer, looking over Five, Marsh and then Geare. Her face twists angrily, and she shouts.

Sanguin brings her sword up, and then slams it into Geare’s back, “Fuck!”

She leaves, turning the way that she’d come with Geare and Vanilee a day ago, and starts going downhill diagonally. She keeps with this path for a while, a couple of hours, at least. The stream was only three miles off to the right of the cornucopia, with where they had started on the first day, it made it seem a whole lot longer.

Either way, Sanguin makes it to the cornucopia at the same time Annie makes it over the one important hill that’ll hide her from Sanguin. With the village right in front of her, Annie starts running again. The second that she’s stepped foot onto the washed-out soil, she collapses to her knees.

You stand from where you’re sitting with Gloss and Finnick, “Is she hurt?”

“Why would she be?” Gloss asks, he presses his lips together, and then sits up, “I’ve got to send Sanguin some medication. I’ll be back.”

Gloss finds his usual people, always ready on-hand for him to come by so they can send his tributes a gift. They talk for a moment, and then he leads them over to where he’ll confirm and send the sponsor gift.

As for Annie, her hands have curled into fists, body shaking. You’re not sure what’s happening until you’re allowed to hear, just in time for her to gasp and sob, whimpering. She sniffs, slamming her fist into the dirt a couple of times, turning her knuckles red. Annie sits up, staring into the village with bloodshot eyes. She wipes under her eyes and nose, a frown on her face.

The relief that goes through you really is like a wave. She’s not hurt, just grieving for Marsh. It’s natural with tributes that are close to each other. Annie and Marsh have been side by side since the beginning, partners in crime. Losing him was inevitable, they’re so far into the games now. It’s been less than a week and there’s only five left. From here on out, they need to treat the games like they’re almost over.

You take a seat back on the couch, lacing your fingers and leaning forward on your knees. You’re all allowed to watch a split screen of Sanguin receiving her sponsor gift, and Annie pulling herself together enough to find a place to stay for the night. She drags her feet through the dirt, but it’s not deep enough path for a tracker like Sanguin to come around and follow it.

Annie walks for thirty minutes before picking a three-story house. When she walks inside, you can see that the floorboards are rotting, the yellow-flowered wallpaper is curling off the walls, and the staircase on the first floor is missing quite a few steps. Annie doesn’t care, she tightens her grip on her belongings and takes one step at a time. The second floor’s staircase is much sturdier, same for the floors. The walls are just as bad.

She picks a far back room, sets everything down, and rolls out what she’ll need for tonight. With how she’s not unpacking everything, and putting things back after she’s done, Annie doesn’t want to stay where she is. Or she’s keeping everything ready just in case someone does come after her. After today, you can’t blame her, but she’s all by herself inside of the village.

Sanguin sits herself in the grass, carefully pulls her healing cream out of the silver package, disregarding whatever note that Gloss has decided to give her. Speaking of which, he joins you guys back at the couch, sitting on the arm. Sanguin squirts the contents of the tube onto her fingers, and then lifts her shirt for everyone to see.

Not a pretty sight, where the short blade had cut her is a huge gash. Dried blood around it, with how she flexes her stomach when trying to look for herself, more blood surfaces, and runs down her skin. She glares, grits her teeth, and then digs her fingers inside, trying to spread it inside to make the healing process faster. Her face turns a deep shade of red, holding her breath. When she’s done the first time, she lets out a breath of air, recuperates, and then goes again.

It’s six in the evening before anyone in the arena begins to settle down for the night. Annie has made her bed, she eats and drinks water, trying not to cry anymore than she has already today. Sanguin doesn’t have any water, which means that tomorrow she’ll have a decision to make; stay inside of the cornucopia, where she knows it’s safe, or risk going out to get water. You have a feeling that her pride is too much to allow her to just stay inside and be thirsty.

As for Nine girl, where she’s stopped is actually fairly close to where the Seven tributes are. Maybe a mile or so apart, the Seven tributes are at their huts as usual, towards the top of the arena. Nine girl is somewhere in the middle, if she continues traveling up tomorrow, she’ll come across the team easily. For now, she makes a bed of grass and uses her backpack as a pillow.

“I think I’m going back to the apartment.” Finnick says, he yawns and pushes himself up from the couch, “You’ve got it handled?”

“Yeah, of course.” you give him a smile, “I’ll go and get you later. Eat before you go to bed.”

“I can take care of myself.” he says, and then waves to Gloss, “See you later.”

“Bye.” Gloss holds up his hand briefly, and then turns back to the screen.

You get comfortable on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. Not everyone is turning in for the night in the arena, but they might as well be. Something tells you that there’s not going to be another big event in the arena tonight. You can take it easy, probably even go out to dinner and come back and relax.

“When’s Cashmere supposed to be down here?” you ask, looking over at Gloss.

He hums, “A couple of hours, why?”

“We should all get dinner together before you switch out.”

“Sure.”

Without the weight in your stomach holding you down to the bed this afternoon, you slip out of bed with a yawn. You stretch your arms over your head, dragging your feet to the closet to pick out today’s outfit. Your fingers fumble, still half-asleep and squinting to be able to see properly.

Dark blue jeans, a red tank top, black underwear. You throw it all over your arm as you reach to grab the tennis shoes, not really liking all the other options. You’re actually fairly sure that the last time you wore flats, you got blisters on the back of your feet. It’s hard to focus on your tributes when you’re complaining about the pain in your feet all day.

You throw your clothes onto the bed, as well as the shoes. On the way to the bathroom, you lock your bedroom door to make sure that you’re not going to get any unwanted guests. The shower water is warm almost instantly, but as soon as you’re dipping your fingers inside to double-check--a force of habit--you’re quickly turning the knob to make the water more cold.

Naturally, the Tribute Center has an automatic system that adjusts the heating and AC to make it comfortable for everyone inside. But this afternoon, things are particularly hot. It’s been that way since last night, when you had to shed practically everything to even get your body to a normal temperature. For good measure, you took a second shower, also cold.

It must be some sort of heatwave, thanks to the summer. And the window that you’re dealing with inside of your room probably isn’t helping all that much, either. By allowing the sun rays inside, you’re subsequently signing yourself up for the warmth that comes with it. Unfortunately, the windows don’t really come with blinds, so you just have to put up with it.

You do have to say that the heatwave inside of the Tribute Center is nothing compared to what you deal with at home. You have AC in your victor house, of course, but all the years prior when you’d just have to bear the sweat and flushed faces was like existing in hell. The only way to get away from the heat, if you weren’t swamped with housework via your brothers, was to go down to the beach and sit in the water for a while. But shedding clothes meant sunburns, and sunscreen goes up in price during the summer.

You’ve gotten used to it over the years, as you’ve grown older, you’ve also developed the philosophy of not letting stuff like that get to you anymore. Especially with not how Alyssum is getting older. If you pretend to act like everything is just fine with the heat, eventually she’ll have to stop complaining when she realizes that no one relates to her mundane problem.

However, shirts sticking to your back, using folders as fans and the irritating feeling of sweat rolling down your skin isn’t always ignorable. At least she doesn’t have to deal with you, Reed and Mox telling her that she should’ve felt what it was like to live in the shack for all these years. There’s been a silent agreement not to compare the previous living situation to the one you have now. It’s not her fault she’s living the way she is now. Plus, you think that you’d rather save those stories for when you’re old and wrinkly.

The cold water feels nice on your skin for a while, until it begins to make you cold. You step out, tie your hair out of your face and get dressed. Looking in the mirror today, there’s definitely a difference on your face. You’re not as sullen, yesterday it almost looked like someone told you that your dog died. Might as well have, Marsh is gone, and he’s not coming back.

Marsh placed seventh, with a final Line Odd of 6-1. He scored a nine on his training score, he had the Capitol in tears during his interview. He’s memorable, especially with the way that he went charging toward the careers. His intention might not have been to save Five boy, but it was still noble to face them head-on. You can only hope that none of this is in vain, that Annie will survive.

You get dressed, place your ring on your finger and hurry out to the dining room. It’s almost one already, and you haven’t even eaten yet. Dread isn’t the only thing that can ball and chain you to a bed, worry is pretty good at it too. Even better when you don’t fall asleep until late in the morning.

You shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this, Annie is fine. She’s in the village, far away from Sanguin, who’s still injured, as far as you know. All the tributes that she would have had to worry about before are now miles away from where she is now. Hell, Sanguin would have to walk hours up and down hills just to get to Annie. And then what? Annie would be able to defend herself.

The tv is already on when you get out there, which makes you think that the avoxes had done it so that you wouldn’t have to ask today, until you see that Elysia is sitting at the table. There’s a mug in her hand, it has coffee in it, you don’t even have to pretend like you don’t know. It might be the afternoon, but she takes in caffeine like it’s an alcohol addiction.

“Hey.” you say, making her look up.

She raises her eyebrows, a smile crossing her face, “Good afternoon. How are you holding up?”

“Could be a lot worse, Annie’s a survivor.” you sit at the table, watching as cold cut sandwiches, fizzy beverages and potato chips are placed on the table. It’s not much of a fancy feast, the Capitol does this sometimes when it’s a casual afternoon.

“I’d say.” Elysia looks over to the tv.

You look over too, it’s focused on Annie at the moment. It looks like she’s finally unpacked her things, but she hasn’t moved from the back corner. Sanguin, Geare and Vanilee’s bed rolls are placed inside of each other. It’s a good way to keep warmth and make it a little comfortable.

Food, knives, water are spread around her. She won’t be needing water refills anytime soon, she’s inherited all the dead tributes’ water jugs. You think that if she drinks enough to keep her body going, she’ll have enough to last her a week, maybe two if she really tests her limits.

She’s sitting in the corner of the room, legs to her chest, arms wrapped around them to keep them from slipping. Her hair is messy, eyes bloodshot, bags beneath her eyes. She didn’t sleep at all last night, there’s no question about it. But at least all the scratches and cuts that were inflicted have healed. She applied the medication last night before she laid down to sleep.

You sat down in the betting room for a while with just Gloss. As soon as Cashmere came around, you kept to your idea and went out to dinner with them. It wasn’t anywhere fancy, you didn’t even bother to get a private room to eat at. It was a soup and bread place, you stayed as long as you could before Gloss fell asleep on the table.

It was nice catching up with Cashmere, she said that she’d seen Enobaria and Wade just before they left for the train. Wade was reasonably upset, but Enobaria didn’t even look phased. In fact, Cashmere leaned across the table and whispered; “Enobaria says that she hopes Annie wins.” You’re glad you have these guys as your friends, even if they have to go home, there’s no malicious intent.

They’re your best friends, through and through.

After dinner, Gloss went back to his apartment, and you were left with Cashmere for a little while. You caught her up on a lot that’s happened inside of the arena, your opinions, how you guys hung around Cecelia for a while. Cashmere agreed that Sanguin’s experience with Annie was probably enough to bring her back to reality. They’re teenagers, tributes in the Hunger Games, they can’t control anything, much less try and play god.

As soon as the first conversation was over, Cashmere started a second one about Finnick. Which made you groan with a, “It’s not that important, Cash.” But she wouldn’t let it go until you answered her questions. She hasn’t been able to ask you all the juicy details in private like she’s really wanted to.

There’s not much to tell. You let her know that Finnick was asking about you to Gloss while you weren’t there yesterday. And the night before you spent hours talking on the balcony after Bauhinia died. The two of you came to the conclusion that Finnick is deciding that he’s going to stay for a while--which you’d partially come up with by yourself yesterday.

Cashmere said it was a good sign, good for you when it comes to mentoring and the boarding school. You can finally chill out and be there for Alyssum more after school instead of relying on Reed and Mox to take care of her all the time, “You don’t want to be the absent older sister, trust me.” She’s right, it would be a shame to be so focused on saving other teenagers in District four, and completely miss out on Alyssum’s innocence while she still has it. A couple more years and she’s enrolling into the boarding school early.

After that was over, you went ahead and got Finnick before you would be too exhausted to get up this morning. Your attempts were, obviously, futile, as you hardly slept last night and you’re tired anyway. Finnick’s lucky you’re reliable, otherwise you would have considered staying in bed for a little while longer. What ruined that idea is the sweltering heat of the fucking Tribute Center.

And since the betting room is quite literally under a glass roof, you can’t imagine that it’s very cold in there, either. In fact, you’re sure that it’s going to be worse. Which now makes you partially consider changing into a pair of shorts so you’re not stuck sweating the entire day. The tank top is nice, but it only brings you so far.

Ugh.

Sanguin is up and at it already, heading towards the woods in the direction of the stream. Figures that she wouldn’t wait a little while to give herself time to heal. She’s always on top of it, always moving. A part of you wonders if she put on healing cream as soon as she got up this morning, or if she’s waiting to do it later tonight.

Either way, she’s got a full backpack again, her sword is propped up against her shoulder with the blade flat. Exactly how she’d carried it before she went and murdered the boy from Three. To think that was only two days ago is fucking insane, it feels like forever. But you guess that’s just what happens when you get back to back days of absolute mayhem.

The Seven tributes are wandering around, heading into their own personal uncharted territory of the left side. Well, actually there’s a lot where they haven’t been before, always keeping to their safe bubble. It’s not a bad strategy, but they can get away with it for so long. The gamemakers don’t like comfortable. Comfortable means you need to be pushed outside of your boundaries and experience new things.

As for Nine girl, you think she’s unintentionally stalking the District Seven tributes, with how she’s trailing them. She could very well be tracking, but the path that Seven is leaving isn’t all that obvious. It’s too obvious to be a coincidence, maybe she’s just trying to play it off that way? Or see where District Seven leads her? You’re surprised she isn’t cloud watching today. She’s sitting pretty, does she really need to follow the other tributes around?

You eat your sandwiches, watching the tributes move around inside of the arena. Annie stays put, Sanguin gets closer to the stream, Seven is nearly in the section all the way off to the left. When you’re done eating, you have the avoxes pack up some sandwiches for your friends inside of the betting room, and get ready to go.

You take one step towards the door, before you’re stuck where you are, watching what’s unfolding on the screen.

Uncharted territory can be dangerous for obvious reasons. The tributes don’t know what they’re heading into, which means that they don’t know what to expect. Foreign animals, plants, traps set up by the gamemakers to ensure a pleasant surprise. Heading off into the unknown means that you’re expecting unpredictable situations. Anything can happen the moment you’re no longer in your safe space.

Because of this, it’s important to keep a schedule. Let the gamemakers come to you, they’ll be playing on your side of the court for this reason. But walk right into what they want, you’re subjected to their own house of horrors. And the only way of making it out alive, is fighting for freedom, or hoping your counterpart isn’t as good as you are.

The gamemakers hardly ever allow both tributes live. If they did that, it would take away the entire entertainment aspect. Not allow the Capitol people to see tributes like Annie fall apart at the seams because she doesn’t have her best friend around her anymore. You’re not sure what’s so fun about a depressed, sleep-deprived teenager but… to each their own.

Seven girl is leading, with the male tribute just behind her. Everything appears to be just fine, there’s no visual signs that they’re about to be submerged into frigid waters. Then they’re warned, a howl loud and clear, telling them to turn back and go away now, before they continue to make the mistake that they’re working on.

Maybe the tributes don’t hear the wolves, maybe they’re so caught up in their own heads that the silence breaking doesn’t register. Or maybe they choose to ignore it, because it’s a couple of wolves, and animals tend to run away once they realize that there’s something much bigger trying to challenge them. Because of their blatant obliviousness, they’ve fucked themselves over.

They’re not any ordinary wolves. They’re Capitol-made and controlled mutts.

The first one breaks through the trees, huge, black, eyes belonging to the devil himself. The girl catches sight of the genetically mutated mutts, comes to a complete stop, and then spins herself around. She takes off running, grabbing onto her district partners arm, snapping him out of his daydreaming daze, bringing him right back to reality.

They run together, arms pumping at their sides. The boy doesn’t care what path he takes, through thickets, thorns, and between trees that shouldn’t be possible to squeeze past. The girl however, is more careful about where she goes, thinking that it’ll help her move quickly, knowing where she’s stepping and that the path is definitely clear. It’s working the other way around. For once, a lack of carelessness is going to be the downfall of a tribute.

She falls behind, the wolves gaining on them both more and more. The pounding of their paws against the dirt is loud enough for the Capitol cameras to pick up. Like a heartbeat, a steady thrum against the ground. It’s also a telling sign that the Seven girl needs to give up her act or accept her death.

It’s frustrating, especially since she doesn’t even seem to notice her mistakes. One of the first rules of being chased is always being aware of how close they are. She doesn’t have to do it by looking behind her, which is always a mistake the idiots seem to make. She can just hear the footsteps all by themselves, getting louder and louder. Doesn’t she have any will to live?

If she does, she doesn’t get a chance to prove it. The lead wolf uses its hindlegs to launch itself at her. It’s mouth unhinges like a python snake, revealing rows of sharp teeth, drool coming out as a long string. It pounces on Seven girl, snarling, and bites straight into the back of her neck. The screaming is loud, you wince and sit back down at the dining room table.

The wolves around the leader continue after Seven boy, which comes as a fair surprise to you. But then again, the girl isn’t necessarily dead just yet. As soon as that cannon goes off, it’s like a whistle to the dogs. They’ll all go back to whatever hell hole they crawled out of. They might even be used a different year, for the exact same purpose that they’re serving now.

The leader bites down, and whips its head to the side. A mouthful of flesh rips out of the girl, her scream loud enough to be heard as a warning to both Seven boy, and Nine girl. Run, and run fast if you want to survive. The blood coats the tree bark around the girl, drips off the flesh that was previously attached to her body. Her hands twitch, eyes open and rolling to the back of her head.

It’s more or less the same situation that Bauhinia was in. But instead of it being done by another tribute, which will definitely leave a permanent impression on mentors and future tributes alike, this is being done by a mutt. The Capitol has specifically engineered these guys to do this. Bite, rip, rinse, repeat. Seven girl’s screams start off loud, but slowly die out like she’s lost her voice.

The next wolf that is leading on Seven boy, jumps at him just like the last wolf did to Seven girl. However this time, instead of all the other surrounding wolves continuing forward, they swarm and maul the boy. Their teeth are just as sharp, but without all the rows. You’d say that his situation is better, but he’s got more mutts going at him from different angles, with no time to breathe in between bites.

By the time that Seven girl does die, allowing the wolves to go home, the boy is severely hurt. Puncture wounds from the teeth, shredded skin, half his face is missing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a noise. He just lays in the grass like he’s already dead, the only thing keeping him from being collected by the gamemakers like his district partner, is the cannon.

He’s a living soul in his corpse of a body.

It’s like sleep paralysis. He can’t speak, can’t move. He’s stuck where he is, like a suffering dog that just needs to be put out of his misery. But there’s no one to do it. You all will just get the pleasure of watching this poor boy wheeze and bleed. Doesn’t mean much for entertainment, his life is practically over.

The only tribute that’s nearby is Nine girl. But there’s no promise that she was following the Seven tributes in the first place. It looked like it, now you’ll just have to wait and see if it was true. This could take hours, and she has a bigger chance of accidentally missing him than stumbling upon him in the bushes. It’s not like he’s being loud.

You stand up from the table again, “I’ve got to get downstairs before anything else happens.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

You go down the steps and through the door. You punch the elevator button, head down to where the betting room is, bad quietly walk down the hallway. It’s all barren cement, no one hangs out here, and the peacekeepers standing outside of the door are required. Just in case a few mentors get too upset, because the Capitol people hardly ever care about rivalries.

The moment you open the door, a cool breeze hits your face. No wonder why the Tribute Center is so hot, the betting room is hogging all of the air conditioning. The glass ceiling is now blocked by a white cover to reflect the sun and ensure that you all won’t be sweating like pigs. Because of the cover, it’s dark, which is why there’s colored lights strung up on hooks. Almost like Christmas lights, but somehow less fun and more sophisticated.

Finnick and Gloss are already sitting at a white table, so you head over and drop the basket of food in the middle.

“Did you see what happened?” Finnick asks, watching as you unload the basket.

“Yeah, Elysia and I watched it together.” You then move the basket off the table and onto the floor, sitting down and crossing your legs, “I guess the gamemakers were bored.”

“Or they have a vendetta against the Seven mentors.” Gloss cocks his head in the direction of where they’re standing off to the side. Arms crossed, angry faces. They’ve been screwed over, you can’t really blame them. Their tributes couldn’t even defend themselves, “Thanks for the lunch.”

“Figured you guys were hungry.” you look at Finnick, “What are you making of Annie?”

He shrugs, uncapping the bottled fizzy drink, “Well, besides the obvious fact that she’s some form of depressed, I think she’s in shock. How long did her and Marsh know each other?”

“They were only a year apart. So, since Annie was fourteen and he was thirteen.”

“Four years.” Gloss says, “A long time to build a friendship. What about you and Finnick, how long did you two know each other prior to your Hunger Games? I remember you guys being mentioned as friends at some point.”

You make a face, not entirely sure, “Well, I was a sophomore and he was a freshman…”

“Middle school?” Finnick proposes, but he doesn’t look confident either, “Only a year or whatever. We mostly saw each other in the hallway, and then it went on from that after my girlfriend dumped me.”

“Which one?” you ask, half-kidding, half-serious.

Finnick gives you a look, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember which girlfriend?” Gloss asks.

You snort, “He has brain damage from all the girls he’s gone through. I can name fifteen he went through while we were just friends.”

“It was not fifteen!” Finnick defends, face turning a shade of red, “Probably only five or something.”

“Probably.” Gloss has a smile on his face, clearly enjoying Finnick’s discomfort.

“Finnick, just trust me for once when I say that it was fifteen.” You muse.

“Except there weren’t fifteen girls in my class that liked me like that. I should know.”

You and Gloss share a look, and then laugh. He wouldn’t know, it’s not always obvious when girls have crushes on people. Girls learn to hide it when the guy or girl they like is after someone else in that moment. You wouldn’t be surprised if his entire grade of girls had liked him, and only a quarter of them showed it. Finnick thinking that he’s aware of everything is a complete joke.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that all the remaining tributes are standing where they were yesterday. There’s only four tributes inside of the games, about to be three as soon as Seven boy is gone. Annie, Sanguin and Nine girl, who you really need to find a name for to make it all easier to say.

“Do you guys know the name of the girl from Nine?” you ask, running a hand through your hair for any snarls that might exist in your ponytail.

Gloss’ face scrunches up, eyes finding the Line Odds too, “Uh…”

Finnick tilts his head from side to side, also thinking. They’re just as clueless as you are. You can’t even remember if anyone mentioned her name outside of the training score and interviews. Everyone normally stops paying attention after District Four, for obvious reasons. No one can really compare. The only person you think would know her name is Annie, mostly because she likes to keep track of stuff like that.

It’s not like you can really ask her. And you can’t really pull a name out of thin air, anyway. When it comes to the districts, you guys have ridiculous names just as much as people in the Capitol do. Gloss? Cashmere? Enobaria? What about Anchor and Marsh? Even Sanguin’s name isn’t really a name. It’s an adjective, based off the word sanguine, which means positivity or something dumb like that.

Of course, this philosophy can’t apply to everyone. Finnick’s name is normal, so is Mags, Luther, Scotch, Wade and Cecelia. It only really falls apart when it comes to last names, like Gallows or Golding. At some time or another, you all came from the Capitol, or you great grandparents changed their last names to make them more fierce during the rebellion. That last part is especially true when it comes to your family.

You don’t remember the original last name, just that Gallows wasn’t inherited through a husband. Your great-grandmother had changed it after the nickname she got from the people around her in District Four. She was in on the plan before the rebellion had even started, and got a head start when it came to taking out peacekeepers and Capitol officers in the district. It was suspicious after a while, how every single one of them committed suicide the same way, one by one. After all the known Capitol people were gone, she was onto traitors, and she was good at finding them.

Hanging people from rope relates to the gallows. However, after the rebellion failed, she wasn’t able to go back to her regular life. With the conspicuous last name, and the way that people would talk when she came around, her position was found quickly. She was a wanted woman inside of District Four by high-standing officers. By then, she’d already birthed your grandmother, who was being held at someone else’s house during the day, and went unfound by the peacekeepers when they went looking to wipe out your family.

Your great-grandparents died, as well as any of their siblings, grandchildren, cousins, whatever. The only person left was your grandmother, who got sent into the foster care system with the last name still attached. And since there was no family to help her revert back to the original last name, she just kept Gallows out of spite. What are the peacekeepers going to do eighteen years after the fact? Kill her? She was a baby when it happened, wouldn’t even be able to recall the details, much less looked like she had an inkling to continue her mother’s murder path.

It’s a fun story to tell to the older kids, you know that your brothers enjoyed it when they got to exaggerate every little detail and add in facts of their own. As you got older, they filtered out the bullshit to make it more believable. Even now, the entire story seems like it’s out of some dark fairytale or something. With no happy ending.

“I think it starts with a T.” Finnick says.

“Huh?” you ask, looking at him.

“The girl’s name.”

“I think you’re right!” Gloss says, he’s rubbing his forehead, “What the fuck was it?”

“Something stupid that ended in a vowel.”

“That starts with a T?” your face twists.

Finnick hums for a moment, listening as Gloss tries out names. Then, Finnick’s face lights up entirely, slamming his hands on the table, “Tekla!”

“Tekla?” Gloss pauses for a moment, “Oh fuck, you’re right.”

You nod slowly, taking their word for it. So, Seven boy, Tekla, Sanguin and Annie. The boy dies, it only leaves the three girls. What an accomplishment, to completely unintentionally wipe out the guys. You don’t want to say that they’re a bigger opponent, but they typically have an upper hand when it comes to fighting. It’s like they’ve been taking drugs.

Finnick and Gloss eat their lunch, you all come down with your final predictions on what’s going to happen inside of the arena. You all think that Sanguin and Annie will be fine, since they’re miles apart and both caught in their own worlds at the moment. The real problem is Tekla and her moving around so often. She knows that Sanguin is alone in the cornucopia by herself, and she also knows that she could sneak up on Sanguin since she has a weapon of her own. Courtesy of when the careers had left the cornucopia alone.

Seven boy is still alive an hour and a half later. Tekla has slowed down in the direction she was heading. She doesn’t look unsure, more that she’s lost motivation, you guess? Or maybe she’s lost the path that the Seven tributes were taking before they stumbled into the Capitol trap. Either way, there’s no telling whether or not she’ll actually be able to find the boy.

Every time you think that the boy has finally breathed for the final time, he inhales sharply, like he’s being pushed back into his body. It’s a shame, watching him struggle like this. You’re sure that he should be dead by now, well past his expiration date. Hell, soon the bugs are going to start to get to him. If you thought the wolves were bad, watching him being eaten alive is going to be worse. Much, much worse.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” Gloss says, gathering the trash, “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t have too much fun.” you smile, he gives you a mock look before leaving. You turn to Finnick, “I’m thinking of going out and drinking after this. You wanna come?”

“With or without Gloss?” Finnick asks, eyebrows drawing in.

“If it were with Gloss, I would’ve asked while he was here.” you wiggle your eyebrows, “Come on. Me and you, at that awful drinking place, The Victory Speech.”

He purses his lips, “You think it’s a good idea?”

“Annie’s safe inside of her house, what’s the worst that can happen overnight?”

“The dam breaks?”

“You think that the Capitol would do that right after mauling two tributes to death?” you look at the timer above the Morning Line Odds that says how long the tributes have been in there for. It’s a couple hours less than seven days, “The games haven’t been even going for a week, they’ll want to draw it out for a little while longer.”

Finnick gives you a look.

“Don’t start acting like a parent, I’m older than you.” you point at him, “Yes or no. Or I’ll ask Gloss and Cashmere--”

“Yes.” Finnick says.

You grin, “You won’t have some sort of relapse, right?”

“Haha.” he rolls his eyes, “Ready to get shitfaced off the water-tasting alcohol?”

“I am going to have three of those in a row just to see what happens.” you laugh, he does too.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’ll give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“I’ll probably be fine.” You shrug, “Won’t be my first near-death experience.”

Finnick cracks up, shaking his head.

It’s only another thirty minutes before Tekla does come across Seven boy by accident. She wouldn’t have even known he was there if it weren’t for the wheeze he let out as a warning before she stepped on him. He’s hidden under bushes, camouflaged in. The only obvious sign that he’s there is his legs, but even then, they were easily missed by Tekla.

She stands over him, eyebrows drawn in. Her eyes will occasionally flicker up like she’s looking for someone, like it’s some sort of trap and a tribute is waiting for her to be off her guard to attack. Unfortunately, it’s none of those things. Just bad luck, and horrible timing. She crouches down next to him, face twisting as she carefully moves leaves out of the way to see him properly.

“Gross.” she says, “I don’t even know how you’re still alive.” Tekla shakes her head like she’s getting rid of her thoughts, standing back up on her feet, “It’s over now. Rest easy.”

She raises her weapon and puts him out of his misery. A second cannon goes off, making Sanguin stop in her tracks, looking up at the sky for a moment. The Fallen won’t show until later tonight, but the tributes all have the same reactions, anyway. It’s because the sound comes from above them, so naturally they’re going to want to see where it comes from.

As for Annie, she barely snaps back to life long enough to squint, allow wrinkles to appear on her face, and then she relaxes again. She sets her head back against the wall and closes her eyes, gripping onto her sword tightly. You wonder if she came to the conclusion that she’s one of the final three inside of the arena now. Annie’s made it, she’s beaten all the tributes from District Four that came before her.

Hang in there, Annie. You’ll be home soon.

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair redamancy #redamancy #redamancy chapter seven

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nvcl347 · 3 years ago

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genuine question but whats coffee time with gman... i see it everywhere and your posts of it are very cool but i dont know anythign abt it except for who made it. also i like gman sooo yea. thank you in advance !

Oh, Coffee Time with G-man is a complete rabbit hole of a story that my good friend @/lavolat started up in July of last year. If I had to summarize it in the simplest way possible (because holy hell, the lore in this is a bottomless pit when you really get into it, take it from me)-

Coffee Time with G-man follows a group of government men in an organization, all of the same appearance, but each with their own distinct personalities. You've got your baseline bureaucrats you would associate with the personality of the game-canon G-man, you have goofballs, you got a Hannibal Lecter, and a dozen more variations. You mainly tell them apart by said personas and their selective suit colors.

Long story short, with a group of conflicting personalities, some of them get along better than others. Where there's good relations, drama happens often, and with an interdimensional organization, that drama sometimes reaches a heavy scale of price. So on lavolat's tumblr, we're following the hefty drama of exactly that tumblr ask blog/ARG style.

I could write a novel going over every particular thing, but I would strongly suggest if you're interested to join the Discord recently made for it, we can answer more of your particular questions and find shared intrigue with many others. Thank you for reaching out about it!

#ask #anon

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wallgirl · 4 years ago

Text

If I Were You

Azul Ashengrotto x Fem!Reader

Your heart is broken... perhaps you can return the favor?

In the VIP room, as always, you met him. But today your feet felt heavy, and your heartbeat rang loud in your ears. How could you say it? How could you tell him your decision? How could you tell him that you no longer wanted to see him, that everything he asked of you had stretched you past your breaking point-

And he wouldn’t even let you make your relationship public. Something something weak spots, he had said.

Oh, but perhaps it was useless to even try to end things. Surely he would just find some way like always to gaslight you into changing your mind.

But when your teary confession was over, he seemed…

Unmoved.

“Of course, you’ll still play this Friday at the lounge, won’t you?”

He looked completely unaffected by your ultimatum. Same slight smile, same sly eyes.

You stared at him for several long seconds. For a moment, you were confused. What?

So… The past year had meant nothing? This had all been that easy for him to just drop?

He had squeezed every last bit of use out of you, and now you both knew there was nothing left.

Cold, hard, destructive reality set in.

“Of course I will.” You had smiled.

His smile had widened. “Excellent. I’m in your debt.”

Oh, not yet, but you will be.

That Friday night, you sat at the grand piano before the lounge’s clientele, pieced together and looking sharp. Never mind that it had taken you an hour to finish your makeup with your shaking hands, and that you had, distracted and sleep-deprived, nearly broken your foot missing a step entering the lounge. After all, you had agreed to perform one last time, and tonight was such a special night.

You waited for the din of the crowd to die down before speaking into the microphone.

“I have a particularly special piece that I prepared just for tonight,” you began.

You could see him in the same spot as always when you played, perched on a couch in the back, legs folded, hands crossed, looking so rapt and proud. Every Friday you played the piano, often original pieces, to draw in business for the lounge. You thought it was the least you could do to help your beloved Azul. And you used to feel so giddy, knowing that he was watching you so intently.

Now you recognized his smug expression as one of victory. He thought he was still getting what he wanted.

You bit your tongue for a moment to ground yourself. Now wasn’t yet the moment to lose yourself to rage.

“This piece is for a special someone,” you continued, playing off the coos from the crowd with a coy wink. “I’d even go so far as to say it comes straight from my heart.”

Now you’d piqued his curiosity. One of his eyebrows rose in a delicate arch.

Oh, just you wait for the surprise.

You arranged yourself, sitting up a bit straighter and adjusting the mic.

A few delicate notes to open with.

The crowd of students trilled quietly, leaning forward to hear better.

You began to sing.

“So many evenings spent beside you,

Planning out a life including you,

So many words to say

So many ways that I could ask you to stay…”

You swallowed as the melody built up.

“And now, you have a place in my heart

I never thought existed before

A place that burns, here,

Deep in my heart

You’ve made an art

Of the ways to lose my love.”

Now the words were really starting to set in. The audience looked confused. And Azul…

That smug smile was completely gone.

You hummed along to the melody as you continued to play. It seemed like the smile that had left him was creeping up your own lips as you met his gaze across the room.

Why did he look so victimized? He was the one who’d played you like the cold keys beneath your fingertips. He only ever wanted to take, and take, and take…

“You thought this was a one-player game

And I let you play me out with your words.

But wrath, with a vengeance, has came

You should have known before you promised the world…”

You were sick of it. You were sick of him. You resented him and everything about him. Every memory in your head that you once held close was tainted by your hatred. The thought of his smile, a smile that once set your heart pounding and your eyes shining in reverence, made you sick now. Only now, looking back, could you see the condescension in the pull of his lips. And his eyes…

Those eyes that you’d once compared to the ocean on a cold day were now flickering with fury. You’d never seen him so enraged, brows furrowed, upper lip curled.

Yes, those eyes were like the ocean on a frigid day. Cold, unfeeling, and threatening to pull you in, to drown you in the void.

Your fingers continued to dance across the keys, unaffected by the agony in your chest.

“What happens to woman

When man is a monster

Waiting to eat her heart at any moment?

Those pretty eyes

Are all full of lies,

Full of the things you told me

Entwined in the dark…”

The truth was, Azul had made a grave misstep. He thought of you as beneath him. And in thinking of you as harmless and weak, he had made himself vulnerable to you. He’d never made a habit of disclosing all of his thoughts to you, but bit by bit and between the lines, you came to know more about the ‘real Azul’ then he would’ve thought.

The power-hungry, bitter, insecure Azul.

“I wish I had never met you

If I could go back in time, I tell you

I’d have stopped my own breath

To avoid your trap.

And I bet you think that you’re just the best

Oh, I know you think you’re above the rest

Such a spineless man,

Your bluster no longer fools me.”

Were those tears in his eyes? Good. You wanted him to cry. You wanted him to scream in agony and tear at his hair, just as you used to behind closed doors. Every sharp jab of pain you had felt you wanted him to experience ten-fold.

Maybe then your shattered heart could find some peace.

It was time to wrap this up, though. Wetness on your cheeks was threatening to run away the concealer you’d had the foresight to apply beforehand in an effort to hide the redness of your eyes.

“If I were you, I’d watch out,

I will be there

Waiting for you to trip up

I hope you hate me

And drown in your own rage

Strangled by your regrets

The way I am.

When I remember the day we met

I wish we’d never come together

If I’d only known the real you.”

The last note rang out. There was silence for a moment, then the crowd began to applaud. You didn’t look at them. Your gaze was still fixated on Azul, who had finally stood.

His face was a mess of tears and flushed rage. He gritted his teeth, clearly searching for words that couldn’t make it past his tight throat, before spinning on his heel and shoving through the crowd towards the exit.

And just like that, it was over. You’d gotten exactly what you came for. Yet the rush of satisfaction was fleeting. It did nothing to replace the burn in your chest, or the pounding in your head. There was a gaping hole now where your soul had been, and the brief satisfaction offered to you through revenge was simply tossing debris into a bottomless pit. The dampness trailing down your cheeks had finally made its way to your neck, warm and itchy.

You closed the fallboard quietly and turned back to the mic.

“Thank you for having me, and good night.”

#azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #fem!reader

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cher-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Aphrodisiac | Vladek Klimov X Reader (18+)

Read part 1

Word count: 4.5k

CW: NSFW, Drugs, Blood, Self inflicted wound, Choking, Ritualistic sex

A/N: This one is a wild one, people. Read the warnings carefully and skip this one if you don't feel like it. Reader discretion is advised.

When you woke up, he was gone. The emptiness beside you sank into your skin and turned into a bottomless pit in your stomach. You slowly sat up and looked at the lonely clock ticking on your wall, 12pm. Orgasm induced sleep was always one of your greatest sedatives, but straight six hours after a night full of sleep? That was a bit too long. But after last evening and this morning, you couldn’t blame your body either. You wondered if you dreamt it all but the blood stains on your sheets told you otherwise. You lowered your nose and inhaled deeply, it smelt like him.

Ever since that day melancholy stained your whole existence. You had Vladek out of nowhere, in all that he is, but just as quickly he might as well have vanished from existence. The memory of him smiling softly and stroking your cheeks with his thumb before leaving you, came back to you afterwards. You were confused about whether or not you were imagining it to make yourself feel better. You wanted to be angry at him for leaving you without saying anything, but all you could feel was sad and empty. It was undeniable that you wanted him, more than you’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. Night after night you laid awake in your tub or the couch, thinking of him. There was a void in your heart, as if you’ve lost someone you’ve known for centuries. The pain was so intense that the ridiculousness of the situation didn’t quite register in your mind. He left you a mess in his wake. It felt at times, he took half of your heart with him. Everywhere you went, your eyes looked for him and before long, they found him.

You were sitting at the local restaurant that day, having breakfast as you didn’t feel like cooking. Well, more like fiddling with the food as your appetite was more or less dead ever since then. You were looking out of the window distractedly but your reverie broke when the waiter came by to offer you more coffee. After declining him,you were getting ready to jump right back into your woolgathering but something caught your eyes. It had become a second nature for you at that point to look for him, and at first you didn’t believe your eyes, after all you had been more or less delirious ever since he left you. But sitting a few tables in front of you, it was unmistakably that coat which you helped him out of that fateful evening. Those curls, you’d recognise them anywhere, you could almost feel those at your fingertips. Without a doubt it was him, you were taken aback by how quickly you recognised his back since all of this happened in the matter of a few milliseconds. He was talking to a town cop. You felt blood rush to the back of your neck as he soon got up, all the fervid memories from that morning flooding your mind. He turned around to leave and as he was walking by, he caught you in his gaze. He halted and smiled at you softly. By that point your brain had stopped working but for some reason your body decided to stand up abruptly, so quick that you almost knocked over the plate of food on the table. You walked up to him and stood inches away from his chest, your face completely blank. “Hey” he said with that heavy accent and ever so calm voice. “Hey um why did you leave without telling me?” you practically blurted out, voice shaking and breathless. He raised his brows slightly and said “Can we talk outside? In private?”. Your brain was a puddle at this point but you nodded quickly, somehow. Vladek flashed you another gentle smile and gestured to follow him.

You had been walking in silence for a while when he took a sharp turn into a dark desolate alley.

Being obsessed over a man you've known for less than 24 hours in total, was one thing but following him into dark alleys was a whole 'nother ball game! Even in your passionate malady you understood that fact but you just couldn’t stop yourself. His magnetic field pulled you in and like a lemming, followed his trail. When he stopped, you almost bumped into him but saved yourself from the embarrassment at the last moment. “Sorry i left that day without telling you” Vladek spoke up as he looked into your eyes, “I needed to be somewhere, it was urgent and i didn’t wanna wake you up. You look so pretty when you’re asleep”. It infuriated you how vague he always was. What did he mean exactly by ‘needed to be somewhere’? But you didn’t have it in you to ask him anything further. It was just like if God appeared in front of you out of nowhere in all his splendor, you wouldn’t be able to ask why he made things the way that he did. Besides him calling you pretty, basically killed every ounce of objection you had against him. “Oh. I see. I’m sorry i, um, i shouldn’t have lashed out like that” you meekly said in return. “It’s okay, (Y/N). It’s not your fault” he said and indeed it wasn’t your fault. He had this strange effect on you that made you do things you had no control over. He was staring at your eyes, breaking the eye contact once to look down at your lips and back to staring again. It was chilling cold outside and the tension between the two of you was agonizing. You could feel his warm breath on your face. You were inching closer, wanting to seize the opportunity and bask your lips in the heat of his lips. But he spoke up and jolted you back to your senses again, “Will you, em, help me with something?”. And at that moment if he asked you to jump off a cliff, you would.

You were walking in circles around the mattress which laid in the middle of your living room. You did as you were told. You were taking deep breaths, trying to control your breathing but you could practically hear your heart, beat out of your chest. You didn’t quite remember what exactly he explained, you couldn’t pay attention. All you heard was “ritual” and “sex”.

But like a diligent student you mentally noted down the few instructions that he gave- put a mattress on an empty floor, do not ingest any substance and wait. He said he’d arrive as soon as the sun went down on the new moon evening. It was quite cold inside due to your damn heater malfunctioning but you were on the brink of sweating as you stared at your front door in anticipation and before long, you could hear knocks.

When you opened the door, cold wind washed over your body but you didn’t feel a thing. Vladek was standing there in his mask and glasses and for a split second all the murder and the rumors flashed through your mind. Yet you weren’t afraid, cause you believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was there to save you and the town. You stepped to the side to let him in. As soon as he was inside you closed the door and awkwardly stood leaning against the door frame.

He promptly took off this mask and his coat. One look at that face and your heart was racing at a thousand miles per hour again. “Hey (Y/N)” he said, his face unreadable. You greeted him in return.

-“Do you mind if we start right now?”

- “No, no. Not at all”

He nodded and then crouched over the bag that he brought with him. There was a silent rush in his movements. After a little bit of rifling through, he pulled out a small bottle.

He walked up to you with the bottle in his hand, you could feel the air getting heavier. The bottle was clear and you could make out some sort of an oil inside. “I need you to anoint yourself with this before you cleanse yourself”, his voice was quite raspy. His fingers brushed against yours as you took the bottle from his hands and your skin burned at thiat slight contact. “What type of water?” you almost whispered. He raised his brows slightly at your question, the corner of his mouth curled up a bit as he said “huh?”. “Do i use cold water or warm water? Do I take a bath or a shower? Also do i-” you were rambling on when he chuckled and said “okay okay (Y/N), calm down. Just wash your body in any water, however you want. If anything specific is to be done i’ll tell you, yeah?”. You nodded meekly. You were beyond nervous and you felt detached from your body. But when you looked at him, all you wanted to do was to touch his face and then maybe throw him against the wall. But you couldn’t do that, not yet. So you collected all your thoughts and yourself then made your way to the bathroom.

When you were done taking a shower, your body felt more relaxed. All the tension built in your muscles for the past couple hours, no- past couple of days, washed away with the warm water. Although was that because of the warm water or the fact that he was waiting for you in the living room, was debatable. Your body smelt of strange wild flowers from the oil. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you were on your way.

You were deliberately walking slow. With every step that you took, your heartbeat started going up again. The reality of the situation was just setting in, you were about to participate in some sort of a sex ritual with vladek. The thought in itself sent shivers down your core. You were contemplating turning around and running out the back door when your feet finally arrived at the entrance of your living room. Your breath hitched and you stopped in your tracks when you saw him standing there in white pajama pants. The room was dark, there were candles circling the mattress. A skull decorated with blood red fathears sat facing the mattress. A knife rested by the side of the mattress. The warm yellow glow of the candles reflected off his smooth body as he turned around, a chalice in his hands. He looked ethereal and adrenaline rushed your body. Whether out of fear or lust, you didn’t know.

Vladek walked up to you, took a sip from the chalice and then handed it to you, “here, drink this”. And you did without much hesitation. It tasted quite bitter and you wondered how easily he could poison you. And as if he could read your mind he said, “Don’t worry, i’m not poisoning you. It’s an aphrodisiac mixed with mild relaxants”. His presence in itself was anesthetic for you and his voice more of an aphrodisiac than any substance will ever be. He took the chalice from your hands and put it on the floor. As you watched him you thought to yourself how cruel he was for using you like this even if it was for saving the town. At this point you didn't worry about the town or your own life, he could stab you with that knife for all you cared. He was cruel for using your infatuation and you'd be damned for eternity if you said you didn't relish every moment of it. “Is there anything you want to ask me (Y/N)?” he said in a mellow voice.

-“Why do this ritual?”

-“To save fortitude”

-“But how does this help?”

-“You see, only a woman is the most wise and powerful, feared by all. Loved by all the shamans.The knowledge of good and evil is tied at its root to sexuality and it is only through the height of orgasm that Gnosis can be achieved. And when the woman orgasms the veil between the worlds collapses and communicating with them is possible. I need to talk to them and ask for strength for what i need to do next”

You wanted to ask him what it all meant. What was gnosis, who are “they” and how the fuck could you possibly collapse the veil but again, you didn’t have it in you to ask him more than two things at a time. “Are you sure you want to do this? (Y?N), I want you to know that this is only for spiritual purposes and you can say no now or at any time during the ritual if you want to. I need you to be fully willing”, the softness in Vladek’s voice was hurting you this point. You nodded a yes quickly. You two then stood in silence staring at each other for what seemed like a lifetime to you until he extended his right hand to you. You figured he was asking you to disrobe. You unraveled the towel and handed it to him which he swiftly discarded. You were completely naked under his stare yet you didn’t feel a hint of embarrassment, there was something so sacramental in the ambience or maybe it was just the drugs. “Okay step in the circle carefully” he said and you complied. “Now get down on your knees over the mattress”, you obeyed like your life depended on it and sat facing him. He picked up sage from his bag and lit it. Soon the room was filled with smoke, you could barely see anything. He was going around you in circles, occasionally bringing the sage so close that you could feel its heat on your skin, all while chanting something. His movements were ceremonial. Then he stopped, laid the still burning sage on the chalice and stepped in the circle, murmuring through out. You were unnaturally calm for your nature, your heart was beating in a soothing rhythm. When you looked up, he was standing, towering over you. In the heavy fragrant smoke and dull candle lights his frame looked celestial, you couldn’t quite make out his eyes. He then slowly lowered himself until he was on his knees too, eye to eye with you. The close proximity to him kicked something in you and adrenaline flooded you once again. He reached to your side and grabbed the knife. Vladek was looking directly into your eyes, his stare supernatural, as he slashed a bit over his collarbone. Blood oozed out and then started dripping down his chest, soaking his white pants. Your jaw dropped at this sight, yet he didn’t move a muscle. He closed his eyes and uttered something then proceeded to draw symbols in some ancient language on his chest with the blood. When he was done he opened his eyes and said “trace these glyphs with your tongue”, his voice was commanding yet tender. It was getting hard for you to keep your thoughts together so you did as you were told.

You started at the top, he hissed slightly when you licked the wound. The coppery taste of the blood and his warm skin were creating a sensation in your tongue you had never felt before. His silky smooth chest rose up and down slowly while you were tracing all the strange symbols. When you were done you sat back waiting for the next instruction. Instead he cupped your face and wiped the blood from your lips with his thumbs. At that exact moment you understood what was wrong with you since the day you met him; He put a spell on you by his beauty then cursed you by his touch. Your head was rattling like crazy. He pushed you back gently until you were lying half down, supported by your elbows. Vladek climbed on top of you like a serpent. You were feeling dizzy, your eyes felt too heavy to blink. What snapped you out of it was his voice against your ears, your own flavor of aphrodisiac. He was chanting something, you didn't understand what he was saying whether it was because of the language or the drugs you couldn't possibly comprehend at that point. He started going down; ghosting his lips over your neck, nape, collarbones, chest, stomach, chanting some crude ancient hymn. You would kill at that point to have his lips on your skin but he carefully kept just enough of a distance that you could feel his sultry breath burning holes on your skin but not the touch of his delicate lips

You were wanting and waiting for even the slightest bit of contact when whatever “they” he talked about, answered your prayers. Vladek slipped his left hand under you and started laying you down further as he caressed your stomach with his right hand, kindly pushing until you were lying completely flat against his hand on your lower back. Your breath jerked when you felt his warm hands spreading your thighs. Even the drugs this time couldn’t stop the white hot rush that rose from embarrassment and submerged your whole existence. You were trying to take deep breaths and calm yourself down, reminding yourself that what was happening was purely spiritual yet the intrinsic responses of your body held other beliefs. As you were trying to hobble your heart, you felt his fervid lips on your cunt and electricity shot through your spine straight into your brain. For a moment you felt like your brain would melt into a liquid.

Vladek’s warm tongue glided up and down, making your body quiver at every small movement. You weren’t sure if your heart even existed at this point, either it stopped beating or was beating so fast it didn’t register in your brain. You felt your core tightening, almost on the brink of a collapse. Your breathing was becoming shallow and irregular, you were waiting for the bliss when he suddenly stopped. You’d whine and ask him why if your body didn’t feel like it was under a thousand miles of water. He slowly sat up and said “Get up”. Not a bone in your body felt like they were solid enough to support you. He probably sensed something and helped you get up. You were swaying mildly from the lightheadedness, rubbing your thighs together coyly to relief yourself from the edge and the aching that consumed you. He grabbed your arms firmly and gave you a quick shake to steady you, and it worked, as much as it was possible for a high, aroused woman on the edge of an orgasm, to sit still. Vladek reached for that knife again, and you wondered if he’d slash your throat this time as a sacrifice or something, not that you would be able to run right then even if you wanted to and you didn’t either. You’d happily die by the hands of a man like him. As your questionable morbid thoughts ran, he held the knife right in front of your face. “Cut your right index finger on this”, his honey like accent made that sound much more appealing than it actually was. You’d raise your brows if you could feel them. You were sure it wasn’t you who lifted that finger and slid it across the knife, your brain wasn’t controlling your body anymore. Blood started dipping down your hand, yet you didn’t feel any pain, again probably the drugs. He grabbed your hand with his right hand, you tried but couldn’t anticipate where it was going until he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. He put your finger on his tongue and drew some symbols again. His warm tongue was fluttering ever so slightly under your touch and you wanted to grab his face and slam him against the floor, crashing your mouth into his, but, not yet.

After drawing the symbols, Vladek licked your wound to stop the bleeding and when he let your finger go you very quickly started missing the warmth of his mouth. His lips were glimmering from your fluids in the flickering yellow lights and you decided to keep this memory in the depth of your, probably not beating anymore, heart. You were pretty sure you were thinking in slow motion because when you were done thinking that, you were lying on your back again somehow. And just as soon, his soft tongue was back on your cunt again, only this time it was circling your clit in languid motions. It was almost as if he picked up where he left cause your body was just as quickly on the ledge again. It was getting difficult to breathe with every passing moment. You tried really hard but you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, it took you a bit of an effort but you slid your fingers in his lush curls, holding onto them for dear life. His mouth worked skillfully on you, licking, sucking, driving you to the point of madness. You were almost there and as if afraid that he’ll stop again, you thrust your hips upwards which resulted in his nose pressing at just the right angle, resulting in your orgasm to push you down a cliff into a valley of pure bliss. You moaned out and shuddered vehemently as you rode through it. It was unlike any other orgasm you ever had. The room felt like it was crumbling down, the atmosphere falling apart. You couldn’t even feel his presence anymore. The candles burnt brightly and It was just you, violent euphoria within you and euphoric violence outside of you. Your back arched up, your head on the brink of snapping from your neck. You opened your eyes and it met with the hollow caters of the skull. A bright light flashed before you and you passed out.

When you came back, you were lying perfectly still. Your head was clear as a summer sky, your body felt like you had just come out of an ice cold bath. Which was weird considering the experience you just had was only comparable to a volcanic rapture. You felt vitalized, as if you’ve been sleeping for a few decades. You sat up quickly to find Vladek sitting crossed legged facing you, eyes closed and praying. You tried to cover yourself with your hands, feeling awfully naked. The candles were burnt almost to the ground, the air now mostly clear of smoke. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled at you softly. “How are you feeling?” he said in his gentle voice. “Good, feeling good, great um are we done?” you said abruptly. “Yes, yes we are” he replied and then got up. He quickly mumbled something and went out of the circle. He picked up the towel and handed it over to you which you promptly wrapped around yourself. You got out of the circle, standing awkwardly besides him. “Did it, um, work?” you said, trying to cut the uncomfortable silence.

-“Yes it did, thank you”

-“No problem”

-“I’ll clean all of this, don't worry, you can go to sleep if you want to. It’s a bit late”

-“I’m not tired”

-“I see”

-“I’m sorry by the way, for um, grabbing your hair back then impromptu”

-“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it”

-“Are you gonna leave afterwards?”

-“I do have things i need to tend to”

-“Oh. Okay”

You two nodded at each other like workplace colleagues who barely know each other. Which was unnerving for you, considering what just went down. The idea of him leaving made your heart ache, which was surprisingly still beating. If it was up to you, you’d chain him to your bed and never let him go but you were too young to be known as the town’s freak criminal. You wanted to say something, ask him to stay but could barely think about the concept of words. You awkwardly grabbed his wrist, surprisingly slow in your action. He looked down at his wrist then back at you again with amused but questioning eyes.

You were trying to gather all your thoughts, trying to say something, anything when Vladek spoke up, “Do you want me to stay?”. “Yes”, you answered a bit too avidly. Suddenly there was razor sharp tension in the air you both shared. You blinked and the next moment you were on your toes, cupping his face and forcing your tongue down his mouth. His hands lingered on the small of you back as he lowered himself to kiss you back. You were trying to devour him as you bit his lips, drawing a groan from him. Soon you were up against the wall as he was leaving marks all over your body. The ceremonial energy was nowhere to be seen in his being anymore and at that point he was indistinguishable from a wild animal. Your eyes met with his, both panting, bare chest to chest, there was instinctual longing in the way he looked at you. You reached down to feel his hard cock over his pants, stroking roughly making him grunt in response. “I want you, inside of me, like right now” you managed to blurt out and with that you were pinned on the couch. His tongue colliding with yours, your hands tugging at his silky curls. You were lost in the kiss when you felt him inside of you, stretching you out. You gasped in his mouth and he chuckled softly. But soon he was in rhythm, rough yet kind in his thrusts. Your nails were digging deep in his back. You could feel your orgasm building up again so you flipped him and got on top. Riding him to your heart’s content as he watched you in awe, your right hand wrapping his neck and the left one clutching his shoulder for support. You could feel his muffled groan under your palm. When you came you were looking directly into his eyes, moaning his name, your hands clenching a bit too intensely that you intended. As your high slowly calmed down you loosened your grip. Still thrusting sloppily trying to make it last as long as you could, when you felt him come inside of you. His chest rose as he kissed you through it. Soon after you were lying by his side. You wanted to rest your head on his chest, tell him that you liked him. But it was ridiculous to say that to someone you’ve known for such a little time. It was him who reached out and intertwined his fingers with yours, which took you by surprise. He was smiling softly at you. Vladek was shining like a god in the afterglow, he smelt divine and it pained you to fathom him not being with you for eternity. “Will you wake me up before you leave tomorrow morning?”, you almost choked while saying that.

“I wouldn’t dare to do otherwise.”

But you didn’t really want to wake up the next day. This was as close to heaven as you’d get and you wanted it to last forever. As you were falling asleep you decided to chain him to your bed if you woke up, pandemonium could swallow the town for all you cared.

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