#like how much aura did i lose when she ghosted me the day before pride?

[hammer-heart]

Chat... I've been thinking

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five

If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.

Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.

The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.

Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.

Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.

Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Tango.

“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.

“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.

The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.

“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.

“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.

Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.

“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.

Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.

Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.

“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.

Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.

Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.

“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.

“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.

Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.

“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.

“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.

“And we didn’t,” Scott said.

“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.

“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.

“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.

Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.

Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.

And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?

Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.

Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.

“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.

“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.

“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.

“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.

Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.

That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.

“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.

Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.

“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.

“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.

“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.

Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.

*****

Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.

Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.

Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.

Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.

*****

“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.

Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.

“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.

“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.

Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.

“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.

“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.

Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.

The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.

“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.

“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.

“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.

“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.

Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.

Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.

They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.

Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.

Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.

Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.

Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.

His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.

Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Seeker

Last of the survivor installments for @realityinspace featuring their OC Alex and his adventures in fucking killers.

Reblogs > Likes

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Dead by daylight

Relationship: The Trapper/Male OC (Alex)

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Dead by daylight normal violence, fluff, making love, mentions of scarring, twist ending?, gay shit man.

Words: 4.1k

__________________

The game of cat and mouse between survivor and killer had been going on for so long that some spice was needed. Planting the seeds within Alex had been easy enough, he had already started making his switch whether he knew it or not. His want for revenge through pain and agony meant he was no longer willing to just play the Entity’s little game of fix the generator; It meant he was actively seeking out specific killers and making plans if he could snatch their weapons and slit their throat.  

An interesting survivor he had been since he arrived, the Entity had tiptoed along the lines of what he would be at first. And yet, now he is showing them his true colors. Running may have been his strong suit, and helping fellow survivors, but when it came down to it?  

You could only be a toy for so long.  

~Rest under the cut~

Since the run in with the Wraith, Alex has been back on his feet and more focused it seems. Yet, even other survivors can note his distance. The seeds of doubt were sown in his chest after all. If a killer could treat him as gently as the Wraith did, and the survivors just used him-  

No, didn’t use him, he made his role this way-  

Wait, no, what if that wasn’t true? Was he forced t--  

No! That wasn’t true- was it? No. This is all...  

All so confusing.  

Alex’s mind is jumbled and stressed every night, flickers of the rights and wrongs, what was up, what was down, what was true? He can’t quite find it.  

Nor can he feel the flickering lights inside of his own body calling to him to come into the fog, to come play with the big dogs, to enter the loving spider-y arms of the Entity who would love and care for him.  

Just take the leap.  

Alex’s mind at night is plagued by whispers, whispers he doesn’t remember in the morning yet whispers he does once he closes his eyes. The warmth of the fog around him, the idea of warmth sliding down his hands. Sticky sweet- crimson over his bare hands. The idea of getting vengeance is tempting, the idea of hearing another person scream that isn’t his own-  

Now that was a thought.  

Perhaps it has something to do with an event that happened a few days ago between a certain grinning masked killer and the arachnid beast that haunted its very own playground.   

“I’ve been here since day one  doin ’ what  ya  asked of me. Haven’t asked  ya for one damn thing, have I?” A gruff voice is heard only to one specific being. It doesn’t show itself, merely a mash of oranges, yellows, and blacks. It should have come to life as your nightmare, but considering the Trapper was no longer just a mortal man, it can only show up in this torrent of energy floating in front of him.  

The Trapper stands in the thick, dark fog, arms crossed and waiting for a response. The being before him shakes, as if seeming to laugh, but then it pauses, waving to the left and then to the right before a booming voice enters the Trapper’s head. It sounds like twenty different voices talking in sync, all in different pitches and emotions yet the most being prominently like a smoky feminine tone, “And, what, my dear Trapper, is it that you wish from me?”  

“The boy. You know the fuckin’ one. Been givin’ ya  hell, hasn’t he? ” The Trapper begins  as if in a huff , watching carefully as the begin changes form into the very same one he’d been fantasizing about. Alex. Except instead of his lovely olive toned flesh and his red hair, the being is completely black with glowing yellow eyes- far too many, maybe six all blinking at him and a wicked grin aimed back at him.  

The Entity was toying with him.  

“Oh, this boy?” It speaks, running a hand over its own throat  up into  its hair with a sigh as if pleasured. “Ah, yes, Alexander was it? What a lovely body he has...” It continues,  running a hand down the curve of its toned body, only for its eyes to snap open and glare at him, “The one who has been distracting you and making you fail my little assignments?”  

The Trapper bites his tongue despite having no need when he doesn’t use it to speak. Shamefully, he casts his eyes down to the floor to the side and briefly nods. No lying.  

“This is not how this game works, my dear.” The voice continues, less angry and much softer now. When the Trapper looks back up, the being is shifting forms and is now one of more just spider legs outreaching down from the sky- a favorite of theirs. It reaches towards him, stroking over the mask’s cheek affectionately. “You are my favorite and most reliable, Evan, you must understand this,” It sounds so soft, gently, but then it turns to a low growl, all voices seeming enraged like a disappointed mother.  “But, this is my game, not yours.  Return to your realm and do as told. ”  

However, this conversation was not ignored, that much Evan could feel as he leaves the fog with his head held like a disappointed child not getting what he wanted.  

--  

Alex’s moods shift through each trial as if he can’t quite get a grip of himself. He avoids the other survivors, yet still feels affection for them as he normally did. He still confides in Claudette the same as she’ll do to him, finding comfort in her sisterly aura and the way she confides in him back. Nothing but the truth between them, a sibling’s bond, truly. He still feels the need to protect, but there’s something more...  

More primal about it.  

He’s gone from just taunting the killers from afar and running to running AT them. Making the moves he needs to get a hit or two on them. He’s becoming more emotional, reckless- hell he bit poor Michael last round on the HAND!  

So, imagine how Alex feels when he sees the familiar white face of The Ghost.  

It’s like a switch in him. All Alex sees is red. The feeling of his pride being stolen from him, the burn of the scar on his hip. One could say there was no point in his anger, considering it had just been a hook, he’d finally been caught, and yet...  

He’d been branded. He’d been claimed- by someone he had no interest in being claimed by. It had been stolen from him, this sort of pride and aching that had him running circles around the killers for sport-  

The Ghost is tricky to find, he moves quietly and sneaks up on his prey. Thankfully Alex is following footsteps and the wisp of a cloak. Only briefly losing him only to hear a scream to his right- Claudette.  

He whips around the trees just in time to see a knife going up and Claudette kicking, always the fighter.  

There were unspoken rules in this realm. A Mori was a special gift bestowed upon a killer, you were to not interrupt it. You were to allow it to happen or run off before you could be seen. That’s how the games went, you were forced to obey these rules- you had to.  

And yet, as if in slow motion, Alex finds himself darting towards the cloaked killer. Snatching him around the waist in a tackle and throwing his lesser body weight into the Ghost. There’s a cry from behind him of ‘Alex, don’t!’ in fear, but his ears are ringing as he struggles for the upper hand. Rolling once before slamming his legs on either side of the killer’s chest, knife in hand.  

There’s no second thought, just the loud humming of whispers of ‘do it’ ringing in his head tauntingly, as if excited by this turn of events. The world seems to shake around him, vision flashing oranges and reds as he stabs the knife straight through the Ghost’s neck with a cry.  

And just like that? The world around him goes black. Alex is left with his legs straddling no man, nothing seems to be underneath him. He’s on his knees, knife stabbed through nothing, and confusion buzzing through his now quiet head. Knitting his brows, he slowly begins to get up, turning his head this way and that as the foggy shadows seem to envelop him.  

A soft noise behind him that sounds like a skittering insect has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Whipping around, he finds the spider-y legs hanging from seemingly nowhere reaching out to him as if beckoning him closer. Alex goes to move towards it, to take a swing, but it feels like his legs are walking through thick slime. He huffs, trying to open his mouth, but it feels like his jaw is aching and sore- like he was trying to break a jawbreaker for hours. His words are slurred, echoing as he tries to take another swipe at the leg that’s reaching out, aaaalmost touching him- aaaalmost able to hit it and then-  

A whirling sensation. Like he’s being ripped from the fog. Alex finds himself in a dark area, like a forest of sorts as he lands harsh on his knees with a gasp. His head whips around, lifting his body up so he can pat himself down to look for any injury. Nothing. Yet, also, no weapon. Frustrated and full of rage, he screams at nothing and slams his hand on the ground with a loud, “Damn it!”  

It takes a few moments to calm down, eyes whipping around at his surroundings.   

The sky was dark and cloudy, almost a dark blue shade like the moon was full somewhere. The wind is soft, rustling the trees overhead and surrounding the stone path leading to a. ..a  building nearby- a house. It looked like a  two story  house, almost like an old farmstead feeling to it. The porch had two lights lit on it with a rocking chair, the chimney churning out smoke and all the lights were on. It felt homey. It almost whispered to him to come closer.  

Hell, he hadn’t seen anything that comforting in months- or however long he’d been trapped here.  

Alex should have paid closer attention to the bear traps mounted on the wall outside or how he could see a deer head mounted inside. It takes him a moment to work himself up to slide up onto his feet, arms and legs aching and feeling out of breath. It takes him a moment longer to roll his neck to work out the aches only to freeze.  

Bear traps.  

The Trapper.  

What if this was a one versus one scenario? What if he’s playing into this game of cat and mouse? What if he had all this time for a  head start  and didn’t run?!  

Yet, the crunching of stones behind him tells him he isn’t alone. Alex’s breath is shaky, holding his head high to stabilize himself and to feel more in control. His fingers clutch into fists at his sides, hearing the huffing breaths coming from behind him much like an irritated bull.  

A feeling washes over him, as if someone is prodding at his mind and trying to find something before it clicks and he hears a voice breathe out, echoing around him, “I changed my mind.” It’s got this southern drawl to it, gruff and hardly used sort of tone. It sends a feeling over him he can’t quite describe- familiarity perhaps.  

Yet, Alex still whips around, taking a step back just as he sees a rough hand reaching out to him and the large, tall body of the Trapper stepping into the light. He bares his teeth, making a show of snarling the best as his mortal throat could allow before barking out a laugh to hide his nerves. “Changed your mind on what, huh? Not gonna fight me like a fuckin’ man? Going to just stand there and gawk?” He lets the taunts fly free from his mouth, trying to hide the way his hands shake.  

But, before Alex can take another swing with his words, the Trapper pauses. Doesn’t move any closer to him, just slowly reaches up and removes his mask much like someone would with their hat. He holds it at chest level, head bowing slightly to appear smaller and more at level with Alex despite being two heads taller. “I changed my mind on you just bein’ a passin’ fuck, Alex. ” His mind echoes the words, yet he watches as full, scarred lips don’t move.  

Even just the way that the Trapp—Evan says his name makes a shiver run down his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling weak and strained all at once as he swallows a lump in his throat. Alex briefly remembers confiding in the Wraith about being tossed around roughly like a toy and wonders if he’d had a chat with the guy in front of him for that reason exactly. Something Alex would have to thank Philip for another time.  

“Come inside,” Evan begins again, voice soft and taking a step closer slowly, as if Alex was a rabid kitten. When he doesn’t flinch or move away, Evan comes a bit closer until he’s  arms length  away. “I made dinner? I know that may seem strange- I don’t think y’all are allowed those comforts, right?” His voice is oh so soft, and even the word ‘dinner’ makes Alex’s stomach growl. Something they both hear.  

Evan just sounds so...convincing, that even if this was a trap? Alex still follows without much of a fight.  A hungry man was a hungry man, after all. Besides, he’d been put through worse than someone trying to invite him into his home only to get stabbed.  

Yeah, wow, these games were really fucking him up, huh?  

But as Alex is led inside and the smell of food hits him, he genuinely begins to wonder if this was even a trap. Evan is so kind, pulling out his chair for him and pushing it in. The plate is filled with home style cooking and Alex about drools over his plate. The whole set up was rather sweet, a small table that they could reach each other across, different sides and dressings set around a ham that looked too good to be true. Everything was delicious once he finally put some in his mouth.  

Evan the whole time is sweet, looking like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Alex quickly gets over the fact his mouth doesn’t move when he speaks, able to trace his eyes over Evan’s face and how his facial expressions change. Evan tries to flirt in little ways, which is rather sweet in its own way and a big surprise to Alex. Philip must have talked to him, it’s the only answer- something must have switched in him.  

Evan’s features are rough with chiseled cheekbones and a strong, sharp jaw. His eyes are piercing and heavy set, seeming to be a hazel gold color with flickers of glowing orange inside that must have been the Entity’s influence. His nose is strong, the bridge obviously having been broken a time or two in the past with his lips full and a scar going from the left of his chin, up over his lips, past his nose and ending at his blurrier right eye that must have been blinded in some fashion. Yellow and orange lines seem to cut through his skin, including on his face.  

He was rugged and handsome, but not in a conventional way. It was  kinda  nice, considering what a pretty boy Alex was IN a conventional way.  

Evan, despite all of his doings in the past and what he is, is fairly kind while he flirts. Alex decides to play along, absolutely endeared as he nudges his shoe at Evan’s calf and hooks it around in an act of footsie.  

It isn’t until after dinner where Evan gently picks up Alex bridal style, unlike the way he’d been tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes in the past. Alex laughs, feeling free and at ease for once as he’s carried up the stairs and to a bedroom. It looks well cleaned, just a regular bedroom with the bed creaking as he’s sat on it. It smells like blade oil and pine.  

He expects Evan to shove him down, ravish him- hell, Alex almost wants that to happen. But instead, he’s asked oh so softly by the huge man, “Philip lemme know ya had a bad run in with someone...left somethin’ ya don’t want .”Alex’s breath falters for a second, turning his head briefly but is caught by rough fingers gently grabbing his cheek and bringing him back to look up at Evan. “ Lemme take care of ya, pretty boy. I’ll be real gentle- know a thing or two about scars. ” It’s said so gently, a soft echo in Alex’s head that he can’t even sass.    

Carefully, Alex kicks off his shoes and socks at the words of Evan to get comfortable. He stands on command for Evan, shimmying his jeans down enough to expose his hips and hiking up his  torn up  shirt to show the ugly scarring left behind. Jagged words that made him irate. Left by a man who had no means to claim him as his own.  

Watching Evan sink to his knees should not make  Alex’s  heart twist like it does. He’s so gentle the way he traces the scarring, it was pink and flaked, but not as deep as Evan had thought it would be. Some salve and some deliberate marking towards that area should fix it to let it fade in due time.  

It’s quiet and soft. And once Evan raises onto his feet, Alex can’t help but watch him, watch as he tries to come up with something, watching Evan’s eyes flicker to the bed. “Do you wan- ”  

“Yes.” Alex quickly responds, nodding vigorously in approval.  

That’s how they wind up on the bed. With Evan’s overalls and boots thrown to the side with just his boxers on and Alex’s clothing having been gently and gingerly taken off until he was only his boxers as well. Evan kisses him like a lover this time, soft and gentle as he could be with his body weight lying on top. Alex’s legs are framing one of Evan’s thighs, who is brace himself on his arms on either side of his head. One large hand caressing Alex’s red dyed hair as if he meant so much.  

He felt it too.  

The kisses start to get hotter, heavier with Alex starting it by biting Evan’s bottom lip. His hips grind up shamelessly into the large thigh between his own, Alex making a lovely, soft sound that just spurs Evan on into growling. It doesn’t sound possessive or angry, it just sounds aroused, a noise Alex could get used to. Not to mention all the soft, yet heavy pawing on his body.  

When the kiss parts, Evan fits himself between Alex’s thighs to spread them apart. Alex’s cock is leaking onto the front of his boxers, a dark spot on the gray that makes his breath shake. His eyes are half lidded, lips rosy and his teeth biting at his bottom lip in desire. There’s no words, there’s no need for them right now as Evan slots his clothed cock up against Alex’s so they can both shamelessly grind together.  

Alex looks a pretty dream, toned body flexing as his hips push up to rock his dick against Evan’s. It’s heavy, dirty, dry humping. Fit with Evan cupping the side of Alex’s chest so he can thumb at a nipple and use his other hand to wrap a hand loosely around his throat. The noise Alex makes is worth it, a low whine and an arch up into his hand as if asking him to put more pressure. Evan doesn’t, just holding him right where he wants him.  

“I wanna consume every inch of ya,” Evan starts just as he works Alex’s underwear down. A fumble for lubricant left in a nightstand drawer and a generous amount on his fingers is Alex’s demise as he dissolves into soft laughter. It makes Evan’s heart constrict in adoration.  

“Inside and out,” Evan continues, a smile on his lips as Alex’s eyes flutter before shutting just as he works a finger inside of him. His hand that had been thumbing at his nipple traces down the curve of his body to his hip, squeezing fondly. “I want you to be mine. Mine and mine alone...Think I could share ya, if ya knew that. ” Making a note to remind Alex that even if he still wanted to be sexual with others, he wasn’t going to stop his fun. As long as he knew who he belonged to.   

The noise, regardless, is worth it when Alex chokes on a sob as two fingers push into him. Carefully working him open and quirking upwards to make his smaller cock jump against his abdomen.  So  cute. So pretty.  

“I think I love you.” Evan’s voice is an echo of sincerity in Alex’s mind. It makes him choke on another sob, this time for various reasons. He nods in agreement, one hand reaching down and patting until he can grip Evan’s wrist on the hand that holds his hip. Thumbing over his pulse point adoringly.  

It makes Evan about break.  

Fitting his cock inside of Alex is much easier than all the times before. With lubing Alex up as well as himself and taking the time to stretch, he slides in with hardly any resistance besides Alex’s harsh panting and whining telling him to hurry up. He’s only silenced by hard, bruising kisses with desperate thrusts inside of his body.  

Evan doesn’t take him like an animal, not this time. His thrusts are well timed and deep, making sure Alex feels every inch of him inside of him. Making sure that Alex is moaning against his lips only out of pleasure. Alex’s arms wrap around his neck, holding him tight in turn as his hips start to  cant  and hump with Evan’s. Trying to reach his peak without a care in the world. As long as Evan’s heat stayed on top of him.  

Evan’s voice is a sweet symphony in his head of praise. Calling him a pretty boy, that he’s doing so well taking him, that he’s going to be his sweet little boy  toy  isn’t he? And all Alex can do is nod furiously in turn, clawing at his back and grabbing onto a hook jutting from Evan’s shoulder as he  cums  with a loud cry of his name. Spilling all over his own abdomen as Evan smashes their bodies together to vigorously pump into him.  

Alex is left feeling full and exhausted. Vaguely, he can feel Evan cleaning him up and wrapping him in a blanket, falling asleep in his arms. For once, feeling safe.  

His dreams are plagued, however. As oranges and yellows spin around his vision. The spidery legs coo to him in their multi-voiced persona, “What a special day it is for you. I am sure you shall keep my favorite sated, yes? And in turn, I give you another chance, Alexander. You shall play for the other side.”  

Alex can vaguely feel the change in his system, hardly fighting against it as the legs reach out to him, stroking down his cheeks fondly. “You will be accepted and adored by the rest of my toys.” Its voice is sickly sweet, sounding like a delighted child getting a new toy.  

“Let the rage consume your heart...Seeker. ”  

--  

A scared, panting survivor darts around a new arena. Their eyes flickering all around the new map. It looked like a huge gym, darting into hallways of a  broken down  college. Equipment in the gym allowed them to hide and a huge locker room to boot. Yet, it was far too open, you had to be careful about the generators all tucked into dead ends.  

You had to be careful of the new bare foot killer with a beaming fox mask with a dangerous weapon of kukri. For if you made a sound, anywhere he could hear, you’d hear the rapid padding of his feet heading right for you.  

May the hunt begin, and let rage consume your very thoughts,  

O’ dearest Seeker.  

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, RACH! You’ve been accepted for the role of JULIET with an approved FC change to Ashika Pratt. Admin Rosey: I'm doing a happy dance right now because we finally have a Juliet back in our midst - our lovely, shining principessa has returned back to us again! Rach, your application was so enjoyable to read. It has the soft, melodic cadence of Juliana throughout the interview and laid a great foundation for her growth and development. There was an ease to it that I absolutely adored and I cannot wait to see how she will come to life on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rach

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 8.5 ; These quarantimes are doing  wonders for my activity levels.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  | See below!

Current/Past RP Accounts | Ahhh, so I actually played Delilah FOREVER ago @delilahbello and applied for Halcyon a while back! I know I’ve been in and out of rping for a while, but I literally have so much love for Diverona & it has such a special place in my heart I thought I might try my hand at another character. But if you wanted a more recent account I have @zubeidakhan!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Juliet; Juliana Arina Capulet  (Could I request a FC change to Ashika Pratt and an age up to 26? )

Juliana - “youthful.”

Arina - “peace”

Capulet- “determined, or head-strong”

What drew you to this character? |

I think there’s something to be said about characters that stand the test of time. The very concept of Juliet Capulet has transcended centuries, but I find there’s something particularly alluring about this modern iteration of her. In Juliana. I see this aforementioned transcendence. I see a girl who’s on the cusp of something big-- and I cannot help but be consumed by  a desire to sink my teeth into her complexities and uncover every nook and cranny she has to offer. Juliana is, after all, a girl who’s been forced to grow comfortable with toeing the line between certainty and the great unknown. Yet, beyond that line, I see something much sturdier. I am drawn to Juliet in that I see her as less of a dainty flower and more of a spider’s web (though it is fascinating how morning dew collects on both). It seems to be a recurring tragedy that girls who like flowers and pretty things are often mistaken for being merely that. But with Julianaa, I’m attracted to her haunting, persistent strength, a beauty that is equal parts aching, stubbornness, and gilded thorns. 

I am drawn to the weaving of Juliana’s web-- her paradoxes, if you will. Humans are, after all, paradoxical creatures.  She has loved just as much as she has lost (and she resents with equal rigor). She has the world in her hands, but remains uncontent, her heart bursting at the seams. Pride, compassion, loyalty, obsession-- they all coexist within Juliana manifesting in the form of her ambitions, motivations, and sense of self. Juliana is no stranger to blood and yet hate feels so foreign to her. Her sweetness does not precede her dedication nor her obedience. Juliana feels the weight of the world upon her shoulders, but charges forward unflinchingly. 

And above all, while perhaps cliche, it is love that draws me to Juliana. There is something Machiavellian about Juliana. Not the ‘ends justify the means’ Machiavelli that has been ingrained into our cultural misunderstanding of the man and his philosophies, but rather the Machiavelli who wrote and acknowledged the power of Cupid’s bow. The Machiavelli who loved his wife in a time where love before marriage was a relatively modern idea. The Machiavelli who understood the reach of a beloved leader. Needless to say, there are so many aspects of Juliana’s character that I adore, I would be delighted to play her if given the chance!

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 

One. 

I imagine Juliana’s mother passed away when Juliana was quite young. Young enough for memories to futilely slip away, old enough to mourn and remember her loss. I see Juliana craving for good memories of her mother, just as she aches for the approval of mother’s ghost, a ghost which evades her like wisps of wind slipping through her dainty fingers the moment she's managed a secure grip. I see her as wishing she had more of her mother to replay within her mind like film-- the fire in her smile, the warmth of her embrace, her laughter like melody on a warm, summer day-- but alas, I think Juliana’s found herself trapped with something far more icy-- the frigid image of gaunt woman helplessly falling away from this world and into the next. 

Because of this, I imagine Juliana  still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that she will never know her mother in her prime. It remains the one hollow in her heart, so with all that said, I would love to explore how she attempts to fill that part of herself through her relationships with the other meaningful people in her life.  With her father, I think that she finds blood loyalty. I love the notion of delving into Juliana being both a daughter in the singular (Cosimo’s daughter) and the daughter of the collective (Verona’s daughter). Then again, perhaps it speaks volumes that she sees her father as Verona itself. With this, I want to explore what does blood loyalty mean to Juliana? This is blood loyalty, that very thing that constantly inspires the darkest parts of hers-- frustration, fury, and desperation. Perhaps it ought to be said that even desperation requires ‘lighter’ traits like hope and fealty, but is there a breaking point for Juliana? Does love bolster or shatter her loyalty? Either way, I think that the answers to these questions will guide Juliana’s actions moving forward and would provide an interesting challenge to her character.

Two.

As for the other major figures in her life, Vivianne is arguably her most obvious maternal figure, which is why I think it would be interesting to explore how she seeks a mother’s wisdom and experience from someone who isn’t her blood. I am fascinated by what drove her initial resistance to Vivianne-- was it merely a child’s mourning or perhaps was it foreshadowing that her loyalty is more complicated and pliable than what meets the eye. While I could envision Juliana being played either way (most likely a combination both ways), Juliana’s relationship with Vivianne is a fascinating fixture of her character that I would love to delve deeper into. I think there is much to be learned for Vivianne in the ways of both womanhood and business (though I suspect they are far from separate entities). Vivianne has been a fierce advocate for Juliana, something she’s immensely grateful for, but I would like to see Juliana learn how to advocate for herself. How does the Capulet heiress give weight to her words-- is it the fulfillment of promises? Or better yet, is it the threat of something dangerous to come?

As for Rafaella, Tiberius, and Priam (and possibly even Roman) I cannot help but root for Juliana in her quest to find understanding in this lonesome world. Here is Juliana Capulet, surrounded by people but still so incredibly alone. Such a sweet, vivacious girl ought not to be as lonely as she is. I think that there is a part of Juliana has equated love and understanding. But where love can be evasive and consuming, temporary understanding is achievable. For Juliana it is found in small, kind deeds and shared life experience, but I would love to explore this on a larger scale. How do these tangible aspects of generally abstract concepts apply to Juliana’s unestablished relationships? I think there are many themes to explore there-- generational similarities, shared loss, forgiveness, ect. How do each of these external factors affect her internal sense of duty and loyalty? 

Three. 

Finally, I would like to see Juliana confronted by her privilege. Juliana is a girl born heiress to an empire, free from any want, and while her life has been far from ideal, I would like to see Juliana in a position where her fortune and name loses its relevance. While I suspect that in such a situation. Juliana would be moved to cling on to her faith in love even more, I do wonder if Juliana would take such an opportunity to relieve herself of the burdensome weight of being an heiress, even if only momentarily.  Alternatively, on the topic of love and burdens, I do wonder, how Juliana would grapple with the choice between love and loyalty. Just as she has equalized love and understanding, one of Juliana's biggest blindspots is that she has mistaken love and loyalty to be synonymous, when in fact they are arguably quite contradictory. While she sees herself as loyal to love, I would love to explore Juliana’s mindset as she’s forced to reckon with the two as opposing forces. It’s niave of Juliana to believe her loyalty is enough and I think there’s a part of her that knows that, which would make such a choice all the more enthralling to unpack. 

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes, I mean after all, Romeo & Juliet did end in a very specific way...

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

What is your favorite place in Verona? | 

It’s begun to lightly drizzle in the garden. It’s a hazy summer afternoon, sticky and humid, but Juliana finds herself hard-pressed to move from the bench. Eyes closed, head tilted upwards, she finds she understands the thunderclouds, the raindrops, and the floods that rise to her knees. She’s become numb to the water’s presence, for it’s a cleansing experience to be drenched by the clouds in the sky. They do not know it yet, but she is one of them, a cloud—one moment an innocuous softness, the next a violent hurricane.

Opening her eyes, Juliana is shocked to find she is not alone, but rather in the company of an older stranger who eyes her with burgeoning curiosity. While mostly bare-faced, she still retains her aura of glamour, perhaps aided by the presence of her designer coat and untouched umbrella. Still, for Juliana it is strange to be regarded with such unfamiliarity. In her experience, perfect strangers were so terribly rare in Verona. She seemed to know everyone, or rather, everyone seemed to know her.

The stranger finally approaches her, taking a seat beside Juliana as the rain continues to pick up pace, drenching the garden and all its inhabitants in a light mist.

“Do you have a favorite place around these parts?” the old man asks, his voice deep and raspy, but not entirely unkind. His words are laced with a thick Italian accent, though she suspects he is not a native Veronian like herself. She had always had an ear for accents, an eye for details. His small talk was quaint and unusual, but who was she to deny herself some company and an exchange of words on this drizzly day.

She ponders his question monetarily, mentally tracing through the city in her mind, akin to skimming an elegant finger over a spinning globe. To choose a favorite place in Verona, Juliana thinks, is to choose a favorite child, in that even if one were to say they didn’t have one, they’d certainly be lying. This was not to say it was a particularly simple choice for her, as she liked to think all of Verona was her home. Her soul was old, her heart young, her mind fashioned from little snippets of the city’s vibrant history, forging a strikingly beautiful tapestry of a true Veronian girl. 

“Why, here, of course,” Juliana says, smiling a glossy-lipped smile that could stop lightning in its tracks. “The museum and club are both lovely, but I must admit I’m quite partial to the Twelfth Night’s gardens. When I was younger my father would always hand me a coin to toss into that little fountain by the pond and make a wish. It must be the luckiest, if not the wealthiest, fountain in all of Verona.”

It’s a response that feels breezy and challengeless, but lacks a certain levity that would make it wholly true. It is, of course, only partially true as Juliana had in fact, tossed many coins into the pond over her lifetime. As for the notion of luck, it was fair to say she had been met with mixed results and limited success, but given that her earlier wishes had begun in vain (first begging for her mother’s health and later, for her father to step away from Capulet business) she never found it in herself to fault the fountain entirely. Most recently, she’s begun her newest ritual, tossing in a coin for luck right before particularly dangerous missions, that is until Rafaella had caught her one afternoon, shattering her already precarious spell of belief.

“You do know they just collect the coins at the end of every week,” she recalls Rafaella telling her. 

“And what do they do with them?” Juliana remembers asking with genuine curiosity. 

Rafaella shrugs, “They donate it to the youth program-- they try and get unprivileged kids engaged with the art and history.”

Needless to say, she’s continued to wishlessly drop coins in the fountain ever since.

What does your typical day look like?

She turns her attention from the fountain back towards the stranger who sits beside her, ears engaged with her every word. 

“And you spend most of your days here? In the rain, signora?” he asks gently, with a small chuckle.

“Is this your way of asking what my typical day looks like, signore?” 

“As I grow further from my youth…I cannot help but wonder what it is like to be young in these times,” he responds, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. Ah, so that is what this is, a recaputurement of his youth. While her instincts urge her to avoid such potentially revealing conversation, she cannot suppress her overcoming sympathy for the man. There’s a loneliness in his eyes that she recognizes, the very one she faces each time she peers at her own reflection. 

“If you must know, I do not spend all my time in the rain,” she clarifies, humoring his original query, “I spend most of my days working for my father...it keeps me busy enough.”

“And your father? What does he do?”

“He’s a--” Juliana pauses, as if to search for the right descriptor of her father’s work, that won’t immediately reveal her own identity, “--a businessman, of sorts.” 

She supposes if blood and bone were merely a form of currency, then businessman was certainly an apt descriptor. After all, it took a certain business-sense to run any sort of empire. While she may have inherited her father’s astuteness, she hasn't been rid her of all mercy, for she kills with a precision only a kind girl could have, pulls blood with an accuracy only one who understands pain could know. It takes a delicate touch to snap a neck, elegant restraint to pull life from body, a silken touch to strangle. She takes no joy from causing harm, but she is meticulous in her work, her fingers so soft, so stained with red, it sometimes hurts to say she’s done it all in the name of love. 

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? 

“Business…” the old man mulls, “It's a difficult way to make it in this world...so little room for error.”

“Indeed, mistakes can be lethal,” Juliana nods in agreement. If only he knew that the agreeable girl before him spoke of lethality in the actual sense, as opposed to the metaphorical one. 

“And you, signora? What has been your biggest mistake thus far?” 

Juliana looks at the man with surprise. What odd questions from a stranger. Still, she’s captured by the conversation, a chance to talk so deeply with a man she’s never known, who seems entirely content with listening. She doesn’t know too many listeners in her own life.

She is, however, unsure of how to respond. For one, did not like to dwell on her mistakes and misgivings. It was unbecoming of someone in her position to fail and furthermore, to brood on such failures. 

Nonetheless, her mind flits to one of her earliest missions where her merciful ways had gotten the better of her. She had hesitated a second too long and she quickly learned her lesson when the coolness of the marble floor pressed painfully against her knees, gun digging painfully into her head. She does not weep, for crying would be too easy. Instead, she refuses to let herself drown. Vivianne gives her second life and her father gives her a second chance. 

“I think my biggest mistake does not matter, signor,” Juliana replied, “what matters most is that I will never make it again.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? 

“You are a very wise one, signora,” the man comments and Juliana surprised at the way her heart swells with pride in response to the compliment. He was a mere stranger and yet she already placed value in his approval. Old habits, she supposed. 

“And your father-- he is good to you?” the man asks, “Doesn’t expect too much of you?”

“He is good to me,” Juliana affirms, “Though I fear I am never entirely sure of what he expects of me.”

“In that case, what is the most difficult task that has been asked of you?” he inquires further.

Juliana knows the answer to his question, though she’s not sure if she prepared to reveal it to herself, much less a stranger. Truly, the most difficult thing that’s been asked of her had been to watch her mother fade away so brutally, so slowly. It was, after all, her first acquaintance with injustice. Her failure to do anything to save her mother was painful and lingering, but her salty tears could only last for so long. If only for a moment, she had thought of herself a killer then, unaware of the true brutality that festered within her sweet, blue veins.

Her father had responded to the grief by throwing himself into his work, and she too would follow for reasons entirely different, and yet, entirely the same. 

“To live with loss,” Juliana says with a certain finality, as if to clarify she had no desire to elaborate. 

“Indeed, it is the most difficult task of all. It’s quite strange how one is never explicitly asked to live with loss, and yet here we remain.”

“Here we remain.” Juliana repeats and as if on queue, the clouds begin to part. 

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“Signora, forgive me for prying, but I must ask-- living here, in this city-- what are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” the man asks, a striking turn from his previous question.

And there it was. If all roads led to Rome, then every conversation led to the feud. What could she possibly say in response? My name is Juliana Capulet. This war is in my blood.

He seems to sense her change in demeanor.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I did not mean to startle you with talk of blood and wars, I simply imagined a Veronian girl such as yourself familiar with the tales of this land,” the man explains apologetically, deep frown lines of worry, forming upon his thick brow. 

“Worry not, signor, you do not startle me. I startle far less easily than perhaps it appears. I’m simply afraid I must be on my way now.”

“Of course, my dear. I cherish your time more than you know. May I at least catch your name, signora?”

She slides off the bench gracefully before turning to face the man one final time.

“Juliet. They call me Juliet.”

Extras:

Mock Blog 

Pinterest 

[okimargarvez]

HURT- open wounds 20

Original title: Hurt.

Prompt: Luke’s dark thought, destiny, contrasted love.

Warnings: sexual content, dark thoughts.

Genre: angst, drama, romantic, smut, dark, mistery, frienship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, BAU team, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈🔦🐶❗🎈👻.

Song mentioned: La tua vita intera, Tiziano Ferro.

Hurt- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

Chapter 20

They spend the whole evening embracing, unable to break away from each other.

The few words that are exchanged appear superfluous.

-I was so scared that someone could...- before he could stopped her there were the tears that break the voice. -We protect others, but who protects us?- motions of anger were cyclically followed by delayed panic attacks. The man, on the other hand, had practically remained silent all the time, because the thoughts couldn’t come out. He, too, had felt his own terror, of losing her for a reason like that. Stupid. Just because a woman had decided to inherit her husband's money. And five innocent people had been killed, including Walker's best friend. Anyone could have been killed, the victims were all random, but they worked in the FBI. Like them.

-I have more right than you to be worried.- she had said a few hours before, during a hysterical call. -You are around, a potential victim, while I'm always locked up in this bunker. You go around with a sign on your back that says "Please, insert the needle here.".- and she had burst into tears. But this time he couldn’t reach her to console her. That woman had to be stopped.

-Penelope, nothing will happen to me ... I promise you.- but his sentence had obtained the opposite effect than hoped.

-No, don’t say, don’t say these bullshit.- the word vulgar was sounded very strange out of those lips. -You can’t know how it will go, you can’t know anything! And if I had to lose you... I would never forgive you! Did you understand, Alvez?- he had nodded, but she couldn’t see him.

-We see you at home tonight.- he had merely said, before hang up. A promise, a wish, a hope.

When he had opened the door, she had rejected him in a moment of pride and nervousness, but then she had fallen into the arms of the dark man, without pouring (yet) even a tear, just shaking her head.

And now the tears had run out, the rage consumed, the fear had waned. But she still could not tolerate the idea of having to get away from him. Even before all this mess happened, when they still didn’t know the seriousness of the matter, she hadn’t been able to stay away from him. Who knows if the others had noticed that her computer was on the desk of Luke and that she was less than a meter away, when in theory she had to "hate" or otherwise keep him away. And even during the various meetings they were (almost) always close.

-Hun, are you tired?- now the blonde raises her head from the male chest trying to cross his gaze. She has no answer to give him. Tired is a reductive adjective. Exhausted. Emptied, that thing she never wanted to be in her life. Wouldn’t she have been worried about every member of her team anyway? Sure. But Luke was something different. In the end she decides to shake her head. She doesn’t want to go to sleep. She rather wants to stay with him until her strength will vanish, until she loses consciousness. She doesn’t want to consciously be separate from him. Why all the other times she seemed less anxious? Maybe she just pretended, she made fun of herself.

Too many thoughts whirl in Luke's head. Those ghosts who had abandoned him have returned to visit him at the sight of Stephen's friend's son. It was going better to Phil, but really? Only from the physical point of view, because mentally it was as if he were dead. And he was dead too, until he met Penelope, she, his blond angel, his Scandinavian goddess, who had made him "resuscitate." She had brought him back to life, she had given him the desire to live again. He loved her, with every part of himself; he hadn’t chosen to fall in love with her, but he would never renegade it. It had been beautiful and frightening at the same time, to see on her face the pure terror (the same that he felt) for the risk that he had ran.

After discovering that those who had messed up with Reid were a womans, Emily had advised everyone to take the evening to rest their mind. And they had chosen a creative way to perform the task given by the boss. A fantasy that they both had for a long time. They had to wait long, until everyone had really gone home, including Prentiss and Rossi. And then they had done it. An authentic madness. But this was possible because his girlfriend was a hacker and had turned off all the cameras, as well as temporarily blocked them both inside the BAU floor, so that no one, even if he wanted to, would be able to get in. All for a "quickie" on Luke's desk. Before it was deserted, devoid of any personal sign and now brought a bit 'of books, but above all two puppets, one in the form of "mini Roxy", both naturally gifts of beautiful computer technician.

-What do you think?- she caresses his neck and part of his chest. His hands are instead around her shoulders. He feels her breath on the skin, warm and comforting. How did he live on this earth before he met her?

-Many things. Too many things.- he bends over to kiss her hair. -How lucky I am. To be here, to be with you, to have Roxy, to do a job like that with people wonderful. Although dangerous, it causes you anxieties and worries...- their eyes cross each other. -But don’t believe that I am less anguished than you. After all, the time you risked your life you were not even "on a mission", am I wrong?- Penelope lowers her head with a guilty attitude. -Hey, I'm not saying you've been looking for it!- he hurries to add. -I only want to advance the claim to be worried too, you don’t have the exclusivity. Clear?- she nods and leans out just enough to put her lips on his. -I didn’t tell you quite often, I don’t even know why... maybe I don’t want it to become a sort of habit, but anyway... I love you, and I hope I can prove it day by day.-

-Luke!- the tone sounds like a rebuke. -Of course, you do. It's me that I still have some... resistance. I think I'm afraid... if I'd let myself go, I'd lose you. And I would suffer again. And I don’t know if I could survive. I know it's stupid, that doesn’t make sense... but it's what I feel.- he lifts her chin and for the first time after what seems to be centuries, their bodies are slightly distanced.

-Honey, I'm sure one day you'll be able to tell me the same. And anyway, there are so many ways to do it, without opening your mouth. For example, trying to wait for me awake or tase me on the phone with all your fears. Every time you invent a new one to surprise me- a significant pause -you don’t need to tell me, Penelope. I read love very well in your eyes.- a man like that, she risked letting go of a man like that. Sweet, sexy, beautiful, intelligent... perfect, but she never liked perfection. In fact, he also has his faults.

-We can live in this instant forever?- a naive and overused question. He laughs.

-What does it assure you that the future can’t be even better?- his look is already mischievous. But it's not the time for that.

-Yes, but... can we stay a little 'hugged for a while, however?- there are women who ask for diamonds, the moon, a house by the sea... and then there is his, who is content to have him next. But it is not a little thing, it is a great claim: in her sentence is in fact hidden the precise imposition to back home every evening, after a case. Back home alive and well or that pretty butt could be spanked.

-What you think if we would change location? I start to feel a little too much in symbiosis with the couch.- they giggle together, then he leads her into the bedroom, where Roxy awaits.

-Luke...- the blonde breaks the silence, after both are under the covers. -You never thought of expanding the family ?- what should he imagine about such a question? What is she talking about? Not about that... it's not possible. But why the thought just makes him print a stupid smile in his face? Fortunately, the light is off, and the moon is obscured by clouds that herald a storm, so she can’t see his idiotic expression. The woman's fingers intertwine with his. The hunter catches prey. -Cathie’s cat, one of the participants in the therapy group... do you remember?- she catches the slight movement of the head -...well, her cat has made puppies and there is only one left. He has a crooked tail and for this reason nobody is taking him. So I thought... nothing, leave it alone.- Luke feels every nuance, every emotion in the tone of Penelope. And the last feeling is... sadness. What partly he feels too, when he realizes that in the end she wasn’t referring to what he believed. Maybe it's better this way. Even if…

-Hey, hey, honey, why don't talking about it? I like the prospect of having another reason to come back here.- he smiles, but again, she can’t see him. But perhaps she feels his aura. -And to you, too, girl?- he gives Roxy a pat, who is complaining that she was disturbed in the middle of a beautiful dream. -What name did you give him?- Penelope can’t hold back a surprised exclamation.

-How do you know I've already given him a name?- Luke laughs.

-Even if you don’t like it, I know you all too well, Miss Garcia.- he teases her and then kiss her, pressing her head on the pillow. -So, the name?- she gasps and took a while to recover.

-Twisty. I know it's not very creative, but since it has a crooked tail...- the man nods. The choice has been approved.

-When are we going to get him?-

 The kitten turns out to be big enough to take up the cage that they brought with them. He has a short fur, completely black, of a spectacular shine. The tail bends in the opposite direction, right on the tip, yet what might look like a flaw makes it simply particular, weird in a good way, just like his future wife. As soon as she sees him, Penelope's eyes grow larger and more intense. It is that maternal gaze that causes him strange thoughts, meditations that he has never done in more than forty years of life, and now... he too is not able to remain immune from the charm of the newcomer. Especially when the cat starts purring as soon as he is picked up. There will certainly be scratches and bites, pee where he doesn’t have to... but now he doesn’t want to think about it.

He doesn’t admit it, but he is very worried about the big meeting. His fears prove to be unfounded. Roxy greets the unexpected guest with suspicion but doubts last for a while. In short, even the real diva of the house gives her approval, especially when she understands that he will not eat her food and will not steal the affection of her masters.

-He reminds me very much Sergio, Emily's cat.- sighs the woman, the arms of his man around her hips, while together they contemplate the two little monsters that sleep together on the bed, occupying it almost entirely. -There are still a lot of things that I have to tell you, Alvez.- she turns her head in his direction.

He nods. He loves to listen to her, to hear her tell pieces of life that don’t concern him. But not now, not right now. -Sooner or later. Sooner or later.- he whispers, making her shiver. He cradles her, they sway together. -There's no hurry.- and they both want to believe it, to have their whole life in front of them, whatever that expression means.

__________________________

TAG LIST: @shyladystudentfan  @norge-the-great @avengerquake123 @reidskitty13 @eclipseflower123 @lovebennycolon @pegasus-scifichick @theshamelessmanatee  @beana83 @ilovegarvez @martinab26 @hideourscars @ gracieeelizabeth27 @iliketomakecreampie @hepensadocosaspeores @arses21434 @sillygirlspy @mymidnightnightmare @teyamarra @mydreampenelope @lilises-blog @cosmicmelaninflower @thinitta @extremeobsessions101 @agentbishop @hellodawnwrightfan @kiki-krakatoa @amieatingevidence @ leftlamphumanfestival @ella1239me @flufflehufflepuffle I tagged just who liked at least a chapter of this story. Tell me if you want to be removed from the tag list ^^

[villainousvillains]

Loki x Reader - Lesson Four: It’s Important to Feel Comfortable

Requested by Anon: I have an idea for another aura fic where she is in a big battle with everyone else, and as she is almost killed by a bad guy, her aura pulsates like a supernova and sends everything in a ten foot radius flying! She doesn’t know how she did the aura pulse, nor does she have control over it, so another lesson ensues to try and master the pulse!

A/N: *whispers* I love this one so much. eep. Also this title took me 20 years to come up with and I don’t like it I’m sorry. It doesn’t do this fic justice. In the process I came up with a title for another “lesson” so. Request away so I can use it. And another also, I’m posting this at a different time than normal bc I just finished it and I want to get it out as soon as possible bc I love it but then I had laptop troubles but I’ll probably reblog it tomorrow to make sure ppl see it bc I’ve seen other writing blogs do that... phew I’m kind of a crazy mess right now but writing this aura reader made me feel a lot better.

Other aura reader stuff:

Lesson One: Know Who You’re Up Against

Lesson Two: Leave the Past Alone

Lesson Three: Choose Your Words Wisely

Introductions

Ghost

“Have I taught you nothing?” Loki’s annoyed voice rang into my ear.

“Essentially!” I spat back, wiping debris and sweat off my face. Loki had been pissing me off so much today, and the fact that I was losing every battle I engaged in did not help.

“Get away from that one; I’ll handle him,” Loki barked. I sat straight up.

“No! I got it!” My feet slid in the dirt as I stood up, but I managed. My head swirled when I got to my feet and it took me a few seconds to catch my breath, but I quickly reengaged with the guy I was fighting. He was a scrawny dude, but his weapon was the biggest problem. He kept knocking me off my feet and catching me off guard, not giving me a chance to recompose.

“Stay one step ahead of him! Don’t let-”

I shut my earpiece off with a short growl, and summoned my aura to launch my body into the air, shooting wing-like shapes into the air in the color of my aura. I dodged the shots fired at me with ease, then dove in, trying to knock the weapon out of his hands. My efforts were in vain, and with a huff, I hovered back up in the air. Before I had time to react, I felt a surge of pain throughout my body. My focus was interrupted and I fell to the ground with a thud. I looked down and saw I was wrapped in some electric wire that the guy had shot from his weapon. The more I struggled, the tighter it wrapped, and the more my vision got blurry. I summed my aura the best I could, but it kept fading away. I groaned in pain, but I wasn’t about to give up. With a final burst of energy, I shut my eyes, suddenly getting my second wind. I was overwhelmed with energy and auras, consuming everything that surrounded me, then I felt no pain.

My ears rang, and I slowly opened my eyes. The wires that had previously been causing me so much pain sat beside me in useless strands, but the more surprising thing I saw was the barren wasteland that now sat in front of me. I wheezed, trying to catch my breath, as I looked that the circle I had created in the dirt and debris around me. Every bad guy we had been fighting was on the ground, which was good, but so was every avenger who had been grounded. I saw Cap sit up, dazed, and Nat laying face down.

I threw my hand to my ear to turn my communications back on. “Loki?” I breathed. “Where are you? Are you-”

“Y/n, are you okay? You weren’t near that explosion, were you?” He called back, voice frantic.

“I… I think I was the explosion.”

. . . . . . .

I never wanted to move again. My legs were sore, my arms were sore, muscles I didn’t know existed where sore. It was awful. It had been three days since the mission and the soreness had only dulled a little.

I rolled out of bed like a burrito and walked to the kitchen for breakfast, wrapped in a blanket that made me feel secure. Loki was there as I walked in, like he usually was, eating the leftover breakfast casserole we didn’t even know who had made.

“Hey,” I muttered, opening the freezer, looking for sausage biscuits.”

“Hi,” he replied, his voice sounding slightly concerned, but I ignored it. He hadn’t spoken to me much since after the mission. He was probably still mad at me. I put the biscuits in the microwave and turned around to lean against the fridge, facing Loki.

“You’re still mad,” I stated.

“Extremely,” Loki grumbled, pushing his food around with his fork.

I pursed my lips and nodded. “You’re not exactly reacting the way I thought you would.” Loki took in a deep breath, pondered saying something, then didn’t. “I’d rather you yell at me.”

“I’m not going to scold you.”

“Well, you should do something. I don’t know. You’re being annoying.”

Loki let out a grunt, making my eyes widen, not sure why I had asked him to react normally. “You are… absurd!” he exclaimed. I licked my lips and pressed them together in nervousness. “You don’t listen to me, you haven’t been using any of the skills I’ve taught you, and now you refuse to use your powers at all because of what happened last time! And you won’t talk about it with anyone! Not even me.” The last part was more of a mutter than anything else, but the rest was what I expected to hear immediately after the mission. Except for the part about me not using my powers. I didn’t think he had noticed.

“I have used my powers…”

“A blatant lie? Really? You usually try to mask it more than that,” Loki hissed, all fired up now. He stood up in a huff and threw his plates in the sink.

“I’ve only been resting,” I said, trying again. Loki turned to face me with a scary smile.

“See? Now that’s more like it,” he said with false pride, pointing a finger at me. “That one is more difficult to see through because that’s a lie you’re also telling yourself.” I rolled my eyes, exasperated by his ability to see through me. “If you believe it, then so should I,” he continued. “But the problem for you,” He came close to me and put his hands on both of my arms, “is that I know you too well.”

I looked up at him then down as I let out a sigh. “I really don’t want to use my powers again. That was… something I didn’t know I could do, and if I trigger it again... “ I trailed off and looked at Loki for reassurance.

“We’re going to have another lesson,” Loki told me, and I shook my head, fear coursing through my veins. “We’re going to have another lesson because you need to get over this fear. You’re not going to hurt anyone.”

I trusted Loki with my life, but I absolutely did not believe him.

. . . . . . .

“Start with the small stuff until you feel comfortable again,” Loki instructed. My hands shook, and I hated it. I had never been afraid of my powers. Even when I was still with my parents and they were afraid, and I still couldn’t totally control it, I knew I would never hurt anyone with it. It wasn’t like a weapon I possessed. It was my aura. It was a part of me and a part of everyone. I wasn’t creating anything out of thin air, I was using what already existed.

“I really don’t feel comfortable at all, Loki.” I couldn’t bring myself to do anything with my powers. It suddenly hurt to look at the auras that surrounded me. I wanted to crawl back in bed.

“Alright. New approach,” Loki announced, rubbing his hands together, evil villain style. He looked around at the gym. “It’s a bit tight in here, isn’t it?”

I shrugged and nodded, but Loki didn’t even look at me for a response. His aura dashed to his fingers, swirling around his palm as he raised his arm. Slowly, he moved his arm, rotating his body around the room, and as he did, the entire location changed. We were suddenly in an open, grassy field. I looked at Loki, confused.

“Where-”

“It’s actually quite hard to explain, but you won’t hurt anyone here,” Loki answered, looking around at the open field, breathing in the fresh air.

“I could hurt you,” I pointed out.

“You won’t,” he replied, not a care in the world. “Now, let’s figure this out.”

He helped me get comfortable again. He let me lift him up, talked me through relearning illusions, flying, picking up inanimate objects.

“You feel better?” Loki asked as i guided myself back down.

“Yeah,” I replied, breathing hard. I had tried to do tricks in the air.

“You really need to better your stamina,” Loki observed.

I reluctantly nodded. “Yeah, I know,” I grumbled. “I’m using my energy, though. I can’t just… make more.”

Loki picked up a finger. “Ah, which reminds me. Do you have any idea how you created that… pulse? If that was all your own power, you should have passed out or-”

“No, I should have died,” I corrected him. Loki fell silent, but I didn’t let the air stay quiet for long. “I think I used the energy from the electric rope around me? Or just from the auras around me… I’m not really sure. It was a blur.”

Loki nodded along, thinking. “I have an idea.”

“I’m not doing that again,” I said, stopping any plan he was forming.

“You need to know how to control it and how to do it,” he told me while I shook my head vigorously. “It could be very useful.”

“No, Loki. If something goes wrong I don’t know what could happen.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“I might!” I barked. “Once again, I don’t know-”

“I can protect myself.” Loki’s voice felt like he was putting a spell on me. So firm and confident but also soothing and gentle.

“You haven’t in the past,” I argued, thinking back to the two times I launched him across a room with barely any effort.

Loki tilted his head with a smirk. “You think I would let you push me over that many times and not figure out how to defend myself? Don’t forget our first lesson.”

“How could I ever?” I said dryly, shaking my head. “You only bring it up every five seconds.”

“Trust me,” Loki said, tilting his head down, forcing me to look in his eyes. “It’s better for you to do this.”

I bit the inside of my lip and looked around that the open, harmless area. “Fine!” I gave in. “Okay. Fine. Let’s do this. What’s your… stupid idea.”

Loki let out a laugh. “Alright. I’ll summon as much magic as I can. I’m not completely sure how the summoning works. Usually I just… do things, but I’ll try, then you use that energy along with some of yours to create the pulse.”

I sighed and nodded.

“But,” Loki continued, remembering something. “Not too much of your own.”

I continued nodding, then shook my arms out, getting ready. “Okay,” I breathed. “Okay, okay, I’m ready.”

Loki gave a short nod and shut his eyes. I watched him more intently than I every had. His aura became a deep green and flowed around him like a current. It was beautiful. I snapped out of it before I became to dazed and focused his energy the best I could. I felt awake again, like I had during the mission. Loki summoned so much power, it was almost more than what I had felt before. I shut my eyes, quickly becoming overwhelmed. What I previously had thought was just a second wind, I knew now was just pure energy. Pure aura. Whether it was Loki’s natural aura, his magical aura, or my own aura, I had it all. I felt a rush, then a familiar ringing in my ears that meant it was over.

My eyes stayed shut longer than they really needed to, but I almost never wanted to open them again. I was scared of what I might see. When I finally managed to open my eyes, I wasn’t too surprised. The grassy field was now mainly dirt and upturned plants. I whipped around, trying to find Loki, but he wasn’t where he had been.

“Loki,” I said, almost growling. He had promised I wouldn’t hurt him. He had told me he would be fine. If he even had a scratch, I was going to kill him. “Loki?” I called, louder this time.

“Here.” I heard a gravelly voice call from behind a small hill that used to be covered in grass. I ran over to the voice despite my legs being jelly. I jumped to the bottom of the small hill and found Loki there, on his back, face covered in dirt.

“You said you wouldn't get hurt!” I screamed, angrier than I had ever been. “Fuck, Loki, you said!”

“I’m fine!” He assured me, trying to sound confident but it failed when he grimaced slightly as he sat up. I fell to his side, conflicted between being concerned or furious. “I’m really fine. It happened more suddenly that I thought it would, so I was just a bit late in deploying my shield.”

“I swear to god, Loki, I’m so pissed right now I just-” I growled through clenched teeth. Loki laughed and put his hand on my arm. I glared at him in response.

“That was impressive,” he said, looking at me in admiration.

“Thanks,” I muttered in response. “I don’t like doing it.”

“But now you know how. It could be-”

“Very useful, I know.”

Loki nodded and looked down, then back at me. “No one is going to force you to use it. We don’t have to tell the others about this.”

I licked my lips. “I’d rather not.”

Loki and I looked at each other in understanding and in… something else that I couldn’t pinpoint.

“You have so much dirt on your face,” I said with a small smile. Loki only kept staring at me, one eyebrow ever so slightly cocked, as if I hadn’t said anything. I cleared my throat. “Hello? Earth to Loki?” I  waved a hand in front of him, snapping him out of whatever trance he had been in.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Shall we return?”

I nodded, eyebrows furrowed, and he put us back in the gym within seconds. Loki’s aura was still fairly active as we stood up, and mine was as well, despite having recovered from my aura pulse. But it was strange because I didn’t feel energetic or frantic or overwhelmed like when I was about to release the pulse.

I suddenly reached my arm out and grabbed Loki’s sleeve, forcing him to look at my distraught facial expression. “Oh my god,” I said, heart racing. “I forgot my sausage biscuits in the microwave.”

Another A/N: Okay wait wouldn’t “Pulse” be a cool superhero name for aura reader? Maybe that’s just me? Idk I feel like that’s pretty damn cool.

TAGGED:

@sarahivi @ilvermornyqueen @gladerb5 @tbetz0341 @1800-fight-me @nowitsyourturntocry @lokilover2000 @emergenciesstory @savemealoevera @frostymoon11 @stayfrosty-royalsunshine @scarred-neptinite @phonegalhelp @cruisingheightswithdragons @lusty-loki @ourdeliciousfoxcollector

[the-roadkill-cafe]

a dream one night in spring

Summary: Mito invents a jutsu, and changes the face of the shinobi world. A what-if fic.

Rating: T

Author’s Notes: This idea was born because I got really tired of female characters (even ones that are canonically non entities, like Mito) being overshadowed by their male peers, both in canon and in fanon, even though canon supports or outright states she is supposed to be the best in her area. So instead of Tobirama using fuuinjutsu to invent his jutsu, I imagined a canon where Mito did, just to see if she could, and then gave them to Tobirama to test and would eventually become famous for them.

The title is taken from Royall Tyler's translation of the Heike Monogatari, the Tale of Heike. The line in question is a reference to the perils of pride, and is a prediction for one of the main characters of the story. The line goes "the arrogant do not long endure/they are a like a dream one night in spring."; I'm using it here to reference Mito's hubris.

This fic is for @jaycrowind, who has been my friend for a few years now, and has also graciously beta'ed most of my Naruto fics. Without her encouragement, my current WIPs would not exist at all, and I am forever indebted to the immense help she has given me in the conception, shaping, and editing of my work.

“What did you want?”

Various masks set in different expressions glared down at Tobirama, as if displeased that he had intruded upon sacred Uzumaki grounds. He was tempted to sneer at them in return but for the fact that they were inanimate objects. Instead he trained his focus on Mito who had yet to acknowledge him.

She painted a few more strokes on the elaborate scroll she was working on. There were a few seal matrices that Tobirama recognized. Most he did not. Several ink wells and brushes lay scattered around her, the tools of an Uzumaki fuuinjutsu specialist trained in seal work far more intricate and arcane than the rest of the continent would ever know.

At last she set her brush to the side and looked up. “I have another jutsu for you to try,” she said. Candlelight cast her face into shadow and made her appear wraith-like, a restless ghost haunting the Uzumaki shrine built for her.

Tobirama crossed his arms. “The last time you gave me a jutsu to try, I ended up teleporting into a tree.”

Mito sniffed. “There is always trial and error when it comes to the invention of new jutsu and seal work. I told you that there was a chance of distortions in time or space with that jutsu.”

“I also ended up in the ocean,” he said dryly.

“You could’ve ended up one hundred years in the past. You should be thankful there were only problems with the space matrix,” Mito snapped. “Besides, the jutsu worked out fine in the end. I’ve expanded my knowledge of the space-time continuum and you can kill other people faster than ever before.”

Tobirama ignored the dig at his motives. Instead he examined the large scroll and its intricate seal work. He still couldn’t discern the purpose of the seal, but Tobirama knew enough to know that Mito was once again pushing the limits of human knowledge and ability, if not destroying them entirely.

“What is the purpose of this jutsu?” Tobirama asked.

“You mentioned something once about winning wars without losing any soldiers. This jutsu should do that for you,” Mito said. He frowned at her seemingly casual answer. It was unusually evasive. When Mito made a discovery, she was eager to share it with anyone she thought might understand her brilliance. He glanced around the shrine again.

Finally, he said, “does Hashirama know what you’re working on?” Tobirama tapped the seal matrix that he knew for certain represented a summoning.

“Of course he knows I’m working on something,” Mito scoffed. “He might be preoccupied with Madara at the moment, but even that wouldn’t distract him from realizing his wife is missing several hours a day.”

Tobirama narrowed his eyes at his sister-in-law. “That isn’t what I asked you.”

Mito’s face was unreadable to him, but her cool chakra wasn’t. It shifted and turned with anxiety that betrayed her. He wondered when she would invent a seal that prevented her chakra from giving away her moods. It couldn’t be long in coming; she knew well that he was a sensor, and hated that he could always without fail read her moods. Under her make up, he could see faint lines of painted on seals, though he couldn’t make them out. He wondered what she felt she needed to seal inside herself today.

“Does it matter? It will do what you wish. Soldiers who cannot die. They will not eat. They will not sleep. They will only fight, until there is nothing left. Or you command them to stop.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder.

“Ah, so you have created something that even you will acknowledge has crossed some line.” Tobirama smirked. “What is it? What has made even an Uzumaki take pause in their pursuit for knowledge?”

Her jaw lifted in a proud, stubborn tilt. “It was the next natural step. While you shinobi of the continent have spent your time thinking of new ways to destroy each other, the Uzumaki bent the seas and storms to our will. With the Hiraishin, I have begun to conquer time and space. With this,” she gestured to the scroll between them, “I have gained control over the Shinigami, and so I will now begin to claim life and death for my own as well. You decide who will die. I will decide who will live.”

She paused. Tobirama parsed through her speech, reading between the lines to see what she was actually saying. A summoning seal with control over the Shinigami, that could create tireless, undying shinobi. The ability to control life and death. His eyes widened in realization.

“You found a way to bring back the dead,” he breathed.

“Nearly,” Mito said. “It isn’t perfect. They are not truly alive, and the sort of half life they have...this jutsu is perhaps best suited for our enemies rather than our allies. But it is a start down the road to a complete, perfect resurrection.”

Tobirama peered down at the scroll while he listened to her. How he wished he could divine the secrets of this fuuinjutsu. But he had never had the time to properly learn Uzumaki style sealing, which was without a doubt the most effective form of sealing the shinobi world had ever seen. It was also the most esoteric and archaic.

“What does it need to work?” he asked her.

Mito frowned. “It takes a lot of power. The kind that takes years upon years to store….or the kind found in a single human life. A sacrifice, and the blood of the person you wish to bring back.”

“Death and desecration. So this is why you didn’t want to tell Hashirama what it was you were creating,” Tobirama said, springing his trap. “You feared what he might think.”

Mito became subdued. Her lack of immediate response told Tobirama he had found the source of her unease. It was true Hashirama’s charisma made people want to be a better version of themselves. It even appeared to work on Madara. Tobirama had thought that Mito had been immune to it, but now he saw that she wasn’t.

“Hashirama has a fanciful dream for peace. And that dream is becoming a reality,” Tobirama started. “But he was also raised in an era of war, no different from me, and with a unique power of his own to defend the clan and fight his enemies. If he thought it was necessary, there is nothing Hashirama would stop at to protect this peace he has created, not even the violation of the laws of life and death.  He will be pleased with this jutsu.”

A shy smile grew on Mito’s face, startling Tobirama with its girlishness. He often forgot, with Mito’s normally reserved demeanor, that Mito had chosen to leave her clan for Hashirama as much as Hashirama had broken contract to marry Mito instead of her elder sister. They were devoted to each other.

“I should show it to him right away then,” she murmured. “I haven’t spoken with him about it at all yet. Perhaps tonight…”

Tobirama rolled his eyes. “There’s no sense becoming excited over it before we even know if it works. When do you want me to test this?”

The growing aura of tenderness abruptly fell away from Mito as her mind returned to more important matters. “Immediately, of course,” she said briskly. “There’s no need to wait. You can try it on anyone you please.” She set about rolling up the scroll and binding it shut.

“And what do you call this new jutsu?” he asked. Mito met his eyes, thrilled satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.

“Edo Tensei.”

[solangalove]

Pride

Here’s a mini-Solangelo fic. It’ll be up on my fanfiction account as well. Hope you enjoy!

Nico sat in his cabin, toying with the laces of his sneakers. He didn’t want to do anything or talk to anyone, but there, unfortunately, wasn’t much to do in his cabin. He wanted to leave for a few days, but the only person he would consider taking with him was Will, who didn’t want to leave. And anyway, Will said that he already had plans for this weekend.

He buzzed his lips and looked up at his ceiling. The paint was already beginning to chip, and it had only been put on about two years ago. Maybe that was a project that he could consider adopting. The other campers, as he had quickly figured out, do not understand what a son of Hades actually wants.

Nico nearly jumped off the bed when his door opened, swinging wide open - a loud bang being heard when it hit the wall. He stared at the face of his...significant other; flushed and smiling, Will Solace was even out of breath. He just stood in the doorway, not saying a word.

“Not a mind reader.” Nico spoke, breaking the silence. “You have to tell me what’s gotten you all worked up, or I’ll never know.”

“City.” Will spit out in between deep pants. “Noon.”

Nico didn’t move, but tied his shoes up. He had a feeling he would be forced to move in a moment. “What’s happening in the city at noon? Something god-y?”

Will shook his head, his smile never wavering. “Pride.”

Nico frowned habitually, not understanding. “Pride? What kind of pride? Whose pride? Five W’s, Solace.”

“LGBT pride, Nico.” He said, his breath finally beginning to even out. “It’s today, at noon!”

Nico got up off his bed, taking note of the shadow in the corner. He was already feeling uncomfortable about wherever this was going. He wasn’t very comfortable with his sexuality - and this definitely sounded like something bad. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a pride parade in the city.” He explained. “I got permission for us to attend, Nico! We can go!”

“Excuse me?” Nico said, more of a statement than a question. “I am not going into New York City - one of the largest cities in the country - only to flaunt my sexuality in front of a bunch of people I don’t know.”

Will’s smile began to shrink. “It's not really flaunting. It’s exactly what it sounds like - celebrating and taking pride in who you are. There will be hundreds of people just like us, Nico!”

Hundreds of people just like us, Nico! He resisted the urge to gulp. “Whoever said that I had pride in who I am to begin with? There isn’t much to be proud of.”

The blonde’s smile completely vanished. “Okay, I guess. Never mind, Nico. I forgot that big public things like that aren’t really your thing.”

********

Nico couldn’t find Will anywhere.

He wasn’t in or by the lake, nor the climbing wall. He checked the Big House, to find nothing, as well as the dining pavilion. Nico checked each of the cabins, just in case, but he wasn’t in any of them - not even the Apollo cabin.

He didn’t really mean to, but he began to worry. It wasn’t often that Will went missing - that was normally Nico’s job. Suddenly, he understood what everyone said about how annoying and worrisome it was when he always disappeared. Nico made a mental note to try and be better with his tendency to run when things got rough.

One of Will’s siblings must have noticed that he was in distress because one of them that he recognized made their way over to him. She scanned him up and down, hands on her hips.

“You looking for my brother, di Angelo?” She asked, smirking.

He frowned and gave off his signature aura of death. He was trying to be intimidating, which wasn’t very hard for him. Even Jason Grace - one of the few people that Nico considered somewhat close to him - was a little scared of him. “Maybe I am. Why? Do you know where he is?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do know where he is.”

Nico immediately made fierce eye-contact with the green-haired girl. He felt his constantly-hunched shoulders straighten, but he chose not to acknowledge it. He kept sending off bad vibes, making the girl uncomfortable. “You do? Where the hell did he go?”

She smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Tell me.” Nico insisted, trying to remain civil only because she’s Will’s sibling. “I deserve to be in-the-know about him, too.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t he tell you where he was going himself?”

Nico hesitated. Why didn’t Will tell him where he was going. A tight, clutching feeling took root in his stomach - a weaker version of a feeling that he had often felt the ghost of on the Argo II. Kayla saw that he was upset (Damn it, Nico. Don’t let people see that!), and tried to reach out to touch his shoulder. Nico flinched back before she made contact.

Breathing in and gathering all the courage he could suck through the cracks of the tightness in his stomach, Nico spoke in his infamous your-a-dead-man tone. “Look, Kayla. If you don’t tell me where your brother is, you will regret it. I am his boyfriend, and I deserve to know where he is just as much as you do - so tell me.”

To Nico’s surprise, Kayla laughed. She smiled sweetly, seeming to lose the bitchy attitude she’s held the entire time. “I’m just messing with you. Of course, I’ll tell you where my brother went!”

Nico sighed. This girl...

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call Will your boyfriend out loud before.” She commented, and Nico felt his blood rush warm for a moment. “I think you should do it more often. Will says it all the time. You scolded him about it when our dad was here.”

“I won’t be saying it again because I don’t like that word.” Nico clarified. He wasn’t lying - the word boyfriend really didn’t settle right in his stomach. “I’ll have to talk to Will about it when I see him. And speaking of...”

Her eyes opened wider. “Right! Will! He went into the city for some parade.”

He went by himself...?

“Thanks!” Nico called out to her before taking off toward the Big House. He grabbed the largest bottle of Gatorade he could find (which probably belonged to someone, but he’d deal with that later) and ran into a corner where the light from the windows didn’t quite reach; the shadows.

A few seconds later, he was in a back alley of New York City. He opened the Gatorade (Lemon? Will do.) and walked out into the crowded streets. He would never be able to find Will! There were far too many people to look through.

Now, Nico wasn’t the tallest person to ever have existed (much to his dismay) so he couldn’t see much from where he was. But, being small, he was able to worm his way to the front with minimal hassle. And when he did...

Nico couldn’t believe what he saw.

People. So many people, wearing so many colors - and all with giant smiles on their faces. So many different men and women in various combinations, both as friends and together romantically. Paint, glitter, flags - Nico could barely take it all in.

Tears began welling in his eyes, and he was too distracted to stop them from falling.

The hand on his shoulder jolted him back to reality. He spun around, hand already on the hilt of his sword, before calming down after seeing who it was. Without saying a word, he turned back to face the street again - and then got glitter thrown on him. He didn’t flinch.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Nico nodded, absentmindedly.

“I told you you’d like it.”

Without removing his eyes from the parade, Nico took Will’s hand - a gesture that he didn’t often instigate. But Nico couldn’t help himself. What he was seeing in front of him, he couldn’t process. The colors, the people, the pride.

If this was fascist Italy, these people would be dead.

I won’t be saying it again because I don’t like that word. 

Nico really didn’t like it - maybe because he had been raised in such a conservative time period. But, maybe, if given time, he’d come around. He’s already come so far.

And...just once...

“Will,” Nico said, slowly looking up at his boyfriend, knowing that he probably looked like a little kid - because of his tears, and the rare hope in his eyes. Will looked down and met his eyes, “I love you.”

The shocked expression on Will’s face was enough to bring out the smile that had been trying to push itself onto Nico’s face the entire time. It hurt his face a little; his muscles weren’t used to moving like that. He must have been a precious sight because Will’s face lit up. He threw his arms around Nico’s body and arms, pulling him into a hug against his chest.

His muscles tightened, not used to so much contact at once - especially at such close quarters. Maybe it was the length of the day. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the parade. Maybe he was just feeling brave. Nico wasn’t sure. But, slowly, he relaxed and melted into the embrace.

He let Will hold him. In the middle of crowded New York City. And he didn’t pull away. This was new for Nico, but that parade had some magical effect on him. He did feel braver - felt more pride in who he was.

And he knew - knew and didn’t care - that he loved his...boyfriend. Nico di Angelo loved Will Solace. And...he felt a sense of safety and security from being nuzzled in Will that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since being held by Bianca when he was scared.

Maybe there was something about Pride.

It certainly was beautiful.

[shootingstarcipher-blog]

Like Mad (Chapter One: Break Me)

That noise… A blaring siren that attacked his senses every goddamn morning, always with the same result – a unbearable feeling of grogginess and a throbbing headache that made him wish more than ever for his life in there to end. And sometimes, on particularly bad days, he wished his life would end altogether. This was to be expected from most individuals in his position but for Dipper Pines it was a completely foreign experience, at least until those particularly bad days stopped cropping up once or twice a month and started to take over his life entirely. Now every day was a particularly bad day.

And those particularly bad days had gotten even worse over the last few weeks. Now that his sister was no longer visiting him every day like she used to – he knew it was because of school work and not because she’d stopped caring about him, but the idea that they were growing apart was too compelling to ignore – loneliness and isolation were well on their way to consuming him. It was no surprise that his dreams were plagued with the demons of his past, taunting him, reminding him they would always be there. In his mind, they were all he really had.

Nobody believed a word of what he said. There were no such things as demons, they told him. There were no such things as ghosts or monsters either, or journals that told of the details of those mystical beings. It was all just a story. It was all in his head. And his head felt as though it were about to explode.

The siren didn’t help.

His eyes were practically glued shut and every muscle in his weak, slender body insisted on him refusing to get up. He did as they instructed until another command came along, this time in the form of a pair of iron fists banging against the metal door beside him. At this point he yawned, forced his eyes to peel themselves open, and stood, leaving the intolerably uncomfortable bed behind and stepping onto the even harder, even less comfortable floor. As per usual, a hatch opened at the bottom of the door and a voice called out to him, though he never did manage to catch what it was saying. Then, at his feet appeared a bowl of grey, ambiguous sludge that didn’t smell as putrid as it looked but certainly wasn’t pleasant. Breakfast. He sniffed at it and then gulped. The hatch swung shut with an almost silent clang.

During the first few months of his time there he had eaten every last mouthful of whatever food the nurses put in front of him, simply out of hunger and fear of what would happen should he ever refuse. Now he just poured it out behind his bed (making sure to save a small amount to purposely spill down the front of his clothes so as to continue the façade that he was eating it all) and cleaned it up when he was next given the chance.

That day, the chance never arose.

He would usually be let out of his room at some point during the afternoon to allow him to socialise with the other patients for a short while, though he hadn’t bothered to use that time for what it was meant for in over a year. But on that day, the monster no-one would believe existed came back to haunt him before he had even had the chance to croak out a word to one of the other patients.

He sat there in the corner of his room for hours, his usual morning routine automatically sending him into a series of virtually comatose episodes of crying and occasional screaming – the type of emotional outbursts nobody who had only known him before his incarceration would have expected from him. Only Mabel had witnessed him like this. Bloodshot eyes, reddened cheeks, tear-stained skin and hair that was halfway to be being pulled out by his fists. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t him; well, it wasn’t the old him.

This was what Gravity Falls had turned him into. This was what Bill Cipher had turned him into. And worst of all, this was what his own family had turned him into.

Paranoia thrived within him and each night the ghosts of his past materialised as his nightmares, resurrecting themselves with every waking moment of his life. He lived in fear of the darkness that crept up the padded walls of his cell and into his mind, creating the nightmares he so desperately wanted to erase.

He scratched hard at the back of his head, frantically trying to burrow his way into his brain. Maybe, if only he could find a way to reach it, he could remove those memories from within him once and for all. If only. If logic hadn’t deserted him a long time ago, then the voice of reason would have told him how absurd he was being. But it had and so the voice of reason fell deaf on his ears.

When he eventually opened his eyes after squeezing them shut for nearly an hour, he caught sight of his one and only possession staring at him from across the room. On top of his small, much too firm bed, was a journal: Journal 3 – the very same journal that had got him locked up there in the first place, the one they had been unable to prize away from him since he’d recovered it from its hiding place.

Moving at a speed faster than he’d imagined himself able to achieve, he scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees and snatched the book from its place on the bed, hurling it across the floor in a sudden eruption of hatred and frustration. And which page should it fall open to as it landed, but the one he despised the very most? The one which tormented him in his dreams and taunted him in his waking life?

He scowled at it in derision, glaring with more callousness than a more innocent version of him would have thought possible. The image in the book stared back – ominous, unblinking and worst of all, mocking.

And then, it stopped staring. It blinked.

Colour flooded the image, the off-white triangle becoming completely golden within seconds. But the reddened cover of the book turned to grey, indicating the reality of Dipper’s greatest fear. Bill Cipher was returning.

“Only with your help, Pine Tree.” There it was. That disdainful, sadistic laughter. He never had been able to stand it. And that nickname, too, made his stomach churn. “That’s just the butterflies, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Dipper did nothing but blink, his gaze remaining fixed on the page the book had fallen open to.

“Why are you here?” he choked out eventually, gaze gradually lifting to meet with the demon’s scrutinising eye. He didn’t trust Bill one bit and never had – save for the time he had foolishly allowed himself to fall for one of the monster’s tricks. Bill’s proposals were always bad news and he doubted that he’d come from another universe just to exchange supposed pleasantries with him.

Apparently, he was right. “You got me there, kiddo,” the demon grinned with another blink (or wink, as it was difficult to tell with beings which only had one eye to call their own). “I didn’t come here just for a chat, although you are my favourite little mortal… You know that, don’t you?” He didn’t, but Bill didn’t pause long enough for Dipper to even think up an answer. “You don’t belong here,” he suddenly blurted out, making the mortal question the demons intentions yet again.

Dipper shook his head but stayed silent, eyeing the demon in suspicion. But you do, he answered inside his head, momentarily unaware of the monster’s ability to access his most private thoughts. And true to his strange, chaotic nature, Bill seemed to find an unsettling solace in the human’s unspoken words.

“Thank you,” he said as his eye squinted into a wide, disconcerting grin. It sounded so genuine that Dipper struggled to believe he had really said it. “And as for why I’m here… You don’t belong here, and I don’t belong where your uncle sent me. That place…” he trailed off and shuddered, though Dipper assumed it was more of a theatrical shudder than an expression of sincere distress. “I can get you out of here, kid.” He lowered his voice, floating closer to the mortal so that Dipper was forced to shuffle backwards and press himself up against the wall to avoid him.

After just a moment, things became clear. Making a deal with Bill Cipher was never a smart choice because they never really benefit whoever was agreeing to demon’s terms but, that being said, this time it seemed like Dipper really couldn’t lose. “Where would you take me?” he asked cautiously, wary of the demon’s aptitude for playing (and winning) the most sinister mind games. He would of course have preferred to be anywhere but the hospital he was confined to, but making a deal with a monster he had already learned first-hand not to trust seemed irresponsible. Still, they all thought he was crazy already. Why not play along?

“I like the wat you think.” A blush crept onto Dipper’s face as his cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. Compliments weren’t something he was used to hearing and so even one from a trickster like Bill Cipher was enough to create an aura of happiness and pride that had simply been absent for over a year. “Somewhere you feel at home,” Bill went on, elaborating on the terms of his proposal. “Not here, that’s for sure. Now, you know the drill, Pine Tree. All you have to do is shake my hand” – he held out his hand (a bit too close for Dipper’s comfort) and a small blue flame appeared above his palm – “and then you’ll have what you want and so will I. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”

“And what exactly do you want?” Dipper growled in response, his teeth gritted and his hands coiled into fists.

“Just… a body.” Dipper raised an eyebrow; of course that was what he wanted. “Temporarily. I’ll give it back to you after twenty-four hours.”

Less than a minute later, Dipper swore he felt himself break.

[halfbreed-hawkins-blog]

Penny wondered faintly as she sat on the edge of the mattress how everything came to this, when this house felt as much as a trap as Hogwarts did, and when the walls seems to crash in on her, when it felt like a weight around her neck, dragging her closer and closer to the bottom of a vast iced lake. She was drowning under the expectations of those below, of her family all awaiting, of Helle arguing with Atalanta in the door frame, of her mother, wide-eyed and terrified and looking every bit of mad. She tangled her fingers into her hair, squeezing and pulling at the fine curls, trying to tap into some solace that nothing here would change, not between any of them, because she had options didn’t she? That’s what they said, they said she was different because she had a choice. But did she ever really have a choice in this life of being anything but the champion in the wizarding world, the scrapegoat for a world that hated her kind even though she wasn’t truely their kind, the girl-who-wasn’t and the girl-who-was and feeling so small. Trapped in a body whose blood was too sullied and a magic that wasn’t strong enough to naturally tap into the Blessing her family had for centuries. Is this was squibs felt? Was it even comparable? She wasn’t sure but as she squeezed out another tear the door slammed open, the aruging spilled into her solace, her own personal space in a house that was more of a hell.

Then she strode inward, every inch of her powerful, her gait long, her chin high, her eyes the blue of the ocean. It was a different shade from her own, and from Hectors, or even their great-grandmothers, it was a shade of near gray, like staring between the vein of the universe between the blue of the sky and the white of the clouds. Entrapping, encasing, and encompassing. She was as vast as the tree’s she ran through, and as strong as the pine that shook under the wind. The woman before her was more wolf than woman, and more sharpened steel than simple strength. She carried no wand and yet her magic was almost as powerful as Lawrence’s with a wand, she studied books and practiced every skill avaliable to her, from sewing to hunting to magic. Atalanta Hawkins had shoes to fills, massive boots created by a five-three woman of 117 years and near blind that still commanded the respect of even the most rabid of rouge wolves. There was loyality and strength built from years and Atalanta had a quarter of a century to acheive what Althea was leaving her after over triple that in service of their people. Penny looked upon in her mild awe, and she stood from the mattress, wiping her eyes and trying to appear brave in front of her model image of strength. She never had a doubt that if Atalanta was allowed into Hogwarts, that she would have been a Head Girl, a Quidditch Captain, a Gryffindor and deeply celebrated. Every bone in her body was built for bravery and boldness and Penny often wished for an iota of that which Atalanta had in spades. So she straightened up, because Atalanta was becoming more than her eldest cousin, she was becoming the Leader of the Clan, the Alpha of the Hawkins Packs, and someone other leaders within the werewolf clans and packs people would speak to. She deserved respect.

“You’ve caused quite a stir you know Penny,” her voice was melodic and crisp, “Helle wants to drag you out of here by your hair and simply bite you for saying what you said and I’m pretty sure Linus would hold you down.” she raised a singular eyebrow.

“I know that I’m not scared of them,” she shot back, and honestly she wasn’t. She couldn’t take Helle in a fist-fight to be sure, but she had a handle on wandless magic and it wouldn’t be hard to confine either without hurting them. “I don’t care what they think, or what they want me to become. I refuse to be used anymore!” her voice caught at the end.

“Is that what you think we’re doing?” she sounded almost hurt and Penny felt small before her but nodded furiously.

“Helle and Linus want me to force my change and prevent me from going back to Hogwarts. They want me radacalized to their side and become a werewolf and join their fucking army. You! You and Grandmama want me to remain a halfbreed and stay the course. Daniel and the others want me to join them and chose my own path! My peers at Hogwarts are waiting for me to Turn at any moment, to let wolves loose in the hallways. They are also waiting for me to Turn disloyal, to turn you all in, to join the Ministry against them, against you!” she was panting now, not realizing that she was yelling in the face of her eldest cousin, and that tears were streaming down from her eyes and that panic building in her chest. “Doesn’t anyone care what I want! What I wished for? What I ought to do with my life. I’m not a goddamn pawn, I’m not a fucking pup. I can chose for myself who and what to be. To be a witch, to be a wolf. Everyone is pushing for me to make a descion about my future when I’ve never been asked what I want.” she whispered, eyes clouded with tears, arms wrapped around her frame as if to keep herself together in the shadows of her room, with the broken chair in the corner from where she’d thrown it in her last fit of rage, with the holey blankets and the recently patched up Hogwarts uniforms and thrice used books. Where her mother’s broom was shining in the corner and the faded poster of the Holyhead Harpies team smiled at her from a bright photograph in the corner along with other smaller photos scattered around and a singular everlasting and everliving white rose sat in the corner with her father’s handwriting leaving her a note to please remember to sweep the front porch while he was at work and that he ‘love you My Pup’ dated just a few weeks before his death. The room stank with far flung memories and dreams, of nightmares and where she hide from the abuse when the forest was just too far. She sobbed to herself, taking a step back when Atalanta’s fingertips touched her chin.

“What do you want, Penny?”

The pair looked up, and there was Selene, her robes were shabby but her starry eyes shown through her face, her mouth was still proud, her fingers still strong, but she’d lose that bright aura Penny remembered from her childhood and longed for still. She was a walking ghost, nothing like the unbroken lioness she once called Mother, and who was able to handle the stress, abuse, bills, the ostrasization because Edgar was there every moment of the way. Without that, with two small children, with the hatred of the world bearing her down and everything piling up Law and Penny watched as she broke before their eyes and the smiles left, the laughter rang hallow and the world began to drift apart. When Penny was seven and her mother couldn’t remember her brithday because she was so deep in her own grief and Penny walked all the way to the Hawkins Compound, trudging through secrative forest paths and slipping between rocks and trees, and three hours later being collected in Althea’s arms and being rocked to sleep because “Mama doesn’t see me Grandmama.” and she sobbed and sobbed. Selene who relied on her children to keep her sane, and her children who relied on each other to attempt to raise the other, who relied on books, and the articles and their never-quite-there Clan who didn’t realize how bad things got until Lawrence came begging for money to go off to Hogwarts for the first year. By then it was too late, and had gone on far too long for Selene to ever regain the independce she lost in her co-dependency on Edgar– and really maybe that was what Penny hated the most about her Mother. Not that Penny called her that often, if they saw each other, if Selene was having a good day and remembered she had a halfbreed daughter who bore the world without her guidance. Oh yes, Penny loved her Mother with a strong feiceness as much as she hated her weakness. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time Selene had asked Penny what she wanted.

“Aunt Selene, this honestly doesn’t concern you, please go lie down,” Atalanta whispered, reaching for her arm to pull her from the room. “Come, I’ll get you a bit of fizzy water.” Penny looked up in silence and Selene met her eyes.

“Do you truely believe I have no say in whether or not my daughter will quit school and Turn into a werewolf?” her voice was deadly quiet and for one surreal moment, Penny remembered the angelic woman who literally fought and parried her way out of the London Riots with a child on each arm. Valient. Vacant.

“You never cared before, and I’m an adult, why shouldn’t I chose my own fate, for once.”

"Your Father would not approve of this.” Penny flinched and snarled at Selene.

“Papa isn’t here anymore, he’s gone and the world is mad. He can’t tell me what to do anymore, and I’d like to think that he would be proud of me for choosing something for myself for once and not be shuffled around like some fucking chess piece or a ragtoy for people to practice their punches on.”

“Penny I know you lost your Fath–”

“I lost everything that day! I lost my pride, I lost my innocence, I lost all safety in this fucking world we live in,” she screamed finally, fisting her hands at her side. “I lost everything, and I got left with a war, I war born on a side I wasn’t able to choose.”

“You still have a choice. Don’t throw away everything because you’re angry.”

“That’s fine coming from you! You threw away everything for Papa! You threw away your career, your family, your education, your talent for a goddamn werewolf. You chose that, and now I’m left with this– I’m not a wolf or a witch. I don’t have the luxary of chosing what I want, you made that abundantly clear when we were born. You made us wolves, and now we have a war to complelte because wizards decide that we are monsters to be exterminated. You don’t want me to throw everything away,” she laughed and it morphed into a sob, “I don’t have anything. I am nothing in the eyes of the Wizards, a  hidden monster, and to my own family,” she hazarded a glance to the cousins in the doorway, Helle and Linus glaring her down, “I am not even enough for them unless I throw away what little I’ve begun to acheive. I wasn’t even enough for you, to stay fucking sane, because some days you’d wake up and look right through me, and even some day you dare not even look at me. You didn’t even walk me to the Platform at Hogwarts and I wondered if you even remembered I was gone. You threw me away, over grief, and now you expect me to listen to you?” Penny backed away, leaning against the wall, covering her eyes because it was getting too bright, too much emotion in the room. “I can’t even listen to myself.”

“Then listen to the pack, we are calling for you Penny,” Helle marched into the room, shoving right past Atalanta, grabbing her hands away from her eyes until the pair were staring at each other straight into their eyes. “I am calling for you, I want you, I don’t care what you have or what you don’t. You belong with us, with me, you deserve to have what Selene’s blood as a witch prevented you from having. We are wolves, take your birthright, it’s your destiny Penny.” she was cajoling and then she was gone, Atalanta grabbing her by her hair and tossing her to the side, the younger sister whipping back at her with a yell.

“It’s her goddamn choice to Turn! Her fucking choice! Don’t any of you get that! Selene, Linus, Hector, Helle! Any of you. Penny has a choice to make, to turn into a werewolf or not and it has nothing to do with any of us. It has to to with her.”

“She says she want to become a wolf but not a werewolf, though, how dare she give away her birthright for some magic trick.” Linus finally snarled, stepping from the shadows, dark circles under his mostly dark eyes that glittered with some newly forged bloodlust. “She wants to become a… animagus. That’s her choice, some wizard bullshit, not her fucking people, not being a fucking werewolf who is so much stronger, faster than a simple creature. She would throw away all the magic a Turn would give her, for something like that.”

“Go fuck yourself, Linus.” Penny growled at him, “I don’t wanna hear anything from you, you aren’t even welcome in this goddamn house and you know it. You’re lucky Lawrence isn’t here, he is sick of your radical speech.”

“What’s wrong with being a little radical, you have become so fucking–” he was quieted by Atalanta who grabbed his wrist and twisted it back, he howled in pain as she stared him down, he who was crying and trying to push from her hold, her heavily kohled eyes glaring him down until he was cowing.

“Out. Helle, get him out.”

Helle snarled but when it became obvious that Atalanta was going to fight them, and with Hector’s massive form looming in the shadow she hedged her bets and the pair exited noisily from the room, their snarls and growls amplifying as Penny leaned against the wall, refusing to meet the eyes of Hector, Atalanta and her Mother. She ran her fingers through her hair and then slid down the wall, tucking herself into a ball. She just wanted them to stop fighting, she wanted to be hated for something she was, she wanted some form of acceptance literally anywhere and not have to fight tooth and nail to be simply recognized as human or wolf, she wasn’t getting picky anymore. Penny couldn’t stand the duality anymore, the weight dragging her and graining weight each moment, the anger that flitted into her veins and poisoined her mind because each moment that the Ministry fought to destroy them, and her peers called for her blood her own boiled and waited, wishing for her to strike back and Penny willing herself to refuse the naturalality of her striking so hard. She looked up at the three of them, Atalanta who hoped through she never voiced it for Penny to join them, to Run like a wolf, Hector who wished nothing more than for Penny to gain stability in whatever life she chose, and Selene who wanted her to chose her humanity over her beast.

“What do you want me to be?”

“Whatever you want to be.”

She began to laugh, it was chocking, scraping at her throat as she worked herself into a hysteria. They all hovered so close to her and she waited for the moment it got to be too much and she’d simply run, and not freeze, or to start throwing punches, to run to Helle and beg to fight and get Bitten. She waited and waited and laughed and laughed with the tears streaming down her face.

“Mother Moon, when has whatever I wanted to be such a priority. I’m not human enough to have rights, and I’m not a wolf and therefore not real pack. Fuck, 'Lanta,” she looked up at her cousin whose eyes were so concerned and dark “I don’t even know what I wanted in the first place. I don't even know what I am. So I guess… for now, I’ll just, be.”

“That’s not a plan Penny.” Selene whispered, her eyes sad, mixed with ghosts, grief and regrets. The younger blonde sighed and shook her head, almost mournful.

“Huh, so I guess even just being isn’t good enough either, shocker.” Penny stood and shakily moved to collapse on the bed, a mixture of blankets, furs on a mattress, they all waited anxiously. “Just go then, I don’t need any of you here, and I certainly don’t want you here, since we’re all suddenly caring about what Penny wants from her life.”

“You know we just love you Pup,” Hector whispered.

“That’s never been the question.” she muttered into the blankets.

“Then why is it so hard to understand–”

“I wanted to fly,  to be the fastest flier, to have HAWKINS blazoned on my back, I wanted to be so fucking free and far away from the fucking world that it fucking celebrated my name instead of spat on it every goddamn day. That’s what I wanted, I wanted to fly. I'm not a fighter, yet somehow I've become the solider spy poet and I never got a say and just let it happen. Instead, I’m just… whatever this is, this little bastard creature of wolf and human that belongs nowhere and is expected to be whatever the person-of-the-day wants me to be.” she flipped onto her back, looking at the sky with longing, wishing she had the wings that her people were named for. To escape this world that never seemed to have want of her except to their benefit.

“You’re going to have to choose sometime.” Atalanta sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the length of her forehead, softly tracing down over her nose, and ending at her chin. She felt calmed, but never focused, she looked at Atalanta, eyes glazed with tears before turning away, the gray wall feeling a little too metaphorical than she wanted.

“Maybe I don’t want to make that choice anymore.”