#none of them dodged death as well as he did though

[natequarter]

tudor gothic:

the lord chancellor is called thomas. he runs the country. he wants no part in where england goes from now. the lord chancellor is being arrested for treason. the lord chancellor was executed. the lord chancellor was never arrested. there is no lord chancellor.

the crown is dissolving monasteries. this is standard practice. all the monasteries are shutting down. this is thomas's fault. you have no idea which thomas. the crown wants the monasteries back. the monasteries are never coming back. you visited an intact monastery just yesterday. when you blinked, the ruins gave alms to the poor.

the wars of the roses have just ended decisively. the wars of the roses have been over for decades. the legacy of civil war haunts england. you've watched shakespeare's wars of the roses plays. the wars of the roses must have been over when the throne passed peacefully to henry viii. when you close your eyes, you can somehow hear reginald pole laughing at you.

the duke of somerset was beheaded for treason. so was the duke of buckingham. so was the duke of northumberland. so was the duke of norfolk. so was the duke of suffolk. the duke of suffolk never lost the king's affection. all the dukes are vying for power. but then you remember: there are no dukes. perhaps there never were.

the howards are not to be trusted. thomas howard was thrown in the tower. thomas howard was executed for treason. thomas howard lived out his life peacefully. thomas howard only narrowly escaped henry viii's reign with his life. you are drowning in thomases. they never end. one thing you are certain of, though: thomas howard is long dead. thomas howard will outlive us all.

you know the names of every courtier in the kingdom, and yet more go missing with every passing day. you try to note down the name of thomas wryth, but you cannot put quill to parchment. how is it spelt? wriothesley? you have always known that. you know it deep in your bones. and yet, when you try to say it out loud, words fail you. words fail everyone, where the earl of southampton is concerned. somewhere dark and terrible, an ancient beast awakens from its slumber. like everything else, it is also called thomas.

you turn to noting down the name of the queen. kateryn parr. this is a simple task. your subconscious whispers catalina to you in a distinctly spanish accent. your hand shakes. you try to write down catherine, but it morphs into a k against your will. you drop your quill, hand trembling. nonetheless, there is a name before you. whose name it is is anyone's guess.

mary is queen. which mary? which queen? suddenly, you are not so sure.

the bible is written in latin. the bible has always been written in latin. you flick through the pages of your bible, and greek letters swim before your eyes. you check the book again, and find you are holding a book of hours. all the words are in english. you cannot read any of them.

the king of england has ruled for many years. he is nine years old. the king of england is a foreign power. elizabeth was king; now james is queen. long live queen james!

[ilguna]

☼ perfectly timed pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; when you figure out that the arena's a clock, Finnick promises that he'll be your bodyguard from then on, and he doesn't take that responsibility lightly.

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, murder, gore, blood.

wc; 11k

part one.

–

“I’m not going to tell you right now, though.” You warn Finnick, he doesn’t seem to care. “You can’t say anything just yet.”

“I won’t.” He tells you.

“I’m just going to work out the details.” You say.

The two of you walk a couple of steps, before he realizes that he still has his arm around your shoulder. He removes it, offering you an apologetic smile, before joining Katniss, Peeta and Johanna in the treeline. 

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there." Peeta says. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn,” Finnick says.

“You’re going to put (Y/n) in danger?” Peeta asks. 

Finnick looks at you for a second, “She’ll stick close.”

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta says.

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up and yanks a large leaf off of a tree to hand to him.

You shake your head. “I’ll stay here, too, then.”

“No, you’re not leaving my sight, remember?” Finnick motions for you to come.

“Johanna can—”

“Come on, (Y/n). I won’t let anything touch you here.” Finnick takes a step toward you, grabbing your wrist. He begins to pull you into the jungle, you struggle to keep up with his steps.

You travel about fifteen yards into the jungle, when Finnick finds a good tree to tap into. He takes the knife from your hand to stab into the bark of the tree to make a hole with the knife to stick the metal object into. You stick close to Finnick’s side, eyes sweeping the jungle.

Katniss is on guard, too, but she doesn’t appear to be as concerned as you feel. She’s lost in thought, eyebrows twitching in. You look back at the beach, wondering if Finnick will get mad if you go back there, anyway. None of you have any idea what time it is right now, making the jungle dangerous. Katniss said it was going on four, meaning four is beginning…

“Finnick, I don’t think the monkeys are out anymore.”

“We’re fine, (Y/n).” He brushes you off.

“If it’s going on four, then that means we’re in the next hour. We have no idea what we’re facing.”

“The jungle’s fine, see?” Finnick says, straightening briefly to motion to the greenery. “I’ve got you.” He then looks at Katniss, “Katniss, got that spile?”

She blinks, cutting the vines that were holding the metal tube to her belt. She holds it out to him from between her fingers. Finnick’s just reaching to grab it, when a scream breaks the silence. It belongs to a young girl, one that must be terrified.

Katniss drops the spile, whipping around and running straight to where the scream had come from, barely dodging vines and branches as she travels further into the jungle. You shake your head, going to plead with Finnick, but he’s sweeping the spile into one hand, grabbing you with the other, dragging you after Katniss.

“Prim!” Katniss’ shrill scream sounds close, “Prim!” Another agonized scream comes from further in the jungle. “Prim!”

“Finnick, we’re in the next hour!” You tell him, looking behind you to the beach, wondering if Johanna and Peeta can hear Katniss. “We’ve got to get out, not go further!”

“Katniss is our priority.” Finnick tells you firmly. 

You block branches with your forearm to keep them from leaving cuts on your face. The pace Finnick sets is difficult to keep up with, you’re not used to running this far for this long. He doesn’t care, pulling you along, forcing you to keep moving whether you like it or not. You think about stopping, but he’d just pick you up to keep going. 

Sweat begins to run down the side of your face in the same way that the blood rain did, past your ears and to your chin, where it drips on the front of your jumpsuit. You suck in deep breaths of air, but they provide no help, with how humid it is in here. You need cold air, the type that was coming off of the seawater.

“Prim!” Katniss screams. She rips through a wall of green, stumbling into a clearing ahead. The screaming continues, Katniss is looking up, into the trees. “Prim?”

“What is it?” You gasp.

“I don’t know.”

The two of you make it to the clearing, where you struggle to suck in the air that your lungs are demanding. Katniss seems calmer, at least. She’s wiping one of her arrows clean of blood with moss.

“Katniss?” Finnick says.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She says. “I thought they had my sister but—”

The hair on the back of your neck rises when another scream fills the air, this time it’s not a girl. It’s his. You turn, lips parting as you search the jungle. How can he be here? How did they get him here? He’s supposed to be safe at home, untouchable.

“Zero?” You call.

“(Y/n)!” Zero screams back.

“Zero!” You take off in the direction it’s coming from.

“(Y/n), wait!” Katniss shouts behind you.

You don’t stop, running up the incline, heading for the sound of his voice. You manage to keep an eye on the ground, avoiding the roots and snarls that stick up, waiting to trap your feet in its grasp. 

“(Y/n), please!”

“I’m coming!” You shout, gasping for air, “Zero, I’m coming!”

You duck beneath a branch, not bothering to stop for it. You can hear Finnick and Katniss behind you, struggling to keep on your heels. The further you travel, the faster you go, getting a hang of the incline.

You fly through a group of bushes, tripping over a branch when it catches on your clothes. You fall to your knees, eyes searching the sky above. You can hear him screaming for you, up in the tree.

“Zero.” Your lips are trembling as you get to your feet. “Zero!”

“Help!” He screams.

Katniss and Finnick come through the bushes, panting. You move around the tree, tears in your eyes that you wipe away.

“I’ve got it.” Katniss tells you, “I’ll get him.”

“Zero.” You murmur. “My brother, they have my brother? How is that possible?”

Katniss sticks her fingers in the bark in places you couldn’t have begun to imagine. She scales the tree, the branches and foliage concealing her. She doesn’t say a word, but the screaming stops. And something falls from the tree, landing in the grass at your feet.

Finnick picks it up, turning it over in his hand. 

Your face smooths. “It’s a jabberjay.”

Katniss slides down the tree, coming to join you two. “It’s all right, (Y/n). It’s just a jabberjay. They’re playing a trick on us.” She says. “It’s not real. It’s not your… Zero.”

“No, it’s not Zero, but the voice was his.”

“Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?” Finnick says.

Katniss pales. “Oh, Finnick, you don’t think they…?”

“Yes I do. That’s exactly what I think.” Finnick says.

You struggle to get your hands to stop shaking, palms flat against your thighs. You and Finnick share a long look, as Katniss sinks into the ground, fingers grabbing at the grass.

Zero’s supposed to be safe at home. You promised him that he’d be okay without you, he’d be protected by the neighboring victors. If anything happened, he would be the first person they retrieved so he could be protected if a war broke out. You didn’t think that they’d just collect him to torture him for samples…

“We have to go.” Finnick says, “This must be the hour.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” You look at him.

“I know, I should’ve listened.” He turns his attention to Katniss. “You have to get up, we need to get back to the others.”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as glance in your direction to confirm that she’s heard what he said. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, pulling at your fingers. You don’t like being here, in the middle of the jungle. You’re so exposed.

A bird starts to scream off to your right, this causes Katniss to leap to her feet, jerking in the direction. Finnick catches her arm before she can run. “No. It’s not him.” He starts pulling her downhill, you stick close to them. “We’re getting out of here!” Katniss doesn’t care, struggling to get free. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!”

Zero’s screams overlap, your feet freeze in place for a second, you stiffly get them to work again. Finnick glances at you, you press your lips together, sliding your arm beneath his to keep together. 

As you go further away from the screams, Katniss is less combative. In fact, she becomes eager to get out of the jungle, pulling you and Finnick behind her. It takes only a few minutes for you to reach the treeline, where Johanna and Peeta are standing there, unmoving.

Finnick lets go of Katniss, but you keep your hold on him.

Peeta’s got his hands raised, palms facing towards you. His lips are moving, but there’s no sound behind it. It isn’t until Katniss and Finnick run smack into the transparent wall, do you know that it’s there. The two of them fall back on the jungle floor, Finnick pulling you down with him.

Katniss grips at her shoulder, but when you look at Finnick, you see that his nose is gushing blood. He must’ve hit it face-first. You search the area nearby, and find some of the moss that Katniss had been using earlier to help clean up Beetee’s back. You pull it from the rock, handing it to Finnick.

“Thanks.” He squishes his nose. “So much for going to the beach.”

Johanna and Peeta shake their heads, and even demonstrate that the wall is unbreakable, by swinging their weapons at it. None of you even bother to try to check any of the other walls, all that’ll happen is you’ll be met with disappointment when you can’t make it through there, either.

For the next minute, you think that this will be manageable. You can sit through and listen to your brother screaming for help. Then the birds arrive, one by one, perching in the surrounding branches. An orchestrated chorus of screams and pleas begin to spill out of their beaks.

You slam the heels of your hands over your ears, pressing tightly. “No, no, no!”

Finnick comes over, guiding you to the wall, helping you to the ground. He doesn’t seem affected by the screams, he even pries your hands from your ears, only then to immediately replace them with his. He blocks them out entirely, but you still reach up to hold them there, afraid of the sounds that are happening out there.

You watch for a while as Katniss empties her quiver of arrows into the birds. She’ll take one down, and it’ll be replaced by two more. When she realizes this, she stops, coming to sit beside you and Finnick, clenching her own hands over her ears to keep out the wretched noise.

You keep your eyes closed for the remainder of the hour, distracting yourself by thinking about the plan to kill off the Two tributes. You come to the conclusion that it’ll work best if you hide in the trees, let the tidal wave come at ten, hike up to the lightning tree to somehow connect the wire to the tree, and then bring the spool back down to the beach before the lightning hits. By then, Enobaria and Brutus will want to be out of the jungle, and they’ll get electrocuted to death.

That is, unless the rebel plan takes over first. As far as you know, the mentors haven’t sent any hints as to what day and what hour you’ll be executing everything. Haymitch worked out a plan, hopefully fool proof. You’ll use the type of district bread for day, and the amount of bread for the hour. 

He’s supposed to send multiple rounds of the bread to confirm that it’s still happening at the same time. You haven’t thought to ask about it until now. Before, your mind was occupied with the jungle, then a plan to kill the careers. With that almost done, you need to look at the final and bigger picture.

Finnick’s hands loosen from your ears, you’re left with an ache in the area from how hard he was pushing. The hour must be done, because Peeta is now sitting with Katniss, and you can’t hear anymore screaming.

Your head falls into your hands as you rub beneath your eyes, sighing. Finnick gets to his feet, when you look up, you can see he has his hand out for you. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Thank you, Finnick. You didn’t have to do that.” You place your hand on his shoulder.

“They have no one to use against me, (Y/n).” Finnick says, “And I didn’t want to watch you being tortured.”

Your eyebrows twitch, “Right.”

“I’m going to go find a tree to tap.” Finnick tells you.

“Do you want me to go with?” 

“No, stay here with them. I’ll be back in a minute.” He says, picking up his trident. He strides off, presumably toward the original tree that he had carved out before the birds attacked.

“It’s all right, Katniss.” Peeta whispers.

“You didn’t hear them.”

“I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” He says. “It was a jabberjay.”

“It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it.” Katniss says, not budging.

“No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying.” He says.

What Peeta says gets you thinking. He’s right. You thought the same thing she and Finnick did, until Peeta mentioned the distorted sound a second ago. At home, you learned how to do that in school. It’s basic technology manipulation. You’re not sure why you didn’t think of that before.

Maybe it’s because you wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to kidnap and torture innocents. Zero has never been directly in contact with the capitol, unless it’s through you. Even then, they don’t focus on him for very long.

“No, they were torturing her.” Katniss says. “She’s probably dead.”

“Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta asks.

“Seven more of us die.” Katniss mutters morbidly. It’s almost comical.

“No, back home. WHat happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts her chin. “What happens? At the final eight?”

Katniss doesn’t respond right away. “At the final eight?” She repeats. “They interview your family and friends back home.”

“That’s right.” Peeta says. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?”

“No?” Katniss asks.

“No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” He asks, Katniss is apprehensive still. “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he lists. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games. Not them.”

Finnick is coming back through the trees, a woven bowl in his hands. They hardly pay any attention to him. He hands you the water first, you take a few sips out of it, giving it back to him.

“You really believe that?” Katniss asks.

“I really do.” Peeta says.

Katniss looks at Finnick, who’s handing her the bowl of water. “Did you hear any of that, Finnick> Do you believe it?”

“It could be true. I don’t know.” His eyes land on you. “Could they do that, (Y/n)? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

“Yes, I completely forgot it was possible at first.” You let out a sigh. “It’s not even that difficult. Our children learn a similar technique in school.”

“Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands.” Johanna says flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

You look at Finnick, and then out at the beach. “We should move.”

“Good idea.” Peeta agrees, sweeping Katniss into his arms. 

Finnick grabs the bowl of water that was left behind, offering it to Johanna. She holds her hand out, “I’m going to pee.”

“No, don’t.” Katniss calls. “The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love,” Johanna says, walking away.

You and Finnick make your way to the beach to join Katniss and Peeta, who are now sitting in the sand. You find the wire sitting by a tree, reflecting the sunlight. Finnick places the bowl of water on top of it to keep sand from getting inside. He doesn’t stop to sit down, wandering to go be in the water.

You sit in the shade, knees against your chest as you stare at Finnick’s back. You knew he was going to keep you safe, but you didn’t realize that he was going to take every measure necessary. He pulled you away from the careers when you went to grab Beetee, took Enobaria’s knife in his thigh for you, and then dived in the water to grab the wire so you wouldn’t.

And now he’s keeping you close. 

“Who did they use against Finnick?” Peeta asks.

“No one.” Katniss murmurs. “It was (Y/n) and I.” She glances at you, “Her brother.”

Peeta looks over too, curious now. “I think I remember. (Y/n), there was a tragedy, wasn’t there?”

You nod, not speaking right away. You’re surprised he even remembers, your Games took place almost eight years ago. It wasn’t a very popular one because of how boring you’d been the entire time. The only notable event was the fire that took place, eating up the entire forest that you’d been using as your shelter. It’s how the Two girl was able to find you, because you had to adventure out and pick new spots to rotate between, places she’d frequented and knew like the back of her hand. 

What Peeta’s asking about isn’t about the arena and that fire. It was what happened a couple months later after you’d arrived home. You used to be bothered by people asking what happened exactly, but a few years ago, you realized that it was going to haunt you if you didn’t let it go.

You started out as a miracle, the first Three victor in a good number of years. When you didn’t follow the ideas that the people had around you, it sparked controversy. Where Beetee helped the Capitol with projects, you refused to even step foot on a train to go back if it wasn’t for mentoring. 

Your parents wanted you to pursue the Capitol, in hopes that it would make a better future for generations. You didn’t listen, so they decided they were going to stay in the childhood home. Your brother was supposed to, too, except he frequently slept over at your victor house, because it was bigger and warmer. 

One night, the home was set aflame. By the time you got the news, there was nothing left to salvage, whoever had done it did a thorough job. The peacekeepers investigated it for a couple months, but they stopped when they couldn’t find any more information.

It killed your parents, and your brother would be dead too, if he hadn’t stayed at your house that night, like he wasn’t supposed to.

“My childhood home burned down, killing my parents.” You tell them. “I only have my brother.”

Peeta nods, stroking Katniss’s hair. “I’m surprised they didn’t use Annie Cresta against Finnick.”

“Who?” Katniss asks.

“Annie Cresta. She was the girl Mags volunteered for. She won about five years ago.”

You raise your eyebrows, and then allow your face to relax. You don’t think about Annie much, she was one of those victors that got covered up quickly. Kinda like Johanna, except she refuses to let the light go out on her. The Capitol can’t either, because she’s the only female victor in Seven. She has to mentor tributes.

“I don’t remember those Games much.” Katniss says. “Was that the earthquake year?”

“Yeah. Annie’s the one who went mad when her district partner got beheaded. Ran off by herself and hid. But an earthquake broke a dam and most of the arena got flooded. She won because she was the best swimmer.”

“Did she get better after?” Katniss asks. “I mean, her mind?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember ever seeing her at the Games again. But she didn’t look too stable during reaping this year.” Peeta says.

“From what I heard, Finnick and Annie broke up two years ago.” You draw a figure eight in the sand. “She’s not doing well.”

That’s all hearsay, though. Information that you’d gathered over time while you mentored. Annie won, the following year, Finnick was still by himself mentoring. The year after, he was the happiest you’ve seen him in the Capitol. Then last year, he was back to who he was before.

Johanna comes out of the trees a few minutes later, arrows in hand. She drops them in a pile next to Katniss and Peeta, who murmur out a thanks. A cannon blasts, Finnick rises to come join the rest of you in watching the hovercraft. It appears over the six-to-seven zone, and dips down five different times to retrieve the pieces of one body. There’s no telling who it was.

Once again, Peeta gets a leaf to draw a new map, adding JJ for the jabberjays in the four-to-five area. He writes beast in the area the tribute was collected in pieces. With the map, you’re able to see where you sit on the clock face again.

Finnick makes a net for fishing, going out into the water to throw it. Katniss joins him to take a quick swim, and then sits at the edge of the water to clean the fish that Finnick catches. The sun sets fairly quickly in this time, the moon rising on the other side.

You’re all beginning to settle down to eat when the anthem begins, followed by the faces of the dead. Cashmere, Gloss, Beetee, Mags. The five of you sit in solemn silence, trying to be respectful for one another. The women from Five and Six, with Blight and the man from Ten pulling up the rear.

Another eight dead.

“They’re really burning through us.” Johanna says.

“Who’s left? Besides us five and District Two?” Finnick asks.

“Chaff.” Peeta says, not missing a beat.

You continue to draw in the sand, watching as a parachute comes down from behind the trees, teetering from side to side. “We’ve got a sponsor gift.”

Peeta gets to his feet, letting the parachute land in his palm. He sets it down in the middle with the rest of the food, pulling back the square of fabric, allowing you to see its bread.

That’s right.

There’s a pile of small square shaped rolls. “These are from your district, right, (Y/n)?”

“Yes, from District Three.” You lean forward. “How many are there?”

Finnick gets to counting them, being thorough by turning each one over in his hands before he sets them into a neat pile. “Twenty-four.”

“An even two dozen, then?” You ask.

“Twenty-four on the nose.” Finnick meets your eyes. “How should we divide them?”

“Let’s each have three, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can take a vote on the rest.” Johanna says, Katniss lets out a laugh. 

The five of you eat the food that’s presented in front of you, passing around the water bowl to whoever asks for it. They try to keep up conversation, but you’ve already sunk back into your mind. 

District Three means day three. Twenty-four rolls of bread means midnight. They want you to be at the lightning tree, don’t they? It’s perfect for the plan you went through this afternoon. Your idea to kill the careers will act as a cover for the real rebel plan that’s taking place.

When you’re done eating, the bread rolls are placed into a dry bowl to keep them safe. You retreat into the woods when the wave comes, wait for the water to recede, and then head to that part of the beach to make camp. If everything goes according to plan, there should be a full twelve hours before you have to move again.

There’s a chorus of clicking coming from the eleven-to-twelve wedge. You all agree to keep away from that area and the beach, in case the insects are waiting for misstep in that area.

Katniss and Peeta volunteer to take watch, because they’ve had the most sleep out of all of you. Johanna goes down without a fight, she’s only had an hour all day. Finnick finds a space between you and Johanna. You’re a little different, though. While they fall asleep almost instantly, you can’t find the same peace.

You get to your feet, this causes Peeta to sit up.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks.

“No, I’m just going to take a walk. I’ll stay in sight.” You tell him.

You pull off your shoes, dropping them where you’d been sitting. You then wander down the beach, even going a few steps into the water. When you’re sure that you’re far enough away from them, and they won’t be able to hear you, you stop.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as you lean over your knees. You breathe deeply in through your nose, trying to calm the aching feeling that’s growing in your throat. You sniff, closing your eyes, shaking your head.

Beetee was more than your mentor. He turned into your second parent after yours died. He made sure that you settled into your house, that you were sound enough to take care of your brother on your own. He even got Wiress to offer to volunteer for you, if you weren’t up for this. 

And now he’s gone.

You can’t help the tears that escape, placing a hand over your mouth as you sob into your fingers. You knew that there were going to be sacrifices made, he even warned you that there was a good possibility that you could die, too. You just never thought it would be him.

You get tired of standing, opting to sit in the water. It’s warm, not at all refreshing. You don’t care, you don’t want to go back over there. It’s clear Katniss and Peeta needed time by themselves. You don’t want to see the looks on their faces either, when they realize you’ve been crying.

You just hope Zero is being good for Wiress. The victors are all supposed to watch over him together, but she said that she’d keep a close eye. Zero told you he wouldn’t get into any trouble, it’s hard to believe him. He’s got the whole house to himself and no older sister to limit him. He has to have some idea of what kind of danger he’s in though, right?

A crack of lightning hits the tree, altering you that it’s now midnight, officially bringing you into the third day. You hear a shout coming from camp, and when you turn to look, you see that Finnick is sitting up in the sand. He looks to where your shoes are, and then his head whips in your direction.

You sigh, getting to your feet. Either you go back, or he’s going to come over here. You walk through the water most of the way, enjoying the way the water laps over your feet. When you get there, Katniss is just laying down, Finnick is taking her spot.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Finnick asks.

“I’m not tired.” You tell him, which is part of the truth. You did sleep most of the night last night, but if you were to lie down again, you’d be left to your thoughts. Same if you stayed away. “I’ll stay with Finnick, Peeta. Go ahead and be with Katniss.”

“Are you sure?” Peeta asks, he’s getting to his feet.

“Yeah.”

Katniss looks over her shoulder, watching as Peeta goes to join her. You sit where Peeta had been, which faces the jungle. You cross your legs, stabbing the knife Finnick gave you into the sand, and leaving it there.

Neither of you speak for a long while. Katniss and Peeta must fall asleep fairly quickly, wrapped around each other. You brush the sand from your legs once it’s dried.

“I’m sorry about Mags, I know how close you two were.” You murmur.

“Thank you, (Y/n).” He says. It’s quiet between you two for a moment. “You were wrong, you know.”

Your eyebrows twitch. You turn your head far enough to see the back of his shoulder. “About what?”

“Annie.”

You press your lips together, he must’ve heard you talking earlier to Katniss and Peeta. “I’m sorry, Finnick. I didn’t mean for it to be malicious.”

“We never dated.” He says. “She was my best friend before she went into the Games. Recently, we haven’t been as close.” He shakes his head, you can feel his hair brush the back of yours. “I was surprised they didn’t use her against me during the jabberjays, and then I realized that it must be because we’re not even friends anymore.”

“What happened between the two of you?” You ask, “If you want to talk about it.”

“It’s a short story.” He pauses. “She started getting better after her Games, so I started to visit her more. And when I thought that she could handle it, I asked her if she’d take over mentoring temporarily.”

You hum. “She wasn’t ready?”

“She called me selfish, we stopped speaking altogether.” He sighs. “I guess the Capitol has eyes everywhere.”

“Of course they do. You really thought they didn’t?” You laugh slightly.

“I had hope.” He chuckles, letting out a breath. “Did you work out the details to your plan, yet?”

“Yes, actually. And I think it’ll be a perfect addition to the plan.” You elbow him, as a way to nudge him into your line of process.

“Really? Let’s hear it.” He says.

“We should wait for the others.” You tell him.

“What, are you afraid that I’m going to claim the idea belongs to me?”

You laugh, “No, I guess I could tell you.” You clear your throat, “I was thinking, if we want to take out the careers, we should do it tomorrow night. The wire isn’t completely useless. See, the wave happens at ten, which makes the sand damp, and with the lightning at midnight, it could work as a conductor. We could electrocute the shit out of them when they come down to the beach, thinking it's safe.

“Or… for something else, if we find it.”

Finnick laughs, “That’s a great idea, (Y/n). This is with all the kinks worked out?”

“More or less.”

“I’m glad you’re here, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“You’d survive, figure it out on your own but a little slower.” You look down at the beach. “You don’t need me here.”

Finnick moves behind you, you look over your shoulder to see that he’s turned to face you. “That’s not true, you need to give yourself more credit.”

“Fine, you’d be lost without me.”

“I mean it, (Y/n). We need you here. You’re just as important.”

You give him a smile. “Thanks.”

—

As much as you wanted to be the one to keep Finnick company for the night, Johanna woke up a couple hours later and insisted that she swap with you. You didn’t feel tired, but laid down anyway. Sure enough, you went out like a light once your eyes were closed.

You didn’t sleep for long, the arena is unusually hot today. The sand is burning your sensitive skin, which you’ve opted to occasionally splash water onto in order to keep cool. It works, partially. The water is warm, but if you time it right, it’s perfectly paired with a breeze.

You kick water in Finnick’s direction, he looks up from his trident, giving you a challenging head tilt. A warning that if you continue, he’ll come over here and teach you a lesson. You give him an innocent look, and then go back to standing knee-deep in the water.

Katniss stirs on the beach, rolling over to squint at the sun angrily. She’s going to have to get in line if she wants to explode the damn thing. None of you are happy with the Gamemakers right now.

You turn to look at the jungle, and find another parachute coming down from the sky. “Sponsor gift.”

Peeta and Johanna look up from the leaf map that he made last night. Finnick gets to his feet, taking a few steps and catching the gift before it hits the sand. You get out of the water, joining them in what little shade is covering the beach. When he sets it down, you’re able to see that it’s more bread, twenty-four rolls, all coming from District Three again.

It’s divided so that everyone gets five, leaving eight left over. You eat in silence, listening to the waves eat up the sand, and then retreat again. You play with the end of the wire, twisting it into a spiral, before pulling it straight. You need to tell them about the plan you’ve made, it just has to be done at the right time.

Katniss gets up, grabbing Peeta’s hand, pulling him in the direction of the water, “Come on. I’ll teach you how to swim.”

He doesn’t fight her. The three of you watch as they go about waist-deep into the water, then she begins to teach him basic strokes. Finnick gets up to collect vines, strategically weaving them into a net. While Johanna refuses to take her eyes off of the teenagers for longer than ten seconds at a time.

She must be worried that they’re going to run off, but if that were the case, Katniss wouldn’t have left her bow here. The only thing they can do now is talk to one another, which is what they did last night, too. If they try to leave, they’re not going to make it very far. They’ll be hunted down within the hour.

Johanna yawns, “I’m going to nap, wake me if anything interesting happens.”

She scoots back so that her upper body is protected from the sun. She uses her arm as a pillow, and bends her other arm over her eyes to make it easier to sleep.

“You can sleep, too. You don’t have to sit with me.” Finnick says.

“I’m fine.” You shrug. 

Finnick works quickly, creating the net in a circular shape. He explains to you that if it’s bunched up, he can throw it a certain way and it’ll expand and cover more water. You stare at him for a few long seconds, wondering if he thinks you’re stupid or if it’s the other way around.

“You mean… a casting net?” You ask slowly.

Finnick blinks, “You know what a casting net is?”

“Finnick, I know what a lot of things are.” You breathe a laugh. “A casting net is one of them.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Right.”

“Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!” Katniss waves her hand.

He looks up from the sand, eyebrows drawing in. She’s talking about the scabs that they’re completely covered in, which was a result of the ointment they used because of the poisonous fog. Finnick gets to his feet, leaving the net next to you as he goes over to join them.

You watch as the three of them use handfuls of sand to rub off the scabs gently. They take turns helping each other get the ones on their back. When they’re done, they come out of the water to apply another round of the medicine because their skin isn’t taking well to the sun.

“I think it’s time we talk about the careers,” You tell them. “I doubt they’ll attack us openly again, now that they’re outnumbered. We could track them down, but it’s dangerous to pursue them.”

“Do you think they’ve figured out about the clock?” Katniss asks.

“If they haven’t, they’ll figure it out soon, just not as specifically as we have. They must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they’re recurring. And the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not pass over their heads, as much as we’d like to think it will.

“We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they’re going to be asking why it happened, and that might lead them to the clock idea, as well.”

“Wait, let me get Johanna up.” FInnick says. “She’ll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important.”

“Or not.” Katniss mutters, you tilt your head, agreeing with her. 

Still, he gets Johanna awake and up to speed. She crosses her arms, staring at you intensely. You squint at her briefly, before making Katniss and Peeta scoot back.

You draw a circle in the sand, dividing it into twelve wedges. “If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?” You ask, looking between them.

“Where we are now. On the beach.” Peeta says. “It’s the safest place.”

“So why aren’t they on the beach?” 

“Because we’re here.” Johanna sighs impatiently. “Is there a point to this?”

You ignore her. “Exactly, we’re here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?”

No one speaks for a second, until Katniss does, “I’d hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us.”

“Also to eat,” Finnicks ays. “The jungle’s full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I’d know the seafood’s safe.”

You smile, “Of course, now that we’re all on the same page, here’s what I propose: a twelve o’clock strike. What happens at noon and at midnight?”

“The lightning bolt hits the tree.” Katniss says.

“Yes, so what I’m going to suggest is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run Beetee’s wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the wave at ten. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that time will be electrocuted.”

Silence takes over as the words sink in, you let them think it over. You’ve had more time to work out the finer details of the plan between telling Finnick last night and this morning. You’ve found every issue, and carefully ironed it out. If it works the way you want it to, you’ll be all set for Haymitch’s plan.

The looks on their faces are giving you different ideas on what they want to say. Peeta starts first. “Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, (Y/n)? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up.”

“Oh, it will, but not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse. Except the electricity will travel along it.” You play with the wire.

“How do you know?” Johanna asks.

You take in a breath, “I have come to realize that Beetee invented it.” You look at her. “I’ve worked with wire, and this isn’t any wire, it’s the one he created. It’s not wire in the usual sense, just like how the lightning natural lighting or that tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.” She nods.

“There’s no need to worry about the wire. It’ll do its job.”

“And where will we be when this happens?” Finnick asks.

“Far enough up in the jungle to be safe.” You tell him.

“The careers will be safe, too, then, unless they’re in the vicinity of the water.” Katniss says.

“That’s right.” You agree.

“But all the seafood will be cooked.” Peeta objects.

“A lot more than cooked.” You laugh. “We will be eliminating that as a food source entirely this way, but Katniss found other edible things in the jungle, right?”

“Yes. Nuts and rats.” She says. “And we have sponsors.”

“I don’t see it as a problem, then.” You smile. “This isn’t something I can do on my own. I say we go for it, but it can’t get done without you four. The decision on whether or not we do it is up to you.”

Katniss looks between them. “Why not? If it fails, there’s no harm done. If it works, there’s a decent chance we’ll kill them. And even if we don’t and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too.”

“I say we try it. Katniss is right.” Peeta nods.

Finnick looks at Johanna. They share a long look while she decides. “All right.” She finally says. “It’s better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they’ll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves.”

Finnick then looks to you, “What’s next, (Y/n)?”

You smile. “I need to take a look at the tree.”

The five of you get to pack up your belongings, with Katniss telling you that she believes it has to be somewhere around nine in the morning. You have to leave the beach soon, anyway. When everyone is ready, you head to the beach that bordered the lightning section, and Johanna takes lead into the jungle.

Finnick follows after her, then you, and Peeta and Katniss take up the rear. It’s a straight shot up to the tree, there’s no need for directions. The further you travel, the harder it is to convince yourself it was a good idea to hike. You hated it during the first day, too, but you didn’t complain nearly as much as Beetee did. To be fair, though, he did have a nasty gash on his back.

You hum a short tune, which earns you a glare from Johanna. You pretend you don’t see it, because the silence is killing you. The birds aren’t nearly as vocal here, they were much louder in the blood rain wedge. Then again, after yesterday, you’re not sure if you want to see a bird for the next year.

When you begin to near the top, Finnick makes a suggestion that Katniss should take the lead.

“Why is that?” You ask, beating Johanna to the question.

“Katniss can hear the force field.” He says.

Your face twists, and so does your body as you go to take a look at Katniss. You and Beetee were the ones that showed her in the first place, in the gymnasium. You were sitting together at the fire station, fixated on how the Gamemakers decided they needed the protection. That’s when Katniss came along and enlightened you; she’d shot an arrow at them last year. 

However, the force field doesn’t have a noise to it. It didn’t in the gymnasium, and it didn’t when you got close to Blight’s body. What Finnick is saying right now isn’t possible, otherwise there’d be a constant hum in the arena depending on how close you were to the force field.

“Only with the ear the Captiol reconstructed.” Katniss tells you.

That’s bullshit, and she knows it too. Maybe this has something to do with Peeta running into the force field on the first day. She chose not to tell them what she knew, possibly afraid of what the Gamemakers would do with it.

“Interesting.” Is all you say, moving out of the way to let her pass.

The lightning tree is unmistakable. It towers high above the trees that surround it. Katniss takes a handful of nuts, slowly moving toward the top. You peer around her, and when you see a square ripple, you know that you have plenty of room to work with.

Katniss throws a nut, which hits the wall and sizzles. “Just stay below the lightning tree.”

With that, everyone divides up different jobs while you take a closer look at the tree. Finnick follows you, continuing his guarding duty. Johanna decides to tap a tree for water, while Peeta gathers nuts and Katniss wanders away briefly to hunt for the tree rats.

You stare at the tree, arms crossed over your chest as you think. Finnick stands beside you, trident in his hand, occasionally glancing at you to see if your face has changed. You can’t imagine how boring this must be to him, especially when he has no clue what you’re looking for.

You take the spool of wire, find it between your fingers to see how thick it is. With how tightly its wound, there’s got to be miles of the wire. You won’t have to worry about running out of it between wrapping it around the tree and bringing it back down to the beach.

Speaking of the tree, it doesn’t look right now that you’re standing in front of it. You knew that it wasn’t a real tree, but you thought the inside of it would be the artificial stuff, not the outside. You run your fingers over the bark, and find that it’s weirdly patterned.

When you look at the trees behind you, the appearance of those are completely different. It’s almost like the Gamemakers made half an effort at trying to hide that it’s not real. Or maybe, making the bark anything other than fake could increase the potential of setting the entire jungle on fire.

You wander around the tree, and Finnick follows for a while, but when he sees that you’re making rounds in circles, he steps back and watches you. You measure the tree, thinking about how much wire it’s going to take to make the plan actually work. The base is thicker than you thought it would be.

You stop at the sound of the wave, which causes the others to pause, too. A few minutes later, Katniss comes out of the trees, bearing three tree rats. She draws a line in the dirt to remind everyone how far away they must stay from the force field, and then proceeds to sit with Peeta to roast nuts and sear cubes of meat.

Johanna joins them after she’s had enough of making fun of you to Finnick, who seems less than interested by the names she’s calling you. You stop between the force field and the tree, looking at the malfunctioning square, then back at the bark. You wonder…

You break off a piece of the bark, which doesn’t come easily. Katniss tells you and Finnick that the food is ready when you are, so as you go over, you toss the bark against the force field. It bounces off, landing on the ground, glowing a bright orange color. It takes about a minute for it to return back to the original bark color.

“Huh,” You let out, “Well, that explains a lot.”

The bark and the force field are made of the same material. You should’ve guessed.

You take a seat next to Finnick, picking at the nuts and meat chunks. 

“I have a question.” Your attention turns to Katniss, Peeta and Finnick. “Regarding Peeta and the force field situation. What happened, exactly?”

“Peeta was clearing a way with his machete and he hit the force field.” Finnick tells you.

“With the machete?” You ask, “And what happened to the force field?”

Finnick shakes his head, and Peeta looks lost too. Katniss, however, sighs, “It disappeared, and then it came back.”

You hum. Whatever you do around the lightning tree must be with precaution from now on. You’re not an expert on the force field subject—Beetee would’ve known more—but weapons cannot come into contact with it. You think that’s where the problems will arise, since you were able to touch it with your hands.

The sound of clicking nearby causes the rest of you to glance in the direction. It’s eleven, only an hour left until twelve. The noise is far louder here than it was on the beach last night. You quiet to listen.

“It’s not mechanical.” You tell them after a minute.

“It has to be insects.” Katniss says. “Maybe beetles.”

“Something with pincers.” Finnick adds.

The sound increases, as if the insects are dying to get to you.

“We should get out of here, anyway.” Johanna says. “There’s less than an hour before the lightning starts.”

Katniss brings you to the next section over, which happens to be the blood rain area, stopping next to the identical tree here. With food being interrupted before, you resume here, finishing what’s left in the bowls. You wait until Katniss is done eating and the insects fade out, before you ask her to climb the tree to get a better look for you when the lightning strikes.

It shakes the ground, you and Johanna share a look. You might not like each other, but the uneasiness begins to stir in your stomach. The idea of being here, only an hour before the rain, makes you feel sick. You don’t want to be covered again, not if you can help it.

Katniss comes down from the tree a few minutes later. She goes on to tell you that the lightning takes the entire tree, which makes it glow a hot blue-white. The air up there was crackling with electricity.

“Perfect.” You murmur.

With that, you feel satisfied enough to go back down to the beach. The sand is damp, clear of any footprints until the five of you begin to step on it, leaving a clear trail wherever you walk. There’s nothing to do beyond this point but wait, you fiddle with the wire, wrapping it around a large stick to see how much it would take to make a dent, since it’s so thin.

Katniss, Peeta and Johanna lay down to sleep. Finnick watches you curiously, occasionally asking questions that you’re more than happy to answer for him. By the time the lightning has stopped and the rain has begun, you’ve decided that you’ll have to work quickly tonight, and might even need help.

You yawn, Finnick’s eyes snap to you. “Sleep.”

“Finnick.” You warn, “I’m fine.”

“We need you at your best. If anything happens, I’ll wake you.”

You sigh, not really wanting to argue with him. You make him promise to keep an eye on the wire, before joining the others in the shadows to nap. 

—

A hand roughly grabbing your bare calf jolts you awake. You sweep the knife out of the sand, swinging it to stab while you open your eyes to see who it is. Another hand grabs your wrist, and you’re met with Finnick’s cheeky face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you like that.” Finnick lets go of you. “Johanna pushed me over.” Johanna’s standing behind him, her arms crossed, staring down at you. She laughs, and then turns away. “We’ve got more food, if you’re hungry.”

You shake your head, “No, but I’ll sit with you.”

The others are only a few feet away, shifted to let you sleep but also to chase the shade, since it’s growing slimmer. Finnick must’ve woven more bowls, because the amount has multiplied. Finnick reaches to help Katniss and Peeta clean out the seafood, while Johanna wanders around in the treeline to keep an eye out for the careers.

Peeta pops open an oyster, laughing. “Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening pearl. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls.” He says to Finnick.

“No, it doesn’t.” Finnick says, cleaning a fish. Katniss laughs, you give a smile.

Peeta rinses it off in a bowl that holds unopened oysters, handing it to Katniss. “For you.”

She lets him set it in her palm. “Thanks.”

Peeta’s smile fades. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” He asks, you avert your eyes. “Katniss?”

“It worked.” She says.

“But not in the way I wanted it to.”

Silence, as they shuck open shellfish and oysters. You watch as Finnick easily cuts away scales, making squares beneath, and shaking them free into a bowl. He works quickly, he must’ve been doing this whole life. He even feels comfortable enough to look away for several seconds, into your eyes.

“You’re going to cut your hand.” You tell him.

“I won’t.” He says, tossing the fish scrap into the trees. “Do you want to try?”

“No, I’d rather watch.”

He smirks, getting to work on another fish. In the time it takes them to finish what they’re doing, you’re a little hungry. Johanna’s just coming to sit down with you four, when she stops at the sight of another sponsor gift. She catches it, and when she sets it down, you’re able to see that it’s a red sauce for the seafood, and another pile of bread.

Finnick counts them, “Twenty-four again.”

So it’s settled, the plan is happening at midnight, tonight. 

With there being thirty-two rolls in total—eight being leftover from this morning—it’s divided so that everyone gets five again, leaving seven. You dip a chunk of fish into the red sauce, and the moment it touches your tongue, you close your eyes, letting out a hum.

“It’s good?” Finnick asks, reaching to do the same.

“It’s spicy.” You tell him. “So much better.”

It improves the flavor, making you hungrier. While they gorge themselves on everything in front of them, you take your time, not wanting to be so full that you feel like throwing up. You still have to hike up the hill, and it’ll be more difficult than this morning after a meal.

The red sauce is completely gone by the time they’re done, and there’s still food left over. They make sure that you’re full, and then they toss the leftovers into the sea because it won’t be good in a couple of hours. And no one wants to give the careers an opportunity to eat.

Katniss and Peeta go to sit on the edge of the water. Johanna goes back to patrolling, and you and Finnick sit and do nothing. That is, until he gets up to talk to Johanna away from you. You pull your knees to your chest, leaning forward into them, staring absently into the jungle.

The anthem plays a couple of hours later, but there are no faces in the sky tonight. The only people left in the arena are your group, the careers, and your missing member of the bigger alliance. There will be no more deaths until the careers.

When Finnick and Katniss believe nine o’clock has rolled around, you leave the shell infested camp to go to the twelve wedge. No one speaks as the hike begins, but it’s clear in the first ten minutes that they’ve eaten too much, because they’re walking at a slower pace. Miraculously, you feel just fine.

At the tree, Finnick takes point being your help, while the other three stand guard nearby. You pick up a branch, wrapping it in wire, and then make Finnick stand on the other side of the tree, as you pass it back and forth. You’re not sure if he notices, but you have him help you do it in a pattern, slowly drifting downward, and then back up, and then down again, covering as much of the bark as you can.

Your fingers brush his each time you hand it off, and you have to hold your breath to kill the butterflies that swarm.

You’re done with the wire around the time the wave begins. You gather together, holding the wire out for Johanna. You take your time explaining to them that this part is crucial. They need to carefully unwind the wire as they go down through the jungle, lay it across the beach, and throw it as deep into the water as they possibly can.

“Johanna and Katniss should take it, because they’ll be quicker. I’ll stay up here to make sure nothing goes wrong on our end.”

“I want to go with them as a guard.” Peeta says, shaking his head.

“You’re too slow.” You tell him flatly. “We can all see it. Besides, I’ll need you on this end. Katniss will guard.” You look at Katniss. “There’s no time to debate this. I’m sorry. If they want to get out of there alive, they need to move now.”

“It’s okay.” Katniss says. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.”

“In the one-to-two sector, not in the lightning zone.” You tell her. “If you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, until I can take a look at it.”

Katniss cups Peeta’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” She kisses him, turning to Johanna. “Ready?”

“Why not?” Johanna shrugs. “You guard, I’ll unwind. We can trade off later.”

The two of them begin to go down the slope, you barely look at Peeta, eyes landing on Finnick. He spins the trident in his hand, and then he moves away to watch the jungle. You cross your arms, standing close to the wire, watching as it goes rigid from them pulling it on the way down.

You pace, taking measured breaths to calm the anxiousness rising. It’s not the wire you’re worried about, it’s the rescue plan. You have less than two hours to pull this off and get lifted out of the arena. Hopefully you’ll be all together by then, making it an easy rescue.

You just hope they already have your brother somewhere safe. If you get out of here, and they don’t have Zero, you’re not sure if the rebels will bother keeping you around. You won’t help. You swear you don’t lift a finger to help them. It’s what you did after your Games, it’s what you’ll do now if they go back on their promise.

It’s almost twenty minutes later, right when the clicking has begun, the wire snaps, you turn to look at where the sound had come from. You watch as it bunches and curls, stopping at the tops of your shoes.

“Finnick.” You say, but he’s trying to make a swipe at Peeta.

He’s gone, running down the slope, leaving you and Finnick to stand there, dumbfounded. It has to be the careers, they’re not on the beach. They’ve been stalking you the entire time. And now that you’re split, it’s the perfect time to attack.

“Stay here.” Finnick orders, running after Peeta. “Stay!”

He disappears into the jungle, leaving you by the tree. A part of you wonders if you should go running after him, because he’s supposed to be guarding you. You know better than to move, your feet firmly planted in the grass and dirt. The careers won’t come here, they’re too busy.

Your hand reaches to grab onto the tree, needing something to lean onto, because the ache in your feet is beginning to become unbearable. Finnick told you to stay here, so that’s what you do. You won’t move a muscle, if it means that you make it out of this jungle tonight.

You don’t know how much time passes before a cannon goes, fifteen minutes, maybe? You hold your breath, waiting, straining to hear if there’s any yelling happening out there. Finnick calling for Katniss and Johanna, Peeta calling for Katniss, anything.

It’s too quiet.

Your eyes slide to see the stick that you’d set aside earlier, as well as yards of the wire that you’d unraveled to have on standby in the case of an emergency. If your plan didn’t work. While it was supposed to electrify and kill the careers, there was a good chance that it’d short-circuit the force field, too.

Now, with the wire here and nowhere near the water, you need another way to fry the field. No one is going to make it out of this arena alive if you don’t fix this. 

A new idea creeps into your mind, whispering in your ear, telling you that a sacrifice has to be made. Your eyes go from the stick, to the malfunctioned square on the force field that you’d spotted earlier, finding that it is, still, very much there. If you can’t do it through water, you can surely do it with the tree and the force field, you just need something to act in between…

The knife.

You move for the first time in thirty minutes, falling to your knees as you dig through the grass to find the knife that Finnick gave you in the Cornucopia. You find it only a few feet away, pulling it into your hands. You then remove the wire from the stick, wrapping it around the blade, instead.

You look at the force field, taking deep breaths to calm the beating in your chest. This could go two ways. The first way is that you drive this knife into the square, your fingers lock around the handle of the knife, and you die. Or, you get electrocuted, and by some miracle you walk out of this alive. 

That’s all you want. To get out of here, and have a chance at seeing your brother again. He can’t live in this world without you, he won’t do it. He’ll have no one if you die. But, if this means that he won’t have to live in fear of the Hunger Games, then you’ll do it.

You’ll do it a thousand times.

You get to your feet, gripping and fixing the knife in your hand. You approach the force field, swinging your arm back, aiming for the square. And the second it connects, there’s a loud zapping sound, and then you’re airborne.

—

You breathe in deeply through your nose, as if you haven’t in the past ten minutes. A tight and sharp pain hits the center of your chest, stopping you in the middle. Your eyes open, staring at the bright, silvery light overhead as you try to carefully let the air out.

Your eyebrows draw in, turning your head to the side, blinking away the blurry vision. There’s several beds to your right, and on one of them, it looks like Katniss Everdeen is hooked up to machines, tubes in her arms. They did it, they got you out. Where’s everyone else?

You can’t help the groan you let out as you sit up, wincing. You place a hand over your lower stomach, and you’re able to see that your skin is covered in soot and blood. You rub it away the bed you can, swinging your legs off the bed to get on your feet.

If it were the Capitol that got you out, they would’ve sedated you, and ensured that you wouldn’t wake up during the ride. This is the work of Haymitch, letting you wake up on your own to go to them. 

You drag your feet through the room, leaving Katniss as you pass through a doorway, entering a narrow hallway. With your free hand, you reach to hold onto the wall as you go. Your forearm is bandaged, they must’ve gotten the tracker out. It seems as if their stitching could use work, because there’s blood seeping through, more than there should be.

You don’t care.

The metal door at the end of the hall is open a quarter of the way. You push it open, and on the other side, you can see Haymitch, Finnick, and the Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee.

Haymitch looks up first, letting out a noise, prompting the other two to look. “Back from the dead.”

“(Y/n).” Finnick breathes. He’s dressed in a grey robe, the same that you are. He shuffles around the table, opening his arms.

You let him hug you, pulling you into his body tightly. You squeeze your eyes, the pain being more than you were prepared for, but you laugh, hugging him back.

“It was a smart idea, trying the knife on the force field.” Plutarch tells you. “It’s what sparked Katniss to do the same. It caused some chaos, we weren’t able to get everyone out, but we didn’t expect to, anyway.”

You pull away from the hug, “Who did we leave?”

“Johanna and Peeta.” Haymitch says.

Your eyebrows twitch, “Who was the cannon?”

“Chaff,” Finnick says. “I don’t think you were awake when the other cannon went off. Peeta killed Brutus.”

“What about Enobaria?”

“Taken by the Capitol, as well.” Plutarch says.

“Oh.” You breathe, “Is there somewhere I can sit?” Finnick leads you to a chair, your whole body aches when you go to sit down. When the motion is done, the relief is immediate. “So, where to now?” 

“District Thirteen.”

[fastcardotmp3]

Jonathan & El cw: implied past child abuse

The first time he hears her call herself bad it strikes him so hard in his sternum that he can't buck up and do something about it.

Jonathan looks at this girl, his sister, who has saved the world time and again, who had saved his brother from a slow death in a terrible place, and she lays claim to a badness that makes him feel kind of sick, actually.

It's the same feeling he got when Will started calling himself a freak, the same feeling he got when Jonathan himself first started learning to play music loud enough he couldn't hear his parents fighting in the other room, even years before he taught that trick to Will.

It's a feeling, ultimately, that swallows stability whole and leaves you to stumble across uneven ground until you find your footing again.

Jonathan just has to-- find his footing again. And that means someone needs to talk to El.

"Because I am," she says when he asks why she calls herself that, sitting at the kitchen table with two mugs of her latest culinary obsession between them-- hot chocolate.

"But what makes you think you're bad?" Jonathan asks, genuinely curious, genuinely getting thrown to the ground by the shake in the earth. "I don't think you're bad."

El presses her lips together, eyebrows low over her downturned gaze as she looks intensely at the little marshmallows sitting on top of her drink like she's trying to solve the puzzle of the world.

Jonathan supposes she kind of is, in a way, contemplating human nature after spending so many years being told what to be, how to fit within a certain set of parameters, how to behave the way Papa wanted her to.

That's another thing that gives him big feelings. Those feelings could probably be solved by caving Brenner's face in, though.

"I have hurt people," is what she lands on, still not looking up but the scowl line between her brows deepening.

And there's no denying it, she has hurt people; she's killed people, as a matter of fact, and she's watched them die, so there's no point in dodging the reality of that here, in trying to say you didn't mean to when he knows she did.

Jonathan opens his mouth and then shuts it again, though, catches himself in the act of trying to tell her that the good she's done outweighs the bad because, for one, he doesn't know if that's true, and for two, maybe it doesn't matter.

"You know," he clears his throat, elbows digging into the table and shoulders hunching up around his ears, "stories-- like Will's books and Hop's TV?-- have really obvious villains most of the time. Bad guys, right?"

El looks up at him, thinks about it, nods.

"Right."

"Okay," Jonathan keeps going, "well, that's because people have always been trying to find-- easy answers for hard things. Things like good and bad. So they created monsters who only ever hurt and heroes who only ever help.

"But, just because it helps us understand why people do bad things, it doesn't mean that-- none of it is really that-- black and white?"

"Black and white?" El questions, but she's not pushing back against him so Jonathan has hope that this is working in some way or another.

"Like, clear and obvious. Like everything has just one answer, but that's not really the case, is it?"

"No," she says with zero hesitation. "Some things are-- confusing."

"Yeah, they are. People are," he pulls his mug closer to himself and taps his fingers along the ceramic.

"So there aren't... bad people?" she looks confused, like she doesn't believe it, like she's actively losing faith in his judgement, so Jonathan shakes his head quickly.

"It's-- It's more like there are just people," he flounders. "And I really-- I don't think I've ever met a person that's only ever been good or only ever been bad."

El looks down at her hot chocolate. Grabs the can of whipped cream and sprays more on top of her cooling drink.

Doesn't take a sip.

"You've only ever been good," she says it slowly, obvious confusion still touching her tone in ways that don't even overpower the rush of emotion Jonathan gets and knowing she really feels that way about him of all people.

He breathes sharply through his nose, opens his mouth and shuts it twice before he manages to say, "I've hurt people too, El."

It's not going to be an easy thing, Jonathan thinks, making sure she understands that people are largely just the choices they make and that people are allowed to choose to change, to get better, and that the people who hurt her, the people she hurt in return, won't be missed by anyone who loves El but might be missed by someone and that no matter how complicated it is and no matter how messy and no matter how surface level wrong it may be she is still not bad.

It's not going to be an easy thing, made clear by the way she looks at him now and visibly tries to make sense of the fact that someone she had deemed as good could possibly have ever done wrong, because those people in that fucking lab drilled absolutism into her head from birth, but fuck. Fuck.

"You're just a person, is all I'm saying," he implores, because it's going to take longer than one conversation over hot chocolate to make any of it make a modicum of sense, even to him. "You're a person and we love you."

Something shakes loose in her gaze at that, a tension releasing from her shoulders, because if there's one thing Hopper and Joyce and those damn kids have done right it's making this make sense to her.

"I love you too," she tells him, and Jonathan has the self control of a saint to not start crying.

When she adds more whipped cream to her drink, he just follows her lead.

[haveihitanerve]

lol guess who's back!!

Anyways got another idea.

Outsiders pov- Theif or assassin given a job by some shady boss to.. deal with a CEO at a gala. But not just any CEO, Bruce "Gotham's Prince" Wayne himself. Seems like he has many enemies.

They sneak into the gala. But it's easy, it feels as if security barely tried to keep them out.

Their first attempt is to dr*g the WE owner's drink, but somehow that doesn't work—the clumsy sonovabitch 'accidentally' spilled it on Lex's suit. Then the assassin attempts a discret stab though the back, but somehow they can barely even penetrate skin.. either the weapon is dull or he's meta.

They try over and over yet somehow Bruce escapes each time before they just give up. They return to their employer and explain the situation before demanding they never hire them for such a job again.

hello again!!! ooooh this is so interesting.... the hardest part of this is defo gonna be having to think up ways to kill him and then have him dodge the attemot, but im sure itll be great! 😅

Trenton didn't know why he took the job. Well, no. He did. It was money. Easy money, too. He had looked into the guy he was supposed to kill, as he looked into everyone he had to kill, and Bruce Wayne? Quite honestly he could probably just leave out a butter knife and the idiot would find a way to kill himself.

But... the issue with looking into him was that... Well, he had learned about Bruce Wayne. And while he needed this money, desperately, the Wayne dude... he just.. wasn't the person Trent wanted to kill. He had killed plenty of people over the course of his career. Tons of them had ben decent people. But they had all done something to justify their deaths. Bruce Wayne? There wasn't a single thing wrong with the dude.

He was just a fucking nice guy. Ditsy? Sure. A little slow? Definitely. Richer than god? Oh yeah. But he wasn't a rich prick asshole. He donated his money. He adopted orphans and gave them better lives. He protected his employees. Trenton hadn't even found one rude comment about his fucking ability for Christ's Sake!

There were, of course, the usual hating comments or posts, usually political enemies, people who felt intimidated by Wayne's wealth and public popularity. But no matter how deep Trenton dug, he couldn't find any real evidence that their hatred was warranted. None. It was infuriating and he had finally given up after a few hours, slamming his computer closed in disgust.

Maybe that was a good enough reason to kill him. His utter lack of fucking badness. Still, even as Trenton convinced himself of it, or at least tried to, and focused on all the money and not the person he was killing, he couldn't stop that sinking feeling in his gut. There weren't many kills in his life Trent regretted, or felt bad about doing.

This one? As Trent crept through the vents of the Wayne Committee Meeting Ballroom, because of fucking course Wayne had built an entire building dedicated to celebrating other people and big donations, which was then used to help teach dance to traumatized kids when it wasn't being used for fancy events. This one Trent didn't know how to feel. He gritted his teeth, quickly unscrewing one of the vents so he could peer down below.

He had poisoned Wayne's drink on his way in, and was now just waiting. Trent couldn't lie to himself. He was good at his job. It was why they had called him. Which was, admittedly, a little suspicious because as far as he was aware, Bruce Wayne didn't need the best assassin to kill him. Maybe he wasn't aware enough.

And promptly three minutes later, without having taken a single sip of his champagne, Wayne was spilling all of it down Lex Luthor's suit. Of course. "Oh my goodness!" Wayne wailed, grabbing napkins from nearby. "How absolutely dreadful!! I'm so clumsy!" Lex glowered at him, smacking his hands away as he angrily stomped off.

Wayne pouted after him, then quickly bent to help a nearby server who was wiping his drink off the floor. "That's my bad, here Gabe, let me help." Of course he knew the servers name. Trent growled, pulling out his sniper. It would be messier, sure, but it would be over quickly. He would be out and gone before anyone even noticed the billionaire hit the floor.

"Father." a gods damned child approached, tugging his sleeve. Wayne bent down to eye level, dipping his head so the kid could whisper in his ear. Of course he was a good father to boot. The trigger became a little slippery. Wayne nodded at his son, standing, and patted his head affectionately. The boy scowled, but wrapped his arms around his father's legs in a quick hug before departing.

Wayne smiled, fond, and made a few gestures aimed at the older boy standing nearby who intercepted the kid. The man, an almost identical copy of Wayne, though Trenton thought only the youngest was his biological son, dipped his head in a nod, and took the littler kids hand, steering him away.

Trenton lowered his eye to the scope. Wayne made his way over to the drinks table. "Come on..." Trenton murmured. The last thing he wanted was to take out two people in one hit, though due to his research it seemed that everyone else around besides the workers and a few other nice people, had worse records than Wayne by far.

It helped that Wayne was about ten inches taller than everyone else, but Trent didn't want to take any chances. Wayne reached for his phone, sending a quick message to someone who's name Trent couldn't read, but who had an emoji of a lightning bolt, or a flash next to it. It didn't matter, really.

Now. There was no one else in the vicinity. Probably because a blond haired girl and another black haired boy were drawing attention at the other side of the room, but Trent didn't worry about that. Just so long as Wayne was alone. The pulled the trigger. And watched as Wayne didn't move. Didn't flinch. And most definitely didn't die.

"What the fuck..." Trent let the word drag, setting down his gun. That was it. He was going down there. It would be riskier. But he had no other choice anymore. His bullet had just... disappeared.

Trent maneuvered his way to the floor, fixing the lapels of his suit quickly before striding across the room, pretending to head to the food table where Wayne was still standing, now talking to a man with red hair. "Appreciate it Barry, feel free to hang around a bit more if you like." The other man, Barry, laughed, clapping Wayne on the back with what seemed like genuine comradery, not the faked laughter and sucking up everyone else seemed to do.

"Thanks B, but I'm heading home. I don't belong on this side of the river anyway." Wayne shook his head ruefully, but gave the man a hug, wishing him well. Barry nodded and disappeared into the crowd, nothing more than a whisper.

Wayne seemed a little put out now that Barry had gone, but recovered quickly, sticking a small sandwich in his mouth and rolling back his shoulders, squaring them, and turned, heading back into the crowd. It was perfect. Trent followed at an easy distance, looping around the dance floor before brushing past, his knife sliding easily into his hand from his sleeve.

Wayne didn't even twitch as the dagger pierced his side, continuing his conversation like nothing had happened. Trent circled around again, watching from the corner for him to notice the blood, at least, and panic, or fall over. Nothing happened.

He did notice the older man from earlier, Wayne's carbon copy, appear, and murmur something in his ear, their bodies almost flush against each other, hands tucked into what seemed to be their pockets, but then he was gone again, and Wayne didn't seem any worse for wear.

It was so incredibly frustrating. Trent groaned, moving on to his last and final plan, and if it didn't work, he gave up. The Court could take their money and shove it, he was not going to try again against this fucking meta.

Trent shoved off the wall, moving closer to Wayne, who had once again excused himself from the party, moving to the open window for a breath of fresh air. Perfect. If he somehow dodged dying from a thirty foot drop. No way.

Trenton moved closer, hand holding a server tray high, and with little difficulty bumped him, sending him toppling over the side. Done. Finished. Finally. Trenton waited for the thump, the crack of bones, the sickening crunch of a neck.... and nothing happened.

He glanced down and spotted Wayne, clamored against the wall below and scaling down it with ease, clearly unaware he was being watched. That was it.

Trent gave up. "Good play Mr. Wayne." He grumbled, and disappeared out the front doors. He wasn't about to try and go toe to toe with a man that couldn't, or wouldn't die. No way.

"Hey, hire someone else the next time you want to send them on a wild goose chase errand." He cursed the Talon. "Fuck your money, I'm never trying to kill Wayne again. Bastard." And he walked out.

[writingmeraki]

blood red strings.

a lee heeseung drabble !

genre : angst, action!au , spy!au, soulmate!au.

pairing : lee heeseung x gn!reader, enemies to ?, secret pining.

warnings : descriptions of blood, weapons, injuries, bruises, death, murder. cussing ( I think that's about it ) not proofread/edited.

author's note : idk. thas the only explanation I have for this. :D it was supposed to be short but oh well. oh fucking well. enjoy and let me know what you think !! Inspired by a pic I saw of two people point a gun at each other and a red string being formed ( I can't find it :< ) also my ENHYPEN DEBUT!! WOO FINALLY!!! I imagined Heeseung in this and I just went along with the flow because I legit could not get spy!hee out of my brain...... maybe I do love this more than I should and maybe I might end up making this a full fic ha. oh welp enjoy 😆😆😆😆😆 also other works will be uploaded soon ( the ones I've promised I know you have been waiting for a while 😭 ) edit : THE TYPOS ESP THE FUCKUNG ONE I WANT TO KAY EM ES.

word count : 2.3K

You felt it before you could see it.

The pain shot up your entire body, alarming your brain before you could see what caused it. Otherwise you would have even been able to dodge the cause.

Said cause smirked at you, as much as you'd rather burn yourself than to ever admit it, he looked annoyingly handsome, despite his own condition not being better than yours.

A cool breeze passed through the late night, typically a time when everyone would be sleeping peacefully in their beds, you'd like to think you would be too but you knew that wishing a peaceful night's sleep was as good as thinking a bullet shot would not hurt.

Both are far too different from how reality was.

Your knuckles ached, torn and ripped skin bleeding out. The right side of your face hurt, being punched twice was probably the reason. Your stomach hurt too, having been thrown against the concrete floor of the terrace not an ideal place to land was probably it.

Lucky for you, the adrenaline flowing through you, made it feel as though none of the aches actually affected you. Sort of distracting you from even thinking about how much it actually hurts.

Dodging another punch, you swiftly kicked Heeseung's leg, making him lose control himself for a moment, a moment you knew to never miss and you turned around hurdling another kick at his side.

His groans of pain indicated the impact of your blows as it was now your turn to be smug with him as you smiled in satisfaction.

"Aww did that hurt you?" Crossing your arms at him, as he laid on the ground for the briefest of moments, jaw clenching and shutting his eyes to take a deep breath, irritation growing within him when he heard your taunting.

Standing up while trying not to fall down again, his back now faced you.

Clicking his tongue, you couldn't see the anger in his eyes. He had enough.

"Let's just put an end to this pathetic game. It's getting tiring and frankly I have better things to do."

He didn't want to get into what he was actually sent there to do. He knew he would have do to it, but somehow, he wanted to stall it as much as he could.

And now this was the consequence of the stalling, his own state being terrible.

Scoffing at him, you raised an eyebrow,

"As if I have time to waste on you." You spat, venom laced words at him as you scanned his back, more than you should as you took in how broad his shoulders were from the way the black suit blazer stretched across them.

Without wasting a moment, Heeseung grabbed his gun from the holster that was under his shirt. Pulling it out, he swiftly turned around, now facing you.

"Well then, you won't have any time at all it seems." He pointed it at you, raising his own battered hand, his bloody thumb clicking the revolver to load it.

Smirking more widely at his actions, while pulling out your own revolver from your holster under your now maroon shirt, you pointed it at him.

Standing in mirroring positions, guns to your heads, you stared at him directly in the eye.

“It also seems like your time is over, sad how you’d die from the bullet of your worst enemy.”

You found amusement in your statement as your grin shifted to more of a mocking one.

“Darling we’d be dying together, far too romantic don’t you think?” His low voice rang in your ears, glaring at him and you’d excuse the warmth rushing to your cheeks from the mere nickname even though he’d called you way too many over the years of your rivalry as just blood rushing to your head.

Your gaze shifted to the clock tower behind him, the golden roman numerals glinting from the city light, reading the time to have been two minutes to twelve.

Two minutes to your twenty-fifth birthday.

Snorting at the irony of it, you shook your head. You might as well count it as your deathday considering, surely you wouldn’t be spared after this. You both waited for this for too long, having spent almost three years at each other’s throats and you’d be damned if you would let him escape alive as well. One thing you were sure about was you definitely won’t be spared as well.

It was always an eye for an eye and a bullet for a bullet. A death for a death.

It would be exactly twenty five years of your existence if you died today. Not a day more not a day less, a perfect twenty five and in a sickening way you always loved perfect things and this coincidence was no different.

“It would be devastating for you to die before you even meet your poor soulmate.” He grinned at you with a malicious glint and you felt your heart slightly drop at this forgotten reality.

A soulmate you’d never meet. A soulmate whose heart would feel like it would be ripped out before even meeting you. A soulmate who would feel the same thing your mother did when your father was brutally murdered. A soulmate who might spiral into a depression which could even lead into their own death. Just like your own mother.

No. No you couldn't think of this. You couldn't step back from something you'd been trained to do a decade ago. You couldn't. Not for something you found was more of a burden from universe rather than something special like most.

"Lee, if you know me well enough. You know that I don't fucking believe in this shit." You hissed at him biting your tongue, a tendency you did when you lied.

A lie because you did believe they existed, you saw it yourself but the reason it was a burden was because it didn't automatically mean a happy ending, you experienced it, you lived through that alternate ending and saw the toll of it on someone who was supposed to be the most precious person in your life.

"Ah ah ah don't lie now Y/N. You and I both know your pathetic self believes in all of that universally bonded shit." He shifted from holding the gun to his right hand, stepping closer to you and the grip on yours tightened.

"You're saying as though yours will see you alive." You could feel the side of your head aching, a trail of blood dripping all the way to your chin. A drop landing on your new tie dye maroon shirt splattered in dark and light hints of the same.

"I'd rather die while killing you than care about that nonsense. You see, unlike you, I know I'd never have a soulmate." The taunting smirk on his face slightly dimmed because even though Lee Heeseung was true to his words, a small part of his heart was still saddened at the thought of not meeting his supposed other half when he was supposed to.

He recalled his birthday, just a few months from yours, waiting to see if it was finally the year where the universe gave him the supposed greatest gift possible, his other half but no red string of fate showed up on his pinky and he smacked the shit out of Jake when his friend tried to comfort him that maybe his soulmate had also not yet turned twenty five.

Yet. Yet he threw those thoughts out of his mind when he realized what would be the end result of tonight. The end result leading to his own…end.

The loud ticking off the clock grew louder as it neared the twelve mark, indicating a new day, indicating your day.

You deeply inhaled, smiling at your nemesis, taking in the details of his face because well it was the last time you'd ever see him…or anyone probably.

"And oh! How could I forget? It's your birthday isn't it? Here's my little present then."

The clock chimed loudly, the vibrations running through you from the closeness and you tried not to wince from the loudness.

"Happy birthday Love."

Before you could respond to him ;

You saw it before you could feel it.

A dark red thread, looping itself around the pinky of your hand and your eyes widened, no words being able to form from your gaping mouth.

Now you felt the tightening of it. The red string harshly tugged at your pinky as it stretched outwards. It wasn't the only thing that felt suffocating because your throat felt like it closed up as you breathed out heavily.

A loud shot rang in your ears back, your focus still trained on the thread extending itself until it didn't.

It stopped.

Right in front of him.

It stopped in front of Lee fucking Heeseung.

He was frozen, ironically mirroring the same position as you once again but the only difference was the trigger on his gun was pushed backwards.

His eyes followed the movement of the string, pausing and holding his breath as it began to move.

It moved and moved and moved until.

Until it wrapped itself around his wrist.

And then he moved. The gun in his hand fell to the ground as he felt the dark red string tighten on his wrist.

You screamed out in pain before you could even comprehend what happened. Only now feeling the shot to your chest. The gun in your hand slipping from your grasp to the ground.

In your own stupor you didn't even realise you'd launched a few steps backwards, an impact caused by the bullet shot, now dropping to your knees as you put your hand to your chest.

Now it was his turn to feel it before he could see it, see you.

Heeseung felt it before he saw you, grabbing his own chest, feeling as though someone ripped his heart out.

"No…no, this…this can't be happening!" He coughed out as he tried to ease the pain in his chest, tears welling up in his eyes.

You sobbed out pathetically as you tried to put pressure on your chest to stop the bleeding.

Heeseung's gaze turned towards you and before he knew it, he gave into the string pulling him towards you as he rushed to you, dropping on his knees when he reached you.

"You…could have waited for one fucking minute you-" You spat out as you shut your eyes, not being able to even sit up straight, letting yourself fall forward.

A few minutes ago, he would have rejoiced at your state but now…in the matter of one sick twisted cosmic joke, he felt like his heart was being gutted while he held you in his arms.

"I…didn't. I didn't know I just…I didn't even think it could ever be…you." He didn't know what to do as he tried to think of something to do, what he could possibly do.

It wasn't like he was any better, he could feel the pain you were feeling only yours was actually there while his was more due to your freshly fated bond.

He laid you down on his lap, pulling off his blazer, bunching it up and pressing it to your chest.

You laughed humorlessly at his words, "Well it wasn't like I was expecting my soulmate to be you."

You let the tears flow as you looked up at him, pressing your hands on his own. The sparks flowing through you like an electric shock and for a moment right there, you could see why they described holding hands with your soulmates was exactly how you felt. An electric spark.

"Maybe this was how it's meant to be. For me to die, ultimately in your arms, my best enemy and my…only soulmate." You smiled at him, your tears glistening your cheeks. The most devastating part being your smile was a genuine one from the sincerity in your eyes.

He let out the whimper he'd been holding back, his own tears mixing with the blood on his face, and oh, he looked like a messy art piece, one that was only meant for you to look at in your final moments.

"No, I…please don't. It hurts, I can't…" His words came out in broken whispers, contrasting his past self who promised he'd rather jump into a lake full of sharks than to ever beg you.

"Didn't you say it would be romantic if we died together? Well then, Romeo and Juliet be damned." You jocked around, coughing as you learnt that trying to laugh when you have a bullet in your chest wasn't the most ideal.

Heeseung glared at you as he clenched his molars in anger, cursing at himself.

He wished and oh he fucking wished he waited one minute. Maybe then, maybe then he'd be able to change his perspective on you. A perspective that was already there, buried deep in the lockers of his mind, in folders of memories he had with you, how he saw you, how he thought of you.

A perspective he longed to think of since he met you but alas reality was far too different.

"And I never said thank you for you gift did I?" You grinned widely at him,

"Don't…just no." He whispered in such a soft tone that you were probably hearing for the first time in your life.

"Thank you Heeseung." You could feel the weight of the world in your eyes, moments of your entire twenty five years flashing like a film, some the happiest and some the most tragic ones.

It proved to you a question you'd asked yourself when you were 14, whether indeed a person's entire life flashes when they die. And now you got your answer first hand, nearly a decade later.

"And oh…fuck you." You whispered out as you felt lighter than ever and then, it was all over.

Over for you. Over for him.

A soulmate who he never thought existed, taken from him cruelly before he could even see the string turn a brighter shade of red, a shade that indicated true love.

A soulmate who he himself ended.

Indeed. What a devastating reality.

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023

links ! : main navigation | enhypen masterlist

[dittolicous]

part 5 of buring rage au, though its more a group of thoughts (last part here)

- the strawhats have multiple encounters with stealth black and the other vinsmokes before sanji burns it all down, none of which ever end happily. the strawhats were hopeful going in the first time, right up until stealth black directed an attack at robin and chopper, which in turn causes zoro to lash out despite luffys commands not to

- they never notice that he only ever sends attacks in the girls direction, never actually making direct, in your face attacks. tbf, sanji doesn't realize hes doing it either. subconsciously hes able to distance himself from the attack when its a broad stroke attack. this is how he handles attacking other kingdoms and communities as well, trying to disassociate the damage with his attack in particular. if they can dodge, its fine...

- this opinion doesnt hold up in the long run, but it only causes him to get worse, lashing out harder and harder

- similarly, his run ins with the strawhats start out almost fun, as they actually gave him echoes of other feelings beyond anger. but this doesn't last as he learns more of the truth and sees how the strawhats keep holding back. they dont hold up to the image hes been building in his mind. and he feels theyre letting their own emotions blind them from the truth that he and the others need to be taken out. and in turn, this makes him even madder because they have everything at their fingertips and they STILL cant make the right choice, whereas he had to sneak and dig out the truth, just trying to make sense if his existence.

- the exception, to a point, is zoro. who appears to be up holding the promise he made in wano, even if sanji cant remember it. but thats the key word, appears. because despite going all out, he can never make killing blows. he tries to deny it, tries to stick to his mind over heart methods, but its rough.

- it doesnt help that hes going directly against luffys orders, causing discord amongst the crew. they only avoid a repeat of water 7 because zoro refuses to fight luffy when he lashes out over attacking sanji. he knows hes technically in the wrong, but he made a promise. he doesn't help his case by never telling the others, but he figures it wouldn’t change their opinion.

- on luffys end, hes barely holding it together. he had front row seats when sanji was initially killed and it triggered him so badly that he froze up (reminding him of aces death), allowing his body to fall into the ocean. as far as hes concerned, everything going forward is his fault as the captain. he does lash out when zoro doesnt stand down but usopp is able to get him to pull back, recalling how things went at water 7, and how he doesnt want to lose zoro either, no matter how badly his choice hurts him.

- the only thing keeping zoro from leaving the crew is luffys refusal to accept it. zoro offered after stating he wouldnt back down, luffy denied it flat out.

- but it doesnt really solve anything either. they still dont agree and know how every encounter could turn into a three way battle, which is just counterproductive.

- robin in particular is actually extremely upset with zoro. he expected nami to be angry, which she is, but robin comes in like a bat out of hell at him. outside of ennies lobby, the others never saw her lose her cool so bad. this is only because shes able to read both sides so well, seeing through sanjis facade (in a way that he himself cant even see) and how zoro is giving up on him. she basically reads him for filth, leaves zoro unsteady, and storms off.

- it feels like a betrayal of everything they did for her, in her opinion, going back on the people they were. she doesnt care if sanji hurts her, not when hes hurting so much worse. she knows that this would upset him were he in his right mind, but she figures theyll handle that when hes safely back with them

- this leaves zoro more shaken then he cares to admit, desperate to deny his inability to uphold his side of the promise. meditating hasnt been helping much lately, either, unable to fully calm his thoughts with the whole crew being so shaken up and his struggle between the promise, the desires of the crew, and the desires he himself has been pushing down, refusing to acknowledge. hes afraid of what follows if he does...

- at the end of the day, he doesnt know what *he* wants anymore. he hasnt been this lost since kuina passed away...

- as such, its extremely tense on the sunny

- it doesnt help that theyre all barely eating. entering the galley is hard, especially after the revelation of what happened to sanji. brook and jimbe are the ones who most often handle cooking meals, thanks to both having handled such loss in the past. which isnt to say theyre ok now, theg really arent, but theyrs keeping it together because the others need them to.

- luffy is a concern as he, in particular, has been forgoing eating. his appetite is in shambles. this in turn impacts his fighting, as hes not in tip top form to handle any big battles. jimbe and chopper attempt to use this reasoning to get him to eat more, but its success varies

- nami is conflicted, oscillating back and forth between agreeing with either zoro or luffy. being in line from an attack by sanji shook her up a great deal. her emotions keep blurring between anger, sorrow, and fear. she doesnt want to lose anyone else and shes afraid of them attempting to bring him back, just to realize their sanji is gone forever.

- usopp is firmly on luffys side, though he does get namis concern and is kinda right therd with her on how terrifying the concept is. but hes refusing to give up until its been proven 100% without a doubt that sanji cant be saved. he couldn't be there during wci, so he'll give everything now - though he could do with less flaming kicks to the head

- robin at one point was able to get a fingernail from sanji during a fight (dont question her, she has her ways) and has it made into vevire card to better track him

- it was extremely unnerving to watch it ignite the second it was completed... at the very least, its not burning *fast* but a clock is clearly ticking...

[rosileeduckie]

Tickled to Death

Pact of punishment level: maxed. Time face the scariest enemy you didn’t know lived in hell: your own boyfriend. 

Zagreus “helps” Thanatos get out from between a rock and a hard place. For @vqler, who GOD I’m so sorry I’m late but I hope you like me petrifying and obliterating Thanatos for you in the name of Christmas ❤ Much love to you, much love and thanks to @hypahticklish for hosting this year’s @squealing-santa. Kudos and love to everyone who posted for the event this year, happy holidays, and happy new year!

SFW. Potential warnings: just “returning to writing” writing lol. Hades: Zagreus/Thanatos tickle fic.

Word count: 3,075

~*~

Zagreus had attempted enough escapes from the underworld to know, upon even entering a chamber, when something was immediately off. He daresay he was experienced by this point; there were things he’d come to expect. Hordes of enemies, unleashed with love from his father? Certainly. The unavoidable spiting of and smiting from god-cousins for the favor of other ones? Often. Blood, death, and darkness? Absolutely. What he found waiting for him upon crossing from his most recent ferry to the nearest Asphodelian dock was, in a total understatement, wildly unexpected. 

Save for the familiar sound of bubbling, hissing lava and distant magma falls, the chamber was quiet. Zagreus entered as he always did, light on his burning feet and weapon unsheathed, ready to dodge or strike at a moment’s notice. He needn’t have, though, as he soon realized the chamber was befuddlingly empty. Sure, he’d encountered chambers with no enemies in them, either at first glance because they had just yet to spawn or at all because their presence was dissuaded by some form of boon or blessing. But the chamber he currently found himself in had no healing pool, no shop, and no allies, let alone enemies. It was just plain empty.

So busy with examining the room for some sort of clever trap, Zagreus didn’t even notice the obvious obstacle until he fully tripped over it, sprawling onto the rock with his weapon—Stygius, this time—clattering a couple of feet away. Zagreus looked back to see what had caused him to stumble, and his brow furrowed deeper in confusion. A scythe, large and dramatic and adorned with gold and a piercing purple eye lay abandoned on the rock, its usual wielder, the physically and emotively grey demigod that Zagreus had the biggest soft spot for, was nowhere to be seen. Or was he?

Zagreus turned his head, looking from Thanatos’ weapon to his own. A couple of feet away. His gaze lifted slowly upward. The grey and currently half-rocky skin had blended quite well into the environment like a natural stalagmite, and it wasn’t until he was actually looking for it that Zagreus could see that Thanatos was there, and likely not going anywhere any time soon. 

The prince rose, grabbed and sheathed his sword as he rounded the Thanatos-shaped pillar until he faced the front. Zagreus had been grinning already upon realizing what he’d stumbled upon, but that grin grew all the bigger and brighter when he saw the normally brooding Thanatos looking flustered and positively grumpy.

“Don’t—” Thanatos said, sighing in defeat when Zagreus snorted and burst into bright laughter that he tried and failed to hide behind his hand. “Don’t laugh.”

"I'm sorry, but can you blame me?" Zagreus said, nearly falling into another fit of giggling when he rapped a knuckle lightly against Thanatos' chest and the action produced a satisfying thunk. "What happened?" He asked, but it was fairly obvious: petrification. Gorgons were aplenty in Asphodel, and none of them so friendly as Dusa. Most of Thanatos' body was still affected by the curse, frozen in place and turned a stony stormy grey. By the looks of it and the fact that he could talk, the petrification was naturally draining from Thanatos' form from the top first, leaving the rest of him to wait out the "thawing" process in the stiff and stiffness-inducing position of both arms partially raised as those blocking with his scythe, and both feet floating their usual few inches from the ground.

"I was waiting for your slow ass," Thanatos grumbled, drawing the prince to close his cursory examination with a snort. "Expected for us to have one of our contests, but a gorgon caught me from behind. You'd be standing in her remains, if I hadn't vaporized her."

"Remind me to stay off your bad side." 

"“Stay off.”"

“Shut up.” Zagreus walked a slow circle around Thanatos. He cast his gaze outward, studying the chamber without the blinders of adrenaline and stress that tended to make things look fuzzy. He knew Thanatos was powerful, but—blood and darkness—he’d probably obliterated every shade within the next three chambers, let alone their current one. It was just a guess, but, with how thoroughly every trap had been tripped and every structural fault had been compromised simultaneously, as though from a massive blast, Zagreus was fairly certain that A. he and Thanatos were better than safe from shades for the time being, and B. even caught off guard, Thanatos did nothing at half-intensity. Drama queen. “So how long have you been like this?”

Thanatos grunted, straining to look over his shoulder at Zagreus when the prince moved fully behind him. “I don’t know. I didn’t count, as I was counting on you to be quick. Thanks for picking this one time to be the one where you drag your feet.”

Zagreus didn’t respond to the jab with more than a thoughtful hum. He was too busy watching the petrification dissipate, the cold stone color receding like a lava wave at low tide at a slavug’s pace. Ugh. 

“I don’t know how long I’ve been like this, and I have no idea how long I’ll be like this, since I usually have you to cover me.”

“It’s pretty quick, from the hits I’ve taken.” Of course, Zagreus realized upon thinking it over, he was often petrified while surrounded by enemies, and the threat of being sent back down the Styx made him struggle against the enchantment with all his might. Maybe it was supposed to last a long time; he’d just be thin on patience and break himself out. “Helps if you wiggle.”

Thanatos scoffed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “You are an amazing help.”

“Well, what do you suggest I—?”

“Just—” Thanatos huffed, neck and shoulders visibly straining where he tried to move them, move anything, “just keep watch to make sure nothing respawns. I didn’t even want you seeing me like this, let alone your father’s subjects.”

“Any shade would think they’ve gone mad with the heat before they accepted seeing you like this as real. Or they’d be laughed out of the House for such a ridiculous and unbelievable tale, you know that. But fine,” Zagreus replied with a yawn and set himself on a little guarding route around Thanatos, keeping an eye trained outward for ominous growling, keeping an ear pointed toward Thanatos to listen to his comical grunts and breathy swears of efforts, and letting his mind drift elsewhere.

When Zagreus found himself petrified on his escape attempts, a quick shake and healthy dose of stubbornness was all it took for him to bash his way to freedom and back to slashing shades to dust. There had been one time, though, when he’d found himself without monsters to slay beside the shade who’d landed a hit and then lazily floated away and straight into a fountain of lava. (Zagreus could understand enjoying a hot bath, but yikes…) With no adversaries, Zagreus had lacked his usual incentive to escape as quickly as possible. It was odd, to stop moving so thoroughly, without being able to so much as jiggle his leg or tap his fingers or click his tongue. His companion on-call at that time had been Dusa, and he couldn't think of anyone better to offer advice as to getting un-petrified than her. Luckily, the little gifted doll he kept like a keychain on his weapon didn't need to be physically or verbally invoked—that would make summoning under the onslaught of a dozen rakers or one very maltempered ROUS even more difficult—so he pictured the soft snakey toy, reached out with his mind, and called for his companion. In a flash, Dusa appeared, all smiles and polite shyness and readiness to stone and slaughter any foe that challenged the prince. Of course, there were none, but Zagreus' head had gotten enough feeling back to explain the situation to Dusa. Her advice was the same Zagreus had given to Thanatos in the present: wiggle around a bit. And she had, so helpfully, provided a new incentive via her trusty feather duster.

Recalling the event made Zagreus—well, first he flushed to the roots of his charcoal hair, and he was glad he'd come to stand behind Thanatos at that moment, and then—grin, delighted and devilish. "Actually…"

"What?" Thanatos tried to look over his shoulder at Zagreus once more, and found only the slightest more yield in his stone-struck muscles. He could almost touch his chin to his shoulder. 

Zagreus side-stepped accommodatingly to face his captive companion. "Funny thing is, Than, you're not rock. You can feel just fine." He gave another demonstrative flick to Thanatos' shoulder. "It's a bitch when you're being bombarded with enemy attacks. But it might help you break free. If I just—"

It had been a tactical move for Zagreus to move around to Thanatos’ front. For one, it allowed him easy access to scribble his fingers under death incarnate’s arms unimpeded. For another, it meant he got to see Thanatos’ face morph from dismay to betrayal to amusement (however helped along and hysteric).

“Zagreus!” cried Thanatos, the sound colored with a splash of helpless laughter. Truly, it was funny how his technically perfect defensive position, when without his intimidating weapon, left him totally vulnerable to a little tickling. (Well. A lot of tickling. Zagreus was usually on the other end of these fights, and he had already decided he was not letting such a golden fleece of opportunity go by.)

"Yes, Than dear?" Zagreus teased, smile growing wide enough as his victim's when he saw the way Thanatos' cheeks began to burn violet. It took the strength of Sisyphus, but Zagreus looked away from Thanatos’ face, looking instead at his chest and trailing the progress of the curse. Still slow, but with a bit more stuttering speed. The stony color had dissipated all the way down to about his collarbone, leaving the topmost part of his collar golden and shining once more. “No need to thank me. I can already see the curse is lifting faster. You keep wriggling, I’ll keep helping, and you’ll be out in no time!”

A whine that slipped seamlessly into a squeal punctuated Thanatos’ chortling. “But—!”

The dual-eyed demigod slowed his attack, keeping his fingers and just a featherlight flutter in Thanatos’ armpits. It was far from rare for the pair to engage in all-out tickle wars that could border on brutal, but this may have been a bit much. Zagreus didn’t want to overwhelm Thanatos. He waited for even the slightest inkling of dissent.

Thanatos ducked his head, panting and giggling and bumping his forehead gently against Zagreus’. “If someone sees…” It was a thin excuse, between euphoric lips and yellow eyes burning with excitement, and Thanatos knew it. 

Zagreus definitely knew it, holding Thanatos’ jaw in his hands to pull him in for a kiss that ended when the prince chuckled, low and wicked and delighted. “Darling, with how you smote those shades, we won’t be interrupted for awhile, I’m sure.” Thanatos’ eyes scrunched shut, and he bit his lip valiantly against a renewed fit of giggling when Zagreus’ hands migrated gently down his neck and back to his underarms. “No one but me to relish your screams.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Thanatos teased, teeth gritted in a grin.

Able to bear stillness not a second longer, Zagreus set his fingers dancing once again, spidering viciously beneath Thanatos’ arms. Poor death threw his head back as the villainous onslaught sent laughter bursting from his lungs to echo through the lava chamber. His shoulder muscles strained against stone, but, try as he might, he couldn’t lower his arms at all. Not the tiniest inch, not the slightest bit of reprieve. Zagreus grinned. It was spectacular. 

In self-preservation, Zagreus had tipped his head back from his and Than’s intimate moment seconds before going back to full tickle monster mode, which had been smart with how determined Thanatos was to thrash even with just his head. A minute or two of torture later, Zagreus saw another inevitable point of danger. The curse was ebbing; soon Thanatos was free to his shoulders, and that gave him only the ability to laugh enough for them to shake. As soon as his pectorals were free, Thanatos was going to have means, however clumsy, to fight back. With a sigh lamenting the end of a helpless Thanatos, Zagreus took one last adoring gaze at that tickled-mad, wide-grinning, ecstasy-dizzy face, and he ducked.

A deadweight hand swung over his head, and Zagreus sent one of few thanks to his father for increased difficulty in his pact of punishment. It might have been small, but his instincts were good enough now to avoid what would have been an impressive black eye. Blacker eye. Still, stone-from-the-chest-down was not the way Zagreus preferred his partners, so he couldn’t rest yet. Thanatos was flailing his arms with all his might, but he still couldn’t bend over, so Zagreus was relatively safe lounging against Thanatos’ knee. Reaching as high as he dared, Zagreus gave a few quick and indiscriminate tickles—resulting in beautiful answering shrieks—and latched onto Thanatos’ hips. Instead of pinching, Zagreus held on for dear life and dug into the fabric beneath Thanatos’ belt, burrowing into and scratching the soft sensitive spots that had the potential to make Thanatos purr but were currently making him wail like the damned. 

The longer Thanatos suffered under Zagreus’ malicious mischief, the quicker the curse faded. Zagreus’ wiggling fingers seemed to be fleeing from it as they squeezed down Thanatos’ thighs, skittered behind his knees, and eventually dashed to his soles. Thanatos was fully able to buck now, body all but back to his control. Had Zagreus not laid down on the rocky ground, he likely would have been throttled. As it was, he was still out of reach, grinning up at Thanatos and receiving an exhausted but elated smile in return. There was even almost a flash of fear in death’s eyes when Thanatos realized what Zagreus had planned for the finale of their first—and hopefully not last—curse-breaking session. 

“Don’t worry, Than. This spot ALWAYS makes you dance. If it doesn’t free you, nothing will.” Zagreus was positively beaming up at Thanatos, facing no defense in the form of scrunching toes or kicking feet his usually did even threatening to tickle this spot, and certainly not deterred by the pitiful attempt at a glare the smiley and slumped over Thanatos shot at him. 

Any shade that had even thought about reforming within a mile of them had probably changed their mind and stayed dead a few more minutes upon hearing the howl death let out when two fingers were traced delicately under his toes. Never mind the subsequent guffawing screams he uttered when Zagreus raked five fingers back and forth beneath them while his other hand devastated Thanatos’ soles with some evil scribbling that he could only imagine tickled like hell. Those sounds, even if it did make Zagreus wince and almost want to cover his ears, and the blazing, amazing, unabashed smile that accompanied it was better than any boon the gods could give him. Maybe it was a little devil in him talking, but it was simply divine to see his lover so undone and hysterical, so free even when immobilized, so happy and for only Zagreus to see. He wouldn’t mind staying there, basking in Thanatos’ warm and hysterical glow, for a few dozen winters.

His wish was not granted. He barely got a dozen seconds before Thanatos finally shook free from the petrification, yanking his feet away from Zagreus’ hands and subsequently upending himself, laughter having sapped his strength to the point where he couldn’t even float, collapsing on top of Zagreus’ chest and leaving them both wheezing. 

Once he’d gotten back the wind that had been knocked out of him, Zagreus chuckled, wrapping his arms around Thanatos and holding him close, rubbing smooth and soothing circles into the soft warm skin of his shoulder. So gentle and loving was the attention and little kisses he showered Thanatos with that his next words were a jarring dissonance.

“You know, it usually only takes me a few seconds to break free from a gorgon hit when I really want to,” said Zagreus, and he hummed smugly when he felt Thanatos’ face grow warm where it was suddenly buried in the prince’s neck. “Can’t help but wonder if, maybe, you just didn’t want to escape that badly.” He pressed a grinning kiss to Thanatos’ burning forehead. “Eh, Thana-toes?”

Just as suddenly as he’d been pinned to the floor under Thanatos, Zagreus found himself pinned to the floor, arms raised and locked in the grip of a vengeful death, whose amber eyes were absolutely alight with promise and payback, and smoldering more softly with fondness that could not be more obvious when he rolled them. “I will give you three conditions to escape a slow and very merciless end, after which I will personally drag you back down the Styx and deliver just as merciless a wake-up call.”

Zagreus gulped, his grin growing wobbly and his stomach already tickled by a swarm of prickling nerves and butterflies. “And those would be?”

“One,” said Thanatos, summoning a ghostly indigo shackle to bind Zagreus’ left wrist. “Please don’t tell anyone about this that I work with. I’d like to keep some professional dignity. Two.” Another shackled encircled Zagreus’ right wrist. “Don’t you dare call me that ever again.” 

Zagreus couldn’t help but smile proudly at the purple flush that touched Thanatos’ cheeks at that, albeit his smile swiftly turned giggly and giddy as those two shackles pulled his arms taut. 

“Three.” Thanatos leaned in just to nuzzle Zagreus’ ear and scoff lowly when he tried to scrunch up his shoulders. The wickedly sharp tips of Thanatos’ iron gauntlets grazed gently along Zagreus’ highest ribs, making him jolt and bite down on a yelp, grin already hopelessly wide and nerves tingling in anticipation. Zagreus was sure he lost what color he had, most of it roaring to flush and flicker in his hair and ears, and surer that he’d be cursing Thanatos next time, when the latter bowed close to whisper the final condition.

“Don’t laugh.”

[shipping-all-ships]

Back on that soulmates-share-quirks au but lets focus on the kuropress. Like how when Shirakumo died, Mr. Compress lost the ability to use Cloud and he never tried to use his soulmates quirk after a few months of desperate trying since he concluded his soulmate was officially gone. 

The Doctor took an interest in Mr. Compress when they first met-- even though they wanted Eraserhead, they did observe him and got to see his friends and their quirks/soulmate quirks and so recognizes the second quirk Shirakumo had. He starts grilling Mr. Compress on his second quirk, like has he even tried to use it since his soulmates death or if the connection feels off somehow. Shigaraki puts a stop to the questions and assures Mr. Compress that it’s just how the Doctor is, absolutely fascinated with soulmate related quirks and how they relate to nomus and all that nonsense, so not to pay it any mind. If anyone else had a dead soulmate, he would be interrogating them as well. 

It ends up eating away at Mr. Compress because no he hasn’t even tried to use it in over ten years and now feeling for the quirk, it does feel off. Different somehow, wrong, unnatural. He didn’t think it about again until they’re fighting heroes on a rooftop and he hears Twice shout, turning in time to see Toga dodge too far to the left and suddenly she’s falling over the side. 

He doesn’t know if the heroes would try to catch her or let gravity do it’s job and write her off as another causality, he doesn’t know if any of Twice’s clones will be able to grab her in time to make a cushion, but he does know that none of them will be able to get to her in time. 

Something in him surges and Toga’s scream is cut off as she lands hard on a soft cloud, swirling the same dark purple color as Kurogiri. She floats back up in the sudden halt of the fight and Mr. Compress has to stomp down the sudden breakdown he feels coming one when he sees his mist covered hand because what the fuck?

He and Kurogiri are going to have to have a very long talk when they break him out of prison.

[dreadfutures]

I have this whole fic idea for what Emily and Corvo are doing during Death of the Outsider and wrote this on my phone just now. sorry it's rough shsjdkdkdj

Corvo is having nightmares, which then turn out to be actually memories of himself in another timeline where he was the one facing Delilah. That Corvo did a high chaos run, but this Corvo is horrified by the dreams and the implications of who he was and what he did.

Emily notices her father is growing agitated and isn't sleeping well, and she figures the Outsider might have something to do with it.

-:-:-

"It's not her."

Emily whips around, time slowing as she prepares to dodge an assassin, or clockwork soldier, or none of those things at all because the voice registers in her mind half a moment later, and she knows he is no threat. She knows it in her bones, knows it like the certainty of her next breath: he is not harmless, but he will not harm her himself.

So when she sees the Outsider leaning against the pillar behind her, she does not draw her gun.

The Outsider does not move his eyes from her face, though she knows this only in her gut and not from looking at him. They stare at each other in silence, in the wan Dunwall afternoon, and the forlorn cries of gulls fade away in the distance as he draws her mind into the Void, even while awake.

The sky is suddenly dark, and sunlight is cast in pale ripples across the whole world, a that is when he tilts his head slightly toward the grave.

"It's not her, I promise that. You saw to it--the true end of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. I thought that might give a sense of finality to it, and yet, here she haunts."

Emily's jaw tightens. "It was final," she says, wary and angry all together. "For *me.* But he's...struggling. The world changed so much while he was in stone, and... He didn't get to say goodbye, like I did."

"That's because he wouldn't have," the Outsider said with a shrug.

The Empress clenches her marked fist at her side. "How do you know? Do you dangle it in front of him in his dreams? That hardly--"

"I don't have to," interrupts the Outsider calmly. "Dear Corvo's nightmares are all of his own making."

A shiver runs down her spine at his cold words, and a memory resurfaces of the clammy nightmares she had long ago in the Hound Pitts Pub when she'd put a whalebone rune under her pillow. Chilly dreams of the Outsider surveying the political players of the day, examining them as they examined her from every angle and finding them wanting just as they found her. They had jeered at her: too young, too fickle, too impetuous. Of course, the Outsider, old as he is, could say the same for all of them.

The judgement in his black eyes was never cruel, but it was never kind, either.

"So you're not toying with him?" Emily asks, shaking the vision of the looming Outsider in her memory and glaring instead at the one in front of her. It was good to remember he was shorter than her, now; a boy frozen in time who was far less menacing now than when she was ten.

"Your father always asks me that. From a certain angle, I can't blame him," the Outsider says, circling her slowly. The air moves strangely around him, thick like water. "But the strings that pull him and his blade aren't mine, and deep down, he knows it. And you?" A mirthless sound leaves him that might be a laugh, if he were amused by much. "I dont control you like chess pieces on a board. Never had the chance to learn. And if you're thinking of cats and mice..."

The Outsider is suddenly very close, floating at eye level with her so she can see the grimy streaks left on his face as if his black eyes had shed tarry tears.

"Sorry to disappoint. I'm not interested in eating you."

"If you're not playing with him, then what's happening?" she asks, batting him away like the smoke of a noxious cigar. "Something has upset him. It's making him waste away, I can feel it, but he refuses to talk to me."

"Oh, and he just loves talking to me, does he?"

This does genuinely seem to amuse him, and Emily is secretly relieved. Entertaining the god seems to be the surest way to coax good will from him, and for her father's sake, she needs some.

"Fortunately for both you and dear Corvo, I did not stop watching you, not even now that your throne is secure and your name washed clean of dishonor." The Outsider is *definitely* amused. "Do you remember the crack in the slab of reality you slipped through, splinters of past and present needling into your forward path at Stilton's manor?"

Emily rolls her eyes as the Outsider waxes poetic. "I'll never forget your little inventions," she replies. "Giant dragonfly wings on a... whatever organ that 'timepiece' was."

The Outsider crouches behind her mother's headstone now, hands dangling over his knees, and looks up at Emily with a cracked squint as if she is too bright to look at.

"Time is wounded still, wrapped around you both like waves breaking against the two statues you were in both Dunwalls," he says, studying her. "Just keep your heads above water for now, and let the experienced sailors navigate this storm."

Emily considers this non-explanation and isn't sure what to do with it. At its heart, she knows he's telling her--for some gods damned reason--not to worry about it.

It's not good enough.

Emily hopes her mother would be proud of her as she lunges over the gravestone and reaches for the Outsider. She knows Corvo would be, as her hands close around the boy's scrawny wrist and yanks him upright.

"I want to know what's happening to him," she says, enunciating each word with deadly patience. Up close, he really does just look like a half-drowner beggar boy, and she isn't scared of him. She isn't.

"There's darkness inside everyone, whether I tether them to a piece of the void or not," the Outsider says, dangling from her grip without any indication of discomfort. Perhaps he recognizes it as a fair trade for the time he pulled her into the Void and straight off a cliff.

"The urge to jump off the bridge when you should pull back from the edge--or to push someone else... It's in each and every one of you. Even your father."

The Outsider's eyes gleam in the dying light preserved here in the Void, each wet pinprick of light part of some larger, unknowable constellation.

"Tell me," he says, tilting his head, "did you show such compassion on your road back to your throne because Corvo raised you to be such a good little girl? Did you aspire to have as gentle touch as he did long ago, even when he was a weapon in the hands of the dirtiest schemers in the Empire?"

Emily grits her teeth and prepares to reiterate her demand to the Outsider, but he continues quickly so that she does not have time to waste her breath.

"It's okay, I know you're not a philosopher," he says, sneering harmlessly. "I'll tell you the answer: every choice was your own. Because what I've seen is that put in your shoes, dear Corvo would disappoint--me, you, and himself most of all."

Emily knows despite the insult in his tone, the Outsider has thought her to be a clever one. And she strives to live up to that moniker, as much as she would be embarrassed to admit it. So presented with the same puzzle now from several opaque and poetic angles, she does her best to piece things together.

The Outsider smiles, almost dotingly.

"You have the same frown on your face as when you're planning your route across a ravine full of Howlers," he says.

"You are about as annoying as a pack of Howlers, if I'm being honest," she replies, toothless with distraction. "Are you saying there was...another past, where Corvo faced Delilah? Did he come back in time and change things and I don't know about it?"

"Not quite," the Outsider says, "but very, *very* close, Your Majesty. An alternate timeline spins away, just out of reach from this one like the hands in a clock--but for better or worse, they are about to cross."

Emily feels like the blood has drained from her head too fast, and, dizzied, she releases the Outsider. He remains floating at the same level as before, to humor her.

"And in the alternate timeline, he--"

"Ask yourself, Emily Kaldwin, if you really know what you're asking," the Outsider says, and the amusement is gone. The warmth in his chilling voice has vanished. He may think she is Clever, but he has the knowledge of the field and she is woefully blind, and he is growing bored of steering the two of them through this conversation. "I have never had an interest in preserving your father or even you. That instinct is shared between the two of you alone. Let it serve you, while Billie Lurk learns whether she cut the instinct out of herself or not."

And like that, the shrieks of seagulls pierce the air. The Outsider is gone, and Emily Kaldwin is left with more questions than she began with.

[writingsofwesteros]

I had a thought!! (Cause I'm obsessed and unhinged when it comes to making different throuples involving Corlys x Rhaenys 😂🤣💀) What if Aemma Arryn had a sister, who took more after their fathers Arryn looks whereas Aemma had their mothers Targaryen. Artyssa Arryn maybe, named loosely after the Arryn King and legend, Artys. What if she spent her teen and young adult years dodging betrothals left and right and hiding away with her favorite cousin on Driftmark once she married its lord. This game of cat and mouse goes on for years, with her coming and going and teasing Rhaenys into taking her like when they were younger, then being gone come morning, not wanting to cause strife with her suprisingly all too lenient husband. Until the last time she came, escaping the Red Keep after their grandfather Jaehaerys tries to force her to choose a husband or else he'll marry her off to whomever benefits him. When she gets to Rhaenys that time, she's already aware of what upsets Artyssa. And Corlys is there too, though he just watches them for a while, lets Rhaenys whisper seeds into her little birds ear, begging her to really stay this time, they could both protect her and let her keep her freedom. Eventually, when she finally broken her resolve and gotten her to come around to the idea, Corlys joins them in bed. His sickeningly sweet request for permission to make her feel good is the last push they needed, Artyssa barely moans out a throaty yes before they're both on her, spending all night ravaging her. Within the month they have had a Valyrian wedding, welcoming her as their third. And for once, she stays. If Jaehaerys is hella mad when he finds out they married her withouthis permission, well, it's already done and consummated. She's tainted for all the other lords that wanted her now, and she loves it. Over the years the people of Driftmark get used to have a Lord, Lady and now Mistress as well. And after she has had a few of Corlys' children, it almost becomes acceptable. Thought here are still some like the Hightowers and Lannisters that frown on them, and try to explain their worries over a union like theirs being an abomination like Maegor and all his wives, but Viserys hears none of it. Letting them be. Though later on, she has never forgiven her cousin Viserys for marrying Aemma young and constantly pushing her for an heir, eventually leading to her death being cut open at his command because of his obsession with a son. They weren't particularly close to begin with, but she does loathe how even after all that, he took another even younger wife and did pump more children out of her, only to ignore all of them including those 3 precious boys he killed her sister trying to get. She's there for Rhaenyra when Aemma dies, coming to the Red Keep to stay with her or bringing her back to Driftmark for some time after, there's no need for her to stay with Viserys and his unhealthy parenting especially now that he's taken her former friend as a wife, though she does hold some of that blame on Otto as well for pimping the poor girl out. The dance doesn't happen, Artyssa convinces Corlys to marry her to one of their sons instead, as we all know Laenor and Rhaenyra wouldn't be a good match. She often extends olive branches with Alicent, not wanting her to have the same fate as Aemma. Maybe she gets Rhaenyra and Alicent to reconcile, and with no animosity between them, Alicent does not shield Rhaenyra from her siblings.

Oh i love this !!! Poor Aemma truly ! The dance will no longer be as the realm steadies itself.

Corlys is the best, he'd accept anything , sorry not sorry ;)

[spinningbuster98]

Castlevania Chronicles (Original Mode) Part 3: The meaning of pain

This first stage starts with a crumbling bridge complete with Medusa Heads coming at you. You need precise reflex to dodge them all because if you get hit even once even if you don’t fall down the knockback will send you too far back to make it back up in time. I’ve died here what feels like 20 times before figuring out that the Stop Watch you can get at the beginning can be a lifesaver

Then we get to the Tower of Dolls segment complete with the eponymous song. It’s a short vertical section with about a billion miniscule enemies and obstacles trying to get you. From toy clowns marching left and right and sometimes dropping down, little bats flying around, possessed dolls waking up and harassing you and dodging your whip attacks if you don’t perform them at just the right distance. I prefer it over the clock tower overall though since it’s much shorter and nowhere near as cheap

Ah and there’s a hidden meat in a wall, but as soon as you destroy it the meat will fall to a lower level and if you don’t jump down in a precise manner you will fall to an even lower level and won’t make it back up in time before the meat disappears. Even if you do this correctly a bunch of enemies will respawn offscreen right around where the meat landed. Fuck you as well!

Then we have a mirror hall which is actually not that hard.

The boss sure is

2 things about this doppelganger:

1) He’s aggressive as fuck

2) He’ll use whatever subweapon you currently have equipped so it’s better to have none at all

This can be an insane fight. The only thing I can recommend is to look out for his pattern since he’ll always go back and forth through the room in the same manner, jumping on those two platforms. Did I mention he’s got invincibility frames after you hit him? Or that he poses to you after he kills you?

Stage 7 is a pretty faithful recreation of Stage 5 from the original. You remember that one right? The hardest stage of Castlevania 1? It’s harder now!

There are more enemies, more awkwardly placed and more aggressive (that fucking army of red skeletons over a stair in the mid portion...)

Near the end you’ll face against The Creature, who has been demoted from boss to...not even a mini boss just the tankiest normal enemy ever. Don’t bother fighting him, he’ll drive you to a corner and kill you, climb those stairs to the right and jump over him.

Then we have the Hallway of Doom from the original. I was dreading this part....

Turns out it’s actually way easier!

It was left virtually untouched (save for some impressive graphical illusions with that background painting: fun fact it’s different depending on which season is set in your system!), but since you have better controls it’s easier to maneuver yourself here

Axe Armors are also generally easier to deal with here because:

1) You can now duck to dodge their axes while in the original their hitboxes were too big

2) If you manage to hit them where they’re not pointing their shield you can actually instakill them!

Death himself is both harder and easier than in the original

He’s harder because the Holy Water trick no longer works on him and he has more attacks, especially that one where he forcefully sucks you to the center of the room and spams tiny skulls that home in on you

But he’s also easier because he’s way less aggressive with his scythes and he has an allergy to the cross, which hits him multiple times per frame. Granted he enters a state of invulnerability after a couple of hits so he’ll have the chance of fighting back but at least this makes the fight overall more manageable than in the original!

[authorautumnbanks]

How To Tame A Sorcerer (63)

Series Master list

Mahito swears. He has heard from Geto about the so-called trump card that all ten shadow users have, but hearing and seeing it is another matter. The shikigami is out of control. It does not differentiate between him, the sorcerers, or the demons. Instead, it rampages and attacks those that stand in its way.

Blood runs down his forehead. If he were a weaker curse or, hell forbid, a human, then he would be dead.

The sky above is dark, filled with smoke from the fires. If the few remaining humans do not die from one of the many curses or demons running amok, then surely the smoke will do them in. Not that any of that matters with this giant shikigami in the way.

"Fuck, this thing is huge," he mutters, barely dodging another attack. Mahoraga stands as tall as the transfigured demon Mahito was using as a transportation device. There is a wheel above his head, taunting Mahito with every click. Looks like none of them will be able to defeat this thing. Who summons a shikigami they cannot defeat and control?

Idiot sorcerers.

Desperation makes humans do such stupid things. Like summoning this thing. Was that boy's plan to take them all out?

Death is not something Mahito wants to experience just yet. Not until he puts that woman in the ground and sees the look of anguish on Yuji's face once more. From the corner of his eye, he notices the dark-haired sorcerer trying to move the girl. If Mahito was in a better position, he might congratulate her on surviving the poison.

Plus, he still wants to get his hands on her soul to see what happens when someone has been brought back to life.

"By the way," he drawls, commanding the teen's attention, "Gojo Satoru is gone." He smiles, radiating joy from being able to just say those words. How many people get to say that? The strongest sorcerer of the modern world is gone.

He's so damn giddy, he wants to shout out it from a rooftop.

A flash of disbelief followed by despair mars the boy's face and it is absolutely exquisite. The sorrow. The grief. Mahito's eyes roll back in ecstasy. He can taste the negative emotions in the air. Mahoraga lets out a roar that shakes the ground.

Ugh. Fine. He will figure out how to deal with this shikigami first and then take his time tormenting the sorcerers afterwards. It will be all worth it in the end to watch that sorcerer's mind break as he taunts him about how no one is going to save him. Not with Gojo Satoru out of the picture. And that woman will be delt with soon enough. Her powers may be dangerous, but her body is still weak, like that of a normal human.

Getting rid of her will be easy. There is no one left to protect her. She is surrounded by weaklings.

Mahoraga advances on him. "I'm not the one that summoned you," he quips, as he leaps in the air. If he could just get that wheel, then maybe he will have a chance. Mahoraga backhands him and sends him flying. The debris and glass cut into his skin and his eyes. Mahito lies there, on the ground. He thinks he must have been knocked through at least three buildings. At least it feels that way.

The pain is so great; he feels high. An enlightenment. He sits up and plucks the shards out of his eyes. A manic smile splits across his patched face. Surely, Sukuna can't be too mad if the boy takes himself out. It is not as though Mahito attacked the sorcerer. No, he focused his attention on the female. No one told the suicidal sorcerer to summon a shikigami he cannot control.

He sighs as he dusts the debris off his clothes. Who is he kidding? Sukuna is not one that can be reasoned with. This he knows from experience. If that is the case, then he may as well kill both sorcerers now. At least if he must go against Sukuna, it will be because of something he actually did this time.

The demons he brought along with him are no more. A waste. It took a lot for him to work his transfiguration on them. Way more effort than with humans. Despite what he said earlier, demon souls are much harder to deal with. He's only gotten his hands on half-demons and some with a pinch of demon blood in their veins.

Encountering a full demon is not something Mahito wants to encounter anytime soon.

"Vermin," a voice says to his left. A wave of pure, demonic energy washes over the area. Even Mahoraga gives pause. The two sorcerers are knocked out. It looks as though the dark-haired one took the attack for the girl. "Where is the Six-eyes?" The demon grips his sword. From here, Mahito can feel the pure malice radiating off that sword like a tsunami. This newcomer is dangerous.

"Surely, you aren't talking to me." Mahito points to himself. Whoever this newcomer is, let the rampaging Mahoraga deal with him. "When the vermin is you." A green whip shoots out and blood gushes from his hand. Mahito screams, dropping to his knees. His hand is not regenerating. "What the hell did you do?"

No. No. No. This is not happening right now. Not when the fun is just starting. Not when he has so much left to do.

"That's my prey, demon lord," Sukuna says mockingly, landing next to the two knocked out sorcerers. Sukuna stares Mahito down and then turns his attention to Mahoraga.

Shit.

The king of curses and a demon lord? Fear grabs hold of Mahito and shakes him down for everything he has. This is the power of a full-fledged demon? His hand is still nonexistent. Blood continues to pour, and his regeneration is not working. The skin burns. He tries to change the shape of his body, but nothing works. The area burns like none other. It is not a sensation he wants to experience ever again.

"Shut up," the white-haired demon says. The demon holds up his hand and Mahito thinks this may be it. He might be done for. A flame arrow cuts through the green mist right before it reaches him.

He's alive? How?

Mahito scrambles back and hightails it out of there. He knows not why Sukuna saved his life, but he does not plan to stick around and find out. Let those two deal with that unconquerable shikigami. He needs to regroup. Heal his hand. Regroup with the others. And if he is lucky, Sukuna will have taken care of that demon lord and leave Mahito be.

A chill runs up his spine as he glances back. "Fuck." He throws himself to the right, barely missing the blast of energy sent his direction. His leg throbs. It is burned. His leg does not want to move. Crippled. Double fuck. He wills his unscathed hand to transform into something sharp. It works.

Yes! It works.

He cuts off the burned part of his leg, biting down on his tongue as the pain nearly makes him want to pass out. His body is weak. Far too weak. But his regeneration is working on his leg now. He wonders if the same will work on his other arm, so he cuts more of his arm off.

Almost as if there was a blockage, his regeneration flows freely, and his hand heals. The smell of rotting flesh assaults his nose. Fuck that demon lord.

Is this the power of a full demon or just that one? He does not want to find out. But why did he ask for Satoru Gojo? He needs to get away. As much as it pains him to leave the destruction to the others, staying alive long enough to see that woman's death is more important. Staggering to his feet, he moves further away from the battle. His newly regenerated leg is wobbly, frail.

A pain in the ass.

"Running away?" Geto chimes rounding the corner. Mahito scoffs. He looks a damn mess and Geto looks as serene as usual. "That's not like you."

"Regrouping. There is a demon lord in the midst."

The smile drops from Geto's face as if someone threw a bucket of acid on him. Ah, so this was not a part of Geto's scheme. Good to know he is not the only one confused. "And what did this demon lord look like?"

"White hair, gold eyes, a crescent moon on his forehead." Mahito flexes his hand. Good, the feeling is back. His strength is returning. Just in time, too. He spots the blonde sorcerer he fought back at the school. "Break is over," he declares. "I've got one more sorcerer to kill."

Geto laughs and moves to the side. "By all means, have your fun."

"You aren't going to join?"

"Later."

Mahito narrows his eyes. Something about Geto's refusal to join in on the chaos does not sit right with him. An eerie feeling builds in his gut. The stench of betrayal is coated on every word Geto speaks. "By the way, that demon lord is looking for Gojo Satoru."

"Is that so?" Geto murmurs, looking past Mahito and in the direction of the demonic energy. "How interesting."

The unease does not dissipate from his gut, but he ignores it for now. The need to test out his newly regenerated limbs is great. And with everyone distracted, no one will be coming to that blonde sorcerer's rescue.

What is that saying the humans are always going on about? Third time is the charm. Yeah, this time, that sorcerer will not walk away from the fight.

"Oh, Mahito, try not to get yourself killed. We still have lots to do."

That unease and the whisper of betrayal stays with Mahito long after Geto walks away. Even as he engages with the blonde sorcerer with the tired eyes, he cannot shake the feeling of something not being quite right.

Which is silly.

Geto is on the side of curses. He would not go to these lengths just to side with humanity.

[spookychick78]

End Of The Line

Chapter 27: Ain't No Grave

Thomas Hewitt X AFAB!OC

Word Count: 2210

Warnings: None

guess it works for the shorter chapters

He wore the same arrogantly placed grin that haunted the nightmares she'd never shared with Thomas, but it sat crooked now and curved wickedly, exposing the barren slots where teeth used to hang. His face was different, rearranged by her husband's hands in ways that couldn't be mended. His nose had been mangled beyond repair and canted to the right, littered with roseate scars that had stained his features underneath his wrinkled skin, permanently discoloring him. They wove their way upwards to encircle his bloodshot blue eyes, accentuating their irreverent gleam from within their cavernous, crimson sockets. Sockets that had suffered the same fate as his nose, they had been rendered uneven, misshapen. Physically, he had been reimagined as the monster he'd always been, but she recognized him all the same. Hoyt Hewitt had come to claim his own depraved version of redemption. He'd come for Ronnie.

"I didn't come here to do this quick. No," he said with a shake of his head and unmoving eyes, "I came here to enjoy it. I wouldn't mind sharin' a few last words, while you can still talk."

"There ain't nothin' I have to say to you," Ronnie replied matter of factly as she held that stone cold gaze.

Hoyt huffed, "We both know that ain't true, girl," he took a step forward to test her patience with amusement in his expression that was quickly shot down when she stood her ground.

"What do you want me to say, Hoyt? You want me to beg, plead for mercy I know damn well you didn't come here to give me? Maybe you forgot, so lemme remind you," Ronnie said with her head held high and her fists clenched at her sides to hide the tremble that had inevitably struck them, "I didn't beg then and I ain't gonna now."

"You'll beg," he said confidently as he shot an admiring glance to the chainsaw he held firm in his grip, "this things pretty damn good at makin' folks, even one's like yourself, do that."

"Then start it up, you son of a bitch," Ronnie spat, "we'll see if that's true or not."

He tutted in response and her jaw clenched at the condescending infliction, "Now, what did mama ever do to deserve such disrespect? If my memory serves me right, wadn't her who sent you on your way that night?"

Ronnie didn't gratify him with an answer, instead she tried to focus on keeping her breath controlled as it whistled through her nose. He knew better than to expect a response, so he continued.

"There ain't nothin' you could say that I don't already know and nothin' she hadn't already paid for," he said, licking his teeth as he took note of the way she stiffened, "you ain't the first one I'll be usin' this on, had to make sure I got some practice in for you."

Before her eyes closed and she drew in an uneasy breath, he caught a glimmer of that emotion he'd come there to stir within her. She was afraid, and though she was doing everything in her power to hide it from him, it was bound to slip out into the open. His words had forced the reality of the situation upon her like a tidal wave of blood. It had filled the room and crept up the walls of the house where this terror she felt had been forbidden. He had come there to destroy, to fulfill a purpose who's design had been forged the moment they met. She knew it then and she knew it now as she sunk unwillingly into the indigo abyss of his unforgiving eyes, he was her death. Handcrafted from the moment she was born to mark her with an expiration date and she was well past due. She'd escaped the scythe many a time before, and even then as she stood there with fate looming over her, she searched desperately for a way to dodge it just one last time. However, in the ache of her bones and deep in the pit of her pericardium, she knew there was no way to deny the reaper this time. If she ran, Penny would pay the price. He demanded a sacrifice and it had to be Ronnie, she wouldn't allow her daughter to suffer the fate she had been destined to. She had no choice but to stand before judgement and to allow tears to fall. It wasn't her own death she was mourning, she had been faced with it so many times she refused to fear it, it was the life she would lose that brought her to tears. Within his dark, cruel gaze she saw them, the family he'd come to take her from. It was too short a time, she thought to herself as she held onto the image her mind had created of their sweet faces. She wasn't ready to leave them. How harsh it was of death to demand such a thing from her, to force her to lie down and die when she wasn't finished. She wasn't finished living, she wasn't done loving Thomas and she wasn't done teaching Penny to stand before men like Hoyt with her head held high, even when they held a knife to her throat.

She hung her head to hide the sorrow she released in a silent sob and Hoyt reached a finger out to collect the tears that fell. He studied the minuscule puddle that dripped down his index and hummed.

"These are Tommy's," he said with satisfaction before he opened his mouth to taste them, "your tears are on his hands, just like your blood."

Ronnie's head snapped up with a quick sniffle so she could return her tear stained glare to him. He sneered at the sight of reddened and glassy eyes before he continued.

"He didn't tell you did he? That he couldn't do it," he said, each word oozing such arrogance that it made Ronnie sick, "that he couldn't kill me. He couldn't admit it, could he? That he left me down there in the basement with all the other dirty little secrets he kept from you, alive. All this time you thought you were livin' with a man, I wonder what it feels like to find out you left that house with a boy. A boy who ran with his tail tucked between his legs, a coward. Tell me what it feels like, Ronnie, will you do that for me? Put my curiosity to rest."

"Tommy ain't a coward," Ronnie said with the ghost of a smile, "boy, you are dumb."

He furrowed his brow as he watched her regain the confidence he thought he'd snuffed out once and for all. Like Thomas, Ronnie had a secret of her own, one that put all the power he thought he had over her right back in her hands. It put the light he was so determined to take out back in her eyes, burning brighter than it ever had before as she spoke.

"I left with a hero, Hoyt and I left a proud woman. If you were truly a man, you'd understand that, but you're not. I knew what Tommy did because he's a man who doesn't take the easy road, that's what makes him who he is, it's why I love him and it's why I'll keep on doin' that, long after you take my life. He forgave you and his bravery, his courage in doin' that put an end to what you created. He turned away not for fear, he did what he did for love, for grace. He wasn't afraid to accept that it wasn't his job to pass judgement on an evil like you. He gave you a chance to find your way, even if it meant it would lead to this. How could you call him a coward for that? How could you believe it would make me think less of him? If that's what you came here to do, then you lost long before you even left, because I will never give you what you want, Hoyt. You will never convince me that Thomas betrayed me, because he didn't. He did exactly what I wanted him to do, he saved himself. My blood was never on his hands, it's always been on yours. So you can kill me, I can't stop you. You can be the coward you believe Tommy is, but you can't kill what I found in him. You can't tear that away from me because it isn't yours to take, you don't have that power Hoyt, you never did and you never will. It's so far above you, what he and have, and it'll go on even after this. I'll always be with him, no matter how deep you bury me or how hard you burn me, I'll find him and you'll lose."

Hoyt could feel victory slipping from his weakened grip as he watched her find resolve in the peace she'd made with her fate. His hand clung so tightly to the saw that his fingernails had dug into his palm until his own blood began to stain the handle. The wrath he'd been brought into this world with had reached its peak within his tattered body and threatened to tear him at the seams of his chest.

"Don't ruin this for me," he growled through his teeth as he pressed down on what was left of them.

"You already done that for yourself, Hoyt," Ronnie whispered as she shook her head.

She watched his blood drip down the chain on the saw and took a deep breath to still the shudder that ripped through her at the sight. She resorted to silent prayer when he reached for the trigger switch. She prayed for Penny, that Hoyt would spare her and that she was deep in sleep, deep enough to save her from the cacophony of horror that would fill the home Thomas had built for her. She prayed it wouldn't haunt her, that the memory of her mother's end would fade instead of making a home in nightmare. That she would grow tall and strong, with wild hair to remember her by. That her heart would beat like her daddy's, like a hammer hell bent on justice. She prayed for Thomas. She held on to each syllable of his name as Hoyt stepped forward and prayed she wouldn't forget how to pronounce it in death. That where she was going, she would indeed find him there, even if the comfort of his arms was forbidden, barred by whatever veil would separate the living and the dead. She could die easy if she could just watch him live, if she could see him do everything Hoyt was about to deny her of. She could rest in his smile, even if it took him years to find it again. He would, he would for Penny, she told herself. He would live for her and he would smile again, he would find a way, because nothing was impossible if you had breath in your lungs. Perhaps she would find that the same was true without a heart beat keeping steady rhythm in her chest. She had fought to do the impossible in life and won, she thought it likely she'd be able to fight her way to victory in death just the same. She knew where she was going as he pulled the switch, she could feel a warmth envelop her like a pair of strong arms she knew quite well, offering her comfort in the chaos he unleashed upon her. It was almost as comforting as their last kiss, oh but she would have wanted one more. One more to keep that fire burning as her eyes closed, to bring her back home to him.

"I love you, Thomas," she whispered before the end, but she knew he'd remember, "thank you for loving me."

For a moment, she was there with him, safe in his arms while the sun beat down on their backs in a place she remembered well. The trees were greener than they'd been that day, as was the grass and the creek didn't lack for water. There wasn't a cloud in the cerulean sky, but there was no need to seek the cover of shadows. The heat was a welcome relief to the chill of death, it forbade it from touching her. It reminded her that she had known warmth and she wouldn't have to give it up, not there. Hoyt Hewitt wasn't death, death wouldn't be so unkind as to take that from her. Instead, it extended a hand that held a promise it would keep when she took hold of it. She could wait there for Thomas if she chose to, on the banks of the creek with the sun on her skin and it would stay with her until he came home to return his hand to hers. It promised companionship. He's never far, it reminded her, just rest, be patient.

"You're better at doing that here, being patient and it won't be long," death whispered as it wiped away the tears that had come along with her, "I know better than to keep you two apart."

[vicioushauntings]

SIMON MUHN && THE GLITZ BLITZ; EVENT 003

The plank of wood under Simon’s ass has left him wondering if the seats in the arena are just as uncomfortable. Did they at least get cushions, or were the onlookers subjected to the same hard seating? Maybe, Simon hopes, it means the event would not be as popular as the crown had hoped. Maybe they would call it off. Maybe he wouldn’t have to compete. Another name gets called. Another tribute begins their ascent back into sunlight. Hoots and hollers echo all the way below the stage, loud enough to belong to a full arena. Hope filters out of Simon’s chest. He’ll have to fight, no matter what. On his fingers, Simon keeps a tally of those who don’t come return to the darkness. Some who do are decorated in blood that does not belong to them. There are some with bruises, misshapen bones…and the ones who don’t return…he doubts they’re being treated in the medical tent for the next round. If they were going to die up there, the least the organizers could give him a comfortable chair. How could anyone expect him to die gloriously with a cramp in his back?

“Muhn Sung Min? Muhn Sung Min?”

The cramp in his back pops when he stands. Eyes from the other tributes must glare into the back of his neck - he feels his skin grow hot with their onlooking. “It’s Simon,” He corrects the gentleman tasked with leading them all up to the stage. “Just Simon.”

Each step towards the arena floor drags with wistful wishes that the stairs were cursed to never end. All his training in Beltran had been mental exercises. Even his work with Gilbert - Simon researched or planned. And when the duo ran into trouble, fleeing served as their escape route. But fighting? No. Certainly not. Never.

His eyes blink in the bright light - and it takes him time to properly observe the landscape in front of him. As he suspected, most of the stands are full. Part of his mind wants to ask if Han Jae or Garam or Lex or Min were amongst the faces. Unsure of what he prefers the answer to be, he brushes the thought to the side - staying alive holds more importance than if his partner, newfound children, or sister were about to watch his untimely demise. The curse he’d brought upon himself some decades prior had prevented him from staying dead - but there were some limits even he had been too cowardly to test. Death had never frightened the man who could not stay dead, who viewed ghosts as though they still walked among the living. Now that the next five minutes could leave Simon joining them…he misses the comfort that the worn wooden planks-for-benches had brought him down below.

Across the arena stands his opponent. Where he expects to find someone just as tall as him – if not taller, bulkier, and far more intimidating, stands a kid. Well, he’s not a child, but he had to be half’s Simon’s age at the very least. Even at this distance, Simon manages to spot a blush of red from acne, and a wispy beard protruding on his chin.

This couldn’t be what they found entertaining - a young kid against a man twice his size? None of Simon’s attention directs to the announcers; he hadn’t answered any of their questions, had no businesses to promote, had no desire to bring himself any further attention. Only once the younger man charges directly toward Simon does he wish he had listened to the announcer. Maybe some information about the man’s ability…why he was fighting…something anything oh goddess he kept getting closer while Simon remained frozen in place – he can’t hear his opponent pounding against the packed sand, the announcer, or the crowd cheering for one or both of their deaths.

Simon leaps to the side at the last possible second. Maybe if he just jumps outside of the circle, neither of them would have to fight; his entire participation could be null and void, and he could go back to his quiet life where the Glitz Blitz never even occurred.

His younger opponent, however, appeared to have other ideas. Just as Simon dodged, he began to make his way backward – apparently going for a second run at him. What would Min say? Observe his attacks, and keep an eye out for any weaknesses to take advantage of. Was this his power? Speed? Something to do with brute force? Whatever it was, he needed to get close - and Simon couldn’t allow that.

He takes a run at Simon again - this time with dust and sand flying in the air in his wake. Simon coughs but still manages to leap to the side. His opponent shouts from frustration. He’s fast, but not quite fast enough to run at Simon face-on. And yet, he’s still too fast for Simon to sit down and summon up a warrior ghost who could provide much-needed assistance and advice.

Perhaps this matchup was better than Simon had initially presumed.

This time when his opponent turns, Simon catches a better eye of his skin – which almost looks dull and ashy. Like a rock. Was his skin sharp and rough? Was his plan to, quite literally, pile drive Simon out of the arena before he had the chance to attack back?

All the fast movement has left Simon unbalanced on his feet. But as his opponent begins to put more space between them for a third attempt at brute-forcing him out of the arena, Simon mimics the movement - except he makes it a point to bring himself as close to the edge of the circle without stepping outside of it.

( Would the judges actually allow him to just step outside? He doesn’t know, nor does he want to risk it. Already shackled with debts, he can’t exactly afford the billion phil payout. )

Sand kicks into the air - now it stings his skin and blinds Simon’s eyes. He puts up his arm for protection, and to brace himself for the undoubtable pain that will come from being pushed outside of the arena. Is it his own breathing he can hear, or the younger man running at him? Simon’s stomach churns, and - just as before - he throws himself out of the way at the last second. Instinct, he blames it on, pure instinct of not wanting to be thrown down like a ragdoll.

A buzzer sounds when he looks up. The skin on his palms is red from grinding against the sand. He expects one of the workers to pull him back underground to dismiss him, but when they grab hold of his wrist, it’s to pull his arm up high. His face shows throughout the arena, with the word winner flashing just below it. He’d thrown himself to the side. His opponent hadn’t stopped fast enough and ran out of the circle.

“Check the bracket in Selphia Plaza to find out when your next fight is,” The worker tells him. But Simon hardly hears him, or the crowd. He’d managed to survive this bracket, yes, but he knew the next round would not leave him with just a dizzy head and a rash from the sand.

They lead him back under the arena, and only one thing feels certain in Simon’s mind - his lucky days on this earth had to be numbered.

[abyssal-ali]

Marinette "Valkyrie" Wayne

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 ao3 link (completed) Valkyrie’s suit

Pairing: Marijon

Rating: G

WC: 1.5k

Marinette drove her bike down to the Batcave. It was almost midnight, so the Bats were out patrolling.

It was Steph’s night off, and she had decided to keep Babs company while Babs ran the comms.

“I need a spar. Steph?” Marinette growled.

“Want to talk about it?” Steph asked cautiously, stepping into the ring.

“No. Let’s dance, Waffles.” Marinette flipped over the bar and squared off.

They sparred for twenty minutes, neither side gaining much upper hand.

Black Bat returned, saw the spar, and said, “Stop holding back. She can take it.”

Steph didn't look away from Marinette, dodging a flying kick. “I’m not!”

Marinette flipped over Steph’s shoulder and pinned her, making her tap out.

Cass took Steph’s place. “Why so angry?”

“I don’t want to talk,” snapped Marinette, squaring off again.

When the other Bats returned, Cass and Marinette were still sparring.

“Who taught you?” asked Dick, eyeing a very graceful layout executed by Marinette.

“Self-taught. Took various martial arts and gymnastics classes when I was younger.”

She landed a kick on Cass’s thigh. “I spar when I’m angry, and I don’t want to talk about it. None of you would get it, anyways.”

She ducked a punch and landed a light hit on Cass’s shoulder.

Dick jumped into the ring, curious.

Marinette deflected his first kick, then caught his ankle and yanked while jumping over a kick from Cass. A high scissor kick caught both their shoulders and sent them stumbling.

Jason entered when Marinette made the ‘come at me’ motion.

She ran straight at him, did a quick handstand on his shoulders, then wrapped her legs around him in a lock.

Damian and Bruce entered. Damian was easier to take down, as he preferred to fight with a katana. Bruce was fairly graceful for his large size, though Jason was still lighter on his feet for being so big.

She ran straight towards him as she did Jason, jumping again. Then she dropped between his legs and chopped at his knees, climbing to his shoulders from behind. The family clapped slowly and dramatically. Marinette bowed, huffing.

“Interesting. The bigger the challenge, the faster you took us down,” Bruce commented.

“I’ve had months of studying your styles and determining the quickest way to disarm you,” she shrugged.

“Feel better?” asked Steph.

“Somewhat.” Marinette wiped her face with a cool towel and chugged the water bottle Dick handed her.

“After Paris, I spend all my emotions on doing things–sparring when I’m angry, drawing when I’m happy, dancing when I’m sad…”

“What about Paris?”

“Oh, those four years when Hawkmoth emotionally terrorized us all?”

“That’s why I was in Paris those few months ago, trying to find evidence of Hawkmoth. Nothing came up, and no one talked about it,” said Bruce.

“Yeah, we don’t like talking about it, especially the akumas that eliminated most of us. Jason knows it’s unpleasant talking about your deaths, unless it’s for morbid humour."

“Was…the sparring about that?”

“Kind of. My friend, Adrien– his dad was Hawkmoth, so of course there had to be an investigation to see if he knew that. He didn’t– he was actually Chat Noir– but everyone still hates him because his dad is dead, so they can’t actively hate Gabriel. That’s what I’m mad about. Some classmates beat him up, and when he called me… well, I needed to beat something up.”

“Can we meet Adrien? Maybe we can help him with this investigation, and he can tell us about the situation.”

“I’ll talk to him. No promises,” she warned.

~~

“Chat Noir incoming,” Marinette said two nights later. A portal opened and Adrien Agreste stepped through.

“The Batcave is real?”

“Looking only, no touching,” reminded Marinette after she hugged him. He wandered around, observing all the tech and gadgetry, then the Bats emerged from the shadows.

Adrien yelped a little. “He’s real!”

She rolled her eyes and gently pushed him towards them. “Introduce yourself, Chaton.”

“Bonjour, I’m Adrien Agreste.”

“Batman. Marinette tells us you’re one of Paris’s heroes, the Cat?”

“Yes. I was Chat Noir from the beginning to the end of Hawkmoth, who turned out to be my father. I didn’t know until the very end.”

Cass nodded from behind his back, confirming his statement.

“So you’re not Chat Noir anymore?”

“No, I permanently retired, along with all the other temporary and permanent Team Miraculous members. Ladybug merged the Miraculous to stop my father.”

“What are the Miraculous?”

“Gems that were bound to tiny entities, called Kwami, which are the physical manifestation of a concept. Mine was the Miraculous of the Black Cat, a ring that housed Plagg, the Kwami of Destruction, Chaos and Bad Luck."

“How did merging the Miraculous stop Hawkmoth?”

“Ladybug dissolved the bindings of the kwami to the Miraculous, freeing the kwami and collecting their powers in one vessel. It was remote but all-encompassing, meaning it took Hawkmoth and Mayura’s powers away as well.”

“What was the vessel?”

Adrien shrugged. “She never said. The magic took a lot of Ladybug’s energy, and she was knocked out for two days after that. Then…otherstuffcameupandIneveraskedher.”

“How powerful are these Miraculous?”

“There are three layers of Miraculous in the Zodiac Miracle Box. The bottom layer housed the twelve kwami of the Chinese zodiac, the least powerful. The second layer held the Butterfly, Peacock, Turtle, Bee, and Fox Miraculous, and the top set was the Ladybug and Black Cat. What I know is that Plagg sank Atlantis, killed the dinosaurs, erupted Mount Vesuvius, and with Ladybug’s Kwami, started the Black Plague and created the Lazarus Pits, which can heal from the brink of death but cause temporary insanity and bloodlust…”

“We know what they do,” cut in Bruce, a little horrified at the destruction.

“But it’s not all bad,” Adrien hastened to reassure them. “Ladybug’s Kwami, of Creation, Order, and Good Luck, can neutralize the Lazarus Pits. She also created many different plants and flowers, worked with Joan of Arc and Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons…”

“We know Hippolyta! Let’s call Diana!” one of the Bats interrupted.

“Wonder Woman?” Adrien’s eyes were big.

“Her mother is Hippolyta. Thank you for explaining this to us. Do you know how to contact Ladybug or know her identity?”

“No, she disappeared after Hawkmoth. Mari was close with her though, we’d both often stop by Mari’s balcony and chat. Do you know, Mari?”

“Ladybug told me she was retiring,” Marinette shook her head. “I’ll call her last number and see if she still uses it.”

Tim and Bruce started talking Adrien through the legal stuff while Marinette pulled out her phone and called her old, disconnected number.

“No response,” she said.

~~~

The JL wanted to know more about Paris and what happened, particularly Diana, Arthur, and Bruce. That much unknown power wasn’t good.

Flash, Hawkgirl, Martian Manhunter, Aquaman, Green Lantern #1 (John Stewart), Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, all the Bats, Raven, Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Constantine, and Adrien gathered in the Batcave.

Adrien re-explained the situation. All twenty-three of them sat in silence.

Eventually, it was decided that the magic members would cast a spell leading them – hopefully – to Ladybug and/or the vessel.

Marinette’s eyes widened, then returned to normal as she focused very hard on deflecting the spell.

Constantine looked up. “Well, mates, looks like she either doesn’t want to be found or she’s dead. Pretty powerful magic blocking us, though. Be careful what you do when you find her, Batsy. I’d stay on her good side.”

“You’re on no one’s good side,” said Red Hood.

“Exactly.”

Everyone exchanged glances.

~

“So, who’s the newest addition to your cauldron, Batman?” Wonder Woman asked, easing the mood.

“Delphi is her code name; she works with Oracle. She may join us in the field soon, under a different code name.”

“I wish to spar with her, if she is willing.”

“I’d love to!” Marinette rose and joined Diana in the ring. The other members stood around, watching.

“Weapons?”

“I prefer hand-to-hand,” Marinette confessed.

“Very well.”

They began, Marinette dancing around Diana’s blows, darting in and out, always switching up her style. Then she landed a blow on Diana’s hip, hitting her lasso.

Marinette fainted.

~

She woke up a few minutes later with many curious faces over her.

“I’m fine!” she waved away their concern. “I just forgot about lunch, with the JL meeting and then the heat and excitement of sparring…I’ll just have one of Agent A’s lovely sandwiches and be fine.”

No one was convinced, but her vitals were okay, so she was released for lunch.

~

Marinette collapsed onto her bed, holding her side in pain. Just under her rib was a tattoo, currently glowing brightly hot. She opened a portal to the Himalayas and screamed, starting an avalanche. Luckily, there were no people or settlements in its path.

After a few minutes, the glowing subsided and she portalled to her room, clutching her lower left ribs. Kismet hopped onto her bed, snuggling into her.

Note to self: do not touch Diana’s lasso of truth.

[aardvark-123]

~The Silver-Heart Chronicles Part 3: It Helps to Have Friends~

One fine morning in Kynesgrove, Yngvar was finishing a good night's sleep when he heard an angry clamour outside the inn. He slid the pillow over his head and lay there until Iddra ran over in a panic, shouting that the guards were demanding to see him.

Fearing the worst, Yngvar leapt out of bed, brushed his teeth, had a long soapy bath, ate a sweetroll and some grilled leeks, downed a bottle of mead, and did his morning stretches.

The innkeeper bit her lip, listening to the guards threatening to break down the door and the cheerful melody of Radio Taiso on Yngvar's portable FM set. Finally she grabbed him by the ear and shoved him out to face justice.

Half of the Kynesgrove town guard were waiting for him. "We all knew you were a strange one, Yngvar, but none of us had you pegged as a traitor!" one of them explained. "You're wanted in Windhelm for desertion. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"De... sertion?" Yngvar tilted his head in confusion, trying to look innocent even though he was sweating profusely. "Oh, is this about the army?! I didn't desert, I'm having an extended holiday! Don't tell me my letter never made it to the brass!"

"Do you have no shame?!" another guard spat. "You were one of the best warriors in the Stormcloaks! Er, unless it's a different Yngvar I'm thinking of. Never mind! You should be out there, fighting for Skyrim's freedom, not skulking around here delivering packages to goblins!"

"I- First things first, I was FETCHING a package from an ORCISH stronghold," Yngvar corrected her. "Second of all, there were creative differences involved-"

"Don't you remember the oath you took?!" the guard insisted. "You swore your blood and honour to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim! Er, unless it's a different oath I'm thinking of. N-never mind! The bottom line is, you swore your fealty-"

"To death! I swore fealty to murder and devastation, nothing that could actually make our world better. But most of all I swore fealty to a bitter, raving lunatic!"

For a few seconds, Kynesgrove was silent but for the chirping of crickets and Dotira sharpening her pickaxe.

"I want to see Skyrim win her independence," Yngvar said firmly. "I want us to cast off the Empire's yoke, and the Empire to cast off the Dominion's yoke. I want an end to all yokes! But Jarl Ulfric isn't going to be the one who brings us that future. Just look at the futures he brought to the Reach and half his own people."

The gathered guards shared some uncomfortable looks, but the man with the axe would not be dissuaded. "Only one without honour would try to bring politics into an honest civil war. Get ready to die, traitor!"

Yngvar was not ready to die, but the guards were too many, and Drayvnea's pet guar seemed to have joined in as well. Yngvar fled through the foggy hills, dodging arrows and crossbow bolts, until at last he ducked behind a some bushes and lost them.

"If any guards come... Running by this way... You never saw me!" Yngvar panted to a passing giant. "Kyne's leg hair... Now what do I do?!"

As he thought about his predicament, Yngvar realised there was somewhere he could go. While he hadn't appreciated it at the time, fetching the Forgemaster's Fingers had earned him the name of blood-kin, meaning the stronghold-dwelling Orcs around Skyrim would see him as family.

And so, a beaten and dishevelled Yngvar made his way up to Narzulbur, where he found the chief waiting in his ceremonial garden chair.

"Chief Mauhulakh, I find myself in need of a place to stay for a few days," Yngvar declared. "I can work for my keep. Does Narzulbur need an extra pair of hands anywhere?"

"Well, let me see..." Mauhulakh stood up and took off his helmet. "First of all, let's see if you can take a good pounding. Marquess of Queensberry Rules, one round, stake of one hundred septims apiece. En garde!"

Although he was deeply confused, Yngvar set to work and beat the stuffing out of Mauhulakh.

"You certainly have... A good arm..." Mauhulakh panted. "Not many Nords can say they've bested an Orcish chief!"

"You certainly gave me a good match." Yngvar wasn't sure what to say. "You, er, wouldn't be the first man I've left sweating- I mean, it wouldn't be the first time- Er, anyway."

"Anyway," said Mauhulakh warmly, "I believe it's settled! With those strong arms of yours, you'll make an excellent miner! It's up on the hill, just past my son's workshop."

Yngvar's smile vanished. "Did you say miner?"

Yngvar was now a miner. It was better than fighting for his life against the armies of Eastmarch, but only by a small margin.

Um, don't look now, Yngvar, but I think there's a...

"What in Shor's name is that?!" Yngvar screamed, diving away from the roaring, spinning cloud of metal chunks. It had burst from a vein of ebony while his back was turned and was now tearing through the mine.

"Oh, that?" one of the orcish miners said, noticing Yngvar's distress. "That's an ore guardian from Skyrim Immersive Creatures Special Edition. Don't worry, their barks are worse than their bites."

Not believing him for a second, Yngvar shot the creature from a safe distance.

It was a busy afternoon for the ore guardians, with two more of them showing up to bother Yngvar before the day was done. The other miners, though, were all too happy to help smash them to pieces, seeing it as a fun little diversion from their work.

"I suppose you're well used to dealing with these things," said Yngvar, helping himself to some of the ore guardian's remains. Some of their floating chunks contained the purest ebony ore he'd ever seen.

"Of course we are! Didn't you ever wonder why all the veins of ore in Skyrim are renewable?" Bor laughed. "They're alive. The world is alive! That makes us kind of like tapeworm."

"That's nice," smiled Yngvar, lugging his haul of ebony out of the mine.

Dushnamub remembered Yngvar from a couple of days ago. When he saw him trudging down the hill with a sack full of ebony ore, he smiled and waved him over.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing more of you," Dushnamub chuckled, taking the sack of ebony. "That's some good ore, Yngvar. Here, this is your pay."

"Thank yyyy..." Yngvar's jaw dropped at the enormous bag of coins being pressed into his hands. "Th-that's... That's a sum of money if ever I saw one!"

"Ebony does fetch a good price," said Dushnamub. "All of us in Narzulbur are actually very rich, but we don't like to be ostentatious about it. So..."

"Well, now that I'm rich, can I commission you for some equipment?" Yngvar proposed.

"I could do with a helmet, perhaps one with horns, and a hood for not letting people recognise me. Perhaps a new greatsword, too. This one's almost run out of magic..."

"Of course," smiled Dushnamub, taking back his bag of coins and hanging Yngvar one septim. "In the mean time, keep that ore coming!"

Yngvar smiled and nodded. He had to get out of Narzulbur.

A couple of days later, with a sharp new blade strapped to his back and a comfortable hood over his head, Yngvar left the stronghold. The guard had given him her porridge recipe and a spare wheel of echatere's cheese, which was strange, because Yngvar hadn't seen a single echatere in the stronghold.

Where was he going? Well, Yngvar had one or two ideas in mind. He needed to get to a neutral hold, or at least one outside Windhelm's jurisdiction, and then try to build a new life. Dawnstar could be a decent place to start. For the time being, though, he needed to hide until the heat was off.

And for that, where better than a place no soldier with a brain would be expecting him? Where better than Windhelm?