#the strange possession of mrs oliver

[bitter69uk]

Recently watched: compellingly bizarre 1977 made-for-TV psychodrama The Strange Possession of Mrs Oliver. Tagline: “She wanted to be someone else. But when she became “Sandy”, her new friends wanted her dead.” Wikipedia’s synopsis: “Its plot follows a bored housewife who takes on an alternate persona that starts wreaking havoc on her life. Karen Black plays the title role, a dowdy, downtrodden housewife plagued by recurring nightmares of funerals, black flowers, fires and a woman called Sandy. Seeking an escape from her stifling lifestyle and dull husband, who only wishes her to have a baby, Black dons a low-cut red blouse, blonde wig, garish makeup and a new identity. She is also compelled to buy a house in a beach community where it would appear a woman who looks just like her once resided - before her tragic demise. It turns out that the woman Black pretends to be may actually exist—and may have more than a passing knowledge of the occult.”

Told in a deliberately fragmented, jarring and nightmarish style, Mrs Oliver’s themes of shifting, merging and uncertain female identities recalls Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958) and anticipates David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive (2001) and Robert Altman’s 3 Women (1977). (I could easily imagine Lynch remaking this with his muse Laura Dern in Black’s roles). No one played “women on the verge of a nervous breakdown” quite like the reliably volatile Black, and the dual roles of Miriam / Sandy showcase her at her most alien and tormented. Sandy is associated with a disco-fied version of Frankie Avalon’s 1960 hit “Venus”. When she dances to it, we get copious cleavage and crotch shots – ah, the seventies! The men in Black’s life are portrayed by George Hamilton (as Miriam’s straightlaced husband) and Robert F Lyons (as a hunky ominous stranger whose mustache makes him look an escapee from a 1970s gay porn film). Watch for guest star appearances from two incredible veteran character actresses: Gloria LeRoy and Lucille Benson. Thanks to Sam Pancake for bringing this curio to my attention via his essential Monday Afternoon Movie podcast. The YouTube print is murky but watchable.

[pretty-little-fools]

[clemsfilmdiary]

The Strange Possession of Mrs. Oliver (1977, Gordon Hessler)

5/14/24

[02void]

The Strange Possession of Mrs. Oliver (1977)

[strawberrystepmom]

cw: omegaverse. alpha!narumi x omega f!reader. breaking news: commander gen narumi of the jakdf has proudly announced his search for a mate is over! | word count: 2.4k, reading time: 10 minutes.

The wool and silk dress you spent big money on when you were first given a role which required quarterly presentations hangs next to the mirror. You sigh looking at it. Briefly, you wish you’d packed something that felt more romantic than this.

It seems like it confirms how you know Gen feels about the whole process that brought you two together. It’s professional - an arrangement. No love is to be found here.

You remove the dress from the hanger, pulling it up over your legs, smoothing down the midi length skirt, and securing each of the olive green cap sleeves securely over your shoulder. It’s professional looking enough you probably won’t stick out next to your alpha who is going to be in full dress uniform.

It doesn’t feel right but there isn’t anything you can do about it now, adjusting the neckline to cover the wrong spots and show off the right ones. Fiddling with your hair is next and finally slipping into the shoes you always wear with this dress.

Smoothing the fabric down over your hips, you walk carefully on your heels lest the residual effects of the most intense week of “mating” one could imagine render your still sore and achy knees and thighs unable to manage.

You could hardly walk the first day after the two of you fucked. Gen tended to you as well as you’d expect for someone you don’t feel even enjoys your company, holding you and marking you with his scent between trips to the small en suite kitchen to figure out meals. The frenzied mating began to slow into a drip as the week passed but you still feel everything, every position you were folded into and every possessive touch he left behind.

Unfortunately, you think you may actually like him. Terrible news for your heart when you consider he’s spent no less than 10 days running his mouth about how much he doesn’t like you.

“There she is, the lucky lady.”

As you clack toward the set, Director Miyamo from the partnership program beams at you, one of her arms spread and fanning out over the small room in front of you both. She’s a fairly unassuming looking woman, middle aged with a tidy bob and perfectly pressed pantsuit. You know from the fact sheet beneath her photo on the official website for the match program that she has overseen over 150 pairings, calling it her life’s purpose.

She’s an excellent representative for her country.

You’ve met her American counterpart, Mr. Shand, more times than you can recall throughout this process and it wouldn’t be out of line to say that they’re strangely similar. They know what they have to do and what this program means to the governments of both countries though you’d much rather have a fellow woman guide you through this awkward process than a man who says the word omega as though it’s a problem for him to solve and not a biological disposition you didn’t pick.

Narumi hasn’t arrived yet and you don’t imagine he’ll do so in a timely fashion. Slight disregard for other people’s time is something you’ve come to find out is a feature and not a bug when it comes to him. You have much more to learn and adapt to yet, it just so happens that this is the habit that is currently irritating you the most.

“I know this is a strange formality,” she starts to catch your attention, browsed raised enthusiastically. “Still, it means the world to our program and its future when our participants agree to share their success with others who are hoping to find mates of their own.”

You thought you’d feel more comfortable on your own instead of standing by his side like you will be shortly. You were wrong, instead standing with your arms folded over your stomach, palms hugging their opposite elbow. Nodding quietly, you offer her a tight smile that hopefully doesn’t give you away.

“How are you settling in? Have you continued your work with the geological service?”

At least work is something familiar that you know you can discuss. Another polite smile and nod, you unfold your arms and let them dangle at your sides.

“Things are going well so far, thank you for asking.”

She smiles at your intentional politeness. How different you are from your mate whose lateness becomes more rude with each second that passes. The back of your neck burns but you can’t tell if it’s the fresh bonding mark that your hair and neckline manage to only barely cover or because you’re embarrassed.

Work talk at least makes the burn stop so you clear your throat and return to it, that same tight smile on your face.

“I have been granted special permission to maintain my role from abroad which surprised me. They’ve accommodated me so much more than I expected.”

The stinging feeling at the base of your neck returns, the uncomfortable sensation no longer something you can ignore. Your face twitches, nose scrunching slightly. The director smiles knowingly, closing the distance between the two of you by leaning in.

“Is your mark burning?”

You nod, embarrassed by your inability to stay cool.

She shrugs to try and comfort you, the practiced smile on her face becoming something a tad more natural and warm unexpectedly. She’s perhaps too used to having these discussions with woefully uninformed alpha and omega both.

“It means he must be close by,” she explains and you once again nod wordlessly, reaching to covertly press your fingertips against the outline of Gen’s teeth.

It’s no longer just your neck that feels warm, your entire face heats while your mind replays the exact events that led to said mark. There are many things you could say about this man you barely know who you are now linked with in ways you cannot take back but he is far from a selfish lover.

“Thank you for telling me, I had no idea.”

That same smile remains on her face, surprisingly patient.

“Most people in the program know very little about what comes after mating. Part of what we do is education and emphasizing the importance of i —“

Halfway through her sentence, the man of the hour makes his appearance. The burning sensation of your mark turns into something far more pleasant as he approaches, a gentle shimmery numbness overcoming your tense and stressed body. The few heads in the room turn toward the commanding alpha who saunters into the room looking every bit the recently satiated and mated man he is.

“There you are.”

He nods in your direction, looking you up and down. You do the same in return, face heating while you greedily take in the sight of him in dress uniform. He’s a good looking man but you’ve seen him nude or in nothing but boxers and a white t-shirt more times than you’ve seen him clothed.

The perfectly tailored uniform rests across his broad chest, medals decorating the front of it. You swallow thickly and smile at him, tilting your head to the side and shifting your weight to your heels.

“You look good,” he reaches out and fixes the edge of your sleeve, hooking his finger beneath it and pulling it downward while you glance away.

Sneaking a glance at him, you find him already looking down at you with his usual little smirk. Despite yourself, you smile and reach to straighten out the pockets of his jacket in return.

“So do you, handsome. Definitely looking like Commander Narumi today.”

Now he looks away from you, turning toward Director Miyamo and letting her fill him in on how today will work. You’ll pose for a few photos, give a brief taped interview to go on the website and to be sent to news networks, and then you’ll be allowed to return to the temporary quarters you’ve been granted until a space the bonded pair can share becomes available.

You wish you knew better how to deal with the deluge of feelings Gen creates inside of you. A little bit of you is scared, terrified that he will never care about you more than beyond what your body means for him. A little bit more is cautiously optimistic that you can win him, “likable” being one of the things always written at the top of your performance reviews at work.

The problem is that you don’t want to have to win his affection, you want it to come naturally. He reacts so strangely to your blatant attraction toward him, how can this ever happen?

Sighing softly, you return to the prior posture of your arms crossed over your stomach and your elbows resting in your palms. It’s safe, you’ve done it your whole life when feeling insecure.

Narumi places his hand on your elbow, turning from the director toward you.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

You smile and follow along, letting him gently guide you. A few steps lands you both in front of a large photography backdrop, a plain gray watercolor pattern that you both manage to stand out against.

“Okay, can you two stand very close together?” The photographer motions with their hand from behind the camera and lights, indicating how little space they’d like between the two of you.

Gen’s arm falls naturally around your shoulders, thumb rubbing a small circle against your bonding mark. You yelp but he shushes you, tossing you a look with his eyes that makes you smile and shake your head in response.

“Actually Commander, can you put that arm around her waist? And you,” the photographer points at you. “Hold hands with him in front of you and put your other arm at your side.

It feels awkward at first to lace your fingers with his but the fit is arguably perfect, his long digits that have curled inside of you more than they’ve curled around your palm suddenly holding your hand delicately.

“Perfect. Now look at each other, big smiles.”

You do as instructed and he does the same, eyes half lidded when he glances down at you. This is what makes you believe you aren’t just imagining things. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he looks positively smitten. Or he’s just the world's best actor. You haven’t really decided yet.

“You look beautiful together,” Miyamo opines from behind the photographer. Your smile deepens and so does his, the two of you locked in eye contact that is making your skin crawl and that clawing at your insides feeling return.

Are you about to go into heat just because he’s looking at you? It’s like a jolt of caffeine to your system to realize what’s happening but you play it off the best you can, shifting your feet slightly.

“You’re acting weird. You okay?” He asks and you smile tightly, nodding. All you can do is nod and nod and agree and agree and..

“Can we have a second?”

It surprises you that he speaks up on your behalf at all but his word is law so everyone agrees.

“Of course, we’ll give you two the room for a few minutes. We’ll begin shooting again in five minutes.”

The small team shuffles out and shuts the door behind them, leaving nothing but you two behind.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out unexpectedly. It’s shameful that you’re struggling to adapt the way that you are and you look toward the ground, remaining locked in your weird embrace with Narumi.

“For what?”

His eyes don’t move from you, still locked on your pretty little face. It definitely makes things easier that his mate is beautiful and patient and sweet and accomplished in her own right.

“Being weird, I guess.”

Chuckling, he slides his hand from your waist back to your shoulders and begins rubbing your bite again. Your back arches and eyes flutter closed, a humiliated groan escaping you.

“I think I’m going into heat again.”

The rubbing stops, his thumb simply resting on the mark now while his eyes widen.

“Again?”

Stomping your foot petulantly, your face twists from pleasure to irritation.

“Yes again and apparently this bonding mark stings when you’re close but not close enough.“ Huffing, your bottom lip twitches. “I‘m hot and horny and I feel so weird and nobody cares about my opinion anymore and you don’t even want to be around me and…”

Trailing off, you notice he’s frozen in place.

“I’m sorry,” you spit again and he shakes his head. His thumb remains in place against your bonding mark and his face becomes an unreadable mask.

“Stop apologizing for nothing. It’s fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Attempting to compose yourself and exhaling loudly, the director peeks into the room to check on you two and quickly it fills up again. The photographer begins snapping photos immediately and before you know it, you’re being ushered into comfortable seats to answer a few questions.

“Commander, what were your thoughts upon meeting your mate?”

This is not one of the questions you anticipated hearing him answer. You shift in the chair, keeping a smile across your lips while stealing a glance at him.

“At first I was skeptical and surprised but in her initial interview I remember thinking she seemed like a good person.”

The director smiles at his answer, looking into the camera. “And is she?”

Narumi nods, hiding a little smile of his own. His slicked back hair hides nothing and he has to wear whatever his feelings are on his face, turning to look at you with that same smile.

“Yeah. I think she is.”

Now it’s your turn to smile, feeling even more awkward about your prior outburst. Maybe you’re just crazy and he isn’t sending weird mixed messages constantly.

“And you? How did you feel about your alpha?”

Thinking for a moment, you clear your throat and recross your legs.

“I thought he seemed like someone I’d enjoy spending my time with and he is. We have a lot to learn about each other but I look forward to learning it all every day.”

The smile on his face grows and the director continues her explanation of how the program works while the two of you bask in probably the most honest example of whatever is going on here yet.

As of today, not only Japan but the whole world will know that Gen Narumi has met his match in more ways than one.

[cool-person-yey]

you know the rules and so do I, tmagp notes 24!

• only got home now. I'm worried abt the double meaning in the titler. and the cannibalism too ig.

• * ominous music* my beloved. that's just what I needed after a long day of doing things

• Lena!!!!

• Gwen!!

• girl no. you are not ready.

• ok Lena must be feeling atleast a bit satisfied at hearing Gwen admit that

• that hummf lmaoo

• Norris!!! I missed u bbg

• oh a recording!

• orbs,,,,,

• there was demonic possession in the tws so um.

• that's not how a baby's tongue is supposed to be ma'am

• strange sounds huh

• I sure do wonder who's doing that.

• Celia!! our Celia?!?

• I sure do wonder why the demonic baby likes her.

• hm. maybe he's feeding in another way. yk just a thought

• girl sleep please

• haha what

• what do you mean blood

• the shadow was wrong huh

• haha what is that

• that is not the sound a baby makes

• [IT IS NOT A BABY.] you don't say

• well that's disconcerting

• Celia! for real this time

• Sam!

• shaking answers out of people hmm

• Alice! oh things are complicated

• she looks actually pretty shaken

• good god im not used to actual good communication

• hmmm tape recorders

• hah of course you believe her Celia

• yes watch each other's backs please

• keep an eye huh. keep an eye.

• Hey Basira!

• would be a bigger surprise but I saw her name on the appearances things lol

• Mr and Mrs fisher ?

• oh a school

• oh Sam I love you and your awkwardness at social interactions so much

• another academic institution hmmm

• pfffft

• SAM COME ON MAN

• don't ask her about the spooky institute right off the bat

• CELIA NOT YOU TOO

• mrs banks huh. like my dear friend, Oliver banks?

• ah yes Humphry

• * ominous music*

Bye bye gamers, see y'all next week!

[groovyinsects]

Pinned Post/About

Mostly want to clean up how this blog looks a bit and give some info about my characters/world building.

This blog focuses on my insect oc’s, their concept art, maybe a bit of world building, and whatnot. I’m working on 3 stories (or at least trying to!) that will take place in the same world, “Insecta.”

As far as basic world building goes, Insecta is a group of islands inhabited by anthropomorphic, rubber-hose styled insects called “Toons.” It is perpetually in a 1930s aesthetic and function (however, elements from the early 1900s, 20s, and 40s are present as well). No one in Insecta knows exactly how the islands came to be. However, everyone knows that the early inhabitants of the islands had “toon abilities” (such as the rubber-hose traits 1920s-1940s cartoon characters possessed, like detaching limbs, arms and legs that can stretch and bend in unrealistic ways, creating objects out of nothing, etc.) Over time these abilities were lost, creating another mystery; how did these abilities disappear, and why? (another trait that Insecta’s inhabitants don’t possess is the ability to fly. I’m not sure whether I want it to be a “toon ability” that was lost over time or something the toons never had in the first place).

                                                   Map of Insecta

Even though these characters and stories are near and dear to me, at the end of the day they’re just for fun. I’m writing about what is interesting to me, which is 1930s cartoon bugs XD

I'm currently working on four stories:

McVee Mansion

Olive, a psychic, and her friend Betts, investigate a haunted and dangerous mansion deep in the woods. Takes place in Clement City.

The Strange Case of Pine Hollow

Othmer, a disgruntled designer, dreams of creating an elixir that will improve the quality of life for everyone in Insecta. (this one was partly inspired by Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) Takes place in Pine Hollow.

Phantom of the Lighthouse

The lighthouse-turned-cabaret sports a rag-tag team of dysfunctional workers, along with a mysterious Phantom lurking in the walls… (this one is basically poto but. 1930s bugs in a lighthouse) Takes place in Clement City.

A Magician's Secret

Not much to say about this one yet, other than I've got drawings of these characters posted on the blog.

Insecta's site

will update this post as I see fit!

[redowlkitchen]

Cross out what you’ve already read. Six is the average.

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte Harry Potter series - JK Rowling To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee The Bible - Council of Nicea (Not the whole thing, but a lot at church and all of Genesis for my Bible as Literature class) Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman Great Expectations - Charles Dickens Little Women - Louisa M Alcott Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy Catch 22 - Joseph Heller Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger Middlemarch - George Eliot Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald Bleak House - Charles Dickens War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy David Copperfield - Charles Dickens Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis Emma - Jane Austen Persuasion - Jane Austen (currently reading!) The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne Animal Farm - George Orwell The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood Lord of the Flies - William Golding Atonement - Ian McEwan Life of Pi - Yann Martel Dune - Frank Herbert Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens Brave New World - Aldous Huxley The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov The Secret History - Donna Tartt The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas On The Road - Jack Kerouac Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie Moby Dick - Herman Melville Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens Dracula - Bram Stoker The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson Ulysses - James Joyce The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome Germinal - Emile Zola Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray Possession - AS Byatt A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell The Color Purple - Alice Walker The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry Charlotte’s Web - EB White The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks Watership Down - Richard Adams A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas Hamlet - William Shakespeare Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl Frankenstein - Mary Shelley The Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer Paradise Lost - John Milton The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain White Fang - Jack London The Portrait of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde Queen of the Damned - Anne Rice Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson The Call of the Wild - Jack London The Importance of Being Earnest - Oscar Wilde The Wonderful Wizard of Oz — L. Frank Baum Don Quixote — Miguel De Cervantes Where the Wild Things Are — Maurice Sendak The Cat in the Hat — Dr Seuss The Giver — Lois Lowry Inkheart — Cornelia Funke Divine Comedy — Dante Alighieri Macbeth — William Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet — William Shakespeare The Child Called ‘It’ — Dave Pelzer The Hunger Games — Suzanne Collins The Diary of a Young Girl — Anne Frank Night — Elie Wiesel Les Misérables — Victor Hugo The Odyssey — Homer The Scarlet Letter — Nathaniel Hawthorne The Brothers Karamasov — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Eragon — Christopher Paolini

[blowjosh]

[moviesandmania]

Karen Black - Actress

Karen Black – Actress

Karen Blanche Black (née Ziegler; July 1, 1939 – August 8, 2013) was an American actress, screenwriter, singer and songwriter. She is best known for her appearances in such films as Easy Rider (1969), Five Easy Pieces (1970), Airport 1975 (1974, ironically), The Day of the Locust and Nashville (both 1975), Alfred Hitchcock’s final film Family Plot (1976), and Capricorn One(1978). Though always…

[chironshorseass]

part 1 read on ao3

“So you’re telling me that you haven’t Iris Messaged Annabeth in a month?”

“She was with her cousin, Ma.”

His mother stopped the car right next to Goode—the high school he would (hopefully) be attending in August.

She turned to look at him, that motherly stern look that always came up when she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say. But physically, you haven’t seen her since last January! I’m just worried that—”

“We emailed each other, though—”

“Yes, but it’s not the same.” At Percy’s roll of the eyes, she held her hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is to…see if there’s anything wrong. I have a feeling she didn’t want to IM you for some other reason. And I know you, Perce. You have the same feeling as I do.”

He did, but that wasn’t the point. So he kissed his mom on the cheek and stepped out of the car.

“Good luck on your date! And with, um, school!”

He threw her a thumbs up and shouldered his backpack.

Too bad that luck wasn’t on his side that day.

She saw him before he saw her.

He’s grown, was the first thing that came to Annabeth’s mind.

His clothing peppered in burn holes, the smoke wafting further back, and the pretty girl chasing him was registered later.

She saw him before he saw her, and so Percy bumped into her in the alleyway. Her hands went to his shoulders, steadying him.

“Whoah!” she said, laughing. “Watch where you’re going, Seaweed Brain!”

Maybe he thought he’d be late for our date. That’s why he’s in such a hurry.

It didn’t matter. Because he was here, and he was just a bit taller than her—his hair was longer than she remembered, but his green eyes were the same, beautiful color, and...

Then she caught his panicked look. Then she caught the girl behind him and the smoke and his burnt clothing.

“What happened?”

Before he could reply, the redhead called out, “Percy! Wait up!”

Her flip-flops echoed across the relatively quiet street, interrupting Annabeth’s thought process.

“And who‘s she?”

Percy turned to the other girl and waited until she arrived next to them. He glanced at Annabeth, wincing. “It’s uh…it’s a long story.”

“You promised to explain,” the girl insisted, breathless. “About the monsters and the gods and everything.”

“Wait,” Annabeth said. “She’s a demigod?”

“No.”

At the same time, the girl tilted her head and said, “So you’re one of them, too, huh?”

Annabeth felt her mouth fall open in disbelief. She met Percy’s eyes. “You told some mortal about us?”

“My name’s Rachel.”

And my name’s I-don’t-give-a-fuck.

“She can see through the mist,” is all he said.

She shook her head. Out of everything that could happen today…and this was what Fate had decided on.

“Come on.” She tugged on Percy’s arm. “We’re leaving before whatever attacked you comes back.”

He followed her, but not without gazing back at Rachel as though he wanted to stay with her. As though it were easier than being with Annabeth. There was something bubbling in her stomach at that, something that boiled her insides.

“Wait!” Rachel shouted. “You promised to explain!”

She sprinted toward them and took out a sharpie marker she’d sprung out from thin air. Annabeth rolled her eyes. Rachel grasped Percy’s arm and began writing something that looked like numbers.

She wasn’t rolling her eyes anymore.

“My phone number,” Rachel explained. Then she winked at him. “Whenever you can, call me.”

.

“What was all that about?” Annabeth said. She’d already stormed ahead, taking the lead.

He tried to explain. He’d gone to Goode’s orientation tour, just like she knew he would. There, he’d been attacked by empousa cheerleaders, and thanks to Rachel’s Sight, he’d survived.

“I’d be dead if it weren’t for her,” he said, eyeing his marked arm. “I have to repay her in some way.”

“So now you have her phone number,” she said lightly.

“Uh…yeah.”

“She’s really cute.”

Percy stopped in his tracks. She stopped as well and looked back, realizing that he was staring at her exasperatedly.

“Aw, come on, Annabeth. You and I are literally dating, and I just saw her today—well, except for last year—”

“You’ve met her before?”

He scratched his head, shifting from one foot to the other. “I, uh…yeah. Last year at Hoover Dam.”

Right. When he was looking for me.

She kept walking again.

“Are you seriously upset because of her?” He tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away. “‘Beth, I never—”

“Anyway, I don’t think we can go on our date anymore.” Her tone was scathing, like sharp, twisted knives. But she didn’t care. The gods hated her, apparently, because she and Percy could never be a normal teenage couple.

“Oh, so now you can get all angry with me when we couldn’t even call properly because of your cousin? Not even a single call?”

“That empousai said that the camp would go up in flames, we need to—”

“Don’t change the subject.” He ran up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, making her halt. The few baby fat he’d still preserved back in winter was gone, replaced with the hints of someone older; with a harshness akin to his father, the Sea God. “How much time did you actually spend with your cousin? Honestly. He couldn’t have been with you all the time, and I tried to be nice and understanding, but did you really—”

“If what that empousa warned you about is true, then we need to head to camp. Right now.”

She left before he could talk about anything else involving her pathetic lies. Left before he could see her blinking back tears. She ran directly into Argus’ van, and once Percy had closed the door, she told the bodyguard to drive directly to camp. No detours.

They didn’t talk on the way there. She stared out the window, watching the passing farms and the cotton sky.

Her first meeting with Percy after months apart and it couldn’t have gone better.

.

The thing is: Annabeth had changed her mind about camp. In her plans, she’d stay in San Francisco for longer than usual, just to be as far away from Camp Half-Blood as possible. Then, she’d go to New York City, and her and Percy would be taken to camp by Argus.

But plans changed.

Her mother had come, weeks before Annabeth would leave as initially intended. For some strange reason, she’d knocked on her door like Luke all those months ago.

A spluttering Frederick had answered this time. Annabeth trailed behind him, cautious for anything.

Cautious for anything didn’t mean she’d thought Athena would ever consider stopping by.

“Mom?” she’d said, eyes wide.

After greetings were made, Athena had insisted she go to camp immediately. “They are counting on you to be there, Annabeth. You must go. Before it’s too late.”

Annabeth recalled what she’d told Luke:

“People are counting on you—on me”

But hearing it from her mother, seeing her so insistent—enough so that she’d come, personally, to her porch steps—made Annabeth reconsider.

Anyway, this was Athena. Her mother. Who was she to displease her?

So she buried all her worries about Luke and Percy and followed her; in the blink of an eye, she’d arrived at camp, Athena nowhere to be seen. Annabeth hadn’t even had the chance to ask her about why she’d decided to help, out of the blue.

But Athena was right; camp needed her. Apparently, Clarisse’s top-secret quest from last winter had to do with venturing into the Labyrinth. She and Chiron had rescued Chris Rodriguez, an ex-camper who was scouting it in the hopes of finding an entrance to camp for Luke’s army. He’d fallen victim to madness in those dark, underground walls. No one knew why—only that he needed help.

Not only that, but throughout those few weeks, she’d felt as if her mother’s face was implanted in her mind like a brand; she swore she saw those grey eyes everywhere. While she got familiar with Quintus and Mrs. O’Leary. While planning with Clarisse and Chiron. While hanging out with Silena. While scouring the forest with Grover and his new girlfriend, Juniper—searching for an entrance to the Labyrinth.

It got to the point where she lit a match and watched as dozens of olives burst into flames, in the hopes that Athena would respond.

“What do you want from me?”

“Please answer.”

“What do you know that we don’t?”

Everything.

That’s what she’d say, probably. But Annabeth would never know, because Athena never answered. She nearly burned down cabin seven because of this. In her frustration, she scooped up the remaining olives, stomped across camp, and threw them into the sea.

“Thanks for everything,” she muttered, watching the waves greedily drag the olives away.

She didn’t feel eyes burning into her neck after that, but coming back with Percy restarted the process all over again.

An owl was perched on Thalia’s tree. She ignored it, only for it to come back while her and Percy both sat to hear what the Council of Cloven Elders had to say about Grover’s search for Pan.

.

“Mom. What do you want?”

“Lovely way of greeting your visiting mother, I see.”

Annabeth sighed.

After reasurances to Grover that, ‘Everything will be alright. Don’t worry. I know you’ll find Pan before the Council’s deadline,’ she’d taken to the trees. To where that grey owl was perched.

The owl disappeared, however. Replaced by the goddess of wisdom. So now both mother and daughter stood, a few feet apart, while everyone else gathered on the other side. No one noticed the secret meeting.

“You prayed to me,” Athena said. “Of course I would answer. Even if you did throw the offerings away.”

To where Annabeth threw them away was left unsaid; Athena knew. She knew, and she’d likely come because of it.

Annabeth shrugged.

“You’re angry with me,” Athena observed. “Anger must be controlled, or else unwise decisions happen. Like throwing a prized possession into the sea.”

“Well, Mother,” Annabeth said, jaw tense. “You haven’t exactly been clear about why you’re following me around. Or about why you wanted me to go to camp early in the first place.”

Athena was rarely quick to anger. She calculated everything, patient and firm, just like now.

“Knowing the intentions of the divine can either be a blessing or a curse.”

“But you’re about to tell me something. About to answer me. Am I cursed, then?”

Athena cocked her head, considering.

“No,” she finally said.

There was a glint in her eyes, something that told Annabeth that she was holding back.

“Well, then...I am asking again: why are you here?”

“Because I foresee that you shall lead a quest.”

A pause. Her comment was precise, abrupt as a frigid wind. Annabeth felt herself gaping like a fish. Quickly, she clamped her mouth shut. That was all she wanted, wasn’t it? To lead a quest? But then why did she feel such a profound sense of dread?

“I came to warn you. It won’t be easy.”

She restrained the urge to roll her eyes. “Quests aren’t meant to be easy.”

“Never stray from the plan,” Athena said, ignoring her comment. Her eyes were grey as granite, face hard as marble. “I know that you can…manage your hubris, but this time, it’ll be the ultimate trial for what you can or can’t do. If you can yield or not. You and Perseus both. Hubris can be controlled, but if control itself is the problem...that is very dire, indeed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I may have made a mistake in assuming Perseus’ fatal flaw. Maybe not. In any case...you must be careful.”

“You assumed what his fatal flaw is?”

Athena regarded her carefully, like one does when studying an ancient scroll. “You can ask him about it. Since you two are...close.”

She said close as if it was a foregin word on her tongue, something she wanted to get rid of.

Of course she knew.

“About that, I don’t care what you—”

“I give you the benefit of the doubt,” Athena said, an eyebrow raised. “My children are known to make wise, rational decisions. I can only hope that you won’t become an exception to that rule. I do not approve, but it is your life. Your choice.”

Annabeth’s mouth felt like sand. Choices. She’d begun to hate them, now.

“What’s Percy’s fatal flaw?”

“Even to me, it’s uncertain.”

“But you have some idea.”

“As do you, my daughter.”

“I thought knowledge is power.”

“Yes. Knowledge is power. But how do you know that the knowledge you possess is true? How do you know if it’s not? Fate, however, is already decided; all we can do is prepare for the worst.”

“What’s going to happen, then?” Annabeth felt like she was barely able to grasp for something to hold on to, waiting— begging —for the ground to steady itself. “What will happen to Luke? What’s my role in all of this?”

Athena only shook her head. “Knowing something and having the wits to use it are two separate things.” Then she turned around, her time at camp over as well as her vague and unreliable warnings. “I must go. Good luck, Annabeth, on your quest.”

“A quest no one has even mentioned —”

“And watch for Percy Jackson.”

She vanished into the canopy, morphing into that same, grey owl. A single feather fell from the sky and settled quietly into the ground next to Annabeth’s sneakers. It mocked her, that feather. She kicked it away, then thought better of it and rubbed it into the dirt with her heel, destroying every single trace.

Your choice.

.

Neither her nor Percy mentioned their earlier fight. It became a discarded page, ripped off and torn into pieces like an old math textbook. It gave her space to breathe, to start over. A part of her knew that it wasn’t right, and that eventually, they’d have to talk about it—but that was eventually. This was now.

During the “now,” she filled Percy in on the Labyrinth.

(The Labyrinth will be the quest your mom mentioned. It can’t be about anything else)

He listened to everything she had to say and stayed even while Clarisse was there, too.

(Probably because they’re friends. They just hate to admit it.)

They ignored the catcalls and the teasing. She expected it, anyway.

(“So the rumors are true,” Malcolm said, wiggling his eyebrows and making her roll her eyes. “You and Percy are a thing, now.”

“Uh…yeah.”

“And you never thought to tell me? Like, I’m not surprised or anything, but—hey! Don’t hit me! Okay, fine, everyone knew since you two held hands and made gooey eyes at each other and stuff last January—stop hitting me!”)

Later, her and Percy sat together by the warmth of the campfire, roasting s’mores. She enjoyed laying her head on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. She laughed at his horrible singing and held his hand later that night, swinging their arms up and down as they walked toward cabin three.

Joking around and taking comfort in the sound of the crickets, Annabeth understood what it was like to love someone. It was a different kind of love than that of Luke. She watched him smile wide, watched the way his eyes crinkled as she rolled her eyes about Clarisse and Silena. That’s when it crossed her mind: their friendship hadn’t changed. Not really.

Even though they hadn’t seen each other for six months or so, and even though their newest step to their relationship had started weeks before that, their esense stayed the same. He was still Percy and she was still Annabeth. And that would never change.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Percy said, squeezing her hand.

“Oh, um. Just...thinking.”

“Well duh.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned at her, even as she shoved him off.

“No but seriously,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. Her meeting with Athena had slipped into her mind like passing sticky notes and secret messages. “I want to talk about fatal flaws.”

She felt his hand tense. “What about them?”

“Just, I dunno, like...do you know yours?”

He was looking straight ahead when he said, “Your, uh, mom told me. Is personal loyalty even considered a flaw?”

“That’s what she said? That your fatal flaw is personal loyalty?”

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

So it’s true. She thinks she’s wrong.

“I mean, personal loyalty is considered a flaw, but...do you think it could be something else? Maybe?”

They locked eyes. The faraway hearth lit up his face, sharpening his features.

“Do you think it’s something else?”

“I don’t know.”

Another lie. Or was it? Could personal loyalty be his fatal flaw or could it be something else? Was Athena right? Was she wrong?

Percy raised his eyebrows. “You know something. You have that planning face look.”

“I don’t have a—”

“Uh, yeah you do. But whatever. It’s not like you know what my fatal flaw is.”

“I’m...yeah. I was just wondering since, well, I know about mine. And we’re so close to the Great Prophecy, and if you don’t know by now what your fatal flaw is, well—”

“It’s good that I know, then,” he cut in. “Good that I know my fatal flaw by now.” His eyes flicked to her. “Right?”

“Yeah. Right. Good.”

Nothing else was said after that. He stopped by the porch steps of cabin three and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, comforted like she had throughout the singalong. Comforted by Percy.

Until he closed his door and left her in the dark.

.

The next day, Quintus’ strange game involving scorpions and ribbons began with her being paired up with Percy. It was just their luck that they’d stumbled into the Labyrinth, of all places .

“So we’re stuck here.”

“Yep,” Percy confirmed.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m only here for moral support. You’re the brains of the relationship.”

“Am not,” she grumbled. “You’re smart; stop pretending you aren’t.”

It was no use, anyway. She couldn’t find the mark of Daedalus in the darkness. They took a break from searching and calling for help to sit down, bunching up against a wall and leaning against the other.

“I never apologized.”

Percy’s voice in the hollow chambers nearly made her jump. She lifted her chin and tucked it into his collarbone.

“For what?” she said.

“The Rachel thing.”

“To be fair, I’d nearly forgotten.”

“Exactly. So I just…want to clear the air before it comes up again. And to say sorry for doubting you about your cousin.”

She shut her eyes tight. The truth was coming like undigested food; she was ready to spill it all out. But she swallowed the words instead—hating herself and loving this beautiful, selfless boy all at the same time. Round and round. Round and round it went.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“What are you sorry for? You were right to be angry with me. Like, all this time apart and suddenly a girl writes down her phone number on my arm , and then we can’t even have a normal date because I seem to mess that up, too.”

You’re perfect, she wanted to say. You’re perfect and I’m the one who messed everything up. Not you.

“We both reacted in stupid ways,” she said instead. “And anyway, I should’ve found the time to IM with you.”

He kissed the top of her head and mumbled into her hair, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

He pulled away from her. She could feel his gaze but couldn’t see him clearly. “Something’s bothering you, Annabeth. What’s wrong? What’s actually wrong?”

She pursed her lips.

“What if…what if we don’t make it?”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, but in the drifting silence, it sounded like ringing bells, there for everyone to hear.

( “What if you don’t make it?” She could never dare to say that out loud, however. )

She felt Percy lace his fingers through hers. “We’ll be together. That’s something I know for sure.”

They chose silence after that. Annabeth rested her head against his shoulder once more, listening to the constant creaking and shifting of the Labyrinth.

“Hey,” Percy murmured.

She glanced at him. “Hmm?”

Suddenly, she was aware of his hand resting on her arm, of his breath warm against her cheek. She froze, just for a second.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now that she thought about it, they’d never kissed properly—just a quick peck here and there. She nearly laughed at how nervous Percy sounded, at how this was just like last winter as they asked permission for a simple kiss like the awkward teenagers that they were.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and leaned in. He didn’t need to look far, not even in the darkness; she was already inches apart, closing her eyes and feeling their breaths slip by.

When their lips met, she decided that surrender tasted sweet and pure, something she’d willingly do over and over again. He kissed her and nothing else mattered, not Time or the dark or choices.

He was the first to pull away.

“We’ve, um, we’ve been in here for too long,” he said. “Let’s keep trying to find a way out.”

It wasn’t long until they did.

.

By the time they’d managed to slip out of the Labyrinth, hours had passed. Night had fallen like autumn leaves, though she swore that they’d been in the maze for thirty minutes  at most.

By the time the campers and Chiron found them, she already knew that a quest would have to be made.

Just like her mother had promised, she was chosen to lead.

From what the oracle told her, she wished she could hide in her cabin and never come out. She wished that all of this was a dream and that absolutely nothing would happen—to anyone.

“The child of Athena’s final stand,” she’d said, repeating nearly all of her prophecy once Chiron asked her about it.

She paused and didn’t say the last line. The worst line. That line had cut to her bones. A rusted knife against her throat.

“And lose a love worse than death.”

She gazed at Percy. Innocent green eyes gazed right back at her, unwavering. What a terrible person she was, that she’d lead him to this fate because she couldn’t leave without him. How weak.

“Will you come?” she breathed.

He agreed without a second thought.

.

He found her in her cabin. They were alone, for once. And when he asked her what was wrong, when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t take it anymore. She surged to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and secure, so he could never go away.

She breathed in his scent, feeling tears already trickling into his shirt.

“Hey, it’s—it’s okay. We’ll survive.”

“But what if we don’t?”

His hands drifted up to her back, steadying her.

She lifted her eyes, pulling away slightly, if only to see him clearly. A varying amount of emotions crossed his face. Concern, fear, love. Until he settled on concern and flicked away her stray tears with the pad of his thumb ever so gently. His eyebrows were pinched together.

“I just…” she said, looking away. “I just don’t want anything happening to yo—to any of you.”

“I’ll be here,” he said softly, cupping her cheek and moving it in his direction so that she could understand. “We’ll be okay.”

She wished she could believe that. Wished she could believe it with the same amount of heart that she poured into the kiss that followed. Her hands tugged at his hair, lips moving along with his like they never had before. They were warm and sure, his lips. But they could easily turn blue and cold, as easily as a flame could cease to exist. So she kissed him with everything she had so that his lips would stay warm like this, forever—passed her oxygen to him until there was nothing left to give.

.

Annabeth also chose Grover and Tyson to join her quest. With two more people, the quest team turned up as four instead of three; a feeling told her that she needed them all.

But three is a sacred number. Not four. This is why Zoë and Bianca passed on.

Three, not four.

And lose a love to worse than—

She strolled past the moving walls, the footfalls of the rest echoing behind her. Until she stopped. They were in a lavish room with a muraled painting of the gods, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the two doorways, the two paths.

“So?” Grover asked. “Which one do we uh…which one do we pick?”

Before she could answer, a man formed—or rather, a man with two faces. They stood in between the pathways, leering at her.

“Yes, Annabeth,” said one face.

“Which one do you pick?” said the other.

.

She kept mulling it over, what Hera had said. They’d encountered Janus, the god of doorways and beginnings and endings. And choices.

“Choose,” they’d said.

Instantly, images had painted themselves in her mind. In one, she was looking for Daedalus alongside Percy and Grover and Tyson. In the other, she was looking for Luke. “He can be saved,” her imaginary self muttered as she trudged through the Labyrinth alone, on the brink of madness. “If I save him, there will be no more death.”

But then more flashed through her mind. Choose one pathway, and she’d lose Percy, and soon after that, she’d lose Grover and Tyson. Choose the other, and she’d lose Luke instead.

“Choose.”

Everything had come to a pause when Hera arrived. She wanted to help them, apparently—only that that wasn’t true. Gods didn’t help. They only left you confused and disoriented, spinning around with no control.

She hadn’t helped, not that it surprised her.

None of them had any clue how to navigate the Labyrinth, only that supposedly Percy knew the answer. And also that they had to search for Hephaestus if they wanted to find Daedalus.

As a parting gift, she’d said, “I delayed Janus’ visit, but be careful, Annabeth. Your choice will come soon enough.”

“Let’s rest here,” Percy said, sensing her waning steps.

Despite her exhaustion, she insisted on taking first watch. She had to think. Pray. Slowly, everyone else fell into a slumber, but her mind was wide awake, gazing at Percy’s motionless form.

Prophecies had double meanings, didn’t they?

.

Her world was turned upside-down once she heard the explosion, once she went airborne for a few seconds only to hit her shoulder on a jagged rock. Immediately, she felt the sharp sting of pain. She clutched her shoulder, biting her lip. Her hand came back slick with blood.

“You chose this,” the two-faced god taunted her.

Then she heard a strangled scream. Percy’s scream. She inhaled sharply and scrambled to stand up, ignoring the scuttling spider that was getting farther and farther away and the stabbing pain traveling from her shoulder to the rest of her body.

“Percy!”

She ran in the direction from which she’d come from. Too late. Searing heat slapped her in the face before she understood what was happening. Another explosion came, and this time, she wasn’t so lucky.

Her body stumbled back, rocks caving in on her.

The sky. This is like the sky—

And everything went dark.

The darkness formed into a memory:

“No! I can’t leave you!”

“I’ve got a plan—promise!” he insisted. “You follow that metal spider to Hephaestus' lair, tell him about what’s going on.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

This was the choice; leave him or stay. Stay or leave.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. From the look in his eyes, Annabeth knew that she couldn’t convince him. He was decided. “Besides, we’ve got no choice.”

Yes, they did have a choice.

No.

Yes.

She kissed him instead. A quick kiss, a promise.

“Come back to me,” she said, fighting back tears. She pulled on her Yankees cap and left, then ran.

Her sobs escaped from her rib cage by then, finally free.

She woke to that memory and nothing else, head pounding like drums. The spider was long gone, and she stumbled around, drunk with grief. It was a miracle she found Hephaestus at all.

.

Hephaestus, thank the gods, understood her unintelligible blabbering. He took pity on her, perhaps, because he healed her physical wounds and dropped her off at camp. Never mind that Grover and Tyson were gone, on their own path looking for Pan. Never mind that Percy…

She broke down crying for the thousandth time that day when Chiron asked her what had happened. Why she’d staggered into camp all alone. Her heart, her entire being, spilled to the floor like water from an overfilled cup.

“Four went in and one came back. Only Annabeth came back,” the campers whispered among themselves. She saw their faces, saw their horror at realizing that Percy was likely dead, Grover and Tyson gone as well without much of a trace.

It drove her to hide. She stayed in bed for the next three days, not daring to close her eyes in the fear of what she may find there.

She thought that she’d run out of tears long ago, but they came anyway. She clamped her mouth shut so as not to alert any of her siblings who were asleep.

Your choice.

For the first time in the past two days, her eyes fluttered closed. She didn’t dream of anything at all.

.

Clarisse came barging into cabin seven the next morning.

“Come on, Princess,” she said, staring down at her. “You’ve gotta eat.”

Malcolm stood behind her, likely the one who had told Clarisse to come in the first place, since Annabeth hadn’t listened to any of her siblings about eating.

She tried to protest, to fight. But Clarisse was strong and had a purpose; Annabeth had nothing at all. So she sat in the dining pavilion, taking her time with her breakfast and ignoring everyone’s eyes on her.

Clarisse sat next to her, making sure she finished her food.

“Slowly, okay?” she said, then murmured, “Gods, when was the last time you ate something?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Annabeth snapped.

A few minutes passed in relative silence before Silena came to their table, offering solace.

“Hey, girlie,” she said. “How are you?”

Annabeth didn’t respond. Silena softly laid a hand on her shoulder, then decided better of it and pulled her in for a hug.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” she said gently.

But it was.

Annabeth chose to leave him.

It took everything in her not to break down in Silena’s arms. Annabeth gave her a weak smile once she proposed to do something to pass the time. Like weaving, something she knew Annabeth enjoyed, being Athena’s daughter and all that.

So they did. Silena was good at it—good at making beautiful things. In the arts and crafts station, they spent most of the afternoon knitting and sewing as well, with Clarisse begrudgingly accompanying them.

She felt herself forget, her hands the only thing working. Not her mind. Not her subconscious or her guilt or her worry and fear.

It lasted only a moment. Because then she saw what she’d been working on for the past hour. Subconsciously, Annabeth had created a shroud. A beautiful one at that, with different hues of blue and green—just like his eyes. Just like the sea.

As if sensing her distress, the two girls looked up from what they were doing.

Clarisse said, “Is something wro—”

She didn’t need to say the rest, because Annabeth found her legs already moving, racing out the door.

“Let her,” she heard Silena say. “Give her space.”

She didn’t look back, sprinting to the one place where she knew Percy’s presence still thrived. Where she could be reminded that he would come back, just like he promised.

“I’ll be here.”

Cabin three didn’t look like much. Granted, she could barely focus on anything but her breathing—which was rapidly increasing its pace—but even so, she was reminded of how simple yet welcoming cabin three was in comparison to Zeus’.

It smelled like him. Like walking down the beach on a sunny day. Everything was as it always had been—clothes splayed haphazardly on the ground, bed unmade, stray papers adorning his nightstand.

She crumpled to her knees on the worn wooden planks. A great sob escaped her, and she covered her face with shaking hands

“He’s gone, Poseidon,” she cried. “He’s gone, and—and I’m so sorry.”

That night, she threw up everything she’d eaten.

.

“It is time,” Chiron said, his eyes dim with pity.

He preferred demigods dead, it seemed, than to try and look for them. She’d begged. Pleaded. Fallen to her knees until they bled. But it was no use; her teacher was convinced he was dead, and by the time the second week passed without Percy showing up, he was declared as such.

“He’s powerful,” Clarisse had told her. “I trust your instincts. He’s not dead. Can’t be, or else I’d have to beat him up.”

She helped Annabeth try to talk Chiron out of the funeral but to no avail.

And he wasn’t. Annabeth knew, in her heart, that Percy wasn’t dead. Barely anyone believed her, however. She didn’t blame them; no one knew about the last line of the prophecy for her quest.

But a pestering voice reminded her of something else: Percy was not, by any means, her only loved one. That voice sounded eerily like Janus.

What if it’s Luke?

He was nothing to her, now. She swore that he wasn’t.

What if Percy is dead?

That’s when Silena squeezed her shoulder, repeating what Chiron had told her the day prior.

“It’s time.”

Everyone who had gathered by the Amphitheatre waited for her to give out her statement, grim-faced. Chiron stood at the center of it all, the shroud she’d made at the arts and crafts cabin in his hands.

She hated that shroud with all her being, but she took it anyway once she stepped the last of the stairs. The fire next to her kissed her cheeks like the warmth of the sun. But inside, all she felt was cold. His body hadn’t been found…yet the shroud that she clutched in her hands would burn with Percy’s life.

“He…” Her eyes drifted to the shimmering cloth. How could she ever describe Percy Jackson? How could she ever put him into words? “He was kind,” she began. Her voice was unrecognizable, even to her. “He was probably the bravest friend I’ve ever had, and…”

And then she saw him, grinning like an idiot behind everyone else.

.

“Bravest friend you ever had?” was the first thing he said, after their bone-crushing hug.

She wiped her tears away and laughed. For the moment, she didn’t care that he hadn't answered her frantic questions.

“Where have you been?”

“What happened?”

He was here and he was alive. Her arms still clung to his neck; she wasn’t sure she’d ever manage to fully let go.

“You’re my friend above everything else, Seaweed Brain. And yeah, I guess you’re pretty brave.”

A question formed at the tip of her tongue—the one asking once more about what had happened in that explosion, where he’d been all this time; she knew that Percy could tell.

He was about to say something when Chiron interrupted them.

“My boy,” he said, mainly addressing Percy. “We need to talk.”

Percy’s demeanor changed like the shock of icy water to the face.

“Uh, yeah.” Something passed through his eyes; he glanced at her, then at their teacher. “I know how to navigate Labyrinth.”

.

Her relief became a ghost of the past once he explained himself. He told them the plan for the next part of the quest—for finding Grover and Tyson and finally Daedalus—but all she could hear was her ears ringing.  

“I was marooned on an island.”

“I uh…I stayed there for some time, healing from the explosion.”

She was almost certain about where he’d been. And then he’d mentioned his plan to find Rachel, the pretty redhead who wrote her phone number on his arm. Supposedly, she could help them.

“A clear-sighted mortal,” Chiron had said. “Clever, indeed.”

Only it wasn’t. It was her quest. Her choice. Not his.

Annabeth stood from her chair. The screeching noise made Percy wince. “I can’t believe you! You’re asking me to go to that mortal for help?”

Chiron’s eyes were soft when he said, “Annabeth, calm down—”

“No, I’m not calming down, because Percy here wants—”

“It’s the only way,” Percy said, hands wrung together.

“Ohh don’t tell me what’s ‘the only way’ and what isn’t when you could’ve easily come back sooner.”

Percy opened his mouth, but she talked over him.

“You think I’m stupid? You think I’m dumb?”

“No, ‘Beth, I—”

“You were with that goddess,” she said, her voice taking a hard edge. “Calypso, isn’t it? Was she nice company for you? Did you have a good time while I sat here, waiting for you, as my life spiraled out of control because one of the most important people in my life was gone?”

Percy stammered, “‘Beth, please…just—just let me explain.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You’re not denying it, either. That’s why you didn’t recount the entire story of your fun little vacation in a beautiful island with a beautiful goddess who was probably all over yo—”

He stood up then, leaning over the table, face inches apart from hers. “Don’t act so high and mighty with me when I know you lied to me about your cousin.”

“Percy, this isn’t even about—”

“No, no. You’re hearing me out. Okay? Hey, stop. Look me in the eyes. Nothing happened between us. Okay, nothing. She liked me, yes, but that is literally her curse! I knew you’d react that way because I’m realizing that you don’t fucking trust me!”

“What? Percy, I trust you with my life—”

“Then how come you never told me what was bothering you?”

“Because I don’t know what was bothering me!”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You know exactly what bothers you. But guess what? You won’t tell me! So like, don’t even dare accuse me of not revealing where I was when you do the exact same thing, ‘Beth!”

Annabeth felt like falling, but this time, she found no branch to hold onto and crashed to the ground, bleeding out and breathless.

Meanwhile, Percy kept talking, throwing javelins her way. “When you didn’t want to communicate via IM last semester, I agreed because I wanted to give you space to whatever the fuck was going on with you—and something is still going on, but you won’t tell me—and like, all that time while I was with her on that island, I wanted to go!

“I wanted to be with you! Shit, I don’t even know what I’d do without you, but I couldn’t fucking leave because that place is cursed! And when I did, it’s because she’d…she’d fallen in love with me! But I…but all I wanted was you!”

Silence fell over them with the remnants of Percy’s hard breathing. She blinked a few times, telling herself that she would not cry.

Chiron saved her before that could happen. “Now, children. Settle down. Percy. Give Annabeth some space to think about this.”

He obliged, much to her relief.

“This time, it’ll be the ultimate trial for what you can or can’t do. If you can yield or not.”

It all came down to that, to her mother’s words. She understood what they meant, now.

With just enough drachmas in her bag and a bluster assuring her that she would not fail, she grabbed Percy by the hand and crossed the camp border. Argus was waiting down below.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Small Town Monsters by Diana Rodriguez Wallach

"The woman was right: there was literally a patron saint of mechanics. But you know what else there was? Triple A. Vera called. Guess which one arrived first?"

Year Read: 2022

Rating: 3/5

About: Roaring Creek is cursed. That's what everyone says a decade after a gas explosion left dozens of families devastated, and it seems like the town has had nothing but accidents and tragedy since. For Vera Martinez, it was always like that. As the daughter of two of the most famous demonologists in the country, she's always been an outsider. When Maxwell Oliver's mother starts showing signs of possession, he goes to Vera for help, and they discover that Mrs. Oliver isn't the only one acting strange. Roaring Creek might actually be cursed, as something sinister sets the stage for an even greater disaster. Trigger warnings: death, parent death, child endangerment, cults, hurricanes, fire/explosions, severe illness, violence/injury, hospitals, poison, mental illness, depression, grief, religion, threats.

Thoughts: This is a spooky YA horror novel with some genuinely creepy, Conjuring-style possession scenes in it. Naturally, those were my favorite parts of the book, and Rodriguez Wallach does a nice job on the possession horror. It's atmospheric, well-described, and hits close to home when it's family, and I found myself both afraid for the characters and sympathizing with them. I also like the way the possession ties into very real-world issues like depression and grief, which leave people open to being taken advantage of, both by demonic entities and humans. I was less interested in the cult aspect of the novel, but those are always hit or miss for me. It doesn't get quite the same level of attention as the rest of the horror aspects (until it suddenly gets a lot), and I think more investigation into it could have helped with that.

Aside from that, I'm not sure there's a lot about Small Town Monsters that will appeal to an adult audience, but there's nothing wrong with a YA novel that's only written for young adults. The writing is average and a little simplistic with a couple weird turns of phrase (”her eyes flexed” what??), and there are a number of cliched YA tropes that don't make any effort to break the mold: popular boy falling for the outsider, she’s not like other girls, the main character is beautiful but doesn't know it, etc. The romance is pretty run of the mill, and it didn't add a lot to the story for me (but, in a weird personality quirk, I'm fond of romance books but not romance subplots--not sure when or how that happened). The end is a little abrupt but I like where it went, and I was overall satisfied with the story. It's a fun little horror novel, and sometimes that's all I want out of my reading.

[kieraelieson]

Centaur AU 6

Thomas was woken by the sound of a barn door opening, and an exasperated “there you are.”

He blinked, trying to sit up and figure out where he was and what was going on. He was practically cuddled up to Emile, who was also just waking up, and Remy went to stand between them and the man at the door.

“Who are you, and what do you want here?” Remy snapped, hands on his hips.

The man rolled his eyes, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a thick envelope. “I’m one of the Authier’s lawyers. I was supposed to draw up and finalize an agreement with Thomas this morning, but I have to be somewhere by 10 and it’s a bit of a drive.”

Thomas stood up, looking for the clock and wincing when he saw the time. 8:43. He was supposed to be at the stable by nine. Ugh, that was the danger of sleeping away from an alarm clock.

“Um, thank you for coming, I’m sorry I wasn’t available earlier.”

The man just looked him up and down, probably noticing every wrinkle and bit of dirt and hay. “No, I expected it. Mrs. Authier does like to hire people that ‘play the party’ so to speak. I’ve drawn up the agreement already, I just need your signature.”

“What, um, what does it all say?” Thomas asked, trying to rub his eyes with it being obvious.

“To summarize, you may either stay in the stable or in the bunk room with the other employees, free of charge. Your centaurs will be able to stay there and eat and receive medical care free of charge as well. You will be paid double what you are now, but will be considered ‘on call’ twenty-four seven. The other eight hours of on call will pay for your housing and your centaurs. If your centaurs get registered for any kind of public engagements the prizes for those will go to the Authiers, and it will be allowed to be assumed that they are owned by the Authiers. However, you still are the legal owner, and retain full possession, provided you allow the pretense to continue. You will decide whether or not to register your centaurs in anything at your own discretion, though if you choose to do so they will have the same advantages as any of the Authiers’.”

Thomas’s mind was more than a little spinning, but it sounded relatively ok. He didn’t really want to register Remy or Emile for anything, and everything else seemed good.

“O-ok.”

“Excellent. Sign here, and here, and here. I’ve had a key to the bunk room delivered to the stable. And also here is a card. You are allowed to use it for any discretionary purchases for the centaurs, provided you keep a record of those purchases and deliver the record to me monthly. Here is my card, the number is on the back.”

Thomas’s mind was still spinning. He just managed to nod and sign and accept.

The lawyer smiled. “Thank you, Thomas. Please call me with any questions or problems.”

And then he left. Leaving Thomas feeling like his brain had been stuffed with cotton.

“That… was a lot.” Emile said.

“You’re sure he isn’t all sneaky and tricking you?” Remy asked.

Thomas just shrugged helplessly. “I… need a shower.”

He took a quick shower and then packed a backpack as quickly as he could, rolling up a blanket and a pillow and shoving them into a pillowcase. That’d be enough for tonight, and he would have more opportunity later to get more of his things.

“Oh, no, I have to get those things for Patton too. Ugh… I’m gonna be so late.” Thomas scrubbed a hand over his face. Well, he was trying his best. He could make it. Maybe late, but he’d make it.

Remy and Emile had also packed up a few things, and Remy was wearing the ‘carry-saddle’ when Thomas got back. It was a cobbled-together thing, an old saddle with hooks and straps on it. Thomas was able to hang his backpack from a hook, and tie on the pillowcase bundle.

“Do you mind if I ride, Emile?”

“Not at all,” Emile said, holding a hand down to help pull Thomas up.

“We have to stop at the pet shop on our way, I promised Patton a rat cage and toys.”

“They have rats?” Remy asked, screwing his face up.

“Not loose, not for much longer. I have to get a cat too. And probably cat supplies. Are you good with carrying all that?”

“Not the cat, but I can carry the rest.”

“If the cat’s in a carrier, I don’t mind,” Emile said.

Thomas agreed readily. A carrier would be a good thing to have anyway.

It felt strange to rush through a pet store, almost wrong, and he was a bit surprised they just let him adopt a cat when he was so frayed and hurried, but they did. He got an old, black cat that seemed calm. He didn’t want anyone to worry about a frisky little kitten darting around underfoot.

Everything packed up, they were finally on their way.

When they arrived, Thomas opened the door, alarmed to hear soft sniffling and Roman speaking softly but harshly. “...and that’s why you can’t do that!”

“Whoa, hey, can’t do what?” Thomas asked, careful to keep his tone gentle.

Roman frowned, crossing his arms and turning slightly away. “Can’t talk. Not when it’s not safe.”

Thomas looked to see Patton rather teary, holding his arm, but not in the usual embarrassed-type pose.

“What happened?”

“Oliver did,” Virgil said, his tone dark and bitter.

Thomas turned to see Virgil in Logan’s stall, smushed between him and the wall.

“Ok,” Remy said, “I’m sick of this dancing around. What happened, completely, and who’s this asshole?”

“Oliver is the Authier’s… I think nephew,” Patton said quietly. “He came in earlier and was mad about Virgil being in Logan’s stall. I tried to get him to leave, but he got mad at me too.”

Patton moved his hand to show a red wheal on his arm.

Thomas set the carrier down immediately, rushing to get the cream.

“But then why would you fuss at him?” Remy asked sharply.

“Because he could avoid getting hurt like that if he just shut up!” Roman snapped. “And the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if everyone was following the rules!”

“Yeah, like victim-blaming is helping anything,” Remy said caustically.

“That’s not-- If they do it right it does help!”

“Remy, Roman, please,” Thomas said firmly. “Don’t argue.” He gently tended the mark on Patton’s arm, and the stable grew very quiet and still, only Emile coming over to be on hand to help Patton, and to subtly direct Thomas’ attention to Roman.

Once he was done Thomas turned around to Roman, who backed up a step, a sudden, but genuine fear flickering through his eyes, especially when Thomas opened his stall. Things were clicking together in Thomas’s mind, things Roman had done, had said, as well as certain behaviors he recognized as being similar to Remy a long time ago.

Thomas moved slowly, deliberately, holding out a hand to Roman.

Roman stared at his hand, eyes wide and alarmed, before finally reaching out tentatively to take it.

“Roman,” Thomas faltered seeing the repressed flinch, but took a breath, almost sure he understood the situation. “You’re trying to protect your friends.”

Roman made no response.

“It’s worked for you before. You made sure that by following all the rules and laying low that you were safe, and you just want them to be safe too.”

There was a tiny nod, and Roman’s face pinched, the slightest glimmer of tears in his eyes.

“You did well. I’m sure they all appreciate you trying to protect them. You did enough. They’re safe now.” Thomas echoed some of the words Roman had said to him the day before, and Roman blinked tears back, scrubbing away the one that made it past. “The things you protected them from are not right. Not ok. Not at all. I’m throwing out all those rules. You don’t need to keep them anymore.”

Roman took in a shuddering breath, looking like he was trying hard to control his emotions.

“I’m going to be here for you all as much as I possibly can be. You don’t have to be strong for them all, you can call me and I’ll help, ok?”

Roman nodded, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Roman?” Patton said. Emile had moved close to him, and it seemed they had talked about something.

Roman nodded in acknowledgement that he was listening.

“Thank you for trying to protect me. Protecting all of us.”

Roman shook with a half-sob, turning away and trying to hide his face from all of them. “Y-you’re welcome.”

“But… you… also hurt me, with the way you were doing it.” Patton said hesitantly.

A ragged sound tore out of Roman’s throat. “I-I know. A-and-- and I’m sorry. I thought-- I thought it would be better, cause I could-- I’d just fuss at you-- but the humans hurt you!”

Roman suddenly turned, and Thomas stepped out of his way, Emile moving Patton’s door, and Roman crashed into a hug with Patton, shoulders hitching with sobs he tried to keep quiet. “I’m so sorry, Patton. I-- I never wanted to hold you back, I just wanted you safe…”

Patton hugged back tightly.

Thomas figured they’d appreciate a bit of privacy, at least by not having him staring, so he started unpacking things carefully and quietly. Remy also seemed a bit ashamed, and very quietly helped.

There was a soft rustle, and Thomas saw out of the corner of his eye, since he was still trying to not stare at anyone, that Virgil and Logan were having some kind of conversation composed mostly of stares and touches. It was slightly odd. He was used to those silent conversations, when he’d seen them before, being mostly facial expressions and hand motions. He was beginning to realize that something, though what he had no idea, was going on that he was missing. Something with Logan.

And then Logan spoke up, clearing his throat and drawing attention to himself. “I would assume that the two of you are Remy and Emile?”

“Yes, we are,” Emile said politely. “I think we may have arrived more suddenly than was expected.”

Logan nodded. “Indeed. We hadn’t been aware you were coming at all.”

Emile shot a look at Thomas, who raised both hands. “I didn’t really know either, I’m kinda flying by the seat of my pants here. I’m… I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable for you guys though. I should’ve found a way to make sure it was ok first.”

Logan nodded slowly, looking like he was rolling information over and over in his mind. “I see. I don’t believe any of us would strongly object to new stable-mates.”

Virgil shook his head a little in hesitant agreement.

Roman and Patton weren’t full hugging anymore, standing pressed against each other side-by-side, much like Logan and Virgil, though much more evenly sized. They were holding hands though, and both were trying not to look as teary as they were.

“It’s fine,” Patton said. “I’m happy to have new friends.”

Roman just nodded, a hand covering his face as he tried to calm down.

“I’m glad,” Thomas said, his mind whirring a bit trying to figure out where was best to put Remy and Emile so that no one would argue, but then he stopped abruptly. He was literally treating all of them like pawns in his mind right now. “Um, where do you guys think would be best for Remy and Emile to stay?”

There was a lot of looking back and forth between the centaurs. Apparently none of them had considered that yet.

“We can stay wherever is most convenient,” Emile said.

Gradually all the stares converged on Logan. He frowned slightly. “I believe it would be best if Remy was not near Virgil or Roman. And I think it likely that the two of you would prefer to be closer to each other. And seeing as the rat cage was intended to be mounted in the stall adjoining Patton’s, there will be less room there. It seems the best option would be if Remy was housed in the stall next to mine, and Emile next to Virgil’s.”

There were nods all around, though Remy’s was more hesitant.

Emile tried to lessen the tension by walking into the stall suggested for him and looking around. He then looked around the rest of the barn. “You only have standing beds here.”

“That is correct,” Logan said.

Emile just nodded, looking around the stall some more. “Thomas, would you help me make a straw bed?”

Thomas nodded quickly, hoping that doing something helpful would release the tension he was feeling. “Yeah, absolutely. And I think we need to make one for Logan too. He isn’t supposed to be standing up nearly as much.”

Logan blinked. “I am curious as to how you could make a bed sufficiently comfortable for sleeping out of straw.”

“I’d love to show you,” Emile said cheerfully, smiling at Logan.

So for the next hour or so Thomas hefted down the rectangular bales of hay, and Emile helped stack and arrange, and eventually tore a few open for a softer top layer. Finally, Thomas got out some heavy blankets to lay over the top, noting that to have enough he was using all the blankets there were in the closet.

“This is the last one, but I can buy more. I’ve been given permission to buy whatever you guys need.” Thomas said.

Logan looked at the bed suspiciously. It took up a good half of his stall, and Virgil had had to leave while they made it. But then slowly, carefully, he knelt and flopped to the side, and then let out a long breath with so much relief in it Thomas felt a sudden pang of guilt for not having remembered to get him more pain medicine right away.

Thomas sat down on the floor outside of his stall. “I think the vet is coming back sometime this morning. It’s mostly just so she can prescribe medication so you can get better. And then after that, I think you all have a mostly free day. Patton has something this evening, but the afternoon is fine. So I think I’ll go shopping to get whatever you all need. I’d really like it if you mostly just laid around for the next bunch of weeks, so is there anything I can get you? Books maybe? Or craft supplies?”

Logan squinted at him suspiciously. Thomas tried not to worry, or to get defensive, but it seemed he’d gone and said something dumb or unknowingly hurtful again.

“You are unaware that I am farsighted.” Logan said, his tone perfectly flat.

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, I was completely unaware. Patton has glasses, why wouldn’t you, if you needed them? Did they break?” He caught himself before he just rambled endlessly and shut his mouth.

Logan just sighed. “I think you’re a good person Thomas.”

Thomas was caught entirely off guard by the sudden change of subject. “Um… thank you? I certainly try to be.”

“But you’re also quite unobservant.”

Thomas frowned slightly, but just nodded.

Logan raised his voice just slightly. “And we’ve made matters worse by assuming the opposite of you in both cases.”

There was a slight acknowledging grumble from behind him.

Thomas just nodded again, hoping to figure out where this was going.

“I believe my glasses are somewhere amongst the paperwork,” Logan said. “And I would greatly appreciate books to read.”

Thomas nodded quickly. “Yes. I’ll see if I can find them.”

He shuffled through the paperwork until he found a pair of glasses, vaguely remembering having seen them before, and assuming they were a backup pair for Patton, as they looked almost exactly the same.

“Are these them?” He asked, handing them to Logan.

Logan put the glasses on, and nodded, studying Thomas’s face, and then turned to look at Remy and Emile. Then he laid back and seemed to fall asleep very quickly.

And now all eyes were on Thomas again. He’d have to get used to this.

“Um… I guess, let’s set up the rat cage, and then hopefully the vet will come, and if any of you want anything, let’s get it all on a list for me to go get it?”

There was a general nodding and a couple ‘thank you’s, and Thomas forced a confident smile onto his face. Maybe he didn’t have everything under control, but he was certainly about to do his best.

[awellboiledicicle]

TMA Statements In Chronological Order

But, not by when the events happened, by the order when the Statements were entered to the Institute. Because that wasn’t on the wiki timeline. 

Below the cut because i’m not a monster. 

Format is:

Episode // Entity // Statement Giver// Statement Given // Event Date

   • #140 The Movment of The Heavens // The Dark // John Flamsteed // 1715    • #116 The Show Must Go On // The Stranger // Abraham Janssen // 2 November 1787    • #23 Schwarzwald // The Eye // Albrecht von Closen // 31st March 1816 // Winter 1815    • #127 Remains to be Seen // The Eye // Jonathan Franshawe // 21 November 1831 // April – November 1831    • #152 A Gravediggers Envy // The Buried // Hezekiah Wakely // 1837 - 1839    • #50 Foundations // The Buried // Sampson Kempthorn // 12th June 1841 // 1836    • #58 Trail Rations // The Flesh // Mrs. Carlisle // 10th November 1845 // October – November 1845    • #105 Total War // The Slaughter, The Eye // Charles Fleming // 1862    • #98 Lights Out // The Dark // Algernon Moss // 14 May 1864    • #138 The Architecture Of Fear // The Eye // Robert Smirke // 13 February 1867    • #7 The Piper // The Slaughter // Clarence Berry // 6th November 1922 // 1917-18    • #133 Dead Horse // The Hunt // Percy Fawcett // 27 June 1930    • #99 Dust to Dust // The Buried // Robert E Geiger // 20 February 1952 // April 1935    • #137 Nemesis // The Slaughter // Wallis Turner // 3 July 1955 // Winter 1942    • #29 Cheating Death // The End // Nathaniel Thorp // 4th June 1972 // 17th June 1775    • #60 Observer Effect // The Eye // Rosa Meyer // 12 July 1972 // April – July 1972    • #95 Absent Without Leave // The Slaughter // Luca Moretti // 2 November 1977    • #44 Tightrope // The Stranger // Yuri Utkin // 2nd March 1979 // November 1952    • #85 Upon the Stair // The Spiral // Unknown // 1980 – 1990    • #86 Tucked In // The Dark // Benjamin Hatendi // 2nd March 1983    • #84 Possessive // The Corruption // Adrian Weiss // 1 December 1990    • #125 Civilian Casualties // The Slaughter // Terrance Simpson // 19 July 1993    • #77 The Kind Mother // The Stranger // Lucy Cooper // 15 September 1994 //August 1994    • #93 Contaminant // The Corruption // Lester Chang // 5 March 1995    • #96 Return To Sender // The Stranger // Alfred Breekon // 15 May 1996    • #53 Crusader // The Eye // Walter Heller // 5th September 1997 // November 1941    • #2 Do Not Open // The Buried, The Stranger // Joshua Gillespie // 22nd November 1998 // 1996 -1998 (?)    • #46 Literary Heights // The Spiral, The Vast // Herbert Knox // 21st December 1998 // September 1997    • #17 Boneturners Tale // The Flesh // Sebastian Adekoya // 10th June 1999 // 1996    • #66 Held in Customs // The Buried // Vincent Yang // 22 February 2000 // January 19 2000    • #78 Distant Cousin // The Stranger, The Web // Lawrence Moore // 12 June 2001    • #21 Freefall // The Vast // Moira Kelly // 20th October 2002 // 3rd-5th or 7th June 2001    • #35 Old Passages // All // Harold Silvana // 4th June 2002 // June 2002    • #9 A Father’s Love // The Dark, The Hunt // Julia Montauk // 3rd December 2002 // 1990-95    • #155 Cost of Living // The End // Tova McHugh // 3 December 2002    • #68 Tale of a Field Hospital // The Corruption // Joesph Russo // 3rd June 2003 // 1st June 2003    • #27 A Sturdy Lock // The Spiral // Paul Mckenzie // 24th August 2003 // July 2003    • #146 Threshold // The Spiral // Marcus Mackenzie // 1 September 2003    • #88 Dig // The Buried // Enrique MacMillian // 4 November 2003    • #70 Book of the Dead // The End // Masato Murray // 9th December 2003    • #52 Exceptional Risk // The Dark // Phillip Brown // 9th April 2004 // 1st November 2002    • #24 Strange Music // The Stranger // Leanne Denikin // 17th Jan 2005 // August 2004    • #59 Recluse // The Web, The Desolation // Ronald Sinclair // 29th November 2005 // Early to Mid 1960’s    • #134 Time of Revelation // The Extinction // Adelard Dekker // 22 January 2006 // 2005, 1867    • #75 A Long Way Down // The Vast // Stephen Walker // 7 November 2006 // Early October 2006    • #139 Chosen // The Desolation // Eugene Vanderstock // 30 November 2006    • #115 Taking Stock // The Flesh // Michaele Salesa // 4 January 2007 // Autumn of 1999    • #8 Burnt Out // The Web, The Desolation, The Spiral // Ivo Lensik // 13th March 2007 // November 2006    • #67 Burning Desire // The Desolation // Jack Barnabas // 18 March 2007 // October – November 2006    • #3 Across the Street // The Stranger, The Web // Amy Patel // 1st July 2007 // 7th April 2006    • #51 High Pressure // The Vast, The Buried // Antonia Hayley // 7th January 2008 // August 2006    • #106 A Matter of Perspective // The Vast, The Eye // Jan Kilbride // 10 February 2008    • #49 The Butchers Window // The Flesh // Gregory Pryor // 11th March 2008 // June 2007    • #62 First Edition // The End, The Eye // Mary Keay // 3rd July 2008 // 1955    • #154 Bloody Mary // The Eye // Eric Delano // 21 July 2008    • #130 Meat // The Flesh // Lucia Wright // 19 December 2008    • #18 The Man Upstairs // The Flesh // Christof Rudenko // 12th December 2008 // 22nd October 2007    • #156 Reflection // The Extinction // Adelard Dekker // 4 January 2009    • #5 Thrown Away // The Flesh etc. // Kieran Woodward // 23rd February 2009 // 8th August 2008    • #97 We All Ignore The Pit // The Buried // Jackson Ellis // 3 March 2009    • #57 Personal Space // The Lonely, The Vast, The Dark // Carter Chilcott // 4 April 2009 // September 2007    • #145 Infectious Doubts // The Desolation // Arthur Nolan // 2 February 2009    • #114 Cracked Foundation // The Web Shtranger or Extinction // Anya Villette // 22 April 2009 // 23 April 2009 or 9 April 2009    • #37 Burnt Offering // The Desolation // Jason North // 6th August 2009 // August 2009    • #108 Monologue // The Lonely, The Stranger // Adonis Biros // 20 August 2009 // August 2009    • #144 Decrypted // The Extinction // Gary Boylan // 3 October 2009 // August 2009    • #126 Sculptor’s Tool // The Spiral // Deborah Madaki // 11 October 2009 // Spring 2004    • #72 Takeaway // The Flesh // Craig Goodall // 20 October 2009 // 27 September 2009    • #107 Third Degree // The Desolation // 1 February 2010 // January 2010    • #48 Lost in the Crowd // The Lonely // Andrea Nunis // 25th March 2010 // September 2009    • #10 Vampire Killer & #56 Children of the Night // The Hunt, the Web // Trevor Herburt // 10th July 2010 // 1959 (first event), Winter 2009    • #69 Thought For the Day // The Web // Darren Harlow // 18th November 2010    • #31 First Hunt // The Hunt // Lawerence Mortimer // 9th December 2010 // 30th November - 1st December 2010    • #33 Boatswain’s Call // The Lonely // Carlita Sloane // 2nd January 2011 // Late November 2010    • #45 Blood Bag // The Corruption // Thomas Neil // 9th February 2011 // Spring 2010    • #148 Extended Surveillance // The Eye // Sunil Maraj // 3 April 2011    • #14 Piece Meal // The Flesh // Lee Rentoul // 29th May 2011 // Early 2011    • #19 Confession & #20 Desecrated Host // The Spiral, The Web, The Desolation (Hilltop Road) & The Spiral, The Flesh // Edwin Burroughs // 30th May 2011 // November 2006    • #112 Thrill of the Chase // The Hunt // Lisa Carmel // 13 November 2011    • #113 Breathing Room // The End // Adelard Dekker // 2012    • #12 Page Turner // The Desolation, The Eye // Lesere Saraki // 11th February 2012 // 23rd December 2011    • #153 Love Bombing // The Corruption, The Flesh // Barbara Mullen-Jones // 2 March 2012    • #110 Creature Feature // The Web // Alexia Crawley // 14 March 2012    • #1 Anglerfish // Stranger //Nathan Watts // 22nd April 2012 // March 2010    • #38 Lost and Found // The Spiral // Andre Ramao // 6th June 2012 // March 2012    • #36 Taken Ill // The Corruption // Nicole Baxter // 19th November 2012 // August – September 2011    • #136 The Puppeteer // The Web // Alison Killala // 1 December 2012 // 2012    • #124 Left Hanging // The Vast // Julian Jennings // 11 December 2012 // 2012    • #149 Concrete Jungle // The Extinction // Judith O’neill // 13 May 2013    • #54 Still Life // The Stranger // Alexander Scaplehorn // 23 June  2013    • #4 Page Turner // The Vast, The Spiral, The End // Dominic Swain // 28th June 2013 // 10th November 2012    • #90 Body Builder // The Flesh // Ross Davenport // 7 August 2013    • #157 Rotten Core // The Extinction, The Corruption // Adelard Dekker // 14 August 2013    • #30 Killing Floor // The Flesh // David Laylow // 1st September 2013 // 12th July 2013    • #129 Submerged // The Buried // Kulbir Shakya // 4 September 2013 // July or August 2013    • #83 Drawing a Blank // The Stranger // Chloe Ashburt // 19 October 2013 // September – October 2013    • #42 Grifter’s Bone // The Slaughter // Jennifer Ling // 3rd November 2013 // Autumn 2013    • #32 Hive // The Corruption // Jane Prentiss // 23rd February 2014 // Pre-2014    • #63 The End of the Tunnel // The Dark // Erin Gallagher-Nelson // 31st March 2014 // 26th March 2014    • #102 Nesting Instinct // The Corruption // Francois Deschamps // 4 June 2014    • #103 Cruelty Free // The Flesh // Dylan Anderson // 2 July 2014    • #135 Dark Matter // The Dark // Manuela Dominguez // 14 July 2014 // 2007    • #87 The Uncanny Valley // The Stranger, The Desolation // Sebastian Skinner // 10 October 2014 // September 2014    • #15 Lost Johns’ Cave // The Buried // Laura Popham // 9th November 2014 // 14-15th June 2014    • #150 Cul-de-sac // The Lonely // Herman Gorgoli // 9 November 2014    • #6 Squirm // The Corruption // Timothy Hodge // 9th December 2014 // 20th November 2014    • #122 Zombie // The Stranger // Lorell St. John // 1 February 2015    • #11 Dreamer // The End // Antonio Blake (Oliver Banks) // 14th March 2015 // 12th March 2015    • #16 Arachnophobia // The Web, The Corruption // Carlos Vittery // 9th April 2015 // Early 2015    • #25 Growing Dark // The Dark // Mark Bilham // 19th April 2015 // January – March 2015    • #64 Burial Rites // The End // Donna Gwynne // 20th May 2015 // 2012    • #74 Fatigue // The Spiral // Lydia Halligan // 8 June 2015    • #123 Web Development // The Web // Angie Santos // 1 August 2015 // January 2015    • #13 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[umaficwriter]

I’ve Got You On My Radar

First, you need to see this post here 

Now you’re ready! 

/// Kalijah Drabbles ///

The golden sundown light bathed the land just as Katherine bathed herself in the lake.

The Mikaelson’ estate lake, to be precise.

It was another of her famous rendezvous around Elijah’s property.

She had caught his eye couple weeks before, and was intrigued by what she saw. He mounted his horse with ease, although with surgical precision, showing her, from afar, just how talented he was, and also how connected with his horse he was. Better yet, it was a mare. She had learnt that from the gathering his family and hers had summoned together that same week. Katherine had also asked for the animal’s name.

“I named her Hope,” he had provided, accompanied to a smile appearing in the corner of his mouth.

His chestnut eyes told her he usually didn’t answer that to other ladies, maybe because girls Katherine’s age weren’t interested in horses? It could be. It wasn’t very ladylike, her mother would always say, only to be dismissed by her father saying his Katerina shared his love for animals and for extent, cared for them, confiding in them things you could only grasp when with horses.

Elijah had offered Katherine’s dad an understanding look.

Apparently, both men shared the same vision.

This was good.

Horse riding was indeed a demonstration act, even more so around her land. People came all the way to see Petrova’s horses and mares, also competitions were always held when in festivals. Of course, there were always cruel lords, treating their animals as if they felt nothing, and Katherine, with her family business going on long before she was even born, had learnt to identify those kind of men.

And a relief sight had left her lungs as soon as she observed Elijah riding his animal.

He did it with upmost respect, a boldness that only could be accomplished from years and years of training, a sureness in his every move, his mare comfortable in galloping with him… It was beautiful to watch. It was lovely being able to see such a bond between man and equine.

With her hair high on the top of her head, Katherine let herself relax into the water.

A swift breeze balanced the spring leaves from side to side high on the trees around her. The soft waves she was making by moving her slim arms around her leaped bringing her to the shore, just to throw her a little further. She wasn’t afraid of drowning, for she was an superb swimmer, - to her mother’s horror – as she looked around her, Katherine was only being careful not to get caught.

If she was to be honest, she wouldn’t mind. A smirk appeared in her features as she faced the horizon.

She wouldn’t mind the tiniest if someone showed up on her.

To see her naked in his lake.

Katherine could almost picture his astonished face. He forcing himself to not stare at her bare skin…

A devious glim shone on her irises.

She enjoyed herself for a little more time. And looking ahead she concluded it was indeed a breathtaking vision.

From afar, Elijah couldn’t agree more.

As per usual, he led Hope out of his private stables in intentions to ride the animal through the vast expanse of land his family possessed. It was routine. Elijah liked to appreciate the sundown from mounted in his beloved nag. It was also an excuse to ride near the Petrova’ state.

Not that he would ever admit that.

Still, he did it.

He had always known of Kathrine’s beauty.

Katerina for this was her birth name. She only insisted everyone called her otherwise.

The brunette had caught his eye years before. She’d been in every opportunity – against her mother’s wishes – entering equine competitions, passing by the town square, her horse dutifully – and out of love Elijah figured later – at her side. He had noticed all that. But then she was too young, he had also other priorities, being eldest to three siblings and the only responsible one no less, wasn’t an easy task.

His parents had died when in the sea. The bodies never found, and sometimes, Elijah cursed himself for thinking it was better that way.

Being transferred to him all responsibility for with the children, the company, the lands, even though Niklaus, Kol and Rebekah were young when it happened, Elijah knew his siblings wouldn’t be so alive and happy if their parents were still among the living.

Esther and Mikael were toxic, claiming love for their children when the truth of the matter was only status. Between four walls, they were distant, ruthless, violent…

So different from what appeared to be Katerina’s family.

Her younger sister, Elena, same age as Rebekah, was educated, well spoken, although shy. Elena and Katherine were like fire and water, still one could see the love it held their bond.

Their parents loving, always keeping in mind their daughters’ needs, be them monetary or more importantly, affectional.

And he had gathered all that from only one afternoon tea.

Elijah had also painted Katherine’s image into his brain, like a permanent picture, for when he was alone with his Hope, trotting his property, in a blink of an eye, he could see her.

So, imagine his surprise, when by the lakes, he blinks, and blinks again, only to see his muse neck deep into the dark water.

Her hair in a slopy updo over the crown of her head, the back of her neck shinning with droplets of water, he spotted her clothes by the shore, so he knew for a fact she was to be nude while relaxing into the water.

Good Lord.

It was the most gorgeous thing he had come to watch so far into his adult life. Also, the wrongest.

Hope, sensing his distress, neighed and the sound alerted the brunette by the lake, making her turn around abruptly and almost lose her balance.

How come she hasn’t heard him approaching?

Was she that distracted?

“Pardon me, Katerina, have I frightened you?” still mounted Elijah moved closer to the shore and watched her eyes going from bulge to smart in only few instants.

“Not at all, my lord,” a little smile tucked in the side of her mouth, her hands still going about around her to keep her from submerse.

“I found it flattering you find my lands so amusing to entertain yourself,” he offered her his usual side smile and leaned his body forward, caressing his mare in the neck, as the animal bound her head down to chew on some turf.

“I will only consider you to be flattered, if you’d be kind enough to join me,”

Elijah fought his urge to jump from his horse right into the water. And by noticing this, Katerina let out a chuckle on his expense.

Devine.

Indeed, it was.

Now her shoulders came to view too, the tall man eye-followed the droplets as they descended her body to where they’d found the lake again. It was hypnotizing.

And wrong. He had to remind himself of that.

She was only a girl.

One that was Niklaus’ age, so not a peasant anymore.

And if the boldness on her look told him anything, Katerina knew exactly where she was going and how and…

The Heavens knew how many nights he had dreamt something similar.

Her wet from a bath into his pristine bed as they rolled beneath the sheets, him taking sounds of her that echoed through the walls, Katerina using his body as her personal saddle…

His neck was starting to grow red from imagining. His slacks crowded.

A strange noise averted both of them from their moment and that was when they saw the damage.

Hope had chewed on Katherine’s clothes.

The devil was out to play this afternoon it seemed.

For a moment Katherine was terrified. What was she to do? Come back completely naked to her home? Wait for the night to fall do to so?

But then, she realized. Either way it played out, she had to get out of the lake. To the land.

To the land where Elijah now had his foot on, trying to make Hope relinquish what was left of her clothes.

A knowing smile arouse from her features.

And when Elijah turned around in the lake’s direction, to inform Katerina that unfortunately, Hope had ruined her garments, he almost chocked out on his breath.

With his eyes aimed down, he caught her feet sinking in the wet earth of the shore, next he caught her legs, the olive skin followed all the way up to her tights and… he averted his eyes immediately, half shrugging to get off of his jacket, offering it to her, his body turned sideways, in all ways averting his sight from her frame.    

Katherine gave him a raised eyebrow, even though he was looking away. Amused with the situation, she took the cloth, not without grazing their fingers. Catching up on his misery, she finally covered herself up in his piece of clothing, which was big on her, as to be expected. The brunette circled the jacket’s ties around her and when everything was into place, she took the pin securing her hair up to her head off. Cascades of cocoa ringlets fell down to her waist, showering her clothed shoulders in the process.

“You can turn around now,” came her voice informing him, a hint of mischief in her tone. Katherine knew all too well he desired her. Hell, most men did. Her luck was her father didn’t care for marrying her nor Elena right about now, which made suitors anxious and herself picky.

Although, Katherine had the feeling the thing her father really wanted was for her to marry into love, just as he had with her mother.

Which was probably never happening.

Katherine didn’t think she was bound to be with only one person ‘till the death did them part.

It was absurd, cliché, and intangible to her understandment, even though that was what was taught and expected of her.

Elijah slowly turned around to face the lady at his side. You could see in his face the embarrassment, Katherine caught humor to it and raised her eyebrow at him.

“Don’t be so nervous, Mr. Mikaelson,” she teased “I’m sure you’ve seen a lady in this predicament before,”

Not one that I wanted to intercourse so much, no.

Katherine kept her smile, yet shrugged and started to turn the other way when his voice sounded “where is it you’re going?” he inquired, his tone barely containing his disbelief, was she to walk in this condition back to her home?

“Back to my land,” she confirmed his suspicions.

He let out an incredulous sound “By foot? And ungarmented?”

“Want to offer me a ride, My lord?”

It was time for Elijah to shrug “As a matter of fact, I do, yes,”

“Of what kind?”

Elijah tried to convey his astonishment as her question poured down. He barely did.

He caressed the mane to his mare and looked up to the twilight approaching them.

“We’ll go by horse to my private stables, I’ll arrange clothes with my sister, so a carriage may take you to your lands,” he had it all figured out.

For the most part at least.

She nodded, her curls bouncing with the movement and once more, the eldest Mikaelson was kept hostage to her mannerisms.

She was enchanting, stunning in every way. His eyes locked with hers and for the briefest of moments, he swore the time stopped.

His nag emitted a sound and that made Katherine deflect her eyes from his and face his beloved companion.

“I assume this is Hope,”

Elijah nodded “Be careful, she doesn’t like people that are not myself,” the man warned and watched as Katerina walked closer to the animal, approaching it with sure hands although a feather-like touch.

For an instant, Elijah was cautious. Hope usually didn’t like human beings aside from himself. Not even his siblings had much luck praising the equine.

Yet, there she was, being petted by Katerina with no worry in the world whatsoever.

“Hey, girl,” he heard the brunette sweet-talking to his mare as she caressed her head. Her chocolate eyes shining in excitement by making a new friend. “She’s precious,” Katherine offered averting her eyes from Hope for only a second to face him, a sincere smile on her face.

“Indeed,” a thin smile adorning his face as he caught Hope’s dark orbs.

Traitor.

“Shall we?” he proffered extending his palm for her to take.

Katherine lightly deposited her hand above his, letting go from Hope hesitantly. Elijah helped her up, carefully aware that he was about to face parts of her he absolutely should not be facing and with tortured expression from his side and a sigh of relief she was mounted.

He followed suit and as he gripped the reins, alerting Hope of their departure, he felt Katerina’s hands hugging his midsection. He immediately stiffed.

She felt his stringent demeanor and justified “Just so I won’t fall,”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat. Their trot slow, Hope seemed to savor the day-ending vibe around also his misery, apparently.  

“Are you always this quiet?” she questioned flipping her finger into his shirt.

Elijah felt his stomach drop in despair.

Katherine smiled wickedly as she felt him adjust himself in the saddle.

“I watched you ride the other day,” he initiated.

“So, Lord Mikaelson was spying on his neighbor?” she quipped with a smirk her hands still holding his shirt.

“As you so cleverly recalled, we are near in properties, nothing more natural than to catch a glimpse of each other once in a while, would you say?”

“Sometimes more than a glimpse,” her hands dangerously falling to his tights.

Elijah cleared his throat again, “why come all this way to bathe in the lake, without a horse no less, keeping in mind your own lands have also amazing natural pools?”

He felt Katherine shrugging behind his back and her hands pressing a little further up his tights as they passed unleveled ground.

He kept his hiss inside, although his blood was starting to leave his head, swimming south.

“I was hopping someone would catch me,” those hands of hers, coordinated by the devil traveled north.

“As well as in a game of sorts?” his question followed and he felt the tips of her hair in his back covered only by the thin cloth as she nodded “Someone you say?” Elijah could see his private stables from afar. Thank the Lord!

“You,” the tingle of her whisper in his ear made his air stuck inside and he briefly closed his eyes to savor her hands finding what she was teasingly searching until now.

“Although, once I capture you, the game comes to an end,” he reasoned gripping the reins just a little more forcefully, yet not making Hope gallop.

Katherine felt as his length shaped itself inside his slacks. Her hands massaging the thick flesh above the cloth, the heat pulsating in her palm.

She continued stroking him, listening to his ragged breaths ‘till they reached the stables entrance, it was only then he gently and almost regretfully removed her hand from his shaft, only to kiss her knuckles one at a time, before mounting off of and helping her down as well.

Once more their orbs locked, he looked at her deeply and exhaled, circling his arm around her thin waist.

“I can’t seem to let you leave,” he vociferated slow and almost inaudible. His forehead touching hers, her own orbs half opened as their breaths merged creating heat, a contrast to the brisk wind catching up around them. A smirk graced her face and he mirrored her expression.

“The game can be over for an instant,” she proffered only above a whisper, her lips almost touching his.

Elijah’s free hand cupped the side of her head, his thumb caressing her plump lips as he captured every aspect of her face inside his mind.

He wanted to cherish this moment for eternity, because he knew that once he advanced with what was in his thoughts there’ll be no turning backs.

Katherine leaned to his careful and adoring caress as she felt the hand circling her waistline left her, eyes recently closed, she was about to protest the lack of his touch when she felt his hand touch her inner tight.

Oh.

She felt as Elijah descended his head to kiss her neck, his hand moving to grasp her coffee ringlets as his other palm traveled north to find the juncture between her legs.

And oh how he didn’t need a compass.

Just as his fingers grazed her entrance she felt herself buckling up and letting out a sigh as she moved closer to his ministrations.

“Elijah,” her voice cut when he deposited a finger inside of her, his lips ravishing her collarbone now while moving his digit in and out.

Katherine encircled a leg in his waist, as he inserted another digit inside her core. She moaned in his ear and nibbled his lobe, air gushing ragged from her lungs as she rode his fingers.

Elijah listened to her approval and nipped on her neck as she used his fingers as saddle, the feeling of her inner walls pulsating in his hand was amazing, the wind cutting through the night air a contrast to their heated skin. He lapped his tongue out of his mouth to taste her sweat as he inserted a third digit. Katherine’s hands hugging his upper back, her fingernails scratching through his shirt as she went up and down on his fingers.

His grunts in seeing her getting herself off that way turned out groans as he started to trust his fingers faster while his hips did the same, a bit of frustration for his member was cloistered inside his pants.

With a loud moan, it could be considered a shriek, she came crushing his digits and melting into his palm. Her juices running down his hand, their foreheads glued together once again. He noticed as the moonlight came out, her cheeks were flushed, her hair a little more tousled, he knew he couldn’t be much different from that.

Elijah observed her as she slowly opened her eyes at him and the glim inside promised him that this night wasn’t over just yet, for she jumped ahead and engrossed their lips together, pulling out a moan from him.

Elijah took both her legs apart and wordlessly commanded her to wrap them around his middle, as she did, while he moved them inside the stables.

Hope had long found her cubicle, Elijah couldn’t be certain, even less so with Katerina ravishing his neck with open mouthed kisses and sharp bites taking hisses out of him.

“We should stop,” he tried and reasoned with the exquisite beauty between languid kisses.

Katherine moved her face away from his for only a second and looked down between them.

“Someone down there doesn’t agree,” she pointed out the obvious pressing of his penis against his pants.

He followed her look and soon averted his eyes to lock them into hers once again that night.

“Katerina,” he started and moved his nose to her ear nuzzling and giving her lobe a bite that earned him a lazy gridding. “I want more than anything to take you here and now, although the first time we do this, it should be-“

“Stop analyzing things, Elijah,” she cupped his head in her hands as she moved it away from her neck. “I really do want to be here, with you, right at this moment,”

He offered her a small smile and leaned forward to deposit a kiss in her mouth, one she responded fiercely, biting his lower lip, making him moan.

Right in that moment, Elijah chose to believe in her words and take them to heart, forgetting the world outside and the problems they would face if caught, the man backed her up to the nearest stall, ravishing her neck in the process, his teeth lightly leaving love bites in his descending to the valley between her breasts, her moans echoing in the stable, the night sounds long forgotten by them.

Katherine pulled the hairs in the base of his neck as his hot mouth found her right breast, her head fell back to the wall when he thrilled her nipple between his delicious lips, she could already feel the moisture inside her thighs, the pulsation in anticipation. Elijah was mesmerized by her curves, he wanted to kiss every inch of this minx inside his arms, at the same time, he couldn’t wait to consummate what he was working to, because the need for being inside of Katherine was already leading him to madness.

Elijah fumbled with his jacket she wore and stopped when the garment touched the stable’s ground.

She was flawless.

Toned legs, hips sinuous like a high tide river, breasts full and now red from his ministrations, long coffee curls descending down her back, part covering her shoulders. Her doe eyes glistened with desire, he figured his would be just as much lustful, his gaze was glued on hers as she approached him and grazed her fingers through the fabric of the shirt he was wearing.  

“Katerina,” came his whisper as he half closed his eyes feeling her opening up the buttons to his clothes.

Katherine leaned up and closed the distance between them, gracing his mouth with her tongue and lips, her teeth nibling on his lower lip as her fingers kept working on undressing him. Elijah’s clever hands moved to her hips, running up her back, ghostly feather touches pulling out goose bumps from her as Katherine gripped his forearms, her nails digging in his recently exposed skin, but only for so long, her hands didn’t delay unbuttoning his pants long.

Elijah grinded in her as she worked the garment out of him, his moan loud in the ambient when her digits came in contact with his rock-hard member.

Their breaths coalescing as they resumed kissing, this time harder while Katerina handled his long length, moistened by pre-cum.

Elijah pulled her hair, making her arch her body to him, her mouth praying his name, as he stopped her hands movement, for he would explode if she kept going.

Katherine opened her eyes, lustful bliss inside her chestnut pools, a bold smirk featuring as he properly got rid of his clothes and silently led her to another stable corner, where one could see a makeshift bed.

“Usually, I spend the nights here when Hope’s unwell,” he offered, his hand clasped in hers, as both naked bodies moved near the bed.

Katherine shot back a genuine smile at him. It warmed her heart knowing he valued his mare companion at such lengths.

She was to walk to the bed when his hand moved to her wrist and pulled her into his arms. Elijah moved her hair out of the way and stared at her face as if she was the most amazing thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

And she was.

Katherine leaned her face into his palm.

“I want you to be sure,” his voice low, a trembling edge to it. By now Elijah figured she wasn’t a virgin, such was her expertise into these matters, still he waited for her allowance.

It didn’t come with words, as she lightly pushed him to the bed, a knowing smile showing in both their faces.

Elijah’s back collided with the poorly arranged mattress as he marveled with worshiping eyes while she mounted his hips. Her head descending in his chest, her teeth biting, her tongue appeasing it. Elijah’s hands moved to her butt-cheeks squeezing there and making her moan in his lower stomach.

Katherine felt his lava-like skin, burning with desire just as her own, she couldn’t wait for the time to taste him. And taste him she did.

Her resourceful tongue licked his head taking the pre-cum there, and leading in to its base, swirling her tongue in the process taking a loud moan out of him, followed to a groan and her name sighed breathless.

Elijah was being led to another reality with her sweet lips devouring him in the most heavily of ways, yet he lightly pulled her hair again to guide her mouth to his own and position his penis near her core.

The eldest Mikaelson locked eyes with her as she sank into him.

Her head bent backwards with a sigh of satisfaction as Elijah made the first move inside of her.

“Elijah!” her exclamation followed when he took almost all of him off her to thrust it all in with force.

His hands moved back to her hips again as she slowly started ridding him.

Her own personal human saddle, she thought with a smirk as she watched Elijah’s eyes never leave her figure up and down on his hips.

Her breasts bouncing as well as her hair, were hypnotizing Elijah. His eyes never left Katerina, he tried and keep his eyes wide open in the poor lit cubicle, although for moments he saw himself so engrossed into the sensations Katherine was giving him, he just couldn’t not close his orbs and moan her name like an entreaty, his hips moving up in the same rhythm she was sinking, creating the perfect friction.

Elijah couldn’t help but admire how her body bounced as she rode, he smirked with the thought of being her nag, for her could forevermore mount him in all hours of the day and night, for that matter.

Katherine moans started to grow louder and shirker as she got closer to her climax. Elijah’s short nails digging onto her hips as he fucked her harder and faster, he too was close.

Their skin was sleek and glistened into the low light coming from candles above, Katherine felt her orgasm building up in the pit of her stomach, her toes tingling with the familiar sensation and her breathing ragging. With Elijah’s name on her tongue she came down, feeling a horse-race rush run through her as she continued to feel Elijah’s shaft explore her insides purposefully as he sought his release as well.

He closed his eyes as he felt her walls clench him hard, breathing out while still pounding in her for instants ‘till his vision blurred and his body started to energize welcoming the familiar sensation of deliverance.

Katherine collapsed above him, covering his chest with her body, his shoulder with her chocolate drapes as she tried and caught her breath after such activities.

Elijah caressed her back lightly, his digits barely touching her damp skin.

He looked down and watched as she moved her orbs to face him, her arms laced together squeezed between his upper chest and her chin.

The sated smile she gave him made he smile back at her. His hands moving to adjust her hair behind her ears affectionately.

She didn’t say anything, neither did he.

And in a couple of minutes both were contently asleep.

///

Elijah felt the sunrays in his skin and heard the birds shirking outside.

How come…

Then he recalled last night’s events and smiled with himself.

By himself.

Elijah leaned up in his elbows to look around the stable. Only Hope was there, in the far corner, still asleep.

Katerina was nowhere to be found.

Neither were his clothes.

Elijah got up startled and looked around the cubicle, the other stalls, but found none of his garments.

Adamant he felt a smile appear in his features. She had taken his clothes and abandoned him in the ungodly hours of the day, leaving him with no option but to chase her.

And chase her he would.

[micyclemorton]

this is a loooong one, boys

yes this is going to be a masterpost for my main 12 trolls so you can get to know them! they’re not all in the same world, but I don’t have any class/aspect clashes. biographies posted under the cut! suirev - burgundy / lumina - bronze / dietas - gold / phobis - mutant / lamiac - olive / immera - jade / ruilin - teal / tracor - cerulean / itoria - indigo / jezakk - purple / astril - violet / cirlun - fuchsia suirev - sylph of light / lumina - page of space / dietas - thief of doom phobis - mage of life / lamiac - seer of mind /  immera - bard of heart ruilin - rogue of hope / tracor - prince of blood / itoria - knight of breath jezakk - heir of time / astril - witch of rage / cirlun - maid of void 

suirev, lumina, immera, ruilin and jezakk are alternian, but only immera and ruilin are connected in terms of their lore. dietas, itoria and tracor are beforan, and all connected. suirev, lamiac, astril and cirlun hail from exonera (the first planet in the universe of my fansession) and are all connected to each other.

suirev - praying mantis lusus lumina - star-nosed mole lusus dietas - chameleon lusus phobis - serpent lusus lamiac - fennec fox lusus immera - venezualan poodle moth lusus ruilin - raccoon lusus tracor - scorpion lusus itoria - ant lusus jezakk - harp seal lusus astril - angler fish lusus cirlun - axolotl lusus

~~

YOUR NAME IS SUIREV HELIOS.

Nobody believes you, not even your MANTIS LUSUS, but you know a lot more about the fate of the world than you let on. They dismiss your PROPHECIES as bogus, no matter how many tomes you write, and you’ve lost count of how many that is. You consider yourself PRETTY ENLIGHTENED, but not in the spiritual sense… yet. The spirits that pester your caste a lot of the time even seem to avoid you, which would have confused you a time ago, but now you know why.

You’ve developed a nasty habit of checking everything you want to say in your head, and they’re sick of being your mental proofreaders. They’ve made it very clear they dislike you, so you have some HEALING to do. People find you preachy, but that confuses you a lot. You’re mostly silent so that you can concentrate on the cacophony (spirits or no spirits) ringing through your pan, as you get some REALLY GOOD STORY IDEAS from them. Besides, you were named after an OLD GOD for a reason. You should have the right to preach.

One might even say that you’re COMPLETELY RAVING MAD, but at least you try to keep your appearance in check. It’s a shame your blood colour makes your EYE BAGS so obvious.

Your handle is LiteraryLunatic, and y★u end y★ur sentences with exclamati★n marks! S★ n★b★dy notices h★w tired y★u are! Besides, y★u’ve been staying up all night with pr★phecies racing thr★ugh your pan! 

~~

YOUR NAME IS LUMINA SERVIN.

You’re a maniacally busy troll, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, because your pan is always buzzing with NEW IDEAS. You have to keep yourself busy to fend off the ENCROACHING EXISTENTIAL DREAD that fills lowbloods like you. Your mole guardian helps you expand your desert-bound hive-workshop, because you’re often too busy - catering to all of the stupid VIOLET TOURISTS AND LANDDWELLERS in the nearby hive-clusters in order to make money and survive - to pay any attention to trivial household chores. 

You’re not very good at what you do yet - though some would suggest otherwise - and you’re just striving to be better. You can recognise that you have the POTENTIAL to be GREATER, and it’s all just barely out of reach. You made yourself some KICK-ASS GOGGLES, inspired by the human subculture of STEAMPUNK, which you adore. They’re probably your best work to date, and you wear them so constantly that you’re afraid they’ll meld onto your face sometimes. The metal they’re made of, BRONZE, is the same colour as your blood, and one of the most pleasing aesthetically, in your opinion. No-one’s figured that out yet, luckily enough.

You’re an avid blacksmith, inventor, tinkerer and the rest of it. You’re making quite sure that you possess any title that involves HANDS-ON CREATION, really. Sometimes, you COMPLETELY SPACE OUT when you should be working, thinking of how best to go about things that really don’t require that much thought. It’s just how you roll.

Your handle is MechanicalMiner, and SOoMETIMES YOoU CAN COoME OoFF AS A LITTLE TOoOo LOoUD BECAUSE OoF WHAT’S PROoBABLY INDUSTRIAL DEAFNESS, EVEN AT THIS AGE.

~~

YOUR NAME IS DIETAS LAMBDA.

Misfortune has pretty much DEFINED YOUR LIFE up until now, but that’s not important. What really matters is your job, and it’s a relief to have distraction. You know that you’ve been through a WHOLE LOT OF HELL, and would never wish that on anyone else. Ever since you crashed a training ship, blacked out for a bit and met your moirail, your dear ITORIA, things changed. Your HELMSTROLL DREAMS might have shattered, but she made sure you’re not too miserable.

YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING. Well, almost. After losing your biological eye in the crash, Itoria built you a brand-new one, and now you can see in INFRARED LIGHT as well. You’ve recovered thanks to her, and you want to repay her by TAKING AWAY THE SUFFERING OF OTHERS, doing what she did for you. You travel around selling CHARGED-UP PROSTHETICS to trolls in need, while simultaneously keeping off the trail of the OVERSEERS, a pack of Ceruleans who you’re pretty sure want to kill you and your moirail for saving people.

YOU’RE NEVER GOING BACK TO THAT PLACE. The training centres are a source of shame and hurt for you, because you abandoned your guardian to get a purpose that ended up not working at all. How dumb that was.

Your handle is PsionicProsthesis. Yx0xu speak with a flare that reminds yx0xu of the symbx0xl that was given tx0x yx0xu at the training centres, as it’s a hx0xpe yx0xu’ll never fx0xrget despite the negative memx0xries, and tx0x represent yx0xur lx0xst eye. 

~~

YOUR NAME IS PHOBIS SACCHE.

If your lusus could talk, they’d probably say you were a NERVOUS WRECK. You’re not going to tell anyone otherwise, because your shaking hands prevent you from pulling up the blinds in your constantly darkened hive. Not that you’d want to, of course, since you live in a GHOST TOWN. Populated by literal ghosts. They don’t interact with you much, which you’re extremely grateful for. If the drones thought you were alive, you’d be dead in two seconds flat, with your BRIGHT RED BLOOD on public display.

It’s MAGICAL that you’ve survived this long, but you think it’s because of the menacing SERPENT that you’re fortunate enough to have as your guardian. You like to use their scales to fortify the SCYTHES AND OTHER WEAPONRY you build for yourself. They tend to do most of the hunting, as you can’t risk going out of your hive much, but you do enjoy training. Your LIFE itself is a gamble, and it makes you paranoid as hell, but at least you’re a decent fighter. Not that anyone would know or care. You also like TELESCOPES and looking at the STARS, but have no idea that your symbol means anything to do with that.

Your handle is SerpentineStargazer, and youre a phucking,,,, phucking brasssh little,,,,, ssshit whossse dumb… dumb phorked tongue makesss you…. hisss when youre nervoussss. ~~

YOUR NAME IS LAMIAC FENRIS.

You’re small in stature, but that doesn’t undermine how HARD-WORKING AND DRIVEN you can be. After all, when you work for THE EMPRESS, things need to be perfect. You’re also RESIDENT TELEMARAUDER of SKAIANET SYSTEMS, being tasked with worming your way into people’s minds to sell DIFFERENT NEFARIOUSLY-LABELLED PRODUCTS.  You’ve never seen them made, but that’s not your job. It’s most likely for the best, anyway, seeing as how easily frightened you can be when FENFOXMOM isn’t around. Working for such an awful corporation and even more awful people - looking at you, Mr LaCroix - makes you sick to your stomach, but you need the security.

You’re a pleasant enough troll to be around, but can always change your expression and demeanour, your words cutting as sharp as the weapons you use to defend yourself. You do hate getting your claws dirty unless people really get on your nerve, in which case you’ll tear them to shreds verbally and physically. Somehow, the renovated ballroom you use as your office has been clean of client’s blood for a whole week! Something tells you you shouldn’t be excited about that, but what can you say? You’re territorial. Even though you can’t remember the last time you properly hunted, you can SEE WHAT’S GOING ON INSIDE PEOPLES’ HEADS and defend yourself. 

Your best friend at the palace is the HEIRESS, which can be a bit strange due to the remarkable caste-gap between you, but she barely seems to care about that sort of a thing, which is nice. She’s the reason you have the job at the palace, because you consider THE EMPRESS HERSELF to be a very disagreeable person, even though you can’t exactly state that out loud unless you’re gossiping with Cirlun. 

Your handle is FluctuatingFoxfire, and yo)u speak in a manner that perfec)tly c)o)nveys yo)ur need to) pro)tec)t yo)urself fro)m harsh judgement, while also) ho)no)uring the sign emblazo)ned ac)ro)ss yo)ur w)ork c)lo)thes at all times. ~~ YOUR NAME IS IMMERA METREN.  

You’ve always been down in the BROODING CAVERNS, doing what all Jades should do and tending to the Mother Grub as she churns out her little grubs for everyone to see. You’d rather not be around to see them, if you’re being honest. You think it’s all just tiresome, thankless work, and aren’t really sure why exactly YOU HAVEN’T RUN AWAY YET. The chattering of your colleagues makes your head hurt, and their happy-go-lucky demeanours just make you REALLY WANT TO SCREAM. At this point, you’d take being a lowblood fighting for their life over whatever job you have here. One occupationless troll among thousands won’t hurt the economy too much, right? You sure hope not.

The fuzzy, pathetic, colourless MOTH you have as your lusus is just waiting to be crushed in the busy environment, and she refuses to leave you alone. Most Jades’ lusii abandon them if they work in a cramped space and fulfil the DESTINY SET OUT FOR THEM, but yours won’t. It’s not like you have the HEART to tell them to leave, and they barely listen to you as it is. No one seems to, troll or otherwise, even though your ninth wriggling day has come and gone and you feel your WINGS growing in. Generally speaking, that’s more of a rare Bronzeblood thing, but you’re sure that’s why your back is itching. You suppose it’s one of the - only - perks of being grub-like. 

You just want to do one of two things: Have your colleagues SING YOUR PRAISES for your hard work, as they should acknowledge you, or ESCAPE INTO THE ALTERNIAN WILDERNESS so deeply that not even your lusus will be bothered to traverse your dangerous path. But you have to put up with the noise and the heat and the MURDEROUS INTENT blooming inside you where it shouldn’t really be in the first place.

Your handle is VindictiveVenusian, and YOUR’3 NOT <3RY TOL3RANT OF ANY HOOF33ASTSHIT YOUR COLL3AGU3S TRY TO SPOUT AROUND YOU, SO YOU TRY TO <<ARN THEM OF A POTENTIAL KISM3SITUD3 AT ANY GI<3N MOM3NT. ~~ YOUR NAME IS RUILIN CAPITA.

Some would call you a thief, but you have more dignity than that. Even though people continue to call you dirty and look down upon you for the nefarious way you act, it’s JUST WHAT YOU’VE BEEN TAUGHT by your RACCOON LUSUS. You love them more than you love getting your MONEY-GRUBBING CLAWS all over your newest riches, and that’s certainly a testament to just how highly you think of them. They’ve always been around for you, and you WISH SINCERELY that they’ll never leave, because they’re the only support you have. 

You weren’t exactly raised well, being stuck in the BROODING CAVERNS for far longer than you should’ve been while the lusii took charge of all the grubs around you. YOU’RE THE ODD-ONE-OUT. It’s filled you with WHITE-HOT RESENTMENT, and you’re on a mission to gain back what you lost. You’d once wanted to become a legislacerator or something like that, as with all the other trolls in your caste. But that doesn’t quite suit the reputation you have on the streets, nor the way you’ve been treated. Why get justice for a system you don’t believe in? Besides, you know that someone would rat you out so that you’d be culled, not be the one doing the culling.

You want to take back what was stolen from you, and you’ll get your TRUSTY GAUNTLETS dirty any number of times to do so. Mostly, though, you steal money just because you have the skills to. Being a mid-lowblood isn’t the best, so you’ve picked up tips and tricks from THE VERY THUGS YOU’D NOT WANT TO STEAL FROM YOU.

Your handle is RaucousRebellion, and ¥ou t¥p€ using th€ many $trang€ $ymbol$ ¥ou find on ¥our ¢oin$ and not€$ - that w€r€n’t €xa¢tl¥ *¥our$.* until a mom€nt ago.

~~

YOUR NAME IS TRACOR BOLDEL. 

Everyone agrees with what you have to say, and that’s exactly how you like it. That’s how it’s always been, from the moment you were chosen in the brooding caverns by your MAGNIFICENT SCORPION LUSUS. They left you long ago, because you didn’t think you needed them, and you don’t really care where they might be right now. They’ve taught you to be commanding, and now your words STING SHARPER than the knives you’re so fond of using at any opportunity you may get. It’s not necessary, really, but it makes you seem fittingly intimidating and means that NO-ONE WILL STEP OUT OF LINE. 

So you thought. Contending with idiots in the PRISMATIC TRAINING CENTRE FOR YOUNG PSIONS ((LOCATION B2)) is a much harder task than you first realised, due to the fact that there aren’t enough OVERSEERS and too many indigoblooded instructors that know that they can break your control with a little bit more effort than you can prevent. Why they couldn’t spare two ceruleans per centre is beyond you, but it hardly matters enough. You’ll kill with your knives if your empath abilities don’t work, or they don’t COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY DOMINATE THE COMPETITION YOU’RE CONVINCED IS REAL.

Even though you’re so busy sending goldbloods to their deaths, and you don’t really have time for quadrants, ITORIA APREIN IS OUT FOR YOUR BLOOD. She’s the main reason why you think there’s an uprising stirring within the centre, and the trolls who you let loose from your control at the end of the day DON’T WORSHIP YOU LIKE THEY SHOULD. You’ll fix that over time, of course, but you are just waiting for the right moment to strike. Your handle is BloodthistyBenevolence, and yovr tone of voice is aluuays nnvch gentler than anyone uuovld expect it to be.

~~

YOUR NAME IS ITORIA APREIN.

Since you rebelled against the TRAINING CENTRES, there has ben a resolute sense of MORAL IMPORTANCE instilled inside you. You don’t think there’s anything else you can do to fulfil your need to help people than providing refuge for the goldbloods entranced by the idealistic, worrisome occupation of helmstroll. It doesn’t bore you if there are a few trolls that come and knock on your door every so often, because ANTMOM has always been around to support you, and she’s even harder a worker tham you. You’ve always wanted to redeem yourself, and realised that preventing the CERULEAN OVERSEERS from culling any more innocent lowbloods is the way to go. There’s nothing more that feels properly fulfilling than DEFENDING OTHERS WITH EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT.

BREAKING YOUR APATHETIC SHELL has been a hard task and still is, but you’re working as hard as you can to prevent shutting away from the world. Emotional expression has always seemed like something forbidden, especially to INDIGOBLOODS like you. YOU DON’T LIKE FEELING VULNERABLE, but there’s nothing much you can do about it unless everyone just leaves you alone and without any chance to heal. DIETAS makes you feel better about expressing yourself, and you’ve developed pale affections for the little goldblood ever since you found them SCARED AND HALF-DEAD IN THE FOLIAGE. It frightened you, but now not much can. You’re a strong team, and you know they’ll be a backup when things go awry with your DEARLY DETESTED KISMESIS, TRACOR.

You use your knack and love of WIRING AND CIRCUITRY to keep everything safe, creating cameras to track the trolls in your care. You also enjoy SHOOTING DOWN SURVEILLANCE DRONES, because you’ll never truly be FREE of the Overseers and your haunting past if you don’t do something to prevent their poor, uncoordinated attempts at monitoring you. You’re glad for that bit of your unfortunate occupation, at least.

Your handle is EsotericEngineer, and yOu c△n’t seem tO seper△te yOurself frOm △ symbOl Of the life yOu left behind.

~~

YOUR NAME IS JEZAKK IMETAT.

YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT. There’s not much you can do about it, though, because your circus troupe’s on the rise, and the RINGMASTER is starting to get some very bad ideas of what they might do to get you to actually comply for once. There’s nothing you can say that’ll make the people around you actually stop and listen. You feel small, so you try to wear BRIGHT, FLASHY COLOURS and STRIPY TIGHTS to mimic the figures so prominent in the jack-in-the-boxes you’ve always been fond of making and tinkering around with. You have no idea when that particular fascination set in, but it keeps you distracted from worse things that might happen to you. Despite the fact that you’re a highblood, you’re younger than the other performers in the troupe and feel more vulnerable than you should be.

You’re not really meant to be in the troupe, anyway. There was a time where you assume some SEADWELLERS were hunting for food or the fun of it - none of which they need to do, you’re guessing, because of how rich they are -  and that was when you’d realised there was a harpoon broken off in SEALDAD’S side. So you saw the distant big top and ran to it, hoping that someone could help your lusus. He *was* healed, which you’re grateful beyond gratefulness for, but then… you don’t really remember. Blaring carnival lights, yellow-tinged and blinding, and then… EVERYTHING CHANGED. You never quite made it back to the sea, because the other purples started to teach you their ways, and you have an eerie feeling that they were trying to lure you into working for the ringmaster, who most of them (except for your ‘friend’ Othamo, who’s pretty fearless in a callous way) worship like a god.

Then you did, but you’re working for yourself most of the time. Wilfully disobedient. You just want to get out of the troupe, and you’ll do anything you can, but it’s been a few sweeps already. Performing with Sealdad makes you happy, and your contraptions do. So maybe it’s not so bad to stay for a little while longer. The time will come when you can make a break for it, you’re sure, just as long as you can secure an escape plan that means your lusus won’t be out of the water for too long at once.

Your handle is ClockworkCarnevale. _/[[ yOU’rE EAsIly scArEd, yOUr vOIcE gEttIng ErrAtIcAlly lOUdEr At wEIrd tImEs. bUt yOU bEt thE jAcks In yOUr bOxEs ArE fInE, sO yOU EnclOsE yOUr tExt In OnE tOO, tryIng nOt tO pAnIc. ]] ~~ YOUR NAME IS ASTRIL HURICA.

Though you suppose you go by ASTRIL ZEPHYR now. Nothing’s really worked out for you in your life, but the dastardly clairvoyant you’ve seen loitering around your ADOPTIVE DAUGHTER swears that EVERYTHING’S YOUR FAULT. She’s all wrong, of course, and you have the authority to - and half a mind to - completely banish her from the palace if she says one more thing to damage your opinion of her, which was always bad in the first place. You’re now the ‘mother’ of Cirlun, a disobedient and woefully immature fuchsiablood who was entrusted to you by virtue of your position as head of the VENERATED COUNCIL OF VIOLETS. It was disbanded many a sweep ago, with the heiress’ arrival on your sad little planet. THE COUNCIL was a committee of seadwellers with the purest blood, closest to that of a natural Aquarian, who banded together to keep the citizens of DUIIARIA (Now colloquially ‘Earth X’) from descending into anarchy. 

You don’t have the best relationship sense, being that you CULLED YOUR MOTHER at the tender age of six sweeps. You could argue that you were only small, and naive, but you were seething with unbridled resentment and RAGE, even knowing that anglerfish don’t talk and thus don’t communicate well. You’ve kept that QUIETLY MURDEROUS DISPOSITION ever since the deed was carried out, and never intend to drop it. Tyranny is the only way you know how to keep your citizens in check, and you don’t intend to learn any other way. It’s ruthlessly effective, and that’s the only standard you’ll accept. It’s probably one of the reason’s why everyone thinks you’re WICKED AND UNCOMPROMISING, even your own daughter. You’d like nothing more than to leave Cirlun to her own devices and show her just how foolish she is to want pacifism.

But now, you wait eagerly in the shadows until she reaches the appropriate age to ascend to the throne. Then you’ll truly teach her what it’s like to fight for her life, even though you never really had to in your own right. You’ve spent a long, long time trying to prepare Duiiaria for survival when up against MILITARY AND INTERGALACTIC OPPOSITION, as you want to conquer as much as you can. You’re not about to relinquish your autocratic mindset for a brat like her, even though she has the right by blood. It won’t matter so much any more if you spill it first.

Your handle is GalacticGalvaniser, and you speak As Cr1sply And D1rec7ly As You Expect Your Orders 7o Carry 7hrough 7o Your L177le C171zens. 7OUR 7EMPERAMENT CHANGES S11GH717 WHEN YOU’RE ANGR7, 7HOUGH.

~~ YOUR NAME IS CIRLUN ZEPHYR.

You’re the heiress to an empire that you want none of. You were adopted by a troll (despite having a rather pathetic and sickly lusus) after emerging from the CHOKING DARKNESS, and she won’t give you the time of day (unless it’s to mock you for your poor fighting times) so you’ve realised there’s no point in asking how. That’s the only thing you’re glad for, you suppose. The fact that she stays out of your hair is certainly good, because you’re not good in social situations or with diplomacy at all, and you have plenty of time to escape up to the palace’s extensive library. The library is the only time you get any relief from any pressure being an heiress brings.

Reading, of course, is your main form of escapism since it’s so easy to access. Nobody much minds that you while away your time in the library, save for when ASTRIL sends guards to pull you away from your latest fascination to train. Training, that is, for your imminent death at the Empress’ own hand - or trident, as it were. You don’t really know why she does train you directly, since you think that’s something you need to do for yourself, but you guess she *is* PRETTY DAMN BLOODTHIRSTY. The fact that you put up a fight makes everything that much more enjoyable, and you’d say you’re a MORE THAN SERVICEABLE fighter. So much so that you swear you’d be at the forefront of your mother’s GALACTIC ARMY had she not decided she wanted to cull you from the moment she first laid eyes on you. 

You’re pretty sheltered, being the only fuchsiablood in your timeline, but you do have a moirail (who you’re pretty sure your mother wouldn’t like at all by virtue of his being a MUTANT) that you sneak out and see under the guise of MYSTER WAEVEL, just another violetblood. Technology has made it easier for you to hide your own blood, and you’re hoping that Etoile could one day mask his as well. Inside the palace walls, LAMIAC FENRIS is your best and only friend, and you often sit with each other and talk when she’s not working. The stories she tells are mainly client complaints, but you’re lucky that the gory recounts she tells with such zeal don’t turn your stomach much. The bloodstains on her office walls don’t help. 

A lot about you is a total mystery, but that’s just the way you like it. 

Your handle is AlchemicAxolotl, named for your love of the lusus you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE. ))((oping you )(onour your biggest rolemodel - w)(o's long gone, only around in t)(e b∞ks you pour over - you've since added a little flair to your typing, and t)(ink it l∞ks a lot more personal. ~