#but so intricate hard to uproot...

[gildedneon]

That Which I Cannot See

That Which I Cannot See - Part 2 - Diamonds in the Trees

Respectfully, you may not use my work, but you are welcome to share it. My work is only intended for those 18 and older as it contains explicit adult themes.

Summary: In this part of our story, Vessel invites you to a Halloween masquerade ball for a little game of cat and mouse.

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader 

Tags: Hand stuff , mask play, concealed identity play, exhibitionism (sorta), sex in public spaces (privately), dub con, magical paint that won't throw off your Ph, dirty talk, and a bit of cardio.

Word Count: 5.6k(felt like way more but okay???)

A/N: I took my time with this one and had fun exploring new things. I didn't get to finish all of my ideas, so look for a bonus scene before part 3 comes out by end of year.

Part 1 Part 2.5 (Bonus Scene)

Read on Ao3

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Warm water ran black as I washed my hands of the paint that now marked my neck. A near perfect recreation of Vessel’s work from that first night together. I was going for a goth macabre angel vibe. The mask I would be wearing would not be obscuring my vision this time, with cutouts to show off the smoky eye I had spent the past half hour perfecting. Strategically painted gold drips down my cheeks, running from my eyes. The perfect compliment to my gown.

Golden layers of fabric lay like feathers at the sleeves. Gold detailing trails down from the sweetheart neckline through the black cinched waist, layering into more feathering along the hips. My favorite part was the hidden pockets. I hated having to carry a purse with me and I didn’t want to be without my phone and lipstick. Layers and layers of panels of black tulle comprised the skirt. The separate panels would allow for infinite thigh slits, unrestricted movement, and access should the night take me there. A few taps on my phone and I was Facetiming Kallie to get her seal of approval while I started working on my hair. 

“Holy shit you look hot and spooky! Backup so I can see the dress.” Following her instructions, I give my skirts a little swish to and fro. 

“Thank you, thank you, I worked really hard to put this together and I am so proud. But I gotta finish my up-do.” Approaching the counter, I get to work on just that.

“I am honored to see your vision come to life. He’s gonna die when he sees you. Speaking of, how is he?” The look of nonchalance on my face sets her off before I can even respond.

“What’s going on? Like what’s up with you two?“You’ve been talking for weeks and he flies you across the pond for some fancy ass party, just so you guys can what? Casually go to the royal Halloween ball together? Is that really what you’re gonna sit here and tell me?” I wince but my lips quirk up at her teasing.

“Yeah, Kallie it is. What else would you like me to say? Why’s it gotta be more than that? I’m not trying to uproot my life. I like how things are... Why can’t it just be fun? It doesn’t have to be so serious.” I continue to wrangle my hair into some sort of abstract shape atop my head.

“You’re so right you’re soooo right. It’s so casual being flown overseas and casually put up in a whole ass suite with a very casual private driver.” 

“Say casual one more time…”

“Casual.” Rolling my eyes, I stifle my laugh, and continue jabbing pins into my mess of curls.

“One step at a time please. I just want to enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it. Live in the moment, you know?” Satisfied that my hair is contained, I dust gold powder over my body.

Her tone softens. “I just don’t want you settling for less than what you truly want. Dream a little. Have a little hope for the things you’re scared to want.” I slide a headband halo of gold spikes into place in front of my messy updo.

“Yeah yeah I know… But not tonight!” Fitting my mask to my face, I grin at my reflection. The mask covers from the tops of my cheeks, up to my hairline. Intricate feathering spans at my temples, and the gold dripping from underneath is exactly the look I wanted. 

“Soooo, how do I look?” Letting the gold gleam in the bathroom light as I show off for my best friend.

“Ooooo yes you look so fucking perfect! Take lots of pictures!! When is he picking you up?” 

“Well, he did offer to pick me up and ride together but then he also suggested we could arrive separately and ‘see what fate has in store for us this evening’.. Ya know? Make a little game out of it.” My hands gesture dramatically as I impersonate his voice.

“You’re a little too good at that impression ya know. Ooo so he has to hunt you down! Does he know what you’re wearing???” 

“Nope and I don’t know what he’s wearing either. We have to see if we can find each other. Oh shit what happens if we don’t? I didn’t think about it like that. How many people do you think will be there?” A tight feeling blossoms in my chest.

“Heyyy don’t psych yourself out. Trust the universe girl. There could be a million people there and I bet he’d find you.”

“Please don’t say something cheesy and cliche.” Cutting her off, I paint my lips a liquid gold.

“FINE. I won’t. But if it were me, you’d tell me that even if you never see him, you’re going to an amazing once in a lifetime event full of opportunity and your experience doesn’t need to rely on another person… You look stunning. Go have fun, don’t wait around. Do the things you want to do. Be safe, be slutty, and text me when you get back.” Laughing, I give myself a final look over in the mirror, blow her a kiss, and end the call.

Off I go to play with fate.

The ride there was surprisingly relaxing. Kallie was right. I just need to focus on myself and have fun no matter what. The tightness in my chest loosens briefly but takes a new shape as a masked valet helps me out of the car. People in all sorts of costumes stream from cars and into the estate looming before me. Shrugging on a false confidence, I follow suit.

Sipping my drink, I stroll the ornate rooms, taking in the sights of costumes both spooky and spicy. There are so many people. I don’t think I was fully aware of how much we were putting in fate’s hands. With this amount of guests, there was a very good chance the whole night could pass without us so much as being within 50 ft of one another. But oh well. This is about enjoying myself no matter what. I’ve been wandering for half an hour without the faintest idea of what his costume is. Music wafts from a not so distant room, and I follow it like a siren call. Weaving through the crowd, I make my way to the dance floor of a beautiful ballroom. Elegant dresses whirl past me. Someone taps my shoulder. A man with a harlequin type costume, bows slightly and extends a hand. He’s tall, but I don’t think he’s tall enough. Could it be? But the hand he offers me is not the one I had become so familiar with. Still, I take it and let him sweep me along to the resonating strings.

Consumed by the swirling colors and beautiful music, I’ve lost track of time. This must be my third partner. The music stops. My partner bows before me, stepping back. Sensation sweeps along my bare back, causing my skin to prickle and my neck to heat. Looking over my shoulder, I scan the masked faces, searching. Music starts anew and the beating of my heart intensifies. The music begins again but with a fresh intensity. Once again, I am twirling across the dance floor. My partner spins me out and another grabs my outstretched hand, twirling me into a suit of peacock blues and greens. He leads me in this new waltz. Just as I am getting comfortable with his flow, I’m spun out and into the hand of another. Each passing partner is a stranger. This pattern repeats as I lose myself in the music. 

A jolt shoots up my arm as I’m handed off to another. My eyes dart to the black painted hand holding mine. A flitting feeling awakens inside my chest. Dressed in black accented by the darkest red, this partner is a menacing sight to behold. Mostly because his mask is as unsettling as it is striking. The intricate blood red weavings that comprise it are hauntingly beautiful. The top shoots upwards into a cathedral crown. A black hood streams down, covering the rest of his head. The unsettling part is how not only are the eyes completely obscured, but two black skeleton hands rest atop where the eyes should be. In his signature style, the only part exposed is his mouth. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze and a smile spreads across my lips. White teeth flash in a monstrous grin against his painted skin. A shiver runs down my spine. He looks so inhuman with this facade. But his touch is familiar and grounding. The beat of my heart picks up as I acclimate, to my hand held in his, and to his hand resting low on my back, lower than others dared to go. Lower than would be considered polite. His touch, yet again, an intimate gesture for all to see.

He pulls me into focus, everything around us fading into the background. The distance between us has me aching for his full touch. Memories of our last night together flitter through my mind and heat rushes through me. He flashes me a wicked grin, as if he knows… and perhaps he does. He twirls me out and I am whisked away by another, and someone new is in his arms. 

A couple of partners later, the song comes to an end. I nod my thanks to the gentleman in front of me, and make my way to the refreshments, assuming Ves is on his way to me. But maybe he isn’t because now I’m stuck in the crowd, sipping my drink, and I can’t catch sight of him. I notice the orchestra packing up their instruments. How odd. Is the music really over so early in the night? What time is it? Before I can reach for my phone, that strange sensation prickles the back of my neck again. Turning my head, I see no trace of the red skeleton crown. Fingers skate across the bare skin of my upper back. I whip around, but he’s not there. Instinct guides me forward, making my way into the hall. Blood red coattails flutter around a corner. I hastily follow suit. 

Surprisingly the crowd has thinned. I skim the costumes, none are familiar. Turning down a corridor, my stomach tumbles at the sight of his mask staring at me. Cautiously, I make my way to him. 

Taking my hand in his, he lifts it to his mouth, placing a kiss along my knuckles. The faintest bit of gold gleams on his lips.

“Thank you for accompanying me this evening.” His voice is a breath of fresh air. 

“Thank you for bringing me. I’ve never been to a Halloween masquerade before. Especially not at a fancy estate.” Succumbing to the urge, I allow my fingers to trace the lines of his vest.

“I think I rather enjoy giving you new experiences” His purr rumbles through my fingertips.

“As do I... I hope there will be more. The costumes here are all so fantastic.” 

“Ah so I’m fantastic now?”

“Ha. Ha. Yours is more than fantastic but honestly it’s also a little scary.” 

“And is that not what you wanted?” He smirks.

“I did say that didn’t I…” I think back to that night in the dressing room. 

Do you want to be scared of me? Maybe a little. …maybe a lot

“I’m not used to seeing you look like this. It’s unsettling. You look like a stranger. A very ominous imposing stranger and that’s what is scary about it. But I’m into it because it’s you.”

“What about me makes it okay?” Placing an arm against the wall, he leans into me. The familiarity of his voice contrasts with the frightening facade. 

“I trust you. I feel safe with you.” And it’s true. I trust him with exploring things that are unfamiliar and out of my comfort zone. I trust him enough to feel safe even when I’m afraid and that excites me.

“Well trust that we are going to have fun tonight.” Suggestion rides on the lilt of his voice.

“I’m already having fun.” I tease, dancing my fingers along his shirt. A painted hand trails up my arm, tracing the blackened streaks running down my neck. Shivers ripple in his wake and I instinctively shift closer. My gaze is locked on his smirk. Desire curls inside of me as I remember the way his mouth felt against my neck.

“I still think about our first night together.” As if he read my mind. His wandering hand finds its way down to my hip, as he leans in closer. “What did I tell you? How I would remember the way you felt wrapped around my fingers.” His hand slides down from my hip, gripping the back of my thigh as he turns me. Pressing my back against the wall, with his thigh between my legs. “Because I have.”

“Do you remember the feel of me?” He asks, and the way his thigh moves against me has me shuddering. I nod and try to shift my hips, but he holds firm, not allowing an inch. I can feel myself pulsing against his thigh.

“I want to hear you say it.” Of course he does. 

“Yes” It comes out as a plea, one he obliges with the shift of his leg. The friction sends sparks shooting through me. 

“And what do you remember?” My thoughts are lost in the haze of lust.

“What?” He leans right into my ear, voice rumbling.

“How did I feel?” My eyes widen at his words. I feel my face warm.

“Ves, we’re at a party.” I hiss. Although that very fact fuels the flames more.

“And we’re enjoying ourselves. Don’t worry love, nobody is paying us any mind. All of these people are too worried about themselves. They might assume we are having an intimate conversation. And that is what we are having… is it not?” I nod and he shifts his leg against me in reward.

“As I was saying… Now do you still want more of me?” Clinging to him, I bob my head in affirmation.

“Maybe I’ll steal you away to someplace dark where no one will hear you scream.” I let out a shaky breath, as heat rushes through me. His head turns, our lips mere inches apart, sending my heart racing. Suddenly, a deep thrumming rattles through the hall. Both of us tilt our heads. 

“What is that?” I ask. His grip on me loosens as he leans back.

“Why don’t you go find out?”

“Are you not coming with me?” That creepy mask tilts along with his head. I feel his reasoning press against me before he pulls fully away from me.

“You run along ahead, I’ll find you later.” I straighten out my skirts, not ready for the fun to be over just yet.

“What if you don’t?” He shakes his head and his lips quirk up.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Exhaling my nervous breath, I give a slight smile and turn on my heel, hastily moving towards the source of the beat.

The ballroom has transformed since I was spinning under the golden chandeliers. Red and purple lighting fills the space with a spooky touch. A costumed DJ sits upon a small stage, laser lights flickering out around the setup. I slink my way through the pulsing crowd, finding comfortable spaces to stop and lose myself in the throbbing mass. I let the beat pulse through me as I roll my body with a rhythm that is my own. No worrying about how I look, just focusing on what feels good. Most everyone seems caught in their own trance. For a second, I miss Vessel. I imagine what it would be like to dance with him like this. Feel his hands on me, something I seem to be longing for tonight. I can almost feel his phantom touch, my body writhing into it. And then I let go of that thought and continue weaving through the crowd, finding the perfect spot. 

The beat drops and my attention snags on the woman in front of me dressed as a silver princess. She takes notice as well and our movements begin to sync, bringing us closer. I’m vaguely aware of the masked prince dancing behind her, watching us intently. A coy smile splays across her mouth as she closes the gap between us, things taking a more sensual turn. Like how my gaze flickers over her soft curves and lingers on her lips. Like the way the fabric of our gowns brush against each other, the space between us is ever shrinking. Her fingertips dance along my arm, I tentatively mirror her movements. The prince’s arm comes around her waist, pulling her back a bit, and I follow, leaning in to her. Our gaze darting between each other’s lips. Her eyelids flutter and a large hand wraps firmly around my throat. Another gripping my hip, pulling me back against a firm body. That familiar voice is in my ear “I don’t feel like sharing tonight, perhaps another time” His tone is playful but carries that now familiar edge of darkness.

His painted hand slides down my arm, grasping my hand in his. Bringing our joined hands to rest on my stomach, he pulls me flush against him. This wasn’t anything like dancing in college, with random dudes grinding themselves against you without so much as an acknowledging glance. I welcome the way his body holds mine as I move freely to the music. His hips move with me, matching my rhythm. The brief friction from the evidence of his arousal sends ripples of excitement through me. I let my head fall back against his chest and my free hand slides to his thigh. My grip tightens as I drag my hand up and down his leg. I feel the rumble of warning in his chest. But I’m having fun with this. I am fully signed up and on board for what I’m getting myself into. Slowly, I move our joined hands lower on my stomach, down, down, until my fingers dance over the apex of my thighs. His hand spasms over mine, as if to stop me, and for a second I wonder if he will. But then he gives my hand a firm nudge. My hand moves under his, providing just a taste of what I crave. No one can see, not that anyone is looking. Everyone is so engrossed in their own experience. Acting like we are alone in a sea of hundreds is thrilling. I can feel him grind against me and it makes me ache for more. There’s no way that touching myself through my dress is going to do much other than get me hot and bothered. He knows it too. My grip on his thigh flexes with the little waves of pleasure I manage to elicit. His left hand grips my hip harder. Each press of our bodies makes me ache to have him inside of me. His hold on my hip tightens to a painful degree. Holding me so still I can no longer dance. He lifts my hand and drags me from the ballroom.

Mindlessly, I let him lead me through hallways, the crowd thins out, and then we are outside on a spacious balcony. The cool air soothes my heated skin, as I look out at the gardens. His thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“Shall we continue our fun?” My head tilts in response.

“Let’s explore the maze. I bet I can find that dark place to drag you to where no one will hear you scream. Give me a bit of a head start.” My brows shoot up.

“You want me to come find you? Like hide and seek?”

“Oh you won’t need to find me. I’ll find you. And when I do, you might want to run.”

My brow furrows. Spooky costume or not, does he really expect me to run from him? Wouldn’t that be a little thrilling though? I wonder to myself and before I know it, he’s slipped down the stairs and sauntering off into the dark maze. I use these few minutes to study what I can of the maze’s layout. As if it will help me when I’m turned around inside.

Guided by a moonlit path, It’s a bit eerie how there’s no one around. I thought at least some people would be out here but aside from the few stragglers making out on benches near the entrance, I find myself alone. I’ve been wandering for a bit of time now. Oh god, what if I get lost? And I’m stuck out here for who knows how long? A prickle of awareness brings a rustling sound into sharp focus. Whipping around, there’s no one to be seen on the path. I must be getting jumpy being alone out here. I continue around the bend, pretty sure that somewhere up ahead there is an entrance to a hidden garden I had spied from the balcony. Despite my efforts, another rustling sound has goosebumps running along my arms. There’s an archway up ahead on the right, leading away from my destination. As I grow near I swear I see a glimpse of something in the shadowy alcove. My steps falter, tension gathers in the pit of my stomach. Okay maybe this is scarier than I gave him credit for. Steeling my nerves, I walk up to the archway. To my relief, the shadow was a fountain. Laughing, I stop to listen to its babbling stream. I register movement from out of the shadows and in that instant, fear reawakens, and I take off. Gathering my skirts, I run down the straight away, tiny branches clawing at the fabric of my skirt as I round the corner. I hear the growl of my name, a voice that's familiar but so foreign. Uncertainty grips my chest and propels me forward. 

There’s an archway coming up on the left. If my memory serves correct, this opens into one of the small gardens within the maze. That would give me a shot at losing the danger at my heels. My lungs are screaming for air as I round the bend, relief is brief as I am correct about the garden. I dart into one of the alcoves, pressing my back against a stone column. As I work to steady my breathing, I gather my skirts to stay out of view. With my back to the garden, all I can see is the sculpture and bench in this alcove. Over the roaring in my ears, I hear the crunch of gravel working its way around the space. My breathing begins to settle, and the crunching grows faint… then silent. I wait for what feels like an eternity, before peeking out around the column. All I see is the fountain in the middle and more alcoves lining the perimeter. There are two entrances from the maze. I figure my best bet is to go back the way I came and try and find my way out of this place. My heart is still beating faster than usual. I take a deep breath to steady myself and head towards the exit. Just as I am about to walk through the opening, strong arms grab me, pulling me back against a firm body. 

The scream I let out is instantly muffled by a large hand. I’m spun around and sent forward, back towards my hiding place. Squirming against the restraint, I try to move my arms but they are locked firmly in place by the arm wrapped around my waist. My wrists twist, swiping my claw like nails at anything I can grab. My captor pushes me with them, taking us into the alcove. Before the panic sets in, I am released. I stumble forward and whirl around, my hands instinctively coming up in defense. 

But I recognize that terrifying mask and towering physique. Fear dissolves, the embers of my desire stir awake in a consuming blaze. Anger joins the mix, my fists clench. I raise a hand, and just as I open my mouth to say whatever the hell it was that I was going to say, he crashes into me. His hand cradles the back of my head, the other pulls me flush against him as his mouth clashes with mine. It's messy and out of sync, but after a few beats my anger ebbs and liquid heat takes its place. His lips slow against mine, in an almost apologetic way. But I don’t need apologies for a game I’m delighting in. I grip the front of his vest, pulling our bodies impossibly closer. His teeth nip at my lower lip, my answering gasp grants his tongue entrance. Our tangled kiss deepens and my hold on him tightens in a silent plea. 

He steps into me, guiding me back until I feel the rough stone of the column against my skin once again. His hands push through tulle until I feel his warm touch against my thighs. Flinging the material to the side, he wastes no time, sliding a finger through my arousal and into my waiting heat. I moan into his mouth as he strokes me in a firm caress. His mouth pulls away, but only an inch. Little whimpers from my lips ghost across his own. He starts to slide a second finger inside of me and as I choke back a moan, he stops.

“I think you know better than that” He growls. I nod in agreement and make no attempts to diminish the sounds I make as he adds a second finger.

“I told you I would take you where no one could hear you scream. I also told you that I am not in the mood to share. No one’s coming.” I wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat.

I couldn’t help the way my thighs clenched around his hand, nor the sounds of his slick fingers. I’m not sure what I did to deserve him stopping suddenly, but the air left my lungs as he removed his hand from inside me and brought it to his mouth. Seemingly savoring the taste of me. Next thing I know, he’s setting me down on the bench. 

“Move those pretty skirts for me.” I hastily do as he says as he kneels before me. An eerie thrill shoots through me as I now stare at his mask. I think he’s staring between my legs but I can’t tell with those macabre skeleton hands so close to such an intimate part of me. His hand coasts below my knee, lifting my leg onto the bench, baring me completely. Thankful for the wooden slats behind me, I lean back, bracing myself as I feel his tongue’s first languid lap. The most elegant torture, to have him take his time devouring me, while I burn to be filled completely by him. When his fingers entered me once again, my back arched and I almost screamed at the satisfaction. But he and I both know it’s not enough. I’m too eager for more to allow myself to find release like this. Mustering what little self control I have at the moment, I push at his shoulder with my heeled foot. Reluctantly, he rocks back, his head tilting at an inquisitive angle. For a moment, I’m so distracted by the smear gold, black, and revealed skin around his mouth that I almost forget what I was going to request.

“Switch places with me.” Despite the mask, I swear his eyebrows shot up, and he oblidges. Offering a hand, painted black save for two fingers, my cheeks heat at the sight. He pulls me to my feet, my legs a little wobbly, but he ensures I’m steady before taking a seat. Now it’s my turn to kneel before him, grateful for my thick skirts and the smooth stone under us. My hands are quick to undo his pants, but he assists, pulling himself from the confines of his pants. My mouth falls open at the sight of his impressive and potentially intimidating length. God, I’m so impatient I almost jump him right there, but I will myself to slow down, to savor the feel of him as I take him in my hand, as I run my tongue up his length. Air hisses from between his teeth as I lick teasing stripes. I take him into my mouth. Hollowing my cheeks, I gently bob my head. Working to accommodate him into my too small mouth, saliva runs down to where I begin to work him with my hand. His heavy breathes and soft rumbling moans stroke my ego but are wearing my selfish patience thin. I’m delighted to return the favor, but I’m eager for what comes next. And it seems I’m not alone in that, as I feel his grip on my shoulder, pulling my mouth off of him with a wet pop. 

His mouth looks like he’s trying to find the words to speak, as I rise from the ground, holding my skirts out of the way, and climb into his lap, his hands coming to steady my hips. Without pause, I reach down and guide him to my slick entrance. I brace a hand on his shoulder as I sink down, enveloping him. A sound between a moan and a sob leaves my lips when he hits a spot deep inside me.

“Fuck, you feel better than I ever could have imagined” He grinds out. 

“So do you” I pant as I seat myself, twitches of pleasure jolt through me. As I acclimate, I search the skeleton hands for any sign of him. But I’m met with nothing but the frightening facade. In this moment, I wish I could see his eyes… ease biting thrill of the unknown. His thumbs stroke my hips, bringing me back to where we are connected. Shifting my focus to his mouth, I can’t help but smile at how ruined he looks. With his pale skin revealed under the smears of black and gold paint. Lord, I can only imagine what my own looks like. How anyone would know what we got up to with just one look at us. That thought sends a shiver through me. I rock my hips and start to move. I clutch at his shoulders as the stretch of him begins to consume me. My eyes flutter as I ride him. Playing with different angles, creating a rhythm that has me clamping down on him. Our moans dance in the air between us as we are lost in the feel of each other at last. His grip tightens until he is aiding in my rhythm, lifting and pulling at my hips. The push and drag of him inside of me drives me higher, my pace becoming more deliberate. I reach my hand down, fingers seeking out the spot to send me over the edge. Pleasure blinds me, hindering my necessary pace. As I falter, he takes over, gripping my hips as he lifts me up and down. Parts of my body are limp, the others taught as I spin closer and closer. And then I’m sobbing into his chest as fall over the edge. I collapse onto him as I shake and shiver around him. The subsiding shockwaves are both pleasurable and exhausting. 

“Take a moment, because I am not done with you yet” It sounds like a threat and a promise and instantly my body clenches around where he is still hard inside me. He laughs. “Do you think you can stand?” 

“Probably but why would I?” I wiggle my hips with a sigh. Gripping me, he rolls my hips once, twice, then pulls me off of him. I pout. He points at the sculpture in the alcove. I take a shaky step towards it, and he rises behind me. I begin to turn towards him, but he pulls my hips, bending me over. My hands fly out, catching myself on the ledge, and he nudges my feet apart.

“Sadly, there is not enough time left to this night to satiate my desires.” He parts my skirt and wastes no time sliding into the hilt.

“Now that I’ve had all of you, how could this ever be enough?” Each word punctuated with a thrust of his hips. My knees go weak from the pleasure and I tighten my hold on the statue as he picks up speed. Tears spring into my eyes at the onslaught of sensations. There is no space for words between the cries from my lips. I am at his mercy. One of his hands creeps between my legs, but if I have another orgasm here I think he would need to carry me from this garden. I drag his hand up to my chest instead and he works his hand beneath the fabric, teasing me with those skilled fingers. My legs tremble as I near my limit. My cries turn to borderline sobs. He slows for a few seconds and then sets a punishing pace. 

“Make no mistake. I am not done with you yet.” He growls. As his grip tightens, his thrusting becomes erratic. Just as my legs begin to buckle, he pulls out, spilling himself into the bushes. 

“Well… the night is still young.” I try to keep my voice even despite my labored breath. “Why don’t we go back to that lovely hotel you got me?” ---- ~Bonus chapter can be found here~

[hinamie]

My I ask why are you a gojohater? I am a gojolover and love your gojopieces and love your portrayal of Gojo and Megumi, and I've known you're a gojohater since before I hit follow, but I am honestly curious haha I am a gojolover, but I love criticism of Gojo (and anyone tbh but him in specific precisely because I like him a lot) both narratively and metanarratively, both his writing and his personality. So I am really curious, all the more because I always love your takes on him not just in image, but in concept. Many of my fave people to talk about my fave characters are haters of my characters, it's alright, truly. I really mean no harm. I'm just super curious because I think it could be very juicy and intricate analysis given your portrayals of Gojo xD

I am asking on anon because I'm shy and you're a big account, but I could ask off anon too if you're not comfortable with answering this question without putting a face on the sender, or in public as a whole. I am not shy enough that it would be a problem to me if you prefer it. Of course, please feel free to ignore my question too if you don't want to reply for whatever reason (even just not being in the mood, that's good enough reason in my books xD)

In any case, thanks for drawing and sharing your art with us!

Hi anon! i’m glad you like my art of him but if you’re expecting an intricate analysis on gojo you’ve come to the wrong blog :’> 

as fr my thoughts on him,,, listen. I hate on him as a meme gsdhjf it’s not that serious. i’ll come out and say it, I don’t /actually/ hate the guy, really the extent of it is just that I think he's annoying a lot of the time and not in a way that endears him to me. however when I started watching jjk I’ll admit I Was charmed by him! And even now I can recognize tht there’s undeniably a lot to his character that makes him super interesting, I think that his loneliness and burden of being the strongest hidden under a carefree mask r things that make him rly compelling. i like that he’s insane i like that he’s strong to the point of being unreachably Alone, i LOVE that despite that he cares so much about the kids and tries to connect with and protect them at every opportunity. he’s a tragic tragic character and annoying or not, I eat that up

my beef is with fanon gojo ghjgshd seeing the way that the audience treats him soured him for me Bad. It’s so hard to see a character for the tragedy of their desire for connection when the entirety of their personality and the significance of all their fascinating story beats are entirely drowned out by mischaracterization and audience horniness. he overshadows everything he’s in because That Type of gojo fan sees him and gets tunnel vision regarding everything else—see the people who were threatening gege's life over killing him and Hard banking on a gojo comeback until the very end despite th narrative uproot it would cause. someone could make the most emotionally poignant piece of gojo-centric content and you’d still have probably a majority of his fans doing nothing but barking because that’s their 6’4 dom top or whatever. 

atp i’m used to seeing it but it still makes me angry that such a deep character with so much story significance is completely objectified by ppl who claim to be his fans. that’s not my business tho, engage with media however u want, just know that i Am judging you

so long story short i hate on him out of principle. i saw the way fandom treats him and i simply decided that yeah i dont like this i will not contribute. i will not show him any love beyond the art i make of him. but I wouldn’t dedicate so much time and effort to making art of a character if I truly hated them lmao i’m not that dedicated to the bit

[vanfleeter]

The Old Oak Tree // JTK

Characters: Jake x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Kissing. Tiniest bit of angst, you can see it if you squint really hard. Language. Cussing. Smut. Penetrative sex (p in v). Unprotected sex. Public sex. Oral sex (m receiving). Let me know if I missed anything.

Author's Note: Jaketober continues!

Summary: Jake invites the reader to join him in a picnic date underneath an old oak tree from your childhoods and reminiscing over past memories and also creating new ones.

The red, orangey colored leaves slowly fall from the old oak tree. One by one, each of them flutter to the ground. Jake picks one up after it lands on his thigh and twists the stem between his thumb and index finger. There’s a slight breeze that blows his hair and brings a sweet scent wafting by his nose. He turns his head to look behind him to see you approaching. He smiles and starts to stand to his feet before you stop and come down to his level. You crossed your legs in front of you as you sat down on the blanket.

“Thank you for coming.” He smiles. He offers you a clear plastic cup of apple cider. “I would’ve used the fancy glasses but I didn’t trust myself to not drop them.”

You giggle and happily take the drink. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out here,” You say as you look around. “We used to come out here all the time.”

He nods his head and takes a drink of his own cider. “We have some fond memories out here,” He says. “Remember when we first found this tree?”

You smile and nod your head. “Yeah, I remember that. We were out here exploring when you spotted it. You said the way the branches weaved made it look like spider webs. You immediately grew attached to it and we both decided that it was our tree.”

“I wonder if I could uproot it and bring it to our house.”

You scoff and shake your head. “And I’m sure you’d find a way.” You say.

He chuckles and takes another drink of the cider. “Remember our first kiss here?” He says. “After homecoming.”

Your cheeks grow warm and he softly laughs. “You wanted to make the whole night romantic. From the intricately arranged corsage with my favorite flowers to making sure the DJ played our song and then sneaking us out here only for you to finally get over your shyness and kiss me.”

Jake rolls his eyes with a smile. “You could have kissed me first too, you know.” He says.

“I was sixteen, Jake. I was scared that even though you liked me, you didn’t like me enough to want to kiss me.”

He shakes his head and reaches out for you. He cups his hand around your cheek and leans in close enough for you to feel his breath against your lips and smell the cider he’s been drinking. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you. Ever since we first held hands, all I ever thought about was kissing you. I imagined your lips feeling as soft as your hands.”

“Were they soft?” You question.

He smiles and nods his head. His eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. “Mmhmm..” He hums before closing the tiny gap between you two and connecting his lips to yours. He pulls away after a few seconds. “Still are..”

You giggle and slightly push on his shoulder. He smiles and reaches for your hand and begins to lightly rub his thumb over your knuckles.

“I also remember the day we broke up underneath this tree.” He chuckles. “Senior year, the band was picking up more traction and we started drifting.. I was so busy with the band and you worked a lot to help with the bills..”

You sadly nod your head. “Yeah.. That was the worst.” You say. “It sucked ass.. I think I cried so much that day that I dehydrated myself.” You scoff. “I thought I was so pathetic crying over you. At the time it was just a high school relationship, why was I so upset about it?”

You hear him humming and he squeezes your hand. “Yeah.. But then.. We ran into each other again–what, a couple years after graduation?”

You nod your head. “Yeah.. The four of you came back after touring for so long and somehow the two of us ended up back here.”

He nods his head and lifts his chin to look up at the nearly bare branches of the tree. “I found myself coming out here to clear my head,” He says. “Life had gotten so chaotic that I needed an escape.. So that one day, I snuck away from all of the family stuff that was going on and came here to find some peace and quiet–and then I saw you.”

The sun disappears behind a big cloud so Jake lifts his sunglasses from his eyes and perches them on top of his head.

“You were just sitting there with a notebook and you were writing furiously, so consumed by your thoughts that you didn’t even know I was there until my foot snapped a tree branch.”

“I was scared shitless..”

He chuckles. “You looked like you had seen a ghost.” He says. “Though I expected nothing less.. It was nearing Halloween and the woods do get pretty creepy out here at night.”

“Wasn’t that the night we got back together?” You ask.

“Mmhmm, yeah,” He says, still rubbing your knuckles, more so the knuckle of your left ring finger. “I confessed to you that I never stopped thinking about you and loving you. How I wished we never broke up and at least tried to make it work. And then I boldly kissed you while expecting you to just slap me..”

“But I didn’t..”

“No, you didn’t.” He smiles. “Thank you for that by the way.”

“And since then we’ve been together.”

“I never want to be apart from you again.” He says. “I uh,” He clears his throat. “There’s a reason I asked you to meet me here.”

“The picnic wasn’t all of it?” You ask.

He shakes his head. Leaning over towards the basket, you watch him as he fishes inside for something. “I swear if I forgot it..”

“Forgot what, Jake?” You say with a hint of a giggle.

“Aha!” He exclaims and retracting his hand from the basket.

A soft gasp falls from your mouth when you spot a little black box in his hand. “Jake..”

“I’ve been itching to do this for months now but none of the times I thought I wanted to do it felt right. I wanted to make this special. Just the two of us, alone.”

He pops open the box and there, cushioned inside is the ring you’ve dreamed of having. One that you texted him a photo of after he had asked what you would if he ever did propose. You knew this was happening, it was just the matter of when was what you didn’t know.

“I won’t go into a full speech because you know all there is to know about my love for you. So..” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Under this tree, our tree, will you accept this ring and join me in making even more memories here? I want you with me forever, on every journey.”

You never speak a word. Instead you’re throwing your arms around his neck, tackling him backwards onto the blanket. His laughter rings in your ears as his arms catch you.

“I take that as yes?” He questions.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You say before kissing him.

He pulls his arms back and takes the ring out of the box. “May I?”

“Uh duh..” You say, giving him your hand.

He chuckles and slips the ring on your finger. “Right where it should always be.” He breathes.

You smile and lean down to kiss him. “You know the one thing we haven’t done under this tree?” You ask when you pull your lips apart.

“No?” He says with his eyebrows creased together. Then they smooth out and raise high on his forehead. “Oh.. You naughty girl. What if someone sees us?”

“Says the man who fucked me on the hotel balcony in Brazil.”

He chuckles and moves his hands down to squeeze your ass as he pushes his hips up against yours. “That was a wild night.” He says.

“Yes well, this time it won’t be wild,” You say. “I want to make love to you, Jacob. Take our time–really make this tree ours.”

All wrapped up the blankets, he takes his time with you. Nothing rushed, no need to reach the end. He thrusts in you at a slow pace. One arm rests beside your head while the other holds your leg around his hip.

He leans down to kiss you as he entangles his hand with yours.

“Jake..” You whisper.

“Mmhmm?”

“Go faster.”

“Don’t want to take our time?”

You shake your head. “Fuck Jake, I really need you.”

He smiles and kisses you again before picking up his speed. The friction sending both of you closer to your climax. He leans down and peppers your jaw with kisses as his hips snap in you relentlessly.

“Baby.. I need to..” His voice trails off and he bites his lip. “Fuck.. I can’t..”

He reaches between the two of you and rubs his thumb over your clit. Your back arches into him as you moan. “Fuck Jake..”

“Come with me baby..”

With a few more thrusts he’s empty inside of you as you cover him. “Oh god, oh fuck..” He mutters, dropping his head on your shoulder. Soon he pulls out of you and rolls onto his back to lay beside you before he drags you over. You rest your head against his chest as he runs his fingers through your hair. “If I’m being honest,” He says after a few minutes. “Any memory we make here after this, won’t ever be able to top it.”

You giggle and pick up your head to look at him. “You think so?”

“I know so,” He chuckles. “We’ve held hands under this tree, we’ve kissed under this tree, and got engaged. But sex? I really can’t think of anything that could top that.”

“So you’re saying our engagement isn’t the best thing to happen here?”

You go to sit up but he quickly pulls you back down and holds you tightly. “No.. No.. I didn’t say that.” He says. “Our engagement was special and I’ll be thinking about it forever.”

“Mmhmm..”

He laughs and you sit back up. “Well.. Maybe I can think of one more thing that might make this place memorable.”

“Oh yeah? What would that be?”

“The best blow job you’ve ever had.” You say raising your eyebrows.

“Oh?”

You smile before sliding down his body and beneath the covers.

“Oh..” He moans when he feels your mouth wrapping around his cock. His back arches and his hand grip at the blanket beneath him. “Oh fuck..”

Everything good happens beneath the old oak tree.

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[mscarterrealtor]

Give Your Landscape Some end of Summer Love

Outdoors & Gardening by Andre Rios

With autumn on the horizon, you may be looking forward to the cool, breezy days ahead, and you’re not alone.

In fact, your landscaping probably can’t wait to say good riddance to these hot summer days full of overactive pests and dry, thirsty soil. However, fall is not without its unique challenges. As the sun sets on summer, take some time to conduct a little end-of-season maintenance and prepare for the fall climate conditions that are just around the corner.

Go through your garden

Start with damage control. Assess the summer casualties in your garden, such as high-moisture or sun-averse plants that just couldn’t take the heat. Uproot any dead matter, and clean the soil out of freshly emptied garden pots, as dead roots may attract fungi.

Check your remaining plants for dry, dead growths, pruning them as needed. Use garden shears for this task, not your hands, to avoid damaging healthy growths in the process. Then pick and preserve any ripe fruits, vegetables, or herbs in your edible garden. You worked hard on this produce all summer, so ensure that it doesn’t go to waste. (Besides, if you don’t eat it, some ants gladly will.)

If you plan on filling any gaps in your garden with fall foliage, such as pansies and goldenrod, plant young growths—seeds likely won’t bloom in time for Thanksgiving. This is also the ideal time to plant new trees and shrubs as their roots will have ample time to mature in the soil before the winter frost arrives. Once you’re satisfied, surround any new additions to your yard and garden with a layer of mulch to help insulate fresh roots.

Optimize your outdoor spaces

Take care of any outdoor repairs while the weather is still comfortable. Once harsher autumn conditions roll around, existing damage like cracked surfaces may only worsen—and you may be less willing to head outside to make these necessary fixes.

Start by caulking surface cracks in brick, concrete, and stone, then paint over them to disguise your repairs. You should make touch-ups to paint on walls and railings during this drier end-of-summer weather. (Cool, wet fall air may prevent paint from drying properly.) If you have extensive damage like dislodged concrete or broken pavers, hire a specialist to make these improvements as soon as you can.

It’s especially important to address any wooden deck damage before fall is in full swing. These wetter, milder, and shorter days create the perfect conditions for fungi with a particular taste for wood. Because deck construction is so intricate, you should probably restrict DIY efforts to simple tasks like cleaning, rinsing, and touching up the sealant. Leave sensitive jobs like replacing rotten planks or securing loose joints to a professional repair service.

Finally, take care of your outdoor decor. Invest in furniture covers that can withstand rain and weathering, and move any delicate items like pillows into storage when not in use.

Sift through your shed

Take some time to organize your shed. Put away summer decorations, then store any unneeded tools. For more efficient storage, install racks, wall mounts, and shelves. (You’ll thank yourself later.) Rotate rakes and wheelbarrows to the front so that when the leaves start to drop, you’ll be ready to clean them up. In anticipation of colder weather, you should also stock up on winterizing supplies like plant insulating wrap.

Give your lawn some love

Summer may be peak weed season, but this problem won’t necessarily disappear with the approach of the fall equinox. Pick all weeds out of your lawn, ensuring that you fully uproot them; resilient weeds can rebound surprisingly fast if you don’t remove all of their roots.

The first frost can occur anywhere between September and December, depending on your region of the country. (The Farmer’s Almanac has a handy guide to probable frost dates for your area.) In anticipation of this climate turning point, aerate your lawn to loosen up compacted soil, and apply a thin layer of fertilizer. You can also plant grass seeds for a denser, healthier lawn, but it may be best to consult with a horticulturist first, as this can be a delicate job with specific regional challenges.

Keep your mower handy too. Grass will continue growing up until the first frost occurs, so mow your lawn regularly before then. Set the blades to 4 inches to help keep your grass healthy and neat looking throughout August and September. If leaves start collecting on your lawn prematurely, feel free to mow right over them for now. Once dense layers of leaves collect later in fall, you’ll need to rake them before you mow.

Additionally, stay on top of your watering schedule. Stick to the low-light hours of dawn and dusk, even as cooler weather trickles in. Direct sun can evaporate moisture surprisingly fast, which wastes both water and money.

Tackle these tasks now, and you can enjoy a cozier autumn with minimal effort, less stress, and delightful views of the changing season outside your window.

Need home with even a small, manageable yard for a small, manageable garden?

Contact:

Marquita S. Carter Real Estate homeswithcarter@gmail.com call/text 601.658.0678(live agent)

[amerasdreams]

From writing today-

~

A moment later the king looked up again, his jaw set, as if steeled against despair. “I try not to think of it directly, or I couldn’t do my job. I don’t have that luxury.” He glanced at Darya. “I have to do what I can to help her…. Which so far isn’t much.” His fist clenched, knuckles white. “If only I could lead an army in, guns blazing… But there’s no castle to storm. Just shifting shadows.” Anger flashed across his face. “I would turn myself in if there were no other way. But I can do more good like this…. In authority. It’s authority that matters, not my heritage… which won’t mean anything in a few years. I just have to find some sort of…inroad…. Something concrete. A path to their lair so I can burn it down.”

“I want to burn it down too,” said Jason.

[grinchwrapsupreme]

M*A*S*H has this ability to create moods and emotions never before seen on TV

[oddella37]

Uprooted and Adjusted (Part 3)

Summary: After recovering from battle, Y/n has a choice to make. Return to her destroyed home or stay and make a new life.

Part 2 // Part 4 (coming soon)

The battle came to an end and everyone returned home.

Nearly everyone. I no longer had a home to return to. I was staying in a Marui, not far from Tsireya’s home, who I learned is the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and is the future Tsahik. Tonowari, Olo’eyktan of the Awa’Atlu tribe came to visit me regularly while I was on bedrest, as instructed by Ronal, his mate and Tsahik. He thanked me for being brave in the face of the demons and apologized for the damage done to my home.

I was instructed to rest for at least two days and that is exactly what I had done. I rested, only coming out to get food and get some time in the sun.

On my final day of rest, Tonowari once again came to my Marui to check in what I silently hoped was the final time. I appreciated his help, but I was a warrior back home. I did not need his help.

Tonowari had Ronal with him and they both sat with me while I weaved an intricately beaded chest piece since I had nothing better to do.

Ronal struggled to sit comfortably, her baby likely due and week now.

I bowed my head and looked at the leaders of this clan that had been so hospitable to me.

“Y’n,” Tonowari spoke, pulling my attention from my crafts. “I have gotten word back from your clan. There are very few of them left,” He breathed, pain obvious in his voice. I hung my head again as the dread built in my stomach once again. “They will be rebuilding, but I feel it only right to offer for you to stay here,” Tonowari looked in my eyes. I couldn’t help the tears that brimmed at my lids, not daring to slip out. “I cannot keep you here, but your Olo’eyktan says you are a mighty warrior and would thrive in our clan if you choose to stay.”

I stayed silent. I wanted to say no, to go back home and see for myself if my mother was truly gone, but I knew. If my Olo’eyktan was encouraging me to stay here it was because I had nothing to come back to.

“Thank you,” I looked at him. Ronal began to pick at my bandage, peeling it away from my skin. The wound was no more than a painful scab now. I turned back to Tonowari, “May I think about it?” I asked him.

“Of course,” He encouraged, giving me a soft smile. “Tonight we are going to have a celebration for our victory. We’ve sent our warriors back to Eywa and it is time we celebrate the lives we still have. You are welcome to join us. You can tell me your decision tomorrow.” He smiled softly and I nodded, looking down at the beaded piece in my hands.

“You should wear that piece you’ve worked so hard on,” He smiled at me. He was kind and encouraging, like a father I never knew. “It is a little formal,” I smiled at him, “Bright colored beads and a lot of shells,” I laughed.

“It is beautiful,” Ronal encouraged, “If you do not wear it, I may take it,” She teased, acting like she was going to snatch it from me. I laughed at her actions and looked at the piece. Maybe I will.

“I could always make you one,” I offered her. “If you can get me the beads of course,” I smiled and she only laughed

“I am Tsahik, I get as many beads as I wish.” She joked, gesturing to her chest piece she wore which was beautifully intricate. “You may be a good warrior, but I may steal you to make more of your beautiful art,” She smiled as her hands played with my hair.

“Whatever you choose to do, you will be of great use to our clan,” Tonowari interrupted. “However, with our foreigners, you may need to learn some of their language.” He warned me. I frowned at the idea of learning the demon language, but tried not to make my disdain obvious.

“Tonowari, may I ask what you expect from your warriors? Every clan is different,” I explained.

“Well our village has never been one for war until now. Our warriors mainly keep watch and help with fishing,” He explained. “We aren’t ones for war, but we do stay prepared to protect our people.” I nodded.

“Could I not create beadwork in my free time?” I asked, smiling teasingly at Ronal.

She laughed, “I guess it is possible.”

We all smiled and I couldn’t help but appreciate just how at home I felt with them and I haven’t even visited the village yet. “Tonowari, I think I will stay if it is okay. I feel more at home here than I ever did in my village,” I explained to him.

He nodded and gave me an approving smile. “How about I make your first mission keeping an eye on those Sully boys. They seem to keep getting into trouble. Along with my son, Ao’nung. If you can keep them out of trouble for the night we will call it even,” He teased.

I smiled and nodded, “Shouldn’t be too hard, sir.”

Tonowari laughed, “You would be surprised.” He warned before standing up. I hadn’t even noticed how Ronal had begun fixing my hair that had gotten messed up in battle. She hummed as she began undoing and redoing some of the braids. By the time she had finished she had two main braids on each side of my head that met in the middle at my Queue which of course braided down. The rest of it hung down, the natural curls flowing freely. I smiled at her finished product.

Tonowari had left to do Olo’eyktan duties a bit ago and Ronal sat in comfortable silence.

“I thought you may want your hair to look nice,” She explained, “Who knows, maybe you will meet your future muntxa.” She teased.

I laughed and shook my head, “Do not be silly,” I felt my face heat up at the idea.

“What?” She laughed, as if I were crazy, “You’re a beautiful young woman. Older than my daughter and she already shows interest in boys like that Lo’ak,” She sighed and I could tell she was unsure.

I smiled at her, “Eywa will guide her. Tsireya is a smart girl, she will make good choices even if we do not see them,” I assured her. Ronal sighed, knowing I was right, but not wanting to admit it.

“The celebration will take place after dark, we will feast and dance and I better see you in that top.” She gave on final tease as she stood up, walking out of my Marui.

I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I looked down, knowing I now had to make sure I finished this top.

I heard loud cheers from outside of my marui, knowing the celebration was starting. I smiled and put some final adjustments on my chest piece. It anchored itself around my neck, and hung down over my chest, strings of beads woven together, some strings hanging down and weaving back up into the top, making it drape beautifully. The back supported itself with two strings crossing each other and meeting at the piece that wrapped around the back of my neck. Shells small and large decorated the piece. I’d even had time to add some beads around my waist where my loincloth sat so everything would match nicely.

I peeked out of my Marui and looked around until I spotted several bonfires in the distance. The smell of food wafting in the air. They must’ve hunted for hours the past several days to prepare for a feast such as this.

After a few deep breaths, I wandered over to the celebration. In the distance I could see Tsireya helping with setting out the food.

I walked over and began helping her, it took a moment before she noticed me there and gasped. I jumped at her sudden gasp, looking at her to see what may have hurt her.

“Oh great mother, Y/n, you look beautiful!” She cheered at me, admiring my hair and chest piece.

A girl nearby looked up out of curiosity. I noticed her resemblance to the rest of the Sully family and smiled at her. I hadn’t the chance to introduce myself to all or any of them so I smiled at her. “I am Y/n,” I introduced, “Spider told me all about the Sully family. You must be Kiri? He speaks fondly of you,” I lifted my hand to my forehead to give her a polite, “Oel Ngati kameie.”

Kiri smiled fondly at me, “It is nice to meet you, Y/n. I hear you are the new clan member, maybe my family can stop being seen as the newcomers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, “I can’t help but feel our different backgrounds may affect that idea” I tried to joke. She thankfully laughed, not taking my lighthearted comment in a bad way. Thank Eywa.

“Well it is nice to meet you. Maybe you can show me how you make such beautiful beadwork sometime,” She smiled and I couldn’t help the heat that I felt rising in my cheeks.

Once Kiri walked away, I turned to Tsireya and nodded my head, “I never thanked you for treating my wound. I am indebted to you,” I smiled, bowing my head.

Tsireya shook her head, “No, no. Do not worry about it. It was no big deal. I am just happy you are doing better,” She smiled and I nodded slowly.

After we finished setting up the massive feast, Tsireya managed to get her attention drawn away by one of the Sully boys, Lo’ak. I couldn’t help my laugh, watching them dance for a little while before spotting Tonowari a bit away chatting with someone. I smiled and wandered over, seeing Ronal not far away also talking. As I got closer I was able to see figures they were talking to. Jake Sully, Neytiri, and their oldest son, Neteyam.

Neteyam had a bandage still around his torso. He probably still had a little longer to head since his wound was worse than mine.

When I approached, I bowed my head to the Sullys, “Oel Ngati kameie,” I looked at them. Each of them responded back to me with kind smiles.

Tonowari gave me a proud smile and placed a hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t hide my grimace as he had squeezed my injured shoulder, but quickly masked it with a polite smile. Ronal happened to notice and swatted Tonowari’s hand.

Tonowari, realizing his mistake, lifted his hand and gave me an apologetic look before going back to his conversation. “Y/n is going to be joining our tribe,” He told the Sullys, leaning in to speak lowly to Jake. I was still able to pick it up and I’m sure everyone else could as well. “I told her to keep an eye on our boys tonight since they always seem to be getting in trouble,” He jokes. Jake laughed at the comment, but I noticed Neteyam’s frustration at the comment. I looked over at him and tilted my head with curiosity while I inspected the brightly colored Na’vi. His colors were much bolder than those of us from Metkayina. His arms are thinner, same for his tail. My gaze traveled down his arms and inspected his hands. It wasn’t long before I realized he had four fingers rather than three. My heart felt like it stopped and a  soft gasp escaped me before I could stop it. Everyone looked at me with confusion since I was obviously fine.

“Demon blood,” I whispered, squinting at Neteyam’s hands which he held out upon realizing my gaze.

“It is okay,” Jake’s voice rang calmingly. He held his hand out for me to see. He also had the same amount of fingers. “I was once a dreamwalker, but Eywa blessed me and I adapted,” He explained calmly.

I nodded slowly and looked at Neteyam who still had his hand out. I hesitantly grabbed his hand and examined it. I heard the men chuckle at my curiosity. I eventually held my hand and Neteyam’s up against each other to look at exactly how different they were. Other than the obvious size difference and extra finger, our hands were the same. Same feeling, same texture, same creases.

My gaze flicked over to Neteyam’s and his eyes met mine for a moment before he looked away, seeming embarrassed.

“How about you kids go have fun?” Jake encouraged, ruffling his son’s hair, “Go dance or something.”

“Dad, I cannot dance like them,” He whispered, embarrassed.

I smiled at him and closed my hand around Neteyam’s, “I will show you, come!” I encouraged and pulled him towards the fire where people were dancing.

When we had a clear space away from others, I turned back to look at him.

“I do not know how forest Na’vi dances, but here, our dances are smooth, flowing like the water. Yes, sometimes the sea can be swift and dramatic, but it is still always graceful in a way,” I explained, dancing to the faint mosaic that played over the crackling of the fire.

Neteyam watches me closely as I sway my arms and body with the music. “Other than that there are no rules as long as you are enjoying yourself,” I explained as I grabbed Neteyams arms to get him moving.

“Back home our dancing is much more energetic,” He explained and I smiled.

I watched him as he stiffly danced to the music, holding large amounts of tension in his shoulders. I laughed and placed my hands on his shoulders, forcing them to relax a little. “You look more like a twig bending in the wind. Be more relaxed. Aren’t I the one with the injured shoulder?” I joked at him.

Neteyam laughed, loosening up a bit while we continued dancing to the side where we were barely seen.

“How is the ocean treating you?” I asked, trying to find conversation with the boy who seemed so different.

“It is hard, everything is so different, but I am able to adjust. My father says we will adapt to your ways.” He explained, I noticed the lack of hope he had in his eyes. Almost fear, but not quite. He seemed too prideful for that, and in all honesty, I had faith in the boy I had only just met.

“I am sure you will. The son of the mighty Toruk Makto is bound to succeed in everything he tries, no?” I hummed, twirling while I managed to get lost in the music that was playing.

Neteyam laughed, “I guess that is the problem. I am not able to fail or I will disappoint my entire family. As if I don’t do that enough.” He seemed so defeated despite barely getting a chance to try.

“Do not say that, Neteyam. As the oldest son it is given that your parents hold you higher than anyone else. You aren’t disappointing them, they just want you to do well so much that sometimes they forget you will stumble a few times,” I told him and as if on queue, he stumbled from tripping over my foot that I’d accidentally stuck too far out. He nearly fell into the fire had I not caught him by the wrist and held him upright.

Neteyam gasped and let out a breathy laugh, “I think that is enough dancing for me.”

I tsked at his attitude and shook my head, “This is your problem, you stumble and think it is time to quit, instead we step away from the fire and continue,” I smiled and pulled him away from the large bonfire so we could keep dancing.

Neteyam begrudgingly listened to my words and I smiled, as he was able to pick up the dance. He moved smoothly and connected, like the ocean. “See?” I teased.

Neteyam gave me a teasing glare, “I suppose you do have a point, so when do I get to teach you something?” He wondered and although the question was rhetorical I hummed while I thought of something.

“Actually…” I started, “Maybe you could teach me the Sky people’s language?” I proposed and Neteyam seemed to think it over, but I could tell he was teasing his answer. “I supposed that is doable.”

[bouncehousedemons]

Gentle Heart

My entry for day one of @vikingsevents Valentine's week prompts. Day one is red rose.

Pairing: Aslaug x Yidu Warnings: Smut, implied domestic abuse, mentions of past trauma. Word count: ~1k

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Yidu is pulled by rough hands from the boat onto the dock. The voyage from Frankia to Kattegat has been long. Her back and legs ache from having spent days cramped into the same position without room to stretch out. Having spent so much time accustomed to the sway of the sea’s current, the hard surface beneath her feet feels like it bobs and sways as she stands upon. Yidu begins to think she may fall due to her unsteadiness, until she is jostled further along and forced to stand in a line with her fellow captives.

There is a strong smell of livestock in the air, the scent of dung mixes with the briny smell of the sea and makes her want to retch. If she had anything in her stomach she is certain she would vomit. She knows she should be afraid, it is a state of mind which she has become bedfellows with since being captured. However, having lived through being stolen away by pirates, separated from her siblings and passed across literal oceans, a numbness has settled into her soul. She feels nothing as strange faces come close, inspecting her. She is not a person in their eyes, simply an object.

Yidu’s eyes flicker towards the presence of a tall woman walking slowly along the line. She is ethereal in appearance; her long golden hair is intricately braided, her bright blue eyes are kind. She smiles as she looks upon each of the captives she passes, like she is actually seeing them - a stark contrast to the cold indifference that radiates from the rest of the people here to purchase slaves.

Finally the woman comes to stand in front of Yidu. Yidu’s lips part in a silent gasp as she looks up at the woman. She is even more breathtaking up close. The way that she looks upon Yidu makes her want to cry. It is the first display of genuine humanity she has experienced since being stolen away from China.

“I will take this one.” The woman says.

The slavers make no move to argue or haggle on price, which leads Yidu to believe that this woman is someone important.

Yidu is stunned when she is given a bath. It is the first time she has been allowed to wash in weeks. Instead of a harsh beating, she is given clean clothes to wear. Instead of being shoved towards whatever task is expected of her, she is asked politely.

She learns that the woman who bought her is named Aslaug, and she is Queen of Kattegat. Having been a former royal herself, Yidu is unfamiliar with many of the tasks she is put to work on, never having lived the life of a thrall before. Aslaug is patient with her and for the first time in a long time Yidu feels safe.

She longs to do something special for her new mistress, to thank her for her kindness, and remembers the rose bushes that had been uprooted in China and sailed to Frankia. While all of the bushes themselves had been planted on Frankian soil, for fear they would not survive a longer journey, many of the flowers had been cut to be sold onwards. She had seen them loaded onto the same boat she’d sailed here on. She longs to give one to Aslaug.

Yidu explores the markets later that day and happens across a stall selling flowers. Bright displays of daisies, poppies, belladonnas, henbane, wolfsbane and orchids adorn the wooden stand, but it is the deep red of the roses she is seeking that immediately captures her attention.

Her face falls when the old woman selling the flowers tells her the price of them. She has no money. The woman takes pity upon Yidu and offers a free pick of the pile discarded behind her stall - flowers either dead or too damaged to sell.

Yidu rummages through what is mostly mulch with a crestfallen look upon her face, until she finds two bright red roses - one is missing a few petals, but in otherwise good condition. The other is missing its stem. She takes both, thanking the woman before heading back to the Great Hall.

Yidu places the stemmed rose on Aslaug’s pillow, and later that night she watches with a smile as Aslaug discovers it. 

“Is this from you?” Aslaug asks softly, as Yidu helps her get ready for bed.

“Yes.” She replies simply, as her fingers gently unfasten golden braids, her fingers savouring the feel of the silken strands.

“It is beautiful. I have never seen anything like it.” Aslaug lifts the flower to her nose, inhaling its scent.

“I wanted to thank you…for your kindness to me.”

Yidu’s breath hitches as Aslaug reaches up to give her hand a gentle squeeze as it rests upon her shoulder. A warmth spreads throughout her body the likes of which she has never experienced before.

A few days later, Yidu enters Aslaug’s bedchambers to inform her that her bath is ready. She freezes when she sees her mistress sitting on the edge of the bed with tears in her eyes. From the way that she holds her cheek it is obvious that someone has struck her.

“What has happened?” She asks cautiously.

Aslaug looks up, a look akin to embarrassment passing over her features, before she sniffles and gives an apologetic smile. “It is nothing.”

“I can share your burden. I am small, but I have broad shoulders and I am not afraid.” She states. “In any case, your bath is ready.”

“Thank you, truly.” There is a weight to Aslaug’s words. She stands and presses a soft kiss to Yidu’s temple. “Stay with me?”

Aslaug gasps in delight as she approaches the wooden tub of steaming water. Rose petals are scattered across the surface. The second of Yidu’s gifts to her. 

She watches intently as Aslaug disrobes and steps into the tub before sitting down. Aslaug makes no attempt to hide herself. Instead she beckons Yidu over. Both have clearly found a gentleness in each other that they have desperately been seeking.

Yidu’s hands are loving in their caress as they wash Aslaug’s body. She traces the slopes of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts. Aslaug’s eyes flutter closed as Yidu’s hands roam her waist and hips, and as her fingers drift between Aslaug’s legs, her mistress sighs in pleasure. Yidu is certain that the petals she finds there are softer than even that of the roses.

[wufflesvetinari]

just for the hell of it here is a new year’s day list of my favorite books i read this year. i didn’t read nearly as much as i wanted to but i DID read a good proportion of hard or classic SFF, which has to count for something. variety, maybe.

Her Smoke Rose Up Forever, James Tiptree, Jr. - this is a scifi short story collection that repeatedly punched me in the gut and continues to haunt me with weird nihilistic alien sex concepts as metaphor for the human condition. Tiptree was a female science fiction writer active in the 60s-80s, writing under a male penname. themes included gender, apocalypse through human error, biological-drives-as-cosmic-horror, and Weird Alien Sex Stuff. all of this is wrapped up in gorgeous prose and a sense that she knew something about the future you really didn’t want her to be right about. (also the stuff she pulled in terms of writing craft is just unhinged, really admire it)

Blindsight, Peter Watts - okay this...admittedly is another extremely bleak book about biological-drives-as-cosmic-horror and apocalypse through human error. but i promise it’s different. it’s like Weird Human Neuroscience + Unknowable Aliens and also there are vampires for some reason, but they are SCIENCE vampires who have a glitch in their brain when they see right angles (crucifixes). look i...can’t describe blindsight. read it and get depressed with me.

Uprooted, Naomi Novik - ok, for something completely different, this has such a classic “fantasy book i loved in middle school” vibe but it’s good. there’s a young woman in a small village who gets dragged into magic beyond her understanding but SURPRISE! turns out she is also magic and you can’t stop her from doing whatever the fuck she wants. consists of Prissy Love Interest constantly saying “no, what you are proposing is physically impossible” and her just doing it and him becoming increasingly distressed because that’s not how any of this should work, jesus. just a very cozy power fantasy with some fun magic system stuff imo

A Night in the Lonesome October, Roger Zelazny. i bounced hard off his chronicles of amber when i was younger but this book is...how do i describe this book. this book is cozy and creepy halloween fun. in the background, various stock characters (frankenstein, dracula, a witch, the wolfman, etc) are playing a polite but intricate game of shifting alliances and power that will allow them to either shepherd lovecraftian gods into this world or keep them out. BUT the book is told entirely from the POV of their animal familiars, who are doing their own wheeling and dealing with each other. it’s a quick read and a surprisingly nice one, with characters acknowledging that they might end up killing each other but it’s nothing personal and everyone admires each other lol. 

...oh fuck that’s right i read The Dispossessed this year. um...ok. this was a REALLY good book but it’s ursula le guin so that is obvious and i should’ve read it way sooner. it blows most other things out of the water. read the dispossessed for a really thoughtful exploration of society-wide implementation of principled anarchy and how that might work and/or not work. there’s this really bittersweet proposition that the unifying human experience is pain, but in a way that is more comforting than nihilistic. 

Misc:

for short fiction, i LOVED this baroque-styled cosmic fantasy (“The Twenty-Second Lover of House Rousseau”) about a courtesan-bot gaining self-awareness and taking cathartic revenge. what sets this one apart is the voice imo

for fanfic, i liked “Macushla” by Hinn_Raven, an AU where Stephanie Brown gets picked up by the League of Assassins at a young age and is assigned as Damian’s bodyguard

for tv, i found The Peripheral extremely fun character-wise and stylish to look upon, a sort of post-William Gibson William Gibson

ah shit, i think Our Flag Means Death came out in 2022 as well. wow!!

[esperantoauthor]

Mid year book freak out tag:

Thank you to @gorgxoxus for tagging me! I wrote most of this a while ago and then saved it to my drafts. Finally circling back to actually finish it!

Best book you’ve read so far in 2022?

Impossible to choose so I'm going with the book I just finished: True Biz: A Novel by Sara Novic

I just finished this yesterday and I loved it so much!! The book explores Deaf culture from a variety of lenses (adults, teenagers, multi-generation Deaf families, brand new to Deaf culture youngsters, hearing parents of Deaf teenagers trying or failing to be supportive and more). More than any other piece of media, this book helped me understand the intense hatred toward cochlear implants that many Deaf people hold. The book weaves Deaf history and digestible bite-sized ASL lessons into a story about a teenage girl's transformative experience of entering a Deaf school after a failed attempt at mainstreaming. The author herself is Deaf and she interviewed many people within the Deaf community in order to due this story justice and it shows.

Best sequel you’ve read so far in 2022:

Probably The Split Worlds Series by Emma Newman. I got the first book for Chanukah 2021 and then immediately bought the next four books in rapid succession January 2022. Just a fantastic fantasy series with great feminist and political themes, morally gray characters, and unique worldbuilding. Each book took me deeper into the world and each book made me realize that previous attempts to solve societal problems had been too surface-level and change could only come from more systemic changes (and this happened in each successive book in a very satisfying way until things were finally solved with some very dramatic uprooting of long ingrained systems).

New release you haven’t read yet, but want to:

None? IDK someone tell me what to read.

Most anticipated release for the second half of the year:

Husband Material by Alexis Hall, which comes out August 2, 2022. I absolutely loved the first one and I can't wait for the sequel. I will probably buy this one since I'll be too impatient to wait to check it out through the library.

Biggest disappointment:

Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee. I started reading this but ended up abandoning it because it was so focused on characters getting harassed online and I found that too stressful to read about.

Biggest surprise:

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. I didn't know a lot about this book other than it came across my radar enough times that I got curious enough to finally read it. This novella about rival time travelling spies writing one another intricately encoded love notes was utterly captivating. Makes me want to co-write an epistolary (@blurglesmurfklaine 👀).

Favourite new author (debut or new to you):

Shaun David Hutchinson. I read one of his books last year but this year I have already two and they were both excellent! I've had the urge to read queer sci-fi lately and his books have definitely scratched that itch!

This year I read: At the Edge of the Universe and This is a Complicated Love Story Set in Space. Both highly recommended!

Newest fictional crush:

No one. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Newest favourite character:

Again, it's so hard to choose! I really enjoyed the main character in Man o' War by Cory McCarthy. They made some terrible and self-destructive decisions, but always for very understandable reasons. I loved seeing their growth over the course of the story.

Book that made you cry:

438 Days by Jonathan Franklin. This true survival story was riveting but the part that made me cry was in the endnotes. The author asked the subject of the book why he wanted to tell his story, even though it was so difficult to relate his harrowing experiences. He said something beautiful about how life is worth living and if his story could inspire even one person to hang in there and keep living life, then it was worth it. Having watched his boating partner struggle with suicidal thoughts and ultimately lose his will to live as well as struggling with them himself later made this very poignant.

Book that made you happy:

The Backstagers Volume 1 & 2. These graphic novels were full of imagination and adventure as the characters explore the fantastical world below the stage at their high school theater. Characters are diverse in a very casual way that I greatly enjoyed. A character got too warm up in the lighting booth and was hanging out in only his binder and shorts. A character was shown wearing hearing aids (or maybe a CI, I forget). Characters are boyfriends. None of this is made a big deal of and it brought me joy.

The most beautiful book cover you’ve bought this year:

Haven't bought any books this year! 100% library check-outs so far. But the most beautiful cover has got to be for Tarnished are the Stars! I just love the color scheme and it matches the clockwork-punk aesthetic of the story perfectly.

What books do you need to read by the end of the year?

I'd love to read The Broken Earth trilogy by EK Jemison. My cousin bought me a copy that has all three books in one (it's enormous!) and now that I'm reading ferociously again I should really get into it! The only problem is that my reading habits revolve around e-books right now.

Besides that, my library holds right now include: -I Kissed Shara Wheeler by Casey McQuiston -Radio Silence by Alice Osman -Solitaire by Alice Osman -The Data Detective by Tim Harford -The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune -The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid (as of a few minutes ago, after reading your post Jas)

Tagging: @mytrashunicorn, @kurthummeldeservesbetter, @itstruthtime, @20xbetterthanu, @blangsty-days, @hkvoyage, @heartsmadeofbooks

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Books I’ve Read in 2020

AHello! I’m trying to read as many books as I can during the quarantine, here’s what I’ve finished so far:

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (literary fiction): a son writes a letter about his life to his illiterate mother. Breathtakingly beautiful with it’s way with words this book is lovely and real in the hardest and sweetest ways. The author’s combination of prose and poetry is dazzling and intricate, this book has stuck with me for days afterward. 4.5 out of 5 stars.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (fantasy): a money-lender gets in trouble after bragging she can turn silver into gold and is kidnapped and ordered to do so by a fey creature. It may be that I am the perfect audience for this type of book, but it’s my favorite thing I’ve read all year. It’s a book that equally takes on the fantastical and real-world with compelling female characters at the center of the whole thing. A wonderful fantasy journey inspired by eastern-European Jewish folklore. 5 out of 5 stars.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll (horror graphic novel): a series of short horror comics. Absolutely bone-chilling! This was a really fun type of scary story, especially the last one which made my skin absolutely crawl. Deliciously eerie, this was treat to read if not a little too short. 4 out of 5 stars.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender (magical realism): a young girl can taste other people’s emotions in their cooking and begins to understand her family in new ways. This was a weird book, but it has everything you’ve got to love about that combination of the surreal and mundane. It’s sense of character was electrifying and I had fun engaging with this type of off-kilter real world. I was a little frustrated in parts bc of some characters choices, but that too was true to life. 4 out of 5 stars.

Crier’s War by Nina Varela (steampunk fantasy wlw): about a Made automaton heir to a throne and her human hand-maiden that is trying to kill her. This was an easy read with a lot of tension between the two main characters that I liked, but the writing itself was very weak. There was waaay too much exposition in parts and the dialogue had some really hockey lines. I enjoyed the twists and turns in the middle of the book, but the beginning and end didn’t have much movement. 2.5 stars out of 5.

The Huntress by Kate Quinn (historical fiction): honestly, I’m a little disappointed. This book just did not hit my sweet spots, it wasn’t fast-paced enough for me to get immersed in the plot, and the characters weren’t real enough to be wholly invested in them. That said I adored Nina Markova and the Night Witches, so that did help. 3 starts out of 5.

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Kiersten White (horror sci-fi retelling): HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND. A retelling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the perspective of Victor Frankenstein’s wife and my God! The characters! The plot was well-enough, but the characters took the whole show for being complex and compelling. The main character was breathtakingly layered and I was wholly invested in Elizabeth and her story and the triumph at the end of this story was tangible. 4 out of 5 stars! 

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (fantasy): A story of a young woman who lives in a valley where a girl must go live with a wizard for 10 years. She is certain she won’t be chosen, but ends up having to be “uprooted” herself. I enjoyed most of this book! However, I think I liked “Spinning Silver” a lot more just because the ending of this one somehow lost me. The characters were good and plot compelling, but (SPOILERS) the big battle at the end seemed to drag and didn’t interest me somehow. 3.8 out of 5 stars.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (fantasy): excellent read! A story of a young woman in Jazz Age Mexico who goes on an adventure with a Mayan death God who is trying to regain his throne. A romp across the country absolutely brimming with likable characters and fairy tale twists. My only complaint would be that most of it felt a little predictable due to the fact we knew where we were going throughout the whole story, However, it was still greatly enjoyable for the heroine herself, Casiopea. 4 out of 5 stars!

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (literary): a story of two families in a progressive “planned” community, how their lives intertwine, their secrets, and a central question surrounding motherhood. Deeply empathetic to its characters and introspective, this is an every-day story of people in suburbia that reads like a thriller. I could barely put it down and felt deeply for its characters and situations, 5 out of 5 stars!

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (YA sci-fi suspense): a story of a group of girls at a boarding school on an island affected by the “tox” which alters their bodies in strange ways like giving them scales or an extra spine. This was an eerie, interesting read with a wlw romance! Watch out for the body horror in this one, but it was very gripping and held my interest. Some of the pacing was off in places (like the romance), but had a very creepy atmosphere that did it for me. 3.8 out of 5 stars!

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio (thriller-mystery): A thriller about a group of Shakespeare actors in their last year of college and one of their classmates who turns up dead. I enjoyed the murder mystery part of this novel more than I expected despite the fact I had guessed who had “done it” pretty early on. I really enjoyed the James-Oliver dynamic with its growing homoeroticism, but I didn’t like how the character of Meredith was handled at all. She felt like a one-note aside. I might have given this book four stars, but the ending was EXTREMELY frustrating for me and I did not like the “open-ended” conclusion. 3 out of 5 stars.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): a weird character-driven comedy about an old grumpy man and a new family that moves in next to him. Warning for themes of suicide. Anyway, I don’t normally indulge in cliches like “I laughed, I cried, I loved one Cat Annoyance.” However, that’s exactly what I did. I laughed out loud, I cried my eyes out (THE CAT’S HEAD WAS IN HIS PALM), I loved this book. It was sweet and compelling and thoroughly immersive. 5 out of 5 stars!

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow (historical fantasy): set in the early 1900s comes a story of a young girl and her experience with “Doors” that lead to different worlds. This book had a lot of great character development and really interesting descriptions, however, I didn’t like it as much as I wanted to. I found it hard to get myself to sit down a read it. There was just something missing with the push to “page-turn,” but it was still a really good book. 3.7 out of 5 stars!

Gideon the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (high fantasy, kinda gay): I AM FILLED WITH EMOTIONS. This was book was definitely a page-turner. I was very confused with it at the beginning, but the characters and their interactions were, forgive the expression, the life blood of the story and kept me wholly invested. The ending has CRUSHED my heart, but damn did I have a good time reading it. 4.5 out of 5 stars!

Harrow the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (sequel to Gideon the 9th): I really enjoyed this book. It was just as strange and twisting as the first book, though I think I enjoyed the first one a bit more since I love Gideon. It was fun ride overall, though the ending was kind of really confusing. So 4 out of 5 stars.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (historical fiction): Overall, I really enjoyed this book! The writing style was personable and grounded in reality. I found myself really liking the main characters and the exploration of the life of a bi main character was really well done I thought. A solid book with drama and glamor to boot. 4.6 out of 5 stars!

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah (historical fiction): A story of two sisters during WWII and their resistance to Nazi occupation. To be honest, this book wasn’t my cup of tea. It was compelling, but also wholly depressing and I felt like gloried in the pain of the two main characters too much. The history was wonderful and realistic, but it didn’t make me feel anything good afterward. It was just dark. 3 out of 5 stars.

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (mlm romance): I finally finished this after the heaviness of The Nightingale. This is a story of the First Son of the USA falling for the prince of England. And it turned out to be a very fun and light hearted read! Some of it was kinda generic and too political, and it coulda been shorter, but I thought the romance itself made up for it. It just made me feel so sweet and lovely inside. 4 out of 5 stars!

Anxious People by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): I’m searching out heartfelt books and this one ticked off all the marks on my “sweet” list. A lovely book that made me cry more times than I would like to admit. Compassionate beyond belief, funny and heartfelt. I think I enjoyed A Man Called Ove slightly more, but this book was also dear to me and something I hope to reread in the future. 4.2 out of 5 stars!

Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (sci-fi): A post-apocalyptical story about a group of traveling Shakespeare actors and a symphony. Overall, an excellent read that somehow pictures a more realistic or even softer version of the apocalypse. At first, I wasn't happy with the jumping around of the story, but as I progressed I grew fonder and fonder of the interwoven characters and their journey. A very fascinating read about a world that hits a little too close to home. The appreciation of the arts and preserving humanity was somehow very hopeful and I was fully engaged with this story. 5 out of 5 Stars!

Up next: The Hidden Life of Trees by by Peter Wohlleben (nonfiction science), The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin (urban fantasy), The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (fantasy)

[i-am-not-a-who-i-am-a-what]

there was a moment from yesterday’s episode that set off so many alarm bells in my head and i haven’t seen anyone talking about it yet so i’m going to get my thoughts out there. i’m putting the majority of this post under a readmore bc it got very long thanks to all the transcript quotes i pulled but i really want to know what everyone else thinks about the Implications™

BASIRA

Okay. So… what do we know about Hill Top Road?

ARCHIVIST

Not much.

BASIRA

Another blind spot?

ARCHIVIST

No, it’s – I could look at it, but it… it was… it was like a… a hole. You know that feeling you get when you look down from a, a great height, like you’re being pulled into the abyss?

BASIRA

Kind of?

ARCHIVIST

[Getting lost in thought] Well it was… was like that. Normally I can see it, see the… webs, and feel the power of The Spider emanating from it, but… as I would look… it’s like my mind…. follows the paths of The Web,

[STATIC RISES]

the strands going down and… out… [Catching self] It’s quite disorientating.

[STATIC FADES]

my first thought after hearing this exchange was “huh, that sounds eerily similar to the description of the table the not-them was trapped in.” here it is from mag 3 - across the street:

I’d become enraptured by the table on which he’d placed my tea. It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole.

my first instinct was that this was some foreshadowing for jon meeting some kind of horrible fate, because well... remember what happened the last time someone got mesmerized by the table?

SASHA

Oh, hey. I’ve found… I’ve found that table you were talking about. Don’t really see what all the fuss is about. Just a… basic… optical illusion. Nothing special… just… just a… wait…

[Hushed and panicked] Jon! Jon, I think there’s someone here. Hello? I see you. Show yourself!

but then i started thinking more about why the table specifically would be referenced, and i remembered the earliest we see it used as artifact of the web, and where: with raymond fielding in hill top road in mag 59 - recluse:

On Sunday evenings, however, we’d all gather for the evening meal, and before we sat down to eat, he would remove the bright white tablecloth that covered it, and we’d gather around the dark wood. I remember it was carved in all sorts of strange swirling designs and patterns. It felt like if you picked a line, any line, you could follow it through to the center, to some deep truth, if only your eye could keep track of the strands that had caught it.

it was while i was checking the transcripts to find the above quote that i also remembered the hole in center of the table that the web pattern leads towards wasn’t always empty - it used to contain a box, and that box contained an apple.

again from again from mag 59:

The center of the table looked, at first, like it was simply part of the wooden top, but if you looked closely, as I did so often, you could see an outline marking the very middle as a small, square box, carved with patterns just like the ones that laced their way over the rest of the table. I don’t remember how long we sat around the table those evenings, nor do I have any memory of what we might have eaten.

...

I reached over and pulled the wooden square from the center of the table. On its own, it appeared to be a small wooden box, and the lid opened smoothly, as my hands moved in a practiced motion. Inside was an apple, green and fresh and still wet with morning dew.

I knew I was going to eat it. I could feel tears desperately trying to push themselves out of my eyes, but I instead decided not to cry. I placed the box down on the table, reached over, and picked up the apple.

the box from the center of the table makes its first appearance in the very first hill top road statement, mag 8 - burned out, where we learn that apparently the apple was full of spiders. 

considering the web’s predilection for filling it’s victim’s bodies with spiders (carlos vittery, annabell cane, the spider husks trevor encountered, the victim of the chelicerae website, the old woman in annabell’s statement, francis, etc.) i think this goes a ways to explain what happened to raymond’s other victims, and what would have happened to mag 59′s statement giver if he’d bitten into the apple:

They lay still now, wrapped in their sticky cocoons. Their bodies seemed warped and bloated in a way I didn’t recognize. But that’s only because at that point in my life, I had never before seen a spider egg sac.

more importantly though, we also learn that the box was buried under the burnt up tree in hill top road’s garden, the one whose uprooting was implied to be linked to agnes’s death: 

STATEMENT

At that moment I made my decision. It was easy, like destroying this tree was the only thing to do, the only path to follow ... When the tree lay on its side, uprooted and powerless, I gazed into the hole where it had sat and noticed something lying there in the dirt.

Climbing down, I retrieved what turned out to be a small wooden box, about six inches square, with an intricate pattern carved along the outside. Engraved lines covered it, warping and weaving together, making it hard to look away.

...

ARCHIVIST

Except… We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

and keep in mind that the only reason the statement giver in mag 59 didn’t eat the apple, didn’t succumb to the web... was agnes’s kiss:

As the man in the suit told me to follow him in a clipped BBC accent, Agnes walked over, and gestured for me to lean down and listen to her. I did so, but instead of a conspiratorial whisper, she just gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off down the hall.

...

All at once, my cheek erupted in pain. It was like someone had pressed a hot branding iron into my face, and I could swear that I heard the flesh sizzle as I let out a scream and fell to my knees. I raised my hands to my face and realized in that moment two very important things. The first is that my face seemed to be untouched; I could feel no injury or burn. The second was that raising my hand had been a truly voluntary act. I had willed it myself, and whatever power had been gripping me, tugging me into its web, I was free of it.

at this point you’re probably wondering why i think all this is relevant in terms of what might happen with hill top road, and i have two potential ideas: 

my first idea has to do with the theory that agnes is lingering on as a ghost. this theory isn’t mine, i first encountered it shortly after mag 167 - curiosity aired through this post’s attempt to fix what bits of the timeline were thrown out of wack by the new info. if anyone has any other posts or general thoughts about this theory feel free to share them, i’d love to read them!

this theory is relevant to my speculation that agnes might finally make an appearance because she might have been the ghost seen by one of the statement givers in mag 100 - i guess you had to be there:

MARTIN

Right. Right.

[THROAT CLEARING]

Statement of Lynne Hammond, er, recorded 2nd of May 2017, regarding…

Uh, what, what’s this one about?

LYNNE

I saw a ghost.

MARTIN

O-kay.. Regarding a… a ghost. Statement begins.

who appeared as one of the cultists in mag 190 - scavengers: 

MARTIN

[Puzzled] Celia?

CELIA

Probably. The, um… place I was trapped in, they took my name. I never got it back. But I like Celia, so… yeah! Celia it is.

MARTIN

Uh… H-Hello… Celia.

and was recognized and directly confirmed to be the same person by martin in mag 191 - what we lose:

MARTIN

…

Hey, I meant to ask. Do you recognise that woman, Celia?

ARCHIVIST

Um… no, I, I don’t think so. Why?

MARTIN

I’d swear she gave a statement once.

having her only pop up in mag 190 would have just been a fun easter egg, but having martin directly call out her presence the next episode sounds to me like jonny telling the audience to pay attention, to remember that her statement had to do with the ghost of a young woman on fire who might have been agnes. 

my second idea involves web lighter.

over various statements throughout the previous four seasons we’ve been shown that the web and the desolation have been at war, and hill top road has been their battlefield. the best examples of this come from mag 139 - chosen and mag 149 - infectious doubts respectively. 

on the one hand we have agnes being planted in hill top road by the cult of the lightless flame in an effort to both control her powers and derail the web’s plans, which seems to begin the conflict:

The compromise we came to was Hill Top Road. We knew it was a stronghold of the Web, full of other children Agnes’ age. We would supervise from a distance, but were confident she would be in no danger. The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.

and on the other we have the web binding gertrude to agnes, thus thwarting the desolation’s ritual, which also involved hill top road:

ARTHUR

Alright. Agnes. How’d you do it? Never did understand it, not really.

GERTRUDE

Ah. That’s a fair enough question. It was the Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident, but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations

... 

So, I began researching what I thought was a counter-ritual of sorts. Like I said, I was young, naive. I somehow found just the right books, made just the right connections, and even got what I thought was a piece of blind good luck when I found a tin box in the ashes of Hill Top Road, containing some perfectly preserved cuttings of her hair.

wouldn’t it seem symbolic, fitting with the dream logic we’ve been working with all season (and that the fears have always tended to work with), if what ended the metaphysical war was an artifact touched by both the web and the desolation? 

say perhaps... a device that creates fire while being marked by a symbol of the spider? one that just so happened to be delivered to the institute at the same time as a certain table?

TIM

Er, what is it?

ARCHIVIST

A lighter. An old Zippo.

TIM

You smoke?

ARCHIVIST

No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive!

TIM

Okay. Is there anything unusual about it?

ARCHIVIST

Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front. Doesn’t mean anything to me. You?

TIM

Ah no. No.

ARCHIVIST

Well… show it to the others, see what they think. You said there was something else as well?

TIM

Oh, ah yes, yeah, it was sent straight to the Artefact Storage, a table of some sort. Ah, looks old. Quite pretty, though. Fascinating design on it.

all signs point to the best hope of escaping whatever plans the web has for jon lying with the desolation, or at least with fire, and who should be waiting in hill top road than someone who’s been known to burn statements in the past... and someone who, as of mag 162 - a cozy cabin, was the last person to mention the lighter: 

MARTIN

So, should we destroy it? Before we go?

[THE CABIN CREAKS VERY LOUDLY.]

ARCHIVIST

I honestly don’t know if we can.

[HE SIGHS.]

MARTIN

Mm.

ARCHIVIST

Besides, there’s – far worse out there. Better to try and avoid it, I think.

MARTIN

We’re not even gonna try? Look, we’ve got your lighter; maybe if we just –

i haven’t even begun to touch on the multiple instances of spiral marked individuals interacting with hill top road, or the potential role of the rift leading from the world without the institute to the reality with the institute from mag 114 - cracked foundations, or the foreshadowing we’ve gotten throughout this season that the archive might be destroyed by fire and how it’s looking more and more like that means jon might die, or the significance of the tapes and what power might be behind them...

but it’s nearing five in the morning where i am and i’ve been working on this frankly gargantuan post since about midnight, so i’m going to let more meta-inclined minds take it from here. tell me what you think! where do you agree with me, where do you think i’ve gone astray? hell, tell me if you think i’m just spinning my wheels, this is the first real theory post i’ve ever made so i might be completely off base, at least i tried lol.

tl;dr: 

the call back to the imagery surrounding the web table and its long history with hill top road and the desolation is leading me to believe that whatever plans the web has in hill top road for jon, fire is going to have a significant role in whether or not the web gets what it wants; either agnes herself might finally make an appearance or the web lighter might finally come into play.

[myradness]

Narcos Fic: i will follow you into the dark [chapter 5]

Pairing: Steve Murphy/Javier Peña

Rating: M

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: canon-typical violence, fluff and angst, slow burn

Chapter Summary: Tensions come to a head as Steve and Javier race against the clock to get to Escobar before extradition goes to vote. Steve struggles to stay afloat managing his marriage and work. 

link for full fic: 

Javi was back in Bogotá within the next few days, and nearly immediately they were sent off to Medellín to assist Carrillo in interviewing the girlfriend of the man who had been identified as the one who, seemingly unwittingly, had carried the bomb onto the doomed Avianca plane. They were making the grueling trek between the two cities more and more frequently these days, and Steve wondered when the higher-ups back in Washington might take a look through budget reports, see the massive inefficiency, and make their field office in Bogotá a field office in Medellín. He wasn’t holding his breath.

Since his return, Javi still hadn’t brought up the night they spent together waiting for Navegante. Steve wasn’t sure if that was out of embarrassment or if his partner was simply fine to let things lie, but he decided to follow Javi’s lead on this one. Although, he wasn’t quite sure if he was relieved or irritated when the subject was never broached. Like an itch needing to be scratched but is just barely out of reach— it’ll go away eventually, but it’s anguish up until that point.

Steve leaned up against the entrance of the home where the presumed bomber’s girlfriend had been staying with her young daughter and mother ever since the man had gone “missing”. The low ceilings of the houses in the comunas, built small to meet the needs of a dense and growing population, were much too cramped for his lanky frame to fit comfortably inside of. Instead, he took on a more observational role, listening in as Javi and Carrillo spoke in soft tones with the girl— a girl, really, she looked so young and so scared sitting there swallowed up by the chair she was sitting on— and picking up about every fifth word or so. “Sicarios de Pablo...podemos protegerte.” In the corner of the room, a small altar hung on the wall, complete with lit candles, rosary beads, pictures of family and small prayer cards. Above it, hung a painting of Pablo likened as a Saint. The irony of the image might’ve been funny if it weren’t so goddamn infuriating to see the grip Escobar still held over so many of the people here. To know that they were so forgotten by the rest of society that the man’s fleeting acts of monetary goodwill could overshadow his evil— even in the eyes of this family whose lives had been completely uprooted, destroyed, by Escobar. A week ago, this girl said goodbye to her boyfriend, the father of her child, forever, and today she sat, hunted down by sicarios, and still that painting hung on the wall with reverence. Despite it all, she held her tongue with Javi and Carrillo.

Steve huffed out a deep breath and watched as Javi turned on his heel and walked frustratedly out of the home back onto the street where the Jeep was parked. He followed along and came to a stop in front of his partner, waiting while he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, fished one out and lit it, taking a long drag. Steve could feel his own irritation thrumming just below the surface of his skin, and he shifted back and forth on his feet to try and dissipate it as Javi stood there leaning on his hip, quietly composing himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the difference in experience, or maybe it was just Javi, but Steve was constantly in awe of his ability to keep calm in the moment and remain unaffected by the shit they dealt with. He wondered when, if ever, his own blood might stop being so quick to boil.

“She’s lying,” Javi finally breathed out between inhales of smoke.

Steve stopped his pacing, stepping in near his partner. “He’s got this poor sucker to carry a bomb without him even knowing it.”

Javi shifted, looking around at their surroundings— the tightly-packed houses and steep hillside behind them. “Well, maybe he knew,” he offered casually, as if it mattered at this point.

“I don’t care if he knew or not,” Steve spat, breathing out forcefully through his nostrils. “It’s time we put a bullet in Escobar.”

Javi’s face shifted, eyes widening and eyebrows lifting in surprise and gentle amusement. “I like the intensity, Murphy,” he chuckled. “Very Hollywood.”

Steve sighed, letting out the tension that had been building up, and smiled despite himself. “You’re an ass, you know that?” He looked up at Javi, who flashed him a wink before stamping out the butt of his cigarette and walking past him toward the car. They would reconvene with Carrillo at the Carlos Holguín School later that afternoon.

“I agree though,” he called out over his shoulder as Steve turned to follow. “I’m getting real sick of this cat-and-mouse shit.”

 *    *    *

For all of their plans though, things were still slow-moving. After the Avianca bombing, the public rallied around Gaviria and he took the presidency by a landslide. He was understandably keen to respond swiftly to the public outcry over the increase in violence and so one of the first things he did after taking office was to call a meeting with all of the top American officials that were stationed in Bogotá— Javier and Steve included.

Javier sat alongside Murphy, once again both squeezed into their formal suits— ill-fitting in the way they stood as such a stark difference to their normal attire— and listened, powerless, as the President put a stop to nearly all of the work they were doing. He didn’t want American help, especially American funding, in his fight against the narcotraficantes. From that point, he and Steve’s involvement was to be observational and advisory only.

The thing was, Javier understood the President’s wariness. Growing up in Texas, of all places, to Mexican parents, made it hard as hell to not have at least some level of awareness of the dangers of US involvement. But he also knew that the CNP and Carrillo’s Search Bloc didn’t stand a chance against Escobar without their help. The money just wasn’t there.

There had always been a give-and-take of information between himself and Carrillo, even back when Pablo was just a name in a warning that fell on deaf ears. Leaving the man high and dry— even if ordered to— would just feel like betrayal after having worked so closely for so long. He and Steve would find a way to still help out, even if that way had to be much less conspicuous.

And so they did.

Javier couldn’t stand the Mil group and CIA guys, but he was more than willing to bury the hatchet if that meant access to their surveillance assets. Using aerial photographs and intel provided by the Search Bloc, he and Steve were able to work out that sicarios could be easily identified by the cars they drove— all of them expensive foreign imports that the rest of the people in the comunas they were driving through could never dream of affording. While the other American agencies were doing their fly-overs, which somehow escaped Gaviria’s cuts, if they spotted any of these cars they could contact the DEA agents, who would pass the information onto Carrillo, who seemed incredibly thankful to have it. Ever since the successful elimination of Gacha, there had been increased demand on the man to carry out more and more raids. But, their finite resources put up against Escobar’s billions of dollars and intricate web of informants would always be a losing battle. Not to mention that, in response to the increase of government raids and the President’s anti-narco stance, Pablo had begun a streak of public bombings and targeted kidnappings of the adult children of both wealthy and politically important individuals.

It was starting to seem like just a matter of time before Gaviria was forced to bend to some, if not all, of Escobar’s demands. Namely, the abolition of extradition, a reduction of the long list of crimes he had been charged with, and lastly— and probably the most infuriating— the ability to build himself his own jail. The absurdity of it all would be laughable if it wasn’t so angering, if it wasn’t the reality they were facing, if it weren't obvious that Escobar saw this as his gift to the country. That he was somehow acting nobly by putting forth these conditions. It was fucking reprehensible.

Since they knew the clock was ticking, Javier and Steve, along with Carrillo, were working double time to follow up with every tip they got, spending the majority of their days driving through the comunas in Medellín so they could quickly respond whenever a call from the CIA intercepts came through. It was a long shot, but if they could nail one of the cartel’s high-level sicarios then maybe they could catch Escobar before it was too late to do anything.

This was how Javier found himself once again sprawled out in the passenger seat of their Jeep, chain-smoking as Steve drove them around the city while waiting for a call from their eyes in the sky. When he first moved to Colombia, driving through the comunas had evoked almost a sense of claustrophobia the streets were so dense with people and cars. But now, as he looked out the rolled-down window while they meandered their way down main roads and through back alleys, these streets felt cosy. Familiar. It was good to see the mundane— the small moments of happiness carved out of everyday life. It was good to see the people grasping tight onto normalcy despite the war being waged around them.

Javier leaned his weight against the metal frame of the door, taking in Steve as he maneuvered his way through the narrow streets. The man appeared tense today, small lines creasing from the corners of his eyes where they were hidden behind his dark sunglasses, his shoulders tight. They were both stressed, wary from the increasing intensity of it all— Escobar’s attacks, their near-daily raids— it was like a wave that never crested. Swelling. He could feel their desperation starting to fray nerves.

They had already been out driving for several hours with nothing but radio silence, so Javier decided to play nice and motioned for Steve to pull the SUV to the side of the road near where a small grouping of food stalls had set up shop for the day, spilling out of a larger market.

As the car slowly rolled to a stop, Steve glanced over, eyebrow raised and annoyed by the change in pace. “Why are we stopping,” he grumbled.

Javier pulled on the door handle, sliding out of the seat and onto the street. He turned back, leaning in through the open window, and felt the hot metal sting against his forearm. “Gotta piss,” he announced, pushing off of the side of the SUV and walking off, not waiting to see the likely answering roll of eyes from his partner.

He meandered through the stalls, quietly reveling in the swell of life around him— the smell of several different foods competing for dominance, the distant sound of children laughing as they ran through the chaos, the low rumble of weathered voices of the old men sat sipping tintos on fold-out plastic chairs— before settling on a stall where a woman was selling almojábanas . Javier knew that there wasn't a simple fix for the worries furrowing Steve’s brow, but he also knew big American boys, and just how far food could go in soothing the soul. Cheese bread should do the trick.

Leaning over the short counter, Javier motioned for two of the small bags of bread, and laid the pesos near the till. As the woman prepared his order, he glanced around the small enclosure, eyes landing on a young child seated in a low high chair in the corner. The child squealed under his attention, legs kicking and hands grabbing in his direction. He smiled, cooing. “Hola, niñita.”

The woman turned back, holding out the food with a smile, and Javier reached back into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and added a small stack of money to the pile. “Para su ayudante,” he said with a wink in response to her questioning look, nodding his head toward the still-babbling child.

He turned on his heel, throwing one last wave of his fingers over his shoulder toward the girl, and began maneuvering his way back to the Jeep. Steve had his arm up on the windowsill, other hand tapping on the wheel, and he sat up, restarting the car when he noticed Javier approaching. “What took you so damn long? Gettin’ pretty for me, Javi?”

Javi opened up the door, slid into the passenger seat and threw one of the bags of almojábanas into Steve’s lap. “Here. Eat. You’re an ass when you’re hungry, man.”

Steve fixed Javier with an unimpressed look, but opened the bag and began quietly chewing on one of the small round breads. Javier followed suit, relishing the warmth and the smooth taste of cuajada on his tongue, keeping an eye on his partner all the while.

“Y’know, Connie has said the same thing,” Steve mumbled between bites.

“Your wife is a smart woman.” Javier paused, noting that Steve’s eyes had already begun to brighten. He chuckled to himself. Predictable. “How is she? Settled in finally?”

Steve sighed, abandoning his final, half-eaten pastry. “She’s been on edge ever since Poison left us that warning. She’s strong, but I think she worries about me a lot.” He shifted, turning his head to look in the rear view mirror. Always on guard. “I have a hard time separating work from life, too, which doesn’t help,” he murmured. He looked at Javier. “We’re just so close to catching him. And if Gaviria gives in before we do ...it’s difficult to not bring my frustrations home.”

Javier stayed silent, unsure of what to say. He also felt a rising sense of urgency. But at the end of the day he could meet his aggravation with a bottle of whiskey and hours of silence.

“How’d she like the dancing I taught you?”

He watched the tips of his partner’s ears blush pink. “Didn’t quite nail the ambiance, but she had fun at least.”

“You just need more practice then.”

Steve rolled his eyes, barking out a laugh, and moved to shift the gear into reverse. He placed his hand on the seat near the spot where Javier’s head was resting, and turned around to look out of the rear window as he backed up. “Yeah, well,” his voice faded off as he pulled the Jeep back onto the street. “Somehow I don’t think that would do much good.”

Javier didn’t bother responding, opting instead to look out the window. Christ knew he was far from the authority on wives.

From where it was sitting upright in one of the cupholders in the console between them, the radio began to crackle to life. Javier leaned to pick it up, holding the receiver loosely against his chin. “Hammer. Go ahead.”

The tinny voice of the field station lead rang out. “Hammer, we have calls originating in Manrique , from known sicario satellite phones.”

Javier sat forward and pressed down the transmit button. “Do you have a location?”

There was a beat while the man on the other end listened to the conversation they were picking up. A conversation that was happening at that moment, somewhere in the city, between the few men who could lead them to Escobar. Who could make this whole illegal operation worthwhile. “Campo Valdés. That's in the central-eastern area, bordered by the Comuna Popular.”

Campo Valdés. They were close. Javier felt the adrenaline rising in his chest. “Roger that,” he confirmed, the danger of what they were about to undertake only distantly present in his mind. He turned back toward Steve and locked eyes with his partner. “Campo Valdés.”

Steve nodded and turned off on the next side road, picking up speed.

Here went nothing.  

*    *    *

Steve pulled up to the small neighborhood and almost instantly spotted a known sicario car parked alongside the road near an entrance to a group of houses. He brought the Jeep to a stop a few yards up the road and engaged the emergency brake, letting out the deep breath he had been holding in.

The drive to this location had been just long enough that the initial rush of adrenaline from the positive-ID radio call had worn off and a clarity had set in. This was stupid bordering on suicidal. They had no backup, they had no tac vests. They had no fucking clue how many men they were about to engage. Steve felt immediately out of his depth. An uncertainty rising to meet his desperation to catch Escobar. His mind flashed briefly to Connie, and the shock she might feel at his idiocy. Or, maybe she had come to expect this type of bull-headedness from him by now.

His mind then flashed to Javi. He turned and found that his partner was already meeting his eye from across the console. Javi nodded once, and because the man was somehow all-knowing, added: “Just keep your head on straight, Murphy. Let’s catch these assholes.” Then he shifted to grab at the door handle and slid out onto the cracked blacktop. Steve steeled himself and followed suit.

He took point, and together they made their way toward the entrance of the building, taking small steps, their pistols loaded and ready to return fire. In between the sounds of his own breath, an argument echoed from inside of the house closest to the street. Steve looked back at Javi, who nodded, confirming the sound as their target, and continued inching their way toward the source.

For a brief moment, there was silence, before a cacophony of shots firing and glass shattering rang out as bullets started to spray from inside the house.

The men inside the building began to flee and without thinking, Steve gave chase, rounding the building just in time to see them exit and take off down the winding alleyway. Suddenly, the two split off, and he followed the one that broke to the right, trusting that Javi was right behind and would take care of the other.

They were moving too quickly for Steve to get an ID on the man he was following, but knowing that they were within reach of catching someone who was likely one of Pablo’s top sicarios was enough to keep him running. It was enough to stave off the exhaustion threatening to set in from running in the Colombian heat.

The man ducked into an apartment building, weaving his way through the corridors and staircases, and taking brief cover behind walls to fire pot-shots in Steve’s direction. He returned the fire as best he could, but there was little luck of getting a clean shot at the target until they made it back out into the open.

At that moment, Steve pushed through a flimsy metal door that opened up to an equally flimsy metal rooftop and continued scrambling after the man. He ducked his way under hanging laundry, avoiding patches of aluminum that had corroded, giving way to the unforgiving earth an untold number of stories below.

Finally, blessedly, they reached the uppermost level of the patchwork roofs, his feet touching down on concrete. The stretch was long and flat, and Steve knew that if he could work up enough of a sprint he’d be able to get close enough to incapacitate the man.

Typically a hassle in the low-ceilinged homes of the comunas, Steve gave silent thanks to his long legs as they pumped in double time, quickly bringing him within range of the target. They were rapidly approaching the edge of the building, reaching an end, and Steve fumbled as he sprinted to ready his gun for the shot that would soon open up.

Instead of slowing, however, the sicario seemed to increase pace as he neared the end of the roof, and then suddenly, impossibly, he was jumping.

Steve snorted bullishly, the sweat that had been near-pouring down his face spraying out, half in anger and half at the absurdity of what he had just witnessed. Moving too quickly to slow in time, he resigned himself to his fate and attempted to lengthen his stride the best he could. Then he jumped.

There was an ever-brief moment of weightlessness, the thrill of which Steve knew he could all too easily fall victim to. It was the same sort of rush of blood most people might get from a roller coaster, from a fast car. Which Steve got from the chase.

And then there was concrete. He hit the rough surface of the roof hard, his knees buckling underneath, limbs spilling out, and pistol coming loose from his hold. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the man had already rounded on him, gun drawn. Steve squinted to look up at the face of the man he had been pursuing, blinking against the sun.

Poison.

He reached out his hand, placating, and dragged himself to his knees. There wasn’t a way out of this one that he could see, but he wanted to die standing. He looked Poison in the eye, took in the smirk painted across the man’s face. Taking out a DEA agent. He’d be paid handsomely for this kill.

Steve thought briefly of Connie. She would get his pension, wouldn’t have to worry about money for the rest of her life. He wondered if, beneath her sadness, she might feel relief. Relief that it was finally over— the shoe she’d been expecting to drop finally had.

He thought of Javi again, and even though he hadn’t been to church in years, said a silent prayer that he wasn’t enduring the same fate. He felt sorry that his partner would have to find his body up on this fucking rooftop, would have to file that awful report. That he’d have to do it alone again. He felt a fleeting sense of sympathy for whatever new idiot they sent down here in his place, for the short leash Javi would undoubtedly keep.

He hoped that Javi would miss him terribly.

What a selfish final thought. Connie really did deserve better.

Steve held his breath, meeting Poison’s eye, and waited for the wash of nothing that was sure to come. There was a dull click as the sicario pulled on the trigger, but found the gun empty. Instinctually, Steve reached for his own discarded gun and fired off a shot in the man’s direction, but he had already thrown himself over the low wall on the roof into a pile of debris below. Rushing to look over the side, Steve watched in disbelief as Poison emerged from the scrap and ran out onto the crowded street before pulling a man off of his motorcycle and riding off. Desperate, Steve raised his pistol and took aim, but the street below was too crowded and his gun was too unwieldy to take the shot with any confidence.

“Fuck!” he screamed in frustration, disengaging his weapon and scrubbing a hand down his face. Fuck. He leaned over the half-wall and slammed the heel of his palm against the brick, feeling the defeat wash over him. Suddenly, there was the sound of shuffling boots behind him, and Steve shot up, drawing his gun and aiming toward the sound.

“Murphy,” came a rushed breath.

Javi.

Steve let his body slump, the anticipatory tension of a fight draining from his limbs.

Javi took a step closer, placing one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other just under his jaw, at the point where his pulse beat strongest. Steve could feel the tremble in his fingertips. “Are you alright? I heard you yelling.”

“I’m alright,” he lied. He looked up, taking in his partner’s face— the curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, his furrowed brow, his heaving chest. Javi didn’t need to carry the burden of knowing how close Steve had come to tasting death. “I’m alright. Poison got away”

Javi dropped his hand, stepping back, but still eyed Steve with an unreadable expression. Evidently, he hadn’t passed whatever internal checkup the man was running. “Sureshot also got away, with help. Apparently, Escobar is recruiting children from the comuna now.”

Steve tilted his head, waiting for more, but Javi turned around with an air of finality. “Let’s go see what the hell they were doing here,” he called out over his shoulder.

Looks like they were both keeping secrets. Steve followed him closely back through the maze of apartments and narrow corridors to the home they had found the men in, still feeling dazed by the events that had taken place. He had the urge to reach out and grab onto Javi’s wrist— anything that might help ground himself. He kept his hand at his side.

Somehow they made their way back to the little house— Javi quiet, and Steve thankful that his partner had paid well enough attention to the path they had taken during the chase to remember a way back. Javi pushed the flimsy door open, barely hanging on its hinges, and stepped aside to let him through. Ducking, Steve stepped inside of the doorway and was instantly overwhelmed by the smell of blood in the air. Thick, sharp. Fresh.

Moving through the entryway, the source became clear— the body of a young woman strewn across the ground, a bullet hole in her temple. Next to her, just inside the living room, was a second body. The girlfriend of the Avianca bomber. Steve’s stomach roiled— they had tried to warn her of exactly this. And they had shown up mere seconds too late. He moved into the small room, taking care to maneuver around the sprawl of limbs. His heavy boots made the thin wooden floor groan under his feet, and at the sound of his footsteps came a cooing from the corner. Steve’s head shot up. In a low chair sat the daughter of the bomber and his girlfriend, quietly babbling and smiling up at himself and Javi, completely oblivious to the destruction around her.

Steve wandered over in a daze and sunk to his knees in front of the girl, the hard ground sending shocks up his already aching frame. He looked back at Javi, who had perched himself on the corner of a chair and was scrubbing his palm over his face. Steve turned back to the child, reaching out cautiously to grab her tiny hand in his own. She stared up at him, curious, her brown eyes open wide.

“I can take her home,” he murmured, hating the way his voice wavered. “Yeah. Connie would know what to do. She’s a nurse.”

He heard Javi sigh from behind him. “A baby isn’t a cat, Steve.”

Javi stood, brushing against Steve as he shifted past and bent to pick up the child. He watched as Javi lifted her gingerly to his chest, quietly shushing her cries of protest as he tucked her under his chin. “Tranquilo, nena,” he whispered into the soft tufts of hair on her head. He looked at Steve, gesturing with a small movement of his hand. “Come here.”

Steve stood and stepped in close to Javi. He took in the slight sway of his partner’s hips, the protective swell of his arm around her body. “You’re good with her.”

Javi met his eye over her head, keeping his voice low. “I’ve got lots of little cousins,” he smiled, small and private. “You end up learning quickly. Hold your arms out.”

He stood for a moment, blinking. “What?”

“If I’m letting you take her home to Connie, I’m making sure you can at least hold her. Now hold your arms out.”

Dumbfounded, Steve watched as Javi maneuvered her small body around and held her out, tiny wriggling limbs and all. He grabbed her under the arms, unsure how to proceed.

“There you go, now hold her against your chest,” came Javi’s voice, encouraging. “You don't have to be so careful. She’s a fighter.”

Steve did as told, tucking her in close, and felt her calm near instantly. He could feel the heat of her body through the fabric of his shirt, balmy from sitting in the stagnant heat of the room for so long. He watched as she snuggled against his shoulder and began to blink heavily to fight off sleep; instantly overwhelmed by the trust she showed him. A trust that he had not earned— certainly not after the events of the day. He looked back at Javi, who had stepped in close and was rubbing slow circles into the girl’s back, and the surge of emotions he had been holding back rose up under his partner’s careful gaze. Panic and despair made for a potent cocktail; he choked out a singular sob that surfaced unbidden.

Javi stopped his petting, reaching out reflexively to grip his arm. “Steve?”

“I dropped my gun, Javi.”

Javi’s eyes flitted down to where his holster sat on his belt. “It’s right—”

“On the rooftop. I dropped my gun and Poison had me pinned, Javi,” he forced out, trying to stem the flood. Javi’s fingers dug into his skin, and he was thankful for the pain. “He pulled the trigger. But he was out of bullets.”

Javi didn’t say anything, and Steve didn’t need him to. They both knew he had been lucky, stupidly so— they both knew this time right now was borrowed. Instead, he gathered Steve in his arms as best he could, and Steve let himself be maneuvered to sit on the small couch, tucked in against his partner’s side until slowly, aided by the girl’s steady breathing and Javi’s hands grounding, he finally calmed.

“Y’alright there, Murphy,” Javi asked quietly, the low rumble of his voice soothing against Steve’s skin.

He sat up, mindful of the girl now asleep on his shoulder, and wiped a hand across his face, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction. He was a goddamn DEA agent— he’d watched his last partner die and didn’t have this bad of a reaction for fucks sake. “Yeah. Sorry, I—”

“Don’t. I get it, man.” He reached over and ran his hand through the short hairs on the back of the child’s head, and despite himself, Steve mourned the loss of contact. “I’ll call Carrillo to have his men come take care of all this,” he said, glancing around the room. He looked back at Steve and it was like a balm for the fray. “Let’s get you two home.”

Steve smiled, grateful as he met Javi’s eye. He felt a surge of emotion rise up in his throat, his limbs. It was the same rush he had felt the night with Javi waiting for Navegante. It made him want to move, to act, to do... something. He opted for a breathy, rushed, “thank you.” It didn’t satisfy the urge, but the moment was over all the same.

*    *    *

Tensions finally reached a head mere days later, when one of the hostages that had been taken by Escobar, a popular newscaster who was also the daughter of the former president, was killed by crossfire in a raid ordered by Gaviria and led by the CNP. Javier heard the news on the radio on his drive into work, and when he arrived at the embassy, found that the Ambassador had called an immediate meeting with himself, Steve, and the new Vice Minister of Justice.

He quickly walked to the small DEA office, throwing his wallet and keys onto his desk. Steve was hunched over his own desk, fingers tapping wildly as he thumbed through CIA maps and reports.

“You heard we’ve got a meeting with Sandoval, right?”

Steve scoffed and tossed the papers down. “Yeah, I heard alright.”

Sandoval, the new Vice Minister, had been Gaviria’s head of security prior to his election. He and Steve had apparently butted heads over several aspects of security plans, especially when it came to protecting the candidate against Escobar. Javier remembered listening to his partner bitch about the man— Steve found him arrogant. There is no way this meeting would go well.

“Glad I wore my suit today at least. Come on, they’re probably waiting.”

Steve sighed, heaving himself up, and followed Javier out of the room. “I’m tempted to put my jeans back on,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Javier smirked despite himself. “Be nice.”

They pushed their way through the heavy wooden doors to the Ambassador’s office to find Sandoval and Noonan already chatting quietly on opposite sides of her stately desk.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Sandoval said from his seat.

Javier nodded, trying to get a read on the man. “Buenas.” Steve stalked quietly to the other side of the room to lean against the bookcase.

Not wasting any time, Sandoval launched into his delivery. “Thank you for meeting on short notice. This is to inform you that our government has approved Escobar’s proposal to build a prison where he will serve a minimum of three years. As a part of the agreement, no police will be allowed within two miles of the jail. Search Bloc will be disbanded, and extradition will be put up for a vote in Congress again.”

Javier instantly bristled, feeling a protest rise up in his chest. This had to be a joke— there was no way on earth this would be the end of all the work they had done. In the corner of his eye, Steve had begun pacing, reaching up to pull at his tie. Javier stepped closer to Sandoval, taking a steadying breath. It didn’t help. “If your Congress abolishes extradition we lose our teeth. We’re a paper fucking tiger!”

“Everything we have done is lost,” Steve added, punctuating his words with a pointed finger against the desk.

“We have no choice,” Sandoval interjected, the calm politician exterior quickly fading away as his voice rose. “The people, the public— it’s tired of all these bombs and bloodshed!”

“Right,” Javier said, gripping the side of the desk. “And business goes on as usual, just runs it from that jail.”

“Exactly,” Steve shouted, still pacing.

Sandoval looked exhausted, frustrated. He ran his hand over his face. “Yes,” he conceded.

Ambassador Noonan sat forward, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “All things considered, it’s a victory to put Escobar in jail.”

At that, Steve stopped his pacing, a sneer on his face. “For public relations?” he nearly spat.

“It’s capitulation,” Javier agreed, eyeing Sandoval.

“You want Escobar. Why?” Sandoval stood, his heavy leather chair loudly scraping along the floor as he did. “Why?” He raised his arms, in question, in accusation. “Because you want to parade him in your DEA jackets?”

Javier’s face fell, those words a stab to the gut.

“You think this is a game, right,” Sandoval whispered angrily, his eyes dark as they bored into each of them. Javier fleetingly wondered if he, like Escobar, was not a man of always. If he too had fought for his place in the world. “This is Colombia, and our people want peace. This is not a fucking game!”

Thoroughly chastised, the Americans kept quiet as Sandoval turned and left.

Javier sighed, trying to reign in his frustration to a simmer. Sure, for the Ambassador all of this probably amounted to a matter of appearances. Protecting American interests. But he and Steve saw the true cost of the war. They too wanted peace for the people of Colombia, for the people on the streets of Miami. True relief wouldn’t come from this solution— the terror would just move to the shadows.

They needed to find Escobar before his surrender was scheduled to take place. Before he won.

*    *    *

Connie had invited Javier for dinner that night, and despite the news from earlier in the day that was still rattling around in his head, he kept the date. After all, they were likely just as upset as he was. The company would be nice, even if company from the Murphys brought along with it a certain kind of heartbreak.

Armed with a bottle of wine— pink, sweet and light, something that suited Connie— he climbed the stairs and found his way to their front door. He knocked, but there was no answer despite the audible activity, and so he let himself in. He opened the door to what had obviously been the last dregs of an argument. Steve sat in the corner of the living room, frustration painted on his face, and Connie stood over the stove in the kitchen, face flushed equally from exertion and steam from the pot she was stirring. On her hip was the girl from the comuna , crying loudly. They both looked up at the sound of him entering the apartment, and Javier nodded in greeting, immediately making his way to the kitchen.

Connie turned to face him, frantic. “Javi, I’m so sorry, things aren’t quite ready yet—”

“Don’t be,” he said, reaching for the child and settling her on his hip. “Here, let me take over. What are you making?”

“It’s just pasta,” she sighed apologetically. ”I got held up at work.”

Javier shushed the girl, whose cries had faded into whimpers, rubbing her back as he tucked her head under his chin. “That’s alright. Go, I’ll finish up.” He angled his head toward the living room where Steve was still sitting and took the spatula that was in Connie’s hand.

He watched as she flashed him a look of appreciation and walked off. Slowly rocking his body, he looked down at the child. “Hi, baby girl,” he whispered soothingly. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” He continued trying to calm her, occasionally stirring the food while trying to tune out the low voices echoing from the other room.

A few minutes later, Steve ambled into the kitchen sheepishly. “Hey.”

Javier reached to set the burner to low. “You alright?”

Steve sighed loudly, running his fingers over his lip to smooth his mustache. “Yeah. Escobar’s deal started another argument about going back to Miami.” He stepped close, shifting to take the girl from Javier. “Thanks for getting Olivia to calm down. Connie says she thinks she has colic.”

“Olivia?”

Steve adjusted her in his arms, smiling softly. “We’re adopting her. Connie liked the name.”

Javier leaned back against the counter, floored for the second time that day. Somehow this hit harder. “Jesus, Steve.”

“She’d been wanting to start tryin’ for a kid for a while now, so this worked out,” he explained, that goofy slow smile that’s so sweet, so earnestly Steve spreading across his face. “I’ve got a little family now.”

Javier met Steve’s eye, the happiest look he could manage plastered atop his face. There had been a hope, perhaps a foolish and destructive one, that he might be able to carve out a small something with Steve. Never so foolish to wish for more than this strange and intimate camaraderie they had built, but a life beside him all the same. Dinners with him and Connie, late nights at the embassy, stolen moments on the mountaintops. He had made do in the past with less.

But this was the Murphys, was Steve, looking ahead and planning for a future beyond Escobar, beyond Colombia.

Beyond Javier.

He turned back around, reaching to the cabinet where he knew they kept their bowls. “You’ll have to let me babysit sometime. Don’t want her picking up on your abysmal Spanish.”

There was a smack on his shoulder. “Hey,” Steve laughed, indignant all the same. “It’s getting better!” He shuffled close, tilting Olivia so her big brown eyes could meet Javier’s. “This is Javi, sweetheart,” he said softly to her. “Es tu tío.”

Steve looked up, searching for praise for his display of language. Like a damn dog. Javier couldn’t help the small smile that slipped out in response. “Yeah. Abysmal.”

*    *    *

A number of tense days, weeks— it was hard to say when they all started to blend together— passed following the announcement of Gaviria’s acceptance of Escobar’s demands and before the deal was to take effect. Javier found himself leaned over the expansive military planning desks in the joint CIA/Mil Group offices until the early hours of the morning most nights, listening to the crackle of Carrillo and his men through the radio while they trudged through the jungle hunting the narcotraficantes .

It was a last-ditch effort. Born out of a panicked sense of logic that reasoned that if they used all the resources available to them and caught Escobar before the deal went through, it would all have been worth it. It was foolhardy. They followed any and all tips they received, blatantly used military equipment, and wasted funds. The nights were a blur of whiskey, smoke, and ties thrown over shoulders— the only indication of time passing the scratchy drawl that would slowly overtake Steve’s voice.

It was ultimately fruitless.

The day that Escobar was scheduled to turn himself in, Javier and Steve piled into the Jeep and made the haul to the outskirts of Medellín to the finca the man had been calling home for the past months. A set of coordinates that, had they known a mere days earlier, they might be making this trip en route to a victory. Instead, they rode in near-silence, Steve white-knuckled in the driver’s seat, and Javier chain-smoking out the window from the passenger’s side. They were approaching uncharted territory. Once Pablo was whisked away, the head of the beast would be hidden away, and no matter how many limbs they severed, it would live on.

They pulled up to the edge of the massive compound just as the military helicopter set to escort Escobar to his luxury prison was touching down. Javier wasn’t a praying man, but he gave silent thanks to the Jeep’s four-wheel drive as Steve pulled off the gravel track into the steep grassy embankment to get as close to the fenceline as possible. He slipped out of the seat, and trudged over to where Steve had rushed to stand. From several hundred yards away, he watched dazedly as Sandoval emerged from the chopper, and in parallel, Escobar filed out of his home. They met in the middle, signed the treaty, and just as quickly, they made their way back to the helicopter and took off.

Javier stood still, unbelieving, as the huge hulking machine was soon out of sight. His limbs felt shocky, staticky with the need to move, to do something. Beside him, his partner glanced around wildly, seemingly looking for a fix to this problem. “Shit,” Steve yelled, looking up at the sky. He set to pacing, kicking at the long grasses that threatened to tangle his steps. “Fucker.”

“Come on,” Javier called out over his shoulder, turning back to the vehicle. There was nothing left for them here; jail or not, this was still Escobar’s territory. And they were still DEA agents. “Let’s get the hell home.”

It was dark by the time they got back to their apartment building in Bogotá. Cool and balmy, the air still as it is before the sky opens up. Steve pulled the Jeep along the curb, not bothering to use the underground parking, and threw the gear into park with a heavy hand and an equally heavy sigh. “Connie and Olivia are probably already asleep,” he murmured, glancing at Javier. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“Just guaro,” Javier replied, laughing at the grimace that graced his partner’s face.

“That shit tastes like licorice, how the hell d’you drink it?”

“Quickly.” He peeled himself from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. “Take it or leave it,” he called out, starting up the stairs to the front door. He smiled to himself at the metallic thunk of the driver’s side door closing, and Steve’s audible grumbling as he hurried to follow.  

They ambled down the short flight of stairs to Javier’s apartment, unlocking and pushing through the flimsy wooden door. Javier made his way to the kitchen and fished his wallet and pistol from his jeans to place on the counter alongside his keys. Steve had booked it to the lounge and was methodically pulling one of Javier’s records from its sleeve and setting the pin to play. Javier anticipated the first chords of One of These Nights before he heard them but still rolled his eyes, exhaling a laugh. Predictable.

“The Eagles again, Murphy?”

Steve sat down heavily on the leather couch, kicking his feet up onto the low table like he owned the place. “It’s good music. This one’s got Take it to the Limit on it.”

“Who do you think bought the record,” Javier mumbled to himself with a smile, grabbing the bottle of aguardiente from the cabinet. Antioqueño. Carrillo had given it to him as a Christmas gift the year before as a joke— a reference to the inter-state regulations on aguardiente . Their own small-scale smuggling ring; the irony of opening the bottle for the first time that particular night was not lost on him.

He didn’t bother with shot glasses, breaking the seal on the lid and bringing the mouth of the bottle to his lips. He swallowed roughly. They made this shit strong in Medellín.

Moving to join Steve, Javier handed his partner the bottle over the back of the couch and rounded the corner to take a seat at the other end. He watched as Steve drank deeply, throat working desperately to keep up with the man’s desire for inebriation. He handed the guaro back with a cough, several inches of liquor missing from the container.

“Jesus, Steve.”

“I'm callin’ in sick tomorrow,” Steve choked out, his accent already starting to thicken.

“And stick me with all the paperwork there is to send back to Washington because of this prison stunt? I don’t think so, Murphy.”

“We’ll both play hooky then,” he said with a wink.

They sat there for a while, trading the bottle back and forth, Javier taking sips in between Steve’s gulps, and listening to the music filtering warmly through the small stack of speakers.

Finally, Steve broke the quiet. “What the hell are we going to do now, Javi?”

Javier took in his partner’s form. His head was tipped back over the edge of the cushions, eyes tired but sharp with a renewed anger. His fist was closed tight around the neck of the bottle. “About what?”

Steve sat up, accusation on his face. “About the prison. About Escobar. We fuckin’ lost extradition too,” he listed, tongue sounding heavy in his mouth.

“We’ll figure something out,” Javier consoled, only half believing himself. “Pablo is bound to slip up somewhere.”

“I jus’ don’t get it.” Steve shifted, looking restless, uncomfortable in his skin suddenly. He took another drink of the guaro. “We did everything right. We played by the rules. It was s’posed to work.”

“He hit them where it hurt.” Javier leaned forward, gently easing the bottle from Steve’s grip. Hooky or not, Antioqueño was too strong to be drinking like water.

“Don’t the good guys win? Aren’t we the good guys, Javi?”

No, we’re not. But that wasn’t what Steve needed to hear, so Javier held his tongue. The silence might have been enough of an answer.

He looked at Javier, the anger in his eyes turned frantic. “Am I a bad guy? Am I a bad person? Are you?”

“Steve, I—”

“Have’ya ever cheated on someone, Javi?”

That gave Javier pause. He studied his partner, trying to find some indication of what the hell was going on, but found nothing. He sighed, thinking back. Technically, no, but he certainly wasn't the standard of morality in relationships. “I never claimed to be a saint.”

At that, Steve went quiet, leaning on his knees to place his head in his open palms. The faint hum and clicking that signaled the end of the record filled the room, and Javier stood to flip sides. He shuffled across the wooden floor, before pressing the button to stop the turntable’s motor, lifting the arm, and flipping the wax. He restarted the motor, and just as soon as the needle was reset, hands were grabbing at his shoulders and he was shoved up against the wall.

The back of his head hit the hard surface, setting his vision to spin. “What the hell—” he managed to grind out, and then Steve’s lips were crashing against his own, craving, biting, set to bruise. He froze in shock before responding blindly, knotting his fingers in the wrinkled fabric of his polo, and taking simple pleasure in the heat of Steve’s mouth, the rasp of stubble against his skin.

Steve shifted, slotting one of his long legs between Javier’s and drawing a punched-out groan from the man. He pressed the whole length of his body against Javier, seemingly trying to crawl inside his skin. His lips moved to mouth at the junction where neck and jaw met, moaning against the pulse.

“Please Javi, please,” he whined, desperate.

The sound of his name shocked Javier from his daze. “Steve,” he said, pulling at the short hairs on the back of his neck, trying to gently extract himself. “Steve, stop.”

Steve didn't let up though, grasping at his chest and pressing impossibly closer.

Grunting, he grabbed Steve’s shoulders and forcibly spun them, pinning his back against the wall and wrists above his head. “I said stop,” he gritted out. “It can’t be like this.” He looked up, meeting Steve’s shifting gaze. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy, breath heaving. Despite it all, Javier still found him beautiful. “You don’t get to use me for whatever this is— as some sort of fucking morality test.”

To his credit, Steve straightened some, and Javier let his wrists fall. “What do I do, Javi,” he asked, sounding so young. So lost.

“You’re going to go upstairs,” Javier whispered, already feeling the loss. He reached to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Steve’s ear, trailing his knuckles along his cheek as he pulled away. Savoring this final moment. “To your wife. To your child. You’ll wake up in the morning and you won’t remember this. And you’ll still be a good man.”

Steve’s eyes were glassy and he blinked rapidly, looking everywhere but at his partner. He slumped against the wall, the adrenaline of the moment leaving his body and inebriation taking over.

Javier bent to sling Steve’s arm over his shoulders as support. “I’ll help you home.”

Slowly, staggeringly, Javier managed to maneuver Steve up the flight of stairs, coming to a stumbling stop in front of the second-floor apartment. He fished the keys out of Steve’s pocket and attempted to shove the key into the lock, but it proved difficult while supporting the full weight of his partner.

“Work with me, cabrón,” he gritted out.

The door began to cautiously open from the other end, and then Connie was in the doorway in her pajamas, eyes squinted against the bright light of the hallway.

“Javi?” she murmured questioningly, looking at the scene before her. “God, Steve.”

Javier steeled himself. “He had a few too many. Didn’t want to wake you and the baby.”

“Hi, Con,” Steve drawled, giving a feeble wave.

Together, they managed to get Steve into bed, and after, Connie escorted Javier back out. He shifted to stand on his hip, keeping his voice low. “Don’t bother waking him up tomorrow. I’ll call him in sick,” he instructed, unable to meet her eye.

Connie leaned up against the arch of the doorway. “Thank you,” she said softly, earnest. “We’re really lu—”

“Don’t,” he interjected, shame and guilt hot in his stomach. Fire on the back of his neck. He took a breath, recovering quickly. “No thanks needed. He’s my partner.”

She smiled, warm and appreciative. “Goodnight, Javier.”

The door closed softly behind her with a metallic clink, and he immediately rushed back down the stairs to his own apartment and the countertop where his lighter and pack of cigarettes lay. He fumbled with the container, finally fishing one out and struggling to light it. He took a deep drag when it finally caught, never more grateful for the nicotine.

He grabbed the carton and moved back to the lounge, settling heavily on the couch once again. Leaning forward, he grabbed the bottle of guaro left abandoned on the coffee table and finished off the last few mouthfuls. The alcohol was warm against the numbness that had begun to settle in his limbs.

The record had long since finished, and once again spun idly, but he didn’t move to turn off the machine. Instead, he sunk lower into the leather, fixing his gaze on the wall beside it while he smoked. Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he mourned.

*    *    *

Steve awoke the next day, heavy-limbed, head pounding, and with a crystal-clear recollection of the night before. Total sensory recall of the way Javi’s mouth had felt against his own, the grip of those rough hands in his hair, the heat and weight of his body.

Javi had lied.

Steve did not forget. And Steve certainly did not feel like a good man— personally or professionally.

So that night, when the CIA field unit called him at home with reports of an intercepted call detailing a party at a club in downtown Medellín where several tip sicarios would be meeting, he passed the information on to Carrillo and the Search Bloc, despite the cease and desist in place. And the next morning, when he was called to photograph the scene, bodies of narcos and civilians alike strewn across the concrete, he realized this was just a part of the war. That wars were won in shades of gray.

[ibelongtowrath]

Come Find Me - Mammon x Reader

reuploading cause of tags lol let’s hope they work this time, also sorry i forgot to put the “read more” oop

Tags/Warnings: angst, lots of angst & mild cursing Word Count: 3.9k Notes: I tried switching perspectives, which are indicated by the dashed lines. I hope it doesn't make it too confusing! I was listening to “Give You Up” by Asking Alexandria, like really listening to the lyrics when I was smacked in the face struck by inspiration for some angsty Mammon. So, as I do, I dreamed up a scenario. This took me so long to write, and holy crap. Hope you love it!

Lyrics taken from 'Give You Up' by Asking Alexandria. 

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

11 months later.

“I wasted so much time on wasting time Made a million excuses, told myself I'm above it Now there's symphony where there used to be Nothing but silence, and I'm never gonna give you up”

Pulling open the closet door to find that one shirt you remember buying, but can’t for the life of you remember where it is, you wince. Clothes and shoes are strewn everywhere, organization severely neglected as of late. You hadn’t really been inspired to straighten out your mess, not since--

No. You shake your head, suppressing the memories. Not now, not for a long time...until it stops feeling like a hot knife is carving your heart in half whenever his name flashes across your mind.

Your eyes scan and assess the mess, landing on a black duffel bag shoved into the corner, emblazoned with an all-too-familiar gold badge. Your eyes close briefly, letting the familiar icy pain wash over you, as if you’ve been walking into the winter ocean until your entire body is submerged. You stare at the bag until your vision blurs, surprised to find yourself blinking away tears as you come back to reality.

You told yourself you wouldn’t leave the Devildom with any regrets, but you did.

“Okay. Well. We’re just going to deal with this now, and bury it,” you tell yourself, needing to hear yourself say it out loud as your own affirmation.

It was finally time to face the anguish head on, instead of compartmentalizing it, telling yourself you would process it eventually. Picking up the bag, you slowly back out of the closet, a torrent of emotions beginning to well up inside you, threatening to wreak havoc. You close your eyes. Breathe, Y/N, breathe. Step back, and lean against the wall, subdue the onslaught.

Tossing the bag onto your bed, you sit beside it, hand reaching slowly to grasp the zipper. Once undone, you reach inside and pull out your R.A.D uniform, skimming the small buttons embedded in the stitching. You smile softly as you remember Asmo pouting every time you complained about how ill-fitting it was. Your hand moves to the golden R.A.D. medallion, your fingers dancing over the hard, intricately grooved surface.

Folding the uniform and setting it aside, you reach into the bag once more, fingers brushing something hard and flat. Confused, you lift your hand, finding yourself grasping your D.D.D.. Your eyes study the yellow smart phone, remembering how he insisted...Fuck. The memories begin to crash into the forefront of your mind.

“Wait, Lucifer, ya gotta give her a yellow one! She’s gotta match with me! N-not that it’s all that important or anything...” Mammon blushed, looking down towards the floor.

“I-I just think...yellow’s a good color to have. That’s all. Symbolizes a lot ‘a different good things. Luck, lotsa Grimm...thank me later.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but that was the start of your undoing.

You came to the Devildom harboring resentment. Why the hell did you have to get uprooted from your life to serve someone else’s agenda? And not only that, but you had to live with seven fallen demon brothers, many of whom barely hesitated as they considered killing you. But...then there was Mammon.

It was always him, even when you refused to acknowledge it. The first demon you made a pact with. You slide your shirt down your arm, glancing at your now-bare shoulder, remembering the slight jolt of electricity as the sigil was emblazoned into your skin. You smile softly as you remember his persistent boasting, nearly on a daily basis:

“I’m Y/N’s first man! So get your paws off her!”

Mammon. Always so stand-offish about his feelings, but so were you. That resentment you bore dug deep into your core. Your heart was indifferent. You challenged Lucifer and the other demons without inhibition, consistently getting yourself nearly killed. You disobeyed the rules and expectations designated to you as one of the representatives of the human world. You did it all with no qualms about the potential consequences, even if it could have resulted in your death. You had given up. You didn’t give a fuck anymore, so bring it on.

They all gave a fuck about you, though, even if it was mostly because Lord Diavolo forbade the killing of the human students. But Mammon…

It was more than that for him. He grabbed your hand in the face of danger, thinking he could protect you. Despite his constant denial of how he felt for you, you could see it. Not only that, your feelings mirrored his; but you were so stubborn, you were headstrong. You were not going to let yourself fall, especially not for the Avatar of Greed. You had convinced yourself that he would be a selfish lover, always putting himself first. All he would do is take from you. After all, the demon was in love with his goddamn credit card.

You were so wrong.

Turning the phone over and over in your hands aimlessly, you remember it all. How easy it was for you to keep falling back into the darkness within you, the anger and resentment you bore deep in your heart. It was easy, it was familiar. Until...

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

Mammon remembers that night. He’s replayed so many times in his head, there isn’t a single detail he can’t remember.

As usual, his brothers teased him relentlessly; this time, they had gone too far.

“Oh! Y/N, I dropped my fork by your foot, would you mind being a dear and grabbing it for me?” Asmo asked, innocently enough.

Mammon had looked up upon hearing your name. He watched as you bent down and struggled to pick up the dropped fork, too far away to grab from your seat. His gaze remained on you as you stood, bending behind you to pick it up; then, Asmo lifting his hand to give you a playful slap on the ass. Then back to you, your beautiful lips upturned in a playful, flirty smile as you laughed and handed Asmo the fork.

Mammon’s anger blazed, his vision tinged red. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, the movements required no thought. He stood from his chair, nearly kicking it in, half-eaten plate of food abandoned. Wordlessly, he took his leave, the torrent of emotions welled up inside threatening to erupt. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to react, that it was only going to add more fuel to the fire for their teasing.

But he didn’t care. They took it too far, touching his human like that. He had laid his claim for you thousands of times, spelled it out, and everyone knew. Yet, it didn’t stop them. Mammon was forever the brother ridiculed and mocked most, despite being the second-oldest; his brothers’ contempt for him was never-ending. The constant jeers and derision about himself and his sin, he had put up with for millennia; but their taunting and blatant disregard of his feelings for you?

He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Mammon was on autopilot, barely feeling the movements as he walked swiftly throughout the halls of the House of Lamentation. He doesn’t even recall if he took a single breath on his journey back to his bedroom. He gripped the doorknob of his room, knuckles turning white as he nearly ripped it out while turning it. He stepped inside, slamming the door with a residual bang!, so loud that surely even Lord Diavolo could hear it in his castle.

His feet moved him to his bed, where he sat on the edge, head in his hands. He clenched his jaw, hard, in an attempt to subdue the anger pulsing within him. It wasn’t only anger, however, that was welled up inside. There was humiliation, resentment, and feelings of hopelessness; all directed at himself. Mammon clenched harder, hands beginning to shake as the emotions swelled furiously.

No matter what he did, he felt like he failed. He felt an overwhelming desire to protect what was his, and he had even failed at that. Mammon isn’t sure how long he stayed that way, caught in the middle of the emotional thunderstorm, staring at his hands but not actually seeing.

In his trance, he barely heard the knock on his door; three light taps, then one loud one. Your signature knock. It didn’t even register in his mind. He wishes he looked up to see you when you walked across his room to his bed. He only noticed when you grabbed his arm, gently, in that way your touch always was. He lifted his head slowly, the feelings of hopelessness finally starting to ebb when his melancholy gaze met your serene one.

There you stood, in all your beautiful glory. Your hair hung in glossy rivulets down your back, a stray piece hanging in front of your face; Mammon wanted nothing more than to reach up and tuck it behind your ear. Your face, your beautiful face, wore an expression that simultaneously made his heart race and feel peaceful.

“Mammon.”

You spoke his name, and in those two syllables, and he knew. He knew your soul shined so brightly in the darkness of the Devildom. He knew you were the light to all of his darkness within.

He knew he was irrevocably in love with you.

Mammon felt your grip tighten on his arm, ever so slightly. He stood before you, realizing your close proximity, and immediately felt the heat rush to his cheeks, tinting them with a rosy blush.

“Y-yeah? What do ya want, Y/N?” he asked, looking off to the side. He reached his arm up, rubbing the back of his head. “Sheesh, you didn’t even tell me you were comin’. A little advanced notice would be nice, ya know.”

You didn’t even answer. Before he could react, you had pulled Mammon into a hug, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Wha-?!” Mammon yelped. “Just what do you think you’re doin’, human?!”

He recoiled at first, arms hanging down at his sides, unfamiliar with the feeling of such affection...such love. Rarely was he ever shown such things, especially from his brothers. He hesitantly reached his arms up, wrapping them around your body, the soft texture of your hair under his fingers.

He leaned his head down, his cheek resting on the top of your head while he stroked your hair.

And then, you said it. You spoke the words that made him come undone completely.

“I love you, Mammon.”

Mammon’s body stilled for a moment. It felt as though his heart had stopped completely. The words caught in his throat, unable to speak, fingers threaded into your hair. He felt you squeeze him harder, turning your head to look up at him. His eyes met yours.

You had come here to the Devildom, and at first, Mammon was indifferent. He would have gladly sold your possessions for some extra cash with no hesitation. He insulted you, he acted like an arrogant fool. You did risky things, you talked back. And yet, you somehow were able to make your way into his ice-cold, tsundere heart.

He sunk back down to the edge of the bed, pulling you towards him. You sat upon his lap, legs on either side of his waist. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you flush to him, fingers splayed across your back. He pushed your hair to the side, burying his head into your neck, lips against your soft skin. All he wanted in that moment was to breathe you in. He swallowed, pressing a kiss into your neck, hoping, praying that you wouldn’t react negatively.

It’s hard to remember the exact sequence that followed. The only thing Mammon knows is your lips pressed against his in a deep kiss, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. He pulled away, grinning, then kissed you again, and again, and again, his hands roaming under your shirt, across your back.

“Shit, Y/N. I guess you have me feeling some type-a way, too,” he whispered, kissing and biting the delicate skin of your neck, an overwhelming desire to leave his mark on you.

It hadn’t gone any further that night, and Mammon had been okay with it. He had walked you back to your room, grabbing you and kissing you deeply before you went in. He was sure the grin hadn’t left his face the entire rest of the night.

It was essentially the way you and Mammon had spent your final weeks in the Devildom. Stolen kisses here and there. Grabbing your hand in the hallways of R.A.D., lacing his fingers through yours. Spending the entire night together, not sleeping, watching movies on his projector or him teaching you how to play poker. Buying you little gifts using Goldie, much to Lucifer’s chagrin. He wanted to give you all that he could, to provide for you.

He held you close whenever he got the opportunity, stroking your hair, ingraining every feeling of your touch into his memory so he would never forget. He knew he was running out of time to be yours, to give you all of him. Mammon had never been so happy.

Then, that fateful day arrived. The day you were going back to the human world.

Mammon could hardly look at you when the time came, too afraid his emotions would well to the surface and tip over. He finally lifted his gaze to yours, thousands of unspoken words etched into the space between you, visible only to you and he. You had never spoken of a plan for the future, too painful to think about. He regretted all the time wasted, kicking himself for not telling you his feelings sooner.

Maybe then, you wouldn’t have left at all.

Mammon didn’t embrace you before the ceremony to transport you back began, knowing that once he did, he would never be able to let you go. He watched the light flash, as bright as your beautiful soul, taking you away with it, leaving nothing in its wake. The pain of losing you was like a knife plunged deep into his heart, twisting back and forth.

And then, you were gone.

Gone.

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

Gone.

And then, Mammon was gone.

“Mammon.”

You speak his name out loud, for the first time since you had arrived back. You still for a second, the unfamiliar syllables passing over your lips. You hope he’ll appear suddenly, as if summoned. But of course, he doesn’t.

And he never will, not again.

The tears fall freely now, a gut-wrenching sob wracking your body. The anguish crashes over you as all the emotions and pent-up grief finally break through the dam you had built deep inside. You fall to the side of your bed, gripping the D.D.D. tightly, knuckles turning white from the effort, as if the phone holds the power to bring Mammon back to you.

You’re unsure of how much time passes before the tears finally begin to subside, opening your eyes once more, adjusting to the sudden brightness; the feeling of it unwelcome, as you had learned to cherish the dark in the Devildom. The false sense of comforting dark you felt when you closed your eyes was erased each morning with the unrelenting rise of the sun.

You lift your hand, the yellow phone still gripped tightly within. And in a moment of hopefulness, or desperation (perhaps both), you press a button, gasping as the phone lights up. Though you shouldn’t be surprised; you remember Mammon telling you he put a spell on it so that it would hold a charge long after you took it off the charger, essentially always staying on.

So you could talk to him whenever you needed it.

Fingers moving faster than your brain can compute, you open your messages with Mammon, feeling the knife twist in your gut once more as you scroll through them. You shake your head furiously, willing yourself to stop, and focus. Your fingers dance across the digital keyboard as you compose a new message.

I love you, Mammon. Come find me.

Send. You hear the all-too-familiar whoosh sound of the message sending, watching it pop up onto the screen.You stare at the phone for God knows how long, willing a notification to sound off, unsure of why you’re feeling so hopeful.

The reply never comes.

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

Mammon stares at his phone in disbelief. He reads the message, then stands, beginning to pace around the room. He has to be seeing things. He has to be. He’s convinced.

There is no way he just received a message from you, in the human world. Especially not one telling him that you love him and to come find you.

His fingers fly across the screen, furiously typing a reply to you, pressing send.

Error! Retry?

“What?!” Mammon exclaims, pressing “retry” over and over and over again.

Error! Retry?

Error! Retry?

Error! Retry?

“This piece ‘a junk!” he yells, furious. The feeling of anguish washes over him as he realizes you won’t get a reply from him, picturing you sad yet hopeful, staring at your screen. He finds himself leaving his room, legs moving automatically as they bring him to the large double doors of the last place he ever wants to be.

“Oi! Lucifer! Open up right now! It’s an emergency!” Mammon yells, pounding on the door.

Hearing an exasperated sigh on the other side of the doors, Mammon continues to pound relentlessly.

“Lucifer! Open up-” Mammon’s words are cut off as Lucifer opens the door, a pained expression on his face.

“How can I help you, Mammon?” Lucifer asks, oozing contempt.

Mammon storms past him into the office, beginning to open up drawers, sorting through files of papers.

“Lucifer! Where the heck’s Y/N’s info? I need it. Where is it?!”

“Mammon,” Lucifer replies cooly, “what is this all about?”

“It’s Y/N! She texted me! She texted me from the human world. Can ya believe it?! She told me to come find her. I have to go to her, Lucifer, I have to!”

“Mammon, calm down. Explain everything to me.”

Mammon shoves the phone in Lucifer’s face, panic etched into his voice as he recounts the story, impatience creeping in to his demeanor. He has to get to you, and he has to get to you now.

Lucifer nods, holding his gloved hand under his chin as he thinks aloud.

“Mammon, you will have to be patient. I will speak to Diavolo, and see if he will grant you permission to leave the Devildom for a few days. Unfortunately, we do not have an exact location for Y/N. I can only give you the general area of where she lives. You will have to hope that she has remained living there, or close to the area.”

“What?! What are ya tryin’ to say, that I won’t be able to find her?!” Mammon yells in disbelief. “Of course I’ll find her. She told me to! And I can’t wait, I gotta get to her now! I can’t text her back, can’t let her know I got it…”

“I know how important she is to you, Mammon,” Lucifer says, nodding his head.

“Like hell ya do! Have you ever loved anyone that much? Or anything?”

“Mammon. I will speak to Diavolo immediately, and he will set everything in motion. It is still likely you will have to wait until at least tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning…,” Mammon repeats, trailing off. “Y/N, I’m comin’ to ya. Just hang on one more day. Please, babe…”

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

You find yourself at your favorite mall the next day, hardly remembering the drive there, as if you were on autopilot.

As you enter, you stand still for a moment, closing your eyes and inhaling briefly, taking in the sounds: the tinny music filtering through the speakers, other shoppers exclaiming to one another over a new collection in a store, somebody sipping their iced coffee noisily.

You had told Mammon about coming here quite often during those last few weeks. One night in particular, the two of you had lain on his bed, holding one another close, telling each other everything. You hadn’t cared if it was trivial, you wanted to know everything there was to know. Often, you had imagined coming with him here; holding hands, dragging him into all your favorite stores, trying on clothes.

Now, that will never happen.

You shake the negative thought from your mind, fighting as you feel the corners of your lips begin to tug downwards. Turning yourself to the right, you decide to head to your favorite bubble tea stand, smiling softly to yourself. Another memory you had shared with Mammon. Rounding the corner, a figure hunched over on the soft bench near the bubble tea stand stops you dead in your tracks.

Tousled white hair, orange-tinted lenses in his glasses. A brown leather jacket, striped with white across and at the collar, a fitted black t-shirt underneath.

No. No way. Your mind is playing tricks on you, Y/N, you think to yourself.

You walk hesitantly up to him, stopping a few feet away, watching as he notices your shoes, then moves his head up to meet your gaze, that adorable lopsided grin tugging at his lips as he stands.

“Knew I’d find ya here, Y/N. Lucifer didn’t believe me, that jerk,” he drawls.

“M-...Mammon?!” you exclaim, not caring who hears. You barely feel the movements as you throw yourself into his embrace. “H-how?!”

“Ya told me to come find ya. So I found ya.”

Gripping the collar of his jacket tightly, you lay your head on his chest, tears streaming furiously down your face. Mammon lifts your head, cupping your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, hey. No tears ruinin’ that pretty face. Unless they’re happy tears. In which case, cry away, I guess. But your makeups’ runnin’ down your face,” Mammon tells you, and you grin through them.

“How did you know to find me here?” you ask him as you pull away, brushing more tears away as you swallow.

“I remembered you tellin’ me about it. How you liked to come here when you weren’t feelin’ all that great,” he answers, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I tried to answer ya back, but my stupid D.D.D. wouldn’t let me. I thought ya might be sad, so I figured I’d try ya here.”

You laugh, grin growing wider.

“I love you, Mammon.”

He pulls you into another tight embrace, pressing you flush to him, lips crashing against yours in a deep kiss. You close your eyes, savoring every second of it before pulling away, eyes wide. You laugh once more as he pulls you close to him again, gasping a bit in surprise as his tongue darts out to dance with yours.

“Mammon, we’re in public!” you hiss, though you’re smiling against his lips.

“Don’t care,” Mammon retorts, kissing you again. “I have ya here with me now. And I ain’t ever gonna give you up. Never again.”

“In my darkest of days I've got a light now to show me the way It's like I've found my place And the world doesn't feel the same”

[m0chisenpai]

Hong Kong Garden

Oberyn Martell x young!Reader x Ellaria Sand

Chapter 1

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,969

Oberyn Martell loved a party. He flourished in them and frequented them often as well. But this one in particular made him bitter. He would love nothing more than to leave and return to his home beneath the sun where his paramour and beloved Sands were. Ellaria was forced to stay in Dorne while his brother Doran practically dragged him to the celebration of House Tyrell’s youngest lady. 

The celebration took place not in Highgarden but in another castle not far from the home of the Tyrell family. Lord Mathias Tyrell sat beside his brother and mother overlooking the festivities of his daughter's celebration. Acrobats twisted their bodies on raised platforms, Fools made groups of nobles chortle, a glorious feast was spread for the taking, and tables filled with riches and treasures were piled high for the young Lady Tyrell.

The young woman was to turn 20 on her Name Day, but Oberyn had no desire to spare any kindness to the roses. Oberyn didn’t even spare the girl a glance nor catch a glimpse of her. According to his brother they needed to show some courtesy as they were there for much more than a celebration. They were there for diplomacy to seal the rift between the Tyrells and Martells. 

When his brother cut him from her bitter thoughts Oberyn looked from his cup of wine.

“What did you say?”

Doran exhaled through his nose, “I said have you paid your respects to Lady Y/N?”

“Is it not your job as the oldest to partake in diplomacy?”

“It is much more than diplomacy, Oberyn. The girl did not choose to be born of roses, give her just a bit of your kindness.”

And with a childish whine and heavy sigh Oberyn approached the Tyrell’s table which seemed to overlook the many others. Damn his brother for his wisdom. 

“Prince Oberyn”

“Lady Olenna” he bowed to the older woman one arm behind his back “I wish to give wishes and blessings to the young Lady of the house.”

“Ah, you have just missed her. She ran off in the gardens again, I’ll have her fetched for.” Her father spoke up this time over a glass of wine. Lord Mathias lived up to the rumors of being the living embodiment of greed. His fingers adorned with intricate rings, his robes made of the finest silks with intricate golden designs on red fabric. 

“Allow me to retrieve her then perhaps?”

“And just what are you intending if you find my daughter Prince Oberyn?” The dark haired maiden finally spoke up. She was nearly as beautiful as his dear paramour with skin just as bronze only a shade darker, and her curly hair tamed into a high bun with intricate hair ornaments. 

Unlike her husband she gave the young Prince a warm smile which he returned. 

“Hopefully bestow upon her a simple  blessing for her name day my lady.” Oberyn Martell bowed his head in respects as one of the servant boys led him to the entrance of the garden.

The garden was its own unique maze of beautiful plants and flowers that flourished under the warm sun. Had the young prince’s heart not been bitter with hatred for the family he would come to love this castle of the Reach.  A hand unconsciously brushed against one of the flower delicate petals and he uprooted the flower holding it to his nose and releasing it upon hearing hushed voices.

A bell like laugh accompanied by light moans led the prince to what he could only assume to be the heart of the garden. The servant boy bowed to the prince and quickly left. A beautiful fountain made of stone with delicate patterns and two statues of goddess-like women in the middle. And in front of this beautiful fountain was the young Lady of this castle. 

To say Lady Y/N was a mere Tyrell would be an insult. Yes the young Martell hated everything living being bearing the last name Tyrell, but it was hard to believe this beautiful, young, vibrant creature shared the last name. 

The young woman was a nymph. Little flowers stuck in her beautiful thick curls, her skin looked to be blessed by the very suns of Dorne like her mothers, and her beautiful plump lips were ensnared by a woman far from her age. Her fingers curled into the young Tyrell’s curls. For a moment he imagined the pasty elder woman was his beautiful Ellaria. Her nimble fingers curled into the young Tyrell’s hair. Her gleaming eyes gazing into Oberyn who would watch with hungry eyes.

“My lady please” Lady Tyrell’s gasps ended his fantasies. Oje would blindly assume Lady Tyrell was truly indulging in this mysterious maidens lips, but truth be told he could see far from it. Her face was blank, not a crease to her brow and those light gasps and moans were far from real pleasure. The woman’s lips nipped at the base of her neck leaving very faint dark marks and stopped at a delicate lace blue ribbon that was pulled by her skillful lips pooling in the young girl's lap.

“Hush now darling girl, allow me to bestow this gift unto you” The elder lady kissed her way back to her lips. Her hands slid a small jewelry box into the nymphs lap catching her attention. She lifted it and the young Tyrel lifted out a necklace adorned by diamonds glistening in the sun. 

“Diamonds” her eyes glistened at the sparkling jewelry, “my lady, you didn’t have to! ”

“What better way to celebrate the turning of a new age.” She slid the necklace around the girl's neck pecking along her shoulders as she did so “and not only this. I have plenty more to come in just two weeks time.”

Lady Tyrell gasped, pressing her hand against her diamond covered chest, “you spoil me.” She wasn’t complaining. She loved her Name Day for it was a day she got to enjoy watching lords and lady’s turn into mere mindless fools throwing treasure upon treasure at her feet to get a mere fraction of her affection. She had more than enough diamonds to spare. But what’s the harm in building her collection? Her mother took to taking care of the gardens to satiate her boredom, she just happened to collect hearts and diamonds for her own amusement. 

“No my dear girl you spoil me. Now enjoy your date of birth darling girl. My father awaits me.” With one last kiss the woman stood leaving Lady Tyrell alone in front of the fountain looking through the sparking gems.

Finally Oberyn stepped out after calling the beating in his chest, and trying to ignore the fire in the pit to this stomach “Lady Tyrell.”

“Lord Martell” quickly slid the jewelry box off her lap and fussed with the collar of her dress as the man stopped in front of the young girl. She’d been caught twice, both by her grandmother who cared little about her granddaughter being caught with a woman in bed. 

Today would be the first time she was caught, and not scolded. Instead the Martell gave her a smile which she was wary of. She knew men liked pretty things. And she knew men knew how to get everything their gluttonous little hearts desired.

“Please, Oberyn when it is just the two of us.” With a smile she patted the stone of the mountain and Oberyn took her invitation to sit beside her on the fountain. His hands carefully scooped the discarded ribbon stuffing them into the pockets of his trousers. 

“As you wish then, Oberyn” she tilted her head to look up at him “I thought your older brother bestowed his gift. The wine of Dorne tastes like a gift from the gods.”

“Ah yes, I unfortunately was not able to witness your tasting of it yet.”

“Perhaps you shall soon I’ve yet to taste it” she grinned looking back into the water where she watched a loose petal drift into the water. 

“You indulge in the delights of the gods I see.” 

She tilted her head to gaze up at the prince through full eyelashes, “should I not? I am of ripe breeding age as my father likes to remind me. Soon I will be married off to an old fool to be his treasure. Until that day comes I must have my own fill until I am bound to another” Though her words were solemn she held no fear, no anger, no sadness. Just a smile as she observed a pair of diamond earrings in the glowing sunlight.

She knew she was doomed to a loveless marriage. But she never feared it because she would merely amuse her fool of a husband in exchange for every single thing her heart desired while she found warmth in the arms of many lovers. Her grandmother had been preparing her for this day since she had her first flowering and her body blossomed from a childs to a woman’s body. She taught her how to turn from stable boys and milk maids to Lords and Lady’s and get much more than a quick fuck. She learned how to receive gorgeous silks, secret bonds, and beauties from the Seven Kingdoms in exchange for warmth in her bed and her lips keeping the secrets she knew from falling into the wrong hands.

“You would love Done. There one is free to love whoever and how many one chooses, and follow their own hearts desires” as he spoke the girl's eyes briefly met Oberyn’s “I wonder what your heart desires.”

“Love is temporary, and for fools” She returned the jewels back into the box “no one will truly be able to fulfill my heart's desire. I am too much for any man, and woman. But a paradise free from shame sounds like somewhere I would love to escape to.”

The longing look in her eyes made the prince's lips turn into a smirk. Her gaze shifted to look up at the beautifully carved statues of the fountain, and Oberyn shifted his own eyes to look up at it.

“If I may ask, did your father have this fountain built?”

“When I was no more than five. I begged for something to bring life into these gardens and my father had this fountain created. The statues are of resemblance to my mother and I.”

That was the day her grandmother taught her the power of the smile, and the power of reading one's eyes. She was merely six and with a bat of her lashes, a pout upon her lips, and a few sweet words her father asked whom she would like to be in the fountain.

“A beautiful woman indeed, though not born here?” 

“Somewhere among Westeros I believe” her fingers dropped the diamond necklace and she stood cradling the box of jewelry in her arms “but surely you did not come here to hear my tales of woe. Come share a glass with me. I wish to see if the rumors of Dorne’s wine are merely tall tales.”

“If it is your wish I shall grant.”

”Then I have but one more wish to ask of you Oberyn” she pulled a flower from her locks to place it behind the prince's ear, her hand slid to rest just below his golden necklace “join me at dawn tomorrow here in the gardens. I wish to hear about life outside these old walls.”

She caught her hand placing it right where his heart was. And in that moment Y/N Tyrell could not read the look in the Prince’s fiery eyes. Nor could she decipher the next sentence that fell from his lips. 

“You shall have it, my flower.”

[wxldhxrt]

Path of the Feral Guardian...

Since arriving at Camp Godspeed, things have been harrowing for the Son of Pan in some way, shape, or form. But there have also been moments of clarity, of peace, of enlightenment. Maybe it felt similar to his life before all of this, but maybe it has been better, too. Less darkness, more light. Except for what happened at the Trial of Deimos. After what felt like far too long in a nightmarish dimension, testing himself and his allies, Greyson is back where he belongs. Perhaps he considers this his home now, at Camp Godspeed. Sleep doesn’t come easy like it sometimes would. There is too much on his mind. Fresh scars and emotional wounds from what they’d endured in the Trial of Deimos. Eventually, though, he finds himself drifting to sleep. 

 He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep, but when he wakes up, he’s not where he remembers he fell asleep. Was he sleep walking? Was this a dream? He opens his eyes and he sees something, a familiar landscape. 

It had taken him some time to finally drift off to sleep, which wasn't uncommon lately for Greyson. Even with Ender's warm body beside him, the comfort of the other's arm loosely tossed over his stomach, something that usually helped Grey sleep, he'd struggled to find it until eventually he must have dosed off. The first thing he noticed was the smell, no longer the warm scent of his bedroom, the lingering hints of mint and lime from his shower but instead the wet earthy scent of the forest, so unique and yet familiar to him in a way that nothing else would ever be. 

 When Grey opened his eyes he was laid down on the forest floor, staring up past thick tree trunks towards a canopy of green, sunshine or moonlight, it was hard to tell, trickling down through the cracks in the leaves in a flickering shower of light. Slowly he sat up and looked around, at first thinking the thick forest strange to him until Greyson started to recognise trails and pathways through the underbrush, certain trees, their shapes and trunks making it clear he'd been there before, but not for many years. The Forest of Dean had been a place he'd visited as a child, when times were simpler, happier.

It is a sight to behold when Greyson's eyes open. Moss covered tree trunks tower toward the heavens, giving way to a thick canopy of leaves that filters in the sun's light. Golden rays dance upon the ground here and there, spotting it with beautiful, glowing light. Well worn trails spiderweb throughout the forest, footprints that have both been washed away with time and seem as if they were just pressed into the earth. 

 As Greyson's eyes finally adjust and his senses become more in tune with the wild earth that surrounds him, he notices droplets of blood that glisten crimson, trailing down one of the paths to his right.

Greyson was almost tempted to remain where he sat and let himself just bask in the tranquility of the emptiness and stillness of the forest. Alone with his thoughts and nothing but the sound of the natural world around him. But when he caught sight of the blood a frown pulled at the son of Pan's brow. Perhaps a creature was injured, the result of another's hunt. Either way he was intrigued. He didn't hesitate to call upon his magic, body seamlessly shifting from that of a man to a wolf in a cascade of green light. Here in the wild, it was natural to be of the wild, to walk silently amongst the trees on light paws, instinct knowing where to tread to leave no mark while guided by senses far greater than his own. 

 He shook out thick grey fur, luminous green eyes seeing the world in shades of yellow and blue. Grey sniffed at the blood briefly, trying to gather all the information he could about it before the wolf began to follow its trail, padding silently through the trees.

His form shifts, flesh beginning to sprout dark, rich grey fur. Fingernails turn to claws, teeth sharpen into canines. As his new snout begins to sniff the blood, he releases the blood smells familiar. Vibrant green eyes scan the area and find the path of blood before following it. 

It leads on and on, the forest becoming darker and darker as he follows the droplets of blood that are scattered around the forest floor. Finally, he reaches where they lead. 

As the trees around him seem to grow thicker, more foreboding and less like the light, tranquil forest he knew, Greyson remained alert, ears perked up tracking for any sound that wasn't his own. His pace was even but slowed as a sense of uneasiness at the darkening scenery grew. When finally the trail came to a stop, canine eyes lay on a huge stag, antlers stretching high, far larger and more intricate than any deer he'd seen before. Its size was otherworldly, giant and etherial in appearance. 

Thick grey fur the colour of stone seemed to be covered in moss, as if the creature was so ancient the very forest was a part of it. The heart of nature itself. Greyson could smell the metallic hint of blood thicker now, hot on the air now he was so close to the creature wounded. He peered at it from the treeline before eventually moving forward, revealing himself.

The giant stag stands in the center of the forest, blood trickling from wounds on the underside of its belly, its neck, and hind legs. When Greyson moves forward, revealing himself, the creature turns and stares at him. Large eyes, luminescent and green, stare into Greyson's soul, or so it feels like it. 

But as Greyson begins to come forward, out of the shadows of the trees, more wolves begin to do the same. They all look like Greyson. Grey fur, green eyes, and begin to circle around the stag as if getting ready for a hunt. Even with this stags incredible size, the wolves that look exactly like Greyson almost match it. 

They snarl angrily and the stag's eyes go wide with fear. The scent of blood fills the air even more so now, as if the fear is intensifying the scent, and Greyson can almost identify who the blood belongs to, who the stag might represent. 

What does the blood smell like? Who does it remind Greyson of?

At first when Greyson saw the other wolves, mirrors of himself appear from the darkened forest, he was confused, the way they all circled the stag put him on edge until the scent of blood grew stronger. Animal instinct took over and he was growling and snarling as much as they were, hungry for the hunt and the kill. But beneath the scent of blood, moss and wet earth he caught something familiar, something foreign here in this tranquil but dangerous place. 

His stepfather's cheap aftershave. It had always smelled horrible to Greyson, just as vile as the man who wore it. Musty, peppery, like it was ten years out of date and yet he still wore it. Cheap on a man who pretended to be anything but. The stronger the scent got the more he began to snarl, a pure hate boiling inside the wolf as he was once again reminded of how truly putrid Stevan had been. 

Grey began to circle the stag along with the other wolves, getting closer each pass around it, watching as the other's nipped at its wounded legs, trapping it. It was as if even after all this time he could still feel Steven's cold indifference towards him, the distain he'd had for Greyson from day one. And then when his mother had fallen ill, he'd found every excuse not to be there for her, not to care for her and instead left Grey to watch her deteriorate before his very eyes as he did his best to make her last moments bearable and happy. Like he had been waiting for April to die to finally take all that she had and kick Greyson out into the cold.

There is a coldness that settles into Greyson's heart as the smell of cheap aftershave assaults his senses. Every memory of a life in which he felt unwanted and neglected comes rushing back in. He remembers his mother's slow death and the chilling realization that the man that was his stepfather, the man his mother loved once upon a time, wanted nothing more than to be rid of them. 

The other wolves inch closer and the stag rears back on its hind legs and kicks out viciously before it begins to bound away, as quick as a gust of wind through the forest. It blends in with the surrounding trees, camouflaged as it attempts to run away from its attackers.

With a howl of anger and rage, Greyson led his pack in pursuit of the stag. He only saw red, only smelled the blood coming from its wounds and knew he wanted, needed to end it. Steven had run like a coward before, hidden himself away from April's suffering and left it all on Greyson's shoulders to bear when he'd barely been an adult himself. Eighteen and fresh into university, trying to balance study, work and caring for his dying mother. It was more than anybody should have to shoulder and yet Grey had. 

Then when he'd finally lost her, Steven had taken everything, the house, what little of their money had been left, any jewellery or tokens Grey might have wanted to keep to remember her, all gone. Stripped bare like a vulture picking apart an old carcass. He'd even banned Grey from the funeral and that had been the final knife in the back. 

As he chased down his prey, Grey didn't see the stag anymore, didn't hear its echoing cries but instead heard the panting and wails of a terrified man, tripping clumsily as he ran through the forest that only seemed to grow thicker, impeding his attempted escape while Greyson was fleet of foot, darting around trees and through the underbrush like he was made for it.

With each bounding step that Greyson takes, the forest beneath his paws shifts. The earth moves, vines and tree roots uproot themselves to narrow down the escape of the man that had stolen away his livelihood all those years ago. Greyson can smell the scent of the stag but it changes as he closes in on him. The stag shrinks, the large antlers falling away, the brown fur, flecked with moss, gone, leaving the flesh of a man that had never truly accepted or loved him standing surrounding by a bramble of vines and roots. 

Steven pants, eyes wild and wide with fear, as he turns to face Greyson. He's the first wolf that reaches him, the others having disappeared into the forest, perhaps circling to ensure there's no escape.

Greyson's eyes are wild and feral as he started at Steven, taking pleasure from finally seeing fear on the other's smarmy face that always used to wear a sneer of disdain and disgust whenever he looked at him. He felt larger somehow, as if he were no ordinary wolf but bigger, towering over this small, pathetic little man. Greyson snarled, the sound vicious and threatening as he snapped his jaws at him just to make him shriek more, taking pleasure from the smell and sound of his fear. 

"You!" The words are a thick growl, barely human. "You made me watch her die because you couldn't stand to look at her as the cancer ate everything she was from the inside!" He snarled, jaws snapping once again, drawing closer, this time snagging his leg and dragging him kicking and screaming. "You took away my chance to put her to rest! You denied me my last goodbye!" A pained and angered howl ripped out of the wolf as his claws dug deep into flesh.

The angry jaws of a hungry wolf seem to be the only thing that Greyson can feel. The pain and resentment of a life that he was denied to say goodbye to, of putting his mother to rest and giving her a final goodbye that she deserved comes crashing down. As his teeth sink into the flesh, the man's blood tastes guilt ridden, poisonous; a different type of cancer that has eaten him away from the inside out, just as it had his mother. Then, sharp claws sink into his flesh, rending him to pieces as Steven attempts to scream. 

But no sound comes out. From the corner of Greyson's luminous eyes, he sees something else approaching through the forest. 

What does Greyson see? Describe it in as much detail as you would like.

The taste of vile blood like poison made Greyson shake his head in disgust, tongue lapping between sharp teeth over and over as if to rid himself of the taste as he pawed at his snout. It was then he noticed movement in his peripheral. The wolf turned to snarl, ready to lash out or fight any threat or defend his claim to his prize like a wild animal, but the sight made him pause. 

A pure white barn owl sat perched on a branch just overhead, looking down at him with eyes that seemed hauntingly familiar. Deep in the dark depths, Greyson saw specks of a familiar green, eyes he'd thought closed to the world on the day she'd died. For a long moment the wolf stared in disbelief, growling angrily once more, ears pinned back as he snapped up at the owl but it seemed unfazed by his aggression, almost smiling down at him. 

Grey wanted to deny it further, but he couldn't when things in this forest seemed to be so strange. "Mum?"

The white barn owl spreads its wings before it makes itself comfortable among the branches of the forest trees. Large eyes that Greyson has looked in before stare down at him. The owl's head tilts to the side, almost completely, as it stares down at the scene before it. 

"IS THIS WHO YOU ARE?" The owl speaks, the words filling the air among the branches and thicket of trees. "IS THIS WHO YOU'VE BECOME?" 

Describe the voice of the owl. Does it belong to his mother? How does it make him feel? Describe it in as much detail as possible.

There was no denying her soft tone, warm and inviting, soothing in a way that Greyson had always loved listening to. She'd been an amazing singer, although she'd stuck to long car journeys with the music turned up too loud or while cooking a meal in their tiny kitchen. Greyson thought he'd never hear that voice again, had even begun to forget it, as painful as that thought was. 

But it had been years and every time he tried to recall it, it faded just a little more. But now it was clear, unmistakeable and the sound alone almost brought him to tears. He whined softly looking up at the owl that spoke with his mother's voice. Grey wasn't sure what was more painful, hearing it again but not from her, or having it fade away from his memory entirely one day. 

It took him a while to answer the question, having to think about it for a long moment. Who was he? What was he? Demigod? Greyson Darcy? "I am what I've always needed to be."

The owl hoots in response, a laugh. It's not condescending, but knowing. "A DIPLOMATIC ANSWER." The owl expands its wings before it flies down to rest on a branch closer to Greyson now. It rustles its feathers, getting comfortable once again. 

"THEN SHOW ME WHAT YOU NEED TO BE."

For a moment Greyson wasn't sure what the owl wanted from him, a demonstration of his power? Something else? He let the magic fade away from his form, once more returning to his human shape, leaving fur and fangs behind as he stood and walked closer to the owl once more. "Out there, in the walking world? Because this is a dream." He asked, reaching out to brush his fingers across pure white feathers. The owl might not be his mother, but while it carried her voice, it was like having a part of her back, a part he could touch even if just briefly.

"YES." His mother's voice fills his ears and he feels this sense of comfort wash over him. "THIS IS WHERE YOU BROUGHT ME. RESHAPE IT HOW YOU SEE FIT. BECOME WHO YOU WANT TO BE." The owl preens when the feathers are stroked and warm eyes stare into Greyson's, an encouraging nod to reach as deep as he would like.

Greyson gave a nod as those warm familiar eyes meet his before he closed his own hazel ones and took a deep breath. Reshape this world as he saw fit. He could feel the very life of nature around him in every living plant and animal within the darkened forest. Pulling from the blood in his veins Grey pictured in his mind what he wanted to see. The forest remained dark but was illuminated by fireflies and plant life beyond any imagining, the whole place became an etherial wonderland, haunting in its beauty and mystery. The trees still seemed to reach beyond the sky, the ground covered in a carpet of wildflowers that seemed to give off their own light. Every animal, from big to small was illuminated by an etherial essence, their patterns in their fur or scales and skin glowing. 

 It was a place of wonder, still shrouded in darkness, deadly to anyone who was not welcome, but inviting and safe to those Greyson considered his. A wall of thick thorns could be seen protecting the outer edges of the forest from any who would see to do it harm. And when Greyson thought of himself, he was the protector of his lands, a comfort to his own, his pack, his people, but a feral beast and dangerous to any enemy.

The Forest of Dean shifts beneath Greyson's feet. As he concentrates, the owl watches as the trees begin to glow with a bioluminescent glow as fireflies begin to twist around the branches like natural lanterns for his friends to find their way to safety. The animals, too, begin to glow with that same soft green light. Wildflowers blossom, sprouting around the paths, up along the moss covered stones and trees, up into the branches that grow and grow, taller than the clouds in the sky. 

It is a safe haven and a dangerous trap—like most things in the wild. Something inviting, but something dangerous. When Greyson breathes in deeply he can smell the rich scents that the forest holds, a sense of belonging, of oneness with the world, grows inside of him like the wildflowers beneath his feet. 

"A PROTECTOR AND A FERAL PRESENCE TO THOSE THAT WOULD HARM YOUR HOME." Greyson's mother's voice fills his ears as the owl's head turns around to look at the rewritten world in wonder. Large wings flap and the owl takes flight, moving among the trees until it rests within the thick canopy of branches and leaves. 

"YOU WILL FACE ENEMIES THAT WILL THREATEN YOUR HOME AND YOUR LOVED ONES, BUT I BELIEVE YOU ARE STRONG ENOUGH TO WITHSTAND THEM." The voice is soft and gentle, a mother's love and warmth radiating from the words that float down to Greyson. Before him, a large tree stands opened, like a den for himself to rest in. "WHEN YOU ARE READY, STEP THROUGH TO MEET YOURSELF AS YOU ARE NOW."

Greyson looked at the newly shaped forest, that still held remembrances from his past, but was ultimately a place of his own creation. There was pride in his eyes for this sanctuary he had created for himself and those he trusted. When the owl spoke again, he looked up, watching as it flew around and seemed to marvel at the woodlands he had built. 

It too seemed to glow with an etherial luminescence like every other creature and plant, a piece of his mother always with him, no matter where he went or who he became. "I will rip apart any that threaten my pack." Greyson promised with a feral edge to his smile, predator hidden behind his youthful face. 

When the tree opened up and he saw the warm den inside, a few of the wolves from earlier curled up together, their eyes no longer matching his but instead those of people he loved and trusted. Greyson could identify each of them, his people, his pack. With one last look at the owl, he offered another brush of fingers to soft feathers before stepping into the tree, body shifting back to the wolf to curl up amongst his own.

As soon as Greyson shifts back into his wolf like form, he realizes that he's larger than the rest of them. When he rests among them, the wood of the tree begins to stitch itself back together. Darkness covers him as soon as he relaxes and gets comfortable. 

Greyson wakes back up and he's back in his bed, Ender resting beside him, arm strung over his exposed abdomen. His heart is racing but he feels something within him—like a feral howl within his blood. He feels awakened, alive, more powerful than he was before. 

Whatever this was, perhaps a test, has unlocked a hidden part of him that he didn't know was there. After a few minutes, he falls back asleep. It's dreamless but serene, a sense of peace that has not been felt since his arrival at camp. When he wakes back, he feels more refreshed than he has ever felt. There's a sense of purpose inside of him now, a sense of pride.