#baba Gray

[crimzon0king]

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

When you talk to me, these are what you're talking to

[twinksrepository]

A Unicorn Plushie

Rating: PG

Pairing: Lucifer X F!Reader,

CW: Domestic Fluff, Dad Lucifer

Word count: Roughly 1K

A/N: You come home and find Lucifer and your son in the library. Lucifer, doesn't look too pleased sitting in his onesie once he realizes he has an audience. I had a bad day and needed some fluff.

Images belong to Solmare.

You have to place a hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles at the sight in the library. Your little star is crawling around on the floor inside of a penned area to keep him from pulling any books or any of the other dangerous knick knacks onto himself. 

His little hands dragging what appears to be a new toy beside him. A toy that reminds you of a certain sticker, as well as a certain onesie that Diavolo bought for Lucifer. 

A onesie that said demon is wearing while sat on the floor with his legs crossed. Except instead of his usual scowl he’s smiling with his hands held out in front of him. “Come on my little one, almost there. Come to Papa.” His voice has a softness to it that he only lets color his tone when speaking to the boy. It makes your smile widen all the more at how encouraging Lucifer is with what is starting to look like a miniature version of him, the only difference being him having your eye color instead of his father’s crimson tinted orbs. “Just a bit more.” 

As your son reaches his father's hands Lucifer scoops him, briefly hiding the boys giggling face from view within the mass of fabric of the hood, but you can hear the sound of quick noisy kisses. 

That makes you break, laughing loudly enough to gain both of their attention. A gurgle of happy noises from your son with his arms in the air and drool trailing down his chin. Lucifer sporting a scowl as his head turns that quickly shifts into a smirk seeing that it’s you. “I see my two favorite boys are busy.” Still laughing as you drop your bag to the floor before throwing your leg over the barrier. 

A low hum as Lucifer places your son on the ground once more, the boy starting to crawl his way towards you and where you’ve taken a seat on the floor. “Diavolo was by. He thought a new plushie was an appropriate gift.” 

“It is, even if the unicorn is almost as big as he is right now.” Moving your fingers as if to incentivize your little star to keep crawling towards you. “I get the feeling however, you’re more upset over what the plushie looks like than the gift itself.” Lifting both of your eyes to settle on his face. “So…” Trailing off before letting your son grab your fingers, lifting them higher to see if you could help him keep his balance as he started to stand to keep his hold on you. 

“What?” 

“Why the?” Tilting your head up and down his body to indicate his outfit. 

Crossing his arms and looking down at the floor with a sigh. “Diavolo thought it would be a good idea for me to hold the plushie while in the onesie, so he’d associate the toy with me.” 

“Ok, that's adorable.” You snicker which just gets you another frown from Lucifer. “Oh come on Luc, don’t be like that. He’ll have centuries to associate you with being the prideful demon you are.” 

“You’re not helping your situation.” 

“Ba!” Your son is standing now, having moved his smaller hands to rest on your knee slapping one of them as if he wants your approval at standing on his own. 

“Such a big boy!” Grinning at him and running your fingers through his black locks, glad he doesn’t seem to have his father's graying tone mixed among the strands. “You can get changed if you want Love. I can take over.” 

Lucifer just sends you a smile that you know means he’s grateful as he stands, heading for the edge to step over it. “Baba!” The outburst has both of you pausing as the boy tries to follow after his father, taking two steps before falling onto his hands. He doesn’t cry from that, not if him still crawling is anything to go by as a few tears fall down his face as he makes his way towards his father. 

“I don’t think he wants you to go, Unicorn Papa.” 

Sighing a bit in resignation as still being in the onesie, Lucifer bends to scoop the boy up. “It’s alright, Papa isn’t leaving you.” Rising you grab the discarded plushie and press it between the boy and Lucifer, smiling as he grabs it allowing you to wipe the dampness from his cheeks. 

“No tears from my big boy.” Smiling at him before lifting your eyes back to Lucifer’s. “I think at this rate, his first word is going to be Papa.” 

Parting his lips, Lucifer doesn’t get a chance to speak as you both hear a click. Turning towards the door to find Mammon and Satan both standing there with cameras in hand. “Now this is gonna make some good blackmail.”  

“I can’t wait to upload these to Devilgram.” 

“Mammmmmoooon” You quickly scoop your son from Lucifer’s arm as the dark mist drifts from his body. 

“Or at this rate, it’s gonna be that with how often he hears it.” You mutter, watching as he goes after both of his brothers. Your son giggling at the sight and you sigh while jostling the boy up and down. “I really hope as you get older you’re more like me than your Dad little star.” Otherwise you’d have two men ready to string people from the ceiling. 

Masterlist

[chdarling-tle]

The Last Enemy: Dark Marks Soundtrack

Hello my loves! With TLE2 coming to a close, I thought I'd share the full TLE2 soundtrack. You can listen to it here, or I've included the track list below for those who don't use Spotify.

As before, this is a total mishmash of period appropriate and anachronistic music. The genres are all over the place. Some songs directly correlate to the plot, some songs are mentioned in the story, some are pure vibes. It's pretty long...but so is TLE2. 😌

Enjoy!!!

Track list under the cut:

The Times They Are A-Changin’ - Fort Nowhere

She Used To Love Me a Lot - Johnny Cash

Never Had No One Ever - The Smiths

Cherry Bomb - The Runaways

Father and Son - Cat Stevens

Water Under the Bridge - Tow’rs

She’s Not There - The Zombies

Break On Through (To The Other Side) - The Doors

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - George Harrison

Raining in My Heart - Buddy Holly

Family Line - Conan Gray

With a Little Help From My Friends - Joe Anderson (Across the Universe)

Love Hurts - Roy Orbison

It’s Alright - Mother Mother

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett & The Blackhearts

Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood - Nina Simone

Play With Fire - The Rolling Stones

Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks

Blue Suede Shoes - Elvis Presley

The Princess Diaries Waltz (Score) - John Debney

Astronomy - Conan Gray

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland

Dead Mom - Sophia Anne Caruso

Vincent - Don McLean

You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away - The Beatles

Mis-Shapes - Pulp

Golden Years - David Bowie

It’s a Heartache - Bonnie Tyler

Stayin Alive - Bee Gees

Dancing Queen - ABBA

I’d Love to Change the World - Ten Years After

Be More Kind - Frank Turner

One Toke Over the Line - Brewer & Shipley

Flying - The Beatles

Baba O'Riley - The Who

Villain - Maisie Peters

Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've?) - Buzzcocks

Will the Circle Be Unbroken - The Carter Family, Johnny Cash

This Woman's Work - Kate Bush

April Come She Will - Simon & Garfunkel

evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - Taylor Swift

For What It's Worth - Buffalo Springfield

You Belong to Somebody Else - PJ Harding, Noah Cyrus

Know Your Rights - The Clash

Broken Crown - Mumford & Sons

Fire - Etta James

Knockin' On Heaven's Door - Bob Dylan

Lily - Benjamin Gibbard

Dancing Queen - stories, Lizzy McAlpine

God Only Knows (Acoustic Slowed + Reverb) - Jae Hall

Homeward Bound - Simon & Garfunkel

Back to the Old House - The Smiths

New World Coming - Cass Elliot

...and one more secret song that I'll add after chapter 71 ;)

[nonbinarylocalcryptid]

Astyanax procrastinates a little that thing about going to save his baba in the same very way I'm procrastinating my thesis a little

Enjoy the snippet

Astyanax was afraid.

He was just a boy after all, so he postponed his departure from Troy a few hours. Enough time to eat something, gather his belongings and clear his head.

He cooked whatever fish he had left, sit at the beach, looking at where the city once stand, lost in thought.

"Would you be so kind to share some food with these old man?"

The boy jumped and coughed, as the bite he was chewing almost shock him.

"I didn't mean to scare you." Said the gray haired man.

"And somehow I believe you". Answered Astyanax. "Please sit with me and suit yourself, if not, it would go to waste."

"That would be tragic."

"Indeed."

The stranger took a site at the other side of the little fire, yet Astyanax didn't pay much mind, distracted as he was. That didn't mean he wasn't ready to run away at the very first sign of danger from the old man, but sharing a fish wasn't much of an effort.

The Trojan ruins stood tall in the distance, making Astyanax sad for something he couldn't quiet place. Can you be sad for something you don't remember? Is there such thing as homesickness for a place that was never home? And yet he had spent a week alone wandering in his homeland, and he had known peace there.

"Did you know that those walls were built by Poseidon and Apollo themselves?" The old man's voice brought him back.

"I can't say I have heard that story," replied Astyanax with amusement, "would you tell me more?"

"Would you accept it as payment for the meal?"

"The meal was given freely, but you can pay with your story if that's your wish." Assured the kid.

The old man had a soft expression when he looked at the walls, Astyanax dared to think that he saw something similar to pride in his eyes.

"For irrelevant reasons to this story", started the man, "the two gods were punished by Zeus to live as mortals for a year, and looked for work here, at Troy. The king at that moment wasn't a fair man, and ignorant to the fact he was treating with gods, he only hired the two of them to build the walls."

"That's definitely some shitty behaviour right there."

"Language."

"Right, sorry. Please keep going."

"The king gave them a year to complete the work, but they did not relent. Poseidon was skilled in the ways of the rock, and Apollo was a diligent work partner. Together, they make the walls grow more and more everyday. The year passed and there was only a thin gap in the wall that could have been done in an hour, but the king said the work wasn't completed in time so there was no payment. And the gods left."

"Let me guess," said Astyanax, with a mischievious smile, "because Zeus' sentence was over, they have regained their power, and make the king face the consequences of his actions."

"You're correct, more or less." The old man confirmed. "I remember when Troy was in its full glory, what a beautiful place it was."

"I don't know, maybe." Melancholy was back in Astyanax's face.

"What's wrong? You are young, but your eyes are old, my boy."

"I...I guess that's a good way to put it. I was born at the war", confessed Astyanax, "but I'm too young to remember Troy, or anything related."

"And yet, here you are."

"Not by choice." Muttered the kid to himself, the old man heard him, but didn't say anything. "Did Apollo came back to Troy?"

"He did," answered the old man, "he sided with the Trojans. The Acheans had disrespect him, and Zeus was telling him to do so." When he said that, Astyanax snorted. "What's so funny about it?

"It's just...the gods, they are gods, yes, but they are also... people, emotional people. I'm sure he even cursed the Achean Camp, just to because he could."

"Something like that."

"See? People."

"Maybe you're right."

"Talking about people, were you there? At the war?"

"I was," the answer was concise, "why?"

"Did you ever meet Hector of Troy?"

There was a silence.

"You could say that, why the question?"

"Could you tell me what was he like?"

"Wise," the answer came quickly, "he was wise, and honourable. He was trying to do the right thing in a time no one was listening." The old man stood up, having finished his food. "I'll leave you to it, thanks for the company, and the meal."

"Thanks you for the stories." Replied Astyanax.

Despite his own words, the old man made no move to leave.

"Your bow, did you make it?"

"Yes, I did, why?"

"It's a good bow, I'm sure every arrow you shoot with it will land right in its target."

"Thank you, that's so kind..." Astyanax stopped talking, because somehow, while he was looking at his bow, the old man had disappeared. " Of you."

He shook his head, trying to calm himself. He was sure he didn't imagine the encounter, the fishbones the stranger had taken out of his food were still there, in a little neat pile. Even the sand where he were was disrupted.

Whatever, he was no threat and meant no harm. Astyanax finished his meal and stood up to put out the fire.

He had spent enough time among ghosts, time to go looking for the living.

[bruciemilf]

Do you have any head cannons about the batkids absolutely loving and adoring Batman/Bruce? I'm obsessed with the idea of them being like "I beg your pardon, but he is our Father™? Our provider? We require his attention and affection at all times pls do not distract him."

omg gonna take the chance to talk abt the batkids & their love languages bc <3333

Dick's is quality time; I can imagine him being downright territoial over his and Bruce's "watching bad Gray Ghost reboots just to laugh at Dad getting mad" time, because it's his absolute favourite.

He gets to lay his tired head on Bruce's lap and sigh pleasantly when his hair is groomed. If you make Bruce tea -- no you don't. That is illegal. Dick does.

And he's just enough of a bitch to be passive agressive about it because "It's our thing; Would you take the mic from Lady Gaga at a concert? No? Then outta my tea!"

Jason's is physical affection!!! And I say that with my whole chest!! This Frankenstein Baby is touch starved and requires all tactillness, always. It's a form of self-reassurance, AND an olive branch; It's his way of saying "I'll always want my father's love" and "You didn't come back wrong; You're not made to be handled roughly. I need to know you're here and alive and content"

and he might play tough guy, might sigh as if this is a favour, but everyone sees him melt. Bonus, the image of Jason's 6'5 ass clinging to Bruce while the poor guy tries making lunch because he CAN, ALFRED, is so cute. Jason for the son who has to lean down to get his hair ruffled like a german shephard.

Tim's is acts of service and gift giving; He's vigilant, observant, pays attention to Bruce with a hawk's eye. Especially those interests he has too little time for. Give me Tim who doesn't know a loving father but when he gets him, he's super attentive. Give me Tim who seeks Bruce's company on his own free will.

Give me Tim who'll bring puzzles home and solve them with Bruce for hours, and who'll listen to mouthpiece after mouthpiece about mechanics and cars, who doesn't like getting dirty but will stay with bruce in his workshop just to watch him work. Give me Tim who gets Bruce gifts despite his dad giving him dissaproving looks. "You shouldn't waste money."

"You're not a waste."

Damian's is words of affirmation -- PLEASE. THIS BABY IS SO READY TO YELL "Batman is actually the best superhero, actually, here's a 30 slide PP presentation as to why. Number one- because I said so" it's very inetresting for Damian; Because if he got anything from Bruce, (Please, please, he begs no one in particular, let me have something from him) is a crushing amount of insecurity.

Bruce is just downright allergic to compliements; He spits them out like a rotten meal, in fact, as if his body just can't hold them down. Damian just. Won't stand for it. "Baba, you look very pretty today. "

"...Thank you, Damian. That's very kind of you to say."

"I recently learned you won't accept compliments to your character, so this will have to do. " Does he give up? Of course not. He's a Robin. They never learned what that is.

Cass, like Dick, loves to spend time with Bruce, -- but what's surprising to the Batdad? Cass is wraith made of warmth and softness. She's stealthy and moves smoothly like wind and punches like ten men. But her love is loud.

Bruce is her only father and she's not timid about saying it. Wordlessly, sure, but no less impactful, with no small amount of passion. Give me Cass who holds hands with Bruce while on the street, and shows him funny videos on her phone, and who texts with him regularly, and who has him as her wallpaper.

That is her father and she carries him lovingly.

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It Takes a Mob pt. 5

Previous

First

Bill steeled his breath as he looked around the room,

“Everyone in position? On sync.”

There was a rigid atmosphere as they all took on final deep breath.

“Sync!!”

The tabs were opened quickly.

The plan fell apart equally as fast.

“The legs? What the fuck do you mean lift ‘im up by his legs? How the fuck am I supposed to deal with the diaper?!”

“I don’t know man that’s what the wiki says!”

Marv started to put down the trash can,

“No man I think you godda put both of ‘em in one hand Bill.”

Bill glared at as Marv took a step forward,

“Don’t abandon your post dumbass! What do you mean both in one hand?”

“I dunno man, they’re small! Just one hand ‘em!“

“But what if I-JESUS!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The diaper was eventually replaced but Bill could feel a couple gray hairs that were not there that morning.

“I guess we need to add density shifting to the list now, nice catch Ken!”

Ken for his part thumped on the wall in the bathroom and over the sound of the shower yelled, “Aye fuck you!” Much to the amusement of his cohort.

Danny had calmed down after he was cleaned up and happily shaking his rabbit on the couch at this point. Bill watched him in mild amusement as he packed the to-go bag back up with a snicker.

“Be lucky that you’re cute kid, Ken would’ve put a cap in anyone else’s ass for that stunt you did.”

Marv slammed back into the apartment with theatric gasp holding something fabric in his arms.

“What the fuck is that?”

“A boba wrap.”

“A what?”

Bill made a grab for the babe as Marv unceremoniously plopped himself on the other side of the couch and sheepishly gave an apologetic smile at Bill’s glare.

“A boba wrap. Gwen thought the best way of move around with Danny would be to jus’ carry him so there wouldn’t be any chance of snatchers. An’ if we use this wrap correctly, we can just tie him on as we work!”

Gently bouncing the boy, Bill looked over the cloth, as Ken joined them in the living room with a towel around his neck.

“And your sister isn’t going to be mad if we use this right?”

“Oh nah, she doesn’t have no more use for it since the nibblings are older. She just says to wash it if we give it back.”

Ken shook his hair like a wet dog with a snort,

“Bless that lady. How’s she handling the news?”

“About as good as you can expect when one of your younger brothers calls you at noon asking ‘bout diaper changing.”

Bill took a seat with a sigh,

“Ok gentlemen, we got about six hours before we need to clock in. You two have been up since yesterday so go take naps. I can handle the squirt.”

Ken squinted,

“You sure Bill?”

“Don’t make me regret letting you two into my room. I will know if you go snooping. But other than that, go, I’ll wake you two up half an hour beforehand so we can figure out this wrapping situation.”

Bill watched as the two lumbered away before focusing his eyes back on the tyke.

“Welp, you and me kid. What do you think we should do?”

“Baba…”

“I don’t know about that, but we do have Hulu.”

Grabbing the remote, Bill put his feet up and settled back.

“I heard this Bluey fella has some good ratings. What do you think?”

“Ap.”

“Bluey it is then.”

Hoodlums:

@reinluna,@confused-moose-child,@mimilikey,@emeraudesfateandfandoms, @dolfay, @boredomfarie, @aconitewolfsbane, @withoutcontxt, @onyxlightdragon, @satanicrutialspecialist, @phoenixdemonqueen, @vixen-uchiha, @skulld3mort-1fan, @bytheoldwillowtree, @illusionwolfwriter24r8, @thewondersoflebanon, @vipower001, @autumnwulf, @alice-hazelwood, @fisticuffsatapplebees, @f4nd0m-fun, @markus209,  @dolfay, @basilf1res, @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair, @skirter01, @bun-fish, @ascetic-orange, @thegatorsgoose, @sunflowershine03, @ladythugs, @firegirl108, @glitchedchaos, @rangerhorsetug, @mimilikey, @booberrylizard, @lehana37, @dragongoblet, @flamey-comet, @mandyne-1001, @starscreamlover, @moonfirearc, @bae-graphomaniac, @mewzaque​, @wolfeyedwitch, @idfk-man10, @demon-cat-goes-woof, @undead-essence, @jaguarthecat, @scythegal​, @dolfay​, @boo-ghosties​, @8-29pm​, @alixanterm, @aria7silver, @cyber-geist​, @alice-hazelwood, @littlefeather345, @terzatheunderscorerima, @emeraldcorpral, @raspberry-muffin, @wolfjackle​

[mask131]

There is a trope I really like when it comes to magic in fantasy, and it is the "inhuman wizard/witch".

In fantasy nowadays, the origin of magic mostly boils down to two things. On one side: "learned" magic. It is an art and knowledge you can learn, train and develop and anybody can be a wizard, witch, sorcerer, warlock, whatever. On the other side: you are born with your powers, magic is something inherent in you, that you cannot control.

But the third way is the trope I enjoy and I don't see it being brought up a lot: certain characters have magic because they are NOT human. (And I am not speaking of The Owl House style where witches are just a separate species, no, no no).

This trope is literaly as old as time, it being highlighted by folkloric, legendary and mythological characters like Merlin, Circe, Baba-Yaga, Vaïnamoïnen: most of the great enchanters and sorcerers of legend, most of the powerful witches of myth and folklore, were demigods, half-devil or even minor gods themselves. Being a wizard wasn't just a random business, and it wasn't just being born "special" - it was about belonging to an entirely different level of existence.

I do note that it is quite strange for this trope not to have gotten more of a success because it was a key part of THE great work of the fantasy genre, The Lord of the Rings, + The Silmarillion. In it the Five Wizards, the Istari ; but also Sauron (in his necromancer/sorcerer persona), and Melian (the closest thing Tolkien had to an enchantress or sorceress), are all applications of this trope. They literaly are Middle-Earth's embodiments of wizards, witches, enchanters and sorceresses, but they are such powerful magic users precisely because they do not "come from this world" but rather are divine spirits made flesh, angelic beings disguised as humans/elves, minor gods who bound themselves to these appearances. And yet, when you look at the many Tolkienesque imitators or renewers (Shannara, Belgariad, Wheel of Time, Fionavar Tapestry) they all insist on the wizards and witches being... human.

C.S. Lewis, in his Narnia books, also followed Tolkien's trope, by having his wizards be literal fallen stars stuck on Earth - a concept of "astral magic" that will be reused in works such as "A Wrinkle in Time" where the trio of planet-travelling witches are pointed out to have had previous existences as suns and other stellar phenomenon. Lewis' witches also originally were depicted as otherworldy, inhuman entities (half-giant half-jinn entity working as a sort of angel for the fantasy equivalent of God, giant demonic snake taking the shape of a lady) before he gave us a new Jadis backstory making her more "human", so to speak, or at least part of a neat and clear-cut species.

There's also Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, where the two great magic-users, Sheelba of the Eyeless Face and Ningauble of the Seven Eyes, aren't just hyper-powerful and very weird sorcerers, but also strongly implied (if not outright said) to be interdimensional alien entities.

This trope does creep up and shine in some fantasy works from time to time, but it is quite rare. A recent example I ABSOLUTELY adored is the Witch of Sarnwood, from "Kingdoms of Thorn and Bone". The trope is also used frequently in French fantasy (probably because it has closer roots with fairytales and medieval tales, where enchanters and witches are more inhuman) but since it probably won't evoke anything to people here I won't do a full list, just point out the character of The Enchanter in Michel Pagel's great "Les flammes de la nuit". (But it isn't very surprising given Pagel's work is part-Shakespearian fantasy, and Shakespeare was a famous user of this idea of "inhuman magic users", with his Weird Sisters from Macbeth, for example)

And of course, I have to speak about The Lich from Adventure Time, which is probably THE big highlight of this trope in modern day. The Lich is presented as, well, a manifestation of a D&D lich, as just your typical undead "evil lord sorcerer", but then as we move more and more down the story it is revealed he is literaly the embodiment and vessel of a cosmic force of destruction and mass extinction that dates back to the primordial monsters before time itself... This is notably such a Tolkienesque move, because I don't think I ever saw such a big character-exploration/twist reveal since Tolkien slowly revealed the Hobbit's Necromancer was Sauron, and then who Sauron originally was - in fact when you look at Youtube "lore videos" trying to piece out the background and evolution of the Lich, you will notice they do bear a striking resemblance to videos discussing the "Necromancer" of the Hobbit and how it ties to Sauron... Someone should one day point out all the Tolkienesque elements in Adventure Time, but that will be for another day.

Conclusion? It is quite fascinating to see how magic-users started out a lot of the time as these otherworldy divine or demonic beings, these inhuman forces that merely appear human somehow, but today people seem to REALLY like and REALLY prefer their wizards and witches to be human, and I guess relatable? The biggest example being the Harry Potter phenomenon, and even more recently the Owl House because while they are not "humans" per se, they are still basically an alternate humanity, instead of being stars in human masks or unique alien beings travelling time and space like Doctor Who.

(By the way, did you ever notice that Doctor Who was literaly designed to be a sci-fi version of the fantasy genre? If not, then I have another post to make... But yes, the Doctor is literaly an alien, sci-fi version of a wizard/sorcerer, down to the magic wand/sonic screwdriver.)

[topaz-witch-tea]

Hello ! I love love love your yanqing family au! I’m a PhD student so I have very limited time when it comes to sitting down and reading fan fics so I really appreciate the little drabbles you post on here! Whenever you’re able to, I’d love to see a fic where yanqing gets sick and his father (and aunts) fuss over him

Hello! I'm very happy you love it! 🥰

Totally understand on the PhD part, I hope you are doing your best to stay healthy and hydrated.

I do enjoy writing drabbles since they don't need to be as clean as fics are, so please have a drabble of Yanqing being sick. This is a bit longer than some of my other drabbles.

*****

Mimi woke up to whimpering and the body of her young master tightly curled in the blankets. He didn't him to be awake but his breathing was labored and as Mimi walked over to poke the bundle with her nose, it seemed to curl even tighter into the blanket.

Worried, the lion quickly opened the door and rushed to her owners' room. It was a cold night and the three were all curled together in the middle of the bed. Mimi jumped onto the bed, startling Jing Yuan awake.

"Mimi?" The general rubbed his eyes, "what's wrong?"

Mimi made no noise, instead choosing to prod the others awake as well.

"Mimi…stop." Yingxing groaned, stuffing his face into the pillow. Dan Feng blearily opened his eyes, also displeased at being awoken in the middle of the night.

Mimi, displeased by how tired everyone was, started to pull at Jing Yuan's robe before hopping off the bed. She took a couple of steps before looking back to see if they were following her, a growl at the ready if they were still too tired to understand her urgency. Jing Yuan was already walking in her direction as Dan Feng was scrambling off the bed to get to his robe.

Yanqing felt horrible. He felt hot and cold and his body hurt all over. All his thoughts were foggy and when he wanted to call for his dads, it hurt his throat.

"Yanqing?" A voice called out, but Yanqing could only respond with a whimper.

Warm arms rolled him on his back and a slightly cold hand brushed his forehead. He could hear murmuring but they sounded as if they were talking to him underwater. Something wet and cold was placed on his forehead and a bitter liquid was fed to him from a cold, metal spoon. His thoughts went black again and he felt hot and icky for hours until a voice called out to him.

"Come on, little bird. Wake up, you need to eat."

Yanqing opened his eyes to see Jing Yuan. His bright, golden eyes filled with worry as he helped the boy sit up.

"A-die?" Yanqing muttered out. His throat not hurting as much anymore.

"How are you feeling? You didn't want to eat earlier so we just gave you medicine and let you sleep." Yingxing came over with a bowl of soup on a tray.

"I don't feel good," Yanqing said before burying his face into Jing Yuan's gray robe.

"I know, it'll be okay. Ba is getting medicine for you right now. But you have to eat before you can take more okay?"

"Okay," Yanqing murmured before being spoonfed soup by his Baba.

"It's just broth so try to finish the whole thing." Yingxing held out another spoonful.

"It tasted weird."

"Yes, that's normal. Food doesn't taste good when you're sick."

Yanqing was halfway done with his soup when Dan Feng arrived, a small brown paper bag in his hand. He set the bag down before coming over and playing his hand on Yanqing's forehead. The hand was cold like the water in Scalegorge Waterscape and for Yanqing, who felt like he was burning up, it was a welcome respite.

However, his father quickly drew his hand away. "You're burning up. You should take some medicine now and finish your food."

Dan Feng pulled out a brown bottle and a metal spoon from the bag. Pouring the amber syrup into a spoon, he held it up for Yanqing to drink. The medicine was bitter and had a sharp, tangy aftertaste. He hated it and quickly ate the rest of the soup in order to get rid of the taste. Jing Yuan helped him lay down again and with a little bit of Cloudhymn magic, Yanqing quickly fell asleep.

"It pains me to see him like this," Dan Feng said as he adjusted the blanket.

"I know. He's a strong boy now, so there's no need to worry." Jing Yuan scratched Mimi's ears, a reward for her ever-vigilant care.

"He'll be hungry when he wakes up. I'll prepare another soup for him when he's up." Yingxing said, standing up and collecting the bowl and medicine spoon.

Yanqing woke up a couple of hours later to Mimi laying by his side, her cold nose poking his arm and her sharp blue eyes were as watchful as ever.

"Oh, you're awake! How are you feeling?" A cheerful voice spoke up, though her purple ears were flat against her head- a telltale sign that she was worried.

"Auntie Baiheng? Why are you here?"

"I came to visit you, little bird. I heard you got sick last night. Are you feeling better?"

Yanqing nodded. His body was still tired from the illness.

"Good. Auntie Jingliu is here too. She brought some special ginger tea for you. I think she's still preparing it now." Baiheng gently smoothed away the hair that clung to his face.

"Ginger is spicy." Yanqing didn't like ginger but his family always made him eat it since it was good for him.

"I know. But it's good for you." The little boy pouted and somehow looked even more pitiful than he already was.

"Where are my dads?" His fathers were usually by his bedside when he was sick, so it was strange not to see them there.

"You're A-die got called into work for a quick thing but he should be back soon. Baba is in the kitchen with your auntie preparing food and tea. Ba is probably looking at medicinal herbs to make more new medicine for you."

"I hope the new medicine is sweet like candy. The one I got tasted really yucky." Yanqing made a face, earning him a laugh from Baiheng.

The door opened again and Yanqing could hear the tinkling of glassware.

"Are you feeling better Yanqing?" Yingxing placed the tray down before moving to sit on the bed and placing his hand on Yanqing's forehead. "You aren't as hot as earlier."

"I feel better. But my throat hurts a bit."

"Here, drink this." Jingliu placed a small, ceramic teacup into Yanqing's hands.

He knew better than to fight them when it came to drinking tea and medicine so he took a deep breath and finished the tea in one gulp. The tea was hot and spicy and burned his throat and tongue. When he was younger, he cried when they made him drink it.

"Good job." Jingliu patted his head and took the cup away.

Yanqing heard the door open again and this time, Mimi jumped off the bed. "Why hello to you too, Mimi!" Jing Yuan laughed as the lion rolled onto her stomach, obviously lacking in belly rubs as the family was busy.

Dan Feng paid little mind to them, instead walking over to check Yanqing's temperature.

"I just checked it. He's fine." Yingxing spoke up.

"One can never be too sure."

Yingxing rolled his eyes as he pulled up a chair to the two new arrivals. "Do you want to eat dinner now?"

"You're eating here?" Yanqing asked.

"Of course!" Baiheng fluffed up the pillows so he could lean back properly. "It wouldn't be fair to have to eat here on your own."

The five of them sat by Yanqing's bedside happily chatting with dinner in hand as Yanqing finished his soup. Mimi, after finishing her meal, was curled up at the end of the bed.

"When I get better, could we go somewhere?" Yanqing asked after finishing his soup.

"Where would you like to go?" Jing Yuan replied.

Yanqing thought for a moment. "I want to go to the Artisanship Commission Auction!"

"The auction?" Yingxing looked taken aback, "You have no money to bid with."

The comment earned him a kick to the shin by Dan Feng.

"I'll give you however much you need!" Baiheng said cheerfully, always happy to spend on her nephew.

"Stop spoiling him." Jingliu looked over to her wife, knowing full well how much would be drained from their account next month. Those words fell on deaf ears anyway and she was just as guilty.

"I don't see why not. I think it's a wonderful idea. But you have to take your medicine and rest if you want to recover in time." Jing Yuan said.

"I will!" Yanqing beamed, ready to take that horrible-tasting medicine and dream of all the swords he could have.

****

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and please feel free to send me asks!

[allamericanfinalgirl]

sun bleached flies.

(content warning; implied smut)

Ilse Abernathy pulled her shawl over her head to try and get some type of relief from the heavy rainstorm passing through District 12 that had turned the streets into a river of mud.

The sound of a child’s cries stopped Ilse short, peering through the heavy sleet of rain to see a lump on the side of the road, pressed against the foundation of a house.

Carefully approaching the bundled thing, Ilse gasped in shock; A little girl, no more than five or six, shoveling mud in her mouth for sustenance. “No, no, no!” Ilse gently scolded the little girl, scraping the mud out of her mouth and sitting her upright like a doll.

Lifting the girl into her arms, Ilse rushed twice as fast to her home; The wind practically blew the door off its hinges as Ilse came in with the rain. “Haymitch! Start boiling water!” She called to her eldest son, who watched from the doorway with suspicious gray eyes.

“Who’s she?” Eight-year-old Haymitch held his baby brother, Nemo, in his thin arms.

After a mining accident that took Mr. Abernathy’s life; At eight years old, Haymitch became the defunct ‘man of the house’, and he wasn’t too sure how he felt about another mouth to feed.

“Someone who needs our help,” Ilse cooed and hushed at the little girl when she whimpered and tried to fight her off when she wiped her face clean with her skirts. “Haymitch! The water! Please hurry!”

Rolling his grey eyes, Haymitch put Nemo in his cradle and put an empty bucket outside, filling it quickly and tossing it on the stove with a loud thump that caused a wave of water to dump over the edge and wet his clothes.

The little girl explained through chattering teeth that her ‘Amma and Baba’ had passed away from sickness while traveling through the Districts, sending her into 12 when they could go no further.

With the water heated to a safe temperature, Ilse had garnered enough trust from the little girl to allow her to clean her up in the tub, scrubbing her hands and hair with lavender soap.

Once she was clean, Ilse gave the girl a bowl of porridge. “Do you have a name?” She thought it was peculiar; The girl’s pitch-black hair contrasted by jade-green eyes reminded Ilse of the Seam’s signature dark hair and gray eyes look.

“Lotus Pray.” The girl replied through spoonfuls of porridge. “Thank you.” She added, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her tiny brown hand. “I miss my Amma and Baba.”

“When’s she leaving?” Haymitch held Lotus with a little contempt, didn’t she know they didn’t have the food and soap to spare?

“Haymitch.” Ilse scolded her son, looking back at Lotus and taking her hands in her worn ones. “You will stay the night. How does that sound?”

Lotus hadn’t slept in a bed since she crossed the water for months and months and it was a sweet relief to crawl under heavy thick blankets snuggled by the warm of sharing a small cot with Haymitch and the baby.

Haymitch did not hide his annoyance as he turned his back on Lotus and crossed his arms over his chest, drifting off to sleep to the sound of Lotus quietly talking to Nemo as the rain pattered on the window pane.

The next morning after the rain stopped and the sun shone across District 12, Lotus was old enough to understand a welcome overstayed, thanking Ilse and walking off into the grove of trees. ‘Good riddance.’ Haymitch thought to himself as he watched Lotus’ retreating figure disappear.

-

Ilse was carrying on a conversation with a babbling Nemo while she hung laundry on the line and Haymitch was in school, disinterested in the subject of Lotus.

The sound of tapping on the door made Ilse pause, putting Nemo on her hip and investigating the front door. “Hello?” She curiously called out, looking down and pleasantly surprised to find a potato sack bursting at the seams and filled to the brim with blueberries. “Oh!”

Some branches rustled and Ilse peered into the woods to see the edge of a skirt. “Lotus?” She called, laughing softly and kneeling to scoop a handful of blueberries in her hand and pop them in her mouth.

A sharp tartness exploded in Ilse’s mouth, she never had time to go pick blueberries. “Did you do this?” She asked the little girl, who nodded while nervously sucking on her thumb. “Well, I suppose I could bake this into a pie, would you like to help me?”

Lotus nodded and a tiny grin cracked her serious features, helping Ilse haul the bag inside; the mother of two wondered how little Lotus had carried the bag from The Meadow back to the Abernathy’s. “Why, you’re awful strong aren’t you?”

The little girl shrugged bashfully, her face reddening even further when the front door opened and slammed shut, Haymitch staring daggers at her. “What’s she doing here?”

“Look what Lotus brought us, Haymitch!” Ilse showed her son the bag of blueberries and even he could not hide his elation. “Thanks.” He said lamely to Lotus, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing the toe of his shoe against the stove.

Haymitch had no choice but to get used to Lotus’ presence, his mother had grown fond of her and he couldn’t tell her to go away, no matter how much he would have liked to.

That didn’t stop Haymitch from digging up worms while fishing and dangling them in front of Lotus’ face, making her shriek and run away while he chased her while covered head-to-toe in mud.

With Ilse having worked in town and Haymitch attending school, Lotus offered to babysit Nemo in exchange for dinner and housing from the Abernathys, which was beyond Haymitch’s understanding.

But Lotus had a big heart and not even Haymitch was immune to her charms, he begrudgingly held her hand on her first day of school, eating and studying together.

At sixteen; Haymitch and Lotus practically lived in The Meadow, fishing at the lake, picking berries in the valley and apples from the trees.

A fox had made himself Haymitch and Lot’s companion. Haymitch had argued the fox was a walking meal on four legs but Lot would not allow him to kill the animal.

“Look at him.” Lot cooed, scooping the fox into her arms like a baby and holding him out to Haymitch, who scrunched his nose at the fox.

Yipping and rubbing its head into Lot’s cheek, the fox abruptly stopped for a second to look at Haymitch out of the corner of its eye as if to say. ‘Don’t you wish this were you?’ “I don’t know why you let that dirty mongrel follow you around.”

“Someone said that to me about you yesterday.” Lot shot back with a teasing grin, gently squeezing Haymitch’s arm to ensure he knew it was a joke.

Huffing loudly, Haymitch flopped on his back in the grass and put his head on Lotus’ lap; she sat cross-legged with her skirt splayed around them like a blanket. “You ever…” He rolled his gray eyes, Haymitch’s friends had teased him during a conversation about girls. “I dunno…Do you like the boys at school?”

Lotus absentmindedly stroked Haymitch’s face, watching the sunset over the valley. “I guess I never thought about it much.” That wasn’t entirely true. “All the girls do is talk about you, you know.”

Haymitch knew that. He didn’t feel like further discussing the subject suddenly. “I don’t care about them.” Haymitch stifled a sigh when Lotus gently smoothed his furrowed brow. “I care about you.” She said it so quietly Haymitch almost didn’t hear it.

-

Eighteen-year-old Haymitch half-carried a conversation with his friends as they exited the mouth of the mines for their lunch break, his dark eyes locking on Lot in her best dress, flowers, and ribbons woven into her braids.

“Hello!” Lotus stood on her tiptoes and kissed Haymitch’s cheek, leaving the scent of rose oil on his face.

“Hello,” Haymitch smirked at the looks and joking catcalls as he shooed off his friends, wrapping his strong arms around Lot’s waist and lifting her for a peck on the lips. “You look beautiful today.” He complimented, tugging gently on the end of one of her braids.

“Why, thank you.” Lot grinned when Haymitch hiked up her skirt and pulled her body flush against his, she reached up and undid the first few buttons of his mining uniform, placing her hands on his bare and sweaty chest.

“Make love to me at midnight in the Meadow.” She whispered in his ear, moaning softly when Haymitch cupped the back of her neck and kissed her passionately.

The sound of Haymitch’s friends whooping and hollering made him break away with a lovestruck grin. “Take your mangy fox and get out of here.” He kissed her cheek and smacked Lot from behind when she turned to leave.

Haymitch distinctly remembered promising his mother he would not sleep in the same bed as Lot until he was eighteen, as they could not afford another mouth to feed.

It didn’t stop Haymitch from sneaking to Lot’s little house by the lake every evening to cradle her in his arms.

-

Mud fell in large wet clumps from the tall, dark-haired man as he limped through the rain-sodden streets.

If Haymitch thought about it; He could remove his clothes and dive into the mud river flowing past his soaked legs and swim back to his house.

Nemo had taken his leave from the mines early; Haymitch insisted Nemo go home to prepare for the Reaping while Haymitch picked up the rest of his shift.

Haymitch passed a scarred hand through his soaked, black curls. He was soaked to the bone but the sound of his girl singing warmed him from head to toe.

With his split lip bleeding from grinning, Haymitch circled the cement hut, crouching low beside her laundry basket.

When she returned with an armful of towels, Haymitch popped up and screamed, shaking his mud-covered arms like some type of swamp-like creature.

Frozen still; The girl stared back with wide gray eyes before drawing her lips back and giving a mighty “RAHHHH!!!” Shaking her long, braided hair in his face like a ferocious animal.

Bolting after Haymitch; The young couple chased each other around the small concrete house that Lotus called home.

Snatching a broom, Lotus’ skirt twirled around her ankles as she faced off with Haymitch. “What happened to you?” She pulled back at the sight of blood running down his chin. “Bad day in the mines?”

Earlier that morning; Haymitch had visited the black market known as The Hob, in search of a ring.

Jewelry was considered useless in District 12, most couples settled for a piece of twine wrapped around their left ring finger.

Lot wasn’t any woman; She was Haymitch’s girl and if they planned on running from 12 after the Reaping, he wanted her to know that he was her man.

Digging through the streets for fallen coins, and collecting fresh berries, and stale bread from the bakery dumpster; Haymitch bartered with one of the many stall owners for a gold band adorned with a chipped and worn diamond.

“This is all I have.” His gray eyes bore deeply into the vendor’s eyes. “It’s for my girl.”

“Oh. Well, when you put it like that.” The vendor wasn’t much older than Haymitch, which irritated him as he stared back with sympathetic eyes, holding the ring out over Haymitch’s open palm. “It’s three tesserae extra.”

That’s when Haymitch socked the man in the jaw, snatched the ring, and ran.

Not his cleverest plan.

The vendor and his friends got the jump on Haymitch and searched him for the ring, but no such luck.

“Good luck to you and your girl now!” The vendor sneered before stalking off with his friends.

Ensuring the coast was clear, Haymitch dug into the corner of his mouth, wincing and gagging as he produced the ring from its spot lodged in his teeth. ‘Ha!’ He felt a surge of pride, wincing as he resumed his walk to Lot.

“What makes you say that?” Haymitch grinned mischievously while Lot tousled his curls, stiff from the drying mud in his hair. “You better clean up, your Momma gave me these.” She held up a clean pair of folded trousers and a tunic.

Haymitch wrinkled his nose and Lot sighed and put her hands on the broad expanse of his chest, toned from his years in the mines.

“I’ll help you clean up.” She gave him a coy smile that Haymitch couldn’t help rolling his eyes and returning.

Grimacing as Lot dumped a freezing bucket of water on his head, Haymitch leaped off the tiny stool Lot had sat him down on and yelped.

“It would have been hot if you weren’t late!” She scolded while opening a tin box to remove an ivory bar of soap. “C’mere, you mutt.” She teased, referencing the Capitol creations used in the Games.

Like an old dog, Haymitch draped himself over Lot’s bare lap while she scrubbed his curls, and his soot-stained cheeks and picked his fingernails clean.

“So handsome.” Lot complimented, as she finished trimming his beard. “One more day.” She whispered, leaning in close so their lips were inches apart. “One more Reaping and it’s you and I in the trees.”

Lot practically breathed the words into Haymitch’s mouth. If anyone heard this, they would be hung for treason. “Is your family packed? Are they ready?”

“They’re ready,” Haymitch replied against Lot’s lips, “We celebrate with the neighbors and leave in the night.”

Lot sighed and crushed her soft lips against Haymitch’s chapped ones, she tasted like the rose oil she rubbed on her cheeks and lips. “There’s something I need to ask you before we leave, Lot.”

Haymitch watched Lot with a lovestruck grin as she kissed the scars and burns on his hands from years of the mines. “Go on then.”

A gold band flashed between Haymitch’s long brown fingers and Lot gasped, jumping back as if it were a live thing. “Where did you get that?” She hissed, looking around in case someone dared to pluck it from their intertwined hands and run.

Sinking to one knee in the hut, Haymitch winced from his aches and pains from the mines as he took Lot’s weathered hand in his own. “I, Haymitch Abernathy of District 12, ask for your hand, Lotus Pray, in marriage.” He recited perfectly after rounds and rounds of practice with his brother.

Lot fought hard to contain her excitement, hopping up and down and kicking up coal dust with her boots. “I, Lotus Pray of District 12, accept your hand, Haymitch Abernathy, in marriage.” She recited back, hand trembling as Haymitch shakily slid the ring on her bony finger.

“Where did you find such a thing?” Lot sighed at the ring of flame design that curled around her wedding finger. “I promise to cherish this forever. Oh, Haymitch-“ She buried her face in his chest, his long, strong arms closing around her. “I love you.”

Haymitch kissed the top of her head, his mouth traveling down to kiss her face, the side of her mouth, and then a long passionate kiss.

Moaning softly, Haymitch placed a hand underneath her dress, his rough palm flat against her soft thigh, lifting her onto the table in one strong movement.

“We’ll be late…” Lot rested her back against the cool stone wall as Haymitch sank to his knees and parted her legs. “Peacekeepers’ll have to drag me away from you.”

Lot laughed and leaned back, closing her hand in Haymitch’s mess of curls as he licked a long trail of saliva from her knee to her inner thigh.

Long, strong but thin fingers moved Lot’s underwear to the side, damp enough that she would need to change before they left.

“H-!” Lot clapped a hand over her mouth when they both heard footsteps pass by, voices talking about The Reaping.

Lot sighed and leaned back, stroking his face with the back of her hand. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.” She placed the folded clothes in his arms and shooed for him to get ready to go.

-

“You made a mess of me.” Lot quietly scolded Haymitch as they walked hand into town, to The Reaping. Nemo trodded along beside them, holding Lot’s hand as well. “You’re welcome,” Haymitch whispered back with a prideful grin, his hair still a mess from the day's events.

Tapping her hand, Nemo looked curiously at the gold band around Lot’s finger. “Isn’t it pretty?” She showed the little boy how the diamond glittered in the sunlight.

“It is,” Haymitch replied, secretly squeezing her hand tightly in his own.

“Look.” Stopping at a nearby pond, Haymitch crouched and dipped his cupped hands underneath a lily pad floating above the jade-green water, pulling them up sharply to pluck the bright pink lotus flower that sat atop it.

“For you.” He twirled the stem between his fingers as he tucked it behind Lot’s ear.

“Pretty.” Nemo complimented, swinging Lot’s hand back and forth. “Why thank you.” Lot swept low in a curtsy, his brother giggled and hid his face in Haymitch’s arm.

Lining up in the boys’ queue with Nemo, Haymitch gave Lot an encouraging nod as she lined up with the girls.

The Gamemakers still struggled to find the perfect age group for tributes, ranging from as young as twelve to as old as twenty.

Haymitch and Lot were on their last year in The Reaping pool, feeling lucky, they put their names in multiple times to receive tesserae for their families, even if it meant their odds went up.

It was sick logic, but Haymitch and Lot banked on the hope the Gamemakers wanted a younger tribute pool to raise the stakes of the games, uninterested in young adults dying as most of the young male population had dwindled during the Dark Days of the War.

Haymitch found Lot in the crowd of girls, her pink lotus flower still tucked behind her ear; He was so concentrated on how beautiful she looked, his ring on her finger, his flower in her hair, that Haymitch did not notice as one of the vendor’s friend from earlier that morning took the stage.

-

Blood running cold, Haymitch locked eyes with the man, now dressed in white Peacekeeper armor, as he addressed the crowd. “Welcome to the Reaping of the Annual 50th Hunger Games.” He was unsurprised when he was met with silence.

“In case you have not been following the cycle of the Games, this year has fallen upon the Second Quarter Quell.”

A ripple of murmurs flowed through the crowd. “And following the tradition of the Second Quarter Quell; We will reap twice as many tributes from each district.”

‘Fuck!’ Haymitch clenched his jaw and stared back at Lot; What if-?

“We will start with the girls.” Haymitch didn’t hold his breath until both girls had been reaped, one he didn’t know, and the other a friend of Lot’s; Maysilee Donner.

“And now for the boys.”

Closing his eyes, Haymitch could hear the blood roaring in his ears as the first male was called, not his brother. “The second male tribute from District 12 is…”

The Peacekeeper didn’t even bother to read the slip of paper as leaned into the mic as close as possible, locking eyes with him in the crowd. “Haymitch Abernathy.”

-

Lot rushed to wrap her arms tight around Nemo when he clung to Haymitch, sobbing and begging him not to go. “You have to let him go!” Lot felt like a monster as she ripped Nemo from Haymitch, but this is what she had promised if this day ever came, and it did.

“What a strapping young man.” The Peacekeeper wanted to see if he could goad the eldest Abernathy son into a fight. “Well, at least it’s a break from the coal mines. Your father couldn’t have been afforded that.”

The look that Haymitch’s face twisted into made the Peacekeeper gleeful. “District Twelve, your tributes.” He gestured to the four tributes on stage before they were escorted into the Hall of Justice.

Haymitch felt one hot tear roll down his cheek as he turned his back on the crowd, drowning out the sound of his mother and brother’s sobs.

-

“Lot will bring you milk and food.” Haymitch rubbed the top of his mother’s hand while Nemo lay with his head in his lap.

“She will arrange for someone to bring you meat from the woods. Keep low and don’t let that Peacekeeper near you if you can help it.”

There was so much Haymitch wanted to tell them; That he was sorry, that he wasn’t sure if he would be coming home to them.

“One last person to say goodbye then it’s the train.” Haymitch briefly calculated the risk of snapping the Peacekeeper’s neck right then and there.

A hanging seemed more honorable than this.

“Haymitch!” Lot flew into the room, throwing her arms around his neck and letting him lift her feet off the ground. “Oh, Haymitch.” She touched his face, memorizing his scars, the curve of his lips, the furrow of his brow.

“Be strong for me,” Haymitch whispered against her face. “I-“ He felt a painful seizing in his chest, anxiety flooding his body.

“Oh God, Lot.” It finally crashed down on Haymitch, the gravity of his sentencing. “This is all my fault.” He hurriedly explained the events of that morning to her, she listened with sorrowful eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lot.”

“No.” Lot took the flower Haymitch had given her that morning, placing it in his shirt pocket. “You will go and you will show them you don’t need to play their game to win. Don’t let them turn you into a monster. You’re a good man, Haymitch Abernathy.”

The Peacekeeper interrupted their passionate embrace, looking gleeful to do so. “Your date is over. Time to go.”

“Haymitch,” Lot fought against the Peacekeepers as they began to separate the young couple. “Haymitch-! She screamed, clawing at the shoulder of a Peacekeeper’s armor as he dragged her off.

“Lot-!” Haymitch roughly shoved off the Peacekeeper who called his name at the Reaping, grabbing Lotus’ face and kissing her one last time. “Stay safe! Keep them safe-!”

The doors slammed shut between them and Haymitch was hauled off to the train station

[sasukimimochi]

Part 1 Part 2 (you are here) Part 3 (in progress...) ...

For warnings/etc, refer to part 1 (there are no new warnings for this part) Art/more info for this fic can be found in my masterpost.

-

Part 2

· ✦  Right Here  ✦ ·

The journey to the location the corpse wanted was slow, due to Lan Wangji’s injuries and Wei Wuxian’s rigid body. The ever silent Wen Yuan peered over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders as he held onto them, eyes big and round as he looked at who he onced called rich-gege.

Lan Wangji couldn’t focus enough to even notice.

Upon arrival, Lan Wangji swayed, knees shaking as he collapsed. If not for Wei Wuxian who had been in front of him, he would definitely be on the floor, but his resentment did the job of keeping his legs locked so he didn’t fall with all three of them.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian used his resentment to support his arms, supporting Lan Wangji with one while setting Wen Yuan down with the other. “A..Yuan…” He gestured to the dilapidated bed in the abandoned home loosely. “Dust…”

Wen Yuan scampered over quietly to the wooden bed to remove rubble and dust, wiping as much off as he could with his little hands. While he did that, Wei Wuxian very slowly stepped forward, one foot after another until he stood next to it. “Yuan…”

The little boy moved out of the way, starting to look around for anything for the hurt gege to rest his head on. “Ah!” He tugged on the shredded curtains, and with a few big heaves, he fell back in a heap. He popped out of the gray cloth, the sight making the corpse’s eyes squint slightly in what Wen Yuan thinks is his way of laughing now. “Xian-gege...” He speaks very quietly in a hoarse tone, much more quietly than he usually does, as he toddles clumsily back over with the armful of cloth.

“Thank…you…” Wei Wuxian carefully lowered Lan Wangji to the bed first so he was sitting, supporting him with one arm while Wen Yuan helped him fold the curtain into a make-shift headrest with the other.

Once Lan Wangji was comfortably settled on his stomach and his head resting, the corpse exhaled quietly as if whatever he had just done with the little boy was quite the task. Well, it was, but not when he was alive it wasn’t. “A-Yuan…” He holds out his hand slowly for the boy to take, then helps him get on the bed to sit beside the man. “Stay…”

Wen Yuan whimpered and held onto Wei Wuxian’s robes, a little tremor in his shoulders. “S-scared, baba…”

The corpse froze momentarily, but then allowed himself to fall to his knees once more and lean into the arms that came to hug his face. This was no surprise to Wei Wuxian. He’d not seen it all, but the little boy had seen too much. “Baba…will be…outside…pick…herbs.”

“Baba…”

He nuzzled the boy to comfort him, but for a time, all Wen Yuan did was cling harder. “Watch…Lan Zhan…Baba…will be…right…here.”

Lan Wangji stared at the two with half-lidded eyes, feeling a deep aching throb move over his back in waves. “I won’t let anything happen to him…” His voice came quiet as if trying to match their volumes without thinking, but really it was just the exhaustion.

Wei Wuxian lifted his head slowly, his hand once more naturally returning to the little one’s back in slow, silent strokes. His gaze was calculating, but then he spoke once more. “You’re hurt.” He repeated, leaning down to hold his mouth against Wen Yuan’s forehead in what seemed to be a mock-kiss before gently scooting him back onto the bed. “Don’t…touch…Lan Zhan..’s….back.” The corpse leaned in and whispered something into the child’s ear, before finally letting him go to get up.

Lan Wangji’s eyelashes lowered in slow, drowsy movements. Ah…his back must be a mess if the other could tell where he was injured. He couldn’t find it in himself to regret it though, not as he watched the slow retreat of black robes through the broken doorway with blurry eyes. 

His eyes felt heavy, but much more so as a small warmth leaned into his side carefully and held his hand. He wanted to turn his head, but it hurt too much, he was too tired…too…

Too…

…

[karisomk]

AU Siren Merman Attuma x Okoye prompt

With a dash of wealthy merchant W'Kabi

Okoye rubbed the back of her neck with a soft sigh, sneaking away from her parents and W’Kabi’s parents was a task in itself. For weeks, both pairs have been pushing for her to sit and meet with W’Kabi, insisting that they would be a good match. Clearly, it wasn’t this world, he barely acknowledged her in passing in town. She knew that it had to narrow down to family status, coming from a line of warriors and artisans.  And his own line coming from merchants and warriors.

Tonight her parents hosted an elaborate dinner for W’Kabi and his parents, although his parents showed up he did not. W’Kabi’s parents spent most of the night trying to smooth out the awkwardness, insisting that W’Kabi sometimes was just a busy man. And if Okoye should ever give her hand to him as a wife, she should expect this at times. Bast was watching over her, because just as she parted her lips to hurl an insult. Okoye’s mother came out of the kitchen with more refreshments. Okoye couldn’t wait for them to go home, she had seen their displeased looks at her parents' décor. Even at their food, there was only so much Okoye could take holding her tongue.  She couldn’t help herself when she shut her parent’s door quickly on W’Kabi’s family in the end. Even to her mother’s dismay, “Okoye! That is not nice.”

“That was the nicest thing I could do for them. Otherwise, my spear would have been used tonight. ” Okoye snorted softly.

“Young lady, that spear would not be used near my good rugs.”

“Then do not invite any of them here anymore, Umama.”

That sense of superiority and smugness that remained around W’Kabi also surrounded his parents. She would rather marry a fish if this was her current option in marriage right now.

“ My little ‘koye, I think you should stay tonight. It’s really late outside and besides, there has been word that it is better for residents to stay inside tonight for some reason. Something about tides is changing and the weather may be bad. “ Her mother was the first to spot her edging to the door, grabbing her red shawl to cover her braids that were styled in a french braid that went down to her mid-back.

“If the weather does turn bad I can always run home. The walk across the beach to my home isn’t that long. “

Okoye’s mother looked up at her with concerned eyes, her salt-pepper hair tucked into a high bun. The fine lines on her forehead only showed when she began to worry, almost always over her daughter. Okoye offered a smile, brushing her thumb over her mother’s forehead trying to smooth out the lines.

“You know if you do not let her go. She will sneak out anyway.”  Okoye’s father hummed playfully, shuffling to stand near Okoye. Both of her parents were shorter than her, both seemed to shrink with age. Her father was slumping forward slightly due to back issues. His hair held blotches of gray so he stubbornly kept it short for that reason.

“Baba,please-!” Okoye chuckled, even if she felt her father playfully tug at her head scarf. 

“Please be safe, and turn back around if the tide is high on the beach.” Her father said moving to stand near her mother.

“Yes, Baba.” Okoye hummed, giving both of her mothers a forehead kiss and hugging her father before quickly gathering her things.

“Here are some snacks for home if you would like, my dear!” her father called holding out a small box that was secured in a dark blue cloth. Okoye tucked away the small box, loving the scent of spices and fish. “Fried fish, with a little rice just like you like!”

“Thank you Baba, please you both sleep well tonight and I shall see you both soon,” she said, waving and slipping out the front door. 

Guards suggesting people stay in their homes was almost always rooted in groundless stories about sea creatures, spirits or some passed down belief. All of it was foolishness and just a way for guards to get out of extra work. Much to her parent's dismay, she couldn’t wait to change these foolish rules. The sight of people in town was very little, pathways normally filled and bustling seemed almost abandoned.

The stretch of water was pushed back due to low tide, the waters choppy most likely due to storms far off into the sea. Okoye enjoyed the beach even at night, the soothing sounds of water with occasional cold fronts that would come. A small delight compared to the endless heat during the daytime.

Okoye knitted her brows, slowing her steps while looking out to the pitch-black waters. Each time the waves broke against the shore, there was a low hum. She strained to listen to it, to see if it was just wind. She hadn’t realized her frame had pivoted in the direction of the sound now, away from the small path that veered away from the beach and down to her small home. She followed the faint voice, leading to a cove that was normally difficult to get due to high tides. Just as the voice stopped when she passed underneath the little rock bridge into the cove, Okoye blinked rapidly, finding her chest tighten as her stomach began to flutter from being uneasy.

There was no light from the town that could be used as a guide, only the brief light from the moon that peeked through the clouds ever so often. It was quiet, too quiet for Okoye’s liking even though she felt she was being watched. A large stain that looked black in the low light was at the edge of the shore in the cove. Footprints laced with that same substance led away from the water. She should have turned back and ran until her legs carried her away from the place but instead she crept forward.  Okoye moved closer to the stain, the smell of copper became strong the moment she kneeled by it. Dread began to feel her at the suggestion of it being possibly blood.

Okoye shot up to her feet at something breaking the surface of the water in the darkness, finally that notion of fleeing filled her. She tried to rid herself of thoughts of water spirits being real or even sea creatures. The most rational thing she could think of was this had to be a wounded animal nothing more. And she didn’t want to disturb it any more than she had already had. But this wasn’t an animal, the bellowing yell that erupted from this thing or being charged at her made her break into a  full sprint. A shrill erupted from her the moment she felt a wet hand grasp her shoulder. Okoye untied her bag and swung it to throw it. This was enough to get that wet hand off her, and she sprinted out of the cove and all the way home. She didn’t stop running until she was in her home, behind the lock door and leaning against while she tried catching her breath.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse - Ch 7

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VII.

“You did good,” he complimented.

“I did good?” she scoffed. “That was like a movie. Is your life always like this?”

He thought a little bit about that while turning onto the ramp to the highway. “More or less.”

He didn’t get shot at in broad daylight very often. Usually his opponents were smarter than that. More discreet, at the very least.

Luckily, no blue and white sirens appeared in his rear view. There were certain cops in the area who would recognize his car and not pay his hijinx much mind, unless they absolutely had to. More likely though, he’d simply outrun any sluggish response the city might have offered.

Unless Igor and Alexei could get their ride flipped back over, he had a feeling they would be having an annoying little chat with the fuzz. The thought made him feel slightly better, though his overall sense of resignation didn’t subside. The fact of the matter was, they had shot at him, and that was a thing John Wick the Baba Yaga couldn’t let slide.

He would have to do something about it. That was a fact of their world. Any sign of weakness would be pounced upon. Usually this was a thing he would have dealt with quickly and efficiently, but…he didn’t want to go hunting that evening. He wanted to make dinner for this beautiful woman beside him, and linger over a bottle of good wine. Usually self-discipline wasn’t an issue for John, but this once, just this once…

The rest of the trip was uneventful—as uneventful as driving in the Big Apple could ever be. However, John didn’t really relax until the city views gave way to the pastoral, the landscape shifting from the angular grays and browns of buildings to the welcome softer lines and greens of early spring. It was about an hour’s trip, all in all, and Helen looked around curiously as they motored up his manicured driveway, slipping into the garage.

“Wow,” she said quietly as they went through the mudroom to the kitchen, the cavernous open living area filled with natural light from the wall of windows. “So modern.”

“I guess so,” John shrugged, dropping his keys in the bowl on the counter.

“It’s definitely not what I would have pegged for you,” she admitted as she stood on the cusp of the living room, looking around. There was no negativity in her words, more a statement about her own perceptions of him.

John joined her in looking around, curious if there was something he’d missed.

“What would you have guessed?”

“Something darker, maybe. More traditional. You seem to gravitate towards classics.” From his suits to his taste in books to his vintage car, he supposed she wasn’t wrong, and thus far those were the only things she knew of him.

With hands in his pockets he looked around. He realized he was about to share something he’d never told anyone; it came so naturally, with her. “I only realized this a few months after moving in…but I think I bought a luxury version of the Soviet orphanage I grew up in.”

He thought back on the cold concrete building that had been home for years of his young life in Belarus. The hard angles, the utilitarian design. Ugly, but cheap to build in a pinch when housing was needed for the numerous parentless children of the USSR.

This home took those design principles and made them into something beautiful. In this rich country, the most basic modern building materials of concrete and steel were transformed into luxurious commodities for the rich. It mirrored his own transformation in a way. The hungry but stubborn child, ragged but determined to survive—and now, a man of means, living comfortably. The American Dream, or some version of it.

She turned back to regard him, compassion in her eyes. He hadn’t imparted the information to garner sympathy; it was just the truth. She had a way of bringing it out of him. He realized he wanted her to know him. The real him, outside of the legend she’d been gossiped to about at the Continental.

But rather than coo over him, you poor thing, I’m so sorry, she simply canted her head. “So, this house is like your ‘Fuck you’ to Communism?”

It was also the exact opposite of the shabby elegance, the opulent but crumbling ormolu mouldings and dark enclaves of the Tarkovsky theatre, another place he did not miss.

He smiled a little, in spite of himself. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She nodded, looking around with approval. “Nice. So, you like it, then?”

He looked through the windows, across the expanse of his yard to the tree line. Beyond that, there was a glimmer of water in the distance. The travails of the city were a distant dream there. He’d bought this house under the name of a shell corporation; one could not easily look up where John Wick lived in the real estate records. It truly was a sanctuary. And now, for the first time, in fact, a beautiful woman was standing in his kitchen, looking through him with her wise, bright, eyes. It made this place feel like a home more than any couch or table or painting, and he wondered what it would take to convince her to stay.

“Yeah. It’s peaceful.”

“I’m happy for you, John.”

Strangely enough, he believed her. After that, he didn’t know where he got the cheek to tease her. “Thanks, for not calling me a rich asshole to my face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just for that, I’m going to make you carry my bag.” Hefting the thing, she handed it over.

“Oof. What’s in this? Bricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” With an insouciant look over her shoulder, she began to wander down the hall like she owned the place. Allowing himself a borderline dopey smile with her back turned, John made to follow.

***

“I think we’ll start with the basics. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Helen placed a hand on a spandex-clad hip, one eyebrow raised high. “Do I give the impression I grew up on the yuppy side of Boston? I’ve been in a scrap or two.”

They were in his home gym, a large room he used to exercise and train, and he was fairly certain the sight of her in form-fitting yoga clothes was going to be the death of him.

The corners of John’s mouth turned up, delighted by her sass, as usual. “Yeah? Have I got a juvenile delinquent on my hands here?” He couldn’t fathom a young Helen getting up to much, in the grand scheme of things. Shoplifting. Possession. The usual mischief teenagers amused themselves with. He’d been running guns by the time he was fourteen. Killed for the first time when he was sixteen. Most teen misdeeds paled, in comparison.

As soon as the words left his mouth Helen froze.

After a few awkward seconds she remarked, “Did Winston tell you?” There was a strain in her words, and he knew he’d stuck his foot in it somehow. Sighing heavily, she looked off to the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room, avoiding his eyes. “That man is a terrible gossip.”

“Tell me what?” asked John, feeling like things had jumped from point A to point F and he’d missed everything in between.

Helen, however, kept skipping ahead, talking to herself as much as him. “I wondered if that was why you mentioned blade training today. The record’s supposed to be sealed, but I guess he has his ways of finding things out.”

“I…am completely lost here,” admitted John, and only then did she look at him again. “Did you stab someone?” The suggestion seemed ludicrous, but Helen’s frown conveyed a multitude of words.

“Would you believe me if I told you he had it coming?” 

To his credit, only a beat passed before John answered, “Absolutely.”

“That's something, I guess.” 

“Give me a name.” It was becoming a theme with them.

“I would...but he's dead.” John’s eyebrows lifted at that. “I didn't kill him,” she quickly amended. “But...I would have. Still think I'm such an angel?”

He could tell that the possibility that he might think less of her hurt her.

“Yes,” he answered, unequivocally.

“Well. You do kill people for a living…” She tried to muster a smile, but it was an extremely watered-down version of her usual radiant offering. “I don’t think you enjoy it though.”

“No.” It was true. He thrived on the adrenaline of completing a difficult task—but the actual killing brought him neither joy nor much pain, these days. He’d numbed himself to it. “Did you enjoy…what you did?” He had to admit this was not a conversation he’d ever expected to have with this woman.

She crossed her arms over herself, sighing again. “In a way?” A nervous little laugh escaped her. “God, I’ve never told anyone this before.”

John simply waited, patient as the mountain.

“I guess I should give you some context.”

“Only if you want to.” What he’d meant to be a playful comment had turned into an ordeal for her, and he loathed himself for it. This was what he got for trying to flirt.

She nodded, more to herself than him. “My father died when I was in my early teens. My mom...was a drunk and an addict. It got so much worse after Dad was gone. Some of the men she brought home were very aware of the fact that she was a train wreck with two young girls in the house. Luckily I was older by then, but my sister…” She grimaced, and even after so many years, the flash of rage in her eyes could have started a wildfire. “I caught my mom’s boyfriend trying to corner my little sister in the kitchen. So I stabbed him with a kitchen knife. And in the heat of the moment…it felt good. I hated him. He was creepy and horrible and it felt so good to hurt him.”

John wanted to hold her in that moment, yet he could tell she didn’t want to be touched just then. He understood that all too well, so he simply nodded. “You did what you had to do to defend her.”

“I guess.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

There was a broken note to her laughter. “I know he deserved it. But I think in a way I’ve been trying to make up for what I did to that awful man my whole life. Nothing like Catholic guilt to make a bad situation worse, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He thought for a moment about this information she’d offered up like a confession, eyes lowered. He had a feeling she meant it as a warning, but he couldn’t take it as such. He knew what true evil looked like. He saw it in the mirror every day. This woman was not it. “I do know that your sister is very lucky to have you for a protector. I never had anyone who would have done that for me.”

She took a deep breath, her long fingers holding her throat as she looked at the ceiling, picturing the conditions he’d endured as a child. The thought of him as a scrappy little dark eyed boy with hair in his eyes, fighting for the meagerest crust of bread, lodged her heart directly in her throat. Her voice came barely a whisper. “Was it as awful as I’m imagining it was?”

  “Probably. But my point is…don’t blame yourself for doing what had to be done to survive. For your sister to survive. Blame your mother, if you have to blame anyone.”

That brittle laughter came again that broke John’s heart. “Oh…I do.” She swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Enough pity party. Teach me how to kick some ass.”

And just like that, she was back. He’d always known it in a way, but he found himself more convinced than ever that this woman was tough as nails beneath her warm exterior. Somehow, despite what had happened to her, she had not let the world turn her bitter or mean. That took a strength that John could barely fathom. He felt that he had survived the traumas of his youth out of pure spite. Spite for his captors, and his tormentors, and the dark world he owed fealty to through no real choice of his own. He’d killed and killed until he’d carved out an existence for himself that slightly resembled freedom.

But Helen—she resisted, and kept her heart full all the while, and he’d never admired her more than in that moment. This woman was precious, and he wanted to make sure she had the tools to fight anyone or anything that might dare try to quash that light. It was possible he’d never realized how much he’d numbed himself to the horrors of the world, until she’d entered his life. Now he felt everything to the power of ten. Desire. Fear. Rage. The thought that someone might even dare hurt her made him want to burn the world down. He knew it was crazy, but now that the box had been opened—he didn’t know how to put it all back.

He was realizing there was no going back, and if he’d had any sense left to his name, that would have scared him.

***

He knew it would take a lot more practice for this multitude of information to sink in, but hours later he was proud of Helen’s focus. She absorbed information like a sponge. She was already no stranger to the workings of the human body. As it turned out, taking it apart was almost easier than healing it. He showed her how to attack the vulnerable pressure points in a man’s body. The underarms, the throat, the eyes, the groin. How to break from certain holds on the wrist and how to turn joint locks against them. How to use an opponent’s momentum or own bodyweight against them, so it didn’t matter if they outmuscled you, if surprise was on your side.

Despite his earlier faux pas, he taught her some blade work too. As a student of anatomy, she already knew where the most vulnerable arteries were. The femoral in the leg, the carotid in the neck. The wrists weren’t bad either, and the belly would certainly usually make an aggressor pause and evaluate their life choices. With a small knife concealed in her pocket, he felt comfortable that she could do almost more serious damage than with a gun. He already knew exactly which one from his collection he would be sending with her. 

He would have been a liar, if he’d claimed it didn’t move him to be in such close proximity with her. Touching her. Even if with such a specific purpose in teaching her how to defend herself, there was a titillation he hadn’t anticipated. Training had always been about survival. Now, after they had been at it all day with only a short lunch break, exhaustion and maybe a lowering of guard was setting in.

“One more time, then we’ll call it,” he insisted.

Helen answered with a pout of lips that played hell with his resolve. “But I’m tiiiired.”

“I know. You’ve done great, and I’m proud of you. Kick my ass one more time.”

“Yeah, right.”

She looked him up and down, taking in his lean form, the corded muscles of his arms deliciously bare in his black sleeveless shirt. He’d been slowly driving her mad throughout this training session. It took every iota of her concentration to focus on what he was trying to teach, with those large hands touching her. To not utterly melt, like in every delightfully bad bosom-buster romance she’d ever read. She’d known John was strong, in theory. He had to be, to do what he did. However, it was quite another matter to experience that inexorable strength first hand, even while she knew he was being exceedingly gentle.

“It will make me feel better about unleashing you back onto the world.” He couldn’t watch her back 24/7, as much as maybe he would have liked to.

“Ok. One more, then I will be officially pooped.” They assumed the position, the way they had countless times that day, John standing close at her back with his arm around her waist, his other hand resting lightly at her throat. After several seconds Helen released a shaky breath. Centering herself, John reasoned. Reviewing her options. Probably not enjoying the fleeting moment of closeness, the way he was, because he was a sick bastard.

The moments of stillness stretched on, their awareness of each other amplified by this exquisite nearness.  

“Are you going to do something about this?” He didn’t mean to whisper it. He really didn’t. But she was so close, and her scent of sweat and that sweet honeyed herbal soap drove him to the edge of sanity.

In answer Helen leaned back slightly, closing the line of their bodies that were damp with sweat from the day’s exertions. Nerves he didn’t even know he had came to attention, leaving him painfully aware of this woman in his arms. He held her weight effortlessly, his grip tightening of its own accord about her waist.

He never wanted to let her go.

She turned her head, their lips agonizingly close to touching. One hard intake of breath was all that stood between them. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. “You make it hard to want to get away,” she answered in equally hushed tones, as though they were in a church, and not the place where he daily honed his deadly trade.

“Helen…” He didn’t know what he was asking for, in saying her name like prayer. Benediction, absolution, or damnation.

She touched the tip of her nose to his lightly, experimentally. How well they fit. John Wick was not a man to give in to nerves, but he realized his hand on her throat shook ever so slightly.

He’d never wanted anyone, the way he wanted her.

Her eyes fell to his mouth, a tell as to her thoughts if ever there was one.

Then her gaze dropped lower, and those beautiful eyes went wide as saucers. “Shit, you’re bleeding!” A smear of tell-tale red glistened across his shoulder.

The magic of the moment shattered like glass on stone as she turned in his arms, all business as she wrenched back the shoulder of his shirt to see. “You’ve pulled your stitches. I was afraid this would happen. John…you are a hazard.” The exasperation in her tone was mostly endearing.

Indeed, the newest wound on his shoulder had opened a little. Blood seeped from the small tear in his flesh, running down his pectoral.

“Sorry.”

She shook her fist up at him, though her smile belayed any ill feeling. “Well, you wanted to know what was in my bag. It’s mostly the Costco-size first aid kit I’ve put together for hanging around with you.”

“Lucky me.” He tried not to betray his disappointment, still feeling as though live electricity crackled over his skin, desire tying his insides up in knots. This woman would be the end of him. It took everything he had not to grab her up and kiss her silly, his noble intentions and his pulled stitches be damned.  

“We’ll see. Alright, where’s my operating room? Bathroom? Kitchen?”

“How about…the dining room.”

“Okay, it’s your furniture.”

“I’m not bleeding that much.” He certainly wasn’t bleeding enough to want to stop what they had been about to do.

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

This was probably for the best, but why did it have to hurt so much? Worse than his wound, by far.

“Lead the way.”

<<CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 8>>

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 12

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Chapter 12 - The Realm of Stone

Paul decided to keep Baba Yaga's story to himself. It didn't matter that she no longer had power. After all, she was helping them in every way she could, as she had made clear from the start. It was no use worrying Zhara further. And soon, other, more pressing matters came to occupy them all, so Paul pushed the truth about Baba Yaga and Koschei to the back of his mind.

The landscape around the house was changing. Craggy mountains, not quite as tall or foreboding as Perun's Crowns, but bleak and hostile-looking nonetheless, rose on either side of them. Dark pines broke through here and there amongst the rocks like bristly eyebrows or mustaches on a giant's face, bordering narrow, foamy rapids that rushed past in a race to the sea. The occasional stone hut peeped through the pines, though it seemed deserted.

The first hint of destruction came the next day—a stone bridge, leading from a pine forest to a small village, lay broken in half in the middle of a wide stream. No smoke curled from the chimneys of the village, no livestock or pets milled about, and there was no trace of people.

The forest gave way to rocky hills that led down to a rocky beach, overlooking a gray, stormy sea. The path now followed the shore toward a series of tall cliffs, rising out of the sea in the distance like the walls of a fortress, topped by a castle of gleaming white stone. They passed a town that curved along a breakwater overlooking the beach, lining the slopes leading to the cliffs. The houses here were bigger and better built than the stone huts of the forest but stood in the same eerie silence. Some had their doors and windows tightly shut, others were left wide open, their front yard strewn with clothes and belongings as though the owners had fled in a great hurry or were driven out. The only sign of life were the flocks of carrion birds that circled these houses like a kaleidoscope of death, their mournful cries made all the more mournful as they echoed over the murmurs of the sea. White bones could be glimpsed here and there amongst the pebbles on the beach, though it was impossible to tell if they were human or animal.

The heavy rain—the first rain Paul had seen since his arrival in Lukomorye—did nothing to deter the birds. For the humans, it only made things worse, as it kept them indoors, where there was nothing to do but to look at those horrors outside the window, like watching some macabre magic lantern show. 

"Saints," Paul breathed out. "What is this place?"

"Arthania," Ilya replied.

Paul's heart dropped. Too absorbed by the scene outside, he had completely forgotten about Zhara. Now he saw her frozen on the windowsill, as though the display of death and destruction were a basilisk's gaze turning her into stone. He quickly closed the shutters and reached out to comfort her, but before he could touch her, she'd flown away with an alarmed chirp and settled on the rafter. Her eyes, as they looked down at him, bore no trace of recognition. Paul felt his heart seized in fear.

"Zhara, it's me," he said softly. Zhara seemed to shake herself, and some human awareness came back into her eyes, but she didn't fly to him. She went into the small backroom that she shared with Elena, and avoided their company for the rest of the day.

After supper that night, Baba Yaga declared that the house was going to stop for a while, for they were now close to Buyan Island and needed to prepare to face Illarion. Paul rather wished she had chosen to rest the house anywhere else, but dared not criticize her. Sometimes, the old woman's gimlet eyes reminded him too uncomfortably of his mother's.

Paul went to bed with thoughts of the battle ahead swirling around his mind, turning his blood into ice water and his heart into a quivering mess. Despite Ilya's tutelage, Paul knew he was no fighter. He would gladly stay away from it all, were it not for the fear that Zhara would think him a coward and never look at him again if he did.

A creak of the door startled him. Opening his eyes, he caught the end of Zhara's red braid as she slipped outside. Where was she going at this time of night? Surely she wasn't thinking of going to face Illarion by herself? Paul sprang up from his cot and followed her.

The rain had stopped, but the lawn was still wet, droplets of water clinging to the grass, sparkling under the moonlight like diamonds. Under their shelter behind the house, the horses were sleeping peacefully, having no care for the danger ahead. Paul only had eyes for Zhara though, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he found her standing by the linden tree, looking at her kingdom beyond the fence, while her fist kept clenching and unclenching on the linden's rough bark. Hearing Paul's footsteps, she half-turned her head, before looking back toward the cliffs and the silent castle shining pale in the distance.

"The Seven Sisters," she said, nodding at the cliffs, as Paul came to stand beside her. "As children, Lariosha and I used to play on top of them, bringing back the chalk to draw on the walls of our nursery, to the despair of our governesses. We used to have such fun..." Her voice trembled and cracked. "What happened? What went wrong? How did he become so bitter and cruel? Perhaps it was my fault, I was closest to him—"

"No. Don't blame yourself." Paul took her hand in his, trying to pull her back from that dark path. "You can't have foreseen this. Some people—some people just turn out bad." Did I turn out bad as well? he wondered. He had grown up believing it. Why else did his mother hate him so? But now, standing here with Zhara, he felt that he was, if not good, then at least not entirely bad, not as bad as he'd once thought.  

Zhara looked down at his hand. He was afraid she was going to pull away, but some of the dark fire went out of her eyes, and she put her other hand over his and stroked his knuckles with her thumb. She had never done so before.

"Thank you," she said.

He cleared his throat, not wishing to notice how the caress of her soft, warm fingers was sending shivers all along his arm, or show her how much he was enjoying it. "So... how far are we from Buyan?" he asked, still keeping his hand nestled between her palms.

"It's just beyond the Seven Sisters. We should reach it by midday tomorrow." She lifted his hand to her lips as though to kiss it, but changed her mind and put it down again. She opened her mouth and hesitated, looking like she wanted to say something but didn't know how to. "You should stay here with Baba and Elena," eventually she said. "Ilya can accompany me."

"No!" Paul exclaimed, pulling his hand away. "I'm not staying behind like some coward!"

"Nobody will think ill of you."

"Are you afraid I'm going to get in the way?"

"No, it's not that." Zhara looked at him with beseeching eyes. "It's too dangerous. You may get hurt."

"What of it?" he said sullenly. In his mind, he could hear his mother mocking him for drilling with his toy soldiers, as clearly as though she were standing next to him. "Why should you care if I'm hurt or not? My life is worth nothing here. At least let me contribute something."

Zhara's eyes turned gentle. "Do you think people only care for you if you're worth something to them?" she said softly.

He'd never considered it, but now that he thought about it, it was true. "My nurses and tutors and the servants only took care of me because I'm the heir to the throne," he said, the painful truth coming out slowly. "My mother—my mother is the same. As long as I'm alive, her position is secure." He asked himself, not for the first time, how his mother had been coping with his disappearance. Was she searching for him, or had she come up with some lies to cover it up, as she had with his father? Had she brought out an illegitimate child in an attempt to replace him?

He could feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes and looked down, ashamed of his weakness. Zhara put a finger to his chin, her touch feather-light, lifting his face up so they were eye-to-eye. "I don't care because you're the heir to some throne," she said. "I care because you're you."

Those words went straight to his heart, making it thump painfully in his chest. "But why?" he asked. "Why me?" There were other men around her, braver, cleverer men willing to lay down their lives for her. Why would she pay attention to a foolish, cowardly boy like him?

"Because you always try to be better. Because when you look at me, you don't see a tsarevna or a half-vila, you only see a frightened girl, but you do your best to help her anyway, although there is nothing in it for you." It wasn't completely true; in the early days, he had clung to her because she was his only hope of getting home. But that had changed. So much had changed.

"And although sometimes she exasperates me to the point of madness," he added, and Zhara laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that he couldn't get enough of.

"Yes," she said. "And because"—here she paused to trace her finger along his cheek and his jaw—"the heart wants what it wants," she whispered.

As her finger stopped at his lips, Paul's heart seemed to stop as well. Without saying another word, he leaned forward and kissed her.

No shy, fleeting kiss for them this time. No more hesitating or checking to see if anyone could see them. Her lips parted, her tongue darted into his mouth, and he chased after her, meeting her tongue with his own. She tasted of birch sap and berries, of wood smoke and pine needles, of fire and sun, and he drew her into his arms, pressing her soft body close to him, drinking her in, feeling intoxicated, insatiable. This was all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, and it was too much and not enough, never enough.

Then he ran out of breath and had to pull back.

"And that," he said, gasping, "is why you must let me go with you." He was already missing the feel of her mouth under his.

Zhara curled her fingers around the front of his shirt, holding him close. "But if anything should happen, I don't want to lose you," she said, nuzzling against his cheeks. His heart lurched. There was real fear in her voice, but he couldn't concentrate, because she was brushing her lips over his in a way that made his pulse race like a wild horse and split into two, one pounding in his heart, and another, lower down.

He'd felt like a coward before. Now, with her in his arms, he felt like he could take on an entire army.

"Who says I'm yours to lose?" he whispered, smiling against her lips, teasing her, wanting to draw her attention away from the scene of destruction before them, from the coming battle. 

It seemed to be working, for the fearful look left her eyes and she grinned back, the familiar crooked grin he'd grown to love, only with a wicked edge to it that set his blood aflame. "You will be," she said.

She drew him to her, and now it was her turn to kiss him, her mouth burning and hungry. Paul sank to his knees on the soft, moss-covered ground beneath the linden and pulled her down with him. The moss was damp under his back, but the heat from their bodies soon dried it out.

Paul was not untried when it came to women. Despite what his mother may have said, he was still the most eligible bachelor in the empire, and there were plenty of ladies at court, and servant girls as well, who thought it would be a great conquest to seduce the tsarevich, and he let them, for it flattered his ego.

He didn't realize how different it was, to be with someone who actually wanted him for him.

Zhara dropped hundreds of scorching kisses on his neck, his torso, and he found himself on his back, with her on top of him, her hair framing her face like a fiery halo while she rocked against his growing hardness and fumbled to loosen his clothes and her own. He brushed a curl out of her eyes, and the look in those eyes, blazing down on him like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds, made him want to cry.

He did cry out, a moment later, when their bodies finally found each other. He sat up, his back against the trunk of the linden, his hands clenching at her hips so he could better match her movements, while he sank into her velvety warmth and she buried her hot face in his damp neck, her mouth trailing little kisses along his jaw and begging him don't stop, please don't stop, each kiss, each whispery plea pushing him closer and closer to the edge. The tree shook with them, the lingering raindrops dripping over them, falling down their bare skin, streaking their cheeks like tears. Paul caught a drop on Zhara's shoulder with his tongue, and it burst into a bubble of sweetness, flooding his mouth with her taste. 

So they may be going to their death the next day. So he may never see his home again. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered but the way her pulse fluttered against his, the way she enfolded him in her whole being, and the pleasure that surged through both of them like wildfire, sweeping everything else away.

Afterward, they fell asleep on the grass, there in the shadow of that kingdom of ruins, her head on his chest, her body bathing him in heat as though she had stored up the sun in her skin.

He woke before sunrise. The Night horse must have left already, for the dark gray sky was starting to tinge with blue. His arms automatically closed around Zhara, afraid to find a bird there instead of a girl. No, blessed be the Saints, she was still in her human form. His stirrings had woken her as well. She stretched luxuriously against him, and he delighted in the way her body moved in his arms.

"Are you cold?" she said, voice still thick with sleep. "We can go inside."

"Cold, with you in my arms, my Zhar-ptitsa? Never."

He felt her smile on his chest. Then she yawned. Even her yawn sounded lovely.

"Don't go back to sleep," he said. "Stay with me."

"I'm not going back to sleep."

They were both quiet for a while. By her sighs, he knew that she, like him, was thinking of what lay ahead, dreading it. He was trying to find something to take her mind off it, when she spoke.

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"What do you desire the most?"

He thought about it, and realized that, at that very moment, there was one thing he desired.

"To see the dawn with you."

She lifted her head to look at him. The blaze of hope in her eyes would stay with him for as long as he lived. "Perhaps we can, one da—"

She never finished her sentence. At that very moment, the Sun horse vaulted over the sky, followed closely by the Day horse, and the weight of Zhara's body on him reduced to nothingness. For a heartbeat, the firebird remained on his chest, looking at him with those human, heartbreaking eyes. Then she flapped her wings and took off in a flash of burnished gold.

Paul sat under the linden for a while longer, feeling chilled and lonely without Zhara's reassuring warmth on him. Then, with a sigh, he went into the house for breakfast.

Though it was early still, everybody was up, and not only up, but also waiting for him, it seemed. By the time Paul came into the kitchen, Ilya was lifting the kettle down from the stove to make tea. "There he is," the knight said with a knowing grin and winked at Paul. Even Elena showed a faint smile on her lips as she wished Paul a good morning. Paul felt his face going crimson and busied himself with cutting the bread. Zhara also seemed shyer than usual and didn't come to his side at the breakfast table, but remained at the window, where Elena brought her some seeds and berries. Only Baba Yaga was as impassive as ever and didn't seem to notice anything. After breakfast, she knocked on the ceiling for the house to start moving again.

Paul cleaned up the breakfast things with Elena and went into the yard, where Ilya was restringing his bow.

"Can I do anything to help?" Paul asked.

"You can help by keeping the tsarevna company," Ilya said, nodding toward Zhara at the window. "She's going to need the courage, and I'd say you're more qualified than any of us to give it to her."

Paul blushed again. Was he relegated to the role of a royal lover, like Vasilchikov and so many others he'd sneered at in his mother's court, assigned only to keep the Empress's bed warm? "I suppose you think me a fool," he said without bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"No," replied the knight sincerely, his black, crinkled eyes looking straight at Paul. "It is never foolish to love, my friend. In fact, in these dark days, to love and be loved may be the wisest thing you can do, for you never know how short our time may be on earth. Just look at my brothers. I'm glad that Dobrynya had at least known love, no matter how briefly. And I'm glad that you and the tsarevna have this chance."

Paul hadn't thought about it that way. The stories always ended with "And they lived happily ever after," never "And they lived happily for now," but he supposed there was wisdom in what Ilya said.

While Paul was pondering the words of the bogatyr, Ilya looked up, and his face hardened at something he saw over Paul's shoulder. Paul turned around, and his heart faltered. The house had rounded the cliffs and now stood on a small shingle beach, facing the steel-gray sea. In the distance, an island stood amidst the waves. It was little more than a single boulder, most of it taken up by a gigantic, ancient oak tree, yet against that pewter sky, still heavy with unshed rain, with the white-crested waves crashing against it, the island gave off such a foreboding air that Paul could very well believe it to be the source of a powerful magic.

"Buyan Island," Ilya said, getting to his feet. "We have arrived."

Chapter 13

Taglist: @ali-r3n

[calyxthenerd]

What do you think of the rare ship between Ashlynn x Dexterous?

Much like her canon relationship, she drags him to the shop to organize shoes, he’s so confused every time and she just giggles and lets him play with his gamelad as she opens the shop and after the shift change they go to lunch together, all the regulars chat with him during their shopping, they love his commentary on everything to factor in when buying a shoe, that bumps up their sales a lot

She loves his insight on the technicalities of putting together an outfit (he studied that in depth for her)

Lots of massages after tough costumer days and fights with parents

He tries to get her into gaming, she’s not cut out for it, cries every time she has to kill someone or something, but she loves the cute Pokémon

Lots of protests attended, but for a different cause than my previous post

He learns vegan recipes for her, because she CANNOT be trusted inside a kitchen, there’s a rule for it in the school rulebook after Baba Yaga got enough gray hairs because of it

They tried going on morning runs in the enchanted forest, that’s how he found out he had asthma at 16

She loves to wreak absolute havoc on royal balls (I’m talking throwing food around, dancing on tables, climbing on chandeliers, she calls it “chaos protesting of the hoarding of wealth by royal families while people are starving on the streets”) and she always drags him with her (he loves it, getting to rebel against his parents when he never got the guts to do it alone)

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 38: Head in the Sand

Totally lost track of what day it was, this should have been posted yesterday.

There is a huge Easter Egg in here, and I can't wait for the reveal and payoff on it. @baelpenrose and I had a blast with this and the next chapter, just because of that little detail.

“Any updates from the mayor?” I asked, praying that the translation software would pick the right honorific for the person I was speaking to.  After what happened in the church last week, I had buried my head - intentionally - in my water initiatives.  Specifically the ones that I typically couldn’t work with if I was multitasking, due to language barriers.

Again, I was deliberately burying my head in work. It wasn’t anything I was clueless to.

“The mayor did not respond,” Ayanti responded.  Which basically translated to ‘ask forgiveness rather than beg permission’.

“I’ll take it,” I responded as my phone vibrated.  Nils.

I ignored it.

“How far can we push this?” I asked Ayanti. “If we are under tacit permission, assuming we don’t make him look bad?”

She hummed musically. “As far as you have resources, or until his borders run out.”

Immediately, I started tapping keys on a different machine, transferring funds. “Whole village, got it. Four hectares?”

“Three point five.”

“I’ll send enough for five.”

My phone went off again. Nils, again. Ignored. Again.

Laser focus on the issue at hand. “Were you able to see the file about the straws?” I asked.

“Are they ready for consumer?”

I paused and sighed audibly.  Ayanti and I had worked together long enough that I refused to lie to her about things that were life or death to her. “They are in testing. Not ready for consumer release.”

“Can you get us four kay?”

My head snapped up to scowl at my monitor, despite the fact this was a fully voice call.  “Four thousand? Ayanti. How bad is the water situation? Please don’t lie to me… we don’t lie to each other, right?”

The line fell silent for a moment and I took the time to set up the transactions for both the water filters and the straws. Legit filters were coming from the Gates Foundation through WHO and direct shipped to Daravi as a “charitable act” - no matter how large the company, good press and tax writeoffs almost guaranteed they’d never be reported. Plus they came with a steep discount, ordered by a paper-legit company with about ten shells behind it. So, about as legit as any other charity, really.

  I fired off the filters on one machine and paid for them from the other.  However, I held off on firing off the order for the straws.  This would need some finagling, given that they were still in the testing phase. A couple labs, some money to grease palms. But it was blatant bribery, so I wanted to be sure before I pulled the trigger and sent down the labs involved.

I heard the line unmute just long enough to catch Ayanti taking a deep breath and sighing.  

After a glance at a calender and some mental math, I grunted. “Yanti. Is this for monsoon season?”

She grunted wordlessly, but definitely in an affirmative.  Someone could hear her, and she didn’t want to give away what she was doing.  Which told me she was supposed to be mining for MMORPG gold, and this was therefore slacking off.

“I’ll contact them and have all the prototypes sent over.  And any other company working on similar things,” I promised. “I’ll reach out when I have the exact quantity, but it should be far above four kay.”

“Deal.” With that, she disconnected.

Palming my face and rubbing it roughly, I vibrated with contained violence.  Ayanti was in Mumbai, in the slums, and working from an internet cafe.  I had no way of beating the breaks off her supervisor - most likely the owner of the cafe. So I needed to focus on what I could do.

Nine children, you could have stopped it.

I screamed in my head how hard I had tried.  Begged Nils and Gray to send orders to fire higher.  I tried.

A fist was shoved in my mouth. My left hand, trying to keep from screaming where Mama or Baba could hear me. I did what I could, I screamed in my brain.  Digging my nails into my palms, I slapped a hand on my desktop. It forced me to bring my eyes to the monitor.

Four thousand prototype filter straws. Plus the legit water filters.

“Water filters first,” I mumbled, typing even as I dragged myself from my knees to the chair.

My phone went off again.  I didn’t even look at this point.  I just silenced it without a glance.

The email for the legit filters was easiest.  It was the coding to get the prototypes to be shipped that took the longest.  But, an hour later, I sat back with a sheen of satisfying sweat and surety that not four thousand but twelve thousand would be sent to Mumbai. It was only then that I glanced at my phone again.

More Nils.

I wasn’t necessarily avoiding him. At least not by design.  I was sure it looked like I was avoiding him as I tried to claw back some concept of saving people.  But I didn’t know how many the filters and straws would save, so I started stabbing code into the machine to transfer funds to medical research.

At some point, I threw my phone across the room.  And still I stabbed at my keyboard, with such urgency that I had to hot-swap after a time that only could be described as ‘a haze’.

“ELAKSHI!” Mama’s voice broke in some time later. “Open this door RIGHT NOW, or I will take a hammer to it.”

“Mama, I’m working!” I shouted over my shoulder.

“You have been so-called-working for three days! Nils has called the house to confirm you are alive, and I need help with Baba.”

I groaned and stretched my neck.  “I’m walking toward the door!” I shouted.

I did, too. I opened the door to see Mama staring at me in what could only be accusation.

“You stink, you look exhausted, and you clearly need food,” she scolded before walking away.  It was only then that I realized that she had the phone receiver to her ear.

“WAIT!” I cried. “Is that Nils or Mori???”

“Whichever one makes you more guilty. Bathe and think on it, and I might tell you.”

Did I smell that bad?  I sniffed my arm and nearly vomited. Okay, fair.

An hour later, I emerged, drying my hair and completely clean. “Check it out, I still know how to bathe!”

Mama was not impressed, at all. She sniffed. “You stink less.  Sit. Eat.”

“Mama…”

“Nils and Mori called while you were ignoring the world,” she interjected. “And I know you did not eat for three days, because I know how many days you ignored me knocking on your door.  And your phone.”

“It was important,” I insisted, only to be levelled with a dark-eyed glare.

“If it is so important, you need to be alive to carry it forward. Which means you need to care for yourself,” she scowled.  The plate hit the table with a force that I was shocked to see broke neither table nor plate. “Eat. Give me your phone.”

“Mama -”

“Elakshi, I will sever power to this entire building if you do not give me your phone at this second and eat.”

My arm extended stiffly, palm flat, phone offered up like a mango.

She swiped it. “Better. Eat. I will tell Katherine and Nils that you are alive.”

“Katherine!???” I shouted. “Why Katherine!?”

“She called me, personally, asking.”

I shoved my spoon into the food before me. “Goddammit,” I muttered. “Mothers, always meddling.”

“If our children behaved like adults, we would not need to ‘meddle’ as you say,” Mama pitched over her shoulder in a mocking tone. “And I certainly would not need to threaten my youngest if she could only take care of herself like the woman she is and not the child she once was.”

Low blow. “I’m eating, I’m eating,” I conceded, stuffing bland food in my mouth and pointing at it emphatically.

Bringing a plate of her own and setting it down with significantly more care than she had practically thrown mine with, she sat straight and asked in her most prim tone. “And what part of the world are we saving today?”

“Clean water,” I answered. “Charity work.  Monsoons are coming, so they need better resources.”

Mama nodded crisply. “This is a good work. And what part does Nils play in it?”

I stopped mid-bite in confusion. “Nils? He doesn’t have any part in this. It’s one of my independent projects.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “Katherine knew quite a lot for something that doesn’t involve her son.”

“How often do the two of you talk?” I asked in bewilderment.  The confusion was enough to almost completely silence the voices tormenting me.  Almost.

“Twice a week,” she nodded, taking another bite of food and gesturing for me to do the same. “Our children went through the same traumatic experience.”

“You went through the same traumatic experience, and then some.”

“Pah.” She waved the notion away. “Mothers worry, and we worry best together.  Now eat and then either call your young man back, or tell me why you won’t.”

The horror at what we had done mixed sourly with the idea of talking to my mother about relationship issues. “I will message him after I eat,” I promised meekly, choosing the lesser of the two options.