#is violence the first option? no. never. but when violence is the arm that enforces oppression? how the fuck else do you expect to change i

[something-tofightfor]

Everybody's Waiting For The Next Surprise: Take A Chance And Roll The Dice

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (JTGTBG)

Word Count: 11.9k

Summary: Thanks to you, Joel and Ellie's first Halloween in Jackson isn't going to be just another day ... but in your attempt to surprise them and do something special, you bring up a few things that they've been unable to put entirely behind them.

Rating: M. This is a TLOU story - even though there's no actual violence in this.

Warnings: This story contains spoilers for TLOU season 1 and TLOU Part 1, but doesn't get into anything from the second game.

Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one shot, and I suppose you could read it that way - but there is another part coming, and it's gonna be spicy.

Takes place in the JTGTBG universe between Help Me Get Away From Myself and Your Eyes Outshine The Town.

Thank you for reading!

Song Suggestion: “This Is Halloween” by the cast of The Nightmare Before Christmas

“You’re seriously not going to let me take two?” Arms crossed over your chest, you stared at the woman standing in front of you. “I can’t remember a time when -”

“First come, first serve. One per person. You know the rules.” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders and then pointed at the sign on the wall that reiterated her message. “I can’t just let someone walk in here and take all of them.” 

“I don’t want all of them, Penny. I need two.” You knew what the issue was - knew exactly why the woman was being such a stickler to one of Jackson’s most loosely enforced rules - and you also knew you wouldn’t get her to budge. “One extra. For -”

“For Joel?” She laughed, the sound bitter. “Why don’t you have him come in and get his own?” 

“No. Not for him. For Ellie, Penny.” Stepping closer, you jabbed a finger in the direction of the small, fenced in area just outside of the main barn, where you’d left your first choice. “For a little girl that’s probably never gotten to have her own pumpkin on Halloween.” The look in her eyes changed for a moment but then Penny shook her head again, staring directly at you. 

“No. Rules are rules, and just because you’re friends with Tommy and Maria and fucking him, that doesn’t mean you get special treatment around here.” A large part of you wanted to argue further, but you had a feeling that if you did that, you’d be walking away from the barn empty handed. And I need at least one. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” Pointing at the doorway, you rolled your eyes. “I’ll take my one pumpkin and get out of here, Penny. Are you going to stand in the doorway and watch me pick it out, or -”

The woman didn’t speak, instead moving so that she could look out the window and at the piles of bright orange pumpkins that were waiting for people to claim them. Seriously? 

Heading back outside, you began to search through the selection, testing stems and looking for a larger option that had ample carving space. If you only got one, you wanted it to be the perfect pumpkin. Because she deserves it. 

It only took a few minutes for you to choose, picking one that was slightly taller than it was round, the stem curved enough that you could use it to lift the lid. Holding it up in Penny’s direction for emphasis, you made sure the woman saw what you’d chosen before you stuck it in the cart you typically used for groceries. 

You wanted to give the woman the finger on your way back toward the sidewalk, but instead chose to be the bigger person, fingers closed around the handle of the cart as you headed in the direction of Joel’s house. I cannot believe her. 

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the voice calling your name until someone grabbed your arm, their fingers closing around the material of the light jacket you wore. “What the fu-” Immediately letting go of the handle and reaching for the knife you always carried on your belt, you spun on the sidewalk, groaning at the sight of Tommy Miller beside you, both of his hands raised, palms out. 

“Whoa, it’s just me.” The man backed off, a grin spreading over his face. “I’ve been sayin’ your name for almost a block, what’s up?” 

“I could have stabbed you.” Covering your face with one hand, you shook your head. “Jesus, Tommy.” 

“I’m sorry.” He laughed, moving closer. “But seriously, what’s up? You look like you’re on a mission. Where you goin’ with that thing?”

“I… wanted to surprise Ellie.” Laughing, you bit your lip. “Figured I’d take two of these to their place, and show her how to carve. Everything I’ve heard about the QZs and FEDRA school make me believe she’s never done it before, and I just thought … her first Halloween here? Thought she might like it.” 

“There’s only one in there.” He frowned. “You going to share?”

“I’m going to have to. Penny’s in the barn today, and she’s sticking to the one per person rule, even though they’re not both for me, and bringing Ellie here to get one would ruin the surprise and waste a ton of time.” Tommy stuck a hand on his hip, and for long moments, all you saw was Joel, their stance so similar it was uncanny. “I could ask Joel to come and get one for her, but like I said, I wanted it to be a surprise. And since I’m heading out for a patrol the day after tomorrow, we’ve gotta do this tonight.” 

“C’mon.” He gestured to your cart. “Wheel that thing back with me. I’ll get you another pumpkin.” 

You knew better than to argue, and so you did what he asked, the two of you returning to the barn. Penny was waiting for you at the door, her arms still crossed. “You’re not going to change my mind, Tommy. She’s already got her -”

“It ain’t for her.” Tommy shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Haven’t gotten mine yet this year. You gonna tell me no, too?” The woman’s eyes flashed in the late afternoon sunlight, and you could almost see the smoke coming from her ears, but she stepped to the side, gesturing for Tommy to pass. “I need your help in here. I’ve always been shit at pickin’ a pumpkin.” 

Fighting the urge to smirk at the other woman as you passed, you pushed the cart up against the front of the building and then stepped into the yard, watching as Tommy bent down and started looking through the gourds. “Make sure it has a stem. And make sure it’s not rotting anywhere.” He hummed in agreement, easily hefting a few of the larger ones out of the way. “It should probably sit flat, too. That way it won’t tip over.” Chewing on your lip, you leaned in and whispered your next sentence. “I picked one out for Ellie already, and it’s by the side of the building, but -” 

Tommy straightened up, turning to face you. “You shoulda said that before. I’ll take that one instead of pretending I know what the hell I’m doing.” There was no stopping your laugh, and only seconds later, Tommy’s arm was around your shoulders as you led him back to where you’d left the second pumpkin. “Oh, that’s a good one.” He squeezed your arm before letting go, bending at the knee to pick it up and hold it close with one curled arm. “She’s gonna love it.” I hope so. 

“The special treatment you get is unbelievable.” Penny’s voice cut in, the woman’s tone frigid as she glared at you. “I don’t understand it. We all live here. We should all get -”

“What I don’t understand, Penny, is why you’re taking out the fact that a grown man made the decision that he didn’t want to be with you on a teenager that has nothing to do with it.” Tommy rarely raised his voice in public, but the tone he was taking with Penny shocked you. “There isn’t any special treatment. This friendship - my wife’s friendships - don’t determine what goes on in Jackson, the same way that the way you feel about someone else’s relationship choices shouldn’t impact how you do your job.” He stepped closer, shaking his head. “Get over it, Penny. Be an adult. There’s much more important shit to worry about, ain’t there?” 

She watched you in stunned silence as the two of you passed her, Tommy depositing the pumpkin into the cart atop the one you chose. He stepped next to you when you got to the sidewalk, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Thank you.” Voice quiet, you let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry you had to step in. It was stupid. I should have -”

“It’s not stupid, she’s acting like a fuckin’ high schooler.” Tommy nudged you with his elbow, glancing over. “They fucked twice when he was still trying to come to terms with everything he dealt with over the last year. He told her that’s what it was. It’s not like they were dating, and she’s treatin’ you like you stole him from her.” 

He was blunt, but it was one of the things you loved most about the younger Miller. “Joel does what he wants, Tommy. I’ve only known him for a few months, and even I know that. Nobody - except maybe Ellie - could make him do a damn thing he didn’t want to.” 

He chuckled at that, nodding. “He was the same way with Sarah. My brother’s always been stubborn as shit, but that little girl had him wrapped around his finger from the day she was born. Never thought I’d see him that way again, but watchin’ him with Ellie since they got back?” Tommy’s smile was sad, the man returning his gaze to you when you stopped at the corner. “It hurts, but in a good way.” 

You understood - reaching out to squeeze his arm. “Seeing you with Ellie and Joel has been great too, Tommy. I’m glad you got your family back.” He looked torn for a few seconds but then smiled again, blinking back tears before he leaned in to hug you tightly. 

“Always had a family in Jackson, even before they got here.” You felt his lips on your forehead and heard him sniff. “Startin’ with you.” He backed away, watching your expression as your lower lip trembled. Damn you, Miller. “Now go. Ellie’s gonna be done with school and her work soon, and Joel should be coming back in from that house he’s fixin’ on the other side of town not too long after.” Glancing up, you checked the position of the sun and then nodded in return. 

“Thank you, Tommy. For doing this for Ellie, and for … what you just said about me.” Wetting your lips, you closed your eyes. “I’m sorry you won’t get two pumpkins this year. Maria’s going to be disappointed.” 

“She won’t.” His smile widened, the dimples on his cheeks deep. “We planted our own this year. They’re smaller than this, but still good enough for a couple pies and some bread.” 

“Sneaky, sneaky, Tommy Miller.” You both laughed, Tommy hugging you again before he stepped back, turning toward his house. “Tell Maria hi, and that I’ll see her when I get back.” 

“You can tell her yourself.” He turned his head back to look at you over his shoulder. “I switched with Abraham. It’s you ‘an me on patrol, so she’ll be there to say goodbye.” He paused. “Don’t slice your fingers or anything off tonight, alright? I might need you with that bow of yours.” Laughing, you assured him you wouldn’t, and then the man continued walking away from you. 

The news made you happy - you always felt safer with Tommy on patrol. And it’ll make Joel relax a little bit, too. Taking a deep breath, you turned back toward Rancher Street, the heavy cart rolling over the sidewalk in front of you. 

— 

You got everything ready in only a few minutes - laying an old tablecloth over the dining room table, setting the two pumpkins atop it along with a few knives in varied sizes, two ice cream scoops and a wooden spatula with a grooved edge. You’d need a bucket, too, but didn’t want to grab that before Ellie came in. 

Each day that passed made you feel more comfortable in Joel’s house, even when he wasn’t there - and you’d already been given explicit permission by both of them to come in whenever you wanted, which made it even easier. 

Things were moving quickly. You’d shared your first kiss only a few months earlier, you and Joel baring your feelings to the best of your abilities and taking the steps necessary to form an actual relationship, which had culminated the night of his birthday at the 7 Cabins, only a month prior. There were still days when things were difficult, when Joel pulled away or you pushed, and you knew that they wouldn’t end overnight. But we’re working on them. Neither of us has done this in… a long time. 

He’d had Tess and you’d had a couple longer term relationships while in Jackson, but the two of you was different, and you both knew it. And it’s scary. Sipping your drink, you eyed your backpack where it sat next to the TV. But it’s worth it. 

The front door opened and shut, and you heard footsteps in the hall, along with the sound of Ellie’s backpack hitting the ground before she called out your name. “In here, Ellie. Waiting for you.” She peeked in moments later, her ponytail askew and her cheeks flushed. “Did you run home?”

“No. Maybe. I hurried. You said you had a surprise?” She stepped through the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. “What’s the surprise?” So impatient. 

Smiling, you stood and gestured for her to follow you, the girl trailing behind as you moved into the dining room. “I know you like Halloween, Ellie, or at least the idea of it.” She agreed, stopping beside you next to the table though you saw a fleeting look of unease on her face. Wonder what that’s about. “So I thought we could do something that used to be really popular for Halloween, since I’m pretty sure you never have before.” 

“Pumpkins? What are we going to do with ‘em?” She stepped closer, reaching out to run her fingers over the surface of one. “Knives? Are we going to cut them up? Make a pie, or -”

“Pumpkin pie is Thanksgiving. But yeah, I can make one for you if you want. Some muffins and pumpkin bread, too. There should be enough of the insides for that.” Here we go. “Have you ever carved a pumpkin, Ellie? I know you’ve seen them here, but … before, I mean. In Boston?” 

“No.” She turned to face you, her eyes wide. “I have not ever carved a fucking pumpkin. How do I do it? Do I just stab it? Do I -” Laughing, you put your hand over hers, preventing her from picking up one of the knives or reaching for the switchblade you knew she always carried. 

“There are steps, Ellie. That’s why there are two of them, so I can show you.” Her smile widened, the teenager whispering the word cool, and then Ellie nodded. “I do need a bucket, though. A clean one if you guys have it, for the pumpkin guts.” She frowned, blinking. “I didn’t want to use the laundry one, because of the soap, but -”

“I’ve got one in my room.” She pointed. “I use it as a trash can, but it’s pretty clean. Just paper. We can rinse it out first. Let me get it.” She didn’t say anything before turning and sprinting from the room, the sound of the door slamming hitting your ears a few seconds later. Good. She’s excited. 

You headed into the kitchen, deciding to wait for her there, and when you heard the door shut again a little while later, you turned the water on, wishing for the hundredth time that Joel’s hot water tank was functional. “I’m in here, Ellie. Bring the -”

“What do you think you’re doing.” You froze at the sound of his voice, Joel’s tone slightly accusatory. Oh, no. You hadn’t wanted to bring up the pumpkins with Joel, thinking that it would be easier to explain after he saw Ellie carving one of them. It was still difficult to bring Sarah and Joel’s past with her up in most cases - but with those few words, you wondered if that had been the wrong call. 

“Joel, I -” Turning the water off, you spun to face him, eyes closed. “I was just trying to -”

“You were gonna start without me?” Opening your eyes, you saw that he had a pumpkin cradled under one arm, the man fighting back a smile. “And in my own damn house, too.” Exhaling, you felt yourself deflate, the worry turning into relief as you crossed the space.

“I thought you were pissed, Joel. The way you sounded, it … I just …” Reaching for him, you laid a hand on his toned forearm, head shaking back and forth. “I wanted it to be a surprise for Ellie, and part of me thought that if I told you what I wanted to do, you’d say no.” His face fell, but he nodded, looking down at the floor and then back at you. 

“I might have. I haven’t done this in … you know. But I saw the sign on the board remindin’ people to pick their pumpkins up of they wanted ‘em, and I thought Ellie would like it. That girl told me a buncha times about how she liked scary shit even though she hadn’t seen a lot of it. I thought … I thought that I could explain to her what she needed to do.” He bit down on the corner of one lip, frowning. “But you got two of them. How? The sign said -”

“Penny wouldn’t let me take two. Tommy… just happened to be walking by as I was leaving, and he gave Ellie his. I’ve been able to take more than one other years, but not … not this time.” 

“She gave me a hard time, too.” Joel grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Mumbled under her breath about how we were all playin’ the system, and I didn’t understand but now … I guess I do.” 

He turned and you followed him into the other room, Joel setting the third pumpkin down on the table. “We might need two buckets now. Separate all the seeds from the -”

“I’m back.” Ellie entered the room, holding the black bucket in one hand. “I used the hose outside. It’s clean and -” She finally saw Joel, her smile widening. “You’re home. Did you see the… wait. There’s three. Does that mean you’re going to make a pumpkin with us? Do you even know how to do one? I bet mine’s cooler than yours will be.” 

“Ellie, slow down.” Joel reached out, his large palm landing on top of her head to ruffle her hair. “No way in hell I’m gonna be around you holdin’ a knife if you’re all riled up.” She huffed but took a breath, trying to steady herself. “I do think we should take this into the other room, though. I know this table’s bigger and taller, but we can put somethin’ on the TV. There’s gotta be a Halloween movie in that stack of ‘em out there.” 

“About that.” You bit your lip, rubbing at the back of one hand with your other. “I brought one with me. It’s stupid and it’s mostly for kids, but Ellie, I think you’ll love it, and …” She was already moving - grabbing one of the pumpkins and heading for the other room, leaving you and Joel behind without a second thought. 

“I haven’t seen her this excited in a while. Thank you.” Joel reached for you, thumbing over your cheek. “And thank you for not asking beforehand. I’m not mad. It’s just … hard, y’know.” I do. “You -”

“Will you two quit being mushy in there and come out here?” Ellie called out from the other room, her voice much louder than necessary. “Just kiss her already. I want to cut this thing open.” You snorted back a laugh, but Joel didn’t join, the man’s fingers curling against your cheek as he angled your face to meet your lips with his. 

There was no time for you to get carried away, and you both knew it, but the kiss was exactly what you needed after a long day in the greenhouses and then the encounter with Penny. He lingered, fingers curling slightly against your ear, but when Joel pulled away, it was you that spoke first. “We better get in there. Ellie having access to sharp objects and being annoyed doesn’t sound like a good time for either of us.” 

Joel laughed with you, picking up both remaining pumpkins so that you could grab everything else and follow him into the living room. Ellie had already pushed the table close to the couch, opening up the entire center of the space. “I figured the table wouldn’t be big enough so we could all sit on the floor. But Joel, I know your knees suck so if you need to be on the couch, we can -”

“Shut it, kiddo.” You spread the cloth out, and a few seconds later Joel was on the ground with Ellie, getting the knives, bucket and pumpkins organized. “I might be creaky but that doesn’t mean I need the old folks home treatment yet.” You laughed but Ellie only looked confused, the girl’s eyes moving between the two of you. Of course she wouldn’t know that. 

“Before, Ellie? When people got older, sometimes they’d go live in a place with other people their age. Sort of like a hospital, but it didn’t always involve medical care.” You spoke as you rummaged through your backpack, pulling out a DVD case and a permanent marker. “It was like an apartment building for old people - no steps, larger bathrooms, caregivers on site if they were needed…. It was a nice place for people to go when they couldn’t - or didn’t want to - stay at home anymore because they were lonely or couldn’t get around too well.” You turned the TV on and pushed power on the DVD player, keeping your back to them. “Jackson doesn’t have a place like that. So when Joel’s knees finally give out, we’ll just have to put him out in your garage, and then you get the house.” 

Turning back to face them, you saw Ellie unsuccessfully fighting back her laughter as Joel scowled up at you, his arms crossed. “The two of you. Christ. Unbelievable. I thought Ellie on her own was bad, but -.” 

“Oh, come on. You’ve got a few years left before we have to worry about it.” Grabbing the remote, you took the few steps necessary to get back to them, lowering yourself onto the ground and pulling your pumpkin into your lap while Joel muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t make out. I’m sure I’ll hear about that later. “So this movie was one I watched as a kid. Joel’s probably seen it, too. It’s a musical, sort of but …” Pressing play, you waited a few seconds until the DVD menu popped up, Joel swearing, the sound turning incredulous. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “It’s called The Nightmare Before Christmas, but -”

“Christmas? What? That doesn’t make sense.” Ellie scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “You said Halloween. You said -” 

“Give it a chance, kiddo. It is a Halloween movie.” He reached forward, taking the marker from you and using it to draw a circle on the top of his pumpkin. “And I’m positive you’re gonna want to watch it again so you can pay attention.”  Joel handed her the marker, and then pointed to what he’d done. “Make a mark on the top, big enough for your hand and then some.” She started to draw, Joel nodding. “You can make a notch in it or somethin’ so you know exactly how the lid fits, but if you cut it at an angle, it won’t matter.” 

“Yeah, Ellie. Measure twice, cut once.” You winked at her when she glanced up, the girl smiling even though you could tell she was still a little confused. But when you met Joel’s eyes, he was looking at you with annoyance, though his eyes were bright. “Isn’t that what contractors and architects and construction workers -” 

“Fuck you.” He picked up one of the knives, beginning to cut the pumpkin’s top off in quick, sure movements. “I hope yours is too small and you have to make it bigger and then the lid doesn’t fit.” Giving yourself a few seconds to watch him - the man using the knife to deftly cut through the top of the gourd, you chewed on the inside of your lip. It’s so strange to see him using a knife to do something so normal. 

Forcing yourself to look away after moment more of watching the way his fingers looked wrapped around the handle, you drew your circle, too, recapping the marker and then picking up one of the knives you’d brought. 

The familiar sound - and smell - of freshly cut pumpkins filled your nose moments later, and as you cut, you let yourself think back to the years before the outbreak, the times you’d carved pumpkins with your family and friends and the way they’d looked in your windows or on your front steps, candles burning brightly from inside. I miss it. I miss it even now, and - 

“So they’re all dead?” Ellie was watching the TV, her knife sticking halfway out of the pumpkin as the opening song played. “And they just live in a Halloween town? And there’s a skeleton that -”

“Yes.” Shaking your head, you tried  to focus. “I actually had a really bad nightmare about Jack when I was younger. He was in my house and on my steps and I was terrified. But the older I got, the more I appreciated it.” 

“This movie was for kids? These characters are …” She shivered. “Creepy.” 

“She didn’t like ‘em much at first either.” Joel spoke then, his voice quiet. “Sarah. We watched this because Tommy and I grew up with it, but it took a little while for her to understand.” Joel deftly sliced the bottom of the lid, cutting off the attached seeds and guts before tossing them into the bucket. “Then she’d run around the house singin’ this song for weeks.” 

“It’s a catchy song.” Ellie nodded, returning her attention to her pumpkin. “They’re still creepy though.” You agreed, finishing with your lid, too, and then glancing inside at the contents of your pumpkin. So many seeds. Perfect. “Ok, so now what?” Ellie put her lid to the side, looking at Joel. “Cut a face into -”

“Now you haveta clean it.”  You picked up a scoop, showing her what to do. “I usually would scrape as much as I could away and then dump it into a bucket, and then go back and do it again.” Pointing at the spatula, you continued. “And then when most of the insides are out, you use that to thin the walls so that when you cut a design into it, it’s not too thick and you can see the light.” 

She nodded, but instead of picking the other scoop up, she reached inside with her bare hand, the girl’s mouth falling open in shock as she closed her fingers around the contents. “Gross. It’s so slimy.” She didn’t stop, though, pulling out handfuls of seeds and adding to the bucket. Joel made the most of it, reaching for the other scoop and beginning to clean the inside of his. 

You couldn’t help watching as he did it, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each twist of his wrist, his lips pressed together in concentration as he stared downward. Wait a second. Wiping your hands on the cloth, you set your pumpkin down and then stood up, reaching for your backpack. You hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of it, but figured that - as a part of your secondary job in Jackson - it was necessary. 

“I’m gonna take a picture of the two of you, alright?” They both looked up, Ellie’s eyes wide and Joel’s full of surprise. “We’re saving all of these memory cards so that in the future, people will know that we had a life here. That we … still did things like this.” Ellie grinned and then before you could speak, she pulled a handful of seeds and guts out, leaning over to dangle it in Joel’s face. 

He burst out laughing and so did you, the man flicking a couple seeds at the girl as you snapped one photo and then another, checking to see what they looked like before turning the camera off and setting it behind you on the table. 

It took you about ten minutes, but the three of you got the pumpkins mostly cleaned out, the bucket about half-full of orange innards. You grabbed the spatula, holding it up. “We only have one of these so we’ll have to share, but Ellie, this part’s really important.” The girl leaned in, eyes on you. “Scrape the side of the pumpkin that you’re going to carve to make it thinner. You want it to be a little over a half inch thick so that you can cut through it, but not so thin that it’s going to collapse or rip when you move the knife.” 

Joel wordlessly pushed to his feet, the man grunting quietly and using a hand on his knee for balance after a series of quiet cracks. “Don’t say a word. Either of you.” You and Ellie shared another look, the girl sticking her tongue out at the man while he headed for the kitchen. “Be right back.” 

Both of you watched the TV for a few seconds, your pumpkin securely in your lap and Ellie’s laying on its side on the floor in front of her. She was engrossed in the movie just like you thought she’d be, and neither of you heard Joel reenter the room until he said your name, nudging you with a soft kick. “Here.” Looking up, you saw that he was holding a cup out to you, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Brought you somethin’ to drink.” 

It was cider,  but his wink told you that he’d added something to it - and a sniff confirmed at least a splash of whiskey. “Thank you.” He handed Ellie a cup next, the girl eagerly taking it from him and tipping it back against her lips. He set his down on the table and then reached into his back pocket, pulling out two large metal serving spoons and holding one out in your direction. 

“Give the good one to Ellie. She’s never done this before.” Nodding, you took it from him and tossed the one you’d been using to the girl. “This way we don’t have to wait and do this one person at a time.” 

The three of you went back to what you were doing, the sounds of scraping mingling with the dialogue on the TV, and for long minutes, you were content. Joel started humming along first, and when you glanced up at him, you saw that he was still scraping but was eyeing Ellie, his lips turned upward in a soft smile. It would have made a great picture, but instead of ruining the moment, you just watched him, deciding to keep the memory for yourself. He’s doing alright. He’s handling this better than I thought. 

“How’s this, pumpkin master?” Joel tipped the opening in his at you, arching a brow. “That thin enough, or still a little too thick?” Leaning over, you narrowed your eyes while you stuck your hand in, running your fingers along the inside of the pumpkin. Wait a minute. 

“Why are you asking me? You’ve been building things for how many years and you can’t eyeball a -” 

“Needed your seal of approval before I do anything else.” He smirked at you, tipping the pumpkin over above the bucket to empty it once you’d removed your hand. “And you’re so good at giving directions that I -”

“Anyway.” Ellie cleared her throat. “If the two of you are done being weird, I think I’m done. And since I’ve never actually done this before, I really do need someone to tell me if it’s OK.” She chewed on her lip while she waited, and when you made no move to reach for it, Joel set his pumpkin down and held out both hands, taking hers. “I think it’s good, but maybe I need to take more from the bottom and the top, and -”

“Nah, Ellie.” He ran his hand along the interior, shaking his head. “You did it right.” Joel blinked twice and then tapped on the inside, his other hand flat on the outside. “I can feel it vibratin’, so it’s ready to go.” She took the pumpkin back from him and even though she thanked him and smiled, clearly pleased with herself, your focus was on Joel, the man’s eyes cast down and toward his lap, one hand pressed flat against the outside of his hollowed-out pumpkin. 

You knew that Sarah had been twelve when he’d lost her, and that she’d been fiercely independent, just like Ellie. And you also knew that despite the age difference between the girls, Joel teaching Ellie things like carving pumpkins or riding a horse or about old movies for the first time brought up the kinds of memories for him that he’d pushed to the back of his mind for more than 20 years. But this is something parents did with their kids, that families did together, and he’s … shit. 

“My sister and I,” you started, blowing out a breath. “We’d carve a pumpkin each every year.” Joel’s head snapped up, the pain in his eyes fading quickly as he waited to see what you’d say. “Ellie, we were really competitive when it came to stuff - who could swim the most laps, who could draw better pictures, who got their chores done faster … it was ridiculous. But Halloween pumpkins were something else entirely.” 

“Really? You don’t seem … are you saying that we’re having a contest? Because that isn’t fair. I haven’t ever -” 

“No. There’s no contest here. But back then, every year? We’d try to come up with the craziest design we could, carve them in secret and then have our family and friends choose which one they liked best without knowing who did what.” You stared down at your pumpkin, running one finger along one of the grooves. “Even when she went to college and then I did, too, we’d still … there was this website that you could connect with all of your friends on, even if they were in different cities or states, and we’d both post pictures so all of our school friends and family could vote.” 

“Tommy had an account on there, too.” Joel grinned, tapping his thumbs against the surface of his pumpkin. “Used it to hit on all the UT sorority girls at first and then he branched out and only talked to women goin’ to law school.” 

“He must have been building a rolodex for when he needed legal representation.” Joel snorted and you laughed, too, breathing a sigh of relief. Situation deflected. “I can’t imagine Tommy going out on dates. To be honest, I can’t imagine him with anyone but Maria, but that’s only because that’s all I know.” 

“He dated a lot.” Joel used one corner of the cloth to wipe the pumpkin dry, glancing up at you as Ellie focused on the TV, the girl only halfway listening to you. “Got serious a couple times but Tommy was … wild enough for the both of us.” 

“I’m sure you had your share of dates, Joel.” Arching a brow, you smiled at him. “I’ve seen pictures of you from when you were young.” And you’re even better looking now, which seems kind of impossible.

“Lotta opportunities,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “But like I’ve said, I didn’t take many of ‘em up on it.” He went quiet for a few seconds and then said Ellie’s name, reaching out to touch her arm. “Hey. You ready to start carvin’?” 

“I’ve been ready.” He narrowed his eyes at her but the girl paid him no mind, reaching for one of the knives. “Do I just -”

“You can either just cut, or you can draw a design first.” He held up the Sharpie, wiggling it back and forth. “That way you’d have lines to follow.” 

“I used to trace patterns by poking holes into the pumpkins.” You leaned back, resting your hands on the floor. “And then you rub flour on it so you can see the little white spots and -”

“That’s complicated.” Joel waved his hand. “Draw on it. Cut it out. Done.” 

“We should keep our designs secret.” Ellie’s smile widened. “Like you and your sister did. We won’t have anyone to vote, but I guess we could ask Tommy and Maria.” She pointed at your camera. “You could take a picture of them, too.” Your chest tightened at the girl’s suggestion - even though you hadn’t been thinking of that as an option, it made sense. 

“If … if you want, Ellie. I usually just make a simple face now, but -”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, make it something fun. I’m going to try to. I want to make a -”

“Well now, if you tell us, it won’t be a surprise, hmm?” Joel sighed. “You gonna take this or not?” Ellie snatched the marker from him and scooted back, making it more difficult to see what she drew. “Guess so.” 

While you waited for the girl to choose her design, you eyed the TV, the weight of the pumpkin settled on your lap, both hands still flat on the floor. It felt good to be with Joel and Ellie, and even though you’d continued traditions in the years after the outbreak - celebrating holidays, giving people gifts, attending weddings and funerals and parties - even with Maria’s family, it had always felt a little hollow. But not tonight. Not with them. Not … this. 

The touch of Joel’s hand atop one of yours startled you back into focus, and you looked quickly at him, confused. But he was watching you intently, the man nodding twice as soon as he’d caught your eye. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he mouthed the words thank you at you before giving you a tight smile. He’d picked up on what you’d done - and you were glad, because it meant that the night could go on as planned. “I’m done.” Ellie spoke up then and moments later, the marker went flying past you, bouncing off of Joel’s chest and into his pumpkin, all three of you gasping in surprise. “Holy shit, did that just happen?” 

“It did. Bet you couldn’t do that again if you tried, though.” Joel stuck his hand in after it and then followed Ellie’s lead, moving backwards and turning his body so that neither of you could see what he drew. Ellie was staring at her pumpkin and frowning, the girl’s head tilted to one side. 

“It doesn’t need to be perfect, Ellie. And you can always smooth out rough edges after you finish.” Gesturing to her, you continued. “I suggest starting at the middle of your design and then working out. Much less chance the pumpkin breaks that way.” She nodded, her eyes widening. “Do -”

“Let me have your camera.” She pointed, the girl biting her lower lip before she said anything else. “You took pictures of us, but none of yourself.” You knew that you wouldn’t be able to tell her no and so you handed the device over, Ellie looking at a few of the buttons before she set it down. “When you least expect it, I’m going to take the best picture of you.” 

“Here.” Joel stuck his hand out, the uncapped marker held between his fingers. “Your turn.” You were still undecided on your design - you hadn’t been lying when you said you usually did something simple. But if they’re both doing something a little more complicated, then I will, too. 

It took you a few seconds of thought, but then you figured it out, spinning the pumpkin to give yourself the right surface … and started drawing. 

Aside from the movie dialogue in the background, the room was silent as the three of you carved. When you glanced up at Joel and Ellie, you saw that they were both deep in concentration - Ellie’s frown prominent and the tip of Joel’s tongue poking out from between his teeth. 

It was the first time that the three of you had done anything so domestic together, and the significance of the moment wasn’t lost on you .Next is Thanksgiving. And then Christmas and … 

You hadn’t allowed yourself to be truly excited about holidays in a long time. But this year … I can be. You weren’t officially a member of their little unit, despite your closeness with Joel and your friendship with Ellie. There was still a definite disconnect between the relationship you had with them and what they had with each other, and while you didn’t want to intrude, a large part of you hoped that you’d be invited to partake in more of Ellie’s firsts. And Joel’s, too. 

“That guy’s an asshole.” Ellie’s voice broke your concentration, the sound of it causing you to look up at her and then at the TV, the image of Santa spinning at the center of a roulette wheel filling the screen. “Not as much of an asshole as that doctor thing holding the doll prisoner, but …”

“Yeah.” You laughed, agreeing. “But he’s a good villain” You watched for a minute longer and then returned to your pumpkin, the knife sliding easily through the orange flesh of it. 

Ellie finished first, the girl setting her pumpkin down and squinting at it, head tilted to one side, and you were vaguely aware of her picking up the camera again. But you knew when she took a picture because the flash went off, both you and Joel looking up and at her in surprise. “Oops.” She smiled, checking the screen and then looked back at you. “It was a good one at least.” 

You eyed Joel, the man shrugging and then looking down at what he was doing, and so you did the same. Part of you was anxious to see the picture - there were so few of you from throughout the years, and none of you and Joel in existence - but another part of you wanted no part in it, because of what a picture of the two of you symbolized. 

Just as Jack was beginning his mission to rescue Santa, you finished carving, too, carefully tipping your pumpkin over so that the pieces you’d cut out could fall free. “All done.” Reaching over to grab your lid, you set it on top, eyeing your work. “Just needs a candle, and I’m set.” 

“We’re waiting on you, Joel.” Ellie’s tone was teasing, but when he didn’t even acknowledge her, his eyes cast down on the pumpkin in his lap, the girl looked at you, a worried expression on her face. I know. 

“Hey. Joel.” He finally looked up, the line between his brows deep. “I’ve got two candles in my bag, so you’ll need to get one for yourself. Ellie and I are going to go outside and put ours on the steps. Come out when you’re done, alright? We won’t look until all three are lit.” He nodded, chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath and then released it. “Take your time.” 

“I’ll go out first.” Ellie stood and then picked her pumpkin up carefully, the design facing her body. “Where are the -”

“I’ll bring them.” Jutting your chin toward the doorway, you paused. “Just go, Ellie. I’ll be right there.” She left the room, the door closing softly behind her a few seconds later. You reached for the remote, pausing the movie - and then you turned your attention to Joel. “Everything alright?” 

You knew it wasn’t. You knew that the night had been taxing for him, despite the calm demeanor he’d presented for most of it. But he can’t ignore it. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled, the expression genuine. “Memories is all. Can’t be easy for you, either.”

“It’s not. But seeing how excited Ellie got helps.” Pushing to your feet, you wiped your hands on the front of your jeans, picking the pumpkin up with one arm. “Take as much time as you need, Joel. We’ll be outside. Don’t forget your candle.” He assured you he wouldn’t, and after grabbing your backpack, you headed outside to find Ellie. Your face split into a grin when you saw her standing at the bottom of the steps, both hands on her hips. 

“He’s sad.” She didn’t look up as you approached, the girl’s voice quiet but certain. “Because this reminds him of Sarah, and I’m not Sarah, and -” Oh, Ellie. 

“Ellie, he’s sad because he used to do this with his daughter and now he can’t.” Setting the bag down, you closed your eyes, thinking. “Just like I’m sad that I can’t do with with my sister anymore. But now we both get to carve pumpkins with you. It might not be the same, but that’s not a bad thing.” Crouching down, you made sure the carving was still facing you before you settled the pumpkin on the step above hers and then reached for your bag, flipping the top open. “You’re not Sarah. And you’re not Josie, either. You’re you. And getting to help you with this for the first time is … it’s special, Ellie. For me, and for him, too.” 

“My… friend Riley took me to a Halloween store in this old mall in Boston.” She blinked a few times and then tipped her head up, locking eyes with you. “She knew how much I loved creepy stuff, and how much I’d like it. She just wanted me to see something like that, just once, and then she… and the whole time tonight I was just wondering if she ever got to make a pumpkin. If she ever had anyone to hang out with like this, or teach her what to do.” She swiped at her face with the back of one hand, shaking her head. “Sometimes I think he forgets that he isn’t the only one that’s ever lost someone important.” 

So that’s what that look was for earlier. You knew that there were a lot of unresolved feelings between Joel and Ellie, but that was the first time she’d outright criticized him in front of you and meant it. “He knows, El. But people grieve differently. He hasn’t gotten to do so many of these things for so long, so for him, it’s like the first time all over again. But at the same time, he’s remembering the way it was before.” Reaching out, you settled your hand on her shoulder. “I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn’t always.” 

“Even being here?” She blinked back tears, her eyes shining. “Where it’s safe?”

“Even being here. Things are more normal, but nothing will ever be the way it used to be.” Finally breaking eye contact, you put a candle into your pumpkin and then dug for the lighter you’d brought, handing it over to her. “You light yours. And then come and stand behind me, alright?” 

She did what you told her to, the girl handing the lighter back to you once a soft glow emanated from her pumpkin, and then settled the lid into place. She eyed it for a few seconds and then grinned, climbing the steps to stand behind you as you spun your pumpkin forward, lighting the candle and putting the lid on. You stood then, stepping to the side and waiting next to her. “Everything look good?”

“Yeah. It does.” She looked up at you, the girl’s frown deep. “I think I did OK.”

“I’m sure you did.” You stared down the street, the porch lights on the houses illuminated on the route back toward the center of town. The wind had picked up slightly after the sunset, dry leaves skittering down the street, and when you crossed your arms over your chest and shivered, you felt the girl move closer, her arm bumping yours. “Ellie?” She looked up again, silent. “I’m really sorry that you lost Riley. And even if she never got to carve a pumpkin or celebrate Halloween, she still got to take you to that store. She got to do something nice for you - something that meant something, you know?” 

“Yeah.” She sniffled, nodding. “I guess so.” You wouldn’t convince her - she needed time the same way anyone in her situation would have. So you didn’t push, instead tipping your head back and looking up at the stars above you. Even after nearly 20 years, being able to see them so clearly still shocked you - the pinpricks of light twinkling overhead. 

“Sorry it took me so long.” Joel’s voice startled you and your chin snapped in his direction. Both of you watched as he headed down the walkway toward where you stood. “Brought your camera too.” He held it up, the strap wound around his knuckles. “Figured you could take pictures before we go inside.” I will. 

Joel waited for you to take the camera from him and then nodded once, bending over to put his pumpkin down and flip it so that it faced forward. “Here’s the lighter.” Reaching up, he took it from you, the man’s fingertips gliding over yours. 

“We didn’t look.” Ellie spoke up, both of you watching as he stuck his hand through the top opening and lit the wick. “We waited, Joel.” 

“Yeah?” He stared at her, smirking. “‘Preciate it.” Joel rose to his feet, moving to stand next to you. It only took a few seconds for him to slide an arm around you, his hand squeezing your hip as he leaned in to speak into your ear. “Get that camera ready.” Oh, that’s a good plan.  

Turning it on, you spun the dial to the low-light setting, nodding once. “Ready?” You looked over at him and then at Ellie, using one hand to gesture toward the bottom of the steps. “What are you waiting for? You first, Ellie.” 

She was excited - you could see it on her face and in the way she scrambled down the few steps, but you and Joel hung back, just watching. Lifting the camera, you rested your finger against the shutter, and moments later you pressed it, the quiet noise almost inaudible over the girl’s gasp. Got it. Oh, that was a good call, Joel. Her jaw dropped, Ellie’s hand going to her hip as her eyes widened - and then she smiled, nodding faster and faster before she bent down to get a closer look. “Oh, this looks so fucking cool.” Exhaling, she glanced back up at you. “Are you coming? Don’t you want to see -”

Joel nudged you forward, his hand moving to the center of your back, and then the two of you stepped toward Ellie. Oh, of course. I should have known. 

Ellie’s pumpkin was a much better effort than any of yours at her age had been - a few stars, a planet and what looked like the shape of a rocket, all glowing orange from the candle inside. “Ellie… that looks real nice.” You watched her relax - her smile growing, and then you looked over at Joel, eyeing him as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. “You did a good job, kiddo.” He was blinking quickly, his eyes on the pumpkins. “Like yours, too.” 

“Thanks.” Tilting your head to the right, you shrugged. “I was going to do a ghost at first, but then I thought of a bat instead. This used to be so much easier before because we had kits and patterns, and -”

“I knew what it was right away.” Ellie cut in, leaning closer to your pumpkin. “And I like his face.” You thanked her, eyes moving up to the third and final pumpkin, where they lingered. That is not what I expected. 

Joel’s pumpkin was easily the best of the three - no question at all what the design was meant to be. There were no jagged edges in his carving, and when you leaned closer, you saw that there were even spaces on it that he’d etched instead of cutting - the light shining through, though it wasn’t as bright. “Is there anything you can’t do, Joel?” Turning to face him, you let out a long breath. “Putting me to shame over here.” 

That got a brief smile, but Joel didn’t say anything else, his eyes still on the trio of pumpkins. There’s a story here, but … “Joel?” Ellie’s voice was quiet again, the girl shuffling her feet to move closer to where he stood. “I love it.” She paused. “She would, too.” 

He broke away from you at that, silently walking back to the front porch, but when you went to follow him, Ellie’s fingers closed around your wrist, your name following under her breath a few  seconds later. “What, Ellie, I -”

“Stay here. He just needs a minute.” You were still confused, but she spoke again, the girl’s voice low. “Sarah’s room was covered in butterflies. Tommy and Maria showed me pictures. He um.” She sighed. “In Boston, in his apartment? There was one hanging on the window, and I thought it was weird back then because… well look at him. But now … I get it.” 

You stared silently at the pumpkin - the tiny flame flickering from within to illuminate the carefully carved wings and body - and you felt your heart break all over again for the man. On the surface, Joel was the strongest and most capable person you’d ever seen, but just beneath, there was pain and suffering that hadn’t lessened in two decades. How could it? Losing a child would be … “I didn’t know.” Lowering your head, you shook it from side to side. “He never … thank you, Ellie.” 

“No problem.” She squeezed your arm. “I’m pretty jealous that he got all his edges so smooth.” That made you laugh, and before you could stop yourself, you pulled the girl into a hug, her arms winding around you tightly. But she let you go soon after, taking a step back and continuing to look at what you’d all created. “Are you gonna take pictures?” Ellie pointed. “That way we don’t have to keep the candles burning.” 

She was right, and so you moved again, bending down to take photos of them together and individually, biting back tears at the meaning behind Joel’s pumpkin design. With me and Ellie, he still… he was comfortable enough to … “Sorry ‘bout that.” Joel was back, the man’s hands in his pockets. “I got a little …”

“Don’t apologize.” Looking up at him, you smiled. “I got a couple pictures, do you want me to blow these out now?”

“Nah, let ‘em go.” He waved at you. “We’ve got plenty of candles, so it ain’t gonna hurt anything.” Joel paused and then passed Ellie, reaching out to squeeze the girl’s shoulder before coming to stand behind you again. He didn’t speak, but when you straightened up, you watched him - Joel’s jaw ticking, the fingers of one hand flexing next to his thigh. He looked uneasy but kept staring forward, finally closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “D’you two want to go inside and have somethin’ to eat?” 

“Yeah.” Ellie groaned, already walking toward the house. “I’m starving.”

— 

Hours later, you and Joel had said goodnight to Ellie, the girl sprinting back to the garage after she’d eaten and helped you separate the pumpkin guts from the seeds. While Joel made dinner, you’d explained to her how to prep each portion  - roasting the innards and then pureeing them before portioning them out for later use in baking, and cleaning the seeds off so that you could soak them overnight in salt water before roasting them. 

She’d listened intently, the girl a huge help, and by the time dinner was done, so were you - everything ready to go as soon as you wanted it to be. You promised Ellie a batch of pumpkin-maple muffins before you headed out on patrol, and she made you swear you’d leave them where Joel couldn’t get to them. 

But once she was gone and the house was quiet, there was no way to avoid the conversation that you knew was coming between you and Joel. 

Despite the fact that it was early, the two of you got ready for bed - Joel already under the thick comforter with his back against the pillows leaning on the headboard by the time you climbed in. He was thumbing through the pages of a book, a pair of glasses perched on his nose, but the man set that down as soon as you were next to him, turning his head to the side. “You’re good with her.”

“With Ellie?” He nodded, reaching up to take the glasses off. Part of you was sad to see them go - you thought he looked even more handsome while wearing the pair, but you also knew that the loss meant that he was going to lay down and get comfortable beside you. And that’s even better. “She’s a teenage girl, Joel. I was also one of those a long time ago, so … common ground.” 

“No, you know what I mean.” Laying down on his side, he inched closer to you, reaching up to thumb over your cheek. “You’re patient with her. Just like you are with me. About the shit we don’t know, and the things we’ve … forgotten.” 

“Everyone’s forgotten some of it, Joel. That’s the way it goes. I’ve just had more of an opportunity to do normal things throughout the years because I was here. But you’re good with her, too. I don’t know if I’d call you patient, but … you’re what Ellie needs.” He hummed, closing his eyes. 

“I wasn’t even gonna carve a butterfly. And then we started talkin’ about her watching that movie, and I thought about how much she loved Halloween.” We’re not talking about Ellie anymore. His hand dropped to the pillow between the two of you, fingers curling against the case. “And then I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about her.” 

“It was nice to include her.” Reaching over, you trailed your fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing it back over the top curve. “It means a lot, actually, that you feel comfortable enough around me … around us to talk about your daughter.” Saying her name out loud in front of him was always a gamble, and so you opted not to that night, since he hadn’t either. “And I’m more than happy to give you your space like I did tonight, but …” Settling your hand on his cheek, you nodded. “You don’t have to hide it here. No one’s going to think less of you if you show emotion.” Leaning in, you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re not alone, Joel.” And you never will be again, if I have a say in it. 

You’d figured that he’d respond with a huff, brushing things off like he did so often - telling you that he was fine, that he understood, that he was used to doing things in his way, but Joel did none of those things. 

Instead, he moved his hand from the pillow, sliding it over your side and around to your back, pulling you even closer. Joel whispered your name, head lifting from the pillow, and before you could react, he was kissing you, lips sealed over yours. Joel always kissed you with intensity - even in the small ones traded while you passed each other in the kitchen, or the goodbye kisses before heading out on duty. They always seemed to mean something, and that night was no different, Joel’s lips parting just before he pulled away to close around your lower one. 

“Thank you.” It was quiet, the words little more than a whisper, but then Joel nodded, repeating them. “Thank you. And I know. I’m just … ain’t used to it.” You knew that, too, nodding in understanding while Joel backed off. He settled against the pillows again, watching you. “We’d always go to the Wal-Mart and get a costume for Sarah a couple weeks before Halloween.” Joel closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. “Had a photo album of her wearin’ all of them. She was a witch one year, ran a round with a little broom and a hat an’ everything. Knocked the shit outta mine and Tommy’s knees with that thing.” You laughed, trying to imagine a much younger Joel chasing a little girl in a witch costume around. “Went through a Disney princess phase for a couple years. She was a cat and a ghost and a pumpkin, too. Bein’ on my own with her was hard but those …” He inhaled and then let out a shaky breath. “Those days made it all worth it.” 

“Did you dress up with her?” Still stroking through his hair, you wrinkled your nose. “Put on a witch hat or dress like a -”

“Couple times.” He smiled - a real one - and then laughed, closing his eyes. “There was one year where she was that fairy from the one movie … the one about the boys and the island?” It took you a minute but you gasped when you remembered - nodding. 

“Peter Pan? Something bell…” What was it? “Tinkerbell?”

“That’s it.” Joel’s smile grew, his eyes widening. “She was Tinkerbell and she had this wand that shook glitter everywhere … and I dressed up like the pirate - had a wig and everything.” 

“Oh, I would have paid good money to see that.” Laughing, you scooted closer, hooking one of your legs over Joel’s. “Hook for a hand, too?”

“Of course.” Joel arched a brow. “I was the most popular dad at the third grade Halloween party.” 

“I bet you didn’t even need a costume for that.” Wetting your lips, you continued. “Just showed up on a random Wednesday and all the moms probably lost their minds.” 

 “Tommy always used to tease me about it.” Joel sighed, closing his eyes. “He’d come with me to her school stuff sometimes - concerts and assemblies. Or if I couldn’t go, he would. And he said that most times, all the moms were askin’ where I was and -” You couldn’t stop the laugh that you let out, your face turning toward the pillow as you tried to muffle it. I knew it. “Why is that funny?”

“Because, Joel, nothing’s changed.” Wiping your eye with one hand, you rolled your eyes. “Austin. Jackson. I bet even in Boston, people were into you the minute they saw you.” 

“Boston was a little different.” He frowned. “People were pretty worried about survivin’, and …” He trailed off, eyes focused on a space just over your shoulder. What is… “Tess was it for me there. Took me a little while to admit it, but even before then, I wasn’t really lookin’ anywhere else.”

“As much as I wish I could have met her, us crossing paths probably would not have ended well for me, at least where you’re concerned.” Everything Tommy and Joel had told you about Tess made you almost certain that though you would have liked her a great deal, her relationship with Joel would have complicated everything. “But I’m really glad that you had someone like her for all those years.”

“Me too.” Joel went silent, the man staring at you - but the look on his face was one that you were very used to. He was a man that chose his words carefully, and so you’d learned to read his expressions.  Don’t get lost in those memories, Joel. “So.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. “You carved pumpkins with your sister, but what else did you do for Halloween?” 

“You mean as an adult?” Running the top of your foot along the back of Joel’s calf, you grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. That’s why I asked.” 

“I went to Illinois, Joel. Halloween was a season there.” He moved his hand up your back, pushing the shirt you wore up so that he could touch your bare skin. “I went to a lot of costume parties in the four years I spent there.” 

“Yeah?” You nodded, your hand sliding down so that you could press your palm against his chest. 

“Yeah, the great thing about a school like that was that if you were a girl, you could literally walk into any party and drink for free and no one would say anything, especially on Frat Row.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. “I wasn’t one of those girls that tried to see how little I could get away with wearing, though. October in Illinois was cold.” 

“No sexy little nurse outfit?” That’s where your mind goes? Interesting. “Cheerleader? Cop? Isn’t that what college girls all -”

“Maybe the ones Tommy was trying to get into bed.” You hummed. “No, there were plenty of those. I never really saw the point in spending a hundred bucks on a costume that I’d wear once and then shove in the back of my closet, so I picked stuff that I could piece together.” 

“Like?” 

“I went as a cat one year, just a black bodysuit and flats, and then I had ears and a tail. Another year, I went as a vampire and literally wore all black and a cape with a red interior. I had a pair of plastic fangs and smeared some blood on my lower face and neck.” You closed your eyes, thinking. I can’t believe there was a time when coming up with a costume was something I took seriously. 

“D’you ever do a couples costume?” Smooth, Joel. Trying to figure out if I was dating anyone in college? 

“Not a couples costume, no. I was never dating anyone at Halloween. But,” you continued, your smile widening. “My friends and I decided to dress up like … this is so fucking stupid, Joel.” God I forgot about all of this. “We decided to dress up like the Super Mario Brothers characters. A big group of us went out and I wanted to be the ghost, but someone else picked him… so I was the princess. I bought an old wedding dress from a thrift store and dyed it, and -”

“Tommy an’ me went out one year as Mario and Luigi.” 

“Shut up.” 

“No, I swear. Ask him.” Joel laughed with you, sighing. “It was his idea. That was the one night a year he’d always make me go out with him - we split the cost of a sitter, and I stayed out til the bar closed.” Joel and Tommy Miller closing a bar out? I’d love to see that.

“Did you always match costumes?” He chewed on the inside of his lip, the blankets rustling as he moved. “Did you ever have anyone to dress up with?”

“One year. I was datin’ this woman, and Tommy had a girlfriend, so they did a couples costume and we decided to, too. I can’t even remember her name now, but she wanted to go all out… so we did.” Joel’s hand stopped moving, but he kept talking. “They went as Spartans, and if I remember right, they won the costume contest.” 

“Tommy in a skirt?” You whistled, narrowing your eyes. “That man’s legs look as good back then as they do now?”

“He’s married to your best friend, have a little respect.” You snorted though Joel’s mock irritation was barely disguised. “We went as Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf. I got to wear a ripped flannel and some suspenders and my boots, just messed up my hair a little bit and rubbed some dirt on my face. Everyone thought I was that guy from the X-men, but she was happy, so that was all that mattered.” 

Both of you went quiet then, deep in thought. You’d led vastly different lives in opposite parts of the country before the outbreak, but there were so many similarities between you that it was a shock. I wish we would have known each other then. 

“Some of the kids here still dress up.” you broke the silence, meeting Joel’s eyes again. “When the outbreak happened, stores around here were just getting their costumes in for the season, so there were a lot of them, and I guess the people here thought that keeping some was a good idea. They’re all stored in the old elementary school with our surplus supplies. The kids pass them around and we have a little party for them in the main building. They show a movie - Charlie Brown or Casper or something like that. It’s nice. Some of the adults go, too. And they’ll occasionally wear a costume - a hat or a cape or a mask or just … something. It’s stupid, but it’s another thing to remind us what we’re trying to rebuild here.” 

“You go?” He reached up, fingers trailing over your brow and then down across your cheek. “Seems like somethin’ you’d like.” 

“I do. This year, it’s the night after I’m supposed to get back from patrol, so as long as I’m back in time, yeah. I’m going to go.” You wouldn’t suggest that he come with you - but you hoped that he’d mention it to Ellie, or that one of the teenagers would. 

“Good to know.” He murmured the words, thumb arcing over your cheek. “I’m gonna be honest. I would have liked to see you in that vampire costume.” 

“Yeah?” You took a slow breath, watching Joel nod. “Is it the plastic teeth that do it for you?” 

“You guessed it.” He rolled forward, urging you onto your back - but it was Joel that went for your neck, the man’s lips latching onto the thin skin there. You arched your back, pushing your chest against his, and when lips turned to teeth, you couldn’t help the low groan you let out, both hands moving up so that one could sink into his hair. He pulled back a few seconds later, staring down at you - the desire in his gaze letting you know that even though you were in bed, he had no immediate plans to sleep. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you.” 

“Hmm?” You were still running your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, your other hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“How does a vampire like his coffee?” A joke? He’s making a joke right now? “Decoffinated.” 

The room was quiet for nearly five full seconds and then you laughed, closing your eyes and releasing his hair so that you could cover your face with that hand. “You’ve been hanging out with Ellie too much, Joel. That was awful.” 

“I know.” He laughed with you, lowering his head and pressing his lips to your cheek before moving them to hover over your war. “Want to give me another chance to prove that I don’t suck?” 

You groaned, and he did too … but a few minutes later, Joel was busy proving his words true. 

—

Tag list reblog coming soon!

[forthemetamyguy]

Daenerys’ violent acts are justified and here’s why

(do NOT @ me about 8x5. it’s an absurd and laughable suggestion that she would commit this. this is in relation to all the comments various cast & crew have made about all her previous acts of violence being the justification for this preposterous heel turn. which was ridiculous.)

What the white male writers think: Daenerys’ relationship to violence is horizontal. All people are on a straight line. With this mentality, it becomes easy to say “she doesn’t know right from wrong. She will cause indiscriminate harm.” Inevitably, she will do evil.

What it actually is: people in this world (and for that matter, ours) are placed on a vertical line of privilege and a system of oppression upholds that.

Daenerys, who ought to be at the top (Targaryen) is actually lower down (persecuted at birth for the name, disenfranchised for her adolescent life) and the abuse she suffers and endures drops her lower and her being sold as flesh and blood brings her in deep mental and psychological closeness to those individuals on the downward slope of the line.

With this in mind, it is easy to see a few things: 1) She uses her built in privilege and position of relative power to uplift those less fortunate

2) She has experienced the depravity of oppression and so will not harm those not at the top of the line

3) She only uses violence from a low position on the line towards a position above. If Daenerys were to reach the peak of this line, her violence would exist ONLY to defend.

She is not motivated by the gain of power itself and a love of violence, but by the gain of power to dismantle power and a willingness to use violence to achieve that. It is absurd to have claimed that she was “always like this,” and that we should have seen it as inevitable and that she deserves what she got. That absolute power corrupts absolutely. Well, sure, if you’re a white guy. If you don’t know pain. Daenerys is a product of abuse, and I’m sorry but no, those of us who have lived this life…we don’t become our abusers. It isn’t ABOUT having the power to be the one in charge. This is Cersei’s motivation. She wants power to have power, because wielding power will allow her to say “fuck you” to everyone who ever denied her any or questioned that she was worthy of it. Daenerys understands that power is a transformative tool as much as it is the wheel she wants to destroy. She needs power to do it. She wants power to make power meaningless, not for everyone BUT herself (like Cersei) but for all people.

And if she is willing to destroy those who are currently in positions of power and abusing that power, then so be it. This is a world of death and destruction. You cannot simultaneously ask me to cheer for the deaths of some oppressors (High Septon, Frey’s, Baelish, Joffrey, Ramsay, and so on – the ones who, while evil, only hurt our White Favs) yet feel disgust for others (slavers, Varys, Viserys, the khals, etc – ones who hurt a woman revolutionary yall seemingly want me to hate).

So eager are you to tell me that war is awful and depraved, but only when undertaken by a woman. So terrified are you of having to question the system you benefit from that you will destroy and kill the one who wishes its destruction. Perhaps she is willing to destroy the ones sitting in privilege from this system’s existence. So what. If they would unshackle themselves from it and agree to disseminate their power and embrace a new system, she would not harm them. She is not evil for wanting to help those who are by design unable to help themselves. She would never turn on them. If she turns on you, well, you weren’t right to begin with.

TL;DR: violently overthrowing oppressors does not mean you will inevitably become a violent oppressor. it means the violent oppressors are dead and gone and the system can finally breathe. if you’re oh so sad that violent oppressors have been killed, that’s on you

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

In Brazil's Amazon, there's little political cost to destroying the rainforest

Word was spreading across the Indigenous territory: The land invaders were preparing to attack. Remote villagers said they were surrounded by armed horsemen. Authorities warned of violence. A neighboring tribe said that “blood could be spilled at any moment.” And in one bitterly disputed stretch, a slight man stood before a wooden house, fearing that such a moment had arrived.

Kawore Parakanã, a leader of the Parakanã people, had ventured miles into the jungle in May with three warriors to track the invasions that have made this Indigenous land in Pará state one of the Amazon’s most deforested. Up ahead lay an illegal clearing. Beyond it was a wooden shack. Outside the dwelling, a chain saw coughed awake.

“Kawore,” one of the warriors said, “someone is home.”

They considered their options. One was to fight, to take back the land. But they had traveled unarmed, and Kawore believed they’d be killed. Another was to seek help — but from whom? He couldn’t go to Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro, who says restrictions within Indigenous territory have impeded the country’s economic development. He couldn’t go to the surrounding communities, populated by newcomers who eye his territory with avarice.

But most of all, he couldn’t go to the mayor, one of the most powerful and feared men in the Amazon, known by some as “the god of São Félix.”

It’s not just that Mayor João Cleber Torres had aligned himself with the land grabbers. It’s that he has been described — by federal attorneys, police, news reporters, government-funded researchers and a federal judge — as one himself.

Torres moved to São Félix do Xingu in 1981, when it was little more than dense forest. He is then alleged to have built what federal attorneys described in an internal memo as a large criminal organization that butchered the jungle — first extracting its precious wood, then stealing the land and selling it to be cleared for pasture. Torres, attorneys wrote in the memo, orchestrated “dozens of homicides,” assembled a network of 100 gunslingers, and violently seized territory from the weak and the isolated, including in this very Indigenous territory.

Police reports show that he was investigated for homicide in 2002. His criminal file links him to two cases of attempted homicide in 2003 and 2005. Records indicate that he has been charged with illegal deforestation, fined more than $2.4 million for deforestation and accused by federal attorneys, in 2016, of subjecting farmworkers to slavery-like conditions.

The catchphrase that one Brazilian journalist and residents attribute to him: “Either you sell the land to me, or I’ll buy it from your widow.”

Torres, 61, has never been convicted of any crime. He said he opposes illegal deforestation and has always followed environmental laws. He dismissed all allegations of wrongdoing as unproven and said publishing them would potentially be a “criminal act against my honor.”

“In our country, we have a well-structured, well-designed justice system, based on fundamental juridical principles and guided by international human rights,” Torres said in a statement. “No one else is authorized to act as the judiciary, issuing moral convictions against my name, as is happening here, gravely wounding our justice system and my fundamental rights.”

In a region where people amass wealth and power through deforestation, and where the local leaders charged with enforcing environmental laws are often the very people alleged to have broken them, Torres is just one of many Amazon officeholders accused of environmental misdeeds. But few command a city as vast or ecologically threatened as São Félix, which routinely posts some of Brazil’s highest deforestation and carbon emission rates.

One of its most endangered forests belongs to the Parakanã in the Apyterewa Indigenous Territory, where Kawore stood watching the wooden house.

The only thing he could do, he decided, was flee. It was too dangerous to confront the invader. He also worried about antagonizing Torres. In January, three environmentalists had been killed along a forested patch of the Xingu River that property records show had been claimed by the mayor’s brother. The crime remains unsolved. The Torres brothers have denied involvement, but that hadn’t quieted the suspicions in the community.

Kawore turned to leave. He wouldn’t go to the wooden house. He wouldn’t meet the man who lived there, Erasmino Ferreira do Santos, 71. He wouldn’t hear Ferreira say how he’d come to this land, hacked down the forest to graze cattle and felt no remorse. The settler knew the mayor was on his side.

“The best person,” Ferreira said. “He helps us so much.”

In the Amazon, there is little political cost to destroying the forest. Here, a vice mayor in Mato Grosso is cited three times for deforestation and is reelected the next year. A mayor in Amazonas is arrested and accused by federal police of participating in a protest that destroyed an environmental law enforcement base — and stays in office. The “King of Gold Mining,” as he was dubbed by a national magazine, is sentenced to nearly five years for illegal deforestation — but coasts to reelection as a mayor in Pará.

Such cases are not rare.

A Washington Post analysis of thousands of federal infractions and candidate data in the Amazon has found that accusations of environmental wrongdoing against members of the region’s political class are not an anomaly but a defining characteristic. In recent decades, as deforestation has pushed the biome toward what scientists warn could be its collapse, the very people accused of playing a role in that destruction have come to wield significant political power over it.

The Post found that those accused of wrongdoing by federal environmental law enforcement have pumped tens of millions of dollars into political campaigns in the past two decades and won public office more than 1,900 times. Taken together, the electoral victories and campaign financing have formed a parallel political system, law enforcement officials say, that has undermined attempts to safeguard a natural resource that scientists warn must be preserved to avert catastrophic climate change.

“This is the rule, not the exception,” said Alexandre Saraiva, who was chief of the federal police in Amazonas state until last year. “Those who deforest the Amazon completely dominate local politics, both through economic power and through violence. The representatives of the people are, in fact, the representatives of those who deforest.

Continue reading.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So uh, would the end of runs count as an escalation of the abuse? Like Ik it's a last resort to stop Zagreus from leaving, but it also shows that he has no qualms with hurting Zag to get what he wants.

I definitely had not yet gotten to the end of a run when you sent this ask, nonny, and I was all set to scold you gently for spoilery stuff, but you were actually trying very hard to be nonspecific and this only pinged as a spoiler because I was already pretty sure how things were going to end anyway.  So good job trying to be vague!  I have now fought through to what is fairly clearly the final boss, and my answer is, categorically, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING YES.

(We are going to just keep putting Hades posts under cuts until they stop being about a parent abusing their kid! I realize this helps nobody on mobile and I am tagging for that purpose but hey, at least I might save someone's dash! I swear I will talk about other things in this game eventually! Until then, once again, CW abuse.)

It’s not even about the violence, entirely.  Like, yes, it’s about the violence--but Hades has shown all along that he has no qualms with hurting Zag (with killing him, over and over again) to get what he wants.  Even if we take most of the enemies we’re facing as general nuisances of the zones we travel through, and not Hades’ doing (and oh, if Hades wanted he could give Zagreus a safe escort through those zones in an instant), there are obstacles put in our way that are obviously and deliberately commanded by Hades to stop us at all costs.  The level bosses, for one.  (Also, remember the Hades voiceovers we get at every ‘survive for 45 seconds’ level?)  He wants us to stop.  He wants us to die, and yes we’ll come back, but he’s still setting his employees to hurt us, so like, that’s very much a thing to begin with.

The fact that he’s willing to take up arms against us and kill us himself probably feels like a big escalation to Hades personally.  What really gets me is the dialogue.  “I have always kept my temper, unlike you.”  Wildly revisionist history, placing all of the blame for what’s about to happen on Zagreus the victim for ‘making me do this’. The absolute disgust and disdain, when he finally gets us.  “I have slain titans, boy.”  He’s spent a lot of time throwing scathing remarks in our general direction, wanting us to bow under them, being blandly sarcastic and self-satisfied and smug, but he's never sounded like that.

Because, before now, he thought we couldn’t do what we set out to do.  He thought our suffering as we tried was its own punishment, and he enjoyed watching that punishment.  He did not watch us fail with the affectionate resignation of a parent watching a child learn a harsh lesson.  He watched us and gloated. 

The thing that infuriates him now is not that we’re trying to do the thing we literally said we were trying to do ninety-eight runs ago at the start of the game.  He could have stopped us from trying at any time.  Hypnos to put us to sleep.  Literal chains.  Had he bothered for five seconds to actually step into the courtyard beyond our room, we could be disarmed and helpless.  But it’s fun for him to watch us fail, and it proves that he’s right about us and how pathetic we are, and it reassures him that he’s right about the universe, that nobody can escape from Hades, that we are stupid and foolish and weak.  What drives him to such absolute fury now is not that we’re trying, but the fact that we’re about to succeed.  We’re going to prove him wrong, prove that he was wrong about how he handled this situation in the first place, and that’s flatly unacceptable. 

There is no interpretation of this fight that does not include Hades wanting us to feel inferior, subjugated, crushed.  It’s not about keeping us in his realm.  It’s about breaking us, for daring to try to escape in the first place.

No matter why he’s doing it.  And let’s get into that for a sec, the “it’s a last resort to stop Zagreus from leaving” bit.  At this point in the game, I don’t know why Hades is so desperate to stop Zag from leaving.  I haven’t found out yet!  Don’t tell me!  Don’t hint about it!  But from where I’m standing, I can see, hmm, five main possibilities?

He is trying to protect Zagreus from something on the surface.

He is trying to protect the world from Zagreus, whose arrival out of hell will destroy something/everything in some magic way that Hades knows about but keeps secret.

Zagreus is actually a prisoner, meant to be chained in the Underworld for crimes he doesn’t remember committing, Tisiphone is right, and we were meant to be as condemned as Sisyphus all along but Hades has been generous.

Hades made it law a long time ago that nobody and nothing escapes the Underworld, and Zagreus cannot be allowed to break that law because nobody breaks Hades’ laws, period.  He could have chosen to make an exception but he did not, so all of this is flagrantly illegal and needs to be punished.

Hades himself is trapped in the Underworld, or at least feels that way, and is projecting and taking it out on his kid.

My best guess is that it’s some combination of a few of those (like, I am fairly sure that #5 is absolutely true no matter what other reasons are in place as well).  Thing is?  While I’m curious about this mystery for the story’s sake, I also really fundamentally do not care.

Any one of these things could better have been accomplished by telling Zagreus literally anything.  Even if there’s magic and prophecy bullshit binding Hades away from explaining the whole truth, it is not hard to hint at vague disaster befalling innocent bystanders “because of cosmic reasons I am beholden to keep secret”.  Hell, Hades’ own life becomes easier if he restrains himself just the tiniest bit in an effort to make Zagreus not want to leave in the first place.  Hades clearly does not want this to be happening!  He doesn’t seem to regret any of his actions, but he sure is annoyed and infuriated that he has to go through the trouble of doing them.  Literally one explanation could solve so much.

If the reason is to protect Zagreus?  Then it is one thousand times bullshit, and I think the game knows that.  (The game has to know that.)  When your kid is so miserable that they’d rather flee straight into traffic to escape you, then your kid is not safe.  Nothing that could hurt him on the surface--finding out that Persephone doesn’t love him and never did and in fact wants him dead and tortured for eternity--is any worse than what he’s facing down here.  He already knows one parent feels that way.  At least out of the Underworld he has the option to find some relatives who don’t.

And yet this situation doesn’t ping the “stupid plot that could never happen because it entirely rests on unrealistically shitty communication” sensors.  Because it absolutely, categorically makes sense for the Hades we’ve come to know to refuse to explain himself.  Whether he’s got good reasons or bad ones, HIS WORD IS LAW, and how dare anybody ask him to justify or clarify it, ever.

I am very very sure that Hades has lots of reasons: reasons for being furious, and bitter, and for making rules about his son never leaving the Underworld, and for being so desperate to enforce those rules, and for all of it.  Some of them may even be good.  What makes him an abuser, what those reasons do not and cannot justify, is the verbal and physical violence he uses against the people in his care to cope with those problems.

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : santiago “pope” garcia x reader (two)

Word Count: 3.4k

Excerpt: “‘I’m her husband,’ he interrupts, anger coursing through his bloodstream at the Lieutenant’s word choice. He swallows thickly, pushing the rage down and crossing his arms over his chest. ‘And I would prefer for you to use her name.’”

Warnings: Mentions of blood, kidnapping, violence. 

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

The address the deputy finds is for an apartment complex in Princeton. Santi briefly wonders when Nathan had moved out of New York, but he knows that it doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters except for the fact that he’s one step closer to finding her and one step closer to making sure her Nathan never sees another day outside of a prison cell.

Jay and Santi are in one squad car while Cameron and Parker take up the one directly behind. Three police cruisers lead the way, lights blazing and sirens blaring. Santi’s head is pounding, though he knows that the lights and sirens have nothing to do with it — he’s grown immune to both over the years. No, he knows that he’s beginning to make himself physically ill from the stress and anxiety, but he also knows that there was no way that he could possibly even begin to calm himself down. He didn’t want to calm down.

He also knows that Jay keeps a bottle of ibuprofen stashed away in the glovebox, but even so, he’s not going to pop a pill to take the edge off because the pain is the only thing keeping him grounded — the only thing that makes him feel a little bit sane, the only thing keeping him from spiraling completely. And not only is the ache keeping him there and in the moment, but he also feels like he doesn’t deserve to numb it.

She’s out there somewhere, without a doubt in more pain than he’s even close to being in, and it wouldn’t be fair. He knows that it’s twisted and that she would chastise him if he ever told her that his head had been in such a place, but why should he be free of his pain while she’s still suffering? When it’s all his fault in the first place?

Santi glances towards the clock, and his chest clenches at the time. It's just after three in the morning. She’d left his office right before eight that night, and Santi’s guessing that she'd arrived home at around nine. He didn’t make it home until a little after midnight and for all he knew, Nathan could have already been in the apartment by the time she got there which meant that she’d been missing for six hours already. 

Santi doesn’t like that, not at all, and the pressure in his head only seems to intensify as he starts to think of all the different variables and possibilities.

He rips his eyes away from the glowing numbers, instead deciding to focus his gaze down towards his knees. The orange glow of overhead streetlamps gives little light in the tiny car, but it’s still enough for Santi to notice the stains that cover his pants.

Dry blood. Her blood.

He’d stumbled upon entering the bathroom — had fallen to his knees, hand coming up to clutch his chest as he felt like the wind had been forcefully knocked from his lungs. 

He doesn’t remember much else from the first hour after arriving home to an empty, bloodsoaked apartment. He remembers fumbling for his phone while still kneeling on the bathroom floor, and he remembers shakily dialing Cameron’s number. He doesn’t remember what he had told her, or how long it took for them to arrive after he hung up, but he does remember that it had felt like hours when in reality, it had probably only been ten minutes tops.

But did he even hang up, or had she kept him on the line? Had he been crying? He remembers Cameron placing a hand on his shoulder, he remembers her asking him what happened, her voice far too calm for the situation, and he remembers briefly wondering if she thought that he’d done something to her. He remembers not being able to answer Cameron’s question, his words coming out a jumbled mess, and then there were arms, Jay’s arms, hooking themselves underneath his, hoisting his body off of the floor and dragging him to the bed.

And then there’s nothing for another hour. He doesn’t remember what questions had been asked, or what his answers had been, if he had even answered at all. If they’d found anything of significance. It was like he'd been asleep the entire time, only waking when his irritation had reached a level that forced him to break through the haze.

Santi continues to stare at the blood, trying his hardest to further piece together the events of the night, but he just can’t and the panic starts to creep its way into his veins once more. His skin starts to burn and he brings his hand up in a futile attempt to scratch away the blood, though he knows that it’s pointless. He knows he’ll never be able to get rid of the stain no matter how hard he scratches or rubs, or how many times he washes them.

He doesn’t get a chance to really work at it though, because his hand freezes as soon as it comes into contact with the fabric, and his jaw clenches as he notices the crimson caked around his cuticles, under his nails, settled between the lines that covered his palm.

So much blood, so much red.

All he can do is stare, for how long he doesn’t know, but he does manage to finally retract his hand, deciding to rest it on his stomach overtop of his DEA vest. He brings his attention back to the trees flying by.

“How much longer?” Santi asks, his voice cracking towards the end, though he makes no effort to try and cover it up.

Jay briefly looks towards the GPS, then towards Santi before settling his eyes back on the road in front of him. “Any minute now.”

Santi internally groans, letting his head fall against the cool glass of the window. He’s been quiet for the entire drive, and Jay would be lying if he said the silence doesn’t worry him, but then again he doesn’t think he would be up to talk about the weather or what song was being overplayed on the radio if he were in Santi’s position. He can’t blame him.

Jay hadn't been lying when he said that they were just a few minutes out from the complex, and Santi feels his pulse quicken exponentially as the street sign comes into view. Jay quickly, and probably a little sharper than he should have, turns off the main road and comes to an abrupt stop in a small, cop-filled parking lot.

Santi counts at least seven Princeton PD cars, a SWAT van, and two ambulances. They’d called Princeton as they were leaving Manhattan, Cameron giving strict instructions to call her back if they found anything, but as far as Santi knew, she had never received a call. He was sure she would’ve called him had they found her, would have told him to go to the hospital rather than the apartment complex. He can feel his hope slipping further and further away as he steps out of the car. He doesn’t see a coroner, so he takes that as one good sign.

Jay calls his name, but Santi ignores him. He weaves his way through the crowd of officers, looking for any sign of her or any indication that they had found something, anything at all. There are a few hushed whispers — a deputy telling an EMT that they were searching for the wife of a DEA agent, something about pictures, but nothing that brings him any sense of comfort. Jay finally catches up with him and tugs on his arm in order to get his attention.

“What was the apartment number again?”

“311,” Santi responds, his eyes still searching the crowd.

He’s not even sure what he’s looking for anymore.

He curses under his breath when the realization that she’s not there finally finds its way past the denial. He lets his head fall, a hand flying to his face so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. His head feels as if somebody’s pushing a metal stake through his skull, and he can feel his lungs begin to burn as he struggles to breathe properly. He doesn’t really remember how.

Jay watches as Santi fights to compose himself. He wants to comfort him, to let him know that everything will be okay, but if he’s being completely honest he doesn’t know how. He only gently, encouragingly slaps Santi’s shoulder, effectively getting the other man to finally glance up at him.

“Come on, let’s go up. Maybe they found something.”

Santi seems to think about it for a moment. Does he really want to be in Nathan’s apartment? The short answer is no, he wants to be anywhere but there, but he nods his head anyways. He takes a deep breath and nods one more time before following Jay.

It’s not hard to tell which apartment belongs to Nathan — a cop would enter, and two more would exit. The standard, yellow police tape blocks off a small perimeter around the doorway, and Santi and Jay both flash their badges to the attending officer before ducking underneath.

The small apartment is filled with law enforcement, and for some reason, Santi feels very out of place. He frowns as the feeling settles deep in the pit of his stomach, but he tries his best to ignore it.

But Jay picks up on the fact that something’s wrong, because he stops in the doorway and turns to Santi with furrowed eyebrows, his hand coming up to the other man’s chest to keep him from moving any further into the apartment.

“What’s up?”

Santi shakes his head, his eyes roaming around the room almost frantically. He subconsciously begins to tap his foot against the floor, a nervous habit that took him years to break but suddenly decided to creep back in. “I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why, because you’re her husband or because she’s not here?”

He takes a moment to answer, seeming to weigh both options in his mind. “Both.”

“Listen, you know you don’t have to be here. Like, you really shouldn’t be here at all to begin with.”

Santi knows that. He knows the problems that could arise from him getting involved, both from a professional and a personal standpoint, knows he could compromise her case if he lets his emotions and attachment get the best of him. Fuck, he isn’t even a detective anymore, he’s not with his squad. Cameron is really pulling some strings to allow him in, but he’s also sure no one else knows that he’s involving himself.

“I just feel like we’re wasting time.”

He feels like he could do a better job on his own, with his boys.

“Pope, we don’t have anything else to go off of...”

“I know that, I’m just-”

Santi isn’t sure how to finish his thought. He’s just stressed, just worried and anxious, just wants nothing more than to have her back in his arms, safe and sound and protected.

“I dunno,” he finishes after another moment, a sigh falling from his lips as he shrugs his shoulders. He really doesn’t know.

Jay nods, seeming to understand what Santi means even though he can’t explain it. “This is our best starting point. We can go from here, alright?”

Santi nods once again, and the pair turn to start making their way through the apartment when they’re almost immediately stopped by someone wearing a Princeton PD jacket.

“Manhattan?”

Jay nods, extending his hand out.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” the officer says, returning the handshake while glancing between the pair. Jay introduces them both, then shoves his hands back into the pocket of his jeans while Santi just stands there, looking a little disinterested. To him, pleasantries are only another waste of time.

But Anderson’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the mention of Santi’s name before settling into a thin line across his forehead. His eyes roam downwards for just a brief second, taking notice that Santiago isn’t wearing a standard NYPD vest. 

“Garcia?”

Santi frowns, eyes narrowing as the Lieutenant repeats his name, his tone sounding almost accusatory, questioning, and the three stand in silence for several seconds, Santi and Anderson not once looking away from each other. 

Anderson is the first to break.

“What’s your relation to the vic-”

“I’m her husband,” he interrupts, anger coursing through his bloodstream at the Lieutenant’s word choice. He swallows thickly, pushing the rage down and crossing his arms over his chest. “And I would prefer for you to use her name.”

Anderson smiles coldly. He shoves his own hands into the pockets of his jacket and rocks back and forth on his heels a few times, appearing as if he’s actually enjoying Pope’s discomfort. “Of course. My mistake. Didn’t mean to offend you or Mrs. Garcia.”

Santi is seething but he keeps his mouth shut, keeps his fists hidden. The last thing he needs to do is lashout at another law enforcement officer and have Cameron revoke his privileges. He doubts that she would in the end, but she would at least threaten it. And then his boss will hear about it and that’s just something Santi isn’t willing to deal with, no matter how hard he wants to land one swift, solid punch to Anderson’s jaw.

Another man in a PDP vest approaches them just then, after another short bout of silence, and he whispers something into Anderson’s ear that neither Santi nor Jay can hear while handing over a small white box.

“What’s that?” Santi asks, his impatience definitely showing.

Anderson merely shoves the box under his arm and waves for them to follow before walking towards the kitchen, the one room that seemed to be unoccupied at the time. Santi is growing more and more annoyed with the Lieutenant with each passing second. Jay’s trying his hardest to stay neutral, but even he’s growing irritated with Anderson’s apparent arrogance and disinterest.

She deserves more than that.

Anderson sets the box down on the counter then take a step away, causing Jay to scoff and Santi to roll his eyes at how dramatic the simple action appeared, but before anyone can comment on it, Santi reaches forward and flips the top off of the box without a second thought.

His frustration is quickly replaced by horror.

Santi feels his heart drop and his face turn pale. His stomach flips as he feels the urge to throw up for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He’s dizzy and has to blink several times to make sure that he’s really looking at what he thinks he is, needs to be one hundred percent sure that’s he’s not hallucinating. Jay looks just as alarmed, and he has half a mind to pull Santi away from the box and out of that goddamn apartment, but they’re both frozen in place, their eyes locked on what has to be hundreds of black and white photographs.

Hundreds of black and white photographs of her and Santi.

Anderson reaches into the box and takes a handful before laying them across the counter so they can get a better look, not that either of them really want to.

There’s pictures of the two of them standing in line at their favorite coffee shop, the one on the first floor of their apartment building — they stopped in nearly every morning before work to get their caffeine fix, and she would sometimes pop in on her way home if she left work early enough. His arm is around her shoulders or around her waist in most of them, something that he always did when they were out in public together because he likes to touch her, to feel her just so he always know that she’s there. There are some where she’s alone and Santi faces the fact that Nathan could’ve easily grabbed her then.

There are pictures of them outside of the hospital, outside of the DEA. Some of them at restaurants and a few from the grocery store. A handful taken outside of her mother’s house, where they went every Sunday morning for breakfast.

There’s even a few sets of them inside their apartment, taken from their fire escape. Santi feels his cheeks heat up as those are laid out in front of him, because not all of them are innocent and the fact that they’d been watched and photographed while making love had him dizzy.

But he’s not embarrassed because they’d been watched — sure it bothers him, of course it does, but he's not embarrassed. No, he’s embarrassed by the fact that he never once noticed Nathan.

The date on the pictures span over a course of thirteen months, the first one taken on September 20th of the previous year while the last one was taken on October 4th, just a few weeks before, and he had been oblivious to each and every one.

Jay’s seen enough. He firmly takes hold of Santi’s arm and drags him out of the tiny apartment, down the three flights of stairs, and out to the car, completely ignoring and bypassing Cameron and Parker, ignoring how they call out to them. Santi pulls away right as Jay throws open the car door, stumbling towards the grass before falling to his knees for the second time that night. He coughs, then splutters, the water Jay had forced him to drink on their way to Princeton coming back up and burning his throat as he heaves into the grass.

It’s his fault. It’s all Santi’s fault and if he had just been a little more observant, he could’ve kept her safe. If he had just been able to spot Nathan even once, he could’ve had him arrested for violating the restraining order and then maybe, fucking maybe she would be at home, tucked underneath the covers and safe.

Cameron quickly rushes over to Santi, though she makes no move to touch him. He’s breathing heavily, struggling to pull air into his lungs. The pain in his head is now close to unbearable, but he still refuses to verbally acknowledge it. He still doesn’t cry, still refuses to let himself break completely. He doesn’t want anyone worrying about him, though he knows they already were.

And he’s right. They’ve never seen Santi so shaken up before, though no one can blame him. It’s completely expected and absolutely warranted.

Cameron gives Santi a couple of minutes to calm himself before she speaks softly to him, gently reaching forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “You need to go home and get some rest.”

“I can’t,” Santi replies without missing a beat. “I need to find her.”

“There’s nothing more you can do tonight Pope. Let Jay take you home.”

Santi stays quiet. He’s mentally and physically exhausted, and he knows that there’s no way he can continue to work in the condition his body is in. And not only that, but he knows that Cameron is right — there’s nothing more to be done. Their hunt led them to a dead end, and like Jay had said earlier, they had nothing else to go off of.

He decides to save his energy, he knows it’s not worth fighting them on it because he would only lose, and Cameron would eventually force him to at least lay down even if he stayed wide awake, even if it was at a hotel in Princeton.

He grumbles out a short, clipped “fine” and stands without another word. He flinches at the irritation that’s evident in his voice because he knows the squad doesn’t deserve it, but he can’t find the energy to care any further, can’t find the energy to apologize. He just hopes that Cameron doesn’t take it personally.

And she doesn’t. She watches closely, cautiously as Santi walks back to the car and settles into the passenger’s seat. The squad all glance at one another, their worry evident, radiating from them and bouncing off one another.

“The same goes for you two,” Cameron instructs, her voice holding no room for argument. “We won’t be of any use to Garcia if we’re all exhausted.”

Neither of them feel the need to ask which of the Garcia’s Cameron is referring to — they know that both need them at their best and on top of their game.

But the wait — the not being able to do anything because they didn’t have anything is already agonizing.

Sleep won’t come easy for any of them.

[ahgaseda]

to kill an empire || chapter 25

⇥ synopsis : when you agreed to marry Jaebeom, the heir to a lucrative but not quite legal organization, you never expected the boy who was once your greatest rival would inevitably become your most powerful ally…

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language, recurring gang violence, mentions of drug or alcohol abuse, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Jaebeom opened the double doors and leveled his eyes at the desk before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. It was his now. His proverbial throne.

He brushed his fingertips over the oak, pivoting around the desk and slowly taking a seat.

It was uncomfortable. Jaebeom expected nothing less.

The damned chair was what he had been groomed to take for his entire life and yet it was the one thing in life he dreaded most.

He had spent countless hours thinking of what he would do when he became the head of Lim Corp. The company had been passed down from generation to generation. Always to the first born son.

Jaebeom frowned at that. His father had told him you would be expected to produce a male heir to follow the archaic tradition. Jaebeom never burdened you with that. And deep down, he never wanted to pass the cruel responsibility of this godforsaken company to any child you gave him.

Jaebeom thought about you then; thought about how he had to make things right. You deserved it. You deserved the world and Jaebeom would make sure you had it.

End it all, he mused to himself. With the days he spent tormenting his mind over what to do when he rose to power, Jaebeom decided a long time ago he would rid this world of Lim Corp. Especially when he learned just how far the blood flowed through its foundation.

Jaebeom could never come to terms with his anger when he saw the true face of his family’s company. Which was why he was sympathetic to your current grief of learning the same fate awaited you.

Belonging to luxury and excess came with a heavy price. Usually the cost of one’s soul.

Pulling the phone from his pocket, Jaebeom was about to unlock his screen just to catch a glimpse of you on his wallpaper. Maybe it would give him some fraction of comfort.

The door swung open loudly and Mark rushed inside, disrupting the silence.

Jaebeom frowned. “What now?”

His face was pale, grave. “We have a situation.”

By Mark’s tone alone, Jaebeom leapt to his feet.

You were shocked how quickly everyone sprung into action. The plaza was emptied. A crescent of law enforcement was poised before you. Now dozens of guns were aimed at your chest.

The man with his arm barred across your waist never spoke to you directly. In fact, since his demand for Jaebeom’s presence, he hadn’t spoken to anyone again.

And you hadn’t uttered a single word. The occasional cold bite of the metal barrel against your skull made you borderline catatonic.

Jaebeom thought he was having a heart attack. His blood was pumping so roughly he thought at any minute he would come unhinged at the seams. “Have they identified him? What does he want?”

Mark shook his head, weaving the SUV between cars. “They are running his picture through facial recognition. Nothing yet. If he had a criminal record, he would have popped up by now.”

“He wants you there,” Jinyoung chimed in. “Other than that, he’s made no demands.”

Jaebeom ran a hand down his face before slamming his fist against the car door. “Fuck,” he shouted.

Jinyoung shifted his gaze nervously between Mark in the rearview mirror and Jaebeom at his side, searching for what to say. Ultimately, he consoled, “He hasn’t hurt her. For the time being, he’s using her as a human shield. Police won’t fire.”

Mark added levelly, “Sniper is in place. The moment they have a clear shot, they will drop him.”

Nothing they said helped. Jaebeom gripped his head between his hands. This was his fault. He put you in this danger.

The SUV came to a stop and Jaebeom was out the back before Mark could put the gear in park. Racing to what looked like a police chief, Jaebeom snapped, “What the hell is going on here?”

The officer stood at attention, recognizing Jaebeom immediately, and explained, “Sir, he’s specifically asking for you. He won’t speak to the hostage negotiator.”

“Then, put me in a vest and let me out there.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened. Mark had confirmed that was an option if all else failed.

The officer hesitated, but after a short pause, relented, “I can’t stop you.”

As one of the cops tightened the velcro of Jaebeom’s vest, Jinyoung could no longer bite his tongue and raced to his boss, speaking rapidly in hushed tones, “This is insane. They don’t make bulletproof helmets.”

“She’s in this because of me,” Jaebeom replied shortly.

“And so you both have to die now? Is that the plan?”

Jaebeom snorted, running out of patience. “No one is going to die, Jinyoung,” he murmured, almost in chiding.

But Jinyoung could hear the tremor in his voice.

Jaebeom gave his most trusted and loyal companion a nod in farewell, then let the officers lead him.

His only thought was you. He couldn’t see or think past his concern for you. His survival was of no consequence while you were in danger.

The negotiator led him through with a hand on his shoulder, explaining things Jaebeom could try to do to diffuse the situation. And if that didn’t work, he needed to engage this man to drop his guard and give the snipers a clear shot.

Jaebeom didn’t think he was capable of the anger currently pulsing through his veins. There stood a stranger, a man he had never seen before in his life, ready to take you away from him forever.

“Jaebeom…,” you whimpered, legs almost folding with relief at the mere sight of him.

The man tightened his grasp around you, hoisting you back into position. You were the only thing between him and a bullet.

Jaebeom set his jaw. His first instinct was to charge forward and beat the man with his bare hands until nothing remained of him. The gun braced against your head felled that idea.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” said Jaebeom, stifling his rage and holding his hands up at his sides in surrender.

The man held no emotion. He spoke coldly, “I have a message for you.”

Jaebeom deadpanned, “I’m all ears.”

The man waved the gun a little, almost in taunting. “Who lives and who dies?”

Jaebeom set his jaw. “Let her go and you can have me.”

“The second I let her go, that sniper is gonna pop me.”

“That’s out of my control.”

The man looked around, as if considering his options. Then, he jeered, “You made the wrong move, Jaebeom. You should have known he wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes, a realization washing over him. With a nod, he proceeded to unfasten the velcro at his sides.

“Jaebeom, what are you…” you spoke frantically.

The man clamped his hand over your mouth.

Jaebeom loosened the last of the straps and called to the winds, “Once and for all. Let’s settle this now.”

You finally struggled, adrenaline kicking in. “Bummie, please,” you cried to him, alarms ringing in your head that the love of your life was in mortal danger.

Jaebeom stripped off the bulletproof jacket, which fell to a little pile by his feet.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung shouted from behind the line of officers.

The barrel of the gun was promptly pressed to the back of your head. Your eyes met with Jaebeom’s. There was a chance this was the last time you would ever see him again.

You knew you were about to die. At any moment, the lights were going to go out forever. “I’m sorry,” you called to him.

“I love you,” Jaebeom whispered, for your ears only.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

A gunshot echoed through the air and your world came to a violent, screeching halt.

chapter 24 ⇤ chapter 25 ⇥ chapter 26

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[darkpoisonouslove]

The Decay of Secrets

Summary: Faragonda’s quest of uncovering secrets leads her to depths she never imagined she could be forced to face over a past that’s dead and buried. Pirate AU.

CW: body horror, gore, mentions of death and murder, graphic depictions of violence, vomiting

Written for @writersmonth Day 5 - word: secret/setting: pirate AU

If you’re wondering what’s going on here, my skin is shedding after the worst sunburn in my entire life so you get this. If there’s anything that’s incorrect, just know that I had to limit the research I did for this because I was trying to stay sane (aka avoid the really graphic stuff).

Soundtrack: Everybody’s Scared by Parah Dice, Holy Molly

The sword trembled in her hand as the amethyst and obsidian crystals dug deep into the soles of her boots. Some of them pierced right through to draw blood that mixed with the trail her target had left behind, walking barefoot like it was no feat crossing the carpet of jagged edges. It was hard to see in the illumination of the candles that grew out of the stone niches like stalagmites.

The dim light curled around a kneeling figure at the end of the cave near a small lake. The shadows clung to the purple hair, dragging across the floor, like an aura, like they were tangled in the woman’s soul. She had yet to see Faragonda, her head bowed, spine bent as if it were broken. There was barely a trace of the fierce pirate captain–and merciless murderer–that she was. Almost enough to fool Faragonda with the quiet stoicism of the place and make her turn on her heel to leave.

“What do you want?” The tension in Griffin's body peaked, the strain in her muscles visible in their murky surroundings. Her hands dug in the ground like she didn’t spend most of her life at sea, like she needed to anchor herself in her own body.

“You can’t escape justice, Griffin.” Her crew was too fast in their raids to be caught but Griffin was alone now. Faragonda couldn't let her get away with all the bodies she’d left behind. Not after the way Griffin had broken Daphne’s body and forced Marion and Oritel to use a forbidden spell to separate her spirit from it just to keep their daughter alive.

“I’m actually looking for justice,” Griffin's voice pulled her in like a siren’s song. There was something so fatal in it that called to her to end this now and find rest for both of them. “You’ve come just on time to help.”

Faragonda shuffled over the cave’s dangerous floor. Griffin may not have turned to acknowledge her as a threat but she was fast like lightning. And if she failed to strike her gravely, the fall on the sharp crystals would finish the job. The terrain advantage was Griffin's but she didn’t take the opportunity.

It was the headstone that hit Faragonda in the chest as it sat in the middle of the cave with the same motionlessness Griffin had adopted. She was standing on a small grave. The source of her crimes. Each letter burned in Faragonda’s mind like the brand of her failure to stop Griffin. How was she supposed to look at Marion and Oritel and tell them she had put Griffin's pain over theirs? How was she to explain the poison in her own veins with no dead tissue in her chest?

Faragonda sheathed her sword, the sound echoing around them like a herald of doom. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Griffin chuckled but the tears were audible in her voice. “You have too much heart for your own good. You know that, don’t you?”

“I believe it’s the right thing to do,” Faragonda made it to the dried up soil beyond the crystals. If Griffin moved, she could find her own grave in the small cave enforcing proximity on them.

“So you understand I can’t let go?” Griffin looked at her with calm eyes. The calm before the storm in the shining suns her irises were.

“You’ll go down eventually.” Marion–and the rest of the Company of Light–wouldn't settle for Griffin's disregard for the law or any human decency. They would put her in the ground if they couldn't put her on trial. Faragonda was becoming the perpetrator of Griffin's death by refusing to bring her in while it was still an option. But Griffin would much rather lie in the grave herself than be unable to come back to it for the rest of her life.

“Sooner than you think.”

The shot echoed in the cave, the bullet ricocheting off the walls after the clean in-and-out through her shoulder. Her sword was drawn in the blink of an eye in Griffin's hand and aimed at Griffin's own chest. The clamor in Faragonda’s ears blocked out any hope of summoning her magic to stop this madness or heal herself.

“Sorry about that but you’ll live. I had to make sure you wouldn’t interfere as I knew you’d try.” Griffin looked back to the tiny grave. “Such a pure heart you were given the choice to have.”

Faragonda’s blood froze at the smile curling Griffin's lips. There was no soul in it, no humanity left. Just cold bitterness.

Pain exploded in her knees from their collision with the rough ground, the scent of blood overpowering the salt carrying from the lake. She could taste the bits of Griffin's heart on her lips, on her skin, sticking to her body except for where her life was still oozing out of her wailing wound but she pushed herself to her feet, her lungs burning and her vision swimming.

Maybe it was her scream that came first but there was just a burst of light–fire–in her eyes. Griffin cried out before metal clunked against the cave floor. The sword had fallen from her hand, blasted out by a huge explosion that left her clutching the wounded limb to her chest. Smoke was rising from where her hair had been singed.

“You really are the cruelest monster of all,” a male voice and its echo boomed around them making Griffin crouch, her forehead pressed against the ground. “You took yourself from me once already and now you’re trying to avoid my revenge by taking your own life?” His steps crushed Faragonda’s heart over and over again as he hovered over the razor-sharp crystals, nothing slowing him down on his quest for Griffin's head. “That’s low even for you.”

Faragonda gritted her teeth to hold her magic between them. She had to find a quiet moment on a school break or a wild sleepover to revive her positive emotions and her powers.

Her body protested as she stumbled, forcing it in the way of the threat with barely sparks of magic at her fingertips and a torturously slow improvement in her shoulder. Her shot arm was still hanging limply at her side and the other was free to press against the wound in the absence of a weapon to use in defense. “Stay back, Valtor.”

“You’re bleeding brains from that betrayal in your shoulder, Faragonda.” He raised his hand, the cold of the cave retreating from his magical flames. “Move if you’d like to keep the rest of yourself at least.”

Faragonda stared him down before stepping away to direct his gaze to the headstone.

The flames flickered out, his hand shaking as the vile grin crumbled from his face. “What is this?” he roared, his own body trembling harder than the walls that barely resisted a cave-in. “What lie have you strung together now, Griffin?”

Griffin was shaking, too, all the cold in the tense atmosphere piling up on her back to wrack her body with shivers. Her stifled sobs were louder than a waterfall and pulled Valtor’s trigger.

Faragonda halted his murderous march. “Does she look like someone who’d create such a deception?”

Valtor spun around, the grimace on his face shoving her back down on her knees in a heap of pain. His face was in hers, the heat from his skin burning her breath out of her lungs. The scorching air around him cauterized her wound to leave her grunting behind her bitten tongue. He could cremate her on the spot but he wasn’t after her. “You’re telling me,” he materialized next to Griffin and grabbed a fistful of her hair shoving her face into the stone, into the words “beloved daughter” and the date of birth and death, “this is the truth?” he yelled under the sound of Griffin's nose smashing into the cold headstone. His hand wrapped around her throat when he pulled her to her feet by the hair. “You did this! That’s why you used the spell for aging up. You wanted to get rid of my daughter as soon as possible instead of carry her in your womb.”

Faragonda gaped at them. There was a lot more powerful magic at play than what she’d thought Griffin's hidden treasure would turn out to be. They could do unspeakable things to the world after what they’d done to each other. She had to press a hand in her mouth to subdue the bile rising at her own weakness.

Griffin blinked back tears, blood running from her bruising nose and into her mouth when she spoke. “I was afraid your mothers would find her.”

Faragonda’s heart clenched inside her chest as if trying to curl up in the fetal position. Tears fell from her eyes and soaked into the cracked ground for the unfortunate baby that had been doomed from the very start. It was only recently that Griffin had surpassed the Ancestrals when it came to plundering and they still ruled the seas with terror.

“I wanted to hide her from them. But instead, they killed my mother and the baby died a couple hours after her birth,” she choked, on her own tongue.

Valtor let go of her and she slumped on the floor, a hiss of pain escaping her. “You should have told me! How could you not tell me, you fucking bitch?” His leg twitched as if he was straining against kicking her.

Griffin held his gaze despite the unequal ground they were standing on. “Is this genuine outrage or is it just your possessiveness?” she bared her teeth. “Was she yours to kill, too? Like I am?” Her eyes were full of venom, wafting through the air all the way to where Faragonda was sinking further into madness she hadn’t expected.

“She’s dead now, Griffin!” Valtor yelled, flinching the same as Griffin. “We all are.”

“I didn’t know...” Griffin coughed, snot blocking her nose. “I couldn't be sure how much I could trust you against them.”

Valtor collapsed next to her. “You should have told me,” he punched the ground and his magic fissured it. The cave shook again but refused to fall on them and bury the horror they were threatening the world with.

“Please,” Griffin whimpered, fingers digging in the soil again. Her nails cracked to let streams of blood color her fingertips and the black ground red before her hands sank deep in with help from her magic.

The sword Valtor pulled out of the sheath on his hip was what snapped them out of their joined trance. “How would you forgive that, Griffin?” His eyes were cast downward like the weapon in his hand. If Griffin couldn't get his attention, Faragonda didn’t stand a chance. But she had to try despite barely being able to crawl with all the dread stuffed down her throat and in her veins.

Griffin was faster. “Please... kill me.”

Valtor’s sword was slipping from his fingers, his eyes wide like suns as he looked at Griffin to wrap his mind around her. It was her who took his hand and pointed the blade at her chest. Faragonda didn’t even have enough strength to crash into them and break them apart before life could be lost.

“Kill me. I was hoping Faragonda would,” she looked at her, her clear eyes piercing through Faragonda like the shards of a broken message bottle. There was no clouded judgment in the gold, only a self-centered agenda. “But now that you’re here, I won’t have to do it myself, after all.” Griffin pressed the tip of the sword against her chest. “Right here in my heart. Slice it open,” she let go of Valtor’s hand that was steady, whether out of concern or the lack of it. “Trust me.”

A shadow swallowed Valtor’s face. “I should kill you just for asking that of me after everything.”

Faragonda geared up to pounce.

“Then do-”

He shoved the blade through Griffin's chest forcing a gasp out of both women.

Griffin keeled over, her weight falling on her arms with her palms still buried in the ground. “Possessive beast,” she gurgled, red painting the words as blood dripped from her mouth and the flood from the clean slice of her heart soaking her clothes.

Faragonda wasn’t fast enough to even cover her eyes before Griffin's fingers left the soil and pushed a small bundle of necrotic tissue into the cut. The baby’s heart. She’d put it inside her own body, inside her own heart after it had rotted slowly in the ground for years under a spell. Like an anti flower in the darkness of the cave. That was what had sucked the ground dry despite the nearby lake.

Faragonda bent over and vomited, her retching barely reaching her own ears over Griffin's screams as her body ruptured and shattered. Valtor barely missed Faragonda’s head when he tossed the sword to the side to catch Griffin.

Wiping away her mouth, Faragonda pushed her hand on the nearest crystal. The pain reverberated through her to remind her of her own strength. Whatever sin Griffin had turned into, she could face it. She had to to make sure no one else would.

Looking overcame her with a new wave of nausea. Griffin was no longer a woman but a living corpse. Large portions of her luscious hair had fallen out to reveal a scalp covered in bite marks and  blisters. At least in the places where her skin wasn’t stretched so thin that the skull was visible right underneath. Her fingertips had been bitten off and the rest of her skin was rotting right on the bones. There were holes in her body through which her organs could be seen floating inside like dead fish in an aquarium. Seaweeds and shells were lodged painfully under her skin and in her joints. There was nothing left in her body that was good for life, yet she was still moving as if her parts were controlled by someone else’s mind.

Faragonda’s voice was gone. If she ever spoke again, she would be the one bringing that horror into the outside world. Griffin's secret loot had turned out beyond her worst nightmares and she had only herself to blame. She’d refused to see the grand scheme connecting all the stolen spells and magic instructions and now she was witnessing it bearing fruit.

“I knew you were lying,” Valtor rasped, clutching Griffin desperately to his chest. His nails dug in her inhuman flesh but no blood spilled from the colorless mass of cells. “You fucking liar.” He’d break her if she bowed to the laws of physics.

“I am not dead.” Griffin's voice ripped tears out, both from Valtor and Faragonda. It was hoarse from the screams of her soul echoing in it and chilling everything to the bone.

Faragonda’s teeth chattered as she huddled in on herself. She was only alive thanks to Valtor’s body heat drifting through the cave.

“You’re not alive either.” He ran a finger over the parts of Griffin's lips that hadn’t been bitten off. It was so intimate it punched Faragonda in the gut. If they could still feel, what would it take for her to stop sympathizing with the abomination of nature and magic they’d become? “What are you?”

“You can’t tell?” The softest touch of her bony fingertip clawed a wound in his cheek like she’d forgotten how to be around life. It cried blood that Griffin pushed herself up to lick off, the crimson flashing through her gray hair for a moment before it ran out of steam and was lost in the graveyard of her body. “I am a goddess.” Red swirled in her eyes as she tore off her own shedding skin. “I can do anything I want.” She turned to the grave behind them, her body stiffening as if death finally caught up with it. “Except bring our daughter back.”

“You’ll never be yourself again either.” Valtor’s body moved of its own accord. It would just drop her and walk out but he regained control and pushed himself back down to the ground.

“I am not weak now.” Griffin reached inside her chest wound and pinched her sliced heart closed around the little heart inside it. She broke off her own fingers and stuck them in the tissue to hold it together like overly large needles since it wouldn't heal. It was dead. But she wasn’t.

Her bones regrew back, contrary to all logic, and her body twisted as if the new matter was squeezed out of it. She felt all the pain of the living decaying corpse she’d become but she hadn’t cried out once. She was a monster.

“You were the most human person I knew,” Valtor stroked her gray hair like he wasn’t afraid of it swallowing the rest of his life, too.

“Now I’m strong enough to defeat your mothers.” A tear fell from her eye – white like milk. “They killed my mother. They killed our daughter because I couldn't stop them. It’s all my fault.” Her voice died in her hollow throat.

“You should have told me,” Valtor crushed whatever was left of her stomach in his fist and Faragonda made a break for the lake. She would rather drown herself than be stuck with the two of them any longer. “But you kept your damn secret... like we always do.”

Griffin cupped his cheek, her flesh not eating through his to Faragonda’s and Valtor’s surprise. “No more secrets. The world will know its goddess and the treasure it lost.”

The ground shook, water erupting from the lake like a geyser and flooding everything. The salt stung Faragonda’s eyes but it was the smell of death that had poisoned it that made her lose her footing. A ship burst through the bed of the lake that was far too small for it. It was Griffin's Cloud Tower that she’d summoned magically.

Seaweeds and barnacles adorned the decaying wood as if it had spent the last century underwater. The distinct spiderweb-patterned sails were ripped and fatigued. The crew was on deck, wet to the bone and missing one body part or another that had been present the last time Faragonda had seen them. If she indulged the worst case scenario, they were affected by their captain’s condition but there was no need for hasty-

Her heartbeat hit her as a shockwave from outside. The mermaid figurehead swam into her spinning vision and Faragonda gasped for air. Its chest was pried open and inside was a charred heart that was beating with her pulse.

Griffin met her gaze head on like she’d been waiting for it. “Only my blood wouldn't work once I’d  completed my transformation.” The crystals. They’d poked through both their feet and their blood had mixed into the ground underneath them. Griffin must have enchanted it beforehand to make the magic flow straight from the cave floor into the ship. She’d planned it all beforehand. “I am no longer the girl you knew.”

But the frightening thing was that she was still the same girl that had broken all the rules and offered no respect to the limitations imposed on her from others and from her mortal form. And Faragonda would have to explain to Marion and Oritel why she’d put a long-lost childhood friend over the rest of the world, why she’d kept a secret as big as the one Griffin had buried in the cave. She’d have to explain why she and Griffin shared the same weakness that would bring down the whole world.

“You’ll leave me behind again,” Valtor’s voice trembled from the rage spilling in it and Griffin’s arm under his palm caught fire but neither of them moved, tangled in each other like they were life and death.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Griffin pushed her hand into the flames as well and covered his to snuff them out with no effort. “But without death, there is nothing to leave behind,” she grinned and Valtor pulled her closer with just as much fervor as she was holding him with as they kissed.

How could Faragonda rob them of something so desperate and deprived?

[freddiesaysalright]

Part of Your World - Chapter 2

Ben!Prince Eric x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Prince Ben is trying to escape an arranged marriage. A young mermaid wants to escape the sea. Their paths cross and they may just be what the other is looking for. 

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me​, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​, @radiob-l-a-hblah​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Y’all I’m sorry this chapter took so long. See this post for everything that’s been going on in my life 

Warning(s): Mild descriptions of violence

Moodboard

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 here we go!!!

“What was that?” Ben wondered, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Not sure,” Ari replied, releasing Kay and getting to her feet. 

Ben followed suit and they walked over to the ledge together. Neither of them noticed the mermaid pressing herself up against the side of the ship, holding her breath and praying they didn’t look down.

Behati emerged from her quarters and walked out to join the crew. She had one hand behind her back.

“Eric,” she said. 

Ben turned to face her.

“If that really is your name,” she said.

The color drained from his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I found this among your things,” she replied, and brought her hand forward. She held up his ring. “The crest of the royal family is on it.”

While Ben had not worn any jewelry during his escape, he had packed his ring just in case he needed it. It was an heirloom worn by every prince in his father’s line. It was silver, with mermaids on the side, holding up the crest in the middle. There were diamond chips on the four corners of the crest, and the mermaids had tiny emeralds for eyes.

“You had no right to go through my things!” he argued. 

“You are a guest on my ship!” she shot back. “I had every right. Who are you? The prince? A lord? Who?”

“There are other things to worry -”

“Whoever is on that ship can wait until morning when we can see,” she snapped. “Tell. Me. Who. You. Are. Now!”

Ben shrunk away, his back hitting the ledge. 

“Okay,” he conceded. “You guessed right. I’m the prince.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So. Benjamin is your name.”

From below, your heart gave a flutter. Prince Benjamin. What a handsome name!

“Ben’s fine,” he said nervously. 

“Well, Ben, we’re taking you home,” she said firmly. “I won’t be followed and charged with kidnapping the prince.”

“No, please!” Ben cried. “I can’t go home yet!”

“Why?” she demanded.

He hesitated, looking away for a moment. He locked eyes with Ari, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She can’t understand if you don’t explain,” she said. “And she can’t trust you unless you trust her.”

He looked back at Behati.

“My father is forcing me to get married,” he admitted. 

You stiffened at that word. Married?! That wasn’t good news for you.

“He keeps bringing all these princesses and high born ladies to visit, hoping I’ll fall for one of them,” he went on. “But they’re all...dreadful. And he’s sort of run out of options now.”

Behati softened. She approached him slowly, took his hand, and pressed the ring into his palm. Then she curled his fingers around it.

“Was being honest really so hard?” she teased. Then she became serious. “Ben, I understand wanting to escape. Probably better than most people. I hope you’re not under the impression that I lack empathy or compassion.”

“It’s just...I don’t know you very well yet,” he chuckled.

“Know this,” she said. “I don’t turn my back on people in need. Being forced into a marriage...that’s terrible. Even princes have their share of trouble, eh?”

It was such a dramatic shift in her, it was throwing Ben off balance. Behati had become suddenly very soft. Even stranger, he liked knowing that she had it in her.

“They do,” he agreed. 

“You may remain on my ship for as long as you need,” she said. “Or as long as you’re useful.” 

She winked and released his hand. She stood in the center of the deck and looked up at the starry sky. Ben looked as well as he slipped his ring back on. He had never seen so many stars.

“It’s a beautiful night,” the captain said. “There should be music.”

The crew cheered. Ari went to grab her fiddle. Ben shrugged and decided to join the merriment. You pulled yourself forward again to watch. 

You watched them all night, fearful that leaving now meant your last chance to see humans up close would pass. Behati, Ben, and the others played music, danced, drank, told stories, and laughed. It seemed that with honesty, came the beginnings of friendship. It almost made you sick with envy. And yet, you could not pull yourself away.

They carried on all night. The golden hush of the morning came over the water, and the sun began to peek over the horizon. Ben had fallen asleep against the mast, and much of the crew was now lazily plucking at instruments or dozing softly. Behati was still awake. She retrieved a spyglass from a strap on her hip and she looked over at the ship that was approaching from the night. It was time to find out who they were.

She knew almost all the other pirate captains. They had an agreement. Since Behati’s interest was not in riches, they left her alone. In return, she left them alone, but with one condition - they could not trade people. Any pirates she caught dealing in the slave trade would be challenged. And she had never lost a battle.

Ben stirred awake. He looked up and saw Behati checking things out. Relief came over him. He had enjoyed himself during the night, but the concern about the other ship was still eating at him. He scrambled to his feet and walked over to stand beside her.

“Who are they?” he asked. “Do you know?”

Her mouth was turned into a deep frown. She lowered the spyglass, looking ready to spit a bullet. Ben had never seen such anger.

“Slavers,” she said slowly. 

“How do you know?” he wondered.

“The insignia,” she told him. 

She held out her arm and pulled up her sleeve. He stepped back, horrified. The skin was deformed by a deep scar - a brand. 

“Are they other pirates?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “These are the professionals.”

“That’s not right,” he said. “My father outlawed slavery years ago.”

“If you think slavery ended because your father signed a piece of parchment, you are a fool, little prince,” she retorted. “He may have signed the law, but he hasn’t enforced it. The navy is too busy fetching princesses to patrol the waters apparently.”

Ben swallowed as he watched the ship coming closer.

“You know how to use that sword you carry?” Behati asked.

“I’ve been trained,” he told her. “But I’ve never had to use it...y’know...in earnest.”

“Well, brace yourself,” she warned. “We’re commandeering their ship.”

She turned to face the crew. She put her index finger and pinky in her mouth and whistled. Ben flinched at the sharp, high pitched ring, but the rest of the crew perked up.

“Wake up, ladies!” she shouted. “It’s liberation time!”

Everyone immediately got to work. The anchor was hoisted and the sails were opened. You clung to the rope you’d used to climb the ship in the first place and held on as the ship began to move. You were scared, for sure, but mostly you were excited. You just hoped it wasn’t too dangerous.

After what felt like years, the ships were stopped astride each other. You were still firmly on Behati’s, but within a few yards of being sandwiched between them.

Ben looked between Behati’s hard expression and the smirk of the captain on the opposite ship. He was an older man - probably around the king’s age - but with a leathery complexion and an ugly sneer. His hair was gray and frayed at the ends. He had a look in his eye that struck Ben as evil.

“Captain Behati, I gather,” the man said. “I’d say your reputation precedes you, but you’re much more beautiful in person.”

“Shove it,” Behati returned harshly. “Surrender your ship, and I won’t hurt you.”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, love,” the man replied. “I’ve got cargo to deliver.”

“People aren’t cargo, slaver,” she snapped. 

“Now, we can be respectful, can’t we?” he said. “My name is Captain Reginald, and I -”

Behati interrupted him with a swift drawing of her sword. “I don’t care what your name is. Release your prisoners or I will feed you to the sharks.”

“Not before I introduce you to a friend of mine,” he replied. “Say hello to Davy Jones for me!”

Reginald went for the pistol on his hip. Ben saw that the old captain’s finger went right to the trigger. He whipped it out with surprising speed for his age and immediately squeezed it. Ben dove in front of Behati, and felt the flesh on his right shoulder explode before tumbling over the side of the ship and into the darkness of the sea.

“BEEEEEEEEEN!”

Behati’s cry was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

The sounds of a battle erupted above you. You watched in horror as Ben’s body fell right past you and hit the water with a sickening splash. Without hesitation, you dove in after him. As soon as you hit the water, you saw a small, shiny object glint above him. It was the ring.

You snatched it from out in front of you and slipped it on your finger. Then you swam hard after Ben’s sinking form. With the help of your fins, you reached him quickly, wrapping your arms around his chest, and pulling with all your might. Your muscles ached from the weight of him and the resistance of the water, but you pushed vigorously back toward the surface. You just hoped it wasn’t too late.

When you broke through, Ben began to cough, to your great relief. At least he was alive. Water sprayed from his mouth and he struggled to inhale, but he was alive. His eyes barely opened and he looked at you.

“Thank you,” he said blearily. 

“Come on,” you replied. “We have to get you back on board.”

He mumbled something more that you didn’t understand. The sounds of what was going on up on the ships unnerved you. Swords clanged as they clashed. Explosions rang out - just like the ones that had sent Ben overboard. It was not a sound you were familiar with and it made your stomach flip. People cried out with anger and pain. Others hit the deck with a wound. Would putting Ben back on the ship be safe?

You looked up and saw that the commotion was coming from the other ship, not Behati’s. But if you climbed straight up, you would be seen. So, resituating Ben in your arms, you swam toward the bow to go around Behati’s hip and get him up from the other side.

You started out and Ben let out a soft groan with the movement. 

“I’m sorry, Ben,” you told him desperately. “Hold on just a little longer!”

He muttered some more under his breath. His eyes fluttered as he glanced over to look at you, but he couldn’t keep them open.

Your body was screaming with the effort of pulling him along. Ben was larger than you, and muscular, not to mention all the clothes he had on were weighing him down even more. You were only halfway there and already exhausted. You pressed on. You couldn’t let him die. 

Panting, you reached the other side. Thankfully, there was a net ladder hanging down. You kicked toward it and grabbed a lower rung. 

The wake from the rocking of the ships made emerging from the water more difficult. Especially since your primary concern was keeping water out of Ben’s mouth. The last thing he needed was to swallow a bunch of sea water - or worse, get it trapped in his lungs. 

There was another rope hanging down beside the net ladder. You used that to strap Ben securely to your body. Then you began to climb. It was the most difficult climb of your life. Your arms were on fire with how hard they were working, and it felt like there were miles between you and the top. Grunting, panting, and sweating - which you had never experienced before - you fought your way up. 

After hauling him up you dragged yourself - Ben attached - over the railing. You flopped onto the deck on your side and caught your breath. You gulped in the air and released it heavily, before swiftly getting to work to untie the rope. Your skin was red from it rubbed you raw, but you couldn’t focus on the sting. Ben was lying alarmingly still.

You tossed the rope back over the side and then rolled the prince onto his back. You put your ear beside his mouth. Low, rattling breaths were just barely escaping. 

“Ben,” you said gently, placing a hand on his chest. “Ben, are you in there?”

His eyes slowly opened once more. They were a beautiful shade of green. You held his gaze in that moment, and everything around you seemed to stop. It was just you and Ben, connecting, meeting for the first time.

Then he squeezed his eyes shut, turned onto his left side, and coughed up more water. When he was done, he winced and grabbed his wounded shoulder before falling onto his back once more.

“Wh...who are you?” he wondered groggily.

“Shhh, don’t talk now,” you replied. “Help is coming.”

Ben’s vision was blurry. Your face moved in and out of focus, but he was certain he had never seen you before. He had never seen anyone that beautiful in his life.

You looked around for anyone who could help, but Behati and her crew were all on the other ship. Although, things had quieted down significantly. A majestic form came flying through the air, and you recognized it as Behati. She landed with a loud thud and she looked up, meeting your eyes.

You gasped and threw yourself overboard, hoping she would chalk up what she saw to her imagination. You sailed through the air and twisted yourself into a diving position so you hit the water smoothly. It felt soothing on your hot, aching body. Before you returned to the depths, you poked your head out and listened. You heard Behati rousing Ben. Satisfied, you swam down.

Ben was waking up gradually. He hurt all over. He distinctly heard Behati above him, fretting like a mother hen, but still managing to insult him.

“You idiot, Benjamin!” she scolded. “Getting yourself shot to protect me?! For what? Some chivalrous glory?! I could -”

“Behati, please,” he groaned. “I did it because you’re my friend.”

He looked at her and saw watery eyes and almost smirked, but he was in too much pain.

“It hurts,” he winced.

“Take him to my quarters,” she said.

Ari put his injured arm around her shoulders and eased him to his feet. He looked at the captain.

“What about the captives?” he asked her.

She smiled. “All free. I never lose.”

“Where will they go?” he wondered.

“Home, I suppose,” she said. “I gave them the ship.”

“Did you let any of the slavers live?” 

“All but the captain,” she replied.

“Tell the ones you freed to take the ship to the capital - to my father,” he said. “There the slavers can answer for their crimes, and we can get the people back to their homeland by royal escort.”

Behati’s smile widened and her eyes shone. 

“You really are a prince,” she said. 

“As proof of their authority, let them take this,” he began again, reaching for his right hand.

He blinked when he saw there was nothing on it.

“Oh no!” he cried. “My ring is gone!”

Behati frowned. “It must have come off in the water. I’m so sorry, Ben.”

“S’alright,” he returned. “I have a seal in my bag. Will you write up a document, and I can sign it for you?”

“Kay, write the necessary letters,” Behati said. “Ari, you and I will tend to that wound.”

She put his free arm over her shoulders and together, the women carried him into the captain’s quarters. They lay him upon her desk. Then Behati retrieved some rum from the shelf on the wall. She handed it to Ben.

“You might want this while we stitch you up,” she said.

He sat up and took a swig, making a sour face as it burned its way down his throat. She laughed.

“What’s the matter?” she teased. “Nothing that strong in the palace?”

“No,” he wheezed. “We usually just have wine.”

She and Ari exchanged a look and laughed.

“Keep drinking, little prince,” Behati instructed. “We’ll have you patched up in no time.”

“Bottom’s up,” he replied, and drank again.

***

You rocketed away from the scene as fast as you could swim. When you were safe within the depths, you stopped to catch your breath again. You needed to take in everything that just happened. You snuck to the surface, watched humans for an entire night, just barely saved the prince's life, and now you were on your way home after being gone for hours. Oh, no. You were definitely in trouble again.

Well, you had to face the music. You weren’t going to put it off this time. Plus, the sooner your father finished yelling at you, the sooner you could get some sleep. Your eyelids already felt heavy.

As you made your way home, you kept thinking about Ben and that moment you had locked eyes on the ship. Something electric had sparked between you. There was something there that you could barely explain, and yet you felt it. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, there was more to him than that. You wanted nothing more than to see him again, and know all there was to him.

You slowly swam to the throne room, once again peeking inside to see the kind of mood your father was in. He was swimming back and forth in front of his throne, hand on his chin, eyes on the floor. He was worried.

“Father?” 

He whipped around, took in the sight of you, and flew over to gather you up in his arms.

“Y/N!” he cried. “Where in the seven seas have you been, child?! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He pulled away and looked you up and down. His mouth turned down into a frown when he spotted the angry red marks on your skin from the rope of the ship. They had calmed a lot, but not enough.

“Y/N, what’s this?” he asked. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Before I explain, promise me you won’t get mad,” you began.

“I will make no such promise!”

You sighed. It was worth a shot.

“Father, I…” you trailed off. Now was the time to be honest or lie your fins off. “I was exploring another shipwreck.”

Better to lie for now. If he found out what you had done in its entirety, he might kill you.

“Y/N!” he shouted. “We’ve discussed this! You’ve got to let go of your silly dreams of humanity! It’s childish, it’s dangerous, and deliberate disobedience of the law! I think you’re trying to give me a heart attack at this point!”

“I just have an interest!” you shot back, throwing your hands up. “What’s so wrong with that?!”

Your father snatched your wrist out of the water and drew it closer to him. You gulped. You’d forgotten Ben’s ring was on your finger.

“What...is this?” you father demanded.

“Something I found in the shipwreck,” you told him. “Just a trinket.”

He examined your form once again. “You’re lying to me. This ring has no signs of age on it. Those rope burns were not from loose rope. Where have you been?!”

You wrenched your arm free and cradled the ring to your chest. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I was at the surface,” you said defensively. “And I’m glad I was there. I saved a young man who might have drowned if I -”

“DON’T!” Triton bellowed. “THIS TIME YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR!”

You shrank back, frightened. 

“Father, h-he might have died!” you argued.

“And GOOD RIDDANCE!” he shouted. “What need do we have for one more lousy human, huh?! Do you really think yourself a hero for saving that animal’s life?!”

“He’s not an animal, he’s a prince!” you returned. 

“I’ve tried to be understanding, I’ve tried to be patient with you, Y/N, but nothing works!” he cried, exasperated. “But so help me, I am going to get through to you!” 

“What are you going to do, ground me?” you challenged. “Well, I’m a grown woman!”

“Fine, if you want to be grown and independent of me, then so be it,” he snapped. “Guards!”

Two young mermen swam in from the corridor.

“Arrest the princess,” Triton said. “Take her to the outpost.”

You gasped. “Father, no!”

The outpost was an open area far away from the palace. Prisoners were chained by the fin to a solitary post hammered into the ocean floor. It was isolating and terrifying. 

“You broke the law, Y/N,” your father said. “And you will face the consequences. Anyone who makes contact with humans gets twenty four hours at the outpost.” 

The guards each took one of your wrists and clapped irons around them. You could see the conflict in their eyes as they did so. To arrest a member of the royal family was something unheard of. But your father’s point was to make an impression. And he did.

You shot him one last pleading look, but he turned away. The guards led you out of the throne room, out of the palace, and through the town. The other merpeople watched in shock as the princess was escorted out of her own kingdom. You saw Lorelai as you passed her place and looked away, hot tears forming in your eyes.

You didn’t fight when the guards put a chain on the end of your tail, where it met your fins, and then attached it to the post. One looked on with sympathy.

“We’re sorry about this, princess,” he said. “But if you’d just obey your father, this wouldn’t happen. He’s only trying to keep you safe.”

“Just go,” you said moodily. You had no desire to comfort him about what he was doing, or validate your father in any way.

With a sigh, they left you there. You allowed yourself to break down after that. You were tired, emotional, and just wanted to relax. And now, you were being punished for what you considered as doing the right thing. You gazed at the ring and recalled again Ben’s eyes. As you looked at the chain around your tail, you decided this was worth it. You still did not regret saving his life, and you were more resolved than ever to see him again. As soon as you could. 

But for now, you had to close your eyes. Your weariness was catching up with you. So you laid down and slept off everything. 

***

“Who saved me?” Ben asked as Behati finished the last stitch on his shoulder. Ari had already left to continue her regular duties. 

“What do you mean?” she returned. 

“Someone saved me,” he said. “A woman. I didn’t recognize her but she had to be one of yours, right?”

“Ben, every member of my crew was on Reginald’s ship,” she explained. “No one was on board or in the water.”

“That’s impossible,” he insisted. “I remember someone carrying me...sort of dragging me around...and then when we got back on deck, I saw her.”

“What did she look like?” Behati asked. 

“I’m not sure, it’s all sort of fuzzy,” he said. “But I know I saw her. She spoke to me and everything.” 

Behati took a moment. She saw the mermaid on the ship, caring for Ben and gazing longingly at him. She always knew that mermaids existed, but this was the first one she had ever seen up close. Behati did not want to reveal her in case it meant trouble for the rest of the merpeople. 

“I don’t know what happened, Ben, but when we got back, you were already there and safe,” she said. “No one was around.” 

Ben frowned. He knew what he remembered. Though he could not recall the full picture of the woman, she had to be real. He could not have survived without her. 

“Why is it so important to you?” Behati asked.

“Because something...happened,” he said. “We locked eyes and for a moment, I felt like...never mind, it’s stupid.”

“Ben,” she said assuredly, taking his hand. “It’s not. Tell me.”

“I felt like I’d found the woman of my dreams,” he said. 

She almost smiled, but faltered. “I hope she’s out there, then. I really do.”

***

You woke almost an hour later. As you stretched, you felt...watched. Which seemed impossible since there was nowhere for anyone to hide out here. Even so, you couldn’t shake the eeriness. 

“Hello?” you called out, feeling stupidly cautious. 

“Triton’s daughter,” said a raspy, spine chilling voice. “All chained up on the outpost? How cruel.”

“Who are you?” you demanded. 

You sounded braver than you felt. You did not recognize this voice. 

“I represent someone who can help you, princess,” the voice continued. “Someone who’s been keeping an eye on your situation.”

“Who?” you pressed. 

“Sycoria,” the voice said. 

From the foggy depths, it approached and came into view. It was an eel. The large, yellow eyes blinked at you as it came closer. 

“The sea witch?” you questioned, though you knew the answer. 

“Yes, child,” the eel replied. “She can get you what you want.”

“Why does she care what I want?” you wondered.

“Sycoria has sympathy for all creatures in need,” he explained with an over-kindness that made your skin crawl. “Come with me and see what she can do for you?”

“I can’t go anywhere,” you said. “I’m chained here.”

You pointed to the irons. 

“I’ll make quick work of that,” the eel said.

He flicked his tail and the chains evaporated. The bubbles floated away and you watched them go, amazed. 

“Now, are you coming?” he asked with a toothy grin.

You looked up, remembering the surface. Then you looked at the ring. 

“This may be your only chance to see him again,” the eel said. “Are you willing to let that go out of a little thing like fear?”

You narrowed your eyes. 

“I’ll see Sycoria.” 

“That’s a girl,” the eel said. “Come with me.” 

He swam off. You had to hurry to follow him. A jolt of nerves almost made you stop. But this was your shot at being human, at earning Ben’s love. You would never get another. You forced yourself onward. 

You swam behind the eel for nearly an hour. Finally, you reached a cave. It was glowing an ominous violet color. You came to a halt at the mouth. 

“Don’t be shy,” the eel said. “Go on in.”

You gulped. If your father knew about this, he would lose his head. But, he didn’t understand you. He would never understand that what you felt with Ben in that split second meant the world to you. You entered the cave. 

It was dark at first, but you maintained your pace toward the spooky glow. When you reached the end of the entrance tunnel, it almost took your breath away. It was similar to your collection cove, only much bigger, and filled with more oddities than you could even imagine. Bits and bobs of things you had never seen before. 

“Um, hello?” you said nervously. 

“Ah, the princess,” said another mysterious voice. It was smokey and alluring. 

From around the corner, she entered. The half woman, half octopus sea witch. She was thin and tall, with wild, white hair and vivid purple eyes. Her lips were drawn into a wide smile. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

[iammarylastar]

9. FAREWELL

"So, you're leaving without saying goodbye?"

She said, her voice like a ghost.

Shit.

Cal leaned his hand on the door frame, his forehead followed and he closed his eyes. He could feel Jess trembling behind his back, he could foresee her face soaked in tears, her sobs stuck in her chest.

Shit.

Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done, he doubted he could gather the strength to walk out the door, but now she was awake, crying, he knew it would be impossible.

Yet, he had to.

"Chris?" She begged.

He had planned everything, every little detail, like he already had, to break Oyster out.

He got all his stuff ready: a car fueled up, the maps with all the secondary roads highlighted, 4 different options to cross the Canadian border. His backpack, enough military rations to survive for 2 weeks, in case he'd have to ditch the car and cover the distance by foot. A compass. An extra pair of trekking shoes, just in case. Water. Lighter. Headlamp. Emergency kit. US dollars. Canadian dollars.

No phone. 

No pics, not even one of Jessica. He wouldn't risk to get caught and have her involved. Beside it would be too painful to look at her beautiful face. Dealing with her memory would be hard enough.

But he had no choice. More than 3 years he hadn't see his brother. 3 fucking long years he hadn't heard his voice. Teddy, his little brother, the reason he had kept living after their mom died, the one he had fought for. And kept fighting for.

He'd all planned in his head, playing every scenario again and again at night, all those sleepless nights, Jess cuddled against his chest. Looking blankly at the ceiling, on the hunt for what could happen, what could turn wrong, and come what may: keep walking.

Until he reaches Lac-Sainte-Marie, Quebec, 260 miles from here. Until he meets his brother again.

"Chris!" She yelped, like she was drowning.

For a millisecond, he thought he could just give up: forget his little ass of a brother, forget his oath to his mother, forget his responsibilities, drop on his knees and beg Jess to marry him, give her 3 kids, get a pet and live happily ever after. Why not? He deserved a little of happiness, didn't he?

"What is happening?" she whispered, her voice torn by sobs, like stabs in his back.

What the fuck was happening, good question. He was happening. That fucking deceiving Cal was freaking out and ruining everything again. Like it was meant to be.

Like he was meant to screw up every chance of happiness.

"I have to see him. Jess, he got back in touch with me. Those postcards. There must be a reason." He said under his breath, not daring to glance at her.

"Chris, you're still in probation! A single step out of the State and you're in parole violation! You're going to get caught and thrown into jail again!" She knew this argument wouldn't work with him, but she was a lawyer, well almost, she had to plead for her case.

"I know..." Chris whispered. The next words would be excruciating to pronounce.

"That's why I won't come back..."

"Noooo!" She totally broke down.

As he listened to her heart shattering into pieces, taking his own heart down, he couldn't help thinking about time.

It took her days to tame his fears, weeks to heal him for his trauma, months to forge deep, trustful ties between their hearts.

Ties they both thought were unbreakable.

And as it took a heartbeat to fall in love with her, he'd been quick to break her heart.

Now he was running out of time. With her. For Oyster. Fuck.

"At least wait for your probation period to be over! You'll be a free man and you could go wherever you want!" She begged.

Like he didn't know. Like he hadn't spent the last days counting how many days it would take to be reunited. Like he hadn't thought of it from top to bottom. Like he hadn't been obsessed and torn about that fucking choice he had to make.

"Three more years! Jess, I can't leave him alone for 3 more fucking years! He needs me!" He let his anger flow out of his chest.

"What about me????" She thundered, gripping her nightie where her heart ached, then pointing a furious index finger out.

"He's not a kid anymore! He made his choice! You don't owe him anything anymore! When are you going to start thinking about yourself? About us?"

Touché.

Cal wavered at her words. The more she spoke, the more his determination weakened. He had no choice but cling to his same old song.

"I'm his legal guardian, I promised mom I'd take care of him. I can't break my oath. Not again..."

It would have been easier if Chris was the selfish type. But he didn't choose Marine corps and law enforcement by mistake. He was a man of principle, loyal, honest, trustful. A man with Semper Fidelis inked in his flesh forever.

"Chris!!" Jess was burning with rage and desperation. She was fed up with his sempiternal lame excuses.

She would have slapped his face full force if she could have moved, again and again until he got it, but violence never fixed anything, she was dead certain of this.

Chris’ childhood to adulthood, his former job in the Marine corps, his time in jail, his whole damn life had been nothing but violence, he deserved better from her.

She breathed in and out slowly to calm her nerves down and regain control of her thoughts.

Give him what he needs, that's the only way...

"You're strong Chris. You're a good man! Why can't you see it?"

Cal shook his head, tears threatening again behind his lids.

"I failed. I failed to keep my mom alive. I failed to protect my brother. To serve my country... To make you happy. I don't deserve you..."

"When are you going to stop punishing yourself for things, you're not responsible for? Jesus, your mom died, who's to blame? Not you! You struggled to provide for your brother though you were barely an adult, Chris, you did your best! Oyster made some bad choices, his choices, he fucked up but it was not your fault!"

Gone his sweetheart of a girlfriend, he was facing a new, fierce, unstoppable soldier ready for anything for her love.

Anything. Maybe, even ready to throw everything away for him.

Cal slowly extended his hand to a trembling Jess. This gesture was a dangerous step back, he had promised himself not to touch her, not to smell her nor to get too close. No way he could leave this place without her if their hands were linked.

Jess nearly jumped forward to take it, intertwined her fingers so tightly with his, their knuckles turned white. She closed her other hand over their clasped ones, then pulled them against her cheek, nuzzling against the slightest piece of his skin she could.

The contact of her skin against his made him jolt. His plea slipped through his lips before his brain realized their impact.

"Come with me. I hate to put that on you but... Jess, come with me. I don't want to lose you..."

His words were like slaps in her face. Her jaw dropped down and the look she threw at him slapped him back.

Shit.

She thought she had won. She thought he had heard her words. She thought he would stay. Why would he have offered his hand otherwise?

"Wh..? But... Cal, what are you doing?"

"Come with me Jessica. Let's start a new life in Canada. I love you. I love you!"

His turn to wrap his hand around hers and pull her closer, so his gaze pierced hers, his taut body hovering over her. This could fix everything.

Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!!

Jessica froze in shock, her pupils widened. She would have left all she had behind to follow him. The solution was easy: just go with him!

Just go with him, and become an outlaw. Say goodbye to your family, your career, your dreams, your life. On the run forever with the man she loved. With no future but hiding and lying.

"And you saved your first 'I love you' for the day you leave me..." Jess whispered under her breath, defeated. He killed her hope the second before, and kept doing an excellent job to trample on her heart.

Her whole body slumped down; Cal had to tighten his grip on her hands to get her upright.

Her pale complexion and her trembling voice made her look like a ghost.

"No. I can't. You can't... do that. You can't drag me into a runaway and make me a fugitive. I... I'm... My family is here, my career is here, my life is here... with you!

If you really love me, STAY!"

Chris wobbled, his knees weak under him. She was right, he knew it. He was wrong, doing all wrong, as he always had done. Jessica saw her chance in his hesitation, and played her last card. Faithfulness, Chris' obsession.

"That's not what you promised me. Chris, you promised me..." she burst into tears again, clinging onto him like he was a lifeline. Their love was like the Titanic, they thought it beautiful and in submersible, but it was irremediably sinking in the middle of nowhere and will end up broken shipwreck.

Hold on Rose, you have a chance.

Sorry Jack, you're screwed.

Shit.

He promised her, that day he talked his heart out, in the wee hours of a beautiful day, lying in bed, slowly brushing her delicate face with his fingertips. That day he told her about his plans for the future, their future. Openly daydreaming of his will to marry her, build her a house, have kids with her, three he said, if she agreed. Plus, a dog. One day, he promised, when she would graduate and he would have a better job.

He solemnly promised her to make her happy, happy ever after.

"You deserve to be happy, Chris. We've been so happy together. For fuck sake, why couldn't we just be happy?"

Because happiness is not meant for me.

"Jess, I miss him so much... I have no choice."

"There's always a choice... Let me help!" She begged a last time, squeezing his hands even tightly.

Chris closed his eyes, his sigh shaky through his tight throat. Just do it. Say it.

Now.

"No. Not this time... Let me go, Jess, please..." Chris grudgingly untied their fingers but Jess kept gripping at him, his wrists, his arms, his hoodie. He patiently unhooked each of her attempt, gently but firmly holding her wrists together.

It was so hard, Jesus, to see her face, desperate and drowned in tears, to hear a plea, to hurt her so deeply. But it had to be done. Like ripping off a band-aid. Just do it.

"No, no, no, no, Chris, please, nooo!" She begged, she would have given anything, everything to have him think, find another way, change his fucking mind. To have him stay. Choose her.

All her expectations vanished when Cal took her hands in his large palms, bent to kiss them but just leant his forehead on them, shaken by both their sobs and cries. He knew he couldn't leave if his lips touched her skin again. She knew it too.

Slowly, too slowly, he extended his arms until her fists laid on her chest, her fingers writhing in pain, and stepped back. Unable to look a last time in her eyes, Cal turned his heels and grabbed the doorknob.

"What if I'm pregnant?"

He froze, like punched in his guts.

"What?" His world collapsed. He had all the scenarios figured out, even the worst, but not this one.

He had made love to her earlier that night, knowing it'd be the last time. He made it last long, savoring each second with her, kissing each piece of her body, learning each of her curves by heart with his fingertips. He made it sensual, passionate, beautiful. He had given her all, all of him.

He had laid on his back for hours, his love cuddled on his side, her arms around his chest, like to keep him from running away. Like she felt it.

He had stayed like this forever, staring at the ceiling, listening to her deep breathing, feeling her, smelling her, until he was drunk from her.

"I said, what if I'm pregnant." She stated again, interrupting his thoughts.

"Are you?" He blankly asked.

She might be. From tonight.

She could be. They've been careless for a couple of weeks, their desire so strong they skipped to put a condom on. They both silently agreed, since they had a talk about it: they wanted to spend their lives together and grow a family, one day or another...

Jess had tried the pill, but it hadn't fit her. She tried 3 different brands but every time something went wrong. Cal hated seeing her with cramps or moody and IUD was a big no no due to her young age, so he decided to take the responsibility of the birth control, and simply pulled out at the right time.

Which was, according to Jess, like a firework without the final. Several times, half of the time in fact, she trapped Cal between her legs so he came inside of her. She found it so sexy and powerful.

Sexy but likely give rise to a baby.

Their baby. His.

"You won't stay for me. Would you stay for your child?"

Bitch. She knew how push his button, where it hurt the most. Given what he was doing to her, it was fair.

His guts twisted painfully and nausea invaded his throat at the thought. His deepest nightmare resurfaced: a kid with no father to take care of them, ruffle their hair, tickle them until they're breathless from laughing, play football with them, hug them tight when they're scared or sad. A kid with no dad to love them. A kid like he'd been, grown up before his childhood even had started.

A missing father. That was what he would become if he left now. The worst of the worst. A man he promised himself to never be. Fucking never hurt someone like he'd been hurt.

He unsuccessfully was trying to clear his mind from sadness and anger to redo his math and remember when was her last period. Calculate the odds of a pregnancy. Rate his chance to stay.

Zero.

He sucked. He wasn’t worth anything.

Maybe living was the best he could do to save this child from himself. He was no better father than his own, unable to make a good decision.

Chris dropped his head, his hands tightened in fists, his eyes closed in a frown. He stopped breathing for a long time, until he made his decision.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, grabbing the doorknob.

That was it. She couldn't go, he couldn't stay. I guess that's just the way the story goes.

Such a waste.

Chris pushed the door open, wiped his tears with his sleeve and walked out, without a last glance at her.

[vylequinnewriting]

Telvan Tale: Whale of a Time

Here’s the first Telvan Tale! (More information can be found here) It’s probably one of the most horrific ones I’ll write so viewer discretion is advised. It’s heavily inspired by a mix of myths around Alcatraz and typical slasher story tropes. Instead of writing of a retelling of the urban legend, I instead chose to write the truth that no one knows. 

Content Rating: Mature

Content Warnings (send me an ask if you think of a tag that should be added): Graphic violence, blood & gore, murder, forced captivity,  cannibalism, death, extensive body horror, war (mentioned), memory loss

Word Count: 2374

Telvan Tale Taglist (ask to be added/removed): 

General Taglist (ask to be added/removed): @ecwrenn

“The best time in my life was when I went to Kromhold.”

“Well golly, that makes me feel great to hear but you don’t look like you're having a whale of a time.” I laugh heartily. Not much I can do for him besides try to lighten the mood. 

“I mean before all the barbed wire and concrete.” He takes his head out of his hands and looks off to the window. I know that look, I invented it. It isn't focused on what’s here or what’s to come, is to look back on what was. He didn’t need to say much past that. He’s told me plenty about him and where we are. His tone is genuine and his gaze is forlorn enough that I can’t help but feel pity for him. 

My friend here talks about Kromhold when it was under a different name. I remember those days but not as clearly as him. This was back when it was a castle open to all instead of a fortress designed to contain and isolate. One could enter for a pittance and in exchange be given a memory worth a lifetime. Decadent foodstuffs lined every street. A friend lurking behind every corner. Every poster, every coat of paint, every leaf was prim and proper. I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed. It was wonderfully, perfectly, saccharine. All thanks to an anonymous benefactor, Bellanaya was able to stay open for years, ensuring at least three generations had seen its glistening walls. That was the past, and all that’s left now is a bitter aftertaste.

“What was your favorite part? Mine was the whale watching. I could catch up with the whole family from right on the beach.” Another jest, but what could I do, tell the truth?

“The teacups.” He nodded, as if to agree with himself. “Definitely the teacups.”

“You always striked me as a coffee person.”

“No, no,” waving his arms like he’s swatting away my witty retort. “The ride. Never could handle most of the others, even the bumper cars would tumble my stomach around like a washing machine. I threw up plenty of times on the trip here. “ He looks out the window and locks eyes with the sky.

Even in the past he wasn’t worth his salt it seems. It’s fair I suppose, the only thing he has to hang onto is me after all. Even his skin looks ready to leave him. Dry and gray, it clung to his bones shivering with shallow, dissonant breaths. He had to look better than this at some point, if he’d been here back in the heyday. The cars were taken out around the 14th year of business. Another 11 before we had to close up shop. Back then his name wouldn’t have mattered, only how much he was willing to spend. They needed it more than he would. But just like everything else, discounts and promotions wouldn’t help what was to come.

He takes a break from his staring match and sighs. “How’d this happen? You were here from when the park was still a park, weren’t you? What happened?” 

I let loose a giggle. Unintentional and all it does is serve to unnerve him. We’ve had this conversation so many times I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Despite all the trust I’ve cultivated with him, he has troubling matching eyes with me. Granted, all he can do is look down at me from this position. “You aren’t from around here are you? From the south I bet, beyond the sea and all?” He doesn’t need to answer yes, he’s already talked about the plains where he lived enough for me to guess with certainty. I continue, “The same thing happened to this place that happened everywhere. Money was the only thing keeping us in business. Memories stopped being made and started being sold. Then the war hit the mainland. We were ready to shut down and leave, but that wasn’t an option with the flames licking away at the island. So we stayed. When all was said and done, the Sangreguila came and forced us to stay open. As you can see, the objective was still to give our visitors memories they wouldn’t be able to forget. This time they couldn’t leave.” 

He curls up into a ball at the foot of his cot. “Zastüd didn’t help.” He couldn’t help but shudder and sniffle after uttering those words. For some it was a victory the likes of which no one had seen, and for others it was a loss felt around the world. He fell into the later camp it seems. A shame.

“Wiping a city off the map didn’t do much for international relationships. Not to mention Zastüd was a technological marvel. It was even worse that they couldn’t find out who did it. After everyone was done pointing fingers, they picked a couple patsies to throw in here and tossed the key in the ocean. They wanted to make a place for just the absolute worst society had to offer. People who wanted the world to burn and chose to do so with their own hands. Just like you.” Those words hurt him, but I know he couldn’t redirect his anger at me. I’d been his only friend since he arrived here in Kromhold. 

Gods, I hate that name. Cold and hard, so I guess it's at least truthful. Bellanaya was such a better name. Regardless, Kromhold did it’s best to break him down but he refused. He was innocent, after all. When he’d first arrived he was greeted with a fist to the mouth. Despite his absolutely rancid reputation and overpowering stature, he fell apart at the first sign of a conflict. Being given what was in essence a death sentence didn’t help his confidence either. Those who wanted fights found a whimpering dog. Those who wanted friends found a monster only held back by a tight leash. But then he found me.

I’ve been the only companion this poor boy has known. I’ve given myself the task of helping him throughout this trial. The only way I can is to help him remember. The good times, the bad times, the times in between, they all fade away with a nice rosy pink when you look back on them. It was my Mother who first told me about what I could do. She once had it herself but thought it better to give it to me. “People will always forget about you until they need you,” she said. I’ve always hated that word. Forget. I still took the gift gratefully, it was my Mother’s and to have anything from her was the greatest honor. Even now, that gift is the only thing I have of value. It’s all the boy has needed fortunately. As long as I flash a smile or say some outdated slogan he stays sated for the day. It’s a small price to pay for what he’s done for me. He always forgets the next day or sometimes even right after I’m done speaking but I’ll always start talking to him the next time he asks.

“Oh gawrsh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Best friends don’t hurt best friends right?” I squirmed over and offered a “hand”.

 He looks up and wipes his face. He appears to mull it over but I know his answer. He takes my loose fibers in his claws and mutters, “Friends till the end.” 

I hate being in this position but it’s the only way I’m still here. At least I’m not in the same situation as the other mascots. They usually “enforce” the rules around here along with the standard armed guards. One of the boys on my friend’s block snapped and stabbed one, only to find out it was another prisoner. Warden made sure they stayed in character and kept silent, permanently. The rumor was the Warden wore the suits too, but no one had the fortitude to try and hunt him down after the first incident. The boy came to me that day, crying up a storm. Took ages to calm him down. When he could finally look me in the eye, I didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. It came from a deep, dark place that even he didn’t know he had. Perfect, I thought. 

Many a day and night has passed and that boy has turned into an old man. He’ll still be a boy to me, bright eyed and gentle, not wanting to hurt a fly. This place changed him. It made him rough and broken. This is one of the few days he can speak to me with clarity. Normally, he can’t help but keep looking out that window and hoping for something different. I think it’s high time I gave that to him. This is not the first time I’ve said these words, but I believe it is the first time he’ll hear them. 

“Do you remember your first day here? They needed five men to drag you in. All you could do was scream ‘I’m innocent’. That didn’t matter to them. Everyone in here could be innocent of their crimes but the guards don’t care. Still, they needed five to bring you in, and that wasn’t even with you trying, bud.” 

He looks wide-eyed. Confused, even. Enough to register what I said. That’s all the proof I need to continue. 

“Do you remember the day you met me?” He shakes his head. Words escape him and so does the memory. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was just a scratch on the floor and a prayer sitting in between the walls. Forgotten. All I could do was sit, wait and listen. And then you came in. You wanted to never forget. Not Kromhold, but Bellanaya. It was pretty shoddy workmanship but you made a burlap sack into the spitting image of Wilfredo the Whale. You know, me! I scared you half to death the first time I talked but we’ve been friends since then.”

He grinned ear-to-ear. Revealing a row of sharpened, yellow teeth. Not fit for anything but meat. Ironic since all he’s eaten for the past couple of years is gruel.

 “I remember.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“Excuse me?” He’s a bit taken aback. Understandable but unwanted and unnecessary. All I need is a “yes”, not a “yes and”. 

“What would you do if I said I could take you back? To the days where you were free. No man could control you. If they tried, they’d learn why they shouldn’t. You are the only important person to me. I can’t let you rot in this cell.”

“What do you mean you can take me back?” There wasn’t disbelief in his voice, only contemplation. They love it when you play the hero. Thanks for teaching me that lesson, Lecuto. What a wonderful Sister. 

“I can give you back your body, silly. All you need is to put me on your head. Say the magic words, then watch as the magic happens.”

He thought for a second. And then another second. He did not take a third. Years upon years of friendship does that. I waited initially, just to add a sense of suspense. I’d do my Mother wrong if I didn’t have a dramatic flair. 

“What are the magic words?” There was a slight tremble to his voice. He didn’t believe something so incredulous despite my entire existence. Hilarious.

“There aren’t any.”

My body didn’t have much to offer as it was, so I could do little besides spread my fibers. A bit of resistance and they began to slink under the skin. All the natural pathways of his body were too easy to explore, invade, and conquer. He didn’t have much to offer in terms of a protest. Was it shock that I’d betray him so easily or was it a staunch belief that I’d help him? 

It mattered little in the face of what I was presented with. All the juicy goods he’d amassed over the years sitting in front of me like a feast before a king. The first birthday he could remember was light and refreshing in a place like this. Benito, his childhood hound was next to go, rich and flavorful, like his surprisingly long life span. Almost fifteen years, that one. As delicious as they were, they were unimportant. 

Ah, here it is. 

His first kill. The rage. The bloodlust. The emptiness. The overwhelming fear. And finally, hunger. 

He’d never truly been strong, especially when it comes to impulse control. The other piece I’d needed came soon after, about five or so years. Countless bodies scoured those days but none were like the first. He became complacent and slow. He wanted to savor the meal rather than simply consume. When he was caught he had nothing but regret. He said plenty that meant nothing to the Sangreguila. It wasn’t his hands that made the first cut. He wasn’t there to bathe in blood, he merely slipped onto a scene and unsuccessfully tried to make himself scarce. That wasn’t flesh stuck between his teeth, he just so happened to rip into livestock with reckless abandon moments earlier. 

I could tell some didn’t deserve the pain Kromhold had  inflicted upon them. My friend here was not one of those poor souls. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why they didn’t shoot him right then and there. Haven’t they heard the saying “a legend is made when someone hides the truth?” 

When I was done sifting through his head, I drained out all that wasn’t important. I didn’t require much magic to remold his shape back to those years. He still remembered them fondly somewhere deep down. Muscles atrophied by years of misuse and malnutrition now pulsed with power. Legs that trembled with each step stood straight. Teeth that reeked of disease and looked a putrid yellow instead became fierce, white fangs. A perfect weapon to be used by me. I couldn't have wished for a better present. Now only one thing was left.  To leave this prison behind with a trail of terror. 

No one will ever forget me again.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

January 3rd or One's Beginning is another's end (Daughters of Darkness)

This passage contains potentially: Explicit Language, Depictions of Violence (including mentions of blood), Smoking, Slang and maybe some bad translations.

Summary: An introduction to the world of the Daughters of Darkness, through the eyes of series protagonist Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian. The first day and night, from her perspective, of them working for the WWF.

Kirby's POV:

Tuesday. The first day of being 'on the job', Tuesday the third of January 1984. Damien got us into the WWF. … Damien, managed to get us into the quickest rising wrestling promotion, popularity wise. To be honest with you, Damien's given us free reign to get to know people, for now. I don't know anyone here. I've heard of people here, such as the most famous giant in the world, and … Hogan.

I'm not here because I earned it, I'm here because I'm a necessity for the team. That's how I view it. That's how I've always viewed it. Vickie needed someone to make fun of and, well, I'm the easiest choice. Then, in the midst of a darker path of thought becoming clearer in my mind...

WHAM

Both me and the figure I waltzed into thudded to the floor, "Oh, my good lord. I'm so sorry are you o..."

I looked at the figure before me, taking in how much trouble I had created in the last three seconds.

Taller than myself.

Head covered by a wild afro.

Around double my weight.

André.

André the giant.

Flat on his arse … because of me.

Oh … Shit.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle…"

I could tell he was searching for a name but didn't know it. Too frightened to even speak I glanced away. I noticed his shadow move.

"Mademoiselle?"

His footsteps came closer, he sounded … worried, as if he didn't want me to get fired for this.

"Mademoiselle?"

He picked me up, not off the ground, but so I could stand. I whispered out a small 'thank you', or rather 'merci'. His hands still on my shoulders, he smiled sweetly and nodded, as if to beckon forth more words from me.

"I'm Kirby, or rather, Gluttony. I'm new around here."

André grinned, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer before stopping upon seeing how much taller than every other woman in the company I am.

"Are you, uh …" he searched for the words

"A giant, yes, technically a giantess."

I feel I should summarise the next hour or so, but, André took me on a tour of the backstage area and we talked, about everything. Within an hour I had gained a new friend, a genuine friend, someone who didn't care about my height or looks. I know the only reason he didn't care is because he knows what it's like to be stared at just because you aren't 'normal'.

By the time André's tour had ended it was time for Vickie and Damien's interview with Mean Gene, which I was to attend. I said a goodbye to André and rushed off to perform my usual role.

The Enforcer, or rather, the intimidation device, that's my role in this group, to scare people, that's all I do. Before joining the group I was part of another group back in England, The Celtic Warriors, I was part of a championship winning tag team. Now what am I, a damned intimidation device, a human scare tactic.

The Interview:

Gene's first question for us, actually, Damien and Vickie (whilst I stood behind them and looked 'menacing'), was 'How are you doing so far?'

Damien began, "You know something, Gene, my girls have yet to have a match, but we are doing absolutely fine. In shape, ready to rock, ready to roll. Gene, every one of the Daughters of Darkness are doing fine."

Vickie followed suit, "Just look at us," She gestured to me and then herself, "Don't we look marvellous, Gene."

Gene smirked, "You could say that again, miss?"

"Pride, though you can call me Vickie."

Damien glared at the smaller man, almost as if he was daring him to try and flirt with her.

Gene readjusted and focused in on the prospect of new women in the WWF and the possibility of more matches. "Uh hum, yes, now how soon do you girls think you'll be seeing a match on the cards?"

"Soon, Gene, Soon." Vickie stated, ending the interview by walking off.

The first night after 'work' was surprisingly normal, Damien and Vickie went off in their rental car, taking Holly and Eli with them whilst the rest of us stood around backstage for a while.

Billie brought a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse, lighting one up and walking over to me, sitting down on a box placed near by and blowing the smoke away from me she spoke up.

"What's up with you, Tall-ass."

"Thinking."

"Dangerous pastime hermana."

"I know, hermana"

"You collect phrases, don' cha?"

"They may come in handy, Billie, one day."

"You going to the gym tomorrow?"

"Of course. Gotta train. Gotta … gotta settle in somehow, right?"

"Right, mi hermana, I'll see you around, alright?"

"See ya, Billie."

She waved back at me as she walked away.

Billie was the only person who knew that I 'collected' those little phrases that seem like nothing until spoken. Language isn't my strongest aspect, more often than not I'm silent and I try to avoid other peo-

"Hey! watch where you're walking man!" I yelped out, shocked back into the present moment. Instantly regret flooded my mind as I realised who had barged past me to get out of the building.

Big John Studd.

One of the most disrespectful 'giants' in the world of wrestling. famous for being the one man who pisses André off more than anyone else, including the Iron Sheik.

He sneered back a quick, "Who gives a fuck." and continued to stroll away.

That … that fuckwit. Who does he think he is. I felt a gentle hand place itself on my shoulder. I turned, expecting to see Eli or P.G, I was face to, well, chin with André.

"Forget about him," He started, with that same sweet, friendly smile from earlier, "Damien said you may need a ride back to the hotel. I don't recommend you walk back now, too dark out for a young lady such as yourself."

The way his R sounds turned into faint W's and he missed off or faintly implied H's was calming. Almost in the same way that hearing a parents voice would calm a child after a nightmare.

"Oh, uh, it's okay André, I was going to get a taxi."

He nodded in response, somehow both downhearted and curious, as if he knew that I was either lying to him or if I did get a taxi, the immense pain my back would be in the following day. André sauntered off, leaving me, once again by myself.

I don't mind being alone, in fact most of my life I have been alone, always the outcast, it was only when I got into wrestling that it started to change.

I picked up my bag and started walking, buttoning up my shirt up to the top of my chest, my near-neon orange shirt covering down to my mid-forearm, hiding any noticeable tattoos, except the one on my wrist, when I turned eighteen, I got a small, runic 'R' on my right wrist, in remembrance of my uncle Rory, the tallest of my dad's brothers.

It took about an hour to get to the hotel, an hour of walking through a city I'm not familiar with, when I eventually got to the hotel I went straight to my room and locked myself in. All alone, I could practice or train if I wanted, so I did.

I took off my black shirt, shoes and belt and I stood in the middle of the hotel room and practiced punching, then I switched to doing my warmups and working out, push-ups, planks, squats. By the time I finished it must've been around midnight, maybe one or two am. I got some sleep, waking up at six, getting changed into some fresh workout gear and headed straight to the gym.

You meet all sorts of characters at a gym, or so I've been told. Back in England I would go to my parents house and use our home-made gym to work out. Not an option that I have anymore, however, the moment I got into the gym, I felt like I was in a whole new world, as if I was just getting into the business all over again. I scanned for any faces that I knew, Mr Fuji, Tonga Kid, Sgt Slaughter, Don Muraco, Lou Albano, Iron Sheik, Freddie Blassie, Tito Santana, Jimmy Snuka, Bob Backlund, Gene and Pat, David Schultz, and … who is that?

I walked over to David and this mystery guy, nodding at David and heading to the heavy bag next to them.

"Mornin' Gluttony, André's been talkin' about ya."

"Oh really, Mr Schultz?" I tried to keep my breath noises to a minimum as I continued to hit the bag.

The mystery guy snickered, quickly shutting up after Schultz glared at him.

"C'mon girl, you know you can call me David. An' yeah," He stopped punching and instead leaned on the heavy bag in front of him, forcing the other guy to hold it still "Giant's been talking about him havin' a new friend and how much he likes ya."

"He's a good man, it's good to have friends in new places. Who's your pal, David?"

He smiled and slung his arm around the shorter man, "This here, this is Roddy Piper. He's like you."

I tilted my head slightly to try and make him explain further.

"You are Scottish, right?"

"I'm a quarter Scottish. Anyway, Piper, Do you speak Gaelic?"

"Uh, no, I can play the bagpipes however." his eyes lit up slightly, a sort of mad fire behind a haze of brown or maybe dark blue.

"Well, I'll see you around I guess, I've gotta warm up for later though."

I tried to block the two men out and focus on my own workout but Piper seemed to stick around a lot longer than David. He was still there when my workout ended.

"What do you want?"

"You're a quarter Scottish, you're also a giant. How do you fight? Show me." He seemed to get more energetic the more he talked.

"Right now?"

He nodded, "Right now, c'mon."

He led me to a ring that some other wrestlers were using to brush up their skills.

From the looks of the ring, it was actually used for boxing.

Roddy entered the ring the same way as most six-foot-two guys did, through the top and middle ropes. I tested the ropes, and seeing that they had just enough slack, used them to jump over the top rope.

"I've never seen a girl do that before."

"Mistake number one, I'm a woman, not a girl. Mistake number two, you expected a giant to be normal."

He scoffed out a laugh and got ready to lock up.

We locked up and Piper hit me with a knee to the stomach.

I got him back with an Irish whip into the corner, accidentally winding him by being too stiff.

"You're gonna pay for that, lass." He snarled out, already getting pissed off.

I sized him up, trying to see how high I would have to get myself in order to dropkick him to the mat.

Piper tried to hit me with a running high knee strike but I countered with a dropkick, taking us both down to the mat and slamming my face into the mat.

The mat was a lot harder than I was used to, it felt like I had rammed my head straight into a cinderblock, I started breathing heavier than before.

I rolled over and put my arms up, making an 'X' with my forearms. Piper stopped and walked over.

"You alright?"

I shook my head.

He knelt down and pulled me up into a sitting position.

I hesitated, knowing I had to take my mask off to see what was wrong but truly not wanting to. Piper managed to unbuckle the straps of my mask and winced as he saw what was underneath. My mind went slightly mad not knowing if he was wincing at the injury I had caused myself or the fact that, compared to the rest of the D.O.D, I'm truly the worst looking, beauty-wise, that is.

Hitting my mouth so hard on the canvas of the mat below us, I had managed to hit my mask in a way that the bottom edge, which curved under my chin, cut into my flesh and made me bleed.

I put my hand up to the cut and Piper quickly held my arm by the wrist and shook his head, "Don't you dare."

By the time I received medical aid, which consisted of cleaning the cut and putting a band-aid on it, Piper had given me back my mask and asked if he could work out with me sometime. Knowing that he was currently on a different show, I said sure and we had split ways.

END OF ONE'S BEGINNING IS ANOTHER'S END / JANUARY 3RD

[disasterhumans]

My favorite thing about Fjord becoming a Paladin to The Wildmother, is how much of it revolved around choice and faith and trust. This path Fjord has travelled down has his choice every step of the way. It was Fjord’s choice to ask Caduceus whether or not there might be a possible “counteragent” to Uk’otoa (ep. 53, 00:19:50). It was Fjord’s choice to seek guidance from Caduceus on how to commune with The Wildmother. It was Fjord’s choice to throw away his falchion and break his pact with Uk’otoa. The one time The Wildmother worked unilaterally was when she interrupted a nightmare from Uk’otoa. But in that moment she tells Fjord that ongoing support from her can only be borne of faith. Faith itself is a constant choice. It is choosing to believe, again and again, in something bigger than yourself.

Fjord’s relationship with Uk’otoa was defined through violence and force. His original pact was forged whilst Fjord was on the brink of death; an ultimatum he has no recollection of. The first dream Fjord received from Uk’otoa further enforces this dynamic, down to the language Matt uses to describe Fjord’s surroundings and physicality during them.

As the time passes, the air grows colder  around you. The faint shimmer of shifting midnight blue, muted and distant, now showing endless depth before you, rippling. You begin to flail about, your senses returning with the dropping temperature, but there is resistance to your limbs as you push in the space around you. You’re sluggish. There’s force. It’s not air, it’s water. You suddenly feel the burning pain in your lungs as your breath fights to escape you, but you hold tight. You seize and swim in desperation, choosing any direction, but the shimmering blue is directionless. […] As the current tugs at you, battering you, you cannot fight any more as the increased power of the current pulls on your form. You cough, and the freezing waters rush into your body, the briny taste of salt water stinging your insides. Your wincing eyes open with the pain that clutches the interior of your chest, only to see a gargantuan mass moving through the water around you, like a massive noose closing in. (ep. 5)

Fjord’s visions from The Wildmother are a sharp contrast from the very beginning:

You push forward, grabbing onto the vines and thrust your whole body through this open wound. As you push through, the cold fades. The vines begin to tug at your arms and carry you the rest of the way through as it closes behind you. Without force or pain. Warm, cradling sensations as you’re removed from the nightmare of Uk’otoa. Settled within a small chamber of tangled leaves and roots. Within this mass of vines and green, you swear you can see a face. Female, motherly, her eyes closed. (ep. 65)

Where Uk’otoa is cold, imposing, and violent, The language Matt uses to describe The Wildmother is warm, supportive, and maternal. Where Fjord finds himself flailing, fighting, and seizing against Uk’otoa, The Wildmother bears him up and holds him.

Uk’otoa has never given Fjord a reason to put his trust—let alone his faith—in him. Uk’otoa has always left him in the dark—both literally and metaphorically. For months Fjord knows little more of Uk’otoa than "Learn. Grow. Provoke. Consume." Fjord’s best guess of how to “consume” the sword was to literally shove it down his throat—because what indication had he been given that there was another option? Fjord had no control over absorbing the first Cloven Crystal—in one moment it was in front of him, in the next he was shoving it into himself. Coercion and force are part and parcel of Fjord & Uk’otoa’s dynamic.

In the end, Fjord wrests back control. He refuses to be held hostage. He chooses to approach The Wildmother—alone, and with an open heart. And she greets him in kind:

You feel these feelings envelop you like a warm bath. Your body floating atop a heated ocean of gentle waves. Peace finds you mind with the familiar smells of salt and brine. The sound of seagulls in the air around you. Broken surf crashing on a shore somewhere. You open your eyes, and, as opposed to the mountainside you’re looking up, at a clear blue sky, not a cloud around.

You try and focus. Just blue, impossibly wide blue. And you see something. Is it a cloud? …It’s a face. The faint tracings of a face: eyes, a nose, a mouth…but on a scale that consumes the entire blue sky above you. It’s almost unsettling. But it’s soft. Maternal.

[...]

You feel tendrils of kelp and seaweed begin to rise from the warm water beneath you, and wrap around you, and tie and bind. And your heart-rate begins to jump. They’re still warm, but it’s beginning to cut the light off as your face begins to be blanketed. And you feel yourself being pulled beneath the waters.

And at the end of it, Matt asks, Do you struggle?

That question communicates everything there is to say about Fjord’s oath to Melora, versus his pact with Uk’otoa. Fjord entered into this communion with The Wildmother willingly, and at the end he is given the choice to resist, or surrender. That choice—the choice of whether or not to struggle—has never been one he had before. Matt always tells Travis that Fjord is fighting, or struggling against Uk’otoa. There is no possibility of peace. Of surrender. Of trust.

But here, he can. Fjord surrenders. He gives of himself. And he is willing to do so because, for once, he is not being left in the dark. The Wildmother is, at times, indirect, but here she is not. She communicates to Fjord clearly, and—in contrast to Uk’otoa—in complete sentences.

“This seed I cannot heal. But I can help you carry the burden. I can free you from the fiend that feeds. If you would but protect all that is Me. Will you walk my lands? Swim my shores? And guide my children as one of my own?”

Fjord is given the information he needs to walk down this new path with his eyes open. He knows, from the beginning, what is expected and desired of him, and he is allowed to choose whether or not that is something he is able to give. He is able—for the first time in his life—to freely choose who and what he wants to be—without force, or coercion, or feeling like he needs to hide pieces of himself away.

Matt leaves Travis hanging at the end of this vision from The Wildmother. And in that last moment—Fjord bound and being pulled into the depths—it is understandable that many read it as Uk’otoa making a last minute entry into the vision. But it was a moment that truly exemplified the faith Fjord’s decision required. Fjord chose to surrender himself to the unknown, and, on a metatextual level, the audience and the players were made to have that faith tested. Did Fjord make the right call? Is it The Wildmother? Is something more at play here?

Fjord’s journey so far has been defined by his lack of trust as much as it’s been defined by lack of choice. Fjord’s lack of trust is understandable. It’s a defense mechanism. But it is also one of Fjord’s largest obstacles. Fjord’s willingness to give himself over into The Wildmother’s care is a huge step for him. And in the end, his faith is rewarded. The Wildmother bears him up, she cradles him, she assures him. And yes, she changes him. Because life is change. Nature is adaptation. And for once, Fjord is able to freely and fully accept it as a gift.

The excerpts from episodes 5 and 65 come from @critrolestats’ extremely helpful compendium of Fjord backstory moments.

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Bite (Part One)

Summary: Peter’s team is invited onto a big case in which their involvement will have serious consequences.

Word Count: 4,529

A/N: The summary is vague and doesn’t include the request, because the request itself would give away the ending. This fic was supposed to be a oneshot, but the plot was largely left up to me and I had an idea I thought was fantastic. I didn’t realize it was going to become so long. I think this is part one of three. Anyway... enjoy?

           “Yikes,” you said with a level tone. “Always wear a hard hat, I guess.”

           Ruiz glared at you. “You think this is funny?”

           “Calm down,” Hughes raised his voice to talk over Ruiz and he gave you a hard stare that said not to aggravate the visiting agents. You put your hands up innocently. It wasn’t your fault that Ruiz had such pressable buttons.

           Ruiz glared back at Hughes for all of half a second before he realized he wasn’t going to win that fight, and he used his clicker to make the projector move to the next slide. The crime scene photo went away and was replaced with a candid photograph of a white man in a snug polo with shades over his eyes, hair gelled back.

           “Look, the culprit is Caffrey’s dress sense,” Diana snickered. She earned grins from yourself and Jones and Neal scowled at her from the other side of the table.

           “I resent that.”

           “All of you, shut up,” Hughes commanded, a vein in his forehead looking particularly pink. Everyone from the white collar unit listened and the unit chief gave an aggravated wave of his wrist towards Ruiz, whose agents were all looking either plainly amused or secretly amused and trying to hide it. Neal had always gotten under Eric’s skin, and so did everyone who took Neal’s side by extension. It was funny to see how bent out of shape he could get in such a short time.

           Ruiz clenched his jaw and it looked like he ground his teeth while getting his temper under control. “Seamus Brady,” he said angrily. You still weren’t sure if he was morally outraged by the suspected murderer, or if he was just still being fussy about being ordered to invite Peter and his team onto the case. “43, American, with friends in Ireland and Wales. This bastard works hand-in-hand with suspects on Wall Street we haven’t been able to bag yet, managing a private company and swindling his investors.” He fixed his eyes on you and glared. “Henry Wallace was goin’ to take him to court next month before he ended up with his head bashed in.”

           You just looked back at him. Working in law enforcement, you saw a lot of people do really awful things, and if you let every violent crime get you down, you’d never have been able to do your job for this long. You weren’t going to feel bad for not breaking into tears instead of quipping during the uncomfortable silence following the completely context-free reveal of ugly CSI pictures.

           “You think Brady took Wallace out of the picture because he knew he was going to go down for it,” Peter urged Ruiz to continue, and, because they rarely saw eye-to-eye, Ruiz sent him a disgruntled look before resuming.

           “I’m damn sure of it. Now that Wallace is gone, there’s no one to press charges. Problem is, Brady has got near a dozen people corroborating his alibi for the night this happened, but does that look like an accident to you?”

           “Have you considered he didn’t do it?” Diana asked seriously. “Some people are really unlikeable. It can make a lot of enemies.” You got the distinct impression that she was referring to the number of people in the room who wouldn’t mind popping Ruiz in the jaw once or twice.

           Ruiz glared at her next. The guy needed to loosen up. “I’d consider it if it was worth the time,” he said shortly. “Everyone supporting his alibi’s suspected of getting cuts of his profits.”

           “Ah, the old “you knock mine, I’ll knock yours” method.” Neal nodded with his nose wrinkled in distaste. It was an increasingly commonly-known way of getting alibis to discount a motive, but mostly, the artist had never thought highly of violence, or anyone who resorted to it.

           “Looks like,” Ruiz grudgingly acknowledged. “But instead of waiting for the turnabout, we want to lock this monster up before more bodies start dropping dead in Queens. I’ve already talked to him, so I want your boy to go undercover, Burke.”

           No one commented on the way he referred to Neal. Infantilizing and deriding were pretty much the norm when it came to Ruiz’s interactions with the ex-con, no matter how civil Neal tried to be, and now everyone had stopped batting an eye because it would only fire him up more if you did. Neal certainly didn’t appreciate it, though, and neither did Peter.

           “You just showed us all a picture of the last guy who threatened him,” Peter objected, pointing up at the projection screen. “I can’t send Neal into that without a good plan in place.”

           “I’d prefer you didn’t at all,” Neal interjected dully, looking very aware of the fact that his vote didn’t really count.

           “We got a plan,” Ruiz told Peter, his nostrils flaring from the quick and negative response. “You think your team’s the only one that does any field work? Nah, Burke.” You and Diana both looked at each other at the same time, wondering if Ruiz had intended to rhyme or not. The organized crime agent clicked his remote and the projector went to the next image – some fancy-shmancy residence for the rich you’d never be able to afford to spend a night in, much less live indefinitely. “Every other week these dirtbags get together. It’s probably where we got the best chance of getting something incriminating on them.”

           “So you want Neal to somehow get invited into that high-as-heaven loft and wear a wire,” you predicted, finishing the plan for Ruiz and crossing your arms. Neal mirrored you, also crossing his arms, going off of your tone of voice to figure out that you didn’t like the plan and deciding to lend his support to anyone interested in keeping him out of it. “That’s a long-term op. They have to build rapport before anything happens.”

           “Unless we apply some pressure,” Peter theorized, and immediately, Neal uncrossed his arms and looked at his partner, wounded, as though he were thinking how dare you get on board with this?

           “Let’s be careful where we go applying pressure,” Neal requested pointedly, “Because pressure can be deadly. Especially for me.”

           “It’s good-cop, bad-cop,” Ruiz puffed, putting a hand on his belt. “A crook goes in looking for a legit, high-profile, high-payoff job and a fed makes it seem like the bureau’s gonna get our guy unless he moves faster than we can,” Ruiz finished, ignoring your interruption. “Guy knows the crook’s history, knows he’ll take a risk for a heftier profit, knows he’s got the skill to do it. He takes the chance, except the crook’s on our side, tapped and live.”

           “We’ve done some really similar ones,” you said thoughtfully, recalling a particular case where Neal had gotten himself hired as a political fixer while Peter filled the role of an obstinate, dogged cop. The pressure Peter put on the dirty politician led the man straight to Neal, who, under an alias, pushed things in the right direction. It hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but it had ultimately worked out.

            “It’s this or the guy walks.” Ruiz looked at Peter and almost dared him to disagree. The man had a very aggressive way of cooperating with other agents and you were tempted to ask if he’d ever considered being less of a hardass. Maybe people would like him more. “Chatter says he’s gonna be takin’ a trip out of New York in the next couple months. We don’t try now, we may never get this chance again.”

           Peter didn’t answer right away, looking at the loft on the projector screen and thinking deeply. As you had remembered, the last time this scheme had been used, it almost ended poorly – if Diana weren’t so quick with her gun, she may have been badly injured. However, there was probably not any chance of things going as unexpectedly off the rails as they had that time, and since Neal would be wearing a live transmitter, he could use a safe phrase the moment an attitude shifted the wrong direction. If he had to call it, then the bureau would probably lose the case; Brady would clam up and leave the jurisdiction, if he had any brain cells to rub together. It was unacceptable to let Neal be harmed for the sake of a ploy that may or may not work, so Ruiz was banking on Brady not being quick to anger or turn to violence. It was a brave gamble, considering his entire basis for being so pushy was that someone was already dead.

           “Say I agree,” Peter said slowly, and Ruiz made the hand against his belt into a frustrated fist. “Neal goes under first, gets to know the guy, see his baseline. Then we introduce a federal agent. If he gets agitated, Neal can spot the difference and get out.”

           Ruiz said briskly, “Yeah, duh, if he doesn’t think Caffrey’s an option there’s no point in sending an agent in.”

           “Who plays the agent?” Neal piped up again. “Because I vote it’s not you.”

           “Can’t be you, Ruiz,” you agreed, having Neal’s back. You tended to agree because he was a good strategist. It had nothing to do with a personal dislike for your fellow agent. Nothing at all. “If he’s already seen you, it’s too risky, he might think something’s up.”

           “But if it were a different agent, from a different division…” Jones trailed off and held a hand out like he was saying it could work.

           You nodded, and you, Jones, Diana, and Neal all looked to Peter. Your team leader was often very diplomatic about the choices he made in how to pursue cases, and this was no different. He saw you all seemed prepared to plan the operation, and gave Neal an extra look to make sure that his CI wasn’t completely opposed to the idea. Then the senior agent looked to Ruiz, and Hughes, and nodded assent with a tired sigh.

           “Alright,” Madeline, one of Ruiz’s agents, said, making a note on her laptop. “Burke is the bad cop.”

           “Or is it good cop?” You asked thoughtfully. If the fed in the plan were trying very hard to arrest an embezzler, then wasn’t the cop actually doing his job?

           “Not to Brady,” Neal told you, shaking his head. “Bad cop. Good criminal.”

           “No such thing,” Peter corrected right away.

           Neal pretended not to hear him. “Who’s the good criminal?” He asked, leaning in. “Rydell’s probably burned after last time.”

           “Nick’s got a history with math and money,” you suggested.

           “Nicholas Halden?” Madeline asked, trying to keep up. You kept Neal’s aliases pretty close to the vest for his own safety, but a little bit of word occasionally got around. Offhandedly, you questioned why Ruiz’s agents had been so quiet during the meeting. Maybe they were more afraid of their boss.

           Neal gave a full smile. It wasn’t the real thing – you knew the difference – but it was still an attractive smile, all confident and charismatic. “I think Nick has the time free to fit this into his calendar.”

~~~ Bite ~~~

           You definitely had to give the bureau credit – they could move fast when they wanted to. Nicholas Halden was a ghost most of the time, but the FBI, combined with some work in the shadows on occasion from Neal and Mozzie, kept the man alive through talk and false documents.

           “You’re a lucky man, Nick,” you called as you waved the file over your head, walking over to Neal’s desk and joining him as he readied for his first meeting with Brady. “Costa Rica and the Dominican Republic in the same three months.”

           “What can I say, I have a taste for the Caribbean,” Neal responded with a playful grin. He reached up and took the file from you, then started flipping through it to see what had been added since the last time he took the identity out for a spin.

           You sat down on the edge of his desk and picked up the papers he had been studying. He was intently looking at the most recent public reports on Brady’s company’s finances. A little bit of job research went a long way, no matter who you were applying to. While putting the papers back down on the desk, you caught Neal looking up at you instead of reading Nick’s file and you flashed him a little smile, rolling your shoulders back and sitting straight.

           “Happy with the edits?” You asked, not that you could change them if he wasn’t.

           Neal kept his eyes on you while he answered, “I’m just thinking how lonely it is Nick doesn’t have a partner.” Your heart felt like it skipped a beat and Neal added on, “Nick and Y/N sound good, don’t they?”

           You knew there was a blush on your face but you refused to let an expression of interest go by unrequited, even if he could clearly see the redness in your cheeks. “I can think of a pair that sound just a little better,” you said to him, not looking away from his eyes until you were done talking. Neal and Y/N…

           “I like those,” he said evenly, his face open and sweet. “Y/N-“

           “Neal!” Peter snapped his fingers and both of you jumped a little. You leaned back and wondered exactly when you had started leaning forward. Your boss was standing on the mezzanine, looking exasperated. “What, is your phone dead? Hurry up!” He turned and went back into his office, but his coat was on and so was his holster, so you knew he would be coming out in seconds.

           You cursed his timing, but there wasn’t anything you could do about it. When you and Neal turned back to each other, the moment was gone, and although the mood was still there, it wasn’t the time or place to try to bring the magic back.

           Neal saw the frustration on your face and touched your knee gently. “Later,” he said, standing up. He took out his wallet and started swapping out his ID cards for those of Nick Halden that had been included in the folder.

           “I’m going to hold you to that,” you told him wistfully.

~~~ Bite ~~~

           Diana drew van duty with Peter and Madeline, leaving you in the office with Jones while the rest of your team was in the field. No matter how often it happened, you never got used to the itchy feeling in your legs of sitting around when your teammates were being shot at, for all you knew. (Though you could be reasonably sure they weren’t.)

           It took about half an hour longer than you had expected it to, but it was impossible to tell until you got the call whether that was a good or a bad thing. Sometimes things took longer when there was a better opportunity than expected for building rapport, or even going straight to the throat, so you didn’t get too flustered. Peter eventually called, said that the op had gone well and Neal did good, and that since it was already later in the evening than planned, he, Neal, and Diana were going to head back to their respective houses and work from home. They would relate the details of the afternoon the next day. He invited you and Jones to do the same.

           Jones, who had a girlfriend in his life, took the advantage of an early leave, but you stayed in the office and caught yourself looking at Neal’s empty desk more than a couple of times. No matter how much you had observed it already, it still surprised you just how much you missed Neal when he was gone. The thief felt like a more necessary part of the office than the chairs or the lights or the cheap and gross office coffee, which really sucked because one day he wasn’t going to be here. Whatever he chose to do after the anklet came off, he wasn’t eligible to be an FBI agent – his days in the office were numbered, no matter how well his work-release went. And it was going to be really hard adjusting to work without him.

           “Good thing that’s still a long time away,” you told yourself, leaning back into your chair and letting out a long sigh. Still, it wasn’t the best thing in the world that your thoughts kept drifting back to him when you should have been working. You blamed it on the warmth in your knee, where it felt like his hand was still touching you. His gaze caressing your face. Voice soft and words just for you.

           Yeah. You had it bad.

~~~ Bite ~~~

           Peter briefed you all in the conference room the next morning, alongside Ruiz, Madeline, and the other two agents Ruiz had picked for the collaboration, whose names you learned were Matt and Damien. Nick’s interview with Brady went exceptionally well. From what Neal could tell, he was the most qualified applicant and Brady had been particularly interested when he’d been deflecting questions about the hedge fund he had briefly worked for. (Said hedge fund had been part of an older case in which Neal pretended to be a corporate spy and almost got killed for it.)

           Now that Neal was in your mark’s good graces, you had to take the biggest gamble of all and decide how long was long enough to wait before sending Peter in to make Brady jumpy. It was a balancing act of factors. On one hand, a greater time gap made Brady’s introductions to Neal and Peter appear less connected and gave him more time to reach out to Neal to build a stronger rapport, increasing the odds of him going to Neal when Peter started waving the hammer over his head. On the other, if you waited too long, then the risks increased that Brady would look too deeply into Neal’s cover. There were a lot of ways that it could fall apart – he could find out that the manager of that hedge fund was now in a federal prison; he could do a reverse image search of Nick’s face and come up with Neal’s pictures from when the FBI had him on their website; he could try to talk to shadowy contacts and realize that very few people had actually seen Nick in person over the last six or so years.

           “I haven’t heard anything from him,” Neal announced, but his posture was relaxed. It had been less than a day. “Give him time to come to me. I say if he doesn’t do it on his own by Monday, then we go in.”

           “How quickly does he make his decisions?” Peter asked, looking to Ruiz instead of Neal, even though only one of them had a friendly relationship with the man in question.

           Ruiz curled his lip. “Can’t say. It’s hard to find any intel on this guy. He covers his tracks.”

           Before Peter could say anything, you were already guessing his priorities. “On it, boss,” you promised, opening up your laptop. Digging up information on slimy businessmen was one of your favorite ways to spend your work day, just on the off chance that something particularly scandalous came up that you could use against them.

           “Get Diana to help you,” he said, pointing at Diana as the other female agent let out a soft sigh of complaint before taking her own computer out of its bag. “Di-“

           “I get it,” she cut him off. “I already got my excitement. Out of the van with me.” She smirked slightly as she said it.

           “And into the van with me,” Jones dryly said. It was no secret that the only person who hated the van more than Jones was Neal. “Yippee.”

           Peter frowned at both Diana and Jones in turn before continuing with the conference. When you all came out of it twenty minutes later, there wasn’t much new on your docket. Unfortunately, you couldn’t stop everything and only pursue one person when there were so many other cases waiting to be investigated. It wasn’t to the point that this one was prioritized highly enough that Peter and Ruiz could justify having almost ten agents working on nothing else.

           What you did have was the decision that, if Brady hadn’t reached out to Neal by Monday, then Peter would go in on Tuesday; if he had, then you would re-evaluate the following workday. In the meantime, Neal was to keep his head down and minimize his chances of being seen in public as much as possible while you and Diana were to continue trying to find any more background information on Seamus Brady.

           While you worked on both the Brady case and your other cases, you tried to catch spare time to fulfill the promise of talking later with Neal, but the opportunity was just out of reach. You were busy when he wasn’t and vice versa, and because of how deep he was in the undercover portion of the operation, he was spending his lunches with either Peter or Ruiz, being debriefed and making statements. By the time the end of the day was near, everyone on Peter’s team was just tired, and between your irritable temperament when you were tired and Neal’s tendency to be more guarded when he was stressed, you had both seemed to agree that it was better not to touch the subject yet. The weekend was especially needed for recuperating after the work days, and since Neal was being holed up safely away from any risk of sighting or scrutiny, you knew you shouldn’t be heading over to his penthouse during the case, anyway. It was disappointing, but the bottom line was that your “later” didn’t come that week.

           Although you had Neal weighing on your mind, your weekend was pretty relaxing. You grabbed a couple of naps, started reading a new book, and walked your neighbor’s dog for a little bit of exercise and homemade lasagna. By Monday morning, you were ready to go back to work and deal with whatever had happened since Friday.

           It turned out that there were no new developments. Honestly, it wasn’t shocking. Working for the FBI was rarely as glamorous as people tended to think. Neal reported no contact from Brady, and so Ruiz and Peter began working up a tweaked profile of Peter’s work history in order to suit the purpose of his role in the con (no, not con, operation. Peter was very picky about that). That was going to occur Tuesday, right before lunch, and it would be a quick in-and-out of attempted police intimidation.

           Then they turned the attention back to Brady, who he was and what he had done, and you and Diana had a lot of small things to report but no major discoveries. It was like Brady had suddenly come into being nine years ago, which made you suspect that it was probably a stolen identity, but you had exhausted all possible avenues for finding out who he had been before then. According to Neal, he spoke like an American, but you couldn’t find a social security number and now you weren’t totally sure that he wasn’t undocumented, which only made the situation messier.

           That conference lasted until eleven, and just as it ended, you met Neal’s eyes as you both stood up. He gave you a small smile, almost like he was inviting your attention, and you made an equally small gesture with your hand towards the door, asking him if he wanted to leave with you, maybe get lunch together. He had just started to nod when Peter brought his hand down on his shoulder, not noticing that he was interrupting.

           “You, me, my office,” he said. You looked down – you couldn’t fight the boss over Neal’s time when you were both on the clock.

           “You know,” Neal said, sounding a little stiff. It was gratifying to know that he didn’t like it much, either. It had been almost a week since the incident that wasn’t really any sort of incident at all, but possibly could have become one. “Sometimes humans eat lunch at this time of day.”

           “The Domino’s menu is downloaded to my computer,” Peter replied, missing the point and shepherding Neal out of the conference room.

           The artist caught your eye as he went past and grimaced. You nodded sympathetically, understanding.

           And your time still didn’t come at all on Monday, with Peter insisting on triple-checking everything he and Neal had related to each other about Brady, what he might be doing, and how best to get under his skin. You knew the case was important, but damn. At five in the evening, Peter clocked out (not really – you didn’t work on time cards). You knew that El made Peter come home on time with Neal and had them both sit down and eat a full meal every Monday, so you didn’t even bother hoping that Peter was leaving alone. You left not long after.

           Tuesday morning wasn’t your friend. Traffic made your commute to work particularly slow and you got there a few minutes later than you would have liked. Another case task force conference drilled everything into your head until you could’ve recited it in your sleep, and then Ruiz, Matt, Peter, and Neal all left for the next stage of the scheme. You really weren’t sure why Neal needed to go, but at this point, it was probably your irritation talking, not the thorough agent you worked hard to be. When they all returned, both bosses gathered their respective underlings into the same conference room for another update which lasted through the lunch break, and since your entire morning had been spent on one case, you were then told to spend your afternoon and early evening working on the rest of your caseloads to compensate.

           You wanted to strangle Peter. You didn’t meddle in his marriage. In fact, you supported his marriage and sometimes offered advice on presents or gestures for Elizabeth, and this was how he repaid you? By making it his life’s mission to ensure that you never, ever got any private time with Neal ever again, right after it finally seemed like the playful workplace flirting was going to result in something more meaningful?

           With enough hurrying, you managed to power through a good half-day’s effort with about ten minutes left before five. You took another look at the clock on your computer, relieved you made it. Ten minutes was enough for a conversation. Ten minutes was –

           You looked up to see if Neal was done, and he wasn’t even at his desk. After looking around for him with exasperation, you spotted him up in Peter’s office. You couldn’t see the thief’s face, but you could see Peter’s, and the seriousness of his expression made you want to throw your hands up in the air. You knew that look. It was the serious breakthrough look.

           Brady had been intimidated into contacting Neal.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

A/N: Remember, there is at least one more part to this story and possibly two, so keep your eyes peeled!

If you like my writing and would be interested in skipping the request queue, please consider checking out the details of my Ko-Fi commissions here or go straight to my Ko-Fi page here. Imagines are $1, oneshots start at $4, and a story of this length would be just about $8.

[sarahreesbrennan]

Harvey trying to protect his bullies from Nick vibes incredibly similar to Jamie trying to protect mortals from that other Nick. Made me smile really big.

Aw! You are such a sweet for reading both books, I am much flattered to have my ouevre examined. And I actually have many thoughts about the courage it takes to be kind.

For those unfamiliar with one or both series of books, and I know the names make things confusing! Nick Ryves and Jamie Crawford are characters in my THE DEMON’S LEXICON trilogy. Nick Scratch and Harvey Kinkle are characters in CHILLING ADVENTURES OF SABRINA, the TV show and my tie-in books! 

(Please hold for Nicholas Cox, rough-around-the-edges scholarship boy of C.S. Pacat and Johanna the Mad’s FENCE graphic novels and my tie-in novel FENCE: Striking Distance, out in September. It’s a mess! Only the first Nick was my idea!!)

The characters aren’t super similar, I don’t think (though both Nicks are dark-haired and sarcastic, and I love all four of them, and I think they are all good people who are trying their best... well, not Nick Ryves, not a good person, but does try his best). Nick Ryves is a literal demon who once set the River Thames on fire, hates reading, can’t lie, and Jamie Crawford is a chatterbox earring-wearin’ magician, Nick Ryves and Jamie are friends. Nick Scratch is a warlock who’s an avid reader and a huge liar (made to be so by his world enforcing terrible things upon him!) and Harvey is a soft-spoken artist, Nick and Harvey are romantic rivals who snap at each other--but I do know the scenes you mean. And I do consistently love the idea of someone who doesn’t protect themselves well at all, stepping up to protect other people. 

I think we’ve all seen characters who’ve gone through horrible things, dealing back to the world what they’ve been dealt. And it’s always sad and sadly true to life. Everybody gets hurt and everybody lashes out.

But I think there’s also something really fascinating about seeing moments of grace, when people who have been dealt a lousy hand, make a choice not to reflect that back. 

Jamie was marked to die by inches by a demon (not Nick Ryves, whose brother would disapprove of him doing such). Harvey was abused by his alcoholic father and witches murdered his brother. But both maintain a high level of concern for others, even when said others haven’t done much to deserve that concern. And that’s an instinct which is greatly appealing, but also greatly dangerous--in a terrible world, it’s not safe to protect others--and which also has its dark side. In a terrible world, how far might you go to protect others? 

I admit, I had a high level of suspicion around Harvey at the start of the show, as ‘nice guy’ on TV often means ‘how low are our expectations for dudes!’. I kept worrying he would do one of the low-key awful things that ‘nice guys’ get shown as doing: abandon his friends, or his morals. One of the scenes about Harvey in the TV show that really got me was in Part 2. He and Sabrina had an awful break-up, Sabrina’s been distancing herself and dealing with her own stuff, her friends are hurt by the distance and dealing with THEIR own stuff. When Sabrina comes back around, her friends are mean to her, then Sabrina goes home and has to deal with witch-hunters! Then Harvey comes after her, to help her fight the witch-hunters. And we the audience know two of the witches he comes to help killed his brother. 

So when we were discussing the show, that scene and the spaces around it was something to be focused on. What on earth do the other witches think about a witch-hunter coming in to save them? That must have been so weird for them! And we came to the decision that several witches, since the witches are often up for a sexy time, might be like: ‘Is this witch-hunter... cute?’ [nightmare for Harvey, who would not be down], the two witches who killed Harvey’s brother would be like, ‘this is slightly awkward,’ and Prudence and Nick Scratch, the two non-Spellman witches most familiar with Harvey, would be like ‘This guy is a maroon who may soon cut off his own head.’ (NICK: I should stop him cutting off his own head, it would upset Sabrina. PRUDENCE: Eh.)

I also like examining how being kind isn’t easy. Sabrina’s a fixer. Harvey’s a caretaker. Your best traits are often your worst as well. Some really huge tragedies occur because of imperfect people trying to do the right thing.

The potential for unkindness has to be very present, for characters who choose to be kind. The choice should never be easy. Jamie in TDL is a naturally powerful magician, in a world where you get more power by doing an incredibly sketchy thing (feeding people to demons). He’s being promised love and power and true understanding by a corrupt circle who are saying: this is what you’re good at, this is what you’re made for.

And for Harvey, he keeps being shoved toward an inheritance of traditional masculinity and active violence. There’s a scene in Part 3 of the show where the approach Lucifer takes when tempting/messing with Harvey to punish him is to push on all his feelings of being useless, not protecting people (in this case, specifically his longtime adored friend, and new girlfriend, Roz). Thus Harvey goes off to charge at evil, inadequately armed and in the company of aggressive guys he previously hadn’t got on with. The evil that comes for us is always specific to us. In Book 1, Harvey gets scared of his own reflection seeming like a monster. In Book 2, Prudence says ‘All witch-hunters are the same. They aren’t safe’ and a dark spell plus a dark revelation does make Harvey give into rage for a moment which he overcomes. In Book 3, Nick Scratch thinks of Harvey ‘those instincts were made for witch-burning’ and Harvey’s best friend Theo is disturbed by the ‘grim witch-hunter’ vibes Harvey occasionally gives off.   

Being kind is a struggle, and easier, more attractive, more socially esteemed and rewarding options often seem on offer. Harvey’s story is as yet unfinished, and in the main not mine to tell, though I do love visiting in on him! I hope it ends well but there’s dark potential there. Jamie’s story ended well, but he was often tempted and tipping into darkness, and his kindness and decision to stick with kindness (over, say, revenge for his mother’s death) came at a horrible price. A mother. A hand. The life he wanted. I don’t think Jamie regrets it, but I want to acknowledge the price of kindness.

Ours is often a cruel world, which teaches kind girls to be kind to others to the point where they’re cruel to themselves. And which pushes kind boys to stop being kind, which twists kindness into anger and violence.

But I do believe there’s a real value in showing in fiction, and acting out in life: the difficult choice to be kind. It often feels thankless, but the choice does spare other people. And perhaps others will see you make that choice. Perhaps they’ll learn something. 

I like thinking: perhaps being kind in a cruel world will matter.

[masterofmagnetism]

so you want to start a war || side a ( stark tower )

WHO: Lorna @mistressxfmagnetism, Alex @disarraycd, Emma @whiteqveendarling, Illyana @ofmagikandlimbo, and Tony @goldenavcnger WHERE: Stark Tower WHEN: August 2, 2020. 11 AM. WHAT: The Brotherhood makes the war between humans and mutants official, by way of a coordinated attack on New York in response to the Accords and resurrection of the SENTINEL program.  The launch of the plan goes off perfectly--well, almost. 

(In which Lorna and Alex show that they’re a fucking power couple, Emma slays the men of the room with like three words, Illyana shows off Scott the Demon Squirrel, and Tony stares down potential death while inebriated.  

So nothing new, really. )

WORD COUNT: 3.8k TWs: mentions of past kidnapping and torture, murder mention

LORNA: There wasn't a time in Lorna's memory that she didn't know she was a mutant. Even before her powers had been prominent, she had known. There had never really been an option to hide. So it was only natural that despite her father not being a part of her life, she had followed in his footsteps nonetheless. Carving her own path in that direction.

Her tactics had been more defensive for the most part. Hiding people, moving them to safety. There had been protests too--and one that got her in serious trouble as a teenager--but she did most of her work in the Underground. But the Enforcers had torn that from her. Tried to break their network. So today was far from hidden. Today, she didn't just follow Erik's footsteps--she followed his lead. Today, they fought back in the open.

Lorna didn't wear the metal headband, created from the metal medallion gifted to her by Erik years ago, very often. But there never seemed like a more appropriate time than today. Unlike Magneto's helmet, it didn't block telepaths from her mind. Important when they were doing a two-pronged attack, relying on the signal.

She glanced at the others she was with--Alex, Illyana, and Emma--making sure they were ready to go. If it weren't them, she might be concerned. This was going to be risky, they had to all be all in and ready to fight for what they wanted. But she trusted Alex and Illyana with her life always, and Emma she trusted today.

ALEX: While his Mutant abilities manifested when he was quite young, but due to the manipulation of Nathaniel Essex he didn’t realize the power within him until much later in his life. Alex lived the first eighteen years of his life thinking that he was only Human. Upon discovering this wasn’t true, it was difficult for his parents to wrap their head around the news. Maybe they were afraid of losing another son, but they try to understand.

This is a cause Alex believes in — wanting to fight for what’s right for their people. He didn’t waste time suiting up and joining up with the others on his team. The Government thought making him register against his will would have made him fight for them on their side, but they were wrong. Alex would always side with Mutants every time.

His gloved hand adjusts some of the blonde hair faking over his mask and glances back at Lorna when their gaze meets. He trusts everyone in this room but that was obvious enough. Alex pulls his body away from the wall he had been leaning against, crossing his arms over his chest. “We ready to do this? I hope everyone has what they need.” There was a smirk on his face paired with his words as he looks at everyone in the group.

ILLYANA: Ever since her brother Piotr had been revealed to be a mutant she'd been mostly sure she was one too, or maybe it was more of a hope, but when she turned eleven she'd been proven right as her mutant power of controlling the stepping disks of Limbo manifested. Sometimes she wondered if she hadn't been taken to Limbo if she would have gotten some other power or if they'd be different. Of course Illyana wasn't a normal mutant, even before her mutant power had manifested she was a demon sorceress, she'd lost that part of herself around three months ago but she'd recently regained it and now she intended to use it to help the mutant cause.

It had only been about a week, maybe less, since Rogue helped her get her magic back and she hadn't really told anyone about it because it was so recent so she hadn't really used her magic again. Even if she was itching to use her powers again she was also worried about what could happen if she did, for now she decided to only rely on her mutant powers.

"Ready whenever you guys are" Illyana replied as she summoned a stepping disk on the floor in front of them. As soon as she did Scott, her demon squirrel came running towards her and climbed up Illyana to sit on her shoulder. "Fine," she sighed as she turned her head to look at him, “You can come, just stay close," she told him in demonic script, scratching him a little behind his ear.

LORNA: Lorna gave Alex a small smile as he pulled away from the wall. Reaching out to him, she gave his hand a squeeze. So many things could happen today, but Lorna was ready. There was no way this was going to go wrong. She wouldn't let it. For years they had all tried different ways, more peaceful ways, to get their message across. And all they had gotten in response was violence. Hatred. Fear. She'd been labelled a terrorist, attacked and ambushed. If they had their way, they'd throw her in the Raft. Lorna was tired of it. She could only imagine how her father felt after so many decades.

"Ready," she confirmed, stepping onto the disk beside Illyana. As the demonic... squirrel? leapt up onto Illyana's shoulder, she raised an eyebrow and snorted. That was unexpected. "Alright. Let's go."

Teleportation was something Lorna didn't think she'd ever get used to. Even for the split second it happened, it felt like cutting herself off from the connections she felt around her. But as disconcerting as it was, it was necessary for this. She blinked it away as they materialised at Stark Tower.

First things first: cut the power. They didn't need it right now, and it would hinder humans trying to counter them. Lorna raised her hands, and with a twist of her wrists sent out an electro magnetic pulse. Lights and computers sparked as they cut out, and it certainly drew attention to them as Lorna stepped off Illyana's disk.

"Where's Stark?"

TONY: Tony was a futurist. It was in his genetic makeup, in the very core of his being. Long before he even knew what the word meant, Tony looked out to the horizon, trying to predict what would be on the other side, and always coming up short. With all the IQ points in the world, with all of his degrees and all of his power and prestige and intelligence, Tony still didn’t know exactly what tomorrow would bring, and it fascinated him.

Of course, people were far more predictable than the world at large. Tony knew from the first time he met Erik Lehnsherr that he had a plan in place, that it would come to fruition much sooner than Ross and the Panel imagined. Tony also knew that at least some aspect of said plan would involve him. It was the logical choice. Go for the face of the Accords, send a message.

So he’d put a plan in place, one MJ, Mike, Roy, any and all of his employees knew now like the back of their hand. An evacuation strategy, one that was already set into motion when the lights flickered out and Tony could taste electricity in the air, when the arc reactor sped up in response. In the moments before the group arrived, Tony poured himself some whiskey over ice, slipped on a pair of his own adapted sunglasses, and crossed his legs on his desk, leaning back in his chair.

If he was going to be killed for a cause, he was going to die as he lived.

His cool facade was somewhat upended when he heard the words echo through the building, though. With a sigh, Tony pushed himself up from his desk, following FRIDAY’s instructions down several corridors before he came face to face with the attacker … herself?

Now that was interesting. “Wow,” Tony said, a small smile coming onto his face. “So it is true. I really see the family resemblance.” He turned to the other man — FRIDAY provided the codename Havok, though of course Tony knew that already. “On both counts.”

He took a long sip of his drink, and the smile faded. “Let my people go,” he said, “and I won’t cause any problems. Suit disengaged.” He held up his hand that wasn’t holding the glass, demonstrating the nanotech chip on his wrist flickering blue, then going dull. “I’m sick of being on the wrong side of history — and I’m a little drunk and on a whole boatload of painkillers for this migraine, so whatever you do will probably tickle.”

EMMA: Emma may have been many things but one thing one could always rely on was her desire to help her people. Whether they liked her or not did not bother her. Whether they cared for or wished she would just drop dead was not important. She had not carved her way this far to simply hide in the shadows. To not fight for her people. A change was coming and despite their friction, Emma and Erik agreed on one thing that made their partnership of the Hellfire Club make sense; that mutants would rise and no longer be hindered by the creations of man.

Feeling the others glance at each other, Emma remained stoic if not seemingly unbothered by it all. She was running through different scenarios in her head. She would love to tell them how wrong this could all go. That maybe they wouldn’t all make it but even she hoped that wouldn’t be the case. They were going to get what they deserved in her eyes and Stark Tower? Well, she had to admit, she took a little bit of personal pleasure of it being an Avenger of all people. People celebrated for the very things they were cursed and killed for. At Alex’s words, Emma smirked a little. “Careful darling. You almost sound excited. Not very Summers of you.” She chuckled.

As Illyana opened her portal, Emma stepped through. Well, if you could call it that, Emma walked with a strut. With a purpose. As they appeared in Stark Tower, Emma’s shoulders drew back, and her chin raised in a proud manner. She may not be an actual queen, but she sure carried herself as if she were. “Flawless, Illyana.” Emma commented on the smooth transition of getting them into Stark Tower.

At Tony’s words, Emma looked him up and down before making a sound of disgust under her breath. At his words, Emma stepped forward. “Tony, darling, unlike you homo sapiens who resort to such Neanderthal methods, mutants like to consider ourselves above such primitive actions.” As he mentioned that he had a migraine and their actions would barely tickle him, Emma chuckled. “Then again, I’m certainly not above sinking my manicure into that thing you dare call a mind.” She looked to the others after a brief pause. “Another time perhaps.”

ALEX: The blonde grabbing onto Lorna’s hand that was reaching out for him. He squeezes her palm in return, anything that they do would be done together. Which extends to the rest of their team as well, knowing that communication will be important with what they do going forward. His lips stretches into a smile for a moment, but Alex shifts his gaze to look over at Emma before stepping through the portal. “Very funny.” He chuckles as well, but his expression returning to a more serious one after materializing on the other side in Stark Tower. He knows this could land him back in the Raft again, but Alex doesn’t care because doing this feels right.

His arms are crossed over his chest for the time being, looking around briefly at the surroundings after the power is cut off. Alex brings his focus back so to watch Tony Stark approach them. There‘s a sense of pride in the fact people look at him and can see the resemblance of Scott in him. His older brother raised him more than their own parents did so wearing the Summers name will always make Alex feel proud. He even got rid of his adoptive family’s name when the Mutant was eighteen to wear the one that he was born with again as a way of feeling close to his older brother. “You sound a little speechless there, Stark. You should know what we’re capable of then by knowing our families.” He looks at the others for a moment, exchanging a few glances while managing a grin as his hands are repositioned on his hips.

His voice silent while listening to Emma and the way she responded to the demands for allowing the employees to leave. Alex doesn’t see why not, the Humans working here weren’t needed for what their intentions were in coming to secure the tower. “You won’t cause any problems? How can we be sure that you’ll  stay true to your word if we let them go? Your tech might be turned off right now, but you’ll have to excuse me for being a little cautious.”

ILLYANA: When she was younger she'd had trouble with her mutant powers, either ending up in the wrong place, the wrong date or both, now though she easily teleported all of them to Stark Tower without any problems. "If I didn't know any better I'd say that was a compliment, Emma" the blonde commented dryly before she turned her attention to Tony. Though her attention was soon pulled to the demonic squirrel on her shoulder who had started lightly tugging on her hair. "Not now Scott, I'll get you something to eat soon" she told him, he didn't seem too happy but he settled down on her shoulder, for the moment at least, allowing Illyana to focus on the task at hand.

Tony said he wouldn't cause problems if they let everyone go, which sounded like a fair deal, though like Alex she was also cautious, not sure if he'd keep his word. "It's the building we want right? I say I just teleport them all outside and be done with it" she suggested, she didn't have much in the way of patience.

TONY: The situation was far from ideal, but it also wasn’t the worst case scenario he had planned for. Tony had always been a scorched Earth policy kind of guy. He was used to everyone being the worst version of a person they could be since he was a child. Erik’s people -- mutants -- hadn’t come into his Tower and burned the place to the ground. They hadn’t taken him as a hostage like the Ten Rings did, didn’t use him as a medal to wear around their necks. They’d allowed, for the most part, his employees to leave the building unharmed. All he had to do was negotiate to a level where the others were safe too, and they could take the marble staircases and burn his father’s grand piano and rifle through papers that he’d already sorted through, taking anything that was particularly sensitive to an undisclosed location before this ever went down.

He had a lot to lose. These people, they never had anything. That was the difference. Anything they wanted to do, Tony figured he deserved -- but he couldn’t let his people suffer for what he had done, for the system that he represented.

“You act like you’ve never probed my brain over steak, Emma darling,” Tony replied, but even his cavalier attitude couldn’t stand up against the people standing in front of him, gathered in a line debating internally what to do with him. “You make a fair point,” he said, gesturing to Summers, “and so does the, uh … Witch? Sorceress? Magic girl.” (He wasn’t thinking about magic right now. He did not need something else to add insult to injury.) “Teleport me and my employees outside. You say you don’t know whether you can trust me or not, but do that, and I’ll prove that I’m not working against you.”

Tony couldn’t say he was on their side. He couldn’t say that because he didn’t know what they’d been through. They didn’t want Tony Stark fighting for them. But he wasn’t against them. He would help if he could. “What you’re doing has been a long time coming,” he said, “but you didn’t need me to tell you that. I just … I hope you know that what I’ve done, I did because I wanted transparency. Openness. Accountability. I never wanted these robots in the air -- and if I can, when this settles down, I’d like to help you figure out how to stop it happening again, if you were interested.”

LORNA: Lorna didn't say anything as the people began to evacuate. It was clear that Stark had expected--or at least prepared for--some kind of attack like this. She raised her chin slightly as he seemed to take her in. Her reaction to the comment about family resemblance was not as proud as Alex's. Still, in this context, resembling the fearsome Magneto was not a bad thing. "It is," she confirmed. "And Havok is right. You know what we can do. You don't want to find out what the others can do too."

His 'let my people go' comment got an annoyed eyeroll from her. But she didn't say anything, letting Alex voice the same questions that rose to her mind. She didn't trust Stark. At all. He was the public face of these Accords as much as the politicians who pushed them through. Whatever his intentions, it didn't matter. Lorna had seen the way the Accords had allowed families to be torn apart, and innocent people to be attacked for what they were. Laura Kinney's sister disappeared after being arrested, Sam and his kid--a baby-- had been attacked. And it emboldened hatred. Every. Day.

Once upon a time, Lorna had believed in a dream of unity. Of mutants living peacefully among humans. But she'd grown weary of dreaming. Weary of hurting and hiding. Her father was right. "Magik is right," she said firmly. "We don't need him. And if he makes trouble for us, we'll handle it. We don't need hostages here." Not when the island of Manhattan would be their hostages, assuming Erik's plan went smoothly. "We'll let your people go. And you, Stark."

Lorna raised her eyebrow. "Well, congratulations on figuring out you're on the wrong side," she said wryly. "But I hope you're not looking for forgiveness." He could try somewhere else if he was, but Lorna was not in the mood. His offer made her just shake her head. "Flattering offer. I think we can figure it out."

EMMA: Emma scoffed under her breath. “I probed a lot more than your mind, Tony dear and to be expected from the track record of your life, inadequate at best.” Emma may be many things but she was perhaps one of the few people who could match Tony Stark’s sharp tongue with her own blow for blow. That had to be credited for something right? She left them to interact her gaze slowly drifting to Lorna. She nodded as she spoke. ”The way you are handling this is astounding. I am truly astonished, Miss Dane.” She always thought Erik’s spawn was a liability but Lorna was proving herself to perhaps be the strongest, something even Emma didn’t see coming.

 Emma glanced back to Tony as he spoke about the act. “You need to remember darling, you Avengers may have not chosen the predicaments you are in but you aren’t prosecuted, experimented on and murdered for having them.” Emma told him firmly. She didn’t know how the others felt about her saying it but that was the facts she had seen it with her very eyes. The people she had lost. Naming grey hairs after dead friends and children. “Registering to your accords would mean simply registering for being born.” Emma explained before her facial expression became more icy if that was possible. “You may say you are not against us but don’t ever pretend that you and your people stood with us.”

Emma looked to Lorna and have her a small nod, showing her confidence in what she was saying. She couldn’t ever be more proud. “Pity we can’t keep him. I’d quite like a play thing to clean my boots.” Emma chuckled as if they were all just having a normal conversation. “Until we meet again as we always do, Mr. Stark.”

ALEX: There’s always a level of suspicion when it comes to Humankind claiming to side with his people. His own adoptive parents don’t always know how to support him, so how can Alex expect a complete stranger to act in his best interest? Although maybe it isn’t really to make his future better, but for the next generation and all Mutants. Which is why the blonde wasn’t so quick to believe Tony wouldn’t blast them when their backs are turned. While they could handle such an attack — that isn’t how Alex hoped this would go. He doesn’t think all Humans are bad.

His blue eyes watch as the employees are leaving the building, some running in a hurry as if their time was almost up. Although turns back to the man standing before the four of them. “I agree with them on this.” His hands gesturing to Lorna and Emma. “When have your kind ever done anything to help us while we were being hunted in the streets? When they went after our children?” His mind flashes to Josiah who was just a baby and it makes him so angry, but keeps his composure. He inhales to take a deep breath while letting the others put in their own two cents.

“You and your staff can go. We didn’t come here to take hostages. You won’t get forgiveness from me either though.” His eyes look to Illyana, nodding as if you say that if she wishes to teleport Tony out of the building maybe now was the time. Along with any of the other employees who haven’t gotten out yet.

He feels a sense of pride in how well the four of them are handling this, but was there really any doubt?

ILLYANA: She wasn't really interested in whatever apology or excuses Stark had, it wouldn't change anything and so she mostly ignored him. When Alex told Stark that he and everyone else could leave and nodded at Illyana she went over to stand next to Tony. "I'll be back in a few minutes" she told the others then turned to Tony "try to stay inside the circle if you want to keep all your limbs" with that she conjured a stepping disk under their feet and teleported them away. She went through the entire building until everyone of Tony Stark's employees were teleported outside before returning to Alex, Lorna and Emma. "It's done, we're the only ones left in the building."

For now, at least.

[vertanimeni]

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (9/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake/Grounder OC

Word Count: 5,040

TW: Canon typical violence, virus outbreak/illness, Wells fingers and phantom pain, "Medical Procedure" if you could call it that + Some nasty stuff*, PTSD + Traumatic Memories*

*Note, Nasty part starts with "The morning came and went" and ends with "The ramp of the dropship". Includes vomit and blood. **Note, Traumatic memories is the italicized part starting with "A mountain road" to "bows and arrows in hand" if you want to skip that.

I’ll be leaving a summary at the bottom just in case anyone wants to skip.

A/N: Hello friends!! This chapter... is a lot. Sorry it took so long, finals week was pretty rough and I didn’t have time to edit it until recently. I’m yeeting Kova back at y’all. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. As of right now, I will be updating every Friday at 4pm EST. Enjoy, and please read the trigger warnings! It’s a heavy chapter.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

⟻ Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ⟼

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ix. impotent (or not).

When the curtained entrance of the dropship fluttered, a wave of much needed fresh air entered and spread throughout the three levels. Unfortunately, this also meant the delinquents camping near the dropship would get hit with a wave of pained groans and the murky scent of old blood. Under Clarke’s orders, those delinquents had to move their tents away, and no one was allowed to enter the dropship, with very few exceptions.

Wells was one of these few exceptions, and he wished he wasn’t, as much as he hated the thought.

He could barely hear himself think, let alone have some (desperately needed) alone time. With every delinquent he attended to, two more would try to kick the bucket, and some of them had even refused his help. It was needless to say why, given his status within the group, but that didn’t stop the shock and irritation gathering at the pit of his stomach.

And it was barely dawn — much too early for this bullshit. At some point, he snapped when a group of delinquents at Death’s door rejected his help, complaining of the pain and mocking him in the same breath. “Listen,” Wells had grit out, hands clenching into fists, “either you let me take care of you all, or I’ll let Kova and Murphy deal with it.”

The way the group looked like they had bit into a particularly sour lemon gave Wells a satisfaction he hadn’t known was possible.

Oh yes, Kova (and surprisingly Murphy) had offered their services to help Clarke with the sick. Last time Wells saw Kova, they had changed into old, worn out clothes and their long dreads had been pulled back in a low bun, all done as if they had had experience with handling the sick. Most delinquents had only allowed Kova’s help when they were told the only other option would be Murphy.

Needless to say, the group fell quiet after that.

Wells was already stressed out to the max, even with three people working by his side. Wells and Murphy took care of those who had started improving while Kova and Clarke would take care of the sick at at death’s door.

Every once in a while someone would switch over when somebody needed a break, but Clarke wouldn’t allow Murphy and Kova to work together, not after their fifth argument before the sun could even peak over the horizon. He had no idea how Clarke had originally planned on helping the infected all by herself, and frankly, he didn’t think he would be able to handle her answer.

“Wells!”

Speaking of. “Yeah?”

“Could you leave a bowl of water by Eva? Don’t worry about finding a cloth, Kova’s on that.”

“Yup!”

He grabbed an unused bowl and reached into the water bucket, only to find it empty. He picked it up and made his way to the front of the dropship. Wells couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Something told him it wasn’t Kova - they had a habit of bringing in a new bucket once the old bucket was only 1/4th full. ‘I already reminded Murphy to replace it before.’

At the front of the dropship, the water crew were kind enough to leave them a row of filled buckets, replaced every half hour. Thoughts preoccupied, he picked up a heavy bucket with his injured hand, curling non-existent digits around the handle. Pain shot up his nerves and the bucket tumbled out of his grip. He recoiled, waiting for the clatter of metal against metal—

“Careful.”

He didn’t realized he had clenched his eyes tight until he heard the familiar voice. He forced his eyes open, only to see the top of a boot holding up the handle of the bucket. Kova stood before him, balancing on one foot, a bundle of clean(ish) rags in their hands. Slowly, they brought up one of their legs and took the bucket with their free hand.

“You strained your fingers.” They pointed out with a jut of their head.

Still in a state of shock from the sudden pain, he looked down at the bandages, now blotted with blood at the stump, and a meek “Oh” left his lips.

Before he could say anything else, Kova put aside the bucket and the bundle of cloths and took his head in theirs. The pain had dulled down to a throbbing ache, but still, he flinched, urging his body to not move away as much as he desperately wanted to, but he was surprised to find that their fingers were gentle despite calloused, nimble, and most importantly, confident. “You seem like you know what you’re doing.” He commented.

“Not my first time handling amputations.” A far-off look glazed over their eyes, one that Wells had seen a few times already when Kova thought of home (or, at least, that’s what he thought). “It feels like your fingers are still there, right? You try to curl them, but it only hurts?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve seen patients who lost appendages at the joint during my internship years.” The corners of Kova’s lips upturned, not enough for a smile, not a grimace either. “When they try to curl with a prosthetic, the nerves flare up in the only way they can — through pain.” 

Now, that was a lot to unpack. Wells could only manage to say, “Sorry, you—? Patients?”

“Mn.” They dropped his hands. “I used to work in prosthetic handling before all this. Find Clarke and ask her to check if the stitching popped.”

“Sure, after I do this real quick.” Wells reached for the bucket—

The placed their arm across the bucket. “I got it. You deal with that first.”

For the first time in a while, anger sparked in his stomach. “I’m not fragile—”

“I never said you were. Unless you have a death wish, you shouldn’t be helping a bunch of sick people with an open wound.”

Ah. That… That’s fair. Wells glanced between Kova and the bucket. They weren’t planning on relenting any time soon. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll find Clarke real quick, but…” He hesitated, “do you mind if I… I just have a few questions—”

“Find me afterwards.” They nodded. “I can try my best to answer.”

He had never looked for Clarke faster.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was only when the sick would cough up less blood, the dropship would grow quieter and quieter, and the crease between Clarke’s eyebrows would start to relax, did Wells get a chance to ask Kova quesions. Although truthfully, when he plopped down next to them around the corner of the Ark during their break, drinking boiled water, all he could think about was how Clarke handled his wounds with such care, the gentleness of her fingers as she unwrapped his bandages, that one stubborn baby hair curling just above her eyebrow, the worry lining around her eyes—

“—Wells.”

He startled out of his thoughts. Blood rushed to his cheeks when he realized Kova had been trying to catch his attention for the better part of the past few minutes. “Ah— Yeah, sorry. I, uh,” He motioned to his hand, hopefully directing attention from his burning cheeks. Kova’s look told him otherwise, but thankfully they obliged and looked away. “I’ve come to terms with it. But. Well. How much do you know about our home in space, the Ark?”

“Octavia explained somewhat at the bridge.”

“To put it simply, the rules there were very strict."

"Death for any crime, even for having a second child.”

Ah. Truthfully, after the initial reveal of the girl under the floor, Wells hadn’t put in a lot of thought about the second child. He was quite young when it happened, and by the time he grew up, he had other things to worry about, like the state of the Ark, his father’s expectations, Clarke, and her family, especially after her father died and she was sent to the Sky Box. To him, the Blakes were just another family torn apart for breaking the rules, just like the Griffins.

But down here, he had to face the consequences of such thinking. Down here, he became eye to eye with the remnants of said broken families. At first, it was difficult to unlearn what his father had taught him, to unlearn that exceptions were not allowed. There was a difference between a 16 year old boy who murdered for fun and an 8 year old girl who stole extra food after her parents had been floated. And now, to explain and try to justify the rules of the Ark, he wondered how he couldn’t see that before.

Regardless, there he was, nursing his boiled water, explaining how his father, the Chancellor, enforced the rules, and how most people wanted revenge by taking vengeance out on him. Not once did Kova give him a pitying or judgmental look (’or, maybe they hid it well,’ his mind unhelpfully supplied.)

“Then, there was this little girl named Charlotte, who watched her parents get floated. She uh…” His hand went up to where the scar on his neck was, laid out for all to see, and his voice wavered. “She tried to kill me. She only nicked me. I tried to stop her, but she swung the knife around and cut my fingers off. I passed out, and she left me there because she thought she killed me.

“I was knocked out for a day and a half from blood loss, shock, and an infection, but they couldn't tell my father I was still alive because they had already lost contact with the Ark. The problem is before all of this happened, Murphy threatened me for the same reason — my father — and Charlotte had used Murphy’s knife. When the camp found the knife, they accused him and tried to punish him in the same way.”

“By trying to kill him?”

He nodded again. “They tried to hang Murphy, but I guess the guilt got to her — she confessed during the hanging. He practically hunted her down and by the end of the day, she killed herself by jumping off a cliff. The group banished Murphy afterwards.”

“And now he’s back.”

“And now he’s back.” He repeated with a heavy sigh. “With a flu.”

The two stared off into the distance, falling quiet. “The son shall not bear the sins of the father,” Kova quoted, turning to him, “but the son should acknowledge his father’s mistakes. This,” they gestured behind them, to the dropship, “is not your fault. You and your father just so happened to be connected to it.”

“Is it not the same?”

“No, They’re different.” But, if he had asked them three years ago, they would have said the opposite. This was no longer a few years ago.

The sound of the camp rising and getting to work filled the silence that fell between them, until Kova said, “The pain you feel in your fingers — it’s called phantom pain.”

The fact that there was a name for his condition shouldn’t have made the pain lessen, shouldn’t have made Wells relax a little easily, but it did. A name. It wasn’t just him. “Oh.” He managed to murmur, cradling his hand with the other, gently pressing it against his chest. “Oh.”

Back into silence. He was grateful Kova let him settle with the new information for a moment, but he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you a doctor?”

They couldn’t help but snort. “Not a doctor. Just a prosthetist. I help shape and attach prosthetics to the amputated part. If you want, I can try and find some spare finger prosthetics and fit them for you myself—”

“Why?”

Kova paused. “Why what?”

“I… I don’t mean to sound rude, but why? Why would you do that?”

“…hmm.” How could they possibly explain that their once hateful view of the invaders— no, sky people — changed? That he and the others remind him of the children and teens at their village? Instead, they answered with, “Octavia told me that, besides her, you were the first one who stood up for my brother when Bellamy and Clarke tortured him. I will forever be grateful for that. And…”

“…and?”

“…You remind me of someone.” They left it at that, patting his shoulder and standing up. “C’mon, let’s go back and help your friends.”

Wells stared at them, and for a moment Kova worried he would press for more answered, but in the end all he did was nod, a smile on his face.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning came and went. By the time Wells could take a break, four delinquents had died and Murphy and Kova only got into two arguments. Technically, it wasn’t even a break. He sat outside the dropship on the ramp, eating his rations while updating the other delinquents how the sick were doing. So far, everything had calmed down—

“Make way! We got an infected kid here!”

Wells stood too quickly and his knees cracked. He recognized that voice.

Shocked gasps came from the group of delinquents. They parted, allowing Raven and Fox to pass through, carrying a feverish looking child between them. “Wells! Emmie’s sick, we need help!” Raven called out.

Wells wouldn’t have hesitate to carry Emmie himself if it weren’t for his newly bandages hand. With the warnings from both Clarke and Kova in the back of his mind, he didn’t want to risk hurting Emmie or opening his wounds again, so as soon as he heard Raven, he stuck his head through the curtain and called for Kova.

Fox already had skin as pale as river rocks from the nearby stream and was just as anxious as the disturbed tadpoles by its shore, but she blanched further and her hands trembled at the call of the grounder’s name. Said grounder emerged from the curtains, eyebrows creased in worry, but Fox gripped Emmie’s legs ever so slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raven whirl her head sharply to give her the most angriest look Fox had ever seen on her, as if Raven knew exactly what Fox had been thinking. She couldn’t help but flinch as Raven opened her mouth—

“You can trust them.” A voice interrupted from the side. Fox turned to the crowd around them. She saw Finn jut his head towards the grounder. “Kova has been helping Clarke and the others all night and morning. They know what they’re doing.”

Seemingly composed, Kova wordlessly dipped their head in gratitude, but Fox noticed the uncertain tremble in their hands. Finn acknowledged it with his own nod.

Wells placed a comforting hand on her arm (when did he get so close?) and Fox looked down at the young girl she had been taking care of since they landed. Her breaths came short and rapid, her forehead beading with sweat and creased with a pained frown.

Without realizing, Fox nodded. Her arms, shaking with Emmie’s weight, relaxed as she and Raven passed the girl to Kova’s arms. With one arm across her back and the other holding up her legs, Kova hoisted Emmie on their hip and sped back to the dropship, calling out “Wells, let’s go!” over their shoulder.

But with the sudden change in position, a wave of nausea and dizziness hit Emmie quite suddenly. Her body tensed and saliva built up in her mouth and throat—

Years of training couldn’t stop the falter in their step, the disgusted shiver running up their spine, nor the goosebumps scattering across their arms as Emmie promptly vomited streaks of bile and blood over Kova’s shoulder, some of it catching on their clothes.

Well, not really their clothes, thankfully. But still.

Wells ran into the dropship first. The group of delinquents gasped and gagged, even as the two made their way inside.

At first, Kova thought the wet spot on their shoulder was vomit and had pointedly ignored it. Until Emmie started trembling, her forehead against their shoulder, and the wet spot grew bigger with every audible sniff.

“It’s alright, I got you.” They soothingly rubbed her back. “I’m here.”

“Kova, I’m sorry.”

“Here!” Wells suddenly called out.

“Coming! What are you apologizing for?”

“Vomiting on you.” Her voice cracked with another sob.

“No need. That’s not something you need to apologize for, but if it helps, I forgive you.”

Emmie nodded against their shoulder and Kova gently placed her on the makeshift bed. “I’m scared.” Another sniff, another whimper, and her arms wrapped around herself across her middle. “My stomach hurts.”

Their hands clenched into fists, but Kova kept them out of sight. There was nothing worse than seeing someone else in pain and not being able to do anything about it. Before they could speak, Wells stood and said, “It’s alright, we’ll take care of you. I’ll get water.”

Kova watched him leave until they felt a small hand on their knee.

“How come you’re not wearing the mask today?” Emmie’s question came with a shortening of breath and a weak smile that faltered with every wave of pain.

Ah. That’s why they felt lighter together. “I left it at my tent. Why, is it strange to see my face? Am I scary? Should I go get it?” They couldn’t help but tease, wiggling their eyebrows ever so slightly.

With every question, Emmie’s grin grew wider and wider and she shook her head vigorously. But one wrong move and her body tensed, her smile became a grimace, and her hands fisted her shirt across her middle, sweaty and clammy.

Wells came back and sent Kova a look, but they didn’t let even a hint of panic show on their face, and instead calmly asked, “Emmie, could you take a deep breath for me?”

She tried, but her chest hitched after a certain point. She winced and shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

“I see. You’re probably just sore from vomiting. Would you like for me to put your hair up?” They pushed back a curl making its way towards her eye. “So it’s out of your face?”

“Could you put it in a bun?”

“Mn. Wells, could you get a hair tie from Clarke?” Wells nodded, but before he could stand up, Kova caught his sleeve and whispered, “She has a hemothorax. Get Clarke. Bring a needle.”

Not wanting to alert Emmie, he nodded and left as fast as he could. Meanwhile, Kova kept her occupied and dipped a rag into the bowl Wells brought. “I see you’ve learnt my name. I will admit, I will miss being called ‘pretty stranger.’”

Emmie gave them a weak smile. “Fox told me after I bumped into you.”

“Ah. The girl outside? The one holding you?”

“The one with straight hair is Fox, but the one with the ponytail is Raven.”

Raven… Kova felt they had seen her before when it hit them — the meeting at the bridge. She was one of the gunners. “I see.” They dabbed at her forehead with the damp rag. “Are you close with both of them?”

“Yeah! Fox hangs out with the kids around here, mostly to keep us out of trouble, but before we landed I never really talked to her, but I knew she existed.”

If Kova hadn’t known much about the Ark, they would have been confused, but it made sense — of course Emmie would at the very least know of Fox’s existence, since the Ark was a closed and tight population, but that didn’t mean they really knew each other. “Right, right.”

“Same thing with Raven, but I think she’s, uh, an… en… engineer?”

“Raven’s a mechanic.” Came a voice from behind. “Don’t let her hear you call her an engineer, or she’ll get really upset.” Clarke dragged the word out playfully before she dropped to her knees besides Kova. Wells came up behind the two and passed Kova a hair tie before going to check on the other patients. “I heard you’re not feeling good, is that right?”

Emmie nodded, her head lolling loosely. “My chest was hurting, but now my back hurts too.”

“I see. Do you think you can roll on your side for us?”

She nodded once more, and with the help of Clarke and Kova, she rolled onto her left side. She coughed once, twice, then after the third time each cough came out deep and rattled. Kova sent Clarke a questioning look.

“It’s pretty common, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Clarke assured them—

—Blood splattered across the blanket, the floor, and specks landed on Kova’s knees. A scared whimper, more blood, and Emmie’s breathing came in quick and shallow—

“Lay her down on her back!” Clarke ordered.

Kova did so, and when Clarke took out the needle from behind her back, they blocked Emmie’s view of it.

“Kova—”

“I’m here.”

“It hurts!”

“I know, I know,” They gathered her hair into a bun, using the sweat beading at her forehead to keep strays away from her face. “It will get better, I’m here. Give it time.”

Kova only realized that no, it wouldn’t get better with time, when Clarke said, “It’s not working.”

They leaned back and tapped Well’s leg, silently grateful he was still close by, and motioned for him to keep Emmie occupied. As soon as her hazy attention switched from them to Wells, Kova moved next to Clarke. “What’s not working?”

She stuck the needle at a different angle and pulled the plunger back. “Her blood pressure is too low, I don’t think she’s eaten or drank anything today, and the blood isn’t coming out—!” 

With a pop!, the plunger came off of the syringe.

What… What kind of luck?

Alerted by the sound, Wells looked back, only to turn back to Emmie with the most neutral face he could possibly manage. Clarke and Kova stared at the plunger, hanging uselessly from the former’s fingertips.

As quietly as possible, Kova gritted out, “Get another one.”

“That was the last one. Bellamy sent out a team to get more from the bunker, but I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Those are over 200 years old—” Kova cut themselves off with a deep breath, closing their eyes. When they opened up again, both Clarke and Wells were sweating with anxiety. “Alright. Fine.” They pulled out the syringe and twisted the barrel off, leaving just the needle and its hilt. They turned to Clarke. “Get me two buckets — one empty, one with water — and a cup.”

“What are you—”

They stuck the needle in, just slightly lower than where it had been last time. Emmie flinched, and Kova patted her arm with an apologetic smile. Then they leaned forward—

With a sharp intake of breath, Clarke stumbled onto their feet and ran off. Alerted by the clatter, Wells glanced back only to turn and give his full attention to Emmie with a conversation on food, discreetly scooting closer to block her from the view.

Kova’s ears perked up at the sound of one heavy and one light clank in front of them, and one softer clank closer to their face. They reached for the empty bucket and spat out blood before returning to the hilt of the needle.

They repeated this until halfway through the fourth suck, Kova suddenly flinched. But before Clarke could react, they pulled the bucket underneath and spat out the last of the blood in their mouth while blood flowed freely from the needle. Emmie’s breathing, albeit shaky, deepened, and her eyes fluttered closed. Clarke checked her vitals with two fingers on her wrist and nodded. “She’s alright.”

A cup filled with water entered their vision. Kova took it with a thanks and swished it in their mouth before spitting it into the bucket of blood. Wells wordlessly took the cup, filled it with water, and passed it back. The two repeated this for a while until the tang of stale metal lessened. After Kova spat out their last swish, they said, “The blood.”

“What?”

“It tastes old.” Kova paused and looked between the two. “We will have to check on the others for early signs of hemothoraces, too.”

“Ah. Right,” Clarke nodded weakly, “of course. Here.” She offered a napkin, but Kova shook their head and gently pushed her hand back.

“Save it for her and the others.” They wiped their mouth with the end of their sleeve, smearing blood across their cheek. “I will…” They looked down at their dirtied clothes. “Go to my tent. And wash up.” They paused. “Will you two—”

“Please go. Take your time.”

“We’ll watch her.”

“…mn. Thanks.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  

The ramp of the dropship creaked as Kova made their way down, but instead of heading to their tent, they turned and walked around the corner of the dropship. As soon as they were out of sight from the rest of the camp, they braced themselves against the wall with a forearm and dry heaved. They gasped for breath—

A mountain road. Hundreds of dead bodies at its feet. The ends of a long jacket fluttered against their calves, cut apart with a rough knife, leaving threads to hang loosely. Fabric covered the lower half of their face. The pungent tang of blood coating their tongue. Throat so sore they just want to stick their fingers down inside and scratch—

They stumbled up the steep road alongside their fellow warriors (ones they had sent on a death mission—) Dehydrated, exhausted, bleeding out. It was a wonder how they got so far up before they finally collapsed. They can't move. Any fight they might have had disperses when their body finally— finally —slumped against the cold ground. They close their eyes. They rest. And they wait.

“Duck!”

Their eyes snap open at the sounds of bodies dropping around them. Kova found themselves face to face with one of their warriors, a young one at that, staring at them with wide eyes, body seizing as if trying to reject, trying to fight the two arrows stuck in their neck, and far too suddenly to be natural, the warrior stilled, but not before coughing out a last burst of blood, specking across Kova’s face. They flinched.

A thunder of footsteps tremble the mountain against their ear. Kova looked down, still at dirt level, only to see Azgeda’s army sprinting up the road, bows and arrows in hand—

“—Kova? You okay? Did something happen?”

Someone’s hand lightly grasped their shoulder, and even though being touched was the last thing they wanted, the warmth seeping through their shoulder grounded them, pulled them back from where they were spiraling towards. Instead of leaning against the wall, they found themselves sitting against it. They let out a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Yeah. I’m alright.” They turned to the voice—

Ah. The girl from before. Raven. Kova couldn’t control their shocked look, and Raven’s eyebrows creased in concern. “I saw you run back here. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” The last thing they wanted to talk about was on their mind—

“You don’t look it.”

They looked down at their trembling, clammy hands. She had a point. They let out a resigned sigh. “Children.”

“What?”

“You have children here.”

“…yeah. We have more on the Ark.”

“The people down here are prisoners. They committed crimes. How do children commit crimes?” Raven fell silent. Kova continued. “Not just that, but Trikru knows.”

“Your clan? What do they know?”

“That you have children here.” They looked around the dense forest around. Now that they thought about it, they hadn’t seen any scout activities, nor did they hear about any grounders running around from the sky people. Did they leave already? “Trikru knew. But they still sent Murphy here with this disease. That breaks the Coalition Conventions.”

Raven was still silent, as if she were waiting for Kova to get all their thoughts out.

“Disgusting.” They spat to the side, far away on the poor grass. “I never would have expected them to go this far. They claim they want vengeance for the lives lost by the invaders, but how can they take vengeance knowing there are innocent children? Non-combatants? None of you all know what you’re doing, you had no idea there were people living here.” They took a deep breath. “Your people aren’t right, but neither are mine.” They couldn’t help but let out a loud, bitter laugh. Raven eyed them, as if watching someone break their sanity. “And somehow, you all had the luck to land here during a time of political unrest and the instability of the Coalition.

They hadn’t meant to spiral into a rant, but they were tired. They just didn’t realize how much until they planned the bridge scenario with Lincoln that one fateful day, and now? Now, here they are.

They snapped their head up, Raven watching them with wide eyes and a parted mouth. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, you’re good. I just—” Raven let out a light laugh, shoulders slumping with relief, as if Kova’s rant took off a heavy burden. “I wasn’t expecting that. Nice to know there’s someone on our side.” She lightly bumped her shoulder against theirs.

“Like I said, you all aren’t in the right, either. But,” They sent her a small reassuring smile, dipping their head slightly, and said, “neither is Trikru. And I’m not the only one thinking that.”

“Mmh, I sure hope so. Is…” Raven paused, glancing to the dropship. “Is Emmie okay?”

“Yeah. She had an issue with her lungs. But she was getting better, last time I saw her.”

“Good, good. Well, you definitely have my full support now.” She sent them a grin.

“Mn.” The corners of their mouth upticked. “You thought I was trying to sneak back to Trikru, didn’t you.”

Her eyes widened and she sputtered, her cheeks darkening slightly. “No! I mean. Well— Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“I think that was the first time I’ve ever seen proper security around here. Don’t apologize. Trust your gut.” They would have done the same if the situation were reversed, after all. “I’m glad you did. Want to come check on Emmie with me?”

“God, yes please. Fox has been going crazy in her tent.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

⟻ Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ⟼

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A summary of TW notes for those who didn't want to read:

1) Illness - Same illness as before, the virus Murphy spread. More people are sick.

2) Wells' fingers - He tried to pick up a bucket with the wrong hand and ended up with phantom pain, something he didn't know was a real thing until Kova talked to him about it.

3) Medical Procedure + Nasty Stuff - Emmie gets sick with the virus and vomits. She also has a hemothorax, so Kova uses an unconventional way to drain the blood build up in her chest. I'm not a medical expert and wouldn't recommend doing it that way, but I've seen this done in my home village in Ecuador where there aren't many good/non-corrupted doctors. And it’s gross lol.

4) PTSD + Traumatic Memories - After #3, Kova recalls a traumatic memory from Mount Caocin that implies that they a) had to deal with this virus multiple times before, b) had done the unconventional way to drain the blood before, and c) had vaguely suicidal thoughts during their Mount Caocin era.