#oh how I dread visiting the violence district..

[himemeika]

Dreaming's all fun and games until you start seeing the Grey Man

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // epilogue

summary: a few years later...

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n:

here it is :) the epilogue :)

(i'm crying, could you tell??) i figured it was time to post this now that we've officially entered the overlapping requiem/michigan cherry era. tbh i was just afraid to let these two go bc i love them so much.

thank you all again SO so much for all the love on this fic. it has truly meant everything to me that so many people came on this actual JOURNEY with me, i never intended this to be so long but here we are.

anyway, stick around for requiem!! and i hope you loved this if you made it this far!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

You were all dressed up in one of your finest gowns, attending the gala that preceded the presidential election.

Coriolanus was running, of course, and you were so incredibly proud. He's worked toward this for years, and you had been there every step of the way since the tenth annual Hunger Games, all those years ago. It felt like a distant memory- albeit one that still haunted you regularly.

You were a whole new person. A Capitol citizen most of the year, and you were happy most of the time. You and Coryo had always gone home in the summers, though, to spend your days surrounded by friends and family under the District Twelve sun. You always looked forward to it, but three months never felt like quite enough time. You missed your old life, but that's all it could be now.

While some Capitol elite was talking your ear off about the upcoming games, that's all you can think about. Well, how after the election that your boyfriend would most certainly win, those summers of peace would be a thing of the past. It was hard to think about, which is why you focussed on how you could work around it. Perhaps you would make smaller visits throughout the year- although Coryo was prepping you for the endless tasks that would even be put onto you as the First Lady of Panem. Once he wins the election, he would propose- and it would be followed by the wedding of the century. You didn't know if you dreaded it or if the pressure of it all just scared you beyond what excitement could repair.

"Miss Y/L/N?" Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted and you hum in response, bringing the champagne glass to your lips, acting like you were paying attention the whole time.

"Yes?" You respond as you lower your glass. "My apologies, I just spaced out for a moment there. It's a big day, after all..." You chuckle to recover, tilting your head slightly at them.

"I was just asking if you had any input in the arena for the next Games, if you could give us any hints." The man asks, seemingly impatient with you getting distracted.

"Oh," You reply, smile fading softly. "No, I- I really try to stay out of all of that." You laugh nervously, gripping tighter onto the glass as you take another sip, relieved when you feel someone's hand on your arm.

"Y/N, come sit. Coriolanus's speech is about to start, he got me to save you a seat at my table." Sejanus says, linking his arm with yours.

You politely excuse yourself from the conversation and allow him to pull you away. "Many thanks." You whisper to him, chuckling slightly as you glance back over your shoulder at the older man you were speaking to. "Some people are so tone-deaf, aren't they?"

"Most definitely." He sighs, shaking his head as he guides you toward his table at the front of the banquet hall, close to the stage. "Apparently that will never change."

Sejanus Plinth was your saving grace all these years, that, however, had never changed. You didn't see him as much anymore, with you being locked up in your office in the Snow penthouse focused on writing book after book until you were burnt out. His role as a doctor in and out of the Districts certainly didn't help either, but you knew he was partial to working back home in Twelve so he could spend more time with Lucy Gray. You were glad he was much more fulfilled in his adult life than you were; you always knew he would do well and you were proud. You had to take moments every so often to remind yourself that when you first met him and Coryo, you had been sad that you wouldn't get to see the men they would become but you had wondered. Now, you had your answers.

"Is that not the truth." You scoff under your breath, smiling and giving a quick wave to a few familiar faces as you pass. You had become somewhat of a people-pleasing expert, the same way Coriolanus had.

You sit down at the table at the front of the room just as the lights slightly dim, and the spotlight hits the stage. You gently cross one leg over the other, careful not to wrinkle your dress and clap in just the perfect polite way you had learned how to over the years, smiling as you see Coryo walk up onto the stage.

He waves, and people whistle and clap, and the smile on his face seems a little more genuine than it normally is during these speeches. Of course, though, this is his final address before he no doubt gets voted in as president, and you know that he is excited.

"Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out tonight..." He says, in a subtle cue to get people to quiet down so he could speak, a drink still in his hand that he delicately hovers above the podium next to him. "This has been such an incredible opportunity for both of us running, and I must say, it's been fun." He tips the glass toward the other table at the front, and your eyes follow the movement to the other candidate, your friend and former classmate, Hilarius Heavensbee. They've never gotten along, and you know Hilarius wants nothing to do with this job. Not really. It makes you sad, a little bit, that his family would push him this far when he had confided in you in his freshman year that it wasn't what he wanted.

The man just gives Coryo a polite but nervous smile, taking another sip out of his own champagne glass. From where you were, you could see his hand trembling. You knew he would have to go next, and Coriolanus Snow was always a tough act to follow.

"Now, I am very happy about this turnout, because I have two important announcements to make." He continues, and whispers fill the room. You look over at Sejanus, a slight look of shock on your face. You didn't know he had anything special to announce, and he always kept you in the loop on everything. Sejanus just shrugs, looking back up at Coryo again. It must not actually be a big deal- it was probably just thanking some more people who have donated to his campaign.

"Firstly," He clears his throat, taking a step to the side as the screen behind him lights up. "For just a moment, see me as your head game maker and forget all about me running for president. Or don't, actually, maybe keep that in mind, but at the back of your mind." He chuckles, the little joke making the audience laugh. He was much more personable now than he once was, you smile a little as you remember helping him write his earlier speeches in a way that would make him more likable. "With the help of my fellow candidate and personal good friend, we are trying something new when it comes to The Hunger Games."

When he speaks, your heart drops and you sit up a little straighter- feeling all eyes on you as you just focus on him. For the first time, he looks down at you and gives you a small smile, the slightest nod in an effort to reassure you that it wasn't as scary as it sounded. You swallow and just keep your smile on as best as you can, ignoring all the stares.

"So, we all love The Games. They're exciting, the stakes are high, and I know every year we all pick our favourite tributes to root for and it's hard to watch them fall but, god, do I know better than anyone how good it feels when they win." Your cheeks burn intensely as Coryo sends a smile and a wink your way, and the screen behind him flashes to a picture of the two of you, taken after your shared university graduation just a couple of years ago. You were both smiling, but he was looking at you as he held you tight around your waist, and you looked into the camera and held up a three-finger salute. People are laughing and awe-ing at the photo of the two of you, and you laugh nervously, looking over at Sejanus with slightly panicked eyes.

You would be absolutely fine with this if he had just run it by you before, and you knew that whether you liked it or not, the Games were an integral part of who you were now, and always would be- but you certainly didn't want your name on anything to do with these new changes they're making. But, he wouldn't be talking about you at all if he knew you would hate it. You had to remind yourself of that.

"So, you all know my beautiful Y/N, of course, we're all big fans of hers here," Coryo says, gesturing to where you were sitting and you let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head at him in a way that would appear teasing to everyone else while he waits for everyone to finish clapping for you. "Don't get embarrassed already, darling, I've got a bit more to say about you so just sit tight, okay? Nothing bad, I promise." He says to you, looking into your eyes even as he stands up on the stage, everyone's laughter echoing in the background.

"So, I have known Y/N and her outstanding mind for years now. The Games are what brought us together when we were both just kids, but you all already know that story so I'll spare you the details. The bottom line is, I am so proud of the woman she has become. She's written two books that will soon become three, she graduated in the top three percent of our class with only a District education to build on, and she is the single most well-spoken, well-mannered, beautiful, and caring woman I have ever met. Truly, she has changed my entire outlook on life." He says, talking more so to the audience than to you, knowing that you're so embarrassed by this. And he would be correct. "It has truly been a privilege to know her, and to love her."

"But that was a long journey for us both, and a seemingly endless uphill battle for her recovery, despite her strength. The Games can be scary, let's be totally honest. It's life or death, and winning will change you, but Y/N came out the other side and wanted to make a difference for her family and that inspired me. And she continues to inspire me every day." Coryo says, pausing to take a sip of his champagne again. "So, all of this is to say, I'd like to thank her for all her support through my education, this campaign, and through the life we're building together. She inspired this idea in me and with the help of my fellow game makers as well as the Plinth family..." You look over at Sejanus as he continues, suddenly realizing he must have known about what was happening. He keeps a small smile on his lips as he watches, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"This," Coryo says, turning to look up at the screen while a picture comes up of a small cul-de-sac of beautiful homes. "Is just the beginning of the Victor's Rehabilitation Initiative."

You tilt your head, a shocked and confused smile on your face as you take in the photo and try to decipher what he's talking about.

"So, recently, Y/N has been more open with everyone about the struggles that came with being crowned a victor in our Games. Yes, they get to walk away with their lives, but what if winning meant something more? What if it meant security for them and their families, so they're not returning to their Districts with no sense of what to do next? That, everyone, is what this program is for. To help the strongest of them find a purpose again, and to encourage the bravest of Panem's children to get back on their feet after such an impressive feat as winning the Games."

You have to very consciously force your jaw to stay shut when you realize what he is saying, clapping along with everyone else while your smile relaxes into something more genuine. You knew that he wanted to abolish the Games altogether, and you knew that no matter who won the election, they wouldn't proceed for much longer. This was the first step in that direction, and you were flooded with emotions. Pride, excitement, relief.

"For ten years, until the beginning of the mentorship program, our victors were cast aside. Never to be heard from again after their win, I, for one, became curious as to what happened to them after the Games as soon as I met Y/N, and I have heard that question from many of you as well since we were all given the pleasure of getting to know her." Coryo's smile is one of pride and excitement, sparing a glance at you as he allows the audience to have their responses. So far, all seemingly positive despite the present undertones of him caring about the people in the Districts. He was a smooth talker, he knew exactly how to command a space and get people to believe what he wanted. And he was using it for good. "I mean, how many other victors have something extraordinary, just like her, that won't be utilized or nurtured? We never knew."

"From now on," He continues, the crowd quieting down. "Our victors will be given homes in what we've decided to call Victor's Villages in each of the Twelve Districts. They'll have ensured security for themselves and their families, and a generous sum of prize money to help them with whatever they need. Whether that's medical attention, both physical and emotional, or, if they so choose, when they reach the appropriate age, they could apply at our university to further their education. Though, between you and I, admittance is not guaranteed." He winks at the end and it's accompanied by laughter, which you try and go along with, but you're too close to tears to even process fully what was going on. This was a huge step in the right direction, even if like he said, acceptance was not guaranteed. "What I mean, is that it will be up to them. They can live their lives to the fullest, just like our gem, Y/N."

He looks at you again, and you can really only see his blurry form through your tears until someone is handing you a handkerchief to dry your eyes while people clap and cheer over the idea.

This was something you couldn't have imagined years ago. This was everything you've wanted since the Games- to make a difference, for people to care. And it was happening right before your eyes. Thanks to him. Thanks to you.

"And with that," Coryo says after a few moments, waiting for the crowd to quiet down after taking in your reaction. "We can move on to my second announcement, which is my formal withdrawal from the presidential campaign."

Gasps fill the room and your smile disappears, a hand coming up to your mouth as you look up at him, shocked and confused with the announcement that blindsided even you.

"Are you happy here?" You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the evening as you walk from your parent's house back to your own in the Victor's Village.

"I couldn't be happier." Coryo replies through a soft sigh, swinging your hand gently as it's clasped between you.

"Are you sure?" You say again, feeling a little uncertain despite weeks of his endless reassurance that this was, in fact, what he wanted.

To him, this scenario was perfect. He could keep his job as head gamemaker, planning to only return to the Capitol for a few months or so every year for the Games. He knew that wouldn't last much longer, though, not with Hilarius Heavensbee in office. Coryo gives it a few years and a few major "accidental" mistakes on his part for the viewership of the annual event to die out and open the door for the president to call them off, just like he had always wanted to.

And every day Coryo would wake up to see you in your happy place, the only place you'd ever felt truly at home. He was more than happy to give it all up for the greatest sake of seeing you smile.

"Of course." He smiles, never growing tired of telling you the same thing over and over again if it meant he could ease your mind.

The moonlight bounces off his in a way that makes you think it could be glowing if you didn't know any better.

"I told you that I would be. Years ago. You remember?"

"Of course I remember."

He lets out a breathy laugh at your reply, shaking his head. "That was a foolish question. I don't think you've ever forgotten a single word anyone has ever spoken to you."

"Sure I have." You say, tilting your head as you look up at him, trying to catch the same moonlight reflect in the blue of his eyes as you walk down the path. "I just don't forget... the important bits."

"I will try my best to take care of you while you're here."

"My honest, best advice? Figure out a way to escape."

"I can't have killed them all for nothing."

"You are not a beast."

"Please, don't walk away again."

"I survived because I had to learn to love you."

"Like in your books?" His voice interrupts the swirling of speech from years past, and you shrug.

"Not exactly... it feels different. Because I can hear it, still." You explain, voice dropping into something more quiet as the remnants of your fear eats away at the back of your mind, the cold night breeze imprinting your skin.

"God, the way your mind works, love." He says, and as you look up at him to be met with an expression of pride that always changes everything. "You amaze me every day."

You stay quiet, cheeks getting hot as you look back down at the path.

"Are you happy?" Coryo asks after a moment, eyes never daring to leave your profile as you walk next to him, hardly more than a silhouette in the dark. But certainly more than a ghost, now.

"I am." You reply, the smile creeping back onto your lips. "Such hours are beautiful to live, but hard to describe..."

He hums softly in response. That was a yes, but also a no in the most you fashion possible. His heart remains heavy in his chest knowing that there is nothing more he can do for you to help you heal besides be present. "Is there anything more I can do?" He asks anyway, hoping that maybe you would come up with something.

You shake your head, giving him a tight-lipped smile laced with reassurance.

"Well, then..." He sighs, rather dramatically. "I did have an idea, you know, something that might make you happy. Even just for this one beautiful hour."

You let out a laugh, squeezing his hand a bit. "If that was you asking me if we could-"

"I would like to marry you." He says, for the first time ever, not feeling guilty about interrupting you.

You stop in your tracks, and he stops with you instantly as if he were waiting for it, his hold on your hand not faltering for a second.

"I... you-"

"Darling," He starts, stepping in front of you now, blocking out the moon but hardly putting a dent in the presence of the stars over his shoulders, their soft light reflecting off his blonde curls. "I do love nothing in the world so well as you."

Your shock and confusion begins to wear off as he speaks the familiar words, and you laugh softly. "In your own words, Coryo."

He tilts his head at you, clearly not having expected that kind of response. He expected a lot of things. He planned for everything that could go wrong, he prepared for rejection, for tears, panic, even, but he did not expect that. "I, uh..." He chuckles nervously, giving his head a quick shake to get himself back on track.

He had read that play just for you. Just for this- because he knew how much you loved it, and he remembered the joy it brought you. The smile on your face when you told him about it that day at the lake had never left his mind.

"If you ask me in your own words, I shall say yes." You assure him, hands gripping tighter onto his despite your surprisingly calm demeanor.

"I thought you would like that... You know, knowing you..."

He's quick to defend himself, and your eyes almost sparkle as you look up into his own. "We should have learned by now that our story is our own, yes?" You ask. "We are not Beatrice and Benedick, or Laurie and Amy, or even Romeo and Juliet, just like I used to think we were supposed to be when my days were numbered. I thought I wanted one of those stories to be mine at least once before I died, but I was wrong." You say, taking in the embarrassed flush of his cheeks even in the dim lighting. "You are you, and I am me. No matter what you say I will be happy to marry you, so long as you ask me yourself, and not as someone else."

"Alright then." He gives you a curt nod, a smile on his face as he lowers himself in front of you, careless of the dirt that would no doubt cake into the knee of his pants. "You're everything to me, Y/N/N. My world... my heart, my soul. I didn't know what love was until I met you. I've spent the entirety of my adult life learning to love you, and I never intend to stop. Not even for a moment, so please, let me marry you, love."

"A Coryo indeed." You say softly, recalling the first day you had met him- when you only knew him as Coriolanus, and how far you both had come since then. The growing smile on your lips twitches and you nod, holding his hand a little tighter and attempting to pull Coryo back to his feet. "Of course I will. Nothing would make me happier."

He stands again and very quickly his arms are around you, holding you just as tight as they always had.

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thanks again for being here.

xx, raye

[captain-lessship]

Frozen Over Pt. 2

Trigger Warnings (Whole Work): Canon Typical Violence, Manipluation, Abuse, President Snow being President Snow, Eventual Character Death.

Content Warning (Chapter Specific): Jealousy

Friendship it was. Many years after his victory, you and him spent time together. Many memories of growing up involved him. It was easy to find time to be around him.

You recalled him interrupting one of your painting sessions by sneaking up behind you. You had started mapping out the huge arched window that was calling for you to paint it.

You jumped slightly when he grabbed your sides and attempted to tickle you. You rolled your eyes, “It is rude to interrupt an artist.”

Finnick looked at your painting, “I think it is missing something.”

You looked at him, annoyed and confused, “And what would it be missing, my crayons only friend?”

“A subject.” He noted, “All of the best art pieces have people in them.”

“Well, I don’t paint for other people.”

“But you always want to do the best in everything else.”

He had a point. When you got into something, you were into it.

“Who would I paint?”

“Me.”

You laughed, “Paint you? You’re already an art piece to other people.”

“Why not immortalize my charming good looks? I won’t be young for ever.”

You sighed, “Go sit on the windowsill.”

You and him could be seen running around the city when he was brought back for a visit. It stayed this way and you hoped it would continue to stay.

He was a favorite among many people in the Capital. He was very enthusiastic and entertaining. There was never a dull moment around him.

Just as you did then, you idolized and envied him. You wished that you were more like him for your reputations sake. Strong, cheerful, charismatic and attractive. Socializing came so easy to him meanwhile you often were looked over during conversation, many people deeming you a bore.

Many times you heard people say that something was wrong with you and how could someone from the capital be so dull.

Truth be told, you didn’t like looking like a cake decoration and preferred the simpler formal dress that your grandfather had you dressed in for many ceremonies. You liked to party but people being so… gluttonous ruined your mood.

You were sitting alone on the outskirts of this party, a birthday party for a capital big shot that apparently was your distant cousin.

Finnick was there. You could see and hear him, he was laughing and having a good time. Many people were swooning over him. A flare of jealousy came to you but you swallowed it down with your drink, cursing yourself. Finnick was your friend and here you were, wishing he would go away and you could take his place or that you had it in you to be beside him.

He was making his way to you. He wanted to see you, “Excuse me, I must go see Mr. Snow about a private matter.” He flashed his boyish smile and the guests that were flicked to him smiled, giggled and let him be. He sighed heavily once he was sure none of them were looking.

He walked to you, smiling. To him, you were hope that not all of the Capital citizens were borderline crazy and exceptionally wasteful.

“How are you doing?”

Your eyes cut up to him, “Oh the usual, dreadful but great at hiding it.”

In nine years of friendship, Finnick was well aware of your introverted disposition. He sat beside you, “You know, we could leave.”

You eyes gleamed, “We could.”

“We should.”

“What will we do?”

“Go for a walk, talk about what is new, and you tell me what is going on with next years games.”

You scoffed, “ I know what everyone else does. A Quarter Quell.”

He eyes you with the look that got him anything he wanted from you. You stood up, “Are we going for that walk?”

“We will.” He stood up and you picked a direction and started walking.

You looked up at the sky, all the lights dulled the stars but if you caught it before they all turned on, you could see them.

“You know, in my district, we can see all the stars.”

You smiled, “Must be nice. I want to see them.”

“I come visit you, you can come visit me.”

You laughed, “I would like to see you ask grandfather for permission.”

“You are a grown man! What’s the geezer going to do?”

You glared at him, “He isn’t a geezer. I know I am grown but I have a lot of responsibilities here.”

“Like what? Social networking? If so they need a new guy.” He nudged you with his arm.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “It’s not my fault I am bad at coin tosses.”

[laughing-with-god]

Quarter Quell

Request; Yandere Jungkook, Hunger Games Au

Word Count; 11.2k

Every 25 years there is a Quarter Quell edition of the Hunger Games. Quells mark the anniversaries of the districts' defeat by the Capitol, and include special celebrations. The Games involves some sort of twist that makes them even more disastrous or difficult to compete in, or watch.

The pixelated screen depicted a zoomed-in image of a middle aged man, smiling glamorously towards the camera lens as he held the microphone to his face and proceeded to the next segment of the show.

His fake snake-like contacts glimmered as they briefly ran across the cue card. Then he refocused his attention back to the camera; opening his overly plump and artificially enhanced lips to announce-

“Next we have the infamous brute of a man, District Two’s treasure and voted most likely to win; Jeon Jungkook!”

The roars and cheers of the fashionably rich audience reached a deafening climax when they caught sight of the next tribute to waltz onto the stage.  

It seemed that District Two had sent yet another beast this year, eager to slaughter and kill those beneath its’ impeccable strength.  

His form was evidence to the intense training he had been subjected to, the muscles bulging with capability yet his body being slender enough to hint at agility as well.  He was tall and practically towered over the small host as he extended his veiny hand for a handshake. His warrior like body was clad in black slacks, a white blouse and black suit that was complimented with the embedded images of white flowers, the assemble even had frilly handcuffs to add to a more ‘softer’ look.  

This attempt was laughable given the man wearing it.  

The host gestured for him to take the seat next to his, the tribute doing so and smiling wolfishly at the audience that continued their vocal support of him.  

His face was a mixture of slender and round, all features above his lips being reminiscent of a boyish adolescence while his sharp jaw and smug smile suggested a more grown outlook.  His skin was the same color of the fresh snow to coat the grounds during winter, an ode to his Districts’ chore of masonry and making of weaponry in contrast to the other districts whose work lied outside in the fields.  Another trait of his home District was the size of his broad body and full face, clearly he had never had to suffer from food outages, a privilege that was starved of the later districts. His doe eyes were bright with life and glowed with the warmth provided by his caramel-colored orbs, framed by inky black eyelashes.  His nose was fleshy but impish in nature, charmingly scrunching up as he humored the crowd and host. He routinely licked his lips, keeping them moist and berry red; at times pulling them back to reveal two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair was russet brown and neatly kept, greatly contrasting the host’s green and unruly hair to prove the difference between Capitol fashion and the Districts’ more natural trend.  

“Okay. Jungkook.  You are a man who needs little to no introduction this year.  You’re handsome, strong and the Capitol’s favorite tribute to win the 100th Annual Hunger Games.  You even scored the highest with an 11 during the personal assessment test. And your confidence was off the charts given you are the only person to volunteer this year.  Please tell us, what was on your mind when you were reaped to join the fourth Quarter Quell game?” The host rambled, gesturing wildly with his spray tanned hands to express the thrill he felt of talking to such an idol.  

Jungkook chuckled, pretending he didn’t hear the responding coos of the ladies in the audience at hearing his melodic voice, and proceeded to say; “It’s like a dream come true.  I can’t wait to show everyone what I am made of.”  

The host clapped his hands and leaned closer to him excitedly, mock whispering, “Between you and me, what do you think of this years’ twist?”  

Jungkook indulged his act of ‘gossiping’ and leaned forward to seriously say; “I think it’s brilliant.  It’s almost unfair to others how in the bag I have this win.”  

“So complete and utter violence is not a problem to you?”  

Jungkook smirked, and for a brief moment the innocent allure melted off his face as his eyes darkened.  “Why would it be? I’m a natural killer. With or without the weapons.”  

Everyone applauded his answer, chanting his name in approval of his bloodthirsty persona.  Bets were already being made and the obvious choice was sitting right in front of them. This was, without any reasonable doubt, the winner of the 100th annual Hunger Games.  

The Quarter Quell occurred every 25 years, the anniversary bringing a sinister twist to the Hunger Games to remind the Districts of just how much power the Capitol has over them.  The 25th Hunger games had the horrendous twist of making each District elect their own tributes, turning citizens against themselves in order to save their own children from the games.  The 50th Annual Huger Games had double the tributes, each District sending four kids instead of the traditional two to provide double the murder, the winner of that game being Haymitch Abernathy.  The 75th game elected previous victors to make experienced killers the players, the winner was Katniss Everdeen.  Now it was the 100th Hunger Games, and the twist was that the tributes would have no help of sponsors, mentors or even weapons.  

It would all be hand-to-hand combat.  

Bloody and viscous fighting would be the only way to kill.  

Brute force and animalistic survival would have to make up for the lack of aid and guidance provided for in previous games.  

It was already predicted to be the goriest battle yet.  

“I love your personality Jungkook!  So determined! May I ask you a question?”  

“What is it, Declan?”  The boyish tribute inquired the host, leaning back into his seat with suave as he raised one of his neatly plucked brows in anticipation.  

“Is there anyone on your hitlist?  You know….someone you’re just going to gun for when that cannon goes off?”  

Jungkook bit his lip and tilted his head, seemingly pondering the outcomes of revealing this answer to the rest of the world.  The camera panned closer and closer to his flawless face as his brows furrowed in concentration, eyes gazed down in deep thought.  

Finally he looked up and bored his bottomless eyes into the lens, a fire in his irises and a killer scoff painted onto his face.  

The audience waited with baited breaths for his answer.  

“Honestly?”  He licked his lips and took a pause, as if enjoying the way everyone hung onto his words with frenzied eagerness.  “Anyone who messes with District Ten’s Y/n can expect a visit from me.”  

A resounding gasp shook the building.  

“Oh my! A-Are you saying that she’s your lover?”  the host asked after finally getting his dropped jaw to function.  

Jungkook laughed, “Something like that, I guess.  I believe in love at first sight and trust me….she’s mine.”

--

You watched the show in horror from your place backstage.  

Your eyes welled up with unshed tears as District Two’s tribute began to list off reasons why he loved you on live television.  

Your body was frozen to the ground as you felt the already dim fire of hope die down in the depths of your chest.

Your distraught face was glued to the screen, you felt the piercing and ruthless stares of the other tributes as they studied the alleged ‘soulmate’ of the perceived winner, the metaphorical target already being painted on.  But you paid them little attention as you watched your downfall play before you, caused by a man you have never even said a word to.  

He was...obsessed with you.  

It was an inkling suspicion you had before.  

But now you knew it to be the dreadful and tragic truth.

--

(Flashback)

You eyed your costume with a barely concealed face of disgust, the mirrored image before you causing a grimace of disdain.

You were from District Ten.

The main source District Ten offered to the Capitol was livestock and farming, an unglamorous but useful chore that provided the citizens with humble livelihoods and the Capitol with luxurious foods.  Unfortunately, this did not translate well into fashion.  

The stylist had dressed you in horns and fur; believing it to be ‘refreshing’ to dress you as the cattle and not the ranchers that looked after them.  You did admit that it was on theme, but it was embarrassing and even degrading to be dressed as an animal before being slaughtered like one.  

You heaved a deep breath and exited your dressing room, approaching the chariot that already held your male counterpart from District Ten.

The Chariot Rides were the first look the Capitol would get of the groomed and dressed up tributes, ogling at their costumes, looks and personalities before the official betting and sponsoring could begin.  

You had no mentor to tell you what to do during the ride, so you had prepared yourself for a lukewarm smile and half-hearted waves.  You saw no point in acting overly cheerful or happy to be there, you already knew that very little could change your fate.

The horses slowly began treading forward, leaving you trying hard to balance your powerless form as the over-sized chariot pushed ahead recklessly, the roar of the audience welcoming you with a ring inducing ear ache.  The colorful and outlandish faces of the ultra rich passed through your peripheral, giving you a glimpse of the monsters who would be watching and counting on the deaths that would occur in the next week.

The booming anthem continued thundering the giant arena as the final two Districts made their way from behind you, the horns and drums only stopping when District 12 finally took its’ place beside the others.  

The cheers quieted as the President strode towards his golden pedestal, tapping the mic before leaning his aged faced towards it to begin his annual speech.  

“Tributes, we welcome you graciously to the Capitol.  We commend your sacrifice and strength to join us for the 100th Annual Hunger Games!”

A brief and boisterous applause.  

“As you may know, this game is very special.  Not only is it the 100th game, but it is also the fourth Quarter Quell.  This game, like any other Quarter Quell, will have a twist that is unorthodox with the previous games we have watched before.  Tributes are expected to rely on themselves for survival, meaning no aid shall be given in or out the arena. This means no mentors to guide the tributes, no sponsors to save the day, no weapons to kill and no supplies to help survive.”  The President smirked down at the chariots. “Tributes will be expected to fight like animals to win. May this game remind any remaining rebels in the districts that the capitol is still lenient with our punishment, we still could take away much more to make the games brutal for your children.”

The President’s colorless and rumbling voice drowned out as he listed off the basic rules for the tributes to follow during their stay at the capitol.  The rules being well known enough for you to feel free to space out. Your mind was swimming in far more doomful thoughts.  

You knew that there was something off about this game, it happened every 25 years and the game changer was always the subject of interest for everyone; Districts and Capitol alike.  However you as a tribute wouldn’t get the full details until you were at the Capitol to hear what it was from the President himself. But you had a suspicion that it had something to do with taking away tribute’s support system.  When you had gotten on the train you were confused to see no mentors to welcome you, only the escort and other tribute were there. This was very disappointing given that mentors were different from anyone else you’d have help you along the way- they actually lived through the games.  They were also a key role in creating tailor suited strategies for tributes and gaining sponsors if there ever was a dire situation in which you’d need one.  

You foolishly hoped that this would be the only set back to face.  

But you never knew just how much the game keepers were taking away.  

No weapons or survival bags meant an even grimmer fate for the ones playing the game.

You would have to live off the land.

You would also have to beat someone to death with your own hands if you needed to kill.

You felt your weak form crumble beneath the imaginary weight of your inevitable death.  You had no chance to live. The only thing that could possibly even out the scale between you and the other tributes was weapons, strategy, and survival know-how. Without that, this game was basically being given to the careers and any other huge kid who would have no problem bashing someone’s head in.  In this horrendous situation you couldn’t even hope for a quick death, hand-to-hand deaths meant bloody and painful ends.  

You felt a tear trail down your cheek.  Images of faceless kids with huge bodies crowding in to kill you with their own bruised and bloody hands haunted your minds’ eye.  Would they strangle you? Kick your ribs until one of them breaks and puntcures your lung? Maybe-

You felt a nudge break your concentration.  

You quickly wiped the tear off your face and snapped your attention to your District counterpart; Taehyung.

He was tall, slender and sun kissed due to his job at the ranch of looking after cattle that so many kids had in ten.  His face was gaunt and almost intimidating, with his piercing black eyes, bushy and intense brows, regal nose and plump lips that were always in a scoff or blank with indifference.  You two had not said a word to each other, the only communication you could recall was him asking you, in a gravelly and bottomless voice, to pass the butter during dinner on the train ride over to the capitol.  Other than that, he was silent. You didn’t take it to heart though, you were also not much of a talker given the circumstances you two were in. You figured he was also in a state of depression and acceptance of his death, soaking in the last stimulation of life he could while also drowning himself in his own thoughts.

His eyes dragged towards the spot you wiped off, but they quickly redirected themselves to meet your own questioning stare.  

“This isn’t my business or anything but…”  He licked his lips and looked out to the other chariots, seemingly seeking something out before he continued his statement.  “Why is Two looking at you like that?”  

You followed his gaze.  

District Two was one of the closest to the stage where the President was talking, but you could spot a single figure who was twisted away from the speech and looking behind him.  

District two’s theme was masonry, reflective of their chore of weapon making.  Due to this job they had, most of the kids who came from district two had an advantage as they knew how to handle weapons and had basic training with combat.  They were the core of the career pact, Districts One and Four usually teaming up with the trained killers to create a deadly alliance. Safe to say, you did not want anyone from Two to point you out in a sea of tributes.  

But it looks like you had somehow already got their attention.  

His costume was gladiator-like, the chest piece being made out of jagged pieces of metal meant to look like knives and other weapons. He also wore a crown on his head, the silver twisting to look like leaves and plants but was also stained with fake blood.  District Two’s stylist always wanted to hint at their team’s brutality.

You studied this costume and finally met the stare of the person.  

His eyes were pitch black, the color of a midnight sky free of stars.  It wasn’t clear if that was the color of his eyes or if his pupils were just that dilated, as if he was fascinated by what he saw.  This assumption wasn’t a far stretch given his jaw was slightly ajar, like he was in some state of shock.  

It didn’t make sense but there was no doubt about it….he was staring right at you.  

His eyes drank you in, leaving you breathless at the intensity of the gaze, it held a tangible weight that caused you to shiver.  His attention on you was so blatant and fearless, you wondered how the other tributes hadn’t noticed yet or if they were simply pretending not to.  All of his muscular body was twisted towards your direction, the president and his speech long forgotten as he ogled you up and down. It was like he had never seen such a person before, he was studying you like he would never get another chance to.  

Taehyung shifted his body and suddenly you were blocked from the stranger’s line of vision, Taehyung’s much larger frame covering you.  

You took a shaky breath, the bizarreness of the look on two’s face was so confusing and it left you questioning what it could possibly mean.

“He’s been looking at you like that since we rolled out of the entrance.”  Taehyung said, still blocking you but also managing to keep his eyes on the ranting president to achieve an act of listening.  

“.....Maybe it’s because we’re dressed like cows?”  You bleakly offered, pursing your lips at your own weak explanation.

“No, there’s more to it.  I don’t know what the expression on his face was but it can’t be good.”  Your District mate insisted, leaving you with a sense of relief that you weren’t the only one to feel like there was something up.  

You nodded in agreement and tried to keep your agony and fear at bay given so many eyes were on the tributes.  

Finally the President concluded his speech with a promising but terrifying; “May the odds be ever in your favor.”  

--

“His name is Jungkook, District counterpart is named Joy, he’s eighteen years of age and he volunteered as tribute.”  Your overly colorful and dainty escort sing-songed as she presented you two with a tape.  

After the chariot ride, both you and Taehyung agreed that you should attempt to figure out as much as possible about District Two.  You guys didn’t have a mentor so this meant that you would have to rely on your Capitol escort to provide you guys with information of the other tributes’ reaping.  

“So what?”  You asked from your spot on the neon monstrosity of a sofa.  “Careers from 1 and 2 almost always volunteer.”  

“Not during Quells though.  Even they are too scared of the unknown twists to just jump in.”  Taehyung said from a sofa parallel to yours.  

You two silently watched as Vesta began bringing the hologram-like screen to life before popping in the tape of two’s reaping.  You were still amazed by the technology of the Capitol, it was far more advanced than anything you saw in the farmlands of Ten.  

The HD hologram burst with color as suddenly a slender, skinny but fashionable man was facing the room with a bright smile.  “And now, the male tribute.”  

Mesmerized, you watched as the unnamed personality skipped to the humongous glass bowl to pluck a name.  He held the paper up to his squinty eyes and made his way back to the microphone to announce; “Kane Stelen.”  

Before a response could even occur, a boisterous voice interjected to holler, “I volunteer as tribute!”

The camera panned out to see a young man jogging up to the stage, brown hair bouncing with his movement as he bounded excitedly towards the escort.  Almost immediately the rest of District Two applauded and cheered for this guy, some even screaming out his name with a sense of pride. He grinned ruthlessly at the camera and shook hands with the confused escort when he found his spot beside him.  

“What’s your name boy?”  

“Jeon Jungkook.”  

He then held his arm up in the air in a victor stance, the crowd going crazier in response.

The hologram suddenly depleted into darkness, leaving you all silent as you tried to dissect what you have all just witnessed.

“He’s quite handsome.”  Vesta said in between her sips of bubbling champagne.  “I don’t get the big deal here. Why don’t you just form an alliance with him?”  

“Because we’re not careers and his loyalty would only rest within One and maybe Four.”  You heard the frustration in Taehyung’s voice as he attempted to explain it to the capitol airhead.  

“Don’t treat me like an idiot!  I may not be a mentor but I’ve seen my fair share of games to know that if a giant tribute from a strong District takes an interest in you, it’s for the best that you use that to an advantage.”  The fashionista screeched.  

“That interest could be good or bad….most likely bad.”  You sadly mumbled, brain still playing over the scene of his reaping.

He was so bold to volunteer for one of the deadliest games.  And by the way the rest of his District supported him, you could only imagine how strong his reputation as a trainee must’ve been.  He was probably one of those killing machines that looked forward to the games, maybe his parents were the type to make him learn all types of fighting and survival skills.  District two tended to make their kids believe that serving in the games was some type of honor, and the gleam in his eyes told you that he genuinely believed that.  

“If there’s truly no weapons in the arena, that means the bigger tributes will have the best chance.”  Vesta giggled before staggering away, heels clicking awfully against the marble floor. Her fake accented voice left you with one final thought; “Don’t burn your bridges, dearie.”  

--

(Training Day 1)

The elevator was void of any sounds greater than the breaths of you and your District mate, the empty air bouncing off the walls of the enclosed space.  

You silently watched as the digital number above the metal doors continued to downgrade, illustrating the passing floors as you two descended to the basement of the training center.  

“Remember, today is only about scoping out the other tributes.”  

You curtly nodded.  

Over breakfast that morning, you and Taehyung made a semi-alliance.  You both agreed that two heads were better than one and it would be the smartest course to help each other out to make up for the lack of mentorship.  This would only last up until the arena, however.  the goal of the Hunger Games was to have only a single survivor, this meant that all alliances would have a turning point of one killing the other (most likely in their sleep or when their backs were turned) and neither you or Taehyung wanted to put yourselves in that situation.  

“No talking to anyone, lets just try to evaluate the others and we can see where we are by the end of it.”  He had said.  

This seemed to be the best option; to keep an eye out on who would be the biggest threats and assess your chances after that.  Thus you agreed to Taehyung’s plan.

A sudden ding sounded to announce the arrival to the basement.  

You stiffened up and squared your shoulders, plastering on a blank expression as the silver doors slid open.  

‘Welcome to the Training Center.  Only tributes from this point on.’  A robotic voice sing-songed as you and Taehyung stepped out in unison.  

The training center was a giant gymnasium void of any color but grey and silver.  The huge layout had multiple different stations for various skills ranging from camouflage, fire making, combat, weaponry, and survival know-how.  In the center of such an area was a circle of young people, all dressed in the same fitness attire as you and eyeing each other up with paranoid gazes.  

You took a deep breath and strode forward, barely holding back your grimaces as other tributes reacted to your arrival with guarded glances of scrutiny.  You planted your feet by the outer section of the circle, far from the center but close enough to still be part of the group. Taehyung stood beside you, arms crossed and eyes staring straight ahead.  

You discreetly counted sixteen tributes including you and Taehyung, which meant that four more districts still had yet to arrive.  You couldn’t help but search for the odd stranger from Two, and realized with a strange sense of relief, that he had yet to arrive.  

You took this time to study the others as you all waited for the remaining tributes.  It seemed to be a pretty good mix, there was a lot of older teens but a couple younger ones to even out the scales as well.  It couldn’t be helped; the look of utter dread on the 12-14 year old faces, they without a doubt knew that their short lives were coming to an end very soon.  The smaller ones would be snapped like twigs by the bigger ones; a sad reality that replayed itself every year.  

As time passed, more tributes made their entrance.  

Currently there was twenty-two kids.

Only two more to go.  

From District Two.  

After what seemed like ages, finally the ding of the elevator rang once more, followed by the sounds of footsteps approaching the cluster of kids.  

Your back was turned to the elevator and you knew it would break character to turn and face them, thus you stubbornly bowed your head and studied your shoes; ears picking up on the sound of their approach.  

You almost choked when they paused directly behind you.  

They were standing mere inches away from you.

He was standing mere inches away from you.

Suddenly the back of your neck began to burn as you felt the unnerving weight of his stare piercing into you.  Without having to even look back at him, you somehow just knew that his behavior was the same as the day of the chariots; he was studying you with a mystery sense of awe that was beyond rational understanding.  Except now he was doing it from a much closer range, you could practically feel the goosebumps on your skin begin to form as you let him inspect every visible cell of you. It was as if you were under some microscope and you had no choice but to let him dissect everything he could about you.  

The thundering of your heart got louder and louder as it pounded against your chest, a foreign feeling of claustrophobia caving in on you.  The panic was almost enough to make you turn around and confront the intense observer, but this instinct was interrupted as the head trainer began talking.  

“Welcome to the training center.  As tributes, you will spend the next three days here to prepare for your time in the games.  Each station is a stimulation for some of the obstacles you will face in the arena. It’s easy to want to learn all the battle skills and tricks for hand to hand combat, but my advice is to not ignore the survival skills.  Statistically speaking, most of you will die due to exposure, infection, starvation and dehydration.” She paused and scanned the faces of the fear-stricken tributes. “Furthermore, communication amongst yourselves is not forbidden but any fighting is and will be met with swift punishment.”  An odd gleam glimmered in her eyes as she smirked, “Save those rivalries for the arena.”  

And like that, you were all dismissed to begin training.  

Before you could even think about where to go, Taehyung grasped his hand around your arm and promptly dragged you to the edible plants station.  

The station was a small greenhouse area filled with many kinds of plants, each having a small place card as to what type they were and their status of poisonous or not.  There were also books, memory cards and quiz-taking machines for any tribute willing to strain their mind on the process of adapting all this information.  

“We can spend some time here, then go to fire and shelter making later.”  Your District mate explained while picking up one of the books to flip through.  “Plus we have a good spot from here to spy on the combat station.”  

You looked directly across to indeed see numerous tributes lining up to take a turn with the trainer.  There was open mats and the trainer would talk to them briefly before wrestling with them, you assumed giving them tips before putting them to good use.  Then the tribute would be sent to the back of the line as the process repeated itself with another kid.  

So for the next hour, you and Taehyung took turns committing the plants to memory and also scoping out the other tributes.  From time to time, Taehyung would lean over and whisper District numbers of some tributes for you to keep an eye on.  Other than the usual careers, there was a few brutes from other Districts that purposed a threat.  District Six had a huge guy, he didn’t look older than 16 but he seemed to be one of the few who could hold his own in the hand to hand combat. You also spotted an athletic girl from Seven who was very agile, well-fed and flew through the rope course as if it was a walk in the park.  Taehyung told you to keep an eye out for her and another guy from Eight, who was keeping a low profile at the hammock making station but seemed to be one of the few kids who had an air of confidence about him, most likely due to his strong built.  

Due to the Quarter Quell, everyone was avoiding the stations with weapon training, given there wouldn’t be any in the arena so it was a certified waste of time.  However you did catch some careers hovering by there, as if they were tempted to just play around with the expensive and new age knives, axes and spears. This made you scoff as their childish antics really pissed you off.  What kind of psycho looks at weapons as if they were shiny new toys?

While most of the tributes were scrambling to absorb all the tips they could get, the careers seemed to be having fun.  They rough-housed and conversed as if they were an over-hyper friend group. Their relaxed attitude hinted at their experience with training; they probably grew up with similar practices so they didn’t feel the intense pressure the others did.  Still it was disrespectful and made the knots in your stomach tighten with anxiety.  

Maybe they really were trained killers….

The odd stranger from Two was also in this group, but you tried your hardest not to pay any attention to him.  You had a fear that he would take your temporary interest in him as some sort of invitation to talk. Because of this, you kept your focus on the plants but snuck occasional glances towards him.  He seemed to be one of the quieter ones of the pack, yet the others followed his lead without question whenever he stalked off to other stations.  

“I think it’s time we headed to the fire making station, don’t you?”  

You turned around to see Taehyung as he approached you from behind, gaze already set on the suggestion station.  You nodded in agreement, plants were already a very bland topic but you beared it your burden knowing that it could be the difference between life and death in a case of starvation.  You just hoped that learning how to make a fire was a tad more interesting than this.  

The instructor of that station directed you and your District mate to a make-shift camp area.  As you sat on the fake logs and watched as the professional demonstrated just how to create a spark, a sight across the gymnasium caused your focus to come to a frigid stop.  

The tributes of District Two were leaning leisurely against a wall and staring right at you.  Well...he was staring right at you while his partner was turned to him, talking in a rushed fashion and making furious gestures in your direction.  

Your heart plummeted.  

His face was blank but his eyes were somehow both dazed and ultra-focused onto his target.  When he noticed that you were looking right back at him, he raised a brow and tilted his head before pushing his tongue against his cheek.  

His counterpart, Joy as you vaguely recalled, followed his gaze to you, her face dropping and posture stiffening in response to your equally stressed expression. She muttered one more thing to him and stormed off, leaving him to wolfishly grin at you, creepily indifferent to anything she had said to him, as he stalked forward.  

You nudged Taehyung as the enigma of a man steadily approached.  

Comfortable, elegant and seemingly determined, Jungkook plopped himself on a log parallel to the one you and Taehyung shared.  The fire reacted to his arrival by bursting into life, the newfound flames painting an orange glow on his charming face and bottomless black orbs.  

Apparently the instructor sensed that he should make his leave, he muttered a quick “I’ll go get some more sticks” and dashed off to leave you and Taehyung alone with the intimidating career.

“My name is Jungkook.  I’m from Two. And you are?”  

The fire cackled as a silence ghosted upon the trio.  

He laughed, the sound twinkling and musical as he brushed his hair back to reveal a clear forehead.  He propped his arm on his knee before raising a brow. “You know usually when someone introduces themselves the custom is for the person to respond back.”  

“We’re from Ten.”  Taehyung blankly answered.  

Jungkook licked his lips.  “Do you guys’ have any names?”  

“Don’t see how that is relevant, we don’t even know why you’re here.  What is it that you want?” Taehyung’s deep voice was almost as scary as the situation that was unfolding before your very eyes.

“Fair enough.  I watched your guys’ reaping and know that your names are Taehyung and Y/n.  I was just being polite but I suppose we could skip the formalities if you prefer.”  Jungkook leaned forward, the fire causing a most primitive vibe as it highlighted his dark features and made his next words all the more barbaric.  “I want to be allies.”  

“No.”  The reply was swift and brutal on Taehyung’s part, masking your splutter of shock at such a ludicrous request.  

“May I ask why not?”  Jungkook’s casualty didn’t falter at the answer, most likely expecting it.  

“It won’t benefit us.  Your motives are unknown and it makes no sense for you to even want us as allies.  We’re not careers.”  

“Maybe I’m not a muscle head and am thinking deeper about the games than just teaming up with other athletic tributes.”  Jungkook argued, small smirk still evident.  

“That still doesn’t explain why you’d want us.  If you’re looking for smarts or underdogs, there’s plenty of other tributes that fit the bill better than us.”  

Jungkooks’ eyebrow did a funny twitch as he smiled, rather fakely with dead eyes, at Taehyung.  He without a doubt picked up on Taehyung’s stubbornness and abandoned any hope to convince him. Although he did seem rather pissed about this, he continued on with a forced tone of amicability.  “Fine, I’ll count you out then.” He then bored his inky eyes into yours, turning all his attention onto you. “You however still have an open invitation.”  

Before you could even open your mouth, Taehyung answered for you; “She’s with me.  I’m not in so neither is she.”  

Suddenly, Jungkook’s face dropped, lips morphing into a snarl-like manner while glaring furiously at your poor District mate.  Long gone was the act of any friendliness, his frustration shined through with a sinister anger. The switch was so fast that you wondered for a moment if you were just imagining it, but by the way Taehyung shifted in his spot you knew that it was very much real.  The career then gritted out, “She’d be far better of with me than you.”  

“I doubt that.”  You couldn’t help but agree with your District mate on this one.  For the very short amount of time you had conversed with the odd boy from 2, it was already evident that he was prone to very unusual behaviors along with swift and gruesome personality changes.  

“I’ve trained my whole life for this.  I think I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her in that arena.”  Jungkook was persistent, bewildering you with his unknown mission in becoming allies with you.  Why in the world would he want you instead of the other bloodthirsty careers? What did he see in you?  And why was he willing to fight Taehyung and brag about his ability to protect you?  

“Exactly, you trained your whole life for this.  Focus on being the sole winner of this game and leave me and Y/n alone.”  

The words hung heavy in the air, echoing in your eardrums as the severity of the situation once again entered the conversation with a pending sense of doom. The theme of ‘every man for themselves’ was all too glaringly obvious. If Jungkook was desperate to win, then how come he was breaking his back to get closer to a girl who he’d have to kill off anyway? Was this an insight to how careers viewed teamwork in the games?  Did they approach each other like, “hey no hard feelings but in that arena I will chop your head off when it comes down to it but until then let’s be friends”? Why even bother gathering in a pack if you know that one of them was more than likely your future killer?  

Jungkook’s face melted off any emotion as a hard mask of indifference overtook his handsome appearance.  He stiffly nodded before standing up to his full height, taking slow but deliberate steps away from the camp.  

He was barely out of the station when he halted his stride, glancing over his shoulder to set his somber eyes on you.  

“Does he always speak for you?”  

The question was clearly directed at you in reference to Taehyung and the fact that you had not said a single word during the whole ordeal.  

Your system seemed to shut down now that Jungkook was directly asking you something, all you could do was open and close your mouth as your brain scrambled for what to say.  

He grinned, although there was no malice behind the action.  It was almost a fond smile as he watched you blush and stutter.  Like he enjoyed you being caught off guard by a simple question on his part.  This odd response was gone before you could study it, as he turned on his heel and went to rejoin the other careers.  

--

The second day of training was a tad more bearable than the first.  

The tributes were not required to round up and wait until everyone arrived to begin training, as soon as one got there they were free to roam to their hearts’ desire.  

You had decided to split apart from Taehyung and experience a limited feeling of independency.  This was brought upon by Taehyung’s paranoia of the careers.  

“That Jungkook guy most likely gave the rest a heads up that we’re an alliance.  We should try to stay apart in order to throw them off.” These were the first words to greet you when you stalked over to the elevator after awaking late and missing breakfast.  

“Why?  Are we in a really bad spot right now?”  You had asked.

“Generally careers would want to gun down other alliances before picking off individuals one by one.  And from what happened yesterday, I can guarantee that Two isn’t forgetting us anytime soon.”

You had just shrugged in weak agreement and continued the wait for the elevator in silence.  The thing was, you didn’t know what you and Taehyung actually were. Sure, you helped each other out but it there was an understanding that come arena time it was every man for themselves.  So could it be said that District Ten had an alliance? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that it was very generous for Taehyung to step in the way he had during the conversation with 2.  Either that or he was very stupid...too speak so boldly to a career and deny him when matters didn’t necessarily involve him. But luckily he did...you weren’t sure what you’d do if you had to deal with that Jungkook guy all on your own.  

So here you were; alone at the camouflage station, trying to paint a tree trunk on your arm whilst also deciphering if this station was even worth the trouble.  

You had never been much of an artist so it was proving to be a difficult task to properly get all the precise details of the bark down.  It surely didn’t help that you were only allowed to use natural ingredients as paint. You were currently mixing a mixture of dirt and water to create the ideal brown paint, but it was becoming increasingly hard to strike the perfect balance.  Too much dirt meant a very flakey consistency while too much water meant a very liquidey one.  

“Who the fuck has time to paint themselves when they’re in the middle of a blood bath?”  you mumbled in frustration before shoving the paint bucket away in anger.  

“I second that notion.”  A small and shaky voice called out.

You turned around to see a young boy standing a few feet away from you, holding up a paintbrush as he gestured to his forearm.  On said body part was a chalky and sloppily painted on flower, evidence to his shared hatred of the camflogue station.  

His round and chubby face smiled nervously at you, most likely regretting having said anything to you in the first place.  He looked to be 13 or 14 years of age, frame similar to yours except slightly smaller. His eyes were smiley but looked to be puffy, his plump lips were currently set in a childish pout as he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  

Caught off guard, you just nodded and hastily grabbed the rag to wipe off your ‘masterpiece’.  Logically speaking, you were aware that this little boy was little to no threat to you, compared to the careers and other scary tributes. However you couldn’t help the fact that your nervous system went into overdrive when talking to tributes that weren’t Taehyung.  Call it paranoia but there was no way of knowing this boys’ intentions of speaking to you. For all you know, he could’ve been playing bait for some bigger tributes to reel you in.  

An image of District Two flashed in your minds’ eye, causing you to shudder.  

“I-I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.  I just really need someone to talk to….” He whined as he watched you frantically gather to put the equipment away.  “No one will let me near them because they don’t take me seriously as a tribute.”  

You froze.  

“I know I’m just a kid but...I deserve an ally too, right?”  

You felt an involuntary tug on your heart strings as you heard the desperate plea of a literal child.  

What was wrong with you?

He was so young and probably faced the lowest chances of winning this game, and here you were; dashing away from him as if he was the big black wolf when all he wanted was a friend.  You felt a sudden feeling of disgust in yourself. Did this game really affect you that much that you were quick to turn your back on a helpless boy? Did you now have the same morals of a killing machine career?  

You shook your head and turned back around to face the kid.

“I’m sorry.  I’ve just been really...anxious lately.”  You struggled to explain. “What’s your name?”  

The boys’ expression of distraught melted into a somber smile as he sized you up and down.  Then, when he knew for sure that you were serious about talking to him, he released a tiny giggle and jogged up closer to you.  

“I’m Chenle!  From District Three!”  

The boy was overly friendly and way too trusting of you.  But luckily for him, you weren’t kidding when you told him that you would also love an ally.  He talked really fast, as if he had countless thoughts bouncing off the walls of his little head and they were all racing to escape his pouty lips.  And when he did share a thought with you, a twinkle in eyes glimmered excitedly as if he was getting giddy from just telling you his little ‘secrets’.

You learned that he was thirteen years old and possibly the youngest one here.  He was also a big brother to a little girl back at his home district. Chenle had a mother but no father and although he was very scrawny and small, he did very well in school and had more brains than most of the older tributes.  

“Remember the 58th annual Hunger Games?  The winner was Beetee Latier and he took out a whole pack of careers by electrocuting them.”  He told you with a coy smile on his face as his eyes gazed off with a bleak expression. “I want to model my game after that, careers are usually all muscle and no brain.  It’s my only hope; to outsmart them.”  

You recalled that game.  The winner as one of the last tributes standing and he looked to be at odds compared to how big and brutal the others were.  Luckily for him, a sponsor aired in some electric wire and he used it to kill the remaining tributes.  

You bit the inside of your cheek and avoided his gaze.  You didn’t have the heart to interject and point out that the chances of coming across electric wire to outsmart muscle heads was very unlikely.  Also this game being a Quarter Quell and it’s awful twist meant that this game was built very differently. Any strategy outside of pure strength was very flawed.  There would be no equipment in that arena, and no sponsors either.  Instead you focused on much lighter topic of discussion.  

“The victor of that game was also from Three, right?  Are all kids from your home District little whizes with technology?”  you asked.  

He giggled and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I guess we have more of a knack for it than any other district.  Our school lessons are built around it.”  

“That’s really cool!  You’re way smarter than any kid over at Ten.  Lots of them don’t even continue going to school after elementary.”  You praised.  

“How come?”

“Most of them need to help their family on the farm so higher education isn’t really needed.”  You shrugged half-heartedly.  

Chenle nodded and got a thoughtful look on his face.  “You know, I never really even gave much thought to other Districts.  It’s a shame that I just now got an interest in them.”  

You couldn’t help but agree that it was indeed a very awful irony.  The very first time that he’d ever interact with anyone outside of Three was when he’d come face to face with the other tributes he’d be thrown into a bloodbath with.  

“Oh!  You have some paint on your lower back.”  The young boy pointed out, interrupting your train of thoughts.  

You cursed under your breath, twisting to try and catch sight of the paint but failing to do so.  Out of the corner of your eye you saw Chenle grabbing a rag, he then approached you and offered to wipe it off.  

You let him.  

But this was apparently a very big mistake.  

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”  

The boisterous holler caused all the tributes in the training center to freeze and turn their attention to the cause of such war cry.  

At first you assumed that a fight was breaking out in one of the other stations, but then it occurred to you that the words yelled would have nothing to do with a typical ‘tributes butting heads’ situation.  

When you looked up, your heart dropped to your stomach.  

Jungkook was hustling forward, head tilted like a bull as his steps vibrated the ground beneath him; like a gladiator approaching its’ final victim.  His coal-like orbs were ignited with the flame of fury, and such eyes were set on you and your recent thirteen year old ally.  

Instinctively, you pulled the boy behind you as you realized what was happening.  

Soon the fuming tribute was standing in front of you and snarling at the innocent but confused babe that you tried to shield with your meager arms.  

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!  You can’t just touch her like that!” He yelled, stepping forward as Chenle stepped back in fear.  

“I-I was just helping her get something off.”  The boy whined in defense, cracking and prepubescent voice trembling as he spoke.  

“Oh please, I know how boys your age think!  Tell me something you little freak, were you trying to cup your first feel or something before you’re eventually killed in that arena?  Is that why you’ve clung onto her all day?” Jungkook held a spiteful scowl as he taunted Chenle, without a doubt trying to embarrass the boy as well as scare him.  

“N-NO!  It’s n-not like that.” The pitiful whines were ignored by the career.  

There was a brief silence as Jungkook looked both you and the boy up and down, tongue pressing against his cheek in a tick of annoyance.

You held your breath.

“What district are you from?”  Jungkook spoke after coming to a mysterious conclusion in his mind.    

You felt yourself freeze in dread.  You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word so you just watched in horror as this awful predator threatened to swallow this prey alive for no more reason than sheer paranoia and unfortunate misunderstanding.  Your eyes began to water, you felt so worthless for not helping in any way. But it was as if there was a force beyond you that was causing you to halt all movement and logical thinking, manipulating you so you were left to watch this awful showdown.  The weight of the collective gaze from all the other tributes watching had paralyzed you.  

You were forced to watch on.  

“T-three.”  

Jungkook smirked, handsome face looking ruthless and somewhat satisfied.  

“I’ll see you in the arena.”  

It was a chilling promise, a signed deathwish from yours truly.  Targets weren’t definite in the Hunger Games. Most people killed who they could whenever they crossed paths with someone weaker than them.  It was a series of luck, stealth and strength. Very rarely were personal vendettas the cause of killings in the arena; unless revenge kills counted, when someone killed your ally and in return you kill them.  But almost never, never, were such hateful rivalries formed in the short period before the games.  

And having such a brute like Two promising to gun you down was as soul-crushing as watching your demise before your very own eyes.

With that, Jungkook turned around once again to storm away.  

You pretended to not feel the piercing stares of the tributes, each trying to dissect why someone touching you would bring out such a violent reaction from Two.  

You turned to console Chenle, only to see tears streaming down his face before he made a dash for the restrooms.  

You promised to wait until he got out to talk to him, but the bell rang to announce the ending of the second day of practice.  

You left the center in shame.  

--

The third day of training was uneventful.  

Everyone avoided you like you had the plague.  

Including Chenle and Taehyung.  

You didn’t necessarily blame them for putting distance between you and them.  After what had happened with Jungkook, it was obvious that the career would target anyone and everyone around you.  They were just doing the rational thing of saving themselves, yet it was still heartbreaking for you.

You just wanted to apologize to Chenle, to repay him in any way for what he had to suffer through yesterday. But whenever you attempted to close in on him, he’d become pale as a ghost before sprinting away.  

Taehyung remained as stoic as he always had, yet he never pulled you aside or met you with notes in hand like you were hoping.  

This was the clear breakage in the ‘semi-alliance’ and you took the hint with grace.  

It wasn’t like your relationship with him was going to last long anyways.  

Weak and dreary was how you spent the last day of training.  You wondered around the stations, thoughtless, depressed and exhausted.  You had one goal in mind; stay away from Jungkook. You kept one paranoid eye on him, always making sure to stay several stations away from whichever one he resided in.  

Currently you were at the shelter making station, listening half heartedly to the trainer as they presented how to form a pile of sticks into an acceptable hideout.  The reason for your lack of interest was due to the looming thought of ‘why bother?’  Any life-saving skill wasn’t going to be learned in a matter of three days, and being under the radar of a psychotic man like Two lowered your chances even further.  Today you allowed the purgatory-like fog to overrule you.  

Idly you wondered if there was life after death.  It couldn’t be helped, the promise of death was right around the corner and your human mind was wrapped up in the unanswered question of if end was really the end.  You desperately wanted there to be something, anything, to greet you when you meet your violent and barbarian end. But logically, you knew that absolute nothingness was more likely.  

Long ago there was such thing as religion, people believed in a higher power and thought you were either rewarded or punished after death based on how good of a person you were in life.  That was before the Capitol took over and erased all institutions that went against what they thought. You learned about it briefly in school but never gave it much thought. But now that you were nearing the end of your short life, you found yourself wishing that some mystical being from above could take mercy on you in the form of a oasis-like place to greet you after your murder.  

Maybe there would be-

“Excuse me?”  A melodic and womanly voice interrupted your thoughts, causing you to look up and see whom was now standing in between you and the trainer in action.  

She wasn’t facing you, instead addressing the shelter-maker with a tone of politeness.  

“Would you mind letting me and this girl talk in private?”  

The trainer nodded and left the half-made shelter, getting up to approach another tribute who was yards away and attempting their own version of a hide-out.  Whilst this happened, the girl finally turned to face you.  

It was Joy.

From District Two.  

Jungkook’s Counterpart.

Your eyes widened and instinctively you took a step back, hoping to create a distance just in case she was also crazy like him.  She noted this paranoid behavior with an eyebrow raise and a roll of her dark eyes.  

“Calm down.  I’m not him.”  she reassured.

You gave her a guarded look, filled with scrutiny and disbelief.  

Sure, technically just because someone came from the same District as a douchebag didn’t necessarily mean that they were guilty solely on association.  But, Joy still was part of the career pack and by no means should be trusted.  

The gorgeous woman was also a visual counterpart to her handsome district mate.  She was tall, curvy, with a mature face and sexy features that made you feel insecure about your own.  You wondered how the hell she could be in the same age-range as you, she looked to be in her twenties bare minimum.  Her smouldering eyes looked around you two, scoping out the area before she grabbed your hand and dragged you behind a fake in-door tree that’s width was large enough to shield you both.  

“I don’t have a lot of time and trust me, I’ll be in more danger than you if he finds out I’m talking to you.”  She leaned her pale face closer, eyes deeply gazing into yours with an intense seriousness. “Jungkook is obsessed with you.”

“W-what?”  You spluttered.  

“He’s fucking crazy!  I don’t know what it is about you that makes him insane but he snapped the moment he saw you that day of the chariots.”  She hush-screeched, extra careful to not draw attention to your guys’ secret conversation.  

You couldn’t say that it didn’t make sense.  Because frankly, it did make all the sense in the world.  However it was still a leap think that someone who you’ve never said a word to could be obsessed with you.  You thought he was probably just messing with you, playing mind games with one of his victims before actually killing them.  Most likely trying to create an entertaining game for the viewers to enjoy and root for. But certainly not genuine interest.  

“Look, when he’s not eating or resting he’s watching your reaping tape.  He’s constantly asking our escort to get in touch with your escort so he can try to talk to you.  He told all the careers to not touch you. He even asked me to keep an eye out on you during these training days so no one ‘gets too close’.” She said this all in a rush, her face morphing to show the true emotion she felt about her own ally; she was scared.  “In the game, he wants to find you and have you join the career pack. He told us that first we have to find you before anything else. I’m afraid you won’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”  You asked.  

Any aid given from tribute to tribute had to be dealt with extreme caution.  There was no absolute way of knowing that some sort of angle wasn’t being played with you.  Strategically speaking, Joy could be acting like a friend to earn your trust by using her ally’s odd behavior to her advantage.  You couldn’t allow yourself to be played even though every bone in your body told you that she wasn’t lying about Jungkook’s infatuation.

She licked her ruby lips and straightened up, gaining control of her expression and plastering on a look of aloofness.  “I don’t know but don’t expect anymore handouts from me. I’m coming to you as a woman. If a boy was doing all that to me without my knowledge, I’d want someone to tell me.”  

She peeked out from the tree to make sure the coast was clear before making her wordless leave.  

A couple minutes of silence passed as you leaned against the tree and tried to process what had just happened.

Later you returned back to the trainer and asked for more pointers about making a hideout so hidden that tributes will unknowingly walk past it.  A new motivation and need to focus ignited within you due to her words rang in your minds’ eye.  

‘He wants to find you and have you join the career pack.’

Over your dead body would you ever join those monsters.

But, was Joy different?  

By coming up to you to warn you, did she prove that perhaps not all careers were as heartless as you had suspected?

Or was she playing one of her own games?

--

(Back to interviews)

“And the next tribute we have is perhaps the one we all want to see most.”

The TV personality grinned excitedly at the responding roar the crowd released as they without a doubt anticipated the upcoming tribute.

“Coming from District Ten, coming straight for our hearts….” The man faked looking side to side as if to tell a secret;  “And not to mention, District Twos’ heart….”  

A brief laughter.  

“The gorgeous and lovely- Y/N L/N!!”  

You took one deep breath and tried to calm your racing heart.  

Without your consent the backstage worker pushed you into the blinding limelight, causing you to stumble onto the platform.  

Claps, cheers and screams welcomed you and rang in your poor eardrums as you slowly walked over to the waving host.  Luckily you made it to the seat before your legs could give out, but you had to clutch at your overly expensive dress while doing so.  

You smiled nervously and tried to mask your upcoming panic attack by focusing solely on the over-zealous host and not the thousands of hungry stares from the below audience.  In return, he excitedly took your hands in his and asked; “You’re a sight for sore eyes, dear! I think we can all see why Jungkook is so enamoured by you!”  

Your smile faltered for a brief moment before you forced it back on.  

“T-Thank you.”  You settled on taking the compliment without acknowledging the implications of Jungkook.  

But you were a fool to think that there would be a chance that the host wouldn’t focus on the taboo subject matter and nothing else.  

“You know Y/n, it’s been over 25 years since the Hunger Games has last seen a couple.  Would you mind telling us the story of how you and Jungkook met?”  

You gulped.  

But maybe this was a blessing in disguise?  Perhaps there was a chance that this was your opportunity to clear this whole mess up?  Surely telling the truth in front of so many people could untangle the whole misunderstanding.  

“The thing is Declan, I’ve never even said a word to him.  We’re complete strangers.” Your meek voice sounded laughable even to you but you were glad it was finally said out loud and off your chest.  

Declan’s face dropped as a look of shock took over his artificial features.

And then in a blink of an eye it morphed back into a wide smile that revealed his bleached teeth.  

“Aww!  You must be the coy one between the two of you.  I’m guessing Jungkook does all the talking for you.  How cute!”  

The crowd cooed at this ludicrous conclusion.  

“Y/n, I would ask about your strategy in the arena but with someone like Jungkook in your corner I dare say you’re going to be the safest tribute.”  

The crowd laughed, amused with the guard dog you supposedly had watching over you.  

“No, it’s a misunderstanding.  I’m single and Jungkook is not an ally of mine in any way.”  You protested.  

Instead of addressing you, the host turned to the audience and placed a hand beside his mouth to fake-whisper; “She’s still denying it!  We’re gonna get nothing outta this girl!”  

There was mixed reaction from the crowd, some more ‘aww’s for you and laughs at the host.  You were hopeless to the incoming blush that burned your cheeks, ducking your face in fear that people would consider it a blush of passion and embarrassment and not one of anguish and anger.  

“Y/n, there’s no need to be shy.  Young love is a beautiful thing! You and Jungkook make the perfect duo for this game, he has the brawn and you must have the brains,  He’s the beast to your beauty. The Ying to your Yang!” The host squealed this all while excitedly flapping his hands like a thrilled school girl.  

You pursed your lips in an attempt to not snap on live television at the delusional fool who was more concerned with ratings instead of the truth.

“But you know, there can only be one winner.”  The solemn hush rang amongst the audience in an instant, the seriousness causing all crowd reaction to halt.  “As we know, in the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Katniss and Peeta had to turn on each other.” The host continued while sniffling; “Y/n, aren’t you afraid of that moment when you and Jungkook will have to compete against each other?”

You licked your lips before saying with the straightest face you could muster; “No.”

--

Interviews with tributes only lasted three minutes.  

After attempting to dodge the questions as best you could, you were soon waved off the stage as District Eleven began theirs.  

Vesta excitedly escorted you down the narrow backstage hallway and into the Ten dressing room, all the while chatting your ear off about her personal thoughts of your screen time.

“You looked so cute up there!  But oh dear, do your social skills need work.  You’re lucky Declan knows how to carry one-sided conversations.”  She rambled before stopping to open a wooden door marked ‘10’. “Anywho, wait here with Taehyung while I go get more drinks.  Those damn Avoxes apparently don’t know the meaning of bottomless champagne.”  

You rolled your eyes at the first world problems that occupied her little mind, whilst also feeling bad for the silent slaves that would face her bitchy wrath and irreconcilable alcoholism.  You studied her retreating form for a brief moment before stepping into the room and closing the door behind you.  

The dwelling was small but efficient; pressed against a wall was a long table filled with expensive finger foods and drinks, an animal-printed sofa in the center and a wall-sized screen that projected the current live show taking place on stage.  

The only people in such place were the two designers, whom were talking quietly next to the table, and Taehyung who sat watching the rest of the interviews.  Having reached your limit of capitol people for the day, you took a seat on the same couch Taehyung occupied.  

He was as straight-faced and aloof as ever, barely acknowledging you in favor of fixating his coal-like eyes on the other tributes as they spoke of strategy with the enthusiastic host.  

You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of your interview, if he felt any sense of sympathy at the romantic propaganda that was pushed onto you.  But you and him weren’t exactly on peaking terms either.  

So thus you two sat, wordlessly dissecting the bland interviews of District Eleven.  

It wasn’t until the entire show was over that Taehyung said something to you.

Vesta had returned and rounded you both up to go back to the suite.  

When exiting the elevator and entering the tenth floor, Taehyung uttered a final thought before turning his back to you to head to his room.

These would later be the last words he’d ever say to you.  

In his intimidating and bottomless voice he told you; “You’re either the luckiest tribute in this game, or the most doomed.”

--

(Couple things; I AM open to doing a part two but if I had this in my docs for a second longer I think I was gonna blow my brains out.  I do know where I wanna take it in the arena but decided to post it as it is bc I need time to organize the  actual battle.  Hopefully getting some feedback on this first part can help my creativity. This was orginally a request for a joint blog I was apart of but I left it...however the anon who requested told me they were happy that I was gonna be the one who wrote it and I already had 10+k down so I said fuck it.  The gif I had is really similar to the gifs I used for Pen Pal but pls don't drag me I cant find good yandere Jungkook gifs like he’s an actual ball of fluff.  Also I need to hire an editor bc omfg this is so shitty it looks like a first draft.  But anyway, Please do tell me what you thought of this story and well...issa wrap)

[punkandsnacks]

Sinnerman, Chapter One; Lions and Lambs.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: This is also - surprise surprise - another fairly slow burn story. With so many triggers and red flags I can’t even begin to tell you! I’ll tag each chapter of course. There is some language and violence and swearing in this chapter- hope y’all are ready to sin for this one... In this story there is knife play, violence, rough sex, dubcon, angst, and just a great great deal of, well, sin.

Synopsis: Prisoner!Killer!Kylo/OC AU

In which a sweet crime writer goes to question a convicted scarred murderer; what could possibly go wrong? (Oh! So many things)

He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink in her seat. Saw how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect upon her...

Seeing her in here after so many goddamn days and years limited purely to the bland familiar sights of fellow prison inmates and guards. Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here, and see what little treat sat awaiting him, was like New Years Eve in Paris.

After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath.

~ ~  🖤 ~ ~ 

   Evelyn Winslow was the kind of woman no one ever saw.

 Not that this was ever a detrimental feature. Matter of fact, she thrived happily behind this persona.

 All her life she’d been the bookish one. The shy one. The bibliophile who hid herself away behind her self-constructed, unbreakable, fortress of comfort. Supported by books and her intelligence. Held up faithfully by her own proclivity to be first and foremost, who she was comfortable to be.

All for herself, and no one else. Which was just as well. She was a daughter to a single mother, and was raised by both her grandmother and mother alike. It had been many years since she’d lost her granny to cursed old age and her mother to a rotten illness.

She was entirely alone in her world. It was populated now by nothing other than her small corner of cherished hobbies, and her job to fulfil her. It kept her sane, and happy. Even if the loneliness did creep In sometimes… and she was hardly the type of girl to have legions of men fawning after her as lovers… She was a reserved, quiet person who was happy with her own set of well-loved interests.

 This was obvious from the first glimpse of her.

 Drab formal work-wear wrapped around her unremarkable, small, body, swathed in her trusty granny cardigan, with a patch sewn roughly over the worn elbow.

 Her round, owl-like reading glasses perched happily on her pale face. Her plain hair, chestnut auburn, somewhat shiny, but somewhat straggly, was smoothed back into an artless bun at the back of her neck. Though despite her best efforts, wisps of it still managed to catch in her face, swinging in front of her glasses clad eyes and her ears.

 She was perched on the edge of an unfathomably uncomfortable plastic chair. Her small form getting swallowed up into the artless frame the seat offered.

One that she couldn’t help but think didn’t mould to cradle the shape of anyone’s ass.

Her body was alight with nerves, she tried to absolve her trembling hands on the reliable paperback she’d sloped in her lap, hoping she could lose herself in the words, and they would provide her the usual succour of her favourite novel.

 But the worn, water warped paper backed book did nothing to aid her. Not when she was in this place.

 This great sprawling concrete building took up most of the horizon, like some ugly beast. She had hesitated getting out of the car three times before she bit the bullet and went inside.

Entering the place was a challenge in itself. Two forms of ID required, a security check, bag search and finally she was allowed inside this awful, cavernous setting.

 She’d been escorted along the drab, cold halls by a broad, silent guard. The hallway she’d been led down filled full of the far off clamour of all male noise.

The musty air mingled with the stale stench of ancient sterile cleaning products that she was sure had been pasted over the peeling lino floors with a mop, in the not too distant past by some inmate.

 The lumbering guard ahead of her didn’t even bat an eyelid when he led her down a walkway, high above what she could discern was a common room of sorts. Down below, she could see pool tables, and normal tables gathered in groups, surrounded by tall columns of orange clad men of all shapes and sizes mingled around them.

 Heat flooded to her cheeks when came the first wolf whistle aimed up at her. She ignored the rising clamour of shouts and calls that were sent her way. Some voices more distinguishable than others- unfortunately.

 Voices erupted from beside them too. They walked past rows of white barred cells.

 She flinched out of her skin when one huge man thudded down from his top bunk and rattled the bars of his cell so loud it almost knocked her off her feet.

 She tried to keep her eyes down as the guard had said, and not interact. But at his rough voice and even rougher words she made the mistake of flickering her eyes across to him.

 “Come over here bitch, I wanna get a good look at you.” He all but spat at her. His hands braced on the bars, leaning closer.

 She fixated on the scar that divided his face. The shaven crop of his hair, and the tattoos that marred his thick arms. By the time he dropped his head to clock her ass, his smile was a leer.

 The guard seems to take notice of the prisoner and sends back a harsh bark of warning to him.

She found her courage, and her legs re-joined, and she moved off. Her cheeks pink, her shame broadcasting out of every pore.

 Her fear and her anxiety palphable in the air. Almost as if she could reach out and touch the cloud of nerves surrounding her.

 “Don’t let these scum know you’re scared. They’ll eat it up if you do.” The guard casually tossed over his shoulder as they came to another set of stairs, leading away from the commotion of the common room.

 Evie frowned at his words. And gulped too.

 It was obvious from the off, not as if she needed the confirmation, but it was clear this place didn’t welcome nor warm well to outsiders.

Eventually her silent bidder of doom led her to another waiting room, and told her to be patient and that the Prison shrink would be with her soon to debrief her about her visit.

 So here she found herself. Jiggling with nervousness. Reeling from the rough words of the prisoner who’d gotten off from scaring her half to death. Feasting on her with no more than his eyes like she was a porterhouse steak.

 Sickness and dread bubbled up in her stomach, cloying sour in her throat. She picked a stray thread off her drab grey skirt. Tucking her teal cardigan tighter around herself. She was feeling clammy and terrified. The dank air in here serving to make pimples raise on her exposed legs.

 She’d taken the dress code very seriously. Her sensible grey skirt came to her knees. She wore simple kitten heels on her feet. Her white blouse and her cerulean blue wool cardigan were both buttoned modestly across her décolletage.

 Nothing to invoke or enflame masculine attention. She was well versed in that rule.

 Her makeup was practically non-existent.  No lip colour, barely any blush. Nothing to conceal the bags under her eyes and only a sweep of mascara to darken her lashes.

She’d been scrupulous about everything. Only cursing herself when she lapsed, forgetting the dress code when she spritzed perfume on her wrists and dabbed some on her neck this morning.

 Assured the guard opposite wasn’t watching, she lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled. Nothing but the scent of her washing detergent and the soft scent of her skin. She flattered herself she might get away with it…

 Nervously tapping her foot, she put her ineffective novel away and reached for the file in her bag. Reacquainting herself with the contents which she was sure she knew off heart by now.

 She’d read over prisoner ID 623859’s profile numerous times. She’d gone over it time and time again, hoping it would make her feel more prepared. It was an odd thing; there she was, of an evening, curled up on her sunny front porch, in the porch swing, with a glass of white wine, going over the file of this perfect stranger.

 This whole man in his entirety, having been consigned to a number, and a charge sheet...

 The absurdity and callous nature of it had struck her as a very cold and brutal thing. To add insult, the file had lacked a mug shot. So she couldn’t even see what he looked like.

 Her boss had shrugged when she bought it up. The photo had gotten lost or dropped out at some point perhaps… did it matter? To Evie it did. They could atleast give this man the decency of being treated like a human being.

 And now she was here, and it was all so real. She’d be meeting the man behind this file in a mere matter of moments.

 She’d  interviewed a few prisoners before, all in the line of duty for her work as a crime writer. But they’d been in on minor charges such as breaking and entering, arson, car theft or fraud.

 She’d never had to sit across the interrogation table from a killer before.

 Because ID 623859 was a lifer, who’d been sent down for five counts of first degree murder four years ago.

 A step up from her usual inmates doing 2 – 3 years for good behaviour and the district attorney arguing for whittling their case down to community service rather than jail time.

 Out of her comfort zone couldn’t even begin to describe the place she found herself in right now-

 She was so idly consumed in the file, the reverberating clang of bars in front of her echoed in her bones, startling her yet again out of her daze. Looking up she met the gaze of a very run down man who tiredly called out her name in confirmation.

 “Winslow?” He asked morosely.

 She darted up nervously. Pushing her glasses up her nose. Tucking hair behind her ear. Her anxious tick, she’d always been told by her granny.

 The laminated name badge pinned to her chest earlier clattered against her arms when she stood. She nervously shut the file and stepped towards the man. Awkwardly jerking her hand out from under the coat folded over her arm.

 “Hello. Yes. Uh, you must be Doctor Finch…” She greets politely. Finch assessed her with a fatigued flick, up and down, of his eyes.

 “This way..” He greeted with little enthusiasm. Encouraging her to follow. He didn’t return her handshake.

 He was a short, stout man. Dressed in a drab puce green shirt, with sweat stains at his armpits, and a bland brown tie knotted around his neck like a lifeless noose.

 His trousers were wrinkled and his shoes looked unloved to say the least. Even with his olive skin, his salt and pepper balding hair and baggy eyes spoke volumes of his jaded despondency with his job.

 As she followed him she noted the scent of stale sweat, bad coffee and awful cheap cologne followed him as he moved. Everything about this man seemed stale.

 She trailed after him obediently in silence, the only sound they made was his lolloping steps from his heavy boots, and the dainty click of her heels hitting the lino floor. It wasn’t until they got to the second door that he spoke. His voice too, was fusty.

 “So. You’re here to see Ren…” He lets his question hang in the air.

 “Uh. Yes.” She speaks up. “I’m from Armstrong & Lowery Publishing. I was tasked along with a few in house authors to write criminal profiles for a memoir series. Very edgy. Uh, plenty of personal insight into life after conviction...” She explained. He replied with a less than impressed grunt.

 “Lucky you.” He answered drily without looking back at her.

 The pit of hope in her stomach dried up. She wouldn’t be making any friends in here, that was for certain.

 “Now listen…” He breathes out blearily.

 “This isn’t some tame convict whose serving time for joyriding…” He begins. For the first time since they’d met, he turned to her and stared her down deep with the depths of his dark eyes.

 “This criminal is a violent, dangerous, sociopath who brutally attacked and killed five men, in cold blood.” He tells her. Each word punching out his mouth with heavy gravity. She nods.

 “I read his file…” She offers weakly.

 He scoffs.

 “Then you’ve barely scratched the surface, girly.” He tells her with a hint of amusement in his voice.

 Do you always make the outside visitors your entertainment? She wonders idly.

 “Truthfully. I don’t know what warnings I can give you about Ren.” He starts as he unlocks a barred door from the keys clipped to his belt which strained under the size of his rotunda belly.

 “One thing I can promise you is that you sure as hell might not get much out of him. He doesn’t tend to like being interrogated by journalists. Ask the last one who came to annoy him with questions.” He chuckles.

 Evie froze. He turned around and met her gaze with the threat of his morbid promise glittering in his eyes.

 “What happened to the last one?” She asks in a voice that was barely audible.

 “They pushed him.” He says. “Ragged on him, dug into his weak points. Delved far too deep into his personal life for his liking…” Finch tells.

 “Even handcuffed to the table, he managed to reach across and break their arm in three places. And he didn’t even work up a drop of sweat as he did it.” He warns. “...And don’t go thinking provoking him is the only way to set him off either...” He starts.

 “Two years ago I was performing a routine eval of him, and he lunged across that table and stabbed my own pen through my hand when I tried to get him to finally open up about his childhood.” As he spoke, he held up his right hand, and she could see the uneven bump of a small jagged scar sat on his palm.

 Evie blinks. Her spine felt frozen rigid in fear. It took an enormous portion of her courage to step through the barred door he held open for her.

 “If you’ve talked to other prisoners before, then you’re up on the familiar protocol… No reaching over. Don’t pass them anything except paper. Keep your hands to yourself. Dress appropriately. Don’t rile them. And when times called, times up. Visitors and Prisoners both follow the rules, that clear?  You stay seated until the prisoner is escorted out by the guards… the usual fuss…” He adds.

 She thinks she may have nodded in response. She isn’t entirely sure.

 He walks her down another long hallway. This one was much different to the one the other guard had led her down.

 There were no bars. No open communal spaces. The doors here weren’t bars, they were solid heavy metal. With tiny shuttered windows on each one. She didn’t need to be told what kind of men were kept back behind these doors.

 She soldiers on. Acutely aware of the clack of her heels that rung through the hallway with each step she took. How unfamiliar a sound like that must be in this miserable, rigid institution.

 “What else can you tell me about him?” She braves to ask. “Something that isn’t in his file?”

 Finch sighs and goes quiet for a moment, fiddling with the keys in his hands to find the next one for the interrogation room.

 “You want my honest opinion?” He speaks up. Standing stiffly and regarding her for a moment. She waits patiently for his assessment.

 “He ain’t seen or talked to a woman in three years. You want the truth, I think that’s gonna have a big effect in how he reacts to you. I don’t know if it’ll necessarily help you or hurt you. You may arouse his interest, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna give you answers.” He honestly informs her.

 “He’s not gonna open up to you just cause you’re a woman. He won’t see you as some compassionate, kind, caring shoulder to lean on. For all I know, you going in there to question him could be putting you in serious danger.” He tells her seriously.

 No sugar coating news around here, it seemed.

 That was when he stepped closer and unashamedly took a deep breath next to the air surrounding her shoulder. She shrunk back a little, perturbed.

 “Forgive my asking. But did you put perfume on this morning?” He asks her in a bored monotone.

 Her cheeks heat. “Habit.” She tells him, embarrassed at having been caught out. His eyes turn to points

 “Next time? Don’t. He’ll pick up on that.” He tells her off sharply. She bobbles a nod once again. He turns and continues their long walk to the interrogation room.

 “Now. There’ll be guards posted outside the door. And I need to mention for safety all your conversations will be recorded.” He explains the usual procedure.

 “I’ll be watching the two of you from the anteroom on the video monitor. If he tries anything. We’ll be there hopefully before anything can happen. We’ve learnt the hard way to step our measures when it comes to Ren, for both inmates and visitors.” He tells her.

 “I read about his… uh injury… After his sentence here…” She tells Finch. “The altercation with the other prisoner, in the yard.”

 “Nastiest thing I’ve seen in a long while.” He tells her.

 Back to her as he punched a key code into the panel on the wall. A harsh blare opened to cell door, showing her the rows of silver tables and fixed chairs inside.

 She’d read in the file about what happened not long after he was first incarcerated. Some gang set after Ren during yard time one day, and the leader took his shiv and carved a scar down from his forehead to his shoulder. Holding him down as he did to teach the new pretty boy who was top dog.

 They had swaggered off, assured they’d cemented who was the alpha. When Ren, bleeding profusely, and in probably unfathomable amounts of pain, chased the guy down, beat him half to death, buried the guys own shiv in his thigh - and bit out a chunk of the leaders face for good measure.

 It took four guards to get Ren off him before he killed the fellow prisoner. guards, prisoners and visitors gave him a wide berth after that. No one dare looked in his direction if they knew what was good for them.

 “Since that day he’s been in solitary cell confinement for his sentence here. Can’t trust him to be the type to get along with a bunk mate.” Finch spoke under his breath, as if he was speaking disappointedly about an errant child who didn’t gel with other people.

 He’d gone through two cell mates here in his first month. Both of whom barely escaped with their lives.

 He waved his arm, indicating for her to take a seat at one of the tables.

 “Standard procedure. The prisoner will be escorted in shortly, Ms Winslow. Take a seat…” He tells her.

 She steps past. Clutching her coat in her arms as if it could protect her. She chose the table in the far corner. And spread her folded coat across the back of the chair. Nerves squirming in her belly like some rabid, wild animal was trying to burrow into her stomach.

 She tucked a strand of her hair and took a seat. The worn and scratched metal chair under her making her skin thrash coolly as she lowered down onto it. Tainting her skin with goosebumps. The hair at the back of her neck was needled straight on end with terror.

 “I’ll be in the monitor room watching. Try not to let him play too many of his games with you, and remember. Don’t antagonise him… Best of luck…” Finch sniped at her before he shuffled away out of sight.

She tried not to let herself think unpleasant thoughts about the insipid, embittered man who clearly despised his job and all those involved along with it.

 She fiddled with her glasses, and withdrew her notebook and pen from the confines of her bag. Nervously nibbling on her lower lip. She flexed her cold hands as she flipped to an empty page. Making last minute, nervous adjustments, fixing her badge. Making sure she was still all buttoned up, and presentable.

She nervously crossed her legs, feeling that her sheer beige tights slid smoothly along her cold, goose pimpled skin. She wiggled her chilled toes in her shoes. Shamefully aware as she drew her cardigan over her chest, that she was suddenly freezing.

 For good measure, she crossed her arms over her chest and hunched down in her seat, arms under the table and awaited her fate.

 The first thing she heard, was the jangle of the keys scuffing the barred doors unlocking then clanging as they were slid open.

She was beginning to understand they were the standard noise to echo and signify movement about this prison.

 The sound seemed to rattle through her, ringing through her skeleton. Making more dread creep through her. She swallows, her eyes darting to the door where she could hear a few sets of footsteps shuffle and clatter along the vapid lino floor.

 There was something else too, along with the heavy sets of treads, she could hear a soft clinking noise shift in the air. It took her a second to come to realise that she could hear his shackles as the prisoner was being shifted along.

 Cuffed at the ankles and the wrists – for her safety. She heard a door open and close, and Finch’s bored voice rang loud through the halls. They were just metres away, beyond the barred door.

 “You be nice now, Ren.” Finch warns.

 The clanking stopped for a moment.

 “You know I don’t play well with others.” A deep baritone answered drily. The implication in his voice was dangerous. It made her blood run cold.

 Evie suddenly wanted to shrink down to about three centimetres tall. She wanted to wither away into the chair like a dried up leaf curling in on itself.

 She watches Finch unlock the door and then it is filled by the three figures the other side of it.

The tall column of orange prisoner is flanked by two guards. They, frankly, looked ineffective in comparison to the figure they were there to guard.

 They seem more like ineffectual support than anything. Because the solid wall of tall man in the prison jumpsuit was entirely six feet four of fury, rage and danger hemmed into an orange uniform.

 He may have been the incarcerated one, but power pulsed about his figure like a far off threat. Lingering in the distance. Always there, chiming gently.

 He stands a foot above the two guards, superior, and the small curl of his lips suggests he knows this.

 Under an unruly mane of inky hair, his eyes look darker than black zirconia’s. The harsh light of the room they’re in reflects in a glimmer back off his black, fathomless eyes.

 Lifeless eyes, like sharks eyes, she thinks… dead eyes… the knowledge he was a killer made them more chilling- Those eyes had seen men die.

 He cocks his head at her through the bars and surveys her. Something dark and terrible flares through her belly.

 She wants to pull up her book, shield herself. Put something, any barrier really, between her and his burning eyes that were boring holes into her like flames scorching paper.

 It was like looking at something grotesque, it unsettled her down in the very marrow of her bones – but her body just wouldn’t let her look away.

 She hadn’t expected to find herself so entranced with his looks. He could definitely be classified as intoxicating.

 She certainly felt under the influence. He was handsome in an unbelievable and impossible way. Strong, broad features, full lips.

 A clean shaven chin. Face marred by a thick, jagged track of a vivid red scar running from the top of his forehead entirely down his right cheek, slicing its scarred trail deep into his skin. It told of what made him so dangerous, so brutal. The latticework of violence on his skin written with the tip of someone else’s crude knife.

 It marred well with the tattoos that she could see covered every inch of his torso. The backs of his hands, twined along his large, thick fingers. Hidden at either side of his pale neck by long strands of his hair that fell in waves to his shoulders.

 Down the front of his neck, by his clavicle and the exposed top buttons of the stark orange jumpsuit. There too shadowy patterns of ink are shouting their dark tales of his life from the surface of his alabaster skin. Appropriately, She can see teeth, bones, skulls, darkness and blood.

 The door is slid open and with a final, resounding thunk, this odd entourage steps into the room.

 The prisoner is walked across to the table. Evie’s hand itches. She wants to do something normal. She wants to rise to her feet, greet him hello, and shake his hand as if this was a business meeting over coffee. But she can’t. She won’t.

 She stays with her ass firmly placed on her seat as if it was cemented there. Her wrist twitches and she fights the proclivity to reach across for a handshake. Rule 1 of prison etiquette; Don’t reach over – keep your hands at all times, to yourself.

 Instead she can only sit there, pinned, under the gaze of the gigantic man being led towards her. She felt exposed like this.

 A rabbit in headlights. Vulnerable. And she wasn’t even the one in shackles here… how was it he still harnessed all the power in the room?

 She was convinced he managed it by the sheer size of his body alone. He was towering to say the least. She was sure he was a good two feet taller than her.

 She watched him stride across the room, with the guards shuffling him in by his sides. She saw his long, powerful legs stride him forwards as if he wasn’t even in cuffs, or in this prison at all.

 She is cursed to do nothing but watch, as he is led across to her. The guards go either side as he lowers that big body of his into the seat opposite. She fears that he wouldn’t fit onto it.

 But he eases down and slides his hands forwards onto the metal table top. He unfolds his legs under the table and lets them stretch out, almost hitting hers. He arcs his back and shoulders forwards in the chair and lets his forearms rest on the surface.

 She jumps back, flinching in her seat when he drags his shackles harshly across the tables surfaces. The metal whining and shrieking.

 Oh, she was sweet. He’d scared the poor little lamb.

 She watches the guards chain his joined hands to the metal bar secured on the table top. He sits there, suave, like a king, not even acknowledging the two people securing him. His eyes remained fixed on her.

 She wets her lips, and tucks her hair behind her ear. His eyes don’t miss a thing. Evie gives the po-faced guards a wobbly smile, which they do not return, before they shuffle away out of the room. Leaving her all alone to the savage mercy of Kylo Ren.

 “You know the rules...” One of them warns him as they shackle his left wrist. How many more warnings was he in for?

 “Is that meant for me, or her, Henderson?” He asks. Looking her right in the eye. Appealing to the guard by name.

 She gulps. Again. He spots it. 

“None of your trouble here with the lady. Try not to get yourself thrown in the hole for a month this time…” The Guard bays back to Ren’s snappy mouth. Their conversation ends with the harsh clang of the cell door.

 “No promises…” He mutters lowly. Growling lowly at her.

 Her mouth gapes lightly. And his smile curls up more in the beginnings of a smirk. She felt her bravery deflate at the fact he was staring his piercing gaze into her soul.

Yet still referred to her in the third person. As if she wasn’t in the room. As if she wasn’t even here. To him, she supposed, she was an ineffectual, annoying spec. A fly he wished to swat to death with his very large, tattooed hands.

 For what feels like the first time, she lets her frightened gaze meet his. She sits up a little straighter and shuffles in her seat, her eyes switch across to the door as the guards flank it and stand silently.

 Arms crossed, backs ramrod straight. Eyes daggering into Ren’s back. She timidly reaches her hand out for her notebook. Feeling a little like she was dangerously reaching her hand into a lions enclosure at the zoo.

 She wets her lips. Summoning the energy to speak.

 Ren feels his temper simmering under his skin already. Was the damn girl a fucking mute or what?

 “Um, Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Ren…” She begins.

 He merely narrows his eyes. Otherwise silent as the grave.

 “I’m missing my yard time for this. And for what? So a Librarian can ask me the same fucking questions every journalists wants to ask me?” He all but spits out.

She can tell he doesn’t really require an answer on that one.

 She shuffles. Tucks her hair behind her ear again. Clearly that outburst made her uncomfortable.

 “I’m not a journalist…” She corrects weakly.

 His impassive, handsome, face made no move to acknowledge her smidgeon of backbone.

 She looked about as robust as that godawful fraying, fuzzy, granny cardigan she was wearing. He thought about how the heft of it rudely hid her body shape from his eyes.

 “My names Evie Winslow. I’m a writer, actually. I’m from a publishing house that’s very interested in your story as a lifer in here. They’re doing a series of inmates personal memoirs to publish into a volume of…”

 “Writer. Journalist. What’s the difference…” He lets out under his breath to himself, unamused.

To him, they were both annoying, pushy, arrogant suits who only seemed to swan into this place to grill him with personal and infuriatingly nosy questions.

 “You look like you know your way around a book. You’ve doubtless read my file judging by that manila folder sticking out your bag… You’ll know my feelings about bossy journalists asking me their annoying questions….” He warns, his voice a dark purr.

 His threat hanging around in the air. As he spoke, he leaned into the table. Pinning her under that dark gaze once again.

 That gaze had kept him safe being locked up in here all these years. It made sure people left him-the-fuck alone. Made sure some of the fucking scum that co-inhabited this place knew not to antagonise him.

  She bites at the inside of her lower lip. Mulling over his musings.

 “Writers have the luxury of imagination.” She offers simply as an answer. Again, he is silent. But she can see activity at the back of those deep dark eyes as he assesses her.

 She was meek. There was no doubting that. He somehow found himself giddy at the fact that she leapt out of her skin when she slowly scraped his shackles across the table.

 He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink down. Seen how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect.

 After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath. Seeing her in here after so many goddamn day and years limited purely to the bland sights of fellow inmates and guards.

 Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here and see what sweet, shapely little treat sat awaiting him was like New Years Eve in Paris.

 A writer, was all he’d been told. British too, apparently. What the fuck does some prim suited, stuck- up writer want with him?

 Visitor signed in as E. Winslow. He’d expected to walk in and see some balding, academic, authorial fat old man. Not a delectable, petite, shapely, dark haired woman.

 When he saw her wet her lips as she looked nervously across, he swore to god his cock leapt up to attention under his jumpsuit. He tried to discern more of her figure as he sat, but her frumpy work wear made that a challenge.

 He let his mind drift a little as he was shackled in. His eyes went to her chest for only a second.

 The fuzzy cardigan did well to hide her shape from him. But he could see under those drab work clothes there most likely his a fine figure.

 The sight of her buttoned over cleavage and the slight hint of her pale sternum made his mouth water. Aswell as the scent of her.

 Her fucking scent he could smell all the way down the corridor.

 Sweet honeysuckle or some natural shit like that. Lavender. Peonies. Something other than the scent of the paltry institution detergent they washed the prison suits in.

 That something other was like ambrosia nectar to him.

 He thanked the stars that she’d put on perfume too. Giving him something to fucking distract him from this fucking pit if for only a damn second.

 He could trace warm notes of it in the air around her. Something so bright and floral it was all he could do to concentrate on ignoring it.

 He wanted to lean across and find out with his lips where abouts she sprayed on her soft, silken neck. He wanted to vice her throat in one hand, squeeze, and feel her pulse go crazy under his palm. Crushing her windpipe lightly under his violent grip.

 He can’t say he was familiar with her type. She had a lot of things she tried to hide herself away in.

 Her messily arranged hair, the librarian owl-like glasses, the dull blouse and the boring cardigan; it all screamed ‘safe’ at him. Polar opposite to him, he thought.

 His entire demeanour was centred off the fact he never hid a thing. Of course, he tried to blend into society’s norms into what was acceptable. But that was a different thing. He was big, tall, unabashed, broad, unashamed, confident.

 He brazenly wore his temper, his tattoos, his wealth, his piercings – the few he had left. She was the complete photo negative. She seemed designed to take up as little space as was possible.

 Her personality spoke of her living her quiet, shy life in exactly the way she pleased. No wedding ring visible on her slim finger. From that he could discern that meant she didn’t dress up her petite frame for anyone but herself. Never stepping out of her comfort zone.

Never doing anything brazen or risky. She looked like a woman who lived well within the parameters of her cosy, cushy, ineffectual little life.

 So what was this nice, educated, girl doing in a place like this? Talking to a man like him?

 “Call a spade a spade. You’re here to ask me questions. No matter what job you’ve got.” He grilled with a neutral expression. Piercing right to the point.

 He’d got her there.

 “Well. Yes, I am…” She adds.

 He made no move except to harshly exhale. She could see he was still staring her down like he wanted to cut her into strips, simply for being here.

 “What more, personally, can you tell me about your conviction? What was that like?” She begins, holding her notebook open. Her pen poised to take notes.

 His jaw grit. Tight.

 If she thought he was going to sit here like an obedient lapdog, and answer every personal question she wanted to pry into about his own damn personal life, she could think again.

 “Long and boring.” He answers stiffly.

 “The trial?” She asks.

 No answer comes from him.

 “Read. My. File.” He answers shortly.

 She blinks, her pen poised over the paper, now blotting a large, sticky ink stain on the creamy lined notebook paper.

 “How was it adjusting to prison life?” She ventures. But by now she knows not to get her hopes up for an answer.

 “Painful.” Comes the reply with his similar deadpan expression.

 “Uh..” She stumbled, trying to find the notes. Flicking through pages and feeling her cheeks glaring red with embarrassment.

 Her throat was drying up. Her hand trembling. He was so big, and just so terrifying.

The veins in his neck were starting to strain up under his skin. Pulsing with the need to keep a foothold on his patience.

 “What do you want me to talk about, huh?” He asks suddenly. Bursting forwards even more in his chair.

 The scraping of the shackles on the table shrieked again. Once more, she jumped at the noise, and he felt his arousal bubbling up with his rage.

 “You want me to describe in vivid detail what hurting all those men felt like? How it felt when I held the knife in my hand and ran it into them. Into their skin. Into their guts. How I slit one of their throats and how it felt fucking good to watch the blood pour?” He asks with a little twitch of his head, and morbid fascination in his voice.

 “And with another one…. About how I cut his femoral artery, deep, and watched him die so slowly. People don’t reckon they know how much blood is in the human body. But, ohhh, I do, Kitten. And it’s a lot. I know because I watched a man fade slowly away in a pool of his own blood. By the end he was choking on it.” He explained.

She wanted to flinch at that pet name he’d assigned her in the middle of his murderous diatribe.

 “I think you do want to hear it. On some twisted level. You want people to know how it feels. That’s why people will read your fucking memoirs, baby.” He says

 “They want to read about it because they will never know how it feels to be like me. To be like any of the murderers in this place. They can never know. So, they do the next best thing.” He explains.

 ”They come in here and they poke and prod and dissect us with psych evals and dare to call us crazy. When really, they’d do anything to know what it feels like to be a killer. To fall over that edge.”

 She felt somehow both sick and feverish. Frozen.

 She said nothing, but looked at him with those big, blue, innocent, scared eyes of hers. And my god, the sight of that almost served to make him rock hard under the goddamn table.

 “Is that what all you and your type want to hear? I enjoyed killing them. I glad I did it. No I wouldn’t take it back if I could. I’m glad I killed them all. Yes, I do curse every day I’m trapped in this miserable rotten hellhole, being shuffled around like a caged animal. Being told when to sleep. When to piss. When to shower. I miss my freedom.

 She just stares for a second. She wasn’t hard hearted enough to scoff at him in derision.

No. She was too sweet, he thought. But he could sense her disappointment at him. She chews on the inside of her lower lip again. And then he watches as she lays her pen down…

 “What else do you miss most from outside this place then?” She asks after a long moment of silence.

 That made him cock his head. It startled him. She’d startled him. The petite, five foot three librarian had astonished the six foot four, gigantic killer.

 “What?”

 She wet her lips. His big thighs tensed under the table.

 “What else do you miss-“

 “I heard the goddamn question. Kitten.” He growls with little patience.

 Her spine tingled at his oddly soft endearment once again. He knew. Of course he knew. Those pale cheeks went pink, that’s how he knew.

 She idly stroked a fingertip over the spine of her closed notebook. He watched her do it.

 Her hands looked soft. When she glanced over to his, she saw they were marred with scars, calluses, and toughened skin. She wondered how soft they’d feel pressed against hers…

 She’d been warned about sharing private information. Warned against sharing anything that wasn’t pertinent to her enquires as a crime writer.

 But she wanted to level with this dangerous man. As she imagined no one else had ever bothered to do. They took him at face value; a killer, an ID number of six letters. A last name. And that was all.

 They didn’t look beyond, however hard that may be, and however tricky Ren made it for them, to see the man underneath the prison file.

 He was still a human being. Sure, a damaged one. But still-

 “I’d miss my garden.” She pipes up.

 She flickers her eyes up, watching him as he shifts back to relax slightly into the cold metal cradle of his chair. His wavy hair caught the light, despite what she knew would be years of lax grooming and institution shampoo used on it, it still looked silky. Falling in gentle waves around that unforgettably beautiful face.

 Most inmates she knew were only allowed bar soap, basic shaving necessities, and loveless bathing products to clean with.

 He looked like the kind of hardcore man who’d stuck to a strict grooming routine before he came into this place. Cut-throat razor.

 The finest shaving creams and expensive balms used, to sit lingering their fine fragrance on his skin. Cologne so expensive it was like a scent of the finest luxury with every whiff.

 The thought of seeing hot, steamy water run over that broad tattooed figure she knew was lurking under that jumpsuit. Trickling over those rippling muscles in his back, over his shoulder blades, down across his divinely formed- she found herself flushing with longing.

 She snapped back out of her sordid daydream...

 He was clearly reluctant to speak. So she continued. “My Granny left us her house in her will. After my mother passed on also, it became mine. It’s small. Full of hand me downs, antiques, and various knick-knacks. It’s a cheap, dated house now. But it’s warm. Its clean. And it’s all mine.” She tells him.

 ”All I have left of my family exists in that house. My little dwelling in the middle of nowhere. One of my earliest memories is planting daisies into terracotta planters with my granny. I must’ve been about, five or six. As a kid I was always outside, playing in the garden. And my mother always roped me into help...” she chuckles.

 ”And that’s how I came to love it, I guess. I’m at my happiest up to my elbows in dirt putting in a new bed of tulips, or tending my hydrangeas, or seeing my hard labour come to fruition when my jasmine gardenias blossom in the first week of spring. It’s a lovely thing.” She explained.

 “The smell of my lilac trees on a warm summers morning coming through on the breeze from my kitchen window. That’s what I’d miss.

 Unless she was very much mistaken, that was a small curl of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. Barely visible. But she knew what she saw.

 “Coffee.” Was the word that surprised her when it came sailing out of his lips. A short, staccato bark, really.

 She nods.

 “Italian coffee. Strong. No milk. Dark as ink. A triple espresso so strong it makes your teeth ache.” He lets out. “The instant shit you get in here tastes like mud.”

 “That’s good…” She smiles lightly. Tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She does that a lot, he noticed.

 “I could do without being assaulted daily by Finch’s shitty cologne too. But there’s not a lot I can do to change that either.” He grumbles.

 His eyes turned up to the corner to fix a dark glare into the camera that was pointed down at them. He knew the chubby man would have his arms crossed over his fat belly, watching him through the monitor. Probably picking his nose or reading a dirty magazine.

 An unusual feeling spread warmth through his stomach when he saw her fight off a broad smile at that wish. She pushed her glasses back up her pixie like, upturned nose and tried her best not to laugh aloud.

 “Some things are just, eternally, beyond our reach, I guess.” She mutters quietly.

 ”No accounting for taste.” Ren glares solidly at the camera. Making sure Finch heard it, and saw it.

 “Time’s up.” Came a short outburst from the heavy set guard stood flanking the door.

 Ren watched the prim Ms. Winslow turn her head, her mouth gaping as she blinked prettily at the two plodding guards who came over to release Ren’s shackles.

 Once again, he watched her like a hawk, rather than paying attention to what was being done to his hands as they were jerked free of the table.

 She wondered if his wrists hurt with the careless way they handled him. Tugging and pulling his hands about in the cuffs like he was a nerveless piece of meat.

 She could see the raised red lines of irritation from the harsh cuffs about his pale, thick inked wrists that looked sore.

 He could tell she was disappointed. She had hoped for more from him. Her boss would grill her for days about this. He already found her a thorn in his side.

 Nothing she ever did was good enough. He proofed, edited and slaughtered her articles and writing proposals before he sent them to print. She didn’t like to reckon what he’d do if she’d go back tomorrow empty handed.

 “Come see me again.” Came a baritone rumble from opposite the table.

 “Up.” One of the guards instructed plainly. Yapping at him like a baying dog.

 Evie blinked. Did he just…?

 “Kitten.” He growled a crooked smirk in parting, rising to his full towering height again, eyes pinning her down again before he was tugged away.

 Shackles clanking. Big broad frame filling the door as he moved through it. Out into the hall.

 And she watched that tall column of orange flanked between two short navy pillars once more before he is out of her sight.

 She’d never been more speechless. And somehow, oddly enthusiastic. He’d spent the first ten minutes glaring at her. Terrified her to the bone. Threatened her and made her shiver in her seat.

 And still she felt motivated to come to this awful place again, merely by the way he’d growled his little pet name at her.

  ~

  It was a few days later, and just gone past noon when a tall man strode his confident way into his corner office. His blushing blonde secretary had just handed him his schedule.

 And he thanked her with a sultry wink. He hadn’t bedded this one yet. But he was going too, he could tell.

 Another warning from HR about the mingling of personal and work relationships sent his way as a final warning; that he could easily ignore, just crumple and throw in the bin as he had done with the last four.

 He strode into his office with all the poise of an Emperor. Surveying the expensive, sleek space he’d worked semi hard to earn.

 His Brioni suit was flawless. His office was kitted out with some new, showy expensive Italian designers collection. Fresh calla lilies adorned the masterpiece of an art vase on his coffee table, and with the sun filtering through his blinded windows just right, he felt good that today was going to be glorious.

As most of his days usually were.

 His coffee warming his hands, last nights lovers lipstick he was sure was still smeared its cloying kiss on his neck and his collar, and on the fly of his zipper.

And it didn’t hurt that the cute girl at Starbucks had scrawled her number onto his cup next to his name.

 He hummed merrily as he crossed to his desk, just as his office phone blared to life. He slung down his cup and answered it. Checking the time on his flawless Panerai watch.

 “It’s me.” A gruff greeting came, down the line.

 His head shot up. He’d know the baritone match of his relatives voice any day. He smirked.

 “He never calls, he never writes…” He chided with his typical grin, leaning back to perch on the edge of his desk.

 “I need a favour…” He grunted.

 He listened for more that was sure to follow.

 “Someone came to see me recently. And I need to know who they are. What they want. I need information and you’re going to get it for me.” They instructed.

 “Do you want the usual package of information or something a little…sexier?” He enquired.

 “I don’t give a shit. Just come see me with what you know when you find it.”

 “I might need some gentle persuading…” Came his playful answer. He didn’t. He just loved riling his twin.

 They growled lowly down the other end. How long was it before he crushed the plastic handset to splinters, he wondered?

 “Just do it, Ben.” Came a ferocious order. A threat. A promise. And then the line went sharply dead.

 Ben Solo put the phone down, lifted his coffee to his lips, and smirked.

 Today really was destined to be full of surprises after all.

  ~ ~  🖤 ~ ~

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 6: Enter Lucien Flavius

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 6: Enter Lucien Flavius by C_R_Scott Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary: Tim returns to Riverwood before attempting to trek to Bleak Falls Barrows. However, instead of gathering supplies to prepare for his assignment, he ends up picking up a companion.

(NOTE: I'm in the process of reblogging the initial chapters of this story because, for some reason, Tumblr won't let me edit the earlier versions that I created using the Tumblr app on my phone. I'm also in the process of creating a masterlist for this series)

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

The next morning, after spending the evening at the Bannered Mare Inn in Whiterun and visiting the apothecary to pick up some salve for his burns, Tim reversed his journey back to Riverwood. As he walked, he thought about something the woman in the apothecary shop said as he made his purchase that morning.

***

"A severe lingering wound like that really needs to be looked at by someone with skills in healing arts. The damage is deep and basic healing potions aren't going to be strong enough to heal it completely. Perhaps if I had some stronger ingredients I could brew up a potion powerful enough to fix this, but I don't have any in stock," the elderly alchemist Arcadia said with concern. "There's a temple of Kynareth up the steps in the Cloud District.  It would take a few days, but my friend Danica and her apprentice could heal that completely for you."

Tim had sighed and shaken his head. "I wish I could, but the Jarl's given me an assignment that needs to be completed as soon as possible. I don't have a few days to spare." At the even more concerned look Arcadia gave him, one that was very similar to the kind Alfred used to give him when he'd overwork himself, Tim relented. "When I complete the Jarl's task and return to Whiterun, I promise I'll visit the temple."

***

The salve Arcadia gave him would ease some of the pain and prevent the burn from becoming infected, but it wouldn't heal the wound outright, and she was insistent he visit the temple as soon as he returned to Whiterun. Tim wished he could have taken some time to do this, but Balgruuf was right. With that dragon on the loose, the Jarl and his wizard needed as much information as they could get to protect the people of the hold.

Besides... He was used to working while injured. It almost felt... normal.

What wasn't normal was how little money he now had. The medicine, though necessary, had eaten up nearly all the Septims he had leftover after his night the Bannered Mare Inn. With a deepening sense of dread, Tim realized he couldn't remember ever being so broke before. It was an unsettling anxious feeling that he really didn't like. Is this what it was like for people who had to live paycheck to paycheck, just one medical disaster away from financial ruin? Is this what it felt like to be forced to work on a job not just out of a sense of duty or responsibility, but because if you didn't you'd have to potentially starve or be homeless?

***

"Ah! Good to see you again!" a friendly voice shook Tim from his thoughts. Apparently, while lost in his thoughts on his journey to Riverwood, he'd entered a sort of autopilot and hadn't been aware of how far he'd travelled. He glanced up, startled, to see he was already on the bridge entering Riverwood. He glanced at the sky, noting the color of twilight and the few stars starting to peak out across the expanse. Then he turned to the voice, which belonged to Gerdur. 

"Oh. Hello," Tim said.

The blonde Nord woman smiled. "I see that your meeting with Balgruuf went well," she said as she walked over to meet Tim at the gate leading into the town. "The guards from Whiterun just arrived a few hours ago and set up camp on the other end of town. They're already patrolling the area between here and Helgen. Thank you so much for seeing the Jarl for us."

Tim smiled as well. "If it makes Riverwood safer, I'm glad to have been able to help."

Gerdur inclined her head toward the Sleeping Giant Inn. "Come on, let me treat you to a meal and some mead.  I'm meeting my husband Hod there, and we would love to hear about how things went with the Jarl over a pint or two."

By reflex, Tim almost declined. But he swiftly remember his current financial state and, of course, he didn't want to be rude to Gerdur. "A meal and some mead sounds wonderful. Lead the way."

***

Because Riverwood was such a small town, news apparently travelled like wildfire among the townsfolks. As Tim settled in at the Sleeping Giant Inn, he had folks coming by every few minutes to thank him for speaking with Jarl Balgruff and sending the guards. So many people were offering to buy him drinks he just couldn't physically consume that the owner of the Inn, a woman named Delphine, actually set up a tab for him that she allowed the citizens of Riverwood to pay into. In the end, as long as he was in Riverwood, Tim would't have to worry about food or drink for a good week at least. 

"So the Jarl's mage wants you to fetch something from Bleak Falls Barrow?" Hod, Gurder's husband, asked curiously. 

Tim nodded. "Something called a Dragonstone. Have you or anyone else heard of it?"

Gerdur shook her head. "I've lived beneath the shadow of the Barrow nearly my entire life and I've never heard of such a thing."

"What is the Barrow anyways?" Tim asked.

"I forget you're not from Skyrim," Gerdur started. "Back in ancient times, during the Merethic Era, when there was a cult who worshipped dragons instead of the Nine Divine, Bleak Falls Barrow used to be both a temple for them to worship and a place to bury their dead. Of course, now there is no Dragon Cult, and the Barrow are ruins. However, a dark magic lingers in that place, and rumor has it that the halls of the Barrow are still walked by the restless dead, forced to serve their ancient dragon cult masters even now."

"So dragons, magic, and zombies... great..." Tim muttered sullenly into his mug of ale before draining the last bit of it. 

Hod regarded Tim with concern. "Are you sure you want to go to the Barrow? Last we saw you, you weren't in the best of shape after Helgen."

Tim force a reassuring smile. "I'm fine now. I visited Arcadia in Whiterun and she gave me some medicine. Nothing to worry about."

Hod breathed a small sigh of relief. "That's good. Even a healthy warrior visiting the Barrow would find exploring that accursed place a challenge." 

***

Gerdur and her husband lingered a bit longer at the inn with Tim. But as the hour grew late, they rose to leave. Being woodcutters, their day started early. "Make sure you come to our home after you're done here," Gerdur insisted. "Don't go wasting your coin on the inn for the night."

"Of course. I won't be much longer. Just want to finish this pint."

By now most of the patrons of the inn had gone, and once Hod and Gerdur left, there were just one or two left. Tim's smile faded as he stared into mug.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't normally do this, but... erm... have you got a moment to talk?"

Tim barely heard the footsteps approaching him, but he did notice when a stranger took a seat on the bench next to him where Hod had been just a short time before. Tim glanced at the man. He clearly wasn't a Nord. The accent was more... British, and he wore clothing that clearly spoke of someone with money. It confused Tim and immediately put him on guard. "I might," Tim responded cooly before feigning taking a sip from his mug.

The stranger smiled. "Marvelous. My name is Lucien Flavius. I'm a scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and something of a musician, though I supposed that's more of a hobby..."

Tim narrowed his brows as he stared hard at Lucien, silently willing him to please get to the point. 

Lucien appeared to get the hint. "Ah- I couldn't help overhearing that you are going to be making a trip up to the Bleak Falls Barrows in the morning."

"I might... What is it to you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm here in Skyrim on an expedition - academic mainly. I'm currently employed as a researcher for a new museum based out of Solitude. I was sent to this region on a few errands, and one of them is investigating those same Barrows. I'm to investigate the ruins and determine if they're of enough significant archaeological importance to fund a fully manned excavation into it.

"Alas, when I got here, I found out that in addition to the Barrow being crawling with Draugr, the outer area around the ruins has become the infested with bandits. 

"Trouble is, I'm really not much of a fighter. I know a few spells and can just about swing a sword, but beyond that I'm pretty useless in combat. Skyrim's no place for a... 'milk drinker' like me - not on my own anyway. So I'm looking for someone to travel with. 

"My original plan was to make my way to Whiterun in the morning and hire a mercenary to escort me through the Barrow, but since you're already heading that way, perhaps I could tag along with you instead? It would save me a couple of days of travel between here and Whiterun."

Tim began to shake his head. "It wouldn't be safe--"

"I will, of course, compensate you most handsomely for putting up with me."

"Really, Lucien, I don't think--"

"Would three hundred Septims up front be enough?"

Tim was so startled by the amount he couldn't mask his wide eyed look of surprise and his protest against Lucien seemed to be cut off at the knees. Sensing a crack in the young man's resolve, the scholar pushed forward, sweetening the pot even further as he pulled out a bag bulging with coin and set it on the table between them.

"Here. You can have this now. After that, I'll top you up every time we come across something useful to my research. This is all at your discretion, of course. No obligations, save that you take me with you, and assist in keeping me alive wherever possible."

He wanted to say no. Tim wanted to push the bag of coins away and encourage the scholar to go to Whiterun and hire a proper mercenary to keep him safe. It would be better for him that way. However...

"I suppose we have a deal," Tim finally relented with a sigh as he picked up the bag of coins and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand.

Lucien's face lit up. "Oh, splendid! This is going to be quite the adventure!"

  -------------------------

NOTE: Lucien Flavius is an original character Joseph Russell that can be downloaded and added to your Skyrim game as an immersive, fully voiced unique follower.

(https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/20035)

Normally, you would find him in the inn of a different town, but I've made some adjustments in this story so that Tim meets him w/out going there. In this story, Lucien is a scholar working for a special new museum based out of Solitude (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/11802) and he's actually on the "relic hunter" initial storyline that comes if you use the "Alternate Start - Live Another Life" mod where your main character chooses to go to Solitude via ship and you have a life where you are a relic hunter invited by the museum's curator to Skyrim (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/272).

[theateared]

You’re One Hell of a Guy. ❜

Summary:  But deep inside, you and I are still the same kids.

      Going to Murr’s house was something he barely had time for, but he refused to leave him hanging.  Though the times that he could stop by properly were few and far between, he’d become adamant on at least trying to make them happen.

                                Murr is, after all, my best friend.  I want to see him.

       As he took a swig of his coffee  ( Murr hated the stuff but kept some in his cupboard specifically for when he visited ),  Kuro leaned on the table, cheek cradled in his hand.  The early hours were always the best time for him to visit,  the time he was the least likely to be pulled away.  Over time, Murr had grown less frustrated with him.  He’d realised that it wasn’t his fault when he was called to action.  He was yanked away from everybody equally--  even his beloved wife suffered for it.

      “I’m glad ya could come,”   Murr admitted, sitting at the table with a cup of hot chocolate between his hands.   “I was feelin’ kinda lonely.  Feels like ya’ve been a little MIA recently.”

       "Just work,”   Kuro replied with a heavy sigh, trying to will the recurring ache in his forehead away.  The last thing he wanted was for the little time he did have with his friend to be plagued by the dull thrum of an oncoming migraine.  Gently does it.  Pushing hard only makes it stick more.   “Real fucked up case.  Some kinda gang activity in Vidé.  At first we thought it was just some kids fuckin’ around but it turns out they have some real dons runnin’ the show.  Shit’s a little more serious now.”

       Murr sniffed derisively.   "Yeesh.  Sounds like a fuckin’ party.”

       "Psh, yer invited if y’feel left out.”

       “No thanks, pal.  I like havin’ my organs in my body?  Ya know--  where they belong?"

       Kuro couldn’t help but snicker at the facetious remark.  The knowledge that most Huros had on gang activity was incredibly basic, based almost solely on fiction.  It was all "buying hearts” and “selling drugs”, boisterous street rats and crime lords that struck and then vanished like ghosts.  From a place so peaceful, most had no clue about the horrors that occurred outside of their cosy borders.  Sadly, it was Huron that was the exception, not the districts that were chock-full of violence.

       The topic of his most recent play came up, and he watched as Murr became excitable, one leg crossing over his lap as his hands began to join the conversation.  He’d always been the type to talk with his body too.  Somewhere along the way, Kuro found himself zoning out.  Something disconcerting had been on his mind lately.  Though he’d never stray from his wife,  he’d been thinking a lot about Murr lately.  Innocently, almost in passing, but frequently nonetheless.  The things he never said to his friend were beginning to irritate him, like a rash that wouldn’t go away, and an alien pang of longing arose whenever they shared space like this.  You’re just so easy to be around now that I’ve allowed myself to be.  I feel regret every day now for the way that I treated you.  Maybe if I hadn’t been so one-dimensional, I wouldn’t be feeling the way I do now--

       “Helloooo?  Huron t’Sheriff?”   He refocused to see Murr leaning over the table, waving a hand almost desperately in his face.  Despite this, his expression was full of mirth.   ❛❛ Damn!  If ya really think my ideas are that borin’ ya can just say so! ❜❜

       ❛❛ No, it ain’t that.  It’s just…  I’m thinkin’ again. ❜❜

       His eyes closed as he felt Murr flick his forehead.   “Well don’t.  Ya get sad when ya think too much.  I don’t wanna have ta tell yer wife that I made ya cry, again, so ya’d better stop bein’ a dumbass.”

       “Yeah yeah…  I get it.”   Maybe I don’t.  Maybe we should finally talk about this.  I have some conflicting feelings about you.  It’s making me feel like a bad husband.  A bad person, even.   "Actually...”   For some reason, he felt unbearably nervous all of a sudden, heart speeding up as he thought about how best to pose the question.  Eventually, he settled on an inoffensive:   "Can we talk?”   He watched Murr’s face fall based on his body language, waving a hand at him quickly.    “It’s nothin’ bad.  I don’t think.  It’s just…  somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about lately.  I feel like I should be honest with y’.”

       "Okay...”   Murr tugged at his collar briefly, as if to get air beneath it.   "Yeesh...  way t’make a guy nervous.”

       Kuro couldn’t help but chuckle, fingers drumming soundlessly against the pot of his mug.  He wasn’t entirely sure why the idea of saying something about this was filling him with so much apprehension.  It wasn’t like anything was going to come of it.  Not only was he happily married, he was almost certain that Murr wouldn’t be able to live with him after the things he’d done.  Forgiven he may have been, but it didn’t mean that the pain has miraculously been undone.  He’d still prompted Murr to almost take his life;  had still put his parents--  his second family-- through the terrible strain of thinking they were going to lose their son;  had still treated him with aggravated fury every time he’d tried to come back into his life despite having no right to.  In truth, it wasn’t a matter of whether he was truly bisexual or not--  it was that Murr was too good for him.

       ❛❛ … when we were kids…  y’know, befer everythin’ went t’shit, I sorta-- ❜❜   He caught himself then.  He almost wanted to laugh at his feeble attempt to utter an age-old confession.  It was as if he was 140 all over again, flushed and stammering through a halfhearted ‘’I like you!’’.  It was this thought that made him feel better, a tiny sliver of a smile forming on his face as he finished with a blunt:   ❛❛ I had a crush on you.  A pretty big one. ❜❜

       ❛❛ Aheh…  this’s a joke, right? ❜❜

       ❛❛ No. ❜❜

       He watched his friend’s body language closely.  On occasion, his face revealed itself to him too, but now was not one of those times.  He suddenly became very closed, as if trying to fold himself into a small cube and slot himself somewhere safe from his gaze.  The quiet lingered like a cloud, uncomfortable silence stretching between them like wire, and in his head Kuro could hear the same phrase repeating over and over:  please say something, please say something, please say something, plea--

       ❛❛ Oh.  Pfft.  Me too! ❜❜

       He all but gawked at how easy it was for Murr to say such a thing.  Though he knew that Murr had never been the type to act apologetically, there were some things the man treated with an air of secrecy.  His sexuality, for whatever reason, was one of them.  It wasn’t as if Huron was rich with homophobia;  he just didn’t seem to like labels like a lot of other people did.  For that reason, despite being his best friend, Kuro still wasn’t quite sure where on the spectrum Murr sits.  It didn’t matter, wouldn’t affect their relationship any in the slightest, but he was curious.  He’d almost been curious about his own leaning lately.  Had he not withdrawn from Murr during his tens, could they maybe have forged some sort of romance together?  There were certainly feelings involved, and now that he knew they were requited he had to wonder if either of them would have been bold enough to say something at some point.  It was this constant lack of knowledge that was turning his brain to mush.  The relationship he consciously desired with Murr was nothing more than a friendship, but his subconscious seemed to have other things in mind.

       For some reason, he felt a dull form of elation that caused his pulse to flutter.  It wasn’t as if he was still in love--  he never would have burdened a woman with a ring if he was--  but having Murr back in his life again, so close and personal after years of sombre silence, raised some primitive questions in his gut.  Could we have been together?  Could that ring have been yours, or would college have split us apart in a different way?  Would we not have aged well and not remained friends at all?  Did I need to lose you to be close with you again later?  What would have become of us?  Do I strictly like women?  Or was my attraction to you a one-off thing based on friendship?  What do I like?

       "Really?”

       "Well duh,”  Murr chirped airily, hopping up from his seat and beginning to rinse his mug clean.   “We spent all our time together!  And even back then, you were all stoic ‘n’ weird--  I was drawn t’that like a magnet.  It was interestin’.  You were different from the other kids.  So was I.  It made sense ta me.  Us against the world kinda thing, ya know?”  There was a pause as he set his cup down on the drying rack, eyes glued to one drop of water running slowly along the handle until it fell and met the drain below.  In a way, it reminded him of what he thought college would be like:  as if he’d be lowered from his awkward tenner suspension and be reunited with souls that his could understand.  After a moment of thought, he picked it back up, leaving it in his lap to fiddle with.   “… maybe that was why it hurt me so much when ya wouldn’t answer my calls or hang out with me much.  Maybe I was a little homesick.”

       "Homesick?”

       "Yeah.  You were my home, Kuro.  No two ways about it.”

       He should have learned by now to not grow stunned by Murr’s poetic brevity, but he’d always been partial to a heartfelt yet conveniently short verse.  You’re one hell of a guy, Murr.

      “... ‘n’ now?”

     There was a pregnant pause, one that latched onto his insecurities and fed much like a parasite would.  For some reason or another, a heavy sense of dread opened up inside of him, that familiar black hole sucking the life out of everything around him as it so often did.  Then, all at once, Murr released the tension in his shoulders with a shrug.

     “Nothin’s changed about that, bud.”   He moved then, perching on the counter much like a child would, long legs kicking gently.   “... are we good?  Why’d ya feel the need t’bring that up?  It ain’t like we’re the same people.”   His vision wasn’t impaired the same way Kuro’s was;  he could see his face clearly, knew the creases of worry in his brow almost as well as he knew his own hands.

     “I worry that you are the same person,”   he replied quietly, almost as if he’d been holding his breath prior to admitting it.   “‘n’ sometimes I worry that I am too.”

     The air fell still, both men cloaked in silence, and only when Kuro felt something wet on his face did he look up.  Murr’s face was clear  -  and it was pissed.  The empty cup in his hand sat tilted in the Sheriff’s direction, telling him plainly that he’d filled it and then flung it at him as if he’d desperately needed a bath.  Kuro wasn’t one to flinch often, but the scorn in his dearest friend’s eyes shook him to the core.

     “Ya keep sayin’ stupid shit like that, yer gonna flood my house,”   he said through clenched teeth.  There was no way in hell that he could tell the other man why he was so angry.  It would ruin everything he’d worked so hard to piece back together.   “If ya think I’m selfish enough t’split you ‘n’ yer wife up fer some dumb childhood crush then think again.”   The words hurt to say, an all-too-familiar pain blossoming in his chest like a thorn-covered rose, but he knew it was the right thing to do.  If he was ever to tell Kuro that he felt similarly--  that their convoluted history kept him awake at night, that he still fantasised about holding his hand sometimes, that he tossed and turned some nights, unable to sleep, because all he could think about was the what if that had steadily consumed his life--  he knew that they could both be led down a very dark road.  He didn’t believe in cheating, and he certainly didn’t believe in homewrecking.  He also didn’t believe in Kuro’s self-esteem enough to think that he would be above doing either if he was to open the door for him.  I’m saying this for you.  Maybe you don’t realise it now but you will in time.     “We’re not like that.  It doesn’t matter how it was when we were kids.  We’re not kids anymore.  You left.”   He internally cursed the bitterness in his voice at that, cursed the slight stiffen of Kuro’s shoulders even more.  He continued before he could lose his nerve--  before he could truly do something stupid.   “... and that’s just it, Kuro.”  He forced himself to smile, though the expression looked crestfallen at best.   “You’ve got somethin’ good now.  So don’t throw it all away for a couple’a stupid kids that don’t even exist anymore, alright?”

     Kuro stared at him a moment longer before averting his gaze completely.  When he tried to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, he found that his face was blank once again.  The static spiralled tauntingly ahead of him, the dreary squiggles ruining the clear picture he’d set his sights on just moments ago.  Even your anger is better than the static.  A large hand raised to wipe at his face, ridding it of the damp as best he could before he rose from his chair.

     “Alright,”   he said with a grunt, his usual monotone drawl returning with a vengeance.  Murr’s right.  Things are different now.  Living in the past will only fuck up the present  -  and there’s a lot to fuck up now that I’m married.  His coat was shrugged on, hands slid into his pockets.   “... thanks fer the wake-up call.  Yer right.”

     “Of course I am.”   He smiled wider despite the words twisting in his heart like a knife.  It’s selfish, but I want you to stay.   “Ya should go now.  Yer wife’s gonna be askin’ where ya are again.”

     A humourless laugh escaped the other man, head bobbing once in acknowledgement before he turned around and headed to the exit.   “Remember t’mop yer floor by the way.  Asshole.”   The front door clicked shut behind him.  It was quiet, but it echoed with an agonising finality in Murr’s head as the smile faded.

     What was that?  Was he trying to approach the topic of a relationship with me?  Or did I make that up?  Gah…  it doesn’t matter.  He’s gone.  Like he’s always been.

     He hated himself for the weakness that welled up in his eyes, hot and shameful as he tried desperately to keep himself from falling to pieces.  It doesn’t take much these days.  I used to be so much more durable.  Now I’m all sensitive and lost.  A palm dug stubbornly into one of his eyes, ridding it of tears, before he followed suit with the other.  He didn’t feel much better with them dry, but he knew that he at least looked the part now.  He hopped down from the counter, grabbing the mop from inside the utility cupboard, beginning to clean, the wet sound of water spreading across a surface filling his ears like white noise.  He welcomed it, zoned out altogether, and by the time he stopped mopping, half an hour had flown by.

     A vacant feeling had always been there since college, but it ebbed and flowed, came and went in waves, and it often left him stranded in a dangerous spot between ‘okay’ and ‘absolutely falling apart’.  It was an emptiness he couldn’t quite explain;  oxymoronic in that it was so void and yet so full, as if his head was closer to imploding with every second longer that it chose to reside inside of him.  His heart felt like a rock, his brain a grenade.  If only I could reach inside myself and pull the pin.  I want to pull the pin.  I have for a while.

     When he put the mop back in its place, he thought only momentarily before stepping inside the cupboard himself, closing the door behind him.  If I put myself away like a broom or a bottle of bleach, will people forget I exist until they need me again?  What if I’m never needed again?  Will I stay undiscovered in this closet until I die?  The smell of chemicals and damp immediately rose to his attention, though it was a welcome distraction.  His head met the closed door gently, eyes opening despite not being able to see anything.  It was an accurate depiction of the void inside of him;  that inky blackness that covered everything in a thick layer of nothing, as if all it touched simply ceased to exist

     I don’t feel real.  I can’t see.  I can’t touch.  Even the smell is beginning to fade away.  I’m just an empty vessel in an empty space.  A cat in a box that is both dead and alive at the same time.  Tired bones rather than tired eyes.

     At some point, he felt himself slip to the floor, content to remain in the dismal darkness a while longer.  He hated that the only thing he could think of was him.  Sitting there alone in the dark, wondering if he’d just ruined his one chance at true happiness, he felt both horribly and wonderfully alone.

[thedyingmoon]

💜 This I Promise 💜

***

LXIV. Reunion

***

(F/N) waited patiently in the living room as Rogers the Head Butler finally let her visitor in.

And it was none other than Kenny Ackerman, himself.

"Kenny?" she asked, confused as to the man's sudden visit. "What are you doing here? I thought you're on the run from Rod's men?"

But, Kenny had no time for idle chit chat.

"You,... IDIOT!" he screamed at her.

"Why did you say that?!" she was definitely taken aback by what the man had just told her.

"Why are you marrying Smith?! I thought you made yourself clear!"

"Of what?"

"And I even made sure that you and him would end up with each other!"

Him?

"I'm sorry, who?"

Kenny just clicked his tongue. A very familiar gesture.

"Forget it." he answered dejectedly. "It seems that I was wrong about you and I have made the wrong choice. No. You made the wrong choice. Guards!"

All of a sudden, several Military Police uniformed men showed up in front of them bearing guns and pointing them at Kenny. (F/N) stood up in fright.

"Whoa! What are you doing here in this household?!" (F/N) blurted out. "I thought you're not allowed here?!"

"I let them in." Kenny simply said. And to the men, he said, "I'm yours now. Take me away."

(F/N) watched in total disbelief as Kenny just let himself be manhandled and taken away forcefully from the room. She screamed and begged for them to let him go, but they would not listen. Kenny would not listen.

Helplessly, (F/N) collapsed to the sofa. She had little time to process what just happened, when, all of a sudden, Rogers announced the next visitors.

Or visitor.

"Captain Levi?" (F/N)'s eyes were wide open as she gazed at the handsome man who stood right in front of her.

And what's more, he was wearing a formal suit, coat, and even a tie.

"(F/N), I just wanted to let you know,..." Levi began as solemnly as he could.

"W-what is it?"

"I'm getting married."

"Getting married?!" as if earlier's events didn't shake her hard enough, here was the man she loved, announcing he was getting hitched. "With who - ?"

Her voice dropped to a depressing degree as a very beautiful ginger - haired woman paraded the room and joined Levi on his side. It was none other than Petra Ral, herself. And she was wearing the most beautiful white gown she had ever seen in her entire life. She linked her arm together with Levi's and smiled sweetly at her.

"I'm so happy I'm gonna marry the man of my dreams. Me!" Petra announced happily, still smiling gorgeously at her. Then, she faced Levi and kissed him on the lips. "I love you, Levi."

And to (F/N)'s horror, jealousy, and dismay, he answered, "I love you very much, Petra."

"Let's get going!" Petra sang as she dragged Levi away from the room.

And away from (F/N)'s life.

She felt her heart sink to the ground as strange, painful sensations invade her broken heart. It was not even a minute when another visitor showed itself in front of her.

It was that same dark - haired child from before.

And she looked really sad.

"Don't you love me anymore, mom?" the beautiful child said to her, with eyes beginning to glisten with tears. "Don't you want to see me anymore?"

***

(F/N) sat up in bed, bewildered by what she just dreamed of. It just,... felt so real.

The dream was still in her head when she went down to join her grandmother for breakfast. Almost a week had passed since she met her true family, and since then, the Dowager Duchess would only allow her to go out at night when nobody would see her come out of her mansion. The poor old woman just didn't want to lose her grandchild again, and she was afraid that the enemies would take her away from her. The woman even went to extreme lengths to ban each and every visitor who would call on her, save for her closest friends, to prevent anyone from seeing her.

And as she sat down and read the news regarding her grandmother's eccentric and anti - social behavior, she looked at her with sad eyes. The Duchess noticed this but remained composed as she spread butter on her fresh bread.

"Is anything wrong, dear?" she asked.

"It's,... this." (F/N) said, pointing at the newspaper. "Why do they treat you like this? It's like,... they don't even consider you as a member of the society."

The Duchess just smiled and answered, "Oh, it's nothing new. They can call me whatever they want, and I would never care. You're here and I' am more than glad for that."

"I see,..." (F/N) said and was about to pick up her bread when Rogers the Head Butler came in.

"Lady (F/N)'s friends wanted to see her, Your Grace." he announced with his throaty, solemn voice.

"By Walls, who are those friends?" The Dowager inquired.

In a space of a second, Rogers eyes went from composed to alarmed as he slightly turned his head towards the living room, where a strange sound and an "oof!" and a "watch it!" could suddenly be heard.

And (F/N) knew who they were before Rogers could even announce them.

"They said they're from the Scouting - " Rogers began but was interrupted when (F/N) sped past him towards the living room like an excited child. " - Legion,..."

Surely enough, when she arrived there on the spacious living room, she saw them there.

"Guys?" (F/N) said, afraid that they would vanish at slightest sound she would make.

"(F/N)!" Nifa screamed excitedly as she threw herself at her long lost friend in a huge hug. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you, too, Nifa, everyone!"

"Hi, there, (F/N)!" Jean suavely said as he waved at her from the sofa.

"(F/N)?" Eren went closer to her, as if to inspect her. "Are you sure you no longer have amnesia?"

"Amnesia? I heard that word before." (F/N) answered back, trying to recall where she heard the word.

"It's a disorder wherein a person suffers memory loss due to severe head trauma." Eren answered expertly. "But, you're not Carlstead anymore, right?"

"Wait, how did you even know that?"

"It's uncle Grisha." Mikasa provided the answer. "Eren's father was Shiganshina District's only Doctor. "He was the one who taught Eren those things."

"Oh, I see. Then," (F/N) said when the memory of that evening finally returned from her. "that woman from before. The one from the Winter Season Ball who was being chased by an old, bald man,..."

"That's Eren." Hange stood up from the sofa and went towards (F/N). "And, it seems that Commander Pyxis could tell him even under disguise and heavy makeup."

(F/N)'s mind made different flips as she remembered that night and how Eren looked like. And she became wide - eyed, both in confusion and amusement.

"Wait! So, you were that lady!"

"Not only him." Jean told her. "We, I mean Mikasa and I, were there, as well."

For almost an hour, Hange and her friends told her everything that happened when she had amnesia, things that occured in the Legion and their reasons for going undercover that evening during the Winter Season Ball.

"Erwin told me that." (F/N) told them. "But, he said he never even got the answers he was looking for. Turns out they were only using him for another purpose - to lure him away from the Legion even further for the enemies to purge the witnesses of that day."

"And they almost succeeded." Hange said. "They even injured some of the recruits that night. But, thankfully, we managed to apprehend them. If we didn't return in time for them to tell all the things that were happening and prepare for what's to come, all of the Scouts, and not only the witnesses, would surely end up dead."

"We didn't go down without a fight!" Eren added.

"But, the news only mentioned that the reason behind the violence was due to a robbery. Those scoundrels!" Jean exclaimed, his teeth gritting in anger.

"They really don't want anyone knowing about these events. They're clearly hiding the truth from the people." Nifa mentioned. "Remember all the fake news Berg spread last year about that incident where Captain Levi was involved? And the fact that there were - "

But, Nifa immediately stopped talking upon seeing the glum look on (F/N)'s face at the mention of the Captain's name. Hange noticed this and took matters to her own hands.

"Nifa, Jean, could you inform Your Grace about the news we just brought? You know, that?" Hange asked the two.

The two just nodded, stood, and went directly towards Rogers, who was standing attentively on a corner waiting for orders, to inquire him of the Duchess whereabouts in the huge mansion to deliver their news.

"And while we're at it, Eren, Mikasa, I think you left the parcel outside in the garden. You dropped it there, remember?" Hange told the two.

"Oh, you're right!" Eren's eyes widened as he recalled about it. "We'll get it now. Let's go, Mikasa."

The two went out, leaving (F/N) and Hange behind. (F/N) was oblivious as to what will happen, and only waited for some answers.

"News? What news is that, Miss Hange?" (F/N) innocently asked, fairly avoiding the dreaded topic.

To this, Hange just smiled. She just took (F/N)'s hands and saw the ring on her finger.

"Are you happy with this?" Hange carefully asked.

"With what?" (F/N) replied, certainly knowing the answer deep within her aching heart.

"With your decision to marry Erwin?"

At the mention of her stupid decision, (F/N) felt her heartbeat slow down for a while as cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

"I made the decision, Miss Hange. There's no turning back."

"Alright, then." Hange let go of her hands. "Did Levi tell you why we even pursued you in disguise?"

(F/N) thought hard about this, when she realized that she never really gave him a chance to explain in the first place.

Hange saw the answer in her melancholic eyes and spoke,

"You see, that one time when we saw you on Stohess District, we, Levi and I, were already searching for you when we found out that you're still alive and being hidden from us by Erwin. Levi was going to take you away, but you refused him, because you don't remember him. And you were scared of him, so you told him to get away from you. Do you remember that?"

Slowly, all those memories from Stohess went back to her, of Levi's sad face, him begging her to go home with him,...

... and her refusing him just because she doesn't remember him.

"Y-yes, I remember."

The smile on Hange's face disappeared and was replaced with a distinct frown.

"Levi doesn't want to hurt you anymore. In fact, he dreaded it. He changed his ways and decided to make it up to you for all the things he has done to you in the past because of his blindness and ignorance. But, simply taking you home with him proved to be painful to him, seeing you confused and scared like that. So, I suggested we look after you in disguise. That's how you met - "

"Lord Elvis Shunerman and Lady Jacqueline Baxter." (F/N) said, recalling that day they were intorduced in the Dawk residence.

"Yes, that's it. Levi was afraid to show you his face, but at the same time, he really wanted to see you, to hear your voice again and to get closer to you. And he put up with my silly idea just to do all that."

"He,... really wanted to see me." (F/N) quietly said.

"And, not only that. I think he believes that if you fall for him once more, despite your condition, that is, he would have a chance to take you away and make it up to you. He seriously believes that you would no longer be afraid of him by that time should you regain your memories. But, that didn't work out, am I right?"

(F/N) absorbed all of this and just nodded.

"Will you tell me what happened? That night you found out about everything?"

As much as (F/N) dreaded the day this would happen, she told Hange everything, from the moment she recalled everything to that day Levi took her by force. And, as she recounted all of this, she couldn't help but break down in front of the older and wiser woman.

Hange, on the other hand, couldn't do anything but comfort the younger woman upon hearing the story from her side. Of course, as one of Levi's closest, well, friends, she had already heard of this story from him. And Levi was not any better. That day she bugged him about (F/N)'s rejection, he was drowning himself in misery and a lot of liquor ( of course, he could not get drunk ) and refused to go outside the apartment in Trost District he was renting.

"I hurt her." he cried to her that night. "Oh, God! I hurt her!"

And she listened to him mumble all night about how he loved her and that he could not live without her. The poor guy even told her that (F/N) must've thought that he was only longing for Petra, that's why he wooed her in the first place. And that would start his poor ramblings all over again and his cries of how he hurt her so dreadfully.

"(F/N), listen to me." Hange put her hands on (F/N)'s shoulders, just like that time she told her to wear that dress that started all of this. "I want you to consider this very carefully. Levi loves you. And no, he does not feel that way with you just because he missed Petra. He really loves you. I suggest you give him the chance to explain."

"What if he doesn't go back?"

"He will. But, it's all up to you now. It's not too late."

(F/N) wiped her tears and nodded, her body still trembling.

"That's my girl." Hange smiled.

(F/N) was beginning to smile, herself, being given the clarity she most definitely needed, when Eren and Mikasa returned.

"Section Commander Hange, we retrieved the parcel." Mikasa told them.

"Oh, that reminds me. (F/N), these are for you." Hange took the box from Mikasa and handed it to (F/N). "It seems that your father has been giving you letters this past few months. I believe there even was a box of cake and another one with a dress. But, the cake, well, Sasha already ate it. The dress is there, if you would open it."

"From father?" (F/N) asked. That meant that the package was from Mr. Ral, whom she was guilty she quite forgot due to the turn of events. She opened the box, and sure enough, there was a dress. And some letters, including one that was written by someone else ( who she believed was a Doctor due to the letter's nature, and not to mention, awful handwriting ), and not her father. With boiling curiosity, she picked it up first. She opened it, read the contents,...

.... and dropped it the floor,...

"(F/N), what's wrong?" Mikasa asked, concerned of the sudden change in her demeanor.

(F/N)'s tears came rolling down her face once more as she faced her friends.

"M-my father,..." she cried. "H-he's,..."

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @chocolate-mmilk , @nerdyphantomlady , @unhappysap , @shewolfofficial , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , and @emilyackerman78 . 💜

***

💜💜💜

***

[weareallfallengods]

Survival

Writing prompt:

If you’re over 25 and haven’t done something remarkable, you are hunted down and killed. Some people invent things. Some make cures for diseases. Others become established members of their community. You’re pushing 30, and somehow not dead yet, even though you cant think of a single thing you’ve done thats remarkable in any way. Why aren’t you dead?

I write for adults about adult themes with adult language. I try to tag possible triggers (but I know I'm not going to get all of them), so if violence or implied death or cussing bothers you, you'll probably want to find a different author.

********************************************

Somehow, that date came up again. Not quite sure how, but somehow, the number circled on my shitty wall calendar with the coffee splatter on it managed to be today. Again. It's been doing that for 5 years now.

At first I wanted to be a surgeon- save people's lives, make a difference, all that shit. Yeah, I was caught up in the hype for a while too. Just like everyone. Thought I'd make some ground-breaking discovery and change the world. Just like everyone. And then, at 22, I flunked out of med school. That was it. Dream over, kaput, fin.

When I opened my termination letter, it was like reading a death sentence. 10 years of prep and study down the drain. 3 years left. 3 years, and no idea what to do. No clue what I could do to save my own life after all those years learning how to save others.I drank for a solid month. I dont even remember that month now. My only memento from it is an entire skip of liquor bottles. It's a miracle I didn't die from alcohol poisoning. Not that I didn't try.

See, I was afraid. Scared, actually. Terrified would be more accurate, if I'm honest. I knew I only had 3 years left until they came for me. Unless I managed to do something extraordinary within the next 3 years, they'd come for me, and the only thing that would remain is a 2 paragraph obituary in the local paper, followed by a vacancy announcement. When you're suddenly forced to confront your own imminent demise, and see every dream, hope and aspiration you'd had evaporate, right in front of your eyes, its perfectly natural to drown that in a swimming pool of vodka.

But then, after a month of drowning, and a week of curing a hangover that would make Satan shudder, I got angry. Like Bruce Banner angry. As I was leaving an all night diner, the notice board caught my eye. Having nothing better to do with my life, I stood there for a while just reading every single card in detail, every single lost cat, every used car, every 5k charity run. And then I saw it. And I thought, "You know what? Fuck it, why not. I've spent all this time trying to do one thing that I've never actually done just whatever I feel like, had hobbies, anything really. Why the fuck not."

And that's how I ended up 2 days later in some shity warehouse district, rolling around on a mat with some dude I didnt even know, sweating and swearing profusely and having the time of my life. "Sasha's Self Defense" it said on the small, weathered and rusted sign on the brick wall out front, next to a door that looked like it had been transported straight from the proverbial gulag.

I'd naively thought this was going to be one of those Karate Kid knock offs for some reason when I first arrived. Sasha soon disabused me of that notion. In fact, when he saw I'd brought a new gi in a duffle bag, he laughed so hard he had to slap his ass down on a rickety folding chair just to keep breathing. Once he calmed his mirth at my expense, he let me know in a no-nonsense, 'I'm an old-timer and seen some shit in my day' heavily accented tone that this would be a class that focused on survival at all costs. "No bullshit wax on-wax off," were his exact words I believe.

And boy was he right. When I told him I'd set aside my year's tuition for lesson payments, well, wouldn't you know it, I became his most prized pupil; I quickly learned this was not a good thing. It meant 14 hours a day of the most humiliatingly punishing activity ever dreamed up by Moscow's Finest. I couldnt even move the morning after my first day. But somehow I limped my battered frame down to the bus stop and was only an hour late. Ha, only. Sasha seemed to take it as a personal insult. The only thing he hated less than sloppiness was tardiness it seemed. Apparently the 10th Circle of Hell was reserved for those who dared be late. And he made you earn your way out of that circle.

His only saving grace was fairness. If I had to suffer, at least I wasnt alone. Well, at first anyway. The few other students that suffered his wrath along side me doing slavic folk dances with wrist and ankle weights very quickly learned that this wasn't the type of class they had thought it was and soon I was alone with Sasha.

On the days I did well, I got treated to pierogies. Oh man, I lived for those pierogies. They were made by angels and served by someone I can only describe as if Jesus came back as a woman. Who was Russian. And spoke even less english than Sasha, if that was possible. His sister was as completely opposite to that sadistic maniac as it was possible to be and still be a human being. Where he was loud, she was soft. Where he was tough, she was gentle. Where he was strict, she was generous, even indulgent. Blonde to his brunette. Slim to his barrel chest. Cousin by marriage, I think they said. Well, relatives of some kind anyway. And she was the only one who could make him laugh. And when he laughed, the whole block knew! He was just that loud, that boisterous, with everything he did.

But I loved his little Anya. Just like everyone. But like in a wholesome, mom-ish kind of way. I loved her because I got to sit for an hour when she was around. Because she"d always tuck a to-go container of pierogies into my bag. Because she'd chide Sasha for pushing me too hard. In short, she was an angel.

But I have to hand it Sasha- in 4 months, he took a scrawny bookworm into someone who could pose for Men's Health. In 6 months, I could beat Ivan, his partner, in 5/10 sparring matches. In 7 months, I ran a marathon. In 9, he had me enter a triathalon. And I made it into the top 50 out of 500 entrants. Not too bad if I say so myself. In 12 months, I was beating Ivan almost every time.

And that's when the other Ivan showed up. After a year, Sasha decided it was time I learned weaponry. After all, no real fight was fair, he said. And Ivan (another cousin? Sasha had one heck of an extended family) instructed me on everything from broken beer bottles, to knives and pool cues. And my medical training paid off, because more often than not, I was the one stitching myself up if training got a little rough that day.

Eventually, I moved into the gym. Not sure how it happened, but I think I just got too tired to leave one day and never really left. Sasha didnt seem to mind since it meant I wasnt ever late again. Plus the coffee he imported was the best thing ever. Like it was so good that's probably the Extraordinary Thing he did to live as long as he had.

The days just melted together, into one long symphony of beautiful exhaustion and physical torment, as I poured myself into the first activity I could remember doing purely because I wanted to, something that numbed the dread of the finality of my life expectancy.

But then one day, one specific day, the one I'd been dreading in the back of my mind for a year came around.

They found me.

I guess they were a little slow in finding me, not surprising since I'd basically just disappeared from my old life, no forwarding address type thing. It wasnt intentional, it just sort of happened, what with me diving head first into something purely for me, without the thought of doing it for someone else. But they found me. Just like they find everybody.

See, it doesnt matter if you try to run, if you move, or change your name. They always find you eventually. I just hadn't thought about it in a long while. That year was the first time since I was probably 14 that I'm hadn't thought about the Gardeners. I guess that's why it surprised me so much.

Yeah, Gardeners. I dont know who came up with the name, in guess some misguided attempt at a positive PR spin bullshit to pass off squads of government assassins who's only job was to track down the NCs of the world and eliminate them. Sorry, NCs- Non-Contributors; the people who hit their expiration date without doing something noteworthy, something that was deemed to "advance or bolster the Human Condition" to borrow a phrase from the civics classes we had to take every fucking year of school. A cutesy sounding name that was supposed to make the government sound like a benevolent old couple pulling weeds from their garden of humanity. The worst lies always sound the sweetest, dont they?

And I was now 25.

It happened a few weeks after my birthday. Just another routine day for me, going for a light 5k run after my soak in a mineral bath. Light rain, most of the streetlights out, the few lights on in the warehouse district reflected beautifully off the streets. That's why I ran at night, all the colors changed that normally bleak neighborhood into something beautiful. It was just one little thing to balance out the harshness of reality, and I reveled in it.

I don't actually remember what happened exactly. I do recall seeing a suspiciously conspicuous homeless guy huddled under a loading dock awning, and then just a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. I think it happened really quickly; at least that's what Sasha said the next morning as he was making arrangements for me to visit another cousin of his "back in the old country". It could have been. God, after seeing the bodies around me in the aftermath, I hope, for their sake, that it was fast. 5 bodies. All still. I still remember my breath turning to blue fog, blurring the details of them. Helping me to be able to pretend I didn't see the blood mixing with the rain and oil, spreading out over the concrete like a macabre inversion of the cloudy sky above.

I'm glad they wore masks. It's bad enough having that scene burned into my brain forever, without specific people's faces being etched there as well. I'm glad I dont see their faces in my mind every time I close my eyes. I just wish I could still enjoy the rain. They managed to take that from me, even if I'm still breathing, so I guess they didnt completely fail. They just killed a part of my soul instead. But hey, there's plenty of people that don't like the rain, right? But I bet they don't smell blood when it does though.

And that was pretty much it. No sirens, no manhunt, nothing. Before I could process what was happening, I was on a bus, headed for "the old country", which, as near as I could tell, looked an awful lot like Pittsburg. Sasha's 'cousin' met me at the bus depot there, a man of very few words. Not as loud as his cousin, Zhena tended to communicate with looks, grunts and shrugs mostly. Same work ethic though.

And then the cycle repeated- 14 months this time before they caught up with me. Too bad that Zhena got caught up in it, he was a great guy. He and I didn't really become close or buddies or anything, but it still hurt to see what happened to him. To what was left of him anyway. The Gardeners definitely were trying to send a message with that. To quote an old wise man, "I didnt want to know, but now I do, and I'm telling you, you dont want to know." And that's coming from someone who was training to become a surgeon, so just trust me on this one.

This time, they were waiting for me. I think they'd planned on Zhena being enough of a distraction that they'd be able to take me out easily, but since since I woke up the next day on the floor of the sparring ring in a too large pool of blood that wasnt my own, I'd say they failed. The difference this time was I was on my own. No 'cousins' to call in favors from. No family I could call because I didnt want them getting a visit from the Gardeners either. I was alone this time.

Weirdly, I was actually OK with that. I'd been surrounded by family, teachers, advisors, tutors for so long that solitude was actually kind of nice. I could hear myself think my own thoughts for the first time in what seemed like forever.

I'm not ashamed to say that I took what little of value there was from Zhena's gym (I knew him well enough to know that Sasha was his only family) so that I could get a seedy hotel for a while. I did at least have the decency to let Sasha know, and that that would be the last he ever heard from me, to keep him out of trouble. Bad enough that 10 people were already dead, I didn't want Sasha or Anya's name added to that list because of me.

And so I vanished. Completely. Sure I travelled, kept studying and training like I had been, but never staying longer than a few months, never using the same name, copying other random people's habits and patterns so I didnt have one of my own for them to track down. Yeah it was cliche, but hey, I figured my dad watching all those spy flicks when I was young had to be good for something, right?

Sometimes I was a baker, sometimes a delivery driver, even a dock hand. Whatever it took to make a buck so I could eat.

I got really good at other things too. Like disposing of bodies. Not really a skill I ever thought I'd want or need, but Necessity is a harsh and demanding teacher. Sadly, my skill as a surgeon came in handy- bodies are easier to get rid of when they're in smaller pieces. And people are easier to turn into bodies when you know how they're put together intimately. Not what I had in mind for my life, but since it was the choice between this or dying, well, I guess I can put up with it.

I suppose that catches us all up to the present, more or less. OK yeah theres a lot that's gone down between Pittsburg and now, but it was all pretty much the same: lather, rinse, repeat. Literally sometimes. Those were the days it felt like there wasnt enough soap in the world to get all the blood off.

So here I am, I'm my single room in Kandahar, staring at the date that had somehow come up again. Every year, they send someone. Usually a team. And I survive. No matter how they come at me, or when or how many. I survive.

And I'm sitting here, staring at the calendar, steaming cup of espresso, just staring, as a light breeze fluttered the corner of the calendar page, sending the orchids dancing in the vase next to it. All I could think is, "How? How does this keep happening? I'm not even supposed to be here, not supposed to be alive."

As I raised my cup of espresso, something slid under my door. "OK that's weird," I said aloud as I stood.

The chair made an ungodly screech as I pushed it back and made my way over to where a small, cream colored envelope sat on the floor, a couple inches from the bottom of the door. It was heavy for it's size, but not because anything was in it, just the paper was that thick. Probably hand-made. It's odd the little things you notice in times of stress. Heavy, rough paper, no postmark, nothing written on the outside, just the flap tucked in, not even sealed. Reminded me of how my mother used to give out birthday cards. I always thought that was a little weird, but it was just one of her quirks that made her even more endearing to everyone.

I sat down a little heavier than I had planned and felt the chair crack a little. There was a single sheet of paper inside, folded in half; I was right- handmade paper. But that wasnt important, what was important was the heavy, blocky hand-written message it contained.

"We've been looking for you for a long time. It has come to my attention that you may have something unique to contribute after all. We may have been too hasty in judging your Ability to be a Contributor. I believe you do actually have a remarkable Ability to Survive. I'd like to speak to you this afternoon in the plaza outside the Blue Mosque. I will be alone, and you can approach me, so as to allay your justifiable suspicions. I will have a silver coffee set on the table in front of me.

I believe we can help each other, if you're willing to listen to my proposition.

-Soon,

Baddar"

Well, this is interesting.

[howardlinkedin]

Debriefing (And Other Bad Jokes) Part 5

Part 4 here: X Summary: Link.exe is broken while the author once again enjoys making Lvellie look the fool. Things are a mite serious, featuring: Cross Marian with phone games.

“Kanda”

The other grunted. There was a sudden weight on his bare back, much to his frustration.

His very tired frustration. It was near one in the morning.

“Get off my back.” He tried to growl out and sound generally menacing, but due to the pillow under his face, Kanda only could garble out a very muffled “GETUFFMUBISH.”

Allen kissed his partner's neck, which soothed the other exactly half an ounce. “But I like your back. It’s a very good, strong back.”

Managing to lift is head an inch over the pillow so he could speak clearly, Kanda huffed. “What do you want? We have work in four hours.”

“Or, you could be like me and arrive two hours late.”

“Yes, but then I’d be you.”

Allen hummed and nosed Kanda’s mess of hair. “Good point. I do like you significantly more than myself.”

The bed shifted, and Allen found himself flipped over and under the other. The room become quite, only because the white haired officer had his mouth covered in a very heavy, languid kiss. All too soon it was over, and Kanda trapped him with his arms (and Allen also loved those arms, yes he did) and reburied his head into the pillow. “Shut the hell up and go to bed.”

Allen pouted, but let himself be trapped. “I’m going to tell everyone tomorrow that you like to be the little spoon.”

Kanda only made the accusation a fact by rolling into the other’s chest, tucking himself under Allen neck. He also shoved his hand over the pouting face. “I said sleep.”

---

At exactly five in the morning, Officer Yuu Kanda, with bags under his eyes and a scowl longer than usual, literally slammed himself down in his chair.

Said chair was catty-corner to Detective Inspector Howard Link, who also sported, if not deeper, shadows below his eyes.

The air practically crackled with sharp electricity the moment they made eye contact. It was ominous, foreboding, and anyone with enough self preservation would know not to get close.

Unless your name is Lenalee Lee, who has no fear over her fellow man, and is actually quite good at mitigating her coworkers nonsense.

“Both of you quit it!” By mitigating, this meant she would tap a clipboard over both of their heads and Frown with Disappointment at them. It wasn’t a hard tap intended to hurt, but a very heavy and pressing tap all the same.

Link felt like every divine presence in the universe just judged and found him wanting.

The female officer huffed at them, demanding. “Why are you both so grouchy this morning?”

Both men grunted, then glared at the other.

“Aww, Yuu, is shorty having insomnia again?” Lavi, who took that moment to plop and spin in his cubicle seat, pestered. Lenalee began to look worried for her white haired friend. “Is Allen alright Kanda? I heard about that homicide a few days ago.”

Kanda shoved his face into his fist and irately booted up his computer to work. “He’s fine. You know how he is, bullshit’s just gotten up in his worried head again.”

The tall red head in the room snapped his fingers and pointed at Link’s face. “Which is part your fault.” The detective, who’s frame was beginning to morph into that of a solid board the longer the current conversation continued, forced himself to look only up at the ceiling. “I am simply doing my job Bookman, which is what you too should be focusing on.” “Why is it Link’s fault?” Lenalee quired, her dark eyes boring into the side of the blonde’s face.

“He’s been investigating Allen.” The Profiler answered, all grins.

Link swore every emotion in the female officer’s face shut down and the silence that followed filled him with dread. One side of him, an overly happy Bookman who did not actually exude an aura of joy, and the other a very dark looking Kanda with the most razor sharp smile ever witnessed to mankind.

“Get fucked.” The dark haired officer mouthed.

---

“BROTHER!”

Commissioner Komui Lee’s door was surreptitiously flung open and cracked against the opposite wall.

It quite literally cracked.

Lenalee, light of his life, amazing officer of the Order, and darling baby sister dragged in a very disgruntled and frazzled Detective Inspector by his shirt collar.

She looked down right lethal, and Komui couldn’t be more proud.

“Why is Allen being investigated! What crime did he commit?” With each punctuation, Link was shaken vigorously.

With a sigh, Commissioner Lee gave Link a very tired look. “Really?”

Link sniffed indignantly. “I’ve already informed my superior of this compromise. He will contact you shortly to discuss how to proceed.”

At seeing how her brother knew exactly why Link was in their Order, Lenalee loomed over him, demanding answers. “Brother! What has Allen done!”

“Now Lenalee, it’s a difficult matter and-”

The sister set herself directly in front of the Commissioner Table and stared her brother (and boss, but at the moment it was neither here nor there, and Link made a mental note to explain to his superior how Lee most obviously plays favorites) down, refusing to be moved.

“Explain it to me.”

---

Let it be known to all that Lenalee Lee, for all her dainty appearance, was one of the most forceful and ruthless Officers in the Black Order.

She was also the resident Mother Bear to all who wore their uniform.

Unfortunately for Howard Link, he never got his uniform in the Order, and thus was not unanimously on the Approved List.

Also, apparently making Allen Walker’s life difficult sets someone high on Lenalee’s Shit List, and Link was doomed to never have his name erased by this point.

---

A loud chortol in the room interrupted the intense Lee Interrogation Session, and all who occupied it turned to stare at the couch near the right of the room.

Sitting like he owned the room, a mess of red hair and the cockiest facial expression Link had ever had the dismay to witness, was General Cross Marian.

“So this is the punk HQ sent to bother my pain in the ass child.” Cross chewed on the end of a lit cigarette, much to Komui’s ever disdain. “Please don’t smoke in my office General.”  

Cross only huffed smoke in the Commissioner’s direction.

Kanda, who was being a creepy shadow this entire drama, took a picture of the room and sent it to Allen.

That will get the beansprout here fast enough.

---

Needless to say, Komui’s office became a little more scrapped up than it actually never was, and he may need to get a new couch.

Allen, who had hijacked Kanda’s sword and stabbed it millimeters from the General’s arm through the couch, seethed.

The General looked unphased by this display of violence and took another drag of his nicotine. “Hello brat, miss me?” “About as much as I miss the flu. Where have you been!”

“So you did miss me.” The sound Walker made could only be described as verbal keyboard smashing. Kanda took his sword back and tossed his partner over his shoulder and left the room entirely.

“We’ll have a meeting in ten Kanda!” Their boss called out.

The officer grunted and kicked the door closed. It cracked more.  

Lenalee followed suit, dragging the ever growing irritated detective behind her. The door slammed and cracked some more.

Cross flicked the now dry cigarette in Komui’s direction. “That went well.”

“Oh shut up.”

---

It was Lavi’s turn to bring snacks to the lounge, which meant that Allen was very aggressively eating a bowl of trail mix and popcorn. Though, let it not be said that even when in a terrible mood, Allen Walker wasn’t kind, which was punctuated when he shared very generously with Aleister Crowley, another Officer and friend.

The meeting had called everyone in the Order to be present, thus the largest meeting room was used.

No one asked the reason for the usually calm and cheerful officer’s negative mood. What with a very obvious Cross Marian in the room - who many have never even met during their time at the Order, but only heard rumor of.

Miranda, sweetheart she was, offered Allen some candy. Suddenly the officer was all a-sparkle. “Yes please!”

At the head of the table, a throat cleared and all attention was drawn to it. Except Cross, who just took out his phone and began to play Candy Crush.

Standing beside the leader of the meeting, Howard Link glared at the General’s blatant act of insubordination.

---

Director Malcolm C. Lvellie, who essentially was in charge of overseeing all of the police stations in the Order, sat the table head. On one side, Link stood ramrod straight at attention, on other, Komui stood and looked like he’d rather be taking a nap under his desk than be in the room at this very moment.

Unlike Link, Komui knew his people. And he knew what kind of sordid drama was about to unfold.

God help his soul.

Sitting nearest the Commissioner was his sister, who’s look of contempt only intensified upon Lvellie’s arrival.

---

It was no mystery that Lenalee Lee also hated the Director with the intensity of one thousand suns, and she made it known in every way possible whenever the man paid their station a visit.

The rumor mill says that the man’s very image sends the female officer into a frenzy of baleful words.

When asked why, the only response given is a sharpe glare and, “What is there to even LIKE about him?”

Needless to say, not many actually try and venture for that piece of information.

---

“Greetings all,” The Director began, as though this were a social event. “I have asked Commissioner Lee to hold this meeting today to discuss some very important developments within our district.”

Holding out his hand to the detective at his side, Lvellie took the offered stack of files from Link.

“Allen Walker.” He addressed, flipping through the papers.

“Some months ago, it was you who apprehended the Noah, Tykki Mikk.”

Allen raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘yeah, and?’ But for the sake of being polite, he responds with a simple, “Yes.”  

“If I remember the report correctly, you were the one who was able to infiltrate and dismantle the entire compound in which Mikk was hiding away in. What was it called again?”

“The Ark.” Allen answered, curt.

---

The arrest of Tykki Mikk was a messy and dangerous one. For the entire time of Walker’s employment until his apprehension, the Noah was fixated on the officer.

It escalated when the criminal began leaving love letters on the doorstep of the Order, and bloody, gruesome gifts.

Then, one day, Lenalee was abducted in broad daylight to lure Allen out. It affected the Order fiercely, causing many who cared about their own to act together as the team no one knew they could be.

Lenalee was alive (a bruised, broken and exhausted mess, but alive), and Allen dragged a restrained Mikk away to the Maximum Security Penitentiary.

That was the short version anyway.

No one spoke of how Kanda laid waste to any physical obstacle in their way. No one asked why Lavi refused to smile for days.

No one mentioned how broken Lenalee’s legs had become.

No one went into detail how Miranda and her staff had cried over all of them at the damage done to their bodies.

And most of all, no one spoke of what Allen Walker had revealed that night.

---

“Yes, the Ark. This is also what you had been investigating, wasn’t it General Marian?” The Director glanced at Cross who swiped at his phone screen, uninterested. “Yes, yes, we all know this. I went undercover, managed to download a bunch of files, blah blah.”

“And it just so happened that you finished that assignment the very same night your subordinate managed to arrive and do your job for you.”

Allen left eye twitched at being associated as Cross’ underling.

“Yeah sure, let’s go with that.”  The General admissioned.

Commissioner Lee rolled his eyes and groaned. “Cross please.”

---

“My detective, Inspector Link, has been assigned to monitor and investigate Officer Walker due to the suspicious circumstances centering him during the Mikk Assignment.” Lvellie revealed, point blank.

“For years, even as someone as knowledgeable as Cross, the Order has been trying to take down even an inch of the Noah, and suddenly in one night, one of own was able to do just that. Now, many of you may be thinking that this should be a glorious feat, one awarded with fanfare and even a promotion.”

“I’d like a raise to be honest.” Quipped Walker, because he was a mouthy little shit in any circumstance. “Sir.” He tagged on at the end, to keep his facade of a polite gentleman.

Lavi snorted and Lenalee looked at him half amused, and half stressed.

Kanda...well Kanda was doing a very good impression of a gargoyle with how well he was silently ignoring everyone and everything at the moment.

Ignoring the white haired officer, the Director bulldozed on, obviously on an accusation high.

“Noah are notorious for their complicated security systems and hiding their locations. Yet the moment Miss Lee was taken, you knew exactly where to head. There was no warning or hint from Mikk as to where to find them. But you knew.

The question is Officer Walker, how did you know? And what did you do exactly to crash the Noah’s Ark system so easily?”

---

Lvellie may think he was fooling everyone in the room that he didn’t know what the Ark System was, but he wasn’t.

The Ark was known as the Noah’s mainframe of high end and custom security. It was where they housed their lead members of the Family, as well as any and all major finances. For years the Order has had been trying to crack into it, much less find a clue as to where it was located, but to no avail.

It was indeed suspicious that Walker was able to do it all so easily. (If one were to call the confrontation at the Ark “easy.”

It was a bloody mess, but Walker still knew where and when to step and how exactly to act to completely crash it all down.)

---

At the silent accusation of his character, Allen just looked at the director, unimpressed, and shoved a handful of corn kernels into his mouth. They crunched loudly and obnoxiously.

Kanda broke his statue like state so he could give his partner a withering stare, because that was just plain disgusting.

Aleister raised his hand, timidly. “Um, sir? Are you saying that Allen has an affiliation with the Noah?”

More crunching.

“That is exactly what I am saying Officer Crowley. If not, he may be a direct member!”

Miranda coughed into her hand, Lavi suddenly looked bored, and Cross let out a loud exclamation at reaching a new level of Candy Crush.

“Just, excuse me again sir.” Aleister interjected. “I thought this was all common knowledge.”

The crunch of the next particular handful of kernels was punctuatingly loud just then.

Director Lvellie became whiter than a sheet while Detective Link choked on his spit.

---

While the Order’s staff milled out of the room, Komui slid a document under his boss’ gobsmacked nose. “This is the Order of Immunity from Commander Hevlaska on the situation, Director.”

---

“She also states that Detective Inspector Link is to stay on the Order’s staff, since we still really do need a detective.”

---

Considering the Detective had originally come to the Order to investigate and ultimately catch Walker red-handed (no pun intended), to have it taken out right from under his feet was quite dizzying.

And mortifying.

Link felt very out of sorts at having, what many would call, his ‘thunder’ stolen.

In a daze, he opened the Document Room, to put all his hard researched files away once again, only to forcefully pause mid-step in the doorway.

Against three filing cases, a very half dressed Allen Walker was having his neck attacked by a shirtless Yuu Kanda.

“Oh.” Allen breathed, having noticed the detective, eyes bright. “Hello Detective, want to join us?”

Kanda stopped his ministrations to whip his head around, long dark hair fanning the air and then his lean, bare back to stare heavily and warningly at the blonde.

Link slammed the door closed, because okay naughty side of his brain, it was time to calm down now.

At his feet, Timcampy trotted up and sat down by the door, a squeak toy in his little doggy mouth.

Detective Inspector Howard Link worried for his sanity.

[creativitytoexplore]

Liberty Station by Dan Rice https://ift.tt/2zvRwN3 On a space station populated by humans and aliens, a lowly teacher must face a growing climate of bigotry; by Dan Rice.

My students, styluses to tablets, work studiously on the math quiz - except for Ben, a top-notch pupil if a bit entitled, and Felix, a quiet and kind lad. The polka-dots covering Felix's skin pulse yellow, contrasting against his otherwise light blue complexion. His arms are crossed before his chest, and he glowers at Ben, who is whispering something and has a broad smile plastered on his face. I stop myself from sighing. Disciplining my students is far from my favorite task, but I can't let this go on, or the boys will disrupt the quiz. Putting on my best stern teacher face, I march in between the neatly arranged desks toward the boys. "You know, Governor Spade is going to let us throw all your polka dot faces out the airlocks," Ben whispers to Felix. "You Starlight Missionaries aren't good for anything but taking our jobs. Good, high-paying human jobs. You're going to suck vacuum - " "Ben!" I say, hardly believing the vileness coming from the boy's mouth. Since the election of a Governor Spade four years ago, this kind of talk has become commonplace in the hallways of Liberty Station but never before has it entered my classroom. I'm very aware everyone is looking up from their tablets and gawking at me. "Ben, that kind of talk is unacceptable in this classroom. You know better." Ben turns red in the face and stares up at me with disdain. "Humans first. When Governor Spade wins the next election, he's going to throw all the aliens off the station, starting with polka-dot faces. That's what my dad says." "Ben, go to the principal's office immediately," I say, struggling to keep my tone neutral. "Why?" Ben asks, whiny. "Go, or I will be forced to call Principal Montoya to the classroom."

I stay late, grading math quizzes on my tablet when the door to the classroom slides open. Looking up, I smile at my visitors: Felix, and a woman who must be his mother. "May we come in, Mrs. Musashi?" the woman asks demurely. Her galactic common is easy to understand but carries the accent of a non-native speaker. "Please. You are Felix's mother?" I say and stand up. "I am. You may call me Lilly. I just wanted to say thank you. Felix told me what you did for him today. Standing up for him." "It was nothing, really. Any other teacher would do the same," I say. "School policy is crystal clear. Interspecies bullying is strictly prohibited." "You're wrong, Mrs. Musashi," Felix pipes up. I glance at him, nonplussed. "What do you mean, Felix?" Lilly says something in her native tongue that sounds like an admonishment. Polka-dots turning yellow, Felix stairs at the floor, and scuffs his feet. "It's true. Kids have said things in other classes, and the teachers don't do anything," Felix says. "We used to all get along before Governor Spade. I hate him." "Felix, wait outside," Lilly says, her polka-dots momentarily flaring bright orange. "Yes, Mother," Felix, says and steps outside. "I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Musashi," Lilly says. "No need to apologize," I say, shaking my head. "It's been hard. Especially this past year with the lead-up to the election. Governor Spade's rhetoric is divisive. He's stirring up old grievances." Lilly walks across the classroom to stand next to me, beside my desk. Held in her hand is a small coin, like the ancient currency of Old Earth. Only this token is translucent, and inside it, swirls what I can only describe as a glowing micro-galaxy. "This is a star coin. My people use it as currency on our home planet. Please, take it as a gift showing my gratitude." Staring in wonder, I pluck the star coin from Lilly's palm. It is smooth, featherlight, and warm to the touch. I can't help feeling like I hold a galaxy in my hand. "It's beautiful," I gasp. "I'm glad you like it. Thank you for your kindness and understanding." "I don't deserve this," I say and try to hand the coin back to Lilly, but she is already striding to the door and shakes her head.

I lay in bed half the night dreading my students will arrive the next morning ready to parrot Governor Spade's hateful rhetoric again. I finally fall sleep, but my alarm startles me awake far too soon. I arrive in the classroom almost an hour early to finish grading the math quizzes and prepare my lessons for the day. Periodically, the star coin sitting on the desk next to a "Galaxy's Best Teacher" coffee mug captures my gaze, and I smile. I don't deserve the gift, but I do appreciate it. At 0800 Liberty Station standard time my students arrive, and I take attendance. Everyone is on time except for Ben who is absent for the entire day. Turns out my anxiety the night before was misplaced, and class proceeds without any of the governor's rhetoric repeated by my students. It's a relief, really. At the end of the school day, I settle down at my desk to grade homework when my tablet pings. It's a message from Principal Jayleen Montoya summoning me to her office. "Great," I mutter and stand, knowing that if the meeting goes very long, I'll be staying up late grading papers instead of catching up on much-needed sleep.

I sit across a desk from Principal Jayleen Montoya, and stare out the porthole at the swirling orange and yellow clouds of the gas giant that Liberty Station orbits. Some people claim the churning billows are hypnotic if you stare at them long enough. I don't experience the mesmerizing effect because to my relief Jayleen wants to get right down to business. "Grace, Ben Hartman's parents visited me today," the principal says. "They are putting in a transfer request to another school. Do you know why?" The relief I felt moments before goes up in smoke. "Are you serious? They want to transfer him because of what happened yesterday? Ben is a good student. He is studious and usually will behaved, but what he said was totally out of line." "Grace, you are being accused of taking an anti-human stance in class and favoring aliens," Jayleen says. My jaw drops. "I do not. I treat all my students equally." "Several other parents filed complaints. Some of the students felt intimidated by, and I'm quoting, Mrs. Mushashi favoring alien students' well-being to the detriment of her human students." "Watch the classroom recording," I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "I didn't favor any species above any other. Ben threatened to throw Felix out an airlock. What was I supposed to do?" "I've reviewed the recording. Felix was clearly acting aggressive. At the very least, you should have sent them both to my office. This is a severe lapse in judgment, Grace. I'm afraid I'll have to write you up." "It was a clear case of interspecies bullying," I say, jumping up from my chair. "Is that allowed now?" "Governor Spade has made it clear that the new station policy is humans first. You're one of us, Grace. It's time you do your part to implement Governor Spade's policies in your classroom. I suggest you go home and think long and hard how you're going to do that. Oh, and the gift that Starlight Missionary gave you. Don't display it on your desk. Take it home or something." "Fine," I say and storm from the office. I leave the star coin on my desk in the classroom. The small show of defiance makes me feel like a rebel as I walk through the bustling halls of the station and head for the mag train platform. I arrive at the platform about 30 minutes before rush hour, so when I board the train, I'm surprised it's standing room only. The cars are chock-full of men and women wearing the green jumpsuits of the asteroid miners' union. It's odd that so many of them are on the train. The miners work long hours extracting precious hypercrystals, the 100% pure kind used in the lasers that cut the fabric of space-time to facilitate faster than light travel. I hold onto a pole and shift my weight with the acceleration and deceleration of the train. Brooding about my meeting with Jayleen, my mood turns into a sour soup of anger and sadness. A ragtag group of miners standing in front of me starts a boisterous conversation. "I lost my job to one of those blue faced freaks. The foreman told me they will work for half what I make. That's slave wages." "Corporations need to pay them more." "Damn Starlight Missionaries are hogging all the jobs." "They need to be given a choice. Leave our station or suck vacuum." Cheers erupt around the car at the last statement. My chest tightens. It's no wonder Ben is spouting off xenophobic garbage in class. Before Governor Spade people kept such views to themselves, but since Spade's election for years ago, his rhetoric has normalized anti-alien speech. There's even been violence, humans targeting alien businesses and the like. At times like this, standing on the train surrounded by angry humans, the station feels like a powderkeg waiting on a single spark to explode. An automated voice comes over the intercom. "Next stop the Starlight Missionary District." My relief is palpable. I can walk home from the train terminal and not have to listen to any more xenophobic ranting. To my surprise, the miners surge toward the exits. What's going on? I hear what sounds like chanting. As the train slows, I begin to make out the words and stare out a window in utter disbelief. At the terminal, a mob of riotous humanity chants: "Starlight Missionaries leave our station!" The miners rush off the train as soon as the doors open to join the mob. I see men and women in grimy jumpsuits assaulting two Starlight Missionaries. "Oh my God," I whisper. The victims are Felix and Lilly. The polka-dots covering their blue faces are bright yellow, like stars. I join the crush squeezing onto the mag train platform. The racket is deafening as I fight my way through the crowd toward Felix and Lilly. A burly man in an oil-stained jumpsuit pushes Felix to the ground. I barrel into the man, knocking him aside, and suck in a whiff of sweat and industrial solvent. I take Felix by the hand and pull him onto his feet and snatch Lilly by her arm. They quiver in fear. Too outraged to be afraid, I try leading them away from the immediate danger. Through the throng, I see a service hallway free of rioters. "This way," I say. A towering woman blocks our way. She holds a metal pipe overhead. "Get off my station." My heart roars inside my chest like starship thrusters in atmosphere. I expect the pipe to crush my skull, but a Starlight Missionary, polka-dots burning red, tackles the woman. We race into the hallway and stay on the move. "Are you all right?" I gasp. They nod. I let go of Lilly and use my handheld to summon station security, but the device fails to connect. My insides turn cold. From behind us comes shouting and the heavy clomp of boots against the metal floor. I glance over my shoulder and see three men in pursuit. I have no idea where this hallway leads, and the men are closing the distance fast. Up ahead, the hall gently bends, and to my relief, I see an abandoned electric cart. "Get on," I say. I jump into the driver's seat, and Felix and Lilly clamber into the passenger seat. From behind us come enraged screams. I slam my foot onto the accelerator, and the cart careens forward. "Watch out," Lilly says. Something flies over my head, just missing me. Whatever it is, it hits the wall with a metallic thud and falls to the floor. Fingers rest against my forearm and I realize it's Felix. Our eyes meet. The polka-dots covering his face still blaze bright yellow. "It's okay, Mrs. Musashi," he says. "They can't keep up with the cart." I draw a deep breath to calm myself, but I can't find a sliver of tranquility. The angry bellows of the men echo through the hallway. I don't even want to consider what will happen if they catch us. I check the cart's charge gauge on the dash. 15% charge. I clench my jaw. That might be enough to get us to safety. Looking over my shoulder, I don't see the men, and I swear the sounds of pursuit are fading. I ease my foot off the accelerator. The last thing we need is for the cart to run out of juice before we're safe. "Does your handheld have a signal?" Lilly says. "I lost mine in the riot." I fish my handheld out. "Oh, thank goodness. Yes." I connect to station security. The bored face of a middle-aged officer fills the screen. "There's a riot in the Starlight Missionary District," I splutter. "We're trying to escape. We're being chased." "Whatever," the officer says and disconnects. "Did he just..." Lilly says. "That bastard," I say and glance at Felix. His eyes are saucer-wide. "Pretend you didn't hear that." I retry security. "You again," the officer says. "I want to talk to your superior," I say. "Right now." I hear a voice from offscreen. "What's going on?" "It's nothing -" "Rioting in the Starlight Missionary District!" I yell. "Get out of the way." The officer moves aside. A woman slides into his place. "I'm Sgt. Chen. What's the emergency?" In rapid-fire, I tell her about the riot and the men chasing us. "Okay. Can you get to safety?" "I think so," I say and listen to our surroundings. I only hear the electric hum of the cart. "I think they stopped chasing us." "Good," Sgt. Chen says, her gaze flicking offscreen. "It looks like you're about five minutes from your apartment. Get inside and lock the door. I'll be around to check on you in ten minutes. Don't open your door for anyone else." Safe behind the locked door of my apartment, Lilly and Felix seem calmer. Their polka-dots are still yellow but aren't shimmering as brightly as before. Lilly takes my hand, her skin smooth and warm. "Thank you for helping us." "I'm sorry for what's happening," I say, not believing I deserve one iota of thanks for doing what any decent individual would do. After convincing them to sit down at the kitchen bar of my sparsely decorated open layout apartment, I make tea for Lilly and give Felix a cookie. "Thanks, Mrs. Musashi," he says. A few minutes later, the doorbell buzzes. I check my handheld, expecting to see Sgt. Chen at the door and the device nearly slips from my grasp. It's the three men who were chasing us. One man with a bushy beard bangs against the door with a wrench. I tap the talk button on the screen. "Go away," I say. "Open up. We know you have those polka-dot faced freaks in there. Give them up, and we'll leave you alone," comes a gruff voice from the screen. I turn to my guests, who are cowering behind an off-white couch in the far corner of the living room. I put a finger to my lips for silence. Their polka-dots are orange and emit an eerie luminescence. "They ran off. I'm alone." A short man climbs into the electric cart. "8% charge," he says. "Open up, lady. We just want the missionaries." "Leave. Please." The man thumps the wrench against the door. "We can get a torch." "I've called station security," I say, and bite my lower lip. Sgt. Chen is late. The miners confer in the hall. I try to listen in on their conversation, but they must be whispering because I can't make out what they're saying. It looks like they're about to leave, but then the one with the wrench starts rummaging through the electric cart's trunk. He hefts a plasma torch. His compatriots high-five each other. The dull blast from the torch is audible through the door. I don't know how long it will take them to burn through the door, but judging by the orange glow around its edges, not long. I race into the kitchen and grab a knife from the counter. I sprint across the living room to stand in front of the couch that Felix and Lilly cower behind. I hold the knife out before me and wait. I might have been standing for 10 seconds or 10 minutes when the door collapses inward to strike the floor with a resounding thud. The edges of the door and doorframe glow orange. The miners step inside and eye me warily. The one with the beard uses his wrench to point at my student and his mother. "Let us have them, lady," he says. "Nothing bad needs to happen here." "No," I say through clenched teeth. The bearded miner glances at his cohorts. "We rush her on three." The miners grunt their approval. "One." I draw a shuddering breath. "Felix. Lilly. I'll hold them off." "Two." "Just... just make a run for it." "Thr-" "Station security. Don't move." Standing in the doorway is Sgt. Chen with her stunner drawn and aimed at the men. Two miners spin and rush the security officer. A fizzle followed by a loud pop fills the air once then twice. Two miners drop to the floor, stunned. The bearded miner is still on his feet and hurls his wrench through the air. It crunches into the officer's shoulder, and she falls. The miner charges her. Screaming, I run at the miner's broad back. He whirls to face me with a maniacal glint in his eyes. His fist flies through the air. Out of nowhere, Felix comes between us. The polka-dots covering his body are bulging and pulsating red. He catches the man by the wrist. "Leave my teacher alone," he says in a low growl that I barely recognize. Bone cracks. The bearded man is yowling. Felix's fist smashes into his jaw. The miner's eyes roll back into his head. Felix is going to strike again, and I'm afraid he'll kill the man, but then I hear the most beautiful humming. It makes my insides vibrate, but at the same time, it's calming. Felix releases the man, who drops with a thud. Swaying, my student falls to the floor. Lilly, still humming that glorious sound, kneels next to her son and caresses his head. Felix is unconscious; his polka-dots aren't bulging and are fading to blue. Lilly stops singing and stares up at me. Her polka-dots still have an orange tint. "You weren't supposed to see that." "He could've done that the entire time?" I say. "It's an extreme fight or flight response," Lilly says. "A small percentage of our young males are burdened with it. Most can repress it by adulthood. We don't want you humans to know about it because you're scared enough by us as it is." "I didn't see anything," I say. "I didn't see anything either," Sgt. Chen says. She is sitting up now with her right arm hanging limply at her side. "What about him?" Lilly asks, gesturing to the man her son had knocked out. "Don't worry about him," Chen says. "He'll be on the next prison transport off station for assaulting an officer. I have a cart outside. We'll head to the nearest security station." I sit at the security station on a folding chair next to Lilly and Felix. Officers in body armor and carrying automatic rifles move purposely about the office. Occasionally, a man or woman in a green jumpsuit is led past us in handcuffs. A newsfeed plays on a monitor near the ceiling. The chaos playing out on the feed is terrible. Station security is authorized to use live fire to end the riot. It's only a matter of time before some semblance of order is restored. The scabbed over wounds torn open by the day's events will take a good deal longer to heal. Unable to watch more of the violence, I turn to Lilly. Felix is conscious and sits next to her, but seems in a daze. "The humming you did earlier," I say. "It was beautiful. Magical." "We don't find it so. It just stops the rage."

After the riots, I consider returning to the Inner Planets. I have family on Bali XI. But I can't stomach abandoning my students, so I stay, despite feeling like an asteroid adrift between solar systems. A month later, Lilly comes to my apartment with a tentacled Drakonusian and an officious looking young man in tow. The Drakonusian smells pungent (it's a species trait), forcing me to concentrate on not crinkling my nose, which might be interpreted as impolite. "We need to talk," Lilly says. "May we come inside?" I'm not thrilled to have visitors after a long day of refereeing my fifth-grade class, but I can't say no to Lilly after what we've been through. We sit down in the living room, and Lilly begins the conversation. "We think you should run for governor." "What? I'm not a politician. I'm a teacher." The Drakonusian speaks, a triangular device around the alien's neck translates guttural growls and high-pitch clicks into galactic common. "A teacher is what we need in our next leader. Someone who will remind all of us why our ancestors chose to live together on Liberty Station. My people have run mathematical simulations. If the current regime continues, there is a chance humans will turn against my people. That will have tragic consequences. Peace between our species is mutually beneficial." "You can win," the man says, leaning forward in his chair. I laugh and say. "You need name recognition to run for office." "You haven't been watching the newsfeeds?" the man says, turning his tablet toward me. "Your story has been trending this month on all the feeds. About how you saved your student." "I've been avoiding the news," I say and stare at the feeds displayed on the tablet. Truth be told, I'd heard rumors. A comment by a student or someone in the teacher's lounge. Still, it's unfathomable that the headlines are about me. I didn't do anything special. All I did was protect my pupil like any good teacher. That shouldn't make me famous or bring me accolades or qualify me to be governor. "Anyway," the man says, flipping the tablet around so the screen faces him. "You have a real chance at winning. Especially if we get out the alien vote." "They don't vote," I say without thinking, then blush because I'm afraid I might have embarrassed my alien guests. "We will vote for the right candidate," Lilly says and leans forward. Her gaze is intense, and the polka-dots covering her skin are glowing emerald green. I've never seen a missionary produce such a color, and I'm not sure what it means. "The riot has changed my people's opinion on voting," Lilly says. "We always found it silly. A human eccentricity. Now, we understand that if we are to live side-by-side with humans, we must be cognizant of how the station's leader is chosen." The translator interprets the Drakonusian's growls and clicks. "You are the candidate humans, Starlight Missionaries, and Drakonusians can support." I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, trying to find my center. My pulse tap-dances, and I feel woozy. I don't want to be governor. That's insane. Then again, can I really pass up a chance, no matter how crazy, to prevent the current regime from having a second term? I turn my gaze upon my guests and take a moment to compose myself. When I speak, there is steel in my voice. "I'm in. I'm in for the victory."

One years after that fateful meeting in my apartment, I stand in my campaign's office in a converted diner located in the Starlight Missionary District on election night. My supporters surround me: humans, Starlight Missionaries, and Drakonusians. The room is silent with anxious anticipation as the returns play out over the newsfeeds on a supersized monitor attached to the wall. I'm head-to-head with Governor Spade, it's too close to call. I want to win for my supporters; but for myself, I want to lose. Governor Musashi? It has a nice ring to it, but I'm not qualified, and all I really want to do is teach. Aliens and humans alike roar in approval as newsfeed after newsfeed declares the election in my favor. By midnight, I'm told by my advisors I should proclaim victory if only to force Governor Spade to admit defeat. My head swims in the ecstasy and terror of triumph. Lilly and Felix, their polka-dots pulsating blue, usher me to a podium before my supporters, so many that they spill out of the campaign office into the hallway. I gulp, certifiably a nervous wreck. I've never spoken in front of a crowd this massive before. I feel a tug at the sleeve of my jacket, it's Felix. "It's okay, Mrs. Musashi. Just pretend this is your classroom. You'll do great." I turn my gaze back to the throng. Starlight Missionaries. Humans. Drakonusians. Just like my classroom. I can do this. I begin the lesson.

[madshelley]

gimmie a quick rundown of which scenes break your heart the most, i'm not sad enough and need the pain.

I love you and this is both the best and worstthing anyone has never asked me, because apparently, I have no clue what a “quick”rundown means.  I also tried very hard tonot make this entirely about Armand and… I failed about midway through. Butin my defense, can you ever be sad enough? No, you can’t.

SO HERE’S THE TOP JUST-A-BIT-TOO-MANY LIST OFHEARTBREAKING VAMPIRE MOMENTS™:

- Louiskilling the Marquis, and both his and Lestat’s reactions to it. Louis draggingLestat to his abusive father’s bed and forcing him to speak forgiveness,despite the fact that Lestat is having an obvious meltdown (“He threw up hishands and let out a terrible roar of desperation.  ‘Damn him! Kill him!’ he said.”/“Lestatdanced like the maddened Rumpelstilskin about to put his foot through thefloor”/ “Never had I seen him so weak and at the same time enraged”), thatLouis, in his lack of information, mistakes for impatience and indifference.Damn dysfunctional vampires with a thing for miscommunication.  If only there was a scene with the two of themdiscussing this in a later book, it would probably make the list too. But,alas.

Rest of the list under cut because of excessively long post that no one’s going to read:

 - Louisdumping Lestat’s ‘body’ in the bog.

“This is Lestat. This is all oftransformation and mystery, dead, gone into eternal darkness. I  felt a pull suddenly, as if some force wereurging me to go down with him, to descend into the dark water and never comeback”.

          For no other reason, but that I feelthis is the prime example of Louis’ tendency to be unable to take control ofhis life and stand up for himself and what he wants, ending up being a passive observerof the most tragic events of his life, lamenting them only when it’s too late.Oh, Louis.

-Armandlying to himself about his relationship with Marius.

“A love so strong hecouldn’t allow me to grow old and die. A love that waited patiently until I wasstrong enough to be born to darkness.”

-I don’t normally care about Madeleine, but thisquote shatters my heart on a daily basis, considering the context in which IwtVwas written.

“And cruelly, surely, I said to her, ‘Did you love this child?’

I will never forget her face then, the violence in her, the absolute hatred.‘Yes.’ She all but hissed the words at me. ‘How dare you!’ She reached for thelocket even as I clutched it. It was guilt that was consuming her, not love. Itwas guilt- that shop of dolls Claudia had described to me, shelves and shelvesof the effigy of that dead child”.

-Armandleaving Louis, unable to bear the loveless, cold partnership anymore, indespair and suicidal. Especially this part of the farewell speech:

“AndI believed I would gather you to me and hold you. And time would open to us,and we would be the teachers of one another. All the things that gave youhappiness would give me happiness; and I would be the protector of your pain.My power would be your power. My strength the same. But you’re dead inside tome, you’re cold and beyond my reach! It is as if I’m not here, beside you. And,not being here with you, I have the dreadful feeling that I don’t exist atall”.

Armand,the break-up line master. Jesus Christ.

-“Hebent down, pressing his head against my chest and holding my hand so tight thathe caused me pain. The room was filled with the flashing red light of thesiren, and then it was going away.

‘Louis,I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,’ he growled through his tears. ‘Help me,Louis, stay with me’.”

- Theway IwtV ends in general, with no silver lining or sliver of hope. Lestat andArmand are dying, of old age and despair, Louis is continuing his existencelike a bloodless empty shell, seeing no possibility of recovery or light at theend of the tunnel, and there is no comforting cosmic reason anything is everhappening at all.  Life is pain and youdon’t even die. No wonder IwtV is such a downer to the non-initiated.

- LittleLestat being beaten bloody by his father and brothers.

-“Andwhen we decided to go to Paris, I thought we would starve in Paris, that wewould go down and down and down. It was what I wanted rather that what theywanted, that I, the favored son, should rise for them. I thought we would godown! We were supposed to go down”.

- Armandbegging Lestat and Gabrielle to take him with them and them refusing. I’m notgoing to go into details, I feel this is an obvious one.

Exceptfor these gems:

“Maybeas the years pass, desire will come again to me. I will know appetite again,even passion. Maybe when we meet in another age, these things will not beabstract and fleeting. I’ll speak with a vigour that matches yours, instead ofmerely reflecting it”.

and

“Armandwas a small boy in the doorway, holding the backs of his own arms”.

Theconsistent implication throughout the series that Armand gets cold when he’supset does things to my heart.

- Armand’sadmonition to Lestat that fledglings are bound to despise their makers, simplybecause it’s not true, or at least it doesn’t seem to be in most cases. IsArmand projecting because he’s practically almost incapable of verbalcommunication at this point in his life which makes a hindered mind gift seemlike an unsurpassable obstacle in his mind? Or is he projecting because, onsome level, he knows his relationship with Marius was abusive and probablydoomed? (Spoiler alert: probably both.)

- Mariuscalling Armand his mistake.

-Lestat hearing Armand crying after he pushedhim off the roof:

“Maybe I imagined it, his lastinvitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the monthspassed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking thoseold Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that itwas a lie I’d spoken to him, that I did love him. I did.”.

- “Uglyfights, terrible fights, finally, Armand broken down, glassy-eyed with silentrage, then crying softly but uncontrollably as if some lost emotion had beenrediscovered which threatened to tear him apart”.

-“Evenin moments of the greatest jeopardy, I knew we would meet before I would befree to die.”

Tell me again how Armand’s suicideattempt in Memnoch was out of character.

-Lestatbelieving that Daniel would have left Night Island with him if he had askedhim. So much theoretical pain.

- It’sa pity that Daniel leaving Armand isn’t technically  ~a scene, because that would make the top ofthe list.

- Everyscene in which Lestat is “haunted” by Claudia in TotBT. It’s not hard to seehow he made the connection between her and the Raglan episode, even with himnever straight-up admitting it to himself. Remember when Lestat still feltcrippling guilt for his worst actions, even subconsciously? Good times.

- David’sturning. But this is not the time to complain about this, it’s canon heartbreakappreciation time!

- Armand’ssuicide attempt in Memnoch the Devil. I’ve already elaborated on this way toomuch, but let’s take a moment to appreciate Lestat screaming Armand’s nameafter him. Take a moment. Thank you.

- Louisobjecting to Lestat being chained to the floor, but being completely dismissed.

- Theentire The Vampire Armand. I can’t let myself elaborate too much on this, as I’lljust be reciting the entire book. I can just open it to a random page and itwill probably be a Top Heartbreaking Vampire Moment:

 Armand’sobvious exhaustion at the beginning of the book, that no one seems to respect. Himscolding himself and admitting to David he feels he’s going mad. A child silentlywishing for death so hard, that Marius heard it amongst the mental voices ofthe entire city. Armand’s entire “relationship” with Marius. Armand having a breakdownat seeing religious imagery, not yet being sure why he has that reaction. Meetinghis parents, especially the broken Ivan. The “Bridge of Sighs” metaphor, Jesus.The ashes of the Palazzo boys. The whole Riccardo horror. Armand trying toconceal his scarred face from Benji and Sybelle, putting all his energy intothe illusion. The shattering feeling of betrayal about the turning of Armand’s “children”by Marius, and Armand’s conviction that it was meant as punishment. Louis beingunable to conceal his relief and joy to see Armand alive. Armand’s bitter, hurtdismissal of his relationship with Daniel as doomed from the start. Armandadmitting that Sybelle and Benji had to coax him out of depressive episodes attimes. Man, did Anne go ham on the pain in this one. Why, mom?

- Specialmention to that one time Marius beat Armand out of “frustration” at him fortaking too long to emotionally get over his visit to Kiev, probably his mostblatantly abusive moment in the book.

“‘You’ve had enough time to grieve and to weep,’ hesaid, ‘and to reevaluate all you’ve been given. Now it’s back to work. Go tothe desk and prepare to write. Or I’ll whip you some more.’”

“He smacked me across the face. I was dizzy.”

Nice going, Marius.

- Secondspecial mention to this little passage, because no one ever talks about it andit makes my heart bleed:

“ I looked off, wanting the quiet, dreamingof bowers suddenly, not in words but in images, the way my old mind would doit, wanting to lie down in garden beds among growing flowers, wanting to pressmy face to earth and sing softly to myself”.

- Thirdspecial mention to this, but only out of context:

“For all the wrongs done you, andthe loneliness you’ve suffered, and the horrors that the world put upon youwhen you were too young and too untried to know how to fight them and then toovanquished to wage a battle with a full heart”.  

- SeeingDaniel in Blood and Gold after all those years. The shock of the degree inwhich his mental stability deteriorated, not objecting to being kept by Mariuslike a child. The terrifying possibilities of how he might have ended up therein the first place. The even more terrifying possibility that it might havebeen the news of Armand’s “death” that pushed him over the edge. How Armandmust have felt about this ‘relationship’.

- I am definitely not done, and yet I’m going to stop ‘cause even I had enough.

Tl;dr: Sad Vampires.

[sporadiccolorwasteland-blog]

My Life's Literary Hypnosis

Side A: Twelve2Sixteen Math was my most dreaded subject and on that night, I’d no choice but to study for an exam next day while my older sister was doing some chores and my two younger brothers were sleeping. So it was a surprise when two of our aunts (mom’s sisters) paid us an unexpected visit while my mom was busy working late night managing her newly opened high-end, fine dining slash entertainment lounge at the top floor of one of the posh financial buildings in the city’s business district. “Hey kids, go pack some clothes. We’re going to the beach!” said my mom’s youngest sister. “Tonight? But what about school tomorrow?”, asked my sister … but to me t’was like hallelujah! These adults are so cool! … Long story short, all four of us kids and my two aunts were at this provincial beach house by midnight where minutes later, my dad walked in. My sister was a school-aholic and being the daddy’s girl that she was, she only stopped nagging when my dad assured her that he got permission from the school administrators. Duh? I didn’t care, I was just thrilled that I didn’t have to do that math exam the next day. Little did we know though that what we thought was a weekend getaway was actually a camouflage for some kind of “kin”-napping (a.k.a. kidnapping) from our mom. From the beach house, our dad took us “home”, not to our home, but to some remote apartment that felt like Alcatraz. “This is your new home with me from now on and you won’t have to return to school for a while. You will understand later but for now, get some sleep” said our dad in a very in control yet very fatherly-like approach. Oddly enough, though I first kept it to myself, I was the only one who wondered about where and how does our mom figure into all this. And why were her sisters in cahoots with my dad? Her very sisters who she sent to school and more. The answers to my questions were answered much later on when I already forgot about the questions. Days passed living in Alcatraz where the word limbo best described what it felt like. Everything was shady. Something was wrong for sure but everyone’s brushing it off. My aunts stayed with us and would act normal. My dad I hardly recall being there. Until one night while my dad was out doing his thing and us kids were about to sleep, I heard a thunder-like pounding and banging at the door followed by a voice that was oh so familiar, calling out my name, my sister’s and brothers’ names ever so loudly… “Melanie, Dennis, Jobert, Ryan!!!!!!!! Are you there?????? This is Mama!!!!!!! Open the door… Let’s go home!!!!!”. All I knew was I heard an angel’s voice and I cried and rushed to open the door and hugged my mom like never before. Then things happened fast that the next thing I knew was we were all back home. Now home and still confused with what’s happening, my sister and I sat on the steps of our stairs to take a breath while my baby brothers were sent to their rooms to sleep. Then there it was again. That thunder of pounding and banging on the door but this time, it came with a screaming voice I did not want to hear… “Open up you #@!%(!!! Open up or I’ll knock this &#*)%^ door down!!!”. Then from whatever strength he gathered, the door swung wide open as if it was to come off. My dad was furious. Our desk phone was the typical 2 kg, black analogue, dial-the-number telephone back then. She was holding on to it like a weapon while talking to her brother asking for help when from no where, the phone was grabbed from her and it recoiled back to her beautiful face causing her cheek bone to be dislocated, her nose broken, and her teeth smashed. My dad hurt her. She fell to the floor and got a couple more beatings from this six-footer of a man until she was almost unconscious. It was my first to witness real live violence and I never imagined it would be between my parents. And there was blood. I couldn't move. My knees were jello. I was scared. But I was not crying. The helpless child in me was angry as hell. My sister was crying her heart out pleading to the heavens to make it all stop. And when it did, this monster grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, drank it, and slammed the bottle on the kitchen counter. He picked up the broken bottle that now has razor sharp broken glass tips and ... held it, used it to point to my sister's face and asked her, "You, your'e my baby girl! Are you coming with me or not?!". She was shaking, crying her lungs out, she had no choice but to say yes. Then he turned, walked towards me, pointed the broken bottle to me and asked the same. Of course I loved my dad. In as much as his presence at home and presence as a father were as scarce water and as extinct as dinosaurs, I did love him one way or another. But on this particular night, with a broken glass to my face, I hated him like I never knew I was capable of hating that much until that instant. That hate, fearlessly made me answer him back and say, “I will never go with you!”. I did not even consider if he was going to drive that broken glass into my jugular. I did not care. I was either to die than go with him. That much I was certain of. He then stormed upstairs and grabbed my sleeping, clueless 8 year-old brother and rushed out of the house with my sister on his other hand, leaving me and my youngest brother with our mom who had to be rushed to the emergency room (thank God her brother came but yeah, after the fact) for treatment. What followed was a court case. It was my first time to write what turned out to be written sworn statement about what I witnessed. With what my 12 year old brain can phantom, I wrote and wrote not minding how I wrote what I wrote. I just wanted to vent it out too. Before my parents became legally separated, that case went on for what seemed to be forever which, coupled with everything else, left no choice but for my sister and I to not finish that school year. I was a few months short from graduating elementary school. I couldn’t bear the thought that all my classmates and friends were going to be in high school the following year while I watch them from the sideline, starting all over again. That hurt. That made me very embarrassed. That made me want to disappear. For the first time, I felt like a loser and for the remainder of that year, I regressed and reduced myself to a hermit who sought refuge from my lifeline… the boob tube, nonetheless. Long story short again, the next school year was a new lease for me and so I got myself enrolled in a new school and decided to leave everything behind like the past never happened at all. That was the only way I could cope and move on or so I thought. I was continuously haunted by what happened, what I lost, and why I couldn’t face it. Thankfully, I finished elementary school this time.

[weareallfallengods]

Reposting because I'm a disaster and don't know how to pin posts.

Survival

Inspiration: If you’re over 25 and haven’t done something remarkable, you are hunted down and killed. Some people invent things. Some make cures for diseases. Others become established members of their community. You’re pushing 30, and somehow not dead yet, even though you cant think of a single thing you’ve done thats remarkable in any way. Why aren’t you dead?

I write for adults about adult themes with adult language. I try to tag possible triggers (but I know I'm not going to get all of them), so if violence or implied death or cussing bothers you, you'll probably want to find a different author.

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Somehow, that date came up again. Not quite sure how, but somehow, the number circled on my shitty wall calendar with the coffee splatter on it managed to be today. Again. It's been doing that for 5 years now.

At first I wanted to be a surgeon- save people's lives, make a difference, all that shit. Yeah, I was caught up in the hype for a while too. Just like everyone. Thought I'd make some ground-breaking discovery and change the world. Just like everyone. And then, at 22, I flunked out of med school. That was it. Dream over, kaput, fin.

When I opened my termination letter, it was like reading a death sentence. 10 years of prep and study down the drain. 3 years left. 3 years, and no idea what to do. No clue what I could do to save my own life after all those years learning how to save others.I drank for a solid month. I dont even remember that month now. My only memento from it is an entire skip of liquor bottles. It's a miracle I didn't die from alcohol poisoning. Not that I didn't try.

See, I was afraid. Scared, actually. Terrified would be more accurate, if I'm honest. I knew I only had 3 years left until they came for me. Unless I managed to do something extraordinary within the next 3 years, they'd come for me, and the only thing that would remain is a 2 paragraph obituary in the local paper, followed by a vacancy announcement. When you're suddenly forced to confront your own imminent demise, and see every dream, hope and aspiration you'd had evaporate, right in front of your eyes, its perfectly natural to drown that in a swimming pool of vodka.

But then, after a month of drowning, and a week of curing a hangover that would make Satan shudder, I got angry. Like Bruce Banner angry. As I was leaving an all night diner, the notice board caught my eye. Having nothing better to do with my life, I stood there for a while just reading every single card in detail, every single lost cat, every used car, every 5k charity run. And then I saw it. And I thought, "You know what? Fuck it, why not. I've spent all this time trying to do one thing that I've never actually done just whatever I feel like, had hobbies, anything really. Why the fuck not."

And that's how I ended up 2 days later in some shity warehouse district, rolling around on a mat with some dude I didnt even know, sweating and swearing profusely and having the time of my life. "Sasha's Self Defense" it said on the small, weathered and rusted sign on the brick wall out front, next to a door that looked like it had been transported straight from the proverbial gulag.

I'd naively thought this was going to be one of those Karate Kid knock offs for some reason when I first arrived. Sasha soon disabused me of that notion. In fact, when he saw I'd brought a new gi in a duffle bag, he laughed so hard he had to slap his ass down on a rickety folding chair just to keep breathing. Once he calmed his mirth at my expense, he let me know in a no-nonsense, 'I'm an old-timer and seen some shit in my day' heavily accented tone that this would be a class that focused on survival at all costs. "No bullshit wax on-wax off," were his exact words I believe.

And boy was he right. When I told him I'd set aside my year's tuition for lesson payments, well, wouldn't you know it, I became his most prized pupil; I quickly learned this was not a good thing. It meant 14 hours a day of the most humiliatingly punishing activity ever dreamed up by Moscow's Finest. I couldnt even move the morning after my first day. But somehow I limped my battered frame down to the bus stop and was only an hour late. Ha, only. Sasha seemed to take it as a personal insult. The only thing he hated less than sloppiness was tardiness it seemed. Apparently the 10th Circle of Hell was reserved for those who dared be late. And he made you earn your way out of that circle.

His only saving grace was fairness. If I had to suffer, at least I wasnt alone. Well, at first anyway. The few other students that suffered his wrath along side me doing slavic folk dances with wrist and ankle weights very quickly learned that this wasn't the type of class they had thought it was and soon I was alone with Sasha.

On the days I did well, I got treated to pierogies. Oh man, I lived for those pierogies. They were made by angels and served by someone I can only describe as if Jesus came back as a woman. Who was Russian. And spoke even less english than Sasha, if that was possible. His sister was as completely opposite to that sadistic maniac as it was possible to be and still be a human being. Where he was loud, she was soft. Where he was tough, she was gentle. Where he was strict, she was generous, even indulgent. Blonde to his brunette. Slim to his barrel chest. Cousin by marriage, I think they said. Well, relatives of some kind anyway. And she was the only one who could make him laugh. And when he laughed, the whole block knew! He was just that loud, that boisterous, with everything he did.

But I loved his little Anya. Just like everyone. But like in a wholesome, mom-ish kind of way. I loved her because I got to sit for an hour when she was around. Because she"d always tuck a to-go container of pierogies into my bag. Because she'd chide Sasha for pushing me too hard. In short, she was an angel.

But I have to hand it Sasha- in 4 months, he took a scrawny bookworm into someone who could pose for Men's Health. In 6 months, I could beat Ivan, his partner, in 5/10 sparring matches. In 7 months, I ran a marathon. In 9, he had me enter a triathalon. And I made it into the top 50 out of 500 entrants. Not too bad if I say so myself. In 12 months, I was beating Ivan almost every time.

And that's when the other Ivan showed up. After a year, Sasha decided it was time I learned weaponry. After all, no real fight was fair, he said. And Ivan (another cousin? Sasha had one heck of an extended family) instructed me on everything from broken beer bottles, to knives and pool cues. And my medical training paid off, because more often than not, I was the one stitching myself up if training got a little rough that day.

Eventually, I moved into the gym. Not sure how it happened, but I think I just got too tired to leave one day and never really left. Sasha didnt seem to mind since it meant I wasnt ever late again. Plus the coffee he imported was the best thing ever. Like it was so good that's probably the Extraordinary Thing he did to live as long as he had.

The days just melted together, into one long symphony of beautiful exhaustion and physical torment, as I poured myself into the first activity I could remember doing purely because I wanted to, something that numbed the dread of the finality of my life expectancy.

But then one day, one specific day, the one I'd been dreading in the back of my mind for a year came around.

They found me.

I guess they were a little slow in finding me, not surprising since I'd basically just disappeared from my old life, no forwarding address type thing. It wasnt intentional, it just sort of happened, what with me diving head first into something purely for me, without the thought of doing it for someone else. But they found me. Just like they find everybody.

See, it doesnt matter if you try to run, if you move, or change your name. They always find you eventually. I just hadn't thought about it in a long while. That year was the first time since I was probably 14 that I'm hadn't thought about the Gardeners. I guess that's why it surprised me so much.

Yeah, Gardeners. I dont know who came up with the name, in guess some misguided attempt at a positive PR spin bullshit to pass off squads of government assassins who's only job was to track down the NCs of the world and eliminate them. Sorry, NCs- Non-Contributors; the people who hit their expiration date without doing something noteworthy, something that was deemed to "advance or bolster the Human Condition" to borrow a phrase from the civics classes we had to take every fucking year of school. A cutesy sounding name that was supposed to make the government sound like a benevolent old couple pulling weeds from their garden of humanity. The worst lies always sound the sweetest, dont they?

And I was now 25.

It happened a few weeks after my birthday. Just another routine day for me, going for a light 5k run after my soak in a mineral bath. Light rain, most of the streetlights out, the few lights on in the warehouse district reflected beautifully off the streets. That's why I ran at night, all the colors changed that normally bleak neighborhood into something beautiful. It was just one little thing to balance out the harshness of reality, and I reveled in it.

I don't actually remember what happened exactly. I do recall seeing a suspiciously conspicuous homeless guy huddled under a loading dock awning, and then just a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. I think it happened really quickly; at least that's what Sasha said the next morning as he was making arrangements for me to visit another cousin of his "back in the old country". It could have been. God, after seeing the bodies around me in the aftermath, I hope, for their sake, that it was fast. 5 bodies. All still. I still remember my breath turning to blue fog, blurring the details of them. Helping me to be able to pretend I didn't see the blood mixing with the rain and oil, spreading out over the concrete like a macabre inversion of the cloudy sky above.

I'm glad they wore masks. It's bad enough having that scene burned into my brain forever, without specific people's faces being etched there as well. I'm glad I dont see their faces in my mind every time I close my eyes. I just wish I could still enjoy the rain. They managed to take that from me, even if I'm still breathing, so I guess they didnt completely fail. They just killed a part of my soul instead. But hey, there's plenty of people that don't like the rain, right? But I bet they don't smell blood when it does though.

And that was pretty much it. No sirens, no manhunt, nothing. Before I could process what was happening, I was on a bus, headed for "the old country", which, as near as I could tell, looked an awful lot like Pittsburg. Sasha's 'cousin' met me at the bus depot there, a man of very few words. Not as loud as his cousin, Zhena tended to communicate with looks, grunts and shrugs mostly. Same work ethic though.

And then the cycle repeated- 14 months this time before they caught up with me. Too bad that Zhena got caught up in it, he was a great guy. He and I didn't really become close or buddies or anything, but it still hurt to see what happened to him. To what was left of him anyway. The Gardeners definitely were trying to send a message with that. To quote an old wise man, "I didnt want to know, but now I do, and I'm telling you, you dont want to know." And that's coming from someone who was training to become a surgeon, so just trust me on this one.

This time, they were waiting for me. I think they'd planned on Zhena being enough of a distraction that they'd be able to take me out easily, but since since I woke up the next day on the floor of the sparring ring in a too large pool of blood that wasnt my own, I'd say they failed. The difference this time was I was on my own. No 'cousins' to call in favors from. No family I could call because I didnt want them getting a visit from the Gardeners either. I was alone this time.

Weirdly, I was actually OK with that. I'd been surrounded by family, teachers, advisors, tutors for so long that solitude was actually kind of nice. I could hear myself think my own thoughts for the first time in what seemed like forever.

I'm not ashamed to say that I took what little of value there was from Zhena's gym (I knew him well enough to know that Sasha was his only family) so that I could get a seedy hotel for a while. I did at least have the decency to let Sasha know, and that that would be the last he ever heard from me, to keep him out of trouble. Bad enough that 10 people were already dead, I didn't want Sasha or Anya's name added to that list because of me.

And so I vanished. Completely. Sure I travelled, kept studying and training like I had been, but never staying longer than a few months, never using the same name, copying other random people's habits and patterns so I didnt have one of my own for them to track down. Yeah it was cliche, but hey, I figured my dad watching all those spy flicks when I was young had to be good for something, right?

Sometimes I was a baker, sometimes a delivery driver, even a dock hand. Whatever it took to make a buck so I could eat.

I got really good at other things too. Like disposing of bodies. Not really a skill I ever thought I'd want or need, but Necessity is a harsh and demanding teacher. Sadly, my skill as a surgeon came in handy- bodies are easier to get rid of when they're in smaller pieces. And people are easier to turn into bodies when you know how they're put together intimately. Not what I had in mind for my life, but since it was the choice between this or dying, well, I guess I can put up with it.

I suppose that catches us all up to the present, more or less. OK yeah theres a lot that's gone down between Pittsburg and now, but it was all pretty much the same: lather, rinse, repeat. Literally sometimes. Those were the days it felt like there wasnt enough soap in the world to get all the blood off.

So here I am, I'm my single room in Kandahar, staring at the date that had somehow come up again. Every year, they send someone. Usually a team. And I survive. No matter how they come at me, or when or how many. I survive.

And I'm sitting here, staring at the calendar, steaming cup of espresso, just staring, as a light breeze fluttered the corner of the calendar page, sending the orchids dancing in the vase next to it. All I could think is, "How? How does this keep happening? I'm not even supposed to be here, not supposed to be alive."

As I raised my cup of espresso, something slid under my door. "OK that's weird," I said aloud as I stood.

The chair made an ungodly screech as I pushed it back and made my way over to where a small, cream colored envelope sat on the floor, a couple inches from the bottom of the door. It was heavy for it's size, but not because anything was in it, just the paper was that thick. Probably hand-made. It's odd the little things you notice in times of stress. Heavy, rough paper, no postmark, nothing written on the outside, just the flap tucked in, not even sealed. Reminded me of how my mother used to give out birthday cards. I always thought that was a little weird, but it was just one of her quirks that made her even more endearing to everyone.

I sat down a little heavier than I had planned and felt the chair crack a little. There was a single sheet of paper inside, folded in half; I was right- handmade paper. But that wasnt important, what was important was the heavy, blocky hand-written message it contained.

"We've been looking for you for a long time. It has come to my attention that you may have something unique to contribute after all. We may have been too hasty in judging your Ability to be a Contributor. I believe you do actually have a remarkable Ability to Survive. I'd like to speak to you this afternoon in the plaza outside the Blue Mosque. I will be alone, and you can approach me, so as to allay your justifiable suspicions. I will have a silver coffee set on the table in front of me.

I believe we can help each other, if you're willing to listen to my proposition.

-Soon,

Baddar"

Well, this is interesting.