#and so that i can keep finding joy in the fact that i have outlived my expected expiration
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#im exhausted and i cant find my diary and i need to be showering and going to bed because i have bloodwork at 8am#and then we interview our first candidates tomorrow for the social gig so i cannot have a day in which i dont give a shit#but apparently its a big stars and space day if youre into that sort of thing big day for manifesting the energy you want to carry through#the rest of the year SO THAT you can do the necessary work to continue bettering your life and ypurself because manifesting#doesnt mean shit without work you have to put the work in okay anywho lions gate etc i cant find my fckin diary so we are putting this here#until i find it so i am done apologizing for the space i take up and i am done making myself smaller for the sake of other people's comfort#i am no longer beholden by the expectations of others nor am I playing the games they attempt to trap me in. this is my life to live.#i am just undergone the greatest act of self creation possible. i have remade myself in my own true image and am continuing my work.#no one will take that sovereignty from me. this is my body. my soul. my mind. my heart. my life to fill with love and live freely.#and live freely i shall. the work is not over and the road ahead is long going ever on and on. but how joyous it is that it goes on at all.#i am holding that joy and that wonder in every iota of my being. alongside the sheer blinding rage at the fact that this world#can and should and will one day be better and it is our duty to keep fighting so that it is left better than we found it#im carrying whatever abundance and grace into the coming days that i can. bounty and joy and brighter tomorrows so that i can jeep fighting#and so that i can keep finding joy in the fact that i have outlived my expected expiration#and am becoming the self that has existed in every lifetime that has ever mattered
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To: @dreams-and-dreams from @colorsunlikeanythingseen
Prompt: Meg and Apollo road trip
We see a big fork/ I’m absolutely famished/ Turns out I bite too/
I do not get why mortals complain about road trips. There is nothing better than driving across the country, spending time with friends, and listening to music, podcasts, or whatever radio station you happen to find. It is better in the sun chariot of course but even so there is joy in the journey of our stolen truck. I have however learned to appreciate road stops more than I used to when I was a god I rarely saw the point in stopping.
“Turn left” Luckily I was reinterpret this particular order and turned my body left to face Meg instead of raming the car into the side of a building
“Meg watch your orders. I am not mad at you but you have to be more careful”.
“Right, sorry” Meg said and looked away, her face was like cement. Luckily that only lasted a block and she soon went back to examining her map and humming along to the radio.
“Go…We… um.. Please go right now.” I turned right wondering what destination or dead end I would find.
I turn the corner only to find more rows of downtown brick buildings. I will never understand Missouri’s apparent urge to make everything brick. It brought up bad memories of Athena’s lectures on city planning in Olympus. I barely had to make an effort to tune out those meetings. When buildings weren’t brick they were the same bland cookie cutter modern office space.
“Right. It’s right here” Meg suddenly said. I barely had time to turn right. I pulled into a building that managed to be a mix of both brick and modern glass office space. Perhaps Athena had a point about the decay of American architecture.
“Why are we here Meg.” I asked as she stumbled out of the car with the grace of a newly born gazelle.
“Fork.” She said pointing at the fork that looked like one of Utgard-Loki’s dropped dinner sets (Do not accept any of his invitations even if he is, funny, has really good poetry, and lovely eyes. He is simply a terrible host).
“Yes I see the fork. Why?”
With her usual eloquence Meg wandered off without a word in my direction. I suppose you can only expect demigods to stay still so long. I felt a bit wobbly as well, another downside of being mortal. I used to be able to drive all day with complete ease and now after only four hours driving I wanted a rest.
I found a bench to sit down on. It was once of those weird almost modern art ones with curves that might pass as handle bars if you squinted in the middle. The air was warm and you could feel the sun warming the earth. Perhaps it was Ra up there or Sol, or a giant ball of gas, at the moment the cosmos turning on without me brought more comfort than despair. Even if I fail things would continue my children would outlive me and the world would keep turning (a weird fact but not an unpleasant one).
Someone sat down next to me and it was not Meg. It seemed to be a business lady and I felt hungry just looking at her. I didn’t need to be the god of medicine to recognize the clear signs of extremely unhealthy weightloss. She was bone thin in the way only starving people could be, her once perfectly tailored business suit now sagged around her like loose skin. Despite the layers of her suit jacket, vest, and shirt I could count her ribs. She is literally only skin and bone.
“Hey are you alright?” I asked knowing the answer should not be yes. I would not be surprised if I had to call for an ambulance which would be a problem unless the Arrow of Dodonna could make phone calls as easily as they could access google maps.
“Yes… yes I am alright better than ever in fact. Thank you for asking, what is your name, young man.” She gave me a thin smile as she found something funny.
“Lester.” I searched my pockets for some sort of snack. Dried vegetables or meats would be preferred as she would be more likely to accept that of course anything is better than nothing.
“It is nice to meet you Lester. I am Limos, I work in one of the offices there. What are you doing here this is hardly a place you should be.” I found a packet of peanuts in my sweatshirt pocket.
“I am on a road trip with my little sister.” I was starting to feel hungry myself. Ugg road trip snacks are not filling. “That’s her”
She looked over towards where Meg was destroying the carefully cultivated patch of grass at the center of the roundabout. Limos was not as happy as I was at seeing her have fun.
“Well we can’t help who we are related to.” If looks could kill Meg would be dead but when she turned back to face me Limos was all smiles again. “What do you know about this monument.”
“Not much” I was increasingly tempted to dig into the peanuts myself.
“The fork used to be a sculpture in front of some restaurant. They went out of business and whatever company rents out this office space bought the world’s second largest fork.”
“Second?” I felt weak. The last time I felt this hungry was the last time I was mortal. It hadn’t quite sunk in then that food, sleep, and water were now mandatory for me. I was in such a rush to complete the wall of Troy I didn’t eat, sleep or drink for four days straight. Had I not maintained some measure of godly strength I would have died. I wasn’t at that level of hunger yet but something was wrong.
“Oh yes the new largest fork is located in Colorado. So not it is now just a large empty fork with nothing particularly special about it.”
I pulled out the peanuts poured half into my hands and offered the other half of the bag to Limos. “Here”
She looked like I had just offered her maggot infested meat. Far faster that she should be physically be capable of moving she threw the bag into the dirt and knocked the peanuts out of my hand.
“I never share. You should never give something for nothing! That destroys profits and drives me out of business” She snarled and for a moment resembled my father about to strike. However hunger was a force far more powerful than fear so I was more focused on the peanuts.
“My peanuts!” I stumbled off the bench and collapsed as if my legs were cooked spaghetti. My stomach growled like a cornered wolf ready to eat me alive.
“You aren’t human.” I should know exactly who and what she was but as usual that file was not found.
“Neither are you Apollo.” Limos said and in a parody of tender care helped me back onto the bench.
“Why are you trying to kill me.” I asked mostly to delay the inevitable. I remembered many many reasons monsters, gods, spirits, and humans might try to kill me and there were even more that I had forgot.
“I am not trying to kill you Lord Apollo. You might die but that wouldn’t be my fault.”
“Well that is a nice change. It really does not feel like you aren’t trying to kill me though” I rasped. Shooting pains ran through my stomach were it not for Limos’ tight grip on my hands I would have charged towards the roundabout and started eating grass or the peanuts scattered out of reach.
“It’s not worth getting on Artemis’s bad side besides you are going to die soon anyways hopefully after you deal with Python. It could be… inconvenient for us all if you die before then” She said is an even and uncaring tone like she was discussing the projected revenue of a new product and not whether I would live or die.
In a worrying turn of events I stopped feeling hungry as if my body gave up on receiving anything to eat. With this bit of renewed clarity I remembered that she was the very very very minor god of famine (duh), not someone I hung out with, and the natural enemy of Demeter and her children. She wasn’t here for me she was here for Meg, and I was a hostage.
She seemed to notice my look of despair, “Oh you finally caught on took you long enough.” Limos dragged me to my feet. I had to come up with a clever plan to warn Meg unfortunately nothing clever came to mind so I did the next best thing.
I shouted. “MEG. LIMOS IS FAMINE. DO NOT STEP OFF THE---”
I was rudely interrupted by Limos covering my mouth. Taking a page out of Megs book I bit her, hard. Despite the blood running down her hand Limos didn’t even flinch. Luckily her blood was red, like the triumvirate or my sister’s hunters. Limos’ power truly had faded over the millenia. If I wasn’t about to pass out and had my ukulele or any arrows, I could kill her! Maybe...
Meg unlike me was always ready to fight someone and was armed with ornamental vegetable seeds, snacks, and swords. With her typical grace she stated, “Give him back.”
“I will if you corporate with me. Lets have a talk just you and I this does not have to be ugly and no one needs to get hurt.”
Hopefully heading my warning Meg did not move closer. Limos stepped onto the road instead cementing my theory of her not quite having the range she once had “Your dear stepfather worries about you and had hired me to bring you home.” Limos lied.
“He- he isn’t my family. That’s not my home. I am not going back like that ever again.” Meg spoke in a rush like she was trying to fit decades of unspoken words into a sentence.
“I am sorry about your situation I truly am” Limos continued lying, “But I was hired for this job and I must fulfill it. I am sure we can reach a compromise.” I am sure she said elaborated more but I was rather distracted by a jagged knife of bone getting far too close to my throat.
Perhaps it was a sign of my current starving state of mind but my first thought was not, oh yikes I am going to die , instead I wondered it I could eat that bone. There was only one way to find out. In a move so stupid that Limos couldn’t predict it I stopped biting Limos’s and bit down on the knife instead. In case you are wondering, no it did not tase good. it tasted like my own blood and new mouth injuries because that is what happens when you bite jagged knives.
Luckily Meg took advantage of Limos’s distraction or perhaps someone drop kicked a pumpkin out of a nearby window. Either way Limos fell back and I stumbled forward. Meg supported me back to the grass and more importantly the pumpkins. They were better than any ambrosia and nectar I have ever had.
“That was quite rude of you. To think we could have done this the easy way. Now well- you have disrespected a god you both know the consequences of that.” My pumpkin withered and felt more hungry than ever after eating.
“How do we beat her.” Meg said still standing tall despite her new hunger. I tried to mimic her focus.
“Food, especially gardens, grow as much as you can. You are her natural enemy for a reason, she wants to kill you before you kill her, because this god can die.”
Meg nodded and scattered seeds across the grassy spot. Strawberries blossomed and burst into fruit, shoots of grass grew into golden grain, squashes sprouted. It was a paradise greater than Elysium. I gobbled up as much strawberries as I could. Meg munched on a cob of corn. We were safe for now, but I doubted that Meg could outlast a god. Limos reached the curb but did not step closer. I could see anger behind her smiling mask either at my words or the pumpkin staining her new suit jacket.
“Ridiculous I am immortal just like you once were Lester. You could never defeat let alone kill me. I just want to kill you because you are related to someone I can’t hurt yet.” Meg nodded at me as if to say keep talking. Finally I could do something I excelled at!
“That speech might have fooled me if I were a mortal but I am a very old god. I have witnessed the final moments of pantheons, I can see the signs of a gods death. Your domain is weakening-”
“NO it is not. Famine has never weakened in fact it has grown more than ever, tonight over 828 million people will go to bed hungry. My reach has not weakened and it never will.”
“Yes there are far too many people hungry, but they don't have to be. New farming practices are so effective that there is enough food to feed everyone.” I couldn’t tune out all of Demeter's rants on improved agricultural efficiency.
“And people would rather have it rot then share it. No one shares if it means that they might lose a few dollars.” Limos successfully was distracted arguing with me but Meg seemed to need even more time.
“Some are that greedy but not everyone. Besides that isn’t even your biggest problem I mean who know who Limos is? You name is practically forgotten. I haven’t seen a shrine for you in millennia and nothing is named after a famine god. That would be terrible branding.”
For a moment Limos’ mask of confidence cracked and either fear or anger leaked through. “Shut up.” A wave a hunger washed through me a but I simply helped myself to more strawberries. “Gods are always powered by a worshippers’ fear. Even if they don’t know my name anymore, anyone that has met me fears me and will never return to life the same. That is more powerful than any shrine.” Her resemblance to Zeus continued to grew and it wasn’t because they had the same taste in business suits.
“Fear only works for so long, Love lasts far longer, but nothing is remembered forever. Even Pan died and you are far weaker than him. How much time do you have before you die like everyone you killed? I have always wondered what a god’s afterlife would be like if we have one at all.”
Limos trembled probably out of anger. “You are going to learn that first.” Bone knives flew towards my neck and would have hit were it not for Meg and her ornamental vegetables. A wave of vegetation grew cracking the concrete. A peach tree grew around Limos trapping her.
As one Meg and I ran towards the truck. The ground trembling beneath us as the road was transformed into a new community garden. We did not buckle our seat belts, I stomped on the gas pedal, accelerated to illegal speeds and left Limos in the dust. Presumably. I did not turn around to check.
It took twenty miles before I felt safe enough to speak “That was terrible. We are never doing that again”
“Yeah, don’t get captured ever again.” Meg looked at me weirdly like I might die or vanish forever if she looked away again.
“I am not planning to. Want to find us a new rest stop?”
“Thought we were never doing that again?”
“We aren’t visiting any large forks again, but a ball of twine is still on the table if it is on the way too….”
I didn’t continue the weight of our task sat too heavily in my throat for moment, but I drove on each mile getting us closer to what would be the end of our journey one way or another. I would not mind another roadside attraction before things ended.
Facts
The statistics about word hunger is accurate as of my time of writing this. Source https://www.actionagainsthunger.org/the-hunger-crisis/world-hunger-facts/
The story of the world’s second largest fork is is accurate.
A lot of Missouri’s building are made of brick due to the brick mines as well as because brick is fire resistant. St. Louis is particular had a problem with fire due to how steamboats were prone to spontaneous combustion.
Brickwork can be beautiful if you are a bit creative but corporations are not creative.
There is a surprising amount of discourse about whether or not this is or isn't the largest fork. Missouri’s is the tallest but Colorado's is the largest from what I have seen. Main source https://417local.com/largest-fork-springfield-mo/
Meg and Apollo did fight a famine sprit at Springfield Missouri’s largest fork.
Limos is the greek god of famine.
We do have enough food to feed everyone on the planet. No one needs to starve.
#toasecretsanta#colorsunlikeanythingeverseen#dreams-and-dreams#pjo apollo#lester papadopoulos#meg mccaffrey#trials of apollo#toa#riordanverse#trials of apollo fanfiction#toa fanfiction#riordanverse fanfiction
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Secret Santa (just want to make sure you got it)
Prompt Meg and Apollo road trip
I do not get why mortals complain about road trips. There is nothing better than driving across the country, spending time with friends, and listening to music, podcasts, or whatever radio station you happen to find. It is better in the sun chariot of course but even so there is joy in the journey of our stolen truck. I have however learned to appreciate road stops more than I used to when I was a god I rarely saw the point in stopping.
“Turn left” Luckily I was reinterpret this particular order and turned my body left to face Meg instead of raming the car into the side of a building
“Meg watch your orders. I am not mad at you but you have to be more careful”.
“Right, sorry” Meg said and looked away, her face was like cement. Luckily that only lasted a block and she soon went back to examining her map and humming along to the radio.
“Go…We… um.. Please go right now.” I turned right wondering what destination or dead end I would find.
I turn the corner only to find more rows of downtown brick buildings. I will never understand Missouri’s apparent urge to make everything brick. It brought up bad memories of Athena’s lectures on city planning in Olympus. I barely had to make an effort to tune out those meetings. When buildings weren’t brick they were the same bland cookie cutter modern office space.
“Right. It’s right here” Meg suddenly said. I barely had time to turn right. I pulled into a building that managed to be a mix of both brick and modern glass office space. Perhaps Athena had a point about the decay of American architecture.
“Why are we here Meg.” I asked as she stumbled out of the car with the grace of a newly born gazelle.
“Fork.” She said pointing at the fork that looked like one of Utgard-Loki’s dropped dinner sets (Do not accept any of his invitations even if he is, funny, has really good poetry, and lovely eyes. He is simply a terrible host).
“Yes I see the fork. Why?”
With her usual eloquence Meg wandered off without a word in my direction. I suppose you can only expect demigods to stay still so long. I felt a bit wobbly as well, another downside of being mortal. I used to be able to drive all day with complete ease and now after only four hours driving I wanted a rest.
I found a bench to sit down on. It was once of those weird almost modern art ones with curves that might pass as handle bars if you squinted in the middle. The air was warm and you could feel the sun warming the earth. Perhaps it was Ra up there or Sol, or a giant ball of gas, at the moment the cosmos turning on without me brought more comfort than despair. Even if I fail things would continue my children would outlive me and the world would keep turning (a weird fact but not an unpleasant one).
Someone sat down next to me and it was not Meg. It seemed to be a business lady and I felt hungry just looking at her. I didn’t need to be the god of medicine to recognize the clear signs of extremely unhealthy weightloss. She was bone thin in the way only starving people could be, her once perfectly tailored business suit now sagged around her like loose skin. Despite the layers of her suit jacket, vest, and shirt I could count her ribs. She is literally only skin and bone.
“Hey are you alright?” I asked knowing the answer should not be yes. I would not be surprised if I had to call for an ambulance which would be a problem unless the Arrow of Dodonna could make phone calls as easily as they could access google maps.
“Yes… yes I am alright better than ever in fact. Thank you for asking, what is your name, young man.” She gave me a thin smile as she found something funny.
“Lester.” I searched my pockets for some sort of snack. Dried vegetables or meats would be preferred as she would be more likely to accept that of course anything is better than nothing.
“It is nice to meet you Lester. I am Limos, I work in one of the offices there. What are you doing here this is hardly a place you should be.” I found a packet of peanuts in my sweatshirt pocket.
“I am on a road trip with my little sister.” I was starting to feel hungry myself. Ugg road trip snacks are not filling. “That’s her”
She looked over towards where Meg was destroying the carefully cultivated patch of grass at the center of the roundabout. Limos was not as happy as I was at seeing her have fun.
“Well we can’t help who we are related to.” If looks could kill Meg would be dead but when she turned back to face me Limos was all smiles again. “What do you know about this monument.”
“Not much” I was increasingly tempted to dig into the peanuts myself.
“The fork used to be a sculpture in front of some restaurant. They went out of business and whatever company rents out this office space bought the world’s second largest fork.”
“Second?” I felt weak. The last time I felt this hungry was the last time I was mortal. It hadn’t quite sunk in then that food, sleep, and water were now mandatory for me. I was in such a rush to complete the wall of Troy I didn’t eat, sleep or drink for four days straight. Had I not maintained some measure of godly strength I would have died. I wasn’t at that level of hunger yet but something was wrong.
“Oh yes the new largest fork is located in Colorado. So not it is now just a large empty fork with nothing particularly special about it.”
I pulled out the peanuts poured half into my hands and offered the other half of the bag to Limos. “Here”
She looked like I had just offered her maggot infested meat. Far faster that she should be physically be capable of moving she threw the bag into the dirt and knocked the peanuts out of my hand.
“I never share. You should never give something for nothing! That destroys profits and drives me out of business” She snarled and for a moment resembled my father about to strike. However hunger was a force far more powerful than fear so I was more focused on the peanuts.
“My peanuts!” I stumbled off the bench and collapsed as if my legs were cooked spaghetti. My stomach growled like a cornered wolf ready to eat me alive.
“You aren’t human.” I should know exactly who and what she was but as usual that file was not found.
“Neither are you Apollo.” Limos said and in a parody of tender care helped me back onto the bench.
“Why are you trying to kill me.” I asked mostly to delay the inevitable. I remembered many many reasons monsters, gods, spirits, and humans might try to kill me and there were even more that I had forgot.
“I am not trying to kill you Lord Apollo. You might die but that wouldn’t be my fault.”
“Well that is a nice change. It really does not feel like you aren’t trying to kill me though” I rasped. Shooting pains ran through my stomach were it not for Limos’ tight grip on my hands I would have charged towards the roundabout and started eating grass or the peanuts scattered out of reach.
“It’s not worth getting on Artemis’s bad side besides you are going to die soon anyways hopefully after you deal with Python. It could be… inconvenient for us all if you die before then” She said is an even and uncaring tone like she was discussing the projected revenue of a new product and not whether I would live or die.
In a worrying turn of events I stopped feeling hungry as if my body gave up on receiving anything to eat. With this bit of renewed clarity I remembered that she was the very very very minor god of famine (duh), not someone I hung out with, and the natural enemy of Demeter and her children. She wasn’t here for me she was here for Meg, and I was a hostage.
She seemed to notice my look of despair, “Oh you finally caught on took you long enough.” Limos dragged me to my feet. I had to come up with a clever plan to warn Meg unfortunately nothing clever came to mind so I did the next best thing.
I shouted. “MEG. LIMOS IS FAMINE. DO NOT STEP OFF THE---”
I was rudely interrupted by Limos covering my mouth. Taking a page out of Megs book I bit her, hard. Despite the blood running down her hand Limos didn’t even flinch. Luckily her blood was red, like the triumvirate or my sister’s hunters. Limos’ power truly had faded over the millenia. If I wasn’t about to pass out and had my ukulele or any arrows, I could kill her! Maybe...
Meg unlike me was always ready to fight someone and was armed with ornamental vegetable seeds, snacks, and swords. With her typical grace she stated, “Give him back.”
“I will if you corporate with me. Lets have a talk just you and I this does not have to be ugly and no one needs to get hurt.”
Hopefully heading my warning Meg did not move closer. Limos stepped onto the road instead cementing my theory of her not quite having the range she once had “Your dear stepfather worries about you and had hired me to bring you home.” Limos lied.
“He- he isn’t my family. That’s not my home. I am not going back like that ever again.” Meg spoke in a rush like she was trying to fit decades of unspoken words into a sentence.
“I am sorry about your situation I truly am” Limos continued lying, “But I was hired for this job and I must fulfill it. I am sure we can reach a compromise.” I am sure she said elaborated more but I was rather distracted by a jagged knife of bone getting far too close to my throat.
Perhaps it was a sign of my current starving state of mind but my first thought was not, oh yikes I am going to die , instead I wondered it I could eat that bone. There was only one way to find out. In a move so stupid that Limos couldn’t predict it I stopped biting Limos’s and bit down on the knife instead. In case you are wondering, no it did not tase good. it tasted like my own blood and new mouth injuries because that is what happens when you bite jagged knives.
Luckily Meg took advantage of Limos’s distraction or perhaps someone drop kicked a pumpkin out of a nearby window. Either way Limos fell back and I stumbled forward. Meg supported me back to the grass and more importantly the pumpkins. They were better than any ambrosia and nectar I have ever had.
“That was quite rude of you. To think we could have done this the easy way. Now well- you have disrespected a god you both know the consequences of that.” My pumpkin withered and felt more hungry than ever after eating.
“How do we beat her.” Meg said still standing tall despite her new hunger. I tried to mimic her focus.
“Food, especially gardens, grow as much as you can. You are her natural enemy for a reason, she wants to kill you before you kill her, because this god can die.”
Meg nodded and scattered seeds across the grassy spot. Strawberries blossomed and burst into fruit, shoots of grass grew into golden grain, squashes sprouted. It was a paradise greater than Elysium. I gobbled up as much strawberries as I could. Meg munched on a cob of corn. We were safe for now, but I doubted that Meg could outlast a god. Limos reached the curb but did not step closer. I could see anger behind her smiling mask either at my words or the pumpkin staining her new suit jacket.
“Ridiculous I am immortal just like you once were Lester. You could never defeat let alone kill me. I just want to kill you because you are related to someone I can’t hurt yet.” Meg nodded at me as if to say keep talking. Finally I could do something I excelled at!
“That speech might have fooled me if I were a mortal but I am a very old god. I have witnessed the final moments of pantheons, I can see the signs of a gods death. Your domain is weakening-”
“NO it is not. Famine has never weakened in fact it has grown more than ever, tonight over 828 million people will go to bed hungry. My reach has not weakened and it never will.”
“Yes there are far too many people hungry, but they don't have to be. New farming practices are so effective that there is enough food to feed everyone.” I couldn’t tune out all of Demeter's rants on improved agricultural efficiency.
“And people would rather have it rot then share it. No one shares if it means that they might lose a few dollars.” Limos successfully was distracted arguing with me but Meg seemed to need even more time.
“Some are that greedy but not everyone. Besides that isn’t even your biggest problem I mean who know who Limos is? You name is practically forgotten. I haven’t seen a shrine for you in millennia and nothing is named after a famine god. That would be terrible branding.”
For a moment Limos’ mask of confidence cracked and either fear or anger leaked through. “Shut up.” A wave a hunger washed through me a but I simply helped myself to more strawberries. “Gods are always powered by a worshippers’ fear. Even if they don’t know my name anymore, anyone that has met me fears me and will never return to life the same. That is more powerful than any shrine.” Her resemblance to Zeus continued to grew and it wasn’t because they had the same taste in business suits.
“Fear only works for so long, Love lasts far longer, but nothing is remembered forever. Even Pan died and you are far weaker than him. How much time do you have before you die like everyone you killed? I have always wondered what a god’s afterlife would be like if we have one at all.”
Limos trembled probably out of anger. “You are going to learn that first.” Bone knives flew towards my neck and would have hit were it not for Meg and her ornamental vegetables. A wave of vegetation grew cracking the concrete. A peach tree grew around Limos trapping her.
As one Meg and I ran towards the truck. The ground trembling beneath us as the road was transformed into a new community garden. We did not buckle our seat belts, I stomped on the gas pedal, accelerated to illegal speeds and left Limos in the dust. Presumably. I did not turn around to check.
It took twenty miles before I felt safe enough to speak “That was terrible. We are never doing that again”
“Yeah, don’t get captured ever again.” Meg looked at me weirdly like I might die or vanish forever if she looked away again.
“I am not planning to. Want to find us a new rest stop?”
“Thought we were never doing that again?”
“We aren’t visiting any large forks again, but a ball of twine is still on the table if it is on the way too….”
I didn’t continue the weight of our task sat too heavily in my throat for moment, but I drove on each mile getting us closer to what would be the end of our journey one way or another. I would not mind another roadside attraction before things ended.
Facts
The statistics about word hunger is accurate as of my time of writing this. Source https://www.actionagainsthunger.org/the-hunger-crisis/world-hunger-facts/
The story of the world’s second largest fork is is accurate.
A lot of Missouri’s building are made of brick due to the brick mines as well as because brick is fire resistant. St. Louis is particular had a problem with fire due to how steamboats were prone to spontaneous combustion.
Brickwork can be beautiful if you are a bit creative but corporations are not creative.
There is a surprising amount of discourse about whether or not this is or isn't the largest fork. Missouri’s is the tallest but Colorado's is the largest from what I have seen. Main source https://417local.com/largest-fork-springfield-mo/
Meg and Apollo did fight a famine sprit at Springfield Missouri’s largest fork.
Limos is the greek god of famine.
We do have enough food to feed everyone on the planet. No one needs to starve.
This is really good!! The facts and research put into this are great and also sunflower siblings bonding yessXD Thanks for this<3
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𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐑𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧
Okay, so it’s time I finally post this headcanon, however, it’s still tragic in someway. Obviously starting with what’s in canon lore: Riannon is the biological daughter of the elven sorceress Lara Dorren, and human mage, Cregennan of Lod. Orphaned at birth, she was adopted by Cerro, Queen of Redania. Everything concerning Riannon in lore is REALLY freakin tragic.
As for Lara’s thoughts on her daughter (especially in my ‘Lara Survives AU’ verse): Riannon is the only part of Cregennan that Lara has left. Her daughter means the world to her and after everything she has lost, Lara will do whatever it takes to keep Riannon safe and make sure she doesn’t end up following the same tragic fate. Hence, despite it being the most difficult and heartbreaking decision of her life, Lara ends up leaving a newborn Riannon in the care of Cerro, her best friend. However, it isn’t easy on Lara being parted from her daughter. As the years go by, she tries to take glimpses at the young princess, curious to see what her daughter has become. But all Lara see’s is a reflection of herself and Cregennan and it’s enough to tear her heart apart in both joy and agony. The real heartbreaker though is when Lara finds out she has even outlived her daughter, who died at only 38 years old after the grief of losing her own children. In that moment, Lara can understand the pain Riannon must have felt because she is now feeling the empty hole in her chest from her loss and it feels like it’s enough to end her…but there is a curse with being able to live a long time as an elf, and this is it.
However, if things go different in the verse and Lara ends up going back to Cerro and taking her daughter back as a young babe, then Mama and Daughter are happy and there will be no tears. And Riannon being a half-elf may be able to live a long time, at least to somewhere in her 100s-200s?
I also honestly think that if Riannon was allowed in the world of the Aen Elle, that she would also be a Princess of the Alders alongside her mother. You can’t change my mind on that. Thanks. Oh, also, Lara has affectionately nicknamed Riannon ,“My Little Princess and Butterfly”, because of this fact.
And now, with this bittersweet note, I leave you with the gif that reminds me of mother and daughter:
#starwrittenfates headcanons ;;#ABOUT ;; Lara Dorren#RELATIONSHIPS ;; Aen Elle Royal Family#RELATIONSHIPS ;; Lara & Riannon
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Lara and her relationship with her daughter, Riannon
Okay, so it’s time I finally post this headcanon, however, it’s still tragic in someway. Obviously starting with what’s in canon lore: Riannon is the biological daughter of the elven sorceress Lara Dorren, and human mage, Cregennan of Lod. Orphaned at birth, she was adopted by Cerro, Queen of Redania. Everything concerning Riannon in lore is REALLY freakin tragic.
As for Lara’s thoughts on her daughter (especially in my ‘Lara Survives AU’ verse): Riannon is the only part of Cregennan that Lara has left. Her daughter means the world to her and after everything she has lost, Lara will do whatever it takes to keep Riannon safe and make sure she doesn’t end up following the same tragic fate. Hence, despite it being the most difficult and heartbreaking decision of her life, Lara ends up leaving a newborn Riannon in the care of Cerro, her best friend. However, it isn’t easy on Lara being parted from her daughter. As the years go by, she tries to take glimpses at the young princess, curious to see what her daughter has become. But all Lara see’s is a reflection of herself and Cregennan and it’s enough to tear her heart apart in both joy and agony. The real heartbreaker though is when Lara finds out she has even outlived her daughter, who died at only 38 years old after the grief of losing her own children. In that moment, Lara can understand the pain Riannon must have felt because she is now feeling the empty hole in her chest from her loss and it feels like it’s enough to end her...but there is a curse with being able to live a long time as an elf, and this is it.
However, if things go different in the verse and Lara ends up going back to Cerro and taking her daughter back as a young babe, then Mama and Daughter are happy and there will be no tears. And Riannon being a half-elf may be able to live a long time, at least to somewhere in her 100s-200s?
I also honestly think that if Riannon was allowed in the world of the Aen Elle, that she would also be a Princess of the Alders alongside her mother. You can’t change my mind on that. Thanks. Oh, also, Lara has affectionately nicknamed Riannon ,“My Little Princess”, because of this fact.
And now, with this bittersweet note, I leave you with the gif that reminds me of mother and daughter:
#I just get so emotional over this freakin family *cries*#Obviously I'm VERY invested in Lara Dorren and her family thanks#RELATIONSHIPS ;; Aen Elle Royal Family#HEADCANONS ;; A Prophecy to be Told#RELATIONSHIPS ;; Lara & Riannon
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Ama’s TWST Yuu’s
I was delusional last night and went crazy typing point facts about both my Twisted MC’s. Yuumeno and Magmell. Remember. Kill the part of you that cringes! I sure did at 1am while I vigorously typed this on my phone! Here for a good time not a long time! This probably isn’t everything but I digress.
Warnings: Some mentions/implications of child abuse and negligence / mentions of eating habits as coping mechanisms
↓ ↓ ↓ More under the cut ↓ ↓ ↓
Yuumeno and Magmell ended up in twst together, both even sharing the same coffin upon arrival.
Yuumeno is old, very old and had been in twst before back when the great seven were still alive. Her memory is very fuzzy on the matter and more and more comes back as overblots and strange dreams continue happen.
Magmell is a changeling that was swapped as a child. While their human parents raised them, they didn't do so kindly when they realized this wasn't their actual child. Somewhere along the line they end up with Yuumeno and developed a tight bond.
Yuumeno came from a family that could use magic but due to a curse on mages in her world she was born magicless and with immortality. Those born magicless were frowned upon in her world and often times executed due to fear over a human having an increased lifespan. While kept a secret by her family and unreported she didn't have the greatest relationship with her kin. She outlived them and never looked back.
Part of Yuumeno's curse, aside from being magicless and for the most part immortal makes it so magic doesn't work as intended on her. Magically crafted potions wont work on her and poisons won't kill her. Her own body allowed her to heal more quickly than an average human but no magic painkillers would ever actually work. Some unique spells can end up negated but there's no knowing which could.
Both Yuumeno and Magmell know Spanish, a language they oftentimes communicate in.
Magmell has the capabilities for magic but was never taught how to channel it. She is the one that actually participates in classes with Grim while Yuumeno mainly goes to keep an eye on the pair.
Upon talking with the Headmage they both insisted they had nothing to return to and denied Crowley's ideas on possibly finding a way back. Yuumeno isn't too happy about being turned into a babysitter for a half assed Headmage but prefers this world greatly over her own.
When Yuumeno did not follow Magmell and Grim into classes she was fixing up Ramshackle dorm.
Both Magmell and Yuumeno enjoy talking with Malleus and don't seem to care about who he really is. Magmell calls him Hornton while Yuumeno calls him Mister Horns.
Magmell joined a photography club with other students but it is Yuumeno who holds the Ghost Camera.
Yuumeno is clubless but could might as well be in the gargoyles club since she pays great attention when Malleus talks about them.
The Scars on Magmells arm came from a nasty fall she had on a thorn bush, the scars never healing properly. Because of this she is terrified of thorn bushes and gets woozy around them.
Yuumeno tried to bargain herself instead of Ramshackle when it came to making a deal with Azul but to no avail. When it came to staying in Savanaclaw she refused to let Magmell sleep on the floor and fought with Leona over it.
Magmell used to live near the sea and found great comfort in the sound of the waves. After managing to get enough points at the lounge they went to Azul for a wish. A means of hearing the sea as it helped soothe them. The shell necklace around their neck is enchanted to make sounds of waves crashing when held up to someone's ear.
She doesn't realize it but Yuumeno tends to mom some of the students and despite oftentimes having a scowl on her face will give helpful advice when needed. She takes great joy in flustering first years.
When someone tried to make fun of Magmell for following Yuumeno like a lost duckling they declared proudly that of course they would follow her! That's their mama! Occasionally the term of endearment slips, Yuumeno does not mind.
Magmell eats as though food will be taken away from. A habit they developed due how they were treated by their parents.
Ever since Vil made an offhanded comment on Magmell's eating habits Yuumeno is less than pleased when they have to be near each other to the point she does not acknowledge his presence at all.
#twst oc#twst mc#twisted wonderland oc#twisted wonderland mc#twisted wonderland#twst#AmaTwistedlyScreams
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Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.
MN
Every other founding father's story gets told
It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.
And that. That sounds unbearable.
So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on. The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.
...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?
Who keeps your flame?
Who tells your story?
Who tells your story?
Who tells your story?
Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.
I put myself back in the narrative
I stop wasting time on tears
I live another 50(0) years
He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.
...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings
You really do write like you're running out of time.
Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway. One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.
I rely on Angelica
While she's alive, we tell your story
She is buried in Trinity Church near you
When I needed her most, she was right on time
Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.
And I'm still not through
I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...
...You could have done so much more if you only had time
And when my time is up, have I done enough?
Will they tell your story?
He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.
Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?
...I help to raise hundreds of children
I get to see them growing up
The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.
In their eyes, I see you, Alexander
I see you every time
And when my time is up
Have I done enough?
Will they tell your story?
It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.
One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)
One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.
Oh, I can't wait to see you again
It's only a matter of time
There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.
fin.
MN
It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough.
And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.
Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.
I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago.
And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.
#critical role#the mighty nein#essek thelyss#caduceus clay#cr spoilers#critical role spoilers#Essek staring as Eliza#sad boi#who lives who dies who tells your story#as done by floaty hot boi#major character death mentioned#post campaign 2#a mighty burial ground#did anyone of you want an in-depth imagined version of the M9's final resting place#because it's in the after notes#the story ends and then i found more story#but its less pretty#hamilton crossover#sort of#mostly the sentiment#idk#someone validate my effort please#or let me hug essek#or matthew mercer#he looked so sad#angst with a happy ending#the ending is death#but they're all dead#so it's nice
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Read Between The Lines / Count Orlo x reader
Summary: You have been friends with Orlo for years now, even though you have always fantasized about being something more. When Orlo reads some compromising papers, you’re not sure you can keep your infatuation with him a secret anymore.
Words: 5.4k
A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for weeks and now I’ve finally finished it. I’m not sure I’m content with the result, but considering I’ve overcome a really huge writing block to finish this, I’m posting it either way. I haven’t proofread any of this, so sorry for the potential mistakes and typos. Hope it still makes some sense. Also sorry for posting so late at night, but now that I finally have a fic to post, I can’t wait to do it until tomorrow 😂
Surviving in Peter’s court wasn’t an easy task and anyone that had spent more than a few nights between the opulent walls of his palace could confirm that. The competence of the young Emperor could be easily described as inexistent and both the country and the palace were suffering the most absolute misery under his wicked and corrupted hand.
The war with Sweden had lasted too long, killed too many of your own people, but as harsh as it sounded, the front wasn’t the most hostile environment in Russia.
Sooner or later, that war would end. Eventually, things would go back to normal to the few lucky Russian soldiers that survived the unforgivingly cold winter in the battleground. Whatever outcome the dispute would take, the remaining survivors could go home and return to their families, live the rest of their lives in peace despite the atrocities they had been obliged to perform and witness…
The court, on the other hand, was endlessly immersed in a constant, vicious war for power that had started long before you were even born, and most certainly would still go on long after you were gone.
Every single soul living in Peter’s palace cared only for themselves, looked exclusively for their own interests. Winning the Emperor’s favor was vital for survival, and no one seemed to care whose feet they stepped on to get it. You could understand their selfish ways, you weren’t completely innocent either. You often forced yourself to laugh at the terrible jokes Peter made or took advantage of your family’s prosperous situation to get the any whims you could desire, even when in the majority times you actually didn't need most of the things you owned. It was an unfair situation and you were aware of it, but you had to take advantage of the fact that you had been born lucky and privileged.
But you normally tried to stay out of the way of the big political players, of those of the court’s residents that were trying to manipulate Peter into ruling by their beliefs and principles.
It was exhausting to live in a place like that. A place where everyone hid their true intentions and where you couldn’t lower your guard at practically any time of the day.
Much to your disgrace, the situation at court wouldn’t change while Peter was alive and occupying the throne. Even when he was the most incompetent, useless ruler the country had had in centuries – probably ever -, you were doomed to endure his reign with the only hope that you could outlive him and see a better Russia after he passed away.
He was too childish and puerile to run a country, far more worried in the seek for his own pleasure and amusement than meeting the needs of his people.
It was hard to conceive that while thousands of men were dying at the front, the Emperor could be drinking until passing out and making full display of his stupidity and recklessness through humorless jokes. It was evident to everyone’s eyes that he wasn’t qualified to run Russia, but you knew that saying that out loud would more than certainly get you killed.
He came from a long bloodline of rulers and that gave him a full pass on doing anything he wanted, no consequences, all by the divine grace of God. There was absolutely nothing you could do, except watch everyone around you butter up and lick the boots of the man that was destroying your homeland.
Not being able to deal with the hypocrisy of the court, you had soon learnt to ignore the real world and hide yourself up in fantasy ones, the shelves and books of the small library of the palace becoming a shelter for you.
In addition to being meaningfully smaller than the other rooms of the palace, the library was old, outdated and dusty. But it was also the quietest place and most peaceful room you could have access to, the least crowded. Just for that reason, it was the perfect place for you.
Although what you could have initially expected, you weren’t always alone in there, as Count Orlo often visited the library too. He was probably the only soul in the whole court beside you that care the slightest for written words, that enjoyed learning new things just for the pleasure of it.
You were intimidated by him at first, his political career and reputation making him seem cold and ruthless. In your eyes and judging by what you had heard of him, he was nothing but a calculating mind seeking to expand his power and influence, putting up with the Emperor’s constant mocking of him just so he could manipulate him.
That view you had of him immediately changed after the first time you exchanged a few ideas about the philosophy book he had caught you reading, his passionate words allowing you to see the concepts you were reading about from a different and more interesting point of view.
It wasn’t rare for the both of you to coincide in that room and through your encounters you easily familiarized and grew comfortable with each other presence. How could you not? He was always nothing but kind to you.
Whenever he had the chance, he got reunited with you so you could discuss your readings, recommend each other new books or just spend some quality time away from all the court’s madness. He was incredibly friendly and caring, always willing to share with you his knowledge, which you were incredibly thankful for.
Women weren’t supposed to learn the things you were learning. Most of them at court were illiterate, and you would be too had your father not thought it could be useful to teach you how to read when you were a child. You were grateful that he had taken the time to teach you, knowing that most men wanted the women around them to be ignorant and obliging. You were tired of seeing the patronizing way in which your gender was treated. So seeing that Orlo was treating you as an equal and was happy to answer even your most stupid questions was truly relieving.
It didn’t take long for you to grow fond of him, maybe fonder than you would have liked to admit.
Orlo was the only person in court you felt you could rely on, his views and ideas more similar to yours than what you could have ever imagined. Despite what everyone else gossiped about him, you knew he was brave and did the best he could to make a difference in Russia. He couldn’t do much to reason with Peter and talk him into making what was best for everyone, you doubted that anyone could. But at least he tried, unlike all that people who dared to mock him.
You saw in him something you had been looking for your whole life; a ray of hope. A promise that things could change, a reminder that not everything was that bad.
You couldn’t help but to let yourself fall for the feelings you slowly developed for him. It felt too good and tempting to not do so. The way your heart raced whenever you were around him was something thrilling, exciting. Something you had never thought you could ever get to feel while living in that place.
You weren’t willing to act on those feelings and risk losing his friendship, though. It was evident how uncomfortable he felt about that subject whenever Peter and his minions made fun of his lack sexual experience. You could see him clench and cringe under the court’s mockeries, discomfort filling his features every time anyone made a sexual reference in his presence. You assumed he simply wasn’t interested in those matters.
Plus, if he had been interested in you that way, he would have said something, shown some sign of his affection towards you…
It was okay that he didn’t feel the same. Just being able to befriend him was more than you could have asked for, and silently daydream about made up scenarios of you and him usually did the trick when you felt the need of being loved back.
That’s how, during one night in which you couldn’t get Orlo out of your head while reading, you had started writing a ‘book’ of your own.
You had been gathering different fantasies during the last couple of months. Endless reveries about how kissing him for the first time would feel like, what his reaction would be to other men taking an interest of you, or even about how the most quotidian parts of the day, like waking up or having breakfast, would be like with him.
Why should you not write something of your own, for your own consumption? You had always loved reading, and your feelings for Orlo gave you a never ending source of inspiration. So many ideas that you barely could remember them all. By writing them, you could preserve the happiest of your thoughts, go through them after a bad day and have your little stories bring a smile to your face.
It was harmless, so why not doing it? If it brought you joy, it couldn’t be that bad. Plus, Orlo would never have to know about your writings, as he didn’t need to know about your feelings for him either.
You hadn’t been able to write or read anything for the past days, though. Since the arrival of the Empress to the court everything had been even more chaotic than usual, and even when you much have rather stay in your chambers or with Orlo in the library instead, you had been obliged to attend to the wedding and following events.
As soon as you had seen her innocence, the look of hope in her face as she arrived to the palace for the first time, you had pitied her. She was an outsider hoping to find in the Emperor the love of her life, and in Russia a new home. You almost felt inclined to advice her to run away as fast as she could and never look back the second she walked through the palace’s doors. Living in that place was already awful enough without being married to Peter, and you figured that more sooner than later she would be regretting ever having left her home.
It only took a few days for her to realize in what a godforsaken place she had gotten herself into, as you had figured would happen. What you weren’t expecting was for her to start plotting against his husband’s life so she could steal his throne, nor that she would be requesting for your help in the process.
You had of course agreed to help her as soon as she had told you about the coup. You barely knew the woman, but you were already sure she would be making a much better work at running Russia that Peter ever would. Even a monkey could do it better, you suspected.
Because of your implication to her plans, you had found yourself having less time to spend with your own thoughts and writings, but that was compensated by having the chance of spending even more time than before with Orlo, as you had been able to convince him into taking part of the coup too.
It was actually nice to take part in the plotting against Peter, not only because you hated the bastard, but because due to the extra time you spent with Orlo, you could feel the bond between you getting stronger. During coup meetings, you would usually support each other’s ideas, have inside jokes between the two of you… You even defended him against Marial’s rude comments of him.
But as much fun as you were having helping Catherine kill the Emperor, it was also a really exhausting and demanding task, and you soon found that you barely had time to spend by yourself anymore. It had been at least a week since the last time you had been able to sit by your desk and write any of the scenarios you pictured with Orlo. And now that you were spending so much time together, you had a lot to write about.
That night you had arrived to your apartments early, right after dinner. As was tradition every few nights in the court, the Emperor was hosting a party, and you had been fortunate enough to be spared of the torture of attending.
You were hopping you could spend a quiet, peaceful night by yourself for once. To get lost in your thoughts as you imagined Orlo by your side in a new, reformed Russia. But your plans immediately took a different turn when, after searching through the whole room, you couldn’t find your writings anywhere.
After inspecting every drawer and every corner of your room for the second time, you started to get seriously worried.
What if someone had sneaked into your chambers and taken your writings? It was unlikely, as you hadn’t tell anyone about their existence. Why would anyone want to steal those, anyway? What value could they hold to anyone other than you? Of all the items in your quarters, those papers were probably the least valuable thing. If anyone had intended to steal anything from that room, you were sure that would be the last thing they would have taken, and yet, it was the only missing item…
But looking around you, you realized it wasn’t the only thing out of place. In the top of your desk you found a book that wasn’t supposed to be there, the book you had supposedly lent Orlo last week.
Quickly putting all the pieces together, you realized the fatal mistake you had made as your heart practically started to bump in your chest.
You had given him your own writings, instead of the Voltaire pamphlet you had been meaning to share with him.
Mumbling and cursing yourself, you grabbed the book between your hands and rushed out of your chambers and towards Orlo’s.
The Count had been even busier than you with the whole coup situation, so you hoped and prayed for him not to have found a single moment to read in all that time. You knew that in usual conditions, he could and would devour entire books over night, but you held to the hope that he hadn’t seen any of the things you had written about him.
Well, you had seen him exhausting himself from work every day for the past week. His mind seemed to be too focused on planning the next move, on thinking of possible allies for the Empress. It was quite possible he hadn’t even remembered that the book was in his possession.
If he had seen the words you had written, he would have already said something, right? So maybe you could still fix your mistake and act as if nothing had ever happened.
Assuming that he was still at the Emperor’s party, you could sneak into his chambers and switch the books. Prevent the awkwardness that the discovering of your fantasies with him would arouse between the two of you.
You didn’t bother to knock on his door before silently making your way into his chambers, holding the book close to your chest as you tried to ease the pressure that you felt inside.
When you saw that the entrance seemed to be empty, you let out a silent sigh of relieve. Yet, your steps were carefully slow as you got deeper into the room, trying not to make a single noise just in case.
It felt somewhat wrong to be there without his permission, but saving your friendship came before any moral conflict that could arouse within you at the moment.
If everything went okay, he would never have to know about any of it.
You held onto that thought as you kept walking towards the door of his bedchamber, where you knew he kept most of his books. Even when what you were doing felt wrong, it was for a greater good. How uncomfortable would the coup meetings be if he were to discover about your infatuation of him? For the well-being of Russia itself, he should never find out.
Besides, you were just trying to mend a wrong. You had given him your writings in a foolish mistake, by taking them back and leaving the actual book in their place you were just making things right. You convinced yourself it was the righteous thing to do, even when deep down it didn’t feel like it.
Succeeding into making your way to the front door of his bedchamber without any major complication, you pushed the doors open and quickly got inside the room. You didn’t mean to stay too long in there, but you closed the doors behind you in case any guard found them open and got alarmed.
The last thing you wanted right now was for anyone to find you there and having to make up an excuse for your furtive presence in the Count’s apartments.
When you looked up and found him sitting on his desk your body immediately froze, and when he looked up from the papers he was reading to look at you, you felt the cold sweat forming in your forehead.
For a second, you kept your eyes on him, watching surprise taking over his features. You tried to think of something, anything. An excuse to why you were sneaking into his chambers late at night when everyone was supposed to be either sleeping, dancing or completely wasted. You considered the idea of pretending to be drunk, make him think that you had entered his apartments by mistake and let him guide you back to yours. Being the gentleman he had always been, you knew that would be exactly what he would do in that situation.
It would certainly be embarrassing, and you feared he would feel uncomfortable having to deal with a drunk version of you. But you knew it would be far more embarrassing and uncomfortable to tell him the real reason why you were there.
If you were lucky enough and your performance succeeded, maybe you would even be able to ‘drunkenly’ roam through the room in search of your writings and take them with you without him noticing. Maybe you could still fix things.
You were about to ask him what he was doing in your apartments in what you hoped would sound as a drunken tone, but you desisted when you noticed the papers he was holding in his hand.
He had already read them. There was no point in making even more of a fool of yourself.
Neither of you dared to say anything for the following moments. Awkwardly, you looked at each other in what felt like the longest seconds of your life. You no longer knew what to do or say to fix that situation and, judging by the terrified look on his face, you doubted there was anything you could possibly try to make things better.
That was it. Your friendship was officially over. He would probably never want to say another word to you again. Maybe not even be in the same room as you again.
“I-“ You stumbled over your own words, feeling the lump forming in your throat and the pressure in your chest growing stronger, until the point of almost suffocate you. “I’m deeply sorry.”
As you quickly but sincerely said those words, you felt your mouth getting dry and your cheeks blushing, self-hatred taking over every inch of your body. You couldn’t bear the weight of his stare on you. Orlo’s eyes had always seemed the sweetest thing in the world to you, always so expressive and caring whenever he looked in your direction. But right now you felt them hovering over you judgmentally, with a hint of disgust on his face.
You had to look away from him immediately, but you still could notice how his face reddened too with what you assumed was second hand embarrassment.
Closing your eyes, you wished you could magically banish from that room. You wished for a hole to appear in the ground and swallow you, or for the walls to crumble and fall upon you until you were buried deep in the rubbles of the palace and nobody could find you. Literally anything could be better than standing there in front of Orlo.
You had no excuses, no way out. You wanted to properly apologize to him, make him see how truly sorry you were and how much you appreciated his friendship. How desperate you were not to lose him.
But you couldn’t find the right words for it.
“I should go.” You muttered nervously, still hopping that that entire situation was just a bitter nightmare. “I hope you can forgive me.”
Turning to leave his apartments, you wished he hadn’t notice the crack in your voice as you spoke. That whole scenario was already too shameful for you to bear, the last thing you needed was for him to see you crying. All you wanted was to get out of there as fast as you could, lock yourself in your chambers and drink until you forgot about what had happened or just passed out, whatever occurred first.
“Wait.” Orlo’s shaking voice stopped you.
As much as you wanted to run away, a single word from him was enough to stop you.
You were mortified as you stood there, still refusing to turn in his direction. You didn’t dare to. He was probably going to lecture you about how wrong and improper was what you had done, how repulsed he was by it. You didn’t want to go through it, but you owed it to him to face the consequences of your actions.
“I-I didn’t know you write.”
The Count’s tone was surprisingly tender and insecure. You turned to him with wondering eyes, trying to discern whether if he was mad at you or not.
“That’s not-“ You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was still dry. “I mean, I don’t.”
“But aren’t these writ-?” He started to question, but you cut him off before he could finish.
“Those don’t count.” Orlo frowned at your words, confused. You made an effort to explain yourself. “They’re rubbish.”
You watched him clench his jaw and avoid your gaze before he spoke again.
“I like-“ He stuttered. “I liked them.”
His words made you blush again. Not with embarrassment, but with flustering this time. He didn’t seem mad at you. In fact, he seemed way more nervous than you. His stammering confession of his liking of your work made you realize how hard he was trying to seem composed.
“I thought you’d be upset.” You tried to state, but your doubtful tone made it sound more like a question.
“I am not.” He was quick to reply, but still refused to meet your eye. “I think the way you… I really enjoyed your descriptions. They’re very detailed and intricated. And the vocabulary is delightfully rich.”
You could see the way Orlo moved around as he spoke, grabbing your writings in one hand and gesticulating with the other one to emphasize his words. He was visibly nervous, but he was doing his best to hide it. He was trying to act as if he was making a simple review of any other book you had shared with him and, as thankful as you were that he was attempting to normalize the situation, this wasn’t just another one of your endless talks about literature.
You hadn’t written those stories with the purpose of discussing them. It felt cold to talk about the use of vocabulary in them when your only intention at the time of writing them had only been to find a way to deal with what you felt for him. You weren’t especially proud of the product of your writing, but you had poured your heart and soul in them. How could he act as if he hadn’t read right through you? Was he really that oblivious that he didn’t realize that you were head over heels about him?
It was literally impossible he didn’t know, he had read about it with his very own eyes. Still, he seemed to be trying to act as if nothing had happened. You had accidentally stripped your feelings, showed him your deepest desires. And all you got from him was nothing.
For a second you thought you would have preferred that he had screamed at you, showed you rage, discomfort, or even disgust. Literally any other feeling that wasn’t the indifference he was giving you. Did he really not care at all?
Confronting him about it felt wrong. You weren’t entitled to it, and you didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Instead, you decided to play along.
“And what do you think of the plot?” You asked, hoping he would take it as a cue to address the issue that worried you.
“T-The plot?” He repeated anxiously as he readjusted his glasses. You nodded, hoping for him to say something, but all you got from him was a mumbling mess.
You felt your heart ache for him as he stumbled through stuttered words and unfinished sentences. The Count seemed even more uncomfortable trying to find a right answer for you than what he usually was when being mocked by the court. And considering how awkward he felt under the constant jibes he was put through daily, that was saying something.
“Orlo, I’m sorry you read that.” You cut him off in an attempt to calm him down. Embarrassment was taking over you once again and you felt the urge to leave his apartments immediately, but you first needed to try to calm his nerves. You hated seeing him so unsettled, and you knew that he was going to be torturing himself about that interaction once you left the room, just as you were going to do too. At least, you had to try to find the right words to clear his mind. It had been you the one that had put him in that place after all. “I shouldn’t have written those things about you. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable about it, you don’t have to pretend you don’t. I understand if you’re upset, even. It’s not your fault. I have no excuse for this, I now realize I should have never-“
“I’m not-“ Orlo’s voice surprised you, making you hush instantly. “It’s not that I’m upset. I just-“
He closed his eyes and sighed, probably still struggling to find the right words to express what was going through his mind. Knowing the man, you realized he was probably beating himself up inside that restless head of his. Cursing himself for not knowing the best way to react to that situation. The man was a perfectionist, always had been. If he said the wrong thing now he wouldn’t be able to think of any other thing for the rest of the week.
“I really can’t tell if you wrote these stories as a joke.” He finally sentenced.
“A joke?” The words left your lips before you could even process them. “Why would you think that?”
“I know I’m not a ladies man.” He stated, discomfort still plaguing his tone. “I’m well aware of all the rumors and jests about me. It’s just… I know I’m not desirable to women.”
You couldn’t help but frown while hearing his words. Your heart broke a little inside your chest, too. How could he think that you would mock him like that? Had he really grown to believe all the mean and hurtful things the evil tongues at Court said about him?
“Orlo, that’s bullshit.” You stepped forward, the embarrassment you had been drowning in suddenly turning into indignation. “You’re not a coward. You’re the bravest, most caring man I know. Not even half of the other men in this palace would be courageous enough to have joined this coup, to fight to make a difference. They can’t say nothing to you and it’s criminal that they have the audacity to mock you.”
The Count stared at you in disbelief of your words, still reluctant to look at you directly in the eye. It hurt you that he couldn’t seem to believe your words were true.
“You aren’t ugly either.” You continued, placing yourself right in front of his desk. “You have the most beautiful and intense eyes I’ve ever seen. I could stare at them for hours, if you let me. And your hair? It looks so soft, I’d love to run my fingers through it.”
Your heart beat increased as you kept listing the things you loved the most about him. It felt weird to just say to his face all the things that you loved about him and that you had kept in secret for years, but you needed him to understand just how wrong he was.
“You’re so intelligent that I sometimes fear you will laugh at me when I say something stupid, but deep down I know you won’t because you’re too kind to ever do that.”
Looking into his eyes, you took a deep breathe, deciding if you should keep on or just cut it off already. Truth was you could have continued like that for hours.
“Orlo, you’re the best person I know, and anyone incapable of seeing the many virtues you have must be completely blind. Including yourself.”
Silence took over the room for the following seconds, and you feared you had made his discomfort grow stronger. Still, you didn’t regret saying those things out loud. You had kept them to yourself for too long, and he needed to know his own value.
The Count simply stared at you, eyes shifting and mouth slightly ajar.
“I never knew you thought such nice things about me.” He finally muttered bashfully, as if he was apologizing.
“Well, I’ve been in love with you for years. That’s the reason I wrote those stories.” You casually added with your newfound confidence. Somehow, it still seemed to get him by surprise. “It has been painfully obvious and I think everyone else has realized already, but since you don’t seem to be able to read between the lines, I’m telling you.”
It felt liberating to finally get it out your chest. For years you had feared his rejection, but now that you witness his own insecurities making a display right in front of you, all you cared about was to make him feel he was worthy of love and respect. You didn’t even care if he didn’t requite your feelings.
“I’m such an idiot.” Count Orlo stood and looked at you, not being able to hide the red color his cheeks had taken.
“Indeed you are.” You smiled at him, touched by his innocent obliviousness. “A very cute one, though.”
Orlo stood in front of you, closer than usual. When you noticed him fidgeting in the spot and nervously running his tongue through his lips, you realized what his new intention was. Not leaving him time to regret his decision, you captured his lips with yours in a chaste but sweet kiss.
You couldn’t help but recall the way you had imagined and described that moment in your writings as you pressed your lips against his. You had always imagined your first kiss to be more passionate and intense, but as you pulled away slowly from the kiss, you thought that the sweetness and tenderness of the actual moment was more fitting than what you could have ever pictured.
“You should have told me earlier about this.” Orlo stated, face inches away from yours.
“I’m not done telling you everything.” You smiled contently. “There are still plenty of things I love about you and that I think you should know.”
“I can think of a few about you myself.” He whispered, more relaxed now. You liked this carefree side of him.
“I’d love to hear them, but they can wait until tomorrow.” Handing him the book you still had between your hands, you stated. “I think you have some Voltaire to catch up on first. And I should go back to my apartments. It’s late and there’s something I want to write about.”
Orlo’s smile was so big that it made your heart race. After leaving the book you had given him on his desk, he gave you back your writings.
“I can’t wait to read it.”
#Count Orlo x reader#Orlo x reader#Hulu's The Great#Hulu's The Great fanfiction#Sacha Dhawan#Count Orlo x you#Orlo x you#The Great#The Great fanfiction#This is basically Orlo discovering you write fanfiction about him
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Never Met You
Chapter 4: Moving Forward
Moving on is not always a choice. If it is, they shall not feel bad because it does not mean forgetting what was. If it is not, they shall not feel bad for regretting it later on. It is okay to mourn over lost choices and times.
Green was sitting outside the stables. He had helped cleaning them and was now observing the few soldiers, guards and servants walking through the inner courtyard.
The king hadn’t left the castle in the last four days. He went from one meeting into the other and he had told Green to take a break today. Green wasn’t complaining but he was getting worried. He had heard what they were planning for. He had seen what Logan was trying to prevent and it got more and more clear that Logan was the last one who really tried to stop a war from breaking out.
With a huff Green eventually got up and back into his little quarter and cleaned for a bit. Some of the other guards found it weird how much Green seemed to enjoy moping the floor or cleaning his cabinets or even the toilet. They were even more weirded out by the fact that he had Patton explain every little step to him when he got started in his quarters. Sure, the kid was cute but reacting surprised when he told Green that he couldn’t use the steel wool to clean certain pans had been a little too much in their opinion. Green didn’t care about their opinion though and he was happy that the little boy had come to visit him in the mornings and evenings more often than not. His life was less lonely like this.
Whistling he finished scrubbing his counter and dried the wet surface. When that was done, he began to prepare four sandwiches and cut them into quarters as he had noticed that Patton tended to eat more if the food was cut into smaller pieces.
“Green!”
Green turned his head towards the door and watched Patton storm inside the room with a big smile. He had told him last evening that he would be home the whole day and had been rather sure that Patton would show up as soon as Ms Anouilh would let him leave.
“Hello, big guy!” Green said gently and caught Patton with one arm as he smash hugged his side. “You’re getting stronger each day! Have you grown again? Soon I will have to look up to you!”
Patton giggled, as Green picked him up and sat him down on the table, and told him: “No! That’s silly! People don’t grow so fast that you can see a different over night!”
“They don’t?” Green parroted with a grin and put the sandwiches onto a little wooden tray. “But I am sure that I once grew seven whole inches over night! All the grownups were very impressed and very polite to me, because they thought I had already grown up.”
“No that’s a lie!” Patton said loudly and jumped from the table to follow Green outside.
Green chuckled a little, waited for Patton to catch up and sat down on his bench close to the stables and watched the kid climb up next to him. Patton puffed his cheeks and frowned adorably and Green had a hard time to not laugh at his anger.
“Well, maybe a little,” Green admitted and put the sandwiches between them and motioned Patton to grab one. “But I did have a pretty big growth spurt once and the grownups treated me like a grownup after that. That is the absolute truth.”
“Buf why? You wewe jus’ a kid!” Patton asked with a full mouth.
A shrug. Green looked over the courtyard and took a sandwich. He had never asked himself that question. Maybe he should have.
“I don’t know,” Green admitted and looked down to Patton. “Maybe because I felt like I needed to be a grownup and the grownups needed me to be one.”
For a moment there was just Patton’s chewing and the busy noises of the courtyard. Green didn’t hear either properly. Images were taking up all his senses and he could hear the colour red take up all of his mind. It was gruesome and cruel. The nightmares were worse. Especially when he was alone.
Gulp.
Green blinked and was back in reality. Patton wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up on the bench. Gently, oh so gently he pressed himself against Green’s side and patted his back with one hand.
“I don’t need you to be a grownup. You can be a kid with me!” Patton said warmly.
It wasn’t that easy. But for the morning Green would play with Patton and let the child distract him from his worries.
“Careful!” Green laughed as he caught the ball Patton threw into his direction.
He managed to catch it despite the rather bad throw from the boy and showed him again how he could throw a little safer, before he threw the ball back to Patton. This time Patton managed to catch it and immediately threw it back to Green just as badly as before.
A few weavers were laughing at the two playing together. Patton’s joy had been known all around but combined with the silly stranger the child was beyond recognition. He was running and shouting around, his arms always moving and his little legs bouncing with energy. It had nothing in common with the smiling but quiet boy who was sitting between them and holding their wool or rearranging their spools. This child was alive and happy and it was nice to see at least something good in times like these.
Green threw the ball once more, this time it flew a little too far and Patton turned around to go and get it.
***
“Careful with the street, kid! Look out for carriages!” Green shouted and watched Patton stop and look to both sides of the street before he crossed it.
Green sighed an walked a few steps back from the road. It was possibly smarter to change the game for now, he mused thinking about how Patton squinted his eyes together when he was looking for the ball. It was something – people did when they couldn’t see it properly and Green suspected that Patton was rather short-sighted.
“The boy seems to have found a liking to you.”
Green spun around and saw the Royal Advisor standing in front of him. Hastily, he bowed his head and straightened his posture. Janus raised an eyebrow at the gesture and motioned for him to stop.
“How may I be of service?” Green asked.
Janus shook his head and looked over the street to Patton.
“You are off duty. The king would not like for me to go against his orders.”
Visibly relaxing Green’s shoulders dropped and he followed Janus’s eyes and watched Patton picking up the ball. A little sloppily he brushed over it and then shouted to Green: “It’s dirty! I’m gonna wash it!”
“That’s good Patton! Just be careful!”
A “yes” followed and the boy was already running over the courtyard to the fountain. Green sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Gingerly, he looked back to Janus who motioned towards the bench, where he and Patton had eaten before.
With Green’s nod they walked back and sat down. Green could feel Janus’s eyes on him and tried not to get too tense around him. He had felt the shift in attitude towards him after Roman and Virgil had arrived and he had yet to figure out if that was a good thing or not.
“Is Patton often with you?”
Green pressed his lips together before it turned into a treacherous smile. Fondly, he watched the dirt on his shoes and said to Janus: “He comes over as much as he can. He likes the food I give him and how I love his stories.”
“The boy is around five,” Janus countered rather unimpressed. “None of his stories can possibly make any sense.”
Green chuckled and smirked at Janus.
“True. But that doesn’t mean they are not important to him. And I like him being around. Gives me something to do. Sense of purpose and all.”
“You have already a purpose. You are the king’s guard.”
For a moment Green mused over Janus’s stern words.
“That’s a job. A good one. An important one. One I like to do. But how long are you planning to keep me here? How long will you accept a man you know nothing about and can’t learn anything about? The Prince and his chaperon don’t approve of me. It’s a question of time until I will be gone. I don’t blame you for it, I just wish I knew what game you are playing.”
If you move your hand, you can see the muscles just work beneath the skin of the back of your hand. It was quite beautiful Green thought and licked his lips.
“But the kid is our future,” Green continued and met Janus’s eyes again. “He will outlive us all if we are doing our jobs right. He should outlive us all. He’s a good kid. He’s kind and funny. In both ways of the word. I cannot help myself but care about him and that’s going to last no matter where I end up being. So, yeah.”
There was a long pause. Janus stared and Green held his look quite effortlessly.
“You sound just like the king,” Janus said blankly.
Green shrugged and looked over the street where Patton was coming from.
“Our king,” Green said and stood up, “has the right idea to try and do anything to stop a war from happening. The kids, the adolescents, the adults and the elders should not have to suffer through a war. And I think that the king’s court would do good to support him in that endeavour.”
And finally, he looked at the Royal Advisor one last time before he went back to Patton: “Nor the court should have to suffer through another tragedy. No child on earth should ever have to suffer through what you and the Prince must have seen.”
***
Royal Advisor Jove Celer was up early on his round through the palace. He had taken Janus with him and they had just reached the east wing when he heard something move behind him.
“You broke your oath.”
Jove turned around and found █████ ██████ █████ stand in front of them. He was still wearing a sleep gown and his face was devoid of emotion. Jove frowned and Janus beside him began to shiver. Something was wrong, very wrong.
“Follow me,” █████ said and began walking toward the south wing; the quarters of the royal couple.
Jove and Janus followed the fast pace █████ set and entered the quarters of the king and queen. And as they came Jove noticed how the guards weren’t here anymore and he began to think of why that would be.
“I sent them to search all the exits from the castle, the town and town walls. Maybe we can still find who did this,” █████ said without looking back to Jove.
Did what? Jove wanted to ask but remained silent as the boy halted in front of his Roman’s parent’s bedchamber. █████ looked over his shoulder up to Jove and then down to Janus. Gently he motioned for Janus to come and stand to his right and Janus followed hesitantly.
With his left hand █████ reached for the door knob and with his right hand he shielded Janus’s eyes.
“You shall not have to see this.”
Then █████ opened the door.
The first thing Jove registered, was that the furniture visible from his point of view was wrecked. The second thing was the blood on the wall. The third thing was whimpering. Roman’s whimpering.
He stormed inside. He instinctively looked towards the noise and found the young Crown Prince kneeling in front of his parent’s bed next to the – next to the mutilated corpses of King Aneas and Queen Rhea. It was a picture Jove would never forget. His oldest friend lifeless, bloodied on the floor his younger only son crying tears on his chest and grappling his wife’s hand like a lifeline.
“What is it? What happened? Roman is crying, isn’t he? Why won’t you let me see?” Janus asked from behind while Jove tried to comprehend what he was looking at.
It kept him too distracted from noticing how his son fought himself free of █████’s grip and went after him.
And then Janus saw and screamed. Screamed and ran to Roman. Took him in his arms and wrestled him away from the corpses. He told him to breathe, to look at him, turned his face away from the scene whenever he wanted to look back. Ever so slowly Janus led him away to █████’s side and exchanged a look with █████. For the first time this morning █████’s expression changed and he gave Janus a weak smile.
“Thank you, Royal Advisor Janus.”
Roman’s sob grew louder and Janus and Jove stared at █████ with horror in their eyes.
█████ took a deep breath and turned towards Jove. He folded his hands behind his back and held his chin high. Despite only being a child of twelve years old and wearing a white nightgown, Jove had never seen someone looking as regal and determined as him in that very moment.
“Royal Advisor Jove of the late King Aneas,” █████ said firmly despite his voice jumping at the “late”, “you will aid me form a royal council to help me rule until I will be of legal age to rule and decide on my own. And you will aid me uncover who was responsible for the late King and Queen’s assassination. And Royal Advisor Janus, you will aid me by getting my ███████ some water and get him to our Court Physician. Am I understood?”
“Yes, ████ ███████,” father and son said in unison.
***
Janus had not been thinking about Logan. He had been reminded of a man long gone who had had a fight just like this with Janus’s father a few days before his and the queen’s lives had been so abruptly taken.
___
Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!
#sanders sides#intrulogical#platonic dukeceit#remus sanders#janus sanders#patton sanders#fantasy au#Never Met You#murder tw#blood tw#assassination tw#eir writes#please reblog
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I’m reading through the lore books, and I think its incredible just how insidious the darkness is. The way that, not only is crawls into people’s heads, but bends their desires to their will. In this sense, the darkness are nothing more than mass manipulators since everyone acts for them. Worse yet, it feeds into a lack of trust, as the will of the darkness isn’t tangible and instead masks as the true intentions of the agent in question. Like, there is a section from The Severance in The Forsaken Prince which really frames this well. This moment comes after Ulden is struck my a deep depression at the death of his sister
“He has come to the realization that it no longer matters if he doesn't know what to do or if he's doing the right thing. What matters is what he wants. If he wants to find Mara and save her, if he wants to do the right thing fiercely enough, if his intentions are good and powerful, he will find the way; he just has to believe in himself. No more paralyzing analysis, no more painful regrets—he has to go forward without doubt.
The book continues to talk about these moments joy that Uldren feels, but shows us how he’s actually been miserable. The contrast between flecks of hope amidst a dark depression is the exact moment of hope which warps him; which turns him over to the corruption, to Riven, to the Darkness.
This is reinforced by how his obsession changes. He begins with:
“The Awoken are a beautiful creation. He must keep them safe. Secrets are safe.”
Which is obsessive in its own uniquely Uldren way. But what it does is reflect his connection to his sister, and the kind of ruler that she was. He’s being how Uldren is, but in a way which aligns with reality, and makes sense. Mara wanted to keep her people safe above everything else, and he wanted to maintain that. However, it changes when his perspective on his sister warps too:
“Uldren knows the truth now, and he wants things to be right; he wants it so fiercely that he knows nothing he does in pursuit of this want can be wrong. ‘Witch-lies,’ he spits, venomous. ‘She is alive!’”
and
“‘We all exist through her design, Illyn. We all act only by her consent. I'm going to save her, because she needs me to save her. When she needs me to die, I will die. And when she has completed her great design for the Awoken, the Awoken will die, too. It is the reward we so richly deserve, for we owe everything to Mara. It would be… wrong for us to outlive our purpose’”
And all of this came from the darkness feeding him a depression, and offering hints of improvement which aligned with what it wanted of it. He turned against his own people, the people he swore to protect and who Mara would have wanted him to protect, because The Darkness wore him down so much. he only sore respite in the approval of Mara, and The Darkness used that to their advantage by manipulating him into believing that he wanted what they wanted.
I think that its so important that The Foresaken Prince begins with the story about him and Jolyon. Not only because it prefaces Uldren’s relationship with his sister, but also the kind of person he actually was. Who we see of Uldren in game is contextualised by how much he dislikes Guardians. And so see him go from weenie piss baby in D1, to weenie piss baby in D2, we assume its for the same reasons. But it isn’t and The Foresaken Prince establishes that. It shows how Uldren was, in fact, lovable and curious and complex and kind and how his obsession with finding his sister absolutely changed that.
And I say all this to reinforce my beliefs regarding Beyond Light. The Darkness works in mysterious ways, and its clear that it is beginning to worm its way into The Tower in subtle ways. I think we’re seeing it more and more. Of course there is Eris and the Drifter’s long term doubt regarding the efficacy of the Traveller. But I think we’re also seeing it manifest more in Zavala’s behaviour. The dude is tired. He’s trying to protect people, but he’s finding himself wrong or powerless at every turn. His entirely belief system, and the things he saw in the Tower are starting to become challenged at every turn. The ahamkara skull that Shaxx has that sings to him feels like another way that the Darkness is infiltrating things. And how that song has been in the intro for the game since D2 dropped. Eris’ bone also speaks to her. And look, there is a line in The Foresaken Prince which doesn’t make a lot of sense. In Free Part 1, he’s talking to Illyn, who remarks:
"You've gone mad," Illyn says, with repulsive empathy. "I almost did too, when I knew she'd gone. Why do you travel with that… thing? What have you come to do?"
“Why do you travel with that... thing?”
At first I thought she was referring to Fikrul. But she can’t be because the last books outlines how they parted ways. I also thought it may have been Ace, but it can’t be because Cayde is in a following chapter. I think, instead, Uldren had Ahamkara bones. I think that’s what he finds in The Black Garden, and its what turned him. And I say this because there is a certain lack of detail around what happened in the Black Garden after Uldren’s commitment to explore it. He isn’t sure if he found the heart. In fact, he doesn’t remember how he got out. His memories of Joylon also falter to the point where his presence seems to be blocked out by whatever is happening. So yeah, I think Uldren had bones and its what warped him and I see a lot of that same doubt/depression/temptation manifesting itself in The Tower/
I think what we are going to see really soon is another collapse. Which is also just the logical progression in the series. The Tower and the Vanguard will fall as we reach a climax for the franchise. And not just fall like Gaul, but legit, collapse just like the Iron Lords. There will be complete doubt in the Light and the Traveller a a whole.
I don’t think it’ll be for a while yet. Year 6 will be called Lightfall and that’s a little on the nose, so whatever. But yeah, the pieces line up. Of course it could always be nothing. However, much of what has motivated me to do this is replaying D1 and seeing how much of the story makes sense after understanding so much of D2′s story. Like, The Exo-Stranger could have 100% be talking with The Drifter, just saying.
Anyway, crack theory tl;dr. Uldren found bones. Foresaken foreshadows the fall of the Tower.
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Too Broken for A Fox: Janie Smalls
I know I have a bad habit of falling for minor characters, but my heart just aches for Janie Smalls. It’s probably because she’s the Fox with the trauma most similar to mine that even though we know next to nothing about her, I have lots of feelings about Janie Smalls. (And yeah there’s potentially triggering things so mind the tags. Recovery Focus, but still proceed with caution)
It’s easy for her teammates to think everything’s fine.
Their captain is going to be playing for a division 1 school.
It’s Palmetto so only barely division 1, but still.
Janie actually smiles when Coach Wilmer announces the recruitment to them.
And they can count the number of times she’s smiled on one hand.
But even as Janie prepares for graduation, prepares for the life she’s worked for since she was eight and first picked up a racket, she knows she’s not fine.
It starts slowly at first.
Picking scabs before they’re healed, pressing bruises, driving less cautiously, rubbing the scars on her thigh from sophomore year.
She knows she should be happy. She’s got everything she could ever hope for.
But that’s it really, what is supposed to happen now? What happens when you’ve spent half your life working to get to this point (and the other half not believing you’d live this long anyway?)
The future is vast and intimidating.
“But it’s happy change.” Her mother whispers as she’s smooths down Janie’s hair. “Aren’t you excited?”
The pit growing in her stomach doesn’t feel like excitement.
Exy is an escape.
It’s always been an escape.
The Fairview Royals have been how she outran her troubles, outlived the thoughts in her head.
Because if she can just keep scoring, she’s worth something.
But then the season ends and she’s no longer a Royal and not yet a Fox.
Then they find her bleeding.
And she’s too broken to be a Fox.
Too broken to do anything really. Because what does she have left if she doesn’t have Exy?
The team sends a card and Janie only barely resists tearing it to shreds.
She rolls her eyes at the goal keeper’s pretty words about how Janie will get through this, but she adds Renee’s number to her phone anyway.
There’s a sick sort of joy in the pit of her stomach when she hears about Seth Gordon’s overdose.
She isn’t the only one who couldn’t handle it, handle living.
I mean objectively she knows. It’s not like she was in the hospital alone, didn’t attend group therapy alone.
But this is different.
Her suicide attempt had been called typical of a Fox on every platform that followed College Exy (and quite a few that didn’t.)
Seth’s death completely overshadows it.
She wasn’t really a Fox yet. He played for four years.
Janie’s no longer the face of too broken to make it.
She should probably hate Neil Josten for taking her spot.
For coming out of nowhere, Arizona with one year of experience on a team that didn’t even make playoffs, and taking her spot.
Her therapist thinks she’s being very mature that she doesn’t.
It’s easy to shrug the complement away. It’s not like she can use it when she hasn’t been allowed on a court in months.
But she sees herself in how Josten plays.
In those moments she steals when the nurses think she isn’t there to watch games in case it triggers her.
They have very different styles, his built on speed and instinct, hers on precision.
It’s the desperation that ties them together.
The way the court is the only thing that seems worth living for.
The slight madness in his eyes that says I play Exy or I’m nothing.
She’s nothing now.
But she’s learning how to be something.
Even if it makes her feel like she’s breaking apart all over again.
Still she sits in therapy, colors an almost comical amount of pictures, blows bubbles just to be able to destroy something that isn’t herself.
And things get better.
When the foxes make the spring playoff season, she smiles a genuine smile that makes one of her favorite nurse’s cry.
After she’s out of the hospital and the constant vigilance of her mother’s concerned eyes, Janie goes back to her high school Exy court.
One of the younger players lets her in after practice and doesn’t ask too many questions.
She just sits in the middle of the court. There’s no one around, but the memory of the sheer energy on game day is enough.
It’s not the first time Janie cries about exy and it won’t be the last, but there’s no longer a jaded feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She wants to be better, to live, and that’s so much bigger than just Exy.
Janie has other things to live for now. Things that make her heart jump more than scoring on a particular skilled opponent.
But she still loves Exy.
So Janie picks up her racket again and bounces the ball off of the Rec Center wall between therapy sessions.
As she lifts weights or goes on runs, Janie tells herself it’s because the doctors recommended it, not because she feels the need to whip her body back into shape after months of trying to only get through the day even if that meant never leaving bed.
She just wants to feel like her body’s her own again.
And her body, the small voice in Janie’s head whispers, is meant to carry her through an Exy game and shove away even the largest of backliners.
Her friends and parents purposely avoid talking about the Foxes even as the new rookie causes trouble left and right or Kevin Day nonchalantly creates the largest conspiracy the sport has ever seen. They don’t know she has all their news alerts set up on her phone.
When the Foxes make the finals, Janie is the one to announce it to them by covering the house in an obnoxious amount of orange paper paw prints.
And when they win, she cries.
Maybe they think that she’s mourning the fact that she should have been there, should have been part of the underdog team that finally brought the Ravens down.
But she isn’t.
It’s more the fact that they did it. The foxes beat the unbeatable.
And for the first time in forever, Janie Smalls feels like a Fox.
Her victory isn’t touted over the news, isn’t the topic of podcasts and already slated to be next decade’s feel good sports movie.
But Janie’s alive and she’s determined to be for a long time. And for a long time, that felt unimaginable.
Janie calls Renee to offer her congratulations. Even after all this time, she kept the number. It’s a small thing, showing joy for the girl who had faith in her when few did.
Janie doesn’t expect their conversation to mean much.
Doesn’t expect it to continue for months.
Or for Renee to casually slip in how the ERC expects Coach Wymack to drastically increase the size of the team.
It feels like a sign Janie didn’t even know she was waiting for.
She doesn’t tell Renee when she films a practice session with her best friend and sends it in with doctor’s notes.
Or the voicemail she leaves in the middle of the night on Wymack’s phone because she doesn’t think she can state her case if he’s actually listening in real time.
“You wanted me once. And I’ve only gotten better since then. You’d be a fool to pass me over now Coach.”
Maybe she’s convincing. Maybe they’re desperate.
Maybe it’s just because Coach Wymack believes in giving more chances than what anyone else wanted to give you.
But the following year, Janie Smalls is officially a Fox.
#aftg#all for the game#tfc#the foxhole court#Janie Smalls#suicidal ideation#suicide tw#depression#cutting#mental illness#suicide attempt#Neil Josten#Seth Gordon#Recovery#The Foxes#Also Am I writing this instead of my Nano Project?#Yes procrastination is real#what else is new?#Also I do not accept Janie slander in my household.#She's only mentioned like three times in the series.#But I will still protect her
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Not Your Hero. Chapter 1
Prologue, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four
AN: With the Victory Tour well underway, things are changing fast.
Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle, Mags Flannagan
Pairings: Finnick x reader
Spoiler(s): None
Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation
Prompt/Inspiration: Prom Queen - Molly Kate Kestner
--------------------
You pulled your legs up under your chin and tried to breathe slowly, closing your eyes and and praying that the motion of the train would be able to settle your stomach. However, with your eyes closed, you could see the faces of all the tributes you’d outlived all the clearer, projected larger than life on screens, with their grieving families underneath. You shuddered thinking about the sound one of the mothers in district nine had made; a sort of wail, loud and piercing, like her heart was being ripped from her chest right before your eyes. She’d been clutching two small children by their shoulders, twin girls, probably around nine or ten years old. They’d been crying too, but one of the girls had met your eye and the depth of despair you’d seen there had chilled you to the bone. Their brother was dead and you were not, that look said, and there was nothing you could do to make up for that.
Whatever confidence you’d had going in to the tour had evaporated by the time you’d reached district twelve and now, with district four coming up, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just the speeches, and facing the families of the fallen tributes, it was everything. It was the parties and the dinners and the interviews, it was seeing the highlights of your games recapped on every television screen twenty-four hours a day, it was the fact that the capitol was edging closer and closer and, for some reason, the closer it got, the more filled with dread you became.
If it wasn’t for the others, you weren’t sure what you’d have done. Because, of course, you weren’t alone in this. At each district, there were other victors to meet, people like you who knew what it took to survive the Hunger Games, and who had done this same trip themselves once. At first you hadn’t quite known what to think about them. It was strange meeting people you’d been seeing on TV for your entire life, even stranger considering you’d seen basically all of them murder other children. But, of course, they’d seen you do the same and, when Seeder Howell, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games, had pulled you into a hug and whispered that you would be alright, you’d found a glimmer of something you’d been looking for for months now; hope. It was such a relief to be understood again, to not have to explain yourself, and your limits, to everyone all the time, that you found yourself actually trying to make friends. Many of the victors were much older than you, of course, and not all of them had decided to join you once you left their district but, luckily, enough had so that the train didn’t seem empty and haunted anymore. At any given moment you might bump into Indigo Weaver, Alto Combe or even, if you were in the bar cart, the elusive Haymitch Abernathy. Your prep team were beside themselves. They’d never seen so many famous people in once place, they often squawked, wasn’t it just so exciting?
“Land ahoy!” Chaff, another victor from district 11 called out, his loud voice echoing through the carriage.
Your heart pinched and you pressed your face into your knees harder, forcing yourself to breathe slowly again. You were not looking forward to this, not at all. The face of the blonde boy flashed behind your eyes again and you bit back a whimper. These speeches had been hard enough when the tributes you were thanking were virtual strangers but now, with district four officially in sight, things were about to get a whole lot more personal.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Chaff asked, sitting down heavily next to you, “Not excited about the party they’re throwing for you?”
“Go away, Chaff,” you replied, trying to sound firm and failing miserably.
“No, I get it,” Chaff continued, as though you hadn’t spoken at all, “this one’s gonna be tough for you. You beat out one of their tributes in the finale, didn’t you?”
You looked up and glared at the older man, a move that may have been more effective if your eyes hadn’t been red and puffy from crying, and contemplated the merits of cussing him out or just ignoring him entirely. Chaff raised an eyebrow and you sighed, feeling your fragile attempts at indignation evaporate. James said you should try opening up more, that it would help in the long run and you liked Chaff. It didn’t make sense for you to bite his head off, not when he’d only ever tried to help.
“Both, actually,” you said, staring determinedly out of the window, “I killed the girl, and two of the other careers with an electrical device I made from bits of landmine and a current generator I got from a sponsor. But that was pretty early on. It was the boy I killed in the finale.”
It felt odd, talking about this with somebody. For so long you’d shut down any and all discussion about the games, not even daring to let yourself think about them for fear of triggering a panic but now, with the other victors’ constant encouragement, you were at least trying. It felt like pulling a deep thorn out of your arm; nearly unbearable at first but then, once it was out, there was a kind of relief, like maybe now you could start bandaging that particular wound.
Chaff nodded, like he understood and you realised, again, that he probably knew all of this already. He was just trying to get you to talk, to share with him, like everyone was always saying you should.
“Do you know his name?” He asked.
You nodded, “Boyd.” you said softly and then, as an afterthought, “He was eighteen.”
You weren’t sure why that was important exactly. Were you trying to absolve yourself? Was pointing out that this boy was nearly three years older than you were at the time supposed to justify what you’d done? Were you bragging? Or was there something else to it, a desire to make the blonde boy in your memory feel more like a real person, someone who had lived and breathed and dreamed. And died, at your hands.
“Mmm,” Chaff hummed, agreeing with you on whatever point it was you were trying to make, “they won’t blame you, you know?”
“Who?”
“The mentors. Finnick and Mags are good people, they won’t blame you for anything you did in the arena.” he explained.
You pressed your lips together and nodded tersely, “And the families?”
Chaff looked down at the stump where his left hand used to be and sighed, seemingly lost for words. He patted your knee comfortingly and stood.
“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he promised, “you’ve just gotta keep yourself alive, that’s all anyone can ask.” he continued, cryptically, “You should probably go find your prep team. We’ll be arriving soon.”
“Okay,” you whispered, worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth.
Outside you could see trees and hills flashing by and, in the distance, a strip of blue reflecting the sun that must have been the ocean. You’d never seen it before, only the occasional crude imitation in the Hunger Games. The sight of it filled you with something like calm. The ocean had been there for billions of years, it had seen hundreds of billions of people come and go, swallowed their joys and sorrows alike and stayed exactly the same. Surely, if it could persist, you could too?
-----------------
Mags’ hands were rough. They pulled at Finnick’s hair hard, making him wince and reach up to see what it was she was doing.
“Stop,” Mags said, slapping his hand away, “I have to get rid of these knots before the cameras arrive.”
“Arrive?” Finnick laughed, “Mags, they’ve been here for two days already. It’s a little late for that.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped in front of Finnick, resting her hands on her hips expectantly. She was so small that, even with Finnick sitting down, Mags was just barely taller than him, but anyone who had met her knew that size was no true indication of power, and she had more than a little fight in her. Finnick looked down, thoroughly chastised by one look.
“Exactly, Mr Odair,” Mags explained, moving back to continue untangling his hair, “they’ve been here for two days and the poor girl hasn’t even arrived yet. Imagine the circus that’ll show up when they finally do get in.”
“There’s always press on a Victory Tour,” Finnick offered.
“I know, but this is a lot,” she countered, “even by your standards. It makes me nervous.” Mags faded into silence, letting the sound of the brush echo through Finnick’s empty bedroom for a while, lost in her own thoughts. “Poor thing,” she eventually muttered, mostly to herself, “turned sixteen in the arena, what a horrible way to celebrate.”
“Poor thing?” Finnick responded, with an incredulous laugh, “She killed both of our kids, you know?”
Mags waved him away, “Tsk, I know that. And they would have killed her if they could. That’s how the games work, Fin, we can’t blame her for being a better player.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the sharp stab of guilt that thinking about Boyd and Ariel always brought on.
“I know,” he eventually relented, “I know that. I just-it’s so frustrating, sending them in every year only to watch them die, you know? I really thought we had a winner this year, and when Boyd got so far…” Finnick’s voice trailed off.
Mags nodded understandingly, though Finnick couldn’t see it, “Fifty-eight years I’ve been doing this,” she said simply, “I was a mentor for twenty before I brought home my first win,” she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young, it’ll happen. You’ve just got to keep trying.”
Finnick hummed noncommittally, thinking privately that there was no way he would survive losing another twenty-six tributes. Mags might be able to do it but, then again, she’d always been far, far stronger than him. Impulsively, Finnick reached back and grabbed Mags’ hand, resting his cheek against it like he was fourteen again.
“Oh, my dear boy,” Mags said, running her fingers through her hair, “we’ll be alright. It’s only a day. Soon they’ll all climb back into their dens and leave us alone for another six months.”
“But first we have to get through the tour,” Finnick pointed out.
She nodded, “First we have to get through the tour.”
------------------
Finnick smiled and counted to ten in his head, waiting patiently for the mayor of his district to finish the long, drawn out rambling he called a speech. Every year it was roughly the same; meaningless references to the Capitol’s generosity, the importance of the games, the valor of those who fought in them and his own, genuine joy at meeting [Insert whichever victor just won’s name here], a worthy champion. Finnick, the other victors and several important members of local government were clustered strategically near the base of the stairs in the Justice building so the crews of Capitol filmmakers could get shots of everyone individually, and as a group, waiting excitedly for the arrival of the newest victor. After skipping the ordeal that had been your public speech, and the mandatory quick trip to the beach every victor was entitled to, Finnick had been unable to wiggle his way out of this, the last event; a dinner hosted by the mayor in honor of you. It was sure to be horrendous.
While the mayor droned on and on and on (somewhere in roughly the middle of his speech Finnick predicted), Finnick leaned over to the two men standing to his left and slightly behind him, keeping his voice low.
“So, what’s she like?” he asked softly, “Is she as insufferable as they usually are.”
“She’s less insufferable than you are,” Haymitch answered, surprisingly less drunk than Finnick had expected him to be, “but, granted that’s a rather low bar.”
Finnick chuckled and shot a look at Chaff, who smiled slightly, but shrugged.
“She’s nice, I like her,” he said softly, “she’s got spirit but,” he winced, “you remember how it was just after your games. She’s got a lot to work through.”
“Group therapy with our drunk Uncle Chaff, you mean?” Finnick teased. Chaff shrugged again, which he took to be agreement, and continued, “I remember how that goes. Well then, maybe when it’s my turn to share in the Safety Circle I’ll ask her why she choked my tribute to death, that’ll be fun.”
Haymitch chuckled but Chaff shot him a dark look.
“Don’t make this harder on her, Odair” Chaff said, “lord knows this whole thing is unbearable enough as it is without you making an ass of yourself.”
Finnick gave him a look of mock outrage, “What? It’s a simple question! You’re telling me I can’t ask a simple question?”
“I mean it,” Chaff warned, “she’s been through hell and back, the last thing she needs is your bruised ego getting in the way of her recovery.”
“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Don’t worry, Chaff,” Haymitch interjected, “I’ve got no doubts in my mind that Finnick will like the new girl just fine.”
There must have been some sort of inside joke there, because Chaff chuckled.
“What?” Finnick asked, annoyed at being left out
“Oh, nothing. She’s an interesting girl,” Haymitch interjected, “let’s just say, it might be a little like looking in a mirror.”
“Doubtful,” Finnick retorted under his breath.
Even if the others had heard him, they didn’t have any time to respond because, right at that moment, Finnick heard the telltale phrase;
“A worthy champion.” signalling the end of the mayor’s speech, and the room burst into rapturous applause.
Finnick got his first glimpse of you at the top of the stairs and his breath hitched in his throat. Even from where he was standing, he could tell you were beautiful, the type of beautiful that doesn’t come around every day, the kind of beautiful that can’t be ignored, no matter how hard you try. A hush fell over the room as you made your descent, your beautiful black gown reflecting the light like the world’s most subtle and sophisticated disco ball. You smiled graciously at your audience, the perfect blend of confident and humble, even blowing a kiss to your mentor, Jason as you walked. Your eyes glanced, unseeing, in Finnick’s direction, and he felt his heart stutter just a little bit. Something on his face must’ve showed his surprise, because he heard Haymitch suppressing a laugh from behind his back and, flushed with embarrassment, Finnick forced his face back into its casual mask of amused indifference.
Okay, so you were attractive. That wasn’t unusual for a victor. It didn’t change anything, not really.
At least that’s what he told himself as his eyes clung to you, watching intently as you laughed at some horrendous joke the mayor made and, with every ounce of feigned surprise you could muster, consented to saying a few words to open the evening.
You stepped up to the mic and, for the first time, Finnick saw a glimmer of discomfort in your eyes. But before he could do much more than notice you had smoothed it away with another gracious smile.
“Hi,” You started with a breathy laugh, breaking the tension and endearing yourself to the audience from the start, “I promise I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to take a moment to thank Mayor Eluuicious and his government for organizing this beautiful event for me tonight. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the effort you’ve all put in,”
“Well, we couldn’t pass up the chance to celebrate your sixteenth birthday with some proper flair,” the mayor joked, earning a rather more forced laugh from the crowd.
You acknowledged his words with a smile, but continued, “it’s been so lovely being here in district four, and I will be truly sad to say goodbye but,” you finished, “I’m not gone yet so let's party.”
You stepped off the staircase and were promptly engulfed by a crowd of people, all clambering to get pictures with you or to ask questions about your experience in the games. It was a dance Finnick knew well. Usually he would be off and finding a drink by now, scoping out the event from some corner where he knew he would be seen by everyone, including the cameras, just like he was supposed to, but something was making him feel off balance. It felt like he was fifteen again; shaky and unsure of himself, desperately hoping that no one could see how inexperienced he was.
“So, how screwed are you then?” Haymitch asked, appearing next to Finnick like a phantom, a full glass of clear liquid already clutched in his hand and a smug smile on his face.
Finnick growled, “Fuck off, Haymitch.” And stalked off, determined to regain some of his composure before someone who actually mattered noticed his awkwardness.
Before long, Finnick had downed two glasses of champagne, and was most of his way through a third, leaning casually against a pillar near the modest buffet table and watching your movements like a hawk. From what he could tell, you were good at this. Every movement you made was calculated without looking forced, every smile incandescent with happiness while still maintaining a distance and mystery to it, every phrase balanced and fair, treating all equally and showing favoritism towards none. Of course, the cameras ate it up, basically falling over themselves to talk to you, to get an exclusive clip or a photograph to take home to the Capitol, but Finnick didn’t care much about that. He was watching for the other moments, the brief flashes of reality that slipped through your carefully schooled features without you even meaning to. There weren’t many; an eye roll here, a subtle wink to Chaff or Jason there, clenching your fists whenever someone came too close, things like that. It was these that Finnick found so fascinating, and what kept him from trying his best to charm his way into an early exit.
He watched from afar as you gestured towards the food table, extracting yourself politely, but firmly from the mayor and three high ranking government officials. As you made your way towards the table, Finnick heard you exhale loudly and watched as the marks of exhaustion started to creep its way onto your face. You piled your plate high with mini meat pies and bits of deep fried fish, looking conspiratorially over your shoulder, as though to check that no one had followed you over. Finnick found the sight somewhere between endearing and frustrating, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Hey there, Y/N,” he called, stepping out of the shadows with his signature catlike grin, “bored of your adoring fans already?”
At the sound of his voice you jumped, clenching your fists and turning to face the attacker quickly, only to relax and let out a breathy sigh of relief when you saw who it was. Finnick felt a pinch of guilt at the look of shock on your face, but pushed it down and leant casually against the table.
“Finnick,” you breathed, pressing a hand to the base of your throat, “I didn’t see you there.”
“I can see that,” he replied, gesturing down at your plate of spilled food.
You glanced down at the mess and blushed, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at the crowd to see if anyone else had noticed. Up close Finnick was relieved to see that a lot of your radiance came from particularly good make up. While you were attractive, some might even say beautiful, it was in a softer, more realistic way, less harsh angles and overly white teeth and more actual sixteen year-old girl.
“Not the best introduction I guess,” you laughed nervously, fiddling with your dress, “I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier, Mags was so complimentary about you.”
Something about you made Finnick feel unsettled, like the floor beneath him was sliding around and trying to trip him up. It was exciting, but also nerve-wracking, and totally not something he was used to. Part of him wanted to push, to see how much more thrilling and uncomfortable he could make it, the other just wanted to run and hide somewhere far away where you’d never be able to find him. The effect was disorienting but, being himself, Finnick leaned into it, letting the reckless portion of his mind take the wheel.
“Yeah, well, Mags is much braver than I am. You see,” Finnick continued sardonically, leaning in as though to tell you a secret, “I’m not quite done grieving the deaths of my two tributes. Didn’t feel up to a beach trip, I’m sure you understand.”
You pressed your lips together so they disappeared into a thin red line. Your face went blank instantly, hardening back into an expressionless mask as your bright Y/E/C eyes deadened, sending a shiver down Finnick’s spine. You didn’t seem much like a sixteen year old at that moment at all. The smiling, giggling girl had vanished, leaving a stranger in her place. This person seemed dangerous, this person seemed like the victor of the Hunger Games. There was a masochistic part of Finnick that liked seeing this more dangerous side of you. It was thrilling, and genuine and so much more interesting than the pleasantries and quibbling that usually happened on these trips.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, devoid of any emotion, “excuse me.”
And with that, you stormed past him, knocking his arm hard with your shoulder as you passed.
“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, rubbing the spot where your bodies had connected.
If you heard at all you ignored him and he watched, with a slight sinking feeling, as you rejoined the party, your perfect smile firmly back in place as though nothing at all had happened. It took roughly eight seconds for Finnick to realise what an ass he’d just been and he sighed, swallowing hard past the disappointment he felt in himself.
“Why did I do that?” he asked himself softly, turning back to the buffet table and noticing, with another pang of guilt, your untouched food, “Ah, shit. Um, you there,” he gestured to one of the Capitol servers that he knew had arrived with the train.
The man scurried over, obviously holding in a minor freak-out at being addressed by Finnick Odair, “Yes, Mr Odair?”
“Can you-uh-can you make sure there’s some food ready for Miss Y/L/N when she gets back on the train?” Finnick asked, “Something tells me she won’t have much time for eating tonight.”
“Yes of course, right away Mr Odair.” The attendant nodded.
“Thank you,” he said, with a semi-distracted smile.
“Well that was nice of you,” Mags noted, appearing at Finnick’s side like a ghost, “what brought that on?”
Finnick shrugged and wrapped his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head, “Call it an olive branch. Or an apology.”
Mags raised her eyebrows at him, “Making friends fast as usual. Does this mean you want to sit this tour out and just join the others at the Capitol?”
Finnick thought for a moment, the sound of your laughter catching his ear as Chaff whispered something to you under his breath. The sound was light and clear, and made something in the pit of Finnick’s chest feel fluttery and delicate.
“Uh-no,” he said, ignoring the knowing look on Mags’ face, “no, let’s go with them. Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?” Mags asked.
“In case,” Finnick shrugged, “I don’t know, in case something good happens.”
“Okay,” Mags chuckled, “I’ll go get started on the packing.”
Finnick thanked her softly and then shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to watch you from the sidelines. Eventually you looked up and met his eye, fear turning to confusion when he smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, you smiled back, your eyes still questioning his intentions, but Finnick took it. He still wasn’t sure about you. There was something just under the surface with you, close enough for him to sense, but still too deep down for him to identify that he wanted to reach.
“Well, you’ve intrigued me,” Finnick whispered to himself, “let’s see what happens next.”
--------------------------
Tag list: @i-love-you-green, @heatherhollowayst
#jordsie#jordsie writes#Not Your Hero#thg#the hunger games#the hunger games imagine#finnick odair#finnick#finnick x reader#finnick x you#finnick imagine#finnick odair imagine#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair x you#catching fire imagine#catching fire#mockingjay#thg 2020#the hunger games fanfiction#the hunger games aesthetic#finnick odair aesthetic
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When The Beasts Run Wild
A weird choice for a first tumblr post but alas! I must undermine expectation! If you’re unlucky enough to be interested in reading this, here’s a little description:
In a deserted environment, brutalized by nuclear fallout, we find Cherry. She’s a quiet, nihilistic young woman plagued by the knowledge that she has lived her entire life in the remains of a society that no longer exists. The story follows her as her fellow survivors celebrate the Summer Solstice. Unfortunately, more seems to be at hand as it dawns upon Cherry and her lover that the world might be ending soon.
When it came to the explosion, no one imagined it would lead to the downfall of humanity. It would lead us to a return to order, an acoustic version of the world the humans had created. They would no longer be a part of it. It was a strange concept to grow used to as the days passed, and people were eaten at by the radiation. Of course, there were people that ran to the nuclear hostels, the ones hidden deep in the underbelly of Mother Earth. Yet, they talk of those places being overrun. One person says they were there when the President was found, slumped over. She’d also been killed by the radiation from the second blast. The person who told me this would die too in the coming weeks. Her face was bloodied when she took her last breath, shaky and demure. Then, with a flourish, she sucked in one last time, as hard as she could, and breathed out, “Fin!” While she didn’t have the strength for that exclamation point, I like to imagine her enthusiasm behind it is deserving of the emphasis.
Dogs run free now. If I had to take a guess on who ruled the expanse of land Mother left us, it would be them. She seems to have made them impervious to the air, to the invisible killer. Then again, we believe that she made us impervious to the same air. Perhaps we are just lucky, though. The dogs are destined. Eventually, we will die out. I don’t think the same can be said about the puppies, with their floppy ears and jovial smiles that cut through the particles.
I toss a piece of my flatbread to the yappy pup at my ankle. Her name is Annika, after Queenie’s grandmother who survived the first blast only to die because of the second one. She isn’t my dog; unlike most of the people here, I don’t choose dogs. They find me, visit me, and then they drift away either to their human companions or back to the dust and decay. Mother Earth would’ve blessed me with one if She wanted me to tend to a dog. They are Her chosen successors, after all. I’m merely here to die and be eaten by one of them when the time comes for my body to return to Mother through a dog’s shit that will hopefully make this land fertile once more.
Or maybe it won’t. Who fucking cares? It’s not like there’s a 9 a.m. office job to attend or a peewee football game to cheer on my snot-nosed kids at. There’s the dogs, the open sores, the radiation, and Mother Earth. That’s all. Those are the last things a human will ever know.
I used to ponder what the limits of humanity would be. I thought I would see the end of it, and that ending would be magical. We would finally know what the finality of the human brain was, what its capacity was. However, it’s become quickly apparent that in my eighteen years, nothing will ever show me that capacity. This is the capacity. The height of human invention and creativity? Its own destruction. How poetic. And to think, I was a baby and I missed it all.
It’s weird, living in a sarcophagus of time. I know everything about a culture that is dead. A species that is dead. Soon, I will be dead too. I’ve been told, by a doctor who lives in the camp, that most of us will only make it another 15 years. Maybe I’ll make it longer, he said, because I miraculously survived the first two blasts before the age of five. If I didn’t die then, perhaps I’m meant to last long enough to outlive the cancers and the ARS. Personally, I don’t think he was a very smart doctor. Even I know that’s not how radiation works. Put simply, I will be dead. It’s only a matter of when Mother Earth decides to reclaim me.
Father sits in The Temple when I return with Annika. The growth of what few flowers and vegetables can be produced in this climate surround him, billowing at his feet. His toenails were kissed by the vines of the potatoes, which had grown gnarly like his bunions. Father was a sight for sore eyes, with the fallout aging him past his years. He deserved to have a big, great white beard, but alas. All he had to show for his near two decades of turmoil was a small patch of growth on his face. He no longer had a full head of hair, and the sores on his skull near his neck opened daily with each movement. That’s what filled my vision as I walked towards him, as his head was bowed in prayer.
“Father,” came out soft and trembling. I cleared my throat. No need for that.
“Any news? Has Her Graciousness spoken to you?”
He spoke about Mother with a reverence that no one in the group possessed. He worshipped her. My mouth became dry, and its taste made me nauseated. There was nothing to report. Mother Earth had never spoken to me. She never spoke to him, why would that change with me?
“Yes, Father. She has.”
His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he took in more light. Blue rhinestones. “What did She tell you?”
I glared at Annita, nudging my head to snap back and tell her to kindly fuck off. The stupid animal simply sat there and stared at me. I rolled my eyes. “Stupid girl,” I muttered before looking Father in his eyes. “Mother Earth tells me that we will be safe for the coming Solstice.”
We had no idea if the Summer Solstice was close or not, actually. We assumed, based on the markings Monsignor Karl had kept for the past nineteen years since the first blast knocked out the power grid in the eastern hemisphere. He was the original Keeper, passing on the reins to Ingrid after he passed. It was hard to watch him go, as the cancer overtook him. For the last weeks, he did nothing but bleed from his mouth. Thanks to him, we are able to honor Mother. Kind of.
“That’s a good girl. Thank you, Cherry.”
I nodded in response, bowing at Father, before walking away. Annita followed me, yipping as we made our way to Camp. Ingrid acknowledged me with a demure nod as I passed her. She wore an ornate necklace, one that was found through scavenging when the Monsignor was still alive, that held a long-stopped pocket watch as its pendant. It was the Monsignor. It ran for the first few weeks following the Chernobyl incident, before the battery finally died. It was what helped him keep the time in the first days. Now, Ingrid wore it to simply mark herself as a special one. She could study sun patterns and tell you the approximate time of day, which made her invaluable, especially when it came down to times like the Solstices. These days, though, she seemed to be slipping up more and more. It made sense, given she was always awake when I woke up for my nightly leak. She had to be tired after being up half the night.
“Hey,” I called out before plopping myself down in front of her sundial.
“Hey yourself. Your shadow is fucking up my clock.”
That was all I needed before I was brushing myself off and moving away from Gritty. It was no matter; she was routinely not in the mood to fuck around. “Talk to you later, precious. Perhaps I’ll visit you on your nightly ‘stare at the sky’ session?”
“Fuck you,” came from behind me as I walked away. “Go concoct more lies.”
The last part came out quietly, as a small tease. My body froze up at first, with my back to her, but I could hear her chuckling in the annoying way she would. I flipped her off before turning into the tent that held our food. Dinner, it appeared, was served.
The small feast consisted of grains, including sunflower seeds, and bits of wild strawberry. For the group of ten people, it would barely make us feel full, but it was enough to satisfy the Itch. When your stomach lining is eaten away for so long, even a smidge of food does away with the Itch for a few. It would at least let us sleep until the Sun came up, flooding us with the blessings of Mother. Ingrid sat across from me, kicking at my shins when she caught me staring at her plate, which was empty but for a bit of juice stain from the strawberries.
“Perv,” she said with as much menace as love. Her smirk told me everything.
I rolled my eyes, playing with my ponytail, wrapping it around the ends of my finger. Perv. It rang over and over in my mind. So what? Was how I wanted to respond. I didn’t, though. My throat stopped me. My heart stopped me.
“Thank you for this blessed bounty, Mother Earth,” Father’s voice rang out.
“Thank you, Mother,” we whispered in a low baritone. Our heads were bowed over our empty plates.
“We worship you for saving us, Lover. Thank you for blessing us with eternal servitude to you. We will cleanse your Home, Wife,” Father continued with our heads dipping further towards our empty plates. There was a small clang as my glasses hit the edge of the ceramic. Gritty kicked at me again. I almost giggled.
This was my moment. I knew this. I had practiced this countless times. I raised my head to see the crown of Ingrid’s head, and I stopped for a minute. Her dark hair caught the last rays of the sun, and I was blinded. My voice cracked as I started us all in, singing, “Danke- Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen.”
“Thank you for all the joy you bring,” everyone started in on the second line, holding their hands out to each other.
Miss Fieri grabbed my hand. Her painted red nails scratched at my palm, and the old hole in the corner of her lip caught my eye as I faced her. Her face sagged, and her eyeliner was smudged. It was a miracle she had any. To my right, Monsignor Karl’s son, Vlad, sat though I had to reach out to wrap my palm around his amputated wrist. He smiled as he sang the lines, “Save those lies, darling, don’t explain.” It was strange to think about the fact that Mother blessed him with the stupid mustache the twinkled with as we sat there, singing. Yet, he was too stupid to become the next Keeper. That’s why we have Gritty.
Across from me, Gritty winked at me. She nodded at my hand on Vlad’s stump, and I knew what she was doing. Who’s the perv now? I thought. I relinquished my smile, giving her a disappointed nod. “Get your head out of the gutter,” I mouthed while Queenie fucked up the “Auf wiedersehen” despite the fact that her mother is from Germany. Dumbass. Gritty caught my look towards Queenie, smiling. She flipped her hair, impersonating the prima donna. I held in my laughter, smiling at her. I shook my head again, but this time in appreciation.
Then, I saw Father’s gaze. His eyes narrowed, brows furrowed so that the long spindly hairs were more apparent. His scar across his face was terrifying enough without the expression. I avoided looking him in the eye for a reason. My mouth formed a thin line in response. I bowed my head, and we finished the hymnal for Mother. We let go of each other’s hands to our lips, kissing our hands, and shooting the kisses towards the ground. Oppa and Kyle gave small whoops and hollers as the old woman and the young man hugged each other. I watched them closely, noting the miracle of their friendship.
“Thinking about the time you fucked him?”
“Fuck you, Gritty. It was four years ago.”
“We all know how formative that was for you.”
“You fucked him too. Shut up.”
“You know we’re supposed to fuck him again.”
“Yeah,” I whispered as we walked further from the tent. Oppa and Kyle went their separate ways, with the kind old woman heading to her tent, wrapped in her shawl she swears Stevie gave her. Kyle appeared to be more preoccupied with the new girl we picked up. Her name was Cola. Like the soda. She was his new toy. She was only fifteen, but she told Father she hadn’t lost her virginity yet. We were supposed to give her unto Mother soon because of that. I don’t know why she bothered to stay. I suppose the food alone is worth it, maybe the dogs. She’s only been here a week and she already found a little dachshund to be her companion. She’s taken to calling him Nilla. Gritty and I passed them, and I gave Nilla a little pat on the head as he came up to my ankles and pushed his nose against me.
“Do you think they’ll force us to do it when we hold the Ceremony for her?” I asked once we were out of earshot.
“Probably. Father is known for liking convenience,” She responded quietly. Her tone was melancholic.
We found our way out of the light of the camp fires. I scooped her hand into mine. “That’s true. It’s been too long since the last time.”
“I don’t know why we’re supposed to wait until the Solstice.”
“It’s because it’s spring. Fertility and all that shit.”
“Isn’t sex supposed to be sacred? What does the time period have to do with that?”
“I don’t know, man. Stop asking such stupid questions.” I let go of her hand, picking up a stick instead.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Just because you don’t want Mother’s babies doesn’t mean you gotta be a dick because I’m asking questions.”
“It’s not that, and you know it, Grit.”
“Then what is it, Cher?”
I rolled my eyes, facing away from her. “It’s easier to just do this shit than think about why it makes no sense.” It was as close of an answer I could give.
“Yeah, but doesn’t it kill you that Mother Earth says it’s just a sacred act but instead we treat it like this fucking parade that happens once a year. Sometimes twice, if Kyle doesn’t get his jizz in us.” Her head was cocked to the side as she studied me. We stopped at the edge of the woods like we always did. We knew no one could see us all the way out here. They just assumed we were playing in the woods, as we had since kids. Not questioning the basis of our existence.
I threw the stick into the woods, hearing a small yelp from some animal. Probably a cat, from the sound. “I just…” I plopped on the ground next to a rock, resting my elbow against it. “It’s easier to not think about it instead of what we can’t do.”
“What is it that you want to do?”
“You know what I want to do,” I fire back.
Her mouth snapped shut. She came and sat down next to me. “You’re the only one stopping that from happening.”
“Existentialism doesn’t work when you live in a nuclear wasteland,” I responded as she put her head on my shoulder. “You’re looking for trouble,” I whisper as her hair tickles my ear.
“Maybe I am.” She shifted so her bicep rubbed mine. “Though, I suppose, you’re looking for it too.”
I stared out ahead of me, looking at the stars that peaked up from the line of mountains. The sun was sinking fast, so only a small blue line spread across the sky, and it only served to continue to illuminate the stars. They were twinkling, like the look in Ingrid’s eye or the way the last rays bounced off her pendant. I wanted to sink into the folds of her essence, even if that was the exact trouble she was getting me into. Her cheekbones were highlighted in the rising moonlight, eyes curled up in a smile. I flicked her black hair behind her shoulder, holding it close to my nose for a brief moment. Beauty incarnate.
“You’re right.” I sighed as I sat back to look her in the eye. “I don’t understand why things got so twisted around here, but they did. Perhaps Mother wants it that way. I can’t tell. She doesn’t speak to me. But you knew that, didn’t you?” I joked, tugging on the braid in her hair.
She smiled, poking my shoulder. “Yes. Perhaps She doesn’t exist at all, have you thought of that?”
My eyes widened, and I almost looked behind me to make sure no one heard her. “That’s not true, and you know it. Why else are we here?”
“Pure chance. Luck. Destiny.” She moved closer to me; her breath fanned over my face. “Have you considered why we’re here?”
I sat back, sitting upright. “No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Mother exists. Nietzche was right, but Mother isn’t God.”
“I think Father killed her, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“The words have been twisted. The principles have been twisted. Shit, we worship the Earth because of some age old religion that ruled the before times. Wake up, Cherry.”
We weren’t close to each other anymore. We both sat upright, rod straight. Her dark, arched brows captured my attention and I stared at them as she stared at the plains of my face. “It’s not like you and I can do anything to change that. Father rules over us, protects us. At least we have food. At least we’re living in the meantime.”
“I don’t think we’re going to be here for long.”
“I-” I stuttered, stopping. “Grit, what are you on?”
Her eyes were serious. Their brown expanse was narrowed for the first time in a long time. They were hard, determined to be taken for reality. She looked practically possessed. Her dark eyes were almost black. She didn’t speak for a moment. “Ingrid, please, tell me.”
The lost, yet determined, look in her eyes faded and she grabbed my chin, pointing my head towards the sky. “You see all those stars?” I made a noise to affirm yes. “Do you see that green one? Over to the left of the moon?” I made another noise. “That’s a new star. I don’t believe it to be a star, though.”
She let go of me, though her hand held my face still. “Oh,” is all I said. The world came together like a puzzle piece at that moment. That was why she was being so careless as of late. That’s why we were here now.
“You’re going to kiss me before the world ends, right?” I asked in a petite voice that almost broke. It was the only thing I thought of as it occurred to me that my prediction would be coming true sooner than I thought.
It was then that she tucked her hands into the base of my ponytail, anchoring herself to me as she pulled me forward to touch her lips to mine. They tasted of cherry chapstick, something she must have collected when she went out exploring to the local abandoned gas station a few days ago. My tongue instinctively reached out for a better taste, and she let me in. It was then that my hands were all over here, and she kissed me harder.
A week passed, and the Ceremony was upon us. Cola was going to be the star of the show. She was dressed in a red bridesmaid dress we found on one of the group explorations we went on. It fit her perfectly, and coupled with the dandelions in her curly red hair, she was fit to be the Solstice Queen. Kyle was also dressed in his suit that he’d worn for the past two years. Ingrid sat in front of her sun dial, dressed in her normal pair of jeans and a t shirt with holes. She couldn’t be convinced to dress up. I, however, was in a new dress Father had given me. It was a wedding dress like Princess Di’s. It was found in a thrift store, and he had held onto it for this Solstice celebration. It was poofy, and I was forced to wear the headpiece with it. I looked like a sullen bride, with my stained face and ratty hair. Queenie dyed my lips red with leftover strawberry juice. Gritty told me I looked like a pig to slaughter. She was probably right.
“Cherry,” Father called out in his quiet tone. “Come ‘ere.”
I shuffled towards him, passing Kyle and Cola, who stood whispering and touching each other. “Yes, Father?”
The sun was high in the sky, forcing Father to cover his eyes. “Will you get Ingrid in her dress? I know you two are close.” When he saw the light leave my eyes, he continued, “We have to prepare for our Solstice Queen’s first Outing.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I’m sure you can persuade her,” he said with a smirk.
My heart levitated, escaping my ribcage. I looked across the field, over Father’s shoulder, and made eye contact with Gritty. She was looking straight at me with a similar expression to the other night when she revealed to me the nature of the future.
“Yes, Father.”
I passed by Ingrid, nudging her shoulder with mine as I grabbed onto her and forced her to follow me. “Get your fucking dress on,” I mumbled as I led her to her tent.
“He knows, doesn’t he?”
“Probably. He’s acting funny.”
“How would he know?”
“You don’t exactly hide it.”
“Neither do you. You drool in my presence.”
I glared at her. “Bitch.”
“It’s just the truth.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just get dressed. It’s almost twelve. We have to get this show on the road.”
“Wow jeez can’t wait.” Her voice was saccharine.
I didn’t respond. I just waited for her to get into her flowy gown. It was peach colored, and it made her look washed out. Her hair stood out, at least. I played with the ends of it after I helped zip her into the dress. “You look great,” I said in an aimless attempt at flirting.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
It was a miracle she was here. Ingrid had the magical way of being everything all at once. She made me want to relive the artifacts of the past, to dive into that sarcophagus. It hurt knowing that the world was taking that away. It had taken away so much. Mother had taken away so much. I suppose someone has to pay for the sins of the humans past, but I didn’t imagine it would be me. The visceral part of me, in my heart, felt the pain of this realization. I was the penance for disrespecting Mother. This was my service. This was why we did the Solstice Outings. This was why Kyle, Father, and Vlad and the rest of them could fuck whoever whenever. It was why they called it fucking for them instead of an Outing for us. It felt wrong to call what me and Gritty did fucking. It wasn’t that. It was something sweeter, less one-sided. Then again, what we did is the sin that brought us to this aftermath in the first place.
“Is this the price we pay?” I asked as I braided her hair. “Forever damned to a lack of pleasure and to death?”
“I suppose.” She sighed, looking disjointed though connected to what I was saying. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We choose it to be.”
“There you go with existentialism again.”
“It’s not philosophy, my dear. It’s how things are.”
“I didn’t ask to be left to this world. To be forced into this stupid shit.”
“No, you didn’t. But you worship the people, the men, who made it this way.”
“So do you.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
I let go of her last braid, letting it come undone. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”
“What does being free mean to you, Cherry?”
“What are you? A cheesy sitcom? Let’s go.”
I walked out of the tent without looking back. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.
The Ceremony lacked the pomp and circumstance that many of past Ceremonies would have had. There weren’t many flowers we cultivated beyond weeds. We made a bed out of hay, grass, and these pesky flowers. Ingrid and I held onto Cola as we walked her into the circle of people, which consisted of our tribe. Father stood at the head of the pack, with Kyle standing next to him and Oppa on the other side. She was the eldest in our bunch, so she got to be on his right hand side while Kyle stood on the left. Everyone hummed the Hymnal, while sometimes people sang a few of the words.
Danke shoen, darling. Danke schoen...
I wore the veil in front of my face while Gritty and Cola bowed their heads. Cola was only fifteen, from the looks of her, and I felt a pang in my heart as I remembered that Kyle was two years older than me. He was twenty. The difference sat in the pit of my stomach, sickening me, as Cola smiled so sweetly at him. We were by the bed of flowers now. The humming had stopped. She was pure, still. She was worth worshipping. That would change once this was over. She’d be expected to work the fields, collect things. She’d become withered and worn like the rest of us. She was no stranger to hard work, I knew that. She had survived for this long on her own when her mother died a few months ago. Her innocence was simply so palatable in this moment. Though, perhaps that was the problem. I boiled her down to this ball of naivety when she probably had seen more shit in her lifetime than I had. She was nomadic, built with “street smarts” as they used to call it. She was human. That was why the disgust laid heavy on me.
Father put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. He smiled in his robes, which were really just shawls we found and blessed him with. He stood with a glint in his eye as he spoke. “Thank you, everyone. Mother Earth has blessed us with a new addition, and may we bless her unto the Earth and manifest Her bounty.”
We nodded, some people making a few grunts in affirmation. Gritty stood stoic, unwilling to do anything more than bow her head. I saw out of the corner of my eye a droplet fall from her face to the floor.
“Cola, darling, step away from your sisters and lay yourself upon our Mother.”
The human stepped forward, kneeling before Father, reaching up to touch the top of his toes from a praying position, before she moved to lay on her chest. From there, Kyle stepped forward, bowing to Father, and then he bent down to unzip Cola’s dress. The red peeled back to reveal white. It was like reverse bleeding. Instead of finding the depth of a person, we were finding the outer shell. Perhaps that was how one got through this.
From there, she was stripped. The dress fell from her chest, revealing her budding breasts, before Kyle pulled it down and off of her, revealing her naked body to the rest of us. He touched her breasts, cupping them roughly, before biting at them. She laid there still, waiting for it to be over. Or at least that’s what I presumed. She didn’t act enthused. That wasn’t her job. Her job was to be there, to pleasure him. Everyone started humming, though not the Hymnal. A different song.
I made it through the wilderness,
Somehow I made it through.
Thankfully, we didn’t sing the lyrics. We hummed. We hummed louder when she started to groan in pain. We hummed even louder when he covered her mouth. We hummed louder still when he finished. We stopped when she sat up. She covered herself again, walking to join us again. She had given herself unto the Earth.
“She gave herself unto him,” Gritty whispered.
I didn’t respond. The sun shined in my eyes, blinding me, as we walked away. Kyle wouldn’t be ready again for another five hours or so, leaving us to tend to Cola before it was my turn. Then, we would turn in for the night before it was Ingrid’s turn in the morning.
It was strange, having an appointment for something like this. It made it better, I suppose, than being shocked by it. Cola wiped at her eyes as we went to Ingrid’s tent. I offered her a shoulder, wrapping an arm around her as we all piled onto Gritty’s cot.
When the sun started to set, we were woken from our nap. Father stood at the opening of the tent. His hands rested on his hips, making dual triangles. His face read of disappointment.
“You silly girls,” he said with a jovial smile, the disappointment fading. “You know it’s inappropriate to sleep together.”
“Sorry, Father,” I started as Cola started to wake up next to me.
“Shut up,” his voice came out hard. He softened as he said, “Just don’t do it again, okay?” though he looked to Cola, not me.
“Sorry, Father,” she said quietly.
“Good girl,” he said back before walking away.
Funny how easy it is to become a pet if you let yourself. Though that was what Gritty was talking about. I chose not to judge Cola because of this.
We got up, picking at each other to make each other primed for another Outing. Gritty fixed my hair, sneaking a small kiss on the cheek before the tent door opened and Oppa came in.
“Let’s go, girls. There’s a shooting comet we see coming our way across the sky. We want to watch it when the sun goes down.”
Gritty and I looked towards each other, and she smiled. My Outing was on a schedule. My life was on a schedule. We knew what this meant. I looked Oppa in the eye. “I’m coming!” It came out happy, bright. It was filled with the last squeeze of life from my lemon.
I left the tent in a flourish. This was it. This was the end. I felt the joy buried beneath me come undone. The string has been cut! I am free. I walk quickly, with Cola and Gritty on either side of me.
“You’ve never looked so excited to be fucked like a stuffed pig,” She teased me quietly.
I looked over to her as we walked to the tune of the Hymnal. “It doesn't have to be like this, remember?” I smiled wide, aware that I looked a little unhinged.
“Yes, you’re right,” she whispered before I stepped away and kneeled down. I didn’t bother to touch the toes of Father before I laid down. In fact, I reached behind me and started to work my zipper down. Kyle murmured, “I got it,” but I didn’t listen to him. His hand stood close to mine as the zipper was worked down. The fabric billowed around me, squishy as I worked my way out of it.
“Cherry, this isn’t how the Outing goes,” he whispered quietly as Father stared down at us.
I didn’t respond. I finished my way out of the dress. I stood up, stepped out of it, and looked Gritty in the eyes. I was naked. Exposed. The stars were looking upon me, as was everyone else. I chose this. It was then that a hand pushed me down, hard, onto my knees. I saw Gritty freeze up, and Cola held onto her harder.
“Cherry,” Father’s voice came out cold. “This is not how the Outing is done.” He pushed me back onto the bed of growth. “Have your way, Kyle,” he said as I laid there, spread out like a plate of hors de o’deauvrs. The circle began to sing.
My fear is fading fast
Been saving it all for you
He bit me, ate my skin, before he fucked me. It was a blip in time. I looked towards the green star, the thing that was coming to destroy us. It was beautiful. I saw life in it. I saw the beauty in all things. I forgot that there was a boy fucking me, brutalizing me, making me his meal. His object. I didn’t care. I wasn’t his. I was this star’s. I was death impending. I was free.
When he was done, I didn’t wait. I plopped upright and walked away naked, forgetting the stupid costume. I wrapped an arm around Gritty’s waist before taking her hand and running off into the night. My bare feet pounded across the wasteland’s floor. The star was coming closer. It would be here soon. I knew this chapter was coming to a close. I was going to end it with her.
We made our way to the edge of the forest.
“Can I unzip you?” I asked Ingrid.
She nodded, smiling, as she turned around and pulled her elegant hair towards her front. It twinkled and wrinkled down her breasts. She was elegance, the form of death that I least expected. I pulled her close and kissed her, enveloping myself in her the way I needed to a week ago. I heard the sounds from the camp as the sun disappeared but the star came closer and illuminated the expanse of earth. I paid them no mind as I danced with Ingrid. Eventually, we became dizzy and fell.
Her hand laid on my bicep, and mine on hers. We stared up to the sky as we had a week ago when we kissed for the first time. The green of the meteor shooting towards us blinded me, but I kept my eyes open. I started to sing quietly as Ingrid’s fingers played at my skin, touching me. “Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen. Thank you for walks down Lover's Lane.”
My voice was awkward, and I didn’t sing in tune. Ingrid rolled into me all the same, shielding herself from the green glow. I wrapped her hair around my finger. This was death. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was who I wanted to die with.
“This is what free means to me,” I whispered as she continued to hum the song, taking it for her own.
I could see the details of the rock now. The edges were curved, like the indents of her body. My heart left its cage. It floated above me, blocking out the death rock. This was what was coming to claim me. It sung the song of my soul, repeating back to me the song I had just been singing. It was mine. This was my choice.
The green became more intense. She wrapped herself closer to me. My heart sung louder. This was it. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.
#lgbtq#gay#lgbtq romance#romance#apocalypse#chernobyl#end of the world#short story#my writing#creative writing
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Charlastor Week Day 3: Cooking
(I’m cheating here lmao sorry. This one was gonna be the Human AU fic but then I had a better idea for both prompts in terms of direction
Also is this fic about a healthy relationship? Nah.
Warning: contains blood, talking about cannibalism and murder)
Day 3 Cooking
“Alastor!“ a sharp gasp made Alastor whip his head around to the shack’s door. Blood had splattered across his wicked grin. He found the silhouette of who he recognized was Charlie standing at the door. He couldn’t see her expression due to the outside light behind her obscuring her face, but he could only imagine the delicious horror that graced her features.
The bloodthirst set in once more and the one thing he wanted to see was his lover and prey’s face twisted in horror and despair before her sweet light drained from her eyes.
It was too bad. Charlie was a special gal who was closest to his heart than anyone ever could ever get. In a way he did find a kind of love with her in their three years together. She was always lovely and interesting and the fact that she hadn’t bored him yet surprised him. It certainly was a crying shame that his favorite prey was about to meet her end now that she’d seen too much. He had no doubt that he’d miss her as he savored each delicious piece of her.
Through the obscurity, Alastor could see that she brought her clasped hands to her chest. “You...” she paused.
Alastor approached slowly, a butcher’s knife in hand. “Yes, Charlie?”
She stood in place and didn’t move. While he appreciated her thoughtfulness to not run away and just accept her fate, Alastor was partially disappointed that he couldn’t give chase to the doe. After all, they always tasted best when they desperately fought for their lives. “You’re the New Orleans Butcher...” she whispered just enough for the two of them to hear.
‘She even whispered my secret. What a lovely, thoughtful girl.’
With a wide grin, he replied with confidence. “Yes indeedy! And what are you-“ he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks unable to continue.
Once he was close enough so that the light that obscured her face dissipated, Alastor found a small smile on her lovely face. She even seemed to be suppressing a laugh even.
“And here I was worrying about that...”
His smile remained but faltered slightly at the sight. What about this situation was so funny? Did she not understand what was going on? He almost felt concerned for the strange woman. “Worrying about what my dear?” Why was this so funny to her? She was about to die by her lover’s hand!
“Alastor... I think we’ve been hiding some crazy secrets from each other.”
The man tightened his grip on the bloodied butcher’s knife in his hand. “What do you mean?”
She stepped closer with her relieved smile in place, impossibly calm as she approached slowly. “I’ve been thinking about the future a lot recently. And I know this is selfish of me, but one day I’ll have to leave. And I was thinking, when that time came I’d never see you again. I’ve always wanted to see the good in people and see them go to Heaven, but you... I-I was sure you’d go to Heaven and I’d never get to see you again. And it’s awful, but somehow... I’m relieved,” She was now in front of him, no trace of fear in her eyes. Only a soft smile full of joy and tearful relief. Alastor had no idea how to react. He couldn’t move his legs let alone lift his arm to end the odd woman.
His lover looked up at him, her brown eyes clear even under the dim light. But then she blinked and Alastor could have sworn he’d snapped. Her sclera glowed a brilliant red while the iris was a golden ring around her black pupils. The sound of something sprouting from Charlie’s head took his attention away from her eyes. Two long horns sprouted amongst rapidly growing golden hair.
“M-my word...” Alastor whispered, not knowing what else to say. His heart pounded in his chest, making him feel all sorts of emotions. But none of those emotions were negative in the slightest.
“I’m sorry if this is too much for you. I didn’t want you to see me this way.” Seeing his expression and hearing his tone, Charlie’s gaze fell to the floor in assumed dejection. She probably looked like a hideous monster to him. She acted too hastily and now she had to be ready for whatever came next.
“What are you then, my love?” The words made Charlie’s eyes widen in shock. The term of endearment truly caught her off guard and for a moment she didn’t know what to do other than look back up at him with the same shocked expression he had just a moment ago. “You can tell me Charlie.”
His expression softened back to the smile she was familiar with as if a moment ago he wasn’t planning his next meal around her. His darkened eyes were almost loving. If he was frightened at all, he was good at hiding it.
Charlie clasped her hands together, suddenly feeling awkward and shy. “I-I’m a demon. I’m from H-Hell.”
It came to Alastor as a surprise. She was the single most pure creature to exist. What had she done to earn her eternal damnation? “It can’t possibly be. You’re the sweetest little thing to grace the Earth. Tell me, how is it you ended up in Hell?”
The ease of his questions only surprised Charlie further. It was as if this was just a normal occurrence and he was asking her about her day. “I was born there.” She replied truthfully, attempting to sound natural about it.
Alastor, butcher knife still in hand, placed his free hand on her shoulder and continued, “So when you said you had to go home one day, did you mean that you were going back to Hell?”
Charlie nodded and suddenly she was drawn into his arms. “You silly, sweet girl.” Charlie felt the handle of the butcher’s knife pressing against her back, but she wasn’t worried. She trusted her Alastor, not like the cleaver would harm her anyway. She reciprocated the hug with a small smile until she realized something.
She peered up at him with a questioning look. “And what about you? How long has this been going on?”
Alastor hummed as he thought for a moment. “About seven years or so,” he said casually as if he were just speaking about the weather. It nearly unnerved Charlie that he was so casual and calm about this. Then again, she wasn’t any better with her own secret.
“So I suppose I’ll be seeing you in Hell one day.” He chuckled, pulling away slightly to look her down.
He failed to mention what exactly he did with those he slaughtered. He also failed to mention that Charlie herself would have eventually ended up as another source of food for him once he felt she outlived her entertainment.
“I’ve been here for three. Wow... I never would have suspected!” She pulled out of his embrace, not realizing that she was now covered in blood.
“Yes that is the point, darling. If everyone suspected, well I just wouldn’t be here now would I?” He laughed with a shrug. To his surprise, Charlie let out a closed-mouthed giggle. Then again she was a demon, murder must not mean much to her.
Alastor raised his eyebrows and grinned widely. “So as a demon would you approve?”
“I mean as a demon I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to “tempt” people to sin. But I also don’t necessarily like it. I... really don’t actually.” she said hesitantly as she turned her gaze to the bloodied workbench in the corner. It still held the fresh corpse of a man Charlie couldn’t recognize.
‘What was he going to do with the man? None of the bodies of his victims have ever been found... The only thing the New Orleans Slasher would leave behind were splatters of blood and bits of his victims.’
Alastor belted a hearty chuckle. “You’re not a very good demon, dear.”
“Ah yeah...” she huffed an awkward chuckle as she turned her attention back to her lover in front of her. “My dad’s reminded me of that for a while now...”
“I bet. Now as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, this isn’t the place for that my love,” he nodded to the door and shot her a reassuring grin. “Why don’t you head back in the house and once I’m done out here we can talk.”
Charlie smiled half relieved and half gratefully. She leaned up and kissed the part of his cheek that was free of blood. “Sounds good. Do you want me to make you anything?” Her demonic form dissipated with another blink of an eye, which Alastor watched with full interest before walking back to the workbench.
“Coffee would be nice sweetheart. Oh and I must apologize. It seems I’ve left a mess on you.” he gestured toward her front and Charlie immediately looked down. She jumped in surprise and then sighed.
Charlie pouted and inspected her dress. “Al, you need to be more careful! I’m really not supposed to do this but...” she paused and snapped her fingers. A rush of hellfire consumed her for a split second before revealing a spotless dress on the slasher’s cleaned lover. He was at a loss for words at the spectacle. Charlie let out a content breath and continued, “This is my favorite dress!” She turned and made it back to the threshold before turning back to Alastor, who looked dumbfounded. “Please make sure to wash up before you come back in please? Blood isn’t fun to wash up you know.”
Alastor awoke from his daze. He nearly burst out laughing, but merely chuckled at the odd request. “Yes dear.”
Once the door closed, Alastor went back to work feeling a strange sense of ease, excitement and intrigue all in one sensation. Who was once his prey and simple ingredient was now his confidant. It almost felt good keeping someone who knew of his hobby around strangely enough. Maybe it was the sudden rush of adrenaline?
Or maybe it was because he’d realized that he’d taken a demon for a lover. And while he did genuinely love Charlie in a strange way, knowing now that she was a demon only seemed to spark a new feeling of excitement that he refused to extinguish. “A demon...” he muttered as he cut away at the bone of his latest kill. “The little dear is just full of surprises.”
He made quick work of his preparations. Once he packed and stored his future meal in a natural underground freezer, he wiped off the excess blood from his person, per Charlie’s request. The underground storage was at the peak temperature to store meats now that the first snowfall coated the ground. Properly packed, the human flesh would hold up longer. He’d make a fine meal later, but first he needed to chat with his lovely demon waiting for him.
He found her in the sitting room, reading a book peacefully with a pair of steaming cups beside her. When she heard his footsteps, she looked to the door and smiled. “Your coffee’s waiting for you.”
Alastor took the cup closest to his unoccupied chair and took a sip. “Thank you darling. Now, I hope you know I have plenty of questions. And I’m sure you do too.” he walked to the sofa and set his coffee cup down on the coffee table. He pat the seat next to him, to which Charlie smiled and obliged. He took her hand in her’s and let their clasped hands rest on the cushion between them.
The little demoness turned to face him, looking like she was ready to burst. “Alastor, I actually only have one question for you.”
“Go on.” he replied calmly.
She tensed. Alastor detected this sign of distress but remained unmoved. “Did you... ever feed me human...?” Charlie asked shyly. She prayed that her thoughts were wrong. She pieced together that he probably ate his victims seeing how he put so much care into the butchering of his victims.
“Oh no dear, I would never,” he replied promptly. He felt Charlie relax as soon as he said it. She wouldn’t know how to feel if she found out that she ate human meat. She’d had so many meals at Alastor’s house that once the idea entered her mind, she feared for the worst. “Not only would it be rude to feed it to someone who would not appreciate the taste of human flesh, I am also selfish. I don’t have it often, but I’m willing to share with you if you-“
Once her question was answered satisfactorily, she cut him off. “Nope! No no no thank you!” She shook her head wildly and crossed her arms into an ‘X’. “You can have all of it.” once she finished speaking, she placed her hand back into his grasp and plopped her head onto his shoulders with a sigh.
Alastor chuckled and took another sip of coffee while it still steamed in its cup. “How generous of you, dearest. You’re a demon are you not? I’m surprised that you have an aversion for human flesh!”
“Haha... yeah... I’m just not the biggest fan...”
They spoke for a bit longer before the grandfather clock reminded the pair of the time.
“Oh! I haven’t prepared dinner yet!” Charlie cried. She let go of Alastor’s hand and stood. She made her way toward the kitchen before turning to Alastor. “What would you like for dinner? We still have venison.”
Alastor stood as well and grinned. “Allow me to assist you my love. I’m sure my talents with flesh will help you greatly.”
Charlie scoffed and nodded. “Alright come on funny guy.”
It didn’t feel right, but she was happy. Sure he committed heinous actions, and he probably intended to turn on her one day, but Alastor was still the same Alastor she knew. It was awful but she wasn’t fazed by his hobby for murder and consumption of other humans. Once she was gone, it was inevitable that he’d one day find himself in the fiery pits of Hell and reunite with her. It didn’t matter what he did at this point. As long as he stayed by her side, she’d be content.
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Hancock SFW Headcanons To Satiate My Undying Thirst for This Raisin
this is dedicated to all of my 12 year old monster/humanoid obsessions, and to the ones which may follow such as this mans, John Hancock, the mayor of Goodneighbor. because I'll be damned if I see a ghoul and don't become immediately attracted to them. also these weren't requested, but @thatwolfnamednyla seemed interested so i'll tag them (i can remove the tag too if you want me to, just let me know).
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S F W :
- ok so, I’m gonna start off with physical headcanons because it’s easier for me to base everything off of that
- since most of the heights in the game are the same and they don’t really give any actual canon heights for them, I’d say that he’s about 5”5 because I love the imagine of a short man with a knife. like-
- yeah he’s definitely powerful and strong willed and mental the opposite of a short baby man, but like can you just imagine some dude walking up to you and having to look up at you because he’s small? Especially a high af ghoul man small boy? an artistic virtue
- that, and he’s generally the most crackhead out of all the companions
- like he’s the guy to go to if you’re itching to bust out some chems and go shoot at random shit in the middle of the night cause he’s just that kinda dude
- he lives for the thrill of things, and so obviously someone equally as crackhead as he is would fit him perfectly, but for the sake of actual relationship building I’d say that he’s better fit with a rational crackhead
- like yeah, going out and getting yourself fucked up is great, but like not to the point of getting yourself so fucked up beyond repair, yknow? someone who takes a second and a half to think his crazy ass ideas through and THEN do it with him is the best person for the job as his metaphorical babysitter
- and he really likes to be taken care of because he’s a sucker for that shit. I would say that he has a daddy/mommy kink but like these aren’t nsfw and so I’m not gonna bust out that nasty shit just yet
- that said, being his partner doesn’t have very specific guidelines. being pansexual AND polyamorous allows him to love freely as he was genetically destined to anyway
- seriously, he’s attracted to you if you say something nice to him and show a little bit of interest that’s just how it is. he doesnt really think of appearances unless he's only out for dick
- he doesn’t really have a specific type either??? but he finds timid and nervous people so fucking cute. like,,, if you keep apologizing because of small things he’ll ruffle your hair and start calling you ‘kid’ and ‘sweetie’ cause honestly it’s just so sweet to see you get all nervous and shy
- it literally makes him want to fistfight someone in an abandoned parking lot for you and he can't help his protectionist ways
- like he likes to be taken care of yeah, but he ends up setting y’all in the ‘give some get some’ scenario where it’s more of a partnership
- jokingly calls you ‘smoothskin’ even if your skin isn’t smooth like you’re scarred or something. it cracks him up because he does it in a smoker voice too but he already sounds like a smoker so he ends up coughing a little bit after in between laughs
- biggest goofball on the planet
- will literally play pranks on you because he finds it funny, like using makeshift pre-war whoopee cushion and shit like that. will also 100% love it if you prank him back. he doesn’t take much seriously and so any form of mild joking makes him genuinely happy
- if you’re inclined to more permanent relationships however, this could become an issue. not the whole whoopee cushion thing the seriousness thing
- just because he does sleep with other people and lowkey tell you all the time about how “That raider was packin, and I don’t mean to be a whore but honestly like if he wanted some he could get some.”, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. it’s just that it’s normal for him to be attracted to other people at the same time. it can be more than one person at once, which can sometimes be a problem if more traditional people not cool with it
- confronting him about it either to confirm it negatively or positively depends on your preference. he didn’t really think of this as permanent in the first place, more of a friends with benefits situation where you also benefit each other with extreme emotional support, and so you wanting to make it serious will trigger his fear of commitment
- therefore, if you’re not okay with it he may have a hard time adapting, but if he’s really grown on you then he can try to be better about it. he won’t make the one he loves uncomfortable without their permission, but he’ll try his best to explain it (the best that he can doesn't necessarily that he’ll do it well though)
- if you’re alright with it then he will most likely bring up the topic of either threesomes/poly-somes and/or adding someone else to your romantic stuff or something like that if either of areyou is interested. communication is key in this sort of thing, and so he’ll almost always go to you before like trying to initiate anything with someone after talking with them and you about the situation
- oh did I mention fear of commitment? Cause I’m about to get real angsty
- MAN does he have an issue with it. not only that, but the reason he doesn’t really view this thing as permanent is because he’s fairly certain he’ll outlive you. he's terrified of loosing you one day and then not knowing what the he'll to do with himself for the rest of his life. he’s scared of being tied down it totally goes against his whole thing of freedom, and since he’s already conflicted about anarchy and order he literally avoids thinking about settling down with anyone or anything
- he’s holding onto a past that brought him joy then, but could ruin him now. and the best way to deal with that is to try to get through it as best as you can and leave the past behind, but he still finds himself reminiscing about things that could’ve happened
- it keeps him up sometimes, thinking about it. he’ll lay flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling for hours at a time just... thinking. and only when he’s lightly pressed about it will he say something, and even then it seems more like he’s struggling to find the words. It’s weird how he can talk to goodneighbor’s citizens like it’s nothing, but talking about himself gets him all choked up
- he would very much like it if you just like, kissed his face or hold his hand sometimes. to him it speaks more than a thousand words, and if he’s really having a hard time it means everything for you to be there for him
- that, and with the fact that you’re his best friend means that you’re his ride or die partner in crime
- just sitting around and doing chems with you and getting all philosophical or doing dumb shit is pretty much all he needs to be satisfied with you, and he really likes hearing you talk about pre-war society
- whether your views are negative or positive, he likes hearing about the way things used to work. he likes your stories about how you grew up and how you came to be who you are today, and a lot of the time he finds himself asking you about something he doesn’t know because you’re technically the ultimate source of knowledge on that stiff by this point
- you’d have to assure him that you didn’t know everything and no, you had no idea what year that random object he found was made, but he likes it anyway. you pique his interest, and just sharing a few mindset traits with you makes him feel much more secure and like you’ve got something that matters to the both of you
- that, and he thinks you’re the coolest motherfucker on the planet
- he’d probably be more attracted to free spirits, those who hold a strong moral code and defend it like it’s their lifeline. obviously he has a wide range of romantic and causal interest guidelines, but that’s the key point there. Someone who stands for what they believe in and protects those around them
- and NOW for my favorite part, miscellaneous headcanons ;
he’s probably the most openly sexual out of all the companions besides Gage, but tbh gage isn't down to walk naked through commonwealth and he is so obviously he’s the most freaky
he’s more himbo oriented, although with this chart done originally by @cockneydio
I can tell you that he’s this 👌 close to being a feral himbo and is probably turned on by danger so you can already tell what kinda bitch he is
he likes to give you his jacket when you’re cold or he just feels like it and it usually smells like cigarettes and gunpowder
thinks that pastel colors and soft clothes are kind of cute on people for some reason
is a sucker for pda, might die if you kiss on his neck or tell him he looks nice that day while you’re in public. Also super into just randomly slapping your ass because he finds it hilarious (slapping his ass in turn earns you a flirty comment and a mildly turned on raisin man)
loves receiving gifts from you and equally as much giving them, which is commonly just cool little things he’s found and thought you would like
makes cheesy pick up lines all the time and you can’t change my mind
would die for pet names, given or received. like yes call him “honey” and “sugar” he will MELT he's just a big nerd
he's kinda self conscious about himself around you, but likes phsycial contact too much to deny himself of it so he's literally always attached to you and/or on top of you if he can help it
- hancock isn’t feral, but he sure does act like it sometimes. what he needs is someone who can balance him out and give him the space when he needs it, and who genuinely cares about he people around them regardless of who or what they are. just being there for him on the bad days means the world to him, and he wouldn’t give what y'all have up for all the caps and chems in the world
#John Hancock headcanons#Hancock headcanons#fallout 4 Hancock#hancock#fallout 4 headcanons#fallout 4 imagines#fallout 4#fallout#nick valentine#cait#curie#deacon#danse#codsworth#ada#elder maxson#old longfellow#longfellow#jesus i love this man#jesus christ#ghouls#falloit 4 ghouls#hancock x sole survivor#sole survivor#dogmeat
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J.I.L.
The Church of Lost Thieves
Summary: Jeneva has outlived a lot of things. She’s survived far more than she should. But it seems there’s one part of her past that not even she can escape.
Word count: 838 words
Warnings: Death, murder, blood, angst, that sorta thing
A/N: This takes place way in Jeneva’s future. So far in fact, that it’s past Thanos. Also this totally wasn’t gonna be posted here, but I thought, ‘why not?’ I like giving y’all content and didn’t hate how this turned out.
Translation: “Personne ne saura même que vous êtes ici” = “No one will even know you're here“
--
She hadn’t registered that the soft gasp came from her. A small stumble of her feet and her hands were clinging to the arm in front of her. Green eyes flickered gold, holding the cold gaze in front of her. He tilted the knife up. The cool vibranium ran hot as her powers coiled around it.
“Funny.” Julien’s lips curled, slipping into an all too sweet smile. “Didn’t even need t’try wit’ de water.”
Jeneva stuttered around her breath. The knife had pierced her lung.
He twisted it, watching as she winced. The satisfaction on his face could only be described as pure ecstasy. Seeing her struggle was so…perfect. Julien had always despised Remy and loathed that he couldn’t have been the one to kill Le Diable Blanc. “C’mon, chere, speak t’moi.” He pulled her closer, whispering to her, “Let m’hear y’scream.”
Killing the devil’s daughter was almost better.
Jeneva spat in his face. Julien scowled, disgust marring his joy.
Almost.
Her blood splattered across his cheek and nose, a stark contrast to that piercing blue. She smirked. “G – Go t’hell.” Blood smeared her lips. God, he wanted to kill that fire that burned so bright.
Julien walked her back, slamming her into the brick wall. Dust fell from above, reminding them just how old the church was. He chuckled as her weak grip twisted around his arm. It wouldn’t work. He brought his other hand around her neck, giving it a squeeze. Leaning close, Julien allowed himself a quick glance at the stained glass window above. St. Dismas, looking down on them. The Saint meant to protect her.
“Ironic choice o’words all t’ings considered,” he whispered in her ear. He tilted the knife again. It slid through her ribs like butter. With one little flick of his wrist, she would have a six inch laceration. Add that to the punctured lung, the sliced ribs, and her own powers…
It would take three minutes for her to bleed out. Tops.
Jeneva winced as he squeezed her neck, a strangled breath fighting its way to her lungs. They burned. Darkness tugged at the edges of her eyes.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Julien released her neck ever so slightly. She struggled, the taste of metal on her tongue. “Y’don’t get t’sleep t’rough death, L'enfant du diable.” She writhed underneath him, attempting to pull the knife free and end her misery. Julien dug the knife deeper, knowing he’d pierced through her entire lung. “Y’die when I say.”
The lights flickered. Electricity, both gold and blue, ran over her cheeks and down her neck. She was a live wire. Her powers were desperate to keep her alive. Desperate to try at least.
“Pat’etic,” Julien sneered. “’Least y’know une t’ing.”
Confusion flickered in her eyes, the light in her body flickering a little softer.
Julien smirked. “Y’gonna die alone. Non t’ieves. Non heroes. Personne ne saura même que vous êtes ici.”
That. That was what he had wanted. The confusion. The worry. The fear.
“Dere y’are.”
Julien flicked his wrist. The knife slid with simple ease, cutting through bone…organs…and skin. Taking a step back, he watched as her hands pressed against her abdomen. The gash was bigger than he had first anticipated, running from just under her collarbone to her bellybutton.
Less than three minutes.
Crouching in front of her, Julien tilted his head. He held the knife between his legs. Her blood dripped from the blade, staining the cobblestones beneath them. “’Ow does it feel? Knowin’ I’m de last face y’gonna see?”
Jeneva didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.
Jeneva had survived so much. Her powers. The Raft. Thanos. Sinister. Zemo.
And it had all come down to Julien. It all came down to the past she had run from.
The electricity under her skin faded. It reminded him of a light being snuffed out. If it weren’t her, he would have thought it poetic.
Her eyes, still desperately clinging to her powers, shifted to him. They lingered only for a moment before finding the stars. They looked almost blue. Far prettier than Julien’s. Kinder too.
It reminded her of Bucky.
She wanted to cling to that. She wanted to cling to him. But everything felt so different. She was so used to the warmth that came from her powers. Never had she really felt..cold.
She exhaled a small stutter of a breath. The last flicker of gold in her eyes vanished. Julien watched her skin turn ashen. Her lips pale. Her eyes, those unique things, looked so human now.
Endless.
Dull.
Green.
Rising to his feet, Julien took one last look at the blade. That meant nothing to him now. He tossed it aside, ignoring the clattering noise and splatter of blood. He strode towards the church entrance. Stopping at the box, he scribbled his name and dropped it inside. Did he have a right to? No. But he wanted them to know.
Feet taking their time down the steps, Julien smiled to himself.
The Church of Lost Thieves. What an accurate name indeed.
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