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alitaimagines · 4 years

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“I’ve always been told, one day I’ll find someone who changes my mind but when they come along, I won’t think twice cause I already good thing with me, yeah I got everything I dreamed.”

note: still looking for more MHA and Haikyuu!! character suggestions!! this is a bit long but I had fun with it so that’s why. if you want another anime with this scenario, dead ass lemme know, I’ll do it.

them seeing you with someone else after your break up:

Sakusa Kiyoomi: you end up with Bokuto

the reason why you probably ended up with Bokuto was because of Sakusa’s germaphobic tendencies.

with Sakusa not really being into going out much, the options of where to go out on dates was v. limited. you would offer to just go to a park and walk around, somewhere in the park that didn’t have a lot of people in the park but he didn’t like the idea and shot it down.

it got to the point where you got tired of him constantly shooting down your date ideas and you were tired of having to bend over backwards for him and just broke it off.

was Sakusa hurt? probably. but you tried to let him down smoothly and even tried to remain friends but he didn’t like that and cut complete contact with you.

a few years passed when you ran into someone at a bakery. he had black and silver hair and the brightest personality you had ever seen. some stuff and things happened and you got his name and number.

Bokuto had told you that he played professional volleyball and your mind immediately thought of Sakusa. you didn’t pay much attention to it so when Bokuto begged you to attend one of his games, he gave you a spare jersey and front row tickets.

the professional volleyball scene was something someone had to experience at least once in their life. the crowd, the players, everything was turned up to eleven and it had been one of the funnest nights you had in a while.

you had waved at Bokuto a few times but Sakusa hadn’t seen the interactions. it wasn’t until after the game when you met up with Bokuto when Sakusa realized everything.

“hey Sakusa, how are you?” you asked him as Bakuto gave you a look, “you know him?” the owl eyed boy asked, “yeah, we dated in high school and bit in college but I guess you can see what happened,” you mentioned.

Sakusa remained silent as Bokuto waved off the small jealousy, “it’s nice to see you again,” was all Sakusa said before heading to go take a shower.

being that Sakusa and Bokuto had their social media accounts, he would see what went on that night and the photos he posted with you. videos of the two of you at a club with a few other players were on Bokuto’s Insta story but he couldn’t say anything. it had been years since the two of you broke up and it wasn’t his place.

did it sting? yeah but what was it to him. he just had to deal that his teammate was now dating someone he once loved and that was that on that.

Haiba Lev: you end up with Kenma

oh, your break up with Lev probably had to do with his modeling career. your schedules didn’t add up and the two of you hardly seen each other. it was a lack of time and it was a mutual break up.

Lev was hurt that you were no longer with him but he understood that his career didn’t make time for you. he was upset and Alisa tried to introduce him to other girls but they weren’t you.

Lev probably thought of you as his first and only love.

as for you. you rekindled your relationship with Kenma out of genuine accidents. you would end up at the same stores Kenma would be at and the two of you exchanged numbers. one thing led to another and he added you onto his team.

the two of you tried to hide the relationship for a while and it worked for a bit but you knew that the relationship was going to get more serious and it was best to rip the bandaid off before it became too late.

the fans of Kenma loved the two of you together. even if you weren’t together, you would end up on his streams every so often and just watch him play whatever game it was while answering questions, giving him playing advice, or even trying to learn how to the play the game he was playing.

one day out of pure curiosity, Lev checked out one of Kenma’s streams. he had a bit of down time and wanted to see how successful his former teammate was.

for a while, the stream was normal. Kenma was playing Minecraft and Lev was engrossed in the stream until he noticed the door opened. the stream went mute until a baby pink gamer chair was pulled up and you sat down next to him.

Lev’s eyes widened as you gave Kenma a kiss and offered him advice on his Minecraft word (I’ve never played it before so ignore my ignorance). Alisa was able to see Lev’s sudden change in mood and looked over to see what caused it. when she made the connection, she sighed knowing her brother was probably going to be upset for a few hours now.

she called off the rest of the photoshoot they were doing and told Lev to head home. all Lev could think of was how you would hold him the way you were holding Kenma. you ran your fingers through his long hair while answering questions from the fans.

Lev knew you weren’t a gamer. he tried to get you to play video games with him but you always denied but as he watched the stream, you would grab the controller from Lev and do something every so often.

fate was a dumb thing, Lev thought. the love of his life was happy in another relationship and there was not a single thing he could do. he knew he could always find another girl but none of them amounted to you.

Kuroo Testurou: you end up with Yaku

this man was a WHORE in college. am I wrong? No. I don’t take criticism. he probably dated you during your time in college and during that time, he thought of you as another fling but that wasn’t exactly your thought on the relationship.

the cause of the break up was probably because he cheated on you. you were done with him and you absolutely disgusted by his actions during your relationship.

the way you dealt with that was by you going over seas to teach. under some odd circumstances, you happened to land a teaching gig in Russia and there you met Yaku. you didn’t have the slightest clue that those two were friends nor did Yaku ever bring it up.

you found it odd how you ended up in another relationship with someone in the volleyball world but maybe that was your type. a relationship with Yaku was completely different than being with Kuroo. he prioritized your relationship and even offered to have you hold some position with the Cheegle’s so the two of you wouldn’t be apart for so long.

you admittedly accepted it and taught the kids of the players who happened to travel along with him. Yaku was over the moon because of it and not even a year and a half in, the two of you married. it was super sudden but you said yes and held the ceremony back home.

because of the ceremony, it was like an unsanctioned Nekoma reunion. Lev, Kenma, Yamamoto, Taketora, and of course, Kuroo attended the marriage. Kuroo hadn’t gotten the fancy wedding invitation with your photo on it but he texted Yaku a few days before for the venue address.

the ceremony was huge but the thing that stopped Kuroo dead in the tracks was the huge photo of the two of you in the front of the venue. it was from your engagement photoshoot and it was like Kuroo’s life had turned upside down. the two of you being together, nevertheless married, was not what he seen coming.

Nekoma players had a table separated for just them and their partners and when you both finally made rounds to thank everyone for coming, your eyes widened at the sight of your ex boyfriend sitting next to Lev. the two of you stare at each other, you with mild disgust and Kuroo with genuine surprise.

the both of you figured it was best not to mention the past between the two of you to Yaku being that it was your wedding and the mention of a past relationship at this point was useless. you put your pride aside and quickly thanked Kuroo for coming to the wedding.

what didn’t stop you was basically showing off your happiness with Yaku. this was your last hoorah before you completely shut Kuroo out of your life for good and made sure to kiss Yaku in the most civilized yet slightly sexual way.

Kuroo was happy for the two of you because he knew Yaku was giving you the life you craved with him at some point. Kuroo was not ready to settle down yet however seeing you happily married kind of kicked him into gear. his bachelor days would have to end eventually and in the back of his mind, he thought that maybe he made a mistake by fully pushing you away.

Oikawa Tooru: you end up with Kageyama

oh how fate worked in such weird ways, right? the two of you went to Seijoh together and when he left for Argentina, the two of you had to break it off. neither of you wanted to do distance and as much as that hurt, you were the one who made the first move and broke it up with him.

Oikawa was BIG HURT but knew this was the right choice. the two of you tried to keep contact with each other but considering he lived and played in another part of the fucking world, the time never worked out and eventually, you both just gave up.

okay so you met Kageyama when played with Schweiden. you were a reporter who happened to oh so catch the eye of Kageyama and he personally seeked you out after every game. what Kageyama thought would be a small fling was actually more of a crush.

Kageyama finally grew a pair and asked you out. the two of you dated for about the time he played for the Adlers and up until he went to play in Italy. he asked you to come with him knowing that you were probably the only one he could ever see himself with and you agreed.

the move to Italy was odd but you and Kageyama made it work. you got to know who his friends were in high school and that’s when Oikawa came up. when you broke the news that you used to attend Seijoh and actually dated Oikawa during your three years. he was admittedly surprised and even though there wasn’t any animosity, a pang of jealousy and hatred was still there and in the end, Kageyama snagged his girl and with that, he was hella proud.

again under weird circumstances, the two of you ended up in Japan for a a volleyball thingy and with that, Oikawa had to be in attendance.

you weren’t harboring feelings for Oikawa anymore and although you were 100% in love with Kageyama, seeing Oikawa made your heart race out of nervousness. you ended up dating his former enemy and you had no idea how he would take that.

after Kageyama introduced you to his former teammates and his best friend, all of you sat down to talk amongst each other. you heard stories on top of stories of how Kageyama was like at Karasuno but what you weren’t prepared for was when you finally met up with Oikawa again.

you and Kageyama were secretly making out in the parking lot after the dinner thingy. he had you pinned up against the car and literally initiating sex right there but what stopped the two of you was the familiar voice to the two of you. Oikawa had sang Kageyama’s name and when Kageyama looked to see his former enemy, Oikawa’s eyes immediately shot at you.

“are you the two of you?” Oikawa asked you as you nodded, “Kageyama and I? yeah, we are,” you replied extremely flustered, “how?” Oikawa asked again.

“we met when I played for Schweiden,” was all Kageyama said before he whispered to you to get in the car. you did what he asked and waved Oikawa off as the two men stared each other down.

no matter how much those two grew up, there would still be that small animosity between them and like Kageyama had previously mentioned, he won Oikawa’s girl and for the moment, Kageyama finally one upped him.

neither of them thought of you as some competition but Oikawa was still kinda in love with you so seeing you nearly having sex with Kageyama so openly, it triggered that small high school feeling.

tsukishima kei: you end up with Nishinoya

an odd pairing?? I know but when I was looking for gifs, those two oddly came up a lot together so I ran with it. okay back to what I was saying, you must’ve dated Tsukki in college, homeboy was not dating during his Karasuno years.

the two of you were probably going really strong together but when an opportunity arose for you to go to Italy to do some interning there, you accepted and Tsukki was less than pleased. he thought it was irresponsible of you to make such a huge decision without his mild input.

that decision caused for the two of you to fight like there was no tomorrow and broke up because of it. Tsukki thought what you did was irresponsible and you didn’t think it was that big of a deal. with that, you left for Italy and had no intention of paying mind to Tsukki or the argument.

you met Nishinoya at a market. the two of you were in the same city as you interned in the same place Noya was fishing for Marlins at. you were picking up a few things for your apartment and your roommate at the time wanted you to get her a fish for her to cook later in the day. when that happened, you caught Noya’s eye and the two of you got to talking.

his vibrant attitude was a complete 360 from Tsukki and even though he wasn’t exactly your type, you gave Noya a chance and managed to actually fall in love with him rather quickly. because of that, Noya managed to keep in contact with Tanaka and he found out. during that time, Karasuno was holding a get together for former players, brought to you by Daichi and Suga.

you thought of the reunion as a way to visit everyone back home while Noya just wanted to see Tanaka and a few others again so the two of you went. again, you had no idea that Tsukki and Noya knew each other and when the day of the reunion came up, the three of you were S H O O K. the entire team was tbh.

Tsukki probably never lost his smart mouth and when he seen that you were with Noya, you were ready to fight the 6′0 man without any consequences when he made a comment in passing. Noya had the mediate the entire interaction and said that the past was the past and you were with him now and Tsukki had no business in something that no longer included him.

in the back of his mind, Tsukki knew what Noya was saying was right but his insecurities and ego wouldn’t let him back down. Noya loved you and although Tsukki was technically his friend, he was going to pick you over Tsukki any day of the week and the three of you probably had to end up being separate tables.

because everyone was of age and there was alcohol being provided, you and Noya def got drunk along with Tanaka and admittedly Yachi and Hinata. the lot of you drank like there was no tomorrow and while Tsukki wanted nothing more than to continue his smart comments, he knew it was best to drop it and watched as you and Noya drank and danced together.

Yamaguchi was able to tell that his best friend was hurting in the inside but he knew if he said anything, he would earn a smart comment. every time you and Noya kissed, Tsukki would make a disgusted face or straight up gag but anyone could tell that Tsukki was HELLA jealous.

finally when the reunion ended, everyone who got drunk got sent to their hotels in cabs as you and Noya were basically blacked out and not even in the right stage to be driving home. you were hanging onto Noya as he placed kisses all over your face while you waited for the cab to arrive.

Tsukki wanted to apologize for his actions but by the time he got to you and Noya, the two of you were already in the cab, probably making out and trying to get home as fast as possible. his mind wandered to the nights where you and him would go home drunk and do exactly what you and Noya were probably planning on doing.

in the end, Tsukki knew there was no chance that you and him would ever become friends and in a way, he liked that. he was glad that you and Noya were living in another part of the world because it gave him enough time to get over you and find someone else. overall, the break up was rough but Tsukki knew that shit happens for a reason and maybe you weren’t meant to end up with him.

Akaashi Keiji: you end up with Konoha

oh boy, this relationship was odd from the start. when you were dating Akaashi, you knew his teammate held feelings for you but at the time, you didn’t pay any mind to him and stuck with Akaashi as you were basically enthralled with him.

the reason for the break up was probably college. both of you went to different ones and you figured it was just more beneficial for the two of you just to end it before anymore feelings got hurt in that process. it sucked but that was just the way life worked.

you ended up meeting Konoha in Tokyo. you both were in the pharma business and worked in the same building, just different departments. you knew that Konoha would befriend you the minute he found out you worked at the same place he did so when you found his office, Konoha fucking ASCENDED when you told him.

that day the two of you went out for drinks and that was assumedly the first date for the two of you. you found it odd how you ended up finding Konoha again but this time, there was nothing stopping from the two of you dating and Konoha made sure that he asked you out as soon as possible.

Konoha and yourself made enough money by working in medicine that the two of you lived lavishly once you moved with each other. the house was placed a few minutes out of Tokyo and the house was big enough to hold a house warming party when it was done getting remodeled and furnished.

you had pushed him to invite a few former Fukurodani members to attend the party and that included Bokuto, Akaashi, and Haruki to which they all came. Akaashi had heard from word of mouth that the two of you ended up together but he wanted to see it to believe it.

when the party came up, you were wearing a dress, pretty tight fitting in the areas you wanted to flaunt and you knew that Konoha was going to have a ball taking the dress off of you when the party was over. plus, Konoha knew how to wear a suit well and you were planning on doing the same thing to him.

as soon as the three Fukurodani members arrived, you sat them at the main two tables and made sure that you and Konoha would sit with them for the dinner. you wanted to catch up with your former friends but you were still a bit awkward around Akaashi.

the awkward atmosphere wasn’t really felt around Konoha nor Haruki or Bokuto but you knew you wanted to get Akaashi alone to thank him for coming and making sure that there was no hard feelings between you, him, and Konoha.

once you were able to get him alone, the two of you talked for a while and chatted about how work life was until Konoha found the two of you. while he trusted you completely, he didn’t have as much trust in Akaashi and decided to stay for the rest of the conversation.

Akaashi understood where Konoha was coming from as he did the same thing with Konoha back in high school but he was already kind of over you and had no intentions of stealing you back. in a way, he liked you and Konoha together. he had no idea why but he did like it.

he watched as you and Konoha would give each other pecks here and there but while he felt a pang of jealousy, ultimately, he wished the next time he seen either of you, he had that special someone in his life. just to show that he had moved on and that the three of you could start becoming friends again.

ALITA

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years

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Imagine:

The reader finding out she is pregnant so she tries to leave but Erik finds out anyway.

Her eyes watered instantly and a loud scream escaped her mouth. The scream made her throat burn and her fingers tremble, dropping the pregnancy test within her hand. The plastic clattered against the bathroom floor, the positive sign unseen because it flipped from the impact. Her shaking hands circles the belly that now carried an embryo, fingers balling up the fabric so hard it almost ripped.

Her hot tears dragged along her cheeks like a stream from a lake, soaking her t shirt. With a shake of her head and a choked up cry, Y/N lowers to the bathroom floor, knees hitting the tile and head resting against the sink cabinets. The news hit different, the type of different that had her upset and angry with herself.

Just that one time, she ends up pregnant.

She remembers the time like the back of her hand. It was a late Friday evening, She hadn’t expected him because he would come and go whenever he pleased and the gullible person she was she would open her home to him, give him what he craved, and watch him leave to whatever part of the world he ended up. Spain. Iraq. Russia. Brazil. It didn’t matter where. He could be there for months but with her for two days.

How could she raise a baby with a man who didn’t even claim her as his woman? He didn’t believe in that soulmate shit and refused to be tied down so why even raise a baby? Usually they had sex unprotected but Y/N hadn’t seen him in over three months so she stopped taking them. The late night she wakes up from her sleep around 10:00 pm to open her door, he stands over her, dark circles under his eyes from exhaustion, two large duffel bags in hand that carried all of his gear from being a Hitman, and all black camouflage gear on like he was a man of the night.

She couldn’t even be angry with him, all the rage she felt slipped away once he looked at her like he’d be seeing her for the last time. He looked down at his boots, the sight of her just as painful as what he told her.

“Blaze, he’s dead.”

Blaze was his trusted friend from the JSOC Ghost Unit. Blaze was the only man he had grown to trust with his own life. Blaze was set up and tortured to death in Morocco. She didn’t want to do anything else but comfort him in that moment. He melted in her arms as she pulled him into that home. From there she undressed him, ran him a bath and wash his scarred body. It wasn’t just the keloid scars but scars from knife wounds and possibly gun shot too. The Brand on his chest from his old Kappa days held a warm spot in her heart because that let her know that at least some part of his earlier life he enjoyed with a true brother hood.

All of that turned into passionate sex. Deep, raw wet, rough, slow. Hours long of sex. Sex that she craved times before. A connection that Y/N yearned for. He gave that to her, in every which way. But the sad part, he was gone the next morning, leaving her crying in her bed.

“I hate him,” She whispers in pain, “I hate his every being.”

That sex was at least almost three months ago.

Y/N hoped he wouldn’t show up soon, she needed to leave without a trace to hopefully figure out how to handle her unexpected pregnancy. The thought of raising a baby by a man like Killmonger wasn’t something to praise. The baby of a killer. A man with no heart. A selfish man. Thinking quickly, Y/N sprang from her kneeled position, stepping over her pregnancy test and heading straight for her bedroom. Erik wouldn’t know that her sister who lived in Florida moved back to LA. Y/N figured she could lay low there for a bit, hoping that Erik would come knocking down her door and she wouldn’t be around to respond. She packed about five outfits, electronics, toiletries, and her favorite blanket. She was out that door in about an hour, locking it behind her and never looking back.

Too bad she forgot the pregnancy test on the floor.

Around 48 hours later, Erik Killmonger Stevens shows up at her door. He sat within his mustang for a good hour contemplating if he should even go in there to see her. The way he left her last time would sure make the sight of him put her into a rage. He taps the stirring wheel to some random rhythm, eyes focused on her apartment complex. Fuck it, he could only hope to explain to her why he left and why he always has to leave without a trace of her. His job was dangerous and he didn’t need for anyone to find out about his happiness outside of being a killer. Erik turns off his car, pocketing his keys within his denim jacket, making his walk of shame towards her complex.

Once on her floor, Erik stands outside of her door, staring at the brass knob and black door with fading numbers saying “7B” just above the peep hole. His scarred knuckles knocked twice, a pause in between so she would know it was him. Erik waits, heart beat thumping so hard he could almost feel it in his legs. Erik tried again, no response to his knocks. They had an agreement that she would be there around this time for him. She worked from him and did mostly everything from home so why isn’t she answering.

Erik became worried, his hands reaching into his pocket again to pull out his key ring. She didn’t know that he made a spare key to enter if need be. This situation called for it. Erik takes the key, happy that the locks didn’t change. The door opens and a sudden heat overcomes him. Her apartment that usually flowed with fresh cool air now felt musky to him. Erik steps inside, looking around for any clues of intrusion. Eyes like a hawk he looks behind every piece of furniture and in every corner. The entire living room, dining room, and kitchen were safe, only leaving him with the bedrooms and bathroom. Taking out his pistol, Erik walks slowly to the back, ready to catch anyone who tried to hurt his girl.

Kicking open her bedroom door, Erik flips the light on, her cat jumping down from the bed and everything else safe. To be sure, Erik opens her closet and looks under her bed. Nothing. Picking up her cat he leaves the room to check the guest room. That room brought back memories. When they first met eachother and Erik needed a place to come to he would sleep in there. The place was only filled with some of his clothes and shoes, and boxes with a large floor mattress. Closing it, the only place left was the restroom. At this point Erik figured no one was here but he still felt a way about her not being here. Pushing open the bathroom door and flicking on the light, Erik looks around the small bathroom, stepping in further until his left boot made contact with something on the tiled floor. Dropping her cat and stepping back, Erik notices a pregnancy test. His heart sank, fingers quickly reaching down to pick it up. The moment he flipped it over to read his shame and guilt settled in further. He felt like he wanted to break down, legs no longer holding his strength anymore.

Y/N was pregnant with his baby.

She must have found out and panicked, leaving to a friends or a families house to avoid him because she knew Erik would be home soon. This raged him, his hand squeezing the test so hard it broke in half. Tossing the pieces in the trash Erik placed his hands on the sink, looking in the mirror. He tried to think of where she would go. Not many friends lived here. Her sister was in Florida. It had to be somewhere she could have gone. In the distance, Erik heard a car pull up. To be sure he walks to her living room, opening the window curtain to see who it was. A red Honda pulls up, Erik’s eyes squinting until he notices her solem face and her sisters. So she was back in California. Erik watches as she tried to step out but the moment she notices Erik’s car parked next to hers, she freezes, eyes in a panick. Erik quickly rushes out of the apartment, hoping that he could catch her before her sister drives away. He needed her, she couldn’t just leave with his baby growing inside of her. He ran for his life, jumping down flights of stairs.

Now on the first level, Erik pushes open the door, spotting her arguing with her sister before their eyes connect. The color drained from her face, tears soaking her cheeks. Erik takes quick steps to her but her sister saw that as a threat, pointing a gun at him.

“Take one more step and I’ll kill you!!!” She held her gun out, pointing to his head.

“Y/N, get out of the car. I know what’s going on. We can talk about the shit!” Erik yells. Y/N sat facing forward, no emotion in her eyes.

“Y/N!!! TALK TO ME!” Erik was angry and ready to flip that car over and get her out himself.

“You’re not leaving me. That’s my baby in there, girl. You’re not running away from this, Y/N,”

He stepped closer, not caring that her sister yelled out threats. She didn’t look like she would try him anyway. Erik steps around to Y/N’s side, crouching down and knocking on her window to let it down. She continues to cry, not meeting his eyes. Erik pulls the door handle roughly, banging on the glass hard.

“Open this fucking door Y/N!!!!” He barks out. She jumps. Erik steps away, hands in his dreads ready to rip them out.

“GET AWAY FROM MY FUCKING CAR!!” Her sister yells into the night sky.

Erik knew he needed to be calm. But it angered him that she would just leave with his baby. He understood her rage, Erik was never around but that didn’t mean she could make the decision for him about her pregnancy.

“It’s my body, Erik,” she finally speaks.

Yes, it is her body, but the thought of her getting an abortion or giving the baby up for adoption sickened him.

“Y/N, don’t do this. Don’t get rid of the baby.”

She looked at him with shock and hurt, “get rid of the baby?!!! I would never do that!!! I am going to keep this baby but I can’t stand my baby being your child!!! You are never around and you have blood on your hands!!!”

He didn’t argue back. She was right, Erik never wanted this kind of life. He could never see himself with a baby and a wife. That was non existent when you were a killer. Erik fought to cry himself, her words cutting deep like a dagger to the heart but it was true. He wasn’t in the right mind and position to father that child.

“You’re right,” he finally speaks, “I’m not the perfect man you want me to be, Y/N.” Erik turns away, rubbing his eyes before looking back at her, “but I can try, I can try to be I sware.”

She wanted to believe him but she knew that he was in this too deep.

“I can’t believe that, Erik. You have left me so many times with a broken heart. How am I supposed to believe you will be here now.”

He couldn’t even find it within himself to answer that. She waited, and he said nothing.

“Drive the car.” Y/N’s shaky voice broke out in their silence. Her sister started up the car. Erik watched with pain as it drove away and out of the lot, his rage kicking up as he yelled into the air. He was no man for a baby and a life with Y/N but he wanted to try, a part of him did.

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swordoforion · 3 years

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Orion Digest No. 4 - End of an Era

The 20th century stands as a landmark in history for the end of a historical era, and the dawn of the current age, tumultuous as it may be. Entering it, the technological innovations of the Industrial Revolution had reached into the field of military might, philosophy reacted to the approaching storm with either a gloom of nihilism or a unfettered hope for the future. Tensions between nations and a sense of inevitable war on the horizon lined up the dominoes for what would become known first as the 'Great War', and later as merely the first chapter in a century of horrors...

World War I was a dangerous mixture of the classical outlook on warfare and more modern technology and tactics, which taught us that war is no longer a glorious affair for the pride of one's nation (not to say that it ever was, but it certainly used to be seen that way, in the past). People didn't always go looking for trouble, but war didn't often carry the same emotional trauma and devastation as WW1 did, consisting of civilities and grand gestures on the battlefield, with forward marches and drummers and firing volleys. WW1 stuck soldiers in a dirty, terrifying, and never ending stalemate over small strips of land for months at a time.

The nations that went into the war, used to what war had been for centuries, were unprepared for the brutality with which this war would be fought, with many of the new inventions being relatively unused on the battlefield, but they would emerge sobered by the experience, understanding at least partially that war had changed. Where the war before had been a set of wary alliances with a general focus on nationalist pride, the governments that came out of the conflict realized that such a conflict could not be allowed to devastate the fields of Europe once more, and Western nations sought some unity out of the chaos, and thus was born the first iteration of what we know today as the United Nations - the League of Nations.

An immediate issue with the League was the debate over how the aftermath of the war should be handled, and the decisions its members made ended up leading to the very next war that would rock the world once more. In addition to questionable changes in Eastern European territories that led to turmoil over cultural differences, the blame for the war was pinned on Germany, and the responsibility of reparations fell to it as well. While Germany certainly had a large hand to play in the events of the war, whether or not the citizens as opposed to the former leadership were at fault was questionable, but they were saddled with the burden regardless, leaving a taste of bitter resentment that lingered for decades.

Later failures of the League of Nations would showcase a different problem - a lack of sufficient action on their part to curb the tide of tension and war that led to the second great conflict of the 20th century. After WW1 ended, nations began to turn away from each other again, scarred but not quite learning from their previous mistakes, and nowhere was this separation more evident than with the Red Scare. Russian revolutionaries, dissatisfied with their autocratic government and following altered principles of Marx and Engels, overthrew the Tsar in a civil war in order to establish a socialist government in their country. This new and unorthodox ideology, combined with the bloody revolution used to establish it, caused paranoia in some Western nations, which would last well into the end of the century.

Meanwhile, as economic recession spread across the world in the decade preceding the Second World War, Germany's bitterness and desperate situation met with an unfortunate leader - Adolf Hitler, who rose to the position of Chancellor and became known and feared for his fanatical and anti-Semitic ideals, implemented a state of fascist rule in Germany.

Both the socialism of Soviet Russia and the fascism of Germany would become alternative ideologies to more moderate forms of government seen previously, and even long after the fall of each of their respective pioneers, branches of both have split off and taken root across the world, as people explore the potential of both as a system of government and even take inspiration, for better or worse. I will say personally, I support a form of democratic socialism for reasons I will discuss in good time, but fascism proves too oppressive and terrifying an ideology for me to touch.

In simple terms, fascism is a state dominated political ideology that believes in power from a single party, often a dictator (as was the case with Hitler) that highly regulates society and oppresses dissenting opinion. Crushing any opposition and maintaining a tight grip on every aspect of society coupled with a highly expansionist military campaign to lead to a terrifying image that left a scar on the world. To this day, we still are reminded of the terrifying image of Nazis storming across Europe, conquering nation after nation and subjecting them to absolute rule. It's no surprise that movements claiming to be their successors haven't seen much success or support.

On the other hand, much more arguable is the Soviet Union, the nation that became of the Russian Revolution. The Soviets also used a more authoritarian form of government that planned out the economy, but while the quality of life and social freedoms could differ from ruler to ruler, the idea in mind at the beginning was to create a nation where people were economically equal, and the economy was kept balanced by being state-run rather than a potentially privatized set of monopolies.

Soviet theory involved spreading the economic system to other nations, to free their workers from capitalist dominance. Not only would this provide them allies more sympathetic to wide-scale policy, but in their eyes, it would prevent economic inequality and abuses of workers' rights - a growing network of nations for the people that could work together. To this day, many parties try to takeaway lessons from the Soviet Union's example (with degrees of variation) and several nations did end up transferring to a socialist system (if only briefly).

When it came time to fight a second war, the League of Nations found itself unsure about how to handle the growing threat of Germany, with most members afraid to start another large-scale war while Hitler moved slowly into Europe, and the U.S. wanting to distance itself from international affairs. This hesitation resulted in mainland Europe being lost to the Nazis and their allies, and it would only take a direct attack for the U.S. to finally get involved. The lessons that WW1 taught had to be relearned due to the lack of effort on the part of the League of Nations. After the first war, they thought that the world could go back to normal, but WW2 served as another reminder that the world had changed.

And it would change even more with the end of WW2, as unearthly destruction was revealed with the first usage of the atomic bomb, millions were dead as a result of even more destructive technologies and brutal campaigns of war, the nations of the world were thrown even more out of balance than last time, and the divergent ideologies put the jumbled world at odds with each other. Such is the era we live in now - the post-WW2 era has seen the state of the world churn and change in many ways, but the all-out war seen in Europe and the Pacific has never been replicated due to the elephant in the room - the fact that the last war ended with potentially world ending technology.

The post-WW2 era, however, is coming to its own end, as the fragile sense of structure that has been pushed closer and closer to the brink by surveillance, small interference based wars, terrorism, and descent into corruption is reaching it's collapse. Not the end of the world, mind you, but certainly a build up to the end of the general post-WW2 era that has defined our world, and I believe that one organization, which I will explore next time, is key to understanding this era - the United Nations.

- DKTC FL

#world war 2 #world war ii #league of nations #history #surveillance #united nations #orion #sword of orion #orion digest #hitler #fascism #20th century #political #politics #political essay #essay #soviet union

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fantasyoverreality98 · 4 years

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Fight the Darkness Pt. 10

Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius x MC

Summary: Stuck on a destroyed Mydiea, Amy and Gaius make plans for what to do once they return to Greece.

Author’s Note: Sexual content warning. That’s all I have to say. No other words needed. Also, sorry for any potential typos or grammatical errors.

Word Count: 4,339

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Death had never felt so good.

It was dark, quiet, and…damp?

Amy shot up, gasping as she scrambled to her feet. Pain shot through her leg, and she fell back to the ground, wincing.

“Oh, thank god.” Gaius sat a few feet away, his hair disheveled. “I had no idea whether you would ever wake up.”

“Where are we?” She studied their surroundings, frowning when she noticed the small stream running alongside her, its water black.

He sighed, averting his gaze when she looked back at him. “We’re in a cave. And we’re still on Mydiea.”

She should be dead. She had been ready to accept her fate.

Now, she didn’t know what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” Amy said, remembering the way she had behaved. “I should have told you the second I felt like I was losing control.”

“How are you feeling now?” His muscles were tensed.

He was afraid of her.

The sound of the stream filled in the silence while she tried to think of what to say. Finally, she cleared her throat, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “I feel nothing. No voice, no darkness, no power. It’s quiet.”

Her laugh echoed off the cave walls. For so long, there had always been a presence lingering, following her everywhere she went. Now, all she felt was the blissful silence of being completely alone. There was only one voice now. Her own.

This relief was temporary. Once Amy remembered what she’d done, how many lives she had claimed, shame washed over her. Hundreds were dead. And it was all her fault.

“How do you live with the guilt?” she asked, wishing Gaius would look at her.

He stared at the cave floor, the blade of his sword scraping against the rock as he dragged it in small patterns. “Eventually, you get used to it. You accept that there’s no way to take your actions back. And you just hope you can redeem yourself someday.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like I’ve redeemed myself.”

His lips twitched, and he finally met her eyes. “Join the club.”

Amy looked back at the stream, frowning at the color of the water. “How did we get here?”

“I had to carry you in here before the sun killed us both.” Gaius set his sword down, staring at a spot near her head. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah…” She slowly rose to her feet again, the leg no longer hurting. “But I don’t think we can just go back to pretending nothing happened. People are going to start looking for me.”

The text from Adrian rose to the surface of her thoughts, and Amy grimaced. Her friends were coming for her, whether she liked it or not. And they would not be happy when they learned about what she’d done. They already knew who she was with, which would just make things even worse.

She realized that this would likely be goodbye. After they escaped Mydiea, she and Gaius would have to go their separate ways. “Where are you going to go next?” she asked, clenching her hands into fists.

“Considering we somehow managed to survive, I think we should go to Russia.”

“We?” Hope swelled in her chest.

Gaius looked at her again, his expression softening. “Didn’t I tell you this was never about being the hero?”

“Well, you kinda were the hero, whether you like it or not.”

He was clearly trying to maintain a serious expression, but ultimately failed. As he rolled his eyes, his lips pulled back into a grin. Gaius got to his feet, closing the distance between them. “As I said before, you are absolutely insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Still here.” Her voice was a whisper, the memory of him saying he loved her burned into her mind.

The horrors she had committed were forgotten for a moment as Gaius pulled her to him. “Because you are also irresistible.”

She smiled, running her hands up the back of his neck into his hair, pulling his face down to meet hers.

Somehow, in this moment, she felt like everything was going to be okay.

They pulled away after a minute, and Amy turned to walk toward the cave entrance, stopping just out of the sunlight’s reach. When she saw what the island looked like, her steps faltered, and a quiet gasp slipped past her lips.

All signs of life on the island were gone, leaving behind little more than destruction. The houses that had been built were gone, the trees growing around them blackened and strewn around the ground.

The once crystal blue waters were now black around the island, changing back to the original color in the distance. Amy stepped back into the cave, unsure what to say or do. She had destroyed Mydiea.

“How do we get back to the mainland?” Her voice bounced off the walls, and she turned back to Gaius. “Is there a way?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I have no clue. The boat might still be there, but I feel that is little more than wishful thinking.”

Amy swore under her breath, walking deeper into the cave, squatting beside the stream. A smell unlike anything she’d ever encountered before hung in the air. It was as if whatever darkness, whatever evil had been inside her for so long, had destroyed the land.

Once, she had felt the constant confliction between good and evil. Now, she wasn’t sure how to feel. She couldn’t say she was good, but she wanted to believe that she wasn’t evil, either.

“How long was I unconscious for?” She started to reach for the water, but pulled her hand back, an instinct warning her that this was no ordinary stream anymore.

Gaius leaned against the cave wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. “Half of the day, at least. The sun will probably set in a couple hours.” He eyed her ripped clothing. “I didn’t think we would make it in here in time.”

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” She knew that the question had been a mistake when he stared at her. “I did so many horrible things. So many people died because of me.”

“It amazes me how often you seem to forget about my past. I am not exactly an upstanding person.”

Amy sighed, wishing he would just tell her that she should feel bad. It would be better than trying to make excuses for her sins. Death was supposed to be the way this had ended. She had been ready for it, had wanted it, and instead she would have to continue living with a new weight upon her back.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said, her fingers once more hovering inches away from the blackened water. “You could have just left me there.”

But there was no need for him to answer. They both knew why he had saved her, and she wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. There was still time for him to change his mind. A few days together wasn’t enough time to make the decision to stay. She had always known the time would come for this little journey to end.

“I guess the idea of living in a world without you made me a bit sad.” There was some of the old, sarcastic Gaius in the comment, and Amy fought back a smile.

It would take a long time for things to return to normal. Perhaps they never could go back to the way they had been, but she had to admit she missed seeing this side of him.

She remembered their reunion, and turned her head back to look at him. “Now you understand the reason why I spared your life. It seemed just a tiny bit of a waste to kill you.”

“Nice to see that you’re back to making those terrible jokes.” He shook his head, his lips quirked up in a smirk. “It would be a shame if I never heard one again.”

Amy finally gathered up the courage to touch the water, and immediately withdrew her hand when she felt the evil that lurked beneath the surface, that seemed to be intertwined with the island itself. Whatever she’d done to rid herself of the power had not destroyed it forever. It still existed outside of her body.

Suddenly, the island felt unsafe. She feared that staying here too long would not be good. Trying to hide the fear, she rose to her full height and walked past Gaius, back toward the cave entrance.

The air felt heavier than before, reminding her of the Death Island they’d visited when trying to defeat Rheya. Something evil lingered here, and Amy wanted to get far, far away.

“Do you think anyone survived?” A large part of her already knew the answer, but the smallest part wanted to believe otherwise.

Gaius took a place by her side, shaking his head. When their eyes met, he frowned, reaching up to brush his fingers across her face. “We both know the answer to that question already.”

“What about everywhere else?”

He sighed, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“Are you sure you want to stick around and deal with the aftermath? It might just make you look even worse.” Amy felt the guilt wash over her at the idea of hindering Gaius’ mission to redeem himself.

Why had she dragged him into this mess?

“There is nothing else I’d rather do for the next thousand years.”

A smile slowly spread across her face, and she tried to think of how to respond to that. After a moment of silence, Amy pulled him closer. “Are you sure spending a thousand years with me won’t make you regret choosing to save me? I can be quite annoying.”

“I think I can manage.” He leaned down to kiss her, and all she wanted to do was forget about everything but this brief moment of bliss.

It was strange, laughable, to think of the circumstances. She’d fallen in love with the one person she never, ever should have. Gaius had done horrible things. He had killed her. And countless others. The list of his wrongdoings went on and on, and yet…

Amy held his face in her hands, kissing him harder. Now would be the perfect moment to say those three words. They had survived, and he had told her to wait to say it, but now she found it difficult to admit the way she felt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his lips, thinking about what she had almost done.

Gaius shook his head, pulling her body closer to his. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t yourself.”

“But I was.” Her actions weren’t excusable. She knew that, deep down, she had been drawn to the pull of power, to the darker instincts within. “It’s like you said. I was still myself. I had several bad days.”

He sighed, studying her face without a word. Amy thought about all she had done, of the bloodbath that likely remained in a vampire club not too far away. People would hunt her down. Of that, she was certain.

“I can’t believe I was going to change you again. After I knew what those years of being trapped did to you.” Amy tried to pull away, but Gaius continued to hold her. She shook her head, still wishing the sun had finished her off. “Don’t try to make excuses for me. It was wrong.”

“I am not making excuses for you. As someone who spent thousands of years making the wrong decisions, I can understand. You did horrible things, but you are not beyond redemption.”

She almost wanted to laugh at where they were now. “I guess we have one more thing in common now, at least.”

Using humor to deflect from the guilt she felt would only work for so long, but Amy didn’t care. She couldn’t afford to think about it right now. Not with the knowledge that just beyond this cave, the world was in rot and decay. Mydiea might never be inhabitable again.

“You think there’s still room for me on your journey to redemption?” Amy knew that her friends would eventually find her, but she had no intention of going back. It was too late for that.

Gaius glanced at the world beyond the cave, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “My opinion hasn’t changed. I still believe that you are too good for me. It would probably be best for you to return to Adrian and Kamilah.”

She reached up for his face, forcing him to turn his head back to her. “I am not too good for you. You are the only one who understands me. I choose you.”

He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you, Gaius Augustine.”

When they kissed, she finally felt complete. The hole that Jax’s death had left no longer felt so big. Amy couldn’t stop herself from crying, the tears traveling down her face as she held Gaius in her arms.

Slowly, their kisses grew more desperate, and Gaius slid his hands under her shirt. They were cold, the damp cave causing a chill in the air, but Amy didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him.

“Amy…” Gaius’ throat bobbed as she stepped back to unstrap the katana from her back, letting it fall to the ground. “I—”

With a smile, she placed a finger over his lips, shaking her head. “We still have time before the sun sets, and I really don’t want to spend the next few hours overthinking every single thing that’s happened.”

He nodded, placing his hands back on her body. The cold that hung in the air sent shivers down her spine, but she savored the feel of his hands on her bare skin as he slowly undressed her.

Once they’d finished ridding each other of their clothes, they began to kiss again. They took a few steps back, and Amy gasped when the freezing cave wall pressed against her back. With a quiet chuckle, Gaius pulled her away, his hands at the small of her back.

“Do you want to stop?” He gently bit her neck, running his fingers along the curve of her waist. “Now seems like an odd time to do this.”

She shook her head, trying to control her breathing. “Don’t stop. This is the realest I’ve felt in days.”

The sound of the stream still echoed in the cave, accompanied by the occasional gasp as they focused on each other.

A splash echoed in the distance outside the cave, and the island itself seemed to be falling apart. Gaius turned his head in the direction the sound had come from, but Amy pulled his lips back to hers, their bodies flush against each other.

If this was how they would spend their last few hours, she wouldn’t have it any other way. She hadn’t expected to leave the island anyway. The cave could collapse on them, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would care.

“I need this,” she said, running her hands down his chest. His muscles tensed the lower she went, and Amy bit her bottom lip, locking eyes with him.

Memories of their night together on the boat flashed through her head. In that moment, it had been all about satisfying a physical attraction. Even the other times they had had sex before focused largely on a need for release.

This time felt different.

Gaius breathed heavily when she wrapped her hand around his shaft, capturing her lips with his as she began to move. “Amy.” Hearing her name in that breathy tone made her feel more than any touch ever could.

He groaned as she picked up her pace, digging his fingers into her hips. They stumbled backward, her back hitting the cold cave wall again. Ignoring the chill that went through her, Amy tugged him closer, moaning when her tongue grazed his teeth and he kissed her harder.

One of his hands traveled between her legs, their restrained gasps filling the air as they drove each other to the edge. When she felt like she was about to finish, Amy buried her hands in Gaius’ hair, bucking her hips toward him as she finally reached orgasm. A breathy laugh slipped past her lips when he pulled back to look at her, grinning.

“God, you drive me wild.” His hair fell in his face, and she pushed it back, her heart still racing.

“Mm, seriously, I think you need to get a haircut.” She weaved her fingers through the dark strands, cutting off his response with her lips.

Amy broke off the kiss after a minute, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she moved to kneel in front of him. He tangled his hands in her hair as she tilted her head back to make eye contact with him, trying her best not to smirk.

Breathy curses bounced off the cave walls as she took him into her mouth, and Gaius groaned quietly. He let her continue a few minutes longer before pulling her to her feet, holding her in his arms.

“I look forward to many more moments like this,” he whispered in her ear, his cool breath making her shiver.

Amy felt her stomach clench, the anticipation enough to make her knees weak. She closed her eyes and leaned against the cave wall as Gaius focused his attention on her chest. Those three words she’d finally gathered up the courage to say played on a loop in her head, heat rushing to her face in a mixture of shame and desire.

When he grabbed one of her legs and brought it up against his hip, her eyes fluttered open. For the first time in twenty-four years, there was no voice in her head. She could truly enjoy the moment without worrying about losing control.

“Gaius.” His name was her new favorite word. She kept repeating it as he slowly pushed inside, mouthing it as he started to move.

Once they left this island, there was no telling what might happen. They could find themselves face to face with death the moment their feet hit the mainland.

Darkness still existed here, lingering in the shadows as the island slowly succumbed to the poison that had lived inside her body for so long. Amy feared what she would see when they left the cave. Something told her that it would not be a pleasant sight.

“I love you,” she said again, her nails digging into his back as Gaius hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He leaned against her, pressing her further against the wall. She hardly noticed the cold anymore. “I love you too.”

After they finished, they slowly got dressed and sat beside each other, letting the steady flow of the stream fill in the silence.

Amy laced her fingers through Gaius’, unable to stop herself from smiling. She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath.

“I still don’t understand why you changed back into your old outfit. What was wrong with the one I bought you?”

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Nothing was wrong with it. I just prefer this one.”

She couldn’t help it. Amy started to laugh, ignoring the glare she received in response. “How many times do I have to tell you that you look absolutely ridiculous?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you are the only one who thinks that?”

“Trust me, I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

He scoffed, turning his head to look at the cave entrance. The sun was beginning to set. “Are you ready to leave Greece as fast as we can once we arrive? Once people figure out what happened, they will come for us.”

“It’s still not too late for you to go your own way. I won’t take offense.” A small part of her worried that he really would accept the offer. Staying with her would put both of their lives in danger.

There was silence for a moment before Gaius answered. “If I’m completely honest, I was a bit miserable before you showed up.” His eyes were full of regret when he looked at her. “You were the one who convinced me I had something more to live for. I owe you my life. Were it not for you, I don’t know if I would want to even try to redeem myself.”

“As a wise man once said, ‘goodness is a choice.’ You can’t give me all the credit. At the end of the day, every decision you’ve made has led you here. You want to be good. I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“I’m not so sure the others will see it that way.” He eyed up his gladius, sighing. “They seemed to be convinced that I will always be the evil man they knew. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I will eventually give in to my darker desires yet again. You said it yourself. You know who I truly am.”

All the horrible things she’d said and done while under the influence of Rheya’s powers would haunt her forever. Amy wanted to apologize again, but she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. There was no taking back what had already been said.

“We can keep each other in line,” she said, watching the black water flow deeper into the cave. “If I start to slip, or if you do, we can stop it. Or both end up destroying the world together. Who knows.”

He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall behind them. “Has anyone told you that your sense of humor is quite morbid?”

“Maybe once or twice.” Her smile faltered when she thought about Adrian’s message again. “How long do you think it will take before Adrian and Kamilah find us?”

Gaius kept his eyes trained on the ground, his grip on her hand tightening. “If they know about what happened in Ireland, it won’t be long. And if what happened at the club has already made news…I think they’ve already found us.”

She shuddered at his words. The idea of leaving Mydiea no longer appealed to her. Leaving this island would signal the beginning of a life on the run. From now into the foreseeable future, someone would be searching for them.

“Great.” Amy wasn’t sure she wanted to face her friends. Lily might be a bit more understanding, but she knew that Adrian and Kamilah would be less than happy.

Maybe they wouldn’t guilt her too much for what she’d done with her powers, but they would most definitely be horrified to learn just what her and Gaius had been up to while they were together.

“Are you certain you want to come with me? You will have a better chance at earning forgiveness if you go with them.” Gaius was frowning when she looked at him. “They can protect you in ways I cannot.”

She shook her head, scooting closer to him. “I don’t need protection. I’m not some helpless child. I defeated The First. I overcame the darkness twice.”

He grinned, a laugh bursting from deep in his chest. “That you did.”

“So, I’m sorry to say, but you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” The sky outside was growing darker, and Amy felt butterflies in her stomach as the nerves settled in. “I just hope you’re prepared to deal with them.”

“Whatever will be, will be.” He glanced at the cave entrance again, and sighed, rising to his feet. “We should probably prepare to leave.”

Waves lapped at the shore when they emerged ten minutes later, the water looking even worse in the darkness. Amy swore she heard rumbling from deeper inland, and shivered. She began to reach for the katana, but stopped herself. It was silly. There was nothing left alive on Mydiea.

Miraculously, the boat was still where they’d left it. It looked like it had been damaged a bit, but it would have to do.

As they pushed the boat out into the water, chills ran down Amy’s spine when they stepped into the sea. The black water lapped at her calves, and she could feel the energy that radiated from the island.

“Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled, ignoring the way the hairs on her arm raised.

Evil remained here. And it was much worse than it ever had been before.

Gaius nodded, and together, they climbed into the speed boat. The motor rang out in the silence, and Amy shuddered again as she watched the island slowly fade away.

Before she turned away, she thought she saw a shadow standing on a cliff, watching them speed away. She shook her head, telling herself that it was her imagination. It was over. The island would slowly wither away, taking the darkness with it.

They spent the trip back to Greece in silence. Amy couldn’t stop thinking about everything she had done, knowing that she had spiraled out of control in so little time. It would haunt her forever.

Eventually, land appeared once more, and she let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to be back on the mainland. The world seemed undisturbed, safe from what she had done on Mydiea.

The relief she felt was temporary, however. After Gaius helped her climb out of the boat and the two of them started walking toward the city, she sensed a shift in the air. Before she’d even looked up, Amy knew who waited for them on the railing separating the beach from the streets.

Still, it didn’t stop her from wincing when she finally looked up and saw Adrian, Kamilah, and Lily watching her.

#choices: stories you play #choices fanfiction #gaius augustine #gaius x mc #gaius augustine x mc #bloodbound #bloodbound 3

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scarletfern · 4 years

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Cold Walks & Late Night Talks

After being left on a dead-end road in the middle of a forest in Russia, the team desperately attempts to locate their safehouse during a blizzard. Also, team-as-a-family vibes and a bit of Kurt convincing Patterson to get some rest instead of trying to work 24 hours a day.

For @holidayblindspot day 29

—

“Are you sure this is the right way?!” Reade yelled, fighting to be heard over the roar of the wind.

Patterson ducked behind Kurt, using his body as a shield from the wind so that she could check the directions. “That’s what it says!”

Two days prior, they had received Intel that Rich was being held in a Russian blacksite and, with some help from Ice Cream, had immediately begun to plan his rescue.

Early that morning, they had touched down on a private airstrip in Siberia to meet up with one of Ice Cream’s contacts, who they had been told would drop them off at a safehouse.

Instead, he had stopped his car at the end of a dead-end road, gotten out, and begun to pull their gear out of the trunk, stacking it neatly on the roadside. He then motioned for them to get out of the car and, after exchanging puzzled glances amongst themselves, the team complied.

“Cabin’s a short walk through those woods,” he had told them, gesturing vaguely into the taiga. “Vlad will meet you there in the morning and get you to the compound where your friend is.” He turned away, clearly intending to leave.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Tasha had demanded.

He looked at her as if she’d gone crazy. “No.”

“Which way do we go?”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He went around to the other side of the car and retrieved a tablet from the glove compartment. After tapping at the screen for a few minutes, he handed it to Patterson.

“This is where we are now,” he said, pointing to a set of coordinates on the screen. “And this,” he paused before pointing to the second set of coordinates “is where you are going. Good luck.” And then he'd driven away, leaving the five of them standing in the snow in front of a sprawling pine forest that seemed to stretch on forever.

After mumbling some calculations to herself for several minutes, Patterson spoke up. “Guys? We have a problem.” She turned the screen around then, showing them the coordinates. “This is eight miles away.”

They were halfway through mile five when the blizzard hit.

—

Violent gusts of wind brought the snow down in sheets, leaving it nearly impossible to navigate. The trees shielded them partly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to allow them to keep going. Clinging tightly to each other, desperate not to lose anyone in the whiteout, they pressed on.

A few miles later, Patterson brought them to an abrupt halt. “Stop walking. These are the coordinates.”

“But there’s nothing here.”

“What do we do now?”

A mind numbing cold settled over them as they stood together, shivering. If they stayed out here any longer, they would freeze to death.

Suddenly, the wind shifted, enabling them to make out the barely visible silhouette of the cabin up ahead.

They moved as fast as they could, clearing the distance in record time. Hurriedly, they cleared away the snow that had piled up against the door and entered, snow and ice falling off them in clumps.

It was such a relief to be out of the wind that, at first, they didn’t notice how cold it was inside.

Kurt found a light switch and flipped it back and forth. “No electricity.”

There was a fireplace, though, and firewood.

“Nice place,” Reade commented, deadpan, the beam of his flashlight darting around the living room, which appeared to be devoid of furniture.

A cursory search through the other rooms proved the rest of the cabin to be just as unfurnished as the living room. Thankfully, they also found sleeping bags and plenty of extra blankets stacked in a closet.

Soon, they were all huddled together by a roaring fire, the freezing conditions outside almost forgotten.

After they had all warmed up, only one issue remained.

“Whose turn is it to cook again?”

Tasha immediately pointed at Reade.

“What do you want me to do? Roast some marshmallows?” he asked, tossing a pillow at her.

“I saw some MREs in the kitchen,” Jane said with a shrug. “We don’t need electricity to make those.”

Upon his return, Reade teased “Tasha, it’s your favorite.”

“Nooo,” Tasha and Patterson groaned in sync as he held up five packets of Mexican style chicken stew.

—

Later that night, Kurt woke up. Something wasn’t right... Someone was missing. Someone other than Rich.

He listened carefully.

A noise was coming from the kitchen.

Typing.

Patterson.

She had taken Rich's absence harder than any of them, working day and night to find a way to get him back. When they had received word on his location, she had gone into overdrive, outlining multiple backup plans, crossing every t and dotting every i, refusing to rest until they had a foolproof rescue plan.

Careful not to wake anyone up, he untangled himself from Jane’s grip and tucked the blankets back over her before getting to his feet and heading away from the others, towards the sound. The loss of the heat off the fire hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Patterson.”

She jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “You've been over that plan,” he paused for emphasis, eyebrows raised, “a million times.”

“I- I know, but we can't screw this up. We don't have the wiggle room for mistakes. One chance. That's all we've got.”

He sat down on the floor beside her.

“You’ve done everything you can do for now. And we will get him out. Tomorrow. Now get some sleep, okay?”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I will. Later.”

They both knew that ‘later’ meant either ‘going another twenty-four hours without sleep’ or ‘working until passing out from exhaustion.’

Kurt wasn't going to settle for that.

“If you won't stop working yet, at least come back to the fire. It's too cold in here. You aren't going to wake them up. They're dead to the world.”

And back by the fire, listening to the others snoring?

She was asleep in five minutes.

Kurt closed her laptop, tossed a blanket over her, and went back to his sleeping bag beside Jane, who barely stirred at his return, just rolled over and promptly draped herself across his torso.

He looked around at his team once more. Now they were just minus one.

And, with any luck, by this time tomorrow, they’d be minus zero.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #scarletfern writes #blindspot*

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

Text

Shadowed Hearts/Winter Souls (Chapter Twenty-Two)

MASTERLIST

TW: Character Death (But It's a Bad Guy)

**********************

The letter came ten days later.

Natalia refused to leave Sokovia before finding out what had happened, and she refused to leave the town while there was still smoke from the manor visible on the horizon. Tony rented rooms in the closest inn, paid piles of coin to the owners to ensure that they forgot he and Natalia were ever there, and spent his days drafting telegrams to be delivered to Brescia.

The time had come for him to fulfill his promise to keep their little family safe, and as soon as Natalia was ready to leave, they would be gone.

Ten days it took news to come, the message brought by way of Mr. Lee, who ran nervous hands through his thinning hair and pushed his glasses up his nose , handing the letter to Natalia with a whispered, “So sorry, my dear girl.”

Nakhozyl had fallen to the rebel forces, attacked before sun up and taken by sun down with little loss of life on the Sokovian side. But the Komandir had been terribly injured, thrown from his horse and captured, dragged away with the retreating Tsar's men, gone before anyone realized what had happened. Samuel and Ronin had been captured hours West, too intent on making it to the manor to notice they were being watched, and they'd been apprehended only hours away from the village, dragged away fighting and shouting and spilling blood trying to reach home.

There was no word as to who had come to set the manor on fire or even why the house had been burned to nothing more than rocks, but apparently no one was worried that the Black Widow hadn’t been captured. They assumed she was dead, and if not dead, heartbroken and powerless and therefore unimportant. The word from spies in the cities said the Tsar was furious over the loss of Nakhozyl, furious with his Generals for not culling the rebel army sooner, furious that even with the help of a high ranking traitor, his men had been no match for the Winter Soldier. Rumour had it the Tsar was talking about emancipating Sokovia even now, disgusted with the loss of life, exhausted from the war, irritated at having expended so many resources on a tiny piece of Russia he'd never ever seen. If the worthless little country wanted to be on their own, so be it. Brock Rumlow was thrown out in disgrace, the Generals having used him for all they needed, forsaking the promise of protection they’d made when he’d come to their side. Apparently Rumlow was in hiding, none of the still installed spies having seen hide nor hair of the man since at least a week before Nakhozyl. Natalia read the letter twice through, and then handed it Tony, who passed it over to Wanda.

Then the Black Widow penned a letter of her own, the first time she'd used the spy channels in years, her message brief and to the point, explicit in it's instructions and threatening for anyone who dared disobey.

"Just this one more thing, Antonio." She told Tony that morning, exhaustion filtering through the words. "Just this one more thing, and then you can take us away."

*********** It took less than three days. *********** The ground where the manor had stood was black and ugly, a scar that snow had yet to cover, crystals of ice clinging to the few pieces that had refused to burn entirely away. The stone stairs were still standing, leading to nothing since the foyer had turned to ash, some pieces of thick carpet left in what had been the parlor, fallen through from the second floor as the floors had warped and melted and burned. Tony had had enough presence of mind to free the horses before the stables had ignited, but the Falconers lodge was nothing more than a few charred beams, the carriage house non existent, the wagon disintegrated to nothing inside. The orchards and gardens Natalia had hoped to revive in the spring were gone, any hint of anything that might have been green simply vanished into the ruined earth. The woodshed and it's carefully hoarded stockpiles had acted as kindling, the pantry where they’d painstakingly stored enough food for the family for the season eliminated, the air still smelling acrid of seared animal fat and spices scorched. It was gone. It was all gone and as Brock Rumlow was dragged from a blacked out carriage with hands and feet shackled, he stared around him at the destruction in sickening awe. ….he’d never meant for this… ...not for this… Natalia was beautiful standing there among all the destruction, her brightly red hair perfectly styled, cheeks rouged and lips painted. She was wrapped in fine fur, brilliant sable and gorgeous velvet and she looked every inch a noblewoman, every inch the Natalia Romanova he had known for so many years, every inch the Black Widow and as Rumlow was forced to his knees in front of her, he knew there was no pity to be found in those wicked green eyes. “Don’t go anywhere.” Natalia told the men that had snatched Rumlow from his hide away in a non descript inn, two rebel soldiers known for their tracking, for their cruelty, for their uncanny ability to find anyone and anything no matter how cold the trail. It had taken them two days to find Rumlow after word had come from the Black Widow-- Bring me Rumlow and bring him alive, or I will substitute your body in place of his-- and the soldiers were all too happy to deliver the traitor into her waiting hands. “Don’t go anywhere.” she told them without taking her eyes off Rumlow. “I had to ride a horse here and I didn’t enjoy it at all. I’ll be requiring a ride in the carriage back to the inn.” “My Lady Romanova.” one of the soldiers murmured respectfully and pulled his partner back a considerable distance. Neither wanted to be close when the Widow exacted her revenge. “Brock Rumlow.” She said flatly and Brock started talking, rambling, panicking-- “Natalia. I swear, I swear I didn’t tell them where you lived. I tried to convince them to leave you alone, I thought they’d go after James, not after you, not after the children, I swear--” “Shut up.” Natalia ordered, and Rumlow shut up, watching with wide eyes as Natalia opened the bottle in her hands and tossed the cork away. “You have ruined my life, Rumlow.” The former soldier flinched when Natalia tipped the bottle over and poured it onto his head, the too sharp scent of kerosene stinging his nose as it ran down his face. The liquid trickled down his neck and soaked into his jacket, dripped down his sleeves and landed in blots around his bent knees and Brock closed his eyes as fear climbed up his throat and strangled him to silence. Surely she wouldn’t-- “This is for the soldiers you killed with your greed, the families you ruined because you are a coward and a traitor and sent them willingly into a fight they could not win.” Natalia shook the empty bottle and then broke it on the rocks where Rumlow was kneeling, wiping her hands very carefully on a rag before tossing that at him as well. “This is for my family.” Natalia took a cigarette from her coat and lit it with steady fingers, pulling deep at the cloves and tobacco and exhaling into the frigid air. “For my children the twins, for Antonio, for my brother your komandir and for the men I loved.” “Because we have been through far too much and you didn’t so much as hesitate before striking at our heart.” Another slow inhale, those sharp eyes never leaving Rumlow’s face. “Because James trusted you with his life, he trusted you with my life, and you betrayed us both. You betrayed us all.” “You have taken everything from me.” Natalia was whispering now, her throat working as she swallowed. “And I cannot imagine a death that is as cruel as you deserve. Letting you rot in a Sokovian prison is too merciful because you should not be allowed to breathe that long, but putting a bullet through your head is too painless because you should have to hurt longer than that.”

"You should have to hurt like I'm going to hurt, every day, for the rest of my life." “Natalia--” Rumlow whispered. “Mercy--I never meant for it to go this far. I only meant for James-- we all wanted this war to end and I thought if James was out of the way--"

The Widow narrowed her eyes and Brock faltered. "My--my Lady. Mercy. Please." “I do not know that word.” Natalia said coldly. “It burned away with the last pieces of my home, and now you will burn too.” “Natalia--!” “This is for my family.” Natalia said again, lighting another match and holding it out for Rumlow to see. “And it is still not enough.”

************* Rumlow screams echoed across the empty valley for a long time, longer than it seemed possible for a man to burn, long enough that even the two other soldiers turned away and closed their eyes, long enough that Natalia finished her cigarette and lit another, watching the man melt away without expression, without emotion, without a single care. And when it was over, Natalia tethered her horse to the back of the carriage and climbed inside, telling the driver, “Take me to the city.” and sitting back to not say another word. It was well past dinner before the carriage arrived at the train station, and Tony looked up with dull eyes and a haggard expression when Natalia finally entered the rail car that was meant to carry them away. “I didn’t think you were going to come.” He admitted, a bone deep weariness dragging the words, two weeks of grief and pain and loneliness rendering his voice flat, emotionless. “I had one last thing to finish.” Natalia sat herself across from Tony, pulling her collar up around her neck. “But I’m ready to go now.” “Do you want one last look?” Tony asked and Natalia’s full lips lifted in a dim approximation of a smile. "Want to say good bye?" “Good bye to what? This wretched place has taken everything from me. I never want to see it again.”

"Yeah." Tony swallowed and sat back in his seat. "Yeah, I understand." The train pulled from the station and headed West, taking the tattered pieces of their family along with it. Tony, traveling the same tracks he’d come along a year previous, back when he thought his heart was as broken as it could ever be. Natalia, with her gaze set resolutely on the floor so she wouldn’t see Sokovia disappearing behind them, one hand resting on the curve of her stomach hidden beneath her heavy coat. And in the very back of the car, Wanda sat at Pietro’s bedside and held his burned, bandaged fingers in her own, reading out loud from her novel in hopes that the words would reach Pietro, would encourage him to open his one good eye, would bring any sort of response from her twin because Wanda didn’t know what she would do if she lost him too. Natalia didn’t cry as the sun set on everything that had been her life, and Tony only put a hand to his heart when the last of the Sokovian peaks disappeared as night caught up with the train and plunged it into darkness. “Shadows and winter.” Natalia whispered and Tony closed his eyes so he wouldn't rage over the unfairness of it all. “My life is nothing more than shadows and winter.”

***********

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

************

@bethy-sue @shipeveryonetogether @shadowrayven @hausoffro @thereaderandwriterwithin @zerokrox-blog @zuretha-metal @tstilcr @larissaloki @blackhearted @itsallyd @megahuffledor @tabziecat @ceealaina @cwar1864 @pidgist @yukina64 @multishippinglife @susana0 @paranormalmoonlight5 @girlnic @vgurl18 @sw3etpotat0 @jade-taillia @glitternotgold73 @atomicfandombomb

#ncts fics #winteriron

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diveronarpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, KIERSTEN! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLEOPATRA with an approved FC change to Anais Mali. Admin Rogue: More than anything, Calina is one of the characters I've been most excited to see brought back to us, and I couldn't be more thrilled that you've captured her so well! Calina's such a balance between warmth and cunning, between drive and connection, and you really drove home her humanity. Her intelligence and fortitude clash so well with her loneliness in this way that really sang to my heart throughout your application, and the para sample blew me away. I love her with every ounce of my being, and I know just from reading this that you'll go beyond the distance and reach new heights with our lovely new Queen. We cannot wait to see what you have in store! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Kiersten

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers

Activity Level | I’ve never written a day before in my life…haha…unless…? (see here: https://catherinedaly.tumblr.com/ and https://isabellagagliano.tumblr.com/ :* ) Also, school is about to let out so I’m going to have so much free time that y’all will wish I had something else to do, or somewhere else to be.

Timezone | EST

In Character

Character | Calina Sokolova – Cleopatra → With a face claim change to Anais Mali, please? uwu

CALINA

origin: Greek

meaning: beautiful, lovely; the moon

SOKOLOVA

origin: Russian

meaning: falcon; hawk

CLEOPATRA

origin: Greek

Meaning: glory of the father

What drew you to this character? | Well, it’s no secret that I’ve been dying to complete The Trifecta ™but I think I even surprised myself when I turned my attention to Calina. It’s been so long since the mesmerizing Cleopatra took the stage and, with each passing day, I find that I miss her more and more. She’s startlingly different from both my Catherine and Isabella. Both Isa and Cat are led by their heart, but Calina is decidedly not; she’s terribly bright and practical—a diamond in the rough that’s not yet been fully excavated… But, could Verona handle the savant in her unfettered brilliance and whip-quick wit? Is the city prepared to kneel out of their own volition, rather than being so savagely forced? This girl turned woman turned phoenix has been scorned one time too many and she deserves to assert herself as an entity far greater than just being Faron’s loyal shadow. I’m eager to give her what’s due, and more!

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

I WILL NOT BE TRIUMPHED OVER: He picked her to be a general, and a general she will be; the King may have fallen, but the Queen is more than capable of continuing the legacy. Calina, of all people, knows that the Vasiliev man would roll over in his grave to know if she even considered so-easily conceding to the Veronesi and their brutally unforgiving ways. I would love to get the chance to explore the Sokolova woman PICKING UP WHERE FARON LEFT OFF. His roots in Russia run deep and wide, still viable even though he no longer lives. I like to think that Calina inherited his network, considering she was his right hand. However, such power holds great responsibility—and danger. The late Vasiliev’s connections were no secret to Damiano and his group, which places her in a precarious position: to work at intertwining her newly inherited network with the Montagues or keeping it tucked against her chest. After all, they took from her, so why would she give anything?

TURN YOUR WOUNDS INTO WISDOM: Her heart is a fickle thing that’s not yet stopped its beating–even with all that she’s lost–and now she’s looking for something that cannot be so easily taken from her. Alexander Rallis seems to have cemented himself firmly within Montague ranks and while this is what initially drew Calina to him, it’s not what makes her stay; she’s a wraith looking for a soul to tie herself to, and he’s her best bet. But, the Sokolova woman isn’t taking her heart into account when she decides to interact with him more. What started as a tactical attempt to grow closer to Alexander for the sake of learning what it takes to be the Montague consigliere has become somewhat muddled, at least on her end.

Calina knows desire like the back of her hand; she knows lust intimately, but is damningly inexperienced with feelings and how quickly they can strike. What she feels towards Alexander is an uncomfortable mix of a girlish crush and well-tamed, heady desire (though she’ll vehemently deny any feelings of affection for the man of war). I’d love to EXPLORE THE DYNAMIC BETWEEN ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA (bonus points if he somehow finds out her words were ingenuine, at first) and how far she’s willing to go in terms of her own ascension within Montague ranks. But for now, for Alex, she’ll string her words together in the most beautiful of sentences; she’ll even drench them in his decadent gold, if it will coax the great Antony from his armor long enough so that she may come to understand what lies underneath; she’s vying for his mind, but not prepared for what else (his heart, perhaps?) might come.

I AM NO BIRD AND NO NET ENSNARES ME: Mona Chen, the Keeper of Sparrows, is her target; The Dark Lady is a fine price to tuck in one’s pocket. Damiano made his desires clear when he assigned the Sokolova woman to lure Mona from her Capulet-leaning ways into ways that better align with Montague ideologies, and Calina refuses to fail. I’m excited about CALINA RELYING ON HER PAST TO ASSIST HER while she tries to court Mona for the sake of the Montagues. She’s done well enough to stifle her memories of her time within halls of debauchery, but they’ll soon become her greatest asset–a sharp contrast to her belief that they were her Achilles’ Heel. How far is Calina willing to go to pull The Dark Lady to the Montagues’ side? She’s no stranger to using her body to get what she wants and she sees the way Mona watches her–closely, as though she’s waiting for the woman from Russia to slip up and return to her roots. If Mona thinks she’ll be able to make a Sparrow out of Calina, so be it; what the owner of The Dark Lady doesn’t know–that Calina refuses to return to that lifestyle–won’t hurt her. If white lies and gilded interest are what it takes to bridge the gap between Damiano and Mona, so be it.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Only if it’ll cause the maximum amount of pain possible.

In Depth

In-Character:

PARA SAMPLE–

They don’t give him a funeral. They barely acknowledge the vacancy he’s left behind, the lives upended by his untimely departure–both here, and in Russia. Calina’s not surprised by this, not at all; hosting a funeral for a man murdered by someone supposedly on the same side as he was would be… Tricky, to say the least. And in not giving Faron Vasiliev the proper burial he deserved, the unspoken message is clear: all that glitters is not always golden.

In the days after Faron’s demise, Calina is reminded of a cruel lesson she was remiss to keep in the forefront of her mind: everyone–no matter how highly they’re thought of, no matter what they bring to the table–can be replaced. Measure for Measure is gifted to Matthias before Vasiliev’s body coldens; her loyalty, too, is transferred to Damiano, the hefty price Faron paid to free her from her contract in Russia symbolically falling on the shoulders of the Montague king. She knows better than to bite at the hand that feeds her, so she remains stoic in the presence of those of whom haven’t earned her trust–an amount that, when totaled, can be counted on one hand and one hand alone.

Calina sighs into the darkness of her room, into the lush bedding that surrounds her body. She collects her scrambled thoughts as neatly as she can; she gathers those too-raw and fragmented memories that can’t have her attention–not now, maybe not ever–and and shoves them to the back of her mind, bringing others to the forefront so that she may concoct a plan to ensure her safety here in Verona–here, permanently, as she’ll be damned before she ever calls Russia ‘home’ again.

First and foremost, the Sokolova woman is acutely aware of the target on her back, no matter how curious Damiano may be about her silver tongue and whip-quick mind. The interest of the Montague can quickly wane; the lavish lifestyle she’s come to familiarize herself with can be snatched away without so much as a passing glance. Her attachment isn’t to the items, but rather to the intoxicating feeling of security–to knowing she’ll have a home, to knowing she’ll not have to worry about where her next meal will come from–and she’s not willing to lose it without giving it her all.

Secondly, she needs allies. In a game of chess, the Queen is the most valuable piece on the board and Calina knows, though no one can see, that there’s a crown atop those wily curls of hers and she won’t let it fall. She’ll gather people like pawns, find a niche for herself in Damiano’s kingdom and create a buffer. The people sing of Antony’s accolades, of Gertrude’s steadfastness in the middle of disasters and more, but it’s time they’ve learned a new song: a song of Cleopatra, the woman who didn’t cut others at the knee, but rather coaxed them to kneeling out of their own volition.

Last, she knows that she must now work twice as hard to take what’s hers; she’s come to terms with taking three steps forward followed by two steps back. The newly-inherited title of emissary suits her far better than soldier, but not nearly as well as advisor. To say that she’s not become comfortable with the power Faron was wise enough to imbue her with would be a lie; the Sokolova woman relished the way he saw her as an equal, and she wants that same attention still, even though he’s gone. But, good things take time and she’s got plenty of it.

The King is dead; may God save the Queen.

She’ll not give them a chance to not give her a funeral, too.

INTERVIEW–

What does your typical day look like?

“I wake as early as my body will allow,” the Sokolova woman says, “which is earlier than some, but not others. I’ve broken my habit of favoring the night—thankfully.” It’s a lie, of course; her affinity for night and its darkness have been seared into the very marrows of her bones, what with her past as Madame’s precious драгоценный камень bleeding over to her present and eagerly waiting to devour her future. “Bast is a spoiled little thing; as soon as I wake up, she’s kneading at my side or sitting on my chest until I get up and feed her. In a way, she’s akin to an alarm clock.” A fond smile graces her visage at the thought of her Russian Blue–a gift from the Zaitsevs, longtime clients of hers and Faron’s that took note of the way she tended to their feline and his desire for her lithe fingers to stroke his silky silver fur while maintaining her focus and wit on the matters at hand. “I feed her, and then I have a cup of збитень while perusing Il Giornale. On my way to work, I might pick up a pastry from one of the bakeries I pass.“

Moments of peace before she slips into her role as Montague emissary and client charmer. But, of course, this little journalist need not know of her underground dealings.

Rather, Calina gives him what he wants–something palatable; something honest; something that piques his interest enough to get him to write it down, but not enough to ask more. “Once I leave my darling for the day, I typically don’t make it back until the evening. I spend my time working remotely in The Capital Library as often as I can. Offices are too stuffy for my liking. I’d rather be surrounded by thousands of books filled with rich history while crafting communication strategies for my clients.”

Where is your favorite place in Verona?

The answer that first comes to mind is bittersweet and far too personal: her favorite place in Verona is—was—Faron’s home—untouched and uninhabited since his demise. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, much like the сельдь с луком that her late mother was so fond of. The memories are nothing but quick flashes, though she can feel the goosebumps rising on her skin; she can feel Faron’s phantom touch along the small of her back, and can hear Alyona’s honey-drenched laugh as she playfully turned the hose from her azaleas to her gleeful daughter. But, Calina knows herself and she knows herself well; she’s far too proud to falter, especially in the face of a nosy reporter. So, she does what she does best: she chains the memories and thoughts before they have a chance to run wild; she shackles them together—two pieces of her irreparably-broken heart—and shoves them into a dark corner of her mind that’ll be ignored until something else taunts the perpetually-grieving beast that resides in her chest.

The journalist prompts again, curiosity evident in the slight furrow of his brows and in the way he doesn’t allow her to mull over her answer, to pull palatable words from her arsenal of languages. The Sokolova woman notes his softly spoken impatience, adding it to her list of observations—that he’s recently had coffee, the familiar scent of the drink lingering between them; that he’s not as seasoned as other journalists she’s come across, as he’s more concerned with what she says rather than what she doesn’t or won’t say; and that he’s not as subtle as he’d like to think, with his blue eyes that graze her frame in more instances than just one.

“Verona is such a beautiful city,” Calina muses at last, warmth coloring her words as though she’s speaking of a dear friend. “But, caro mio, if you must make me choose—“ a gusty, nearly dramatic sigh billows from her lacquered lips “—Lamberti Tower. There’s nothing quite like reaching the top and looking at the breathtaking scenery below.” A well-manicured finger twists at her brown curls. “Should you find yourself there, I highly recommend The Hathaway.” It’s sinful–how delicious and dangerous the drink is. “But, be careful—it’s practically impossible to just have one.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Were she a less professional woman, she’d have laughed in his face. She’d have parroted his question back at him, incredulity coloring her words and displeasure marring her now-placid expression. Calina Sokolova, making mistakes? No, she is far too meticulous, far too critical; she scours over every word, every shift in body language or facial expression, cataloguing it all in her mind so that she may act appropriately. Years spent morphing herself into whatever her clients wanted—a simpering coquette, a lustful breath against the shell of an ear, a body meant to be used and discarded soon after—have served her well.

Women like Calina don’t make mistakes. Calina doesn’t make mistakes. She cannot afford to do so.

“Oh, дорогая,” the woman says at last, a hint of mischief glinting in her dark hues as she leans back in her plush chair, “would you believe me if I said I’ve not yet made one?”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? (tw: allusion to terminal illness)

The Sokolova woman’s most difficult request was something that wasn’t asked at all. It wasn’t something she could stop or something she could pass to somebody else. No, the most difficult task for the princess of the dark alley was commanded. Not even she, freshly-graduated from Novobisrov State University and armed with the knowledge of old and new, could disobey the order… All she could do was helplessly watch.

The decline was cruelly slow, seemingly stretching time just far enough for her to take a second to hope. It’s both a blessing and a curse, that fickle thing called time. It gives as easily as it takes, tricking you into thinking there’s a chance when it’s only prolonging the inevitable. Может быть, мы уедем из России - найди другого доктора в другом месте, a frustrated Calina suggested long ago, her pride rearing its ugly head deep in her chest. Her mother couldn’t die. She forbade it…

…And in the end, it didn’t matter.

Her protests fell upon deaf ears, as did her pleas. Her prayers remained so damningly unanswered that she couldn’t help but blame herself for halfhearted attempts, so she only prayed more—desperately, angrily, fearfully. Calina bruised her knees with how often she fell to them in the name of the Redeemer–to a God her mother held so much faith in, to a God she once believed existed. When left motherless, possessionless, and poor, she only further dug her heels in, deciding that she’d never be made a fool in the face of time again. She sells her body, the notion of kneeling for less-than-holy reasons no longer distasteful, for at least it—unlike the time she wasted praying—yielded results. It paid for her rent, her food, her existence.

“My mother once told me it’s ill-advised to say you’ve already experienced the worst of things,” she murmurs. “She said it tempted Fate and angered it so that it didn’t rest until it outdid what you thought was the most terrible of all.” Alyona Sokolova never said it, the light in her eyes snuffed out before she ever got the chance. Calina likes to believe she would have, had the illness not first taken her mind. Clearing her throat and finding her voice once more, the emissary tacks on, “And mother knows best, да?”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

A soft and disapproving hmmph comes first, and it is punctuated by an unimpressed response: “It’s brutish–the whole idea of it.” Wars fought for the sole purpose of destruction did nothing for either side; a pity, truly, but she expects nothing less from the crowned men that perpetuate its continuance. Both Cosimo and Damiano are bullheaded, though she does give them some credit; they’ve both picked women to be their Underbosses—women who know that cold calculation will always prevail over hot tempers and wounded prides.

Calina continues, “Ask any Veronesi why the two families feud and you’ll hear dozens of stories, each a bit different from its predecessor.” It’s one of the things she loves and detests about language—how malleable words are, how easily they diffuse as they’re passed from person to person. Calina tucks a loose curl behind her ear, golden ring glinting against the afternoon sun that shines through opened curtains. She pauses thoughtfully as though she’s considering an idea she’s not yet had, head canting just slightly before she venturing, “They’re going to run themselves and Verona ragged.” Fights can only last for so long. There’s nothing sustainable about war, nothing sustainable in pulling the downtrodden into the battles that they’ll never live to reap the benefits from.

Here, bodies are expendable; minds are not. Calina’s made sure to prove herself worthy of being grouped into the latter time and time again; her recent promotion within Montague ranks is only one of dozens of accolades she’s destined to earn. Spoken with the finality of a woman who has other matters to tend to, she closes with, “Adesso, corrispondente… Should you desire a more in-depth answer, ask them why they’re fighting. Ask them what the goal is.”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

EXTRAS:

MBTI: INTJ - The Architect + | independent, jane-of-all-trades, driven - | judgemental, blunt, secretive

ZODIAC: Virgo - 22 September + | logical, responsible, orderly - | critical, obsessive, perfectionist

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric + | ambitious, confident, practical - | uptight, impatient, uncomfortable around emotion

RICE PURITY TEST SCORE: 48

LOVE LANGUAGE(S): acts of service + physical touch

HEADCANONS:

In Novoborisk, Calina studied both history and linguistics (with a concentration in translation and translational studies). Before the tragedy of losing her mother, she planned on working as a professor while also researching ancient civilizations.

Alyona Sokolova stoked the burning desire to know in her precious daughter from her very first breath. Because of this, Calina is voraciously inquisitive; years of sharpening her mind and her tongue have created a well-spoken woman with undeniable charm.

Calina knows five languages, including her native language of Russian—English, French, Macedonian, and (most recently) Italian. She wants to learn more, should she ever get the opportunity.

She has a Russian Blue cat named Bast–a nod to Ancient Egypt and her dream to study civilizations of the past.

On her right hand, she wears a golden signet ring that she never takes off. It belonged to Faron—a ring he’d outgrown years ago but still kept as a reminder of his past. Now, it now belongs to her—a ring that fits perfectly on her right ring finger as a reminder of their pasts.

MOCK BLOG:

https://cleosokolova.tumblr.com/

PINTEREST BOARD:

https://www.pinterest.com/diaphcnous/calina-sokolova-the-savant/

#accepted #accepted: cleopatra

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teamhawkeye · 5 years

Text

Cross Road Blues

Fandom: FC5/FC3

Characters: Anna Bishop, Hoyt Volker, Sam Becker, Buck Hughes, Willis Huntley, Dennis Rogers, Citra Talugmai, Vaas Montenegro (mentioned only)

Pairing: None

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Canon-typical violence (can’t stress these two enough, it’s a Far Cry game fic), minor character death

Word Count: 9,530

Summary: Alone and on the brink, would you accept the hand extended to you when it belonged to sin incarnate? (A FC3 AU starring Anna L. Bishop)

________________________________________________________________

“‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'

'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.

'I don't much care where -' said Alice.

'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.

'- so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.

'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.’”

- Lewis Carroll, “Alice In Wonderland”

________________________________________________________________

The bottle in her hand was slammed down unceremoniously on the counter.

“Another.”

The barkeep barely even looked at her as he slid a fresh beer her way. Anna wasn’t all that drunk and she wasn’t bothering anyone, even with as unnecessarily loud and brusque as she was being. Badtown had far worse come through this dive daily – she was actually surprised she hadn’t seen the usual suspects come slinking in yet at noontime. Perhaps they all sensed her foul mood and kept some distance…a wise decision, she guessed, given how agitated she was and willing to look for any excuse to release some of her frustration.

She hadn’t made many friends since leaving the States, even less since arriving unceremoniously on the Rook Islands. So feeling essentially dumped by the two separate anchors she’d come to rely on – both in the span of a single month - had reduced her to day drinking as she did now, sitting sullenly and contemplating her future…or lack thereof.

Maybe that Vaas character was right…she’d hit the ground and no longer had a chance. She should have never jumped from that plane…

____________________________________________________

Anna’d been thinking for some time that she shouldn’t have left the United States. Her whole life, she’d never even seen the West or East Coast – there was so much territory left uncovered she could have explored.

But then Louis Draven had been paroled and common sense had gone out the window.

All her neighbors and family friends in Jackson County had beseeched her to go on vacation, to get away – however far away it may be - and find something else to occupy her mind. They’d all had the good sense to predict that if she remained, some other terrible thing might befall her…or she herself would go seeking trouble.

…they weren’t wrong to worry.

She’d sat for a few days in Chief Deputy Shaw’s living room, surrounded by relics of her past – of photos of her mother and father in their prime smiling down at her – and contemplated her future. Nothing seemed more alluring than seeking out Draven and confronting him; if there was ever a chance at closure for the deaths of her parents, it lay with him.

…but then again, he was the monster in her closet. The nightmare that had plagued her for years, that had completely upended and destroyed her life. A chance at seeing him face-to-face again left her trembling so violently she could scarcely even remember to breathe.

So she’d booked a last minute trip out of Bozeman to California and turned tail and fled.

And after a few days on the coast – finally getting to the see the ocean she’d spent her whole life dreaming about – she’d booked another trip to Thailand at the behest of the hotel concierge. And from Bangkok, she’d been talked into joining some new barcrawling acquaintances in a group skydiving venture over some secluded islands, far from prying eyes.

Every single bad decision – both past and present – led back to Draven. If he had just stayed rotting behind bars like he was supposed to, she would have never been besieged by pirates on that beach and dragged off to be thrown into a cage, readied for auction to the highest bidder. She would have never met Vaas, that psychopath who treaded a dangerous line between absolute insanity and startling clarity. She would have never had to have broken herself free and taken off into the jungle alone, pursued by armed guards, snarling dogs, and even a Black Hawk helicopter.

She might never have taken her first life as she had been forced to during that desperate escape to freedom.

“What do they say in America? ‘There is a first time for everything.’”

Dennis Rogers had told her that at their initial meeting in Amanaki Village. He’d been her first real ally, outside of the scatterbrained Dr. Earnhardt.

And the first person she’d mistakenly put her trust in.

The Rakyat seemed noble enough: they were a people fighting to preserve their home, their islands besieged by chaos and violence. They fought to survive…something she could relate to. And so she’d readily agreed to help them where she could, taking on Vaas’ pirates head on and fighting to reclaim some of their territory for them.

Dennis had promised her an eventual meeting with the Rakyat’s enigmatic leader Citra - the real power and figurehead on the northern islands. Anna wasn’t particularly convinced of the woman, just based on what she’d heard whispered about her; the Rakyat saw her as some sort of warrior goddess and Anna had long since run out of patience with stories of the divine…Still, if anyone would be able to help her return to the mainland and figure a way back home, she was the person who could.

There had been an eventual arranged introduction, after Anna had been escorted to Citra’s mysterious temple in the middle of the jungle; she’d been received with initial warmth in regards to her exploits in the name of the Rakyat, causing hope to blossom in her chest for the first time in weeks. However, the pleasantries had ended there when Citra had quickly made clear she didn’t see their working relationship panning out much further and summarily dismissed her.

“You possess great strength and courage – the makings of a true warrior…but you lack conviction.”

She might as well have just slapped her in the face: it would have left the same mark, the same brand. We appreciate what you have done for us but you will never be one of us, nor will we expend any effort to help you in your quest.

In spite of all the services she did in their name – all the lives she took, civilians she saved, outposts reclaimed – it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough, she quickly ascertained, even as Dennis tried to assure her otherwise.

“Citra sees the fire in you – but you must embrace it, not run from it.”

She’d seen him only two or three times more after that before being largely relegated to radio calls; now she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d even heard his voice. Those rejections smarted but she’d tried her best not to let it deter her. Especially not after several different sources in Amanaki whispered to her of people in Badtown who might be more willing to help an outsider such as herself. So she’d headed east and sought out the only other major center the northern islands housed…and almost immediately regretted her decision.

Filth lined the streets, with sick and drunken people either ambling about or sprawled out right in the open. Prostitutes were working every corner and there were probably more certifiably insane residents than there were sane ones. Her first minute in Badtown had Anna wondering if she wasn’t the victim of an incredibly malicious and unfunny joke: who on earth could be here that could possibly help her?

It wasn’t until the next day that she spotted him – the man in the white suit. Beyond his incredibly conspicuous choice of attire, he was one of the very few other Caucasians on the islands…picking him out of a crowd wouldn’t have been difficult.

She had the distinct feeling he knew she was coming into town and let himself be seen; he implied as much without outright saying it when they were alone together in his underground base. He was Willis Huntley, CIA. He was on an important op for the United States government, tracking the activities of one Hoyt Volker and the massive criminal enterprise he’d built on the islands over the years. Did she want to be a true patriot and serve her country, here and now?

Anna would have agreed to just about anything in that moment if it meant scoring a guaranteed ticket home; she’d practically tripped over herself to say yes as it was.

And so she had become an agent of Langley…or an accessory to an agent, as Willis had been quick to inform her. She was by no means truly CIA and her involvement would remain as a footnote in a file that would eventually be buried in the stacks of some warehouse in the future. Fortune and glory had never been what she’d aspired for so it hadn’t hurt her ego in the least – she’d merely taken to her missions with gusto, eager to press forward.

A few burned drug fields, rescue missions for transport manifests, and a few covert spying ops later, she was feeling more secure in her chances of heading home within the next month or so. The Rakyat were managing to hold the ground she had secured for them and were finally giving the pirates enough trouble that they were forced to seek assistance from their mysterious boss, leaving them in a precarious situation. There was only so much left to do on the islands, as far as Anna could tell, before the big guns would sweep in to finally put pressure on the man in charge and force his empire to crumble.

Only fitting, then, that she’d returned to Willis’ shack for further orders and been blindsided her with the news that he was leaving her behind. His operation in the Pacific was over and he was shipping off to Russia to start a new assignment, putting the Rook Islands behind him…never to return.

“What about me?” she’d demanded when she’d regained her tongue. “When do I get to go home?”

“Whenever you can find your own way off this rock,” had been his blunt response.

He’d turned and stared at her while she visibly tried – and failed - to process what she was hearing.

“Your country thanks you for your service…but there’s bigger fish to fry out in Moscow. Hope you have enough money saved to charter a boat, since that’s your best bet of getting back to the mainland.”

That had been all he’d had to say on the matter. He was too busy with packing up his gear to even put much note into how long she lingered, hoping he was joking or that he’d at least give her something more to work with. She’d finally had the sense to drag herself back up the stairs and out into the stagnant Badtown evening air, tail between her legs, when it was clear he was an even bigger asshole that she’d pegged him for at their very first meeting.

Anna’s feet had taken her straight to the bar on the other side of town to drown her misery and ponder her disastrous luck once more…

__________________________________________________________

And there she had remained ever since. She’d poked her head out every now and then to see if Willis would ever show his face again, but she had seen neither hide nor hair of him. It was probably better that way, she realized, as her hurt was replaced with potent rage and despair – she might have slugged him given the chance. Not only was she going to be left behind with no real shot at making it to the mainland for help, he’d effectively handed her a death sentence by having her do all his dirty work in his stead.

It wasn’t just the pirates and Vaas she had antagonized now – she’d kicked the hornet’s nest by attacking Hoyt Volker’s product and sabotaging a handful of his operations. There was no way she’d escape those actions unmarked…it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if there was already a bounty on her head or a hit squad off in search of her.

The Rakyat couldn’t protect her, even if they wanted to (which they didn’t…): they could barely protect themselves. And Willis had effectively wiped his hands of her as he prepared to abscond north and head to his latest assignment. She was back to being on her own in these foreign lands, armed with only her wits and strength to keep her safe...

So, she was thoroughly fucked.

Knocking back another full swig of beer, she grimaced to herself at its strong ethanol kick. Maybe she’d head back to Dr. Earnhardt’s place for a spell while she sorted things out. She knew he’d never turn her away or turn her in: he seemed to have imprinted on her quite a bit. It didn’t take being called “Agnes” one too many times or finding old photographs of his daughter lying around to know she was filling some sort of void for him. She understood the pain of losing family but she wasn’t looking for a father figure…and the affection he doted on her left her feeling uncomfortable. Not because he was overstepping any boundaries – he was a very kind and respectful, albeit strange, man. His warmth simply left her with a painful yearning in her heart for something she’d been missing for so long...

It had made her visits to see him briefer and less frequent as her time on the islands progressed…but maybe this was the universe giving her a sign it was time to return for a lengthier stay. She’d spent time there undisturbed by the doctor’s usual pirate clientele in the past, meaning they hadn’t ever noticed or been clued into her presence. Perhaps there could be a way for her to stay there with Earnhardt and work on getting-

“Anna Bishop.”

It wasn’t a question; she took her time acknowledging, taking a swig from her drink and rolling it over her tongue before finally taking a glance over her shoulder. The men behind her were not what she had expected to see – not at all. They were well equipped - both in Kevlar vests and packing assault rifles – and clearly disciplined based off their rigid stances as they stood waiting at attention. Looking all the part of a PMC…and very much out of place in the shithole they all found themselves in.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded finally, expression trained blank even as she knew just who they worked for and why they were here.

“Mr. Volker wishes to speak with you. Please come with us,” the man on the left stated.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly and Anna was suddenly aware of how much of a pariah she’d just been branded; the eyes of the other patrons had all turned towards her, making her feel unspeakably hot under the weight of their stares. Trying not to focus on how her stomach had plummeted at the namedrop, she kept her gaze steady as she looked on as unimpressed as she could manage.

“And if I refuse?” she tested.

Neither man reacted to her bluff, still staring at her unflinchingly.

“We must insist,” the first man said simply.

She briefly weighed her options. Running seemed laughable, almost as much as making a stand did. Her eyes had taken in how trigger ready their fingers were resting on their weapons and knew they’d drop her before she even had time to reach for the pistol tucked into the waistband of her shorts. There was no one to recruit in helping her out around here – most of the locals were petrified of the pirates…and judging by their reactions to the appearance of these soldiers, even more terrified of the man who ranked above Vaas.

Turning back to face the bar, she briefly made eye contact with the bartender; his apprehension was so palpable she could practically taste his fear in the air. With a sigh, she knocked her drink back and set the bottle down with a loud clatter, pushing herself tiredly off her stool. The man on the right extended a hand out towards her; she stared at it wearily for a moment before fishing her pistol out of her waistband and placing it in his grasp.

As it slipped from her fingers, she had to work to control the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat, feeling as if the walls were suddenly closing in on her even as she was led outside and underneath nothing more than the burning glare of the Pacific sun.

__________________________________________________________

They’d chauffeured her straight to a helicopter waiting on the beach. And not some cheap passenger bird – a Black Hawk by the looks of it. She’d never been in a chopper before…hadn’t been in a plane until she left the States however long ago that was now, she couldn’t quite be sure…

It was better than being in cramped economy class, she supposed; but it was hard to feel anything other than anxiety as they crossed the sea and headed for the southern islands. There was a knot in her stomach that only grew tighter with each passing minute, amplified each time her eyes left the water below and back to her traveling companions. They were at ease, but she could see their fingers close to their triggers and knew that if she tried to pull anything before they landed, they’d riddle her with lead and dump her body in the ocean without care.

There was far less jungle on the southern isles – and far less natives. From the height they were cruising, there was nary a village or outpost unoccupied by privateers in sight. She’d heard Hoyt took issue with the locals and Rakyat but the legitimacy of such a claim became abundantly clear on his home turf. Even without setting a single foot on the ground, she could tell they ran a tighter ship over here…one she would not be able to bail from so easily.

She was starting to realize the knot in her stomach was a warning of perhaps more than just the end of this journey…

The massive concrete walls in the distance had to be their destination – it didn’t take a genius to figure out that was Hoyt Volker’s HQ. The compound was really more of a fortress: beyond the giant walls, all topped with barbed wire, there were checkpoints and armed guards at every single point of entry. There were soldiers wandering the street and sentries outside ever building on the premise, placing eyes and ears in just about every corner. Anna took in the sight of all of the security measures – all of the armed men prepared to rain fire upon their employer’s enemies - and felt something akin to acceptance settle into her chest, easing some of the sickness in her stomach…

The chopper had barely set down just outside the sprawling complex before the soldiers at her side were grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back out under the sun. It surprised her they’d been so benign up until now – being in sight of their boss and peers must have fueled their aggression and she knew better than to resist now. They paraded her through the streets, drawing every pair of eyes onto her as she struggled to match their pace. She was taken into the largest building at the heart of the compound and straight for the staircase at its center; it was all she could do to keep herself from stumbling on any of the steps, trying as hard as possible to maintain whatever dignity she had left even as her heart thundered in her chest with terror.

They marched her through a pair of large, opened doors and into a sprawling office space overlooking the front courtyard and the river beyond the perimeter wall. The large leather armchair behind the desk was occupied but turned away and facing the large windows as Anna was dragged before it by her escorts.

“Anna Bishop for you, sir,” the man on her left announced simply.

Anna had only seen Hoyt Volker twice before now, both times at a distance. He wasn’t physically imposing, in the sense that he was very lean and lithe…but he had an aura of absolute menace that made all the hair on the back of her arms and neck stand on end as he turned in his chair to face them. The man took in the sight of her with a smile, looking remarkably pleased to see her.

“Ah, there you are! So good of you to accept my invitation to meet.”

Had her courage not abandoned her long before her arrival here, she might have leapt on that statement with a scathing retort. Instead, she could only hold her silence and try to keep her gaze steady as he gave her a thorough onceover. Finally, he made a dismissive gesture with his hands she quickly realized was not meant for her.

“Leave us.”

The soldiers released her and turned without another word; she fought the urge to rub the skin on her arms where their fingers had dug in, merely watching as they filed back out the way they came, shutting the doors noisily behind them.

Leaving Hoyt and her finally alone…

There was an unbearable silence that reined between them for several moments that left Anna feeling dizzy with apprehension as she turned back to face him, taking in the way he was gazing at her. Finally, he gave her a smile and gestured towards the chair across from him.

“Come. Sit.”

She didn’t want to – her base instinct of digging in her heels was replaced by the overwhelming urge to turn tail and flee. But she made herself walk slowly towards the offered seat and planted herself in it, trying to look braver than she felt.

Hoyt had an unwavering stare that made her feel smaller than she already was. Still, she forced herself to meet his gaze head on, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest she swore he could hear it. The silence was unnerving and she had a feeling he was letting it drag on longer than necessary to rattle her cage.

“You’re a difficult woman to get ahold of,” he said finally, looking amused. “There’s only so many…civilized places on these islands. And you seem to make very few appearances in them.”

He already knew she had been doing that on purpose – staying disconnected from his network of spies and informants who might lay eyes on her – so she didn’t bother with a redundant answer.

“Self-reliant. I like that,” he admitted. “There’s only one person you can truly rely on in this world to take care of you…and that is yourself.”

A lesson she’d long since learned; still, to hear it from him, made her already queasy stomach feel worse. It made her realize that somewhere in his past, there was a connection to her own…neglect, abuse, betrayal…

“Do you smoke?” he asked suddenly.

She swallowed thickly as she tried to regain her capacity for speech.

“On occasion,” she managed to force out, softer than intended.

Her eyes watched his hands as he reached into his desk and brought forth a box of cigars; he hadn’t asked what she smoked and she had to wonder if he knew that she’d only had cigars since arriving on the islands. She reached forward hesitantly as he offered one to her, careful not to let their fingers touch.

There was only a moment to sit awkwardly with the unlit stogie in her grasp before Hoyt produced struck a match and held it out to her. The only way to accept was to lean forward across the table towards him, forcing her eyes to leave him for the first time since entering the office. When she finally drew back and brought her gaze quickly back to him, she found his eyes had never left her, still watching her every move.

Hoyt’s eyes were a curious shade of green that could almost be described as pretty…if there wasn’t such sinister intent behind them. Just as she was starting to feel herself start to sweat under the weight of his stare, he turned his eyes from her and down to his desk. She watched as he flipped open the small booklet before him and took in the familiar sight of her portrait in its corner.

“Anna L. Bishop. Born 27 November 1993…only 18,” he stated, looking between her passport and her face.

She tried not to squirm under his roving eyes, finally taking a drag from her cigar to help steady her nerves.

“You look it,” he acknowledged after a moment. “But after all the trouble you’ve caused, I’d have thought you were at least mid-20s. And trained by the military…or police…”

He reached for something else that immediately caught her eye, her heart stopping at the familiar glint of gold between his fingers. She watched him brandish the badge, her eyes glued to it, as he stared her down.

“A tad young to be sheriff,” he surmised correctly.

“…it was my father’s,” she managed to force out eventually.

“Ah. Dear old dad…won’t be missing this, will he?”

“Probably not. He’s been dead for years.”

“Hmm. And mummy?”

“Same for her.”

There was a momentary beat of silence where she forced her eyes towards the cigar smoking between her fingers, frantically working to recompose herself. Hoyt discarded the badge carelessly back onto the surface of his desk and it took all of her strength not to let herself look at it again, taking another puff from her stogie instead to ease her frayed nerves.

“You’re not military, you’re not police…”

His gaze was unrelenting as he pinned her to the spot.

“So how is it that you’re running around out there making professionals look like a bunch of fucking children in a sandbox?”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, thinking over her response carefully. In the end, when she finally returned his stare, she chose honesty.

“It’s me or them. I’m just out there doing what it takes to survive.”

Hoyt scoffed, laughing lightly beneath his breath.

“Survival would be hiding beneath some rock and avoiding attracting any attention to yourself. Instead you’re leading raids on Vaas’ men, burning down fields and blowing up weapons caches.”

He wasn’t wrong but she held her tongue and watched as he visibly weighed his next choice of words.

“I’m not bothered by you fighting your way to freedom. Or the men you killed, or the trouble you’ve been giving my boy Vaas,” he said finally.

This is the calm before the storm, she realized suddenly.

“What I can’t have is you destroying my product, my property!”

Her heart was racing even as she tried not to give a reaction to his shout; still, when his hand had swung down towards the desk’s surface, she’d flinched, unable to stop herself from closing her eyes in preparation for a hit that never came. She only gave herself a moment or two to steady her breathing before forcing her gaze back on him, taking in his scorching glare as evenly as she could.

Several seconds passed before he finally leaned back into his chair, his gaze softening ever so slightly as she brought the cigar back to her lips and took another puff.

“Fortunately for you, the pirates you killed in that last little stunt were all stealing from me.”

How convenient.

Still, she could hardly believe anyone would be ballsy enough to try and rip off Hoyt Volker. She understood those who crossed him seldom lived to tell the tale - had observed as much back at Beras Town when he’d forced those people through the minefield for taking his transport manifest.

Then again, until recently, she had been actively undermining all his operations with gusto…perhaps being far removed from the man and his presence gave an inflated sense of confidence. Sitting before him, as she did now, was an entirely different thing altogether: she couldn’t imagine taking him head on anymore.

“The plan was always to burn the cut they intended to sell and then be rid of them…You did me a favor handling that all in one go. So, I’m going to cut you a break.”

The look she sent him must have spelled out her disbelief as he spread out his arms as if to wave away her suspicions.

“Clean slate. Back at square one.”

“Square one,” she repeated hollowly.

Her mind placed her back to that night in the cage, before she’d broken free and ran from an armed pursuit into the jungle. She knew from the start they were going to sell all their captives off - the pirates’ chatter had left her with no doubts about that, long before Vaas had dangled the impending danger in front of her. First they ransomed off their prey…only to then auction them off to the highest bidder anyway.

If Hoyt still meant to make a buck off her…

“It’s just me…,” she spoke up finally, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t have any money to pay a ransom. I...”

A lump formed in her throat voicing that last statement and she quickly swallowed around it, working hard not to crack. She’d run out of tears a long time ago – she’d be damned to have that change now in front of Hoyt of all people.

“Negotiations generally go better if you don’t play all your cards at once,” he advised with a hint of amusement.

Probably true. Still…

“We’re a bit beyond bullshitting each other at this point,” she stated plainly. “I know when to fold a bad hand.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle at such a statement but she wasn’t sure what it was that he latched onto; she could only watch as he rose from his chair and circled the desk to come stand before her. As he loomed over her, she could barely keep herself from shaking, even as he reached out and grasped her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward. Hoyt’s eyes seemed to bore into hers and it was all she could do keep from shutting hers tightly to escape from some of his intensity.

“Such a rare thing, eyes like that,” he noted. “Plenty would pay a fortune for a pretty girl with different colored eyes.”

Her heart lurched in her chest but she held his gaze, letting her gaze harden to steel. Terrified as she may be, anyone trying to buy her would be met with resistance. She was a fighter, through and through, and would be damned if she didn’t go down without a fight…

“If I were to sell you,” he continued, finally letting her face slip from his fingers. “But I don’t want to do that.”

The look she gave him conveyed her disbelief; his hands rose in a gesture of good faith.

“Really I don’t. You fought hard for your freedom. And I’m inclined to give it to you…”

She watched him warily as he leaned back on the desk behind him, regarding her with a suddenly neutral expression.

What’s the chance he actually intends to let me walk outta here?

Slim to none, she wagered. In spite of his assertion of a “clean slate”, she didn’t see him allowing her to skip town after everything she had done. After everything she had seen. The drugs, the smuggling, the kidnappings and the murders she had witnessed in her short time here must only scratch the surface of all the dark deeds being undertaken on the Rook Islands.

She wouldn’t have the first clue who to approach back on the mainland, but her testimony could surely get something in the works…couldn’t it? Hoyt had to know that – he was already 5 steps ahead of her, it seemed, and knew the danger she presented left to her own devices. No, she didn’t see herself getting to leave this all behind…she could only see this ending one way…

“Work for me, kid.”

Nothing could have prepared her for a job offer – not when she was readying herself for death instead. Anna could only blink, unable to keep the shock from her face as she stared up at him in disbelief.

“You’re young, talented…a bit green, but you show real promise,” he said casually, making the situation seem all the more absurd.

He circled back around the desk and sat himself back down in his armchair; she watched as he produced another cigar from his box and lit it for himself, taking his time savoring the initial drag before addressing her again.

“You’ll be compensated accordingly…a roof over your head, real food, neither of which I know you were getting in those savage towns or the jungle.”

…that was all certainly enticing, she wouldn’t lie. Starvation and restless nights weren’t unfamiliar to her but it still wasn’t wonderful to be experiencing them once more. The promise of a decent bed and square meals certainly had her thinking it over…

“And - best of all - you get to keep doing what you do best. Only in my name now; you go where I tell you to go, and you shoot who I tell you to shoot,” he told her, gesturing with his cigar animatedly.

Anna swallowed thickly, feeling the saliva in her mouth turn acrid at his words. It had…troubled her, to say the least, at just how easily she’d taken to killing. After that first pirate in her escape from Vaas’ camp, it had become almost second nature: she barely even blinked when taking a life anymore. She hadn’t been lying to Hoyt minutes prior when she chalked it all up to survival…but perhaps it went a bit beyond that.

Hoyt, at the very least, seemed to understand that. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t be casting this pitch here and now. He thought she belonged among his ranks…working in the service of a slaver and drug lord. She hadn’t forgotten what he was or how he made his money; all his praise and honeyed words couldn’t take that knowledge from her…

He must have read the indecision on her face, given how pensive he seemed from a moment prior.

“But I understand this is big commitment, and one not taken on lightly. So…name your price.”

Anna stared at him, not quite comprehending.

“What do you mean?” she finally dared to ask.

“Anything you want…within reason,” he amended after a moment, taking a puff from his cigar. “Name it and its yours.”

What could she possibly want from him – what could he possibly give her? Her eyes darted to the far corner of the desk and the shiny gold star winking at her from it.

“I want that back,” she said quickly, gesturing for the badge.

He placed it down on the desk before her and she had to force herself not to snatch it up in the same moment. Having it back in her grasp lifted an enormous weight off her shoulders, letting her breathe normally for the first time in weeks. Her thumb slid over the shield, following the smooth trail she’d worn meticulously over the years and felt the familiar comfort and strength it lent her seep into her chest. She only allowed herself a few strokes before burying it deep in the pocket of her shorts, far from Hoyt’s prying eyes, still watching her every move.

“I was going to offer that back to you anyway,” he told her simply, leaning forward once more. “It’s meaningless to me – and probably just about everyone else. So, as a gesture of good faith, name something else.”

Anna could only stare at him, seeing how he waited in anticipation for a response and realized he was being sincere. What else could she ask for? Not her freedom, obviously, since he wanted her staying here and working for him – but what else did she want?

There was so little she craved. Money wasn’t a priority, nor was status. She would be content with so little if she could just live comfortably and in relative anonymity…all of which waited for her back in-

No, it doesn’t, a voice in her head warned suddenly, conjuring up a familiar face in her mind’s eye.

Her blood ran cold as she thought of Louis Draven once more. Everything always linked back to him – everything was always his fault. Her parents, her time in foster care, all the abuse and neglect she’d suffered, her decision to skip town and come out here-!

Wrath consumed her, causing reason to abandon her. Swallowing thickly around the angry lump that had formed in the back of her throat, she tried to keep her voice from shaking as she spoke.

“There’s a man back in the States: Louis Draven….say I wanted his head-”

“Done.”

Her eyes snapped back to Hoyt instantly, some of her rage tempered by disbelief.

“Just like that?”

He merely shrugged.

“Simple enough.”

“You don’t need to know why?” she pressed.

“You’ve got your reasons – good ones, I’m sure,” he said simply. “We’ll leave it at that.”

He levelled her with a stare.

“But know that if I do this for you, you’ve signed a contract with me. Your life becomes mine.”

There was something more than just sinister in his choice of words…but all she could think of was the smile on Draven’s face when he’d walked away from her father, bleeding out in her arms in the middle of Main Street. Her eyes were hard as stone as she stared back at Hoyt.

“You get him for me, I’m all yours,” she insisted.

If he kept his word, she meant it. But she had her doubts – no one delivered on such promises. Kind of like when the judge looked her in the eye and told her Draven would never see the light of day again after being thrown behind bars…

Still, when Hoyt smirked and reached a hand out across the desk, she took it without hesitation, shaking it firmly. An even if he didn’t make good on his word, she might have a better shot of finding help here on the northern islands than back in Badtown or Amanaki. Maybe Hoyt’s apparent interest and attention would wane and she could slip onto a boat bound for the mainland and there would be no real fuss over her vanishing. She could play the long con, if that’s what it took…with any luck, she’d be back in the States in a short while, putting this whole fever dream behind her for good.

She kept that in mind, even as a sudden heaviness in her chest cautioned her of who she had just signed her soul over to.

____________________________________________________________

Nearly two months had passed and Anna remained in the belly of the beast – but all things considered, it wasn’t so bad, she supposed.

Cutting a deal with the man pulling all the strings had immediate benefits: unlike previous agreements she had entered into with others on the Rook Islands, Hoyt actually came through for her. Real, decent food she didn’t have to scrounge for, a solid roof over her head, and an actual mattress to sleep on had her ready to speak all the words he wanted her to say a hundred times over.

The Privateers weren’t the best people to be suddenly thrust into the mix of…especially not as the lone female among their ranks. There were eyes constantly on her, making her feel next to naked just walking the streets as she learned the layout of her new home. Most kept their distance, either maintaining silence or simply catcalling as she passed. Others were bold, putting themselves in her space and forcing her to contend with their unwanted attention and defuse as skillfully as she could.

It had taken just one man going a bit too far to finally have someone step in. One of the tallest, most intimidating men she’d seen in her time at the Compound came forward and immediately had her intimidator on guard as he sized him up.

“No one messes with this one or they go straight to Hoyt,” the tall man said in a thick German accent that perfectly matched his physical appearance. “Boss’s orders.”

And that was that. The harassment all came from afar from that moment onward – and she had become fairly attached to Sam Becker, her unexpected knight in shining armor. He’d actually supervised some of her training and seemed to be grooming her to join his squad out in the field in the future.

Out of all the possibilities that laid out for her, that one was indeed the most promising. The longer she stayed here, the less certain she was that trying to make a break for the mainland was even possible. Most of the men who served here were bastards and would sooner sell her out if she approached them with such a conspiracy instead of offering a hand; those who were more decent, such as Sam and several others she had grown friendly with, would likely caution her against crossing Hoyt in such a way. He’d extended mercy to her once before – he would not do it again.

For the most part, she didn’t see too much of Hoyt himself. He was busy running his empire and she was fully occupied with being put through the paces of becoming a Privateer. The training was rather intense – she didn’t have military history like most of the men around her and hadn’t been prepared to be dropped into boot camp – but she put in her best and tried keeping pace.

When the boss did deign to drop by, it was almost always to look in on her and whatever she was being subjected to. It was a seemingly average day when he made one such unannounced visit while she was in the midst of target practice with a handful of others.

“Anna.”

Nobody ever called her Anna, as she’d said time and again. But Hoyt Volker wasn’t nobody. And he didn’t take “no” for an answer so she hadn’t bothered correcting him like she did with everyone else. She turned towards him instantly, abandoning her company at the drop of a hat; none of them protested, all knowing what happened to those who thwarted their boss’s even most inconsequential whims.

He actually waited for her to join him at his side and she was immediately suspicious of how pleased he looked with himself.

“I have a present for you,” he taunted.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly before she could even think to conceal her skepticism; she was a second too slow, based on Hoyt’s laughter. Had it been anyone else, he might not have reacted so well to such insolence, but for some reason, he seemed to indulge hers to a degree.

“Walk with me,” he commanded.

It was a strange request but she didn’t dare question him and easily fell into step behind him. Still, as he led them away from the range and back towards the center of the Compound, she could feel her brow furrowing with confusion. Hoyt wasn’t one for silence and his quiet left her feeling deeply unsettled. Either he was deep in thought or he was unhappy…and she finally thought to be more worried about where he was taking her as he led her down into the basement of the main complex.

She didn’t need to be told what happened down here: the sight of the cells that lined either wall and the heavy aroma of sweat and fear were all the indications she required. It left her throat dry, wondering just what reason she was being brought down here for. Hoyt had called it a “present”…but was he merely toying with her? Did he have any reason to suspect she was still harboring a desire to skip town at the first chance?

As he led her towards the furthest cell back, the man she had come to know as Buck exited through its door. He spoke to Hoyt in a low tone that had the other man chuckling under his breath before waving him away. Anna watched in silence as Buck sauntered off, but not before casting a wink her way. Immediately, her hackles raised; she didn’t know him well but she knew enough about Buck Hughes to be deeply wary and unsettled by him. She didn’t have time to watch his departure as Hoyt gestured her into the cell first.

Hesitantly, she approached before nearly stopping dead at the sight before her. There was a man inside, tied to a chair and beaten to a pulp. His head was drooped over his chest, obscuring his face from view; Anna could only stare in confusion as Hoyt passed by her and towards him, circling around behind him.

“A deal is a deal,” he told her pointedly.

She struggled to find the words to voice her confusion just as he grabbed the other man’s hair and brought his head back up straight. Anna’s heart stopped in her chest the moment she recognized just who was before her.

That face…she’d never forget that face. Not even bruised and broken as it was now. It haunted her...she saw it when she closed her eyes, she saw it when she slept…

She couldn’t have predicted that Hoyt would have hand delivered Louis Draven to her. Beyond the doubt that he would make good on his word at all, she’d just assumed she’d be told that he was taken care of. Having him here, before her, for the first time since his sentencing all those years back…

“Well, I imagine you have some catching up to do,” Hoyt said cheerfully, dropping his hold on Draven and striding back towards her.

Hoyt’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, anchoring her to the reality of the situation: this was real, this was actually happening. He leaned in close and she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

“Take as long as you need,” he told her.

She felt his fingers slip away and heard his footsteps dissipate as he walked off.

Leaving her and Draven alone…

For a long time, she remained rooted to the spot, merely staring at the man before her. He barely acknowledged her, head rolling from side to side as he contended with the pain from his previous beatings. Buck must have been the one to put him through the wringer – she didn’t feel sorry for him in the slightest but she could practically feel Draven’s pain as he sat there breathing heavily.

For so long, she’d seen him as only a monster. Some sort of shadowy specter that was untouchable. Seeing him bleed reminded her he was just as human as she was. It finally gave her some power over him.

“Do you remember me?” she spoke up, softer than she intended.

“Fuck you,” Draven slurred after a minute.

“Do you. Remember. Me?” she demanded, voice rising sharply as she took a step forward.

Draven cast a tired, irritated glance her way but he did make an effort, sizing her up.

“No,” he said finally.

“March 8, 2004,” she stated stiffly, stalking closer. “Mountainview, Montana. You gunned down the sheriff and his wife in broad daylight on Main Street.”

She watched the surprise blossom in his one good eye and felt herself begin to quake with rage. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“They had their daughter with them. You didn’t kill her.”

He was silent for some time, staring openly at her.

“You gotta be fucking shitting me – you?”

Anna stepped closer, eyes brimming with the full hatred of the last 7 years.

“Me.”

Draven sneered, showing her bloody teeth.

“Well look at you, all grown up…and working for some thugs. Parents would be so proud-”

“You don’t get to talk about them!” she shouted.

She had to wait for some of the red to bleed out of her vision; everything was so loud and moving so fast, much like her heart thundering in her chest. Inhaling and exhaling through her nose rapidly, she fought to regain any of her composure.

“And you don’t get to judge me for how I’ve survived up until now. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”

“So that’s my fault too-“

“Yes. It is,” she snarled. “If you hadn’t killed my parents, none of this would have happened! If you had just stayed in prison like you were fucking supposed to-!”

“I did my time.”

“You were handed a life sentence,” she hissed. “Just because you managed to exploit some fucking loophole and get out does not mean you ‘did your time.’ There will never be enough time on this earth to make right what you did to my family, to me.”

“Your old man killed my brother, did they ever tell you that?” he asked.

“For trying to kill him – and several civilians,” she snapped. “It was his job to stop him.”

“Still killed him.”

“You killed both of my parents.”

“It was revenge.”

“So is this.”

He glared at her through his shark-like black eyes.

“Bite me.”

Anna surprised herself with the cruel bark of laughter that ripped from her throat.

“You took everything from me. My parents, my home, my life – every terrible foster home I got shoved into, every time I got beaten and smacked around, every hardship I’ve faced these past years is all on you. That all falls back on you and what you did that day,” she spat.

He remained silent, his glare shifting from her to the wall as he exhaled in pain, finally letting his tough guy act fall through. Anna stared at him for a long time, taking in his state as she attempted to rein herself back in. Her rage sat hot and tight in her chest and the back of her throat, making it hard to even try and sort through her thoughts. But there was still a question that needed answering – something that had plagued her for so long…

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and gave herself a second before pushing forward.

“Have you ever once felt any regret for what you did?”

“No.”

His response was fast but concise: she didn’t doubt his sincerity. It didn’t make the feeling in her chest any better but at least there wasn’t the problem of guessing if he was lying to her or not.

“Given the chance…”

She turned back towards him with surprise, waiting for him to continue. He rolled his head back to stare at her, a nasty smirk on his lips…the same one she remembered from so long ago-

“I’d do it all over again, just the same.”

Her hand flew down to her holster before she even had time to think. The Glock in her hand fired off two rounds, one into each knee. His screams made her stomach turn but she refused to look away, watching him writhe.

“You bitch! You fucking bitch!”

She reholstered her pistol with shaking fingers, trying to regain control over herself. The action had been so kneejerk – she wasn’t even sure if it’s what she intended this all to lead up to. It would be an outright lie if his pain didn’t bring her any pleasure…but by and large, she just grew angrier with each passing second.

It didn’t take much for her to realize that she had reached the point of no return. What she had done just now already spoke volumes …what came next would absolutely define her for the rest of her life. Anna shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to sift pass the cold, angry voice in her head that called for blood – had called for it for so long - to see if this was actually what she wanted.

“I should…have killed you too,” he wheezed out finally. “That’s my one regret.”

When she turned back towards him, her eyes were filled with cold resolution.

“Yeah. You should have.”

His eyes went instantly to her holster as she strode towards him, but her fingers went straight down to the sheath attached to her boot instead. He didn’t deserve quick or relatively painless – this was too personal. Draven had a moment to take in the sight of the blade before her hand arched and brought it down straight into his chest.

It was nothing but reflex at this point – she barely even reacted to his gargled exclamation before she pushed the knife in further. She let it sit for a few moments, before retracting quickly, ignoring the sudden warm spray on her cheek as she brought it down again.

He finally looked to her and she forced herself to meet his eye. For a moment, she remembered that smirk he’d given when he’d ran out of bullets and walked away from her family in the street, leaving her cradling her father while he bled out. Now Draven was the one dying, his blood covering her hands…only she had no smile for him. There was no happiness to be found in this act, only hatred and wrath. Anna made sure to hold his gaze as he slipped away, the light fading from his eyes as he finally slumped over and struggled no more.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed – it felt like both a second and an eternity – before she pulled the knife out and stumbled back a step or two. Her gaze couldn’t leave his face – at his still open, lifeless eyes, vacant and unseeing – as she panted for breath, standing in the center of the cell with silence as her only remaining companion.

Her father’s badge, safely tucked away in one of the pockets on her pants, felt suddenly heavy. Like it knew what she had just done and was reminding her of the gravity of her actions. She didn’t dare reach for it, hands slick with Draven’s blood, the knife still clutched tightly between her fingers.

Slowly, she lifted the blade to wipe clean on her sleeve. She didn’t trust herself to use any of Draven’s clothing for the task – she didn’t want to set foot near him again and chance unleashing more of that fury on his corpse. His death didn’t bring her the closure she’d hoped: killing him hadn’t brought back her parents. It didn’t undo all the injustices she had endured or take away the pain she felt.

All it did was stoke the anger inside her.

Still…even if justice hadn’t been served, vengeance had been claimed. In the end, she supposed, that was all that mattered. It was over and done, nothing further to be gained; she’d just have to accept that.

After several moments of staring at the limp body across from her, she forced herself to turn and exit the cell. Out in the hall, she felt she could finally breathe again, inhaling shakily through her mouth. It was like she’d suddenly become present again after being removed from time and space – that had actually just happened, it wasn’t something she’d imagined. The blood on her hands and face seemed to have gained weight, making her hyperaware of their presence; it didn’t leave her feeling sick as she expected…just inexplicably calm as she navigated her way back out of the cellblock.

Hoyt was at the surveillance desk when she reached the end of the hall, eyes already looking to catch sight of her as she rounded the corner. Anna realized he had been watching through the camera feed and had witnessed everything that had just transpired. A knot formed in her stomach at such a deeply personal moment being watched by an outsider…but knew it would have never taken place without his orchestration and tried to smother the feeling as best she could. His smile of approval greeted her as she drew closer, spreading his hands out in question.

“Satisfied?” he asked simply.

Anna couldn’t be sure that was the word she’d use to describe how she was feeling…but it was probably the closest to catharsis she’d ever reach. Searching for the right response, she found that there wasn’t anything remotely poignant or intelligent she could provide.

“Thank you,” she managed to force out quietly.

Hoyt merely shrugged, looking unfazed.

“Merely upholding my part of the bargain,” he reminded her, watching her closely.

Her eyes flitted to him, voice returning with a sense of conviction.

“I’m with you,” she said earnestly. “Here on out, I’m yours.”

She meant every word.

Perhaps there was no coming back from this – no redemption, no absolution. But maybe it was better this way…maybe it’s what she actually wanted. She’d struggled so long with the feelings of darkness within her soul – finally given the chance to act upon them, there had been no hesitation, no doubt…

Absolutely no regret.

Maybe she did belong here with Hoyt and his men after all. He was giving her a look of approval that she’d be damned to deny didn’t make her feel sinfully justified.The desire to return home was non-existent in her now: this was home, wherever Hoyt was. She’d follow him to the ends of the earth, into Hell itself if he asked her to; she owed him a debt she could never repay.

The darkness didn’t seem so scary now, not when she walked side-by-side with what lurked in it. There was no place for any light in that inky blackness…she’d have to leave it behind in order to move ahead.

That suited Anna just fine.

______________________________________________________

“Yeoo, standin' at the crossroad, tried to flag a ride Ooo eee, I tried to flag a ride Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down Standin' at the crossroad, baby, eee, eee, risin' sun goin' down I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down”

Robert Johnson, “Cross Road Blues”

__________________________________________________________

Author’s Notes: I’ve replayed FC3 a lot the past month and a half and it had me thinking...Jason Brody was 25 and stranded with friends and family to look after when he arrived on the Rook Islands. My girl Anna Bishop would have only been 18 in 2012 when the game’s timeline is set, with no family and no friends to speak of. It had me wondering just how differently things would have played out with her in a leading role as opposed to Jason.

No attachments means less danger...but also greater loneliness and despair. And she didn’t have what Citra wanted in the end so I saw her path diverging substantially from Jason’s. Aside from how charismatic I find Hoyt, I also felt that Anna would be more susceptible to him and what he had to offer than Jason ever was. It also would open up the door for future interactions with Vaas, Sam, and even Buck going this route so i ended up typing up this little story as a way to kill time between writing some of my FC5 stuff.

#Deputy Anna Bishop #teamhawkeye writes

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unforgetabelle · 5 years

Text

A place to land

(4932 w)

ao3 fanfiction

Alya stared up at the flashing screen, her eyes repeatedly skipping between two different departures as the board scrolled through the day’s flights. One to St. Petersburg, the other to Vienna. Both left in thirty minutes, one headed where she should go and one where she wanted to go.

Resigning herself to the option she knew would win out in the end, she walked to sit in her terminal, took out her phone and texted Nino. Pausing only momentarily to gaze at the lock screen, a sunny picture of them both in Barcelona taken months before, she quickly opened up the messenger app and started typing.

How much longer are you in Vienna?

My gig is for another two weeks. His reply took no more than a minute to come through and Alya smiled, leaning back into her seat. They were in the same time zone for once, but it was nearly 10 in the morning. There was only one reason Nino would be awake at that time on a Saturday, and it was because he was stalking her flight progress. Three years of a long distance relationship, each of them jetting off to often-times far flung places, and Nino still insisted on having detailed flight numbers and schedules of her travels. Without fail, he would track her progress until she reached her destination and called to check in. Her parents often joked that they never needed to worry about her travels because she had an ever present vigilante in Nino.

Her boyfriend wore the label with pride, and while she rolled her eyes at times, Nino was always quick to remind her of when she got stranded on a layover in southern India during monsoon season. Without cell service, and the wifi down, Alya had been sure she would be stuck in the country indefinitely, certainly missing Marinette’s line debut two days later. Nino, having tracked her progress, wasted no time in booking her a train north to an area where flights were not grounded and got her a one-way ticket to Paris. When a member of the airport staff had called for her and then proceeded to hand her a print out of the messengered tickets they received from Nino, Alya had never before been so grateful for Nino’s quirk.

With anyone else, his behaviour might seen crazy, but with Alya flying across the world constantly, to far off and sometimes to unfriendly regions, she knew it was his little way of looking out for her from afar. Besides, crazy was normal for them. And without Nino, Alya would have missed her best friend’s debut as a fashion designer. Without him, Alya would be traveling the word listlessly. She may not have an apartment as home base, but she had a Nino. He was her place to land, always. Her home, and she hadn’t been home in months.

The Austria flight was looking more and more appealing by the second.

Why? Nino texted again. She knew his schedule, so he (correctly) assumed there was an ulterior motive to her questioning.

How would you like an unexpected guest?

Alya held her breath, watching as his typing bubbles appeared on screen.

Depends. Is she a redhead? I have a soft spot for redheads ;)

Alya smiled at the comment. She’d known Nino for over a decade. He didn’t have a soft spot for redheads. He had a soft spot for her.

She’s currently veering dangerously towards a copper-head, she typed back with a grimace. Too much time in that Moroccan sun.

Alya grabbed a wayward curl, pulling it taut and nearly doubling its length. Morocco had been surprisingly humid during her time there and extremely sunny. Her mother would scold her SPF usage to see how dark her complexion had turned, and her hair, usually a subtle auburn, had lightened considerably. While she usually passed as brunette in most lights, there was no denying the decidedly orange turn her hair had taken.

A little more foxy than normal?

His reply came and Alya snorted out loud, drawing a bemused glance from those sitting near her. The word “foxy” took on an entirely new meaning between the two of them and Alya couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the reference. One halloween when they’d both happened to be in the US for work, she‘d thought it’d be funny to dress up and partake in the holiday. Finding a cute little fox onesie, she bought a box of temporary hair dye to match the orange color scheme. The hair dye, as it happened, was not temporary. Nor was Nino’s memory of the incident. Still, remembering him coming home to their apartment and finding her snuggled in the pajamas, with a matching turtle pair for him, was one she cherished. They leaned into the American tradition, watching zombie movies and handing out candy to the never-ending stream of trick-or-treaters that knocked on their door. Better to reminisce on the night itself than on the true horror that came days later when, her hair still orange, a bemused Nino fished the dye box out of the trash and read out her fate.

Choosing to ignore his bait, she responded.

Nothing a nice dose of Viennese winter won’t cure

Nah ;), his text came through with a wink. I’ll pass. Wouldn’t want to make my girlfriend jealous

Alya felt her face drop into a deadpan expression as she responded.

I think she’d be okay with it

I think she has an assignment in St. Petersburg for the next month, Nino shot back. If my calculations are correct, she’s on her way there right now.

Not if she changes course to Vienna

Alya

Nino

You are on your way to St. Petersburg, right?

She pursed her lips, looking up that the monitor that proudly displayed a departing flight to Russia, already starting to board, but felt her eyes wander to the terminal across the way. How hard would a ticket transfer really be? Would it hurt to at least check and see if there were seats available?

Yes, she finally texted back, resigned. But I could be on my way to Vienna. I’m in Prague. It’s a short flight from here!

Alya, don’t, his response came almost instantaneously and Alya felt a pout start to form on her face. Her boarding group was called and she reluctantly shouldered her bag and stood in line. Just to rub salt in the wound, she ended up directly behind a couple, arms wrapped around each other as they giggled at something on the girl’s phone. Alya’s own side felt dramatically cold watching them, but she tried not to be too bitter. How many times had she stood with Nino exactly the same way? Gushing over some comments on her articles or listening along to a new mix he’d pieced together? She’d inevitably laugh at something he said, triggering a chain of events so reliable she could set her watch by it.

His hand would squeeze her side. She’d look up with a smile. He’d place a kiss on the tip of her nose. She’d crinkle it in response and then frown until he gave her a proper kiss.

Someone else might call it predictable, but Alya called it tradition. They’re own little ritual. It had been over a year since she’d been in Paris and seen her family, almost a year since she’d seen Marinette, and four months since she’d seen Nino. She’d been so far from any semblance of home for so long. For someone many would consider rootless, Alya craved her traditions, especially with Nino.

We haven’t been this close in forever. Alya knew her whine would be easily detected through text, but she didn’t care. She rarely whined. Not a needy person in general, the sentiment carried over to how she was in a relationship. It was a big part of the reason why she and Nino could be apart for long periods without either of them going insane. They found contentment in each other no matter the distance. Even the months they lived side by side, neither was attached at the hip, easily sharing their time while still remaining independent people over all. He was her complement in every way. They both valued their space just as much as their intimacy.

And when they were apart, even in the moments she missed him like crazy, she had very much a ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude. They were solid, and he was only a phone call away. Their separations were always temporary, and as far flung as they traveled, home was always a call, or a plane, away.

Still, even the calm and collected Alya Cesaire gave in and whined every once in a while when she missed her boyfriend. Balance was the key to any relationship, after all.

Don’t you miss me? She asked, trying to suppress her smile as his response came immediately.

That’s a ridiculous question, the green dialogue bubble popped up, followed aggressively by two more. I haven’t seen you in months, the second read before being pushed up by a third. I missed you as soon as you stepped on the plane in August.

Then it’s decided. I’ll see you in Vienna!

Alya, no. You have to go to St. Petersburg. Nino’s messaged pinged as she handed her passport to the smiling flight attendant.You already accepted the contract. Isn’t this the story for that anthropology magazine you’re trying to work for?

Yes…

And you’re just going to, what? Not do it? Nino’s messages started coming in with a fury, but Alya was having far too much fun to break the news that she was already on the plane.

Alya Charlot Cesaire, he spelled her full name deliberately. Are you running AWAY from a story?

No. She typed back insistently, annoyance at his accusation pricking even as she knew he was baiting her. I’d be running TOWARDS my boyfriend

What happened?

Why does something have to have happened? She asked as she walked onto the already crowded plane, making her way slowly towards the budget seats in the back. A seat was a seat, and for a two hour flight, she was not paying a 150% markup for the promise of 2 centimeters more legroom.

Because Alya Charlot Cesaire does not run from her responsibilities, and she never breaks a commitment once made. Nino wrote back. How do you think I convinced her to stick with this travel weary DJ?

1.Stop referring to me by my full name, you weirdo. I feel like my mother is scolding me. Alya rolled her eyes, typing in her second to the list before stowing her bag in the overhead and falling into her seat with a plop. 2.Let me live my life

The last of her row to arrive, Alya sunk into her aisle seat and buckled up. Sharing a polite smile with her row mates to be civil, she quickly turned back to her phone to protect herself from opening up the floor for any airplane-small-talk--arguably, the worst incarnation of the discourse.

And you’re stuck with ME, she added after Nino hadn’t responded in a few minutes. Which is why I’ll see you in Vienna in a few hours. BYE!

Alya, his answer came instantly, but she didn’t respond.

ALYA, he tried again. DO NOT GO TO VIENNA

Why :(, she shot back. I’ve never been to Vienna! It’ll be educational!

She saw his typing bubbles pop up, but didn’t give him the chance to interject.

I can even make a few blog posts about it, she wrote.Come on. Show me around your home of the last few months!

His typing progress appeared and disappeared a few times before his answer came through.

Alya, no, he finally responded, just when Alya started to worry she had actually managed to convince him. Nino appeared to be soft spoken to most people, but Alya knew he was as stubborn as she was once he made up his mind. For her entertainment value that morning, she was counting on it.

Please?

Nino :(

Pleeeaaassseee??? She added the letters to draw out her whine, and smiled when she saw his response hesitate.

...No?

Alya chuckled, mentally amending her earlier evaluation of Nino’s resolve. He was stubborn...until it came to her.

:D That was practically a maybe

That was my will weakening as I imagined your damn pleading eyes, he responded, And that stupidly cute dimple you get in your left cheek when you pout. Alya could practically see him now, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

God dammit, Alya!

Admit it, she texted back, smile on her face in full force now. You miss me

I have admitted it, he wrote back. In this very conversation, no less

She felt a soft smile come to her face, as she leaned back into the seat. The flight attendants were saying something over the loudspeaker now, but she was only paying attention to Nino.

Doesn’t mean I think you should come to Vienna

But, Niiinnnnoooooo

Stop. You have a job to do, his response came through, and Alya knew instantly she was dealing with serious Nino now. One after another, the statements popped up in her messenger.

You have contacts waiting for you

People you’ve been emailing for months in preparation for this

People who trust you

People whose story you promised to tell

Are you really going to up and desert them?

:( Alya texted back with a sigh, and though Nino had ended her fun, her heart warmed. He got it. He understood why it mattered; understood the compulsion she felt to explore the world, telling people’s stories. He understood her, even in the moments she really wished she could be the type of person to throw responsibility to the wind and go see her love.

Just two more months, he wrote, instantly consoling. We’re going to spend all of February together in Reykjavik. 28 whole days. You’ll be sick of me by the end.

Impossible, she wrote back. I will never get sick of you. Of that, I am positive.

Her neighbor opened the visor on the window, and a flash of gold on her finger urged her to add, And I have a ring on my finger to prove it

You have my class ring--which you stole--on your finger, his response came, and Alya imagined Nino rolling his eyes on the other end.

Same thing

Absolutely NOT the same thing, Nino wrote, taking her bait as he always did.(And when I offer you the real thing, you better act excited, and not like we’ve been engaged since uni)

It was an open joke with their friends and families about when the two would ‘settle down’. To Alya, it really didn’t matter. Nino was her other half, and everyone who was important knew that. She didn’t need a slip of paper or a party to announce that to the world. Nino, on the other hand, took the topic of their marriage very seriously. While he hadn’t proposed to her in so many words, Alya never doubted the inevitability of their marriage. The official commitment in the act was important to Nino, so whatever her personal feelings about the redundancy of it, it was important to her by proxy.

Nino, you’ve been stuck with me since lycee, she reminded him gently. Ring or no ring.

But , she added with a smile. I’m a fantastic actress and I promise I’ll give you your movie-magic proposal moment

Remind me how I ended up with you again? His response came, reading in a fondly exasperated tone.

Sheer luck and a bizarre zoo incarceration :)

Nino sent a smiling face back before changing back to the topic at hand.

How much time until you leave for PIE?

A few minutes, she admitted. I’ve been on the plane for a while

I figured

I still miss you. Next time, I’ll actually be getting on the other plane

If you had set your mind to come, there would be no stopping you. I wouldn’t bother to even try

Alya smiled at her phone,

Good, as long as we’re clear

Call me when you get there

Yes, sir

I love you

I love you, too, she typed.Even though you refuse to let me come tell you so in person.

Nino sent an annoyed face, but she wasn’t done.

I’m just so unwanted :(

Believe me, his response appeared. Nothing could be farther from the truth

Oh? Do tell ;)

His typing bubbled hesitated, before a wink emoji appeared teasingly on the screen.

Spoilsport, she responded, her eyes catching the flight attendant as she started to make her way down the aisle, no doubt beginning to instruct them to turn their phones to airplane mode.

It’s a good thing you’re so cute, she continued in a hurry. Otherwise I’d have tired of your antics long ago

Yes. Thank god for my devilishly good looks and charm

Who said anything about charm? She asked, blinking innocently at her phone as if he could see her facial expression through it.

My girlfriend. Do you know her? He wrote.Tall. Red hair. Loves to mock me?

Great ass? She typed back, just as the attendant passed and gave her the stink eye for not heeding her ‘shut off and store’ warning.

The best

You lucky boy, she risked one last message, catching his response just as she went to switch off her service and the plane began to move.

Don’t I know it ;)

~*~

Nino looked at the monitor to confirm the flight one more time before finding somewhere to sit and wait. He let an exhausted sigh release from his body as he settled into the cool metal bench and let the familiar sounds of travelers calm him even as his fidgeted with the small ring circling his pinky.

Airports had always been a comfort to him. Even in his earliest memories, they were a constant. What started as multiple trips a year to visit family abroad had evolved into his roaming lifestyle, and throughout it all, airports were a constant. No matter where you were, whichever culture and whatever language, airports all felt the same. There was a familiar logic and atmosphere to the transit hubs, and Nino had always felt at home on these cusps between worlds.

In the last few years, airports had taken on even more meaning to him. They represented the worst and best moments in his life. So many times, in the stark fluorescent light and gleam of over-polished tile, he’d watched her walk away from him. His only consolation was knowing that months later, he and airports would once again be on good terms, because as many times as he’d watched her walk away from him, Alya would always walk towards him once more. Nino never had any doubt that she’d be back. Alya always came back to him, and he to her. No matter how long they were apart, or how far they traveled, they anchored each other.

People often viewed the depth of their relationship with incredulity. How could people who were apart so often truly have anything lasting and stable? Even his best friend looked at them with confusion at times. While Adrien was the last person to question their dedication to each other, he often wondered how Nino could stand being away from her so long. His dude was on edge after only a week away from his home and his wife. Nino and Alya’s far-flung relationship was probably Adrien’s nightmare, and a part of Nino understood where he was coming from.

He’d be lying if he said he preferred the long absences of his other half, but it didn’t throw him into anxiety like it did Adrien. Alya had a passion just like he did, both of them chasing dreams and music and stories wherever they called. It was such a large part of what made them who they were as individuals, sacrificing it for the sake of being in the same geographical location had always seemed frivolous.

And while they both had plans to settle one day--or at least, to control their careers enough to be vagabonds together--even if it stayed like this forever, Nino wouldn’t trade it for a stationary life with anyone else. A week by Alya’s side was worth an eternity with anyone else, and despite her teasing, he knew she felt the exact same way. Nino may not always know what city he would live in next, or when the music would call him, but if there was one thing he was forever sure of, it was her. Alya was his home. Wherever he traveled, he knew she held half his heart, a beacon guiding him to wherever she was should he ever find himself too weary of his roaming.

Which, currently, happened to land him in St. Petersburg.

When the owner of a franchise of clubs had approached him about a month-long gig in Russia the week before, Nino wasted no time jumping at the opportunity. His current location had certainly given him exposure over his months there, but he had tired of living his life with the constant possibility of being dropped from the schedule. They contracted him weekly, which wasn’t unheard of in the industry, but after being a regular for two months, Nino had expected some confidence to be reflected in an actual contract. It wasn’t. While he was prepared to finish out the three month engagement they had agreed on verbally, when he was offered the opportunity to move along two weeks prematurely, he felt no remorse about informing the club about his change of plans. He’d appreciated his run, and had secured multiple invitations from talent hunters of other cities while there, but the owners had never felt the need to formally bind him to stay the length, and therefore put their money where their mouth was. Which made it all the easier for Nino to jump at the opportunity that would take him to where he truly wanted to be. And to whom he truly wanted to be with.

A week later he was in St. Petersburg.

A gush of air announced the opening of the automatic doors leading out from the international baggage terminal, and Nino was instantly on his feet. The St. Petersburg airport wasn’t busy in the early afternoon on a Saturday, but Nino would have found her had she been one in a crowd of thousands. Hair knotted in a long braid that fell in an escaping tangle over her shoulder and rucksack secured to her back, Alya walked through the doors in a huddle of other passengers, nose already pointed at her notebook as she prepared for her next piece. As convincing as her promises to drop it all and come find him in Vienna would have been to anyone else, Nino knew better. Nothing could keep her from a story for long, especially not one she’d been preparing for over six months. A decade of growing up by her side, and nothing had changed that.

Which Nino was grateful for, otherwise her impulse earlier would have turned his carefully planned surprise into a unfortunate missed connection.

Nino smiled as he tried to catch up, watching her artfully weave her way around other travelers, eyes never once leaving her notes as she made her way towards the exit. Alya only stopped when the sliding doors opened and a rush of winter air reminded her she certainly wasn’t in Tangier anymore. Tucking her book under her arm, she reached to pull gloves out of her pocket, one falling behind her, directly where his feet had just come to rest. He snapped down to get it and was waiting as she turned to look for the lost article.

Eyes scanning the floor first, Nino tried not to laugh at the comical nature in which her gaze froze as they reached his boots--the same ones she’d bought him for Christmas last year--before shooting to his face. He didn’t even had the chance to speak her name before Alya was in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair as she wedged her face against his neck and Nino took his first easy breath in a month. Yes, they had no qualms about living apart, but that didn’t negate the fact that the shape of her pressed against him was something his body mourned like a missing limb when she was gone. She wasn’t necessary, but his life was better when she was in it. Only in her presence, did he feel truly whole.

Just as he closed his eyes, savoring her nearness at last, the love of his life and other half of his heart pulled away and deftly punched him in the arm.

“Don’t, Alya,” she glared at him, her voice deepening in the approximation of a man’s. “You need to go to St. Petersburg, Alya.”

“Is that supposed to be me,” he grimaced, adjusting his glasses but not avoiding her gaze. Even annoyed, he didn’t want to miss a second of her.

“You’re a little shit, you know that? I can’t come to Vienna, but you can drop everything and come to St. Petersburg?”

Alya planted her hands on her hips, but didn’t move away when he stepped forward, grabbing her one bare hand and beginning to slip her dropped glove over her fingers. Her nails, green the last he’d seen her, were now a muted orange. Still chipped at the edges. Always chipped at the edges.

“We both know, had you really intended to come to Vienna, I would have had an Alya on my doorstep, not one texting me what ifs,” he started, slipping her fingers one by one into the glove even as she pouted. “Besides, I was already here when you texted. You were about to ruin the surprise.”

“Because I love surprises,” she grumbled, but he gave her a pointed look. “Okay, fine. I like you surprises.”

He smirked, finally having the the glove securely on her left hand, Alya still completely unsuspecting.

“How about one more Me surprise?” Nino asked, lowering to one knee before her and watching as Alya’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wha--Nino--”

“Alya Charlot Cesaire,” he began, trying not to laugh at the way her eyebrows shot up in surprise and eyes started to dart around the now-empty arrivals gate.

“Now?” She squeaked and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Now,” he confirmed. “I’ve spent too long waiting for the perfect moment, wanting to give you all the magic you deserve, but every moment with you is miraculous. Good, bad, near or far, you are the home I come back to time and time again. You make my life indescribably brighter, simply by existing. Would you do me the honor of calling me your husband?”

Alya’s eyes shone with unshed tears as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“Dammit, Nino,” she whispered, a single tear tracking down her face as her lips tipped upwards. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one in this relationship, and here you are turning me into a complete sap.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Of course, that’s a yes, you goof,” she rolled her eyes with a laugh, her hands grasping his collar and pulling him back up to standing. “Now are you going to kiss me, or--”

Nino wasted no time, cradling her head in his hands. His lips seeking hers through their pair of ridiculous smiles, and just barely managing some approximation of a kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he tried to grumble even as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Will you stop smiling? I’m trying to kiss my fiancé, here.”

“Oooo, fiancé?” Alya wiggled her eyebrows but held up her left hand. “Such a fancy title, and yet...I don’t see the hardware to back it up.”

Nino lifted an eyebrow, and, with a swift tug, deftly dislodged the very glove he’d put on her hand minutes before.

“Oh, no?”

Alya looked at her hand and gasped, her face dissolving into true shock now as she took in the diamond and topaz ring sitting in place of his old class ring. The same ring Alya had admired over a decade ago at the first family gathering he’d brought her to. The same ring his grandmother had given him when he turned eighteen...and reminded him to use yearly.

“You sneaky bastard,” she cursed, shaking her head with a smile. “You really did it.”

“Gave you a movie-magic proposal?”

“Made me fall even more in love with you,” she replied instead. “And people think I’m the overachiever.”

“I’m only an overachiever when it comes to you,” he grabbed her hand, still suspended in shock between them, and placed a kiss to her palm. “My fiancé is a hell of a woman. It takes a lot to keep her on her toes.”

“So what you’re saying is,”she walked her fingers up his chest as he stepped forward. “I now officially get an eternity of Nino surprises?”

“If you think you’d be okay with that,” he shot back.

“Okay with it?” Alya smirked, her hands having reached his chin to angle his face closer to hers. Her lips caught his in a searing kiss that shot through his body like molten lava, his knees slackening as her arms encircled his neck before she pulled away, breathless.

“I can’t wait.”

#miraculous ladybug #DJWifi #Alya #Nino #fanfiction #au #unforgetabelle

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delicrieux · 6 years

Text

the one for you

PART 2: THE ONE FOR ME

PAIRING: bill weasley x reader, some charlie weasley x reader

summary: (name) is invited to bill and fleur’s wedding. angst ensues. also, requested by anon: Could I ask you to write the gang at Bill’s wedding? (Without any relation to “won’t he?” because that broke my heart in so many pieces) thank you! I think you are an amazing writer✨

a/n : BILL WILL NEVER BE OVER THE READER!!!! NEVER!!!!! also A FEW THINGS TO NOTE: this is not a part of the ‘wont he’ universe, mc and jacob have a curse breaking firm, mc loves bill and he loves her but oops nothin can be done now! THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @blackphoenixfire FOR THIS AMAZING MOODBOARD!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 PLEASE CHECK EM OUT! <3 also, thank you to @wispila for giving me ideas which they clearly SHOULD NOT DO

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

MASTERLIST. ko-fi (i chug coffee as i write these fics, and another cup would make me happy <3)

“(Name)!” Ever the beautiful, yet secretly somewhat evil, Penny Haywood squeals as she notes you idling around in the shadowy corner of the tent, “(Name), over here!” Her voice is rich with excitement and happiness, and if it was not for the music, surely half of it would be lost. Her hand impatiently begs you to come forth and you do so, eventually, after grabbing a glass of something strong or at least mildly so, to come greet your best friend since Hogwarts in a long overdue hug. She smells like daisies and potion mix. You smile into the hug, it being stronger and fiercer on her end, as you take a shy sip of your drink and silently thank the one who picked out the liquor to at least making it delicious. “I haven’t seen you in so long.” Her interest in the main event is all but lost as she parts from you, gripping your shoulders to get a better look at those tired (colour) eyes of yours, “You never do write anymore…”

“This is a wedding, Penny.” You remind her with a teasing smile, “Best safe the sad topics for the after party… Or at the very least when the kids are sleeping.” You add offhandedly.

She says nothing, but her lips form into a smile, “It’s good to have you back, (Name).”

The invitation to Bill and Fleur’s wedding had reached you all the way in China, when your old bird, Griffin, had graciously dropped the velvety letter onto your head when you were sleeping. It had not awoken you, frankly you doubt a dragon could have woken you up from that coma like slumber (exploring and de-cursing cursed vaults, chambers, homes, jewellery and etc., is always not only stupidly dangerous, but extremely tiring). Fortunately, you had viewed the invitation before it was too late to catch a portkey. You were not surprised to see ‘Wedding’ written in Fleur’s pretty font (Bill Weasley could never and will never have decent handwriting). He is a grown man and he deserves happiness, and marriage would have come sooner or later.

You, and the rest of the guests, watch him and Fleur dance in the glowing fairy lights of the tent, the music soft to fit in with the tune of love. You catch a whiff of Fleur’s flowery perfume as she twirls smiling so brilliantly. The world had long melted around them. They don’t see anyone else but each other.

You had promised Bill many years ago that he would find someone after Emily, that twit who broke his heart in…Was it fifth grade? You quietly recall as you think, your eyes trailing Bill’s and Fleur’s happy image. Ah, you believe it was in fifth grade for him, and third for you. Yes, you sat on the fountain, right next to her, and listened to her spew vile at your favourite person in the world. If your memory serves you right, you had told him the news at The Three Broomsticks. To soften the blow you mumbled that ‘Emily was eaten by a dragon’. That was the same day you promised him that someone will love him for who he is one day. Someone special.

Is it too selfish to think that you figured you would be that person? That he would just wait for you forever?

The dance ends and the guests clap enthusiastically as they kiss. You, of course, don’t shy away from applause yet yours are much quieter. A warm hand lands on your shoulder, and you curiously tilt your head to the side to greet the stranger that decided to seek you out. Charlie Weasley stands next to you in all his blushed glory, though this time you are fairly certain it has little to do with you and all with the drink in his hand. He smiles behind his freckles, eyes glimmering with familiarity and warmth, as he pulls you into a soft hug which you gladly return.

“I knew you’d show.” Charlie says, his lips brushing your forehead, “Ginny did not believe me, but I knew.”

“Believe it or not, it’s not that easy finding quality portkeys in China. Short distances are great, but from there to England? Good luck me finding one that won’t rip my leg off in the process.” You finish with a chuckle, letting him go, yet he keeps you close. “I’ve missed you Charlie.” You say sincerely. He seems to swell from your statement, overflow with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace again.

“Me too, (Name).”

“You’ll crush me, Charlie.”

“Good, maybe you won’t leave, then.”

After a few more remarks, he leads you to an empty decorated table. His eyes had trailed each line of your body, but he refrained from further comments, choosing to silently admire you. Yet they kept catching onto your collarbones, the skin on them no longer soft or velvety, but dotted with scars, the whole shoulder mind you, aligned in a near perfect half-circle that scarily resemblance remnants of teeth forever engraved into your flesh.

You note his curiosity and you smile, “Would you believe me if I told you I was bit by a dragon?”

Is it his concern, or the mere mention of ‘dragon’ that alerts him, he is wide-eyed and worried as his eyes meet yours, “You’d be dead, to be honest.” He concludes with a grin, dubbing your question as a jest and taking a sip of his drink. Your smile does not ease. In turn, his falls. “No way.”

“It was guarding a chamber. Siberia, 1995. Thankfully, and I do mean thankfully, I was old, skin and bones old, so the bite wasn’t that bad.”

“How are you alive?” He asks, exasperated, now near frantically examining your features as if to make sure you are really here and not some very realistic ghost.

“Sheer willpower.” You reply honestly, “That and nearly a year in recovery. Believe me when I say I didn’t have a bone in my body that wasn’t broken.”

“And is the dragon okay?”

It would not be Charlie Weasley if he didn’t at least politely interject about the dragon’s wellbeing when you just confessed to nearly dying on the spot.

You grin, “Of course. Couldn’t just leave it there, knew I could never face you if I did. I arranged it to be taken to Europe’s National Dragon Nursing Home. It will live out the rest of its days there in all its brutish glory.”

He seems pleased with your answer, “I interned in ENDNH.”

“I know, Charlie.”

“They will take good care of him there.”

“I have no doubt in my mind, Charlie.”

“I do have more questions though. And they aren’t about dragons.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Where’s Jacob?”

The hand that was already raised to press the glass to your lips stops unnaturally as you freeze. You promptly set the glass down, your throat suddenly dry and lungs heavy. The fresh night air you breathe has a hard time travelling in and out. The perfumes mixed with other scents make you dizzy. Yet you still manage to smile, despite how pathetic and sad it looks. Your hand slowly makes its way to his, and lays there as a last attempts at warmth, “He’s dead.”

The glass nearly slips from his fingers, “What? How? When--?”

“He died in Moscow.” You explain, “Jumped head first into adventure, as always. This one was far too dangerous and he was much too reckless. He got cursed…” You murmur hollowly, “And died a few hours later.”

“(Name), I—“

“Don’t, there’s no need.” You cut him off, “It happened three years ago. It’s fine.”

Three years ago... he thinks, was the last letter he received from you was, vigorous and full of life. Quite literally. You sent him a Howler, boasting about an exciting venture in Russia that would make your and Jacob’s firm even more popular, if that was even possible. You never replied to his letter, though. It almost appeared that you fell off of the face of the Earth, and only Bill’s reassurance that you are alive and kicking, working and having no time to reply to friends, made him calm, even if slightly. Bill, however, was unaware of the details himself, since he only heard from other employees of your whereabouts. The news of Jacob’s death had not left Moscow.

Charlie always imagined you and Jacob running around, causing as much chaos as you were set to fix, all around the globe. Your name was whispered in the same sentences as Australia, Egypt, Portugal and others, so not once did he really stop and think how absurd it is to be so busy as to not reach out to any of your friends in over three years. He is an idiot. He should have realised. It is that you always were so cheerful and brave; he figured nothing could stop you and no harm could come your way. He is wrong. You are tired and weak and your eyes have dimmed with pain and sadness. He hardly recognises the woman sitting next to him, holding his hand so tightly. Yet he loves her all the same.

His fingers intertwine with yours and he squeezes your hand gently, “Welcome back.”

You smile at him, “It’s good to be back, Charlie.”

0000

Bill Weasley finally sees you, sitting with Charlie and discussing something privately from across the room. Sitting next to Fleur, he, for a moment, forgets the commotion and simply focuses on you. He hadn’t seen you in a long time. The two of you work together, or…used to work together, side by side. You, he, and Jacob. The three best friends that nothing in this world was powerful enough to stop. The last he’d seen you, you still had this sort of childish charm about you. That charm is now completely gone.

You sit with poise, your dress adding complements to your curves and complexion, your skin now dotted with old bruises and scars and tattoos. He notes one of them being similar to Jacob’s, perhaps the same even. No more does he see you as a girl, no, now you are a woman, acutely aware of your surroundings, alluring, and prideful. And beautiful. Despite the scars and bruises and your tired eyes, you are still beautiful to him, perhaps now more than ever.

He is struck back to reality when you stand up and leave the tent, waving Charlie off. He has a sudden urge to follow after you, even if he knows full well he should not. He glances at Fleur. She converses with her sister in fluent French whispers, halted of breath. And he feels guilty thinking of you, when he very clearly should be thinking of someone else.

He loves Fleur, he has no doubt about that. But his first real love still burns brightly in his chest, like gasoline ignited by your presence. And he figures that it will not burn out until he tells you what he feels. Or used to feel.

He excuses himself, and Fleur sends him off with a smile. He nods at guests as he passes them, giving awkward smiles as aunts gush and congratulate him. At the moment, he does not feel celebratory at all. Finally, he reaches the spot you had disappeared behind, ducking his head and entering the cool outdoors, the whole tent glowing behind him and casting his ghastly shadow on the dewy grass.

He notes you standing by the rye, the moon being the only thing illuminating your body. The fields in front of you resemble the sea as they sway. As he moves further and further away the music and shouts, giggles and drunken chatter, fade into the background along with the dazing scents. The world melts away behind his back, now simply pleasant buzzing. He approaches you slowly, yet his heart keeps racing in his chest, and why he does not fully know. Perhaps he is nervous; he always was shy when it came to things like these. Perhaps he is guilty, because he knows full well he should not be here. Perhaps he is excited, having the chance to talk to you again.

Honestly, it is a mixture of all three and more.

“Never took you for the one to miss out on a good party, (Name).” He comments as he comes to stand next to you, your shoulder brushing his upper arm. You are much shorter, aren’t you? You glance up at him with an amused smirk, “Unless you are planning some sort of a surprise for me, and I completely ruined it.”

“Happy wedding, Bill.” You say, “Is that what people say at weddings? It is, isn’t it? And no, no surprise, I figured my presence is surprising enough.” You continue, “Though, I did leave you and Fleur a little gift by the gift table. If you manage to find it, that is. It was overflowing when I last visited it.”

He laughs good-naturedly, “I’m sure if you picked it, it will be worth searching for.” But his smile promptly dims and you realise he did not just follow after you because he too was short of breath, “Won’t you get cold?” He wonder aloud, fully prepared to give you his jacket. You shake your head.

“How many times must I remind you, Billy Willy? The cursed ice made me immune to the cold.”

He frowns, “Why didn’t it make me immune? As I recall, I was the one trapped by it, not you.”

“Being hero has its perks.” You shrug, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to steal the groom’s clothes. Do think that’s the bride’s job.”

His heart leaps in his chest and he glances nervously at you. Your face seems pale in the shade, though, at the very least, entertained. Why tonight, he wonders, why is he questioning his decision tonight of all nights, when clearly he had many other instances to ponder. If you hadn’t disappeared, he has no doubt in his mind that you would have been in Fleur’s place, and he wouldn’t have left the tent and this conversation would not have to happen.

He figured, selfishly at that, that the one for him, the one you promised that will come along that will love him for who he is, was going to be you.

Alas, life has a funny way of putting things together. The silence had stretched for long enough, and so with a deep breath he fully turns to you and you follow his actions with mild-confusion.

“(Name).” He addresses you, his voice not once wavering, his eyes not once breaking their intense and determined stare, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yes, Bill?”

He thinks back to what Tonks had once spoken of. That a kiss is usually the best way to determinate if you like the person or not; it is the best way to describe your feelings without bumbling with worlds. His hands land on either side of your face, it warm against his palms, as he leans forward and captures your lips in a long overdue kiss that nearly makes his chest explode with happiness.

Your fingers graze the side of his cheek, “Bill?” you call him quietly, your voice melodious and lovely in the silence.

What vivid fantasy. He should definitely not do that. He could not live with himself if he did, no matter how much joy it would bring him.

“(Name)…” He murmurs, much too preoccupied with tingling at your gentle touch, “I used to…” His fingers come to wrap onto your wrist, the one which’s fingers are ghosting his skin, “I used to really…. Really—“

“Bill!” A voice from the tent shouts, “Bill come ‘ere! It’s your wedding for Merlin’s sake! We ‘bout to cut the cake!”

He stops in his tracks, paralyzed by fear. But he does not look away from your face, “I-I’ll be there in a minute!” He replies.

“You should go.” You urge him with a small smile.

He shakes his head, “No, I—“

“Bill, this is your wedding day, you can tell me later.” You insist, “Even five minutes from now. Nothing will change.”

“(Name), I—“

“I know.” Your voice strikes him to the core, how soft and nearly broken it is, “I know, you stupid boy.” You fingers trace the scar forever engraved onto his skin, “I know, now go.” His fingers loosen their hold on your hand and he takes a small step back, “C’mon, go.”

“I’m coming back.” He states.

“You really shouldn’t.”

“But does that mean—“

You give him a look, on that is unreadable to him, “I’d rather not say. You have someone waiting for you.” You smile softly, “Now please, go.”

He leaves without saying a word, but you know that a long conversation awaits you when the time is right. Left in solitude, with crickets and fireflies as your only companions, you sigh heavily, shivering. Not of the cold, but of the encounter. Your heart races and you have trouble breathing once more. You glance down at your hands, still tingling pleasantly from his touch. Your personal troubles had weighted you down and you could not recover properly. You missed so much. You missed them and you were planning on never seeing any of them again, they being a stark reminder of your brother’s absence.

Yet you could not miss Bill’s wedding. You could not miss seeing him happy, even if for the last time. You could not miss silently wishing it was your wedding instead.

No matter now. Nothing you can do. All is left is to enjoy the party and reconnect with old friends. At the very least, you shall see if Fleur is really worth Bill. If you have to give him up, you want to know that he is in good hands.

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

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Starlight & Strange Magic, Chapter 21: In Which Lucy Makes An Executive Decision

Rating: M Summary: Lucy Preston, a young American woman, arrives in England in 1887 to teach history at Somerville College, Oxford. London is the capital of the steam and aether and automatonic world, and new innovations are appearing every day. When she meets a mysterious, dangerous mercenary and underworld kingpin, Garcia Flynn, her life takes a turn for the decidedly too interesting. But Lucy has plenty of secrets of her own – not least that she’s from nowhere or nowhen nearby – and she is more than up for the challenge. Available: AO3 Previous: In Which The Best Laid Plans, Etc., Etc.

Lucy doesn’t stir a single eyelash until ten o’clock the next morning, which coincidentally is when the sun is finally coming up. Admittedly, “up” is a bit of a misnomer, since it remains low enough to cast long shadows for most of the day, but she becomes aware of the weak glow on her face, peering through a break in the curtains, and grimaces, mumbles, and raises a hand, a cave-dweller suddenly disturbed by news from the overworld. She is extremely comfortable and could sleep another few hours anyway, but as memory trickles slowly into her rebooted brain, that possibility seems unlikely. Not even like this, engulfed in Flynn’s arms with her head on his shoulder, her legs thrown over his, her –

Wait. What? Not that she objects, but she can’t remember when exactly she ended up in Flynn’s arms, other than a brief and general memory of him crawling in next to her last night (and if she hadn’t insisted, she has the distinct feeling that this idiot would have tried to tough it out on the floorboards with a full-body beating and a badly broken leg). Even with that, she was expecting the same stiffness and distance of their night in St. Petersburg, when he caught himself apparently relaxing too much and hastily tried to separate them. But she has woken up instead with both his arms wrapped around her, practically spanning her twice, and her entire body fitted into the cracks and crevices and rugged places of his, like a lost hiker sheltering on a mountainside. When she moves as if to pull away, he rumbles in his sleep and unconsciously, reflexively draws her closer. He is warm and solid and very strong, somehow – incredibly – real, after everything they went through to get him, and it takes her breath away.

Since she doesn’t really want to get up anyway, and since she might as well savor this before he wakes up and wigs out again, Lucy wriggles around to look at him better. There are a few flecks of silver in his stubble and in distinguished touches at his temples, but his hair is thick and dark and just the right length to flip over his forehead. He has faint lines around his eyes, deep grooves around his mouth, and his nose is long. A few scars that look like claw marks stripe the heavy muscle of his upper arm, making her wonder how many were-beasts he’s tangled with apart from Wyatt, and he has clearly lived a hard life. There is a small red cicatrix just under his collarbone that looks like a healed bullet wound, and she hopes he won’t go around catching any more of those. She is overcome by a sudden desire to put her lips to it, to kiss it, to soothe this evidence of old hurts since her ability to help the new ones is so limited. She doesn’t even exactly know why, and she shouldn’t. He said no, before. He said no.

Lucy bites her lip, shifting still closer, finding nothing else to do with her left hand apart from settle it on Flynn’s chest, slowly rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing. Moving it down feels like an invitation to awkwardness and disaster, so she slides it up instead, into the hollow of his breastbone. He doesn’t seem to be sleeping fitfully, so maybe he isn’t in too much pain from his leg, and when she lifts her hand and ghosts her fingers over his forehead, he isn’t running a fever. He was yesterday, so maybe he’s on the mend, though this would be a fast healing by anyone’s standards. Maybe the Raven King stepped in.

At that, Lucy frowns, trying to remember a dream that she’s fairly sure she had last night. Another one about ravens, though this one wasn’t seeing them above the train. This time, she was in a boggy grey field, the wind blowing in her face, and there was someone standing on the far side of the fog. She thought it was a man, but the shadow he cast was an endless forest, and ravens kept rising in whirling storms. He did not say a word, or come closer. Merely remained there, in some sort of stasis, as if waiting for a moment, for a sign. Waiting. Waiting.

That, however, reminds Lucy a little too uncomfortably of the forest in her room during the revenant attack, and since it stems from the same magic, perhaps that is understandable. But it also suddenly makes her wonder if the Raven King, if he is the maker and master of the revenants, might be considerably more dangerous than they are. She already noted Priscilla’s leery reaction to the idea of contacting him, and while she knows that Flynn reveres Matija Korvin, that Korvin is responsible for however they got out of the jam with the train, and whatever else, it makes Lucy feel that further reliance on him might be something to avoid. She doesn’t know what Korvin is, other than a very powerful otherworldly magical being that clearly has not let earthly death stop him from doing his thing, and might in fact have leveled up as a result. She has not taken his magic seriously before, and it got her attacked by the revenant. It is more than time that she takes more than a little caution with it now.

There is, however, still the fact that Emma and Rittenhouse are looking for Korvin’s lost library, and the idea of contacting him directly might also occur to them, rather than muddle fruitlessly around the Balkans in search of it. As far as Lucy knows, Emma hasn’t heard for sure that she herself is in Russia, but the news of Flynn’s capture was definitely sent back to London. Rittenhouse might not yet know that Flynn has escaped, given as the tockers on his train were all destroyed, but someone will have been waiting for him to arrive in Arkhangelsk, realize that he has not (as far they know), and start asking questions and mounting a search. Even if Flynn was in a state to be walking around the city, he shouldn’t do that. Someone here is looking for him. Might have gone to the station master, asked questions. Not to mention, Rufus and Jiya are now here too. If Emma could catch them in the same place, together, she could wipe out the whole team at a stroke, and end all further resistance to Rittenhouse and everything they could achieve across the multiverse. The chance would be too tempting to resist.

These troubling thoughts are starting to cut into Lucy’s enjoyment of the carefree, comfortable moment she woke up in, and she supposes that she can’t loaf around in bed, or in Flynn’s arms, much longer. Her leg is still sore, but her feet have been messed up in some way since she got here, and she’ll find some liniment or bandages to splint it up if she has to do a lot of walking. She pauses, then pets her fingers over his cheek, since she doesn’t know when they’ll wake up like this again and, selfishly, wants to keep it that way for a moment longer. This time, however, he stirs, eyes closed, hand rising out of the quilts to catch hers and curl his fingers around it. “Moja ljubav,” he murmurs, voice thick and hoarse with sleep. “Dobro jutro.”

Lucy’s heart turns over. She doesn’t know exactly what he said, but the tone makes it more than clear that it’s an endearment, and the fact that it was spoken in Croatian means that he – understandably – is not yet awake and thinks, however briefly, that he is back in bed with his wife. She doesn’t get the sense that he has been remotely near any other woman since then, and as much as she tries to tell herself that it’s understandable, that she doesn’t grudge it to him, she turns her head away, so she doesn’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes when he opens them and realizes otherwise. “Good morning,” she says. “It’s – it’s me.”

She’s still halfway in his arms, and she feels them tense. She steadfastly keeps her gaze on the window, waiting until she feels it would be safe to look back at his face. There’s a long pause. Then he says, “Yes.”

It doesn’t sound disappointed. It doesn’t sound – well, like anything. She’s not sure what sort of answer yes is anyway, unless it’s confirming that he has recollected himself and remembered who he was speaking to. He opens his arms as if to make it easier for her to slip out, and Lucy does so, not sure that she’s ever felt more mortified in her life. (That includes the drunken hookups in her acting-out freshman year at UCLA, when she woke up in some dorm room smelling of rancid socks, next to some pasty-ass kid she didn’t know, and had to scramble to remember if they’d used a condom.) She disentangles herself from Flynn and sits upright, on the edge of the bed, to make it clear she’ll put space between them and wasn’t trying to sleazily make a move on him when he was asleep. Her cheeks burn. Silence.

“So,” Flynn says, after an excruciating pause. “How… how are you?”

“Fine?” Lucy can’t tell if he’s taking refuge in inane pleasantries to smooth things over, if he’s asking if she’s physically on the mend, or – or what. “I’ll do. I really should be asking about you. How’s your leg? Is it any better?”

Flynn wiggles it experimentally, which does not cause more curses or grimaces. “Better,” he agrees. “I had a dream that – well, anyway, maybe there was some leftover magic for it. It still feels like someone stuck it with a thousand hot needles, but that’s an improvement.”

“Either way, I don’t want you running around on it,” Lucy orders, sounding like a stern hospital matron to her own ears. “It was broken literally yesterday, and besides, there have to be Rittenhouse people in Arkhangelsk looking for you, if they were sending you here in the first place. You stay in today and rest. I’ll go out and see what I can find.”

Flynn looks briefly inclined to protest, but stops with a wince as he moves his leg again; evidently it’s not completely healed, and even his absurd pain tolerance has its limits. Nonetheless, he does not agree to be confined to bed and fed gruel like an invalid, and heaves himself up, the too-short nightshirt hiking up his muscled thighs and nearly giving Lucy a look at something she would rather not see. Not that she would find it unattractive, but really, the opposite. She is trying with all her might to mind her manners and maintain the boundary he asked – the kiss was an emotional, spur-of-the-moment, enchantment thing, she can’t count on him wanting to do it again – and she does not need to be taunted like this.

After considerable effort on both of their parts, they get washed and dressed, which almost feels familiar from their room-sharing in Oxford, and head downstairs. Rufus and Jiya are awake, talking cautiously with the landlady, who has cooked an enormous breakfast since it’s the off-season for trade and they are the only guests in the boarding house. “What about your friend, in cellar?” she asks, spooning more eggs onto Rufus’s plate even as he protests that he couldn’t eat another bite. “I bring him also some food? Bacon, sausage?”

“I – yeah, I think he’d probably like some meat,” Rufus says, visibly chewing his cheek. He’s been reluctantly persuaded that Wyatt is safe to be around after he’s been removed from the Raven King’s magic and taken a large dose of medicine, but he also has the look of a man who spent the night jumping at small noises. “Whatever large carnivores eat.”

“We could ask him to come up here,” Lucy says. Wyatt probably feels enough like a dirty animal, tied up and stuffed in the cellar and shunned, brought down scraps from the kitchen table, and while she doesn’t know if it would help, it certainly can’t hurt. “He – it’s all right, you know, he’s not… it’s controllable.”

Rufus, who has had a far too eventful time since his crash-landing in Westworld, gives her the fish-eye. “Lucy, I know I’m new around here, but it feels like rule number one would be don’t get too cozy with the – ” At that moment, he notices the landlady listening avidly, remembers that they haven’t told her what’s up with their extra tenant, and waves his hand. “You know.”

“I’ll see if he wants to come up,” Lucy repeats stubbornly, ignoring the communal wince. She gets up, goes to the cellar door, and after calling down reveals that Wyatt is awake (“was he howling at the moon?” Rufus asks behind her), asks if he wants to join them for breakfast. It takes a while, as evidently Wyatt is no more eager to be around them than Rufus is to have him, but he finally appears, pale and haggard-looking. He glances around at the tense expressions of everyone at the table, then sits carefully at the end. Rufus watches him like a hawk.

“Hey,” Wyatt says, once the silence has gotten excruciating. “I’m – sorry about – you know. The other night.” He glances at Flynn in particular, since the goose egg on his head is still quite purple, as is the corresponding eye. “Did you have to hit me so hard, though?”

“Did you have to keep a secret like that?” Flynn arches a cutting eyebrow back at him. “You’re lucky I only hit you. If I’d had the right gun with me, I would have shot you.”

Lucy doesn’t really feel that this is getting everyone off on the team-spirited foot that she had hoped for, and clears her throat, trying to break apart Wyatt and Flynn’s staring contest. “We can all agree that nobody was expecting it. So – ”

“Yeah,” Rufus says. “You know, like the Spanish Inquisition. Also a noted bad thing.”

Lucy gives him a look, and Jiya giggles, even as Flynn, the only person at the table who doesn’t get the joke, stares at them like they’re crazy. Even Wyatt has to snort. Once he has been served by the landlady, and she has stepped out of the dining room with some of the dirty dishes, he says, “I just – I thought I could keep it under wraps until I found a way to get rid of it. Yeah, I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry. But do you think anyone would want to help me, or even be seen around me, if I’m like, cool story bro, I’m a werewolf? I asked someone what happened to them. They said they either went insane, got shot by hunters, or did horrible things and turned into scary stories. Funnily enough, none of those options sounded that great.”

“When did it happen?” Flynn asks, ruthlessly practical as ever. “How long has it been?”

“About ten months after I got here.” Wyatt rubs his face. “I was looking into some supposed associate of yours in Romania, I got lost in a thunderstorm, and had to bunk up in some ruined castle. Next thing I know, it’s a fuckin’ horror movie in there, and I…” He trails off. “I don’t remember most of it. I had to visit some crazy old witch and she told me what happened. That I had to get my hands on some special kind of medicine, or it was, you know. What went down the other night. That’s why I kept working for Rittenhouse. I needed the money for it.”

“You stayed in a ruined castle in Romania? At night, in a thunderstorm?” Flynn looks absolutely incredulous, as if Wyatt could not have more eagerly jumped up and down in front of the universe begging it to turn him into a werewolf if he tried. “You couldn’t pay me to do that. All of them are under Dracul’s curse. Some more than others, but everybody knows that.”

“Yeah, well,” Wyatt says, with a very sharp edge. “I’m not from here, am I? I didn’t know that.”

Flynn shakes his head, half in horror at Wyatt’s professional incompetence and half in grudging acknowledgement that he was terribly briefed for this job and it’s not his fault that he was dropped into a magical, dangerous world without so much as a memo. At that, however, Rufus looks up sharply. “Wait. So you – Flynn, you’re up to speed on the whole… thing? About where we’re from, and – all that?”

Flynn shoots an odd, oblique glance at Lucy before he says, “Yes. I’m aware that all of you are from a neighboring reality and have arrived here by different means and methods. I assume the question of how to get you home will be sorted out later.”

“There’s something called the Mothership,” Wyatt says. “It’s how I got here. Rufus said back in St. Petersburg that he knew how to drive it, if we could steal it.”

“It’s the only way we’re all getting out of here,” Rufus says. “The Lifeboat was only modified for one, and it’s back in New York anyway. The Mothership can take six. Plus, we’d leave Rittenhouse without a time machine, which kind of seems like an important strategic move.”

“But Emma could find the Lifeboat, if we left it here in Westworld,” Jiya points out. “She wouldn’t turn a hair in leaving everyone behind to use it for herself. We’d have to find it and destroy it, or remotely detonate it, or have someone go back in it separately. Maybe you or me, in case something went wrong.”

Lucy looks away. All this talk of how they’re getting home is, of course, very important, but it makes something odd and unhappy squirm like cold lead in her stomach, and she doesn’t even know why. She’s been here a while, maybe it’s natural that she’s ambivalent about leaving. She’s met Ada and the Sokolovs and other people she likes a lot, she’s had her time at Oxford, she’s even managed to enjoy herself between the kidnappings and monster attacks and other events that have consistently occupied her time since she got here. She reminds herself that she wants the Internet and jeans and modern life again, trashy television, proper medicine, not getting side-eyed by misogynists in monocles and top hats every time she dares to venture out of doors alone. (There is plenty to be said about the modern world still being misogynist, but at least not so overtly.) Her time in Westworld has been very interesting, but there’s no reason she can’t go, no reason that she’d feel some sort of inexorable gravity pulling her back, when her life, her existence, her friends, are all in her birth reality. When she can’t give that up for a man who doesn’t want to, who is still in love with his dead wife and devoted to –

Rittenhouse is in her birth reality. Her childhood, her entire life, the Cahills and the youth groups and Noah and the brainwashing. Her mother telling a ten-year-old that she was a princess, Henry Wallace’s face, I’m not your real father, Lucy – a week later, he was in the coffin, pale and stiff with formaldehyde, she wonders now if Rittenhouse killed him, had a hit put out to punish him for spilling the beans, anything that might lead her from her true destiny as –

Lucy can feel the breakfast threatening to come back up, and swallows heavily, bracing her hands on the table. Rufus and Jiya glance at her, concerned. “Lucy?” Rufus says. “Lucy, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She manages a very forced smile, still feeling a little sick. “We really need to find out what Rittenhouse is doing here. What’s the plan?”

It turns out that frankly, they don’t have much of one, but they try to thrash out a few particulars nonetheless. Of their four Russian speakers, two (the Sokolovs) are in the hospital and one (Flynn) can’t walk. As before, that leaves Karl, so if anyone is going to ask questions and pick up rumors, it has to be him. Rufus is, unfortunately, conspicuous as a black man in nineteenth-century far-north Russia, so he’s going to draw a lot of attention if he walks around town. He is also very leery about being paired up with Wyatt, though Wyatt, as a private bounty hunter and ex-soldier, is pretty good at investigative work. “Look,” he says at last, sounding frustrated. “I can’t help that I’m a damn werewolf, but if we run into the Raven King’s magic and I start transforming again, just run really fast in the opposite direction. Otherwise, I have the medicine, it shouldn’t be a problem. I want to get out of here too, so… allies for now, all right?”

Rufus continues to eye him suspiciously, as if to say it’s always idiot white people that die in a horror movie, because their black friends are smart and know not to fuck with things that will kill them. Finally, however, he says, “Okay. So what, pee on the fire hydrant as a warning if you feel it coming on?”

Wyatt gives him a death stare, and Rufus raises his hands. “I only want to make sure we’re clear here. I’ve never worked with a werewolf before, I’m just trying to establish the rules. If we determine that I don’t taste like kibble, then – ”

Wyatt growls, sounding not-unlike his lupine self, and Rufus jumps, apparently deciding to can it with the dog references for now. There’s another awkward silence, and then they clear their throat and rise to their feet at the same time, jostling the table. Lucy and Jiya get up as well, as if sensing that interference may possibly be needed on any number of fronts, and go to get wrapped up, since they’ll be the other half of the recon team. As they’re pulling on coats, fur hats, and mufflers, Jiya says quietly, “So, what exactly is it with you and Flynn?”

“What?” Lucy was under the impression that she was managing to be generally circumspect about looking at him (or not looking at him) during breakfast. “What about Flynn?”

Jiya gives her a look. They haven’t exactly had girl talk about anything in a long time, especially not boyfriends, since there hasn’t been anyone in Lucy’s life remotely fitting that description. But Jiya and Rufus know Lucy well, and Rufus might have filled her in on some of the things that he observed while recovering in the warehouse. At last Jiya says, “You were more determined than I’ve ever seen you to get him back, and I’ve seen you be determined about a lot of things. You were stuck to him like glue that entire night on the train. And now you’re looking at him, like – well – ”

“Like what?” Lucy’s voice sounds briefly high and unnatural to her ears, and she tries to modulate it. “How exactly do you think I’m looking at him?”

“Like you…” Jiya looks as if she can’t decide whether to say this out loud, when she has a feeling Lucy already knows damn well what she’s going to say and is being deliberately obtuse. “Like you’re completely gone over him, and have no idea what to do about it.”

That, Lucy is forced to grimly admit, is an unfortunately accurate précis of her present situation. Even so, she feels some instinctive need to modify it, to push back on it, to make it sound somehow less consuming and terrifying than it is. “It’s not that,” she says quickly. “Not exactly. I just – all right, I guess I have a little bit of a crush on him. It’s been a long time, and he – he understands me. But it’s not – ”

“Crush, huh?” Jiya winds a long knitted scarf around her neck, pulls her dark braid out, and ties it. “So that’s what you do for all your crushes? Come on, Lucy. Is that why you were sitting there looking like you were being boiled alive when we were talking about how to get home?”

“I wasn’t,” Lucy says weakly. “Of course I want to go home with you.”

Jiya eyes her for a moment longer, then shrugs, pulls on her mittens, and steps to the door. “Well then,” she says. “We’re not going to have much daylight, we shouldn’t waste it.”

Grateful for the abrupt change of subject, Lucy follows her out, winces as the full blast of the cold hits her in the face like a fist, and can feel it even through her multiple layers of heavy clothing. She and Jiya trundle through the several inches of fresh spindrift, glancing back to make sure they know where the boarding house is, as Wyatt and Rufus emerge on their heels and they split in opposite directions down the street. Lucy swings by the gang’s accommodation to chivvy Karl off his ass and out into the cold, which he does with a deeply resentful look at her, and then tries to guess where Rittenhouse might have been expecting to stash Flynn. Not that they can storm it with just her and Jiya, and the last thing they need is another Sibley’s-office fiasco, but they have to start somewhere.

The day remains a low, chilly shade of blue as Lucy and Jiya search through the warehouses on the waterfront and some of the outbuildings around the railway station. The port is locked in with ice, an eerie white carapace spreading out to the horizon, and all the ships are in dry-dock to avoid being crushed, making Lucy think of Shackleton and the Endurance. That, of course, was at the literally polar opposite side of the earth, but it has the same wild winter ferocity, the sense of a place only incidentally lived upon by humans, where the might of nature could rise up and flick these insects off its back at any time. The tip of her nose has gone numb, she hopes she doesn’t get frostbite, and while it’s not as cold here as the interior of Siberia, at Yakutsk or some other place where you can throw boiling water out the window and it freezes instantly, it’s more than damn cold enough, and Lucy is feeling cramped and sluggish. “This is pointless,” she says, breath gusting in white billows. “Rittenhouse has some other safe house. They’re not – ”

At that moment, they’re cut off by the crunch of footsteps from just around the corner, and Lucy throws out her arm, pushing Jiya back against the wall, as she draws her gun with the other. It’s too cold to run automatons regularly around here, since their joints and gears would freeze up, which means that the approaching entity is likely human. It could just be a confused merchant or whatever, but as the man appears, face just visible under a fur hat, Lucy recognizes one of the thugs who was with Emma in Mr. Li’s opium den, back in London. They stare at each other, it hits in the same moment, and then he goes for his gun.

He’s fast, but he has to get it out from under several layers, and Lucy, who has hers already out and ready for action, is faster. She nails him right in the kneecap, and he goes down with a crash, spraying snow. He’s still fumbling, trying to get his gun one-handed, so she strides over and kicks it away, spinning the revolver and pointing the barrel dead at his head. “I wouldn’t.”

“What the h – ” The Rittenhouse goon grabs at his bad leg, groaning with pain. “What the hell are you doing here, you crazy bitch? You’re supposed to be in England!”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t look like I am, am I?” Lucy is tempted to shoot him again for the crazy bitch part, but she is savagely enjoying having the drop on Rittenhouse for once, and she needs a lot of answers. Not that she thinks this one will provide them without acute persuasion, and she isn’t someone who will torture a suspect into talking, but there are other ways. “Sorry to mess up Emma’s evil plans. And you were here, what, to get the sacrificial altar ready? Kill a few black cockerels first?”

“I don’t know what Emma’s doing.” The goon tries to find something, to no avail, to wrap around his shattered knee. “Just go and – ”

“I think you do.” Lucy keeps the gun trained on him. “Why are you in Arkhangelsk? Is Emma supposed to join you here? What did you have planned for Flynn?”

“Go to hell, I’m not – ”

At that, again, something very weird happens. There’s a shift in the air, a faint smell like wet earth and starlight (she didn’t know that starlight had a smell, but she does), and then another man steps into sight from behind the brick wall. He is handsome, black-haired, and very pale, almost the same color as the milky sky, and is wearing a long black fur coat. His brows are thick, his strong nose reminiscent of a raven’s beak, and it might be Lucy’s imagination, but he doesn’t seem to leave footprints in the snow. Despite the cold, he isn’t wearing a hat or gloves, and comes to a stalking halt in front of the whimpering Rittenhouse agent. “You. Thomas Brent?”

Both the agent – Thomas Brent, apparently – and Lucy gape at him. He’s spoken in English, but with a strong Slavic accent, and with a conscious cadence as if thinking hard about it. Something about his voice makes you want to kneel down in front of him, and Lucy finds her legs starting to bend unconsciously, before she stops. Jiya shoots a look at her in complete bafflement, and Lucy shakes her head, mouthing, I have no idea. The mysterious black-haired, black-dressed newcomer stares down at Brent, who winces for seemingly more reasons than his smashed knee. Then the man says, “I recognize you. You were the one that the woman sent to search the dark places in Slavonia. You were searching for my books.”

Brent stares blankly at him, drop-jawed, as a sudden realization hits Lucy. This is probably a very bad idea, but she can’t help it. Shocked, she blurts out, “Matija Korvin?”

“You know of me.” He turns his head, cocking it as a bird does to look at her, as the full force of his uncanny eyes train on her. They are just as black as the rest of him, with no visible pupil or iris. “I know you as well, Lucy Preston. Perhaps you are surprised to see me here, in this mortal ken, in a form that can be perceived by your eyes. I have been less obvious until this moment.”

“You helped us the other night, on the train,” Lucy says. “With the ravens destroying the tockers, and – and making the locomotive move. Thank you.”

Matija Korvin seems amused that she thinks he wants her gratitude. The edges of his form blur slightly when she looks at him directly, as she remembers Flynn telling her that they believe the Raven King never really died, only took up a throne in Faerie instead, and now lives forever beyond the gates of the human world. Sometimes he still returns to wander his old domains, and to assist those who call upon him, but he must always go back. “I know this man,” he says, turning that stare back on Brent, who now looks thoroughly unnerved. “His mistress wants my library. She has many plans for it, apparently. Is that so, creature?”

“Y – yes?” Thomas Brent might not be great at making life choices, judging by his employment as Rittenhouse bruiser, but even he is smart enough not to lie to a terrifying fell being. “Look, man, I don’t know anything about this magic shit, I just do what Emma tells me. I knew there were some books she wanted me to find, some raven guy, but – ”

“Silence.” Matija does not raise his voice, exactly, but it’s distant and rumbling and inexorable as a thunderstorm, and Brent shudders. “Do not profane yourself by speaking of what your filthy tongue and your rodent brain cannot begin to comprehend. You greedy, vicious, short-sighted mortal, ruled by your baser impulses like the rest of them. I should kill you, Thomas Brent, since the lady is too gracious to do it. But I suspect first that she has some questions. Is that not what I interrupted you in, Lucy Preston?”

“Ah – yes, you did.” Lucy does want Brent to talk, but she is also oddly wary of getting too close to Korvin himself. The air feels still colder around him, and she has that brief sense of the forest, as if the revenant is drawing close again. Lucy isn’t sure what the protocol here is exactly. Finally she says, “So, we were on the subject of what you were doing here in Arkhangelsk.”

“I don’t – ” Brent’s gaze flickers fearfully between her and Korvin. “My leg, I can’t – ”

Korvin utters an exasperated noise and waves his hand, and Brent howls as the shattered pieces of bone snap back into place with an audible, wet pop. “There,” the Raven King says. “You humans and your much-troubled legs. I was unaware that the leg had any bearing on the ability of the mouth to speak. Now answer her, or I will break it again, and others.”

“We – ” Brent licks his lips, breathing fast and shallow. “There’s something here called the Angel’s Gate. Emma sent me to find it. It’s the place where we can establish a permanent passage back to our world, once we have enough aether, and once we worked out how to stabilize the singularity. She thought it and the rest would be in the library, that’s why she wants it. That way, we wouldn’t have to risk taking the Mothership back and forth every time, and with the railway in operation, we’d have a constant pipeline for. . .” He hesitates. “For magic.”

“Oh?” Lucy recalls what Anton told her, the legend of Arkhangelsk standing on the spot where the Devil was defeated, and her thought that there might be some kind of shield wall between the branches of the multiverse. Apparently, that is essentially it, but this is where Rittenhouse intends to permanently jam that door open, to drain away this world’s magic into ours. “So that is what you wanted Flynn for? The sacrifice to open the gate?”

“Emma doesn’t know how to open it for sure.” Brent has turned almost as pale as Korvin himself, though Lucy can’t tell why. Maybe shock, or cold, or something else. “I was supposed to help figure that out. She said that most of this old kind of magic would take a human sacrifice, and Flynn’s a pain in the ass. Once we finally got him, yeah, I was gonna see if killing him would finally do something useful for us and – ”

Lucy stares down at him. She is aware of her blood beating in her ears, rushing in her head, in a way that almost frightens her – not least because she wants to pull out her gun and finish Brent off on the spot, interrogation or no interrogation. It is briefly all she has space for inside her, the knowledge that this man would have killed Flynn as part of some attempted black-magic ritual for Rittenhouse’s ultimate power if he got the chance, and it takes her a very long moment to recover herself. At last she says, “Where is Angel’s Gate?”

Brent hesitates. Korvin clicks his fingers. Something snaps in Brent’s leg with a crunching sound, and he gags. “Ah! Dammit! Solovetsky, dammit! Solovetsky Monastery! On the island! About a hundred and fifty miles west of here, in the White Sea! I was trying to figure out how to get there with everything frozen up, so – ”

Lucy is dimly familiar with that name from somewhere. She thinks Solovetsky might have been the prototype for the gulag system; it was a place of exile for the enemies of the tsars beforehand, as well as religious objectors to Russian orthodoxy, and many writers were imprisoned there after the Russian Revolution. The monastery has a spirited history of independence and idiosyncrasy, and in this reality, the monks must also be magicians, the guardians of untold mystical secrets, including a gateway between worlds. However, as Brent says, getting a hundred and fifty miles out into the frozen White Sea at this time of year is not a walk in Hyde Park. Lucy thinks briefly, and wildly optimistically, that this logistical difficulty might also stymie Emma, but that would be extremely foolish to assume. She’ll probably ice skate out there if she has to.

“Anything else?” Lucy asks. “Anything else at all?”

“No.” Brent gulps. “No, come on, that’s all I know. I swear, I swear. Come on, just – ”

Lucy eyes him coolly and pitilessly, unmoved by his pleading. Nobody stirs, until Korvin clicks his fingers again. Brent convulses, as fine black cracks spread up his face, like a piece of porcelain dropped on the floor. Then he smashes like glass, and a flock of ravens come soaring out of him, screeching and cawing, as his body crumbles to dust. In an instant more, there’s nothing but a heap of grey ash in the snow in front of Korvin, who bends over and regards it dispassionately. Then he straightens up and turns to Lucy. “My apologies for that mess,” he says, with grave, old-fashioned courtesy. “But it was a maggot, not a man. He should have known better than to be discourteous to you.”

“Ah – thanks?” Lucy was prepared to kill Brent herself for a moment there, but it’s still slightly disconcerting to see him literally dusted. “Your – Your Highness, this has been very informative, but maybe we should – ”

“Why do you hasten away?” Korvin has the air of an immortal to whom time is only a vague and mildly irritating concept, like the distant buzzing of a fly. “There is more that we could speak of, Lucy Preston. You are an impressive woman, and clearly most powerful. For a human,” he adds, as if she shouldn’t go getting too carried away. “Yet you grieve. You wear heartbreak like a shadow on your brow. Why is this?”

“I – ” Lucy isn’t sure if the goddamn Raven King just asked about the dismal state of her love life, but that was what it sounded like. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Is it a man who turns you the color of woe?” She has to admit that he has an unusual, poetic way with words, though that probably comes from being a very well-read, four-hundred-year-old magician. “You should wear a crown of roses, not of thorns. I could fashion you one, like so.”

With that, Matija holds out his palm, and a delicate silver tiara materializes it in, bedecked with fine, tiny pearls and a diamond as clear as cut ice. Lucy has an urge to put it on, as reflexive as the insistence to kneel earlier, which startles her. She is aware, however, that that would be a bad idea, and if she did so, it would be very difficult to take it off again. She is aware that she is being enchanted, and it is a strange, dissociating, giddy feeling. “It’s beautiful,” she says, having to work harder for words than usual, “but no, no thank you.”

“Is it the warmth of human flesh you wish?” Matija raises a hand, as if to set it alongside her cheek, but not quite, and she can feel the chill radiating off it. “Yes, I forget. I could make it so for you. My last wife died many years ago. I was quite fond of her and did what I could, but she never took to Faerie, not entirely. You, though. I think you would. You would be a dread and lovely queen, and no man would ever mistreat you there, or speak you ill, or give you anything less than what you deserved. Certainly not this one who seems so ignorant of what he has, so determined to stubbornly spurn you, as Garcia Flynn. He owes me a debt, you know. I have recently been to remind him of it. Shall I ask for you as my payment?”

“What?” Lucy has been struggling to stay awake, as her eyelids are starting to feel heavy and she can hear the distant, unaccountable sound of bells. That, however, jolts her back to consciousness. “What do you mean, your payment?”

“I have done great magic for him.” At close range, Korvin’s eyes are matte black, with no reflection or light in their depths at all. “He owes me something of equal value in return. Those are the laws. Those have always been the laws. I think it would be an arrangement not to the dissatisfaction of either of us. Shall I ask for you?”

“I. . .” Lucy’s head is still fuddled with the scent and weight of magic, like heavy incense, but at that, she manages to shake it. “I – no. No, thank you. That’s very generous, but no.”

Korvin does not answer for a long moment, looking her up and down. She has the sense he is not used to being refused, which indeed probably doesn’t happen when you’re a demi-god prayed to for centuries by your people, their patron saint and their legendary hero. Nor does he seem very pleased by it. “Neither of you can break the laws,” he says. “You would be most unwise to try. You would be a most powerful Raven Queen, Lucy Preston. It is a great destiny I offer you, a choice given to few. I will ask again soon. Perhaps you will have reconsidered. I urge you so.”

With that, with no further ado or pyrotechnics or movement whatsoever, he isn’t there anymore. Lucy feels as if she’s had a bucket of cold water dumped on her head (in this already-too-damn-cold place), staggers, and blinks very hard. She glances around, sees that she is still standing in the rundown warehouse, and she takes a few anxious steps. “Jiya? Jiya!”

In a few more moments, she finds Jiya, who seems strangely unclear on what has just happened or where exactly Lucy was. She can vaguely recall that there was someone else there, and that she saw him, but can’t put it exactly to words. “Was it – did we just meet some sort of major Westworld cryptid? Is that what happened?”

“Honestly, I think that’s probably the best way to put it.” Lucy rubs at her eyes again, trying to chase off the remaining haze. “Did you hear the part about Angel’s Gate?”

“I. . . think so?” Jiya frowns. “It was. . . somewhere?”

“Solovetsky,” Lucy says. “Solovetsky Island. That’s where Rittenhouse wants to go, that’s where they want to set up their permanent wormhole and magic supply route to our world. Emma doesn’t know how to open it – yet – but she’s probably not far off. That’s what Flynn was for, a test human sacrifice. We need to figure out how to get there.”

Jiya frowns at her. “Where did you learn all that?”

“From the Rittenhouse agent,” Lucy says, which is true enough. “You were there, do you not remember any of it at all?”

“It’s just really fuzzy,” Jiya says. “Who was that man in black? Was there a man in black?”

“That was the Raven King.” Lucy debates how much to explain. It occurs to her too late that she didn’t ask him about the revenant, about how to free Amy, while they were face-to-face, and yet she can’t help but feel that that information would definitely not have come for free. “He’s a famous magician, kind of a big deal around here. I found out a little about him, but Flynn told me more. You don’t think I still have any of his magic on me, do you? The last thing we need is to go back and set Wyatt off again.”

“I guess not?” Jiya says, in a tone of voice indicating that this is way past anything that even she understands. Almost any kind of science or math, she can get, but magic was never on the curriculum at Caltech. “Lucy, you’re feeling okay, right?”

“I’m fine.” Lucy is surprised by the question, since Jiya is the one who doesn’t seem to remember anything that just happened right in front of her. “Look, at least we have something to report, and it’s still freezing. Let’s go back.”

They trudge through the frozen snow to the main promenade, as Lucy looks out at the ice sheet of the White Sea and tries to think how they are ever going to get to Solovetsky Island. She has definitely been put off the idea of calling on the Raven King again, since what he said about the debt Flynn owes has considerably rattled her. That is definitely not something that Korvin is going to just graciously put aside and forget about, and it sounds very much as if he knows exactly what he wants to settle it. Lucy said no once, but is she going to be able to do it again? Fucking off out of reality to go be an awesome fairy queen and live forever in a magical land is not a terrible fate (you know, if the alternative was coming home to Trump, maybe she should seriously consider it). And yet, Lucy knows it’s not what she, at her deepest and most fundamental level, really wants. It’s not something she appears likely to get. But it still is.

The sun has edged very low on the horizon, even though it’s only midafternoon, by the time Lucy and Jiya, huffing and puffing with cold and exertion, plod back up the steps of the boarding house and knock to be let in. The landlady opens the door, and the air inside is almost scalding in comparison, so Lucy strips off her wraps too quickly and then feels her body complaining vehemently that it doesn’t know what temperature to be. She is somehow both shivering and sweating at the same time as she walks into the kitchen, which is a very stupid state of affairs, and stops short at the sight of Flynn sitting at the table, bent over a stack of books. “Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

“I told you that I wasn’t staying stuck in there like some weakling.” He answers without looking up, turning the page and frowning at whatever he sees on the other side. “I haven’t been walking, like a good boy. What did you find out?”

“Several things,” Lucy says. “Apparently you were supposed to be sacrificed to see if it would open something called Angel’s Gate. Rittenhouse wants to use it to move aether into my world. It’s on Solovetsky Island, and I have no idea how to get there. And. . .” She hesitates. “And I met the Raven King.”

“What?” It’s only at that last one that Flynn looks up, with a rather wild expression. He pushes back his chair and jumps up, bad leg or not, as if to run toward her. “You – are you – you’re not, he didn’t – ?”

“I’m fine.” Lucy debates whether to mention the rest of it, as she herself is increasingly unsure if it happened, and it is starting to turn jumbled and unclear in her head. “He appeared while we were. . . talking to the Rittenhouse agent I caught. He helped get him to talk. That was how I found out about Angel’s Gate. He said something about a debt you owed him.”

Flynn has an expression of total and badly managed panic on his face at that. He raises a hand as if to run it through his hair, stops, starts to say something, and likewise can’t get it out. “You didn’t. . .” He seems to be forgetting all the words he knows, in any number of languages. “Did he ask if you. . .”

Lucy wants to say that he did, but she can’t remember, and she’s a little thrown by his apparent horror, since this doesn’t seem to be where she recalls leaving things off with them. “I decided against it,” she says. “Whatever he was asking.”

This appears to do nothing for Flynn’s ambient terror level. He mutters a curse under his breath and turns away, almost losing his balance on his bad leg, and has to grab for the table to steady himself. Back to her, he says, as if needing to put it into words to see how unbelievable it sounds, “You rejected the Raven King.”

“Would you rather that I didn’t?” Lucy takes an angry step. If he’s going to tell her that he wished she did vanish into Faerie forever and never saw him again, she’s going to – she doesn’t know, but there will be a lot of slapping involved, which he is possibly fortunate to have evaded. It hasn’t felt sporting to hit him when he’s been in such decrepit shape, but still. “Did you want me to say yes? Or just – go?”

Her voice chokes on the last word, she can’t quite get it out, and she thinks just then that if he says yes, if he does say anything remotely in that vein, it will in fact break her heart, and she doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s not a crush, it’s not a passing fancy, it’s not something casual and commonplace and easily replaceable. As she stands there, staring daggers at Flynn and strongly tempted to kill him – which you’d think would not be the correct moment for this realization, and yet, that is Garcia Flynn for you – Lucy feels it settle into her like the snow itself, as cold and frightening and unshakable, elemental, unbearable. Oh shit, she thinks. Oh, shit.

At last, slowly, Flynn turns around and meets her eyes. “I don’t,” he says, as if still struggling to remember how to words. “I don’t – I don’t want you to go. Lucy, how – Lucy, I don’t, I can’t – that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?” Lucy takes another step. They’re almost nose to nose despite the height difference. “Then why are you here?”

Flynn opens his mouth. The look on his face is hard to categorize, aside from a blend of shock, confusion, alarm, and consternation, none of which feel like a prelude to an impassioned love declaration. He raises his hand to cup her cheek, as if it’s too hard to say it aloud and he is going to struggle with all his might to demonstrate it instead. That’s not a kiss, right? It can’t be a kiss. But the look in his eyes is heartbroken and tender and more devoted than Lucy thought was possible for one human man, and she rises on her toes, opening her mouth, closing her eyes, ready, so beyond ready to give herself to him, if he will have her, and –

Just then, the kitchen door bangs, a snowy Wyatt and Rufus barge in, and Lucy and Flynn spring apart as if they’ve been electrocuted. It’s good to see that Wyatt is in fact un-wolfed, but Lucy practically wants to throttle him herself for the interruption – even as she is, ridiculously, almost relieved. If it was then, if it was real, if it was what she thought it was just then. . . she doesn’t know if her heart could bear it. She knows it, she knows it, and it’s possibly the first time in her life that she’s been absolutely sure, and she is terrified. She’s in love with Flynn. She’s in love with him. She feels sick at the idea of leaving this reality because it means leaving him and never seeing him again. That every step they get closer to beating Rittenhouse, if they can even flatter themselves that they will, means one step closer to permanent goodbye.

“Well,” Rufus says. “I’m really not sure how much use that was, because we didn’t learn anything. Aside from the fact that it’s freezing, which was obvious. Lucy?”

“Yeah?” She struggles to recollect herself. “What, Rufus?”

“Did you find anywhere about where we’re supposed to go, or do, or – or what?”

“Yes.” Lucy doesn’t know for sure what’s waiting out there in the dark, in the frozen sea, in the night and the wild, and yet. All the woods belong to him. She might not know what, but she does know who, and it gives her a chill beyond all sense or speech. “Solovetsky Island.”

#timeless #timeless ff #lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #starlight & strange magic #steampunk au #fun fact! this is now as long as tangled web #are we done?#no #no we are not #i don't know why they're like this either

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dissonancedance · 5 years

Photo

In that moment, the ghost he had once been searching for in her blood had come back alive, but the idea of succeeding did not bring the reward he had so often dreamt it would. That steel in her eyes belonged to an impossible dream he now saw as a nightmare.

Chapter 93 of Closing the Distance now available on AO3.

The needle settled onto the record with a soft hiss that ushered up an orchestra, though the composer and era were beyond Vidar’s knowledge or ability to identify. On the faded paper disk at the center of the record, he could make out that it was Russian, or at least the record itself was made in Russia by its lettering. As with most things he had found lately, a closer look did nothing to decipher the mysteries surrounding him. He let the violins play only to distract him as he interacted with where his eye used to be.

Now that the swelling had receded and the wound had healed without incident over the past two months, the plastic conformer plumped up the patchwork flap of his eyelid to its once natural shape, but the slice from his hairline to his cheek had rendered some of the connective structures and nerve damage too tedious for the medical staff to address. That chasm of baby pink scar tissue confirmed that he would never regain full mobility in that side of his face to furrow his brow or blink with what they had salvaged of his eyelid. He held no lasting resentment towards them for their negligence; they were consistently overworked and lacked the necessary equipment for such delicate repairs.

Nonetheless, anyone who looked at him would see how his life held horrible violence and he would bare the evidence of this trauma for all his life, unable to conceal and lie towards normalcy again. The choice to be anything but what he really was had been cut away from him, but there had never really been a choice to begin with. Insanity had a way of slipping through masks.

The conformer slid out with a scoop of his fingernail and the plastic shell clattered in the sink before he tossed it in the wastebasket.

“I am not sterilizing that thing for you again,” Maier said, his wheels coming to stop at the edge of the bathroom doorway.

Vidar clicked his tongue and ground out, “I never wanted you to in the first place. I’ve decided against prosthesis.”

“You’ve decided against prosthesis like you’ve decided against clothes, then? These are both concepts geared towards the general comfort of those who must look at you, so I cannot say that I am surprised at your predictable lack of courtesy.”

“Pajamas are for pneumonic grandmas and Catholics. If you don’t want to ‘bare witness’ to my dick, then don’t come knocking on my door at five in the fucking morning.”

“If you rose at reveille, I would not have to. Besides, it is nothing of yours that I have not seen before.”

“You’re welcome to get more acquainted with it if you want to give your mouth something better to do than bitch all day.”

“I have not the time nor the inclination, Mr. Valstad. There is no room for penalty chores on our schedule today, so I implore you to not make us late to the morning drill again.”

Vidar wiped the rim of his gnarled socket with short, gentle swipes, still not entirely used to the sensation of rooting around this far inside his skull. “And what service to the glory of Ouroboros is on our schedule today? More inventory? Data entry? Cataloging invoices?”

“I cannot say. We are to report to the Doctor at eleven-hundred.”

The sour pit of Vidar’s stomach dropped in a reflexive panic, dragging back up as he willed calm back into his composure and strapped the eyepatch over his socket. “It’s about time.”

“Not yet.”

Sweat crawled down Simone’s face, dripping off the tip of her nose and chin to add to the puddle on the floor, and she worried that tears might soon join it if she had to maintain the pose any longer. Her entire abdomen burned with the effort it took not to bend or sag in the rigid position, but the board of nails brushing her belly with each shaking breath did well to remind her of her form. These 3 AM workouts were going to kill her.

She watched two more drops fall before huffing out, “Now?”

“Not yet,” Leif repeated, tapping her flank with the long wooden rod he had taken to using to instruct her.

A grunt shoved its way past her teeth as she rebalanced her stance. The rod lingered on her hip, each millisecond of its presence causing her paranoia to rapidly shift between checking her form and assuring herself that her form was perfect until the smooth oak began to slide up her side, dragging her shirt up with it. The relief that he was not correcting some unknown mistake was short-lived when the rod left her only to quickly swat against her ribs in an explosion of unfathomable agony for an instrument so slant.

“AH! OW! Mother-fucking why!?” she shouted, fists clenched and back bowed inward to contain the pain.

“Mind your position,” Leif scolded wearily, tapping her back with the tip of the rod to correct her.

Simone snarled up at him, teeth bared and eyes blazing with a rage that fizzled down when they met his stern and unaffected gaze, but her anger did not abate enough to stop her from grinding out, “I was!”

“You need to practice self-discipline,” he said, and regret doused the rest of her ire in a cold bath of fear when he moved to kneel all the way down to her eye level. “You must not let pain control you, darling. Invite it to flow through you as part of you — a guest in your existence, not an enemy to conquer. Pain is conditional; you mustn’t be ruled by the conditional. Now, mind your position.”

Those too-familiar words hit her with a memory she didn’t want to consider again. She took a calming breath, ignored the shiver that rattled it, and reclaimed her perfect stance in an attempt to draw her focus elsewhere. Arms straight, palms flat on the floor and aligned with her shoulders, all the right muscle groups tight, engaged, and on fire. When the next strike came, she was not surprised. The oak rod cut through the air with an audible whoosh that ended with a slap on her skin and a bright burst of pain in her side, but it did not nearly bowl her over or force out a shout this time. Instead, she sucked in a quavering gasp and held it, shifting her focus until her perception of the pain shifted with it.

The agony that sparked along her nerves also brought the mercy of endorphins to blunt her pain receptors and stimulate the neurological processes associated with pleasure. She knew these biological tricks to mollify and soothe, but the euphoria that clouded everything in a dense and dizzying pleasantness still amazed her. When the rod struck her the third time, the gasp it forced from her was not one of protest. The rod lingered, suspicion heavy in the weight of it, and she knew he had sensed the shift in her. Her cheeks burned in a humiliated blush that she hoped he couldn’t see from his angle over her.

“That’s enough,” he announced, pulling the rod away from her battered side.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself up and wiped the dust from her hands as she walked off the burn and nervousness in her abdomen. The three thick red lines along her side were already inflamed with the promise of bruises to come, ready to join the others that her father had made in his constant mission to instill true discipline in her. Pain was the easy part of punishment. Pain was simple, conditional, fleeting; a rude guest in her body that would take its leave or make a chronic home where the damage was lasting. Transmuting the pain he gave into something akin to pleasure was not supposed to be part of the lesson, but that was the lesson he had taught her in his bed and it could not be unlearned. Simone rubbed the marks, her hand absently trailing down to the pink line over her uterus as she continued to pace the length of the sparse room. Not every pain could be changed.

The pressure of his stare forced the issue to boil to the surface, tangling that knot of anxiety in her tight enough to wring out a muttered, “‘Pain is the most poignant reminder that you are still alive’.”

Leif’s brow twitched in what could have been anything from mild curiosity to guarded shock. “Who told you that?”

There was a good eight feet of space between them, but she wasn’t sure if she could dodge him if he came at her. There was no stuffing this cat back in the bag now, not after it had been clawing at the walls of her mind for this long. Her brave front got her as far as meeting his gaze, then dwindled under the intensity of his focus.

“You did,” she answered. His stillness was even more unnerving than his stare, making her sick with dread at wherever she was treading with this topic, but not as sick as holding it within her. “I was eight, or nine, I don’t… I just know that you showed me the picture of the monk on fire and you said that to me… and then you cut open your arm and...”

The warmth and weight of his blood trickling thickly into her lap charged through her mind with all the horror of that memory. Standing across from him, seeing the old impassive mask set firmly over his expression, she knew he had the exact knowledge of the moment she was referring to and the concealment of his reaction was only confirming the worst of the suspicions that had gathered in her since she’d begun to remember.

She swallowed the rising pit of nausea back down, drawing a shaking breath before continuing, “I want to know why I forgot… and I think you know. Why did you do it? How much did you make me forget?”

Leif’s stillness was that of a predator waiting for the moment to pounce on his prey; all coiled muscles and cold observation. When he spoke, she could not tear her eyes away from the pointed sharpness of his eyeteeth.

“After six years of being routinely drugged, can you really place any confidence in your memories?”

The blithe rebuttal stung worse than any violence he could have responded with. Heat crept up the back of her neck and her throat closed around the outrage that wanted to leap out of her in a shout.

Instead of a shout, she could only whisper, “Gaslighting me is old hat, Papa. I know what’s real now.”

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you remember, even if you find out what happened, it doesn’t change anything,” he said, walking towards her, each deliberate step vibrating through the floorboards to rattle her bones despite their lightness. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, then slide up to gently hold the back of her neck. “Don’t let the past get in the way of our future, Simone. Everything that’s happened had to happen for us to be together. Let the ends justify the means this time, my love.”

“Are these our ends?” she muttered.

He pulled her toward him, his grip on her neck guiding her like a ring through a bull’s snout, and she crashed against the hard length of his torso.

“Are you not happy to be in love with me, darling?” he asked, his other hand threading through her hair to cradle her head against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady drum while hers thrashed in her rib cage. “Is this bond not what you have suffered for?”

“I need to know what happened!” she insisted, pushing down the instinct to flee in the presence of his temper.

His hand tightened in her hair, drawing a mewl from her that sounded pathetic even to her own ears as he tugged her backwards. He leaned down close enough for the heat of his breath to brush over her face as he spoke, “No, you don’t. If you can’t trust my intentions, then trust that there are reasons I have weighed and considered to have come to my decisions and have faith that they are correct according to my ability and judgment. Your lack of faith has caused much trouble; don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He released her with a shove, leaving her scalp tingling as she stumbled to regain her balance and put more distance between them. The heat in her blood made her shake and, not knowing how to contain the overwhelming clash of emotions she feared to encounter past her shock, she moved away from him until her back hit the mirrors that lined the far wall.

A mirthless grin tugged at her lips as she asked, “So, that’s it? Half my life gone behind a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ order?”

“Simone,” he warned, and the scrape of gravel in his tone sent a shiver through her gut.

“I’ve been hurt in a lot of ways,” she said, palms too slick with sweat to hold herself up against the mirror as she tried not to cower. “Bound, whipped, strangled… but I had faith that you would find me one way or another if I could just stay where I could be found. I endured. My faith in you endured, even when I begged for death… even when death answered. Whatever happened, whatever you did… You think the truth is going to break me now?” A dry, shallow laugh panted out of her before vanishing behind clenched teeth. “Don’t lecture me on faith when you’re the one who’s lacking.”

Her ears rang as though she’d screamed it all, but her father stood watching, waiting as though he hadn’t even heard her. Then, he threw the cane aside, the clatter echoing loudly in the unfurnished room and making her flinch.

“I can’t give you back what was lost,” he said, that false calm as cold as his stare, “but if it matters to you so much, I might explain why it was done. Go back to our suite and run a warm bath; I’ll be up shortly.”

And just like that, he turned and left. Simone was frozen, her back glued to the mirror as she tried to reconcile the anger and fear still warring within her, the storm of emotions lagging to catch up to what had just happened. For the first time, she had won against her father’s will.

The morning drill was the same as it had been every day since Vidar’s release from the infirmary; the same lining up in the courtyard to pledge their commitment to their shared path, the same sprint interval training course, the same calisthenics circuit, the same callused hands gripping his as he shared the same wishes for a productive day of service with his Ouroboros brothers and sisters, the same shuffling into the showers and then the mess hall for the same high-protein breakfast. The rhythm of the morning and the physicality of each task provided the distraction to keep him from acting on the urge to panic buzzing just under his skin, but each bite of the egg and mystery meat scramble ground between his teeth like ash after the clock ticked past the 10 AM mark. By the time he saw Maier wheel into the hall, he could no longer imagine that the tremor in his limbs was the effect of a strenuous workout.

“How did physical therapy go today, Dick?” Vidar asked before the ex-agent could speak.

“Well, as you can see, I am still reliant on this wheelchair,” Maier answered with as much terseness as the impassive man could achieve. “Yet even with my limited mobility, I still get through the morning faster than you. I am afraid you must abandon the remainder of your breakfast if you wish to avoid tardiness, Mr. Valstad.”

Vidar’s eye twitched to the gilded clock hanging above the long rows of tables, its sprawling hands only showing it to be just past 10:20, and said, “It’s not that long of a walk to the eastern wing.”

“Dr. Aguiyi requests you attend in your personal attire.”

“What’s wrong with the uniform? The khaki trousers are a little utilitarian, but the V-neckline on these shirts are ready to party. Why don’t you relax and have some eggs?”

“No, thank you. I need to minimize my protein intake. Now, then…” Maier pulled the tray away, the metal scraping along the laminate surface making a sound that expressed the frustration the stoic man never could as he said, “I will escort you to your quarters, Mr. Valstad.”

Leif waited for his daughter’s footsteps to recede down the hall before letting his shoulders sag with the sigh that left him. This was not anything he had been prepared to address since the incident had come to pass ten years ago and all that the decade had accomplished was only to further assure him that he would never have to. Four years of nervously waiting for her memories to resurface and then six years of mind altering drugs to ensure they never would had all begun to crumble in the five short months since her last dose.

Whoever that was in there that accused him of lacking faith was not his daughter. In that moment, the ghost he had once been searching for in her blood had come back alive, but the idea of succeeding did not bring the reward he had so often dreamt it would. That steel in her eyes belonged to an impossible dream he now saw as a nightmare.

Leif rubbed his face, trying to tame the ache that was building behind his skull and, failing, turned from the corner he’d hidden behind and began the trek back to his quarters. The members he passed gave him a wide berth, but their salutes and greetings smothered him with the thickness of their adoration. It seemed that nothing could disgrace him in their eyes, not his desertion, not his relationship with his daughter, not even his task of occasionally doling out murder among his worshippers. He supposed things could have ended up worse for him than being imprisoned to play the role of a god among war cultists, but this was not where his path would end.

When he stepped into his quarters and heard water rushing into the bathtub, he knew he had to be very mindful of where his path would turn from here. His daughter’s loyalty, while never blind, was becoming uprooted from the source he had planted in her long ago. He stood in the doorway to the bathroom and watched her bend over to test the temperature of the flow. His Simone was a dutiful daughter, an avid lover, and a devoted companion, but that streak of willfulness and rebellion in her could fracture all of that if he allowed it. Perhaps he deserved that, but fairness was not always right and what was deserved rarely served anyone in their line of living.

The squeal of the antique taps turning brought him out of his dread to find her waiting, her gaze still fixed to the water.

“How do you want me?” she asked, each word carefully and deliberately spoken to stave off the quaver of fear.

He swallowed the dryness in his throat and answered with a brief, “Disrobe. Get in.”

There was always the hesitance of shyness in this act, no matter how many times she had done this in front of him and at his command. It was usually endearing, but now as she cast her eyes to the floor and dragged her pants down her hips with a reluctant slowness, he hated it. He wanted her to look at him, to bare herself with eagerness and anticipation instead of humiliation, but he had not conditioned her to be proud of her sexuality. Shame was simply a more effective tool to manipulate.

As she gathered up her hair and stepped into the tub, he pulled up a short stool next to it and started, after a tentative moment, at the beginning, “When my uncle Bjørn was assassinated, there was a general interest among his followers to see that death was not his end but rather his obstacle. To overcome this obstacle, they sent Dr. Benjamin Wallace with a proposition to my door twelve years ago.”

“The same doctor who let us stay in his house?” Simone asked.

Leif nodded. “The very same, yes. He had some theories on genetically predetermined behavior and genetic memory that Bjørn’s followers became very interested in. They wanted him to revive Bjørn through the genetic memory of one of his descendants, and I…” He pressed the heel of his palm to his brow, willing the dull ache of regret to the back of his mind. “I wanted that too. As impossible as I knew it to be, I wanted at least some part of who my uncle was to live again and you… You’ve always been so similar to this man you’ve never met; it gave me hope that maybe, in some small and strange ways, he was in you somewhere and all we had to do was… dig those pieces of him up.”

The silence from his girl was a palpable presence that drew him to notice how still and pale she was, not even the rise and fall of breathing moved her until she asked in a whisper, “Did it work?”

“Of course not,” he smiled. “Even Ben didn’t think it had a chance; it was just a theory he was interested in testing in a human subject.”

“How are you so sure it didn’t work?”

His smile faded as a livid suspicion slunk through the mire of his guilt. “Did Frank tell you anything about this?”

She shook her head, but her glassy stare was miles away from him to be able to tell if she was lying or not.

He rolled up his sleeves as he continued, “The experiments were a failure, but they yielded some unexpected results. We were able to medically induce a controlled fugue state in you that caused you to be extremely receptive to suggestion without sacrificing your motor control or cognition – you would execute any task suggested to you without bias, regardless if that task endangered you.”

He lathered a sponge in a sweet-smelling soap before reaching out to his daughter and scrubbing slow, gentle circles on her skin. She didn’t react to the rough texture of the sponge, not even as he scrubbed it over the scars at the crux of her neck and shoulder where his bite mark had been carved away. He watched her blank expression curiously; she had always at least tensed whenever that area was touched, even after it had healed.

“We were successful in conditioning you to filter out orders that were given by persons other than myself while in that fugue state, effectively turning you into the perfect soldier. Well, almost perfect. You were unable to form long term memory while induced, and we didn’t realize until it was far too late that this side effect had begun affecting you outside of the fugue state. There was a remarkable consistency in the memories that were affected; only your memories pertaining to me were eroding. We shelved the experiment at once, but it took months before we saw any evidence that this side effect was going to recede. There were times where you didn’t seem to know who I was at all. In a way, this was fortunate and fortuitous. I’m convinced that, had you retained a consistent impression of me as your father throughout your life, you would not have developed a strong sexual attraction to me.”

“Well, thank god for that, then,” she said.

Leif paused in his work of soaping up her torso, surprised at the plainly-spoken but deeply sarcastic comment. That didn’t sound like something she would say, not to him. He resumed scrubbing; he could deal with her disrespect later.

“I did not erase your memories,” he said. “It was an unfortunate accident in our past that allowed for fortunate opportunities to occur in our future, not by my design but by the design of fate.”

Simone watched the suds swirling on the water as she asked, “Is Dr. Wallace still alive?”

“I believe he remains a prisoner of the estate. Why? I will not condone you speaking with him on the subject.”

“No, that’s not…” she trailed off, closing her eyes before huffing out a short sigh and starting over, “Thank you for telling me this, Papa. It answers a lot of questions I’ve had for longer than I’ve known.”

Leif sighed again, this time allowing his breath to carry out the tension that his dread had twisted in him. His daughter was taking this all so well, at least for now. There would inevitably be some emotional fallout once the shock passed, but he would be there to direct her grief to more useful channels.

“You don’t have to pose your questions yet, darling,” he said. He cupped a palmful of bathwater and poured it over her shoulders, rinsing the sweet-smelling suds from her skin to leave her brown and gleaming. “We can talk more about this later, but I want you to know that I’m glad those experiments failed. I simply didn’t know what I was risking back then. I’d never want to give you up for anything or anyone else in the world.”

Her downturned head shot up abruptly, distant eyes alert and pinched in worry as she asked, “What time is it? I forgot I had promised to make breakfast with Bisi!”

Leif smiled. It was classically Simone to bury and suppress what she could not handle. He could allow her this retreat today, he supposed.

“It’s just now 20 passed 4,” he answered, giving her a pat on her shoulder. “You’d better hurry.”

“Quit rushing me!” Vidar snarled, swiping at Maier’s hands as the man reached up to adjust his tie.

“Mr. Valstad, I would highly recommend you consult a mirror before leaving your quarters,” Maier’s bland monotone droned out with a patience that did not match his insistent grab as he yanked him down to his level. The ex-agent’s strength and skill had Vidar bending at the waist without much resistance. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Fuck off,” Vidar sneered, but did not move until Maier’s deft hands completely redid his necktie. Any delay towards knocking on the door to Aguiyi’s office was a welcomed one.

“Well… let’s see what the old man wants,” Vidar muttered, bracing himself as he lifted his hand, only to jerk away when the door opened.

The heavy oak creaked on the hinges, revealing the Doctor seated amidst his ubiquitous cloud of cigar smoke and gaggle of pretty young wives. Gaggle of pretty young assassins, he reminded himself as he stepped into the dimmed room.

“Vidar!” Aguiyi grinned, yellowed teeth gleaming in the light of the candles strewn around his desk. “So good to see you again! Come, sit down and tell me how you’ve been adapting to the lifestyle!”

“The food could be better,” Vidar said, “but there is a grueling sort of comfort in monotony.”

He smiled against the urge to look away from those terrible pale eyes as he approached, knowing how dangerous it was to let his gaze drift to the women. As he sat in the leather chair across from the desk, however, one of them caught his attention from the corner of his vision. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised in the cold shiver that coursed through his veins when he locked eyes with the silver stare of his once-slave.

“You…” he breathed, the word passing as quietly as a phantom over his lips.

“There exists a measure of safety in how structured each aspect of our daily lives are within the walls of the estate,” Aguiyi went on. Vidar could not will himself to look away from her, the old man’s words drifting into the background all but unheard as Simone’s hand clutched tight over her abdomen, drawing his shocked stare down to where he remembered she’d cut herself open. “Safety is a precious idea among the many reminders of mortality that inundate our purpose here. Inconvenient business, mortality is, but business is booming. Tell me, Vidar, what would you do to secure your survival?”

Vidar jerked out of his shock at the sound of his name on that deadly tongue, swallowing the thickness that clogged his throat before answering, “Anything… sir. I would do anything.”

Aguiyi’s grin settled into a smile that chilled him to the bone. “I know. You’ve suffered, you’ve served, you’ve even sacrificed your beloved. You have proven your commitment to your survival. I must ask you to prove it again.”

Fear numbed Vidar’s face as he forced himself to nod in response. Aguiyi beckoned to someone unseen in a darkened corner of the room and two men dragged a chained and naked older man toward the desk. The leather armrests of the chair squeaked from how hard Vidar gripped them as he took in the prisoner’s sorry condition.

“Vid, I’d like you to meet Dr. Benjamin Wallace,” Aguiyi beamed proudly. “He will be heading a medical research project that we would like you to participate in. Do you accept?”

Vidar could have laughed if he had the breath to. There had never really been a choice to begin with.

#Closing The Distance #update #fiction #horror #cults #possible workout motivation?#have a holly jolly crisis

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