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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 months

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Survivor Blues

Part Six: Kitchen Scraps

A/N: I feel like every single one of my author's notes begins with me screaming and apologizing for how long it took me to update the story, so pretend that's what this says. I am very excited to share this part of Survivor Blues because even though there's not a lot of action, it sets up a ton of things to come, and we get a lot more background information on Reader. From the bottom of my heart I hope you all enjoy these kitchen scraps. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma, death, murder, mentions of illness, some angst but hey that comes with the territory

Word Count: 8,454

Summary: Three months into your new life in Jackson, you start to notice some changes. But how much change, and are you sure you're entirely ready for it?

June - 2037

With the start of your third month in Jackson came a considerable number of changes.

Your apartment, for example, began to look like someone actually lived there.

For the first time in nearly a decade, your pack had been unpacked, your belongings given places of permanence instead of just pockets and pouches. The pair of chipped enamel camp mugs now sat side by side in the cabinet over the kitchen sink. Gavin’s stained and threadbare concert tee was folded and put away with the rest of your clothing. A hook next to the front door held your coat by the hood, the key to your place dangling on another one right beside it. The creased and tattered old envelope you’d carried with you for years that held photos and a handful of notes had been emptied and tossed. The notes, mostly from Gavin but a few from Laura and Kyle, as well as a faded old marker drawing your nephew had done for you when he was six years old, were tucked away in your bedside table.

But the photos you chose to display.

Because they deserve to be seen. Everyday.

You’d found some old frames in a box in the hall closet a few days after you moved in, but you weren’t ready to use them then. Now one sat atop your dresser, holding the last picture of you and Gavin taken before the outbreak - incredibly youthful faces smushed cheek to grin-split cheek, Gavin’s inked fingers holding up your wrist as you showed off the diamond ring he’d slipped onto your finger only moments before. Your engagement ring had been sold ages ago, back when you were still in the Philadelphia QZ and people still cared enough about things like diamonds to trade medicine for them. But the photo was worth more to you than a rock ever could be.

And I still have our bands. Even though we never…

You were never officially married, and since the bands had been hand-me-downs from Gavin’s grandparents and didn’t fit either of your fingers, you’d only ever worn them on chains around your necks. But you knew that never mattered. Not to you, and not to him. Not since the moment that picture had been taken. Not since you’d joyfully exclaimed the word yes when he asked you to be his wife.

Another frame sat on the T.V. stand in the living room. That one held a picture of you and Laura from the summer before the outbreak, the two of you sitting on the steps outside her building, cups of brightly colored Italian ice in your hands and Kyle’s father’s arm sticking in from out of sight to add bunny ears to his girlfriend’s head. Both of you were laughing at some long since forgotten joke, but you’d always be able to hear the sound of her laughter when you looked at it.

There was another picture taken that day, one of just Laura and Dante on those same steps. You’d taken it yourself, with Gavin’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind you as he made faces at his sister to get her to laugh. That one you didn’t have anymore, though. You’d left it with Kyle. It was the only photo you had of both of his parents. It was only right that it stay with him.

The last two photos that you had in your possession were polaroids taken with a camera you’d found during your time at the farm. One of them was of you, Gavin, Laura and a two year old Kyle, the little boy perched on his uncle’s shoulders, the four of you standing in front of the old oak tree that his family had been taking pictures in front of for generations. Ty had been behind the camera that day, not wanting to be caught on film herself but more than happy to capture moments for the rest of you. The other was a candid she’d snapped of just you and Gavin from the same day, your hands linked together and hanging between your bodies and his face turned in your direction. The expression he wore was one of pure adoration as he watched you watching the sunset. Seconds later he was leaning in to press his lips to your temple, kissing a whisper onto your skin.

“Love you, Sugar.”

Memories like those didn’t belong in your backpack anymore. If you were going to build a life here, they deserved to be a part of it.

Because they’re a part of me.

Those two, because of their unconventional shape, didn’t fit in the 3x5 frames you’d found. But you had another option in the form of your stark white refrigerator door. Using the plain green circular magnet that had been stuck there when you arrived, you tacked up the photo of you and Gavin. The last thing that you pulled from your pack was what you used to hang the other - the rest stop souvenir magnet that Joel had given you the morning after you’d sewn up his arm.

It was the first “new” thing you’d brought into the apartment since you moved in. The first new item in your collection of trinkets that tied you to moments and people that mattered to you. It scared the shit out of you to admit, but one of the biggest changes you’d gone through since your arrival in Jackson was allowing things to matter again. When Kyle died you thought your ability to feel anything but emptiness had died with him. You thought life, however much more of it you’d be unlucky enough to endure, would be nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other until you physically couldn’t anymore. No more laughter, no more happiness, no more warmth and certainly no more human connection. Just the hollow feeling in your skull and the involuntary drive to carry on. Left, right, left until you marched yourself into the dirt. Or worse.

But then Joel and Tommy found you in that split-level not far from town and now here you were, with a refrigerator door decorated with things that mattered.

You wondered if it would ever be as covered up with kitschy clutter as the one in your and Gavin’s tiny apartment. Photobooth strips and postcards, recipes that you wanted to try, either clipped from magazines or scrawled hastily on scraps of paper, a birthday card you’d gotten one year from your friend Dave that was too funny to take down, the test results from Gavin’s blood work that showed improvement after his surgery which he jokingly slapped up calling it his A+ report card. Magnets from trips you’d taken, a promotional one from your favorite dumpling place, stray letters from one of those colorful alphabet sets, objects you’d simply glued a magnetic strip to to turn into a magnet, like the little plastic stingray you found on the floor in the hallway of your building or the cork from the champagne bottle you popped when you moved in.

Like a scrapbook.

That was what Gavin used to call it. A memory pushed its way forward from the back of your mind as you stood there looking at your mostly bare by comparison fridge, a moment you hadn’t thought about in what felt like ages.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you scurried from the bathroom to the bedroom, fingers deftly fastening an earring before flipping the strap of your dress to lay it flat against your shoulder. The anxiety of running late and nerves about meeting extended members of Gavin’s family for the first time at his cousin’s wedding popped and jumped like corn kernels in your stomach. As a result, your thoughts tripped over themselves in your head as you stuffed your phone and a tube of lip gloss into a small purse. I still have to sign the card and - shit! The card! We need to stop at an ATM and grab cash for the card! Wait, the place is in Germantown, right?

“Gav? Where’s the invitation? I need to check -”

“Hung it on the scrapbook.” He followed you from the bedroom down the short, narrow hall to the kitchen as his slender fingers worked to form the knot in his tie. “Slow down, Shug, we’ve got plenty of time.” You plucked the invite from the collage you called a refrigerator door just as he finished his task, those same long digits now curling around your hips to pull you flush against his long, lean frame. When he spoke again, lips close to your ear and breath warm on your skin, you could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re not gonna be late, don’t you worry.” You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look gorgeous.” His murmured compliment made you melt, made the nerves that were just exploding inside you go calm. And then he spoke again and made you snort out a laugh. “Gonna upstage the bride.”

You turned in his arms to see the smile still on his face, his eyes shining softly as he looked at you. You rolled yours playfully, smacking his arm with the invitation as you did to draw a chuckle from his throat. “Oh, stop. I’m sure Maya is gonna be a stunning bride.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, leaning in to nudge the tip of your nose with his. “Just not as stunning as you.”

You wondered if you would ever again feel even a fraction of what you felt in that nearly forgotten, long buried memory. Like you were floating. Radiating love. Sure of every part of yourself. Safe in the arms and heart of a man who always put you first. Blinking at the expanse of white, powder-coated stamped steel that surrounded the two pictures and two magnets, you decided it was far more likely that you’d fill up that empty space before someone else filled the empty space in your heart.

But… it’s not entirely impossible.

Your focus strayed to the Wyoming magnet, a small, soft swell growing in your chest as you remembered the look on Joel’s face when he handed it to you. Maybe it was possible that you could find both here. You scoffed and shook the thought from your head before you took it too far. You knew you were in no shape for anything like that, emotionally speaking.

The last time you’d been in anything that resembled a relationship had been a little under ten years earlier, just outside the Chicago QZ, and you’d done everything you could to keep it as stunted and strictly physical as possible. A means to an end. A way to release tensions pent up for too long, a way to feel something other than fear or pain or white hot rage or the soul sucking sadness that clawed at your throat most nights. AJ - a tall, muscular smuggler with a deep voice, far away eyes and a teenaged sister he’d shoot you dead to save if it came to that - was happy to agree to those terms. He understood you and your bricked up walls and your need to keep your broken heart behind them. He understood those things without you ever saying them because he was doing the same thing.

It lasted three months before he ruined it by offering you more.

“You know, Gia and I are thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ Chicago,” he told you one night in the upstairs bedroom of the stash house he let you and your family stay in while Laura rested a badly sprained ankle. In exchange, you kept his cache of smuggled goods protected from raiders. The fucking had just been a mutual bonus. “QZ’s goin’ to shit. Think it’s time we get out for good.”

You balked instantly at the casual way he dropped his future plans on you. Your clothes were still strewn on the floor, your bare skin still pressed to his. You were too exposed for that kind of intimacy. Shifting away from his hold you felt yourself shutdown, an icy flush running through your veins to kill whatever warmth AJ had managed to put there before he spoke.

“Oh?” Your voice came out flat as you sat up and reached for your shirt.

The man in the bed behind you cleared the gravel from his throat and sat up, too. “Yeah.” His large palm landed too gently on your shoulder blade, and you knew he felt it when you flinched at the sweep of his thumb, but he kept going anyway. “I was thinking maybe you’d wanna come with us.” He leaned forward and broke another rule, brushing a stubble-studded kiss to your spine. “You and Kyle and Laura, of course.”

You stood, putting more distance between you so he couldn’t feel the way your heart was banging on your ribs, telling you it was time to pull up stakes and go. Yanking the shirt over your head, you looked at him with empty eyes and a slight shake of your head. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” You arched one eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s not what this is.” You took another step, bending down to pick up the rest of your clothes so that you could seal yourself away from him.

He let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh and you heard the bed springs creak as he got up. “It could be,” he answered, reaching for your wrist in an attempt to slow you down, reel you back in, try to coax you into agreeing to let this thing between you go from bare bones and scraps to something more fleshed out and filling. You shook off his loose grip and finished getting dressed despite the click of his tongue and the low murmur of your name. “You could let it be. We can keep each other safe. I can keep you safe, and-“

A humorless laugh escaped your lips then. “If you think I need you to keep me safe, then you don’t know a goddamn thing about me.” You shoved your feet into your boots and laced them up tight.

“I know you don’t need it, but-”

Wheeling on him, you cut him off. “You know what, AJ? I think this has run its course. Laura’s ankle is healed, so-“ You hardened your features against the way his face fell. “We’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

And you were.

AJ had tried one more time to get you to stay. One more time to tell you that he wanted you in his hair, that he wanted you in his life. But that would mean him becoming a part of yours. That would mean Gia becoming a part of yours. That would mean two more people to anchor yourself to. Two more people for you to protect. Two more people to weave themselves into the fabric of your heart, and two more people you could potentially lose, causing that fabric to tear in two more places. You’d already worn yourself ragged with responsibility and loss. You weren’t looking for more. AJ was a good man. He could have been good for you. The timing was just wrong.

But you were safe now. There was no reason to run from companionship or intimacy now. That didn’t mean it would be easy, though.

Like that’s ever stopped you before, you could hear Gavin tease, a smirk on his face.

It hadn’t. You had never been one to back down simply because the task at hand might be difficult. You moved out on your own for the first time with only what you could fit in your car. You took your first kitchen job without a lick of experience. You fell head over heels in love with a man with a heart defect, knowing full and well that any chance at forever with him could be cut short by his condition and diving in anyway. Easy wasn’t really in your playbook.

Again, it was Joel’s face that came to mind. You had no real idea what his story was when it came to relationships, you only knew that he wasn’t currently in one. And with the way you had heard some women in town speak about him when they thought only their closest friends could hear, you gathered that it was by choice. That it wasn’t something he was looking for.

And though you were almost afraid to admit it even to yourself, a part of you already hoped that you were wrong about that.

Another change came in the way that you interacted with people in town. For starters, you’d stopped outright avoiding eye contact and dodging conversation when walking to and from your apartment. When people came into the bakery, you smiled and found yourself chatting about things you used to talk to your customers about before the outbreak.

“Morning, Heather! How was Kaylee’s birthday? Did she like the cupcakes?”

“Hi, Marty. Didn’t see you yesterday when they were fresh, but I saved you some corn muffins. I know they’re Carl’s favorite.”

“Hey Nadia, you live next to Allie and Greg, right? How are they doing with the new baby? Can you drop their order off to them on your way home?”

On patrols and trail sweeps you picked up where you left off on topics you’d previously spoken to your partners about. It was never anything truly personal aside from when you were paired with a woman named Jo who still spoke with an unmistakable Pennsylvanian accent, and you shared that you were from Philly. In an extreme case of it’s a small world afterall, she turned out to be from Glenside, a suburb just a few SEPTA stops away. The two of you had spent that shift - an overnight gate patrol - talking about restaurants, bars and other places you missed in the city. Typically you talked about books or movies or music, trading recommendations or trying to recall lyrics to songs you hadn’t heard in decades. Sometimes, like when you were paired with Jesse or one of the other younger volunteers, you brought up a movie they hadn’t heard of and you ended up summarizing or explaining it to them. Like some kind of post-apocalyptic storytime. The Tale of The Men in Black. The Saga of The Breakfast Club. The Epic of Empire Records.

It never strayed into “opening up” territory, but you were refamiliarizing yourself with being a person again, and not just trying to stay alive for another 24 hour block of time. You were still hesitant to attend one of the Friday night gatherings at the Tipsy Bison, but you had started to eat one or two meals a week in the communal dining hall. You’d sit with people you knew and felt the most comfortable with - Evelyn from the bakery, Tommy and Maria when you saw them, Eugene or Henrik if they waved you over. You rarely saw Joel there but sometimes you caught a glimpse of Ellie surrounded by some of the other teens. You still spent most of your nights alone in your home - cooking small meals for yourself, reading, sewing patches or buttons onto things as needed - but you were trying, and that was new.

Despite all that had changed though, some things unfortunately remained the same. The nightmares, for example, had proven far more stubborn than your crumbling resolve to not form attachments. They still woke you up every few nights, your breaths coming in greedy gasps as you worked to convince yourself that you were safe in your bed in Jackson and not tearing through the dark woods with a twelve year old Kyle’s hand clamped in your own, a pack of hunters hot on your trail. Or that Gavin hadn’t met a horrific end at the snapping jaws of a horde of infected. Or that those men hadn’t caught you in that warehouse in Kentucky and kept you chained to a mattress in a back room.

But it wasn’t the close call and what if nightmares that were the worst of them. Not by a long shot. The darkest dreams you fell victim to weren’t conjured by your fears or anxieties. They came straight from your actions and experiences. They weren’t dreams at all, just memories played back in excruciatingly high definition. Memories of the worst things you’d ever done. Reminders that you might not deserve this new lease on life. Portals to places where you’d committed the unthinkable.

Places like that waterlogged and overgrown Walgreens where you crossed the line for the first time - where you became a murderer, taking the life of a human being who wasn’t infected. Who wasn’t even a threat to you. Your mind would floor with details from that fateful day. The squish of the moss covered floor tiles beneath your boots. The odor of rust and mildew that permeated the air. The rustle of things being knocked off a shelf and the terrified hiss of “oh, shit!” that followed. The tilt of your head as you took in the sight of the bottle gripped tightly in the dirty-fingered grasp of the woman, identifying it as the exact drug that you needed. That Gavin needed to stay alive. The way she pleaded with you on behalf of her sick son. “Please, he’s only twelve. He’ll die without them. I’ll split them with you!” The way you didn’t even blink as you shot her dead. The maraca rattle of the pills as you pried the bottle from her hand. The way that shot rang in your ears until you made it back to the farm.

It vibrated in your lungs, even in the dreams. And when you handed the medicine to Gavin, it was written on your face clear as day for him to read. You’d told him what you’d done, waves of nausea roiling through your belly and adrenaline coursing through your blood to make your hands shake and your breathing turn to sobs and gasps. “Oh, Sugar,” he’d said, opening his arms to wrap you in them, pulling you closer to the weakening, uneven beat of his heart. “Don’t lose yourself over me.” Your hot tears soaked into the old, stained concert tee that hung baggy and loose on his frame as you clutched fistfuls of material. “It’s not worth the toll.”

You’d tried to argue with him then, because to you, anything was worth it if it meant more time with him. Another year, another few months, fuck, even if it only bought you mere days there was nothing you weren’t willing to do for Gavin. “We both know you can’t buy me much longer,” he said, speaking calmly as he stroked his long, tattooed fingers up and down your spine. “Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. Stay you, Sugar. Stay you and stay with me.”

In the end though, it was him that couldn’t stay, and that particular nightmare would always end with you sobbing into your pillow. Alone.

More recently your nightmares took you to that grimey hotel room where you helped Kyle end his life. Where you killed him, your subconscious would remind you. Details you didn’t even realize you’d absorbed would come leaching out once you were asleep. The feel of the dust encrusted carpet against your sweaty, blood soaked palm. The pocked and peeling paint flaking from the walls and piling up in little heaps. The icy draft that came through the broken window to freeze the tears in your eyes. The way your nephew suddenly became so heavy as you held him. And that nagging, illogical thought that burrowed itself into the center of your brain and slammed every cell like a cymbal - He could have been immune. You don’t know that he wasn’t.

There had always been rumors about the possibility of natural immunity to the Cordyceps infection. You’d heard the whispers whenever you moved through a place that had or previously had a Firefly presence. Genetic mutations are always possible, they’d posit. You’d always rolled your eyes and called it a hopeless hope, a pipe dream. Just something that desperate people told themselves so they could justify what they’d done or give themselves motivation to keep going. Everyone you’d ever known to be infected had turned within a day or two. You weren’t holding your breath for a miracle mutation.

And even though it was one of the rules you and your family had written for yourselves decades ago, and even though it was what Kyle wanted, and even though you still thought it was easier than having to see your sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful nephew become a snapping, snarling monster, that thought still reverberated in your mind whenever that dream woke you up. He could have been immune. But now you’ll never know.

There were others, too, but those were the ones that came most frequently. Those were the ones that the firewalls in your sleeping brain had no chance against, the ones there was no falling back to sleep after.

On those nights you woke shaken and shaking, pulling yourself from the bed and turning lights on as quickly as possible to banish the things that crept into your mind. On those nights you didn’t try to find sleep again, knowing that the ache in your heart and the spike in your adrenaline wouldn’t let you. Instead you’d pad into the kitchen and do what you’d always done when you couldn’t sleep - open the cabinets and preheat the oven and bake something to take your mind off of whatever had just taken over it.

In college, before you’d dropped out, it was blueberry muffins to distract yourself from the stress of exams. You’d bake dozens of them and give them to your friends as study fuel. On the nights following Gavin’s open heart surgery it was rye bread and cinnamon buns. You’d take them with you to the hospital when you visited him, giving them - along with your unending gratitude - to the nursing staff and doctors that worked on him. At the farm when you worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your family safe it was potato rolls. And for the few months that you stayed in the Chicago QZ it was a modified oatmeal cookie recipe that tasted more like sugarless styrofoam due to the lack of certain ingredients, but bless their hearts, Laura and Kyle still told you they were delicious.

Three months into your stay in Jackson, at six in the morning on your weekly day off, it was sourdough and carrot cake muffins.

By ten o’clock you’d finished baking three loaves of bread - two of which you were planning to take to the community center to be used for meals that day - and were just getting started peeling carrots for the muffins, when there was a knock at your door.

And as you crossed the room to answer it, wiping your hands on the dish towel that hung over your shoulder, you noticed another change - you hadn’t reached for the knife in your boot. You hadn’t even put your boots on that morning, your feet still only covered by the socks you yanked on before coming out to the kitchen. Your heart didn’t start to race. Your fingers hadn’t even twitched. You’d just heard the sound and moved to respond to it like it was normal. Like you would have before the outbreak.

Like I would have back at home.

Unwilling to have that conversation with yourself while someone stood waiting outside your door, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. Not now. Peeking through the view hole, you actually smiled as you saw who was on the other side. I wonder what…

You unlocked the door and opened it. “Hey, good morning, Ellie. What are you up to? Everything alright?”

She groaned in dramatic teenage fashion. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Except for the fact that I’m dying of boredom with these lame shifts Maria put me on this week.”

Maria tried to keep the younger volunteers busy with tasks in the town or on the walls as often as possible, only sending them out when the schedule demanded it to relieve other patrol members, and it seemed that was what had brought Ellie to your apartment. Good. Boring is good and safe. I’m sure Joel loves boring for you, kid.

“Oh yeah? What’s she got you doing today that’s so terrible?”

“Compost duty.” She held up a metal pail that you hadn’t noticed at first, nose wrinkled and top lip curled. “I’m here for your rotten vegetables.”

You let out a laugh in the form of a snort, pushing the door to open it wider. “Well they’re not rotten yet, which is kind of the point, but they’re all yours. Come on in. I’ll grab the jar, it’s in the fridge.”

Closing the door behind herself, Ellie followed you through the small living room towards the kitchen. “Ugh, it smells fucking amazing in here. Are you baking? Even on your day off? Jesus, what time did you wake up?”

You shrugged and looked back over your shoulder at her. “Yeah. You caught me.” You pointed to the counter where the loaves of sourdough sat cooling, moving aside so she could see them. “That’s what you’re smelling.”

She groaned and slumped against the doorframe. “Oh my god those look so good. It’s making me hungry.”

Laughing again, you pulled a serrated knife from the block on the counter. “You want a slice?”

Her eyes lit up as she stood straight. “Are you kidding? Hell yeah I do!” You smiled and turned to saw off a hunk, the knife’s teeth scraping at the thick outer crust before sinking into the soft center. “You know, nothing against Todd or Evelyn, but the bread from the bakery is so much better now that you’re working there.”

You chuckled, letting her compliment wash warmly over you. “Thanks, Ellie, I take my bread seriously so that means a lot to me.” You handed over the slice and she immediately took a bite.

“Fuck,” she groaned through a mouthful, eyes rolling closed as she chewed. “So damn good!”

“Good.” You wiped the blade off and sheathed it in the block again. “I haven't tried it yet, so thanks for helping out with quality assurance.”

“Literally anytime,” she said around another bite.

You smiled and already it was hard to imagine that you’d started that morning shaking and in tears. “Hey, if you’re not in a rush I’ll have even more to throw in your compost bucket if you can wait until I peel these carrots?” Picking up the peeler, you used it to gesture to the pile of vegetables on the cutting board.

She shrugged. “No rush. Peel away.” You nodded and went to work as Ellie leaned against the countertop on the other side of the sink. “So, can I ask you a question?”

You took a breath and considered the kind of question she might ask. “Um… sure.”

“You were a baker, like… before, right? That’s what Joel said, and I mean -” She held up the remainder of the sourdough slice as proof.

“I was.” You answered. “Had my own shop and everything.”

“Okay, so then… How did you not… I mean, fuck, how do I ask this?”

Turning in her direction you took a wild guess to help her out of her struggle. “How did I not become infected immediately since the initial cordyceps contamination was spread through flour?”

She held up one finger, slightly gaping mouth snapping shut. “Yes, exactly.”

You chuckled and went back to the carrots. “Mine was a little different from a regular bakery. I specialized in baking things for people with common food allergies. Eggs, wheat, dairy, things like that. So the flour I used came from a completely different source than…” You trailed off because you knew she got the picture.

“Huh. Do you have allergies? Is that why you decided to bake like that?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. I had…” You swallowed. “I knew people who couldn’t eat certain things, so I did it for them.”

“Well…” She raised one scarred eyebrow. “I guess that was a good choice.”

Snorting, you nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She pushed away from the counter and stepped closer to the refrigerator, her head tilting slightly to one side as something there caught her eye. The pictures. She’s looking at… Your grip on the peeler tightened, a pulse of panic seizing you at the thought that you might have to talk about your family. That was something you hadn’t done in a long time, something that you were still just on the cusp of readiness for. Hanging the photos up for your own eyes to see was one thing. You hadn’t thought about the prospect of others in your home seeing them, too. She’s gonna ask about-

“Hey, Joel has this same magnet.” Reaching out with her pointer finger, she tapped the one shaped like your new home state.

He… What? You let out a breath and set the peeler on the cutting board next to the pile of long orange carrot skin curls. The flash of panic turned to flurried confusion, Ellie’s comment catching you completely off guard. He took one, too? Clearing your throat, you prepared to respond when she spoke again, this time throwing something that looked like a smirk over her shoulder at you.

“What, were they on sale or something?” She tapped it again. “Buy one, get one- Oh, shit!”

The press of her finger must have shifted the magnet, freeing it from the pull that held it in place. You watched as she whipped her head back around and scrambled to try to catch not only the dislodged magnet, but also the picture that was stuck beneath it. She was only successful in saving one from the ground, though, juggling the plastic piece between both hands before closing it in one fist while the polaroid fluttered to the floor. Crouching down she snatched the picture up and reattached it to the door.

“Fuck! I’m sorry! It- I didn’t mean to…”

It was then, as she carefully put the photo back in its place, that you noticed the recognition on her face. Like she hadn’t even really seen the picture until that moment, hadn’t noticed anything beyond the familiar magnet. She went quiet, a sadness you wished she didn’t have to know creeping into her expression as she realized that none of the people standing next to you in the photo were there in Jackson with you now.

“Is this your family?” There was a hollow tone in her typically light and bubbly voice as she stared at the smiling faces on your refrigerator. Like she didn’t want to ask but felt some compulsion to know. Like she already knew but couldn’t keep the question on her tongue. Like she should have been able to do something to change the outcomes for the people you’d lost.

You recognized it right away and it broke your heart to see it in her, too. The guilt. The deep dark blues of surviving when everyone you loved was gone. When everyone everyone loved was gone. Oh, Ellie.

Though only moments before you felt panic at the prospect of talking about the people you lost, suddenly, when asked, you were filled with an overwhelming urge to tell her about them. To show her - and maybe yourself, too - that not every memory hurt. That most of them didn’t.

“Yeah,” you answered around a bittersweet smile. “It is. From about…” You hummed. “Fifteen years ago.” Wetting your lips and blinking back the stinging threat of tears, you stepped closer to where the girl stood. “That’s my-”

You stopped yourself because you didn’t want to choke on the word you were about to use. You’d never had to explain to anyone who Gavin was to you. For years, the only people who mattered had simply always known. But that’s not the case anymore, is it? Not if you truly were serious about trying to have a life here. Left hand coming up to touch the outline of your chain through your t-shirt, you took a breath and focused on his smile in the photo. Hey, handsome.

You cleared your throat and started over. “That’s my husband, Gavin.” You pressed the rings to your chest as you spoke his name. “And his sister, Laura.” Dropping your arm back to your side, you raised the opposite one to point at the little boy under the mess of curls that sat perched on Gavin’s shoulders. “And that’s Kyle, my nephew.”

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking at the faces of the people you’d just introduced her to as though committing them to memory. “They look…” She sniffed. “You all look happy there.”

She’s right. Despite the thick knot forming in your throat, you smiled. “Yeah.” Nodding, you looked down at her. “We were. Those were really good years.”

The girl looked back up at you, lips pulling to the side before curving back into a small smile. “I’m glad you had those.”

You took a breath, feeling somewhat lighter than you had in a long time even if it was a bittersweet lightness. “Yeah, me too.” Wetting your lips, you reached for the fridge handle. “Um, let me get those compost scraps for you, yeah?”

Ellie nodded, lifting one hand up to wipe quickly at her eye. “Yeah. I should get going.” She moved over to the counter and scooped your pile of carrot peels into the bucket, then turned back to let you dump the contents of your scrap jar in as well. “Dina and I are supposed to hit all the apartments on this side of town before noon, so…”

“So you better get moving, then,” you finished for her. “If I remember the schedule correctly, I think you and I have gate patrol on Wednesday night.” You winked. “I’ll make sure to bring snacks.”

She grinned, almost all of the sadness that had crept into her expression gone. “You’re the best.”

That made you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Ellie. Tell Dina I said hi.”

She told you that she would, adding that she was also going to tell her that she missed out on the best damn sourdough left in the world by choosing odd numbered apartments, which only made you laugh harder. Closing your door after her, you couldn’t help but think of what a kick Gavin would have gotten out of Ellie. She would have made you laugh, too, Gav.

Over the next hour you finished up the batch of muffins and cleaned the kitchen. Wrapping the two extra loaves in clean dish towels, you stuck them both in the canvas tote bag that you usually used to pick up your groceries from the general store. Once they’d cooled enough to handle, you did the same with the muffins, bundling them up and adding them to the bag.

That done, you decided to get yourself together, changing your flour streaked shirt for a fresh three-quarter sleeved one, and the sweats you were wearing for a pair of jeans. When you looked in the mirror you were hit by yet another change - you no longer had that lost, wild, withering look that you arrived with. Your eyes had more light in them and fewer bags beneath. Your cheeks were less hollow and the windburn on them was healing well. You looked more like yourself and less like a spectral waif using your name than you had in longer than you could remember. Not that it matters but… Your lips - no longer peeling and chapped - hitched into a small grin. Not terrible. You took a second to adjust your hair, tucking stray pieces into place, and then flipped the lightswitch and left the bathroom.

Grabbing your bag of baked goods from the kitchen, you shoved your feet into your boots and slipped your knife into place. Some things were unlikely to change after two decades of always needing to have a weapon on you, and you knew that it was the same for many other residents in town. Your gun, though, was left behind with your pack. Those items were reserved only for patrols, trail sweeps and supply runs. They had no place in your daily life anymore. Another small change.

There was still a lingering late spring chill in the air as you stepped outside your building, but the sun was shining unimpeded in the clear blue sky and you hummed as it warmed your skin. It’s beautiful out today. As you turned onto the main street you were met with the sounds of the town. Windchimes and laughter, barking dogs and the clang of metal on metal from the blacksmith’s shop, birdsong and conversation. It felt like the much more rural version of strolling through your neighborhood in Philly on your way to the farmer’s market that used to pop up in the park on Thursday and Sunday mornings. It made you wonder what it was like here twenty some years ago, and how different things were now.

The call of your name from somewhere to your right interrupted your thoughts before they could wander too far. You recognized the voice as you turned, eyes widening in surprise to see Joel Miller lifting one hand in greeting from the other side of the street. Oh. Hi. You stopped walking, raising your hand in a return wave and waiting for him to cross to your side.

As he did, you took a few seconds to let your eyes rake over him. He still wore a thin white bandage around his bicep, and it was visible beneath the short sleeves of his faded green t-shirt. As were his muscled arms, the warmer weather letting you see more of them than you had previously. His jeans were worn in but fit him well, the denim broken in to accommodate his movement perfectly. A toolbelt hung at his hips, hammer, tape measure, pliers and several screwdrivers attached to the loops or sticking out of the pouches. Right. He said he was in construction. You drew in a small breath as he came close enough that you could see the sunlight catching the silver in his hair. And then he smiled. Damn.

“Thought that was you,” he said as he took the last few steps to close the distance.

Forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand and not on how good he looked wearing a toolbelt, you smiled back at him. “You were right, it’s me.”

That earned you a small chuckle, Joel raising the same hand he’d flagged you down with to scratch at the back of his neck. “How are you doin’ today?”

You tipped your head back, closing your eyes and letting the sun hit your face before responding. “The sun is out and I have a bag full of bread and muffins.” Bringing your chin back down, you shrugged the shoulder that your bag was on. “So I’m doing great.” He didn’t need to hear about the nightmare that preceded the baking. “How are you?”

“A bag full of bread, huh?” He dropped his eyes to the goods and then brought them back up to yours. “Well I’m doin’ alright but not a bag of bread alright.”

You laughed and pulled one strap of the tote bag down, reaching inside. “I might be able to help with that.” Pulling out one of the muffins, you offered it to him. “Carrot muffin?”

He grinned as he took it from you. “If I ever say no to that question you’ll know there’s somethin’ wrong with me.” Nodding, he held your eyes for a second and the rush of warmth you felt had nothing to do with the sun. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head in the direction you’d been walking in. “I was on my way to drop this off at the community center. Are you heading that way, too?”

“I am. Meetin’ up with Tommy’n a few others to do some roof repairs.” You both started walking again, once your mutual destination was established. “Figure by now we won’t be gettin’ anymore snow, so it’s a good time to get up there and poke around.”

You blew out a huff and shook your head. “The idea of snow in June or even April or May where I’m from is laughable. It’s probably 85 degrees in Philadelphia right now.”

Joel made a similar sound. “Snow at all is laughable where I’m from.” You figured he was from somewhere in the south due to the slight drawl in certain words that he said, but before you got the chance to ask where exactly, he took a bite of the muffin you gave him and groaned at the taste. “Christ, that’s good.”

Hoping you didn’t look as flustered as the sound of him groaning like that made you feel, you managed a smile. “Yeah?” He nodded, eyebrows drawn together in a serious expression as he chewed. “Good. You and Ellie make good taste testers, you know.” He tilted his head in question. “She stopped by my place this morning on her compost collection rounds.”

“Uh huh, and she weaseled baked goods outta you, did she?” He took another bite, the reaction smaller this time but still visible and still making your chest puff up just a little.

You shrugged. “She said she was hungry and she complimented my bread. What was I supposed to do?”

“That girl is always hungry,” he said with a roll of his eyes that you could tell was just for show. “And if compliments are all it takes then let me tell you again, this-” He held up the last bite of muffin. “- Is delicious.”

Letting a small laugh slip through your grin as you reached the community center, you turned to face him. “Well, thank you. If you like those, just wait until I get my hands on some apples or chokeberries.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

Just then Tommy appeared from behind the building with a ladder hoisted on one shoulder. He lifted his free hand to flag Joel down, calling out to him. “Waitin’ on you, big brother!”

Joel clicked his tongue and turned to lob his response in Tommy’s direction. “Hold your horses, will you?” He gestured at you with his hand. “Can’t you see I’m havin’ a conversation?”

“Yeah, I see.” The younger Miller tipped his chin in a nod and said your name. “Hope you’re havin’ a nice mornin’. Can you please send my brother up to the roof when he’s done yappin’ your ear off?”

You laughed at that, Joel’s grumbles only making you laugh harder. “Will do, Tommy,” you said with a wave of your own.

He grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. Take care now.”

You called a “You too!” back at him as he disappeared behind the building again, and then you turned to face Joel once more. “Sounds like you’re needed on the roof.”

Joel blew a huff through his nose and swatted his hand towards the roof. “He can wait a minute. I, uh…” He drew his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you if you’d want to come over for dinner some night this week.” What? He dropped his hand to his side again and you tried your hardest not to let the shock you felt at his question show on your face. “Just as a thank you for stitchin’ me up,” he added.

You blinked and took a breath, trying to process the offer he’d just made. Dinner. He’s inviting me to dinner? What is… “I…” You shook your head as though your brain was a magic eight ball and shaking it would prompt a valid response to come out of your mouth, but immediately regretted it from the way Joel’s lips turned downward. Shit, he thinks I’m saying no. “That… That sounds nice, Joel.” Your heart hammered at your ribs as his frown faded back into a relaxed smile. “What um… What day were you thinking? I have a gate patrol Wednesday night, but-”

“How’s Thursday, then?”

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you swallowed and nodded slowly. “Thursday works.” Joel’s smile spread a little wider, sending his cheeks up into his eyes and making the skin around them crinkle. “Can I bring anything, or-”

“Well I was raised to say no ma’am, just bring yourself,” he began, a mischievous glint brightening the depths of his eyes. “But I wouldn’t stop you from bringing something that you baked if you wanted to.”

You let out a small laugh. “Got it.”

“Alright then. Thursday it is.” He tilted his head towards the back of the community center, where the sound of the ladder being set up against the wall could be heard. “I better get up there ‘fore he has himself a conniption. You have a good day now.”

As he turned to go, you reached into your tote bag and pulled out another muffin. “Joel!” He spun back to face you and you tossed the muffin in his direction, leaving him to scramble to catch it in one large hand. “For Tommy. Maybe he’ll be less annoyed at you if you bring him food.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. See you around.”

With that he headed off to join his brother and you were left momentarily standing there unsure of what had just happened. I just… He just…

But then you heard the call of your name from the open door of the community center, and turned to see Maria grinning at you. “You comin’ in, or are you just going to watch my brother-in-law walk away?”

You could feel the heat spread through your cheeks at her words, and quickly stepped toward the door as she started to chuckle. “Sorry, yeah, I-”

“Hey,” she said, resting one hand on your shoulder. “I’m teasing.” She winked. “Besides, I think it’s great.”

You let out a sigh. “Maria, it’s just-”

“Just dinner, I know.” She nodded and held the door open for you to walk through it. “I still think it’s great.” The door clicked shut behind you and you sputtered for a response only for her to spare you the need to say anything more. “Anyway, what’s in the bag? You’re just in time for lunch prep.”

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist!

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels @cannedsoupsucks @harriedandharassed @marauderskeeper @joelmillerscoffee @woodlandmouth @swtaura @grfields @valkblue @sleepylunarwolf @stealyourblorbos @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud @jessthebaker @ael-xander @ashleyfilm

#survivor blues #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #joel miller fic #tlou fic #survivor blues part 6: kitchen scraps #trigger warnings #tw trauma #tw nightmares

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 11 months

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Can you talk a little bit about how you became a paleontologist? (like school and stuff).

I went to college wanting to major in paleontology and everybody told me I could major in geology but that being a paleontologist just really wasn't possible.

I did major in geology/archaeology combo major (offered at my college, it's actually a BA, not a BS, which was disappointing), but it's not paleontology and i've been out of school for a awhile and i'm just really discouraged.

ugh welcome to my life. the reason my story is complicated is because of crap like that.

so, I'm going to get very, very, very real here. that means I'm going to reveal some personal details about myself. I'm okay with it. I want to share this. Content Warnings for Parental Abuse, Mental Illness, Physical Disability, and Trauma. Phew. Here we go.

first thing we have to acknowledge: I grew up poor. my mom was a stay at home mom because of mental illness (majorly agoraphobic and huge social anxiety, plus largely untreated OCD). my dad rarely held on a job for very long because of severe untreated ADHD. my parents' primary concern, at all times, was that their six kids (my mom loves kids) would have gainful, steady employment. they are communists, and it was always about how we can't help others effectively if we're not secure in the rest of our lives.

I wanted to be a paleontologist from the moment I could have such a want. But my parents never, never, thought that was a good idea. They wanted me to be a scientist, because they could see my potential, but they didn't think being a paleontologist was a safe career. And, to be fair, they had a point. But I didn't want to be anything else. In fact, the very idea would make me start sobbing. So while I was little, they didn't really do anything about it. Occasionally they planted seeds of "you might not be a paleontologist", but it never went well.

fast forward to me going to college. now they were serious. we were constantly fighting over whether I should be a paleontologist or a medical researcher (MDPhD. you know, the insane degree that insane people get.) (I'm insane, but not that way). because they were paying for, well, some of it (I got a lot of scholarships, b''h), and I was in general dependant on them like most college students are, they picked my classes. I was forced to major in biology (though I probably would have picked that anyway), and I never took any geology classes (well, I took half of one, but had to drop it because of my stupid premed classes).

I got to do paleontology research, but it was kind of in secret - I technically had two different research jobs, one in evolutionary biology, one in paleontology. I took tons of medical related classes, and was forced to take the MCAT twice. I wasn't good at it. Memorizing things isn't my forte, I'm much better at problem solving and finding/evaluating information. I also just wasn't interested in it - I can remember countless dinosaur genera, but ask me to remember really specific medical details and my mind draws a blank.

I did not do well on the MCAT, but I was still forced to apply to MDPhD programs. I also applied to evolutionary biology and paleontology PhD programs on my own. But paleontology is extremely competitive, and I didn't hear back from any of those. I also didn't get anywhere with any of those medical programs. In fact, I ended up getting accepted to a grad program for evolutionary developmental biology, because that was the only thing that had an opening. Rather than go home and be forced to apply to medical school again, I took the out.

I was miserable. But I tried to convince myself it was better this way. That I would have gainful employment, and be able to do science. Meanwhile, I was running this blog, building a community, and constantly thinking about paleontology instead of my actual thesis. Even though paleontology doesn't require field work, I'd convinced myself I could never do it because field work is inaccessible to me - I have had chronically dislocated knees since I was 16, and a few different physical conditions that make me exceptionally heat sensitive. I couldn't do field work, so I couldn't be a paleontologist. I also am fat, because of those disabilities, and there just aren't a lot of fat AFAB paleontologists, so I thought I wouldn't be able to get far for that reason.

But I couldn't finish that PhD. I didn't care enough about it, and I was constantly hitting roadblocks. I wanted the focus to be more evolution based, my advisor told me no. I wanted to pursue a specific question, my advisor advised against it. My wasps kept dying, and I didn't know why. I couldn't get my assays to work. My advisor was always focused on his other students and never me. It was a nightmare. All the while, my blog was exploding in popularity, and I was even going to paleontology conferences on my own dollar and networking there, presenting research about using the internet as an educational tool. And I felt at home. I was with *my people*.

Then the pandemic happened. I was already estranged from my parents for other reasons, that I'd rather not get into (no, it's not cause I'm queer). Everyone was frustrated with my lack of progress at my first program. My spouse, the infinite well of support that he is (url @plokool), gave me the push I needed to drop out with a master's degree (which I had earned at that point). I then was seriously considering becoming a rabbi, because I didn't think I could hack being a scientist at all after that experience.

But, everything felt wrong when I wasn't engaged with paleo. ADAD had gone on hiatus because my artists were persuing other opportunities (and I'm so proud of them!). I just felt empty and lost without paleontology in my life. So I went to the virtual SVP that was being held in 2020, since it was cheaper than usual and online.

And I met my current advisor. We clicked *right* away. We had the same questions about bird evolution and talked for hours. He encouraged me to apply, so I did - just for paleontology programs. I knew if I didn't do paleo, there wasn't a point. Nothing else would hold my interest enough for me to get a doctoral degree. I also talked to the wonderful friends I had made here on Palaeoblr, ones who were also actually pursuing paleo, and they promised me I could do it - that they believed in me. The one thing no one but my spouse had ever really indicated to me. It gave me the push I needed, and when I was accepted to this program, I took it. It also helped that I finally had working ADHD medication, for the first time in my life.

Even though it meant moving from Chicago - nice, at least sometimes chilly Chicago, my home for my whole life - to fucking southern new mexico. I am so hot. All the time now. My feet never return to their proper color. But it was worth the risk.

But I'm not doing field work! I've had to take a lot of remedial geology classes, but all my work has been computer and lab based. And I've done so much already! I've published a new bird, I've done excellent in my classes and teaching, and I'm currently compiling my own database of Paleogene bird fossils. Last year was a little rough because of trauma things, and the gd-damned adderall shortage, but I'm moving forward. I am hoping to go into museum work, because I love museums, and I believe in them and their ability to educate people (I also want to help the museum field decolonize itself, but that's a different discussion.) I've even made a design for an evolution of dinosaurs exhibit that my professor wants me to make into a real thing someday.

So... yeah. I became a paleontologist by being the world's most stubborn mother fucker alive. I decided I wanted to be as a kid, and I never could let it go, even when it would have been better for me to. But I'm glad I didn't, because now I'm here, and I'm doing well. When i can focus, at any rate. Because I'm only at peace when I'm around dinosaurs.

(P.S. I've even repaired my relationship with my parents, and they support me as a paleontologist now! just took 30 years for them to realize they couldn't fight me on this, I guess... or they're old and tired of fighting. one of the two.)

#about the blogger #extremely personal #long post #paleontologist #how to become a paleontologist #childhood trauma #controlling parents

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jojo-schmo · 7 months

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My old Good Omens art from 2019-2020!! :O (In somewhat chronological order)

In the interest of sharing my art in one place, I thought I'd revisit this era of my art! I made much more traditional art at the time. But I like thinking about the evolution of my skills over the past few years.

Director's commentary below:

I believe the first four images are from 2019, when the first season of GO came out. Boy, did that show come out at a good time for me! I was in a deep art slump that had lasted for a few years at that point. Long story short, because of untreated depression and a chronic illness that brought me physical pain, I didn't get everything I wanted to get out of college classes and I was deeply self-conscious of my skill level. I knew I wanted to tell stories but I was frustrated that I seemingly couldn’t make my ideas come to life at all.

Being alive was very difficult for me at the time and I was fighting my own dark and negative thoughts that I directed towards myself constantly. I didn't see a psychiatrist until the Spring of 2020, and only then did things start getting better. If I had to describe it, it's like a storm in my head finally cleared. The weight on my shoulders lightened up a lot. I had enough mental clarity to gain more self-awareness and really work on myself. And that included my art. And it shows a little in the last few drawings.

(Side note, I am much, much better now. Medication and ongoing therapy has completely changed the quality of my life. I am very happy to be here!)

Anyway, I was making efforts to get better at drawing after college by taking Aaron Blaise's online art classes. (Side note, his class on drawing human anatomy helped me immensely!!) But it was just the beginning of a long art improvement journey!

But I see the stiffness and insecurity that was still present in my art from that time. Whenever I shared it on Twitter (which was my main social media at the time) I'd be lucky to hit ten notes. It didn't bother me all the time, but it did get discouraging as time went on. Until one day I decided to just deal with it. Whatever the reason was that nobody was seeing my art- whether it was due to the Twitter algorithm or if my art was just not appealing enough. I was going to keep drawing. If nobody clicked the like heart on my art, fine! I was going to keep throwing it into the void anyway and see what sticks. If it got ten likes or one I tried not to care as much.

My transition from drawing what I thought other people wanted to see, to drawing what made me happy, made a huge difference. Likes and reblogs do feel really good, but I'm happy to hear even what one person likes about my work. I try to keep that mindset with me as much as I can. And I'm not perfect at it. But it helps me a lot.

Of course that transition in my mindset was gradual. Took place over a few years. But I realized lately that I have a confidence in my art that I've never had before. And I'm really happy about that!!

All this to say, whether you've been drawing/writing for ten years, one year, or a few months, it's always nice to remember where you came from and far you've come.

Looking back, I wish I could tell my past self that her best was yet to come. And I still have a long way to go but I'm excited to see what I can make in the coming years!

If I had one preachy piece of advice to offer as a final note, remember that the ability to draw and write is an awesome skill to have. A skill that not every human being has. But a skill that can be developed and cultivated over time if nurtured. It's a beautiful thing to me, to be able to create something that didn't exist before. Something that only you can bring to life. And while it might not resonate with everyone who sees it, it might resonate with one person. And I love that. So when you can, create things that make you happy, the happiness might just be contagious to its viewers. <3

...I think I should draw some more Good Omens sometime soon. I miss those guys and they are dear to me :)

#tw mental health #good omens #jojo rambles #not to get too dramatic about myself on a post. I just wanted to share some thoughts aloud :)#and in the hopes that maybe someone will learn from my journey and not make the same mistakes I did

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florencemtrash · 11 months

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The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER THREE: OVER THE WALL

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter

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Dinah made good money that day, haggling at the market to sell the deer meat for a higher price than it was worth. They’d even cooked a few cuts for dinner in the fire, filling the house with the heady scent of meat that lasted long after they’d finished tearing into the food with reckless abandon. After nearly a week of surviving on stale bread, tea, and water it felt like they were doing something wrong. But after leaning back in her chair, stomach full and comfortably stretching the waistband of her pants, Nora wondered if it was the guilt eating away at her instead. If she was right about this, about everything, then she’d just killed a faerie today and the High Lord of the Spring Court would be coming for her.

Nora crawled into bed, bones weary and begging for rest. But her mind would not let her forget the glint of the steel tipped ashwood arrow sticking out of the beautiful wolf’s skull. Dinah and Jaskiel whispered to one another from their shared bed across the room. During the winter months they needed to crowd into the living room by the fire to escape the cold that seeped in through the floor and walls. Sleeping on opposite ends of the room was as much privacy as any of them would get. The beds themselves were little more than sheets stuffed with hay and scraps of wool from Dinah’s mending projects and just barely kept you from freezing on the ground.

Before Nora had met them, and before Jaskiel had fallen ill, him and Dinah had lived comfortable lives in this little cottage. Jaskiel was once a small-time merchant and craftsperson, making frequent travels to the Continent to trade his wooden trinkets for spices and silks to sell to nearby villages. Dinah stayed home, tending to the house and the now dead garden of roses in the backyard. Whatever comforts Jaskiel had brought back for Dinah had long since been sold to the highest bidder. The only pieces left from that previous life were the books tucked away in the corner shelf of the living room, swollen and yellowed from the many times they’d all run their fingers through the pages, and Dinah’s wedding ring.

“It was the first thing I bought on the Continent.” Jaskiel told her, smiling at the strange girl who sat on the floor by his feet, bright eyes staring at him with curiosity. After a bath and a dinner of boiled katniss she was looking better, less like a frightened bird with its wings clipped.

“My first successful trip, and certainly not my last! And I knew the first thing I needed to do when I came home was marry Dinah.” She smiled from her seat next to him, abandoning her sewing project for a moment to rub his knee. She was thinner now than when they’d gotten married, gray hair sprouting from her temples and framing the crows feet that grew from her eyes whenever she was happy. Her hands were stronger too, more calloused and accustomed to hard work after Jaskiel had gotten sick. By pure force of will she’d carried the two of them through life since then and she vowed to continue doing so.

Perhaps it was because they’d known a kinder life that they took Nora in, patiently allowing her to learn the skill of survival.

I don’t want to leave. Nora thought tearfully, praying to whatever gods existed in this world that she wouldn’t be swept away in the night. She’d dreamed of Prythian every day, dreamed of being able to go home. Part of her still wanted that, the other part simply wanted to make peace with the life she knew now. No more change, no more being taken to new places and forced to learn everything all over again.

Her prayer was not answered.

Dinah and Jaskiel had been asleep for hours now, unaware of the doom that had slipped through the wall and was now lurking outside their home. Nora lay awake, holding a knife close to her chest and continuing to murmur her pleas and prayers.

The front door blew open, shattering into a million pieces and raining down over their heads with sharp stabs. Nora immediately jumped to her feet, throwing her blanket around her to protect from the wood that continued to strike her as the creature clawed at the ruined door frame.

Dinah was screaming. Jaskiel shouted Nora’s name as he threw his body over his wife, grabbing his cane. His lame legs cried out in protest when he tried to stand, brandishing the glorified stick as a weapon.

Nora sprained across the room, heart pounding and vision a blur as she barely dodged the next spray of wood that came crashing down.

The beast had ripped the walls and part of the ceiling into ribbons with one angry swipe of his claws.

Well that was fucking rude. Nora thought, trying to quell the shaking of her hands as she stepped in front of Jaskiel and Dinah, holding her knife out towards the beast as he finally made his way into the room.

Every step shook the ground more powerfully than an earthquake. The little moonlight spilling through the cracks in the ceiling were snuffed out by his enormous frame. Standing taller than a fully grown man was a creature with the body of a bear, head of a wolf, and horns extending so far out from his skull it was a miracle they didn’t catch on the wooden beams. Pure muscle rippled underneath fur that glowed with a golden light, illuminating the mouth of jet black teeth that were bared as he roared, “MURDERERS!”

Nora cringed, clapping a hand over her ear. Don’t drop the knife. Don’t you dare drop the knife.

“MURDERERS!” he screamed again. The foundations of the house shook with his power. Dinah’s screams died into quiet whimpers. Jaskiel crumpled to the ground, legs folding like paper beneath his rickety frame.

“WHO KILLED HIM?!”

The house remained silent. Only Dinah’s choked sobs punctured the stillness of the night. Nora tried not to faint, her mind fracturing into a million pieces as she tried to think of what to do next.

Do I tell him I killed the faerie? Do I tell him I killed Andras? Was that even the faerie’s name? But he hasn’t told me who I killed. I know who I killed. Am I supposed to know who I killed? Am I supposed to know I killed a faerie at all? What will happen to Dinah and Jaskiel?

Infuriated by the silence he lifted one arm, slamming his paw into the ground so hard that it broke through the wooden floors. Nora could feel the heat of his breath as he drew near, shoving his face right up against hers. “WHO KILLED HIM?!”

Nora refused to falter, irritation slowly beginning to overtake her fear.

His breath smells like roses. How ridiculous.

“We didn’t kill anyone!” Dinah sobbed, clutching her husband's shaking arm. The beast took one step backward and Nora let out a breath of relief. They were still alive. Dinah must have caught onto that string of hope because she began to regain her composure. Her blubbering might do nothing more than enrage the beast enough to slaughter them all.

“Please we didn’t-” Jaskiel’s feeble words were cut off by a growl. The beast’s eyes were still fixated on Nora, filled with even more fury for the fact that she remained standing - standing with a weapon brandished in her hand. The gall of the girl. He ripped it out of her hand as easily as one swatted a fly. Nora was too shocked to register the pain in her forearm as she stumbled backward, blood dripping down her hand and landing with a rhythmic thump thump thump onto the floor.

If he regretted hurting her he didn’t show it. As if to make a further point that he could kill them all in an instant, he whirled around towards the dining table. It exploded without so much as a whisper from him, taking out a chunk of the wall in the process.

His horns threw shadows against what remained, twisting and turning like a pair of skeletal hands. Jade green eyes glared out, filled with fury and some small seed of grief. “Who killed him?”

“We didn’t kill anyone.” Nora said. Her pain made her angry.

“LIAR! THE WOLF! Who killed the wolf?”

Jaskiel and Dinah shared a look. Nora hadn’t said anything about a wolf.

“I did.” The young girl didn’t flinch, although her throat tightened from the admission like someone had a hand around her neck. “I killed a wolf. This morning in the woods.”

“Hush, child.” Dinah hissed. She tore a strip of fabric from her dress and tried to stem the flow of blood from Nora’s arm.

“And did you know?” The High Lord growled out, barely concealing the threat of death in his voice, “Did you know he was faerie?”

The color drained from Nora’s face.

This is it. Two choices: lie and say you didn’t know and maybe he’ll let you live. Or… tell the truth. Tell him you knew the wolf was a faerie. Tell him you killed him out of hatred. Go to Prythian… try and get home.

The beast caught the flicker of recognition in Nora’s eyes, caught the narrowing of her inky black eyes in a look of hatred.

“You did know.” he seethed. He pulled away from her, disgust in his eyes at the feeble human girl before him. This was the girl who’d killed Andras. Some pathetic little human had slaughtered his trusted friend. “Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy it when you slaughtered my friend.” He prowled about the room, never taking his eyes off the three of them still huddled in the corner by the cinders.

“Better him than me.” Nora held her head up, glaring at him.

“No.” Jaskiel breathed out, grabbing at her uninjured hand. “Please,” he begged the beast, “She’s my daughter. She’s young. She didn’t know any better. She was afraid.”

“Is that true?” the beast hissed, baring his fangs, “Did he attack you?”

She squared her shoulders. “No.”

“So you slaughtered him. Unprovoked. You murdered him.”

Nora barked out a laugh, “And how many humans have you murdered? How many will you continue to murder? How many homes will you break into? How many lives will you threaten?” her voice was filled with venom as she spit out the words, “I hope your friend is suffering right now in the afterlife. I wasn’t certain at the time, but now that I know he’s faerie I don’t regret it at all. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

She ignored his deep growl and dealt a final blow, “It was a quicker death than he deserved.”

With a roar he brought his claw down on the bookshelf next to him, shattering it completely. The beloved tomes tumbled onto the floor, half shredded and dusty from their fall.

If you were really going to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.

The fear of a painful death with Tamlin sinking his teeth into her throat and thrashing her around had made Nora forget one key fact: she knew this story. She knew about the curse that hung over his head - that hung over Prythian - and like it or not, he needed her.

The realization gave her power. She stood up again, ignoring Dinah’s desperate hands as she tried to force her daughter to kneel again, “What do you want?”

“What do I want? I want justice for what you did. I want you to pay.”

“We’ll pay the cost.” Dinah said frantically, “Name your price.”

Nora’s heart broke. Please don’t.

They had no money to spare. Dinah worked hard enough as it was, coming home every night with bleeding and cracked hands, and Jaskiel could do little more than beg for scraps of work. The wealthy in the village would offer them no respite, no mercy. They were too comfortable behind their iron gates and towering walls. Nora didn’t want to see Dinah beg too.

“And what is the price you’d lay on your daughter’s head?” the beast asked, stepping off the ruined shelf. Dinah stilled. “Whatever pathetic sum you offer won’t be enough. Andras was worth more than one-hundred of you.”

“Then what would be enough?” Tell us and be done with it already. “What do you want?”

“A life for a life. That’s what I want.”

“I’ll pay it.” Jaskiel said, voice even and strong. Dinah swore at him as he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane.

“What the hell are you doing, Jaskiel?” Nora hissed, turning around and stepping directly between him and Tamlin.

His kind face, weathered and leathery after decades of sea travel, softened when Nora’s face blocked the terrifying beast. She knew he liked her. He’d treated her with the love and kindness he would have shown his own daughter if he and Dinah had ever been blessed in that way. But the fact remained that Nora wasn’t theirs. She owed them a debt that could never be repaid and she wouldn’t forgive herself if anything happened to them.

“I’ll pay the price.” He said again, stepping to the side. Nora stepped with him, refusing to let Tamlin get close to Jaskiel.

“No he won’t.” Nora commanded, swinging back to Tamlin. The beast’s eyes flickered for a brief moment with something like surprise.

“As touching as the offer is,” he drawled, “I want the actual murderer.”

“Take me outside then. Don’t do it here.”

Again, that flicker of surprise, “You dare ask for such a thing?” He scoffed, eyes narrowing.

“I wasn’t asking. You already ruined half the house and left a hole in the floor, you don’t need to fill it with blood either.” Nora spit out.

He snarled, “For having the gall to ask me for such a thing, I’ll clarify something: I want your life. Prythian wants a life for the one you stole. So either you come with me across the wall to live out the rest of your days, or I take you outside and tear you to pieces as you so kindly told me to do.” His lips pulled back in a threatening smile.

“So either you kill me here and now, or some other beast over the wall kills me in a few days time. Tell me, Beast, which would be quicker?”

He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed. There was something in the way he moved, cat-like and predatory. Doubt flickered within her. What if I’m wrong? What if he kills me?

“I have lands,” Tamlin said carefully after some consideration, “So long as you don’t leave those lands you will be safe.”

“And what about Dinah and Jaskiel?” His eyes flickered over to the pair. Dinah’s eyes were trained on him, fear and fury simmering under the surface of her now composed face.

“What about them?”

“They’ll die without me. You only asked for one life. What fairness in ‘a life for a life’ is there if my absence leads to their deaths.”

Dinah and Jaskiel both tugged harshly at the back of her sleep shirt, begging her to control her boldness.

If a wolf could frown, it would look like the annoyance that crossed Tamlin’s face. “They’ll be taken care of.”

Nora’s breath caught in her throat. Did he mean it? He must mean it. I’ll give him hell if he doesn’t help them.

“You swear it?”

Tamlin’s eyes passed through each of them in turn. Nora, the girl’s name was. He tested the name out in his mind finding it agreeable enough. And he had to admit, some small piece of him was impressed - if not annoyed - by her boldness. The couple would surely die without her, already their frames were too thin and delicate to support their aging souls.

“I swear it.” He said, and found it a very easy promise to make, “But, you must promise to never leave Prythian. The moment you step foot back in the Human Lands, the deal is off, and I can’t promise what will become of your precious little family.”

“Take the offer.” Dinah said, turning Nora around and grasping her too-thin face. Tears welled up in her amber eyes and Nora did all she could to stop the rising emotions in her chest. “Take the offer. You’re a survivor, child. You’ll make it. You’ll make something of yourself.”

Jaskiel said nothing, face falling and aging twenty years in a few mere seconds.

“When does she leave?” Dinah said with a sniffle, wiping her tears away and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“Now.”

“Now?!” Nora wanted more time with them. She wanted one more night.

“Now.” The decision was not up for discussion.

Dinah grabbed Nora’s shoulders, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t worry about us,” she whispered, burying her face into Nora’s dark hair, “Just worry about taking care of yourself, alright? You know how.” She kissed Nora’s cheeks, wiping her hands on her nightdress as Jaskiel took his turn.

Nora braced her legs, feeling the weight of Jaskiel in her arms as he held her close. His legs may have been weak and broken, but his arms were strong. He brushed the hair back from her face with a calloused hand, stormy gray eyes expressing all he could not say. Goodbye. You will always be a daughter to me. Until we meet again.

Dinah grabbed her thickest cloak from the back of Jaskiel’s chair and threw it over Nora’s shoulders. Somehow the most important piece of furniture had managed to survive Tamlin’s rage. Final whispers of encouragement escaped Dinah’s lips before the beast snapped at them to leave, maneuvering through the wreckage he’d created with grace and power.

Nora could do nothing but allow her hand to slip through Dinah’s and quietly trail after the beast.

He led her to a beautiful mare that had been waiting obediently for them by the treeline. Her coat was as silky and pristine as a polished pearl. Nora hesitated. She’d never ridden a horse before, but Tamlin was in no mood to wait any longer. He grabbed her roughly by the waist with one paw and dumped her unceremoniously onto the mare’s back.

Asshole. She glared at the back of his horns as he led them into the night.

When Nora looked behind her she found Dinah and Jaskiel standing together in the gaping hole of their now ruined house. She didn’t stop looking until the woods closed around her and her home disappeared from sight.

>>>

They traveled for hours through the woods, the sun slowly sliding into place over the horizon and transforming the frost-bitten forest into the world’s largest chandelier. The constant rocking of the pearl-coated horse beneath her made Nora’s stomach turn and her thighs ached from the effort of staying upright. Tamlin’s utter silence didn’t make matters any better as he traced some secret path through the woods. Over time the rhythmic crunch of snow breaking beneath the mare’s hooves began to drive Nora to insanity.

You’re supposed to be getting me to fall in love with you, you know? Fucking idiot.

The more and more Nora thought about the events from last night, the more irate she grew. He’d crashed into her house in the middle of the night in his beast form, scared them nearly to death, demanded Nora leave her home, and now wasn’t even putting in the effort to speak to her. It was deathly silent in these woods, as if even the squirrels and birds knew that royalty walked among them.

Nora huffed. Tamlin continued to walk unbothered.

“You didn’t need to break into my house like that.” She said pointedly, breaking the silence.

Tamlin’s left ear twitched. “What did you say?”

Nora rolled her eyes. With his fae senses there was no way he hadn’t heard her.

“I said you didn’t need to break into my house like that.”

He ignored her, which only fueled her desire to speak her mind out loud.

“You could have stolen me away in the night without bothering them. You could have waited until daylight when we weren’t sleeping.”

“You’re upset because my timing wasn’t convenient enough for you?”

Nora frowned. When he put it that way her words sounded quite childish. “What I’m saying is that you barged into my home with more pomp and circumstance and-and drama than you needed to.”

“You killed my friend.”

Nora stilled. She wanted to apologize for it. As much as she didn’t like Tamlin she regretted what she did. Part of the reason she hadn’t been able to fall asleep the night before was because she kept seeing the light leave Andras’s eyes. She couldn’t stop herself from hearing the pitiful whine that had escaped his throat as he finally stilled. She’d dared to touch his body to close his eyes. But as quickly as she’d laid her hands on him she’d reeled back. In the time it had taken her to gut the deer and bind it to the sled, his body had turned cold and rigid.

“You threatened to kill my family.” She said lamely.

“And yet they’re still alive, aren’t they?” “How can I trust you? How do I know you won’t just send someone else to kill them after we’re beyond the wall?” “I promised you they would be taken care of. I keep my promises. The question is whether you’ll keep yours.” His voice was gentler, more tired the further and further they got from Nora’s village. She thought his power would be tied to Prythian in some way - that he would gain strength as they neared the wall. Instead he was dragging his feet, limbs landing on the ground with heavier steps as they went along. She made note of every change in his body, storing the information away to mull over later.

“If it means they’re safe you can be sure I’ll keep true to my side of things.” She replied.

He’d been walking ahead of her the entire time, forcing the mare into a brisk pace that had Nora jolting in her seat, but after a few moments of cautious thinking he slowed down to walk beside her. Even while atop a horse, Tamlin stood taller than Nora, his horns dangling over her head like the swaying branches of a tree. She looked at them for a long while, tracing the grooves in the bone all the way down to where they connected to Tamlin’s skull. He stared at her the whole time.

“You don’t look like your parents.” Tamlin said carefully, catching her eye.

Nora snorted. With her dark hair and darker eyes and… well the rest of her, she was well aware that no piece of her looked like it came from Dinah or Jaskiel.

“They’re not my parents.”

She flung her arm out, grasping at Tamlin’s horn for support when the mare took a quick jump over a fallen log. Her thighs were burning now, holding onto the lean body beneath her like a lifeline.

“Sorry.” Nora muttered, jerking her hand back to her body and cradling it beneath the folds of her cloak. She flexed it uncomfortably.

She’d just touched the High Lord of the Spring Court.

Suppressing a shiver she instead focused her attention on the strip of fabric still wrapped expertly around her forearm, running her fingers over the material and ignoring where it dried stiff with blood. It reminded her painfully of Dinah. She would have to mend the rest of her nightgown now. Nora hoped she hadn’t stained it too badly with any blood.

“What happened to your real parents?” Again he asked the question carefully, like she was a flight risk he couldn’t afford to scare off… which she very much was.

“They’re alive… or dead… I don’t know.” A truth. “I was stolen from them too and brought here from the Continent to be sold by slavers.” A lie.

“But you escaped.” He almost sounded impressed.

“Obviously.”

And one day I’ll escape from you too.

The words hung unspoken between the two of them like a spider’s web between two branches, delicate and complex. They descended into silence once more.

“I’ll need to bind your eyes when we cross the wall.”

“What? Why?” Nora snapped her eyes to Tamlin and she forgot about the raven in the sky she’d been examining for the last twenty minutes.

“I cannot risk you seeing my lands.” His back tightened and he held his head up high.

“You said I would be safe in your lands.”

“You will be. That doesn’t mean I want you to see all of them.”

Because you don’t want me to know how to run away.

“Fine.”

A black silk sash appeared in Nora’s hands, cool as water and weightless as she obediently tied it tightly around her eyes. He must have enchanted the fabric because when she tugged at the knot she made it would not budge. She tested the blindfold but as much as she tried to pull it off it would not give. She huffed as she gave up, turning her head towards where she imagined Tamlin still was. He may be taller than a man and ten times heavier but his footsteps were imperceptible.

Blindness forced her to see with her ears, straining to identify every flutter of wings and rustle of snow falling onto the ground from a disturbed branch. She was just about to ask when they’d reach the wall when the world went still.

All the sounds of the forest she’d been analyzing died out. Magic rippled through the air, humid and all consuming as it reached out for her.

Her face paled. Suddenly she was back in the sea, screaming underwater as salt water filled her lungs and magic dragged her from her world to this one. Her reigns on the horse tightened, knuckles losing all their color.

“Take off your cloak.” Tamlin said tightly. “You won’t need it anymore.”

Nora only gripped the cloak tighter as though it would keep out the magic that threatened to consume her.

Tamlin said nothing, but he must have continued forward because despite Nora’s protests, the mare passed through the break in the wall.

They passed through like they were passing through a waterfall. Magic rushed over Nora’s body, slick and alien, but it was quickly replaced by the comfortable heat of spring. The heady scent of flowers filled her nose, clouding her mind with their fragrance. While the oppressing winter in the Mortal Lands had driven all but the scavenger birds into their homes, here they fluttered about seeking companions with whom to live out the eternal spring. The subtle morning sun blanketed Nora’s shoulders, heating her up beneath her clothes. Still she refused to give up the last piece of her home.

Tamlin let out a sigh of relief or despair - Nora couldn’t tell - as he felt his bond to Prythian grow once more. His magic would always run through his veins as intrinsically as blood - being in the Human Lands had done nothing to diminish that power - but he could not deny his connection to the magic that ran through Prythian, a magic that was beyond himself and to which he was only a borrower. These were the lands to which he would be tied until the end of his days.

“Welcome to the Spring Court, Nora.”

________________

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoyed! Apologies it ended up a lot longer than I was expecting... whoops 😅. I have a masterlist up and am also starting a taglist so if you want to be added just let me know!

Taglist: @myheartfollower @impossibelle

#acotar #acotar rewrite #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #the spring court #acotar spring court #inner circle #inner circle x oc #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger x oc #azriel shadowsinger #found family #writeblr #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x reader #tamlin #tamlin the tool #shadowsinger

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chubbysciencenerd · 1 year

Text

Javier x Fem!reader-smut/lemmon +18

∘°♡𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥♡°∘

Minors DNI!!!!! (Not proofread)

꒷︶ ̇ ̟ ෆ︵‿୨♡୧‿︵ෆ ̟ ̇ ︶꒷

fingering, control, sub!reader, noise control, clitplay/clit rubbing, praise

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Although you hadn’t told anyone almost every one at camp knew you and Javier had been messing around lately, you guys shared a tent but with two different beds but you almost always shared one. The night before tilly had asked you if you were dating and it was funny because you weren’t but now here you are, in his cot resting with him waiting for him to wake up. Last night everyone was celebrating jacks return, you spent most of the night talking and drinking with the girls while the boys.. well, they were being boys. Well you and the girls were drinking and gossiping as you braided Karen’s hair, Abigail seemed happier than ever to have Jack back. It was a fun night before everyone winded down to go to sleep, Javier was already asleep next to you in your guys tent. You had caught Javier glancing at you all night and you couldn’t help but have butterflies spring up in your stomach every time. There was one time that wouldn’t leave your head and it had got you all hot and bothered. He had came up behind you and grabbed your waist pulling you close, he mumbles some Spanish in your ear before kissing your neck and god you felt like you were in heaven with that and the alcohol racing to your heart. It all ended as soon as it started as you heard Charles call Javier over, “sorry mi amor {my love}, ill be back.”

He spoke quickly as he went back with the boys. You were now pressed against him still hot and bothered. You figured the only way to actually get some sleep is to take care of it. You bring the blanket up over you both more trying not to wake him. You slide your hand under your garments and to no surprise you were already soaked, you slowly start to draw circles on that special bundle of nerves your body tenses as you close your eyes quickly bringing your other hand to your mouth as you speed up. You stop suddenly as you feel a arm a snake around your waist, you stay still now with open eyes hoping you didn’t wake Javier but at the same time silently wishing you did. A few seconds pass before you hear a soft voice. “¿Por qué estás despierto amor?” While he was teaching you, you still weren’t the best speaking or understanding Spanish just yet. “English please Javi” you say softly slowly removing your hand.

“Why are you awake love?” He pulls you closer before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck after placing a soft kiss in the same spot. “Can’t sleep..” You say before being cut off by Javier placing multiple soft kisses on your neck slowly sliding his hand towards your heat. “I’m sorry I left you earlier I should’ve waited, Do you think I could help tire you out?” He chuckles into your neck waiting for an answer before moving his hand any further. He knew you were more than just some girl brought into a gang. He actually treated you with respect unlike most of the men at camp granted not all of them. You were quick to say yes as he slid his hand under your garments and quickly took over starting at a slow pace. “Javi..” you whine quietly trying to not wake any of their others, you grab his arm not stopping him but almost as support. “Shh we don’t want to wake the others do we?” He begins to speed up while apply more pressure, you let out a soft moan as Javier’s other hand snakes around and firmly covers your mouth as he lazily kisses up and down your shoulder. Your legs start to tighten around his hand as you feel that rubber band in your stomach start twisting. “I want you to last as long as you can. Okay?” You nod as he slows down a little making it easier for you to last, he was amazing at stretching everything out so the pleasure lasted longer. “You’re already doing so well querida {darling}.” Your heart almost skipped a beat at the praise, he knew that was one of your weak point and loved to abuse it. He started to speed up once again as you feel that rubber band winding tighter. Your legs start to close on their own he knew you were growling close, “Just a little longer, I promise. You can do it, You’re such a good girl I know you can.” Those words made you want to finish right then and there but you held back putting all your trust in Javier. He speeds up once more, your nails dig into his arm as you whine into his hand, seconds later that rubber band snaps. The waves of pleasure rush over you as Javier slows to a stop. Javier removes both of his hands so you can turn around as you quickly snuggle into his chest, one of his hands goes to your back and the other to the back of your head. “You okay amor {love}?” All you could do is nod into his chest, you lazily slide your hand down to the bulge in his pants but he quickly grabs it away. “Hey, its alright you make it up later. Let’s get some rest. We need it. Don’t forget were robbing that place in saint denis tomorrow.” You smile into his chest as he brains the blanket up fully over you two. But here you are now, awake next to Javier waiting for him to wake up so you can move, but honestly you’re okay being this close to him. Karen peaks in as he looks to see if you’re asleep, you look up and make eye contact with her and give her a soft smile and nod to Javier letting her know he’s still asleep. She whispers softly “Not everyone was asleep last night, Javier sure knows how to sweet talk a lady” You laugh a little before softly shouting “as if no one heard you and Sean!” Karen laughs and leaves you two alone. As you snuggle back into Javier.

(Hello everyone, I’m asking for honest reviews on this and tips as I used to write fanfics years ago but I’ve decided I want to try to get back into it so Please be brutally honest and please asks for request and Ill probably do most of them, Ill probably be sticking to the RDR fandom but i may do other request if i feel like it. I’m planning on posting regularly so feel free to stay updated with my post, thank you o much for reading this and have a good day!)

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

#javier escuella #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption community #javier #smut #javier smut #javier escuella smut

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oooocleo · 10 months

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how did you find the courage/means to do full-time freelance? it’s something i’ve been thinking about for a long time (i take comms in between college work) but i just. don’t know where to begin? i’d really appreciate any advice. thank you!

ill start this off w a disclaimer that i live in a country thats considered a social security state so i've received rent support from the government ever since moving out when i started uni (bc i dont make that much, prolly below min. wage, meaning my taxes are also relatively low), as well as student loans that aren't so horrible here as there are in the US for example - i'm sure if i had to get a job next to my studies i wouldn't have had nearly as much time/energy for establishing myself as a freelance illustrator over the yrs...

for me my uni yrs were when i really started doing more private commission work, because i had a lot of free time outside of exam periods, and i was p motivated to do that bc i was studying history which u know.. doesnt rly lead u down a secure career path lmfao... as for courage i would say it might be more fear of the alternative? i have depressive tendencies sometimes and i think i would be very unhappy having to spend 40 hours of my life every week in a job that wud likely feel unfulfilling compared to making art for ppl... so i took those student loans and drew and drew and drew until it became Actually Feasible to live off of my labour

i would say... Really try to minimize ur expenses if ur wanting to get into freelance illustration, bc any amount of time u need to spend on say a diff 'regular' job uve got to make ends meet will make things harder - this might seem like kind of scary advice but moving somewhere where the rent is cheap is an option u shouldnt overlook (i lived in social housing before moving to a rural area), bc kind of all u need rn is a freaking internet connection to find folks thatll hire u fdjgdfg - also in the same vein moving in with friends and sharing costs🤔

besides that, all i can suggest is find things that inspire you, draw as much as u can manage and post a lot so that ppl can discover u !

#cleo talks #i hope this makes some sense...#i dont know how helpful it is if u live in a country thats like. make money now or die #i know a great majority of my american peers do just have a normal tm job next to comm work...#in which case i wud generally suggest trying to find work u wont have to take home in any way like..#u clock out and the workplace ceases to exist lol #i worked in admin for a year and that was actually fine when it came to making art until i started hating my colleagues

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cattocavo · 1 month

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Six sketch sunday

Thanks so much for tagging me @thewholelemon

I actually have something pretty exciting to share if i do say so myself!

In november 2022 i did a master study of romeo and juliet by frank bernard dicksee. I was very happy with it. But over time I’ve become less and less happy with it, specifically how baz looks :((

This is due to the fact that i traced A LOT in late 2022 (I was 15 ok, I’m sure we’ve all had one of those phases😭) I traced the whole painting, but baz was hard bc the original painting featured a woman, and her whole figure was covered by a white loose dress. 2022 me did their best interpreting the shapes and forming a new body for baz, but honestly they didn’t do it very well. Ive hated Baz’s face and body for a while now, but still loved simon and the painting in general. Which is why I came to the conclusion that for me to be at peace and happy with it again, I have to remaster it!

And again I’ve had this on my mind for a while now, mulling it over, because it’s quite a big project. But 7 days ago i finalized my decision and started looking at references and whatnot. It took me so long to find references bc I was confused of the angle of Juliet’s head in the original painting (so I’ve changed the angle whoops) and i needed to make sense of it all. Before i knew it i had spent 5 hours (according to procreates tracker) drawing, and literally nothing had changed.. but then i spent like 2 hours more and THAT did it. It was like digging a whole in the ground searching for water. You dig a little and nothing happens, and when you finally dig deep enough the water reveals itself like a goldmine.

Anyways, i haven’t gotten around to do any recoloring yet, so ill show you the sketch (ahem, traced) of my 2022 version versus what I have now

The one on the left is the 2022 version. The one on the right is the current sketch.

I’m trying to incorporate a lot more body language from baz this time around. I think the old sketch of baz was very rigid. His torso is very short 💀 my biggest issue was his face though. It was far too feminine. The bone structure wasn’t exactly giving baz, in fact the whole face didn’t look like baz to me. The expression also bothered me, it was too superficial. Like it’s exactly the predictable expression you expect him to have. I tried to spice it up in the new version by making him appear a bit more anguished. It’s romeo and juliet after all.

Im currently looking at references to what clothes he should be wearing (don’t worry, i wont cover up his sleeves. Even if it’s more time period accurate) so if y’all have any inspo or suggestions, feel free to share them with me!

While baz is the inly thing getting completely redone, I’m also touching up some other thins. Just giving it a more refined, finished look overall. The plants in the original were really messily done, so i’m gonna work a lot on those. 2022 me also slacked on the curtains, so I’m repainting those to match the original frank bernard painting.

Once I’m done with it all i think i might sell some prints. Ive gotten requests to sell prints of this one before, but never really got around to do more than research. If i do make prints, I’m a bit worried they’ll all go to waste bc they’ll have to be shipped from denmark, and shipping in expensive :(( (I’ve tried to set up middlemen and it didn’t work for me. Red bubble wont even allow me to add a credit card😬) but if y’all are still interested in prints, do let me know! Ill definitely put in more of an effort to make it happen if i know it wont be in vain :))

Thats all from me for today :3 see ya next time

(Also check out what my COBB partner @thewholelemon is doing! It’s gonna be so good!)

Tags! @monbons @raenestee @j-nipper-95 @orange-peony

Id love to see what y’all are doing!

#simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #simon snow salisbury #fanart #simon snow fanart #any way the wind blows #wayward son #art #carry on fanart #romeo and juliet #sir francis dicksee #frank dicksee #baz pitch fanart #classical painting redraw #classical art #agatha wellbelove #penelope bunce #the mage

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fa-by · 11 months

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Hiiii babies and dear Anons 👋🏼🤗. I'm back with a new Q&A post. Before I start tho, two things:

1) I was unable to do the analyses of those three songs. I apologize to the Anons who asked for them, but I really didn't have the time. It already took me so long to answer these asks and if I'd done those analyses as well, who knows how long before you would've had this post. So, sorry 😅. I hope to be able to do them for the next post 🤞🏼.

2) This long wait was due to the fact that I had various commitments and then I also got ill (for something different from the past) by ending up in the hospital for a day 😭. I'm not healed yet so arm yourselves with patience for future posts as well 😅🙏🏼.

Now without having to still bore you with my problems, let's move on to the answers. Enjoy 🙃.

Your answers are here in my Only Told the Moon analysis.

Hi to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄. The answer is no, and if you want to know more details, here is my Thinkin’ Bout One analysis (seventh ask).

Yeah, definitely. For years now and they'll continue to do that.

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 pure invention from which they'll surely have taken their cue from fanfictions and which they've been trying to pass off as reality for years 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Ups and downs, Anon, I hope your year is going much better than mine 😊.

Don't we all need Camren in our lives? 🤭 And yep, I'm back, but as I explained in the introduction, I've had commitments and I'm not well again at the moment 😭.

They still are now. They are real. And yeah, they'll eventually admit it. It will depend on their careers 💁🏻‍♀️.

Hello to you, my dear @lindy123 👋🏼😄. I hope you don't mind that I'm replying here instead of in the comments, and thank you so much for the kind words 🥰. As for Lo's unreleased songs, I obviously loved them 😍! I'm just sorry all 5 are incomplete 🥺 but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️ she didn't intend to do that and that's why we have them now 😜. As for your question instead, the answer can be found in this old post: Unreleased songs - ɟ.

My dear Anon, from your welcome back I understand that you've read my past posts, and therefore you know perfectly well what I think of the so-called ‘insiders’ 🙄. I think I've already talked about it enough, but for those who are new to my blog, this is an example: https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/659001741145243648/if-you-think-el-was-a-fan-account-then-how-do-you.

The signs are still there. Not as often as in the past, but they're still being given to us.

Don't doubt and don't fall into the traps of the bullshit people say. You said you think they're still together, and there must be a reason if you think that. So my advice is to keep using the smart part of you that distinguishes you from the herd of sheep 💪🏼.

Oh and, by the way, hello to you too 👋🏼😄 and thanks for the welcome back 😊.

You're not considering many other people, Anon. Camila and Dinah shared it with Hoko (Dinah's cousin) and the band (Ashlee Juno, Lauren Fuller, and Michelle “Michel'Le” Baptiste) while Ally, Normani, and Lauren shared it with some members of the tour crew; four if I'm not mistaken because the rest was in another bus. And inside both of the girls’ buses were purposely left empty sleeping places for when their family members joined them and stayed for a few tour dates.

And I know what you're thinking right now: why couldn't the band and those 4 tour crew members be in one bus and 5H + Hoko in the other one? Simple, that was their last year as a group and the narrative dictated the division between the girls. It was one of the many things that served to create speculation, draw even more attention, and sneakily get fans used to already seeing Mila as a solo artist and LAND as a group. As simple as that 💁🏻‍♀️.

Hey to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄. And yes, of course. When I wrote “contracts can provide that two people who have already had a PR in the past can have it again in the future”, I meant it. But, and yes, there is a but.

Lauren's independent now, so I'm pretty sure that unless Tymbark's team requests it, it won't happen. Same with Luckless. Even more with her if that's why 🤣 because she has no team or labels to answer to and, even though she’s tried so many times (especially with her PR with Laur), she's not famous. Plus, that PR was made for Laur and therefore it would be up to her to request it again. And it's never gonna happen because she's luckily out of her life (unlike Sasha who, although not a celebrity, has been and still is a part of her life). Rather than have it with her again, I think Laur would rather have PRs with 100 different girls, whether famous or non-famous 🤣.

Have a good day too, dear Anon 🙃.

Are you the same Anon of the “happy 2023”?

Anyway. There's no way to know for sure. There are several factors to consider. How much notoriety does the artist have? Are they an A-list singer? How much notoriety does the magazine have? Is it just an interview, or an interview + photoshoot? Is there anything else included in the interview to promote other than the music? Products/brands, feuds, relationships, future projects? It all depends on this and much more.

Like, for example. Is it an interview with a full fashion shoot plus high-level clothes and photographers? It already means that it's an important magazine and that the artist is considered as such and that was most likely wanted. Very important magazines such as are for example Vogue, Elle, and Vanity Fair, are themselves paying the artists and not the other way around. If that's why, in addition to the $100,000-plus earned, the artists receive free clothing, accessories, samples, make-up, and beauty products that they can keep as part of the shoot.

If, on the other hand, we're talking about less important magazines then it depends. (It always depends on the notoriety of the artist, but still.) If the interview is simple enough and the focus is on the music to be promoted, then it's very likely that the artist's team contacted and paid the magazine. Ditto if it's just an article without an interview.

If, on the other hand, there's something else to promote besides music, things change. But even here, it depends. What is this other thing to promote and how important is it? If it's not something really important that can generate lots of clicks, then it doesn't matter. But if it does matter, whether it's a scoop from a new love interest, or a feud with another celebrity, then it's the artists who get paid to release it.

For other types of magazines, however, it doesn't work that way. The mere presence of the artist on their web pages benefits them because fans or readers in general generate clicks. It's a double exposure for both artist and the magazine and therefore a win-win situation. No one pays anyone in this case because it's precisely a free double cross-publicity.

Hello to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄.

To answer your questions, well, none of the above. I want you to seriously think about something: if you had a one-on-one business meeting with your supervisor or directly with your boss, would you show up there with your significant other? I really don't think so. You have your meeting and after work, you call or meet directly with your significant other to tell them how it went. Period. That's the reality. Work is work, and you must know how to separate their work and their relationship because it runs exactly as it does for all of us.

Besides, although at the time Maverick managed the group for things related to the group as a whole, Mila was already personally managed by Roger, and therefore LAND and in this specific case Laur, was personally managed by Maverick. Both Roger and Maverick obviously answered to the labels because all labels always have the final decision on everything, but still, the point is that for personal things not related to 5H, Camren were managed by different people.

So as in the example of not bringing your significant other to meetings I gave you earlier, Mila wasn't present during Laur's PRs signings and agreements and vice versa.

I hope you're super well too 🙃 and to know more about how PRs work, read my PR stunt relationships - ɟ post.

[Faby oh my god I almost dropped my phone when I seen u posted 🤦🏻‍♀️🤣🤣 anyway hi not sure if u remember me but it’s me K 😂 sorry to hear u had not been well and to hear u lost ur dog I too lost my cat last yr she was 13yr and like u I felt like a part of me died with her she was my shadow. Glad to hear u adopted another dog thats the best way is to adopt.]

🤭🤣🤣🤣🤣 hi K! Of course I remember you 🤗! I'm so sorry about your cat 🥺😭, I completely understand. I like to think they'll always stay with us no matter what ❤. Why don't you adopt another one too? Trust me, it would help you a lot and you'd fall in love immediately like I did with my new puppy girl 🥰. Let me know😍.

1) [So with my question is what do u make of so many loyal CS and L’s fans leaving her? A lot has left bc of L’s attitude,how she constantly contradicts herself where fans weren’t able to defend her anymore and how she keep attacking CS.]

As you also said yourself, many got tired of both her behaviors and the fact that she keeps attacking CS. I've also seen that many people got tired of the fact of her sexualizing herself most of the time she posts something, or not going on tour in certain places, etc.

Honestly, all bullshit to me. You know why? Because Lauren has always been this way to the public! The thing that people don't understand, and for years now, is that this is the public image she's always had since they started training them back in the X-Factor days. And for those who don't know, by training them I mean how they started teaching them how to behave in front of cameras, how to answer or avoid certain questions during an interview, etc.

We've always had two Laurens. What's new? They still can't tell them apart? 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

Public imagine Lauren is the one who has to defend the PRs and attack Camren because she has contracts to comply with. She's the one who's been taught for years that sex sells, and she continues to use this tactic to publicize something simply because she's comfortable doing so. She's the one who has to act and say certain things because it's the only way to stay afloat in the industry, especially now more than ever because she's an independent artist.

The real Lauren, doesn't post much because she lives her life outside of social media. She's the one who started the first spontaneous and free Attunements during the pandemic. She's the one who can't go on world tours like she did when she was with 5H. How should she do it according to them? With what money? With the support of which major label? Do these people really have a hard time understanding the word independent? 🙄😒

Anyway, I still think that these so-called “fans”, which are anything but fans, drop out because things don't go the way they want. News flash, it never will! There's a person behind the artist who's constantly harassed every day and yes, even by those who don't deserve to be called CS. What do they expect her to do when the harassment on her body, her personality, and her life in general has been a daily occurrence for 11 years? For her to even thank them? 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Sure! And what does she actually do instead?: “Naturally inclined to love, but when the love ain't flowin' back, I pull away and reassess, gotta protect me. Push the negative to the side so it's not in front of my eyes, outta sight, outta mind. I need more than 50 feet”.

And in addition to 50 feet., there are songs like Inside, Colors, Scattered, Falling, Healing, EM(oceans), Wolves, Temporary and especially While I’m Alive that also talk about these situations. Hellooo??? No? Nothing? Don't they see i- 🤦🏻‍♀️okay...🤷🏻‍♀️

So, they don't wanna see the reality and go away? It's alright for me, and for her too honestly 🤣. Addio! Adiós! Au revoir! Sayonara! Adeus! Auf Wiedersehen! Do svidaniya! Go support someone who does what you want but that actually has so many faces that you won't even be able to recognize the real one 😉. *said in her voice like in that video when Trump lost the 2020 presidential election* Bah-bye, bitch 👋🏼!

2) [Another question is what do u except from C’s new label-]

I expect much more now 🤣. No jokes aside, I hope that with this new label she can return to the freedom and “glory” of 2017/2018. Unlike the past, I unfortunately still can't tell you what they'll do in my opinion or give you a theory simply because I don't know how they work yet. Ask me again after the first project 😏.

[-and now she changed pr firm?]

Mila didn't change PR firm/agency. She's still part of the WME Agency and you can also see it on Mila's official website itself. She simply also joined the BT PR Agency 😉.

3) [Why post that snippet of a new song with the line Coachella the. Deleted? I’m guessing it’s for the pr but that was desperate even for them. Is her new label the reason for the circus starting again or was it his team like last time or are they trying to make them as the new Justin and Selena?]

Yep, it was 100% just for the PR. And yes, desperate are the Sandalwood team 🥱. And yeah, they tried and tried to make them an important couple like Jelina, but in reality they only succeeded in making them the first fake couple to come up in Google image results when searching for pr relationships 🧐🙈🤣.

4) [What’s ur opinions on some fans claiming the Coachella stunt was nothing to do with their teams but C and L we’re arguing for awhile and C did it to get back at L? Personally I don’t believe that but still curious for ur thoughts]

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Oh yeah? And who told them that? Lauren or Camila? Or both of them? Over text, call, or video call? 🤣. Do they really think people believe that? And above all, do they really think that (C&S) they’re free to do something like this without breaking the contract and without consequences from their teams and labels? I caaaan't! 🤦🏻‍♀️🤣

My thoughts on this? Well, besides these ☝🏼 🤣, I feel sorry for all these people who do everything they can to get 5 min of attention and for those who believe it. But specifically, I'm ashamed to be associated in the same category (CS) as these, to quote Lauren, delusional people. Sorry not sorry 💁🏻‍♀️🙃😁.

5) [What are u expecting C’s new music to sound like?]

She experimented a lot with her music over the years, so I don't know if she'll continue to do that or settle on a specific genre. As I told you in point 2, I still don't know how this new label works, so I can't give you any answers yet.

[From that snippet she shared and how she working with yet another friend of his 🙄-]

Forget that snippet 🤣. She deleted it herself faster than light after a short time because it had its purpose for the Shitmilashow 😴.

[-my expectations have gone down to where I think it’s gonna be a full pr album or at least there gonna make it out to be.]

I don't think complete, but yeah, of course there'll be songs with phrases explicitly changed to imply that they're references to him, unfortunately for my and your ears. But oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️ I've been used to both of them and their PRs for years now.

[Anyway I know that was a lot of questions so I’m gonna leave it there for now 😂 but I have no idea how happy I am to see ur back specially with other blogs who left. I’m glad ur well and still a CS 😏😂 - K]

Don't worry, my dear K, you can always ask me for as many as you like 😄. I don't mind. I'm glad you're happy that I’m back and yes, I'm gonna be a real CS forever 😉. I hope you're well too 😊. A virtual hug 🤗.

‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍

Aaand I'm done 👅. Thank you all for your asks and I hope I've been helpful this time too 🙃. As usual, I'm always available for those who have questions, so ask away 😄.

Remember to be nice. Always. Both with others and with yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼. Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗. I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️.

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heliads · 1 year

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So, Before You Go Chapter Seven: The Walls Close In

Hellas is gone; so too is your life as a cartographer. You and the Darkling must quell Alina Starkov’s attempt at an uprising in order to protect the Grisha of Ravka. However, your gods are not as dead as they seem, and that which you have taken for granted will soon prove to be quite unpredictable indeed.

previous / series masterlist / next

The last of the golden days ended when the Age of Heroes collapsed. After every fight, every victory, all it took was one war and all was lost. The Trojan War spanned years, cost hundreds of thousands of men, and ended the world as all survivors knew it. What do you think they did, after the final surrender? How do you think they lived without a war to hold them together? Could they even recognize themselves without a sword in their hand and blood on their face?

Keramzin. It is to Keramzin you must go, and it is Keramzin where all will end. Only an attack on her homeland will draw Alina out of hiding for good. It is surprisingly easy to march on the orphanage and fortify your command over it, perhaps because there are few soldiers guarding its gates, and perhaps also because of the amplifiers.

Aleksander, he– he had bones left over from his mother’s death, Baghra’s bones, and he fashioned them into amplifiers for himself and trusted Grisha he had selected as captains in this endless war. Alina has two amplifiers at this point, will have three if she can bear the agony of killing the one she loves, and so the two of you must do something to try and settle the score.

Aleksander gives himself an amplifier first, and then he turns to you, holds out ash from his mother’s burned body and tells you that it is your turn to accept this gift. The thought of it, robbing respect from the dead, especially a woman who had been so much to you for so long, makes you feel sick to your stomach and you decline in a heartbeat. You cannot dishonor her like this. You are not fit to bear her bones, to use her strength as your own.

Something almost like anger or disappointment flashes across Aleksander’s face, but he does not take away his outstretched hand, not yet.

He says, It will make you strong.

You say, I am strong. Strong without your kind of magic.

He says, I know. But you could be more.

There is confusion written all across his features, as if he could not possibly understand why someone would turn down power if it was given to them. There is so much about you that he could not comprehend. Things like your actual strength, how much you’ve been holding back in every fight. You could rattle this earth down to the very core if you so desired, you could find his making at the heart of the world and destroy it completely. It might kill you in the process, but you could do it. You always could.

So no, actually, you do not need his ill-gotten power, you are perfectly fine on your own. This you share with him, not the reason but the answer, and Aleksander senses that you are not willing to change your mind on this matter. Fine, then; he has other capable Grisha who will accept this token from him, and so you watch as he amplifies several more soldiers.

One of them in particular makes you uneasy. There’s a new Tidemaker who arrived here recently. Her name is Fruzsi, and she was the one in charge of watching Baghra while you and Aleksander were out nearly dying in the Shadow Fold. Her hair is dark, her stature cold, and there is something about her that unsettles you deeply.

Perhaps it’s her motives. Aleksander saved her from an unworthy family that would not protect a Grisha child, just like many of the other Grisha here. For Fruzsi, however, it turned her into a puppet, some sort of thing that would kill and maim whenever Aleksander so much as snapped a finger. She is quite powerful in her own right, but she has no heart, no sense of mercy.

On the few times that you’ve passed through otkazat’sya villages, she has wanted to flood the entire township, destroy every crop and house, just for the crime of not being Grisha. You cannot help but wonder if this is the generation of Grisha you and Aleksander are protecting, the ones who are so furious about Grisha inequality that they would unfairly persecute everyone else. The Grisha would be safe in such a world, yes, but would that make you better than them?

Fruzsi is one of the Grisha given an amplifier, and she tests her newfound abilities by conjuring daggers of ice from just the water in the air. With a twitch of her hands, she slams the frozen shards into a nearby door, all of them inches deep in the hard wood surface. Judging by the sick grin on her face, she’s wondering what they would do in something as soft as human flesh.

The rest of the amplified Grisha are no trouble to you. They follow orders, they do as they’re told. That Tidemaker, though, you’ll keep an eye out for her.

You and Aleksander split up your forces soon enough. The Lantsov king, now Nikolai, has been spotted in a flying ship of all things headed towards Keramzin. You send a squad of Grisha, including several Inferni, to take down the ship, then order more troops to patrol the perimeter. Aleksander moves off towards the Shadow Fold so as to swallow Alina’s camp with shadow, and you remain at Keramzin to protect the stronghold in case of a trap.

You watch from the highest window you can find, and soon enough, red and yellow tendrils of fire blossom across the sky. You watch as the flying ship is hit by Inferni blasts. It tilts dangerously, then drops like a stone and skids across the ground. Small flecks of blue and red move towards it, your Grisha ready to take out any survivors.

In the meantime, you have to be ready for other attackers. You and Aleksander spent hours brainstorming every last military tactic you could think of, every switch of plans or strategy that might take place over the course of the battle. Alina could have more soldiers willing to fight and die for her cause than you expected, or she could approach at a multitude of different angles, or she could go through with killing Mal to gain the third amplifier and destroy the Fold before her soldiers even reach the doorstep of Keramzin.

All of these possibilities were thought through, carefully catalogued, and avoided. All that remains now is to implement the correct strategy, and hope to all the gods and Saints around that your tactics hold. You call out orders to the Grisha captains, setting up traps and ambushes for the oncoming soldiers.

The only thing remaining to do, then, is to wait, and you do not have to wait long. Soon enough, Alina’s army charges towards the walls surrounding Keramzin and begins their assault. What grabs your attention the most about her forces is that they are not wholly Grisha nor completely otkazat’sya. She’s managed to convince both the First and Second Armies that they should be able to work together, and you’re not so jaded and bitter as to be unable to admit that the tactic succeeds.

In fact, the soldiers work together quite brilliantly. The Grisha draw enemy fire by launching attacks while the First Army soldiers reload their weapons, and then the First Army provide cover with bullets and daggers while Healers rush forward to aid their wounded. Alina may damn well have found a way to make both Grisha and otkazat’sya fight as one. It’s a shame, then, that she’ll die before she gets to see that theory extend throughout all of Ravka.

You can spoil the ending for her, though: it will never work, not for everybody. No country will be able to embrace someone they see as ‘other’ forever. She must prioritize the Grisha or they will die, just like they have been dying for centuries. You’ve had plenty of time to see it. You know how this ends unless you win and take back control for good.

You receive word from one of your soldiers that the young Lantsov king has entered the fray, alongside several of his stronger Grisha and First Army fighters. You signal for your forces to redouble their efforts, then send Fruzsi and a few other amplified Grisha to finish the job.

Alina’s troops do seem to be making more headway than you’d strictly appreciate, so you decide to multitask and fight instead of just issuing strategic commands. If you can wrap this up quickly, you can go to Aleksander in the Fold. It’s not that you don’t trust him not to kill Alina, especially not in the dense nest of shadow that he created so many years ago as the Black Heretic, it’s just that Alina has a way of having luck and coincidence go her way. You’ve come too far now for things not to proceed as you’d like them to.

Your footsteps seem to echo off of the stone walls as you walk further into the melee, and you can see the faces of Alina’s troops pale as they realize who you are. Alina must have warned them about you, but no amount of scary bedtime stories can stop them from falling from your spells. No Heartrender can slow your pulse, no Squaller can choke you out. It is you against them, and you have had centuries more practice at such things.

You round a corner and there they are at the final crux of this battle. Fruzsi stands before you with the other amplified Grisha, shouting out to a king that he cannot hide forever. This must mean that Nikolai Lantsov is one of the figures huddled behind some sort of makeshift shelter. In fact, you think you can see him now. He’s bent over a fallen figure, yet another First Army soldier dead with Fruzsi’s ice daggers embedded in his chest.

Nikolai does not have the insincere disdain of any king you’ve met, though. In fact, you think he’s crying. Yes, crying, screaming the name of the man in front of him, the man who won’t ever respond to him. He’s saying something about a brother, how even though this man wasn’t his by blood they were closer than anyone else. It is a terrible sort of grief, and it is worse still because it is true. Nikolai was born to bear the sorrow of a nation, but he cannot even handle the loss of one man. How very human of him.

Fruzsi advances towards him, arms raised. You sense the thudding of footsteps around the corner, reinforcements to protect the king, but they’ll come just a little too late. Fruzsi raises her arms, conjuring up more daggers of ice. They’ll fly straight for his throat and he will be dead in moments, just like his friend.

The young king will be lost, then, unless someone stops her. Unless someone kills her. The dark Tidemaker is grinning, drunk on the certainty that she is about to add one more death to her tally. And then, all of a sudden, she can’t, and the ice shards coalesce back into normal air once more, no one around to sharpen it into something else.

She dies quite easily, actually, for such power, such confidence. It is nothing at all to the killer, nothing at all to you. All it takes is one word from your lips, one single spell, and the situation is handled. The battlefield is dense with screams, cries, death. No one would ever be able to tell that it was you who ended things like this. No one at all.

The young king looks up at you with wide eyes. A child’s eyes. You and Aleksander are gods fighting against children who grew up too fast. What kind of justice is that? What kind of cruelty? You lay one finger to your lips and vanish into the shadows. Aleksander will be expecting you. He will not know a moment of what happened here unless you tell him. Aleksander doesn’t know. He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to at all. No one needs to know except you and the boy-king still crouched there in the dust where you left him.

You think as you travel, you travel as you think. You cannot seem to stop yourself from sabotaging your own cause. On second thought, perhaps it is Aleksander who is ruining things before you can achieve your goals. He destroys himself by making a monster of himself.

You cannot help but compare your upbringings. Baghra raised Aleksander to be cold and heartless, to value Grisha and Grisha only above all else. He does that now with pride. Your mother, on the other hand, she taught you spells, but she taught you mercy, too. She told you to be kind. You’ve failed her in that, you think, but you still have time.

Time. You blink and the Shadow Fold looms before you. You can vaguely hear the sound of voices through the dense darkness. Aleksander has reached Alina and Mal, then. This is where it ends, of that you are certain.

For once, however, you cannot guess at the ending. Your crossroads stretch out before you again, a multitude of paths all calling your name. They are too varied and twisted for you to pick any one at this moment, but the time to choose is closing in. You cannot wait forever, and neither can he. The Fold awaits. It is time to enter the darkness once more.

a/n only one more chapter babes how are we feeling

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